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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
Superscripts are denoted by ^ and have not been expanded;
for example 'I am informed y^t the Ma^{rs} of'.
Obvious typographical and punctuation errors have been corrected
after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and
consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
CAMBRIDGE NAVAL AND MILITARY SERIES
GENERAL EDITORS
SIR JULIAN S. CORBETT, LL.M., F.S.A.
H. J. EDWARDS, C.B., C.B.E., M.A.
BRITISH FLAGS
CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY PRESS
C. F. CLAY, MANAGER
LONDON: FETTER LANE, E.C. 4
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN CO.
BOMBAY }
CALCUTTA } MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD.
MADRAS }
TORONTO: THE MACMILLAN CO. OF
CANADA, LTD.
TOKYO: MARUZEN-KABUSHIKI-KAISHA
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration: _A Ship of Henry VIII, circa 1545_]
BRITISH FLAGS
THEIR EARLY HISTORY, AND THEIR DEVELOPMENT
AT SEA; WITH AN ACCOUNT OF THE ORIGIN OF
THE FLAG AS A NATIONAL DEVICE
BY
W. G. PERRIN
ADMIRALTY LIBRARIAN
SECRETARY OF THE NAVY RECORDS SOCIETY
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL HISTORICAL SOCIETY
ILLUSTRATED IN COLOUR
BY
HERBERT S. VAUGHAN
CHEVALIER OF THE LEGION
OF HONOUR
CAMBRIDGE
AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS
1922
PREFACE
It might have been expected that the attempt to trace to their origin
in the past the institutions and customs in common use upon the sea
would from an early date occupy the attention of a seafaring people,
but for some obscure reason the British nation has always been
indifferent to the history of its activities upon that element on which
its greatness was founded, and to which it has become more and more
dependent for its daily bread and its very existence. To those who
are alive to this fact it will hardly come as a surprise, therefore,
to learn that the first sustained attempt at a detailed investigation
into the history of the flag at sea was made under the patronage
of the German Admiralty by a German Admiral. Vice-Admiral Siegel's
_Die Flagge_, published in 1912, was the first book to deal with the
development of the flag at sea in a scientific spirit, and although
the earlier chapters contain some mistakes due to his employment of
translations of early works instead of original texts, and the accounts
of the British flags in the later chapters suffer because he had no
access to original records, it is a worthy piece of work.
The present book is an attempt to remove the reproach to the British
nation which this implies. Its plan is somewhat different from that
of the work referred to above. Instead of dealing with the flags of
all maritime nations of the world--a task that (if it was to be more
than a mere copying or compilation) would entail much work in foreign
archives--it seemed more profitable to concentrate upon the history
of British Naval Flags, for researches made so far back as 1908 had
taught me how much that is inaccurate about their history had received
acceptance. But first it seemed necessary to devote some time and
space to the inquiry into the origin of the flag and how it became the
honoured symbol of nationality that it now is, and for this a general
view had to be taken in order that a firm foundation might be laid for
the early history of our own flags.
In the first chapter the ground worked over by Admiral Siegel has been
solidified by examination of the original authorities, with the result
that a few errors have been detected and some new facts brought to
light, and the investigation has also been extended further; the most
important of the additions being those relating to the standards in
the Phoenician and Greek ships of war, forms of the early "standard"
and "gonfanon," and the Genoese Standard of St George and the Dragon.
For the deduction that the use of a national flag arose in the Italian
city states I take the entire responsibility, well aware that further
investigations may possibly bring to light fresh facts which will
overthrow it.
The chapter on early English, Scottish and Irish flags serves as an
introduction to the history of our national flag, which was invented
for the use of the mercantile marine, though it was very soon
appropriated by the Royal Navy for its sole use. It is very improbable
that further research will enable the gap left by the unfortunate
destruction of the early 17th century records to be filled, so that the
story of the Union Flag may be taken as being substantially complete,
but there is still room for further work upon the history of its
component crosses. It will be seen that I have been unable to find any
solid ground for the common belief that the cross of St George was
introduced as the national emblem of England by Richard I, and am of
opinion that it did not begin to attain that position until the first
years of the reign of Edward I.
The chapters on the flags used to indicate distinctions of command and
service at sea give an account of the use (now obsolete) of the Royal
Standard at sea by naval commanders-in-chief; of the history of the
Admiralty anchor-flag; and of the steps by which the present Admirals'
flags were evolved. The history of the ensigns from their first
adoption at sea about the end of Elizabeth's reign has been set out in
some detail, but further research may bring to light more details of
interest in the years between 1574 and 1653. The causes which led to
the adoption of a red ensign as the most important British ensign and
the steps which led to its appropriation to the Mercantile Marine, and
not the Royal Navy, are stated as far as the records availed, though
here again further research is needed in the late Elizabethan and
early Stuart periods among records that may still survive in private
ownership. These chapters may, perhaps, appeal rather to the seaman
and the student of naval history than to the general reader, but it is
hoped that they may also prove of service to artists who wish to avoid
the anachronisms into which some of their brethren have been betrayed.
In order that the development of flag signals may be properly
appreciated it has been necessary, when dealing with the earlier years,
to take into account what had happened outside the narrow circuit of
British waters. The earlier matter, though here examined solely from
the point of view of the flags used, offers considerable interest to
the student of naval tactics, with which indeed the art of signalling
is inseparably connected.
The last chapter, on Ceremonial and other usages, is, from the author's
point of view, the least satisfactory. From the nature of the subject,
the official records contain very little information about it. It
is only by the slow and laborious process of examining contemporary
journals, diaries, accounts of voyages, and similar material that facts
can be found for any exhaustive treatment of these matters. Something
of this has been done, but more remains to do.
In concluding the work which has occupied a large portion of the
leisure hours of many years, it is my pleasant duty to express my
gratitude to the numerous friends whose encouragement and assistance
have enabled me to persevere in what has proved a somewhat arduous
task; especially to Sir Julian Corbett, who has read the proofs and
given me the benefit of his criticisms; to the officials of the
Pepysian Library, Public Record Office, British Museum and London
Library for the facilities afforded me; and not least to my friend Mr
Vaughan who has spared no pains in the preparation of the coloured
plates.
W. G. PERRIN.
_January 1922_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ORIGIN OF THE FLAG AND ITS DEVELOPMENT
UP TO THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH
CENTURY 1
II. EARLY ENGLISH, SCOTTISH AND IRISH FLAGS
(i) ENGLAND 30
(ii) SCOTLAND 46
(iii) IRELAND 50
III. THE UNION FLAGS AND JACKS 54
IV. FLAGS OF COMMAND
(i) THE ROYAL STANDARD 74
(ii) THE ADMIRALTY FLAG 81
(iii) ADMIRALS' FLAGS 85
(iv) PENDANTS OF COMMAND 102
V. COLOURS OF DISTINCTION
(i) PUBLIC SHIPS OF WAR 110
(ii) PRIVATE MEN-OF-WAR 124
(iii) PUBLIC SHIPS FOR USES OTHER THAN WAR 126
(iv) MERCHANT SHIPS 129
(v) PLEASURE CRAFT 136
VI. FLAG SIGNALS
(i) EARLY SIGNALS 140
(ii) THE FIRST ENGLISH CODES 161
(iii) THE INVENTION OF NUMERARY SIGNALS 166
(iv) THE VOCABULARY SIGNAL BOOK 175
(v) COMMERCIAL CODES 183
VII. CEREMONIAL AND OTHER USAGES 189
INDEX 205
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A SHIP OF HENRY VIII FRONTISPIECE
(From a MS. plan of Calais in the British Museum, _c._ 1545)
PLATE PAGE
I. EARLY FLAGS FACING 2
1. Vexillum
2. Harold's Dragon
3. William's Gonfanon
4. Knights Templars' Bauçan
5. Knights Hospitallers
6. St Edward
7. St Edmund
8. St George
9. St Andrew
10. Irish Saltire
11. Baucan
12. Holy Trinity
13. Cinque Ports
14. Yarmouth
II. COINS FACING 6
1. Sidon, _c._ 370 B.C.
2. " _c._ 380 B.C.
3. " _c._ 360 B.C.
4. " _c._ 90 B.C.
5. " _c._ 400 B.C.
6. Aradus, _c._ 350 B.C.
7 and 8. Histiaea, _c._ 300 B.C.
9. Rome (Hadrian)
10. Northumbria, _c._ 925 A.D.
11. Northumbria, _c._ 940 A.D.
III. SEALS FACING 46
1. Lyme Regis, 13th cent.
2. Yarmouth, 15th cent.
3. Dover, 1305
4. Sandwich, 13th cent.
5. Faversham, 13th cent.
6. Hastings, 13th cent.
7. Tenterden, 15th cent.
8. King's Lynn, late 16th cent.
IV. UNION FLAG FACING 54
1. Union of 1606 and 1707
2. Union of 1801
V. UNION FLAGS AND JACKS FACING 58
1. Quartered Union
2. Union Pendant
3. Commonwealth Jack
4. Protectorate Jack
5. Budgee Jack
6. Privateer Jack
7. Public Office Jack
8. Admiralty Pattern (modern)
VI. ROYAL STANDARDS FACING 74 | 1,287.901067 |
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THE
LIFE OF CICERO
BY
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
_IN TWO VOLUMES_
VOL. I.
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1881
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION. 7
CHAPTER II.
HIS EDUCATION. 40
CHAPTER III.
THE CONDITION OF ROME. 62
CHAPTER IV.
HIS EARLY PLEADINGS.--SEXTUS ROSCIUS
AMERINUS.--HIS INCOME. 80
CHAPTER V.
CICERO AS QUAESTOR. 107
CHAPTER VI.
VERRES. 124
CHAPTER VII.
CICERO AS AEDILE AND PRAETOR. 162
CHAPTER VIII.
CICERO AS CONSUL. 184
CHAPTER IX.
CATILINE. 206
CHAPTER X.
CICERO AFTER HIS CONSULSHIP. 240
CHAPTER XI.
THE TRIUMVIRATE. 264
CHAPTER XII.
HIS EXILE. 297
* * * * *
APPENDICES.
APPENDIX A. 335
APPENDIX B. 340
APPENDIX C. 242
APPENDIX D. 345
APPENDIX E. 347
THE LIFE OF CICERO.
CHAPTER I.
_INTRODUCTION._
I am conscious of a certain audacity in thus attempting to give a
further life of Cicero which I feel I may probably fail in justifying by
any new information; and on this account the enterprise, though it has
been long considered, has been postponed, so that it may be left for
those who come after me to burn or publish, as they may think proper;
or, should it appear during my life, I may have become callous, through
age, to criticism.
The project of my work was anterior to the life by Mr. Forsyth, and was
first suggested to me as I was reviewing the earlier volumes of Dean
Merivale's History of the Romans under the Empire. In an article on the
Dean's work, prepared for one of the magazines of the day, I inserted an
apology for the character of Cicero, which was found to be too long as
an episode, and was discarded by me, not without regret. From that time
the subject has grown in my estimation till it has reached its present
dimensions.
I may say with truth that my book has sprung from love of the man, and
from a heartfelt admiration of his virtues and his conduct, as well as
of his gifts. I must acknowledge that in discussing his character with
men of letters, as I have been prone to do, I have found none quite to
agree with me. His intellect they have admitted, and his industry; but
his patriotism they have doubted, his sincerity they have disputed, and
his courage they have denied. It might | 1,288.099874 |
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_The_ ART & PRACTICE _of_
TYPOGRAPHY
[Illustration:
THE FIRST PRINTED DECLARATION
Fac-simile in reduced size (original type form about twelve by
seventeen inches) of the Declaration of Independence officially
printed about July 5, 1776. It was this setting of the Declaration
that was read before Washington’s army. Reproduced direct from the
original in the Congressional minute book of July 4, 1776
]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
_The_ ART & PRACTICE _of_
TYPOGRAPHY
_A Manual of American Printing_
INCLUDING A BRIEF HISTORY UP TO THE TWENTIETH CENTURY, WITH
REPRODUCTIONS OF THE WORK OF EARLY MASTERS OF THE CRAFT, AND A PRACTICAL
DISCUSSION AND AN EXTENSIVE DEMONSTRATION OF THE MODERN USE OF
TYPE-FACES AND METHODS OF ARRANGEMENT
Second Edition
[Illustration]
_By_
EDMUND G. GRESS
EDITOR THE AMERICAN PRINTER
AUTHOR THE AMERICAN HANDBOOK OF PRINTING
NEW YORK·OSWALD PUBLISHING COMPANY·1917
[Illustration]
Copyright, 1917, by the
Oswald Publishing Company
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO THE TYPOGRAPHERS OF THE PAST WHO
MADE THE ART HONORED AMONG MEN AND
TO THE TYPOGRAPHERS OF THE PRESENT
WHO ARE RESTORING TO PRINTING ITS
ANCIENT DIGNITY THIS BOOK IS
DEDICATED
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
AUTHOR’S PREFACE vii
SYNOPSIS OF CONTENTS ix
LIST OF REPRODUCTIONS xvi
LIST OF DESIGNERS xx
WHEN BOOKS WERE WRITTEN 1
THE ORIGIN OF TYPOGRAPHY 7
THE SPREAD OF TYPOGRAPHY 13
TYPOGRAPHY IN COLONIAL DAYS 19
TYPOGRAPHY IN THE 19TH CENTURY 27
THE “LAYOUT” MAN 35
HARMONY AND APPROPRIATENESS 41
TONE AND CONTRAST 47
PROPORTION, BALANCE AND SPACING 53
ORNAMENTATION 59
THE TYPOGRAPHY OF BOOKS 67
BOOKLETS, PAMPHLETS, BROCHURES, LEAFLETS 75
CATALOGS 83
PROGRAMS 91
ANNOUNCEMENTS 99
TICKETS 107
LETTERHEADS AND ENVELOPS 111
BILLHEADS AND STATEMENTS 119
PACKAGE LABELS 123
BUSINESS CARDS 127
THE BLOTTER 131
POSTERS, CAR CARDS, WINDOW CARDS 135
ADVERTISEMENTS 139
NEWSPAPERS 147
PERIODICALS 151
HOUSE-ORGANS 161
TYPE-FACES 169
IMPRINTS 195
APPENDIX—GREETING CARDS
[Illustration]
AUTHOR’S PREFACE
In the preface to the first edition of “The Art and Practice of
Typography,” the author stated that he did not “anticipate again having
the pleasure of producing a book as elaborate as this one,” but the
favor with which the volume was received made another edition advisable,
and in consequence he has had the additional pleasure of enlarging and
revising it and of producing a volume even more elaborate and with a
better selection of examples.
The task of rewriting and replanning the second edition was near
completion when America entered the war against Germany, and now, a few
months later, the book is presented to the public. The first edition was
published in February, 1910. Work on the new edition was begun by the
author in the latter part of 1913, and so great has been the task, in
addition to his customary editorial labors, that almost four years have
passed.
The extent of the work will be comprehended when it is mentioned that
there are twenty-eight chapters, in which the illustrations or
typographic arrangements, numbering six hundred and fifteen, include
forty full-page specially-printed inserts. Most of these illustrations
or typographic arrangements are in color. The text matter, which makes
direct reference to the examples, totals nearly one hundred thousand
words.
That these examples are mostly high-class and by many of the best
typographers in America (Europe also being represented), is due to the
fact that the author during his connection with _The American Printer_
has received several thousand pieces of printing, from which selections
were made for this work.
Great care was exercised in the choice of examples in order that the
book would not become obsolete, and it is believed that most of the type
arrangements shown will be considered good for a hundred years to come.
That this is possible is proved by the Whittingham titles on page 32,
one of which is sixty-eight and the other seventy-three years old at
this writing. These titles were set up when most typography was poor,
yet few other type arrangements of that time would meet approval today;
which indicates that it is not _when_ printing is done, but _how_ it is
done that makes it good or bad.
Attention should be called to the plan of this volume. There are two
parts, the first having to do with typography of the past and the second
with typography of the present. Good printing of the present has a basic
connection with that of the past, and for this reason one part is
incomplete without the other.
The entire first part should be studied before any of the ideas in the
second part are applied to present-day problems, and especially should
the chapter on Type-Faces be patiently read and studied. The printer
should first know type-faces and then learn how to use them.
In the chapters on Harmony, Tone, Proportion, Ornamentation and other
art principles the author does not intend to advocate that his readers
shall make pictures with type or build pages that are merely beautiful.
The first requirement of typography is that it shall be easy to read;
the second is that it shall be good to look at. The efficient
typographer studies the copy and arranges it so that the reader’s task
is an easy and pleasant one.
* * * * *
In planning the second edition the general style of the first edition
was retained. However, an effort was made to change the style,
especially of the binding, but so satisfactory was the original that it
was again adopted.
The historical chapters in the first part have been revised and slightly
altered, but they are practically as before. Extensive changes have been
made in the second part. The text has been thoroly revised, and better
typographic examples substituted in many cases. These chapters
especially have been | 1,288.198571 |
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_A Battery at Close Quarters_
_A Paper_
READ BEFORE THE OHIO COMMANDERY
OF THE LOYAL LEGION
October 6, 1909
BY
HENRY M. NEIL
Captain Twenty-second Ohio Battery
COLUMBUS, OHIO
1909
THE CHAMPLIN PRESS
COLUMBUS, OHIO
A BATTERY AT CLOSE QUARTERS.
BEING THE STORY OF THE ELEVENTH OHIO BATTERY AT IUKA AND CORINTH.
During the Civil War artillery projectiles were divided as to structure
into _solid_, _hollow_ and _case shot_. The solid shot were intended to
batter down walls or heavy obstructions. Hollow projectiles, called
shell and shrapnel, were for use against animate objects; to set fire to
buildings and destroy lighter obstructions. Under the head of case shot
we had grape and canister. Grape shot is no longer used; being
superseded by the machine gun. Canister is simply a sheet iron case
filled with bullets and is effective only at very short ranges.
The foremost European military writer, Hohenloe, states that in the
Franco-Prussian war, the batteries of the Prussian Guard expended about
twenty-five thousand shells and one canister, and that this one canister
was broken in transport.
In the official reports of the recent Russo-Japanese War we find that
the Arisaka gun, which was the Japanese field piece, has a range of
6,600 meters. The Russian field pieces were said to give good results at
8,000 meters, or five miles. The Japanese, and later the Russians, made
a great feature of indirect fire. Having located a mass of the enemy,
probably beyond two ranges of hills, they would stake out a line
indicating the direction, then secure the range by the use of shells
which gave out a yellowish vapor on bursting. This vapor being observed
and signaled by scouts also indicated the necessary angles of departure
from the line of stakes and enabled the artillerymen, miles away from
actual contact, to complacently try experiments in battle ballistics
with very little fear of being interrupted by an enemy.
The range of modern field artillery being officially reported at five
miles, permit me to take you back to a day, over forty-seven years ago,
when an Ohio battery, placed in the extreme front of battle, fought at
less than fifty yards.
The village of Iuka lies in the northeast corner of the State of
Mississippi. The neighboring country is broken and, in 1862, was covered
with forests. Northwesterly from Iuka lies the village of Burnsville and
further on the little city of Corinth, close to the Tennessee line. In
1862 Corinth possessed strategical advantages which caused it to become
a large supply depot for the Federal armies. South of Corinth and
southwest of Iuka, the town of Jacinto was located.
On the eighteenth of September, 1862, General Sterling Price lay at Iuka
with an army of about twenty thousand Confederates. General E. O. G.
Ord's force lay between Burnsville and Corinth and had just been
reinforced by Ross's division. Burnsville was seven miles from Iuka.
General Rosecrans lay at Jacinto, nineteen and one-half miles from Iuka.
General Grant, taking advantage of this situation, ordered a combined
attack by Ord and Rosecrans upon General Price. Under this order
Rosecrans moved from Jacinto at 3:00 A. M. September 19th, and was
within striking distance of Price's patrols by noon. Ord was to attack
from the west and draw Price in that direction while Rosecrans was to
move to the rebel rear by the Jacinto and Fulton roads and cut off their
retreat. Neither of these Union armies was powerful enough to make,
alone, a successful attack upon Price.
The strategical plan of attack above outlined was not carried out. Ord's
strategy never reached the domain of tactics, for he went into camp
seven miles west of Iuka and the head of Rosecrans' column was attacked
by the entire army of Price. It was with the head of this column that
the Eleventh Ohio Battery marched into the fight. Anticipating a
combined engagement the head of the column pushed its innocent way into
the maw of the entire rebel army. We had to fight first and think
afterward. Price had hours to choose his positions and, incidentally, he
chose our position also. We didn't have time to change it.
"Rapidity of movement and surprise are the life and soul of the
strategical offensive." That maxim reads well but, in practice, it is
important to provide against being surprised by the other fellow before
you spring your surprise on him.
For several miles in the afternoon of the 19th of September the advance
of Rosecrans' column was warmly contested. The enemy's sharp-shooters
occupied every point of vantage, making the last five miles a steady
contest. The cavalry had long ago been driven in. A few companies formed
an advance skirmish line only a short distance from the main column.
Near the front of the column marched the Eleventh Ohio Battery. The men
knew that an engagement was imminent but their immediate front was
unknown and unexplored. As usual, we had no maps. While marching through
a defile at the crest of a thickly wooded hill we noticed that the rifle
fire in front was suddenly increased. But there was no pause to
reconnoiter. The battery marched from the defile into within short range
of Price's whole army. Instantly an entire rebel division concentrated
its fire on the battery with the intention of annihilating it before it
could unlimber.
As we emerged from the cut this sudden concentration of rifle fire gave
me the impression of being in a violent hail storm. Riding at the head
of the column I turned my head to look for the men, expecting to see
half the men and horses down. To my great joy I found all uninjured. The
storm of bullets was passing just over our heads. We hastened to get
into position and unlimber before they could get the range. Just in
front of us the road turned to the right. We turned to the right into
the brush and took position facing this road. As our men were clearing
the hazel brush for positions for their guns a Wisconsin battery
appeared about three or four hundred yards to our left and unlimbered;
but it suddenly limbered up and galloped to the rear without having
fired a shot. It had been ordered back, leaving the Eleventh the only
Union battery in the battle.
The Fifth Iowa took position just at our right. The Twenty-sixth
Missouri prolonged the line to the right of the Fifth Iowa. On our left
the Forty-eighth Indiana formed a line that swung somewhat forward at
its left flank. Our side of the fight began with these three regiments
in position. The front thus hastily formed did not permit of further
extension, owing to the nature of the ground.
A little later the Fourth Minnesota and Sixteenth Iowa were,
respectively, echeloned in rear of the left and right flanks. The total
force actually engaged was 2800 Union and 11,000 Confederates.
When the Eleventh went into position Lieutenant Sears was in command. As
junior First Lieutenant, I had the right section, while Second
Lieutenant Alger fought the center section. Of the acting Second
Lieutenants Perrine had the left section and Bauer the line of caissons.
During the fight I succeeded to the command when Sears went to the rear
with a wound. Alger was captured. Bauer was killed.
The battery had taken position in line from column under an infantry
fire from an entire division at ranges of from 200 to 400 yards. Shells
from the rebel artillery were also crashing through our line. We opened
fire at first with shell. This shell fire proved so effective that a
rebel assault on the battery was ordered. A division of Price's army
rushed to the charge. The battery changed from shell to double charges
of canister. The effect of the canister was terribly increased because
of the rebel method of charging in masses. Had the line to the left of
the battery held its front the assault on the battery would have been
impossible of success. But Col. Eddy of the 48th Indiana was killed and
the survivors of his regiment were swept back by overwhelming numbers.
The left flank of the battery was thus left bare and unsupported. On the
right the Fifth Iowa was cut to pieces. Only eleven officers and a
handful of men remained. With the line melted away the battery found
itself facing in three directions and battling with masses on three
fronts. It had a rear but no flanks. The guns were being worked with
greater speed and smaller crews. Cannoneers were falling. Other
cannoneers coolly took their places and performed double duty. Drivers
left their dead horses and took the places of dead or wounded comrades,
only to be struck down in turn. Of eighty horses only three remained
standing and a withdrawal of the guns was impossible. The surviving men
were too few to do more than work the guns. Finally the charging hordes,
checked and mutilated again and again in front, to right and to left,
pressed close. Eight thousand men against two score. On the fifth charge
the survivors were finally choked from the guns they would not abandon.
General Rosecrans in his notice, in orders, of the facts and results of
the battle of Iuka, states that the Eleventh Ohio Battery participated:
"Under circumstances of danger and exposure such as rarely, perhaps
never, have fallen to the lot of one single battery during this
war."
In the same order the commanding General further states:
"On a narrow front, intersected by ravines and covered with dense
undergrowth, with a single battery, Hamilton's division went into
action against the combined rebel hosts. On that unequal ground,
which permitted the enemy to outnumber them three to one, they
fought a glorious battle, mowing down the rebel hordes until, night
closing in, they rested on their arms on the ground, from which the
enemy retired during the night, leaving us masters of the field."
General Hamilton's official report, in describing the action of the
Union left flank, states:
"Colonel Sanborn, in command of the first brigade, most gallantly
held the left in position until, under a desolating carnage of
musketry and canister, the brave Eddy was cut down, and his
regiment, borne down by five times their numbers, fell back in some
disorder on the Eightieth Ohio, under Lieutenant-Colonel Bartilson.
The falling back of the Forty-eighth exposed the battery. As the
masses of the enemy advanced the battery opened with canister at
short range, mowing down the rebels by scores, until, with every
officer killed or wounded and nearly every man and horse killed or
disabled, it fell an easy prey. But this success was short lived.
"The hero Sullivan rallied a portion of the right wing, and, with a
bravery better characterized as audacity, drove the rebels back to
cover. Again they rallied and again the battery fell into their
hands; but with the wavering fortunes of this desperate fight the
battery again fell into our hands, and with three of its guns
spiked and the carriages cut and splintered with balls, it is again
ready to meet the foe."
At the close of the engagement the ground in front of the battery showed
heaps of dead bodies. Statistics show that the Confederates' loss in
this engagement amounted to eight hundred in killed and wounded. While
actual inspection of the field of carnage indicated that a large
proportion of | 1,288.201525 |
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Produced by Suzanne L. Shell, Jim Tinsley, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
With thanks to Amherst College Library.
MIKE
A PUBLIC SCHOOL STORY
BY
P. G. WODEHOUSE
CONTAINING TWELVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY T. M. R. WHITWELL
LONDON
1909.
[Illustration (Frontispiece): "ARE YOU THE M. JACKSON THEN WHO HAD AN
AVERAGE OF FIFTY ONE POINT NOUGHT THREE LAST YEAR?"]
[Dedication]
TO
ALAN DURAND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. MIKE
II. THE JOURNEY DOWN
III. MIKE FINDS A FRIENDLY NATIVE
IV. AT THE NETS
V. REVELRY BY NIGHT
VI. IN WHICH A TIGHT CORNER IS EVADED
VII. IN WHICH MIKE IS DISCUSSED
VIII. A ROW WITH THE TOWN
IX. BEFORE THE STORM
X. THE GREAT PICNIC
XI. THE CONCLUSION OF THE PICNIC
XII. MIKE GETS HIS CHANCE
XIII. THE M.C.C. MATCH
XIV. A SLIGHT IMBROGLIO
XV. MIKE CREATES A VACANCY
XVI. AN EXPERT EXAMINATION
XVII. ANOTHER VACANCY
XVIII. BOB HAS NEWS TO IMPART
XIX. MIKE GOES TO SLEEP AGAIN
XX. THE TEAM IS FILLED UP
XXI. MARJORY THE FRANK
XXII. WYATT IS REMINDED OF AN ENGAGEMENT
XXIII. A SURPRISE FOR MR. APPLEBY
XXIV. CAUGHT
XXV. MARCHING ORDERS
XXVI. THE AFTERMATH
XXVII. THE RIPTON MATCH
XXVIII. MIKE WINS HOME
XXIX. WYATT AGAIN
XXX. MR. JACKSON MAKES UP HIS MIND
XXXI. SEDLEIGH
XXXII. PSMITH
XXXIII. STAKING OUT A CLAIM
XXXIV. GUERILLA WARFARE
XXXV. UNPLEASANTNESS IN THE SMALL HOURS
XXXVI. ADAIR
XXXVII. MIKE FINDS OCCUPATION
XXXVIII. THE FIRE BRIGADE MEETING
XXXIX. ACHILLES LEAVES HIS TENT
XL. THE MATCH WITH DOWNING'S
XLI. THE SINGULAR BEHAVIOUR OF JELLICOE
XLII. JELLICOE GOES ON THE SICK-LIST
XLIII. MIKE RECEIVES A COMMISSION
XLIV. AND FULFILS IT
XLV. PURSUIT
XLVI. THE DECORATION OF SAMMY
XLVII. MR. DOWNING ON THE SCENT
XLVIII. THE SLEUTH-HOUND
XLIX. A CHECK
L. THE DESTROYER OF EVIDENCE
LI. MAINLY ABOUT BOOTS
LII. ON THE TRAIL AGAIN
LIII. THE KETTLE METHOD
LIV. ADAIR HAS A WORD WITH MIKE
LV. CLEARING THE AIR
LVI. IN WHICH PEACE IS DECLARED
LVII. MR. DOWNING MOVES
LVIII. THE ARTIST CLAIMS HIS WORK
LIX. SEDLEIGH _v._ WRYKYN
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BY T. M. R. WHITWELL
"ARE YOU THE M. JACKSON, THEN, WHO HAD AN AVERAGE OF FIFTY-ONE POINT
NOUGHT THREE LAST YEAR?"
THE DARK WATERS WERE LASHED INTO A MAELSTROM
"DON'T _LAUGH_, YOU GRINNING APE"
"DO--YOU--SEE, YOU FRIGHTFUL KID?"
"WHAT'S ALL THIS ABOUT JIMMY WYATT?"
MIKE AND THE BALL ARRIVED ALMOST SIMULTANEOUSLY
"WHAT THE DICKENS ARE YOU DOING HERE?"
PSMITH SEIZED AND EMPTIED JELLICOE'S JUG OVER SPILLER
" | 1,288.406634 |
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Produced by D Alexander, Barbara Kosker 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 DESTROYER
_A TALE OF INTERNATIONAL INTRIGUE_
[Illustration]
BY
BURTON E. STEVENSON
Author of "The Holladay Case," "The Marathon Mystery,"
"The Mystery of the Boule Cabinet," etc.
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1921
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
THE DESTROYER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE TWENTY-FIFTH OF SEPTEMBER 1
II FRANCE IN MOURNING 14
III TWO GREAT MEN MEET 31
IV THE ALLIES AT WORK 47
V AT THE CAFE DES VOYAGEURS 60
VI THE MYSTERIOUS SIGNALS 77
VII THE HUT IN THE GROVE 88
VIII THE SECOND INSTALLATION 108
IX CHECKMATE 124
X THE LAND OF FREEDOM 137
XI SHIPMATES 147
XII UNDER RUSSIAN RULE 158
XIII IN THE WIRELESS HOUSE 170
XIV THE MESSAGE 182
XV A WORD OF WARNING 196
XVI A CHARGE TO KEEP 208
XVII THE FIRST CONFERENCE 221
XVIII THE SUBSTITUTE SENTRY 239
XIX THE SECOND CONFERENCE 256
XX THE PRINCE SEEKS DIVERSION 269
XXI ON THE EDUCATION OF PRINCES 283
XXII THE EVENTS OF MONDAY 296
XXIII THE LANDING 310
XXIV PACHMANN SCORES 321
XXV THE TRAP 334
XXVI THE TURN OF THE SCREW 346
XXVII THE VOICE AT THE DOOR 357
XXVIII CROCHARD, THE INVINCIBLE! 370
XXIX THE ESCAPE 382
XXX COUNCIL OF WAR 397
XXXI THE ALLIANCE ENDS 407
XXXII STRASBOURG 420
THE DESTROYER
CHAPTER I
THE TWENTY-FIFTH OF SEPTEMBER
Monsieur Aristide Brisson, the fat little proprietor of the Hotel du
Nord--a modest house facing the Place Puget at Toulon--turned uneasily
in his sleep, as though fretted by a disturbing dream; then he awoke
with a start and rubbed his eyes. A glance at the dark windows showed
that the dawn was yet far distant, and he was about to turn over and go
thankfully to sleep again when a sudden remembrance leaped into his
brain. In an instant, he had bounded from the bed, struck a match, and,
after a look at his watch, lighted a candle. Then he returned to the
bed, and, without compunction, grasped the plump arm of Madame Brisson,
who was sleeping peacefully, and shook her roughly.
"Wake, Gabrielle, wake!" he cried--in French, of course.
Madame Brisson, who was also little and fat with a white skin that was
her pride, opened her eyes, stared an instant, and then sat up in bed.
"Heavens, Brisson!" she cried, her hand to her throat. "What is it? What
has happened? Have you illness?"
"No, no!" said her husband, who was struggling with his trousers. "But
rise, quickly!"
Madame Brisson glanced at the dark windows.
"I do not understand," she said.
"Ah, Gabrielle," said her husband reproachfully, "I should never have
believed you could have forgotten! It is to-day, at sunrise, that our
guests depart!"
"Heavens!" cried Madame Brisson again, and she, too, bounded from the
bed and began to don her clothes with trembling fingers. "That I should
have forgotten! Forgive me, Aristide! What hour is it?"
"It is almost four and a half. At five, the coffee must be ready."
"It shall be!" Madame promised, and hurried from the room, to complete
her toilet in the kitchen.
"Fortunately," M. Brisson muttered to himself, "the fire is laid!"
Then, having held his collar to the light and decided that it was clean
enough, he buttoned it about his neck, attached his shiny ready-made
tie, donned his little white coat, picked up the candle and left the
room. Passing along the corridor to the front of the house, he tapped at
a door.
"Who is there?" called a rough voice.
"Your coffee will be ready in twenty minutes, sir," said Brisson.
"Very well; and thank you," answered the voice, and Brisson descended to
the dining-room, opened the shutters, lighted the lamp, and spread the
cloth.
He was contemplating his handiwork, his head to one side, when heavy
steps sounded on the stair, and a moment later two men entered. They
were both of middle-age, somewhat stocky and heavily-built, their hair
close-cropped, their faces smooth-shaven and deeply tanned. They had,
indeed, that indurated look which only years of exposure to wind and
rain can give, except that their upper lips were some shades lighter
than the remainder of the face, betraying the fact that they had, until
recently, been protected by a moustache. They were dressed in somewhat
shabby tweed walking-suits, and wore heavy well-worn shoes. At this
moment, each carried in his hand a little knapsack.
M. Brisson greeted them bent double, hoped that they had slept well,
foretold a fine day, and assured them that coffee would be ready in a
moment.
"Our bags are in our room, properly labelled," said one of them, finding
his words with apparent difficulty and accenting them most queerly.
"They are to go to Nice, where we will claim them."
"I will attend to it. And you, sirs?" asked Brisson.
"It is our intention to walk."
"By way of the Cornice?"
"Yes."
"You will find it a most beautiful road; even in your own America you
will find nothing more beautiful. And how fortunate that you will have
so fine a day! Where will you rest to-night?"
"At Frejus, probably."
"A beautiful town, well worth a visit. Permit me to recommend you, sirs,
that you stop at the Hotel du Midi. The proprietor is a relative of
mine--a nephew, in fact; he will treat you well."
"Thank you," | 1,288.501734 |
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THE GIRL AND THE BILL
An American Story of Mystery, Romance and Adventure
by
BANNISTER MERWIN
Illustrated
[Illustration: "'Perhaps you can imagine how those letters puzzled
me,' he volunteered"]
A. L. Burt Company
Publishers :: New York
Copyright, 1909, by
Dodd, Mead and Company
Published, March, 1909
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I The Threshold of Adventure 1
II Senhor Poritol 21
III The Shadows 41
IV The Girl of the Car 58
V "Evans, S. R." 77
VI A Chance Lead 93
VII A Japanese at Large 115
VIII The Trail of Maku 136
IX Number Three Forty-One 162
X "Find the American" 178
XI The Way Out 192
XII Power of Darkness 209
XIII An Old Man of the Sea 223
XIV Prisoners in the Dark 253
XV From the Devil to the Deep Sea 279
XVI The Struggle 295
XVII A Chance of the Game 322
XVIII The Goal 347
XIX A Saved Situation 359
THE GIRL AND THE BILL
CHAPTER I
THE THRESHOLD OF ADVENTURE
The roar of State Street filled the ears of Robert Orme not unpleasantly.
He liked Chicago, felt towards the Western city something more than the
tolerant, patronizing interest which so often characterizes the Eastern
man. To him it was the hub of genuine Americanism--young, aggressive,
perhaps a bit too cocksure, but ever bounding along with eyes toward
the future. Here was the city of great beginnings, the city of
experiment--experiment with life; hence its incompleteness--an
incompleteness not dissimilar to that of life itself. Chicago lived; it
was the pulse of the great Middle West.
Orme watched the procession with clear eyes. He had been strolling
southward from the Masonic Temple, into the shopping district. The
clangor, the smoke and dust, the hurrying crowds, all worked into his
mood. The expectation of adventure was far from him. Nor was he a man who
sought impressions for amusement; whatever came to him he weighed, and
accepted or rejected according as it was valueless or useful. Wholesome
he was; anyone might infer that from his face. Doubtless, his fault lay
in his overemphasis on the purely practical; but that, after all, was a
lawyer's fault, and it was counterbalanced by a sweet kindliness toward
all the world--a loveableness which made for him a friend of every chance
acquaintance.
It was well along in the afternoon, and shoppers were hurrying homeward.
Orme noted the fresh beauty of the women and girls--Chicago has reason to
be proud of her daughters--and his heart beat a little faster. Not that
he was a man to be caught by every pretty stranger; but scarcely
recognized by himself, there was a hidden spring of romance in his
practical nature. Heart-free, he never met a woman without wondering
whether she was _the_ one. He had never found her; he did not know that
he was looking for her; yet always there was the unconscious question.
A distant whistle, the clanging of gongs, the rapid beat of galloping
hoofs--fire-engines were racing down the street. Cars stopped, vehicles
of all kinds crowded in toward the curbs.
Orme paused and watched the fire horses go thundering by, their smoking
chariots swaying behind them and dropping long trails of sparks. Small
boys were running, men and women were stopping to gaze after the passing
engines, but Orme's attention was taken by something that was happening
near by, and as the gongs and the hoof-beats grew fainter he looked with
interest to the street beside him.
He had got as far as the corner of Madison Street. The scramble to get
out of the way of the engines had here resulted in a traffic-jam. Two
policemen were moving about, shouting orders for the disentanglement of
the street-cars and vehicles which seemed to be inextricably wedged
together.
A burly Irish teamster was bellowing at his horse. The hind wheel of a
smart barouche was caught in the fore wheel of a delivery wagon, and the
driver of the delivery wagon was expressing his opinion of the situation
in terms which seemed to embarrass the elderly gentleman who sat in the
barouche. Orme's eye traveled through the outer edge of the disturbance,
and sought its center.
There in the midst of the tangle was a big black touring-car. Its one
occupant was a girl--and such a girl! Her fawn- cloak was thrown
open; her face was unveiled. Orme was thrilled when he caught the glory
of her face--the clear skin, browned by outdoor living; the demure but
regular features; the eyes that seemed to transmute and reflect softly
all impressions from without. Orme had never seen anyone like her--so
nobly unconscious of self, so appealing and yet so calm.
She was waiting patiently, interested in the clamor about her, but
seemingly undisturbed by her own part in it. Orme's eyes did not leave
her face. He was merely one of a crowd at the curb, unnoted by her, but
when after a time, he became aware that he was staring, he felt the blood
rush to his cheeks, and he muttered: "What a boor I am!" And then, "But
who can she be? who can she be?"
A policeman made his way to the black car. Orme saw him speak to the
girl; saw her brows knit; and he quickly threaded his way into the
street. His action was barely conscious, but nothing could have stopped
him at that moment.
"You'll have to come to the station, miss," the policeman was saying.
"But what have I done?" Her voice was broken music.
"You've violated the traffic regulations, and made all this trouble,
that's what you've done."
"I'm on a very important errand," she began, "and----"
"I can't help that, miss, you ought to have had someone with you that
knew the rules."
Her eyes were perplexed, and she looked about her as if for help. For a
moment her gaze fell on Orme, who was close to the policeman's elbow.
Now, Orme had a winning and disarming smile. Without hesitation, he
touched the policeman on the shoulder, beamed pleasantly, and said:
"Pardon me, officer, but this car was forced over by that dray."
"She was on the wrong side," returned the policeman, after a glance which
modified his first intention to take offense. "She had no business over
here."
"It was either that or a collision. My wheel was scraped, as it was."
She, too, was smiling now.
The policeman pondered. He liked to be called "officer"; he liked to be
smiled upon; and the girl, to judge from her manner and appearance, might
well be the daughter of a man of position. "Well," he said after a
moment, "be more careful another time." He turned and went back to his
work among the other vehicles, covering the weakness of his surrender by
a fresh display of angry authority.
The girl gave a little sigh of relief and looked at Orme. "Thank you,"
she said.
Then he remembered that he did not know this girl. "Can I be of further
service?" he asked.
"No," she answered, "I think not. But thank you just the same." She gave
him a friendly little nod and turned to the steering-gear.
There was nothing for it but to go, and Orme returned to the curb. A
moment later he saw the black car move slowly away, and he felt as though
something sweet and fine were going out of his life. If only there had
been some way to prolong the incident! He knew intuitively that this girl
belonged to his own class. Any insignificant acquaintance might introduce
them to each other. And yet convention now thrust them apart.
Sometime he might meet her. Indeed, he determined to find out who she was
and make that sometime a certainty. He would prolong his stay in Chicago
and search society until he found her. No one had ever before sent such a
thrill through his heart. He must find her, become her friend,
perhaps----But, again he laughed to himself, "What a boor I am!"
After all she was but a passing stranger, and the pleasant revery into
which his glimpse of her had led him was only a revery. The memory of her
beauty and elusive charm would disappear; his vivid impression of her
would be effaced. But even while he thought this he found himself again
wondering who she was and how he could find her. He could not drive her
from his mind.
Meantime he had proceeded slowly on his way. Suddenly a benevolent,
white-bearded man halted him, with a deprecating gesture. "Excuse me,
sir," he began, "but your hat----"
Orme lifted his straw hat from his head. A glance showed him that it was
disfigured by a great blotch of black grease. He had held his hat in his
hand while talking to the girl, and it must have touched her car at a
point where the axle of | 1,288.599378 |
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GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXV. October, 1849. No. 4.
Table of Contents
Fiction, Literature and Other Articles
A Year and a Day
The Engraver’s Daughter
Jasper St. Aubyn
The Recreant Missionary
Minnie Clifton
Ibad’s Vision
A Harmless Glass of Wine
The Village Schoolmaster
An Adventure of Jasper C——
Effie Deans
Wild-Birds of America
Editor’s Table: The Means of a Man’s Lasting Fame
Review of New Books
Poetry, Music, and Fashion
Alice
The Fountain in Winter
A Parting Song
The Light of Life
The Bride of Broek-in-Waterland
Song
Northampton
A Thought
Speak Out
The Willow by the Spring
We Are Changed
Le Follet
I Love, When the Morning Beams
Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.
* * * * *
[Illustration: L. Clennell, pinx. A. L. Dick sc.
THE BAGGAGE WAGGON.
Engraved Expressly for Graham’s Magazine.]
GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
VOL. XXXV. PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1849. NO. 4.
* * * * *
A YEAR AND A DAY:
OR THE WILL.
BY MRS. CAROLINE H. BUTLER.
CHAPTER I.
There was once in the city of Philadelphia a poor author whom chilling
disappointments and the biting stings of adversity had brought nigh the
grave—whose high hopes, ardent ambition, and glowing aspirations for
fame, were all quenched and broken beneath the pressure of penury and
wo. The wife, too, of his bosom had passed on to the shadowy land before
him, and now beckoned him to that blissful home beyond the grave where
sorrow and trouble are unknown. One fond tie still bound him to life. He
was a father. No other guide—no other friend had that fair young girl,
over whose innocent head scarce sixteen summers had flown, and for her
sake he still clung to a world whose charms else had long ceased to
attract.
And there was an old man whom the world called unfeeling and miserly,
who day by day passed by the humble home of the author. And day by day
as he passed along, saw at the window a pale young face bent over the
endless seam, and a small white hand never tiring busily plying the
needle. Or sometimes marked the child’s own feeble strength tasked to
support the tottering steps of suffering manhood to the open window,
that the air of heaven might revive that languid frame, while the
hollow, racking cough, and the fever spot on the cheek, like a rose
rooted in the grave and blossoming in beauty above, told too plainly
consumption had made its victim sure.
And then one day when the window was darkened, and he missed the pale
young face, the heart of the old man smote him as he passed along, and
turning he gently sought admittance, and from that time over the bed of
the sufferer the thin, white locks of the old man mingled with the
golden ringlets of Florence.
Heaven surely had first softened his heart, and then guided his
footsteps thither, for, like a ministering angel he came to the house of
sorrow to soothe the last moments of the dying man, and protect the
fatherless child.
Cheered once more by the voice of kindness—his feeble frame invigorated
by healthful nourishment—surrounded by comforts long unknown, or
remembered but as a dream in the dark night of poverty he had passed
through—what wonder the sick man rallied, and for a time gave way to
the flattering hope that he might yet leave a bright legacy to his
child—a name crowned with imperishable fame. His mind, long shattered
by sickness, caught back something of the fire of youth, and once more
his trembling hand seized the pen as the powerful instrument through
which riches and honor were to flow in upon him. But, as the meteor
which for an instant shoots over the wave in sparkling beauty, and then
sinks in the darkness of the fathomless gulf below, was the momentary
out-flashing of that once brilliant mind, ere the darkness of the grave
encompassed it.
When he felt the power of death too surely pressing upon him, he took
the hand of the old man and placed it on the head of his kneeling child
with a look pleading for kindness and protection. The heart of old Abel
May answered to this silent appeal, and stooping down he imprinted a
kiss upon the brow of Florence, solemnly promising never to forsake her.
The dying man raised his eyes in gratitude to heaven, and with a last
effort clasping his beloved child to his breast, expired.
The sad duties left for the living to perform over the venerated dust of
those we have loved, were ended with tears and lamentation—and now in
the wide world had Florence no friend but old Abel May.
“Florence,” said the old man, “I have long since buried the ties of
kindred—they could not survive ingratitude and distrust. I had but one
left to love—but one whom selfishness and sordid expectations did not
bind to me—and now he too has gone. I am now as much alone, my child,
as you—I in the winter of age, you in spring’s freshest bloom. You
shall be to me as the dearest of daughters, as pure and precious in my
eyes as God’s sacred word—although as my wife the world only must know
you. Then, Florence, will you give yourself to me; will you look upon me
in the light of that beloved parent whose loss you now deplore—will you
confide yourself to me in your loneliness and helplessness?”
And the innocent girl, lifting her meek blue eyes to the furrowed
countenance of the old man, threw herself confidingly upon his bosom,
and wept her thanks.
They were married; and then, as some priceless jewel committed to his
charge, which to guard and cherish was henceforth to be his pride and
happiness did Abel May bear home the young orphan.
For many years he had occupied a large mansion near the outskirts of the
city, whose dark granite front and heavy wooden shutters kept constantly
closed, imparted an air of chilliness and gloom to the neighborhood of
flashy brick houses and light airy cottages by which it was environed.
Abel May lived alone, keeping no domestics, and either preparing his own
meals, or partaking of them at a restaurateur’s. Occasionally the woman
whom he employed to do his washing was admitted to sweep and arrange his
sleeping room and the little parlor adjoining. The other apartments were
always locked, baffling all the curiosity of which no doubt the good
woman partook with others.
Various opinions and rumors were afloat concerning him in the
neighborhood, through which however the old man steered steadily and
regardlessly.
Not greater was the surprise of the captive princess in the fairy tale
on awakening one morning and finding before her window a sumptuous
palace rearing high its golden columns, where alone frowning rocks and
dark, turbid waters had before stood, than was the amazement which
pervaded the neighborhood, when early one morning they were aroused from
slumber by the _clink—clink—clink_ of the busy hammer, the crashing of
tiles, and sonorous fall of boards upon the pavements. And behold, every
window of that gloomy house was thrown wide to the glare of day—workmen
were on the roof—workmen were scaling ladders—workmen were tearing off
those clumsy shutters, while within, workmen in paper caps and white
aprons were busily wielding the several instruments of their handicraft.
Day after day their labors went on, and day after day added to the
astonishment of the neighbors. Plate-glass and light Venetian blinds
soon supplanted the small window panes and wooden shutters—a tasteful
portico and marble slabs supplied the place of the clumsy iron railing
and high stone steps so jagged and worn. Carpenters, masons, and
painters speedily completed the interior renovation, and then followed
heavily laden drays bearing rich furniture—and upholsterers flew from
room to room giving the last graceful touch of taste and fashion to the
arrangement of the various articles.
Next came the overwhelming announcement that old Abel May was married,
and that the sylph-like, graceful form, and sunny ringlets of the fair
young girl sometimes seen bending from the window, or leaning on the arm
of the old man, like a lily grafted on some withered branch, belonged to
no other than the bride—and wonder ceased not, but rather grew with the
“food it fed on.”
Not much less was the surprise of Florence at finding herself suddenly
the mistress of a home so charming. She had never connected the idea of
wealth with the plainly dressed humble old man who had so benevolently
administered to the comforts of her dying parent, and cheerfully did she
prepare to follow him to a home, no matter how lowly, so that love and
kindness were to be found there. When, then, old Abel May, lifting her
tenderly from the carriage which bore them from the church wherein the
solemn rite making them man and wife had just been pronounced, and led
her into apartments so splendid, with all that a refined taste might
approve, or a fastidious eye applaud, was it strange that for a moment
the young orphan doubted whether all was not, indeed, a dream or a fairy
creation, such as the pen of her father had often sketched for her
amusement—for never did her waking eyes or her sober senses dwell on
aught so rich and beautiful. Yet neither the elegance by which she was
surrounded, nor the charms which novelty lent to her new existence,
could for a long time withdraw her mind from dwelling on the irreparable
loss she had sustained. Happily, youth is not prone to despondency; hope
in the bright future buoys them exultingly over the billows of
disappointment which engulf so many sorrow-stricken hearts, and
therefore as time wore on it made the old man’s soul rejoice to see
smiles chasing away the tears from the countenance of this dear child.
The education of Florence had been conducted solely under the careful
tuition of her father, and her active mind, regulated and nourished by
judicious application. In the French and German languages she was a
correct scholar, and had attained some little proficiency in drawing;
yet of music or other elegant acquirements she knew nothing.
Hard are the lessons of adversity; and that his humble means precluded
his bestowing on his child those accomplishments for which nature had so
eminently qualified her, was often a source of deep regret to her fond
parent; but now, under the fostering care of the old man, how splendidly
did her talents develop themselves. Music and painting opened for her a
new world of enjoyment, and no expense did her kind protector withhold
to gratify to the fullest extent her eager desire for improvement. He
engaged the most eminent masters to attend upon her, nor did the
proficiency of the pupil shame their skill.
Very limited was the society which Abel May admitted within his walls,
and those only such as he considered worthy of his friendship and
confidence. This gave no disquiet to Florence; indeed, company rather
pained than pleased her. Her most delightful hours were those in which
she could add to the happiness of the old man, by the exercise of those
agreeable sources of entertainment owing their origin to him, or when
with pencil or book, alone in the beautiful little apartment which the
same kind hand had fitted up expressly for her use, the moments flew
unheeding in the all absorbing interest they inspired.
Occasionally, at the Opera or Theatres, old Abel May appeared with his
beautiful young wife; or perhaps, in the delightful coolness of a
summer’s morning, ere yet the noisy din of the city pervaded the air, or
the dust of its countless thoroughfares swept over the dewy freshness of
night, they sauntered through the silent streets or shady avenues of
Washington Square. But more frequently still within the sacred precincts
of Laurel Hill were they seen to wander. In one of its most retired
spots, where a cluster of drooping willows brushed the dew-drops from
the tall, rank grass, and the murmur of the wave below came up sadly yet
sweetly upon the ear, a plain monumental stone was planted. “My Father
Sleeps,” was the only sign it bore; and to this consecrated spot did
their steps most often turn, for well did one fond heart know _who_
slept so peaceful there, and over this hallowed grave the fair form of
Florence bent in filial devotion.
Wherever she appeared the admiration she attracted was universal; and if
some were prone to pity her lot, as being bound by such indissoluble
ties to old Abel May, they were quite at fault by her bright, sunny
countenance which certainly bore no traces of hidden sorrows for their
sympathies to probe. This might have flattered the pride of the old man
while it aroused his fears. His own life he knew, in the common course
of nature, could not be prolonged many years, and then what was to
become of that young girl thus thrown a second time upon the world, so
beautiful and so unprotected.
There was but one person whom he ever mentioned in terms of affection to
Florence, and this was his nephew, and the only son of a favorite
brother, long since dead, who bore his name, and whom he had destined
for his heir. But for many years young Abel May had not been heard from,
and his friends had finally given up all expectations of ever seeing him
again. It was said that being repeatedly reproached by envious relatives
on account of the interest his rich uncle manifested for him, calling
him a poor gentleman—a hanger-on—only waiting to step into dead men’s
shoes, with remarks of the like nature, originating in low, vulgar
minds, and that being a lad of high spirit, he became disgusted and
angered, and vowing he would either make his own fortune or never
return, young May suddenly disappeared.
At length age and infirmities pressed more and more sorely upon the good
old man. Soon he could no longer leave the house or even his
chamber—and then it was he felt how rich a treasure he possessed in
Florence. With how much tenderness and love did she watch over him,
patiently enduring with all the querulousness and complainings of an old
age racked with torturing pains; never weary, neither by day nor by
night, ever devising, ever executing some plan which might soothe his
troubles either of body or mind.
The old man died, leaving his fortune to Florence, upon one
condition—the strangest, surely, that ever guided the pen of a dying
man.
Never was so singular a will written—never was any thing more absurd!
And for more than a month, which is certainly a long time for any wonder
to stand its ground against the constant pressure of newer marvels, for
more than a month after the coffin and the tomb had alike received their
due, the city rang with the whimsicality of the last will and testament
of old Abel May, who by this said will had compelled his young, blooming
widow either to marry within a year of his demise, or otherwise forfeit
to relatives innumerable that fine fortune which, with this proviso, he
had bequeathed to her alone. The motives which actuated him were
doubtless intended as a kindness to the young girl whom his death would
leave unprotected. He overlooked the dangers to which he thus exposed
her from the crafty wiles of the spendthrift and fortune-hunter, or he
trusted, perhaps, that her innocence and loveliness might shield her
against their artifices.
From marble-columned squares and by-lanes—from suburban cottages and
distant villages, disappointed relatives came flocking in like a flight
of hungry crows, one and all croaking forth the will a forgery; or that
their beloved relative, for whom weepers a yard long streamed in the
wind, and black veils fluttered hopefully, through weakness of body and
consequent imbecility of mind, had been influenced by an artful young
wife to draw up the unrighteous instrument to which his signature was
attached. A likely story, truly, that passing by uncles and nephews,
aunts and nieces, to say nothing of innumerable cousins of the first and
third degree, he should have thrown his whole fortune into the hands of
a young girl, one, too, whom they all were convinced he had married only
that she might nurse his old body when gout or rheumatism should rack
his bones, but that he also should have added to this unheard of folly
his commands for her to marry, and by that means allow his hard-earned
riches to pass into the hands of nobody knows who—any beggar she might
choose to call up from squalid rags to fine linen and broadcloth, why
that passed all bounds of belief. There had been intrigue and treachery
somewhere; poor old Abel! it brought tears into their affectionate eyes
even to think of it.
But, unfortunately alike to their jealous affection and hopeful schemes,
the lawyers possessed a quietus in a certain document drawn up and
attested by competent witnesses, which ran thus:
“Whereas jealous and evil-minded persons may seem inclined to dispute my
last will and testament, I hereby declare in the presence of —— and of
——, that, as my dear wife, Florence, has been to me the kindest and
most tender of wives, denying herself for my sake those pleasures and
amusements natural to her youth, and has cheerfully devoted herself to
nursing a poor, feeble old man, I do in token of my love, approbation,
and gratitude, give unto her without reserve all the property of which I
may die possessed, both personal and real. And furthermore, I do most
earnestly entreat of her to choose some deserving young man whom she may
take as a husband, and that she may be happy in such choice, and be
rewarded thereby for her goodness to me, I pray God! And that she may be
influenced the more readily perhaps to comply with this, my last
request, I do hereby declare that unless within one year from my demise
she does make such choice, and marry in accordance, I do annul and make
void my will in her favor, my fortune in such case to be disposed of as
stipulated in my will and testament.”
Now when the smiling lawyers holding such a damper over the high hopes
of the solemn conclave of mourners, made known to them the existence of
this last document, uncles and aunts bounced out of the house like
roasted chestnuts seething and smoking with the fire of anger.
Not so the young nephews and the gallant cousins. Down they went on
their knees before the young widow, swearing she was divine—an angel—a
goddess—and right glad were they that the sensible old gentleman had
given her his fortune, for she deserved it, in faith she did—and they
hoped she would marry immediately; heavens! any body might be proud to
receive her hand—what was the paltry gold in comparison.
And each one of the seven secretly resolved to woo and win her,
and—_the fortune to boot_! But Florence only cast down her eyes and
wept unfeigned sorrow for the loss of a kind old man—her husband and
benefactor.
CHAPTER II.
Florence May was, indeed, a bewitching little widow—only eighteen, and
with nearly half a million of dollars in her rosy little palm. The
evening star bursting through a cloud was not more bright than were her
eyes twinkling through the veil of sable crape, or if perchance some
saucy zephyr brushed aside the envious _weed_, what charming flowers
were thereby disclosed—what tempting roses and lilies, and sweet, blue
violets, all bathed in the golden sunshine of her glittering tresses.
Ah, yes—and then the golden sunshine of those glittering guineas—truly
was she not a most adorable widow!
And never was a poor little widow so tormented with lovers since the
world began. _Dingle, dingle, dingle_, quoth the door-bell incessantly;
_tap, tap, tap_, urged the maid at the entrance of her private
sitting-room, until the poor child wearied of shaking her little head,
and uttering a “No!” to their various demands for admittance. With
cards, and tender _billet-doux_, her tables were overburthened, while
pluming themselves upon their relationship, the seven cousins and
nephews intruded without ceremony into her presence, eyeing each other
with jealous defiance, and snarling and snapping like a parcel of angry
lap-dogs.
“Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?”
“I do bite my thumb, sir.”
“Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?”
“No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir—but I bite my thumb, sir.”
The neighborhood were kept alive with surmises as to who would win the
rich heiress, daily expecting to see a gay wedding party issuing forth,
in contrast to the gloomy funereal spectacle so lately before them. Yet
weeks and months rolled on uneventful. What could it mean? Was the widow
crazy or bewitched? How could she remain so unconcerned when her fortune
was at stake! Day after day was poverty stealthily drawing nearer, in as
much as she still neglected to fulfill the terms on which her fortune
rested, and yet she moved about as careless and indifferent as though
the comforts and elegancies which surrounded her were unconditionally
hers—what a strange creature she must be!
It was thus reasoned the “lookers on in Venice.”
Six months of widowhood were passed. Florence was still unmarried; and
once more the relatives took heart against despair, and golden visions
mingled in their day-dreams. Her obstinacy was to them inexplicable—for
they knew upon the separate assurances of the several nephews and
cousins that she had had _unexceptionable_ offers, and if from those
choice specimens of man she could not select a husband, why, of course,
they had reason to hope she never would be married.
Such was the state of affairs, when one day Florence received the
following note, written in an unknown hand, accompanied with a bouquet
of beautiful flowers:
“MADAM,—I have seen you, and who that has once looked upon you
but must adore you! I dare not approach you, nor would I mingle
with the throng of flatterers around you. Enough for me to
worship at a distance, and to guard with my whole soul that
treasure which may never be mine. My life I would willingly lay
at your feet, but there are important reasons why you should not
know me. Of one thing, madam, rest assured, you have a friend
who will secretly watch over you, and guard you from every
danger.”
Upon a mind so artless as that of Florence, this singular note, which
was without signature, produced a very pleasing influence, and excited a
lively interest for the unknown writer. The idea of possessing such a
friend inspired her with a degree of confidence such as she had not
known since the death of her husband. Nor to that one note did the
unknown limit his attentions—they were manifested in various ways.
Ofttimes in the sweet language of flowers they were spoken—or to her
little boudoir some rare and exquisite painting found its way. Books,
too, with penciled margins, all evincing a pure and elegant perception;
music, which, when awakened by her fingers, breathed the very spirit of
melody; and when from the same unknown hand there came a beautiful cage,
whence the tiny warbler trilled forth in sweetest notes her favorite
airs, Florence was lost in amazement. Who, then, was this mysterious
person who so well understood her tastes, and who was thus ever studying
her happiness? The note had stated: “There are important reasons why you
should not know me.” And Florence was possessed of too much delicacy,
and had too much respect for the writer of the note to seek to penetrate
the mystery. Yet by the use which she made of his gifts, her silent
thanks to the donor were expressed, and insensibly yielding to the
delightful associations they called forth, she felt as if some kind
guardian was ever near shielding her from evil.
Oft amid the rich braids of her hair those fragrant flowers were
intertwined, or rested above a heart not less pure than themselves. The
books acquired a new interest that other eyes had dwelt also upon their
pages; and never did her fingers so skillfully or so tenderly touch the
keys, as when before her was the music which the unknown had conveyed to
her; many times, too, the soft, sweet tones of a flute were heard
echoing the strain. When first they reached her ear, Florence hushed her
instrument and closed the window; but at midnight, again and again the
same sweet strains floated around her, and then she felt it could be no
other than the unknown, who, in music’s gentle voice, addressed her, and
this belief added greatly to the charmed life she was leading, thus
mysteriously watched over and protected.
It was now that chance brought her acquainted with a person whom we must
allow to introduce himself to the reader by the following letter:
“_From Charles Crayford to his friend, Hastings._
“I am in luck, my dear fellow; give me joy, for Fortune, blessed
goddess, hath at length wafted me to the favor of wealth and
beauty. ’Pon my soul, I know not which I am the most in love
with, the person or the fortune of the divinity. Her name is
May—Florence May. She is a widow—a young, blooming, bewitching
widow, with half a million at her own free disposal, and,
happily, without a relative in the world, or jealous guardian to
cavil about disparity of fortune, or pry into secrets.
“‘But how—and when—and where—did you meet your divinity?’ you
ask. Listen, then, and admire my policy.
“Passing down Chestnut street in a somewhat moralizing
vein—unheeding the light | 1,289.358223 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE MAN BEHIND THE BARS
BY
WINIFRED LOUISE TAYLOR
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published October, 1914
[Illustration: Logo]
TO
MY PRISON FRIENDS
PREFACE
Lest any one may charge me with extravagant optimism in regard to
convicts, or may think that to me every goose is a swan, I wish to say
that I have written only of the men--among hundreds of convicts--who
have most interested me; men whom I have known thoroughly and who never
attempted to deceive me. Every writer's vision of life and of humanity
is inevitably by his own personality, and I have pictured these
men as I saw them; but I have also endeavored, in using so much from
their letters, to leave the reader free to form his own opinion.
Doubtless the key to my own position is the fact that I always studied
these prisoners as men; and I tried not to obscure my vision by looking
at them through their crimes. In recalling conversations I have not
depended upon memory alone, as much of what was said in our interviews
was written out while still fresh in my mind.
I have no wish to see our prisons abolished; but thousands of
individuals and millions of dollars have been sacrificed to wrong
methods of punishment; and if we aim to reform our criminals we must
first reform our methods of dealing with them, from the police court to
the penitentiary.
WINIFRED LOUISE TAYLOR.
_August 6, 1914._
THE MAN BEHIND THE BARS
CHAPTER I
I have often been asked: "How did you come to be interested in prisoners
in the first place?"
It all came about simply and naturally. I think it was W. F. Robertson
who first made clear to me the truth that what we put into life is of
far more importance than what we get out of it. Later I learned that
life is very generous in its returns for what we put into it.
In a quiet hour one day it happened that I realized that my life was out
of balance; that more than my share of things worth having were coming
to me, and that I was not passing them on; nor did I see any channel for
the passing on just at hand.
The one thing that occurred to me was to offer my services as teacher in
a Sunday-school. Now, I chanced to be a member of an Episcopal church
and their Sunday-school was held at an hour inconvenient for my
attendance; however, in our neighborhood was a Methodist church, and as
I had little regard for dividing lines among Christians I offered my
services the next Sunday to this Methodist Sunday-school. My preference
was for a class of young girls, but I was assigned as teacher to a class
of ten young men, of ages ranging between eighteen and twenty years, and
having the reputation of decided inclination toward the pomps and the
vanities so alluring to youth.
It was the season of revival meetings, and within a month every member
of my class was vibrating under the wave of religious excitement, and
each one in turn announced his "conversion." I hardly knew how to handle
the situation, for I was still in my twenties, and as an Episcopalian I
had never experienced these storm periods of religious enthusiasm. So
while the recent converts were rejoicing in the newly found grace, I was
considering six months later when a reaction might set in.
Toward the close of the revival one of the class said to me: "I don't
know what we're going to do with our evenings when the prayer-meetings
are over, for there's no place open every evening to the men in this
town except the saloons."
"We must make a place where you boys can go," was my reply.
What the class proceeded to do, then and there, was to form a club and
attractively furnish a large, cheerful room, to which each member had a
pass-key; and to start a small circulating library, at one stroke
meeting their own need and beginning to work outward for the good of the
community.
The first contribution toward this movement was from a Unitarian friend.
Later, Doctor Robert Collyer--then preaching in Chicago--and Doctor E.
E. Hale, of Boston, each gave a lecture for the benefit of our infant
library. Thus from the start we were untrammelled by sectarianism, and
in three months a library was founded destined to become the nucleus of
a flourishing public library, now established in a beautiful Carnegie
building, and extending its beneficent influence throughout the homes,
the schools, and the workshops of the city.
Of course I was immensely interested in the class, and in the success of
their library venture, and as we had no money to pay for the services
of a regular librarian the boys volunteered their services for two
evenings in the week, while I took charge on Saturday afternoons. This
library was the doorway through which I entered the prison life.
One Saturday a little boy came into the library and handed me the
charming Quaker love story, "Dorothy Fox," saying: "This book was taken
out by a man who is in jail, and he wants you to send him another book."
Now, I had passed that county jail almost every day for years; its rough
stone walls and narrow barred windows were so familiar that they no
longer made any impression upon me; but it had not occurred to me that
inside those walls were human beings whose thoughts were as my thoughts,
and who might like a good story, even a refined story, as much as I did,
and that a man should pay money that he had stolen for three months'
subscription to a library seemed to me most incongruous.
It transpired that the prisoner was a Scotch boy of nineteen, who, being
out of work, had stolen thirty-five dollars; taking small amounts as he
needed them. According to the law of the State the penalty for stealing
any amount under the value of fifteen dollars was a sentence to the
county jail, for a period usually of sixty days; while the theft of
fifteen dollars or more was a penitentiary offence, and the sentence
never for less than one year. I quote the statement of the case of this
Scotch boy as it was given me by a man who happened to be in the library
and who knew all the circumstances.
"The boy was arrested on the charge of having taken ten dollars--all
they could prove against him; and he would have got off with a jail
sentence, but the fool made a clean breast of the matter, and now he has
to lie in jail for six months till court is in session, and then he will
be sent to the penitentiary on his own confession."
Two questions arose in my mind: Was it only "the fool" who had made | 1,289.418784 |
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Produced by Simon Gardner, Sankar Viswanathan, Adrian
Mastronardi, The Philatelic Digital Library Project at
http://www.tpdlp.net, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
GAMBIA
BY
FRED J. MELVILLE,
PRESIDENT OF THE JUNIOR
PHILATELIC SOCIETY.
MDCCCCIX--PUBLISHED--BY--THE
MELVILLE--STAMP--BOOKS,
47,--STRAND,--LONDON,--W.C.
* * * * *
[page 7]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
In collecting the stamps of Gambia one cannot too strongly emphasise
the necessity for guarding the stamps of the "Cameo" series against
deterioration by the pressure of the leaves in an ordinary unprotected
album. In their pristine state with clear and bold embossing these
stamps are of exceptional grace and beauty. Sunk mounts or other
similar contrivances, and a liberal use of tissue paper, should be
utilised by the collector who desires to retain his specimens in their
original state. A neat strip of card affixed to each side of the page
in an ordinary album will have the effect of keeping the pages above
from flattening out the embossing, but tissue paper should be used as
an additional safeguard.
We have to express thanks to Mr. Douglas Ellis, Vice-President of the
Junior Philatelic Society, for his notes on the postmarks--of which
he has made a special study--and also for the loan of his entire
collection of the stamps of Gambia for reference and illustration;
to Mr. H. H. Harland for a similar courtesy in the loan of his
collection; to Mr. W. H. Peckitt for the loan of stamps for
illustration; to Mr. D. B. Armstrong for interesting notes on
the postal affairs of the Colony; and to Mr. S. R. Turner for his
diagrams.
To the first two gentlemen we are also indebted for their kindness in
undertaking the revision of the proofs of this handbook.
[page 8]
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY NOTE, 7
CHAPTER I.
THE COLONY AND ITS POSTS, 11
CHAPTER II.
CAMEO ISSUE OF 1869, 16
CHAPTER III.
ISSUE OF 1874, 20
CHAPTER IV.
ISSUE OF 1880, 25
CHAPTER V.
ISSUE OF 1886-87, 37
CHAPTER VI.
QUEEN'S HEAD SERIES, 1898, 45
CHAPTER VII.
KING'S HEAD SERIES, 1902-1906, 50
CHAPTER VIII.
PROVISIONAL ISSUE, 1906, 53
CHAPTER IX.
BIBLIOGRAPHY, 56
CHAPTER X.
CHECK LIST, 58
APPENDIX.
NOTES ON THE POSTMARKS, by Douglas Ellis, 66
[page 11]
GAMBIA.
CHAPTER I.
The Colony and Its Posts.
The British West African possession known as the Colony and
Protectorate of the Gambia occupies a narrow strip of territory
(averaging 12 miles in width) on both sides of the Gambia river.
The territory comprises the settlement of St. Mary, where the
capital--Bathurst--is situated, British Cambo, Albreda, M'Carthy's
Island and the Ceded Mile, a protectorate over a narrow band of land
extending from Cape St. Mary for over 250 miles along both banks of
the river.
The Gambia river was discovered by a Portuguese navigator in 1447;
under a charter of Queen Elizabeth a company was formed to trade with
the Gambia in 1588. In the reign of James II. a fort was erected by
British traders at the mouth of the river (1686), and for many years
their only traffic was in slaves. The territory became recognised as a
British possession under the Treaty of Versailles, and on the enforced
liquidation of the chartered company it [page 12] was incorporated
with the Crown as one of the West African settlements. Until 1843,
when it was granted separate government, it was administered by the
Governor of Sierra Leone. In 1868 it was again annexed to Sierra
Leone, and not until twenty years later was it created a separate
Crown Colony with a Governor and responsible government of its own. At
present the staple trade of the Colony is ground nuts, but efforts are
being made to induce the natives to take up other products.
Postally there is little to record prior to 1866, which is the date
ascribed by Mr. F. Bisset Archer, Treasurer and Postmaster-General,
to an alteration in the scale of postage, the half ounce weight for
letters being introduced. The rate to Great Britain was, we believe,
from that date 6d. per half ounce.
Mr. Archer also gives this year (1866) as the date when the first
postage stamps of the Colony were issued. This date was for a time
accepted in the stamp catalogues, but it is now generally believed to
be an error, the earliest records in the stamp journals of the period
shewing the date to be 1869.
The postal notices we have been able to trace are of but little
interest, the following being all that bear on matters of interest to
collectors:--
POST OFFICE NOTICE.
_Reduction of Postage, &c._
On and from the 1st April, 1892, the Postage to all parts of the World
on Letters, Newspapers, Books, etc., will be as follows:--
For Letters, 2 1/2d. per 1/2 oz.
For Postcards, 1d. each.
For Reply Postcards, 2d. each.
[page 13]
For Newspapers, books, printed papers, commercial papers,
patterns and samples, 1/2d. per 2 oz., with the Postal
Union proviso of a minimum payment of 2 1/2d. for a packet of
commercial papers, and of 1d. | 1,289.500551 |
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The Augustan Reprint Society
THOMAS WARTON
_A History of English Poetry_: an Unpublished Continuation
Edited, with an Introduction, by Rodney M. Baine
Publication Number 39
Los Angeles
William Andrews Clark Memorial Library
University of California
1953
GENERAL EDITORS
H. RICHARD ARCHER, _Clark Memorial Library_
RICHARD C. BOYS, _University of Michigan_
RALPH COHEN, _University of California, Los Angeles_
VINTON A. DEARING, _University of California, Los Angeles_
ASSISTANT EDITOR
W. EARL BRITTON, _University of Michigan_
ADVISORY EDITORS
EMMETT L. AVERY, _State College of Washington_
BENJAMIN BOYCE, _Duke University_
LOUIS BREDVOLD, _University of Michigan_
JOHN BUTT, _King's College, University of Durham_
JAMES L. CLIFFORD, _Columbia University_
ARTHUR FRIEDMAN, _University of Chicago_
EDWARD NILES HOOKER, _University of California, Los Angeles_
LOUIS A. LANDA, _Princeton University_
SAMUEL H. MONK, _University of Minnesota_
EARNEST MOSSNER, _University of Texas_
JAMES SUTHERLAND, _University College, London_
H. T. SWEDENBERG, JR., _University of California, Los Angeles_
CORRESPONDING SECRETARY
EDNA C. DAVIS, _Clark Memorial Library_
INTRODUCTION
Among the unpublished papers of Thomas and Joseph Warton at Winchester
College the most interesting and important item is undoubtedly a
continuation of Thomas Warton's _History of English Poetry_. This
continuation completes briefly the analysis of Elizabethan satire and
discusses the Elizabethan sonnet. The discussion offers material of
interest particularly for the bibliographer and the literary historian.
The bibliographer, for example, will be intrigued by a statement of
Thomas Warton that he had examined a copy of the _Sonnets_ published in
1599--a decade before the accepted date of the first edition. The
literary historian will be interested in, inter alia, unpublished
information concerning the university career of Samuel Daniel and in the
theory that Shakespeare's sonnets should be interpreted as if addressed
by a woman to her lover.
Critically appraised, Warton's treatment of the Elizabethan sonnet seems
skimpy. To dismiss the sonnet in one third the amount of space devoted
to Joseph Hall's _Virgidemiarum_ seems to betray a want of proportion.
Perhaps even more damaging may seem the fact that Warton failed to
mention more sonnet collections than he discussed. About twenty years
later, in 1802, Joseph Ritson listed in his _Bibliographia Poetica_ the
sonnet collections of Barnaby Barnes, Thomas Lodge, William Percy, and
John Soowthern--all evidently unknown to Warton. But Warton was not
particularly slipshod in his researches. In his immediately preceding
section, on Elizabethan satire, he had stopped at 1600; and in the
continuation he deliberately omitted the sonnet collections published
after that date. Thus, though he had earlier in the _History_ (III, 264,
n.) promised a discussion of Drayton, he omitted him here because his
sonnets were continually being augmented until 1619. Two sixteenth
century collections which Warton had mentioned earlier in the _History_
(III, 402, n.) he failed to discuss here, William Smith's _Chloris_
(1596) and Henry Lock's _Sundry Christian Passions, contayned in two
hundred Sonnets_ (1593). Concerning Lock he had quoted significantly
(IV, 8-9) from _The Return from Parnassus_: "'Locke and Hudson, sleep
you quiet shavers among the shavings of the press, and let your books
lie in some old nook amongst old boots and shoes, so you may avoid my
censure.'" A collection which certainly did not need to avoid censure
was Sir Philip Sidney's _Astrophel and Stella_; and for Warton's total
neglect of Sidney's sonnets it seems difficult to account, for in this
section on the sonnet Sidney as a poet would have been most aptly
discussed. The _Astrophel and Stella_ was easily available in
eighteenth-century editions of Sidney's works, and Warton admired the
author. Both Thomas and Joseph Warton, however, venerated Sidney mainly
for his _Arcadia_ and his _Apology for Poetry_. For Joseph Warton,
Sidney was the prime English exhibit of great writers who have not, he
thought, "been able to express themselves with beauty and propriety in
the fetters of verse."[1] And Thomas Warton quoted evidently only once
from Sidney's verse,[1] and then only by way of _England's
Helicon_.[2] The omission of Sidney, then, is the glaring defect; of the
dozen or so other Elizabethan sonnet collections which escaped Warton,
most were absolutely or practically unknown, and none seem to have been
available to him in the Bodleian or the British Museum.
At the time of his death, on 21 May 1790, there were in print only
eleven sheets,[3] or eighty-eight pages, of the fourth and final volume,
which was scheduled to bring the history of English poetry down to the
close of the seventeenth century. For four years after the publication
of the third volume in 1781 Warton repeatedly promised to complete the
work,[4] and a notice at the end of his edition of Milton's _Minor
Poems_ advertised in 1785 the "speedy publication" of the fourth volume.
But to his printer Warton evidently sent nothing beyond Section XLVIII.
The present continuation was probably written during or shortly after
1782: it contains no reference to any publication after William Hayley's
_Essay on Epic Poetry_, which appeared in 1782; and according to Thomas
Caldecott, Warton for the last seven years of his life discontinued work
upon the _History_.[5]
The notes which Thomas Warton had made for the completion of the
_History_ were upon his death commandeered by his brother, Joseph, at
that time headmaster of Winchester College. Joseph Warton made some
halfhearted efforts to get on with the volume,[6] but neither Winchester
nor Wickham, whither he retired in 1793, was a proper place in which to
carry on the necessary research. Moreover he was much more interested in
editing Pope and Dryden; and securing advantageous contracts to edit
these poets whom he knew well, he let the _History_ slide.
Joseph Warton appears, however, to have touched up the present
continuation, for a few expansions seem to be in his script rather than
in his brother's. It is difficult to be positive in the discrimination
of hands here, as Thomas Warton's hand in this manuscript is quite
irregular. Pens of varying thicknesses were used; black ink was used for
the text and red ink for footnotes, and one note (16) was pencilled.
Moreover, certain passages appear to have been written during periods of
marked infirmity or haste and are legible only with difficulty if at
all. In any case, those additions which were presumably made by Joseph
Warton merely expand the original version; they do not alter or modify
any of Thomas Warton's statements.
In the text of the present edition the expansions which appear to be in
Joseph Warton's hand are placed within parentheses, which were not used
for punctuation in the text of the manuscript itself. Because of the
difficulties of reproduction, all small capitals have been translated
into lover case italics.
This continuation, discovered by the editor among the Warton papers in
the Moberly Library at Winchester College, is here published with the
kind permission of the Right Honorable Harold T. Baker and Sir George
Henry Gates, retired and present Wardens of Winchester College, and of
the Fellows of the College. The editor is indebted also to the Reverend
Mr. J. d'E. Firth, Assistant Master and Chaplain; and Mr. C. E. R.
Claribut and Mr. J. M. G. Blakiston, past and present Assistant Fellows'
Librarians. The Richmond Area University Center contributed a generous
grant-in-aid.
Rodney M. Baine
The University of Richmond
Richmond, Virginia
NOTES TO THE INTRODUCTION
[1] Joseph Warton, _An Essay on the Writings and Genius of Pope_
(London, 1756-1782), I, 270-271.
[2] John Milton, _Poems upon Several Occasions_ (London, 1785), ed.
Thomas Warton, p. 331, n.
[3] Nineteenth-century editions of the _History_ give the false
impression that the eight sheets were prepared from manuscript material
left at Thomas Warton's death, but these sheets were certainly printed
before Thomas died, and probably in the early 1780's. See John Nichols,
_Literary Anecdotes of the Eighteenth Century_ (London, 1812-1816), III,
702-703. They contain no reference postdating that to Isaac Reed's
revised edition of Robert Dodsley's _Collection of Old Plays_, published
in 1780.
[4] Thomas Warton to Richard Price, 13 October 1781, in Thomas Warton,
_Poetical Works_, ed. Richard Mant (Oxford, 1802), I, lxxviii; Daniel
Prince to Richard Gough, 4 August 1783, in Nichols, _Literary
Anecdotes_, III, 702.
[5] Thomas Caldecott to Bishop Percy, 21 March 1803, in Nichols,
_Illustrations of the Literary History of the Eighteenth Century_
(London, 1817-1858), VIII, 372.
[6] Joseph Warton to William Hayley, 12 March 1792, in John Wooll,
_Biographical Memoirs of the late Revd. Joseph Warton_ (London, 1806),
p. 404.
A HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY: AN UNPUBLISHED CONTINUATION
(In enumerating so many of these petty Epigrammatists, I may have been
perhaps too prolix,--but I did it to shew the taste & turn of writing at
this time; & now proceed to observe, that, in the year, 1614,)[1] the
vogue which satire had acquired from Hall and Marston, probably
encouraged Barten Holiday of Christ-Church in Oxford, to translate
Persius, when he was scarcely twenty years of age. The first edition is
dated 1616. This version had four editions from its publication to the
year 1673 inclusive, notwithstanding the versification is uncommonly
scabrous. The success of his Persius induced Holiday to translate
Juvenal, a clearer & more translatable satirist. But both versions, as
Dryden has justly observed,[2] were written for scholars, and not for
the world: and by treading on the heels of his originals, he seems to
have hurt them by too near an approach. He seized the meaning but not
the spirit of his authors. Holiday, however, who was afterwards
graduated in divinity and promoted to an archdeaconry, wrote a comedy
called the _Marriage of the Arts_, acted before the court at
Woodstock-palace, which was even too grave and scholastic for king James
the first.
I close my prolix review of these pieces by remarking, that as our old
plays have been assembled and exhibited to the public in one uniform
view,[3] so a collection of our old satires and epigrams would be a
curious and useful publication. Even the dull and inelegant productions,
of a remote period which have real Life for their theme, become valuable
and important by preserving authentic pictures of antient popular
manners: by delineating the gradations of vice and folly, they furnish
new speculation to the moral historian, and at least contribute to the
illustration of writers of greater consequence.
_Sect._ XLIX.
The _Sonnet_, together with the _Ottava Rima_, seems to have been the
invention of the Provincial bards, but to have been reduced to its
present rhythmical prosody by some of the earliest Italian poets. It is
a short monody, or Ode of one stanza containing fourteen lines, with
uncommonly frequent returns of rhymes more or less combined. But the
disposition of the rhymes has been sometimes varied according to the
caprice or the convenience of the writer. There is a sonnet of the
regular construction in the Provincial dialect, written by Guglielmo de
gli Amalricchi, on Robert king of Naples who died in 1321.[4] But the
Italian language affords earlier examples. (The multitude of identical
cadences renders it a more easy and proper metre to use in Italian than
in English verse.)
No species of verse appears to have been more eagerly and universally
cultivated by the Italian poets, from the fourteenth century to the
present times. Even the gravest of their epic and tragic writers have
occasionally sported In these lighter bays. (A long list of them is
given in the beginning of the fourth Volume of Quadrios History of
Italian Poetry.) But perhaps the most elegant Italian sonnets are yet to
be found in Dante. Petrarch's sonnets are too learned (metaphysical) and
refined. Of Dante's compositions in this style I cannot give a better
idea, than in (the ingenious) Mr. Hayley's happy translation of Dante's
beautiful sonnet to his friend Guido Calvacanti [sic], written in his
youth, and probably before the year 1300.
Henry! I wish that you, and Charles, and I,
By some sweet spell within a bark were plac'd,
A gallant bark with magic virtue grac'd,
Swift at our will with every wind to fly:
So that no changes of the shifting sky
No stormy terrors of the watery waste,
Might bar our course, but heighten still our taste
Of sprightly joy, and of our social tie:
Then, that my Lucy, Lucy fair and free,
With those soft nymphs on whom your souls are bent,
The kind magician might to us convey,
To talk of love throughout the livelong day:
And that each fair might be as well content
As I in truth believe our hearts would be.[5]
We have before seen, that the _Sonnet_ was imported from Italy into
English poetry, by lord Surrey and Wyat, about the middle of the
sixteenth century. But it does not seem to have flourished in its
legitimate form, till towards the close of the reign of queen Elisabeth.
What I call the legitimate form, in which it now appeared, was not
always free from licentious innovations in the rythmical arrangement.
To omit Googe, Tuberville [sic], Gascoigne, and some other petty writers
who have interspersed their miscellanies with a few sonnets, and who
will be considered under another class, our first professed author in
this mode of composition, after Surrey and Wyat, is Samuel Daniel. His
_Sonnets_ called _Delia_, together with his _Complaint of Rosamond_,
were printed for Simon Waterson, in 1591.[6] It was hence that the name
of Delia, suggested to Daniel by Tibullus, has been perpetuated in the
song of the lover as the name of a mistress. These pieces are dedicated
to Sir Philip Sydney's sister, the general patroness, Mary countess of
Pembroke. But Daniel had been her preceptor.[7] It is not said in
Daniel's Life, that he travelled. His forty-eighth sonnet is said to
have been "made at the authors being in Italie."[8] Delia does not
appear to have been transcendently cruel, nor were his sufferings
attended with any very violent paroxysms of despair. His style and his
expressions have a coldness proportioned to his passion. Yet as he does
not weep seas of tears, nor utter sighs of fire, he has the merit of
avoiding the affected allusions and hyperbolical exaggerations of his
brethren. I cannot in the mean time, with all these concessions in his
favour, give him the praise of elegant sentiment, true tenderness, and
natural pathos. He has, however, a vigour of diction, and a volubility
of verse, which cover many defects, and are not often equalled by his
contemporaries. I suspect his sonnets were popular. They are commended,
by the author of the _Return from Parnassus_, in a high strain of
panegyric.
Sweet honey-dropping Daniel doth wage
War with the proudest big _Italian_
That melts his heart in sugar'd sonnetting.[9]
But I do not think they are either very sweet, or much tinctured with
the Italian manner. The following is one of the best; which I the rather
chuse to recite, as it exemplifies his mode of compliment, and contains
the writer's opinion of Spenser's use of obsolete words.
Let others sing of knights & Paladines,
In aged accents, and untimely words,
Paint shadowes in imaginarie lines,
Which well the reach of their high wit records;
But I must sing of thee, and those faire eyes
Autentique shall my verse in time to come,
When yet th' vnborne shall say "Loe, where she lyes,
Whose beauty made Him speak that els was dombe."
These are the arkes, the trophies I erect,
That fortifie thy name against old age,
And these thy sacred vertues must protect
Against the Darke, & Times consuming rage.
Though th' errour of my youth they shall discouer,
Suffise, they shew I liu'd, and was thy louer.[10]
But, to say nothing more, whatever wisdom there may be in allowing that
love was the errour of his youth, there was no great gallantry in
telling this melancholy truth to the lady.
Daniel is a multifarious writer, and will be mentioned again. I shall
add nothing more of him here than the following anecdote. When he was a
young student at Magdalen-Hall in Oxford, about the year 1580,
notwithstanding the disproportion of his years, and his professed
aversion to the severer acadamical [sic] studies, the Dean and Canons of
Christchurch, by a public capitular act now remaining, gave Daniel a
general invitation to their table at dinner, merely on account of the
liveliness of his conversation.[11]
About the same time, Thomas Watson published his _Hecatompathia, Or the
passionate century of love_, a hundred sonnets.[12] I have not been able
to discover the date of this publication:[13] but his _First set of
Italian Madrigals_ appeared at London, in 1590.[14] I have called them
_sonnets_: but they often wander beyond the limits, nor do they always
preserve the conformation [or] constraint,[15] of the just Italian
_Sonetto_.[16] Watson is more brilliant than Daniel: but he is
encumbered with conceit and the trappings of affectation. In the
love-songs of this age, a lady with all her load of panegyric, resembles
one of the unnatural factitious figures which we sometimes see among the
female portraits at full length of the same age, consisting only of
pearls, gems, necklaces, earings, embroidery, point-lace, farthingale,
fur, and feathers. The blooming nymph is lost in her decorations.
Watson, however, has sometimes uncommon vigour and elegance. As in the
following description.
Her yellow locks exceed the beaten gold,
Her sparkling eyes in heau'n a place deserue;
Her forehead high and faire, of comelie mould,
Her wordes are musical, of syluer sound, &c.
Her eye-browe hangs like Iris in the skies,
Her eagle's nose is straite, of stately frame;
On either cheeke a rose and lillie lyes;
Her breathe is sweet perfvme, or holie flame:
Her lippes more red than any coral-stone, &c.
Her breast transparent is, like cristal rock,
Her fingers long, fit for Apollo's lute,
Her slipper such, as Momus dare not mock,
Her virtues are so great, as make me mute, &c.[17]
Spenser's Sonnets were printed with his _Epithalamium_. They are
entered, in the year 1593, under this title to William Ponsonby,
"_Amoretti_, and _Epithalamium_, written not long since by Edmond
Spencer."[18] In a recommendatory sonnet prefixed, by G. W. senior, it
appears that Spenser was now in Ireland. Considered under the idea which
their title suggests, undoubtedly these pieces are too classical,
abstracted, and even philosophical. But they have many strokes of
imagination and invention, a strength of expression, and a stream of
versification, not unworthy of the genius of the author of the _Faerie
Queene_.[19] On the whole however, with the same metaphysical flame
which Petrarch felt for the accomplished Laura, with more panegyric
than passion, Spenser in his sonnets seldom appeals to the heart, and
too frequently shews more of the poet and the scholar than of the lover.
The following, may be selected in illustration of this opinion.
When those renowned noble peers of Greece,
Through stubborne pride among themselues did iar,
Forgetful of the famous golden fleece,
Then _Orpheus_ with his harp their strife did bar.
But this continual, cruel, civil war,
The which myselfe against myselfe doe make,
Whilst my weake powres of passions warried arre,
No skill can stint, nor reason can aslake.
But when in hand my tunelesse harpe I take,
Then doe I more augment my foes despight,
And grief renew, and passion doe awake
To battaile fresh against myselfe to fight.
Mongst whom, the more I seeke to settle peace,
The more I find their malice to increase.[20]
But the following is in a more intelligible and easy strain, and has
lent some of its graces to the storehouse of modern compliment. The
thought on which the whole turns is, I believe, original, for I do not
recollect it in the Italian poets.
Ye tradeful Merchants, that with weary toyle,
Doe seek most precious things, to make your gaine,
And both the Indias of their treasure spoile;
What needeth you to seeke so farre in vaine?
For lo, my Love doth in herselfe containe
All this worlds riches that may farre be found:
If saphyres, loe, her eyes be saphyres plaine;
If rubies, loe, her lips be rubies sound;
If pearles, her teeth be pearles both pure & round;
If iuorie, her forehead iuorie were [wene];
If gold, her locks are finest gold on ground;
If siluer, her faire hands are siluer sheene:
But that which fairest is, but few behold,
Her mind adornd with vertues manifold.[21]
The last couplet is platonic, but deduced with great address and
elegance from the leading idea, which Gay has apparently borrowed in his
beautiful ballad of _Black-eyed Susan_.
Among the sonnet-writers of this period, next to Spenser I place
Shakespeare. Perhaps in brilliancy of imagery, quickness of thought,
variety and fertility of allusion, and particularly in touches of
pastoral painting, Shakespeare is superiour. But he is more incorrect,
indigested, and redundant: and if Spenser has too much learning,
Shakespeare has too much conceit. It may be necessary however to read
the first one hundred & twenty six sonnets of our divine dramatist as
written by a lady:[22] for they are addressed with great fervency yet
delicacy of passion, and with more of fondness than friendship, to a
beautiful youth.[23] Only twenty six, the last bearing but a small
proportion to the whole number, and too manifestly of a subordinate
cast, have a female for their object. But under the palliative I have
suggested, many descriptions or illustrations of juvenile beauty,
pathetic endearments, and sentimental declarations of hope or
disappointment, which occur in the former part of this collection, will
lose their impropriety and give pleasure without disgust. The following,
a few lines omitted, is unperplexed and elegant.
How like a winter has my absence been
From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year!
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December's bareness every where!
And yet this time, remov'd,[24] was summer's time;
The teeming autumn big with rich increase,
Bearing the wanton burden of the prime, &c.
For summer and his pleasures wait on thee,
And thou away, the very birds are mute:
Or, if they sing, 'tis with so dull a chear,
That leaues look pale, dreading the winter's near.[25]
In the next, he pursues the same argument in the same strain.
From you have I been absent in the spring,
When proud-pied April dress'd in all his trim,
Has put a sprite of youth in euery thing;
That heauy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him.
Yet not the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell
Of different flowers in odour and in hue,
Could make me any summer's story tell,
Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew:
Nor did I wonder at the lilies white,
Nor praise the deep vermilion of the rose:
They were but sweet, but figures of delight,
Drawn after thee, thou pattern of all those![26]
Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow, I with these did play.[27]
Here are strong marks of Shakespeare's hand and manner. In the next, he
continues his _play_ with the flowers. He chides the _forward_ violet, a
_sweet thief_, for stealing the fragrance of the boy's breath, and for
having died his veins with too rich a purple. The lilly is condemned for
presuming to emulate the whiteness of his hand, and _buds_ of _marjoram_
for stealing the ringlets of his hair. Our lover is then seduced into
some violent fictions of the same kind; and after much ingenious
absurdity concludes more rationally,
More flowres I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or colour it had stolne from thee.[28]
Shakespeare's _Sonnets_ were published in the year 1599.[29] I remember
to have seen this edition, I think with _Venus and Adonis_ and the _rape
of Lucrece_, a very small book, in the possession of the late Mr Thomson
of Queen's College Oxford, a very curious and intelligent collector of
this kind of literature.[30] But they were circulated in manuscript
before the year 1598. For in that year, they are mentioned by Meres.
"Witness his [Shakespeare's] _Venus and Adonis_, his _Lucrece_, his
sugred _Sonnets_ among his priuate friends, &c."[31] They were reprinted
in the year 1609; one hundred & fifty four in number. They were first
printed under Shakespeares name, among his _Poems_, in the year 1717, by
Sewel, who had no other authority than tradition.[32] But that they were
undoubtedly written by Shakespeare, the frequent intermixture of
thoughts and expressions which now appear in his plays, and, what is
more, the general complexion of their phraseology & sentiment,
abundantly demonstrate, Shakespeare cannot be concealed. Their late
ingenious editor is of opinion, that Daniel was Shakespeare's model.[33]
I have before incidentally mentioned Barnefield's Sonnets,[34] which,
like Shakespeare's, are adressed [sic] to a boy. They are flowery and
easy. Meres recites Barnefelde among the pastoral writers.[35] These
sonnets, twenty in number, are written in the character of a shepherd:
and there are other pieces by Barnefield which have a pastoral turn, in
_Englands Helicon_. Sir Philip Sydney had made every thing Arcadian. I
will cite four of this authors best lines, and such as will be least
offensive.
Some talk of Ganymede th' Idalian boy,
And some of faire Adonis make their boast;
Some talke of him whom louely Leda lost
And some of Echo's loue that was so coy, &c.[36]
Afterwards, falling in love with a lady, he closes these sonnets with a
palinode.[37]
I have before found occasion to cite the Sonnets of H. C. called _Diana_
printed in 1592.[38] As also _Dieella_ [sic], or _Sonnets_ by R. L.
printed in 1596.[39] With these may be mentioned a set of Sonnets,
entitled _Fidessa more chaste than kinde_. By B. Griffin, Gent. At
London. Printed by the Widow Orwin for Matthew Lownes, 1596.[40] They
are dedicated to Mr William Essex of Lambourne in Berkshire. Then
follows a deprecatory address to the gentlemen of the Inns of Court, who
are earnestly requested to protect at least to approve this first
attempt of a stranger; and who promises, if now successful, to publish a
pastoral the next time. It is possible that some other writers of this
class may have escaped my searches. I do not wish to disturb their
repose, which is likely to be lasting.
NOTES TO THE TEXT
Warton's notes, which in the manuscript are designated by letters or
symbols, have been numbered. Brackets enclose all the editor's
corrections, expansions, and comments. The parentheses are Warton's.
[1] [Thomas Warton's original version began "The temporary vogue which
..." The final version, here parenthesized in the text, represents, it
seems fairly certain, Joseph Warton's expansion. Although this
deprecatory comment seems rather abrupt coming after five sections
devoted to the Elizabethan satirists, Joseph Warton is not disparaging
where his brother praised. Thomas Warton had already (IV, 69) belittled
the "innumerable crop of _satirists_, and of a set of writers differing
but little more than in name, and now properly belonging to the same
species, _Epigrammatists_."]
[2] [Warton here combined several remarks in Dryden's essay "The Original
and Progress of Satire." See John Dryden, _Essays_, ed. W. P. Ker
(Oxford, 1900), II, 111-112. There were six, not four editions of
Holiday's _Persius_.]
[3] [Warton refers presumably to Isaac Reed's _Collection of Old Plays_
(London, 1780).]
[4] [Jehan de] Nostredam [e]. _[Les] Vies des [...] Poet[es]
Provens[aux]._ [Lyon, 1575] n. 59. pag. 199.
[5] [William Hayley. _An] Ess[ay]_ on _Epic Poetry_. [London, 1782]
_Notes, Ess._ iii. v. 81. p. 171.
[6] They are entered to him, feb. 4, under that year [1591/92]. Registr.
_Station._ B. fol. 284. a. In sixteens. I have a copy. Wh[ite] Lett[er
i. e., roman]. With vignettes.
[7] [Daniel was tutor to her son William Herbert and preceptor to Ann
Clifford, Countess of Pembroke, but Sidney's sister seems to have been
the patroness rather than the pupil of Daniel.]
[8] His sister married John Florio, author of a famous Italian
dictionary, and tutor to queen Anne, consort of James the first, in
Italian, under whom Daniel was groom of the Privy-Chamber. [Anthoney a]
Wood, _Ath[enae]_ _Oxon[ienses]_. [London, 1691-92.] i. 379. col. 1.
[Warton's mention of "Daniel's Life" refers presumably to the brief
biography by Wood, here cited.]
[9] A. i. _Sc._ i[i]. [Warton was evidently quoting from the edition
prepared by Thomas Hawkins and sold by his own printer, Prince--_The
Origin of the English Drama_ (Oxford, | 1,289.500586 |
2023-11-16 18:38:33.4830810 | 2,236 | 17 |
Credit
Transcribed from the 1904 Methuen & Co. edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Building castles in the air]
LONDON
LYRICS
By FREDERICK LOCKER
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION AND NOTES_
BY A. D. GODLEY
* * * * *
_WITH A FRONTISPIECE_
BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK
* * * * *
LONDON
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET, W. C.
MDCCCCIV
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION vii
The Castle in the Air 1
The Cradle 8
O Tempora Mutantur! 12
Piccadilly 15
The Old Clerk 19
The Garter 23
The Pilgrims of Pall Mall 30
The Russet Pitcher 34
The Enchanted Rose 39
Circumstance 42
A Wish 43
My Life is a-- 46
Vanity Fair 48
Bramble-Rise 51
Old Letters 56
Susannah 59
My Firstborn 63
The Widow's Mite 66
St George's, Hanover Square 68
A Sketch in Seven Dials 70
Miss Edith 72
A Glimpse of Gretna Green, in the Distance 75
The Four Seasons 78
Enigma 80
Enigma 81
To the Printer's Devil 83
NOTES 85
INTRODUCTION
The father of Frederick Locker Lampson (or Frederick Locker, according to
the name by which he is generally known) was Edward Hawke Locker, at one
time Commissioner of Greenwich Hospital. He is described in the
"Dictionary of National Biography" as "a man of varied talents and
accomplishments, Fellow of the Royal Society, an excellent artist in
water-colour, a charming conversationalist, an esteemed friend of Southey
and Scott." Frederick, the author of "London Lyrics," "was born," Mr
Augustine Birrell, his son-in-law, writes in _Scribner's Magazine_
(January 1896), "in Greenwich Hospital in 1821. After divers adventures
in various not over well selected schools, and a brief experience of the
City and of Somerset House, he became a clerk in the Admiralty, serving
under Lord Haddington, Sir James Graham, and Sir Charles Wood. He was
twice married--first, to Lady Charlotte Bruce, a daughter of Lord Elgin
(of the Marbles); and secondly, to the only daughter of Sir Curtis
Lampson, Bart., of Rowfant in Sussex."
The present volume is Locker's earliest literary venture; produced,
however, at the comparatively mature age of thirty-six. "In 1857," he
says in "My Confidences," "I published a thin volume--certain
sparrow-flights of song, called 'London Lyrics.'" Subsequently, about
1860, Thackeray, who was then editor of the _Cornhill Magazine_, invited
Locker to contribute; and poems published there and elsewhere were
collected and reprinted from time to time, the original title being
always retained. Ten editions, besides some selections privately
printed, appeared before the poet's death. In almost all something new
was added, in all something old was taken away; so that only eight of the
twenty-five pieces composing the early "thin volume" survive in the issue
of 1893, and some of these are much altered. It is hoped that readers of
Locker's later and more highly finished work will consider a
republication of his "Primitiae" justified by the interest which attaches
to all beginnings.
So many people even now confuse minor poetry with bad poetry that it is
almost invidious to call a poet minor. Yet there is no doubt that minor
poetry can be good in its way, just as major poetry can be good in _its_
way. "If he [Locker] was a minor poet he was at least [why 'at least'?]
a master of the instrument he touched, which cannot," writes Mr Coulson
Kernahan in the _Nineteenth Century_ for October 1895, "be said of all
who would be accounted _major_." Locker was not of those, in his own
opinion, who would be accounted major. "My aim," he says, "was humble.
I used the ordinary metres and rhymes, the simplest language and ideas, I
hope, flavoured with an individuality. I strove... not to be flat,
and above all, not to be tedious." It is not necessary to prove by
argument and illustration that Locker is a minor poet, nor that he
belongs to that honourable company of writers of what we now call "light
verse"--the masters of which are, after all, among the immortals--Horace
and Herrick. His place in that company is not so easy to define.
Probably he stands half way between the serious singers--who succeed by
virtue of grace and artistic finish, yet lack the touch of passion, the
indefinable something that makes greatness--and the bards whose primary
object, like Calverley's, is to make the reader laugh. "He elected,"
says Mr Coulson Kernahan, "to don the cap and bells when he might have
worn the singing robes of the poet": a description of one who chose to be
a jester when he might have been serious, and hardly applicable to
Locker, who is never a professed "funny man." Mr Kernahan is far more
just when he claims for "London Lyrics" a kind of sober gentleness which
moves neither to laugh nor to weep: "his sad scenes may touch us to
tender melancholy, but never to tears; his gay ones to smile, but seldom
to laughter." Locker's Muse is not the Muse of high spirits. He does
not start with the intention of jesting. He is the gentle and serious
spectator of things which are not the most serious in life--with a sense
of the humorous which is not repressible, and which enters into all his
reflections, but which he never allows wholly to master him.
It is really impossible to classify poets on any satisfactory principle.
Every good poet is a class by himself. But if the attempt must be made,
one may say that the author of "London Lyrics" belongs to that school of
which the other chief representatives, in English or American literature,
have been Praed, Oliver Wendell Holmes, and Mr Austin Dobson. It has
always been the fashion to class him with the first named of the trio as
a writer of "occasional verse" or "vers de societe." These titles, like
other parts of the nomenclature of the poetic art, are not satisfying.
Why "smoothly written verse, where a boudoir decorum is or ought always
to be preserved: where sentiment never surges into passion, and where
humour never overflows into boisterous merriment" should be
conventionally called "society verse," or "occasional verse," is not very
clear. To write "society verse" is to be the laureate of the cultured,
leisured, pleasure-loving upper classes; but some poets satisfy the above
requirements--Locker himself included--yet certainly do not write
exclusively of or for "Society." Then again, what is "occasional"?
Many serious poems are inspired by the transient occasion. But we are
not, presumably, to class "Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints" among
occasional pieces, nor is Wordsworth's sonnet on London at dawn to be
called occasional; yet the source of it, the fact that the poet happened
to be upon Westminster Bridge in the early morning, was transient, not
(apparently) inherent in the nature of things. However, these names must
be accepted as we find them. Here is Locker's own law: "Occasional
verse," he says, "should be short, graceful, refined, and fanciful, not
seldom distinguished by chastened sentiment, and often playful. The tone
should not be pitched high: it should be terse and idiomatic, and rather
in the conversational key; the rhythm should be crisp and sparkling, and
the rhyme frequent and never forced, while the entire poem should be
marked by tasteful moderation, high finish, and completeness: for,
however trivial the subject-matter may be, indeed, rather in proportion
to its triviality, subordination to the rules of composition, and
perfection of execution, are of the utmost importance." Among the
enviable versifiers who can satisfy these requirements Praed and Locker
both hold a high place. Praed, indeed, is the chief among writers of
"vers de societe," for not only does his manner conform to the laws laid
down by high authorities, but his theme is generally "Society" with a
capital S. "Praed," says Locker in "My Confidences," "is the very best
of his school: indeed, he has a unique position; for in his narrower vein
of whimsical wit, vernacular banter, and antithetical rhetoric, which may
correctly be called _vers de societe_ in its most perfected form, and its
exactest sense, he has never been equalled." These phrases hit off Praed
very well--if one does not exactly see what "Society" has to do with
antithetical rhetoric.
These two poets, so often classed together, are not really very much
alike. Both are certainly "in lighter vein"; but they differ apparently
in temperament, and certainly in method. No one would deny to Praed the
gift of humour. But the period in which he wrote was one which admired
primarily wit; and while it would be too much to say that his heart is
not in his theme--that he stands | 1,289.503121 |
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THOUGHTS SUGGESTED BY MR. FROUDE'S "PROGRESS"
By Charles Dudley Warner
To revisit this earth, some ages after their departure from it, is a
common wish among men. We frequently hear men say that they would give so
many months or years of their lives in exchange for a less number on the
globe one or two or three centuries from now. Merely to see the world
from some remote sphere, like the distant spectator of a play which
passes in dumb show, would not suffice. They would like to be of the
world again, and enter into its feelings, passions, hopes; to feel the
sweep of its current, and so to comprehend what it has become.
I suppose that we all who are thoroughly interested in this world have
this desire. There are some select souls who sit apart in calm endurance,
waiting to be translated out of a world they are almost tired of
patronizing, to whom the whole thing seems, doubtless, like a cheap
performance. They sit on the fence of criticism, and cannot for the life
of them see what the vulgar crowd make such a toil and sweat about. The
prizes are the same dreary, old, fading bay wreaths. As for the soldiers
marching past, their uniforms are torn, their hats are shocking, their
shoes are dusty, they do not appear (to a man sitting on the fence) to
march with any kind of spirit, their flags are old and tattered, the
drums they beat are barbarous; and, besides, it is not probable that they
are going anywhere; they will merely come round again, the same people,
like the marching chorus in the "Beggar's Opera." Such critics, of
course, would not care to see the vulgar show over again; it is enough
for them to put on record their protest against it in the weekly
"Judgment Days" which they edit, and by-and-by withdraw out of their
private boxes, with pity for a world in the creation of which they were
not consulted.
The desire to revisit this earth is, I think, based upon a belief,
well-nigh universal, that the world is to make some progress, and that it
will be more interesting in the future than it is now. I believe that the
human mind, whenever it is developed enough to comprehend its own action,
rests, and has always rested, in this expectation. I do not know any
period of time in which the civilized mind has not had expectation of
something better for the race in the future. This expectation is
sometimes stronger than it is at others; and, again, there are always
those who say that the Golden Age is behind them. It is always behind or
before us; the poor present alone has no friends; the present, in the
minds of many, is only the car that is carrying us away from an age of
virtue and of happiness, or that is perhaps bearing us on to a time of
ease and comfort and security.
Perhaps it is worth while, in view of certain recent discussions, and
especially of some free criticisms of this country, to consider whether
there is any intention of progress in this world, and whether that
intention is discoverable in the age in which we live.
If it is an old question, it is not a settled one; the practical
disbelief in any such progress is widely entertained. Not long ago Mr.
James Anthony Froude published an essay on Progress, in which he examined
some of the evidences upon which we rely to prove that we live in an "era
of progress." It is a melancholy essay, for its tone is that of profound
skepticism as to certain influences and means of progress upon which we
in this country most rely. With the illustrative arguments of Mr.
Froude's essay I do not purpose specially to meddle; I recall it to the
attention of the reader as a representative type of skepticism regarding
progress which is somewhat common among intellectual men, and is not
confined to England. It is not exactly an acceptance of Rousseau's notion
that civilization is a mistake, and that it would be better for us all to
return to a state of nature--though in John Ruskin's case it nearly
amounts to this; but it is a hostility in its last analysis to what we
understand by the education of the people, and to the government of the
people by themselves. If Mr. Froude's essay is anything but an exhibition
of the scholarly weapons of criticism, it is the expression of a profound
disbelief in the intellectual education of the masses of the people. Mr.
Ruskin goes further. He makes his open proclamation against any
emancipation from hand-toil. Steam is the devil himself let loose from
the pit, and all labor-saving machinery is his own invention. Mr. Ruskin
is the bull that stands upon the track and threatens with annihilation
the on-coming locomotive; and I think that any spectator who sees his
menacing attitude and hears his roaring cannot but have fears for the
locomotive.
There are two sorts of infidelity concerning humanity, and I do not know
which is the more withering in its effects. One is that which regards
this world as only a waste and a desert, across the sands of which we are
merely fugitives, fleeing from the wrath to come. The other is that doubt
of any divine intention in development, in history, which we call
progress from age to age.
In the eyes of this latter infidelity history is not a procession or a
progression, but only a series of disconnected pictures, each little era
rounded with its own growth, fruitage, and decay, a series of incidents
or experiments, without even the string of a far-reaching purpose to
connect them. There is no intention of progress in it all. The race is
barbarous, and then it changes to civilized; in the one case the strong
rob the weak by brute force; in the other the crafty rob the unwary by
finesse. The latter is a more agreeable state of things; but it comes to
about the same. The robber used to knock us down and take away our
sheepskins; he now administers chloroform and relieves us of our watches.
It is a gentlemanly proceeding, and scientific, and we call it
civilization. Meantime human nature remains the same, and the whole thing
is a weary round that has no advance in it.
If this is true the succession of men and of races is no better than a
vegetable succession; and Mr. Froude is quite right in doubting if
education of the brain will do the English agricultural laborer any good;
and Mr. Ruskin ought to be aided in his crusade against machinery, which
turns the world upside down. The best that can be done with a man is the
best that can be done with a plant-set him out in some favorable
locality, or leave him where he happened to strike root, and there let
him grow and mature in measure and quiet--especially quiet--as he may in
God's sun and rain. If he happens to be a cabbage, in Heaven's name don't
try to make a rose of him, and do not disturb the vegetable maturing of
his head by grafting ideas upon his stock.
The most serious difficulty in the way of those who maintain that there
is an intention of progress in this world from century to century, from
age to age--a discernible growth, a universal development--is the fact
that all nations do not make progress at the same time or in the same
ratio; that nations reach a certain development, and then fall away and
even retrograde; that while one may be advancing into high civilization,
another is lapsing into deeper barbarism, and that nations appear to have
a limit of growth. If there were a law of progress, an intention of it in
all the world, ought not all peoples and tribes to advance pari passu, or
at least ought there not to be discernible a general movement, historical
and contemporary? There is no such general movement which can be
computed, the law of which can be discovered--therefore it does not
exist. In a kind of despair, we are apt to run over in our minds empires
and pre-eminent civilizations that have existed, and then to doubt
whether life in this world is intended to be anything more than a series
of experiments. There is the German nation of our day, the most
aggressive in various fields of intellectual activity, a Hercules of
scholarship, the most thoroughly trained and powerful--though its
civilization marches to the noise of the hateful and barbarous drum. In
what points is it better than the Greek nation of the age of its
superlative artists, philosophers, poets--the age of the most joyous,
elastic human souls in the most perfect human bodies?
Again, it is perhaps a fanciful notion that the Atlantis of Plato was the
northern part of the South American continent, projecting out towards
Africa, and that the Antilles are the peaks and headlands of its sunken
bulk. But there are evidences enough that the shores of the Gulf of
Mexico and the Caribbean Sea were within historic periods the seat of a
very considerable civilization--the seat of cities, of commerce, of
trade, of palaces and pleasure--gardens--faint images, perhaps, of the
luxurious civilization of Baia! and Pozzuoli and Capri in the most
profligate period of the Roman empire. It is not more difficult to
believe that there was a great material development here than to believe
it of the African shore of the Mediterranean. Not to multiply instances
that will occur to all, we see as many retrograde as advance movements,
and we see, also, that while one spot of the earth at one time seems to
be the chosen theatre of progress, other portions of the globe are
absolutely dead and without the least leaven of advancing life, and we
cannot understand how this can be if there is any | 1,289.600496 |
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Produced by John Hagerson, Kevin Handy and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE WORLD'S
GREATEST
BOOKS
JOINT EDITORS
ARTHUR MEE
Editor and Founder of the Book of Knowledge
J. A. HAMMERTON
Editor of Harmsworth's Universal Encyclopaedia
VOL. IV
FICTION
Table of Contents
EBERS, GEORG
An Egyptian Princess
EDGEWORTH, MARIE
Belinda
Castle Rackrent
ELIOT, GEORGE
Adam Bede
Felix Holt
Romola
Silas Marner
The Mill on the Floss
ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN
Waterloo
FEUILLET, OCTAVE
Romance of a Poor Young Man
FIELDING, HENRY
Amelia
Jonathan Wild
Joseph Andrews
Tom Jones
FLAMMARION, CAMILLE
Urania
FOUQUE, DE LA MOTTE
Undine
GABORIAU, EMILE
File No. 113
GALT, JOHN
Annals of the Parish
GASKELL, MRS.
Cranford
Mary Barton
GODWIN, WILLIAM
Caleb Williams
GOETHE
Sorrows of Young Werther
Wilhelm Meister
GOLDSMITH, OLIVER
Vicar of Wakefield
GONCOURT, EDMOND AND JULES DE
Renee Mauperin
GRANT, JAMES
Bothwell
A Complete Index of THE WORLD'S GREATEST BOOKS will be found at the end
of Volume XX.
* * * * *
GEORG EBERS
An Egyptian Princess
Georg Moritz Ebers, a great Orientalist and Egyptologist, was
born in Berlin on March 1, 1837, received his first
instruction at | 1,289.733046 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by Google Books
THE LAST PENNY
By Edwin Lefevre
Harper And Brothers Publishers
New York And London
1917
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0011]
TO THE LAST PENNY
CHAPTER I
THOMAS LEIGH, ex-boy, considered the dozen neckties before him a long
time, and finally decided to wait until after breakfast.
It was his second day at home and his third day out of college. Already
his undergraduate life seemed far away. His triumphs--of personality
rather than of scholarship--lingered as a luminous mist that softened
the sterner realities and mellowed them goldenly. When one is young
reminiscences of one's youth are apt to take on a tinge of melancholy,
but Tommy, not having breakfasted, shook off the mood determinedly. He
was two hundred and fifty-five months old; therefore, he decided that no
great man ever crosses a bridge until he comes to it. Tommy's bridge
was still one long joy-ride ahead. The sign, “Slow down to four miles an
hour!” was not yet in sight. The selection of the necktie was a serious
matter because he was to lunch at Sherry's with the one sister and the
younger of the two cousins of Rivington Willetts.
In the mean time he had an invitation to spend the first half of July
with Bull Wilson's folks at Gloucester, a week with “Van” Van Schaick
for the cruise at Newport, as long as he wished with Jimmy Maitland at
Mr. Maitland's camp in the Adirondacks, and he had given a half promise
to accompany Ellis Gladwin to Labrador for big game in the fall.
He suddenly remembered that he was at his last ten-spot. There was the
Old Man to touch for fifty bucks. And also--sometime--he must have a
heart-to-heart talk of a business nature about his allowance. He and
his friends desired to take a post-graduate course. They proposed to
specialize on New York.
Mr. Leigh always called him Thomas. This had saved Mr. Leigh at least
one thousand dollars a year during Tommy's four at college, by making
Tommy realize that he had no doting father. At times the boy had sent
his requests for an extra fifty with some misgivings--by reason of the
impelling cause of the request--but Mr. Leigh always sent the check for
the exact amount by return mail, and made no direct reference to
it. Instead he permitted himself an irrelevant phrase or two, like,
“Remember, Thomas, that you must have no conditions at the end of the
term.”
Possibly because of a desire to play fair with a parent who had no sense
of humor, or perhaps it was because he was level-headed enough not to
overwork a good thing, at all events Tommy managed, sometimes pretty
narrowly, to escape the conditions. And being very popular, and knowing
that quotable wisdom was expected of him, he was rather careful of what
he said and did.
He knew nothing about his father's business affairs, excepting that Mr.
Leigh was connected with the Metropolitan National Bank, which was a
very rich bank, and that he continued to live in the little house on
West Twelfth Street, because it was in that house that Mrs. Leigh had
lived her seventeen months of married life--it was where Tommy was bom
and where she died. The furniture was chiefly old family pieces which,
without his being aware of it, had made Tommy feel at home in the houses
of the very wealthy friends he had made at college. It is something to
have been American for two hundred years. Family furniture reminds you
of it every day.
Tommy wondered, curiously rather than anxiously, how much his father
would allow him, and whether it would be wiser to argue like a man
against its inadequacy or to plead like a boy for an increase; then
whether he ought to get it in cash Saturday mornings or to have a
checking account at his father's bank. But one thing was certain--he
would not be led into reckless check-signing habits. His boy-financier
days were over. Those of his friends who had multi-millionaire fathers
were always complaining of being hard up. It was, therefore, not an
unfashionable thing to be. He surmised that his father was not really
rich, because he kept no motor, had no expensive personal habits,
belonged to no clubs, and never sent to Tommy at college more money than
Tommy asked for, and, moreover, sent it only when Tommy asked. Since his
Prep-school days Tommy had spent most of his vacations at boys' houses.
Mr. Leigh at times was invited to join him, or to become acquainted with
the families of Tommy's friends, but he never accepted.
Tommy, having definitely decided not to make any plans until after his
first grown-up business talk with his father, looked at himself in the
mirror and put on his best serious look. He was satisfied with it.
He had successfully used it on mature business men when soliciting
advertisements for the college paper.
He then decided to breakfast with his father, who had the eccentric habit
of leaving the house at exactly eight-forty a.m.
It was actually only eight-eight when Tommy entered the dining-room.
Maggie, the elderly chambermaid and waitress, in her twenty-second
consecutive year of service, whom he always remembered as the only woman
who could be as taciturn as his father, looked surprised, but served him
oatmeal. It was a warm day in June, but this household ran in ruts.
Mr. Leigh looked up from his newspaper. “Good morning, Thomas,” he said.
Then he resumed his _Tribune_.
“Good morning, father,” said Tommy, and had a sense of having left his
salutation unfinished. He breakfasted in a sober, business-like way,
feeling age creeping upon him. Nevertheless, when he had finished he
hesitated to light a cigarette. He never had done it in the house, for
his father had expressed the wish that his son should not smoke until he
was of age. Tommy's twenty-first birthday had come off at college.
Well, he was of age now.
The smell of the vile thing made Mr. Leigh look at his son, frowning.
Then he ceased to frown. “Ah yes,” he observed, meditatively, “you are
of age. You are a man now.”
“I suspect I am, father,” said Thomas, pleasantly. “In fact, I--”
“Then it is time you heard man's talk!”
Mr. Leigh took out his watch, looked at it, and put it back in his
pocket with a methodical leisureliness that made Tommy realize that Mr.
Leigh was a very old man, though he could not be more than fifty. Tommy
was silent, and was made subtly conscious that in not speaking he was
somehow playing safe.
“Thomas, I have treated you as a boy during twenty-one years.” Mr. Leigh
paused just long enough for Tommy to wonder why he had not added “and
three months.” Mr. Leigh went on, with that same uncomfortable, senile
precision: “Your mother would have wished it. You are a man now and--”
He closed his lips abruptly, but without any suggestion of temper or of
making a sudden decision, and rose, a bit stiffly. His face took on
a look of grim resolution that filled Tommy with that curious form of
indeterminate remorse with which we anticipate abstract accusations
against which there is no concrete defense. It seemed to make an utter
stranger of Mr. Leigh. Tommy saw before him a life with which his
own did not merge. He would have preferred a scolding as being more
paternal, more humanly flesh-and-blood. He was not frightened.
He never had been wild; at the worst he had been a complacent shirker
of future responsibilities, with that more or less adventurous desire
to float on the tide that comes to American boys whose financial
necessities do not compel them to fix their anchorage definitely. At
college such boys are active citizens in their community, concerned
with sports and class politics, and the development of their immemorial
strategy against existing institutions. And for the same sad reason of
youth Tommy could not possibly know that he was now standing, not on a
rug in his father's dining-room, but on the top of life's first hill,
with a pleasant valley below him--and one steep mountain beyond. All
that his quick self-scrutinizing could do was to end in wondering which
particular exploit, thitherto deemed unknown to his father, was to be
the key-note of the impending speech. And for the life of him, without
seeking self-extenuation, he could not think of any serious enough to
bring so grimly determined a look on his father's face.
Mr. Leigh folded the newspaper, and, without looking at his son, said,
harshly, “Come with me into the library.”
Tommy followed his father into the particularly gloomy room at the back
of the second floor, where all the chairs were too uncomfortable for any
one to wish to read any book there. On the small black-walnut table were
the family Bible, an ivory paper-cutter, and a silver frame in which was
a fading photograph of his mother.
“Sit down!” commanded the old man. There was a new note in the voice.
Tommy sat down, the vague disquietude within him for the first time
rising to alarm. He wondered if his father's mind was sound, and
instantly dismissed the suspicion. It was too unpleasant to consider,
and, moreover, it seemed disloyal. Tommy was very strong on loyalty. His
college life had given it to him.
Mr. Leigh looked | 1,289.759088 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE CODE OF THE MOUNTAINS
BY CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
AUTHOR OF THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS, THE BATTLE CRY, ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
G. W. GAGE
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY
W. J. WATT & COMPANY
_Published May_
* * * * *
_OTHER BOOKS BY_
CHARLES NEVILLE BUCK
THE KEY TO YESTERDAY
THE LIGHTED MATCH
THE PORTAL OF DREAMS
THE CALL OF THE CUMBERLANDS
THE BATTLE CRY
[Illustration: "Newty," she said softly, "why don't you shake the dirt
of this place offen your feet?"]
THE CODE OF THE MOUNTAINS
CHAPTER I
This morning the boy from the forks of Troublesome Creek had back his
name once more. It was not a distinguished name, nor one to be flaunted
in pride of race or achievement. On the contrary, it was a synonym for
violent law-breaking and in the homely parlance of the Cumberland
ridges, where certain infractions are condoned, it stood for "pizen
meanness." Generations of Spooners before him had taken up the surname
and carried it like runners in a relay race--often into evil ways. Many
had laid down their lives and name with abruptness and violence.
When the pioneers first set their feet into the Wilderness trail out of
Virginia, some left because the vague hinterland west of the ridges
placed them "beyond the law's pursuing."
Tradition said that of the latter class were the Spooners, but Newt
Spooner had no occasion to probe the remote past for a record of
turpitude. It lay before him inscribed in a round clerical hand on the
ledger which the warden of the Frankfort Penitentiary was just closing.
Though the Governor's clemency had expunged the red charge of murder
set against his name at the tender age of eighteen, there was another
record which the Governor could not erase. A sunken grave bore testimony
in a steep mountainside burial-ground back in "Bloody Breathitt," where
dead weed stalks rattled and tangled ropes of fox-grapes bore their
fruit in due season.
However, even the name of Newt Spooner is a better thing than the Number
813, which for two years had been his designation within those gray and
fortressed walls along whose tops sentry-boxes punctuated the angles.
This morning he wore a suit of black clothes, the gift of the
commonwealth, and his eyes were fixed rather avidly on a five-dollar
note which the warden held tightly between his thumb and forefinger.
Newt knew that the bill, too, was to be his. Yet the warden seemed
needlessly deliberate in making the presentation. That functionary
intended first to have something to say; something meant in all
kindliness, but as Newt waited, shifting his bulk uneasily from foot to
foot, his narrowed eyes traveled with restlessness, and his thin lips
clamped themselves into a line indicative of neither gratitude nor
penitence. The convict's thoughts for two years had been circling with
uncomplicated directness about one focus. Newt Spooner had a fixed idea.
The office of the warden was not a cheery place. Its walls and desk and
key-racks spoke suggestively of the business administered there. The
warden tilted back in his swivel chair, and gazed at the forgiven, but
unforgiving prisoner.
"Spooner," he began in that tone which all homilies have in common;
"Spooner, you have been luckier than you had any reason to expect. It's
up to you to see that I don't get you back here again."
He gazed sternly at the boy, for he was still a boy, despite the chalky
and aged pallor of his face, despite the tight-clenched line of the thin
lips, despite the stooping and emaciated shoulders. The Kentucky
mountaineer withers into quick decay between prison walls, and, unless
appearances were deceitful, this one was already being beckoned to by
the specter of tuberculosis.
"You have been pardoned and restored to all civil rights by the
Governor," went on the official. "Your youth and ill health appealed to
some ladies who went through the prison. You are the youngest homicide
we have here. They interceded because you were only an ignorant kid when
you were drawn into this murder conspiracy."
Newt's eyes blazed evilly at the words, but he only clamped his mouth
tighter. He would not have called it a murder conspiracy. To him it was
merely "killin' a feller that needed killin'." "Since," continued the
warden quietly, "you were full of white liquor, and since you had never
had a chance to know much anyhow, those ladies got busy, and you have
another chance. You ought to feel very grateful to them. It's up to you
to prove that the experiment was worth the risk it involves--the risk
of turning an assassin loose on society."
The boy from Troublesome said nothing. From his thin chest came a deep,
racking cough. He spat on the floor, and wondered how long this man
would hold back the five-dollar bill and prolong the interview.
"Well?" The warden's voice was impatient. "Don't you hear me talking to
you? Haven't you got any sense of decent gratitude?"
A fiercely baleful wrath shot instinctively through Newt's gray
hawk-like eyes and smoldered in their deep sockets, but there still was
need to leash his anger--and conceal his purpose.
"I'm obleeged ter ye," he answered in a dead voice of mock humility,
though his tongue ached to burst into profane denunciation, "but I
hain't axed nobody ter do nothin'. I didn't 'low ter be beholden ter
nobody."
"You are 'beholden' to everybody who has befriended you," retorted the
warden with rising asperity. "Do you mean to go back to the mountains?"
At once there leaped into the released convict's mind a vision of being
spied upon and thwarted in his purpose--a purpose which the law could
not countenance. To cover his anger he fell into a fit of violent
coughing, and, when he answered, it was with the crafty semblance of
indecision.
"I 'lowed I mout go back an' see my kinfolks fer a spell."
"And after that?"
"I 'lowed," lied Spooner cautiously, "thet atter thet I'd go West."
"Now take a tip from me," commanded the warden, and, since he still held
the five-dollar bill, the boy from Troublesome was forced to accord
unwilling attention. "Every mountain man that goes away drifts
eventually back to the mountains. God knows why they do it, but they do.
You have just one chance of salvation. I had that in mind when I spoke
to the Governor and asked him to include in your pardon a restoration of
civil rights. If you get well enough to stand the physical examination,
enlist in the army. Once in, you'll have to stay three years--and in
three years a fellow can do a lot of thinking. It may make a man of you.
If you don't take that tip I'll have you back here again--as sure as God
made you--unless you get hanged instead."
The warden extended his hand containing the provision with which the
commonwealth of Kentucky invited this human brandling to rehabilitate
his life. The mountaineer bent eagerly forward and clutched at the money
with a wolfish haste of greed. Ten minutes later the prison gates swung
outward.
The Frankfort Penitentiary sits on a hill looking down to a ragged town
which straddles the Kentucky River. In the basin below somnolent streets
spread away and lose themselves in glistening turnpikes between
bluegrass farms where velvet lawns and shaded woodlands surround old
mansions that mirror the charm and flavor of rural England. The state
capital is a large village rather than a city, but to this boy who had
known only the wild isolation of the Cumberlands, where sky-high
ramparts have caught and arrested human development, Frankfort seemed a
baffling metropolis. In the lumber-yards and distilleries that cluttered
the steep river banks he saw only bewilderment and in the dome of the
capitol the symbol of a power that had jailed him; that except for his
youth would have hanged him.
One thing only he saw which struck a note of the nostalgic and brought a
catch to his throat. That river had its headwaters in his own country.
One branch flowed through his own county seat, and those knobs that
hugged its banks and framed the straggling town under the singing June
skies, were the little cousins of the mountains where his forefathers
had lived their lives and fought their battles for a hundred years.
If he followed them long enough, they would mount from knobs to
foothills and from foothills to peaks. The metaled turnpikes would
dwindle and end in clay roads. These roads would in time give way to
rougher trails, rock-strewn and licked by the little, whispering waters
that make rivers, and he would travel by creek-bed ways over which
wagons, if they go at all, must strain their axles and where men ride
mules with their luggage in saddle-bags. There forests of age-old oaks
and spruce, pines and poplars and hickory and ash would troop down and
smother in the hillsides, and the rhododendron would be in bloom just
now. The laurel bushes would be all a-glisten and the elder tops would
be tossing sprays of foam-like blossom between towering sentinels of
rock.
But the beauties of the rugged home country had for him another meaning.
At the roots of the laurel a man can crouch unseen with his rifle
cradled against his shoulder to "lay-way" an enemy who has over-lived
his time.
When he had a certain man in rifle-range, the rest would be elementally
simple. He had spent more than two years thinking of that and evolving
every needful plan in detail. There was now no need of haste. After all
this thinking he could afford to consult his leisure and enjoy the
pleasures of anticipation. When once the deed was done, as the warder
had reminded him, there was the probable shadow of the gallows. But it
should be said for the late Number 813 that in his reflections was no
germ of vacillation or indecision. His one definite motive in life was
what he deemed just reprisal. He was willing to pay for that without
haggling over the cost, but he was not willing to defeat his end by
hasty incaution.
He had been in prison over two years and was still very weak. He
recognized with contempt the tremor of his hand. Once that hand had been
so steady that all his squirrels fell from the hickories pierced through
the head. It would be a little time before he could again command that
nicety of rifle-craft. But now he must get home and home lay about a
hundred and fifteen miles "over yon." He could reach Jackson by rail,
but that would cost money, and there was ammunition to be bought and
other matters of importance, and his capital was precisely five dollars.
Besides, railroad trains were luxurious and effete; they were not for
him. He would "jest natcherly take his foot in his hand and light
out"--pausing only for a little "snack" to eat and a flask to cheer his
journey.
He made | 1,289.883329 |
2023-11-16 18:38:34.4779090 | 675 | 47 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sjaani and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE HOUSE ON THE BORDERLAND
William Hope Hodgson
_From the Manuscript discovered in 1877 by Messrs. Tonnison and
Berreggnog in the Ruins that lie to the South of the Village of
Kraighten, in the West of Ireland. Set out here, with Notes_.
TO MY FATHER
_(Whose feet tread the lost aeons)_
Open the door,
And listen!
Only the wind's muffled roar,
And the glisten
Of tears 'round the moon.
And, in fancy, the tread
Of vanishing shoon--
Out in the night with the Dead.
"Hush! And hark
To the sorrowful cry
Of the wind in the dark.
Hush and hark, without murmur or sigh,
To shoon that tread the lost aeons:
To the sound that bids you to die.
Hush and hark! Hush and Hark!"
_Shoon of the Dead_
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION TO THE MANUSCRIPT
Many are the hours in which I have pondered upon the story that is set
forth in the following pages. I trust that my instincts are not awry
when they prompt me to leave the account, in simplicity, as it was
handed to me.
And the MS. itself--You must picture me, when first it was given into my
care, turning it over, curiously, and making a swift, jerky examination.
A small book it is; but thick, and all, save the last few pages, filled
with a quaint but legible handwriting, and writ very close. I have the
queer, faint, pit-water smell of it in my nostrils now as I write, and
my fingers have subconscious memories of the soft, "cloggy" feel of the
long-damp pages.
I read, and, in reading, lifted the Curtains of the Impossible that
blind the mind, and looked out into the unknown. Amid stiff, abrupt
sentences I wandered; and, presently, I had no fault to charge against
their abrupt tellings; for, better far than my own ambitious phrasing,
is this mutilated story capable of bringing home all that the old
Recluse, of the vanished house, had striven to tell.
Of the simple, stiffly given account of weird and extraordinary matters,
I will say little. It lies before you. The inner story must be uncovered,
personally, by each reader, according to ability and desire. And even
should any fail to see, as now I see, the shadowed picture and conception
of that to which one may well give the accepted titles of Heaven and Hell;
yet can I promise certain thrills, merely taking the story as a story.
WILLIAM HOPE HODGSON December 17, 1907
_I_
THE FINDING OF THE MANUSCRIPT
Right away in the west of Ireland lies a tiny hamlet called Kraighten.
It is situated, alone, at the base of a low hill. Far around there
spreads a waste of | 1,290.497949 |
2023-11-16 18:38:34.7784190 | 2,148 | 14 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (Library of Congress)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
(Library of Congress)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
A TRAITOR IN LONDON
BY
FERGUS HUME
Author of
"The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "Hagar of the Pawn Shop,"
Etc., Etc.
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY
9 AND 11 EAST SIXTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON--JOHN LONG
COPYRIGHT, 1900
BY
F. M. BUCKLES & COMPANY
_A Traitor in London_
A Traitor in London.
CHAPTER I.
CUPID IN LEADING STRINGS.
"It's an infernal shame!"
"I call it common sense!"
"Call it what you please, Malet. I deny your right to keep back my
money."
"Right? Your father's will gives me every right. If I approve of your
marriage, the money will be paid down on your wedding day."
"But you don't approve, confound you!"
"Certainly not. Brenda Scarse is not the wife for you, Harold."
"That's my business."
"Mine also--under the will. Come, come now; don't lose your temper."
The elder speaker smiled as he proffered this advice, knowing well
that he was provoking his cousin beyond all bounds. Harold Burton was
young, fiery-tempered, and in love. To be thwarted in his love was
something more than exasperating to this impetuous lover. The
irritating request that he should keep his temper caused him to lose
it promptly; and for the next five minutes Mr. Gilbert Malet was
witness of a fine exhibition of unrestrained rage. He trembled for the
furniture, almost for his own personal safety, though he managed to
preserve a duly dignified outward calm. While Harold stamped about the
room, his burly cousin posed before a fireless grate and trimmed his
nails, and waited until the young man should have exhausted this
wholly unnecessary display of violence.
They were in the library of Holt Manor. It was a sombre, monkish room;
almost ascetic in its severity. Bookcases and furniture were of black
oak, carpet and curtains of a deep red color; and windows of stained
glass subdued the light suitably for study and meditation. But on this
occasion the windows were open to the brilliant daylight of an August
afternoon, and shafts of golden sunshine poured into the room. From
the terrace stretching before the house, vast woods sloped toward
Chippingholt village, where red-roofed houses clustered round a
brawling stream, and rose again on the further side to sweep to the
distant hills in unbroken masses of green. Manor and village took
their Teutonic names from these forests, and buried in greenery, might
have passed as the domain of the Sleeping Beauty. Her palace was
undoubtedly girdled by just such a wood.
But this sylvan beauty did not appeal to the pair in the library. The
stout, domineering owner of the Manor who trimmed his nails and smiled
blandly had the stronger position of the two, and he knew it well--so
well that he could afford to ignore the virile wrath of his ward.
Strictly speaking, Captain Burton was not a ward, if that word implies
minority. He was thirty years of age, in a lancer regiment, and
possessed of an income sufficient to emancipate him from the control
of his cousin Gilbert. Still, though possible for one, his income was
certainly not possible for two, and if Gilbert chose he could increase
his capital by twenty thousand pounds. But the stumbling-block was the
condition attached to the disposal of the money. Only if Malet
approved of the prospective bride was he to part with the legacy. As
such he did not approve of Brenda Scarse, so matters were at a
standstill. Nor could Harold well see how he was to move them. Finding
all his rage of no avail, he gradually subsided and had recourse to
methods more pacific.
"Let me understand this matter clearly," he said, taking a seat with a
resolute air. "Independent of my three hundred a year, you hold twenty
thousand pounds of my money."
"To be correct," replied Malet in a genial tone, "I hold forty
thousand pounds, to be equally shared between you and your brother
Wilfred when you marry. The three hundred a year which you each
possess I have nothing to do with."
"Well, I want to marry, and----"
"You do--against my wishes. If I do not approve of your choice I need
not pay you this money. I can hold it until I die."
"And then?" asked Harold, sharply.
Gilbert shrugged his burly shoulders. "Then it goes to you and Wilfred
direct. There is no provision made for my handing it over to another
trustee. You are bound to get your share in the long run; but I am not
thinking of dying just yet, my dear Harold."
"I can't imagine what possessed my father ever to make so foolish a
will."
"Your father was guided by experience, my boy. He made a miserable
marriage himself, and did not want you or Wilfred to go and do
likewise. He had evidently confidence in my judgment, and knew that I
would stand between you and folly."
"Confound your impudence," shouted Harold, his dark face crimson with
anger. "You're only fifteen years older than I am. At the age of
thirty I am surely capable of selecting my own wife!"
"I hardly think so, when you select Miss Scarse!"
"What the deuce have you against her?"
"Nothing, personally. She is a nice girl, a very nice girl, but poor.
A man of your extravagant tastes should marry money. Brenda is well
enough, for herself," continued Malet, with odious familiarity, for
which Harold could have struck him, "but her father!--Stuart Scarse is
a Little Englander!"
Captain Burton was taken aback at the irrelevancy of this remark.
"What the devil has that to do with her or me?" he demanded bluntly.
"Everything, if you love your country. You belong to a Conservative
family. You are a soldier, and the time is coming when we must all
rally round the flag and preserve the Empire. Scarse is a member of
that pernicious band which desires the dismemberment of our
glorious----
"Oh, I'm sick of this!" Harold jumped up and crammed on his cap. "Your
political ideas have nothing to do with my marriage. You have no
reason to object to Miss Scarse. Once for all, will you pay me this
money?"
"No, I will not. I shall not agree to your marrying the daughter of a
Little Englander."
"Then I shall throw the estate into Chancery."
Malet looked uneasy, but sneered. "By all means, if you want the whole
forty thousand to go to fee the lawyers! But, before you risk losing
your money, let me advise you to make sure of Miss Brenda Scarse!"
"What do you mean?"
"Ask Mr. van Zwieten, who is staying with her father."
"Oh!" said Harold, contemptuously, "Brenda has told me all about him.
Her father wants her to marry him, and it is true he is in love with
her; but Brenda loves me, and will never consent to become the wife of
that Boer!
"Van Zwieten is no Boer. He is a Dutchman, born in Amsterdam."
"And a friend of yours," sneered Captain Burton. "He is no friend of
mine!" shouted Malet, somewhat ruffled. "I detest the man as much as I
do Scarse. If----"
"Look here, Gilbert, I don't want any more of this. I trust Brenda,
and I intend to marry her."
"Very good. Then you'll have to starve on your three hundred a year."
"You refuse to give me the money?"
"Absolutely."
"Then I'm glad I don't live under your roof and can tell you what I
think of you. You are a mean hound, Malet--keep back, or I'll knock
you down. Yes, a mean hound! This is not your real reason for refusing
to pay me this money. I'll go up to town to-day and have your
trusteeship inquired into."
Gilbert changed color and looked dangerous. "You can act as you
please, Harold; but recollect that my powers are very clearly defined
under the will. I am not accountable to you or to Wilfred or to any
one else for the money. I have no need to defend my honor."
"That we shall see." Harold opened the door and looked back. "This is
the last time I shall enter your house. You meddle with my private
affairs, you keep back money rightfully belonging to me on the most
frivolous pretext, and, in fact, make yourself objectionable in every
way; but, I warn you, the law will force you to alter your behavior."
"The law cannot touch me!" cried Gilbert, furiously. "I can account
for the money and pay it when it should be paid. Out of my house----!"
"I am going--and, see here, Gilbert Malet, if the law affords me no
redress, I shall take it into my own hands. Yes, you may well turn
pale. I'll make it hot for you--you swindler!" and Captain Burton,
banging the door, marched out of the house, furious at his helpless
position.
Left alone, Malet wiped his bald forehead and sank into a chair.
"Pooh!" he muttered, striving to | 1,290.798459 |
2023-11-16 18:38:34.8859140 | 7,435 | 31 | ***The Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio***
********************The Tragedie of Coriolanus******************
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The Tragedie of Coriolanus
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Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of Coriolanus
Executive Director's Notes:
In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all
the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have
been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they
are presented herein:
Barnardo. Who's there?
Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold
your selfe
Bar. Long liue the King
***
As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words
or letters they had often packed into a "cliche"...this is the
original meaning of the term cliche...and thus, being unwilling
to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions
that look very odd...such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u,
above...and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming
Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner....
The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a
time when they were out of "v"'s...possibly having used "vv" in
place of some "w"'s, etc. This was a common practice of the day,
as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend
more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.
You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I
have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an
extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a
very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare. My father read an
assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University
in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the
purpose. To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available
...in great detail...and determined from the various changes,
that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a
variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous
for signing his name with several different spellings.
So, please take this into account when reading the comments below
made by our volunteer who prepared this file: you may see errors
that are "not" errors....
So...with this caveat...we have NOT changed the canon errors,
here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of Coriolanus.
Michael S. Hart
Project Gutenberg
Executive Director
***
Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't. This was taken from
a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can
come in ASCII to the printed text.
The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the
conjoined ae have been changed to ae. I have left the spelling,
punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the
printed text. I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put
together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the
Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified
spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded
abbreviations as I have come across them. Everything within
brackets [] is what I have added. So if you don't like that
you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a
purer Shakespeare.
Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual
differences between various copies of the first folio. So there may
be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between
this and other first folio editions. This is due to the printer's
habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and
then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then
continuing the printing run. The proof run wasn't thrown away but
incorporated into the printed copies. This is just the way it is.
The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different
First Folio editions' best pages.
If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation
errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel
free to email me those errors. I wish to make this the best
etext possible. My email address for right now are [email protected]
and [email protected]. I hope that you enjoy this.
David Reed
The Tragedie of Coriolanus
Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.
Enter a Company of Mutinous Citizens, with Staues, Clubs, and
other
weapons.
1. Citizen. Before we proceed any further, heare me speake
All. Speake, speake
1.Cit. You are all resolu'd rather to dy then
to famish?
All. Resolu'd, resolu'd
1.Cit. First you know, Caius Martius is chiefe enemy
to the people
All. We know't, we know't
1.Cit. Let vs kill him, and wee'l haue Corne at our own
price. Is't a Verdict?
All. No more talking on't; Let it be done, away, away
2.Cit. One word, good Citizens
1.Cit. We are accounted poore Citizens, the Patricians
good: what Authority surfets one, would releeue
vs. If they would yeelde vs but the superfluitie while it
were wholsome, wee might guesse they releeued vs humanely:
But they thinke we are too deere, the leannesse
that afflicts vs, the obiect of our misery, is as an inuentory
to particularize their abundance, our sufferance is a
gaine to them. Let vs reuenge this with our Pikes, ere
we become Rakes. For the Gods know, I speake this in
hunger for Bread, not in thirst for Reuenge
2.Cit. Would you proceede especially against Caius
Martius
All. Against him first: He's a very dog to the Commonalty
2.Cit. Consider you what Seruices he ha's done for his
Country?
1.Cit. Very well, and could bee content to giue him
good report for't, but that hee payes himselfe with beeing
proud
All. Nay, but speak not maliciously
1.Cit. I say vnto you, what he hath done Famouslie,
he did it to that end: though soft conscienc'd men can be
content to say it was for his Countrey, he did it to please
his Mother, and to be partly proud, which he is, euen to
the altitude of his vertue
2.Cit. What he cannot helpe in his Nature, you account
a Vice in him: You must in no way say he is couetous
1.Cit. If I must not, I neede not be barren of Accusations
he hath faults (with surplus) to tyre in repetition.
Showts within.
What showts are these? The other side a'th City is risen:
why stay we prating heere? To th' Capitoll
All. Come, come
1 Cit. Soft, who comes heere?
Enter Menenius Agrippa.
2 Cit. Worthy Menenius Agrippa, one that hath alwayes
lou'd the people
1 Cit. He's one honest enough, wold al the rest wer so
Men. What work's my Countrimen in hand?
Where go you with Bats and Clubs? The matter
Speake I pray you
2 Cit. Our busines is not vnknowne to th' Senat, they
haue had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, w
now wee'l shew em in deeds: they say poore Suters haue
strong breaths, they shal know we haue strong arms too
Menen. Why Masters, my good Friends, mine honest
Neighbours, will you vndo your selues?
2 Cit. We cannot Sir, we are vndone already
Men. I tell you Friends, most charitable care
Haue the Patricians of you for your wants.
Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well
Strike at the Heauen with your staues, as lift them
Against the Roman State, whose course will on
The way it takes: cracking ten thousand Curbes
Of more strong linke assunder, then can euer
Appeare in your impediment. For the Dearth,
The Gods, not the Patricians make it, and
Your knees to them (not armes) must helpe. Alacke,
You are transported by Calamity
Thether, where more attends you, and you slander
The Helmes o'th State; who care for you like Fathers,
When you curse them, as Enemies
2 Cit. Care for vs? True indeed, they nere car'd for vs
yet. Suffer vs to famish, and their Store-houses cramm'd
with Graine: Make Edicts for Vsurie, to support Vsurers;
repeale daily any wholsome Act established against
the rich, and prouide more piercing Statutes daily, to
chaine vp and restraine the poore. If the Warres eate vs
not vppe, they will; and there's all the loue they beare
vs
Menen. Either you must
Confesse your selues wondrous Malicious,
Or be accus'd of Folly. I shall tell you
A pretty Tale, it may be you haue heard it,
But since it serues my purpose, I will venture
To scale't a little more
2 Citizen. Well,
Ile heare it Sir: yet you must not thinke
To fobbe off our disgrace with a tale:
But and't please you deliuer
Men. There was a time, when all the bodies members
Rebell'd against the Belly; thus accus'd it:
That onely like a Gulfe it did remaine
I'th midd'st a th' body, idle and vnactiue,
Still cubbording the Viand, neuer bearing
Like labour with the rest, where th' other Instruments
Did see, and heare, deuise, instruct, walke, feele,
And mutually participate, did minister
Vnto the appetite; and affection common
Of the whole body, the Belly answer'd
2.Cit. Well sir, what answer made the Belly
Men. Sir, I shall tell you with a kinde of Smile,
Which ne're came from the Lungs, but euen thus:
For looke you I may make the belly Smile,
As well as speake, it taintingly replyed
To'th' discontented Members, the mutinous parts
That enuied his receite: euen so most fitly,
As you maligne our Senators, for that
They are not such as you
2.Cit. Your Bellies answer: What
The Kingly crown'd head, the vigilant eye,
The Counsailor Heart, the Arme our Souldier,
Our Steed the Legge, the Tongue our Trumpeter,
With other Muniments and petty helpes
In this our Fabricke, if that they-
Men. What then? Fore me, this Fellow speakes.
What then? What then?
2.Cit. Should by the Cormorant belly be restrain'd,
Who is the sinke a th' body
Men. Well, what then?
2.Cit. The former Agents, if they did complaine,
What could the Belly answer?
Men. I will tell you,
If you'l bestow a small (of what you haue little)
Patience awhile; you'st heare the Bellies answer
2.Cit. Y'are long about it
Men. Note me this good Friend;
Your most graue Belly was deliberate,
Not rash like his Accusers, and thus answered.
True is it my Incorporate Friends (quoth he)
That I receiue the generall Food at first
Which you do liue vpon: and fit it is,
Because I am the Store-house, and the Shop
Of the whole Body. But, if you do remember,
I send it through the Riuers of your blood
Euen to the Court, the Heart, to th' seate o'th' Braine,
And through the Crankes and Offices of man,
The strongest Nerues, and small inferiour Veines
From me receiue that naturall competencie
Whereby they liue. And though that all at once
(You my good Friends, this sayes the Belly) marke me
2.Cit. I sir, well, well
Men. Though all at once, cannot
See what I do deliuer out to each,
Yet I can make my Awdit vp, that all
From me do backe receiue the Flowre of all,
And leaue me but the Bran. What say you too't?
2.Cit. It was an answer, how apply you this?
Men. The Senators of Rome, are this good Belly,
And you the mutinous Members: For examine
Their Counsailes, and their Cares; disgest things rightly,
Touching the Weale a'th Common, you shall finde
No publique benefit which you receiue
But it proceeds, or comes from them to you,
And no way from your selues. What do you thinke?
You, the great Toe of this Assembly?
2.Cit. I the great Toe? Why the great Toe?
Men. For that being one o'th lowest, basest, poorest
Of this most wise Rebellion, thou goest formost:
Thou Rascall, that art worst in blood to run,
Lead'st first to win some vantage.
But make you ready your stiffe bats and clubs,
Rome, and her Rats, are at the point of battell,
The one side must haue baile.
Enter Caius Martius.
Hayle, Noble Martius
Mar. Thanks. What's the matter you dissentious rogues
That rubbing the poore Itch of your Opinion,
Make your selues Scabs
2.Cit. We haue euer your good word
Mar. He that will giue good words to thee, wil flatter
Beneath abhorring. What would you haue, you Curres,
That like nor Peace, nor Warre? The one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,
Where he should finde you Lyons, findes you Hares:
Where Foxes, Geese you are: No surer, no,
Then is the coale of fire vpon the Ice,
Or Hailstone in the Sun. Your Vertue is,
To make him worthy, whose offence subdues him,
And curse that Iustice did it. Who deserues Greatnes,
Deserues your Hate: and your Affections are
A sickmans Appetite; who desires most that
Which would encrease his euill. He that depends
Vpon your fauours, swimmes with finnes of Leade,
And hewes downe Oakes, with rushes. Hang ye: trust ye?
With euery Minute you do change a Minde,
And call him Noble, that was now your Hate:
Him vilde, that was your Garland. What's the matter,
That in these seuerall places of the Citie,
You cry against the Noble Senate, who
(Vnder the Gods) keepe you in awe, which else
Would feede on one another? What's their seeking?
Men. For Corne at their owne rates, wherof they say
The Citie is well stor'd
Mar. Hang 'em: They say?
They'l sit by th' fire, and presume to know
What's done i'th Capitoll: Who's like to rise,
Who thriues, & who declines: Side factions, & giue out
Coniecturall Marriages, making parties strong,
And feebling such as stand not in their liking,
Below their cobled Shooes. They say ther's grain enough?
Would the Nobility lay aside their ruth,
And let me vse my Sword, I'de make a Quarrie
With thousands of these quarter'd slaues, as high
As I could picke my Lance
Menen. Nay these are almost thoroughly perswaded:
For though abundantly they lacke discretion
Yet are they passing Cowardly. But I beseech you,
What sayes the other Troope?
Mar. They are dissolu'd: Hang em;
They said they were an hungry, sigh'd forth Prouerbes
That Hunger-broke stone wals: that dogges must eate
That meate was made for mouths. That the gods sent not
Corne for the Richmen onely: With these shreds
They vented their Complainings, which being answer'd
And a petition granted them, a strange one,
To breake the heart of generosity,
And make bold power looke pale, they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the hornes a'th Moone,
Shooting their Emulation
Menen. What is graunted them?
Mar. Fiue Tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms
Of their owne choice. One's Iunius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not. Sdeath,
The rabble should haue first vnroo'st the City
Ere so preuayl'd with me; it will in time
Win vpon power, and throw forth greater Theames
For Insurrections arguing
Menen. This is strange
Mar. Go get you home you Fragments.
Enter a Messenger hastily.
Mess. Where's Caius Martius?
Mar. Heere: what's the matter!
Mes. The newes is sir, the Volcies are in Armes
Mar. I am glad on't, then we shall ha meanes to vent
Our mustie superfluity. See our best Elders.
Enter Sicinius Velutus, Annius Brutus Cominius, Titus Lartius,
with other
Senatours.
1.Sen. Martius 'tis true, that you haue lately told vs,
The Volces are in Armes
Mar. They haue a Leader,
Tullus Auffidius that will put you too't:
I sinne in enuying his Nobility:
And were I any thing but what I am,
I would wish me onely he
Com. You haue fought together?
Mar. Were halfe to halfe the world by th' eares, & he
vpon my partie, I'de reuolt to make
Onely my warres with him. He is a Lion
That I am proud to hunt
1.Sen. Then worthy Martius,
Attend vpon Cominius to these Warres
Com. It is your former promise
Mar. Sir it is,
And I am constant: Titus Lucius, thou
Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus face.
What art thou stiffe? Stand'st out?
Tit. No Caius Martius,
Ile leane vpon one Crutch, and fight with tother,
Ere stay behinde this Businesse
Men. Oh true-bred
Sen. Your Company to'th' Capitoll, where I know
Our greatest Friends attend vs
Tit. Lead you on: Follow Cominius, we must followe
you, right worthy your Priority
Com. Noble Martius
Sen. Hence to your homes, be gone
Mar. Nay let them follow,
The Volces haue much Corne: take these Rats thither,
To gnaw their Garners. Worshipfull Mutiners,
Your valour puts well forth: Pray follow.
Exeunt.
Citizens steale away. Manet Sicin. & Brutus.
Sicin. Was euer man so proud as is this Martius?
Bru. He has no equall
Sicin. When we were chosen Tribunes for the people
Bru. Mark'd you his lip and eyes
Sicin. Nay, but his taunts
Bru. Being mou'd, he will not spare to gird the Gods
Sicin. Bemocke the modest Moone
Bru. The present Warres deuoure him, he is growne
Too proud to be so valiant
Sicin. Such a Nature, tickled with good successe, disdaines
the shadow which he treads on at noone, but I do
wonder, his insolence can brooke to be commanded vnder
Cominius?
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E-text prepared by Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/egregiousenglish00mcnerich
THE EGREGIOUS ENGLISH
by
ANGUS McNEILL
[Illustration]
New York: G.P. Putnam's Sons
London: Grant Richards
1903
Copyright, 1902, by
Angus McNeill
Published, January, 1903
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--Apollo 1
II.--The Sportsman 13
III.--The Man of Business 20
IV.--The Journalist 28
V.--The Employed Person 37
VI.--Chiffon 47
VII.--The Soldier 59
VIII.--The Navy 71
IX.--The Churches 79
X.--The Politician 90
XI.--Poets 103
XII.--Fiction 113
XIII.--Suburbanism 124
XIV.--The Man-about-Town 137
XV.--Drink 144
XVI.--Food 153
XVII.--Law and Order 163
XVIII.--Education 171
XIX.--Recreation 183
XX.--Stock Exchange 192
XXI.--The Beloved 199
The Egregious English
CHAPTER I
APOLLO
It has become the Englishman's habit, one might almost say the
Englishman's instinct, to take himself for the head and front of the
universe. The order of creation began, we are told, in protoplasm.
It has achieved at length the Englishman. Herein are the culmination
and ultimate glory of evolutionary processes. Nature, like the
seventh-standard boy in a board school, "can get no higher." She
has made the Englishman, and her work therefore is done. For the
continued progress of the world and all that in it is, the Englishman
will make due provision. He knows exactly what is wanted, and by
himself it shall be supplied. There is little that can be considered
distinguishingly English which does not reflect this point of view. As
an easy-going, entirely confident, | 1,291.015481 |
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[Illustration: Book title decoration]
STORIES
PICTURES TELL
BOOK TWO
_By_
FLORA L. CARPENTER
_Instructor in drawing in Waite High School, Toledo, Ohio
Formerly supervisor of drawing, Bloomington, Illinois_
_Illustrated with Half Tones from
Original Photographs_
RAND McNALLY & COMPANY
CHICAGO NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1918, by_
RAND MCNALLY & COMPANY
[Illustration: Publisher's symbol]
Made in U. S. A.
THE CONTENTS
SEPTEMBER AND OCTOBER PAGE
"Shoeing the Bay Mare" _Landseer_ 1
"Angels' Heads" _Reynolds_ 13
NOVEMBER, DECEMBER, AND JANUARY
"The First Step" _Millet_ 21
"A Fascinating Tale" _Mme Ronner_ 29
FEBRUARY AND MARCH
"A Helping Hand" _Renouf_ 37
"The Strawberry Girl" _Reynolds_ 43
APRIL, MAY, AND JUNE
"The Return to the Farm" _Troyon_ 51
Review of Pictures and Artists Studied
_The Suggestions to Teachers_ 56
THE PREFACE
Art supervisors in the public schools assign picture-study work in
each grade, recommending the study of certain pictures by well-known
masters. As Supervisor of Drawing I found that the children enjoyed
this work but that the teachers felt incompetent to conduct the
lessons as they lacked time to look up the subject and to gather
adequate material. Recourse to a great many books was necessary and
often while much information could usually be found about the artist,
very little was available about his pictures.
Hence I began collecting information about the pictures and preparing
the lessons for the teachers just as I would give them myself to
pupils of their grade.
My plan does not include many pictures during the year, as this is to
be only a part of the art work and is not intended to take the place
of drawing.
The lessons in this grade may be used for the usual drawing period of
from twenty to thirty minutes, and have been successfully given in
that time. However, the most satisfactory way of using the books is as
supplementary readers, thus permitting each child to study the
pictures and read the stories himself.
FLORA L. CARPENTER
[Illustration: SHOEING THE BAY MARE]
STORIES PICTURES TELL
SHOEING THE BAY MARE
=Original Picture:= National Gallery, London,
England.
=Artist:= Sir Edwin Landseer (l[)a]nd''s[=e]r).
=Birthplace:= London, England.
=Dates:= Born, 1802; died, 1873.
=Questions to arouse interest.= What is the man in this picture doing?
How many have watched a blacksmith shoe a horse? Why does he wear an
apron made of leather? From what do the sparks fly? What has the
blacksmith in his hand? Why do you suppose this horse wears no halter?
What other animals do you see in this picture? Which has the larger
ears, the donkey or the horse? Which seems to have the softer coat?
Which can run the faster? What do you see on the donkey's back? What
kind of dog is that in the picture? Why do you suppose the hound is so
interested in what the blacksmith is doing? What else can you see in
the picture? What makes you think the man is fond of animals? Where is
the bird? Why do you like this picture?
=The story of the picture.= Here in a building that once may have been
a home, we see an old-fashioned country blacksmith shop. The wide door
has been made in two parts so that the upper part can be swung open to
let in the sunlight. The lower part of the doorway remains closed and
is just high enough to keep the horse and donkey shut in. But the dog
could easily jump over it should he become frightened by the flying
sparks of fire.
The smith is trying a shoe on the hind foot of the beautiful horse,
but neither the man nor the horse seems quite satisfied with it. The
horse has an anxious look in her intelligent eyes as she turns her
head to watch the smith. Though she knows he will do the work
carefully she cannot help being a little nervous about it. The dog and
the donkey are also very much interested in what the smith is doing,
though the dog seems ready to run at any moment. Behind the dog we see
the blacksmith's anvil on which he hammers the shoe into shape. Every
time the hammer strikes the red-hot iron, burning sparks fly in all
directions and the blacksmith wears a leather apron, to keep them from
burning holes in his clothes.
On the ground beside the blacksmith is a box in which are the tools
the smith must use. It has a handle so that the smith may carry it
with him and place it within reach when he is fitting the shoe.
Years ago, when the artist painted this picture, a blacksmith had to
make each shoe by hand from a bar of iron. Now horseshoes are made
rapidly by machinery and the blacksmith gets them from the factory. They
are made in all shapes and sizes and the smith will try several shoes
until he finds one that fits the horse's hoof. If it needs to be shaped
a little he must heat it red hot before he can bend it. He puts it into
the great bed of red-hot coals in his forge, and then blows upon the
coals with his bellows to make the fire hotter | 1,291.134698 |
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THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE.
ORGAN OF THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. V. MARCH, 1885. NO. 6.
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 FOR MARCH.
Temperance Teachings of Science; or, The Poison Problem
Chapter VI.—Subjective Remedies 311
Sunday Readings
[_March 1_] 314
[_March 8_] 315
[_March 15_] 315
[_March 22_] 315
[_March 29_] 316
Studies in Kitchen Science and Art
VI. Cabbages, Turnips, Carrots, Beets and Onions 316
The Circle of the Sciences 320
Home Studies in Chemistry and Physics
Fire—Physical Properties 323
The Mohammedan University of Cairo 327
As Seeing the Invisible 329
National Aid to Education 329
A Trip to the Land of Dreams 333
The Homelike House
Chapter III.—The Dining Room 335
Mexico 338
Two Seas 339
New Orleans World’s Exposition 340
Geography of the Heavens for March 342
How to Win 343
Notes on Popular English 345
The Chautauqua School of Liberal Arts 348
Outline of Required Readings, March, 1885 350
Programs for Local Circle Work 350
Local Circles 351
The C. L. S. C. Classes 356
Questions and Answers 357
The Trustees Reorganize Chautauqua 358
Editor’s Outlook 360
Editor’s Note-Book 362
C. L. S. C. Notes on Required Readings for March 365
Notes on Required Readings in “The Chautauquan” 367
Talk About Books 369
Paragraphs from New Books 370
Special Notes 372
REQUIRED READING FOR MARCH.
TEMPERANCE TEACHINGS OF SCIENCE;
OR, THE POISON PROBLEM.
PART VI.
BY FELIX L. OSWALD, M.D.
CHAPTER VI.—SUBJECTIVE REMEDIES.
“Deeprooted evils can not be abolished by striking at the
branches.”—_Boerhave._[1]
The history of the temperance movement has demonstrated the sad futility
of palliative remedies. We have seen that the malady of the poison vice
is not a self-limited, but a necessarily progressive evil. The half-way
measures of “restrictive” legislation have resulted only in furnishing
additional proof that prevention is better, because less impossible, than
control.[A] The regulation of the poison traffic, the redress of the
unavoidably resulting mischief, the cure and conversion of drunkards, in
order to be effectual, would impose intolerable and never ending burdens
on the resources even of the wealthiest communities, while the advocates
of prohibition would forestall the evils both of the remedy and the
disease.
But we should not overlook the truth that, in our own country at least,
the poison plant of intemperance springs from a composite root. In
southern Spain, under the dominion of the Saracens,[2] the poison vice
was almost unknown during a series of centuries.[B] The moral code and
the religion of the inhabitants discountenanced intemperance. The virtue
of dietetic purity ranked with chastity and cleanliness. An abundance
of harmless amusements diverted from vicious pastimes. Under such
circumstances the absence of direct temptations constituted a sufficient
safeguard against the vice of the poison habit; but in a country like
ours the efficacy of prohibition depends on the following supplementary
remedies:
1. INSTRUCTION.—In the struggle against the powers of darkness light
often proves a more effective weapon than might or right. Even the
limited light of human reason might help us to avoid mistakes that have
undoubtedly retarded the triumph of our cause. We must enlighten, as
well as admonish our children, if we would save them from the snares of
the tempter; among the victims of intemperance, even among those who can
speak from experience and can not deny that their poison has proved the
curse of their lives, only a small portion is at all able to comprehend
the necessary connection of cause and result. They ascribe their ruin to
the spite of fortune, to the machinations of an uncharitable world, to
abnormally untoward circumstances, rather than to the normal effects of
the insidious poison. Intoxication they admit to be an evil, but defend
the moderate use of a liquor as infallibly injurious in the smallest
as in the largest dose; they underrate the progressive tendency of
their vice and overrate their power of resistance; they cling to the
tradition that alcohol, discreetly enjoyed, may prove a blessing instead
of a curse. We must banish that fatal delusion. We must reveal the true
significance of the poison habit before we can hope to suppress it as
a life blighting vice. Our text-books should be found in every college
and every village school from Florida to Oregon. Every normal school
should graduate teachers of temperance. The law of the State of New York
providing for the introduction of primers on the effects of alcoholic
beverages was attacked by one of our leading scientific periodicals,
with more learning than insight, on the ground that the physiological
action of alcohol is as yet obscure even to our ablest pathologists,
and therefore not a fit subject for a common school text-book. The same
objection might be urged against every other branch of physiology and
the natural history of the organic creation. “Every vital process is a
miracle,” says Lorenz Oken,[3] “that is, in all essential respects an
unexplained phenomenon.” A last question will always remain unanswered
wherever the marvelous process of life is concerned, but our ignorance,
as well as our knowledge, of that phenomenon has its limits, and in
regard to the effects of alcoholic beverages it is precisely the most
knowable and most fully demonstrated part of the truth which it behooves
every child to know, but of which at present nine tenths of the adults,
even in the most civilized countries, remain as ignorant as the natives
of Kamtschatka who worship a divinity in the form of a poisonous
toadstool. A boy may be brought to comprehend the folly of gambling
even before he has mastered the abstruse methods of combination and
permutation employed in the calculus of probable loss and gain. We need
not study Bentham[4] to demonstrate that honesty is an essential basis
of commerce and social intercourse. By the standard of usefulness, too,
temperance primers might well take precedence of many other text-books.
Our school boys hear all sorts of things about the perils encountered by
the explorers of African deserts and Arctic seas, but next to nothing
about the pitfalls in their own path—no room for the discussion of
such subjects in a curriculum that devotes years to the study of dead
languages. Is the difference between the archaic and pliocene form of a
Greek verb so much more important than the difference between food and
poison?
With such a text as the monster curse of intemperance and its impressive
practical lessons, a slight commentary would suffice to turn thousands of
young observers into zealous champions of our cause, just as in Germany a
few years of gymnastic training have turned nearly every young man into
an advocate of physical education. The work begun in the school room
should be continued on the lecture platform, but we should not dissemble
the truth that in a crowded hall ninety per cent. of the visitors have
generally come to hear an _orator_ rather than a teacher, and enjoy
an eloquence that stirs up their barrenest emotions as much as if it
had fertilized the soil of their intelligence, just as the unrepentant
gamesters of a Swiss watering place used to applaud the sensational
passages of a drama written expressly to set forth the evils of the
gambling hell. Enthusiasm and impressiveness are valuable qualifications
of a public speaker, but he should possess the talent of making those
agencies the vehicles of instruction. The great mediæval reformers, as
well as certain political agitators of a later age, owe their success to
their natural or acquired skill in the act of stirring their hearers into
an intellectual ferment that proved the leaven of a whole community—for
that skill is a talent that can be developed on a basis of pure common
sense and should be more assiduously cultivated for the purposes of our
reform. A modern philanthropist could hardly confer a greater benefit on
his fellow-citizens than by founding a professorship of temperance, or
endowing a college with the special condition of a proviso for a weekly
lecture on such topics as “The Stimulant Delusion,” “Alcoholism,” “The
History of the Temperance Movement.”
Pamphlets, too, may subserve an important didactic purpose, and in the
methods of their distribution we might learn a useful lesson from our
adversaries, the manufacturers of alcoholic nostrums, who introduce
their advertisements into every household, by publishing them combined
with almanacs, comic illustrations, note-books, etc., _i. e._, not only
free, but winged with extra inducements to the recipient, and often by
the special subvention of druggists and village postmasters—till quack
annuals have almost superseded the old family calendars with their
miscellanies of pious adages and useful recipes. Could we not retrieve
the lost vantage ground by the publication of temperance year-books,
compiled by a committee of our best tract societies and distributed by
agents of the W. C. T. U.—with inspiring conviction to emulate the zeal
stimulated by a bribe of gratuitous brandy bottles?
Popular books must above all be _interesting_, and with a large plurality
of readers that word is still a synonym of entertaining. A German
bookseller estimates that the romances of Louisa Mühlbach have done more
to familiarize her countrymen with the history of their fatherland than
all historical text books, annals and chronicles taken together, and we
should not despise the aid of the novelist, if he should possess the
gift of making fiction the hand-maid of truth, and the rarer talent of
awakening the reflections as well as the emotions of his readers, for all
such appeals should prepare the way for the products of the temperance
press proper, by which we should never cease to invoke the conscience and
the reason of our fellowmen.
2. PROSCRIPTION.—That union is strength is a truth which asserts itself
even at the expense of public welfare, and in favor of those who combine
to thwart the purposes of the law or prevent the progress of needed
reforms. To the cabals of such adversaries, against whom the influence
of moral suasion would be powerless, we should oppose weapons that would
strike at the foundation of their strength, namely, the most effectual
means to diminish the number of their allies. Many of those who are
callous to the stings of conscience would hesitate to defy the stigma of
public opinion; others who are proof against all other arguments would
yield if we could make it their commercial interest to withdraw their aid
from the enemies of mankind.
That the prescription of alcohol for remedial purposes will ultimately
be abandoned, like bleeding, blue-pill dosing and other medical
anachronisms, is as certain as that the Carpathian peasants will cease
to exorcise devils by burning cow dung, and we can somewhat promote the
advent of that time by patronizing reform physicians in preference to
“brandy-doctors,” as Benjamin Rush[5] used to call them, and by classing
alcoholic “bitters” with the prohibited beverages. It is mere mockery to
prohibit the sale of small beer and permit quacks to sell their brandy
as a “digestive tonic,” and obviate the inconveniences of the Sunday
law by consigning their liquor to a drug-store. Does the new name or
the admixture of a handful of herbs change the effects of the poison?
We might as well prohibit gambling and permit musical lottery drawings
under the name of sacred concerts. Till we can do better we should permit
druggists to sell alcoholic bitters only on the certified prescription
of a responsible physician, all such prescriptions to be duly registered
and periodically reported to the Temperance Commissioner of a Board of
Health. Nostrum-mongers[6] will probably continue to fleece the ignorant
to the end of time, but they must cease to decoy their victims by
pandering to the alcohol vice.
3. HEALTHIER PASTIMES.—There is no doubt that a lack of better pastimes
often tends to promote intemperance. In thousands of our country towns,
equidistant from rural sports and the amusements of the metropolis
_ennui_ rather than ignorance[C] or natural depravity leads our young
men to the dram shop, and in recognizing that fact we should not delude
ourselves with the hope that reading-rooms alone could remedy the
evil.[D] The _craving after excitement_, in some form or other, is an
instinct of human nature which may be perverted, but can never be wholly
suppressed, and in view of the alternative we would find it cheaper—both
morally and materially—to gratify that craving in the comparatively
harmless way of the Languedoc[9] peasants (who devote the evening hours
to singing contests, trials of skill, round dances, etc.), or after
the still better plan of the ancient Greeks. Antiquity had its Olympic
Games, Nemean and Capitoline arenas, _circenses_, and local festivals.
The Middle Ages had their tournaments, May days, archery contests, church
festivals and guild feasts. The Latin nations still find leisure for
pastimes of that sort—though in modified, and not always improved, forms;
but in Great Britain, Canada and the United States, with their six times
twelve hours of monotonous factory work, and Sunday laws against all
kinds of recreations, the dreariness of existence has reached a degree
which for millions of workingmen has made oblivion a blest refuge, and
there is no doubt that many dram-drinkers use alcohol as an anodyne—the
most available palliative against the misery of life-weariness. We would
try in vain to convert such men by reproofs or ostracism. Before we can
persuade them to renounce their excursions to the land of delirium the
realities of life must be made less unendurable. They know the dangers
of intemperance, but consider it a lesser evil.[E] They know no other
remedy. Hence their bitter hatred of those who would deprive them of that
only solace. Shall we resign such madmen to their fate? I am afraid that
their type is represented by a larger class than current conceptions
might incline us to admit. Let those who would verify those conceptions
visit a popular beer garden—not as emissaries of our propaganda, but
as neutral observers. Let them use a suitable opportunity to turn the
current of conversation upon a test topic: “Personal Liberty,” “The
Sunday Question,” “Progress of the Prohibition Party.” Let the observer
retain his mask of neutrality, and ascertain the views—the private
views—of a few specimen topers. Do they deny the physiological tendencies
of their practice? The correlation of alcohol and crime? They avoid such
topics. No, nine out of ten will prefer an unanswerable or unanswered
argument; the iniquity of interfering with the amusements of the poor,
with the only available recreations of the less privileged classes. Take
that away and what can a man do who has no better pastimes, and can not
always stay at home? What shall he do with sixteen hours of leisure?
The question then recurs: How shall we deal with such men? How reclaim
them sufficiently even for the nobler purposes of the present life, not
to speak of higher aims? How save them from the road that leads down to
death? A change of heart may now and then work wonders, even the wonder
of a permanent reform; but we have no right to rely on constant miracles,
and for thousands in sorest need of help there is only one practical
solution of the problem: Let us provide an opportunity of better
pastimes—_not as a concession to our enemies, but as the most effectual
method to counteract the attraction of their snares and deprive them of
the only plausible argument against the tendencies of our reform_. We
need not profane the Sabbath by bull-fights. We need not tempt the poor
to spend their wages on railway excursions or the gambling tables of a
popular summer resort. But we should recognize the necessity of giving
them once a week a chance for outdoor amusements, and unless we should
prefer the Swedish compromise plan of devoting the evening of the Sabbath
to earthly purposes, we should adopt the suggestion of the Chevalier
Bunsen,[10] and amend the eight hour law by a provision for a _free
Saturday afternoon_. Half a day a week, together with the evenings of the
long summer days, would suffice where the means of recreation are near at
hand. Even the smallest factory villages could afford a little pleasure
ground of their own, a public garden with a free gymnasium, a footrace
track, ball ground, a tennis-hall or nine-pin-alley, for the winter
season, a free bath, and a few zoölogical attractions. In larger towns
we might add free music, a restaurant managed on the plan of Susanna
Dodds, M.D.,[F] and perhaps a museum of miscellaneous curiosities. Such
pleasure resorts should be known as _Temperance Gardens_. They would
redeem as many drunkards as all our prisons and inebriate asylums taken
together; they would do more: they would _prevent_ drunkenness. And above
all, they would accustom the working classes to associate the name of
Temperance with the conceptions of liberality, manliness, cheerfulness,
and recreation, instead of—well, their present misconceptions. We might
arrange monthly excursions, and the happiest yearly festival would be a
Deliverance Feast; an anniversary of the day when the city or village
decided to free itself from the curse of the poison traffic. Like some
of the Turner halls[11] of the German gymnasts, temperance gardens could
be made more than self-supporting by charging a small admission fee to
the spectator-seats of the gymnasium, and selling special refreshments at
a moderate advance on the cost price. The surplus might be invested in
prizes to stimulate competition in such gymnastics as wrestling, running,
and hammer throwing (“putting the club,” as the Scotch highlanders call
it), with reserved days, or arenas, for juvenile competitors. In winter
we might vary the program by archery, singing contests, and trials of
skill in various domestic fashions, with an occasional “spelling bee”—at
least for those who could be trusted to consider it a pastime, rather
than a task, for the purpose of recreation should not be sacrificed even
to considerations of utility. In regard to athletics, that apprehension
would be superfluous; the enthusiasm of gymnastic emulation has exerted
its power at all times and among all nations, and needs but little
encouragement to revive in its old might. It would make the Temperance
Garden what the Village Green was to the archers of Old England, what
the palæstra was to the youth of ancient Greece. It would supersede
vicious pastimes; it would regenerate the manhood of the tempted classes,
and thus react on their personal and social habits; they would satisfy
their craving for excitement in the arena, they would learn to _prefer
mechanical to chemical stimulants_.[G] Physical and moral vigor would go
hand in hand.
The union of temperance and athletic education has, indeed, been
the ideal of many social reformers, from Pythagoras to Jean Jacques
Rousseau,[12] and the secret of their failure was a mistake that has
defeated more than one philanthropic project. They failed to begin their
reform at the basis of the social structure. He who fears the hardships
of such a beginning lacks, after all, true faith in the destiny of his
mission. Perseverance and uncompromising loyalty to the tenets of our
covenant is to us a duty, as well as the best policy, for as a moral
offense treason itself would not be more unpardonable than doubt in the
ultimate triumph of a cause like ours. There is a secret which almost
seems to have been better known to the philosophers and patriots of
antiquity than to this unheroic age of our own, namely, that in the arena
of moral contests a clearly undeserved defeat is a step toward victory.
In that warfare the scales of fate are not biased by a preponderance of
gold or iron. Tyrants have reached the term of their power if they have
made deliverance more desirable than life; the persuasive power of Truth
is increased by oppression; and if the interests of a cause have become
an obvious obstacle in the road of progress and happiness the promoters
of that cause have to contend with a law that governs the tendencies of
the moral as well as the physical universe, and inexorably dooms the
unfit to perish.[H] The unmasked enemies of mankind have no chance to
prosper.
And even where their disguises still avail them amidst the ignorance of
their victims we should remember the consolation of Jean Jacques Rousseau
in his address to the Polish patriots: “They have swallowed you, but you
can prevent them from assimilating you.” Our enemies may prevent the
recovery of their spoil; they may continue to devour the produce of our
fields and of our labor, but we do not propose to let them enjoy their
feast in peace; whatever their gastric capacity, it will be our own fault
if we do not cause them an indigestion that will diminish their appetite.
“All the vile elements of society are against us,” writes one of our
lecturers, “but I have no fear of the event if we do not cease to agitate
the subject,” and we would, indeed, not deserve success if we should
relax our efforts before we have secured the coöperation of every friend
of justice and true freedom.
It is true, we invite our friends to a battle-field, but there are times
when war is safer than peace, and leads to the truer peace of conscience.
The highest development of _altruism_ inspires a devotion to the welfare
of mankind that rewards itself by a deliverance from the petty troubles
and vexations of daily life; nay, all personal sorrows may thus be sunk
out of sight, and those who seek release from grief for the inconstancy
of fate, for the frustration of a cherished project, for the loss of a
dear friend, may find a peace which fortune can neither give nor take
away by devoting themselves to a cause of enduring promise, to the
highest abiding interest of their fellowmen. At the dawn of history
that highest aim would have been: security against the inroads of
barbarism. In the night of the Middle Ages: salvation from the phantoms
of superstition. To-day it should be: deliverance from the curse of the
poison vice.
That deliverance will more than compensate all sacrifices. Parties, like
individuals, are sometimes destined to conquer without a struggle; but
the day of triumph is brighter if the powers of darkness have been forced
to yield step for step, and we need not regret our labors, our troubles,
nor even the disappointment of some minor hopes, for in spite of the long
night we have not lost our way, and the waning of the stars often heralds
the morning.
FOOTNOTES
[A] “All past legislation has proved ineffectual to restrain the habit
of excess. Acts of Parliament intended to lessen, have notoriously
augmented the evil, and we must seek a remedy in some new direction, if
we are not prepared to abandon the contest or contentedly to watch with
folded arms the gradual deterioration of the people. Restriction in the
forms which it has hitherto assumed, of shorter hours, more stringent
regulation of licensed houses and magisterial control of licenses,
has been a conspicuous failure. For a short time after the passing of
Lord Aberdare’s act, hopes were entertained of great results from the
provisions for early closing, and many chief constables testified to the
improved order of the streets under their charge; but it soon appeared
that the limitation, while it lessened the labor of the police and
advanced their duties an hour or so in the night, was not sufficient to
reduce materially the quantity of liquor consumed, or the consequent
amount of drunkenness.”—_Fortnightly Review._
[B] “The western Saracens abstained not only from wine, but from all
fermented and distilled drinks whatsoever, were as innocent of coffee as
of tea and tobacco, knew opium only as a soporific medicine, and were
inclined to abstemiousness in the use of animal food. Yet six millions
of these truest sons of temperance held their own for seven centuries
against great odds of heavy-armed Giaours, excelled all christendom
in astronomy, medicine, agriculture, chemistry and linguistics, as
well as in the abstract sciences, and could boast of a whole galaxy of
philosophers and inspired poets.”—_International Review_, December, 1880.
[C] “Education is the cure of ignorance,” says Judge Pitman, “but
ignorance is not the cause of intemperance. Men who drink generally
know better than others that the practice is foolish and hurtful.”
“It is not the most earnest and intelligent workers in the sphere of
public education that make their overestimate of it as a specific for
intemperance. While they are fully sensible of that measure of indirect
aid which intellectual culture brings to all moral reforms, they feel how
weak is this agency alone to measure its strength against the powerful
appetite for drink.”
[D] “In a primitive state of society field sports afford abundant
pastimes, our wealthy burghers find indoor amusements, and scholars
have ideal hunting grounds of their own; but the large class of our
fellow-citizens, to whom reading is a task rather than a pleasure,
are reduced to the hard choice between their _circenses_[7] and their
_panes_[8]. Even the slaves of ancient Rome had their saturnalia, when
their masters indulged them in the enjoyment of their accumulated
arrears of happiness; but our laborers toil like machines, whose best
recreation is a temporary respite from work. Human hearts, however, will
not renounce their birthright to happiness; and if joy has departed this
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Transcribed from the 1822 R. Thomas edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
THE
_GLORY OF GRACE_
Effected by weak Means:
BEING THE SUBSTANCE OF
A SERMON,
PREACHED ON THE
DEATH OF SAMUEL CHURCH,
_Aged Twelve Years_.
On SUNDAY Evening, APRIL 14, 1822,
BY J. CHURCH,
At the Surrey Tabernacle.
* * * * *
And Eli perceived that the Lord had called the Child.—1 _Sam._ iii,
8.
And there is hope in thine end, saith the LORD, that thy Children
shall come
again to their own Border.—_Jeremiah_ xxxi, 17.
* * * * *
SOUTHWARK,
PRINTED BY R. THOMAS, RED LION STREET, BOROUGH.
1822.
* * * * *
_A SERMON_, _&c._
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength,
because of thine enemies, that thou mightest still the enemy and the
avenger. _Psalm_ viii, 2.
WHEN David | 1,331.270599 |
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Produced by Joseph B. Yesselman. HTML version by Al Haines.
Sentence Numbers, shown thus (1), have been added by volunteer.
A Theologico-Political Treatise
Part III - Chapters XI to XV
by Baruch Spinoza
TABLE OF CONTENTS:
CHAPTER XI - An Inquiry whether the Apostles wrote their
Epistles as Apostles and Prophets, or merely as Teachers,
and an Explanation of what is meant by Apostle.
The epistles not in the prophetic style.
The Apostles not commanded to write or preach in particular places.
Different methods of teaching adopted by the Apostles.
CHAPTER XII - Of the true Original of the Divine Law,
and wherefore Scripture is called Sacred, and the Word of God.
How that, in so far as it contains the Word of God,
it has come down to us uncorrupted.
CHAPTER XIII - It is shown, that Scripture teaches only very Simple Doctrines,
such as suffice for right conduct.
Error in speculative doctrine not impious - nor knowledge pious.
Piety consists in obedience.
CHAPTER XIV - Definitions of Faith, the True Faith, and the Foundations
of Faith, which is once for all separated from Philosophy.
Danger resulting from the vulgar idea of faith.
The only test of faith obedience and good works.
As different men are disposed to obedience by different opinions,
universal faith can contain only the simplest doctrines.
Fundamental distinction between faith and philosophy -
the key-stone of the present treatise.
CHAPTER XV - Theology is shown not to be subservient to
Reason, nor Reason to Theology: a Definition of the reason
which enables us to accept the Authority of the Bible.
Theory that Scripture must be accommodated to Reason -
maintained by Maimonides - already refuted in Chapter vii.
Theory that Reason must be accommodated to Scripture -
maintained by Alpakhar - examined.
And refuted.
Scripture and Reason independent of one another.
Certainty, of fundamental faith not mathematical but moral.
Great utility of Revelation.
Author's Endnotes to the Treatise.
CHAPTER XI - AN INQUIRY WHETHER THE APOSTLES WROTE THEIR
EPISTLES AS APOSTLES AND PROPHETS, OR MERELY AS TEACHERS;
AND AN EXPLANATION OF WHAT IS MEANT BY AN APOSTLE.
(1) No reader of the New Testament can doubt that the Apostles were
prophets; but as a prophet does not always speak by revelation, but only, at
rare intervals, as we showed at the end of Chap. I., we may fairly inquire
whether the Apostles wrote their Epistles as prophets, by revelation and
express mandate, as Moses, Jeremiah, and others did, or whether only as
private individuals or teachers, especially as Paul, in Corinthians xiv:6,
mentions two sorts of preaching.
(2) If we examine the style of the Epistles, we shall find it totally
different from that employed by the prophets.
(3) The prophets are continually asserting that they speak by the command of
God: "Thus saith the Lord," "The Lord of hosts saith," "The command of the
Lord," &c.; and this was their habit not only in assemblies of the prophets,
but also in their epistles containing revelations, as appears from the epistle
of Elijah to Jehoram, 2 Chron. xxi:12, which begins, "Thus saith the Lord."
(4) In the Apostolic Epistles we find nothing of the sort. (5) Contrariwise,
in I Cor. vii:40 Paul speaks according to his own opinion and in many
passages we come across doubtful and perplexed phrase; such as, "We think,
therefore," Rom. iii:28; "Now I think," [Endnote 24], Rom. viii:18, and so
on. (6) Besides these, other expressions are met with very different from
those used by the prophets. (7) For instance, 1 Cor. vii:6, "But I speak
this by permission, not by commandment;" "I give my judgment as one that
hath obtained mercy of the Lord to be faithful" (1 Cor. vii:25), and so on
in many other passages. (8) We must also remark that in the aforesaid
chapter the Apostle says that when he states that he has or has
not the precept or commandment of God, he does not mean the precept or
commandment of God revealed to himself, but only the words uttered by Christ
in His Sermon on the Mount. (9) Furthermore, if we examine the manner in
which the Apostles give out evangelical doctrine, we shall see that it
differs materially from the method adopted by the prophets. (10) The
Apostles everywhere reason as if they were arguing rather than prophesying;
the prophecies, on the other hand, contain only dogmas and commands. (11)
God is therein introduced not as speaking to reason, but as issuing decrees
by His absolute fiat. (12) The authority of the prophets does not submit to
discussion, for whosoever wishes to find rational ground for his arguments,
by that very wish submits them to everyone's private judgment. (13) This
Paul, inasmuch as he uses reason, appears to have done, for he says in 1
Cor. x:15, "I speak as to wise men, judge ye what I say." (14) The prophets,
as we showed at the end of Chapter I., did not perceive what was revealed by
virtue of their natural reason, and though there are certain passages in the
Pentateuch which seem to be appeals to induction, they turn out, on nearer
examination, to be nothing but peremptory commands. (15) For instance, when
Moses says, Deut. xxxi:27, "Behold, while I am yet alive with you, this day
ye have been rebellious against the Lord; and how much more after
my death," we must by no means conclude that Moses wished to convince the
Israelites by reason that they would necessarily fall away from the worship
of the Lord after his death; for the argument would have been false, as
Scripture itself shows: the Israelites continued faithful during the lives
of Joshua and the elders, and afterwards during the time of Samuel, David,
and Solomon. (16) Therefore the words of Moses are merely a moral
injunction, in which he predicts rhetorically the future backsliding of the
people so as to impress it vividly on their imagination. (17) I say that
Moses spoke of himself in order to lend likelihood to his prediction, and
not as a prophet by revelation, because in verse 21 of the same chapter we
are told that God revealed the same thing to Moses in different words, and
there was no need to make Moses certain by argument of God's prediction and
decree; it was only necessary that it should be vividly impressed on
his imagination, and this could not be better accomplished than by
imagining the existing contumacy of the people, of which he had had frequent
experience, as likely to extend into the future.
(18) All the arguments employed by Moses in the five books are to be
understood in a similar manner; they are not drawn from the armoury of
reason, but are merely, modes of expression calculated to instil with
efficacy, and present vividly to the imagination the commands of God.
(19) However, I do not wish absolutely to deny that the prophets ever argued
from revelation; I only maintain that the prophets made more legitimate use
of argument in proportion as their knowledge approached more nearly to
ordinary knowledge, and by this we know that they possessed a knowledge
above the ordinary, inasmuch as they proclaimed absolute dogmas,
decrees, or judgments. (20) Thus Moses, the chief of the prophets, never
used legitimate argument, and, on the other hand, the long deductions and
arguments of Paul, such as we find in the Epistle to the Romans, are in
nowise written from supernatural revelation.
(21) The modes of expression and discourse adopted by the Apostles in the
Epistles, show very clearly that the latter were not written by revelation
and Divine command, but merely by the natural powers and judgment of the
authors. (22) They consist in brotherly admonitions and courteous
expressions such as would never be employed in prophecy, as for instance,
Paul's excuse in Romans xv:15, "I have written the more boldly unto you in
some sort, my brethren."
(23) We may arrive at the same conclusion from observing that we never read
that the Apostles were commanded to write, but only that they went
everywhere preaching, and confirmed their words with signs. (24) Their
personal presence and signs were absolutely necessary for the conversion and
establishment in religion of the Gentiles; as Paul himself expressly states
in Rom. i:11, "But I long to see you, that I may impart to you some
spiritual gift, to the end that ye may be established."
(25) It may be objected that we might prove in similar fashion that the
Apostles did not preach as prophets, for they did not go to particular
places, as the prophets did, by the command of God. (26) We read in
the Old Testament that Jonah went to Nineveh to preach, and at the
same time that he was expressly sent there, and told that he most preach.
(27) So also it is related, at great length, of Moses that he went to Egypt
as the messenger of God, and was told at the same time what he should say to
the children of Israel and to king Pharaoh, and what wonders he should work
before them to give credit to his words. (28) Isaiah, Jeremiah, and
Ezekiel were expressly commanded to preach to the Israelites. Lastly, the
prophets only preached what we are assured by Scripture they had received
from God, whereas this is hardly ever said of the Apostles in the | 1,331.51334 |
2023-11-16 18:39:15.4997430 | 144 | 12 |
Produced by Chris Whitehead 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.)
THE HIGH TOBY
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
GALLOPING DICK
CAPTAIN FORTUNE
SKIRTS OF HAPPY CHANCE
THE ADVENTURERS
TWISTED EGLANTINE
[Illustration: BUT, BEING BY THE DOOR, HE SWEPT IT OPEN WITH A
MOVEMENT, AND BACKED INTO THE PASSAGE
PAGE 292]
THE HIGH TOBY
| 1,331.519783 |
2023-11-16 18:39:15.5789390 | 1,175 | 175 |
Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images Courtesy
of Cornell University Law Library, Trial Pamphlets
Collection)
LIFE AND CONFESSION
OF
SOPHIA HAMILTON,
WHO WAS
TRIED, CONDEMNED AND SENTENCED TO BE
HUNG,
AT MONTREAL, L. C. ON THE 4TH OF AUGUST, 1845,
FOR THE
PERPETRATION OF THE MOST SHOCKING MURDERS AND DARING
ROBBERIES PERHAPS RECORDED IN THE ANNALS
OF CRIME.
[Illustration]
CAREFULLY SELECTED BY THE AUTHOR,
WILLIAM H. JACKSON.
MONTREAL, L. C.
PRINTED FOR THE PUBLISHER
1845.
[Illustration: THE ROAD OBSTRUCTED, AND THE TRAVELLERS MURDERED.
p. 12.]
LIFE AND CONFESSION OF SOPHIA HAMILTON.
It has probably never fallen to the lot of man to record a list of more
cruel, heart-rending, atrocious, cold-blooded murders and daring
robberies than have been perpetrated by the subjects of this narrative,
and that too in the midst of a highly civilized and Christian community;
deeds too, which, for the depravity of every human feeling, seem
scarcely to have found a parallel in the annals of crime. And it seems
doubly shocking and atrocious when we find them perpetrated by one of
the female sex, which sex has always and in all countries been esteemed
as having a higher regard for virtue, and far greater aversion to acts
of barbarity, even in the most vitiated, than is generally found in men
of the same class. We may truly say that the annals of history have
never unfolded to the world a greater instance of human depravity and
utter disregard of every virtuous feeling which should inhabit the human
breast, than the one it becomes our painful duty to lay before our
readers in the account of Sophia Hamilton, the subject of this very
interesting narrative. We deem it not unimportant to give a brief
account of her parentage, in order that our numerous readers may see the
source from which she sprung; as also the inestimable and intrinsic
value of a moral education in youth, which is a gem of imperishable
value, the loss of which many have had to deplore when perhaps too
late. The public may depend on the authenticity of the facts here
related, as it is from no less a source than a schoolmate of her
ill-fated father. The author has spared no exertions to collect every
minute and important particular relating to her extraordinary, though
unfortunate career.
Richard Jones, the father of the principal subject of this narrative was
the only son of a wealthy nobleman residing in Bristol, England; he had
in the early part of his life received a classical education. But in
consequence of the death of his mother, he of course got an uncontrolled
career, which continued too long, until at length he became a disgust to
his kind and loving father, whose admonitions he disregarded and whose
precepts he trampled upon. At the age of twenty-four, he was a perfect
sot, regardless of the kind counsel of his relatives; and at length his
character became so disreputable that he was accused of almost every
outrage perpetrated in the neighbourhood in which he belonged. This
preyed so much upon his aged father that he became ill, and it is
thought by many shortened his life. Richard had then attained the age of
twenty-five, and seemed so deeply afflicted by the death of his father,
that he promised amendment of conduct, so that his uncle took him as
partner at the druggist business; but this was to no effect, for in a
short time he sought every species of vice and wickedness, which the
depravity of human nature could suggest. His uncle and he dissolved, and
as he had considerable of the money that his father bequeathed to him,
he soon found company to suit his purpose, and became enamored of a
woman of low character, who succeeded in making a union with him, and
after spending considerable of the money, and seeing the funds likely to
be exhausted, immediately scraped up their effects, as she possessed a
little property of her own. They then resolved like many others, to
emigrate, finding that they could not live in their native country.
They embarked on board a ship bound for St. John, N. B. in the year
1811; remained a short time in the city, when they moved up the St. John
river and settled down between Frederickton and Woodstock, where he
learned the farming business, and in the course of a little time
accumulated means, which enabled him to keep a country store; and as the
neighborhood in which he lived was a new settlement, property began to
rise, and he commenced speculating in public lands. As he had a good
education and bright intellect, he was soon looked upon as a leading man
in the neighborhood, and it was thought profitable as well as necessary
to establish a tavern in the vicinity, which was strongly recommended by
many lumber merchants; and Jones, being considered to be the best
adapted for the business, accepted the offer. He at this time was of
course | 1,331.598979 |
2023-11-16 18:39:16.1022410 | 3,337 | 14 |
E-text prepared by Annie McGuire, Suzanne Shell, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
[Illustration: Book Cover]
THE BISHOP'S SECRET
by
FERGUS HUME,
Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "For the Defense," "The
Harlequin Opal," "The Girl from Malta," Etc.
Chicago and New York:
Rand, McNally & Company,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1900, by Rand, McNally & Co.
Copyright, 1906, by Rand, McNally & Co.
PREFACE.
In his earlier works, notably in "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab" and "The
Silent House in Pimlico," Mr. Hume won a reputation second to none for
plot of the stirring, ingenious, misleading, and finally surprising
kind, and for working out his plot in vigorous and picturesque English.
In "The Bishop's Secret," while there is no falling off in plot and
style, there is a welcome and marvelous broadening out as to the cast of
characters, representing an unusually wide range of typical men and
women. These are not laboriously described by the author, but are made
to reveal themselves in action and speech in a way that has, for the
reader, all the charm of personal intercourse with living people.
Mr. Hume's treatment of the peculiar and exclusive ecclesiastical
society of a small English cathedral city is quite worthy of Anthony
Trollope, and his leading character, Bishop Pendle, is equal to
Trollope's best bishop. The Reverend Mr. Cargrim, the Bishop's poor and
most unworthy protege, is a meaner Uriah Heep. Mrs. Pansey is the
embodiment of all shrewishness, and yields unlimited amusement. The
Gypsies are genuine--such as George Borrow, himself, would have pictured
them--not the ignorant caricatures so frequently drawn by writers too
lazy to study their subject.
Besides these types, there are several which seem to have had no exact
prototypes in preceding fiction. Such are Doctor Graham, "The Man with a
Scar," the Mosk family--father, mother, and daughter--Gabriel Pendle,
Miss Winchello, and, last but not least, Mr. Baltic--a detective so
unique in character and methods as to make Conan Doyle turn green with
envy.
All in all, this story is so rich in the essential elements of worthy
fiction--in characterization, exciting adventure, suggestions of the
marvelous, wit, humor, pathos, and just enough of tragedy--that it is
offered to the American public in all confidence that it will be
generally and heartily welcomed.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CHAPTER I
'ENTER MRS PANSEY AS CHORUS'
Of late years an anonymous mathematician has declared that in the
British Isles the female population is seven times greater than the
male; therefore, in these days is fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that
seven women shall lay hold of one man and entreat to be called by his
name. Miss Daisy Norsham, a veteran Belgravian spinster, decided, after
some disappointing seasons, that this text was particularly applicable
to London. Doubtful, therefore, of securing a husband at the rate of one
chance in seven, or dissatisfied at the prospect of a seventh share in a
man, she resolved upon trying her matrimonial fortunes in the country.
She was plain, this lady, as she was poor; nor could she rightly be said
to be in the first flush of maidenhood. In all matters other than that
of man-catching she was shallow past belief. Still, she did hope, by
dint of some brisk campaigning in the diocese of Beorminster, to capture
a whole man unto herself.
Her first step was to wheedle an invitation out of Mrs Pansey, an
archdeacon's widow--then on a philanthropic visit to town--and she
arrived, towards the end of July, in the pleasant cathedral city of
Beorminster, in time to attend a reception at the bishop's palace. Thus
the autumn manoeuvres of Miss Norsham opened most auspiciously.
Mrs Pansey, with whom this elderly worshipper of Hymen had elected to
stay during her visit, was a gruff woman, with a scowl, who 'looked all
nose and eyebrows.' Few ecclesiastical matrons were so well known in
the diocese of Beorminster as was Mrs Pansey; not many, it must be
confessed, were so ardently hated, for there were few pies indeed in
which this dear lady had not a finger; few keyholes through which her
eye did not peer. Her memory and her tongue, severally and combined, had
ruined half the reputations in the county. In short, she was a renowned
social bully, and like most bullies she gained her ends by scaring the
lives out of meeker and better-bred people than herself. These latter
feared her'scenes' as she rejoiced in them, and as she knew the pasts
of her friends from their cradle upwards, she usually contrived, by a
pitiless use of her famous memory, to put to rout anyone so ill-advised
as to attempt a stand against her domineering authority. When her tall,
gaunt figure--invariably arrayed in the blackest of black silks--was
sighted in a room, those present either scuttled out of the way or
judiciously held their peace, for everyone knew Mrs Pansey's talent for
twisting the simplest observation into some evil shape calculated to get
its author into trouble. She excelled in this particular method of
making mischief. Possessed of ample means and ample leisure, both of
these helped her materially to build up her reputation of a
philanthropic bully. She literally swooped down upon the poor, taking
one and all in charge to be fed, physicked, worked and guided according
to her own ideas. In return for benefits conferred, she demanded an
unconditional surrender of free will. Nobody was to have an opinion but
Mrs Pansey; nobody knew what was good for them unless their ideas
coincided with those of their patroness--which they never did. Mrs
Pansey had never been a mother, yet, in her own opinion, there was
nothing about children she did not know. She had not studied medicine,
therefore she dubbed the doctors a pack of fools, saying she could cure
where they failed. Be they tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, Mrs
Pansey invariably knew more about their vocations than they themselves
did or were ever likely to do. In short, this celebrated lady--for her
reputation was more than local--was what the American so succinctly
terms a'she-boss'; and in a less enlightened age she would indubitably
have been ducked in the Beorflete river as a meddlesome, scolding,
clattering jade. Indeed, had anyone been so brave as to ignore the
flight of time and thus suppress her, the righteousness of the act would
most assuredly have remained unquestioned.
Now, as Miss Norsham wanted, for her own purposes, to 'know the ropes,'
she was fortunate to come within the gloom of Mrs Pansey's silken robes.
For Mrs Pansey certainly knew everyone, if she did not know everything,
and whomsoever she chaperoned had to be received by Beorminster society,
whether Beorminster society liked it or not. All _protegees_ of Mrs
Pansey sheltered under the aegis of her terrible reputation, and woe to
the daring person who did not accept them as the most charming, the
cleverest, and in every way the most desirable of their sex. But in the
memory of man, no one had ever sustained battle against Mrs Pansey, and
so this feminine Selkirk remained monarch of all she surveyed, and ruled
over a community consisting mainly of canons, vicars and curates, with
their respective wives and offsprings. There were times when her
subjects made use of language not precisely ecclesiastic, and not
infrequently Mrs Pansey's name was mentally included in the Commination
Service.
Thus it chanced that Daisy, the spinster, found herself in Mrs Pansey's
carriage on her way to the episcopalian reception, extremely well
pleased with herself, her dress, her position, and her social guardian
angel. The elder lady was impressively gloomy in her usual black silk,
fashioned after the early Victorian mode, when elegance invariably gave
place to utility. Her headgear dated back to the later Georgian epoch.
It consisted mainly of a gauze turban twinkling with jet ornaments. Her
bosom was defended by a cuirass of cold-looking steel beads, finished
off at the throat by a gigantic brooch, containing the portrait and hair
of the late archdeacon. Her skirts were lengthy and voluminous, so that
they swept the floor with a creepy rustle like the frou-frou of a
brocaded spectre. She wore black silk mittens, and on either bony wrist
a band of black velvet clasped with a large cameo set hideously in pale
gold. Thus attired--a veritable caricature by Leech--this survival of a
prehistoric age sat rigidly upright and mangled the reputations of all
and sundry.
Miss Norsham, in all but age, was very modern indeed. Her neck was lean;
her arms were thin. She made up for lack of quality by display of
quantity. In her _decollete_ costume she appeared as if composed of
bones and diamonds. The diamonds represented the bulk of Miss Norsham's
wealth, and she used them not only for the adornment of her uncomely
person, but for the deception of any possible suitor into the belief
that she was well dowered. She affected gauzy fabrics and fluttering
baby ribbons, so that her dress was as the fleecy flakes of snow
clinging to a well-preserved ruin.
For the rest she had really beautiful eyes, a somewhat elastic mouth,
and a straight nose well powdered to gloss over its chronic redness. Her
teeth were genuine and she cultivated what society novelists term
silvery peals of laughter. In every way she accentuated or obliterated
nature in her efforts to render herself attractive.
Ichabod was writ large on her powdered brow, and it needed no great
foresight to foresee the speedy approach of acidulated spinsterhood.
But, to do her justice, this regrettable state of single blessedness was
far from being her own fault. If her good fortune had but equalled her
courage and energy she should have relinquished celibacy years ago.
'Oh, dear--dear Mrs Pansey,' said the younger lady, strong in adjectives
and interjections and reduplication of both, 'is the bishop very, very
sweet?'
'He's sweet enough as bishops go,' growled Mrs Pansey, in her deep-toned
voice. 'He might be better, and he might be worse. There is too much
Popish superstition and worship of idols about him for my taste. If the
departed can smell,' added the lady, with an illustrative sniff, 'the
late archdeacon must turn in his grave when those priests of Baal and
Dagon burn incense at the morning service. Still, Bishop Pendle has his
good points, although he _is_ a time-server and a sycophant.'
'Is he one of the Lancashire Pendles, dear Mrs Pansey?'
'A twenty-fifth cousin or thereabouts. He says he is a nearer relation,
but I know much more about it than he does. If you want an ornamental
bishop with good legs for gaiters, and a portly figure for an apron, Dr
Pendle's the man. But as a God-fearing priest' (with a groan), 'a
simple worshipper' (groan) 'and a lowly, repentant sinner' (groan), 'he
leaves much--much to be desired.'
'Oh, Mrs Pansey, the dear bishop a sinner?'
'Why not?' cried Mrs Pansey, ferociously; 'aren't we all miserable
sinners? Dr Pendle's a human worm, just as you are--as I am. You may
dress him in lawn sleeves and a mitre, and make pagan genuflections
before his throne, but he is only a worm for all that.'
'What about his wife?' asked Daisy, to avert further expansion of this
text.
'A poor thing, my dear, with a dilated heart and not as much blood in
her body as would fill a thimble. She ought to be in a hospital, and
would be, too, if I had my way. Lolling all day long on a sofa, and
taking glasses of champagne between doses of iron and extract of beef;
then giving receptions and wearing herself out. How he ever came to
marry the white-faced doll I can't imagine. She was a Mrs Creagth when
she caught him.'
'Oh, really! a widow?'
'Of course, of course. You don't suppose she's a bigamist even though
he's a fool, do you?' and the eyebrows went up and down in the most
alarming manner. 'The bishop--he was a London curate then--married her
some eight-and-twenty years ago, and I daresay he has repented of it
ever since. They have three children--George' (with a whisk of her fan
at the mention of each name), 'who is a good-looking idiot in a line
regiment; Gabriel, a curate as white-faced as his mother, and no doubt
afflicted as she is with heart trouble. He was in Whitechapel, but his
father put him in a curacy here--it was sheer nepotism. Then there is
Lucy; she is the best of the bunch, which is not saying much. They've
engaged her to young Sir Harry Brace, and now they are giving this
reception to celebrate having inveigled him into the match.'
'Engaged?' sighed the fair Daisy, enviously. 'Oh, do tell me if this
girl is really, really pretty.'
'Humph,' said the eyebrows, 'a pale, washed-out rag of a creature--but
what can you expect from such a mother? No brains, no style, no
conversation; always a simpering, weak-eyed rag baby. Oh, my dear, what
fools men are!'
'Ah, you may well say that, dear Mrs Pansey,' assented the spinster,
thinking wrathfully of this unknown girl who had succeeded where she had
failed. 'Is it a very, very good match?'
'Ten thousand a year and a fine estate, my dear. Sir Harry is a nice
young fellow, but a fool. An absentee landlord, too,' grumbled Mrs
Pansey, resentfully. 'Always running over the world poking his nose into
what doesn't concern him, like the Wandering Jew or the _Flying
Dutchman_. Ah, my dear, husbands are not what they used to be. The | 1,332.122281 |
2023-11-16 18:39:16.4485530 | 22 | 17 |
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by Google Books
THE COMIC EN | 1,332.468593 |
2023-11-16 18:39:16.5649880 | 2,575 | 19 | ***The Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's First Folio***
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BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLXX. AUGUST, 1846. VOL. LX.
CONTENTS.
THE ARMY, 129
MY COLLEGE FRIENDS. NO. IV. CHARLES RUSSELL,
THE GENTLEMAN COMMONER. CHAPTER I., 145
THE ROMANTIC DRAMA, 161
THE MINSTREL'S CURSE. FROM UHLAND, 177
THE MINE, THE FOREST, AND THE CORDILLERA, 179
"MORIAMUR PRO REGE NOSTRO," 194
MESMERIC MOUNTEBANKS, 223
COOKERY AND CIVILISATION, 238
THE LATE AND THE PRESENT MINISTRY, 249
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, 45, GEORGE STREET;
AND 37, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON.
_To whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed._
SOLD BY ALL THE BOOKSELLERS IN THE UNITED KINGDOM.
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND HUGHES, EDINBURGH.
BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLXX. AUGUST, 1846. VOL. LX.
THE ARMY.[1]
When we glance back at the bright page of British military history, so
thickly strewn with triumphs, so rarely checkered by a reverse, it seems
paradoxical to assert that the English are not a military nation. Such,
nevertheless, is the case. Our victories have been the result of no
especial fitness for the profession of arms, but of dauntless spirit and
cool stubborn courage, characterising the inhabitants of the narrow island
that breeds very valiant children. Mere bravery, however heroic, does not
of itself constitute an aptitude for the soldier's trade. Other qualities
are needful--qualities conspicuous in many European nations, but less
manifest in the Englishman. Naturally military nations are those of
France, the Highlands of Scotland, Poland, and Switzerland--every one of
them affording good specimens of the stuff peculiarly fitted for the
manufacture of soldiers. They all possess a martial bent, a taste for the
military career, submitting willingly to its hardships and privations, and
are endowed with a faculty of acquiring the management of offensive
weapons, with which for the most part they become acquainted early in
life. A system of national conscription, like that established in many
continental countries, is the readiest and surest means of giving a
military tone to the character of a people, and of increasing the civil
importance and respectability of an army. But without proceeding to so
extreme a measure, other ways may be devised of producing, as far as is
desirable, similar results.
We appeal to all intelligent observers, and especially to military men,
whom travel or residence upon the Continent have qualified to judge,
whether in any of the great European states the soldier has hitherto
obtained so little of the public attention and solicitude as in England?
Whether in any country he is so completely detached from the population,
enjoying so little sympathy, in all respects so uncared for and unheeded
by the masses, and, we are sorry to say it, often so despised and looked
down upon, even by those classes whence he is taken? Let war call him to
the field, and for a moment he forces attention: his valour is extolled,
his fortitude admired, his sufferings are pitied. But when peace, bought
by his bravery and blood, is concluded, what ensues? Houses of Parliament
thank and commend him, towns illuminate in honour of his deeds, pensions
and peerages are showered upon his chiefs, perhaps some brief indulgence
is accorded to himself; but it is a nine days' wonder, and those elapsed,
no living creature, save barrack masters, inspecting officers, and
Horse-guards authorities, gives him another thought, or wastes a moment
upon the consideration of what might render him a happier and a better
man. Like a well-tried sabre that has done its work and for the present
may lie idle, he is shelved in the barrack room, to be occasionally
glanced at with pride and satisfaction. Hilt and scabbard are, it is true,
kept carefully polished--drill and discipline are maintained; but
insufficient pains are taken to ascertain whether rust corrodes the blade,
whether the trusty servant, whose achievements have been so glorious and
advantageous, does not wear out | 1,332.746552 |
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Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have been
retained as printed.
Words printed in italics are marked with underscores: _italics_.
[Illustration: WM. HEWITT 1860]
[Illustration: WM. HEWITT, FIRST LIEUT. 1868]
[Illustration: WM. B. CURTIS, COLONEL]
HISTORY OF THE
Twelfth West Virginia Volunteer Infantry
The Part It Took in the War of the Rebellion
1861-1865
_By_
_WILLIAM HEWITT_
_Published by the Twelfth West Virginia Infantry Association_
To the Surviving Comrades and the Families of
the Fallen of the Old Twelfth this work is
Respectfully Dedicated
PREFACE
COMRADES:
You conferred upon me at our reunion, held at New Cumberland, in 1889,
the honor of selecting me to compile a history of the Twelfth. The
matter was taken into consideration afterward by me, and owing in part
to the magnitude, burden and difficulty of the proposed task, my
inexperience in this kind of undertaking, and because I believed that
there were other survivors of the regiment much better qualified to
write the history, it was concluded to forego the undertaking. But at
our next reunion, because Col. Curtis was disappointed that nothing
had been done in the matter of the history, and was anxious that it be
written, and for the reason that the comrades present again expressed
a desire that I should undertake the work, I promised to attempt it
and do the best I could. Laboring under the unavoidable difficulties
that it has been thirty years since the old Twelfth was making its
history in the field, the almost total lack of official records
pertaining exclusively to the regiment, and the uncertainty of memory
at this late day, I have tried with reasonable fidelity to fulfill my
promise. In reason more should not be expected.
If you, the survivors of the Twelfth, be pleased with the history,
this fact will be a sufficient reward for my labors; but, on the other
hand, if it shall not come up to your expectations, you should be
charitable to its faults and short comings, remembering that however
great its imperfections you, yourselves, are largely responsible, for
the task was not one of my own seeking, but was rather thrust upon me.
The plan aimed at in writing the history is to not go outside of our
own organization in what is related, except to give a brief account of
the operations of the various armies to which we belonged, and to
intersperse the work with incidents, anecdotes, and matters mainly
personal to the members of the regiment.
Whatever possible merit may be found in the history is largely due to
the assistance of comrades in furnishing valuable data. Some of them
were quite liberal in their contributions. And where there is failure
to make mention of incidents worthy of record, or of daring deeds of
individuals or detachments, it is because they were not known, or are
not remembered by the compiler. Reasonable effort was made to get all
such details. A card was inserted in various newspapers, and letters
were written to different comrades asking that they be furnished. If
comrades shall fail to find, as no doubt they shall, a record herein
of certain incidents worthy of mention, they will be forbearing toward
the historian when they consider that there is a number of such
matters herein given that they did not know of or have forgotten.
The comrades will all feel like thanking Mrs. McCaffrey, formerly Mrs.
Bengough, wife of the late Lieut. Bengough of the Twelfth, for the
vivid and stirring story of the capture, detention and final release
of herself and sister-in-law as prisoners by the Rebels, kindly
furnished for this history.
Surviving Comrades, this attempted record of the history of the old
Twelfth is now submitted to your charitable consideration, and may
your days be long, peaceful, pleasant and prosperous.
WILLIAM HEWITT.
June 20th, 1892.
INDEX
CHAPTER I.
The Circumstances Under Which the Twelfth Was Organized--The Character
of the Men Composing it--The Organization.
CHAPTER II.
March to Clarksburg--Marches and Operations in West Virginia in the
Fall of '62--Incidents.
CHAPTER III.
The Movement into the Shenandoah Valley--Stationed at Winchester Under
Gen. Milroy--Moved to Berryville--The Capture of Capt. Lapole--Joke on
Sergt. Porter--From Berryville to Clarksburg--The March Through
Charlestown.
CHAPTER IV.
The Battle of Winchester--The Retreat--The North Mountain Girl--
Halted at Bloody Run, Pa.--Marched to Bedford--Left Bedford for
Loudon--Milroy's Men Capture One of Lee's Trains and Many Prisoners--
Marched to Hagerstown--Anecdotes--Marched to Sharpsburg--Thence to
Martinsburg.
CHAPTER V.
Col. Klunk's Resignation Accepted--Troops Pass from the Army of the
Potomac to Grant--An Incident about Van and Tom--Capt. Bristor's
Capture of Spy--Capt. Moffatt's Capture of Gilmore's Men--Lieut.
Blaney's Observation--An Incident Concerning Adjt. Caldwell--Mrs.
Bengough a Prisoner--Her Story.
CHAPTER VI.
An Attack Expected--March to Maryland Heights--Incidents--Brigaded
with the Thirty-fourth Mass.--A Move up the Valley--Incidents--The
Return--Incidents--Followed by Early-Threatened Attack at Harper's
Ferry--Moved to Cumberland, Md.--Comrade Haney's Story--Gens. Kelly
and Crook Captured.
CHAPTER VII.
Under Gen. Sigel--March to Beverly, via Webster--March back to
Webster--The Story of the Camp on the Rebel Farm--The March up the
Valley--Two of Company C Captured--The Battle of New Market--Gen.
Sigel's Letter--Corpl. De Bee's Scout--An Incident--Comrades Miller
and W. C. Mahan as Prisoners--Their Stories.
CHAPTER VIII.
Sigel Relieved--Hunter in Command--The Lynchburg Campaign--The Battle
of Piedmont--List of Killed and Wounded--Marched to Lynchburg--
Anecdote--The Battle--The Retreat to the Kanawha--Hunter's Loss of
Artillery on Way--The Men Hard Pressed for Food.
CHAPTER IX.
Back in the Valley--Threatening Early on His Retreat from Washington
--Battle of Snicker's Ferry--Marched to Winchester--Battle of
Kearnstown--Our Retreat via. Martinsburg and Sharpsburg to
Halltown--An Incident--R. W. Mahan's Prison Trials--A Large Army
Concentrates at Halltown--The Wild-goose Chase Into Maryland.
CHAPTER X.
Sheridan in Command--The Move up the Valley--The Twelfth Charges Rebel
Skirmishers--Sheridan Retreats to Halltown--Early Demonstrates Against
Him--Early Withdraws--Sheridan Moves to Charlestown--The Fight at
Berryville--Grant's Visit to Sheridan--The Battle of the Opeguon
--Anecdote of Sheridan--Battle of Fisher's Hill--Pursuit of the
Enemy up the Valley--Destruction by Sheridan--He Falls Back to
Strasburg--Battle of Tom's Brook--Our Brigade Starts for Martinsburg
--Mosby Attacks an Ambulance Guard--The Twelfth Starts for the
Front--Early Shells Thoburn's Camp--The Battle of Cedar Creek--The
Twelfth on the Way to the Front--Sheridan on His Ride--Col. Thoburn
Killed--Capt. Phil Bier Killed--The Twelfth Marches to Cedar
Creek--Thence to Newtown.
CHAPTER XI.
The Army Moves Back to Kearnstown--Early Follows Far as Middletown
--Sheridan's Cavalry Drives the Rebel Cavalry--Early Returns to New
Market--Anecdotes--The Twelfth Moves to Stephenson's Depot--Salutes
for Gen. Thomas's Victories--The Twelfth Sent to the Army of the
James--Put into the Twenty-fourth Corps--The Opposing Pickets--Lieut.
Col. Northcott's Resignation--The Sinking of Rebel Gun Boats--Rebel
Deserters--The Peace Commission--Grant Reviews Our Corps--Gen. Turner
Commands the Division--It Moves to Aid Sheridan--Asst. Surg. Neil's
Lecture.
CHAPTER XII.
Part of Our Army Crosses the James | 1,332.74681 |
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THE AUTOMOBILE GIRLS IN THE BERKSHIRES
Or
The Ghost of Lost Man's Trail
by
LAURA DENT CRANE
Author of The Automobile Girls at Newport, The Automobile
Girls Along the Hudson, Etc., Etc.
Illustrated
[Illustration: The Splash Descended on Unsuspecting Bab. _Frontispiece._]
Philadelphia
Henry Altemus Company
Copyright, 1910, by Howard E. Altemus
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. The Reunion 7
II. New Light on Old Papers 20
III. Happiness, and Another Scheme 28
IV. In the Heart of the Berkshires 45
V. A Day in the Woods 58
VI. "The Great White Also" 66
VII. Mollie Follows the Trail 76
VIII. End of the Search 90
IX. Spirit of the Forest 95
X. A Knock at the Door 107
XI. The <DW53> Hunt 120
XII. The Wounded Bird 128
XIII. The Wigwam 135
XIV. Give Way to Miss Sallie! 144
XV. Society in Lenox 152
XVI. At the Ambassador's 166
XVII. A Visit to Eunice 181
XVIII. Plans for the Society Circus 190
XIX. The Old Gray Goose 198
XX. Barbara and Beauty 206
XXI. Eunice and Mr. Winthrop Latham 215
XXII. The Automobile Wins 230
XXIII. The Recognition 240
XXIV. What to Do with Eunice 251
| 1,332.774028 |
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Transcriber's Note:
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indicated in this electronic version by _ (underscore).
A list of amendments are given at the end of the book.
LITTLE FOLKS:
_A Magazine for the Young._
_NEW AND ENLARGED SERIES._
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED.
_LONDON, PARIS & NEW YORK._
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
[Blank Page]
[Illustration]
INDEX.
AMUSEMENTS, RECREATIONS, &c.--
Pretty Work for Little Fingers--
Embroidered Glass-cloth, 13.
The Children's Own Garden, 43, 100, 179, 239, 290, 360.
Hints on Canvasine Painting, 75.
Some more Little Presents, and the way to make them, 139.
A New Game for Children, 142.
How to make pretty Picture-Frames, 203.
A Game for Long Evenings, 275.
Little Papers for Little Art Workers--
Ivory Miniature Painting, 330.
CHILDREN'S OWN GARDEN, THE--
July, 43.
August, 100.
September, 179.
October, 239.
November, 290.
December, 360.
FANCIFUL RHYMES, PICTURES, STORIES, &c.--
Little Miss Propriety, 11.
Fighting with a Shadow, 12.
A Practical Joke, 28.
How Paulina won back Peter (_A Fairy Story_), 47.
A Race on the Sands, 77.
The Kingfisher and the Fishes, 81.
The Maids and the Magpie, 91.
A Game of Cricket in Elfland (_A Fairy Story_), 105.
The Little Flowers' Wish, 116.
Their Wonderful Ride, 153.
What came of a Foxglove (_A Fairy Story_), 172.
A Foraging Expedition in South America, 207.
What the Magic Words Meant (_A Fairy Story_), 235.
The Discontented Boat, 242.
The Brownies to the Rescue, 256.
The Rival Kings (A Fable in Four Situations), 276.
The Fox and the Frog, 288.
The Magic Music and its Message (_A Fairy Story_), 293.
The Rival Mothers, 337.
A Race for a Cat (_A Fairy Story_), 361.
HUMANE SOCIETY, THE "LITTLE FOLKS"--
Special Notices, 55, 373.
Lists of Officers and Members, 55, 121, 185, 249, 313, 372.
True Stories about Pets, Anecdotes, &c., 57, 187, 251, 374.
LITTLE MARGARET'S KITCHEN, AND WHAT SHE DID IN IT, 45, 110, 161, 233,
279, 335.
LITTLE TOILERS OF THE NIGHT--
The Printer's Reading-Boy, 30.
The Fisher-Boy, 151.
Young Gipsies, 273.
MUSIC--
Three Little Squirrels, 59.
A Harvest Song, 112.
"Let's Away to the Woods," 181.
Dignity and Impudence, 245.
The Happy Little River, 316.
A Day in the Snow, 376.
PEEPS AT HOME AND ABROAD--
Stories Told in Westminster Abbey--
How the Abbey was Built, 14.
The Coronations in the Abbey, 113.
Royal Funerals in the Abbey, 176.
Curious Customs and Remarkable Incidents, 222.
The Sanctuary, Cloisters, and Chapter-House, 291.
The Monuments, 366.
The Home of the Beads, 26.
Little Toilers of the Night--
The Printer's Reading-Boy, 30.
The Fisher-Boy, 151.
Young Gipsies, 273.
Some Famous Railway Trains, and their Story--
The "Flying Dutchman," 39.
The "Wild Irishman," 86.
The "Flying Scotchman," 204.
The Continental and "Tidal" Mails, 346.
Children's Games in Days of Old, 91.
A Day on Board H.M.S. Britannia, 142.
The Water-Carriers of the World, 157.
The Prince and his Whipping-Boy, 220.
A Few Words about the <DW18>s of Holland, 267.
A Few Words about Tattooing, 359.
POCKET-BOOK, THE EDITOR'S: JOTTINGS AND PENCILLINGS HERE, THERE, AND
EVERYWHERE--
The Natural Bridge, Virginia, 51;
The Colossus of Rhodes, 51;
Chinese Palanquins, 51;
The Flamingo, 51;
"God's Providence House," 51;
An Ancient Monster, 51;
Arabs of the Soudan, 52;
A Lesson in Charity, 52;
The Busy Bee, 52;
The Dwarf Trees of China, 52;
What is the "Lake School?" 52;
The Cuckoo's Fag, 52;
The Greatest Whirlpool in the World, 54;
The Dog and the Telephone, 54;
The Wounded Cat and the Doctor, 117;
A Remarkable Bell, 117;
About the Mina Bird, 117;
An Historical Cocoa-Plant, 117;
The International Health Exhibition, 118;
Famous Old London Buildings, 118;
Model Dairies, 118;
Trades in Operation, 118;
The Costume Show, 118;
Street of Furnished Rooms, 119;
Other Exhibits, 119;
Young Heroes, 119;
An Intelligent Mare, 119;
Who were the Janizaries? 182;
A Canine Guide, 182;
The Taming of Bucephalus, 182;
The Price of a Picture by Landseer, 183;
"Ignoramus," 183;
Saved by South Sea Islanders, 183;
A Strange Vow, 183;
Honour among Cats, 183;
Memory in Parrots, 183;
The Clock-tower in Darmstadt Palace, 183;
Oiling the Waves, 183;
Spider Knicknacks, 184;
An Affectionate Dog, 184;
A Sagacious Cavalry Horse, 184;
What is a Nabob? 184;
A Curious Volcano, 184;
How a Dog saved its Blind Master, 246;
Abraham Men, 246;
Famous Abdicators, 246;
Memory in Cats, 247;
Fugitives from Siberia, 247;
Tame Humming Birds, 247;
Intelligent Dogs, 247;
Skating Race in Lapland, 247;
The Riddle of the Sphinx, 247;
The Wolf and the Bees, 248;
About Pages, 248;
The Union Jack, | 1,332.955191 |
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MYSTERY AND CONFIDENCE:
_A TALE._
BY ELIZABETH PINCHARD.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR HENRY COLBURN,
PUBLIC LIBRARY, CONDUIT-STREET, HANOVER-SQUARE,
AND SOLD BY GEORGE GOLDIE, EDINBURGH,
AND JOHN CUMMING, DUBLIN.
1814.
B. CLARKE, Printer, Well-Street, London.
ADVERTISEMENT.
It having been suggested to the Author of the following Tale, that its
principal event may perhaps be thought somewhat too romantic and
improbable, she begs to observe, that it is founded upon a fact well
known, and not so long past as not to be in the recollection of many
persons now alive, and particularly those in the higher circles.
MYSTERY
AND
CONFIDENCE.
CHAP. I.
Due westward, fronting to the green,
A rural portico was seen,
Where Ellen's hand had taught to twine
The ivy and Idean vine;
The clematis, the favor'd flow'r,
Which boasts the name of virgin's bow'r.
LADY OF THE LAKE.
At the foot of one of the most romantic mountains in North Wales, about
a mile from the coast of Carnarvonshire, stands the little village of
Llanwyllan: there, amongst trees which seemed coeval with the dwelling,
was a very large farm-house, the residence of Farmer Powis. Its high
chimneys, and neatly white-washed walls, rendered it a pleasing object
to those who travelled on the high-road, about a mile off, which led to
the next market-town, if high-road that might be called which merely
served to facilitate the journies of the neighbouring farmers' wives to
market and back again, or those of the curate, who served the churches
in the immediate vicinity. The hand of native taste had removed a few
branches from the immense trees which shaded this rural dwelling, and by
that means afforded to the inhabitants a view of the road, the spire of
the village church, and two or three natural rills of water, which,
falling from the adjacent hills, increased the beauty of the scene. At
this dwelling a traveller arrived on the evening of a day which had been
intensely hot, in the summer of 18--: the dust which covered his shoes,
and almost concealed the colour of his coat, declared him a pedestrian;
probably, therefore, of inferior rank; yet, under the shade which
fatigue had thrown over his features, might be discerned a fine and
interesting countenance; and when at the door of the farm-house, where
Powis sat inhaling the mixed fumes of his evening pipe, and the
fragrance of a fine honeysuckle which entwined around the porch, he
inquired the nearest way to----, the tones of his voice, and the
fineness of his accent, would, to a practised ear, have proclaimed a man
who had mixed with the higher orders of society: to Powis, however, they
conveyed no idea but that the traveller was weary and spoke with
civility; and either would have demanded from him civility, nay,
kindness in return: he rose therefore from his seat, and pushing aside
his little table, made room for the stranger, and requested him to be
seated. The stranger thankfully complied, and taking off his hat, wiped
the dust from his face, and shewed a fine forehead and eyes, whose
brilliant rays seemed more obscured by sorrow than by time, though he
appeared to be about five-and-thirty. While the farmer went into the
house to order some refreshment for his weary guest, the stranger turned
his eyes, and saw with surprise that every thing about him bore the
marks of taste; of taste not indeed highly refined, but simple, natural,
and delicate: every tree round the spot on which he sat was intertwined
with woodbines, clematis, and the wild hop; and the long shoots of all
were carried from tree to tree, forming festoons of exquisite grace and
be | 1,333.423554 |
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PAPERS FROM OVERLOOK-HOUSE.
By Caspar Almore
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
1866.
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District
of Pennsylvania.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY LETTER 5
CHAPTER I. ARRIVAL AT THE VILLAGE 13
CHAPTER II. THE WELCOME AT OVERLOOK-HOUSE 18
CHAPTER III. THE CHRISTMAS LOG IN THE KITCHEN 33
CHAPTER IV. HOW THE OVERLOOK PAPERS CAME TO BE WRITTEN 47
I. DR. BENSON; OR THE LIVING MAN EMBALMED FOR TWENTY YEARS 51
II. THE GHOST AT FORD INN--NESHAMONY 75
III. MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT BIOGRAPHY;--OR, LITERATURE FOR A
FAIR WIDOW 91
IV. | 1,333.759653 |
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THE
DALES OF ARCADY
BY
DOROTHY UNA RATCLIFFE
ERSKINE MACDONALD, LTD.
LONDON, W.C.1
_All Rights Reserved_
_First published November 1918_
DEDICATED TO
THE FIRST YORKSHIREMAN I SET EYES ON
DADDY
CONTENTS
Prologue
Daleshire
On Otley Chevin
The Song of Nidderdale
Song of the Mists
Wander-Thirst
The Road
The Swaling of the Moor
The Moors in Summer
My Herbary
Rushes
Satan and I
To the Wind
Saadi and the Rose
The Difference
Song of the Primroses
Lilies
The Pear-Tree
Beggar's Gold
On Early Rising
Jewels
Bargaining
Song of Good-Bye
King Yesterday
Kissing
Philosophy
A Thrush's Song
A February Day
Laus Deo
"Past-Ten-O'Clock-Land"
To Memory
A War Prayer for a Little Boy
Star-Scandal
The First of July
"The Ideal Man"
To the Coming Spring
Question
The Dales of Arcady
A War-time Grace
Queen Mab's Awakening
PROLOGUE
_The youngest Goddess sat in a corner of the Universe and sulked.
For aeons, she had watched the older Goddesses play each in turn with
the Earth-Ball, and every time the Ball passed her way, someone said,
"She is too young, and, if she played with the Ball, might injure it."
Another added,
"Even our honourable Sister E---- created baleful Etna in her ardent
desire to give a beauteous mountain to flowering Sicily, and C----,
when she designed the azure Mediterranean, raised her little finger all
too hurried | 1,333.898833 |
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INDEX
Aberdare, Lord (Henry Austin Bruce), home secretary (1868), ii. 644;
on Collier affair, ii. 385;
on Ewelmcase, ii. 387;
Licensing bill of, ii. 389-390;
on _Alabama_ case, ii. 409 _note_;
on Irish University bill, ii. 439;
Gladstone's appreciation of, ii. 462;
president of the council (1873), ii. 463 _note_, 645;
describes last cabinet meeting (1874), ii. 497;
otherwise mentioned, ii. 421, 504; iii. 386.
---- papers, extract from, on position in 1872, ii. 389.
Aberdeen, Gladstone presented with freedom of, ii. 378.
Aberdeen, 4th Earl of:--
_Chronology_--on Wellington's anti-reform speech, i. 69;
Gladstone's visit to (1836), i. 137;
at Canada meeting, i. 641;
party meetings, i. 239;
on Maynooth resignation, i. 273;
Gladstone's relations with, i. 280;
estimate of Peel, i. 283;
on Peel's eulogium of Cobden, i. 292;
on freedom in official position, i. 298;
home and foreign policy of, contrasted, i. 367;
learns Gladstone's views of Neapolitan tyranny, i. 390, 393-395;
on Don Pacifico case, i. 395;
Gladstone's Letters to, i. 392, 394 _and note_, 396, 398, 399
_note 2_, 400, 401 _note 3_, 641, 642;
views on papal aggression question, i. 405, 407;
asked to form a government (1851), i. 405 _and note_;
leader of Peelites, i. 408;
Reform bill of (1852), ii. 238;
attitude of, towards first Derby administration, i. 417,
419, 429;
on Gladstone's attitude towards Disraeli, i. 432;
on possible heads for Peelite government, i. 443;
Irish attitude towards, i. 444;
undertakes to form a government, i. 445;
Gladstone's budget, i. 464-466;
letter to Prince Albert on Gladstone's speech, i. 468;
letter to Gladstone, i. 469;
attitude towards Turkey in 1828, i. 480;
Crimean war, preliminary negotiations, i. 481-484, 487, 490;
on Gladstone's Manchester speech, i. 483;
on effect of Crimean war, i. 484;
suggests retirement, i. 491-492;
opposes postponement of Reform bill, i. 648;
regrets of, regarding the war, i. 494, 536-537;
defeat of, ii. 653;
Gladstone's consultations with, in ministerial crisis (1855),
i. 526, 530-535;
on position of premier, ii. 416;
Gladstone's projected letters to, on Sebastopol committee,
i. 542 _note_;
discourages Gladstone's communicating with Derby, i. 556;
Lewis's budget, i. 560;
Divorce bill, i. 570;
Conspiracy bill, i. 575;
approves Gladstone's refusals to join Derby, i. 578, 586;
uneasiness regarding Gladstone's position, i. 581;
Gladstone's visit to, i. 594;
discourages Ionian project, i. 595;
desires closer relations between Gladstone and government,
i. 596;
Arthur Gordon's letter to, i. 604;
Bright's visit to, i. 626 _note 2_;
death of, ii. 87.
Foreign influence of, i. 392, 529;
foreign estimate of, ii. 351; iii. 321.
Gladstone's estimate of, i. 124, 393, 417; ii. 87, 639-644;
his estimate of Gladstone, i. 613; ii. 170, 203;
Gladstone's letters to, i. 425-426, 429, 463, 549; ii. 3.
Palmerston contrasted with, i. 530.
Patience of, with colleagues' quarrels, i. 520;
loyalty to colleagues, ii. 639-640.
Sobriquet of, i. 177.
Trustfulness of, i. 197; ii. 113, 640, 642-643,
Otherwise mentioned, i. 139, 142 _note_, 270, 293, 294, 367,
420, 437, 458, 460, 482 _note_, 520, 539, 543, 548, 584;
ii. 184, 194; iii. 228.
Aberdeen, 7th Earl of, iii. 385, 517.
Abeken, H., ii. 332-333 _and note_.
Abercromby, Sir Ralph, iii. 314.
Abolition, _see_ slave-holding.
Acland, A. H. D., iii. 495 _and note_.
---- Arthur, i. 54, 59 _note_, 74.
---- Sir H. W., iii. 421.
---- Sir Thomas, member of W E G, i. 59 _note_;
brotherhood formed by Gladstone and, i. 99;
advice to Gladstone on Jewish disabilities question, i. 376;
correspondence with Gladstone on popular discontent, ii. 172-174;
on Gladstone's position (1867), ii. 227;
otherwise mentioned, i. 54, 74, 148;
ii. 280, 430, 431;
iii, 495.
Act of Uniformity bill (1872), ii. 410.
Acton, Lord, recommended by Gladstone for a peerage, ii. 430;
correspondence with Gladstone on Vaticanism, ii. 509, 511, 515,
519-521;
compared with Doellinger, ii. 558;
letter on Gladstone's proposed retirement, iii. 172;
elected fellow of All Souls', iii. 421;
Gladstone's letters to, i. 481, 628; ii. 1, 214;
iii. 355-359, 413-416, 422, 456, 457, 544;
criticism of Gladstone, iii. 360-361;
otherwise mentioned, ii. 254, 617;
iii. 103, 351, 462.
Adam, W. P., commissioner of public works, ii. 463 _note_;
supports Gladstone's Midlothian candidature, ii. 584-585;
otherwise mentioned, ii. 586, 602, 620.
Adams, Charles Francis (American minister), hints withdrawal,
ii. 80 and _note 2_, 83;
Evarts coadjutor to, ii. 189;
breakfasts with Gladstone, ii. 212-213;
on _Alabama_ case, ii. 395-396;
work on the arbitration board, ii. 411-412.
Adderley, C. B., quoted, i. 362 _note 2_.
Adullamites, ii. 205, 211, 224, 225.
Advertisements, tax on, i. 459, 462 _and note_.
Affirmation bill (1883), i. 414 _note_; iii. 14, 18-20,
107 note, 312.
Afghanistan:--
Cavagnari in, iii. 151.
Reversal of conservative policy in, iii. 10.
Russian action in (1885), iii. 178, 183-185, 208 _note_.
War with, ii. 583;
Gladstone's references to, ii. 592, 595.
Africa South:--
Cape Colony--
Dutch sympathy in, with Transvaal, iii. 39-40 _and note 2_,
42 _note 2_, 43.
Representatives from, on South African situation, iii. 33.
Cape of Good Hope petition, ii. 545.
Confederation scheme, iii. 22-24, 31.
Frere in, iii. 2, 6.
Native affairs in, committee on, i. 358.
Orange Free State--
Advice from, iii. 32-33.
Sympathy in with Transvaal, iii. 39-40 _and note 2_, 43.
Transvaal--
Administration of, by Great Britain, iii. 31 _and note 1_.
Annexation of (1877), iii. 25;
Boer resistance to annexation, iii. 25-26, 31;
Gladstone's attitude towards, iii. 27;
Hartington's attitude to, iii. 27.
Cabinet abstentions on division regarding, iii. 35.
Commission suggested by Boers, iii. 35;
suggestion accepted, iii. 36 _and note 1_, 40;
constitution of commission, iii. 41;
Boer requests regarding, refused, iii. 41;
parliamentary attack on appointment, iii. 41-42;
Boer attitude towards, iii. 44;
Pretoria convention concluded by, iii. 44-45.
Conventions with, iii. 45 _and note_.
Forces in, iii. 31, _note 2_.
Midlothian reference to (1879), ii. 595;
(1885), iii. 248.
Misrepresentations regarding Boers, iii. 31.
Native struggles with Boers in, iii. 24.
Rising of, iii. 31-32;
course of hostilities, iii. 34-37;
armistice, iii. 39.
Self-government promised to, iii. 25, 28 _and note 2_, 29,
30 _and note 2_;
promises evaded, iii. 30, 33.
W. H. Smith's view of proceedings in, ii. 601.
Suzerainty question, iii. 45 _and note_.
Sympathy with, from South African Dutch, iii. 39-40 _and
note 2_, 42 _note 2_, 43.
Ailesbury, Lord, ii. 556.
Airey, Sir Richard, i. 651.
_Alabama_ claims--
Arbitration accepted on, ii. 405.
Gladstone's views on, ii. 394, 396-397, 406, 409, 538.
Indirect damages claimed by Sumner, ii. 399, 406-412.
Mixed commission proposed to deal with, ii. 397;
refused by United States, ii. 398;
accepted, ii. 400;
constitution of, ii. 400-401;
work of, ii. 401-405.
Origin of, ii. 393-394.
Parliamentary anxieties regarding, ii. 390.
Soreness regarding, ii. 392.
Albania, i. 605-608.
Albert, Prince, speeches at Suppression of Slave Trade meeting,
i. 227;
on Peel's retirement, i. 293;
presented with Gladstone's translation of _Farini_, i. 403 _note_;
Gladstone's budget submitted to, i. 464;
on Gladstone's budget speech, i. 469;
unpopularity of, ii. 426, 652;
views on Roebuck committee, i. 537;
estimate of Gladstone, ii. 28;
on _Trent_ affair, ii. 74;
on Danish question, ii. 93, 102;
death of, ii. 89;
Gladstone's estimate of, ii. 90-91;
effect of his death on Gladstone's relations with the Queen,
ii. 91;
statue to, at Aberdeen, ii. 100;
otherwise mentioned, i. 242, 274, 541; ii. 14, 92.
Albert Victor, Prince, iii. 322.
Alderson, Baron, i. 381.
Alfred, Prince, ii. 98, 99, 105.
Alexander II., Emperor of Russia, ii. 499.
Alexander III., Emperor of Russia, iii. 116, 117.
Alexandretta, project to seize, ii. 573.
Alexandria, English and French fleets at, iii. 79;
bombardment of, iii. 81, 84, 85.
Alice, Princess, _see_ Louis.
All the Talents ministry, i. 446.
Allon, Dr., ii. 134-135, 255, 458.
Alsace, annexation of, ii. 346-348.
Althorp, Viscount, Gladstone's first intercourse with, i. 101;
dissuades Howick from moving for papers on Vreedenhoop, i. 105;
views on Ashley's factory proposals, i. 106;
Cobbett snubbed by, i. 114;
contrasted with Russell, i. 118;
action of, on tithe collection, i. 133;
Grey opposed by, i. 430;
otherwise mentioned, i. 103, 115, 649; ii. 436; iii. 503.
America:--
British North, ii. 607.
Canada, _see that title_.
United States, _see that title_.
American civil war, _see under_ United States.
Annuities bill, ii. 52-53, 125.
Anonymous articles by Gladstone, ii. 345 _note 1_; iii. 415.
Anson, Sir W. (warden of All Souls'), iii. 421.
Anstice, Prof., i. 55-56, 58, 59 _note_, 65, 74, 162, 134.
Antonelli, Cardinal, ii. 215.
_Antony and Cleopatra_ at Drury Lane, ii. 476.
Aosta, Duke of, ii. 327.
Appointments and honours, Gladstone's care in selections for,
ii. 428; iii. 97.
Arabi, iii. 73, 80, 83, 85-86.
Arbitration in _Alabama_ case, ii. 405, 411-412;
soreness at award, ii. 392, 413.
Arbuthnot, George, i. 519; ii. 182, 193.
Argyll, Duke of, on presbyterian view of a church, i. 158 _note_;
attitude towards Gladstone's budget, i. 466;
on postponement of Reform bill, i. 648;
attitude towards French treaty scheme, ii. 22;
on Paper Duties bill, ii. 33, 37;
ecclesiastical views, ii. 37;
supports Gladstone on estimates struggle, ii. 140;
views on Danish question, ii. 192;
advises dissolution on Reform bill, ii. 209;
in Rome, ii. 217;
the pope's estimate of, ii. 218;
views on annexation of Alsace and Lorraine, ii. 347;
on _Alabama_ case, ii. 403;
views on Gladstone's retirement, ii. 505;
views on J. S. Mill memorial, ii. 543;
on Bulgarian question, ii. 552;
Hawarden, ii. 582;
Indian secretary (1868), ii. 644;
lord privy seal (1880), ii. 653;
letter to Gladstone on outside influence, iii. 4;
views on Transvaal commission, iii. 41;
divergence of views from Chamberlain's, iii. 48-49;
resignation, ii. 654; iii. 90;
on Disturbance Compensation bill, iii. 113;
on franchise disagreement (1884), iii. 127;
suggested to effect conference between leaders on Franchise
bill, i. 135;
letter to Gladstone on election address, iii. 220-221;
views on Carnarvon's interview with Parnell, iii. 229 _note 1_;
on Irish situation, iii. 280-281;
refuses Gladstone's invitation to birthday dinner, iii. 322;
on land question, iii. 477;
Gladstone's letters to, i. 652; ii. 45, 73, 76, 288-290, 295,
462, 475, 500, 520, 524, 563, 564, 615, 636;
otherwise mentioned, i. 420, 492, 495, 536, 539, 624, 635-636;
ii. 47 _notes_; ii. 72, 183, 212, 459, 504, 644.
Aristotle, i. 131, 207 _note 2_.
Armellini, iii. 464.
Armenian atrocities, iii. 521, 522.
Armitstead, George, iii. 463 _and note_, 493, 525, 533.
Armstrong, E. J., ii. 195 _and note_.
Army:--
Cardwell's work for, ii. 359.
Commander-in-chief, position of in Parliament, ii. 362, 649.
Estimates for (1874), ii. 483.
Purchase abolished, ii. 361-365.
Short service system, ii. 626, 649.
War office, qualifications for, ii. 649.
Arnold, Matthew, views of, on _Peter Bell_, i. 220;
appointment sought by, ii. 540;
views on copyright, ii. 541;
poem on his father, iii. 483;
estimate of Wordsworth, iii. 448;
on Christianity, iii. 520.
Arnold, Dr. T., sermons of, read by Gladstone, i. 100, 135;
view of the church, i. 158;
attitude towards Newman, i. 165;
on Gladstone's first book, i. 176;
on Jerusalem bishopric, i. 308;
M. Arnold's poem on, iii. 483.
---- Mrs. T., iii. 358.
Ashley, Lord, on factory legislation, i. 106;
on Jerusalem bishopric, i. 308, 309;
votes against Gladstone at Oxford, i. 333.
---- Evelyn, ii. 51 and _note_, 153, 154, 252.
Asquith, H. H., iii. 495 _note_.
Athenaeum Club, ii. 174.
Athens, i. 605; iii. 91.
Attwood, Thomas, i. 114 _note_.
Augustenburg, Duke of, ii. 116, 580.
Augustine, Saint, i. 117, 161, 207 _note 2; ii. 544.
d'Aumale, Duc, ii. 190.
Austin, Charles, i. 229; iii. 464.
Australia, convict transportation to, i. 359 _and note_.
Austria:--
Alliance with, Gladstone's view of, i. 546.
Berlin memorandum, ii. 549.
Berlin treaty obligation, attitude towards (1880), iii. 9.
Black Sea provisions of Treaty of Paris disapproved by, ii. 350.
Bosnia and Herzegovina transferred to, ii. 576; iii. 82.
Confusion in policy of, ii. 120.
Danubian provinces, quasi-independence of, opposed by, ii. 3.
Eastern question, attitude towards, ii. 549, 571.
Egyptian question, attitude towards, iii. 80, 82.
Excessive expenditure, effects of, ii. 53.
France, peace with, Lord Elcho's motion on, ii. 19 _note 2_
expects aid from, ii. 337;
alliance sought by (1870), ii. 323;
efforts to avert Franco-Prussian war, ii. 326;
neutrality during the war, ii. 344.
Ionian Islands despatch, attitude towards, i. 601.
Italy, tyranny in and war with, i. 390-402, 618, 620 _note 3_;
ii. 6 _et seq._, 641.
Midlothian references to, iii. 8.
Prussia--attitude of, i. 489;
war with, ii. 115, 210 _note_, 214.
Russia--policy towards, i. 488;
hostility of, ii. 4.
Sadowa, defeat at, ii. 115.
Slowness of, ii. 4.
Tariff negotiations with, i. 267.
Ayrton, A. S., ii. 460-461, 463-464, 651.
d'Azeglio, ii. 17.
Bach's passion music, ii. 582.
Bacon, Lord, cited, ii. 30.
Badeley, ----, i. 380 _note 2_.
Bagehot, W., ii. 62.
Baker, Sir Samuel, iii. 145 _note 2_, 161.
Balfour, A. J., Gladstone's communications with, on Irish
situation, iii. 259, 284;
Irish secretary, iii. 374;
on Irish rents, iii. 374;
compared to Halifax, iii. 378;
Irish administration of, iii. 378-379;
Mitchelstown, iii. 381-382;
on adverse bye-elections, iii. 427;
defends Irish policy at Newcastle, i. 428;
replies to Gladstone, iii. 490;
moves vote of censure on Irish administration, iii. 501;
tribute to Gladstone, iii. 510, 530.
Ball, Dr., ii. 264, 269.
Ballot, Gladstone's opposition to (1833), i. 99, 106;
his later views (1870-71), ii. 367-368;
recommended by committee, ii. 367;
government bill (1870), ii. 368-369;
results of, ii. 370.
Balmoral, Gladstone's visits to, ii. 97-106;
Queen's fondness for, ii. 426.
Bangor, bishopric of, i. 260 _note 1_.
Bank Charter Act (1833), iii. 300.
---- of England, Gladstone in conflict with, i. 518-519, 650-651.
Bankruptcy bill (1883), iii. 112.
Banks, abolition of private notes of, desired by Gladstone,
ii. 650-651.
_Baptist_, Chamberlain's article in, iii. 367 _and note 2_.
Baring, Bingham, ii. 534.
---- Sir E., administration of, iii. 119;
advises abandonment of Soudan, iii. 147;
agrees on fitness of Gordon for the work, iii. 149;
warns Granville of difficulties, iii. 149, 151;
telegram to, approved by Gladstone, iii. 150;
procures nomination of Gordon as governor-general of Soudan for
evacuation, iii. 152;
gives him an executive mission, iii. 153;
Gordon's request to, regarding Zobeir, iii. 155;
supports request, iii. 157;
forbids Gordon's advance to Equatoria, iii. 162;
advises immediate preparations for relief of Gordon, iii. 163;
position of, iii. 179;
advises abandonment of Khartoum expedition, iii. 180.
---- Sir Francis, Macaulay and Gladstone contrasted by, i. 192-193;
in whig opposition, i. 420 _and note 1_;
estimate of the coalition, i. 449-450 _and note 1_;
refuses to succeed Gladstone, i. 539.
---- T., i. 417.
Barker, Mr., i. 341, 345.
Barrow, ii. 536; iii. 467 _note_.
Bassetlaw election (1890), iii. 452.
Bath, Lord, ii. 617.
Bathurst, Lord, i. 142 _note_.
Baxter, W. E., ii. 463 _note_.
Beach, Sir M. Hicks, colonial secretary, iii. 26;
negotiations with Hartington on Franchise bill, iii. 134, 136;
moves amendment on budget (1885), iii. 200, 206;
views on Spencer's Irish policy, iii. 213;
in debate on the address, iii. 285;
gives notice regarding Irish bill, iii. 287;
on Collings' amendment, iii. 288;
on suggestion of withdrawal of Home Rule bill after second
reading, iii. 334;
speech on night of the division, iii. 337-338;
Irish secretary (1886), iii. 362;
denounces Parnell's bill, iii. 369;
repudiates policy of blackmail, iii. 369, 373;
retires from secretaryship, iii. 374.
Beaconsfield, Earl of (Benjamin Disraeli):--
_Chronology_--Views on slavery, i. 104-105;
Gladstone's first meeting with, i. 122;
on free trade, i. 265;
on Gladstone's Maynooth resignation, i. 279;
taunts Peel with inconsistency, i. 286;
on Peel's party relations, i. 289;
young England group of, i. 304-305;
motion on agricultural distress (1850), i. 354;
supported by Gladstone, i. 354-356;
on Cobden, i. 352;
view of the colonies, i. 361;
Don Pacifico debate, i. 368-369;
Peel's forecast regarding, i. 374;
on Ecclesiastical Titles bill, i. 414;
in Derby's cabinet (1852), i. 416;
on protection (1852), i. 425, 428;
Aylesbury speeches, i. 428-429, 452;
combination of, with Palmerston suggested, i. 431;
attitude towards Peel, i. 432;
on free trade, i. 432;
Herbert's speech against, i. 433, 435 _and note_;
budget of (1852), i. 435-440, 459;
defeat of, on house duty (1852), iii. 203 _note 2_;
acceptance of defeat, i. 441-442;
remark on coalition government, i. 446;
correspondence with Gladstone on valuation of furniture,
i. 457-458;
opposes Gladstone's attempted operation on national debt,
i. 472-473;
on Oxford reform, i. 507-508;
willing to yield leadership of Commons to Palmerston, i. 525;
views on Derby's failure to form a ministry, i. 527-528;
leadership of Commons by, discussed, i. 552, 555;
overtures to Genl. Peel, i. 555;
Derby's relations with, i. 555, 561;
conversant of Derby's communications with Gladstone, i. 559;
on Lewis' budget, i. 560, 561;
denounces China war, i. 564;
on ministerial blundering as occasion for international quarrel,
i. 576;
animosity against, i. 581;
attitude towards Graham, i. 584, 587;
Herbert's alleged attitude towards, i. 585;
letter to Gladstone, i. 586;
conversation with Vitzthum, i. 591 _note_;
remark to Wilberforce regarding Gladstone, i. 591 _note_;
schemes of, regarding government of India, i. 592;
Ionian schemes attributed to, i. 613;
opposes union of the Principalities, ii. 4;
Gladstone's renewed conflicts with, ii. 19;
on Gladstone's efforts for economy, ii. 42;
on excessive expenditure, ii. 48;
estimate of financial statements of, ii. 55;
on Danish question, ii. 118-120;
on Gladstone's franchise pronouncement, ii. 127;
on franchise (1859), ii. 200;
taunts Gladstone on Oxford speech, ii. 203;
on Reform bill (1866), ii. 205;
position in Derby government (1866), ii. 211;
Reform bill of 1867, ii. 223-236;
thirteen resolutions, iii. 300 _note 4_;
cabinet divisions of, iii. 175;
proposals for Ireland, ii. 242;
becomes premier, ii. 244;
on Irish church question, ii. 247;
on the bill, ii. 264, 265 _and note_, 274, 275, 280;
dissolves, ii. 248;
resigns, ii. 252;
on Irish Land bill, ii. 295;
taunts Gladstone on Irish policy, ii. 297;
on Franco-Prussian question, ii. 329, 335;
on crown prerogative, ii. 864;
watchfulness during 1872, ii. 390;
speech at Manchester, ii. 390;
strikes imperialist note, ii. 391;
on _Alabama_ case, ii. 401, 406, 407;
Irish University question, ii. 435, 414;
action during ministerial crisis, ii. 447-450, 452-456;
Brand's view of position of, ii. 456;
letter at Bath election, ii. 475;
on Gladstone's manifesto, ii. 488;
counter manifesto, ii. 488-489;
on the dissolution (1874), ii, 496;
letters from, on his wife's illness and death, ii. 546-547;
refuses adherence to the Berlin memorandum, ii. 549;
created Earl of Beaconsfield, ii. 550;
speech at Lord Mayor's feast, ii. 558;
at Berlin Congress, ii. 575, 577;
attack on Gladstone's eastern policy, ii. 579;
turn of popular feeling against, ii. 594;
election address (1880), ii. 605-606;
reception of defeat (1880), ii. 612;
_Daily Telegraph_ inspired by, ii. 622;
on mediocrity in cabinets, iii. 3;
apprehensions on Ireland, iii. 47;
peers created by, ii. 429 _and note_;
death of--tribute from Gladstone, iii. 89.
Deterioration in public life due to, iii. 475.
Eminence of, iii. 89.
Estimate of, ii. 245; iii. 539.
Gladstone's estimate of, i. 356;
Gladstone's antipathy to, i. 429, 432, 435, 436, 508;
contrasted with Gladstone, ii. 392, 561.
Judaism of, ii. 552-553, 558; iii. 475-476.
Novels of, i. 588.
Penetration of, ii. 122, 392; iii. 539.
Parliamentary courage of, i. 188;
debating method of, ii. 189;
parliamentary wit of, iii. 473.
Turkish sympathies of, ii. 349, 558, 563.
Otherwise mentioned, i. 424, 433, 437, 624, 631; ii. 85 _note 1_,
100, 187, 499, 501, 620; iii. 276, 465.
Beard, C, ii. 544.
Beatrice, Princess, ii. 96.
Beaufort, Duke of, on coalition with Peel | 1,333.945662 |
2023-11-16 18:39:17.9282440 | 2,578 | 9 |
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INFLUENCE OF FREE GOVERNMENT ON THE MIND.
Human society, from the nature of its formation, is governed in all
its multifarious movements, however majestic or delicate, by mind.
There are no changes, nor revolutions in society, that do not
acknowledge its influence. It is the all-pervading, all-exciting cause
of human action. Its power on the social system is similar to that of
gravitation in regulating the magnificent and rolling orbs of space;
the great centre of attraction, holding together and preserving in
harmonious order the thousand relations of life. Physical force, which
to the superficial eye appears to have swayed the destinies of mankind
in all ages of the world, will be found on examination to be only a
mean, enabling it to wield with greater skill and force the sceptre of
its power. The conquering legions of Cæsar or Bonaparte would have
been a useless pageant, deprived of this active, governing principle.
This exciting principle of society reaches its maturity and power by
gradual developement. In the first stages of civilization its strength
is that of an infant, afterwards that of a giant; and the spheres of
its action are as various as its powers. We behold it soaring on the
shining wings of imagination to the fields of fiction; calm,
comprehensive, searching in philosophy and science; animated and
exalted on the noble theatre of eloquence; pure and humble in the holy
aspirations of religion. Such being the nature of mind, we are led to
the irresistible inference, that the state of communities or nations
will be low or elevated in proportion to its neglect or cultivation.
The conceptions of mind form the mirror of national character. If
there be a want of mental cultivation, as a consequent, the numerous
attractions which hold in harmony and union the relations of society
will be destroyed; and general darkness and misery prevail. On the
contrary, if there be an expansion of mind, these ties so necessary,
so sacred, will receive new strength; and a universal joy, and beauty,
and brightness, pervade the whole social compact.
Many and various causes tend to the development of mind. It varies in
every nation and under every form of government. We read of the
majestic melancholy, the lofty passion, the stern intellect of the
_North_; of the mental effeminacy, of the exuberant fancy, beneath the
sunny skies and amid the olive groves of the _South_. We read of the
effects, natural advantages and impediments; how inaccessible barriers
may raise their Alpine heads, and prevent the light of one nation from
beaming on another; thus destroying the interchange of kindred
thoughts and obstructing the growth of mind; how nature's works, her
forests, rivers, lakes, groves, and water-falls in their original
grandeur and sublimity; how art's works, shining in their new
splendor, or fallen from their primitive state, cities and towers
lying in the crumbling embrace of time, stir up the sympathies,
enliven the emotions, and arouse the imagination to high exertion; how
the resources of the earth, her rich mines, her quarries of marble,
stimulate the spirit of improvement in the arts and sciences. We read
too, how the mind wastes away under the influence of despotic
institutions, and how ignorance reigns shining in purple and gold;
lastly, how the mind attains its full developement, and is ever active
in its native strength, and power, and greatness, under the pacific
and stirring effect of free principles. Each of these causes which may
advance or <DW44> the growth of mind, afford themes worthy of
investigation. That of the influence of free institutions, having a
bearing on the destinies of American mind, we have selected as the
subject of this essay.
A ceaseless activity is the original characteristic of all material
creation. All matter, whether on the surface, or in the centre of the
earth, is imperceptibly undergoing a continuous change. To-day, we
gaze with delighted eye on the loveliness and grandeur of nature, lit
up by the smile of heaven; to-morrow, they have passed away. We only
look upon a clear blue sky, to behold it the next moment hung with
dark and angry clouds. The sun and the moon ever pursue their same
eternal tireless course. Nature has likewise created an undying active
spirit in the mental world. Activity is the earliest intellectual
developement. The many imperious duties, connected with the stupendous
relations which the individual members of society sustain to each
other, prove that the mind was destined for action. The different
natures, and the beautiful adaptations of the intellectual powers,
prove it. Their native elasticity, their quick excitability, prove it.
Curiosity, that key which unlocks the sanctuaries of knowledge, is
seen from the days of childhood to silvery age. A desire of society, a
commune and interchange of thought and feeling, has ever been a
distinguishing characteristic of mankind in all ages and in all parts
of the world. The sublime summits which the mind has reached, and the
perennial glories which have crowned its efforts, are evidence
unanswerable of the vastness of its power. But there cannot be full
powerful mental action without mental freedom. Freedom is incident to
action mental or physical. Observe the king of birds as he spreads his
majestic wings on high; mark his swift flight, his strength and vigor;
then behold him shut up within a cage, how weak, how lifeless, how
nerveless! The same is true of mind; unrestrained, its powers
transcend all limits, but fettered, they dwindle away--are powerless.
The mind then is both naturally free and active. Such being the case,
free institutions are founded in nature; and, therefore, their
influence on the mind arises from a natural and mutual relation: this
relation cannot be otherwise than efficacious in its tendencies on the
mind.
What is the nature of free institutions? Founded in man's free active
nature, their tendency is to develope his powers and dignity. Their
permanency, depending on the mental part of man, their chief aim and
policy are his moral and intellectual elevation. Universal mental
cultivation is the enduring basis and majestic pillar of their
structure. As the effulgent life-giving orb of day brings forth the
hidden beauties and treasures of nature, they draw out to the light
the powers and faculties of every member of society. They bring mind
in competition with mind; thus striking out the "celestial spark,"
they recognise no mental indolence; they afford means suited to the
growth of all kinds of mind; they hold out the same common inducements
to all; they reward with immortality noble intellectual action. Their
true prominent feature is the collision of minds.
Let us examine their influences. All legislation, all governmental
measures and operations, originate in the chosen intellect of the
people, assembled in free deliberation. No single will creates a law.
Many cultivated thinking minds coming together in close discussion,
strike out the great principles of political science. And the minds
thus exercised are not confined in their illuminating influence to the
legislative hall, but go abroad, brilliant and powerful, awakening to
thought, and enlightening millions of minds. Whatever the legislators
conceive and create, affords a theme on which a thousand other
eloquent minds among the people concentrate their talents, and shine
forth in bright display. Thus we perceive that the splendid and
dazzling theatre of eloquence is opened, inviting the exertions of
bold, persuasive, original intellect. Eloquence is one of the
characteristics of free governments. It requires free action. Its
nature is to thrill the feelings, to awaken the fancy, to exalt the
thoughts of a nation. It is the mind speaking forth its native
inspiriting thoughts. It is the rapid flow of deep excited feeling. It
is the natural influence which one mind exerts over another. It is the
unbridled intellect, clothed in shining and magic forms. Can it exist
under a despotism? The bird that dips its wings in the heavens does
not require more freedom. It is opposed to tyranny of any kind. What
is the history of eloquence? We behold it in unrivalled brilliancy and
power in the Republican of mighty Rome. Rome's eaglet of conquest
canopied the world under his expanded wings; but the genius of her
eloquence, peaceful, but powerful, moulded and swayed the mind of her
people and raised her to matchless grandeur.
In free governments, new occasions are continually arising for
intellectual action. It is the inevitable result of that freedom they
give to the mind. The free mind is ever active and progressive, ever
soaring to lofty heights. The free mind disdains to follow the beaten
track, and marks out an original, a more elevated path. The free mind
experiences the full efficacy of all the stimulating feelings of our
nature. Can such a cast of mind do otherwise than open new fields for
high action? or produce other than wonderful and glorious results?
Animated by an unconquerable love of action, all obstacles and
difficulties vanish before it. It overthrows old systems, and erects
new ones more dazzling in splendor. It revolutionizes all unsound
associations, political, social, religious and literary. It fully
developes and explains the existing relations of life, and unfolds
hitherto unfelt ones. It thinks and feels more exaltedly, more deeply,
more strongly. Lethargy never steals upon such a mind. Now a mind thus
exercised, thus unlimited in its action, must shine forth in its
original beauty and might, must attain all that is noble or sublime in
intellectual achievement. This mind does not exist under despotic
institutions. It could not. The restrained mind is ever retrograding.
The restrained mind, aimless and unambitious, pursues the old path and
never thinks of seeking a new one. The restrained mind never feels the
irrepressible delight of a superior thought, never the exhilarating
influence of deep and lofty meditation. Is it wonderful that despotic
governments never attain a high degree of intellectual eminence? Or is
it wonderful that free governments should know no barriers too great,
no limits too extensive, no summits too elevated; should send forth a
living increasing light of mental glory over the world?
In free governments "capacity and opportunity are twin sisters."
Development of mind being their chief aim, they afford every proper
means to this end. The genius of learning is brought down from her
high abodes, and caused to walk radiant with beauty, through every
grade of society. Education, the soul's strength, is disseminated with
a liberal hand to every portion of the community. Intellectual | 1,333.948284 |
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Produced by Andrea Ball and Marc D'Hooghe at
http://www.freeliterature.org
THE WHITE MAN'S FOOT.
BY
GRANT ALLEN,
AUTHOR OF "BABYLON," "IN ALL SHADES," ETC., ETC.
_WITH SEVENTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. FINNEMORE._
LONDON:
HATCHARDS, PICCADILLY, W.
1888.
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BUNGAY.
[Illustration: 'BOWING DOWN TOWARDS THE MOUTH OF THE CRATER, THEY SEEMED
TO SALUTE THE GODDESS OF THE VOLCANO.']
| 1,333.992698 |
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Produced by Malcolm Farmer, Ernest Schaal, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 62.
JANUARY 6TH, 1872.
[Illustration: PUNCH
VOL LXII.]
LONDON:
PUBLISHED AT THE OFFICE, 85, FLEET STREET,
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
1872.
LONDON:
BRADBURY, EVANS, AND CO., PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
[Illustration: PREFACE]
"GENTLEMEN ARBITRATORS, I salute you in the concrete," said MR. PUNCH,
walking up to the table of the Hall of Congress at Geneva. "I also
salute you specially. COUNT SCLOPIS, _una voce poco fa_; M. STAEMPFLI,
my Merry Swiss Boy, _point d'argent, point de Suisse_; BARON ITAJUBA, | 1,334.448096 |
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E-text prepared by Barbara Kosker 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 30264-h.htm or 30264-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30264/30264-h/30264-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30264/30264-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/ligeonlineofma00bige
LIEGE
ON THE LINE OF MARCH
[Illustration: GLENNA L. BIGELOW]
LIEGE
ON THE LINE OF MARCH
An American Girl's Experiences When the Germans Came Through Belgium
by
GLENNA LINDSLEY BIGELOW
New York: John Lane Company
London: John Lane, The Bodley Head
MCMXVIII
Copyright, 1918, by
John Lane Company
_TO THE KING OF THE BELGIANS_
_Multitudes upon multitudes they throng
And thicken: who shall number their array?
They bid the peoples tremble and obey:
Their faces are set forward, all for wrong.
They trample on the covenant and are strong
And terrible. Who shall dare to say them nay?
How shall a little nation bar the way
Where that resistless host is borne along?_
_You never thought, O! gallant King, to bow
To overmastering force and stand aside.
Safe and secure you might have reigned. But now
Your Belgium is transfigured, glorified,
The friend of France and England, who avow
An Equal here, and thank the men who died._
_H. M._
_London Times, August 14, 1914._
FOREWORD
Liege on the Line of March, or An American Girl's Experience When the
Germans Came Through Belgium, is a unique story. No other American
probably was in the exact position of Miss Bigelow who was at the
Chateau d'Angleur, Liege, Belgium, with the family of Monsieur X. at the
outbreak of the war and experienced with them and the people of their
country those tragic events which, up to the present, have hardly even
been sketched for the world.
What the public already knows of armies, guns, trenches, etc., has
little to do with the suffering that the people of an invaded country
endures, when the white-hot flame of the enemy invasion sweeps over the
land scorching every flower and leaving in its wake only desolation and
pain and despair. This narrative describes in detail just what might
come to any one of its readers if the Germans were victorious in Europe.
Let him picture to himself his line of action or even his line of
thought if an insolent officer came into his home, took his paintings
from the wall, his rugs from the floor, his private papers from his
desk and, finally, his sons to--what fate? The most pacific of pacifists
would draw a tight breath at such proceedings. And these are the least
of things that have happened in Belgium.
But the journal was not written with exhortative design. It is the
simple and truthful story of daily events as they occurred; if, at
times, the words seem brutal, the circumstances were brutal. Why should
one not know them?
The Chateau d'Angleur was respected as far as real pillaging and
destroying were concerned for the fact that a cousin of Monsieur X., a
Belgian by birth, is the wife of the Count von M. of Germany, at one
time Grand Chancellor of the Imperial Court and a trusted friend of
Emperor William the Second. As was proven afterwards this relationship,
surprisingly enough, had some influence on the side of clemency.
Monsieur X. was one of that family of famous Belgian bankers which has
existed for four generations. He was also President of the International
Sleeping Car Company of Europe to which honor he was appointed at the
death of his brother Monsieur Georges X., the originator and founder of
the Company.
Madame X. is a Russian by birth, the great-granddaughter of Prince ----,
who was at one time Grand Chancellor of the Court of Russia, and a
cousin of Princess ----, a lady in waiting to Her Former Majesty the
Czarina of Russia. The daughter of Madame X., Baronne de H., wife of a
Belgian nobleman of Brussels, is a personal friend of Their Majesties,
the King and Queen of Belgium.
Miss Bigelow, though a neutral subject, was nevertheless a virtual
prisoner of the Germans from August to November, 1914, owing to the lack
of facility in getting away from Belgium. The railroad was taken over
entirely by the German Army; automobiles, horses, carriages, etc., being
long since confiscated and appropriated by the Germans. Considerable
anxiety was felt as to her safety as no communication with the outside
world was possible during those three months of internment. Therefore,
her journal was faithfully kept for the benefit of her family and
depicts the comfortable luxurious life of the days preceding August,
1914, the shock of the Declaration of War, the terrific battle of
Sartilmont, three kilometres from the chateau, which entailed indirectly
the death of Monsieur X. in the early morning of the following day while
the guns were still booming. It also includes the bombardment of Liege
which lasted twelve days, the care of soldiers burned in the forts, the
capture of the city by the Prussians, their brutal shooting of
civilians, the burning of parts of the town and the taking of citizens
as hostages.
The passing of the German army with all its accompanying paraphernalia
that went to the front in the first days is described as it was
photographed on the brain of the writer, looking down from her window,
day after day, onto the highroad.
The journal ends with the attempted withdrawal to Brussels, the final
escape to Holland by the aid of the Dutch Consul of Maestricht, the
journey from Flushing, Holland, to Folkestone, England, to Calais and to
Paris. The last part of this journal will appeal to those who have known
and loved Paris in the old days, and portrays her to the world as the
flower she is, revealing her truth and her worth tho' stripped of that
individual worldliness which was yet a charm.
_Note.--All except German names in the Journal are fictitious._
LIEGE
ON THE LINE OF MARCH
LIEGE, ON THE LINE OF MARCH
_July 30th, Thursday._
To-day has been warm, very warm and sultry, a day of surprises,
beginning with the sudden disappearance of Monsieur X.'s trusted head
clerk--a German boy who has been in the office for fifteen years and who
knew every phase of the situation. What reason on earth could he have
had for vanishing like that with all his personal belongings, not
leaving one trace behind to show that such a person had ever been? Odd,
but certainly done with studied thoroughness.
This afternoon we sat at | 1,336.851593 |
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An Essay
In Aid Of
A Grammar Of Assent.
by
John Henry | 1,336.852793 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "Charley leveled his gun and sent sixteen shrieking
bullets just above the wheelman's head."]
The Boy Chums In the Gulf of Mexico
OR
On a Dangerous Cruise with the Greek
Spongers
BY WILMER M. ELY
Author of "The Boy Chums on Indian River," "The Boy
Chums on Haunted Island," "The Boy Chums in
the Forest," "The Boy Chums' Perilous Cruise."
[Illustration]
A. L. BURT COMPANY
NEW YORK
Copyright 1913
BY A. L. BURT COMPANY
THE BOY CHUMS IN THE GULF OF MEXICO
CONTENTS
I. 3
II. MR. DRIVER. 11
III. PREPARATIONS 19
IV. THE START 27
V. THE START 36
VI. FIRST TROUBLE 45
VII. SPONGING 53
VIII. TROUBLE 61
IX. MANUEL'S RELEASE 68
X. A RASH RESOLVE 76
XI. A MYSTERY 84
XII. IN A DIVING SUIT 94
XIII. A CLOSE CALL 100
XIV. THE DISCUSSION 107
XV. A DESPERATE PLAN 115
XVI. TOO LATE 122
XVII. OUTWITTED 129
XVIII. IMPRISONED 136
XIX. WRECKED 144
XX. HUNTING HELP 152
XXI. THE CASTAWAYS 159
XXII. ANOTHER DANGER 167
XXIII. THE RELAPSE 175
XXIV. THE FLOOD 182
XXV. | 1,337.057716 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
This is only an excerpt from the novel.
All-Story Weekly
_July 13-August 10, 1918_
PALOS OF THE DOG
STAR PACK
by J. U. Giesy
* * * * *
1. OUT OF THE STORM
It was a miserable night which brought me first in touch with Jason
Croft. There was a rain and enough wind to send it in gusty dashes
against the windows. It was the sort of a night when I always felt
glad to cast off coat and shoes, don a robe and slippers, and sit down
with the curtains drawn, a lighted pipe, and the soft glow of a lamp
falling across the pages of my book. I am, I admit, always strangely
susceptible to the shut-in sense of comfort afforded by a pipe, the
steady yellow of a light, and the magic of printed lines at a time of
elemental turmoil and stress.
It was with a feeling little short of positive annoyance that I heard
the door-bell ring. Indeed, I confess, I was tempted to ignore it
altogether at first. But as it rang again, and was followed by a rapid
tattoo of rapping, as of fists pounded against the door itself, I
rose, laid aside my book, and stepped into the hall.
First switching on a porch-light, I opened the outer door, to reveal
the figure of an old woman, somewhat stooping, her head covered by a
shawl, which sloped wetly from her head to either shoulder, and was
caught and held beneath her chin by one bony hand.
"Doctor," she began in a tone of almost frantic excitement. "Dr.
Murray--come quick!"
Perhaps I may as well introduce myself here as anywhere else. I am Dr.
George Murray, still, as at the time of which I write, in charge of
the State Mental Hospital in a Western State. The institution was not
then very large, and since taking my position at the head of its staff
I had found myself with considerable time for my study along the lines
of human psychology and the various powers and aberrations of the
mind.
Also, I may as well confess, as a first step toward a better
understanding of my part in what followed, that for years before
coming to the asylum I had delved more or less deeply into such
studies, seeking to learn what I might concerning both the normal and
the abnormal manifestations of mental force.
There is good reading and highly entertaining, I assure you, in the
various philosophies dealing with life, religion, and the several
beliefs regarding the soul of man. I was therefore fairly conversant
not only with the Occidental creeds, but with those of the Oriental
races as well. And I knew that certain of the Eastern sects had
advanced in their knowledge far beyond our Western world. I had even
endeavored to make their knowledge mine, so far as I could, in certain
lines at least, and had from time to time applied some of that
knowledge to the treatment of cases in the institution of which I was
the head.
But I was not thinking of anything like that as I looked at the
shawl-wrapped face of the little bent woman, wrinkled and wry enough
to have been a very part of the storm which beat about her and blew
back the skirts of my lounging-robe and chilled my ankles. I lived in
a residence detached from the asylum buildings proper, but none the
less a part of the institution; and, as a matter of fact, my sole
thought was a feeling of surprise that any one should have come here
to find me, and despite the woman's manifest state of anxiety and
haste, a decided reluctance to go with her quickly or otherwise on
such a night.
I rather temporized: "But, my dear woman, surely there are other
doctors for you to call. I am really not in general practice. I am
connected with the asylum--" "And that is the very reason I always
said I would come for you if anything happened to Mr. Jason," she cut
in.
"Whom?" I inquired, interested in spite of myself at this plainly
premeditated demand for my service.
"Mr. Jason Croft, sir," she returned. "He's dead maybe--I dunno. But
he's been that way for a week."
"Dead?" I exclaimed in almost an involuntary fashion, startled by her
words.
"Dead, or asleep. I don't know which."
Clearly there was something here I wasn't getting into fully, and my
interest aroused. The whole affair seemed to be taking on an
atmosphere of the peculiar, and it was equally clear that the gusty
doorway was no place to talk. "Come in," I said. "What is your name?"
"Goss," said she, without making any move to enter. "I'm house-keeper
for Mr. Jason, but I'll not be comin' in unless you say you'll go."
"Then come in without any more delay," I replied, making up my mind. I
knew Croft in a way--by sight at least. He was a big fellow with light
hair and a splendid physique, who had been pointed out to me shortly
after my arrival. Once I had even got close enough to the man to look
into his eyes. They were gray, and held a peculiar something in their
gaze which had arrested my attention at once. Jason Croft had the eyes
of a mystic--of a student of those very things I myself had studied
more or less.
They were the eyes of one who saw deeper than the mere objective
surface of life, and the old woman's words at the last had waked up my
interest in no uncertain degree. I had decided I would go with her to
Croft's house, which was not very far down the street, and see, if I
might, for myself just what had occurred to send her rushing to me
through the night.
I gave her a seat, said I would get on my shoes and coat, and went
back into the room I had left some moments before. There I dressed
quickly for my venture into the storm, adding a raincoat to my other
attire, and was back in the hall inside five minutes at most.
* * * * *
We set out at once, emerging into the wind-driven rain, my long
raincoat flapping about my legs and the little old woman tottering
along at my side. And what with the rain, the wind, and the unexpected
summons, I found myself in a rather strange frame of mind. The whole
thing seemed more like some story I had read than a happening of real
life, particularly so as my companion kept pace with me and uttered no
sound save at times a rather rasping sort of breath. The whole thing
became an almost eery experience as we hastened down the storm-swept
street.
Then we turned in at a gate and went up toward the large house I knew
to be Croft's, and the little old woman unlocked a heavy front door
and led me into a hall. It was a most unusual hall, too, its walls
draped with rare tapestries and rugs, its floor covered with other
rugs such as I had never seen outside private collections, lighted by
a hammered brass lantern through the pierced sides of which the rays
of an electric light shone forth.
Across the hall she scuttered, still in evident haste, and flung open
a door to permit me to enter a room which was plainly a study. It was
lined with cases of books, furnished richly yet plainly with chairs, a
heavy desk, and a broad couch, on which I saw in one swift glance the
stretched-out body of Croft himself.
He lay wholly relaxed, like one sunk in heavy sleep, his eyelids
closed, his arms and hands dropped limply at his sides, but no visible
sign of respiration animating his deep full chest.
Toward him the little woman gestured with a hand, and stood watching,
still with her wet shawl about her head and shoulders, while I
approached and bent over the man.
I touched his face and found it cold. My fingers sought his pulse and
failed to find it at all. But his body was limp as I lifted an arm and
dropped it. There was no rigor, yet there was no evidence of decay,
such as must follow once rigor has passed away. I had brought
instruments with me as a matter of course. I took them from my pocket
and listened for some sound from the heart. I thought I found the
barest flutter, but I wasn't sure. I tested the tension of the eyeball
under the closed lids and found it firm. I straightened and turned to
face the little old woman.
"Dead, sir?" she asked in a sibilant whisper. Her eyes were wide in
their sockets. They stared into mine.
I shook my head. "He doesn't appear to be dead," I replied. "See here,
Mrs. Goss, what did you mean by saying he ought to have been back
three days ago? What do you mean by back?"
She fingered at her lips with one bony hand. "Why--awake, sir," she
said at last.
"Then why didn't you say so?" I snapped. "Why use the word back?"
"Because, sir," she faltered, "that's what he says when he wakes up.
'Well, Mary, I'm back.' I--I guess I just said it because he does,
doctor. I--was worrit when he didn't come back--when he didn't wake
up, to-night, an' it took to rainin'. I reckon maybe it was th' storm
scared me, sir."
| 1,337.146661 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 7.
XXIII. THE CHOICE
XXIV. THE VESTRY MEETS
XXV. "RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT!"
XXVI. THE CURRENT OF LIFE
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CHOICE
I
Pondering over Alison's note, he suddenly recalled and verified some
phrases which had struck him that summer on reading Harnack's celebrated
History of Dogma, and around these he framed his reply. "To act as if
faith in eternal life and in the living Christ was the simplest thing in
the world, or a dogma to which one | 1,337.248243 |
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Produced by Sandra Eder, Martin Pettit and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
ALCOHOL AND THE HUMAN BRAIN.
BY
REV. JOSEPH COOK.
NEW YORK:
National Temperance Society and Publication House,
58 READE STREET.
1879.
ALCOHOL AND THE HUMAN BRAIN.
BY REV. JOSEPH COOK.
Cassio's language in Othello is to-day adopted by cool physiological
science: "O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to steal
away their brains! That we should, with joy, revel, pleasure and
applause, transform ourselves into beasts! To be now a sensible man, by
and by a fool, and presently a beast! O strange! Every inordinate cup is
unbless'd, and the ingredient is the devil."--Shakespeare, _Othello_,
Act II., Scene iii.
Central in all the discussion of the influence of intoxicating drink
upon the human brain is the fact that albuminous substances are hardened
by alcohol. I take the white of an egg, and, as you see, turn it out in
a fluid condition into a goblet. The liquid is a viscous, glue-like
substance, largely composed of albumen. It is made up of pretty nearly
the same chemical ingredients that constitute a large part of the brain
and the nervous system, and of many other tissues of the body. Forty per
cent of the matter in the corpuscles of the blood is albumen. I am about
to drench this white of an egg with alcohol. I have never performed this
experiment before, and it may not succeed, but so certain am I that it
will, that I purpose never to put the bottle to my lips and introduce
into my system a fiend to steal away my brain. Edmund Burke, when he
heard William Pitt say in Parliament that England would stand till the
day of judgment, rose and replied; "What I fear is the day of _no_
judgment." When Booth was about to assassinate Lincoln, his courage
failed him, and he rushed away from the theater for an instant into the
nearest restaurant and called for brandy. Harden the brain by drenching
it in alcohol and you harden the moral nature.
If you will fasten your attention on the single fact, that alcohol
hardens this albuminous substance with which I place it in contact, you
will have in that single strategic circumstance an explanation of most
of its ravages upon the blood and nerves and brain. I beg you to notice
that the white of an egg in the goblet does not become hardened by
exposure to the air. I have allowed it to remain exposed for a time, in
order that you may see that there is no legerdemain in this experiment.
[Laughter.] I now pour alcohol upon this albuminous fluid, and if the
result here is what it has been in other cases, I shall pretty soon be
able to show you a very good example of what coagulated albumen is in
the nervous system and blood corpuscles. You will find this white of an
egg gradually so hardened that you can take it out without a fork. I
notice already that a mysterious change in it has begun. A strange
thickening shoots through the fluid mass. This is your moderate
drunkard that I am stirring up now. There is your tippler, a piece of
him, [holding up a portion of the coagulated mass upon the glass
pestle]. The coagulation of the substance of the brain and of the
nervous system goes on. I am stirring up a hard drinker now. The
infinitely subtle laws of chemistry take their course. Here is a man
[holding up a part of the coagulated mass] whose brain is so leathery
that he is a beast, and kicks his wife to death. I am stirring up in
this goblet now the brain of a hardened sot. On this prongless glass
rod, I hold up the large part of the white of an egg which you saw
poured into this glass as a fluid. Here is your man [holding up a larger
mass] who has benumbed his conscience and his reason both, and has begun
to be dangerous to society from the effects of a diseased brain.
Wherever alcohol touches this albuminous substance, it hardens it, and
it does so by absorbing and fixing the water it contains. I dip out of
the goblet now your man in delirium tremens. Here is what was once a
fluid, rolling easily to right and left, and now you have the leathery
brain and the hard heart.
Distortions of blood discs taken from the veins of drunkards have been
shown to you here by the stereopticon and the best microscope in the
United States. All the amazing alterations you saw in the shape, color,
and contents of the blood discs are produced by the affinity of alcohol
for the water in the albuminous portion of the globules.
I am speaking here in the presence of expert chemists. You say I have no
business to know anything about these topics. | 1,337.248484 |
2023-11-16 18:39:21.3275950 | 1,891 | 6 |
Produced by David Widger
SHIP'S COMPANY
By W.W. Jacobs
[Illustration: "Can I 'ave it took off while I eat my bloater, mother?"]
FINE FEATHERS
Mr. Jobson awoke with a Sundayish feeling, probably due to the fact that
it was Bank Holiday. He had been aware, in a dim fashion, of the rising
of Mrs. Jobson some time before, and in a semi-conscious condition had
taken over a large slice of unoccupied territory. He stretched himself
and yawned, and then, by an effort of will, threw off the clothes and
springing out of bed reached for his trousers.
He was an orderly man, and had hung them every night for over twenty
years on the brass knob on his side of the bed. He had hung them there
the night before, and now they had absconded with a pair of red braces
just entering their teens. Instead, on a chair at the foot of the bed
was a collection of garments that made him shudder. With trembling
fingers he turned over a black tailcoat, a white waistcoat, and a pair of
light check trousers. A white shirt, a collar, and tie kept them
company, and, greatest outrage of all, a tall silk hat stood on its own
band-box beside the chair. Mr. Jobson, fingering his bristly chin,
stood: regarding the collection with a wan smile.
"So that's their little game, is it?" he muttered. "Want to make a toff
of me. Where's my clothes got to, I wonder?"
A hasty search satisfied him that they were not in the room, and, pausing
only to drape himself in the counterpane, he made his way into the next.
He passed on to the others, and then, with a growing sense of alarm,
stole softly downstairs and making his way to the shop continued the
search. With the shutters up the place was almost in darkness, and in
spite of his utmost care apples and potatoes rolled on to the floor and
travelled across it in a succession of bumps. Then a sudden turn brought
the scales clattering down.
"Good gracious, Alf!" said a voice. "Whatever are you a-doing of?"
Mr. Jobson turned and eyed his wife, who was standing at the door.
"I'm looking for my clothes, mother," he replied, briefly.
"Clothes!" said Mrs. Jobson, with an obvious attempt at unconcerned
speech. "Clothes! Why, they're on the chair."
"I mean clothes fit for a Christian to wear--fit for a greengrocer to
wear," said Mr. Jobson, raising his voice.
"It was a little surprise for you, dear," said his wife. "Me and Bert
and Gladys and Dorothy 'ave all been saving up for it for ever so long."
"It's very kind of you all," said Mr. Jobson, feebly--"very, but--"
"They've all been doing without things themselves to do it," interjected
his wife. "As for Gladys, I'm sure nobody knows what she's given up."
"Well, if nobody knows, it don't matter," said Mr. Jobson. "As I was
saying, it's very kind of you all, but I can't wear 'em. Where's my
others?"
Mrs. Jobson hesitated.
"Where's my others?" repeated her husband.
"They're being took care of," replied his wife, with spirit. "Aunt
Emma's minding 'em for you--and you know what she is. H'sh! Alf! Alf!
I'm surprised at you!"
Mr. Jobson coughed. "It's the collar, mother," he said at last. "I
ain't wore a collar for over twenty years; not since we was walking out
together. And then I didn't like it."
"More shame for you," said his wife. "I'm sure there's no other
respectable tradesman goes about with a handkerchief knotted round his
neck."
"P'r'aps their skins ain't as tender as what mine is," urged Mr. Jobson;
"and besides, fancy me in a top-'at! Why, I shall be the laughing-stock
of the place."
"Nonsense!" said his wife. "It's only the lower classes what would
laugh, and nobody minds what they think."
Mr. Jobson sighed. "Well, I shall 'ave to go back to bed again, then,"
he said, ruefully. "So long, mother. Hope you have a pleasant time at
the Palace."
He took a reef in the counterpane and with a fair amount of dignity,
considering his appearance, stalked upstairs again and stood gloomily
considering affairs in his bedroom. Ever since Gladys and Dorothy had
been big enough to be objects of interest to the young men of the
neighbourhood the clothes nuisance had been rampant. He peeped through
the window-blind at the bright sunshine outside, and then looked back at
the tumbled bed. A murmur of voices downstairs apprised him that the
conspirators were awaiting the result.
He dressed at last and stood like a lamb--a redfaced, bull-necked lamb--
while Mrs. Jobson fastened his collar for him.
"Bert wanted to get a taller one," she remarked, "but I said this would
do to begin with."
"Wanted it to come over my mouth, I s'pose," said the unfortunate Mr.
Jobson. "Well, 'ave it your own way. Don't mind about me. What with
the trousers and the collar, I couldn't pick up a sovereign if I saw one
in front of me."
"If you see one I'll pick it up for you," said his wife, taking up the
hat and moving towards the door. "Come along!"
Mr. Jobson, with his arms standing out stiffly from his sides and his
head painfully erect, followed her downstairs, and a sudden hush as he
entered the kitchen testified to the effect produced by his appearance.
It was followed by a hum of admiration that sent the blood flying to his
head.
"Why he couldn't have done it before I don't know," said the dutiful
Gladys. "Why, there ain't a man in the street looks a quarter as smart."
"Fits him like a glove!" said Dorothy, walking round him.
"Just the right length," said Bert, scrutinizing the coat.
"And he stands as straight as a soldier," said Gladys, clasping her hands
gleefully.
"Collar," said Mr. Jobson, briefly. "Can I 'ave it took off while I eat
my bloater, mother?"
"Don't be silly, Alf," said his wife. "Gladys, pour your father out a
nice, strong, Pot cup o' tea, and don't forget that the train starts at
ha' past ten."
"It'll start all right when it sees me," observed Mr. Jobson, squinting
down at his trousers.
Mother and children, delighted with the success of their scheme, laughed
applause, and Mr. Jobson somewhat gratified at the success of his retort,
sat down and attacked his breakfast. A short clay pipe, smoked as a
digestive, was impounded by the watchful Mrs. Jobson the moment he had
finished it.
"He'd smoke it along the street if I didn't," she declared.
"And why not?" demanded her husband--always do."
"Not in a top-'at," said Mrs. Jobson, shaking her head at him.
"Or a tail-coat," said Dorothy.
"One would spoil the other," said Gladys.
"I wish something would spoil the hat," said Mr. Jobson, wistfully.
"It's no good; I must smoke, mother."
Mrs. Jobson smiled, and, going to the cupboard, produced, with a smile of
triumph, an envelope containing seven dangerous-looking cigars. Mr.
Jobson whistled, and taking one up examined it carefully.
"What do they call 'em, mother?" he inquired. "The 'Cut and Try Again
Smokes'?"
Mrs. Jobson smiled vaguely. "Me and the girls are going upstairs to get
ready now," she said. "Keep your eye on him, Bert!"
Father and son grinned at each other, and, to pass the time, took a cigar
apiece. They had just finished them when a swish and rustle of skirts
sounded from the stairs, and Mrs | 1,337.347635 |
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Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: _THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI._
Reproduced for our Members through the courtesy of
The Newberry Library, Chicago
This illuminated manuscript represents the work done by French monks
in the early part of the fourteenth century. The border, containing
as it does many grotesque figures scattered through its foliage,
indicates this, as also the style of the faces in the miniature
work. This is taken from one of the many "Book of Hours" and was the
page used for the "Sext Hour," a full description of illuminated
manuscript will be found Part IX, page 101.
"COPYRIGHT BY THE DELPHIAN SOCIETY, CHICAGO"]
THE WORLD'S PROGRESS
WITH ILLUSTRATIVE TEXTS FROM MASTERPIECES OF EGYPTIAN, HEBREW,
GREEK, LATIN, MODERN EUROPEAN AND AMERICAN LITERATURE
FULLY ILLUSTRATED
EDITORIAL STAFF
VERY REV. J. K. BRENNAN Missouri
GISLE BOTHME, M.A. University of Minnesota
CHAS. H. CAFFIN New York
JAMES A. CRAIG, M.A., B.D., PH.D. University of Michigan
MRS. SARAH PLATT DECKER Colorado
ALCEE FORTIER, D.LT. Tulane University
ROSWELL FIELD Chicago
BRUCE G. KINGSLEY Royal College of Organists, England
D. D. LUCKENBILL, A.B., PH.D. University of Chicago
KENNETH MCKENZIE, PH.D. Yale University
FRANK B. MARSH, PH.D. University of Texas
DR. HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE New York
W. A. MERRILL, PH.D., L.H.D. University of California
T. M. PARROTT, PH.D. Princeton University
GRANT SHOWERMAN, PH.D. University of Wisconsin
H. C. TOLMAN, PH.D., D.D. Vanderbilt University
I. E. WING, M.A. Michigan
VOL. I
THE DELPHIAN SOCIETY
COPYRIGHT 1913
BY
THE DELPHIAN SOCIETY
CHICAGO
COMPOSITION, ELECTROTYPING, PRINTING
AND BINDING BY THE
W. B. CONKEY COMPANY
HAMMOND, INDIANA
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PART I.
PAGE
The Delphian Course of Reading VIII
Prehistoric Man; Customs and Occupations. Dawn of Civilization XIV
EGYPT.
Prefatory Chapter 13
CHAPTER I.
Its Antiquity; Story of Joseph, Physical Geography, Prehistoric
Egypt 20
CHAPTER II.
Sources of Egyptian History; Herodotus' Account of Egypt 31
CHAPTER III.
Pyramid Age; Early Egyptian Kings; Construction of Pyramids 37
CHAPTER IV.
Age of Darkness; Middle Empire; Reigns of Amenemhet I. and III.;
Description of Labyrinth 43
CHAPTER V.
Egypt under the Shepherd Kings; Beginning of the New Empire;
Conquests of Thutmose I. 51
CHAPTER VI.
First Egyptian Queen; Temple of Hatshepsut; Expedition to Punt 57
CHAPTER VII.
Military Kings; Hymn of Victory; Worship of the Solar Disk;
Temple of Karnak 64
CHAPTER VIII.
Nineteenth Dynasty; Egypt under Ramses the Great; Twentieth
Dynasty; Priest Rule; Ethiopian Kings 72
CHAPTER IX.
Social Life in Egypt; Houses, Dress, Family Life 85
CHAPTER X.
Sports and Recreations 96
CHAPTER XI.
Agriculture and Cattle Raising; Arts and Crafts; Egyptian Markets;
Military Affairs 100
CHAPTER XII.
Schools and Education; Egyptian Literature 112
CHAPTER XIII.
Religion of Ancient Egypt; Hymn to the Nile; Egyptian Temples and
Ceremonies 119
CHAPTER XIV.
Art and Decoration 133
CHAPTER XV.
Tombs and Burial Customs 138
CHAPTER XVI.
Excavations in Egypt; Discoveries of W. M. Flinders Petrie 144
_Descriptions of Egypt._
Description of the Nile 153
Feast of Neith 155
Karnak 159
Memphis 161
Hymn to the God Ra 163
_Egyptian Literature._
An Old Kingdom Book of Proverbs 164
The Voyage of the Soul 168
The Adventures of the Exile Sanehat 171
The Song of | 1,337.354633 |
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Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
DOT AND THE KANGAROO
by
Ethel C. Pedley
To the
children of Australia
in the hope of enlisting their sympathies
for the many
beautiful, amiable, and frolicsome creatures
of their fair land,
whose extinction, through ruthless destruction,
is being surely accomplished
CHAPTER I.
Little Dot had lost her way in the bush. She knew it, and was very
frightened. She was too frightened in fact to cry, but stood in the
middle of a little dry, bare space, looking around her at the scraggy
growths of prickly shrubs that had torn her little dress to rags,
scratched her bare legs and feet till they bled, and pricked her hands
and arms as she had pushed madly through the bushes, for hours, seeking
her home. Sometimes she looked up to the sky. But little of it could
be seen because of the great tall trees that seemed to her to be trying
to reach heaven with their far-off crooked branches. She could see
little patches of blue sky between the tangled tufts of her way in the
and was very drooping leaves, and, as the dazzling sunlight had faded,
she began to think it was getting late, and that very soon it would be
night.
The thought of being lost and alone in the wild bush at night, took her
breath away with fear, and made her tired little legs tremble under
her. She gave up all hope of finding her home, and sat down at the foot
of the biggest blackbutt tree, with her face buried in her hands and
knees, and thought of all that had happened, and what might happen yet.
It seemed such a long, long time since her mother had told her that she
might gather some bush flowers while she cooked the dinner, and Dot
recollected how she was bid not to go out of sight of the cottage. How
she wished now she had remembered this sooner! But whilst she was
picking the pretty flowers, a hare suddenly started at her feet and
sprang away into the bush, and she had run after it. When she found
that she could not catch the hare, she discovered that she could no
longer see the cottage. After wandering for a while she got frightened
and ran, and ran, little knowing that she was going further away from
her home at every step.
Where she was sitting under the blackbutt tree, she was miles away from
her father's selection, and it would be very difficult for anyone to
find her. She felt that she was a long way off, and she began to think
of what was happening at home. She remembered how, not very long ago,
a neighbour's little boy had been lost, and how his mother had come to
their cottage for help to find him, and that her father had ridden off
on the big bay horse to bring men from all the selections around to
help in the search. She remembered their coming back in the darkness;
numbers of strange men she had never seen before. Old men, young men,
and boys, all on their rough-coated horses, and how they came indoors,
and what a noise they made all talking together in their big deep
voices. They looked terrible men, so tall and brown and fierce, with
their rough bristly beards; and they all spoke in such funny tones to
her, as if they were trying to make their voices small.
During many days, these men came and went, and every time they were
more sad, and less noisy. The little boy's mother used to come and
stay, crying, whilst the men were searching the bush for her little
son. Then, one evening, Dot's father came home alone, and both her
mother and the little boy's mother went away in a great hurry. Then,
very late, her mother came back crying, and her father sat smoking by
the fire looking very sad, and she never saw that little boy again,
although he had been found.
She wondered now if all these rough, big men were riding into the bush
to find her, and if, after many days, they would find her, and no one
ever see her again. She seemed to see her mother crying, and her
father very sad, and all the men very solemn. These thoughts made her
so miserable that she began to cry herself.
Dot does not know how long she was sobbing in loneliness and fear, with
her head on her knees, and with her little hands covering her eyes so
as not to see the cruel wild bush in which she was lost. It seemed a
long time before she summoned up courage to uncover her weeping eyes,
and look once more at the bare, dry earth, and the wilderness of scrub
and trees that seemed to close her in as if she were in a prison. When
she did look up, she was surprised to see that she was no longer alone.
She forgot all her trouble and fear in her astonishment at seeing a big
grey Kangaroo squatting quite close to her, in front of her.
What was most surprising was the fact that the Kangaroo evidently
understood that Dot was in trouble, and was sorry for her; for down the
animal's nice soft grey muzzle two tiny little tears were slowly
trickling. When Dot looked up at it with wonder in her round blue eyes,
the Kangaroo did not jump away, but remained gazing sympathetically at
Dot with a slightly puzzled air. Suddenly the big animal seemed to
have an idea, and it lightly hopped off into the scrub, where Dot could
just see it bobbing up and down as if it were hunting for something.
Presently back came the strange Kangaroo with a spray of berries in her
funny black hands. They were pretty berries. Some were green, some
were red, some blue, and others white. Dot was quite glad to take them
when the Kangaroo offered them to her; and as this friendly animal
seemed to wish her to eat them, she did so gladly, because she was
beginning to feel hungry.
After she had eaten a few berries a very strange thing happened. While
Dot had been alone in the bush it had all seemed so dreadfully still.
There had been no sound but the gentle stir of a light, fitful breeze
in the far-away tree-tops. All around had been so quiet, that her
loneliness had seemed twenty times more lonely. Now, however, under
the influence of these small, sweet berries, Dot was surprised to hear
voices everywhere. At first it seemed like hearing sounds in a dream,
they were so faint and distant, but soon the talking grew nearer and
nearer, louder and clearer, until the whole bush seemed filled with
talking.
They were all little voices, some indeed quite tiny whispers and
squeaks, but they were very numerous, and seemed to be everywhere.
They came from the earth, from the bushes, from the trees, and from the
very air. The little girl looked round to see where they came from,
but everything looked just the same. Hundreds of ants, of all kinds
and sizes, were hurrying to their nests; a few lizards were scuttling
about amongst the dry twigs and sparse grasses; there were some
grasshoppers, and in the trees birds fluttered to and fro. Then Dot
knew that she was hearing, and understanding, everything that was being
said by all the insects and creatures in the bush.
All this time the Kangaroo had been speaking, only Dot had been too
surprised to listen. But now the gentle, soft voice of the kind animal
caught her attention, and she found the Kangaroo was in the middle of a
speech.
"I understood what was the matter with you at once," she was saying,
"for I feel just the same myself. I have been miserable, like you,
ever since I lost my baby Kangaroo. You also must have lost something.
Tell me what it is?"
"I've lost my way," said Dot; rather wondering if the Kangaroo would
nderstand her.
"Ah!" said the Kangaroo, quite delighted at her own cleverness, "I knew
you had lost something! Isn't it a dreadful feeling? You feel as if
you had no inside, don't you? And you're not inclined to eat
anything--not even the youngest grass. I have been like that ever
since I lost my baby Kangaroo. Now tell me," said the creature
confidentially, "what your way is like. I may be able to find it for
you."
Dot found that she must explain what she meant by saying she had "lost
her way," and the Kangaroo was much interested.
"Well," said she, after listening to the little girl, "that is just
like you Humans; you are not fit for this country at all! Of course,
if you have only one home in one place, you must lose it! If you made
your home everywhere and anywhere, it would never be lost. Humans are
no good in our bush," she continued. "Just look at yourself now. How
do you compare with a Kangaroo? There is your ridiculous sham coat.
Well, you have lost bits of it all the way you have come to-day, and
you're nearly left in your bare skin. Now look at my coat. I've done
ever so much more hopping than you to-day, and you see I'm none the
worse. I wonder why all your fur grows upon the top of your head," she
said reflectively, as she looked curiously at Dot's long flaxen curls.
"It's such a silly place to have one's fur the thickest! You see, we
have very little there; for we don't want our heads made any hotter
under the Australian sun. See how much better off you would be, now
that nearly all your sham coat is gone, if that useless fur had been
chopped into little, short lengths and spread all over your poor bare
body. I wonder why you Humans are made so badly," she ended, with a
puzzled air.
Dot felt for a moment as if she ought to apologise for being so unfit
for the bush, and for having all the fur on the top of her head. But,
somehow, she had an idea that a little girl must be something better
than a kangaroo, although the Kangaroo certainly seemed a very superior
person; so she said nothing, but again began to eat the berries.
"You must not eat any more of these berries," said the Kangaroo,
anxiously.
"Why?" asked Dot, "they are very nice, and I'm very hungry."
The Kangaroo gently took the spray out of Dot's hand, and threw it
away. "You see," she said, "if you eat too many of them, you'll know
too much."
"One can't know too much," argued the little girl.
"Yes you can, though," said the Kangaroo, quickly. "If you eat too
many of those berries, you'll learn too much, and that gives you
indigestion, and then you become miserable. I don't want you to be
miserable any more, for I'm going to find your lost way."
The mention of finding her way reminded the little girl of her sad
position, which, in her wonder at talking with the Kangaroo, had been
quite forgotten for a little while. She became sad again; and seeing
how dim the light was getting, her thoughts went back to her parents.
She longed to be with them to be kissed and cuddled, and her blue eyes
filled with tears.
"Your eyes just now remind me of two fringed violets, with the morning
dew on them, or after a shower," said the Kangaroo. "Why are you
crying?"
"I was thinking," said Dot.
"Oh! don't think!" pleaded the Kangaroo; "I never do myself."
"I can't help it!" explained the little girl. "What do you do
instead?" she asked.
"I always jump to conclusions," said the Kangaroo, and she promptly
bounded ten feet at one hop. Lightly springing back again to her
position in front of the child, she added, "and that's why I never have
a headache."
"Dear Kangaroo," said Dot, "do you know where I can get some water?
I'm very thirsty!"
"Of course you are," said her friend; "everyone is at sundown. I'm
thirsty myself. But the nearest water-hole is a longish way off, so we
had better start at once."
Little Dot got up with an effort. After her long run and fatigue, she
was very stiff, and her little legs were so tired and weak, that after
a few steps she staggered and fell.
The Kangaroo looked at the child compassionately. "Poor little Human,"
she said, "your legs aren't much good, and, for the life of me, I don't
understand how you can expect to get along without a tail. The
water-hole is a good way off," she added, with a sigh, as she looked
down at Dot, lying on the ground, and she was very puzzled what to do.
But suddenly she brightened up. "I have an idea," she said joyfully.
"Just step into my pouch, and I'll hop you down to the water-hole in
less time than it takes a locust to shrill."
Timidly and carefully, Dot did the Kangaroo's bidding, and found
herself in the cosiest, softest little bag imaginable. The Kangaroo
seemed overjoyed when Dot was comfortably settled in her pouch. "I
feel as if I had my dear baby kangaroo again!" she exclaimed; and
immediately she bounded away through the tangled scrub, over stones and
bushes, over dry water-courses and great fallen trees. All Dot felt
was a gentle rocking motion, and a fresh breeze in her face, which made
her so cheerful that she sang this song:--
If you want to go quick,
I will tell you a trick
For the bush, where there isn't a train.
With a hulla-buloo,
Hail a big kangaroo--
But be sure that your weight she'll sustain--
Then with hop, and with skip,
She will take you a trip
With the speed of the very best steed;
And, this is a truth for which I can vouch,
There's no carriage can equal a kangaroo's pouch.
Oh! where is a friend so strong and true
As a dear big, bounding kangaroo?
"Good bye! Good bye!"
The lizards all cry,
Each drying its eyes with its tail.
"Adieu! Adieu!
Dear kangaroo!"
The scared little grasshoppers wail.
"They're going express
To a distant address,"
Says the bandicoot, ready to scoot;
And your path is well cleared for your progress, I vouch,
When you ride through the bush in a kangaroo's pouch.
Oh! where is a friend so strong and true
As a dear big, bounding kangaroo?
"Away and away!"
You will certainly say,
"To the end of the furthest blue--
To the verge of the sky,
And the far hills high,
O take me with thee, kangaroo!
We will seek for the end,
Where the broad plains tend,
E'en as far as the evening star.
Why, the end of the world we can reach, I vouch,
Dear kangaroo, with me in your pouch."
Oh! where is a friend so strong and true
As a dear big, bounding kangaroo?
CHAPTER II.
"That is a nice song of yours." said the Kangaroo, "and I like it very
much, but please stop singing now, as we are getting near the
waterhole, for it's not etiquette to make a noise near water at
sundown."
Dot would have asked why everything must be so quiet; but as she peeped
out, she saw that the Kangaroo was making a very dangerous descent, and
she did not like to trouble her friend with questions just then. They
seemed to be going down to a great deep gully that looked almost like a
hole in the earth, the depth was so great, and the hills around came so
closely together. The way the Kangaroo was hopping was like going down
the side of a wall. Huge rocks were tumbled about here and there.
Some looked as if they would come rolling down upon them; and others
appeared as if a little jolt would send them crashing and tumbling into
the darkness below. Where the Kangaroo found room to land on its feet
after each bound puzzled Dot, for there seemed no foothold anywhere.
It all looked so dangerous to the little girl that she shut her eyes,
so as not to see the terrible places they bounded over, or rested on:
she felt sure that the Kangaroo must lose her balance, or hop just a
little too far or a little too near, and that they would fall together
over the side of that terrible wild cliff. At last she said:
"Oh, Kangaroo, shall we get safely to the bottom do you think?"
"I never think," said the Kangaroo, "but I know we shall. This is the
easiest way. If I went through the thick bush on the other side, I
should stand a chance of running my head against a tree at every leap,
unless I got a stiff neck with holding my head on one side looking out
of one eye all the time. My nose gets in the way when I look straight
in front," she explained. "Don't be afraid," she continued, "I know
every jump of the way. We kangaroos have gone this way ever since
Australia began to have kangaroos. Look here!" she said, pausing on a
big boulder that hung right over the gully, " | 1,337.446097 |
2023-11-16 18:39:21.4268510 | 7,394 | 79 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by The Internet Archive
LINCOLN IN CARICATURE
By Rufus Rockwell Wilson
Author Of "Washington: The Capital City"
Illustrated With Thirty-two Plates
Printed For Private Distribution
1903
[Illustration: titlepage]
LINCOLN IN CARICATURE
[Illustration: 000] (Illustrated cap)
INCOLN in caricature is a phase of the career of the great war President
that has thus far lacked adequate treatment. Yet he was the most
bitterly assailed and savagely cartooned public man of his time, and one
has only to search the newspapers and periodicals of that period to find
striking confirmation of this fact. The attitude of Great Britain toward
the Union and its President was then one of cynical and scarcely veiled
hostility, and nowhere were the sentiments of the English government
and of the English masses more faithfully reflected than in the cartoons
which appeared in London _Punch_ between 1861 and 1865, many of which
had Lincoln for their central figure. He was also frequently cartooned
in _Vanity Fair_ the American counterpart of _Punch_; in _Frank Leslie's
Illustrated Newspaper_, and in _Harper's Weekly_. Indeed, nowhere were
the changing sentiments of the people of the North, their likes and
dislikes, their alternates hopes and fears, their hasty, often unjust
judgments of men and measures, more vividly reflected than in the
cartoons dealing with Lincoln which appeared in the last named journal
during the epoch-making days of his Presidency. Thus the thirty-two
plates from these sources here brought together have a value and
interest already important and sure to increase with the passage of
time, for they reflect with unconscious vividness, and as nothing else
can do, the life and color of an historic era, and how his fellows
regarded the grandest figure of that era. It is with their value
as human documents in mind that they have been rescued from their
half-forgotten hiding places, and assembled in chronological sequence,
with such comment as may be necessary to make their purpose and meaning
clear to older men, whose memory may have grown dim, as well as to the
new generation that has come upon the stage in the eight and thirty
years that have elapsed since the close of the Civil War.
[Illustration: 001]
|Plate Number One--This cartoon, "Lincoln a la Blondin," which appeared
in _Harper's Weekly_, on August 25, 1860, seems to have been suggested
by Blondin's crossing of Niagara on a tight rope with a man on his
back--an event then fresh in the public mind. It also recalls an
interesting phase of Lincoln's first campaign for the Presidency, which
had its origin in a characteristic incident of the candidate's earlier
years. It was in March, 1830, that Lincoln, at that time a youth of
twenty-one, removed with his father and family from Indiana to Illinois,
locating on the bluffs of the Sangamon River about ten miles from
Decatur. There he and his kinsman, John Hanks, built a hewed log house,
and broke fifteen acres of prairie sod with the two yoke of oxen they
had driven from Indiana. They then felled the trees, cut off the logs,
and with mauls and wedges split the rails to fence in the land they had
broken. The following winter, the winter of the "deep snow" as it
was known in Illinois, Lincoln alone made three thousand rails for a
neighbor, walking three miles each day to do it. The Republican state
convention of Illinois assembled at Decatur on May 9, 1860, and the
first act of its chairman was to invite Lincoln, who was modestly seated
in the body of the hall, to a seat upon the platform. An eye-witness
describes the scene that followed as one of tumultuous enthusiasm. No
way could be made through the shouting throng, and Lincoln was borne
bodily, over their heads and shoulders, to the place of honor. Quiet
restored, the chairman again arose and said:
"There is an old Democrat outside who has something he wishes to present
to this convention."
Then the door of the hall swung open, and a sturdy old man marched in,
shouldering two fence-rails, surmounted by a banner inscribed, in large
letters:
"Two rails from a lot made by Abraham Lincoln and John Hanks in the
Sangamon Bottom, in the year 1830."
The bearer was John Hanks himself, and he had come to do his part in
making his old friend President. "It was an historic scene and
moment. In an instant Lincoln, the rail-splitter, was accepted as the
representative of the working man and the type and embodiment of
the American idea of human freedom and possible human elevation. The
applause was deafening. But it was something more than mere applause,"
for there was no opposition afterwards, to a resolution that declared
Lincoln to be the first choice of the Republicans of Illinois for
President, and instructed the delegates to the national convention to
cast the vote of the State as a unit for him. It is a part of history
how the tidal wave of enthusiasm behind this resolution swept from
Decatur to Chicago, and thence over the country.
[Illustration: 002]
|Plate Number Two--This cartoon, "The Inside Track," published in _Vanity Fair_, on March
2, 1861, has for its motive the popular doubt and incertitude attending
the make-up of the Cabinet and the policy of the new Administration
toward the South. The President-elect is shown, with a doubtful
expression on his face, flanked on either side by Thurlow Weed, who is
drawn to represent a western river gambler of the period, and William
H. Seward, while Horace Greeley, their sworn political foe, thrusts his
head through the door in time to hear Weed remark impressively:
"Trust to my friend Seward--trust to us. We'll compromise this little
difficulty for you. But trust to us. Gentlemen from the country are
often swindled by unprincipled sharpers. Trust to us." Seward, as we
know, became Lincoln's Secretary of State, and Weed one of his trusted
advisers, while the editor of the _Tribune_ remained until the end a
thorn in the side of the President.
[Illustration: 003]
|Plate Number Three--This cartoon, "The Flight of Abraham," published
in _Harper's Weekly_, on March 9, 1861, holds up to ridicule Lincoln's
memorable secret journey from Harrisburg to Washington, but its
point-of-view is a mistaken one. Lincoln's advisers had good grounds
for believing that there existed a plot to murder him during his passage
through Baltimore, and every consideration forbade needless risk. The
trip across Maryland was, therefore, made suddenly and in private, but
there was no attempt at personal disguise, as the cartoon infers, nor
any undignified concealment on the part of Lincoln or the friends who
accompanied him.
[Illustration: 004]
|Plate Number Four--This cartoon "Winding Off the Tangled Skein,"
published in _Harper's Weekly_, on March 30, 1861, recalls the days of
doubt and waiting which preceded the firing on Sumter and the first call
for troops.
[Illustration: 005]
|Plate Number Five--This cartoon, "The Spirit of '76," published in
_Vanity Fair_, on May 4, 1861, breathes the spirit which prompted the
great uprising of the North when the truth was brought home to its
people that a war between the sections was not to be avoided. It
shows the President watering a flower bed with the "Spirit of '76," and
remarking to Columbia, who watches his work: "Ain't there a nice crop!
There's the hardy Bunker Hill flower, the Seventh Regiment pink, the
firebug tulip. That tri- flower grows near Independence Hall. The
western blossoms and prairie flowers will soon begin to shoot."
"What charming plant is this?" asks Columbia, pointing to a miniature
gallows.
"That is rare in this country," answers the President. "It will blossom
soon and bear the Jeffersonia Davisiana."
[Illustration: 006]
|Plate Number Six--This cartoon, "The Situation," published in _Harper's
Weekly_, on July 13, 1861, reminds one that the advocates of compromise
were numerous and noisy until well toward the close of the war. Here
Lincoln is depicted as a constable in the act of arresting Davis. "I've
got you now, Jeff," are his words as he lays hold of his prisoner.
"Guess you have," is the reply of Davis. "Well, now let us compromise."
[Illustration: 007]
|Plate Number Seven--This cartoon, "Got the Right Weapon at Last,"
published in _Harper's Weekly_, on October 19, 1861, has for its subject
the first of the national loans which assured a successful prosecution
of the greatest war in history. Jay Cooke, who still lives, was the
agent through whose patriotic and sagacious efforts most of these loans
found takers, and he it was to whom Grant, in the closing days of the
war, sent this message: "Tell him for me that it is to him more than to
any other man that our people will be indebted for the continued life of
the nation."
[Illustration: 008]
|Plate Number Eight--This cartoon, without title, published in _Vanity
Fair_, on November 16, 1861, has for its subject the Union's relations
with foreign powers. It depicts the President, guarding with sword
and cannon a pond filled with trout (the Confederacy) in which three
boys--England, France and Spain--are anxious to cast their lines. "Boys,
I reckon I wouldn't," is his significant comment.
[Illustration: 009]
|Plate Number Nine--This cartoon, "Up a Tree--Colonel Bull and the Yankee
<DW53>," was published in _Punch_ on January 11, 1862. The artist, whose
point-of-view is one of contemptuous ridicule, inspired by the Mason and
Slidell incident, and having in mind Davy Crockett's familiar story
of Colonel Scott and the <DW53>, depicts that animal with the head of
Lincoln, crouched on the limb of a friendly tree, and gazing furtively
down on John Bull, armed with a blunderbuss and about to fire, whereat
the following dialogue ensues:
<DW53>--"Air you in arnest, Colonel?"
Colonel Bull--"I am."
<DW53>--"Don't fire--I'll come down."
[Illustration: 010]
|Plate Number Ten--This cartoon, "Sinbad Lincoln and the Old Man of the
Sea," published in _Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper_, on May 3,
1862, shows the President as Sinbad carrying on his shoulders the Old
Man of the Sea--Gideon Welles, whose course as Secretary of the Navy was
then the cause of much ill-natured comment. We had no navy when the war
began, and Welles had to create one. His way of doing it provoked much
opposition, but he had always the confidence of the President, and so
good a judge as the late Charles A. Dana has told us that though "there
was no noise in the street when he went along, he was a wise, strong
man, who understood his duty, and who was patient, laborious and
intelligent at his task." The generous growth of hair which the artist
has given Welles was not his own. Instead he wore a wig, which was
parted in the middle, the hair falling down on each side, and it was,
perhaps, from his peculiar appearance that the idea originated that he
was old-fashioned in his methods.
[Illustration: 011]
|Plate Number Eleven--This cartoon, "The New Orleans Plum," published in
_Punch_ on May 24, 1862, deals with the capture of that city, and with
it the mouth of the Mississippi--one of the first decisive victories of
the war. The artist, borrowing from the old nursery tale, showed Lincoln
seated in a corner and plucking a plum from the generous pudding in his
lap. Possibly for fear that his design might not be perfectly clear to
the British mind, the artist appended to it the legend: "Big Lincoln
Horner, up in a corner, thinking of humble pie, found under his thumb, a
New Orleans plum, and said,'What a cute Yankee am I!'"
[Illustration: 012]
|Plate Number Twelve--This cartoon, "The Latest from America," published
in _Punch_ on July 26, 1862, aims to make light of the war news sent
out from New York at that time. The President is represented as a
bartender, standing behind a bar on which are bottles inscribed
"Bunkum," "Bosh" and "Brag," and shifting a concoction labelled "The New
York Press" from the glass of Victory to that of Defeat.
[Illustration: 013]
|Plate Number Thirteen--This cartoon, "The Overdue Bill," published in
_Punch_, on September 27, 1862, has for its motive the Union's crying
need of men and money. The President is shown seated at a desk, with
hands, as usual, thrust into his pockets, glancing discomfitedly at
a paper inscribed "I promise to subdue the South in ninety days--A.
Lincoln," held out to him by a Confederate soldier, who says "Your
ninety days' promissory note isn't taken up yet, sirree!" It would
have been more fitting to have made Seward the central figure in this
cartoon, for it was Lincoln's Secretary of State, and not the President
himself, who was loudest in proclaiming that the war would end in three
months. It is worth recording that Seward when questioned in after years
by a friend as to the reasons which prompted this famous prediction
of his, at first declined to give an answer, but finally said that he
believed at the time that if the South did not give in within ninety
days the North would.
[Illustration: 014]
|Plate Number Fourteen--This cartoon, "What will He do with Them?"
published in _Vanity Fair_, on October 4, 1862, heralds the forthcoming
Emancipation Proclamation, the President being pictured as a vagrom
bird-peddler, whom an absence of customers impels to the remark: "Darn
these here black-birds. If nobody won't buy'em I'll have to open the
cages and let'em fly." This design recalls an historic Cabinet meeting
held on the Saturday following the battle of Antietam, which cut short
Lee's invasion of the North and compelled him to recross the Potomac.
The members of the Cabinet were summoned, on this occasion, not to give
advice but to hear a decision. The President told them that the hour for
delay had passed, and that the time had come to make the emancipation of
the slaves the declared policy of the Administration. Public sentiment
would now sustain it. A strong and outspoken popular voice demanded it,
and the demand came from the best friends of the government. "And I have
promised my God that I would do it," added the President, reverently and
in a low voice. "Did I understand you correctly, Mr. President?"
asked Secretary Chase, who had heard but indistinctly the low-voiced
utterance. "I made a solemn vow, before God," was the answer, "that if
General Lee should be driven back from Pennsylvania, I would crown the
result by the declaration of freedom to the slaves." And he did.
[Illustration: 015]
|Plate Number Fifteen--This cartoon, "Lincoln's Last Warning," published
in _Harper's Weekly_, on October 11, 1862, also deals with the subject
of emancipation. The President is depicted about to apply the axe to the
tree of slavery, and saying to Davis, who is crouching in its branches:
"If you don't come down, I'll cut the tree from under you."
[Illustration: 016]
|Plate Number Sixteen--This cartoon, "Keep on the Track," published in
_Vanity Fair_, on November 22, 1862, has to do with the result of the
congressional elections of that year. Here the President is made to do
duty as a locomotive engineer and to remark to his fireman (Secretary
Seward), who is staggering under a load of fagots, each inscribed
"Democratic Majority:" "I've got the right fuel now and I guess I can
keep her steady. Chuck in more, William."
[Illustration: 017]
|Plate Number Seventeen--This cartoon, without title, published in
_Harper's Weekly_, on January 3, 1863, was prompted by the fearful
Union slaughter at Fredericksburg. Columbia confronts the President and
demands an accounting for the thousands slain in that conflict. "This
reminds me of a little joke," Lincoln is made to say. "Go," is the angry
rejoinder, "tell your joke at Springfield." Which calls to mind a story
told the writer by the late Governor Curtin of Pennsylvania. It was
after the battle of Fredericksburg, and Governor Curtin had gone to the
front to look after his State's dead and wounded in person. While
thus engaged he received a telegram from Lincoln bidding him come to
Washington. He responded at once, and reaching the White House late in
the evening found that the President had retired. Seated by the latter's
bedside, he told what he had seen. "It was not a battle," said he; "it
was, a slaughter. Many of the wounded have received no attention, and
thousands of the dead are still unburied. From the bottom of my heart,
Mr. President, I wish we could find some way of ending this war."
Lincoln listened patiently, but with manifest anxiety, to the Governor's
statement. When it was finished, he said:
"Curtin, it's a big job we've got on hand. It reminds me of what once
happened to the son of a friend of mine out in Illinois. There was an
apple-tree in the old man's orchard of which he was especially choice,
and one day in the fall his two boys, John and Jim, went out to gather
the apples from this tree. John climbed the tree to shake the fruit
off, while Jim remained below to gather it as it fell. There was a boar
grubbing in the orchard, and seeing what was going on, it waddled up
to the tree and began to eat the falling apples faster than Jim could
gather them from the ground. This roiled Jim, and catching the boar by
the tail he pulled vigorously, whereat the latter, with an angry squeal,
began to snap at his legs. Afraid to let go, Jim held on for dear life,
until finally, growing weary, he called to his brother to help him.
John, from the top of the tree, asked what was wanted.'I want you,' said
Jim, between the rushes of the boar,'to come down here and help me to
let go of this darned hog's tail.' And Curtin," added the President,
"that's just what I want of you and the rest: I want you to pitch in and
help me let go of the hog's tail I have got hold of."
Before beginning this story Lincoln had been deeply depressed. When
it was finished he laughed as heartily as did his auditor, and seemed
instantly to recover his wonted spirits. "Pardon me, Mr. President,"
said the Governor, prompted by this change of mood, "but is not this
story-telling habit of yours a sort of safety valve for you?"
"You have hit it, Curtin," was the quick reply. "If I could not tell
these stories I think I should die."
[Illustration: 018]
|Plate Number Eighteen--This cartoon, published in _Harper's Weekly_,
on January 10, 1863, also reflects the resentment provoked by the
Fredericksburg fiasco, for which General Halleck and Secretary Stanton
were at first held responsible in the popular mind. Lincoln is shown
holding these officials over the side of the Ship of State. "Universal
Advice to Abraham--Drop'Em," was the significant legend appended to this
cartoon.
[Illustration: 019]
|Plate Number Nineteen--This cartoon, "Scene from the American Tempest,"
published in _Punch_, on January 24, 1863, was prompted by the final
Proclamation of Emancipation, issued on the first day of that year. The
President, clad in the uniform of a Union soldier, hands a copy of his
proclamation to a grinning <DW64>, who points to a glowering Confederate
in his rear and says: "You beat him'nough, Massa! Berry little time,
I'll beat him too."
[Illustration: 020]
|Plate Number Twenty--This cartoon, without title, was published in
_Harper's Weekly_, on May 16, 1863. It deals with the underlying cause
of England's unfriendly attitude toward the Union--the sudden shutting
off of the supply of raw material for her cotton mills. Lincoln leans on
a cannon and confronts John Bull in plaintive mood. "Hi want my cotton
bought at fi'pence a pound," pleads the Briton. "Don't know anything
about it, my dear sir," is the curt reply. "Your friends the rebels
are burning all the cotton they find, and I confiscate the rest. Good
morning, John."
[Illustration: 021]
|Plate Number Twenty-one--This cartoon, "Right at last," was published
in _Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper_, on June 13, 1863. Grant was
still hammering at the defences of Vicksburg, with the outcome of
his campaign in doubt, and the people of the North impatient and
distrustful. The editor of the _Tribune_ was especially earnest and
insistent in the demand that his work should be given into other hands.
The President, who holds in his hand a broom bearing Grant's name, is
made to say: "Greeley be hanged! I want no more new brooms. I begin to
think that the worst thing about my old ones was in not being handled
right."
[Illustration: 022]
|Plate Number Twenty-two--This cartoon, without title, was published in
_Vanity Fair_, on July 4, 1863. When Lee invaded Pennsylvania to meet
defeat at Gettysburg, the President called upon the States of New York,
Pennsylvania, Maryland and West Virginia, for 120,000 men, for temporary
use, and they were promptly supplied him. The design under review, in
happy keeping with the day upon which it was issued, showed Lincoln
holding aloft a flag and calling for volunteers, who are flocking to
him from every side. This was the last time he was cartooned in _Vanity
Fair_. A week later that journal ceased to exist.
[Illustration: 023]
|Plate Number Twenty-three--This cartoon, "Rowdy Notions of
Emancipation," published in _Punch_, on August 8, 1863, has for its
subject the lamentable draft riots in New York City. A gang of rioters
are shown beating one <DW64> and another lies prostrate on the ground,
while President Lincoln stands at one side, dismayed but apparently
unwilling to put an end to the foul work going on at his elbow. Here
_Punch's_ artist is once more needlessly and manifestly unjust, for if
any one deserved censure for the excesses of the draft riots, Horatio
Seymour, then Governor of New York, not Lincoln, was the man upon whom
the whip should have fallen.
[Illustration: 024]
|Plate Number Twenty-four--This cartoon, "Extremes Meet," was published
in _Punch_, on October 24, 1868. The Polish insurrection was then in
progress, and the American President and the Russian Czar are depicted
triumphantly clasping hands in the foreground of an impressive picture
of rapine and desolation. The result sought by the artist is made clear
in the appended dialogue:
_Abe_--Imperial son of Nicholas the Great,
We air in the same fix, I calculate,
You with your Poles, with Southern rebels, I,
Who spurn my rule and my revenge defy.
_Alex_--Vengeance is mine, old man; see where it falls.
Behold yon hearths laid waste, and ruined walls,
Yon gibbets, where the struggling patriot hangs,
Whilst my brave myrmidons enjoy his pangs.
The Polish insurrection, then in progress, furnishes the motive of this
cartoon, which serves to recall the good will shown by Russia for
the Union, when it stood without other friends among the nations. How
substantial was this good will furnishes the cue to a chapter in our
history which yet remains to be written. A part of this chapter
the writer once had from the lips of the late Simon Cameron, of
Pennsylvania. Just before General Cameron went to Russia as American
Minister in the early part of 1862 he was charged with a secret
commission. He was directed, upon the presentation of his letters to
the Russian Chancellor in St. Petersburg, to say that President Lincoln
asked that the Minister might have a personal and confidential interview
with the Czar. If this was accorded he should say to the Czar that the
President was troubled about the possibility of interference by England
or France in behalf of the Confederacy, and that if the friendship of
Russia was such as to justify the monarch in conveying, confidentially,
any intimation of his feelings and attitude in such a contingency, the
President would be grateful. The interview was accorded, the message
was delivered and the answer was cordial, and in about these words: "The
friendship of Russia for the United States has long continued, and
is such as to justify the President's request. The reply of Russia is
ready. You will convey to Mr. Lincoln my personal regards, and say that
the danger of interference by any European nation is exceedingly remote;
but in that improbable contingency, or upon the appearance of real
danger of it, the friendship of Russia for the United States will be
made known in a decisive manner, which no other nation will be able to
mistake."
This message was duly reported to the President. How the Czar kept his
promise came out in an interview which he granted in 1879 to Wharton
Barker, for many years Russian financial agent in America. He said to
Barker: "In the autumn of 1862 France and England proposed to Russia
in formal (but not in official) way, the joint recognition by European
nations of the independence of the Confederate States. My immediate
answer was:'I will not cooperate in such action, and I will not
acquiesce; but, on the contrary, I shall accept recognition of the
independence of the Confederate States as a _casus belli_ for Russia,
and that the governments of France and England may understand that this
is no idle threat, I will send a Pacific fleet to San Francisco and an
Atlantic fleet to New York.' Sealed orders were given to both admirals.
My fleets arrived at the American ports, there was no recognition of
the independence of the Confederate States by England and France,
the American rebellion was put down and the great American republic
continues. All this I did because of love for my own dear Russia. I
acted thus because I understood that Russia would have a more serious
task to perform if the American republic, with advanced industrial
development, was broken up and England left in control of most branches
of modern industrial development."
It was England's warm resentment of Russia's attitude that prompted
the cartoon under consideration. Even more pronounced in its mocking
cynicism was _Punch's_ cartoon for November 7, 1863. The tacit
alliance between Russia and the United States still grated upon English
sensibilities, and the artist provoked the multitude to laughter by
depicting the President as Mephistopheles saluting the Russian bear.
Hard things in plenty were said of Lincoln, both at home and abroad, but
this is the only instance in which he was portrayed in Satan's livery.
British malice could go no further than this.
[Illustration: 025]
|Plate Number Twenty-five--This cartoon, "Drawing Things to a Head,"
published in _Harper's Weekly_, on November 28, 1863, shows how
the friendship of Russia was regarded in the loyal States. Lincoln,
ensconced in a snug apothecary shop, watched from the opposite side
of the street by John Bull and Napoleon, is made to say to Secretary
Seward, who is presented as an errand boy with a basket of Russian salve
on his arm: "Mild applications of Russian salve for our friends over the
way, and heavy doses and plenty of it for our Southern patient."
[Illustration: 026]
|Plate Number Twenty-six--This cartoon, "This Reminds Me of a Little
Joke," published in _Harper's Weekly_, on September 17, 1864, recalls
the extraordinary Presidential campaign of that year. There was,
during the opening months of 1864, a determined and more or less
noisy opposition to the renomination of Lincoln. This came from two
sources--the radical abolitionists, who chafed at what they called
the President's half-hearted policy in regard to slavery, and another
element, which, while supporting the Union, believed that slavery should
be let alone; but it shrank into insignificance as time went on, and
when the Republican Convention met at Baltimore on June 7, Lincoln was
renominated on the first ballot. The Democratic National Convention was
held twelve weeks later in Chicago. A few days before it met President
Lincoln said to a friend: "They must nominate a peace Democrat on a war
platform, or a war Democrat on a peace platform." The convention chose
the second of these alternatives. It adopted a platform which declared
the war a failure and demanded an immediate cessation of hostilities,
and it nominated for President the best known of all the war Democrats,
General George B. McClellan. The latter's chances of election, whatever
they may have been, disappeared within a fortnight of his nomination.
The course of the war during the summer had been studded thickly with
bloody and seemingly indecisive battles. Both in the East and the West
the opposing armies were grinding in almost continuous struggle. But
Sherman's capture of Atlanta and Farra-gut's entrance into Mobile
harbor, proved to the people of the North that the end was in sight, and
when the President called for five hundred thousand more men they
came forward rapidly, a large and valuable percentage of them being
volunteers who had served their time under previous enlistments.
Long before election day it was evident that no prospect remained of
Democratic success. When the polls were closed and the votes counted,
Lincoln's enormous popular majority of more than 400,000 fairly buried
the McClellan electoral tickets. Kentucky and Delaware, with New Jersey,
testified their disgust with Emancipation, but they were of small
account in an electoral college of 233 votes, wherein 212 were solidly
against them.
[Illustration: 027]
|Plate Number Twenty-seven--This cartoon, "The American Brothers; or, How
Will They Get Out of It," was published in _Punch_ on November 5, 1864.
It has, in the light of after events, a touch of humor not intended by
the artist. When it was drawn, the belief was generally prevalent in
England that Lincoln's defeat at the coming election was a foregone
conclusion. Thus, this cartoon pictures Lincoln and Davis bound to
adjacent benches by ropes, significantly labelled "Debts," but it
was still wet from the press when Lincoln, as we have just seen, was
re-elected by the largest majority in the electoral college ever given
to a candidate.
[Illustration: 028]
|Plate Number Twenty-eight--This cartoon, "Long Abraham Lincoln a Little
Longer," published in _Harper's Weekly_, on November 26, 1864, tells its
own story and bears witness to the joyful relief with which the people
of the North greeted the re-election of Lincoln. Very like the foregoing
in spirit and treatment (and for that reason not reproduced in this
place) is a cartoon published in _Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper_
on December 3, 1864. It bears title, "Jeff Davis' November Nightmare,"
and places the President, with legs drawn up, on the bed of the
Confederate leader. "Is that you still there, Long Abe?" asks the
suddenly awakened man. "Yes, and I am going to be four years longer," is
the reply.
[Illustration: 029]
|Plate Number Twenty-nine--This cartoon, "The Federal Phoenix," was
published in _Punch_, on December 3, 1864. Its character is explained in
its title, and it shows one of those fabled birds, on which the artist | 1,337.446891 |
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THE BANDBOX
BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
The Bandbox
Cynthia-of-the-Minute
No Man's Land
The Fortune Hunter
The Pool of Flame
The Bronze Bell
The Black Bag
The Brass Bowl
The Private War
Terence O'Rourke
[Illustration: "Now, sir!" she exclaimed, turning
FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 83_]
The Bandbox
BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
Author of "The Brass Bowl," "The Bronze Bell,"
"Cynthia-of-the-Minute," etc.
With Four Illustrations
By ARTHUR I. KELLER
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
_Copyright, 1911, 1912,_
By Louis Joseph Vance.
_All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_
Published, April, 1912
Reprinted, April, 1912 (three times)
TO
LEWIS BUDDY III
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I INTRODUCING MR. IFF 1
II THE BANDBOX 14
III TWINS 26
IV QUEENSTOWN 43
V ISMAY? 65
VI IFF? 87
VII STOLE AWAY! 109
VIII THE WRONG BOX 128
IX A LIKELY STORY 158
X DEAD O' NIGHT 177
XI THE COLD GREY DAWN 194
XII WON'T YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR? 216
XIII WRECK ISLAND 233
XIV THE STRONG-BOX 254
XV THE ENEMY'S HAND 275
XVI NINETY MINUTES 295
XVII HOLOCAUST 312
THE BANDBOX
I
INTRODUCING MR. IFF
At half-past two of a sunny, sultry afternoon late in the month of
August, Mr. Benjamin Staff sat at table in the dining-room of the
Authors' Club, moodily munching a morsel of cheese and a segment of
cast-iron biscuit and wondering what he must do to be saved from the
death-in-life of sheer ennui.
A long, lank gentleman, surprisingly | 1,337.851947 |
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Produced by Eric Eldred, Debra Storr, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE TRAIL BOOK
BY
MARY AUSTIN
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY MILO WINTER
1918
[Illustration: "'Arr-rr-ump!' I said"]
TO MARY, MY NIECE
IN THE HOPE THAT SHE MAY FIND THROUGH THE TRAILS OF HER OWN COUNTRY THE
ROAD TO WONDERLAND CONTENTS
I HOW OLIVER AND DORCAS JANE FOUND THE TRAIL
II WHAT THE BUFFALO CHIEF TOLD
III HOW THE MASTODON HAPPENED FIRST TO BELONG TO A MAN, AS TOLD BY
ARRUMPA
IV THE SECOND PART OF THE MASTODON STORY, CONCERNING THE TRAIL TO THE
SEA AND THE TALKING STICK OF TAKU-WAKIN
V HOW HOWKAWANDA AND FRIEND-AT-THE-BACK FOUND THE TRAIL TO THE BUFFALO
COUNTRY; TOLD BY THE COYOTE
VI DORCAS JANE HEARS HOW THE CORN CAME TO THE VALLEY OF THE MISSI-SIPPU;
TOLD BY THE CORN WOMAN
VII A TELLING OF THE SALT TRAIL, OF TSE-TSE-YOTE AND THE DELIGHT-MAKERS;
TOLD BY MOKE-ICHA
VIII YOUNG-MAN-WHO-NEVER-TURNS-BACK: A TELLING OF THE TALLEGEWI, BY ONE
OF THEM
IX HOW THE LENNI-LENAPE CAME FROM SHINAKI AND THE TALLEGEWI FOUGHT THEM:
THE SECOND PART OF THE MOUND-BUILDER'S STORY
X THE MAKING OF A SHAMAN: A TELLING OF THE IROQUOIS TRAIL, BY THE
ONONDAGA
XI THE PEARLS OF COFACHIQUE: HOW LUCAS DE AYLLON CAME TO LOOK FOR THEM
AND WHAT THE CACICA FAR-LOOKING DID TO HIM; TOLD BY THE PELICAN.
XII HOW THE IRON SHIRTS CAME TO TUSCALOOSA: A TELLING OF THE TRIBUTE
ROAD BY THE LADY OF COFACHIQUE.
XIII HOW THE IRON SHIRTS CAME LOOKING FOR THE SEVEN CITIES OF CIBOLA;
TOLD BY THE ROAD-RUNNER.
XIV HOW THE MAN OF TWO HEARTS KEPT THE SECRET OF THE HOLY PLACES; TOLD
BY THE CONDOR.
XV HOW THE MEDICINE OF THE ARROWS WAS BROKEN AT REPUBLICAN RIVER; TOLD
BY THE CHIEF OFFICER OF THE DOG SOLDIERS
APPENDIX
GLOSSARY
ILLUSTRATIONS
"'ARR-RR-UMP!' I SAID"
THE BUFFALO CHIEF
THE MASTODON
TAKU AND ARRUMPA
THE TRAIL TO THE SEA
THE TRAIL TO THE BUFFALO COUNTRY
SHOT DOWNWARD TO THE LEDGE WHERE HOWKAWANDA AND YOUNGER BROTHER HUGGED
THEMSELVES (in color)
THE CORN WOMEN
SIGN OF THE SUN AND THE FOUR QUARTERS
MOKE-ICHA
TSE-TSE-YOTE AND MOKE-ICHA (in Color)
TSE-TSE-YOTE AND MOKE-ICHA
THE MOUND-BUILDERS
THE IROQUOIS TRAIL
THE GOLD-SEEKERS
SHE COULD SEE THE THOUGHTS OF A MAN WHILE THEY WERE STILL IN HIS HEART
(in Color)
THE CACICA FAR-LOOKING MEETS THE IRON SHIRTS
THE DESERT
THE CONDOR THAT HAS HIS NEST ON EL MORRO
THE DOG SOLDIERS
LINE ART OF BUFFALO
THE TRAIL BOOK
I
HOW OLIVER AND DORCAS JANE FOUND THE TRAIL
From the time that he had first found, himself alone with them, Oliver
had felt sure that the animals could come alive again if they wished.
That was one blowy afternoon about a week after his father had been made
night engineer and nobody had come into the Museum for several hours.
Oliver had been sitting for some time in front of the Buffalo case,
wondering what might be at the other end of the trail. The cows that
stood midway in it had such a _going_ look. He was sure it must lead,
past the hummock where the old bull flourished his tail, to one of those
places where he had always wished to be. All at once, as the boy sat
there thinking about it, the glass case disappeared and the trail shot
out like a dark snake over a great stretch of rolling, grass-covered
prairie.
He could see the tops of the grasses stirring like the hair on the old
Buffalo's coat, and the ripple of water on the beaver pool which was
just opposite and yet somehow only to be reached after long travel
through the Buffalo Country. The wind moved on the grass, on the surface
of the water and the young leaves of the alders, and over all the
animals came the start and stir of life.
And then the slow, shuffling steps of the Museum attendant startled it
all into stillness again.
The attendant spoke to Oliver as he passed, for even a small boy is
worth talking to when you have been all day in a Museum where nothing is
new to you and nobody comes.
"You want to look out, son," said the attendant, who really liked the
boy and hadn't a notion what sort of ideas he was putting into Oliver's
head. "If you ain't careful, some of them things will come downstairs
some night and go off with ye."
And why should MacShea have said that if he hadn't known for certain
that the animals _did_ come alive at night? That was the way Oliver put
it when he was trying to describe this extraordinary experience to
his sister.
Dorcas Jane, who was eleven and a half and not at all imaginative, eyed
him suspiciously. Oliver had such a way of stating things that were not
at all believable, in a way that made them seem the likeliest things in
the world. He was even capable of acting for days as if things were so,
which you knew from the beginning were only the most delightful of
make-believes. Life on this basis was immensely more exciting, but then
you never knew whether or not he might be what some of his boy friends
called "stringing you," so when Oliver began to hint darkly at his
belief that the stuffed animals in the Mammal room of the Museum came
alive at night and had larks of their own, Dorcas Jane offered the most
noncommittal objection that occurred to her.
"They couldn't," she said; "the night watchman wouldn't let them." There
were watchmen, she knew, who went the rounds of every floor.
But, insisted Oliver, why should they have watchmen at all, if not to
prevent people from breaking in and disturbing the animals when they
were busy with affairs of their own? He meant to stay up there himself
some night and see what it was all about; and as he went on to explain
how it would be possible to slip up the great stair while the watchmen
were at the far end of the long hall, and of the places one could hide
if the watchman came along when he wasn't wanted, he said "we" and "us."
For, of course, he meant to take Dorcas Jane with him. Where would be
the fun of such an adventure if you had it alone? And besides, Oliver
had discovered that it was not at all difficult to scare himself with the
things he had merely imagined. There were times when Dorcas Jane's frank
disbelief was a great comfort to him. Still, he wasn't the sort of boy
to be scared before anything has really happened, so when Dorcas Jane
suggested that they didn't know what the animals might do to any one who
went among them uninvited, he threw it off stoutly.
"Pshaw! They can't do anything to us! They're stuffed, Silly!"
And to Dorcas Jane, who was by this time completely under the spell of
the adventure, it seemed quite likely that the animals should be stuffed
so that they couldn't hurt you, and yet not stuffed so much that they
couldn't come alive again.
It was all of a week before they could begin. There is a kind of feeling
you have to have about an adventure without which the affair doesn't
come off properly. Anybody who has been much by himself in the woods has
had it; or sometime, when you are all alone in the house, all at once
there comes a kind of pricking of your skin and a tightness in your
chest, not at all unpleasant, and a kind of feeling that the furniture
has its eye on you, or that some one behind your shoulder is about to
speak, and immediately after that something happens. Or you feel sure it
would have happened if somebody hadn't interrupted.
Dorcas Jane _never_ had feelings like that. But about a week after
| 1,337.853494 |
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scanned images of public domain material from the Internet
Archive.
[Illustration: Book Cover]
[Illustration: "EXCUSE ME," SAID THE STRANGER, "BUT WE HAVE TO BE VERY
PARTICULAR HERE."]
BIKEY
THE SKICYCLE
& OTHER TALES
of JIMMIEBOY
* * * * *
_By_
JOHN KENDRICK BANGS
_Author of_
"Uncle Sam Trustee," "Mr. Munchausen,"
"House Boat on the Styx," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY PETER NEWELL
[Illustration]
* * * * *
_New York_
RIGGS PUBLISHING COMPANY
MCMII
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY
RIGGS PUBLISHING CO.
TABLE _of_ CONTENTS
[Illustration]
PAGE
I. Bikey the Skicycle 11
II. The Imp of the Telephone 81
III. Caught in Toy Town 161
IV. Totherwayville, the Animal Town 179
V. An Electrical Error 197
VI. In the Brownie's House 213
VII. Jimmieboy--and Something 231
VIII. Jimmieboy's Fire Works 247
IX. High-Jinks in the Barn 265
X. Jimmieboy's Valentine 275
XI. The Magic Sled 291
XII. The Stupid Little Apple Tree 309
ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
"Excuse me," said the stranger, "but we have to
be very particular here" See Frontispiece
Before him stood the Imp Facing page 74
"At last!" ejaculated the Imp 124
The Electric Custard 150
"No wonder it wouldn't say anything," he cried 186
"I'm very glad to see you Sharkey," said the Lobster 234
"Your ears would be frozen solid" 270
"Hullo! said his papa, where have you been?" 298
BIKEY THE SKICYCLE
I
_HOW IT ALL CAME ABOUT_
Jimmieboy's father had bought him a bicycle, and inasmuch as it was
provided with a bag of tools and a nickel plated bell the small youth
was very much pleased with the gift.
"It's got rheumatic tires, too," he said, when describing it to one of
his little friends.
"What's that?" asked the boy.
"Big pieces of hose pipe," said Jimmieboy. "They run all around the
outside of the wheel and when you fill 'em up with wind and screw 'em up
tight so's the wind can't get out, papa says, you can go over anything
easy as a bird."
"I s'pose," said the little friend, "it's sort of like sailing, maybe.
The wind keeps blowing inside o' those pipes and that makes the wheels
go round."
"I guess that's it," returned Jimmieboy.
"But I don't see why they call 'em rheumatic," said the other boy.
"Nor I don't, either," said Jimmieboy, "unless it's because they move a
little stiff at first."
It was not long, however, before Jimmieboy discovered that his father
had made a mistake when he said that the pneumatic tire would enable a
bicycle to ride over anything, for about a week later Jimmieboy tried to
ride over the shaft of a lawn mower with his wheel, with disastrous
results. The boy took a header, and while he himself was not hurt beyond
a scratch or two and a slight shaking up, which took away his appetite,
the wonderful rubber tire was badly battered. What was worse, the
experience made Jimmieboy a little afraid of his new possession, and for
some time it lay neglected.
A few nights ago, however, Jimmieboy's interest in his wheel was aroused
once more, and to-day it is greater than ever, and it all came about in
this way. His father and mother had gone out to make some calls and the
youngster was spending a few minutes of solitude over a very fine fairy
book that had recently been sent to him. While he was gazing at a
magnificent picture of Jack slaying two giants with his left hand and
throttling a dragon with his right, there came a sudden tinkling of a
bell.
"Somebody's at the telephone," thought Jimmieboy, and started to go to
it, when the ringing sound came again, but from a part of the house
entirely away from the neighborhood of the telephone.
"Humph," said Jimmieboy. "That's queer. It isn't the telephone and it
can't be the front door bell--I guess it's the----"
"It's me--Bikey," came a merry voice from behind the door.
"Who?" cried Jimmieboy.
"Bikey," replied the voice. "Don't you remember Bikey, who threw you
over the lawn mower?"
Jimmieboy turned about, and sure enough there stood his neglected wheel.
"I hope you weren't hurt by your tumble," said the little bicycle
standing up on its hind wheel and putting its treadles softly on
Jimmieboy's shoulders, as if it were caressing him.
"No," said Jimmieboy. "The only thing was that it took away my appetite,
and it was on apple pie day. It isn't pleasant to feel as if you
couldn't eat a thing with a fine apple pie staring you in the face. That
was all I felt badly about."
"I'm sorry about the pie," returned the little bicycle, "but glad you
didn't flatten your nose or put your teeth out of joint, as you might
easily have done. I knew a boy once who took a header just as you did,
and after he got up he found that he'd broken the brim of his hat and
turned a beautiful Roman nose into a stub nose."
"You mean snub nose, don't you?" asked Jimmieboy.
"No, I mean stub. Stub means more than snub. Snub means just a plain
turn up nose, but stub means that it's not only turned up, but has very
little of itself left. It's just a stub--that's all," explained the
bicycle. "Another boy I knew fell so hard that he pushed his whole face
right through to the back of his head, and you don't know how queer it
looks to see him walking backward on his way to school."
"I guess I was in great luck," said Jimmieboy. "I might have had a much
harder time than I did."
"I should say so," said the bicycle. "A scratch and loss of appetite,
when you might just as easily have had your whole personal appearance
changed, is getting off very cheap. But, I say, why didn't you turn
aside instead of trying to ride over that lawn mower? Didn't you know
you'd get yourself into trouble?"
"Of course I didn't," said Jimmieboy. "You don't suppose I wanted to
commit soozlecide, do you? I heard papa talking to mamma about the
rheumatic tires on his bicycle, and he said they were great inventions
because they made the wheel boy--boy--well, boy something, I don't
remember what."
"Boyant?" asked the little bicycle, scratching its cyclometer with its
pedal.
"Yes--that was it," said Jimmieboy. "He said the rheumatic tires made
the thing boyant, and I asked him what that meant. He said boyant was a
word meaning light and airy--like a boy, you know, and that boyancy in a
bicycle meant that it could jump over almost anything."
"That is so," said Bikey. "That's what they have those tires for, but
they can't jump over a lawn mower--unless"----Here Bikey paused and
glanced anxiously around. It was evident that he had some great secret
in his mind.
"Unless what?" asked Jimmieboy, his curiosity at once aroused.
"Unless a patent idea of mine, which you and I could try if you wanted
to, is good."
Bikey's voice sank into a whisper.
"There's millions in my idea if it'll work," he continued. "Do you see
this?" he asked, holding up his front wheel. "This tire I have on is
filled with air, and it makes me seem light as air--but it's only
seeming. I'm heavy, as you found out when you tried to get me to jump
over the lawn mower, but if I could only do a thing I want to you could
go sailing over a church steeple as easily as you can ride me over a
lawn."
"You mean to say you'd fly?" asked Jimmieboy, delighted at the idea.
"No--not exactly," returned Bikey. "I never could fly and never wanted
to. Birds do that, and you can buy a bird for two dollars; but a bicycle
costs you anywhere from fifty to a hundred, which shows how much more
valuable bicycles are than birds. No, I don't want to fly, but I would
like to float."
"On water?" asked Jimmieboy.
"No, no, no; in the air," said the little bicycle impatiently--"like a
balloon. Wouldn't that be fine? Anybody can float on the water, even an
old cork; but when it comes to floating in the air, that's not only fun
but it means being talented. A bicycle that could float in the air would
be the finest thing in the world."
"That's very likely true," said Jimmieboy, "but how are you going to do
it? You can't soar."
"Not with my tires filled with | 1,337.853574 |
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Produced by Charlene Taylor, Katie Hernandez and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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Teutonic Mythology
Gods and Goddesses
of the Northland
IN
THREE VOLUMES
By VIKTOR RYDBERG, Ph.D.,
MEMBER OF THE SWEDISH ACADEMY; AUTHOR OF THE "THE LAST ATHENIAN"
AND OTHER WORKS.
_AUTHORISED TRANSLATION FROM THE SWEDISH_
BY
RASMUS B. ANDERSON, LL.D.,
EX-UNITED STATES MINISTER TO DENMARK; AUTHOR OF "NORSE
MYTHOLOGY," "VIKING TALES," ETC.
HON. RASMUS B. ANDERSON, LL.D., Ph.D.,
EDITOR IN CHIEF.
J. W. BUEL, Ph.D.,
MANAGING EDITOR.
VOL. I.
PUBLISHED BY THE
NORROENA SOCIETY,
LONDON COPENHAGEN STOCKHOLM BERLIN NEW YORK
1906
[Illustration]
_OF THE_
Viking Edition
_There are but six hundred and fifty sets made for the world,
of which this is_
_No._ 99
[Illustration: NORROENA]
COPYRIGHT,
T. H. SMART,
1905.
[Illustration: IDUN, HEIMDAL, LOKE, AND BRAGE.
(_From an etching by Lorenz Froelich._)]
Idun was the beautiful goddess who in Asgard was keeper of the apples
which the gods ate to preserve eternal youth. She is most generally
regarded as the wife of Brage.
Heimdal, the son of nine mothers, was guardian against the | 1,337.854473 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
A LIFE'S SECRET.
A Novel.
By
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "THE CHANNINGS," ETC.
[Illustration: Logo]
_EIGHTH EDITION._
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET.
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
1879.
[_All Rights of Translation and Reproduction are Reserved._]
CONTENTS.
PART THE FIRST.
CHAP. PAGE
I. WAS THE LADY MAD? 11
II. CHANGES 32
III. AWAY TO LONDON 39
IV. DAFFODIL'S DELIGHT 52
V. MISS GWINN'S VISIT 67
VI. TRACKED HOME 83
VII. MR. SHUCK AT HOME 103
VIII. FIVE THOUSAND POUNDS! 116
IX. THE SEPARATION OF HUNTER AND HUNTER 127
PART THE SECOND.
I. A MEETING OF THE WORKMEN 136
II. CALLED TO KETTERFORD 153
III. TWO THOUSAND POUNDS 168
IV. AGITATION 186
PART THE THIRD.
I. A PREMATURE AVOWAL 204
II. MR. COX 221
III. 'I THINK I HAVE BEEN A FOOL' 238
IV. SOMEBODY 'PITCHED INTO' 256
V. A GLOOMY CHAPTER 274
VI. THE LITTLE BOY AT REST 288
VII. MR. DUNN'S PIGS BROUGHT TO MARKET 294
VIII. A DESCENT FOR MR. SHUCK 309
IX. ON THE EVE OF BANKRUPTCY 326
X. THE YEARS GONE BY 342
XI. RELIEF 359
XII. CONCLUSION 369
A LIFE'S SECRET
PART THE FIRST.
CHAPTER I.
WAS THE LADY MAD?
On the outskirts of Ketterford, a town of some note in the heart of
England, stood, a few years ago, a white house, its green lawn,
surrounded by shrubs and flowers, sloping down to the high road. It
probably stands there still, looking as if not a day had passed over its
head since, for houses can be renovated and made, so to say, new again,
unlike men and women. A cheerful, bright, handsome house, of moderate
size, the residence of Mr. Thornimett.
At the distance of a short stone's-throw, towards the open country, were
sundry workshops and sheds--a large yard intervening between them and
the house. They belonged to Mr. Thornimett; and the timber and other
characteristic materials lying about the yard would have proclaimed
their owner's trade without the aid of the lofty sign-board--'Richard
Thornimett, Builder and Contractor.' His business was extensive for a
country town.
Entering the house by the pillared portico, and crossing the
black-and-white floor-cloth of the hall to the left, you came to a room
whose windows looked towards the timber-yard. It was fitted up as a sort
of study, or counting-house, though the real business counting-house was
at the works. Matting was on its floor; desks and stools stood about;
maps and drawings, plain and, were on its walls; not finished
and beautiful landscapes, such as issue from the hands of modern
artists, or have descended to us from the great masters, but skeleton
designs of various buildings--churches, bridges, terraces--plans to be
worked out in actuality, not to be admired on paper. This room was
chiefly given over to Mr. Thornimett's pupil: and you may see him in it
now.
A tall, gentlemanly young fellow, active and upright; his name, Austin
Clay. It is Easter Monday in those long-past years--and yet not so very
long past, either--and the works and yard are silent to-day. Strictly
speaking, Austin Clay can no longer be called a pupil, for he is
twenty-one, and his articles are out. The house is his home; Mr. and
Mrs. Thornimett, who have no children of their own, are almost as his
father and mother. They have said nothing to him about leaving, and he
has said nothing to them. The town, in its busy interference,
gratuitously opined that 'Old Thornimett would be taking him into
partnership.' Old Thornimett had given no indication of what he might
intend to do, one way or the other.
Austin Clay was of good parentage, of gentle birth. Left an orphan at
the age of fourteen, with very small means, not sufficient to complete
his education, Ketterford wondered what was to become of him, and
whether he had not better get rid of himself by running away to sea. Mr.
Thornimett stepped in and solved the difficulty. The late Mrs.
Clay--Austin's mother--and Mrs. Thornimett were distantly related, and
perhaps a certain sense of duty in the matter made itself heard; that,
at least, combined with the great fact that the Thornimett household was
childless. The first thing they did was to take the boy home for the
Christmas holidays; the next, was to tell him he should stay there for
good. Not to be adopted as their son, not to leave him a fortune
hereafter, Mr. Thornimett took pains to explain to him, but to make him
into a man, and teach him to earn his own living.
'Will you be apprenticed to me, Austin?' subsequently asked Mr.
Thornimett.
'Can't I be articled, sir?' returned Austin, quickly.
'Articled?' repeated Mr. Thornimett, with a laugh. He saw what was
running in the boy's mind. He was a plain man himself; had built up his
own fortunes just as he had built the new house he lived in; had risen,
in fact, as many a working man does rise: but Austin's father was a
gentleman. 'Well, yes, you can be articled, if you like it better,' he
said; 'but I shall never call it anything but apprenticed; neither will
the trade. You'll have to work, young sir.'
'I don't care how hard I work, or what I do,' cried Austin, earnestly.
'There's no degradation in work.'
Thus it was settled; and Austin Clay became bound pupil to Richard
Thornimett.
'Old Thornimett and his wife have done it out of charity,' quoth
Ketterford.
No doubt they had. But as the time passed on they grew very fond of him.
He was an open-hearted, sweet-tempered, generous boy, and one of them at
least, Mr. Thornimett, detected in him the qualities that make a
superior man. Privileges were accorded him from the first: the going on
with certain of his school duties, for which masters came to him out of
business hours--drawing, mathematics, and modern languages chiefly--and
Austin went on himself with Latin and Greek. With the two latter Mrs.
Thornimett waged perpetual war. What would be the use of them to him,
she was always asking, and Austin, in his pleasant, laughing way, would
rejoin that they might help to make him a gentleman. He was that
already: Austin Clay, though he might not know it, was a true gentleman
born.
Had they repented their bargain? He was twenty-one now, and out of his
articles, or his time, as it was commonly called. No, not for an
instant. Never a better servant had Richard Thornimett; never, he would
have told you, one so good. With all his propensity to be a 'gentleman,'
Austin Clay did not shrink from his work; but did it thoroughly. His
master in his wisdom had caused him to learn his business practically;
but, that accomplished, he kept him to overlooking, and to other light
duties, just as he might have done by a son of his own. It had told
well.
Easter Monday, and a universal holiday Mr. Thornimett had gone out on
horseback, and Austin was in the pupil's room. He sat at a desk, his
stool on the tilt, one hand unconsciously balancing | 1,337.95229 |
2023-11-16 18:39:22.0345090 | 7,436 | 9 |
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THE ENGLISH STAGE
_WORKS BY THE AUTHOR._
PROFILS ANGLAIS.
MERIMEE ET SES AMIS.
VIOLETTE MERIAN.
AMOURS ANGLAIS.
LES CONTES DU CENTENAIRE.
ETC. ETC.
THE ENGLISH STAGE
_Being an Account of the Victorian Drama by Augustin Filon_
Translated from the French by Frederic Whyte with
an Introduction by Henry Arthur Jones
JOHN MILNE
12 NORFOLK STREET, STRAND, LONDON
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD, & COMPANY
MDCCCXCVII
_All Rights Reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
Introduction by Mr. Henry Arthur Jones 9
Author's Preface 31
CHAPTER I
A Glance back--From 1820 to 1830--Kean and Macready--The
Strolling Player--The Critics--Sheridan Knowles and
_Virginius_--Douglas Jerrold--His Comedies--_The Rent
Day_--_The Prisoner of War_--_Black-Eyed Susan_--Collapse of
the Privileged Theatres--Men of Letters come to the Rescue of
the Drama--Bulwer Lytton--_The Lady of Lyons_--_Richelieu_--
_Money_ 39
CHAPTER II
Macready's Withdrawal from the Stage--The Enemies of the
Drama in 1850: Puritanism; the Opera; the Pantomime; the
"Hippodrama"--French Plays and French Players in England--
Actors of the Period--The Censorship--The Critics--The
Historical Plays of Tom Taylor and the Irish Plays of Dion
Boucicault 73
CHAPTER III
The Vogue of Burlesque--Burnand's _Ixion_--H. J. Byron--The
Influence of Burlesque upon the Moral Tone of the Stage--Marie
Wilton's Debut--A Letter from Dickens--Founding of the Prince
of Wales's--Tom Robertson, his Life as Actor and Author--His
Journalistic Career--London Bohemia in 1865--Sothern 93
CHAPTER IV
First Performance of _Society_--Success of _Ours_, _Caste_,
and _School_--How Robertson turned to account the Talent of
his Actors, John Hare, Bancroft, and Mrs. Bancroft--Progress
in the Matter of Scenery--Dialogue and Character-drawing--
Robertson as a Humorist: a Scene from _School_--As a Realist:
a Scene from _Caste_--The Comedian of the Upper Middle
Classes--Robertson's Marriage, Illness, and Death--The "Cup
and Saucer" Comedy--The Improvement in Actors' Salaries--The
Bancrofts at the Haymarket--Farewell Performance--My
Pilgrimage to Tottenham Street 114
CHAPTER V
Gilbert: compared with Robertson--His First Literary Efforts--
The _Bab Ballads_--_Sweethearts_--A Series of Experiments--
Gilbert's Psychology and Methods of Work--_Dan'l Druce_,
_Engaged_, _The Palace of Truth_, _The Wicked World_,
_Pygmalion and Galatea_--The Gilbert and Sullivan Operas 138
CHAPTER VI
Shakespeare again--From Macready to Irving; Phelps, Fechter,
Ryder, Adelaide Neilson--Irving's Debut--His Career in the
Provinces, and Visit to Paris--The role of Digby Grand--The
role of Matthias--The Production of _Hamlet_--Successive
Triumphs--Irving as Stage Manager--as an Editor of
Shakespeare--His Defects as an Actor--Too great for some of
his Parts--As a Writer and Lecturer; his Theory of Art--Sir
Henry Irving, Head of his Profession 156
CHAPTER VII
Is it well to imitate Shakespeare?--The Death of the Classical
Drama--Herman Merivale and the _White Pilgrim_--Wills and his
Plays: _Charles the First_, _Claudian_--Tennyson as a
Dramatist; he comes too soon and too late--Tennyson and the
Critics--_The Falcon_, _The Promise of May_, _The Cup_,
_Becket_, _Queen Mary_, _Harold_ 174
CHAPTER VIII
The Three Publics--The Disappearance of Burlesque and Decadence
of Pantomime--Increasing Vogue of Farce and Melodrama--
Improvement in Acting--The Influence of our French Actors--The
"Old" Critics and the "New"--James Mortimer and his Two
"Almavivas"--Mr. William Archer's Ideas and Role--The
Vicissitudes of Adaptation 193
CHAPTER IX
The Three Principal Dramatists of To-day--Sydney Grundy; his
First Efforts--Adaptations: _The Snowball_, _In Honour Bound_,
_A Pair of Spectacles_, _The Bunch of Violets_--His Original
Plays--His Style--His Humour--His Ethical Ideal--_An Old
Jew_--_The New Woman_--A Talent which has not done growing 212
CHAPTER X
Henry Arthur Jones; his First Works--His Melodramas--_Saints
and Sinners_--The Puritans and the Theatre--The Two Deacons:
the Character of Fletcher--_Judah_--_The Crusaders_: Character
of Palsam; the Conclusion of the Piece--_The Case of Rebellious
Susan_--_The Masqueraders_--Return to Melodrama--Theories
expounded by Mr. Jones in his Book: _The Renascence of the
Drama_ 234
CHAPTER XI
Two Portraits--Mr. Pinero's Career as an Actor--His Early
Works--_The Squire, Lords and Commons_--The Pieces which
followed, Half-Comedy, Half-Farce--_The Profligate_; its
Success and Defects: _Lady Bountiful_--_The Second Mrs.
Tanqueray_: Character of Paula--Mrs. Patrick Campbell--_The
Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith_ 254
CHAPTER XII
Ibsen made known to the English Public by Mr. Edmund Gosse--
The First Translations--Ibsen acted in London--The Performers
and the Public--Encounters between the Critics--Mr. Archer
once more--Affinity between the Norwegian Character and the
English--Ibsen's Realism suited to English Taste, his
Characters adaptable to English Life--The Women in his Plays--
Ibsen and Mr. Jones--Present and Future Influence of Ibsen--
Objections and Obstacles 277
CHAPTER XIII
G. R. Sims--R. C. Carton--Haddon Chambers--The Independent
Theatre and Matinee Performance--The Drama of To-morrow--A
"Report of Progress"--The Public and the Actors--
Actor-Managers--The Forces that have given Birth to the
Contemporary English Drama--Disappearance of the Obstacles to
its becoming Modern and National--Conclusion 300
INTRODUCTION
BY HENRY ARTHUR JONES
I have rarely had a more welcome task than that of saying a few words of
introduction to the following essays, and of heartily commending them to
the English reading public. I am not called upon, nor would it become me,
to recriticise the criticism of the English drama they contain, to reargue
any of the issues raised, or to vent my own opinions of the persons and
plays hereafter dealt with. My business is to thank M. Filon for bringing
us before the notice of the French public, to speak of his work as a whole
rather than to discuss it in detail, and to define his position in
relation to the recent dramatic movement in our country.
But before addressing myself to these main ends, I may perhaps be allowed
to call attention to one or two striking passages and individual
judgments. The picture in the first chapter of the old actor's life on
circuit is capitally done. I do not know where to look for so animated and
succinct a rendering of that phase of past theatrical life. And the
pilgrimage to the deserted Prince of Wales's Theatre also left a vivid
impression on me, perhaps quickened by my own early memories. In all that
relates to the early Victorian drama M. Filon seems to me a sure and
penetrating guide. All lovers of the English drama, as distinguished from
that totally different and in many ways antagonistic institution, the
English theatre, must be pleased to see M. Filon stripping the spangles
from Bulwer Lytton. To this day Lytton remains an idol of English
playgoers and actors, a lasting proof of their inability to distinguish
what is dramatic truth. _The Lady of Lyons_ and _Richelieu_ still rank in
many theatrical circles with _Hamlet_ as masterpieces of the "legitimate,"
and _Money_ is still bracketed with _The School for Scandal_. It is
benevolent of M. Filon to write dramatic criticism about a nation where
such notions have prevailed for half a century.
The criticism on Tennyson as a playwright seems to me equally admirable
with the criticism on Bulwer Lytton, and all the more admirable when the
two are read in conjunction. Doubtless Tennyson will never be so
successful on the boards as Lytton has been. _Becket_ is a loose and
ill-made play in many respects, and succeeded with the public only because
Irving was able to pull it into some kind of unity by buckling it round
his great impersonation of the archbishop. But _Becket_ contains great
things, and is a real addition to our dramatic literature. It would have
been a thousand pities if it had failed. On the other hand, the success of
Lytton's plays has been a real misfortune to our drama. You cannot have
two standards of taste in dramatic poetry. Just as surely as the
circulation of bad money in a country drives out all the good, so surely
does a base and counterfeit currency in art drive out all finer and higher
things that contend with it. In his measurement of those two ancient
enemies, Tennyson and Lytton, M. Filon has shown a rare power of
understanding us and of entering into the spirit of our nineteenth-century
poetic drama.
If I may be allowed a word of partial dissent from M. Filon, I would say
that he assigns too much space and influence to Robertson. Robertson did
one great thing: he drew the great and vital tragi-comic figure of Eccles.
He drew many other pleasing characters and scenes, most of them as
essentially false as the falsities and theatricalities he supposed himself
to be superseding. I shall be reminded that in the volume before us M.
Filon says that all reforms of the drama pretend to be a return to nature
and to truth. I have elsewhere shown that there is no such thing as being
consistently and realistically "true to nature" on the stage. _Hamlet_ in
many respects is farther away from real life than the shallowest and
emptiest farce. It is in the seizure and presentation of the essential and
distinguishing marks of a character, of a scene, of a passion, of a
society, of a phase of life, of a movement of national thought--it is in
the seizure and vivid treatment of some of these, to the exclusion or
falsification of non-essentials, that the dramatist must lay his claim to
sincerity and being "true to nature." And it seems to me that one has
only to compare _Caste_, the typical comedy of an English _mesalliance_,
with _Le Gendre de M. Poirier_, the typical comedy of a French
_mesalliance_, to come to the conclusion that in the foundation and
conduct of his story Robertson was false and theatrical--theatrical, that
is, in the employment of a social contrast that was effective on the
stage, but well-nigh, if not quite, impossible in life.
It is of the smallest moment to be "true to nature" in such mint and
cummin of the stage as the shutting of a door with a real lock, in the
observation of niceties of expression and behaviour, in the careful
copying of little fleeting modes and gestures, in the introduction of
certain realistic bits of business--it is, I say, of the smallest moment
to be "true to nature" in these, if the playwright is false to nature in
all the great verities of the heart and spirit of man, if his work as a
whole leaves the final impression that the vast, unimaginable drama of
human life is as petty and meaningless and empty as our own English
theatre. A fair way to measure any dramatist is to ask this question of
his work: "Does he make human life as small as his own theatre, so that
there is nothing more to be said about either; or does he hint that human
life so far transcends any theatre that all attempts to deal with it on
the boards, even the highest, even Hamlet, even OEdipus, even Faust, are
but shadows and guesses and perishable toys of the stage?"
Robertson has nothing to say to us in 1896. He drew one great character
and many pleasing ones in puerile, impossible schemes, without relation to
any larger world than the very narrow English theatrical world of 1865-70.
In his analysis of the influence of Ibsen in England and France, M. Filon
seems to touch the right note. I may perhaps be permitted a word of
personal explanation in this connection. When I came up to London sixteen
years ago, to try for a place among English playwrights, a rough
translation from the German version of _The Dolls' House_ was put into my
hands, and I was told that if it could be turned into a sympathetic play,
a ready opening would be found for it on the London boards. I knew nothing
of Ibsen, but I knew a great deal of Robertson and H. J. Byron. From these
circumstances came the adaptation called _Breaking a Butterfly_. I pray it
may be forgotten from this time, or remembered only with leniency amongst
other transgressions of my dramatic youth and ignorance.
I pass on to speak of M. Filon's work as a whole. For a generation or two
past France has held the lead, and rightly held the lead, in the European
theatre. She has done this by virtue of a peculiar innate dramatic
instinct in her people; by virtue of great traditions and thorough methods
of training; by virtue of national recognition of her dramatists and
actors, and national pride in them; and by virtue of the freedom she has
allowed to her playwrights. So far as they have abused that freedom, so
far as they have become the mere purveyors of sexual eccentricity and
perversity, so far the French drama has declined. So cunningly economic is
Nature, she will slip in her moral by hook or by crook. There cannot be an
intellectual effort in any province of art without a moral implication.
But France, though her great band of playwrights is broken up, still lords
it over the European drama, or rather, over the European theatre. There is
still a feeling among our upper-class English audiences that a play, an
author, an actor and actress, are good _because_ they are French. There
is, or has been, a sound reason for that feeling. And there is still, as
M. Filon says in his Preface, a corresponding feeling in France that
"there is no such thing as an English drama." There has been an equally
sound reason for that feeling. M. Filon has done us the great kindness of
trying to remove it. We still feel very shy in coming before our French
neighbours, like humble, honest, poor relations who are getting on a
little in the world, and would like to have a nod from our aristocratic
kinsfolk. We are uneasy about the reception we shall meet, and nervous and
diffident in making our bow to the French public. A nod from our
aristocratic relations, a recognition from France, might be of so much use
in our parish here at home. For in all matters of the modern drama England
is no better than a parish, with "porochial" judgments, "porochial"
instincts, and "porochial" ways of looking at things. There is not a
breath of national sentiment, a breath of national feeling, of width of
view, in the way English playgoers regard their drama.
M. Filon has sketched in the following pages the history of the recent
dramatic movement in England. If I were asked what was the distinguishing
mark of that movement, I should say that during the years when it was in
progress there was a steadfast and growing attempt to treat the great
realities of our modern life upon our stage, to bring our drama into
relation with our literature, our religion, our art, and our science, and
to make it reflect the main movements of our national thought and
character. That anything great or permanent was accomplished I am the last
to claim; all was crude, confused, tentative, aspiring. But there was
_life_ in it. Again I shall be reminded that dramatic reformers always
pretend that they return to nature and truth, and are generally found out
by the next generation to be stale and theatrical impostors. But if anyone
will take the trouble to examine the leading English plays of the last ten
years, and will compare them with the _serious_ plays of our country
during the last three centuries, I shall be mistaken if he will not find
evidence of the beginnings, the first shoots of an English drama of
greater import and vitality and of wider aim than any school of drama the
English theatre has known since the Elizabethans. The brilliant
Restoration comedy makes no pretence to be a national drama: neither do
the comedies of Sheridan and Goldsmith. There was no possibility of a
great national English drama between Milton and the French Revolution, any
more than there was the possibility of a great school of English poetry.
And the feelings that were let loose after the convulsions of 1793 did not
in England run in the direction of the drama. It is only within the
present generation that great masses of Englishmen have begun to frequent
the theatre. And as our vast city population began to get into a habit of
playgoing, and our theatres became more crowded, it seemed not too much to
hope that a school of English drama might be developed amongst us, and
that we might induce more and more of our theatre-goers to find their
pleasure in seeing their lives portrayed at the theatre, rather than in
running to the theatre to escape from their lives.
After considerable advances had been made in this direction, the movement
became obscured and burlesqued, and finally the British public fell into
what Macaulay calls one of its periodical panics of morality. In that
panic the English drama disappeared for the time, and at the moment of
writing it does not exist. There are many excellent entertainments at our
different theatres, and most of them are deservedly successful. But in the
very height of this theatrical season there is not a single London theatre
that is giving a play that so much as pretends to picture our modern
English life,--I might almost say that pretends to picture human life at
all. I have not a word to say against these various entertainments. I
have been delighted with some of them, and heartily welcome their success.
But what has become of the English drama that M. Filon has given so many
of the following pages to discuss and dissect? I wish M. Filon would
devote another article in the _Revue des deux Mondes_ to explain to his
countrymen what has taken place in the English theatre since his articles
were written. It needs a Frenchman to explain, and a French audience to
understand, the full comedy of the situation.
For ten years the English theatre-going public had been led to take an
increasing interest in their national drama,--I mean the drama as a
picture of life in opposition to a funny theatrical entertainment,--and
during those ten years that drama had grown in strength of purpose, in
largeness of aim, in vividness of character-painting, in every quality
that promised England a living school of drama. It began to deal with the
great realities of modern English life. It was pressing on to be a real
force in the spiritual and intellectual life of the nation. It began to
attract the attention of Europe. But it became entangled with another
movement, got caught in the skirts of the sexual-pessimistic blizzard
sweeping over North Europe, was confounded with it, and was execrated and
condemned without examination. I say without examination. Let anyone turn
to the _Times_ of November 1894, and read the correspondence which began
the assault on the modern school of English drama. Let him discover, if
he can, in the letters of those who attacked it, what notions they had as
to the relations of morality to the drama. It will interest M. Filon's
countrymen to know that British playwrights were condemned in the
interests of British morality. And when one tried to find out what
particular sort of morality the English public was trying to teach its
dramatists, one discovered at last that it was precisely that system of
morality which is practised amongst wax dolls. Not the broad, genial,
worldly morality of Shakespeare; not the deep, devious, confused, but most
human morality of the Bible; not a high, severe, ascetic morality; not
even a sour, grim, puritanic morality. No! let any candid inquirer search
into this matter and try to get at the truth of it, and ask what has been
the recent demand of the English public in this matter, and he will find
it is for a wax-doll morality.
Now, there is much to be said for the establishment of a system of
wax-doll morality, not only on the English stage, but also in the world at
large. And all of us who have properly-regulated minds must regret that,
through some unaccountable oversight, it did not occur to Providence to
carry on the due progress and succession of the human species by means of
some such system.
I say it must have been an oversight. For can we doubt that, had this
excellent method suggested itself, it would have been instantly adopted?
Can we suppose that Providence would have deliberately rejected so sweetly
pretty and simple an expedient for putting a stop to immorality, not only
on the English stage to-day, but everywhere and always?
I know there is a real dilemma. But surely those of us who are truly
reverent will suspect Providence of a little nodding and negligence in
this matter, rather than of virtual complicity with immorality--for that
is what the alternate hypothesis amounts to.
But seeing that, by reason of this lamentable oversight of Providence,
English life is not sustained and renewed by means of wax-doll morality,
what is a poor playwright to do? I am quite aware that what is going on in
English life has nothing whatever to do with what is going on at the
English theatres in the autumn of 1896. Still, like Caleb Plummer, in a
matter of this kind one would like to get "as near natur' as possible,"
or, at least, not to falsify and improve her beyond all chance of
recognition. I hope I shall not be accused of any feeling of enmity
against wax-doll morality in the abstract. I think it a most excellent,
nay, a perfect theory of morals. The more I consider it, the more eloquent
I could grow in its favour. I do not mean to practise it myself, but I do
most cordially recommend it to all my neighbours.
To return. The correspondence in the _Times_ showed scarcely a suspicion
that morality on the stage meant anything else than shutting one's eyes
alike to facts and to truth, and making one's characters behave like wax
dolls. As to the bent and purpose of the dramatist, there was so little
of the dramatic sense abroad, that an act of a play which was written to
ridicule the detestable, cheap, paradoxical affectations of vice and
immorality current among a certain section of society was censured as
being an attempt to _copy_ the thing it was _satirising_! So impossible is
it to get the average Englishman to distinguish for a moment between the
dramatist and his characters. The one notion that the public got into its
head was that we were a set of gloomy corrupters of youth, and it hooted
accordingly. Now, I do not deny that many undesirable things, many things
to regret, many extreme things, and some few unclean things, fastened upon
the recent dramatic movement. And so far as it had morbid issues, so far
as it tended merely to distress and confuse, so far as it painted vice and
ugliness for their own sakes, so far it was rightly and inevitably
condemned, nay, so far it condemned and destroyed itself. But these, I
maintain, were side-tendencies. They were not the essence of the movement.
They were the extravagances and confusions that always attend a revival,
whether in art or religion. And by the general public, who can never get
but one idea, and never more than one side of that idea, into its head at
a time, these extravagances and side-shoots are taken for the very heart
of the movement.
Take the Oxford movement. Did the great British public get a glimmer of
Newman's lofty idea of the continual indwelling miraculous spiritual
force of the Church? No. It got a notion into its head that a set of
rabid, dishonest bigots were trying to violate the purity of its
Protestant religion, so it hooted and howled, stamped upon the movement,
and went back to hug the sallow corpse of Evangelicalism for another
quarter of a century. The movement was thought to be killed. But it was
only scotched, and it is the one living force in the English Church
to-day.
Take, again, the aesthetic movement. Did the great British public get a
glimmer of William Morris's lofty idea of making every home in England
beautiful? No. It got a notion into its head that a set of idiotic <DW2>s
had gone crazy in worship of sunflowers; so it giggled and derided, and
went back to its geometric-patterned Brussels carpets, its flock
wall-papers, and all the damnable trumpery of Tottenham Court Road. The
movement was thought to be killed, but it was only scotched; and whatever
beauty there is in English interiors, whatever advance has been made in
decorating our homes, is due to that movement. Again, to compare small
things with great, in the recent attempt to give England a living national
drama, we have been judged not upon the essence of the matter, but upon
certain extravagances and side-tendencies. The great public got a notion
into its head that a set of gloomy, vicious persons had conspired to
corrupt the youth of our nation by writing immoral plays. And the untimely
accident of a notorious prosecution giving some colour to the opinion, no
further examination was made of the matter. A clean sweep was made of the
whole business, and a rigid system of wax-doll morality established
forthwith, so far, that is, as the modern prose drama is concerned. But
this wax-doll morality is only enforced against the serious drama of
modern life. It is not enforced against farce, or musical comedy. It is
only the serious dramatist who has been gagged and handcuffed. Adultery is
still an excellent joke in a farce, provided it is conveyed by winks and
nods. The whole body of a musical entertainment may reek with cockney
indecency and witlessness, and yet no English mother will sniff offence,
provided it is covered up with dances and songs. I repeat that if a
thorough examination is made of the matter, it will be found that the
recent movement has been judged upon a small side-issue.
We may hope that the English translation of M. Filon's work will do
something to reinstate us in the good opinion of our countrymen. I think,
if his readers will take his cue that during the last few years there has
been an earnest attempt on the part of a few writers to establish a living
English drama, that is, a drama which within necessary limitations and
conventions sets out with a determination to see English life as it really
is and to paint English men and women as they really are--I think if
playgoers will take that cue from M. Filon, they will get a better notion
of the truth of the case than if they still regard us as gloomy and
perverse corrupters of English youth.
A passage from George Meredith may perhaps serve to indicate the position
of the English drama at the present moment, and to point in what direction
its energies should lie when the gags and handcuffs are removed, and the
stiffness gets out of its joints. At the opening of _Diana of the
Crossways_ these memorable words occur:--
"Then, ah! then, moreover, will the novelist's art (and the dramatist's),
now neither blushless infant nor executive man, have attained its
majority. We can then be veraciously historical, honestly transcriptive.
Rose-pink and dirty drab will alike have passed away. Philosophy is the
foe of both, and their silly cancelling contest, perpetually renewed in a
shuffle of extremes, as it always is where a phantasm falseness reigns,
will no longer baffle the contemplation of natural flesh, smother no
longer the soul issuing out of our incessant strife. Philosophy bids us to
see that we are not so pretty as rose-pink, not so repulsive as dirty
drab; and that, instead of everlastingly shifting those barren aspects,
the sight of ourselves is wholesome, bearable, fructifying, finally a
delight. Do but perceive that we are coming to philosophy, the stride
toward it will be a giant's--a century a day. And imagine the celestial
refreshment of having a pure decency in the place of sham; real flesh; a
soul born active, wind-beaten, but ascending. Honourable will fiction (and
the drama) then appear; honourable, a fount of life, an aid to life, quick
with our blood. Why, when you behold it you love it,--and you will not
encourage it?--or only when presented by dead hands? Worse than that
alternative dirty drab, your recurring rose-pink is rebuked by hideous
revelations of the filthy foul; for nature will force her way, and if you
try to stifle her by drowning she comes up, not the fairest part of her
uppermost! Peruse your Realists--really your castigators, for not having
yet embraced philosophy. As she grows in the flesh when discreetly tended,
nature is unimpeachable, flower-like, yet not too decoratively a flower;
you must have her with the stem, the thorns, the roots, and the fat
bedding of roses. In this fashion she grew, says historical fiction; thus
does she flourish now, would say the modern transcript, reading the inner
as well as exhibiting the outer.
"And how may you know that you have reached to philosophy? You touch her
skirts when you share her hatred of the sham decent, her derision of
sentimentalism. You are one with her when--but I would not have you a
thousand years older! Get to her, if in no other way, by the sentimental
route:--that very winding path, which again and again brings you round to
the point of original impetus, where you have to be unwound for another
whirl; your point of original impetus being the grossly material, not at
all the spiritual. It is most true that sentimentalism springs from the
former, merely and badly aping the latter;--fine flower, or pinnacle
flame-spire, of sensualism that it is, could it do other?--and
accompanying the former it traverses tracks of desert, here and there
couching in a garden, catching with one hand at fruits, with another at
colours; imagining a secret ahead, and goaded by an appetite sustained by
sheer gratifications. Fiddle in harmonics as it may, it will have these
gratifications at all costs. Should none be discoverable, at once you are
at the Cave of Despair, beneath the funeral orb of Glaucoma, in the thick
midst of poinarded, slit-throat, rope-dependent figures, placarded across
the bosom Disillusioned, Infidel, Agnostic, Miserrimus. That is the
sentimental route to advancement. Spirituality does not light it;
evanescent dreams are its oil | 1,338.054549 |
2023-11-16 18:39:22.1260460 | 7,394 | 22 |
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Transcriber's Note: Table of Contents / Illustrations added.
* * * * *
TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.
BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.
Illustrations:
Trinity College In 1869.
T. C. Brownell.
Trinity College In 1828.
J. Williams.
Statue Of Bishop Brownell, On The Campus.
Proposed New College Buildings.
Geo Williamson Smith.
James Williams, Forty Years Janitor Of Trinity College.
Bishop Seabury's Mitre, In The Library.
Chair Of Gov. Wanton, Of Rhode Island, In The Library.
Trinity College In 1885.
(Signature) N. S. Wheaton
(Signature) Silas Totten
(Signature) D. R. Goodwin
(Signature) Samuel Eliot
(Signature) J. B. Kerfoot
(Signature) A. Jackson
(Signature) T. R. Pynchon
The New Gymnasium.
College Logo.
THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
Illustration:
Marshfield--Residence Of Daniel Webster.
TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.
ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE.
BY EDWARD P. GUILD.
A ROMANCE OF KING PHILIP'S WAR.
BY FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN.
THE PICTURE.
BY MARY D. BRINE.
NEW BEDFORD.
BY HERBERT L. ALDRICH.
Illustrations:
Old Whalers And Barrels Of Oil.
City Hall And Depot.
Front Street And Fish Markets Along The Wharves.
The Head Of The River.
Along The Wharfs And Relics Of The Last Century.
New Station Of The Old Colony Railroad.
Custom House.
Court House.
Grace Episcopal Church.
Looking Down Union Street.
Unitarian Church, Union Street.
Mandell's House, Hawthorne Street.
Residence Of Mayor Rotch.
The Stone Church And Yacht Club House.
Fish Island.
Seamen's Bethel And Sailor's Home.
Merchants' And Mechanics' Bank.
Residence Of Joseph Grinnell.
Friends Meeting-House.
Public Library.
HENRY BARNARD--THE AMERICAN EDUCATOR.
BY THE LATE HON. JOHN D. PHILBRICK.
A DAUGHTER OF THE PURITANS.
BY ANNA B. BENSEL.
JUDICIAL FALSIFICATIONS OF HISTORY.
BY CHARLES COWLEY, LL.D.
DORRIS'S HERO.
A ROMANCE OF THE OLDEN TIME.
BY MARJORIE DAW.
EDITOR'S TABLE.
HISTORICAL RECORD.
NECROLOGY.
LITERATURE.
INDEX TO MAGAZINE LITERATURE.
Illustration:
MARK HOPKINS, D.D., LL.D.
* * * * *
THE
NEW ENGLAND MAGAZINE
AND
BAY STATE MONTHLY.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
OLD SERIES, MAY, 1886. NEW SERIES,
VOL. IV. NO. 5. VOL. I. NO. 5.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1886, by Bay State Monthly Company. All rights reserved.
#TRINITY COLLEGE, HARTFORD.#
BY SAMUEL HART, D.D., PROFESSOR OF LATIN.
[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1869.]
The plan for the establishment of a second college in Connecticut was
not carried into effect until after the time of the political and
religious revolution which secured the adoption of a State Constitution
in 1818. Probably no such plan was seriously entertained till after the
close of the war of Independence. The Episcopal church in Connecticut
had, one may almost say, been born in the library of Yale College; and
though Episcopalians, with other dissenters from the "standing order,"
had been excluded from taking any part in the government or the
instruction of the institution, they did not forget how much they owed
to it as the place where so many of their clergy had received their
education. In fact, when judged by the standards of that day, it would
appear that they had at first little cause to complain of illiberal
treatment, while on the other hand they did their best to assist the
college in the important work which it had in hand. But Yale College,
under the presidency of Dr. Clap, assumed a more decidedly theological
character than before, and set itself decidedly in opposition to those
who dissented from the Westminster Confession of Faith and the Saybrook
Platform of Discipline. Besides, King's College, which had been lately
founded in New York, drew away some Episcopal students from Connecticut
and made others dissatisfied; and had not the war with the mother
country rudely put a stop to the growth of Episcopacy in the colony, it
would seem that steps might have been soon taken for the establishment
of some institution of learning, at least a school of theology, under
the care of the clergy of the Church of England.
[Illustration: (signature) T. C. Brownell]
[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1828.]
At any rate no sooner was it known that the war was ended than the
churchmen of Connecticut sent the Rev. Dr. Seabury across the ocean
to seek consecration as a bishop; and it was not long after his return
that the diocese, now fully organized, set on foot a plan for the
establishment of an institution of sound learning, and in 1795 the
Episcopal Academy of Connecticut was founded at Cheshire. It was
sometimes called Seabury College, and, under its learned principals, it
fitted many young men for entrance upon their theological studies, and
gave them part at least of their professional training. But its charter,
which was granted by the General Assembly of the State in 1801, did not
give it the power of conferring degrees, and the frequent petitions for
an extension of charter rights, so as to make of the academy a
collegiate institution, were refused. For a time, owing to determined
opposition in the State, to the vacancy in the episcopate, and to other
causes, the project was postponed. But a combination of events, social,
political, and religious, led at length to the great revolution in
Connecticut, in which all dissenters from the standing order united
in opposition to it, and secured in 1818, though it was by a small
majority, the adoption of a State Constitution containing a clause which
admitted of "secession" from any ecclesiastical society and secured
perfect religious equality before the law.
[Illustration: (signature) J. Williams]
[Illustration: STATUE OF BISHOP BROWNELL, ON THE CAMPUS.]
In the following year, while the enthusiasm of the victory was still
felt, the vacant episcopate was filled by the election of the Rev. Dr.
Thomas Church Brownell, who had been for ten years tutor and professor
in Union College, a man of learning, profoundly interested in education,
and qualified for the varied duties which lay upon him as Bishop of
Connecticut. He soon availed himself of this favorable opportunity for
renewing the plans for the establishment of a college. There was much
strong opposition to be encountered, and the student of the pamphlet
literature of the day finds much to excite his interest and his wonder
in the attacks upon the proposed "Second College in Connecticut"--"Seabury
College," as it was sometimes called. The whole matter was curiously
complicated with discussions as to political and financial matters, the
many questions between the recently disestablished order and its opponents
not having been fully settled as yet. At last, on the 13th day of May,
1823, a petition for a college charter was presented to the General
Assembly, and the act of incorporation of Washington College passed the
lower house three days later, and soon received the assent of the senate
and the approval of the governor. The name selected for the institution was
not that which its friends would have preferred; but the honored name of
Washington was adopted partly, as it would appear, because others than
Episcopalians united in the establishment of the college, and partly that
there could be no ground of opposition to it on account of its name. Among
the corporators associated with Bishop Brownell were some of the prominent
clergy and laity of the diocese, such as the Rev. Drs. Harry Croswell
and N. S. Wheaton, Gov. John S. Peters, the Hon. Nathan Smith, the Hon.
Elijah Boardman, the Hon. Asa Chapman, Com. McDonough, and Mr. Charles
Sigourney; and there were added to them representatives of the other
opponents of the old establishment, among them the Rev. Samuel Merwin
and the Rev. Elisha Cushman. It was expressly provided in the charter
that no religious test whatever should be required of any president,
professor, or other officer, and that the religious tenets of no person
should be made a condition of admission to any privilege in the college.
Even before the charter containing this clause was granted, it produced
a most important effect; for, on the 12th day of May, 1823,--it was
believed, as a last effort of opposition,--the corporation of Yale
College met in Hartford, and repealed the test act which required of all
its officers, even of professors in the medical school, a subscription
to the Saybrook Platform.
[Illustration: PROPOSED NEW COLLEGE BUILDINGS.]
[Illustration: (signature) Geo. Williamson Smith]
The trustees of the new college were authorized to locate it in any town
in the State as soon as $30,000 should be secured for its support; and
when it was found that more than three-fourths of the sum of $50,000,
which was soon subscribed, was the gift of citizens of Hartford, who
thus manifested in a substantial way the interest which they had
previously expressed, it was decided to establish Washington College in
that city. A site of fourteen acres on an elevation, then described as
about half a mile from the city, was secured for the buildings, and in
June, 1824, Seabury Hall and Jarvis Hall (as they were afterwards
called) were begun. They were of brown stone, following the Ionic order
of architecture, well proportioned, and well adapted to the purposes for
which they were designed. The former, containing rooms for the chapel,
the library, the cabinet, and for recitations, was designed by Prof. S.
F. B. Morse, and the latter, having lodging-rooms for nearly a hundred
students, was designed by Mr. Solomon Millard, the architect of Bunker
Hill Monument. The buildings were not completed when, on the 23d of
September, 1824, one senior, one sophomore, six freshmen, and one
partial student were admitted members of the college; and work was begun
in rooms in the city. The faculty had been organized by the election of
Bishop Brownell as president, the Rev. George W. Doane (afterwards
Bishop of New Jersey), as professor of _belles-lettres_ and oratory, Mr.
Frederick Hall as professor of chemistry and mineralogy, Mr. Horatio
Hickok as professor of agriculture and political economy (he was, by the
way, the first professor of this latter science in this country), and
Dr. Charles Sumner as professor of botany. The instruction in the
ancient languages was intrusted to the Rev. Hector Humphreys, who was
soon elected professor, and who left the college in 1830 to become
President of St. John's College, Maryland. The chair of mathematics and
natural philosophy was filled in 1828 by the election of the Rev.
Horatio Potter, now the venerable Bishop of New York. The learned Rev.
Dr. S. F. Jarvis soon began his work in and for the college, under the
title of Professor of Oriental Literature; and the Hon. W. W. Ellsworth
was chosen professor of law. The provision which was announced in the
first statement published by the trustees, that students would be
allowed to enter in partial courses without becoming candidates for a
degree, was a new feature in collegiate education, and a considerable
number of young men were found who were glad to avail themselves of it.
It is believed, also, that practical instruction in the natural sciences
was given here to a larger extent than in most other colleges.
[Illustration: JAMES WILLIAMS,
Forty Years Janitor of Trinity College; died 1878.]
[Illustration: BISHOP SEABURY'S MITRE, IN THE LIBRARY.]
In 1826 there were fifty undergraduates. A library had been obtained
which, in connection with Dr. Jarvis's, was called second in magnitude
and first in value of all in the country. The professor of mineralogy
had collected a good cabinet. There was a greenhouse and an arboretum;
and, besides gifts from friends at home, the Rev. Dr. Wheaton had been
successful in securing books and apparatus in England for the use of the
college.
[Illustration: CHAIR OF GOV. WANTON, OF RHODE ISLAND, IN THE LIBRARY.]
A doctor's degree was conferred in 1826 upon Bishop Jolly ("Saint Jolly"
he was called), of Scotland, but the first commencement was held in
1827, when ten young men were graduated. Of these, three died in early
life, and but one, the Rev. Oliver Hopson, survives. To a member of this
class, the Hon. Isaac E. Crary, the first president of the alumni, is
due no small share of the credit of organizing the educational system of
Michigan, which he represented both as a territory and as a State in the
Federal Congress. The Athenaeum Literary Society was organized in 1825,
and the Parthenon, the first president of which was the poet Park
Benjamin, in 1827. The Missionary Society, still in successful
operation, was founded in 1831, its first president being George Benton,
afterwards missionary to Greece and Crete, and from it, primarily
through the efforts of Augustus F. Lyde, of the class of 1830, came the
establishment of the foreign missions of the Episcopal Church of this
country.
[Illustration: TRINITY COLLEGE IN 1885.]
When Bishop Brownell retired from the presidency of the college in 1831,
in order to devote all his time to the work of the diocese, he was
succeeded by the Rev. Dr. N. S. Wheaton, an early, steadfast, and
liberal friend of the institution. He secured the endowment of two
professorships, and among the many good things which he planned and did
for the college should not be forgotten the taste with which he laid out
and beautified its grounds. To him succeeded, in 1837, the Rev. Dr.
Silas Totten, professor of mathematics. During his presidency of eleven
years, additions were made to the scholarship fund, and the foundation
of a library fund was laid; and in 1845 a third building, Brownell Hall,
was built, corresponding in appearance to Jarvis Hall, and, like it,
designed for occupation by students. In the same year, on the petition
of the corporation, who acted in the matter at the desire of the alumni,
the General Assembly of the State changed the name of the college to
TRINITY COLLEGE. The change was intended in part to prevent the
confusion which arose from the use of a name which the college had in
common with other institutions, in part to attest the faith of those who
had founded and who maintained the college, and in part to secure a name
which (especially at Cambridge in England) had been long associated with
sound learning. At the same time the alumni were organized into a
convocation as a constituent part of the academic body.
[Illustration: (signature) N. S. Wheaton]
[Illustration: (signature) Silas Totten]
In 1848 the Rev. Dr. John Williams, a graduate in the class of 1835,
who, though he was less than thirty-one years of age, had given ample
promise of extraordinary abilities, was chosen president, and he held
the office until 1854, when the duties of assistant bishop, to which he
had been consecrated in 1851, forced him to resign. He did much to
increase the library funds and to develop the course of academic
instruction. He also began instruction in theology, and an informal
theological department grew up, which was organized in 1854 as the
Berkeley Divinity School and located in Middletown. He was succeeded by
the Rev. Dr. D. R. Goodwin. In 1860 Prof. Samuel Eliot was chosen
president, and in 1864, the Rev. Dr. J. B. Kerfoot, who was called in
1866 to the bishopric of Pittsburgh. Under the care of these scholarly
men the college maintained and strengthened its position as a seat of
learning (though in the time of the civil war it suffered from depletion
in numbers), additions were made to the funds, and a new professorship
was founded. Among those whom the college gave to the war were Generals
G. A. Stedman and Strong Vincent, and the "battle-laureate of America,"
Henry H. Brownell.
[Illustration: (signature) D. R. Goodwin]
[Illustration: (signature) Samuel Eliot]
[Illustration: (signature) J. B. Kerfoot]
[Illustration: (signature) A. Jackson]
In June, 1867, the Rev. Dr. Abner Jackson, of the class of 1837,
formerly professor here, then President of Hobart College, was elected
president. Under his administration, in 1871-72, the number of
undergraduates, for the first time, reached a hundred. In 1871 the
legacy of Mr. Chester Adams, of Hartford, brought to the college some
$65,000, the largest gift thus far from any individual. In 1872, after
much discussion and hesitation, the trustees decided to accept the offer
of the city of Hartford, which desired to purchase the college campus
for a liberal sum, that it might be offered to the State as a site for
the new capitol, the college reserving the right to occupy for five or
six years so much of the buildings as it should not be necessary to
remove. In 1873 a site of about eighty acres, on a bluff of trap-rock in
the southern part of the city, commanding a magnificent view in every
direction, was purchased for the college, and President Jackson secured
elaborate plans for extensive ranges of buildings in great quadrangles.
The work, to which he devoted much time and thought, was deferred by his
death in April, 1874, but the Rev. Dr. T. R. Pynchon, of the class of
1841, who succeeded him in the presidency, entered vigorously upon the
labor of providing the college with a new home. Ground was broken in
1875, and in the autumn of 1878 two blocks of buildings, each three
hundred feet long, bearing the old names of Seabury and Jarvis Halls,
were completed. They stand on the brow of the cliff, having a broad
plateau before them on the east, and, with the central tower, erected in
1882 by the munificence of Col. C. H. Northam, they form the west side
of the proposed great quadrangle. Under Dr. Pynchon's direction the
former plans had been much modified, in order that this one range of
buildings might suffice for the urgent needs of the college, provision
being made for suitable rooms for the chapel, the library, and the
cabinet, as well as for lecture-rooms and for suites of students'
apartments. During his presidency the endowments were largely increased
by the generous legacies of Col. and Mrs. Northam, whose gifts to the
college amount to nearly a quarter of a million of dollars; large and
valuable additions were made to the library and the cabinet, and the
number of students was, in 1877-80, greater than ever before. By a
change in the charter, made in 1883, the election of three of the
trustees was put into the hands of the alumni.
[Illustration: (signature) T. R. Pynchon]
In 1883 the Rev. Dr. George Williamson Smith was elected to the
presidency, and was welcomed to his duties with much enthusiasm. In
the following year considerable changes were made in the course of
instruction, including arrangements for four distinct schemes of study,
introducing elective studies into the work of the junior and senior
years, and providing for practical work in the applied sciences. An
observatory has been built, for which a telescope and other apparatus
have been presented; and the funds have been secured for the erection of
an ample gymnasium, with a theatre or lecture-hall.
Of the nearly nine hundred men who have received the bachelor's degree
from Trinity College no small number have attained eminence in their
respective walks in life. The class of 1829 gave a governor to Michigan
and a judge to Illinois; the class of 1830, a member of Congress to
Tennessee, a judge to Louisiana, and two prominent divines to Ohio; the
class of 1831, a bishop to Kansas; the class of 1832, three members of
Congress, one to North Carolina, one to Missouri (who has also been
governor of the State), and one to New York, a distinguished clergyman
to Connecticut, and a chaplain to West Point; the class of 1835, an
archbishop to the Roman Catholic Church, and a chairman to the house of
bishops of the American Episcopal Church; the class of 1840, a president
to St. Stephen's College and a supreme-court judge to Connecticut; the
class of 1846, a member of Congress to New York, another (also
lieutenant-governor) to Minnesota, and a president to Norwich
University; the class of 1848, a bishop to Massachusetts, a lecturer, a
tutor, and three trustees to the college; and this list seems as a
sample of what the college has done and is doing, in the spirit of her
motto, for the Church and the country. The bishops of Connecticut,
Kansas, Georgia, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Washington
Territory, and Indiana are among her alumni; with them some three
hundred others have entered the ministry of the Christian Church; and
representatives of the college are found holding honored positions in
the State, in institutions of learning, in the professions of law and
medicine, and in the business of life. Her course of instruction unites
the conservatism of experience with adaptation to the needs of modern
scholarship, all under the acknowledged influence of religious nurture;
her well-stocked library and ample museum, with her unrivalled
accommodations for students, furnish her for her work, so that she is,
in reality as well as in name, in the affections of her members as well
as in her profession, a home of sound learning. And as her needs are
supplied by the generosity of alumni and friends, she will be still
better qualified for her work and will draw still closer to herself
those who are entrusted to her care.
The elaborate plans for the new buildings, prepared by the eminent
English architect the late Mr. Burgess, were such as to provide for all
the present and prospective needs of the college. As finally arranged
they included a large quadrangle six hundred feet by three hundred, at
either end of which should be a quadrangle three hundred feet square. It
was not expected that all of the great pile could be built at once, and,
in fact, all that has been erected as yet is the west side of the great
"quad." This includes, as has been said above, two long blocks of
buildings connected by a large tower some seventy feet square. The style
of architecture is that known as French secular Gothic; the buildings
are of brown Portland stone, liberally trimmed with white sandstone from
Ohio. Jarvis Hall contains forty-four suites of rooms for the students
and the junior professors, unsurpassed for beauty and convenience by
students' quarters elsewhere; they are so arranged that each suite of
rooms runs through the buildings, and that there is plenty of sunlight
and air in every study and bedroom. The Northam tower is also fitted
for students' apartments. In Seabury Hall, the plan of which was
modified under Mr. Kimball, the American architect, are the spacious
lecture-rooms, finished, as is all the rest of the buildings, in ash and
with massive Ohio stone mantel-pieces; and also the other public rooms.
The chapel is arranged choir-wise, after the English custom, and will
accommodate about two hundred people; the wood-work here is particularly
handsome. It is provided with a fine organ, the gift of a recent
graduate. The museum contains a full set of Ward's casts of famous
fossils, including the huge megatherium, a large collection of mounted
skeletons, and cases filled with minerals and shells; while the
galleries afford room for other collections. The library extends through
three stories, and is overrunning with its twenty-six thousand books and
thirteen thousand pamphlets; large and valuable additions have been made
to its shelves within a few years. The erection of a separate library
building, probably at the south end of the great quadrangle, will be a
necessity before many years. The laboratories for practical work in
physics and chemistry are at present in Seabury Hall; but there is a
demand for larger accommodations. The St. John observatory is a small,
but well-furnished building on the south campus. The present gymnasium
is a plain structure on the north campus, between the dormitories and
the president's house; but the funds have already been obtained for a
handsome and spacious gymnasium, and the generous gift of Mr. J. S.
Morgan, of London, has provided for the erection of an "annex," under
cover of which base-ball and other games may be practised in the
winter. As new buildings rise from time to time, the spacious grounds
will doubtless be laid out and beautified to correspond with the lawn in
front of the present buildings. Mention should also be made of the halls
of the college fraternities, three of which are already erected.
[Illustration: THE NEW GYMNASIUM]
Thus the college, though it needs an increase in its funds for various
purposes, is well fitted for its work. In its courses of instruction it
provides for those who wish to secure degrees in arts and in science,
and also for special students. The prizes offered in the several
departments and the honors which may be attained by excellence in the
work of the curriculum serve as incentives to scholarship. Nor is it
least among the attractions of Trinity College that it stands in the
city of Hartford.
[Illustration]
[Webster Historical Society Papers.]
THE WEBSTER FAMILY.
BY HON. STEPHEN M. ALLEN.
II.
The feeling between the settlers and the Indians, as narrated by Dr.
Moore Russell Fletcher, became so bitter that the Indians determined
on the total annihilation of the villagers, and with that intent
seventy-five or eighty Indians left their tribe in the vicinity of
Canada, and came down the head waters of the Pemigewassett as far as
Livermore Falls, and there camped for the night. All were soon sound in
sleep except one Indian, who was friendly to the settlers. He made his
way to Plymouth, aroused the villagers, and informed them of their
dangerous situation. The settlers, in dismay, asked each other, "What
can be done?" The Indian heard their inquiries, saw their alarm, and in
his Indian way, said, "Harkee me, Indian,--you no run away, no fight so
many Indians. Go up river a mile, quick, make um up fires by camp-ground
(holding up his fingers, five, ten, twenty), cut um sticks, like Indian
roast him meat on, lay um ends in fires, put fires out. When Indians see
and count um sticks he shake his head,--no fight so many pale-faces;
they go back home to camp-grounds." Next morning the villagers waited in
great excitement, fear, and hope. No Indians appeared, and there was
little trouble from them afterwards. Comparative peace reigned, although
the Indians at times (three or four in number) passed through the quiet
town of Plymouth on their way to their old camping-grounds. The
villagers buried their animosity, having been told of the ill-treatment
of the Indians by the State, and, instead of driving them from their
houses, they fed and kept them over night when they signified a desire
to stop and rest.
After many years other settlers went there; passable roads and bridges
were made, and the settlement was extended up along Baker's River almost
to Rumney, and down the river nearly to Bridgewater, now called Lower
Intervale. They brought in from the lower towns oxen, cows, horses,
pigs, geese, and turkeys. Their furs and moose and bear-skins found
ready sale in the lower towns, and afforded them the means of the most
common luxuries and groceries, which could not be provided in their
incomplete rural settlement.
[Illustration: MARSHFIELD--RESIDENCE OF DANIEL WEBSTER.]
A Mr. Brown, of that part of the settlement known as the Lower
Intervale, was one night returning from a neighbor's house. In the
darkness he lost the footpath, and dropped upon his hands and knees to
feel for it. Instantly he felt the hair of some animal touch his face. A
quick thought told him that his companion was none other than an immense
bear. Mr. Brown's presence of mind did not desert him. He knew that all
domestic animals like to be rubbed or scratched, so he began rubbing up
and down his companion's breast and neck, continuing as far as the
throat, while with his other hand he drew out his long hunting-knife
and plunged it in to the handle, at the same instant jumping backwards
with all his might. As soon as he could he made his way back to his
neighbor's house; his neighbor and another man, armed with gun, axe,
long hay-fork and lantern, returned to the place of encounter, where
they found Bruin already dead. Bear-steak was served all around the next
morning.
Ebenezer Webster, the father of Daniel, settled at Salisbury about the
time that Stephen went to Plymouth, and the hardships they underwent
were very similar.
Daniel was born ten years after the Revolutionary War, and had to pass
through many of the privations of the first settlers.
The clearing of the land was a tedious process, in which all boys had
to participate. The forest trees were felled generally when in full
foliage, about the first of June, and laid thus until the next March,
when the "lopping of the limbs," as it was called, went on, in which
boys, with their small hatchets, took part.
About the middle of May, when perfectly dry, they were set on fire, and
the small limbs, with the leaves, were burned. In the midst of the
tree-trunks, as they lay, corn was planted in the burnt ground, and
usually yielded some sixty bushels, shelled, to the acre.
In the early autumn, when the corn was in milk, bears, hedgehogs, and
<DW53>s were very troublesome, for they trampled down a great deal more
than they ate. Later in the autumn the chopping was infested by
squirrels. All practicable means were used for killing these visitors.
Bears were caught in log traps, hedgehogs were hunted with clubs, and
<DW53>s were caught in steel traps. Squirrels generally visited the
chopping in the daytime, and were killed with bows and arrows, and
sometimes caught in box traps. All of these animals were considered good
food.
Just before the frost came the corn was gathered and shucked, and
afterwards husked and put into the granary. During the winter the felled
trees were sometimes cut for firewood, and those remaining in the spring
were "junked," as it was called, and rolled into immense piles and
burned, after which a crop of rye or wheat was sown, and hacked in with
hoes, the roots of the trees preventing the movement of the harrow. The
process of "junking" was a tedious one, as the burnt logs soon covered
the axe-handle with smut, drying up the skin of the hands so they would
often crack and bleed.
It is said that young Daniel disliked this toil very much, and was among
the earliest to devise "niggering," as it was called. In this process a
stick of wood was laid across the log and lighted with fire, so it would
burn down through the larger log, when fanned by the breeze, cutting it
in two.
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DRAWINGS OF LEONARDO DA VINCI
With an introduction by Charles Lewis Hind
LONDON. GEORGE NEWNES LIMITED
SOUTHAMPTON STREET. STRAND WC
NEW YORK. CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1907
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATE
PROFILE OF A WARRIOR FRONTISPIECE
PORTRAIT OF ISABELLA D'ESTE I
STUDY OF AN OLD MAN II
STUDY OF DRAPERIES FOR KNEELING FIGURES III
STUDY OF A BACCHUS IV
HEAD OF A MAN V
BATTLE BETWEEN HORSEMEN AND MONSTERS VI
WOMAN SEATED ON GROUND AND CHILD KNEELING VII
STUDIES OF HEADS VIII
YOUTH ON HORSEBACK IX
STUDIES FOR THE EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF FRANCESCO SFORZA X
THE VIRGIN, ST. ANNE AND INFANT XI
STUDIES OF CHILDREN XII
THE COMBAT XIII
STUDY FOR A MADONNA XIV
STUDIES FOR "THE HOLY FAMILY" XV
STUDIES FOR "THE LAST SUPPER" XVI
COURTYARD OF A CANNON-FOUNDRY XVII
STUDY OF THE HEAD OF AN APOSTLE XVIII
STUDY FOR BACKGROUND OF "THE ADORATION OF THE MAGI" XIX
STUDY OF LANDSCAPE XX
STUDY OF A TREE XXI
TWO HEADS CARICATURES XXII
ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST XXIII
THE HEAD OF CHRIST XXIV
CARICATURES XXV
HEAD OF AN ANGEL XXVI
STUDY OF A MAN'S HEAD XXVII
STUDIES OF HANDS XXVIII
DRAGON FIGHTING WITH A LION XXIX
MAN KNEELING XXX
PORTRAIT STUDY XXXI
STUDIES OF ANIMALS XXXII
PORTRAIT OF LEONARDO, BY HIMSELF XXXIII
SIX HEADS OF MEN AND A BUST OF A WOMAN XXXIV
STUDY OF A HEAD XXXV
THE ST. ANNE CARTOON XXXVI
STUDIES OF HORSES XXXVII
HEADS OF A WOMAN AND A CHILD XXXVIII
STUDY OF DRAPERY FOR A KNEELING FIGURE XXXIX
KNIGHT IN ARMOUR XL
STUDY OF A YOUTHFUL HEAD XLI
STUDY FOR "LEDA" XLII
HEAD OF AN OLD MAN XLIII
STUDY OF A HEAD XLIV
STUDY OF THE HEAD OF ST. PHILIP FOR "THE LAST SUPPER" XLV
STUDY OF DRAPERY XLVI
GIRL'S HEAD XLVII
STUDIES OF A SATYR WITH A LION XLVIII
THE DRAWINGS OF LEONARDO DA VINCI BY C. LEWIS HIND
Leonardo da Vinci found in drawing the readiest and most stimulating
way of self-expression. The use of pen and crayon came to him as
naturally as the monologue to an eager and egoistic talker. The outline
designs in his "Treatise on Painting" aid and amplify the text with
a force that is almost unknown in modern illustrated books. Open the
pages at random. Here is a sketch showing "the greatest twist which a
man can make in turning to look at himself behind." The accompanying
text is hardly needed. The drawing supplies all that Leonardo wished to
convey.
Unlike Velasquez, whose authentic drawings are almost negligible, pen,
pencil, silver-point, or chalk were rarely absent from Leonardo’s
hand, and although, in face of the _Monna Lisa_ and _The Virgin of
the Rocks_ and the _St. Anne_, it is an exaggeration to say that he
would have been quite as highly esteemed had none of his work except
the drawings been preserved, it is in the drawings that we realise the
extent of "that continent called Leonardo." The inward-smiling women of
the pictures, that have given Leonardo as painter a place apart in the
painting hierarchy, appear again and again in the drawings. And in the
domain of sculpture, where Leonardo also triumphed, although nothing
modelled by his hand now remains, we read in Vasari of certain "heads
of women smiling."
"His spirit was never at rest," says Antonio Billi, his earliest
biographer, "his mind was ever devising new things." The restlessness
of that profound and soaring mind is nowhere so evident as in the
drawings and in the sketches that illustrate the manuscripts. Nature,
in lavishing so many gifts upon him, perhaps withheld concentration,
although it might be argued that, like | 1,338.152309 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
AND OTHER PLAYS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
AND OTHER PLAYS
BY
WILLIAM B. YEATS
AND
LADY GREGORY
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1908
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1904, 1908,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
New edition. Set up and electrotyped. Published April, 1908.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE
About seven years ago I began to dictate the first of these Plays to
Lady Gregory. My eyesight had become so bad that I feared I could
henceforth write nothing with my own hands but verses, which, as
Theophile Gautier has said, can be written with a burnt match. Our
Irish Dramatic movement was just passing out of the hands of English
Actors, hired because we knew of no Irish ones, and our little troop of
Irish amateurs--as they were at the time--could not have too many
Plays, for they would come to nothing without continued playing.
Besides, it was exciting to discover, after the unpopularity of blank
verse, what one could do with three Plays written in prose and founded
on three public interests deliberately chosen,--religion, humour,
patriotism. I planned in those days to establish a dramatic movement
upon the popular passions, as the ritual of religion is established in
the emotions that surround birth and death and marriage, and it was
only the coming of the unclassifiable, uncontrollable, capricious,
uncompromising genius of J. M. Synge that altered the direction of the
movement and made it individual, critical, and combative. If his had
not, some other stone would have blocked up the old way, for the public
mind of Ireland, stupefied by prolonged intolerant organisation, can
take but brief pleasure in the caprice that is in all art, whatever its
subject, and, more commonly, can but hate unaccustomed personal
reverie.
I had dreamed the subject of "Cathleen ni Houlihan," but found when I
looked for words that I could not create peasant dialogue that would go
nearer to peasant life than the dialogue in "The Land of Heart's
Desire" or "The Countess Cathleen." Every artistic form has its own
ancestry, and the more elaborate it is, the more is the writer
constrained to symbolise rather than to represent life, until perhaps
his ladies of fashion are shepherds and shepherdesses, as when Colin
Clout came home again. I could not get away, no matter how closely I
watched the country life, from images and dreams which had all too
royal blood, for they were descended like the thought of every poet
from all the conquering dreams of Europe, and I wished to make that
high life mix into some rough contemporary life without ceasing to be
itself, as so many old books and Plays have mixed it and so few modern,
and to do this I added another knowledge to my own. Lady Gregory had
written no Plays, but had, I discovered, a greater knowledge of the
country mind and country speech than anybody I had ever met with, and
nothing but a burden of knowledge could keep "Cathleen ni Houlihan"
from the clouds. I needed less help for the "Hour-Glass," for the
speech there is far from reality, and so the Play is almost wholly
mine. When, however, I brought to her the general scheme for the "Pot
of Broth," a little farce which seems rather imitative to-day, though
it plays well enough, and of the first version of "The Unicorn," "Where
there is Nothing," a five-act Play written in a fortnight to save it
from a plagiarist, and tried to dictate them, her share grew more and
more considerable. She would not allow me to put her name to these
Plays, though I have always tried to explain her share in them, but has
signed "The Unicorn from the Stars," which but for a good deal of the
general plan and a single character and bits of another is wholly hers.
I feel indeed that my best share in it is that idea, which I have been
capable of expressing completely in criticism alone, of bringing
together the rough life of the road and the frenzy that the poets have
found in their ancient cellar,--a prophecy, as it were, of the time
when it will be once again possible for a Dickens and a Shelley to be
born in the one body.
The chief person of the earlier Play was very dominating, and I have
grown to look upon this as a fault, though it increases the dramatic
effect in a superficial way. We cannot sympathise with the man who sets
his anger at once lightly and confidently to overthrow the order of the
world, for such a man will seem to us alike insane and arrogant. But
our hearts can go with him, as I think, if he speak with some humility,
so far as his daily self carry him, out of a cloudy light of vision;
for whether he understand or not, it may be that voices of angels and
archangels have spoken in the cloud, and whatever wildness come upon
his life, feet of theirs may well have trod the clusters. But a man so
plunged in trance is of necessity somewhat still and silent, though it
be perhaps the silence and the stillness of a lamp; and the movement of
the Play as a whole, if we are to have time to hear him, must be
without hurry or violence.
NOTES
I cannot give the full cast of "Cathleen ni Houlihan," which was first
played at St. Teresa's Hall, Dublin, on April 3, 1902, for I have been
searching the cupboard of the Abbey Theatre, where we keep old
Play-bills, and can find no record of it, nor did the newspapers of the
time mention more than the principals. Mr. W. G. Fay played the old
countryman, and Miss Quinn his wife, while Miss Maude Gonne was
Cathleen ni Houlihan, and very magnificently she played. The Play has
been constantly revived, and has, I imagine, been played more often
than any other, except perhaps Lady Gregory's "Spreading the News," at
the Abbey Theatre, Dublin.
The "Hour-Glass" was first played at the Molesworth Hall, Dublin, on
March 14, 1903, with the following cast:--
The Wise Man J. W. Digges
Bridget, his wife Maire T. Quinn
Her children Eithne and Padragan ni Shiubhlaigh
{ P. I. Kelly
Her pupils { Seumas O'Sullivan
{ P. Colum
{ P. MacShiubhlaigh
The Angel Maire ni Shiubhlaigh
The Fool F. J. Fay
The Play has been revived many times since then as a part of the
repertoire at the Abbey Theatre, Dublin.
"The Unicorn from the Stars" was first played at the Abbey Theatre on
November 23, 1907, with the following cast:--
Father John Ernest Vaughan
Thomas Hearne Arthur Sinclair
Andrew Hearne J. A. O'Rourke
Martin Hearne F. J. Fay
Johnny Bacach W. G. Fay
Paudeen J. M. Kerrigan
Biddy Lally Maire O'Neill
Nanny Bridget O'Dempsey
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS 1
By Lady Gregory and W. B. Yeats.
CATHLEEN NI HOULIHAN 135
By W. B. Yeats.
THE HOUR-GLASS 169
By W. B. Yeats.
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS
CHARACTERS
FATHER JOHN
THOMAS HEARNE _a coach builder._
ANDREW HEARNE _his brother._
MARTIN. HEARNE _his nephew._
JOHNNY BACACH }
PAUDEEN }
BIDDY LALLY } _beggars._
NANNY }
ACT I
SCENE: _Interior of a coach builder's workshop. Parts of a gilded
coach, among them an ornament representing the lion and the unicorn._
THOMAS _working at a wheel._ FATHER JOHN _coming from door of inner
room._
FATHER JOHN. I have prayed over Martin. I have prayed a long time, but
there is no move in him yet.
THOMAS. You are giving yourself too much trouble, Father. It's as good
for you to leave him alone till the doctor's bottle will come. If there
is any cure at all for what is on him, it is likely the doctor will
have it.
FATHER JOHN. I think it is not doctor's medicine will help him in this
case.
THOMAS. It will, it will. The doctor has his business learned well. If
Andrew had gone to him the time I bade him, and had not turned again to
bring yourself to the house, it is likely Martin would be walking at
this time. I am loth to trouble you, Father, when the business is not
of your own sort. Any doctor at all should be able, and well able, to
cure the falling sickness.
FATHER JOHN. It is not any common sickness that is on him now.
THOMAS. I thought at the first it was gone asleep he was. But when
shaking him and roaring at him failed to rouse him, I knew well it was
the falling sickness. Believe me, the doctor will reach it with his
drugs.
FATHER JOHN. Nothing but prayer can reach a soul that is so far beyond
the world as his soul is at this moment.
THOMAS. You are not saying that the life is gone out of him!
FATHER JOHN. No, no, his life is in no danger. But where he himself,
the spirit, the soul, is gone, I cannot say. It has gone beyond our
imaginings. He is fallen into a trance.
THOMAS. He used to be queer as a child, going asleep in the fields and
coming back with talk of white horses he saw, and bright people like
angels or whatever they were. But I mended that. I taught him to
recognise stones beyond angels with a few strokes of a rod. I would
never give in to visions or to trances.
FATHER JOHN. We who hold the faith have no right to speak against
trance or vision. St. Teresa had them, St. Benedict, St. Anthony, St.
Columcille. St. Catherine of Sienna often lay a long time as if dead.
THOMAS. That might be so in the olden time, but those things are gone
out of the world now. Those that do their work fair and honest have no
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Internet Archive)
MASTERPIECES
IN COLOUR
EDITED BY - -
T. LEMAN HARE
RAPHAEL
1483-1520
"MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR" SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
JOHN S. SARGENT. T. MARTIN WOOD.
LAWRENCE. S. L. BENSUSAN.
DURER. H. E. A. FURST.
MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
HOGARTH. C. LEWIS HIND.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WATTS. W. LOFTUS HARE.
INGRES. A. J. FINBERG.
COROT. SIDNEY ALLNUTT.
DELACROIX. PAUL G. KONODY.
_Others in Preparation._
[Illustration: PLATE I.--THE ANSIDEI MADONNA. Frontispiece
(In the National Gallery, London)
Better than any other picture by Raphael, this important altar-piece
shows the precociousness of Raphael's genius, for it was painted at
Perugia in 1506, when the master had scarcely passed into the
twenty-third year of his life. He had then just returned from Florence,
but, probably to humour his patrons, the Ansidei family, he reverted in
this picture once again to the formal manner of his second master,
Perugino. The "Ansidei Madonna" has the distinction of being the most
costly picture at the National Gallery--it was purchased in 1885 from
the Duke of Marlborough for L70,000.]
RAPHAEL
BY PAUL G. KONODY
ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT
REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR
[Illustration: IN SEMPITERNUM]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES CO.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. The Ansidei Madonna Frontispiece
In the National Gallery, London
Page
II. The Madonna del Gran Duca 14
In the Pitti Palace, Florence
III. The Madonna della Sedia 24
In the Pitti Palace, Florence
IV. "La Belle Jardiniere" 34
In the Louvre
V. The Madonna of the Tower 40
In the National Gallery, London
VI. Pope Julius II. 50
In the Uffizi Gallery, Florence
VII. Putto with Garland 60
In the Academy of St. Luca, Rome
VIII. Portrait of Raphael 70
In the Uffizi Gallery, Florence
I
"And I tell you that to paint one beautiful woman, I should need to see
several beautiful women, and to have you with me to choose the best,"
wrote Raphael, then at the zenith of his fame and good fortune, to his
life-long friend Count Baldassare Castiglione, who--the ideal courtier
himself--has given the world that immortal monument of Renaissance
culture, the Book of the Courtier. In penning these lines the prince of
painters intended, perhaps, no more than a pretty compliment to one who
was himself a model of courtesy and graceful speech, but the words
would gain deep significance if _picture_ were substituted for _woman_,
and if Castiglione were taken to signify the personification of
intellect and learning. For the beauty of Raphael's art, which in the
course of four centuries has lost none of its hold upon the admiration
of mankind, is distilled from the various elements of beauty contained
in the art that had gone before him and was being created around him;
and in choosing the best, at least as far as idea and conception are
concerned, he was guided by the deepest thinkers and keenest intellects
of what were then the world's greatest centres of culture.
Raphael was, indeed, born under a happy constellation. He was not a
giant of intellect, nor an epoch-making genius; as Michelangelo said of
him, he owed his art less to nature than to study; but he was born at a
time when two centuries of gradual artistic development had led up to a
point where an artist was needed to gather up the diverging threads and
bring the movement to a culmination, which will stand for all times as
a standard of perfection. Advantages of birth and early surroundings,
charm of appearance and disposition which made him a favourite wherever
he went, receptivity, adaptability, and application, and above all an
early and easy mastery of technique, were combined in Raphael to lead
him to this achievement. The smooth unclouded progress of his life from
recognition to fame, from prosperity to affluence, is not the turbulent
way of genius. Genius walks a sad and lonely path. Michelangelo, the
turbulent spirit, morose and dissatisfied, Lionardo da Vinci, pursuing
his high ideals without a thought of worldly success until his lonely
old age sees him expatriated and contemplating the fruitlessness of all
his labours--these men of purest genius have little in common with the
pliant courtier Raphael, the head himself of a little court of faithful
followers. The story goes that Michelangelo, in the bitterness of his
spirit, when meeting his happy rival at the head of his usual army of
some fifty dependants on his way to the Papal court, addressed him with
the words "You walk like the sheriff with his _posse comitatus_." And
Raphael, quick at repartee, retorted "And you, like an executioner
going to the scaffold." Whether the anecdote be true or not, it marks
the difference between the course of talent--albeit the rarest
talent--and that of genius.
[Illustration: PLATE II.--THE MADONNA DEL GRAN DUCA
(In the Pitti Palace, Florence)
This picture, remarkable for the effective simplicity of its design and
for the purity of the Virgin's face, derives the name by | 1,338.254383 |
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THE LAND OF PROMISE
_By the same Author_
THE UNKNOWN
THE CIRCLE
THE EXPLORER
JACK STRAW
LADY FREDERICK
LANDED GENTRY
THE TENTH MAN
A MAN OF HONOUR
MRS. DOT
PENELOPE
SMITH
CÆSAR’S WIFE
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
THE LAND OF
PROMISE
A COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS
BY
W. S. MAUGHAM
[Illustration: 1922]
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN. 1922
TO
IRENE VANBRUGH
_All applications regarding the Performance Rights of this play should
be addressed to Mr. R. Golding Bright, 20, Green Street, Leicester
Square, London, W.C. 2._
This play was produced on February 26, 1914, at the Duke of York’s
Theatre, with the following cast:
NORAH MARSH Irene Vanbrugh.
EDWARD MARSH C. V. France.
GERTRUDE MARSH Marion Ashworth.
FRANK TAYLOR Godfrey Tearle.
REGINALD HORNBY Basil Foster.
BENJAMIN TROTTER George Tully.
SIDNEY SHARP J. Woodall-Birde.
EMMA SHARP Mary Rorke.
JAMES WICKHAM Athol Stewart.
DOROTHY WICKHAM Netta Westcott.
AGNES PRINGLE Lena Halliday.
CLEMENT WYNNE Charles Goodwin.
KATE Marion Christie Murray.
CHARACTERS
NORAH MARSH.
EDWARD MARSH.
GERTRUDE MARSH.
FRANK TAYLOR.
REGINALD HORNBY.
BENJAMIN TROTTER.
SIDNEY SHARP.
EMMA SHARP.
JAMES WICKHAM.
DOROTHY WICKHAM.
AGNES PRINGLE.
CLEMENT WYNNE.
KATE.
The action of the play takes place at Tunbridge Wells, and later in
Canada.
THE LAND OF PROMISE
ACT I
SCENE: _The drawing-room at Miss Wickham’s house in Tunbridge
Wells. It is a room in which there is too much furniture. There are
armchairs covered with faded chintz, little tables here and there,
cabinets containing china, a great many photographs in silver
frames, porcelain ornaments wherever there is a vacant space,
Chippendale chairs and chairs from the Tottenham Court Road. There
are flowers in vases and growing plants. The wall-paper has a
pattern of enormous chrysanthemums, and on the walls are a large
number of old-fashioned watercolours in gilt frames. There is one
door, which leads into the hall; and a French window opens on to
the garden. The window is decorated with white lace curtains. It is
four o’clock in the afternoon. The sun is streaming through the
drawn blinds. There is a wreath of white flowers in a cardboard box
on one of the chairs. The door is opened by_ KATE, _the
parlour-maid. She is of respectable appearance and of a decent age.
She admits_ MISS PRINGLE. MISS PRINGLE _is companion to a wealthy
old lady in Tunbridge Wells. She is a woman of middle age, plainly
dressed, thin and narrow of shoulders, with a weather-beaten, tired
face and grey hair._
KATE.
I’ll tell Miss Marsh you’re here, Miss Pringle.
MISS PRINGLE.
How is she to-day, Kate?
KATE.
She’s tired out, poor thing. She’s lying down now. But I’m sure she’d
like to see you, Miss.
MISS PRINGLE.
I’m very glad she didn’t go to the funeral.
KATE.
Dr. Evans thought she’d better stay at home, Miss, and Mrs. Wickham said
she’d only upset herself if she went.
MISS PRINGLE.
I wonder how she stood it all those months, waiting on Miss Wickham hand
and foot.
KATE.
Miss Wickham wouldn’t have a professional nurse. And you know what she
was, Miss.... Miss Marsh slept in Miss Wickham’s room, and the moment
she fell asleep Miss Wickham would have her up because her pillow wanted
shaking, or she was thirsty, or something.
MISS PRINGLE.
I suppose she was very inconsiderate.
KATE.
Inconsiderate isn’t the word, Miss. I wouldn’t be a lady’s companion,
not for anything. What they have to put up with!
MISS PRINGLE.
Oh, well, everyone isn’t like Miss Wickham. The lady I’m companion to,
Mrs. Hubbard, is kindness itself.
KATE.
That sounds like Miss Marsh coming downstairs [_She goes to the door and
opens it._] Miss Pringle is here, Miss.
[NORAH _comes in. She is a woman of twenty-eight, with a pleasant,
honest face and a happy smile. She is gentle, with quiet manners,
but she has a quick temper, under very good control, and a
passionate nature which is hidden under a demure appearance. She is
simply dressed in black._]
NORAH.
I _am_ glad to see you. I was hoping you’d be able to come here this
afternoon.
MISS PRINGLE.
Mrs. Hubbard has gone for a drive with somebody or other, and didn’t
want me.
[_They kiss one another._ NORAH _notices the wreath_.]
NORAH.
What’s this?
KATE.
It didn’t arrive till after they’d started, Miss.
NORAH.
I wonder whom it’s from. [_She looks at a card which is attached to the
wreath._] “From Mrs. Alfred Vincent, with deepest regret for my dear
Miss Wickham and heartiest sympathy for her sorrowing relatives.”
KATE.
Sorrowing relatives is good, Miss.
NORAH.
[_Remonstrating._] Kate... I think you’d better take it away.
KATE.
What shall I do with it, Miss?
NORAH.
I’m going to the cemetery a little later. I’ll take it with me.
KATE.
Very good, Miss.
[KATE _takes up the | 1,338.446356 |
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Produced by Sean Hackett
CHARACTER
By Samuel Smiles
CHAPTER I.--INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER.
"Unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing
is man"--DANIEL.
"Character is moral order seen through the medium, of an
individual nature.... Men of character are the conscience of
the society to which they belong."--EMERSON.
"The prosperity of a country depends, not on the abundance
of its revenues, nor on the strength of its fortifications,
nor on the beauty of its public buildings; but it consists
in the number of its cultivated citizens, in its men of
education, enlightenment, and character; here are to be
found its true interest, its chief strength, its real
power."--MARTIN LUTHER.
Character is one of the greatest motive powers in the world. In its
noblest embodiments, it exemplifies human nature in its highest forms,
for it exhibits man at his best.
Men of genuine excellence, in every station of life--men of industry,
of integrity, of high principle, of sterling honesty of purpose--command
the spontaneous homage of mankind. It is natural to believe in such men,
to have confidence in them, and to imitate them. All that is good in
the world is upheld by them, and without their presence in it the world
would not be worth living in.
Although genius always commands admiration, character most secures
respect. The former is more the product of brain-power, the latter of
heart-power; and in the long run it is the heart that rules in life. Men
of genius stand to society in the relation of its intellect, as men
of character of its conscience; and while the former are admired, the
latter are followed.
Great men are always exceptional men; and greatness itself is but
comparative. Indeed, the range of most men in life is so limited, that
very few have the opportunity of being great. But each man can act his
part honestly and honourably, and to the best of his ability. He can use
his gifts, and not abuse them. He can strive to make the best of life.
He can be true, just, honest, and faithful, even in small things. In a
word, he can do his Duty in that sphere in which Providence has placed
him.
Commonplace though it may appear, this doing of one's Duty embodies the
highest ideal of life and character. There may be nothing heroic about
it; but the common lot of men is not heroic. And though the abiding
sense of Duty upholds man in his highest attitudes, it also equally
sustains him in the transaction of the ordinary affairs of everyday
existence. Man's life is "centred in the sphere of common duties." The
most influential of all the virtues are those which are the most
in request for daily use. They wear the best, and last the longest.
Superfine virtues, which are above the standard of common men, may only
be sources of temptation and danger. Burke has truly said that "the
human system which rests for its basis on the heroic virtues is sure to
have a superstructure of weakness or of profligacy."
When Dr. Abbot, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, drew the character
of his deceased friend Thomas Sackville, [101] he did not dwell upon his
merits as a statesman, or his genius as a poet, but upon his virtues as
a man in relation to the ordinary duties of life. "How many rare things
were in him!" said he. "Who more loving unto his wife? Who more kind
unto his children?--Who more fast unto his friend?--Who more moderate
unto his enemy?--Who more true to his word?" Indeed, we can always
better understand and appreciate a man's real character by the manner in
which he conducts himself towards those who are the most nearly related
to him, and by his transaction of the seemingly commonplace details of
daily duty, than by his public exhibition of himself as an author, an
orator, or a statesman.
At the same time, while Duty, for the most part, applies to the conduct
of affairs in common life by the average of common men, it is also a
sustaining power to men of the very highest standard of character. They
may not have either money, or property, or learning, or power; and
yet they may be strong in heart and rich in spirit--honest, truthful,
dutiful. And whoever strives to do his duty faithfully is fulfilling
the purpose for which he was created, and building up in himself the
principles of a manly character. There are many persons of whom it
may be said that they have no other possession in the world but their
character, and yet they stand as firmly upon it as any crowned king.
Intellectual culture has no necessary relation to purity or excellence
of character. In the New Testament, appeals are constantly made to the
heart of man and to "the spirit we are of," whilst allusions to the
intellect are of very rare occurrence. "A handful of good life," says
George Herbert, "is worth a bushel of learning." Not that learning is
to be despised, but that it must be allied to goodness. Intellectual
capacity is sometimes found associated with the meanest moral character
with abject servility to those in high places, and arrogance to those of
low estate. A man may be accomplished in art, literature, and science,
and yet, in honesty, virtue, truthfulness, and the spirit of duty, be
entitled to take rank after many a poor and illiterate peasant.
"You insist," wrote Perthes to a friend, "on respect for learned men. I
say, Amen! But, at the same time, don't forget that largeness of mind,
depth of thought, appreciation of the lofty, experience of the world,
delicacy of manner, tact and energy in action, love of truth, honesty,
and amiability--that all these may be wanting in a man who may yet be
very learned." [102]
When some one, in Sir Walter Scott's hearing, made a remark as to the
value of literary talents and accomplishments, as if they were above all
things to be esteemed and honoured, he observed, "God help us! what a
poor world this would be if that were the true doctrine! I have read
books enough, and observed and conversed with enough of eminent and
splendidly-cultured minds, too, in my time; but I assure you, I have
heard higher sentiments from the lips of poor UNEDUCATED men and women,
when exerting the spirit of severe yet gentle heroism under difficulties
and afflictions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to circumstances
in the lot of friends and neighbours, than I ever yet met with out of
the Bible. We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling
and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider everything as
moonshine, compared with the education of the heart." [103]
Still less has wealth any necessary connection with elevation of
character. On the contrary, it is much more frequently the cause of its
corruption and degradation. Wealth and corruption, luxury and vice, have
very close affinities to each other. Wealth, in the hands of men of weak
purpose, of deficient self-control, or of ill-regulated passions,
is only a temptation and a snare--the source, it may be, of infinite
mischief to themselves, and often to others.
On the contrary, a condition of comparative poverty is compatible with
character in its highest form. A man may possess only his industry,
his frugality, his integrity, and yet stand high in the rank of true
manhood. The advice which Burns's father gave him was the best:
"He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing,
For without an honest manly heart no man was worth regarding."
One of the purest and noblest characters the writer ever knew was
a labouring man in a northern county, who brought up his family
respectably on an income never amounting to more than ten shillings
a week. Though possessed of only the rudiments of common education,
obtained at an ordinary parish school, he was a man full of wisdom
and thoughtfulness. His library consisted of the Bible, 'Flavel,' and
'Boston'--books which, excepting the first, probably few readers
have ever heard of. This good man might have sat for the portrait of
Wordsworth's well-known 'Wanderer.' When he had lived his modest life
of work and worship, and finally went to his rest, he left behind him
a reputation for practical wisdom, for genuine goodness, and for
helpfulness in every good work, which greater and richer men might have
envied.
When Luther died, he left behind him, as set forth in his will, "no
ready money, no treasure of coin of any description." He was so poor
at one part of his life, that he was under the necessity of earning his
bread by turning, gardening, and clockmaking. Yet, at the very time when
he was thus working with his hands, he was moulding the character of
his country; and he was morally stronger, and vastly more honoured and
followed, than all the princes of Germany.
Character is property. It is the noblest of possessions. It is an estate
in the general goodwill and respect of men; and they who invest in
it--though they may not become rich in this world's goods--will find
their reward in esteem and reputation fairly and honourably won. And it
is right that in life good qualities should tell--that industry, virtue,
and goodness should rank the highest--and that the really best men
should be foremost.
Simple honesty of purpose in a man goes a long way in life, if founded
on a just estimate of himself and a steady obedience to the rule he
knows and feels to be right. It holds a man straight, gives him strength
and sustenance, and forms a mainspring of vigorous action. "No man,"
once said Sir Benjamin Rudyard, "is bound to be rich or great,--no, nor
to be wise; but every man is bound to be honest." [104]
But the purpose, besides being honest, must be inspired by sound
principles, and pursued with undeviating adherence to truth, integrity,
and uprightness. Without principles, a man is like a ship without rudder
or compass, left to drift hither and thither with every wind that blows.
He is as one without law, or rule, or order, or government. "Moral
principles," says Hume, "are social and universal. They form, in a
manner, the PARTY of humankind against vice and disorder, its common
enemy."
Epictetus once received a visit from a certain magnificent orator going
to Rome on a lawsuit, who wished to learn from the stoic something of
his philosophy. Epictetus received his visitor coolly, not believing in
his sincerity. "You will only criticise my style," said he; "not really
wishing to learn principles."--"Well, but," said the orator, "if I
attend to that sort of thing; I shall be a mere pauper, like you, with
no plate, nor equipage, nor land."--"I don't WANT such things," replied
Epictetus; "and besides, you are poorer than I am, after all. Patron or
no patron, what care I? You DO care. I am richer than you. I don't care
what Caesar thinks of me. I flatter no one. This is what I have, instead
of your gold and silver plate. You have silver vessels, but earthenware
reasons, principles, appetites. My mind to me a kingdom is, and it
furnishes me with abundant and happy occupation in lieu of your restless
idleness. All your possessions seem small to you; mine seem great to me.
Your desire is insatiate--mine is satisfied." [105]
Talent is by no means rare in the world; nor is even genius. But can the
talent be trusted?--can the genius? Not unless based on truthfulness--on
veracity. It is this quality more than any other that commands the
esteem and respect, and secures the confidence of others. Truthfulness
is at the foundation of all personal excellence. It exhibits itself in
conduct. It is rectitude--truth in action, and shines through every word
and deed. It means reliableness, and convinces other men that it can
be trusted. And a man is already of consequence in the world when it is
known that he can be relied on,--that when he says he knows a thing, he
does know it,--that when he says he will do a thing, he can do, and
does it. Thus reliableness becomes a passport to the general esteem and
confidence of mankind.
In the affairs of life or of business, it is not intellect that tells so
much as character,--not brains so much as heart,--not genius so much
as self-control, patience, and discipline, regulated by judgment. Hence
there is no better provision for the uses of either private or public
life, than a fair share of ordinary good sense guided by rectitude. Good
sense, disciplined by experience and inspired by goodness, issues in
practical wisdom. Indeed, goodness in a measure implies wisdom--the
highest wisdom--the union of the worldly with the spiritual. "The
correspondences of wisdom and goodness," says Sir Henry Taylor, "are
manifold; and that they will accompany each other is to be inferred, not
only because men's wisdom makes them good, but because their goodness
| 1,338.453202 |
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Produced by Susan Skinner and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration:
CHAMBERS'S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 718. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 29, 1877. PRICE 1½_d._]
THE GREEN FLAG OF THE PROPHET.
Since the commencement of the war between Russia and Turkey, the world
has several times been startled by the announcement that the 'Flag of
the Prophet' was about to be unfurled in the streets of Stamboul. Such
an event, if it should happen (which may heaven avert), would proclaim
a crusade in which all true Mussulmans would be bound to take an active
part | 1,338.453341 |
2023-11-16 18:39:22.5264290 | 3,106 | 60 | ***
E-text prepared by Mary Meehan and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team. Produced from page
images provided by the Million Book Project.
THE HAPPIEST TIME OF THEIR LIVES
BY ALICE DUER MILLER
Author of "Come Out of the Kitchen," "Ladies Must Live," "Wings in the
Nights," etc.
1918
TO CLARENCE DAY, JR.
"... and then he added in a less satisfied tone: "But friendship is so
uncertain. You don't make any announcement to your friends or vows to
each other, unless you're at an age when you cut your initials in the
bark of a tree. That's what I'd like to do."
THE HAPPIEST TIME OF THEIR LIVES
CHAPTER I
Little Miss Severance sat with her hands as cold as ice. The stage of her
coming adventure was beautifully set--the conventional stage for the
adventure of a young girl, her mother's drawing-room. Her mother had the
art of setting stages. The room was not large,--a New York brownstone
front in the upper Sixties even though altered as to entrance, and
allowed to sprawl backward over yards not originally intended for its
use, is not a palace,--but it was a room and not a corridor; you had the
comfortable sense of four walls about you when its one small door was
once shut. It was filled, perhaps a little too much filled, with objects
which seemed to have nothing in common except beauty; but propinquity,
propinquity of older date than the house in which they now were, had
given them harmony. Nothing in the room was modern except some uncommonly
comfortable sofas and chairs, and the pink and yellow roses that stood
about in Chinese bowls.
Miss Severance herself was hardly aware of the charm of the room. On the
third floor she had her own room, which she liked much better. There was
a great deal of bright chintz in it, and maple furniture of a late
colonial date, inherited from her mother's family, the Lanleys, and
discarded by her mother, who described the taste of that time as "pure,
but provincial." Crystal and ivories and carved wood and Italian
embroideries did not please Miss Severance half so well as the austere
lines of those work-tables and high-boys.
It was after five, almost half-past, and he had said "about five." Miss
Severance, impatient to begin the delicious experience of anticipation,
had allowed herself to be ready at a quarter before the hour. Not that
she had been entirely without some form of anticipation since she woke
up; not, perhaps, since she had parted from him under the windy awning
the night before. They had held up a long line of restless motors as she
stood huddled in her fur-trimmed cloak, and he stamped and jigged to
keep warm, bareheaded, in his thin pumps and shining shirt-front, with
his shoulders drawn up and his hands in his pockets, while they almost
awkwardly arranged this meeting for the next day.
Several times during the preceding evening she had thought he was going
to say something of the kind, for they had danced together a great deal;
but they had always danced in silence. At the time, with his arm about
her, silence had seemed enough; but in separation there is something
wonderfully solid and comforting in the memory of a spoken word; it is
like a coin in the pocket. And after Miss Severance had bidden him good
night at the long glass door of the paneled ball-room without his saying
anything of a future meeting, she had gone up-stairs with a heavy heart
to find her maid and her wrap. She knew as soon as she reached the
dressing-room that she had actually hurried her departure for the sake of
the parting; for the hope, as their time together grew short, of having
some certainty to look forward to. But he had said nothing, and she had
been ashamed to find that she was waiting, leaving her hand in his too
long; so that at last she snatched it away, and was gone up-stairs in an
instant, fearing he might have guessed what was going on in her mind.
She had thought it just an accident that he was in the hall when she
came down again, and he hadn't much choice, she said to herself, about
helping her into her motor. Then at the very last moment he had asked
if he mightn't come and see her the next afternoon. Miss Severance, who
was usually sensitive to inconveniencing other people, had not cared at
all about the motor behind hers that was tooting its horn or for the
elderly lady in feathers and diamonds who was waiting to get into it.
She had cared only about arranging the hour and impressing the address
upon him. He had given her back the pleasure of her whole evening like
a parting gift.
As she drove home she couldn't bring herself to doubt, though she tried
to be rational about the whole experience, that it had meant as much to
him as it had to her, perhaps more. Her lips curved a little at the
thought, and she glanced quickly at her maid to see if the smile had
been visible in the glare of the tall, double lamps of Fifth Avenue.
To say she had not slept would be untrue, but she had slept close to the
surface of consciousness, as if a bright light were shining somewhere
near, and she had waked with the definite knowledge that this light was
the certainty of seeing him that very day. The morning had gone very
well; she had even forgotten once or twice for a few seconds, and then
remembered with a start of joy that was almost painful: but, after lunch,
time had begun to drag like the last day of a long sea-voyage.
About three she had gone out with her mother in the motor, with the
understanding that she was to be left at home at four; her mother was
going on to tea with an elderly relation. Fifth Avenue had seemed
unusually crowded even for Fifth Avenue, and the girl had fretted and
wondered at the perversity of the police, who held them up just at the
moment most promising for slipping through; and why Andrews, the
chauffeur, could not see that he would do better by going to Madison
Avenue. She did not speak these thoughts aloud, for she had not told
her mother, not from any natural love of concealment, but because any
announcement of her plans for the afternoon would have made them seem
less certain of fulfilment. Perhaps, too, she had felt an
unacknowledged fear of certain of her mother's phrases that could
delicately puncture delight.
She had been dropped at the house by ten minutes after four, and exactly
at a quarter before five she had been in the drawing-room, in her
favorite dress, with her best slippers, her hands cold, but her heart
warm with the knowledge that he would soon be there.
Only after forty-five minutes of waiting did that faith begin to grow
dim. She was too inexperienced in such matters to know that this was the
inevitable consequence of being ready too early. She had had time to run
through the whole cycle of certainty, eagerness, doubt, and she was now
rapidly approaching despair. He was not coming. Perhaps he had never
meant to come. Possibly he had merely yielded to a polite impulse;
possibly her manner had betrayed her wishes so plainly that a clever,
older person, two or three years out of college, had only too clearly
read her in the moment when she had detained his hand at the door of the
ball-room.
There was a ring at the bell. Her heart stood perfectly still, and then
began beating with a terrible force, as if it gathered itself into a
hard, weighty lump again and again. Several minutes went by, too long for
a man to give to taking off his coat. At last she got up and cautiously
opened the door; a servant was carrying a striped cardboard box to her
mother's room. Miss Severance went back and sat down. She took a long
breath; her heart returned to its normal movement.
Yet, for some unexplained reason, the fact that the door-bell had rung
once made it more possible that it would ring again, and she began to
feel a slight return of confidence.
A servant opened the door, and in the instant before she turned her head
she had time to debate the possibility of a visitor having come in
without ringing while the messenger with the striped box was going out.
But, no; Pringle was alone.
Pringle had been with the family since her mother was a girl, but, like
many red-haired men, he retained an appearance of youth. He wanted to
know if he should take away the tea.
She knew perfectly why he asked. He liked to have the tea-things put away
before he had his own supper and began his arrangements for the family
dinner. She felt that the crisis had come.
If she said yes, she knew that her visitor would come just as tea had
disappeared. If she said no, she would sit there alone, waiting for
another half-hour, and when she finally did ring and tell Pringle he
could take away the tea-things, he would look wise and reproachful.
Nevertheless, she did say no, and Pringle with admirable
self-control, withdrew.
The afternoon seemed very quiet. Miss Severance became aware of all
sorts of bells that she had never heard before--other door-bells,
telephone-bells in the adjacent houses, loud, hideous bells on motor
delivery-wagons, but not her own front door-bell.
Her heart felt like lead. Things would never be the same now. Probably
there was some explanation of his not coming, but it could never be
really atoned for. The wild romance and confidence in this first visit
could never be regained.
And then there was a loud, quick ring at the bell, and at once he was in
the room, breathing rapidly, as if he had run up-stairs or even from the
corner. She could do nothing but stare at him. She had tried in the last
ten minutes to remember what he looked like, and now she was astonished
to find how exactly he looked as she remembered him.
To her horror, the change between her late despair and her present joy
was so extreme that she wanted to cry. The best she knew how to do was to
pucker her face into a smile and to offer him those chilly finger-tips.
He hardly took them, but said, as if announcing a black, but
incontrovertible, fact:
"You're not a bit glad to see me."
"Oh, yes, I am," she returned, with an attempt at an easy social manner.
"Will you have some tea?"
"But why aren't you glad?"
Miss Severance clasped her hands on the edge of the tea-tray and looked
down. She pressed her palms together; she set her teeth, but the muscles
in her throat went on contracting; and the heroic struggle was lost.
"I thought you weren't coming," she said, and making no further effort
to conceal the fact that her eyes were full of tears she looked straight
up at him.
He sat down beside her on the small, low sofa and put his hand on hers.
"But I was perfectly certain to come," he said very gently, "because, you
see, I think I love you."
"Do you think I love you?" she asked, seeking information.
"I can't tell," he answered. "Your being sorry I did not come doesn't
prove anything. We'll see. You're so wonderfully young, my dear!"
"I don't think eighteen is so young. My mother was married before she
was twenty."
He sat silent for a few seconds, and she felt his hand shut more firmly
on hers. Then he got up, and, pulling a chair to the opposite side of
the table, said briskly:
"And now give me some tea. I haven't had any lunch."
"Oh, why not?" She blew her nose, tucked away her handkerchief, and began
her operations on the tea-tray.
"I work very hard," he returned. "You don't know what at, do you? I'm a
statistician."
"What's that?"
"I make reports on properties, on financial ventures, for the firm I'm
with, Benson & Honaton. They're brokers. When they are asked to
underwrite a scheme--"
"Underwrite? I never heard that word."
The boy laughed.
"You'll hear it a good many times if our acquaintance continues." Then
more gravely, but quite parenthetically, he added: "If a firm puts up
money for a business, they want to know all about it, of course. I tell
them. I've just been doing a report this afternoon, a wonder; it's what
made me late. Shall I tell you about it?"
She nodded with the same eagerness with which ten years before she might
have answered an inquiry as to whether he should tell her a fairy-story.
"Well, it was on a coal-mine in Pennsylvania. I'm afraid my report is
going to be a disappointment to the firm. The mine's good, a sound, rich
vein, and the labor conditions aren't bad; but there's one fatal
defect--a car shortage on the only railroad that reaches it. They can't
make a penny on their old mine until that's met, and that can't be
straightened out for a year, anyhow; and so I shall report against it."
"Car shortage," said Miss Severance. "I never should have thought of
that. I think you must be wonderful."
He laughed.
"I wish the firm thought so," he said. "In a way they do; they pay
attention to what I say, but they give me an awfully small salary. In
fact," he added briskly, "I have almost no money at all." There was a
pause, and he went on, "I suppose you know that when I was sitting beside
you just now I wanted most terribly to kiss you."
"Oh, no!"
"Oh, no? Oh, yes. I wanted to, but I didn't. Don't worry. I won't for a
long time, perhaps never."
"Never?" said Miss Severance, and she smiled.
"I said | 1,338.546469 |
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MRS. LESLIE'S BOOKS FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.
THE LITTLE FRANKIE SERIES.
BOOKS WRITTEN OR EDITED
By A. R. BAKER,
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
QUESTION BOOKS on the Topics of Christ's Sermon on the Mount.
VOL. I. FOR CHILDREN.
VOL. II. FOR YOUTH.
VOL. III. FOR ADULTS.
LECTURES ON THESE TOPICS, _in press_.
MRS. LESLIE'S SABBATH SCHOOL BOOKS.
TIM, THE SCISSORS GRINDER.
SEQUEL TO "TIM, THE SCISSORS GRINDER."
PRAIRIE FLOWER.
THE BOUND BOY.
THE BOUND GIRL.
VIRGINIA.
THE TWO HOMES; OR, EARNING AND SPENDING.
THE ORGAN-GRINDER, _in press_.
QUESTION BOOKS. The Catechism tested by the Bible.
VOL. I. FOR CHILDREN.
VOL. II. FOR ADULTS.
THE DERMOTT FAMILY; or, Stories Illustrating the Catechism.
VOL. I. DOCTRINES RESPECTING GOD AND MANKIND.
" II. DOCTRINES OF GRACE.
" III. COMMANDMENTS OF THE FIRST TABLE.
" IV. COMMANDMENTS OF THE SECOND TABLE.
" V. CONDITIONS OF ETERNAL LIFE.
MRS. LESLIE'S HOME LIFE.
VOL. I. CORA AND THE DOCTOR.
" II. COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE.
" III. THE HOUSEHOLD ANGEL.
MRS. LESLIE'S JUVENILE SERIES.
VOL. I. THE MOTHERLESS CHILDREN.
" II. PLAY AND STUDY.
" III. HOWARD AND HIS TEACHER.
" IV. TRYING TO BE USEFUL.
" V. JACK, THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER.
" VI. THE YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER.
" VII. LITTLE AGNES.
THE ROBIN REDBREAST SERIES.
THE ROBINS' NEST.
LITTLE ROBINS IN THE NEST.
LITTLE ROBINS LEARNING TO FLY.
LITTLE ROBINS IN TROUBLE.
LITTLE ROBINS' FRIENDS.
LITTLE ROBINS' LOVE ONE TO ANOTHER.
THE LITTLE FRANKIE SERIES.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS MOTHER.
LITTLE FRANKIE AT HIS PLAYS.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS COUSIN.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS FATHER.
LITTLE FRANKIE ON A JOURNEY.
LITTLE FRANKIE AT SCHOOL.
[Illustration: FRANKIE IN HIS JUMPER.]
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS MOTHER.
BY
MRS. MADELINE LESLIE,
AUTHOR OF "THE HOME LIFE SERIES;" "MRS. LESLIE'S
JUVENILE SERIES," ETC.
BOSTON:
CROSBY AND NICHOLS.
117 WASHINGTON STREET.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
A. R. BAKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS MOTHER.
CHAPTER I.
FRANKIE'S SILVER CUP.
DO you wish to know who little Frankie was, and where he lived? Come and
sit down in your pretty chair by my side, and I will tell you. Frankie
was not the real name of this little boy. When he was a tiny baby, not
much larger than black Dinah, his father came home one night from his
store, and asked, "Have you named the baby yet, mamma?"
"No," she answered, "I have not; but I have been thinking that if you
are pleased, I should like to call him Frank."
"Frank, Frank, Frankie," said his father, repeating it over and over
again, to hear how it would sound. "Yes, I like the name; and then my
friend, Mr. Wallace, is called Frank. Yes, Frank it shall be."
"While he is a baby, we will call him Frankie," said his mamma. So that
was the way he obtained so pretty a name.
About a week after this, there came one day a man on horseback riding up
to the front door. He jumped briskly down upon the wide stone step, and
rang the bell with a loud, quick jerk, which seemed to say, I am in a
hurry. Margie, the errand girl, ran to the door, when the man gave her a
box wrapped nicely in a | 1,338.550067 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Christine P. Travers and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all
other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling has
been maintained.]
[Illustration: _The Signatories to the Peace Treaty on behalf of the South
African Republic._]
[Illustration: _The Signatories to the Peace Treaty on behalf of the
Orange Free State._]
ARMY HEADQUARTERS, SOUTH AFRICA.
PRETORIA. 4th March, 1902.
Your Honour,
By direction of His Majesty's Government, I have the honour to forward
enclosed copy of an Aide-Memoire communicated by the Netherland Minister
to the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, together with his reply
thereto.
I have the honour to be,
Your Honour's Obedient Servant,
[Signature of Kitchener.]
General.
Commanding-in-Chief, South Africa.
To
His Honour,
Mr. Schalk Burger.
_Facsimile of the letter from Lord Kitchener upon which the Peace
Negotiations were entered into._
THE PEACE NEGOTIATIONS
_Between the Governments of the South African Republic
and the Orange Free State, and the Representatives
of the British Government, which terminated
in the Peace concluded at Vereeniging
on the 31st May, 1902_
BY
REV. J. D. KESTELL
_Secretary to the Orange Free State Government_
AND
D. E. VAN VELDEN
_Secretary to the Government of the South African Republic_
TRANSLATED AND PUBLISHED BY
D. E. VAN VELDEN
_WITH PHOTOS AND FACSIMILES OF ORIGINAL DOCUMENTS_
LONDON
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LTD., BRUNSWICK STREET, S.E.
1912
RICHARD CLAY AND SONS, LIMITED
BRUNSWICK ST., STAMFORD ST., S.E., AND
BUNGAY SUFFOLK
CONTENTS
Page
PREFACE ix
Introduction by S. W. Burger, M.L.A., Acting State President
of the Late South African Republic xiii
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE xix
CHAPTER I
Preliminary Correspondence 1
CHAPTER II
Proceedings at Klerksdorp 18
CHAPTER III
First Negotiations at Pretoria 33
CHAPTER IV
Vereeniging 46
CHAPTER V
Further Negotiations at Pretoria 98
CHAPTER VI
Vereeniging and Peace 138
APPENDIX--The Middelburg Proposals 210
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Signatories to the Peace Treaty on behalf of the South
African Republic. _Frontispiece_
The Signatories to the Peace Treaty on behalf of the Orange Free
State. _Frontispiece_
Facsimile of the letter from Lord Kitchener upon which
the Peace Negotiations were entered into _Facing Title page_
_Facing page_
Facsimile of the copy of the reply from the Government
of the South African Republic to Lord Kitchener's letter
dated 4th March, 1902 6
Facsimile of Safe Conduct granted by Lord Kitchener 44
Facsimile of the Oath subscribed to at Vereeniging by
the Delegates of the South African Republic 46
Facsimile of the Oath subscribed to at Vereeniging by
the Delegates of the Orange Free State 46
Facsimile of a page of the Peace Proposals as submitted by the
British Representatives and amended by the Boer Representatives.
The alterations are in the handwriting of Generals Smuts and
Hertzog 112
Facsimile of a page of the Peace Proposals as submitted
by the British Representatives and amended by the Boer
Representatives. The alterations are in the handwriting of
General Smuts and Mr. Advocate N. J. de Wet 117
Facsimile of the original proposal by Commandant H. P. J.
Pretorius, seconded by General Chris. Botha, to accept the
British Peace Proposals 202
Facsimile of the document on which the voting on the proposal
by Commandant H. P. J. Pretorius, seconded by General Chris.
Botha, to accept the British Peace Proposals was recorded 206
PREFACE
The want has been repeatedly expressed of an official publication of
the Minutes of the Negotiations which led to the Peace concluded at
Vereeniging on May 31, 1902, events which have hitherto been a closed
page in the history of the Boer War. As the Republics had ceased to
exist, the question arose: Who could publish such Minutes? It is true
that some very incomplete Minutes appeared in General de Wet's book,
but although they were in all probability reliable, yet they had not
the seal of an official document.
The only way in which the want could be met appeared to be for the
Secretaries, who had been appointed by the two Republican Governments
to minute the Negotiations, to publish those Minutes after they had
been read and approved of as authentic by persons competent to do so.
This is what has been done by this publication, which places the
reader in possession of all the correspondence leading up to the
Negotiations, exact reports of what was said and done, not only at
Vereeniging, but also previously at Klerksdorp, and, finally, all the
Negotiations which took place at Pretoria between the two Republican
Governments and the British Government, represented by Lord Kitchener
and Lord Milner.
We, however, were not satisfied to publish this record, which we had
most carefully taken down, merely on our own authority. We felt that,
if only this and nothing more were done, the world would after all
have only our word to rely upon, and that, although the record thus
published would always serve as a highly reliable book of reference,
it would lack the authority of a document properly authenticated by a
body competent to do so.
In order, therefore, to obtain this desirable seal of authenticity to
our record, we submitted our manuscript to President Steyn, Acting
President Burger, the Chairman of the Meeting of Representatives of
the People at Vereeniging (General C. F. Beyers), Generals Botha and
Smuts for the South African Republic, and Generals de Wet and Hertzog
for the Orange Free State, with the result that they all found our
record to be a true and correct account of the Peace Negotiations.
So this book sees the light with their _imprimatur_, and we therefore
publish it with the greatest confidence.
The Reader's attention is drawn to the following particulars:--
In respect of the speeches made by the members of the Republican
Governments at Klerksdorp, and the speeches delivered later at
Vereeniging by them and by the Delegates from the various
Commandos, the reports are almost _verbatim_. The addresses of
the Presidents and principal Generals especially were transcribed
from the stenographic notes of D. E. van Velden, and revised by
J. D. Kestell.
This completeness does not extend to what is published of the
_First_ Conference between the two Republican Governments and
Lord Kitchener and Lord Milner, because no Secretaries were
admitted to that Conference. Lord Kitchener had expressed the
desire that no official notes should be taken, as the parties
would first confer informally. What was discussed, however, has
not been lost, for an account of what took place at this
Conference was taken down by J. D. Kestell from the dictation of
General Hertzog immediately after the conference was over, and
revised by President Steyn and Mr. W. J. C. Brebner (Acting
Government Secretary, Orange Free State), and appears in this
book.
With reference to the _Second_ Conference, however, we were
present, and what is given is a _verbatim_ account of the
discussion.
Of some official documents in our possession, reproductions or
facsimiles are given in the hope that the reader will find them of
interest.
J. D. K.
D. E. v. V.
_ | 1,338.748119 |
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Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=0nrlugEACAAJ
(the Bavarian State Library)
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 1270.
WITHIN THE MAZE BY MRS. HENRY WOOD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
WITHIN THE MAZE.
A NOVEL.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1872.
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS
OF VOLUME I.
CHAPTER
I. Mrs. Andinnian's Home.
II. Lucy Cleeve.
III. Done at Sunset.
IV. The Trial.
V. Unable to get strong.
VI. An Atmosphere of Mystery.
VII. At the Charing-Cross Hotel.
VIII. In the Avenue d'Antin.
IX. Down at Foxwood.
X. Mrs. Andinnian's Secret.
XI. At the Gate of the Maze.
XII. Taking an Evening Stroll.
XIII. Miss Blake gets in.
XIV. Miss Blake on the Watch.
XV. Revealed to Lady Andinnian.
XVI. A Night at the Maze.
XVII. Before the World.
XVIII. A Night Alarm.
XIX. In the same Train.
XX. Only one Fly at the Station.
XXI. Hard to Bear.
XXII. With his Brother.
WITHIN THE MAZE.
CHAPTER I.
Mrs. Andinnian's Home.
The house was ugly and old-fashioned, with some added modern
improvements, and was surrounded by a really beautiful garden. Though
situated close upon a large market town of Northamptonshire, it stood
alone, excluded from the noise and bustle of the world.
The occupant of this house was a widow lady, Mrs. Andinnian. Her
husband, a post-captain in the Royal Navy, had been dead some years.
She had two sons. The elder, Adam, was of no profession, and lived
with her: the younger, Karl, was a lieutenant in one of Her Majesty's
regiments. Adam was presumptive heir to his uncle, Sir Joseph
Andinnian, a baronet of modern creation: Karl had his profession alone
to look to, and a small private income of two hundred a year.
They were not rich, these Andinnians: though the captain had deemed
himself well-off, what with his private fortune, and what with his
pay. The private fortune was just six hundred a year; the pay not
great: but Captain Andinnian's tastes were simple, his wants few. At
his death it was found that he had bequeathed his money in three equal
parts: two hundred a year to his wife, and two hundred each to his
sons. "Adam and his mother will live together," he said in the will;
"she'd not be parted from him: and four hundred pounds, with her bit
of pension, will be enough for comfort. When Adam succeeds his uncle,
they can make any fresh arrangement that pleases them. But I hope when
that time shall come they will not forget Karl."
Mrs. Andinnian resented the will, and resented these words in it. Her
elder boy, Adam, had always been first and foremost with her: never a
mother loved a son more ardently than she loved him. For Karl she
cared not. Captain Andinnian was not blind to the injustice, and
perhaps thence arose the motive that induced him not to leave his
wife's two hundred pounds of income at her own disposal: when Mrs.
Andinnian died, it would lapse to Karl. The captain had loved his sons
equally: he would willingly have left them equally provided for in
life, and divided the fortune that was to come sometime to Adam. Mrs.
Andinnian, in spite of the expected rise for Adam, would have had him
left better off from his father's means than Karl.
There had been nearly a lifelong feud between the two family
branches. Sir Joseph Andinnian and his brother the captain had not met
for years and years: and it was a positive fact that the latter's sons
had never seen their uncle. For this feud the brothers themselves were
not in the first instance to blame. It did not arise with them, but
with their wives. Both ladies were of a haughty, overbearing, and
implacable temper: they had quarrelled very soon after their first
introduction to each other; the quarrel grew, and grew, and finally
involved the husbands as well in its vortex.
Joseph Andinnian, who was the younger of the two brothers, had been a
noted and very successful civil engineer. Some great work, that | 1,338.748955 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team
HTML file produced by David Widger
THE CHANNINGS
A STORY
By Mrs. Henry Wood
Author Of “East Lynne,” “Johnny Ludlow,” Etc. _Two Hundred And Tenth
Thousand_
1901
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. -- THE INKED SURPLICE.
CHAPTER II. -- BAD NEWS.
CHAPTER III. -- CONSTANCE CHANNING.
CHAPTER IV. -- NO HOLIDAY TO-DAY.
CHAPTER V. -- ROLAND YORKE.
CHAPTER VI. -- LADY AUGUSTA YORKE AT HOME.
CHAPTER VII. -- MR. KETCH.
CHAPTER VIII. -- THE ASSISTANT-ORGANIST.
CHAPTER IX. -- HAMISH’S CANDLES.
CHAPTER X. -- A FALSE ALARM.
CHAPTER XI. -- THE CLOISTER KEYS.
CHAPTER XII. -- A MISHAP TO THE BISHOP.
CHAPTER XIII. -- MAD NANCE.
CHAPTER XIV. -- KEEPING OFFICE.
CHAPTER XV. -- A SPLASH IN THE RIVER.
CHAPTER XVI. -- MUCH TO ALTER.
CHAPTER XVII. -- SUNDAY MORNING AT MR. CHANNING’S, AND AT LADY
AUGUSTA’S.
CHAPTER XVIII. -- MR. JENKINS ALIVE AGAIN.
CHAPTER XIX. -- THE LOSS.
CHAPTER XX. -- THE LOOMING OF AN AWFUL FEAR.
CHAPTER XXI. -- MR. BUTTERBY.
CHAPTER XXII. -- AN INTERRUPTED DINNER.
CHAPTER XXIII. -- AN ESCORT TO THE GUILDHALL.
CHAPTER XXIV. -- THE EXAMINATION.
CHAPTER XXV. -- A MORNING CALL.
CHAPTER XXVI. -- CHECKMATED.
CHAPTER XXVII. -- A PIECE OF PREFERMENT.
CHAPTER XXVIII. -- AN APPEAL TO THE DEAN.
CHAPTER XXIX. -- A TASTE OF “TAN.”
CHAPTER XXX. -- THE DEPARTURE.
CHAPTER XXXI. -- ABROAD.
CHAPTER XXXII. -- AN OMINOUS COUGH.
CHAPTER XXXIII. -- NO SENIORSHIP FOR TOM CHANNING.
CHAPTER XXXIV. -- GERALD YORKE MADE INTO A “BLOCK.”
CHAPTER XXXV. -- THE EARL OF CARRICK.
CHAPTER XXXVI. -- ELLEN HUNTLEY.
CHAPTER XXXVII. -- THE CONSPIRATORS.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. -- THE DECISION.
CHAPTER XXXIX. -- THE GHOST.
CHAPTER XL. -- MR. KETCH’S EVENING VISIT.
CHAPTER XLI. -- THE SEARCH.
CHAPTER XLII. -- AN OFFICIAL CEREMONY INTERRUPTED.
CHAPTER XLIII. -- DRAGGING THE RIVER.
CHAPTER XLIV. -- MR. JENKINS IN A DILEMMA.
CHAPTER XLV. -- A NEW SUSPICION.
CHAPTER XLVI. -- A LETTER FOR MR. GALLOWAY.
CHAPTER XLVII. -- DARK CLOUDS.
CHAPTER XLVIII. -- MUFFINS FOR TEA.
CHAPTER XLIX. -- A CHÂTEAU EN ESPAGNE.
CHAPTER L. -- REALLY GONE!
CHAPTER LI. -- AN ARRIVAL IN A FLY.
CHAPTER LII. -- A RELIC FROM THE BURIAL-GROUND.
CHAPTER LIII. -- THE RETURN HOME.
CHAPTER LIV. -- “THE SHIP’S DROWNED.”
CHAPTER LV. -- NEWS FROM ROLAND.
CHAPTER LVI. -- THE BROKEN PHIAL.
CHAPTER LVII. -- A GHOST AGAIN.
CHAPTER LVIII. -- BYWATER’S DANCE.
CHAPTER LIX. -- READY.
CHAPTER LX. -- IN WHAT DOES IT LIE?
I remember the gleams and glooms that dart
Across the schoolboy’s brain;
The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on and is never still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
Strange to me now are the forms I meet
When I visit the dear old town;
But the native air is pure and sweet,
And the trees that o’ershadow each well-known street,
As they balance up and down,
Are singing the beautiful song,
Are sighing and whispering still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
CHAPTER I. -- THE INKED SURPLICE.
The sweet bells of Helstonleigh Cathedral were ringing out in the
summer’s afternoon. Groups of people lined the streets, in greater
number than the ordinary business of the day would have brought forth;
some pacing with idle steps, some halting to talk with one another,
some looking in silence towards a certain point, as far as the eye could
reach; all waiting in expectation.
It was the first day of Helstonleigh Assizes; that is, the day on
which the courts of law began their sittings. Generally speaking,
the commission was opened at Helstonleigh on a Saturday; but for some
convenience in the arrangements of the circuit, it was fixed this time
for Wednesday; and when those cathedral bells burst forth, they gave
signal that the judges had arrived and were entering the sheriff’s
carriage, which had gone out to meet them.
A fine sight, carrying in it much of majesty, was the procession, as it
passed through the streets with its slow and stately steps; and although
Helstonleigh saw it twice a year, it looked at it with gratified eyes
still, and made the day into a sort of holiday. The trumpeters
rode first, blowing the proud note of advance, and the long line of
well-mounted javelin men came next, two abreast; their attire that of
the livery of the high sheriff’s family, and their javelins held in
rest. Sundry officials followed, and the governor of the county gaol
sat in an open carriage, his long white wand raised in the air. Then
appeared the handsome, closed equipage of the sheriff, its four horses,
caparisoned with silver, pawing the ground, for they chafed at the slow
pace to which they were restrained. In it, in their scarlet robes and
flowing wigs, carrying awe to many a young spectator, sat the judges.
The high sheriff sat opposite to them, his chaplain by his side, in his
gown and bands. A crowd of gentlemen, friends of the sheriff, followed
on horseback; and a mob of ragamuffins brought up the rear.
To the assize courts the procession took its way, and there the short
business of opening the commission was gone through, when the judges
re-entered the carriage to proceed to the cathedral, having been joined
by the mayor and corporation. The sweet bells of Helstonleigh were
still ringing out, not to welcome the judges to the city now, but as an
invitation to them to come and worship God. Within the grand entrance
of the cathedral, waiting to receive the judges, stood the Dean of
Helstonleigh, two or three of the chapter, two of the minor canons, and
the king’s scholars and choristers, all in their white robes. The bells
ceased; the fine organ pealed out--and there are few finer organs in
England than that of Helstonleigh--the vergers with their silver maces,
and the decrepit old bedesmen in their black gowns, led the way to the
choir, the long scarlet trains of the judges held up behind: and places
were found for all.
The Rev. John Pye began the service; it was his week for chanting.
He was one of the senior minor canons, and head-master of the college
school. At the desk opposite to him sat the Rev. William Yorke, a young
man who had only just gained his minor canonry.
The service went on smoothly until the commencement of the anthem. In
one sense it went on smoothly to the end, for no person present, not
even the judges themselves, could see that anything was wrong. Mr. Pye
was what was called “chanter” to the cathedral, which meant that it was
he who had the privilege of selecting the music for the chants and other
portions of the service, when the dean did not do so himself. The anthem
he had put up for this occasion was a very good one, taken from the
Psalms of David. It commenced with a treble solo; it was, moreover, an
especial favourite of Mr. Pye’s; and he complacently disposed himself to
listen.
But no sooner was the symphony over, no sooner had the first notes of
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AN EGYPTIAN PRINCESS, Complete
By Georg Ebers
Translated from the German by Eleanor Grove
PREFACE TO THE SECOND GERMAN EDITION
Aut prodesse volunt ant delectare poetae,
Aut simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitae.
Horat. De arte poetica v. 333.
It is now four years since this book first appeared before the public,
and I feel it my duty not to let a second edition go forth into the
world without a few words of accompaniment. It hardly seems necessary to
assure my readers that I have endeavored to earn for the following pages
the title of a "corrected edition." An author is the father of his book,
and what father could see his child preparing to set out on a new
and dangerous road, even if it | 1,339.148098 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
MY BOYHOOD
By John Burroughs
With A Conclusion By His Son Julian Burroughs
FOREWORD
In the beginning, at least, Father wrote these sketches of his boyhood
and early farm life as a matter of self-defense: I had made a determined
attempt to write them and when I did this I was treading on what was to
him more or less sacred ground, for as he once said in a letter to
me, "You will be homesick; I know just how I felt when I left home
forty-three years ago. And I have been more or less homesick ever since.
The love of the old hills and of Father and Mother is deep in the very | 1,339.148145 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Aldarondo, and
Project Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders. This file was
produced from images generously made available by the
Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions.
CANADIAN NOTABILITIES, VOLUME I
BY JOHN CHARLES DENT
JOSEPH BRANT--THAYENDANEGEA.
Few tasks are more difficult of accomplishment than the overturning of the
ideas and prejudices which have been conceived in our youth, which have
grown up with us to mature age, and which have finally become the settled
convictions of our manhood. The overturning process is none the less
difficult when, as is not seldom the case, those ideas and convictions are
widely at variance with facts. Most of us have grown up with very erroneous
notions respecting the Indian character--notions which have been chiefly
derived from the romances of Cooper and his imitators. We have been
accustomed to regard the aboriginal red man as an incarnation of treachery
and remorseless ferocity, whose favourite recreation is to butcher
defenceless women and children in cold blood. A few of us, led away by the
stock anecdotes in worthless missionary and Sunday School books, have gone
far into the opposite extreme, and have been wont to regard the Indian as
the Noble Savage who never forgets a kindness, who is ever ready to return
good for evil, and who is so absurdly credulous as to look upon the
pale-faces as the natural friends and benefactors of his species. Until
within the last few years, no pen has ventured to write impartially of the
Indian character, and no one has attempted to separate the wheat from the
chaff in the generally received accounts which have come down to us from
our forefathers. The fact is that the Indian is very much what his white
brother has made him. The red man was the original possessor of this
continent, the settlement, of which by Europeans sounded the death-knell
of his sovereignty. The aboriginal could hardly be expected to receive the
intruder with open arms, even if the latter had acted up to his professions
of peace and good-will. It would have argued a spirit of contemptible
abjectness and faintness of heart if the Indian had submitted without a
murmur to the gradual encroachments of the foreigner, even if the latter
had adopted a uniform policy of mildness and conciliation. But the invader
adopted no such policy. Not satisfied with taking forcible possession
of the soil, he took the first steps in that long, sickening course of
treachery and cruelty which has caused the chronicles of the white conquest
in America to be written in characters of blood. The first and most hideous
butcheries were committed by the whites. And if the Indians did not tamely
submit to the yoke sought to be imposed upon their necks, they only acted
as human beings, civilized and uncivilized, have always acted upon like
provocation. Those who have characterized the Indian as inhuman and
fiendish because he put his prisoners to the torture, seem to have
forgotten that the wildest accounts of Indian ferocity pale beside the
undoubtedly true accounts of the horrors of the Spanish Inquisition.
Christian Spain--nay, even Christian England--tortured prisoners with a
diabolical ingenuity which never entered into the heart of a pagan Indian
to conceive. And on this continent, in the seventeenth and eighteenth
centuries, men of English stock performed prodigies of cruelty to which
parallels can be found in the history of the Inquisition alone. For the
terrible records of battle, murder, torture and death, of which the history
of the early settlement of this continent is so largely made up, the white
man and the Christian must be held chiefly responsible. It must, moreover,
be remembered that those records have been written by historians, who have
had every motive for distorting the truth. All the accounts that have
come down to us have been penned by the aggressors themselves, and their
immediate descendants. The Indians have had no chronicler to tell their
version of the story. We all know how much weight should be attached to
a history written by a violent partisan; for instance, a history of the
French Revolution, written by one of the House of Bourbon. The wonder is,
not that the poor Indian should have been blackened and maligned, but that
any attribute of nobleness or humanity should have been accorded to him.
Of all the characters who figure in the dark history of Indian warfare,
few have attained greater notoriety, and none has been more persistently
villified than the subject of this sketch. Joseph Brant was known to us in
the days of our childhood as a firm and staunch ally of the British, it
is true; but as a man embodying in his own person all the demerits and
barbarities of his race, and with no more mercy in his breast than is to be
found in a famished tiger of the jungle. And for this unjust view of his
character American historians are not wholly to blame. Most historians of
that period wrote too near the time when the events they were describing
occurred, for a dispassionate investigation of the truth; and other writers
who have succeeded have been content to follow the beaten track, without
incurring the labour of diligent and calm enquiry. And, as it is too often
the case with writers, historical and other, many of them cared less for
truth than for effect. Even the author of "Gertrude of Wyoming" falsified
history for the sake of a telling stanza in his beautiful poem; and when,
years afterwards, grant's son convinced the poet by documentary evidence
that a grave injustice had been done to his father's memory, the poet
contented himself by merely appending a note which in many editions is
altogether omitted, and in those editions in which it is retained is much
less likely to be read than the text of the poem itself. It was not till
the year 1838 that anything like a comprehensive and impartial account of
the life of Brant appeared. It was written by Colonel William L. Stone,
from whose work the foregoing quotation is taken. Since then, several other
lives have appeared, all of which have done something like justice to the
subject; but they have not been widely read, and to the general public
the name of Brant still calls up visions of smoking villages, raw scalps,
disembowelled women and children, and ruthless brutalities more horrible
still. Not content with attributing to him ferocities of which he never
was guilty, the chronicles have altogether ignored the fairer side of his
character.
"The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones."
We have carefully gone through all the materials within our reach, and have
compiled a sketch of the life of the Great Chief of the Six Nations, which
we would fain hope may be the means of enabling readers who have not ready
access to large libraries to form something like a fair and dispassionate
estimate of his character.
Joseph Brant--or to give him his Indian name, Thayendanegea--was born in
the year 1742. Authorities are not unanimous as to his paternity, it
being claimed by some that he was a natural son of Sir William Johnson;
consequently that he was not a full-blood Indian, but a half-breed. The
better opinion, however, seems to be that none but Mohawk blood flowed
through his veins, and that his father was a Mohawk of the Wolf Tribe, by
name Tehowaghwengaraghkin. It is not easy to reconcile the conflicting
accounts of this latter personage (whose name we emphatically decline to
repeat), but the weight of authority seems to point to him as a son of one
of the five sachems who attracted so much attention during their visit to
London in Queen Anne's reign, and who were made the subject of a paper
in the _Spectator_ by Addison, and of another in the _Tatler_ by Steele.
Brant's mother was an undoubted Mohawk, and the preponderance of evidence
is in favour of his being a chief by right of inheritance. His parents
lived at Canajoharie Castle, in the far-famed valley of the Mohawk, but at
the time of their son's birth they were far away from home on a hunting
expedition along the banks of the Ohio. His father died not long after
returning from this expedition. We next learn that the widow contracted an
alliance with an Indian whose Christian name was Barnet, which name, in
process of time, came to be corrupted into Brant. The little boy, who had
been called Joseph, thus became known as "Brant's Joseph," from which
the inversion to Joseph Brant is sufficiently obvious. No account of his
childhood have come down to us, and, little or nothing is known of him
until his thirteenth year, when he was taken under the patronage of that
Sir William Johnson, who has by some writers been credited with being his
father. Sir William was the English Colonial Agent for Indian Affairs,
and cuts a conspicuous figure in the colonial annals of the time. His
connection with the Brant family was long and intimate. One of Joseph's
sisters, named Molly, lived with the baronet as his mistress for many
years, and was married to him a short time before his death, in 1774. Sir
William was very partial to young Brant, and took special pains to impart
to him a knowledge of military affairs. It was doubtless this interest
which gave rise to the story that Sir William was his father; a story for
which there seems to be no substantial foundation whatever.
In the year 1755, the memorable battle of Lake George took place between
the French and English colonial forces and their Indian allies. Sir William
Johnson commanded on the side of the English, and young Joseph Brant, then
thirteen years of age, fought under his wing. This was a tender age, even
for the son of an Indian chief, to go out upon the war-path, and he himself
admitted in after years that he was seized with such a tremor when the
firing began at that battle that he was obliged to steady himself by
seizing hold of a sapling. This, however, was probably the first and last
time that he ever knew fear, either in battle or out of it. The history of
his subsequent career has little in it suggestive of timidity. After
the battle of Lake George, where the French were signally defeated, he
accompanied his patron through various campaigns until the close of the
French war, after which he was placed by Sir William at the Moor Charity
School, Lebanon, Connecticut, for the purpose of receiving a liberal
English education. How long he remained at that establishment does not
appear, but he was there long enough to acquire something more than the
mere rudiments of the English language and literature. In after years he
always spoke with pleasure of his residence at this school, and never
wearied of talking of it. He used to relate with much pleasantry an
anecdote of a young half-breed who was a student in the establishment. The
half-breed, whose name was William, was one day ordered by his tutor's son
to saddle a horse. He declined to obey the order, upon the ground that he
was a gentleman's son, and that to saddle a horse was not compatible
with his dignity. Being asked to say what constitutes a gentleman, he
replied--"A | 1,339.149565 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
YOUNG LORD STRANLEIGH
A Novel
By Robert Barr
Illustrated
New York: D. Appleton And Company
1908
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009]
YOUNG LORD STRANLEIGH
CHAPTER I--THE KING’S MOVE IN THE CITY
IT was shortly after nine o’clock in the morning that young Lord
Stranleigh of Wychwood, in a most leisurely fashion, descended the front
steps of his town house into the street. The young man was almost too
perfectly dressed. Every article of his costume, from his shiny hat to
the polished boots, was so exactly what it should he, that he ran
some danger of being regarded as a model for one of those beautiful
engravings of well-dressed mankind which decorate the shops of
Bond-Street tailors. He was evidently one who did no useful work in the
world, and as a practical person might remark, why should he, when his
income was more than thirty thousand pounds a year? The slightly bored
expression of his countenance, the languid droop of his eyelids, the
easy but indifferent grace of motion that distinguished him, might have
proclaimed to a keen observer that the young man had tested all
things, and found there was nothing worth getting excited about. He was
evidently a person without enthusiasm, for even the sweet perfection of
his attire might be attributed to the thought and care of his tailor,
rather than to any active meditation on his own part. Indeed, his
indolence of attitude made the very words “active” or “energetic” seem
superfluous in our language. His friends found it difficult, if not
impossible, to interest Lord Stranleigh in anything, even in a horse
race, or the fling of the dice, for he possessed so much more money
than he needed, that gain or loss failed to excite a passing flutter of
emotion. If he was equipped with brains, as some of his more intimate
friends darkly hinted, he had hitherto given no evidence of the fact.
Although well set up, he was not an athlete. He shot a little, hunted a
little, came to town during the season, went to the Continent when the
continental exodus took place, always doing the conventional thing, but
not doing it well enough or bad enough to excite comment. He was the
human embodiment of the sentiment: “There is nothing really worth
while.”
In marked contrast to him stood, undecided, a man of his own age, with
one foot on the lower stone step which led up to the front door of his
lordship’s town house. His clothes, of undistinguished cut, were worn so
carelessly that they almost gave the impression of being ready-made. His
flung-on, black slouch hat suggested Western America or Southern Africa.
His boots were coarse and clumsy.
But if the attire was uninspiring, the face merited, and usually
received, a second glance. It was smooth-shaven, massive and strong,
tanned to a slight mahogany tinge by a more eager sun than ever shines
on England. The eyes were deep, penetrating, determined, masterful.
Lord Stranleigh’s delicate upper lip supported a silken mustache
carefully tended; his eyes were languid and tired, capable of no such
gleam of intensity as was now turned upon him from the eyes of the
other.
“I beg your pardon, sir, but are you Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood?”
His lordship paused on the upper steps, and drawled the one word “Yes.”
“My name is Peter Mackeller, and the Honorable John Hazel gave me a
letter of introduction to you, saying I should probably catch you in at
this hour. It seems he underestimated your energy, for you are already
abroad.”
There was an undercurrent of resentment in the impatient tone Mackeller
had used. He was manifestly impressed unfavorably by this modern
representative of a very ancient family, but the purpose he had in view
caused him to curb his dislike, although he had not been tactful
enough to prevent a hint of it appearing in his words. If the other had
gathered any impression of that hint, he was too perfectly trained to
betray his knowledge, either in phrase or expression of countenance. The
opinion of his fellows was a matter of complete indifference to him. A
rather engaging smile stirred the silken mustache.
“Oh, Jack always underestimates my good qualities, so we won’t trouble
about his note of introduction. Besides, a man cannot read a letter in
the street, can he?”
“I see no reason against it,” replied the other sharply.
“Don’t you really? Well, I am going across to my club, and perhaps as we
walk along together, you will be good enough to say why you wish to see
me.”
Lord Stranleigh was about to proceed down another step when the other
answered “No” so brusquely that his lordship paused once more, with a
scarcely perceptible elevation of the eyebrows, for, as a rule, people
did not say “No” to Lord Stranleigh of Wychwood, who was known to enjoy
thirty thousand pounds a year.
“Then what do you propose?” asked his lordship, as though his own
suggestion had exhausted all the possibilities of action.
“I propose that you open the door, invite me in, and give me ten minutes
of your valuable time.”
The smile on his lordship’s countenance visibly increased.
“That’s not a bad idea,” he said, with the air of one listening to
unexpected originality. “Won’t you come in, Mr. Mackeller?” and with
his latchkey he opened the door, politely motioning the other to precede
him.
Young Mackeller was ushered into a small room to the left of the hall.
It was most severely plain, paneled somberly in old oak, lit by one
window, and furnished with several heavy leather-covered chairs. In the
center stood a small table, carrying a huge bottle of ink, like a great
dab of black metal which had been flung while soft on its surface,
and now, hardened, sat broad and squat as if it were part of the table
itself. On a mat lay several pens, and at one end of the table stood a
rack such as holds paper and envelopes, but in this case of most minute
proportions, displaying three tiers, one above the other, of what
appeared to be visiting cards; twelve minute compact packs all in all,
four in each row.
“This,” said Lord Stranleigh, with almost an air of geniality, “is my
business office.”
The visitor looked around him. There were no desks; no pillars of
drawers; no japanned-metal boxes that held documents; no cupboards; no
books; no pictures.
“Pray be seated, Mr. Mackeller,” and when the young man had accepted the
invitation, Lord Stranleigh drew up opposite to him at the small table
with the packets of cards close to his right hand.
“And now, if you will oblige me with Jack’s letter, I will glance over
it, though he rarely writes anything worth reading.”
Mackeller handed him the letter in an open envelope. His lordship
slowly withdrew the document, adjusted an eyeglass, and read it; then he
returned it to the envelope, and passed it back to its owner.
“Would it be too much if I asked you to replace it in your pocket, as
there is no waste-paper basket in this room?”
Mackeller acted as requested, but the frown on his broad brow deepened.
This butterfly seemed to annoy him with his imperturbable manner, and
his trifling, finicky, childish insincerity. Confronted with a real man,
Mackeller felt he might succeed, but he had already begun to fear that
this bit of mental thistle-down would evade him, so instead of going on
with his recital, he sat there glowering at Lord Stranleigh, who proved
even more of a nonentity than the Honorable John Hazel had led him to
believe. He had been prepared to meet some measure of irresponsible
inanity, but not quite so much as this. It was Lord Stranleigh himself
who broke the silence.
“What do you want?” he asked, almost as if some of his opponent’s
churlishness had hypnotically permeated into his own being.
“Money,” snapped the other shortly.
“Ah, they all do,” sighed his lordship, once more a picture of indolent
nonchalance.
He selected from the rack beside him four cards, one from each of the
little packs in the lower range. These he spread face upward on the
table before him.
“I never trouble about money,” said his lordship, smiling.
“You probably don’t need to, with thirty thousand a year,” suggested
Mackeller.
“Ah, that’s exaggerated,” explained his lordship. “You forget the
beastly income tax. Still, I was not referring to the amount; I merely
wished to explain my methods of dealing with it. Here are the names and
addresses of four eminent solicitor persons in the city. There is little
use of my keeping four dogs and barking myself, is there? I’ve really
twelve dogs altogether, as represented in this cardcase, but one or
other of these four will doubtless suit our purpose. Now, this firm of
solicitors attends to one form of charity.”
“I don’t want charity,” growled Mackeller.
“Quite so. I am merely explaining. This firm attends to all the
charities that are recognized in our set; the hospitals, the--well
whatever they happen to be. When applied to personally in these matters,
I write my name on the card of these solicitors, and forward it.
Application is then made to them. They look into the matter, and save
me the fatigue of investigation. The next firm”--holding up a second
card--“deals with charities that are our of our purview; halfdays at
the seaside, and that sort of thing. Now I come to business. This
firm”--showing the third card--“looks after permanent investments,
while this”--lifting the fourth--“takes charge of anything which is
speculative in its nature. The applicant receives the particular card
which pertains to his particular line of desire. He calls upon the
estimable firm of solicitors, and either convinces them, or fails:
gets his money, or doesn’t. So you see, my affairs are competently
transacted, and I avoid the emotional strain of listening to
explanations which probably I have not the mental grasp of business to
understand. Now, which of these four cards may I have the pleasure of
autographing for you?”
“Not one of them, my lord,” replied Mackeller. “The Honorable John Hazel
said that if you would listen to me, he thought I might interest you.”
“Oh, impossible,” drawled his lordship, sitting back languidly in his
chair.
“Yes, he said it would be a hard task, but I am accustomed to
difficulties. I asked you, as we came in, to give me ten minutes. Will
you do it?”
“Why,” protested his lordship, “we have already spent ten minutes at
least.”
“Yes, fooling with cards.”
“Ah, I’m more accustomed to handling cards than listening to a financial
conversation; not these kind of cards, either.”
“Will you, for the sake of John Hazel, who tells me he is a friend of
yours, give me ten minutes more of your time?”
“What has Jack Hazel to do with this? Are you going to share with him?
Is he setting you on to me for loot, and then do you retire into a dark
corner, and divide? Jack Hazel’s always short of money.”
“No, we don’t divide, my lord. Mr. Hazel has been speculating in the
city, and he stands to win a bit if I can pull off what I’m trying to
do. So, if you agree to my proposal, he will prove a winner, so will I,
so will you, for you will share in the profits.”
“Oh, but I don’t need the money.”
“Well, we do.”
“So I understand. Why doesn’t Jack confine himself to the comparative
honesty of the dice? What does he want to muddle about in the city for?”
“I suppose because he hasn’t got thirty thousand a year.”
“Very likely; very likely. Yes, that strikes me as a sufficient
explanation. All right, Mr. Mac-keller, take your ten minutes, and try
to make your statement as simple as possible. I hope statistics do not
come into it. I’ve no head for figures.”
“My father,” began the young man, with blunt directness, “is a
stockbroker in the city. The firm is Mackeller and Son. I am the son.”
“You don’t look to me like a stockbroker. That is, what I’ve always
expected such a person to be: I’ve never met one.”
“No, I’m in reality a mining engineer.”
“But, my dear sir, you have just said you were a stockbroker.”
“I said my father was.”
“You said Mackeller and Son, and that you were the son.”
“Yes, I am a partner in the firm, but, nevertheless, a mining engineer.”
“Do stockbrokers make mining engineers of their sons?”
“One of them did. My father is a rigidly honest man, and preferred me to
be an engineer.” His lordship’s eyebrows again elevated | 1,339.745769 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
The Works of E.P. Roe
VOLUME SEVENTEEN
SUCCESS WITH SMALL FRUITS
ILLUSTRATED
1881
I Dedicate this Book
TO
MR. CHARLES DOWNING
A Neighbor, Friend, and Horticulturist
FROM WHOM I SHALL ESTEEM IT A PRIVILEGE TO LEARN IN COMING YEARS AS I
HAVE IN THE PAST
PREFACE
A book should be judged somewhat in view of what it attempts. One of
the chief objects of this little volume is to lure men and women back
to their original calling, that of gardening. I am decidedly under the
impression that Eve helped Adam, especially as the sun declined. I am
sure that they had small fruits for breakfast, dinner and supper, and
would not be at all surprised if they ate some between meals. Even we
poor mortals who have sinned more than once, and must give our minds to
the effort not to appear unnatural in many hideous styles of dress, can
fare as well. The Adams and Eves of every generation can have an Eden
if they wish. Indeed, I know of many instances in which Eve creates a
beautiful and fruitful garden without any help from Adam.
The theologians show that we have inherited much evil from our first
parents, but, in the general disposition to have a garden, can we not
recognize a redeeming ancestral trait? I would like to contribute my
little share toward increasing this tendency, believing that as
humanity goes back to its first occupation it may also acquire some of
the primal gardener's characteristics before he listened to temptation
and ceased to be even a gentleman. When he brutally blamed the woman,
it was time he was turned out of Eden. All the best things of the
garden suggest refinement and courtesy. Nature might have contented
herself with producing seeds only, but she accompanies the prosaic
action with fragrant flowers and delicious fruit. It would be well to
remember this in the ordinary courtesies of life.
Moreover, since the fruit-garden and farm do not develop in a
straightforward, matter-of-fact way, why should I write about them
after the formal and terse fashion of a manual or scientific treatise?
The most productive varieties of fruit blossom and have some foliage
which may not be very beautiful, any more than the departures from
practical prose in this book are interesting; but, as a leafless plant
or bush, laden with fruit, would appear gaunt and naked, so, to the
writer, a book about them without any attempt at foliage and flowers
would seem unnatural. The modern chronicler has transformed history
into a fascinating story. Even science is now taught through the charms
of fiction. Shall this department of knowledge, so generally useful, be
left only to technical prose? Why should we not have a class of books
as practical as the gardens, fields, and crops, concerning which they
are written, and at the same time having much of the light, shade,
color, and life of the out-of-door world? I merely claim that I have
made an attempt in the right direction, but, like an unskillful artist,
may have so confused my lights, shades, and mixed my colors so badly,
that my pictures resemble a strawberry-bed in which the weeds have the
better of the fruit.
Liberal outlines of this work appeared in "Scribner's Magazine," but
the larger scope afforded by the book has enabled me to treat many
subjects for which there was no space in the magazine, and also to give
my views more fully concerning topics only touched upon in the serial.
As the fruits described are being improved, so in the future other and
more skillful horticulturists will develop the literature relating to
them into its true proportions.
I am greatly indebted to the instruction received at various times from
those venerable fathers and authorities on all questions relating to
Eden-like pursuits--Mr. Chas. Downing of Newburg, and Hon. Marshall P.
Wilder of Boston, Mr. J. J. Thomas, Dr. Geo. Thurber; to such valuable
works as those of A. S. Fuller, A. J. Downing, P. Barry, J. M. Merrick,
Jr.; and some English authors; to the live horticultural journals in
the East, West, and South; and, last but not least, to many plain,
practical fruit-growers who are as well informed and sensible as they
are modest in expressing their opinions.
CORNWALL-ON-THE-HUDSON, NEW YORK.
PREFACE TO THE NEW EDITION
On page 315 of this volume will be found the following words: "To
attempt to describe all the strawberries that have been named would be
a task almost as interminable as useless. This whole question of
varieties presents a different phase every four or five years.
Therefore I treat the subject in my final chapter in order that I may
give revision, as often as there shall be occasion for it, without
disturbing the body of the book. | 1,340.045812 |
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Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
THE ILLUSTRIOUS GAUDISSART
By Honore De Balzac
Translated By Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Madame la Duchesse de Castries.
THE ILLUSTRIOUS GAUDISSART
CHAPTER I
The commercial traveller, a personage unknown to antiquity, is one of
the striking figures created by the manners and customs of our present
epoch. May he not, in some conceivable order of things, be destined to
mark for coming philosophers the great transition which welds a period
of material enterprise to the period of intellectual strength? Our
century will bind the realm of isolated power, abounding as it does
in creative genius, to the realm of universal but levelling might;
equalizing all products, spreading them broadcast among the masses, and
being itself controlled by the principle of unity | 1,340.048492 |
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Produced by sp1nd and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR
EDITED BY--T. LEMAN HARE
WHISTLER
1834-1903
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
JOHN S. SARGENT T. MARTIN WOOD.
_Others in Preparation._
[Illustration: PLATE I.--OLD BATTERSEA BRIDGE. Frontispiece
(In the National Gallery)
This nocturne was bought by the National Collections Fund from
the Whistler Memorial Exhibition. It was one of the canvases
brought forward during the cross-examination of the artist in the
Whistler v. Ruskin trial.]
Whistler
BY T. MARTIN WOOD
ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR
[Illustration]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES CO.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. Old Battersea Bridge Frontispiece
In the National Gallery
Page
II. Nocturne, St. Mark's, Venice 14
In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.
III. The Artist's Studio 24
In the possession of Douglas Freshfield, Esq.
IV. Portrait of my Mother 34
In the Luxembourg Galleries, Paris
V. Lillie in Our Alley 40
In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.
VI. Nocturne, Blue and Silver 50
In the possession of the Hon. Percy Wyndham
VII. Portrait of Thomas Carlyle 60
In the Corporation Art Galleries, Glasgow
VIII. In the Channel 70
In the possession of Mrs. L. Knowles
[Illustration]
I
At the time when Rossetti and his circle were foregathering chiefly at
Rossetti's house, quiet Chelsea scarcely knew how daily were
associations added which will always cluster round her name. Whistler's
share in those associations is very large, and he has left in his
paintings the memory of many a night, as he returned beside the river.
Before Whistler painted it, night was more opaque than it is now. It had
been viewed only through the window of tradition. It was left for a man
of the world coming out of an artificial London room to paint its
stillness, and also to show us that we ourselves had made night more
beautiful, with ghostly silver and gold; and to tell us that the dark
bridges that sweep into it do not interrupt--that we cannot interrupt,
the music of nature.
The figure of Whistler emerges: with his extreme concern as to his
appearance, his careful choice of clothes, his hair so carefully
arranged. He had quite made up his mind as to the part he intended to
play and the light in which he wished to be regarded. He had a dual
personality. Himself as he really was and the personality which he put
forward as himself. In a sense he never went anywhere unaccompanied; he
was followed and watched by another self that would perhaps have been
happier at home. Tiring of this he would disappear from society for a
time. Other men's ringlets fall into their places accidentally--so it
might be with the young Disraeli. Other men's clothes have seemed
characteristic without any of this elaborate pose. He chose his clothes
with a view to their being characteristic, which is rather different and
less interesting than the fact of their becoming so because he,
Whistler, wore them. Other men are dandies, with little conception of
the grace of their part; with Whistler a supreme artist stepped into the
question. He designed himself. Nor had he the illusions of vanity, but a
groundwork of philosophy upon which every detail of his personal life
was part of an elaborate and delicately designed structure, his art the
turret of it all, from which he saw over the heads of others. There is
no contradiction between the dandy and his splendid art. He lived as
exquisitely and carefully as he painted. Literary culture, merely, in
his case was not great perhaps, yet he could be called one of the most
cultured figures of his time. In every direction he marked the path of
his mind with fastidious borders. And it is interesting that he should
have painted the greatest portrait of Carlyle, who, we will say,
represented in English literature Goethe's philosophy of culture, which
if it has an echo in the plastic arts, has it in the work of Whistler.
In his "Heretics" Mr. G. K. Chesterton condemned Whistler for going in
for the art of living--I think he says the miserable art of living--I
have not seen the book for a long time, but surely the fact that
Whistler was more than a private workman, that his temperament had
energy enough to turn from the ardours of his work to live this other
part of life--indicates extraordinary vitality rather than any weakness.
Whistler was never weak: he came very early to an understanding of his
limitations, and well within those limitations took his stand. Because
of this his art was perfect. In it he declined to dissipate his energy
in any but its natural way. In that way he is as supreme as any master.
Attacked from another point his whole art seems but a cobweb of
beautiful ingenuity--sustained by evasions. Whistler, one thinks, would
have been equally happy and meteorically successful in any profession;
one can imagine what an enlivening personality his would have been in a
Parliamentary debate, and how fascinating. Any public would have
suited him. Art was just an accident coming on the top of many other
gifts. It took possession of him as his chief gift, but without it he
was singularly well equipped to play a prominent part in the world. As
things happened all his other energy went to forward, indirectly and
directly, the claims of art. Perhaps his methods of self-advancement
were not so beautiful as his art, and his wit was of a more robust
character. For this we should be very glad; the world would have been
too ready to overlook his delicate work--except that it had to feed his
inordinate ambition. At first it recognised his wit and then it
recognised his art, or did its level best to, in answer to his repeated
challenges.
[Illustration: PLATE II.--NOCTURNE, ST. MARK'S, VENICE
(In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.)
This picture was first exhibited in the winter of 1886 at the Royal
Society of British Artists. The painter's election as President of the
Society taking place just after the hanging of the exhibition. A
newspaper criticism at the time was to the effect that the only
note-worthy fact about the painting was the price, L630, "just about
twenty shillings to the square inch." The figure of an investment, we
may add, which was to improve beyond the wildest calculations.]
It is easier to explain Whistler's personality than his work. In his
lifetime most people had recognised all the force of his personality,
but it was not so with his art. In this he is as a player of violin
music, or a composer after the fashion of the masters of music--his
relationship to the subject which suggests the motif, of course, could
not be quite so slight as theirs--but it was their standpoint that he
adopted and so approached his art from another direction than the
ordinary one. To a great extent he established the unity of the arts.
Without being a musical man, through painting he divined the mission of
music and passed from the one art almost into the other. And the effort
above everything else for self-expression was in its essence a musical
one too, as also the fact that he never allowed a line or brushmark to
survive that was not as sensitively inspired--played we might almost
say--as the touch of a player, playing with great expression, upon the
keyboard of his piano. This quality of touch--how much it counts for in
the art of Whistler--as it counts in music. It is one of the essential
things which we have to understand about his work, to appreciate and
enjoy it.
Both painting and music are so different from writing in this, that the
thoughts of a painter and musician have to issue through their fingers,
they have to clothe with their own hands the offsprings of their fancy.
They cannot put this work out, as the writer does, by dictation to a
type-writer. It is not in the style he lays the ink that the poet finds
the expression, its thickness or its thinness bears no resemblance to
his soul, but the intimacies of a painter's genius are expressed in the
actual substance of his paint and in the touch with which he lays it. So
in painting the mysterious virtue arises which among painters is called
"quality," a certain beauty of surface resultant from the perfection of
method. And it is "quality," which Whistler's work has superlatively, in
this it approaches the work of the old masters, his method was more
similar to the old traditions than to the systems current in the modern
schools. And part of the remote beauty, the flavour of distinction which
belongs to old canvases is simulated by Whistler almost unconsciously.
Mr. Mortimer Mempes has put on record the painful care with which
Whistler printed his etchings. The Count de Montesquieu, whom Whistler
painted, tells of the "sixteen agonising sittings," whilst "by some
fifty strokes a sitting the portrait advanced. The finished work
consisted of some hundred accents, of which none was corrected or
painted out." From such glimpses of his working days we are enabled to
appreciate that desire for perfection which was a ruling factor both in
his life and work. In art he deliberately limited himself for the sake
of attaining in some one or two phases absolute perfection; he strained
away from his pictures everything but the quintessence of the vision and
the mood. He worked by gradually refining and refining upon an eager
start, or else by starting with great deliberation and proceeding very
slowly with the brush balanced before every touch while he waited for it
to receive its next inspiration. So he was always working at the top of
his powers. Those pleasant mornings in the studio in which the
Academy-picture painter works with pipe in mouth contentedly, but more
than half-mechanically, upon some corner of his picture were not for
him. Full inspiration came to him as he took up his brushes, and the
moment it flagged he laid them aside. So that in his art there is not a
brush mark or a line without feeling. His inspiration, however, was not
of the yeasty foaming order of which mad poets speak, but spontaneity.
Spontaneous action is inspired. And this is why his work looks always as
if it was done with grace and ease, and why it seemed so careless to
Ruskin. However, such winged moments will not follow each other all day
long, and though they take flight very quickly, work at this high
pressure--with every touch as fresh as the first one--cannot be
indefinitely prolonged. Whistler's friends regretted that he should
suddenly leave his work for the sake of a garden party. It is more
likely that he turned to go to the garden party just when the right
moment came for him to leave off working and so conserve the result, for
it is the tendency of the artist in inspired moments to waste his
inspiration by allowing the work of one moment to undo what was done in
the one before it.
II
The wit of Whistler was not like the wit, let us say, of Sheridan, but
it was the result of intense personal convictions as to the lines along
which art and life move together. About one or two things in this world
Whistler was overflowing with wisdom, and upon those things his
conversation was always salt, his sayings falling with a pretty and a
startling sound. He talked about things which were much in advance of
his day. His was not the wisdom of the past which always sounds
impressive, but the greater wisdom of the future, of instincts not yet
established upon the printed page. By these he formed his convictions as
he went, referring all his experiences, chiefly artistic ones, back to
his intelligence, which as we know was an extraordinarily acute one.
Other people's ideas, old-fashioned ones, coming into collision with the
intensity of his own, produced sparks on every occasion, and this
without over anxiety to be brilliant on Whistler's part. It is so with
original minds.
There is a difference between artistic work and other sorts of work.
Outside the arts, in other professions, what a man's personality is,
whilst it affects the way his work is accomplished, does not alter the
nature of that work. Immediately, however, the work becomes of such a
nature that the word art can be inserted, then the personal equation is
before everything to be considered. "Temperament" meets us at every
turn, in the touch of brush to paper, in the arrangement of the design,
in the subject chosen, in the way of viewing that subject, in the shape
that subject takes. Also we can be sure that a picture suffers by every
quality, either of mere craftsmanship or surface finish, that tends to
obscure individuality of touch and feeling. Outside the arts every job
must be finished, if not by one man then by another. A half-built
motor-car means nothing to any one, it cannot be regarded as a mode of
personal expression, but in art it is otherwise, no one can finish a
work for some one else, and as Whistler pointed out, "A work of art is
finished from the beginning." In such a saying Whistler showed the
depths from which his wit spilt over. His intuitiveness in certain
directions was almost uncanny, taking the place of a profound
scholarship, and this saying is a case in point. For however fragmentary
a work of art is, if it contains only a first impulse, so far as the
work there is sufficient to explain and communicate that impulse, it is
finished--finish can do no more. And of course this is not to say that
art should never pass such an early stage. All this depends on what the
artist has to say: sometimes we have to value above everything the
completeness, the perfection of surface with which a picture has been
brought to an end. Whistler's paradox sums up the fact that finish
should be inextricably bound up with the method of working and the
personal touch never be so "played out" that resort is made to that
appearance of finish which can always be obtained by labour descending
to a mechanical character. This may sound rather technical, but it is
not so really.
[Illustration: PLATE III.--THE ARTIST'S STUDIO
(In the possession of Douglas Freshfield, Esq.)
In this Whistler stands in profile before his easel. The picture belongs
to Mr. Douglas Freshfield. There is another version, in a lower key and
less finished, in the Lane gift at the City of Dublin Gallery, from
which this was perhaps painted.]
Here we may remark on all that is due to Whistler, as to Manet, for
disturbing the dust in the Academies, at one time so thick that the
great difference between art and mere craft seemed almost totally
obscured.
III
Whistler's life is at present a skeleton of dates on which this incident
occurred or that, and at which the most notable of his pictures
appeared. And this must remain so until an authoritative biography of
the painter has appeared. With whom the authority rests was made the
subject of a recent Law Case. Till such a work appears we can only deal
with his art and with the Whistler legend, the impressions, recorded and
otherwise, he left upon those who were brought into contact with him.[1]
These are strangely at variance--some having only met him cloaked from
head to foot in the species of misunderstanding in which, as he
explained, in surroundings of antagonism he had wrapped himself for
protection; others remembering him for his kindliness and his
old-fashioned courtesy.
[1] Since going to press, "The Life of Whistler," by E. R. and
J. Pennell has appeared.
Permitting himself sufficient popularity with a few to be called
"Jimmy," Whistler's full name was James Abbot McNeill Whistler, and the
initials gradually twisted themselves into that strange arabesque with a
wavy tail which he called a butterfly and with which he signed his
pictures and his letters. Born on 11th July 1834 at Lowell,
Massachusetts, he was the descendant of an Irish branch of an old
English family, and in his seventeenth year he entered the West Point
Military Academy, where after making his first etchings on the margins
of the map which he should have been engraving, he decided to devote his
life to art. He was twenty when he left America and he never returned to
it, so that as far as America is concerned infancy can be pleaded.
America has since bought more than her share of the fruits of his
genius, finding in this open-handed way charming expression for her
envy. He went to Paris to study art, where he was gay, and attracted
attention to himself by the enjoyable way in which he spent his time. It
was not until he was twenty-five that he arrived in London, and a
little later moving to Chelsea commenced work in earnest.
A charming picture suggests itself of the painter escorting his aged
mother every Sunday morning to the door of Chelsea old church, as was
his habit, bowing to her as she enters and hastening back to the studio
to be witty with his Sunday friends.
Whistler's first important picture, "At the Piano," issued from Chelsea.
It was hung in the Academy in 1860 and was bought by a member of the
Academy. He followed the next year with "La Mere Gerard," which belongs
to Mr. Swinburne. He sent a picture called "The White Girl," to the
Salon of 1863. It was, however, rejected. It was then hung at the
collection called the "Salon des Refuses," an exhibition held as a
protest against the Academic prejudices which still marked the Salon.
There it met with an enthusiastic reception which set Whistler off on
his career of defiance. In 1865 the painter went to Valparaiso for a
visit, from which resulted the beautiful Valparaiso nocturnes. Back
again in Chelsea, he devoted himself to the river there. He was then
living in a house in Lindsay Row. At this time he was greatly affected
by Japanese art, and one or two pictures show curious attempts to adapt
scenes of the life of the West to the Eastern conventions. This phase of
his art was beautiful, but he passed it on the way to work of greater
sincerity, and more clearly the outcome of his own vision. In 1874 the
first exhibition of Whistler's work was held at a Gallery in Pall Mall,
containing among other things "The Painter's Mother," "Thomas Carlyle,"
and "Miss Alexander." It is interesting that the Piano Picture, painted
just as he emerged from his studentship, is of the flower of his art; he
did things afterwards of great significance, and did them quite
differently, but the Piano Picture does not seem a first work preparing
his art for future perfection, it is so perfect in itself. And here
perhaps we may observe another fact in connection with Whistler, that in
the last days of his life he painted with the same genius for the
beautiful as at the beginning; none of that deterioration had set in,
which so often comes in the wake of flattery and belated public esteem.
He was never betrayed by success into over, or too rapid, production. He
never succumbed to the delight of anticipating a cheque by every post
instead of bills. He found no difficulty in declining the most tempting
offers. Well, work that is held thus sacred by its own creator, should
tempt people to search for all that made it seem so valuable to him.
Whistler had an intense dislike of parting with his work. When a picture
was bought from him he was like a man selling his child. Sometimes he
would see somewhere a picture he had painted, he would borrow it to add
to or improve it, but he would keep it and live with it and gradually
forget all about its possessor. Whatever qualms attacked his conscience
for this procrastination, it was no part of his genius to confess,
instead he would say "For years, this dear person has had the privilege
of living with that masterpiece--what more do they want?" At Whistler's
death, however, it was found that the circumstances under which a
picture had at any time been borrowed were methodically entered up,
with minute directions as to the return of one or two pictures, borrowed
thus, that were in his studio when he died.
In Chelsea, Rossetti and Whistler were good friends, they shared a love
of blue china, in fact inventing the modern taste for certain kinds,
especially for what they called "Long Elizas," a specimen upon which
slim figures are painted,--"_Lange leises_"--tall damsels--as they were
called by the Dutch. One supposes that it is through Rossetti that he
came into contact with Swinburne, who was inspired to write the poem
called "Before the Mirror," by Whistler's picture "The White Girl," and
of which some of the verses were printed after the title in the
catalogue of the Royal Academy Exhibition. The first verse in itself
suggests a scheme of white:--
"White rose in red rose-garden
Is not so white;
Snowdrops that plead for pardon
And pine for fright
Because the hard East blows
Over their maiden rows
Grow not as this face grows from pale to bright."
The poem was printed on gilded paper on the frame; this was however
removed on the picture going to the Academy, and in the catalogue the
two following verses were printed after the title:--
"Come snow, come wind or thunder
High up in air,
I watch my face, and wonder
At my bright hair;
Nought else exalts or grieves
The rose at heart, that heaves
With love of her own leaves and lips that pair.
"I cannot tell what pleasure
Or what pains were;
What pale new loves and treasures
New years will bear:
What beam will fall, what shower,
What grief or joy for dower;
But one thing knows the flower; the flower is fair."
Later on, Swinburne did not allow the Ten o'clock lecture to go
unchallenged, and he subjects its glittering rhetoric to a not unkind
but cold analysis which, however, Whistler has the grace to print with
marginal reflections in "The Gentle Art of Making Enemies," the book
which contains the paradoxes which reflect so well his powers as a
thinker. It is doubtful whether Whistler in kinder circumstances would
have produced his brilliant theories. The irritation caused by
misconception, the necessity of justifying even his limitations to a
world which was apparently prepared to consider nothing else about him
at one time--these were the wine-press of his eloquence. He disliked the
role of teacher and apologised for it at the beginning of his "Ten
o'clock," and when, in later life, following the fashion, he started a
school, he relied upon the example of his own methods of setting the
palette rather than upon precept, with a little banter to keep good
humour in his class-room. A young lady protested "I am sure that I am
painting what I see." "Yes!" answered her master, "but the shock will
come when you see what you are painting." A student at the short-lived
Academie-Whistler has written that merely attempting to initiate them
into some purely technical matters of art, he succeeded--almost without
his or their volition--in transforming their ways of seeing! "Not alone
in a refining of the actual physical sight of things, not only in a
quickening of the desire for a choicer, rarer vision of the world about
them, but in opening the door to a more intimate sympathy with the
masters of the past."
[Illustration: PLATE IV.--PORTRAIT OF MY MOTHER
(In the Luxembourg Galleries, Paris)
This was first exhibited in the Royal Academy in 1872. For many years it
remained in the painter's possession. It left this country to become the
property of the French Government in the Luxembourg at the sum of L120.
In "The Gentle Art of Making Enemies" Whistler writes of the picture as
an "Arrangement in Grey and Black." "To me," he adds, "it is interesting
as a picture of my mother; but what can or ought the public to care
about the identity of the portrait?"]
The thing that strikes one in reading "The Gentle Art" is how badly
those who entered into combat with its author came off in the end, some
of them in what they consider their witty replies committing suicide so
far as their reputation as authorities on art went. Notable is the case
of the critic of _The Times_, replying "I ought to remember your
penning, like your painting, belongs to the region of chaff." We have
indicated the source of Whistler's success as a wit--at that source we
find the reason why he always scored when talking about painting. He is
playing something more than a game of repartee. His best replies are
crystallised from his inner knowledge. In them we get bit by bit the
revelation which he had received as a genius in his craft.
It was the force of his personality that obtained for Whistler's evasive
art such recognition in his lifetime as in the natural course only
falls to fine painters of the obvious, whom every one delights to
honour. He had said that "art is for artists," and it is true that the
perfection of his own art is the pleasure of those who study it. It
reached heights of lyrical expression where life in completeness has not
yet been represented in painting; reached them perhaps because so
lightly freighted with elementary human feeling. His work so often
leaves us cold, and we turn seeking for art mixed further with the fire
of life and alight with everyday desire.
But nature showed many things to this her appreciator--I write, her
intimate friend. As a moth which goes out from the artificial atmosphere
of a London room into the blue night, I think of the painter of the
nocturnes--yet always as a lover of nature, never more so than when his
subject is the sea. For he has a greater consciousness of the salt wet
air than any other sea painter, of the veil behind which all ships are
sailing and through which the waves break, the atmosphere which descends
so mystically and invisibly and yet which if not accounted for in a
canvas leaves ships with their sails set in a vacuum and the waves as if
they were crested with candle-grease. Is it not absence of this
atmosphere which has tortured us on so many occasions when with
everything quite real a picture has not brought us pleasure. Pleasure
comes to us always with reality in art, and the end of art is realism.
All is real even around a mystic, though his thoughts are out of our
sight. Whistler was not a mystic but above everything he wished to
suggest the atmosphere which is invisible except for its visible effect,
and I cannot help thinking his vision essentially abstract.
He did not paint subject pictures. To make our meaning quite clear, let
us say such pictures as Frith's, or better still, as Hogarth's in which
we have the extreme. The art of Hogarth moved upon a plane lower down,
but there it had a strength unknown to Whistler, a careless and lavish
inspiration of life itself. He had to find speech for all sorts of
things in his art, beauty was but one of these, creeping in less as a
deliberate aim than as the accident of a nature artistic. Whistler in
painting desired to express nothing but his sense of beauty. For the
rest of his nature, he found expression altogether outside his art in
enthusiasm for life itself, its combats, difficulties, and its
opportunities for saying brilliant things at dinner. His dinner
conversation, I have been told, was like the abstract methods of his
etching, always cryptic, full of suggestion,--wonderful conversation,
full of short ejaculations which carried your imagination from one point
to another with hints that seemed to throw open doorways into passages
of thought leading right behind things.
[Illustration: PLATE V.--LILLIE IN OUR ALLEY
(In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.)
This study in brown and gold was made about the time (1865) when the
Little Rose of Lyme Regis was painted, one of the most beautiful
portraits of an English child. The latter picture unfortunately left
these shores and is now in the Boston Museum, U.S.A.]
He had a remarkable regard for purity of speech, as became the painter
of such spiritual types of womanhood. It would seem that women liked
him, and readily apprehended in his art his sensitive view of life. At
table he drank but little and was a slender eater. When alone he would
sometimes forget all about his meals, or eat scarcely anything; in later
years, feeling the necessity of taking care of himself he would guard
against his indifference by always seeking companionship when away from
his house. His nervous disposition forced him to content himself with
little sleep, his active brain keeping him awake conceiving witticisms
and planning the battle for the morrow.
IV
It would be incomplete in any memoir of Whistler to omit the most
thrilling battle of his life. To all adventurers there comes at last the
event which knocks all their venturousness out of them or is the
beginning of a triumphant way. Whistler had been before the footlights a
long time, but it was his contact with Professor Ruskin which brought
him into the full lime-light, which he was so much prepared to enjoy.
Ruskin paid him the only tribute strength can pay to strength when it is
not on the same side--with a prophetic instinct that as regards picture
exhibitions Whistler's art was the sign of a coming, and licentious,
freedom from the old rules of the game. He saw in Whistler's work the
end of old fair things, the laws of those old things all set aside. In
reading the so well-known criticism of Whistler one has a feeling that
after all Ruskin has only half expressed his feelings in it--however it
resulted in the famous libel action. Whistler received one farthing
damages, which sum he afterwards magnanimously returned to | 1,340.048813 |
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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 | 1,340.147654 |
2023-11-16 18:39:24.4264420 | 1,105 | 7 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Dust cover art]
[Illustration: Cover]
Buck Peters, Ranchman
Being the Story of What Happened When Buck Peters,
Hopalong Cassidy, and Their Bar-20
Associates Went to Montana
BY
Clarence E. Mulford
AND
John Wood Clay
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOR
BY MAYNARD DIXON
SECOND EDITION
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1912
Published March, 1912
Published April, 1912
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, England
ALSO BY MR. MULFORD
HOPALONG CASSIDY. With five illustrations in color by Maynard Dixon.
$1.50
THE ORPHAN. With illustrations in color by Allen True. 91.50
BAR-20. Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth and F. E. Schoonover. $1.50
BAR-20 DAYS. With four illustrations in color by Maynard Dixon. $1.35
net
A. C. McCLURG & CO., Publishers
CHICAGO
Contents
CHAPTER
I Tex Returns
II H. Whitby Booth is Shown How
III Buck Makes Friends
IV The Foreman of the Double Y
V "Comin' Thirty" has Notions
VI An Honest Man and a Rogue
VII The French Rose
VIII Tex Joins the Enemy
IX Any Means to an End
X Introducing a Parasite
XI The Man Outside
XII A Hidden Enemy
XIII Punctuation as a Fine Art
XIV Fighting the Itch
XV The Slaughter of the Innocents
XVI The Master Mind
XVII Hopalong's Night Ride
XVIII Karl to the Rescue
XIX The Weak Link
XX Misplaced Confidence
XXI Pickles Tries to Talk
XXII "A Ministering Angel"
XXIII Hopalong's Move
XXIV The Rebellion of Cock Murray
XXV Mary Receives Company
XXVI Hunters and Hunted
XXVII Points of the Compass
XXVIII The Heart of a Rose
Illustrations
So she stood, silently regarding him... _Frontispiece_
(missing from source book)
The rifle belonging to Hopalong never missed--and besides, he had made
his wish
Rose flung herself from the saddle and ran to him
As he spoke he hurled his horse against Hopalong's, while his right hand
flashed to his hip
Buck Peters, Ranchman
CHAPTER I
TEX RETURNS
Johnny Nelson reached up for the new, blue flannel shirt he had hung
above his bunk, and then placed his hands on hips and soliloquized: "Me
an' Red buy a new shirt apiece Saturday night an' one of 'em's gone
Sunday mornin'; purty fast work even for this outfit."
He strode to the gallery to ask the cook, erstwhile subject of the Most
Heavenly One, but the words froze on his lips. Lee Hop's
stoop-shouldered back was encased in a brand new, blue flannel shirt,
the price mark chalked over one shoulder blade, and he sing-songed a
Chinese classic while debating the advisability of adopting a pair of
trousers and thus crossing another of the boundaries between the Orient
and the Occident. He had no eyes in the back of his head but was rarely
gifted in the "ways that are strange," and he felt danger before the
boot left Johnny's hand. Before the missile landed in the dish pan Lee
Hop was digging madly across the open, half way to the ranch house, and
temporary safety.
Johnny fished out the boot and paused to watch the agile cook. "He's
got eyes all over hisself--an' no coyote ever lived as could beat him,"
was his regretful comment. He knew better than to follow--Hopalong's
wife had a sympathetic heart, and a tongue to be feared. She had not
yet forgotten Lee Hop's auspicious initiation as an _ex-officio_ member
of the outfit, and Johnny's part therein. And no one had been able to
convince her that sympathy was wasted on a "Chink."
The shirtless puncher looked around helplessly, and then a grin slipped
over his face. Glancing at the boot he dropped it back into the dish
water, moved swiftly to Red's bunk, and in a moment a twin to his own
shirt adorned his back. To make matters more certain he deposited on
Red's blankets an old shirt of Lee Hop's, and then sauntered over to
Skinny's bunk.
"Hoppy said he ' | 1,340.446482 |
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THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY:
His Life and Adventures.
Imperial 16mo, cloth, 6s. Boys' Edition, crown 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt
edges, 5s.
THE STORY OF HUNGARY.
Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. (THE STORY OF THE NATIONS
SERIES.)
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
[Illustration: VAMBÉRY AFTER HIS RETURN FROM CENTRAL ASIA.
_Photographed in Teheran, 1863._
_Frontispiece to Vol._ II.]
THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
THE MEMOIRS OF ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY
PROFESSOR OF ORIENTAL LANGUAGES
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF BUDAPEST
VOLUME II
[Illustration: Logo]
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1904
(_All rights reserved._)
Contents
CHAPTER VII.
PAGE
FROM LONDON TO BUDAPEST 237
CHAPTER VIII.
MY POLITICAL CAREER AND POSITION IN ENGLAND 283
CHAPTER IX.
THE TRIUMPH OF MY LABOURS 317
CHAPTER X.
AT THE ENGLISH COURT 329
CHAPTER XI.
MY INTERCOURSE WITH SULTAN ABDUL HAMID 343
CHAPTER XII.
MY INTERCOURSE WITH NASREDDIN SHAH AND HIS
SUCCESSOR 391
CHAPTER XIII.
THE STRUGGLE'S END, AND YET NO END 411
APPENDICES 459
Illustrations
PROFESSOR VAMBÉRY AFTER HIS RETURN FROM
CENTRAL ASIA _Frontispiece_
PROFESSOR VAMBÉRY AND HIS TARTAR, 1864 _Facing page_ 393
From London to Budapest
CHAPTER VII
FROM LONDON TO BUDAPEST
I have often been asked how it was that, after the bitter disappointment
I had experienced in my native land on my return from Asia, and after
the brilliant reception accorded to me in England, I yet preferred to
settle down permanently in Hungary.
People have been surprised that I should choose a quiet literary career,
whereas my many years of intimate intercourse with various Eastern
nations might have been turned to so much better account, and a
practical, active career would have been so much more in keeping with my
character. All these questions were asked of me at the time in London,
but filled as I then became with a sense of oppression and a great
longing for home I could not give a satisfactory answer to these
queries. Now that the cloud has lifted, and my vision is clear, now that
sober reflection has taken the place of former rapture and exultation,
the causes which influenced my decision are perfectly clear. I see now
that I could not have acted differently; that the step I took was
partly the result of my personal inclination and views of life, and
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THE
FATAL FALSEHOOD:
A TRAGEDY.
IN FIVE ACTS.
AS IT WAS ACTED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
Drawn from:
THE
WORKS
OF
HANNAH MORE.
VOL. II.
LONDON
PRINTED FOR T. CADELL, STRAND
1830.
TO THE
COUNTESS BATHURST,
THIS TRAGEDY
IS
VERY RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,
AS
A SMALL TRIBUTE TO HER MANY VIRTUES,
AND
AS A GRATEFUL TESTIMONY
OF THE FRIENDSHIP WITH WHICH SHE HONOURS
HER MOST OBEDIENT
AND MOST OBLIGED
HUMBLE SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Earl GUILDFORD, _Mr. Clarke._
RIVERS, his Son, _Mr. Lewis._
ORLANDO, a young Italian Count, _Mr. Wroughton._
BERTRAND, _Mr. Aickin._
EMMELINA, _Miss Younge._
JULIA, _Mrs. Hartley._
SCENE--_Earl Guildford's Castle._
PROLOGUE.
WRITTEN BY THE AUTHOR OF THE TRAGEDY.
SPOKEN BY MR. HULL.
Our modern poets now can scarcely choose
A subject worthy of the Tragic Muse;
For bards so well have glean'd th' historic field,
That scarce one sheaf th' exhausted ancients yield;
Or if, perchance, they from the golden crop
Some grains, with hand penurious, rarely drop;
Our author these consigns to manly toil,
For classic themes demand a classic soil,
A vagrant she, the desert waste who chose,
Where Truth and History no restraints impose.
To her the wilds of fiction open lie,
A flow'ry prospect, and a boundless sky;
Yet hard the task to keep the onward way,
Where the wide scenery lures the foot to stray;
Where no severer limits check the Muse,
Than lawless fancy is dispos'd to choose.
Nor does she emulate the loftier strains
Which high _heroic_ Tragedy maintains:
Nor conquests she, nor wars, nor triumphs sings,
Nor with rash hand o'erturns the thrones of kings.
No ruin'd empires greet to night your eyes,
No nations at our bidding fall or rise;
To statesmen deep, to politicians grave,
These themes congenial to their tastes we leave.
Of crowns and camps, a kingdom's weal or woe,
How few can judge, because how few can know!
But here you all may boast the censor's art;
Here all are critics who possess a heart.
Of the mix'd passions we display to-night,
Each hearer judges like the Stagyrite.
The scenes of private life our author shows,
A simple story of domestic woes;
Nor unimportant is the glass we hold,
To show th' effect of passions uncontroll'd;
To govern empires is the lot of few,
But all who live have _passions_ to subdue.
Self-conquest is the lesson books should preach,
Self-conquest is the theme the Stage should teach.
Vouchsafe to learn this obvious duty here,
The verse though feeble, yet the moral's clear.
O mark to-night the unexampled woes
Which from unbounded self-indulgence flows.
Your candour once endur'd our author's lays,
Endure them now--it will be ample praise.
THE FATAL FALSEHOOD.
ACT I.
SCENE--_An Apartment in Guildford Castle._
_Enter_ BERTRAND.
_Ber._ What fools are serious melancholy villains!
I play a surer game, and screen my heart
With easy looks and undesigning smiles;
And while my plots still spring from sober thought,
My deeds appear th' effect of wild caprice,
And I the thoughtless slave of giddy chance.
What but this frankness could have won the promise
Of young Orlando, to confide to me
That secret grief which preys upon his heart?
'Tis shallow, indiscreet hypocrisy
To seem too good: I am the _careless_ Bertrand,
The honest, undesigning, plain, blunt man.
The follies I avow cloak those I hide;
For who will search where nothing seems conceal'd?
'Tis rogues of solid, prudent, grave demeanour
Excite suspicion; men on whose dark brow
Discretion, with his iron hand, has grav'd
The deep-mark'd characters of thoughtfulness.
Here comes my uncle, venerable Guildford,
Whom I could honour, were he not the sire
Of that aspiring boy, who fills the gap
'Twixt me and fortune: Rivers, how I hate thee!
_Enter_ GUILDFORD.
How fares my noble uncle?
_Guild._ Honest Bertrand!
I must complain we have so seldom met:
Where do you keep? believe me, we have miss'd you.
_Ber._ O, my good lord! your pardon--spare me, sir,
For there are follies in a young man's life,
Vain schemes and thoughtless hours which I should blush
To lay before your wise and temperate age.
_Guild._ Well, be it so--youth has a privilege,
And I should be asham'd could I forget
I have myself been young, and harshly chide
This not ungraceful gaiety. Yes, Bertrand,
Prudence becomes moroseness, when it makes
A rigid inquisition of the fault,
Not of the man, perhaps, but of his youth.
Foibles that shame the head on which old Time
Has shower'd his snow are then more pardonable,
And age has many a weakness of its own.
_Ber._ Your gentleness, my lord, and mild reproof,
Correct the wand'rings of misguided youth,
More than rebuke, and shame me into virtue.
_Guild._ Saw you my beauteous ward, the Lady Julia?
_Ber._ She past this way, and with her your fair daughter,
Your Emmelina.
_Guild._ Call them both my daughters;
For scarce is Emmelina more belov'd
Than Julia, the dear child of my adoption.
The hour approaches too, (and bless it, heav'n,
With thy benignest kindliest influence!)
When Julia shall indeed become my daughter,
Shall, in obedience to her father's will,
Crown the impatient vows of my brave son,
And richly pay him for his dangers past.
_Ber._ Oft have I wonder'd how the gallant Rivers,
Youthful and ardent, doting to excess,
Could dare the dangers of uncertain war,
Ere marriage had confirm'd his claim to Julia.
_Guild._ 'Twas the condition of her father's will,
My brave old fellow-soldier, and my friend!
He wish'd to see our ancient houses join'd
By this, our children's union; but the veteran
So highly valued military prowess,
That he bequeath'd his fortunes and his daughter
To my young Rivers, on these terms alone,
That he should early gain renown in arms;
And if he from the field return'd a conqueror,
That sun which saw him come victorious home
Should witness their espousals. Yet he comes not!
The event of war is to the brave uncertain,
Nor can desert in arms ensure success.
_Ber._ Yet fame speaks loudly of his early valour.
_Guild._ Ere since th' Italian Count, the young Orlando,
My Rivers' bosom friend, has been my guest,
The glory of my son is all his theme:
Oh! he recounts his virtues with such joy,
Dwells on his merit with a zeal so warm,
As to his gen'rous heart pays back again
The praises he bestows.
_Ber._ Orlando's noble.
He's of a tender, brave, and gallant nature,
Of honour most romantic, with such graces
As charm all womankind.
_Guild._ And here comes one,
To whom the story of Orlando's praise
Sounds like sweet music.
_Ber._ What, your charming daughter!
Yes, I suspect she loves th' Italian Count: [_Aside._
That must not be. Now to observe her closely.
_Enter_ EMMELINA.
_Guild._ Come hither, Emmelina: we were speaking
Of the young Count Orlando. What think you
Of this accomplish'd stranger?
_Em._ (_confused._) Of Orlando?
Sir, as my father's guest, my brother's friend,
I do esteem the Count.
_Guild._ | 1,340.748484 |
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CLIMBING IN THE BRITISH ISLES
_ENGLAND_
CLIMBING
IN THE BRITISH ISLES
_3 vols. 16mo. Sold separately._
I. ENGLAND.
II. WALES. _In preparation._
III. SCOTLAND. _In preparation._
LONDON AND NEW YORK:
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
CLIMBING
IN
THE BRITISH ISLES
_I.--ENGLAND_
BY
W.P. HASKETT SMITH, M.A.
MEMBER OF THE ALPINE CLUB
WITH TWENTY-THREE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY
ELLIS CARR
MEMBER OF THE ALPINE CLUB
AND FIVE PLANS
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET
1894
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
Introduction
The headings, for convenience of reference, are arranged in
one continuous alphabetical series, comprising the following
classes of subject:
I. COUNTIES AND DISTRICTS WHICH ARE OF INTEREST TO THE
MOUNTAINEER
(_e.g._ Cumberland, Cornwall, Derbyshire, Ennerdale)
II. PLACES WHICH ARE CONVENIENT AS CLIMBING CENTRES
(_e.g._ Keswick, Patterdale, Wastdale Head)
III. MOUNTAINS AND ROCKS WHICH AFFORD CLIMBS
(_e.g._ Dow Crag, Pillar, Scafell)
IV. CLIMBS OF REPUTATION, WITH DIRECTIONS FOR FINDING AND
ACCOMPLISHING THEM
(_e.g._ Deep Gill, Mickledoor, Napes Needle)
V. TECHNICAL TERMS AND EXPRESSIONS
(_e.g._ back-and-knee, chimney, toe-scrape)
VI. LOCAL NAMES FOUND AMONG THE HILLS, WITH OCCASIONAL
NOTES ON THEIR ORIGIN AND MEANING
(_e.g._ bink, clough, gill, hause, hope)
INTRODUCTION
For some years past there has been a remarkably rapid increase in the
number of men who climb for climbing's sake within the bounds of the
British Isles.
When any young and active Englishman sees a rock and is told that the
ascent of it is regarded as a kind of feat, there is no doubt what he
will want to do. He will obey what has been the instinct of the race at
any time this forty years. But lately there has been a change. What was
formerly done casually and instinctively has for the last dozen years or
so been done systematically and of set purpose, for it is now recognised
that hill-climbing in these islands may form part of a real
mountaineering education. Many might-be mountaineers have missed their
vocation because they were in the position of the prudent individual who
would not go into the water until after he should have learned to swim:
they did not become Alpine because they were afraid that they should
make fools of themselves if they went on the Alps. Yet, had they only
known it, they might have found without crossing the sea many a place
which might have been to their undeveloped instincts what the little
pond at the end of the garden has been to many a would-be skater--a
quiet spot where early flounderings would be safe from the contemptuous
glances of unsympathetic experts.
Icemanship can only be acquired through a long apprenticeship, by
tramping many a weary mile helplessly tied to the tail of a guide. But
one principal charm of hill-climbing lies in the fact that it may be
picked up by self-directed practice and does not demand the same
preliminary subjection. The course of Alpine instruction can only be
considered complete when Mr. Girdlestone's ideal of 'The High Alps
without Guides' is realised (an ideal, be it clearly understood, which
for fully ninety-nine out of every hundred climbers it would be
downright madness to attempt to carry into practice); whereas, while
rock-climbing may be enjoyed by amateurs without incurring the reproach
of recklessness, they at the same time experience the exquisite pleasure
of forming their own plans of attack, of varying the execution of them
according to their own judgment, and finally of meeting obstacles, as
they arise, with their own skill and with their own strength, and
overcoming them without the assistance of a hired professional.
Nowhere can the mere manual dexterity of climbing be better acquired
than among the fells of Cumberland; excellent practising-ground presents
itself on nearly every hill. Compared with real mountains the crags of
Cumberland are but toys, but small as they are, they have made many and
many a fine climber; and the man who has gone through a course of
training among them, who has learnt to know the exact length of his own
stride and reach, and to wriggle up a 'chimney' in approved style with
shoulder, hip and knee, may boldly fly at higher game, and when he
proceeds to tackle the giants of the Alps or Caucasus has no cause to be
afraid of the result.
As if with the express object of increasing their educational value to
the mountaineer, the hilly parts of Great Britain are peculiarly subject
to atmospheric changes. No one who has not experienced their effects
would believe the extent to which mist, snow, and even rain can change
the appearance of landmarks among the mountains; and, where landmarks
are less abundant or less striking, even the buffeting of violent wind
may cause an inexperienced man to change his direction unconsciously.
Valuable experience in things of this kind may be gained even in summer,
but in winter the conditions become more Alpine, and splendid practice
may be had in the use of the axe and rope.
Not that the latter should be neglected on difficult rocks at any time
of the year. Even in places where it gives the leader no security and to
some extent actually impedes him, the moral effect of it is good. It
wonderfully increases those feelings of united and ordered effort, of
mutual dependence and mutual confidence, and finally of cheery
subordination of self, which are not the least of the virtues or the
joys of mountaineering. How these opportunities may be used the novice
will readily learn from Mr. Charles Pilkington's admirable chapters in
the Badminton 'Mountaineering,' and from Dr. Claude Wilson's excellent
little handbook on the same subject. It is the aim of the present work
to enable him to find suitable places where the principles so admirably
laid down by those authorities may be tested and applied, and to
understand the descriptions--often involving difficult technical and
local terms--which have been published of them. When anyone with
climbing instincts finds himself in a strange place his first desire is
to discover a climb, his second to learn what its associations are; what
is it called, and why? has anyone climbed it, and what did he think of
it? To such questions as these this book endeavours to provide an
answer. It offers, in short, to the would-be climber a link, with the
guidebook on the one hand and the local specialist on the other.
It must always be remembered that a very fine rock may be a very poor
climb. It may be impossible or it may be too easy, or, again, the
material maybe dangerously rotten; and thus, though there are many
places where men can and do obtain useful climbing practice, there is
only one part of England to which resort is made simply for the sake of
its climbing. In consequence of this fact the greater part of the book
is devoted to the English Lakes, and especially to the south-west
portion of them, where the best climbs of all are to be found. But in
that district the art has been highly elaborated, and the standard of
difficulty and dexterity is even dangerously high. If men would be
content to serve an apprenticeship and to feel their way gradually from
the easier climbs onward, they would excite less apprehension in the
minds of those who know what these climbs are. If, on the other hand,
they rush, as too many do, straight from the desk in a crowded city,
with unseasoned lungs and muscles, in the cold and the wet, to attack
alone or with chance companions whatever climb enjoys for the moment
the greatest notoriety, frightful accidents are certain to occur.
The books, too, which are kept specially for climbing records at some
places in the Lakes, such as Dungeon Gill, Buttermere, and, notably,
Wastdale Head, are misleading, owing to the widely different standards
of difficulty among the various writers. Printed accounts are so few
that this objection hardly applies to them. The most noteworthy beyond
all doubt are the two articles written for _All the Year Round_, in
November 1884, by Mr. C.N. Williamson, the late editor of _Black and
White_. It would be hard to exaggerate the effect which these articles
had in making the Lake climbs known. The same writer had previously
contributed articles of less permanent value to the _Graphic_ and the
_Daily News_. In 1837 two articles had appeared in the _Penny Magazine_
(see _Lord's Rake_); in 1859 the late Professor Tyndall had written of
_Mickledoor_ in the _Saturday Review_, and more recently articles have
appeared in the _Pall Mall Gazette_, by Mr. W. Brunskill and by Mr. H.
A. Gwynne. The present writer contributed an article to the _Alpine
Journal_ of August 1892, and one containing very clear illustrations of
'back-and-knee' work and of an episode in the long climb on the Pillar
Rock to the pages of _Black and White_, in June 1892, while numerous
articles have appeared from time to time in such local papers as the
_Whitehaven News_ and the _West Cumberland Times_, and in the
Manchester, Leeds, and Bradford press. Of guidebooks the only one of any
value to climbers is Mr. Herman Prior's 'Pedestrian Guide.'
Any value which the present book may have is largely due to the
excellent drawings of Mr. Ellis Carr, who most kindly came forward to
fill the place left by the lamented death of Professor A.M. Marshall.
Much assistance has been derived from sketches and photographs kindly
lent, those of Mr. Abraham, of Keswick, being especially useful. For the
valuable article on 'Chalk' I am indebted to Mr. A.F. Mummery, whose
knowledge of the subject is unrivalled; while Mr. J.W. Robinson, of
Lorton, has zealously assisted in all matters connected with Cumberland;
and I must gratefully acknowledge help given in other ways by Mr. J.E.
Morris and the Rev. C.J. Buckmaster.
CLIMBING
IN
THE BRITISH ISLES
ENGLAND
=Alum Pot=, the name of which is also found in such forms as _Allen_ and
_Hellan_, lies just west of the Midland Railway, about halfway between
Horton and Ribblehead stations, and on the north-east side of
Ingleborough. It is one of the most striking and most famous of the
Yorkshire potholes, being an elliptical opening in the limestone, 120
ft. long and 40 ft. wide, with a perpendicular depth of 200 ft. The
exploration of it was begun by Mr. Birkbeck of Anley in 1847, who,
assisted by Prof. Boyd Dawkins and a large party including three ladies,
made a complete examination in 1870.
=Angler's Crag=, on the south side of Ennerdale Water. The steep portion
is about 300 ft. There are also some similar crags on _Grike_ and
_Revelin_, close by; but none of them are worth a long walk, and the
only resting-place near is the Angler's Inn, at the foot of Ennerdale
Water.
=Apron-strings.=--Throughout Scotland and the North of England the
traditional explanation of large heaps of stones is that while some one
(generally the Devil or Samson) was carrying the stones in his apron the
strings broke and the stones fell in a heap. Many such heaps are to be
found, bearing the name of 'apronful' or 'bratful,' which means the same
thing. A good instance of the latter form is _Samson's Bratful_, in
Cumberland, between the rivers Bleng and Calder. For another good
instance see what is said about Wade's Causeway in _Murray's Handbook
for Yorkshire_, at p. 206.
=Aron.=--So Wilkinson (in his 'Select Views') calls _Great End_. It may
be that he misunderstood his guide, who was, perhaps, speaking at the
time of _Aaron Crags_, which are on _Sprinkling Fell_, and would be in
the line of sight to any one coming up from _Borrowdale_. In fact, the
path to _Sty Head_ passes not only _Aaron Crags_ on the left, but also
_Aaron Slack_ on the right. It is, of course, tempting to suggest that
Aron was the original Keltic name of Great End; but in Wales the name
Aran is generally applied to mountains of very different appearance to
_Great End_.
=Arrowhead=, a prominent rock in the _Napes_ of _Great Gable_, being
part of the ridge immediately west of _Eagle's Nest_. It was climbed on
April 17, 1892, by a large party, including Messrs. Horace Walker,
Baker, Slingsby, and others. In the following year, on the last day of
March, this climb was repeated by Messrs. Solly, Schintz, Brant, and
Bowen, who continued it right on to the top of the ridge. They kept
rather more on the ridge itself than the former party had done on the
way to the _Arrowhead_, and from that point the climb is along the
crest of the ridge. It is not a difficult climb for an experienced
party. The ridge has been called the _Arrowhead Ridge_.
[Illustration: THE ARROWHEAD
(South side of Great Gable)]
=Ash Crag=, a rock in _Ennerdale_, near the _Black Sail_ end of the
_Pillar Fell_. It is the writer's belief that this is the rock which the
poet Wordsworth, in 'The Brothers,' has confused with the _Pillar Rock_.
At least a lad belonging to an old Ennerdale family, the Bowmans of
Mireside, was killed by falling from this rock at a date closely
corresponding to that indicated in the poem.
=Attermire=, one of the most picturesque limestone scars in Yorkshire.
It is reached from Settle on the Midland Railway, and may be seen on the
way to Malham Cove.
=Back-and-knee=: the process of supporting or raising the body in a
'chimney' by pressure against opposite sides with back and knees, or,
more usually, back and feet.
=Band.=--This word forms part of many hill names in the North of
England, and is also found in Scotland. Dr. Murray deals with it in the
'New English Dictionary,' but not in a satisfactory manner. He defines
it as 'a long ridge-like hill of minor height or a long narrow sloping
offshoot from a hill or mountain,' but it would be easy to adduce
instances where this could have no application. The word is used by
Douglas in his translation of Virgil to represent the Latin word
'jugum':
Himself ascendis the hie _band_ of the hill;
and from this Jamieson concluded that the word meant simply 'top of a
hill'--a definition almost as unsuitable as the last. The late Mr.
Dickinson, the leading authority on the Cumberland dialect, gave to the
word the meaning of 'a boundary on high uninclosed land,' and indeed the
frequent association of the word with personal names (often of clearly
Scandinavian character) seems to indicate some territorial significance.
=Bannerdale Crag= (C. sh. 57) may be taken on the way up _Saddleback_
from Troutbeck station on the line between Keswick and Penrith. About
three miles up the stream is _Mungrisdale_, and still farther up along
the course of the stream one fork leads to _Scales Tarn_ and another to
_Bannerdale_, where there is a lead mine just north of the crags. There
is a rocky face some 600 ft. to 800 ft. high, offering climbing, which
is steep, but by no means first-rate.
=Barf.=--From the southern shore of Bassenthwaite Water there is a fine
steep scramble up this hill. On a bright winter's day it is rather
inspiriting, and the views are good.
The name is more frequent in Yorkshire, where, according to Phillips, it
has the meaning of 'a detached low ridge or hill.'
=Beachy Head=, close to Eastbourne, in Sussex, is a very fine bold chalk
cliff, the first ascent of which is made about once in every two years,
if we may believe all that we see in the papers. The truth is that there
is a treacherous incline of some 600 ft., formed of chalk and grass,
both very steep and often dangerously slippery; and during the
Eastbourne season the coastguards at the top find their principal
occupation in supplying mechanical assistance to exhausted clamberers;
but for difficulty these cliffs will not for a moment compare with those
of half the height which carry on the line westward to _Birling Gap_.
The tops of these in many places literally overhang the sea, and there
are few points where a climber could make the slightest impression upon
them. On Beachy Head there is a dangerous-looking pinnacle, which was
climbed (by dint of cutting a step or two) in April 1894, by Mr. E.A.
Crowley.
=Bear Rock=, a queerly-shaped rock on _Great Napes_, which in the middle
of March 1889 was gravely attacked by a large party comprising some five
or six of the strongest climbers in England. It is a little difficult to
find, especially in seasons when the grass is at all long.
=Beck.=--In the North of England (except in Northumberland and Durham,
where 'burn' prevails) this is the usual word for a brook. It differs
from a 'gill' in being more open, and having banks less rocky and a
stream somewhat more copious. A gill may contain only a few drops of
water, or none at all, and still preserve its self-respect, but not so a
beck. Camden speaks of 'Beakes and Brookes.'
=Bell= enters into many North Country hill-names. It is commonly said to
indicate spots which were specially devoted to the worship of Baal, and
many arguments have been based upon its occurrence and distribution. If
there is anything in this assertion, the 'high places' for the worship
of Baal must have been most capriciously selected. My own belief is that
the term is purely descriptive and is applied to a convexity in the
<DW72> of a hill. In Lowland Scotch the phrase 'bell of the brae' is not
uncommon and has the same significance.
=Bell Rib End=, a short drop on the narrow south ridge of _Yewbarrow_.
Though on a very small scale, it is not without interest, and was a
favourite with Mr. Maitland, one of the early explorers of Wastdale.
=Bield.=--This word not only occurs frequently in place names, but is
still part of living speech in North England and South Scotland. It
means shelter of any kind for man or beast, and in the latter case
especially a fox or a sheep. It is also used as a verb; in fox hunting,
for instance, the animal when run to earth is said to be 'bielded.'
=Bink=: a long narrow grassy ledge. (N. of Eng.)
=Black Sail.=--It has been suggested that this name, now borne by the
pass from Wastdale to Ennerdale between Pillarfell and Kirkfell, may
have originally been named from the mountain it crossed, and so may
possibly now preserve an older name of one of those two mountains. Dr.
Murray, writing to a local paper some years ago, did not hesitate to
affirm positively that Pillar Fell is entirely due to the Ordnance
surveyors, and that the original name was Black Sail, a fact which he
said could be proved by historical evidence. It would be extremely
interesting to see this evidence, but the name 'Pillar' certainly
appears in maps published long before that of the Ordnance. (See
_Sail_.) The pass (1,750 ft.) is very familiar to all climbing folk,
being the ordinary way of reaching the Pillar Rock from Wastdale Head.
It is generally preferred to _Wind Gap_ on account of greater variety
of view and better 'going,' and some make use of it even for the purpose
of reaching the Ennerdale side of _Great Gable_.
The route, however, has one disadvantage. It is hot. It is no uncommon
thing to hear enthusiastic frequenters of the Lakes complaining of the
popular misapprehension that the sun never shines there, and urging that
people are so unreasonable as to notice the wet but to disregard the
warmth. Among these traducers of the Cumberland climate the frequenters
of the Black Sail route are not found. Argue not with such; but some
fair morning, when the reviler is most rampant, lead him gently into
Mosedale and watch with calm delight while he pants painfully up the
pass, trying his utmost to look cool, with the sun, which he has
maligned, beating down squarely upon his back and exacting a merciless
revenge. Many a time will he turn about and feign rapture at the taper
cone of Yewbarrow and the bold outline of Scafell; often will his
bootlace strangely come untied before his reverted glance catches the
welcome gleam of Burnmoor Tarn; but long before that time his heart
within him will have melted even as wax, and he will have registered a
vow that, when next the Cumberland sunshine is discussed, the seat of
the scornful shall know him no more. Mr. James Payn, having occasion to
allude to 'dry weather' in the Lakes, adds demurely, 'which is said to
have occurred about the year 1824'; but, from his own description of
Black Sail, it is clear that he deeply rued the sarcasm: 'You will begin
to find your pass quite sufficiently steep. Indeed, this is the severest
pull of any of the cols in the District, and has proved the friend of
many a gallant with his ladylove. To offer a young woman your hand when
you are going up Black Sail is in my mind one of the greatest proofs of
attachment that can be given, and, if she accepts it, it is tantamount
to the everlasting "Yes!"' We may be sure that, before he reached the
top, the witty novelist experienced remarkably 'dry weather,' and also
some of those symptoms which elsewhere he has himself described with
such scientific accuracy: 'Inordinate perspiration and a desperate
desire for liquids; if the ascent be persisted in, the speech becomes
affected to the extent of a total suspension of conversation. The temper
then breaks down; an unseemly craving to leave our companion behind, and
a fiendish resolution not to wait for him if his bootlace comes undone,
distinguish the next stage of the climbing fever; all admiration of the
picturesque has long since vanished, exuded, I fancy, through the pores
of the skin: nothing remains but Selfishness, Fatigue, and the hideous
reflection that the higher we go the longer will be our journey down
again. The notion of malignant spirits occupying elevated
regions--Fiends of the Fell--doubtless arose from the immoral
experiences of the Early Climbers.'
Green's _Guide_ (1819) records a touching instance of a husband's
attentions surviving a test which we saw above, that even lovers find
severe: 'This is a steep and craggy ascent, and so laborious to man that
it might be imagined horses could not travel it; yet Mr. Thomas Tyson,
of Wasdale Head, has conducted Mrs. Tyson over this stony ground while
sitting on the back of her horse.'
In Switzerland one might look back after a day's work, and fairly
forget ups and downs so slight as Black Sail; but many of the guide
books speak of it in terms which might apply to the Adler or the Felik
Joch. For instance, _Black's Picturesque Guide_ (ed. 1872) says: 'The
_hardy_ pedestrian with _very minute_ instructions _might_ succeed in
finding his way over the mountains, yet every one who has crossed them
will beware of the danger of the attempt and of the _occasional fatal
consequences_ attending a diversion from the proper path.' This is
highly encouraging; and the enterprising traveller who only breaks his
neck two or three times in the course of the journey will be of good
cheer, for he is making rather a prosperous expedition than otherwise.
=Blea Crag=, an isolated square stone on the left of the path to the
_Stake_, a long mile up _Longstrath_. It is climbed on the side which
looks down the valley. Messrs. Jones and Robinson recorded their ascent
of it in September 1893, but it seems that four or five years ago there
were traces on it of a previous ascent.
'Crag' is not very commonly used of a single stone, as it is here and in
the case of _Carl Crag_.
=Borrowdale.=--'Divers Springes,' says old Leland in his 'Itinerary,'
'cummeth owt of Borodale, and so make a great _Lowgh that we cawle a
Poole_.'
The 'Lowgh' is, of course, Derwentwater, and Borrowdale is the heart of
the finest scenery and the best climbing in England. It may be said to
stretch from _Scafell_ to _Skiddaw_, and excellent headquarters for
climbers may be found in it at _Lowdore_, _Grange_, _Rosthwaite_, and
_Seatoller_. With the aid of its wad mines and its _Bowder Stone_, it
probably did more during last century than anything else to arouse
public interest in the Lake country. The natives were not famed for
their intelligence, and many stories are told in support of their
nickname of 'Borrowdale gowks.'
There is another _Borrowdale_ in Westmorland, and _Boredale_ is perhaps
the same name.
=Bowder Stone= in _Borrowdale_ was already a curiosity about a century
and a half ago, when it was visited by Mr. George Smith, the
correspondent of the _Gentleman's Magazine_. Clarke, writing some years
later, says it bore the alternative names of _Powderstone_ and
_Bounderstone_; and being 'thirty-one yards long by eight yards high,
must therefore weigh over 600 tons, and is said to be the largest
self-stone in England.' It is not really a 'boulder' at all, but the
word is rather loosely used in Cumberland.
=Bow Fell= (2,960 ft.).--The name is probably the same as that of _Baugh
Fell_, also called _Bow Fell_, in Yorkshire. This graceful peak,
standing as it does at the head of several important valleys--_Eskdale_,
_Langdale_, _Dunnerdale_, and _Borrowdale_--is a great feature in Lake
scenery. There is not much rock-work on it, but a good deal of rough
walking and scrambling. From _Borrowdale_ or _Wastdale_ it is approached
by way of _Esk Hause_. On this side there is no climbing, except that
_Hanging Knot_, as the N. end of Bow Fell is called, descends to _Angle
Tarn_ in a long, steep, rocky <DW72> which offers a pleasant scramble.
On the _Eskdale_ side there is a gully or two which might be worth
exploring.
By inclining to the right hand on emerging at the top of _Hell Gill_, or
to the left hand from the pony-track at the foot of _Rossett Gill_ we
reach _Flat Crags_, huge glacier-planed <DW72>s of rock, overlooked by
what in winter is a fine _couloir_ of most alpine appearance. When
Messrs. J. & A.R. Stogdon ascended it (_Alpine Journal_, v. p. 35) the
inclination of the snow increased from 30 deg. at the foot to 63 deg. after 350
ft. or more, and there was a large cornice at the top. In the account
which the same party inserted at the time in the Wastdale Head Book
steeper angles are given.
In summer it is merely an open scree-gully; but the
insignificant-looking chimney just N. of it, and only separated from it
by a narrow ridge, is quite worthy of attention, though it has but one
pitch in it after the one at the foot. The descent is harder than the
ascent, and takes about twenty minutes.
There is a fine rocky walk along the S. ridge, called _Shelter Crags_
and _Crinkle Crags_, which descends towards the head of Dunnerdale, but
it is extremely unfrequented.
=Bram Crag= and _Wanthwaite Crag_ flank the coach road between
_Threlkeld_ and _Grasmere_ on the east. The best part is rather more
than two miles south of Threlkeld station. The climbing is somewhat
similar to that about _Swarthbeck_ on Ullswater, but on better and
sounder rock, and there is more of it. A good day's work will be found
among these crags, and a fine specimen of a'sledgate' is deserving of
notice.
=Brandreth= is between _Borrowdale_ and the head of _Ennerdale_. The
name, which occurs elsewhere in the neighbourhood, denotes a tripod
(literally a 'grate,' usually made with three legs). The meeting-point
of three boundaries of counties, parishes, &c. is often so named.
Brandreth has only one short bit of bold rock--one of the many _Raven
Crags_. It is hardly worth a special journey, but may very easily be
taken by any one who attacks _Great Gable_ from _Borrowdale_.
=Brimham Rocks=, in Yorkshire, are very easily visited from Harrogate or
from Pateley Bridge. From the latter they are only four miles to the
eastward. The station for those who come from Harrogate is Dacre Banks,
from which the Rocks may be reached in an hour's walking. They are of
millstone grit and well deserve a visit, for nowhere are the grotesque
forms which that material delights to assume more remarkable. Some
resemble the sandstone forms common about Tunbridge Wells, and many
might very well stand for Dartmoor Tors; but others at first sight seem
so evidently and unmistakably to suggest human handiwork that one can
feel no surprise at the common notion that they were fashioned by the
ingenuity of the Druids. Several of them, though very small, can only be
climbed with considerable difficulty.
=Broad Stand=--a term commonly but, in my opinion, incorrectly used to
denote a particular route by which the crags of _Scafell_ may be
ascended direct from _Mickledoor_. There are numerous other places
within a few miles of this into the names of which this word'stand'
enters, and a consideration of them leads me to the belief that it
signifies 'a large grassy plot of ground awkward of access.' This is
exactly what we find here. A break in the cliffs produces a large open
space which is the key to the ascent by the _Mickledoor Chimney_, to
that by the _North Climb_, and to that which, being the oldest, easiest,
and most frequented, has arrogated to itself as distinctive the name of
a feature which it should only share with the other two. Really all
three routes are merely different ways of reaching the Broad Stand.
One of the earliest recorded ascents is that of Mr. C.A.O. Baumgartner
in September 1850, an account of which was sent by one of the people of
the dale to the local paper in these terms: 'The Broad Stand, _a rocky
and dangerous precipice_, situated between _Scaw Fell_ and the _Pikes_,
an ascent which is perhaps more difficult than even that of the _Pillar
Stone_.' The late Professor Tyndall climbed it in 1859, and described it
in the _Saturday Review_ of that year. It evidently had a great
reputation then, which was not, in his opinion, entirely deserved. It
seems | 1,340.752453 |
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Produced by an anonymous Project Gutenberg volunteer. HTML
version by Al Haines.
The After House
by
Mary Roberts Rinehart
CONTENTS
I I PLAN A VOYAGE
II THE PAINTED SHIP
III I UNCLENCH MY HANDS
IV I RECEIVE A WARNING
V A TERRIBLE NIGHT
VI IN THE AFTER HOUSE
VII WE FIND THE AXE
VIII THE STEWARDESS'S STORY
IX PRISONERS
X "THAT'S MUTINY"
XI THE DEAD LINE
XII THE FIRST MATE TALKS
XIII THE WHITE LIGHT
XIV FROM THE CROW'S NEST
XV A KNOCKING IN THE HOLD | 1,340.753531 |
2023-11-16 18:39:24.8280360 | 7,435 | 9 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tom Allen and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.
DR. JOHNSON'S WORKS.
REVIEWS, POLITICAL TRACTS,
AND
LIVES OF EMINENT PERSONS.
THE WORKS OF
SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL.D.
IN NINE VOLUMES.
VOLUME THE SIXTH.
MDCCCXXV.
CONTENTS OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.
REVIEWS.
Letter on Du Halde's history of China.
Review of the account of the conduct of the dutchess of Marlborough.
Review of memoirs of the court of Augustus.
Review of four letters from sir Isaac Newton.
Review of a journal of eight days' journey.
Reply to a paper in the Gazetteer.
Review of an essay on the writings and genius of Pope.
Review of a free enquiry into the nature and origin of evil.
Review of the history of the Royal Society of London, &c.
Review of the general history of Polybius.
Review of miscellanies on moral and religious subjects.
Account of a book entitled an historical and critical enquiry into the
evidence produced by the earls of Moray and Morton against Mary queen of
Scots, &c.
Marmor Norfolciense; or, an essay on an ancient prophetical inscription
in monkish rhyme, lately discovered near Lynn, in Norfolk.
Observations on the state of affairs in 1756.
An introduction to the political state of Great Britain.
Observations on the treaty between his Britannic majesty and his
imperial majesty of all the Russias, &c.
Introduction to the proceedings of the committee appointed to manage the
contributions for clothing French prisoners of war.
On the bravery of the English common soldiers.
POLITICAL TRACTS.
Prefatory observations to political tracts.
The False Alarm. 1770.
Prefatory observations on Falkland's islands.
Thoughts on the late transactions respecting Falkland's islands.
The Patriot.
Taxation no tyranny; an answer to the resolutions and address of the
American congress. 1775.
LIVES OF EMINENT PERSONS.
Father Paul Sarpi.
Boerhaave.
Blake.
Sir Francis Drake.
Barretier.
Additional account of the life of Barretier in the Gentleman's Magazine,
1742.
Morin.
Burman.
Sydenham.
Cheynel.
Cave.
King of Prussia.
Browne.
Ascham.
REVIEWS.
LETTER ON DU HALDE'S HISTORY OF CHINA, 1738.
There are few nations in the world more talked of, or less known, than
the Chinese. The confused and imperfect account which travellers have
given of their grandeur, their sciences, and their policy, have,
hitherto, excited admiration, but have not been sufficient to satisfy
even a superficial curiosity. I, therefore, return you my thanks for
having undertaken, at so great an expense, to convey to English readers
the most copious and accurate account, yet published, of that remote and
celebrated people, whose antiquity, magnificence, power, wisdom,
peculiar customs, and excellent constitution, undoubtedly deserve the
attention of the publick.
As the satisfaction found in reading descriptions of distant countries
arises from a comparison which every reader naturally makes, between the
ideas which he receives from the relation, and those which were familiar
to him before; or, in other words, between the countries with which he
is acquainted, and that which the author displays to his imagination; so
it varies according to the likeness or dissimilitude of the manners of
the two nations. Any custom or law, unheard and unthought of before,
strikes us with that surprise which is the effect of novelty; but a
practice conformable to our own pleases us, because it flatters our
self-love, by showing us that our opinions are approved by the general
concurrence of mankind. Of these two pleasures, the first is more
violent, the other more lasting; the first seems to partake more of
instinct than reason, and is not easily to be explained, or defined; the
latter has its foundation in good sense and reflection, and evidently
depends on the same principles with most human passions.
An attentive reader will frequently feel each of these agreeable
emotions in the perusal of Du Halde. He will find a calm, peaceful
satisfaction, when he reads the moral precepts and wise instructions of
the Chinese sages; he will find that virtue is in every place the same;
and will look with new contempt on those wild reasoners, who affirm,
that morality is merely ideal, and that the distinctions between good
and ill are wholly chimerical.
But he will enjoy all the pleasure that novelty can afford, when he
becomes acquainted with the Chinese government and constitution; he will
be amazed to find that there is a country where nobility and knowledge
are the same, where men advance in rank as they advance in learning, and
promotion is the effect of virtuous industry; where no man thinks
ignorance a mark of greatness, or laziness the privilege of high birth.
His surprise will be still heightened by the relations he will there
meet with, of honest ministers, who, however incredible it may seem,
have been seen more than once in that monarchy, and have adventured to
admonish the emperours of any deviation from the laws of their country,
or any errour in their conduct, that has endangered either their own
safety, or the happiness of their people. He will read of emperours,
who, when they have been addressed in this manner, have neither stormed,
nor threatened, nor kicked their ministers, nor thought it majestick to
be obstinate in the wrong; but have, with a greatness of mind worthy of
a Chinese monarch, brought their actions willingly to the test of
reason, law, and morality, and scorned to exert their power in defence
of that which they could not support by argument.
I must confess my wonder at these relations was very great, and had been
much greater, had I not often entertained my imagination with an
instance of the like conduct in a prince of England, on an occasion that
happened not quite a century ago, and which I shall relate, that so
remarkable an example of spirit and firmness in a subject, and of
conviction and compliance in a prince, may not be forgotten. And I hope
you will look upon this letter as intended to do honour to my country,
and not to serve your interest by promoting your undertaking.
The prince, at the christening of his first son, had appointed a noble
duke to stand as proxy for the father of the princess, without regard to
the claim of a marquis, (heir apparent to a higher title,) to whom, as
lord of the bedchamber, then in waiting, that honour properly belonged.
--The marquis was wholly unacquainted with the affair, till he heard,
at dinner, the duke's health drunk, by the name of the prince he was
that evening to represent. This he took an opportunity, after dinner, of
inquiring the reason of, and was informed, by the prince's treasurer, of
his highness's intention. The marquis immediately declared, that he
thought his right invaded, and his honour injured, which he could not
bear without requiring satisfaction from the usurper of his privileges;
nor would he longer serve a prince who paid no regard to his lawful
pretensions. The treasurer could not deny that the marquis's claim was
incontestable, and, by his permission, acquainted the prince with his
resolution. The prince, thereupon, sending for the marquis, demanded,
with a resentful and imperious air, how he could dispute his commands,
and by what authority he presumed to control him in the management of
his own family, and the christening of his own son. The marquis
answered, that he did not encroach upon the prince's right, but only
defended his own: that he thought his honour concerned, and, as he was a
young man, would not enter the world with the loss of his reputation.
The prince, exasperated to a very high degree, repeated his commands;
but the marquis, with a spirit and firmness not to be depressed or
shaken, persisted in his determination to assert his claim, and
concluded with declaring that he would do himself the justice that was
denied him; and that not the prince himself should trample on his
character. He was then ordered to withdraw, and the duke coming to him,
assured him, that the honour was offered him unasked; that when he
accepted it, he was not informed of his lordship's claim, and that now
he very willingly resigned it. The marquis very gracefully acknowledged
the civility of the duke's expressions, and declared himself satisfied
with his grace's conduct; but thought it inconsistent with his honour to
accept the representation as a cession of the duke, or on any other
terms than as his own acknowledged right. The prince, being informed of
the whole conversation, and having, upon inquiry, found all the
precedents on the marquis's side, thought it below his dignity to
persist in an errour, and, restoring the marquis to his right upon his
own conditions, continued him in his favour, believing that he might
safely trust his affairs in the hands of a man, who had so nice a sense
of honour, and so much spirit to assert it.
REVIEW OF THE ACCOUNT OF THE CONDUCT OF THE DUTCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH [1].
The universal regard, which is paid by mankind to such accounts of
publick transactions as have been written by those who were engaged in
them, may be, with great probability, ascribed to that ardent love of
truth, which nature has kindled in the breast of man, and which remains
even where every other laudable passion is extinguished. We cannot but
read such narratives with uncommon curiosity, because we consider the
writer as indubitably possessed of the ability to give us just
representations, and do not always reflect, that, very often,
proportionate to the opportunities of knowing the truth, are the
temptations to disguise it.
Authors of this kind have, at least, an incontestable superiority over
those whose passions are the same, and whose knowledge is less. It is
evident that those who write in their own defence, discover often more
impartiality, and less contempt of evidence, than the advocates which
faction or interest have raised in their favour.
It is, however, to be remembered, that the parent of all memoirs, is the
ambition of being distinguished from the herd of mankind, and the fear
of either infamy or oblivion, passions which cannot but have some degree
of influence, and which may, at least, affect the writer's choice of
facts, though they may not prevail upon him to advance known falsehoods.
He may aggravate or extenuate particular circumstances, though he
preserves the general transaction; as the general likeness may be
preserved in painting, though a blemish is hid or a beauty improved.
Every man that is solicitous about the esteem of others, is, in a great
degree, desirous of his own, and makes, by consequence, his first
apology for his conduct to himself; and when he has once deceived his
own heart, which is, for the greatest part, too easy a task, he
propagates the deceit in the world, without reluctance or consciousness
of falsehood.
But to what purpose, it may be asked, are such reflections, except to
produce a general incredulity, and to make history of no use? The man
who knows not the truth cannot, and he who knows it, will not tell it;
what then remains, but to distrust every relation, and live in perpetual
negligence of past events; or, what is still more disagreeable, in
perpetual suspense?
That by such remarks some incredulity is, indeed, produced, cannot be
denied; but distrust is a necessary qualification of a student in
history. Distrust quickens his discernment of different degrees of
probability, animates his search after evidence, and, perhaps, heightens
his pleasure at the discovery of truth; for truth, though not always
obvious, is generally discoverable; nor is it any where more likely to
be found than in private memoirs, which are generally published at a
time when any gross falsehood may be detected by living witnesses, and
which always contain a thousand incidents, of which the writer could not
have acquired a certain knowledge, and which he has no reason for
disguising.
Such is the account lately published by the dutchess of Marlborough, of
her own conduct, by which those who are very little concerned about the
character which it is principally intended to preserve or to retrieve,
may be entertained and instructed. By the perusal of this account, the
inquirer into human nature may obtain an intimate acquaintance with the
characters of those whose names have crowded the latest histories, and
discover the relation between their minds and their actions. The
historian may trace the progress of great transactions, and discover the
secret causes of important events. And, to mention one use more, the
polite writer may learn an unaffected dignity of style, and an artful
simplicity of narration.
The method of confirming her relation, by inserting, at length, the
letters that every transaction occasioned, has not only set the greatest
part of the work above the danger of confutation, but has added to the
entertainment of the reader, who has now the satisfaction of forming to
himself the characters of the actors, and judging how nearly such, as
have hitherto been given of them, agree with those which they now give
of themselves.
Even of those whose letters could not be made publick, we have a more
exact knowledge than can be expected from general histories, because we
see them in their private apartments, in their careless hours, and
observe those actions in which they indulged their own inclinations,
without any regard to censure or applause.
Thus it is, that we are made acquainted with the disposition of king
William, of whom it may be collected, from various instances, that he
was arbitrary, insolent, gloomy, rapacious, and brutal; that he was, at
all times, disposed to play the tyrant; that he had, neither in great
things, nor in small, the manners of a gentleman; that he was capable of
gaining money by mean artifices, and that he only regarded his promise
when it was his interest to keep it.
There are, doubtless, great numbers who will be offended with this
delineation of the mind of the immortal William, but they whose honesty
or sense enables them to consider impartially the events of his reign,
will now be enabled to discover the reason of the frequent oppositions
which he encountered, and of the personal affronts which he was,
sometimes, forced to endure. They will observe, that it is not always
sufficient to do right, and that it is often necessary to add
gracefulness to virtue. They will recollect how vain it is to endeavour
to gain men by great qualities, while our cursory behaviour is insolent
and offensive; and that those may be disgusted by little things, who can
scarcely be pleased with great.
Charles the second, by his affability and politeness, made himself the
idol of the nation, which he betrayed and sold. William the third was,
for his insolence and brutality, hated by that people, which he
protected and enriched:--had the best part of these two characters been
united in one prince, the house of Bourbon had fallen before him.
It is not without pain, that the reader observes a shade encroaching
upon the light with which the memory of queen Mary has been hitherto
invested--the popular, the beneficent, the pious, the celestial queen
Mary, from whose presence none ever withdrew without an addition to his
happiness. What can be charged upon this delight of human kind? Nothing
less than that _she wanted bowels_, and was insolent with her power;
that she was resentful, and pertinacious in her resentment; that she
descended to mean acts of revenge, when heavier vengeance was not in her
power; that she was desirous of controlling where she had no authority,
and backward to forgive, even when she had no real injury to complain
of.
This is a character so different from all those that have been,
hitherto, given of this celebrated princess, that the reader stands in
suspense, till he considers the inconsistencies in human conduct,
remembers that no virtue is without its weakness, and considers that
queen Mary's character has, hitherto, had this great advantage, that it
has only been compared with those of kings.
The greatest number of the letters inserted in this account, were
written by queen Anne, of which it may be truly observed, that they will
be equally useful for the, confutation of those who have exalted or
depressed her character. They are written with great purity and
correctness, without any forced expressions, affected phrases, or
unnatural sentiments; and show uncommon clearness of understanding,
tenderness of affection, and rectitude of intention; but discover, at
the same time, a temper timorous, anxious, and impatient of misfortune;
a tendency to burst into complaints, helpless dependance on the
affection of others, and a weak desire of moving compassion. There is,
indeed, nothing insolent or overbearing; but then there is nothing
great, or firm, or regal; nothing that enforces obedience and respect,
or which does not rather invite opposition and petulance. She seems born
for friendship, not for government; and to be unable to regulate the
conduct of others, otherwise than by her own example.
That this character is just, appears from the occurrences in her reign,
in which the nation was governed, for many years, by a party whose
principles she detested, but whose influence she knew not how to
obviate, and to whose schemes she was subservient against her
inclination.
The charge of tyrannising over her, which was made, by turns, against
each party, proves that, in the opinion of both, she was easily to be
governed; and though it may be supposed, that the letters here published
were selected with some regard to respect and ceremony, it appears,
plainly enough, from them, that she was what she has been represented,
little more than the slave of the Marlborough family.
The inferiour characters, as they are of less importance, are less
accurately delineated; the picture of Harley is, at least, partially
drawn: all the deformities are heightened, and the beauties, for
beauties of mind he certainly had, are entirely omitted.
REVIEW OF MEMOIRS OF THE COURT OF AUGUSTUS;
BY THOMAS BLACKWELL, J.U.D.
PRINCIPAL OF MARISCHAL COLLEGE, IN THE UNIVERSITY OF ABERDEEN [2].
The first effect, which this book has upon the reader, is that of
disgusting him with the author's vanity. He endeavours to persuade the
world, that here are some new treasures of literature spread before his
eyes; that something is discovered, which, to this happy day, had been
concealed in darkness; that, by his diligence, time has been robbed of
some valuable monument which he was on the point of devouring; and that
names and facts, doomed to oblivion, are now restored to fame.
How must the unlearned reader be surprised, when he shall be told that
Mr. Blackwell has neither digged in the ruins of any demolished city,
nor found out the way to the library of Fez; nor had a single book in
his hands, that has not been in the possession of every man that was
inclined to read it, for years and ages; and that his book relates to a
people, who, above all others, have furnished employment to the
studious, and amusements to the idle; who have scarcely left behind them
a coin or a stone, which has not been examined and explained a thousand
times; and whose dress, and food, and household stuff, it has been the
pride of learning to understand.
A man need not fear to incur the imputation of vicious diffidence or
affected humility, who should have forborne to promise many novelties,
when he perceived such multitudes of writers possessed of the same
materials, and intent upon the same purpose. Mr. Blackwell knows well
the opinion of Horace, concerning those that open their undertakings
with magnificent promises; and he knows, likewise, the dictates of
common sense and common honesty, names of greater authority than that of
Horace, who direct, that no man should promise what he cannot perform.
I do not mean to declare, that this volume has nothing new, or that the
labours of those who have gone before our author, have made his
performance an useless addition to the burden of literature. New works
may be constructed with old materials; the disposition of the parts may
show contrivance; the ornaments interspersed may discover elegance.
It is not always without good effect, that men, of proper
qualifications, write, in succession, on the same subject, even when the
latter add nothing to the information given by the former; for the same
ideas may be delivered more intelligibly or more delightfully by one
than by another, or with attractions that may lure minds of a different
form. No writer pleases all, and every writer may please some.
But, after all, to inherit is not to acquire; to decorate is not to
make; and the man, who had nothing to do but to read the ancient
authors, who mention the Roman affairs, and reduce them to common
places, ought not to boast himself as a great benefactor to the studious
world.
After a preface of boast, and a letter of flattery, in which he seems to
imitate the address of Horace, in his "vile potabis modicis Sabinum"--he
opens his book with telling us, that the "Roman republic, after the
horrible proscription, was no more at _bleeding Rome_. The regal power
of her consuls, the authority of her senate, and the majesty of her
people, were now trampled under foot; these [for those] divine laws and
hallowed customs, that had been the essence of her constitution--were
set at nought, and her best friends were lying exposed in their blood."
These were surely very dismal times to those who suffered; but I know
not, why any one but a schoolboy, in his declamation, should whine over
the commonwealth of Rome, which grew great only by the misery of the
rest of mankind. The Romans, like others, as soon as they grew rich,
grew corrupt, and, in their corruption, sold the lives and freedoms of
themselves, and of one another.
"About this time, Brutus had his patience put to the _highest_ trial: he
had been married to Clodia; but whether the family did not please him,
or whether he was dissatisfied with the lady's behaviour during his
absence, he soon entertained thoughts of a separation. _This raised a
good deal of talk_, and the women of the Clodian family inveighed
bitterly against Brutus--but he married Portia, who was worthy of such a
father as M. Cato, and such a husband as M. Brutus. She had a soul
capable of an _exalted passion_, and found a proper object to raise and
give it a sanction; she did not only love but adored her husband; his
worth, his truth, his every shining and heroic quality, made her gaze on
him like a god, while the endearing returns of esteem and tenderness she
met with, brought her joy, her pride, her every wish to centre in her
beloved Brutus."
When the reader has been awakened by this rapturous preparation, he
hears the whole story of Portia in the same luxuriant style, till she
breathed out her last, a little before the _bloody proscription_, and
"Brutus complained heavily of his friends at Rome, as not having paid
due attention to his lady in the declining state of her health."
He is a great lover of modern terms. His senators and their wives are
_gentlemen and ladies_. In this review of Brutus's army, _who was under
the command of gallant men, not braver officers than true patriots_, he
tells _us_, "that Sextus, the questor, was _paymaster, secretary at war,
and commissary general_; and that the _sacred discipline_ of the Romans
required the closest connexion, like that of father and son, to subsist
between the general of an army and his questor. Cicero was _general of
the cavalry_, and the next _general officer_ was Flavius, _master of Ihe
artillery_, the elder Lentulus was _admiral_, and the younger _rode_ in
the _band of volunteers_; under these the tribunes, _with many others,
too tedious to name_." Lentulus, however, was but a subordinate officer;
for we are informed afterwards, that the Romans had made Sextus Pompeius
lord high admiral in all the seas of their dominions. Among other
affectations of this writer, is a furious and unnecessary zeal for
liberty; or rather, for one form of government as preferable to another.
This, indeed, might be suffered, because political institution is a
subject in which men have always differed, and, if they continue to obey
their lawful governours, and attempt not to make innovations, for the
sake of their favourite schemes, they may differ for ever, without any
just reproach from one another. But who can bear the hardy champion, who
ventures nothing? who, in full security, undertakes the defence of the
assassination of Cassar, and declares his resolution to speak plain? Yet
let not just sentiments be overlooked: he has justly observed, that the
greater part of mankind will be naturally prejudiced against Brutus, for
all feel the benefits of private friendship; but few can discern the
advantages of a well-constituted government [3].
We know not whether some apology may not be necessary for the distance
between the first account of this book and its continuation. The truth
is, that this work, not being forced upon our attention by much publick
applause or censure, was sometimes neglected, and sometimes forgotten;
nor would it, perhaps, have been now resumed, but that we might avoid to
disappoint our readers by an abrupt desertion of any subject.
It is not our design to criticise the facts of this history, but the
style; not the veracity, but the address of the writer; for, an account
of the ancient Romans, as it cannot nearly interest any present reader,
and must be drawn from writings that have been long known, can owe its
value only to the language in which it is delivered, and the reflections
with which it is accompanied. Dr. Blackwell, however, seems to have
heated his imagination, so as to be much affected with every event, and
to believe that he can affect others. Enthusiasm is, indeed,
sufficiently contagious; but I never found any of his readers much
enamoured of the _glorious Pompey, the patriot approv'd_, or much
incensed against the _lawless Caesar_, whom this author, probably, stabs
every day and night in his sleeping or waking dreams.
He is come too late into the world with his fury for freedom, with his
Brutus and Cassius. We have all, on this side of the Tweed, long since
settled our opinions: his zeal for Roman liberty and declamations
against the violators of the republican constitution, only stand now in
the reader's way, who wishes to proceed in the narrative without the
interruption of epithets and exclamations. It is not easy to forbear
laughter at a man so bold in fighting shadows, so busy in a dispute two
thousand years past, and so zealous for the honour of a people, who,
while they were poor, robbed mankind, and, as soon as they became rich,
robbed one another. Of these robberies our author seems to have no very
quick sense, except when they are committed by Caesar's party, for every
act is sanctified by the name of a patriot.
If this author's skill in ancient literature were less generally
acknowledged, one might sometimes suspect, that he had too frequently
consulted the French writers. He tells us, that Archelaus, the Rhodian,
made a speech to Cassius, and, _in so saying_, dropt some tears; and
that Cassius, after the reduction of Rhodes, was _covered with
glory_.--Deiotarus was a keen and happy spirit--the ingrate Castor kept
his court.
His great delight is to show his universal acquaintance with terms of
art, with words that every other polite writer has avoided and despised.
When Pompey conquered the pirates, he destroyed fifteen hundred ships of
the line.--The Xanthian parapets were tore down.--Brutus, suspecting
that his troops were plundering, commanded the trumpets to sound to
their colours.--Most people understood the act of attainder passed by
the senate.--The Numidian troopers were unlikely in their appearance.--
The Numidians beat up one quarter after another.--Salvidienus resolved
to pass his men over, in boats of leather, and he gave orders for
equipping a sufficient number of that sort of small craft.--Pompey had
light, agile frigates, and fought in a strait, where the current and
caverns occasion swirls and a roll.--A sharp out-look was kept by the
admiral.--It is a run of about fifty Roman miles.--Brutus broke Lipella
in the sight of the army.--Mark Antony garbled the senate. He was a
brave man, well qualified for a commodore.
In his choice of phrases he frequently uses words with great solemnity,
which every other mouth and pen has appropriated to jocularity and
levity! The Rhodians gave up the contest, and, in poor plight, fled back
to Rhodes.--Boys and girls were easily kidnapped.--Deiotarus was a
mighty believer of augury.--Deiotarus destroyed his ungracious
progeny.--The regularity of the Romans was their mortal aversion.--They
desired the consuls to curb such heinous doings.--He had such a shrewd
invention, that no side of a question came amiss to him.--Brutus found
his mistress a coquettish creature.
He sometimes, with most unlucky dexterity, mixes the grand and the
burlesque together; _the violation of faith, sir_, says Cassius, _lies
at the door of the Rhodians by reite-rated acts of perfidy_.--The iron
grate fell down, crushed those under it to death, and catched the rest
as in a trap.--When the Xanthians heard the military shout, and saw the
flame mount, they concluded there would be no mercy. It was now about
sunset, and they had been at hot work since noon.
He has, often, words, or phrases, with which our language has hitherto
had no knowledge.--One was a heart-friend to the republic--A deed was
expeded.--The Numidians begun to reel, and were in hazard of falling
into confusion.--The tutor embraced his pupil close in his arms.--Four
hundred women were taxed, who have, no doubt, been the wives of the best
Roman citizens.--Men not born to action are inconsequential in
government.--Collectitious troops.--The foot, by their violent attack,
began the fatal break in the Pharsaliac field.--He and his brother, with
a politic, common to other countries, had taken opposite sides.
His epithets are of the gaudy or hyperbolical kind. The glorious
news--eager hopes and dismal fears--bleeding Rome--divine laws and
hallowed customs--merciless war--intense anxiety.
Sometimes the reader is suddenly ravished with a sonorous sentence, of
which, when the noise is past, the meaning does not long remain. When
Brutus set his legions to fill a moat, instead of heavy dragging and
slow toil, they set about it with huzzas and racing, as if they had been
striving at the Olympic games. They hurled impetuous down the huge trees
and stones, and, with shouts, forced them into the water; so that the
work, expected to continue half the campaign, was, with rapid toil,
completed in a few days. Brutus's soldiers fell to the gate with
resistless fury; it gave way, at last, with hideous crash.--This great
and good man, doing his duty to his country, received a mortal wound,
and glorious fell in the cause of Rome; may his memory be ever dear to
all lovers of liberty, learning, and humanity! This promise ought ever
to embalm his memory.--The queen of nations was torn by no foreign
invader.--Rome fell a sacrifice to her own sons, and was ravaged by her
unnatural offspring: all the great men of the state, all the good, all
the holy, were openly murdered by the wickedest and worst.--Little
islands cover the harbour of Brindisi, and form the narrow outlet from
the numerous creeks that compose its capacious port.--At the appearance
of Brutus and Cassius, a shout of joy rent the heavens from the
surrounding multitudes.
Such are the flowers which may be gathered, by every hand, in every part
of this garden of eloquence. But having thus freely mentioned our
author's faults, it remains that we acknowledge his merit; and confess,
that this book is the work of a man of letters, that it is | 1,340.848076 |
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ROLLO IN NAPLES,
BY
JACOB ABBOTT.
BOSTON:
PUBLISHED BY TAGGARD AND THOMPSON.
M DCCC LXIV.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
JACOB ABBOTT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON.
[Illustration: THE ORANGE GARDEN.--See page 218.]
[Illustration: ROLLO'S TOUR IN EUROPE.
TAGGARD & THOMPSON. Publishers--Boston.]
ROLLO'S TOUR IN EUROPE.
ORDER OF THE VOLUMES
ROLLO ON THE ATLANTIC.
ROLLO IN PARIS.
ROLLO IN SWITZERLAND.
ROLLO IN LONDON.
ROLLO ON THE RHINE.
ROLLO IN SCOTLAND.
ROLLO IN GENEVA.
ROLLO IN HOLLAND.
ROLLO IN NAPLES.
ROLLO IN ROME.
PRINCIPAL PERSONS OF THE STORY.
ROLLO; twelve years of age.
MR. and MRS. HOLIDAY; Rollo's father and mother, travelling in Europe.
THANNY; Rollo's younger brother.
JANE; Rollo's cousin, adopted by Mr. and Mrs. Holiday.
MR. GEORGE; a young gentleman, Rollo's uncle.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE VETTURINO, 13
II.--CONTRACTS AND AGREEMENTS, 37
III.--THE JOURNEY, 57
IV.--SITUATION OF NAPLES, 76
V.--PLANNING THE ASCENSION, 91
VI.--GOING UP, 106
VII.--THE SUMMIT, 131
VIII.--POMPEII, 157
IX.--THE MUSEUM, 174
X.--THE STREETS, 188
XI.--AN EXCURSION, 194
XII.--THE ORANGE GARDENS, 213
ENGRAVINGS.
PAGE
THE ORANGE GARDEN, (Frontispiece.)
TRAVELLING IN ITALY, 11
A CHURCH AT FLORENCE, 23
READING THE ARTICLES, 55
EMBLEMS ON THE CROSS, 63
ASCENDING THE MOUNTAINS, 67
SITUATION OF NAPLES, 77
VIEW THROUGH THE GLASS, 87
CALASH COMING INTO NAPLES, 111
THE ASCENT, 127
VIEW OF THE CRATER, 137
COMING DOWN, 153
THE MOSAIC, 183
THE PUBLIC GARDENS, 197
[Illustration: TRAVELLING IN ITALY.]
ROLLO IN NAPLES.
CHAPTER I.
THE VETTURINO.
If ever you make a journey into Italy, there is one thing that you will
like very much indeed; and that is the mode of travelling that prevails
in that country. There are very few railroads there; and though there
are stage coaches on all the principal routes, comparatively few people,
except the inhabitants of the country, travel in them. Almost all who
come from foreign lands to make journeys in Italy for pleasure, take
what is called a _vetturino_.
There is no English word for _vetturino_, because where the English
language is spoken, there is no such thing. The word comes from the
Italian word _vettura_, which means a travelling carriage, and it
denotes the man that owns the carriage, and drives it wherever the party
that employs him wishes to go. Thus there is somewhat the same relation
between the Italian words _vettura_ and _vetturino_ that there is
between the English words _chariot_ and _charioteer_.
The Italian _vetturino_, then, in the simplest English phrase that will
express it, is a _travelling carriage man_; that is, he is a man who
keeps a carriage and a team of horses, in order to take parties of
travellers with them on long journeys, wherever they wish to go. Our
word _coachman_ does not express the idea at all. A coachman is a man
employed by the owner of a carriage simply to drive it; whereas the
vetturino is the proprietor of his establishment; and though he
generally drives it himself, still the driving is only a small part of
his business. He might employ another man to go with him and drive, but
| 1,340.950616 |
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[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND. _See page 136_]
ROGER DAVIS
LOYALIST
BY
FRANK BAIRD
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
Toronto
THE MUSSON BOOK COMPANY LIMITED
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE OUTBREAK
II. AMONG ENEMIES
III. MADE PRISONER
IV. PRISON EXPERIENCES
V. THE TRIAL AND ESCAPE
VI. KING OR PEOPLE?
VII. THE DIE CAST
VIII. OFF TO NOVA SCOTIA
IX. IN THE 'TRUE NORTH'
X. THE TREATY
XI. HOME-MAKING BEGUN
XII. FACING THE FUTURE
XIII. THE GOVERNOR'S PERIL
XIV. VICTORY AND REWARD
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HE THREW HIMSELF UPON THE GROUND......... _Frontispiece_
SHE MOTIONED ME TO MY FATHER'S EMPTY CHAIR
'THAT MAN,' I SAID, TURNING AND FACING THE 'COLONEL,'
WHO SAT PALE AND SHIVERING
'THIS IS NOVA SCOTIA,' HE SAID, POINTING TO THE MAP
Roger Davis, Loyalist
Chapter I
The Outbreak
It was Duncan Hale, the schoolmaster, who first brought us the news.
When he was half-way from the gate to the house, my mother met him. He
bowed very low to her, and then, standing with his head uncovered--from
my position in the hall--I heard him distinctly say, 'Your husband,
madam, has been killed, and the British who went out to Lexington under
Lord Percy have been forced to retreat into Boston, with a loss of two
hundred and seventy-three officers and men.'
The schoolmaster bowed again, one of those fine, sweeping, old-world
bows which he had lately been teaching me with some impatience, I
thought; then without further speech he moved toward the little gate.
But I had caught a look of keen anxiety on his face as he addressed my
mother. Once outside the garden, he stooped forward, and, breaking
into a run, crouching as he went as though afraid of being seen, he
soon disappeared around a turn in the road.
My mother stood without speaking or moving for some moments. The birds
in the blossom-shrouded trees of the garden were shrieking and
chattering in the flood of April sunlight; I felt a draught of perfumed
air draw into the hall. Then a mist that had been heavy all the
morning on the Charles River, suddenly faded into the blue, and I could
see clearly over to Boston, three miles away.
I shall not soon forget the look on my mother's face as she turned and
came toward me. I have wondered since if it were not born | 1,340.951441 |
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RHYMES AND JING | 1,341.527569 |
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MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR
EDITED BY--T. LEMAN HARE
BERNARDINO LUINI
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
_In Preparation_
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
J. F. MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
AND OTHERS.
[Illustration: PLATE I.--MADONNA AND CHILD. Frontispiece
(In the Wallace Collection)
This is another admirably painted study of the artist's favourite
subject. The attitude of the child is most engaging, the painting of
the limbs is full of skill, and the background adds considerably to
the picture's attractions. It will be noted that Luini appears to have
employed the same model for most of his studies of the Madonna.]
Bernardino LUINI
BY JAMES MASON
ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR
[Illustration]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES CO.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. Madonna and Child Frontispiece
In the Wallace Collection
Page
II. Il Salvatore 14
In the Ambrosiana, Milan
III. Salome and the Head of St. John the Baptist 24
In the Uffizi Gallery, Florence
IV. The Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine 34
In the Brera, Milan
V. The Madonna of the Rose 40
In the Brera, Milan
VI. Detail of Fresco 50
In the Brera, Milan
VII. Head of Virgin 60
In the Ambrosiana, Milan
VIII. Burial of St. Catherine 70
In the Brera, Milan
[Illustration]
I
A RETROSPECT
In the beginning of the long and fascinating history of Italian Art we
see that the spirit of the Renaissance first fluttered over the minds
of men much as the spirit of life is said have moved over the face of
the waters before the first chapter of creation's marvellous story was
written. Beginnings were small, progress was slow, and the lives of
the great artists moved very unevenly to their appointed end.
There were some who rose to fame and fortune during their life, and
then died so completely that no biography can hope to rouse any
interest in their work among succeeding generations.
There were others who worked in silence and without _reclame_ of any
sort, content with the respect and esteem of those with whom they came
into immediate contact, indifferent to the plaudits of the crowd or
the noisy praises of those who are not qualified to judge. True
servants of the western world's religion, they translated work into
terms of moral life, and moral life into terms of work. Merit like
truth will out, and when time has sifted good work from bad and
spurious reputations from genuine ones, many men who fluttered the
dovecotes of their own generation disappear from sight altogether;
some others who wrought unseen, never striving to gain the popular ear
or eye, rise on a sudden to heights that might have made them giddy
had they lived to be conscious of their own elevation. They were
lowly, but their fame inherits the earth.
Bernardino Luini, the subject of this little study, calls us away from
the great art centres--from Venice and Florence and Rome; his record
was made and is to be found to-day amid the plains of Lombardy. Milan
is not always regarded as one of the great art centres of Italy in
spite of the Brera, the Ambrosiana, and the Poldi Pezzoli Palace
collections, but no lover of pictures ever went for the first time to
the galleries of Milan in a reverent spirit and with a patient eye
without feeling that he had discovered a painter of genius. He may not
even have heard his name before, but he will come away quite
determined to learn all he may about the man who painted the wonderful
frescoes that seem destined to retain their spiritual beauty till the
last faint trace of the design passes beyond the reach of the eye, the
man who painted the panel picture of the "Virgin of the Rose Trees,"
reproduced with other of his master-works in these pages.
[Illustration: PLATE II.--IL SALVATORE
(In the Ambrosiana, Milan)
This picture, one of the treasures of the beautiful collection in the
Pinacoteca of Ambrosiana in the Piazza della Rosa, hangs by the same
artist's picture of "John the Baptist as a Child." The right hand of
Christ is raised in the attitude of benediction, and the head has a
curiously genuine beauty. The preservation of this picture is
wonderful, the colouring retains much of its early glow. The head is
almost feminine in its tenderness and bears a likeness to Luini's
favourite model.]
To go to the Brera is to feel something akin to hunger for the history
of Bernardino Luini or Luino or Luvino as he is called by the few
who have found occasion to mention him, although perhaps Luini is the
generally accepted and best known spelling of the name. Unfortunately
the hungry feeling cannot be fully satisfied. Catalogues or guide
books date the year of Luini's birth at or about 1470, and tell us
that he died in 1533, and as this is a period that Giorgio Vasari
covers, we turn eagerly to the well-remembered volumes of the old
gossip hoping to find some stories of the Lombard painter's life and
work. We are eager to know what manner of man Luini was, what forces
influenced him, how he appeared to his contemporaries, whether he had
a fair measure of the large success that attended the leading artists
of his day. Were his patrons great men who rewarded him as he
deserved--how did he fare when the evening came wherein no man may
work? Surely there is ample scope for the score of quaint comments and
amusing if unreliable anecdotes with which Vasari livens his pages. We
are confident that there will be much to reward the search, because
Bernardino Luini and Giorgio Vasari were contemporaries after a
fashion. Vasari would have been twenty-one years old when Luini died,
the writer of the "Lives" would have seen frescoes and panel pictures
in all the glory of their first creation. He could not have failed to
be impressed by the extraordinary beauty of the artist's conceptions,
the skill of his treatment of single figures, the wealth of the
curious and elusive charm that we call atmosphere--a charm to which
all the world's masterpieces are indebted in varying degrees--the
all-pervading sense of a delightful and refined personality, leaves
us eager for the facts that must have been well within the grasp of
the painter's contemporaries.
Alas for these expectations! Vasari dismisses Bernardino del Lupino,
as he calls him, in six or eight sentences, and what he says has no
biographical value at all. The reference reads suspiciously like what
is known in the world of journalism as padding. Indeed, as Vasari was
a fair judge, and Bernardino Luini was not one of those Venetians whom
Vasari held more or less in contempt, there seems to be some reason
for the silence. Perhaps it was an intimate and personal one, some
unrecorded bitterness between the painter and one of Vasari's friends,
or between Vasari himself and Luini or one of his brothers or
children. Whatever the cause there is no mistake about the result. We
grumble at Vasari, we ridicule his inaccuracies, we regret his
limitations, we scoff at his prejudices, but when he withholds the
light of his investigation from contemporary painters who did not
enjoy the favour of popes and emperors, we wander in a desert land
without a guide, and search with little or no success for the details
that would serve to set the painter before us.
Many men have taken up the work of investigation, for Luini grows
steadily in favour and esteem, but what Vasari might have done in a
week nobody has achieved in a decade.
A few unimportant church documents relating to commissions given to
the painter are still extant. He wrote a few words on his frescoes;
here and there a stray reference appears in the works of Italian
writers of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but our knowledge
when it has been sifted and arranged is remarkably small and
deplorably incomplete. Dr. J. C. Williamson, a painstaking critic and
a competent scholar, has written an interesting volume dealing with
the painter, and in the making of it he has consulted nearly fifty
authorities--Italian, French, English, and German--only to find it is
impossible to gather a short chapter of reliable and consecutive
biography from them all. Our only hope lies in the discovery of some
rich store of information in the public or private libraries of Milan
among the manuscripts that are the delight of the scholars. Countless
documents lie unread, many famous libraries are uncatalogued, the
archives of several noble Italian houses that played an important part
in fifteenth and sixteenth century Italy have still to be given to the
world. It is not unreasonable to suppose that records of Luini's life
exist, and in these days when scholarship is ever extending its
boundaries there is hope that some scholar will lay the ever growing
circle of the painter's admirers under lasting obligations. Until that
time comes we must be content to know the man through the work that he
has left behind him, through the medium of fading frescoes, stray
altarpieces, and a few panel pictures. Happily they have a definite
and pleasant story to tell.
We must go to Milan for Luini just as we must go to Rome for Raphael
and to Madrid for Velazquez and Titian and to Venice for Jacopo
Robusti whom men still call the Little Dyer (Tintoretto). In London we
have one painting on wood, "Christ and the Pharisees," brought from
the Borghese Palace in Rome. The head of Christ is strangely feminine,
the four Pharisees round him are finely painted, and the picture has
probably been attributed to Leonardo da Vinci at some period of its
career. There are three frescoes in South Kensington and a few panel
pictures in private collections. The Louvre is more fortunate than our
National Gallery, it has several frescoes and two or three panels. In
Switzerland, in the Church of St. Mary and the Angels in Lugano, is a
wonderful screen picture of the "Passion of Christ" with some hundreds
of figures in it, and the rest of Luini's work seems to be in Italy.
The greater part is to be found in Milan, some important frescoes
having been brought to the Brera from the house of the Pelucca family
in Monza, while there are some important works in Florence in the
Pitti and Uffizi Galleries. In the Church of St. Peter at Luino on the
shores of Lake Maggiore, the little town where Benardino was born and
from which he took his name, there are some frescoes but they are in a | 1,341.64566 |
2023-11-16 18:39:25.7693060 | 7,435 | 8 |
Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: The Zankiwank & The Bletherwitch]
The Zankiwank
and
The Bletherwitch
An Original Fantastic Fairy Extravaganza
"_Imagination is always the ruling and divine power,
and the rest of the man is only the instrument which
it sounds, or the tablet on which it writes._"
JOHN RUSKIN.
[Illustration]
THE ZANKIWANK & THE BLETHERWITCH
BY S.J. ADAIR FITZGERALD
WITH PICTURES BY ARTHUR RACKHAM
[Illustration]
LONDON J.M. DENT & Co.
ALDINE HOUSE E.C. 1896
_All Rights Reserved_
To
MY BLANCHE
I AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBE
THIS LITTLE BOOK
CONTENTS
PART I
A TRIP TO FABLE LAND 1
PART II
THE FAIRIES' FEATHER AND FLOWER LAND 33
PART III
A VISIT TO SHADOW LAND 91
PART IV
THE LAND OF TOPSY TURVEY 119
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
EVERYBODY MADE A RUSH FOR THE TRAIN _Frontispiece_
THE ZANKIWANK AND THE BLETHERWITCH _Title Page_
THE JACKARANDAJAM 5
MR SWINGLEBINKS 7
THEY WERE RUN INTO BY A DEMON ON A BICYCLE 17
BIRDS, BEASTS AND FISHES WERE HURRYING BY IN CONFUSING MASSES 19
THE FROGS... PLAYING "KISS IN THE RING" 24
THEY WERE GLUED TO THE EARTH 27
THE ELFIN ORCHESTRA 37
I HAVE DISPATCHED THE JACKARANDAJAM AND MR SWINGLEBINKS IN A
FOUR-WHEELED CAB 41
A COMPANY OF FAIRIES... LEAPT FROM THE PETALS OF THE FLOWERS 45
THE SLY JACKDAWS AND THE RAVENS... EVIDENTLY PLOTTING MISCHIEF 51
ONE OF THE PRETTIEST DANCES YOU EVER SAW 55
TITANIA ARRIVED... WITH A FULL TRAIN OF FAIRIES AND ELVES 61
WILLIE PINCHED HIS EXCEEDINGLY THIN LEGS, MAKING HIM JUMP
AS HIGH AS AN APRIL RAINBOW 64
PEASEBLOSSOM AND MUSTARD SEED 71
QUEEN TITANIA AND HER COURT OF FAIRIES WERE EATING PUDDINGS
AND PIES 75
THE TWO CHILDREN TUMBLED OFF NOTHING INTO A VACANT SPACE 79
"KEEP THE POT A-BOILING," BAWLED THE ZANKIWANK 83
SO INTO SHADOWLAND THEY TUMBLED 87
A WHOLE SCHOOL OF CHILDREN FOLLOWING MADLY IN THEIR WAKE 95
THE GOBLINS STARTED OFF ON HORSEBACK 101
"THE UNFORTUNATE DOLL" 103
THE WINNY WEG WAS DANCING IN A CORNER ALL BY HERSELF 106
MAUDE AND WILLIE WERE RECLINING PEACEFULLY ON A GOLDEN COUCH
WITH SILVER CUSHIONS 107
A GAME OF LEAP-FROG 108
A GREAT RED CAVERN OPENED AND SWALLOWED UP EVERYTHING 117
"NOW THEN, MOVE ON!" 123
THE WIMBLE AND THE WAMBLE 126
JORUMGANDER THE YOUNGER... APPROACHED THEM WITH A CASE OF PENS 133
"WHY, HERE HE IS!" 138
THE ZANKIWANK ARGUING WITH THE CLERK OF THE WEATHER AND THE
WEATHER COCK 145
TIME WAS MEANT FOR SLAVES 151
CHILDREN WITH THE ODDEST HEADS AND FACES EVER SEEN 158, 159
IT WAS A SORT OF SKELETON 163
THE GRIFFIN AND THE PHOENIX 170
THEY SPRANG INTO THE HASH 173
DR PAMPLETON 177
NO ONE INDIVIDUAL GOT HIS OWN PROPER LIMBS FASTENED TO HIM 183
THERE WAS JOHN OPENING THE CARRIAGE DOOR FOR THEM TO GET OUT 187
Part I
A Trip to Fable Land
_By the Queen-Moon's mystic light,
By the hush of holy night,
By the woodland deep and green,
By the starlight's silver sheen,
By the zephyr's whispered spell,
Brooding Powers Invisible,
Faerie Court and Elfin Throng,
Unto whom the groves belong,
And by Laws of ancient date,
Found in Scrolls of Faerie Fate,
Stream and fount are dedicate.
Whereso'er your feet to-day
Far from haunts of men may stray,
We adjure you stay no more
Exiles on an alien shore,
But with spells of magic birth
Once again make glad the earth._
PHILIP DAYRE.
A Trip to Fable Land
"Well," said the Zankiwank as he swallowed another jam tart, "I think we
had better start on our travels at once."
They were all standing under the clock at Charing Cross Station when the
station was closed and everybody else had departed, except the train
which the Zankiwank had himself chartered. It was all so odd and
strange, and the gathering was so very motley, that if it had been
to-morrow morning instead of last night, Willie and Maude would
certainly have said they had both been dreaming. But, of course, they
were not dreaming because they were wide-awake and dressed. Besides,
they remembered Charing Cross Station quite well, having started
therefrom with their father and mother only last summer when they went
to the sea-side for their holidays--and what jolly times they had on the
sands! So Maude said promptly, "It is not Night-mare or Dreams or
Anything. We don't know what it is, but we must not go to sleep, Willie,
in case anything should happen."
Willie replied that he did not want to go to sleep any more. "I believe
it's a show," he added, "and somebody's run away with us. How lovely!
I'm glad we are lost. Let us go and ask that tall gentleman, who looks
like the parlour-tongs in a bathing-suit, to give us some more buns."
For, being a boy, he could always eat buns, or an abundance of them,
only I hope you won't tell the nursery governess I told you.
[Illustration]
It was the Zankiwank, who was doing some conjuring tricks for the
benefit of the Jackarandajam and Mr Swinglebinks, to whom Willie
referred. The Zankiwank was certainly a very curious person to look at.
He had very long legs, very long arms, and a very small body, a long
neck and a head like a peacock. He was not wearing a bathing suit as
Willie imagined, because there were tails to his jacket, hanging down
almost to his heels. He wore a sash round his waist, and his clothes
were all speckled as though he had been peppered with the colours out of
a very large kaleidoscope. The Jackarandajam was also rather tall and
thin, but dressed in the very height of fashion, with a flower in his
coat and a cigarette in his mouth, which he never smoked because he
never lit it. He was believed by all the others--you shall know who all
the others were presently--to know more things than the Man-in-the-Moon,
because he nearly always said something that nobody else ever thought
of. And the Man-in-the-Moon knows more things than the Old Woman of
Mars. You have naturally heard all about Mars--at least, if you have not
heard all about her, you all have heard about her, which is just the
same thing, only reversed.
There was an Old Woman of Mars
Who'd constantly say "Bless my stars,
There's the Sun and the Moon
And the Earth in a swoon,
All dying for par-tic-u-lars-u-lars!
Of this planet of mine called Mars!"
Mr Swinglebinks, unlike his two companions, was short, stout, and
dreadfully important. In Fable Land, where we are going as soon as we
start for that happy place, he kept a grocer's shop once upon a time. As
nobody cared a fig for his sugar and currants, however, he retired from
business and took to dates and the making of new almanacks, and was now
travelling about for the benefit of his figures. He was very strong on
arithmetic, and could read, write, and arith-metise before he went to
school, so he never went at all.
[Illustration]
While the Zankiwank was talking to his friends an unseen porter rang an
unseen bell, and called out in an unknown tongue:--
"Take your seats for Fableland,
Which stands upon a Tableland,
And don't distress the guard.
And when you pass the Cableland
Say nothing to the Gableland
Because it hurts the guard."
"We must put that porter back in the bottle," said the Jackarandajam,
"we shall want some bottled porter to drink on the road."
"Well," said Maude, "what a ridiculous thing to say. We don't bottle
railway porters, I am sure."
"I wish the Bletherwitch would come," exclaimed the Zankiwank, "we shall
miss the next train. She is most provoking. She promised to be here
three weeks ago, and we have been waiting ever since."
This astounding statement quite disturbed Willie, who almost swallowed a
bun in his excitement. Had he and Maude been waiting there three weeks
as well? What would they think at home? You see Maude and Willie, who
were brother and sister, had been on a visit to their grandmama; and on
their way home they had fallen asleep in the carriage, after having
repeated to each other all the wonderful fairy tales their grandmama
had related to them. How long they had slept they could not guess, but
when they woke up, instead of finding themselves at home in St George's
Square, they discovered that they were at Charing Cross Station. Mary,
their nurse, had disappeared, so had John the coachman, and it was the
Zankiwank who had opened the door and assisted them to alight, saying at
the same time most politely--
"I assist you to alight, because it is so dark."
Then he gave them buns and chocolates, icecreams, apples, pears, shrimps
and cranberry tarts. So it stands to reason that after such a mixture
they were rather perplexed. However, they did not seem very much
distressed, and as they were both fond of adventures, especially in
books, they were quite content to accept the Zankiwank's offer to take
them for a ride in the midnight-express to Fable Land, over which, as
everybody knows, King AEsop reigns. Maudie was nine and a half and Willie
was eight and a quarter. Very nice ages indeed, unless you happen to be
younger or older, and then your own age is nicer still.
"I think," said the Zankiwank, "that we will start without the
Bletherwitch. She knows the way and can take a balloon."
"If she takes a balloon she will lose it. You had better let the balloon
take her," exclaimed the Jackarandajam severely.
"Take your places! Take your places!" cried the unseen porter. So
everybody made a rush for the train, and they all entered a Pullman Car
and sat down on the seats.
"Dear me! How very incorrectly that porter speaks. He means, of course,
that the seats should take, or receive us."
The Zankiwank only smiled, while Mr Swinglebinks commenced counting up
to a hundred, but as he lost one, he could only count up to
ninety-nine--so, to keep his arithmetic going, he subtracted a
time-piece from his neighbour's pocket, multiplied his foot-warmers, and
divided his attention between the Wimble and the Wamble, who were both
of the party, being left-handed and deaf.
Maudie and Willie took their places in the car with all the other
passengers amid a perfect babel of chattering and laughing and crying,
and then, as the train began to slowly move out of the station, the
Zankiwank solemnly sang the following serious song:--
OFF TO FABLE LAND.
The midnight train departs at three,
To Fable Land we go,
For this express is nothing less
Than a steamer, don't you know!
We're sailing now upon the Thames,
All in a penny boat,
And we soon shall change for a mountain range,
In the atmosphere to float!
So off we go to Fable Land--
(Speak kindly to the guard!)
Which many think a Babel-land,
But this you disregard.
You'll find it is a Stable-land,
With stables in the yard--
A possible, probable, Able-land,
So do not vex the guard!
We've left behind us Charing Cross,
And all the town in bed;
For it is plain, though in this train,
We're standing on our head!
We're riding now in Bedfordshire,
Which is the Land of Nod;
And yet in the sky we are flying high,
Which seems extremely odd!
So off we go to Fable Land--
(Speak kindly to the guard!)
Which many think a Babel-land,
But this you disregard.
You'll find it is a Stable-land,
With stables in the yard--
A possible, probable, Able-land,
So do not vex the guard!
Maudie and Willie found themselves joining lustily in the chorus when
the Zankiwank pulled the cord communicating with the guard, and,
opening the window, climbed out on to the top of the carriage calling
all the time:--
"Guard! Guard! Guard!
Don't go so hard,
Just give the brake a hitch!
To Charing Cross return--
Nay, do not look so stern--
For I would not tell a cram,
I must send a telegram,
To my darling little Bletherwitch."
So the guard turned the train round, and they went back to Charing Cross
as quick as lightning.
"It's my fault," moaned the Jackarandajam, "I ought to have reminded
you. Never mind, we will put on another engine."
So the Zankiwank got out and sent a telegram to the Bletherwitch, and
desired her to follow on in a balloon.
Again they started, and everybody settled down until the train reached
the British Channel, when it dived through a tunnel into an uninhabited
country, where the post-office clerk popped his head into the carriage
window and handed in a telegram.
"_From the Bletherwitch,
To the Zankiwank._
Don't wait tea. Gone to the Dentists."
"Extremely thoughtful," exclaimed everybody. But the Zankiwank wept, and
explained to the sympathetic Maude that he was engaged to be married to
the Bletherwitch, and he had been waiting for her for fourteen years.
"Such a charming creature. I will introduce you when she comes. Fancy,
she is only two feet one inch and one third high. Such a suitable height
for a bride."
"What," expostulated Willie and Maude together, "she's no bigger than
our baby! And you are quite----"
"Eight feet and one half of an inch."
"How disproportionate! It seems to me to be a most unequal match,"
answered Maude. "What does her mother say?"
"Oh, she hasn't got any mother, you know. That would not do. She has
been asleep for two thousand years, and has only just woke up to the
fact that I am her destiny."
"She is only joking," declared Maude. "Two thousand years! She _must_ be
joking!"
"No," replied the Zankiwank somewhat sadly, "she is not joking. She
never jokes. She is of Scottish descent," he added reflectively. "I hope
she will keep her appointment. I am afraid she is rather giddy!----"
"Giddy! Well, if she has waited two thousand years before making up her
mind to go to the dentists she must be giddy. I am afraid you are not
speaking the truth."
Before any reply could be given the Guard came to the window and said
they would have to go back to Charing Cross again as he forgot to pay
his rent, and he always paid his rent on Monday.
"But this is _not_ Monday," said Willie. "Yesterday was Monday. To-day
is to-morrow you know, therefore it is Tuesday. Pay your landlady double
next Monday and that will do just as well."
The Guard hesitated.
"Don't vex the Guard," they all said in chorus.
"I am not vexed," said the Guard, touching his hat. "Do you think it
would be right to pay double? You see my landlady is single. She might
not like it."
"Write 'I. O. U.' on a post-card and send it to her. It will do just as
well, if not better," suggested Mr Swinglebinks.
So the Guard sent the post-card; but in his agitation he told the
engineer driver to go straight ahead instead of round the corner. The
consequence was that they were run into by a Demon on a bicycle, and
thrown out of the train down a coal mine. Luckily there were no coals in
the mine so it did not matter, and they went boldly forward--that is to
say, Willie and Maude did, and knocked at the front door of a handsome
house that suddenly appeared before them.
[Illustration]
Nobody opened the door, so they walked in. They looked behind them, but
could not see the Zankiwank or any of the passengers in the train;
therefore, not knowing what else to do, they went upstairs. They
appeared to be walking up stairs for hours without coming to a landing
or meeting with anyone, and the interminable steps began to grow
monotonous. Presently they heard a scuffling and a stamping and a
roaring behind them and something or somebody began to push them most
rudely until at last the wall gave way, the stairs gave way, they gave
way, and tumbled right on to the tips of their noses.
"Out of the way! Out of the way!" screamed a chorus of curious voices,
and Maude and Willie found themselves taken by the hand by a
weird-looking dwarf with a swivel eye and an elevated proboscis, and led
out of danger.
The children could not help gazing upon their preserver, who was so
grotesquely formed, with a humped back, twisted legs, very long arms,
and such a funny little body without any neck. But his eyes atoned for
everything--they sparkled and glinted in their sockets like bright brown
diamonds--only there are no brown diamonds, you know, only white and
pink ones.
[Illustration]
The Dwarf did not appear to mind the wondering looks of the children at
all, but patted them on the cheeks and told them not to be frightened.
But whether he meant frightened of himself, or of the Birds, Beasts, and
Fishes that were hurrying by in such confusing masses, they could not
tell. One thing, however, that astonished them very much was the
deference with which they greeted their quaint rescuer, as they passed
by. For every creature from the Lion to the Mouse bowed most politely
as they approached him, and then went on their way gaily frisking, for
this was their weekly half-holiday.
"How do you like my Menagerie," enquired the Dwarf. "Rough and ready,
perhaps, but as docile as a flat-iron if you treat them properly."
"It is just like the Zoo," declared Willie. "Or the animals in AEsop's
Fables," suggested Maude.
This delighted the Dwarf very much, for though he looked so serious, he
was full of good humour and skipped about with much agility.
"Good! Good!" he cried. "AEsop and the Zoo! Ha! Ha! He! He! Anybody can
be a Zoo but only one can be AEsop, and I am he!"
"AEsop! Are you really Mr AEsop, the Phrygian Philosopher?" cried Maude.
"_King_ AEsop, I should say," corrected Willie. "I am glad we have met
you, because now, perhaps, you will kindly tell us what a Fable really
is."
"A Fable," said the merry AEsop, with a twinkle in his witty eyes, "is a
fictitious story about nothing that ever happened, related by nobody
that ever lived. And the moral is, that every one is quite innocent,
only they must not do it again!"
"Ah! that is only your fun," said Willie sagely, "because of the moral.
Why do they give you so many morals?"
"I don't know," answered AEsop gravely. "But the Commentators and Editors
do give a lot of applications and morals to the tales of my animals,
don't they?"
"I like a tale with a moral," averred Maude, "it finishes everything up
so satisfactorily, I think. Now, Mr AEsop, as you know so much, please
tell us what a proverb is?"
"Ah!" replied Mr AEsop, "I don't make proverbs. There are too many
already, but a proverb usually seems to me to be something you always
theoretically remember to practically forget."
Neither of the children quite understood this, though Maude thought it
was what her papa would call satire, and satire was such a strange word
that she could never fully comprehend the meaning.
Willie was silent too, like his sister, and seeing them deep in thought,
King AEsop waved a little wand he had in his hand, and all the Birds and
Beasts and Fishes joined hands and paws, and fins and wings, and danced
in a circle singing to the music of a quantity of piping birds in the
trees:--
If you want to be merry and wise,
You must all be as bright as you can,
You never must quarrel,
Or spoil a right moral,
But live on a regular plan.
You must read, write and arith-metise,
Or you'll never grow up to be good;
And you mustn't say "Won't,"
Or "I shan't" and "I don't,"
Or disturb the Indicative Mood.
So round about the Knowledge Tree,
Each boy and girl must go,
To learn in school the golden rule,
And Duty's line to toe!
If you want to be clever and smart,
You must also be ready for play,
And don't be too subtle
When batting your shuttle,
But sport in a frolicsome way.
With bat and with ball take your part,
Or with little doll perched on your knee,
You sing all the time,
To a nursery rhyme,
Before you go in to your tea!
So round about the Sunset Tree
Each boy and girl should go
To play a game of--What's its name?
That is each game--you know!
After merrily joining in this very original song, with dancing
accompaniment, Maude and Willie thanked King AEsop for permitting his
animals to entertain them.
"Always glad to please good little boys and girls, you know," he
replied pleasantly, "even in their play they furnish us with a new fable
and a moral."
"And that is?"
"All play and no work makes the world stand still."
[Illustration]
Before they could ask for an explanation, their attention was once more
drawn to the animals, who had commenced playing all kinds of games just
the same as they themselves played in the play-ground at school. The
Toads were playing Leap-frog; the Elephants and the Bears, Fly the
Garter; the Dromedaries, Hi! Spie! Hi! while the snakes were trundling
their hoops. The Lions and the Lambs were playing at cricket with the
Donkeys as fielders and the Wombat as umpire.
The Frogs were in a corner by themselves playing "Kiss in the Ring," and
crying out:--
"It isn't you! It isn't you!
We none of us know what to do,"
in a very serio-comic manner. Then the Storks and the Cranes and the
Geese and the Ganders were standing in a circle singing:--
Sally, Sally Waters,
Sitting in the Moon,
With the camel's daughters,
All through the afternoon!
Oh Sally! Bo Sally!
Where's your dusting pan;
My Sally! Fie Sally!
Here is your young man!
In another part the Crabs, the Sheep, and the Fox, were vowing that
London Bridge was Broken Down, because they had not half-a-crown, which
seemed a curious reason. Then all the rest of the wild creatures, Birds,
Beasts, and Fishes, commenced an extraordinary dance, singing, croaking,
flapping their fins and spreading their wings, to these words:--
We are a crowd of jolly boys,
All romping on the lea;
We always make this merry noise,
When we return from sea.
So we go round and round and round,
Because we've come ashore;
For Topsy Turvey we are bound,
So round again once more.
Go in and out of the coppice,
Go in and out at the door;
And do not wake the poppies,
Who want to have a snore.
It was too ridiculous; they could recognise every animal they had read
about in AEsop, and they were all behaving in a manner they little
dreamed could be possible, out of a Night-mare. But it certainly was not
a Night-mare, though they could distinguish several horses and ponies.
[Illustration]
They never seemed to stop in their games, and even the Ants and the
Gnats were playing--and above all a game of football,--though as some
played according to Association and some to Rugby rules, of course it
was rather perplexing to the on-lookers. When they grew tired of
watching the Animal World enjoying their holiday, they turned to consult
King AEsop, but to their astonishment, he was not near them--he had
vanished! And when they turned round the other way the Animals had
vanished too, and they were quite alone. Indeed everything seemed to
disappear, even the light that had been their guide so long, and they
began to tremble with fear and apprehension.
Not a sound was to be heard, and darkness gradually fell around them.
They held each other by the hand, and determined to go forward, but to
their dismay they could not move! They were glued to the earth. They
tried to speak, but their tongues stuck to the roofs of their mouths,
and they were in great distress. "Where, Oh where was the Zankiwank?"
they wondered in their thoughts. And a buzzing in their ears took up the
refrain:--
The Zankiwank, the Zankiwank,
Oh where, Oh where is the Zankiwank?
He brought us here, and much we fear
His conduct's far from Franky-wank!
The Zankiwank, the Zankiwank,
He has gone to seek the Bletherwitch,
Oh the Zankiwank, 'tis a panky prank
To leave us here to die in a ditch.
"A telegram, did you say? For me, of course, what an age you have been.
How is my blushing bride? Let me see--
'_From the Bletherwitch, Nonsuch Street,
To the Zankiwank, Nodland._
Forgot my new shoes, and the housemaid's killed the parrot. Put the
kettle on.'"
Then the children heard some sobbing sound soughing through the silence
and they knew that they were saved. Also that the Zankiwank was weeping.
So with a strong effort Maude managed to call out consolingly,
"Zankiwanky, dear! don't cry, come and let me comfort you."
But the Zankiwank refused to be comforted. However, he came forward
muttering an incantation of some sort, and Maude and Willie finding
themselves free, rushed forward and greeted him.
"Hush, my dears, the Nargalnannacus is afloat on the wild, wild main. We
must be careful and depart, or he will turn us into something
unpleasant--the last century or may be the next, as it is close at hand,
and inexpensive. Follow me to the ship that is waiting in the Bay
Window, and we will go and get some Floranges."
Carefully Maudie and Willie followed the Zankiwank, each holding on by
the tails of his coat, glad enough to go anywhere out of the Blackness
of the Dark.
Soon they found themselves in Window Bay, and climbing up the sides of a
mighty ship with five funnels and a red-haired captain.
"Quick," called the Captain, "the Nargalnannacus is on the lee scuppers
just off the jibboom brace. Make all sail for the Straights of
Ballambangjan, and mind the garden gate."
Then the Zankiwank became the man at the wheel, and the vessel scudded
before the wind as the two children went off into a trance.
[Illustration]
Part II
The Fairies' Feather and Flower Land
_Faery elves,
Whose midnight revels, by a forest side
Or fountain, some belated peasant sees,
Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon
Sits arbitress._
MILTON.
_O then I see Queen Mab hath been with you:
She is the fairies' midwife; and she comes
In shape no bigger than an agate-stone
On the fore-finger of an alderman,
Drawn with a train of little atomies,
Athwart men's noses as they lie asleep._
SHAKESPEARE.
The Fairies' Feather and Flower Land
How long Maude and Willie had been rocking in the cradle of the deep
they could not tell, nor how long it took them to steam through the
Straits of Ballambangjan, for everything was exceptionally bleak and
blank to them. By the way, if you cannot find the Straits of
Ballambangjan in your Geography or on the Map, you should consult the
first sailor you meet, and he will give you as much information on the
subject as any boy or girl need require.
Both children experienced that curious sensation of feeling asleep while
they were wide awake, and feeling wide awake when they imagined
themselves to be asleep, just as one does feel sometimes in the early
morning, when the sun is beginning to peep through the blinds, and the
starlings are chattering, and the sparrows are tweeting under the eaves,
outside the window.
They were no longer on the vessel that had borne them away from
Fableland, and the approach of the Nargalnannacus, a fearsome creature
whom nobody has yet seen, although most of us may not have heard about
him.
The obliging Zankiwank was with them, and when they looked round they
found themselves in a square field festooned with the misty curtains of
the Elfin Dawn.
"Of course," said the Zankiwank, "this is Midsummer Day, and very soon
it will be Midsummer Night, and you will see some wonders that will
outwonder all the wonders that wonderful people have ever wondered both
before and afterwards. Listen to the Flower-Fairies--not the garden
flowers, but the wild-flowers; they will sing you a song, while I beat
time--not that there is any real need to beat Time, because he is a most
respectable person, though he always contrives to beat us."
[Illustration]
Both children would have liked to argue out this speech of the Zankiwank
because it puzzled them, and they felt it would not parse properly.
However, as just at that moment the Elfin Orchestra appeared, they sat
on the grass and listened:--
THE ELFIN DAWN.
This is the Elfin Dawn,
When ev'ry Fay and Faun,
Trips o'er the earth with joy and mirth,
And Pleasure takes the maun.
Night's noon stars coyly peep,
O | 1,341.789346 |
2023-11-16 18:39:26.5658690 | 4,270 | 6 |
E-text prepared by Turgut Dincer, sp1nd, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/mindbodyormental00atki
MIND AND BODY
Or
Mental States and Physical Conditions
by
WILLIAM WALKER ATKINSON
L. N. Fowler & Company
7, Imperial Arcade, Ludgate Circus
London, E. C., England
1910
The Progress Company
Chicago, Ill.
Copyright, 1910
By
The Progress Company
P. F. Pettibone & Co.
Printers and Bindors
Chicago
CONTENTS
Foreword 9
I. The Subconscious Mind 15
II. The Sympathetic System 29
III. The Cell-Minds 39
IV. The Mental Basis of Cure 58
V. The History of <DW43>-Therapy 84
VI. Faith Cures 115
VII. The Power of the Imagination 135
VIII. Belief and Suggestion 155
IX. <DW43>-Therapeutic Methods 173
X. The Reaction of the Physical 196
FOREWORD
Mind and Body--Mental States and Physical Conditions! To the mind
of those who have contented themselves with merely the superficial
aspects of things, these two things--mind and body; and mental states
and physical conditions--seem to be as far apart as the two poles; seem
to be opposites and contradictories impossible of reconciliation.
But to those who have penetrated beneath the surface of things,
these two apparent opposites are seen to be so closely related and
inter-related--so blended and mingled together in manifestation--that it
is practically impossible to scientifically determine where the one
leaves off and the other begins. And so constant and close is their
mutual action and reaction, that it often becomes impossible to state
positively _which_ is the cause and which the effect.
In the first place, Science now informs us that in all living
substance, from cell to mammoth, there is and must be Mind. There
can be no Life without Mind. Mind, indeed, is held to be the very
"livingness" of Life--the greater the degree of manifestation of Mind,
the higher the degree of Life. Moreover, the New Psychology informs
us that upon the activities of the Subconscious Mind depend all the
processes of physical life--that the Subconscious Mind is the essence
of what was formerly called the Vital Force--and is embodied in every
cell, cell-group or organ of the body. And, that this Subconscious Mind
is amenable to suggestion, good and evil, from the conscious mind of
its owner, as well as from outside. When the subject of the influence
of Mental States upon Physical Conditions is studied, one sees that
the Physical Condition is merely the reflection of the Mental State,
and the problem seems to be solved, the mystery of Health and Disease
solved. But in this, as in everything else, there is seen to be an
opposing phase--the other side of the shield. Let us look at the other
side of the question:
Just as we find that wherever there is living substance there is Mind,
so do we find that we are unable to intelligently consider Mind unless
as _embodied_ in living substance. The idea of Mind, independent of
its substantial embodiment, becomes a mere abstraction impossible
of mental imaging--something like color independent of the
substance, or light without the illuminated substance. And just as we
find that Mental States influence Physical Conditions, so do we find
that Physical Conditions influence Mental States. And, so the problem
of Life, Health and Disease once more loses its simplicity, and the
mystery again deepens. The deeper we dig into the subject, the more do
we become impressed with the idea of the universal principle of Action
and Reaction so apparent in all phenomena. The Mind acts upon the Body;
the Body reacts upon the Mind; cause and effect become confused; the
reasoning becomes circular--like a ring it has no beginning, no end; its
beginning may be any place we may prefer, its ending likewise.
The only reconciliation is to be found in the fundamental working
hypothesis which holds that both Mind and Body--both Mental States and
Physical Conditions--are _the two aspects of something greater than
either--the opposing poles of the same Reality_. The radical Materialist
asserts that the Body is the only reality, and that Mind is merely
its "by-product." The Mentalist asserts that the Mind is the only
reality, and that the Body is merely its grosser form of manifestation.
The unprejudiced philosopher is apt to stand aside and say: "You are
both right, yet both wrong--each is stating the truth, but only the
half-truth." With the working hypothesis that Mind and Body are but
varying aspects of the Truth--that Mind is the inner essence of the
Body, and Body the outward manifestation of the Mind--we find ourselves
on safe ground.
We mention this fundamental principle here, for in the body of this
book we shall not invade the province of metaphysics or philosophy,
but shall hold ourselves firmly to our own field, that of psychology.
Of course, the very nature of the subject renders it necessary that
we consider the influence of psychology upon physiology, but we have
remembered that this book belongs to the general subject of the New
Psychology, and we have accordingly emphasized the psychological side
of the subject. But the same material could have been used by a writer
upon physiology, by changing the emphasis from the psychological phase
to the physiological.
We have written this book to reach not only those who refuse to
see the wonderful influence of the Mental States over the Physical
Conditions, but also for our "metaphysical" friends who have become
so enamored with the power of the Mind that they practically ignore
the existence of the Body, indeed, in some cases, actually denying the
existence of the latter. We believe that there is a sane middle-ground
in "metaphysical healing," as there is in the material treatment
of disease. In this case, not only does Truth lie between the two
extremes, but it is composed of the blending and assimilation of the
two opposing ideas and theories. But, even if the reader does not fully
agree with us in our general theories and conclusions, he will find
within the covers of this book a mass of _facts_ which he may use in
building up a new theory of his own. And, after all, what are theories
but the threads upon which are strung the beads of _facts_--if our
string does not meet with your approval, break it and string the beads
of fact upon a thread of your own. Theories come, and theories go--but
_facts_ remain.
CHAPTER I
THE SUBCONSCIOUS MIND
In order to understand the nature of the influence of the mind upon
the body--the effect of mental states upon physical functions--we must
know something of that wonderful field of mental activity which in the
New Psychology is known as "The Subconscious Mind," and which by some
writers has been styled the "Subjective Mind;" the "Involuntary Mind;"
the "Subliminal Mind;" the "Unconscious Mind," etc., the difference in
names arising because of the comparative newness of the investigation
and classification.
Among the various functions of the Subconscious Mind, one of the
most important is that of the charge and control of the involuntary
activities and functions of the human body through the agency of the
sympathetic nervous system, the cells, and cell-groups. As all students
of physiology know, the greater part of the activities of the body
are involuntary--that is, are independent (or partly so) of the control
of the conscious will. As Dr. Schofield says: "The unconscious mind,
in addition to the three qualities which it shares in common with the
conscious--_viz._, will, intellect and emotion--has undoubtedly another
very important one--nutrition, or the general maintenance of the body."
And as Hudson states: "The subjective mind has absolute control of the
functions, conditions and sensations of the body." Notwithstanding the
dispute which is still raging concerning _what_ the Subconscious mind
_is_, the authorities all agree upon the fact that, whatever else it
may be, it may be considered as that phase, aspect, part, or field
of the mind which has charge and control of the greater part of the
physical functioning of the body.
Von Hartmann says: "The explanation that unconscious psychical activity
itself appropriately forms and maintains the body has not only nothing
to be said against it, but has all possible analogies from the most
different departments of physical and animal life in its favor,
and appears to be as scientifically certain as is possible in the
inferences from effect to cause." Maudsley says: "The connection of
mind and body is such that a given state of mind tends to echo itself
at once in the body." Carpenter says: "If a psychosis or mental
state is produced by a neurosis or material nerve state, as pain by
a prick, so also is a neurosis produced by a psychosis. That mental
antecedents call forth physical consequents is just as certain as that
physical antecedents call forth mental consequents." Tuke says: "Mind,
through sensory, motor, vaso-motor and trophic nerves, causes changes
in sensation, muscular contraction, nutrition and secretion.... If
the brain is an outgrowth from a body corpuscle and is in immediate
relation with the structures and tissues that preceded it, then, though
these continue to have their own action, the brain must be expected
to act upon the muscular tissue, the organic functions and upon the
nervous system itself."
Von Hartmann also says: "In willing any conscious act, the unconscious
will is evoked to institute means to bring about the effect. Thus,
if I will a stronger salivary secretion, the conscious willing of
this effect excites the unconscious will to institute the necessary
means. Mothers are said to be able to provide through the will a more
copious secretion, if the sight of the child arouses in them the will
to suckle. There are people who perspire voluntarily. I now possess the
power of instantaneously reducing the severest hiccoughs to silence
by my own will, while it was formerly a source of great inconvenience
to me.... An irritation to cough, which has no mechanical cause, may
be permanently suppressed by the will. I believe we might possess a
far greater voluntary power over our bodily functions if we were only
accustomed from childhood to institute experiments and to practice
ourselves therein.... We have arrived at the conclusion that every
action of the mind on the body, without exception, is only possible
by means of an unconscious will; that such an unconscious will can be
called forth partly by means of a conscious will, partly also through
the conscious idea of the effect, without conscions will, and even in
opposition to the conscious will."
Henry Wood says of the Subconscious Mind: "It acts automatically
upon the physical organism. It cognizes external facts, conditions,
limitations, and even contagions, quite independent of its active
counterpart. One may, therefore, 'take' a disease and be unaware of
any exposure. The subconsciousness has been unwittingly trained to
fear, and accept it; and it is this quality, rather than the mere inert
matter of the body, that succumbs. Matter is never the actor, but is
always acted upon. This silent, mental partner, in operation, seems
to be a living, thinking personality, conducting affairs on its own
account. It is a compound of almost unimaginable variety, including
wisdom and foolishness, logic and nonsense, and yet having a working
unitary economy. It is a hidden force to be dealt with and educated,
for it is often found insubordinate and unruly. It refuses co-operation
with its lesser but more active and wiser counterpart. It is very
'set' in its views, and only changes its qualities and opinions by
slow degrees. But, like a pair of horses, not until these two mental
factors can be trained together can there be harmony and efficiency."
In order to understand the important part played in the physical
economy by the Subconscious Mind, it is only necessary to understand
the various processes of the human system which are out of the ordinary
field of the voluntary or conscious mind. We then realize that the
entire process of nutrition, including digestion, assimilation, etc.,
the processes of elimination, the processes of circulation, the
processes of growth, in fact the entire processes manifested in the
work of the cells, cell-groups, ganglia, physical organs, etc., are
in charge of and controlled by the Subconscious Mind. Our food is
digested and transformed into the nourishing substances of the blood;
then carried through the arteries to all parts of the body, where it is
absorbed by the cells and used to replace the worn-out material, the
latter then being carried back through the veins to the lungs where the
waste matter is burned up, and the balance again sent on its journey
through the arteries re-charged with the life-giving oxygen. All of
these processes, and many others of almost equal importance, are out
of the field of the conscious or voluntary mind, and are governed by
the Subconscious Mind. As we shall see when we consider the Sympathetic
Nervous System, the greater part of the body is dominated by the
Subconscious Mind, and that the welfare of the major physical functions
depends entirely, or almost so, upon this great area or field of the
mind.
The best authorities now generally agree that there is no part of
the body which may be considered as devoid of mind. The Subconscious
Mind is not confined to the brain, or even the greater plexuses of
the nervous system, but extends to all parts of the body, to every
nerve, muscle, and even to every cell and cell-group of the body.
The functions and processes of the body are no longer considered as
purely mechanical, or chemical, but are now seen to be the result of
mental action of some kind or degree. Therefore, in considering the
Subconscious Mind, one must not think of it as resident in the brain
alone, but rather as being _distributed over the entire physical
body_. There is mind in every cell, every organ, every muscle, every
nerve--in every part of the body.
The importance of the above statements regarding the power and
importance of the Subconscious Mind may be realized when one remembers
the dictum of the New Psychology, to wit: _The Subconscious Mind is
amenable to Suggestion_. When it is realized that this great controller
of the physical organism is so constituted that it accepts as truth
the suggestions from the conscious mind of its owner, as well as
those emanating from the conscious minds of other people, it may be
understood why Faith, Belief, and Expectant Attention manifest such
marked effects upon the physical body and the general health, for
good or for evil, as indicated in the preceding chapters. All of the
many instances and examples recited in the preceding chapters may be
understood when it is realized that the Subconscious Mind, which is in
control of the physical functions and vital processes, will accept the
suggestions from the conscious mind of its owner, and also suggestions
from outside which the conscious mind of its owner allows to pass down
to it. If, as Henry Wood has said in the paragraph previously quoted,
it "acts automatically upon the physical organism," and "seems to be a
living, thinking personality, conducting affairs on its own account,"
and at the same time, _accepts and 'takes on' suggested conditions_,
it may be readily understood how the wonderful and almost incredible
statements of the authorities mentioned in the preceding chapters have
had real and substantial basis in truth.
This understanding of the part played by the Subjective Mind in
controlling and affecting physical conditions and activities, together
with its suggestible qualities and nature, gives us a key to the
whole question of the "Why?" of Mental Healing. Suggestion is the
connecting link between Mind and Body, and an understanding of its
laws and principles enables one to see the moving cause of the strange
phenomena of the Faith Cures, under whatever name they may pass, and
under whatever guise they may present themselves. "Suggestion" is the
explanation offered by the New Psychology for the almost miraculous
phenomena which other schools seek to explain upon some hypothesis
based either upon religious beliefs, or upon some metaphysical or
philosophical doctrine. The New Psychology holds that it is not
necessary to go outside of the realms of psychology and physiology in
studying Mental Healing or <DW43>-Therapy; and that the theories of
the semi-religious and metaphysical cults are merely strange guises or
masks which serve to conceal the real operative principle of cure.
The following quotation from Dr. Schofield will serve to call the
attention to the important part played by the Subconscious Mind in
the physical activities, a fact which is not generally recognized:
"It has often been a mystery how the body thrives so well with so
little oversight or care on the part of its owner. No machine could
be constructed, nor could any combination of solids or liquids in
organic compounds, regulate, control, counteract, help, hinder or
arrange for the continual succession of differing events, foods,
surroundings and conditions which are constantly affecting the body.
And yet, in the midst of this ever-changing and varying succession of
influences, the body holds on its course of growth, health, nutrition
and self-maintenance with the most marvelous constancy. We perceive, of
course, clearly, that the best of qualities--regulation, control, etc.,
etc.--are all mental qualities, and at the same time we are equally
clear that by no self-examination can we say we consciously exercise
any of these mental powers over the organic processes of our bodies.
One would think, then, that the conclusion is sufficiently simple and
obvious--that they must be used unconsciously; in other words, it is,
and can be nothing else than _unconscious mental powers_ that control,
guide and govern the functions and organs of the body.
"Our ordinary text-books on physiology give but little idea of what I
may call the intelligence that presides over the various systems of the
body, showing itself in the bones, as we have seen, in distributing
the available but insufficient amount of lime salts in disease; not
equally, but for the protection of the most vital parts, leaving
those of lesser value disproportionally deficient. In the muscular
system nearly all contractions are involuntary. Even in the voluntary
(so-called) muscles, the most we can do is to will results. We do
not will the contractions that carry out these results. Muscles,
striped and unstriped, are ceaselessly acting without the slightest
consciousness in maintaining the balance of the body, the expression
of the face, the general attributes corresponding to mental states,
the carrying on of digestion and other processes with a purposiveness,
and adaptation of means to new ends and new conditions, ceaselessly
arising, that are beyond all material mechanism. Consider, for
instance, the marvelous increase of smooth muscle in the uterus at
term, and also its no less marvelous subsequent involution; observe,
too, the compensating muscular increase of a damaged heart until the
balance | 1,342.585909 |
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Secret Memoirs
THE COURT OF ROYAL SAXONY
1891-1902
This edition, printed on Japanese vellum paper, is limited to two
hundred and fifty copies.
No. ________
[Illustration: LOUISE, EX-CROWN-PRINCESS OF SAXONY
Photo taken shortly before her flight from Dresden]
Secret Memoirs
THE COURT OF ROYAL SAXONY 1891-1902
THE STORY OF LOUISE CROWN PRINCESS
FROM THE PAGES OF HER DIARY, LOST AT THE TIME OF HER ELOPEMENT FROM
DRESDEN WITH M. ANDRE ("RICHARD") GIRON
BY HENRY W. FISCHER
Author of "Private Lives of William II and His Consort," "Secret History
of the Court of Berlin," etc., etc.
Illustrated from Photographs
BENSONHURST, NEW YORK FISCHER'S FOREIGN LETTERS, INC. PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1912
BY HENRY W. FISCHER
Copyright, 1912, applied for by Henry W. Fischer in Great Britain
Copyright, 1912, by Henry W. Fischer, in Germany, France, Austria,
Switzerland, and all foreign countries having international copyright
arrangements with the United States
[_All rights reserved, including those of translation_]
EDITOR'S CARD
This is to certify that the Ex-Crown Princess of Saxony, now called
Countess Montiguoso, Madame Toselli by her married name, is in no way,
either directly or indirectly, interested in this publication.
There has been no communication of whatever nature, directly or through
a third party, between this lady and the editor or publishers. In fact,
the publication will be as much a surprise to her as to the general
public.
The Royal Court of Saxony, therefore, has no right to claim, on the
ground of this publication, that Princess Louise violated her agreement
with that court as set forth in the chapter on the _Kith and Kin of the
ex-Crown Princess of Saxony_, under the heads of "_Louise's Alimony and
Conditions_" and "_Allowance Raised and a Further Threat_."
HENRY W. FISCHER, _Editor_.
Fischer's Foreign Letters, Publishers
THIS BOOK AND ITS PURPOSE
By Henry W. Fischer
Of Memoirs that are truly faithful records of royal lives, we have a
few; the late Queen Victoria led the small number of crowned
autobiographists only to discourage the reading of self-satisfied royal
ego-portrayals forever, but in the Story of Louise of Saxony we have the
main life epoch of a Cyprian Royal, who had no inducement to say
anything false and is not afraid to say anything true.
For the Saxon Louise wrote not to guide the hand of future official
historiographers, or to make virtue distasteful to some sixty odd
grand-children, bored to death by the recital of the late "Mrs. John
Brown's" sublime goodness:--Louise wrote for her own amusement, even as
Pepys did when he diarized the peccadilloes of the Second Charles'
English and French "hures" (which is the estimate these ladies put upon
themselves).[1]
The ex-Crown Princess of Saxony suffered much in her youth by a
narrow-minded, bigoted mother, a Sadist like the monstrous Torquemada;
marriage, she imagined, spelled a rich husband, more lover than master;
freedom from tyranny, paltry surroundings, interference. To her
untutored mind, life at the Saxon Court meant right royal splendor,
liberty to do as one pleases, the companionship of agreeable, amusing
and ready-to-serve friends.
_The Sad Saxon Court_
Her experience? Instead of the Imperial mother who took delight in
cutting her children's faces with diamonds and exposing her daughters to
the foul machinations of worthless teachers--she acquired a
father-in-law (Prince, afterwards King George) whose pretended affection
was but a share of his all-encompassing hatred, whose breath was a
serpent's, whose veins were flowing with gall; the supposed
chevaleresque husband turned out a walking dictionary of petty
indecencies and gross vulgarities when in a favorable mood, a brawler at
other times, a coward always.
As to money--Louise wished for nothing better "than to be an American
multi-millionaire's daughter for a week"! Amusements were few and
frowned upon.
Liberty? None outside of a general permit to eat, drink and couple like
animals in pasture, was recognized or tolerated. Nor could the royal
young woman make friends. Her relatives-by-marriage were mostly freaks,
and all were unbearable; her entourage a collection of spies and
flunkeys.
If charity-bazaars, pious palaver, and orphaned babies' diapers had not
been the sole topic of conversation at court; if there had been
intellectual enjoyment of any kind, Louise might never have taken up
her pen. As it was: "This Diary is intended to contain my innermost
thoughts, my ambitions, my promises for the future, _Myself_. * * *
These pages are my Father-Confessor. I confess to myself. * * * And as I
start in writing letters to myself, it occurs to me that my worse self
may be corresponding with my better self, or vice-versa."
At any rate she thinks "this Diary business will be quite amusing."
_Louise's Amusing Writings_
It is. The world always laughs at the--husband of a woman whose history
isn't one long yawn.
Nor is Louise content with a bust picture.[2] She gives full length
portraits of herself, family, friends, enemies, and lovers, which latter
she picks hap-hazard among commoners and the nobility. Only one of them
was a prince of the blood, and he promptly proved the most false and
dishonorable of the lot.
When Louise's pen-pictures do not deal with her _amororos_, they focus
invariably emperors and princes, kings and queens,--contemporary
personages whose acquaintance, by way of the newspapers and magazines,
we all enjoy to the full, as "stern rulers," "sacrificers to the public
weal," "martyrs of duty," "indefatigable workers," "examples of
abstinence," and "high-mindedness"--everything calculated to make life a
burden to the ordinary mortal.
_Kings in Fiction and in Reality_
But kings and emperors, we are told by these _distant_ observers, are
built that way; they would not be happy unless they made themselves
unhappy for their people's sake. And as to queens and empresses,--they
simply couldn't live if they didn't inspect their linen closets daily,
stand over a broiling cook-stove, or knit socks for the offspring of
inebriated bricklayers "and sich."
Witness Louise, Imperial and Royal Highness, Archduchess of Austria,
Princess of Hungary and Tuscany, Crown Princess of Saxony, etc., etc.,
smash these paper records of infallible royal rectitude, and superhuman,
almost inhuman, royal probity!
Had she castigated her own kind _after_ royalty unkenneled her, neck and
crop, her story might admit of doubt, but she wrote these things while
in the full enjoyment of her rank and station, before her title as
future queen was ever questioned or menaced.
Her Diary finishes with her last night in the Dresden palace. We do not
hear so much as the clatter of the carriage wheels that carried her and
"Richard" to her unfrocking as princess of the blood,--in short, our
narrator is not prejudiced, on the defensive, or soured by
disfranchisement. She had no axes to grind while writing; for her all
kings dropped out of the clouds; the lustre that surrounds a king never
dimmed while her Diary was in progress, and before she ceases talking to
us she never "ate of the fish that hath fed of that worm that hath eat
of a king."
Yet this large folio edition of _obscenites royale_, chock full, at the
same time, of intensely human and interesting facts, notable and amusing
things, as enthralling as a novel by Balzac,--Louise's life record in
sum and substance, since her carryings-on _after_ she doffed her royal
robes for the motley of the free woman are of no historical, and but
scant human interest.
The prodigality of the mass of indictments Louise launches against
royalty as every-day occurrences, reminds one of the great Catharine
Sforza, Duchess of Milan's clever _mot_. When the enemy captured her
children she merely said, "I retain the oven for more."
_Royal Scandals_
Such scandalmongering! Only Her Imperial Highness doesn't see the
obloquy,--sarcasm, cynicism and disparagement being royalty's every-day
diet.
Such gossiping! But what else was there to do at a court whose
literature is tracts and whose theatre of action the drill grounds.
But for all that, Louise's Diary is history, because its minute things
loom big in connection with social and political results, even as its
horrors and abnormalities help paint court life and the lives of kings
and princes as they _are_, not as royalties' sycophants and apologizers
would have us view them.
There is a perfect downpour of books eulogizing monarchs and monarchy;
royal governments spend millions of the people's money to uphold and
aggrandize exalted kingship and seedy princeship alike; three-fourths of
the press of Europe is swayed by king-worship, or subsidized to sing the
praises of "God's Anointed," while in our own country the aping of
monarchical institutions, the admiration for court life, the
idealization of kings, their sayings, doings and pretended superiority,
as carried on by the multi-rich, are undermining love for the Republic
and the institutions our fathers fought and bled for.
_Un-American Folly_
It's the purpose of the present volume to show the guilty folly of such
un-American, un-republican, wholly unjustifiable, reprehensible and
altogether ridiculous King-worship, not by argument, or a more or less
fanciful story, but by the unbiased testimony of an "insider."
Let it be considered, above all, that a member of the proudest Imperial
family in the wide, wide world demonstrates, by inference, the absurdity
of King-worship!
Of course, whether or not you'll obey the impassioned appeal of the
corner sermonizer, who, espying a number of very decolletee ladies
passing by in a carriage, cried out: "_Quand vous voyez ces tetons
rebondies, qui se montrent avec tant d'impudence, bandez! bandez!
bandez! vous--les yeux!_" is a matter for you to decide.
* * * * *
Seek not for descriptions of ceremonials and festivities in these pages;
only imbeciles among kings are interested in such wearying spectacles,
intended to dazzle the multitude. The Czar Paul, who became insane and
had his head knocked off by his own officers, appeared upon the scene
vacated by his brilliant mother, Catharine the Great, with a valise full
of petty regulations, ready drawn up, by which, every day, every hour,
every minute, he announced some foolish change, punishment or favor, but
I often saw Kaiser Wilhelm and other kings look intensely bored and
disgusted when obliged to attend dull and superfluous court or
government functions.
_Royalty's Loose Talk_
But for genuine expressions of the royal self consult Louise. Those who
think that royalty shapes its language in accordance with the plural of
the personal pronoun, sometimes used in state papers, will be shocked at
the "neglige talk" of one royal highness and the "rag-time" expressions
of others. Louise, herself, assures us over and over again that she
"_feels like a dog_," a statement no self-respecting publisher's reader
would allow to pass, yet I was told by a friend of King Frederick of
Denmark that he loved to compare his "all-highest person" to a "_mut_,"
and I remember a letter from Victor Emanuel II to his great Minister,
Count Cavour, solemnly protesting that he (the King) was "_no ass_."
When the same Danish ruler, the seventh of his name, was asked why, in
thunder, he married a common street walker (the Rasmussen, afterwards
created Countess Danner), he cried out with every indication of gusto:
"You don't know how deliciously common that girl is."
Frederick's words explain the hostler marriages of several royal women
mentioned by Louise, as well as her own and loving family's
_broulleries_ of the fish-wife order, repeatedly described in the Diary.
_Royalty Threatens a Royal Woman_
It is safe to say that few $15 flats in all the United States witnessed
more outrageous family jars than were fought out in the gilded halls of
the Dresden palace between Louise and father-in-law and Louise and
husband. Threats of violence are frequent; Prince George promises his
daughter-in-law a sound beating at the hands of the Crown Prince and the
Crown Princess confesses that she would rather go to bed with a drunken
husband, booted and spurred, than risk a sword thrust.
At the coronation of the present Czar, at Moscow, I mistook the Duke of
Edinburgh, brother of the late King Edward, for a policeman attached to
the British Ambassador, so exceedingly commonplace a person in
appearance, speech and manner he seemed; Louise has a telling chapter on
the mean looks of royalty, but fails to see the connection between that
and royalty's coarseness.
Perhaps it wasn't the "commonness" of Lady Emma Hamilton, child of the
slums, impersonator of _risque_ stage pictures, and mistress of the
greatest naval hero of all times, that appealed primarily to Louise's
grand-aunt, Queen Caroline of Naples, but the abandon of the beautiful
Englishwoman, her reckless exposure of person, her freedom of speech,
certainly sealed the friendship between the adventuress and the despotic
ruler who deserved the epithet of "bloody" no less than Mary of England.
_Covetous Royalty_
Royal covetousness is another subject dwelt on by Louise. We learn that
in money matters the kings and princes of her acquaintance--and her
acquaintance embraces all the monarchs of Europe--are "dirty," that
royal girls are given in marriage to the highest bidder, and that poor
princes have no more chance to marry a rich princess than a drayman an
American multi-millionaire's daughter.
Louise gives us a curious insight into the Pappenheim-Wheeler marriage
embroglio, and refers to some noble families that made their money in
infamous trades; that the Kaiser adopted the title of one of these
unspeakables ("Count of Henneberg") she doesn't seem to know.
We hear of imperial and royal highnesses, living at public expense and
for whom honors and lucrative employment are exacted from the people,
who at home figure as poor relations, obliged to submit to treatment
that a self-respecting "boots" or "omnibus" would resent.
Here we have a royal prince of twenty-four or twenty-five subjected to
kicks and cuffs by his uncle, who happens to be king--no indignity
either to the slugged or the slugger in that--but when a pretty princess
gets a few "_Hochs_" more than an ugly, mouse- majesty, she is
all but flayed for "playing to the gallery."
"High-minded" royalty robs widows and despoils orphans; re-introduces
into the family obsolete punishments forbidden by law; maintains in the
household a despicable spy system! Its respect for womanhood is on a par
with a Bushman's; of authors, "lickspittles" only count; literature,
unless it kowtows to the "all-highest" person, is the "trade of Jew
scribblers."
_Right Royal Manners_
As to manners, what do you think of kings and princes and grand-dukes
who, at ceremonial dinners, pound the table to "show that they are
boss"?
Louise tells of an emperor at a foreign court ignoring one of his
hostesses absolutely, even refusing to acknowledge her salute by a nod.
We hear of expectant royal heirs who engage in wild fandangoes of
merriment while their father, brother or cousin lies dying.
"Personal matter," you say? "A typical case," I retort.
"Ask the _Duc du_ Maine to wait till I am dead before he indulges in the
full extent of his joy," said the dying Louis XIV, when the _De
Profundis_ in the death chamber was suddenly interrupted by the sound of
violent laughter from the adjoining gallery. And the fact that almost
every new king sets aside the testament of his predecessor,--is this not
evidence of the general callowness of feeling prevailing in royal
circles?
_The Irish Famine and Royalty_
In famine times, the kings and princes of old drove the starving out of
town to die of hunger in the fields, and as late as 1772 one hundred and
fifty thousand Saxons died of hunger under the "glorious reign" of
Louise's grandfather-by-marriage, Frederick Augustus III. And the "Life
of Queen Victoria," approved by the Court of St. James, unblushingly
informs us that in 1847 "Her Most Gracious Majesty" was chiefly
concerned about investing to good profit the revenues of the Prince of
Wales, her infant son (about four hundred thousand dollars per annum).
Yet, while Victoria pinched the boy's tenants to extort an extra penny
for him, and "succeeded in saving all but four thousand pounds sterling"
of his imperial allowance, the population of Ireland was reduced two
millions by the most dreadful famine the world remembers!
Before the famine Ireland had a population of 8,196,597, against a
population of 15,914,148 in England and Wales, while Scotland's
population was 2,620,184.
Six years after the famine Ireland's population was 6,574,278,
Scotland's 2,888,742, England and Wales' 17,927,609. Today Ireland's
population is less than Scotland's, the exact figures being: Scotland
4,759,445, Ireland 4,381,951, England and Wales 36,075,269.
_Royalty Utterly Heartless_
However, as the waste of two million human lives, the loss of four
millions in population, subsequently enabled the Prince of Wales to tie
the price of a dukedom[3] in diamonds around a French dancer's neck and
to support a hundred silly harlots in all parts of Europe, who cares?
According to Louise and--others, royalty is the meanest, the most
heartless, the most faithless and the most unjust of the species--that
in addition she herself disgraced its womanhood, after the famous Louise
of Prussia rehabilitated queenship, is regrettable, but to call it
altogether unexpected would be rank euphemism.
_Louise's Character_
If Louise had lived at the time of Phryne, the philosophers would have
characterized her as "an animal with long hair"; if he had known her,
the great Mirabeau might have coined his pet phrase, "a human that
dresses, undresses and--talks" (or writes) for Louise; as a matter of
fact, she is one of those "_Jansenists_" of love who believe in the
utter helplessness of natural woman to turn down a good looking man.
Her great grand-uncle, Emperor Francis, recorded on a pane of glass
overlooking the courtyard of the Vienna _Hofburg_ his opinion of women
in the brief observation: "_Chaque femme varie_" (Women always change).
This is true of Louise and also untrue of her. While occupying her high
position at the Saxon court she was fixed in the determination to make a
cuckold of her husband, though Frederick Augustus, while a pumpkin,
wasn't fricasseed in snow by any means.
The process gave her palpitations, but, like Ninon, she was "_so_ happy
when she had palpitations."
_Changed Lovers Frequently_
As to lovers, she changed them as often as she had to, never hesitating
to pepper her _steady_ romances by playing "everybody's wife," chance
permitting, as she intimates naively towards the close of the Diary.
Qualms of conscience she knows not, but of pride of ancestry, of
insistence on royal prerogatives, she has plenty and to spare.
"My great grand-aunt, Marie Antoinette, did this"; "my good cousins
d'Orleans" (three of them) "allowed themselves to be seduced"; "_ma
cousine de_ Saxe-Coburg laughs at conventionalities,"--there you have
the foundation of the iniquitous philosophy of the royal Lais. And for
the rest--when she is queen, all will be well.
_Her Court--A Seraglio_
Louise's fixed idea was that, as Queen of Saxony, she had but to say the
word to establish a court _a la_ Catharine II; time and again she refers
to the great Empress's male seraglio, and to the enormous sums she
squandered on her favorites. If the Diarist had known that Her Majesty
of Russia, when in the flesh, never suffered to be longer than
twenty-four hours without a lover, Louise, no doubt, would have made the
most elaborate plans to prevent, in her own case, a possible
_interregnum_ of five minutes even.
She thought she held the whip hand because a king cannot produce princes
without his wife, while the wife can produce princes without the king;
besides Frederick Augustus was no paragon, and he who plants horns, must
not grudge to wear them.
A wanton's calculations, it will be argued,--but Louise's records show
that her husband, the king-to-be, fell in with her main idea,--that he
forgave the unfaithful wife, the disgraced princess, because, as Queen,
her popularity would be "a great asset."
And Americans, our women of whom we are so proud, are asked to bow down
to such sorry majesties!
_Sired and "Cousined" by Lunatics_
And is there no excuse for so much baseness in high places? Our royal
Diarist offers none, but her family history is a telling apology.
Be it remembered that Louise is not so much an Austrian as a
Wittelsbacher of the royal house of Bavaria that gave to the world two
mad kings, Louis II and Otho, the present incumbent of the throne,
besides a number of eccentrics, among others Louise's aunts, the Empress
Elizabeth and the Duchess d'Alencon, both dead; Crown Prince Rudolph of
Austria, her cousin, was also undoubtedly insane, the result of breeding
in and in, Austrian, Bourbon and Wittelsbach stock, all practically of
the same parentage, in a mad mix-up, the insane Wittelsbachers
predominating.
To cap the climax, Louise has eighteen or nineteen insane cousins on her
mother's side!
* * * * *
Once upon a time Louise's prosaic and stupid great-uncle, as a young
husband, felt dreadfully scandalized when his Queen, Marie Antoinette,
bombarded him with spit-balls.
"What can I do with her?" he asked "Minister Sans-culotte" Dumouriez.
"I would spike the cannon, Sire," replied the courtier.
"_Enclouer le canon_," if performed in time, might have saved Louise,
but I doubt it.
HENRY W. FISCHER.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: "Be civil, good people, I am the English hure," said Nell
Gwyn, addressing a London mob that threatened to storm her carriage,
assuming that its occupant was the hated Frenchwoman.]
[Footnote 2: "Your biography give a faithful portrait of self," said
Fontenelle, the famous French Academician, to an 18th Century Marquise,
"but I miss the record of your gallantries."
"_Ah, Monsieur, c'est que je ne me suis peinte qu'en buste!_" replied
her ladyship.]
[Footnote 3: The Prince of Wales' revenue is derived from the Duchy of
Cornwall, amounting to about half a million dollars per year.]
KITH AND KIN OF THE EX-CROWN PRINCESS OF SAXONY
_Louise's Own Family_
The royal woman whose life's history is recorded in this volume was born
Louise Antoinette, Daughter of the late Grand Duke Ferdinand IV of
Tuscany (died January 17, 1908) and the Dowager Grand Duchess Alice,
_nee_ Princess Bourbon of Parma.
* * * * *
Louise has four brothers, among them the present head of the Tuscany
family, Joseph Ferdinand, who dropped the obsolete title of Grand Duke
and is officially known as Archduke of Austria-Hungary.
He is a brigadier general, commanding the Fifth Austrian Infantry, and
unmarried.
Better known is Louise's older brother, the former Archduke Leopold, who
dropped his title and dignities, and, as a Swiss citizen, adopted the
name of Leopold Wulfling. This Leopold is generally regarded as a black
sheep.
Louise more often refers to him in the present volume than to any other
member of her family.
He is now a commoner by his own, more or less enforced, abdication, as
Louise is a commoner by decree of her chief-of-family, the Austrian
Emperor, Francis Joseph, dated Vienna, January 27, 1903.
A month before above date the Saxon court had conferred on Louise the
title of Countess Montiguoso, while, on her own part, she adopted the
fanciful cognomen of Louise of Tuscany.
Of Louise's two remaining brothers, one, Archduke Peter, serves in the
Austrian army as Colonel of the Thirty-second Infantry, while Archduke
Henry is Master of Horse in the Sixth Bavarian Dragoons.
Only one of Louise's four sisters is married, the oldest, Anna, now
Princess Johannes of Hohenlohe-Bartenstein.
The unmarried sisters are Archduchesses Margareta (31 years old),
Germana (28 years old), Agnes (22 years old).
* * * * *
_Mother Comes of Mentally Tainted Stock_
Louise's mother, _nee_ Princess Alice of Parma, is the only surviving
sister of the late Duke Robert, who left twenty children, all living,
and of whom eighteen or nineteen are either imbeciles or raving
lunatics, the present head of the house, Duke Henry, belonging to the
first category of mentally unsound.
Louise's first cousin, Prince Elias of Parma, the seventh son, is
accounted sound, but Elias's sister, Zita (the twelfth child), developed
maniacal tendencies since her marriage to Archduke Karl Francis Joseph,
heir-presumptive to the crown of Austria-Hungary.
* * * * *
_Francis Joseph's Autocratic Rule_
_Louise Formerly in Line of Austrian Succession_
Louise was in the line of the Austrian succession until, upon her
marriage to the Crown Prince of Saxony (1891), she officially renounced
her birthrights.
Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria-Hungary is Louise's grand-uncle as
well as chief of the imperial family of Austria, the royal family of
Hungary, the Grand-ducal family of Tuscany (now extinct as far as the
title goes), and of the Estes, which is the Ducal Line of Modena,
extinct in the male line. Finally he is recognized as chief by the ducal
family of Parma, descendants of the Spanish Hapsburgs.
Emperor Francis Joseph rules all the Hapsburgers, Austrian, Hungarian,
and those of Tuscany, of Este, of Modena and Parma, autocratically, his
word being law in the family. Even titles conferred by birth can be
taken away by him, as exemplified in the case of Louise and her brother
Leopold.
* * * * *
_Royal Saxons_
As a member of the Austrian imperial family, the Hapsburgers, founded in
883, Louise ranked higher than her husband, the Crown Prince of the
petty Kingdom of Saxony, whose claim to the royal title dates from
1806,--a gift of the Emperor Napoleon.
She married Frederick Augustus November 21, 1891, while the latter's
uncle reigned as King Albert of Saxony (1873 to 1902).
Louise's father-in-law, up to then known as Prince George, succeeded his
brother June 19, 1902. He was then a widower and his family consisted
of:
Princess Mathilde, unmarried,
The Crown Prince Frederick Augustus, husband of Louise,
Princess Marie-Josepha, wife of Archduke Otho of Austria,
Prince Johann George, at that time married to Isabelle of Wuerttemberg,
and
Prince Max. The latter subsequently shelved his title and entered the
Church July 26, 1896. He is a professor of canonical law and slated for
a German bishopric.
At the time of Prince George's ascension, there was also living the late
King Albert's widow, Queen Caroline, _nee_ Princess of Wasa, since
dead.
The Marchesa Rapallo, _nee_ Princess Elizabeth of Saxony, is a sister of
the late King George.
_Louise and Her Father-in-Law_
During King George's short reign, Louise ran away from the Saxon court,
end of November, 1902.
On February 11, 1903, divorce was pronounced against her by a special
court assembled by King George.
Louise was adjudged the guilty party and deprived of the name and style
of Crown Princess of Saxony. As previously (January 27) the Austrian
Emperor had forbidden her to use the name and title of Austrian
Archduchess and Imperial and royal Princess, Louise would have been
nameless but for the rank and title of Countess Montiguoso, conferred
upon her by King George.
* * * * *
_Louise's Alimony Conditional_
At the same time Louise accepted from the court of Saxony a considerable
monthly allowance on condition that "she undertake nothing liable to
compromise the reigning family, either by criticism or story, either by
word, deed or in writing."
* * * * *
_Frederick Augustus, King_
Upon his father's death, Frederick Augustus succeeded King George
October 15, 1904. He is now forty-seven years old, while Louise is
forty-two.
The King of Saxony has six children by Louise, three boys and three
girls, five born in wedlock, the youngest born without wedlock. The
children born in wedlock are:
The present Crown Prince, born 1893.
Frederick Christian, likewise born in 1893.
Ernest, born 1896.
Margaret, born 1900.
And Marie Alix, born 1901.
The youngest Princess of Saxony, so called, Anna Monica, was born by
Louise more than six months after she left her husband and nearly three
months after her divorce.
Louise desired to retain Anna Monica in her own custody, but though the
child's fathership is in doubt, to say the least, Frederick Augustus
insisted upon the little one's transference to his care.
* * * * *
_Allowance Raised and a Further Threat_
King Frederick Augustus raised Louise's allowance to $12,000 per year,
"which alimony ceases if the said Countess Montiguoso shall commit,
either personally, directly or indirectly, any act in writing or
otherwise liable to injure the reputation of King Frederick Augustus or
members of the royal family of Saxony, or if the said Countess
Montiguoso contributes to any such libellous publication in any manner
or form."
* * * * *
_The Divorce of Royal Couple Illegal_
After divorce was pronounced against her, Louise declined to accept the
decree of the court, pronouncing the proceedings illegal on the ground
that both she and husband are Catholics and that the Roman Catholic
Church, under no circumstances, recognizes divorce. Her protest gained
importance from the fact that her marriage to Frederick Augustus was
solemnized by the rites of the Roman Catholic Church. The Saxon court,
on the other hand, justified its own decision by basing same on a
certain civil ceremony entered into by Louise and Frederick Augustus
previous to the church marriage.
* * * * *
_Louise Marries a Second Time_
When Louise realized in the course of years that Frederick Augustus
would not take her back, she changed her mind as to the illegality of
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books
Transcriber's Notes:
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https://books.google.com/books?id=0nrlugEACAAJ
(the Bavarian State Library)
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 1270.
WITHIN THE MAZE BY MRS. HENRY WOOD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
WITHIN THE MAZE.
A NOVEL.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1872.
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS
OF VOLUME I.
CHAPTER
I. Mrs. Andinnian's Home.
II. Lucy Cleeve.
III. Done at Sunset.
IV. The Trial.
V. Unable to get strong.
VI. An Atmosphere of Mystery.
VII. At the Charing-Cross Hotel.
VIII. In the Avenue d'Antin.
IX. Down at Foxwood.
X. Mrs. Andinnian's Secret.
XI. At the Gate of the Maze.
XII. Taking an Evening Stroll.
XIII. Miss Blake gets in.
XIV. Miss Blake on the Watch.
XV. Revealed to Lady Andinnian.
XVI. A Night at the Maze.
XVII. Before the World.
XVIII. A Night Alarm.
XIX. In the same Train.
XX. Only one Fly at the Station.
XXI. Hard to Bear.
XXII. With his Brother.
WITHIN THE MAZE.
CHAPTER I.
Mrs. Andinnian's Home.
The house was ugly and old-fashioned, with some added modern
improvements, and was surrounded by a really beautiful garden. Though
situated close upon a large market town of Northamptonshire, it stood
alone, excluded from the noise and bustle of the world.
The occupant of this house was a widow lady, Mrs. Andinnian. Her
husband, a post-captain in the Royal Navy, had been dead some years.
She had two sons. The elder, Adam, was of no profession, and lived
with her: the younger, Karl, was a lieutenant in one of Her Majesty's
regiments. Adam was presumptive heir to his uncle, Sir Joseph
Andinnian, a baronet of modern creation: Karl had his profession alone
to look to, and a small private income of two hundred a year.
They were not rich, these Andinnians: though the captain had deemed
himself well-off, what with his private fortune, and what with his
pay. The private fortune was just six hundred a year; the pay not
great: but Captain Andinnian's tastes were simple, his wants few. At
his death it was found that he had bequeathed his money in three equal
parts: two hundred a year to his wife, and two hundred each to his
sons. "Adam and his mother will live together," he said in the will;
"she'd not be parted from him: and four hundred pounds, with her bit
of pension, will be enough for comfort. When Adam succeeds his uncle,
they can make any fresh arrangement that pleases them. But I hope when
that time shall come they will not forget Karl."
Mrs. Andinnian resented the will, and resented these words in it. Her
elder boy, Adam, had always been first and foremost with her: never a
mother loved a son more ardently than she loved him. For Karl she
cared not. Captain Andinnian was not blind to the injustice, and
perhaps thence arose the motive that induced him not to leave his
wife's two hundred pounds of income at her own disposal: when Mrs.
Andinnian died, it would lapse to Karl. The captain had loved his sons
equally: he would willingly have left them equally provided for in
life, and divided the fortune that was to come sometime to Adam. Mrs.
Andinnian, in spite of the expected rise for Adam, would have had him
left better off from his father's means than Karl.
There had been nearly a lifelong feud between the two family
branches. Sir Joseph Andinnian and his brother the captain had not met
for years and years: and it was a positive fact that the latter's sons
had never seen their uncle. For this feud the brothers themselves were
not in the first instance to blame. It did not arise with them, but
with their wives. Both ladies were of a haughty, overbearing, and
implacable temper: they had quarrelled very soon after their first
introduction to each other; the quarrel grew, and grew, and finally
involved the husbands as well in its vortex.
Joseph Andinnian, who was the younger of the two brothers, had been a
noted and very successful civil engineer. Some great work, that he had
originated and completed, gained him his reward--a baronetcy. While he
was in the very flush of his new honours, an accident, that he met
with, laid him for many months upon a sick-bed. Not only that: it
incapacitated him for future active service. So, when he was little
more than a middle-aged man, he retired from his profession, and took
up his abode for life at a pretty estate he had bought in Kent,
called Foxwood Court, barely an hour's railway journey from London: by
express train not much more than half one. Here, he and his wife had
lived since: Sir Joseph growing more and more of an invalid as the
years went on. They had no children; consequently his brother, Captain
Andinnian, was heir to the baronetcy: and, following on Captain
Andinnian, Adam, the captain's eldest son.
Captain Andinnian did not live to succeed. In what seemed the pride of
his health and strength, just after he had landed from a three years'
voyage, and was indulging in ambitious visions of a flag, symptoms of
a mortal disease manifested themselves. He begged of his physicians to
let him know the truth; and they complied--he must expect but a very
few weeks more of life. Captain Andinnian, after taking a day or two
to look matters fully in the face, went up to London, and thence
down to Sir Joseph's house in Kent. The brothers, once face to face,
met as though no ill-blood had ever separated them: hands were
locked in hands, gaze went out to gaze. Both were simple-minded,
earnest-hearted, affectionate-natured men; and but for their wives--to
whom, if the truth must be avowed, each lay in subjection--not a
mis-word would ever have arisen between them.
"I am dying, Joseph," said the captain, when some of their mutual
emotion had worn away. "The doctors tell me so, and I feel it to be
true. Naturally, it has set me on the thought of many things--that I
am afraid I have been too carelessly putting off. What I have come
down to you chiefly for, is to ask about my son--Adam. You'll tell me
the truth, won't you, Joseph, as between brothers?"
"I'll tell you anything, Harry," was Sir Joseph's answer. "The truth
about what?"
"Whether he is to succeed you or not?"
"Why, of course he must succeed: failing yourself. What are you
thinking of, Harry, to ask it? I've no son of my own: it's not likely
I shall have one now. He will be Sir Adam after me."
"It's not the title I was thinking of, Joseph. Failing a direct heir,
I know that must come to him. But the property?--will he have that? It
is not entailed; and you could cut him out absolutely."
"D'ye think I'd be so unjust as that, Harry?" was the half indignant
reply. "A baronet's title, and nothing to keep it up upon! I have
never had an idea of leaving it away from you; or from him if you went
first. When Adam succeeds to my name and rank, he will succeed to my
property. Were my wife to survive me, she'd have this place for life,
and a good part of the income: but Adam would get it all at her
death."
"This takes a weight off my mind," avowed Captain Andinnian. "Adam was
not brought up to any profession. Beyond the two hundred a year he'll
inherit from me----"
"A bad thing that--no profession," interrupted Sir Joseph. "If I had
ten sons, and they were all heirs to ten baronetcies, each one should
be brought up to use his brains or his hands."
"It's what I have urged over and over again," avowed the captain. "But
the wife--you know what she is--set her face against it. 'He'll be Sir
Adam Andinnian of Foxwood,' she'd answer me with, 'and he shall not
soil his hands with work.' I have been nearly, always afloat, too,
Joseph: not on the spot to enforce things: something has lain in
that."
"I wonder the young man should not have put himself forward to be of
use in the world!"
"Adam is idly inclined. I am sorry for it, but it is so. One thing has
been against him, and that's his health. He's as tall and strong a
young fellow to look at as you'd meet in a summer's day, but he is, I
fear, anything but sound in constitution. A nice fellow too, Joseph."
"Of good disposition?"
"Very. We had used to be almost afraid of him as a boy; he would put
himself into such unaccountable fits of passion. Just as--as--somebody
else used to do, you know, Joseph," added the sailor with some
hesitation.
Sir Joseph nodded. The somebody else was the captain's wife, and
Adam's mother. Sir Joseph's own wife was not exempt from the same kind
of failing: but in a less wild degree than Mrs. Andinnian. With her
the defects of temper partook more of the nature of sullenness.
"But Adam seems to have outgrown all that: I've seen and heard nothing
of it since he came to manhood," resumed the captain. "I wish from my
heart he had some profession to occupy him. His mother always filled
him up with the notion that he would be your heir and not want it."
"He'll be my heir, in all senses, safe enough, Harry: though I'd
rather have heard he was given to industry than idleness. How does he
get through his time? Young men naturally seek some pursuit as an
outlet for their superfluous activity."
"Adam has a pursuit that he makes a hobby of; and that is his love of
flowers; in fact his love of gardening in any shape. He'll be out
amidst the plants and shrubs from sunrise to sunset. Trained to it,
he'd have made a second Sir Joseph Paxton. I should like you to see
him: he is very handsome."
"And the young one--what is he like? What's his name by the way?
Henry?"
"No. Karl."
"_Karl?_" repeated Sir Joseph in surprise, as if questioning whether
he heard aright.
"Ay, Karl. His mother was in Germany when he was born, it being a
cheap place to live in--I was only a poor lieutenant then, Joseph, and
just gone off to be stationed before the West Indies. A great friend
of hers, there, some German lady, had a little boy named Karl. My wife
fell in love with the name, and called her own infant after it."
"Well, it sounds an outlandish name to me," cried the baronet, who was
entirely unacquainted with every language but his own.
"So I thought, when she first wrote me word," assented Captain
Andinnian. "But after I came home and got used to call the lad by it,
you don't know how I grew to like it. The name gains upon your favour
in a wonderful manner, Joseph: and I have heard other people say the
same. It is Charles in English, you know."
"Then why not call him Charles?"
"Because the name is really Karl, and not Charles. He was baptized in
Germany, but christened in England, and in both places it was done as
'Karl.' His mother has never cared very much for him."
"For him or his name, do you mean?"
"Oh, for him."
Sir Joseph opened his eyes. "Why on earth not?"
"Because all the love her nature's capable of--and in her it's
tolerably strong--is given to Adam. She can't spare an atom from him:
her love for him is as a kind of idolatry. For one thing, she was very
ill when Karl was born, and neither nursed nor tended him: he was
given over to the care of her sister who lived with her, and who had
him wholly, so to say, for the first three years of his life."
"And what's Karl like?" repeated Sir Joseph.
"You ought to see him," burst forth the Captain with animation. "He's
everything that's good and noble arid worthy. Joseph, there are not
many young men of the present day so attractive as Karl."
"With a tendency to be passionate, like his brother?"
"Not he. A tendency to patience, rather. They have put upon him at
home--between ourselves; kept him down, you know; both mother and
brother. He is several years younger than Adam; but they are attached
to each other. A more gentle-natured, sweet-tempered lad than Karl
never lived: all his instincts are those of a gentleman. He will make
a brave soldier. He is ensign in the -- regiment."
"The -- regiment," repeated Sir Joseph. "Rather a crack corps that, is
it not?"
"Yes: Karl has been lucky. He will have to make his own way in the
world, for I can't give him much. But now that I am assured of your
intentions as to Adam, things look a trifle brighter. Joseph, I thank
you with all my heart."
Once more the brothers clasped hands. This reunion was the pleasantest
event of their later lives. The captain remained two days at Foxwood.
Lady Andinnian was civilly courteous to him, but never cordial. She
did not second her brother's pressing wish that he should prolong his
stay: neither did she once ask after any of his family.
Captain Andinnian's death took place, as anticipated. His will, when
opened, proved to be what was mentioned above. Some years had gone by
since. Mrs. Andinnian and her son Adam had continued to live together
in their quiet home in Northamptonshire; Karl, lieutenant now, and
generally with his regiment, paying them an occasional visit. No
particular change had occurred, save the death of Lady Andinnian. The
families had continued to be estranged as heretofore: for never a word
of invitation had come out of Foxwood. Report ran that Sir Joseph was
ailing much; very much indeed since the loss of his wife. And, now,
that so much of introduction is over, we can go on with the story.
A beautiful day in April. At a large window thrown open to the mid-day
sun, just then very warm and bright, sat a lady of some five and fifty
years. A tall, handsome, commanding woman, resolution written in every
line of her haughty face. She wore a black silk gown with the
slightest possible modicum of crape on it, and the guipure cap--or,
rather, the guipure lappets, for of cap there was not much to be
seen--had in it some black ribbon. Her purple-black hair was well
preserved and abundant still; her black eyes were stern, and
fearlessly honest. It was Mrs. Andinnian.
She was knitting what is called a night-sock. Some poor sick pensioner
of hers or her son's--for both had their charities--needed the
comfort. Her thoughts were busy; her eyes went fondly out to the far
end of the garden, where she could just discern her son against the
shrubs: the fairest and dearest sight to Mrs. Andinnian that earth had
ever contained for her, or ever would contain.
"It is strange Sir Joseph does not write for him," ran her
thoughts--and they very often did run in the same groove. "I cannot
imagine why he does not. Adam ought to be on the spot and get
acquainted with his inheritance: his uncle must know he ought. But
that I have never stooped to ask a favour in my life, I would write to
Sir Joseph, and proffer a visit for Adam, and--for--yes, for me.
During that woman's lifetime Adam was not likely to be welcomed there:
but the woman's gone: it is two months this very day since she died."
The woman, thus unceremoniously alluded to, was Lady Andinnian: and
the slight mourning, worn, was for her. Some intricacy in the knitting
caused Mrs. Andinnian to bend her head: when she looked up again, her
son was not to be seen. At the same moment, a faint sound of distant
conversation smote her ear. The work dropped on her lap; with a look
of annoyance she lifted her head to listen.
"He is talking to that girl again! I am sure of it."
Lift her head and her ears as she would, she could not tell positively
whose voices they were. Instinct, however, that instinct of suspicion
we all feel within us on occasion, was enough.
A very respectable manservant of middle age, thoughtful in face, fair
in complexion, with a fringe of light hair round the sides of his
otherwise bald head, entered the room and presented a note to his
mistress. "Who is it from?" she asked as she took it off the silver
waiter. An old waiter, bearing the Andinnian crest.
"Mrs. Pole's housemaid has brought it, ma'am. She is waiting for an
answer."
It was but a friendly note of invitation from a neighbour, asking Mrs.
Andinnian and her two sons to go in that evening. For Karl, the second
son, had come home for a two days' visit, and was just then writing
letters in another room.
"Yes, we will go--if Adam has no engagement," said Mrs. Andinnian to
herself, but half aloud. "Hewitt, go and tell Mr. Andinnian that I
wish to speak with him."
The man went across the garden and through the wilderness of shrubs.
There stood his master at an open gate, talking to a very pretty girl
with bright hair and rosy cheeks.
"My mistress wishes to see you, Mr. Adam."
Adam Andinnian turned round, a defiant expression on his haughty face,
as if he did not like the interruption. He was a very fine man of some
three-and-thirty years, tall and broad-shouldered, with his mother's
cast of proud, handsome features, her fresh complexion, and her black
hair. His eyes were dark grey; deeply set in the head, and rarely
beautiful. His teeth also were remarkably good; white, even, and
prominent, and he showed them very much.
"Tell my mother I'll come directly, Hewitt."
Hewitt went back with the message. The young lady who had turned to
one of her own flower-beds, for the gardens joined, was bending over
some budding tulips.
"I think they will be out next week, Mr. Andinnian," she looked round
to say.
"Never mind the tulips," he answered after a pause, during which he
had leaned on the iron railings, looking dark and haughty. "I want to
hear more about this."
"There's nothing more to hear," was the young lady's answer.
"That won't do, Rose. Come here."
And she went obediently.
The house to which this other garden belonged was a humble,
unpretending dwelling, three parts cottage, one part villa. A Mr.
Turner lived in it with his wife and niece. The former was in good
retail business in the town: a grocer: and he and his wife were as
humble and unpretending as their dwelling. The niece, Rose, was
different. Her father had been a lawyer in small local practice: and
at his death Rose--her mother also dead--was taken by her uncle and
aunt, who loved both her and her childish beauty. Since then she had
lived with them, and they educated her well. She was a good girl: and
in the essential points of mind, manner, and appearance, a lady. But
her position was of necessity a somewhat isolated one. With the
tradespeople of the town Rose Turner did not care to mix: she felt
that, however worthy, they were beneath her: quite of another order
altogether: on the other hand, superior people would not associate
with Miss Turner, or put so much as the soles of their shoes over the
doorsill of the grocer's house. At sixteen she had been sent to a
finishing school: at eighteen she came back as pretty and as nice a
girl as one of fastidious taste would wish to see.
Years before, Adam and Karl Andinnian had made friends with the little
child: they continued to be intimate with her as brothers and sister.
Latterly, it had dawned on Mrs. Andinnian's perception that Adam and
Miss Turner were a good deal together; certainly more than they need
be. Adam had even come to neglect his flowers, that he so much loved,
and to waste his time talking to Rose. It cannot be said that Mrs.
Andinnian feared any real complication--any undesirable result of any
kind; the great difference in their ages might alone have served to
dispel the notion: Adam was thirty-three; Miss Turner only just out of
her teens. But she was vexed with her son for being so frivolous and
foolish: and, although she did not acknowledge it to herself, a vague
feeling of uneasiness in regard to it lay at the bottom of her heart.
As to Adam, he kept his thoughts to himself. Whether this new
propensity to waste his hours with Miss Turner arose out of mere
pastime, or whether he entertained for her any warmer feeling, was,
his own secret.
Things--allowing for argument's sake that there was some love in the
matter--were destined not to go on with uninterrupted smoothness.
There is a proverb to the effect, you know. During the last few weeks
a young medical student, named Martin Scott, had become enamoured of
Miss Turner. At first, he had confined himself to silent admiration.
Latterly he had taken to speaking of it. Very free-mannered, after the
fashion of medical students of graceless nature, he had twice snatched
a kiss from her: and the young lady, smarting under the infliction,
indignant, angry, had this day whispered the tale to Adam Andinnian.
And no sooner was it done, than she repented: for the hot fury that
shone out of Mr. Andinnian's face, startled her greatly.
They were standing together again at the small iron gate, ere the
sound of Hewitt's footsteps had well died away. Rose Turner had the
true golden hair that ladies have taken to covet and spend no end of
money on pernicious dyes to try and obtain. Her garden hat was untied,
and she was playing with its strings.
"Rose, I must know all; and I insist upon your telling me. Go on."
"But indeed I have told you all, Mr. Andinnian."
Mr. Andinnian gazed steadfastly into Miss Rose's eyes, as if he would
get the truth out of their very depths. It was evident that she now
spoke unwillingly, and only in obedience to his strong will.
"It was last night, was it, that he came up, this brute of a Scott?"
"Last night, about six," she answered. "We were at tea, and my aunt
asked him to take some--"
"Which he did of course?" savagely interrupted Mr. Andinnian.
"Yes; and eat two muffins all to himself," laughed Miss Turner, trying
to turn the anger off. Mr. Andinnian did not like the merriment.
"Be serious if you please, child; this is a serious matter. Was it
after tea that he--that he dared to insult you?" and the speaker shut
his right hand with a meaning gesture as he said it.
"Yes. Aunt went to the kitchen to see about something that was to be
prepared for my uncle's supper--for she is fidgety over the cooking,
and never will trust it to the servant. Martin Scott then began to
tease as usual; saying how much he cared for me, and asking me to wait
for him until he could get into practice."
"Well?" questioned Adam impatiently as she stopped.
"I told him that he had already had his answer from me and that he had
no right to bring the matter up again; it was foolish besides, as it
only set me more against him. Then I sat down to the piano and played
the Chatelaine--he only likes rattling music--and sang a song,
thinking it would pass the time in peace until aunt returned.
By-and-by I heard my uncle's latch-key in the front door, and I was
crossing the room to go out and meet him, when Martin Scott laid hold
of my arm, and--and kissed me."
Mr. Andinnian bit his lips almost to bleeding. His face was frightful
in its anger. Rose shivered a little.
"I am sorry I told you, Mr. Andinnian."
"Now listen, Rose. If ever this Martin Scott does the like again, I'll
shoot him."
"Oh, Mr. Andinnian!"
"I shall warn him. In the most unmistakable words; words that he
cannot misconstrue; I will warn him of what I mean to do. Let him
disregard it at his peril; if he does, I'll shoot him as I would shoot
a dog."
The very ferocity of the threat, its extreme nature, disarmed Miss
Turner's belief in it. She smiled up in the speaker's face and shook
her head, but was content to let the subject pass away in silence.
Adam Andinnian, totally forgetting his mother's message, began talking
of pleasanter things.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Andinnian's patience was growing exhausted: she hated
to keep other people's servants waiting her pleasure. Her fingers were
on the bell to ring for Hewitt, when Karl entered the room, some
sealed letters in his hand. A slender man of seven-and-twenty,
slightly above the middle height, with pale, clearly-cut features and
a remarkably nice expression of countenance. He had the deeply-set,
beautiful grey eyes of his brother; but his hair, instead of being
black and straight, was brown and wavy. An attractive looking man,
this Karl Andinnian.
"I am going out to post these letters," said Karl. "Can I do anything
for you in the town, mother?"
The voice was attractive too. Low-toned, clear, melodious, full of
truth: a voice to be trusted all over the world. Adam's voice was
inclined to be harsh, and he had rather a loud way of speaking.
"Nothing in the town," replied Mrs. Andinnian: and, now that you
notice it, _her_ voice was harsh too. "But you can go and ask your
brother why he keeps me waiting. He is behind the shrubbery."
Karl left his letters on the table, traversed the garden, and found
Adam with Miss Turner. They turned to wait his approach. A half doubt,
he knew not wherefore, dawned for the first time on his mind.
"How are you this morning, Rose?" he asked, raising his hat with the
ceremony one observes to an acquaintance, rather than to an intimate
friend. "Adam, the mother seems vexed: you are keeping her waiting,
she says, and she wishes to know the reason of it."
"I forgot all about it," cried Adam. "Deuce take the thorn!"
For just at that moment he had run a thorn into his finger. Karl began
talking with Miss Turner: there was no obligation on _him_ to return
forthwith to the house.
"Go back, will you, Karl, and tell the mother I am sorry I forgot it.
I shall be there as soon as you are."
"A genteel way of getting rid of me," thought Karl with a laugh, as he
at once turned to plunge into the wide shrubbery. "Good day to you,
Rose."
But when he was fairly beyond their sight Karl's face became grave as
a judge's. "Surely Adam is not drifting into anything serious in that
quarter!" ran his thoughts. "It would never do."
"Well--have you seen Adam!" began Mrs. Andinnian, when he entered.
"Yes. He is coming immediately."
"_Coming!_"--and she curled her vexed lips. "He ought to _come_. Who
is he with, Karl?"
"With Miss Turner."
"What nonsense! Idling about with a senseless child!"
"I suppose it _is_ nothing but nonsense?" spoke Karl, incautiously.
"She--Miss Turner--would scarcely be the right woman in the right
place."
His mother glanced at him sharply. "In _what_ place?--what woman?"
"As Lady Andinnian."
Karl had angered his mother before in his lifetime, but scarcely ever
as now. She turned livid as death, and took up the first thing that
came to her hand--a silver inkstand, kept for show, not use--and held
it as if she would hurl it at his head.
"How _dare_ you, sir, even in supposition, so traduce your brother?"
"I beg your pardon, mother. I spoke without thought."
As she was putting down the inkstand, Adam came in. He saw that
something was amiss. Mrs. Andinnian spoke abruptly about the
invitation for the evening, and asked if he would go. Adam said he
could go, and she left the room to give, herself, a verbal answer to
the waiting servant.
"What was the matter, Karl?"
"The mother was vexed at your staying with Rose Turner, instead of
coming in. It was nonsense, she said, to be idling about with a
senseless child. I--unfortunately, but quite unintentionally--added to
her anger by remarking that I supposed it _was_ nonsense, for she,
Miss Turner, would scarcely be suitable for a Lady Andinnian."
"Just attend to your own affairs," growled Adam. "Keep yourself in
your place."
Karl looked up with his sweet smile; answering with his frank and
gentle voice. The smile and the voice acted like oil on the troubled
waters.
"You know, Adam, that I should never think of interfering with you, or
of opposing your inclinations. In the wide world, there's no one, I
think, so anxious as I am for your happiness and welfare."
Adam did know it, and their hands met in true affection. Few brothers
loved each other as did Adam and Karl Andinnian. Seeing them together
thus, they were undoubtedly two fine young men--as their sailor father
had once observed to his brother. But Karl, with his nameless air of
innate goodness and refinement, looked the greater gentleman.
CHAPTER II.
Lucy Cleeve.
Lingering under the light of the sweet May moon, arm within arm, their
voices hushed, their tread slow, went two individuals, whom few,
looking upon them, could have failed to mistake for anything but
lovers. Lovers they were, in heart, in mind, in thought: with as pure
and passionate and ardent a love as ever was felt on this earth. And
yet, no word, to tell of it, had ever been spoken between them.
It was one of those cases where love, all unpremeditated, had grown
up, swiftly, surely, silently. Had either of them known that they were
drifting into it, they might have had sufficient prudence to separate
forthwith, before the danger grew into certainty. For he, the obscure
and nearly portionless young soldier, had the sense to see that he
would be regarded as no fit match for the daughter of Colonel and the
Honourable Mrs. Cleeve; both of high lineage and inordinately proud of
it into the bargain; and she, Lucy Cleeve, knew that, for all her good
descent, she was nearly portionless too, and that her future husband,
whomsoever he might turn out to be, must possess a vast deal more of
this world's goods than did Lieutenant Andinnian. Ay, and of family
also. But, there it was: they had drifted into this mutual love
unconsciously: each knew that it was for all time: and that, in
comparison, "family" and "goods" were to them as nothing.
"And so Miss Blake is back, Lucy?"
The words, spoken by Mr. Andinnian, broke one of those long pauses of
delicious silence, that in themselves seem like tastes of paradise.
Lucy Cleeve's tones in answer were low and soft as his.
"She came to-day. I hardly knew her. Her hair is all put on the top of
her | 1,342.765038 |
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BEES IN AMBER
A LITTLE BOOK OF THOUGHTFUL VERSE
BY JOHN OXENHAM
1913
TO THOSE I HOLD DEAREST
THIS OF MY BEST.
CONTENTS
CREDO
NEW YEAR'S DAY AND EVERYDAY
PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN
FLOWERS OF THE DUST
THE PILGRIM WAY
EVERYMAID
BETTER AND BEST
THE SHADOW
THE POTTER
NIGHTFALL
THE PRUNER
THE WAYS
SEEDS
WHIRRING WHEELS
THE BELLS OF YS
THE LITTLE POEM OF LIFE
CUP OF MIXTURE
WEAVERS ALL
THE CLEARER VISION
SHADOWS
THE INN OF LIFE
LIFE'S CHEQUER-BOARD
CROSS-ROADS
QUO VADIS?
TAMATE
BURDEN-BEARERS
THE IRON FLAIL
SARK
E.A.
THE PASSING OF THE QUEEN
THE GOLDEN CORD
THANK GOD FOR PEACE!
GOD'S HANDWRITING
STEPHEN--SAUL
PAUL
WAKENING
MACEDONIA, 1903
HEARTS IN EXILE
WANDERED
BIDE A WEE!
THE WORD THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID
DON'T WORRY!
THE GOLDEN ROSE
GADARA, A.D. 31
THE BELLS OF STEPAN ILINE
BOLT THAT DOOR!
GIANT CIRCUMSTANCE
THE HUNGRY SEA
WE THANK THEE, LORD
THE VAIL
NO EAST OR WEST
THE DAY--THE WAY
LIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY
FREEMEN
THE LONG ROAD
THE CHRIST
THE BALLAD OF LOST SOULS
PROFIT AND LOSS
FREE MEN OF GOD
TREASURE-TROVE
THE GATE
BRING US THE LIGHT
ALL'S WELL!
HIS MERCY ENDURETH FOR EVER
GOD IS GOOD
SOME--AND SOME
THE PRINCE OF LIFE
JUDGMENT DAY
DARKNESS AND LIGHT
INDIA
LIVINGSTONE
LIVINGSTONE THE BUILDER
LIVINGSTONE'S SOLILOQUY
KAPIOLANI
THEY COME!
PROCESSIONALS
FAITH
"I WILL!"
A LITTLE TE DEUM OF THE COMMONPLACE
POLICEMAN X
YOUR PLACE
IN NARROW WAYS
SHUT WINDOWS
PROPS
BED-ROCK
AFTER WORK
KAPIOLANI IN RAROTONGAN
AUTHOR'S APOLOGY
In these rushful days an apology is advisable, if not absolutely
essential, from any man, save the one or two elect, who has the temerity
to publish a volume of verse.
These stray lines, such as they are, have come to me from time to time,
I hardly know how or whence; certainly not of deliberate intention or of
malice aforethought. More often than not they have come to the
interruption of other, as it seemed to me, more important--and
undoubtedly more profitable--work.
They are for the most part, simply attempts at concrete and
rememberable expression of ideas--ages old most of them--which "asked
for more."
Most writers, I imagine, find themselves at times in that same
predicament--worried by some thought which dances within them and
stubbornly refuses to be satisfied with the sober dress of prose. For
their own satisfaction and relief, in such a case, if they be not fools
they endeavour to garb it more to its liking, and so find peace. Or, to
vary the metaphor, they pluck the Bee out of their Bonnet and pop it
into such amber as they happen to have about them or are able to
evolve, and so put an end to its buzzing.
In their previous states these little Bonnet-Bees of mine have
apparently given pleasure to quite a number of intelligent and
thoughtful folk; and now--chiefly, I am bound to say, for my own
satisfaction in seeing them all together--I have gathered
them into one bunch.
If they please you--good! If not, there is no harm done, and one man is
content.
JOHN OXENHAM
CREDO
Not what, but WHOM, I do believe,
That, in my darkest hour of need,
Hath comfort that no mortal creed
To mortal man may give;--
Not what, but WHOM!
For Christ is more than all the creeds,
And His full life of gentle deeds
Shall all the creeds outlive.
Not what I do believe, but WHOM!
WHO walks beside me in the gloom?
WHO shares the burden wearisome?
WHO all the dim way doth illume,
And bids me look beyond the tomb
The larger life to live?--
Not what I do believe,
BUT WHOM!
Not what,
But WHOM!
NEW YEAR'S DAY--AND EVERY DAY
_Each man is Captain of his Soul,
And each man his own Crew,
But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,
And He will bring us through_.
We break new seas to-day,--
Our eager keels quest unaccustomed waters,
And, from the vast uncharted waste in front,
The mystic circles leap
To greet our prows with mightiest possibilities;
Bringing us--what?
--Dread shoals and shifting banks?
--And calms and storms?
--And clouds and biting gales?
--And wreck and loss?
--And valiant fighting-times?
And, maybe, Death!--and so, the Larger Life!
_For should the Pilot deem it best
To cut the voyage short,
He sees beyond the sky-line, and
He'll bring us into Port_.
And, maybe, Life,--Life on a bounding tide,
And chance of glorious deeds;--
Of help swift-born to drowning mariners;
Of cheer to ships dismasted in the gale;
Of succours given unasked and joyfully;
Of mighty service to all needy souls.
_So--Ho for the Pilot's orders,
Whatever course He makes!
For He sees beyond the sky-line,
And He never makes mistakes_.
And, maybe, Golden Days,
Full freighted with delight!
--And wide free seas of unimagined bliss,
--And Treasure Isles, and Kingdoms to be won,
--And Undiscovered Countries, and New Kin.
_For each man captains his own Soul,
And chooses his own Crew,
But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,
And He will bring us through_.
PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN
"_See this my garden,
Large and fair_!"
--Thus, to his friend,
The Philosopher.
"'_Tis not too long_,"
His friend replied,
With truth exact,--
"_Nor yet too wide.
But well compact,
If somewhat cramped
On every side_."
Quick the reply--
"_But see how high!--
It reaches up
To God's blue sky_!"
Not by their size
Measure we men
Or things.
Wisdom, with eyes
Washed in the fire,
Seeketh the things
That are higher--
Things that have wings,
Thoughts that aspire.
FLOWERS OF THE DUST
The Mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small--
So soft and slow the great wheels go they scarcely move at all;
But the souls of men fall into them and are powdered into dust,
And in that dust grow the Passion-Flowers--Love, Hope, Trust.
Most wondrous their upspringing, in the dust of the Grinding-Mills,
And rare beyond the telling the fragrance each distils.
Some grow up tall and stately, and some grow sweet and small,
But Life out of Death is in each one--with purpose grow they all.
For that dust is God's own garden, and the Lord Christ tends it fair,
With oh, such loving tenderness! and oh, such patient care!
In sorrow the seeds are planted, they are watered with bitter tears,
But their roots strike down to the Water-Springs and the Sources of the
Years.
These flowers of Christ's own providence, they wither not nor die,
But flourish fair, and fairer still, through all eternity.
In the Dust of the Mills and in travail the amaranth seeds are sown,
But the Flowers in their full beauty climb the Pillars of the Throne.
NOTE.--The first line only is adapted from the Sinngedichte of
Friedrich von Logau.
THE PILGRIM WAY
But once I pass this way,
And then--no more.
But once--and then, the Silent Door
Swings on its hinges,--
Opens... closes,--
And no more
I pass this way.
So while I may,
With all my might,
I will essay
Sweet comfort and delight,
To all I meet upon the Pilgrim Way.
For no man travels twice
The Great Highway,
That climbs through Darkness up to Light,--
Through Night
To Day.
EVERYMAID
King's Daughter!
Wouldst thou be all fair,
Without--within--
Peerless and beautiful,
A very Queen?
Know then:--
Not as men build unto the Silent One,--
With clang and clamour,
Traffic of rude voices,
Clink of steel on stone,
And din of hammer;--
Not so the temple of thy grace is reared.
But,--in the inmost shrine
Must thou begin,
And build with care
A Holy Place,
A place unseen,
Each stone a prayer.
Then, having built,
Thy shrine sweep bare
Of self and sin,
And all that might demean;
And, with endeavour,
Watching ever, praying ever,
Keep it fragrant-sweet, and clean:
So, by God's grace, it be fit place,--
His Christ shall enter and shall dwell therein.
Not as in earthly fane--where | 1,342.76544 |
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CORSE DE LEON:
Or,
The Brigand.
A Romance.
by
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
Author of "The Robber," "The Gentleman of the Old School," etc.
In Two Volumes.
VOL. I.
New-York: Published by Harper & Brothers, No. 82 Cliff-Street.
1841.
CORSE DE LEON;
OR,
THE BRIGAND.
CHAPTER I.
There are a thousand small and apparently accidental circumstances,
which, in our course through life, bring a temporary gloom upon us,
render our expectations from the future fearful and cheerless, and
diminish our confidence in all those things whereon man either rashly
relies or builds his reasonable trusts. Strength, youth, wealth, power,
the consciousness of rectitude, the providence of God: all these will
occasionally lose their sustaining influence, even upon the most hopeful
mind, from causes too slight to justify such an effect.
These accidental circumstances, | 1,343.246439 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
EDWARD THE SECOND,
the sonne of Edward the first.
[Sidenote: 1307.]
[S | 1,343.376409 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
TRAVELS
IN
KAMTSCHATKA,
DURING THE YEARS 1787 AND 1788.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF
M. DE LESSEPS, CONSUL OF FRANCE,
AND
INTERPRETER TO THE COUNT DE LA PEROUSE, NOW
ENGAGED IN A VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD, BY
COMMAND OF HIS MOST CHRISTIAN MAJESTY.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOLUME II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. JOHNSON, ST. PAUL’S CHURCH-YARD.
1790.
CONTENTS TO VOL. II.
Page
Departure from Poustaretsk 1
Find some concealed provisions 4
Painful travelling 5
Am guilty of an imprudence that injures my health 6
Cured by exercise 9
Meet three convoys sent to M. Kasloff 10
River Penguina 12
Arrival at Kaminoi _ib_
Koriacs falsely accused of rebellion 13
Description of Kaminoi 16
Baidars, or large boats 17
M. Schmaleff is obliged to quit me 18
Gives me a soldier named Yegor-Golikoff _ib_
Tempest 20
Arrival of seven Tchouktchis 21
Conversation with their chief 22
Account of two women who accosted me 31
Arrival at the camp of the Tchouktchis 36
Description of the camp 39
Dress of the women 42
Features 43
Commerce of the Tchouktchis 44
Arrival at Pareiné 46
History of a woman of Ingiga 47
Alarmed by a Koriac chief, who wishes to detain me 49
Departure from Pareiné 59
Meet a horde of wandering Koriacs 63
Contest with my people respecting the weather 65
Surprise them by the use I made of my compass 67
Terrible hurricane 70
Arrival at Ingiga 74
Account of a Koriac prince called Oumiavin 79
Extent of the country 83
Population _ib_
Manners of the fixed Koriacs 84
Their inflexible courage 85
Mode of life 87
Occupations 88
Food 89
Drink 90
Features 92
Cradle in which the women carry their children 93
Marriages _ib_
Funerals 96
Religion 100
Idiom 105
Preparations for my departure from Ingiga 106
Superstition of my soldiers 113
Departure from Ingiga 115
Description of a Koriac sledge 117
Mode of travelling with deer 122
In danger of my life, from being my own charioteer 124
Receive a visit and present from prince Amoulamoula 130
Arrival at the yourt of Oumiavin’s brother 132
Details respecting my host 134
Flocks of rein deer 143
Yourts of the wandering Koriacs 147
Hot springs of Tavatoma 151
Mountain of Villegui 154
Ostrog of Toumané 157
Tempest 160
Take shelter in a deserted yourt 161
Plan of my journey 168
Bay of Iret 170
Arrival at Yamsk 172
Dress of the wandering Toungouses 174
Mountain called Babouschka, or grandmother 177
Ostrog of Srednoi 180
Of Siglann 181
Ola, a Toungouse ostrog 183
Toungouse yourts _ib_
Coquetry of the women 185
Features and character of the Toungouses 186
Perplexities to which we are reduced by the ice being
broken up 188
Obliged to pass over a cornice of ice that adhered to a
rock 190
Stop at the house of a Yakout 197
Fort of Taousk 200
Village of Gorbé _ib_
Of Iné 202
Arrival at Okotsk 204
Visit Mrs. Kasloff 208
Impossibility of procuring deer 210
Description of Okotsk 211
Departure from Okotsk 214
Dangerous situation on a river 215
Remonstrance of one of my guides 217
Obliged to return to Okotsk 219
News of the arrival of M. Kasloff at Ingiga 225
Historical details respecting the commerce of Okotsk 227
Its government 242
Expedition of M. Billings 246
Breaking up of the river Okhota 249
Famine occasioned by the length of winter 252
Preparations for my departure 254
Description of my wretched steeds 257
Salt work twelve wersts from Okotsk 259
Particulars of my journey 260
Manner of our halt 265
Food of the Yakouts 269
Meet a caravan of merchants 270
In danger of being drowned 272
Arrival at Ouratskoï-plodbisché 277
Custom observed by the Yakouts when they leave a horse in
the high way 279
Accident that happens to Golikoff 280
Arrival at the cross of Yudoma 281
Difficulties we experience from the wretched condition of
the boats 282
A cataract 286
Arm of the Yudoma, called the Devil’s arm 292
Enter the river Maya 294
Meet nine boats loaded with military stores for M.
Billings’ expedition 295
A fortunate supply of horses 296
Yakout songs 298
Particulars of my journey as far as Amgui 299
My reception at Amgui 301
Description of a Yakout yourt 302
A drink called koumouiss 303
Customs and manners of the Yakouts 304
Fables 308
Funerals 310
Wooden images of a malicious divinity 314
Summer habitations of the Yakouts 315
Arrival at Yarmangui 316
Width of the Lena at Yakoutsk 317
Arrival at Yakoutsk 318
Sup with M. Billings 319
Description of Yakoutsk 321
Inhabitants 322
Navigation on the Lena 323
Persons employed in this service from stage to stage 324
Town of Oleckma 328
Meet a Toungouse _ib_
Toungouse canoes 329
Visit a horde of these people 330
Particulars respecting them 331
Town of Pelodui 334
Of Kiringui 336
Particulars of the Bratskis 338
Arrival at Irkoutsk 339
Commerce carried on between Russia and China 345
Desert of Barabniskoi-step 362
Adventure in this desert 364
Arrival at Tomsk 366
At Tobolsk 369
At Catherinebourg 370
Head dress of the Tcheremisses 371
Town of Casan 372
An accident that endangers my life 373
Nijenei-novogorod 377
Arrival at Moscow _ib_
At Petersburg 379
At Versailles 381
Vocabulary of the Kamtschadale, Koriac, Tchouktchi, and
Lamout languages 383
Vocabulary of the Kamtschadale language at St. Peter and
St. Pauls, and at Paratounka 404
TRAVELS IN KAMTSCHATKA, &c.
At length the 18 arrived, and I took leave of M. Kasloff. I shall
pass over our adieux; it will be supposed that they were equally
affectionate and distressing. I departed from Poustaretsk at eight
o’clock in the morning, in an open sledge drawn by seven dogs, which I
drove myself; the soldier appointed to escort me had eight harnessed
to his; and we were preceded by a guide chosen from the inhabitants of
this hamlet[1], whose sledge, loaded with the remainder of my effects,
and our provisions, was drawn by a team of twelve. I was accompanied
also by M. Schmaleff and the subaltern officers of his suite; but
instead of travelling together, as had been agreed, as far as Ingiga,
we separated a few days after.
Upon leaving Poustaretsk, we descended the gulf. We proceeded at first
with tolerable ease; the ice was solid and even, and in a few hours
we arrived at the mouth: there our progress was attended with more
difficulty. Obliged to travel upon the sea without leaving the coast,
we were every moment interrupted with piles of ice, that appeared like
so many rocks, against which we were to be dashed to pieces. It was
impossible to avoid them by turning and winding; an unequal chain of
these little mountains extended all along the coast, and intercepted
our passage; we had no resource but to attempt to surmount them, at the
risk of being overturned every step. More than once, in these falls, I
had a narrow escape from being dangerously wounded. My musquet, which
was fastened to my sledge, was bent to the shape of a bow; many of my
companions were severely bruised, and not an individual came off unhurt.
In the dusk of the evening we arrived at a hamlet situated upon the
border of the sea, consisting of two yourts and three balagans, in a
very wretched condition, and totally deserted. The only person who
lived in the yourt which we entered, had fled upon our approach[2]. I
was informed that this man was a chaman or magician: seized with terror
at the news that we were to arrive the next day, he flew immediately
for refuge to the Oluterians[3], where he would probably remain till M.
Kasloff had passed.
The Cossac who gave me this information, had been sent forward the
evening previous to our departure from Poustaretsk, by M. Schmaleff,
with orders to stop at this hamlet till we should arrive, and endeavour
in the mean time to discover some concealed store of fish. This
precaution was very serviceable to us. The Cossac, upon our arrival,
conducted us to a cave which we found to be well stocked. I took a
tolerable portion, having brought from Poustaretsk only provision
enough for two days.
The 19, early in the morning we pursued our route. This day’s journey
was still more fatiguing than the preceding one. The way was terrible.
Twenty times I saw my sledge ready to be shattered to pieces, which
would certainly have been the case, if I had not at last determined
to proceed on foot. I was compelled to this, in order to guard myself
against the danger of being overturned, and thus was I obliged to walk
almost the whole day; but I only avoided one misfortune to fall into
another.
In a few hours I felt myself so fatigued that I was going to remount
my sledge, when a sudden jolt instantly turned it upon its side, and
effectually cooled my desire. I had no resource but to drag myself
on as well as I could. My legs bent under me, I was in a profuse
perspiration, and a burning thirst still added to my weariness. The
snow was a poor relief, and I had nothing else with which to quench my
thirst. Unfortunately I perceived a little river; absolute necessity
conduced my steps to it, and, without reflecting upon the consequences
of my imprudence, I instantly broke the ice, and put a piece into my
mouth. This precipitation was purely mechanical, and I soon repented
it. My thirst was relieved; but from the excessive heat of which I
before complained, I passed to the contrary extreme; a universal chill
seized me, and all my limbs trembled.
The sharpness of the night increased my agueish feeling, and my
weakness at last was so extreme, that I was unable to proceed a step
farther. I entreated my companions to halt in the midst of this desert.
They complied out of pure civility to me, for the difficulty of
procuring wood was otherwise a sufficient reason to determine them to
proceed. Scarcely could they collect enough to place under a kettle;
it consisted of a few little shrubs, so green that it was almost
impossible to make them burn. How happy were we to succeed so far as to
be able to make tea!
After drinking a few cups, I retired to my tent[4], where I lay
down upon a small mattrass spread upon the snow, and covered myself
up with a number of furs, in order to revive perspiration. It was in
vain; I did not close my eyes during the whole night. To the anguish
of a dry and burning fever, were added a continual oppression, and
all the restlessness peculiar to the first symptoms of a disorder. I
conceived myself, I acknowledge, to be dangerously ill, particularly
when I found, upon getting up, that I could not articulate a single
sound. I suffered infinitely both in my breast and throat; the fever
was not abated; nevertheless the idea that a longer halt in this place
would be of no benefit to me, and that I could only hope for succour
by proceeding, determined me to conceal my extreme illness from M.
Schmaleff. I was the first to propose going on, but in this I consulted
my courage more than my strength.
I had advanced but a few wersts, when my sufferings became
insupportable. I was obliged to drive myself, and consequently to be in
continual motion; frequently also I was compelled from the badness of
roads, either to run by the side of my sledge, or call to the dogs to
make them proceed. My hoarseness prevented their hearing me; and it was
only by efforts that exhausted my strength, and tortured my lungs, that
I at last succeeded. This exercise however, painful as it was, proved
salutary to me; by degrees it created a perspiration; in the evening I
could breathe more freely; the fever left me; I had no complaint but
a violent cold, which was removed in a few days. Fatiguing exercise
was the only remedy I used. I took particular care to continue the
perspiration it occasioned, and to this I am persuaded I owe the
rapidity of my cure. My breast however was so sore, that I felt the
effects of it for a considerable time.
During this interval I had nothing to suffer from the rigour of
tempests; the air was calm, and the weather clear. We were blessed with
the finest days of winter, or I should perhaps never again have seen my
native country. Heaven seemed to favour my journey, that I might forget
my sufferings.
The most lively joy soon succeeded to the sorrow that had depressed
me. We met, in different detachments, three convoys sent by sergeant
Kabechoff to M. Kasloff. This unexpected succour gave me the more
pleasure, as the deplorable state in which I had left the governor,
was continually recurring to my mind. What a sudden change in his
situation! He was upon the point of receiving a supply of provisions,
together with an hundred and fifty dogs well fed and well trained. He
will be able, said I to myself, to proceed immediately on his journey;
and if I cannot flatter myself that I shall see him again, I know at
least that he will be extricated from his embarassment. This certainty
relieved the anxiety which I had felt on his account.
The soldier who conducted the convoys, offered me part of his
provisions; but I refused them. He had no profusion, and we were not in
want. I detained him therefore as short a time as possible.
Before he quitted us, he told me that prince Eitel, or chief of the
Koriacs of Kaminoi, who had been accused of rebellion, was advancing to
undeceive the governor, and prove the falsehood of the charge.
In pursuing our route, we perceived, beyond a small river bordered
with some shrubs, a chain of steep mountains, which it was necessary
to climb one after the other, in order to descend upon another river,
called Talofka. Its banks diverged as it approached the sea; they
were well wooded, and I perceived some trees of a tolerable size. We
left this river at a distance from Kaminoi, in order to traverse an
extensive heath, then a considerable lake; at length we crossed the
river Pengina, almost at its mouth, and in a direction from south-east
to north-west. Its breadth is striking, and the aspect of the heaps of
ice that covered it, and which were of an extreme height, would have
been still more picturesque, if we could have taken a more convenient
way; but we had no choice, and were reduced to the necessity of
hoisting, as I may say, our dogs and our sledges from heap to heap.
The difficulty and slowness of this manœuvre is easily conceived; it
required my utmost exertion and care to get off unhurt.
It was still near two hours before we reached Kaminoi, where we
arrived the 24 before noon. We were received by the inhabitants with
the utmost civility. In the absence of Eitel, another prince called
_Eila_, had the command. He came to meet us with a Russian detachment,
and we were conducted to the yourt of Eitel, which had been cleaned and
prepared a long time for the reception of M. Kasloff.
Eila conferred upon us every mark of respect; we had constantly a
centinel at our door, whose orders were to open it to such persons only
as we had no reason to distrust.
This was not owing to any doubts we entertained respecting the report
that had been spread of the rebellion of the Koriacs; it was evidently
false[5]. Their behaviour to us, and the reception they had prepared
for the governor, plainly proved what was their disposition at present.
Nor is it to be presumed that this was the effect of the arrival of
the soldiers sent from Ingiga[6]. Their wretched condition was little
calculated to awe men like the Koriacs, who are too little attached
to life, I understand, to be ever intimidated; and whom nothing can
restrain, if they have the least ground for discontent.
The sight however of the cannon, and of the Cossacs in arms, who had
entered the village without announcing any hostile intention, gave
them at first some alarm. Immediately advancing towards the subaltern
officer who commanded the troop, they called upon him to declare,
whether he was come to strike a blow at their liberty, and extirpate
them; adding, that if such were the project of the Russians, the
Koriacs would all die to a man, rather than submit. The officer removed
their fears, by artfully answering, that the occasion of his embassy
ought not to alarm them; that he was sent to meet M. Kasloff, which was
an honour due to his rank, and prescribed by the military regulations
of Russia towards their governors. This explanation was sufficient to
remove their suspicions; and the Koriacs and Russians lived together
upon terms of the best understanding. The confidence of the Koriacs was
so great, that they took no precautions against a surprise, and would
have paid no attention to the continued abode of these soldiers among
them, but for a famine, which began to render such guests burthensome.
I had intended to stay no longer at Kaminoi than was necessary to
rest my dogs; but on the night of the 24, the sky became obscured, and
frequent gusts of wind threatened an approaching tempest; the fear of
encountering it in the open field, made me defer my departure.
This ostrog is three hundred wersts from Poustaretsk, and is situated
upon an eminence near the sea coast, and at the mouth of the river
Pengina. It contains a great number of balagans and twelve yourts,
all of them very large, and built in a similar manner to those I have
already described. Though very near to one another, these habitations
occupy a considerable space of ground. The palisades which surround
them are fortified with spears, bows and arrows, and musquets. They are
thicker and higher than those placed round the Kamtschadale yourts.
Within these wretched fortifications the Koriacs consider themselves
as impregnable. Here they repel the attacks of their enemies, and
among others, the Tchoukchis, who are the most formidable of their
neighbours, both in point of number and courage[7].
The population at Kaminoi scarcely exceeds three hundred persons,
including men, women, and children. I shall say nothing of the manners
of the inhabitants till my arrival at Ingiga, which will I hope be in a
few days.
Before I left the village, I saw a dozen baidars, or boats, of
different sizes, similar to the one I mentioned upon coming out of
Khaluli[8], except that they were better constructed, and from their
superior lightness, had the advantage in sailing. I admired also their
remarkable breadth. Many of these baidars would hold from twenty-five
to thirty persons.
From the moment of our arrival, M. Schmaleff had foreseen that he
should not be able to accompany me from this village. Beset evening
and morning by the whole detachment of soldiers, who came to acquaint
him with the urgency of their wants, he considered it as his duty not
to abandon them, but to employ all the means which his office and
his perfect knowledge of the country afforded him for procuring them
assistance. He was equally impatient with myself to get to Ingiga,
where his brother had long expected him: but he resolved nevertheless
to let me depart without him.
He informed me of this circumstance with regret, and gave me at the
same time a confidential soldier, named _Yegor-Golikoff_[9]. He made
me, he said, in this man a valuable present; and we shall find in the
sequel that he was not deceived.
This kindness increased the reluctance I felt at being obliged so soon
to leave this good and gallant officer. My gratitude would lead me to
repeat in this place, what the English have written of his humanity
and politeness; but I leave to count de la Perouse the pleasure of
acquitting the debt which every individual in the expedition owes to M.
Schmaleff, for his assiduity in rendering it, while at Saint Peter and
Saint Paul’s, all the services that were in his power.
I came out of Kaminoi at eight o’clock in the morning of the 26, the
weather being tolerably calm[10]. At the distance of fifteen wersts, I
again met with the chain of mountains which I had before passed on this
side of the village. I traversed them a second time, and then crossed
a river called _Chestokova_, from a subaltern officer of that name,
who had been killed there at the head of a detachment sent to keep
the revolted Koriacs in awe. Under advantage of the night the Koriacs
had taken them by surprise upon the border of this river, and had not
suffered an individual to escape: all the Russians were massacred. I
halted in the same place.
I was roused from my sleep by the gusts of wind that blew with extreme
violence. The clouds of snow obscured the air to a degree, that it
was not easy to distinguish if it were day. In spite of this dreadful
hurricane I resolved to proceed; but I could not prevail on my guides
to make even the attempt. They persisted in not quitting the place,
from the apprehension of losing their way, and encountering other
dangers in such bad weather.
Opposed on all sides, I retired to my tent in no very pleasant humour.
At noon I was agreeably consoled by the arrival of seven Tchoukchis.
They were in sledges, similar to those of the wandering Koriacs, and
drawn in like manner by rein deer. I received them under my tent, and
invited them to remain till the storm was dissipated. Nothing could
have flattered them more, as I judged from the air of satisfaction
which my offer imparted to the countenance of every individual.
Among these Tchoukchis was the chief of the horde, called _Tummé_. He
addressed himself to me in order to express the gratitude they felt
for the reception I gave them. He assured me that ever since they had
heard of me, they had desired nothing so ardently as my acquaintance,
and had been greatly alarmed lest they should lose the opportunity. He
added, that they would never forget either my person or my kindnesses,
and that they would give an exact account of every thing to their
countrymen. I answered with a profusion of thanks, informing them that
I had been already made acquainted with their obliging curiosity, and
that I had not been less desirous of the present interview.
After this preface, we talked upon general subjects, particularly upon
their country and mine. My curiosity was equal to theirs, and the time
passed in perpetual questions. As I told them that, in returning to
France, I must pass through the town that was the residence of their
sovereign, they begged me to give her a faithful account of them, and
to lay at her feet the tribute of their respect and submission. They
added, that they were by so much the more happy in being tributaries
of Russia, as they every day found the Russians more easy of access,
and more affectionate in their behaviour. They spoke with particular
commendation of M. Gaguen, governor of Ingiga.
The kindness they had experienced, made them regret the want of
opportunity to maintain a more frequent intercourse with the Russians.
The only mode, they said, of surmounting these difficulties, would be
for the subjects of the Czarina to form afresh their establishment
upon the river Anadir. They promised for the future that, far from
giving any interruption to the settlers, they would exert themselves
by every office of friendship to make them forget the injustice of
their past conduct. That conduct had originated in an error, under
which they laboured as well as the Koriacs, in having formerly figured
to themselves the Russians as consisting only of that small number of
individuals, who came in this adventurous manner to plant themselves
in their territory and neighbourhood. By a natural sentiment of
jealousy, they had regarded these emigrants as so many adversaries,
whose industry and activity were the objects of their suspicion; and
they conceived that nothing could be of more importance to them than to
rid themselves of the intruders, persuaded that in exterminating the
settlers they should destroy the race.
The Tchoukchis professed to have discovered their mistake, and their
folly as soon as they had been properly acquainted with the Russians.
It was in vain that they were now persuaded to revolt, they being
on the contrary disposed to counteract the seditious intrigues of a
prince, or chief of the Tchoukchis, whose residence was fixed, by name
_Kherourgui_, either by curtailing his authority, or even by delivering
him up to the Russians.
Not being able to conceive in what part of the world I was born,
they asked me if my country were not on the other side of the great
river. Before I answered them, I desired to know the meaning of their
question; and I found they imagined that beyond Russia, with which
country itself they had little acquaintance, there was a very large
river that divided them from another country inhabited by different
people.
It was not easy to instruct them upon this subject. I talked a long
while without their understanding a single word of my geographical
dissertation. They had no accurate idea either of number or extension.
It was not less difficult to give them a notion of the strength of
a state, or the riches and power of its sovereign. They had never
attempted an estimation even of that of Russia. That I might enable
them to judge of it, I was obliged to illustrate the abundance of its
commodities, its money, and its population, by comparisons drawn from
the number of animals they hunted, and the quantity of fish they caught
every year, without destroying the breed. This explanation, which I
exerted all my ability to make level to their capacities, extremely
pleased them. I adopted the same method to give them a notion of the
way measure extension. I began with the ground that my tent covered,
and the taking a sheet of paper, drew a sort of geographical chart, in
which I marked pretty nearly the situation and distances of Russia and
France, with respect to their country.
It was not without some labour that I made myself understood. But
for this I was indemnified by the eagerness and attention with which
they listened to me. In general I was astonished at the solidity of
their understanding, and the thirst they felt for the acquisition of
knowledge. Superior in these respects to the Koriacs, they appear both
to respect more upon what they say themselves, and what they hear
and behold. These two people have nearly the same idiom; the only
difference is, that I found in the Tchoukchis a habit of prolonging the
final syllables of words, and a pronunciation slower and sweeter than
that of the Koriacs. With the assistance of my guide, who served me for
an interpreter, I kept up the conversation tolerably well.
The attention with which I examined their dress, inspired them with a
desire of seeing the French habit[11], and I ordered my uniform to be
taken out of my portmanteau. At sight of it they expressed admiration
in every part of their attitude. Every one was eager to touch it,
every one exclaimed upon its singularity and its beauty. My buttons,
marked with the arms of France, were particularly inspected, and it was
necessary anew to exert my ingenuity to describe to them intelligibly,
what this figure represented, and what was its use. But they did not
allow me to finish. They eagerly reached out their hands, and intreated
me to divide them among them. I consented, upon the promise they gave
me to preserve them with extreme care. Their object in keeping them,
was to employ them as a mark of affection, which they might shew to all
the strangers that touched upon their coast, in hopes that among the
rest there might possibly arrive a Frenchman.
Their countrymen had seen the English some years before. “Why, said
they, do not the French also visit us? They might depend upon being
received by us with cheerfulness and cordiality.” I thanked them for
their obliging disposition, and represented to them that the distance
was an insuperable obstacle, and would not permit us to put their
kindness often to the proof. Meanwhile I promised to give a faithful
representation of it upon my arrival in France.
After regaling them in the best manner I could with tobacco, having
nothing that could afford them greater pleasure, we parted upon the
best terms of friendship. Upon leaving me, they said, that I should
probably soon met their equipages and their wives, whom they had left
behind in order to make the greater haste.
The wind became calm shortly after the departure of these Tchoukchis,
and I pursued my journey.
The next day, at the very moment when I was about to stop, upon seeing
a convenient place by the side of a wood, I perceived farther on before
me a numerous troop of rein deer browsing at liberty upon the top of a
mountain. Upon examining them more attentively, I distinguished some
men who appeared to be guarding them. I hesitated at first whether I
should avoid, or join them; but curiosity at length prevailed, and I
advanced to reconnoitre them.
By proceeding along the skirts of the wood I was told I should come up
with them. I conceived however that at the extremity I should be still
separated from them by a river, a small arm of which I had crossed a
quarter of an hour before: at this place it was tolerably wide. While I
was examining these people from one bank to the other, I was approached
by two women who were walking about. The eldest accosted me | 1,343.445547 |
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet
Archive/American Libraries.)
SKETCH
OF THE
FIRST KENTUCKY BRIGADE
BY ITS
ADJUTANT GENERAL, G. B. HODGE.
FRANKFORT, KY.
PRINTED AT THE KENTUCKY YEOMAN OFFICE.
MAJOR & JOHNSTON.
1874.
TO
GENERAL JOHN C. BRECKINRIDGE,
ITS NOBLE COMMANDER,
TO THE
GALLANT SURVIVORS,
AND TO THE
MEMORY OF THE IMMORTAL DEAD
OF THE BRIGADE,
THIS SKETCH
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
SKETCH OF THE 1ST KENTUCKY BRIGADE.
In the general history which will go down to posterity of such immense
bodies of men as were gathered under the banners of the Confederate
States of America, it is not likely that more than a brief and cursory
reference can or will be made to the services of so small a force as
composed the First Kentucky Brigade. Yet the anomalous position which
it occupied, in regard to the revolution, in having revolted against
both State and Federal authority, exiling itself from home, from
fortune, from kindred, and from friends--abandoning everything which
makes life desirable, save honor--gave it an individuality which
cannot fail to attract the attention of the calm student, who, in
coming years, traces the progress of the mighty social convulsion in
which it acted no ignoble part. The State, too, from which it came,
whatever may be its destiny or its ultimate fate, will remember, with
melancholy and mournful interest, not, perhaps, unmingled with
remorse, the career of that gallant band of men, who, of all the
thousands in its borders inheriting the proud name and lofty fame of
Kentuckians, stood forth fearlessly by deeds to express the sentiments
of an undoubted majority of her people--disapprobation of wrong and
tyranny. Children now in their cradles, youths as yet unborn, will
inquire, with an earnest eagerness which volumes of recital cannot
satisfy, how their countrymen demeaned themselves in the fierce ordeal
which they had elected as the test of their patriotism; how they bore
themselves on the march and in the bivouac; how in the trials of the
long and sad retreat; how amid the wild carnage of the stricken field.
Fair daughters of the State will oftentimes, even amid the rigid
censorship which forbids utterance of words, love to come in thought
and linger about the lonely graves where the men of the Kentucky
Brigade sleep, wrapped in no winding-sheets save their battle-clothes,
beneath no monuments save the trees of the forest, torn and mutilated
by the iron storm, in which the slumberers met death. It has seemed to
me not improper, therefore, that the story should be told by one
possessing peculiar facilities for acquiring knowledge of the
movements of detached portions of the force, and who, in the capacity
of a staff officer, under the directions of its General, issued every
order and participated in every movement of the brigade, who had not
only the opportunity but the desire to do justice to all who composed
it, from him who bore worthily the truncheon of the General, to those
who not less worthily in their places bore their muskets as privates.
A deep interest will always be felt in the history of the effort which
was made, by men strong in their faith in the correctness of
republican forms of government, notwithstanding the tyranny which the
great experiment in the United States had culminated in, to
reconstruct from the shattered fragments of free institutions upon
which the armies of the Federal power were trampling, a social and
political fabric, under the shelter of which they and their posterity
might enjoy the rights of freemen. When the first seven Southern
States seceded, and President Lincoln took the initial steps to coerce
them, the Legislature of Kentucky, by an almost unanimous vote of the
House of Representatives, declared that any attempt to do so by
marching troops over her soil would be resisted to the last extremity.
The Governor had refused to respond to the call of the Executive for
troops for this purpose. The Legislature approved his course. But here
unanimity ceased; effort after effort was made in the Legislature to
provide for the call of a sovereignty convention. The majority
steadily resisted it. As a compromise, the neutrality of the State was
assumed, acquiesced in by the sympathizers with the North because they
intended to violate it when the occasion was ripe; acquiesced in by
the Southern men because, while their impulses all prompted them to
make common cause with their Southern brethren, they believed that the
neutrality of the State, in presenting an effective barrier of seven
hundred miles of frontier between the South and invasion, offered her
more efficient assistance than the most active co-operation could have
done. The Legislature adjourned; the canvass commenced for a new
General Assembly; delegates were elected, pledged to strict
neutrality; the Northern sympathizers had been vigorous, active, and
energetic | 1,343.445628 |
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Produced by Colin Bell, Nigel Blower 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 words_ have been enclosed in underscores.
As the oe ligature cannot be included in this format, it has been
replaced with the separate letters in "manoeuvre" and "Phoenician".
A few minor typographical errors have been silently corrected.
Some inconsistent hyphenation has been retained.
The Table of Contents refers to original page numbers.]
THE BOOK
OF
GENESIS.
BY
MARCUS DODS, D.D.,
AUTHOR OF "ISRAEL'S IRON AGE,"
"THE PARABLES OF OUR LORD,"
"THE PRAYER THAT TEACHES TO PRAY," ETC.
NEW YORK:
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
714, BROADWAY.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
THE CREATION 1
CHAPTER II.
THE FALL 15
CHAPTER III.
CAIN AND ABEL 28
CHAPTER IV.
CAIN'S LINE, AND ENOCH 42
CHAPTER V.
THE FLOOD 55
CHAPTER VI.
NOAH'S FALL 68
CHAPTER VII.
THE CALL OF ABRAHAM 81
CHAPTER VIII.
ABRAM IN EGYPT 96
CHAPTER IX.
LOT'S SEPARATION FROM ABRAM 108
CHAPTER X.
ABRAM'S RESCUE OF LOT 121
CHAPTER XI.
COVENANT WITH ABRAM 134
CHAPTER XII.
BIRTH OF ISHMAEL 147
CHAPTER XIII.
THE COVENANT SEALED 159
CHAPTER XIV.
ABRAHAM'S INTERCESSION FOR SODOM 172
CHAPTER XV.
DESTRUCTION OF THE CITIES OF THE PLAIN 186
CHAPTER XVI.
SACRIFICE OF ISAAC 198
CHAPTER XVII.
ISHMAEL AND ISAAC 212
CHAPTER XVIII.
PURCHASE OF MACHPELAH 226
CHAPTER XIX.
ISAAC'S MARRIAGE 240
CHAPTER XX.
ESAU AND JACOB 254
CHAPTER XXI.
JACOB'S FRAUD 267
CHAPTER XXII.
JACOB'S FLIGHT AND DREAM 279
CHAPTER XXIII.
JACOB AT PENIEL 293
CHAPTER XXIV.
JACOB'S RETURN 307
CHAPTER XXV.
JOSEPH'S DREAMS 321
CHAPTER XXVI.
JOSEPH IN PRISON 339
CHAPTER XXVII.
PHARAOH'S DREAMS 355
CHAPTER XXVIII.
JOSEPH'S ADMINISTRATION 369
CHAPTER XXIX.
VISITS OF JOSEPH'S BRETHREN 383
CHAPTER XXX.
THE RECONCILIATION 396
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE BLESSINGS OF THE TRIBES 415
I.
_THE CREATION._
GENESIS i. and ii.
If any one is in search of accurate information regarding the age of
this earth, or its relation to the sun, moon, and stars, or regarding
the order in which plants and animals have appeared upon it, he is
referred to recent text-books in astronomy, geology, and palaeontology.
No one for a moment dreams of referring a serious student of these
subjects to the Bible as a source of information. It is not the object
of the writers of Scripture to impart physical instruction or to enlarge
the bounds of scientific knowledge. But if any one wishes to know what
connection the world has with God, if he seeks to trace back all that
now is to the very fountain-head of life, if he desires to discover some
unifying principle, some illuminating purpose in the history of this
earth, then we confidently refer him to these and the subsequent
chapters of Scripture as his safest, and indeed his only, guide to the
information he seeks. Every writing must be judged by the object the
writer has in view. If the object of the writer of these chapters was to
convey physical information, then certainly it is imperfectly fulfilled.
But if his object was to give an intelligible account of God's relation
to the world and to man, then it must be owned that he has been
successful in the highest degree.
It is therefore unreasonable to allow our reverence for this writing to
be lessened because it does not anticipate the discoveries of physical
science; or to repudiate its authority in its own department of truth
because it does not give us information which it formed no part of the
writer's object to give. As well might we deny to Shakespeare a masterly
knowledge of human life, because his dramas are blotted by historical
anachronisms. That the compiler of this book of Genesis did not aim at
scientific accuracy in speaking of physical details is obvious, not
merely from the general scope and purpose of the Biblical writers, but
especially from this, that in these first two chapters of his book he
lays side by side two accounts of man's creation which no ingenuity can
reconcile. These two accounts, glaringly incompatible in details, but
absolutely harmonious in their leading ideas, at once warn the reader
that the writer's aim is rather to convey certain ideas regarding man's
spiritual history and his connection with God, than to describe the
process of creation. He does describe the process of creation, but he
describes it only for the sake of the ideas regarding man's relation to
God and God's relation to the world which he can thereby convey. Indeed
what we mean by scientific knowledge was not in all the thoughts of the
people for whom this book was written. The subject of creation, of the
beginning of man upon earth, was not approached from that side at all;
and if we are to understand what is here written we must burst the
trammels of our own modes of thought and read these chapters not as a
chronological, astronomical, geological, biological statement, but as a
moral or spiritual conception.
It will, however, be said, and with much appearance of justice, that
although the first object of the writer was not to convey scientific
information, yet he might have been expected to be accurate in the
information he did advance regarding the physical universe. This is an
enormous assumption to make on _a priori_ grounds, but it is an
assumption worth seriously considering because it brings into view a
real and important difficulty which every reader of Genesis must face.
It brings into view the twofold character of this account of creation.
On the one hand it is irreconcilable with the teachings of science. On
the other hand it is in striking contrast to the other cosmogonies which
have been handed down from pre-scientific ages. These are the two patent
features of this record of creation and both require to be accounted
for. Either feature alone would be easily accounted for; but the two
co-existing in the same document are more baffling. We have to account
at once for a want of perfect coincidence with the teachings of science,
and for a singular freedom from those errors which disfigure all other
primitive accounts of the creation of the world. The one feature of the
document is as patent as the other and presses equally for explanation.
Now many persons cut the knot by simply denying that both these features
exist. There is no disagreement with science, they say. I speak for many
careful enquirers when I say that this cannot serve as a solution of the
difficulty. I think it is to be freely admitted that, from whatever
cause and however justifiably, the account of creation here given is not
in strict and detailed accordance with the teaching of science. All
attempts to force its statements into such accord are futile and
mischievous. They are futile because they do not convince independent
enquirers, but only those who are unduly anxious to be convinced. And
they are mischievous because they unduly prolong the strife between
Scripture and science, putting the question on a false issue. And above
all, they are to be condemned because they do violence to Scripture,
foster a style of interpretation by which the text is forced to say
whatever the interpreter desires, and prevent us from recognising the
real nature of these sacred writings. The Bible needs no defence such as
false constructions of its language bring to its aid. They are its worst
friends who distort its words that they may yield a meaning more in
accordance with scientific truth. If, for example, the word 'day' in
these chapters, does not mean a period of twenty-four hours, the
interpretation of Scripture is hopeless. Indeed if we are to bring these
chapters into any comparison at all with science, we find at once
various discrepancies. Of a creation of sun, moon, and stars, subsequent
to the creation of this earth, science can have but one thing to say. Of
the existence of fruit trees prior to the existence of the sun, science
knows nothing. But for a candid and unsophisticated reader without a
special theory to maintain, details are needless.
Accepting this chapter then as it stands, and believing that only by
looking at the Bible as it actually is can we hope to understand God's
method of revealing Himself, we at once perceive that ignorance of some
departments of truth does not disqualify a man for knowing and imparting
truth about God. In order to be a medium of revelation a man does not
need to be in advance of his age in secular learning. Intimate
communion with God, a spirit trained to discern spiritual things, a
perfect understanding of and zeal for God's purpose, these are qualities
quite independent of a knowledge of the discoveries of science. The
enlightenment which enables men to apprehend God and spiritual truth,
has no necessary connection with scientific attainments. David's
confidence in God and his declarations of His faithfulness are none the
less valuable, because he was ignorant of a very great deal which every
school-boy now knows. Had inspired men introduced into their writings
information which anticipated the discoveries of science, their state of
mind would be inconceivable, and revelation would be a source of
confusion. God's methods are harmonious with one another, and as He has
given men natural faculties to acquire scientific knowledge and
historical information, He did not stultify this gift by imparting such
knowledge in a miraculous and unintelligible manner. There is no
evidence that inspired men were in advance of their age in the knowledge
of physical facts and laws. And plainly, had they been supernaturally
instructed in physical knowledge they would so far have been
unintelligible to those to whom they spoke. Had the writer of this book
mingled with his teaching regarding God, an explicit and exact account
of how this world came into existence--had he spoken of millions of
years instead of speaking of days--in all probability he would have been
discredited, and what he had to say about God would have been rejected
along with his premature science. But speaking from the point of view of
his contemporaries, and accepting the current ideas regarding the
formation of the world, he attached to these the views regarding God's
connection with the world which are most necessary to be believed. What
he had learned of God's unity and creative power and connection with
man, by the inspiration of the Holy Ghost, he imparts to his
contemporaries through the vehicle of an account of creation they could
all understand. It is not in his knowledge of physical facts that he is
elevated above his contemporaries, but in his knowledge of God's
connection with all physical facts. No doubt, on the other hand, his
knowledge of God reacts upon the entire contents of his mind and saves
him from presenting such accounts of creation as have been common among
polytheists. He presents an account purified by his conception of what
was worthy of the supreme God he worshipped. His idea of God has given
dignity and simplicity to all he says about creation, and there is an
elevation and majesty about the whole conception, which we recognise as
the reflex of his conception of God.
Here then instead of anything to discompose us or to excite unbelief, we
recognise one great law or principle on which God proceeds in making
Himself known to men. This has been called the Law of Accommodation. It
is the law which requires that the condition and capacity of those to
whom the revelation is made must be considered. If you wish to instruct
a child, you must speak in language the child can understand. If you
wish to elevate a savage, you must do it by degrees, accommodating
yourself to his condition, and winking at much ignorance while you
instil elementary knowledge. You must found all you teach on what is
already understood by your pupil, and through that you must convey
further knowledge and train his faculties to higher capacity. So was it
with God's revelation. The Jews were children who had to be trained
with what Paul somewhat contemptuously calls "weak and beggarly
elements," the A B C of morals and religion. Not even in morals could
the absolute truth be enforced. Accommodation had to be practised even
here. Polygamy was allowed as a concession to their immature stage of
development: and practices in war and in domestic law were permitted or
enjoined which were inconsistent with absolute morality. Indeed the
whole Jewish system was an adaptation to an immature state. The dwelling
of God in the Temple as a man in his house, the propitiating of God with
sacrifice as of an Eastern king with gifts; this was a teaching by
picture, a teaching which had as much resemblance to the truth and as
much mixture of truth as they were able then to receive. No doubt this
teaching did actually mislead them in some of their ideas; but it kept
them on the whole in a right attitude towards God, and prepared them for
growing up to a fuller discernment of the truth.
Much more was this law observed in regard to such matters as are dealt
with in these chapters. It was impossible that in their ignorance of the
rudiments of scientific knowledge, the early Hebrews should understand
an absolutely accurate account of how the world came into being; and if
they could have understood it, it would have been useless, dissevered as
it must have been from the steps of knowledge by which men have since
arrived at it. Children ask us questions in answer to which we do not
tell them the exact full truth, because we know they cannot possibly
understand it. All that we can do is to give them some provisional
answer which conveys to them some information they can understand, and
which keeps them in a right state of mind, although this information
often seems absurd enough when compared with the actual facts and truth
of the matter. And if some solemn pedant accused us of supplying the
child with false information, we would simply tell him he knew nothing
about children. Accurate information on these matters will infallibly
come to the child when he grows up; what is wanted meanwhile is to give
him information which will help to form his conduct without gravely
misleading him as to facts. Similarly, if any one tells me he cannot
accept these chapters as inspired by God, because they do not convey
scientifically accurate information regarding this earth, I can only say
that he has yet to learn the first principles of revelation, and that he
misunderstands the conditions on which all instruction must be given.
My belief then is, that in these chapters we have the ideas regarding
the origin of the world and of man which were naturally attainable in
the country where they were first composed, but with those important
modifications which a monotheistic belief necessarily suggested. So far
as merely physical knowledge went, there is probably little here that
was new to the contemporaries of the writer; but this already familiar
knowledge was used by him as the vehicle for conveying his faith in the
unity, love and wisdom of God the creator. He laid a firm foundation for
the history of God's relation to man. This was his object, and this he
accomplished. The Bible is the book to which we turn for information
regarding the history of God's revelation of Himself, and of His will
towards men; and in these chapters we have the suitable introduction to
this history. No changes in our knowledge of physical truth can at all
affect the teaching of these chapters. What they teach regarding the
relation of man to God is independent of the physical details in which
this teaching is embodied, and can as easily be attached to the most
modern statement of the physical origin of the world and of man.
What then are the truths taught us in these chapters? The first is that
there has been a creation, that things now existing have not just grown
of themselves, but have been called into being by a presiding
intelligence and an originating will. No attempt to account for the
existence of the world in any other way has been successful. A great
deal has in this generation been added to our knowledge of the
efficiency of material causes to produce what we see around us; but when
we ask what gives harmony to these material causes, and what guides them
to the production of certain ends, and what originally produced them,
the answer must still be, not matter but intelligence and purpose. The
best informed and most penetrating minds of our time affirm this. John
Stuart Mill says: "It must be allowed that in the present state of our
knowledge the adaptations in nature afford a large balance of
probability in favour of creation by intelligence." Professor Tyndall
adds his testimony and says: "I have noticed during years of
self-observation that it is not in hours of clearness and vigour that
[the doctrine of material atheism] commends itself to my mind--that in
the hours of stronger and healthier thought it ever dissolves and
disappears, as offering no solution of the mystery in which we dwell and
of which we form a part."
There is indeed a prevalent suspicion, that in presence of the
discoveries made by evolutionists the argument from design is no longer
tenable. Evolution shows us that the correspondence of the structure of
animals, with their modes of life, has been generated by the nature of
the case; and it is concluded that a blind mechanical necessity and not
an intelligent design rules all. But the discovery of the process by
which the presently existing living forms have been evolved, and the
perception that this process is governed by laws which have always been
operating, do not make intelligence and design at all less necessary,
but rather more so. As Professor Huxley himself says: "The teleological
and mechanical views of nature are not necessarily exclusive. The
teleologist can always defy the evolutionist to disprove that the
primordial molecular arrangement was not intended to evolve the
phenomena of the universe." Evolution, in short, by disclosing to us the
marvellous power and accuracy of natural law, compels us more
emphatically than ever to refer all law to a supreme, originating
intelligence.
This then is the first lesson of the Bible; that at the root and origin
of all this vast material universe, before whose laws we are crushed as
the moth, there abides a living conscious Spirit, who wills and knows
and fashions all things. The belief of this changes for us the whole
face of nature, and instead of a chill, impersonal world of forces to
which no appeal can be made, and in which matter is supreme, gives us
the home of a Father. If you are yourself but a particle of a huge and
unconscious universe--a particle which, like a flake of foam, or a drop
of rain, or a gnat, or a beetle, lasts its brief space and then yields
up its substance to be moulded into some new creature; if there is no
power that understands you and sympathizes with you and makes provision
for your instincts, your aspirations, your capabilities; if man is
himself the highest intelligence, and if all things are the purposeless
result of physical forces; if, in short, there is no God, no
consciousness at the beginning as at the end of all things, then nothing
can be more melancholy than our position. Our higher desires which seem
to separate us so immeasurably from the brutes, we have, only that they
may be cut down by the keen edge of time, and wither in barren
disappointment; our reason we have, only to enable us to see and measure
the brevity of our span, and so live our little day, not joyously as the
unforeseeing beasts, but shadowed by the hastening gloom of anticipated,
inevitable and everlasting night; our faculty for worshipping and for
striving to serve and to resemble the perfect living One, that faculty
which seems to be the thing of greatest promise and of finest quality in
us, and to which is certainly due the largest part of what is admirable
and profitable in human history, is the most mocking and foolishest of
all our parts. But, God be thanked, He has revealed himself to us; has
given us in the harmonious and progressive movement of all around us,
sufficient indication that, even in the material world, intelligence and
purpose reign; an indication which becomes immensely clearer as we pass
into the world of man; and which, in presence of the person and life of
Christ attains the brightness of a conviction which illuminates all
besides.
The other great truth which this writer teaches is, that man was the
chief work of God, for whose sake all else was brought into being. The
work of creation was not finished till he appeared: all else was
preparatory to this final product. That man is the crown and lord of
this earth is obvious. Man instinctively assumes that all else has been
made for him, and freely acts upon this assumption. But when our eyes
are lifted from this little ball on which we are set and to which we
are confined, and when we scan such other parts of the universe as are
within our ken, a keen sense of littleness oppresses us; our earth is
after all so minute and apparently inconsiderable a point when compared
with the vast suns and planets that stretch system on system into
illimitable space. When we read even the rudiments of what astronomers
have discovered regarding the inconceivable vastness of the universe,
the huge dimensions of the heavenly bodies, and the grand scale on which
everything is framed, we find rising to our lips, and with tenfold
reason, the words of David: "When I consider Thy heavens, the work of
Thy fingers; the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained; what is
man that Thou art mindful of him, or the son of man that Thou visitest
him?" Is it conceivable that on this scarcely discernible speck in the
vastness of the universe, should be played out the chiefest act in the
history of God? Is it credible that He whose care it is to uphold this
illimitable universe, should be free to think of the wants and woes of
the insignificant creatures who quickly spend their little lives in this
inconsiderable earth?
But reason seems all on the side of Genesis. God must not be considered
as sitting apart in a remote position of general superintendence, but as
present with all that is. And to Him who maintains these systems in
their respective relations and orbits, it can be no burden to relieve
the needs of individuals. To think of ourselves as too insignificant to
be attended to is to derogate from God's true majesty and to
misunderstand His relation to the world. But it is also to misapprehend
the real value of spirit as compared with matter. Man is dear to God
because he is like Him. Vast and glorious as it is, the sun cannot think
God's thoughts; can fulfil but cannot intelligently sympathize with
God's purpose. Man, alone among God's works, can enter into and approve
of God's purpose in the world and can intelligently fulfil it. Without
man the whole material universe would have been dark and unintelligible,
mechanical and apparently without any sufficient purpose. Matter,
however fearfully and wonderfully wrought, is but the platform and
material in which spirit, intelligence and will, may fulfil themselves
and find development. Man is incommensurable with the rest of the
universe. He is of a different kind and by his moral nature is more akin
to God than to His works.
Here the beginning and the end of God's revelation join hands and throw
light on one another. The nature of man was that in which God was at
last to give His crowning revelation, and for that no preparation could
seem extravagant. Fascinating and full of marvel as is the history of
the past which science discloses to us; full as these slow-moving
millions of years are in evidences of the exhaustless wealth of nature,
and mysterious as the delay appears, all that expenditure of resources
is eclipsed and all the delay justified when the whole work is crowned
by the Incarnation, for in it we see that all that slow process was the
preparation of a nature in which God could manifest Himself as a Person
to persons. This is seen to be an end worthy of all that is contained in
the physical history of the world: this gives completeness to the whole
and makes it a unity. No higher, other end need be sought, none could be
conceived. It is this which seems worthy of those tremendous and subtle
forces which have been set at work in the physical world, this which
justifies the long lapse of ages filled with wonders unobserved, and
teeming with ever new life; this above all which justifies these latter
ages in which all physical marvels have been outdone by the tragical
history of man upon earth. Remove the Incarnation and all remains dark,
purposeless, unintelligible: grant the Incarnation, believe that in
Jesus Christ the Supreme manifested Himself personally, and light is
shed upon all that has been and is.
Light is shed on the individual life. Are you living as if you were the
product of blind mechanical laws, and as if there were no object worthy
of your life and of all the force you can throw into your life? Consider
the Incarnation of the Creator, and ask yourself if sufficient object is
not given to you in His call that you be conformed to His image and
become the intelligent executor of His purposes? Is life not worth
having even on these terms? The man that can still sit down and bemoan
himself as if there were no meaning in existence, or lounge languidly
through life as if there were no zest or urgency in living, or try to
satisfy himself with fleshly comforts, has surely need to turn to the
opening page of Revelation and learn that God saw sufficient object in
the life of man, enough to compensate for millions of ages of
preparation. If it is possible that you should share in the character
and destiny of Christ, can a healthy ambition crave anything more or
higher? If the future is to be as momentous in results as the past has
certainly been filled with preparation, have you no caring to share in
these results? Believe that there is a purpose in things; that in
Christ, the revelation of God, you can see what that purpose is, and
that by wholly uniting yourself to Him and allowing yourself to be
penetrated by His Spirit you can participate with Him in the working out
of that purpose.
II.
_THE FALL._
GENESIS iii.
Profound as the teaching of this narrative is, its meaning does not lie
on the surface. Literal interpretation will reach a measure of its
significance, but plainly there is more here than appears in the letter.
When we read that the serpent was more subtile than any beast of the
field which the Lord God had made, and that he tempted the woman, we at
once perceive that it is not with the outer husk of the story we are to
concern ourselves, but with the kernel. The narrative throughout speaks
of nothing but the brute serpent; not a word is said of the devil, not
the slightest hint is given that the machinations of a fallen angel are
signified. The serpent is compared to the other beasts of the field,
showing that it is the brute serpent that is spoken of. The curse is
pronounced on the beast, not on a fallen spirit summoned for the purpose
before the Supreme; and not in terms which could apply to a fallen
spirit, but in terms that are applicable only to the serpent that
crawls. Yet every reader feels that this is not the whole mystery of the
fall of man: moral evil cannot be accounted for by referring it to a
brute source. No one, I suppose, believes that the whole tribe of
serpents crawl as a punishment of an offence committed by one of their
number, or that the whole iniquity and sorrow of the world are due to an
actual serpent. Plainly this is merely a pictorial representation
intended to convey some general impressions and ideas. Vitally important
truths underlie the narrative and are bodied forth by it; but the way to
reach these truths is not to adhere too rigidly to the literal meaning,
but to catch the general impression which it seems fitted to make.
No doubt this opens the door to a great variety of interpretation. No
two men will attach to it precisely the same meaning. One says, the
serpent is a symbol for Satan, but Adam and Eve are historical persons.
Another says, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil is a figure,
but the driving out from the garden is real. Another maintains that the
whole is a picture, putting in a visible, intelligible shape certain
vitally important truths regarding the history of our race. So that
every man is left very much to his own judgment, to read the narrative
candidly and in such light from other sources as he has, and let it make
its own impression upon him. This would be a sad result if the object of
the Bible were to bring us all to a rigid uniformity of belief in all
matters; but the object of the Bible is not that, but the far higher
object of furnishing all varieties of men with sufficient light to lead
them to God. And this being so, variety of interpretation in details is
not to be lamented. The very purpose of such representations as are here
given is to suit all stages of mental and spiritual advancement. Let the
child read it and he will learn what will live in his mind and influence
him all his life. Let the devout man who has ranged through all science
and history and philosophy come back to this narrative, and he feels
that he has here the essential truth regarding the beginnings of man's
tragical career upon earth.
We should, in my opinion, be labouring under a misapprehension if we
supposed that none even of the earliest readers of this account saw the
deeper meaning of it. When men who felt the misery of sin and lifted up
their hearts to God for deliverance, read the words addressed to the
serpent, "I will put enmity between thee and the woman, and between thy
seed and her seed; it shall bruise thy head, and thou shalt bruise his
heel"--is it reasonable to suppose that such men would take these words
in their literal sense, and satisfy themselves with the assurance that
serpents, though dangerous, would be kept under, and would find in the
words no assurance of that very thing they themselves were all their
lifetime striving after, deliverance from the evil thing which lay at
the root of all sin? No doubt some would accept the story in its literal
meaning,--shallow and careless men whose own spiritual experience never
urged them to see any spiritual significance in the words would do so;
but even those who saw least in the story, and put a very shallow
interpretation on its details, could scarcely fail to see its main
teaching.
The reader of this perennially fresh story is first of all struck with
the account given of man's primitive condition. Coming to this narrative
with our minds by the fancies of poets and philosophers, we are
almost startled by the check which the plain and sober statements of
this account give to an unpruned fancy. We have to read the words again
and again to make sure we have not omitted something which gives support
to those glowing descriptions of man's primitive condition. Certainly he
is described as innocent and at peace with God, and in this respect no
terms can exaggerate his happiness. But in other respects the language
of the Bible is surprisingly moderate. Man is represented as living on
fruit, and as going unclothed, and, so far as appears, without any
artificial shelter either from the heat of the sun or the cold of night.
None of the arts were as yet known. All working of metals had yet to be
discovered, so that his tools must have been of the rudest possible
description; and the arts, such as music, which adorn life and make
leisure enjoyable, were also still in the future.
But the most significant elements in man's primitive condition are
represented by the two trees of the garden; by trees, because with
plants alone he had to do. In the centre of the garden stood the tree of
life, the fruit of which bestowed immortality. Man was therefore
naturally mortal, though apparently with a capacity for immortality. How
this capacity would have actually carried man on to immortality had he
not sinned, it is vain to conjecture. The mystical nature of the tree of
life is fully recognised in the New Testament, by our Lord, when He
says: "To him | 1,343.647732 |
2023-11-16 18:39:27.7254840 | 969 | 9 |
Produced by J. C. Byers, Sally Gellert, Renate Preuss, and
Christine Sturrock.
The "Aldine" Edition of
The Arabian Nights Entertainments
Illustrated by S. L. Wood
FROM THE TEXT OF DR. JONATHAN SCOTT
In Four Volumes
Volume 1
Only 500 copies of the Small Paper Edition are printed
for America, of which this is No. 217
London
Pickering and Chatto
1890
The Publishers' Preface.
This, the "Aldine Edition" of "The Arabian Nights
Entertainments," forms the first four volumes of a proposed
series of reprints of the Standard works of fiction which have
appeared in the English language.
It is our intention to publish the series in an artistic way,
well illustrating a text typographically as perfect as possible.
The texts in all cases will be carefully chosen from approved
editions.
The series is intended for those who appreciate well printed and
illustrated books, or who are in want of a handy and handsome
edition of such works to place upon their bookshelves.
The exact origin of the Tales, which appear in the Arabic as "The
Thousand and One Nights," is unknown. The Caliph Haroon al
Rusheed, who, figures in so lifelike a manner in many of the
stories, was a contemporary of the Emperor Charlemagne, and there
is internal evidence that the collection was made in the Arabic
language about the end of the tenth century.
They undoubtedly convey a picturesque impression of the manners,
sentiments, and customs of Eastern Mediaeval Life.
The stories were translated from the Arabic by M. Galland and
first found their way into English in 1704, when they were
retranslated from M. Galland's French text and at once became
exceedingly popular.
This process of double translation had great disadvantages; it
induced Dr. Jonathan Scott, Oriental Professor, to publish in
1811, a new edition, revised and corrected from the Arabic.
It is upon this text that the present edition is formed.
It will be found free from that grossness which is unavoidable in
a strictly literal translation of the original into English; and
which has rendered the splendid translations of Sir R. Burton and
Mr. J. Payne quite unsuitable as the basis of a popular edition,
though at the same time stamping the works as the two most
perfect editions for the student.
The scholarly translation of Lane, by the too strict an adherence
to Oriental forms of expression, and somewhat pedantic rendering
of the spelling of proper names, is found to be tedious to a very
large number of readers attracted by the rich imagination,
romance, and humour of these tales.
Contents of Volume I.
The Ass, the Ox, and the Labourer.
THE MERCHANT AND THE GENIE.
The Story of the First Old Man and the Hind.
The Story of the Second old Man and the Two Black Dogs.
THE STORY OF THE FISHERMAN.
The Story of the Grecian King and the Physician Douban.
The Story of the Husband and the Parrot.
The Story of the Vizier that was Punished.
The History of the Young King of the Black Isles.
STORY OF THE THREE CALENDERS, SONS OF SULTANS; AND OF THE FIVE
LADIES OF BAGDAD.
The History of the First Calender.
The Story of the Second Calender.
The Story of the Envious Man, and of him that he Envied.
The History of the Third Calender.
The Story of Zobeide.
The Story of Amene.
THE STORY OF SINBAD THE VOYAGER.
The First Voyage.
The Second Voyage.
The Third Voyage.
The Fourth Voyage.
The Fifth Voyage.
The Sixth Voyage.
The Seventh and Last Voyage.
THE THREE APPLES.
The Story of the Lady who was Murdered, and of the Young Man her Husband.
The Story of Noor ad Deen Ali and Buddir ad Deen Houssun.
THE HISTORY OF GANEM, SON OF ABOU AYOUB, AND KNOWN BY THE SURNAME
OF LOVE'S SLAVE.
The Arabian Nights Entertainments.
The chronicles of the Sassanians, ancient kings of Persia, who
extended their empire into the Indies, over all the adjacent
islands, and a great way beyond the Ganges, as far as China,
acquaint us, that there was formerly a king of that potent | 1,343.745524 |
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