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Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
L'ASSOMMOIR
By Emile Zola
CHAPTER I.
Gervaise | 1,211.005533 |
2023-11-16 18:37:14.9884360 | 1,540 | 8 |
E-text prepared by Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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English Men of Action
WARWICK THE KINGMAKER
[Illustration: Publisher's logo]
Copyright
First Edition 1891. Reprinted 1893, 1899, 1905
(Prize Library Edition) 1903, 1909, 1916
[Illustration: WARWICK
From the Rous Roll]
WARWICK THE KINGMAKER
by
CHARLES W. OMAN
Macmillan and Co., Limited
St. Martin's Street, London
1916
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
The Days of the Kingmaker 1
CHAPTER II
The House of Neville 12
CHAPTER III
Richard of Salisbury 19
CHAPTER IV
The Kingmaker's Youth 29
CHAPTER V
The Cause of York 38
CHAPTER VI
The Beginning of the Civil War: St. Albans 47
CHAPTER VII
Warwick Captain of Calais and Admiral 60
CHAPTER VIII
Warwick in Exile 79
CHAPTER IX
Victory and Disaster--Northampton and St.
Albans 93
CHAPTER X
Towton Field 107
CHAPTER XI
The Triumph of King Edward 128
CHAPTER XII
The Pacification of the North 137
CHAPTER XIII
The Quarrel of Warwick and King Edward 159
CHAPTER XIV
Playing with Treason 175
CHAPTER XV
Warwick for King Henry 193
CHAPTER XVI
The Return of King Edward 208
CHAPTER XVII
Barnet 228
CHAPTER I
THE DAYS OF THE KINGMAKER
Of all the great men of action who since the Conquest have guided the
course of English policy, it is probable that none is less known to the
reader of history than Richard Neville Earl of Warwick and Salisbury.
The only man of anything approaching his eminence who has been treated
with an equal neglect is Thomas Cromwell, and of late years the great
minister of Henry the Eighth is beginning to receive some of the
attention that is his due. But for the Kingmaker, the man who for ten
years was the first subject of the English Crown, and whose figure
looms out with a vague grandeur even through the misty annals of the
Wars of the Roses, no writer has spared a monograph. Every one, it is
true, knows his name, but his personal identity is quite ungrasped.
Nine persons out of ten if asked to sketch his character would find, to
their own surprise, that they were falling back for their information
to Lord Lytton's _Last of the Barons_ or Shakespeare's _Henry the
Sixth_.
An attempt, therefore, even an inadequate attempt, to trace out
with accuracy his career and his habits of mind from the original
authorities cannot fail to be of some use to the general reader as well
as to the student of history. The result will perhaps appear meagre
to those who are accustomed to the biographies of the men of later
centuries. We are curiously ignorant of many of the facts that should
aid us to build up a picture of the man. No trustworthy representation
of his bodily form exists. The day of portraits was not yet come; his
monument in Bisham Abbey has long been swept away; no writer has even
deigned to describe his personal appearance--we know not if he was dark
or fair, stout or slim. At most we may gather from the vague phrases
of the chroniclers, and from his quaint armed figure in the Rous Roll,
that he was of great stature and breadth of limb. But perhaps the good
Rous was thinking of his fame rather than his body, when he sketched
the Earl in that quaint pictorial pedigree over-topping all his race
save his cousin and king and enemy, Edward the Fourth.
But Warwick has only shared the fate of all his contemporaries. The
men of the fifteenth century are far less well known to us than are
their grandfathers or their grandsons. In the fourteenth century the
chroniclers were still working on their old scale; in the sixteenth
the literary spirit had descended on the whole nation, and great men
and small were writing hard at history as at every other branch of
knowledge. But in the days of Lancaster and York the old fountains
had run dry, and the new flood of the Renaissance had not risen. The
materials for reconstructing history are both scanty and hard to
handle. We dare not swallow Hall and Hollingshead whole, as was the
custom for two hundred years, or take their annals, from
end to end with Tudor sympathies, as good authority for the doings of
the previous century. Yet when we have put aside their fascinating,
if somewhat untrustworthy, volumes, we find ourselves wandering in a
very dreary waste of fragments and scraps of history, strung together
on the meagre thread of two or three dry and jejune compilations of
annals. To have to take William of Worcester or good Abbot Whethamsted
as the groundwork of a continuous account of the times is absolutely
maddening. Hence it comes to pass that Warwick has failed to receive
his dues.
Of all the men of Warwick's century there are only two whose characters
we seem thoroughly to grasp--the best and the worst products of the
age--Henry the Fifth and Richard the Third. The achievements of the one
stirred even the feeble writers of that day into a fulness of detail in
which they indulge for no other hero; the other served as the text for
so many invectives under the Tudors that we imagine that we see a real
man in the gloomy portrait that is set up before us. Yet we may fairly
ask whether our impression is not drawn, either at first or at second
hand, almost entirely from Sir Thomas More's famous biography of the
usurper, a work whose literary merits have caused it to be received as
the only serious source for Richard's history. If we had not that work,
Richard of Gloucester would seem a vaguely-defined monster of iniquity,
as great a puzzle to the student of history as are the other shadowy
forms which move on through those evil times to fall, one after the
other, into the bloody grave which was the common lot of all | 1,211.008476 |
2023-11-16 18:37:15.0817330 | 1,839 | 43 |
Produced by Ronald Lee
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
A MODERN SYMPOSIUM.
THE MEANING OF GOOD.
JUSTICE & LIBERTY, A POLITICAL DIALOGUE.
_PROBLEMS OF THE DAY SERIES_
RELIGION & IMMORTALITY.
LETTERS FROM JOHN CHINAMAN.
RELIGION: A FORECAST.
APPEARANCES
APPEARANCES
BEING
NOTES OF TRAVEL
BY
G. LOWES DICKINSON
AUTHOR OF "A MODERN SYMPOSIUM,"
"JUSTICE AND LIBERTY," ETC.
[Illustration]
MCMXIV
LONDON & TORONTO
J. M. DENT & SONS LIMITED
NEW YORK: DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO.
All rights reserved
PREFACE
The articles included in this book have already appeared, those from the
East in the _Manchester Guardian_, those from America in the _English
Review_. In reprinting them, I have chosen a title which may serve also
as an apology. What I offer is not Reality; but appearances to me. From
such appearances perhaps, in time, Reality may be constructed. I claim
only to make my contribution. I do so because the new contact between
East and West is perhaps the most important fact of our age; and the
problems of action and thought which it creates can only be solved as
each civilisation tries to understand the others, and, by so doing,
better to understand itself. These articles represent at any rate a good
will to understand; and they may, I hope, for that reason throw one
gleam of light on the darkness.
For the opportunity of travelling in the East I am indebted to the
munificence of Mr. Albert Kahn of Paris, who has founded what are known
in this country as the Albert Kahn Travelling Fellowships.[1] The
existence of this endowment is perhaps not as widely known as it should
be. And if this volume should be the occasion of leading others to take
advantage of the founder's generosity it will not have been written in
vain.
I have hesitated long before deciding to republish the letters on
America. They were written in 1909, before the election of President
Wilson, and all that led up to and is implied in that event. It was not,
however, the fact that, so far, they are out of date, that caused me to
hesitate. For they deal only incidentally with current politics, and
whatever value they may have is as a commentary on phases of American
civilisation which are of more than transitory significance. Much has
happened in the United States during the last few years which is of
great interest and importance. The conflict between democracy and
plutocracy has become more conscious and more acute; there have been
important developments in the labour movement; and capital has been so
"harassed" by legislation that it may, for the moment, seem odd to
capitalists to find America called "the paradise of Plutocracy." No
doubt the American public has awakened to its situation since 1909. But
such awakenings take a long time to transform the character of a
civilisation and all that has occurred serves only to confirm the
contention in the text that in the new world the same situation is
arising that confronts the old one.
What made me hesitate was something more important than the date at
which the letters were written. There is in them a note of exasperation
which I would have wished to remove if I could. But I could not, without
a complete rewriting, by which, even if it were possible to me, more
would have been lost than gained. It is this note of exasperation which
has induced me hitherto to keep the letters back, in spite of requests
to the contrary from American friends and publishers. But the
opportunity of adding them as a pendant to letters from the East, where
they fall naturally into their place as a complement and a contrast, has
finally overcome my scruples; the more so, as much that is said of
America is as typical of all the West, as it is foreign to all the East.
That this Western civilisation, against which I have so much to say, is
nevertheless the civilisation in which I would choose to live, in which
I believe, and about which all my hopes centre, I have endeavoured to
make clear in the concluding essay. And my readers, I hope, if any of
them persevere to the end, will feel that they have been listening,
after all, to the voice of a friend, even if the friend be of that
disagreeable kind called "candid."
Footnotes:
[Footnote 1: These Fellowships, each of the value of L660, were
established to enable the persons appointed to them to travel
round the world. The Trust is administered at the University of
London, and full information regarding it can be obtained from
the Principal, Sir Henry Miers, F.R.S., who is Honorary
Secretary to the Trustees.]
CONTENTS
PART I
INDIA
PAGE
I. IN THE RED SEA. 3
II. AJANTA. 7
III. ULSTER IN INDIA 12
IV. ANGLO-INDIA. 16
V. A MYSTERY PLAY. 20
VI. AN INDIAN SAINT. 24
VII. A VILLAGE IN BENGAL 28
VIII. SRI RAMAKRISHNA. 32
IX. THE MONSTROUS REGIMEN OF WOMEN 38
X. THE BUDDHA AT BURUPUDUR 42
XI. A MALAY THEATRE 47
PART II
CHINA
I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF CHINA 55
II. NANKING 60
III. IN THE YANGTSE GORGES 65
IV. PEKIN 72
V. THE ENGLISHMAN ABROAD 79
VI. CHINA IN TRANSITION 87
VII. A SACRED MOUNTAIN 95
PART III
JAPAN
I. FIRST IMPRESSIONS OF JAPAN 105
II. A "NO" DANCE 111
III. NIKKO 116
IV. DIVINE RIGHT IN JAPAN 122
V. FUJI 129
VI. JAPAN AND AMERICA 136
VII. HOME 142
PART IV
AMERICA
I. THE "DIVINE AVERAGE" 149
II. A CONTINENT OF PIONEERS 153
III. NIAGARA 160
IV. "THE MODERN PULPIT" 164
V. IN THE ROCKIES 171
VI. IN THE ADIRONDACKS 178
VII. THE RELIGION OF BUSINESS 184
VIII. RED-BLOODS AND "MOLLYCODDLES" 192
IX. ADVERTISEMENT 199
X. CULTURE 205
XI. ANTAEUS 211
CONCLUDING ESSAY 218
PART I
INDIA
I
IN THE RED SEA
"But why do you do it?" said the Frenchman. From the saloon above came a
sound of singing, and I recognised a well-known hymn. The sun was
blazing on a foam-flecked sea; a range of islands lifted red rocks into
the glare; the wind blew fresh; and, from above,
"Nothing in my hand I bring,
Simply to Thy cross I cling."
Male voices were singing; voices whose owners, beyond a doubt, had no
idea of clinging to anything. Female voices, too, of clingers, perhaps,
but hardly to a cross. "Why do you do it?"--I began to explain. "For the
same reason that we play deck-quoits and shuffle | 1,211.101773 |
2023-11-16 18:37:15.0843680 | 1,205 | 6 |
E-text prepared by David Garcia, Bryan Ness, Emmy, 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 more than 200 original illustrations.
See 42893-h.htm or 42893-h.zip:
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42893/42893-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/guardiansofcolu00willrich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
THE GUARDIANS OF THE COLUMBIA
* * * * *
THE MOUNTAIN
I hold above a careless land
The menace of the skies;
Within the hollow of my hand
The sleeping tempest lies.
Mine are the promise of the morn,
The triumph of the day;
And parting sunset's beams forlorn
Upon my heights delay.
--Edward Sydney Tylee
* * * * *
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT DR. U. M. LAUMAN
Dawn on Spirit Lake, north side of Mt. St. Helens.
"Night's candles are burnt out, and jocund day
Stands tiptoe on the misty mountain tops." Shakespeare.]
THE GUARDIANS OF THE COLUMBIA
Mount Hood, Mount Adams and Mount St. Helens
by
JOHN H. WILLIAMS
Author of "The Mountain That Was 'God'"
_And mountains that like giants stand
To sentinel enchanted land._
SCOTT: "The Lady of the Lake."
With More Than Two Hundred Illustrations
Including Eight in Colors
Tacoma
John H. Williams
1912
[Illustration: COPYRIGHT, G. M. WEISTER
Climbing the last steep <DW72> on Mount Hood, from Cooper's Spur, with
ropes anchored on summit.]
Copyright, 1912, by John H. Williams
[Illustration: Willamette River at Portland, with ships loading wheat
and lumber for foreign ports.]
FOREWORD
In offering this second volume of a proposed series on Western mountain
scenery, I am fortunate in having a subject as unhackneyed as was that
of "The Mountain that Was 'God.'" The Columbia River has been described
in many publications about the Northwest, but the three fine snow-peaks
guarding its great canyon have received scant attention, and that mainly
from periodicals of local circulation.
These peaks are vitally a part of the vast Cascade-Columbia scene to
which they give a climax. Hence the story here told by text and picture
has necessarily included the stage upon which they were built up. And
since the great forests of this mountain and river district are a factor
of its beauty as well as its wealth, I am glad to be able to present a
brief chapter about them from the competent hand of Mr. H. D. Langille,
formerly of the United States forest service. A short bibliography, with
notes on transportation routes, hotels, guides and other matters of
interest to travelers and students, will be found at the end.
Accuracy has been my first aim. I have tried to avoid the exaggeration
employed in much current writing for the supposed edification of
tourists. It has seemed to me that simply and briefly to tell the truth
about the fascinating Columbia country would be the best service I could
render to those who love its splendid mountains and its noble river. A
mass of books, government documents and scientific essays has been
examined. This literature is more or less contradictory, and as I cannot
hope to have avoided all errors, I shall be grateful for any correction
of my text.
In choosing the illustrations, I have sought to show the individuality
of each peak. Mountains, like men, wear their history on their
faces,--none more so than Hood's sharp and finely scarred pyramid; or
Adams, with its wide, truncated dome and deeply carved <DW72>s; or St.
Helens, newest of all our extinct volcanoes--if, indeed, it be
extinct,--and least marred by the ice, its cone as perfect as
Fujiyama's. Each has its own wonderful story to tell of ancient and
often recent vulcanism. Let me again suggest that readers who would get
the full value of the more comprehensive illustrations will find a
reading glass very useful.
Thanks are due to many helpers. More than fifty photographers,
professional and amateur, are named in the table of illustrations.
Without their co-operation the book would have been impossible. I am
also indebted for valued information and assistance to the librarians at
the Portland and Tacoma public libraries, the officers and members of
the several mountaineering clubs in Portland, and the passenger
departments of the railways reaching that city; to Prof. Harry Fielding
Reid, the eminent geologist of Johns Hopkins University; Fred G.
Plummer, geographer of the United States forest service; Dr. George Otis
Smith, director of the United States geological survey; Judge Harrington
Putnam, of New York, president of the American Alpine Club; Messrs.
Rodney L. Glisan, William M | 1,211.104408 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
_THE BOOK OF THE HOMELESS_
[Illustration:
THE BOOK OF THE
HOMELESS
(_Le Livre des Sans-Foyer_)
EDITED BY
EDITH WHARTON
_New York & London
MDCCCCXVI_
]
THE
BOOK OF THE HOMELESS
(_LE LIVRE DES SANS-FOYER_)
EDITED BY EDITH WHARTON
* * * * *
_Original Articles in Verse and Prose
Illustrations reproduced from Original Paintings & Drawings_
[Illustration]
THE BOOK IS SOLD
FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE AMERICAN HOSTELS FOR REFUGEES
(WITH THE FOYER FRANCO-BELGE)
AND OF THE CHILDREN OF FLANDERS RESCUE COMMITTEE
NEW YORK
_CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS_
MDCCCCXVI
COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON, U. S. A.
LETTRE DU GÉNÉRAL JOFFRE
_Armées de l | 1,211.105154 |
2023-11-16 18:37:15.0851880 | 1,917 | 7 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Jana Srna and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was made using scans of public domain works in
the International Children's Digital Library.)
[Illustration: NETTIE COMFORTS HER MOTHER.]
THE
CARPENTER'S DAUGHTER.
"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called
the children of God."
BY THE AUTHORS OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD," ETC. ETC.
WITH FRONTISPIECE.
LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS,
THE BROADWAY, LUDGATE.
BY THE AUTHORS OF "THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD."
Price ONE SHILLING each, with Frontispiece
THE TWO SCHOOLGIRLS.
THE CARPENTER'S DAUGHTER.
THE PRINCE IN DISGUISE.
GERTRUDE AND HER BIBLE.
MARTHA AND RACHEL.
THE WIDOW AND HER DAUGHTER.
THE LITTLE BLACK HEN.
THE ROSE IN THE DESERT.
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS.
London: Savill, Edwards & Co., Printers, Chandos Street.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. SATURDAY EVENING'S WORK 1
II. SUNDAY'S REST 20
III. NETTIE'S GARRET 55
IV. THE BROWN CLOAK IN NOVEMBER 69
V. THE NEW BLANKET 82
VI. THE HOUSE-RAISING 97
VII. THE WAFFLES 112
VIII. THE GOLDEN CITY 135
THE CARPENTER'S DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER I.
SATURDAY EVENING'S WORK.
Down in a little hollow, with the sides grown full of wild thorn, alder
bushes, and stunted cedars, ran the stream of a clear spring. It ran
over a bed of pebbly stones, showing every one as if there had been no
water there, so clear it was; and it ran with a sweet soft murmur or
gurgle over the stones, as if singing to itself and the bushes as it
ran.
On one side of the little stream a worn foot path took its course among
the bushes; and down this path one summer's afternoon came a woman and a
girl. They had pails to fill at the spring; the woman had a large wooden
one, and the girl a light tin pail; and they drew the water with a
little tin dipper, for it was not deep enough to let a pail be used for
that. The pails were filled in silence, only the spring always was
singing; and the woman and the girl turned and went up the path again.
After getting up the bank, which was only a few feet, the path still
went gently rising through a wild bit of ground, full of trees and low
bushes; and not far off, through the trees, there came a gleam of bright
light from the window of a house, on which the setting sun was shining.
Half way to the house the girl and the woman stopped to rest; for water
is heavy, and the tin pail which was so light before it was filled, had
made the little girl's figure bend over to one side like a willow branch
all the way from the spring. They stopped to rest, and even the woman
had a very weary, jaded look.
"I feel as if I shall give up, some of these days," she exclaimed.
"O no, mother!" the little girl answered, cheerfully. She was panting,
with her hand on her side, and her face had a quiet, very sober look;
only at those words a little pleasant smile broke over it.
"I shall," said the woman. "One can't stand everything,--for ever."
The little girl had not got over panting yet, but standing there she
struck up the sweet air and words,--
"'There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for the weary,
There is rest for you.'"
"Yes, in the grave!" said the woman, bitterly. "There's no rest short of
that,--for mind or body."
"O yes, mother dear. 'For we which have believed do enter into rest.'
Jesus don't make us wait."
"I believe you eat the Bible and sleep on the Bible," said the woman,
with a faint smile, taking at the same time a corner of her apron to
wipe away a stray tear which had gathered in her eye. "I am glad it
rests you, Nettie."
"And you, mother."
"Sometimes," Mrs. Mathieson answered, with a sigh. "But there's your
father going to bring home a boarder, Nettie."
"A boarder, mother!--What for?"
"Heaven knows!--if it isn't to break my back, and my heart together. I
thought I had enough to manage before, but here's this man coming, and
I've got to get everything ready for him by to-morrow night."
"Who is it, mother?"
"It's one of your father's friends; so it's no good," said Mrs.
Mathieson.
"But where can he sleep?" Nettie asked, after a moment of thinking. Her
mother paused.
"There's no room but yours he can have. Barry wont be moved."
"Where shall I sleep, mother?"
"There's no place but up in the attic. I'll see what I can do to fit up
a corner for you--if I ever can get time," said Mrs. Mathieson, taking
up her pail. Nettie followed her example, and certainly did not smile
again till they reached the house. They went round to the front door,
because the back door belonged to another family. At the door, as they
set down their pails again before mounting the stairs, Nettie smiled at
her mother very placidly, and said--
"Don't you go to fit up the attic, mother; I'll see to it in time. I can
do it just as well."
Mrs. Mathieson made no answer but groaned internally, and they went up
the flight of stairs which led to their part of the house. The ground
floor was occupied by somebody else. A little entry way at the top of
the stairs received the wooden pail of water, and with the tin one
Nettie went into the room used by the family. It was her father and
mother's sleeping-room, their bed standing in one corner. It was the
kitchen apparently, for a small cooking-stove was there, on which Nettie
put the tea-kettle when she had filled it. And it was the common
living-room also; for the next thing she did was to open a cupboard and
take out cups and saucers and arrange them on a leaf table which stood
toward one end of the room. The furniture was wooden and plain; the
woodwork of the windows was unpainted; the cups and plates were of the
commonest kind; and the floor had no covering but two strips of rag
carpeting; nevertheless the whole was tidy and very clean, showing
constant care. Mrs. Mathieson had sunk into a chair, as one who had no
spirit to do anything; and watched her little daughter setting the table
with eyes which seemed not to see her. They gazed inwardly at something
she was thinking of.
"Mother, what is there for supper?"
"There is nothing. I must make some porridge." And Mrs. Mathieson got up
from her chair.
"Sit you still, mother, and I'll make it. I can."
"If both our backs are to be broken," said Mrs. Mathieson, "I'd rather
mine would break first." And she went on with her preparations.
"But you don't like porridge," said Nettie. "You didn't eat anything
last night."
"That's nothing, child. I can bear an empty stomach, if only my brain
wasn't quite so full."
Nettie drew near the stove and looked on, a little sorrowfully.
"I wish you had something you liked, mother! If only I was a little
older, wouldn't it be nice? I could earn something then, and I would
bring you home things that you liked out of my own money."
This was not said sorrowfully, but with a bright gleam as of some
fancied and pleasant possibility. The gleam was so catching, Mrs.
Mathieson turned from her porridge-pot which she was stirring, to give a
very heartfelt kiss to Nettie's lips; then she stirred on, | 1,211.105228 |
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(Images generously made available by the Hathi Trust.)
EMINENT AUTHORS
OF THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY.
_LITERARY PORTRAITS_
BY
Dr. GEORG BRANDES
_TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL BY_
RASMUS B. ANDERSON,
UNITED STATES MINISTER TO DENMARK; AUTHOR OF "NORSE MYTHOLOGY,"
"VIKING TALES OF THE NORTH," "AMERICA NOT DISCOVERED
BY COLUMBUS," AND OTHER WORKS.
NEW YORK:
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO.
1886
[Illustration: Georg Brandes]
NOTE.
This volume is published by special arrangement with the author. At my
request Dr. Georg Brandes has designated me as his American translator
and takes a personal interest in the enterprise.
To Auber Forestier, who kindly aided me in translating the stories of
Björnstjerne Björnson, I have to express my cordial thanks for valuable
assistance in the preparation of this translation.
RASMUS B. ANDERSON.
COPENHAGEN, DENMARK,
July, 1886.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
It is a well-known fact that at the beginning of this century several
prominent Danes endeavored to acquire citizenship in German literature.
Since then the effort has not been repeated by any Danish author. To
say nothing of the political variance between Germany and Denmark,
these examples are far from alluring on the one hand, and on the
other hand they furnish no criterion of the Danish mind. The great
remodeler of the Danish language, Oehlenschläger, placed his works
before the German public in German so wholly lacking in all charm,
that he only gained the rank of a third-class poet in Germany. The
success, however, which lower grades of genius, such as Baggesen and
Steffens, have attained, was the result, in the first case, of a
veritable chameleon-like nature and a talent for language that was
unique of its kind, and in the second, of a complete renunciation of
the mother-tongue.
The author of this volume, who is far from being a chameleon, and who
has by no means given up his native tongue, who stands, indeed, in the
midst of the literary movement which has for some time agitated the
Scandinavian countries, knows very well that a human being can only
wield a powerful influence in the country where he was born, where
he was educated by and for prevailing circumstances. In the present
volume, as in other writings, his design has simply been to write in
the German language for Europe; in other words, to treat his materials
differently than he would have treated them for a purely Scandinavian
public. He owes a heavy debt to the poetry, the philosophy, and the
systematic æsthetics of Germany; but feeling himself called to be
the critic, not the pupil, of the history of German literature, he
cherishes the hope that he may be able to repay at least a small
portion of his debt to Germany.
The nine essays of which this book consists, and of which even those
that have already appeared in periodicals, have been thoroughly
revised, are not to be regarded as "Chips from the Workshop" of a
critic; they are carefully treated literary portraits, united by a
spiritual tie. Men have sat for them, with whom the author, with one
exception (Esaias Tegnér), has been personally acquainted, or of whom
he has at least had a close view. To be sure, the same satisfactory
survey cannot always be taken of a living present as of a completed
past epoch; but perhaps a picture of the present as a whole may be
furnished, the general physiognomy may be arrived at, by characterizing
as faithfully and vividly as possible, some of its typical forms.
The mode of treatment in these essays is greatly diversified. In some
of them the individuality of the author portrayed is represented as
exhaustively as possible; in others, an attempt has simply been made | 1,211.202871 |
2023-11-16 18:37:15.6850720 | 1,694 | 18 |
Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer
BACK HOME
By Eugene Wood
TO
THE SAINTED MEMORY
OF HER WHOM, IN THE DAYS BACK HOME,
I KNEW AS "MY MA MAG"
AND WHO WAS MORE TO ME THAN I CAN TELL, EVEN
IF MY TARDY WORDS COULD REACH HER
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
"That she who is an angel now
Might sometimes think of me"
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE OLD RED SCHOOL-HOUSE
THE SABBATH-SCHOOL
THE REVOLVING YEAR
THE SWIMMING-HOLE
THE FIREMEN'S TOURNAMENT
THE DEVOURING ELEMENT
CIRCUS DAY
THE COUNTY FAIR
CHRISTMAS BACK HOME
INTRODUCTION
GENTLE READER:--Let me make you acquainted with my book, "Back Home."
(Your right hand, Book, your right hand. Pity's sakes! How many times
have I got to tell you that? Chest up and forward, shoulders back and
down, and turn your toes out more.)
It is a little book, Gentle Reader, but please don't let that prejudice
you against it. The General Public, I know, likes to feel heft in its
hand when it buys a book, but I had hoped that you were a peg or two
above the General Public. That mythical being goes on a reading spree
about every so often, and it selects a book which will probably last out
the craving, a book which "it will be impossible to lay down, after it
is once begun, until it is finished." (I quote from the standard book
notice). A few hours later the following dialogue ensues:
"Henry!"
"Yes, dear."
"Aren't you'most done reading?"
"Just as soon as I finish this chapter." A sigh and a long wait.
"Henry!"
"Yes, dear."
"Did you lock the side-door?" No answer.
"Henry! Did you?"
"Did I what?"
"Did you lock the side-door?"
"In a minute now."
"Yes, but did you?"
"M-hm. I guess so."
"'Guess so!' Did you lock that side-door? They got in at Hilliard's
night before last and stole a bag of clothes-pins."
"M."
"Oh, put down that book, and go and lock the side-door. I'll not get a
wink of sleep this blessed night unless you do."
"In a minute now. Just wait till I finish this..."
"Go do it now."
Mr. General Public has a card on his desk that says, "Do it Now," and so
he lays down his book with a patient sigh, and comes back to it with a
patent grouch.
"Oh, so it is," says the voice from the bedroom. "I remember now, I
locked it myself when I put the milk-bottles out.... I'm going to stop
taking of that man unless there's more cream on the top than there has
been here lately."
"M."
"Henry!"
"Oh, what is it?"
"Aren't you'most done reading?"
"In a minute, just as soon as I finish this chapter."
"How long is that chapter, for mercy's sakes?"
"I began another."
"Henry!"
"What?"
"Aren't you coming to bed pretty soon? You know I can't go to sleep when
you are sitting up."
"Oh, hush up for one minute, can't ye? It's a funny thing if I can't
read a little once in a while."
"It's a funny thing if I've got to be broke of my rest this way. As much
as I have to look after. I'd hate to be so selfish.... Henry! Won't you
please put the book down and come to bed?"
"Oh, for goodness sake! Turn over and go to sleep. You make me tired."
Every two or three hours Mrs. General Public wakes up and announces that
she can't get a wink of sleep, not a wink; she wishes he hadn't brought
the plagued old book home; he hasn't the least bit of consideration for
her; please, please, won't he put the book away and come to bed?
He reaches "THE END" at 2:30A.M., turns off the gas, and creeps into
bed, his stomach all upset from smoking so much without eating anything,
his eyes feeling like two burnt holes in a blanket, and wishing that
he had the sense he was born with. He'll have to be up at 6:05, and he
knows how he will feel. He also knows how he will feel along about three
o'clock in the afternoon. Smithers is coming then to close up that deal.
Smithers is as sharp as tacks, as slippery as an eel, and as crooked as
a dog's hind leg. Always looking for the best of it. You need all
your wits when you deal with Smithers. Why didn't he take Mrs. General
Public's advice, and get to bed instead of sitting up fuddling himself
with that fool love-story?
That's how a book should be to be a great popular success, and one
that all the typewriter girls will have on their desks. I am guiltily
conscious that "Back Home" is not up to standard either in avoirdupois
heft or the power to unfit a man for business.
Here's a book. Is it long? No. Is it exciting? No. Any lost diamonds
in it? Nup. Mysterious murders? No. Whopping big fortune, now teetering
this way, and now teetering that, tipping over on the Hero at the last
and smothering him in an avalanche of fifty-dollar bills? No. Does She
get Him? Isn't even that. No "heart interest" at all. What's the use of
putting out good money to make such a book; to have a cover design for
it; to get a man like A. B. Frost to draw illustrations for it, when he
costs so like the mischief, when there's nothing in the book to make a
man sit up till 'way past bedtime? Why print it at all?
You may search me. I suppose it's all right, but if it was my money,
I'll bet I could make a better investment of it. If worst came to worst,
I could do like the fellow in the story who went to the gambling-house
and found it closed up, so he shoved the money under the door and went
away. He'd done his part.
And yet, on the other hand, I can see how some sort of a case can be
made out for this book of mine. I suppose I am wrong-I generally am in
regard to everything--but it seems to me that quite a large part of the
population of this country must be grown-up people. If I am right
in this contention, then this large part of the population is being
unjustly discriminated against. I believe in doing a reasonable amount
for the aid and comfort of the young things that are just beginning to
turn their hair up under, or who rub a stealthy forefinger over their
upper lips to feel the pleasant rasp, but I don't believe in their
monopolizing everything. I don't think it's fair. All the books
printed--except, of course, those containing valuable information; we
don't buy those books, but go to the public library for them--all the
books printed are concerned with the problem of How She can get Him, and
He can get Her.
Well, now. It was either yesterday morning or the day before that you
looked in the glass and beheld there The First Gray Hair. You smiled a
smile that was not all pure pleasure, a smile that petered out into a
sigh | 1,211.705112 |
2023-11-16 18:37:15.7806080 | 99 | 7 |
E-text prepared by 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/opiumeatingauto00phil
OPIUM EATING.
An Autobiographical Sketch.
by
AN HABITUATE.
Philadelphia.
Claxton, Remsen & Haffelfinger | 1,211.800648 |
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Produced by Les Bowler
PENELOPE'S ENGLISH EXPERIENCES
Being extracts from the commonplace book of Penelope Hamilton
by Kate Douglas Wiggin.
To my Boston friend Salemina.
No Anglomaniac, but a true Briton.
Contents.
Part First--In Town.
I. The weekly bill.
II. The powdered footman smiles.
III. Eggs a la coque.
IV. The English sense of humour.
V. A Hyde Park Sunday.
VI. The English Park Lover.
VII. A ducal tea-party.
VIII. Tuppenny travels in London.
IX. A Table of Kindred and Affinity.
X. Apropos of advertisements.
XI. The ball on the opposite side.
XII. Patricia makes her debut.
XIII. A Penelope secret.
XIV. Love and lavender.
Part Second--In the Country.
XV. Penelope dreams.
XVI. The decay of Romance.
XVII. Short stops and long bills.
XVIII. I meet Mrs. Bobby.
XIX. The heart of the artist.
XX. A canticle to Jane.
XXI. I remember, I remember.
XXII. Comfort Cottage.
XXIII. Tea served here.
XXIV. An unlicensed victualler.
XXV. Et ego in Arcadia vixit.
Part First--In Town.
Chapter I. The weekly bill.
Smith's Hotel,
10 Dovermarle Street.
Here we are in London again,--Francesca, Salemina, and I. Salemina is
a philanthropist of the Boston philanthropists limited. I am an artist.
Francesca is-- It is very difficult to label Francesca. She is, at her
present stage of development, just a nice girl; that is about all: the
sense of humanity hasn't dawned upon her yet; she is even unaware that
personal responsibility for the universe has come into vogue, and so she
is happy.
Francesca is short of twenty years old, Salemina short of forty, I short
of thirty. Francesca is in love, Salemina never has been in love, I
never shall be in love. Francesca is rich, Salemina is well-to-do, I am
poor. There we are in a nutshell.
We are not only in London again, but we are again in Smith's private
hotel; one of those deliciously comfortable and ensnaring hostelries in
Mayfair which one enters as a solvent human being, and which one leaves
as a bankrupt, no matter what may be the number of ciphers on one's
letter of credit; since the greater one's apparent supply of wealth,
the greater the demand made upon it. I never stop long in London
without determining to give up my art for a private hotel. There must be
millions in it, but I fear I lack some of the essential qualifications
for success. I never could have the heart, for example, to charge a
struggling young genius eight shillings a week for two candles, and
then eight shillings the next week for the same two candles, which the
struggling young genius, by dint of vigorous economy, had managed to
preserve to a decent height. No, I could never do it, not even if I were
certain that she would squander the sixteen shillings in Bond Street
fripperies instead of laying them up against the rainy day.
It is Salemina who always unsnarls the weekly bill. Francesca spends an
evening or two with it, first of all, because, since she is so young,
we think it good mental-training for her, and not that she ever
accomplishes any results worth mentioning. She begins by making three
columns headed respectively F., S., and P. These initials stand for
Francesca, Salemina, and Penelope, but they resemble the signs for
pounds, shillings, and pence so perilously that they introduce an added
distraction.
She then places in each column the items in which we are all equal, such
as rooms, attendance, fires, and lights. Then come the extras, which are
different for each person: more ale for one, more hot baths for another;
more carriages for one, more lemon squashes for another. Francesca's
column is principally filled with carriages and lemon squashes. You
would fancy her whole time was spent in driving and drinking, if you
judged her merely by this weekly statement at the hotel.
When she has reached the point of dividing the whole bill into three
parts, so that each person may know what is her share, she adds the
three together, expecting, not unnaturally, to get the total amount of
the bill. Not at all. She never comes within thirty shillings of the
desired amount, and she is often three or four guineas to the good or to
the bad. One of her difficulties lies in her inability to remember
that in English money it makes a difference where you place a figure,
whether, in the pound, shilling, or pence column. Having been educated
on the theory that a six is a six the world over, she charged me with
sixty shillings' worth of Apollinaris in one week. I pounced on the
error, and found that she had jotted down each pint in the shilling
instead of in the pence column.
After Francesca had broken ground on the bill in this way, Salemina, on
the next leisure evening, draws a large armchair under the lamp and puts
on her eye-glasses. We perch on either arm, and, after identifying our
own extras, we summon the butler to identify his. There are a good
many that belong to him or to the landlady; of that fact we are always
convinced before he proves to the contrary. We can never see (until he
makes us see) why the breakfasts on the 8th should be four shillings
each because we had strawberries, if on the 8th we find strawberries
charged in the luncheon column and also in the column of desserts and
ices. And then there are the peripatetic lemon squashes. Dawson calls
them'still' lemon squashes because they are made with water, not with
soda or seltzer or vichy, but they are particularly badly named. 'Still'
forsooth! when one of them will leap from place to place, appearing
now in the column of mineral waters and now in the spirits, now in the
suppers, and again in the sundries. We might as well drink Chablis or
Pommery by the time one of these still squashes has ceased wandering,
and charging itself at each station. The force of Dawson's intellect is
such that he makes all this moral turbidity as clear as crystal while
he remains in evidence. His bodily presence has a kind of illuminating
power, and all the errors that we fancy we have found he traces to their
original source, which is always in our suspicious and inexperienced
minds. As he leaves the room he points out some proof of unexampled
magnanimity on the part of the hotel; as, for instance, the fact that
the management has not charged a penny for sending up Miss Monroe's
breakfast trays. Francesca impulsively presses two shillings into his
honest hand and remembers afterwards that only one breakfast was served
in our bedrooms during that particular week, and that it was mine, not
hers.
The Paid Out column is another source of great anxiety. Francesca is a
person who is always buying things unexpectedly and sending them home
C.O.D.; always taking a cab and having it paid at the house; always
sending telegrams and messages by hansom, and notes by the Boots.
I should think, were England on the brink of a war, that the Prime
Minister might expect in his office something of the same hubbub,
uproar, and excitement that Francesca manages to evolve in this private
hotel. Naturally she cannot remember her expenditures, or extravagances,
or complications of movement for a period of seven days; and when she
attacks the Paid Out column she exclaims in a frenzy, 'Just look at
this! On the 11th they say they paid out three shillings in telegrams,
and I was at Maidenhead!' Then because we love her and cannot bear to
see her charming forehead wrinkled, we approach from our respective
corn | 1,211.80509 |
2023-11-16 18:37:15.7860900 | 7,435 | 11 |
E-text prepared by Darleen Dove, Suzanne Shell, and the Project Gutenberg
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Images of the original pages are available through
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CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
[Illustration: "My only kingdom is here... in this dear woman's
arms. Walk with me, Ailsa... as my queen _and_ my wife."]
The International Adventure Library
Three Owls Edition
CLEEK OF SCOTLAND YARD
Detective Stories
by
T. P. Hanshew
Author of "Cleek the Master Detective",
"Cleek's Government Cases" etc.
W. R. Caldwell & Co.
New York
Copyright, 1912, 1913, 1914, by
Doubleday, Page & Company
All rights reserved, including that of
translation into foreign languages,
including the Scandinavian.
Cleek of Scotland Yard
_PROLOGUE_
The Affair of the Man Who Vanished
Mr. Maverick Narkom, Superintendent at Scotland Yard, flung aside
the paper he was reading and wheeled round in his revolving
desk-chair, all alert on the instant, like a terrier that scents a
rat.
He knew well what the coming of the footsteps toward his private
office portended; his messenger was returning at last.
Good! Now he would get at the facts of the matter, and be relieved
from the sneers of carping critics and the pin pricks of overzealous
reporters, who seemed to think that the Yard was to blame, and all
the forces connected with it to be screamed at as incompetents if
every evildoer in London was not instantly brought to book and his
craftiest secrets promptly revealed.
Gad! Let them take on his job, then, if they thought the thing so
easy! Let them have a go at this business of stopping at one's post
until two o'clock in the morning trying to patch up the jumbled
fragments of a puzzle of this sort, if they regarded it as such
child's play--finding an assassin whom nobody had seen and who struck
with a method which neither medical science nor legal acumen could
trace or name. _Then_, by James....
The door opened and closed, and Detective Sergeant Petrie stepped
into the room, removing his hat and standing at attention.
"Well?" rapped out the superintendent, in the sharp staccato of
nervous impatience. "Speak up! It was a false alarm, was it not?"
"No, sir. It's even worse than reported. Quicker and sharper than
any of the others. He's gone, sir."
"Gone? Good God! you don't mean _dead_?"
"Yes, sir. Dead as Julius Caesar. Total collapse about twenty minutes
after my arrival and went off like that"--snapping his fingers and
giving his hand an outward fling. "Same way as the others, only,
as I say, quicker, sir; and with no more trace of what caused it
than the doctors were able to discover in the beginning. That makes
five in the same mysterious way, Superintendent, and not a ghost
of a clue yet. The papers will be ringing with it to-morrow."
"Ringing with it? Can they 'ring' any more than they are doing
already?" Narkom threw up both arms and laughed the thin, mirthless
laughter of utter despair. "Can they say anything worse than they
have said? Blame any more unreasonably than they have blamed? It
is small solace for the overburdened taxpayer to reflect that he
may be done to death at any hour of the night, and that the heads
of the institution he has so long and so consistently supported
are capable of giving his stricken family nothing more in return
than the "Dear me! dear me!" of utter bewilderment; and to prove
anew that the efficiency of our boasted police-detective system
may be classed under the head of "Brilliant Fiction." That sort
of thing, day after day--as if I had done nothing but pile up
failures of this kind since I came into office. No heed of the
past six years' brilliant success. No thought for the manner in which
the police departments of other countries were made to sit up and
to marvel at our methods. Two months' failure and _that_ doesn't
count! By the Lord Harry! I'd give my head to make those newspaper
fellows eat their words--gad, yes!"
"Why don't you, then, sir?" Petrie dropped his voice a tone or
two and looked round over the angle of his shoulder as he spoke;
then, recollecting the time and the improbability of anybody being
within earshot, took heart of grace and spoke up bolder. "There's
no use blinking the fact, Mr. Narkom; it was none of us--none of
the regular force, I mean--that made the record of those years what
it was. That chap Cleek was the man that did it, sir. You know
that as well as I. I don't know whether you've fallen out with
him or not; or if he's off on some secret mission that keeps him
from handling Yard matters these days. But if he isn't, take my
advice, sir, and put him on this case at once."
"Don't talk such rot!" flung out Narkom, impatiently. "Do you think
I'd have waited until now to do it if it could be done? Put him on
the case, indeed! How the devil am I to do it when I don't know
where on earth to find him? He cleared out directly after that
Panther's Paw case six months ago. Gave up his lodgings, sacked
his housekeeper, laid off his assistant, Dollops, and went the
Lord knows where and why."
"My hat! Then that's the reason we never hear any more of him in Yard
matters, is it? I wondered! Disappeared, eh? Well, well! You don't
think he can have gone back to his old lay--back to the wrong 'uns
and his old 'Vanishing Cracksman's' tricks, do you, sir?"
"No, I don't. No backslider about that chap, by James! He's not built
that way. Last time I saw him he was out shopping with Miss Ailsa
Lorne--the girl who redeemed him--and judging from their manner
toward each other, I rather fancied--well, never mind! That's got
nothing to do with you. Besides, I feel sure that if they had, Mrs.
Narkom and I would have been invited. All he said was that he was
going to take a holiday. He didn't say why, and he didn't say where.
I wish to heaven I'd asked him. I could have kicked myself for not
having done so when that she-devil of a Frenchwoman managed to slip
the leash and get off scot free."
"Mean that party we nabbed in the house at Roehampton along with
the Mauravanian baron who got up that Silver Snare fake, don't you,
sir? Margot, the Queen of the Apaches. Or, at least, that's who you
declared she was, I recollect."
"And that's who I still declare she was!" rapped in Narkom, testily,
"and what I'll continue to say while there's a breath left in me.
I never actually saw the woman until that night, it is true, but
Cleek told me she was Margot; and who should know better than
he, when he was once her pal and partner? But it's one of the
infernal drawbacks of British justice that a crook's word's as good
as an officer's if it's not refuted by actual proof. The woman
brought a dozen witnesses to prove that she was a respectable
Austrian lady on a visit to her son in England; that the motor in
which she was riding broke down before that Roehampton house about
an hour before our descent upon it, and that she had merely been
invited to step in and wait while the repairs were being attended
to by her chauffeur. Of course such a chauffeur was forthcoming
when she was brought up before the magistrate; and a garage-keeper
was produced to back up his statement; so that when the Mauravanian
prisoner 'confessed' from the dock that what the lady said was
true, that settled it. _I_ couldn't swear to her identity, and
Cleek, who could, was gone--the Lord knows where; upon which the
magistrate admitted the woman to bail and delivered her over to the
custody of her solicitors pending my efforts to get somebody
over from Paris to identify her. And no sooner is the vixen set at
large than--presto!--away she goes, bag and baggage, out of the
country, and not a man in England has seen hide nor hair of her
since. Gad! if I could but have got word to Cleek at that time--just
to put him on his guard against her. But I couldn't. I've no more
idea than a child where the man went--not one."
"It's pretty safe odds to lay one's head against a brass farthing as
to where the woman went, though, I reckon," said Petrie, stroking
his chin. "Bunked it back to Paris, I expect, sir, and made for her
hole like any other fox. I hear them French 'tecs are as keen to get
hold of her as we were, but she slips 'em like an eel. Can't lay
hands on her, and couldn't swear to her identity if they did. Not one
in a hundred of 'em's ever seen her to be sure of her, I'm told."
"No, not one. Even Cleek himself knows nothing of who and what she
really is. He confessed that to me. Their knowledge of each other
began when they threw in their lot together for the first time, and
ceased when they parted. Yes, I suppose she did go back to Paris,
Petrie--it would be her safest place; and there'd be rich pickings
there for her and her crew just now. The city is _en fete_, you know."
"Yes, sir. King Ulric of Mauravania is there as the guest of the
Republic. Funny time for a king to go visiting another nation, sir,
isn't it, when there's a revolution threatening in his own? Dunno
much about the ways of kings, Superintendent, but if there was a
row coming up in _my_ house, you can bet all you're worth I'd be
mighty sure to stop at home."
"Diplomacy, Petrie, diplomacy! he may be safer where he is. Rumours
are afloat that Prince What's-his-name, son and heir of the late
Queen Karma, is not only still living, but has, during the present
year, secretly visited Mauravania in person. I see by the papers
that that ripping old royalist, Count Irma, is implicated in the
revolutionary movement and that, by the king's orders, he has been
arrested and imprisoned in the Fort of Sulberga on a charge of
sedition. Grand old johnny, that--I hope no harm comes to him. He
was in England not so long ago. Came to consult Cleek about some
business regarding a lost pearl, and I took no end of a fancy to
him. Hope he pulls out all right; but if he doesn't--oh, well, we
can't bother over other people's troubles--we've got enough of
our own just now with these mysterious murders going on, and the
newspapers hammering the Yard day in and day out. Gad! how I wish
I knew how to get hold of Cleek--how I wish I did!"
"Can't you find somebody to put you on the lay, sir? some friend of
his--somebody that's seen him, or maybe heard from him since you
have?"
"Oh, don't talk rubbish!" snapped Narkom, with a short, derisive
laugh. "Friends, indeed! What friends has he outside of myself? Who
knows him any better than I know him--and what do I know of him, at
that? Nothing--not where he comes from; not what his real name may
be; not a living thing but that he chooses to call himself Hamilton
Cleek and to fight in the interest of the law as strenuously as he
once fought against it. And where will I find a man who has'seen'
him, as you suggest--or would know if he had seen him--when he has
that amazing birth gift to fall back upon? _You_ never saw his
real face--never in all your life. _I_ never saw it but twice, and
even I--why, he might pass me in the street a dozen times a day and
I'd never know him if I looked straight into his eyes. He'd come
like a shot if he knew I wanted him--gad, yes! But he doesn't; and
there you are."
Imagination was never one of Petrie's strong points. His mind moved
always along well-prepared grooves to time-honoured ends. It found
one of those grooves and moved along it now.
"Why don't you advertise for him, then?" he suggested. "Put a
Personal in the morning papers, sir. Chap like that's sure to read
the news every day; and it's bound to come to his notice sooner
or later. Or if it doesn't, why, people will get to knowing that the
Yard's lost him and get to talking about it and maybe he'll learn
of it that way."
Narkom looked at him. The suggestion was so bald, so painfully
ordinary and commonplace, that, heretofore, it had never occurred to
him. To associate Cleek's name with the banalities of the everyday
Agony Column; to connect _him_ with the appeals of the scullery
and the methods of the raw amateur! The very outrageousness of the
thing was its best passport to success.
"By James, I believe there's something in that!" he said, abruptly.
"If you get people to talking.... Well, it doesn't matter, so that
he _hears_--so that he finds out I want him. You ring up the _Daily
Mail_ while I'm scratching off an ad. Tell 'em it's simply got to
go in the morning's issue. I'll give it to them over the line myself
in a minute."
He lurched over to his desk, drove a pen into the ink pot, and made
such good haste in marshalling his straggling thoughts that he had
the thing finished before Petrie had got farther than "Yes; Scotland
Yard. Hold the line, please; Superintendent Narkom wants to speak to
you."
The Yard's requests are at all times treated with respect and
courtesy by the controlling forces of the daily press, so it fell
out that, late as the hour was, "space" was accorded, and, in the
morning, half a dozen papers bore this notice prominently displayed:
"CLEEK--Where are you? Urgently needed. Communicate at
once.--_Maverick Narkom._"
The expected came to pass; and the unexpected followed close upon
its heels. The daily press, publishing the full account of the
latest addition to the already long list of mysterious murders which,
for a fortnight past, had been adding nervous terrors to the public
mind, screamed afresh--as Narkom knew that it would--and went
into paroxysms of the Reporters' Disease until the very paper was
yellow with the froth of it. The afternoon editions were still
worse--for, between breakfast and lunch time, yet another man had
fallen victim to the mysterious assassin--and sheets pink and
sheets green, sheets gray and sheets yellow were scattering panic
from one end of London to the other. The police-detective system
of the country was rotten! The Government should interfere--must
interfere! It was a national disgrace that the foremost city of the
civilized world should be terrorized in this appalling fashion and
the author of the outrages remain undetected! Could anything be
more appalling?
It could, and--it was! When night came and the evening papers
were supplanting the afternoon ones, that something "more
appalling"--known hours before to the Yard itself--was glaring out on
every bulletin and every front page in words like these:
LONDON'S REIGN OF TERROR
APPALLING ATROCITY IN
CLARGES STREET
SHOCKING DYNAMITE
OUTRAGE
Clarges Street! The old "magic" street of those "magic" old times of
Cleek, and the Red Limousine, and the Riddles that were unriddled for
the asking! Narkom grabbed the report the instant he heard that name
and began to read it breathlessly.
It was the usual station advice ticked through to headquarters and
deciphered by the operator there, and it ran tersely, thus:
"4:28 P. M. Attempt made by unknown parties to blow up house in
Clarges Street, Piccadilly. Partially successful. Three persons
injured and two killed. No clue to motive. Occupants, family
from Essex. Only moved in two days ago. House been vacant for
months previously. Formerly occupied by retired seafaring man
named Capt. Horatio Burbage, who----"
Narkom read no farther. He flung the paper aside with a sort of
mingled laugh and blub and collapsed into his chair with his eyes
hidden in the crook of an upthrown arm, and the muscles of his mouth
twitching.
"Now I know why he cleared out! Good old Cleek! Bully old Cleek!"
he said to himself; and stopped suddenly, as though something had got
into his throat and half choked him. But after a moment or two he
jumped to his feet and began walking up and down the room, his face
fairly glowing; and if he had put his thoughts into words they would
have run like this:
"Margot's crew, of course. And he must have guessed that something of
the sort would happen _some_ time if he stopped there after that
Silver Snare business at Roehampton--either from her lot or from the
followers of that Mauravanian johnnie who was at the back of it.
They were after him even in that little game, those two. I wonder
why? What the dickens, when one comes to think of it, could have made
the Prime Minister of Mauravania interest himself in an Apache trick
to 'do in' an ex-cracksman? Gad! she flies high, sometimes, that
Margot! Prime Minister of Mauravania! And the fool faced fifteen
years hard to do the thing and let her get off scot free! Faced it
and--took it; and is taking it still, for the sake of helping her
to wipe off an old score against a reformed criminal. Wonder if
Cleek ever crossed _him_ in something? Wonder if he, too, was on the
'crooked side' once, and wanted to make sure of its never being
shown up? Oh, well, he got his medicine. And so, too, will this
unknown murderer who's doing the secret killing in London, now that
this Clarges Street affair is over. Bully old Cleek! Slipped 'em
again! Had their second shot and missed you! Now you'll come out
of hiding, old chap, and we shall have the good old times once more."
His eye fell upon the ever-ready telephone. He stopped short in his
purposeless walking and nodded and smiled to it.
"We'll have you singing your old tune before long, my friend," he
said, optimistically. "I know my man--gad, yes! He'll let no grass
grow under _his_ feet now that this thing's over. I shall hear
soon--yes, by James! I shall."
His optimism was splendidly rewarded. Not, however, from the quarter
nor in the manner he expected. It had but just gone half-past seven
when a tap sounded, the door of his office swung inward, and the
porter stepped into the room.
"Person wanting to speak with you, sir, in private," he announced.
"Says it's about some Personal in the morning paper."
"Send him in--send him in at once!" rapped out Narkom excitedly.
"Move sharp; and don't let anybody else in until I give the word."
Then, as soon as the porter had disappeared, he crossed the room,
twitched the thick curtains over the window, switched on the electric
light, wheeled another big chair up beside his desk and, with face
aglow, jerked open a drawer and got out a cigarette box which had
not seen the light for weeks.
Quick as he was, the door opened and shut again before the lid of
the box could be thrown back, and into the room stepped Cleek's
henchman--Dollops.
"Hullo! You, is it, you blessed young monkey?" said Narkom gayly,
as he looked up and saw the boy. "Knew I'd hear to-day--knew it, by
James! Sent you for me, has he, eh? Is he coming himself or does he
want me to go to him? Speak up, and--Good Lord! what's the matter
with you? What's up? Anything wrong?"
Dollops had turned the colour of an under-baked biscuit and was
looking at him with eyes of absolute despair.
"Sir," he said, moving quickly forward and speaking in the breathless
manner of a spent runner--"Sir, I was a-hopin' it was a fake, and
to hear you speak like that--Gawd's truth, guv'ner, you don't mean
as it's real, sir, do you? That _you_ don't know either?"
"Know? Know what?"
"Where he is--wot's become of him? Mr. Cleek, the guv'ner, sir.
I made sure that you'd know if anybody would. That's wot made me
come, sir. I'd 'a' gone off me bloomin' dot if I hadn't--after you
a-puttin' in that Personal and him never a-turnin' up like he'd
ort. Sir, do you mean to say as you don't know _where_ he is, and
haven't seen him even yet?"
"No, I've not. Good Lord! haven't you?"
"No, sir. I aren't clapped eyes on him since he sent me off to the
bloomin' seaside six months ago. All he told me when we come to part
was that Miss Lorne was goin' out to India on a short visit to Cap'n
and Mrs. 'Awksley--Lady Chepstow as was, sir--and that directly
she was gone he'd be knockin' about for a time on his own, and I
wasn't to worry over him. I haven't seen hide nor hair of him, sir,
since that hour."
"Nor heard from him?" Narkom's voice was thick and the hand he laid
on the chair-back hard shut.
"Oh, yes, sir, I've heard--I'd have gone off my bloomin' dot if I
hadn't done _that_. Heard from him twice. Once when he wrote and
gimme my orders about the new place he's took up the river--four
weeks ago. The second time, last Friday, sir, when he wrote me the
thing that's fetched me here--that's been tearin' the heart out of me
ever since I heard at Charing Cross about wot's happened at Clarges
Street, sir."
"And what was that?"
"Why, sir, he wrote that he'd jist remembered about some papers as
he'd left behind the wainscot in his old den, and that he'd get the
key and drop in at the old Clarges Street house on the way 'ome.
Said he'd arrive in England either yesterday afternoon or this one,
sir; but whichever it was, he'd wire me from Dover before he took
the train. And he never done it, sir--my Gawd! he never done it in
this world!"
"Good God!" Narkom flung out the words in a sort of panic, his lips
twitching, his whole body shaking, his face like the face of a dead
man.
"He never done it, I tell you!" pursued Dollops in an absolute
tremble of fright. "I haven't never had a blessed line; and now
this here awful thing has happened. And if he done what he said
he was a-goin' to do--if he come to town and went to that house----"
If he said more, the clanging of a bell drowned it completely. Narkom
had turned to his desk and was hammering furiously upon the call
gong. A scurry of flying feet came up the outer passage, the door
opened in a flash, and the porter was there. And behind him Lennard,
the chauffeur, who guessed from that excited summons that there
would be a call for _him_.
"The limousine--as quick as you can get her round!" said Narkom in
the sharp staccato of excitement. "To the scene of the explosion in
Clarges Street first, and if the bodies of the victims have been
removed, then to the mortuary without an instant's delay."
He dashed into the inner room, grabbed his hat and coat down from the
hook where they were hanging, and dashed back again like a man in
a panic.
"Come on!" he said, beckoning to Dollops as he flung open the door
and ran out into the passage. "If they've 'done him in'--_him!_--if
they've 'got him' after all----Come on! come on!"
Dollops "came on" with a rush; and two minutes later the red
limousine swung out into the roadway and took the distance between
Scotland Yard and Clarges Street at a mile-a-minute clip.
* * * * *
Arrival at the scene of the disaster elicited the fact that the
remains--literally "remains," since they had been well-nigh blown
to fragments--had, indeed, been removed to the mortuary; so thither
Narkom and Dollops followed them, their fears being in no wise
lightened by learning that the bodies were undeniably those of men.
As the features of both victims were beyond any possibility of
recognition, identification could, of course, be arrived at only
through bodily marks; and Dollops's close association with Cleek
rendered him particularly capable of speaking with authority
regarding those of his master. It was, therefore, a source of
unspeakable delight to both Narkom and himself, when, after close and
minute examination of the remains, he was able to say, positively,
"Sir, whatever's become of him, praise God, neither of these here two
dead men is him, bless his heart!"
"So they didn't get him after all!" supplemented Narkom, laughing
for the first time in hours. "Still, it cannot be doubted that
whoever committed this outrage was after him, since the people
who have suffered are complete strangers to the locality and had
only just moved into the house. No doubt the person or persons who
threw the bomb knew of Cleek's having at one time lived there as
'Captain Burbage'--Margot did, for one--and finding the house still
occupied, and not knowing of his removal--why, there you are."
"Margot!" The name brought back all Dollops' banished fears. He
switched round on the superintendent and laid a nervous clutch on
his sleeve. "And Margot's 'lay' is Paris. Sir, I didn't tell you,
did I, that it was from there the guv'ner wrote those two letters
to me?"
"Cinnamon! From Paris?"
"Yes, sir. He didn't say from wot part of the city nor wot he was
a-doin' there, anyways, but--my hat! listen here, sir. _They're_
there--them Mauravanian johnnies--and the Apaches and Margot there,
too, and you know how both lots has their knife into him. I dunno
wot the Mauravanians is got against him, sir (he never tells
nothin' to nobody, he don't), but most like it's summink he done
to some of 'em that time he went out there about the lost pearl; but
_they're_ after him, and the Apaches is after him, and between the
two!... Guv'ner!"--his voice rose thin and shrill--"guv'ner, if one
lot don't get him, the other may; and--sir--there's Apaches in
London this very night. I know! I've seen 'em."
"Seen them? When? Where?"
"At Charing Cross station, sir, jist before I went to the Yard
to see you. As I hadn't had no telegram from the guv'ner, like I
was promised, I went there on the off chance, hopin' to meet him when
the boat train come in. And there I see 'em, sir, a-loungin' round
the platform where the Dover train goes out at nine to catch the
night boat back to Calais, sir. I spotted 'em on the instant--from
their walk, their way of carryin' of theirselves, their manner of
wearin' of their bloomin' hair. Laughin' among themselves they was
and lookin' round at the entrance every now and then like as they
was expectin' some one to come and join 'em; and I see, too, as
they was a-goin' back to where they come from, 'cause they'd the
return halves of their tickets in their hatbands. One of 'em, he
buys a paper at the bookstall and sees summink in it as tickled
him wonderful, for I see him go up to the others and point it out
to 'em, and then the whole lot begins to larf like blessed hyenas. I
spotted wot the paper was and the place on the page the blighter
was a-pointin' at, so I went and bought one myself to see wot it
was. Sir, it was that there Personal of yours. The minnit I read
that, I makes a dash for a taxi, to go to you at once, sir, and
jist as I does so, a newsboy runs by me with a bill on his chest
tellin' about the explosion; and then, sir, I fair went off me dot."
They were back on the pavement, within sight of the limousine,
when the boy said this. Narkom brought the car to his side with
one excited word, and fairly wrenched open the door.
"To Charing Cross station--as fast as you can streak it!" he said,
excitedly. "The last train for the night boat leaves at nine sharp.
Catch it, if you rack the motor to pieces."
"Crumbs! A minute and a half!" commented Lennard, as he consulted
the clock dial beside him; then, just waiting for Narkom and Dollops
to jump into the vehicle, he brought her head round with a swing,
threw back the clutch, and let her go full tilt.
But even the best of motors cannot accomplish the impossible. The
gates were closed, the signal down, the last train already outside
the station when they reached it, and not even the mandate of the
law might hope to stay it or to call it back.
"Plenty of petrol?" Narkom faced round as he spoke and looked at
Lennard.
"Plenty, sir."
"All right--_beat it!_ The boat sails from Dover at eleven. I've got
to catch it. Understand?"
"Yes, sir. But you could wire down and have her held over till we get
there, Superintendent."
"Not for the world! She must sail on time; I must get aboard without
being noticed--without some persons I'm following having the least
cause for suspicion. Beat that train--do you hear me?--_beat_ it! I
want to get there and get aboard that boat before the others arrive.
Do you want any further incentive than that? If so, here it is for
you: Mr. Cleek's in Paris! Mr. Cleek's in danger!"
"Mr. Cleek? God's truth! Hop in sir, hop in! I'll have you there
ahead of that train if I dash down the Admiralty Pier in flames from
front to rear. Just let me get to the open road, sir, and I'll show
you something to make you sit up."
He did. Once out of the track of all traffic, and with the lights
of the city well at his back, he strapped his goggles tight, jerked
his cap down to his eyebrows, and leaned over the | 1,211.80613 |
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Produced by MFR and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: _Nine Little Tar Heels._]
_Tar Heel Tales_
_By
H. E. C. Bryant_
“_Red Buck_”
_Stone & Barringer Co.
Charlotte, N. C.
1910_
COPYRIGHT, 1909,
BY STONE & BARRINGER CO.
TO JOSEPH PEARSON CALDWELL
MOST OF THESE STORIES YOU HAVE SEEN, SOME YOU HAVE PRAISED, WHILE
OTHERS, NEWLY WRIT, YOU HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO SEE ON ACCOUNT OF YOUR
UNFORTUNATE ILLNESS, BUT, TO YOU, THE PRINCE OF TAR HEELS, I DEDICATE
ALL, IN LOVING REMEMBRANCE OF FIFTEEN YEARS OF INTIMATE ACQUAINTANCE,
FAITHFUL FRIENDSHIP, AND MOST DELIGHTFUL COMPANIONSHIP.
PREFACE
These tales, concerning all sorts and conditions of people, were written
by H. E. C. Bryant, better known as Red Buck. As staff correspondent
of The Charlotte Observer, Mr. Bryant visited every corner of North
Carolina, and in his travels over the state wrote many stories of human
interest, depicting life and character as he found it. His first impulse
to publish his stories in book form resulted from an appreciation of
his work by the lamented Harry Myrover, a very scholarly writer of
Fayetteville, who said:
“I have been struck frequently at how the predominant mental
characteristic sticks out in Mr. Bryant. His sense of humor is as keen as
a razor. He sees a farce while other men are looking at a funeral, and
this exquisite sense of humor is liable to break out at any time--even in
church. One may read after him seriously, as he reports the proceedings
of a big event but toward the last the whole thing is likely to burst
out in an irrepressible guffaw, at some very quaint, funny reflection or
criticism, or an inadversion. All this shows out, too, from the personal
side of the man, making him delightful in talk, and altogether one of the
most entertaining fellows one will meet in many a day’s journey.
“I really think there is more individuality about his writings, than
about those of any other writer of the state. Every page sparkles and
bubbles with the humor of the man, and it is a clean, wholesome humor,
there being nothing in it to wound, but everything to cheer and please.”
These words honestly spoken by Mr. Myrover encouraged Mr. Bryant. Red
Buck’s dialect stories soon obtained a state wide reputation, and as
Mr. J. P. Caldwell, the gifted editor of The Charlotte Observer, truly
said: “His <DW64> dialect stories are equal to those of Joel Chandler
Harris--Uncle Remus.”
His friends will be delighted to know that he has collected some of the
best of his stories, and that they are presented here.
In North Carolina there is no better known man than Red Buck. A letter
addressed to “Red Buck, North Carolina,” would be delivered to H. E.
C. Bryant, at Charlotte. Everybody in the state knows the big hearted,
auburn haired Scotch-Irishman of the Mecklenburg colony, who, on leaving
college went to work on The Charlotte Observer and, on account of his
cardinal locks, rosy complexion and gay and game way, was dubbed “Red
Buck” by the editor, Mr. Caldwell. It was an office name for a time. Then
it became state property, and the name “Bryant” perished.
Red Buck has traveled all over the state of North Carolina and written
human interest stories from every sand-hill and mountain cove. Many Tar
Heels know him by no other name than Red Buck. In fact there is a Red
Buck fad in the state, which has resulted in a Red Buck brand of whiskey,
a Red Buck cigar, a Red Buck mule, a Red Buck pig, and a Red Buck
rooster, although the man for whom they are named drinks not, neither
does he smoke.
This book of Tar Heel tales is from Mr. Bryant’s cleverest work.
THOMAS J. PENCE.
Washington Press Gallery.
December, 1909.
CONTENTS
PAGE
_Uncle Ben’s Last Fox Race_ 1
_Forty Acres and a Mule_ 11
_The Spaniel and the Cops_ 33
_A Hound of the Old Stock_ 43
_Minerva--The Owl_ 58
_Uncle Derrick in Washington_ 68
_And the Signs Failed Not_ 79
_The Irishman’s Game Cock_ 97
_Strange Vision of Arabella_ 112
_A <DW64> and His Friend_ 125
_Faithful Unto Death_ 142
_“Red Buck”: Where I Came By It_ 153
_Until Death Do Us Part_ 168
_Uncle George and the Englishman_ 181
_She Didn’t Like my Yellow Shoes_ 191
_Afraid of the Frowsy Blonde_ 199
_Jan Pier--The Shoeshine_ 206
_William and Appendicitis_ 214
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
_Nine Little Tar Heels_ Frontispiece
_Uncle Ben_ 1
_Aunt Matt_ 11
_Tite, Riding a Democratic Ox_ 27
_Marse Lawrence and Trouble_ 43
_Uncle Derrick at Home_ 68
_Preparing for the Guest_ 79
_Arabella the Day After_ 112
_Jim in a Peaceful Mood_ 125
_William_ 214
[Illustration: _Uncle Ben._]
TAR HEEL TALES
UNCLE BEN’S LAST FOX RACE
“Me an’ Marse Jeems is all uv de ole stock dat’s lef’,” said Uncle Ben,
an ex-slave of the Morrow family, of Providence township.
“Yes, Miss Lizzie, she’s daid, an’ ole Marster, he’s gone to jine her.
It’s des me an’ Marse Jeems, an’ he’s in furrin parts | 1,211.807255 |
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E-text prepared by Thierry Alberto, Rénald Lévesque, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreaders Europe (http | 1,211.809077 |
2023-11-16 18:37:15.9812110 | 6,364 | 53 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE BRIDE OF THE SUN
By Gaston Leroux
1915, McBride, Nabt & Co.
BOOK I--THE GOLDEN SUN BRACELET
I
As the liner steamed into Callao Roads, and long before it had
anchored, it was surrounded by a flotilla of small boats. A moment
later, deck, saloons and cabins were invaded by a host of gesticulating
and strong-minded boatmen, whose badges attested that they were duly
licensed to carry off what passengers and luggage they could. They raged
impotently, however, round Francis Montgomery, F.R.S., who sat enthroned
on a pile of securely locked boxes in which were stored his cherished
manuscripts and books.
It was in vain that they told him it would be two full hours before the
ship came alongside the Darsena dock. Nothing would part him from his
treasures, nothing induce him to allow these half-crazed foreigners to
hurl his precious luggage overside into those frail-looking skiffs.
When this was suggested to him by a tall young man who called him uncle,
the irascible scientist explained with fluency and point that the idea
was an utterly ridiculous one. So Dick Montgomery shrugged his broad
shoulders, and with a “See you presently,” that hardly interrupted his
uncle’s flow of words, beckoned to a boatman.
A moment later he had left the ship’s side and was nearing the
shore--the Eldorado of his young ambition, the land of gold and legends,
the Peru of Pizarro and the Incas. Then the thought of a young girl’s
face blotted out those dreams to make way for new ones.
The monotonous outline of the waterfront brought no disappointment.
Little did he care that the city stretched out there before his eyes was
little more than a narrow, unbeautiful blur along the sea coast, that
there were none of those towers, steeples or minarets with which our
ancient ports beckon out to sea that the traveler is welcome. Even when
his boat had passed the Mole, and they drew level with the modern works
of the Muelle Darsena, well calculated to excite the interest of a
younger engineer, he remained indifferent.
He had asked the boatman where the Calle de Lima lay, and his eyes
hardly left the part of the city which had been pointed out to him in
reply. At the landing stage he threw a hand-full of centavos to his man,
and shouldered his way through the press of guides, interpreters, hotel
touts and other waterside parasites.
Soon he was before the Calle de Lima, a thoroughfare which seemed to be
the boundary line between the old city and the new. Above, to the east,
was the business section--streets broad or narrow fronted with big,
modern buildings that were the homes of English, French, German, Italian
and Spanish firms without number. Below, to the west, a network of
tortuous rows and alleys, full of color, with colonnades and verandahs
encroaching on every available space.
Dick plunged into this labyrinth, shouldered by muscular Chinamen
carrying huge loads, and by lazy Indians. Here and there was to be seen
a sailor leaving or entering one of the many cafés which opened their
doors into the cool bustle of the narrow streets. Though it was his
first visit to Callao, the young man hardly hesitated in his way. Then
he stopped short against a decrepit old wall close to a verandah from
which came the sound of a fresh young voice, young but very assured.
“Just as you like, señor,” it said in Spanish. “But at that price your
fertilizer can only be of an inferior quality.”
For a few minutes the argument went on within. Then there was an
exchange of courteous farewells and a door was closed. Dick approached
the balcony and looked into the room. Seated before an enormous ledger
was a young girl, busily engaged in transcribing figures into a little
note-book attached by a gold chain to the daintiest of waists. Her
face, a strikingly beautiful one, was a little set under its crown of
coal-black hair as she bent over her task. It was not the head of
a languorous Southern belle--rather the curls of Carmen helmeting a
blue-eyed Minerva, a little goddess of reason of today and a thorough
business-woman. At last she lifted her head.
“Maria-Teresa?...”
“Dick!”
The heavy green ledger slipped and crashed to the floor, as she ran
toward him both hands outstretched.
“Well, and how is business?”
“So, so.... And how are you?... But we did not expect you till
to-morrow.”
“We made rather a good passage.”
“And how is May?”
“She’s a very grown-up person now. I suppose you’ve heard? Her second
baby was born just before we left.”
“And dear smoky old London?”
“It was raining hard when last I saw it.”
“But where is your uncle?”
“Still on board. He won’t leave his collection.... Does nothing all
day but take notes for his next book.... Wait a minute, I’ll come in.
Where’s the door? I suppose it would be bad form to climb in through the
window? Won’t I be in the way, though? You seem awfully busy.”
“I am, but you may come in. Round the corner there, and the first door
on your right.”
He followed her indications and found an archway leading into a huge
courtyard crowded with Chinese coolies and Quichua Indians. A huge dray,
coming from the direction of the harbor, rumbled under the archway, and
wheeled in the court to let an empty one pass out. People and things
seemed to unite in making as much dust and noise as possible.
“So she manages all this,” he reflected as he made his way toward a door
at which she had appeared.
“You may kiss me,” she said as she closed the door behind them.
He took her in his arms and held her to him, by far the more troubled of
the two. Again it was she who spoke first.
“So you really have not forgotten?”
“Could you believe it, dear?”
“Well, you were so long in coming.”
“But I wrote, and...”
“Well, never mind now. It is not too late. I have just refused my fourth
suitor, Don Alonso de Cuelar. And father, I think, is furious with me
for refusing the most eligible young man in Lima.... Well, why don’t you
say something?”
“Forgive me, dear.... How is your father? and the kiddies?... I hardly
know what I am saying, I am so glad.”
“Father is very well, and very glad to hear that you were coming. To
tell the truth though, he is far more interested in your uncle’s visit.
He has arranged a meeting at the Geographical Society for him. And
for the past month he has been thinking and talking of nothing but
archaeology. They have been digging up all sorts of things.”
“And so he has been angry with you?”
“He seems to think he has every reason to be. I am twenty-three and he
already sees me an old maid.... It’s awfully funny! Do you know what
they call me in Lima now? The Virgin of the Sun!”
“What does that mean?”
“Aunt Agnes and Aunt Irene will explain better than I can. It’s
something like one of the Vestals--an old Inca legend.”
“H’m, some superstitious rot.... But look here, Maria-Teresa, I’m an
awful coward. Do you think your father...”
“Of course! He’ll do anything I like if he is asked at the right moment
We’ll be married in three months’ time from San Domingo. Truly we will!”
“You dear!... But I’m only a poor devil of an engineer, and he may not
think me much of a son-in-law for the Marquis de la Torre.”
“Nonsense, you’re clever, and I make you a gift of the whole of Peru.
There’s plenty to do there for an engineer.”
“I can hardly believe my luck, Maria-Teresa! That I--I.... But, tell me,
how did it all happen?”
“The old, old way. First you are neighbors, or meet by accident. Then
you are friends... just friends, nothing else.... And then...?”
Their hands joined, and they remained thus for a moment, in silence.
Suddenly, a burst of noise came from the courtyard, and a moment later
a hurried knock announced the entrance of an excited employee. At the
sight of the stranger, he stopped short, but Maria-Teresa told him to
speak. Dick, who both understood and spoke Spanish well, listened.
“The Indians are back from the Islands, señorita. There has been trouble
between them and the Chinamen. One coolie was killed and three were
badly wounded.”
Maria-Teresa showed no outward sign of emotion. Her voice hardened as
she asked:--
“Where did it happen... in the Northern Islands?”
“No, at Chincha.”
“Then Huascar was there?”
“Yes, señorita. He came back with them, and is outside.”
“Send him in to me.”
II
The man went out, signing as he went to a stalwart Indian who walked
quietly into the office. Maria-Teresa, back at her desk, hardly raised
her eyes. The newcomer, who took off his straw sombrero with a sweep
worthy of a hidalgo of Castille, was a Trigullo Indian. These
are perhaps the finest tribe of their race and claim descent from
Manco-Capac, first king of the Incas. A mass of black hair, falling
nearly to his shoulders, framed a profile which might have been copied
from a bronze medallion. His eyes, strangely soft as he looked at the
young girl before him, provoked immediate antagonism from Dick. He was
wrapped in a bright- poncho, and a heavy sheath-knife hung from
his belt.
“Tell me how it happened,” ordered Maria-Teresa without returning the
Indian’s salute.
Under his rigid demeanor, it was evident that he resented this tone
before a stranger. Then he began to speak in Quichua, only to be
interrupted and told to use Spanish. The Indian frowned and glanced
haughtily at the listening engineer.
“I am waiting,” said Maria-Teresa. “So your Indians have killed one of
my coolies?”
“The shameless ones laughed because our Indians fired cohetes in honor
of the first quarter of the moon.”
“I do not pay your Indians to pass their time in setting off fireworks.”
“It was the occasion of the Noble Feast of the Moon.”
“Yes, I know! The moon, and the stars, and the sun, and every Catholic
festival as well! Your Indians do nothing but celebrate. They are lazy,
and drunkards. I have stood them, so far because they were your friends,
and you have always been a good servant, but this is too much.”
“The shameless sons of the West are not your servants. They do not love
you....”
“No, but they work.”
“For nothing... They have no pride.
“They are the sons of dogs.”
“They earn their wages.... Your men, I keep out of charity!”
“Charity!” The Indian stepped back as if struck, and his hand, swung
clear of the poncho, was lifted over his head as if in menace. Then it
dropped and he strode to the door. But before opening it, he turned and
spoke rapidly in Quichua, his eyes flaming. Then, throwing his poncho
oyer his shoulder, he went out.
Maria-Teresa sat silent for a while, toying with her pencil.
“What did he say?” asked Dick.
“That he was going, and that I should never see him again.”
“He looked furious.”
“Oh, he is not dangerous. It is a way they have. He says he did
everything he could to prevent the trouble.... He is a good man himself,
but his gang are hopeless. You have no idea what a nuisance these
Indians are. Proud as Lucifer, and as lazy as drones.... I shall never
employ another one.”
“Wouldn’t that make trouble?”
“It might! But what else can I do? I can’t have all my coolies killed
off like that.”
“And what of Huascar?”
“He will do as he pleases.... He was brought up in the place, and was
devoted to my mother.”
“It must be hard for him to leave.”
“I suppose so.”
“And you wouldn’t do anything to keep him?”
“No.... Goodness, we are forgetting all about your uncle!” She rang,
and a man came in. “Order the motor.... By the way, what are the Indians
doing?”
“They’ve left with Huascar.”
“All of them?”
“Yes, señorita.”
“Without saying a word?”
“Not a word, señorita.”
“Who paid them off?”
“They refused to take any money. Huascar ordered them to.”
“And what of the Island coolies?”
“They have not been near the place.”
“But the dead man... and the wounded?”
“The Chinamen take them back to their own quarters.”
“Funny people.... Tell them to bring the motor round.”
While speaking she had put on a bonnet, and now drew on her gloves.
“I shall drive,” she said to the liveried <DW64> boy who brought round
the car.
As they shot toward the Muelle Darsena, Dick admired the coolness
with which she took the machine through the twisting streets. The boy,
crouching at their feet, was evidently used to the speed, and showed no
terror as they grazed walls and corners.
“Do you do a great deal of motoring out here?”
“No, not very much. The roads are too bad. I always use this to get from
Callao to Lima, and there are one or two runs to the seaside, to places
like Ancon or Carillos--just a minute, Dick.”
She stopped the car, and waved her hand to a curly gray head which had
appeared at a window, between two flower pots. This head reappeared at
a low door, on the shoulders of a gallant old gentleman in sumptuous
uniform. Maria-Teresa jumped out of the motor, exchanged a few sentences
with him, and then rejoined Dick again.
“That was the Chief of Police,” she explained. “I told him about
that affair. There will be no trouble unless the Chinamen take legal
proceedings, which is not likely.”
They reached the steamers’ landing stage in time. The tugs had only just
brought alongside the Pacific Steam Navigation Company’s liner, on board
which Uncle Francis was still taking notes:--“On entering the port of
Callao, one is struck, etc., etc.” He lost precious material by not
being with Maria-Teresa as she enthusiastically described “her harbor”
to Dick.... Sixty millions spent in improvements... 50,000 square
meters of docks.... How she loved it all for its commercial bustle, for
its constant coming and going of ships, for its intense life, and all
it meant--the riches that would flow through it after the opening of the
Panama Canal... the renascence of Peru.... Chili conquered and Santiago
crushed... the defeat of 1878 avenged... and San Francisco yonder had
best look to itself!
Dick, listening to the girl at his side, was amazed to hear her give
figures with as much authority as an engineer, estimate profits as
surely as, a shipowner. What a splendid little brain it was, and how
much better than that imaginative, dreaming type which he deplored both
in men and women, a type exemplified by his uncle with all his chimeric
hypotheses.
“It would all be so splendid,” she added, frowning, “if we only stopped
making fools of ourselves. But we are always doing it.”
“In what way?”
“With our revolutions!”
They were now standing on the quay, while the liner gradually swung in.
“Oh, are they at it here as well? We found one on in Venezuela, and then
another at Guayaquil. The city was under martial law, and some general
or other who had been in power for about forty-eight hours was preparing
to march on Quito and wipe out the government.”
“Yes, it is like an epidemic,” went on the young girl, “an epidemic
which is sweeping the Andes just now. The news from Boloisa is worrying
me, too. Things are bad round Lake Titicaca.”
“Not really! That’s a nuisance... not a cheerful outlook for my business
in the Cuzco.” Dick was evidently put out by the news.
“I had not intended telling you about it until to-morrow. You must not
think of unpleasant things to-day... all that district is in the hands
of Garcia’s men now.”
“Who is Garcia?”
“Oh, one of my old suitors.”
“Has everybody in the country been in love with you, Maria-Teresa?”
“Well, I had the attraction of having been brought up abroad... at the
first presidential ball I went to after mother’s death there was no
getting rid of them.... Garcia was there. And now he has raised the
revolt among the Arequipa and Cuzco Indians.... He wants Vointemilla’s
place as president.”
“I suppose they have sent troops against them?”
“Oh, yes, the two armies are out there... but, of course, they are not
fighting.”
“Why?”
“Because of the festival of the Interaymi.”
“And what on earth is that?”
“The Festival of the Sun.... You see, three quarters, of the troops on
both sides are Indian.... So, of course, they get drunk together during
the fêtes.... In the end, Garcia will be driven over the Boloisan
border, but in the meantime he is playing the very mischief with
fertilizer rates.”
She turned toward the liner again, and, catching sight of Uncle Francis,
raised her hand in reply to the frantic waving of a notebook.
“How are you, Mr. Montgomery?” she cried. “Did you enjoy the crossing?”
The gangways were run out, and they went on board.
Mr. Montgomery’s first question was the same as had been his nephew’s.
“Well, and how is business?”
For all those who knew her in Europe had marveled at the change which
had come over the “little girl” at her mother’s death, and her sudden
determination to return to Peru and herself take charge of the family’s
fertilizer business and concessions. She had also been influenced in
this decision by the fact that there were her little brother and sister,
Isabella and Christobal, who needed her care. And finally there was her
father, perhaps the greatest child of the three, who had always royally
spent the money which his wife’s business brought in.
Maria-Teresa’s mother, the daughter of a big Liverpool shipowner, met
the handsome Marquis de la Torre one summer when he was an attaché at
the Peruvian legation in London. The following winter she went back to
Peru with him. Inheriting a great deal of her father’s business acumen,
she made a great success of a guano concession which her husband had
hitherto left unexploited.
At first the marquis protested vigorously that the wife of Christobal de
la Torre should not work, but when he found that he could draw almost to
any extent on an ever-replenishing exchequer, he forgave her for making
him so wealthy. Yet on his wife’s death did he find it surprising
that Maria-Teresa should have inherited her abilities, and allowed the
daughter to take over all the duties which had been the mother’s.
“And where is your father, my dear?” asked Uncle Francis, still with a
wary eye on his luggage.
“He did not expect to see you until to-morrow. They are going to give
you such a reception! The whole Geographical Society is turning out in
your honor.”
When his luggage had been taken to the station, and he had personally
supervised its registration for Lima, Uncle Francis at last consented
to take a seat in the motor, and Maria-Teresa put on full speed, for she
wished to reach home before the early tropical nightfall.
After passing a line of adobe houses and a few comfortable villas,
they came to a long stretch of marshy ground, overgrown with reeds and
willows, and spotted with clumps of banana trees and tamarisks,
with here and there an eucalyptus or an araucaria pine. The whole
countryside was burnt yellow by the sun, by a drought hardly ever
relieved by a drop of rain, and which makes the campo round Lima and
Callao anything but enchanting. A little further along they passed some
scattered bamboo and adobe huts.
This parched landscape would have been infinitely desolate had it not
been relieved at intervals by the luxuriant growth surrounding some
hacienda--sugar-cane, maize and rice plantations, making a brilliant
green oasis round the white farm buildings. The badly-built clay roads
which crossed the highway were peopled by droves of cattle, heavy carts,
and flocks of sheep which mounted shepherds were bringing back to the
farms. And all this animation formed a strange contrast to the arid
aspect of the surrounding country. In spite of the jolting shaking of
the car over a poorly kept road, Uncle Francis kept taking notes, and
even more notes. Soon, with the lower spurs of the Cordilleras, they saw
on the horizon the spires and domes which make Lima look almost like a
Mussulman city.
They were now running alongside the Rimac, a stream infested by
crayfish. <DW64> fishermen were to be seen every few yards dragging
behind them in the water sacks attached to their belts, and in which
they threw their catch to keep it alive. Turning to comment on them,
Dick noticed Maria-Teresa’s preoccupied air, and asked her the cause.
“It is very strange,” she said, “we have not met a single Indian.”
The motor was almost in Lima now, having reached the famous Ciudad de
los Reyes, the City of Kings founded by the Conquistador. Maria-Teresa,
who loved her Lima, and wished to show it off, made a detour, swerving
from the road and running a short distance along the stony bed of
dried-up Rimac, careless of the risk to her tires.
Certainly the picturesque corner to which she brought them was worth the
detour. The walls of the houses could hardly be seen, overgrown, as it
were, with wooden galleries and balconies. Some of them were for all
the world like finely carved boxes, adorned with a hundred
arabesques--little rooms suspended in mid-air, with mysterious bars and
trellised shutters, and strongly reminiscent of Peru or Bagdad. Only
here it was not rare to see women’s faces half hidden in the shadows,
though in no way hiding. For the ladies of Lima are famed for their
beauty and coquetry. They were to be seen here in the streets, wearing
the manta, that fine black shawl which is wrapped round the head and
shoulders and which no woman in South America uses with so much grace as
the girl of Lima. Like the haik of the Mor, the manta hides all but two
great dark eyes, but its wearer can, when she wishes, throw it aside
just enough to give a sweet glimpse of harmonious features and a
complexion made even more white by the provoking shadow of the veil.
Dick had this amply proved to him, and seemed so interested that
Maria-Teresa began to scold.
“They are far too attractive in those mantas,” she said. “I shall show
you some Europeans now.”
She turned the car up an adjoining street, which brought them to the
new city, to broad roads and avenues opening up splendid vistas of the
distant Andes. They crossed the Paseo Amancaes, which is the heart of
the Mayfair of Lima, and Maria-Teresa several times exchanged bows with
friends and acquaintances. Here the black manta was replaced by Paris
hats overdressed from the rue de la Paix, for its discreet shadow is
too discreet to be correct at nightfall. It was the hour at which all
fashionable Lima was driving or walking, or gossiping in the tearooms,
where one loiters happily over helados in an atmosphere of chiffons,
flirting and politics. When they reached the Plaza Mayor, the first
stars had risen on the horizon. The crowd was dense, and carriages
advanced only at a walking pace. Women dressed as for the ball, with
flowers in their dark curls, passed in open carriages. Young men grouped
round a fountain in the center of the square, raised their hats and
smiled into passing victorias.
“It really is strange,” murmured Maria-Teresa, “not an Indian in sight!”
“Do they generally come to this part of the city, then?”
“Yes, there are always some who come to watch the people come past....”
Standing in front of a café was a group of half-breeds, talking
politics. One could distinctly hear the names of Garcia and Vointemilla,
the president, neither of them treated over gently. One of the group,
evidently a shopkeeper, was moaning his fears of a return to the era of
pronunciamentos.
The car turned at the corner of the cathedral, and entered a rather
narrow street. Seeing the way clear, Maria-Teresa put on speed only to
pull up sharply a second later, just in time to avoid running down a man
wrapped in a poncho, who stood motionless in the middle of the street.
Both young people recognized him.
“Huascar!” exclaimed Maria-Teresa.
“Huascar, señorita, who begs you to take another road.”
“The road is free to all, Huascar. Stand aside.”
“Huascar has nothing more to say to the señorita. To pass, she must pass
over Huascar.”
Dick half rose in his seat, as if to intervene, but Maria-Teresa put a
hand on his sleeve.
“You behave very strangely, Huascar,” she said. “Why are there no
Indians in the town to-day?”
“Huascar’s brethren do as they please, they are free men.”
She shrugged her shoulders, thought a moment, and began to turn the car
round.
Before starting again, however, she spoke to the Indian, who had not
moved.
“Are you always my friend, Huascar?”
For an answer, the Indian slowly raised his sombrero, and looked up to
the early stars, as if calling them to witness. With a brief “Adios!”
Maria-Teresa drove on.
When the motor stopped again, it was before a big house, the door-keeper
of which rushed out to help his young mistress to alight. He was
forestalled, however, by the Marquis de la Torre himself, who had just
driven up, and who greeted the two Montgomerys with delight. “Enter,
señor. This house is yours,” he said grandly to Uncle Francis.
The Marquis was a slim little gentleman of excessive smartness, dressed
almost like a young man. When he moved and he was hardly ever still, he
seemed to radiate brilliancy: from his eyes, his clothes, his jewels.
But for all that, he was never undignified, and kept his grand manner
without losing his vivacity in circumstances when others would have
had to arm themselves with severity. Outside his club and the study of
geographical questions he cared for nothing so much as romping with his
son Christobal, a sturdy youngster of seven. At times one might have
taken them for playmates on a holiday from the same school, filling the
house with their noise, while little Isabella, who was nearly six, and
loved ceremony, scolded them pompously, after the manner of an Infanta.
III
The Marquis de la Torre’s residence was half modern, half historical,
with here and there quaint old-fashioned rooms and corners. Don
Christobal was something of a collector, and had adorned his home with
ancient paneling, carved galleries several centuries old, rude furniture
dating back to before the conquest, faded tapestry--all so many relics
of the various towns of old Peru which his ancestors had first sacked
and then peopled. And each object recalled some anecdote or Story which
the host detailed at length to all willing listeners.
It was in one of these historical corners that Mr. Montgomery and his
nephew were presented to two old ladies--two Velasquez canvases brought
to life, yet striving to retain all their pictorial dignity. Attired
after a fashion long since forgotten, Aunt Agnes and her duenna might
almost have been taken for antiques of Don Christobal’s collection: they
lived altogether in another age, and their happiest moments were those
passed in telling fear-inspiring legends. All the tales of old Peru
had a home in this ancient room of theirs, and many an evening had been
whiled away there by these narratives | 1,212.001251 |
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THE
WILD ELEPHANT.
LONDON
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO.
NEW-STREET SQUARE
[Illustration: AN ELEPHANT CORRAL.]
THE
WILD ELEPHANT
AND
_THE METHOD OF CAPTURING
AND TAMING IT IN
CEYLON_.
BY
SIR J. EMERSON TENNENT, BART.
K.C.S. LL.D. F.R.S. &c.
AUTHOR OF “CEYLON, AN ACCOUNT OF THE ISLAND,
PHYSICAL, HISTORICAL, AND TOPOGRAPHICAL,”
ETC.
LONDON:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1867.
_TO_
MY INTELLIGENT COMPANION
IN MANY OF THE JOURNEYS THROUGHOUT THE MOUNTAINS AND
FORESTS OF CEYLON, IN THE COURSE OF WHICH MUCH
OF THE INFORMATION CONTAINED IN THIS
VOLUME WAS COLLECTED;
_TO_
MAJOR SKINNER,
CHIEF COMMISSIONER OF ROADS AND PUBLIC WORKS,
ETC., ETC.
ONE OF THE MOST EXPERIENCED AND VALUABLE SERVANTS OF
THE CROWN;
IT IS INSCRIBED,
IN THE HOPE THAT IT MAY RECALL TO HIM THE
PLEASANT MEMORIES WHICH IT
AWAKES IN ME.
PREFACE.
In this volume, the chapters descriptive of the structure and habits
of the wild elephant are reprinted for the sixth time from a larger
work,[1] published originally in 1859. Since the appearance of the
First Edition, many corrections and much additional matter have been
supplied to me, chiefly from India and Ceylon, and will be found
embodied in the following pages.
To one of these in particular I feel bound to direct attention. In the
course of a more enlarged essay on the zoology of Ceylon,[2] amongst
other proofs of a geological origin for that island, distinct from
that of the adjacent continent of India, as evidenced by peculiarities
in the flora and fauna of each respectively, I had occasion to advert
to a discovery which had been recently announced by Temminck in
his _Survey of the Dutch possessions in the Indian Archipelago_,[3]
that the elephant which abounds in Sumatra (although unknown in the
adjacent island of Java), and which had theretofore been regarded as
identical in species with the Indian one, has been found to possess
peculiarities, in which it differs as much from the elephant of India
as the latter does from its African congener. On this new species, to
which the natives give the name of “_gadjah_,” TEMMINCK has conferred
the scientific designation of the _Elephas Sumatranus_. The points
which entitle it to this distinction he enumerates minutely in the
work[4] before alluded to, and they have been summarized as follows by
Prince Lucien Bonaparte.
“This species is perfectly intermediate between the Indian and African,
especially in the shape of the skull, and will certainly put an end to
the distinction between _Elephas_ and _Loxodon_, with those who admit
that anatomical genus; since although the crowns of the teeth of _E.
Sumatranus_ are more like the Asiatic animal, still the less numerous
undulated ribbons of enamel are nearly quite as wide as those forming
the lozenges of the African. The number of pairs of false ribs (which
alone vary, the true ones being always six) is fourteen, one less
than in the _Africanus_, _one_ more than in the _Indicus_; and so
it is with the dorsal vertebræ, which are twenty in the _Sumatranus_
(_twenty-one_ and _nineteen_ in the others), whilst the new species
agrees with _Africanus_ in the number of sacral vertebræ (_four_), and
with _Indicus_ in that of the caudal ones, which are _thirty-four_.”[5]
Professor SCHLEGEL of Leyden, in a paper lately submitted by him to
the Royal Academy of Sciences of Holland, (the substance of which he
obligingly communicated to me, through Baron Bentinck the Netherlands
Minister at this Court), confirmed the identity of the Ceylon
elephant with that found in the Lampongs of Sumatra. The osteological
comparison of which TEMMINCK has given the results was, he says,
conducted by himself with access to four skeletons of the latter; and
the more recent opportunity of comparing a living Sumatran elephant
with one from Bengal, served to establish other though minor points
of divergence. The Indian species is more robust and powerful; the
proboscis longer and more slender; and the extremity, (a point in which
the elephant of Sumatra resembles that of Africa,) is more flattened
and provided with coarser and longer hair than that of India.
Professor SCHLEGEL, adverting to the large export of elephants from
Ceylon to the Indian continent, which has been carried on from
time immemorial, suggests the caution with which naturalists, in
investigating this question, should first satisfy themselves whether
the elephants they examine are really natives of the mainland,
or whether they have been brought to it from the islands. “The
extraordinary fact,” he observes in his letter to me, “of the identity
thus established between the elephants of Ceylon and Sumatra, and the
points in which they are found to differ from that of Bengal, leads to
the question whether all the elephants of the Asiatic continent belong
to one single species; or whether these vast regions may not produce in
some quarter as yet unexplored the one hitherto found only in the two
islands referred to? It is highly desirable that naturalists who have
the means and opportunity, should exert themselves to discover, whether
any traces are to be found of the Ceylon elephant in the Dekkan; or of
that of Sumatra in Cochin China or Siam.”
To me the establishment of a fact so conclusively confirmatory of the
theory I had ventured to broach, was productive of great satisfaction.
But in an essay by DR. FALCONER, since published in the _Natural
History Review_ for January 1863, “On the Living and Extinct Species of
Elephants,” he adduces reasons for questioning the accuracy of these
views as to _Elephas Sumatranus_. The idea of a specific distinction
between the elephants of India and Ceylon, Dr. Falconer shows to have
been propounded as far back as 1834, by Mr. B. H. Hodgson, the eminent
ethnologist and explorer of the zoology of Nepal; Dr. Falconer’s own
inspection however of the examples of both as preserved in the Museum
of Leyden, not only did not lead him to accept the later conclusion of
SCHLEGEL and TEMMINCK, but induced him to doubt the correctness of the
statements published by the Prince of Canino, both as to the external
and the osteological characters of the Indian elephant. As to the
former, he declares that the differences between it and the elephant
of Ceylon are so trifling, as not to exceed similar peculiarities
observable between elephants taken in different regions of continental
India, where an experienced mahout will tell at a glance, whether a
newly captured animal was taken in the Sal forests of the North-Western
Provinces, in Assam, in Silhet, Chittagong, Tipperah, or Cuttack. The
osteological distinctions and the odontography, Dr. Falconer contends,
are insufficient to sustain the alleged separateness of species. He
equally discredits the alleged differences regarding the ribs and
dorsal vertebræ, and he concludes that, “on a review of the whole case,
the evidence in every aspect appears to him to fail in showing that the
elephant of Ceylon and Sumatra is of a species distinct from that of
continental India.”[6] He thinks it right, however, to add, that the
subject is one which “should be thoroughly investigated,” as the hasty
assumption that the elephants of Ceylon and Sumatra belong to distinct
species has been put forward to support the conjecture of a geological
formation for the island of Ceylon distinct from that of the mainland
of India; a proposition to which Dr. Falconer is not prepared to accede.
Having ventured to originate the latter theory, and having sustained
it by Schlegel’s authority as regards the elephant of Sumatra, I think
it is incumbent on me to give becoming prominence to the opposite
view entertained by one so eminently entitled to consideration as Dr.
Falconer.
In the course of my observations on the structure and functions of the
elephant, I have ventured an opinion that an animal of such ponderous
and peculiar construction, is formed chiefly for progression by easy
and steady paces, and is too weighty and unwieldy to leap, at least to
any considerable height or distance. But this opinion I felt bound to
advance with reserve, as I had seen in an interesting article in the
_Colombo Observer_ for March 1866, descriptive of a recent corral, the
statement that an infuriated elephant had “fairly leaped a barrier 15
feet high, only carrying away the upper crossbeam with a crash.” (See
p. 40.) Doubtful of some inaccuracy in the measurements, I took the
precaution of writing to Mr. Ferguson, the editor, to solicit further
enquiry. Since the following pages have been printed, | 1,212.007466 |
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[Illustration]
[Illustration: لا لابرار كلّ شي تبر]
"TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE."
(Puris omnia pura)
—_Arab Proverb._
"Niuna corrotta mente intese mai sanamente parole."
—"_Decameron_"—_conclusion_.
"Erubuit, posuitque meum Lucretia librum
Sed coram Bruto. Brute! recede, leget."
—_Martial._
"Mieulx est de ris que de larmes escripre,
Pour ce que rire est le propre des hommes."
—RABELAIS.
"The pleasure we derive from perusing the Thousand-and-One Stories makes
us regret that we possess only a comparatively small part of these truly
enchanting fictions."
—CRICHTON'S "_History of Arabia_."
[Illustration]
_A PLAIN AND LITERAL TRANSLATION OF THE ARABIAN NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS.
NOW ENTITULED_
_THE BOOK OF THE_
=Thousand Nights and a Night=
_WITH INTRODUCTION EXPLANATORY NOTES ON THE
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF MOSLEM MEN AND A
TERMINAL ESSAY UPON THE HISTORY OF THE
NIGHTS_
VOLUME III.
BY
RICHARD F. BURTON
[Illustration]
PRINTED BY THE BURTON CLUB FOR PRIVATE SUBSCRIBERS ONLY
Shammar Edition
Limited to one thousand numbered sets, of which this is
Number _547_
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
Inscribed to the Memory
OF
A FRIEND
WHO
DURING A FRIENDSHIP OF TWENTY-SIX YEARS
EVER SHOWED ME THE MOST
UNWEARIED KINDNESS
Richard Monckton Milnes
Baron Houghton.
CONTENTS OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
PAGE
CONTINUATION OF THE TALE OF KING OMAR BIN AL-NU'UMAN AND HIS
SONS SHARRKAN AND ZAU AL-MAKAN.
_aa._ CONTINUATION OF THE TALE OF AZIZ AND AZIZAH 1
_ab._ CONCLUSION OF THE TALE OF KING OMAR BIN 48
AL-NU'UMAN AND HIS SONS SHARRKAN AND ZAU
AL-MAKAN
_b._ TALE OF THE HASHISH-EATER 91
_c._ TALE OF HAMMAD THE BADAWI 104
1. THE BIRDS AND BEASTS AND THE CARPENTER 114
(_Lane, II. 52-59. The Fable of the Peacock and Peahen, the Duck, the
Young Lion, the Ass, the Horse, the Camel, | 1,212.00841 |
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[Illustration: 01 GLIMPSE OUTSIDE OF MODERN ROME]
ROMAN HOLIDAYS AND OTHERS
By W. D. Howells
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
Copyright, 1908, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
Copyright, 1908, by THE SUN PRINTING AND PUBLISHING ASSOCIATION.
Published October, 1908.
CONTENTS
I. UP AND DOWN MADEIRA
II. TWO UP-TOWN BLOCKS INTO SPAIN
III. ASHORE AT GENOA
IV. NAPLES AND HER JOYFUL NOISE
V. POMPEII REVISITED
VI. ROMAN HOLIDAYS
VII. A WEEK AT LEGHORN
VIII. OVER AT PISA
IX.. BACK AT GENOA
X. EDEN AFTER THE FALL
ROMAN HOLIDAYS AND OTHERS
I. UP AND DOWN MADEIRA.
No drop-curtain, at any theatre I have seen, was ever so richly
imagined, with misty tops and shadowy clefts and frowning cliffs and
gloomy valleys and long, plunging cataracts, as the actual landscape of
Madeira, when we drew nearer and nearer to it, at the close of a tearful
afternoon of mid-January. The scenery of drop-curtains is often very
boldly beautiful, but here Nature, if she had taken a hint from art, had
certainly bettered her instruction. During the waits between acts at the
theatre, while studying the magnificent painting beyond the trouble of
the orchestra, I have been most impressed by the splendid variety which
the artist had got into his picture, where the spacious frame lent
itself to his passion for saying everything; but I remembered his
thronging fancies as meagre and scanty in the presence of the stupendous
reality before me. I have, for instance, not even mentioned the sea,
which swept smoother and smoother in toward the feet of those precipices
and grew more and more trans-lucently purple and yellow and green, while
half a score of cascades shot straight down their fronts in shafts of
snowy foam, and over their pachydermatous shoulders streamed and hung
long reaches of gray vines or mosses. To the view from the sea the
island is all, with its changing capes and promontories and bays and
inlets, one immeasurable mountain; and on the afternoon of our approach
it was bestridden by a steadfast rainbow, of which we could only see one
leg indeed, but that very stout and athletic.
There were breadths of dark woodland aloft on this mountain, and
terraced vineyards lower down; and on the shelving plateaus yet farther
from the heights that lost themselves in the clouds there were scattered
white cottages; on little levels close to the sea there were set white
villas. These, as the ship coquetted with the vagaries of the shore,
thickened more and more, until after rounding a prodigious headland we
found ourselves in face of the charming little city of Funchal: long
horizontal lines of red roofs, ivory and pink and salmon walls, evenly
fenestrated, with an ancient fortress giving the modern look of things a
proper mediaeval touch. Large hotels, with the air of palaces, crowned
the upland vantages; there were bell-towers of churches, and in one
place there was a wide splotch of vivid color from the red of the
densely flowering creeper on the side of some favored house. There was
an acceptable expanse of warm brown near the quay from the withered but
unfailing leaves of a sycamore-shaded promenade, and in the fine
roadstead where we anchored there lay other steamers and a lead-
Portuguese war-ship. I am not a painter, but I think that here are the
materials of a water-color which almost any one else could paint. In the
hands of a scene-painter they would yield a really unrivalled
drop-curtain. I stick to the notion of this because when the beautiful
goes too far, as it certainly does at Madeira, it leaves you not only
sated but vindictive; you wish to mock it.
The afternoon saddened more and more, and one could not take an interest
in the islanders who came out in little cockles and proposed to dive for
shillings and sixpences, though quarters and dimes would do. The
company's tender also came out, and numbers of passengers went ashore in
the mere wantonness of paying for their dinner and a night's lodging in
the annexes of the hotels, which they were told beforehand were full.
The lights began to twinkle from the windows of the town, and the dark
fell upon the insupportable picturesqueness of the prospect, leaving one
to a gayety of trooping and climbing lamps which defined the course of
the streets.
The morning broke in sunshine, and after early breakfast the launches
began to ply again between the ship and the shore and continued till
nearly all the first and second cabin people had been carried off. The
people of the steerage satisfied what longing they had for strange
sights and scenes by thronging to the sides of the steamer until they
gave her a strong list landward, as they easily might, for there were
twenty-five hundred of them. At Madeira there is a local Thomas Cook &
Son of quite another name, but we were not finally sure that the alert
youth on the pier who sold us transportation and provision was really
their agent. However, his tickets served perfectly well at all points,
and he was of such an engaging civility and personal comeliness that I
should not have much minded their failing us here and there. He gave the
first charming-touch of the Latin south whose renewed contact is such a
pleasure to any one knowing it from the past. All Portuguese as Funchal
was, it looked so like a hundred little Italian towns that it seemed to
me as if I must always have driven about them in calico-tented
bullock-carts set on runners, as later I drove about Eunchal.
It was warm enough on the ship, but here in the town we found ourselves
in weather that one could easily have taken for summer, if the
inhabitants had not repeatedly assured us that it was the season of
winter, and that there were no flowers and no fruits. They could not, if
they had wished, have denied the flies; these, in a hotel interior to
which we penetrated, simply swarmed. If it was winter in Funchal it was
no wintrier than early autumn would have been in one of those Italian
towns of other days; it had the same temperament, the same little
tree-planted spaces, the same devious, cobble-paved streets, the same
pleasant stucco houses; the churches had bells of like tone, and if
their facades confessed a Spanish touch they were not more Spanish than
half the churches in Naples. The public ways were of a scrupulous
cleanliness, as if, with so many English signs glaring down at them,
they durst not untidy out-of-doors, though in-doors it was said to be
different with them. There are three thousand English living at Funchal
and everybody speaks English, however slightly. The fresh faces of
English girls met us in the streets and no doubt English invalids
abound.
We shipmates were all going to the station of the funicular railway, but
our tickets did not call for bullock-sleds and so we took a clattering
little horse-car, which climbed with us through up-hill streets and got
us to the station too soon. Within the closed grille there the
handsomest of swarthy, black-eyed, black-mustached station-masters (if
such was his quality) told us that we could not have a train at once,
though we had been advised that any ten of us could any time have a
train, because the cars had all gone up the mountain and none would be
down for twenty minutes. He spoke English and he mitigated by a most
amiable personality sufferings which were perhaps not so great as we
would have liked to think. Some of us wandered off down a pink-and-cream
avenue near by and admired so much the curtains of
red-and-yellow flowers--a cross between honeysuckles and trumpet
blossoms--overhanging a garden-wall that two friendly boys began to
share our interest in them. One of them mounted the other and tore down
handfuls of the flowers, which they bestowed upon us with so little
apparent expectation of reward that we promptly gave them of the
international copper coinage current in Madeira, and went back to the
station doubtless feeling guiltier than they. Had we not been accessory
after the fact to something like theft and, as it was Sunday, to
Sabbath-breaking besides? Afterward flowers proved so abundant in
Madeira in spite of its being winter, that we could not feel the larceny
a serious one, and the Sunday was a Latin Sabbath well used to being
broken. The pony engine which was to push our slanting car over the
cogged track up the mountain arrived with due ceremony of bell and
whistle, and we were let through the grille by the station-master as
politely as if we had been each his considered guest. Then the climb
began through the fields of sugar-cane, terraced vineyards, orchards of
fruit trees, and gardens of vegetables planted under the arbors over
which the grapes were trained. One of us told the others that the
vegetables were sheltered to save them from being scorched by the summer
sun, and that much of the work among them was done by moonlight to save
the laborers from the same fate. I do not know how he had amassed this
knowledge, and I am not sure that I have the right to impart it without
his leave. I myself saw some melons lolling on one of the tiled roofs of
the cottages where they had perhaps been pushed by the energetic forces
of the earth and sky. The grape-vines were quiescent, partly because it
was winter, as everybody said, and partly because the wine culture is no
longer so profitable in the island. It has been found for the moment
that Madeira is bad for the gout, and this discovery of the doctors is
bad for the peasants (already cruelly overtaxed by Portugal), who are
leaving their homes in great numbers and seeking their fortunes in both
of the Americas, as well as the islands of all the seas. It must be a
heartbreak for them to forsake such homes as we saw in the clean white
cottages, with the balconies and terraces.
But there were no signs of depopulation either of old or young. Smiling
mothers and fathers of all ages, in their Sunday leisure and their
Sunday best, watched our ascent as if they had never seen the like
before, and our course was never so swift but we could be easily
overtaken by the children; they embarrassed us with the riches of the
camellias which they fl | 1,212.008596 |
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NINE UNLIKELY TALES
_By_
E. NESBIT
_Illustrated by_
H. R. MILLAR
AND
CLAUDE A. SHEPPERSON
ERNEST BENN LIMITED
LONDON
COWARD-McCANN INC
NEW YORK
IRIDI MEAE
HOC ET COR MEUM
CONTENTS
I THE COCKATOUCAN _page_ 1
II WHEREYOUWANTOGOTO 49
III THE BLUE MOUNTAIN 85
IV THE PRINCE, TWO MICE, AND SOME KITCHEN-MAIDS 129
V MELISANDE: OR LONG AND SHORT DIVISION 159
VI FORTUNATUS REX AND CO 193
VII THE SUMS THAT CAME RIGHT 223
VIII THE TOWN IN THE LIBRARY, IN THE TOWN IN THE LIBRARY 243
IX THE PLUSH USURPER 267
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
_Matilda swung her legs miserably_ _page_ 5
_He waved away the eightpence_ 11
_The top part of Pridmore turned into painted iron
and glass_ 17
_The Princess was like a yard and a half of white tape_ 21
_The King sent his army, and the enemy were crushed_ 31
_The King had turned into a villa residence_ 37
_Four men came wheeling a great red thing on a barrow_ 43
_They bounced through the suburbs_ 59
_The seal was very kind and convenient_ 63
_Suddenly, out of nothing and nowhere, appeared a large,
stern housemaid_ 69
_A long, pointed thing came slowly up out of the sand_ 73
_It is difficult to play when any one is watching you,
especially a policeman_ 79
_The people of Antioch were always in a hurry and
generally angry_ 89
_Off they all went, King, court, and men-at-arms_ 99
_Tony was stamped on by the great seal, who was very
fierce_ 103
_The giant-little-girl_ 107
_Tony among the rocks in the bread-and-milk basin_ 115
_“Everything you say will be used against you” said the
public persecutor_ 121
_He was growing, growing, growing_ 125
_Malevola’s dress was not at all the thing for a
christening_ 135
_There stood up a Prince and a Princess_ 155
_Trains of Princes bringing nasty things in bottles and
round wooden boxes_ 173
_The Princess grew so big that she had to go and sit on
the common_ 181
_The Princess in one scale and her hair in the other_ 189
“_Welcome! Welcome!_” 273
“_Poor benighted, oppressed people, follow me!_” 279
NINE UNLIKELY TALES
_THE COCKATOUCAN_
_OR GREAT AUNT WILLOUGHBY_
MATILDA’S ears were red and shiny. So were her cheeks. Her hands were
red too. This was because Pridmore had washed her. It was not the usual
washing, which makes you clean and comfortable, but the “thorough good
wash,” which makes you burn and smart till you wish you could be like
the poor little savages who do not know anything, and run about bare in
the sun, and only go into the water when they are hot.
Matilda wished she could have been born in a savage tribe instead of at
Brixton.
“Little savages,” she said, “don’t have their ears washed thoroughly,
and they don’t have new dresses that are prickly in the insides round
their arms, and cut them round the neck. Do they, Pridmore?”
But Pridmore only said, “Stuff and nonsense,” and then she said, “don’t
wriggle so, child, for goodness’ sake.”
Pridmore was Matilda’s nursemaid. Matilda sometimes found her trying.
Matilda was quite right in believing that savage children do not
wear frocks that hurt. It is also true that savage children are not
over-washed, over-brushed, over-combed, gloved, booted, and hatted and
taken in an omnibus to Streatham to see their Great-aunt Willoughby.
This was intended to be Matilda’s fate. Her mother had arranged it.
Pridmore had prepared her for it. Matilda, knowing resistance to be
vain, had submitted to it.
But Destiny had not been consulted, and Destiny had plans of its own
for Matilda.
When the last button of Matilda’s boots had been fastened (the
button-hook always had a nasty temper, especially when it was hurried,
and that day it bit a little piece of Matilda’s leg quite spitefully)
the wretched child was taken downstairs and put on a chair in the hall
to wait while Pridmore popped her own things on.
“I shan’t be a minute,” said Pridmore. Matilda knew better. She
seated herself to wait, and swung her legs miserably. She had been
to her Great-aunt Willoughby’s before, and she knew exactly what to
expect. She would be asked about her lessons, and how many marks she
had, and whether she had been a good girl. I can’t think why grown-up
people don’t see how impertinent these questions are. Suppose you were
to answer, “I’m top of my class, Auntie, thank you, and I’m very good.
And now let’s have a little talk about you. Aunt, dear, how much money
have you got, and have you been scolding the servants again, or have
you tried to be good and patient as a properly brought up aunt should
be, eh, dear?”
[Illustration: MATILDA SWUNG HER LEGS MISERABLY.]
Try this method with one of your aunts next time she begins asking you
questions, and write and tell me what she says.
Matilda knew exactly what the Aunt Willoughby’s questions would be,
and she knew how, when they were answered, her aunt would give her a
small biscuit with carraway seeds in it, and then tell her to go with
Pridmore and have her hands and face washed again.
Then she would be sent to walk in the garden—the garden had a gritty
path, and geraniums and calceolarias and lobelias in the beds. You
might not pick anything. There would be minced veal at dinner, with
three-cornered bits of toast round the dish, and a tapioca pudding.
Then the long afternoon with a book, a bound volume of the “Potterer’s
Saturday Night”—nasty small print—and all the stories about children
who died young because they were too good for this world.
Matilda wriggled wretchedly. If she had been a little less
uncomfortable she would have cried, but her new frock was too tight and
prickly to let her forget it for a moment, even in tears.
When Pridmore came down at last, she said, “Fie, for shame! What a
sulky face!”
And Matilda said, “I’m not.”
“Oh, yes you are,” said Pridmore, “you know you are, you don’t
appreciate your blessings.”
“I wish it was your Aunt Willoughby,” said Matilda.
“Nasty, spiteful little thing!” said Pridmore, and she shook Matilda.
Then Matilda tried to slap Pridmore, and the two went down the steps
not at all pleased with each other. They went down the dull road to
the dull omnibus, and Matilda was crying a little.
Now Pridmore was a very careful person, though cross, but even the
most careful persons make mistakes sometimes—and she must have taken
the wrong omnibus, or this story could never have happened, and where
should we all have been then? This shows you that even mistakes are
sometimes valuable, so do not be hard on grown-up people if they are
wrong sometimes. You know after all, it hardly ever happens.
It was a very bright green and gold omnibus, and inside the cushions
were green and very soft. Matilda and her nursemaid had it all to
themselves, and Matilda began to feel more comfortable, especially as
she had wriggled till she had burst one of her shoulder-seams and got
more room for herself inside her frock.
So she said, “I’m sorry I was cross, Priddy dear.”
Pridmore said, “So you ought to be.” But she never said _she_ was sorry
for being cross. But you must not expect grown-up people to say that.
It was certainly the wrong omnibus because instead of jolting slowly
along dusty streets, it went quickly and smoothly down a green lane,
with flowers in the hedges, and green trees overhead. Matilda was
so delighted that she sat quite still, a very rare thing with her.
Pridmore was reading a penny story called “The Vengeance of the Lady
Constantia,” so she did not notice anything.
“I don’t care. I shan’t tell her,” said Matilda, “she’d stop the ’bus
as likely as not.”
At last the ’bus stopped of its own accord. Pridmore put her story in
her pocket and began to get out.
“Well, I never!” she said, and got out very quickly and ran round to
where the horses were. They were white horses with green harness, and
their tails were very long indeed.
“Hi, young man!” said Pridmore to the omnibus driver, “you’ve brought
us to the wrong place. This isn’t Streatham Common, this isn’t.”
The driver was the most beautiful omnibus driver you ever saw, and his
clothes were like him in beauty. He had white silk stockings and a
ruffled silk shirt of white, and his coat and breeches were green and
gold. So was the three-cornered hat which he lifted very politely when
Pridmore spoke to him.
[Illustration: HE WAVED AWAY THE EIGHTPENCE.]
“I fear,” he said kindly, “that you must have taken, by some
unfortunate misunderstanding, the wrong omnibus.”
“When does the next go back?”
“The omnibus does not go back. It runs from Brixton here once a month,
but it doesn’t go back.”
“But how does it get to Brixton again, to start again, I mean,” asked
Matilda.
“We start a new one every time,” said the driver, raising his
three-cornered hat once more.
“And what becomes of the old ones?” Matilda asked.
“Ah,” said the driver, smiling, “that depends. One never knows
beforehand, things change so nowadays. Good morning. Thank you so much
for your patronage. No, on no account, Madam.”
He waved away the eightpence which Pridmore was trying to offer him for
the fare from Brixton, and drove quickly off.
When they looked round them, no, this was certainly not Streatham
Common. The wrong omnibus had brought them to a strange village—the
neatest, sweetest, reddest, greenest, cleanest, prettiest village in
the world. The houses were grouped round a village green, on which
children in pretty loose frocks or smocks were playing happily.
Not a tight armhole was to be seen, or even imagined in that happy
spot. Matilda swelled herself out and burst three hooks and a bit more
of the shoulder seam.
The shops seemed a little queer, Matilda thought. The names somehow did
not match the things that were to be sold. For instance, where it said
“Elias Groves, Tinsmith,” there were loaves and buns in the window, and
the shop that had “Baker” over the door, was full of perambulators—the
grocer and the wheelwright seemed to have changed names, or shops, or
something—and Miss Skimpling, Dressmaker or Milliner, had her shop
window full of pork and sausage meat.
“What a funny | 1,212.009653 |
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CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
A ROMANCE.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"THE SOUTHWEST," "LAFITTE," "BURTON," &c.
"There's many a one who oft has heard
The name of Robert Kyd,
Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word
Of him, or what he did.
"So, though I never saw the man,
And lived not in his day,
I'll tell you how his guilt began--
To what it led the way."
H. F. Gould.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
NEW-YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF-STREET.
1839.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1838,
By HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.
CAPTAIN KYD;
OR,
THE WIZARD OF THE SEA.
BOOK I.
CONTINUED.
CHAPTER VIII.
"The wind blows fair! the vessel feels
The pressure of the rising breeze,
And swiftest of a thousand keels,
She leaps to the careering seas."
WILLIS.
"Commanding, aiding, animating all,
Where foe appear'd to press, or friend to fall,
Cheers Lara's voice."
_Lara._
Towards noon of the day on which the events related in the last chapter
transpired, a signal was displayed on one of the towers of Castle Cor,
and shortly afterward the yacht, which hitherto had appeared so
lifeless, got under weigh. Like a snowy seabird seeking her nest, she
spread her broad white sails and stood in towards the land, fired a gun,
and hove to within cable's length of the beach. A well-manned boat, with
a crimson awning stretched above the stern-sheets, and gay with the
flags of England and of Bellamont, presently put off from her, and
pulled to the foot of the path that led up to the castle. In a few
minutes afterward a party was seen descending the cliff, consisting of
Lady Bellamont, Grace Fitzgerald, Kate Bellamont and the earl, on the
arm of whom the latter leaned pale and sad, followed by a large number
of attendants, and others who had come to witness the embarcation. On
arriving at the boat, which lay against the rock so that they could
easily step into it, they were received by the commander of the yacht in
person--a bluff, middle-aged seaman, his manners characterized by a
sailor's frankness, united with the ease and courtesy of a well-bred
gentleman.
"How is the wind, Kenard?" asked the earl of the officer, as he came to
the place of embarking; "'tis somewhat light and contrary, methinks, for
our voyage."
"It comes from the south by west, my lord, but we can lay our course
till we clear the cape, when it will be full fair. I trust our cabin
will be honoured with a larger share of loveliness than I had
anticipated," he said, smiling with gallantry as he saw Kate Bellamont
and the countess were of the party.
"So you did not give me the credit for being so _very_ lovely until you
had seen me, Master Kenard," said Grace, wilfully misapplying his words.
"When I look on your face, I assuredly can have no wish that my cabins
should be graced with more beauty than I behold there, fair lady,"
answered the seaman, lifting his cap gallantly.
"A pretty speech to come from the sea," said Grace, laughing.
"Come, fair niece, the winds wait for no one," said the earl, stepping
from the rock upon the cushioned seats of the gig, after having taken a
tender leave of his countess and daughter.
"Adieu, then, sweet cousin!"
"Adieu, dear Grace!"
And, for a moment, the lovely girls lingered in a parting embrace,
kissing again and again each other's cheeks, while their full eyes ran
over. It seemed as if they never would separate!
"Nay, my sweet Grace, will you give all your adieus and affectionate
partings to your cousin?" said the countess, interrupting their
lingering parting.
With another warm embrace, another kiss, and a fresh shower of tears,
Grace released herself from Kate's entwining arms and threw herself into
those of Lady Bellamont. The earl then gently took her hand and led her
into the boat.
The baggage, in the mean while, had been placed in it by the servants
and seamen, and the earl and his niece having taken their seats beneath
the silken canopy and once more interchanged adieus with those on the
rock, the captain bade the men give way in the direction of the yacht,
the yards of which, at the same moment, were manned to receive the noble
party. The boat, urged on its way by eight oars, cut swiftly through the
crested waves, and in a short time after leaving the land was alongside.
The deck of the vessel was within a few feet of the water; and half a
dozen steps, let down by a hinge into the boat, formed a safe and easy
means of getting on board. As Grace, who had not ceased to wave her
handkerchief to the party on shore, placed her foot upon the deck, her
eyes rested, with surprise that nearly broke forth into an exclamation,
on Mark Meredith, who stood close beside her, manning, with other young
sailors, the rope that lifted the stairs. Forgetful of his duty, he
looked with all his soul after her retiring form, as, leaning on her
uncle's arm, she walked aft amid the loud cheers from the crew on the
yards.
"Run away with it!" cried the officer of the gangway to the young seamen
at the fall.
But Mark was deaf to the order, and was nearly thrown down by the rapid
movement of his companions ere he could recover himself.
"So, so, my green un! you must have quicker ears than this if you would
serve King Billy. And what are your eyes doing aft? Tom," he added, to a
seaman who was fitting a tompion to the starboard gun amidships, as
Mark, blushing and confused, retreated from this reproof among the crew,
"is this lad in your mess?"
"Ay, sir," said the man, ceasing his occupation and respectfully lifting
his cap.
"Then teach him that a seaman must look ahead and not astern," said the
officer, dryly.
"Ay, ay, sir," was the equally dry response.
"Lay in, lay in, off the yards!" now shouted the lieutenant; "all hands
make sail!"
The boatswain's whistle rung sharp and clear as it repeated the call to
the deck; and in an instant the yards, save two or three men left on
each to assist in loosening the canvass, were deserted, and the sailors
descended with activity to the deck.
The yards were now swung round to the wind, and every light sail was
spread to woo the gentle breeze that came off shore. Yielding to its
influence, with a ripple about her prow as she began to cleave the water
and a slight inclination towards the direction opposite from the wind,
the graceful yacht slid smoothly over the sea, with a rapid yet scarcely
perceptible motion.
Grace stood beneath the awning that covered the quarter-deck, and, as
they glided down the bay, watched the shore, which seemed to move past
like a revolving panorama. Castle Cor, with its lordly towers, rose to
the eye lone and commanding for many a league; and she could fancy, long
after the flag that fluttered on its topmost tower was no longer to be
seen, that she could discern the white kerchief of her cousin waving to
her from the cliff. As the vessel continued to gain an offing, the
battlements of Castle More, far inland, became visible; and as her eyes
wandered from the cliff to these towers, her thoughts ran rapidly over
the scenes in which Lester, the preceding day, had been an actor; and
she wondered as she thought. Had she known all--had Kate made her her
confidant after her interview with the sorceress, she would have had
food for wonder indeed!
Gradually the scenes with which she was familiar faded from her view.
The towers of Castle Cor and the far-distant battlements of Castle More
sunk beneath the horizon, and she found herself, on turning, after
taking a long, last, lingering look at these dear objects, to the scenes
about her, that the vessel was moving before a steady breeze past the
outermost rocky headland of the bay, and boldly entering the open sea.
The sun was shining redly in the west, his broad, flaming disk on a
level with the ocean, the top of every leaping wave of which he touched
with fire: a dark cloud hung just above it, with lurid edges; and the
whole aspect of the heavens was to her eye angry and menacing, and
betokened a tempest. The yacht cut her way swiftly through the water, as
if, so it seemed to her imagination, flying from the approaching storm,
with every sail flung broad to the breeze, which, after the course was
changed to the east on doubling the headland, blew directly aft. She
cast her eyes along the decks, and saw that the most perfect quiet and
order reigned throughout, and that every seaman was employed in some
occupation of his craft, or stationed at his post ready to obey the
orders of his officer. Now and then an old sailor would cast his eyes to
windward, look a moment at the sun, then lift them to the sails, and,
with an approving glance, again pursue his momentarily interrupted task.
This trained coolness of men accustomed to meet the dangers of the deep,
but whose very feelings were subdued and regulated by the stern
discipline of their profession, reassured her; and when she saw the
captain of the yacht carelessly lounging over the quarter-rail, chatting
with his first lieutenant, and her uncle lying at his length on one of
the luxurious couches calmly reading a book, all her fears vanished, and
she watched the descent of the sun, which resembled a vast round shield
of dead gold, into the sea, with a pleasure unalloyed by apprehension.
Slowly and majestically it descended till half its orb was beneath the
sea, which now no longer reflected fire, but grew black as ink up to its
blood-red face. All at once it appeared as if dark lines had been drawn
across its disk, as though traced by a pencil.
"Look!" she involuntarily exclaimed, pointing towards it; "see those
lines on the sun."
The earl threw aside his book and sprung to his feet, so sudden and
energetic was her exclamation. The captain and his officer both started,
and also looked in the direction indicated by her finger.
"What?" cried the former, after looking an instant, "lines on the sun?
_Ropes_, lady! By the rood, 'tis a ship!" he exclaimed.
The upper portion of the luminary was yet above the horizon, and the
practised eye of the seaman detected in the delicate tracery, that had
struck and pleased the eye of Grace, the outlines of a distant vessel
lying under bare poles. He looked a little longer, and distinctly saw
her hull rise on the swell in bold, black relief against the sun.
"My glass!" he hastily demanded.
It was placed in his hand by an under officer, when, directing it
towards the object, he looked steadily for an instant, and then, turning
to his noble passenger, gave him the spyglass, saying,
"Tis a pirate, my lord! Doubtless the same I have been advised to look
out for, as having been seen in these seas."
"What cause have you to suspect it?" asked the earl, surveying the
stranger through the telescope.
"His wish to avoid observation; his lowering his sails; his peculiar
rig--three straight sticks for masts--and the knowledge that they swarm
in these waters," was the confident reply.
"They have disappeared!" exclaimed Grace, as the upper rim of the sun
sunk beneath the watery waste, leaving all the sky cold and cheerless.
"He is still there, maiden," said the captain, "but has no longer a
bright background to show his spars on. If he is trying to hide from us,
he has made no calculation for the sun, and has been raw enough to run
directly in its wake; but doubtless he dropped sail just where he was
the instant he discovered us."
"From fear, captain?"
"No, my lord," was the reply, in a voice lowered so as not to reach the
ears of Grace. "These fellows are night-birds. His object is to hide
himself till dark, and then--no doubt taking us for a merchant
coaster--pop down upon us, under cover of the darkness, when he is least
expected. But we have him our own way now, thanks to the kindly sun and
our fair young lady here."
"Can you cope with him, should he come down upon you under cover of the
night?" asked the nobleman.
"I shall not run from him, my lord. I have eight bulldogs here that can
growl and bite as well as e'er a mastiff in his majesty's service: and
from the size of his sticks, and his light rig, he carries not so many.
But, more or less, he lies to windward of us, and so has the advantage;
and, if he can outsail us with a flowing sheet, will, if such be his
pleasure, be down upon us ere the middle watch is called. Besides, there
is a cap full of wind gathering in that quarter, which will help him
along if his humour takes him this way."
"Is there a probability that we shall be pursued, Kenard?" asked the
nobleman, with seriousness, glancing anxiously towards Grace, who was
watching, with a childish pleasure, the black waves as they leaped up to
the stern, broke in glaring white heads, and fell in crystal showers
back into the sea again.
"There is, my lord," was the quiet answer.
"It is my desire, then, that you use your best efforts to escape."
"My lord!" exclaimed the hardy seaman, in a tone of disappointment, yet
emphasizing the words as if he had not heard aright.
"Exert all your skill and seamanship to avoid a meeting with this
bucanier, if such he be," repeated the earl, who perfectly comprehended
him. "Those who are unfitted to encounter danger should not be
thoughtlessly exposed to it," he added, looking towards his niece.
"There is one here, whom you see, that cannot profit by your success,
yet will suffer everything by your defeat. Were I alone, my brave
captain, I would give you the weight of my blade in this matter. As it
is, we must fly."
"We will but let him come within reach of my barkers, my lord, and wake
him up with a couple of broadsides, and be off again before he knows
what has hurt him."
"I must be obeyed, Kenard," said the earl, decidedly, turning away and
joining his niece.
"That Dick Kenard should ever run away from a bucanier," said the
seaman, grumblingly, to himself, as he took up his trumpet to give
orders, "and without showing him his teeth, is a disgrace both to
himself and his majesty's navy. Bluff King Billy himself, were he on
board, would be the first to stand by me for a hard brush. This comes of
leaving my snug little clipper, the Roebuck, and taking command of this
gingerbread yacht, fit only for boarding-school girls to sail about in
on a park-lake. Howel," he said, to his lieutenant, in no very
good-humoured tones, "have all sail made on this penny whistle; stretch
out every rag she's got; make every thread tell. Set stun'sails both
sides alow and aloft. See to it!"
For a few moments the yacht was a scene of apparent confusion, but
really of the most perfect order. Commands were given and repeated, and
instantly obeyed. Additional sails rose on either side of those before
standing, as if by magic. Men moved quickly in all directions, yet each
obedient to his own officer, and each engaged in obeying a particular
order, as if but one had been given, and he the only one to execute it.
The masts were soon white with broad fields of canvass, stretching far
out on either side of the vessel; and the increased ripple around the
bow, and the gurgle heard about the rudder, indicated that she felt the
new impulse, and was moving with increased velocity.
The captain, who had, in the mean while, walked the deck with a moody
pace, looked up as the bustle made in increasing sail ceased.
"She is under all she will bear, sir!" said the lieutenant, approaching
him.
"What way has she?"
"Five knots."
"'Tis her canvass presses her along then," said the captain, looking
aloft with a gratified eye, "for there is scarce wind to float a
feather."
"She moves wing and wing, like a duck," said the officer, in reply; "for
I've sailed in her many a cruise before you took command of her, sir,
and know what she'll do; but, with the wind a point or two forward the
beam, a spar would work better and gain more headway than she will."
"Pray Heaven the wind soon chop round ahead, then," said the captain,
with energy; "I would not lose the chance of a brush with this
three-masted rigger for a post-captaincy. Keep good lookout astern, and
watch everything like a change in the wind: report if you see anything
moving between the sea and sky, he added, going to the companion-way.
"And what if I can change the wind for you by bringing her to, a few
points, by degrees," archly suggested the lieutenant, in a low voice, as
he was about to descend into the cabin.
"'Tis a temptation, i'faith, Howel," he said, laughingly; "but wouldst
have me keep a false log? No, no. Not Dick Kenard, for a score of
pirates."
The captain disappeared as he spoke, and the lieutenant, with his
speaking-trumpet beneath his arm, and his right hand thrust into the
breast of his jacket, mechanically paced the deck fore and aft the
starboard guns in the waste, leaving the whole of the quarter-deck to
the earl and his niece.
Twilight was stealing over the sea, and the headland of Cape Clear
looked, through the hazy distance, like a cloud resting on the water.
With her head reclining on her uncle's shoulder, Grace watched in
silence the stars, as one by one they came out of their blue homes and
took their places in the sky; and her fancy amused itself, as she saw
them light up one after another, with the idea that the invisible
angels, which are said to keep watch over the earth, were hanging | 1,212.097577 |
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Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
The Golden Woman
A Story of the Montana Hills
By RIDGWELL CULLUM
AUTHOR OF
"The Way of the Strong," "The Law Breakers,"
"The Trail of the Axe," Etc.
With Frontispiece in Colors
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by Arrangement with GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
Copyright, 1913, by
GEORGE W. JACOBS & COMPANY
Published February, 1916
_All rights reserved_
Printed in U. S. A.
[Illustration: "It's the same book, dear, only a different chapter."]
Contents
I. AUNT MERCY 9
II. OVER THE TELEPHONE 20
III. THE PARIAH 26
IV. TWO MEN OF THE WILDERNESS 39
V. THE STEEPS OF LIFE 54
VI. OUT OF THE STORM 73
VII. A SIMPLE MANHOOD 85
VIII. THE SECRET OF THE HILL 96
IX. GATHERING FOR THE FEAST 106
X. SOLVING THE RIDDLE 110
XI. THE SHADOW OF THE PAST 121
XII. THE GOLDEN WOMAN 133
XIII. THE CALL OF YOUTH 149
XIV. A WHIRLWIND VISIT 158
XV. THE CLAIMS OF DUTY 165
XVI. GOLD AND ALLOY 177
XVII. TWO POINTS OF VIEW 187
XVIII. WHEN LIFE HOLDS NO SHADOWS 204
XIX. A STUDY IN MISCHIEF 217
XX. THE ABILITIES OF MRS. RANSFORD 229
XXI. THE MEETING ON THE TRAIL 240
XXII. A MAN'S SUPPORT 246
XXIII. THE BRIDGING OF YEARS 258
XXIV. BEASLEY PLAYS THE GAME 273
XXV. BUCK LAUGHS AT FATE 286
XXVI. IRONY 301
XXVII. THE WEB OF FATE 313
| 1,212.097651 |
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Produced by Charles Keller and David Widger
THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD
by Howard Pyle
PREFACE
FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER
You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give
yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the
land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent
laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you. Clap to the
leaves and go no farther than this, for I tell you plainly that if you
go farther you will be scandalized by seeing good, sober folks of real
history so frisk and caper in gay colors and motley that you would
not know them but for the names tagged to them. Here is a stout, lusty
fellow with a quick temper, yet none so ill for all that, who goes by
the name of Henry II. Here is a fair, gentle lady before whom all the
others bow and call her Queen Eleanor. Here is a fat rogue of a fellow,
dressed up in rich robes of a clerical kind, that all the good folk call
my Lord Bishop of Hereford. Here is a certain fellow with a sour temper
and a grim look--the worshipful, the Sheriff of Nottingham. And here,
above all, is a great, tall, merry fellow that roams the greenwood and
joins in homely sports, and sits beside the Sheriff at merry feast,
which same beareth the name of the proudest of the Plantagenets--Richard
of the Lion's Heart. Beside these are a whole host of knights, priests,
nobles, burghers, yeomen, pages, ladies, lasses, landlords, beggars,
peddlers, and what not, all living the merriest of merry lives, and all
bound by nothing but a few odd strands of certain old ballads (snipped
and clipped and tied together again in a score of knots) which draw
these jocund fellows here and there, singing as they go.
Here you will find a hundred dull, sober, jogging places, all tricked
out with flowers and what not, till no one would know them in their
fanciful dress. And here is a country bearing a well-known name, wherein
no chill mists press upon our spirits, and no rain falls but what rolls
off our backs like April showers off the backs of sleek drakes; where
flowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where every fellow
hath a merry catch as he travels the roads, and ale and beer and wine
(such as muddle no wits) flow like water in a brook.
This country is not Fairyland. What is it? 'Tis the land of Fancy, and
is of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of it--whisk!--you clap
the leaves of this book together and 'tis gone, and you are ready for
everyday life, with no harm done.
And now I lift the curtain that hangs between here and No-man's-land.
Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I HOW ROBIN HOOD CAME TO BE AN OUTLAW 1
II ROBIN HOOD AND THE TINKER 14
III THE SHOOTING MATCH AT NOTTINGHAM TOWN 27
IV WILL STUTELY RESCUED BY HIS COMPANIONS 38
V ROBIN HOOD TURNS BUTCHER 50
VI LITTLE JOHN GOES TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR 61
VII HOW LITTLE JOHN LIVED AT THE SHERIFF'S 68
VIII LITTLE JOHN AND THE TANNER OF BLYTH 81
IX ROBIN HOOD AND WILL SCARLET 92
X THE ADVENTURE WITH MIDGE, THE MILLER'S SON 102
Xl ROBIN HOOD AND ALLAN A DALE 115
XII ROBIN HOOD SEEKS THE CURTAL FRIAR 129
XIII ROBIN HOOD COMPASSES A MARRIAGE 145
XIV ROBIN HOOD AIDS A SORROWFUL KNIGHT 156
XV HOW SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA PAID HIS DEBTS 172
XVI LITTLE JOHN TURNS BAREFOOT FRIAR 186
XVII ROBIN HOOD TURNS BEGGAR 202
XVIII ROBIN HOOD SHOOTS BEFORE QUEEN ELEANOR 222
XIX THE CHASE OF ROBIN HOOD 243
XX ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBOURNE 262
XXI KING RICHARD COMES TO SHERWOOD FOREST 281
EPILOGUE 300
How Robin Hood Came to Be an Outlaw
IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second
ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest,
near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No
archer ever lived that could speed a gray goose shaft with such skill
and cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore
merry men that roamed with him through the greenwood shades. Right
merrily they dwelled within the depths of Sherwood Forest, suffering
neither care nor want, but passing the time in merry games of archery or
bouts of cudgel play, living upon the King's venison, washed down with
draughts of ale of October brewing.
Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws and dwelled apart
from other men, yet they were beloved by the country people round about,
for no one ever came to jolly Robin for help in time of need and went
away again with an empty fist.
And now I will tell how it came about that Robin Hood fell afoul of the
law.
When Robin was a youth of eighteen, stout of sinew and bold of heart,
the Sheriff of Nottingham proclaimed a shooting match and offered a
prize of a butt of ale to whosoever should shoot the best shaft in
Nottinghamshire. "Now," quoth Robin, "will I go too, for fain would I
draw a string for the bright eyes of my lass and a butt of good October
brewing." So up he got and took his good stout yew bow and a score
or more of broad clothyard arrows, and started off from Locksley Town
through Sherwood Forest to Nottingham.
It was at the dawn of day in the merry Maytime, when hedgerows are green
and flowers bedeck the meadows; daisies pied and yellow cuckoo buds and
fair primroses all along the briery hedges; when apple buds blossom and
sweet birds sing, the lark at dawn of day, the throstle cock and cuckoo;
when lads and lasses look upon each other with sweet thoughts; when busy
housewives spread their linen to bleach upon the bright green grass.
Sweet was the greenwood as he walked along its paths, and bright the
green and rustling leaves, amid which the little birds sang with might
and main: and blithely Robin whistled as he trudged along, thinking of
Maid Marian and her bright eyes, for at such times a youth's thoughts
are wont to turn pleasantly upon the lass that he loves the best.
As thus he walked along with a brisk step and a merry whistle, he came
suddenly upon some foresters seated beneath a great oak tree. Fifteen
there were in all, making themselves merry with feasting and drinking
as they sat around a huge pasty, to which each man helped himself,
thrusting his hands into the pie, and washing down that which they ate
with great horns of ale which they drew all foaming from a barrel that
stood nigh. Each man was clad in Lincoln green, and a fine show they
made, seated upon the sward beneath that fair, spreading tree. Then one
of them, with his mouth full, called out to Robin, "Hulloa, where goest
thou, little lad, with thy one-penny bow and thy farthing shafts?"
Then Robin grew angry, for no stripling likes to be taunted with his
green years.
"Now," quoth he, "my bow and eke mine arrows are as good as shine; and
moreover, I go to the shooting match at Nottingham Town, which same has
been proclaimed by our good Sheriff of Nottinghamshire; there I will
shoot with other stout yeomen, for a prize has been offered of a fine
butt of ale."
Then one who held a horn of ale in his hand said, "Ho! listen to the
lad! Why, boy, thy mother's milk is yet scarce dry upon thy lips, and
yet thou pratest of standing up with good stout men at Nottingham butts,
thou who art scarce able to draw one string of a two-stone bow."
"I'll hold the best of you twenty marks," quoth bold Robin, "that I hit
the clout at threescore rods, by the good help of Our Lady fair."
At this all laughed aloud, and one said, "Well boasted, thou fair
infant, well boasted! And well thou knowest that no target is nigh to
make good thy wager."
And another cried, "He will be taking ale with his milk next."
At this Robin grew right mad. "Hark ye," said he, "yonder, at the
glade's end, I see a herd of deer, even more than threescore rods
distant. I'll hold you twenty marks that, by leave of Our Lady, I cause
the best hart among them to die."
"Now done!" cried he who had spoken first. "And here are twenty marks. I
wager that thou causest no beast to die, with or without the aid of Our
Lady."
Then Robin took his good yew bow in his hand, and placing the tip at
his instep, he strung it right deftly; then he nocked a broad clothyard
arrow and, raising the bow, drew the gray goose feather to his ear; the
next moment the bowstring rang and the arrow sped down the glade as a
sparrowhawk skims in a northern wind. High leaped the noblest hart
of all the herd, only to fall dead, reddening the green path with his
heart's blood.
"Ha!" cried Robin, "how likest thou that shot, good fellow? I wot the
wager were mine, an it were three hundred pounds."
Then all the foresters were filled with rage, and he who had spoken the
first and had lost the wager was more angry than all.
"Nay," cried he, "the wager is none of thine, and get thee gone,
straightway, or, by all the saints of heaven, I'll baste thy sides
until thou wilt ne'er be able to walk again." "Knowest thou not," said
another, "that thou hast killed the King's deer, and, by the laws of
our gracious lord and sovereign King Harry, thine ears should be shaven
close to thy head?"
"Catch him!" cried a third.
"Nay," said a fourth, "let him e'en go because of his tender years."
Never a word said Robin Hood, but he looked at the foresters with a grim
face; then, turning on his heel, strode away from them down the forest
glade. But his heart was bitterly angry, for his blood was hot and
youthful and prone to boil.
Now, well would it have been for him who had first spoken had he left
Robin Hood alone; but his anger was hot, both because the youth had
gotten the better of him and because of the deep draughts of ale that
he had been quaffing. So, of a sudden, without any warning, he sprang to
his feet, and seized upon his bow and fitted it to a shaft. "Ay," cried
he, "and I'll hurry thee anon." And he sent the arrow whistling after
Robin.
It was well for Robin Hood that that same forester's head was spinning
with ale, or else he would never have taken another step. As it was, the
arrow whistled within three inches of his head. Then he turned around
and quickly drew his own bow, and sent an arrow back in return.
"Ye said I was no archer," cried he aloud, "but say so now again!"
The shaft flew straight; the archer fell forward with a cry, and lay on
his face upon the ground, his arrows rattling about him from out of his
quiver, the gray goose shaft wet with his; heart's blood. Then, before
the others could gather their wits about them, Robin Hood was gone into
the depths of the greenwood. Some started after him, but not with much
heart, for each feared to suffer the death of his fellow; so presently
they all came and lifted the dead man up and bore him away to Nottingham
Town.
Meanwhile Robin Hood ran through the greenwood. Gone was all the joy and
brightness from everything, for his heart was sick within him, and it
was borne in upon his soul that he had slain a man.
"Alas!" cried he, "thou hast found me an archer that will make thy wife
to wring! I would that thou hadst ne'er said one word to me, or that
I had never passed thy way, or e'en that my right forefinger had been
stricken off ere that this had happened! In haste I smote, but grieve I
sore at leisure!" And then, even in his trouble, he remembered the old
saw that "What is done is done; and the egg cracked cannot be cured."
And so he came to dwell in the greenwood that was to be his home for
many a year to come, never again to see the happy days with the lads and
lasses of sweet Locksley Town; for he was outlawed, not only because he
had killed a man, but also because he had poached upon the King's deer,
and two hundred pounds were set upon his head, as a reward for whoever
would bring him to the court of the King.
Now the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would bring this
knave Robin Hood to justice, and for two reasons: first, because he
wanted the two hundred pounds, and next, because the forester that Robin
Hood had killed was of kin to him.
But Robin Hood lay hidden in Sherwood Forest for one year, and in that
time there gathered around him many others like himself, cast out from
other folk for this cause and for that. Some had shot deer in hungry
wintertime, when they could get no other food, and had been seen in the
act by the foresters, but had escaped, thus saving their ears; some had
been turned out of their inheritance, that their farms might be added to
the King's lands in Sherwood Forest; some had been despoiled by a great
baron or a rich abbot or a powerful esquire--all, for one cause or
another, had come to Sherwood to escape wrong and oppression.
So, in all that year, fivescore or more good stout yeomen gathered about
Robin Hood, and chose him to be their leader and chief. Then they vowed
that even as they themselves had been despoiled they would despoil their
oppressors, whether baron, abbot, knight, or squire, and that from each
they would take that which had been wrung from the poor by unjust taxes,
or land rents, or in wrongful fines. But to the poor folk they would
give a helping hand in need and trouble, and would return to them that
which had been unjustly taken from them. Besides this, they swore never
to harm a child nor to wrong a woman, be she maid, wife, or widow; so
that, after a while, when the people began to find that no harm was
meant to them, but that money or food came in time of want to many a
poor family, they came to praise Robin and his merry men, and to tell
many tales of him and of his doings in Sherwood Forest, for they felt
him to be one of themselves.
Up rose Robin Hood one merry morn when all the birds were singing
blithely among the leaves, and up rose all his merry men, each fellow
washing his head and hands in the cold brown brook that leaped laughing
from stone to stone. Then said Robin, "For fourteen days have we seen no
sport, so now I will go abroad to seek adventures forthwith. But tarry
ye, my merry men all, here in the greenwood; only see that ye mind well
my call. Three blasts upon the bugle horn I will blow in my hour of
need; then come quickly, for I shall want your aid."
So saying, he strode away through the leafy forest glades until he
had come to the verge of Sherwood. There he wandered for a long time,
through highway and byway, through dingly dell and forest skirts. Now he
met a fair buxom lass in a shady lane, and each gave the other a merry
word and passed their way; now he saw a fair lady upon an ambling pad,
to whom he doffed his cap, and who bowed sedately in return to the
fair youth; now he saw a fat monk on a pannier-laden ass; now a gallant
knight, with spear and shield and armor that flashed brightly in the
sunlight; now a page clad in crimson; and now a stout burgher from good
Nottingham Town, pacing along with serious footsteps; all these sights
he saw, but adventure found he none. At last he took a road by the
forest skirts, a bypath that dipped toward a broad, pebbly stream
spanned by a narrow bridge made of a log of wood. As he drew nigh this
bridge he saw a tall stranger coming from the other side. Thereupon
Robin quickened his pace, as did the stranger likewise, each thinking to
cross first.
"Now stand thou back," quoth Robin, "and let the better man cross
first."
"Nay," answered the stranger, "then stand back shine own self, for the
better man, I wet, am I."
"That will we presently see," quoth Robin, "and meanwhile stand thou
where thou art, or else, by the bright brow of Saint AElfrida, I will
show thee right good Nottingham play with a clothyard shaft betwixt thy
ribs."
"Now," quoth the stranger, "I will tan thy hide till it be as many
colors as a beggar's cloak, if thou darest so much as touch a string of
that same bow that thou holdest in thy hands."
"Thou pratest like an ass," said Robin, "for I could send this shaft
clean through thy proud heart before a curtal friar could say grace over
a roast goose at Michaelmastide."
"And thou pratest like a coward," answered the stranger, "for thou
standest there with a good yew bow to shoot at my heart, while I have
nought in my hand but a plain blackthorn staff wherewith to meet thee."
"Now," quoth Robin, "by the faith of my heart, never have I had a
coward's name in all my life before. I will lay by my trusty bow and
eke my arrows, and if thou darest abide my coming, I will go and cut a
cudgel to test thy manhood withal."
"Ay, marry, that will I abide thy coming, and joyously, too," quoth the
stranger; whereupon he leaned sturdily upon his staff to await Robin.
Then Robin Hood stepped quickly to the coverside and cut a good staff of
ground oak, straight, without new, and six feet in length, and came back
trimming away the tender stems from it, while the stranger waited for
him, leaning upon his staff, and whistling as he gazed round about.
Robin observed him furtively as he trimmed his staff, measuring him from
top to toe from out the corner of his eye, and thought that he had never
seen a lustier or a stouter man. Tall was Robin, but taller was the
stranger by a head and a neck, for he was seven feet in height. Broad
was Robin across the shoulders, but broader was the stranger by twice
the breadth of a palm, while he measured at least an ell around the
waist.
"Nevertheless," said Robin to himself, "I will baste thy hide right
merrily, my good fellow;" then, aloud, "Lo, here is my good staff,
lusty and tough. Now wait my coming, an thou darest, and meet me an thou
fearest not. Then we will fight until one or the other of us tumble into
the stream by dint of blows."
"Marry, that meeteth my whole heart!" cried the stranger, twirling his
staff above his head, betwixt his fingers and thumb, until it whistled
again.
Never did the Knights of Arthur's Round Table meet in a stouter fight
than did these two. In a moment Robin stepped quickly upon the bridge
where the stranger stood; first he made a feint, and then delivered
a blow at the stranger's head that, had it met its mark, would have
tumbled him speedily into the water. But the stranger turned the blow
right deftly and in return gave one as stout, which Robin also turned as
the stranger had done. So they stood, each in his place, neither moving
a finger's-breadth back, for one good hour, and many blows were given
and received by each in that time, till here and there were sore bones
and bumps, yet neither thought of crying "Enough," nor seemed likely to
fall from off the bridge. Now and then they stopped to rest, and each
thought that he never had seen in all his life before such a hand at
quarterstaff. At last Robin gave the stranger a blow upon the ribs that
made his jacket smoke like a damp straw thatch in the sun. So shrewd was
the stroke that the stranger came within a hair's-breadth of falling off
the bridge, but he regained himself right quickly and, by a dexterous
blow, gave Robin a crack on the crown that caused the blood to flow.
Then Robin grew mad with anger and smote with all his might at the
other. But the stranger warded the blow and once again thwacked Robin,
and this time so fairly that he fell heels over head into the water, as
the queen pin falls in a game of bowls.
"And where art thou now, my good lad?" shouted the stranger, roaring
with laughter.
"Oh, in the flood and floating adown with the tide," cried Robin, nor
could he forbear laughing himself at his sorry plight. Then, gaining his
feet, he waded to the bank, the little fish speeding hither and thither,
all frightened at his splashing.
"Give me thy hand," cried he, when he had reached the bank. "I must
needs own thou art a brave and a sturdy soul and, withal, a good stout
stroke with the cudgels. By this and by that, my head hummeth like to a
hive of bees on a hot June day."
Then he clapped his horn to his lips and winded a blast that went
echoing sweetly down the forest paths. "Ay, marry," quoth he again,
"thou art a tall lad, and eke a brave one, for ne'er, I bow, is there a
man betwixt here and Canterbury Town could do the like to me that thou
hast done."
"And thou," quoth the stranger, laughing, "takest thy cudgeling like a
brave heart and a stout yeoman."
But now the distant twigs and branches rustled with the coming of men,
and suddenly a score or two of good stout yeomen, all clad in Lincoln
green, burst from out the covert, with merry Will Stutely at their head.
"Good master," cried Will, "how is this? Truly thou art all wet from
head to foot, and that to the very skin."
"Why, marry," answered jolly Robin, "yon stout fellow hath tumbled me
neck and crop into the water and hath given me a drubbing beside."
"Then shall he not go without a ducking and eke a drubbing himself!"
cried Will Stutely. "Have at him, lads!"
Then Will and a score of yeomen leaped upon the stranger, but though
they sprang quickly they found him ready and felt him strike right and
left with his stout staff, so that, though he went down with press of
numbers, some of them rubbed cracked crowns before he was overcome.
"Nay, forbear!" cried Robin, laughing until his sore sides ached again.
"He is a right good man and true, and no harm shall befall him. Now
hark ye, good youth, wilt thou stay with me and be one of my band? Three
suits of Lincoln green shalt thou have each year, beside forty marks in
fee, and share with us whatsoever good shall befall us. Thou shalt eat
sweet venison and quaff the stoutest ale, and mine own good right-hand
man shalt thou be, for never did I see such a cudgel player in all my
life before. Speak! Wilt thou be one of my good merry men?"
"That know I not," quoth the stranger surlily, for he was angry at being
so tumbled about. "If ye handle yew bow and apple shaft no better than
ye do oaken cudgel, I wot ye are not fit to be called yeomen in my
country; but if there be any man here that can shoot a better shaft than
I, then will I bethink me of joining with you."
"Now by my faith," said Robin, "thou art a right saucy varlet, sirrah;
yet I will stoop to thee as I never stooped to man before. Good Stutely,
cut thou a fair white piece of bark four fingers in breadth, and set it
fourscore yards distant on yonder oak. Now, stranger, hit that fairly
with a gray goose shaft and call thyself an archer."
"Ay, marry, that will I," answered he. "Give me a good stout bow and a
fair broad arrow, and if I hit it not, strip me and beat me blue with
bowstrings."
Then he chose the stoutest bow among them all, next to Robin's own, and
a straight gray goose shaft, well-feathered and smooth, and stepping
to the mark--while all the band, sitting or lying upon the greensward,
watched to see him shoot--he drew the arrow to his cheek and loosed the
shaft right deftly, sending it so straight down the path that it clove
the mark in the very center. "Aha!" cried he, "mend thou that if thou
canst;" while even the yeomen clapped their hands at so fair a shot.
"That is a keen shot indeed," quoth Robin. "Mend it I cannot, but mar it
I may, perhaps."
Then taking up his own good stout bow and nocking an arrow with care, he
shot with his very greatest skill. Straight flew the arrow, and so
true that it lit fairly upon the stranger's shaft and split it into
splinters. Then all the yeomen leaped to their feet and shouted for joy
that their master had shot so well.
"Now by the lusty yew bow of good Saint Withold," cried the stranger,
"that is a shot indeed, and never saw I the like in all my life before!
Now truly will I be thy man henceforth and for aye. Good Adam Bell(1)
was a fair shot, but never shot he so!"
(1) Adam Bell, Clym o' the Clough, and William of Cloudesly
were three noted north-country bowmen whose names have been
celebrated in many ballads of the olden time.
"Then have I gained a right good man this day," quoth jolly Robin. "What
name goest thou by, good fellow?"
"Men call me John Little whence I came," answered the stranger.
Then Will Stutely, who loved a good jest, spoke up. "Nay, fair little
stranger," said he, "I like not thy name and fain would I have it
otherwise. Little art thou indeed, and small of bone and sinew,
therefore shalt thou be christened Little John, and I will be thy
godfather."
Then Robin Hood and all his band laughed aloud until the stranger began
to grow angry.
"An thou make a jest of me," quoth he to Will Stutely, "thou wilt have
sore bones and little pay, and that in short season."
"Nay, good friend," said Robin Hood, "bottle thine anger, for the name
fitteth thee well. Little John shall thou be called henceforth, and
Little John shall it be. So come, my merry men, we will prepare a
christening feast for this fair infant."
So turning their backs upon the stream, they plunged into the forest
once more, through which they traced their steps till they reached the
spot where they dwelled in the depths of the woodland. There had they
built huts of bark and branches of trees, and made couches of sweet
rushes spread over with skins of fallow deer. Here stood a great oak
tree with branches spreading broadly around, beneath which was a seat of
green moss where Robin Hood was wont to sit at feast and at merrymaking
with his stout men about him. Here they found the rest of the band, some
of whom had come in with a brace of fat does. Then they all built great
fires and after a time roasted the does and broached a barrel of humming
ale. Then when the feast was ready they all sat down, but Robin placed
Little John at his right hand, for he was henceforth to be the second in
the band.
Then when the feast was done Will Stutely spoke up. "It is now time, I
ween, to christen our bonny babe, is it not so, merry boys?" And "Aye!
Aye!" cried all, laughing till the woods echoed with their mirth.
"Then seven sponsors shall we have," quoth Will Stutely, and hunting
among all the band, he chose the seven stoutest men of them all.
"Now by Saint Dunstan," cried Little John, springing to his feet, "more
than one of you shall rue it an you lay finger upon me."
But without a word they all ran upon him at once, seizing him by his
legs and arms and holding him tightly in spite of his struggles, and
they bore him forth while all stood around to see the sport. Then one
came forward who had been chosen to play the priest because he had a
bald crown, and in his hand he carried a brimming pot of ale. "Now, who
bringeth this babe?" asked he right soberly.
"That do I," answered Will Stutely.
"And what name callest thou him?"
"Little John call I him."
"Now Little John," quoth the mock priest, "thou hast not lived
heretofore, but only got thee along through the world, but henceforth
thou wilt live indeed. When thou livedst not thou wast called John
Little, but now that thou dost live indeed, Little John shalt thou be
called, so christen I thee." And at these last words he emptied the pot
of ale upon Little John's head.
Then all shouted with laughter as they saw the good brown ale stream
over Little John's beard and trickle from his nose and chin, while his
eyes blinked with the smart of it. At first he was of a mind to be angry
but found he could not, because the others were so merry; so he, too,
laughed with the rest. Then Robin took this sweet, pretty babe, clothed
him all anew from top to toe in Lincoln green, and gave him a good stout
bow, and so made him a member of the merry band.
And thus it was that Robin Hood became outlawed; thus a band of merry
companions gathered about him, and thus he gained his right-hand man,
Little John; and so the prologue ends. And now I will tell how the
Sheriff of Nottingham three times sought to take Robin Hood, and how he
failed each time.
Robin Hood and the Tinker
Now it was told before how two hundred pounds were set upon Robin Hood's
head, and how the Sheriff of Nottingham swore that he himself would
seize Robin, both because he would fain have the two hundred pounds and
because the slain man was a kinsman of his own. Now the Sheriff did not
yet know what a force Robin had about him in Sherwood, but thought that
he might serve a warrant for his arrest as he could upon any other man
that had broken the laws; therefore he offered fourscore golden angels
to anyone who would serve this warrant. But men of Nottingham Town knew
more of Robin Hood and his doings than the Sheriff did, and many laughed
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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[Illustration: Oliver Resents his Step-brother's Interference.]
ADRIFT IN THE CITY
OR
_OLIVER CONRAD'S PLUCKY FIGHT_
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK" SERIES, "TATTERED TOM" SERIES, "LUCK AND PLUCK"
SERIES
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA
CHICAGO TORONTO
COPYRIGHT, 1895,
BY
PORTER & COATES.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. TWO YOUNG ENEMIES, 1
II. OPEN REVOLT, 10
III. THE YOUNG RIVALS, 18
IV. MR. KENYON'S SECRET, 28
V. MR. KENYON'S RESOLVE, 37
VI. MR. KENYON'S CHANGE OF BASE, 46
VII. ROLAND'S DISCOMFITURE, 55
VIII. A DANGEROUS LETTER, 64
IX. OLIVER'S MOTHER, 73
X. THE ROYAL LUNATIC, 82
XI. HOW THE LETTER WAS MAILED, 92
XII. OLIVER'S JOURNEY, 97
XIII. MR. KENYON'S PLANS FOR OLIVER, 102
XIV. A STORE IN THE BOWERY, 111
XV. JOHN'S COURTSHIP, 120
XVI. THE CONSPIRACY, 129
XVII. OLIVER LOSES HIS PLACE, 135
XVIII. OLIVER, THE OUTCAST, 143
XIX. A STRANGE ACQUAINTANCE, 147
XX. A TERRIBLE SITUATION, 156
XXI. ROLAND IS SURPRISED, 165
XXII. OLIVER ADOPTS A NEW GUARDIAN, 175
XXIII. MR. BUNDY IS DISAPPOINTED, AND OLIVER
MEETS SOME FRIENDS, 184
XXIV. ANOTHER CLUE, 193
XXV. MAKING ARRANGEMENTS, 199
XXVI. WHO RUPERT JONES WAS, 203
XXVII. A STARTLING TELEGRAM, 208
XXVIII. OLD NANCY'S HUT, 213
XXIX. DR. FOX IN PURSUIT, 222
XXX. HOW DR. FOX WAS FOOLED, 231
XXXI. MRS. KENYON FINDS FRIENDS, 240
XXXII. MR. DENTON OF CHICAGO, 249
XXXIII. A MIDNIGHT ATTACK, 258
XXXIV. DENTON SEES HIS VICTIMS ESCAPE, 267
XXXV. ON THE TRACK, 274
XXXVI. DENTON IS CHECKMATED, 280
XXXVII. DENTON'S LITTLE ADVENTURE IN THE CARS, 286
XXXVIII. THE MEETING AT LINCOLN PARK, 296
XXXIX. THE COMMON ENEMY, 305
XL. THE THUNDERBOLT FALLS, 314
ADRIFT IN THE CITY;
OR,
OLIVER CONRAD'S PLUCKY FIGHT.
CHAPTER I.
TWO YOUNG ENEMIES.
"Oliver, bring me that ball!" said Roland Kenyon, in a tone of command.
The speaker, a boy of sixteen, stood on the lawn before a handsome
country mansion. He had a bat in his hand, and had sent the ball far
down the street. He was fashionably dressed, and evidently felt himself
a personage of no small consequence.
The boy he addressed, Oliver Conrad, was his junior by a year--not so
tall, but broader and more thick-set, with a frank, manly face, and an
air of independence and self-reliance.
He was returning home from school, and carried two books in his hand.
Oliver was naturally obliging, but there was something he did not like
in the other's imperious tone, and his pride was touched.
"Are you speaking to me?" he demanded quietly.
"Of course I am. Is there any other Oliver about?"
"When you ask a favor, you had better be polite about it."
"Bother politeness! Go after that ball! Do you hear?" exclaimed Roland
angrily.
Oliver eyed him calmly.
"Go for it yourself," he retorted. "I don't intend to run on your
errands."
"You don't?" exclaimed Roland furiously.
"Didn't I speak plainly enough? I meant what I said."
"Go after that ball this instant!" shrieked Roland, stamping his foot;
"or I'll make you!"
"Suppose you make me do it," said Oliver contemptuously, opening the
gate, and entering the yard.
Roland had worked himself into a passion, and this made him reckless of
consequences. He threw the bat in his hand at Oliver, and if the latter
had not dodged quickly it would have seriously injured him. At the same
time Roland rushed impetuously upon the boy who had offended him by his
independence.
To say that Oliver kept calm under this aggravated attack would be
incorrect. His eyes flashed with anger. He threw his books upon the
lawn, and put himself in an instant on guard. A moment, and the two
boys were engaged in a close struggle.
Roland was taller, and this gave him an advantage; but Oliver was the
more sturdy and agile. He clasped Roland around the waist, lifted him
off his feet, and laid him, after a brief resistance, on the lawn.
"You'd better not attack me again!" he said, looking with flushed face
at his fallen foe.
Roland was furious. He sprang to his feet and flung himself upon
Oliver, but with so little discretion that the latter, by a
well-planted blow, immediately felled him to the ground, and, warned
by the second attack, planted his knee on Roland's breast, thus
preventing him from rising.
"Let me up!" shrieked Roland furiously, struggling desperately but
ineffectually.
"Will you let me alone, then?"
"No, I won't!" returned Roland, who in his anger lost sight of prudence.
"Then you may lie there till you promise," said Oliver composedly.
"Get up, you bully!" screamed Roland.
"You are the bully. You attacked me, or I should never have touched
you," said Oliver.
"I'll tell my father," said Roland.
"Tell, if you want to," said Oliver, his lip curling.
"He'll have you well beaten."
"I don't think he will."
"So you defy him, then?"
"No; I defy nobody. But I mean to defend myself from violence."
"What's the matter with you two boys? Oliver, what are you doing?"
The speaker was Mr. Kenyon's gardener, John Bradford, a sensible man
and usually intelligent. Oliver often talked with him, and treated him
respectfully, as he deserved. Roland was foolish enough to look down
upon him because he was a poor man and occupied a subordinate position.
Oliver rose from the ground and let up his adversary.
"We have had a little difficulty, Mr. Bradford," he said. "Roland may
tell you if he likes."
"What is the trouble, Roland?" enquired the gardener.
"None of your business!" answered Roland insolently.
"You are very polite," said the gardener.
"I don't feel called upon to be polite to my father's hired man,"
remarked Roland unpleasantly.
"If he won't answer your question, I will," said Oliver. "Roland
commanded me to run and get his ball, and I didn't choose to do it. He
attacked me, and I defended myself. That is all there is about it."
"No, it isn't all there is about it," said Roland passionately. "You
have insulted me, and you are going to be flogged. You may just make
up your mind to that."
"How have I insulted you?"
"You threw me down."
"Suppose I hadn't. What would have happened to me?"
"I would have whipped you if you hadn't taken me by surprise."
Oliver shrugged his shoulders.
Apparently Roland didn't propose to renew the fight. Oliver watched him
warily, suspecting a sudden attack, but it was not made. Roland turned
toward the house, merely discharging this last shaft at his young
conqueror:
"You'll get it when my father gets home."
"Your ball is in the road," said the gardener. "It will be lost."
"No, it won't. Oliver will have to bring it in yet."
"I am afraid he means mischief, Oliver," said the gardener, turning to
our hero as Roland slammed the front door upon entering.
"I suppose he does," said Oliver quietly. "It isn't the first attempt
he has made to order me around."
"He is a very disagreeable boy," said Bradford.
"He is the most disagreeable boy I know," said Oliver. "I can get along
with any of the other boys, except Jim Cameron, his chosen friend. He's
pretty much the same sort of fellow as Roland--only, not being rich, he
can't put on so many airs."
"You talk of Roland being rich," said the gardener. "He has no right to
be called so."
"His father has property, I suppose?"
"Mr. Kenyon was poor enough when he married your mother. All the
property he owns came from her."
"Is that true, Mr. Bradford?" asked Oliver thoughtfully.
"Yes; didn't you know it?"
"I have sometimes thought so."
"There is no doubt about it. It excited a good deal of talk--your
mother's will."
"Did she leave all her property to Mr. Kenyon, John?"
"So he says, and he shows a will that has been admitted to probate."
Oliver was silent for a moment. Then he spoke:
"If my mother chose to leave all to him, I have not a word to say. She
had a right to do as she pleased."
"But it seems singular. She loved you as much as any mother loves her
son; yet she disinherited you."
"I will not complain of anything she did, Mr. Bradford," said Oliver
soberly.
"Suppose she didn't do it, Master Oliver?"
"What do you mean, Mr. Bradford?" asked the boy, fixing his eyes upon
the gardener's face.
"I mean that there are some in the village who think there has been
foul play--that the will is not genuine."
"Do you think so, Mr. Bradford?"
"Knowing your mother, and her love for you, I believe there's been some
fraud practised, and that Mr. Kenyon is at the bottom of it."
"I wish I knew," said Oliver. "It isn't the money I care about so
much, but I don't like to think that my mother preferred Mr. Kenyon to
me."
"Wait patiently, Oliver; it'll all come out some day."
Just then Roland appeared at the front door and called out, in a tone
of triumphant malice:
"Come right in, Oliver; my father wants to see you."
Oliver and the gardener exchanged glances. Then the boy answered:
"You may tell your father I am coming," and walked quietly toward the
front door.
"I've told him all about it," said Roland.
"Are you sure you have told your father all?"
"Yes, I have."
"That's all I want. If you have told him all, he must see that I am not
to blame."
"You'll find out. He's mad enough."
Oliver knew enough of his step-father to accept this as probable.
"Now, for it," he thought, and followed Roland into his father's
presence.
CHAPTER II.
OPEN REVOLT.
Benjamin Kenyon, the father of Roland and Oliver's step-father, was a
man of fifty or more. He had a high narrow forehead, small eyes, and a
scanty supply of coarse black hair rimming a bald crown with a fringe
in the shape of a horse-shoe. His expression was crafty and insincere.
A tolerable judge of physiognomy would at once pronounce him as a man
not to be trusted.
He turned upon Oliver with a frown, and said harshly:
"How dared you assault my son Roland!"
"It was he who assaulted me, Mr. Kenyon," answered Oliver quietly.
"Do you deny that you felled him to the earth twice?"
"I threw him over twice, if that is what you mean, sir."
"If that is what I mean! Don't be impertinent, sir."
"I have not been--thus far."
"Do you think I shall allow you to make a brutal assault upon my son,
you young reprobate?"
"If you call me by that name again I shall refuse to answer you," said
Oliver with spirit.
"Do you hear that, father?" interrupted Roland, anxious to prejudice
his father against his young enemy.
"I hear it," said Mr. Kenyon; "and you may rely upon it that I shall
take notice of it, too. So you have no defence to make, then?"
This last question was, of course, addressed to Oliver.
"I will merely state what happened, Mr. Kenyon. Roland had batted his
ball far out on the road. He ordered me to go for it, and I refused."
"You refused?"
"Yes, sir."
"And why?"
"Because I am not subject to your son's orders."
"It is because you are selfish and disobliging."
"No, sir. If Roland had asked me, as a favor, to get the ball, I would
have done it, being nearer to it than he, but I did not choose to obey
his orders."
"He has a right to order you about," said Mr. Kenyon, frowning.
"I don't admit it," said Oliver.
"Is he not older than you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you must obey him?"
"I am sorry to differ with you, Mr. Kenyon, but I cannot see it in that
light."
"It makes very little difference in what light you see it," sneered Mr.
Kenyon. "I command you to obey him!"
Roland listened with triumphant malice, and nodded his head with
satisfaction.
"Do you hear that?" he said insolently.
Oliver eyed him calmly.
"Yes, I hear it," he said.
"Then you'd better remember it next time."
"Where is the ball now?" asked Mr. Kenyon.
"In the street."
"Oliver, you may go and get it, and bring it to Roland."
Roland laughed--a little low, chuckling laugh that was very
exasperating to Oliver. Our hero's naturally pleasant face assumed a
firm and determined expression. He was about to make a declaration of
independence.
"Do you ask me to go for this ball as a favor?" he asked, turning to
his step-father.
"No," returned the latter harshly. "I command you to do it without
question, and at once."
"Then, sir, much as I regret it, I must refuse to obey you."
Oliver was pale but firm.
Mr. Kenyon's face, on the contrary, was flushed and angry.
"Do you defy me?" he roared furiously.
"I defy no one, sir, but you require me to do what would put me in
the power of your son. If I consented, there would be no end to his
attempts to tyrannize over me."
"Are you aware that I am your natural guardian, sir--that the law
delegates to me supreme authority over you, you young reprobate?"
demanded Mr. Kenyon, working himself into an ungovernable passion.
Oliver did not reply.
"Speak, I order you!" exclaimed his step-father, stamping his foot.
"I did not speak sooner because you called me a young reprobate, sir.
I answer now that I will sooner leave your house and go out into the
world to shift for myself than allow Roland to trample upon me and
order me about like a dog."
"Enough of this! Roland, go downstairs and get my cane."
"I'll go," said Roland, with alacrity.
It was a welcome commission. Smarting with a sense of his own recent
humiliating defeat, nothing could be sweeter than to see his victorious
adversary beaten in his own presence. Of course he understood that it
was for this purpose his father wanted the cane.
There was silence in the room while Roland was gone. Oliver was
rapidly making up his mind what he would do.
Roland ran upstairs with the cane.
"Here it is, father," he said, extending it to Mr. Kenyon.
"I will give you one more chance, Oliver," said his step-father. "You
have insulted my son and rebelled against my authority, but I do not
want to proceed to violence unless I am absolutely obliged to. I
command you once more to go and get Roland's ball."
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_HORAE SUBSECIVAE._
"_A lady, resident in Devonshire, going into one of her parlors,
discovered a young ass, who had found his way into the room, and
carefully closed the door upon himself. He had evidently not
been long in this situation before he had nibbled a part of
Cicero's Orations, and eaten nearly all the index of a folio
edition of Seneca in Latin, a large part of a volume of La
Bruyere's Maxims in French, and several pages of Cecilia. He
had done no other mischief whatever, and not a vestige remained
of the leaves that he had devoured._"--PIERCE EGAN.
"_The treatment of the illustrious dead by the quick, often
reminds me of the gravedigger in Hamlet, and the skull of poor
defunct Yorick._"--W. H. B.
"_Multi ad sapientiam pervenire potuissent, nisi se jam
pervenisse putassent._"
"_There's nothing so amusing as human nature, but then you must
have some one to laugh with._"
SPARE HOURS
BY JOHN BROWN, M. D.
If thou be a severe sour-complexioned man, then I here disallow
thee to be a competent judge.--IZAAK WALTON
BOSTON
TICKNOR AND FIELDS
1864
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the
District of Massachusetts
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON
NOTE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
The author of "Rab and his Friends" scarcely needs an introduction to
American readers. By this time many have learned to agree with a writer
in the "North British Review" that "Rab" is, all things considered, the
most perfect prose narrative since Lamb's "Rosamond Gray."
A new world of doctors, clergymen, shepherds, and carriers is revealed
in the writings of this cheerful Edinburgh scholar, who always brings
genuine human feeling, strong sense, and fine genius to the composition
of his papers. Dogs he loves with an enthusiasm to be found nowhere else
in canine literature. He knows intimately all a cur means when he winks
his eye or wags his tail, so that the whole barking race,--terrier,
mastiff, spaniel, and the rest,--finds in him an affectionate and
interested friend. His genial motto seems to run thus--"I cannot
understand that morality which excludes animals from human sympathy, or
releases man from the debt and obligation he owes to them."
With the author's consent we have rejected from his two series of "Horae
Subsecivae" the articles on strictly professional subjects, and have
collected into this volume the rest of his admirable papers in that
work. The title, "Spare Hours," is also adopted with the author's
sanction.
Dr. Brown is an eminent practising physician in Edinburgh, with small
leisure for literary composition, but no one has stronger claims to be
ranked among the purest and best writers of our day.
_BOSTON, December 1861._
CONTENTS.
RAB AND HIS FRIENDS
"WITH BRAINS, SIR"
THE MYSTERY OF BLACK AND TAN
HER LAST HALF-CROWN
OUR DOGS
QUEEN MARY'S CHILD-GARDEN
PRESENCE OF MIND AND HAPPY GUESSING
MY FATHER'S MEMOIR
MYSTIFICATIONS
"OH, I'M WAT, WAT!"
ARTHUR H. HALLAM
EDUCATION THROUGH THE SENSES
VAUGHAN'S POEMS
DR. CHALMERS
DR. GEORGE WILSON
ST. PAUL'S THORN IN THE FLESH
THE BLACK DWARF'S BONES
NOTES ON ART
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
In that delightful and provoking book, "THE DOCTOR, &c.," Southey says:
"'Prefaces,' said Charles Blount, Gent., 'Prefaces,' according to this
flippant, ill-opinioned, and unhappy man, 'ever were, and still are, but
of two sorts, let the mode and fashions vary as they please,--let the
long peruke succeed the godly cropt hair; the cravat, the ruff;
presbytery, popery; and popery, presbytery again,--yet still the author
keeps to his old and wonted method of prefacing; when at the beginning
of his book he enters, either with a halter round his neck, submitting
himself to his readers' mercy whether he shall be hanged or no, or else,
in a huffing manner, he appears with the halter in his hand, and
threatens to hang his reader, if he gives him not his good word. This,
with the excitement of friends to his undertaking, and some few
apologies for the want of time, books, and the like, are the constant
and usual shams of all scribblers, ancient and modern.' This was not
true then," says Southey, "nor is it now." I differ from Southey, in
thinking there is some truth in both ways of wearing the halter. For
though it be neither manly nor honest to affect a voluntary humility
(which is after all, a sneaking vanity, and would soon show itself if
taken at its word), any more than it is well-bred, or seemly to put on
(for it generally is put on) the "huffing manner," both such being truly
"shams,"--there is general truth in Mr. Blount's flippancies.
Every man should know and lament (to himself) his own
shortcomings--should mourn over and mend, as he best can, the
"confusions of his wasted youth;" he should feel how ill he has put out
to usury the talent given him by the Great Taskmaster--how far he is
from being "a good and faithful servant;" and he should make this rather
understood than expressed by his manner as a writer; while at the same
time, every man should deny himself the luxury of taking his hat off to
the public, unless he has something to say, and has done his best to say
it aright; and every man should pay not less attention to the dress in
which his thoughts present themselves, than he would to that of his
person on going into company.
Bishop Butler, in his "Preface to his Sermons," in which there is
perhaps more solid living sense than in the same number of words
anywhere else after making the distinction between "obscurity" and
"perplexity and confusion of thought,"--the first being in the subject,
the others in its expression, says,--"confusion and perplexity are, in
writing, indeed without excuse, because any one may, if he pleases, know
whether he understands or sees through what he is about, and it is
unpardonable in a man to lay his thoughts before others, when he is
conscious that he himself does not know whereabouts he is, or how the
matter before him stands. _It is coming abroad in disorder, which he
ought to be dissatisfied to find himself in at home._"
There should therefore be in his Preface, as in the writer himself, two
elements. A writer should have some assurance that he has something to
say, and this assurance should, in the true sense, not the Milesian, be
modest.
* * * * *
I have to apologize for bringing in "Rab and his Friends." I did so,
remembering well the good I got then, as a man and as a doctor. It let
me see down into the depths of our common nature, and feel the strong
and gentle touch that we all need, and never forget, which makes the
world kin; and it gave me an opportunity of introducing, in a way which
he cannot dislike, for he knows it is simply true, my old master and
friend, Professor Syme, whose indenture I am thankful I possess, and
whose first wheels I delight in thinking my apprentice-fee purchased,
thirty years ago. I remember as if it were yesterday, his giving me the
first drive across the west shoulder of Corstorphine Hill. On starting,
he said, "John, we'll do one thing at a time, and there will be no
talk." I sat silent and rejoicing, and can remember the very complexion
and clouds of that day and that matchless view: _Damyat_ and _Benledi_
resting couchant at the gate of the Highlands, with the huge Grampians,
_immane pecus_, crowding down into the plain.
This short and simple story shows, that here, as everywhere else,
personally, professionally, and publicly, reality is his aim and his
attainment. He is one of the men--they are all too few--who desire to be
on the side of truth more than to have truth on their side; and whose
personal and private worth are always better understood than expressed.
It has been happily said of him, that he never wastes a word, or a drop
of ink, or a drop of blood; and his is the strongest, exactest, truest,
immediatest, safest intellect, dedicated by its possessor to the
surgical cure of mankind, I have ever yet met with. He will, I firmly
believe, leave an inheritance of good done, and mischief destroyed, of
truth in theory and in practice established, and of error in the same
exposed and ended, such as no one since John Hunter has been gifted to
bequeath to his fellow-men. As an instrument for discovering truth, I
have never seen his perspicacity equalled; his mental eye is
_achromatic_, and admits into the judging mind a pure white light, and
records an undisturbed, uncolored image, undiminished and unenlarged in
its passage; and he has the moral power, courage, and conscience, to use
and devote such an inestimable instrument aright. I need hardly add,
that the story of "Rab and his Friends" is in all essentials strictly
matter of fact.
There is an odd sort of point, if it can be called a point, on which I
would fain say something--and that is an occasional outbreak of sudden,
and it may be felt, untimely humorousness. I plead guilty to this,
sensible of the tendency in me of the merely ludicrous to intrude, and
to insist on being attended to, and expressed: it is perhaps too much
the way with all of us now-a-days, to be forever joking. _Mr. Punch_, to
whom we take off our hats, grateful for his innocent and honest fun,
especially in his Leech, leads the way; and our two great novelists,
Thackeray and Dickens, the first especially, are, in the deepest and
highest sense, essentially humorists,--the best, nay, indeed the almost
only good thing in the latter, being his broad and wild fun; Swiveller,
and the Dodger, and Sam Weller, and Miggs, are more impressive far to my
taste than the melo-dramatic, utterly unreal Dombey, or his strumous and
hysterical son, or than all the later dreary trash of "Bleak House," &c.
My excuse is, that these papers are really what they profess to be, done
at bye-hours. _Dulce est desipere_, when in its fit place and time.
Moreover, let me tell my young doctor friends, that a cheerful face, and
step, and neckcloth, and button-hole, and an occasional hearty and
kindly joke, a power of executing and setting agoing a good laugh, are
stock in our trade not to be despised. The merry heart does good like a
medicine. Your pompous man, and your selfish man, don't laugh much, or
care for laughter; it discomposes the fixed grandeur of the one, and has
little room in the heart of the other, who is literally self-contained.
My Edinburgh readers will recall many excellent jokes of their
doctors--"Lang Sandie Wood," Dr. Henry Davidson our _Guy Patin_ and
better, &c.
I may give an instance, when a joke was more and better than itself. A
comely young wife, the "cynosure" of her circle, was in bed, apparently
dying from swelling and inflammation of the throat, an inaccessible
abscess stopping the way; she could swallow nothing; everything had been
tried. Her friends were standing round her bed in misery and
help | 1,212.303286 |
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=_Instructor Literature Series--No. 212_=
The Story of
Robin Hood
[Illustration]
By
BERTHA E. BUSH
Published Jointly By
F. A. OWEN PUB. CO., DANSVILLE, N. Y.
HALL & McCREARY,--CHICAGO, ILL.
INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES
STORIES OF
ROBIN HOOD
BY
_Bertha E. Bush_
[Illustration]
PUBLISHED JOINTLY BY
F. A. OWEN PUB. CO., DANSVILLE, N. Y.
HALL & MCCREARY, CHICAGO, ILL.
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING CO
_Robin Hood_
CONTENTS
WINNING THE SHERIFF'S GOLDEN ARROW
HOW LITTLE JOHN JOINED ROBIN HOOD
ALLEN-A-DALE AND FRIAR TUCK
ROBIN HOOD AND THE SORROWFUL KNIGHT
ROBIN HOOD AND THE KING
DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD
ROBIN HOOD AND ALLEN-A-DALE
Stories of Robin Hood
"And what of Peter the Ploughman? He was a good friend of mine."
"Alack, Peter the Ploughman hath been hanged and his wife and little
ones turned out of their home to beg."
The father of young Robin Hood with his little son at his side, had
met a man from his old home and was eagerly questioning him about the
welfare of his old neighbors. But much of the news was sad, for the
times were evil in England. The Normans had conquered the country and
were the lords and officials in the land, and they cruelly oppressed
the common people, who were Saxons. The father said not a word although
his face grew very sad, but the boy beside him burst out indignantly.
"But why should such a thing be done? Peter the Ploughman was one of
the best men I ever knew and his wife was as good and kind as an angel.
Why should such a dreadful thing be done to them?"
"Because he shot deer in the king's forest. But indeed he had an excuse
for breaking the law if ever a | 1,212.303504 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Purcell Ode
And Other Poems
Purcell Ode
And Other Poems
By
Robert Bridges
[Illustration: colophon]
Chicago
Way & Williams
1896
COPYRIGHT
BY WAY & WILLIAMS
MDCCCXCVI
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
Two Hundred Copies printed on Van Gelder paper.
CONTENTS
PAGE
ODE TO MUSIC 29
THE FAIR BRASS 42
NOVEMBER 45
THE SOUTH WIND 49
WINTER NIGHTFALL 53
PREFACE
The words of the Ode as here given differ slightly from those which
appeared with Dr. Parry’s Cantata, sung at the Leeds Festival and at the
Purcell Commemoration in London last year.
Since the poem was never perfected as a musical ode,--and I was not in
every particular responsible for it,--I have tried to make it more
presentable to readers, and in so doing have disregarded somewhat its
original intention. But it must still ask indulgence, because it still
betrays the liberties and restrictions which seemed to me proper in an
attempt to meet the requirements of modern music.
It is a current idea that, by adopting a sort of declamatory treatment,
it is possible to give to almost any poem a satisfactory musical
setting;[1] whence it would follow that a non-literary form is a
needless extravagance. From this general condemnation I wish to defend
my poem, or rather my judgment, for I do not intend to discuss or defend
my poem in detail, nor to try to explain what I hoped to accomplish when
I engaged in the work; it is still further from my intention that
anything which I shall say should be taken as applying to the music with
which my ode was, far beyond its deserts, honored and beautified. But I
am concerned in combating the general proposition that modern music, by
virtue of a declamatory method, is able satisfactorily to interpret
almost any kind of good poetry.
Such questions are generally left to the musician, and it should not be
unwelcome to hear what may be said on the literary side. I shall
therefore state what appear to me to be impediments in the way of this
announced happy marriage of music and poetry, and enumerate some of the
difficulties which, it seems to me, must especially beset the musician
who would attempt to interpret pure literature by musical declamation.
First, the repetitions in music and poetry are incompatible. Though some
simple forms dependent on repetition are common to both, yet the general
laws are in the two arts contraries. In poetry repetition is avoided, in
music it is looked for. A musical phrase has its force and significance
increased by repetition, and is often in danger of losing its
significance unless it be repeated; whereas such a repetition in poetry
is likely to endanger the whole effect of the original statement. And
when reiterations that can be compared occur in both, then the second
occurrence will in music be generally the strongest, but in poetry the
weakest; and the intensity of the repetitions | 1,212.305397 |
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generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)
Transcriber's Notes: Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been
left as in the original. Greek words have been transliterated and placed
between +plus signs+. Words in italics in the original are surrounded by
_underscores_. A row of asterisks represents a thought break. Letters
superscripted in the original are surrounded by {braces}. Ellipses match
the original. A complete list of corrections follows the text.
The original has two different kinds of blockquotes: one uses a smaller
font than the main text, and the other has wider margins. In this text,
the blockquotes in a smaller font have wider margins, and the other
blockquotes have two blank lines before and after the quotation. An
explanation of the different kinds of quotations can be found at the end
of the "ADVERTISEMENT".
The Index that was printed at the end of Volume II. of this series has
been included at the end of this Volume for reference purposes.
LIFE AND
CORRESPONDENCE OF
DAVID HUME.
[Illustration: Bust of David Hume]
LIFE
AND
CORRESPONDENCE
OF
DAVID HUME.
FROM THE PAPERS BEQUEATHED BY HIS NEPHEW TO THE
ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH; AND OTHER
ORIGINAL SOURCES.
BY JOHN HILL BURTON, ESQ.
ADVOCATE.
VOLUME I.
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM TAIT, 107, PRINCE'S STREET.
MDCCCXLVI.
EDINBURGH:
Printed by WILLIAM TAIT, 107, Prince's Street.
TO THE PRESIDENT AND COUNCIL
OF
THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH,
THIS WORK IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED
BY
THEIR MOST OBEDIENT HUMBLE SERVANT,
J. H. BURTON.
ADVERTISEMENT.
In this work, an attempt has been made to connect together a series of
original documents, by a narrative of events in the life of him to whom
they relate; an account of his literary labours; and a picture of his
character, according to the representations of it preserved by his
contemporaries. The scantiness of the resources at the command of
previous biographers, and the extent and variety of the new materials
now presented to the world, render unnecessary any other apology for the
present publication. How far these materials have been rightly used,
readers and critics must judge; but I may be perhaps excused for
offering a brief explanation of the spirit in which I desired to
undertake the task; and the responsibility I felt attached to the duty,
of ushering before the public, documents of so much importance to
literature.
The critic or biographer, who writes from materials already before the
public, may be excused if he give way to his prepossessions and
partialities, and limit his task to the representation of all that
justifies and supports them. If he have any misgivings, that, in
following the direction of his prepossessions, he may not have taken the
straight line of truth, he may be assured, that if the cause be one of
any interest, an advocate, having the same resources at his command,
will speedily appear on the other side. But when original manuscripts
are for the first time to be used, it is due to truth, and to the desire
of mankind to satisfy themselves about the real characters of great men,
that they should be so presented as to afford the means of impartially
estimating those to whom they relate. We possess many brilliant
Eulogiums of the leaders of our race--many vivid pictures of their
virtues and their vices--their greatness or their weakness. But if a
humbler, it is perhaps a no less useful task, to represent these
men--their character, their conduct, and the circumstances of their
life, precisely as they were; rejecting nothing that truly exemplifies
them, because it is beneath the dignity of biography, or at variance
with received notions of their character and the tendency of their
public conduct. The desire to have a closer view of the fountain head
whence the outward manifestations of a great intellect have sprung, is
but one of the many examples of man's spirit of inquiry from effects to
their causes; and the desire will not be gratified by reproducing the
object of inquiry in all the pomp and state of his public intercourse
with the world, and keeping the veil still closed upon his inner nature.
It is difficult to write with mere descriptive impartiality, and without
exhibiting any bias of opinion, on matters which are, at the same time,
the most deeply interesting to mankind, and the objects of their
strongest partialities. Though the task that was before me was simply to
describe, and never to controvert, I do not profess to have avoided all
indications of opinion in the departments of the work which have the
character of original authorship. I have the satisfaction, however, of
reflecting, that the documents, which are the real elements of value in
this work, are impartially presented to the reader, and that nothing is
omitted which seemed to bear distinctly on the character and conduct of
David Hume.
I now offer a few words in explanation of the nature of these original
documents. The late Baron Hume had collected together his uncle's
papers, consisting of the letters addressed to him, the few drafts or
copies he had left of letters written by himself, the letters addressed
_by_ him to his immediate relations, and apparently all the papers in
his handwriting, which had been left in the possession of the members of
his family. To these the Baron seems to have been enabled to add the
originals of many of the letters addressed by him to his intimate
friends, Adam Smith, Blair, Mure, and others. The design with which this
interesting collection was made, appears to have been that of preparing
a work of a similar description to the present; and it is a misfortune
to literature that this design was not accomplished. On the death of
Baron Hume, it was found that he had left this mass of papers at the
uncontrolled disposal of the Council of the Royal Society of Edinburgh.
This learned body, after having fully considered the course proper to be
adopted in these circumstances, determined that they would permit the
papers to be made use of by any person desirous to apply them to a
legitimate literary purpose, who might enjoy their confidence. Having
for some time indulged in a project of writing a life of Hume, postponed
from time to time, on account of the imperfect character of the
materials at my disposal, I applied to the Council of the Royal Society
for access to the Hume papers; and after having considered my
application with that deliberation which their duty to the public as
custodiers of these documents seemed to require, they acceded to my
request. The ordinary form of returning thanks for the privilege of
using papers in the possession of private parties, appears not to be
applicable to this occasion; and I look on the concession of the Council
as conferring on me an honour, which is felt to be all the greater, that
it was bestowed in the conscientious discharge of a public duty.
The Hume papers, besides a manuscript of the "Dialogues on Natural
Religion," and of a portion of the History, fill seven quarto volumes of
various thickness, and two thin folios. In having so large a mass of
private and confidential correspondence committed to their charge, the
Council naturally felt that they would be neglecting their duty, if they
did not keep in view the possibility that there might be in the
collection, allusions to the domestic conduct or private affairs of
persons whose relations are still living; and that good taste, and a
kind consideration for private feelings should prevent the accidental
publication of such passages. On inspection, less of this description of
matter was found than so large a mass of private documents might be
supposed to contain. There is no passage which I have felt any
inclination to print, as being likely to afford interest to the reader,
of which the use has been denied me; and I can therefore say that I have
had in all respects full and unlimited access to this valuable
collection. Before leaving this matter, I take the opportunity of
returning my thanks for the kind and polite attention I have received
from those gentlemen of the Council, on whom the arrangements for my
getting access to these papers, imposed no little labour and sacrifice
of valuable time.
A rumour has obtained currency regarding the contents of these papers,
which seems to demand notice on the present occasion.
It is stated in _The Quarterly Review_,[xi:1] that "those who have
examined the Hume papers--which we know only by report--speak highly of
their interest, but add, that they furnish painful disclosures
concerning the opinions then prevailing amongst the clergy of the
northern metropolis: distinguished ministers of the gospel encouraging
the scoffs of their familiar friend, the author of 'the Essay upon
Miracles;' and echoing the blasphemies of their associate, the author of
the 'Essay upon Suicide!'" I have the pleasing task of removing the
painful feelings which, as this writer justly observes, must attend the
belief in such a rumour, by saying that I could not find it justified
by a single sentence in the letters of the Scottish clergy contained in
these papers, or in any other documents that have passed under my eye. I
make this statement as an act of simple justice to the memory of men to
whose character, being a member of a different church, I have no
partisan attachment: and I may add that, in the whole course of my
pretty extensive researches in connexion with Hume and his friends, I
found no reason for believing that letters containing evidence of any
such frightful duplicity ever existed.
Among these papers, a variety of letters, chiefly from eminent
foreigners, though interesting in themselves, were entitled to no place
in the body of this work, as illustrative of the life and character of
Hume. These I had intended to print in an | 1,212.307756 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "We're All That's Left of the Charles Darlington Post."
See page 19.]
COMRADES
BY
ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS
ILLUSTRATED BY
HOWARD E. SMITH
HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
M. C. M. X. I
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED SEPTEMBER, 1911
ILLUSTRATIONS
"We're All That's Left of the Charles Darlington
Post"...... Frontispiece
"Folks Don't Amount to Anything. It's You, Peter"
She Thought of the Slow News of the Slaughtering Battles
COMRADES
In the late May evening the soul of summer had gone suddenly incarnate,
but the old man, indifferent and petulant, thrashed upon his bed. He
was not used to being ill, and found no consolations in weather.
Flowers regarded him observantly--one might have said critically--from
the tables, the bureau, the window-sills: tulips, fleurs-de-lis,
<DW29>s, peonies, and late lilacs, for he had a garden-loving wife who
made the most of "the dull season," after crocuses and daffodils, and
before roses. But he manifested no interest in flowers; less than
usual, it must be owned, in Patience, his wife. This was a marked
incident. They had lived together fifty years, and she had acquired
her share of the lessons of marriage, but not that ruder one given
chiefly to women to learn--she had never found herself a negligible
quantity in her husband's life. She had the profound maternal instinct
which is so large an element in the love of every experienced and
tender wife; and when Reuben thrashed profanely upon his pillows,
staring out of the window above the vase of jonquils, without looking
at her, clearly without thinking of her, she swallowed her surprise as
if it had been a blue-pill, and tolerantly thought:
"Poor boy! To be a veteran and can't go!"
Her poor boy, being one-and-eighty, and having always had health and
her, took his disappointment like a boy. He felt more outraged that he
could not march with the other boys to decorate the graves to-morrow
than he had been, or had felt that he was, by some of the important
troubles of his long and, on the whole, comfortable life. He took it
unreasonably; she could not deny that. But she went on saying "Poor
boy!" as she usually did when he was unreasonable. When he stopped
thrashing and swore no more she smiled at him brilliantly. He had not
said anything worse than damn! But he was a good Baptist, and the
lapse was memorable.
"Peter?" he said. "Just h'ist the curtain a mite, won't you? I want
to see across over to the shop. Has young Jabez locked up everything?
Somebody's got to make sure."
Behind the carpenter's shop the lush tobacco-fields of the Connecticut
valley were springing healthily. "There ain't as good a crop as there
gener'lly is," the old man fretted.
"Don't you think so?" replied Patience. "Everybody say it's better.
But you ought to know."
In the youth and vigor of her no woman was ever more misnamed. Patient
she was not, nor gentle, nor adaptable to the teeth in the saw of life.
Like wincing wood, her nature had resented it, the whole biting thing.
All her gentleness was acquired, and acquired hard. She had fought
like a man to endure like a woman, to accept, not to writhe and rebel.
She had not learned easily how to count herself out. Something in the
sentimentality or even the piety of her name had always seemed to her
ridiculous; they both used to have their fun at its expense; for some
years he called her Impatience, degenerating into Imp if he felt like
it. When Reuben took to calling her Peter, she found it rather a
relief.
"You'll have to go without me," he said, crossly.
"I'd rather stay with you," she urged. "I'm not a veteran."
"Who'd decorate Tommy, then?" demanded the old man. "You wouldn't give
Tommy the go-by, would you?"
"I never did--did I?" returned the wife, slowly.
"I don't know's you did," replied Reuben Oak, after some difficult
reflection.
Patience did not talk about Tommy. But she had lived Tommy, so she
felt, all her married life, ever since she took him, the year-old baby
of a year-dead first wife who had made Reuben artistically miserable;
not that Patience thought in this adjective; it was one foreign to her
vocabulary; she was accustomed to say of that other woman: "It was
better for Reuben. I'm not sorry she died." She added, "Lord forgive
me," because she was a good church member, and felt that she must. Oh,
she had "lived Tommy," God knew. Her own baby had died, and there were
never any more. But Tommy lived and clamored at her heart. She began
by trying to be a good stepmother. In the end she did not have to try.
Tommy never knew the difference; and his father had long since
forgotten it. She had made him so happy that he seldom remembered
anything unpleasant. He was accustomed to refer to his two conjugal
partners as "My wife and the other woman."
But Tommy had the blood of a fighting father, and when the _Maine_ went
down, and his chance came, he, too, took it. Tommy lay dead and
nameless in the trenches at San Juan. But his father had put up a
tall, gray slate-stone slab for him in the churchyard at home. This
was close to the baby's; the baby's was little and white. So the
veteran was used to "decorating Tommy" on Memorial Day. He did not
trouble himself about the little, white gravestone then. He had a
veteran's savage jealousy of the day that was sacred to the splendid
heroisms and sacrifices of the sixties.
"What do they want to go decorating all their relations for?" he
argued. "Ain't there three hundred and sixty-four days in the year for
_them_?"
He was militant on this point, and Patience did not contend. Sometimes
she took the baby's flowers over the day after.
"If you can spare me just as well's not, I'll decorate Tommy
to-morrow," she suggested, gently. "We'll see how you feel along by
that."
"Tommy's got to be decorated if I'm dead or livin'," retorted the
veteran. The soldier father struggled up from his pillow, as if he
would carry arms for his soldier son. Then he fell back weakly. "I
wisht I had my old dog here," he complained--"my dog Tramp. I never
did like a dog like that dog. But Tramp's dead, too. I don't believe
them boys are coming. They've forgotten me, Peter. You haven't," he
added, after some slow thought. "I don't know's you ever did, come to
think."
Patience, in her blue shepherd-plaid gingham dress and white apron, was
standing by the window--a handsome woman, a dozen years younger than
her husband; her strong face was gentler than most strong faces are--in
women; peace and pain, power and subjection, were fused upon her aspect
like warring elements reconciled by a mystery. Her hair was not yet
entirely white, and her lips were warm and rich. She had a round
figure, not overgrown. There were times when she did not look over
thirty. Two or three late jonquils that had outlived their calendar in
a cold spot by a wall stood on the window-sill beside her; these
trembled in the slant, May afternoon light. She stroked them in their
vase, as if they had been frightened or hurt. She did not immediately
answer Reuben, and, when she did, it was to say, abruptly:
"Here's the boys! They're coming--the whole of them!--Jabez Trent, and
old Mr. Succor, and David Swing on his crutches. I'll go right out 'n'
let them all in."
She spoke as if they had been a phalanx. Reuben panted upon his
pillows. Patience had shut the door, and it seemed to him as if it
would never open. He pulled at his gray flannel dressing-gown with
nervous fingers; they were carpenter's fingers--worn, but supple and
intelligent. He had on his old red nightcap, and he felt the
indignity, but he did not dare to take the cap off; there was too much
pain underneath it.
When Patience opened the door she nodded at him girlishly. She had
preceded the visitors, who followed her without speaking. She looked
forty years younger than they did. She marshaled them as if she had
been their colonel. The woman herself had a certain military look.
The veterans filed in slowly--three aged, disabled men. One was lame,
and one was palsied; one was blind, and all were deaf.
"Here they are, Reuben," said Patience Oak. "They've all come to see
you. Here's the whole Post."
Reuben's hand went to his red night-cap. He saluted gravely.
The veterans came in with dignity--David Swing, and Jabez Trent, and
old Mr. Succor. David was the one on crutches, but Jabez Trent, with
nodding head and swaying hand, led old Mr. Succor, who could not see.
Reuben watched them with a species of grim triumph. "I ain't blind,"
he thought, "and I hain't got the shakin' palsy. Nor I hain't come on
crutches, either."
He welcomed his visitors with a distinctly patronizing air. He was
conscious of pitying them as much as a soldier can afford to pity
anything. They seemed to him very old men.
"Give 'em chairs, Peter," he commanded. "Give 'em easy chairs.
Where's the cushions?"
"I favor a hard cheer myself," replied the blind soldier, sitting solid
and straight upon the stiff bamboo chair into which he had been set
down by Jabez Trent. "I'm sorry to find you so low, Reuben Oak."
"_Low!_" exploded the old soldier. "Why, nothing partikler ails _me_.
I hain't got a thing the matter with me but a spell of rheumatics.
I'll be spry as a kitten catchin' grasshoppers in a week. I can't
march to-morrow--that's all. It's darned hard luck. How's your
eyesight, Mr. Succor?"
"Some consider'ble better, sir," retorted the blind man. "I calc'late
to get it back. My son's goin' to take me to a city eye-doctor. I
ain't only seventy-eight. I'm too young to be blind. 'Tain't as if I
was onto crutches, or I was down sick abed. How old are you, Reuben?"
"Only eighty-one!" snapped Reuben.
"He's eighty-one last March," interpolated his wife.
"He's come to a time of life when folks do take to their beds,"
returned David Swing. "Mebbe you could manage with crutches, Reuben,
in a few weeks. I've been on 'em three years, since I was
seventy-five. I've got to feel as if they was relations. Folks want
me to ride to-morrow," he added, contemptuously, "but I'll march on
them crutches to decorate them graves, or I won't march at all."
Now Jabez Trent was the youngest of the veterans; he was indeed but
sixty-eight. He refrained from mentioning this fact. He felt that it
was indelicate to boast of it. His jerking hand moved over toward the
bed, and he laid it on Reuben's with a fine gesture.
"You'll be round--you'll be round before you know it," he shouted.
"I ain't deef," interrupted Reuben, "like the rest of you." But the
palsied man, hearing not at all, shouted on:
"You always had grit, Reuben, more'n most of as. You stood more, you
was under fire more, you never was afraid of anything-- What's
rheumatics? 'Tain't Antietam."
"Nor it ain't Bull Run," rejoined Reuben. He lifted his red nightcap
from his head. "Let it ache!" he said. "It ain't Gettysburg."
"It seems to me," suggested Jabez Trent, "that Reuben he's under fire
just about now. _He_ ain't used to bein' disabled. It appears to me
he's fightin' this matter the way a soldier 'd oughter-- Comrades, I
move he's entitled to promotion for military conduct. He'd rather than
sympathy--wouldn't you, Reuben?"
"I don't feel to deserve it," muttered Reuben. "I swore to-day. Ask
my wife."
"No, he didn't!" blazed Patience Oak. "He never said a thing but damn.
He's getting tired, though," she added, under breath. "He ain't very
well." She delicately brushed the foot of Jabez Trent with the toe of
her slipper.
"I guess we'd better not set any longer," observed Jabez Trent. The
three veterans rose like one soldier. Reuben felt that their visit had
not been what he expected. But he could not deny that he was tired
out; he wondered why. He beckoned to Jabez Trent, who, shaking and
coughing, bent over him.
"You'll see the boys don't forget to decorate Tommy, won't you?" he
asked, eagerly. Jabez could not hear much of this, but he got the word
Tommy, and nodded.
The three old men saluted silently, and when Reuben had put on his
nightcap he found that they had all gone. Only Patience was in the
room, standing by the jonquils, in her blue gingham dress and white
apron.
"Tired?" she asked, comfortably. "I've mixed you up an egg-nog. Think
you could take it?"
"They didn't stay long," complained the old man. "It don't seem to
amount to much, does it?"
"You've punched your pillows all to pudding-stones," observed Patience
Oak. "Let me fix 'em a little."
"I won't be fussed over!" cried Reuben, angrily. He gave one of his
pillows a pettish push, and it went half across the room. Patience
picked it up without remark. Reuben Oak held out a contrite hand.
"Peter, come here!" he commanded. Patience, with her maternal smile,
obeyed.
"You stay, Peter, anyhow. Folks don't amount to anything. It's _you_,
Peter."
[Illustration: "Folks Don't Amount to Anything. It's _You_, Peter."]
Patience's eyes filled. But she hid them on the pillow beside him--he
did not know why. She put up one hand and stroked his cheek.
"Just as if I was a johnnyquil," said the old man. He laughed, and
grew quiet, and slept. But Patience did not move. She was afraid of
waking him. She sat crouched and crooked on the edge of the bed,
uncomfortable and happy.
Out on the street, between the house and the carpenter's shop, the
figures of the veterans bent against the perspective of young tobacco.
They walked feebly. Old Mr. Succor shook his head:
"Looks like he'd never see another Decoration Day. He's some
considerable sick--an' he ain't young."
"He's got grit, though," urged Jabez Trent.
"He's pretty old," sighed David Swing. "He's consider'ble older'n we
be. He'd ought to be prepared for his summons any time at his age."
"We'll be decorating _him_, I guess, come next year," insisted old Mr.
Succor. Jabez Trent opened his mouth to say something, but he coughed
too hard to speak.
"I'd like to look at Reuben's crop as we go by," remarked the blind
man. "He's lucky to have the shop 'n' the crop too."
The three turned aside to the field, where old Mr. Succor appraised the
immature tobacco leaves with seeing fingers.
"Connecticut's a _great_ State!" he cried.
"And this here's a great town," echoed David Swing. "Look at the quota
we sent--nigh a full company. And we had a great colonel," he added,
proudly. "I calc'late he'd been major-general if it hadn't 'a' been
for that infernal shell."
"Boys," said Jabez Trent, slowly, "Memorial Day's a great day. It's up
to us to keep it that way-- Boys, we're all that's left of the Charles
Darlington Post."
"That's a fact," observed the blind soldier, soberly.
"That's so," said the lame one, softly.
The three did not talk any more; they walked past the tobacco-field
thoughtfully. Many persons carrying flowers passed or met them. These
recognized the veterans with marked respect, and with some perplexity.
What! Only old blind Mr. Succor? Just David Swing on his crutches,
and Jabez Trent with the shaking palsy? Only those poor, familiar
persons whom one saw every day, and did not think much about on any
other day? Unregarded, unimportant, aging neighbors? These who had
ceased to be useful, ceased to be interesting, who were not any longer
of value to the town, or to the State, to their friends (if they had
any left), or to themselves? Heroes? These plain, obscure old
men?--Heroes?
So it befell that Patience Oak "decorated Tommy" for his father that
Memorial Day. The year was 1909. The incident of which we have to
tell occurred twelve months thereafter, in 1910. These, as I have
gathered them, are the facts:
Time, to the old, takes an unnatural pace, and Reuben Oak felt that the
year had sprinted him down the race-track of life; he was inclined to
resent his eighty-second March birthday as a personal insult; but April
cried over him, and May laughed at him, and he had acquired a certain
grim reconciliation with the laws of fate by the time that the nation
was summoned to remember its dead defenders upon their latest
anniversary. This resignation was the easier because he found himself
unexpectedly called upon to fill an extraordinary part in the drama and
the pathos of the day.
He slept brokenly the night before, and waked early; it was scarcely
five o'clock. But Patience, his wife, was already awake, lying quietly
upon her pillow, with straight, still arms stretched down beside him.
She was careful not to disturb him--she always was; she was so used to
effacing herself for his sake that he had ceased to notice whether she
did or not; he took her beautiful dedication to him as a matter of
course; most husbands would, if they had its counterpart. In point of
fact--and in saying this we express her altogether--Patience had the
genius of love. Charming women, noble women, unselfish women may spend
their lives in a man's company, making a tolerable success of marriage,
yet lack this supreme gift of Heaven to womanhood, and never know it.
Our defects we may recognize; our deficiencies we seldom do, and the
love deficiency is the most hopeless of human limitations. Patience
was endowed with love as a great poet is by song, or a musician by
harmony, or an artist by color or form. She loved supremely, but she
did not know that. She loved divinely, but her husband had never found
it out. They were two plain people--a carpenter and his wife, plodding
along the Connecticut valley industriously, with the ideals of their
kind; to be true to their marriage vows, to be faithful to their
children, to pay their debts, raise the tobacco, water the garden,
drive the nails straight, and preserve the quinces. There were times
when it occurred to Patience that she took more care of Reuben than
Reuben did of her; but she dismissed the matter with a phrase common in
her class, and covering for women most of the perplexity of married
life: "You know what men are."
On the morning of which we speak, Reuben Oak had a blunt perception of
the fact that it was kind in his wife to take such pains not to wake
him till he got ready to begin the tremendous day before him; she
always was considerate if he did not sleep well. He put down his hand
and took hers with a sudden grasp, where it lay gentle and still beside
him.
"Well, Peter," he said, kindly.
"Yes, dear," said Patience, instantly. "Feeling all right for to-day?"
"Fine," returned Reuben. "I don't know when I've felt so spry. I'll
get right up 'n' dress."
"Would you mind staying where you are till I get your coffee heated?"
asked Patience, eagerly. "You know how much stronger you always are if
you wait for it. I'll have it on the heater in no time."
"I can't wait for coffee to-day," flashed Reuben. "I'm the best judge
of what I need."
"Very well," said Patience, in a disappointed tone. For she had
learned the final lesson of married life--not to oppose an obstinate
man, for his own good. But she slipped into her wrapper and made the
coffee, nevertheless. When she came back with it, Reuben was lying on
the bed in his flannels, with a comforter over him; he looked pale, and
held out his hand impatiently for the coffee.
His feverish eyes healed as he watched her moving about the room. He
thought how young and pretty her neck was when she splashed the water
on it.
"Goin' to wear your black dress?" he asked. "That's right. I'm glad
you are. I'll get up pretty soon."
"I'll bring you _all_ your clothes," she said. "Don't you get a mite
tired. I'll move up everything for you. Your uniform's all cleaned
and pressed. Don't you do a thing!"
She brushed her thick hair with upraised, girlish arms, and got out her
black serge dress and a white tie. He lay and watched her thoughtfully.
"Peter," he said, unexpectedly, "how long is it since we was married?"
"Forty-nine years," answered Patience, promptly. "Fifty, come next
September."
"What a little creatur' you were, Peter--just a slip of a girl! And
how you did take hold--Tommy and everything."
"I was'most twenty," observed Patience, with dignity.
"You made a powerful good stepmother all the same," mused Reuben. "You
did love Tommy, to beat all."
"I was fond of Tommy," answered Patience, quietly. "He was a nice
little fellow."
"And then there was the baby, Peter. Pity we lost the baby! I guess
you took that harder 'n I did, Peter."
Patience made no reply.
"She was so dreadful young, Peter. I can't seem to remember how she
looked. Can you? Pity she didn't live! You'd 'a' liked a daughter
round the house, wouldn't you, Peter? Say, Peter, we've gone through a
good deal, haven't we--you 'n' me? The war 'n' all that--and the two
children. But there's one thing, Peter--"
Patience came over to him quietly, and sat down on the side of the bed.
She was half dressed, and her still beautiful arms went around him.
"You'll tire yourself all out thinking, Reuben. You won't be able to
decorate anybody if you ain't careful."
"What I was goin' to say was this," persisted Reuben. "I've always had
you, Peter. And you've had me. I don't count so much, but I'm
powerful fond of you, Peter. You're all I've got. Seems as if I
couldn't set enough by you, somehow or nuther."
The old man hid his face upon her soft neck.
"There, there, dear!" said Patience.
"It must be kinder hard, Peter, not to _like_ your wife. Or maybe she
mightn't like him. Sho! I don't think I could stand that.... Peter?"
"Don't you think you'd better be getting dressed, Reuben? The
procession's going to start pretty early. Folks are moving up and down
the street. Everybody's got flowers--See?"
Reuben looked out of the window and over the <DW29>-bed with brilliant,
dry eyes. His wife could see that he was keeping back the thing that
he thought most about. She had avoided and evaded the subject as long
as she could. She felt now that it must be met, and yet she parleyed
with it. She hurried his breakfast and brought the tray to him. He
ate because she asked him to, but his hands shook. It seemed as if he
clung wilfully to the old topic, escaping the new as long as he could,
to ramble on.
"You've been a dreadfully amiable wife, Peter. I don't believe I could
have got along with any other kind of woman."
"I didn't used to be amiable, Reuben. I wasn't born so. I used to
take things hard. Don't you remember?"
But Reuben shook his head.
"No, I don't. I can't seem to think of any time you wasn't that way.
Sho! How'd you get to be so, then, I'd like to know?"
"Oh, just by loving, I guess," said Patience Oak.
"We've marched along together a good while," answered the old man,
brokenly.
Unexpectedly he held out his hand, and she grasped it; his was cold and
weak; but hers was warm and strong. In a dull way the divination came
to him--if one may speak of a dull divination--that she had always been
the strength and the warmth of his life. Suddenly it seemed to him a
very long life. Now it was as if he forced himself to speak, as he
would have charged at Fredericksburg. He felt as if he were climbing
against breastworks when he said:
"I was the oldest of them all, Peter. And I was sickest, too. They
all expected to come an' decorate me to-day." Patience nodded, without
a word. She knew when her husband must do all the talking; she had
found that out early in their married life. "I wouldn't of believed
it, Peter; would you? Old Mr. Succor he had such good health. Who'd
thought he'd tumble down the cellar stairs? If Mis' Succor 'd be'n
like you, Peter, he wouldn't had the chance to tumble: I never would of
_thought_ of David Swing's havin' pneumonia--would you, Peter? Why, in
'62 he slept onto the ground in peltin', drenchin' storms an' never
sneezed. He was powerful well 'n' tough, David was. And Jabez! Poor
old Jabez Trent! I liked him the best of the lot, Peter. Didn't you?
He was sorry for me when they come here that day an' I couldn't march
along of them.... And now, Peter, I've got to go an' decorate _them_.
"I'm the last livin' survivor of the Charles Darlington Post," added
the veteran. "I'm going to apply to the Department Commander to let me
keep it up. I guess I can manage someways. _I won't be disbanded_.
Let 'em disband me if they can! I'd like to see 'em do it. Peter?
_Peter_!"
"I'll help you into your uniform," said Patience. "It's all brushed
and nice for you."
She got him to his swaying feet, and dressed him, and the two went to
the window that looked upon the flowers. The garden blurred yellow and
white and purple--a dash of blood-red among the late tulips. Patience
had plucked and picked for Memorial Day, she had gathered and given,
and yet she could not strip her garden. She looked at it lovingly.
She felt as if she stood in <DW29> lights and iris air.
"Peter," said the veteran, hoarsely, "they're all gone, my girl.
Everybody's gone but you. You're the only comrade I've got left,
Peter.... And, Peter, I want to tell you--I seem to understand it this
morning. Peter, you're the best comrade of 'em all."
"That's worth it," said Patience, in a strange tone--"that's worth
the--high cost of living."
She lifted her head. She had an exalted look. The thoughtful <DW29>s
seemed to turn their faces toward her. She felt that they understood
her. Did it matter whether Reuben understood her or not? It occurred
to her that it was not so important, after all, whether a man
understood his wife, if he only loved her. Women fussed too much, she
thought; they expected to cry away the everlasting differences between
the husband and the wife. If you loved a man you must take him as he
was--just man. You couldn't make him over. You must make up your mind
to that. Better, oh, better a hundred times to endure, to suffer--if
it came to suffering--to take your share (perhaps he had his--who
knew?) of the loneliness of living. Better any fate than to battle
with the man you love, for what he did not give or could not give.
Better anything than to stand in the <DW29> light, married fifty years,
and not have made your husband happy.
"I'most wisht you could march along of me," muttered Reuben Oak. "But
you ain't a veteran."
"I don't know about that," Patience shook her head, smiling, but it was
a sober smile.
"Tommy can't march," added Reuben. "He ain't here; nor he ain't in the
graveyard either. He's a ghost--Tommy. He must be flying around the
Throne. There's only one other person I'd like to have go along of me.
That's my old dog--my dog Tramp. That dog thought a sight of me. The
United States army couldn't have kep' him away from me. But Tramp's
dead. He was a pretty old dog. I can't remember which died first, him
or the baby; can you? Lord! I suppose Tramp's a ghost, too, a dog
ghost, trottin' after--I don't know when I've thought of Tramp before.
Where's he buried, Peter? Oh yes, come to think, he's under the big
chestnut. Wonder we never decorated him, Peter."
"I have," confessed Patience. "I've done it quite a number of times.
Reuben? Listen! I guess we've got to hurry. Seems to me I hear--"
"You hear drums," interrupted the old soldier. Suddenly he flared like
lightwood on a camp-fire, and before his wife could speak again he had
blazed out of the house.
The day had a certain unearthly beauty--most of our Memorial Days do
have. Sometimes they scorch a little, and the processions wilt and
lag. | 1,212.309534 |
2023-11-16 18:37:16.3785780 | 2,180 | 13 |
Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE. ORGAN OF
THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. V. JANUARY, 1885. No. 4.
Officers of the Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
_President_, Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio. _Chancellor_, J. H. Vincent,
D.D., New Haven, Conn. _Counselors_, The Rev. Lyman Abbott, D.D.,
the Rev. J. M. Gibson, D.D.; Bishop H. W. Warren, D.D.; Prof. W. C.
Wilkinson, D.D.; Edward Everett Hale. _Office Secretary_, Miss Kate
F. Kimball, Plainfield, N. J. _General Secretary_, Albert M. Martin,
Pittsburgh, Pa.
Contents
Transcriber’s Note: This table of contents of this periodical was created
for the HTML version to aid the reader.
REQUIRED READING
Temperance Teachings of Science; or, the Poison Problem
Chapter IV.—The Cost of Intemperance 183
Sunday Readings
[_January 4_] 186
[_January 11_] 186
[_January 18_] 186
[_January 25_] 187
Glimpses of Ancient Greek Life
Chapter IV.—Public Life of the Greek Citizen 187
Greek Mythology
Chapter IV. 190
Studies in Kitchen Science and Art
IV.—Apples, Peaches, Blackberries and Strawberries 194
Home Studies in Chemistry and Physics
Air—Physical Properties 199
The Homelike House
Chapter I.—The Hall 203
A Prayer by the Sea 206
Geography of the Heavens for January 207
Yale College and Yale Customs 208
New Zealand 211
The Laureate Poets 212
The Bells of Notre Dame 215
The New York Custom House 215
The Christian Revolt of the Jews in Southern Russia 218
The Inner Chautauqua 220
Outline of Required Readings 221
Programs for Local Circle Work 221
Local Circles 222
The C. L. S. C. Classes 227
Questions and Answers 229
The Chautauqua University: The Correspondence Schools 231
“Invincible”—Class of ’85 232
Editor’s Outlook 233
Editor’s Note-Book 235
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings for January 238
Notes on Required Readings in “The Chautauquan” 239
A Chapter of Blunders 242
Talk About Books 244
Special Notes 245
Sunday-School Normal Graduates, Class of 1884 246
REQUIRED READING FOR JANUARY.
TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE; OR, THE POISON PROBLEM.
BY FELIX L. OSWALD, M.D.
CHAPTER IV.—THE COST OF INTEMPERANCE.
“Shall we sow tares and pray for bread?”—_Abd el Wahab._[1]
If we consider the manifold afflictions which in the after years of so
many millions of our fellowmen outweigh the happiness of childhood, we
can hardly wonder that several great thinkers have expressed a serious
doubt if earthly existence is on the whole a blessing. Yet for those
who hold that the progress of science and education will ultimately
remove that doubt, it is a consoling reflection that the greatest of all
earthly evils are avoidable ones. The earthquake of Lisbon[2] killed
sixty thousand persons who could not possibly have foreseen their fate.
In 1282 an irruption of the Zuyder Sea overwhelmed sixty-five towns
whose inhabitants had not five minutes’ time to effect their escape.
But what are such calamities compared with the havoc of wanton wars,
or the ravages of consumption and other diseases that are the direct
consequences of outrageous sins against the physical laws of God? The
cruelty of man to man causes more misery than the rage of wild beasts
and all the hostile elements of Nature, but the heaviest of all evils in
our great burden of self-inflicted woe is undoubtedly the curse of the
poison vice. The alcohol habit is a concentration of all scourges. In
the poor island of Ireland alone one hundred and forty million bushels
of bread-corn and potatoes are yearly sent to the distillery. The
shipment of the grain, its conversion into a health-destroying drug, the
distribution and sale of the poison, are carried on under the protection
of a so-called civilized government. _Waste_ is not an adequate word for
that monstrous folly. If the grain farmers of Laputa[3] should organize
an expedition to the sea-coast, and under the auspices of the legal
authorities equip an apparatus for flinging a hundred million sacks
of grain into the ocean, the contents of those sacks would be lost,
and there would be an end of it. The sea would swallow the cargo. The
distillery swallows the grain, but disgorges it in the form of a liquid
fire that spreads its flames over the land and scorches the bodies
and souls of men till the smoke of the torment arises from a million
homesteads. We might marvel at the extravagance of the Laputans, but
what should we say if the priests of a pastoral nation were to slaughter
thousands of herds on the altar of a national idol, and in conformity
with an established custom let the carcasses rot in the open fields till
the progress of putrefaction filled the land with horror and pestilence;
if moreover, among the crowd of victims we should recognize the milch
cows of thousands of poor families whose children were wan with hunger,
and if furthermore the intelligent rulers of that nation should supervise
the ceremonies of the sacrifice, distribute the carcasses and calmly
collect statistics to ascertain the percentage of the resultant mortality?
The LOSS OF LIFE caused by the ravages of the alcohol plague equals the
result of a perennial war. The most belligerent nation of modern times,
the Russians, with the perpetual skirmishes on their eastern frontier,
and their periodical campaigns against their southern neighbors, lose
in battle a yearly average of 7,000 men. The average longevity of the
Caucasian nations is nearly 38 years. Of their picked men about 45 years.
The average age of a soldier is now-a-days about 25 years. The death of
7,000 soldiers represents therefore a national loss of 7,000 times the
difference between 25 and 45 years, _i. e._, a total waste of 140,000
years. Medical statistics show that in the United States alone the direct
consequences of intoxication cost every year the lives of six thousand
persons, most of them reckless young drunkards, who thus anticipate
the natural term of their lives by about twenty years. But at the very
least, two per cent. of our population is addicted to the constant use
of some form of alcoholic liquors. Prof. Neison, of the British General
Life Insurance Company, estimates that rum-drinkers shorten their lives
by seven years, beer-drinkers by five and one-half, and “mixed drinkers”
by nine and one-half years. For the city of London, Sir H. Thompson
computes that drinkers of all classes shorten their lives by six years.
But let us be quite sure to keep within the limits of facts applying to
all conditions of life, and assume a minimum of four years. A total of
4,120,000 years for the population of the United States is therefore a
moderate estimate of the annual life waste by the consequences of the
poison vice! In other words, in a country of by no means exceptionally
hard drinkers, alcohol destroys yearly thirty times as much life as the
warfare of the most warlike nation on earth. The first year of the war
for the preservation of the Union and the suppression of slavery cost
us 82,000 lives. When the death list had reached a total of 100,000 the
clamors for peace became so importunate that the representatives of our
nation were several times on the point of abandoning the cause of the
most righteous war ever waged. Yet the far larger life waste on the altar
of the Poison-Moloch continues year after year, and for a small bribe
not a few of our prominent politicians seem willing to perpetuate that
curse to the end of time. Among all the nations of the Christian world,
with the only exception of the Syrian Maronites,[4] the poison vice
has shortened the average longevity of the working classes by at least
five years. Political economists have calculated the consequent loss of
productive force, but there is another consideration which is too often
overlooked. The progress of degeneration has reduced our life term so
far below the normal average that the highest purposes of individual
existence are generally defeated. Our lives are mostly half-told tales.
Our season ends before the harvest time; before the laborer’s task
is half done he is overtaken by the night when no man can work. The
secret of longevity would, indeed, solve the chief riddle of existence,
for the children of toil could then hope to reach the goal of the
visible compensation which, on earth at least, is now reserved for the
exceptional favorites of fortune. That hope is diminished by everything
that tends still further to reduce our shortened span of life, and beside
increasing the burdens of existence, the poison vice therefore directly
decreases the possibility of its rewards.
Yet that result is almost insured by the LOSS | 1,212.398618 |
2023-11-16 18:37:16.5815270 | 7,315 | 28 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images produced by Core Historical
Literature in Agriculture (CHLA), Cornell University)
Transcriber's note
Minor punctuation errors have been changed without notice. Printer
errors have been changed and are listed at the end. All other
inconsistencies are as in the original.
THE EVOLUTION OF THE COUNTRY COMMUNITY
THE EVOLUTION OF
THE COUNTRY
COMMUNITY
A STUDY IN RELIGIOUS SOCIOLOGY
BY
WARREN H. WILSON
THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1912_,
BY LUTHER H. CARY
THE PILGRIM PRESS
BOSTON
TO
MISS ANNA B. TAFT
WHO FOUND THE WAY OF
RURAL LEADERSHIP
IN SERVICE ON THE NEGLECTED BORDERS OF
NEW ENGLAND TOWNS
PREFACE
The significance of the most significant things is rarely seized at the
moment of their appearance. Years or generations afterwards hindsight
discovers what foresight could not see.
It is possible, I fear it is even probable, that earnest and intelligent
leaders of organized religious activity, like thousands of the rank and
file in parish work, will not immediately see the bearings and realize
the full importance of the ideas and the purposes that are clearly set
forth in this new and original book by my friend and sometime student,
Dr. Warren H. Wilson. That fact will in no wise prevent or even delay
the work which these ideas and purposes are mapping out and pushing to
realization.
The Protestant churches have completed one full and rounded period of
their existence. The age of theology in which they played a conspicuous
part has passed away, never to return. The world has entered into the
full swing of the age of science and practical achievement. What the
work, the usefulness, and the destiny of the Protestant churches shall
henceforth be will depend entirely upon their own vision, their common
sense, and their adaptability to a new order of things. Embodying as
they do resources, organization, the devotion and the energy of earnest
minds, they are in a position to achieve results of wellnigh
incalculable value if they apply themselves diligently and wisely to the
task of holding communities and individuals up to the high standard of
that "Good Life" which the most gifted social philosopher of all ages
told us, more than two thousand years ago, is the object for which
social activities and institutions exist.
In one vast field of our social territory the problem of maintaining the
good life has become peculiar in its conditions and difficult in the
extreme. The rural community has suffered in nearly every imaginable way
from the rapid and rather crude development of our industrial
civilization. The emigration of strong, ambitious men to the towns, the
substitution of alien labor for the young and sturdy members of the
large American families of other days, the declining birth rate and the
disintegration of a hearty and cheerful neighborhood life, all have
worked together to create a problem of the rural neighborhood, the
country school and the country church unique in its difficulties,
sometimes in its discouragements.
To deal with this problem two things are undeniably necessary. There
must be a thorough examination of it, a complete analysis and mastery of
its factors and conditions. The social survey has become as imperative
for the country pastor as the geological survey is for the mining
engineer. And when the facts and conditions are known, the church must
resolutely set about the task of dealing with them in the practical
spirit of a practical age, without too much attention to the traditions
and the handicaps of an age that has gone by.
It would not be possible, I think, to present these two aspects of the
problem of the country parish with more of first hand knowledge, or with
more of the wisdom that is born of sympathy and reverence for all that
is good in both the past and the present than the reader will find in
Dr. Wilson's pages. I welcome and commend this book as a fine product of
studies and labors at once scientific and practical.
FRANKLIN H. GIDDINGS.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION IX
I THE PIONEER 1
II THE LAND FARMER 18
III THE EXPLOITER 32
IV THE HUSBANDMAN 48
V EXCEPTIONAL COMMUNITIES 62
VI GETTING A LIVING 79
VII THE COMMUNITY 91
VIII THE MARGIN OF THE COMMUNITY 108
IX NEWCOMERS IN THE COMMUNITY 123
X CO-OPERATION 142
XI COMMON SCHOOLS 158
XII RURAL MORALITY 171
XIII RECREATION 189
XIV COMMON WORSHIP 208
INTRODUCTION
The church and the school are the eyes of the country community. They
serve during the early development of the community as means of
intelligence and help to develop the social consciousness, as well as to
connect the life within the community with the world outside. They
express intelligence and feeling. But when the community has come to
middle life, even though it be normally developing, the eyes fail. They
are infallible registers of the coming of mature years. At this time
they need a special treatment.
Like the eyes, the country church and country school register the health
of the whole organism. Whatever affects the community affects the church
and the school. The changes which have come over the face of social life
in the country record themselves in the church and the school. These
institutions register the transformations in social life, they indicate
health and they give warning of decay. In a few instances the church or
school require the attention of the expert even in the infancy of the
community, just as the eyes of a child sometimes need the oculist, but
with normal growth the expert is called in for problems which have to
do with maturity.
In these chapters the center of attention will be the church, regarded
as an institution for building and organizing country life. It is not
the thought of the writer that the church be treated in ecclesiastical
terms. It is rather as a register of the well-being of the community
that the church is here studied. The condition of the church is regarded
as an index of the social and economic condition of the people. The
sources of religion are believed by the writer to be in the vital
experiences of the people themselves. In the process of religious
experience the church, the Bible, the ministry and other religious
methods and organizations are means of disciplining the forces of
religion, but they are not the sources of religion.
The church in the country above all other institutions should see what
concerns country people as a whole. If vision be not given to the
church, country people will suffer. The Christian churches are rich in
the experience of country people. The Bible is written about a "Holy
Land." The exhortations of Scripture, especially of the Old Testament,
are devoted to constructive sociology, the building and organizing of an
agricultural people in an Asiatic country. Many of the problems are
oriental, but some of them are precisely the same as are today agitating
the American farmer. Religion is the highest valuation set upon life,
and the country church should have a vision of the present meaning as
well as the future development of country life in America.
The country church ought to inspire. It is the business of other
agencies, and particularly of the schools and colleges, to impart
practical and economic aims. But these will not satisfy country people.
No section of modern life is so dependent upon idealism as are the
people who live in the country. Mere cash prosperity puts an end to
residence in most country communities. Commercial success leads toward
the city. The religious leaders alone have the duty of inspiring country
people with ideals higher than the commercial. It remains for the church
in particular to inspire with social idealism. Education seems
hopelessly individualistic. The schoolmaster can see only personalities
to be developed. It remains for the preacher to develop a kingdom and a
commonwealth. His ideals have been those of an organized society. The
tradition which he inherits from the past is saturated with family,
tribal and national remembrances. His exhortations for the future look
to organized social life in the world to come. He should know how to
construct ideals out of modern life, which are organic and social.
Beyond these two duties I am not sure that the churches in the country
have exceptional function. The writer is not a teacher, and what is said
in this book about the country school is said solely because of the
dependence of all else upon this institution. The patient, detailed and
extensively constructive work in the country must be done by the
educator. It is well for the church to recognize its limits, and to
magnify its own function within them. Vision and inspiration are the
duty of religious leaders. The application of these in a variety of ways
to the generations of young people in the country is an educational task
which the church can do only in part.
But the great necessity of arousing the church at the present time to
its duty as a builder of communities in the country is this. In all
parts of the United States country life is furnished with churches.
Perhaps not in sufficient degree in some localities, but in general the
task of religious organization is done. These religious societies hold
the key to the problem of country life. If they oppose modern socialized
ideals in the country, these ideals cannot penetrate the country. If the
church undertake constructive social service in the country, the task
will be done. The church can oppose effectively; it can support
efficiently. This situation lays a vast responsibility upon all
Christian churches, especially upon those that have an educated
ministry; for the future development of the country community as a good
place in which to live depends upon the country church.
This is not the place to discuss whether a population can be improved
and whether a community can be saved. The pages that are to follow will
discuss these questions. It is the writer's belief that a population can
be improved by social service, that the community is the unit in which
such service should be rendered in the country, and that by the vision
and inspiration of the church in the country, this service is
conditioned. He believes with those who are leading in the service among
the poor in the great cities that the time has come when we have
sufficient intelligence to understand the life of country people, in
order to deal with the causes of human action; we have sufficient
resources wherewith to endow the needed agencies for the reconstruction
of country life; and we have a sufficient devotion among men of
intelligence and of means to direct this constructive social service
toward the entire well-being of country people and of the whole
commonwealth.
The writer is indebted for help in the preparation of this book to Miss
Florence M. Lane, Miss Martha Wilson and to Miss Anna B. Taft, without
whose assistance and criticism the chapters could not have been prepared
and without whose encouragement they would not have been undertaken;
also to his teachers in Columbia University, especially Professors
Franklin H. Giddings and John Bates Clark whose teachings in the Social
Sciences furnish the beginning of a new method in investigating
religious experiences.
NEW YORK, July, 1912.
EVOLUTION OF THE COMMUNITY
I
THE PIONEER
The earliest settlers of the American wilderness had a struggle very
different from our own, who live in the twentieth century. Their
economic experience determined their character. They appear to us at
this distance to have common characteristics, habits and reactions upon
life; in which they differ from all who in easier times follow them.
They have more in common with one another than they have in common with
us. They differ less from one another than they differ from the modern
countryman. The pioneer life produced the pioneer type.
To this type all their ways of life correspond. They hunted, fought,
dressed, traded, worshipped in their own way. Their houses, churches,
stores and schools were built, not as they would prefer, but as the
necessities of their life required. Their communities were pioneer
communities: their religious habits were suitable to frontier
experience. Modern men would find much to condemn in their ways: and
they would find our typical reactions surprising, even wicked. But each
conforms to type, and obeys economic necessity.
There have been four economic types in American agriculture. These have
succeeded one another as the rural economy has gone through successive
transformations. They have been the pioneer, the land farmer, the
exploiter and the husbandman. Prof. J. B. Ross of Lafayette, Ind., has
clearly stated[1] the periods by which these types are separated from
one another. It remains for us to consider the communities and the
churches which have taken form in accordance with these successive
types.
Prof. Ross has spoken only of the Middle West. With a slight
modification, the same might be said of the Eastern States, because the
rural economy of the Middle West is inherited from the East. His
statement made of this succession of economic types should be quoted in
full:
"The agrarian occupation of the Middle West divides itself into three
periods. The first, which extends from the beginnings of immigration to
about the year 1835, is of significance chiefly because of the type of
immigrants who preempted the soil and the nature of their occupancy. The
second period, extending from 1835 to 1890, had as its chief objective
the enrichment of the group life. It was the period in which large
houses and commodious barns were erected, and in which the church and
the school were the centers of social activity. The third period, which
began about the year 1890, and which is not yet complete, is marked by a
transition from the era of resident proprietors of the land to that of
non-resident proprietors, and by the fact that the chief attention of
the land owners is paid to the improvement of the soil by fertilization
and drainage and to the increasing of facilities for communication and
for the marketing of farm products."
Each of these types created by the habits of the people in getting their
living, had its own kind of a community, so that we have had pioneer,
land farmer, exploiter and husbandman communities. Indeed all these
types are now found contemporaneous with one another. We have also had
successive churches built by the pioneer, by the land farmer, by the
exploiter and by the husbandman. The present state of the country church
and community is explained best by saying that it is an effect of
transition from the pioneer and the land farmer types of church and
community to the exploiter and husbandman types.
The pioneer lived alone. He placed his cabin without regard to social
experience. In the woods his axe alone was heard and on the prairie the
smoke from his sod house was sometimes answered by no other smoke in the
whole horizon. He worked and fought and pondered alone.
Self-preservation was the struggle of his life, and personal salvation
was his aspiration in prayer. His relations with his fellows were purely
democratic and highly independent. The individual man with his family
lived alone in the face of man and God. The following is a description
by an eye witness of such a community which preserves in a mountain
country the conditions of pioneer life[2].
"It is pitiful to see the lack of co-operation among them. It is most
evident in business but makes itself known in the children, too. I
regard it as one reason why they do not play; they have been so isolated
that they do not allow the social instinct of their natures to express
itself. This, of course, is all unconsciously done on their part.
However, one cannot live long among them without finding out that they
are characterized by an intense individualism. It applies to all that
they do, and to it may be attached the blame for all the things which
they lack or do wrongfully. If a man has been wronged, he must
personally right the wrong. If a man runs for office, people support him
as a man and no questions are asked as to his platform. If a man
conducts a store, people buy from him because he sells the goods, not
because the goods commend themselves to them. And so by common consent
and practise, the individual interests are first. Naturally this leads
to many cases of lawlessness. The game of some of our people is to
evade the law; of others, to ignore the law entirely."
The pioneer had in his religion but one essential doctrine,--the
salvation of the soul. His church had no other concern than to save
individuals from the wrath to come. It had just one method, an annual
revival of religion.
The loneliness of the pioneer's soul is an effect of his bodily
loneliness. The vast outdoors of nature forest or prairie or mountain,
made him silent and introspective even when in company. The variety of
impacts of nature upon his bodily life made him resourceful and
self-reliant; and upon his soul resulted in a reflective, melancholy
egotism. His religion must therefore begin and end in personal
salvation. It was a message, an emotion, a struggle, and a peace.
The second great characteristic of the pioneer was his emotional
tension. His impulses were strong and changeable. The emotional
instability of the pioneer grew out of his mixture of occupations. It
was necessary for him to practise all the trades. In the original
pioneer settlement this was literally true. In later periods of the
settlement of the land the pioneer still had many occupations and
representative sections of the country even until the present time
exhibit a mixture of occupations among country people most unlike the
ordered life of the Eastern States. Adam Smith in "Wealth of Nations"
makes clear that the practise of many occupations induces emotional
conditions. Between each two economic processes there is generated for
the worker at varied trades a languor, which burdens and confuses the
work of the man who practises many trades. This languor is the source of
the emotional instability of the pioneer.
The pioneer's method of bridging the gap between his many occupations
was simple. When he had been hunting he found it hard to go to plowing:
and if plowing, on the same day to turn to tanning or to mending a roof.
When the pioneer had spent an hour in bartering with a neighbor he found
it difficult to turn himself to the shoeing of a horse or the clearing
of land. For this new effort his expedient was alcohol. He took a drink
of rum as a means of forcing himself to the new occupation. The result
is that alcoholic liquors occupy a large place in the economy of every
such pioneer people.
In the mountain regions of the South, where the pioneer remains as an
arrested type, the rum jug occupies the same place in the economy of the
countryman as it occupied in the early settlements of the United States
generally. These "contemporary ancestors" of ours in the Appalachian
region have all the marks of the pioneer. Their simple life, their
varied occupations, and the relative independence of the community and
household, sufficient unto themselves, present a picture of the earlier
American conditions. It is obvious among them that the emotional
condition of the pioneer grew out of his economy and extended itself
into his church.
This emotional instability of the pioneer shows itself in his social
life. The well known feuds of the mountain people exhibit this
condition. Feeling is at once violent and impulsive. The very reserve of
these unsmiling and serious people is an emotional state, for the meager
diet and heavy continued strains of their economic life poorly supply
and easily exhaust vitality.
The frontier church exhibited emotional variability. It expressed itself
in the pioneer's one method; namely, an annual revival of religion. In
the pioneer churches there were few or no Sunday schools or other
societies. In those regions in which the pioneer has remained the type
of economic life Sunday schools do not thrive. Societies for young
people, for men, women and children do not there exist. The church is a
place only for preaching. Religion consists of a message whose use is to
excite emotion. Preaching is had as often as possible, but not
necessarily once a week. Essential, however, to the pioneer's
organization of his churches is a periodical if possible an annual,
revival of religion. The means used at this time are the announcement of
a gospel message and the arousing of emotion in response to this
message. There is little application of religious imperative to the
details of life. There is no recognition of social life, because the
pioneer economy is lonely and individual. The whole process of religion
consists in "coming through": in other words, the procuring of an
individual and highly personal experience of emotion.
"Beneath the surface of life in these people so conservative, and so
indifferent to change as it is, there runs a strain of intense
emotionalism. When storms disturb the calm exterior, the mad waves lash
and beat and roar. And in religion this is most apparent. With them
emotionalism and religion are almost interchangeable quantities,--if
they are not identical.[3]
"It is in the revival service that you see the heart of the stolid
mountain man unmasked. The local mountain preachers know this fact well
and use it with great effect. A word must be said about these men who
work all through the week alongside of their fellows and preach to them
on Sunday. In some places there is a custom of holding service on
Saturday and Sunday. These men have generally 'come through'--a term
used to describe the process beginning with'mourning' and continuing
through repenting and being saved. And generally they are men of
personality. They have a certain power with men, anyway, and they are
keen to see the effect of things on their audiences. Some of them have
learned to read the Bible after they have been converted. It is not so
much what they say that counts. If people looked for that they would go
away unfilled. But they have another thing in mind. They want to feel
right. They go to church occasionally during revival drought, but always
during revival plenty. They go to get'revived up.' The preacher who has
the best voice is the best preacher. He sways his audience. The more
ignorant he is, the better, for then the Spirit of God is not hindered
by the wisdom of man. The spirit comes upon him when he enters the
pulpit. He speaks through him to the waiting congregation. Of course
they do not know what he is saying for the man makes too much noise. But
they begin to feel that this is indeed the place where religion can be
found and where it is being distributed among the people.
"Generally revivals occur as they have always done, about three times a
year. At these services the method requires that exhorters should be
present and perform. Several do so at the same time. The confusion is
great but the people breathe an atmosphere that begins to infect them.
Sooner or later weeping women are in the arms of some others' husbands
begging them to come to the mourning bench. Young girls single out the
boys that they like best and affectionately implore them to begin the
Christian life. All the time the choir is singing a swinging revival
hymn; the preacher is standing over his audience shouting 'Get busy,
sinners,' and two or three boys are scurrying back and forth carrying
water to the thirsty ones, while little groups of the faithful are
hovering over a penitent, smothering sinner, trying to 'pull her
through.' During this kind of a meeting which I attended at one time a
woman 'got happy' and went around slapping everyone she could get her
hand on, and skipping like a schoolgirl."
The pioneer church has not fully passed away. Its one doctrine and its
one method have still a place in the more elaborate life of the modern
church. Like the rum jug which is preserved for medicinal purposes, the
revival has a use in the pathology of modern church life. The doctrine
of personal salvation which is of chief concern, in the ministry to the
adolescent population[4] of the modern church, is just as vital as ever;
though it is not the only doctrine of the church of the husbandman,
which has come in the country.
A relic of the pioneer days is the custom known as the "Group System."
By this a preacher comes to a church once a month, or twice, and
preaches a sermon, returning promptly to his distant place of residence.
The early settlers of this country who originated this system were
lonely and individualized. They believed that religion consisted in a
mere message of salvation, so that all they required was to hear from a
preacher once in a while.
But the districts in which the "Group System" is used have grown beyond
this religious satisfaction and the "Group System" no longer renders
adequate religious service. Religion has become a greater ministry than
can be rendered in the form of a message, however well preached.
Like all outworn customs, this one breeds abuses as it grows older. Its
value having passed away, it has forms of offensiveness. In sections of
Missouri where the farmers are rich they say with contempt, "None of the
ministers lives in the country." The "Group System," in a territory of
Missouri comprising forty-one churches, organizes its forces as follows:
these forty-one churches have nine ministers who live in five
communities and go out two miles, ten miles, sometimes thirty miles, in
various directions, for a fractional service to other communities than
those in which they live. Each of the two big towns has more than one
minister and none of the country churches has a pastor. Thus the value
of the family life of the preacher is cancelled. After all this
organization and division of the men into small fractions among the
churches, there are sixteen of these churches which have neither pastor
nor preacher.
This "Group System" can be improved, as is done in Tennessee, by the
shortening of the journeys which must be made by the minister from his
home to his preaching point. Nevertheless, it gives to the country
community only a fraction of a man's time. He can interpret religion in
only three ways; in the sermon, the funeral service and the wedding.
Unfortunately mankind has to do many other things besides getting
married, buried or preached at.
The country community needs a pastor. It is better for the minister who
preaches to the country to live in the country. There are some parts
which cannot support a pastor, but the minister to country churches
should know the daily round of country life. Religion can never be
embodied in a sermon; and when religion comes to be limited to a formal
act it is tinged with suspicion in the eyes of most men. Sermons and
funerals and weddings become to country people the windows by which
religion flies out of the community. Especially among farmers, religion
is a matter of every-day life. What religion the farmer has grows out of
his yearly struggle with the soil and with the elements. His belief in
God is a belief in Providence. His God is the creator of the sun and the
seasons, the wind and the rain. The man who does not with him share
these experiences cannot long interpret them for him in terms of
scripture or of church.
The policy of the newer territories of the church must be to translate
the "Group System" into pastorates. The long range group service should
be transformed into short and compact group ministry; the pastor should
live in the country community and the length of his journey should never
be longer than his horse can drive. A group of churches which are not
more than ten miles apart constitute a country parish. Some few active
ministers are able to make thirty to forty miles on horseback on a
Sunday, among a scattered people. This is well, but as soon as the
railroad becomes an essential factor in the monthly visit of ministers
to the country, religion passes out of that community.
The service of the country preacher, in other words, is essentially
confined to the country community, and the bounds of the country
community are determined by the length of the team haul or horseback
ride to which that population is accustomed. Within these bounds
religious life and expression are possible. Immersed in his own
community, the life of the minister and of his family attain immediate
religious value. The whole influence of the minister's home, the service
of his wife to the people, which is often greater than his own, and the
development of his children's life, these are all of religious use to
his people.
A recent speaker upon this matter said, "I doubt if even the Lord Jesus
Christ could have saved this world if he had come down to it only once
in two weeks on Saturday and gone back on Monday morning."
The pastor, then, is the type of community builder needed in the
country. The pastor works with a maximum of sincerity, while sincerity
may in preaching be reduced to the lowest terms. He is in constant,
intimate, personal contact. The preacher is dealing with theories and
ideals not always rooted in local experiences. The pastor lives the life
of the people. He is known to them and their lives are known to him. The
preacher may perform his oratorical ministry through knowledge of
populations long since dead and by description of foreign and alien
countries. It is possible to preach acceptably about kingdoms that have
not yet existed. But the work of a pastor is the development of ideals
out of situations. It is his business to inspire the daily life of his
people with high idealism and to construct those aspirations and
imaginations out of the daily work of mankind, which are proper to that
work and essential to that people.
An illustrious example of such ministry is that of John Frederick
Oberlin,[5] whose pastorate at Waldersbach in the Vosges consisted of a
service to his people in their every need, from the building of roads to
the organization and teaching of schools. It would have been impossible
for Oberlin to have served these people through preaching alone. Being a
mature community, indeed old in suffering and in poverty, they needed
the ministry of a pastor, and this service he rendered them in the
immersion of his life with theirs, and the bearing of their burdens,
even the most material and economic burden of the community, upon his
shoulders.
The passing away of pioneer days discredits the ministry of mere
preaching, through increasing variation of communities, families and
individuals. The preacher's message is not widely varied. It is the
interpreting of tradition, gospel and dogma. His sources can all be
neatly arranged on a book shelf. One suspects that the greater the
preacher, the fewer his books. On the contrary, the pastor's work is
necessitated by growing differences of his people. He must be all things
to many different kinds of men. In the country community this intimate
intercourse and varying sympathy take him through a wider range of human
experience than in a more classified community. He must plow with the
plowman, and hunt with the hunter, and converse with the seamstress, be
glad with the wedding company and bear the burden of sorrow in the day
of death. Moreover, nobody outside a country community knows how far a
family can go in the path to poverty and still live. No one knows how
eccentric and peculiar, how reserved and whimsical the life of a
household may be, in the country community, unless he has lived as
neighbor and friend to such a household. The preacher cannot know this.
Not all the experience of the world is written even in the Bible. The
spirit shall "teach us things to come." It is the pastor who learns
these things by his daily observation of the lives of men.
The communities themselves in the country differ widely, even in
conformity to given types, and when all is said by the general student,
the pastor has the knowledge of his own community. It belongs peculiarly
to him. No one else can ever know it and there are no two communities
alike. In the intense localism of a community, its religious history is
hidden away and its future is involved. The man who shall touch the
springs of the community's life must know these local conditions with
the intimate detail which only he commands who daily goes up and down
its paths. This man is the pastor. Except the country physician, no
other living man is such an observer as he.
The end of the pioneer days means, therefore, to religious people, the
establishment of the pastorate. The religious leader for the pioneer was
the preacher, but the community which clings to preaching as a
satisfactory and final religious ministry is retrograde. In this
retarding of religious progress is the secret of the decline of many
communities. The great work of ministering to them is in supplanting the
preacher, who renders but a fractional service to the people, by a
pastor whose preaching is an announcement of the varied ministry in
which he serves as the cure of souls.
The pioneer days are gone. Only in the Southern Appalachian region are
there arrested communities in which, in our time, the ways of our
American ancestors are seen. The community builder cannot change the
type | 1,212.601567 |
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Produced by Thorsten Kontowski, Henry Gardiner and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file made from scans of public domain material at
Austrian Literature Online.)
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The original publication has been replicated
faithfully except as shown in the List Of Corrections at the end of the
text. Words in italics are indicated like _this_. Footnotes are located
near the end of each chapter. [oe] represents the oe ligature.
* * * * *
NARRATIVE
OF THE
Circumnavigation of the Globe
BY THE AUSTRIAN FRIGATE
NOVARA,
(COMMODORE B. VON WULLERSTORF-URBAIR,)
_Undertaken by Order of the Imperial Government_,
IN THE YEARS 1857, 1858, & 1859,
UNDER THE IMMEDIATE AUSPICES OF HIS I. AND R. HIGHNESS
THE ARCHDUKE FERDINAND MAXIMILIAN,
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF OF THE AUSTRIAN NAVY.
BY
DR. KARL SCHERZER,
MEMBER OF THE EXPEDITION, AUTHOR OF "TRAVELS IN CENTRAL AMERICA," ETC.
VOL. II.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
_SAUNDERS, OTLEY, AND CO._,
66, BROOK STREET, HANOVER SQUARE.
1862.
[THE RIGHT OF TRANSLATION IS RESERVED.]
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER X.
THE NICOBAR ISLANDS.
Historical details respecting this Archipelago.--Arrival at
Kar-Nicobar.--Communication with the Aborigines.--Village of
Saoui and "Captain John."--Meet with two white men.--Journey to
the south side of the Island.--Village of Komios.--Forest
Scenery.--Batte-Malve.--Tillangschong.--Arrival and stay at
Nangkauri Harbour.--Village of Itoe.--Peak Mongkata on Kamorta.--
Villages of Enuang and Malacca.--Tripjet, the first settlement
of the Moravian Brothers.--Ulala Cove.--Voyage through the
Archipelago.--The Island of Treis.--Pulo Miu.--P | 1,212.898733 |
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E-text prepared by Woodie4, Curtis Weyant, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from digital
material generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 28861-h.htm or 28861-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/daveporterinfarn00straiala
Dave Porter Series
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
Or
The Pluck of an American Schoolboy
by
EDWARD STRATEMEYER
Author of "Dave Porter at Oak Hall," "Dave Porter in the South Seas,"
"Dave Porter's Return to School," "Old Glory Series," "Pan American
Series," "Defending His Flag," etc.
Illustrated By Charles Nuttall
[Illustration: In a twinkling the turnout was upset.--_Page 206._]
[Illustration: Publishers mark]
Boston
Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
Published, March, 1908
Copyright, 1908, by Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
All rights reserved
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
Norwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
Norwood, Mass.
U. S. A.
PREFACE
"Dave Porter in the Far North" is a complete story in itself, but forms
the fourth volume in a line issued under the general title of "Dave
Porter Series."
In the first volume, entitled "Dave Porter at Oak Hall," I introduced a
typical American lad, full of life and vigor, and related the
particulars of his doings at an American boarding school of to-day--a
place which is a little world in itself. At this school Dave made both
friends and enemies, proved that he was a natural leader, and was
admired accordingly.
The great cloud over Dave's life was the question of his parentage. His
enemies called him "that poorhouse nobody," which hurt him deeply. He
made a discovery, and in the second volume of the series, entitled "Dave
Porter in the South Seas," we followed him on a most unusual voyage, at
the end of which he found an uncle, and learned something of his father
and sister, who were at that time traveling in Europe.
Dave was anxious to meet his own family, but could not find out just
where they were. While waiting for word from them, he went back to Oak
Hall, and in the third volume of the series, called "Dave Porter's
Return to School," we learned how he became innocently involved in a
mysterious series of robberies, helped to win two great games of
football, and brought the bully of the academy to a realization of his
better self.
As time went by Dave longed more than ever to meet his father and his
sister, and how he went in search of them I leave the pages which follow
to relate. As before, Dave is bright, manly, and honest to the core, and
in those qualities I trust my young readers will take him as their model
throughout life.
Once more I thank the thousands who have taken an interest in what I
have written for them. May the present story help them to despise those
things which are mean and hold fast to those things which are good.
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
January 10, 1908.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ON THE TRAIN 1
II. A ROW IN A RESTAURANT 12
III. OFF THE TRACK 22
IV. WHAT HAPPENED AT THE BARN 32
V. BACK TO OAK HALL 42
VI. GUS PLUM'S CONFESSION 51
VII. HOW JOB HASKERS WENT SLEIGH-RIDING 59
VIII. A MYSTERIOUS LETTER 69
IX. DAVE TALKS TO THE POINT 78
X. AN ADVENTURE ON ROBBER ISLAND 87
XI. A HUNT FOR AN ICE-BOAT 97
XII. THE MEETING OF THE GEE EYES 107
XIII. AN INTERRUPTED INITIATION 116
XIV. GOOD-BYE TO OAK HALL 125
XV. DAVE AND ROGER IN LONDON 134
XVI. SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATION 143
XVII. ON THE NORTH SEA 152
XVIII. IN NORWAY AT LAST 162
XIX. OFF TO THE NORTHWARD 171
XX. AN ENCOUNTER WITH WOLVES 181
XXI. CAUGHT IN A WINDSTORM 190
XXII. SNOWBOUND IN THE MOUNTAINS 200
XXIII. LEFT IN THE DARK 210
XXIV. THE BURGOMASTER OF MASOLGA 219
XXV. TO THE NORTHWARD ONCE MORE 228
XXVI. DAYS OF WAITING 237
XXVII. DAVE STRIKES OUT ALONE 246
XXVIII. A JOYOUS MEETING 255
XXIX. BEARS AND WOLVES 264
XXX. HOME AGAIN--CONCLUSION 274
ILLUSTRATIONS
In a twinkling the turnout was upset (page
206) _Frontispiece_
PAGE
Roger shoved it aside and it struck Isaac Pludding
full on the stomach 25
"Can't stop, I'm on the race-track!" yelled
Shadow 58
The mule shied to one side and sent Dave
sprawling on the ice 101
What was left of the camp-fire flew up in the
air 120
Once they ran close to a three-masted schooner 160
"Out with the lot of them! I will take the
rooms" 229
Dave received a blow from a rough paw that
sent him headlong 267
DAVE PORTER IN THE FAR NORTH
CHAPTER I
ON THE TRAIN
"Here we are at the station, Dave!"
"Yes, and there is Phil waiting for us," answered Dave Porter. He threw
up the car window hastily. "Hi, there, Phil, this way!" he called out,
lustily.
A youth who stood on the railroad platform, dress-suit case in hand,
turned hastily, smiled broadly, and then ran for the steps of the
railroad car. The two boys already on board arose in their seats to
greet him.
"How are you, Dave? How are you, Ben?" he exclaimed cordially, and shook
hands. "I see you've saved a seat for me. Thank you. My, but it's a cold
morning, isn't it?"
"I was afraid you wouldn't come on account of the weather," answered
Dave Porter. "How are you feeling?"
"As fine as ever," answered Phil Lawrence. "Oh, it will take more than
one football game to kill me," he went on, with a light laugh.
"I trust you never get knocked out like that again, Phil," said Dave
Porter, seriously.
"So do I," added Ben Basswood. "The game isn't worth it."
"Mother thought I ought to stay home until the weather moderated a bit,
but I told her you would all be on this train and I wanted to be with
the crowd. Had a fine Thanksgiving, I suppose."
"I did," returned Ben Basswood.
"Yes, we had a splendid time," added Dave Porter, "only I should have
been better satisfied if I had received some word from my father and
sister."
"No word yet, Dave?"
"Not a line, Phil," and Dave Porter's usually bright face took on a
serious look. "I don't know what to make of it and neither does my Uncle
Dunston."
"It certainly is queer. If they went to Europe your letters and
cablegrams ought to catch them somewhere. I trust you get word soon."
"If I don't, I know what I am going to do."
"What?"
"Go on a hunt, just as I did when I found my uncle," was Dave Porter's
reply.
While the three boys were talking the train had rolled out of the
station. The car was but half filled, so the | 1,212.998388 |
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The Hound of the Baskervilles
by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
CONTENTS
Chapter 1--Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Chapter 2--The Curse of the Baskervilles
Chapter 3--The Problem
Chapter 4--Sir Henry Baskerville
Chapter 5--Three Broken Threads
Chapter 6--Baskerville Hall
Chapter 7--The Stapletons of Merripit House
Chapter 8--First Report of Dr. Watson
Chapter 9--The Light Upon The Moor
Chapter 10--Extract from the Diary of Dr. Watson
Chapter 11--The Man on the Tor
Chapter 12--Death on the Moor
Chapter 13--Fixing the Nets
Chapter 14--The Hound of the Baskervilles
Chapter 15--A Retrospection
Chapter 1
Mr. Sherlock Holmes
Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings,
save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all
night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the
hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left
behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood,
bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a "Penang lawyer."
Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch
across. "To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the
C.C.H.," was engraved upon it, with the date "1884." It was just
such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to
carry--dignified, solid, and reassuring.
"Well, Watson, what do you make of it?"
Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no
sign of my occupation.
"How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in
the back of your head."
"I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in
front of me," said he. "But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of
our visitor's stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss
him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir
becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an
examination of it."
"I think," said I, following as far as I could the methods of my
companion, "that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical
man, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of
their appreciation."
"Good!" said Holmes. "Excellent!"
"I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a
country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on
foot."
"Why so?"
"Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has
been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town
practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so
it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with
it."
"Perfectly sound!" said Holmes.
"And then again, there is the 'friends of the C.C.H.' I should
guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose
members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which
has made him a small presentation in return."
"Really, Watson, you excel yourself," said Holmes, pushing back
his chair and lighting a cigarette. "I am bound to say that in
all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own
small achievements you have habitually underrated your own
abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you
are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius
have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear
fellow, that I am very much in your debt."
He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words
gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his
indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had
made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think
that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way
which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands
and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then with
an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and
carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a
convex lens.
"Interesting, though elementary," said he as he returned to his
favourite corner of the settee. "There are certainly one or two
indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several
deductions."
"Has anything escaped me?" I asked with some self-importance. "I
trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have
overlooked?"
"I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were
erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be
frank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided
towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this
instance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he
walks a good deal."
"Then I was right."
"To that extent."
"But that was all."
"No, no, my dear Watson, not all--by no means all. I would
suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more
likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when
the initials 'C.C.' are placed before that hospital the words
'Charing Cross' very naturally suggest themselves."
"You may be right."
"The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a
working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our
construction of this unknown visitor."
"Well, then, supposing that 'C.C.H.' does stand for 'Charing
Cross Hospital,' what further inferences may we draw?"
"Do none suggest themselves? You know my methods. Apply them!"
"I can only think of the obvious conclusion that the man has
practised in town before going to the country."
"I think that we might venture a little farther than this. Look
at it in this light. On what occasion would it be most probable
that such a presentation would be made? When would his friends
unite to give him a pledge of their good will? Obviously at the
moment when Dr. Mortimer withdrew from the service of the
hospital in order to start in practice for himself. We know there
has been a presentation. We believe there has been a change from
a town hospital to a country practice. Is it, then, stretching
our inference too far to say that the presentation was on the
occasion of the change?"
"It certainly seems probable."
"Now, you will observe that he could not have been on the staff
of the hospital, since only a man well-established in a London
practice could hold such a position, and such a one would not
drift into the country. What was he, then? If he was in the
hospital and yet not on the staff he could only have been a
house-surgeon or a house-physician--little more than a senior
student. And he left five years ago--the date is on the stick. So
your grave, middle-aged family practitioner vanishes into thin
air, my dear Watson, and there emerges a young fellow under
thirty, amiable, unambitious, absent-minded, and the possessor of
a favourite dog, which I should describe roughly as being larger
than a terrier and smaller than a mastiff."
I laughed incredulously as Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his
settee and blew little wavering rings of smoke up to the ceiling.
"As to the latter part, I have no means of checking you," said I,
"but at least it is not difficult to find out a few particulars
about the man's age and professional career." From my small
medical shelf I took down the Medical Directory and turned up the
name. There were several Mortimers, but only one who could be our
visitor. I read his record aloud.
"Mortimer, James, M.R.C.S., 1882, Grimpen, Dartmoor,
Devon. House-surgeon, from 1882 to 1884, at Charing Cross
Hospital. Winner of the Jackson prize for Comparative Pathology,
with essay entitled 'Is Disease a Reversion?' Corresponding
member of the Swedish Pathological Society. Author of 'Some
Freaks of Atavism' (Lancet 1882). 'Do We Progress?' (Journal of
Psychology, March, 1883). Medical Officer for the parishes of
Grimpen, Thorsley, and High Barrow."
"No mention of that local hunt, Watson," said Holmes with a
mischievous smile, "but a country doctor, as you very astutely
observed. I think that I am fairly justified in my inferences. As
to the adjectives, I said, if I remember right, amiable,
unambitious, and absent-minded. It is my experience that it is
only an amiable man in this world who receives testimonials, only
an unambitious one who abandons a London career for the country,
and only an absent-minded one who leaves his stick and not his
visiting-card after waiting an hour in your room."
"And the dog?"
"Has been in the habit of carrying this stick behind his master.
Being a heavy stick the dog has held it tightly by the middle,
and the marks of his teeth are very plainly visible. The dog's
jaw, as shown in the space between these marks, is too broad in
my opinion for a terrier and not broad enough for a mastiff. It
may have been--yes, by Jove, it is a curly-haired spaniel."
He had risen and paced the room as he spoke. Now he halted in the
recess of the window. There was such a ring of conviction in his
voice that I glanced up in surprise.
"My dear fellow, how can you possibly be so sure of that?"
"For the very simple reason that I see the dog himself on our
very door-step, and there is the ring of its owner. Don't move, I
beg you, Watson. He is a professional brother of yours, and your
presence may be of assistance to me. Now is the dramatic moment
of fate, Watson, when you hear a step | 1,213.998516 |
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[Illustration: FANNY'S BIRTHDAY]
PRETTY TALES
FOR THE
NURSERY.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY:
Depositories:
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD; AND 164, PICCADILLY:
AND SOLD BY THE BOOKSELLERS.
[Illustration: PRETTY TALES FOR THE NURSERY.]
FANNY'S BIRTHDAY.
Here is a nice new book! It is mine. Papa has just given it to me, for
this is my birth-day, and I am five years old. Oh, how pretty it is!
Here are boys and girls at play, like Willie and me; and here is nurse,
with baby on her knee.
They will call me a dunce if I do not learn to read well, so I will try
my very best; for what is the use of a nice book like this, if I cannot
read it? It is not of a bit more use than my wax doll would be to puss.
What, Miss Puss, you hear your own name, do you? and think we are going
to have a game of play. On no, puss, no such thing. It will not do for
me to mind only play, for mamma says that, if I live, I shall be a woman
in time, and there are many things that I must learn before then.
Look, puss, here is my new book. Ah, I see you do not care for books.
You like to lie on the warm rug before the fire, and there you sleep
away half your time. That may do very well for a puss, but it will not
do for me. If I am as idle as you, I shall grow up a dunce, and what
would papa say then? No, no, pussy, you may do as you like, but for my
part I am not going to be a dunce.
[Illustration]
Sometimes I sit upon mamma's knee, and she tells me the story about a
young king, who lived many years ago, and who loved the Bible better
than any other book in the world, and how God took him to wear a crown
of gold in heaven. Or else she talks to me about Jesus, who came down
from his glory above to die for us upon the cross. I love to hear about
him when he was a baby, and his mother laid him in a manger, for there
was no room for him in the inn. Oh! how glad I shall be when I can read
these things in books.
Mamma says that when I can read, I shall have books that will teach me
about many things which are to be seen in places a long way off, far,
far over the sea. About lions and tigers, that live in the woods, and
about black boys and girls, like the poor man who came to beg at the
door. Willie and I ran away from him, but nurse called us back, and
said he would not hurt us; and mamma told us to pity him and be kind to
him, if we saw him again. I should like to see the little black boys and
girls. Some of them go to school, I am told, but others are never taught
anything that is good: I am very sorry for them.
Let me look again at my new book. Papa was very kind to buy it | 1,214.101746 |
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THE WRECK
ON
THE ANDAMANS:
BEING
A NARRATIVE OF THE VERY REMARKABLE PRESERVATION,
AND ULTIMATE DELIVERANCE, OF THE SOLDIERS
AND SEAMEN, WHO FORMED THE SHIPS' COMPANIES OF
THE RUNNYMEDE AND BRITON TROOP-SHIPS, BOTH
WRECKED ON THE MORNING OF THE 12TH OF NOVEMBER,
1844, UPON ONE OF THE ANDAMAN ISLANDS, IN
THE BAY OF BENGAL.
_TAKEN FROM AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS_
BY
JOSEPH DARVALL, Esq.
_At the request of_
CAPT. CHARLES INGRAM, AND CAPT. HENRY JOHN HALL,
_Owners of the Runnymede._
"The dangers of the sea,
All the cares and all the fears,
When the stormy winds do blow."
(_Song._)
LONDON: PELHAM RICHARDSON, 23, CORNHILL.
1845.
PELHAM RICHARDSON, PRINTER, 23, CORNHILL.
PREFACE.
The Author, owing to circumstances, has had access to authentic
documents and facts, relating to one of the most remarkable shipwrecks
which have ever happened, that of the troop-ships Runnymede and
Briton, on the morning of the 12th of November, 1844, upon one of the
Andaman Islands.
In reading these, it struck him forcibly, that the circumstances, if
thrown into the shape of a narrative, would form not only an
interesting publication, but would serve as a monument of the cool
intrepidity and judicious presence of mind of British officers,
soldiers, and seamen, in a time of remarkable trial.
They also tend to illustrate in a very striking manner the correctness
of the classic and poetical description of the "dangers of the sea,"
contained in that passage of Scripture, which the Author has often
observed to be listened to with great interest, when read in its
course, in the churches of our seaports, and which, on that account,
he makes no apology for quoting in a work, not professedly religious.
"They that go down to the sea | 1,214.299548 |
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Produced by Amy Zellmer
THE
BOOK OF THE BUSH
CONTAINING
MANY TRUTHFUL SKETCHES OF THE
EARLY COLONIAL LIFE OF SQUATTERS, WHALERS,
CONVICTS, DIGGERS, AND OTHERS
WHO LEFT THEIR NATIVE LAND AND
NEVER RETURNED.
By GEORGE DUNDERDALE.
ILLUSTRATED BY J. MACFARLANE.
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
[ILLUSTRATION 1]
CONTENTS.
_____________
PURGING OUT THE OLD LEAVEN.
FIRST SETTLERS.
WRECK OF THE CONVICT SHIP "NEVA" ON KING'S ISLAND.
DISCOVERY OF THE RIVER HOPKINS.
WHALING.
OUT WEST IN 1849.
AMONG THE DIGGERS IN 1853.
A BUSH HERMIT.
THE TWO SHEPHERDS.
A VALIANT POLICE-SERGEANT.
WHITE SLAVERS.
THE GOVERNMENT STROKE.
ON THE NINETY-MILE.
GIPPSLAND PIONEERS.
THE ISLE OF BLASTED HOPES.
GLENGARRY IN GIPPSLAND.
WANTED, A CATTLE MARKET.
TWO SPECIAL SURVEYS.
HOW GOVERNMENT CAME TO GIPPSLAND.
GIPPSLAND UNDER THE LAW.
UNTIL THE GOLDEN DAWN.
A NEW RUSH.
GIPPSLAND AFTER THIRTY YEARS.
GOVERNMENT OFFICERS IN THE BUSH.
SEAL ISLANDS AND SEALERS.
A HAPPY CONVICT.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
ILLUSTRATION 1.
"Joey's out."
ILLUSTRATION 2.
"I'll show you who is master aboard this ship."
ILLUSTRATION 3.
"You stockman, Frank, come off that horse."
ILLUSTRATION 4.
"The biggest bully apropriated the belle of the ball."
* * *
"The best article in the March (1893) number of the 'Austral Light'
is a pen picture by Mr. George Dunderdale of the famous Ninety-Mile
Beach, the vast stretch of white and lonely sea-sands, which forms
the sea-barrier of Gippsland."--'Review of Reviews', March, 1893.
* * *
"The most interesting article in 'Austral Light' is one on Gippsland
pioneers, by George Dunderdale."--'Review of Reviews', March, 1895.
* * *
"In 'Austral Light' for September Mr. George Dunderdale contributes,
under the title of 'Gippsland under the Law,' one of those realistic
sketches of early colonial life which only he can write."--'Review
of Reviews', September, 1895.
* * *
THE BOOK OF THE BUSH.
---------------------
PURGING OUT THE OLD LEAVEN.
While the world was young, nations could be founded peaceably. There
was plenty of unoccupied country, and when two neighbouring
patriarchs found their flocks were becoming too numerous for the
pasture, one said to the other: "Let there be no quarrel, I pray,
between thee and me; the whole earth is between us, and the land is
watered as the garden of Paradise. If thou wilt go to the east, I
will go to the west; or if thou wilt go to the west, I will go to the
east." So they parted in peace.
But when the human flood covered the whole earth, the surplus
population was disposed of by war, famine, or pestilence. Death is
the effectual remedy for over-population. Heroes arose who had no
conscientious scruples. They skinned their natives alive, or
crucified them. They were then adored as demi-gods, and placed among
the stars.
Pious Aeneas was the pattern of a good emigrant in the early times,
but with all his piety he did some things that ought to have made his
favouring deities blush, if possible.
America, when discovered for the last of many times, was assigned by
the Pope to the Spaniards and Portuguese. The natives were not
consulted; but they were not exterminated; their descendants occupy
the land to the present day.
England claimed a share in the new continent, and it was parcelled
out to merchant adventurers by royal charter. The adventures of
these merchants were various, but they held on to the land.
New England was given to the Puritans by no earthly potentate, their
title came direct from heaven. Increase Mather said: "The Lord God
has given us for a rightful possession the land of the Heathen People
amongst whom we dwell;" and where are the Heathen People now?
Australia was not given to us either by the Pope or by the Lord. We
took this land, as we have taken many other lands, for our own
benefit, without asking leave of either heaven or earth. A
continent, with its adjacent islands, was practically vacant,
inhabited only by that unearthly animal the kangaroo, and by black
savages, who had not even invented the bow and arrow, never built a
hut or cultivated a yard of land. Such people could show no valid
claim to land or life, so we confiscated both. The British Islands
were infested with criminals from the earliest times. Our ancestors
were all pirates, and we have inherited from them a lurking taint in
our blood, which is continually impelling us to steal something or
kill somebody. How to get rid of this taint was a problem which our
statesmen found it difficult to solve. In times of war they
mitigated the evil by filling the ranks of our armies from the gaols,
and manning our navies by the help of the press-gang, but in times of
peace the scum of society was always increasing.
At last a great idea arose in the mind of England. Little was known
of New Holland, except that it was large enough to harbour all the
criminals of Great Britain and the rest of the population if
necessary. Why not transport all convicts, separate the chaff from
the wheat, and purge out the old leaven? By expelling all the
wicked, England would become the model of virtue to all nations.
So the system was established. Old ships were chartered and filled
with the contents of the gaols. If the ships were not quite
seaworthy it did not matter much. The voyage was sure to be a
success; the passengers might never reach land, but in any case they
would never return. On the vessels conveying male convicts, some
soldiers and officers were embarked to keep order and put down
mutiny. Order was kept with the lash, and mutiny was put down with
the musket. On the ships conveying women there were no soldiers, but
an extra half-crew was engaged. These men were called "Shilling-a-month"
men, because they had agreed to work for one shilling a month for the
privilege of being allowed to remain in Sydney. If the voyage lasted
twelve months they would thus have the sum of twelve shillings with
which to commence making their fortunes in the Southern Hemisphere.
But the "Shilling-a-month" man, as a matter of fact, was not worth
one cent the day after he landed, and he had to begin life once more
barefoot, like a new-born babe.
The seamen's food on board these transports was bad and scanty,
consisting of live biscuit, salt horse, Yankee pork, and Scotch
coffee. The Scotch coffee was made by steeping burnt biscuit in
boiling water to make it strong. The convicts' breakfast consisted
of oatmeal porridge, and the hungry seamen used to crowd round the
galley every morning to steal some of it. It would be impossible for
a nation ever to become virtuous and rich if its seamen and convicts
were reared in luxury and encouraged in habits of extravagance.
When the transport cast anchor in the beautiful harbour of Port
Jackson, the ship's blacksmith was called out of his bunk at
midnight. It was his duty to rivet chains on the legs of the
second-sentence men--the twice convicted. They had been told on
the voyage that they would have an island all to themselves, where
they would not be annoyed by the contemptuous looks and bitter jibes
of better men. All night long the blacksmith plied his hammer and
made the ship resound with the rattling chains and ringing manacles,
as he fastened them well on the legs of the prisoners. At dawn of
day, chained together in pairs, they were landed on Goat Island;
that was the bright little isle--their promised land. Every
morning they were taken over in boats to the town of Sydney, where
they had to work as scavengers and road-makers until four o'clock in
the afternoon. They turned out their toes, and shuffled their feet
along the ground, dragging their chains after them. The police could
always identify a man who had been a chain-gang prisoner during the
rest of his life by the way he dragged his feet after him.
In their leisure hours these convicts were allowed to make
cabbage-tree hats. They sold them for about a shilling each, and the
shop-keepers resold them for a dollar. They were the best hats ever
worn in the Sunny South, and were nearly indestructible; one hat
would last a lifetime, but for that reason they were bad for trade,
and became unfashionable.
The rest of the transported were assigned as servants to those
willing to give them food and clothing without wages. The free men
were thus enabled to grow rich by the labours of the bondmen--vice
was punished and virtue rewarded.
Until all the passengers had been disposed of, sentinels were posted
on the deck of the transport with orders to shoot anyone who
attempted to escape. But when all the convicts were gone, Jack was
sorely tempted to follow the shilling-a-month men. He quietly
slipped ashore, hurried off to Botany Bay, and lived in retirement
until his ship had left Port Jackson. He then returned to Sydney,
penniless and barefoot, and began to look for a berth. At the Rum
Puncheon wharf he found a shilling-a-month man already installed as
cook on a colonial schooner. He was invited to breakfast, and was
astonished and delighted with the luxuries lavished on the colonial
seaman. He had fresh beef, fresh bread, good biscuit, tea, coffee,
and vegetables, and three pounds a month wages. There was a vacancy
on the schooner for an able seaman, and Jack filled it. He then
registered a solemn oath that he would "never go back to England no
more," and kept it.
Some kind of Government was necessary, and, as the first inhabitants
were criminals, the colony was ruled like a gaol, the Governor being
head gaoler. His officers were mostly men who had been trained in
the army and navy. They were all poor and needy, for no gentleman of
wealth and position would ever have taken office in such a community.
They came to make a living, and when free immigrants arrived and
trade began to flourish, it was found that the one really valuable
commodity was rum, and by rum the officers grew rich. In course of
time the country was divided into districts, about thirty or
thirty-five in number, over each of which an officer presided as
police magistrate, with a clerk and staff of constables, one of whom
was official flogger, always a convict promoted to the billet for
merit and good behaviour.
New Holland soon became an organised pandemonium, such as the world
had never known since Sodom and Gomorrah disappeared in the Dead Sea,
and the details of its history cannot be written. To mitigate its
horrors the worst of the criminals were transported to Norfolk
Island. The Governor there had not the power to inflict capital
punishment, and the convicts began to murder one another in order to
obtain a brief change of misery, and the pleasure of a sea voyage
before they could be tried and hanged in Sydney. A branch
pandemonium was also established in Van Diemen's Land. This system
was upheld by England for about fifty years.
The 'Britannia', a convict ship, the property of Messrs. Enderby &
Sons, arrived at Sydney on October 14th, 1791, and reported that vast
numbers of sperm whales were seen after doubling the south-west cape
of Van Diemen's Land. Whaling vessels were fitted out in Sydney, and
it was found that money could be made by oil and whalebone as well as
by rum. Sealing was also pursued in small vessels, which were often
lost, and sealers lie buried in all the islands of the southern seas,
many of them having a story to tell, but no story-teller.
Whalers, runaway seamen, shilling-a-month men, and escaped convicts
were the earliest settlers in New Zealand, and were the first to make
peaceful intercourse with the Maoris possible. They built themselves
houses with wooden frames, covered with reeds and rushes, learned to
converse in the native language, and became family men. They were
most of them English and Americans, with a few Frenchmen. They loved
freedom, and preferred Maori customs, and the risk of being eaten, to
the odious supervision of the English Government. The individual
white man in those days was always welcome, especially if he brought
with him guns, ammunition, tomahawks, and hoes. It was by these
articles that he first won the respect and admiration of the native.
If the visitor was a "pakeha tutua," a poor European, he might
receive hospitality for a time, in the hope that some profit might be
made out of him. But the Maori was a poor man also, with a great
appetite, and when it became evident that the guest was no better
than a pauper, and could not otherwise pay for his board, the Maori
sat on the ground, meditating and watching, until his teeth watered,
and at last he attached the body and baked it.
In 1814 the Church Missionary Society sent labourers to the distant
vineyard to introduce Christianity, and to instruct the natives in
the rights of property. The first native protector of Christianity
and letters was Hongi Hika, a great warrior of the Ngapuhi nation, in
the North Island. He was born in 1777, and voyaging to Sydney in
1814, he became the guest of the Rev. Mr. Marsden. In 1819 the rev.
gentleman bought his settlement at Kerikeri from Hongi Hika, the
price being forty-eight axes. The area of the settlement was
thirteen thousand acres. The land was excellent, well watered, in a
fine situation, and near a good harbour. Hongi next went to England
with the Rev. Mr. Kendall to see King George, who was at that time in
matrimonial trouble. Hongi was surprised to hear that the King had
to ask permission of anyone to dispose of his wife Caroline. He said
he had five wives at home, and he could clear off the whole of them
if he liked without troubling anybody. He received valuable presents
in London, which he brought back to Sydney, and sold for three
hundred muskets and ammunition. The year 1822 was the most glorious
time of his life. He raised an army of one thousand men, three
hundred of whom had been taught the use of his muskets. The
neighbouring tribes had no guns. He went up the Tamar, and at Totara
slew five hundred men, and baked and ate three hundred of them. On
the Waipa he killed fourteen hundred warriors out of a garrison of
four thousand, and then returned home with crowds of slaves. The
other tribes began to buy guns from the traders as fast as they were
able to pay for them with flax; and in 1827, at Wangaroa, a bullet
went through Hongi's lungs, leaving a hole in his back through which
he used to whistle to entertain his friends; but he died of the wound
fifteen months afterwards.
Other men, both clerical and lay, followed the lead of the Rev. Mr.
Marsden. In 1821 Mr. Fairbairn bought four hundred acres for ten
pounds worth of trade. Baron de Thierry bought forty thousand acres
on the Hokianga River for thirty-six axes. From 1825 to 1829 one
million acres were bought by settlers and merchants. Twenty-five
thousand acres were bought at the Bay of Islands and Hokianga in five
years, seventeen thousand of which belonged to the missionaries. In
1835 the Rev. Henry Williams made a bold offer for the unsold
country. He forwarded a deed of trust to the governor of New South
Wales, requesting that the missionaries should be appointed trustees
for the natives for the remainder of their lands, "to preserve them
from the intrigues of designing men." Before the year 1839, twenty
millions of acres had been purchased by the clergy and laity for a
few guns, axes, and other trifles, and the Maoris were fast wasting
their inheritance. But the titles were often imperfect. When a man
had bought a few hundreds of acres for six axes and a gun, and had
paid the price agreed on to the owner, another owner would come and
claim the land because his grandfather had been killed on it. He sat
down before the settler's house and waited for payment, and whether
he got any or not he came at regular intervals during the rest of his
life and sat down before the door with his spear and mere* by his
side waiting for more purchase money.
[Footnote] *Axe made of greenstone.
Some honest people in England heard of the good things to be had in
New Zealand, formed a company, and landed near the mouth of the
Hokianga River to form a settlement. The natives happened to be at
war, and were performing a war dance. The new company looked on
while the natives danced, and then all desire for land in New Zealand
faded from their hearts. They returned on board their ship and
sailed away, having wasted twenty thousand pounds. Such people
should remain in their native country. Your true rover, lay or
clerical, comes for something or other, and stays to get it, or dies.
After twenty years of labour, and an expenditure of two hundred
thousand pounds, the missionaries claimed only two thousand converts,
and these were Christians merely in name. In 1825 the Rev. Henry
Williams said the natives were as insensible to redemption as brutes,
and in 1829 the Methodists in England contemplated withdrawing their
establishment for want of success.
The Catholic Bishop Pompallier, with two priests, landed at Hokianga
on January 10th, 1838, and took up his residence at the house of an
Irish Catholic named Poynton, who was engaged in the timber trade.
Poynton was a truly religious man, who had been living for some time
among the Maoris. He was desirous of marrying the daughter of a
| 1,214.5055 |
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[Illustration: R. Badger]
MEMOIR OF REV. JOSEPH BADGER.
BY E. G. HOLLAND.
FOURTH EDITION.
NEW YORK:
C. S. FRANCIS AND CO., 252 BROADWAY.
BOSTON: BENJAMIN H. GREENE, 124 WASHINGTON ST.
1854.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1853, by
MRS. ELIZA M. BADGER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Western District of New York.
DAMRELL & MOORE,
PRINTERS,
16 Devonshire Street, Boston.
PREFACE
The present volume is the Memoir of a man and a minister whose character
was strikingly individual, whose services to Religion in its more
liberal and unsectarian form were large and successful; and in the
denomination to which he belonged, no man was more generally known, and
none, we believe, ever acted a more prominent and effective part. The
writer of this has endeavored to set forth the life and sentiments of
Mr. Badger, to a large extent in his own language. Much of his journal
must be new even to old acquaintance, as it was written many years ago,
and no part of it has ever been published. To those who would be pleased
to read the outlines of the greatest theological reformation among the
masses which the nineteenth century may justly claim, we trust this
volume will be welcome; likewise to all those who may be liberal and
evangelical Christians. Aged men, contemporaries with him, will rejoice
in the revival of past scenes, and the young will be taught, encouraged,
and warned by the paternal voices of the departed.
Two classes of great men figure effectively on the stage of the world.
One class are strongest in writing. Their written words embody the
entire elegance and power of their minds. Such were Webster and
Channing. The other class are strongest in speech. Their personal
presence, their spontaneous eloquence in oral discourse, alone express
their mind and heart. Such were Clay, Henry, and Whitfield. To the
latter classification Mr. Badger unquestionably belongs. Though the
marks of superiority are variously apparent in his papers, it was in the
more natural medium of oral speech that his genius shone. Having now
completed the task demanded by my duty to the family of Mr. Badger, I
would, in the name of the self-sacrificing, trusting faith of which he
was no common example, send forth this volume to the world, hoping that
in an ease-loving age, the presentation of a Lutheran force in the
example of a son of New Hampshire may serve to awaken in others a
kindred energy.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. BIRTH AND ANCESTRY.
II. CHILDHOOD.
III. YOUTH AND EDUCATION.
IV. CONVERSION.
V. CALL TO AND ENTRANCE UPON THE MINISTRY.
VI. PUBLIC LABORS IN THE PROVINCE.
VII. TOUR TO NEW ENGLAND, AND PUBLIC LABORS.
VIII. ORDINATION AND PUBLIC LABORS.
IX. PUBLIC LABORS--MARRIAGE--TRAVELS.
X. LABORS AND SETTLEMENT IN WESTERN NEW YORK.
XI. THOUGHTS AND INCIDENTS OF 1819 AND 1820.
XII. WRITINGS--MARRIAGE-- | 1,214.698635 |
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International Education Series
EDITED BY
WILLIAM T. HARRIS, A.M., LL.D.
_Volume XXI._
THE INTERNATIONAL EDUCATION SERIES.
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THE INTERNATIONAL EDUCATION SERIES was projected for the purpose of
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INTERNATIONAL EDUCATION SERIES
THE MORAL INSTRUCTION OF CHILDREN
BY
FELIX ADLER
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1892
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED
AT THE APPLETON PRESS, U.S.A.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
Moral education is everywhere acknowledged to be the most important part
of all education; but there has not been the same agreement in regard to
the best means of securing it in the school. This has been due in part
to a want of insight into the twofold nature of this sort of education;
for instruction in morals includes two things: the formation of right
ideas and the formation of right habits. Right ideas are necessary to
guide the will, but right habits are the product of the will itself.
It is possible to have right ideas to some extent without the
corresponding moral habits. On this account the formation of correct
habits has been esteemed by some to be the chief thing. But unconscious
habits--mere use and wont--do not seem to deserve the title of moral in
its highest sense. The moral act should be a considerate one, and rest
on the adoption of principles to guide one's actions.
To those who lay stress on the practical side and demand the formation
of correct habits, the school as it is seems to be a great ethical
instrumentality. To those who see in theoretical instruction the only
true basis of moral character, the existing school methods seem sadly
deficient.
The school as it is looks first after its discipline, and next after its
instruction. Discipline concerns the behavior, and instruction concerns
the intellectual progress of the pupil. That part of moral education
which relates to habits of good behavior is much better provided for in
the school than any part of intellectual education.
There is, however, a conflict here between old and new ideals. The
old-fashioned school regarded obedience to authority the one essential;
the new ideal regards insight into the reasonableness of moral commands
the chief end. It is said, with truth, that a habit of unreasoning
obedience does not fit one for the exigencies of modern life, with its
partisan appeals to the individual and its perpetual display of grounds
and reasons, specious and otherwise, in the newspapers. The unreasoning
obedience to a moral guide in school may become in after life
unreasoning obedience to a demagogue or to a leader in crime.
It is not obedience to external authority that we need so much as
enlightened moral sense, and yet there remains and will remain much good
in the old-fashioned habit of implicit obedience.
The new education aims at building up self-control and individual
insight. It substitutes the internal authority of conscience for the
external authority of the master. It claims by this to educate the
citizen fitted for the exercise of suffrage in a free government. He
will weigh political and social questions in his mind, and decide for
himself. He will be apt to reject the scheme of the demagogue. While the
old-fashioned school-master relied on the rod to sustain his external
authority, he produced, it is said, a reaction against all authority in
the minds of strong-willed pupils. The new education saves the
strong-willed pupil from this tension against constituted authority, and
makes him law-abiding from the beginning.
It will be admitted that the school under both its forms--old as well as
new--secures in the main the formation of the cardinal moral habits. It
is obliged to insist on regularity, punctuality, silence, and industry
as indispensable for the performance of its school tasks. A private
tutor may permit his charge to neglect all these things, and yet secure
some progress in studies carried on by fits and starts, with noise and
zeal to-day, followed by indolence to-morrow. But a school, on account
of its numbers, must insist on the semi-mechanical virtues of
regularity, punctuality, silence, and industry. Although these are
semi-mechanical in their nature, for with much practice they become
unconscious habits, yet they furnish the very ground-work of all
combinations of man with his fellow-men. They are fundamental conditions
of social life. The increase of city population, consequent on the
growth of productive industry and the substitution of machines for hand
labor, renders necessary the universal prevalence of these cardinal
virtues of the school.
Even the management of machines requires that sort of alertness which
comes from regularity and punctuality. The travel on the railroad, the
management of steam-engines, the necessities of concerted action,
require punctuality and rhythmic action.
The school habit of silence means considerate regard for the rights of
fellow-workmen. They must not be interfered with; their attention must
not be distracted from their several tasks. A rational self-restraint
grows out of this school habit--rational, because it rests on
considerateness for the work of others. This is a great lesson in
co-operation. Morals in their essence deal with the relation of man to
his fellow-men, and rest on a considerateness for the rights of others.
"Do unto others," etc., sums up the moral code.
Industry, likewise, takes a high rank as a citizen's virtue. By it man
learns to re-enforce the moments by the hours, and the days by the
years. He learns how the puny individual can conquer great obstacles.
The school demands of the youth a difficult kind of industry. He must
think and remember, giving close and unremitting attention to subjects
strange and far off from his daily life. He must do this in order to
discover eventually that these strange and far-off matters are connected
in a close manner to his own history and destiny.
There is another phase of the pupil's industry that has an important
bearing on morals. All his intellectual work in the class has to do with
critical accuracy, and respect for the truth. Loose statements and
careless logical inference meet with severe reproof.
Finally, there is an enforced politeness and courtesy toward teachers
and fellow-pupils--at least to the extent of preventing quarrels. This
is directly tributary to the highest of virtues, namely, kindness and
generosity.
All these moral phases mentioned have to do with the side of school
discipline rather than instruction, and they do not necessarily have any
bearing on the theory of morals or on ethical philosophy, except in the
fact that they make a very strong impression on the mind of the youth,
and cause him to feel that he is a member of a moral order. He learns
that moral demands are far more stern than the demands of the body for
food or drink or repose. The school thus does much to change the pupil
from a natural being to a spiritual being. Physical nature becomes
subordinated to the interests of human nature.
Notwithstanding the fact that the school is so efficient as a means of
training in moral habits, it is as yet only a small influence in the
realm of moral theory. Even our colleges and universities, it must be
confessed, do little in this respect, although there has been of late an
effort to increase in the programmes the amount of time devoted to
ethical study. The cause of this is the divorce of moral theory from
theology. All was easy so long as ethics was directly associated with
the prevailing religious confession. The separation of Church and
State, slowly progressing everywhere since the middle ages, has at
length touched the question of education.
The attempt to find an independent basis for ethics in the science of
sociology has developed conflicting systems. The college student is
rarely strengthened in his faith in moral theories by his theoretic
study. Too often his faith is sapped. Those who master a spiritual
philosophy are strengthened; the many who drift toward a so-called
"scientific" basis are led to weaken their moral convictions to the
standpoint of fashion, or custom, or utility.
Meanwhile the demand of the age to separate Church from State becomes
more and more exacting. Religious instruction has almost entirely ceased
in the public schools, and it is rapidly disappearing from the
programmes of colleges and preparatory schools, and few academies are
now scenes of religious revival, as once was common.
The publishers of this series are glad, therefore, to offer a book so
timely and full of helpful suggestions as this of Mr. Adler. It is hoped
that it may open for many teachers a new road to theoretic instruction
in morality, and at the same time re-enforce the study of literature in
our schools.
W. T. HARRIS.
WASHINGTON, D.C., _July, 1892_.
PREFATORY NOTE.
The following lectures were delivered in the School of Applied Ethics
during its first session in 1891, at Plymouth, Mass. A few of the
lectures have been condensed, in order to bring more clearly into view
the logical scheme which underlies the plan of instruction here
outlined. The others are published substantially as delivered.
I am deeply conscious of the difficulties of the problem which I have
ventured to approach, and realize that any contribution toward its
solution, at the present time, must be most imperfect. I should, for my
part, have preferred to wait longer before submitting my thought to
teachers and parents. But I have been persuaded that even in its present
shape it may be of some use. I earnestly hope that, at all events, it
may serve to help on the rising tide of interest in moral education, and
may stimulate to further inquiry.
FELIX ADLER.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY LECTURES.
PAGE
I. The Problem of Unsectarian Moral Instruction 3
II. The Efficient Motives of Good Conduct 17
III. Opportunities for Moral Training in the Daily School 27
IV. The Classification of Duties 37
V. The Moral Outfit of Children on entering School 47
PRIMARY COURSE.
VI. The Use of Fairy Tales 64
VII. The Use of Fables 80
VIII. Supplementary Remarks on Fables 96
IX. Selected Stories from the Bible 106
X. The Odyssey and the Iliad 146
GRAMMAR COURSE.
LESSONS ON DUTY.
XI. The Duty of acquiring Knowledge 169
XII. Duties which relate to the Physical Life and the Feelings 185
XIII. Duties which relate to Others (Filial and Fraternal Duties) 202
XIV. Duties toward all Men (Justice and Charity) 218
XV. The Elements of Civic Duty 236
XVI. The Use of Proverbs and Speeches 245
XVII. Individualization of Moral Teaching | 1,214.900241 |
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THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
VOL. VII
[Illustration: William Wordsworth
after B. R. Haydon]
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
EDITED BY
WILLIAM KNIGHT
VOL. VII
[Illustration: _Dove Cottage Grasmere_]
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
NEW YORK: MACMILLAN & CO.
1896
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
1821-2
PAGE
Ecclesiastical Sonnets. In Series--
Part I.--From the Introduction of Christianity into
Britain, to the Consummation of the Papal Dominion--
I. Introduction 4
II. Conjectures 5
III. Trepidation of the Druids 6
IV. Druidical Excommunication 7
V. Uncertainty 7
VI. Persecution 8
VII. Recovery 9
VIII. Temptations from Roman Refinements 10
IX. Dissensions 10
X. Struggle of the Britons against the Barbarians 11
XI. Saxon Conquest 12
XII. Monastery of Old Bangor 13
XIII. Casual Incitement 14
XIV. Glad Tidings 15
XV. Paulinus 15
XVI. Persuasion 16
XVII. Conversion 17
XVIII. Apology 18
XIX. Primitive Saxon Clergy 19
XX. Other Influences 19
XXI. Seclusion 20
XXII. Continued 21
XXIII. Reproof 21
XXIV. Saxon Monasteries, and Lights and Shades of the
Religion 22
XXV. Missions and Travels 23
XXVI. Alfred 24
XXVII. His Descendants 25
XXVIII. Influence Abused 26
XXIX. Danish Conquests 27
XXX. Canute 27
XXXI. The Norman Conquest 28
XXXII. "Coldly we spake. The Saxons, overpowered" 29
XXXIII. The Council of Clermont 30
XXXIV. Crusades 31
XXXV. Richard I 31
XXXVI. An Interdict 32
XXXVII. Papal Abuses 33
XXXVIII. Scene in Venice 34
XXXIX. Papal Dominion 34
Part II.--To the Close of the Troubles in the Reign of Charles I--
I. "How soon--alas! did Man, created pure" 33
II. "From false assumption rose, and fondly hail'd" 36
III. Cistertian Monastery 37
IV. "Deplorable his lot who tills the ground" 38
V. Monks and Schoolmen 39
VI. Other Benefits 40
VII. Continued 40
VIII. Crusaders 41
IX. "As faith thus sanctified the warrior's crest" 42
X. "Where long and deeply hath been fixed the root" 43
XI. Transubstantiation 44
XII. The Vaudois 44
XIII. "Praised be the Rivers, from their mountain springs" 45
XIV. Waldenses 46
XV. Archbishop Chichely to Henry V. 47
XVI. Wars of York and Lancaster 48
XVII. Wicliffe 49
XVIII. Corruptions of the Higher Clergy 49
XIX. Abuse of Monastic Power 50
XX. Monastic Voluptuousness 51
XXI. Dissolution of the Monasteries 52
XXII. The Same Subject 52
XXIII. Continued 53
XXIV. Saints 54
XXV. The Virgin 54
XXVI. Apology 55
XXVII. Imaginative Regrets 56
XXVIII. Reflections 57
XXIX. Translation of the Bible 58
XXX. The Point at Issue 58
XXXI. Edward VI 59
XXXII. Edward signing the Warrant for the Execution of Joan
of Kent 60
XXXIII. Revival of Popery 61
XXXIV. Latimer and Ridley 61
XXXV. Cranmer 62
XXXVI. General View of the Troubles of the Reformation 64
XXXVII. English Reformers in Exile 64
XXXVIII. Elizabeth 65
XXXIX. Eminent Reformers 66
XL. The Same 67
XLI. Distractions 68
XLII. Gunpowder Plot 69
XLIII. Illustration. The Jung-frau and the Fall of
the Rhine near Schaffhausen 70
XLIV. Troubles of Charles the First 71
XLV. Laud 71
XLVI. Afflictions of England 72
Part III.--From the Restoration to the Present Times--
I. "I saw the figure of a lovely Maid" 74
II. Patriotic Sympathies 74
III. Charles the Second 75
IV. Latitudinarianism 76
V. Walton's Book of Lives 77
VI. Clerical Integrity 78
VII. Persecution of the Scottish Covenanters 79
VIII. Acquittal of the Bishops 79
IX. William the Third 80
X. Obligations of Civil to Religious Liberty 81
XI. Sacheverel 82
XII. "Down a swift Stream, thus far, a bold design" 83
XIII. Aspects of Christianity in America.--1. The Pilgrim
Fathers 84
XIV. 2. Continued 85
XV. 3. Concluded.--American Episcopacy 85
XVI. "Bishops and Priests, blessed are ye, if deep" 86
XVII. Places of Worship 87
XVIII. Pastoral Character 87
XIX. The Liturgy 88
XX. Baptism 89
XXI. Sponsors 90
XXII. Catechising 91
XXIII. Confirmation 92
XXIV. Confirmation Continued 92
XXV. Sacrament 93
XXVI. The Marriage Ceremony 94
XXVII. Thanksgiving after Childbirth 95
XXVIII. Visitation of the Sick 96
XXIX. The Commination Service 96
XXX. Forms of Prayer at Sea 97
XXXI. Funeral Service 97 | 1,215.501096 |
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[Transcriber's note: Both "Matilde" and "Matilda" appear in the source
text.]
TAQUISARA
BY
F. MARION CRAWFORD
1895
CHAPTER I.
"Where shall I sign my name?"
Veronica Serra's thin, dark fingers rolled the old silver penholder
nervously as she sat at one end of the long library table, looking up at
the short, stout man who stood beside her.
"Here, if you please, Excellency," answered Lamberto Squarci, with an
affable smile.
His fingers were dark, too, but not thin, and they were smooth and dingy
and very pointed, a fact which the young princess noticed with dislike,
as he indicated the spot on the broad sheet of rough, hand-made paper,
where he wished her to sign. A thrill of repulsion that was strong
enough to be painful ran through her, and she rolled the penholder still
more quickly and nervously, so that she almost dropped it, and a little
blot of ink fell upon the sheet before she had begun to write.
"Oh! It is of no importance!" said the Neapolitan notary, in a
reassuring tone. "A little ink more or less!"
He had some pink blotting-paper ready, and was already applying a corner
of it to the ink-spot, with the neat skill of a professional scribe.
"I will erase it when it is dry," he said. "You will not even see it.
Now, if your Excellency will sign--that will make the will valid."
Three other persons stood around Donna Veronica as she set the point of
her pen to the paper, and two of them watched the characters she traced,
with eager, unwinking eyes. The third was a very insignificant personage
just then, being but the notary's clerk; but his signature was needed as
a witness to the will, and he patiently waited for his turn. The other
two were husband and wife, Gregorio and Matilde, Count and Countess
Macomer; and the countess was the young girl's aunt, being the only
sister of Don Tommaso Serra, Prince of Acireale, Veronica's dead father.
She looked on, with an eager, pleased expression, standing upright and
bending her head in order to see the point of the pen as it moved over
the rough paper. Her hands were folded before her, but the uppermost one
twitched and moved once or twice, as though it would go out to get
possession of the precious document which left her all the heiress's
great possessions in case of Donna Veronica's death. It was a bit of
paper well worth having.
The girl rose, slight and graceful, when she had written her name, and
the finely chiselled lips had an upward curve of young scorn, as she
turned from the table, while the notary and his clerk proceeded to
witness the will. Immediately, the countess smiled, very brightly,
showing beautiful teeth between smooth red lips, and her strong arms
went round her young niece. She was a woman at least forty years of age,
but still handsome.
"I thank you with all my heart!" she cried. "It is a proof of affection
which I shall never forget! You will live a hundred years--a thousand,
if God will it! But the mere wish to leave me your fortune is a token of
love and esteem which I shall know how to value."
Donna Veronica kissed her aunt's fresh cheek coldly, and drew back as
soon as she could.
"I am glad that you are pleased," she answered in a cool and colourless
voice.
She felt that she had said enough, and, so far as she expected any
thanks, her aunt had said too much. She had made the will and had signed
it, for the sake of peace, and she asked nothing but peace in return.
Ever since she had left the convent in which she had been educated and
had come to live with her aunt, the question of this will had arisen at
least once every day, and she knew by heart every argument which had
been invented to induce her to make it. The principal one had always
been the same. She had been told that if, in the inscrutable ways of
Providence, she should chance to die young, unmarried and childless,
the whole of the great Acireale property would go to relations whom she
had never seen and of whom she scarcely knew the names. This, the
Countess Macomer had insisted, would be a terrible misfortune, and as
human life was uncertain, even when one was very young, it was the duty
of Veronica to provide against it, by leaving everything to the one
remaining member of the Serra family who, with herself, represented the
direct line, who had taken a mother's place and duties in bringing up
the orphan girl, and who had been ready to sacrifice every personal
consideration for the sake of the child's welfare.
Veronica did not see clearly that the Countess Macomer had ever really
sacrificed anything at all in the execution of her trust as guardian,
any more than the count himself, who, with Cardinal Campodonico, was a
joint trustee, had ever been put to any inconvenience, beyond that of
being the uncle by marriage of one of the richest heiresses in Italy. It
was natural that when she had signed the will at last, she should
receive her aunt's effusive thanks rather coldly, and that she should
show very little enthusiasm when her uncle kissed her forehead and
expressed his appreciation of her loving intention. The plain truth was
that if she had refused any longer to sign the will, the two would have
made her life even more unbearable than it was already.
She knew that there was no reason why her life should be made hard to
bear. She was not only rich, and a princess in her own right. She was
young and, if not pretty, at least fairly well endowed with those gifts
which attract and please, and bring their possessor the daily little
satisfactions that make something very like happiness, before passion
throws its load into the scales of life on the right side or the wrong.
She knew that, at her age, she might have been married already, and she
wondered that her aunt should not have proposed to marry her before now.
Yet in this she was not displeased, for her best friend, Bianca
Campodonico, had been married two years already to Corleone, of evil
fame, and was desperately unhappy. Veronica dreaded a like fate, and was
in no haste to find a husband. The countess told her always that she
should be free to choose one for herself within reasonable limits of
age, name, and fortune. Such an heiress, with such a fortune, said
Matilde Macomer, could marry whom she pleased. But so far as Veronica
had been allowed to see the world, the choice seemed anything but large.
The count and countess had always been very careful in the selection of
their intimate associates--they could hardly be said to have any
intimate friends. Since Veronica had come to them from the convent in
Rome, where she had been educated according to her dead father's
desire, they had been doubly cautious and trebly particular as to the
persons they chose to receive. Their responsibility, they said openly,
was very great. The child's happiness, was wholly in their hands. They
would be held accountable if she should form an unfortunate attachment
for some ineligible young man who might chance to dine at their table.
The responsibility, they repeated with emphasis, was truly enormous. It
was also an unfortunate fact that in their Neapolitan society there were
many young men, princes and dukes by the score, who had nothing but
their names and titles to recommend them, and who would have found it
very hard to keep body and title together, so to say, if gambling had
suddenly been abolished, or had gone out of fashion unexpectedly.
Then, too, the Macomer couple had always led a retired life and had kept
aloof from the very gay portion of society. They lived well, according
to their station, and so far as any one could see; but it had always
been said that Gregorio Macomer was miserly. At the same time it suited
his wife, for reasons of her own, not to be conspicuous in the world,
and she encouraged him to lead a quiet existence, spending half the year
in the country, and receiving very few people when in Naples during the
winter and spring. Gregorio had one brother, Bosio, considerably younger
than himself and very different in character, who was not married and
who lived at the Palazzo Macomer, on excellent terms both with Gregorio
and the countess, as well as with Veronica herself. The young girl was
inclined to like him, though she felt dimly that she could never
understand him as she believed that she understood her aunt and uncle.
He was, indeed, almost the only man, excepting her uncle, whom she could
be said to know tolerably well. He was not present on that afternoon
when she signed the will, but his absence did not surprise her, for he
had always abstained from any remarks about her property or his
brother's and sister-in-law's guardianship, in such a marked way as to
make her understand that he really wished to know nothing about the
management or disposal of her fortune.
She liked him for several reasons,--for his non-interference in
discussions about her affairs, for a certain quiet consideration, just a
shade more friendly than deference, which he showed for her slightest
wishes, and chiefly, perhaps, for his conversation and perfectly even
temper.
Her uncle Macomer was not always good-tempered and he was never
considerate. He was a stiff man, of impenetrable face, much older than
his wife, cold when he was pleased, and harsh as rough ice when he was
annoyed; a tall, bony man, with flattened lips, from which the grey
moustaches and the beard were brushed smoothly away in all directions.
He had very small eyes--a witty enemy of his said they were so small
that one could not find them in his face, and those who knew him laughed
at the jest, for they always seemed hard to find when one wished to meet
them. His shoulders were unusually high and narrow, but he did not
stoop. On the contrary, he habitually threw back his head, with a
certain coldly aggressive stiffness, so that he easily looked above the
person with whom he was talking. Though he had never been given to any
sort of bodily exercise, his hands were naturally horny, and they were
almost always cold. For the rest, he was careful of his appearance and
scrupulous in matters of dress, like many of his fellow-countrymen. In
his household he insisted upon a neatness as fastidious as his own, and
nothing could have induced him to employ a Neapolitan servant. His
family colours were green and black, and the green of his servants'
liveries was of the very darkest that could be had.
He imposed his taste upon his household, and gave it a certain marked
respectability which betrayed no information about his fortune. To all
appearances he was not poor; but it would have been impossible to say
with certainty whether he were rich or only in moderate circumstances.
He was undoubtedly more careful than ninety-nine out of a hundred of his
fellow-citizens, in getting the value of what he spent, to the
uttermost splitting of farthings; and when he spoke of money there was a
certain cruel hardening of the hard lines in his face, which Veronica
never failed to notice with dislike. She wondered how her aunt could
have led an apparently tranquil life with such a man during more than
twenty years.
Doubtless, she thought, Bosio's presence acted as a palliative in the
somewhat grim atmosphere of the Palazzo Macomer. He was utterly
different from his brother. In the first place, he was gentle and kind
in speech and manner, though apparently rather sad than gay. He was
different in face, in figure, in voice, in carriage--having quiet brown
eyes, and brown hair only streaked with grey, with a full, silky beard;
a clear pale complexion; in frame shorter than Gregorio, with smaller
bones, slightly inclined to stoutness, but rather graceful than stiff;
small feet and well-shaped hands of pleasant texture; a clear, low voice
that never jarred upon the ear, and a kindly, half-sad laugh in which
there was a singular refinement, of the sort which shows itself more in
laughter than in speech. Laughter is, indeed, a terrible betrayer of the
character, and a surer guide in judgment than most people know. For men
learn to use their voices skilfully and to govern their tones as well as
their words; but, beyond not laughing too loud for ordinary decency of
behaviour, there are few people who care, or realize, how they laugh;
and those who do, and who, being aware that there is room for
improvement, endeavour to improve, very generally produce either a
semi-musical noise, which is false and affected, or a perfectly inane
cachinnation which has nothing human in it at all.
Bosio Macomer was a refined man, not only by education and outward
contact with the refinements he sought in others, but within himself and
by predisposition of nature. He read much, and found beauties in books
which his friends thought dull, but which appealed tenderly to his
innate love of tenderness. He had probably lost many illusions, but the
sweetest of them all was still fresh in him, for he loved nature
unaffectedly. In an unobtrusive way he was something of an artist, and
was fond of going out by himself, when in the country, to sketch and
dream all day. Veronica did not understand how with such tastes he could
bear the life in the Palazzo Macomer, for months at a time. He was free
to go and come as he pleased, and since he preferred the country, she
wondered why he did not live out of town altogether. His existence was
the more incomprehensible to her, as he rarely lost an opportunity of
finding fault with Naples as a city and with the Neapolitans as human
beings. Sometimes he did not leave the house for many days, as he
frankly admitted, preferring the little apartment in the upper story of
the house, where he lived independently, with one old servant, amongst
his books and his pictures, appearing downstairs only at dinner, and not
always then. His place was always ready for him, but no one ever
remarked his absence, nor inquired where he might be when he chose to
stay away.
He was on excellent terms with every one. The servants adored him, while
they feared his brother and disliked the countess; when he appeared he
never failed to kiss the countess's hand, and to exchange a friendly
word or two with Gregorio; but as for the latter, Bosio made no secret
of the fact that he preferred the society of the ladies of the household
to that of the count, with whom he had little in common. He certainly
admired his sister-in-law, and more than once frankly confessed to
Veronica that in his opinion Matilde Macomer was still the most
beautiful woman in the world. Yet Veronica had observed that he was
critical of looks in other women, and she thought his criticisms
generally just and in good taste. For her part, however, if he chose to
consider her middle-aged aunt lovely, Veronica would not contradict him,
for she was cautious in a certain degree, and in spite of herself she
distrusted her surroundings.
There were times when the Countess Macomer inspired her with confidence.
Those very beautiful dark eyes of hers had but one defect, namely, that
they were quite too near together; but they were still the best
features in the elder woman's face, and when Veronica looked at them
from such an angle as not to notice their relative position, she almost
believed that she could trust them. But she never liked the smooth red
lips, nor the over-pointed nose, which had something of the falcon's
keenness without its nobility. The thick and waving brown hair grew
almost too low on the white forehead, and, whether by art or nature, the
eyebrows were too broad and too dark for the face, though they were so
well placed as to greatly improve the defect of the close-set eyes.
There was a marvellous genuine freshness of colour in the clear
complexion, and the woman carried her head well upon a really
magnificent neck. She was strong and vital and healthy, and her
personality was as distinctly dominating as her physical self. Yet she
was generally very careful not to displease her husband, even when he
was capricious, and Veronica was sometimes surprised by the apparent
weakness with which she yielded to him in matters about which she had as
good a right as he to an opinion and a decision. The girl supposed that
her aunt was not so strong as she seemed to be, when actually brought
face to face with the rough ice of Gregorio Macomer's character.
Veronica made her observations discreetly and kept them to herself, as
was not only becoming but wise. At first the change from the
semi-cloistered existence of the convent in Rome to the life at the
Palazzo Macomer had dazzled the girl and had confused her ideas. But
with the natural desire of the very young to seem experienced, she had
begun by manifesting no surprise at anything she saw; and she had soon
discovered that, although she was supposed to be living in the society
of the most idle and pleasure-loving city in the world, her surroundings
were in reality neither gay nor dazzling, but decidedly monotonous and
dull. She had dim, childish memories of magnificent things in her
father's house, though the main impression was that of his death,
following closely, as she had been told, upon her mother's. Of the
latter, she could remember nothing. In dreams she saw beautiful things,
and brilliant light and splendid pictures and enchanted gardens, and
when she awoke she felt that the dreams had been recollections of what
she had seen, and of what still belonged to her. But she sought the
reality in vain. The grand old palace in the Toledo was hers, she was
told, but it was let for a term of years to the municipality and was
filled with public offices; the marble staircases were black and dingy
with the passing of many feet that tracked in the mud in winter and the
filthy dust of Naples in summer. Dark, poor faces and ill-clad forms
moved through the halls, and horrible voices echoed perpetually in the
corridors, where those who waited discussed taxes, and wrangled, and
cursed those in power, and cheated one another, and picked a pocket now
and then, and spat upon the marble pavement whereon royal and lordly
feet had so often trod in days gone by. It had all become a great nest
of dirt and stealing and busy chicanery, where dingy, hawk-eyed men with
sodden white faces and disgusting hands lay in wait for the unwary who
had business with the city government, to rob them on pretence of
facilitating their affairs, to cringe for a little coin flung them in
scorn sometimes by one who had grown rich in greater robbery than they
could practise--sometimes, too, springing aside to escape a kick or a
blow as ill-tempered success went swinging by, high-handed and vulgarly
cruel, a few degrees less filthy and ten thousand times more repulsive.
Once, Veronica had insisted upon going through the palace. She would
never enter it again, and after that day, when she passed it, she turned
her face from it and looked away. Vaguely, she wondered whether they
were not deceiving her and whether it were really the home she dimly
remembered. There had been splendid things in it, then--she would not
ask what had become of them, but without asking, she was told that they
had been wisely disposed of, and that instead of paying people for
keeping an uninhabited palace in order, she was receiving an enormous
rent for it from the city.
Then she had wished to see the lovely villa that came back in the
pictures of her dreams, and she had been driven out into the country
according to her desire. From a distance, as the carriage approached it,
she recognized the lordly poplars, and far at the end of the avenue the
elaborately stuccoed front and cornices of the old-fashioned "barocco"
building. But the gardens were gone. Files of neatly trimmed vines,
trained upon poles stuck in deep furrows, stretched away from the avenue
on either side. The flower garden was a vegetable garden now, and the
artichokes and the cabbages and the broccoli were planted with
mathematical regularity up to the very walls. There were hens and
chickens on the steps and running in and out of the open door, and from
a near sty the grunt of many pigs reached her ears. A pale,
earthy-skinned peasant, scantily clad in dusty canvas, grinned sadly and
kissed the hem of her skirt, calling her 'Excellency' and beginning at
once to beg for reduction of rent. A field-worn woman, filthy and
dishevelled, drove back half a dozen nearly naked children whose little
legs were crusted with dry mud, and whose faces had not been washed for
a long time.
And within, there was no furniture. In the rooms upstairs were stores of
grain and potatoes, and red peppers and grapes hanging on strings. The
cracked mirrors, built into the gilded stucco, were coated with heavy
unctuous dust, and the fine old painted tiles on the floor were loose
and broken in places. In the ceiling certain pink and well-fed cherubs
still supported unnatural thunderclouds through which Juno forever drove
her gold-wheeled car and team of patient peacocks, smiling high and
goddess-like at the squalor beneath. Still Diana bent over Endymion
cruelly foreshortened in his sleep, beyond the possibility of a waking
return to human proportions. Mars frowned, Jove threatened, Venus rose
glowing from the sea; and below, the unctuous black dust settled and
thickened on everything except the cracked floors piled with maize and
beans and lupins, and rubbed bright between the heaps by the peasants'
naked feet.
Veronica turned her back upon the villa, as she had turned from the
great palace in the Toledo. They whispered to her that the peasant's
rent must not be reduced, for he was well able to pay, and they pointed
to the closely planted vines and vegetables and olives that stretched
far away to right and left, where she remembered in her dreams of far
childhood that there had been lawns and walks and flowers. The man, she
was told, was not the only peasant on the place. There were other houses
now, and huts that could shelter a family, and there was land, land,
always more land, as far as she could see, all as closely and neatly
and regularly planted with vegetables and grain, vines and olives; and
it was all hers, and yielded enormous rents which were wisely invested.
She was very rich indeed, but to her it all seemed horribly sordid and
grinding and mean--and the peasants looked prematurely old, labour-worn,
filthy, wretchedly poor. If she had even had any satisfaction from so
much wealth, it might have seemed different. She said so, in her heart.
She was accustomed to tell her confessor that she was proud and
uncharitable and unfeeling--not finding any real misdeeds to confess.
She was willing to believe that she was all that and much more. If she
had been living in the whirling, golden pleasure-storm of an utterly
thoughtless world, she believed herself bad enough to have shut her
memory's eyes to the haggard peasant-mother of the dirty half-clad
children--to all the hundreds of them who doubtless lived just like the
one she had seen, all upon her lands; she could have forgotten the
busy-thieving, sodden-faced crowd that thronged the chambers wherein her
fathers had been born and had feasted kings and had died--the very room
where her own father had lain dead. She could have shut it all out, she
thought, if she had held in her hands the gold that all this brought, to
scatter it at her will; for she was sure that she had not a better heart
than other girls of her age. But she had never seen it. The reality of
her own life was too weak and colourless, by contrast, to make the name
of fortune an excuse for the sordid facts of meanness. There was no
splendour about her, no wild gaiety, none of the glorious extravagance
of conscious young wealth, and there was very little amusement to divert
her thoughts. The people she would have liked to know were kept at a
distance from her. She was advised not to buy the things which attracted
her eyes, and was told that they were not so good as they looked, and
that on the whole it was better to keep money than to spend it--but
that, of course, she might do as she pleased, and that when she wanted
money her uncle Macomer would give it to her.
It all passed through his hands, and he managed everything, with the
assistance of Lamberto Squarci the notary and of other men of
business--mostly shabby-looking men in black, with spectacles and
unhealthy complexions, who came and went in the morning when old Macomer
was in his study attending to affairs. Veronica knew none but Squarci by
name, and never spoke with any of them. There seemed to be no reason why
she should.
The count had told her that when she wished it, he was ready to render
an account of the estates and would be happy to explain everything to
her at length. She understood nothing of business and was content to
accept the roughest statement as he chose to give it to her. She was
far too young to distrust the man whom she had been taught to respect as
her guardian and as a person of scrupulous honesty. She was completely
in his power, and she was accustomed to ask him for any little sums she
needed. It never really struck her that he might misuse the authority
she indifferently left in his hands.
It was her aunt who had induced her to make the will, and for whose
conduct she felt a sort of undefined resentment and contempt.
Considering, she thought, how improbable it was that she herself should
die before Matilde Macomer, the latter had shown an absurd anxiety about
the disposal of the fortune. If Veronica had yielded the point, she had
done so in order to get rid of an importunity which wearied her
perpetually. She was to marry, of course, in due time. God would give
her children, and they would inherit her wealth. It was really
ridiculous of her aunt to be so anxious lest it should all go to those
distant relations in Sicily and Spain. Nevertheless, in order to have
peace, she signed the will, and her aunt thanked her effusively, and old
Macomer's flat lips touched her forehead while he spoke a few words of
gratified approval.
In the evening she told Bosio, the count's brother, of what she had
done. His gentle eyes looked at her thoughtfully for a few seconds, and
he did not smile, nor did he make any observation.
A few minutes later he was talking of a picture he had seen for sale--a
mere sketch, but by Ribera, called the Spagnoletto. She made up her mind
to buy it for him as a surprise, for it pleased her to give him
pleasure.
But when she was alone in her room that night she recalled Bosio's
expression when she had told him about the will. She was sure that he
was not pleased, and she wondered why he had not at least said something
in reply--something quite indifferent perhaps, but yet something,
instead of looking at her in total silence, just for those few seconds.
After all, she was really more intimate with him than with her aunt and
uncle, and liked him better than either of them, so that she had a right
to expect that he should have answered with something more than silence
when she told him of such a matter.
She sat a long time in a deep chair near her toilet table, thinking
about her own life, in the great dim room which half a dozen candles
barely lighted; and perhaps it was the first time that she had really
asked herself how long her present mode of existence was to continue,
how long she was to lie half-hidden, as it were, in the sombrely
respectable dimness of the Macomer establishment, how long she was to
remain unmarried. Knowing the customs of her own people in regard to
marriage, as she did, it was certainly strange that she should not have
heard of any offer made to her uncle and aunt for her hand. Surely the
mothers of marriageable sons knew of her existence, of her fortune, of
the titles she held in her own right and could confer upon her husband
and leave to her children. It was not natural that no one should wish to
marry her, that no mother should desire such an heiress for her son.
With the distrustful introspection of maiden youth, she suddenly asked
herself whether by any possibility she were different from other girls
and whether she had not some strange defect, physical or mental, of
which the existence had been most carefully concealed from her all her
life. In the quick impulse she rose and brought all the burning candles
to the toilet table, and lighted others, and stood before the mirror, in
the yellow light, gazing most critically at her own reflexion. She
looked long and earnestly and quite without vanity. She told herself,
cataloguing her looks, that her hair was neither black nor brown, but
that it was very thick and long and waved naturally; that her eyes were
very dark, with queer little angles just above the lids, under the
prominent brows; that her nose, seen in full face, looked very straight
and rather small, though she had been told by the girls in the convent
that it was aquiline and pointed; that her cheeks were thin and almost
colourless; that her chin was round and smooth and prominent, her lips
rather dark than red, and modelled in a high curve; that her ears were
very small--she threw back the heavy hair to see them better, turning
her face sideways to the glass; that her throat was over-slender, and
her neck and arms far too thin for beauty, but with a young leanness
which might improve with time, though nothing could ever make them
white. She was dark, on the whole. She was willing to admit that she was
sallow, that her eyes had a rather sad look in them, and even that one
was almost imperceptibly larger than the other, though the difference
was so small that she had never noticed it before, and it might be due
to the uncertain light of the candles in the dim room. But most
assuredly there was no physical defect to be seen. She was not beautiful
like poor Bianca Corleone; but she was far from ugly--that was certain.
And in mind--she laughed as she looked at herself in the glass. Bosio
Macomer told her that she was clever, and he certainly knew. But her own
expression pleased her when she laughed, and she laughed again with
pleasure, and watched herself in a sort of girlish and innocent
satisfaction. Then her eyes met their own reflexion, and she grew
suddenly grave again, and something in them told her that they were not
laughing with her lips, and might not often look upon things mirthful.
But she was not stupid, and she was not ugly. She had assured herself of
that. The worst that could be said was that she was a very thin girl and
that her complexion was not brilliant, though it was healthy enough, and
clear. No--there was certainly no reason why her aunt should not have
received offers of marriage for her, and many people would have thought
it strange that she should be still unmarried--with her looks, her name,
and that great fortune of which Gregorio Macomer was taking such good
care.
CHAPTER II.
On that same night, when Veronica had gone to her room, Bosio Macomer
remained alone with the countess in the small drawing-room in which the
family generally spent the evening. Gregorio was presumably in his
study, busy with his perpetual accounts or otherwise occupied. He very
often spent the hours between dinner and bed-time by himself, leaving
his brother to keep his wife company if Veronica chose to retire early.
The room was small and the first impression of colour which it gave was
that of a strong, deep yellow. There was yellow damask on the walls, the
curtains were of an old sort of silk material in stripes of yellow and
chocolate, and most of the furniture was covered with yellow satin. The
whole was in the style of the early part of this century, modified by
the bad taste of the Second Empire, with much gilded carving about the
doors and the corners of the big panels in which the damask was
stretched, while the low, vaulted ceiling was a mass of gilt stucco,
modelled in heavy acanthus leaves and arabesques, from the centre of
which hung a chandelier of white Venetian glass. There were no pictures
on the walls, and there were no flowers nor plants in pots, to relieve
the strong colour which | 1,215.698298 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Gilpins, A Story of Early Days in Australia, by William H G
Kingston.
________________________________________________________________________
The story opens with a couple of school-leavers discussing what they
will do with their lives. One of the boys, a Gilpin, whose father is a
hard-working farmer, is determined to go along the same route, but in
Australia, as he and his brother have often dreamt of doing.
They reach Australia, and an incident on the Quay in Sydney, where they
save a family from destruction in a carriage whose horses have bolted,
makes them valuable friends, leading to an appointment as managers, or
overseers, of a cattle and sheep station somewhere out beyond the Blue
Mountains. The previous manager had let the place get run down, and was
actually rather a crook. Some of the other workers on the station were
as idle and crooked as he. Not surprising as most of them had been sent
to Australia for some offence in England. A few of the men were decent
enough. There is such resentment among the idle men that they prevail
upon some aborigines to attack the buildings and set them on fire, a
plan which is foiled by one of the better workers.
Eventually the great Australian bubble bursts (the Australian economy is
always a bit overheated) and the Gilpins are ordered to slaughter the
cattle and sheep. They discover a source of salt on the station, so
they are able to salt down some of the meat, which was otherwise going
to waste.
Using the opportunity of buying valuable stock cheaply, they acquire the
station and start the business again. They rescue a drowning man, only
to find he is the other schoolboy in the conversation that starts the
book. We will leave it to you to find out what his adventures had been.
It takes about 3.5 hours to read this book.
________________________________________________________________________
THE GILPINS, A STORY OF EARLY DAYS IN AUSTRALIA, BY WILLIAM H G
KINGSTON.
CHAPTER ONE.
Arthur Gilpin and Mark Withers walked down the High Street, arm-in-arm,
on their return to their respective homes from the well-managed school
of Wallington.
They were among the head boys, and were on the point of leaving it to
enter on the work of active life, and make their way in the world. They
had often of late discussed the important question--all-important, as it
seemed to them--"How are we to make our way--to gain wealth, influence,
our hearts' desires?"
"For my part, I cannot stand a plodding style of doing things," said
Mark. "It is all very well for those without brains, but a fellow who
has a grain of sense in his head requires a more rapid way of making a
fortune. Life is too short to be wasted in getting money. I want to
have it to spend while I am young and can enjoy it."
Arthur was silent for some time. At length he remarked, "It strikes me,
Mark, that the object of making money is that we may support ourselves
and families, and help those who are in distress. My father often says
to James, and to me, and to the rest of us, `I don't want you, when you
enter business, to be thinking only how you can make money. Do your
duty, and act liberally towards all men, and you will have a sufficiency
at all events, if not wealth.'"
"Oh! your father's old-fashioned notions won't do in the world, and
certainly won't suit me, that I can tell you," answered Mark, in a
scornful tone.
"My father is considered a sensible man. What he preaches he practises;
and though he has a very large family, no one calls him a poor man,"
argued Arthur. "He says that, considering how short life is, it cannot
be wise to spend the time, as many men do, in gathering up riches and
setting so high a value on them. But here comes James! Let us hear
what he has to say on the subject."
"Oh! of course, James has got the same notions from your father that you
have, and I am not going to be influenced by him," answered Withers.
James, however, was appealed to, and answered, "Even if we were to live
for ever in this world, I should agree with Arthur; for, from all I see
and hear, I am convinced that wealth cannot secure happiness; but as
this world is only a place of preparation for another, it is evident
folly to set one's heart upon what must be so soon parted with."
Withers made a gesture of impatience, exclaiming, "Come, come, I won't
stand any preaching, you know that; but we are old friends, and so I
don't want to quarrel about trifles, when we are so soon to separate!
You stick to your opinion, I will stick to mine, and we'll see who is
right at last."
"If this matter were a trifle I would not press it, but, because I am
sure that it is one of great importance, I do press it upon you most
earnestly, though, believe me, I am sorry to annoy you," said Arthur
Gilpin.
"Oh! I dare say you mean well," answered Withers, in a contemptuous
tone. "But don't bother me again on the subject, there's a good fellow.
You, James, are so above me, that I don't pretend to understand what
you mean." Saying this with a condescending air, he shook hands with
the two brothers, and entered the house of his father, who was the
principal solicitor of the town.
The two Gilpins walked on towards their home. Their father possessed a
small landed property, which he farmed himself. He had a very numerous
family, and though hitherto he had been able to keep them together with
advantage, the time had arrived when some of them must go forth to
provide for themselves in the world. James and Arthur had long turned
their thoughts towards Australia, for which part of the British
possessions they were preparing to take their departure. Mr Gilpin, or
the squire, as he was called, was looked upon as an upright,
kind-hearted man. He was sensible, well educated, and a true Christian;
and he brought up his children in the fear and admonition of the Lord.
A year passed by: a long sea voyage was over, and James and Arthur
Gilpin stood on the shores of Australia. Two other brothers, with their
sisters, remained to help their father in his farm at home. James and
Arthur had left England, stout of heart, and resolved to do their duty,
hoping to establish a comfortable home for themselves and for those who
might come after them. Their ship lay close to the broad quay of the
magnificent capital of New South Wales. They had scarcely been prepared
for the scene of beauty and grandeur which met their sight as they
entered Port Jackson, the harbour of Sydney, with its lofty and
picturesque shores, every available spot occupied by some ornamental
villa or building of greater pretension, numerous romantic inlets and
indentations running up towards the north; while the city itself
appeared extending far away inland with its broad, well-built streets,
its numberless churches, colleges, public schools, hospitals, banks,
government buildings, and other public and private edifices, too
numerous to be mentioned.
The Gilpins, as they were put on shore with their luggage, felt
themselves almost lost in that great city. They were dressed in their
rough, every-day suits, and looked simple, hardworking country lads, and
younger than they really were.
Large as Sydney then was, it was still diminutive compared to what it
has since become. Founded by criminals, it was unhappily as far
advanced in crime and wickedness as the oldest cities of the old world,
though efforts were being then made, as they have ever since continued
to be made, and, happily, not without some degree of success, to wipe
out the stain. The two brothers stood for some time watching the
bustling scene before them. Huge drays laden with bales of wool were
slowly moving along the quay towards the ships taking in cargo, while
porters, and carts, with ever-moving cranes overhead, were rapidly
unloading other vessels of miscellaneous commodities. Irish, <DW64>,
Chinese, and Malay porters were running here and there; cabs and carts
were driving about, and other persons on foot and on horseback, mostly
in a hurry, evidently with business on their hands. There were,
however, a few saunterers, and they were either almost naked black
aborigines, with lank hair, hideous countenances, and thin legs, or men
with their hands in their pockets, in threadbare coats and uncleaned
shoes, their countenances pale and dejected, and mostly marked by
intemperance. Many of them were young, but there were some of all
ages--broken-down gentlemen, unprepared for colonial life, without
energy or perseverance, unable and still oftener unwilling to work. The
brothers had not to inquire who they were. Their history was written on
their foreheads.
"What shall we do next?" asked Arthur.
"I should like to get out of this place as soon as possible."
"So should I, indeed," said James; "but we must go to an inn for the
night, ascertain where labour is most wanted in the interior, and how
best to find our way there."
"You and I can scarcely carry our traps any way up those streets;
perhaps one or two of those poor fellows there would like to earn a
shilling by helping us," said Arthur, beckoning to some of the
above-mentioned idlers.
The first summoned walked away without noticing them, another stared, a
third exclaimed, "Egregious snob! what can he want?" and a fourth walked
up with his fists doubled, crying out in a furious tone, "How do you
dare to make faces at me, you young scoundrel?"
"Pardon me, sir," said James, quietly; "my brother made no faces at you.
We merely thought that you might be willing to assist in carrying our
luggage."
"I assist you in carrying your luggage! A good joke! But I see you are
not quite what I took you for; and if you'll stand a nobbler or two, I
don't mind calling a porter for you, and showing you to a slap-up inn to
suit you," said the man, his manner completely changing. "You'll have
to pay the porter pretty handsomely, my new chums! People don't work
for nothing in this country."
While they were hesitating about accepting the man's offer to get a
porter, thinking that there could be no harm in that, a country lad, Sam
Green by name, who had come out as a steerage passenger with them,
approached. As soon as he saw them he ran up exclaiming--
"Oh, Master Gilpins, there's a chap been and run off wi' all my traps,
and I've not a rag left, but just what I stand in!"
Sam was, of course, glad enough to assist in carrying their luggage.
James apologised to the stranger, saying he would not trouble him.
"Not so fast, young chum!" exclaimed the man. "You promised me a couple
of nobblers, and engaged me to call a porter. I'm not going to let you
off so easily! Down with the tin, or come and stand the treat!"
The Gilpins were rather more inclined to laugh at the man than to be
angry; certainly they had no intention of paying him. Perhaps their
looks expressed this. He was becoming more and more blustering, when a
| 1,215.699786 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Matthew Wheaton 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.)
FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD
[Illustration: "Come down aff the top o' dthat harrse!"]
FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD
A STORY OF THE WAR DAYS
BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A. AUTHOR OF "TROOPER ROSS," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY VIOLET OAKLEY AND CHARLES H. STEPHENS
PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1899
COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
ILLUSTRATIONS
"COME DOWN AFF THE TOP O' DTHAT HARRSE!"
ALMOST SENSELESS, TILL SHORTY STROVE TO LIFT HIS BLEEDING HEAD UPON
HIS KNEE
"I COULDN'T STAND IT. I HAD TO GO"
SHE WAS PERMITTED TO READ AND TO WEEP OVER SNIPE'S PATHETIC LETTER
FIRST CAPTURE OF THE ADVANCING ARMS OF THE UNION
"WHERE'D YOU GET THAT WATCH?"
FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD.
CHAPTER I.
"If there's anything I hate more than a rainy Saturday, call me a
tadpole!" said the taller of two boys who, with their chins on their
arms and their arms on the top of the window-sash, were gazing gloomily
out over a dripping world. It was the second day of an east wind, and
every boy on Manhattan Island knows what an east wind brings to New York
City, or used to in days before the war, and this was one of them.
"And our nine could have lammed that Murray Hill crowd a dozen to
nothing!" moaned the shorter, with disgust in every tone. "Next Saturday
the 'Actives' have that ground, and there'll be no decent place to
play--unless we can trap them over to Hoboken. What shall we do,
anyhow?"
The taller boy, a curly-headed, dark-eyed fellow of sixteen, whose long
legs had led to his school name of Snipe, turned from the contemplation
of an endless vista of roofs, chimneys, skylights, clothes-lines, all
swimming in an atmosphere of mist, smoke, and rain, and glanced back at
the book-laden table.
"There's that Virgil," he began, tentatively.
"Oh, Virgil be blowed!" broke in the other on the instant. "It's bad
enough to have to work week-days. I mean what can we do for--fun?" and
the blue eyes of the youngster looked up into the brown of his taller
chum.
"That's all very well for you, Shorty," said Snipe. "Latin comes easy to
you, but it don't to me. You've got a sure thing on exam., I haven't,
and the pater's been rowing me every week over those blasted reports."
"Well-l, I'm as bad off in algebra or Greek, for that matter. 'Pop' told
me last week I ought to be ashamed of myself," was the junior's answer.
And, lest it be supposed that by "Pop" he referred to the author of his
being, and thereby deserves the disapproval of every right-minded reader
at the start, let it be explained here and now that "Pop" was the
head--the "rector"--of a school famous in the ante-bellum days of
Gotham; famous indeed as was its famous head, and though they called him
nicknames, the boys worshipped him. Older boys, passed on into the cap
and gown of Columbia (items of scholastic attire sported only, however,
at examinations and the semi-annual speech-making), referred to the
revered professor of the Greek language and literature as "Bull," and
were no less fond of him, nor did they hold him less in reverence. Where
are they now, I wonder?--those numerous works bound in calf, embellished
on the back with red leather bands on which were stamped in gold ----'s
Virgil, ----'s Horace, ----'s Sallust, ----'s Homer? Book after book had
he, grammars of both tongues, prosodies likewise, Roman and Greek
antiquities, to say nothing of the huge classical dictionary. One could
cover a long shelf in one's student library without drawing upon the
works of any other authority, and here in this dark little room, on the
topmost floor of a brownstone house in Fourteenth Street, a school-boy
table was laden at its back with at least eight of Pop's ponderous tomes
to the exclusion of other classics.
But on the shelf above were books by no means so scholarly and far more
worn. There they stood in goodly array, Mayne Reid's "Boy Hunters,"
"Scalp Hunters," "The Desert Home," "The White Chief," flanked by a
dusty "Sanford and Merton" that appeared to hold aloof from its
associates. There, dingy with wear though far newer, was Thomas Hughes's
inimitable "Tom Brown's School-Days at Rugby." There was what was then
his latest, "The Scouring of the White Horse," which, somehow, retained
the freshness of the shop. There were a few volumes of Dickens, and
Cooper's Leatherstocking Tales. There on the wall were some vivid battle
pictures, cut from the _London Illustrated News_,--the Scots Grays in
the melee with the Russian cavalry at Balaklava; the Guards, in their
tall bearskins and spike-tail coats, breasting the <DW72>s of the Alma.
There hung a battered set of boxing-gloves, and on the hooks above them
a little brown rifle, muzzle-loading, of course. The white-covered bed
stood against the wall on the east side of the twelve-by-eight
apartment, its head to the north. At its foot were some objects at which
school-boys of to-day would stare in wonderment; a pair of heavy boots
stood on the floor, with a pair of trousers so adjusted to them that, in
putting on the boots, one was already half-way into the trousers, and
had only to pull them up and tightly belt them at the waist. On the post
hung a red flannel shirt, with a black silk neckerchief sewed to the
back of the broad rolling collar. On top of the post was the most
curious object of all,--a ribbed helmet of glistening black leather,
with a broad curving brim that opened out like a shovel at the back,
while a stiff, heavy eagle's neck and head, projecting from the top,
curved over them and held in its beak an emblazoned front of black
patent leather that displayed in big figures of white the number 40, and
in smaller letters, arching over the figures, the name, Lady Washington.
It was the fire-cap of a famous engine company of the old New York
volunteer department,--a curious thing, indeed, to be found in a
school-boy's room.
The desk, littered with its books and papers, stood in the corner
between the window and the east wall. Along the west wall was a
curtained clothes-press. Then came the marble-topped washstand, into
which the water would flow only at night, when the demand for Gotham's
supply of Croton measurably subsided. Beyond that was the door leading
to the open passage toward the stairway to the lower floors. In the
corner of the room were the school-boy paraphernalia of the day,--a
cricket bat, very much battered, two base-ball bats that the boys of
this generation would doubtless scan suspiciously, "heft" cautiously,
then discard disdainfully, for they were of light willow and bigger at
the bulge by full an inch than the present regulation. Beneath them in
the corner lay the ball of the year 1860, very like the article now in
use, but then referred to as a "ten shilling," and invariably made at an
old shoe-shop at the foot of Second Avenue, whose owner, a veteran
cobbler, had wisely quit half-soling and heeling for a sixpence and was
coining dollars at the newly discovered trade. All the leading clubs
were then his patrons,--the Atlantics, the Eckfords, the Mutuals, the
Stars, even the Unions of Morrisania. All the leading junior clubs swore
by him and would use no ball but his,--the champion Actives, the Alerts,
the Uncas. (A "shanghai club" the boys declared the last named to be
when it first appeared at Hamilton Square in its natty uniform of
snow-white flannel shirts and sky-blue trousers.) Base ball was in its
infancy, perhaps, but what a lusty infant and how pervading! Beyond that
corner and hanging midway on the northward wall was a portentous object,
an old-fashioned maple shell snare-drum, with white buff leather sling
and two pairs of ebony sticks, their polished heads and handles
proclaiming constant use, and the marble surface of the washstand top,
both sides, gave proof that when practice on the sheepskin batter head
was tabooed by the household and the neighborhood, the inoffensive stone
received the storm of "drags," and "flams," and "rolls." Lifting the
curtain that overhung the boyish outfit of clothing, there stood
revealed still further evidence of the martial tastes of the occupant,
for the first items in sight were a natty scarlet shell-jacket, a pair
of trim blue trousers, with broad stripe of buff, and a jaunty little
forage-cap, with regimental wreath and number. Underneath the curtain,
but readily hauled into view, were found screwed and bolted to heavy
blocks of wood two strange-looking miniature cannon, made, as one could
soon determine, by sawing off a brace of old-fashioned army muskets
about a foot from the breech. Two powder-flasks and a shot-bag hung on
pegs at the side of the curtained clothes-press. A little mirror was
clamped to the wall above the washstand. Some old fencing foils and a
weather-beaten umbrella stood against the desk. An open paint-box, much
besmeared, lay among the books. Some other pamphlets and magazines were
stacked up on the top of the clothes-press. Two or three prints,
one of Columbian Engine, No. 14, a very handsome Philadelphia
"double-decker." Another of Ringgold Hose, No. 7, a really beautiful
four-wheeler of the old, old type, with chocolate- running gear
and a dazzling plate-glass reel, completed the ornamentation of this
school-boy den. There was no room for a lounge,--there was room only for
two chairs; but that diminutive apartment was one of the most popular
places of resort Pop's boys seemed to know, and thereby it became the
hot-bed of more mischief, the birthplace of more side-splitting school
pranks than even the staid denizens of that most respectable brownstone
front ever dreamed of, whatever may have been the convictions of the
neighborhood, for Pop's boys, be it known, had no dormitory or
school-house in common. No such luck! They lived all over Manhattan
Island, all over Kings, Queens, and Westchester counties. They came from
the wilds of Hoboken and the heights of Bergen. They dwelt in massive
brownstone fronts on Fifth Avenue and in modest wooden, one-story
cottages at Fort Washington. They wore "swell" garments in some cases
and shabby in others. They were sons of statesmen, capitalists, lawyers,
doctors, and small shopkeepers. They were rich and they were poor; they
were high and they were low, tall and short, skinny and stout, but they
were all pitched, neck and crop, into Pop's hopper, treated share and
share alike, and ground and polished and prodded or praised, and a more
stand-on-your-own-bottom lot of young vessels ("vessels of wrath," said
the congregation of a neighboring tabernacle) never had poured into them
impartially the treasures of the spring of knowledge. They were of four
classes, known as the first, second, third, and fourth Latin,
corresponding to the four classes of Columbia and other colleges, and to
be a first Latin boy at Pop's was second only to being a senior at Yale
or Columbia. As a rule the youngsters "started fair" together at the
bottom, and knew each other to the backbone by the time they reached the
top. Few new boys came in except each September with the fourth Latin.
Pop had his own way of teaching, and the boy that didn't know his
methods and had not mastered his "copious notes" might know anybody
else's Caesar, Sallust, or Cicero by rote, but he couldn't know Latin.
Pop had a pronunciation of the Roman tongue that only a Pop's bred boy
could thoroughly appreciate. Lads who came, as come in some rare cases
they did, from Eton or Harrow, from the Latin schools of Boston or the
manifold academies of the East, read as they had been taught to read,
and were rewarded with a fine sarcasm and the information that they had
much to unlearn. Pop's school was encompassed roundabout by many another
school, whose pupils took their airing under ushers' eyes, to the
howling disdain of Pop's unhampered pupils, who lined the opposite curb
and dealt loudly in satirical comment. There was war to the knife
between Pop's boys and Charlier's around the corner, to the end that the
hours of recess had to be changed or both schools, said the police,
would be forbidden the use of Madison Square. They had many faults, had
Pop's boys, though not all the neighborhood ascribed to them, and they
had at least one virtue,--they pulled well together. By the time it got
to the top of the school each class was like a band of brothers, and
never was there a class of which this could be more confidently asserted
than the array of some twenty-seven youngsters, of whom Snipe and his
smaller chum, Shorty, were prominent members, in the year of our Lord
eighteen hundred and sixty.
Yet, they had their black sheep, as is to be told, and their
scapegraces, as will not need to be told, and months of the oddest,
maddest, merriest school life in the midst of the most vivid excitement
the great city ever knew, and on the two lads wailing there at the attic
window because their fates had balked the longed-for game at Hamilton
Square, there were dawning days that, rain or shine, would call them
shelterless into constant active, hazardous life, and that, in one at
least, would try and prove and temper a brave, impatient spirit,--that
should be indeed the very turning-point of his career.
Patter, patter, patter! drip, drip, drip! the rain came pelting in
steady shower. The gusty wind blew the chimney smoke down into the
hollow of the long quadrilateral of red brick house backs. Three, four,
and five stories high, they hemmed in, without a break, a "plant" of
rectangular back-yards, each with its flag-stone walk, each with its
square patch of turf, each with its flower-beds at the foot of the high,
spike-topped boundary fence, few with visible shrubs, fewer still
diversified by grape arbors, most of them criss-crossed with
clothes-lines, several ornamented with whirligigs, all on this moist
November afternoon wringing wet from the steady downpour that came on
with the dawn and broke the boys' hearts, for this was to have been the
match day between the Uncas and the Murray Hills, and Pop's school was
backing the Indians to a man. One more week and winter might be upon
them and the ball season at an end. Verily, it was indeed too bad!
With a yawn of disgust, the shorter boy at the open-topped window threw
up his hands and whirled about. There on the bed lay the precious
base-ball uniform in which he was wont to figure as shortstop. There,
too, lay Snipe's, longer in the legs by nearly a foot. "There's nothing
in-doors but books, Snipy. There's only one thing to tempt a fellow out
in the wet,--a fire, and small chance of that on such a day. We might
take the guns up on the roof and shoot a few skylights or something----"
"Shut up!" said Snipe, at this juncture, suddenly, impetuously throwing
up his hand. "Twenty-third Street!"
Shorty sprang to the window and levelled an old opera-glass at the
summit of an odd white tower that loomed, dim and ghost-like, through
the mist above the housetops quarter of a mile away. Both boys' eyes
were kindling, their lips parting in excitement. Both were on tiptoe.
"Right! Down comes | 1,215.801728 |
2023-11-16 18:37:19.8788850 | 1,695 | 22 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, David Garcia, Gerard Arthus
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcribers Note: The typesetting in the book was poor, all errors
have been retained as printed.
[Illustration: G. L. Brown. S. Schoff.
LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS AT PLIMOUTH 11th. DEC. 1620.]
THE
SIN AND DANGER
OF
SELF-LOVE
DESCRIBED,
IN A
SERMON
PREACHED
AT PLYMOUTH, IN NEW-ENGLAND, 1621,
BY
ROBERT CUSHMAN.
WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY CHARLES EWER,
AND FOR SALE BY CROCKER & BREWSTER, SAMUEL G. DRAKE,
LITTLE & BROWN, JAMES MUNROE & COMPANY,
BENJAMIN PERKINS, AND JAMES LORING.
DEC. 22, 1846.
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH,
BY
HON. JOHN DAVIS,
LATE JUDGE OF THE U. S. DISTRICT COURT, MASSACHUSETTS DISTRICT.
ROBERT CUSHMAN, the author of the preceding discourse, was one
of the most distinguished characters among that collection of
worthies, who quitted England on account of their religious
difficulties, and settled with Mr. _John Robinson_, their pastor
in the city of Leyden, in Holland, in the year 1609. Proposing
afterwards a removal to America in the year 1617, Mr. Cushman and
Mr. John Carver, (afterwards the first Governor of New-Plymouth)
were sent over to England, as their agents, to agree with the
Virginia Company for a settlement, and to obtain, if possible, a
grant of liberty of conscience in their intended plantation, from
King James.
From this negotiation though conducted on their part with great
discretion and ability, they returned unsuccessful to Leyden, in
May 1618. They met with no difficulty indeed with the Virginia
Company, who were willing to grant them sufficient territory, with
as ample privileges as they could bestow: but the pragmatical
James, the pretended vicegerent of the Deity, refused to grant
them that liberty in religious matters, which was their principal
object--when this persevering people finally determined to
transport themselves to this country, relying upon James's promise
that he would _connive_ at, though not expressly _tolerate_ them;
Mr. Cushman was again dispatched to England in February 1619, with
Mr. William Bradford, another of the company, to agree with the
Virginia Company on the terms of their removal and settlement.
After much difficulty and delay, they obtained a patent in the
September following, upon which part of the Church at Leyden, with
their Elder Mr. Brewster determined to transport themselves as
soon as possible. Mr. Cushman was one of the agents in England to
procure money, shipping and other necessaries for the voyage, and
finally embarked with them at South-Hampton, August 5th, 1620.
But the ship, in which he sailed, proving leaky, and after twice
putting into port to repair, being finally condemned as unfit to
perform the voyage, Mr. Cushman with his family, and a number of
others were obliged, though reluctantly, to relinquish the voyage
for that time and returned to London. Those in the other ship
proceeded and made their final settlement at Plymouth in December
1620, where Mr. Cushman also arrived in the ship Fortune from
London, on the 10th of November 1621, but took passage in the
same ship back again, pursuant to the directions of the merchant
adventurers in London, (who fitted out the ship and by whose
assistance the first settlers were transported) to give them an
account of the plantation.[A] He sailed from Plymouth December
13th, 1621, and arriving on the coast of England, the ship, with
a cargo, valued at 500l. sterling, was taken by the French. Mr.
Cushman, with the crew, was carried into France; but arrived in
London in the February following. During his short residence at
Plymouth, though a mere lay character, he delivered the preceding
discourse, which was printed in London in 1622, and afterwards
re-printed in Boston in 1724. And though his name is not prefixed
to either edition, yet unquestionable tradition renders it certain
that he was the author, and even transmits to us a knowledge of
the spot where it was delivered. Mr. Cushman, though he constantly
corresponded with his friends here, and was very serviceable to
their interest in London--never returned to the country again, but
while preparing for it was removed to a better, in the year 1626.
The news of his death and Mr. Robinson's arrived at the same time
at Plymouth, by Captain Standish, and seem to have been equally
lamented by their bereaved and suffering friends there. He was
zealously engaged in the prosperity of the plantation, a man of
activity and enterprise, well versed in business, respectable in
point of intellectual abilities, well accomplished in scriptural
knowledge, an unaffected professor, and a steady sincere practiser
of religion. The design of the following discourse was to keep up
the noble flow of public spirit, which perhaps began then to abate,
but which was necessary for their preservation and security.
[Footnote A: It seems to be a mistaken idea that Mr. Cushman
started in the smaller vessel, which put back on account of its
proving leaky. This mistake has arisen from the fact that Mr. C.
was left in England in 1620, and did not come over in the Mayflower
with the first emigrants. The fact is that Mr. Cushman procured
'the larger vessel,' the Mayflower, and its pilot at London and
left in that vessel; but in consequence of the unsoundness of the
smaller vessel, the Speedwell, it became necessary that part of
the pilgrims should be left behind, and consequently Mr. Cushman,
whom Gov. Bradford called 'the right hand with the adventurers,'
and who 'for divers years had managed all our business with them to
our great advantage,' was selected as one who would be best able
to keep together that portion of the flock left behind. Although
Mr. Cushman did not come over in the Mayflower, yet such was the
respect for him among those who did come, that his name is placed
at the head of those who came in that ship, in the allotment of
land at a time when he was not in New England.
N. B. S.]
After the death of Mr. Cushman, his family came over to New
England. His son, Thomas Cushman, succeeded Mr. Brewster, as ruling
elder of the Church of Plymouth, being ordained to that office
in 1649. He was a man of good gifts, and frequently assisted in
carrying on the public worship, preaching, and catechising. For it
was one professed principle of that Church, in its first formation,
'to choose none for governing Elders, but such as were able to
teach.' He continued in this office till he died, in 1691, in the
eighty-fourth year of his age.
LETTER FROM JUDGE DAVIS.
BOSTON, DEC. 21, 1846.
DEAR SIR:
Having communicated to me your intention | 1,215.898925 |
2023-11-16 18:37:19.8805250 | 5,292 | 9 |
Produced by Gregory Walker, for the Digital Daguerreian Archive Project.
This etext was created by Gregory Walker, in Austin, Texas, for the
Digital Daguerreian Archive Project--electronic texts from the dawn of
photography.
Internet: [email protected] CompuServe: 73577,677
The location of the illustrations in the text are marked by
"[hipho_##.gif]" on a separate line.
I hope this etext inspires a wider interest in the origins of
photography and in the modern practice of the Daguerreian Art.
THE HISTORY AND PRACTICE OF THE ART OF PHOTOGRAPHY;
OR THE PRODUCTION OF PICTURES THROUGH THE AGENCY OF LIGHT.
CONTAINING ALL THE INSTRUCTIONS NECESSARY FOR THE COMPLETE PRACTICE OF
THE DAGUERREAN AND PHOTOGENIC ART, BOTH ON METALLIC PLATES AND ON PAPER.
By HENRY H. SNELLING.
ILLUSTRATED WITH WOOD CUTS.
New York: PUBLISHED BY G. P. PUTNAM, 155 Broadway, 1849.
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1849, by H. H.
Snelling, in the Clerk's office, of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.
New York: PRINTED BY BUSTEED & McCOY, 163 Fulton Street.
TO EDWARD ANTHONY, ESQ., AN ESTEEMED FRIEND.
Whose gentlemanly deportment, liberal feelings, and strict integrity
have secured him a large circle of friends, this work is Respectfully
Dedicated By the AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The object of this little work is to fill a void much complained of by
Daguerreotypists--particularly young beginners.
The author has waited a long time in hopes that some more able pen
would be devoted to the subject, but the wants of the numerous, and
constantly increasing, class, just mentioned, induces him to wait no
longer.
All the English works on the subject--particularly on the practical
application, of Photogenic drawing--are deficient in many minute
details, which are essential to a complete understanding of the art.
Many of their methods of operating are entirely different from, and
much inferior to, those practised in the United States: their
apparatus, also, cannot compare with ours for completeness, utility or
simplicity.
I shall, therefore, confine myself principally--so far as Photogenic
drawing upon metalic plates is concerned--to the methods practised by
the most celebrated and experienced operators, drawing upon French and
English authority only in cases where I find it essential to the
purpose for which I design my work, namely: furnishing a complete
system of Photography; such an one as will enable any gentleman, or
lady, who may wish to practise the art, for profit or amusement, to do
so without the trouble and expense of seeking instruction from
professors, which in many cases within my own knowledge has prevented
persons from embracing the profession.
To English authors I am principally indebted for that portion of my
work relating to Photogenic drawing on paper. To them we owe nearly
all the most important improvements in that branch of the art.
Besides, it has been but seldom attempted in the United States, and
then without any decided success. Of these attempts I shall speak
further in the Historical portion of this volume.
Every thing essential, therefore, to a complete knowledge of the whole
art, comprising all the most recent discoveries and improvements down
to the day of publication will be found herein laid down.
CONTENTS
I. A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ART.
II. THE THEORY ON LIGHT.--THE PHOTOGRAPHIC PRINCIPLE
III. SYNOPSIS OF MR. HUNT'S TREATISE ON "THE INFLUENCE OF THE
SOLAR RAYS ON COMPOUND BODIES, WITH ESPECIAL REFERENCE TO
THEIR PHOTOGRAPHIC APPLICATION."
IV. A FEW HINTS AND SUGGESTIONS TO DAGUERREOTYPISTS.
V. DAGUERREOTYPE APPARATUS.
VI. THE DAGUERREOTYPE PROCESS.
VII. PAPER DAGUERREOTYPES.--ETCHING DAGUERREOTYPES.
VIII. PHOTOGENIC DRAWING ON PAPER.
IX. CALOTYPE AND CHRYSOTYPE.
X. CYANOTYPE--ENERGIATYPE--CHROMATYPE--ANTHOTYPE--AMPHITYPE
AND "CRAYON DAGUERREOTYPE."
XI. ON THE PROBABILITY OF PRODUCING COLORED PICTURES BY THE SOLAR
RADIATIONS--PHOTOGRAPHIC DEVIATIONS--LUNAR PICTURES--DRUMMOND
LIGHT.
XII. ON COLORING DAGUERREOTYPES.
XIII. THE PHOTOGRAPHOMETER.
INDEX.
INTRODUCTION
New York, January 27, 1849.
E. ANTHONY, ESQ.
Dear Sir,--In submitting the accompanying "History and Practice of
Photography" to your perusal, and for your approbation, I do so with
the utmost confidence in your ability as a practical man, long engaged
in the science of which it treats, as well as your knowledge of the
sciences generally; as well as your regard for candor. To you,
therefore, I leave the decision whether or no I have accomplished my
purpose, and produced a work which may not only be of practical benefit
to the Daguerrean artist, but of general interest to the reading
public, and your decision will influence me in offering it for, or
withholding it from, publication.
If it meets your approbation, I would most respectfully ask permission
to dedicate it to you, subscribing myself,
With esteem,
Ever truly yours,
HENRY H. SNELLING
New York, February 1st, 1849.
Mr. H. H. SNELLING.
Dear Sir--Your note of January 27th, requesting permission to dedicate
to me your "History and Practice of Photography," I esteem a high
compliment, particularly since I have read the manuscript of your work.
Such a treatise has long been needed, and the manner in which you have
handled the subject will make the book as interesting to the reading
public as it is valuable to the Daguerrean artist, or the amateur
dabbler in Photography. I have read nearly all of the many works upon
this art that have emanated from the London and Paris presses, and I
think the reader will find in yours the pith of them all, with much
practical and useful information that I do not remember to have seen
communicated elsewhere.
There is much in it to arouse the reflective and inventive faculties of
our Daguerreotypists. They have heretofore stumbled along with very
little knowledge of the true theory of their art, and yet the quality
of their productions is far in advance of those of the French and
English artists, most of whose establishments I have had the pleasure
of visiting I feel therefore, that when a sufficient amount of
theoretic knowledge shall have been added to this practical skill on
the part of our operators, and when they shall have been made fully
acquainted with what has been attained or attempted by others, a still
greater advance in the art will be manifested.
A GOOD Daguerreotypist is by no means a mere machine following a
certain set of fixed rules. Success in this art requires personal
skill and artistic taste to a much greater degree than the unthinking
public generally imagine; in fact more than is imagined by nine-tenths
of the Daguerreotypists themselves. And we see as a natural result,
that while the business numbers its thousands of votaries, but few rise
to any degree of eminence. It is because they look upon their business
as a mere mechanical operation, and having no aim or pride beyond the
earning of their daily bread, they calculate what will be a fair per
centage on the cost of their plate, case, and chemicals, leaving MIND,
which is as much CAPITAL as anything else (where it is exercised,)
entirely out of the question.
The art of taking photographs on PAPER, of which your work treats at
considerable length, has as yet attracted but little attention in this
country, though destined, as I fully believe, to attain an importance
far superior to that to which the Daguerreotype has risen.
The American mind needs a waking up upon the subject, and I think your
book will give a powerful impulse in this direction. In Germany a high
degree of perfection has been reached, and I hope your countrymen will
not be slow to follow.
Your interesting account of the experiments of Mr. Wattles was entirely
new to me, and is another among the many evidences that when the age is
fully ripe for any great discovery, it is rare that it does not occur
to more than a single mind.
Trusting that your work will meet with the encouragement which your
trouble in preparing it deserves, and with gratitude for the undeserved
compliment paid to me in its dedication,
I remain, very sincerely,
Your friend and well wisher,
E. ANTHONY.
PHOTOGRAPHY.
CHAP. I.
A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE ART.
As in all cases of great and valuable inventions in science and art the
English lay claim to the honor of having first discovered that of
Photogenic drawing. But we shall see in the progress of this history,
that like many other assumptions of their authors, priority in this is
no more due them, then the invention of steamboats, or the cotton gin.
This claim is founded upon the fact that in 1802 Mr. Wedgwood recorded
an experiment in the Journal of the Royal Institution of the following
nature.
"A piece of paper, or other convenient material, was placed upon a
frame and sponged over with a solution of nitrate of silver; it was
then placed behind a painting on glass and the light traversing the
painting produced a kind of copy upon the prepared paper, those parts
in which the rays were least intercepted being of the darkest hues.
Here, however, terminated the experiment; for although both Mr.
Wedgwood and Sir Humphry Davey experimented carefully, for the purpose
of endeavoring to fix the drawings thus obtained, yet the object could
not be accomplished, and the whole ended in failure."
This, by their own showing, was the earliest attempt of the English
savans. But this much of the principle was known to the Alchemists at
an early date--although practically produced in another way--as the
following experiment, to be found in old books, amply proves.
"Dissolve chalk in aquafortis to the consistence of milk, and add to it
a strong solution of silver; keep this liquor in a glass bottle well
stopped; then cutting out from a piece of paper the letters you would
have appear, paste it on the decanter, and lay it in the sun's rays in
such a manner that the rays may pass through the spaces cut out of the
paper and fall on the surface of the liquor the part of the glass
through which the rays pass will be turned black, while that under the
paper remains white; but particular care must be observed that the
bottle be not moved during the operation."
Had not the alchemists been so intent upon the desire to discover the
far famed philosopher's stone, as to make them unmindful of the
accidental dawnings of more valuable discoveries, this little
experiment in chemistry might have induced them to prosecute a more
thorough search into the principle, and Photogenic art would not now,
as it is, be a new one.
It is even asserted that the Jugglers of India were for many ages in
possession of a secret by which they were enabled, in a brief space, to
copy the likeness of any individual by the action of light. This fact,
if fact it be, may account for the celebrated magic mirrors said to be
possessed by these jugglers, and probable cause of their power over the
people.
However, as early as 1556 the fact was established that a combination
of chloride and silver, called, from its appearance, horn silver, was
blackened by the sun's rays; and in the latter part of the last century
Mrs. Fulhame published an experiment by which a change of color was
effected in the chloride of gold by the agency of light; and gave it as
her opinion that words might be written in this way. These incidents
are considered as the first steps towards the discovery of the
Photogenic art.
Mr. Wedgwood's experiments can scarcely be said to be any improvement
on them since he failed to bring them to practical usefulness, and his
countrymen will have to be satisfied with awarding the honor of its
complete adaptation to practical purposes, to MM. Niepce and Daguerre
of France, and to Professors Draper, and Morse of New-York.
These gentlemen--MM. Niepce and Daguerre--pursued the subject
simultaneously, without either, however being aware of the experiments
of his colleague in science. For several years, each pursued his
researches individually until chance made them acquainted, when they
entered into co-partnership, and conjointly brought the art almost to
perfection.
M. Niepce presented his first paper on the subject to the Royal Society
in 1827, naming his discovery Heliography. What led him to the study
of the principles of the art I have no means, at present, of knowing,
but it was probably owing to the facts recorded by the Alchemists, Mrs.
Fulhame and others, already mentioned. But M. Daguerre, who is a
celebrated dioramic painter, being desirous of employing some of the
singularly changeable salts of silver to produce a peculiar class of
effects in his paintings, was led to pursue an investigation which
resulted in the discovery of the Daguerreotype, or Photogenic drawing
on plates of copper coated with silver.
To this gentleman--to his liberality--are we Americans indebted for the
free use of his invention; and the large and increasing class of
Daguerrean artists of this country should hold him in the most profound
respect for it. He was not willing that it should be confined to a few
individuals who might monopolise the benefits to be derived from its
practice, and shut out all chance of improvement. Like a true, noble
hearted French gentleman he desired that his invention should spread
freely throughout the whole world. With these views he opened
negociations with the French government which were concluded most
favorably to both the inventors, and France has the "glory of endowing
the whole world of science and art with one of the most surprising
discoveries that honor the land."
Notwithstanding this, it has been patented in England and the result is
what might have been expected: English pictures are far below the
standard of excellence of those taken by American artists. I have seen
some medium portraits, for which a guinea each had been paid, and taken
too, by a celebrated artist, that our poorest Daguerreotypists would be
ashamed to show to a second person, much less suffer to leave their
rooms.
CALOTYPE, the name given to one of the methods of Photogenic drawing on
paper, discovered, and perfected by Mr. Fox Talbot of England, is
precisely in the same predicament, not only in that country but in the
United States, Mr. Talbot being patentee in both. He is a man of some
wealth, I believe, but he demands so high a price for a single right in
this country, that none can be found who have the temerity to purchase.
The execution of his pictures is also inferior to those taken by the
German artists, and I would remark en passant, that the Messrs. Mead
exhibited at the last fair of the American Institute, (of 1848,) four
Calotypes, which one of the firm brought from Germany last Spring, that
for beauty, depth of tone and excellence of execution surpass the
finest steel engraving.
When Mr. Talbot's patent for the United States expires and our
ingenious Yankee boys have the opportunity, I have not the slightest
doubt of the Calotype, in their hands, entirely superceding the
Daguerreotype.
Let them, therefore, study the principles of the art as laid down in
this little work, experiment, practice and perfect themselves in it,
and when that time does arrive be prepared to produce that degree of
excellence in Calotype they have already obtained in Daguerreotype.
It is to Professor Samuel F. B. Morse, the distinguished inventor of
the Magnetic Telegraph, of New York, that we are indebted for the
application of Photography, to portrait taking. He was in Paris, for
the purpose of presenting to the scientific world his Electro-Magnetic
Telegraph, at the time, (1838,) M. Daguerre announced his splendid
discovery, and its astounding results having an important bearing on
the arts of design arrested his attention. In his letter to me on the
subject, the Professor gives the following interesting facts.
"The process was a secret, and negociations were then in progress, for
the disclosure of it to the public between the French government and
the distinguished discoverer. M. Daguerre had shown his results to the
king, and to a few only of the distinguished savans, and by the advice
of M. Arago, had determined to wait the action of the French Chambers,
before showing them to any other persons. I was exceedingly desirous
of seeing them, but knew not how to approach M. Daguerre who was a
stranger to me. On mentioning my desire to Robert Walsh, Esq., our
worthy Consul, he said to me;'state that you are an American, the
inventor of the Telegraph, request to see them, and invite him in turn
to see the Telegraph, and I know enough of the urbanity and liberal
feelings of the French, to insure you an invitation.' I was successfull
in my application, and with a young friend, since deceased, the
promising son of Edward Delevan, Esq., I passed a most delightful hour
with M. Daguerre, and his enchanting sun-pictures. My letter containing
an account of this visit, and these pictures, was the first
announcement in this country of this splendid discovery."
"I may here add the singular sequel to this visit. On the succeeding
day M. Daguerre paid me a visit to see the Telegraph and witness its
operations. He seemed much gratified and remained with me perhaps two
hours; two melancholy hours to him, as they afterwards proved; or while
he was with me, his buildings, including his diorama, his studio, his
laboratory, with all the beautiful pictures I had seen the day before,
were consumed by fire. Fortunately for mankind, matter only was
consumed, the soul and mind of the genius, and the process were still
in existence."
On his return home, Professor Morse waited with impatience for the
revelation of M. Daguerre's process, and no sooner was it published
than he procured a copy of the work containing it, and at once
commenced taking Daguerreotype pictures. At first his object was
solely to furnish his studio with studies from nature; but his
experiments led him into a belief of the practicability of procuring
portraits by the process, and he was undoubtedly the first whose
attempts were attended with success. Thinking, at that time, that it
was necessary to place the sitters in a very strong light, they were
all taken with their eyes closed.
Others were experimenting at the same time, among them Mr. Wolcott and
Prof. Draper, and Mr. Morse, with his accustomed modesty, thinks that
it would be difficult to say to whom is due the credit of the first
Daguerreotype portrait. At all events, so far as my knowledge serves
me, Professor Morse deserves the laurel wreath, as from him originated
the first of our inumerable class of Daguerreotypists; and many of his
pupils have carried the manipulation to very great perfection. In
connection with this matter I will give the concluding paragraph of a
private letter from the Professor to me; He says.
"If mine were the first, other experimenters soon made better results,
and if there are any who dispute that I was first, I shall have no
argument with them; for I was not so anxious to be the first to produce
the result, as to produce it in any way. I esteem it but the natural
carrying out of the wonderful discovery, and that the credit was after
all due to Daguerre. I lay no claim to any improvements."
Since I commenced the compilation of this work, I have had the pleasure
of making the acquaintance of an American gentleman--James M. Wattles
Esq.--who as early as 1828--and it will be seen, by what I have already
stated, that this is about the same date of M. Niepce's discovery--had
his attention attracted to the subject of Photography, or as he termed
it "Solar picture drawing," while taking landscape views by means of
the camera-obscura. When we reflect upon all the circumstances
connected with his experiments, the great disadvantages under which he
labored, and his extreme youthfullness, we cannot but feel a national
pride--yet wonder--that a mere yankee boy, surrounded by the deepest
forests, hundred of miles from the populous portion of our country,
without the necessary materials, or resources for procuring them,
should by the force of his natural genius make a discovery, and put it
in practical use, to accomplish which, the most learned philosophers of
Europe, with every requisite apparatus, and a profound knowledge of
chemistry--spent years of toil to accomplish. How much more latent
talent may now be slumbering from the very same cause which kept Mr.
Wattles from publicly revealing his discoveries, viz; want of
encouragement--ridicule!
At the time when the idea of taking pictures permanently on paper by
means of the camera-obscura first occurred to him, he was but sixteen
years of age, and under the instructions of Mr. Charles Le Seuer, (a
talented artist from Paris) at the New Harmony school, Indiana.
Drawing and painting being the natural bent of his mind, he was
frequently employed by the professors to make landscape sketches in the
manner mentioned. The beauty of the image of these landscapes produced
on the paper in the camera-obscura, caused him to pause and admire them
with all the ardor of a young artist, and wish that by some means, he
could fix them there in all their beauty. From wishing he brought
himself to think that it was not only possible but actually capable of
accomplishment and from thinking it could, he resolved it should be
done.
He was, however, wholly ignorant of even the first principles of
chemistry, and natural philosophy, and all the knowledge he was enabled
to obtain from his teachers was of very little service to him. To add
to this, whenever he mentioned his hopes to his parents, they laughed
at him, and bade him attend to his studies and let such moonshine
thoughts alone--still he persevered, though secretly, and he met with
the success his perseverance deserved.
For the truth of his statement, Mr. Wattles refers to some of our most
respectable citizens residing at the west, and I am in hopes that I
shall be enabled to receive in time for this publication, a
confirmation from one or more of these gentlemen. Be that as it may, I
feel confident in the integrity of Mr. Wattles, and can give his
statement to the world without a doubt of its truth.
The following sketch of his experiments and their results will,
undoubtedly, be | 1,215.900565 |
2023-11-16 18:37:19.9774400 | 803 | 16 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by
Google Books (University of California)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=RWkpAQAAIAAJ
(University of California)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
Marmaduke
Marmaduke
By
Flora Annie Steel
Author of
"On the Face of the Waters," "A Sovereign Remedy,"
"King-Errant," etc.
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
1917
_Printed in Great Britain_
BOOK I.
CHAPTER I
"Hello, Davie! Is that you, Davie Sim?" cried a joyous young voice;
then it changed suddenly, with a verve which showed pure delight in
the unfamiliar yet familiar dialect, from correct English to the
broadest Aberdeenshire accent. "Eh, mon, ye're joost the same ow'd tod
o' a pease-bogle wi' yer bonnet ajee, an' a crookit mou'; yen hauf
given tae psaulm singin' and tither tae pipe-blawing!" The voice
paused a bit breathlessly as if it had exhausted itself over the
unwonted exercise, then went on in slightly less aggressive Doric.
"Well, I'm blythe to see you lookin' sae weel. An' is that tall lass
Marrion?"
An easy gallantry came to his tones as the speaker, a fine young
fellow of obviously military bearing, turned to a girl who stood very
still by the window.
"By gad," the young man went on with the same easy condescension, "you
have grown into a pretty girl! Give us a kiss, my dear; you know you
used to be fond of 'Mr. Duke' in the----"
Then suddenly silence fell between the two young people. Something in
the tall still figure by the window seemed to abash the tall figure
making its way easily towards it, and left them looking at each other
critically.
They were as fine a couple physically as God ever made to come
together as man and woman. They were almost alike in stature and
strength--she slightly the smaller--and both seemed equal in abounding
health, though he was florid and she somewhat pale with the pallor of
the thick creamy skin that goes with red-bronze hair.
She spoke at last, the thin curves of her mouth clipping her words
sharply.
"There's mony to tell me yon and crave kisses since you an' me was
hafflins together, Mr. Duke," she said coolly. "I beg yer pardon,
Captain Marmaduke!"
The Honourable Captain Marmaduke Muir, second son of the sixteenth
Baron Drummuir of Drummuir, home on leave after an absence of ten
years on foreign service, looked at the grand-daughter of his father's
head piper and general majordomo as if considering anger. He was too
good looking to be accustomed to such rebuffs from pretty girls,
especially when they were manifestly beneath him in station. Then
suddenly he laughed. The years had fled, and he was a boy again in
fast fellowship with a small hoyden of a girl; a girl four years his
junior, but infinitely his superior in common sense; a girl who had
kept him out of many a scrape and who hadn't scrupled on occasion to
box his ears, young master though he was. With a sudden flash of
memory the occasion came back | 1,215.99748 |
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Produced by Brendan OConnor, Jonathan Ingram, Josephine
Paolucci 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. CCCLVI. JUNE, 1845. VOL. LVII.
Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected and footnotes moved
to the end of the article. The index for Volume 57 is included at the
end of this issue.
CONTENTS.
PUSHKIN, THE RUSSIAN POET. No. I., 657
THE NOVEL AND THE DRAMA, 679
MARSTON; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A STATESMAN. PART XVII., 688
LEBRUN'S LAWSUIT, 705
CENNINO CENNINI ON PAINTING, 717
AESTHETICS OF DRESS. NO. IV., 731
SUSPIRIA DE PROFUNDIS: BEING A SEQUEL TO THE CONFESSIONS
OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER, 739
HANNIBAL, 752
STANZAS WRITTEN AFTER THE FUNERAL OF ADMIRAL SIR DAVID
MILNE, C.G.B., 766
STANZAS TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS HOOD, 768
NORTH'S SPECIMENS OF THE BRITISH CRITICS. NO. V.--DRYDEN
ON CHAUCER--CONCLUDED, 771
INDEX, 794
EDINBURGH: WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET; AND 22,
PALL-MALL, LONDON.
_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLVI. JUNE, 1845. VOL. LVII.
PUSHKIN, THE RUSSIAN POET.
NO. I.
SKETCH OF PUSHKIN'S LIFE AND WORKS, BY THOMAS B. SHAW, B.A. OF
CAMBRIDGE, ADJUNCT PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE IMPERIAL
ALEXANDER LYCEUM, TRANSLATOR OF "THE HERETIC," &C. &C.
Among the many striking analogies which exist between the physical and
intellectual creations, and exhibit the uniform method adopted by
Supreme Wisdom in the production of what is most immortal and most
precious in the world of thought, as well as of what is most useful and
beautiful in the world of matter, there is one which cannot fail to
arise before the most actual and commonplace imagination. This is, the
great apparent care exhibited by nature in the preparation of the
_nidus_--or matrix, if we may so style it--in which the genius of the
great man is to be perfected and elaborated. Nature creates nothing in
sport; and as much foresight--possibly even more--is displayed in the
often complicated and intricate machinery of concurrent causes which
prepare the development of great literary genius, as in the elaborate
in-foldings which protect from injury the germ of the future oak, or the
deep-laid and mysterious bed, and the unimaginable ages of growth and
hardening, necessary to the water of the diamond, or to the purity of
the gold.
Pushkin is undoubtedly one of that small number of names, which have
become incorporated and identified with the literature of their country;
at once the type and the expression of that country's nationality--one
of that small but illustrious bard, whose | 1,281.499889 |
2023-11-16 18:38:25.6784100 | 812 | 8 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
MRS. CLIFF'S YACHT
[Illustration: BURKE DETERMINED TO GET NEAR ENOUGH TO HAIL THE DUNKERY
BEACON]
MRS. CLIFF'S YACHT
BY
FRANK R. STOCKTON
_ILLUSTRATED BY A. FORESTIER_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1896
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NORWOOD PRESS
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood Mass. U.S.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ALONE WITH HER WEALTH 1
II. WILLY CROUP DOESN'T KNOW 7
III. MISS NANCY SHOTT 16
IV. A LAUNCH INTO A NEW LIFE 25
V. A FUR-TRIMMED OVERCOAT AND A SILK HAT 36
VI. A TEMPERANCE LARK 45
VII. MR. BURKE ACCEPTS A RESPONSIBILITY 59
VIII. MR. BURKE BEGINS TO MAKE THINGS MOVE IN PLAINTON 68
IX. A MEETING OF HEIRS 80
X. THE INTELLECT OF MISS INCHMAN 92
XI. THE ARRIVAL OF THE NEW DINING-ROOM 99
XII. THE THORPEDYKE SISTERS 109
XIII. MONEY HUNGER 114
XIV. WILLY CROUP AS A PHILANTHROPIC DIPLOMATIST 121
XV. MISS NANCY MAKES A CALL 128
XVI. MR. BURKE MAKES A CALL 135
XVII. MRS. CLIFF'S YACHT 147
XVIII. THE DAWN OF THE GROVE OF THE INCAS 156
XIX. THE "SUMMER SHELTER" 162
XX. THE SYNOD 169
XXI. A TELEGRAM FROM CAPTAIN HORN 173
XXII. THE "SUMMER SHELTER" GOES TO SEA 182
XXIII. WILLY CROUP COMES TO THE FRONT 192
XXIV. CHANGES ON THE "SUMMER SHELTER" 203
XXV. A NOTE FOR CAPTAIN BURKE 218
XXVI. "WE'LL STICK TO SHIRLEY!" 228
XXVII. ON BOARD THE "DUNKERY BEACON" 235
XXVIII. THE PEOPLE ON THE "MONTEREY" 247
XXIX. THE "VITTORIO" FROM GENOA 254
XXX. THE BATTLE OF THE MERCHANT SHIPS 264
XXXI. "SHE BACKED!" 273
XXXII. A HEAD ON THE WATER 279
XXXIII. 11 deg. 30' 19" N. LAT. by 56 deg. 10' 19" W. LONG. 286
XXXIV. PLAINTON, MAINE 298
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
BURKE DETERMINED TO GET NEAR ENOUGH TO HAIL THE
"DUNKERY BEACON" _Frontispiece_
THE GENTLEMAN | 1,281.69845 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, William Flis, and Distributed Proofreaders
ELEANOR
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY ALBERT STERNER_
1900
TO ITALY THE BELOVED AND BEAUTIFUL,
INSTRUCTRESS OF OUR PAST,
DELIGHT OF OUR PRESENT,
COMRADE OF OUR FUTURE:--
THE HEART OF AN ENGLISHWOMAN
OFFERS THIS BOOK.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
ELEANOR
THE VILLA
LUCY FOSTER
THE BEAUTIFYING OF LUCY
THE LOGGIA
FATHER BENECKE
PART I.
'I would that you were all to me,
You that are just so much, no more.
Nor yours nor mine, nor slave nor free!
Where does the fault lie? What the core
O' the wound, since wound must be?'
CHAPTER I
'Let us be quite clear, Aunt Pattie--when does this young woman arrive?'
'In about half an hour. But really, Edward, you need take no trouble! she
is coming to visit me, and I will see that she doesn't get in your way.
Neither you nor Eleanor need trouble your heads about her.'
Miss Manisty--a small elderly lady in a cap--looked at her nephew with
a mild and deprecating air. The slight tremor of the hands, which were
crossed over the knitting on her lap, betrayed a certain nervousness; but
for all that she had the air of managing a familiar difficulty in familiar
ways.
The gentleman addressed shook his head impatiently.
'One never prepares for these catastrophes till they actually arrive,'
he muttered, taking up a magazine that lay on the table near him, and
restlessly playing with the leaves.
'I warned you yesterday.'
'And I forgot--and was happy. Eleanor--what are we going to do with Miss
Foster?'
A lady, who had been sitting at some little distance, rose and came
forward.
'Well, I should have thought the answer was simple. Here we are fifteen
miles from Rome. The trains might be better--still there are trains. Miss
Foster has never been to Europe before. Either Aunt Pattie's maid or mine
can take her to all the proper things--or there are plenty of people in
Rome--the Westertons--the Borrows?--who at a word from Aunt Pattie would
fly to look after her and take her about. I really don't see that you need
be so miserable!'
Mrs. Burgoyne stood looking down in some amusement at the aunt and nephew.
Edward Manisty, however, was not apparently consoled by her remarks. He
began to pace up and down the salon in a disturbance out of all proportion
to its cause. And as he walked he threw out phrases of ill-humour, so
that at last Miss Manisty, driven to defend herself, put the irresistible
question--
'Then why--why--my dear Edward, did you make me invite her? For it was
really his doing--wasn't it, Eleanor?'
'Yes--I am witness!'
'One of those abominable flashes of conscience that have so much to
answer for!' said Manisty, throwing up his hand in annoyance.--'If she
had come to us in Rome, one could have provided for her. But here in this
solitude--just at the most critical moment of one's work--and it's all
very well--but one can't treat a young lady, when she is actually in one's
house, as if she were the tongs!'
He stood beside the window, with his hands on his sides, moodily looking
out. Thus strongly defined against the sunset light, he would have
impressed himself on a stranger as a man no longer in his first youth,
extraordinarily handsome so far as the head was concerned, but of a
somewhat irregular and stunted figure; stunted, however, only in comparison
with what it had to carry; for in fact he was of about middle height. But
the head, face and shoulders were all remarkably large and powerful; the
colouring--curly black hair, grey eyes, dark complexion--singularly vivid;
and the lines of the brow, the long nose, the energetic mouth, in their
mingled force and perfection, had made the stimulus of many an artist
before now. For Edward Manisty was one of those men of note whose portraits
the world likes to paint: and this 'Olympian head' of his was well known
in many a French and English studio, through a fine drawing of it made
by Legros when Manisty was still a youth at Oxford. 'Begun by David--and
finished by Rembrandt': so a young French painter had once described Edward
Manisty.
The final effect of this discord, however, was an effect of power--of
personality--of something that claimed and held attention. So at least it
was described by Manisty's friends. Manisty's enemies, of whom the world
contained no small number, had other words for it. But women in general
took the more complimentary view.
The two women now in his company were clearly much affected by the
force--wilfulness--extravagance--for one might call it by any of these
names--that breathed from the man before them. Miss Manisty, his aunt,
followed his movements with her small blinking eyes, timidly uneasy, but
yet visibly conscious all the time that she had done nothing that any
reasonable man could rationally complain of; while in the manner towards
him of his widowed cousin Mrs. Burgoyne, in the few words of banter or
remonstrance that she threw him on the subject of his aunt's expected
visitor, there was an indulgence, a deference even, that his irritation
scarcely deserved.
'At least, give me some account of this girl'--he said, breaking in upon
his aunt's explanations. 'I have really not given her a thought--and--good
heavens!--she will be here, you say, in half an hour. Is she
young--stupid--pretty? Has she any experience--any conversation?'
'I read you Adele's letter on Monday,' said Miss Manisty, in a tone of
patience--'and I told you then all I knew--but I noticed you didn't listen.
I only saw her myself for a few hours at Boston. I remember she was
rather good-looking--but very shy, and not a bit like all the other girls
one was seeing. Her clothes were odd, and dowdy, and too old for her
altogether,--which struck me as curious, for the American girls, even the
country ones, have such a natural turn for dressing themselves. Her Boston
cousins didn't like it, and they tried to buy her things--but she was
difficult to manage--and they had to give it up. Still they were very fond
of her, I remember. Only she didn't let them show it much. Her manners
were much stiffer than theirs. They said she was very countrified and
simple--that she had been brought up quite alone by their old uncle, in a
little country town--and hardly ever went away from home.'
'And Edward never saw her?' in | 1,281.798456 |
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Produced by Dianne Bean
Tales of Aztlan,
The Romance of a Hero of our Late Spanish-American War, Incidents of
Interest from the Life of a western Pioneer and Other Tales.
by
George Hartmann
A note about this book: A Maid of Yavapai, the final entry in this
book, is dedicated to SMH. This refers to Sharlot M. Hall, a famous
Arizona settler. The copy of the book that was used to make this etext
is dedicated: With my compliments and a Happy Easter, Apr 5th 1942, To
Miss Sharlot M. Hall, from The daughter of the Author, Carrie S.
Allison, Presented March 31st, 1942, Prescott, Arizona.
1908 Revised edition
Memorial
That this volume may serve to keep forever fresh the memory of a hero,
Captain William Owen O'Neill, U. S. V., is the fervent wish of The
Author.
CONTENTS
I. A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
II. PERILOUS JOURNEY
III. THE MYSTERY OF THE SMOKING RUIN. STALKING A WARRIOR.
THE AMBUSH
IV. A STRANGE LAND AND STRANGER PEOPLE
V. ON THE RIO GRANDE. AN ABSTRACT OF THE AUTHOR'S GENEALOGY
OF MATERNAL LINEAGE
VI. INDIAN LORE. THE WILY NAVAJO
VII. THE FIGHT IN THE SAND HILLS. THE PHANTOM DOG
VIII. WITH THE NAVAJO TRIBE
IX. IN ARIZONA
X. AT THE SHRINE OF A "SPHINX OF AZTLAN"
AN UNCANNY STONE.
L'ENVOY.
THE BIRTH OF ARIZONA. (AN ALLEGORICAL TALE.)
A ROYAL FIASCO.
A MAID OF YAVAPAI.
CHAPTER I.
A FRAIL BARK, TOSSED ON LIFE'S TEMPESTUOUS SEAS
A native of Germany, I came to the United States soon after the Civil
War, a healthy, strong boy of fifteen years. My destination was a
village on the Rio Grande, in New Mexico, where I had relatives. I was
expected to arrive at Junction City, in the State of Kansas, on a day
of June, 1867, and proceed on my journey with a train of freight wagons
over the famous old Santa Fe trail.
Junction City was then the terminal point of a railway system which
extended its track westward across the great American plains, over the
virgin prairie, the native haunt of the buffalo and fleet-footed
antelope, the iron horse trespassing on the hunting ground of the
Arapahoe and Comanche Indian tribes. As a mercantile supply depot for
New Mexico and Colorado, Junction City was the port from whence a
numerous fleet of prairie schooners sailed, laden with the necessities
and luxuries of an advancing civilization. But not every sailor reached
his destined port, for many were they who were sent by the pirates of
the plains over unknown trails, to the shores of the great Beyond,
their scalpless bodies left on the prairie, a prey to vultures and
coyotes.
If the plans of my relatives had developed according to program, this
story would probably not have been told. Indians on the warpath
attacked the wagon train which I was presumed to have joined, a short
distance out from Junction City. They killed and scalped several
teamsters and also a young German traveler; stampeded and drove off a
number of mules and burned up several wagons. This was done while
fording the Arkansas River, near Fort Dodge. I was delayed near Kansas
City under circumstances which preclude the supposition of chance and
indicate a subtle and Inexorably fatal power at work for the
preservation of my life--a force which with the giant tread of the
earthquake devastates countries and lays cities in ruins; that awful
power which on wings of the cyclone slays the innocent babe in its
cradle and harms not the villain, or vice versa; that inscrutable
spirit which creates and lovingly shelters the sparrow over night and
then at dawn hands it to the owl to serve him for his breakfast. Safe I
was under the guidance of the same loving, paternal Providence which in
death delivereth the innocent babe from evil and temptation, shields
the little sparrow from all harm forever, and incidentally provides
thereby for the hungry owl.
I should have changed cars at Kansas City, but being asleep at the
critical time and overlooked by the conductor, I passed on to a station
beyond the Missouri River. There the conductor aroused me and put me
off the train without ceremony. I was forced to return, and reached the
river without any mishap, as it was a beautiful moonlight night. I
crossed the long bridge with anxiety, for it was a primitive-looking
structure, built on piles, and I had to step from tie to tie, looking
continually down at the swirling waters of the great, muddy river. As I
realized the possibility of meeting a train, I crossed over it,
running. At last I reached the opposite shore. It was nearly dawn now,
and I walked to the only house in sight, a long, low building of logs
and, being very tired, I sat down on the veranda and soon fell asleep.
It was not long after sunrise that a sinister, evil-looking person,
smelling vilely of rum, woke me up roughly and asked me what I did
there. When he learned that I was traveling to New Mexico and had lost
my way, he grew very polite and invited me into the house.
We entered a spacious hall, which served as a dining-room, where eight
young ladies were busily engaged arranging tables and furniture. The
man intimated that he kept a hotel and begged the young ladies to see
to my comfort and bade me consider myself as being at home. The girls
were surprised and delighted to meet me and overwhelmed me with
questions. They expressed the greatest concern and interest when they
learned that I was about to cross the plains.
"Poor little Dutchy," said one, "how could your mother send you out all
alone into the cruel, wide world!" "Mercy, and among the Indians, too,"
said another. When I replied that my dear mother had sent me away
because she loved me truly, as she knew that I had a better chance to
prosper in the United States than in the Fatherland, they called me a
cute little chap and smothered me with their kisses.
The tallest and sweetest of these girls (her name was Rose) pulled my
ears teasingly and asked if her big, little man was not afraid of the
Indians. "Not I, madame," I replied; "for my father charged me to be
honest and loyal, brave and true, and fear not and prove myself a
worthy scion of the noble House of Von Siebeneich." "Oh, my! Oh, my!"
cried the young ladies, and "Did you ever!" and "No, I never!" and " | 1,281.971411 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
MONTE-CRISTO'S DAUGHTER.
| 1,282.001748 |
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Produced by Marc D'Hooghe at http://www.freeliterature.org
(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.]
CATHAY
TRANSLATIONS BY
EZRA POUND
FOR THE MOST PART FROM THE CHINESE
OF RIHAKU, FROM THE NOTES OF THE
LATE ERNEST FENOLLOSA, AND
THE DECIPHERINGS OF THE
PROFESSORS MORI
AND ARIGA
LONDON
ELKIN MATHEWS, CORK STREET
MCMXV
Rihaku flourished in the eighth century of our era. The
Anglo-Saxon Seafarer is of about this period. The other
poems from the Chinese are earlier.
Song of the Bowmen of Shu
Here we are, picking the first fern-shoots
And saying: When shall we get back to our country?
Here we are because we have the Ken-nin for our
foemen,
We have no comfort because of these Mongols.
We grub the soft fern-shoots,
When anyone says "Return," the others are full of
sorrow.
Sorrowful minds, sorrow is strong, we are hungry
and thirsty.
Our defence is not yet made sure, no one can let
his friend return.
We grub the old fern-stalks.
We say: Will we be let to go back in October?
There is no ease in royal affairs, we have no comfort.
Our sorrow is bitter, but we would not return to our
country.
What flower has come into blossom?
Whose chariot? The General's.
Horses, his horses even, are tired. They were strong.
We have no rest, three battles a month.
By heaven, his horses are tired.
The generals are on them, the soldiers are by them
The horses are well trained, the generals have ivory
arrows and quivers ornamented with fish-skin.
The enemy is swift, we must be careful.
When we set out, the willows were drooping with spring,
We come back in the snow,
We go slowly, we are hungry and thirsty,
Our mind is full of sorrow, who will know of our grief?
_By Kutsugen._
_4th Century B.C._
The Beautiful Toilet
Blue, blue is the grass about the river
And the willows have overfilled the close garden.
And within, the mistress, in the midmost of her youth,
White, white of face, hesitates, passing the door.
Slender, she puts forth a slender hand,
And she was a courtezan in the old days,
And she has married a sot,
Who now goes drunkenly out
And leaves her too much alone.
_By Mei Sheng._
_B.C. 140._
The River Song
This boat is of shato-wood, and its gunwales are cut
magnolia,
Musicians with jewelled flutes and with pipes of gold
Fill full the sides in rows, and our wine
Is rich for a thousand cups.
We carry singing girls, drift with the drifting water,
Yet Sennin needs
A yellow stork for a charger, and all our seamen
Would follow the white gulls or ride them.
Kutsu's prose song
Hangs with the sun and moon.
King So's terraced palace
is now but a barren hill,
But I draw pen on this barge
Causing the five peaks to tremble,
And I have joy in these words
like the joy of blue islands.
(If glory could last forever
Then the waters of Han would flow northward.)
And I have moped in the Emperor's garden, awaiting
an order-to-write!
I looked at the dragon-pond, with its willow-coloured
water
Just reflecting the sky's tinge,
And heard the five-score nightingales aimlessly singing.
The eastern wind brings the green colour into the island
grasses at Yei-shu,
The purple house and the crimson are full of Spring
softness.
South of the pond the willow-tips are half-blue and
bluer,
Their cords tangle in mist, against the brocade-like
palace.
Vine-strings a hundred feet long hang down from carved
railings,
And high over the willows, the fine birds sing to each
other, and listen,
Crying--"Kwan, Kuan," for the early wind, and the feel
of it.
The wind bundles itself into a bluish cloud and wanders off.
Over a thousand gates, over a thousand doors are the sounds
of spring singing,
And the Emperor is at Ko.
Five clouds hang aloft, bright on the purple sky,
The imperial guards come forth from the golden house with
their armour a-gleaming.
The emperor in his jewelled car goes out to inspect his
flowers,
He goes out to Hori, to look at the wing-flapping storks,
He returns by way of Sei rock, to hear the new nightingales,
For the gardens at Jo-run are full of new nightingales,
Their sound is mixed in this flute,
Their voice is in the twelve pipes here.
_By Rihaku._
_8th century A.D._
The River-Merchant's Wife: a Letter
While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.
At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever, and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?
At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-Yen, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.
You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden,
They hurt me,
I grow older,
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you,
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.
_By Rihaku._
The Jewel Stairs' Grievance
The jewelled steps are already quite white with dew,
It is so late that the dew soaks my gauze stockings,
And I let down the crystal curtain
And watch the moon through the clear autumn.
_By Rihaku._
Note.--Jewel stairs, therefore a palace. Grievance,
therefore there is something to complain, of. Gauze
stockings, therefore a court lady, not a servant who
complains. Clear autumn, therefore he has no excuse on
account of weather. Also she has come early, for the dew
has not merely whitened the stairs, but has soaked her
stockings. The poem is especially prized because she utters
no direct reproach.
Poem by the Bridge at Ten-Shin
March has come to the bridge head,
Peach boughs and apricot boughs hang over a thousand gates,
At morning there are flowers to cut the heart,
And evening drives them on the eastward-flowing waters.
Petals are on the gone waters and on the going,
And on the back-swirling eddies,
But to-days men are not the men of the old days,
Though they hang in the same way over the bridge-rail.
The sea's colour moves at the dawn
And the princes still stand in rows, about the throne,
And the moon falls over the portals of Sei-go-yo,
And clings to the walls and the gate-top.
With head-gear glittering against the cloud and sun,
The lords go forth from the court, and into far borders.
They ride upon dragon-like horses,
Upon horses with head-trappings of yellow-metal,
And the streets make way for their passage.
Haughty their passing,
Haughty their steps as they go into great banquets,
To high halls and curious food,
To the perfumed air and girls dancing,
To clear flutes and clear singing;
To the dance of the seventy couples;
To the mad chase through the gardens.
Night and day are given over to pleasure
And they think it will last a thousand autumns,
Unwearying autumns.
For them the yellow dogs howl portents in vain,
And what are they compared to the lady Riokushu,
That was cause of hate!
Who among them is a man like Han-rei
Who departed alone with his mistress,
With her hair unbound, and he his own skiffs-man!
_By Rihaku._
Lament of the Frontier Guard
By the North Gate, the wind blows full of sand,
Lonely from the beginning of time until now!
Trees fall, the grass goes yellow with autumn.
I climb the towers and towers
to watch out the barbarous land:
Desolate | 1,282.002733 |
2023-11-16 18:38:26.0800920 | 864 | 15 |
Produced by MFR, John Campbell 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
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Text in Old English (blackletter) font is denoted by =equal signs=.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
All misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage,
have been retained.
=Books by Margaret Deland.=
THE OLD GARDEN, AND OTHER VERSES.
Enlarged Edition. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.
THE OLD GARDEN, AND OTHER VERSES.
_Holiday Edition._ Illustrated in color by
WALTER CRANE. Crown 8vo, $4.00.
JOHN WARD, PREACHER. A Novel. 16mo,
$1.25; paper, 50 cents.
SIDNEY. A Novel. 16mo, $1.25; paper, 50 cts.
THE STORY OF A CHILD. 16mo, $1.00.
MR. TOMMY DOVE, AND OTHER STORIES. 16mo, $1.00.
PHILIP AND HIS WIFE. A Novel. 16mo, $1.25.
THE WISDOM OF FOOLS. Stories. 16mo, $1.25.
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
THE WISDOM OF FOOLS
BY
MARGARET DELAND
[Illustration: (Publisher colophon.)]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY MDCCCXCVII
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY MARGARET DELAND
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
PAGE
WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS, ’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE 3
THE HOUSE OF RIMMON 66
COUNTING THE COST 136
THE LAW, OR THE GOSPEL? 191
THE WISDOM OF FOOLS
WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS ’TIS FOLLY TO BE WISE
I
“THE most delightful thing about our engagement is
that everybody is so pleased with it.” Amy Townsend said this,
smiling down at her lover, who, full length on the grass beside
her, leaned on his elbow, watching her soft hair blowing across her
forehead, and the color of the sun flickering through the shadows,
hot on her cheek; for she had closed her fluffy white parasol and
taken off her hat here under an oak-tree on the grassy bank of the
river.
“I should have thought that the fact that we were pleased ourselves
was a trifle more important,” he suggested. But Miss Townsend paid
no attention to his interruption.
“You know, generally, when people get engaged, there are always
people who exclaim: either the man is too good for the girl (and
you are too good for me, Billy!), or the girl is too good for the
man”--
“She is; there is no question about that,” the man interrupted.
“Be quiet!” the other commanded. “But in our case, everybody
approves. You see, in the first place, you are a Parson, and I’m a
Worker. That’s what they call me,--the old ladies,--‘a Worker.’ And
of course that’s a most appropriate combination to start with.”
“Well, the old ladies will discover that my wife isn’t going to
run their committees for them,” the parson said emphatically.
“Besides, if I’m a Parson, you’re a Person! How do the old ladies
bear it, that I haven’t any ancestors, and used to run errands in a | 1,282.100132 |
2023-11-16 18:38:26.2090670 | 421 | 18 | FLORIDA COAST ***
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "Hallo!" cried Harold, his own voice husky with emotion.
.. Frontispiece]
THE
YOUNG MAROONERS ON
THE FLORIDA COAST
BY
F. R. GOULDING
WITH INTRODUCTION BY
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS
(Uncle Remus)
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1927
COPYRIGHT, 1862
BY F. R. GOULDING
COPYRIGHT, 1881
BY F. R. GOULDING
COPYRIGHT, 1887
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
INTRODUCTION
I have been asked to furnish an introduction for a new edition of "The
Young Marooners." As an introduction is unnecessary, the writing of it
must be to some extent perfunctory. The book is known in many lands and
languages. It has survived its own success, and has entered into
literature. It has become a classic. The young marooners themselves
have reached middle age, and some of them have passed away, but their
adventures are as fresh and as entertaining as ever.
Dr. Goulding's work possesses all the elements of enduring popularity.
It has the strength and vigour of simplicity; its narrative flows
continuously forward; its incidents are strange and thrilling, and
underneath all is a moral purpose sanely put.
The author himself was surprised at the great popularity of his story,
and has written a history of its origin as a preface. The internal
evidence is that the book is not the result of literary ambition, but of
a strong desire to instruct and amuse his own children, and | 1,282.229107 |
2023-11-16 18:38:26.3225360 | 7,429 | 7 |
E-text prepared by Laura & Joyce McDonald and Clare Graham
(http://www.girlebooks.com) and Marc D'Hooghe
(http://www.freeliterature.org) from page images generously made available
by Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/retrospect00cambrich
THE RETROSPECT
by
ADA CAMBRIDGE
Author of
"Thirty Years in Australia," "Path and Goal," etc.
London
Stanley Paul & Co.
31 Essex Street, Strand, W.C.
Colonial Edition.
TO
MY FRIENDS, KNOWN AND UNKNOWN
WHO WERE YOUNG AND HAVE GROWN OLD WITH ME
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK
CONTENTS
I. Coming Home
II. About Town
III. In Beautiful England
IV. The Home of Childhood
V. Halcyon Days
VI. Earliest Recollections
VII. Old Times and New
VIII. Some Early Sundays
IX. My Grandfather's Days
X. Outdoor Life
XI. At the Seaside
XII. Excursions to Sandringham
XIII. A Trip South
XIV. "Devon, Glorious Devon!"
XV. In the Garden of England
CHAPTER I
COMING HOME
There was a gap of thirty-eight years, almost to a day, between my
departure from England (1870), a five-weeks-old young bride, and my
return thither (1908), an old woman. And for about seven-eighths of that
long time in Australia, while succeeding very well in making the best of
things, I was never without a subconscious sense of exile, a chronic
nostalgia, that could hardly bear the sight of a homeward-bound ship.
This often-tantalised but ever-unappeased desire to be back in my native
land wore the air of a secret sorrow gently shadowing an otherwise happy
life, while in point of fact it was a considerable source of happiness
in itself, as I now perceive. For where would be the interest and
inspiration of life without something to want that you cannot get, but
that it is open to you to try for? I tried hard to bridge the distance
to my goal for over thirty years, working, planning, failing, starting
again, building a thousand air-castles, more or less, and seeing them
burst like soap-bubbles as soon as they began to materialise; then I
gave up. The children had grown too old to be taken; moreover, they had
attained to wills of their own and did not wish to go. One had fallen to
the scythe of the indiscriminate Reaper, and that immense loss dwindled
all other losses to nothing at all. I cared no more where I lived, so
long as the rest were with me. In England my father and mother, who had
so longed for me, as I for them, were in their graves; no old home was
left to go back to. I was myself a grandmother, in spite of kindly and
even vehement assurances that I did not look it; more than that, I
_could_ have been a great-grandmother without violating the laws of
nature. At any rate, I felt that I was past the age for enterprises. It
was too late now, I concluded, and so what was the use of fussing any
more? In short, I sat down to content myself with the inevitable.
I was doing it. I had been doing it for several years. The time had come
when I could look out of window any Tuesday morning, watch a
homeward-bound mail-boat put her nose to sea, and turn from the
spectacle without a pang. The business of building air-castles
flourished, as of yore, but their bases now rested on Australian soil.
What was left of the future was all planned out, satisfactorily, even
delightfully, and England was not in it.
Then was the time for the unexpected to happen, and it did. A totally
undreamed-of family legacy, with legal business attached to it, called
my husband home. Even then it did not strike me that I was called too;
for quite a considerable time it did not strike him either. But there
befell a period of burning summer heat, the intensity and duration of
which broke all past records of our State and established it as a
historic event for future Government meteorologists; the weaklings of
the community succumbed to it outright or emerged from it physically
prostrate, and I, who had encountered it in a "run-down" condition, was
of the latter company. The question: "Was I fit to be left?" obtruded
itself into the settled policy: it logically resolved itself into the
further question: "Was I fit to go?" There was nothing whatever to
prevent my going if I could "stand" it, and a long sea-voyage had been
doctors' prescription for me for years. Mysteriously and, as it were,
automatically, I brisked up from the moment the second question was
propounded, and before I knew it found myself enrolled as a member of
the expedition. The two-berth cabin was engaged; travelling trunks, and
clothes to put in them, bestrewed my bedroom floor. I was going home--at
last!
And was it too late? Had I outlived my long, long hope? Not a bit of it.
I had outlived nothing, and it was exactly and ideally the right time.
"You will be disappointed," said more than one of my travelled old
friends, who had known the extravagance of my anticipations. "It will be
sad for you, finding all so strange and changed." "You will feel
dreadfully out of it, after so many years." "You will be very
lonely"--thus was I compassionately warned not to let a too sanguine
spirit run away with me. They were all wrong. I never had a
disappointment: nothing was sad for me, of all the change; no one could
have been less out of it, or less lonely. Every English day of the whole
six months was full of pleasure; I was not even bored for an hour. At no
time of my life could I have made the trip with a lighter heart (being
assured weekly that all was well behind me). Children would have meant
a burden, however precious a burden, and had I gone in my parents'
lifetime it would have been with them and me as our ship's captain said
it was with his wife during his brief sojourns with her; for half the
time she was overwrought with the joy of his return, and for the other
half miserable in anticipation of his departure, so that he never knew
her in her normal state. That my father and mother had long been dead,
and that the tragedies of home love and loss, with which I was so
familiar, were not pressing close about me, probably accounted more than
anything else for my being so well and happy. Also, it is not until a
woman is sixty, or thereabouts, that she is really free to enjoy
herself.
Well! I never was so well since I was born. The long sea-voyage did all
that was asked of it, and incidentally brought home to me the truth of
the old adage that silver lines all clouds. "If only we were not so far
away!" had been my inward wail for eight and thirty years. "If only we
had emigrated to Canada, or South Africa, or almost any part of the
British Empire but this! Then we might have flown home every few years
as easily as we now go from Melbourne to Sydney, and at no more
expense." I have the same regret, intensified, now that I am back in
Australia again. But there is no gain without its corresponding loss.
Not only might the joys of England after exile have become staled by
this time, but a voyage of a week or two would not have prepared me to
make the most of them. I am convinced that years of health and life are
given to those who, at the right juncture, can afford six weeks of
sea-travel at a stretch, and they may have been given to me and my
companion; I quite believe so. Each of us was a stone heavier at the end
of our holiday than at the beginning, and in the interval we forgot that
we were a day over twenty-five.
Consider for a moment the perfect adjustment of the conditions to the
needs of the invalid with no disease but exhaustion. I pass over the
special favours vouchsafed to me, in idyllic weather and tranquil seas,
and the mothering of a devoted stewardess who is my friend for life;
also in finding quiet and pleasant company in a saloon party of but
eighteen. That sort of luck cannot be purchased even with a first-class
steamer ticket, nor is it necessary to the efficacy of the treatment.
Take only the itinerary--that of the Suez route at a suitable season--as
it may be observed by anybody.
First, the run across the Indian Ocean--in the case of the mail-steamers
from Adelaide to Colombo, in our case from Adelaide to Aden. Three whole
weeks, without a break, without an incident, if all goes well. I had
never imagined the sea could be so blank as it presented itself to us on
this first section of our voyage. Ships may have passed in the night,
but I saw none by day; no land, no birds, no whales, no phosphorescent
wakes, no anything, except sea and sky and lovely sunsets. It may have
been monotonous, but it was monotony in the right place. It brought to
me, at the outset, that complete rest from all effort and excitement
which was the necessary preliminary to recovery and repair. I reposed on
my comfortable lounge from morn till eve, playing with a trifle of
needlework (too stupid with blissful torpor to read, while the
strangeness of quite idle hands would have induced the fidgets,
sea-drugged as I was). I ate, and slept, and basked, like a soulless
animal; forgot there were such things as posts and newspapers, as
dinner-planning and stocking-mending, as calls and committee-meetings;
forgot that I was the mother of a family, and had abandoned it for the
first time in history; forgot whether I was ill or well, or had nerves
or not; and thus soaked and steeped and soddened in peace, insensibly
renewed and established my strength, not patching it anyhow just to
carry on with, as one does on land, with a casual week at a
watering-place or in the mountains, but unhurriedly, uninterruptedly,
solidly, rebuilding it from the bottom up.
Then, when strength becomes aware that it is ready for use--at the
moment when one begins to feel that the monotony has lasted long
enough--then back comes the delightful world, with a new face of beauty
to match the new ardour of love for it that has been silently generating
within us. All the light of enterprising and romantic youth was in the
gaze I levelled through my binoculars (given to me for my voyage in
1870) at the first substantial token that I was in the gorgeous East,
one of the fairylands of imagination (comprising, roughly, all the
unknown earth) from the days of infancy when I learned to read. It was
an Arab dhow. I knew that pointed wing as well as I knew the shape of
chimney-pots, but the wonder that I was seeing it with my bodily eyes,
even as a speck upon the horizon, was overwhelming. I stared and stared,
but could not speak.
The rest was pure enchantment. As we drew near to the magnificent rock
of Aden--hateful place, I know, to its white inhabitants, and an old
tale not worth mentioning to the average Australian tourist--I said, in
my ecstasy: "This pays for the voyage, if we see nothing more." The
first white-awninged launch that bustled up to us, manned by two
nondescripts, one huge Nubian <DW64> and one beautiful Somali boy, bore
through the brilliant air and water an official gentleman who probably
would have sold his soul for a London fog; it was not he, but another
official gentleman who swallowed nearly a bottle of ship's brandy while
attending to ship's business, and was presented with another bottle on
his departure by a sympathiser who understood his case. It was a hot
morning in the middle of May, and I had been accustomed from my youth to
atmospheric light and colour as glorious as the radiant setting of this
strange outpost of Empire in the East. Evidently it is in the eye
(backed by a strong imagination) of the gazer that poetic beauty lies.
After this, the unspeakable experiences followed thick and fast. Night
in the Straits, with Venus so bright that she cast a reflection like
moonlight across the water; the Red Sea in the morning--minarets on the
horizon, and those rocks of desolation, with the loneliest human
dwelling conceivable (the arcaded lighthouse) on the top of one of the
most impressively desolate; that other lighthouse at the gulf entrance,
with its flashing rays of red and white, its rock-base velvety purple
against a solemn sunset sky; Mount Sinai amongst the hills of Holy Land;
the majestic desert of so many dreams. Time was when I sniffed at the
colour of Holman Hunt's "Scapegoat" landscape, but here it was,
translated into living light, but no fainter in tint than the dead
paint had made it. Sapphires were not in it with that blue-green sea at
Suez, in which the jostling bumboats floated as in clearest glass. The
rocky shores to left were mauve, the right-hand desert and Holman-Hunty
hummocks salmon-pink, and no mortal painter was ever born, or ever will
be, to "get" the bloomy glow and fairy delicacy of Nature's textures and
technique. The Eastern sun blazed broadly over the scene, the
temperature at noon was ninety-nine degrees in the shade; the
composition was perfect.
Between tea-time and dinner we passed out of the city and close to its
domestic doorsteps--the closest I had yet come to Eastern life; and long
after we were in the canal it was a picture to look back upon from which
I could not tear my eyes. Low on the gleaming water--the two towns
linked by the dark thread of the railway embankment, brooded over by
that majestic mauve and violet hill--it was a vision of beauty indeed as
the light effects changed from moment to moment with the sinking of the
gorgeous sun. I could afford no time to dress that night. In my hat, as
I was, I snatched a mouthful of dinner, and was up again on deck, to
make the most of the short twilight; and so I saw the shadowy last of
Suez and more than I expected to see of the canal.
"Just a little ditch in the sand," somebody had told me, as one might
say, a primrose by the river's brim was nothing more. Apart from its
otherwise tremendous significance, that narrow watercourse was a highway
of romance to me. Egypt--Arabia--the very names set one's heart
thumping. It would be thrilling to be there even if one were blind. The
silence of the desert is more eloquent than any sound. But from the most
unsentimental point of view it was a ditch of varied aspects, that only
the dullest traveller could call uninteresting.
The Canal Company, it appeared, was widening it to double its original
measure across, top and bottom--something like a ten years' job, with
millions of money and priceless brain-matter in it--and we saw the
engineers at work. That is to say, they were not at work at the moment,
because the day's task was done; but there were their excavations and
machinery, fine and effective, and I can never look at such,
apprehending their meaning, without a lifting of the heart, a sense of
the beauty that is in the world unrecognised by that name. What, I
wondered, did my schoolgirl idol and apostle of beauty, Ruskin, think of
this ditch when it was a-making? Did he say? If, to my knowledge, he had
called it a desecration of Nature, I should instantly have agreed with
him. Now, to my life-educated eyes and soul, the very Holy Land was
sanctified by the faithful endeavour and achievement evidenced in
haulage-trucks and pipe-lines and those twin steel rails that he hated
so much, telling all their serious story to whoever could understand it.
It was indeed a beautiful as well as an instructive picture, that left
bank, as we moved beside it. The native labourers, after their work,
squatted in their little camps and dug-outs, and in the sand, or stood
statue-like to watch our passing, sharply silhouetted figures and groups
against the translucent sky, each a "study" that, if in a gallery, one
would go miles to see. Strings of camels were being led to water or were
wending homeward with their loads. Little encampments straight out of
the Bible, desert palm-trees, desert distances, all in the golden
afterglow, the clear-shining twilight, the evening peace that was too
peaceful for words, were gems for the collector of poetic impressions,
to be for ever cherished and preserved. And then how striking was the
rare glimpse of a Saxon face, the glance at us of grave eyes that one
knew had the all-governing brain behind them. The British Occupation in
Egypt--there it was, in the person of that lonely man in tent or
boat-house, advance agent of the Civilisation that spells Prosperity in
whatever part of the world it goes. One of these, out riding with a
lady, rode down to the water's edge to watch us pass. In their white
garb they were perfectly groomed, like their beautiful Arab horses,
which they sat in a style that was good to see; but they were pathetic
figures, with that lonely waste around them. I divined a deadly
homesickness in the eyes that followed our progress as long as we could
be seen, the same ache of the heart that afflicted me, for so many
years, whenever I saw a ship going to England without me. Yet one could
be quite sure that they never dreamed of slipping cables on their own
account as long as duty to the Empire held them where they were. Not the
man, at any rate.
And so it grew too dark to see anything beyond the edge of our
searchlight, which showed only post-heads in the water, and I went to
bed.
I was asleep when we passed Ismailia, contrary to my intentions, but I
got up at four o'clock, to lose no more. Still unbroken desert to the
right; to the left a well-made embankment with a roadway atop, and
behind that a belt of bamboos and greenery, telegraph lines and a
railway, broken at intervals by the oases of the _gares_. An American
navy-boat made way for us at one of these, a pair of submarines
conspicuous on her deck. At a little before five the sun of a lovely
morning rose on our starboard side, and one saw the desert wet and dark,
yielding its immemorial savagery to the civilising hand and brain. One
of the fine up-to-date dredges, amongst the many dredges, was pumping
the mud up on the land as it sucked it from the canal bottom. In the
shining sun-flushed pools of its creation black forms of storks moved
statelily, apparently finding nourishment already where there had been
none before. On the left bank there was the embodied spirit of progress
again, doubtless looking at his work and on the way to expedite it;
white-clothed, white-helmeted, enthroned on a railway trolly, which a
bare-legged native ran along the line as it were a perambulator on ball
bearings, two more natives sitting upon it, ready to take turns with him
at the job. Lifting the eye slightly, one saw open water along the sky
behind them, a flashing, glittering strip, studded with forty-two lateen
sails that might have been carved of mother o' pearl; and almost
immediately, straight ahead, a low mass of something as yet misty and
formless in the dazzling rose and gold of the morning, reminiscent of
Suez in its sunset transfiguration--Port Said, less than an hour from
us.
It was Sunday, and divine service in the reading-room had been arranged.
Soon after six, at about the time of passing the Gare de Naz-el-ech,
passengers began to come up, a few with prayer-book in hand. But divine
service was "off," by order of the captain--a religious man, very
regular in his attendance at public worship. He knew how it would be at
seven-thirty, when we were going to drop anchor in the port at seven,
and that was exactly how it was--every inch of ship overrun with ardent
pedlars, while coaling from the great lighters, three or four lashed
abreast, was in full swing. I may as well say at once that for me, as
for nearly all the passengers (my own companion, who declared himself
quite happy in his choice, being the only member of the saloon party to
stay at home), that Sunday, as a Sunday, has to be wiped off the slate
entirely, posted as missing amongst the Sabbath days of life. I must
confess further that it was the most delightful (so called) Sunday I
ever spent. At last I did more than see the Gorgeous East of lifelong
dreams; I felt it, I had speech with it. In a select party, headed by
the dear woman who, apart from her solid social position, was the chief
pillar of the church on board, I was permitted to go ashore. I had the
free use of six hours to do what I liked in.
In the half-hour before breakfast I did exciting business with the
bumboatmen. I bought a piece of tapestry, representing camels,
palm-trees, mosques and the like, which the native vendor assured me was
handmade in Egyptian prisons, though in my heart of hearts I knew
better; also brooches and bracelets which seemed dirt cheap at two and
three shillings apiece, the exact counterparts of which I afterwards
bought at William Whiteley's for sixpence ha'penny. As soon after
breakfast as we could get our letters ready, I was rowed through the
jewel-bright water into the world of fairy tales. Oh, I know what Port
Said is to those familiar with it, and I could have seen for myself, had
I wished to see, that the Gorgeous East could be flimsy and tawdry,
even ugly, here and there; but it _was_ the East, and that was enough;
the glamour of the rosy spectacles beautified all. Nothing was easier
than to forget and ignore what would doubtless be impossible to overlook
on a second visit, and impossible to put up with on a third or fourth.
Having arrived at the centre of things, we appointed an hour for
luncheon at the Hotel Continental, and split our party into twos and
threes. An unattached man took charge of me and another unattached lady,
and escorted us about the town and to the shops which alone attracted
her (for she knew Port Said already). Wonderful shops, too, some of them
were, and it was no wasted time I spent roaming about them, while she
gave her attention to spangled scarves and lace; but the lattice-veiled
windows of the mysterious dwelling-rooms above them, and the flowing and
glowing life of the narrow streets, were what I had come to see. It was
delightful to return to the pavement under the Continental, and there
sit, with a cold and bubbling lemon drink, in one of the low chairs
which so hospitably invite the wayfarer, to watch the stream of mingling
East and West go by, and its eddies around one--the veiled native lady
touching skirts with the breezy English girl; the turbaned sherbet
seller, his remarkable brazen ewer under his arm, dodging the swift
bicycle; the oily-eyed and sodden rapscallion of the Levant, or the
bejewelled and bepowdered person no better than she should be, elbowing
the spare young cleric slipping through these dangerous places on his
way to the Pan-Anglican Congress. And the stranger contrasts on the
wide, tiled side-walk, a continuous outdoor cafe rather than a
promenade--Frenchmen playing dominoes, swarthy traders doing secret
business over their drinks; passengers from the various ships in port,
mothers and aunts with children by the hand; here and there the habitual
tourist, easily identified; here and there the impeccably clothed,
clean-limbed white figure, whose high bearing and bluff dignity
proclaimed the important person--soldier of distinction,
big-game-hunting lord of leisure, powerful Government official, as the
case might be. All up and down, around the low tables, faces of all
nations, speech of all languages, and, as an undercurrent, the
incessantly made gentle appeal for notice from the dark-skinned pedlars
sinuously navigating the narrow channels between the chairs, with their
cheap jewellery and picture post-cards and puzzle walking-sticks, trying
how far they could go under the eye of the Egyptian policeman, standing
ready to order them over the curb at the first sign of unwelcome
pertinacity.
For a good half-hour we sat at ease, in the middle of this picture, and
I enjoyed myself surpassingly. Then a little more shopping on behalf of
my still unsatisfied lady companion, and then the gathering of the whole
seven of our landing party at the appointed rendezvous for luncheon. We
were ready for the meal, and it was not the least memorable of the
aesthetic pleasures of that "Sunday out." I am told it was simply as a
meal ashore, after many meals at sea, that I found it so delectable, but
in justice to the courteous French proprietor, as he seemed to be, who
himself took charge of our table, and for my own credit as a
connoisseur, I deny that assertion, made only by those who were not
there. I declare, on my honour, that, apart from the good cookery, the
bread, butter and beer of the Hotel Continental at Port Said--such a
seemingly unlikely place in which to find them so--were the best I ever
tasted. Particularly the bread. One of the remaining ambitions of my
life is to find out whether that bread was French, or Egyptian, or
Turkish, or what (the reader bears in mind that this is the story of an
innocent abroad), and to get some more of it, if possible.
We sat outside the house again, to repose after our repast, and I should
think there was no more contented person in the world than I was then. I
bought a little more Brummagem rubbish that palmed itself off as of
Oriental manufacture, of the softly persistent pedlars circulating about
my chair; and our escort settled the hotel bill, which worked out at
four-and-sixpence for each of us. Never did I grudge hard-earned money
for sensual indulgence less. I would not now take pounds for my
recollections of that meal, because the day could not have been perfect
without it.
So it drew on for four o'clock, when leave expired. Tired, hot and
happy, we wandered back to the quay, dropped our threepenny pieces into
official hands before the tantalised boatmen, stepped into our cushioned
barge and were rowed to the ship. There we found coaling done, afternoon
tea prepared for us, everything ready for the start. And, again in the
decline of the brilliant day, we saw the whole place bathed in
celestially rosy light, a last impression of the gorgeous East as one
loves to imagine it, to be hung on the line of the picture gallery of
memory alongside Aden and Suez. Because decks were being washed down,
the captain allowed a few of us to survey the scene from his bridge, and
while we rested weary bones we gazed from that commanding altitude upon
the unforgettable panorama--the houses of the sea-front, the casino, the
famous lighthouse, the bathing-beach with its white surf and its
machines, the long breakwater walling the exit from the canal,
and--farewelling us, as it seemed--the impressive statue of Ferdinand de
Lesseps, pointing back to his great work. At sunset we fetched up the
coats so long unworn, and in the fresh air of the Mediterranean watched
the flushing and fading of the distant city, low on the water like
another Venice, until the evening bugle called us down. Too tired to
dress, we ate our dinner perfunctorily, took a last look at the
spacious, cool-breathing night, saw the Damietta light twinkling, and
went to bed early. No one so much as mentioned church.
Then came three quiet days, sunny and cool, in which the right thing to
do was to lie on one's long chair and recover from excitements.
Meditation was so sweet, and I was so grateful to Port Said, that I
could not grumble at losing Malta, where the ship had no engagements. A
far-off, faint reflection of what was supposed to be a flashlight in
Valetta harbour consoled me on my way to bed one night with its
suggestion that Templars really lived, and that the old cathedral and
the old steep streets were still there, awaiting the future pilgrim. No
more did I set foot in "foreign parts," but what I further saw of them
sufficed to make each remaining day of the voyage memorable. "The Bay of
Tunis," says the captain, and: "Old Carthage lies behind that hill."
We were so close to the African shore that we could see the occasional
town, the lonely farm, the lonelier fort or monastery, very distinctly;
and the little unfenced, unshaped patches of tillage scratched out of
the wilderness, and the little roadways meandering through the gaps of
the crowding rock-ranges, otherwise so savagely desolate; and the
evening lights sparsely scattered along the shore, and the early morning
camp-fires on the seaward declivities, so high up and isolated as to
suggest the fastnesses of the pirates of bygone days. A horn of the Bay
of Algiers stole out of twilight mist, and lit up its clustering lamps
as we looked at it; and the following day revealed the face of Spain,
frowning at her _vis-a-vis_, but splendid in a stormy sunset, a velvety
violet mass against a flaming sky.
At four o'clock again on Sunday morning I was up and dressed, summoned
by the captain stamping overhead. And out of the dawn came majestic
Gibraltar--the sun was up before five--and Algeciras of recent fame,
ships and warships, hills, houses, hamlets, windmills, roads and Tarifa
Point transfixing a wrecked steamer, sad detail of a picture full of
life and charm. Another red-letter Sunday, but not quite so red as the
last. Divine service was duly celebrated in the saloon after dinner--our
last on board.
The captain stamped again at five A.M. on Monday, and I saw the Castle
of Cintra on its rocky headland, and more of the interesting life of the
country as we slid along its shores. I cut breakfast short to feast on
the historic landscape (in youth I had devoured the literature of the
Cid, the Peninsular War, and Don Quixote, in a score of weighty tomes),
to study the contours of Spanish houses, to count the number of visible
Spanish windmills, all twirling their sails for business, in the good
old Mediaeval style. Until the sailors at their work of holystoning and
sluicing drove us from the last inch of deck, and rain--almost the only
rain we had on that blessed voyage--drew a grey curtain over the scene.
The Bay of Biscay was an angel. Summer-blue sea and sky, blushing
gloriously when sunset interfused them, a young horned moon, with its
attendant star, hanging over the saffron afterglow and making night
heavenly; hardly a breaking wave. And the East was all behind us, and
Malta and Spain, even Australia, which still held the kernel of one's
heart; their memories were put away like precious pictures in their
packing-cases, until presently one would have time to hang them in the
light again. Nothing could be thought of now but that which we were to
see to-morrow--England, the Mecca of our pilgrimage--after thirty-eight
years.
It was Thursday, the 4th of June, at nine in the morning, when it
happened. Of all the lovely mornings we had at sea that was the
loveliest. A little hazy on the sky-line, but sunny, bree | 1,282.342576 |
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[Illustration: THE WRIGHT AEROPLANE IN FRANCE IN 1908.
It will be seen that there are two passengers on the aeroplane, one
being Mr. Wilbur Wright, the other a pupil.]
EVERY-DAY SCIENCE
BY
HENRY SMITH WILLIAMS, M.D., LL.D.
ASSISTED BY
EDWARD H. WILLIAMS, M.D.
VOLUME VII.
THE CONQUEST OF TIME AND SPACE
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
THE GOODHUE COMPANY
PUBLISHERS MDCCCCX
Copyright, 1910, by THE GOODHUE CO.
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
THE CONQUEST OF THE ZONES
Geographical knowledge of the ancient Egyptians, p. 5--The
mariner's compass, p. 7--Reference to the thirty-two points
of the compass by Chaucer, p. 9--Halley's observations on
the changes in the direction of the compass in a century,
p. 10--Deviation of the compass, p. 11--The voyage of the
_Carnegie_, the non-magnetic ship, p. 12--The "dip of the needle"
first observed by Robert Norman, p. 13--The modern compass
invented by Lord Kelvin, p. 14--Sailing by dead reckoning, p.
14--The invention of the "log," p. 15--The modern log, p. 17--The
development of the sextant, p. 18--The astrolabe, p. 19--The
quadrant invented by Hadley, p. 20--The perfected sextant, p.
21--Perfecting the chronometer, p. 23--The timepieces invented
by the British carpenter, John Harrison, p. 25--The prize won by
Harrison, p. 27--Finding time without a chronometer, p. 28--The
_Nautical Almanac_, p. 30--Ascertaining the ship's longitude, p.
31--Difficulties of "taking the sun" at noon, p. 33--Measuring
a degree of latitude, p. 34--The observations of Robert Norman,
p. 35--The function of the _Nautical Almanac_, p. 37--Soundings
and charts, p. 41--Mercator's projection, p. 44--The lure of the
unknown, p. 45--The quest of the Pole, p. 47--Commander Peary's
achievement, p. 49--How observations are made in arctic regions,
p. 50--Making observations at the Pole, p. 52--Difficulties as to
direction at the Pole, p. 54.
CHAPTER II
THE HIGHWAY OF THE WATERS
Use of sails in ancient times, p. 56--Ships with many banks
of oars, p. 57--Mediaeval ships, p. 59--Modern sailing ships,
p. 60--The sailing record of _The Sovereign of the Seas_,
p. 60--Early attempts to invent a steamboat, p. 63--Robert
Fulton's _Clermont_, p. 64--The steamboat of Blasco de Gary,
p. 66--The _Charlotte Dundas_, p. 67--The steamboat invented
by Col. John Stevens, p. 68--Fulton designs the _Clermont_,
p. 71--The historic trip of the _Clermont_ up the Hudson, p.
71--Sea-going steamships, p. 73--Ships built of iron and steel,
p. 74--The _Great Eastern_, p. 76--Principal dimensions of the
_Great Eastern_, p. 78--Twin-screw vessels, p. 80--The triumph
of the turbine, p. 81--The _Lusitania_ and _Mauretania_, p.
82--Submarine signalling, p. 83--The rescue of the _Republic_,
p. 84--How the submarine signalling device works, p. 86--The
_Olympic_ and _Titanic_, p. 90--Liquid fuel, p. 90--Advantages
and disadvantages of liquid fuel, p. 91.
CHAPTER III
SUBMARINE VESSELS
Slow development of submarine navigation, p. 93--The first
submarine, p. 94--Description of David Bushnell's boat, p.
94--Attempts to sink a war vessel during the American Revolution,
p. 97--Robert Fulton's experiments, p. 98--The attack on the
_Argus_ by Fulton's submarine, p. 100--The attack upon the
_Ramilles_ in 1813, p. 102--A successful diving boat, p. 103--The
sinking of the _Housatonic_, p. 104--Recent submarines and
submersibles, p. 105--The _Holland_, p. 106--The Lake type of
boat, p. 108--Problems to be overcome in submarine navigation, p.
109--Present status of submarine boats, p. 111--The problem of
seeing without being seen, p. 113--The experimental attacks upon
the cruiser _Yankee_ in 1908, p. 115--The possibility of using
aeroplanes for detecting the presence of submarines, p. 117.
CHAPTER IV
THE STEAM LOCOMOTIVE
The earliest railroad, p. 119--The substitution of flanged
wheels for flanged rails, p. 120--The locomotive of Richard
Trevithick, p. 121--The cable road of Chapman, p. 123--Stephenson
solves the problem, p. 124--Versatility of Stephenson, p.
125--His early locomotives, p. 126--Stephenson's locomotive of
1825, p. 127--The first passenger coach, p. 128--The Liverpool
and Manchester Railway projected, p. 129--Conditions named
for testing the competing locomotives, p. 130--The _Rocket_
and other contestants, p. 132--Description of the _Rocket_,
p. 133--Improvements on the construction of the _Rocket_, p.
134--Improvements in locomotives in recent years, p. 135--The
compound locomotive, p. 137--Advantages of compound locomotives,
p. 138--The Westinghouse air brake, p. 141--The "straight air
brake," p. 143--The automatic air brake, p. 144--The high-speed
air brake, p. 146--Automatic couplings, p. 147--Principle of the
Janney coupling, p. 149--A comparison--the old and the new, p.
150.
CHAPTER V
FROM CART TO AUTOMOBILE
When were carts first used? p. 152--The development of the
bicycle, p. 154--The pneumatic tire introduced, p. 155--The
coming of the automobile, p. 156--The gas engine of Dr. Otto,
p. 157--Cugnot's automobile, p. 158--The automobile of William
Murdoch, 1785, p. 158--Opposition in England to the introduction
of automobiles, p. 159--An extraordinary piece of legislation,
p. 161--Scientific aspects of automobile racing, p. 164--Some
records made at Ormonde, p. 165--Records made by Oldfield
in 191 | 1,282.500513 |
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HEART OF MAN
BY
GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY
COPYRIGHT 1899,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
1899
"Deep in the general heart of man"
--WORDSWORTH
TO THE MEMORY OF
EUGENE MONTGOMERY
MY FRIEND
DEAR WAS HIS PRAISE, AND PLEASANT 'TWERE TO ME,
ON WHOSE FAR GRAVE TO-NIGHT THE DEEP SNOWS DRIFT;
IT NEEDS NOT NOW; TOGETHER WE SHALL SEE
HOW HIGH CHRIST'S LILIES O'ER MAN'S LAURELS LIFT
February 18, 1899.
PREFACE
OF the papers contained in this volume
"Taormina" was published in the _Century
Magazine_; the others are new. The intention
of the author was to illustrate how poetry, politics,
and religion are the flowering of the same
human spirit, and have their feeding roots in
a common soil, "deep in the general heart of
men."
COLUMBIA COLLEGE,
February 22, 1809.
CONTENTS
TAORMINA
A NEW DEFENCE OF POETRY
DEMOCRACY
THE RIDE
TAORMINA
I
What should there be in the glimmering lights of a poor fishing-village
to fascinate me? Far below, a mile perhaps, I behold them in the
darkness and the storm like some phosphorescence of the beach; I see the
pale tossing of the surf beside them; I hear the continuous roar borne
up and softened about these heights; and this is night at Taormina.
There is a weirdness in the scene--the feeling without the reality of
mystery; and at evening, I know not why, I cannot sleep without stepping
upon the terrace or peering through the panes to see those lights. At
morning the charm has flown from the shore to the further heights above
me. I glance at the vast banks of southward-lying cloud that envelop
Etna, like deep fog upon the ocean; and then, inevitably, my eyes seek
the double summit of the Taorminian mountain, rising nigh at hand a
thousand feet, almost sheer, less than half a mile westward. The nearer
height, precipice-faced, towers full in front with its crowning ruined
citadel, and discloses, just below the peak, on an arm of rock toward
its right, a hermitage church among the heavily hanging mists. The other
horn of the massive hill, somewhat more remote, behind and to the old
castle's left, exposes on its slightly loftier crest the edge of a
hamlet. It, too, is cloud-wreathed--the lonely crag of Mola. Over these
hilltops, I know, mists will drift and touch all day; and often they
darken threateningly, and creep softly down the <DW72>s, and fill the
next-lying valley, and roll, and lift again, and reveal the flank of
Monte d'Oro northward on the far-reaching range. As I was walking the
other day, with one of these floating showers gently blowing in my face
down this defile, I noticed, where the mists hung in fragments from the
cloud out over the gulf, how like air-shattered arches they groined the
profound ravine; and thinking how much of the romantic charm which
delights lovers of the mountains and the sea springs from such Gothic
moods of nature, I felt for a moment something of the pleasure of
recognition in meeting with this northern and familiar element in the
Sicilian landscape.
One who has grown to be at home with nature cannot be quite a stranger
anywhere on earth. In new lands I find the poet's old domain. It is not
only from the land-side that these intimations of old acquaintance come.
When my eyes leave, as they will, the near girdle of rainy mountain
tops, and range home at last upon the sea, something familiar is there
too,--that which I have always known,--but marvellously transformed and
heightened in beauty and power. Such sudden glints of sunshine in the
offing through unseen rents of heaven, as brilliant as in mid-ocean, I
have beheld a thousand times, but here they remind me rather of
cloud-lights on far western plains; and where have I seen those still
tracts of changeful colour, iridescent under the silvery vapours of
noon; or, when the weather freshens darkens, those whirlpools of pure
emerald in the gray expanse of storm? They seem like memories of what
has been, made fairer. One recurring scene has the same fascination for
my eyes as the fishers' lights. It is a simple picture: only an arm of
mist thrusting out from yonder lowland by the little cape, and making a
near horizon, where, for half an hour, the waves break with great dashes
of purple and green, deep and angry, against the insubstantial mole. All
day I gaze on these sights of beauty until it seems that nature herself
has taken on nobler forms forever more. When the mountain storm beats
the pane at midnight, or the distant lightnings awake me in the hour
before dawn, I can forget in what climate I am; but the oblivion is
conscious, and half a memory of childhood nights: in an instant comes
the recollection, "I am on the coasts, and these are the couriers, of
Etna."
The very rain is strange: it is charged with obscure personality; it is
the habitation of a new presence, a storm-genius that I have never
known; it in born of Etna, whence all things here have being and draw
nourishment. It is not rain, but the rain-cloud, spread out over the
valleys, the precipices, the sounding beaches, the ocean plain; it is
not a storm, but a season. It does not rise with the moist Hyades, or
ride with cloudy Orion in the Mediterranean night; it does not pass like
Atlantic tempests on great world-currents: it remains. Its home is upon
Etna; thence it comes and thither it returns; it gathers and disperses,
lightens and darkens, blows and is silent, and though it suffer the
clear north wind, or the west, to divide its veils with heaven, again it
draws the folds together about its abode. It obeys only Etna, who sends
it forth; then with clouds and thick darkness the mountain hides its
face: it is the Sicilian winter.
II
But Etna does not withdraw continuously from its children even in this
season. On the third day, at farthest, I was told it would bring back
the sun; and I was not deceived. Two days it was closely wrapped in
impenetrable gray; but the third morning, as I threw open my casement
and stepped out upon the terrace, I saw it, like my native winter,
expanding its broad flanks under the double radiance of dazzling clouds
spreading from its extreme summit far out and upward, and of the
snow-fields whose long fair drifts shone far down | 1,282.501193 |
2023-11-16 18:38:26.5820550 | 74 | 67 | AND ASIA MINOR, TO CONSTANTINOPLE, IN THE YEARS 1808 AND 1809***
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 10, No. 264.] SATURDAY, JULY 14, 1827. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATIONS.
NEW CHURCH, REGENT'S PARK.
[Illustration]
The architectural splendour which has lately developed itself in and
about the precincts of the parish of St. Mary-le-Bonne, exhibits a most
surprising and curious contrast with the former state of this part of
London; and more particularly when compared with accounts extracted from
newspapers of an early date.
Mary-le-Bonne parish is estimated to contain more than ten thousand
houses, and one hundred thousand inhabitants. In the plans of London, in
1707, it was a small village one mile distant from the Metropolis,
separated by fields--the scenes of robbery and murder. The following
from a newspaper of 1716:--"On Wednesday last, four gentlemen were
robbed and stripped in the fields between Mary-le-Bonne and London." The
"Weekly Medley," of 1718, says, "Round about the New Square which is
building near Tyburn road, there are so many other edifices, that a
whole magnificent city seems to be risen out of the ground in a way
which makes one wonder how it should find a new set of inhabitants. It
is said it is to be called by the name of _Hanover Square!_ On the other
side is to be built another square, called Oxford Square." From the same
article I have also extracted the dates of many of the different
erections, which may prove of benefit to your architectural readers, as
tending to show the progressive improvement made in the private
buildings of London, and showing also the style of building adopted at
later periods. Indeed, I would wish that some of your correspondents--
_F.R.Y._, or _P.T.W._, for instance, would favour us with a _list of
dates_ answering this purpose. Rathbone-place and John-street (from
Captain Rathbone) began 1729. Oxford market opened 1732. Newman-street
and Berners-street, named from the builders, between 1723 and 1775.
Portland-place and street, 1770. Portman-square, 1764. Portman-place,
1770. Stratford-place, five years later, on the site of Conduit Mead,
built by Robert Stratford, Esq. This had been the place whereon stood
the banquetting house for the lord mayor and aldermen, when they visited
the neighbouring nine conduits which then supplied the city with water.
Cumberland-place, 1769. Manchester-square the year after.
Previous to entering upon an architectural description of the superb
buildings recently erected in the vicinity of Regency Park, I shall
confine myself at present to that object that first arrests the
attention at the entrance, which is the church; it has been erected
under the commissioners for building new churches. The architect is J.
Soane, Esq. There is a pleasing originality in this gentleman's
productions; the result of extensive research among the architectural
beauties of the ancients, together with a peculiar happy mode of
distributing his lights and shadows; producing in the greatest degree
picturesque effect: these are peculiarities essentially his own, and
forming in no part a copy of the works of any other architect in the
present day. The church in question by no means detracts from his merit
in these particulars. The principal front consists of a portico of four
columns of the Ionic order, approached by a small flight of steps; on
each side is a long window, divided into two heights by a stone transum
(panelled). Under the lower window is a raised panel also; and in the
flank of the building the plinth is furnished with openings; each of the
windows is filled with ornamental iron-work, for the purpose of
ventilating the vaults or catacombs. The flank of the church has a
central projection, occupied by antae, and six insulated Ionic columns;
the windows in the inter-columns are in the same style as those in
front; the whole is surmounted by a balustrade. The tower is in two
heights; the lower part has eight columns of the Corinthian order.
Example taken from the temple of Vesta, at Tivoli; these columns, with
their stylobatae and entablature, project, and give a very extraordinary
relief in the perspective view of the building. The upper part consists
of a circular peristyle of six columns; the example apparently taken
from the portico of the octagon tower of Andronicus Cyrrhestes, or tower
of the winds, from the summit of which rises a conical dome, surmounted
by the Vane. The more minute detail may be seen by the annexed drawing.
The prevailing ornament is the Grecian fret.
Mr. Soane, during his long practice in the profession, has erected very
few churches, and it appears that he is endeavouring to rectify failings
that seem insurmountable in the present style of architecture,--that of
preventing the tower from having the appearance of rising out of the
roof, by designing his porticos without pediments; if this is the case,
he certainly is indebted to a great share of praise, as a pediment will
always conceal (particularly at a near view) the major part of a tower.
But again, we find ourselves in another difficulty, and it makes the
remedy as bad as the disease,--that of taking away the principal
characteristic of a portico, (namely, the pediment), and destroying at
once the august appearance which it gives to the building; we find in
all the churches of Sir Christopher Wren the campanile to form a
distinct projection from the ground upwards; thus assimilating nearer to
the ancient form of building them entirely apart from the main body of
the church. I should conceive, that if this idea was followed by
introducing the beautiful detail of Grecian architecture, according to
Wren's _models_ it would raise our church architecture to a very
superior pitch of excellence.
In my next I shall notice the interior, and also the elevation towards
the altar.
C. DAVY.
_Furnivals' Inn_,
_July 1, 1827._
* * * * *
THE MONTHS
* * * * *
THE SEASON.
The heat is greatest in this month on account of its previous duration.
The reason why it is less so in August is, that the days are then much
shorter, and the influence of the sun has been gradually diminishing.
The farmer is still occupied in getting the productions of the earth
into his garners; but those who can avoid labour enjoy as much rest and
shade as possible. There is a sense of heat and quiet all over nature.
The birds are silent. The little brooks are dried up. The earth is
chapped with parching. The shadows of the trees are particularly
grateful, heavy, and still. The oaks, which are freshest because latest
in leaf, form noble clumpy canopies; looking, as you lie under them, of
a strong and emulous green against the blue sky. The traveller delights
to cut across the country through the fields and the leafy lanes, where,
nevertheless, the flints sparkle with heat. The cattle get into the
shade or stand in the water. The active and air-cutting-swallows, now
beginning to assemble for migration, seek their prey about the shady
places; where the insects, though of differently compounded natures,
"fleshless and bloodless," seem to get for coolness, as they do at other
times for warmth. The sound of insects is also the only audible thing
now, increasing rather than lessening the sense of quiet by its gentle
contrast. The bee now and then sweeps across the ear with his gravest
tone. The gnats
"Their murmuring small trumpets sounden wide:"--SPENSER.
and here and there the little musician of the grass touches forth his
tricksy note.
The poetry of earth is never dead;
When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead:
That is the grasshopper's.[1]
[1] _Poems_, by John Keats, p. 93.
The strong rains, which sometimes come down in summer-time, are a noble
interruption to the drought and indolence of hot weather. They seem as
if they had been collecting a supply of moisture equal to the want of
it, and come drenching the earth with a mighty draught of freshness. The
rushing and tree-bowing winds that precede them, the dignity with which
they rise in the west, the gathering darkness of their approach, the
silence before their descent, the washing amplitude of their
out-pouring, the suddenness with which they appear to leave off, taking
up, as it were, their watery feet to sail onward, and then the sunny
smile again of nature, accompanied by the "sparkling noise" of the
birds, and those dripping diamonds the rain-drops;--there is a grandeur
and a beauty in all this, which lend a glorious effect to each other;
for though the sunshine appears more beautiful than grand, there is a
power, not even to be looked upon, in the orb from which it flows; and
though the storm is more grand than beautiful, there is always beauty
where there is so much beneficence.--_The Months_.
BATHING
It is now the weather for bathing, a refreshment too little taken in
this country, either summer or winter. We say in winter, because with
very little care in placing it near a cistern, and having a leathern
pipe for it, a bath may be easily filled once or twice a week with warm
water; and it is a vulgar error that the warm bath relaxes. An excess,
either warm or cold, will relax, and so will any other excess; but the
sole effect | 1,282.602102 |
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The
Myrtle Reed
Cook Book
[Illustration]
G. P. Putnam's Sons
New York London
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
Copyright, 1905, 1906, 1911
by
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Copyright, 1916
by
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
_Over One Million Copies Sold_
MYRTLE REED
_Miss Reed's books are peculiarly adapted for dainty yet
inexpensive gifts. They are printed in two colors, on
deckle-edge paper, and beautifully bound in four distinct
styles: each, cloth, $1.50 net; red leather, $2.00 net;
antique calf, $2.50 net; lavender silk, $3.50 net._
_If sent by mail add 8 per cent. of the retail price for
postage_
LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN
LATER LOVE LETTERS OF A MUSICIAN
THE SPINSTER BOOK
LAVENDER AND OLD LACE
THE MASTER'S VIOLIN
AT THE SIGN OF THE JACK-O'-LANTERN
A SPINNER IN THE SUN
LOVE AFFAIRS OF LITERARY MEN
FLOWER OF THE DUSK
OLD ROSE AND SILVER
MASTER OF THE VINEYARD
A WEAVER OF DREAMS
THE WHITE SHIELD
THREADS OF GREY AND GOLD
HAPPY WOMEN
16 Illus.
THE SHADOW OF VICTORY
Cr. 8vo. $1.50 net
SONNETS TO A LOVER
Cr. 8vo. $1.50 net
THE MYRTLE REED YEAR BOOK
$1.50 net
THE BOOK OF CLEVER BEASTS
Illustrated by Peter Newell. $1.50
PICKABACK SONGS
Words by Myrtle Reed. Music by Eva Cruzen Hart.
Pictures by Ike Morgan. 4to. Boards, $1.50
_Send for Descriptive Circular_
EXPLANATION
The only excuse the author and publishers have to offer for the
appearance of this book is that, so far as they know, there is no
other like it.
CONTENTS
PAGE
The Philosophy of Breakfast 1
How to Set the Table 9
The Kitchen Rubaiyat 15
Fruits 20
Cereals 39
Salt Fish 58
Breakfast Meats 72
Substitutes for Meat 87
Eggs 91
Omelets 111
Quick Breads 121
Raised Breakfast Breads 147
Pancakes 160
Coffee Cakes, Doughnuts, and Waffles 173
Breakfast Beverages 186
Simple Salads 191
One Hundred Sandwich Fillings 228
Luncheon Beverages 235
Eating and Dining 241
Thirty-five Canapes 244
One Hundred Simple Soups 252
Fifty Ways to Cook Shell-Fish 281
Sixty Ways to Cook Fish 297
One Hundred and Fifty Ways to Cook Meat and
Poultry 316
Twenty Ways to Cook Potatoes 366
One Hundred and Fifty Ways to Cook Other
Vegetables 373
Thirty Simple Sauces 423
One Hundred and Fifty Salads 431
Simple Desserts 459
Index 531
The Myrtle Reed Cook Book
THE PHILOSOPHY OF BREAKFAST
The breakfast habit is of antique origin. Presumably the primeval man
arose from troubled dreams, in the first gray light of dawn, and set
forth upon devious forest trails, seeking that which he might devour,
while the primeval woman still slumbered in her cave. Nowadays, it is
the lady herself who rises while the day is yet young, slips into a
kimono, and patters out into the kitchen to light the gas flame under
the breakfast food.
In this matter of breaking the fast, each house is law unto itself.
There are some who demand a dinner at seven or eight in the morning,
and others who consider breakfast utterly useless. The Englishman, who
is still mighty on the face of the earth, eats a breakfast which would
seriously tax the digestive apparatus of an ostrich or a goat, and
goes on his way rejoicing.
In an English cook-book only seven years old, menus for "ideal"
breakfasts are given, which run as follows:
"Devilled Drum-sticks and Eggs on the dish, Pigs Feet, Buttered
Toast, Dry Toast, Brown and White Bread and Butter, Marmalade and
Porridge."
"Bloaters on Toast, Collared Tongue, Hot Buttered Toast, Dry Toast,
Marmalade, Brown and White Bread and Butter, Bread and Milk."
"Pigeon Pie, Stewed Kidney, Milk Rolls, Dry Toast, Brown and White
Bread and Butter, Mustard and Cress, Milk Porridge."
And for a "simple breakfast,"--in August, mind you!--this is
especially recommended:
"Bloaters on Toast, Corned Beef, Muffins, Brown and White Bread and
Butter, Marmalade, and Boiled Hominy."
An American who ate a breakfast like that in August probably would not
send his collars to the laundry more than once or twice more, but it
takes all kinds of people to make up a world.
Across the Channel from the brawny Briton is the Frenchman, who, with
infinitely more wisdom, begins his day with a cup of coffee and a
roll. So far, so good, but his _dejeuner a la fourchette_ at eleven or
twelve is not always unobjectionable from a hygienic standpoint. The
"uniform breakfast," which is cheerfully advocated by some, may be
hygienic but it is not exciting. Before the weary mental vision
stretches an endless procession of breakfasts, all exactly alike, year
in and year out. It is quite possible that the "no-breakfast" theory
was first formulated by some one who had been, was, or was about to be
a victim of this system.
The "no-breakfast" plan has much to recommend it, however. In the
first place, it saves a deal of trouble. The family rises, bathes
itself, puts on its spotless raiment in leisurely and untroubled
fashion, and proceeds to the particular business of the day. There are
no burnt toast, soggy waffles, muddy coffee, heavy muffins, or pasty
breakfast food to be reckoned with. Theoretically, the energy supplied
by last night's dinner is "on tap," waiting to be called upon. And,
moreover, one is seldom hungry in the morning, and what is the use of
feeding a person who is not hungry?
It has been often said, and justly, that Americans eat too much.
Considering the English breakfast, however, we may metaphorically pat
ourselves upon the back, for there is no one of us, surely, who taxes
the Department of the Interior thus.
"What is one man's meat is another man's poison" has been held
pointedly to refer to breakfast, for here, as nowhere else, is the
individual a law unto himself. Fruit is the satisfaction of one and
the distress of another; cereal is a life-giving food to one and a
soggy mass of indigestibility to some one else; and coffee, which is
really most innocent when properly made, has lately taken much blame
for sins not its own.
Quite often the discomfort caused by the ill-advised combination of
acid fruit with a starchy cereal has been attributed to the clear,
amber beverage which probably was the much-vaunted "nectar of the
gods." Coffee with cream in it may be wrong for some people who could
use boiling milk with impunity.
For a woman who spends the early part of the day at home, the omission
of breakfast may be salutary. When hunger seizes her, she is within
reach of her own kitchen, where proper foods may be properly cooked,
but for a business woman or man the plan is little less than suicidal.
Mr. Man may, indeed, go down town in comfort, with no thought of food,
but, no later than noon, he is keenly desirous of interior decoration.
Within his reach there is, usually, but the lunch counter, where, in
company with other hapless humans, he sustains himself with leathery
pie, coffee which never met the coffee bean, and the durable doughnut
of commerce. The result is--to put it mildly--discontent, which
seemingly has no adequate cause.
It is better, by far, for Mr. Man to eat a breakfast which shall
contain the proteids, carbohydrates, phosphates, and starches that he
will require during the day, and omit the noon luncheon entirely,
except, perhaps, for a bit of fruit. Moreover, a dainty breakfast,
daintily served, has a distinct aesthetic value. The temper of the
individual escorted to the front door by a devoted spouse has more
than a little to do with the temper of the selfsame individual who is
let in at night by the aforesaid D. S.
Many a man is confronted in the morning by an untidy, ill-cooked
breakfast, a frowsy woman and a still frowsier baby, and, too often,
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THE WALCOTT TWINS
BY
LUCILE LOVELL
ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA MCM
Copyright 1900 by The Penn Publishing Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Gay and May 5
II The First Separation 11
III Just for Fun 16
IV A Remarkable Household 23
V More Confusion 30
VI Being a Boy 37
VII Being a Girl 44
VIII A Scene at Rose Cottage 49
IX Saw and Axe 56
X A Course of Training 62
XI The Training Begins 68
XII A Silver-haired Lady 75
XIII A Plan that Failed 82
XIV The Boy Predominates 89
XV Gay's Popularity Begins 97
XVI A Squad of One 106
XVII Concerning Philip 114
XVIII Dark Days 122
XIX The Event of the Season 130
XX The Belle of Hazelnook 141
XXI The Sky Brightens 151
XXII The Dearest Girl 162
XXIII A Great Game 172
XXIV The Idol Totters 181
XXV The Girls make Peace 189
XXVI All's Right Again 194
XXVII Happy People 199
THE WALCOTT TWINS
CHAPTER I
GAY AND MAY
The Mistress of the house lay among her pillows, her brows drawn into
the nearest semblance of a frown that her gentle countenance could
assume. Nurse—bearing a tiny, moving bundle of muslin and flannel—and
the father were at the bedside.
The father's forehead wore an unmistakable frown. It was evident that
something displeased him, but who would have dreamed that it was the
gurgling mite in the flannel blanket? Yet he pointed in that direction
as he said,—
"Take him away. He has made trouble enough."
"H'indeed, Mr. Walcott," cried nurse, "'E's the best baby h'I' ave ever
seen h'in this 'ouse! 'E's never cried before."
"Take him away!" repeated the father, still frowning. "He may be
the best baby in the world—a future President of the United States,
even,—but he can't stay in this room another minute. Do you
understand?"
"Certainly, sir," nurse replied somewhat tartly.
Nurse thought the father a great bear. Of course she could not tell
him so, but she could and she did show him that an imported English
nurse chooses her own rate of speed. She moved slowly toward the door,
holding her head with its imposing white cap well up in the air, and
looking at Baby as though he were a Crown Prince, instead of the
youngest nursling in an American flock of five. While the door was open
for nurse and her precious burden to pass through, sounds of boisterous
mirth floated into the quiet chamber. It was only the twins, Gay and
May, and little Ned—Alice was in the country—at play in the nursery,
but one would have said that half the children in New York city were
shouting together. The invalid tried to stifle a sigh which did not
escape the father's ear.
"Those torments must go, Elinor!" he exclaimed. "That is the only way
to ensure your recovery."
"Oh, Edward, how can I live without my dear little ones!" murmured the
gentle mother.
Mr. Walcott took his wife's transparent hands in his own and caressed
them tenderly. "Do you want our children's mother to have nerves as
much out of tune as a cracked bell?" said he.
"No."
"Then they must go to-morrow."
"Not Ned—he is too young to be sent away from me."
"Very well; Ned shall stay—three servants may be able to keep him in
order! Now let me see those letters."
Mrs. Walcott drew two letters from beneath her pillow and passed them
to her husband. "Read them aloud," said she; "I half-read them."
Mr. Walcott drew from one of the envelopes a single sheet of blue | 1,282.798755 |
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Produced by Al Haines
MEANS AND ENDS
OF EDUCATION
BY
J. L. SPALDING
Bishop of Peoria
WHO BRINGETH MANY THINGS,
FOR EACH ONE SOMETHING BRINGS
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY
1895
COPYRIGHT
BY A. C. MCCLURG L Co.
A.D. 1895
By Bishop Spalding
EDUCATION AND THE HIGHER LIFE. 12mo. $1.00.
THINGS OF THE MIND. 12mo. $1.00.
MEANS AND ENDS OF EDUCATION. 12mo. $1.00.
A. C. McCLURG AND CO.
CHICAGO.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. TRUTH AND LOVE
II. TRUTH AND LOVE
III. THE MAKING OF ONE'S SELF
IV. WOMAN AND EDUCATION
V. THE SCOPE OF PUBLIC-SCHOOL EDUCATION
VI. THE RELIGIOUS ELEMENT IN EDUCATION
VII. THE HIGHER EDUCATION
MEANS AND ENDS OF EDUCATION.
CHAPTER I.
TRUTH AND LOVE.
None of us yet know, for none of us have yet been taught in early
youth, what fairy palaces we may build of beautiful thought--proof
against all adversity;--bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble
histories, faithful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful
thoughts; which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty
take away from us--houses built without hands for our souls to live
in.--RUSKIN.
Stirred up with high hopes of living to be brave men and worthy
patriots, dear to God and famous to all ages.--MILTON.
A great man's house is filled chiefly with menials and creatures of
ceremony; and great libraries contain, for the most part, books as dry
and lifeless as the dust that gathers on them: but from amidst these
dead leaves an immortal mind here and there looks forth with light and
love.
From the point of view of the bank president, Emerson tells us, books
are merely so much rubbish. But in his eyes the flowers also, the
flowing water, the fresh air, the floating clouds, children's voices,
the thrill of love, the fancy's play, the mountains, and the stars are
worthless.
Not one in a hundred who buy Shakspere, or Milton, or a work of any
other great mind, feels a genuine longing to get at the secret of its
power and truth; but to those alone who feel this longing is the secret
revealed. We must love the man of genius, if we would have him speak
to us. We learn to know ourselves, not by studying the behavior of
matter, but through experience of life and intimate acquaintance with
literature. Our spiritual as well as our physical being springs from
that of our ancestors. Freedom, however, gives the soul the power not
only to develop what it inherits, but to grow into conscious communion
with the thought and love, the hope and faith of the noble dead, and,
in thus enlarging itself, to become the inspiration and source of
richer and wider life for those who follow. As parents are consoled by
the thought of surviving in their descendants, great minds are upheld
and strengthened in their ceaseless labors by the hope of entering as
an added impulse to better things, from generation to generation, into
the lives of thousands. The greatest misfortune which can befall
genius is to be sold to the advocacy of what is not truth and love and
goodness and beauty. The proper translation of _timeo hominem unius
libri_ is not, "I fear a man of one book," but "I dread a man of one
book:" for he is sure to be narrow, one-sided, and unreasonable. The
right phrase enters at once into our spiritual world, and its power
becomes as real as that of material objects. The truth to which it
gives body is borne in upon us as a star or a mountain is borne in upon
us. Kings and rich men live in history when genius happens to throw
the light of abiding worlds upon their ephemeral estate. Carthage is
the typical city of merchants and traders. Why is it remembered?
Because Hannibal was a warrior and Virgil a poet.
The strong man is he who knows how and is able to become and be
himself; the magnanimous man is he who, being strong, knows how and is
able to issue forth from himself, as from a fortress, to guide,
protect, encourage, and save others. Life's current flows pure and
unimpeded within him, and on its wave his thought and love are borne to
bless his fellowmen. If he who gives a cup of water in the right
spirit does God's work, so does he who sows or reaps, or builds or
sweeps, or utters helpful truth or plays with children or cheers the
lonely, or does any other fair or useful thing. Take not seriously one
who treats with derision men or books that have been deemed worthy of
attention by the best minds. He is false or foolish. As we cherish a
human being for the courage and love he inspires, so books are dear to
us for the noble thoughts and generous moods they call into being. To
drink the spirit of a great author is worth more than a knowledge of
his teaching.
He who desires to grow wise should bring his reason to bear habitually
upon what he sees and hears not less than upon what he reads; for thus
he soon comes to understand that whatever he thinks or feels, says or
does, whatever happens within the sphere of his conscious life, may be
made the means of self-improvement. "He is not born for glory," says
Vauvenargues, "who knows not the worth of time." The educational value
of books lies in their power to set the intellectual atmosphere in
vibration, thereby rousing the mind to self-activity; and those which
have not this power lack vitality.
If in a whole volume we find one passage in which truth is expressed in
a noble and striking manner, we have not read in vain. To read with
profit, we should read as a serious student reads, with the mind all
alive and held to the subject; for reading is thinking, and it is
valuable in proportion to the stimulus it gives to the exercise of
faculty. The conversation of high and ingenuous minds is doubtless as
instructive as it is delightful, but it is seldom in our power to call
around us those with whom we should wish to hold discourse; and hence
we go back to the emancipated spirits, who having transcended the
bounds of time and space, are wherever they are desired and are always
ready to entertain whoever seeks their company. Genius neither can nor
will discover its secret. Why his thought has such a mould and such a
tinge he no more knows than why the flowers have such a tint and such a
perfume; and if he knew he would not care to tell. Nothing is wholly
manifest. In the most trivial object, as in the simplest word, there
lies a world of | 1,282.95961 |
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Produced by Andrew Templeton, Juliet Sutherland, Christine
D and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's notes: Original spelling retained, original copyright
information retained, italics are indicated by underscores.]
Volume II
England's Effort
Letters To An American Friend
[Illustration: Spring-time in the North Sea--Snow on a British
Battleship.]
_The War On All Fronts_
England's Effort
Letters To An American Friend
By Mrs. Humphry Ward
With A Preface By Joseph H. Choate
Illustrated
New York Charles Scribner's Sons 1918
Copyright, 1916, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Preface
HAS ENGLAND DONE ALL SHE COULD?
That is the question which Mrs. Ward, replying to some doubts and queries
of an American friend, has undertaken to answer in this series of letters,
and every one who reads them will admit that her answer is as complete and
triumphant as it is thrilling. Nobody but a woman, an Englishwoman of warm
heart, strong brain, and vivid power of observation, could possibly have
written these letters which reflect the very soul of England since this
wicked and cruel war began. She has unfolded and interpreted to us, as no
one else, I think, has even attempted to do, the development and absolute
transformation of English men and women, which, has enabled them, living
and dying, to secure for their proud nation under God that "new birth of
freedom" which Lincoln at Gettysburg prophesied for his own countrymen.
Really the cause is the same, to secure the selfsame thing, "that
government of the people, by the people, and for the people may not perish
from the earth";--and if any American wishes to know how this has been
accomplished, he must read these letters, which were written expressly for
our enlightenment.
Mrs. Ward had marvellous qualifications for this patriotic task. The
granddaughter of Doctor Arnold and the niece of Matthew Arnold, from
childhood up she has been as deeply interested in politics and in public
affairs as she has been in literature, by which she has attained such
world-wide fame, and next to English politics, in American politics and
American opinion. She has been a staunch believer in the greatness of
America's future, and has maintained close friendship with leaders of
public thought on both sides of the water. Her only son is a member of
Parliament, and is fighting in the war, just as all the able-bodied men
she knows are doing.
She has received from the English government special opportunities of
seeing what England has been doing in the war, and has been allowed to go
with her daughter where few English men and no other women have been
allowed to go, to see the very heart of England's preparedness. She has
visited, since the war began, the British fleet, the very key of the whole
situation, without whose unmatched power and ever-increasing strength the
Allies at the outset must have succumbed. She has watched, always under
the protection and guidance of that wonderful new Minister of Munitions,
Lloyd George, the vast activity of that ministry throughout the country,
and finally in a motor tour of five hundred miles, through the zone of the
English armies in France, she has seen with her own eyes, that marvellous
organization of everything that goes to make and support a great army,
which England has built up in the course of eighteen months behind her
fighting line. She has witnessed within three-quarters of a mile of the
fighting line, with a gas helmet at hand, ready to put on, a German
counter attack after a successful English advance something which | 1,283.09825 |
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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 ‘Cassell’s Natural History, Vol. I,’ from 1896.
Inconsistent and uncommon spelling and hyphenation have been retained;
punctuation and typographical errors have been corrected.
In the original book, Chapter XI of the order ‘Quadrumana’ (page 185)
had been erroneously named ‘Chapter IX.’ The correct sequence of
chapter numbers has been restored.
In the List of Illustrations, some image titles do not match the
illustrations presented in the text. The following titles have been
changed:
‘The Green and RedMonkeys’ --> ‘The Gorilla’ (facing page 111)
‘The Sacred Baboon’ --> ‘The Chimpanzee’ (facing page 137)
‘A Group of Lemuroids’ --> ‘Anubis Baboon’ (facing page 211)
The list item ‘Hand of the Spider Monkey’ has been added by the
transcriber.
The printed book shows some references to numbered ‘Plates’ (full-page
images). This numbering scheme seems to originate from an earlier
edition. Even though the present edition shows no image numbers, all
original references have been retained.
Special characters have been used to highlight the following font
styles:
italic: _underscores_
larger font: +plus signs+
Small capitals have been converted to UPPERCASE LETTERS.
######################################################################
[Illustration: ORANG-UTAN AND CHIMPANZEES IN THE BERLIN AQUARIUM.
(_From an Original Drawing._)]
[Illustration:
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LITH. LONDON.
BIRDS.
1. Gould’s Humming Bird (_Ornismya gouldii_).
2. Kingfisher. (_Alcedo ispida_).
3. Arctic Tern (_Sterna hirundo_).
4. White-bellied Swift (_Cypselus melba_).
5. Smew (_Mercus albellus_).
6. Penguin (_Pygoscelis tæniata_).
7. The Amazon Parrot (_Chrysotis_).
8. Heron (_Ardea cinerea_).
9. Eared Owl (_Asio otus_).
10. White-tailed Eagle (_Haliaëtus albicilla_).
11. Black-headed Gros-beak (_Coccothraustes erythromelas_).
12. Impeyan Pheasant (_Lophophorus sclateri_).
13. Common Rhea (_Rhea americana_).
14. Crown Pigeon (_Goura scheepmakeri_).
]
CASSELL’S
NATURAL HISTORY
EDITED BY
P. MARTIN DUNCAN, M.B. (LOND.), F.R.S., F.G.S.
PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN AND HONORARY FELLOW OF KING’S COLLEGE, LONDON;
CORRESPONDENT OF THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES, PHILADELPHIA
VOL. I.
_ILLUSTRATED_
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
_LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE_
1896
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration]
APES AND MONKEYS.
PROFESSOR P. MARTIN DUNCAN, M.B. (LOND.), F.R.S. F.G.S., &c.
LEMURS.
J. MURIE, M.D., LL.D., F.L.S., F.G.S., &c.,
AND
PROFESSOR P. MARTIN DUNCAN.
CHIROPTERA.
W. S. DALLAS, F.L.S.
INSECTIVORA.
W. S. DALLAS, F.L.S.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xiii
CLASS MAMMALIA.
ORDER I.--QUADRUMANA.--THE APES AND MONKEYS.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION--THE MAN-SHAPED APES--THE GORILLA.
The World of Monkeys, and its Division into great
Groups--Distinction between the Old World and New World
Monkeys--Classification of Monkeys--THE GORILLA, Ancient
and Modern Stories about it--Investigations of Savage
and Du Chaillu--General Description--The Head, Brain,
Teeth, Taste, Smell, and Voice--The Air Sacs, and Ear--The
Limbs and Muscles--Method of Climbing--Diet--Hunting the
Gorilla--Attempts to Capture Alive--A Tame Gorilla 1
CHAPTER II.
THE MAN-SHAPED APES (_continued_)--THE NSCHIEGO MBOUVÉ--THE
KOOLO-KAMBA--THE SOKO--THE CHIMPANZEE.
THE NSCHIEGO MBOUVÉ--Its Nests and Habits--A Specimen
Shot--Differences between it and the Gorilla--Structural
Peculiarities--THE KOOLO-KAMBA--Meaning of the
Name--Discovered by Du Chaillu--Its Outward Appearance
and Anatomy--THE SOKO--Discovered by Livingstone--Hunting
the Soko--THE CHIMPANZEE--In Captivity--On board Ship--A
Young Chimpanzee--The Brain and Nerves--Anatomical
Peculiarities--General Remarks upon the Group 39
CHAPTER III.
THE MAN-SHAPED APES (_continued_)--GENUS _Simia_--THE
ORANG-UTAN.
Origin of the Name--Description of the Orang--Rajah
Brooke’s First Specimen--Mr. Wallace’s Experiences in
Mias Hunting--The Home of the Mias--A Mias at Bay--Their
Nests, Habits, Food, and Localities--Different kinds of
Orangs--Structural Points--The Intelligence and Habits of the
Young--The Brain and its Case--Resemblances and Differences
of Old and Young 59
CHAPTER IV.
THE MAN-SHAPED APES (_concluded_)--THE GIBBONS--THE
SIAMANGS--THE TRUE GIBBONS.
General Characteristics of the Species--THE SIAMANG--Its
Habits and Anatomy--Distinctness from the Orangs and
Gibbons--Special Peculiarities--THE WHITE-HANDED
GIBBON--Where Found--Its Cry--Its Habits--Special Anatomical
Features--THE HOOLOOK--Where Found--A Young One in
Captivity--Shape of the Skull--THE WOOYEN APE--Its Appearance
and Habits--THE WOW-WOW--Very little known about it--THE
AGILE GIBBON--Reason of the Name--Peculiarities of the
Anatomy--General Comparison of the Different Varieties of the
Great Apes 73
CHAPTER V.
THE DOG-SHAPED MONKEYS--SEMNOPITHECUS--COLOBUS.
General Characteristics of the Monkeys of the Old
World--Distinguished from the Apes by Length of the Hinder
Limbs and presence of Tails--Divided into those with and
those without Cheek-pouches--Use of the Cheek-pouches--The
two Genera of Pouchless Monkeys--THE SACRED MONKEYS, or
Semnopitheci--Derivation of the Name--First Discovery--Ape
Worship in India--General Description--Limited to Asia--THE
SIMPAI--Its Locality and Appearance--THE BUDENG--Hunted
for their Fur--Its Colour and Appearance--THE LONG-NOSED
MONKEY--Reason of the Name--Quaint Appearance of the
Young--Anatomical Peculiarities--Their First Appearance in
Europe--Description of the Nose--Peculiar Formation of the
Stomach--Bezoars--THE HOONUMAN MONKEY--The Sacred Monkey
of the Hindoos--Legends about it--THE DOUC MONKEY--Its
Appearance and Habitat--THE BLACK-LEGGED DOUC--Anatomical
Peculiarities--THE CROWNED MONKEY--THE RED MONKEY--THE
SUMATRA MONKEY--THE WHITE-BEARDED MONKEY--Found in
Ceylon--Its Intelligence--THE GREAT WANDEROO--Other
Ceylonese Monkeys--THE GENUS COLOBUS, or Thumbless
Monkeys--Description of the Hand and Wrist--Different
Varieties--COLOBUS VERUS--COLOBUS GUEREZA--Their Habitat and
Peculiarities--Fossil Semnopitheci 84
CHAPTER VI.
THE DOG-SHAPED MONKEYS (_continued_)--THE GUENONS.
THE GUENONS--Where they are Found--Early Notices of
them--Resemblance to the Colobi and Macaques--Distinctive
Peculiarity of the Group--Often seen in Menageries--Their
Terror of Snakes--Peculiar Expression of the Face--Beauty
of their Skins--Minor Divisions of the Guenons--THE
DIANA MONKEY--Origin of the Name--Anecdotes of their
Mischief--THE MONA MONKEY--Description of one at
Paris--THE WHITE-NOSED MONKEY--Origin of the Name--THE
TALAPOIN--Anatomical Peculiarities--THE GREEN MONKEY--Found
in Senegal in abundance--THE RED-BELLIED MONKEY--THE RED
MONKEY--Observed by Bruce--THE MANGABEY--Singularity of its
Appearance--Special Structural Peculiarities | 1,283.098339 |
2023-11-16 18:38:27.1180410 | 2,814 | 69 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
CONTRIBUTIONS FROM
THE MUSEUM OF HISTORY AND TECHNOLOGY:
PAPER 8
THE NATURAL PHILOSOPHY OF
WILLIAM GILBERT AND HIS PREDECESSORS
_W. James King_
By W. James King
THE NATURAL PHILOSOPHY OF
WILLIAM GILBERT
AND HIS PREDECESSORS
Until several decades ago, the physical sciences were
considered to have had their origins in the 17th
century--mechanics beginning with men like Galileo Galilei
and magnetism with men like the Elizabethan physician and
scientist William Gilbert.
Historians of science, however, have traced many of the 17th
century's concepts of mechanics back into the Middle Ages.
Here, Gilbert's explanation of the loadstone and its powers
is compared with explanations to be found in the Middle Ages
and earlier.
From this comparison it appears that Gilbert can best be
understood by considering him not so much a herald of the new
science as a modifier of the old.
THE AUTHOR: W. James King is curator of electricity, Museum
of History and Technology, in the Smithsonian Institution's
United States National Museum.
The year 1600 saw the publication by an English physician, William
Gilbert, of a book on the loadstone. Entitled _De magnete_,[1] it has
traditionally been credited with laying a foundation for the modern
science of electricity and magnetism. The following essay is an
attempt to examine the basis for such a tradition by determining what
Gilbert's original contributions to these sciences were, and to make
explicit the sense in which he may be considered as being dependent
upon earlier work. In this manner a more accurate estimate of his
position in the history of science may be made.
[1] William Gilbert, _De magnete, magneticisque corporibus
et de magno magnete tellure; physiologia nova, plurimis &
argumentis, & experimentis, demonstrata_, London, 1600, 240
pp., with an introduction by Edward Wright. All references to
Gilbert in this article, unless otherwise noted, are to the
American translation by P. Fleury Mottelay, 368 pp.,
published in New York in 1893, and are designated by the
letter M. However, the Latin text of the 1600 edition has
been quoted wherever I have disagreed with the Mottelay
translation.
A good source of information on Gilbert is Dr. Duane H. D.
Roller's doctoral thesis, written under the direction of Dr.
I. B. Cohen of Harvard University. Dr. Roller, at present
Curator of the De Golyer Collection at the University of
Oklahoma, informed me that an expanded version of his
dissertation will shortly appear in book form. Unfortunately
his researches were not known to me until after this article
was completed.
One criterion as to the book's significance in the history of science
can be applied almost immediately. A number of historians have pointed
to the introduction of numbers and geometry as marking a watershed
between the modern and the medieval understanding of nature. Thus
A. Koyre considers the Archimedeanization of space as one of the
necessary features of the development of modern astronomy and
physics.[2] A. N. Whitehead and E. Cassirer have turned to measurement
and the quantification of force as marking this transition.[3]
However, the obvious absence[4] of such techniques in _De magnete_
makes it difficult to consider Gilbert as a founder of modern
electricity and magnetism in this sense.
[2] Alexandre Koyre, _Etudes galileennes_, Paris, 1939.
[3] Alfred N. Whitehead, _Science and the modern world_, New
York, 1925, ch. 3; Ernst Cassirer, _Das Erkenntnisproblem_,
ed. 3, Berlin, 1922, vol. 1, pp. 314-318, 352-359.
[4] However, see M: pp. 161, 162, 168, 335.
[Illustration: Figure 1.--WILLIAM GILBERT'S BOOK ON THE LOADSTONE,
TITLE PAGE OF THE FIRST EDITION, FROM A COPY IN THE LIBRARY OF
CONGRESS. (_Photo courtesy of the Library of Congress._)]
There is another sense in which it is possible to contend that
Gilbert's treatise introduced modern studies in these fields. He has
frequently been credited with the introduction of the inductive method
based upon stubborn facts, in contrast to the methods and content of
medieval Aristotelianism.[5] No science can be based upon faulty
observations and certainly much of _De magnete_ was devoted to the
destruction of the fantastic tales and occult sympathies of the
Romans, the medieval writers, and the Renaissance. However, let us
also remember that Gilbert added few novel empirical facts of a
fundamental nature to previous observations on the loadstone.
Gilbert's experimental work was in large part an expansion of Petrus
Peregrinus' _De magnete_ of 1269,[6] and a development of works like
Robert Norman's _The new attractive_,[7] in which the author discussed
how one could show experimentally the declination and inclination of a
magnetized needle, and like William Borough's _Discourse on the
variation of the compass or magnetized needle_,[8] in which the author
suggested the use of magnetic declination and inclination for
navigational purposes but felt too little was known about it. That
other sea-going nations had been considering using the properties of
the magnetic compass to solve their problems of navigation in the same
manner can be seen from Simon Stevin's _De havenvinding_.[9]
[5] For example, William Whewell, _History of the inductive
sciences_, ed. 3, New York, 1858, vol. 2, pp. 192 and 217;
Charles Singer, _A short history of science to the nineteenth
century_, Oxford, 1943, pp. 188 and 343; and A. R. Hall, _The
scientific revolution_, Boston, 1956, p. 185.
[6] _Petri Peregrini maricurtenis, de magnete, seu rota
perpetui motus, libellus_, a reprint of the 1558 Angsburg
edition in J. G. G. Hellmann, _Rara magnetica_, Berlin, 1898,
not paginated. A number of editions of Peregrinus, work, both
ascribed to him and plagiarized from him, appeared in the
16th century (see Heinz Balmer, _Beitraege zur Geschichte der
Erkenntnis des Erdmagnetismus_, Aarau, 1956, pp. 249-255).
[7] Hellmann, _ibid._, Robert Norman, _The newe attractive,
containyng a short discourse of the magnes or lodestone, and
amongest other his vertues, of a newe discovered secret and
subtill propertie, concernyng the declinyng of the needle,
touched therewith under the plaine of the horizon. Now first
founde out by Robert Norman Hydrographer_. London, 1581. The
possibility is present that Norman's work was a direct
stimulus to Gilbert, for Wright's introduction to _De
magnete_ stated that Gilbert started his study of magnetism
the year following the publication of Norman's book.
[8] Hellman, _ibid._, William Borough, _A discourse of the
variation of the compasse, or magneticall needle. Wherein
is mathematically shewed, the manner of the observation,
effects, and application thereof, made by W. B. And is to
be annexed to the newe attractive of R. N._ London, 1596.
[9] Hellman, _ibid._, Simon Stevin, _De havenvinding_,
Leyden, 1599. It is interesting to note that Wright
translated Stevin's work into English.
Instead of new experimental information, Gilbert's major contribution
to natural philosophy was that revealed in the title of his book--a
new philosophy of nature, or physiology, as he called it, after the
early Greeks. Gilbert's attempt to organize the mass of empirical
information and speculation that came from scholars and artisans, from
chart and instrument makers, made him "the father of the magnetic
Philosophy."[10]
[10] As Edward Wright was to call him in his introduction.
Gilbert's _De magnete_ was not the first attempt to determine the
nature of the loadstone and to explain how it could influence other
loadstones or iron. It is typical of Greek philosophy that one of the
first references we have to the loadstone is not to its properties but
to the problem of how to explain these properties. Aristotle[11]
preserved the solution of the first of the Ionian physiologists:
"Thales too... seems to suppose that the soul is in a sense the cause
of movement, since he says that a stone has a soul because it causes
movement to iron." Plato turned to a similar animistic explanation in
his dialogue, _Ion_.[12] Such an animistic solution pervaded many of
the later explanations.
[11] Aristotle, _On the soul_, translated by W. S. Hett, Loeb
Classical Library, London, 1935, 405a20 (see also 411a8:
"Some think that the soul pervades the whole universe, whence
perhaps came Thales' view that everything is full of gods").
[12] Plato, _Ion_, translated by W. R. M. Lamb, Loeb
Classical Library, London, 1925, 533 (see also 536).
That a mechanical explanation is also possible was shown by Plato
in his _Timaeus_.[13] He argued that since a vacuum does not exist,
there must be a plenum throughout all space. Motion of this plenum
can carry objects along with it, and one could in this manner explain
attractions like that due to amber and the loadstone.
[13] Plato, _Timaeus_, translated by R. G. Bury, Loeb
Classical Library, London, 1929, 80. It is difficult to
determine which explanation Plato preferred, for in both
cases the speaker may be only a foil for Plato's opinion
rather than an expression of these opinions.
Another mechanical explanation was based upon a postulated tendency
of atoms to move into a vacuum rather than upon the latter's
non-existence. Lucretius restated this Epicurean explanation in his
_De rerum natura_.[14] Atoms from the loadstone push away the air and
tend to cause a vacuum to form outside the loadstone. The structure of
iron is such that it, unlike other materials, can be pushed into this
empty space by the thronging atoms of air beyond it.
[14] Lucretius, _De rerum natura_, translated by W. H. D.
Rouse, Loeb Classical Library, London, 1924, bk. VI, lines
998-1041.
Galen[15] returned to a quasi-animistic solution in his denial of
Epicurus' argument, which he stated somewhat differently from
Lucretius. One can infer that Galen held that all things have, to a
greater or lesser degree, a sympathetic faculty of attracting its
specific, or proper, quality to itself.[16] The loadstone is only an
inanimate example of what one finds in nutritive organs in organic
beings.
[15] Galen, _On the natural faculties_, translated by A. S.
Brock, Loeb Classical Library, London, 1916, bk. 1 and bk. 3.
A view similar to this appeared in Plato, _Timaeus_, 81 (see
footnote 13).
[16] This same concept was to reappear in the Middle Ages as
the _inclinatio ad simile_.
One of the few writers whose explanations of the loadstone Gilbert
mentioned with approval is St. Thomas Aquinas. Although the medieval
scholastic philosophy of St. Thomas seems foreign to our way of
thinking, it formed a background to many of Gilbert's concepts, as
well as to those of his predecessors, and it will assist our
discussion to consider briefly Thomist philosophy | 1,283.138081 |
2023-11-16 18:38:27.1979250 | 192 | 28 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 53489-h.htm or 53489-h.zip:
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or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53489/53489-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/lifeoflazarillod00markiala
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capitals are represented in | 1,283.217965 |
2023-11-16 18:38:27.5779820 | 1,637 | 27 |
E-text prepared by the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
More: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/lifeofrobertburn00carl
LIFE OF ROBERT BURNS.
Mostly by
THOMAS CARLYLE.
New York:
Delisser & Procter, 508 Broadway.
1859.
EDITOR'S PREFACE.
The readers of the "Household Library" will certainly welcome a Life of
Burns. That his soul was of the real heroic stamp, no one who is familiar
with his imperishable lyric poetry, will deny.
This Life of the great Scottish bard is composed of two parts. The first
part, which is brief, and gives merely his external life, is taken from
the "Encyclopedia Britannica." The principle object of it, in this place,
is to prepare the reader for what follows. The second part is a grand
spiritual portrait of Burns, the like of which the ages have scarcely
produced; the equal of which, in our opinion, does not exist. In fact,
since men began to write and publish their thoughts in this world, no one
has appeared who equals Carlyle as a spiritual-portrait painter; and,
taken all in all, this of his gifted countryman Burns is his master-piece.
I should not dare to say how many times I have perused it, and always with
new wonder and delight. I once read it in the Manfrini Palace, at Venice,
sitting before Titian's portrait of Ariosto. Great is the contrast between
the Songs of Burns and the _Rime_ of the Italian poet, between the fine
spiritual perception of Carlyle's mind and the delicate touch of Titian's
hand, between picturesque expression and an expressive picture; yet this
very antithesis seemed to prepare my mind for the full enjoyment of both
these famous portraits; the sombre majesty of northern genius seemed to
heighten and be heightened by the sunset glow of the genius of the south.
Besides giving the article from the "Encyclopedia Britannica," as a kind
of frame for the portrait of Burns, we will here add, from the "English
Cyclopedia," a sketch of Carlyle's life. A severe taste may find it a
little out of place, yet we must be allowed to consult the wishes of those
for whom these little volumes are designed.
* * * * *
Carlyle, (Thomas,) a thinker and writer, confessedly among the most
original and influential that Britain has produced, was born in the parish
of Middlebie, near the village of Ecclefechan, in Dumfries-shire,
Scotland, on the 4th of December, 1795. His father, a man of remarkable
force of character, was a small farmer in comfortable circumstances; his
mother was also no ordinary person. The eldest son of a considerable
family, he received an education the best in its kind that Scotland could
then afford--the education of a pious and industrious home, supplemented
by that of school and college. (Another son of the family, Dr. John A.
Carlyle, a younger brother of Thomas, was educated in a similar manner,
and, after practising for many years as a physician in Germany and Rome,
has recently become known in British literature as the author of the best
prose translation of Dante.) After a few years spent at the ordinary
parish school, Thomas was sent, in his thirteenth or fourteenth year, to
the grammar school of the neighboring town of Annan; and here it was that
he first became acquainted with a man destined, like himself, to a career
of great celebrity. "The first time I saw Edward Irving," writes Mr.
Carlyle in 1835, "was six-and-twenty years ago, in his native town, Annan.
He was fresh from Edinburgh, with college prizes, high character, and
promise: he had come to see our school-master, who had also been his. We
heard of famed professors--of high matters, classical, mathematical--a
whole Wonderland of knowledge; nothing but joy, health, hopefulness
without end, looked out from the blooming young man." Irving was then
sixteen years of age, Carlyle fourteen; and from that time till Irving's
sad and premature death, the two were intimate and constant friends. It
was not long before Carlyle followed Irving to that "Wonderland of
Knowledge," the University of Edinburgh, of which, and its "famed
professors," he had received such tidings. If the description of the
nameless German university, however, in "Sartor Resartus," is to be
supposed as allusive also to Mr. Carlyle's own reminiscences of his
training at Edinburgh, he seems afterwards to have held the more formal or
academic part of that training in no very high respect. "What vain jargon
of controversial metaphysic, etymology, and mechanical manipulation,
falsely named science, was current there," says Teufelsdroeckh; "I indeed
learned better perhaps than most." At Edinburgh, the professor of
"controversial metaphysic" in Carlyle's day, was Dr. Thomas Brown, Dugald
Stewart having then just retired; physical science and mathematics, were
represented by Playfair and Sir John Leslie, and classical studies by men
less known to fame. While at college, Carlyle's special bent, so far as
the work of the classes was concerned, seems to have been to mathematics
and natural philosophy. But it is rather by his voluntary studies and
readings, apart from the work of the classes, that Mr. Carlyle, in his
youth, laid the foundation of his vast and varied knowledge. The college
session in Edinburgh extends over about half the year, from November to
April; and during these months, the college library, and other such
libraries as were accessible, were laid under contribution by him to an
extent till then hardly paralleled by any Scottish student. Works on
science and mathematics, works on philosophy, histories of all ages, and
the great classics of British literature, were read by him miscellaneously
or in orderly succession; and it was at this period, also, if we are not
mistaken, he commenced his studies--not very usual then in Scotland--in
the foreign languages of modern Europe. With the same diligence, and in
very much the same way, were the summer vacations employed, during which
he generally returned to his father's house in Dumfries-shire, or rambled
among the hills and moors of that neighborhood.
Mr. Carlyle had begun his studies with a view to entering the Scottish
Church. About the time, however, when these studies were nearly ended, and
when, according to the ordinary routine, he might have become a preacher,
a change of views induced him to abandon the intended profession. This
appears to have been about the year 1819 or 1820, when he was twenty-four
years of age. For some time, he seems to have been uncertain as to his
future course. Along with Irving, he employed himself for a year or two,
as a teacher in Fifeshire; but gradually it became clear to him, that his
true vocation was that of literature. Accordingly, parting from Irving,
about the year 1822, the younger Scot of Annandale, deliberately embraced
the alternative open to him, | 1,283.598022 |
2023-11-16 18:38:27.6786630 | 2,816 | 8 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (University of Alberta)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source the Web Archive:
https://archive.org/details/cihm_75374
(University of Alberta)
THE
COIL OF CARNE
BY
JOHN OXENHAM
AUTHOR OF "THE LONG ROAD"
TORONTO
THE COPP, CLARK CO. LIMITED
1911
TO
RODERIC DUNKERLEY, B.A., B.D.
"_And what are you eager for, Mr. Eager?_"
"_Men, women, and children--bodies and souls_."
_Intra, page_ 53.
"_By God's help we will make men of them, the rest we must trust to
Providence_."
_Intra, page_ 66.
"_Catch them young!_"
_Intra, page_ 67.
"_No man is past mending till he's dead, perhaps not then_."
_Intra, page_ 82.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
CHAP.
I. THE HOUSE OF CARNE
II. THE STAR IN THE DUST
III. THE FIRST OF THE COIL
IV. THE COIL COMPLETE
V. IN THE COIL
BOOK II
VI. FREEMEN OF THE FLATS
VII. EAGER HEART
VIII. SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS
IX. MORE OF SIR DENZIL'S VIEWS
X. GROWING FREEMEN
XI. THE LITTLE LADY
XII. MANY MEANS
XIII. MOUNTING
XIV. WIDENING WAYS
XV. DIVERGING LINES
XVI. A CUT AT THE COIL
XVII. ALMOST SOLVED
XVIII. ALMOST SOLVED AGAIN
XIX. WHERE'S JIM?
XX. A NARROW SQUEAK
XXI. A WARM WELCOME
XXII. WHERE'S JACK?
BOOK III
XXIII. BREAKING IN
XXIV. AN UNEXPECTED GUEST
XXV. REVELATION AND SPECULATION
XXVI. JIM'S TIGHT PLACE
XXVII. TWO TO ONE
XXVIII. THE LINE OF CLEAVAGE
XXIX. GRACIE'S DILEMMA
XXX. NEVER THE SAME AGAIN
XXXI. DESERET
XXXII. THE LADY WITH THE FAN
XXXIII. A STIRRING OF MUD
XXXIV. THE BOYS IN THE MUD
XXXV. EXPLANATIONS
XXXVI. JIM'S WAY
XXXVII. A HOPELESS QUEST
XXXVIII. LORD DESERET HELPS
XXXIX. OLD SETH GOES HOME
XL. OUT OF THE NIGHT
XLI. HORSE AND FOOT
XLII. DUE EAST
XLIII. JIM TO THE FORE
XLIV. JIM'S LUCK
XLV. MORE REVELATIONS
XLVI. THE BLACK LANDING
XLVII. ALMA
XLVIII. JIM'S RIDE
XLIX. AMONG THE BULL-PUPS
L. RED-TAPE
LI. THE VALLEY OF DEATH
LII. PATCHING UP
LIII. THE FIGHT IN THE FOG
LIV. AN ALLY OF PROVIDENCE
LV. RETRIBUTION
LVI. DULL DAYS
LVII. HOT OVENS
LVIII. CHILL NEWS
LIX. TOUCH AND GO FOR THE COIL
LX. INSIDE THE FIERY RING
LXI. WEARY WAITING
LXII. FROM ONE TO MANY
LXIII. EAGER ON THE SCENT
LXIV. THE LONG SLOW SIEGE
LXV. THE CUTTING OF THE COIL
LXVI. PURGATORY
LXVII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END
LXVIII. HOME AGAIN
LXIX. "THE RIGHT ONE"
LXX. ALL'S WELL
THE COIL OF CARNE
BOOK I
CHAPTER I
THE HOUSE OF CARNE
If by any chance you should ever sail on a low ebb-tide along a
certain western coast, you will, if you are of a receptive humour and
new to the district, receive a somewhat startling impression of the
dignity of the absolutely flat.
Your ideas of militant and resistant grandeur may have been associated
hitherto with the iron frontlets and crashing thunders of Finisterre
or Sark, of Cornwall or the Western Isle. Here you are faced with a
repressive curbing of the waters, equal in every respect to theirs,
but so quietly displayed as to be somewhat awesome, as mighty power in
restraint must always be.
As far as eye can reach--sand, nothing but sand, overpowering by
reason of its immensity, a very Sahara of the coast. Mighty levels
stretching landward and seaward--for you are only threading a
capricious channel among the banks which the equinoctials will twist
at their pleasure, and away to the west the great grim sea lies
growling in his sandy chains until his time comes. Then, indeed, he
will swell and boil and seethe in his channels till he is full ready,
and come creeping silently over his barriers, and then--up and away
over the flats with the speed of a racehorse, and death to the unwary.
You may see the humping back of him among the outer banks if you climb
a few feet up your mast. Then, if you turn towards the land, you will
see, far away across the brown ribbed flats, a long rim of yellow sand
backed by bewildering ranges of low white hummocks, and farther away
still a filmy blue line of distant hills.
Here and there a fisherman's cottage accentuates the loneliness of it
all. At one point, as the sun dips in the west, a blaze of light
flashes out as though a hidden battery had suddenly unmasked itself;
and if you ask your skipper what it is, he will tell you that is
Carne. Then, if he is a wise man, he will upsail and away, to make
Wytham or Wynsloe before it is dark, for the shifting banks off Carne
are as hungry as Death, and as tricky as the devil.
For over three hundred years the grim gray house of Carne has stood
there and watched the surface of all things round about it change with
the seasons and the years and yet remain in all essential things the
same. When the wild equinoctials swept the flats till they hummed like
a harp, the sand-hills stirred and changed their aspects as though the
sleeping giants below turned uneasily in their beds. For, under the
whip of the wind, grain by grain the sand-hills creep hither and
thither and accommodate themselves to circumstances in strange and
ghostly fashions. So that, after the fury of the night, the peace of
the morning looked in vain for the landmarks of the previous day.
And the cold seabanks out beyond were twisted and tortured this way
and that by the winds and waves, and within them lay many an honest
seaman, and some maybe who might have found it difficult to prove
their right to so honourable a title. But the banks were always there,
silent and deadly even when they shimmered in the sunshine.
And generations of Carrons had held Carne, and had even occupied it at
times, and had passed away and given place to others. But Carne was
always there, grim and gray, and mostly silent.
The outward aspects of things might change, indeed, but at bottom they
remained very much the same, and human nature changed as little as the
rest, though its outward aspects varied with the times. What strange
twist of brain or heart set its owner to the building of Carne has
puzzled many a wayfarer coming upon it in its wide sandy solitudes for
the first time. And the answer to that question answers several
others, and accounts for much.
It was Denzil Carron who built the house in the year Queen Mary died.
He was of the old faith, a Romanist of the Romanists, narrow in his
creed, fanatical in his exercise of it, at once hot- and cold-blooded
in pursuit of his aims. When Elizabeth came to the throne he looked to
be done by as he had done, and had very reasonable doubts as to the
quality of the mercy which might be strained towards him. So he
quietly withdrew from London, sold his houses and lands in other
counties, and sought out the remotest and quietest spot he could find
in the most Romanist county in England. And there he built the great
house of Carne, as a quiet harbourage for himself and such victims of
the coming persecutions as might need his assistance.
But no retributive hand was stretched after him. He was Englishman
first and Romanist afterwards. Calais, and the other national
crumblings and disasters of Mary's short reign, had been bitter pills
to him, and he hated a Spaniard like the devil. He saw a brighter
outlook for his country, though possibly a darker one for his Church,
in Elizabeth's firm grip than any her opponents could offer. So he
shut his face stonily against the intriguers, who came from time to
time and endeavoured to wile him into schemes for the subversion of
the Crown and the advancement of the true Church, and would have none
of them. And so he was left in peace and quietness by the powers that
were, and found himself free to indulge to the full in those religious
exercises on the strict observance of which his future state depended.
His wife died before the migration, leaving him one son, Denzil, to
bring up according to his own ideas. And a dismal time the lad had of
it. Surrounded by black jowls and gloomy-faced priests, tied hand and
foot by ordinances which his growing spirit loathed, all the
brightness and joy of life crushed out by the weight of a religion
which had neither time nor place for such things, he lived a narrow
monastic life till his father died. Then, being of age, and able at
last to speak for himself, he quietly informed his quondam governors
that he had had enough of religion to satisfy all reasonable
requirements of this life and the next, and that now he intended to
enjoy himself. Carne he would maintain as his father had maintained
it, for the benefit of those whom his father had loved, or at all
events had materially cared for. And so, good-bye, Black-Jowls! and Ho
for Life and the joy of it!
He went up to London, bought an estate in Kent, ruffled it with the
best of them, married and had sons and daughters, kept his head out of
all political nooses, fought the Spaniards under Admiral John Hawkins
and Francis Drake, and died wholesomely in his bed in his house in
Kent, a very different man from what Carne would have made him.
And that is how the grim gray house of Carne came to be planted in the
wilderness.
Now and again, in the years that followed, the Carron of the day, if
he fell on dolorous times through extravagance of living--as
happened--or suffered sudden access of religious fervour--as also
happened, though less frequently--would take himself to Carne and
there mortify flesh and spirit till things, financial and spiritual,
came round again, either for himself or the next on the rota. And so
some kind of connection was always maintained between Carne and its
owners, though years might pass without their coming face to face.
The Master of Carne in the year 1833 was that Denzil Carron who came
to notoriety in more ways than one during the Regency. His father had
been of the quieter strain, with a miserly twist in him which
commended the wide, sweet solitude and simple, inexpensive life of
Carne as exactly suited to his close humour. He could feel rich there
on very little; and after the death of his wife, who brought him a
very ample fortune, he devoted himself to the education of his boy and
the enjoyment, by accumulation, of his wealth. But a short annual
visit to London on business affairs afforded the boy a glimpse of what
he was missing, and his father's body was not twelve hours underground
before he had shaken off the sands of Carne and was posting to London
in a yellow chariot with four horses and two very elevated post- | 1,283.698703 |
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Produced by Ben Crowder
THE BALL AND THE CROSS
G.K. Chesterton
CONTENTS
I. A Discussion Somewhat in the Air
II. The Religion of the Stipendiary Magistrate
III. Some Old Curiosities
IV. A Discussion at Dawn
V. The Peacemaker
VI. The Other Philosopher
VII. The Village of Grassley-in-the-Hole
VIII. An Interlude of Argument
IX. The Strange Lady
X. The Swords Rejoined
XI. A Scandal in the Village
XII. The Desert Island
XIII. The Garden of Peace
XIV. A Museum of Souls
XV. The Dream of MacIan
XVI. The Dream of Turnbull
XVII. The Idiot
XVIII. A Riddle of Faces
XIX. The Last Parley
XX. Dies Irae
I. A DISCUSSION SOMEWHAT IN THE AIR
The flying ship of Professor Lucifer sang through the skies like a
silver arrow; the bleak white steel of it, gleaming in the bleak
blue emptiness of the evening. That it was far above the earth was no
expression for it; to the two men in it, it seemed to be far above the
stars. The professor had himself invented the flying machine, and had
also invented nearly everything in it. Every sort of tool or apparatus
had, in consequence, to the full, that fantastic and distorted look
which belongs to the miracles of science. For the world of science and
evolution is far more nameless and elusive and like a dream than the
world of poetry and religion; since in the latter images and ideas
remain themselves eternally, while it is the whole idea of evolution
that identities melt into each other as they do in a nightmare.
All the tools of Professor Lucifer were the ancient human tools gone
mad, grown into unrecognizable shapes, forgetful of their origin,
forgetful of their names. That thing which looked like an enormous key
with three wheels was really a patent and very deadly revolver. That
object which seemed to be created by the entanglement of two corkscrews
was really the key. The thing which might have been mistaken for a
tricycle turned upside-down was the inexpressibly important instrument
to which the corkscrew was the key. All these things, as I say, the
professor had invented; he had invented everything in the flying ship,
with the exception, perhaps, of himself. This he had been born too
late actually to inaugurate, but he believed at least, that he had
considerably improved it.
There was, however, another man on board, so to speak, at the time. Him,
also, by a curious coincidence, the professor had not invented, and him
he had not even very greatly improved, though he had fished him up with
a lasso out of his own back garden, in Western Bulgaria, with the pure
object of improving him. He was an exceedingly holy man, almost entirely
covered with white hair. You could see nothing but his eyes, and he
seemed to talk with them. A monk of immense learning and acute intellect
he had made himself happy in a little stone hut and a little stony
garden in the Balkans, chiefly by writing the most crushing refutations
of exposures of certain heresies, the last professors of which had been
burnt (generally by each other) precisely 1,119 years previously. They
were really very plausible and thoughtful heresies, and it was really
a creditable or even glorious circumstance, that the old monk had been
intellectual enough to detect their fallacy; the only misfortune
was that nobody in the modern world was intellectual enough even to
understand their argument. The old monk, one of whose names was Michael,
and the other a name quite impossible to remember or repeat in our
Western civilization, had, however, as I have said, made himself quite
happy while he was in a mountain hermitage in the society of wild
animals. And now that his luck had lifted him above all the mountains in
the society of a wild physicist, he made himself happy still.
"I have no intention, my good Michael," said Professor Lucifer,
"of endeavouring to convert you by argument. The imbecility of your
traditions can be quite finally exhibited to anybody with mere ordinary
knowledge of the world, the same kind of knowledge which teaches us
not to sit in draughts or not to encourage friendliness in impecunious
people. It is folly to talk of this or that demonstrating the
rationalist philosophy. Everything demonstrates it. Rubbing shoulders
with men of all kinds----"
"You will forgive me," said the monk, meekly from under loads of white
beard, "but I fear I do not understand; was it in order that I might rub
my shoulder against men of all kinds that you put me inside this thing?"
"An entertaining retort, in the narrow and deductive manner of the
Middle Ages," replied the Professor, calmly, "but even upon your own
basis I will illustrate my point. We are up in the sky. In your religion
and all the religions, as far as I know (and I know everything), the sky
is made the symbol of everything that is sacred and merciful. Well, now
you are in the sky, you know better. Phrase it how you like, twist it
how you like, you know that you know better. You know what are a man's
real feelings about the heavens, when he finds himself alone in the
heavens, surrounded by the heavens. You know the truth, and the truth
is this. The heavens are evil, the sky is evil, the stars are evil. This
mere space, this mere quantity, terrifies a man more than tigers or the
terrible plague. You know that since our science has spoken, the bottom
has fallen out of the Universe. Now, heaven is the hopeless thing,
more hopeless than any hell. Now, if there be any comfort for all your
miserable progeny of morbid apes, it must be in the earth, underneath
you, under the roots of the grass, in the place where hell was of old.
The fiery crypts, the lurid cellars of the underworld, to which you once
condemned the wicked, are hideous enough, but at least they are more
homely than the heaven in which we ride. And the time will come when you
will all hide in them, to escape the horror of the stars."
"I hope you will excuse my interrupting you," said Michael, with a
slight cough, "but I have always noticed----"
"Go on, pray go on," said Professor Lucifer, radiantly, "I really like
to draw out your simple ideas."
"Well, the fact is," said the other, "that much as I admire your
rhetoric and the rhetoric of your school, from a purely verbal point
of view, such little study of you and your school in human history as I
have been enabled to make has led me to--er--rather singular conclusion,
which I find great difficulty in expressing, especially in a foreign
language."
"Come, come," said the Professor, encouragingly, "I'll help you out. How
did my view strike you?"
"Well, the truth is, I know I don't express it properly, but somehow
it seemed to me that you always convey ideas of that kind with most
eloquence, when--er--when----"
"Oh! get on," cried Lucifer, boisterously.
"Well, in point of fact when your flying ship is just going to run
into something. I thought you wouldn't mind my mentioning it, but it's
running into something now."
Lucifer exploded with an oath and leapt erect, leaning hard upon the
handle that acted as a helm to the vessel. For the last ten minutes they
had been shooting downwards into great cracks and caverns of cloud. Now,
through a sort of purple haze, could be seen comparatively near to them
what seemed to be the upper part of a huge, dark orb or sphere, islanded
in a sea of cloud. The Professor's eyes were blazing like a maniac's.
"It is a new world," he cried, with a dreadful mirth. "It is a new
planet and it shall bear my name. This star and not that other vulgar
one shall be 'Lucifer, sun of the morning.' Here we will have no
chartered lunacies, here we will have no gods. Here man shall be
as innocent as the daisies, as innocent and as cruel--here the
intellect----"
"There seems," said Michael, timidly, "to be something sticking up in
the middle of it."
"So there is," said the Professor, leaning over the side of the ship,
his spectacles shining with intellectual excitement. "What can it be? It
might of course be merely a----"
Then a shriek indescribable broke out of him of a sudden, and he flung
up his arms like a lost spirit. The monk took the helm in a tired way;
he did not seem much astonished for he came from an ignorant part of the
world in which it is not uncommon for lost spirits to shriek when they
see the curious shape which the Professor had just seen on the top of
the mysterious ball, but he took the helm only just in time, and by
driving it hard to the left he prevented the flying ship from smashing
into St. Paul's Cathedral.
A plain of sad- cloud lay along the level of the top of the
Cathedral dome, so that the ball and the cross looked like a buoy riding
on a leaden sea. As the flying ship swept towards it, this plain of
cloud looked as dry and definite and rocky as any grey desert. Hence it
gave to the mind and body a sharp and unearthly sensation when the ship
cut and sank into the cloud as into any common mist, a thing without
resistance. There was, as it were, a deadly shock in the fact that there
was no shock. It was as if they had cloven into ancient cliffs like so
much butter. But sensations awaited them which were much stranger than
those of sinking through the solid earth. For a moment their eyes and
nostrils were stopped with darkness and opaque cloud; then the darkness
warmed into a kind of brown fog. And far, far below them the brown fog
fell until it warmed into fire. Through the | 1,283.998007 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: "'The Cardinal Moth,' Frobisher said, hoarsely." (Chapter
I.)]
THE CARDINAL
MOTH
BY
FRED M. WHITE
Author of "The Crimson Blind," "The Weight of the Crown,"
"The Corner House," etc., etc.
WARD, LOCK, & CO., LIMITED
LONDON AND MELBOURNE
1905
Made and Printed in Great Britain by
WARD, LOCK & Co., LIMITED, LONDON.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAPTER
I.--FLOWERS OF BLOOD
II.--ANGELA
III.--CROSSED SWORDS
IV.--A DUSKY POTENTATE
V.--AN INTERRUPTED FEAST
VI.--BIT OF THE ROPE
VII.--A GRIP OF STEEL
VIII.--THE WEAKER VESSEL
IX.--A WORD TO THE WISE
X.--A WORD TO THE WISE.
XI.--BORROWED PLUMES
XII.--A MODEL HUSBAND
XIII.--THE QUEEN OF THE RUBIES
XIV.--"UNEASY LIES THE HEAD----"
XV.--HUNT THE SLIPPER
XVI.--DIPLOMACY
XVII.--A FRIEND IN NEED
XVIII.--A DEFENSIVE ALLIANCE
XIX.--WHAT DID SHE MEAN?
XX.--CHECK TO FROBISHER
XXI.--DENVERS LEARNS SOMETHING
XXII.--STRANDS OF THE ROPE
XXIII.--A LUNCH AT THE BELGRAVE
XXIV.--A WOMAN'S WAY
XXV.--A STRIKING LIKENESS
XXVI.--A BAD QUARTER OF AN HOUR
XXVII.--MRS. BENSTEIN INTERVENES
XXVIII.--NEMESIS
XXIX.--THE TIGHTENED CORD
*THE CARDINAL MOTH*
*CHAPTER I.*
*FLOWERS OF BLOOD.*
The purple darkness seemed to be filled with a nebulous suggestion of
things beautiful; long trails and ropes of blossoms hung like stars
reflected in a lake of blue. As the eye grew accustomed to the gloom
these blooms seemed to expand and beautify. There was a great orange
globe floating on a violet mist, a patch of pink swam against an opaque
window-pane like a flight of butterflies. Outside the throaty roar of
Piccadilly could be distinctly heard; inside was misty silence and the
coaxed and pampered atmosphere of the Orient. Then a long, slim hand--a
hand with jewels on it--was extended, and the whole vast dome was bathed
in brilliant light.
For once the electric globes had lost their garish pertinacity. There
were scores of lamps there, but every one of them was laced with
dripping flowers and foliage till their softness was like that of a
misty moon behind the tree-tops. And the blossoms hung
everywhere--thousands upon thousands of them, red, blue, orange, creamy
white, fantastic in shape and variegated in hue, with a diabolical
suggestiveness about them that orchids alone possess. Up in the roof,
out of a faint cloud of steam, other blossoms of purple and azure
peeped.
Complimented upon the amazing beauty of his orchid-house, Sir Clement
Frobisher cynically remarked that the folly had cost him from first to
last over a hundred thousand pounds. He passed for a man with no single
generous impulse or feeling of emotion; a love of flowers was the only
weakness that Providence had vouchsafed to him, and he held it cheap at
the money. You could rob Sir Clement Frobisher or cheat him or lie to
him, and he would continue to ask you to dinner, if you were a
sufficiently amusing or particularly rascally fellow, but if you
casually picked one of his priceless Cypripediums----!
He sat there in his bath of brilliant blossoms, smoking a clay pipe and
sipping some peculiarly thin and aggressive Rhine wine from a long,
thin-stemmed Bohemian glass. He had a fancy for that atrocious grape
juice and common ship's tobacco from a reeking clay. Otherwise he was
immaculate, and his velvet dinner-jacket was probably the best-cut
garment of its kind in London.
A small man, just over fifty, with a dome-like head absolutely devoid of
hair, and shiny like a billiard-ball, a ridiculously small nose
suggestive of the bill of a love-bird, a clean-shaven, humorous mouth
with a certain hard cruelty about it, a figure slight, but enormously
powerful. For the rest, Sir Clement was that rare bird amongst
high-born species--a man, poor originally, who had become rich. He was
popularly supposed to have been kicked out of the diplomatic service
after a brilliant operation connected with certain Turkish Bonds. The
scandal was an old one, and might have had no basis in fact, but the
same _Times_ that conveyed to an interested public the fact of Sir
Clement Frobisher's retirement from the _corps diplomatique_, announced
that the baronet in question had purchased the lease of 947, Piccadilly,
for the sum of ninety-five thousand pounds. And for seven years Society
refused to admit the existence of anybody called Sir Clement Frobisher.
But the man had his title, his family, and his million or so well
invested. Also he had an amazing audacity, and a moral courage beyond
belief. Also he married a lady whose social claims could not be
contested. Clement Frobisher went back to the fold again at a great
dinner given at Yorkshire House. There it was that Earl Beauregard, a
one-time chief of Frobisher's, roundly declared that, take him all in
all, Count Whyzed was the most finished and abandoned scoundrel in
Europe. Did not Frobisher think so? To which Frobisher replied that he
considered the decision to be a personal slight to himself, who had
worked so hard for that same distinction. Beauregard laughed, and the
rest of the party followed suit, and Frobisher did much as he liked,
ever after.
He was looking just a little bored now, and was debating whether he
should go to bed, though it was not long after eleven o'clock, and that
in the creamy month of the London season. Down below somewhere an
electric bell was purring impatiently. The butler, an Armenian with a
fez on his black, sleek head, looked in and inquired if Sir Clement
would see anybody.
"If it's a typical acquaintance, certainly not, Hafid," Frobisher said,
sleepily. "If it happens to be one of my picturesque rascals, send all
the other servants to bed. But it's sure to be some commonplace,
respectable caller."
Hafid bowed and withdrew. Down below the bell was purring again. A
door opened somewhere, letting in the strident roar of the streets like
a dirge, then the din shut down again as if a lid had been clapped on
it. From the dim shadow of the hall a figure emerged bearing a long
white paper cone, handled with the care and attention one would bestow
on a sick child.
"Paul Lopez to see you," Hafid said.
"Lopez!" Frobisher cried. "See how my virtue is rewarded. It is the
return for all the boredom I have endured lately. Respectability reeks
in my nostrils. I have been longing for a scoundrel--not necessarily a
star of the first magnitude, a rival to myself. Ho, ho, Lopez!"
The newcomer nodded and smiled. A small, dark man with restless eyes,
and hands that were never still. There was something catlike, sinuous,
about him, and in those restless eyes a look of profound, placid,
monumental contempt for Frobisher.
"You did not expect to see me?" he said.
"No," Frobisher chuckled. "I began to fear that you had been hanged,
friend Paul. Do you recollect the last time we were together? It
was----"
The voice trailed off with a muttered suggestion of wickedness beyond
words. Frobisher lay | 1,284.19852 |
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Produced by Mark C. Orton, Linda McKeown, Sankar
Viswanathan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
The author of this book is Metta Victoria Fuller Victor writing under the
Pen name of Walter T. Gray. But the Author's name is not given in the
original text.
The Table of Contents is not part of the original text.
THE BLUNDERS
OF A
BASHFUL MAN.
_By the Author of_
"A BAD BOY'S DIARY"
COPYRIGHT, 1881, BY STREET & SMITH.
NEW YORK:
J. S. OGILVIE PUBLISHING COMPANY.
57 ROSE STREET.
* * * * *
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
II. HE MAKES AN EVENING CALL.
III. GOES TO A TEA-PARTY.
IV. HE DOES HIS DUTY AS A CITIZEN.
V. HE COMMITS SUICIDE.
VI. HE IS DOOMED FOR WORSE ACCIDENTS.
VII. I MAKE A NARROW ESCAPE.
VIII. HE ENACTS THE PART OF GROOMSMAN.
IX. MEETS A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.
X. HE CATCHES A TROUT AND PRESENTS IT TO A LADY.
XI. HE GOES TO THE CIRCUS.
XII. A LEAP FOR LIFE.
XIII. ONE OF THE FAIR SEX COMES TO HIS RESCUE.
XIV. HIS DIFFIDENCE BRINGS ABOUT AN ACCIDENT.
XV. HE BECOMES ACQUAINTED WITH A CHICAGO WIDOW.
XVI. AT LAST HE SECURES A TREASURE.
XVII. HE ENJOYS HIMSELF AT A BALL.
XVIII. HE OPENS THE WRONG DOOR.
XIX. DRIVEN FROM HIS LAST DEFENCE.
* * * * *
THE
BLUNDERS OF A BASHFUL MAN.
CHAPTER I.
HE ATTENDS A PICNIC.
I have been, am now, and shall always be, a bashful man. I have been
told that I am the only bashful man in the world. How that is I can
not say, but should not be sorry to believe that it is so, for I am of
too generous a nature to desire any other mortal to suffer the mishaps
which have come to me from this distressing complaint. A person can
have smallpox, scarlet fever, and measles but once each. He can even
become so inoculated with the poison of bees and mosquitoes as to make
their stings harmless; and he can gradually accustom himself to the
use of arsenic until he can take 444 grains safely; but for
bashfulness--like mine--there is no first and only attack, no becoming
hardened to the thousand petty stings, no saturation of one's being
with the poison until it loses its power.
I am a quiet, nice-enough, inoffensive young gentleman, now rapidly
approaching my twenty-sixth year. It is unnecessary to state that I am
unmarried. I should have been wedded a great many times, had not some
fresh attack of my malady invariably, and in some new shape, attacked
me in season to prevent the "consummation devoutly to be wished." When
I look back over twenty years of suffering through which I have
literally stumbled my way--over the long series of embarrassments and
mortifications which lie behind me--I wonder, with a mild and patient
wonder, why the Old Nick I did not commit suicide ages ago, and thus
end the eventful history with a blank page in the middle of the book.
I dare say the very bashfulness which has been my bane has prevented
me; the idea of being cut down from a rafter, with a black-and-blue
face, and drawn out of the water with a swollen one, has put me so out
of countenance that I had not the courage to brave a coroner's jury
under the circumstances.
Life to me has been a scramble through briers. I do not recall one
single day wholly free from the scratches inflicted on a cruel
sensitiveness. I will not mention those far-away agonies of boyhood,
when the teacher punished me by making me sit with the girls, but will
hasten on to a point that stands out vividly against a dark background
of accidents. I was nineteen. My sentiments toward that part of
creation known as "young ladies" were, at that time, of a mingled and
contradictory nature. I adored them as angels; I dreaded them as if
they were mad dogs, and were going to bite me.
My parents were respected residents of a small village in the western
part of the State of New York. I had been away at a boys' academy for
three years, and returned about the first of June to my parents and to
Babbletown to find that I was considered a young man, and expected to
take my part in the business and pleasures of life as such. My father
dismissed his clerk and put me in his place behind the counter of our
store.
Within three days every girl in that village had been to that store
after something or another--pins, needles, a yard of tape, to look at
gloves, to _try on shoes_, or examine gingham and calico, until I was
happy, because out of sight, behind a pile high enough to hide my
flushed countenance. I shall never forget that week. I ran the
gauntlet from morning till night. I believe those heartless wretches
told each other the mistakes I made, for they kept coming and coming,
looking as sweet as honey and as sly as foxes. Father said I'd break
him if I didn't stop making blunders in giving change--he wasn't in
the prize-candy business, and couldn't afford to have me give
twenty-five sheets of note paper, a box of pens, six corset laces, a
bunch of whalebones, and two dollars and fifty cents change | 1,284.301844 |
2023-11-16 18:38:28.4801980 | 7,436 | 6 |
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SELECTED LETTERS OF
ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL
Nihil Obstat.
F. THOMAS BERGH, O.S.B.,
CENSOR DEPUTATUS.
Imprimatur.
EDM. CAN. SURMONT,
VICARIUS GENERALIS.
WESTMONASTERII,
_Die 6 Novembris, 1917._
[Illustration: ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL.
(_Foundress of the Order of the Visitation._)]
SELECTED LETTERS OF
SAINT JANE FRANCES
DE CHANTAL
TRANSLATED BY
THE SISTERS OF THE VISITATION
HARROW
WITH A PREFACE BY
HIS EMINENCE CARDINAL BOURNE
ARCHBISHOP OF WESTMINSTER
R. & T. WASHBOURNE, LTD.
PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
AND AT MANCHESTER, BIRMINGHAM, AND GLASGOW
_All rights reserved_
1918
PREFACE
We are all apt so to idealise the Saints whom we love to study and
honour, and strive to imitate, that we are in danger of forgetting that
they possessed a human nature like our own, subject to many trials,
weaknesses and frailties. They had to struggle as we have to struggle.
The only difference is that their constancy and perseverance were
greater far than ours.
Biographers are often responsible for the false tendency to which we
allude. They like to give us the finished portrait of the Saints, and
only too often they omit in great part the details of the long and weary
toil that went to make the picture which they delight to paint.
In the case of some of the Saints we are able to come nearer to the
reality by reading the letters which have been preserved, in which in
their own handwriting they have set down, without thought of those who
in later days might read their words, the details of their daily life
and struggle. Thus in the few selected Letters of the holy foundress of
the Visitation which are now being published in an English translation
we get glimpses of her real character and spiritual growth which may be
more helpful to us than many pages of formal biography. In one place she
excuses the brevity of a letter because she is "feeling the cold to-day
and pressed for time." In another she tells a Sister, "do everything to
get well, for it is only your nerves." Nerves are evidently not a new
malady nor a lately devised excuse. She knew the weariness of delay:
"still no news from Rome.... I think His Grace the Archbishop would be
glad to help us.... Beg him, I beseech you, to push on the matter."
Haste and weather had their effect on her as on us: "I write in such
haste that I forget half of what I want to say.... We will make a
chalice veil for you, but not until the very hot weather is over, for
one cannot work properly while it lasts."
What mother, especially in these days of sorrow and anxiety, can read
unmoved the Saint's own words as she speaks of her daughter's death, and
of her fears about her son. "I am almost in despair... so miserable am
I about it that I do not know which way to turn, if not to the
Providence of God, there to bury my longings, confiding to His hands not
only the honour but even the salvation of this already half lost child.
Oh! the incomparable anguish of this affliction. No other grief can come
near to it."
And then we feel her mingled grief and joy when at last she learnt that
this, her only son, had given up his life, fighting for his King, after
a humble and fervent reception of the Sacraments.
Thus in the midst of the daily small worries of life, and of the great
sorrows that at one time or other fall to the lot of all, we see a brave
and generous soul, with human gifts and qualities like to our own,
treading her appointed path to God.
No one can read her words without carrying therefrom fresh courage for
his life, and a new determination to battle steadfastly to the end.
FRANCIS CARDINAL BOURNE,
_Archbishop of Westminster._
FEAST OF ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL,
_August 21st, 1917._
TRANSLATORS' PREFACE
The letters here translated are, with a few mentioned exceptions,
selected from "Sainte Jeanne-Françoise Frémyot de Chantal: Sa Vie et ses
Oeuvres," "First edition entirely conformable to the original
manuscripts published under the supervision of the religious of the
Visitation of Holy Mary at Annecy, by E. Plon and Co., rue Garanciere
10, Paris, 1877."
The rendering cannot be looked upon as entirely literal, but the
translators have kept as closely to the original as was consistent with
an easy rendering in modern English.
The circular letter to the Sisters of the Visitation (page 152) is a
remarkable document worthy of the reader's special attention, as are
also the letters to "Dom John of St. Francis" on St. Francis de Sales,
and the subtle manifestation of St. Jane Frances' own state of soul in
her letter to "A great Servant of God."
It has been thought better to leave the superscription heading all the
Saint's letters, "Vive Jésus" (Let Jesus reign), as in the original, and
untranslated.
The title of "Sister Deposed" given to the immediate predecessor in
office of the actual Superior is peculiar to the Visitation Order.
There are, as will be seen, a few slight omissions, but only when the
matter was of no interest or importance.
The Saint, as the reader will observe, does not keep to any fixed rule
in regard to capital letters.
CONTENTS
LETTER PAGE
JUDGMENT OF ST. FRANCIS ON THE VIRTUES OF MOTHER DE CHANTAL 1
I. TO ST. FRANCIS DE SALES 3
II. TO THE SAME 4
III. TO M. LEGROS 5
IV. THE DUKE OF SAVOY TO ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL 6
V. TO MADAME D'AUXERRE 7
VI. TO ST. FRANCIS DE SALES 9
VII. TO THE SISTERS OF THE MONASTERY OF ANNECY 11
VIII. TO SISTER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 12
IX. TO SISTER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 15
X. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 17
XI. TO THE SAME 20
XII. TO THE SAME 23
III. TO SISTER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 27
XIV. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 30
XV. TO SISTERS P. M. DE CHÂTEL AND M. A. DE BLONAY 33
XVI. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 37
XVII. TO MADAME DE GOUFFIER 40
XVIII. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 42
XIX. SISTER M. A. DE BLONAY 46
XX. TO THE SAME 49
XXI. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 51
XXII. TO THE SAME 55
XXIII. TO MOTHER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 58
XXIV. TO M. DE NEUCHÈZE 60
XXV. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 61
XXVI. TO MADAME DE LA FLÉCHÈRE 64
XXVII. TO SISTER P. J. DE MONTHOUX 65
XXVIII. TO M. MICHEL FAVRE 68
XXIX. TO SISTER A. M. ROSSET 71
XXX. TO SISTER P. J. DE MONTHOUX 72
XXXI. TO MADAME DE LA FLÉCHÈRE 73
XXXII. TO MOTHER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 75
XXXIII. TO MOTHER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 76
XXXIV. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 77
XXXV. TO SISTER M. A. HUMBERT 79
XXXVI. TO THE SISTERS OF THE VISITATION AT BOURGES 80
XXXVII. TO THE SISTERS OF THE VISITATION AT MOULINS 81
XXXVIII. TO MOTHER P. M. DE CHÂTEL 83
XXXIX. TO MADEMOISELLE DE CHANTAL 85
XL. TO MOTHER J. C. DE BRÉCHARD 87
XLI. TO MADEMOISELLE DE CHANTAL 90
XLII. TO SISTER M. M. LEGROS 92
XLIII. TO MADAME DU TERTRE 94
XLIV. TO M. DE PALIERNE 95
XLV. TO ST. FRANCIS DE SALES 100
XLVI. TO MADAME DE LA FLÉCHÈRE 102
XLVII. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 103
XLVIII. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 105
XLIX. TO M. DE NEUCHÈZE 108
L. TO MOTHER A. C. DE BEAUMONT 110
LI. TO MOTHER M. J. FAVRE 112
LII. TO MOTHER A. C. DE BEAUMONT 116
LIII. TO MOTHER M. H. DE CHASTELLUX 118
LIV. TO SISTER M. M. MILLETOT 123
LV. TO SISTER F. G. DE LA GRAVE 124
LVI. TO THE BISHOP OF AUTUN 125
LVII. TO SISTER A. M. ROSSET 127
LVIII. TO THE REV. FATHER DOM JOHN DE SAINT FRANÇOIS 129
LIX. TO A RELIGIOUS OF THE FIRST MONASTERY OF THE VISITATION
AT PARIS 139
LX. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 141
LXI. TO SISTER A. C. DE SAUTEREAU 144
LXII. TO MOTHER A. C. DE BEAUMONT 146
LXIII. TO THE SAME 148
LXIV. TO MOTHER M. A. FICHET 149
LXV. TO THE SISTERS OF THE VISITATION 152
LXVI. TO SISTER A. M. DE LAGE DE PUYLAURENS 164
LXVII. TO THE BARON DE CHANTAL 166
LXVIII. TO THE SAME 167
LXIX. TO M. DE COULANGES 168
LXX. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 169
LXXI. TO THE SAME 170
LXXII. TO MOTHER M. A. FICHET 171
LXXIII. TO MOTHER A. C. DE BEAUMONT 173
LXXIV. TO A VISITATION SUPERIOR 175
LXXV. TO MOTHER J. H. DE GÉRARD 176
LXXVI. TO SISTER F. A. DE LA CROIX DE FÉSIGNEY 179
LXXVII. TO ST. VINCENT DE PAUL 181
LXXVIII. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 183
LXXIX. TO MOTHER FAVRE (EXTRACT) 185
LXXX. TO SISTER A. M. CLÉMENT 186
LXXXI. TO MOTHER C. C. DE CRÉMAUX DE LA GRANGE 187
LXXXII. TO M. POITON 189
LXXXIII. TO DOM GALICE 191
LXXXIV. TO THE SAME 193
LXXXV. TO MOTHER A. M. CLÉMENT 194
LXXXVI. TO SISTER M. D. GOUBERT 195
LXXXVII. TO DOM GALICE 196
LXXXVIII. TO SISTER M. A. DE MORVILLE 198
LXXXIX. TO M. DE COYSIA 201
XC. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 203
XCI. TO MGR. ANDRÉ FRÉMYOT 205
XCII. TO A BLIND SISTER 208
XCIII. TO SISTER B. M. DE HARAUCOURT 209
XCIV. TO SISTER P. J. DE MONTHOUX 211
XCV. TO M. NOËL BRULART 214
XCVI. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 216
XCVII. TO M. NOËL BRULART (EXTRACT) 218
XCVIII. TO THE COUNTESS DE TOULONJON 219
XCIX. TO SISTER M. A. DE RABUTIN 224
C. TO M. NOËL BRULART 225
CI. TO MOTHER M. A. LE ROY 229
CII. TO SISTER A. L. DE MARIN DE SAINT MICHEL 231
CIII. TO THE ABBÉ DE VAUX 234
CIV. TO A GREAT SERVANT OF GOD 237
CV. TO MOTHER A. M. DE RABUTIN 243
CVI. TO ST. VINCENT DE PAUL 244
CVII. TO SISTER C. M. F. DE CUSANCE 246
CVIII. TO SISTER J. B. GOJOS 248
CIX. TO SISTER L. A. DE LA FAYETTE 249
CX. TO THE DUCHESS DE MONTMORENCY 252
CXI. TO A NOVICE 254
JUDGMENT OF ST. FRANCIS DE SALES ON THE VIRTUES OF MOTHER DE CHANTAL
"My brother de Thorens," said St. Francis to one of his friends,
"travelled last month into Burgundy to fetch his little wife, and
brought back with her a mother-in-law whom neither he is worthy of
having nor I of serving. God has given her to me. She has come to be my
daughter in order that I may teach her to die to the world and to live
to Jesus Christ. Urged by God's design over her she has left all, and
has provided for all with a strength and prudence not common to her sex,
such that in her every action the good will find wherewith to praise her
and the wicked will not know in what to blame her."
In a letter the holy Bishop expresses himself as follows: "The Queen Bee
of our new hive, because she is so eager in the pursuit of virtue, is
much tormented with sickness, yet she finds no remedy to her liking save
in the observance of her Rule. I have never seen such singleness of
intention, such submission to authority, such detachment from all
things, such acceptance of the will of God, such fervour in prayer as
this good Mother shows. For my part I believe that God will make her
like unto St. Paula, St. Angela, St. Catherine of Genoa, and the other
holy widows." Writing elsewhere to one of his relations he says: "I feel
unutterable consolation in seeing the moderation of our dear Mother in
regard to all the obstacles that come in her way and her total
indifference to the things of earth. In all truth I may say that,
proportionately to the graces received, a soul could not arrive at
higher perfection. I regard her as an honour to her sex, one who with
the science of the Saints leads a most holy, hidden life concealed by an
ordinary exterior, who does nothing out of the common and yet is
irreproachable in all things."
Once again, writing to a Bishop in answer to a letter about Mother de
Chantal, St. Francis says: "I cannot speak but with respect of this most
holy soul which combines profound humility with a very broad and very
capable mind. She is simple and sincere as a child, of a lofty and solid
judgement. A great soul with a courage for holy undertakings beyond that
of her sex. Indeed, I never read the description of the valiant woman of
Solomon without thinking of Mother de Chantal. I write all this to you
in confidence, for this truly humble soul would be greatly distressed if
she knew that I had said so much in her praise."
SELECTED LETTERS OF ST. JANE FRANCES DE CHANTAL
I. _To St. Francis de Sales._
Vive [+] Jésus!
ANNECY, 1611.
How soon may I hope for the happy day when I shall irrevocably offer
myself to my God? He has so filled me with the thought of being entirely
His, and it has come home to me in such a wonderful and powerful manner,
that, were my emotion to last as it now is, I could not live under its
intensity. Never have I had such a burning love and desire for the
evangelical life and for the great perfection to which God calls me.
What I feel about it is quite impossible to put into words. But, alas!
my resolve to be very faithful to the greatness of the love of this
divine Saviour is balanced by the feeling of my incapacity to correspond
with it. Oh, how painful to love is this barrier of powerlessness! But
why do I speak thus? By doing so I degrade, it seems to me, the gift of
God which urges me to live in perfect poverty, in humble obedience, and
in spotless purity.
II. _To the Same._
Vive [+] Jésus!
ANNECY, 1612.
My Lord and my own Father, I pray God to fill your soul with His
choicest blessings, with Himself, and above all with the most pure love
of Jesus. Now, for fear others may alarm you, I am telling you myself
that this morning I was taken very ill. After dinner I had a shivering
fit and collapsed completely for a time, but now, thank God, I feel
quite well again; so do not let this trouble you, for the love of God,
that God Whom my soul loves, adores, and desires to serve with the
utmost singleness of heart and with perfect purity. Obtain for me, my
Father, when to-morrow you hold this divine Saviour, His grace in such
abundance that I may for ever adore, serve, and love Him perfectly. It
is an immense consolation to know that you are occupied with that
heavenly work "the Divine Love."[A] With what ardour I sigh for that
love! Alas! my God, when shall we see one another utterly consumed
therewith?
I have seen the good aunt: what a venerable old lady she is! I assure
you I am well now, and you know I would not say so if it were not true.
May Jesus reign and His Holy Mother. Amen.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] The Treatise on the Love of God.
III. _To M. Legros at Dijon._
Vive [+] Jésus!
ANNECY,
_18th June, 1612._
SIR,
We have given your daughter a true welcome. This offering which you and
she have made so lovingly cannot fail to be very agreeable to the good
God. You may be consoled and at peace about her for she is, and will
always be, very dear to me. God obliges me to have an exceeding great
care and love for all those whom He leads here and the goodness of your
heart, together with her confidence in me, urges and binds me closely to
her. I have not leisure for more, but once again, let me assure you that
this dear little soul has found here an affectionate Father and Mother,
so you may be happy about her. I am extremely obliged to you for the
trouble you have taken about that business (illegible lines).... May God
fill you with grace, consolation, and strength to walk in the way of His
divine commandments! I affectionately salute all your children, for whom
I wish a like grace. Madame Legros and I have agreed to be as sisters to
one another. I greatly love and esteem her: she is a brave, generous
woman. God guide her to Himself.
Always, Sir, your very humble servant,
FRÉMYOT.
IV. _The Duke of Savoy to St. Jane Frances de Chantal._
VERY REVEREND DEARLY BELOVED AND DEVOUT PETITIONER,
Your choice of my daughter, the Infanta Duchess of Mantua, as your
Mother and Protectress gives us much pleasure. We are delighted that you
have erected your Congregation in our States, as we profoundly esteem
your piety, charity, and devotion, and we desire by this letter to
assure you that you have our special protection, and that it is our wish
to aid, favour, and assist you in all that is necessary for the carrying
out of your good work. We have written to this effect to our nephew the
Marquis de Lans and to our Senate of Savoy, to which you can always have
recourse. The Countess de Tournon is charged to assist the Infanta at
the solemnity which you will be celebrating and to instruct her as to
her duties in regard to you. May I beg a remembrance in your prayers and
in those of your devout flock, whom I pray God to have in His holy
keeping.
CHARLES EMMANUEL,
_Duke of Savoy._
TURIN,
_22nd_ of _December_, 1613.
V. _To Madame d'Auxerre,[A] Foundress of the Monastery of the Visitation
at Lyons._
Vive [+] Jésus!
ANNECY, 1614.
Madame, My most dear and beloved Sister, The grace of Our Lord be in
your heart.
He has been pleased to grant you your request and it is He alone who has
inspired you with this desire. Again, He alone has put into the hearts
of this little Community a feeling of general satisfaction in regard to
your undertaking, and for this intention we have communicated and prayed
much. As for me I tell you, trustfully, in confidence, that when I was
speaking to our Lord about this affair His divine goodness seemed to
make manifest to me that He Himself led you here with His own hand. This
consoled me and made me resolve to give you what He commands, and this
my dearly loved Sister is my answer to what you ask. I give it simply
and in all sincerity. O how happy you are to have been thus called by
God to this most excellent service. Respond courageously to such
abundant graces and remain very humble and faithful to His holy will.
I must say this one word more in answer to what you feel as regards
God's goodness in giving you as guide this great and admirable servant
of His.[B] Know, my dearest Sister, that I also so strongly feel this,
that every day I make a special act of thanksgiving to God for it, and
the longer we live the more we shall understand what a grace it is. I
remember, in reference to it, a Capuchin once telling me that it
increased his regard for me to think of the peculiar care and love that
God must have for me to have given me this grace.... Remain now full of
thanksgiving in peace and certainty, as much as it is possible to have
in this life, that you are carrying out God's holy will.
We pray continually for you. All our Sisters unite with me in saluting
you most cordially. I, indeed, look upon your heart, my beloved Sister,
as mine own, and because this is the very truth you must look upon my
heart as yours in His who is our only Love.
Adieu. May we belong always wholly to God.
I remain with incomparable affection,
Yours, etc.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] This pious widow together with two other ladies made a journey to
Annecy in 1613 in order to place themselves under the direction of St.
Francis de Sales. On their return to Lyons all three petitioned the
Archbishop, Mgr. de Marquemont, to establish a Monastery of the
Visitation in that town. Before, however, acceding to their request he
asked St. Francis the object of the new Order. The Saint at once
replied: "To give God souls of prayer who will be so interior as to be
found worthy to serve and adore His infinite Majesty in spirit and in
truth. To the great Orders already established in the Church we leave
the praiseworthy exercises and brilliant virtues by which they honour
Our Lord. But I wish that the Religious of my Order should have no other
ambition than to glorify Him by their lowliness, so that this little
Institute of the Visitation may be as a dovecot of innocent doves whose
care and employment will be to meditate on the law of the Lord without
making itself seen or heard in the world, remaining hidden in the clefts
of the Rock and the Hollow places of the wall there to give to their
Beloved, as long as life shall last, proofs of sorrow and love by their
lowly and humble sighing."
[B] St. Francis de Sales.
VI. _To St. Francis de Sales._
Vive [+] Jésus!
ANNECY, 1614.
I write because I cannot refrain from doing so; for this morning I am
more wearisome to myself than usual. My interior state is so gravely
defective that, in anguish of spirit, I see myself giving way on every
side. Assuredly, my good Father, I am almost overwhelmed by this abyss
of misery. The presence of God, which was formerly such a delight to me,
now makes me tremble all over and shudder with fear. I bethink myself
that the divine eye of Him whom I adore, with entire submission, pierces
right through my soul looking with indignation upon all my thoughts,
words and works. Death itself, it seems to me, would be less painful to
bear than the distress of mind which this occasions, and I feel as if
all things had power to harm me. I am afraid of everything; I live in
dread, not because of harm to myself, but because I fear to displease
God. Oh, how far away His help seems! thinking of this I spent last
night in great bitterness and could utter no other words than these, "My
God, my God, alas! why hast Thou forsaken me." At daybreak God gave me a
little light in the highest part of my soul, yet only there; but it was
almost imperceptible; nor did the rest of my soul and its faculties
share the enjoyment, which lasted only about the time of half a Hail
Mary, then, trouble rushed back upon me with a mighty force, and all was
darkness. Notwithstanding the weariness of this dereliction, I said,
though in utter dryness, "Do, Lord, whatever is pleasing to Thee, I wish
it. Annihilate me, I am content. Overwhelm me, I most sincerely desire
it. Tear out, cut, burn, do just as Thou pleasest, I am Thine." God has
shown me that He does not make much account of faith that comes of
sentiment and emotions. This is why, though against my inclination, I
never wish for sensible devotion. I do not desire it. God is enough for
me. Notwithstanding my absolute misery I hope in Him, and I trust He
will continue to support me so that His will may be accomplished in me.
Take my feeble heart into your hands, my true Father and Lord, and do
what you see to be wisest with it.
VII. _To the Sisters of the Monastery of the Visitation of Annecy._
Vive [+] Jésus!
LYONS,
_16th February, 1615._
Excuse me, I beg of you, my dearest and very good Sisters, if I do not
answer you each one separately, which indeed the kindness you have shown
me deserves that I should do, and my affection for you would desire: but
neither head nor leisure permit it, and besides, God be thanked for it,
I see no necessity to write to any one in particular. Persevere in your
good desires and every day become more faithful to the observance of
your holy Rules and love them better. This alone, believe me, should be
your sole care. Cast not a look upon anything else and be assured that
you will walk upon the right road and will make a good and prosperous
voyage. May God in His infinite mercy be with you and bless you so that
you may perfectly accomplish His holy will. With all my heart I desire
this, for I love you all, and each one individually, with the greatest
possible affection, far beyond what you could imagine. This I tell you
all, not forgetting those who have not written to me. God bless you, my
very dear daughters. May He be your sole love and desire. Pray, I
beseech you, for the needs of your poor Mother, who is very
affectionately
Your most humble and unworthy servant in our Lord.
VIII. _To Sister Jeanne Charlotte de Bréchard, Assistant and Mistress of
Novices at Annecy._
Vive [+] Jésus!
LYONS,
_July 9th, 1615._
MY DEAREST SISTER, MY DARLING,
See now how trouble is lifted off your shoulders by the presence you
enjoy of my very honoured Lord![A] He is most anxious to work at our
Rules,[B] and is about to curtail them considerably at the desire of the
Archbishop of Lyons. I think he intends to spend these months of July
and August at Annecy, for he tells me that during the great heat he has
more leisure, having fewer visitors. I shall be very glad when he has
finished the blessed book so much desired and so long awaited.[C] Until
I have put it into the printer's hands for publication I am not, I
believe, to leave here for Annecy. So if you are in such great need of
me, help by your fidelity and your prayers to secure time for this good
and dear Lord to complete the work. The whole day, as far as he is
free, ought to be devoted to it, but though it no longer requires much
application, yet it progresses very slowly: such is the will of the
great God, and may His will be accomplished here and everywhere. For all
that, you must keep up your courage; we shall find September upon us
before we know where we are, and then God will console us. You cannot
think how I am looking forward to my return--I am simply longing for it;
but, my love, His Lordship does not agree with you as to its present
necessity; he considers I am more useful here now, to satisfy certain
persons. Meanwhile, I am getting on with our little business, and I
trust, through the goodness of God and the brave heart of my dearest
Sister, that all will go tranquilly till I return. Please God, I will do
so at the appointed time, when the business of the house will be more
pressing. Then I shall relieve my poor little Sister of the burden as
much as I am able, and she will have nothing to do but to kindle in the
hearts of her dear novices the love of their Spouse, and to caress her
poor mother, who is so fond of her. Do not forget the sweetmeats for the
poor nor the dried fruit, as much as you can procure of it. In the month
of September lay in a provision of butter and cheese; Sister Anne
Jacqueline (Coste) will help you in this. I am a little surprised that
you tell me there is only corn enough for the end of this month, for it
ought to have lasted till the end of | 1,284.500238 |
2023-11-16 18:38:28.6781300 | 1,002 | 67 |
THE
AMERICAN REPUBLIC:
ITS
CONSTITUTION, TENDENCIES, AND DESTINY.
BY
O. A. BROWNSON, LL. D.
NEW YORK:
P. O'SHEA, 104 BLEECKER STREET.
1866.
Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1865, By P. O'SHEA,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States for
the Southern District of New York.
TO THE
HON. GEORGE BANCROFT,
THE ERUDITE, PHILOSOPHICAL, AND ELOQUENT
Historian of the United States,
THIS FEEBLE ATTEMPT TO SET FORTH THE PRINCIPLES OF
GOVERNMENT, AND TO EXPLAIN AND DEFEND THE CONSTITUTION OF
THE AMERICAN REPUBLIC, IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,
IN MEMORY OF OLD FRIENDSHIP, AND AS A
SLIGHT HOMAGE TO GENIUS, ABILITY,
PATRIOTISM, PRIVATE WORTH,
AND PUBLIC SERVICE,
BY THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION 1
CHAPTER II.
GOVERNMENT 15
CHAPTER III.
ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT 26
CHAPTER IV.
ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT--Continued 43
CHAPTER V.
ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT--Continued 71
CHAPTER VI.
ORIGIN OF GOVERNMENT--Concluded 106
CHAPTER VII.
CONSTITUTION OF GOVERNMENT 136
CHAPTER VIII.
CONSTITUTION OF GOVERNMENT--Concluded 166
CHAPTER IX.
THE UNITED STATES 192
CHAPTER X.
CONSTITUTION OF THE UNITED STATES 218
CHAPTER XI.
THE CONSTITUTION--Continued 244
CHAPTER XII.
SECESSION 277
CHAPTER XIII.
RECONSTRUCTION 309
CHAPTER XIV.
POLITICAL TENDENCIES 348
CHAPTER XV.
DESTINY--POLITICAL AND RELIGIOUS 392
PREFACE.
In the volume which, with much diffidence, is here offered to the
public, I have given, as far as I have considered it worth giving, my
whole thought in a connected form on the nature, necessity, extent,
authority, origin, ground, and constitution of government, and the
unity, nationality, constitution, tendencies, and destiny of the
American Republic. Many of the points treated have been from time to
time discussed or touched upon, and many of the views have been
presented, in my previous writings; but this work is newly and
independently written from beginning to end, and is as complete on the
topics treated as I have been able to make it.
I have taken nothing bodily from my previous essays, but I have used
their thoughts as far as I have judged them sound and they came within
the scope of my present work. I have not felt myself bound to adhere
to my own past thoughts or expressions any farther than they coincide
with my present convictions, and I have written as freely and as
independently as if I had never written or published any thing before.
I have never been the slave of my own past, and truth has always been
dearer to me than my own opinions. This work is not only my latest,
but will be my last on politics or government, and must be taken as the
authentic, and the only authentic statement of my political views and
convictions, and whatever in any of my previous writings conflicts with
the principles defended in its pages, must be regarded as retracted,
and rejected.
The work now produced is based on scientific principles; but it is an
essay rather than a scientific treatise, and even good-natured critics
will, no doubt, pronounce it an article or a series of articles
designed for a review, rather than a book. It is hard to overcome the
habits of a lifetime. I have taken some pains to exchange the reviewer
for the author, but am fully conscious that I have not succeeded. My
work can lay claim to very little artistic merit. It is full of
repetitions; the same thought is frequently recurring,--the result, to
some extent, no doubt, of carelessness and the want of artistic skill;
but to a greater extent, I fear, of "malice aforethought." In
composing my work I have followed, rather than directed, the course of
my thought, and, having very little confidence in the memory or
industry of readers, I have preferred, when the completeness of the
argument required it, to repeat myself to | 1,284.69817 |
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Produced by David Widger
INNOCENTS ABROAD
by Mark Twain
[From an 1869--1st Edition]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
Popular Talk of the Excursion--Programme of the Trip--Duly Ticketed for
the Excursion--Defection of the Celebrities
CHAPTER II.
Grand Preparations--An Imposing Dignitary--The European Exodus
--Mr. Blucher's Opinion--Stateroom No. 10--The Assembling of the Clans
--At Sea at Last
CHAPTER III.
"Averaging" the Passengers--Far, far at Sea.--Tribulation among the
Patriarchs--Seeking Amusement under Difficulties--Five Captains in the
Ship
CHAPTER IV.
The Pilgrims Becoming Domesticated--Pilgrim Life at Sea
--"Horse-Billiards"--The "Synagogue"--The Writing School--Jack's "Journal"
--The "Q. C. Club"--The Magic Lantern--State Ball on Deck--Mock Trials
--Charades--Pilgrim Solemnity--Slow Music--The Executive Officer Delivers
an Opinion
CHAPTER V.
Summer in Mid-Atlantic--An Eccentric Moon--Mr. Blucher Loses Confidence
--The Mystery of "Ship Time"--The Denizens of the Deep--"Land Hoh"
--The First Landing on a Foreign Shore--Sensation among the Natives
--Something about the Azores Islands--Blucher's Disastrous Dinner
--The Happy Result
CHAPTER VI.
Solid Information--A Fossil Community--Curious Ways and Customs
--Jesuit Humbuggery--Fantastic Pilgrimizing--Origin of the Russ Pavement
--Squaring Accounts with the Fossils--At Sea Again
CHAPTER VII.
A Tempest at Night--Spain and Africa on Exhibition--Greeting a Majestic
Stranger--The Pillars of Hercules--The Rock of Gibraltar--Tires | 1,284.759563 |
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CHALLENGE
By LOUIS UNTERMEYER
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1914
Copyright, 1914, by
THE CENTURY CO.
Published, April, 1914
CONTENTS
I. SUMMONS
SUMMONS
PRAYER
TO ARMS
ON THE BIRTH OF A CHILD
HOW MUCH OF GODHOOD
THE GREAT CAROUSAL
THANKS
GOD'S YOUTH
IN THE BERKSHIRE HILLS
VOICES
REVELATION
AFFIRMATION
DOWNHILL ON A BICYCLE
MIDNIGHT--BY THE OPEN WINDOW
THE WINE OF NIGHT
II. INTERLUDES
INVOCATION
"FEUERZAUBER"
SUNDAY NIGHT
AT KENNEBUNKPORT
IN A STRANGE CITY
FOLK-SONG
IN THE STREETS
ENVY
A BIRTHDAY
LEAVING THE HARBOR
THE SHELL TO THE PEARL
THE YOUNG MYSTIC
HEALED
THE STIRRUP-CUP
SPRING ON BROADWAY
IN A CAB
SUMMER NIGHT--BROADWAY
HAUNTED
ISADORA DUNCAN DANCING
SONGS AND THE POET
THE HERETIC
I. BLASPHEMY
II. IRONY
III. MOCKERY
IV. HUMILITY
FIFTH AVENUE--SPRING AFTERNOON
TRIBUTE
III. SONGS OF PROTEST
CHALLENGE
CALIBAN IN THE COAL-MINES
ANY CITY
LANDSCAPES
TWO FUNERALS
SUNDAY
STRIKERS
IN THE SUBWAY
BATTLE-CRIES
A VOICE FROM THE SWEAT-SHOPS
SOLDIERS
PEACE
THE DYING DECADENT
FUNERAL HYMN
PROTESTS
For the privilege of reprinting many of the poems included in this
volume, the author thanks the editors of _The Century, Harper's, The
Forum, The Masses, The Smart Set, The Independent, The American, The
Delineator, The New Age, The Poetry Journal_ and other magazines.
SUMMONS
_To Walter Lippmann_
SUMMONS
The eager night and the impetuous winds,
The hints and whispers of a thousand lures,
And all the swift persuasion of the Spring
Surged from the stars and stones, and swept me on...
The smell of honeysuckles, keen and clear,
Startled and shook me, with the sudden thrill
Of some well-known but half-forgotten voice.
A slender stream became a naked sprite,
Flashed around curious bends, and winked at me
Beyond the turns, alert and mischievous.
A saffron moon, dangling among the trees,
Seemed like a toy balloon caught in the boughs,
Flung there in sport by some too-mirthful breeze...
And as it hung there, vivid and unreal,
The whole world's lethargy was brushed away;
The night kept tugging at my torpid mood
And tore it into shreds. A warm air blew
My wintry slothfulness beyond the stars;
And over all indifference there streamed
A myriad urges in one rushing wave...
Touched with the lavish miracles of earth,
I felt the brave persistence of the grass;
The far desire of rivulets; the keen,
Unconquerable fervor of the thrush;
The endless labors of the patient worm;
The lichen's strength; the prowess of the ant;
The constancy of flowers; the blind belief
Of ivy climbing slowly toward the sun;
The eternal struggles and eternal deaths--
And yet the groping faith of every root!
Out of old graves arose the cry of life;
Out of the dying came the deathless call.
And, thrilling with a new sweet restlessness,
The thing that was my boyhood woke in me--
Dear, foolish fragments made me strong again;
Valiant adventures, dreams of those to come,
And all the vague, heroic hopes of youth,
With fresh abandon, like a fearless laugh,
Leaped up to face the heaven's unconcern...
And then--veil upon veil was torn aside--
Stars, like a host of merry girls and boys,
Danced gaily 'round me, plucking at my hand;
The night, scorning its ancient mystery,
Leaned down and pressed new courage in my heart;
The hermit thrush, throbbing with more than Song,
Sang with a happy challenge to the skies;
Love, and the faces of a world of children,
Swept like a conquering army through my blood--
And Beauty, rising out of all its forms,
Beauty, the passion of the universe,
Flamed with its joy, a thing too great for tears.
And, like a wine, poured itself out for me
To drink of, to be warmed with, and to go
Refreshed and strengthened to the ceaseless fight;
To meet with confidence the cynic years;
Battling in wars that never can be won,
Seeking the lost cause and the brave defeat!
PRAYER
God, though this life is but a wraith,
Although we know not what we use,
Although we grope with little faith,
Give me the heart to fight--and lose.
Ever insurgent let me be,
Make me more daring than devout;
From sleek contentment keep me free.
And fill me with a buoyant doubt.
Open my eyes to visions girt
With beauty, and with wonder lit--
But let me always see the dirt,
And all that spawn and die in it.
Open my ears to music; let
Me thrill with Spring's first flutes and drums--
But never let me dare forget
The bitter ballads of the slums.
From compromise and things half-done,
| 1,284.797966 |
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THE
LIFE OF THE MOSELLE,
From its Source in the Vosges Mountains
To
Its Junction with the Rhine at Coblence.
BY
OCTAVIUS ROOKE,
Author of "The Channel Islands, Pictorial, Legendary, and Descriptive."
Illustrated with Seventy Engravings from
Original Drawings by the Author.
Engraved by T. Bolton.
LONDON:
L. BOOTH, 307 REGENT STREET.
1858.
Ein donnernd Hoch aus voller Brust
Ersling zum Himmel laut,
Dir schoenem, deutschem Moselstrom,
Dir, deutschen Rheines Braut!
Julius Otto.
THIS BOOK IS
DEDICATED TO
His Wife
BY THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The beautiful scenery of the Moselle has too long been left without
notice. It is true, some of our Artists have presented to us scenes
on the banks of this river; but English travellers are, for the most
part, ignorant how very charming and eminently picturesque are the
shores of this lovely stream.
"The Rhine! the Rhine!" is quoted by every one, and admired or abused
at every fireside, but the Moselle is almost wholly unexplored. Lying,
as she does, within a district absolutely overrun with summer-tourists,
it is altogether inexplicable that a river presenting scenery
unsurpassed in Europe should be so neglected by those who in thousands
pass the mouth of her stream. When the Roman Poet Ausonius visited
Germany, it was not the Rhine, but the Moselle which most pleased him;
and although glorious Italy was his home, yet he could spare time to
explore the Moselle, and extol the loveliness of her waters in a most
eloquent poem.
The Moselle, which rises among the wooded mountains of the
Department des Vosges, never during its whole course is otherwise
than beautiful. Below Treves it passes between the Eifel and Hunsruck
ranges of mountains, which attain to the height of ten or twelve
hundred feet above the level of the river.
In the Thirty Years' War the Moselle country suffered severely from
the ravages of the different armies; but there still remain on the
shores of this river more old castles and ruins, and more curious
old houses, than can elsewhere be found in a like space in Europe.
Having in the following pages endeavoured to lay before English readers
the interesting scenery of the Moselle, I trust, that although in
summer my countrymen do not mount her stream, fearful, perhaps,
of discomfort; yet that by the fireside in winter the public will
not object to glide down the river, in the boat now ready for them
to embark in; and hoping that they will enjoy the reproduction of a
tour that afforded me so much pleasure,
I subscribe myself
Their humble servant,
THE AUTHOR.
Richmond, December 1857.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SOURCE 1
II. REMIREMONT AND EPINAL 12
III. TOUL AND NANCY 24
IV. METZ 39
V. FROM METZ TO TREVES 65
VI. TREVES 70
VII. RIVER INCIDENTS 99
VIII. PIESPORT 110
IX. THE VINTAGE 125
X. VELDENZ 133
XI. BERNCASTEL 144
XII. ZELTINGEN AND THE MICHAELSLEI 153
XIII. TRARBACH 165
XIV. ENKIRCH AND THE MARIENBURG PROMONTORY 173
XV. BERTRICH 185
XVI. BREMM, NEEF, AND BEILSTEIN 197
XVII. COCHEM 207
XVIII. CARDEN AND ELZ 219
XIX. OLD CASTLES 235
XX. GONDORF AND COBERN 249
XXI. CHANGE OF THE SEASONS 261
XXII. COBLENCE AND JUNCTION WITH RHINE 269
ILLUSTRATIONS,
FROM SKETCHES BY OCTAVIUS ROOKE;
THE BORDERS AND FLORAL DECORATIONS BY NOEL HUMPHREYS;
THE ENGRAVINGS BY T. BOLTON.
FRONTISPIECE.
DEDICATION.
PAGE
THE SOURCE 1
THE SPIRIT OF THE MOSELLE AND HER ATTENDANTS 4
THE CONFLUENCE 12
NURSES AT EPINAL 20
RIVER FALL 23
BATHING AT TOUL 24
REAPING 31
JOAN OF ARC 38
AQUEDUCT AT JOUY 39
METZ 52
ENVIRONS OF METZ 64
ROMAN BRIDGE AT TREVES 65
INITIAL 70
PORTA NIGRA 71
ROMAN BATHS 84
FOUNTAIN 95
ROMAN MONUMENT, IGEL 98
FERRY 99
WOMAN FERRYING 102
BOAT-BUILDING 103
DITTO 104
HAY-LADING 106
BEDDING 106
BOAT WITH CASK 107
CHURCH 109
PIESPORT 110
THE VINTAGE 125
GIRLS TENDING VINES 132
VELDENZ 133
GIRL AT SHRINE 143
BERNCASTEL BY MOONLIGHT 144
OLD HOUSES, BERNCASTEL 147
THE GERMAN MAIDEN 152
THE GRAeFENBURG 153
TRARBACH 165
CONFLAGRATION AT TRARBACH 170
LILIES 172
MARIENBURG 173
ENKIRCH 175
MERL 183
BERTRICH 185
KAeSEGROTTE 192
ALF-BACH 195
THE OLD CHURCH 196
BEILSTEIN 197
NEEF 199
KLOSTER STUBEN 203
COCHEM BY MOONLIGHT 207
CLOTTEN CASTLE 216
FISHING 218
INITIAL 219
TOLL-HOUSE 224
CARDEN 226
GATE AT CARDEN 227
CASTLE OF ELZ 231
SKETCH AT CARDEN 234
BISCHOFSTEIN 235
ALKEN 243
THURON CASTLE 245
ASCENDING SPIRIT 248
GONDORF CASTLE 249
LOWER CASTLE AT GONDORF 252
THE PROCESSION 257
ST. MATTHIAS CHAPEL 260
WINTER SCENE 261
TOWING 268
MARKET, COBLENCE 269
SPIRITS OF THE MOSELLE AND RHINE 287
CHAPTER I.
At a short distance from Bussang, a little town in the Department des
Vosges in France, is the source of the Moselle; trickling through the
moss and stones that, together with fallen leaves, strew the ground,
come the first few drops of this beautiful river.
A few yards lower down the hill-side, these drops are received into a
little pool of fairy dimensions; this tiny pool of fresh sweet water
is surrounded by mossy stones, wild garlic, ferns, little creepers
of many forms, and stems of trees.
The trees, principally pine, grow thickly over the whole ballon (as the
hills are here called); many are of great size; they shut out the heat
of the sun, and clothe the earth with tremulous shadows--tremulous,
because the broad but feathery ferns receive bright rays, and waving
to and fro in the gentle breeze give the shadows an appearance of
constant movement.
Here, then, O reader, let us pause and contemplate the birth-place of
our stream; leaving the world of stern reality, let us plunge together
into the grateful spring of sweet romance; and while the only sounds
of life that reach our ears are the rustling of the leaves, the
buzz of the great flies, the murmur of the Moselle, and the distant
ringing of the woodman's axe, let us return with Memory into the past,
and leaving even her behind, go back to those legendary days when
spirits purer than ourselves lived and gloried in that beautifully
created world which we are daily rendering all unfit for even the
ideal habitation of such spirits.
And reverie is not idleness; in hours like these we seem to see
before us, cleared from the mists of daily cares, the better path
through life--the broad straight path, not thorny and difficult,
as men are too prone to paint it, but strewed with those flowers and
shaded with those trees given by a beneficent Creator to be enjoyed
rightly by us earthly pilgrims.
Life is a pilgrimage indeed, but not a joyless one. While the whole
earth and sky teem with glory and beauty, are we to believe that
these things may not be enjoyed? Our conscience answers, No; rightly
to enjoy, and rightly to perform our duties, with thankfulness,
and praise, | 1,285.001002 |
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[Illustration: Signed:--Geo. H. Heffner]
The Youthful Wanderer;
or An Account of a Tour through England, France, Belgium, Holland, Germany
and the Rhine, Switzerland, Italy, and Egypt
Adapted to the Wants of Young Americans Taking Their First Glimpses at the
Old World
by
Geo. H. Heffner.
1876.
Preface.
It had been fashionable among the ancients, for men of learning to visit
distant countries and improve their education by traveling, after they had
completed their various courses of study in literary institutions, and the
same custom still prevails in Europe at the present time; but in our
country, comparatively few avail themselves of this finishing course. It
is not strange that this should have been so with a people who are
separated from the rest of the world by such wide oceans as we are, which
could, up to a comparatively recent period, only have been crossed at a
sacrifice of much time and money, and at the risk of loosing either life
or health. These difficulties have been greatly reduced by the application
of steam-power to navigation, and the time has come when an American can
make the tour of Europe with but little more expenditure of time and money
than it costs even a native of Europe to do it.
One of my principal objects in writing this book is to encourage others to
make similar tours. We would have plenty of books no traveling, if some of
them did represent the readers in the humbler spheres of life, but the
general impression in America is that no one can see Europe to any
satisfaction in less than a year or two and with an outlay of from a
thousand to two thousand dollars. This is a great mistake. If one travels
for pleasure mainly, it will certainly require a great deal of time and
money, but a hard-working student can do much in a few months. Permit me
to say, that one will see and experience more in two weeks abroad, than
many a learned man in America expects could be seen in a year. I sometimes
give the particulars of sights and adventures in detail, that the reader
may take an example of my experience, for any tour he may propose to make.
The times devoted to different places are given that he may form an
estimate of the comparative importance of different places.
Statistics form a leading feature of this work, and these have been
gathered and compiled with special reference to the wants of the student.
Many an American scholar studies the geography and history of foreign
countries at a great disadvantage, because he can not obtain a general
idea of the institutions of Europe, unless he reads half a dozen works on
the subject. To do this he has not the time. This work gives, in the
compass of a single volume, a general idea of all the most striking
features of the manners, customs and institutions of the people of some
eight different nations speaking as many different languages and dialects.
As the sights that one sees abroad are so radically different from what we
are accustomed to see at home, I feel pained whenever I think of
describing them to any one. If you would know the nature of my
perplexity, then go to Washington and see the stately magnificence of our
National Capitol there, and then go and describe what you have seen to one
who has never seen a larger building than his village church; or go and
see the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia, and then tell your neighbor
who has never seen anything greater than a county fair, how, what he has
seen compares with the World's Fair! I too am proud of our country, (not
so much for what she now is, but because she promises to become the
greatest nation that ever existed), but it must be confessed, that America
presents little in the sphere of architecture that bears comparison with
the castles, palaces and churches of the Old World. The Capitol at
Washington, erected at the cost of twelve and a half millions, the City
Hall of Baltimore, perhaps more beautiful but less magnificent, and other
edifices that have been erected of late, are structures of which we may
justly be proud; but let us take the buildings of the "Centennial
Exposition" for a standard and compare them with some of those in Europe.
The total expenses incurred in erecting all the exposition buildings, and
preparing the grounds, &c., with all the contingent expenses, is less than
ten million. But St. Peter's in Rome cost nine times, and the palace and
pleasure-garden of Versailles twenty times as much as this! It is safe to
assert, that if a young man had but two hundred dollars with six weeks of
time at his command, and would spend it in seeing London and Paris, he
could never feel sorry for it. _Young student go east._
Contents.
Chapter I.
Leaving Home
New York
Brooklyn--Plymouth Church
Extracts from Henry Ward Beecher's Sermon
Greenwood Cemetery
Barnum's Hippodrome
On Board the "Manhattan"
Setting Sail--The Parting Hour
Sea-Sickness
A Shoal of Whales
Approaching Queenstown--The First Sight of Land
Coasting Ireland and Wales
Personal Incidents--Life-boat, No. 5
Chapter II.
Liverpool
The Mystical Letters "IHS" mean Jesus
The Wonderful Clock of Jacob Lovelace
Chapter III.
Chester--Origin of the Name
The Rows or Second-Story Pavements
The Cathedral and St. John's
The Walls
Birmingham
_Railroads in Europe_
Chapter IV.
Stratford-on-Avon--- Shakespeare's Birthplace
Shottery--Anne Hathaway's Home
Shakespeare's Grave
Chapter V.
Warwick--St. Mary's
Kenilworth Castle
Approaching Coventry--"The Lover's Promenade"
Coventry--Its Fine Churches
Warwick Castle
Oxford--The Great University
Chapter VI.
London.
Its Underground Railroads
Territory, Population and Other Statistics
St. Paul's Cathedral
Crystal Palace
The Houses of Parliament
Westminster Abbey
_Ensigns Armorial, &c._
Sunday in London
Hyde Park--Radical Meeting
The Tower of London
Chapter VII.
London to Paris.
Strait of Dover
Calais
Chapter VIII.
Paris.
Its Railway Stations,
_Lack of Delicacy in Many of the Social Habits and Institutions
Among the People of Warm Countries_
The Boulevards, Rues, &c.
Arcades and Passages
Palais Royal
Its Diamond Windows
The Cafe--A Characteristic Feature of Modern
Civilization
Champs Elysees
Palais de l'Industrie or the Exhibition Buildings
Place de la Concorde and the Obelisk of Luxor
Garden of the Tuileries
The Arch of Triumph
Other Triumphal Arches
The Tomb of Napoleon I
Artesian Wells
Notre Dame Cathedral
The Pantheon
The Madeleine
The Louvre
Theaters and Operas
At a Ball
Incidents
Chapter IX.
St. Cloud
The Palace at Versailles
The Pleasure-Garden
Chapter X.
Leaving Paris
Brussels
The Cathedral
Hotel de Ville
Antwerp
_The Spirit of Revolution_
Notre Dame Cathedral
The Museum
Chapter XI.
Holland.
The Hague
_Cloak-Rooms_
Utrecht
Chapter XII.
Cologne
The Cathedral
The Museum
Depths of Man's Degradation
Bonn
The Kreuzberg
The Drachenfels
Chapter XIII.
Coblentz
Geological Laws
On the Rhine
Frankfort
Darmstadt
Worms
Chapter XIV.
The Palatinate, (_Die Pfalz_).
Mannheim
Neustadt
Heidelberg
The Castle
The Great Tun
Stuttgart
Strassburg
The Black Forest
Chapter XV.
Switzerland.
The Rigi
The Giessbach Falls
The Rhone Glacier
The Grimsel
The Cathedral of Freiburg
Berne
Chapter XVI.
Geneva to Turin
Mont Cenis Tunnel
Italy.
Its Fair Sky and Beautiful People,
Milan
Venice
San Marco
Chapter XVII.
Venice to Bologne
Florence
Pisa
Going Southward
Chapter XVIII.
Rome.
The Colosseum
The Roman Forum
The Site of the Ancient Capitol
"Twelve"
The Temple of Caesar
The Baths of Caracalla
The Pyramid of Cestius
St. Peter's
The Lateran
Santa Maria Maggiore
Museums
Chapter XIX.
Rome to Brindisi.
Ascent | 1,285.001067 |
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[Illustration:
"HE DEALT A CRASHING BLOW AT THE RECREANT KNIGHT."
_Frontispiece._
]
UNDER KING HENRY'S
BANNERS
A STORY OF THE DAYS OF AGINCOURT
By
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of
"The Winning of the Golden Spurs,"
etc.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOHN CAMPBELL
LONDON
THE PILGRIM PRESS
16, PILGRIM STREET, E.C.
_Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine,
With all his martial train,
Landed King Harry._
_And taking many a fort
Furnish'd in warlike sort
March'd towards Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stop'd his way,
Where the French Gen'ral lay
With all his power._
* * * * *
_Upon Saint Crispin's day
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry;
O when shall Englishmen
With such acts fill a pen,
Or England breed again
Such a King Harry?_
MICHAEL DRAYTON (1563-1631.)
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I HOW NEWS CAME TO WARBLINGTON CASTLE 1
II THE RETURN OF THE "GRÂCE À DIEU" 12
III HOW A FRIAR AND A LOLLARD MET ON THE HIGHWAY 20
IV HOW GEOFFREY LYSLE CROSSED THE CHANNEL 30
V HOW THE MERCHANTS TRIED CONCLUSIONS WITH LA
BARRE 41
VI THE AFFRAY BY THE RIVER 51
VII HOW GEOFFREY CAME TO TAILLEMARTEL 61
VIII OF THE AMBUSH LAID BY THE MEN OF TAILLEMARTEL 71
IX CONCERNING GEOFFREY'S DESPERATE RESOLVE 85
X THE EVE OF ST. SILVESTER 91
XI HOW SIR OLIVER GAINED HIS FREEDOM 101
XII IN WHICH GEOFFREY IS LAID BY THE HEELS 106
XIII THE POSTERN FACED WITH POINTS OF STEEL 116
XIV HOW ARNOLD GRIPWELL WAS FREED FROM HIS BONDS 130
XV HOW THE THREE COMRADES SEIZED THE FISHING
BOAT 143
XVI THE WRECK OF "L'ETOILE" 153
XVII OF THE COMPANY AT THE "SIGN OF THE BUCKLE" 161
XVIII SQUIRE GEOFFREY 168
XIX TREASON 176
XX THE TRAITORS' DOOM 189
XXI HOW GEOFFREY FARED AT THE SIEGE OF HARFLEUR 198
XXII THE MARCH OF THE FORLORN SEVEN THOUSAND 214
XXIII THE EVE OF AGINCOURT 224
XXIV THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT 240
XXV THE MASSACRE 254
XXVI AT THE CASTLE OF SIR RAOUL D'AULX 267
XXVII THE SIEGE OF ROUEN 280
XXVIII THE FATE OF MALEVEREUX 288
XXIX THE GOLDEN SPURS 303
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
MACE IN HAND, HE DEALT A CRUSHING BLOW AT THE _Frontispiece in
RECREANT KNIGHT Colours_
IT DID NOT TAKE LONG FOR THE ENGLISHMEN TO
GRASP THE SITUATION 48
"THROW ME YON ROPE!" HE SHOUTED 144
"SIRE, WERE THERE ANY WHO DWELT IN FEAR OF
THE ISSUE OF THE BATTLE, WOULD THEY SLEEP SO
QUIETLY?" 224
WITH SPEAR THRUST AND SWEEP OF AXE THEY FELL
UPON THE STORMERS 288
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
UNDER KING HENRY'S
BANNERS
CHAPTER I
HOW NEWS CAME TO WARBLINGTON CASTLE
It was shortly after dawn, on the morning of March 21, 1413, that a
grizzled man-at-arms climbed the spiral staircase in the south-west
angle of the keep of Warblington Castle.
He was dressed in a leathern suit, much soiled and frayed by the
frequent wearing of armour, while on his head was a close-fitting cap,
quilted and padded to ease the weight of a steel headpiece. He was
unarmed, save for a long knife that was counterbalanced by a horn slung
from a shoulder-strap of undressed hide.
Under his left arm he bore a flag, its folds gathered closely to his
side, as if he feared to injure the cherished fabric by contact with the
rough stone walls of the staircase; for the flag he had charge of was
the banner of the renowned knight, Sir Oliver Lysle, of the Castle of
Warblington, in the county of Southampton, and of the Château of
Taillemartel, in the Duchy of Normandy.
At the one hundred and eleventh step the man-at-arms paused, and,
raising his arm, thrust with all his might against an oaken trap-door,
sheeted on the outside with lead. With a dull thud the door was flung
backwards, and the old soldier gained the summit of the turret, which
stood ten feet above the rest of the battlemented keep.
Sheltering from the strong north-westerly breeze that whistled over the
machicolated battlements, the man-at-arms gazed steadily—not in a
landward direction, where an almost uninterrupted view extends as far as
the rolling South Downs, neither to the east, where the tall,
needle-like shaft of Chichester Cathedral spire was gradually rearing
itself heavenwards, nor to the west, where the sea and land blended in
the dreary mud banks of Langstone Harbour—but southwards, where,
partially hidden in wreaths of fleecy vapour, the almost landlocked
waters of Chichester Harbour met the open expanse of the English
Channel.
The sound of footsteps on the stone stairs caused the watcher to turn
his attention to the newcomer.
"Good morning, fair sir," he exclaimed, as a lad of about fourteen years
of age climbed actively through the trap-door.
"And to thee, Arnold Gripwell. But how goes it? Dost see aught of the
ship?"
"Nay, Master Geoffrey; this wind, which is most unseasonable for the
time o' year, hath stirred up much mist, so that the sea cannot be
clearly discerned."
"'Tis passing strange. Sir Oliver, my father, hath sent word that, God
willing, he would cross the seas from Harfleur on the eve of the Feast
of St. Perpetua. Already fourteen days are spent, and yet he cometh
not."
"The reason is not far to seek," replied Gripwell, pointing towards the
distant Portsdown Hills. "So long as this wind holdeth the ship is bound
to tarry."
"But how long, think you, will it blow thus? Thou art a man skilled in
such matters."
"Nay, I cannot forecast, fair sir. For now, when the husbandman looketh
for the east wind to break the ground, this most unwholesome air doth
hold. Mark my words, Master Geoffrey, when it turneth we shall have
another winter. But the sun is rising. I must display my lord's banner."
So saying, he bent the flag to the halyards, and soon the emblem of the
Lysles was fluttering bravely in the breeze—azure, a turbot argent,
surmounted by an estoile of the last—in other words, a silver turbot,
with a silver star above, both on a field of blue.
Geoffrey knew well the meaning of this device. The first denoted that
the Lord of Warblington was one of the coastwise guardians of the
Channel; the star was in recognition of a former Lysle's service under
Edward I, on the occasion of a desperate night attack upon the Scots.
Always ready on the first summons, the Lysles placed duty to their king
as the highest of their earthly devoirs, and it was their proud boast
that no important expedition had crossed the Channel without the head of
the Manor of Warblington in its ranks.
Like many an English knight of that period, Sir Oliver Lysle had
interests in France. Through his mother he inherited the seigneurie of
Taillemartel in Normandy.
France was in a deplorable condition. The country was torn by a fierce
strife betwixt the Orleanists—or Armagnacs, as they were oft-times
termed—and the Burgundians. Every baron and knight did as he might,
trade was paralyzed, the poor were oppressed, and from | 1,285.09856 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Tony Browne and PG
Distributed Proofreaders
AMARILLY OF CLOTHES-LINE ALLEY
BY BELLE K. MANIATES
AUTHOR OF DAVID DUNNE.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. HENRY
1915
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
He was gazing into her intent eyes with a look of adoration
"You may all," she directed, "look at Amarilly's work"
To-night he found himself less able than usual to cope with her caprices
"Be nice to Mr. St. John!" whispered the little peacemaker
[Illustration: He was gazing into her intent eyes with a look of
adoration]
AMARILLY OF CLOTHES-LINE ALLEY
CHAPTER I
The tiny, trivial touch of Destiny that caused the turn in Amarilly's
fate-tide came one morning when, in her capacity as assistant to the
scrub ladies at the Barlow Stock Theatre, she viewed for the first time
the dress rehearsal of _A Terrible Trial_. Heretofore the patient little
plodder had found in her occupation only the sordid satisfaction of
drawing her wages, but now the resplendent costumes, the tragedy in the
gestures of the villain, the languid grace of Lord Algernon, and the
haughty treble of the leading lady struck the spark that fired ambition
in her sluggish breast.
"Oh!" she gasped in wistful-voiced soliloquy, as she leaned against her
mop-stick and gazed aspiringly at the stage, "I wonder if I couldn't
rise!"
"Sure thing, you kin!" derisively assured Pete Noyes, vender of gum at
matinees. "I'll speak to de maniger. Mebby he'll let youse scrub de
galleries."
Amarilly, case-hardened against raillery by reason of the possession of
a multitude of young brothers, paid no heed to the bantering scoffer,
but resumed her work in dogged dejection.
"Say, Mr. Vedder, Amarilly's stage-struck!" called Pete to the ticket-
seller, who chanced to be passing.
The gray eyes of the young man thus addressed softened as he looked at
the small, eager face of the youngest scrubber.
"Stop at the office on your way out, Amarilly," he said kindly, "and
I'll give you a pass to the matinee | 1,285.199394 |
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Produced by Douglas B. Killings
HESIOD, THE HOMERIC HYMNS, AND HOMERICA
This file contains translations of the following works:
Hesiod: "Works and Days", "The Theogony", fragments of "The Catalogues
of Women and the Eoiae", "The Shield of Heracles" (attributed to
Hesiod), and fragments of various works attributed to Hesiod.
Homer: "The Homeric Hymns", "The Epigrams of Homer" (both attributed to
Homer).
Various: Fragments of the Epic Cycle (parts of which are sometimes
attributed to Homer), fragments of other epic poems attributed to Homer,
"The Battle of Frogs and Mice", and "The Contest of Homer and Hesiod".
This file contains only that portion of the book in English; Greek texts
are excluded. Where Greek characters appear in the original English
text, transcription in CAPITALS is substituted.
PREPARER'S NOTE: In order to make this file more accessible to the
average computer user, the preparer has found it necessary to re-arrange
some of the material. The preparer takes full responsibility for his
choice of arrangement.
A few endnotes have been added by the preparer, and some additions have
been supplied to the original endnotes of Mr. Evelyn-White's. Where this
occurs I have noted the addition with my initials "DBK". Some endnotes,
particularly those concerning textual variations in the ancient Greek
text, are here omitted.
PREFACE
This volume contains practically all that remains of the post-Homeric
and pre-academic epic poetry.
I have for the most part formed my own text. In the case of Hesiod I
have been able to use independent collations of several MSS. by Dr.
W.H.D. Rouse; otherwise I have depended on the apparatus criticus of
the several editions, especially that of Rzach (1902). The arrangement
adopted in this edition, by which the complete and fragmentary poems are
restored to the order in which they would probably have appeared had
the Hesiodic corpus survived intact, is unusual, but should not need
apology; the true place for the "Catalogues" (for example), fragmentary
as they are, is certainly after the "Theogony".
In preparing the text of the "Homeric Hymns" my chief debt--and it is a
heavy one--is to the edition of Allen and Sikes (1904) and to the series
of articles in the "Journal of Hellenic Studies" (vols. xv.sqq.) by T.W.
Allen. To the same scholar and to the Delegates of the Clarendon Press I
am greatly indebted for permission to use the restorations of the "Hymn
to Demeter", lines 387-401 and 462-470, printed in the Oxford Text of
1912.
Of the fragments of the Epic Cycle I have given only such as seemed to
possess distinct importance or interest, and in doing so have relied
mostly upon Kinkel's collection and on the fifth volume of the Oxford
Homer (1912).
The texts of the "Batrachomyomachia" and of the "Contest of Homer and
Hesiod" are those of Baumeister and Flach respectively: where I have
diverged from these, the fact has been noted.
Hugh G. Evelyn-White, Rampton, NR. Cambridge. Sept. 9th, 1914.
INTRODUCTION
General
The early Greek epic--that is, poetry as a natural and popular, and not
(as it became later) an artificial and academic literary form--passed
through the usual three phases, of development, of maturity, and of
decline.
No fragments which can be identified as belonging to the first period
survive to give us even a general idea of the history of the earliest
epic, and we are therefore thrown back upon the evidence of analogy
from other forms of literature and of inference from the two great
epics which have come down to us. So reconstructed, the earliest period
appears to us as a time of slow development in which the characteristic
epic metre, diction, and structure grew up slowly from crude elements
and were improved until the verge of maturity was reached.
The second period, which produced the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey", needs
no description here: but it is very important to observe the effect
of these poems on the course of post-Homeric epic. As the supreme
perfection and universality of the "Iliad" and the "Odyssey" cast into
oblivion whatever pre-Homeric poets had essayed, so these same qualities
exercised a paralysing influence over the successors of Homer. If they
continued to sing like their great predecessor of romantic themes, they
were drawn as by a kind of magnetic attraction into the Homeric style
and manner of treatment, and became mere echoes of the Homeric voice: in
a word, Homer had so completely exhausted the epic genre, that after him
further efforts were doomed to be merely conventional. Only the rare
and exceptional genius of Vergil and Milton could use the Homeric medium
without loss of individuality: and this quality none of the later epic
poets seem to have possessed. Freedom from the domination of the great
tradition could only be found by seeking new subjects, and such freedom
was really only illusionary, since romantic subjects alone are suitable
for epic treatment.
In its third period, therefore, epic poetry shows two divergent
tendencies. In Ionia and the islands the epic poets followed the Homeric
tradition, singing of romantic subjects in the now stereotyped heroic
style, and showing originality only in their choice of legends hitherto
neglected or summarily and imperfectly treated. In continental Greece
[1101], on the other hand, but especially in Boeotia, a new form of
epic sprang up, which for the romance and PATHOS of the Ionian School
substituted the practical and matter-of-fact. It dealt in moral and
practical maxims, in information on technical subjects which are
of service in daily life--agriculture, astronomy, augury, and the
calendar--in matters of religion and in tracing the genealogies of men.
Its attitude is summed up in the words of the Muses to the writer of the
"Theogony": `We can tell many a feigned tale to look like truth, but we
can, when we will, utter the truth' ("Theogony" 26-27). Such a poetry
could not be permanently successful, because the subjects of which it
treats--if susceptible of poetic treatment at all--were certainly not
suited for epic treatment, where unity of action which will sustain
interest, and to which each part should contribute, is absolutely
necessary. While, therefore, an epic like the "Odyssey" is an organism
and dramatic in structure, a work such as the "Theogony" is a merely
artificial collocation of facts, and, at best, a pageant. It is not
surprising, therefore, to find that from the first the Boeotian school
is forced to season its matter with romantic episodes, and that later
it tends more and more to revert (as in the "Shield of Heracles") | 1,285.20165 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
[Transcriber’s note: The etext attempts to replicate the printed book as
closely as possible. Many obvious errors in spelling and punctuation
have been corrected. Certain consistently used archaic spellings have
been retained (i.e. secresy, boquet, unforseen, caligraphy, caligrapher,
conjuror, etc.) A list of corrections made follows the etext.
Footnotes have been moved to the end of the text body.]
MEMOIRS
OF
ROBERT-HOUDIN
AMBASSADOR, AUTHOR, AND CONJURER.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.
EDITED BY
DR. R. SHELTON MACKENZIE.
PHILADELPHIA:
GEO. G. EVANS, PUBLISHER,
NO. 439 CHESTNUT STREET.
1859.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
G. G. EVANS,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of
Pennsylvania.
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY RINWALT & CO.,
34 SOUTH THIRD STREET.
EDITOR’S PREFACE.
A man may not only “take his own life,” by writing his autobiography,
without committing _felo de se_, but may carry himself into future time
by producing a book which the world will not willingly let die. This is
what M. Robert-Houdin, the greatest artist in what is called Conjuring,
has lately done in the remarkable book _Confidences d’un Prestigiteur_,
a faithful translation of which is here presented to the American
reading public. The work has had the greatest success in Europe, from
its lively style as well as the various information it contains,
historical and philosophical, on the practice and principles of
sleight-of-hand, and the other details, mental as well as mechanical,
which unite to make perfect the exhibition of White Magic, the antipodes
of what our forefathers knew, persecuted, and punished as the Black Art.
Houdin has been considered of such importance and interest in France,
that in Didot’s _Nouvelle Biographie Générale_, now in course of
publication at Paris, a whole page is given to him. From this memoir,
and from his own account in the pages which follow, we learn that he
was born at Blois, on the 6th December, 1805,--that his father, a
watchmaker in that city, gave him a good education at the College of
Orleans,--that his inclination for _escamotage_ (or juggling) was so
decided as to make him averse to pursue his father’s trade,--that he
early exhibited great taste for mechanical inventions, which he so
successfully cultivated that, at the Paris Exhibition of 1844, he was
awarded a medal for the ingenious construction of several
automata,--that, having studied the displays of the great masters on the
art of juggling, he opened a theatre of his own, in the Palais Royal in
Paris, to which his celebrated _soirées fantastiques_ attracted
crowds,--that, in 1848, when the Revolution had ruined all theatrical
speculations in Paris, he visited London, where his performances at St.
James’s Theatre were universally attractive and lucrative,--that he made
a tour through Great Britain with equal success, returning to Paris when
France had settled down quietly under the rule of a President,--that he
subsequently visited many other parts of Europe, every where received
with distinction and applause,--that at the Great Parisian Exhibition of
1855, he was awarded the gold medal for his scientific application of
electricity to clocks,--that, shortly after, he closed ten years of
active public life by relinquishing his theatre to Mr. Hamilton, his
brother-in-law, retiring with a well-earned competency to Blois,--and
that, in 1857, at the special request of the French Government, which
desired to lessen the influence of the Marabouts, whose conjuring
tricks, accepted as actual magic by the Arabs, gave them too much
influence, he went to Algeria, as a sort of Ambassador, to play off his
tricks against theirs, and, by greater marvels than they could shew,
destroy the _prestige_ which they had acquired. He so completely
succeeded that the Arabs lost all faith in the miracles of the
Marabouts, and thus was destroyed an influence very dangerous to the
French Government.
In his retirement, to which he has returned, Houdin wrote his
_Confidences_, and is now devoting himself to scientific researches
connected with electricity. Before the appearance of his own work, M.
Hatin had published, in 1857, _Robert-Houdin, sa vie, ses œuvres, son
théâtre_.
The French and English critics have generally and warmly eulogized M.
Houdin’s _Confidences_, and I am persuaded that, on this side of the
Atlantic, it will be considered an instructive as well as an amusing
volume.
One error which M. Houdin makes must not be passed over. His account of
M. de Kempelen’s celebrated automaton chess-player (afterwards
Maëlzel’s) is entirely wrong. This remarkable piece of mechanism was
constructed in 1769, and not in 1796; it was the Empress Maria-Theresa
of Austria who played with it, and not Catherine II. of Russia; it was
in 1783 that it first visited Paris, where it played at the Café de la
Régence; it was not taken to London until 1784; and again in 1819; it
was brought to America in 1825, by M. Maëlzel, and visited our principal
cities, its chief resting-place being Philadelphia; M. Maëlzel’s death
was in 1838, on the voyage from Cuba to the United States, and not, as
M. Houdin says, on his return to France; and the automaton, so far from
being taken back to France, was sold by auction here, finally purchased
by the late Dr. J. K. Mitchell, of Philadelphia, reconstructed by him,
and finally deposited in the Chinese Museum, (formerly Peale’s,) where
it was consumed in the great fire which destroyed the National Theatre,
(now the site of the Continental Hotel, corner of Ninth and Chestnut
streets,) and extending to the Chinese Museum, burnt it down on July
5th, 1854. An interesting account of the Automaton Chess-Player, written
by Professor George Allen, of this city, will be found in “The Book of
the First American Chess Congress,” recently published in New York.
M. Houdin is engaged now in writing a volume explaining the manner in
which sleight-of-hand and other conjuring tricks and deceptions are
performed.
I have added an Index to this volume, which I trust will be accepted as
useful.
R. SHELTON MACKENZIE.
PHILADELPHIA, Sept. 26, 1859.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
.....PAGE
My Birth and Parentage--My Home--The Lessons of Colonel
Bernard--Paternal Ambition--My first Mechanical Attempts--Had I
but a Rat!--A Prisoner’s Industry--The Abbé Larivière--My Word of
Honor--Farewell to my darling Tools......17
CHAPTER II.
A Country Idler--Dr. Carlosbach, Conjurer and Professor of
Mystification--The Sand-bag and the Stirrup Trick--I turn Lawyer’s
Clerk, and the Minutes appear to me very long--A small Automaton--A
respectful Protest--I mount a Step in the Office--A Machine of Porter’s
Power--The Acrobatic Canaries--Monsieur Roger’s Remonstrances--My Father
decides that I shall follow my bent......26
CHAPTER III.
My Cousin Robert--The most important Event in my Life--How a Man becomes
a Sorcerer--My first Sleight-of-Hand Feat--An utter Failure--Practising
the Eye and the Hand--Curious Experiment in Prestidigitation--Monsieur
Noriet--An Action more ingenious than delicate--I am Poisoned--Influence
of Delirium......42
CHAPTER IV.
I return to Life--A strange Doctor--Torrini and Antonio: a Conjurer and
a Fanatic for Music--A Murderer’s Confession--A perambulating House--The
Fair at Angers--A portable Theatre--I witness for the first Time a
Conjuring Performance--The blind Man’s Game at Piquet--A Dangerous
Rival--Signor Castelli eats a Man alive......55
CHAPTER V.
Antonio’s Confessions--How to gain Public Applause--The Count de
----, Mountebank--I repair an Automaton--A Mechanician’s Shop on
Wheels--Nomadic Life--Happy Existence--Torrini’s Lessons--His Opinions
about Sleight-of-Hand--A Fashionable Greek, Victim of his own
Swindling--The Conjurer Comus--A Duel at Piquet--Torrini proclaimed
Conqueror--Revelations--New Catastrophe--Poor Torrini!.....73
CHAPTER VI.
Torrini relates his Life--Treachery of Chevalier Pinetti--A Conjurer
through Malice--A Race between two Magicians--Death of Pinetti--Exhibits
before Pius VII.--The Cardinal’s Chronometer--Twelve Hundred
Francs spent on a Trick--Antonio and Antonia--The most bitter of
Mystifications--Constantinople......90
CHAPTER VII.
Continuation of Torrini’s History--The Grand Turk orders a
Performance--A marvellous Trick--A Page cut in two--Pitying Protest
of the Harem--Agreeable Surprise--Return to France--Torrini’s Son
Killed--Madness--Decay--My first Performance--An annoying Accident--I
return Home......121
CHAPTER VIII.
The Prodigal Son--Mademoiselle Houdin--I go to Paris--My
Marriage--Comte--Studies of the Public--A skillful Manager--Rose-
Tickets--A Musky Style--The King of Hearts--Ventriloquism--The
Mystifiers Mystified--Father Roujol--Jules de Rovère--Origin of the word
_prestidigitateur_......136
CHAPTER IX.
Celebrated Automata--A Brazen Fly--The Artificial Man--Albertus Magnus
and St. Thomas d’Aquinas--Vaucanson--His Duck--His Flute-Player--Curious
Details--The Automaton Chess-Player--Interesting Episode--Catherine II.
and M. de Kempelen--I repair the Componium--Unexpected Success......155
CHAPTER X.
An Inventor’s Calculations--One Hundred Thousand Francs a Year by
an Inkstand: Deception--My new Automata--The First Magician in
France: Decadence--I meet Antonio--Bosco--The Trick with the Cups--An
Execution--Resurrection of the Criminals--Mistake in a Head--The Canary
rewarded......176
CHAPTER XI.
A Reverse of Fortune--Cookery and Clockwork--The Artist’s
Home--Invention of an Automaton--Voluntary Exile--A modest Villa--The
Inconveniences of a Speciality--Two August Visitors--The Throat of a
mechanical Nightingale--The Tiou and the Rrrrrrrrouit--Seven Thousand
Francs earned by making Filings......192
CHAPTER XII.
The Inventive Genius of a Sugar-baker--Philippe the Magician--His Comic
Adventures--Description of his Performance--Exposition of 1844--The King
and Royal Family visit my Automata......221
CHAPTER XIII.
My proposed Reforms--I build a Theatre in the Palais
Royal--Formalities--General Rehearsal--Singular Effect of my
Performance--The Largest and Smallest Theatre in Paris--Tribulation--My
first Performance--Panic--Discouragement--A Fallible
Prophet--Recovery--Success......234
CHAPTER XIV.
New Studies--A Comic Journal--Invention of Second Sight--Curious
Experiments--An enthusiastic Spectator--Danger of being a Sorcerer--A
Philter or your Life--Way to get rid of Bores--An Electric Touch--I
perform at the Vaudeville--Struggles with the Incredulous--Interesting
Details......253
CHAPTER XV.
Seductions of a Theatrical Agent--How to gain One Hundred Thousand
Francs--I start for Brussels--A lucky Two-Sou Piece--Miseries of
professional Travelling--The Park Theatre--Tyranny of a Porter--Full
House--Small Receipts--Deceptions--Return to Paris......273
CHAPTER XVI.
Reopening of my Fantastic Soirées--Minor Miseries of Good
Luck--Inconvenience of a small Theatre--My Room taken by Storm--A
gratuitous Performance--A conscientious Audience--Pleasant Story about
a Black Silk Cap--I perform at the Château of St. Cloud--Cagliostro’s
Casket--Holidays......294
CHAPTER XVII.
New Experiments--Aërial Suspension, &c.--A Performance at the Odéon--A
Friend in Need--1848--The Theatre deserted--I leave Paris for
London--Manager Mitchell--Publicity in England--The Great Wizard--A
Butter-mould used as a Puff--Singular Bills--A Prize for the best
Pun......312
CHAPTER XVIII.
The St. James’s Theatre--Invasion of England by French Performers--A
Fête patronised by the Queen--The Diplomatist and the Sleight-of-Hand
Man--Three Thousand Pounds taken at one Haul--I perform at
Manchester--The Spectators in the Pillory--What capital Curaçoa!--A
Torrent of Wine--A Catastrophe--Performance at Buckingham Palace--A
Wizard’s Repast......330
CHAPTER XIX.
An Optimist Manager--Three Spectators in a Room--A Magical
Collation--The Colchester Public and the Nuts--I return to France--I
give up my Theatre--A Farewell Tour--I retire to St. Gervais--An
Academician’s Predictions......359
CHAPTER XX.
Travels in Algeria--Convocation of the Chieftains--Performances before
the Arabs--A Kabyle rendered powerless--Invulnerability--A Moor
disappears--Panic and Flight of the Audience--Reconciliation--The Sect
of Aïssaoua--Their pretended Miracles......371
CHAPTER XXI.
Excursion in the Interior of Africa--The Abode of a Bash-Aga--A comical
Repast--A Soirée of Arab Dignitaries--A Marabout mystified--Tent-life in
Algeria--I return to France--A terrible Storm--Conclusion......398
CHAPTER XXII.
A COURSE OF MIRACLES......422
INDEX......437
THE AUTHOR’S OVERTURE.
SAINT GERVAIS, NEAR BLOIS,
September, 1858.
Eight o’clock has just struck: my wife and children are by my side. I
have spent one of those pleasant days which tranquillity, work, and
study can alone secure.--With no regret for the past, with no fear for
the future, I am--I am not afraid to say it--as happy as man can be.
And yet, at each vibration of this mysterious hour, my pulse starts, my
temples throb, and I can scarce breathe, so much do I feel the want of
air and motion. I can reply to no questions, so thoroughly am I lost in
a strange and delirious reverie.
Shall I confess to you, reader? And why not? for this electrical effect
is not of a nature to be easily understood by you.
The reason for my emotion being extreme at this moment is, that, during
my professional career, eight o’clock was the moment when I must appear
before the public. Then, with my eye eagerly fixed on the hole in the
curtain, I surveyed with intense pleasure the crowd that flocked in to
see me. Then, as now, my heart beat, for I was proud and happy of such
success.
At times, too, a doubt, a feeling of uneasiness, would be mingled with
my pleasure. “Heavens!” I would say to myself, in terror, “am I so sure
of myself as to deserve such anxiety to see me?”
But, soon reassured by the past, I waited with greater calmness the
signal for the curtain to draw up. I then walked on the stage: I was
near the foot-lights, before my judges--but no, I err--before my kind
spectators, whose applause I was in hopes to gain.
Do you now understand, reader, all the reminiscences this hour evokes in
me, and the solemn feeling that continually occurs to me when the clock
strikes?
These emotions and souvenirs are not at all painful to me: on the
contrary, I summon them up with pleasure. At times I even mentally
transport myself to my stage, in order to prolong them. There, as
before, I ring the bell, the curtain rises, I see my audience again,
and, under the charm of this sweet illusion, I delight in telling them
the most interesting episodes of my professional life. I tell them how a
man learns his real vocation, how the struggle with difficulties of
every nature begins, how, in fact----
But why should I not convert this fiction into a reality? Could I not,
each evening when the clock strikes eight, continue my performances
under another form? My public shall be the reader, and my stage a book.
This idea pleases me: I accept it with joy, and immediately give way to
the sweet illusion. Already I fancy myself in the presence of spectators
whose kindness encourages me. I imagine they are waiting for me--they
are listening eagerly.
Without further hesitation I begin.
ROBERT-HOUDIN.
MEMOIRS
OF
ROBERT-HOUDIN.
CHAPTER I.
My Birth and Parentage--My Home--The Lessons of Colonel
Bernard--Paternal Ambition--My first Mechanical Attempts--Had I but
a Rat!--A Prisoner’s Industry--The Abbé Larivière--My Word of
Honor--Farewell to my darling Tools.
In conformity with the traditional custom which expects every man who
writes his memoirs--or not to use too strong language, his
confessions--to display his patent of gentility, I commence by stating
to my readers, with a certain degree of pride, that I was born at Blois,
the birthplace of Louis XII., surnamed the “Father of his People,” and
of Denis Papin, the illustrious inventor of the steam-engine.
So much for my native town. As for my family, it would only appear
natural, regard being had to the art to which I devoted my life, that I
should display in my family tree the name of Robert _le Diable_, or of
some mediæval sorcerer; but, being the very slave of truth, I will
content myself with stating that my father was a watchmaker.
Though he did not rise to the elevation of the Berthouds and the
Breguets, my father was reputed to be very skilful in his profession. In
fact, I am only displaying our hereditary modesty when I say that my
father’s talents were confined to a single art; for, in truth, nature
had adapted him for various branches of mechanics, and the activity of
his mind led him to try them all with equal ardor. An excellent
engraver, a jeweller of the greatest taste, he at the same time could
carve the arm or leg for some fractured statuette, restore the enamel on
any time-worn porcelain, or even repair musical snuff-boxes, which were
very fashionable in those days. The skill he evinced in these varied
arts at length procured him a most numerous body of customers; but,
unfortunately, he was wont to make any repairs not strictly connected
with his own business for the mere pleasure.
In this house, which I may almost term artistic, and in the midst of
tools and implements in which I was destined to take so lively an
interest, I was born and educated. I possess an excellent memory, still,
though my reminiscences date back so far, I cannot remember the day of
my birth. I have learned since, however, that it was the 6th of
December, 1805. I am inclined to believe that I came into the world with
a file or a hammer in my hand, for, from my earliest youth, those
implements were my toys and delight: I learned how to use them as other
children learn to walk and talk. I need not say that my excellent mother
had frequently to wipe away the young mechanic’s tears, when the hammer,
badly directed, struck my fingers. As for my father, he laughed at these
slight accidents, and said, jokingly, that it was a capital way of
driving my profession into me, and that, as I was a wonderful lad, I
could not but become an extraordinary workman. I do not pretend that I
ever realized the paternal predictions, but it is certain that I have
ever felt an irresistible inclination for mechanism.
How often, in my infantile dreams, did a benevolent fairy open before me
the door of a mysterious El Dorado, where tools of every description
were piled up. The delight which these dreams produced on me, were the
same as any other child feels when his fancy summons up before him a
fantastic country where the houses are made of chocolate, the stones of
sugar candy, and the men of gingerbread. It is difficult to understand
this fever for tools; the mechanic, the artist adores them, and would
ruin himself to obtain them. Tools, in fact, are to him what a MS. is to
the archæologist, a coin to the antiquary, or a pack of cards to a
gambler: in a word they are the implements by which a ruling passion is
fed.
By the time I was eight years of age I had furnished proofs of my
ability, partly through the kindness of an excellent neighbor, and
partly through a dangerous illness, when my forced idleness gave me
leisure to exercise my natural dexterity. This neighbor, M. Bernard, was
a colonel on half-pay. Having been a prisoner for many years, he had
learned how to make an infinity of toys, which he taught me as an
amusement, and I profited so well by his lessons, that in a very short
time I could equal my master. I fancy I can still see and hear this old
soldier, when, passing his hand over his heavy grey moustache, he
exclaimed with energetic satisfaction, “Why, the young scamp can do
anything he likes.” This compliment flattered my childish vanity, and I
redoubled my efforts to deserve it.
With my illness my pleasures ended; I was sent to school, and from that
time I had few opportunities for indulging in my favorite tasks. Still,
on my holidays, I used to return to my father’s workshop with delight,
and, yet, I must have been a great torment to that excellent parent.
Owing to my want of skill, I now and then broke some tool, and although
I might try to conceal it, the blame was generally laid on me, and, as a
punishment, I was forbidden to enter the workshop. But it was of no use
attempting to keep me from my hobby; the prohibition had to be
continually renewed. Hence it was thought advisable to attack the evil
at the root, and I must be sent away from home.
Although my father liked his trade, experience had taught him that a
watchmaker rarely makes a fortune in a country town; in his paternal
ambition he, therefore, dreamed a more brilliant destiny for me, and he
formed the determination of giving me a liberal education, for which I
shall always feel grateful to him. He sent me to college at Orleans. I
was then eleven years of age.
Let who will sing the praises of school life; for my own part I can
safely state, that, though I was not averse from study, the happiest day
I spent in our monastic seminary was that on which I left it for good.
However, once entered, I accepted my lot with resignation, and became in
a short time a perfect schoolboy. In my play hours my time was well
employed, for I spent the greater portion of it in making pieces of
mechanism. Thus I made snares, gins, and mouse-traps, their excellent
arrangement, and perhaps the dainty bait as well, producing me a great
number of prisoners.
I had built for them a charming open cage, in which I had fixed up a
miniature gymnastic machinery. My prisoners, while taking their ease,
set in motion a variety of machines, which caused a most agreeable
surprise. One of my inventions more especially attracted the admiration
of my comrades; it was a method of raising water by means of a pump made
almost entirely of quills. A mouse, harnessed like a horse, was intended
to set this Lilliputian machine in motion by the muscular strength of
its legs; but, unfortunately, my docile animal, though perfectly
willing, could not overcome the resistance of the cog-wheels, and I was
forced, to my great regret, to lend it a hand.
“Ah! if I only had a rat!” I said to myself, in my disappointment, “how
famously it would work!” A rat! But how to get one? That appeared to me
an insurmountable difficulty, but, after all, it was not so. One day,
having been caught in the act of breaking bounds by a monitor, I was
awarded twelve hours’ imprisonment. This punishment, which I suffered
for the first time, produced a violent effect on me: but in the midst of
the sorrowful reflections inspired by the solitude, an idea dissipated
my melancholy thoughts by offering a famous suggestion.
I knew that at nightfall the rats used to come from an adjacent church
into the cell where I was confined, to regale on the bread-crumbs left
by prisoners. It was a capital opportunity to obtain one of the animals
I required; and as I would not let it slip, I straight-way set about
inventing a rat-trap. My only materials were a pitcher holding water,
and, consequently, my ideas were confined exclusively to this. I,
therefore, made the following arrangement.
I began by emptying my pitcher; then, after putting in a piece of bread,
I laid it down so that the orifice was on a level with the ground. My
object was to attract the victim by this dainty into the trap. A brick
which I dug up would serve to close the opening, but as it was
impossible for me in the darkness to notice the exact moment for cutting
off the prisoner’s retreat, I laid near the bread a piece of paper which
would rustle as the rat passed over it.
As soon as night set in, I crouched close to my pitcher, and, holding
the brick in my hand, I awaited with feverish anxiety the arrival of my
guests. The pleasure I anticipated from the capture must have been
excessive to overcome my timidity when I heard the first leaps of my
savage visitors. I confess that the antics they performed round my legs
occasioned me great nervousness, for I knew not how far the voracity of
these intrepid rodents might extend; still, I kept my ground, not making
the slightest movement, through fear of compromising the success of my
scheme, and was prepared to offer the assailants a vigorous resistance
in case of an attack.
More than an hour passed in vain expectation, and I was beginning to
despair of the success of my trap, when I fancied I heard the slight
sound I hoped for as a signal. I laid the brick on the mouth of the
pitcher directly, and raised it up; the shrill cries inside convinced me
of my success, and I began a pæan of triumph, both to celebrate my
victory and to frighten away my prisoner’s comrades. The porter, when he
came to release me, helped me to master my rat by fastening a piece of
twine to one of his hind legs, and burdened with my precious booty, I
proceeded to the dormitory, where masters and pupils had been asleep for
a long time. I was glad enough to sleep too, but a difficulty presented
itself--how should I bestow my prisoner?
At length a bright idea occurred to me, fully worthy of a schoolboy: it
was to thrust the rat headforemost into one of my shoes. After fastening
the twine to the leg of my bed, I pushed the shoe into one of my
stockings, and placed the whole in the leg of my trousers. This being
accomplished, I believed I could go to bed without the slightest cause
for apprehension. The next morning, at five exactly, the inspector took
a turn through the dormitory to arouse the sleepers.
“Dress yourself directly,” he said, in that amiable voice peculiar to
gentlemen who have risen too soon.
I proceeded to obey but I was fated to dire disgrace: the rat I had
packed away so carefully, not finding its quarters airy enough, had
thought proper to gnaw through my shoe, my stocking, and my trouser, and
was taking the air through this improvised window. Fortunately, it had
not cut through the retaining string, so the rest was a trifle.
But the inspector did not regard matters in the same light as I did. The
capture of a rat and the injury to my clothes were considered further
aggravations of my previous offence, and he sent in a lengthy report to
the head-master. I was obliged to appear before the latter dressed in
the clothes that bore the proof of my offence, and, by an unlucky
coincidence, shoe, stocking and trouser were all injured on the same
leg. The Abbé Larivière (our head-master) managed the college with truly
paternal care; ever just, and prone by nature to forgiveness, he was
adored by his pupils, and to be out of favor with him was regarded as
the severest punishment.
“Well, Robert,” he said to me, looking kindly over the spectacles which
bridged the end of his nose, “I understand you have been guilty of grave
faults. Come, tell me the whole truth.”
I possessed at that time a quality which, I trust, I have not lost
since, and that is extreme frankness. I gave the Abbé a full account of
my misdeeds, and my sincerity gained me pardon. The head-master, after a
vain attempt to repress it, burst into a loud fit of laughter, on
hearing the catastrophe of my adventures. Still, he ended his gentle
lecture in the following words:
“I will not scold you any more, Robert. I believe in your repentance:
twelve hours’ confinement are sufficient punishment, and I grant you
your release. I will do more: though you are very young, I will treat
you as a man--of honor, though--you understand me? You will pledge me
your word not only that you will not commit your old faults again, but,
as your passion for mechanics makes you often neglect your lessons, you
must promise to give up your tools, and devote yourself henceforth to
study.”
“Oh yes, sir, I give you my word,” I exclaimed, moved to tears by such
unexpected indulgence; “and I can assure you, you will never repent
having put faith in my promise.”
I made up my mind to keep my pledge, although I was fully aware of all
the difficulties, which were so many stumbling-blocks in that path of
virtue I wished to follow. Much trouble, I had too, at first, in
withstanding the jests and sarcasms of the idler of my comrades, who, in
order to hide their own bad conduct, strove to make all weak characters
their accomplices. Still, I broke with them all. Sharpest pang of all,
though, was the sacrifice I made in burning my vessels--that is, in
putting aside my cages and their contents; I even forgot my tools, and
thus, free from all external distraction, I devoted myself entirely to
my Greek and Latin studies.
The praise I received from the Abbé Larivière, who prided himself in
having noticed in me the stuff for an excellent scholar, rewarded me for
this sublime effort, and I may say I became, thenceforth, one of the
most studious and attentive lads in the college. At times, I certainly
regretted my tools and my darling machinery, but recollecting my promise
to the head-master, I held firm against all temptation. All I allowed
myself was to set down by stealth on paper a few ideas that occurred to
me, though I did not know whether I should ever have a chance to put
them in practice.
At length the moment arrived for my leaving college; my studies were
completed--I was eighteen years of age.
CHAPTER II.
A Country Idler--Dr. Carlosbach, Conjurer and Professor of
Mystification--The Sand-bag and the Stirrup Trick--I turn Lawyer’s
| 1,285.228144 |
2023-11-16 18:38:29.2786770 | 2,898 | 12 |
Produced by Brian Coe, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Note:
Underscores “_” before and after a word or phrase indicate
_italics_ in the original text.
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.
On Pg 173, the reference to “plate No. 81” was corrected to
“plate No. 80”.
On Pg 181, the references to “plates 85 and 86” was corrected to
“plates 83 and 84”.
WAR DEPARTMENT :: OFFICE OF THE SURGEON GENERAL
BULLETIN No. 9
OCTOBER, 1915
GUNSHOT ROENTGENOGRAMS
A COLLECTION OF ROENTGENOGRAMS TAKEN IN
CONSTANTINOPLE DURING THE TURKO-BALKAN
WAR, 1912-1913, ILLUSTRATING
SOME GUNSHOT WOUNDS IN THE
TURKISH ARMY
BY
CLYDE S. FORD
Major, Medical Corps
PUBLISHED BY AUTHORITY OF THE ACT OF
CONGRESS APPROVED MARCH 3, 1915, AND
WITH THE APPROVAL OF THE SECRETARY OF
WAR, FOR THE INFORMATION OF
MEDICAL OFFICERS
[Illustration]
WASHINGTON
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE
1916
TABLE OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
RIFLE WOUNDS.
HEAD.
Page.
PLATE 1. Gunshot fracture, skull, lodgment of missile 12
2. Gunshot fracture, head, lodgment of missile 14
3. Gunshot fracture, lower jaw, ramus 16
4. Gunshot fracture, lower jaw, ramus 18
5. Gunshot fracture, lower jaw, body 20
SPINAL REGION.
6. Gunshot wound, spinal region, lodgment of missile 22
7. Gunshot wound, spinal region, lodgment of missile 24
UPPER EXTREMITY.
8. Gunshot fracture, humerus 26
9. Gunshot fracture, humerus, lodgment of missile 28
10. Gunshot fracture, humerus, lodgment of missile 30
11. Gunshot fracture, humerus 32
12. Gunshot fracture, humerus 34
13. Gunshot fracture, humerus 36
14. Gunshot fracture, humerus, lodgment of missile 38
15. Gunshot fracture, humerus, external condyle 40
16. Gunshot fracture (_a_) humerus, (_b_) ulna 42
17. Gunshot fracture, elbow 44
18. Gunshot fracture, elbow 46
19. Gunshot fracture, elbow 48
20. Gunshot fracture, elbow 50
21. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 52
22. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 54
23. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 56
24. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 58
25. Gunshot fracture, radius 60
26. Gunshot fracture, radius 62
27. Gunshot fracture, radius 64
28. Gunshot fracture, radius 66
29. Gunshot fracture, radius, lower end 68
30. Gunshot fracture, radius, lower end 70
31. Gunshot fracture, radius, lower end 72
32. Gunshot fracture, ulna 74
33. Gunshot fracture, ulna 76
34. Gunshot fracture, ulna 78
35. Gunshot fracture, ulna 80
36. Gunshot fracture, ulna 82
37. Gunshot fracture, ulna 84
38. Gunshot fracture, ulna 86
39. Gunshot fracture, ulna 88
40. Gunshot fracture, ulna 90
41. Gunshot fracture, wrist 92
42. Gunshot fracture, wrist 94
43. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 96
44. Gunshot fracture, phalanx 98
CHEST.
45. Gunshot wound, chest 100
PELVIS.
46. Gunshot wound, pelvis 102
LOWER EXTREMITY.
47. Gunshot wound, gluteal region 104
48. Gunshot wound, thigh 106
49. Gunshot wound, thigh 108
50. Gunshot wound, thigh 110
51. Gunshot wound, thigh 112
52. Gunshot fracture, femur 114
53. Gunshot fracture, femur 116
54. Gunshot fracture, femur 118
55. Gunshot fracture, femur 120
56. Gunshot fracture, femur 122
57. Gunshot fracture, femur 124
58. Gunshot fracture, femur 126
59. Gunshot wound, knee 128
60. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 130
61. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 132
62. Gunshot fracture, tibia 134
63. Gunshot fracture, tibia 136
64. Gunshot fracture, tibia 138
65. Gunshot fracture, tibia 140
66. Gunshot fracture, tibia 142
67. Gunshot fracture, tibia 144
68. Gunshot fracture, tibia 146
69. Gunshot fracture, tibia 148
70. Gunshot fracture, tibia 150
71. Gunshot fracture, fibula 152
72. Gunshot fracture, ankle 154
73. Gunshot wound, heel 156
74. Gunshot wound, heel 158
SHRAPNEL WOUNDS.
HEAD.
75. Gunshot fracture, vertex 160
76. Gunshot fracture, vertex 162
77. Gunshot fracture, zygoma 164
78. Gunshot fracture, mastoid process 166
79. Gunshot fracture, maxilla 168
80. Gunshot fracture, supra-orbital 170
81. Gunshot fracture, supra-orbital 172
82. Gunshot wound, shoulder 174
83. Gunshot wound, shoulder 176
84. Gunshot wound, shoulder 178
85. Gunshot wound, shoulder 180
86. Gunshot fracture, clavicle 182
87. Gunshot fracture, humerus 184
88. Gunshot fracture, humerus 186
89. Gunshot fracture, humerus 188
90. Gunshot fracture, humerus 190
91. Gunshot fracture, humerus 192
92. Gunshot fracture, humerus 194
93. Gunshot fracture, humerus 196
94. Gunshot fracture, humerus 198
95. Gunshot fracture, humerus 200
96. Gunshot fracture, humerus and elbow 202
97. Gunshot fracture, elbow 204
98. Gunshot fracture, elbow 206
99. Gunshot fracture, elbow 208
100. Gunshot fracture, elbow 210
101. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 212
102. Gunshot fracture, radius 214
103. Gunshot fracture, radius 216
104. Gunshot fracture, ulna 218
105. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 220
106. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 222
107. Gunshot fracture, metacarpus 224
108. Gunshot wound, hand 226
109. Gunshot wound, multiple, hand and forearm 228
CHEST.
110. Gunshot wound, chest 230
111. Gunshot wound, chest 232
112. Gunshot wound, chest 234
113. Gunshot wound, chest 236
114. Gunshot wound, chest 238
PELVIS.
115. Gunshot fracture, ilium 240
LOWER EXTREMITY.
116. Gunshot wound, thigh 242
117. Gunshot wound, thigh 244
118. Gunshot wound, thigh 246
119. Gunshot wound, femur 248
120. Gunshot wound, femur 250
121. Gunshot wound, femur 252
122. Gunshot wound, femur 254
123. Gunshot wound, femur 256
124. Gunshot wound, femur 258
125. Gunshot wound, femur 260
126. Gunshot wound, femur 262
127. Gunshot wound, femur 264
128. Gunshot wound, knee 266
129. Gunshot wound, knee 268
130. Gunshot wound, knee 270
131. Gunshot wound, knee 272
132. Gunshot wound, knee 274
133. Gunshot wound, knee 276
134. Gunshot wound, knee 278
135. Gunshot wound, leg 280
136. Gunshot wound, leg 282
137. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 284
138. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 286
139. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 288
140. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 290
141. Gunshot fracture, tibia 292
142. Gunshot fracture, fibula 294
143. Gunshot fracture, fibula 296
144. Gunshot fracture, fibula 298
145. Gunshot fracture, fibula 300
146. Gunshot fracture, fibula 302
147. Gunshot fracture, fibula 304
148. Gunshot fracture, “Pott’s” 306
149. Gunshot wound, multiple, leg 308
150. Gunshot fracture, astragalus 310
151. Gunshot fracture, calcaneus 312
152. Gunshot wound, heel 314
153. Gunshot wound, heel 316
154. Gunshot wound, foot 318
155. Gunshot wound, foot 320
156. Gunshot wound, foot, multiple 322
OPERATIVE INTERFERENCE, GUNSHOT WOUNDS.
157. Gunshot fracture, humerus 324
158. Gunshot fracture, ulna 326
159. Gunshot fracture, radius and ulna 328
160. Gunshot fracture, tibia and fibula 330
161. Amputation, knee 332
162. Excision, head of humerus 334
INTRODUCTION
These roentgenograms are not presented as exhibiting a state of
perfection in the art or method by which they were produced, although
they show the results of some of the best and most modern apparatus of
Europe employed in the hands of very skillful operators. Some plates
are included which are indistinct and generally so unsatisfactory from
a technical viewpoint as to be of little interest, if all of them
were not intended to show the general character of the diagnostic
assistance that the roentgenologist rendered the military | 1,285.298717 |
2023-11-16 18:38:29.4781170 | 1,984 | 16 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Haragos Pál and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE BROCHURE SERIES
Spanish Wrought-Iron Screens
XII. Century Capitals from the
Benedictine Monastery, Monreale
MARCH, 1900
[Illustration: PLATE XIX SCREEN, ROYAL CHAPEL, GRANADA CATHEDRAL]
THE
BROCHURE SERIES
OF ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATION.
1900. MARCH No. 3.
SPANISH WROUGHT-IRON SCREENS.
From earliest times the numerous iron mines which exist in Spain,
especially in the Cantabrian provinces, have been worked, and their
presence has developed in that country excellent objects of art in
metal at all times; but owing to the perishable character of iron, the
slight intrinsic value of the material, and the little care taken of
such fabrics, examples of very early specimens, with the exception of
a few interesting ones which have reached us from the Spanish Arabs,
have disappeared. The most interesting examples of Moorish manufacture
which have survived are some iron keys of most delicate tracery. Their
perfect state of preservation shows that they were used only as symbols
of cities or fortresses, and, on given occasions, offered to kings or
great people, and even in the present day in Spain this ceremony is
kept up, and a key signifying the freedom of the palace, is offered
to the foreign princes who stay at the royal residence in Madrid.
In a similar manner, as far back as the middle ages, keys have been
presented to Spanish sovereigns on occasions of their visits to such
towns as Toledo and Seville; and a ceremony of swearing them to uphold
the accorded privilege is gone through with,--a reminiscence probably
of what occurred when these towns were conquered from the Moors. One of
these keys at Valencia, belonging to Count de Trignona, measures nine
and-a-half inches long, and was originally gilt. Its handle is closed
and covered with delicate work in relief, and the wards are ornamented
in the same manner with a combination of several words written in
Cufic letters of difficult interpretation; but around the handle we
can read distinctly in arabic the name of the artist: "It was made by
Ahmel Ahsan." This key appears to date from the thirteenth or early
fourteenth century, and two similar ones exist in the Town Hall of
Valencia.
Worthy objects of iron work must have been made by Christian artists of
this period in Spain, for, although no specimens have come down to us,
we have historical information which confirms such a conclusion. In the
ordinances of Barcelona we find it recorded that the iron-smiths formed
an extensive guild in the thirteenth century, and that in 1257 four of
its members were officers of the Chief Municipal Council; and other
similar records substantiate the fact that this guild increased in
importance during the succeeding centuries. The ordinances of Seville
of the fifteenth century, which were reformed in 1502, and those of
Toledo, also revised in 1582, will give the student an idea of what was
done by workers of metals at this period, the method of workmanship
and other interesting details. The ordinances of Seville mention
_rejas_ made in Biscay, and give a good idea of the styles adopted by
the iron-masters there, and the ordinances of Granada repeat, almost
exactly, the former descriptions.
[Illustration: PLATE XX SCREEN, "ALTAR DE LA GAMBA," SEVILLE
CATHEDRAL]
The modern history of iron work in Spain begins, however, with the
second half of the fifteenth century. From this period on, the art
continued to progress, and in the sixteenth century Spain produced
works of art in wrought iron which were unrivalled in Europe.
The most beautiful and characteristic productions of the Spanish
iron-smiths were the openwork screens or grilles, especially the
_rejas_, or chancel screens, enclosing the chapels in the cathedrals;
and these last deserve special attention, from the beauty of their
forms, the quality of their workmanship and the intrinsic variety of
their models.
[Illustration: CHAPEL SCREEN SEVILLE CATHEDRAL]
The interior arrangement of Spanish cathedrals differs somewhat from
that of churches in other parts of Europe. In Spain, the choir proper,
or _coro_, is transferred to the nave, of which it commonly occupies
the western half, and a passage, usually protected by low iron or brass
railings, leads from the eastern gate of the _coro_ to the screen in
front of the high altar. This arrangement is necessary because, as
the choir proper is deep, the people must be kept from pressing on
the clergy as they pass to and fro, during the service, in the long
passage from the altar to the _coro_. High metal screens or _rejas_ are
also placed across the entrance to the choir or "capilla mayor," as
its eastern part is called. Owing to this form of interior arrangement
the cathedrals and churches of Spain lent themselves admirably to the
construction of objects of all kinds in ornamental iron work; and from
the earliest times when such records were kept, we meet with many
names of iron-masters who were apparently attached to the different
cathedrals in the same manner as were the painters and artists.
One of the finest specimens of this artistic industry (and we place it
first because it is a typical example) is the splendid _reja_ which
divides the nave from the "Royal Chapel" in the Cathedral of Granada
(Plate XIX).
This Cathedral is, on the whole, the best Renaissance building in
Spain, and in plan one of the finest churches in Europe; and the "Royal
Chapel" is the most interesting feature of its interior. This Chapel
was erected in the late Gothic style, in 1506-17, for the reception
of the tombs of the "Catholic Kings," and was afterwards enlarged by
Charles V., who found it "too small for so great glory." Besides the
tombs of Ferdinand and Isabella it contains those of the parents of
Charles V.
[Illustration: PLATE XXI CHAPEL SCREEN, SEVILLE CATHEDRAL]
The _reja_ which guards it was completed about 1522, by the celebrated
Bartolomé of Jaen, who also worked at Seville, and whom the records of
the time describe as "sculptor and iron-master." Its important size
enabled the artist to carry out a splendid scheme of ornamentation in
the "plateresque" style, combined with reliefs, on a large scale, of
figures of apostles and saints, terminating at the upper part with
a wide ornamental band of conventional floral decoration in relief,
crowned with a Crucifixion, with the Virgin and Saint John on either
side. The ornamentation was originally gilded and the figures painted
in oil colors. The balustrades and supports are forged with the hammer.
The figures and circular piers are formed of large plates, _repoussé_
and carved in a most admirable manner, and an examination of them will
give a good idea of the technical mastery over the material which the
artists of this time had attained long before the various mechanical
facilities of the present day existed.
This _reja_ at Granada is entirely of iron, which most Spanish
_rejas_ are not, and is the earliest specimen of anything like equal
importance in Spain. It has been chosen as the first specimen to be
here described, not only because of the early date of its construction,
but because it excellently illustrates the salient merits of the best
type of Spanish cathedral screen. The first of these merits is a
general transparency,--a highly important quality in a wrought-iron
screen so placed, for if such a screen be covered with sufficient
ornament to arrest the eye on its surface when viewing the interior of
the cathedral as a whole, it detracts from the general architectural
effect, serving indeed, to block the nave as a wall where no wall was
intended. In such a screen as the present one, however, the slight
vertical piers almost disappear unless the sight be focussed upon
them, while the ornamental portions seem apparently suspended in mid
air and do not in any way injure the general architectural scheme or
decrease the apparent space. The rectangularity of the design gives
great repose; and the division into departments, which allows of
the concentration of strength in skeleton lines, affords sufficient
constructional stiffness without involving too much formality.
The design is both beautiful and appropriate. At the summit the
crucifixion, below the leading incidents of biblical history, and, in a
central panel about twenty feet square, grouped in a decorative design,
the full heraldic insignia of the monarchs who repose in the tombs
which the screen guards. The lock bears a small inscription giving | 1,285.498157 |
2023-11-16 18:38:29.5784780 | 1,865 | 20 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: Knox Magee]
WITH RING OF SHIELD
"_On he came, and, to my great surprise and pleasure,
struck he my shield with the sharp point of his lance_.
"_Ah! my brave sons, ye all do know the pleasure 'tis
when, with ring of shield, ye are informed an enemy hath
come to do ye battle_."
BY KNOX MAGEE
_Illustrated by_ F. A. CARTER
GEORGE J. McLEOD
_PUBLISHER ---- TORONTO_
COPYRIGHT, 1900
BY
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
CONTENTS
I. Sir Frederick Harleston
II. The Maidens
III. A First Brush with the Enemy
IV. The Taking of Berwick
V. From Berwick to Windsor
VI. The King's Gifts
VII. The Ball at the Castle
VIII. The Duel
IX. The King's Death
X. I am Sent to Ludlow
XI. Some Happenings at Windsor
XII. Gloucester Shows his Hand
XIII. The Flight from the Palace
XIV. I Reach Westminster
XV. Michael and Catesby
XVI. My Dangerous Position
XVII. At the Sanctuary
XVIII. Richard Triumphs
XIX. A Message is Sent to Richmond
XX. Before the Tournament
XXI. The Tournament
XXII. A Midnight Adventure
XXIII. The Arrest
XXIV. In the Tower
XXV. Michael and I
XXVI. The House with the Flag
XXVII. The Field of Bosworth
XXVIII. Conclusion
Illustrations
Knox Magee...................... _Frontispiece_
"Both our lances flew into a thousand pieces."
"The signal was then given."
"I am to blame, and I alone should suffer."
"Always remember thy mother and this, her advice."
"Ha, thou blond varmint."
"I climbed wearily to the top."
"Come on, ye pack of cowards."
With Ring of Shield
CHAPTER I
SIR FREDERICK HARLESTON
In these days, when the air is filled with the irritating, peevish
sounds of chattering gossips, which tell of naught but the scandals of
a court, where Queens are as faithless as are their lives brief,
methinks it will not be amiss for me to tell a story of more martial
days, when gossips told of armies marching and great battles fought,
with pointed lance, and with the bright swords' flash, and with the
lusty ring of shield.
Now, my friend Harleston doth contend, that peace and quiet, without
the disturbing clamour of war's dread alarms, do help to improve the
mind, and thus the power of thought is added unto. This, I doubt not,
is correct in the cases of some men; but there are others, to whom
peace and quiet do but bring a lack of their appreciation. I grant
that to such a mind as Harleston's, peaceful and undisturbed meditation
are the fields in which they love to stroll, and pluck, with tender
hand, and thought-bowed head, the most beautiful and most rare of
flowers: but then, such even-balanced brains as his are few and far
between; and even he, so fond of thought and study, did love to dash,
with levelled lance and waving plumes, against the best opponent, and
hurl him from his saddle.
And there is Michael, which ever thinks the same as do myself, and
longs for fresh obstacles to lay his mighty hand upon and crush, as he
would a reed.
It is of those bygone days of struggle and deep intrigue that I now
shall write. I do hope that some of ye--my sons and grandsons--may,
after I am laid to rest, have some worthy obstacles to overcome, in
order that ye may the better enjoy your happiness when it is allotted
unto you. Still do I pray, with my old heart's truest earnestness,
that no one of my blood may have as great trials as I went through; but
in which I had the noble assistance and sympathy of the best friends
ever man was blest with. I shall now tell of my meeting with the first
of these, and later in the tale I shall tell ye of the other.
I, Walter Bradley, then a faithful servant of his Majesty King Edward
IV, was sitting one evening in my room at the palace of the aforesaid
King, at Windsor, engaged in the examination of some of mine arms, to
make sure that my servants had put them all in proper order for our
expedition into Scotland, with the King's brother, the Duke of
Gloucester. A knock came at my door and, upon opening, I beheld Lord
Hastings, then the Chancellor of the Kingdom, and at his side a
gentleman which I had not before seen. This stranger was a man of
splendid physique, about mine own height; long, light brown, waving
hair; blue eyes, that looked me fairly in mine own; sharp features; and
yet, with all his look of unbending will, and proud bearing, he had a
kindly expression in his honest eyes.
"This is my young friend, Sir Frederick Harleston, just now arrived
from Calais," said Hastings, as they both entered at mine invitation,
and he introduced us to each other.
The Chancellor stayed but until he got our conversation running freely,
and then he spoke of some business of state that did demand his
immediate attention, and left us to become better acquainted.
Of course the expedition into Scotland was the chiefest subject of our
conversation; and I learned from Harleston that he too did intend
accompanying the Duke, as the King had that day granted him the desired
permission.
"And what kind of man is Duke Richard?" asked my new acquaintance, when
we had at length discussed the other leaders of our forces.
"Hast thou never seen him?"
"Ay, I have seen him, though I am unknown to him; but I mean what kind
of man is he inwardly, not physically?"
"As for that, I do not care to speak. Thou, no doubt, hast heard of
some of his Royal Highness' acts; men must be judged but by their acts,
and not by the opinions of such an one as I," I replied cautiously; for
I hesitated to express mine own opinion--the which, in this case, was
not the most favourable--to one which I had but just met. Remember, my
dears, those were times in which a silent tongue lived longer than did
a loose one.
Harleston's color heightened, but with a smile, he said:--"Thou art in
the right. 'Twas impertinent of me to ask thee, who know me not, a
question of that sort. I had forgot that this is England, and not
Calais; for there we discuss, freely, the King, as though he were but a
plain man."
The frankness of this man, together with his polite and gentlemanly
speech, made me to feel ashamed of my caution, so I said:--"Duke
Richard hath never been popular with the friends of her Majesty the
Queen; though of late he hath made himself liked better by them, than
he was for many a long day."
"But he is a valiant soldier, is he not?"
"Ay, verily, that he is. He is as brave as the lions upon his banner,
and besides, he knoweth well the properest way in which to distribute
his forces in the field. There it is that the good qualities of
Richard do show up like stars in a deep, dark sky."
"Then the sky is truly black?" asked Sir Frederick, with a smile.
I could not help but laugh at the way I had at last unconsciously
expressed mine opinion of the Duke, after having declined to do so, but
a breathing-space before. I cared not now that I had spoken my mind of
Richard; for the more I looked into the honest face before me, the more
did I trust to his discretion.
Then | 1,285.598518 |
2023-11-16 18:38:29.6811050 | 5,981 | 11 |
Produced by Colin Bell, Joseph Cooper, Diane Monico, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE ABORIGINAL POPULATION
OF THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY,
CALIFORNIA
BY
S. F. COOK
ANTHROPOLOGICAL RECORDS
Vol. 16, No. 2
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
ANTHROPOLOGICAL RECORDS
Editors (Berkeley): R. L. Olson, R. F. Heizer, T. D. McCown, J. H. Rowe
Volume 16, No. 2, pp. 31-80
6 maps
Submitted by editors October 8, 1954
Issued July 11, 1955
Price, 75 cents
University of California Press
Berkeley and Los Angeles
California
Cambridge University Press
London, England
Manufactured in the United States of America
CONTENTS
Page
Introduction 31
The population of the San Joaquin Valley in approximately 1850 33
Contemporary estimates and counts for the entire region 33
Analysis based upon restricted areas 34
Stanislaus and Tuolumne rivers 34
Merced River, Mariposa Creek, and Chowchilla River 35
The Cosumnes, Mokelumne, and Calaveras rivers 36
The Fresno and the upper San Joaquin rivers 36
The Kings and Kaweah rivers 38
The Tulare Lake basin 40
The Tule River, the Kern River, and the Buenavista Basin 40
The aboriginal population 42
The Tulare Lake basin 42
The Kaweah River 45
The Merced River 48
The Kings River 49
The Upper San Joaquin, Fresno, and Chowchilla rivers and
Mariposa Creek 50
The Southern San Joaquin Valley 54
The Northern San Joaquin Valley 56
The Miwok Foothill Area 68
Summary and conclusions 70
Appendix 71
Bibliography 72
MAPS
1. The San Joaquin Valley from the Cosumnes River
to the Tehachapi facing page 74
2. Habitat areas 1A-2: the southern Yokuts and
peripheral tribes 75
3. Habitat areas 3A-4C: the basins of the Kaweah
and Kings rivers 76
4. Habitat areas 5A-6B: the Yokuts, a part of the
Mono, and the southern Miwok 76
5. Habitat areas 7A-14: the northern Yokuts, central
and northern Miwok 77
6. The Lower San Joaquin River and Delta areas 78
THE ABORIGINAL POPULATION OF THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY, CALIFORNIA
BY
S. F. COOK
INTRODUCTION
Ecologically the great central valley of California forms a single
unit. Nevertheless it is convenient for the purposes of this paper to
divide the entire area into two portions, north and south. The vast
expanse from Red Bluff to the Tehachapi is too extensive to cover
demographically in a single exposition. Moreover, the northern tribes,
the Wintun and Maidu, are physiographically clearly segregated from the
southern by the northern extension of San Francisco Bay and the delta
of the rivers. Hence we shall consider here only those peoples south of
the Sacramento and American River watersheds.
The area possesses definite natural limits but its exact boundaries
must be to some extent arbitrary. On the north the line has already
been indicated: the south bank of the upper Bay and the Sacramento
River as far upstream as a point five miles below the city of
Sacramento and thence easterly along the El Dorado--Amador County line
into the high mountains. This follows Kroeber's tribal boundary between
the Maidu and the Sierra Miwok. On the west the line starts northeast
of Mt. Diablo and follows the western edge of the San Joaquin Valley to
the Tehachapi Mountains. On the east we include the Sierra Nevada as
far as was reached by permanent habitation on the west <DW72>. The
southern extremity is represented by the crest of the Tehachapi.
The region designated embraces the territory of the Plains and Sierra
Miwok, the Yokuts, the Western Mono, the Tubatulabal, and the Kawaiisu.
From the standpoint of habitat the area is diversified since it extends
from the swampy valley floor through the oak country of the lower
foothills into the transition life-zone of the middle altitudes.
Perhaps an ecological segregation would be desirable. Such a procedure,
however, would cut across tribal boundaries and make an accurate
evaluation of population difficult. On the accompanying maps, areas are
delineated, and numbered, primarily for convenience of reference. At
the same time they conform as closely as is feasible with the natural
subdivisions of the territory marked out by river valleys, lakes,
plains, and mountains. It should be stressed that they do not
necessarily coincide precisely with the areas occupied by specific
tribes or groups of tribes.
The demography of the central valley is rendered still more complex by
the fact that the contact with the white race took place in a series of
steps rather than by a single overwhelming invasion. In central Mexico,
or to a somewhat lesser degree in northwestern California, aboriginal
life continued relatively untouched until there occurred a rapid and
catastrophic occupation of the entire territory. As a result, the
population was affected in a uniform manner throughout and a
sufficiently clear line can be drawn between aboriginal and postcontact
conditions. In the central valley the white influence was very gradual,
beginning at or near the year 1770 with the entrance of the Spanish
missionaries along the coast and the infiltration of a very few
foreigners into the valley. The volume of invasion increased slowly
over the next three decades, but the effect was intensified by the
escape of numerous mission neophytes into the valley. The years after
1800 saw repeated incursions by the coastal whites who overran the
floor of the valley from the Sacramento River to Buena Vista Lake.
Meanwhile the foothill and mountain tribes were permitted to remain
fairly intact. With discovery of gold, however, these groups lost their
immunity and were rapidly destroyed. Therefore, even though we
oversimplify, we may say that the aboriginal population persisted in
the valley proper up to 1770, in the lower foothills up to roughly
1810, and in the higher foothills and more remote canyons of the Sierra
Nevada up to 1850.
Our sources of information cover only the period during which the
demographic status of the natives was undergoing change. No written
record exists that describes conditions as they might have been found
prior to 1770. The only possible substitute would be an examination of
the habitation sites left from prehistoric times, but archaeological
research in the area has not yet progressed to the point where an
adequate quantitative estimate of population is available. There are
three primary bodies of data to which we have access, all falling
within the historical period between 1770 and 1860.
The first of these derives from the serious effort on the part of the
Americans, who between 1848 and 1852 were entering the region in large
numbers, to determine the quantity of natives surviving in the central
valley. This task was performed by such men as Sutter, Bidwell, and
Savage, together with several Indian commissioners, and army officers
sent out by the government. To their reports may be added the
statements contained in the local county histories published in the era
of 1880 to 1890, as well as in many pioneer reminiscences.
A second major source of information consists of the ethnographic
studies made within the past fifty years, among which should be
mentioned the works of Kroeber, Merriam, Schenck, Gayton, and Gifford.
These investigators depended principally upon informants who were
elderly people in the decades from 1900 to 1940. Their memories,
together with their recollection of what had been told them by their
parents, carry back, on the average, to the period of the American
invasion or just before it. Hence their knowledge of truly aboriginal
population would be valid for the hill tribes only; yet data derived
from them for that region is probably more accurate than can be
obtained from the general estimates made by contemporary white men.
These two types of information, contemporary American accounts and
modern ethnographic material, can thus be used to supplement and check
each other for the era of 1850.
For conditions in the valley before 1840 we have to depend almost
exclusively upon the historical records left by the Spanish and
Mexicans. These consist of a series of diaries, reports, and letters,
by both laymen and ecclesiastics, together with baptism lists and
censuses from the coastal missions. This array of documents is to be
found in the manuscript collections of the Bancroft Library of the
University of California at Berkeley.
It will be clear from these considerations that the population of the
San Joaquin Valley can be determined with some degree of accuracy at
two stages in the history of the region. The later period is at the
point of intense occupancy by the Americans, at or near the year 1850,
for here may be brought to a focus the data from both contemporary
counts and the research of modern ethnographers. The earlier is for the
epoch just preceding the entrance of the Spanish into California, or
just before 1770. To assess the population at this period it is
necessary to bring to bear information from all sources, American and
Spanish, and to utilize all indirect methods of computation which may
be appropriate. As a matter of historical interest, as well as to
provide a background for the estimate of aboriginal population, the
state of the natives in the period of the Gold Rush will be first
examined.
THE POPULATION OF THE SAN JOAQUIN VALLEY IN APPROXIMATELY 1850
CONTEMPORARY ESTIMATES AND COUNTS FOR THE ENTIRE REGION
General estimates for the population of the San Joaquin Valley during
the period 1848 to 1855 were made by several individuals. James D.
Savage, one of the earliest settlers in the Fresno region, stated in
1851 that the population from the Tuolumne River to the Kern River was
from 50,000 to 55,000. Elsewhere he modified these figures considerably
(Dixon, MS, 1875) and reported the total from the Cosumnes to the Kern
as 18,100, of which 14,000 were from south of the Stanislaus River.
James H. Carson, another pioneer, said in 1852 that "the Indians of the
Tulare Valley number nearly 6,000. About half this number inhabit the
mountains.... The other portion inhabit the plains along the rivers and
lakes."
In 1852 the Indian commissioner, O. M. Wozencraft, estimated for the
area lying between the Yuba and the Mokelumne rivers a total of 40,000
inhabitants. He quotes old residents as saying that four years
previously (i.e., in 1848) the population for the same area had been
80,000. At about the same time another agent, Adam Johnston (1853),
estimated all the Sierra and valley tribes as being 80,000 strong
(including both Sacramento and San Joaquin valleys). In general
magnitude these figures correspond to those given by Sutter for the
region bounded by the Yuba, the Stanislaus, the Sacramento, the San
Joaquin, and the line of the foothills: 21,873 (Sutter, 1850). Sutter's
value definitely represents conditions prior to 1847. Meanwhile H. W.
Wessels reported in 1853 that from the Stanislaus south there were
7,500 to 8,000 persons. In the same year G. W. Barbour, another
commissioner, referred to the reservation Indians as "seven or eight
thousand hungry souls." In 1856, agent T. J. Henly put the aggregate
population of the Fresno and Kings River reservations plus Tulare,
Mariposa, Tuolumne, Calaveras, and San Joaquin counties as 5,150
(Henley, 1857).
It is evident that the foregoing data represent two distinctly
different types of estimate: broad generalization based largely upon
subjective impression and applying to the years preceding 1847, and
more narrow semi-estimate derived during the years subsequent to 1849
from some attempt to make an actual count. The figures obtained from
the first method are certainly too high, particularly for the period
centering around 1850. On the other hand, it may be possible that the
other method yielded figures which were too low.
Some check on the reliability of the estimates supplied by the various
commissioners and agents may be obtained from two sources, neither of
which constituted a direct attempt to assess population. These comprise
reports submitted concerning (1) vaccinations and (2) distribution of
blankets.
During the summer of 1851 Dr. W. M. Ryer was employed to vaccinate
those Indians in the San Joaquin Valley who could be persuaded to
undergo the operation. Each month Dr. Ryer submitted a voucher
specifying the number of Indians vaccinated during the preceding thirty
days and also mentioning the tribes and areas covered. These vouchers
are included with other documents in Senate Executive Document No. 61,
32nd Congress, first session, 1852 (pp. 20 to 23). Some question might
be raised concerning the accuracy of the figures, but there is no
indication in the correspondence of the period of irregularity or
dishonesty. Dr. Ryer claimed that he had vaccinated, from the
Stanislaus to the south shore of Lake Tulare, 6,154 persons.
A somewhat smaller area was covered by four of the eighteen treaties
concluded by commissioners McKee, Barbour, and Wozencraft[1] with the
California tribes in 1851. These four treaties may be designated A, B,
C, and N, following the order in which they are presented in the Senate
Report. Under the agreements, one of the commodities which were to be
furnished to the Indians by the government was blankets. The tribes
included under treaties A, B, and C were to receive a total of 3,000.
In treaty N (as also in several other treaties not concerned with this
area) it was stated that the Indians were to receive one blanket apiece
for every person over fifteen years of age, and presumably this ratio
was employed universally in the issue of blankets. Under the conditions
existing at that time it may safely be assumed that the persons over
fifteen years of age constituted at least 80 per cent of the total
population. Therefore the three treaties first mentioned (A, B, and C)
must have covered 3,750 individuals. Regarding the group embraced by
treaty N it is explicitly stated that "they may number... some 2,000
to 3,000." If we take the mean, or 2,500, then the total for the area
is 6,250.
The area included under the four treaties extended actually only from
the Chowchilla River to the south shore of Lake Tulare and the Kern
River, whereas the territory covered by Ryer during his vaccination
tour began with the Stanislaus. Within the treaty limits he vaccinated
4,449 persons. The discrepancy between his total and that of the
treaties poses no difficulty since it is apparent that, as would be
expected with any primitive group, fewer individuals consented to be
vaccinated than made known their desire to receive gifts of blankets.
Hence the figure derived from potential blanket distribution is
probably closer to the actuality than the vaccination figure. If,
accordingly, we correct Ryer's report of 1,705 persons vaccinated
_north_ of the Chowchilla River to conform to the ratio found south of
that stream, we get 2,398. If we add this to 6,250 the total is 8,648
for the entire strip from the Stanislaus to the southern end of the San
Joaquin Valley.
In summarizing general estimates and counts we may discard the very
high values submitted by Wozencraft, Johnston, and Sutter on the
grounds that they were either mere guesses or applied to an earlier
period than that which we are considering. There are left the
following figures, which seem essentially valid.
Ryer and the treaties (1851) 8,648
Wessels (1853) 7,500-8,000
Barbour (1853) 7,500-8,000
Henley (1856) 5,150
Since the wastage of native population in the valley was exceedingly
rapid during the decade of the 'fifties, these figures are remarkably
consistent. As a preliminary value, therefore, based upon the best
general estimates, we may set the population in 1851 at 8,600.
ANALYSIS BASED UPON RESTRICTED AREAS
Further examination and correction are now in order. It will be noted
that the estimates above do not include the area traversed by the
Cosumnes, Mokelumne, and Calaveras rivers. Moreover, the federal agents
confined their calculations to those natives who voluntarily or
otherwise were incorporated in the local reservation system. That many
Indians were overlooked, not only in the more remote foothills, but
also in the valley itself cannot be doubted. In order to assess the
population in greater detail as well as to introduce new sources of
information it will be advantageous to break up the entire region into
smaller units and consider these units one by one.
STANISLAUS AND TUOLUMNE RIVERS
We may begin with the watersheds of the Stanislaus and Tuolumne rivers,
since for this area reasonably complete information is available (see
maps 1, 5, and 6, areas 7 and 9.) On May 31, 1851, the Daily Alta
California reported the treaty made with tribes of this region and
stated that they were 1,000 strong. This treaty (treaty E in the
California Treaties) covered the courses of the two streams as far as
their junction with the San Joaquin, on the one hand, and an
indeterminate distance into the hills, on the other. Ryer vaccinated in
the area during June of the same year and submitted a bill for 1,010
operations. He specifies 6 bands, rancherias, or tribes which were
predominantly Siakumne and Taulamni, a fact which implies that he
confined his attention principally to the inhabitants of the valley and
the lower foothills. In the preceding discussion it was pointed out
that Ryer's figures are probably too low and that a correction should
be introduced. If the same ratio is used as before, the value becomes
1,420.
Adam Johnston, in a statement published in 1853 includes a map
(Johnston, 1853, p. 242). Along the rivers shown on this map he has
placed figures for population. According to him there were 900 Indians
on the Stanislaus and 450 on the Tuolumne, or a total of 1,350. These
are distinctly noted as reservation Indians and hence would not have
included the entire population. Four years later, H. W. Wessels
reported for the same area only 500-700 persons (Wessels, 1857). These
were the Indians left on the reservations.
At about the same period, James D. Savage gave as his opinion that
there were 2,500 people on the Stanislaus and 2,100 on the Tuolumne
(Dixon, MS, 1875). In their report in 1853 Barbour, McKee, and
Wozencraft refer to a statement by a chief named Kossus that under his
jurisdiction were 4,000 persons and 30 rancherias from the Calaveras to
the Stanislaus. Although these two estimates are widely at variance
with those submitted by the officials, it must be remembered that both
Savage and Chief Kossus may have been referring to a somewhat earlier
date and that both included bands and settlements higher up the rivers
than was actually reached by the commissioners. Hence, although the
figure of over 4,000 is likely too high, 1,000 to 1,500 may have been
too low.
With respect to the strictly lowland tribes there is but little doubt
that by the year 1852 the northern Yokuts lying between Stockton and
Modesto had practically disappeared. Thus the first state census, taken
in 1852, showed only 275 Indians remaining on the lower Stanislaus.
George H. Tinkham states that in the same year there were only 10
families (perhaps 50 persons) left from the tribe which formerly had
inhabited the region between the Calaveras and the Stanislaus and had
extended eastward along the latter stream as far as Knights Ferry
(Tinkham, 1923). The valley plains can consequently account for no more
than approximately 350 persons and it must be assumed that almost all
the remaining natives were living along the border of the foothills and
higher up in the mountains.
One item of some significance is the discussion of the Tuolumne River
tribes by Adam Johnston, written in the year 1860, definitely after the
Gold Rush period. He says there were six chiefs in command of six
rancherias, the names of which he gives. These rancherias "contain from
fifty to two hundred Indians, men, women and children." One of these
bands, the Aplache, "resided further in the mountains," from which one
may infer that the other five were also in the mountains. At an average
of 125 per band, or rancheria, this means 900 people whose existence
was known to Johnston as late as 1860. An equivalent number can be
assumed for the Stanislaus, or 1,800 in all.
The ethnographers have given us an imposing list of villages for the
area under consideration, derived entirely from modern informants.
There are three of these lists, those of Kroeber (1925), Merriam[2],
and Gifford,[3] which merit careful scrutiny. Kroeber's (p. 445 of the
Handbook) includes 49 names, which he says are of villages "that can be
both named and approximately located." Merriam's "Mewuk List" has 28
names of places located on the Stanislaus and Tuolumne. Gifford shows
49 villages which he says are "permanent," in addition to perhaps twice
that number of "temporary" villages and camps. Gifford's list is
probably the most carefully compiled of the three. The geographical
location is indicated by counties but since his field of observation
embraces Calaveras and Tuolumne counties, it coincides territorially
quite exactly with the other two lists.
Certain villages are recorded by all three investigators, others by two
of them, and some by only one. Concerning the existence of the first
two groups there can be little, if any, doubt. Of those appearing on
only one list some question might be raised. On the other hand, the
care and conservatism exhibited by all three ethnographers makes it
very difficult to doubt the essential validity of their data. The
discrepancies are clearly due to the differences between informants and
the high probability that no single informant could recall all the
inhabited places over so large an area.
I have tabulated below the number of villages according to river system
and according to occurrence in the lists mentioned.
Stanislaus Tuolumne
__________ ________
Kroeber, Merriam, and Gifford 8 13
Kroeber and Merriam 2 3
Kroeber and Gifford 6 5
Kroeber only 6 8
Gifford only 5 12
Merriam only 1 1
____ ____
Total 28 42
We have therefore 70 reasonably well authenticated villages in the hill
area traversed by the two rivers. With regard to the number of
inhabitants, further data are provided by Gifford. His informant gave
for each permanent place an estimate of the number of persons present
in the year 1840. Gifford secured his material in approximately the
year 1915 from a man very old at the time. If the informant was then
seventy-five years of age, he must have been born in 1840. Hence he
could scarcely be expected to remember population figures from a date
much earlier than his childhood. The names and location of the villages
themselves were at least semipermanent and could have been derived from
the informant's parents even if not from his own memory. Hence it is
probable that the figure furnished to Gifford more nearly represents
the number of inhabitants in 1850 than in 1840. The average value for
all 49 villages is 20.8 persons. Yet 7 villages are stated to have held
15 persons, 11 villages 10 persons, and 3 villages 5 or less persons.
Such a condition argues a rapidly declining population, for no normal
aboriginal settlement is likely to have contained less than 20
inhabitants. Gifford's average of 21 persons per village must, however,
be accepted as representing the closest we can get to the value for the
period of 1850. This means a population of 588 for the Stanislaus and
882 for the Tuolumne. The total is 1,470 for the foothill region.
Between 300 and 400 may be added to account for scattered remnants
along the lower courses of these rivers and on the San Joaquin itself,
or 1,800 for the entire area under consideration.
To summarize, we have the following estimates for the
Stanislaus-Tuolumne watershed at or about the year 1851:
Savage (perhaps before 1851) 4,600
Chief Kossus 4,000
Daily Alta California, 1851 1,000
Vaccinations by Ryer 1,420
Adam Johnston's estimate, 1853 1,350
Adam Johnston's estimate, 1860 1,800
H. W. Wessels, 1853 600
Village lists 1,800
The crude numerical average is about 2,070 but since the best of the
above estimates, the village lists, shows no more than 1,800, it will
be preferable to set 2,000 as a fair approximation.
STANISLAUS-TUOLUMNE... 2,000
| 1,285.701145 |
2023-11-16 18:38:29.6811380 | 7,436 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger
THE GHOSTS
AND OTHER LECTURES.
By Robert G. Ingersoll.
New York, N. Y. C.
P. FARRELL, PUBLISHER,
1892.
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1878,
by Robert G. Ingersoll
ECKLER, PRINTER, 35 FULTON ST., N. Y.
The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and
flowed in the human heart, with its countless waves of hope
and fear, beating against the shores and rocks of time and
fate, was not born of any book, nor of any creed, nor of any
religion. It was born of human affection, and it will
continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of
doubt and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death.
CONTENTS:
PREFACE.
THE GHOSTS.
THE LIBERTY OF MAN, WOMAN AND CHILD
LIBERTY OF WOMAN.
THE LIBERTY OF CHILDREN.
CONCLUSION.
1776. THE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.
ABOUT FARMING IN ILLINOIS.
SPEECH AT CINCINNATI
"THE PAST RISES BEFORE ME LIKE A DREAM."
THE GRANT BANQUET
A TRIBUTE TO THE Rev. ALEXANDER CLARK.
A TRIBUTE TO EBON C. INGERSOLL,
PREFACE.
These lectures have been so maimed and mutilated by orthodox malice;
have been made to appear so halt, crutched and decrepit by those who
mistake the pleasures of calumny for the duties of religion, that in
simple justice to myself I concluded to publish them.
Most of the clergy are, or seem to be, utterly incapable of discussing
anything in a fair and catholic spirit. They appeal, not to reason,
but to prejudice; not to facts, but to passages of scripture. They can
conceive of no goodness, of no spiritual exaltation beyond the horizon
of their creed. Whoever differs with them upon what they are pleased to
call "fundamental truths" is, in their opinion, a base and infamous man.
To re-enact the tragedies of the Sixteenth Century, they lack only
the power. Bigotry in all ages has been the same. Christianity simply
transferred the brutality of the Colosseum to the Inquisition. For the
murderous combat of the gladiators, the saints substituted the _auto de
fe_. What has been called religion is, after all, but the organization
of the wild beast in man. The perfumed blossom of arrogance is Heaven.
Hell is the consummation of revenge.
The chief business of the clergy has always been to destroy the joy of
life, and multiply and magnify the terrors and tortures of death and
perdition. They have polluted the heart and paralyzed the brain; and
upon the ignorant altars of the Past and the Dead, they have endeavored
to sacrifice the Present and the Living.
Nothing can exceed the mendacity of the religious press. I have had some
little experience with political editors, and am forced to say, that
until I read the religious papers, I did not know what malicious and
slimy falsehoods could be constructed from ordinary words. The ingenuity
with which the real and apparent meaning can be tortured out of
language, is simply amazing. The average religious editor is intolerant
and insolent; he knows nothing of affairs; he has the envy of failure,
the malice of impotence, and always accounts for the brave and generous
actions of unbelievers, by low, base and unworthy motives.
By this time, even the clergy should know that the intellect of the
Nineteenth Century needs no, guardian. They should cease to regard
themselves as shepherds defending flocks of weak, silly and fearful
sheep from the claws and teeth of ravening wolves. By this time they
should know that the religion of the ignorant and brutal Past no
longer satisfies the heart and brain; that the miracles have become
contemptible; that the "evidences" have ceased to convince; that the
spirit of investigation cannot be stopped nor stayed; that the Church
is losing her power; that the young are holding in a kind of tender
contempt the sacred follies of the old; that the pulpit and pews no
longer represent the culture and morality of the world, and that the
brand of intellectual inferiority is upon the orthodox brain.
Men should be liberated from the aristocracy of the air. Every chain
of superstition should be broken. The rights of men and women should
be equal and sacred--marriage should be a perfect partnership--children
should be governed by kindness,--every family should be a
republic--every fireside a democracy.
It seems almost impossible for religious people to really grasp the idea
of intellectual freedom. They seem to think that man is responsible for
his honest thoughts; that unbelief is a crime; that investigation is
sinful; that credulity is a virtue, and that reason is a dangerous
guide. They cannot divest themselves of the idea that in the realm of
thought there must be government--authority and obedience--laws and
penalties--rewards and punishments, and that somewhere in the universe
there is a penitentiary for the soul.
In the republic of mind, _one_ is a majority. There, all are monarchs,
and all are equals. The tyranny of a majority even is unknown. Each one
is crowned, sceptered and throned. Upon every brow is the tiara, and
around every form is the imperial purple. Only those are good citizens
who express their honest thoughts, and those who persecute for opinion's
sake, are the only traitors. There, nothing is considered infamous
except an appeal to brute force, and nothing sacred but love, liberty,
and joy. The church contemplates this republic with a sneer. From the
teeth of hatred she draws back the lips of scorn. She is filled with the
spite and spleen born of intellectual weakness. Once she was egotistic;
now she is envious.
Once she wore upon her hollow breast false gems, supposing them to be
real. They have been shown to be false, but she wears them still. She
has the malice of the caught, the hatred of the exposed.
We are told to investigate the bible for ourselves, and at the same time
informed that if we come to the conclusion that it is not the inspired
word of God, we will most assuredly be damned. Under such circumstances,
if we believe this, investigation is impossible. Whoever is held
responsible for his conclusions cannot weigh the evidence with impartial
scales. Fear stands at the balance, and gives to falsehood the weight of
its trembling hand.
I oppose the Church because she is the enemy of liberty; because her
dogmas are infamous and cruel; because she humiliates and degrades
woman; because she teaches the doctrines of eternal torment and the
natural depravity of man; because she insists upon the absurd, the
impossible, and the senseless; because she resorts to falsehood and
slander; because she is arrogant and revengeful; because she allows men
to sin on a credit; because she discourages self-reliance, and laughs
at good works; because she believes in vicarious virtue and vicarious
vice--vicarious punishment and vicarious reward; because she regards
repentance of more importance than restitution, and because she
sacrifices the world we have to one we know not of.
The free and generous, the tender and affectionate, will understand me.
Those who have escaped from the grated cells of a creed will appreciate
my motives. The sad and suffering wives, the trembling and loving
children will thank me: This is enough.
Robert G. Ingersoll.
Washington, D. C,
April 13, 1878.
THE GHOSTS.
Let them cover their Eyeless Sockets with their
Fleshless Hands and fade forever from the imagination of Men.
THERE are three theories by which men account for all phenomena,
for everything that happens: First, the Supernatural; Second, the
Supernatural and Natural; Third, the Natural. Between these theories
there has been, from the dawn of civilization, a continual conflict. In
this great war, nearly all the soldiers have been in the ranks of the
supernatural. The believers in the supernatural insist that matter
is controlled and directed entirely by powers from without; while
naturalists maintain that Nature acts from within; that Nature is not
acted upon; that the universe is all there is; that Nature with infinite
arms embraces everything that exists, and that all supposed powers
beyond the limits of the material are simply ghosts. You say, "Oh, this
is materialism!" What is matter? I take in my hand some earth:--in this
dust put seeds. Let the arrows of light from the quiver of the sun smite
upon it; let the rain fall upon it. The seeds will grow and a plant will
bud and blossom. Do you understand this? Can you explain it better than
you can the production of thought? Have you the slightest conception of
what it really is? And yet you speak of matter as though acquainted with
its origin, as though you had torn from the clenched hands of the rocks
the secrets of material existence. Do you know what force is? Can you
account for molecular action? Are you really familiar with chemistry,
and can you account for the loves and hatreds of the atoms? Is there not
something in matter that forever eludes? After all, can you get, beyond,
above or below appearances? Before you cry "materialism!" had you not
better ascertain what matter really is? Can you think even of anything
without a material basis? Is it possible to imagine the annihilation of
a single atom? Is it possible for you to conceive of the creation of an
atom? Can you have a thought that was not suggested to you by what you
call matter?
Our fathers denounced materialism, and accounted for all phenomena by
the caprice of gods and devils.
For thousands of years it was believed that ghosts, good and bad,
benevolent and malignant, weak and powerful, in some mysterious way,
produced all phenomena; that disease and health, happiness and misery,
fortune and misfortune, peace and war, life and death, success and
failure, were but arrows from the quivers of these ghosts; that shadowy
phantoms rewarded and punished mankind; that they were pleased and
displeased by the actions of men; that they sent and withheld the snow,
the light, and the rain; that they blessed the earth with harvests or
cursed it with famine; that they fed or starved the children of men;
that they crowned and uncrowned kings; that they took sides in war; that
they controlled the winds; that they gave prosperous voyages, allowing
the brave mariner to meet his wife and child inside the harbor bar, or
sent the storms, strewing the sad shores with wrecks of ships and the
bodies of men.
Formerly, these ghosts were believed to be almost innumerable. Earth,
air, and water were filled with these phantom hosts. In modern times
they have greatly decreased in number, because the second theory,--a
mingling of the supernatural and natural,--has generally been adopted.
The remaining ghosts, however, are supposed to per-form the same offices
as the hosts of yore.
It has always been believed that these ghosts could in some way be
appeased; that they could be flattered by sacrifices, by prayer, by
fasting, by the building of temples and cathedrals, by the blood of
men and beasts, by forms and ceremonies, by chants, by kneelings and
prostrations, by flagellations and maimings, by renouncing the joys of
home, by living alone in the wide desert, by the practice of celibacy,
by inventing instruments of torture, by destroying men, women and
children, by covering the earth with dungeons, by burning unbelievers,
by putting chains upon the thoughts and manacles upon the limbs of
men, by believing things without evidence and against evidence, by
disbelieving and denying demonstration, by despising facts, by hating
reason, by denouncing liberty, by maligning heretics, by slandering
the dead, by subscribing to senseless and cruel creeds, by discouraging
investigation, by worshiping a book, by the cultivation of credulity,
by observing certain times and days, by counting beads, by gazing at
crosses, by hiring others to repeat verses and prayers, by burning
candles and ringing bells, by enslaving each other and putting out the
eyes of the soul. All this has been done to appease and flatter these
monsters of the air.
In the history of our poor world, no horror has been omitted, no infamy
has been left undone by the believers in ghosts,--by the worshipers of
these fleshless phantoms. And yet these shadows were born of cowardice
and malignity. They were painted by the pencil of fear upon the canvas
of ignorance by that artist called superstition.
From, these ghosts, our fathers received information. They were
the schoolmasters of our ancestors. They were the scientists and
philosophers, the geologists, legislators, astronomers, physicians,
metaphysicians and historians of the past. For ages these ghosts were
supposed to be the only source of real knowledge. They inspired men to
write books, and the books were considered sacred. If facts were found
to be inconsistent with these books, so much the worse for the facts,
and especially for their discoverers. It was then, and still is,
believed that these books are the basis of the idea of immortality; that
to give up these volumes, or rather the idea that they are inspired, is
to renounce the idea of immortality. This I deny.
The idea of immortality, that like a sea has ebbed and flowed in the
human heart, with its countless waves of hope and fear, beating against
the shores and rocks of time and fate, was not born of any book, nor of
any creed, nor of any religion. It was born of human affection, and it
will continue to ebb and flow beneath the mists and clouds of doubt
and darkness as long as love kisses the lips of death. It is the
rainbow--Hope shining upon the tears of grief.
From the books written by the ghosts we, have at last ascertained
that they knew nothing about the world in which we live. Did they
know anything about the next! Upon every point where contradiction is
possible, they have been contradicted.
By these ghosts, by these citizens of the air, the affairs of government
were administered; all authority to govern came from them. The emperors,
kings and potentates all had commissions from these phantoms. Man was
not considered as the source of any power whatever. To rebel against the
king was to rebel against the ghosts, and nothing less than the blood of
the offender could appease the invisible phantom or the visible tyrant.
Kneeling was the proper position to be assumed by the multitude.
The prostrate were the good. Those who stood erect were infidels and
traitors. In the name and by the authority of the ghosts, man was
enslaved, crushed, and plundered. The many toiled wearily in the storm
and sun that the few favorites of the ghosts might live in idleness.
The many lived in huts, and caves, and dens, that the few might dwell in
palaces. The many covered themselves with rags, that the few might
robe themselves in purple and in gold. The many crept, and cringed, and
crawled, that the few might tread upon their flesh with iron feet.
From the ghosts men received, not only authority, but information of
every kind. They told us the form of this earth. They informed us that
eclipses were caused by the sins of man; that the universe was made
in six days; that astronomy, and geology were devices of wicked men,
instigated by wicked ghosts; that gazing at the sky with a telescope
was a dangerous thing; that digging into the earth was sinful curiosity;
that trying to be wise above what they had written was born of a
rebellious and irreverent spirit.
They told us there was no virtue like belief, and no crime like doubt;
that investigation was pure impudence, and the punishment therefor,
eternal torment. They not only told us all about this world, but about
two others; and if their statements about the other worlds are as true
as about this, no one can estimate the value of their information.
For countless ages the world was governed by ghosts, and they spared no
pains to change the eagle of the human intellect into a bat of darkness.
To accomplish this infamous purpose; to drive the love of truth from the
human heart; to prevent the advancement of mankind; to shut out from
the world every ray of intellectual light; to pollute every mind with
superstition, the power of kings, the cunning and cruelty of priests,
and the wealth of nations were exhausted.
During these years of persecution, ignorance, superstition and slavery,
nearly all the people, the kings, lawyers, doctors, the learned and the
unlearned, believed in that frightful production of ignorance, fear, and
faith, called witchcraft. They believed that man was the sport and prey
of devils. They really thought that the very air was thick with these
enemies of man. With few exceptions, this hideous and infamous belief
was universal. Under these conditions, progress was almost impossible.
Fear paralyzes the brain. Progress is born of courage. Fear
believes--courage doubts. Fear falls upon the earth and prays--courage
stands erect and thinks. Fear retreats--courage advances. Fear is
barbarism--courage is civilization. Fear believes in witchcraft, in
devils and in ghosts. Fear is religion--courage is science.
The facts, upon which this terrible belief rested, were proved over
and over again in every court of Europe. Thousands confessed themselves
guilty--admitted that they had sold themselves to the devil. They gave
the particulars of the sale; told what they said and what the devil
replied. They confessed this, when they knew that confession was death;
knew that their property would be confiscated, and their children left
to beg their bread. This is one of the miracles of history--one of the
strangest contradictions of the human mind. Without doubt, they really
believed themselves guilty. In the first place, they believed in
witchcraft as a fact, and when charged with it, they probably became
insane. In their insanity they confessed their guilt. They found
themselves abhorred and deserted--charged with a crime that they could
not disprove. Like a man in quicksand, every effort only sunk them
deeper. Caught in this frightful web, at the mercy of the spiders
of superstition, hope fled, and nothing remained but the insanity of
confession. The whole world appeared to be insane.
In the time of James the First, a man was executed for causing a storm
at sea with the intention of drowning one of the royal family. How could
he disprove it? How could he show that he did not cause the storm?
All storms were at that time generally supposed to be caused by
the devil--the prince of the power of the air--and by those whom he
assisted.
I implore you to remember that the believers in such impossible things
were the authors of our creeds and confessions of faith.
A woman was tried and convicted before Sir Matthew Hale, one of the
great judges and lawyers of England, for having caused children to
vomit crooked pins. She was also charged with having nursed devils. The
learned judge charged the intelligent jury that there was no doubt as
to the existence of witches; that it was established by all history, and
expressly taught by the bible.
The woman was hanged and her body burned.
Sir Thomas Moore declared that to give up witchcraft was to throw away
the sacred scriptures. In my judgment, he was right.
John Wesley was a firm believer in ghosts and witches, and insisted upon
it, years after all laws upon the subject had been repealed in England.
I beg of you to remember that John Wesley was the founder of the
Methodist Church.
In New England, a woman was charged with being a witch, and with having
changed herself into a fox. While in that condition she was attacked and
bitten by some dogs. A committee of three men, by order of the court,
examined this woman. They removed her clothing and searched for "witch
spots." That is to say, spots into which needles could be thrust without
giving her pain. They reported to the court that such spots were found.
She denied, however, that she ever had changed herself into a fox. Upon
the report of the committee she was found guilty and actually executed.
This was done by our Puritan fathers, by the gentlemen who braved the
dangers of the deep for the sake of worshiping God and persecuting their
fellow men.
In those days people believed in what was known as lycanthropy--that is,
that persons, with the assistance of the devil, could assume the form
of wolves. An instance is given where a man was attacked by a wolf. He
defended himself, and succeeded in cutting off one of the animal's paws.
The wolf ran away. The man picked up the paw, put it in his pocket and
carried it home. There he found his wife with one of her hands gone. He
took the paw from his pocket. It had changed to a human hand. He charged
his wife with being a witch. She was tried. She confessed her guilt, and
was burned.
People were burned for causing frosts in summer--for destroying crops
with hail--for causing storms--for making cows go dry, and even for
souring beer. There was no impossibility for which some one was not
tried and convicted. The life of no one was secure. To be charged,
was to be convicted. Every man was at the mercy of every other. This
infamous belief was so firmly seated in the minds of the people, that to
express a doubt as to its truth was to be suspected. Whoever denied the
existence of witches and devils was denounced as an infidel.
They believed that animals were often taken possession of by devils, and
that the killing of the animal would destroy the devil. They absolutely
tried, convicted, and executed dumb beasts.
At Basle, in 1470, a rooster was tried upon the charge of having laid
an egg. Rooster eggs were used only in making witch ointment,--this
everybody knew. The rooster was convicted and with all due solemnity was
burned in the public square. So a hog and six pigs were tried for having
killed and partially eaten a child. The hog was convicted,--but the
pigs, on account probably of their extreme youth, were acquitted. As
late as 1740, a cow was tried and convicted of being possessed by a
devil.
They used to exorcise rats, locusts, snakes and vermin. They used to go
through the alleys, streets, and fields, and warn them to leave within
a certain number of days. In case they disobeyed, they were threatened
with pains and penalties.
But let us be careful how we laugh at these things. Let us not pride
ourselves too much on the progress of our age. We must not forget that
some of our people are yet in the same intelligent business. Only a
little while ago, the governor of Minnesota appointed a day of fasting
and prayer, to see if some power could not be induced to kill the
grasshoppers, or send them into some other state.
About the close of the fifteenth century, so great was the excitement
with regard to the existence of witchcraft that Pope Innocent VIII
issued a bull directing the inquisitors to be vigilant in searching
out and punishing all guilty of this crime. Forms for the trial were
regularly laid down in a book or a pamphlet called the "Malleus
Maleficorum" (Hammer of Witches), which was issued by the Roman See.
Popes Alexander, Leo, and Adrian, issued like bulls. For two hundred
and fifty years the church was busy in punishing the impossible crime of
witchcraft; in burning, hanging and torturing men, women, and children.
Protestants were as active as Catholics, and in Geneva five hundred
witches were burned at the stake in a period of three months. About one
thousand were executed in one year in the diocese of Como. At least one
hundred thousand victims suffered in Germany alone: the last execution
(in Wurtzburg ) taking place as late as 1749. Witches were burned in
Switzerland as late as 1780.
In England the same frightful scenes were enacted. Statutes were passed
from Henry VI to James I, defining the crime and its punishment. The
last act passed by the British parliament was when Lord Bacon was a
member of the House of Commons; and this act was not repealed until
1736.
Sir William Blackstone, in his Commentaries on the Laws of England,
says: "To deny the possibility, nay, actual existence of witchcraft
and sorcery, is at once flatly to contradict the word of God in various
passages both of the old and new testament; and the thing itself is
a truth to which every nation in the world hath in its turn borne
testimony, either by examples seemingly well attested, or by prohibitory
laws, which at least suppose the possibility of a commerce with evil
spirits."
In Brown's Dictionary of the Bible, published at Edinburgh Scotland, in
1807, it is said that: "A witch is a woman that has dealings with Satan.
That such persons are among men is abundantly plain from scripture, and
that they ought to be put to death."
This work was re-published in Albany, New York, in 1816. No wonder the
clergy of that city are ignorant and bigoted even unto this day.
In 1716, Mrs. Hicks and her daughter, nine years of age, were hanged
for selling their souls to the devil, and raising a storm by pulling off
their stockings and making a lather of soap.
In England it has been estimated that at least thirty thousand were
hanged and burned. The last victim executed in Scotland, perished in
1722. "She was an innocent old woman, who had so little idea of her
situation as to rejoice at the sight of the fire which was destined
to consume her. She had a daughter, lame both of hands and of feet--a
circumstance attributed to the witch having been used to transform her
daughter into a pony and getting her shod by the devil."
In 1692, nineteen persons were executed and one pressed to death in
Salem, Massachusetts, for the crime of witchcraft.
It was thought in those days that men and women made compacts with the
devil, orally and in writing. That they abjured God and Jesus Christ,
and dedicated themselves wholly to the devil. The contracts were
confirmed at a general meeting of witches and ghosts, over which the
devil himself presided; and the persons generally signed the articles of
agreement with their own blood. These contracts were, in some instances,
for a few years; in others, for life. General assemblies of the witches
were held at least once a year, at which they appeared entirely naked,
besmeared with an ointment made from the bodies of unbaptized infants.
"To these meetings they rode from great distances on broomsticks,
pokers, goats, hogs, and dogs. Here they did homage to the prince of
hell, and offered him sacrifices of young children, and practiced all
sorts of license until the break of day."
"As late as 1815, Belgium was disgraced by a witch trial; and guilt was
established by the water ordeal." "In 1836, the populace of Hela, near
Dantzic, twice plunged into the sea a woman reputed to be a sorceress;
and as the miserable creature persisted in rising to the surface, she
was pronounced guilty, and beaten to death."
"It was believed that the bodies of devils are not like those of men and
animals, cast in an unchangeable mould. It was thought they were like
clouds, refined and subtle matter, capable of assuming any form and
penetrating into any orifice. The horrible tortures they endured
in their place of punishment rendered them extremely sensitive to
suffering, and they continually sought a temperate and somewhat moist
warmth in order to allay their pangs. It was for this reason they so
frequently entered into men and women."
The devil could transport men, at his will, through the air. He could
beget children; and Martin Luther himself had come in contact with one
of these children. He recommended the mother to throw the child into the
river, in order to free their house from the presence of a devil.
It was believed that the devil could transform people into any shape he
pleased.
Whoever denied these things was denounced as an infidel. All the
believers in witchcraft confidently appealed to the bible. Their mouths
were filled with passages demonstrating the existence of witches and
their power over human beings. By the bible they proved that innumerable
evil spirits were ranging over the world endeavoring to ruin mankind;
that these spirits possessed a power and wisdom far transcending the
limits of human faculties; that they delighted in every misfortune that
could befall the world; that their malice was superhuman. That they
caused tempests was proved by the action of the devil toward Job; by the
passage in the book of Revelation describing the four angels who held
the four winds, and to whom it was given to afflict the earth. They
believed the devil could carry persons hundreds of miles, in a few
seconds, through the air. They believed this, because they knew that
Christ had been carried by the devil in the same manner and placed on a
pinnacle of the temple. "The prophet Habakkuk had been transported by a
spirit from Judea to Babylon; and Philip, the evangelist, had been the
object of a similar miracle; and in the same way Saint Paul had been
carried in the body into the third heaven."
"In those pious days, they believed that _Incubi_ and _Succubi_ were
forever wandering among mankind, alluring, by more than human charms,
the unwary to their destruction, and laying plots, which were too often
successful, against the virtue of the saints. Sometimes the witches
kindled in the monastic priest a more terrestrial fire. People told,
with bated breath, how, under the spell of a vindictive woman, four
successive abbots in a German monastery had been wasted away by an
unholy flame."
An instance is given in which the devil not only assumed the appearance
of a holy man, in order to pay his addresses to a lady, but when
discovered, crept under the bed, suffered himself to be dragged out,
and was impudent enough to declare that he was the veritable bishop. So
perfectly had he assumed the form and features of the prelate that those
who knew the bishop best were deceived.
One can hardly imagine the frightful state of the human mind during
these long centuries of darkness and superstition. To them, these things
were awful and frightful realities. Hovering above them in the air, in
their houses, in the bosoms of friends, in their very bodies, in all the
darkness of night, everywhere, around, above and below, were innumerable
hosts of unclean and malignant devils.
From the malice of those leering and vindictive vampires of the air,
the church pretended to defend mankind. Pursued by these phantoms, the
frightened multitudes fell upon their faces and implored the aid of
robed hypocrisy and sceptered theft.
Take from the orthodox church of to-day the threat and fear of hell, and
it becomes an extinct volcano.
Take from the church the miraculous, the supernatural, the
incomprehensible, the unreasonable, the impossible, the unknowable, and
the absurd, and nothing but a vacuum remains.
Notwithstanding all the infamous things justly laid to the charge of the
church, we are told that the civilization of to-day is the child of what
we are pleased to call the superstition of the past.
Religion has not civilized man--man has civilized religion. God improves
as man advances.
Let me call your attention to what we have received from the followers
of the ghosts. Let me give you an outline of the sciences as taught by
these philosophers of the clouds.
All diseases were produced, either as a punishment by the good ghosts,
or out of pure malignity by the bad ones. There were, properly speaking,
no diseases. The sick were possessed by ghosts. The science of medicine
consisted in knowing how to persuade these ghosts to vacate the
premises. For thousands of years the diseased were treated with
incantations, with hideous noises, with drums and gongs. Everything was
done to make the visit of the ghost as unpleasant as possible, and they
generally succeeded in making things so disagreeable that if the ghost
did not leave, the patient did. These ghosts were supposed to be of
different rank, power and dignity. Now and then a man pretended to have
won the favor of some powerful ghost, and that gave him power over the
little ones. Such a man became an eminent physician.
It was found that certain kinds of smoke, such as that produced by
burning the liver of a fish, the dried skin of a serpent, the eyes of
a toad, or the tongue of an adder, were exceedingly offensive to the
nostrils of an ordinary ghost. With this smoke, the sick room would be
filled | 1,285.701178 |
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_The English-American his Travail by Sea and Land:_
OR,
A NEW SURVEY
OF THE
WEST INDIA'S,
_CONTAINING_
A Journall of Three thousand and Three hundred
Miles within the main Land of AMERICA.
Wherin is set forth his Voyage from _Spain_ to _St. John de Ulhua_;
and from thence to _Xalappa_, to _Tlaxcallan_, the City of _Angeles_, and
forward to _Mexico_; With the description of that great City,
as it was in former times, and also at this present.
Likewise his Journey from _Mexico_ through the Provinces of _Guaxaca,
Chiapa, Guatemala, Vera Paz, Truxillo, Comayagua_; with his
abode Twelve years about _Guatemala_, and especially in the
Indian-towns of _Mixco, Pinola, Petapa, Amatitlan_.
As also his strange and wonderfull Conversion, and Calling from those
remote Parts to his Native COUNTREY.
With his return through the Province of _Nicaragua_, and _Costa Rica_,
to _Nicoya, Panama, Portobelo, Cartagena,_ and _Havana_, with divers
occurrents and dangers that did befal in the said Journey.
_ALSO,_
A New and exact Discovery of the Spanish Navigation to
those Parts; And of their Dominions, Government, Religion, Forts,
Castles, Ports, Havens, Commodities, fashions, behaviour of
Spaniards, Priests and Friers, Blackmores, Mulatto's, Mestiso's,
Indians; and of their Feasts and Solemnities.
With a Grammar, or some few Rudiments of the _Indian_ Tongue,
called, _Poconchi_, or _Pocoman_.
_By the true and painfull endevours of_ THOMAS GAGE, _now Preacher of
the Word of God at_ Acris _in the County of_ KENT. Anno Dom. 1648.
_London_, Printed by _R. Cotes_, and are to be sold by _Humphrey
Blunden_ at the Castle in _Cornhill_, and _Thomas Williams_ at the
Bible in _Little-Britain_, 1648.
CONTENTS
The Epistle Dedicatory.
To the Reader.
A New Survey of the West-Indies.
Chapter I.
Chapter II.
Chapter III.
Chapter IV.
Chapter V.
Chapter VI.
Chapter VII.
Chapter VIII.
Chapter IX.
Chapter X.
Chapter XI.
Chapter XII.
Chapter XIII.
Chapter XIV.
Chapter XV.
Chapter XVI.
Chapter XVII.
Chapter XVIII.
Chapter XIX.
Chapter XX.
Chapter XXI.
Chapter XXII.
Rules for the Indian tongue
called Poconchi, or Pocoman.
A Table of the Chapters of this
Booke, with the Contents of the
most Remarkeable things in them.
_To His Excellency_
Sr. THOMAS FAIRFAX Knight, Lord _FAIRFAX_ of CAMERON,
CAPTAIN-GENERALL of the Parliaments Army;
And of all their
Forces in _ENGLAND_, and the Dominion of _WALES_.
May it please your EXCELLENCY,
_The Divine Providence hath hitherto so ordered my life, that for the
greatest part thereof, I have lived (as it were) in exile from my
native Countrey: which happened, partly, by reason of my education in
the Romish Religion, and that in forraign Universities; and partly,
by my entrance into Monasticall orders. For twelve years space of
which time, I was wholly disposed of in that part of_ America _called_
New-Spain, _and the parts adjacent. My difficult going thither, being
not permitted to any, but to those of the Spanish Nation; my long stay
there; and lastly my returning home, not onely to my Country, but to
the true knowledg and free-profession of the Gospels purity, gave me
reason to conceive, That these great mercies were not appointed me by
the heavenly Powers, to the end I should bury my Talent in the earth,
or hide my light under a bushell, but that I should impart what I
there saw and knew to the use and benefit of my English Country-men;
And which the rather I held my self obliged unto, because in a manner
nothing hath been written of these Parts for these hundred years last
past, which is almost ever since the first Conquest thereof by the_
Spaniards, _who are contented to lose the honour of that wealth and
felicity they have there since purchased by their great endevours, so
they may enjoy the safety of retaining what they have formerly gotten
in peace and security. In doing whereof I shall offer no Collections,
but such as shall arise from mine own observations, which will as
much differ from what formerly hath been hereupon written, as the
picture of a person grown to mans estate, from that which was taken
of him when he was but a Childe; or the last hand of the Painter, to
the first or rough draught of the picture. I am told by others, that
this may prove a most acceptable work; but I doe tell my self that it
will prove both lame and imperfect, and therefore had need to shelter
my self under the shadow of some high protection, which I humbly pray
your Excellency to afford me; nothing doubting, but as God hath lately
made your Excellency the happy instrument, not onely of saving my
self, but of many numbers of godly and well-affected people in this
County of_ Kent, _(where now I reside by the favour of the Parliament)
from the imminent ruine and destruction plotted against them by their
most implacable enemies; so the same God who hath led your Excellency
through so many difficulties towards the settlement of the peace of
this Kingdom, and reduction of_ Ireland, _will, after the perfecting
thereof (which God of his mercy hasten) direct your Noble thoughts to
employ the Souldiery of this Kingdom upon such just and honourable
designes in those parts of_ America, _as their want of action at
home may neither be a burden to themselves nor the Kingdome. To your
Excellency therefore I offer a_ New-World, _to be the subject of your
future pains, valour, and piety, beseeching your acceptance of this
plain but faithfull relation of mine, wherein your Excellency, and
by you the English Nation shall see what wealth and honor they have
lost by one of their narrow hearted Princes, who living in peace and
abounding in riches, did notwithstanding reject the offer of being
first discoverer of_ America; _and left it unto_ Ferdinando _of_
Arragon, _who at the same time was wholly taken up by the Warrs, in
gaining of the City and Kingdome of_ Granada _from the_ Moores; _being
so impoverished thereby, that he was compelled to borrow with some
difficulty a few Crowns of a very mean man, to set forth_ Columbus
_upon so glorious | 1,285.799846 |
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THE MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE DE ST. SIMON
Newly translated and edited by FRANCIS ARKWRIGHT.
_In six volumes, demy 8vo, handsomely bound in cloth gilt, with
illustrations in photogravure, 10/6 net each volume._
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ELBA (1814-1815)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "The Growth of Napoleon," etc.; with a
chapter on the Iconography by A. M. Broadley.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with frontispiece and 50
illustrations_ (from the collection of A. M. Broadley), _21/- net_.
NAPOLEON IN EXILE AT ST. HELENA (1815-1821)
By NORWOOD YOUNG, Author of "Napoleon in Exile at Elba," "The Story
of Rome," etc.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with two
frontispieces and one hundred illustrations_ (from the collection
of A. M. Broadley), _32/- net_.
JULIETTE DROUET'S LOVE-LETTERS TO VICTOR HUGO
Edited with a Biography of Juliette Drouet by LOUIS GUIMBAUD;
translated by Lady THEODORA DAVIDSON.
_Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with many illustrations, 10/6 net._
THE NEW FRANCE
=Being a History from the Accession of Louis Philippe in 1830 to
the Revolution of 1848, with Appendices.=
By ALEXANDRE DUMAS. Translated into English, with an introduction
and notes, by R. S. GARNETT.
_In two volumes, demy 8vo, cloth gilt, profusely illustrated with
a rare portrait of Dumas and other pictures after famous artists,
24/- net._
[Illustration: MEDALS AWARDED TO SERGEANT-MAJOR, LATER QUARTERMASTER,
CHARLES WOODEN, 17TH LANCERS, ONE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
_Frontispiece_]
WAR MEDALS
AND THEIR HISTORY
BY
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD
OFFICIER D'ACADÉMIE
AUTHOR OF "FROM THE BREASTS OF THE BRAVE," ETC.
_With 258 Illustrations
in Half-tone and Line_
LONDON
STANLEY PAUL & CO
31 ESSEX STREET STRAND W.C.
_First published in 1915_
FOREWORDS
If any excuse were needed for penning this, it is to be found in the
exceeding interest which was taken in my monograph "Badges of the
Brave." Indeed, many readers have requested me to deal, at greater
length, with a subject which not only opens up a great historical
vista and awakens national sentiment, but, incidentally, serves an
educational mission to those who collect and those who sell the
metallic records of many a hard-fought field, which, when collated,
form an imperishable record of our island story.
The War Medal is a comparatively modern institution, otherwise we might
have learned the names of the common folk who fought so tenaciously in
the old wars, as, for instance, the Welsh infantry and Irish soldiers
who, with the English bowmen, comprised the army of 30,000 which at
Crécy routed an army of 120,000; the followers of the Black Prince
who captured the impetuous King John at Poitiers, or the English
archers whose deadly volleys made such havoc at Agincourt, on that
fateful day in October nearly five hundred years ago; the brave seamen
who, under Lord Howard, Drake, Hawkins, and Frobisher, fought the
"Invincible Armada"; and those who, under Raleigh, vigorously pursued
the Spaniards on the high seas. We might have learned something of
the men who composed the Royal Scots and the 18th Royal Irish, and
helped to vindicate the reputation of the British soldier at Namur,
and covered themselves with glory at Blenheim; the gallant Coldstream
Guards who did such excellent service under Marlborough at Oudenarde
and Malplaquet, as well as the Gloucesters and Worcesters who fought
so well at Ramillies, or the Royal Welsh Fusiliers who served under
George II at Dettingen.
When, however, war medals were designed for distribution among
successful combatants, a means of decorating surviving soldiers and
sailors was established, and at the same time a sentimental and
substantial record of a man's labours for his country upon the field
of battle. So that, if the veterans of Drake's historic fleet, or
Marlborough's dauntless soldiers, were not possessed of badges to
distinguish them from the soldiers of industry, we, at any rate, may
hold in our hands the medals which were awarded to those who served
the immortal Nelson, and be proud to possess the medals which shone
upon the breasts of our great grandparents who defied the Conqueror
of Europe on that memorable Sunday, and made his sun to set upon the
battlefield of Waterloo.
Have you listened to the smart British veteran as he explains the
disposition of the troops on that historic occasion--how the French
cavalry "foamed itself away" in the face of those steady British
squares? How he makes the Welsh blood tingle as he records the glorious
deeds and death of Sir Thomas Picton, and the Scotsman's dance through
his veins as he explains how, with the cold steel of their terrible
bayonets, the Black Watch at Quatre Bras, and its second battalion, the
Perthshires, at Waterloo, waited for the charge of the cuirassiers; and
how Sergeant Ewart of the Scots Greys captured the Eagle of the 45th,
and then, with the rest of the Union Brigade (the English Royals and
the Irish Inniskillings), crashed through the ranks of the faltering
French, and scattered the veterans of Napoleon's army! Have you
seen how the mention of the Guards holding the Château of Hougomont
brightens the eye of the Englishman? Yes! Then just think what it is
to touch and possess the solid proofs of the deeds that those men did,
and to feel that you have in your possession the only recompense those
brave and daring men received from a grateful country.
=Historical Value.=--My collection of medals enables me to cover over a
hundred years of history; takes me back to the stirring times when men
yet met face to face in the Peninsula and at Waterloo; to the men who
founded our Indian Empire. It enables me to keep in touch with sailors
who fought in the battle of the Nile, at Trafalgar, and at Navarino,
that last of all naval battles in which we British took part--our
allies were then the French and Russians--until our battleships met
those of the Germans in the great war now waging. It reminds me of the
horsemen who made the world wonder ere, with deathless glory, they
passed their little day, and of that "thin red line" of Scots, whose
cool daring at Balaklava has only been bedimmed by the gallantry of the
Light Brigade. It enables me to think more intimately of the men I know
who faced the Russians in that terrible winter, and then, like heroes,
plodded through the inferno of the Mutiny. It brings back vividly to
my mind the days of the Zulu War and the heroism of Rorke's Drift. It
reminds me of the daring march to Kandahar and the frontier wars so
necessary to hold back the turbulent human surf which beats on the
shores of our great Eastern Empire. It enables me to keep closely in
touch with those who so quickly dealt with Arabi Pasha and later faced
the fanatical hordes of the Mahdi; the young men of this generation
who fought so stubbornly at the Modder River, and who stormed the
Tugela Heights. It enables me to keep in touch with those "handymen"
and scouts on the fringe of Empire who in Somaliland, Gambia, Benin,
Matabeleland, and Bechuanaland uphold the dignity of Britain.
We sometimes read of a man or woman who has shaken hands, sixty,
seventy, or eighty years ago, with some great person, or some one whose
deeds have made him or her a name in history. The possession of war
medals and decorations, or of medals of honour gained by brave deeds
in time of peace, brings us in close touch with those who honourably
gained them. That is an aspect of medal-collecting which appeals to
me, and should to every one who admires pluck, grit, daring, and the
willingness to personal sacrifice which these badges of the brave
denote.
Finally there is an exceptional feature in the collection of war
medals which will also appeal, for, as Sir James Yoxall has pointed
out in "The A B C About Collecting," the collector of war medals "has
concentrated upon a line which can be made complete." If, however,
his inclinations or his means will not permit of the acquisition of a
complete set he may specialise in either Military or Naval Medals, or
those awarded to special regiments or ships, or to men of his own name,
or those earned by boys or nurses.
In order to facilitate the search for bars issued with the various
medals, the names inscribed thereon are printed in the text in small
capitals: these, of course, must not be taken as representing the type
used on the official bars; reference must be made to the illustrations,
which, being the same size as the original medals, will materially
assist the reader in recognising official lettering.
In conclusion I have to express my sincere thanks for the help afforded
and the deep interest taken in my book by Dr. A. A. Payne, whose
kindness in providing photographs of examples in his unique collection
has enabled me to illustrate many interesting and rare medals; to G. K.
J. and F. W. G. for clerical assistance; G. T. F. for sketches; and to
Messrs. Heywood & Co., Ltd., for the loan of several of the blocks of
medals which had been used in monographs I had written for publication
by them.
W. AUGUSTUS STEWARD.
LONDON.
CONTENTS
MILITARY SECTION
PAGE
FIRST CAMPAIGN MEDALS 1
EARLY MEDALS GRANTED BY THE HONOURABLE EAST
INDIA COMPANY 9
FIRST MEDAL FOR EGYPT, 1801 16
THE MAHRATTA WAR 20
FIRST OFFICIAL MILITARY OFFICERS' MEDAL 25
THE PENINSULAR WAR 26
CONTINENTAL PENINSULAR WAR MEDALS 66
WATERLOO AND QUATRE BRAS 70
BRITISH AND CONTINENTAL WATERLOO MEDALS 81
NEPAUL, 1814-15 86
FIRST BURMESE WAR 90
FIRST AFGHAN WAR 94
FIRST CHINESE WAR 98
SECOND AFGHAN WAR 100
THE GWALIOR CAMPAIGN 109
THE SIKH WARS 111
SECOND PUNJAB CAMPAIGN 119
FIRST NEW ZEALAND WAR 124
MILITARY GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 128
INDIA GENERAL SERVICE MEDAL GRANTED 133
FIRST KAFFIR WARS 134
SECOND BURMESE WAR 137
THE CRIMEAN WAR 139
PERSIAN WAR 155
INDIAN MUTINY 156
SECOND CHINESE WAR 178
SECOND NEW ZEALAND WAR 182
ABYSSINIAN WAR 189
ASHANTEE WAR 192
ZULU WAR 197
THIRD AFGHAN WAR 202
EGYPT | 1,285.823698 |
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[Illustration: They Crossed the Gila at Flood Tide (page 188).]
_Thirty Years on
The Frontier_
....BY....
ROBERT McREYNOLDS,
AUTHOR OF
"_Rodney Wilkes_," "_The Luxury of Poverty_," "_A
Modern Jean Valjean_," "_Facts and Fancies_."
[Illustration]
EL PASO PUBLISHING CO.
COLORADO SPRINGS, COLO.
1906
_Copyright by_
ROBERT MCREYNOLDS.
1906.
TO
LOUIS TALIAFERRO,
_Colorado Springs,
Colorado_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. In Days of Innocence 1
II. Out for a Fortune 9
III. Black Hills Days 16
IV. The Custer Massacre 21
V. The Shadow Scout 31
VI. Indian Fight in Colorado 39
VII. A Cow Boy Duel 47
VIII. Pleasant Halfacre's Revenge 53
IX. Capturing Wild Horses 63
X. An Expedition That Failed 72
XI. Across the Palm Desert 79
XII. The Last Stand of a Dying Race 87
XIII. The Tragedy of the Lost Mine 98
XIV. The Land of the Fair God 107
XV. Outlawry in Oklahoma 115
XVI. A New Land of Canaan 125
XVII. Told Around the Camp Fire 134
XVIII. The Lone Grave on the Mesa 141
XIX. Under the Black Flag 148
XX. In Cuban Jungles 156
XXI. Emulous of Washington 164
XXII. On the Round Up 169
XXIII. The Egypt of America 179
XXIV. In the Dome of the Sky 190
XXV. Where Nature is at her Best 197
XXVI. When the West was New 207
Thirty Years on the Frontier
I.
IN DAYS OF INNOCENCE.
In the following pages I shall tell of much personal experience as well
as important incidents which have come under my observation during
thirty years on the frontier. As a cowboy, miner and pioneer, I have
participated in many exciting events, none of which, however, caused me
the prolonged grief that a certain bombshell affair did when I was a
boy, resulting in a newspaper experience and habit of telling things,
and eventually led to my coming West.
My grandfather's plantation in Kentucky and nearly opposite the town of
Newburgh, on the Indiana side, was as much my home as was my mother's.
She being a widow and having my brother and sister to care for, as well
as myself, felt a relief from the responsibility of looking after me
when I was at my grandfather's home.
The plantation faced the Ohio River, the wooded part of which had been a
camping ground for rebel soldiers, until they were driven out by the
shells of a Yankee gunboat. While hunting pecans in these woods one day,
I stumbled on to an unexploded bombshell, and, boylike, I wanted to see
the thing go off. However, I was afraid to touch it until I had
counseled with the Woods boys, whose father was a renter of a small
tract of ground below the plantation. That night the three of us met and
decided to explode the shell the following Sunday morning, after the
folks had gone to church. I feigned a headache when grandmother wanted
to take me in the carriage with them to church, but when I was satisfied
they were well down the road, I hurried to the strip of forest a mile
away, where the Woods boys were waiting. They had come in a rickety old
buggy drawn by a white mule. It was in autumn and as the leaves were dry
on the ground, we were afraid to kindle a fire, and decided to take the
shell near the tobacco barn, around which we could hide and watch it go
off. Neither of the boys would handle it, so I lifted it into the buggy;
then they were afraid to ride with it, and it was left to me to lead the
mule to the tobacco barn. I hitched the animal to a sapling near the
barn, while the other boys gathered up some kindling, and we made a pile
of old fence posts, and when I had laid the shell upon the log heap, we
lit the kindling with a match and all ran behind the barn, forgetting
all about the mule. The wood was dry and was soon all aflame. Every
little while one of us would peek around the corner to see if the thing
was not about ready to explode. We were getting impatient, when the mule
gave a great "hee haw" that called our attention to his peril. It was
his last "hee haw," for in a second more the bomb exploded with a
deafening noise, and fragments of the shell screamed like a panther in
the air. We ran around to see the result of the explosion, and behold!
it had spread that mule all over the side of the barn.
The things my grandfather said and did to me when he returned from
church does not concern the public. But when he had finished, I was
fully convinced that I was all to blame, and that I owed Mr. Woods $150
for his demolished mule.
Then followed long lectures from my mother and grandmother, and to add
to my discomfiture was Mr. Woods' lamentations and his expressed regrets
that it was not me, instead of his mule, that was blown up.
I was the owner of an old musket with which I spent most of my time
hunting rabbits, using small slugs of lead for shot, which I chopped up
with a hatchet. Two weeks before the bombshell episode, I had found a
musket-ball, and I concluded to try a man's load in the gun on my next
rabbit; I poured in a full charge of powder, but when I came to ram the
ball home, it would go only half way down the barrel. I was afraid to
shoot then, lest the gun might burst, and as I could neither get the
ball out or farther down, I laid the barrel between two logs, tied a
string to the trigger, and got behind a stump and pulled it off.
A few minutes later while I was examining my gun, grandfather came
running out of the potato patch to find who was shooting at him.
However, he was so thankful that matters were not worse, that I got off
with a slight reprimand.
But this Sunday capped the climax. A council of my kinfolks was held
that night, and decided that neither man nor beast was safe on that
plantation if I remained. Their final verdict was that I should be sent
to my mother's home in Newburgh, and there to learn the printer's trade,
attend Frederick Dickerman's night school, be made to pay for the mule,
and my musket confiscated. I was paid $3 a week as printer's devil to
start with, one dollar of which I might spend for my clothes, fifty
cents for tuition in the night school, one dollar and twenty-five cents
for the mule debt, and the other twenty-five cents I might spend.
Grandfather was very careful to see that I saved the mule money, and I
used to think he took a special delight in collecting it from mother, to
whom I paid it every week.
It took me nearly three years in that printing office to get out of
debt. I was now eighteen years of age.
Life in the printing office was too monotonous; I wanted a more exciting
scene of action. I used to watch the great river steamers come and go,
and wondered if I could hold any kind of a position on one of them,
except carrying freight, when by accident one day there came an
opportunity. The steamer "Dick Johnson" was lying at the wharf loading
hogsheads of tobacco, when the freight clerk was injured by a fall of
the stage plank. The captain wanted someone to take his place, and my
schoolmaster recommended me. Here was a chance to put in practice the
bookkeeping I had studied under him. It was what I wanted--I could now
get a glimpse of the outside world.
The position on the "Dick Johnson" was a stepping-stone, for in another
year I was the mate of the steamer "Rapidan," plying between Florence,
Alabama, and Evansville, Indiana, and had thirty <DW64>s under my
control.
It was historic country through which we passed. The trees on the
islands near Pittsburgh Landing yet showed signs of shot and shell fired
by federal gunboats. Ofttimes some passenger who had been a participant
on one side or the other at Shiloh, would entertain his listeners for
hours with stories of the fight, until some of us younger officers
became imbued with the war spirit.
The autumn of 1875 had come when yellow fever broke out aboard our boat,
and we lay in quarantine two miles below Savannah, Tennessee, for a
month. I stayed with the boat until we were released, and then went to
my home in Newburgh, ill with malarial fever.
Stories of rich gold finds in the Northwest had been circulated through
the newspapers, and one day I resolved to try my luck. The things we
believe we are doing for the last time, always cause a pang of sorrow,
and as I packed my valise on Sunday afternoon to leave forever the home
of childhood, my feelings can be better imagined than described. My
grandparents came over from their Kentucky home to bid me good-bye. When
I was ready to start, grandfather took from his pocket a roll of bills,
and placing them in my hands, said: "Here, Mackey, is your mule money,
and I have added interest enough to make the sum total $500. I paid Mr.
Woods for his mule, but I wanted to teach you a lesson. Profit by it,
and make good use of the money, and say, Mackey, whatever you do in
life, never insult a blind man, never strike a <DW36> and never marry a
fool."
It was the last time I ever saw the noble old guardian of my youth. The
first two of his parting injunctions I have religiously obeyed.
II.
OUT FOR A FORTUNE.
My first view of the Nebraska plains was the next morning after leaving
Omaha, and I thought I never saw anything half so grand. The February
sun threw its beams aslant the mighty sea of plain over which so many
white covered wagons had toiled on their way to the then wild regions of
the West.
Small herds of buffalo and antelope were frequently seen from the car
windows; the passengers fired at them and often wounded an antelope,
which limped away in a vain attempt to join its mates. That night we
witnessed the mighty spectacle of the plains on fire. The huge, billowy
waves of flame leaped high against a darkened sky, and swept with hiss
and roar along the banks of the shallow Platte. The emigrant train upon
which I was aboard was crowded with people of all sorts. Many of them
were homeseekers on their way to Oregon and California, while not a few
adventurers like myself were bound for the Black Hills. A young man who
went under the name of Soapy Wyatte, was working the train on a
three-card monte game, and was very successful until he cheated a couple
of ranchmen out of quite a sum of money. Then they organized the other
losers, and were in the act of hanging him with the bell rope when he
disgorged his ill-gotten gains and paid back the money. Men of his class
were plentiful, but as a rule they were careful not to cheat the
frontiersman, for when they did they usually got the worst of it.
Cheyenne at that time was a typical frontier town. Gambling houses,
saloons and dance halls were open continuously, night and day. Unlucky
indeed was the tenderfoot who fell into their snare. I soon secured
transportation with a mule-train for Deadwood. There were thirty-three
of us in the party. The wagons were heavily loaded with freight and the
trail was in frightful condition; we ofttimes were compelled to walk.
I had bought a heavy pair of boots for the trip, but the sticky alkali
mud made them so heavy that I soon cut off the tops. The next thing, I
put my Winchester rifle and revolver in the wagon and then trudged along
the best I could. The Sioux Indians were on the warpath and it was
dangerous to get far away from the wagon train. Almost every freighter
we met warned us against Red Canon. The stage drivers reported "hold
ups" and murders by organized bands of road agents. This kept us on the
alert. At night there was a detail of eight, to divide up the night in
standing guard. These men were selected from the most experienced
plainsmen, of whom there were quite a number with us.
We were eight days out from Cheyenne, and several inches of snow had
fallen during the night, but the sun rose clear on the biting cold of
the morning. Suddenly we heard shots ahead. "Indians! Indians!" shouted
one driver to another and then the wagons were quickly formed in a
circle, the mules being unhitched and brought to the center of the
circle.
Then for the first time I saw the hideous forms of a band of half-naked
savages mounted on their ponies in the distance. They were galloping in
a circle around us, yelling their war cry, "Hi-yi, Hip-yi, yi." They
fell from their horses before the deadly aim of our men; their bullets
came like the angry hum of hornets about our heads. Their numbers
increased from over the foothills, whence they first came. There was a
look of desperation upon the faces of our men, such as pen can not
describe. James Morgan, who was standing near me in the act of reloading
his Winchester, suddenly fell nerveless to the ground. Our captain's
voice rang out now and then, "Be careful there, boys; take good aim
before you fire." Two Indians circled nearer than the others. They were
lying on their horses' necks and firing at us while they were at full
gallop. I took aim at one and fired; others must have done so at the
same time, for both of them fell from their horses. The fight lasted
perhaps an hour, when the Indians withdrew to the hills. One of our men
lay dead and two were wounded. I went to where the two Indians had
fallen. There lay their forms, cold and stiff in death. The sunbeams
were slanting over those snow covered hills. I felt an unaccountable
terror as I looked upon them and the crimson snow which their life blood
had stained. The raw north wind seemed to pierce my very heart. Night
was coming on, and with it all the horrors of uncertainty. I lingered
about the spot for some time, with a dreadful fascination mingled with
terror. Human life had perished there; human souls had gone into the
uncertainty of an unknown beyond. With my brain reeling with excitement
of the day and sickened in heart, I returned to our wagons, where some
of us walked outside the circle throughout the long watches of that
wintry night.
When the morning sun rose clear above the snow-covered hills, we wrapped
the body of the dead teamster in his blankets, and again took up the
toilsome drive. The Indians had retired from the fight, probably for the
reason that they saw another outfit of wagons coming far down on the
plain. The wagons overtook us about 9 o'clock, and after that we had no
more trouble with Indians.
Deadwood, at that time, was like all the frontier mining towns. Saloons,
gambling houses and dance halls comprised the business of the place.
The gulch was dotted with miners' cabins and dug-outs. There were a few
stores, restaurants, and a bank, but as yet the town had not started a
"regular" graveyard. The news of our fight soon spread up and down the
gulch and many were the willing hands that offered their services in the
burial of James Morgan, our teamster. They dug his grave on the
hillside, where afterwards more than five thousand men were buried. They
either fell from the deadly pneumonia, or from the bullets of each other
in quarrels. When Morgan's grave was ready to be filled, some one
suggested that a chapter from the Bible should be read, but none of us
knew where to ask for one, in all Deadwood. Presently a boy said, "I
will find one," and he soon returned with a young lady, who proved to be
his sister. He handed the book to our bronzed captain of the mule train;
he shook his head. Then someone asked her to read it. When she began,
those grim frontiersmen bared their heads, and I fancied I saw the tears
gather on more than one bronzed cheek as she knelt upon the frozen clay
and offered up a prayer for the dead teamster's soul.
The adventurous spirits from far and wide were flocking to this new
Eldorado. Wild Bill, the famous scout, Captain Jack Crawford, Texas
Jack, and other equally noted scouts and Indian fighters, were there.
They sought gold and adventure alike, only for the pleasure it would
bring.
III.
BLACK HILLS DAYS.
I knew Doc Kinnie was not a civil engineer, but he had a plan which
looked good, and as I was almost broke, I consented to help him work it.
There was a horseshoe bend in the creek which might be drained for
placer mining by tunneling through in a narrow place. I talked up the
project with some of the boys, and they agreed to dig the tunnel while
Doc did the civil engineering. Day after day they dug and blasted rock,
while Doc stood around looking wise and encouraging the work. In about a
month they were practically through to the other side of the creek. Then
they began to call for Doc's measurements and calculations. "Never mind,
you are not through yet," he would say, "I will let you know when to
stop digging."
"But we can hear the water rushing," they would say.
[Illustration: General George A. Custer (page 21).]
"You fellows can't tell anything about it. Sounds of rushing water are
always carried a long distance by rocks."
"But we are not in the rocks now, we are in a clay bank."
"Clay does the same thing; keep on digging."
Two days later and there was a commotion at the lower end of the tunnel,
when a full head of water came rushing out, bearing with it men,
wheelbarrows and shovels. They were nearly drowned, and half frozen,
when they scrambled out of the creek. Mad as hornets, they sought their
civil engineer, but he was nowhere to be found. The work was done.
The prospects were good. When their clothes were dried and they had
eaten dinner, they laughed over the incident and pardoned Doc's
miscalculation. With pan and rocker, we now began to work the dry
horseshoe bend. Nuggets weighing an ounce, and from that on down to the
size of a pin head, were found. The fellows were honest, and made an
even divide all around at the cleanup each night. In two months we had
taken out over $6,000, and then sold the claim to a placer mining
company for $18,000 in cash--$3,000 apiece for the six of us. In two
months we were all broke; the money had gone into wildcat speculation in
mines. But who cared? Were the hills not full of gold, and all to be had
for the digging?
I joined a party who went thirty miles to the northwest in search of new
diggings, and the most that came of it was a laughable incident.
The great hills rose on every side, frowning darkly in the dense forest
of pine. Our voices echoed from rock to rock, as we sat one noon-day
about our campfire, talking of possible finds, when, bareheaded, with
hair disheveled, blood flowing from a wound in his face, and a wildcat
held to his chest in close embrace, Mark Witherspoon rushed into camp,
yelling at the top of his voice. He was prospecting in a ravine a mile
distant, when he saw something waving in the underbrush. Thinking it was
mountain grouse, he advanced in hope of getting a shot, when a huge
wildcat sprang at his throat.
As the forepaws of the animal struck his chest, he let fall his gun, and
hugged the beast with all his strength to his chest with both arms. The
head of the wildcat was drawn slightly backward by the tense pressure
of his arms upon its back, while the claws were rendered practically
powerless by the close embrace. So quick had been Witherspoon's action
at the start, that he received only a slight wound on the face. In this
predicament, he started on a run for the camp. He did not dare to let go
and the wildcat wouldn't, so both held fast. The cat glared up fiercely
at him with its yellow eyes, while its hot breath came into his face at
every leap. Whenever the vicious beast made the slightest struggle,
Witherspoon hugged the tighter, fearing at every step he might stumble
and the deadly teeth be fixed in his throat.
In this manner he reached camp, and it was some seconds before he could
make us understand that the cat was terribly alive, and that he was not
holding it because he wanted to, or racing for the sake of the exercise.
Finally one of the men despatched the animal with his revolver, and, to
Witherspoon's inexpressible relief, the dead beast dropped from his
arms. Before the boys got through telling the story afterwards, they
made it out that Witherspoon had run nine miles with the wildcat.
Soon after our return to Deadwood, a man in an almost fainting condition
came into town and announced that his companion had either been killed
or captured by the Indians. A party was organized and was led by Wild
Bill. It was not long before we came upon a scene that told what the
poor fellow's fate had been, much plainer than words are able to
portray. We found his blackened trunk fastened to a tree with rawhide
thongs, while all around were evidences of the great torture which had
been inflicted ere the fagots had been lighted.
When brought face to face with this, I stowed two cartridges safely away
in my vest pocket, resolved to suicide rather than to fall into the
hands of such miscreants. Then came the news of the Custer massacre. For
many days afterward we patrolled the mountain tops, and kept bivouac
fires lighted by night, as signals.
IV.
THE CUSTER MASSACRE.
The arrival at Fort Lincoln, on the Missouri River, of a party of
Indians in 1874, who offered gold dust for sale, was the beginning of
the cause that led to the great Sioux war in 1876, in which General
Custer and his devoted soldiers were massacred on the Little Big Horn
River on the 25th day of June of that year.
The gold which the Indians brought to Fort Lincoln, they said came from
the Black Hills, where the gulches abounded with the yellow dust. The
consequent rush of white men into that region was, in fact, a violation
of the treaty of 1867, when Congress sent out four civilians and three
army officers as peace commissioners, who gave to the old Dakota tribes,
as the Sioux were then called, the vast area of land bounded on the
south by Nebraska, on the east by the Missouri River, on the west by
the 104th Meridian, and on the north by the 46th Parallel. They had the
absolute pledge of the United States that they should be protected in
the peaceable possession of the country set aside for them. This
territory was as large as the state of Michigan, and of its interior
little or nothing was known except to a few hardy traders and trappers
prior to 1874.
With the advent of the gold seekers in 1875 the Indians saw that the
greedy encroachments of the white man were but faintly resisted by the
United States government, and that sooner or later it meant the total
occupation of their country, and their own annihilation, and so with the
traditional wrongs of their forefathers ever in mind, they determined to
make a stand for their rights.
The scene of General Terry's campaign against these Indians lay between
the Big Horn and Powder Rivers, and extended from the Big Horn Mountains
northerly to beyond the Yellowstone River. A region barren and desolate,
volcanic, broken and ofttimes almost impassable, jagged and precipitous
cliffs, narrow and deep arroyas filled with massive boulders, alkali
water for miles, vegetation of cactus and sagebrush--all these represent
feebly the country where Custer was to contend against the most
powerful, warlike and best armed body of savages on the American
continent.
An army in this trackless waste was at that time at the mercy of guides
and scouts. The sun rose in the east and shone all day upon a vast
expanse of sagebrush and grass and as it set in the west cast its dull
rays into a thousand ravines that | 1,286.123036 |
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_HORAE SUBSECIVAE._
"_A lady, resident in Devonshire, going into one of her parlors,
discovered a young ass, who had found his way into the room, and
carefully closed the door upon himself. He had evidently not
been long in this situation before he had nibbled a part of
Cicero's Orations, and eaten nearly all the index of a folio
edition of Seneca in Latin, a large part of a volume of La
Bruyere's Maxims in French, and several pages of Cecilia. He
had done no other mischief whatever, and not a vestige remained
of the leaves that he had devoured._"--PIERCE EGAN.
"_The treatment of the illustrious dead by the quick, often
reminds me of the gravedigger in Hamlet, and the skull of poor
defunct Yorick._"--W. H. B.
"_Multi ad sapientiam pervenire potuissent, nisi se jam
pervenisse putassent._"
"_There's nothing so amusing as human nature, but then you must
have some one to laugh with._"
SPARE HOURS
BY JOHN BROWN, M. D.
If thou be a severe sour-complexioned man, then I here disallow
thee to be a competent judge.--IZAAK WALTON
BOSTON
TICKNOR AND FIELDS
1864
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the
District of Massachusetts
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON
NOTE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
The author of "Rab and his Friends" scarcely needs an introduction to
American readers. By this time many have learned to agree with a writer
in the "North British Review" that "Rab" is, all things considered, the
most perfect prose narrative since Lamb's "Rosamond Gray."
A new world of doctors, clergymen, shepherds, and carriers is revealed
in the writings of this cheerful Edinburgh scholar, who always brings
genuine human feeling, strong sense, and fine genius to the composition
of his papers. Dogs he loves with an enthusiasm to be found nowhere else
in canine literature. He knows intimately all a cur means when he winks
his eye or wags his tail, so that the whole barking race,--terrier,
mastiff, spaniel, and the rest,--finds in him an affectionate and
interested friend. His genial motto seems to run thus--"I cannot
understand that morality which excludes animals from human sympathy, or
releases man from the debt and obligation he owes to them."
With the author's consent we have rejected from his two series of "Horae
Subsecivae" the articles on strictly professional subjects, and have
collected into this volume the rest of his admirable papers in that
work. The title, "Spare Hours," is also adopted with the author's
sanction.
Dr. Brown is an eminent practising physician in Edinburgh, with small
leisure for literary composition, but no one has stronger claims to be
ranked among the purest and best writers of our day.
_BOSTON, December 1861._
CONTENTS.
RAB AND HIS FRIENDS
"WITH BRAINS, SIR"
THE MYSTERY OF BLACK AND TAN
HER LAST HALF-CROWN
OUR DOGS
QUEEN MARY'S CHILD-GARDEN
PRESENCE OF MIND AND HAPPY GUESSING
MY FATHER'S MEMOIR
MYSTIFICATIONS
"OH, I'M WAT, WAT!"
ARTHUR H. HALLAM
EDUCATION THROUGH THE SENSES
VAUGHAN'S POEMS
DR. CHALMERS
DR. GEORGE WILSON
ST. PAUL'S THORN IN THE FLESH
THE BLACK DWARF'S BONES
NOTES ON ART
AUTHOR'S PREFACE.
In that delightful and provoking book, "THE DOCTOR, &c.," Southey says:
"'Prefaces,' said Charles Blount, Gent., 'Prefaces,' according to this
flippant, ill-opinioned, and unhappy man, 'ever were, and still are, but
of two sorts, let the mode and fashions vary as they please,--let the
long peruke succeed the godly cropt hair; the cravat, the ruff;
presbytery, popery; and popery, presbytery again,--yet still the author
keeps to his old and wonted method of prefacing; when at the beginning
of his book he enters, either with a halter round his neck, submitting
himself to his readers' mercy whether he shall be hanged or no, or else,
in a huffing manner, he appears with the halter in his hand, and
threatens to hang his reader, if he gives him not his good word. This,
with the excitement of friends to his undertaking, and some few
apologies for the want of time, books, and the like, are the constant
and usual shams of all scribblers, ancient and modern.' This was not
true then," says Southey, "nor is it now." I differ from Southey, in
thinking there is some truth in both ways of wearing the halter. For
though it be neither manly nor honest to affect a voluntary humility
(which is after all, a sneaking vanity, and would soon show itself if
taken at its word), any more than it is well-bred, or seemly to put on
(for it generally is put on) the "huffing manner," both such being truly
"shams,"--there is general truth in Mr. Blount's flippancies.
Every man should know and lament (to himself) his own
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AT SUNWICH PORT
BY
W. W. JACOBS
Part 4.
ILLUSTRATIONS
From Drawings by Will Owen
CHAPTER XVI
The two ladies received Mr. Hardy's information with something akin to
consternation, the idea of the autocrat of Equator Lodge as a stowaway on
board the ship of | 1,286.398579 |
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THE
APRICOT TREE.
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF
THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION,
APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING
CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THE
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE;
SOLD AT THE DEPOSITORY,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS;
AND 4, ROYAL EXCHANGE.
1851.
* * * * *
Price TWOPENCE.
_R. Clay, Printer_,
_Bread Street Hill_.
[Illustration]
THE APRICOT-TREE.
It was a fine evening in the beginning of autumn. The last rays of the
sun, as it sunk behind the golden clouds, gleamed in at the window of a
cottage, which stood in a pleasant lane, about a quarter of a mile from
the village of Ryefield. On each side of the narrow gravel walk that led
from the lane to the cottage-door, was a little plot of cultivated
ground. That on the right hand was planted with cabbages, onions, and
other useful vegetables; that on the left, with gooseberry and
currant-bushes, excepting one small strip, where stocks, sweet-peas, and
rose-trees were growing; whose flowers, for they were now in full bloom,
peeping over the neatly trimmed quick-hedge that fenced the garden from
the road, had a gay and pretty appearance. Not a weed was to be found in
any of the beds; the gooseberry and currant-bushes had evidently been
pruned with much care and attention, and were loaded with fine ripe
fruit. But the most remarkable thing in the garden was an apricot-tree,
which grew against the wall of the cottage, and which was covered with
apricots of a large size and beautiful colour.
The cottage itself, though small and thatched with straw, was clean and
cheerful, the brick floor was strewed with sand, and a white though
coarse cloth was spread on the little deal table. On this table were
placed tea-things, a loaf of bread, and some watercresses. A cat was
purring on the hearth, and a kettle was boiling on the fire.
Near the window, in a large arm-chair, sat an old woman, with a Bible on
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Transcriber’s Notes
Text _between underscores_ represents text printed in italics, text
=between equal signs= represents blackletter text. _{D} represents a
subscript D. Small capitals have been transcribed as ALL CAPITALS.
More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.
THE PRINCIPLES
OF
LEATHER MANUFACTURE
[Illustration: _Frontispiece._
PLATE I.
SECTION OF CALF-SKIN. (For key, see Fig. 9.)]
THE PRINCIPLES
OF
LEATHER MANUFACTURE
BY
H. R. PROCTER, F.I.C. F.C.S.
PROFESSOR OF LEATHER INDUSTRIES AT THE YORKSHIRE COLLEGE, LEEDS;
PAST PRESIDENT OF THE INTERNATIONAL ASSOCIATION
OF LEATHER TRADES CHEMISTS
[Illustration]
=London:=
E. & F. N. SPON, LIMITED, 125 STRAND
=New York:=
SPON & CHAMBERLAIN, 123 LIBERTY STREET
1903
=Dedicated to=
PROFESSOR F. L. KNAPP
GEHEIMEN HOFRATH, DR. PHIL. AND DR. ING.
THE PIONEER OF SCIENTIFIC RESEARCH
IN LEATHER MANUFACTURE
PREFACE.
The origin of the present work was an attempt to prepare a second
edition of the little Text-Book of Tanning which the Author published in
1885, and which has been long out of print. Though persevered in for
years, the work was never brought to completion, partly owing to the
constant pressure of other duties, but still more to the rapid advances
which have been made in our knowledge of the subject, and in the
scientific thought which has been devoted to it. For his share in the
initiation of this work, much credit is due to Wilhelm Eitner, Director
of the Imperial Royal Research Institute for Leather Industries in
Vienna, but the advance he began has been energetically carried forward
not only in Vienna, but in the Tanning Schools and Research Institutes
of Freiberg, Leeds, London, Liège, Copenhagen, Berlin and elsewhere, and
to a less extent in private laboratories.
Under the pressure of this rapid growth, as it was impossible to
complete the work as a whole, the Author published an instalment dealing
with the purely chemical side of the subject in 1898, under the title of
the ‘Leather Industries Laboratory Book’; which has been translated into
German, French and Italian, and of which the English edition is rapidly
approaching exhaustion.
The present work, which should by right have preceded the Laboratory
Book (and which frequently refers to it as “L.I.L.B.”), attempts to deal
with the general scientific principles of the industry, without
describing in detail its practical methods (though incidentally many
practical points are discussed). To complete the subject, a third volume
ought to be written, giving working details of the various methods of
manufacture; but apart from the difficulty of the subject, and the
weariness of “making many books,” the methods of trade are so
fluctuating, and dependent on temporary conditions that they have not
the same permanent value as the record of scientific advance.
As the present volume is intended to appeal both to the chemist and to
the practical tanner, it must to a certain extent fail in both, since
many matters are included which are already familiar to the former, and
it is to be feared, some, which may prove difficult to the latter. For
these and other imperfections the Author claims the indulgence of his
Readers.
The Author must here acknowledge his indebtedness to Dr. TOM GUTHRIE and
to Mr. A. B. SEARLE for assistance in writing several of the chapters;
to Dr. A. TURNBULL and Mr. F. A. BLOCKEY for much help in reading proofs
and preparing the MS. for the press; and to the many gentlemen who have
furnished or allowed him to use their blocks and drawings in
illustration.
THE YORKSHIRE COLLEGE,
LEEDS.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
_INTRODUCTORY AND HISTORICAL._
Primitive methods of leather manufacture -- Use of leather by the
ancients -- Progress of leather manufacture in England -- Methods of
production of leather -- Vegetable tannages -- Combination tannages --
Use of aluminium, iron and chromium -- Oil- and fat-leathers --
Difficulties of scientific treatment PAGE 1
CHAPTER II.
_INTRODUCTORY SKETCH OF LEATHER MANUFACTURE._
The object of tanning -- Washing and soaking -- Removal of hair by
liming -- Unhairing by putrefaction -- Unhairing and fleshing --
Deliming -- Bating, puering and drenching -- The vegetable tanning
process -- Currying -- Alum, chrome and chamois leathers PAGE 7
CHAPTER III.
_THE LIVING CELL._
The structure of cells -- White blood-corpuscles -- The yeast-cell --
Epidermis cells -- The building up of plants PAGE 10
CHAPTER IV.
_PUTREFACTION AND FERMENTATION._
The nature of ferments -- Organised and unorganised ferments --
Classification of organised ferments -- General properties of ferments
-- The alcoholic fermentation -- The action of enzymes or unorganised
ferments -- The destruction of ferments by heat and antiseptics -- The
products of fermentation -- The fermentations of the tannery --
Fermentation in bating and puering -- Fermentation in the tanning
liquors -- Moulds and mildews -- Control of fermentation PAGE 15
CHAPTER V.
_ANTISEPTICS AND DISINFECTANTS._
Distinction of antiseptics and disinfectants -- Lime -- Sulphur
dioxide -- Manufacture of sulphuric acid -- Bisulphites and
metabisulphites -- Boric acid and borates -- Mercuric chloride --
Mercuric iodide -- Copper sulphate -- Zinc salts -- Arsenic --
Fluorides -- Phenol -- Use of carbolic acid -- Eudermin -- Creasote --
Creolin -- Salicylic acid -- Benzoic acid -- Cresotinic acid --
Anticalcium -- “C.T.” bate -- Naphthalene sulphonic acid -- Naphthols
-- Hydronaphthol -- Oxynaphthoic acid -- Carbon disulphide --
Formaldehyde -- Triformol -- Camphor and essential oils PAGE 21
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THE WONDERFUL STORY OF LINCOLN
"I see him, as he stands,
With gifts of mercy in his outstretched hands;
A kindly light within his gentle eyes,
Sad as the toil in which his heart grew wise;
His lips half parted with the constant smile
That kindled truth but foiled the deepest guile;
His head bent forward, and his willing ear
Divinely patient right and wrong to hear:
Great in his goodness, humble in his state,
Firm in his purpose, yet not passionate,
He led his people with a tender hand,
And won by love a sway beyond command."
GEORGE H. BOKER.
_Inspiration Series of Patriotic Americans_
THE WONDERFUL STORY OF LINCOLN
AND THE MEANING OF HIS LIFE FOR THE YOUTH AND PATRIOTISM OF
AMERICA
BY C. M. STEVENS
_Author of "The Wonderful Story of Washington"_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
Copyright, 1917, by
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
Printed in U. S. A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. INTRODUCTORY CONSIDERATIONS
A Personal Life and Its Interest to Americans.
The Process of Life from Within.
A Life Built as One Would Have the Nation.
II. THE PROBLEM OF A WORTH-WHILE LIFE
The Lincoln Boy of the Kentucky Woods.
Home-Seekers in the Wild West.
A Wonderful Family in the Desolate Wilderness.
Way-Marks of Right Life.
III. THE LINCOLN BOY
How the Lincoln Boy Made the Lincoln Man.
Some Signs Along the Early Way.
Illustrations Showing the Making of a Man.
Lincoln's First Dollar.
The Characteristics of a Superior Mind.
IV. THE WILDERNESS AS THE GARDEN OF POLITICAL LIBERTY
Small Beginnings in Public Esteem.
Tests of Character on the Lawless Frontier.
The Pioneer Missionary of Humanity.
Experiences in the Indian War.
Life-Making Decisions.
V. BUSINESS NOT HARMONIOUS WITH THE STRUGGLE FOR LEARNING
Making a Living and Learning the Meaning of Life.
Out of the Wilderness Paths into the Great Highway.
Lincoln's First Law Case.
The Man Who Could Not Live for Self Alone.
VI. HELPFULNESS AND KINDNESS OF A WORTH-WHILE CHARACTER
The Love of Freedom and Truth.
Wit-Makers and Their Wit.
Turbulent Times and Social Storms.
The Frontier "Fire-Eater."
Honor to Whom Honor Is Due.
VII. SIMPLICITY AND SYMPATHY ESSENTIAL TO GENUINE CHARACTER
Nearing the Heights of a Public Career.
Some Characteristics of Momentous Times.
The Beginnings of Great Tragedy.
The Life Struggle of a Man Translated Into the Life Struggle
of a Nation.
Some Human Interests Making Lighter the Burdens of
the Troubled Way.
VIII. THE MAN AND THE CONFIDENCE OF THE PEOPLE
Typical Incidents From Among Momentous Scenes.
Experiences Demanding Mercy and Not Sacrifice.
Humanity and the Great School of Experience.
Simple Interests That Never Grow Old.
Some Incidents From the Great Years.
IX. FALSEHOOD AIDS NO ONE'S TRUTH
Freedom to Misrepresent Is Not Freedom.
Homely Ways To Express Truth.
X. THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY
The Great Tragedy.
The Time When "Those Who Came To Scoff Remained
To Pray."
Some Typical Examples Giving Views of Lincoln's Life.
Remembrance At the End of a Hundred Years.
XI. CONCLUDING REFLECTIONS
A Masterpiece of Meaning for America.
The Harmonizing Contrast of Men.
The Mission of America.
LINCOLN AND AMERICAN FREEDOM
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY CONSIDERATIONS
I. A PERSONAL LIFE AND ITS INTEREST TO AMERICANS
"America First" has probably as many varieties of meaning and use as
"Safety First." It means to every individual very much according to
what feelings it inspires in him of selfishness or patriotism. We are
inspired as we believe, and, to be an American, it is necessary to
appreciate the meaning and mission of America.
American history is composed of the struggle to get clear the meaning
of American liberty. Through many years of distress and sacrifice,
known as the Revolutionary War, the American people freed themselves
from un-American methods and masteries imposed on them from across
the sea. Out of that turmoil of minds came forth one typical leader
and American, George Washington. But we did not yet have clear the
meaning of America, and through yet more years of even worse
suffering, involving the Civil War, we freed ourselves from the
war-making methods and masteries entrenched within our own government.
Out of that political turmoil of minds appeared another American,
Abraham Lincoln, whose life represents supremely the most important
possibilities in the meaning and ideal of America. To know the
mind-making process that developed Washington and Lincoln is to know
not only the meaning but also the mission of America.
Every American child and every newcomer to our shores is in great need
to understand clearly and indisputably their interest in American
freedom, as being human freedom and world freedom, if they are to
realize and fulfill their part as Americans.
The American vision of moral freedom and social righteousness can in
no way be made clearer than in studying the process of development
that individually prepared Washington and Lincoln to be the makers and
preservers of a developing democracy for America and for the American
mind of the world.
Lincoln's early life has interest and meaning only for those who are
seeking to understand the pioneer political principles, fundamental
in character and civilization, out of which could develop a mind and
manhood equipped for the greatest and noblest of human tasks. To take
his "backwoods" experiences and their comparatively uncouth incidents,
as interesting merely because they happened to a man who became
famous, is to miss every inspiration, value and meaning so important
in building his way as man and statesman. To read the early incidents
of Lincoln's life for the isolated interest of their being the queer,
peculiar or pathetic biography of a notable character has little that
is either inspiring or informing to a boy in the light of present
experiences and methods of living. Indeed, many social episodes of
pioneer customs are seemingly so trivial or coarse, in comparison, as
to detract in respect from a boy's ideal of the historical Lincoln.
[Illustration: The Birthplace of Abraham Lincoln--Hodgensville, Ky.]
The pioneer frontier was the social infancy of a new meaning for
civilization. Its lowly needs of humble equality were the first social
interests of Lincoln, and the wonderful story of his life in that
place and time, if told as merely historical happenings, incidentally
noticeable only because they happened to Lincoln, becomes more and
more frivolous and disesteeming in interest to boyhood, and to the
general reader, as current social customs develop away beyond those
times. This is why such strained efforts have been made to give the
incidents of his social infancy a pathetic interest, or some other
sympathetic appeal, where everything was so unromantic, industrious,
simple, enjoyable and faithful to the earth.
Those lowly years were sacred privacy to him. He knew there was
nothing in them for a biographer, and he said so. His experience is
valuable only in showing how it developed a man. True enough, the
biographically uninteresting trivialities of his early years were not
from him but from his environment. This is proven from the fact that
two wider contrasting environments are hardly possible than those of
Washington and Lincoln, and yet out of them came the same model
character and supreme American.
II. THE PROCESS OF LIFE FROM WITHIN
Standard authorities have already fully recorded Lincoln's biography
and its historical environment. There yet remains the far more
difficult, delicate and consequential message from generation to
generation, so much needed in patriotic appreciation, to interpret his
rise from those vanished social origins, in order that there may be a
just valuation of his life by American youth.
The schoolboy learns with little addition to his ideals, or to his
patriotism, or humanity, when he reads of a person, born in what
appears to be the most sordid and pathetic destitution of the wild
West, at last becoming a martyr president. The scenes in the making of
Lincoln's life run by too fast in the reading for the strengthening
life-interest to be received and appreciated. The human process of
Lincoln's youth, with its supreme lesson of patience and labor and
growth, is lost in considering the man solely as a strange figure of
American history. If that life can be separated enough from the
political turmoil so as to be seen and to be given a worthy
interpretation, there is thus a service that may be worth while for
the American youth.
Heroes have been made in many a historical crisis and they represent
some splendid devotion to a single idea of human worth, but Lincoln's
heroism was the far severer test of a hard struggle through many
years. He came near encountering every discouragement and in mastering
every difficulty that may befall any American from the worst to the
best, and from the lowliest to the most responsible position.
The poet has expressed these valuations arising through the frailties
and vicissitudes of his long, tragic struggle in the following lines:
"A blend of mirth and sadness, smiles and tears;
A quaint knight-errant of | 1,286.603545 |
2023-11-16 18:38:30.6788150 | 1,373 | 9 |
Produced by Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
MARJORIE'S NEW FRIEND
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
Author of the "Patty" Books
[Illustration: "'HERE'S THE BOOK', SAID MISS HART.... 'HOW MANY LEAVES
HAS IT!'"]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A BOTHERSOME BAG
II. A WELCOME CHRISTMAS GIFT
III. MERRY CHRISTMAS!
IV. HAPPY NEW YEAR!
V. A TEARFUL TIME
VI. THE GOING OF GLADYS
VII. THE COMING OF DELIGHT
VIII. A VISIT TO CINDERELLA
IX. A STRAW-RIDE
X. MAKING VALENTINES
XI. MARJORIE CAPTIVE
XII. MISS HART HELPS
XIII. GOLDFISH AND KITTENS
XIV. A PLEASANT SCHOOL
XV. A SEA TRIP
XVI. A VALENTINE PARTY
XVII. A JINKS AUCTION
XVIII. HONEST CONFESSION
XIX. A VISIT FROM GLADYS
XX. CHESSY CATS
CHAPTER I
A BOTHERSOME BAG
"Mother, are you there?"
"Yes, Marjorie; what is it, dear?"
"Nothing. I just wanted to know. Is Kitty there?"
"No; I'm alone, except for Baby Rosy. Are you bothered?"
"Yes, awfully. Please tell me the minute Kitty comes. I want to see her."
"Yes, dearie. I wish I could help you."
"Oh, I _wish_ you could! You'd be just the one!"
This somewhat unintelligible conversation is explained by the fact that
while Mrs. Maynard sat by a table in the large, well-lighted living-room,
and Rosy Posy was playing near her on the floor, Marjorie was concealed
behind a large folding screen in a distant corner.
The four Japanese panels of the screen were adjusted so that they
enclosed the corner as a tiny room, and in it sat Marjorie, looking very
much troubled, and staring blankly at a rather hopeless-looking mass of
brocaded silk and light-green satin, on which she had been sewing. The
more she looked at it, and the more she endeavored to pull it into shape,
the more perplexed she became.
"I never saw such a thing!" she murmured, to herself. "You turn it
straight, and then it's wrong side out,--and then you turn it back, and
still it's wrong side out! I wish I could ask Mother about it!"
The exasperating silk affair was a fancy work-bag which Marjorie was
trying to make for her mother's Christmas present. And that her mother
should not know of the gift, which was to be a surprise, of course,
Marjorie worked on it while sitting behind the screen. It was a most
useful arrangement, for often Kitty, and, sometimes, even Kingdon, took
refuge behind its concealing panels, when making or wrapping up gifts for
each other that must not be seen until Christmas Day.
Indeed, at this hour, between dusk and dinner time, the screened off
corner was rarely unoccupied.
It was a carefully-kept rule that no one was to intrude if any one else
was in there, unless, of course, by invitation of the one in possession.
Marjorie did not like to sew, and was not very adept at it, but she had
tried very hard to make this bag neatly, that it might be presentable
enough for her mother to carry when she went anywhere and carried her
work.
So <DW40> had bought a lovely pattern of brocaded silk for the outside,
and a dainty pale green satin for the lining. She had seamed up the two
materials separately, and then had joined them at the top, thinking that
when she turned them, the bag would be neatly lined, and ready for the
introduction of a pretty ribbon that should gather it at the top. But,
instead, when she sewed her two bags together, they did not turn into
each other right at all. She had done her sewing with both bags wrong
side out, thinking they would turn in such a way as to conceal all the
seams. But instead of that, not only were all the seams on the outside,
but only the wrong sides of the pretty materials showed, and turn and
twist it as she would, Marjorie could not make it come right.
Her mother could have shown her where the trouble lay, but Marjorie
couldn't consult her as to her own surprise, so she sat and stared at the
exasperating bag until Kitty came.
"Come in here, Kit," called <DW40>, and Kitty carefully squeezed herself
inside the screen.
"What's the matter, Mopsy? Oh, is it Mother's--"
"Sh!" said Marjorie warningly, for Kitty was apt to speak out
thoughtlessly, and Mrs. Maynard was easily within hearing.
"I can't make it turn right," she whispered; "see if you can."
Kitty obligingly took the bag, but the more she turned and twisted it,
the more obstinately it refused to get right side out.
"You've sewed it wrong," she whispered back.
"I know that,--but what's the way to sew it right. I can't see where I
made the mistake."
"No, nor I. You'd think it would turn, wouldn't you?"
Kitty kept turning the bag, now brocaded side out, now lining side out,
but always the seams were outside, and the right side of the materials
invisible.
"I never saw anything so queer," said Kitty; "it's bewitched! Maybe King
could help us."
Kingdon had just come in, so they called him to the consultation.
"It is queer," he said, after the situation was noiselessly explained to
him. "It's just like my skatebag, that Mother made, only the seams of
that don't show."
"Go get it, King," said Marjorie hopefully. "Maybe I can get this right
then. Don't let Mother see it."
| 1,286.698855 |
2023-11-16 18:38:30.8807350 | 1,867 | 21 | SHON CATTI***
Transcribed from the 1828 John Cox edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
THE
ADVENTURES AND VAGARIES
OF
TWM SHÔN CATTI,
DESCRIPTIVE OF
LIFE IN WALES:
Interspersed with Poems.
* * * * *
BY T. J. LLEWELYN PRICHARD.
* * * * *
Mae llevain mawr a gwaeddi
Yn Ystrad Fîn eleni
A cherrig nadd yn toddi ’n blwm
Rhag ovn Twm Shôn Catti.
In Ystrad Fîn this year, appalling
The tumult loud, the weeping, wailing,
That thrills with fear and pity;
The lightning scathes the mountain’s head,
The massy stones dissolve like lead,
All nature shudders at the tread
And shout of Twm Shôn Catti.
* * * * *
ABERYSTWYTH:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR, BY JOHN COX.
1828
* * * * *
CHAP. I.
The popularity of Twm Shôn Catti’s name in Wales. The resemblance of his
character to that of Robin Hood and others. An exposition of the
spurious account of our hero in the “INNKEEPER’S ALBUM,” and in the drama
founded thereon. The honor of his birth claimed by different towns. A
true account of his birth and parentage.
THE preface to the once popular farce of “Killing no Murder” informs us,
that many a fry of infant Methodists are terrified and frightened to bed
by the cry of “the Bishop is coming!”—That the right reverend prelates of
the realm should become bugbears and buggaboos to frighten the children
of Dissenters, is curious enough, and evinces a considerable degree of
ingenious malignity in bringing Episcopacy into contempt, if true. Be
that as it may in England, in Wales it is not so; for the demon of terror
and monster of the nursery there, to check the shrill cry of infancy, and
enforce silent obedience to the nurse or mother, is Twm Shôn Catti. But
“babes and sucklings” are not the only ones on whom that name has
continued to act as a spell; nor are fear and wonder its only attributes,
for the knavish exploits and comic feats of the celebrated freebooter Twm
Shôn Catti, are, like those of Robin Hood in England, the themes of many
a rural rhyme, and the subject of many a village tale; where, seated
round the ample hearth of the farm house, or the more limited one of the
lowly cottage, an attentive audience is ever found, where his
mirth-exciting tricks are told and listened to with vast satisfaction,
unsated by the frequency of repetition: for the “lowly train” are
generally strangers to that fastidiousness which turns, disgusted, from
the twice-told tale.
Although neither the legends, poetry, nor history of the principality,
seems to interest, or accord with the queasy taste of our English
brethren, the name of Twm Shôn Catti, curiously enough, not only made its
way among them, but had the unexpected honor of being woven into a tale,
and exhibited on the stage as a Welsh national dramatic spectacle, under
the title, and the imposing _second_ title, of Twm _John_ Catti, or the
Welsh Rob Roy. The nationality of the Welsh residents in London, who
always bear their country along with them wherever they go or stay, was
immediately roused, notwithstanding the great offence of substituting
“John” for “Shôn,” which called at once on their curiosity and love of
country to peruse the “Innkeeper’s Album,” in which this tale first
appeared, and to visit the Cobourg Theatre, where overflowing houses
nightly attended the representation of the “Welsh Rob Roy.” Now this
second title, which confounded the poor Cambrians, was a grand expedient
of the author’s, to excite the attention of the Londoners, who naturally
associated it with the hero of the celebrated Scotch novel; the bait was
immediately swallowed, and that tale, an awkward and most weak attempt to
imitate the “Great Unknown,” and by far the worst article in the book,
actually _sold_ a volume, in other respects well deserving the attention
of the public. “It is good to have a friend at court,” is an adage no
less familiar than true; and Mr. Deacon’s success in this instance
clearly illustrates this new maxim—“it is good to have a friend among the
critics,” by most of whom his book has been either praised, or allowed
quietly to pass muster, adorned with the insignia of unquestionable
merit.
Great was the surprise of the sons of the Cymry to find the robber Twm
Shon Catti, who partially resembled Bamfylde Moore Carew, Robin Hood, and
the humorous but vulgar footpad, Turpin, elevated to the degree of a
high-hearted, injured chieftain;—the stealer of calves, old women’s
flannels, and three-legged pots, a noble character, uttering heroic
speeches, and ultimately dying for his _Ellen_ {3a} a hero’s death!
“This may do for London, but in Wales, where ‘_Y gwir yn erbyn y byd_’
{3b} is our motto, we know better!” muttered many a testy Cambrian, while
he felt doubly indignant at the author’s and actors’ errors in
mis-writing and mis-pronouncing their popular outlaw’s “sponsorial or
baptismal appellation,” {4} as Doctor Pangloss would say: and another
source of umbrage to them was, that an English author’s sacrilegiously
dignifying a robber with the qualities of a hero, conveyed the villainous
inference that Wales was barren of _real_ heroes—an insinuation that no
Welshman could tamely endure or forgive. In an instant recurred the
honored names of Rodri Mawr, Owen Gwyneth, Caswallon ab Beli, Owen
Glyndwr, Rhys ab Thomas, and a vast chain of Cambrian worthies, not
forgetting the royal race of Tudor, that gave an Elizabeth to the English
throne; on which the mimic scene before them, and the high vauntings of
Huntley in the character of Twm Shôn Catti, sunk into the insignificance
of a Punch and puppet show, in comparison with the mighty men who then
passed before the mental eye.
If the misrepresentation of historical characters, re-moulded and
amplified, to suit the fascinating details of romance, be a fault
generally, it is particularly offensive in the present case, where the
being treated of, is so well known to almost every peasant throughout the
principality; so that a real account of our hero, if not exactly useful,
may at least prove amusing, in this age of inquiry, to stand by the side
of the fictitious tale; and if this detail is found also to partake
occasionally of the embellishments of fancy, it will at least be
characteristic. Little, it is true, of his life is known, and that
little collected principally from the varying and uncertain source of
oral tradition. Some anecdotes and remarks respecting him have of late
years been committed to record, in the writings of Theophilus Jones, the
Breconshire historian, and in the “Hynafion Cymreig,” (Cambrian Popular
Antiquities,) which Dr. Meyrick has quoted in his “History of
Cardiganshire;” but his rover’s exploits and vagaries I met with
principally in a homely Welsh pamphlet of eight pages, printed on
tea-paper, and sold at the moderate price of two-pence.
Twm Shôn Catti was the natural son of Sir John Wynne, of Gwydir, bart.
author of that quaint and singular work, the “History of the Gwydir
Family,” by a woman whose name was Catherine. Of her condition little
has hitherto been made known; but as surnames were not then generally | 1,286.900775 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE FACTS CONCERNING THE RECENT CARNIVAL OF CRIME IN CONNECTICUT
by Mark Twain
I was feeling blithe, almost jocund. I put a match to my cigar, and
just then the morning's mail was handed in. The first superscription I
glanced at was in a handwriting that sent a thrill of pleasure through
and through me. It was Aunt Mary's; and she was the person I loved and
honored most in all the world, outside of my own household. She had been
my boyhood's idol; maturity, which is fatal to so many enchantments,
had not been able to dislodge her from her pedestal; no, it had only
justified her right to be there, and placed her dethronement permanently
among the impossibilities. To show how strong her influence over me was,
I will observe that long after everybody else's "do-stop-smoking" had
ceased to affect me in the slightest degree, Aunt Mary could still stir
my torpid conscience into faint signs of life when she touched upon the
matter. But all things have their limit in this world. A happy day came
at last, when even Aunt Mary's words could no longer move me. I was
not merely glad to see that day arrive; I was more than glad--I was
grateful; for when its sun had set, the one alloy that was able to mar
my enjoyment of my aunt's society was gone. The remainder of her stay
with us that winter was in every way a delight. Of course she pleaded
with me just as earnestly as ever, after that blessed day, to quit my
pernicious habit, but to no purpose whatever; the moment she opened
the subject I at once became calmly, peacefully, contentedly
indifferent--absolutely, adamantinely indifferent. Consequently the
closing weeks of that memorable visit melted away as pleasantly as a
dream, they were so freighted for me with tranquil satisfaction. I could
not have enjoyed my pet vice more if my gentle tormentor had been a
smoker herself, and an advocate of the practice. Well, the sight of her
handwriting reminded me that I way getting very hungry to see her again.
I easily guessed what I should find in her letter. I opened it. Good!
just as I expected; she was coming! Coming this very day, too, and by
the morning train; I might expect her any moment.
I said to myself, "I am thoroughly happy and content now. If my most
pitiless enemy could appear before me at this moment, I would freely
right any wrong I may have done him."
Straightway the door opened, and a shriveled, shabby dwarf entered. He
was not more than two feet high. He seemed to be about forty years old.
Every feature and every inch of him was a trifle out of shape; and so,
while one could not put his finger upon any particular part and say,
"This is a conspicuous deformity," the spectator perceived that this
little person was a deformity as a whole--a vague, general, evenly
blended, nicely adjusted deformity. There was a fox-like cunning in the
face and the sharp little eyes, and also alertness and malice. And
yet, this vile bit of human rubbish seemed to bear a sort of remote
and ill-defined resemblance to me! It was dully perceptible in the
mean form, the countenance, and even the clothes, gestures, manner,
and attitudes of the creature. He was a farfetched, dim suggestion of
a burlesque upon me, a caricature of me in little. One thing about him
struck me forcibly and most unpleasantly: he was covered all over with
a fuzzy, greenish mold, such as one sometimes sees upon mildewed bread.
The sight of it was nauseating.
He stepped along with a chipper air, and flung himself into a doll's
chair in a very free-and-easy way, without waiting to be asked. He
tossed his hat into the waste-basket. He picked up my old chalk pipe
from the floor, gave the stem a wipe or two on his knee, filled the
bowl from the tobacco-box at his side, and said to me in a tone of pert
command:
"Gimme a match!"
I blushed to the roots of my hair; partly with indignation, but mainly
because it somehow seemed to me that this whole performance was very
like an exaggeration of conduct which I myself had sometimes been
guilty of in my intercourse with familiar friends--but never, never with
strangers, I observed to myself. I wanted to kick the pygmy into the
fire, but some incomprehensible sense of being legally and legitimately
under his authority forced me to obey his order. He applied the match
to the pipe, took a contemplative whiff or two, and remarked, in an
irritatingly familiar way:
"Seems to me it's devilish odd weather for this time of year."
I flushed again, and in anger and humiliation as before; for the
language was hardly an exaggeration of some that I have uttered in
my day, and moreover was delivered in a tone of voice and with an
exasperating drawl that had the seeming of a deliberate travesty of my
style. Now there is nothing I am quite so sensitive about as a mocking
imitation of my drawling infirmity of speech. I spoke up sharply and
said:
"Look here, you miserable ash-cat! you will have to give a little more
attention to your manners, or I will throw you out of the window!"
The manikin smiled a smile of malicious content and security, puffed
a whiff of smoke contemptuously toward me, and said, with a still more
elaborate drawl:
"Come--go gently now; don't put on too many airs with your betters."
This cool snub rasped me all over, but it seemed to subjugate me, too,
for a moment. The pygmy contemplated me awhile with his weasel eyes, and
then said, in a peculiarly sneering way:
"You turned a tramp away from your door this morning."
I said crustily:
"Perhaps I did, perhaps I didn't. How do you know?"
"Well, I know. It isn't any matter how I know."
"Very well. Suppose I did turn a tramp away from the door--what of it?"
"Oh, nothing; nothing in particular. Only you lied to him."
"I didn't! That is, I--"
"Yes, but you did; you lied to him."
I felt a guilty pang--in truth, I had felt it forty times before that
tramp had traveled a block from my door--but still I resolved to make a
show of feeling slandered; so I said:
"This is a baseless impertinence. I said to the tramp--"
"There--wait. You were about to lie again. I know what you said to him.
You said the cook was gone down-town and there was nothing left from
breakfast. Two lies. You knew the cook was behind the door, and plenty
of provisions behind her."
This astonishing accuracy silenced me; and it filled me with wondering
speculations, too, as to how this cub could have got his information. Of
course he could have culled the conversation from the tramp, but by what
sort of magic had he contrived to find | 1,287.00004 |
2023-11-16 18:38:31.0806870 | 1,024 | 9 |
Produced by Moti Ben-Ari and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive.)
[Illustration: Cover: Under the Red Crescent 1877-78]
UNDER THE RED CRESCENT.
[Illustration: Charles Ryan Walker & Boutall, Ph. Sc.]
UNDER THE RED CRESCENT:
ADVENTURES OF AN ENGLISH SURGEON
WITH THE TURKISH ARMY AT
PLEVNA AND ERZEROUM,
1877-1878.
RELATED BY
CHARLES S. RYAN, M.B., C.M. EDIN.,
IN ASSOCIATION WITH HIS FRIEND
JOHN SANDES, B. A. OXON.
WITH PORTRAIT AND MAPS.
NEW YORK:
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS,
153-157, FIFTH AVENUE.
1897.
DEDICATION.
THIS RECORD
OF
THE STIRRING ADVENTURES OF MY EARLY YEARS
I DEDICATE TO MY SON
RUPERT.
C. S. R.
PREFACE.
In submitting to the popular verdict this book, which aims at being a
plain, straightforward account of the experiences of a young Australian
in the last great battles which have been fought in Europe, I feel that
a few words of explanation are necessary.
In the first place, it may be asked why I have allowed twenty years to
elapse before giving these reminiscences to the world. I must answer
that, as a hard-working surgeon leading a very busy life, I had but
little "learned leisure" at my disposal; and I must also admit that I
did not feel myself equal to the literary labour of writing a book.
Indeed it might never have been written if my friend Mr. Sandes had not
agreed to my suggestion that he should reproduce in a literary and
publishable form the language of the armchair and the fireside, and so
enable me to relate to the world at large some of the incidents which my
own immediate friends, when listening over the cigars to my
recollections, have been good enough to call interesting. So much for
the matter of the book, and also for its manner.
In the second place, military critics as well as the general public may
be inclined to wonder how it was that a young army surgeon, a mere lad
in fact, should have been allowed to play such an independent part in
the field operations at Plevna as is disclosed in the following pages,
and should have been permitted to move about the battle-field and engage
in active service, with the apparent concurrence of the general staff
and of the officers commanding the different regiments. In reply, I have
to explain that the Ottoman army was not guided by the hard-and-fast
regulations which no doubt would render it impossible for a junior
surgeon in any other European army to act on his own volition and carry
on his work as he might think best himself. Furthermore, I may mention
that through my close friendship with Prince Czetwertinski, who was the
captain of Osman Pasha's bodyguard, I was always kept in touch with the
progress of the military operations; and I am also proud to say that I
enjoyed the confidence of Osman Pasha himself, and was on terms of the
closest intimacy with that gallant and true-hearted soldier Tewfik Bey,
who won the rank of pasha for his magnificent courage when he led the
assault that drove Skobeleff from the Krishin redoubts.
These facts may explain many of the adventures narrated in this book
which would be inexplicable to critics accustomed to the rigid
discipline under which medical officers do their work in other European
armies.
It is only right to say, in conclusion, that I consider myself
singularly fortunate in my coadjutor, who, while he has brightened this
narrative of my early adventures with all the resources of the practised
writer, has nevertheless left the truth of every single incident
absolutely unimpaired. At a time when the Eastern Question looms like a
huge shadow over Europe, and when the very existence of the Turkish
Empire is once more threatened, may I hope that this story of the
military virtues of the Ottoman troops may not be found without real
interest?
CHARLES S. RYAN.
Melbourne, _July_, 1897.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
FROM MELBOURNE TO SOFIA.
Autobiographical--My Wanderjahr--First Glimpse of
Servians--Rome--A Prospective Mother-in-law--Sad Result of
eating Chops--A Spanish | 1,287.100727 |
2023-11-16 18:38:31.1782290 | 7,412 | 50 |
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_.
The book uses both Phillippi and Phillipi.
An upside-down T symbol is represented as [Symbol: upside-down T].
[Illustration: Harris Newmark]
SIXTY YEARS
IN
SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
1853-1913
CONTAINING THE REMINISCENCES OF
HARRIS NEWMARK
EDITED BY
MAURICE H. NEWMARK
MARCO R. NEWMARK
Every generation enjoys the use of a vast hoard bequeathed
to it by antiquity, and transmits that hoard, augmented by
fresh acquisitions, to future ages. In these pursuits, therefore,
the first speculators lie under great disadvantages, and, even
when they fail, are entitled to praise.--MACAULAY.
_WITH 150 ILLUSTRATIONS_
NEW YORK
The Knickerbocker Press
1916
COPYRIGHT, 1916
BY
M. H. AND M. R. NEWMARK
To
THE MEMORY OF
MY WIFE
In Memoriam
At the hour of high twelve on April the fourth, 1916, the sun shone
into a room where lay the temporal abode, for eighty-one years and
more, of the spirit of Harris Newmark. On his face still lingered that
look of peace which betokens a life worthily used and gently
relinquished.
Many were the duties allotted him in his pilgrimage; splendidly did he
accomplish them! Providence permitted him the completion of his final
task--a labor of love--but denied him the privilege of seeing it given
to the community of his adoption.
To him and to her, by whose side he sleeps, may it be both monument
and epitaph.
_Thy will be done!_
M. H. N.
M. R. N.
INTRODUCTION
Several times during his latter years my friend, Charles Dwight
Willard, urged me to write out my recollections of the five or six
decades I had already passed in Los Angeles, expressing his regret
that many pioneers had carried from this world so much that might have
been of interest to both the Angeleno of the present and the future
historian of Southern California; but as I had always led an active
life of business or travel, and had neither fitted myself for any sort
of literary undertaking nor attempted one, I gave scant attention to
the proposal. Mr. Willard's persistency, however, together with the
prospect of cooperation offered me by my sons, finally overcame my
reluctance and I determined to commence the work.
Accordingly in June, 1913, at my Santa Monica home, I began to devote
a few hours each day to a more or less fragmentary enumeration of the
incidents of my boyhood; of my voyage over the great wastes of sea and
land between my ancestral and adopted homes; of the pueblo and its
surroundings that I found on this Western shore; of its people and
their customs; and, finally, of the men and women who, from then until
now, have contributed to the greatness of the Southland, and of the
things they have done or said to entitle their names to be recorded.
This task I finished in the early fall. During its progress I entered
more and more into the distant Past, until Memory conjured before me
many long-forgotten faces and happenings. In the end, I found that I
had jotted down a mass of notes much greater than I had expected.
Thereupon the Editors began their duties, which were to arrange the
materials at hand, to supply names and dates that had escaped me, and
to interview many who had been principals in events and, accordingly,
were presumed to know the details; and much progress was made, to the
enlarging and enrichment of the book. But it was not long before they
found that the work involved an amount of investigation which their
limited time would not permit; and that if carried out on even the
modest plan originally contemplated, some additional assistance would
be required.
Fortunately, just then they met Perry Worden, a post-graduate of
Columbia and a Doctor of Philosophy of the University of Halle,
Germany; a scholar and an author of attainments. His aid, as
investigator and adviser, has been indispensable to the completion of
the work in its present form. Dr. Worden spent many months searching
the newspapers, magazines and books--some of whose titles find special
mention in the text--which deal with Southern California and its past;
and he also interviewed many pioneers, to each of whom I owe
acknowledgment for ready and friendly cooperation. In short, no pains
was spared to confirm and amplify all the facts and narratives.
Whether to arrange the matter chronologically or not, was a problem
impossible of solution to the complete satisfaction of the Editors;
this, as well as other methods, having its advantages and
disadvantages. After mature consideration, the chronological plan was
adopted, and the events of each year have been recorded more or less
in the order of their happening. Whatever confusion, if any, may arise
through this treatment of local history as a chronicle for ready
reference will be easily overcome, it is believed, through the dating
of the chapters and the provision of a comprehensive index; while the
brief chapter-heading, generally a reference to some marked occurrence
in that period, will further assist the reader to get his bearings.
Preference has been given to the first thirty years of my residence in
Los Angeles, both on account of my affectionate remembrance of that
time and because of the peculiarity of memory in advanced life which
enables us to recall remote events when more recent ones are
forgotten; and inasmuch as so little has been handed down from the
days of the adobe, this partiality will probably find favor.
In collecting this mass of data, many discrepancies were met with,
calling for the acceptance or rejection of much long current here as
fact; and in all such cases I selected the version most closely
corresponding with my own recollection, or that seemed to me, in the
light of other facts, to be correct. For this reason, no less than
because in my narrative of hitherto unrecorded events and
personalities it would be miraculous if errors have not found their
way into the story, I shall be grateful if those who discover
inaccuracies will report them to me. In these sixty years, also, I
have met many men and women worthy of recollection, and it is certain
that there are some whose names I have not mentioned; if so, I wish to
disclaim any intentional neglect. Indeed, precisely as I have
introduced the names of a number for whom I have had no personal
liking, but whose services to the community I remember with respect,
so there are doubtless others whose activities, past or present, it
would afford me keen pleasure to note, but whom unhappily I have
overlooked.
With this brief introduction, I give the manuscript to the printer,
not with the ambitious hope of enriching literature in any respect,
but not without confidence that I have provided some new material for
the local historian--perhaps of the future--and that there may be a
goodly number of people sufficiently interested to read and enjoy the
story, yet indulgent enough to overlook the many faults in its
narration.
H. N.
LOS ANGELES,
_December 31, 1915_.
FOREWORD
The Historian no longer writes History by warming over the pancakes of
his predecessors. He must surely know what they have done, and
how--and whereby they succeeded and wherein they failed. But his own
labor is to find the sidelights they did not have. Macaulay saves him
from doing again all the research that Macaulay had to do; but if he
could find a twin Boswell or a second Pepys he would rather have
either than a dozen new Macaulays. Since history is becoming really a
Science, and is no more a closet exploration of half-digested
arm-chair books, we are beginning to learn the overwhelming value of
the contemporary witness. Even a justice's court will not admit
Hearsay Evidence; and Science has been shamed into adopting the same
sane rule. Nowadays it demands the eye-witness. We look less for the
"Authorities" now, and more for the Documents. There are too many
histories already, such as they are--self-satisfied and oracular, but
not one conclusive. Every history is put out of date, almost daily, by
the discovery of some scrap of paper or some clay tablet from under
the ashes of Babylon.
Mere Humans no longer read History--except in school where they have
to, or in study clubs where it is also Required. But a plain personal
narrative is interesting now as it has been for five thousand years.
The world's greatest book is of course compulsory; but what is the
_interesting_ part of it? Why, the stories--Adam and Eve; Abraham,
Isaac and Jacob; Saul and David and Samson and Delilah; Solomon, Job,
and Jesus the Christ! And if anyone thinks Moses worked-in a little
too much of the Family Tree--he doesn't know what biblical archaeology
is doing. For it is thanks to these same "petty" details that modern
Science, in its excavations and decipherings, has verified the Bible
and resolved many of its riddles!
Greece had one Herodotus. America had _four_, antedating the year
1600. All these truly great historians built from all the "sources"
they could find. But none of them quite give us the homely, vital
picture of life and feeling that one untaught and untamed soldier,
Bernal Diaz, wrote for us three hundred years ago when he was past
ninety, and toothless--and angry "because the historians didn't get it
straight." The student of Spanish America has often to wish there had
been a Bernal Diaz for every decade and every province from 1492 to
1800. His unstudied gossip about the conquest of Mexico is less
balanced and less authoritative, but far more illuminative, than the
classics of his leader, Cortez--a university man, as well as a great
conqueror.
For more than a quarter of a century it was one of my duties to study
and review (for the _Nation_ and other critical journals) all sorts of
local chronicles all over Spanish and English America--particularly of
frontier times. In this work I have read searchingly many hundreds of
volumes; and have been brought into close contact with our greatest
students and editors of "History-Material," and with their standards.
I have read no other such book with so unflagging interest and content
as these memoirs of Harris Newmark. My personal acquaintance with
Southern California for more than thirty years may color my interest
in names and incidents; but I am appraising this book (whose proofs I
have been permitted to read thoroughly) from the standpoint of the
student of history anywhere. Parkman and Fiske and Coues and Hodge and
Thwaites would join me in the wish that every American community might
have so competent a memorandum of its life and customs and growth, for
its most formative half-century.
This is _not_ a history. It is two other much more necessary
things--for there is no such thing as a real History of Los Angeles,
and cannot be for years. These are the frank, naive, conversational
memoirs of a man who for more than sixty years could say of Southern
California almost as truly as AEneas of his own time--"All of which I
saw, much of which I was." The keen observation, the dry humor, the
fireside intimacy of the talk, the equity and accuracy of memory and
judgment--all these make it a book which will be much more valued by
future generations of readers and students. We are rather too near to
it now.
But it is more than the "confessions" of one ripe and noble
experience. It is, beyond any reasonable comparison, the most
characteristic and accurate composite picture we have ever had of an
old, brave, human, free, and distinctive life that has changed
incredibly to the veneers of modern society. It is the very mirror of
who and what the people were that laid the real foundations for a
community which is now the wonder of the historian. The very details
which are "not Big enough" for the casual reader (mentally over-tuned
to newspaper headlines and moving pictures) are the vital and enduring
merits of this unpretentious volume. No one else has ever set down so
many of the very things that the final historian of Los Angeles will
search for, a hundred years after all our oratories and "literary
efforts" have been well forgotten. It is a chronicle indispensable for
every public library, every reference library, the shelf of every
individual concerned with the story of California.
It is the _Pepys's Diary_ of Los Angeles and its tributary domain.
CHARLES F. LUMMIS.
PREFACE
The Editors wish to acknowledge the cooperation given, from time to
time, by many whose names, already mentioned in the text, are not
repeated here, and in particular to Drs. Leo Newmark and Charles F.
Lummis, and Joseph P. and Edwin J. Loeb, for having read the proofs.
They also wish to acknowledge Dr. Lummis's self-imposed task of
preparing the generous foreword with which this volume has been
favored. Gratitude is also due to various friends who have so kindly
permitted the use of photographs--not a few of which, never before
published, are rare and difficult to obtain. Just as in the case,
however, of those who deserve mention in these memoirs, but have been
overlooked, so it is feared that there are some who have supplied
information and yet have been forgotten. To all such, as well as to
several librarians and the following, thanks are hereby expressed:
Frederick Baker, Horace Baker, Mrs. J. A. Barrows, Prospero Barrows,
Mrs. R. C. Bartow, Miss Anna McConnell Beckley, Sigmund Beel, Samuel
Behrendt, Arthur S. Bent, Mrs. Dora Bilderback, C. V. Boquist, Mrs.
Mary Bowman, Allan Bromley, Professor Valentin Buehner, Dr. Rose
Bullard, J. O. Burns, Malcolm Campbell, Gabe Carroll, J. W. Carson,
Walter M. Castle, R. B. Chapman, J. H. Clancy, Herman Cohn, Miss
Gertrude Darlow, Ernest Dawson and Dawson's Bookshop, Louise Deen,
George E. Dimitry, Robert Dominguez, Durell Draper, Miss Marjorie
Driscoll, S. D. Dunann, Gottlieb Eckbahl, Richard Egan, Professor
Alfred Ewington, David P. Fleming, James G. Fowler, Miss Effie
Josephine Fussell, A. P. Gibson, J. Sherman Glasscock, Gilbert H.
Grosvenor, Edgar J. Hartung, Chauncey Hayes, George H. Higbee, Joseph
Hopper, Adelbert Hornung, Walter Hotz, F. A. Howe, Dr. Clarence
Edward Ide, Luther Ingersoll, C. W. Jones, Mrs. Eleanor Brodie Jones,
Reverend Henderson Judd, D. P. Kellogg, C. G. Keyes, Willis T.
Knowlton, Bradner Lee, Jr., H. J. Lelande, Isaac Levy, Miss Ella
Housefield Lowe, Mrs. Celeste Manning, Mrs. Morris Meyberg, Miss
Louisa Meyer, William Meying, Charles E. Mitchell, R. C. Neuendorffer,
S. B. Norton, B. H. Prentice, Burr Price, Edward H. Quimby, B. B.
Rich, Edward I. Robinson, W. J. Rouse, Paul P. Royere, Louis
Sainsevain, Ludwig Schiff, R. D. Sepulveda, Calvin Luther Severy, Miss
Emily R. Smith, Miss Harriet Steele, George F. Strobridge, Father
Eugene Sugranes, Mrs. Carrie Switzer, Walter P. Temple, W. I. Turck,
Judge and Mrs. E. P. Unangst, William M. Van <DW18>, August Wackerbarth,
Mrs. J. T. Ward, Mrs. Olive E. Weston, Professor A. C. Wheat and
Charles L. Wilde.
CONTENTS
PAGE
IN MEMORIAM v
INTRODUCTION vii
FOREWORD xi
PREFACE xv
CHAPTER
I.--CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH, 1834-1853 1
II.--WESTWARD, HO! 1853 6
III.--NEW YORK--NICARAGUA--THE GOLDEN GATE, 1853 14
IV.--FIRST ADVENTURES IN LOS ANGELES, 1853 27
V.--LAWYERS AND COURTS, 1853 45
VI.--MERCHANTS AND SHOPS, 1853 60
VII.--IN AND NEAR THE OLD PUEBLO, 1853 80
VIII.--ROUND ABOUT THE PLAZA, 1853-1854 97
IX.--FAMILIAR HOME-SCENES, 1854 112
X.--EARLY SOCIAL LIFE, 1854 128
XI.--THE RUSH FOR GOLD, 1855 146
XII.--THE GREAT HORSE RACE, 1855 157
XIII.--PRINCELY _RANCHO_ DOMAINS, 1855 166
XIV.--ORCHARDS AND VINEYARDS, 1856 189
XV.--SHERIFF BARTON AND THE _BANDIDOS_, 1857 204
XVI.--MARRIAGE--THE BUTTERFIELD STAGES, 1858 220
XVII.--ADMISSION TO CITIZENSHIP, 1859 240
XVIII.--FIRST EXPERIENCE WITH THE TELEGRAPH, 1860 260
XIX.--STEAM-WAGON--ODD CHARACTERS, 1860 274
XX.--THE RUMBLINGS OF WAR, 1861 289
XXI.--HANCOCK--LADY FRANKLIN--THE DELUGE, 1861 299
XXII.--DROUGHTS--THE _ADA HANCOCK_ DISASTER,
1862-1863 310
XXIII.--ASSASSINATION OF LINCOLN, 1864-1865 328
XXIV.--H. NEWMARK & COMPANY--CARLISLE-KING DUEL,
1865-1866 342
XXV.--REMOVAL TO NEW YORK, AND RETURN, 1867-1868 359
XXVI.--THE CERRO GORDO MINES, 1869 379
XXVII.--COMING OF THE IRON HORSE, 1869 393
XXVIII.--THE LAST OF THE VIGILANTES, 1870 408
XXIX.--THE CHINESE MASSACRE, 1871 421
XXX.--THE WOOL CRAZE, 1872-1873 437
XXXI.--THE END OF VASQUEZ, 1874 452
XXXII.--THE SANTA ANITA _RANCHO_, 1875 472
XXXIII.--LOS ANGELES & INDEPENDENCE RAILROAD, 1876 485
XXXIV.--THE SOUTHERN PACIFIC, 1876 496
XXXV.--THE REVIVAL OF THE SOUTHLAND, 1877-1880 509
XXXVI.--CENTENARY OF THE CITY--ELECTRIC LIGHT,
1881-1884 525
XXXVII.--REPETTO AND THE LAWYERS, 1885-1887 546
XXXVIII.--THE GREAT BOOM, 1887 564
XXXIX.--PROPOSED STATE DIVISION, 1888-1891 588
XL.--THE FIRST _FIESTAS_, 1892-1897 602
XLI.--THE SOUTHWEST ARCHAEOLOGICAL SOCIETY,
1898-1905 616
XLII.--THE SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE, 1906-1910 633
XLIII.--RETROSPECTION, 1910-1913 641
INDEX 653
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
HARRIS NEWMARK. IN HIS SEVENTY-NINTH YEAR
Engraved from a photograph _Frontispiece_
FACSIMILE OF A PART OF THE MS 2
REPRODUCTION OF SWEDISH ADVERTISEMENT 3
PHILIPP NEUMARK 10
From a Daguerreotype
ESTHER NEUMARK 10
From a Daguerreotype
J. P. NEWMARK 10
From a Daguerreotype
MR. AND MRS. JOSEPH NEWMARK 10
LOS ANGELES IN THE EARLY FIFTIES 11
From a drawing of the Pacific Railway Expedition
BELLA UNION AS IT APPEARED IN 1858 26
From a lithograph
JOHN GOLLER'S BLACKSMITH SHOP 27
From a lithograph of 1858
HENRY MELLUS 50
From a Daguerreotype
FRANCIS MELLUS 50
From a Daguerreotype
JOHN G. DOWNEY 50
CHARLES L. DUCOMMUN 50
THE PLAZA CHURCH 51
From a photograph, probably taken in the middle
eighties
PIO PICO 68
From an oil portrait
JUAN BANDINI 68
ABEL STEARNS 68
ISAAC WILLIAMS 68
STORE OF FELIPE RHEIM 69
JOHN JONES 102
CAPTAIN F. MORTON 102
CAPTAIN AND MRS. J. S. GARCIA 102
CAPTAIN SALISBURY HALEY 102
_El Palacio_, HOME OF ABEL AND ARCADIA STEARNS 103
From a photograph of the seventies
THE LUGO RANCH-HOUSE, IN THE NINETIES 103
J. P. NEWMARK 112
From a vignette of the sixties
JACOB RICH 112
O. W. CHILDS 112
JOHN O. WHEELER 112
BENJAMIN D. WILSON 113
GEORGE HANSEN 113
DR. OBED MACY 113
SAMUEL C. FOY 113
MYER J. AND HARRIS NEWMARK 128
From a Daguerreotype
GEORGE CARSON 128
JOHN G. NICHOLS 128
DAVID W. ALEXANDER 129
THOMAS E. ROWAN 129
MATTHEW KELLER 129
SAMUEL MEYER 129
LOUIS SAINSEVAIN 154
MANUEL DOMINGUEZ 154
_El Aliso_, THE SAINSEVAIN WINERY 154
From an old lithograph
JACOB ELIAS 155
JOHN T. LANFRANCO 155
J. FRANK BURNS 155
HENRY D. BARROWS 155
MAURICE KREMER 168
SOLOMON LAZARD 168
MELLUS'S, OR BELL'S ROW 168
From a lithograph of 1858
WILLIAM H. WORKMAN AND JOHN KING 169
PRUDENT BEAUDRY 169
JAMES S. MALLARD 169
JOHN BEHN 169
LOUIS ROBIDOUX 174
JULIUS G. WEYSE 174
JOHN BEHN 174
LOUIS BREER 174
WILLIAM J. BRODRICK 175
ISAAC R. DUNKELBERGER 175
FRANK J. CARPENTER 175
AUGUSTUS ULYARD 175
LOS ANGELES IN THE LATE FIFTIES 188
From a contemporary sketch
MYER J. NEWMARK 189
EDWARD J. C. KEWEN 189
DR. JOHN S. GRIFFIN 189
WILLIAM C. WARREN 189
HARRIS NEWMARK, WHEN (ABOUT) THIRTY-FOUR YEARS OLD 224
SARAH NEWMARK, WHEN (ABOUT) TWENTY-FOUR YEARS OF AGE 224
FACSIMILE OF HARRIS AND SARAH NEWMARK'S WEDDING
INVITATION 225
SAN PEDRO STREET, NEAR SECOND, IN THE EARLY SEVENTIES 254
COMMERCIAL STREET, LOOKING EAST FROM MAIN, ABOUT 1870 254
VIEW OF PLAZA, SHOWING THE RESERVOIR 255
OLD LANFRANCO BLOCK 255
WINFIELD SCOTT HANCOCK 290
ALBERT SIDNEY JOHNSTON 290
LOS ANGELES COUNTY IN 1854 291
From a contemporary map
THE MORRIS ADOBE, ONCE FREMONT'S HEADQUARTERS 291
EUGENE MEYER 310
JACOB A. MOERENHOUT 310
FRANK LECOUVREUR 310
THOMAS D. MOTT 310
LEONARD J. ROSE 311
H. K. S. O'MELVENY 311
REMI NADEAU 311
JOHN M. GRIFFITH 311
KASPARE COHN 342
M. A. NEWMARK 342
H. NEWMARK & CO.'S STORE, ARCADIA BLOCK, ABOUT 1875,
INCLUDING (LEFT) JOHN JONES'S FORMER PREMISES 343
H. NEWMARK & CO.'S BUILDING, AMESTOY BLOCK, ABOUT
1884 343
DR. TRUMAN H. ROSE 370
ANDREW GLASSELL 370
DR. VINCENT GELCICH 370
CHARLES E. MILES, IN UNIFORM OF 38'S 370
FACSIMILE OF STOCK CERTIFICATE, PIONEER OIL CO. 371
AMERICAN BAKERY, JAKE KUHRTS'S BUILDING, ABOUT 1880 371
LOEBAU MARKET PLACE, NEAR THE HOUSE IN WHICH
HARRIS NEWMARK WAS BORN 384
STREET IN LOEBAU, SHOWING (RIGHT) REMNANT OF ANCIENT
CITY WALL 384
ROBERT M. WIDNEY 385
DR. JOSEPH KURTZ 385
ISAAC N. VAN NUYS 385
ABRAHAM HAAS 385
PHINEAS BANNING, ABOUT 1869 400
HENRI PENELON, IN HIS STUDIO 400
_Carreta_, EARLIEST MODE OF TRANSPORTATION 401
ALAMEDA STREET DEPOT AND TRAIN, LOS ANGELES & SAN
PEDRO RAILROAD 401
HENRY C. G. SCHAEFFER 428
LORENZO LECK 428
HENRY HAMMEL 428
LOUIS MESMER 428
JOHN SCHUMACHER 428
WILLIAM NORDHOLT 428
TURNVEREIN-GERMANIA BUILDING, SPRING STREET 429
VASQUEZ AND HIS CAPTORS 452
(_Top_) D. K. SMITH,
WILLIAM R. ROWLAND,
WALTER E. RODGERS.
(_Middle_) ALBERT JOHNSON,
GREEK GEORGE'S HOME,
G. A. BEERS.
(_Bottom_) EMIL HARRIS,
TIBURCIO VASQUEZ,
J. S. BRYANT.
GREEK GEORGE 453
NICOLAS MARTINEZ 453
BENJAMIN S. EATON 464
HENRY T. HAZARD 464
FORT STREET HOME, HARRIS NEWMARK, SITE OF BLANCHARD
HALL; JOSEPH NEWMARK AT THE DOOR 464
CALLE DE LOS <DW64>s (<DW65> ALLEY), ABOUT 1870 465
SECOND STREET, LOOKING EAST FROM HILL STREET, EARLY
SEVENTIES 465
ROUND HOUSE, WITH MAIN STREET ENTRANCE 476
SPRING STREET ENTRANCE TO GARDEN OF PARADISE 476
TEMPLE STREET, LOOKING WEST FROM BROADWAY, ABOUT
1870 477
PICO HOUSE, SOON AFTER COMPLETION 477
WILLIAM PRIDHAM 500
BENJAMIN HAYES 500
ISAAC LANKERSHIM 500
RABBI A. W. EDELMAN 500
FORT STREET, FROM THE CHAPARRAL ON FORT HILL 501
ANTONIO FRANCO AND MARIANA CORONEL 520
From an oil painting in the Coronel Collection
FOURTH STREET, LOOKING WEST FROM MAIN 520
TIMMS LANDING 521
From a print of the late fifties
SANTA CATALINA, IN THE MIDDLE EIGHTIES 521
MAIN STREET LOOKING NORTH FROM SIXTH, PROBABLY IN
THE LATE SEVENTIES 530
HIGH SCHOOL, ON POUND CAKE HILL, ABOUT 1873 530
TEMPLE COURT HOUSE, AFTER ABANDONMENT BY THE
COUNTY 531
FIRST STREET, LOOKING EAST FROM HILL 531
SPRING STREET, LOOKING NORTH FROM FIRST, ABOUT 1885 566
CABLE CAR, RUNNING NORTH ON BROADWAY (PREVIOUSLY
FORT STREET), NEAR SECOND 567
EARLY ELECTRIC CAR, WITH CONDUCTOR JAMES GALLAGHER
(STILL IN SERVICE) 567
GEORGE W. BURTON 594
BEN C. TRUMAN 594
CHARLES F. LUMMIS 594
CHARLES DWIGHT WILLARD 594
GRAND AVENUE RESIDENCE, HARRIS NEWMARK, 1889 595
ISAIAS W. HELLMAN 616
HERMAN W. HELLMAN 616
CAMERON E. THOM 616
YGNACIO SEPULVEDA 616
FIRST SANTA FE LOCOMOTIVE TO ENTER LOS ANGELES 617
MAIN STREET, LOOKING NORTH, SHOWING FIRST FEDERAL
BUILDING, MIDDLE NINETIES 617
HARRIS AND SARAH NEWMARK, AT TIME OF GOLDEN WEDDING 636
SUMMER HOME OF HARRIS NEWMARK, SANTA MONICA 637
HARRIS NEWMARK, AT THE DEDICATION OF M. A. NEWMARK
& CO.'S ESTABLISHMENT, 1912 644
J. P. NEWMARK, ABOUT 1890 644
HARRIS NEWMARK BREAKING GROUND FOR THE JEWISH
ORPHANS' HOME, NOVEMBER 28TH, 1911 645
SIXTY YEARS
IN
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THE EMPRESS FREDERICK
[Illustration]
The
Empress Frederick
A MEMOIR
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
Dodd, Mead and Company
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1913,
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
PREFACE
Memoirs of Royal personages form not the least interesting part of the
whole vast field of biography, in spite of the fact that such memoirs
differ from the lives of most persons in a private station because of
the reticence and discretion which are necessary, especially in regard
to affairs of State and political characters. It is often not until a
whole generation has passed that it is possible to publish a full
biography of a member of a Royal House, and in the meantime the exalted
rank of the subject operates both to enhance and to diminish the
interest of the memoir.
This is also true in a modified degree of statesmen, of whom full and
frank biographies are seldom possible until their political associates
and rivals have alike disappeared from the scene. This necessary delay
is a test of the subject's greatness, for it has sometimes happened that
by the time a full memoir can be published the public interest in the
individual has waned.
By heredity, by training, by all the circumstances of their lives, Royal
personages form a caste apart; and though their lot may seem to some
persons enviable, it is often not realised how great are the sacrifices
of happiness and contentment which they are called upon to make as the
inevitable consequence of their exalted position.
The Empress Frederick presents an extraordinary example of what this
exalted position may bring in the way of both happiness and suffering.
Her life has the added interest that, quite apart from her rank, she
possessed an intensely vivid and human personality. History furnishes
examples of many Royal personages who have been, so to speak, crushed
and stunted in their intellectual and spiritual growth by the restraints
of their position.
Not so the subject of this memoir. The Empress was a woman of remarkable
moral and intellectual qualities--indeed, it is not difficult to see
that, had she been born in a private station, she would have attained
certainly distinction, and very possibly eminence, in some branch of
art, letters, or science. Her rank, far from crushing and stunting her
powers, had the effect of diffusing her intellectual interests over many
fields, and perhaps laid her open to the charge of dilettanteism. But
such a charge cannot really be maintained in view of the solid
constructive work which she achieved, both in the field of philanthropy
and in that of the application of art to industry. The exacting mental
discipline which she underwent at the hands of her father, though it was
in some respects ill-advised as her life turned out, at any rate
supplied her with the habit of mental concentration which enabled her to
carry out those practical and lasting enterprises with which her name
in Germany should ever be associated. Her early training disciplined her
eager, natural enthusiasm for all that was good and serviceable to
humanity, and directed it especially to the welfare of soldiers and of
women and children. She was "a doer of the Word and not a hearer only."
All through her life one is perhaps most profoundly impressed by her
inexhaustible energy; her sense of the tremendous importance and
interest of life, of the wonders of knowledge, of the delights of art
and literature, and of all that there is to do and to feel and to think
in the short years that are given us on earth.
One of the greatest dangers to which Royal personages are exposed by the
circumstances of their position is that of falling into an attitude of
gentle cynicism. Naturally they are often brought into contact with the
seamy side of human nature, while at the same time they are not perhaps
so well acquainted with its better side, as are persons of less exalted
rank. That the cleverer among them should take up an attitude of
humorous toleration of the whole human comedy is consequently very
natural.
It is no small testimony to the Empress Frederick's moral greatness
that, though she had experiences in plenty of the bad side of human
nature, she was never tempted to relapse into such an attitude. No one
was ever less of a cynic. She was full of intense passionate
enthusiasms and of a profound sympathy for the unfortunate, and the
disinherited of the earth. In her warm heart there was no room for
hatred or for contempt of others, and she was equally incapable of
shrugging her shoulders at the foibles and follies of poor humanity.
This eagerness to be up and doing was, however, combined, as has been
often seen in the history of mankind, with a touching faith in the power
of logic and reason. It was not exactly that the Empress held too high
an opinion of human nature, but she undoubtedly showed too little
appreciation of human stupidity and, we must add, of human malice. She
had been brought up with kindly, honourable, well-bred, and, on the
whole, very intelligent people, and when she came into rough collision
with less agreeable qualities of human nature, she suffered intensely.
But she was not soured as a less noble nature might have been; on the
contrary, she continued to the end of her life always to believe the
best of people, always to assume that they are actuated by good motives,
as well as by reason and common-sense. She seems to have missed the key
to the oddities and the vagaries, as well as to the baser qualities of
human nature, and therein lies, perhaps, the secret of the tragedy of
her life.
That tragedy, as we know | 1,287.298244 |
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Transcriber's Note
Bold text is indicated with ~tildes~, italic text is indicated with
_underscores_.
MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES
OF THE
RUSSIANS, WESTERN SLAVS, AND
MAGYARS
By JEREMIAH CURTIN
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1890
_Copyright, 1890_
By Jeremiah Curtin
University Press
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge
To FRANCIS JAMES CHILD, PH.D., LL.D.
_Professor of English in Harvard University, Cambridge, Mass._
My dear Professor Child,--
It is more than a quarter of a century since you began for Harvard
that collection of myths, folk-tales, and ballads, in all European
languages, which has grown under your hand to such proportions that it
is now, perhaps, the most complete of its kind in either hemisphere.
This work was begun by you through a clear perception of what was
needed for laborers in a most important field of inquiry, and achieved
by tireless and patient care in seeking and finding.
Your labors as a scholar are honored abroad as at home, and your work
on English and Scottish ballads will endure as a monument of skill and
devotion.
During your career as Professor you have been true to the ideals of
Harvard scholarship and life, adding to them meanwhile something of
your own.
Whoso adds to or freshens the spirit of our revered Alma Mater
deserves well of the country; for Harvard, now in the second half of
the third century of her existence, is the oldest witness and, so far,
the most eloquent that we have to the collective and continuous
striving of Americans towards a higher life.
To you,--the distinguished Professor, the earnest scholar, the
faithful friend,--I, one of thousands who have listened to your
instruction, dedicate this volume, gathered from a field in which you
take so much delight.
Jeremiah Curtin.
Smithsonian Institution,
Bureau of Ethnology.
Washington D. C. October 23, 1890.
CONTENTS.
Page
Introduction vii
RUSSIAN MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.
The Three Kingdoms,--The Copper, the Silver, and
the Golden 1
Ivan Tsarevich, The Fire-Bird, and the Gray Wolf 20
Ivan the Peasant's Son and the Little Man Himself
One-finger Tall, his Mustache Seven Versts in Length 37
The Feather of Bright Finist the Falcon 47
The Pig with Gold Bristles, the Deer with Golden Horns,
and the Golden-Maned Steed with Golden Tail 59
Water of Youth, Water of Life, and Water of Death 72
The Footless and Blind Champions 82
The Three Kingdoms 97
Koshchéi Without-Death 106
Vassilissa Golden Tress, Bareheaded Beauty 124
The Ring with Twelve Screws 137
The Footless and the Blind 149
Koshchéi Without-Death 165
Go to the Verge of Destruction and Bring Back
Shmat-Razum 179
Marya Morevna 203
Variant of the Rescue of Ivan Tsarevich and the
Winning of the Colt 217
Yelena the Wise 218
The Seven Simeons, Full Brothers 228
The Enchanted Princess 238
Vassilissa the Cunning, and the Tsar of the Sea 249
CHEKH MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.
Boyislav, Youngest of Twelve 273
The Table, the Pack, and the Bag 295
The King of the Toads 311
The Mouse-hole, and the Underground Kingdom 331
The Cuirassier and the Horned Princess 356
The Treacherous Brothers 370
MAGYAR MYTHS AND FOLK-TALES.
The Poor Man, and the King of the Crows 409
The Useless Wagoner 424
Mirko, the King's Son 434
The Reed Maiden 457
Kiss Miklos, and the Green Daughter of the Green King 477
The Hedgehog, the Merchant, the King, and the Poor Man 517
INTRODUCTION.
A few tens of years ago it was all-important to understand and explain
the brotherhood and blood-bond of Aryan nations, and their relation to
the Semitic race; to discover and set forth the meaning of that which
in mental work, historic strivings, and spiritual ideals ties the
historic nations to one another. At the present time this work is
done, if not completely, at least measurably well, and a new work
awaits us, to demonstrate that there is a higher and a mightier
bond,--the relationship of created things with one another, and their
inseverable connection with That which some men reverence as God, but
which other men call the Unknowable, the Unseen.
This new work, which is the necessary continuation of the first, and
which alone can give it completeness and significance, will be
achieved when we have established the science of mythology.
Of course all that may be attempted in a volume like the present is to
throw out a few hints, and to mention some of the uses of mythology as
a science.
There is a large body of myths and folk-tales already published in
Europe, and still a great number as yet uncollected. Many of these
tales are of remarkable beauty. They are of deep interest both to
young and old, and nowhere do they enjoy more delicate appreciation
than among educated people in America and England. The delight in a
beautiful and wonderful story is the very highest mental pleasure for
a child, and great even for a grown man; but the explanation of it (if
explanation there be) and the nature of its heroes (if that can be
discovered) are dear to the mind of a mature person of culture. Much
has been written touching the heroes of folk-tales, as well as the
characters in Aryan mythology, but it appears to have produced small
effect; for to most readers it seems unproven, and founded mainly on
the views of each writer. This is the reason why the chief, almost the
only, value found in folk-tales, as yet, is the story itself, with its
simple beauty, incomparable grotesqueness, and marvellous adventures.
The great majority even of the least modified tales of Europe have
mainly substituted heroes,--sons of kings, tsars, merchants, poor men,
soldiers,--so that in most cases the birth, occupation, or name of the
present hero gives no clew to the original hero of the tale; but
incidents do. The incidents are often an indication of what kind of
person the original hero must have been.
A few of the tales in this volume have preserved elemental heroes; and
this is a fact of great value, for it points to a similarity with the
American system of mythology.
We have in the present volume Raven,--not the common bird, but that
elemental power which, after having been overcome, turned into the
common raven of to-day, and flew off to the mountains; Whirlwind and
South Wind are both heroes,--one as a leading, the other as an
important secondary, character in two of the Russian stories. We have
two brothers Wind, in "The Cuirassier and the Horned Princess," in
whom the personal character of Wind is well maintained. The steed,
fire-eating and wise, of the Magyars, which appears also in Russian
and other Slav tales, always mangy and miserable except in action, is
a very significant character, whose real nature one may hope to
demonstrate. But we have no tale in which it is clear who all the
characters are; the modifying influences were too great and
long-continued to permit that. Though myth-tales are, perhaps, more
interesting for the majority of modern readers in their present form,
they will not have their full interest for science till it is shown
who most of the actors are under their disguises.
This is the nearest task of mythology.
There are masterpieces in literature filled with myths, inspired with
myth conceptions of many kinds, simply by the life of the time
and the nations among which these masterpieces were written and
moulded to shape by artists, made strong from the spirit of great,
simple people, as unknown to us as the nameless heroes who perished
before Agamemnon. How much mythology is there in the Iliad and the
Odyssey, in the Æneid, in the Divine Comedy of Dante, in the works of
the other three great Italian poets? How much in Paradise Lost? How
could "King Lear" and "Midsummer Night's Dream," or the "Idylls of the
King" have been written without Keltic mythology? Many of these
literary masterpieces have not merely myths in their composition as a
sentence has words, but the earlier ones are enlarged or modified
myth-tales of those periods, while the later ones are largely modelled
on and inspired by the earlier.
The early chronicles of nations are as strikingly associated with
mythology as are the masterpieces of literature. Omitting others, one
case may be noted here,--that of the voluminous Gaelic chronicles and
the so-called historical tales of Ireland, which, in the guise of
history, give mythology, and preserve for coming investigators a whole
buried Pantheon.
The service of the science of mythology will be great in connection
with the myth-tales of nations, with literature, and with early
history; but its weightiest service will be rendered in the domain of
religion, for without mythology there can be no thorough understanding
of any religion on earth, either in its inception or its growth.
But how is this science from which men may receive such service to be
founded?
In one way alone: by obtaining from races outside of the Aryan and
Semitic their myths, their beliefs, their view of the world; this
done, the rest will follow as a result of intelligent labor. But the
great battle is in the first part of the work, for the inherent
difficulty of the task has been increased by Europeans, who have
exterminated great numbers among the best primitive races, partially
civilized or rather degraded others, and rendered the remainder
distrustful and not easily approached on the subject of their myths
and ethnic beliefs.
As to the collection of these myths and beliefs, the following may be
stated:--
There is everywhere a sort of selvage of short tales and anecdotes,
small information about ghosts and snakes, among all these races,
which are easily obtained; and most Europeans seem to think that when
they have collected some of these trivial things they have all that
the given people possess. But they are greatly mistaken. All these
people have something better. There was not a single stock of Indians
in America which did not possess, in beautiful forms, the elements of
an extensive literature, with a religion and philosophy which would
have thrown light on many beginnings of Aryan and Semitic thought, a
knowledge of which in so many cases is now lost to us, but which we
hope to recover in time. The same may be said of other primitive
races, still unbroken, unmodified; and though much has been lost,
still enough remains to serve our purpose fully, if civilized men
instead of slaying "savages," directly and indirectly, will treat them
as human beings, and not add to the labor of those workers who in the
near future will surely endeavor, singly or in small groups, to study
the chief primitive races of the earth, and win from them, not short
insignificant odds and ends of information, but great masses of
material; for the educated world may rest assured that these races
possess in large volume some of the most beautiful productions of the
human mind, and facts that are not merely of great, but of unique,
value.
In the introduction to my volume, "Myths and Folk-lore of Ireland," I
endeavored to explain in brief what the myths of America are,
especially the Creation-myths, referring only to those which I myself
have collected. I stated that, "All myths have the same origin, and
that all run parallel up to a certain point, which may be taken as the
point to which the least developed peoples have risen" (page 27). I do
not know any better way of illustrating this than to bring into
evidence myths of the Morning-star. The Indians have a great many
myths in which the Morning-star figures as the Light-bringer,--the
same office as that indicated by the Latin word _Lucifer_; and here I
may be permitted to present a short chapter of my personal experience
with reference to that word and the Morning-star.
I remember well the feelings roused in my mind at mention or sight of
the name Lucifer during the earlier years of my life. It stood for me
as the name of a being stupendous, dreadful in moral deformity, lurid,
hideous, and mighty. I remember also the surprise with which when I had
grown somewhat older and begun to study Latin, I came upon the name in
Virgil, where it means the Light-bringer, or Morning-star,--the herald
of the sun. Many years after I had found the name in Virgil, I spent a
night at the house of a friend in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, right at the
shore of Lake Michigan. The night was clear but without a moon,--a
night of stars, which is the most impressive of all nights, vast,
brooding, majestic. At three o'clock in the morning I woke, and being
near an uncurtained window, rose and looked out. Rather low in the east
was the Morning-star, shining like silver, with a bluish tinge of
steel. I looked towards the west; the great infinity was filled with
the hosts of heaven, ranged behind this Morning-star. I saw at once the
origin of the myth which grew to have such tremendous moral meaning,
because the Morning-star was not in this case the usher of the day but
the chieftain of night, the Prince of Darkness, the mortal enemy of the
Lord of Light. I returned to bed knowing that the battle in heaven
would soon begin. I rose when the sun was high next morning. All the
world was bright, shining and active, gladsome and fresh, from the rays
of the sun; the kingdom of light was established; but the Prince of
Darkness and all his confederates had vanished, cast down from the sky,
and to the endless eternity of God their places will know them no more
in _that_ night again. They are lost beyond hope or redemption, beyond
penance or prayer.
I have in mind at this moment two Indian stories of the
Morning-star,--one Modoc, the other Delaware. The Modoc story is very
long, and contains much valuable matter; but the group of incidents
that I wish to refer to here are the daily adventures and exploits of
a personage who seems to be no other than the sky with the sun in it.
This personage is destroyed every evening. He always gets into
trouble, and is burned up; but in his back is a golden disk, which
neither fire nor anything in the world can destroy. From this disk his
body is reconstituted every morning; and all that is needed for the
resurrection is the summons of the Morning-star, who calls out, "It is
time to rise, old man; you have slept long enough." Then the old man
springs new again from his ashes through virtue of the immortal disk
and the compelling word of the star.
Now, the Morning-star is the attendant spirit or "medicine" of the
personage with the disk, and cannot escape the performance of his
office; he has to work at it forever. So the old man cannot fail to
rise every morning. As the golden disk is no other than the sun, the
Morning-star of the Modocs is the same character as the Lucifer of the
Latins.
The Delaware story, also a long one, has many grotesque and striking
elements. I will tell it in a closely compressed form. The person who
is the hero of this tale has a wife, who, while he is absent hunting,
turns into a man-eater,--becomes a devouring agency with a mania to
swallow all flesh, but has a special and craving mania to eat up her
own husband first of all; so she runs to the woods to find him.
Informed by a wise, talking dog, a species of brother of his, who had
sprung out to anticipate the woman, the man rushes off southward, runs
with all speed till he reaches a deep mighty river, where is an old
man who makes a bridge by stretching his neck across the water. The
hunted husband speaks kindly, and implores for means to cross or his
wife will devour him. The old man lies down with his shoulder on one
bank, stretches his neck, makes it flat like a horse's neck, to give
safe passage; soon his head is on the other bank, and the man walks
over. The old bridge-maker promises to delay the woman, and then throw
her into the river, where she will be eaten by monsters,--all save
her stomach, in which her life resides; that will float down with the
current, come to life, and the woman will be as well and furious as
ever, unless the stomach is dragged out, cut to pieces, and burned.
The hunted man hastens, runs westward by the bank of the river, runs
till he comes to two aunts who are witches. They promise to help him
and kill the pursuer. Soon after, when the old man has shortened his
neck and is sitting on his own side of the river, the wife comes up in
hot pursuit, talks roughly, tries to hurry the old pontifex; but he
will not hurry, waits, and then stretches his neck, putting the narrow
side upward; it is no wider than the woman's feet. She storms, but he
says that being old he might break his neck were he to give the broad
side as a path; she must walk on the narrow side, and carefully too.
She begins to cross, but in the middle of the river grows restive and
angry. The old man jerks his neck to one side; she falls to the water
and is eaten right away, all save her stomach, which floats with the
current. But the aunts, the two witches, are watching; they see and
pull out the stomach, cut it up, and burn the life of that man-eater.
The man travels westward till he sees a young woman gathering branches
for fuel. He speaks to her, is pleased; she is mild-eyed,
kind-looking. He asks her to marry him; she says she is willing if he
can live with her grandmother, who is very thick, very ugly, and
malicious. He goes home with the young woman; they are married.
Soon after the marriage the old woman took her son-in-law to hunt on
an island in a lake. They landed. She said, "Go down there," pointing
to a place; "I will drive the game." He started, and when half way,
looked back; the old woman was in the canoe paddling to the other
shore. He called; she would not listen, and left him alone on the
island. There was no escape. When the sun had gone down and darkness
came, the water of the lake began to rise, and flooded the place. He
selected the highest tree, and began to climb,--the water all the time
rising; he climbed, and continued to climb. About three o'clock in the
morning all the trees on the island, except that tree, were covered.
Around on every side were great hungry savage-eyed creatures, rising
with the water, waiting to eat the man. He looked, saw the
Morning-star, and cried out: "When I was young the Morning-star
appeared to me in a dream, and said that if ever I should be in
distress he would save me."
The star heard the call, turned to a small boy standing sentry at his
door, and said, "Who is that shouting on the island?"
"That," said the boy, "is the old woman's son-in-law. She put him
there. He says you appeared to him in a dream and promised to save
him."
"I did, and I will." The Morning-star came forth from his house and
called: "Let daylight come!"
Dawn came that moment; the water began to fall, and at sunrise the
island was dry. The man was saved, came down, went to the
landing-place, and hid in the bushes. Soon the old woman's canoe
struck the shore; the man heard her say: "Well, I suppose the larger
bones of my son-in-law are under the tree. I must go and eat the
marrow." When she had gone far enough, he sprang into the canoe and
paddled away. The old woman turned, saw the escape of her son-in-law,
and cried: "Come back! I'll play no more tricks."
The man paddled to the other shore, and went to his wife. The old
woman was alone, not able to escape. When darkness came, the lake
began to rise. She climbed the highest tree, climbed till the water
was nearing the top, and the hungry, terrible creatures were waiting
to eat her. Then she called out towards the east: "When I was young
the Morning-star appeared to me in a dream, and said he would help me
out of distress."
The Morning-star heard, and asked his boy: "Is that man on the island
yet?"
"Oh," said the boy, "the man is at home; the old woman herself is on
the island now. She says that you appeared to her in a dream, and
promised to save her from distress."
"I never appeared to that old woman," said the star. "I will not hurry
daylight to-day."
The water rose till the old woman was on the highest point of the tree
that would bear her. The water raised all the crowd of hungry,
terrible creatures. They tore her to pieces, devoured her.
So the Delawares on the Atlantic, who enjoy seniority among the
Algonkin,--the most widely-extended Indian stock of America,--agree
with the Modocs, near the Pacific, in the theory of the Morning-star,
which for them, as for the Latins, was the Light-bearer. The opposite
view, to which I refer in the night-scene at Milwaukee, gave birth to
the myth of the struggle of the stars with the sun for possession of
the sky. Now, a combination of these two myths--the one in which the
Morning-star is the Light-bearer being the earlier--gives us a third,
in which the Morning-star is not merely an opponent, but a rebel. This
third myth, after it had increased in age, came to be used in
describing, not an event in the sky, looked at variously by primitive
men, but an event in the moral world; and the stories of the
Morning-star and the sun were transferred from the fields of heaven
to the kingdom of the soul. This done, Milton had at hand the splendid
mythologic material and accessories which he used with such power in
Paradise Lost.
I know no American myth in which the Morning-star is represented as
hostile to the sun; the discovery of one would be very interesting and
valuable, as showing that the primitive people of this continent might
possibly have worked out a physical myth like that made in the Eastern
hemisphere, and afterwards spiritualized till it was given the meaning
which we find in the pages of Milton.
But whatever the future may bring, the present American Morning-star
myth is interesting; for it shows a complete parallelism with Aryan
mythology as far as it goes,--that is, to the highest point reached by
the non-Aryan tribes of America.
It should be remembered that whatever be the names of the myth-tale
heroes at present, the original heroes were not human. They were not
men and women, though in most cases the present heroes or heroines
bear the names of men and women, or children; they perform deeds which
no man could perform, which only one of the forces of Nature could
perform, if it had the volition and desires of a person. This is the
great cause of wonderful deeds in myth-tales.
The following Indian myth, in which we know exactly who the actors
were, illustrates this fact very well. I give the myth from memory,
and in a compressed form, making first the statement that in a part of
eastern Oregon and Washington, where I found it, there are two winds,
as the Indians informed me, which are all, or practically all, that
blow in that region. One of these is a northeast, the other a
southwest wind. The Indians subdivide each one of them into five. Each
of these five is a little different from the other,--that is, there
are five kinds of southwest winds, and five kinds of northeast winds.
Each has a proper name describing its character; and in telling the
myth these names are used, just as the name Ivan the Fool, and Mirko
the king's son are used in Russia and Hungary. The Northeast brothers
have a sister more harassing and cruel than they,--cold, damp, fitful.
She also has a name describing her character. The five Southwest winds
have grandparents very old, who live in a hut by themselves. They have
no sister; but the eldest has a wife, brought by him to Oregon from
her birthplace in the Southern seas.
One time the Northeast winds challenged the others to a
wrestling-match, in which whoever should be thrown would have his head
cut off. The Southwest brothers were not free to refuse; they had to
accept. All the details of this match are described precisely as if
the opponents were men and not winds. The Southwest brothers were
thrown, every one, and each had his head cut off; all were killed, and
now the Northeast brothers were lords of that region. The old feeble
grandparents were all of the family left in Oregon. The young wife
went home to her parents and people in the Southern seas. The
victorious brothers did as they pleased,--when they wished to knock
any one down they did so; but the crowning wickedness of the
victorious family was the malice of the sister against the aged
grandparents. She came every morning to their hut and insulted them in
a manner that will not bear recital. Weeping and helpless, they
endured the foulest abuse. The evil sister rejoiced, the wicked
brothers rejoiced, and all men besides were suffering. Some time after
the widow had returned to her home in the Southern seas a son was born
to the late eldest brother,--a wonderful boy. This posthumous child
grew not by years but by days; and when he was three weeks old he had
attained full growth. He was a hero of awful strength; nothing could
resist him. He asked about his father; his mother told how his fathers
had perished (the brothers of a father are fathers too in the Indian
system) at the hands of the Northeast brothers. "I will go to avenge
my fathers," said he, and started.
He reached the coast near the Columbia River, which he ascended; when
at the Cascades he began to try his strength. He pulled out the
greatest trees with their roots, overturned cliffs, and went on his
way with delight. At last he arrived at the land where his fathers had
ruled, and went first in the early morning to the hut of his great
grandparents. They were very weak and wretched, but still they were
able to tell of what they had suffered from the sister. "She will soon
be here," said they; so he lay in waiting.
She came, and was preparing to begin her insults when he seized her
and put her to a painful death. Then he challenged the five wicked
brothers to a wrestling-match, threw them all, and cut their heads
off. The whole country rejoiced. No one felt pain. The young hero
ruled that land to the delight of all. This hero was not a month old,
and since we know the characters in the story, we know that the story
is true.
When, in Gaelic, we find heroes like the son of Fin MacCumhail,
Fialan, who at the age of three years slew whole armies, with their
champion leaders,[1] and the Shee an Gannon, who was born in the
morning, named at noon, and went in the evening to ask his daughter of
the King of Erin; or in Russian, Ivan Tsarevich,[2] nine days old,
who | 1,287.403394 |
2023-11-16 18:38:31.5808810 | 1,306 | 8 |
Produced by Steven desJardins and PG Distributed Proofreaders
JOE STRONG THE BOY FIRE-EATER
OR
_THE MOST DANGEROUS PERFORMANCE ON RECORD_
BY VANCE BARNUM
Author of "Joe Strong, the Boy Wizard," "Joe Strong and His Wings of
Steel," "Joe Strong and His Box of Mystery," etc.
1916
JOE STRONG, THE BOY FIRE-EATER
CHAPTER I
THE VANISHING LADY
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you will kindly give me your attention for a
few moments I will be happy to introduce to your favorable notice an
entertainer of world-wide fame who will, I am sure, not only mystify you
but, at the same time, interest you. You have witnessed the
death-defying dives of the Demon Discobolus; you have laughed with the
comical clowns; you have thrilled with the hurrying horses; and you have
gasped at the ponderous pachyderms. Now you are to be shown a trick
which has baffled the most profound minds of this or any other
city--aye, I may say, of the world!"
Jim Tracy, ringmaster and, in this instance, stage manager of Sampson
Brothers' Circus, paused in his announcement and with a wave of his hand
indicated a youth attired in a spotless, tight-fitting suit of white
silk. The youth, who stood in the center of a stage erected in the big
tent, bowed as the manager waited to allow time for the applause to die
away.
"You have all seen ordinary magicians at work making eggs disappear up
their sleeves," went on the stage manager. "You have, I doubt not,
witnessed some of them producing live rabbits from silk hats. But
Professor Joe Strong, who will shortly have the pleasure of entertaining
you, not only makes eggs disappear, but what is far more difficult, he
causes a lady to vanish into thin air.
"You will see a beautiful lady seated in full view of you. A moment
later, by the practice of his magical art, Professor Strong will cause
the same lady to disappear utterly, and he will defy any of you to tell
how it is done. Now, Professor, if you are ready--" and with a nod and a
wave of his hand toward the youth in the white silk tights, Jim Tracy
stepped off the elevated stage and hurried to the other end of the
circus tent where he had to see to it that another feature of the
entertainment was in readiness.
"Oh, Joe, I'm actually nervous! Do you think I can do it all right?"
asked a pretty girl, attired in a dress of black silk, which was in
striking contrast to Joe Strong's white, sheeny costume.
"Do it, Helen? Of course you can!" exclaimed the "magician," as he had
been termed by the ringmaster. "Do just as you did in the rehearsals and
you'll be all right."
"But suppose something should go wrong?" she asked in a low voice.
"Don't be in the least excited. I'll get you out of any predicament you
may get into. Tricks do, sometimes, go wrong, but I'm used to that. I'll
cover it up, somehow. However, I don't anticipate anything going wrong.
Now take your place while I give them a little patter."
This talk had taken place in low voices and with a rapidity which did
not keep the expectant audience waiting. Joe Strong, while he was
reassuring Helen Morton, his partner in the trick and also the girl to
whom he was engaged to be married, was rapidly getting the stage ready
for the illusion.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said Joe, as he advanced to the edge of the
stage, "I am afraid our genial manager has rather overstated my powers.
What I am about to do, to be perfectly frank with you, is a trick. I lay
no claim to supernatural powers. But if I can do a trick and you can't
tell how it is done, then you must admit that, for the moment, I am
smarter than you. In other words, I am going to deceive you. But the
point is--how do I do it? With this introduction, I will now state what
I am about to do.
"Mademoiselle Mortonti will seat herself on a stage in a chair in full
view of you all. I will cover her, for a moment only, with a silken
veil. This, if I were a real necromancer, I should say was to prevent
your seeing her dissolve into a spirit as she disappears. But to tell
you the truth, it is to conceal the manner in which I do the trick.
You'd guess that, anyhow, if I didn't tell you," he added.
There was a good-natured laugh at this admission.
"As soon as I remove the silken veil," went on Joe, "you will see that
the lady will have disappeared before your very eyes. What's that?
Through a hole in the stage did some one say?" questioned Joe, appearing
to catch a protesting voice.
"Well, that's what I hear everywhere I go," he went on with easy
calmness. "Every time I do the vanishing lady trick some one thinks she
disappears through a hole in the stage. Now, in order to convince you to
the contrary, I am going to put a newspaper over that part of the stage
where the chair is placed. I will show you the paper before and after
the trick. And if there is not a hole or a tear in the paper, either
before or after the lady has disappeared, I think you will admit that
the lady did not go through a hole in the stage floor. Won't you?" asked
Joe Strong. "Yes, I thought you would," he added, as he pretended to
hear a "yes" from somewhere in the audience.
"All ready now, Helen," he said in a low voice to the girl, and an
attendant brought forward | 1,287.600921 |
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