TIMESTAMP
stringlengths 27
27
| ContextTokens
int64 3
7.44k
| GeneratedTokens
int64 6
1.9k
| text
stringlengths 9
41.5k
| time_delta
float64 0
3.44k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|
2023-11-16 18:39:27.7255330 | 116 | 7 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
A GARDEN DIARY
A GARDEN DIARY
SEPTEMBER 1899--SEPTEMBER 1900
BY
EMILY LAWLESS
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
1901
TO THE GARDEN’S CHIEF OWNER,
AND THE GARDENER’S FRIEND
A few leaves from | 1,343.745573 |
2023-11-16 18:39:27.8258270 | 2,195 | 9 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini, Shaun Pinder and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
TOBIAS
SMOLLETT
[Illustration: PAGE DECORATIONS]
TOBIAS
SMOLLETT
BY
OLIPHANT
SMEATON
FAMOUS
SCOTS
SERIES
PUBLISHED BY:
CHARLES
SCRIBNER’S SONS
NEW YORK
FAMOUS SCOTS SERIES
_The following Volumes are now ready—_
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor HERKLESS
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
BIRTH—PARENTAGE—EARLY YEARS 9
CHAPTER II
YEARS OF EDUCATION 19
CHAPTER III
WANDERJAHRE, OR YEARS OF WANDERING 32
CHAPTER IV
THE WEARY TRAGEDY—SHIFTS TO LIVE 44
CHAPTER V
RODERICK RANDOM 57
CHAPTER VI
PEREGRINE PICKLE—FERDINAND COUNT FATHOM—DOCTOR OF PHYSIC 69
CHAPTER VII
VISIT TO SCOTLAND—THE CRITICAL REVIEW—THE REPRISAL 80
CHAPTER VIII
HISTORY OF ENGLAND—SIR LAUNCELOT GREAVES—THE NORTH
BRITON—HACK HISTORICAL WORK—THE BEGINNING OF THE END 95
CHAPTER IX
SMOLLETT A ‘SWEATER’—TRAVELS ABROAD—ADVENTURES OF AN
ATOM—HUMPHREY CLINKER—LAST DAYS 109
CHAPTER X
SMOLLETT AS A NOVELIST 122
CHAPTER XI
SMOLLETT AS HISTORIAN AND CRITIC 137
CHAPTER XII
SMOLLETT AS POET AND DRAMATIST 147
TOBIAS GEORGE SMOLLETT
CHAPTER I
BIRTH—PARENTAGE—EARLY YEARS
‘Every successful novelist must be more or less a poet, even though he
may never have written a line of verse. The quality of imagination is
absolutely indispensable to him.... Smollett was a poet of distinction!’
Such was the estimate formed by Sir Walter Scott—one of the most
incisive and sympathetic critics that ever pronounced judgment—of the
element of inspiration in every great writer of fiction. Experimentally
conscious of what was of value in his own case,—himself the great
Wizard of Fiction,—he would reason by analogy what would be of power
to inspire other men. If the poetic faculty were indispensable for the
production of _The Heart of Midlothian_ and _Ivanhoe_, equally would it
be needed in _Peregrine Pickle_ and _Humphrey Clinker_. That the poetic
stimulus is the most powerful of all, is a truth that has been remarked
times and oft. That it forms the true key to unlock the otherwise
elusive and self–centred character of Tobias George Smollett, has not,
I think, previously been noted.
To write Smollett’s life with absolute impartiality is more than
ordinarily difficult. The creator of _Roderick Random_ was one for whom
a generous charity would require to make more allowances than man is
commonly called upon to make for man. Actions and utterances that might
be and were mistaken for irritation and shortness of temper, were in
reality due to the impatience of genius, chafing under the restrictions
laid upon it by the mental torpor or intellectual sluggishness of
others. The eagle eye of his genius perceived intuitively what other
men generally attain only as the result of ratiocinative process.
Smollett has unjustly been characterised as bad–tempered, choleric,
supercilious, and the like, simply because the key was lacking to his
character. Far indeed from being any of these was he. Impatient without
doubt he was, but by no means in larger measure than Carlyle, Tennyson,
Dickens, Goethe, or Schiller, and the feeling is wrongly defined as
impatience. It is rather the desire to give less intellectually nimble
companions a fillip up in the mental race, that they may not lag so far
behind as to make intercourse a martyrdom.
Smollett’s distinguishing characteristic in the great gallery of
eighteenth–century novelists was his exhaustless fertility. In his four
great novels, _Roderick Random_, _Peregrine Pickle_, _Ferdinand Count
Fathom_, and _Humphrey Clinker_, he has employed as many incidents,
developed as many striking situations, and utilised as many happily
conceived accidents of time and place, as Richardson, Fielding, Sterne,
Henry Mackenzie, and Mrs. Radcliffe put together. His invention is
marvellously fertile, and as felicitous as fertile. He makes no attempt
to excel in what may be termed the ‘architectonic’ faculty, or the
symmetrical evolution and interweaving of plot. Incident succeeds
incident, fact follows fact, and scene, scene, in the most bewildering
profusion. There is a prodigality visible, nay, an intellectual waste,
indicative of an imaginative wealth almost unique since the days of
Homer. By some critics, following in the footsteps of Sir Walter
Scott, a curious vagary has been rendered fashionable of introducing
the method of comparative analysis into every literary judgment. In
place of declaring in plain, straightforward terms the reason why they
either admire or censure the works of a man of genius, they must now
drag in somebody else, with whom he is supposed to present points of
affinity or contrast, and they glibly descant on the attributes wherein
the author under consideration surpasses or falls short of his rival,
what elements and qualities of style the one possesses which the other
lacks, until in the end the reader is thoroughly befogged to know which
is which and who is who. The higher criticism has its place in literary
judgments as well as in theological, and the change is not for the
better.
Tobias George Smollett resembled William Shakespeare in one respect
if in no other—that a doubt exists as to the precise date of his
birth. The first mention made of the future novelist occurs in no birth
register that is known to exist, but in the parish record of baptisms
in connection with the parochial district of Cardross. Therein,
under the date 19th March 1721, we read: ‘Tobias George, son to Mr.
Archd. Smollett and Barbara Cunningham, was baptised.’ The day in
question was a Sunday, and, as Robert Chambers very properly remarks,
‘it may be inferred that the baptism took place, according to old
Scottish fashion, in the parish kirk.’ This tentative inference may
be changed into certainty when we recall the strict Presbyterianism
of his grandfather’s household, in whose eyes such an injunction as
the following, taken from _The Directory for the Public Worship of
God_, established by Act of General Assembly and Act of Parliament
in 1645, would be as sacredly binding as the laws of the Medes and
Persians:—‘Baptism, as it is not unnecessarily to be delayed, so it is
not to be administered in any case by any private person,... nor is it
to be administered in private places or privately, but in the place of
public worship and in the face of the congregation.’
So much for the baptism. Now for the date of birth. Here only
second–hand evidence is forthcoming. In one of the unpublished letters
of John Home, author of _Douglas_, which it was recently my fortune to
see, he mentions a walk which Smollett and he had taken together during
the visit of the latter to London, when trying to get his first play,
_Agis_, accepted by the theatrical managers. During the course of the
walk Smollett mentioned the fact that his birthday had been celebrated
two days before. The date of their meeting was the 18th March 1750. If
reliance can be placed on this roundabout means of arriving at a fact,
Smollett’s birth took place on the 16th March 1721.
Genealogies are wearisome. Readers who desire to trace the family of
the Smolletts back to the sixteenth century can do so with advantage
in the Lives of Moore, Herbert, and Chambers. Our purpose is with
the novelist himself, not with his ancestors to the fourth and fifth
generations. Suffice it to say that Tobias George Smollett was the
son of Archibald, fourth son of Sir James Smollett of Bonhill, a
Dumbartonshire estate situated amidst the romantic scenery of the Vale
of Leven, and in the vicinity of the queen of Scottish lakes, Loch
Lomond.
Sir James Smollett, a stern old Whig of the Revolution type, to whom
‘Prelacy was only less tolerable than Popery, and the adherents | 1,343.845867 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.0255300 | 53 | 6 |
Produced by Distributed Proofreaders
Quiet Talks about Jesus
by
S. D. Gordon
Author of "Quiet Talks on Power," and "Quiet Talks on Prayer"
Contents
A Bit Ahead
I. The Purpose of Jesus.
| 1,344.04557 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.0298170 | 243 | 23 |
Produced by Sean Pobuda
THE ROVER BOYS AT SCHOOL
Or
THE CADETS OF PUTNAM HALL
By Arthur M. Winfield
(Edward Stratemeyer)
INTRODUCTION
My Dear Boys:
"The Rover Boys at School" has been written that those of you who
have never put in a term or more at an American military academy
for boys may gain some insight into the workings of such an
institution.
While Putnam Hall is not the real name of the particular place of
learning I had in mind while penning this tale for your amusement
and instruction, there is really such a school, and dear Captain
Putnam is a living person, as are also the lively, wide-awake,
fun-loving Rover brothers, Dick, Tom, and Sam, and their
schoolfellows, Larry, Fred, and Frank. The same can be said, to a
certain degree, of the bully Dan Baxter, and his toady, the sneak,
commonly known as "Mumps."
The present story is complete in itself, but it is written as the
first of a series, to be followed by | 1,344.049857 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.1277200 | 96 | 9 |
E-text prepared by MWS and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 53010-h.htm or 53010-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53010/53010-h/53010-h.htm)
| 1,344.14776 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.4274490 | 1,908 | 58 |
Produced by Chris Whitehead, Demian Katz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images
courtesy of the Digital Library@Villanova University
(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/))
No.17 * EAGLE SERIES * NEW EDITION * 10 CENTS
LESLIE'S LOYALTY
By CHARLES GARVICE
[Illustration]
STREET & SMITH * PUBLISHERS * NEW YORK
_Copyright Fiction by the Best Authors_
NEW EAGLE SERIES
ISSUED WEEKLY
The books in this line comprise an unrivaled collection of copyrighted
novels by authors who have won fame wherever the English language is
spoken. Foremost among these is Mrs. Georgie Sheldon, whose works
are contained in this line exclusively. Every book in the New Eagle
Series is of generous length, of attractive appearance, and of
undoubted merit. No better literature can be had at any price. Beware
of imitations of the S. & S. novels, which are sold cheap because
their publishers were put to no expense in the matter of purchasing
manuscripts and making plates.
ALL TITLES ALWAYS IN PRINT
TO THE PUBLIC:--These books are sold by news dealers everywhere. If
your dealer does not keep them, and will not get them for you, send
direct to the publishers, in which case four cents must be added to
the price per copy to cover postage.
=Quo Vadis= (New Illustrated Edition) =By Henryk Sienkiewicz=
1--Queen Bess By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
2--Ruby's Reward By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
7--Two Keys By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
12--Edrie's Legacy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
44--That Dowdy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
55--Thrice Wedded By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
66--Witch Hazel By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
77--Tina By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
88--Virgie's Inheritance By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
99--Audrey's Recompense By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
111--Faithful Shirley By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
122--Grazia's Mistake By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
133--Max By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
144--Dorothy's Jewels By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
155--Nameless Dell By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
166--The Masked Bridal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
177--A True Aristocrat By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
188--Dorothy Arnold's Escape By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
199--Geoffrey's Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
210--Wild Oats By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
219--Lost, A Pearle By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
222--The Lily of Mordaunt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
233--Nora By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
244--A Hoiden's Conquest By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
255--The Little Marplot By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
266--The Welfleet Mystery By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
277--Brownie's Triumph By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
282--The Forsaken Bride By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
288--Sibyl's Influence By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
299--Little Miss Whirlwind By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
311--Wedded by Fate By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
339--His Heart's Queen By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
351--The Churchyard Betrothal By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
362--Stella Rosevelt By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
372--A Girl in a Thousand By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
373--A Thorn Among Roses By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to "A Girl in a Thousand"
382--Mona By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
391--Marguerite's Heritage By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
399--Betsey's Transformation By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
407--Esther, the Fright By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
415--Trixy By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
419--The Other Woman By Charles Garvice
433--Winifred's Sacrifice By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
440--Edna's Secret Marriage By Charles Garvice
451--Helen's Victory By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
458--When Love Meets Love By Charles Garvice
476--Earle Wayne's Nobility By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
511--The Golden Key By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
512--A Heritage of Love By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to "The Golden Key"
519--The Magic Cameo By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
520--The Heatherford Fortune By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
Sequel to "The Magic Cameo"
531--Better Than Life By Charles Garvice
537--A Life's Mistake By Charles Garvice
542--Once in a Life By Charles Garvice
548--'Twas Love's Fault By Charles Garvice
553--Queen Kate By Charles Garvice
554--Step by Step By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
555--Put to the Test By Ida Reade Allen
556--With Love's Aid By Wenona Gilman
557--In Cupid's Chains By Charles Garvice
558--A Plunge Into the Unknown By Richard Marsh
559--The Love That Was Cursed By Geraldine Fleming
560--The Thorns of Regret By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
561--The Outcast of the Family By Charles Garvice
562--A Forced Promise By Ida Reade Allen
563--The Old Homestead By Denman Thompson
564--Love's First Kiss By Emma Garrison Jones
565--Just a Girl By Charles Garvice
566--In Love's Springtime By Laura Jean Libbey
567--Trixie's Honor By Geraldine Fleming
568--Hearts and Dollars By Ida Reade Allen
569--By Devious Ways By Charles Garvice
570--Her Heart's Unbidden Guest By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
571--Two Wild Girls By Mrs. Charlotte May Kingsley
572--Amid Scarlet Roses By Emma Garrison Jones
573--Heart for Heart By Charles Garvice
574--The Fugitive Bride By Mary E. Bryan
575--A Blue Grass Heroine By Ida Reade Allen
576--The Yellow Face By Fred M. White
577--The Story of a Passion By Charles Garvice
579--The Curse of Beauty By Geraldine Fleming
580--The Great Awakening By E. Phillips Oppenheim
581--A Modern Juliet By Charles Garvice
582--Virgie Talcott's Mission By Lucy M. Russell
583--His Greatest Sacrifice; or, Manch By Mary E. Bryan
584--Mabel's Fate By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
585--The Ape and the Diamond By Richard Marsh
586--Nell, of Shorne Mills By Charles Garvice
587--Katherine's Two Suitors By Geraldine Fleming
588--The Crime of Love By Barbara Howard
589--His Father's Crime By E. Phillips Oppenheim
590--What Was She to Him? By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller
591--A Heritage of Hate By Charles Garvice
592--Ida Chaloner's Heart By Lucy Randall Comfort
593--Love Will Find the Way By Wenona Gilman
594--A Case of Identity By Richard | 1,344.447489 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.4289010 | 147 | 8 |
Produced by Dianne Bean
THE EBB-TIDE
A TRIO AND QUARTETTE
By Robert Louis Stevenson and Lloyde Osbourne
'There is a tide in the affairs of men.'
Part I.
Chapter 1. NIGHT ON THE BEACH
Throughout the island world of the Pacific, scattered men of many
European races and from almost every grade of society carry activity and
disseminate disease. Some prosper, some vegetate. Some have mounted the
steps of thrones and owned islands and navies. Others again must marry
for a livelihood; a strapping, merry, chocolate- dame supports
them in sheer idleness; and, dressed like natives, | 1,344.448941 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.6282900 | 7,436 | 12 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
Vol. II. No. 1.
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.
PUBLISHED BY THE
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY.
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Price 50 Cents.
CONTENTS.
On the Telegraphic Determinations of Longitude by the Bureau of
Navigation: Lieut. J. A. Norris, U. S. N.
Reports of the Vice-Presidents:
Geography of the Land: Herbert G. Ogden
Geography of the Air: A. W. Greely, Chief Signal Officer, U. S. A.
Annual Report of the Treasurer
Report of Auditing Committee
Annual Report of the Secretary
National Geographic Society:
Abstract of Minutes
Officers for 1890
Members of the Society
Published April, 1890.
PRESS OF TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE & TAYLOR, NEW HAVEN, CONN.
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.
Vol. II. 1890. No. 1.
ON THE TELEGRAPHIC DETERMINATIONS OF LONGITUDE BY THE BUREAU OF
NAVIGATION.
BY LIEUT. J. A. NORRIS, U. S. N.
The following definitions are given by Chauvenet in his Spherical and
Practical Astronomy.
"The longitude of a point on the earth's surface is the angle at the
Pole included between the meridian of that point and some assumed first
meridian. The difference of longitude between any two points is the
angle included between their meridians." To describe the practical
methods of obtaining this difference or angle, by means of the electric
telegraph both overland and submarine, and especially those employed by
the expeditions sent out by the Navy department, is the object of this
paper.
* * * * *
Before the invention of the telegraph various methods more or less
accurate in their results were employed, and are still in use where the
telegraph is not available. The one most used and giving the best
results was that in which a number of chronometers were transported
back and forth between two places the difference of whose longitudes
was required. "For," as the author quoted above says, "the
determination of an absolute longitude from the first meridian or of a
difference of longitude in general, resolves itself into the
determination of the difference of the time reckoned at the two
meridians at the same absolute instant." If a chronometer be regulated
to the time at any place _A_, and then transported to a second place
_B_, and the local time at _B_, be determined at any instant, and at
that instant the time at _A_, as shown by the chronometer is noted, the
difference of the times is at once known, and that is the difference of
longitude required. The principal objection to this plan is that the
best chronometers vary. If the variations were constant and regular,
and the chronometer always gained or lost a fixed amount for the same
interval of time, this objection would disappear. But the variation is
not constant, the rate of gain or loss, even in the best instruments,
changes from time to time from various causes. Some of these causes may
be discovered and allowed for in a measure, others are accidental and
unknown. Of the former class are variations due to changes of
temperature. At the Naval Observatory, chronometers are rated at
different temperatures, and the changes due thereto are noted, and
serve to a great extent as a guide in their use. But the transportation
of a chronometer, even when done with great care is liable to cause
sudden changes in its indications, and of course in carrying it long
distances, numerous shocks of greater or less violence are unavoidable.
Still, chronometric measurements, when well carried out with a number
of chronometers and skilled observers have been very successful. Among
notable expeditions of this sort was that undertaken in 1843, by Struve
between Pulkova and Altona, in which eighty-one chronometers were
employed and nine voyages made from Pulkova to Altona and eight the
other way. The results from thirteen of the chronometers were rejected
as being discordant, and the deduced longitude was made to depend on
the remaining 68. The result thus obtained differs from the latest
determination by 0^{s}.2.
The U. S. Coast Survey instituted chronometric expeditions between
Cambridge, Mass., and Liverpool, England, in the years 1849, '50, '51
and '55. The probable error of the results of six voyages, three in
each direction, in 1855 was 0^{s}.19, fifty chronometers being carried.
Among other methods of determining differences of time may be mentioned
the observation of certain celestial phenomena, which are visible at
the same absolute instant by observers in various parts of the globe,
such as the instant of the beginning or end of an eclipse of the moon,
the eclipses of Jupiter's satellites by the shadow of the planet, the
bursting of a meteor, and the appearance or disappearance of a shooting
star. The difficulty of identifying these last mentioned objects and
the impossibility of foretelling their occurrence prevents the extended
use of this method.
Terrestrial signals may be used and among these can be included those
sent by the electric telegraph. But when two stations are near together
a signal may be made at either or at an intermediate station, which can
be observed at both, the time may be noted at each of the stations and
the difference found directly. These signals may be made by flashes of
gunpowder, or the appearance and disappearance of a strong light, or a
pre-concerted movement of any object easily seen. The heliotrope
reflecting the image of the sun from one station to the other with an
arrangement for suddenly eclipsing it, is a useful and efficient
apparatus.
Various truly astronomical methods have been employed with good
results, of these may be mentioned moon-culminations, azimuths of the
moon, lunar distances, etc.
Coming now to the use of the electric telegraph for this purpose the
following is a rough outline of the methods employed. Suppose two
stations A and B connected by wire, and provided with clocks,
chronographs and transit instruments. A list of suitable fixed stars is
compiled and each observer furnished with a copy. The observer at A the
eastern station, selects a star from his list and sets his transit
instrument upon it. He is furnished with a key by which he can send
telegraphic signals over the line and also mark the time on his own
chronograph. The instant he observes the star crossing the spider line
which represents the meridian, he taps his key, thus registering the
time on his own chronograph and on that at station B and this operation
he repeats with as many stars as necessary. B has his instrument set
for the first star, and when it crosses his meridian, he taps his key
marking the time on his own chronograph and also on A's. Then,
disregarding instrumental and personal errors and the rate of the
clock, A has a record of the times at which the star passed both
meridians. The difference of these times is the difference of longitude
sought, except for an error due to the time occupied in the
transmission of the signal over the wire between the stations. B also
has a record of the same difference of time with the same error
affecting it in the opposite way. A mean of these two differences, will
be the true difference with the error of transmission eliminated. This
method has the advantage of not depending upon the computed position of
the star. The instrumental errors may be allowed for, as well as the
rate of the clocks, and the personal error may be eliminated by the
exchange of stations.
There are disadvantages inseparable from this method, however,
especially when the meridian distance is great. A star observed at the
first station, may be obscured by clouds at the time of its meridian
passage at the second. And the weather generally, at the two stations
may be cloudy, so that while stars can be observed at intervals, yet it
may be impossible to note the meridian passage of the same star at both
places on the same night. Then the telegraph lines are usually the
property of some commercial company and while their use for a short
time might be freely granted, yet a protracted occupation of them as
necessary when the meridians are distant from each other, would prove a
serious hindrance to their regular business.
The method at this time most generally employed, is to observe at each
station a number of stars entirely independently of the other. From
these stars are deduced the clock errors and rates upon the respective
local times. Then at some prearranged period, communication is opened
between the stations, and a comparison of the clocks made which shows
their exact difference at a given instant. By applying the error to the
time as shown by the clock at this instant, the exact local time at
each station is the result, and applying the difference between the
clocks as shown by the comparison, the required difference of longitude
is readily obtained.
These methods originated, as did the electric telegraph, in the United
States, and soon after Morse's invention came into practical use, they
were extensively employed by the Coast Survey, in accurately
determining points in every part of the country that could be reached,
no pains being spared to make the determinations as accurate as
possible. Upon the completion of the first successful Atlantic cable in
1866, an expedition was organized and placed in charge of Dr. B. A.
Gould, for the purpose of measuring the meridian distance between
Greenwich and the Naval Observatory at Washington. This was
successfully carried out in spite of numerous difficulties, and the
result proved that the determinations already made upon which the most
reliance was placed were decidedly in error. The result from the
chronometric expedition in 1855 previously referred to differing over a
second of time.
In constructing charts for use at sea, the accurate determination of
latitude and longitude is of the utmost importance. The navigator
starting on a voyage must know the exact position of his destination as
well as the location of dangers to be avoided. He must know the error
and rate of his chronometer when he sets out, but as the rate is not
constant he should have some means of re-rating it at any place where
he may stop. If the longitude of this place is well determined, the
operation of obtaining the error and rate is an easy one, and may save
his vessel from loss.
Surveys, of coasts or countries must have well established starting
points, and while the latitude of a place is comparatively easy to
determine, the longitude, except when the telegraphic method is used,
is attended with more or less uncertainty.
In 1873, Commodore R. H. Wyman, U. S. N. Hydrographer to the Bureau of
Navigation, organized by permission of the Navy Department, an
expedition for the telegraphic determination of longitude in the West
Indies and Central America. The submarine cables of the West India and
Panama Telegraph Co. had just been completed, extending from Key West
through Havana and Santiago de Cuba, south to Jamaica and Aspinwall,
and east through the Virgin and Windward Islands to the northeast coast
of South America, thus affording admirable facilities for the accurate
determination of many points. It had long been known that the
longitudes of various points in the West Indies and in Central and
South America, did not harmonize, there having been no systematic
attempt to determine them with relation to each other or to a common
base. Longitudes in the western part of the Caribbean Sea depended upon
the position of the Morro lighthouse at Havana, which had been
determined by occultations. Further to the eastward, positions depended
upon that of Fort Christian at St. Thomas. This in its turn depended
upon the observatory of Major Lang in the Island of Santa Cruz about
forty miles distant. This position depended upon numerous observations
of moon culminations and occultations. Martinique and Guadeloupe in the
Windward Islands had been surveyed by French officers who based their
positions upon longitudes derived from moon culminations. The absolute
determination of these starting points would of course fix all points
derived from them.
The U. S. Steamer Fortune was designated by the Navy Department for the
conveyance of the expedition, and Lieut. Commander (now Commander), F.
M. Green, U. S. N. was placed in charge. This officer had given great
attention to the subject, was a practiced observer, and exceptionally
well qualified for the position. The services of Mr. Miles Rock, a
skillful astronomer and computer who is now chief of the boundary
survey of Guatemala, were obtained as principal astronomical assistant.
The breaking out in the autumn of 1873, of the trouble with Spain and
Cuba, over the Virginius affair, delayed the expedition until the next
year, but in November 1874, a start was made from Washington, and after
a short stay in Kingston, Jamaica, Aspinwall was reached early in
December. Mr. Rock with one set of instruments proceeded immediately to
Panama, while Lieut. Commander Green remained in Aspinwall with the
other. The outfit for each party consisted of:--first, a portable
observatory. This was made of wood in sections, framework of ash,
covered with tongued and grooved pine boards. The sections were
connected when set up by iron knees and bolts. When packed it was not
difficult to transport, and it could be put up, or taken down in an
hour. When set up it was about eight feet square, with doors in all
sides, and a shed roof. The roof was made in three sections, the middle
one being hinged so that it could be raised for observing. These
observatories proved to be very strong and serviceable. They remained
in use for a number of years with occasional slight repairs, were
transported many thousand miles and set up in a great number of places
in Europe, Asia, North and South America. They were designed by Mr. J.
A. Rogers, and constructed at the Washington Navy Yard. Upon arriving
at a point where observations were to be made, after obtaining the
necessary permits from the local authorities, a suitable location for
the observatory was the first consideration. The essential requirements
were, a clear view of the heavens in the meridian, firm ground, a spot
secluded enough not to attract attention from inquisitive idlers, and
proximity to the telegraph office, or end of the telegraph line. Such a
spot being found and permission being obtained from the owner for its
use, an approximate meridian line was laid out by compass, and the
house set up with reference to it. Experience soon showed the
advisability of making certain additions to the observatory not
contemplated by the designer, but which added much to convenience and
comfort. A foundation was made, of timbers about six inches square,
mortised together at the ends which could be placed in position and
leveled before the observatory was set up, rendering this operation
much easier and giving greater stability. A floor was laid upon joists
supported by this foundation. Shelves were put up at various points,
affording resting places for tools and small instruments, while a table
in one corner, supported the chronometer, and offered a convenient
place for an assistant to record observations, etc.
The principal instrument used was the transit. Those furnished for the
use of the expedition were designed by Mr. J. A. Rogers, and
constructed under his supervision in the repair shop of the
Hydrographic office. The object glasses, made by the Clarks at
Cambridge, were of 2½ inches clear aperture with a focal length of
thirty inches. The instruments were of the prismatic or "broken" form
in which the eye-piece is at one end of the axis, and the light is
reflected from the object glass to the eye by a prism placed at the
junction of the telescope tube with the axis. The observer does not
have to change the position of his eye, no matter what the zenith
distance of the star may be. This renders observation much less
fatiguing and conduces to accuracy. The eye-piece was furnished with
the usual spider line reticle and also with a filar micrometer for the
measurement of zenith distances for latitude. A vertical finding circle
was on the eye-piece end of the axis, and the instrument was provided
also with a horizontal circle, fourteen inches in diameter, graduated
to ten seconds. Other necessary parts were the striding and zenith
telescope levels, and the illuminating lamps. The ends of the axis were
supported by Ys at the ends of a transverse arm which in its centre was
screwed to the top of a vertical axis supported in a socket surmounting
the tripod. This vertical axis was slightly conical in shape and
accurately fitted into its socket. A screw was so placed underneath,
that the axis, and with it the instrument, could be raised slightly,
when it was easily revolved horizontally into any desired position, a
reverse movement of the screw then lowered the axis into its seat, when
the instrument was held firmly by the friction. For supporting the
instrument there was used at first, a portable pier made in the shape
of the frustrum of a cone, of strong oak staves, firmly bound with iron
hoops, and when set up, filled with sand or earth. Subsequently a brick
pier was found to be more stable and the wooden ones were discarded.
Of equal importance with the transit was the Chronometer. The
expedition was supplied with four of these made by Negus of New York.
They were regulated to sidereal time, and provided with a break circuit
arrangement. This consists of a toothed wheel acting on a jewel pallet
attached to a light steel spring. In this spring is a platinum point,
which touches another platinum point, except when the spring is acted
upon by the toothed wheel. These points are connected respectively with
terminals on the outside of the chronometer, and are insulated from
each other except at their point of contact. The electric circuit is
complete through the chronometer except when the teeth of the wheel
acting on the jewel pallet separate the points. The circuit is opened
for about one-fortieth of a second and closed during the rest of the
time. One tooth in the wheel is omitted and the circuit remains
unbroken at that point which is the beginning of each minute. Each
chronometer is provided with a condenser to take up the extra current,
and avoid burning the contact points. These chronometers were most
excellent instruments, the rate was generally small and very regular,
and did not seem to be influenced in any way by the passage of the
current. They are still in use, and are as efficient as ever.
The expedition was at first provided with a substitute for the
chronograph in the shape of the old fashioned Morse telegraph register.
In this a steel point or stylet was pressed by the action of an
electro-magnet against a long fillet of paper, unwound by clock-work at
a rate more or less regular. This magnet was in circuit with the
chronometer and with a break circuit key in the observer's hand. As
long as the electric circuit was closed the stylet made a continuous
indented straight line on the paper; but as soon as it was broken,
either by the chronometer or the observer's key, the stylet flew back
and left the paper unmarked until the circuit was again closed. The
effect of the action of the chronometer was to graduate the fillet of
paper into a series of straight indentations, from one to two inches in
length, separated by unmarked spaces from 1/16 to 1/8 inch in length.
When the key was pressed an independent clear space was left on the
paper, and by the relation in distance between the beginning of this
space and the beginning of the second spaces immediately preceding and
following, the time of pressing the key was determined. The omission of
the break at the sixtieth second, made the mark of double length, and
hence the beginning of the minute was easily recognized. These
instruments served their purpose very well, but had several
disadvantages. The rate of movement of the paper was not regular; when
the clock-work was first wound up the motion was rapid and the second
spaces long, and as the spring ran down the marks became shorter and
shorter. Another drawback was the great length of the fillet; with
spaces only an inch in length, it required five feet of paper to record
a minute in time, and after a night's observation, there would be
several hundred feet to examine, measure and record, occupying the
greater part of the following day. By stopping the instrument between
the observations something was gained in this respect, but this tended
somewhat to confusion and error in keeping the record. They were only
used for one season's work, and in their stead were procured two
cylinder chronographs, made by Bond of Boston. These were fine
instruments, but somewhat too delicate to stand the necessary
transportation. In these instruments as in most other chronographs, a
cylinder about six inches in diameter is made to revolve by clock-work
once in a minute. An electro-magnet mounted on a carriage actuated by
the same clock-work moves alongside the cylinder, in a direction
parallel with its axis, at the rate of about an eighth of an inch in a
minute. The armature of the magnet carries attached to it a pen, the
point of which rests upon a sheet of the paper wrapped around the
cylinder. While the circuit through the coils of the magnet is
complete, the pen makes a continuous spiral line upon the paper, but
when the circuit is broken by the chronometer, or key, it flies to one
side making an offset, and immediately returns to its position, as soon
as the circuit is again closed. The result is to graduate the whole
surface of the paper into second spaces, from which the observations
can be read off with the greatest ease.
For supplying the electric current, there was used at first, a
modification of the Smee battery, but this proving very uncertain in
strength, a gravity battery was substituted, and afterwards a number of
LeClanché cells were procured.
Upon the first expedition, no telegraph instruments were carried, but
the use of such as were needed was easily obtained from the telegraph
companies. The line between Aspinwall and Panama was in good condition
and no trouble was experienced in exchanging the time signals by which
was effected the comparison of the chronometers. Wires were stretched
from the observatories in each place to the respective telegraph
offices, and for the exchange of signals were connected directly to the
ends of the line.
Everything being ready, the routine of the work was as follows:--The
transit being carefully leveled was placed in the meridian by
observation of zenith and circumpolar stars. From six to ten time
stars, and two or three circumpolars were then observed, the instrument
was reversed in the Ys and nearly the same number of stars observed in
the new position. At some time agreed upon, generally when the regular
work of the telegraph line was over for the day, the wires were
connected up and one of the operators came to the observatory to assist
in holding communication. By a simple arrangement of relays, in the
line and chronograph circuits the chronometer at one station was made
to register its second beats on the chronograph at the other, which was
all the time being graduated into second spaces by its own chronometer.
This was done for about five minutes and the times of beginning and
ending noted. Then the connections were reversed and both chronometers
allowed to beat for five minutes on the chronograph at the first
station.
This method of exchanging signals was only practicable on land lines or
very short cables. The ordinary relay used on a land line requires a
strong current to work it, and would not be affected in the least by
the delicate impulse sent over a long cable, consequently when the
expedition came to compare chronometers over the 600 miles of cable
between Aspinwall and Kingston, it was necessary to use another method.
At that time the instrument in general use on submarine cable lines was
what is known as Thompson's mirror galvanometer. It consists of a coil
of very fine insulated wire wound with great care on a spool or bobbin
of vulcanite, about three inches in diameter and 1½ inches thick. In a
hole in the centre of the spool is made to slide a small tube, so that
the end of the tube will be in the centre of the coil. In the end of
the tube is mounted a small mirror, swung in a vertical position on a
single upright fibre of silk. Horizontally across the back of this
mirror is secured a small permanent magnet, in length about the
diameter of the mirror or about one-eighth to one-quarter of an inch.
The mirror and magnet together weigh only one or two grains. When an
electric current is sent through this coil it deflects the magnet and
with it the mirror to the right or left. The apparatus is exceedingly
sensitive so that it is influenced by very feeble currents.
Communication has been maintained with an instrument of this kind over
the Atlantic cables, by the current proceeding from a battery composed
of a single copper percussion cap with a small scrap of zinc and a drop
of acidulated water. The use of the mirror is to make visible the
movements of the magnet. The coil is mounted upon a standard so as to
be about eight inches above the table. At the distance of eighteen
inches or two feet is placed a lamp. This is surrounded by a screen
which cuts off all the light, except that which passes through a tube
directed towards the mirror. Lenses in the tube focus the light on the
mirror and thence it is reflected to a vertical white surface, a sheet
of paper for instance, at a suitable distance and appears as a small
and brilliant spot. A movement of the magnet causes a horizontal
deflection of this spot to the right or left depending upon the
direction of the current passing through the coil. As these movements
can be produced at will by means of the key at the sending station, it
is only necessary to apply to them the dots and dashes of the Morse
alphabet, to have a very ready and perfect means of communication. To
the uninitiated spectator the facility with which the practiced
operator translates these apparently meaningless movements is
remarkable. If the cable is long and not in good condition the signals
are sometimes almost imperceptible, while any slight jar of the table
or apparatus will produce a large and irregular effect. Earth currents
also will cause vibrations hard to distinguish from the signals, and
if, as sometimes happens, the battery is connected in the wrong way,
the signals will be reversed. In spite of these drawbacks the skillful
operator reads off the message and rarely makes an error. This
instrument is still in use on some of the cable lines, but on most of
them it has been replaced by a recording instrument, also the invention
of Sir Wm. Thompson, which is almost as sensitive, and of which I will
speak later on. The key used in connection with these instruments, both
the mirror and recorder, is arranged with two levers, so connected that
pressing one of them causes a current to be sent over the line in one
direction, while the other sends it in the opposite.
The method adopted for comparing chronometers by means of these
instruments was as follows:--Everything being ready for the exchange of
signals, the observer at one station seated himself, where he could see
the face of the chronometer, with his hand on the cable key. At ten
seconds before the beginning of a minute as shown by the second hand,
he pressed his key several times in quick succession, thus sending a
series of impulses through the line, which appeared at the other end as
a rapid movement of the light to and fro. This was a warning signal,
and the observer at the second station with his eye on the light,
tapped his chronograph key in the same way making a series of marks,
which indicated the beginning of the comparison. The first observer
exactly at the sixtieth second by his chronometer pressed his key
quickly and firmly and repeated this operation at every fifth second
for one minute. The second observer tapped his key promptly as soon as
he saw the light move, thus registering the time on his chronograph.
The minute at which the first signal was sent, was then telegraphed,
and repeated back, to insure against error, and the operation was
repeated until sixty-five signals had been sent from one station and
received at the other. Then the second observer sent the same number of
signals to the first in precisely the same manner, thus giving
sixty-five comparisons of the chronometers in each direction. The
results derived from this method are affected by errors from two
causes. One is the personal error of the observers in sending and
receiving signals and the other the time consumed by the electric
impulse in traveling over the line and through the instruments. If the
same strength of battery is used at each station, and the resistance of
the instruments is the same, the errors arising from this latter source
will be eliminated by the double exchange. The observer sending the
signals kept his eye on the chronometer and counted the second beats by
both eye and ear, moving the hand which he had on the key slightly in
unison with the beats, and could thus be sure of pressing the key at
the proper time within a very small fraction of a second. At the other
end of the line, considerable time is lost after the actual movement of
the light before the observer can press his chronograph key, and the
principal error affecting the result is the difference of this time in
the two observers, which was found to be very small.
As I have said, the cable was first used in the measurement between
Kingston and Aspinwall, Lieut. Commander Green occupying the former
station, and Mr. Rock the latter. After the successful completion of
this link, measurements were made from Santiago de Cuba to Kingston,
and to Havana. It was the intention to measure from this last point to
Key West, but about this time yellow fever broke out there and the
expedition was ordered by the Secretary of the Navy to return. The
Fortune arrived at Washington in April, 1875, and the time until
November was spent in working up the winter's observations. Speaking in
a general way this work is as follows:--From observations extending
over many years, the exact positions in the heavens of a large number
of fixed stars have been found, so that their times of passing any
meridian can be computed with great accuracy. The transit instrument is
furnished with an eye-piece containing a number of parallel lines
usually made of spider silk. These are placed in the focus of the
instrument, and it is set in position, so that the middle line of the
group is in the plane of the meridian. The observer provides himself
with a list of desirable stars, and setting his instrument on those he
may choose, records the time at which they pass each of the spider
lines, by tapping his chronograph key. If there were no instrumental
errors to be discovered and allowed for, if the star's place were known
absolutely, and the observer had no personal equation, then it would be
only necessary in order to find the error of the clock, to observe one
star upon the middle line of the reticle. The difference of the clock
time of transit and the real time as already known, would be the clock
error and no further trouble would be required. But as none of these
conditions are fulfilled, it is necessary to multiply observations in
order to eliminate accidental errors, and to obtain instrumental
corrections which may be applied so as to get the most probable result.
Accidental errors of eyesight and perception are nearly eliminated by
taking the star's transit over several lines instead of one and using
the mean. Some of the instrumental errors are from the following
causes. If the pivots which support the telescope are unequal in size
the axis of the tube will be thrown to one side or the other of the
meridian, and the star will be observed either before or after it
crosses. The weight of all transit instruments causes a flexure of the
horizontal axis and this effect is at its maximum in those of the
prismatic pattern. The spider lines must be adjusted so that the middle
one is exactly in the axis of the tube, or as this can seldom be done
the resulting error, called the collimation, must be found. The
horizontal axis of the instrument must be as nearly level as possible,
and the error in this respect must be found by frequent applications of
a delicate spirit level. Finally the instrument must be directed as
nearly as possible to the north and south points of the horizon, and a
correction must be made for any error in this respect. The result of
each of these errors is to cause the star's transit to be recorded too
early or too late, and to get the true result they must all be found
and applied with their proper signs. The inequality of pivots and the
flexure correction are found by delicate measurement and observations,
when the instrument is first used, and are recorded as constants to be
applied in all subsequent work. The level tubes are graduated and the
value of their divisions obtained in angular measure. The collimation
error is found by observing stars near the zenith in one position of
the instrument and then reversing and observing others, or by taking
the transit of a slow moving star over a portion of the spider lines
then reversing and observing the same intervals in the opposite order.
The error of azimuth, or deviation from the north and south line, is
found by comparing the observations of stars whose zenith distances
differ considerably. These corrections all being found and applied to
the observation of each star, the result is the correct time of transit
as shown by the chronometer, and the difference between that time and
the true time, is the error of the chronometer. A mean of the
observations of several stars on the same night, gives a very | 1,344.64833 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.6305750 | 579 | 22 |
Produced by Duncan Harrod
KENNEDY SQUARE
By F. Hopkinson Smith
Author's Preface:
"Kennedy Square, in the late fifties, was a place of birds and trees and
flowers; of rude stone benches, sagging arbors smothered in vines, and
cool dirt paths bordered by sweet-smelling box. Giant magnolias filled
the air with their fragrance, and climbing roses played hide-and-seek
among the railings of the rotting fence. Along the shaded walks laughing
boys and girls romped all day, with hoop and ball, attended by old black
mammies in white aprons and gayly bandannas; while in the more
secluded corners, sheltered by protecting shrubs, happy lovers sat and
talked, tired wayfarers rested with hats off, and staid old gentlemen
read by the hour, their noses in their books.
"Outside of all this color, perfume, and old-time charm; outside the
grass-line and the rickety wooden fence that framed them in, ran an
uneven pavement splashed with cool shadows and stained with green mould.
Here, in summer, the watermelon man stopped his cart; and there, in
winter, upon its broken bricks, old Moses unhooked his bucket of oysters
and ceased for a moment his droning call.
"On the shady side of the square, and half hidden in ivy, was a Noah's
Ark church, topped by a quaint belfry holding a bell that had not rung
for years, and faced by a clock-dial all weather-stains and cracks,
around which travelled a single rusty hand. In its shadow to the right
lay the home of the archdeacon, a stately mansion with Corinthian
columns reaching to the roof and surrounded by a spacious garden filled
with damask roses and bushes of sweet syringa. To the left crouched
a row of dingy houses built of brick, their iron balconies hung in
flowering vines, the windows glistening with panes of wavy glass purpled
by age.
"On the sunny side of the square, opposite the church, were more houses,
high and low: one all garden, filled with broken-nosed statues hiding
behind still more magnolias; and another all veranda and honeysuckle,
big rocking-chairs and swinging hammocks; and still others with porticos
curtained by white jasmine or Virginia creeper."--From "The Fortunes of
Oliver Horn."
KENNEDY SQUARE
CHAPTER I
On the precise day on which this story opens--some sixty or more years
ago, to be exact--a bullet-headed, merry-eyed, mahogany | 1,344.650615 |
2023-11-16 18:39:28.7271850 | 97 | 10 |
Produced by John Hamm and Miriam Bobkoff. HTML version by Al Haines.
Flower Fables
by
Louisa May Alcott
"Pondering shadows, colors, clouds
Grass-buds, and caterpillar shrouds
Boughs on which the wild bees settle,
Tints that spot the violet's petal."
EMERSON'S WOOD-NOTES.
TO
ELLEN | 1,344.747225 |
2023-11-16 18:39:29.1898400 | 147 | 16 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Harry Lame and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Notes:
Text between underscores represents _italics_, small capitals have been
transcribed as ALL CAPITALS.
Curly brackets indicate {subscripts}; letters between square brackets
(such as [T] and [U]) represent the shape rahter than the letter itself.
More Transcriber's Notes may be found at the end of this text.
THE
ANATOMY OF BRIDGEWORK
THE
ANATOMY OF BRIDGEWORK
| 1,345.20988 |
2023-11-16 18:39:29.2669920 | 2,311 | 17 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive.)
MY EXPERIENCES IN A LUNATIC ASYLUM
LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
MY EXPERIENCES IN A LUNATIC ASYLUM
_BY A SANE PATIENT_
'Let us rise and revolt against those people, Lankin. Let us war with
them and smite them utterly. It is to use against these, especially,
that scorn and satire were invented'
'And the animal you attack,' says Lankin, 'is provided with a hide to
defend him--it is a common ordinance of nature'--M. A. TITMARSH
London
CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1879
[_The right of translation is reserved_]
MY EXPERIENCES IN A LUNATIC ASYLUM.
I.
It's a mad world, my masters.
I suppose that the motto I have affixed to the first chapter of the brief
history of a singular personal experience is by this time an accepted
axiom. Was it in one of Mr. Sala's columns of gossip that I was reading
the other day of the man of the pen who commented upon the imprisonment in
an asylum of a brother of his craft merely by saying, 'What a fool he must
be! For years I have been as mad as he, only I took care never to say so'?
There are odd corners in the brains of most of us, filled with queer
fancies which are as well kept out of sight; eccentricities, I suppose
they may be called. The man who is so 'concentric' as to be innocent of
peculiarities is a companion of a dull sort. But Heaven help us all when
such things may be called, and treated as, madness. For, if all of us were
used according to our deserts in that way, who should escape the modern
substitutes for whipping? England would not contain the asylums that
should be constructed, and might go far to deserve the Gravedigger's
description of her for Hamlet's benefit: 'There the men are as mad as he.'
Let me go a step further. There are few of us, perhaps, who have not seen
something in our lives of the strange nervous disorders which have been
generalised as 'hypochondria,' which are, in fact, I think, the different
outcomes of a common affection--temporary exhaustion of brain. Beyond a
certain point it becomes delirium, the wandering of weakness which is so
closely connected with many forms of illness, both in the beginning and
during the course and recovery. When the victims of delirium may be added
to the eccentric members of society; when at any moment the certificates
of any two doctors who may be utter strangers to the patient--acting under
the instructions of friends who are frightened and perplexed, perhaps, and
try to believe that they are 'doing for the best' (I leave out of
consideration here the baser motives which, it is to be feared, come
sometimes into play)--may condemn him to the worst form of false
imprisonment, the death-in-life of a lunatic asylum, at a time when he is
himself practically unconscious;--who is there amongst us who can for a
moment believe himself safe? Death-in-life did I say? It is worse; for it
is a life-in-life, worse than any conceivable form of death. The sights
and sounds through which one has to live can never be forgotten by him
who has lived through them, but will haunt him ever and always. Never let
next friends persuade themselves that they are 'doing for the best' for
him for whom they so do. For themselves they may think that they are. For
him they cannot possibly do worse. Every nerve should be strained to save
a man from that fate, if it be humanly possible, ay, even if he be mad
indeed; for while there is life there is hope, till that step has been
taken. When it has, I verily believe that hope is reduced to its smallest.
For the personal experience which I have to tell has taught me this: that
the man who comes sane and safe out of the hands of mad-doctors and
warders, with all the wonderful network of complications which, by
Commissioners, certificates, and Heaven knows what, our law has woven
round the unlucky victim in the worst of all its various aberrations, is
very sane indeed. And very safe too, happily. His lines afterwards are
not altogether pleasant. The curious looks and whispers, the first
meetings with old friends, the general anxiety that he should not 'excite
himself' (which he may be better excused for doing than most people,
perhaps), magnified, no doubt, by his own natural sensitiveness, are
difficult in their way. He does not mind them much, is amused by them at
times; for, with the strong sense of right on one's side, conflict is
rather pleasant than not to the well-balanced soul. But the thread of life
and work and duty has been rudely broken by the shock, and has to be knit
again under great drawbacks. It can be done, though; and one starts again
the wiser and the better man.
'Jurant, quoiqu'un peu tard, qu'on ne l'y prendra plus.' It is no bad
thing to have part of one's work and duty so clearly pointed out as this
of mine. When this evil question is being stirred to its depths as it is
now, every contribution of personal experience is valuable. It is not for
me to suggest schemes of reform, as it is the fashion to ask critics to
do, but for those who are paid to do that work rightly and earnestly, or
who choose to undertake to legislate for us. Nor have I any advice to
offer them except the advice of Hamlet: 'O, reform it altogether.' The
system is radically wrong, all through, under which such wrong is
possible. And I believe it all the more because it seems to me without
reasonable excuse. Madness is the most terrible of all visitations; but
also, probably for that very reason, the most unmistakable. And in spite
of doctors and lawyers and the whole artillery of organised Humbug, I have
deduced another lesson from this hard experience of mine: I do not believe
that there is any mistaking a madman when you see him.
* * * * *
The especial experience which I have to tell has nothing especially
painful, and is, perhaps, none the worse for that. I have nothing to
write of dark rooms or strait-waistcoats or whippings, or to reveal such
secrets of the prison-house as will make each particular hair to stand on
end by the telling. My lines were cast in pleasant places. The private
asylum in which I was confined for many months, which in the retrospect
seem like one dreary dream, is, I believe, highly recommended by Her
Majesty's Commissioners as a delightful sanitary resort--quite a place to
spend 'a happy life.' During those months I had the advantage of living in
a castellated mansion, in one of the prettiest parts of England, which I
shall hate to my dying day, with a constant variety of attendants, who
honoured me by sleeping in my room, sometimes as many as three at a time.
I was dying in delirium and prostration, simply, and wasted to a shadow;
consequently voted 'violent,' as the best way out of it. With carriages to
take me out for drives, closed upon wet days, open on fine; with cricket
and bowls and archery for the summer, and a pack of harriers to follow
across country in the winter; with the head of the establishment, who
lived in a sweet little cottage with his family, to give me five o'clock
tea on the Sundays; with five refections a day whereof to partake, with my
fellow-lunatics, if so disposed, in my private sitting-room when I could
not stand it; with a private chapel for morning prayers or Sunday service,
the same companions and attendants for a congregation, and some visitors
who would come to look at us; with little evening parties for whist or
music amongst 'ourselves,' and a casual conjuror or entertainer from town
to distract us sometimes for an evening; with an occasional relative to
come and see me, beg me not to get excited, and depart as soon as
possible,--what more could man desire? As I look at this last sentence of
mine it reads like an advertisement. Stay--I had forgotten the medicine.
They did not give me very much of it, I suppose, or I should not be alive.
Indeed, it seemed to me that the general principle was to give it when one
asked for it, and pretty much what one asked for. When I got unusually
weak and delirious a good strong dose on the 'violent' theory--homoeopathy,
I suppose, from a new point of view--was enough, literally, to _reduce_ me
to reason. For then I became too weak to speak, and the matter ended for a
time.
All this bears so fair an outside that it seems difficult to quarrel with
it. Yet the life that it concealed was inconceivably terrible. My head was
full of the weakest, the most varying, the most wandering fancies--the
fancies of sheer and long-continued exhaustion. These parties, games,
entertainments, meals, without a friend's face near me, without hope,
wish, or volition; with the shouts and cries of the really violent to wake
me sometimes at night; with every form of personal affliction to haunt
and mock and yet companion me by day; with poor fellows playing all sorts
of strange antics round me, herded together anyhow or nohow, with or
without private rooms of their own--more, I am afraid, in proportion as
their friends could or would pay for them or not, on the footing of
'first-class patients' than on any other intelligible principle; with
Death in the house every now and then, falling suddenly and terribly on
one of these unhappy outcasts from some unsuspected malady within, which
they could not explain, spoken of in whispers, and hushed up and forgotten
as soon as might be; with the ward | 1,345.287032 |
2023-11-16 18:39:29.6288430 | 7,435 | 12 |
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)
LATELY PUBLISHED,
_Royal 18mo, with 38 Designs by W. B. SCOTT, Director of the
School of Design, Newcastle-on-Tyne, bound in illuminated
cloth, 4s. 6d._
THE NURSERY RHYMES OF ENGLAND, COLLECTED CHIEFLY FROM ORAL TRADITION.
BY JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ. FOURTH EDITION.
POPULAR RHYMES
AND
NURSERY TALES:
A SEQUEL TO THE
Nursery Rhymes of England.
BY JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL, ESQ.
LONDON:
JOHN RUSSELL SMITH,
4, OLD COMPTON STREET, SOHO SQUARE.
MDCCCXLIX.
C. AND J. ADLARD, PRINTERS, BARTHOLOMEW CLOSE.
Tales of my Nursery! shall that still loved spot,
That window corner, ever be forgot,
Where through the woodbine when with upward ray
Gleam'd the last shadow of departing day,
Still did I sit, and with unwearied eye,
Read while I wept, and scarcely paused to sigh!
In that gay drawer, with fairy fictions stored,
When some new tale was added to my hoard,
While o'er each page my eager glance was flung,
'Twas but to learn what female fate was sung;
If no sad maid the castle shut from light,
I heeded not the giant and the knight.
Sweet Cinderella, even before the ball,
How did I love thee--ashes, rags, and all!
What bliss I deem'd it to have stood beside,
On every virgin when thy shoe was tried!
How long'd to see thy shape the slipper suit!
But, dearer than the slipper, loved the foot.
ANON.
PREFACE.
It were greatly to be desired that the instructors of our children could
be persuaded how much is lost by rejecting the venerable relics of
nursery traditional literature, and substituting in their place the
present cold, unimaginative,--I had almost said, unnatural,--prosaic
good-boy stories. "In the latter case," observes Sir Walter Scott,
"their minds are, as it were, put into the stocks, like their feet at
the dancing-school, and the moral always consists in good conduct being
crowned with success. Truth is, I would not give one tear shed over
Little Red Riding Hood for all the benefit to be derived from a hundred
histories of Jemmy Goodchild. I think the selfish tendencies will be
soon enough acquired in this arithmetical age; and that, to make the
higher class of character, our own wild fictions--like our own simple
music--will have more effect in awakening the fancy and elevating the
disposition, than the colder and more elaborate compositions of modern
authors and composers."
Deeply impressed with this truth, and firmly convinced of the
"imagination-nourishing" power of the wild and fanciful lore of the old
nursery, I have spared no labour in collecting the fragments which have
been traditionally preserved in our provinces. The object is not so much
to present to the reader a few literary trifles, though even their
curiosity and value in several important discussions must not be
despised, as to rescue in order to restore; a solemn recompense due from
literature for having driven them away; and to recall the memory to
early associations, in the hope that they who love such recollections
will not suffer the objects of them to disappear with the present
generation.
In arranging the materials gathered for this little volume, I have
followed, in some respects, the plan adopted by Mr. Robert Chambers, in
his elegant work, the Popular Rhymes of Scotland; but our vernacular
anthology will be found to contain so much which does not occur in any
shape in that of the sister country, that the two collections have not
as much similarity as might have been expected. Together, they will
eventually contain nearly all that is worth preserving of what may be
called the natural literature of Great Britain. Mr. Chambers, indeed,
may be said to have already exhausted the subject for his own land in
the last edition of his interesting publication, but no systematic
attempt has yet been made in the same direction for this country; and
although the curiosity and extent of the relics I have been enabled to
collect have far exceeded my expectations, I am fully aware how much
more can yet be accomplished. An additional number of foreign synonymes
could also no doubt be collected; though perhaps more easily by
foreigners, for Continental works which contain notices of traditional
literature are procured with difficulty in England. The following pages,
however, contain sufficient of these to exhibit the striking
similarities between rhymes prevalent over England, and others which
exist in the North of Europe.
The collection of Nursery Tales is not as extensive as could have been
wished, but the difficulty of procuring the brief traditional stories
which were current some century since, now for the most part only
recollected in obscure districts, is so great, that no apology is
necessary for the apparent deficiency of that section. The few which
have been obtained are of considerable curiosity and interest; and I
would venture to suggest to all readers of these pages the great
obligation they would confer by the communication of any additions.
Stories of this kind are undoubtedly to be obtained from oral tradition,
and perhaps some of literary importance may yet be recovered.
The compiler's best thanks are due to Captain Henry Smith for the very
interesting communication of rhymes current in the Isle of Wight; to
Mr. George Stephens for several curious fragments, and valuable
references to Swedish songs; and to many kind correspondents who have
furnished me with rhymes current in the various districts in which they
reside. It is only by a large provincial correspondence that a
collection of this kind can be rendered complete, and the minutest
information on any of our popular tales or rhymes, forwarded to the
address given below, would be most thankfully and carefully
acknowledged.
BRIXTON HILL, SURREY;
_April, 1849._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
NURSERY ANTIQUITIES 1
FIRESIDE NURSERY STORIES 24
GAME-RHYMES 101
ALPHABET-RHYMES 136
RIDDLE-RHYMES 141
NATURE-SONGS 155
PROVERB-RHYMES 181
PLACES AND FAMILIES 188
SUPERSTITION-RHYMES 206
CUSTOM-RHYMES 230
NURSERY-SONGS 258
POPULAR RHYMES AND NURSERY TALES.
I.--NURSERY ANTIQUITIES.
Although the names of Scott and Grimm may be enumerated amongst the
writers who have acknowledged the ethnological and philosophic value of
traditional nursery literature, it is difficult to impress on the public
mind the importance of a subject apparently in the last degree trifling
and insignificant, or to induce an opinion that the jingles and simple
narratives of a garrulous nurse can possess a worth beyond the circle of
their own immediate influence.
But they who despise the humbler sources of literary illustration must
be content to be told, and hereafter to learn, that traces of the
simplest stories and most absurd superstitions are often more effectual
in proving the affinity of different races, and determining other
literary questions, than a host of grander and more imposing monuments.
The history of fiction is continually efficacious in discussions of this
kind, and the identities of puerile sayings frequently answer a similar
purpose. Both, indeed, are of high value. The humble chap-book is found
to be descended not only from medieval romance, but also not
unfrequently from the more ancient mythology, whilst some of our
simplest nursery-rhymes are chanted to this day by the children of
Germany, Denmark, and Sweden, a fact strikingly exhibiting their great
antiquity and remote origin.
The subject, however curious and interesting, is far too diffuse to be
investigated at any length in a work like the present; and, indeed, the
materials are for the most part so scattered and difficult of access,
that it would require the research of many years to accomplish the task
satisfactorily. I shall, then, content myself with indicating a few of
the most striking analogies between the rhymes of foreign countries and
those of our own, for this portion of the inquiry has been scarcely
alluded to by my predecessors. With regard to the tales, a few notices
of their antiquity will be found in the prefaces or notes to the stories
themselves, and few readers will require to be informed that
Whittington's cat realized his price in India, and that Arlotto related
the story long before the Lord Mayor was born; that Jack the
Giant-killer is founded on an Edda; or that the slipper of Cinderella
finds a parallel in the history of the celebrated Rhodope. To enter into
these discussions would be merely to repeat an oft-told tale, and I
prefer offering a few notes which will be found to possess a little more
novelty.
Of the many who must recollect the nursery jingles of their youth, how
few in number are those who have suspected their immense age, or that
they were ever more than unmeaning nonsense; far less that their
creation belongs to a period before that at which the authentic records
of our history commence. Yet there is no exaggeration in such a
statement. We find the same trifles which erewhile lulled or amused the
English infant, are current in slightly varied forms throughout the
North of Europe; we know that they have been sung in the northern
countries for centuries, and that there has been no modern outlet for
their dissemination across the German Ocean. The most natural inference
is to adopt the theory of a Teutonic origin, and thus give to every
genuine child-rhyme, found current in England and Sweden, an immense
antiquity. There is nothing improbable in the supposition, for the
preservation of the relics of primitive literature often bears an
inverse ratio to their importance. Thus, for example, a well-known
English nursery rhyme tells us,--
There was an old man,
And he had a calf,
And that's half;
He took him out of the stall,
And put him on the wall,
And that's all.
A composition apparently of little interest or curiosity; but Arwidsson,
unacquainted with the English rhyme, produces the following as current
in Sweden, Svenska Fornsanger, iii. 488, which bears far too striking a
similarity to the above to have had a different origin,--
Gubben och gumman hade en kalf,
Och nu aer visan half!
Och begge sa koerde de halfven i vall,
Och nu aer visan all!
We could not, perhaps, select a better instance of this kind of
similarity in nepial songs as current throughout the great northern
states of Europe than the pretty stanza on the ladybird. Variations of
this familiar song belong to the vernacular literature of England,
Germany, Denmark, and Sweden. The version at present current in the
North of England is as follows:
Lady-cow, lady-cow, fly thy way home,
Thy house is on fire, thy children all gone;
All but one that ligs under a stone,
Fly thee home, lady-cow, ere it be gone![1]
[Footnote 1: In Norfolk the lady-bird is called
_burny-bee_, and the following lines are current:
Burnie bee, burnie bee,
Tell me when your wedding be.
If it be to-morrow day,
Take your wings and fly away.]
These lines are said by children, when they throw the beautiful little
insect into the air, to make it take flight. Two Scottish variations are
given by Mr. Chambers, p. 170. In Germany it is called the Virgin Mary's
chafer, _Marienwuermchen_, or the May-chafer, _Maikaeferchen_, or the
gold-bird, _Guldvogel_. In Sweden, gold-hen, gold-cow, or the Virgin
Mary's maid. In Denmark, our Lord's hen, or our Lady's hen. We may first
mention the German song translated by Taylor as frequently alluded to by
writers on this subject. The second verse is the only one preserved in
England.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! pretty one! stay!
Come sit on my finger, so happy and gay;
With me shall no mischief betide thee;
No harm would I do thee, no foeman is near,
I only would gaze on thy beauties so dear,
Those beautiful winglets beside thee.
Lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home;
Thy house is a-fire, thy children will roam!
List! list! to their cry and bewailing!
The pitiless spider is weaving their doom,
Then, lady-bird! lady-bird! fly away home!
Hark! hark! to thy children's bewailing.
Fly back again, back again, lady-bird dear!
Thy neighbours will merrily welcome thee here;
With them shall no perils attend thee!
They'll guard thee so safely from danger or care,
They'll gaze on thy beautiful winglets so fair,
And comfort, and love, and befriend thee!
In Des Knaben Wunderhorn, Arnim und Brentano, 1808, iii. 82, 83, 90, we
have three German songs relating to the lady-bird. The first two of
these are here given:
_Der Guldvogel._
Guldvogel, flieg aus,
Flieg auf die Stangen,
Kaesebrode langen;
Mir eins, dir eins,
Alle gute G'sellen eins.
"Gold-bird, get thee gone, fly to thy perch, bring cheese-cakes, one for
me, one for thee, and one for all good people."
Maikaeferchen, Maikaeferchen, fliege weg!
Dein Haeusgen brennt,
Dein Muetterchen flennt,
Dein Vater sitzt auf der Schwelle,
Flieg in Himmel aus der Hoelle.
"May-bird, May-bird, fly away. Thy house burns, thy mother weeps, thy
father stays at his threshold, fly from hell into heaven!"--The third is
not so similar to our version. Another German one is given in Kuhn und
Schwark, Norddeutsche Sagen, 1848, p. 375:
Maikaeferchen, fliege,
Dein Vater ist im Kriege,
Dein Mutter ist in Pommerland,
Pommerland ist abgebrannt!
Maikaeferchen, fliege.
"May-bird, fly. Thy father is in the war, thy mother is in Pomerania,
Pomerania is burnt! May-bird, fly."--See, also, Erk und Irmer, Die
Deutschen Volkslieder, Berlin, 1839, iv. 7, Das Maikaeferlied. For the
two pretty Swedish songs which follow I am indebted to the MS. of Mr.
Stephens. The first is common in the southern parts of that country, the
other in the northern.
Guld-hoena, guld-ko!
Flyg oester, flyg vester,
Dit du flyger der bor din aelskade!
"Gold-hen, gold-cow! fly east, fly west, you will fly where your
sweetheart is."
Jungfru Marias Nyckelpiga!
Flyg oester, flyg vester,
Flyg dit der min kaeresta bor![2]
[Footnote 2: This is a very remarkable
coincidence with an English rhyme:
Fly, lady-bird, fly!
North, south, east, or west;
Fly to the pretty girl
That I love best.]
"Fly, our holy Virgin's bower-maid! fly east, fly west, fly where my
loved-one dwelleth." In Denmark they sing (Thiele, iii. 134):
Fly, fly, our Lord's own hen!
To-morrow the weather fair will be,
And eke the next day too.[3]
[Footnote 3: The lady-bird, observes Mr.
Chambers, is always connected with fine weather
in Germany and the north.]
Accumulative tales are of very high antiquity. The original of "the
House that Jack Built" is well known to be an old Hebrew hymn in Sepher
Haggadah. It is also found in Danish, but in a somewhat shorter form;
(See Thiele, Danske Folkesagn, II. iii. 146, _Der har du det Huus som
Jacob bygde_;) and the English version is probably very old, as may be
inferred from the mention of "the priest all shaven and shorn." A
version of the old woman and her sixpence occurs in the same collection,
II. iv. 161, _Konen och Grisen Fick_, the old wife and her piggy
Fick,--"There was once upon a time an old woman who had a little pig
hight Fick, who would never go home late in the evening. So the old
woman said to her stick:
'Stick, beat Fick, I say!
Piggie will not go home to-day!'"
This chant-tale is also common in Sweden. One copy has been printed by
N. Lilja in his Violen en Samling Jullekar, Barnsanger och Sagor, i. 20,
_Gossen och Geten Naeppa_, the boy and the goat Neppa,--"There was once a
yeoman who had a goat called Neppa, but Neppa would never go home from
the field. The yeoman was therefore forced to promise his daughter in
marriage to whoever could get Neppa home. Many tried their fortune in
vain, but at last a sharp boy offered to ward the goat. All the next day
he followed Neppa, and when evening came, he said, 'Now will we
homeward go?' but Neppa answered, 'Pluck me a tuft or so,'" &c. The
story is conducted in an exactly similar manner in which the
_denouement_ is brought about in the English tale.[4]
[Footnote 4: Two other variations occur in
Arwidsson, Svenska Fornsanger, 1842, iii. 387-8,
and Mr. Stephens tells me he has a MS. Swedish
copy entitled the Schoolboy and the Birch. It is
also well known in Alsace, and is printed in that
dialect in Stoeber's Elsassisches Volksbuechlein,
1842, pp. 93-5. Compare, also, Kuhn und Schwark,
Norddeutsche Sagen, Maerchen und Gebraeuche, 1848,
p. 358, "Die fra, dos hippel un dos hindel."]
The well-known song of "There was a lady lov'd a swine," is found in an
unpublished play of the time of Charles I. in the Bodleian Library, MS.
Bodl. 30:
There was a lady lov'd a hogge;
Hony, quoth shee,
Woo't thou lie with me to-night?
Ugh, quoth hee.
A similar song is current in Sweden, as we learn from Arwidsson, Svenska
Fornsanger, iii. 482, who gives a version in which an old woman, who had
no children, took a little foal, which she called Longshanks, and rocked
and nursed it as if it had been her own child:[5]
Gumman ville vagga
Och inga barn hade hon;
Da tog hon in
Foelungen sin,
Och lade den i vaggan sin.
Vyssa, vyssa, langskanken min,
Langa ben bar du;
Lefver du till sommaren,
Blir du lik far din.
[Footnote 5: It is still more similar to a pretty
little song in Chambers, p. 188, commencing,
"There was a miller's dochter."]
Another paradoxical song-tale, respecting the old woman who went to
market, and had her petticoats cut off at her knees "by a pedlar whose
name was Stout," is found in some shape or other in most countries in
Europe. A Norwegian version is given by Asbjoernsen og Moe, Norske
Folkeeventyr, 1843, and, if I recollect rightly, it is also found in
Grimm.
The riddle-rhyme of "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall" is, in one form or
other, a favorite throughout Europe. A curious Danish version is given
by Thiele, iii. 148:
Lille Trille
Laae paa Hylde;
Lille Trille
Faldt ned af Hylde.
Ingen Mand
I hele Land
Lille Trille curere kan.
Which may be thus translated:
Little Trille
Lay on a shelf:
Little Trille
Thence pitch'd himself:
Not all the men
In our land, I ken,
Can put Little Trille right again.
And Mr. Stephens has preserved two copies in his MS. Swedish
collections. The first is from the province of Upland:
Thille Lille
Satt pa take';
Thille Lille
Trilla' ner;
Ingen laekare i hela verlden
Thille Lille laga kan.
Thille Lille
On the roof-tree sat;
Thille Lille
Down fell flat;
Never a leech the world can show
That Thille Lille can heal, I trow.
Another from the province of Smaland:
Lille Bulle
Trilla' ner a skulle;
Ingen man i detta lan'
Lille Bulle laga kan.
Down on the shed
Lille Bulle rolled;
Never a man in all this land
Lille Bulle helpen can.
It will now only be necessary to refer to the similarities pointed out
in other parts of this work, to convince the reader that, at all events,
a very fair case is made out for the truth of the positions we have
contended for, if, indeed, sufficient evidence of their absolute truth
is not adduced. They who are accustomed to researches of this kind, are
too well aware of the facility with which the most plausible theories
are frequently nullified by subsequent discovery; but there appears in
the present case to be numerous conditions insoluble by any other
supposition than that of a common origin, and we are therefore fully
justified in adopting it as proved.
Turning to the nursery rhymes of our own country, it will tend
materially to strengthen the results to which we have arrived, if we
succeed in proving their antiquity in this island. We shall be enabled
to do so satisfactorily, and to show that they are not the modern
nonsense some folks may pronounce them to be. They illustrate the
history and manners of the people for centuries. Here, for instance, is
a relic in the form of a nursery rhyme, but in reality part of a
political song, referring to the rebellious times of Richard the
Second.[6]
My father he died, I cannot tell how,
But he left me six horses to drive out my plough!
With a wimmy lo! wommy lo! _Jack Straw, blazey-boys!_
Wimmy lo! wommy lo! wob, wob, wob!
[Footnote 6: I am here, and in a few other cases,
quoting from myself. It may be necessary to say
so, for my former collections on this subject
have been appropriated--"convey, the wise it
call"--in a work by a learned Doctor, the preface
to which is an amusing instance of plagiarism.]
An infant of the nineteenth century recalling our recollection to Jack
Straw and his "blazey-boys!" Far better this than teaching history with
notes "suited to the capacity of the youngest." Another refers to Joanna
of Castile, who visited the court of Henry the Seventh in 1506:
I had a little nut-tree, nothing would it bear
But a golden nutmeg and a silver pear;
The King of Spain's daughter came to visit me,
And all for the sake of my little nut-tree.
We have distinct evidence that the well-known rhyme,[7]
The King of France went up the hill,
With twenty thousand men:
The King of France came down the hill,
And ne'er went up again--
was composed before 1588, It occurs in an old tract called Pigges
Corantoe, 1642, where it is entitled "Old Tarlton's Song," referring to
Tarlton the jester, who died in 1588. The following one belongs to the
seventeenth century:
As I was going by Charing Cross,
I saw a black man upon a black horse;
They told me it was King Charles the First;
Oh dear, my heart was ready to burst!
[Footnote 7: An early variation occurs in MS.
Sloane 1489:
The king of France, and four thousand men,
They drew their swords, and put them up again.]
Political nursery-rhymes, or rather political rhymes of a jingling
character, which, losing their original application, are preserved only
in the nursery, were probably common in the seventeenth century. The two
just quoted have evidently an historical application. The manuscript
miscellanies of the time of James I. and Charles I. contain several
copies of literal rhymes not very unlike "A, B, C, tumble-down D." In
the reign of Charles II. political pasquinades constantly partook of
the genuine nursery character. We may select the following example, of
course put into the mouth of that sovereign, preserved in MS. Douce 357,
f. 124, in the Bodleian Library:
See-saw, sack-a-day;
Monmouth is a pretie boy,
Richmond is another,
Grafton is my onely joy,
And why should I these three destroy
To please a pious brother?
"What is the rhyme for porringer?" was written on occasion of the
marriage of Mary, the daughter of James Duke of York, afterwards James
II., with the young Prince of Orange: and the following alludes to
William III. and George Prince of Denmark:
William and Mary, George and Anne,
Four such children had never a man:
They put their father to flight and shame,
And call'd their brother a shocking bad name.
Another nursery song on King William is not yet obsolete, but its
application is not generally known. My authority is the title of it in
MS. Harl. 7316:
As I walk'd by myself,
And talked to myself,
Myself said unto me,
Look to thyself,
Take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee.
I answer'd myself,
And said to myself
In the self-same repartee,
Look to thyself,
Or not look to thyself,
The self-same thing will be.
To this class of rhymes I may add the following on Dr. Sacheverel,
which was obtained from oral tradition:
Doctor Sacheverel
Did very well,
But Jacky Dawbin
Gave him a warning.
When there are no allusions to guide us, it is only by accident that we
can hope to test the history and antiquity of these kind of scraps, but
we have no doubt whatever that many of them are centuries old. The
following has been traced to the time of Henry VI., a singular doggerel,
the joke of which consists in saying it so quickly that it cannot be
told whether it is English or gibberish:
In fir tar is,
In oak none is,
In mud eel is,
In clay none is,
Goat eat ivy,
Mare eat oats.
"Multiplication is vexation," a painful reality to schoolboys, was found
a few years ago in a manuscript dated 1570; and the memorial lines,
"Thirty days hath September," occur in the Return from Parnassus, an old
play printed in 1606. Our own reminiscences of such matters, and those
of Shakespeare, may thus have been identical! "To market, to market, to
buy a plum-bun," is partially quoted in Florio's New World of Words,
1611, in v. 'Abomba.' The old song of the "Carrion Crow sat on an Oak,"
was discovered by me in MS. Sloane 1489, of the time of Charles I., but
under a different form:
Hic, hoc, the carrion crow,
For I have shot something too low:
I have quite missed my mark,
And shot the poor sow to the heart;
Wife, bring treacle in a spoon,
Or else the poor sow's heart will down.
"Sing a song of sixpence" is quoted by Beaumont and Fletcher. "Buz,
quoth the blue fly," which is printed in the nursery halfpenny books,
belongs to Ben Jonson's Masque of Oberon; the old ditty of "Three Blind
Mice" is found in the curious music book entitled Deuteromelia, or the
Second Part of Musicke's Melodie, 1609; and the song, "When I was a
little girl, I wash'd my mammy's dishes," is given by Aubrey in MS.
Lansd. 231. "A swarm of bees in May," is quoted by Miege, 1687. And so
on of others, fragments of old catches and popular songs being
constantly traced in the apparently unmeaning rhymes of the nursery.
Most of us have heard in time past the school address to a story-teller:
Liar, liar, lick dish,
Turn about the candlestick.
Not very important lines, one would imagine, but they explain a passage
in Chettle's play of the Tragedy of Hoffman, or a Revenge for a Father,
4to. Lond, 1631, which would be partially inexplicable without such
assistance:
_Lor._ By heaven! it seemes hee did, but all was vaine;
The flinty rockes had cut his tender scull,
And the rough water wash't away his braine.
_Luc._ Lyer, lyer, licke dish!
The intention of the last speaker is sufficiently intelligible, but a
future editor, anxious to investigate his author minutely, might search
in vain for an explanation of _licke dish_. Another instance[8] of the
antiquity of children's rhymes I met with lately at Stratford-on-Avon,
in a MS. of the seventeenth century, in the collection of the late
Captain James Saunders, where, amongst common-place memoranda on more
serious subjects, written about the year 1630, occurred a version of
one of our most favorite nursery songs:
I had a little bonny nagg,
His name was Dapple Gray;
And he would bring me to an ale-house
A mile out of my way.
[Footnote 8: A dance called _Hey, diddle,
diddle_, is mentioned in the play of _King
Cambises_, written about 1561, and the several
rhymes commencing with the words may have been
original adaptations to that dance-tune.]
"Three children sliding on the ice" is founded on a metrical tale
published at the end of a translation of Ovid de Arte Amandi, 1662.[9]
The lines,
There was an old woman
Liv'd under a hill,
And if she ben't gone,
She lives there still--
[Footnote 9: See the whole poem in my Nursery
Rhymes of England, ed. 1842, p. 19.]
form part of an old catch, printed in the Academy of Complements, ed.
1714, p. 108. The same volume (p. 140) contains the original words to
another catch, which has been corrupted in its passage to the nursery:
There was an old man had three sons,
Had three sons, had three sons;
There was an old man had three sons,
Jeffery, James, and Jack.
Jeffery was hang'd and James was drown'd,
And Jack was lost, that he could not be found,
And the old man fell into a swoon,
For want of a cup of sack!
It is not improbable that Shakespeare, who has alluded so much and so
intricately to the vernacular rural literature of his day, has more
notices of nursery-rhymes and tales than research has hitherto elicited.
I am only acquainted with one reference to the former, | 1,345.648883 |
2023-11-16 18:39:29.7256380 | 1,196 | 26 |
Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
THE
ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
_A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics._
VOL. XV.--JUNE, 1865.--NO. XCII.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by TICKNOR AND
FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
A LETTER ABOUT ENGLAND.
Dear Mr. Editor,--The name of your magazine shall not deter me from
sending you my slight reflections But you have been across, and will
agree with me that it is the great misfortune of this earth that so much
salt-water is still lying around between its various countries. The
steam-condenser is supposed to diminish its bulk by shortening the
transit from one point to another; but a delicate conscience must aver
that there is a good deal left. The ocean is chiefly remarkable as the
element out of which the dry land came. It is only when the land and sea
combine to frame the mighty coast-line of a continent, and to fringe it
with weed which the tide uncovers twice a day, that the mind is saluted
with health and beauty. The fine instinct of Mr. Thoreau furnished him
with a truth, without the trouble of a single game at pitch and toss
with the mysterious element; for he says,--
"The middle sea contains no crimson dulse,
Its deeper waves cast up no pearls to view,
Along the shore my hand is on its pulse,
And I converse with many a shipwrecked crew."
On the broad Atlantic there is no smell of the sea. That comes from the
brown rocks whence iodine is exhaled to brace the nerves and the fancy,
while summer woods chasten all the air. At best, the ocean is austere
and unsympathetic; and a sensible, that is, a sensitive, stomach
understands it to be demoralized by the monstrous krakens which are
viciously brooding in its depths. (If the pronoun "it," in the last
sentence, should refer to stomach, the sense will still be clear.) In
fact, this water has been left over from the making of the earth: like
the Dodo and the Moa, it should have evaporated. How pleasant it is to
be assured by Sir Charles Lyell that the land is still rising in so many
quarters of the globe! for we may anticipate that millennial epoch when
there shall be "no more sea."
However, the old impression which great spaces used to make upon the
imagination gives way to the new sensation of annihilating spaces. It
would be more correct now to speak of differences than of distances. The
difference between one country and another is all that now makes the
distance between them. For man is now overcoming space faster than he is
obliterating national peculiarities. And when one goes abroad, the
universal humanity in whose interest all material and political
triumphs are gained is not felt by him so soon as the specific
divergence which makes the character of lands and people. Oaks and elms,
hawthorn and beeches, are on either side the ocean; but you measure the
voyage by their unlikeness to each other, and wonder how soon you have
got so far. The strawberry ripens with a different flavor and texture.
The sun is less racy in all the common garden-stuff whose names we know.
Pears and peaches we are disappointed in recognizing; they seem as if
ripened by the sun's proxy, the moon; and our boys would hardly pick up
the apples in the fields. But England undulates with grass that seems to
fix the fluent color of the greenest waves on either hand. And our
eagle-eyed blue sky droops its lid over the island, as the moisture
gathers, with a more equable compassion than we know for all shrubs and
blades and grazing cattle.
Both the pain and the tonic in being absent from your home and country
are administered by difference. In gulping that three thousand miles the
taste is austere, but the stimulus is wholesome. We learn to appreciate,
but also to correct, the fare we have at home.
The difference is twofold between England and America. England differs,
first, in the inveterate way in which the people hold on to all that
they have inherited; second, in the gradual, but equally inveterate, way
in which they labor to improve their inheritance. The future is gained
by the same temper in which the past is held; so that, if the past is
secure, the future is also: none the less because the past seems so
irrevocably built, but rather in consequence of that, because it betrays
the method of the builders.
These two characteristics, apparently irreconcilable, are really
organic, and come of position, climate, diet, and slowly amalgamated
races of men. Herne's oak in Windsor Forest and the monarchy in Windsor
Castle grew on the same terms. Branch after branch the oak has fallen,
till on the last day of the summer of 1863 the wind brought the
shattered remnant to the ground. Whether the monarchy decay like this or
not, it has served to shelter a great people; and the English people is
still vital with its slow robustness, and is good for deposit | 1,345.745678 |
2023-11-16 18:39:30.2271150 | 1,053 | 13 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK ZIA
BY
FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
SPENCER BAIRD NICHOLS
AND
W. T. BENDA
And it came to pass nigh upon
nineteen hundred and sixteen years ago
THE LITTLE HUNCHBACK ZIA
The little hunchback Zia toiled slowly up the steep road, keeping in the
deepest shadows, even though the night had long fallen. Sometimes he
staggered with weariness or struck his foot against a stone and
smothered his involuntary cry of pain. He was so full of terror that he
was afraid to utter a sound which might cause any traveler to glance
toward him. This he feared more than any other thing--that some man or
woman might look at him too closely. If such a one knew much and had
keen eyes, he or she might in some way guess even at what they might not
yet see.
Since he had fled from the village in which his wretched short life had
been spent he had hidden himself in thickets and behind walls or rocks
or bushes during the day, and had only come forth at night to stagger
along his way in the darkness. If he had not managed to steal some food
before he began his journey and if he had not found in one place some
beans dropped from a camel's feeding-bag, he would have starved. For
five nights he had been wandering on, but in his desperate fear he had
lost count of time. When he had left the place he had called his home he
had not known where he was going or where he might hide himself in the
end. The old woman with whom he had lived and for whom he had begged and
labored had driven him out with a terror as great as his own.
"Begone!" she had cried in a smothered shriek. "Get thee gone, accursed!
Even now thou mayest have brought the curse upon me also. A creature
born a hunchback comes on earth with the blight of Jehovah's wrath upon
him. Go far! Go as far as thy limbs will carry thee! Let no man come
near enough to thee to see it! If thou go far away before it is known,
it will be forgotten that I have harbored thee."
He had stood and looked at her in the silence of the dead, his immense,
black Syrian eyes growing wider and wider with childish horror. He had
always regarded her with slavish fear. What he was to her he did not
know; neither did he know how he had fallen into her hands. He knew only
that he was not of her blood or of her country and that he yet seemed to
have always belonged to her. In his first memory of his existence, a
little deformed creature rolling about on the littered floor of her
uncleanly hovel, he had trembled at the sound of her voice and had
obeyed it like a beaten spaniel puppy. When he had grown older he had
seen that she lived upon alms and thievery and witchlike evil doings
that made all decent folk avoid her. She had no kinsfolk or friends, and
only such visitors as came to her in the dark hours of night and seemed
to consult with her as she sat and mumbled strange incantations while
she stirred a boiling pot. Zia had heard of soothsayers and dealers with
evil spirits, and at such hours was either asleep on his pallet in a far
corner or, if he lay awake, hid his face under his wretched covering and
stopped his ears. Once when she had drawn near and found his large eyes
open and staring at her in spellbound terror, she had beaten him
horribly and cast him into the storm raging outside.
A strange passion in her seemed her hatred of his eyes. She could not
endure that he should look at her as if he were thinking. He must not
let his eyes rest on her for more than a moment when he spoke. He must
keep them fixed on the ground or look away from her. From his babyhood
this had been so. A hundred times she had struck him when he was too
young to understand her reason. The first strange lesson he had learned
was that she hated his eyes and was driven to fury when she found them
resting innocently upon her. Before he was three years old he had
learned this thing and had formed the habit of looking down upon the
earth as he limped about. For long he thought that his eyes were as
hideous as his body was distorted. In her frenzies she told him that
evil spirits looked out from them and that he was possessed of devils.
Without thought of rebellion or resentment he accepted with timorous
humility, as part of | 1,346.247155 |
2023-11-16 18:39:30.2271530 | 7,435 | 11 | AND WORKS ***
Produced by David Widger.
*VOLTAIRE: A SKETCH OF HIS LIFE AND WORKS*
_WITH SELECTIONS FROM HIS WRITINGS_
_By_
*J. M. Wheeler & G. W. Foote.*
_London_
_1891_
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
PREFACE
EARLY LIFE
HEGIRA TO ENGLAND
EXAMPLES FROM ENGLAND
AT CIREY
"CANDIDE"
THE ENCYCLOPAEDIA
LAST DAYS
HIS CHARACTER AND SERVICES
TRIBUTES TO VOLTAIRE
SELECTIONS FROM VOLTAIRE'S WORKS
History
Wars
Politics
The Population Question
Nature's Way
Prayer
Doubt and Speculation
Dr. Pangloss and the Dervish
Motives for Conduct
Self-Love
Go From Your Village
Religious Prejudices
Sacred History
Dupe And Rogue
"Delenda Est Carthago"
Jesus and Mohammed
How Faiths Spread
Superstition
The Bible
Transubstantiation
Dreams and Ghosts
Mortifying the Flesh
Heaven
Magic
DETACHED THOUGHTS
INTRODUCTION
My share in this little book on Voltaire is a very minor one. My old
friend and colleague, Mr. J. M. Wheeler, had written the greater part of
the following pages before he brought the enterprise to my attention. I
went through his copy with him, and assisted him in making some
alterations and additions. I also read the printer's proofs, and
suggested some further improvements--if I may call them so without
egotism. This is all I have done. The credit for all the rest belongs to
him. My name is placed on the title-page for two reasons. The first is,
that I may now, as on other occasions, be associated with a dear friend
and colleague in this tribute to Voltaire. The second is, that whatever
influence I possess may be used in helping this volume to the
circulation it deserves.
G. W. FOOTE.
November, 1891
PREFACE
He would be a bold person who should attempt to say something entirely
new on Voltaire. His life has often been written, and many are the
disquisitions on his character and influence. This little book, which at
the bicentenary of his birth I offer as a Freethinker's tribute to the
memory of the great liberator, has no other pretension than that of
being a compilation seeking to display in brief compass something of the
man's work and influence. But it has its own point of view. It is as a
Freethinker, a reformer, and an apostle of reason and universal
toleration that I esteem Voltaire, and I have considered him mainly
under this aspect. For the sketch of the salient points of his career I
am indebted to many sources, including Condorcet, Duvernet,
Desnoisterres, Parton, Espinasse, Collins, and Saintsbury, to whom the
reader, desirous of fuller information, is referred. Mr. John Morley's
able work and Col. Hamley's sketch may also be recommended.
That we are this year celebrating the bicentenary of Voltaire's birth
should remind us of how far our age has advanced from his, and also of
how much we owe to our predecessors. The spread of democracy and the
advance of science which distinguish our time both owe very-much to the
brilliant iconoclasts of the last century, of whom Voltaire was the
chief. In judging the work of the laughing sage of France we must
remember that in his day the feudal laws still obtained in France, and a
man might be clapped in prison for life without any trial. The poor were
held to be born into the world for the service of the rich, and it was
their duty to be subject to their masters, not only to the good and
gentle, but also to the froward. Justice was as easily bought as jewels.
The Church was omnipotent and freethought a crime. If Voltaire's
influence is no longer what it was, it is because he has altered that.
We can no longer keenly feel the evils against which he contended. His
work is, however, by no means fully accomplished. While any remnant of
superstition, intolerance, and oppression remains, his unremitting
warfare against _l'infame_ should be an inspiration to all who are
fighting for the liberation and progress of humanity.
Nov. 1894. J. M. WHEELER.
EARLY LIFE
Two hundred years ago, on November 21st, 1604, a child emerged on the
world at Paris. The baptismal register on the following day gave the
name Francois Marie Arouet, and the youth afterwards christened himself
Voltaire.(1) The flesh was so weakly that the babe was _ondovc_ (the
term employed for informal sprinkling with water at home), lest there
might be no time for the ecclesiastical rite.
1. He was a younger son. The name Voltaire is, perhaps, an
anagram of the Arouet 1. j. (le jeune) the u being converted
into r, and the j into r. In like manner, an old college- tutor
of his, Pere Thoulie, transformed himself, by a similar
anagrammatic process, into the Abbe Olivet-- omitting the
unnecessary h from his original name. This method of reforming a
plebeian name into one more distinguished-looking seems not to
have been uncommon in those times, as Jean Baptiste Pocquelin
took the name of Moliere, and Charles Secondat that of
Montesquieu.
Something may have been wrong with the performance of the sacred
ceremony, since the child certainly grew up to think more of "the world,
the flesh, and the devil" than of the other trinity of Father, Son, and
Holy Ghost. His father was a respectable attorney, and his mother came
of noble family. His godfather and early preceptor was the Abbe de
Chateauneuf, who made no pietist of him, but introduced him to his
friend, the famous Ninon l'Enclos, the antiquated Aspasia who is said to
have inspired a passion in the l'Abbe Gedouin at the age of eighty, and
who was sufficiently struck with young Voltaire to leave him a legacy of
two thousand francs, wherewith to provide himself a library.
Voltaire showed when quite a child an unsurpassed facility for
verse-making. He was educated at a Jesuit college, and the followers of
Jesus have ever since reproached him with Jesuitism. Possibly he did
imbibe some of their "policy" in the propaganda of his ideas. Certainly
he saw sufficient of the hypocrisy and immorality of religious
professors to disgust him with the black business, and he said in
after-life that the Jesuits had taught him nothing worth learning.
He learnt a certain amount of Latin and a parcel of stupidities. But,
indifferent as this education was, it served to encourage his already
marked literary tendency. Voltaire is said to have told his father when
he left college, at the age of fifteen, "I wish to be a man of letters,
and nothing else." "That," M. Arouet is reported to have replied, "is
the profession of a man who wishes to be a burden to his family and to
die of starvation." He would have no such nonsense. Francois must study
law; and to Paris he went with that intent. For three years he was
supposed to do so, but he bestowed more attention on the gay society of
the Temple, to which his godfather introduced him, "the most amusing
fellow in the world," and which was presided over by the Abbe de
Chaulieu. The time which he was compelled to spend in law studies, and
at the desk of a _procureur_, was by no means lost to his future
fortunes, whether in the pursuit of fame or wealth. During that hated
apprenticeship he doubtless caught up some knowledge of law and
business, which stood him in good stead in after years. He tells us that
his father thought him lost, because he mixed with good society and
wrote verses. For these he got sufficient reputation to be first exiled
to Tulle, then to Sully, and finally thrown into the Bastille on
suspicion of having written lampoons on the government. The current
story tells how the Regent, walking one day in the Palais Royal, met
Voltaire, and accosted him by offering to bet that he would show him
what he had never seen before. "What is that?" asked Voltaire. "The
Bastille." "Ah, monseigneur! I will take the Bastille as seen." On the
next morning, in May, 1717, Voltaire was arrested in his bedroom and
lodged in the Bastille.
After nearly a year's imprisonment, during which he gave the finishing
touches to his tragedy of _OEdipus_, and sketched the epic _Henriade_,
in which he depicts the massacre of Bartholomew, the horrors of
religious bigotry, and the triumph of toleration under Henry IV., he was
released and conducted to the Regent. While Voltaire awaited audience
there was a thunderstorm. "Things could not go on worse," he said aloud,
"if there was a Regency above." His conductor, introducing him to the
Regent, said, repeating the remark, "I bring you a young man whom your
Highness has just released from the Bastille, and whom you should send
back again." The Regent laughed, and promised, if he behaved well, to
provide for him. "I thank your Highness for taking charge of my board,"
returned Voltaire, "but I beseech you not to trouble yourself any more
about my lodging."
In his first play, _OEdipe_, appeared the celebrated couplet:
_"Nos pretres ne sont pas ce qu'un vain peuple pense!_
_Notre credulite fait toute leur science." (1)_
1. "Our priests are not what foolish people suppose; all their
science is derived from our credulity."
These lines were afterwards noted by Condorcet as "the first signal of a
war, which not even the death of Voltaire could extinguish." It was at
this period that he first took the name of Arouet de Voltaire. He
produced two more tragedies, _Artemire_ and _Mariamne_; a comedy, _The
Babbler_; and prepared his world-famous _Henriade._ A portrait, painted
by Largilliere at about this period, has often been engraved. It
exhibits a handsome young gentleman, full of grace and spirit, with a
smiling mouth, animated eyes, intellectual forehead, and a fine hand in
a fine ruffle.
HEGIRA TO ENGLAND
The story of how Voltaire came to England is worth the telling, as it
illustrates the condition of things in France in the early part of last
century. Voltaire left France for England, which his acquaintance with
Lord Bolingbroke induced him to desire to visit. It was his Hegira,
whence he returned a full-fledged Prophet of the French. He went a poet,
he returned a philosopher. Dining at the Duke of Sully's table he
presumed to differ from the Chevalier de Rohan--Chabot, a relative of
Cardinal Rohan. The aristocrat asked, "Who is that young fellow who
talks so loudly?" "Monsieur le Chevalier," replied Voltaire, "it is a
man who does not bear a great name but who knows how to honor the name
he does bear."(1) It was insufferable that the son of a bourgeois should
thus speak his mind to a Rohan. A few days afterwards, when again dining
with the Duke, he was called out by a false message, and seized and
caned by ruffians until a voice cried "Enough." That word was a fresh
blow, for the young poet recognised the voice of the Chevalier. He
returned to the Duke and asked him to assist in obtaining redress. His
grace shrugged his shoulders and took no further notice of this insult
to his guest. Voltaire never visited the Duke again, and, it is said,
erased his ancestor's name from the _Henriade_. He was equally
unsuccessful in seeking redress from the Regent. "You are a poet, and
you have had a good thrashing; what can be more natural?" He retired, to
study English and fencing; and reappeared with a challenge to the
Chevalier, who accepted it, but informed his relations. It was against
the law for a commoner to challenge a nobleman. Next morning, instead of
meeting de Rohan, he met officers armed with a _lettre de cachet_
consigning him to the Bastille. After nearly a month's incarceration he
was liberated on condition that he left the country. Having no wish to
spend a second year in prison, he had himself applied for permission to
visit England. Voltaire felt keenly the indignity to which he had been
subjected. In a letter of instruction written from England to his agent
he says: "If my debtors profit by my misfortune and absence to refuse
payment, you must not trouble to bring them to reason: 'tis but a
trifle." Yet a book has been written on Voltaire's avarice.
1. Some of the accounts say that Voltaire said, "You, my lord,
are the last of your house; I am the first of mine."
Voltaire was conducted to Calais and arrived in England on Whit-Monday,
1726. He landed near Greenwich and witnessed the Fair. All seemed
bright. The park and river were full of animation. Here there was no
Bastille, no fear of the persecution of the great or the spies of the
police. He had excellent introductions. Bolingbroke he had met in exile
at La Source in 1721, and he had learnt to regard the illustrious
Englishman who possessed "all the learning of his country and all the
politeness of ours." Voltaire, like Pope, may be said to have been, at
any rate for a time, an eager disciple of the exiled English statesman.
Now Voltaire was the exile; Bolingbroke, for a while, the host, at
Dawley, near Uxbridge. But he had other English friends, notably Mr.
(afterwards Sir Everard) Falkener, an English merchant trading in the
Levant, from whose house at Wandsworth most of his letters are dated.
For Sir Everard, Voltaire always retained the warmest feelings of
friendship, and forty years later returned hospitality to his sons.
Voltaire spent two years and eight months in England, living during part
of the time in Maiden Lane, Covent Garden, and during another part at
Wandsworth. This visit was probably the most important event in his
life. It was here he lit the torch of Freethought with which he fired
the continent. Here he mastered the arguments of the English deists,
Bolingbroke, Toland, Tindal, Shaftesbury, Chubb, Collins, and Woolston,
which he afterwards used with such effect. Here he saw the benefits of
parliamentary government. Here he imbibed the philosophy of Locke and
the science of Newton. Indeed it may be said there is hardly one of
Voltaire's important works but bears traces of his visit to our country.
Yet of this momentous epoch of his life the records are scanty. When he
grew famous every letter and anecdote was preserved, but in 1727
Voltaire was but a young man of promise. Carlyle, in the tenth book of
his _Frederick the Great_, says: "But mere inanity and darkness visible
reign in all his Biographies over this period of his life, which was
above all others worth investigating." Messrs. J. C. Collins and A.
Ballantyne have since done much to elucidate this noteworthy period.
Pope was one of the persons Voltaire desired to see. He had already
described him as "the most elegant, most correct, and most harmonious
poet they ever had in England." Pope could only speak French with
difficulty, and Voltaire could not make himself understood. The result
being unsatisfactory, Voltaire did not seek further company until he had
acquired the language. An anecdote in Chetworth's _History of the Stage_
relates that he was in the habit of attending the theatre with the play
in his hand. By this method he obtained more proficiency in the language
in a week than he could otherwise have obtained in a month. Madame de
Genlis had the audacity to assert that Voltaire never knew English, yet
it is certain he could, before he was many months in this country, both
speak and write it with facility. By Nov. 16, 1726, he wrote to Pope,
after that poet's accident while driving near Bolingbroke's estate at
Dawley. In writing to his friend Thieriot, in France, he sometimes used
English, for the same reason, he said, that Boileau wrote in Latin--not
to be understood by too curious people. Voltaire is said to have once
found his knowledge of English of practical use. The French were
unpopular, and in one of his rambles he was menaced by a mob. He said:
"Brave Englishmen, am I not already unhappy enough in not having been
born among you?" His eloquence had such success that, according to
Longchamp and Wagniere, the people wished to carry him on their
shoulders to his house.
While in this country he wrote in English a portion of his tragedy
_Brutus_, inspired by and dedicated to Bolingbroke,
and two essays, one on the Civil Wars of France, and one on Epic Poetry.
In the introduction to the essays he expresses his conception of his own
position as a man of letters in a foreign country. As these essays,
although popular at the time, are now rare, I transcribe a paragraph or
two from them:
"The true aim of a relation is to instruct men, not to gratify their
malice. We should be busied chiefly in giving a faithful account of all
the useful things and extraordinary persons, whom to know, and to
imitate, would be a benefit to our country. A traveller who writes in
that spirit is a merchant of a nobler kind, who imports into his native
country the arts and virtues of other nations."
In his _Essay on Epic Poetry_ Voltaire shows he had made a study of
Milton, though his criticism can scarcely, be considered an advance upon
that of Addison. He displays constant admiration for Tasso, to whom he
was perhaps attracted by his sufferings at the hands of an ignoble
nobility. He says:
"The taste of the English and of the French, though averse to any
machinery grounded upon enchantment, must forgive, nay commend, that of
Armida, since it is the source of so many beauties. Besides, she is a
Mahometan, and the Christian religion allows us to believe that those
infidels are under the immediate influence of the devil." In this essay
appears the first mention of the story of Newton and the apple tree.
Voltaire closely studied all branches of English literature. He read
Shakespeare, and admired his "genius" while censuring his
"irregularity." He was the first to introduce him to his countrymen,
though he subsequently sought to lessen what he considered their
exorbitantly high opinion. The works of Dryden, Waller, Prior, Congreve,
Wycherley, Vanbrugh, Rochester and Addison were all devoured, and he
took an especial interest in Butler's witty _Hudibras_. He was
acquainted with the popular sermons of Archbishop Tillotson and the
speculations of Berkeley. He had read the works of Shaftesbury, Tindal,
Chubb, Garth, Mandeville and Woolston.
Voltaire became acquainted with most of the celebrities in England. He
visited the witty Congreve, who begged his guest to consider him not as
an author but as a gentleman. Voltaire answered with spirit: "If you had
the misfortune to be merely a gentleman, I should never have come to see
you." He knew James Thomson of _The Seasons_, and "discovered in him a
great genius and a great simplicity." With didactic Young, of the _Night
Thoughts_, who glorified God with his "egoism turned heavenward," he
formed a friendship which remained unbroken despite their differences of
opinion on religion. He pushed among his English friends the
subscription list for the _Henriade_, which proved a great
success--although King George II. was not fond of "boetry"--reaching
three editions in a short period. The money thus obtained formed the
foundation of the fortune which Voltaire accumulated, not by his
writings, but by his ability in finance. At that time, in France, as our
author remarked, "to make the smallest fortune it was better to say four
words to the mistress of a king than to write a hundred volumes." His
sojourn in England may be said to have secured him both independence of
mind and independence of fortune.
What pleased him most in England was liberty of discussion. In the year
in which he came over, Elwall was acquitted on a charge of blasphemy,
the collected works of Toland were published, and also Collins's _Scheme
of Literal Prophecy_, and the First Discourse of Woolston on Miracles.
The success of this last work, which boldly applied wit and ridicule to
the Gospel narrative, struck him with admiration. In the very month,
however, when Voltaire left England (March 1729) Woolston was tried and
sentenced to a year's imprisonment and a fine of L100. Voltaire
volunteered a third of the sum, but the brave prisoner refused to give
an assurance that he would not offend again, and died in prison in 1733.
Voltaire always spoke of Woolston with the greatest respect.
Voltaire retained his esteem for England and the English to the last.
Oliver Goldsmith relates that he was in his company one evening when one
of the party undertook to revile the English language and literature.
Diderot defended them, but not brilliantly. Voltaire listened awhile in
silence, which was, as Goldsmith remarks, surprising, for it was one of
his favorite topics. However, about midnight, "Voltaire appeared at last
roused from his reverie. His whole frame seemed animated. He began his
defence with the utmost elegance mixed with spirit, and now and then he
let fall his finest strokes of raillery upon his antagonist; and his
harangue lasted until three in the morning. I must confess that, whether
from national partiality or from the elegant sensibility of his manner,
I never was more charmed, nor did I ever remember so absolute a victory
as he gained in this dispute."
Voltaire corresponded with English friends to the latest period of his
life. Among his correspondents were Lord and Lady Bolingbroke, Sir E.
Falkener, Swift, Hume, Robertson, Horace Walpole, George Colman and Lord
Chatham. We find him asking Falkener to send him the _London Magazine_
for the past three years. To the same friend he wrote from Potsdam in
1752, hoping that his _Vindication of Bolingbroke_ was translated, as it
would annoy the priests, "whom I have hated, hate, and shall hate till
doomsday." In the next year, writing from Berlin, he says: "I hope to
come over myself, in order to print my true works, and to be buried in
the land of freedom. I require no subscription, I desire no benefit. If
my works are neatly printed, and cheaply sold, I am satisfied."
To Thieriot he said: "Had I not been obliged to look after my affairs in
France, depend upon it I would have spent the rest of my days in
London." Long afterwards he wrote to his friend Keate: "Had I not fixed
the seat of my retreat in the free corner of Geneva, I would certainly
live in the free corner of England; I have been for thirty years the
disciple of your ways of thinking." At the age of seventy he translated
Shakespeare's _Julius Coesar_. Mr. Collins says: "The kindness and
hospitality which he received he never forgot, and he took every
opportunity of repaying it. To be an Englishman was always a certain
passport to his courteous consideration." He compared the English to
their own beer, "the froth atop, dregs at bottom, but the bulk
excellent." When Martin Sherlock visited him at Ferney in 1776, he found
the old man, then in his eighty-third year, still full of his visit to
England. His gardens were laid out in English fashion, his favorite
books were the English classics, the subject to which he persistently
directed conversation was the English nation.
The memory of Voltaire has been but scurvily treated in the land he
loved so well. For over a century, calumny and obloquy were poured upon
him. Johnson said of Rousseau: "I would sooner sign a sentence for his
transportation than that of any felon who has gone from the Old Bailey
these many years." _Boswell_: "Sir, do you think him as bad a man as
Voltaire?" _Johnson_: "Why, sir, it is difficult to settle the
proportion of iniquity between them." And this represents an opinion
which long endured among the religious classes. But it is at length
being recognised that, with all his imperfections, which were after all
those of the age in which he lived, he devoted his brilliant genius to
the cause of truth and the progress of humanity. He made his exile in
England an occasion for accumulating those stores of intelligence with
which he so successfully combated the prejudices of the past and
promulgated the principles of freedom, and justified his being ranked
foremost among the liberators of the human mind.
EXAMPLES FROM ENGLAND
Several incidents combined to direct Voltaire's attention to clericalism
as the enemy of progress and humanity. Soon after his return to France,
the famous actress, Adrienne Lecouvreur, for whom he had a high esteem,
and who had represented the heroines of his plays, died. The clergy of
Paris refused her Christian burial because of her profession, and her
corpse was put in a ditch in a cattle-field on the banks of the Seine.
Voltaire, who regarded the theatre as one of the most potent instruments
of culture and civilisation, at once avenged and consecrated her memory
in a fine ode, burning with the fire of a deep pathos, in which he takes
occasion to contrast the treatment in England of Mrs. Oldfield, the
actress, who was buried in Westminster Abbey. Mr. Lecky says: "The man
who did more than any other to remove the stigma that rested upon actors
was unquestionably Voltaire. There is, indeed, something singularly
noble in the untiring zeal with which he directs poetry and eloquence,
the keenest wit, and the closest reasoning to the defence of those who
had so long been friendless and despised."
When Voltaire published his _Letters on the English Nation_ the copies
were seized by the Government and the publisher was thrown into the
Bastille. The author would have again tasted the discomforts of that
abode if he had not had timely warning from his friend D'Argental, and
taken refuge in Lorraine, and afterwards on the Rhine, while his book
was torn to pieces and burned in Paris by the public executioner, as
offensive to religion, good morals, and respect for authority. Voltaire
had apparently good reason to apprehend treatment of unusual rigor if he
had obeyed the summons to give himself up into custody, as he took good
care not to do. "I have a mortal aversion to prison," he wrote to
D'Argental. "I am ill; a confined air would have killed me, and I should
probably have been thrust into a dungeon."
Voltaire's _Letters on the English_ reads at the present day as so mild
a production that it is hard to understand its suppression. Yet it was a
true instinct which detected that the work was directed against the
principle of authority. The introduction of English thought was destined
to become an explosive element shattering the feudalism of Europe. There
were, moreover, some hard hits at the state of things in France. "The
English nation," says Voltaire, "is the only one which has succeeded in
restricting the power of kings by resisting it." Again: "How I love the
English boldness, how I love men who say what they think!"
Voltaire gives a peculiar reason for the non-appreciation by the English
of Moliere's _Tartuffe_, the original of Mawworm if not of Uriah Heep.
He says they are not pleased with the portrayal of characters they do
not know. "One there hardly knows the name of devotee, but they know
well that of honest man. One does not see there imbeciles who put their
souls into others' hands, nor those petty ambitious men who establish a
despotic sway over women formerly wanton and always weak, and over men
yet more weak and contemptible." We fancy Voltaire must have seen
society mainly as found among the Freethinkers. Could he give so
favorable a verdict did he visit us now? The same remark applies to his
statement that there was "no privilege of hunting in the grounds of a
citizen, who, at the same time, is not permitted to fire a gun in his
own field." But this, as well as the more important passage that "no one
is exempted from taxation for being a nobleman or priest," was probably
intended exclusively for the benefit of his compatriots. He was,
however, not without a little touch of ridicule at the incongruities he
detected in our countrymen. Thus he notes in one of his letters: "They
learn Vanini and translate Lucretius for Monsieur le Dauphin to get by
heart, and then, while they deride the polytheism of the ancients, they
worship the Congregation of the Saints."
Those educated in the current delusion that Voltaire was a mere mocker
will be surprised to find the temperate way in which he speaks of the
Quakers. Here, where there was such excellent opportunity for raillery,
Voltaire shows he had a genuine admiration for their simplicity of life,
the courage of their convictions, their freedom from priestcraft, and
their distaste for warfare. In these _Letters,_ as in all his writings,
he proves how far he was the embodiment of the new era by his boldly
expressed preference for industrial over military pursuits.
In his remarks on the Church of England, Voltaire, however, gives an
unmistakable touch of his quality: "One cannot have public employment in
England or Ireland, without being of the number of faithful Anglicans.
This reason, which is an excellent proof, has converted so many
Nonconformists that not a twentieth part of the nation is out of the
pale of the dominant church."
After alluding to the "holy zeal" of ministers against dissenters, and
of the lower House of Convocation, who "from time to time burnt impious
books, that is, books against themselves," he says: "When they learn
that, in France, young fellows noted only for debauchery and raised to
the prelacy by female intrigue, openly pursue their amours, compose
love-songs, give every day elaborate delicate suppers, then go to
implore the illumination of the Holy Spirit, boldly calling themselves
the successors of the Apostles--they thank God they are Protestants. But
they are abominable heretics, to be burnt by all the devils, as Master
Francois Rabelais says; and that is why I do not meddle with their
affairs."
The Presbyterians fare little better, for Voltaire relates that, when
King Charles surrendered to the Scots, they made that unfortunate
monarch undergo four sermons a day. To them it is owing that only
genteel people play cards on Sunday: "the rest of the nation go either
to church, to the tavern, or to see their mistresses."
His admiration for English philosophy was startling to the French mind.
Locke's Essay became his philosophical gospel. "For thirty years," he
writes in 1768, "I have been persecuted by a crowd of fanatics because I
said that Locke is the Hercules of Metaphysics, who has fixed the
boundaries of the human mind."
AT CIREY
A common admiration for Locke and Newton cemented his attachment to the
Marquise du Chatelet, a lady distinguished from others of her age by her
love of the sciences. With her Voltaire lived for over fifteen years at
the Chateau of Cirey, in Campagne, "far from the madding crowd's ignoble
strife," and, as Voltaire phrased it, "nine miles from a lemon."
Voltaire was at the outset forty and Madame twenty-seven, neither
handsome nor well-formed, yet pleasing. She united learning with a zest | 1,346.247193 |
2023-11-16 18:39:30.3374730 | 727 | 12 |
Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1895, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1895. FIVE CENTS A
COPY.
VOL. XVI.--NO. 827. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
A FIGHT IN THE FOG.
BY YATES STIRLING, JUN., ENSIGN U.S.N.
"All hands to muster!" rang out from the harsh throats of the
boatswain's mates of the U.S.S. _Kearsarge_, and the crew came tumbling
aft to the quarter-deck. They were as fine-looking a set of bluejackets
as one would care to see, the cream of the navy and the naval reserve.
The new _Kearsarge_ was cruising off the coast of Great Britain for the
purpose of intercepting one of the enemy's finest cruisers, which was
known to have recently left England, and was on the way to join her
sister ships in her own country.
Every one aboard the American ship was wild to meet the enemy, and the
_Kearsarge_'s crew had not a fear that the fight would result
differently from the one fought by her namesake forty-five years before.
The lookout had just reported smoke to the eastward, from which
direction the enemy was expected. When all hands were "up and aft," the
Captain addressed his men upon the impending conflict.
"Men," he said, "we are here to fight the most formidable of our enemy's
cruisers. She is equal in every respect to the mighty ship upon which we
stand. There are no chances in our favor. The battle will depend upon
your coolness and courage.
"Men of the main battery, upon you depends the result of the action.
Your target is the armored sides and turrets.
"Men of the secondary battery, your nerve and endurance are to be put to
the crucial test. Your guns must be directed at the unarmored gun parts
and torpedo tubes.
"Remember, all of you, a lucky shot may turn the tide of battle.
"Officers and men, upon you depends whether the new _Kearsarge_ shall
win a name as lasting and illustrious as did the noble ship from which
that name was inherited.
"The eyes of the world are upon you."
A few minutes later the Captain and the executive officers are upon the
forward bridge, discussing the minor details of the plan of action, and
casting apprehensive glances at the low line of black smoke on the
eastern horizon.
The former is a fine-looking young officer, who has been rapidly
advanced to commanding rank through his zeal and untiring labors to
perfect the navy of his country.
Many an article from his pen on how a ship should be fought has been
published in the scientific papers of America; but now he must put his
theories to the test--to learn by experience, bitter or sweet, whether
he merited the commendation which his numerous articles on naval science
have won for him.
The _Kearsarge_, which was launched in 1900, is an armored cruiser of
9000 tons displacement, 420 feet in length | 1,346.357513 |
2023-11-16 18:39:30.5418510 | 57 | 14 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Greg Bergquist 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.)
Early Western Travels
| 1,346.561891 |
2023-11-16 18:39:30.5445150 | 579 | 11 |
Produced by Bryan Ness and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
THE GNOSTIC CRUCIFIXION
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
_Net._
THRICE GREATEST HERMES (3 vols.) 30/-
FRAGMENTS OF A FAITH FORGOTTEN 10/6
DID JESUS LIVE 100 B.C.? 9/-
THE WORLD-MYSTERY 5/-
THE GOSPEL AND THE GOSPELS 4/6
APOLLONIUS OF TYANA 3/6
THE UPANISHADS (2 vols.) 3/-
PLOTINUS 1/-
ECHOES FROM THE GNOSIS
BY G. R. S. MEAD
VOL. VII.
THE GNOSTIC CRUCIFIXION
THE THEOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING SOCIETY
LONDON AND BENARES
1907
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
ECHOES FROM THE GNOSIS.
Under this general title is now being published a series of small volumes,
drawn from, or based upon, the mystic, theosophic and gnostic writings of
the ancients, so as to make more easily audible for the ever-widening
circle of those who love such things, some echoes of the mystic
experiences and initiatory lore of their spiritual ancestry. There are
many who love the life of the spirit, and who long for the light of
gnostic illumination, but who are not sufficiently equipped to study the
writings of the ancients at first hand, or to follow unaided the labours
of scholars. These little volumes are therefore intended to serve as
introduction to the study of the more difficult literature of the subject;
and it is hoped that at the same time they may become for some, who have,
as yet, not even heard of the Gnosis, stepping-stones to higher things.
G. R. S. M.
THE GNOSTIC CRUCIFIXION
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE 9
THE VISION OF THE CROSS 12
COMMENTS 20
POSTCRIPT 69
TEXTS
Bonnet (M.), _Acta Apostolorum Apocrypha_ (Leipzig, 1898).
James (M. R.), _Apocrypha Anecdota, T. & S._, v. i. (Cambridge, | 1,346.564555 |
2023-11-16 18:39:30.7255540 | 188 | 9 |
Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, Barry Abrahamsen, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE HONORABLE MISS MOONLIGHT
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: Frontispiece]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
HONORABLE
MISS MOONLIGHT
BY
ONOTO WATANNA
AUTHOR OF
“A JAPANESE NIGHTINGALE”
“TAMA” ETC.
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
M C M X I I
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOOKS BY
ONOTO WATANNA
THE HONORABLE MISS MO | 1,346.745594 |
2023-11-16 18:39:31.0258790 | 4,113 | 6 |
Produced by PM for Bureau of American Ethnology, The
Internet Archive (American Libraries), Wayne Hammond and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by the Bibliothèque nationale
de France (BnF/Gallica) at http://gallica.bnf.fr)
[Transcriber's Note:
The letters a-i, upper case and lower case, enclosed in square brackets
are script font. All other letters enclosed in square brackets are
rotated 180 degrees.
Letters preceded by a caret are superscript.
Characters enclosed by curly braces and underscore are subscript.
Italics delimited by underscores.
Bold delimited with equal signs.
Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation are as in the original.]
OMAHA SOCIOLOGY.
BY
REV. J. OWEN DORSEY.
Third Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology to the Secretary of
the Smithsonian Institution, 1881-82, Government Printing Office,
Washington, 1884, pages 205-370.
SIOUAN ALPHABET.
[This is given to explain the pronunciation of the Indian words in the
following paper]
a, as in _father_.
`a, an initially exploded a.
ă, as in _what_.
`ă, an initially exploded ă.
ä, as in _hat_.
c, as sh in _she_. See ś.
ᴐ, a medial _sh_, a sonant-surd.
¢ (Dakota letter), as _ch_ in _church_.
ç, as _th_ in _thin_.
[ç], a medial ç, sonant-surd.
¢, as _th_ in _the_.
e, as in _they_.
`e, an initially exploded e.
ě, as in _get_.
`ě, an initially exploded ě.
g, as in _go_.
ġ (in Dakota), _gh_. See x.
ḣ (in Dakota), _kh_, etc. See q.
i, as in _machine_.
`i, an initially exploded i.
ĭ, as in _pin_.
j, as _z_ in _azure_, or as _j_ in French _Jacques_.
ʞ, a medial k, a sonant-surd.
k', an exploded k.
ñ, as _ng_ in _sing_.
hn, its initial sound is expelled from the nostrils, and is scarcely
heard.
o, as in _no_.
`o, an initially exploded o.
[p], a medial b (or p), a sonant-surd.
p', an exploded p.
q, as German _ch_ in _ach_. See ḣ.
[s], a medial s (or z), a sonant-surd.
ś (in Dakota), as _sh_ in _she_. See c.
ʇ, a medial t, a sonant-surd.
t', an exploded t.
u, as _oo_ in _tool_.
`u, an initially exploded u.
ŭ, as _oo_ in _foot_.
ṵ, a sound between o and u.
ü, as in German _kühl_.
x, _gh_, or nearly the Arabic _ghain_. See ġ.
dj, as _j_ in _judge_.
tc, as _ch_ in _church_. See ć.
tc', an exploded tc.
ʇᴐ, a medial tᴐ, a sonant-surd.
ʇ[s], a medial ts, a sonant-surd.
ts', an exploded ts.
ź (in Dakota), as _z_ in _azure_, etc. See j.
ai, as in _aisle_.
au, as _ow_ in _cow_.
yu, as _u_ in _tune_.
The following have the ordinary English sounds: b, d, h, k, l, m, n, p,
r, s, t, w, y, and z. A superior n (^n) after a vowel nasalizes it. A
plus sign (+) after any letter prolongs it.
With the exception of the five letters taken from Riggs' Dakota
Dictionary, and used only in the Dakota words in this paper, the above
letters belong to the alphabet adopted by the Bureau of Ethnology.
CONTENTS.
Page.
CHAPTER I.--INTRODUCTION 211
Early migrations of the ₵egiha tribes 211
Subsequent migrations of the Omahas 213
Present state of the Omahas 214
CHAPTER II.--THE STATE 215
Differentiation of organs in the State 216
State classes 216
Servants 217
Corporations 218
CHAPTER III.--THE GENTILE SYSTEM 219
Tribal circles 219
The Omaha tribal circle 219
Rules for pitching the tents 220
The sacred tents 221
The sacred pipes 221
Gahige's account of the tradition of the pipes 222
A^n-ba-hebe's account of the same 222
Law of membership 225
The Weji^n cte or Elk gens 225
The Iñke-sabe or Black shoulder gens 228
The Hañga gens 233
The ₵atada gens 236
The Wasabe-hit`ajĭ subgens 236
The Wajiñga-¢atajĭ subgens 238
The [T]eda-it`ajĭ subgens 239
The [K]eï^n subgens 240
The Ka^nze gens 241
The Ma^n¢iñka-gaxe gens 242
The [T]e-sinde gens 244
The [T]a-[p]a or Deer-head gens 245
The Iñg¢e-jide gens 247
The Ictasanda gens 248
CHAPTER IV.--THE KINSHIP SYSTEM AND MARRIAGE LAWS 252
Classes of kinship 252
Consanguineous kinship 253
Affinities 255
Marriage laws 255
Whom a man or woman cannot marry 256
Whom a man or woman can marry 257
Importance of the subgentes 258
Remarriage 258
CHAPTER V.--DOMESTIC LIFE 259
Courtship and marriage customs 259
Domestic etiquette--bashfulness 262
Pregnancy 263
Children 265
Standing of women in society 266
Catamenia 267
Widows and widowers 267
Rights of parents and others 268
Personal habits, politeness, etc. 269
Meals, etc. 271
CHAPTER VI.--VISITING CUSTOMS 276
The_calumet_dance 276
CHAPTER VII.--INDUSTRIAL OCCUPATIONS 283
Hunting customs 283
Fishing customs 301
Cultivation of the ground 302
CHAPTER VIII.--INDUSTRIAL OCCUPATIONS (CONTINUED) 303
Food and its preparation 303
Clothing and its preparation 310
CHAPTER IX.--PROTECTIVE INDUSTRIES 312
War customs 312
Defensive warfare 312
Offensive warfare 315
CHAPTER X.--AMUSEMENTS AND CORPORATIONS 334
Games 334
Corporations 342
Feasting societies 342
Dancing societies 342
CHAPTER XI.--REGULATIVE INDUSTRIES 356
The government 356
Religion 363
CHAPTER XII.--THE LAW 364
Personal law 364
Property law 366
Corporation law 367
Government law 367
International law 368
Military law 368
Religious law 368
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Page.
PLATE XXX.--Map showing the migrations of the Omahas
and cognate tribes 212
XXXI.--Tent of Agaha-wacuce 237
XXXII.--Omaha system of consanguinities 253
XXXIII.--Omaha system of affinities 255
FIG. 12.--The Omaha tribal circle 220
13.--Places of the chiefs, &c., in the tribal assembly 224
14.--Iñke-sabe tent 230
15.--Iñke-sabe style of wearing the hair 230
16.--Iñke-sabe Gentile assembly 231
17.--The sacred pole 234
18.--Wasabe-hit`ajĭ style of wearing the hair 237
19.--[T]e-sinde style of wearing the hair 244
20.--The weawa^n or calumet pipe 277
21.--Rattles used in the pipe dance 278
22.--The Dakota style of tobacco pouch used by the Omahas
in the pipe dance 278
23.--The position of the pipes, the ear of corn, &c. 279
24.--Decoration of child's face 280
25.--Showing positions of the long tent, the pole, and rows
of "ʇa" within the tribal circle 295
26.--Figures of pumpkins 306
27.--The Webajabe 310
28.--The Weubaja^n 311
29.--Front view of the iron 311
30.--Old Ponka fort 314
31.--Diagram showing places of the guests, messengers, etc. 315
32.--The banañge 336
33.--The sticks 336
34.--Na^na^n au hă 336
35.--₵ab¢i^n au hă 337
36.--Diagram of the play-ground 337
37.--The stick used in playing [P]a¢i^n-jahe 338
38.--The wa¢igije 338
39.--The stick used in playing I^nti^n-buʇa 341
40.--The waq¢eq¢e `a^nsa 352
41.--The Ponka style of hañga-ʞi`a^nze 359
42.--The Omaha style of hañga-ʞi`a^nze 361
OMAHA SOCIOLOGY.
BY J. OWEN DORSEY.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION.
§ 1. The Omaha Indians belong to the ₵egiha group of the Siouan family.
The ₵egiha group may be divided into the Omaha-₵egiha and the
Kwapa-₵egiha. In the former are four tribes, speaking three dialects,
while the latter consists of one tribe, the Kwapas. The dialects are as
follows: Pañka, spoken by the Ponkas and Omahas; Waᴐaᴐe, the Osage
dialect; [K]a^nze, that of the Kansas or Kaws, closely related to the
Waᴐaᴐe; and Ugaqpa, or Kwapa.
§ 2. ₵egiha means, "Belonging to the people of this land," and answers
to the Oto "[T]ᴐiwere," and the Iowa "[T]ᴐeʞiwere." Mr. Joseph La
Flèche, who was formerly a head chief of the Omahas, also said that
₵egiha was about equivalent to "Dakota." When an Omaha was challenged in
the dark, when on his own land, he generally replied, "I am a ₵egiha."
So did a Ponka reply, under similar circumstances, when on his own land.
But when challenged in the dark, when away from home, he was obliged to
give the name of his tribe, saying, "I am an Omaha," or, "I am a Ponka,"
as the case might be.
§ 3. The real name of the Omahas is "Uma^nha^n." It is explained by a
tradition obtained from a few members of the tribe. When the ancestors
of the Omahas, Ponkas, Osages, and several other cognate tribes traveled
down the Ohio to its mouth, they separated on reaching the Mississippi.
Some went up the river, hence the name Uma^nha^n, from ʞíma^nha^n, "to
go against the wind or stream." The rest went down the river, hence the
name Ugáqpa or Kwápa, from ugáqpa or ugáha, "to float down the stream."
EARLY MIGRATIONS OF THE ₵EGIHA TRIBES.
The tribes that went up the Mississippi were the Omahas, Ponkas, Osages,
and Kansas. Some of the Omahas remember a tradition that their ancestors
once dwelt at the place where Saint Louis now stands; and the Osages and
Kansas say that they were all one people, inhabiting an extensive
peninsula, on the Missouri River.
On this peninsula was a high mountain, which the Kansas called
Ma^n-daqpaye and Tce-dŭñga-ajabe; the corresponding Osage name being
Ma^n-ʇaqpa¢ě.[1]
Subsequently, these tribes ranged through a territory, including Osage,
Gasconade, and other adjacent counties of the State of Missouri, perhaps
most of the country lying between the Mississippi and the Osage Rivers.
The Iowas were near them; but the Omahas say that the Otos and Missouris
were not known to them. The Iowa chiefs, however, have a tradition that
the Otos were their kindred, and that both tribes, as well as the Omahas
and Ponkas, were originally Winnebagos. A recent study of the dialects
of the Osages, Kansas, and Kwapas discloses remarkable similarities
which strengthen the supposition that the Iowas and Otos, as well as the
Missouris, were of one stock.
At the mouth of the Osage River the final separation occurred. The
Omahas and Ponkas crossed the Missouri and, accompanied by the Iowas,
proceeded by degrees through Missouri, Iowa, and Minnesota, till they
reached the neighborhood of the Red Pipestone quarry. This must have
taken many years, as their course was marked by a succession of
villages, consisting of earth lodges.
Thence they journeyed towards the Big Sioux River, where they made a
fort. They remained in that country a long time, making earth lodges and
cultivating fields. Game abounded. At that time the Yanktons dwelt in a
densely wooded country near the head of the Mississippi; hence the
Omahas called them, in those days, "Ja^n´aʇa ni´kaci^nga, The people
who dwelt in the woods." After that the Yanktons removed and became
known as Yanktons. By and by the Dakotas made war on the three tribes,
and many Omahas were killed by them. So at last the three tribes went
west and southwest to a lake near the head of Choteau Creek, Dakota
Territory, now known as Lake Andes (?). There they cut the sacred pole
(see §§ 36 and 153), and assigned to each gens and subgens its peculiar
customs, such as the sacred pipe, sacred tents, and the taboos. There
were a great many gentes in each tribe at that time, far more than they
have at present; and these gentes were in existence long before they cut
the sacred pole.
After leaving the lake, known as "Waq¢éxe gasai´ ¢a^n, Where they cut
the sacred pole," they traveled up the Missouri River till they arrived
at Ni-úgacúde, White Earth River. They crossed the Missouri, above
this stream, and occupied the country between the Missouri and the Black
Hills, though they did not go to the Black Hills.[2] After awhile, they
turned down stream, and kept together till they reached the mouth of the
Niobrara, where the Ponkas stopped. The Omahas and Iowas continued their
journey till they reached Bow Creek, Nebraska, where the Omahas made
their village, the Iowas going beyond till they reached Ionia Creek,
where they made a village on the east bank of the stream, near its
mouth, and not far from the site of the present town of Ponca.
[1] The writer was told by an Osage that Ma^nʇaqpa¢ě was at Fire
Prairie, Missouri, where the first treaty with the Osages was made by
the United States. But that place is on a creek of the same name, which
empties into the Missouri River on the south, in T. 50 N., R. 28 W., at
the town of Napoleon, Jackson County, Missouri. This could not have been
the original Ma^nʇaqpa¢ě. Several local names have been duplicated by
the Kansas in the course of their wanderings, and there are traces of
similar duplications among the Osages. Besides this, the Omahas and
Ponkas never accompanied the Kansas and Osages beyond the mouth of the
Osage River; and the Kansas did not reach the neighborhood of Napoleon,
Missouri, for some time after the separation at the mouth of the Osage
River.
[Illustration: MAP SHOWING MIGRATIONS OF THE OMAHAS AND COGNATE TRIBES.
_Legend._
1. Winnebago habitat.
2. Iowa habitat.
3. Arkansas habitat.
4. Kwapa habitat, after the separation from the Omahas, etc.
5. Route of the Omahas, Ponkas, Kansas, and Osages.
6 | 1,347.045919 |
2023-11-16 18:39:31.0279450 | 471 | 31 |
Produced by Tor Martin Kristiansen, Joseph Cooper and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "THEY SAILED ON, IN THE MOONLIGHT"
(See page 297)]
The Sandman:
His Sea
Stories
By
William J. Hopkins
Author of "The Sandman: His Farm Stories,"
"The Sandman: More Farm Stories," "The
Sandman: His Ship Stories," etc.
With Forty Illustrations by
Diantha W. Horne
This special edition is published by arrangement
with the publisher of the regular edition,
The Page Company.
CADMUS BOOKS
E. M. HALE
AND COMPANY
CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1908_
BY THE PAGE COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
Made in U.S.A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE SEPTEMBER-GALE STORY 1
THE FIRE STORY 31
THE PORPOISE STORY 44
THE SEAWEED STORY 57
THE FLYING-FISH STORY 74
THE LOG-BOOK STORY 85
THE SHARK STORY 102
THE CHRISTMAS STORY 120
THE SOUNDING STORY 139
THE TEAK-WOOD STORY 153
THE STOWAWAY STORY 171
THE ALBATROSS STORY 185
THE DERELICT STORY 194
THE LIGHTHOUSE STORY 210
THE RUNAWAY STORY 222
THE TRAFALGAR STORY 243
THE CARGO STORY 253
THE PRIVATEER STORY 270
THE RACE STORY 291
THE PILOT STORY 310
THE DRIFTWOOD STORY 325
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"They sailed on, in the moonlight." (See page 297) _Frontispiece_
"Sometimes he had to hold on to the fences" 11
"They saw all sorts of things going up | 1,347.047985 |
2023-11-16 18:39:31.3566040 | 7,436 | 11 |
Produced by Anita Hammond, Wayne Hammond and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
SKI-RUNNING.
BY
D. M. M. CHRICHTON SOMERVILLE,
W. R. RICKMERS,
AND E. C. RICHARDSON.
DEDICATED TO
THE SKI CLUB OF GREAT BRITAIN.
EDITED BY
E. C. RICHARDSON.
_WITH NUMEROUS PHOTOGRAPHS AND DIAGRAMS._
SECOND EDITION.
LONDON:
HORACE COX,
WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM’S BUILDINGS, E.C.
1905.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY HORACE COX, WINDSOR HOUSE, BREAM’S BUILDINGS, E.C.
[Illustration: “PAA SKARE.”]
PREFACE.
Since the first edition of this book was produced two years ago popular
interest in the sport has increased by leaps and bounds. We have
endeavoured to keep pace with the times, and the present volume is an
attempt to give a really complete account of the sport, which will be
useful to beginners and experts alike. To the historical part has been
added a chapter on Continental ski-running, whilst the technical part
has been remodelled, enlarged, and, we trust, rendered more lucid and
complete. Wherever necessary new diagrams have been added, and the
whole-page illustrations have been chosen with a view to indicating the
great beauty and variety of the snow regions of the earth.
Here and there actual alterations of views previously expressed will be
found. We make no apology for these, but desire frankly to acknowledge
our errors, and to thank those friendly critics who have pointed them
out. With ignorant criticism we have been very little troubled, and
with actual hostility simply not at all.
We are further greatly indebted to the many friends who have rendered
us positive assistance. The frontispiece is from Herr Halström’s
wonderful picture “Paa Skare,” which that gentleman has given us
unqualified leave to reproduce. The ski-runner which it depicts also
serves as a central figure for the cover, designed by Mr. Nico Jungman.
To those who have kindly permitted us to copy their photographs
we hereby take the opportunity of expressing our best thanks. The
outline of the Solberg Hill is from an accurate drawing by Herr Von
de Beauclair published in _Ski_, to the editor of which paper we are
also indebted for the drawings illustrating Herr Sohm’s detachable
seal’s-skin and climbing-irons. To Herr S. Höyer-Ellefsen, Herr Fredrik
Juell, Herr Trygve Smith, Herr Durban Hansen, and numerous other
skilful Norwegian runners we are grateful for many a useful hint and
word of advice, whilst we owe to Herr Zdarsky a valuable practical
demonstration of his methods of teaching. Messrs. C. W. Richardson,
E. H. Wroughton, and H. P. Cox have been kind enough to help with the
actual production of the little work, and if there be any others who we
have omitted to mention we would hereby beg them to accept at once both
our apologies and thanks.
E. C. R.
_November, 1905._
CONTENTS.
_Pages._
PREFACE iii-iv
THE ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF SKI 1-13
CONTINENTAL SKI-RUNNING 13-17
THE ELEMENTS OF SKI-RUNNING 18-85
_Introduction_ 18-20
Part I.--_The Ground and the Snow_ 20-27
Part II.--_Outfit_ 28-52
The Ski 28-35
The Binding 35-43
Footplates 44
The Stick 44-47
Footgear 47-49
Other Clothes 49-50
Accessories 50-51
Part III.--_Technical_ 52-85
Preliminary advice 52-53
Lean forward! 53
To lift the point of the ski 53-55
Turning on the spot 55
Walking with ski on the level 55
Up-hill 56-61
Gliding down 61-65
Falling and getting up 65
Slight changes of direction 65
“Skating” 66
Braking with the stick 66-68
Snow-ploughing 68-69
Side stepping 69
Stemming 69-72
To make a down-hill curve 72-77
The “Telemark” Swing 78-82
The “Christiania” Swing 82-85
JUMPING 86-98
How to select and prepare the hill 90-92
How to jump 92-98
SKI MOUNTAINEERING 99-104
ODDS AND ENDS 105-116
_Antidotes to Sticking, &c._ 105-111
_Common Faults and Failings_ 111-113
_Ski-running Etiquette_ 113-114
_Some Useful Figures_ 115-116
THE YEAR-BOOK
OF THE
SKI CLUB
OF
GREAT BRITAIN
CONTAINS
Articles by Practical Men about Ski-running
Centres in
_GREAT BRITAIN_,
_NORWAY_,
_GERMANY_,
_SWITZERLAND_,
_AUSTRIA_,
_ETC._, _ETC._
As well as a great deal of other interesting
and useful information about the Sport.
The book is edited by
E. H. WROUGHTON,
and is published for the Club by Horace
Cox, Bream’s Buildings, London, E.C.
PRICE ONE SHILLING.
THE
ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF SKI.
By D. M. M. CRICHTON SOMERVILLE.
There are many people to whom the word “ski” must be an enigma, and
everything connected with the pastime “ski-ing” as a sealed book. The
object of the present treatise is, therefore, to solve the puzzle,
open the pages of the closed volume, and thus throw light on a sport
which, when once learnt, will be found more attractive, healthy, and
invigorating than any other winter exercise, provided, of course, that
it be not carried on (as often is the case) to excess, but is indulged
in only by those who are sound of wind and limb.
For the sake of the uninitiated, it may be explained that _ski_
(pronounced she) is a word of foreign origin, which, up to
comparatively recent years, has been translated “snowshoe,” a term
which conveys a wrong idea of the appliances in question, even
supposing it might be more fitly given to the forerunners of the ski,
viz., pattens formed of withes or wood, which are used in many parts
at the present day, and of which the Indian or Canadian snowshoe is
a modified type, and best known to British sportsmen.[1] The ski,
however, are of different construction, being formed of narrow boards,
7ft. and more in length, upturned at the toe to allow of their being
shoved or slid over the snow, when attached to the feet of the wearer.
With the exception of snow skates (iron shod runners some 2ft. in
length, for use on roadways and hard surfaces) they are the only kind
of foot gear used for the purpose of gliding on snow, and possess many
advantages over other snowshoes, not the least being their capability
of being used for pleasure, as well as the necessary outdoor pursuits
of daily life.
Until comparatively late years the employment of ski as contrivances
for travelling on the snow was unknown to the majority of those
inhabiting the more populated parts of the civilised globe, where
communication can nearly always be kept open by rail, steamboat, or
other means; notwithstanding that they are, and have been used from
time immemorial during many months of the year by a large portion of
the population of Northern and Central Asia, Russia, Scandinavia,
and even the southern parts of Eastern Europe, where the winters are
severe. Casual allusions to them in the writings of some few sporting
authors did not suffice to bring the ski into other than mere passing
notice; and they would probably have remained in obscurity but for
the somewhat recent discovery that they could be employed for other
purposes than those of mere locomotion, or keeping open communication
in lands and districts where snows are deep, and highways lie buried or
are unknown.
It may be of interest to mention here that, in remote parts of England,
ski appear to have been employed so late even as the middle of the past
century, their use being discontinued as communication with the outer
world became easier. Thus, apart from information derived from other
sources respecting finds of ski, or their remains in various parts, one
gentleman, writing from Cumberland in February, 1904, states that, in
the dales of Yorkshire and Durham, the sport is by no means new, and
that forty years ago he went to his school on “skees,” which were made
of beech wood, some 5ft. in length, with “nibs” about 3in., and that
it was no uncommon practice in those days for the Weardale miners to
go to and from their work on such snowshoes, it being a fine thing to
see thirty or forty men gliding down the steep <DW72>s from the mines at
a speed equal to that of a railway train. The writer also adds that,
amongst the youths, skee-jumping was a favourite pastime, and that he
believes the practice was a very old one from the fact that he knew
boys of his own age who had come into possession of “skees” once owned
by their grand-fathers.[2]
To judge from the description given by the author of “Lorna Doone,”
a form of ski was, probably, known in Devonshire some 300 years ago,
where also sledges were employed throughout the entire year instead of
wheeled vehicles for carting in farm products. In the story he relates
how when, during the great frost of 1625, John Ridd was told that, in
the Arctic regions, any man might get along with a “boat” on either
foot to prevent his sinking in the snow--such “boats” being made very
strong and light, of ribs with skin across them, 5ft. long by 1ft.
wide, and turned up at each end, even as a canoe is--he built himself
a pair of strong and light snowshoes, framed of ash, and ribbed of
withy with half-tanned calf skin stretched across, and an inner sole to
support his feet. “At first,” he says, “I could not walk at all, but
floundered about most piteously, catching one shoe in the other, and
both of them in the snowdrifts (just as a beginner would now), to the
great amusement of the maidens who were come to look at me.”
From the above description such ski would have resembled those of the
Chukchis in North-East Asia.
It is due, however, to the youth of Norway that ski-ing has of late
years been reduced to a pleasure and an art; while the notice it
has received abroad is owing mainly to the prominence given to it
by accounts furnished to, and published in, English sporting and
illustrated journals, and to allusions to it in the writings of various
arctic explorers who have lately taken ski with them on their journeys
as part of their travelling outfit.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.--An early form of Snowshoe.
From a Sketch by Laurentius Urdahl.]
In turning to the history of the ski, it will be found that their
origin is as much lost in oblivion as that of the wheel; but it is not
too much to assume that human beings who have been created to adapt
themselves to their surroundings at all times, have, in lands far
separated and entirely apart, invented somewhat similar appliances
with which they could float, as it were, and proceed over depths of
snow that would otherwise bury them, or cross tracts of treacherous
ice which would give way under the tread of a human foot. In this
connection one need not refer solely to inhabitants of wintry
countries, for it will be found that the natives of other regions, who
have to traverse yielding surfaces, such as the great mud flats of
Hampshire and elsewhere, wear pattens on their feet, and are thus able
to wander in safety over a substance too soft to bear them otherwise.
Such pattens are almost identical with those employed elsewhere for
travelling over snow, and consist of slabs of wood, some 16in. to
18in. long, by 12in. or so in width, which are attached to the feet
by toe straps and thongs. In these pattens, no matter whether they be
made of withes or solid wood, we undoubtedly find the earliest form of
snowshoes or ski, a form which, however, exists to the present day,
and is met with in the north-eastern and northern portions of Asia,
Thibet, the Caucasus, Armenia, Scandinavia, Germany, Switzerland, and,
in a modified form, in North America, the principle of construction
there being identical, viz., a ring or framework of wood supporting a
net work of withes or sinews. There are, however, various modifications
of the original round pattern; some of the shoes, possibly to prevent
straddling, are more or less elongated, the length being increased as
the breadth is diminished, while some, thus shaped, have occasionally
leather stretched between the frames to allow of their wearer gliding,
instead of walking, over the snow, and thus become veritable ski; for
while the original object of the snowshoe or patten and the ski are
identical, viz., to support a weight on yielding surfaces, the patten
remains a shoe for walking purposes, while the ski becomes a blade on
which to slide. From this explanation the difference between patten or
snowshoe and ski is possibly made clear for the first time.
While, as previously mentioned, it is impossible to trace the origin
of the ski, mention of snowshoes is made hundreds of years before the
Christian era. Xenophon refers to their being worn (as in Scandinavia
to the present day) by the horses of the Armenians to prevent their
sinking in the deep snow. Historical mention, from a period before
Christ, is also made of the mountaineers of the Caucasus attaching
discs of leather (probably leather-covered wood), studded with nails,
to their feet to enable them to move over the snows of the fells. The
ancient accounts, however, all refer to the patten, but Norwegian
traditions dating back some 1,600 years make mention of the ski. The
Greek historian, Prokopius, as well as other writers, including King
Alfred of England, from 550 A.D. to 1070 A.D., drew attention to the
Lapps, who were called “Skrid Finner,”[3] one saying they were the best
of all men at ski-ing, and the fact of it being the Lapps who wore the
ski, or who were the great exponents of ski-ing in those early times,
would tend to confirm the theory of the ski themselves originating in
Central Asia--those parts of the old world from which the Ugrians or
Finns, Samoyeds, and other tribes of Mongols migrated northward and
westward, till stopped by the waters of the Atlantic on the shores of
the Scandinavian peninsula. There can be little doubt, however, that
pattens were used for hundreds, if not thousands, of years before
the thought of sliding over the snow, which led to the introduction
of ski, entered the head of some inventive genius. The original ski
were probably constructed by the Chukchis, or similar tribes, near
the Behring Straits, or Sea of Okhotsk. They were formed, as already
intimated, of elongated frames covered with leather, and were modified,
subsequently, as migration increased, forests were met with, and wood
was found to be a better and more durable material for the purpose
required.
It will thus be seen that ski were extensively used in olden times
by the Scandinavians as well as others. They also found their way
from Norway to Iceland and Greenland. Of ski there are many types.
The skridsko (sliding shoes), or ski of the Lapps, appear, if one is
to judge from old illustrations from the sixteenth century (Figs. 2
and 3), to have been veritable shoes, the feet being placed in a hole
made for the purpose at the heel of the ski. They are thus depicted
as elongated (some 3ft. long) sabots. There is, however, no reason for
assuming these sabot skis to have been the original form, for they
were, at best, but a hybrid type of ingenious construction, possibly
only used by the inhabitants of certain districts. The true Lapps’
ski, on the other hand, were comparatively short and broad, attached
to the feet by toe straps and thongs, and covered with the skins of
reindeer calves for the purpose of letting them glide easily without
accumulating snow on the soles, of keeping the wood from splitting or
fraying, and because, when thus covered, it was easier to ascend the
<DW72>s of the hills, the hairs which lay fore and aft, checking the
tendency to slide backwards.
[Illustration: FIG. 2.--Skrid-Finner hunting (Olaus Magnus, _ca._
1550).]
[Illustration: FIG. 3.--Skrid-Finner (Olaus Magnus, _ca._ 1550)].
Such skin-clad ski were, and are still, employed by the Lapps, as
well as by others in Scandinavia, Finland, and throughout Siberia;
but several other types have, nevertheless, been used in Lapland for
centuries. In Scandinavia and the North, these skin-covered appliances
go by the name of “aandre,” “ondurr,” “andor,” to distinguish them from
the plain ski. As, however, the advantages of the skin are not now
generally considered sufficient to counterbalance the disadvantages,
they are gradually disappearing.
There can be little doubt but that the greatest development of the ski
has taken place in Europe, notably in Scandinavia, where they have
been modified to suit the different requirements of the districts in
which they are employed. Thus have the varied types hitherto been
many, but may be divided generally into two groups, viz., the short
and broad, or loose snow ski, and the long and narrow, or compact
snow variety (“skare ski”), this latter pattern being represented by
the Oesterdal and Swedish ski (originally one very long and one short
ski, but now generally of equal length). These are the most suitable
for open country, whether in the lowlands or mountains, and on level
or undulating land are superior, so far as speed is concerned, to all
others; but in broken country, or on mountains where obstacles such
as trees, rocks, &c., are to be met with, the shorter or “loose snow”
patterns, owing to their handiness, are invariably employed.
Almost every province, it may be said almost every district, throughout
Scandinavia possessed its own type of ski. In Russia they have possibly
been of a more homogeneous character than elsewhere, owing to the
snow-clad portions of that empire consisting of vast plains which call
for no variety of form. Of comparatively late years, however, there has
been a tendency in Norway to adopt one sort for universal use, and a
sub (lighter) variety for leaping purposes. It is a modified Telemarken
(loose snow) type, eminently suited to every purpose, and is gradually
superseding all other forms throughout Scandinavia.
Of accessories to the ski, the staff has invariably been recognised
as a necessity (except in leaping competitions, when it becomes a
source of the greatest danger) and should always form part of the
outfit on all long excursions or journeys. It assists the skier both
in aiding him when ascending, and as a brake when descending difficult
<DW72>s, or as a means of defence if attacked by animals. The Lapps
use it, too, as an offensive weapon when attacking wolves, which
they occasionally run down on their ski, and kill by a well-directed
blow on the snout, or across that most vulnerable spot, the loins of
the beast. The most effectual use of the staff can only be learnt
by experience or teaching. The fastenings may be regarded as other
important accessories, and but a few years ago, and in many parts even
still consist solely of toe straps formed of withes or leather. These
simple contrivances suited all the requirements of the expert peasants,
and it is only of late years, when leaping was introduced, and the
ski put to other and harder purposes than originally intended, that
stronger and more secure bindings became necessary. Of these, there are
many sorts, all good, but none perfect as yet. In some instances the
latter may be a source of great danger owing to its being impossible,
when peril faces one, or accidents occur, to remove the ski from the
feet, and notably so when a man breaks through treacherous snow-covered
ice, owing to the ski preventing him from regaining the surface. But
while several fatal accidents have occurred in this manner, it is
possible that others have been avoided by the greater command of the
ski afforded to most people by secure fastenings.
[Illustration: HOLMENKOLLEN.
_Photo by Rude, Christiania._]
Having now given an outline of the history and origin of the ski, it
may be well to refer to the movement by which ski-ing has been brought
into the prominent notice of sportsmen and admirers of winter pastimes.
In the extensive and mountainous district of Telemarken, Norway, one in
which ski were employed possibly more extensively than in any other,
owing to its remoteness, and the wretched state of the few highways and
byways to be found there, the peasants discovered that the ski might be
used for pleasure as well as ordinary pursuits, and arranged meetings
at which races were run, and the leaping powers of competitors tested
on the <DW72>s of selected hills. By degrees news of these trials of
skill found its way to the towns and the populated districts in their
neighbourhood, and some few citizens having found ski-ing to be a good,
and to them attractive, exercise, determined to hold similar meetings
at Christiania each winter. The accounts given of those meetings are
very ludicrous, the hill being neither steep nor long, the competitors
riding astride their poles down the track, and only jumping, if jumping
it could be called, a few yards. The exhibitions did not “catch on,”
and were discontinued for many years. The townsfolk knew too little
about the sport to appreciate it, and the absurd, if not painful,
appearance of the competitors was not encouraging to aspirants. Towards
the end of the seventies, however, owing chiefly to the exertions
of the Christiania Ski Club--a select institution with but few
members--some Telemarken peasants[4] were induced to visit the capital,
and in the early part of 1879 a ski meeting was held on the <DW72>s of
the hill at Huseby, near Christiania, which was attended by a couple
of the countrymen, who took part, together with other competitors, in
the races and leaping that had been arranged. The Huseby <DW72> was
one which, only a few years previously, had been described as highly
dangerous, and impossible to descend when the snow was fast and in good
condition.
The leaping competition proved most highly interesting. though in
some respects quite comical. Every man, except the Telemarkings,
carried a long, stout staff, and on that, so they thought, their lives
depended. Starting from the summit, riding their poles, as in former
times, like witches on broom-sticks, checking the speed with frantic
efforts, they slid downwards to the dreaded platform or “hop” from
which they were supposed to leap, but over which they but trickled,
as it were, and, landing softly beneath, finally reached the bottom
somehow, thankful for their safe escape from the dreaded slide. But
then came the Telemark boys, erect at starting, pliant, confident,
without anything but a fir branch in their hands, swooping downwards
with ever-increasing impetus until with a bound they were in the air,
and 76ft. of space was cleared ere, with a resounding smack, their ski
touched the slippery <DW72> beneath, and they shot onwards to the plain,
where suddenly they turned, stopped in a smother of snow dust, and
faced the hill they had just descended! That was a sight worth seeing,
and one never to be forgotten, even if in after years such performances
have been, in a way, totally eclipsed.
This wonderful exhibition of the peasants’ skill naturally excited
the greatest interest, and acted on the townsfolk like a charm.
Their leaping was regarded as one of the wonders of the world, and
in subsequent years people flocked to Christiania from far and wide
to witness it. Then came the turn of the tide, the eyes of the city
youths became opened--the eyes of those who, during the long winter
days had, for want of better occupation, frequented billiard-rooms or
ill-ventilated cafés, where the seeds of idleness and vice lay ready
to strike root. By degrees such old haunts became forsaken, for the
attractions of the newly-found sport proved greater than those of the
bottle, and even if they failed to attract and reform the _majority_
of men just at that period, they certainly had a most beneficial
influence on many, and, as time advanced, on the younger generation,
who were able to take to the pastime before bad customs could affect
their ways. Like other things, especially before its novelty had worn
off, ski-ing was, and often still is, carried to an excess, but that it
is a healthy pastime is a fact beyond all doubt. To men it came as a
boon and a blessing, and subsequently to women and girls, who, in the
short winter days and close confinement to the house, suffered terribly
from anæmia and all its attendant evils. At the time referred to the
fair sex was debarred by public opinion from participating in masculine
pursuits, and it is not so very long ago that pater and materfamilias
looked askance at girls who donned the ski. That is all changed now,
however, and ski-ing has produced of later years a race of robust men
and healthy women, presenting the greatest possible contrast to those
who lived “in the good old times,” unconscious of the benefits of
exercise and fresh air, shut up in close and dingy rooms to escape from
the dreaded cold and the touch of an icy blast.
For some years the peasants carried all before them, both in the racing
and leaping competitions. They were steady on their legs, accustomed
to the mountain <DW72>s from their infancy, and could out-pace and
out-distance all competitors. They did not, however, understand the art
of training; the townsmen soon saw they could not get on without that,
and ended at last in beating their teachers on all points, first in
jumping, which they practised as an art, and, secondly, in racing given
distances.
It may be well now to touch upon ski-ing proper, or the employment of
ski for the purpose for which they were originally intended, viz.,
travelling over snow-clad land or ice. By means of these appliances
people are enable to roam at will, enjoying the fresh, crispy air, the
pretty landscape, and changing scenery, combined with the pleasant
sensation of gliding, instead of tramping, over the surface of the
country. The speed attained is certainly not very great, and is about
the same in hilly as on level country, for in the former the time lost
in ascending <DW72>s is made up on the descent. In racing, the time
made by the best men, travelling lightly clad, and under the best
conditions of snow and weather, works out at about eight and a half
miles an hour on a course of a little over nine miles, and nearly
eight miles an hour on one of eighteen and a half miles. In racing,
the longest distance ever run at a stretch was covered by a Lapp,
who, at Jokkmokk, in Sweden, made a good 137 miles in 21 hours and 22
minutes, over comparatively level ground, thus at a rate of about six
and a half miles an hour. Ordinary travellers, or soldiers on ski,
would find five to five and a half miles an hour quite sufficient
to tax their powers. In 1900, a detachment of the Norwegian Guards
accomplished a march of 125 miles in seven and a half days, an average
of some seventeen and a half miles a day, which must be looked upon as
a very good performance, considering that they carried canvas wherewith
to improvise tents, sleeping bags, and provisions, and moved up hill
and down dale, once ascending to a height of 4,000ft. above the sea
level. It will thus be seen that, in marching trim, soldiers on ski
do not travel faster, or to any great extent faster, than infantry at
other times, the only advantage of the ski being that, when the snow
lies, they are able to move about, and get along in parts where men
not provided with such appliances, or snowshoes, would be compelled to
remain idle.
Attention may now be drawn to leaping, which was originally learned by
the Norwegians on the <DW72>s of their hills when inequalities of ground
would, during a rapid descent, cause the wearer to bound through the
air for some distance, possibly only a yard or two, but sufficient,
anyway, to create a longing for a little more. This led the peasants
to make an artificial rise on the face of a hill, and there meet to
see who could leap farthest. In no other country was the leaping ever
attempted, and it is primarily due to it that ski-ing caught on, and
became so popular in Norway as to throw all other pleasures into the
shade, and attain its present position as _the_ national pastime of
the people. To be understood ski-leaping must be seen. No photograph
or description can ever give a proper idea of it. Many of those who
now appear as the best leapers are men who devote their chief energies
to this branch of the sport, and who attend all the meetings they
possibly can. They might be called “pot hunters,” but this term can,
fortunately, be hardly applied to them as yet, for the remuneration of
a prize can scarcely repay the expenses they incur in loss of time,
travelling, &c. They, in fact, perform for the love of the amusement,
and, it may be said, nothing else except, possibly, renown. Ever since
the peasants, in 1879, startled the country by their leaping powers,
jumping has steadily improved, _i.e._, in length, and in the courage
or daring of the leapers. But, while acknowledging this to some
extent, it must be considered doubtful whether the modern wonderful
accomplishments equal or surpass those of the Telemarken peasants, who,
some twenty odd years ago, made bounds of 70ft. and upwards, with their
ordinary country outfit of home-made ski, simply fastened with toe
straps of twisted withes, whereas now men wear ski specially made for
the purpose, strapped securely to their boots.
It may be of interest to conclude by giving a list of those who have
made the longest leaps, and continued their course without a spill.
Records of leaps in which the men kept their feet after landing on the
snow, so-called “standing leaps”:
Year. Name. Place. Length of Jump.
1879. Torjus Hemmestvedt Christiania 76 feet.
1893. Torjus Hemmestvedt Red Wing, U.S.A. 103 ”
1898. Sven Sollid }
} Solberg, pr. Christiania 103½ ”
” Cato Aal }
” Tollef Hemmestvedt
(16 years old) Telemarken 99 ”
1899. Asbjörn Nielsen }
} Solberg, pr. Christiania 107 ”
” Morten Hansen }
1900. Olaf Tandberg Solberg, pr. Christiania 116½ ”
1902. Paul Nesjö (18 years
old) Trondhjem 130 ”
” Nils Gjestvang Modum | 1,347.376644 |
2023-11-16 18:39:31.6256880 | 3,415 | 6 |
Produced by Henry Flower 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:
_Nitts_
_one day Old_
_3 days_
_1 week_
_2 weeks_
_3 weeks_
_4 weeks_
_5 weeks_
_6 weeks_
_7 weeks_
_8 weeks_
_9 weeks_
_10 weeks_
_full grown Europeans_
_full grown American_
_G. VanderGucht sculp._
]
A
TREATISE
OF
BUGGS:
SHEWING
When and How they were first brought into _England_. How they are
brought into and infect Houses.
Their Nature, several Foods, Times and Manner of Spawning and
Propagating in this Climate.
Their great INCREASE accounted for, by Proof of the Numbers each Pair
produce in a Season.
REASONS given why all Attempts hitherto made for their Destruction
have proved ineffectual.
VULGAR ERRORS concerning them refuted.
That from _September_ to _March_ is the best Season for their total
Destruction, demonstrated by Reason, and proved by Facts.
Concluding with
DIRECTIONS for such as have them not already, how to avoid them; and
for those that have them, how to destroy them.
By _JOHN SOUTHALL_,
Maker of the Nonpareil Liquor for destroying _Buggs_ and _Nits_,
living at the _Green Posts_ in the _Green Walk_ near _Faulcon-stairs,
Southwark_.
The SECOND EDITION.
_LONDON_: Printed for J. ROBERTS, near the _Oxford-Arms_
in _Warwick-Lane_. M.DCC.XXX.
(Price One Shilling.)
[Illustration]
TO
Sir HANS SLOANE, Bart.
First Physician in Ordinary to His MAJESTY; President of the ROYAL
SOCIETY, and also of the College of Physicians.
_SIR_,
Your ready Condescension to peruse the following Treatise, and to see
the Experiments of my Liquor, both in regard to its bringing out,
and destroying Buggs; as also that of its no ways staining Furniture;
was to me the happy Presage of your Favour, and Approbation of my
Performances.
The Satisfaction of having this Treatise and Experiments approv’d by
You, the Best of Judges, was to me the greatest Honour I could wish
for; but the additional one, confer’d by your introducing me to the
_Royal Society_, and there having not only their unanimous Approbation,
but yours and their Thanks for my Discoveries and Intent of publishing
them, was beyond my Hopes, and a Pleasure so great, as to be past
expressing; in regard that it dissipates all my Fears for its Success,
and makes me justly hope it will meet with a candid Reception from, and
be of general Benefit to the Publick.
As to your Goodness, I must ascribe the happy Prospect of its proving
so, Gratitude obliges me in this manner to acknowledge it; and to be,
_Sir_,
_Your Much-Obliged_,
_And Most Obedient Servant_,
JOHN SOUTHALL.
[Illustration]
THE
PREFACE.
_Being diffident of my own Performance, and desirous it should stand or
fall by the Opinion of the Best of Judges, was the Motive that induced
me to make my Application to that very Learned, truly Judicious and
commendably Curious Person to whom it’s dedicated: At the same time
determining, that if he approv’d of it, I would publish it; and if
he disapprov’d, that I would burn it. But it happily meeting his
Approbation, it now makes its Appearance in Print: Tho’ I must in
Justice to him acknowledge, it could not have so done so soon, nor
with such Embellishments, had he not only forwarded the Impression,
but directed and order’d the Copper-plate. As it has not only his
Approbation, but also, by his introducing it, the unanimous Concurrent
Approbation of (those great Encouragers of things useful) the Royal
Society; I hope it will not fail of meeting a kind Reception from the
Inhabitants in and about this Metropolis; by whom, as such a Treatise,
&c. was most wanted, for their Benefit and Ease it was at first chiefly
design’d._
_Tho’ with such Helps as it now has, I am not without Hopes that it may
extend its Qualities to distant infected Places._
_I should think it a Duty Incumbent on me, and would wait on the
Venerable Members of the aforesaid Society, present when my Manuscript
was read, personally to return them my Thanks for the Honours
conferr’d on me. But as the Names and Places of Abode of most are
unknown to me, I humbly beg they will accept this Acknowledgement of
them, by their_
Obliged and Obedient Servant,
JOHN SOUTHALL.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
A
TREATISE
OF
BUGGS.
As Buggs have been known to be in _England_ above sixty Years, and
every Season increasing so upon us, as to become terrible to almost
every Inhabitant in and about this Metropolis, it were greatly to be
wished that some more learned Person than my self, studious for the
Good of Human Kind, and the Improvement of natural Knowledge, would
have oblig’d the Town with some Treatise, Discourse or Lecture on that
nauseous venomous Insect.
But as none such have attempted it, and I have ever since my return
from _America_ made their destruction my Profession, and was at first
much baffled in my Attempts for want, (as I then believ’d, and have
since found) of truly knowing the Nature of those intolerable Vermin:
I determined by all means possible to try if I could discover and
find out as much of their Nature, Feeding and Breeding, as might be
conducive to my being better able to destroy them.
And tho’ in attempting it I must own I had a View at private Gain, as
well as the publick Good; yet I hope my Design will appear laudable,
and the Event answer both Ends.
The late Learned and truly Valuable Dr. _Woodward_, to whom I first
communicated my Intent, not only approv’d the Design, but also the
Methods which, I told him, I design’d to pursue, to attain the desired
Effects: and at the same time was so good to give me some useful Hints
and Instructions, the better to accomplish an Affair, which he said
’twas his Opinion would be a general Good.
Not to make this Acknowledgement of his kind Assistance, would be
Ingratitude to my dear deceas’d Friend.
As I had his Approbation at the beginning, had he but liv’d till now,
I doubt not but the Discoveries I have made would have appear’d so
considerable and useful, as might have entitled me to his farther
Friendship and Assistance, in methodizing this Treatise for Publication.
But depriv’d of him, my first and greatest Encourager, I have ventur’d
to let it appear in the best Dress my Capacity will admit. Should the
Stile and my Manner of handling the Subject to be treated of, appear
uncouth and displease, I hope the Usefulness of it to the Publick will
make some amends for that Defect.
In treating on these Insects, some part of the Discourse may perhaps
at first View appear surprizing, if not incredible to the Readers:
But by giving them an account how I attain’d my Knowledge, and by
often reiterated Experiments prov’d them to be certain Facts, they
will soon alter their Opinion; and the whole, I hope, will not only
be acceptable, diverting and instructive to the Readers, but also
of universal Benefit to the Inhabitants in and about _London_ and
_Westminster_.
This Treatise being on a Subject as much wanted as any whatever, and
the Pains and Trouble I have taken to arrive at my Knowledge herein,
having been uncommon; it may be expected by the Curious, that I should
give some of the Reasons that first induced me to undertake a Discovery
so very difficult to appearance.
It may not therefore be unnecessary to acquaint such, that in the
Year 1726, my Affairs requiring my going to the _West-Indies_, I
had not been long there arrived, before, (the Climate not agreeing
with my Constitution) I fell sick, had a Complication of the Country
Distempers, lost the Use of my Limbs, and was given over by the best
Physicians at _Kingstown_ in _Jamaica_.
But, contrary to their Expectation, recovering a little, they advis’d
me to stay no longer in a Country, so prejudicial and dangerous to me,
than till I could get Shipping for _England_; and in the mean time
desired that as often as I was able, I would ride out for the Benefit
of the Air; which as soon as I had Strength enough, I did.
In one of my Journeys meeting with an uncommon <DW64>, the Hair or
(rather) Wooll on his Head, Beard, and Breast being as white as Snow,
I stopt my Horse to look on him; and he coming, as their way is, to
beg a little Tobacco, I gave it, and enquir’d if he had been always so
white-hair’d. He answer’d, no; but Age had made him so.
Observing that he moved briskly, had no Wrinkles, and all his Teeth,
I told him I could not believe him to be very old, at the same time
desiring to know his Age. His Answer was, he knew not himself; but
this he knew, that he was one of the first Slaves brought into that
Island, after the _English_ had taken it in _Oliver Cromwell_’s time,
and was then a great Boy.
By this account I judged, and might reasonably suppose him upwards of
ninety Years of Age.
Whilst we were in discourse, he perceiving me often rub and scratch,
where my Face and Eyes were much swelled with Bugg-Bites, asked if
Chintses, (so Buggs are by <DW64>s and some others there called) had
bit me? On my answering, yes; he said, he wonder’d white Men should let
them bite; they should do something to kill them, as he did.
This unexpected Expression excited in me a Curiosity to have farther
Discourse with him; and on my telling him, that for my part I should
be extreme glad to know how to destroy those Disturbers of my Rest,
and that if he would tell me how, I would give him some more Tobacco
and a Bit, (a Piece of _Spanish_ Money, there current at Seven-pence
Half-Penny:) On this he agreed to give me a Calibash full of Liquor,
which he said would certainly do it, following the Directions he gave
me.
Possess’d of this, well pleas’d I went home, and tho’ much fatigued, I
could not forbear using some of it before I went to sleep; and to my
surprize, the instant I applied it, vast Numbers did, (as he had told
me they would) come out of their Holes, and die before my face.
These I swept up, threw away, and went to Bed, and had much better Rest
than usual, not being Bugg-bit then, as I always was before.
But what added to my Satisfaction, and further surpriz’d me, was, that
when I got up I found many more had come out in the Night and were dead.
On this, I conceiv’d so great an Opinion of the Goodness and Usefulness
of this Liquor, that I was resolved to endeavour, and if possible to
prevail on him to teach me how to make it; well knowing so valuable
a Secret was much wanted, and would be highly useful, if I lived to
return to _England_.
In order to obtain it, I got some _English_ Beef, Pork, Biscuit and
Beer, and some Tobacco, believing those sooner than Money or any other
thing would procure from the <DW64>, what I so much wanted and desired.
The next day early I went, and finding my <DW64> in his Hutt, I asked if
he could dress me some Victuals. On his replying, yes, if he had it;
I open’d my Store-Bags, took out one Piece of Beef, some Biscuits and
a Bottle of Beer, taking care at the same time he should see the rest.
We eat a Biscuit, drank some Beer, and to dressing the Beef with some
Yams out of his Plantation, he eagerly went: all <DW64>s being greedy
of Flesh, when they can come at it; some of them not eating any for
many Years together, but live altogether on the Produce of the Earth.
Whilst he was intent on Cooking and in a good Humour, I took the
Opportunity of telling him, I had used and so well approved of his
Liquor, that if he would learn me how to make it, all the Victuals and
Tobacco in the Bags, and what Liquor we did not drink whilst I staid,
I would give to him, as a Recompence for the Favour.
At first he refused, believing me (as I found by his discourse) to be
a _Creolian_, whom the <DW64>s in general hate; but upon my convincing
him I was an _Englishman_, and returning home, the good Chear prevail’d.
After eating together, into the Woods and Savannahs we went, to gather
such of the Materials as grew not on his Plantation, or that he had not
by him; and returning to his Hutt, to making the Liquor he went.
I remark’d well, and set down the Names, Quantities, and his way of
making and mixing the Composition; which being done, all the Bottles we
emptied of Beer were fill’d with the Liquor; with which I return’d to
_Kingstown_, being as well pleas’d with my Discovery, as the <DW64> was
with my Presents.
Having thus obtain’d my most material Point, I could not yet forbear
going every time I rode out, to see and discourse my <DW64>, and never
went empty-handed, being desirous to try if I could discover any thing
further from him or of him, and how he attain’d the great Knowledge I
found he had in the medicinal Virtues of Roots, Plants, _&c._
He inform’d me, that during about fifty Years that he was a Slave (in
which time six of his Masters had died) he oft wish’d for Death, and
sought no means to preserve Life, and was then so infirm, as to be
thought by his seventh Master to be past labour; and having been a good
and faithful Slave, his said Master gave him his Freedom, and the piece
of Ground I found him upon, to live on.
That Liberty having | 1,347.645728 |
2023-11-16 18:39:31.6257010 | 578 | 6 |
Transcribed from the 1893 Gay and Bird edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
A CATHEDRAL COURTSHIP
BY
KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN
WITH FIVE ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLIFFORD CARLETON
LONDON: GAY AND BIRD
5 CHANDOS STREET STRAND
1893
_All rights reserved_
First Edition June 1893.
Second Edition July 1893.
Third Edition September 1893.
Fourth Edition November 1893.
Fifth Edition October 1894.
TO MY BOSTON FRIEND
SALEMINA
NO ANGLOMANIAC, BUT
A TRUE BRITON
SHE
WINCHESTER, _May_ 28, 1891
The Royal Garden Inn.
We are doing the English cathedral towns, aunt Celia and I. Aunt Celia
has an intense desire to improve my mind. Papa told her, when we were
leaving Cedarhurst, that he wouldn't for the world have it too much
improved, and aunt Celia remarked that, so far as she could judge, there
was no immediate danger; with which exchange of hostilities they parted.
We are traveling under the yoke of an iron itinerary, warranted neither
to bend nor break. It was made out by a young High Church curate in New
York, and if it had been blessed by all the bishops and popes it could
not be more sacred to aunt Celia. She is awfully High Church, and I
believe she thinks this tour of the cathedrals will give me a taste for
ritual and bring me into the true fold. I have been hearing dear old Dr.
Kyle a great deal lately, and aunt Celia says that he is the most
dangerous Unitarian she knows, because he has leanings towards
Christianity.
Long ago, in her youth, she was engaged to a young architect. He, with
his triangles and T-squares and things, succeeded in making an imaginary
scale-drawing of her heart (up to that time a virgin forest, an unmapped
territory), which enabled him to enter in and set up a pedestal there, on
which he has remained ever since. He has been only a memory for many
years, to be sure, for he died at the age of twenty-six, before he had
had time to build anything but a livery stable and a country hotel. This
is fortunate, on the whole, because aunt Celia thinks he was destined to
establish American architecture on a higher plane, | 1,347.645741 |
2023-11-16 18:39:31.7255920 | 560 | 26 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Enchanted Castle, by E. Nesbit
#9 in our series by E. Nesbit
Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check
the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!!
Please take a look at the important information in this header.
We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an
electronic path open for the next readers.
Please do not remove this.
This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book.
Do not change or edit it without written permission. The words
are carefully chosen to provide users with the information they
need about what they can legally do with the texts.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations*
Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and
further information is included below, including for donations.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541
Title: The Enchanted Castle
Author: E. Nesbit
Release Date: November, 2002 [Etext #3536]
[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
[The actual date this file first posted = 05/29/01]
Edition: 10
Language: English
The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Enchanted Castle, by E. Nesbit
*******This file should be named 3536.txt or 3536.zip******
Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions,
all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a
copyright notice is included. Therefore, we usually do NOT keep any
of these books in compliance with any particular paper edition.
We are now trying to release all our books one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to send us error messages even years after
the official publication date.
Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.
Most people start at our sites at:
http://gutenberg.net
http://promo.net/pg
Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement
can surf to | 1,347.745632 |
2023-11-16 18:39:31.9255360 | 4,329 | 15 |
Produced by K. Kay Shearin
THE RISE OF ISKANDER
By Benjamin Disraeli
CHAPTER 1
The sun had set behind the mountains, and the rich plain of Athens was
suffused with the violet glow of a Grecian eye. A light breeze rose; the
olive-groves awoke from their noonday trance, and rustled with returning
animation, and the pennons of the Turkish squadron, that lay at anchor
in the harbour of Piraeus, twinkled in the lively air. From one gate
of the city the women came forth in procession to the fountain; from
another, a band of sumptuous horsemen sallied out, and threw their
wanton javelins in the invigorating sky, as they galloped over the
plain. The voice of birds, the buzz of beauteous insects, the breath of
fragrant flowers, the quivering note of the nightingale, the pattering
call of the grasshopper, and the perfume of the violet, shrinking from
the embrace of the twilight breeze, filled the purple air with music and
with odour.
A solitary being stood upon the towering crag of the Acropolis, amid
the ruins of the Temple of Minerva, and gazed upon the inspiring scene.
Around him rose the matchless memorials of antique art; immortal columns
whose symmetry baffles modern proportion, serene Caryatides, bearing
with greater grace a graceful burthen, carvings of delicate precision,
and friezes breathing with heroic life. Apparently the stranger, though
habited as a Moslemin, was not insensible to the genius of the locality,
nor indeed would his form and countenance have misbecome a contemporary
of Pericles and Phidias. In the prime of life and far above the common
stature, but with a frame the muscular power of which was even exceeded
by its almost ideal symmetry, white forehead, his straight profile, his
oval countenance, and his curling lip, exhibited the same visage that
had inspired the sculptor of the surrounding demigods.
The dress of the stranger, although gorgeous, was, however, certainly
not classic. A crimson shawl was wound round his head and glittered with
a trembling aigrette of diamonds. His vest which set tight to his form,
was of green velvet, richly embroidered with gold and pearls. Over this
he wore a very light jacket of crimson velvet, equally embroidered, and
lined with sable. He wore also the full white camese common among the
Albanians; and while his feet were protected by sandals, the lower part
of his legs was guarded by greaves of embroidered green velvet. From
a broad belt of scarlet leather peeped forth the jewelled hilts of
a variety of daggers, and by his side was an enormous scimitar, in a
scabbard of chased silver.
The stranger gazed upon the wide prospect before him with an air of
pensive abstraction. "Beautiful Greece," he exclaimed, "thou art still
my country. A mournful lot is mine, a strange and mournful lot, yet not
uncheered by hope. I am at least a warrior; and this arm, though trained
to war against thee, will not well forget, in the quick hour of battle,
the blood that flows within it. Themistocles saved Greece and died
a Satrap: I am bred one, let me reverse our lots, and die at least a
patriot."
At this moment the Evening Hymn to the Virgin arose from a neighbouring
convent. The stranger started as the sacred melody floated towards
him, and taking a small golden cross from his heart, he kissed it with
devotion, and then descending the steep of the citadel, entered the
city.
He proceeded alone the narrow winding streets of Athens until he at
length arrived in front of a marble palace, in the construction of which
the architect had certainly not consulted the surrounding models which
Time bad spared to him, but which, however, it might have offended
a classic taste, presented altogether a magnificent appearance.
Half-a-dozen guards, whose shields and helmets somewhat oddly contrasted
with the two pieces of cannon, one of which was ostentatiously placed on
each side of the portal, and which had been presented to the Prince of
Athens by the Republic of Venice, lounged before the entrance, and paid
their military homage to the stranger as he passed them. He passed
them and entered a large quadrangular garden, surrounded by arcades,
supported by a considerable number of thin, low pillars, of barbarous
workmanship, and various- marbles. In the midst of the garden
rose a fountain, whence the bubbling waters flowed in artificial
channels through vistas of orange and lemon trees. By the side of the
fountain on a luxurious couch, his eyes fixed upon a richly-illuminated
volume, reposed Nicaeus, the youthful Prince of Athens.
"Ah! is it you?" said the Prince, looking up with a smile, as the
stranger advanced. "You have arrived just in time to remind me that we
must do something more than read the Persae, we must act it."
"My dear Nicaeus," replied the stranger, "I have arrived only to bid you
farewell."
"Farewell!" exclaimed the Prince in a tone of surprise and sorrow; and
he rose from the couch. "Why! what is this?"
"It is too true;" said the stranger, and he led the way down one of the
walks. "Events have occurred which entirely baffle all our plans and
prospects, and place me in a position as difficult as it is harrowing.
Hunniades has suddenly crossed the Danube in great force, and carried
everything before him. I am ordered to proceed to Albania instantly, and
to repair to the camp at the head of the Epirots."
"Indeed!" said Nicaeus, with a thoughtful air. "My letters did not
prepare me for this. 'Tis sudden! Is Amurath himself in the field?"
"No; Karam Bey commands. I have accounted for my delay to the Sultan by
pretended difficulties in our treaty, and have held out the prospect of
a larger tribute."
"When we are plotting that that tribute should be paid no longer!" added
Nicaeus, with a smile.
"Alas! my dear friend," replied the Turkish commander, "my situation
has now become critical. Hitherto my services for the Moslemin have been
confined to acting against nations of their own faith. I am now suddenly
summoned to combat against my secret creed, and the best allies of what
I must yet call my secret country. The movement, it appears to me, must
be made now or never, and I cannot conceal from myself, that it never
could have been prosecuted under less auspicious circumstances."
"What, you desponding!" exclaimed Nicaeus; "then I must despair. Your
sanguine temper has alone supported me throughout all our dangerous
hopes."
"And AEschylus?" said the stranger, smiling.
"And AEschylus, certainly," replied Nicaeus; "but I have lived to find
even AEschylus insipid. I pant for action."
"It may be nearer than we can foresee," replied the stranger. "There is
a God who fashions all things. He will not desert a righteous cause.
He knoweth that my thoughts are as pure as my situation is difficult. I
have some dim ideas still brooding in my mind, but we will not discuss
them now. I must away, dear Prince. The breeze serves fairly. Have you
ever seen Hunniades?"
"I was educated at the Court of Transylvania," replied Nicaeus,
looking down with a somewhat embarrassed air. "He is a famous knight,
Christendom's chief bulwark."
The Turkish commander sighed. "When we meet again," he said, "may we
meet with brighter hopes and more buoyant spirits. At present, I must,
indeed, say farewell."
The Prince turned with a dejected countenance, and pressed his
companion to his heart. "'Tis a sad end," said he, "to all our happy
hours and lofty plans."
"You are as yet too young to quarrel with Fortune," replied the
stranger, "and for myself, I have not yet settled my accounts with her.
However, for the present farewell, dear Nicaeus!"
"Farewell," replied the Prince of Athens, "farewell, dear Iskander!"
CHAPTER 2
Iskander was the youngest son of the Prince of Epirus, who, with the
other Grecian princes, had, at the commencement of the reign of Amurath
the Second, in vain resisted the progress of the Turkish arms in Europe.
The Prince of Epirus had obtained peace by yielding his four sons as
hostages to the Turkish sovereign, who engaged that they should be
educated in all the accomplishments of their rank, and with a due
deference to their faith. On the death of the Prince of Epirus, however,
Amurath could not resist the opportunity that then offered itself
of adding to his empire the rich principality he had long coveted. A
Turkish force instantly marched into Epirus, and seized upon Croia, the
capital city, and the children of its late ruler were doomed to death.
The beauty, talents, and valour of the youngest son, saved him, however,
from the fate of his poisoned brothers. Iskander was educated at
Adrianople, in the Moslemin faith, and as he, at a very early age,
exceeded in feats of arms all the Moslemin warriors, he became a prime
favourite of the Sultan, and speedily rose in his service to the highest
rank.
At this period the irresistible progress of the Turkish arms was the
subject of alarm throughout all Christendom.
Constantinople, then the capital of the Greek Empire, had already been
more than once besieged by the predecessors of Amurath, and had only
been preserved by fortunate accidents and humiliating terms. The despots
of Bosnia, Servia, and Bulgaria, and the Grecian princes of Etolia,
Macedon, Epirus, Athens, Phocis, Boeotia, and indeed of all the regions
to the straits of Corinth, were tributaries to Amurath, and the rest of
Europe was only preserved from his grasp by the valour of the Hungarians
and the Poles, whom a fortunate alliance had now united under the
sovereignty of Uladislaus, who, incited by the pious eloquence of the
cardinal of St. Angelo, the legate of the Pope, and, yielding to the
tears and supplications of the despot of Servia, had, at the time our
story opens, quitted Buda, at the head of an immense army, crossed the
Danube, and, joining his valiant viceroy, the famous John Hunniades,
vaivode of Transylvania, defeated the Turks with great slaughter,
relieved all Bulgaria, and pushed on to the base of Mount Haemus, known
in modern times as the celebrated Balkan. Here the Turkish general,
Karam Bey, awaited the Christians, and hither to his assistance was
Iskander commanded to repair at the head of a body of Janissaries, who
had accompanied him to Greece, and the tributary Epirots.
Had Iskander been influenced by vulgar ambition, his loftiest desires
might have been fully gratified by the career which Amurath projected
for him. The Turkish Sultan destined for the Grecian Prince the hand
of one of his daughters, and the principal command of his armies. He
lavished upon him the highest dignities and boundless wealth; and,
whether it arose from a feeling of remorse, or of affection for a
warrior whose unexampled valour and unrivalled skill had already added
some of the finest provinces of Asia to his rule, it is certain that
Iskander might have exercised over Amurath a far greater degree of
influence than was enjoyed by any other of his courtiers. But the heart
of Iskander responded with no sympathy to these flattering favours.
His Turkish education could never eradicate from his memory the
consciousness that he was a Greek; and although he was brought up in
the Moslemin faith, he had at an early period of his career, secretly
recurred to the creed of his Christian fathers. He beheld in Amurath the
murderer of his dearest kinsmen, and the oppressor of his country; and
although a certain calmness of temper, and coolness of judgment, which
very early developed themselves in his character, prevented him from
ever giving any indication of his secret feelings, Iskander had long
meditated on the exalted duty of freeing his country.
Dispatched to Greece, to arrange the tributes and the treaties of the
Grecian princes, Iskander became acquainted with the young Nicaeus;
and their acquaintance soon matured into friendship. Nicaeus was
inexperienced; but nature had not intended him for action. The young
Prince of Athens would loll by the side of a fountain, and dream of the
wonders of old days. Surrounded by his eunuchs, his priests, and his
courtiers, he envied Leonidas, and would have emulated Themistocles. He
was passionately devoted to the ancient literature of his country, and
had the good taste, rare at that time, to prefer Demosthenes and Lysias
to Chrysostom and Gregory, and the choruses of the Grecian theatre to
the hymns of the Greek church. The sustained energy and noble simplicity
of the character of Iskander, seemed to recall to the young prince the
classic heroes over whom he was so often musing, while the enthusiasm
and fancy of Nicaeus, and all that apparent weakness of will, and those
quick vicissitudes of emotion, to which men of a fine susceptibility are
subject, equally engaged the sympathy of the more vigorous and constant
and experienced mind of his companion.
To Nicaeus, Iskander had, for the first time in his life, confided much
of his secret heart; and the young Prince fired at the inspiring tale.
Often they consulted over the fortunes of their country, and, excited
by their mutual invention, at length even dared to hope that they might
effect its deliverance, when Iskander was summoned to the army. It was
a mournful parting. Both of them felt that the last few months of
their lives had owed many charms to their companionship. The parting of
friends, united by sympathetic tastes, is always painful; and friends,
unless this sympathy subsist, had much better never meet. Iskander
stepped into the ship, sorrowful, but serene; Nicaeus returned to his
palace moody and fretful; lost his temper with his courtiers, and, when
he was alone, even shed tears.
CHAPTER 3
Three weeks bad elapsed since the parting of Iskander and Nicaeus, when
the former, at the head of ten thousand men, entered by a circuitous
route the defiles of Mount Haemus, and approached the Turkish camp, which
had been pitched, upon a vast and elevated table-ground, commanded
on all sides by superior heights, which, however, were fortified and
well-garrisoned by Janissaries. The Epirots halted, and immediately
prepared to raise their tents, while their commander, attended by a few
of his officers, instantly proceeded to the pavilion of Karam Bey.
The arrival of Iskander diffused great joy among the soldiery; and as he
passed through the encampment, the exclamations of the Turkish warriors
announced how ready they were to be led to the charge by a chieftain who
had been ever successful. A guard of honour, by the orders of Karam Bey,
advanced to conduct Iskander to his presence; and soon, entering the
pavilion, the Grecian prince exchanged courtesies with the Turkish
general. After the formal compliments had passed, Karam Bey waved his
hand, and the pavilion was cleared, with the exception of Mousa, the
chief secretary, and favourite of Karam.
"You have arrived in good time, Iskander, to assist in the destruction
of the Christian dogs," said the Bey. "Flushed with their accursed
success, they have advanced too far. Twice they have endeavoured to
penetrate the mountains; and each time they have been forced to retire,
with great loss. The passages are well barricadoed with timber and huge
fragments of rock. The dogs have lost all heart, and are sinking under
the joint sufferings of hunger and cold. Our scouts tell me they
exhibit symptoms of retreat. We must rush down from the mountains, and
annihilate them."
"Is Hunniades here in person?" inquired Iskander.
"He is here," replied Karam, "in person, the dog of dogs! Come,
Iskander, his head would be a fine Ramadan present to Amurath. 'Tis a
head worth three tails, I guess."
Mousa, the chief secretary, indulged in some suppressed laughter at this
joke. Iskander smiled.
"If they retreat we must assuredly attack them," observed Iskander,
musingly. "I have a persuasion that Hunniades and myself will soon
meet."
"If there be truth in the Prophet!" exclaimed Karam. "I have no doubt
of it. Hunniades is reserved for you, Bey. We shall hold up our heads at
court yet, Iskander. You have had letters lately?"
"Some slight words."
"No mention of us, of course?"
"Nothing, except some passing praise of your valour and discretion."
"We do our best, we do our best. Will Isa Bey have AEtolia, think you?"
"I have no thoughts. Our royal father will not forget his children, and
Isa Bey is a most valiant chieftain."
"You heard not that he was coming here?" inquired Karam.
"Have you?" responded the cautious Iskander.
"A rumour, a rumour," replied Karam. "He is at Adrianople, think you?"
"It may be so: I am, you know, from Athens."
"True, true. We shall beat them, Iskander, we shall beat them."
"For myself, I feel sanguine," replied the Prince, and he arose to
retire. "I must at present to my men. We must ascertain more accurately
the movements of the Christians before we decide on our own. I am
inclined myself to reconnoitre them. How far may it be?"
"There is not room to form our array between them and the mountains,"
replied Karam.
"'Tis well. Success attend the true believers! By to-morrow's dawn we
shall know more."
CHAPTER 4
Iskander returned to his men. Night was coming on. Fires and lights
blazed and sparkled in every direction. The air was clear, but very
cold. He entered his tent, and muffling himself up in his pelisse of
sables, he mounted his horse, and declining any attendance, rode for
some little distance, until he had escaped from the precincts of the
camp. Then he turned his horse towards one of the wildest passes of
the mountain, and galloping at great speed, never stopped until he had
gained a considerable ascent. The track became steep and rugged. The
masses of loose stone rendered his progress slow; but his Anatolian
charger still bore him at intervals bravely, and in three hours' time he
had gained the summit of Mount Haemus. A brilliant moon flooded the broad
plains of Bulgaria with shadowy light. At the base of the | 1,347.945576 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.0412800 | 2,204 | 17 |
Produced by Free Elf, Verity White and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Separation and Service
OR
THOUGHTS ON
NUMBERS VI, VII.
BY
J. HUDSON TAYLOR.
London
MORGAN & SCOTT, 12, PATERNOSTER BUILDINGS, E.C.
CHINA INLAND MISSION, NEWINGTON GREEN, N.
PRINTED BY
WOODFALL AND KINDER, LONG ACRE
LONDON
CONTENTS.
Separation and Service.
PAGE
Introductory 7
PART I.
SEPARATION TO GOD: Numbers vi, 1-21.
Institution of the Order of Nazarites 11
Implicit Obedience 13
Entire Consecration 16
Holiness to the LORD 19
Unwitting Defilement 22
The Heinousness of Sin 23
Cleansing only through Sacrifice 25
Acceptance only in CHRIST 27
The Presentation of the Nazarites 33
The Law of the Offerings 35
The Burnt-Offering 39
The Sin and Peace-Offerings 41
PART II.
THE BLESSING OF GOD: Numbers vi, 22-27.
Why Found Here? 44
The Real Meaning of Blessing 49
The Three-fold Benediction 52
The Blessing of the FATHER 53
The Second Person of the Trinity 60
The Blessing of the SON and BRIDEGROOM 63
The LORD, the SPIRIT 70
The Blessing of the HOLY SPIRIT 73
Sealing with the Name of GOD 80
PART III.
PRINCELY SERVICE: Numbers vii.
The Constraint of Love 89
GOD'S Delight in Love-gifts 90
Free-will Offerings 93
Gladsome Acceptance 96
According to his Service 101
The Dedicatory Offerings 107
The Display of the Gifts 109
The Person of the Offerer 113
The Importance of the Altar 117
Separation and Service.
Numbers vi, vii.
INTRODUCTORY.
For many years these chapters had no special interest to me; but I have
never ceased to be thankful that I was early led to read the Word of GOD
in regular course: it was through this habit that these chapters first
became specially precious to me. I was travelling on a missionary tour
in the province of CHEH-KIANG, and had to pass the night in a very
wicked town. All the inns were dreadful places; and the people seemed to
have their consciences seared, and their hearts sealed against the
Truth. My own heart was oppressed, and could find no relief; and I awoke
the next morning much cast down, and feeling spiritually hungry and
thirsty indeed.
On opening my Bible at the seventh chapter of Numbers, I felt as though
I could not then read that long chapter of repetitions; that I _must_
turn to some chapter that would feed my soul. And yet I was not happy in
leaving my regular portion; so after a little conflict I resolved to
read it, praying to GOD to bless me, even through Numb. vii. I fear
there was not much faith in the prayer; but oh! how abundantly it was
answered, and what a feast GOD gave me! He revealed to me His own great
heart of love, and gave me the key to understand this and the previous
chapter as never before. May GOD make our meditations upon them as
helpful to others as they were then and have ever since continued to be
to myself.
Much is revealed in these chapters in germ which is more fully brought
out in the New Testament. Under the Old Covenant many blessings were
enjoyed in measure and for a season, which in this dispensation are ours
in their fulness and permanence. For instance, the atoning sacrifices of
the seventh month had to be repeated every year; but CHRIST, in offering
Himself once for all, perfected for ever them that are sanctified. The
Psalmist needed to pray, "Take not Thy HOLY SPIRIT from me;" but CHRIST
has given us the COMFORTER to abide with us for ever. In like manner the
Israelite might vow the vow of a Nazarite and separate himself unto GOD
for a season; but it is the privilege of the Christian believer to know
himself as always separated to GOD. Many other lessons, which are
hidden from careless and superficial readers, are suggested by these
chapters, which the HOLY SPIRIT will reveal to prayerful students of His
most precious and most perfect Book.
The portions we have selected consist of first a short chapter, and then
a very long one, which at first sight appears to have no special
connection with it. But on more careful reflection we shall see that the
order of the subjects referred to shows that there is really a natural
and close connection between them. We shall find that Separation to GOD
is followed by Blessing from GOD; and that those who receive large
blessing from Him, in turn render to Him acceptable Service: service in
which GOD takes delight, and which He places in everlasting
remembrance.
PART I.
Separation to GOD.
NUMB. VI. 1-21.
THE INSTITUTION OF THE ORDER OF NAZARITES.
The first twenty-one verses of Numb. vi. give us an account of the
institution and ordinances of the order of Nazarites. And let us note at
the outset that this institution, like every other good and perfect
gift, came from above; that GOD Himself gave this privilege--unasked--to
His people; thereby showing His desire that "whosoever will" of His
people may be brought into closest relationship to Himself.
It was very gracious of GOD to _permit_ His people to become Nazarites.
Israel might have been "a kingdom of priests;" but through their own sin
they had nationally forfeited this privilege, and a special family had
been set apart to the priesthood. GOD, however, still opened the way for
individuals who wished to draw near to Him to do so, and for any period
which their own hearts might dictate.
But it is important to notice that though the vow might only be one of
temporary consecration, yet it involved while it lasted an
ABSOLUTE ACCEPTANCE
of the will of GOD, even in regard to matters which might appear trivial
and unimportant. So, in the present day, GOD is willing to give to His
people fulness of blessing, but it must be on His own lines. Though we
are not our own, it is, alas! possible to live as though we were;
devotion to GOD is still a voluntary thing; hence the differences of
attainment among Christians. While salvation is a free gift, the
"winning CHRIST" can only be through unreserved consecration and
unquestioning obedience. Nor is this a hardship, but the highest
privilege.
Let us now look into the law of the Nazarite.
IMPLICIT OBEDIENCE: verses 3, 4.
_"He shall separate himself from wine and strong drink, and shall
drink no vinegar of wine, or vinegar of strong drink, neither shall
he drink any liquor of grapes, nor eat moist grapes, or dried. All
the days of his separation shall he eat nothing that is made of the
vine tree, from the kernels even to the husk."_
The first thing that we note is, that as the obedience of Adam was
tested in the Garden by the prohibition of one tree--a tree pleasant to
look upon, and good for food--so was the obedience of the Nazarite
tested. He was not forbidden to eat poison berries, nor was he merely
required to abstain from the wine and strong drink which might easily
become a snare; fresh grapes and dried raisins were equally prohibited.
It was not that the thing was harmful in itself, but that the doing the
will of GOD, in a matter of seeming indifference, was essential to his
acceptance.
Not less true is this of the Christian Nazarite. Whether he eat or
drink, or whatsoever he do, the will of GOD and not self-indulgence must
be his one aim. Christians often get into perplexity about worldly
allurements by asking, Where is the sin of this, or the danger of that?
There _may_ be danger that the questioner cannot see: Satan's baits
often skilfully conceal a sharp hook; but supposing that the thing be
harmless, it does not follow that it would be pleasing to GOD, or
spiritually helpful.
The fruit of the vine is a type of earth-born pleasures; those who would
enjoy Nazarite nearness to GOD must count His love "better than wine."
To win CHRIST, the Apostle Paul gladly suffered the loss of all things,
and counted them as dross and dung for the excellency of the knowledge
of CHRIST JESUS his LORD. The things he gave up were not bad things, but
good--things that in themselves were gain to him; and CHRIST Himself for
our redemption emptied Himself, and came to seek not His own, but the
will of Him that sent Him.
The highest service demands the greatest sacrifice, but it secures the
fullest blessing and the greatest fruitfulness. CHRIST _could not remain
in His FATHER'S bosom and redeem the world; missionaries cannot win the
heathen and enjoy their home surroundings; nor can they be adequately
sustained without the loving sacrifices of many friends and donors. You,
dear reader, know the MASTER'S choice; what is YOURS? is it to do His
will even if it mean to leave all for Him, to give all to Him?_
ENTIRE CONSECRATION: verse 5.
_"All the | 1,348.06132 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.0624510 | 4,113 | 25 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Craig Kirkwood, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
The History Teacher’s Magazine
Volume I.
Number 5.
PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1910.
$1.00 a year
15 cents a copy
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
INTRODUCTORY COURSE IN HISTORY IN HARVARD COLLEGE,
by Prof. Charles H. Haskins 95
IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICAN HISTORY TEACHING, by Sara A. Burstall 96
“THE OLD SOUTH LEAFLETS” CLASSIFIED, by Rex W. Wells 98
MUNICIPAL CIVICS, by Dr. James J. Sheppard 99
HAS HISTORY A PRACTICAL VALUE? by Prof. J. N. Bowman 103
CALDWELL AND PERSINGER’S “A SOURCE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES” 105
EDITORIAL 106
AMERICAN HISTORY IN THE SECONDARY SCHOOL,
by Arthur M. Wolfson, Ph.D. 107
ASHLEY’S “AMERICAN HISTORY,” reviewed by H. R. Tucker 108
ANCIENT HISTORY IN THE SECONDARY SCHOOL,
by William Fairley, Ph.D. 109
EUROPEAN HISTORY IN THE SECONDARY SCHOOL,
by D. C. Knowlton, Ph.D. 110
HISTORY IN THE GRADES, by Armand J. Gerson 112
REPORTS FROM THE HISTORICAL FIELD, by Walter H. Cushing:
The English Historical Association; California Association;
New York City Conference; Missouri Society; Bibliography of
History for Schools 113
CORRESPONDENCE:
Source Methods; School Libraries 114
* * * * *
Published monthly, except July and August, by McKinley Publishing Co.,
Philadelphia, Pa.
Copyright, 1909, McKinley Publishing Co.
Entered as second-class matter, October 26, 1909, at the Post-office at
Philadelphia, Pa., under Act of March 3, 1879.
* * * * *
W. & A. K. Johnston’s Maps and Globes
are noted the world over for their geographical accuracy. Lithographed,
not printed--colors do not fade. Larger and better maps for the price
than any competitor can furnish.
SENT ON APPROVAL
Our Maps and Globes show their superiority. We ship on approval.
Examine, compare with others and return any or all at our expense if
not satisfactory.
[Illustration]
FIVE COMPLETE SERIES (135 different maps), also FIVE sizes of GLOBES in
ALL styles of mounting.
The largest variety published, including everything _from the cheapest_
that are accurate _to the best_ that are made. The experience of four
score years of perfection in map making is back of our publications.
Send for fine 88-page Catalog
A. J. Nystrom & Co. Sole U. S. Agents
86-88 Lake Street - - CHICAGO
* * * * *
Harding’s Essentials in Mediaeval History
By SAMUEL BANNISTER HARDING, Ph.D., Professor of European History,
Indiana University, in consultation with ALBERT BUSHNELL HART, LL.D.,
Professor of History, Harvard University
Price, $1.00
This text-book is designed for elementary college classes, having
already proved successful as a basis of Freshman instruction in Indiana
University. It gives a general survey of mediaeval history from
Charlemagne to the close of the fifteenth century. It economizes time
without sacrificing anything of real importance. The facts to be taught
have been selected with great care. The continuity of the history has
been preserved from beginning to end, and the fundamental features
of mediaeval life and institutions are clearly brought out. The book
affords a clear, scholarly, compact outline, which can be filled in
in various ways. At the end of each chapter are suggestive topics and
search topics, and numerous specific references to the best books for
collateral reading. The aim of the book is to be accurate in substance
and definite in statement, to seize the vital and interesting facts,
and as far as possible to give that concreteness of treatment which is
necessary in dealing with matters so remote and alien as those which
fill the history of the Middle Ages.
Complete Catalogue of Text-Books in History sent on request
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO BOSTON
* * * * *
Western History in Its Many Aspects
MISSISSIPPI VALLEY AND LOCAL HISTORY IN PARTICULAR THE AMERICAN INDIANS
Books on the above subjects supplied promptly by
The Torch Press Book Shop, Cedar Rapids, Iowa
_Catalogs on Application_
* * * * *
Books for the History Library
=The Wars of Religion in France (1559-1576), The Huguenots, Catherine
de Medici, and Philip II.= By JAMES WESTFALL THOMPSON. 648 pages, 8vo,
cloth, net $4.50; postpaid, $4.84.
An authoritative, powerful, and original work based on much
newly-discovered material and treating the great epoch _after_ Henry
II--the time of Vassy and St. Bartholomew, with new light on the
underlying social and economic causes of the religious conflict.
“In describing that bitter turmoil of interests and ideals Mr. Thompson
is scrupulously impartial.”--_American Historical Review._
=Russia and Its Crisis.= By PAUL MILYOUKOV. xiv + 589 pages, crown 8vo,
net $3.00; postpaid, $3.20.
Broad, liberal, reasonable, and thoroughly informed, Professor
Milyoukov is one of the foremost thinkers of his nation. His book
is of inestimable value to every student of present-day Russia.
Important chapters are those dealing with “The Nationalistic Idea,”
“The Religious and Political Traditions,” “The Liberal and Socialistic
Ideas,” and “The Urgency of Reform.”
“It is beyond doubt the best, most instructive, and most authoritative
work on Russia ever published in English.”--_Political Science
Quarterly._
=Dramatic Traditions of the Dark Ages.= By JOSEPH S. TUNISON. 368
pages, 12mo, cloth, net $1.25; postpaid, $1.36.
“The book is a mine of interesting facts about social, religions, and
literary life, as connected with or influencing the stage during the
centuries of the Christian era. Mr. Tunison has the skill and the
liveliness of method which enable him to marshal this wonderful array
of facts.”--_New York Times Saturday Review of Books._
=The Legislative History of Naturalization in the United States.= By
FRANK GEORGE FRANKLIN. x + 308 pages, 12mo, cloth, net $1.50; postpaid,
$1.63.
“It is written not to defend or attack any theory of alien’s rights,
but it gives clearly and impartially the various acts which have been
passed by Congress, together with the causes leading to their adoption
and the results following.”--_The Interior._
=The Development of Western Civilization. A Study in Ethical, Economic,
and Political Evolution.= By J. DORSEY FORREST. 420 pages, 8vo, cloth,
net $2.00; postpaid, $2.17.
“A helpful exposition of the ethical, political, and economic facts of
history in their relation to social evolution.”--_The Outlook._
Address Department 68 =The University of Chicago Press= CHICAGO NEW YORK
* * * * *
The History Teacher’s Magazine
Volume I.
Number 5.
PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1910.
$1.00 a year
15 cents a copy
Introductory Course in History[1] In Harvard College
BY PROFESSOR CHARLES H. HASKINS.
Perhaps the most difficult question which now confronts the college
teacher of history is the work of the first year of the college course.
The problem is comparatively new, and becomes each year more serious.
Twenty-five or thirty years ago the small amount of history taught
in American colleges came in the junior or senior year, and was not
organized into any regular curriculum. With the recent development
of historical courses, however, the teaching of history has worked
down into the sophomore and often into the freshman year, so that
the teacher of the first course in history is not only charged with
introducing students to college work in history, but must also take
his share of the task of introducing them to college work in general.
At the same time the enlargement of the curriculum and the improvement
of instruction in history in many of our secondary schools result
in sending to the colleges a body of students who have already some
familiarity with history and cannot be treated in the same way as the
great mass of freshmen. Moreover, the first college course in history
in all our larger institutions attracts a considerable number of
students, in some cases as many as four hundred, so that the management
of a large class adds another element to the problem; and matters are
further complicated by the fact that while some of these will continue
their historical studies in later years, others must get from this
course all the historical training which they will receive in college.
I take it that no one pretends to have found the solution of these
difficulties, and that what is at present likely to prove helpful is
not dogmatic discussion so much as a comparison of the experience of
different institutions.
The introductory course at Harvard, History 1, is designed to be useful
to those whose historical studies are to stop at this point, as well as
to serve as a basis for further study. A period of the world’s history
is chosen which is sufficiently large to give an idea of the growth
of institutions and the nature of historical evolution, yet not so
extensive as to render impossible an acquaintance at close range with
some of the characteristic personalities and conditions of the age; and
an effort is made to stimulate interest in history and to give some
idea of the nature and purposes of historical study. The field covered
is the history of Europe, including England, from the fourth to the
fifteenth centuries. This period has generally received little or no
attention in school, so that students come to it with a freshness which
they could not bring to ancient history or American history, and are
introduced to a new world of action and movement and color which easily
rouses their interest. The year devoted to the Middle Ages bridges the
gap between their ancient and modern studies, and not only gives a
feeling of historical continuity, but by showing the remote origin of
modern institutions and culture it deepens the sense of indebtedness to
the past and furnishes something of the background so much needed in
our American life.
Most introductory courses now give considerable attention to the Middle
Ages; the point of difference is whether the attempt should be made to
cover something of the modern period as well. Where a longer period
has been chosen, it has been quite generally found impracticable in
a single year to bring the course down to the present time, and such
courses have ordinarily stopped somewhere in the eighteenth century,
leaving to a subsequent year the study of the more recent period.
Thus the course which was given at Harvard until 1903 stopped at the
Treaty of Utrecht. Assuming that two years are necessary for the
satisfactory treatment of mediæval and modern history for the purposes
of the general student, the question then becomes one as to the point
where the break shall come, and we believe that experience is in
favor of placing this point fairly early. The pace should be slower
in the first year than in the second, so that students may not be
confused and hurried while they are learning new methods of work and
being emancipated from habits of close dependence on the text-book.
There should be time for reading and assimilation, as well as for
thorough drill, in a way that is not possible when too much ground
is gone over. Good training in the first year makes it easier to
cover a considerable period in the second. Such at least has been the
experience at Harvard, where about half of the students in History 1 go
on to the survey of modern history given in History 2 in the following
year, while most of the others go directly to modern English history or
American history. It ought to be added that while about nine-tenths of
the class of three hundred who elect History 1 are freshmen, students
who have given a good deal of attention to history in school are
permitted to go on immediately to more advanced courses; and for those
who take only American history in their later years, the introductory
course in government is accepted as sufficient preparation.
The class meets three times a week, twice in a body for lectures,
and the third hour in sections of about twenty. The lectures do not
attempt to give a narrative, but seek to bind together the students’
reading, comment upon it, clarify it, reënforce the significant
points, and discuss special aspects of the subject. The processes of
historical interpretation and criticism are illustrated by a few simple
examples, and from time to time the work is vivified by the use of
lantern slides. The reading is divided into two parts, prescribed and
collateral, and indicated on a printed “List of References” which each
member of the class is required to buy. The prescribed reading, from
seventy-five to one hundred pages a week, is made, as far as possible,
the central part of the student’s work. At first this is selected
largely from text-books and illustrative sources; later in the year
text-books drop into the background, and narrative and descriptive
works are taken up, although the student is urged to have at hand a
manual for consultation and for securing a connected view of events.
The effort is made to break away from high school methods of study
and to teach students to use intelligently larger historical books.
Stubb’s “Early Plantagenets,” Jessopp’s “Coming of the Friars,” Bryce’s
“Holy Roman Empire,” Brown’s “Venetian Republic,” Day’s “History of
Commerce,” Reinach’s “Apollo,” and Robinson and Rolfe’s “Petrarch,”
are examples of the kind of books from which the required reading
is chosen. Some sources are given in their entirety, such as the
“Germania,” the “Life of St. Columban,” and Einhard’s “Charlemagne”;
but reliance is placed mainly upon the extracts given in Ogg’s “Source
Book” and Robinson’s “Readings.” It is found that the proper use and
appreciation of sources is one of the hardest things for beginners
to learn, and careful and explicit teaching is required both at the
lectures and at the meetings of the sections. Each student is required
to provide himself with two or three texts, a source book, and an
historical atlas, and many buy a number of the other books used in
the course. The books in which the reading is assigned are kept in a
special reading-room, where the supply is sufficient to provide one
copy of each for every ten men in the course. Duplicates of the works
recommended for collateral reading are also furnished.
At the weekly section meetings the students are held responsible for
the required reading and the lectures for the week. There is always a
short written paper about twenty minutes in length, including usually
an exercise on the outline map, and the rest of the hour is spent in
explanation, review and discussion. No attempt is made at systematic
quizzing, as the work of the week is much more effectively tested by
the written paper. These sections are held by the assistants, four in
number, who are chosen from men who have had two or three years of
graduate study and generally some experience in teaching.
For the collateral reading certain topics are suggested each week,
and every month each member of the class is required to read the
references under at least one of the assigned topics. These topics
have considerable range, and students are encouraged to select those
which have special interest for them and to read freely upon them.
Thus if a student takes the Northmen as his topic, he will read the
greater part of Keary’s “Vikings,” and translated extracts from Norse
poetry or sagas; if he chooses Henry II, he will have Mrs. Green’s
biography and Stubb’s characterization in the introduction to Benedict
of Peterborough; if he reads on monasticism, he will compare different
views of the subject as found in specified chapters of Montalembert,
Lecky, Taylor’s “Classical Heritage of the Middle Ages,” and in
Harnack’s “Monasticism”; on castles and castle life he will read
portions of Miss Bateson’s “Mediæval England,” and Viollet-le-Duc’s
“Annals of a Fortress,” and examine the illustrations in Enlart’s
“Manuel” and Schultz’s “Höfisches Leben”; on St. Louis he will have
Joinville, certain pages of Langlois, and William Stearns Davis’s
novel, “Falaise of the Blessed Voices.” A certain fixed minimum of such
reading is set for each one in the course, and a higher minimum for
those who expect distinction, and ambitious students will read from
1,500 to 2,000 pages in the course of the year.
The effort is constantly made to develop individual aptitudes and
stimulate the better men. Every student has at least eight individual
conferences with the assistant during the year. The conference is
devoted mainly to a discussion of the collateral reading, but it
also serves as an opportunity for examining note books, talking over
difficulties, and in general for closer personal acquaintance between
assistant and student. Sometimes small voluntary groups of men have
been formed which meet the assistant weekly at his room for the reading
and discussion of short historical papers written by students.
Considerable attention is given to well-reasoned note-taking upon both
lectures and required reading, a matter respecting which the freshman
is at first likely to be quite helpless. Here the personal supervision
of the assistant is of the greatest value, and is often exercised
weekly.
Special emphasis is put upon historical geography, not only by constant
reference to wall maps and by special exercises involving the use of
the principal historical atlases, | 1,348.082491 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.1266750 | 1,399 | 29 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Chris Whitehead and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: UP THE MOUNTAIN TO GRANDFATHER]
HEIDI
_by_
JOHANNA SPYRI
ILLUSTRATED BY
ALICE CARSEY
WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
RACINE.. CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT 1916 BY
WHITMAN PUBLISHING CO.
RACINE.. CHICAGO
INTRODUCTION
There is here presented to the reader a careful translation of "Heidi,"
one of the most popular works of the great Swiss authoress, Madam
Johanna Spyri. As particulars of her career are not easily gathered, we
may here state that Johanna Heusser was born at Zurich, June 12, 1827.
She wrote nothing in her youth. She was happily married to the Advocate
Spyri. Later, the Franco-Prussian war evoked from her a book devised
for a charitable purpose, and the success of this volume revealed her
future. She died at her home in Zurich in 1891. Her fame has spread to
all countries, and her many books have delighted not only the children
for whom they were so artfully written, but they have become favorites
with lovers of children as well.
As to "Heidi," itself, wherever mountains are seen or read about, the
simple account of the early life of the Swiss child, amid the beauties
of her passionately-loved home, will be a favorite book for younger
readers and those who seek their good.
Johanna Spyri lived amidst the scenes she so gracefully described. In
all her stories she shows an underlying desire to preserve her young
readers alike from misunderstanding and the mistaken kindness that
frequently hinders the happiness and natural development of their lives
and characters.
Among her many works are the following: "Arthur and His Squirrel,"
"On Sunday," "From the Swiss Mountains," "A Scion of the House of
Lesa," "The Great and the Small All May Aid," "From Near and Far,"
"Cornelius," "Lost but Not Forgotten," "Gritli's Children," 2 volumes,
"Without a Country," "What Shall Then Become of Her?," "Sina," "From
Our Own Country," "Ten Stories," 2 volumes, "In Leuchtensa," "Uncle
Titus," "A Golden Saying," "The Castle Wildenstein," "What Really
Happened to Her," "In the Valley of the Tilonne," "The Hauffer Mill."
M. H. M.
CONTENTS
I. Heidi's First Mountain Climb 13
II. A New Home with Grandfather 22
III. Little Bear and Little Swan 29
IV. Shooting Down the Mountain Side 40
V. A Railroad Journey 52
VI. Clara, the Patient Little Invalid 60
VII. The Unfriendly Housekeeper 67
VIII. Surprises for the Children 79
IX. Mr. Sesemann Takes Heidi's Part 87
X. Clara's Lovable Grandmother 91
XI. Home-Sickness 98
XII. "My House Is Haunted" 102
XIII. At Home Again on the Mountain 112
XIV. The Coat with the Silver Buttons 126
XV. A Great Disappointment 135
XVI. The Doctor Comes with Presents 140
XVII. Excursions Over the Mountains 149
XVIII. A New Home for the Winter 157
XIX. Heidi Teaches Obstinate Peter 167
XX. A Strange Looking Procession 176
XXI. Happy Days for the Little Visitor 191
XXII. Wicked Peter and the Unlucky Chair 199
XXIII. Good-Bye to the Beautiful Mountain 217
ILLUSTRATIONS
Up the Mountain to Grandfather (_color_) FRONTISPIECE
Heidi Tenderly Stroked the Two Goats in Turn 27
Heidi Drank in the Golden Sunlight, the Fresh
Air and the Sweet Smell of the Flowers (_color_) 33
Heidi Now Began to Give a Lively Description
of Her Life with the Grandfather (_color_) 48
"Why, There Is Nothing Outside but
the Stony Streets" 72
Miss Rottermeyer Jumped Higher Than She
Had for Many Long Years (_color_) 80
Grandmother's Kind Advice Brings Comfort
to Heidi (_color_) 96
Heidi Learns to Make Doll Clothes 99
The Doctor Discovers Heidi's Home-Sickness 109
"Our Milk Tastes Nicer Than Anything Else
in the World, Grandfather" 123
It Was Not Long Before the Fir Trees Began
Their Old Song (_color_) 144
A Strange-Looking Procession Was Making
Its Way Up the Mountain (_color_) 192
The Little Invalid Finds That She Is
Able to Walk 208
"We Must Not Overdo It," He Said, Taking
Clara Up in His Arms 212
Peter Went Rolling and Bumping Down
the <DW72> 222
"Are You Really My Little Clara?" (_color_) 232
[Illustration: HEIDI]
CHAPTER I
HEIDI'S FIRST MOUNTAIN CLIMB
On a bright June morning two figures--one a tall girl and the other
a child--could be seen climbing a narrow mountain path that winds up
from the pretty village of Mayenfeld, to the lofty heights of the Alm
mountain. In spite of the hot June sun the child was clothed as if to
keep off the bitterest frost. She did not look more than five years
old, but what her natural figure was like would be hard to say, for
she had on apparently two dresses, one above the other, and over these
a thick red woolen shawl. Her small feet were shod in thick, nailed
mountain-shoes.
When the wayfarers came to the hamlet known as Doerfli, which is
situated | 1,348.146715 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.2255850 | 1,508 | 151 |
Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music
transcribed by Veronika Redfern.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXX.--No. 1.
BOSTON:
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
1881.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
[Illustration: JOHN WILSON & SON UNIVERSITY PRESS]
[Illustration: Contents.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
Hide and Seek 193
Flowers for Mamma 195
Outwitted 197
Zip <DW53> 199
The Fuss in the Poultry-Yard 201
Our Charley 206
Drawing-Lesson 209
More about "Parley-voo" 210
The old Pump 214
Winter on Lake Constance 215
Swan-upping 216
The Man in the Moon 219
The Boy and the Cat 220
IN VERSE.
Hammock Song 196
Rosie and the Pigs 198
What's up 203
Minding Mother 204
Peet-Weet 207
Baby's Ride 212
Baby-Brother 222
Under Green Leaves (_with music_) 224
[Illustration]
[Illustration: HIDE AND SEEK.
VOL. XXX.--NO. 1.]
HIDE-AND-SEEK.
WHERE is Charley? Where can the boy have gone? Just now he was here by
my side. Now he is out of my sight. I will call him. 'Charley, Charley,
my boy! where are you?'
"No answer. Hark! I hear a noise up in that tree. Can that be Charley?
Oh, no! It is a bird. 'Little bird, have you seen a small boy with curly
hair? Tell me where to look for him.'
"The bird will not tell me. I must ask the squirrel. 'Squirrel, have you
seen a boy with rosy cheeks?' Away goes the squirrel into a hole without
saying a word.
"Ah! there goes a butterfly. I will ask him. 'Butterfly, have you seen a
boy, with black eyes, rosy cheeks, and curly hair?' The butterfly lights
on a bush. Now he flies again. Now he is off without making any reply.
"Dear me! what shall I do? Is my little boy lost in the woods? Must I go
home without him? Oh, how can I live without my boy!"
Out pops a laughing face from the bushes.
"Here I am, mamma!" says Charley. "Don't cry. Here I am close by you."
"Why, so you are. Come out here, you little rogue, and tell me where you
have been all this time."
"I have been right behind this tree, and I heard every word you said,"
says Charley.
"What a joke that was! Why, Charley, you must have kept still for as
much as three minutes. I never knew you to do that before."
IDA FAY.
[Illustration]
FLOWERS FOR MAMMA.
OUR readers will remember a picture of this same little girl as she was
taking her doll to ride. While Dolly was taking her nap, Grace ran into
the garden again. She flitted about among the flowers, as busy as a bee,
for a few minutes. Then she came running into the house. The picture
shows what she brought back to her mamma.
JANE OLIVER.
[Illustration]
HAMMOCK SONG.
HEIGH-HO, to and fro!
How the merry breezes blow!
Blue skies, blue eyes,
Baby, bees, and butterflies,
Daisies growing everywhere,
Breath of roses in the air!
Dollie Dimple, swing away,
Baby darling, at your play.
MARY D. BRINE.
OUTWITTED.
ONE fine summer day a very hungry fox sallied out in search of his
dinner. After a while his eye rested on a young rooster, which he
thought would make a very good meal: so he lay down under a wall and hid
himself in the high grass, intending to wait until the rooster got near
enough, and then to spring on him, and carry him off.
Suddenly, however, the rooster saw him and flew, in a great fright, to
the top of the wall.
The fox could not get him there, and he knew it: so he came out from his
hiding-place, and addressed the rooster thus: "Dear me!" he cried, "how
handsomely you are dressed! I came to invite your magnificence to a
grand christening feast. The duck and the goose have promised to come,
and the turkey, though slightly ill, will try to come also.
[Illustration]
"You see that only those of rank are bidden to this feast, and we beg
you to adorn it with your splendid talent for music. We are to have the
most delicate little cock-chafers served up on toast, a delicious salad
of earthworms, in fact all manner of good things. Will you not return
then with me to my house?"
"Oh ho!" said the rooster, "how kind you are! What fine stories you
tell! Still I think it safest to decline your kind invitation. I am
sorry not to go to that splendid feast; but I cannot leave my wife, for
she is sitting on seven new eggs. Good-by! I hope you will relish those
earthworms. Don't come too near me, or I will crow for the dogs.
Good-by!"
LEONORA, from the German.
[Illustration]
ROSIE AND THE PIGS.
ROSIE was breakfasting out on the grass
When two pigs, on a walking tour, happened to pass.
One pig, with rude manners, came boldly in front,
And first gave a stare, and then gave a grunt,
As much as to say, "What is that you have got?
Just give us a taste, my dear, out of your pot!"
T.
[Illustration]
ZIP <DW53>.
DID you ever see a raccoon? I am going to tell you about one that was
sent from the South as a present to a lady whose name was Isabella. He
was called Zip <DW53>, and a very wise <DW53> he was.
Zip had a long, low body, covered with stiff yellowish hair. His | 1,348.245625 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.2256120 | 577 | 7 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
KITTY'S CONQUEST.
BY CHARLES KING, U.S.A.,
AUTHOR OF "THE COLONEL'S DAUGHTER."
PHILADELPHIA:
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
1890.
Copyright. 1884, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.
PREFACE.
The incidents of this little story occurred some twelve years ago, and
it was then that the story was mainly written.
If it meet with half the kindness bestowed upon his later work it will
more than fulfil the hopes of
THE AUTHOR.
February, 1884.
KITTY'S CONQUEST.
CHAPTER I.
It was just after Christmas, and discontentedly enough I had left my
cosy surroundings in New Orleans, to take a business-trip through the
counties on the border-line between Tennessee and northern Mississippi
and Alabama. One sunny afternoon I found myself on the "freight and
passenger" of what was termed "The Great Southern Mail Route." We had
been trundling slowly, sleepily along ever since the conductor's "all
aboard!" after dinner; had met the Mobile Express at Corinth when the
shadows were already lengthening upon the ruddy, barren-looking
landscape, and now, with Iuka just before us, and the warning whistle of
the engine shrieking in our ears with a discordant pertinacity attained
only on our Southern railroads, I took a last glance at the sun just
disappearing behind the distant forest in our wake, drew the last
breath of life, from my cigar, and then, taking advantage of the halt at
the station, strolled back from the dinginess of the smoking-car to more
comfortable quarters in the rear.
There were only three passenger-cars on the train, and, judging from the
scarcity of occupants, one would have been enough. Elbowing my way
through the gaping, lazy swarms of unsavory black humanity on the
platform, and the equally repulsive-looking knots of "poor white trash,"
the invariable features of every country stopping-place south of Mason
and Dixon, I reached the last car, and entering, chose one of a dozen
empty seats, and took a listless look at my fellow-passengers,--six in
all,--and of them, two only worth a second glance.
One, a young, perhaps very young, lady, so girlish, _petite_, and pretty | 1,348.245652 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.2298840 | 1,135 | 12 |
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson
_Morning and Evening
Prayers
for All Days of the Week_
By
DR. JOHN HABERMANN.
Together With
_Confessional, Communion, and Other
Prayers and Hymns for Mornings
and Evenings, and
Other Occasions_
Done in English
By
EMIL H. RAUSCH.
_Editor Lutheran Herald_
Chicago, Illinois.
WARTBURG PUBLISHING HOUSE.
March, 1918, 3M.
September, 1918, 5M.
January, 1920, 5M.
Translator's Preface
This little manual of prayers herewith offered to English speaking
Christians in their own language, has long been one of the treasures of
the German people. With the exception of a few prayers, as hereinafter
noted, it was originally written by one of God's noblemen, by one who
"lived and moved and had his being" in the things of the Kingdom of God.
Dr. John Habermann (known also as Avenarius, Latinized form of Habermann)
died 1590 as superintendent at Zeitz, was a famous preacher and a
distinguished scholar of his day. He was noted for his profound knowledge
of oriental languages especially of the Hebrew. Still it is not this but
the fact of his little prayer book that has endeared him to his fellow
Christians. And this manual of prayers is the mature product of an inner
life rich in the grace of God. On every page it bears the stamp of one
for whom the communion with the eternal Father in heaven through the
faith in Jesus Christ, the Savior, is a blessed reality. Nothing more
natural therefore also than that he should "live and move and have his
being" in the language of the Word of God. And this is quite apparent in
his prayer language. God's Word give him the terms to express his
thoughts. Especially the Psalter, the prayer and hymn book of Israel,
proves a veritable thesaurus of prayer terms and of these he makes a
copious use.
The present little volume presents the Englished edition of "Wachet und
Betet," as issued by the Synod of Iowa and other States. Owing to the
exigencies of the times, with the great world war raging in all its fury,
a special set of prayers for times of war has been added by the
translator, in the hope that they will add to the usefulness of the book.
These are found on pages 131-138. The hymns as far as possible are given
in the form as found in the new Common Service Book with Hymnal. Many of
them however are new translations that here appear in print for the first
time. For these we are indebted especially to Prof. Alfred Ramsey of the
Lutheran Theological Seminary, Maywood, Chicago, and the Rev. H.
Brueckner of Iowa City, Iowa, a fact which is here gratefully
acknowledged.
The labor of clothing these little gems of prayer into the language of
the land has been done as a labor of love, albeit the stress of other
work often precluded the continued effort. The work was done a bit at a
time. This little volume is herewith issued with the fervent hope and
prayer, that it may long continue on its course of blessing, and lead
many lives into the closer communion with God, through Jesus Christ. Soli
Deo Gloria!
E. H. R.
Waverly, Iowa, during the blessed season of Epiphany, 1918.
EXHORTATION TO PRAYER
Arise, dear soul, and carefully reflect who He is with whom thou speakest
and before whom thou standest when thou prayest. Behold, thou speakest
with God, thy Maker, and standest in the presence of Him, the eternal
Majesty, whom thousand times thousand holy angels and arch-angels attend.
Therefore, O Christian, enter thou into the closet of thy soul, and
beware, lest thou failest to put from thee all sluggishness of heart, and
liftest up to thy God a countenance free from blame. Then wilt thou
delight in the Lord and have power with Him, and prevail. Yea, thou wilt
conquer the unconquerable God and bear away the blessing through Jesus
Christ. Amen.
The Lord's Prayer
_Our Father, who art in heaven; Hallowed be Thy Name; Thy kingdom come;
Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven; Give us this day our daily
bread; And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass
against us; And lead us not into temptation; but deliver us from evil;
For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever and
ever. Amen._
The Benediction
_The Lord bless thee, and keep thee._
_The Lord make His face to shine upon thee,_
_and be gracious unto thee._
_The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee,_
_and give thee peace. Amen._
Morning and Evening Prayers
| 1,348.249924 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.4282970 | 2,356 | 12 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*THE FAMILY AT MISRULE.*
BY
ETHEL TURNER,
AUTHOR OF
"SEVEN LITTLE AUSTRALIANS," "THE STORY OF A BABY," ETC
"Ah that spring should vanish with the Rose!
That youth's sweet-scented manuscript should close!"
THE RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM.
"To youth the greatest reverence is due."
JUVENAL.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY A. J. JOHNSON._
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED,
WARWICK HOUSE, SALISBURY SQUARE, E.C.
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE.
TO
CHARLES COPE,
MY STEPFATHER AND FRIEND
E. S. T.,
LINDFIELD, SYDNEY.
*CONTENTS.*
CHAP.
I. PICKING UP THREADS
II. SCHOOL TROUBLES
III. A PASSAGE-AT-ARMS
IV. A SUMMER'S DAY
V. BETWEEN A DREAM AND A DREAM
VI. TO-MORROW
VII. A LITTLE MAID-ERRANT
VIII. ONE PARTICULAR EVENING
IX. THAT MISCHIEVOUS CUPID
X. NEEDLES AND PINS
XI. A DAY IN SYDNEY
XII. THREE COURSES ONE SHILLING
XIII. PARNASSUS AND PUDDINGS
XIV. MUSHROOMS
XV. THE GOVERNMENT OF MEG
XVI. MORE MUTINY
XVII. A DINNER PARTY
XVIII. "HOW GOOD YOU OUGHT TO BE!"
XIX. HEADACHE AND HEARTACHE
XX. MY LITTLE ONE DAUGHTER
XXI. THE SEVENTH DAY
XXII. AMARANTH OR ASPHODEL
XXIII. LITTLE FAITHFUL MEG
XXIV. "IN THE MIDNIGHT, IN THE SILENCE OF THE SLEEP-TIME"
XXV. HERE ENDETH
[Illustration: Contents tailpiece]
*THE FAMILY AT MISRULE.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*PICKING UP THREADS.*
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot?"
There was discord at Misrule.
Nell, in some mysterious way, had let down a muslin frock of last season
till it reached her ankles.
And Meg was doing her best to put her foot down upon it.
In a metaphorical sense, of course. Meg Woolcot at twenty-one was far
too lady-like to resort to a personal struggle with her young sister.
But her eyes were distressed.
"You can't say I don't look nice," Nell said. "Why, even Martha said,
'La, Miss Nell!' and held her head on one side with a pleased look for
two minutes."
"But you're such a child, Nellie," objected Meg. "you look like playing
at being grown up."
"Fifteen's very old, _I_ think," said Miss Nell, walking up and down
just for the simple pleasure of hearing the frou-frou of muslin frills
near her shoes.
"Ah well, I do think I look nice with my hair done up, and you can't
have it up with short frocks."
"Then the moral is easy of deduction," said Meg drily.
"Oh, bother morals!" was Nell's easy answer.
She tripped down the verandah steps with a glance or two over her
shoulder at the set of the back of her dress, and she crossed the lawn
to the crazy-looking summer-house.
"Oh dear!" sighed Meg.
She leaned her face on her hands, and stared sadly after the crisp,
retreating frills and the shimmer of golden hair "done up." This was
one of the days when Meg's desires to be a model eldest sister were in
the ascendency, hence the very feminine exclamation.
She had not altered very much in all these live long years--a little
taller perhaps, a little more womanly, but the eyes still had their
child-like, straightforward look, and the powdering of freckles was
there yet, albeit fainter in colouring.
She still made resolutions--and broke them. She still wrote verses--and
burnt them. To-day she was darning socks, Pip's and Bunty's. That was
because she had just made a fresh resolve to do her duty in her state of
life.
At other times she left them all to the fag end of the week, and great
was the cobbling thereof to satisfy the demands of "Clean socks, Meg,
and look sharp."
Besides darning, Meg had promised to take care of the children for the
afternoon, as Esther had gone out.
Who were the children? you will ask, thinking five years has taken that
title away from several of our young Australians.
The General is six now, and answers to the name of Peter on the
occasions that Pip does not call him Jumbo, and Bunty, Billy. Nell, who
is inclining to elegant manners, ventures occasionally in company to
address him as Rupert; but he generally winks or says "Beg pardon?" in a
vacant kind of way.
Baby also has become "Poppet," and handed down her name of long standing
to a rightful claimant who disjointed the General's nose nearly three
years ago and made our number up to seven again.
Just a wee, chubby morsel of a girl it is, with sunshiny eyes and
sunshiny hair and a ceaseless supply of sunshiny smiles.
Even her tears are sunshiny; they are so short-lived that the smiles
shine through and make them things of beauty.
The boys generally call her "The Scrap," though she is as big as most
three-year-olds. She was christened Esther.
And Poppet is still a child,--to be nine is scarcely to have reached
years of discretion.
She has lost her chubbiness, and developed abnormally long, thin legs
and arms, a surprising capacity for mischief, and the tenderest little
heart in the world.
So Meg's hands were fairly well filled for the afternoon, to keep these
three young ones in check, darn the socks, and superintend kitchen
arrangements, which meant Martha Tomlinson and the cook.
She had not bargained for the tussle with Nell too.
That young person was at a difficult age just now: too old--in her own
eyes, at any rate--to romp with Bunty and Poppet; too young to take a
place beside Meg and pay visits with Esther,--she hung between, and had
just compromised matters by letting down her frocks, as years ago Meg
had done in the privacy of her bedroom.
Her early promise of good looks was more than fulfilled, and in this
long, pale blue muslin, and "picture" hat, cornflower-trimmed, she
looked a fresh enough young beauty to be queen of a season. The golden
hair had deepened, and was twisted up in the careful, careless way
fashion dictated. The complexion was wonderfully pure and bright for
Australia, and the eyes were just as dewy and soft and sweetly lashed as
ever.
But not yet sixteen! Was ever such an impossible age for grown-up
rights? Just because she was tall and gracefully built was no reason
why she should consider herself fit to be "out," Meg
contended--especially, she added, with a touch of sisterly sarcasm, as
she had a weakness for spelling "believe" and "receive" in unorthodox
ways, and was still floundering wretchedly through her first French
author--_Le Chien du Capitaine_.
Poppet's legs dashed across the gravel path under the window; Peter's
copper-toed boots in hot pursuit shone for a second and vanished.
"Where's Baby, I wonder?" Meg said to herself.
The child had been playing with a chair a little time back, dragging it
up and down the verandah and bumping it about noisily; now all was
silent. She went to the foot of the stairs, one of Bunty's socks more
"holey" than righteous drawn over her hand.
"What you doing, Essie?" she called.
"Nosing, Mig," said a little sweet voice from a bedroom,--"nosing at
all."
"Now, Essie!"--Meg's voice took a stern note,-- "tell me what you are
doing!"
"Nosing," said the little voice; "I'se velly dood."
[Illustration: "'I'SE VELLY DOOD.'"]
"Quite sure, Essie?"
"Twite; I isn't dettin' wet a bit, Miggie."
Up the stairs Meg ran at a swift pace; that last speech was eminently
Baby's, and betokened many things.
"Oh, you wicked child!" she cried, and drove an unsummoned smile away
from her mouth corners.
The big water-jug was on the floor near the washstand, and small Essie
with slow and deep enjoyment was standing with one wee leg in the jug
and the other on the oilcloth. The state of the lace sock and little
red shoe visible betrayed the fact that the operation had been reversed
more than once.
This was an odd little characteristic of Essie's, and no amount of
scolding and even shaking could break her of it. Innumerable times she
had been found at this work of iniquity, dipping one leg after the other
in any water-jugs she found on the floor. And did Martha, in washing
floors, leave her bucket of dirty water one moment unguarded, Essie
would creep up and pop in one little leg while she stood her ground with
the other.
Meg dried her, scolding hard all the time. "All your shoes are spoiled,
Baby, you naughty girl; what _am_ I to do to you?"
"Velly solly," said Baby cheerfully.
She squeezed a tear out of her smiling eyes when Meg bade her look at
the ruin of her pretty red shoes.
"And you told me a story, Essie; you said you were good, and were not
getting wet."
Meg held the little offender away from her, and looked upon her with
stern reproach.
"But on'y my legs was dettin' wet--not me," explained Essie, with a sob
in her voice and a dimple at the corner of her mouth.
There was nothing of course to be done but put the water-jug into its
basin, and carry the small sinner downstairs in dry socks and
ankle-strap slippers that | 1,348.448337 |
2023-11-16 18:39:32.8530730 | 349 | 7 |
Produced by Gregory Walker, for the Digital Daguerreian Archive Project.
[Illustration: Title page]
This etext was created by Gregory Walker, Austin, Texas, for the
Digital Daguerreian Archive Project.
Internet: [email protected] CompuServe: 73577,677
Page numbers explicitly referred to in the text are marked at their
beginning by "[page ##]" on a separate line. The location of the
illustrations in the text are marked by "[amdg_##.gif]" on a separate
line. I hope this etext inspires a wider interest in the origins of
photography and in the modern practice of the Daguerreian Art.
[Updater's note: In this version, the above page numbering convention
has been replaced by "{##}" sequences placed in line with the
surrounding text.]
AMERICAN HAND BOOK
OF THE
DAGUERREOTYPE
GIVING
THE MOST APPROVED AND CONVENIENT
METHODS FOR PREPARING THE CHEMICALS, AND
THE COMBINATIONS USED IN THE ART.
CONTAINING THE
DAGUERREOTYPE, ELECTROTYPE,
AND VARIOUS OTHER PROCESSES EMPLOYED IN TAKING
HELIOGRAPHIC IMPRESSIONS.
BY
S. D. HUMPHREY
FIFTH EDITION
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED BY S. D. HUMPHREY
37 LISPENARD STREET
1858
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by S. D.
HUMPHREY | 1,348.873113 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.0613260 | 575 | 7 |
E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/songsofwomanhood00almauoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold).
SONGS OF WOMANHOOD
* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
_Uniform with this Volume._
REALMS OF UNKNOWN KINGS.
=The Athenaeum.=--'_In this volume the critic recognises with sudden
joy the work of a true poet._'
=The Saturday Review.=--'_It is a book in which deep feeling speaks
... and it has something of that essentially poetical thought, the
thought that sees, which lies deeper than feeling._'
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS.
* * * * *
SONGS OF WOMANHOOD
by
LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA
Grant Richards
48 Leicester Square
London
1903
Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
A great number of the following verses are already known to readers of
_The Herb o' Grace_, and of the little reprint, _Songs of Childhood_.
As these pamphlets, however, did not reach the public, it has been
thought advisable to re-issue the verses in book-form, together with
three or four more collected from various reviews, and a number that
are here printed for the first time.
L.A.T.
Contents
PAGE
CHILDHOOD
KING BABY 3
A BLESSING FOR THE BLESSED 5
TO RAOUL BOUCHARD 8
TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 10
THE NESTING HOUR 11
THE LITTLE SISTER--Bath-time 12
Bed-time 13
A TWILIGHT SONG 14
A WINTRY LULLABY 15
THE WARM CRADLE 16
THE DROOPING FLOWER 17
MOTHERS IN THE GARDEN--I. 18
II. 19
THE GRAVEL PATH 20
THE NEW PELISSE 21
SOLACE 22
STRANGE LANDS 23
MARCH MEADOWS--A Lark 24
Lam | 1,349.081366 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.2256430 | 2,206 | 13 |
Produced by Emmy, Beth Baran and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
Our Little Swedish Cousin
The Little Cousin Series
[Illustration]
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates
in tint. Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover,
per volume, 60 cents.
[Illustration]
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE (unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. Macdonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
[Illustration]
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: SIGRID]
Our Little Swedish
Cousin
By
Claire M. Coburn
_Illustrated by_
L. J. Bridgman and R. C. Woodberry
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_MDCCCCVI_
_Copyright, 1906_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
First Impression, July, 1906
_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U. S. A._
Preface
FOR more than five thousand years, the ancestors of our little Swedish
cousin have dwelt in the Scandinavian peninsula. No wonder she loves
the stories of the Vikings, the old legends, customs, and fete-days.
They are her priceless heritage from the days of long ago.
The snow and glaciers on the extreme north cut off this long tongue of
land, so that it is as separate from the rest of Europe as an island.
In the olden days, almost every Swede tilled the soil and lived remote
from his neighbour. Villages were few, so that each family created
its own little world of work and pleasure. Even the children must be
very industrious and ingenious to help supply the needs of the family.
Whether she lives in the city or the country, every little Swedish girl
to-day is taught this same thrift and industry.
Because the winter months, when the sun shows his face but a few hours
each day, are long and dreary, our northern relatives fairly revel in
their short summers. The whole nation lives out-of-doors and rejoices
in the merry sunshine. All day excursions, picnics, and water trips are
crowded into the brief season.
The peasant still owns his little red cottage and the well-to-do farmer
and the nobleman live in their old homesteads. The cities continue to
be small in number and in size, but slowly, slowly, the great throbbing
life of the outside world is creeping in to steal away much of the
picturesqueness of this old nation.
You will be surprised to learn in how many ways the life of our little
Swedish cousin is similar to that of American children. But she is such
a very hospitable and polite little maid, I am sure she will give you a
hearty welcome if you visit her and see her for yourself at work and at
play.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE SKATING CARNIVAL 1
II. THE KNITTING LESSON 14
III. YULE-TIDE 29
IV. AT GRANDMOTHER'S 45
V. MIDSUMMER'S EVE 57
VI. A VISIT TO SKANSEN 68
VII. THROUGH THE GOeTA CANAL 80
VIII. THE NAME-DAY 93
List of Illustrations
PAGE
SIGRID _Frontispiece_
BRITA AND HER FOOT-PUSHER 6
"A SHEAF OF GRAIN IS FASTENED UP IN THE YARD
OF EVERY COUNTRY HOME" 38
BAKING RYE BREAD AT GRANDMOTHER'S 52
"IN A TWINKLING, THE CHILDREN... WERE DANCING
AROUND THE POLE" 62
THE GOeTA CANAL 86
Our Little Swedish Cousin
CHAPTER I.
THE SKATING CARNIVAL
"SIGRID, Sigrid, hurry and get your skates. The ice is at last safe,
and mother says that we may go to the park with Miss Eklund, this
afternoon."
Erik thrust his head through the nursery door to announce the good news
to his sister, who was poring over her lessons for the next day.
"Oh!" cried the little girl as she quickly slipped out of her seat at
the long table, "I am so glad, for I thought I should never have a
chance to wear the new skates that father gave me on my birthday."
In a trice, she had gathered up all her books, packed them neatly
away, and was off to put on her warm furs. She was a flaxen-haired
little maid, with very blue eyes, and plump rosy cheeks as round as an
apple, because she lived out-of-doors a great deal and romped with her
brothers.
In just no time at all, she had put on her warm blue coat, lined with
gray squirrel, and a little cap to match, with the fur also on the
inside. She quickly fastened on her rubber overshoes, which had a
border of fur around the top and down the front. When she had found her
white woolen mittens with a quaint red and blue pattern knitted right
across the back, she was ready to join her brothers Erik and Anders.
They were a jolly little party of merry-makers, for it was the first
skate of the season. Our Swedish cousins who live in the city may not
go skating whenever they like. They must wait till some wise person
appointed by the government says the ice is quite thick and firm.
"I will beat you running down-stairs to the porter's door," called
Sigrid, who was bubbling over with good spirits. Away she flew, down
the long flight of stone steps, and stood dancing up and down on one
foot, waiting for the others.
Sigrid's father was an officer in the king's army, and in the
winter-time, she and her big brother Erik and her little brother Anders
lived with their parents and their governess, Miss Eklund, in a large
apartment house in Stockholm. All the city people in Sweden live in
these houses, plain and substantial on the outside, but comfortable
inside, and not so very unlike American houses. In the centre of every
house is a great stone stairway, and at the entrance sits a doorkeeper
behind a tiny port-hole window. Every one who came to call on Sigrid's
mother, who was a very hospitable lady, and had many guests, must
ring the porter's bell. Then up would bob his head before the little
window to see if he should let them in. He peered through the window so
quickly after any one rang the bell that he always reminded Sigrid of a
Jack-in-the-box.
"Gerda and Per are coming too," said little Anders as he walked by Miss
Eklund's side. He had just learned to skate, so that he felt quite
grown-up to be allowed to go at all. Everybody can skate in Sweden, so
that the children learn when they are very young.
The merry group crossed the street to the left side, instead of to the
right as we should go, and started off briskly. Every few steps, Sigrid
would make a little bobbing courtesy as she met some older friend. Such
a funny little bow it was, made by quickly bending the knee without
stopping her walk.
"Brita has such a beautiful new foot-pusher that her father has bought
her," exclaimed Sigrid. They had reached the open country near the
skating-park, and a couple of children rapidly skimmed past them on
these strange sleds. "Don't you think that I am old enough to have a
foot-pusher now, Miss Eklund?"
Christmas was very near and the air was already full of secrets, so
Miss Eklund smiled to herself and replied, "Perhaps you might ask the
good father at home what he thinks about it."
I don't believe that you know what a "foot-pusher" or "kicker" is. I
am sure I don't know why you should. Picture to yourself the framework
of an ordinary sled with two wooden rods fastened at right angles to | 1,349.245683 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.3271350 | 2,356 | 6 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
Pure Books on Avoided Subjects
_Books for Men_
_By Sylvanus Stall, D. D._
“What a Young Boy Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Man Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Husband Ought to Know.”
“What a Man of 45 Ought to Know.”
_Books for Women_
_By Mrs. Mary Wood-Allen, M. D., And Mrs. Emma F. A. Drake, M. D._
“What a Young Girl Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Woman Ought to Know.”
“What a Young Wife Ought to Know.”
“What a Woman of 45 Ought to Know.”
PRICE AND BINDING
The books are issued in uniform size and but one style of binding, and
sell in America at $1, in Great Britain at 4s., net, per copy, post free,
whether sold singly or in sets.
PUBLISHED BY
IN THE UNITED STATES
THE VIR PUBLISHING COMPANY
2237 Land Title Building Philadelphia
IN ENGLAND
THE VIR PUBLISHING COMPANY
7 Imperial Arcade, Ludgate Circus, London, E.C.
IN CANADA
WILLIAM BRIGGS
29-33 Richmond Street West Toronto, Ontario
[Illustration: EMMA F. ANGELL DRAKE, M.D.]
PRICE $1.00 NET
4S. NET
PURITY AND TRUTH
WHAT A YOUNG
WIFE
OUGHT TO KNOW
(_THOUSAND DOLLAR PRIZE BOOK_)
BY
MRS. EMMA F. ANGELL DRAKE, M. D.
Graduate of Boston University Medical College; formerly
Physician and Principal of Mr. Moody’s School at Northfield,
Mass.; Professor of Obstetrics at Denver Homœopathic Medical
School and Hospital; Author of “What a Woman of 45 Ought to
Know,” “Maternity Without Suffering.”
PHILADELPHIA, PA.: 2337 LAND TITLE BUILDING.
THE VIR PUBLISHING COMPANY
LONDON: TORONTO:
7, IMPERIAL ARCADE, WM. BRIGGS,
LUDGATE CIRCUS, E. C. 33 RICHMOND ST., WEST.
COPYRIGHT, 1901, by SYLVANUS STALL
COPYRIGHT, 1902, by SYLVANUS STALL
Entered at Stationers’ Hall, London, England
Protected by International copyright in Great Britain and
all her colonies, and, under the provisions of the Berne
Convention, in Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Spain,
Switzerland, Tunis, Hayti, Luxembourg, Monaco, Norway,
and Japan
_All rights reserved_
[PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES]
Dedicated
TO THE YOUNG WIVES WHO DESIRE THE BEST FOR THEMSELVES, FOR THEIR HUSBANDS
AND FOR THEIR OFFSPRING
PREFACE
To this generation as to no other, are we indebted for the awakening of
woman. Not the awakening alone which has led her out of the old lines
into nearly every avenue open to man in his pursuit of the necessities
and luxuries of life; but that other and larger awakening which has set
her down face to face with herself, and in her study of woman she has
shown herself courageous.
Bravely acknowledging her own limitations, she has set herself the task
of fortifying the weak points, curbing the more daring aspirations, and
getting herself into trim, so to speak, that she may traverse the sea of
life, without danger to herself, her cargo, or to any of the countless
ships which follow in her wake, or that pass her in the day or the night.
Not all women have yet awakened, and for those who have eyes to see, and
have seen, a great work is still waiting to be done. They must reach out
and rouse their sisters. Will they do it? With our young wives rests
the weal or woe of the future generations. To them we say, “What of the
future, and what sort of souls shall you give to it?”
EMMA F. A. DRAKE.
DENVER, Colorado,
United States of America.
_February 1st, 1901._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
INTELLIGENCE OF THE YOUNG WIFE.
Out of girlhood into wifehood.—The setting up of a new
home.—Woman’s exalted place.—Earlier influences.—Importance
of intelligence.—Woman fitted by creator for wifehood
and motherhood.—The position of reproductive organs in
the body.—Dangers of crowding contents of abdomen.—What
all young wives need to know.—Premium previously set
upon ignorance.—Heredity.—Failures and successes of our
ancestors.—Faults and virtues transmitted through heredity, 21-35
CHAPTER II.
HOME AND DRESS.
Preparations for successful home-makers.—The importance of
sensible dress.—An opportunity for reform.—The conditions of
attractive dress.—A question of healthfulness.—What wives need
to know concerning dress.—The kind to be avoided.—Injurious
dress destroying the race.—The ailments caused by wrong
dressing.—The corset curse.—A summary of the evils of dress, 37-46
CHAPTER III.
HEALTH OF THE YOUNG WIFE.
Health insures happiness.—Be ambitious for health.—The scarcity
of perfectly healthy women.—Fashion to the Rescue.—The boon
of health.—Necessity of ventilation and fresh air.—Duties to
the home.—The greatness of woman’s sphere.—In the society
drift.—The extreme of wholly avoiding society.—Keeping in
the middle of the road.—Pleasures and recreations taken
together.—Taking time to keep young.—Mistakes which some
husbands make.—Wrecks at the beginning of married life, 47-55
CHAPTER IV.
THE CHOICE OF A HUSBAND.
Higher standards are being set up in the choice of a
husband.—Should be worthy of both love and respect.—Love
likely to idealize the man.—The real characteristics
necessary.—Deficiencies in character not to be supplied after
marriage.—The right to demand purity.—Young men who “sow wild
oats.”—Importance of good health.—Weaknesses and diseases which
descend from parents to children.—The parents’ part in aiding
to a wise choice.—The value of the physician’s counsel.—One
capable of supporting wife and children.—A dutiful son makes
a good husband.—Essential requisites enumerated.—The father
reproduced in his children.—The equivalents which the wife
should bring to her husband, 57-64
CHAPTER V.
WHAT SHALL A YOUNG WIFE EXPECT TO BE
TO HER HUSBAND?
The young wife should seek to be her husband’s equal, but not
his counterpart.—The recognized centre of the home.—Woman’s
true greatness.—Man’s helpmeet.—Mrs. Gladstone’s part in her
husband’s greatness.—Should attract her husband from the
club to the home.—Continuing to be attractive in dress and
manners.—Should accept both wifehood and motherhood.—Should
keep pace with his mental growth.—Guarding against improper
use of literary clubs, reading circles, etc.—Solomon’s picture
of the model young wife.—A converted heathen’s estimate of his
Christian wife, 65-72
CHAPTER VI.
TROUSSEAU AND WEDDING PRESENTS.
Husband and wife ruined before their “crane is
hung.”—The foolish and ruinous display at weddings.—An
illustration given.—How wedding presents lead to debt and
unhappiness.—Living does not need much machinery.—Mistake
of copying after people of large wealth.—Wise choice of
furniture.—The best adornments for the home.—The trousseaux of
our foremothers.—The need of simplicity.—Artificialities that
make a veil between our souls and God, 73-78
CHAPTER VII.
THE MARITAL RELATIONS.
The subject approached with reluctance.—The marital state
should be the most sacred of sanctuaries.—Wrongly interpreted
it is the abode of darkness and sin.—Its influence for good or
evil upon character.—Responsibility of mothers for the unhappy
lives of their daughters.—Commercial marriages.—Marriage as
it should be.—The husband’s danger from “aggressiveness.”—The
wife should not provoke the wrongs she suffers.—Marital
modesty.—Parenthood the justification of the marital
act.—Reproduction the primal purpose.—Harmony of purpose and
life.—Love’s highest plane.—The value of continence.—The right
and wrong of marriage.—The relation during gestation.—Effects
of relation during gestation illustrated.—The wrong-doings of
good men.—The fruits of ignorance.—The better day coming, 79-96
CHAPTER VIII.
PREPARATION FOR MOTHERHOOD.
Motherhood the glory of womanhood.—Maternity natural and
productive of health.—Prevalence of knowledge of methods used
to prevent conception.—Mothers should prepare their daughters
for maternity.—Motherhood the sanction for wifehood.—Effect of
fixed habits of mother upon offspring.—Adjustment of clothing
to expectant motherhood.—Importance of proper exercise.—The
sitz bath.—Effects of environment upon the unborn.—Why Italian
children resemble the madonnas.—The child the expression of the
mother’s thoughts.—The five stages of prenatal culture stated
and illustrated.—The mother of the Wesleys.—The child the heir
and expression of the mother’s thought and life, 97-112
CHAPTER IX.
PREPARATION FOR FATHERHOOD.
The command to “replenish the earth.”—Preparation for
motherhood more written about than preparation for
fatherhood.—Questions which would test the fitness of
young men for marriage.—Parents should know the character
of young men who desire their daughters in marriage.—Many
young men of startling worth.—The improving of a good
heritage.—Effects of bad morals and wayward habits.—Effects
of tobacco and alcoholics.—How young women help to contribute | 1,349.347175 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.3271760 | 3,413 | 7 |
Produced by Turgut Dincer, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
WALKING ESSAYS
WALKING ESSAYS
BY
A. H. SIDGWICK
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
1912
_All rights reserved_
_DEDICATION_
_COMITIBUS_
_O you who walked the ways with me
On hill and plain and hollow:
I ask your pardon, frank and free,
For all the things that follow.
Let me at least make one thing clear;
In these--I know no name for them--
These dreary talks on futile themes,
Dim visions from a dullards dreams,
At least you take no blame for them._
_You cheered my heart, made short the road,
And kept me philanthropic;
I only write this little ode
Which desecrates the topic.
You trode with me the mountain ridge
And clove the cloud wreaths over it;
I take the web of memories
We wove beneath the summer skies
And lo! the ink-spots cover it._
_How vain my effort, how absurd,
Considered as a symbol!
How lame and dull the written word
To you the swift and nimble!
How alien to the walkers mind,
Earth-deep, heaven-high, unfillable,
These petty snarls and jests ill-laid
And all the profitless parade
Of pompous polysyllable!_
_But yet, I feel, though weak my phrase,
My rhetoric though rotten,
At least our tale of Walks and Days
Should not go unforgotten;
At least some printed word should mark
The walker and his wanderings,
The strides which lay the miles behind
And lap the contemplative mind
In calm, unfathomed ponderings._
_And one rebuke I need not fear
From those of our profession,
That Walking Essays should appear
To be one long digression.
Let others take the hard high-road
And earn its gift, callosity:
For us the path that twists at will
Through wood and field, and up the hill
In easy tortuosity._
_Therefore, companions of the boot,
Joint-heirs of wind and weather,
In kindness take this little fruit
Of all our walks together.
For aught it has of wit or truth
I reckon you my creditors;
Its dulness, errors, want of taste,
Inconsequence, may all be placed
To my account, the editor’s._
_And haply you skim the work
In skilled eclectic hurry,
Some word may find the place where lurk
Your memories of Surrey;
Or, as you read and doze and droop
Well on the way to slumberland,
Before you some dim shapes will float,
Austere, magnificent, remote,
Their Majesties of Cumberland._
_Dream but awhile: and clouds will lift
To show the peaks at muster,
The driving shadows shape and shift
Before the hill-wind’s bluster:
Below far down the earth lies spread
With all its care and fretfulness,
But here the crumpled soul unfolds,
And every rock-strewn gully holds
The waters of Forgetfulness._
_So dream; and through your dreams shall roll
The rhythm of limbs free-striding,
Which moulds your being to a whole
And heals the worlds dividing;
So dream, and you shall be a man
Free on the open road again;
So dream the long night through, and wake
With better heart to rise and take
The burden of your load again._
PREFATORY NOTES
1. I have to thank two friends, who read or listened to large portions
of this work, for their sympathy, long-suffering, and good advice, and
to acquit them of all further complicity.
2. I must also thank a fellow-walker, who, on Maundy Thursday of 1910,
as we climbed the road out of Marlborough into Savernake Forest,
suggested to me the magnificent quotation from Cicero which heads the
essay on Walking and Music.
3. I have stolen the substance of one epigram from an _obiter dictum_ in
‘My System for Ladies,’ by J. P. Müller; but it was too good to miss.
4. None of the remarks about beer apply to Munich beer.
A. H. S.
_August 1912._
CONTENTS
PAGE
DEDICATION, v
I. WALKING AND CONVERSATION, 3
II. WALKER MILES, 43
III. WALKING AND MUSIC, WITH A DIGRESSION ON DANCING, 65
IV. WALKING, SPORT AND ATHLETICS, 109
V. WALKING AS A SOCIAL FORM, 147
VI. WALKING IN LITERATURE, 181
VII. WALKING EQUIPMENT, 215
VIII. WALKING ALONE, WITH A DIGRESSION ON LONDON WALKING, 249
EPILOGUE, 273
I
WALKING AND CONVERSATION
‘The heavenly bodies is philosophy, and the earthly bodies is
philosophy. If there’s a screw loose in a heavenly body, that’s
philosophy; and if there’s a screw loose in an earthly body, that’s
philosophy too; or it may be that sometimes there’s a little metaphysics
in it, but that’s not often. Philosophy’s the chap for me.’
I
WALKING AND CONVERSATION
About the year 1887 there was still in existence a nursery joke:--
‘King Charles walked and talked;
Half an hour after his head was cut off.’
This, pronounced as a consecutive sentence, gave the infant mind its
first experience of paradox. At the time we thought it funny. Later on,
in the last decade of Victorianism, when we were struggling with ‘post,’
‘postquam,’ and ‘postea,’ the joke appeared less funny. But later still,
in Edwardian times, a deep moral meaning began (as was customary in
those times) to appear underlying the joke. Take the two sentences as
they stand above: construe ‘walk’ and ‘talk’ in their strict sense:
generalise King Charles: convert the ‘post hoc’ into a ‘propter hoc’;
and you will have a motto to which all good walkers will add ‘ὣς
ἀπόλοιτο....’
I do not mean, of course, that any or all forms of walking and talking
are incompatible. It is possible, simultaneously, to stroll and to
babble, to stroll and to talk, to walk and to babble. Strolling, the
mere reflex action of the legs, is compatible with that sustained and
coherent activity of the mind which alone deserves the name of talking.
Babbling, the corresponding reflex action of the mind, is equally
compatible with that supreme activity of the whole being which men call
walking. But the attempt so often made to combine real walking with real
talking is disastrous. Better the man who babbles and strolls, who
trails his feet across country and his tongue across commonplace, than
the man who tries to ventilate fundamental things while his body is
braced to the conquest of road and hill.
‘A Voice’ at this point says ‘Yes, but we are not all scorchers,’ and
thereby makes manifest a very common delusion. The Voice, and the body
of opinion which it represents, are convinced that the difference
between strolling and walking consists in the merely material point of
speed, and that walkers cannot talk because they are bent solely on
record-breaking, and have one eye ever on the milestones and one on the
stop-watch, and no attention to spare for anything else. This is a gross
and palpable error. Record-breaking is, of course, a possible form of
walking, and most of us have indulged in it at one time or another; it
is interesting, and sometimes even salutary, to abandon all higher
thoughts, and go for a record frankly and whole-heartedly. But to the
true walker this is only an occasional indulgence. Record-breaking is
ultimately a degrading and (literally) a brutalising pursuit. It is the
mere pitting of the brute animal powers against the brute inanimate
conditions of time and space. If we are to be men and not animals,
walking must be something more than a mere swing of the legs, and the
country something more than a colourless aliquantum of miles.
Record-breaking, if it becomes a habit, will be as a blight in the fair
garden of walking, as a sarrusophone in the pedestrian symphony.
A casual observation of true walkers no doubt lends some colour to the
Voice’s delusion. Walkers have generally an air of being intent upon the
business in hand: they do not (as explained below) talk much: and as a
mere matter of fact they generally walk at a good round pace. But their
pace is only accidental and subordinate to their main purpose. The full
swing of the legs, like all physical activities, is a fine thing in
itself, but it is merely physical. The great fact is that such an
activity leads more directly than others to that sense of intimacy with
air and sun and hills and green things, which is the walker’s ideal.
This sense of intimacy is not to be won by strolling; a man must do his
best with his body before the gates are opened to him.
Another Voice may here interject ‘Wordsworth’; but, with all reverence
and respect, I doubt if that great man ever was really an intimate of
his surroundings in the sense which I mean. With him it was a mystical
communion rather than an intimacy. He loved the country with a kind of
austere and detached benevolence; I doubt if he really felt its
idiosyncrasies like a friend. In his altitudes of thought there was
probably little perceptible difference when he climbed Loughrigg after
tea and when he took a whole day over the Langdale Pikes and Serjeant
Man (if he ever did). Like the God of Aristotle, he experienced a single
and continuous pleasure, instead of the infinitely varied and minutely
individualised feelings of the ordinary walker. And the reason, I think,
was simply that he was not, in the true sense, a walker. He records
expeditions, of course, but these were generally made with his wife and
sister, which in the then state of feminine development would give
little chance of walking. There is no evidence that he ever laid his
body at full stretch to the conquest of a mountain; hence they were to
him merely mountains, full of general sublimities, and not individuals,
each with its own idiosyncrasy, full of the variety and interest which
are the staple food of friendship. His higher faculties, in short,
operated abstractedly; he missed that concrete body of feeling to which
even you and I can attain by ministering to the soul through the body.
It is a great thing, no doubt, to be catholic, to feel the same
immensities on Silver Howe as on the Great Gable; but there is something
to be said for the humbler lot of the ordinary walker, who, if he misses
the immensities on Silver Howe, yet gains that sudden jump and uplifting
of his whole being as he approaches Esk Hause from the south-east,
leaving behind the soft outlines and mere prettiness of the south, and
on an instant lifts his head into a world of gods and giants.
The attainment of such a feeling requires a certain receptivity and even
passivity of mind. You cannot grasp the character of country by a
conscious effort of discursive reason; all you can do is to set your
body fairly to its task, and to leave the intimate character of your
surroundings to penetrate slowly into your higher faculties, aided by
the consciousness of physical effort, the subtle rhythm of your walk,
the feel of the earth beneath your feet, and the thousand intangible
influences of sense. You must lay aside for the time being that formal
and conscious reasoning which (you fondly think) gives you your
distinctiveness and individuality in ordinary life; you must win back to
deeper and commoner things: you must become mere man upon the face of
your mother earth. Only in a state of humility and simplicity, with all
views and arguments and chains of reasoning--all, in fact, that divides
man from man--laid aside and utterly forsworn, can you enter the great
democracy of walkers.
* * * * *
Which things being prefaced, the utter incompatibility of walking and
talking needs no further demonstration, but only (what walkers much
prefer) dogmatic reiteration. Talking requires a definite activity of
the mind: walking demands passivity. Talking tends to make men aware of
their differences; walking rests on their identity. Talking may be the
same on a fine day or on a wet day, in spring or autumn, on Snowdon or
Leith Hill; walking varies according to each and every one of these
conditions. In a word, when you can paste a photograph on to the middle
of an Old Master, or set a gramophone going in an orchestra, then, and
not till then, can you walk and talk simultaneously.
Those who try to combine the two usually fail to achieve either.
Sometimes, of course, a talker may be tamed: if securely buttressed by a
large company of walkers, he may be subdued by a judicious mixture of
silence, irrelevance, or frivolity; or he may be carried along at such a
pace that he is reduced to voicelessness, if not to a proper state of
quiescent reverence. But usually a single talker in a walking company
will infect the whole; he will provoke them to argument and disputation;
he will expose the inmost parts of his soul and gradually allure them to
a like indecency. In such a case walking goes by the board; the company
either loiters and trails in clenched controversy, or, what is worse
sacrilege, strides blindly across country like a herd of animals,
recking little of whence they come or whither they are going,
desecrating the face of nature with sophism and inference and authority
and regurgitated Blue Book. At the end of such a day, what have they
profited? Their gross and perishable physical frames may have been
refreshed: their less gross but equally perishable minds may have been
exercised: but what of their immortal being? It has been starved between
the blind swing of the legs below and the fruitless flickering of the
mind above, instead of receiving, through the agency of a quiet mind and
a co-ordinated body, the gentle nutriment which is its due.
If, then, we are to walk, the talker should be eliminated before
starting. But this does not mean that our walk will be a silent one.
There are many forms of utterance besides talking, strictly so called;
and nearly all of these are possible and even desirable concomitants of
walking. Thus, there is the simple and natural babble of the first few
miles, while the body is settling down to work: the intellect, | 1,349.347216 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.3294780 | 1,913 | 94 |
Produced by David Widger.
THE SNOW-IMAGE
AND
OTHER TWICE-TOLD TALES
JOHN INGLEFIELD'S THANKSGIVING
By
Nathaniel Hawthorne
On the evening of Thanksgiving day, John Inglefield, the blacksmith, sat
in his elbow-chair, among those who had been keeping festival at his
board. Being the central figure of the domestic circle, the fire threw
its strongest light on his massive and sturdy frame, reddening his rough
visage, so that it looked like the head of an iron statue, all aglow,
from his own forge, and with its features rudely fashioned on his own
anvil. At John Inglefield's right hand was an empty chair. The other
places round the hearth were filled by the members of the family, who all
sat quietly, while, with a semblance of fantastic merriment, their
shadows danced on the wall behind then. One of the group was John
Inglefield's son, who had been bred at college, and was now a student of
theology at Andover. There was also a daughter of sixteen, whom nobody
could look at without thinking of a rosebud almost blossomed. The only
other person at the fireside was Robert Moore, formerly an apprentice of
the blacksmith, but now his journeyman, and who seemed more like an own
son of John Inglefield than did the pale and slender student.
Only these four had kept New England's festival beneath that roof. The
vacant chair at John Inglefield's right hand was in memory of his wife,
whom death had snatched from him since the previous Thanksgiving. With a
feeling that few would have looked for in his rough nature, the bereaved
husband had himself set the chair in its place next his own; and often
did his eye glance thitherward, as if he deemed it possible that the cold
grave might send back its tenant to the cheerful fireside, at least for
that one evening. Thus did he cherish the grief that was dear to him.
But there was another grief which he would fain have torn from his heart;
or, since that could never be, have buried it too deep for others to
behold, or for his own remembrance. Within the past year another member
of his household had gone from him, but not to the grave. Yet they kept
no vacant chair for her.
While John Inglefield and his family were sitting round the hearth with
the shadows dancing behind them on the wall, the outer door was opened,
and a light footstep came along the passage. The latch of the inner door
was lifted by some familiar hand, and a young girl came in, wearing a
cloak and hood, which she took off, and laid on the table beneath the
looking-glass. Then, after gazing a moment at the fireside circle, she
approached, and took the seat at John Inglefield's right hand, as if it
had been reserved on purpose for her.
"Here I am, at last, father," said she. "You ate your Thanksgiving
dinner without me, but I have come back to spend the evening with you."
Yes, it was Prudence Inglefield. She wore the same neat and maidenly
attire which she had been accustomed to put on when the household work
was over for the day, and her hair was parted from her brow, in the
simple and modest fashion that became her best of all. If her cheek
might otherwise have been pale, yet the glow of the fire suffused it with
a healthful bloom. If she had spent the many months of her absence in
guilt and infamy, yet they seemed to have left no traces on her gentle
aspect. She could not have looked less altered, had she merely stepped
away from her father's fireside for half an hour, and returned while the
blaze was quivering upwards from the same brands that were burning at her
departure. And to John Inglefield she was the very image of his buried
wife, such as he remembered her on the first Thanksgiving which they had
passed under their own roof. Therefore, though naturally a stern and
rugged man, he could not speak unkindly to his sinful child, nor yet
could he take her to his bosom.
"You are welcome home, Prudence," said he, glancing sideways at her, and
his voice faltered. "Your mother would have rejoiced to see you, but she
has been gone from us these four months."
"I know it, father, I know it," replied Prudence, quickly. "And yet,
when I first came in, my eyes were so dazzled by the firelight, that she
seemed to be sitting in this very chair!"
By this time the other members of the family had begun to recover from
their surprise, and became sensible that it was no ghost from the grave,
nor vision of their vivid recollections, but Prudence, her own self. Her
brother was the next that greeted her. He advanced and held out his hand
affectionately, as a brother should; yet not entirely like a brother,
for, with all his kindness, he was still a clergyman, and speaking to a
child of sin.
"Sister Prudence," said he, earnestly, "I rejoice that a merciful
Providence hath turned your steps homeward, in time for me to bid you a
last farewell. In a few weeks, sister, I am to sail as a missionary to
the far islands of the Pacific. There is not one of these beloved faces
that I shall ever hope to behold again on this earth. O, may I see all
of them--yours and all--beyond the grave!"
A shadow flitted across the girl's countenance.
"The grave is very dark, brother," answered she, withdrawing her hand
somewhat hastily from his grasp. "You must look your last at me by the
light of this fire."
While this was passing, the twin-girl-the rosebud that had grown on the
same stem with the castaway--stood gazing at her sister, longing to fling
herself upon her bosom, so that the tendrils of their hearts might
intertwine again. At first she was restrained by mingled grief and
shame, and by a dread that Prudence was too much changed to respond to
her affection, or that her own purity would be felt as a reproach by the
lost one. But, as she listened to the familiar voice, while the face
grew more and more familiar, she forgot everything save that Prudence had
come back. Springing forward, she would have clasped her in a close
embrace. At that very instant, however, Prudence started from her chair,
and held out both her hands, with a warning gesture.
"No, Mary,--no, my sister," cried she, "do not you touch me. Your bosom
must not be pressed to mine!"
Mary shuddered and stood still, for she felt that something darker than
the grave was between Prudence and herself, though they seemed so near
each other in the light of their father's hearth, where they had grown up
together. Meanwhile Prudence threw her eyes around the room, in search
of one who had not yet bidden her welcome. He had withdrawn from his
seat by the fireside, and was standing near the door, with his face
averted, so that his features could be discerned only by the flickering
shadow of the profile upon the wall. But Prudence called to him, in a
cheerful and kindly tone:--
"Come, Robert," said she, "won't you shake hands with your old friend?"
Robert Moore held back for a moment, but affection struggled powerfully,
and overcame his pride and resentment; he rushed towards Prudence, seized
her hand, and pressed it to his bosom.
"There, there, Robert!" said she, smiling sadly, as she withdrew her
hand, "you must not give me too warm a welcome."
And now, having exchanged greetings with each member of the family,
Prudence again seated herself in the chair at John Inglefield's right
hand. She was naturally a girl of quick and tender sensibilities,
gladsome in her general mood, but with a bewitching pathos interfused
among her merriest words and deeds. It was remarked of her, too, that
she had a faculty, even from childhood, of throwing her own feelings,
like a spell, over her companions. Such as she had been in her days of
innocence, so did she appear this evening. Her friends, in the surprise
and bewilderment of her return, almost forgot that | 1,349.349518 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.3539270 | 994 | 21 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Jonathan Ingram and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE STRAND MAGAZINE
_An Illustrated Monthly_
EDITED BY GEORGE NEWNES
Vol VII., Issue 39.
March, 1894
[Illustration: MR. THOMAS SIDNEY COOPER, R.A.
_From a Photo. by Elliot & Fry._]
_Illustrated Interviews._
XXXI.--MR. T. SIDNEY COOPER, R.A.
[Illustration]
The first sight I obtained of Mr. Cooper was of considerable
interest. He lives in a beautiful spot, about a mile and a half from
Canterbury--at Vernon Holme, Harbledown; and as I entered the gate
I caught sight of Mr. Cooper before his easel in his studio, taking
advantage of the light of a glorious winter's day, and working away at
a canvas which I subsequently learnt was intended, with another, to
form his contribution to this year's exhibition at the Royal Academy.
I stood for a moment quietly and respectfully looking on before
ringing the bell at the front door. The canvas presented a landscape,
and the cattle were just outlined in with pencil. The painter was
working without the aid of glasses, and this for a man who is in his
ninety-first year may certainly be said to be highly respectable.
Somewhat below the medium height, with marvellously penetrating eyes,
scarcely the sign of the stoop of old age, a hand as steady as in '35,
when he was just beginning to make a name, and silvery white hair about
his head--it was an impressive picture. T. Sidney Cooper's brilliant
work of the past and to-day calls for all recognition of his gifts, but
it is only when one catches sight of him as I did--snow, nothing but
snow, everywhere outside, and the painter, now in the winter of life,
clinging with all the old love to his sheep and cattle--it is only then
that one realizes the great respect due to the Grand Old Academician.
[Illustration: VERNON HOLME--FROM THE POND. _From a Photo. by Elliott &
Fry._]
So I shook my snow-covered boots outside and entered the hall of Vernon
Holme. The artist left his easel. It was a hearty welcome to Vernon
Holme. There was no mistaking the man. He was living there a quiet,
happy, contented, and work-a-day life; rising at half-past seven every
morning in the winter, and in the summer months at seven o'clock.
Before breakfast the palettes are set and the paints made ready. He
will work steadily up to dusk. His recreation is his Bible, and twice
a day, after lunch and dinner, a chapter is read aloud. His voice is
clear, and he reads every word, and suggests its meaning. I heard
Sidney Cooper read. His birthdays are _thinking_ days--_thankful_ days
too, it would seem. The lines he wrote on September 26th, 1889, reveal
much. He calls them "Musings on My Eighty-sixth Birthday," and they
run:--
Another birthday dawns--the eighty-sixth,
How little take we note of fleeting time!
Since last this day of joyful glee was here
What blessings have been mine; alas! how oft
Have unrequited been! The cares of life
Engross my thoughts when holy things my heart
Should fill. Thou who hast made my way of life
So full of mercies, be Thou still my help.
When o'er this day of life the night shall fall,
And called my feet to pass thro' ways unknown,
Be near me still; be Thou my strength; and when
The walls decay leave not the tenant lone,
But by Thy Spirit comfort and uphold;
I have but Thee, I have no claim of Gate
Of Pearl, or Street of Glittering Gold, but thro'
Thy boundless grace, my good and bad are both
Forgiven. In humble fitting place among
The many mansions, where there is no sin,
And by Thy Crystal River flowing on
Through Heaven's green expanse, I'll learn the new
And holy song of Worthy is the Lamb,
And 'neath the Healing Tree shall find that life
Wished for so long!!!
Then he loves to take you about his house, for it is a very beautiful
home, and the man who owns it enjoys its | 1,349.373967 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.4455440 | 1,105 | 11 |
Produced by Al Haines
[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 of a high
resolve then made, to be put into effect later. She was not in tears
as I thought she would be. There were no signs of grief on her face,
but instead her whole countenance seemed illuminated with a strangely
noble look. I was puzzled at this; but when I remembered that my
mother was the daughter of an English officer who was killed while
serving under Wolfe at Quebec, I understood.
In a firm voice she repeated to me the words I had already heard, then
she passed up the stairs. In a few moments I heard her telling my two
sisters Caroline and Elizabeth--they were both younger than
myself--that it was time to get up. After that I heard my mother go to
her own room and shut the door. In the silence that followed this I
fell to thinking.
Was my father really dead? Could it be that the British had been
repulsed? Duncan Hale had been telling me for weeks that war was
coming, but I had not thought his prophecy would be fulfilled. Now I
understood why he had come so often to visit my father; and why, during
the past month, he had seemed so absent-minded in school. My
preparation for going to Oxford in the autumn, over which he had been
so enthusiastic, appeared to have been completely pushed out of his
mind. I had once overheard my father caution him to keep his visits to
Lord Percy strictly secret. I was wondering if the part he had played
might have any ill consequences for him and for us, when my mother's
footsteps sounded on the stairs. She came at once to where I had been
standing for some moments, caught me in her arms, and, without
speaking, held me close for a moment, and then pressed a kiss on my
forehead.
'Go, Roger,' she said, 'and find Peter and Dora. Bring them to the
library, and wait there till I come with your sisters.'
I was turning to obey, when I caught a glimpse through the hall | 1,349.465584 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.7256380 | 7,436 | 9 |
Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: The Historical Department.]
* * * * *
THE
MUSEUM GAZETTE.
NO. 2. JUNE, 1906. VOL. 1.
* * * * *
OUR HISTORY ROOM. (_See Frontispiece._)
A department of our Museum to which, as regards its educational
usefulness, we attach very great importance, is that which attempts the
illustration of Human History. It is displayed in a separate division
of the main building, and is arranged, as far as possible, on “the
space-for-time method.” This method, which, following the pattern of
an ordinary diary, allots to every period of time the same amount of
space, is, of course, possible only where the time-periods and dates
are fairly well established. It is not well adapted, excepting as
a sort of open and, to some extent speculative, framework for the
illustration of prehistoric times. A courageous example of such use of
it we ventured to offer in our last number in reference to prehistoric
man in Britain. It was not history in any other sense than that the
periods of time were real; the events assigned to them were largely
conjectural. In the Museum itself we do not attempt to deal with very
remote periods in this manner. Our space-for-time arrangement begins
only with 2000 B.C. It might now, perhaps, fairly begin with 4000 B.C.,
but, unfortunately, we have not space enough. In this Schedule, which
occupies the whole of one side of a long room (70 feet), a measured
space on the wall, of nearly two feet, is allotted to each century.
The centuries are marked out by strong black lines, drawn vertically
from roof to the table-shelf below. This table-shelf is 18 inches wide,
and runs the whole length of the room. It is upon it that the busts
shown in our frontispiece are standing. Each bust is supposed to be in
its appropriate century, and with it are placed any other illustrative
objects belonging to the period--medals, coins, small architectural
models (when we have them), and the like. For instance, a model of
Stonehenge stands in the century in which it seems probable that that
most remarkable structure was built, and portions of Roman pavement
and other relics mark the period of the Italian occupation of Britain.
Upon the wall itself are placed engravings, photographs, and the like,
illustrative of the century, and representing either human personality
or some results of human effort. In order to aid the memory each
century is designated by the name of some prominent person of the time,
to whom other associations may conveniently cling. These names, painted
in bold characters, head the columns which represent the centuries.
Beneath these prominent names we have (in the case of a considerable
number of the most recent centuries) put up schedules of the principal
events, and lists of some of the principal persons. The appended
schedule is one of them and will illustrate what is meant:--
FOURTEENTH A.D.
CHAUCER.
The Three Edwards.
Bannockburn.
Famine in England.
The Hundred Years’ War begins.
Battle of Crecy.
The Black Death (Plague).
Battle of Poictiers.
Bolingbroke dethrones Richard II.
Froissart’s Chronicle.
Wallace and Bruce. Dante. John of Gaunt. Rienzi. Van Artevelde.
Wickliffe. Huss. Boccaccio. Petrarch. William Tell.
It will, if what we have tried to describe has conveyed its intended
meaning, be seen that an observer passing slowly down the length of
the room, may appreciate at a glance the relative position of the
principal events in the world’s history. He can hardly avoid noticing,
with fair accuracy, the distance between Homer and Socrates, between
Socrates and Paul, and between the Christian epoch and the times of
Milton and Shakespeare. He will be impressed at once, as, possibly,
he never was before, with a perception of the brief and very recent
portion of time which contains the whole of the annals of our own
nation. If, in addition to thus obtaining a sort of bird’s-eye view
of the progress of the world, it is desired to go into detail and
devote time to the enquiry, a certain amount of help will be found
to have been provided on the table-shelf. Detailed schedules taken
from the “The Centuries” (see advertisement) have been mounted on
board conveniently for hand use, and are placed on the table-shelf at
the foot of each century. A few books of reference in biography and
history, and numerous maps, have also been suitably placed, and there
are chairs.
The “Historical Schedule” described takes up, as we have said, the
whole of one side of the long room. The other side of it, as well
as much of the floor-space, is occupied by somewhat miscellaneous
illustrations of prehistoric times, and of nations and races which
have not as yet attained to history. The anthropoids, anthropology
and ethnology in general here find illustration, in large part, but
not wholly, by pictorial aid. We have also a few interesting objects
suitable, as illustrating social progress, for what is now known as a
Folk-Museum.
It is believed that this department of the Museum offers special
facilities to teachers, who bring their classes into it and give
explanations on the spot, and that by enabling the pupil to obtain a
wide purview of historical times, it may do somewhat to obviate the
inevitably cramping influence of the too detailed study of single
epochs.
* * * * *
FAMOUS WOMEN AT THE NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY.
We have climbed to the third landing. Let us turn into the left-hand
gallery and we shall come to one of the most interesting groups in the
whole Museum.
It is that which contains portraits of English women whose names
have become famous in literature. Here we have Mrs. Browning, Sarah
Austin, Mrs. Carter, Miss Strickland, George Eliot, Mary Somerville,
and many others. The collection is not nearly so complete as could
be wished--for Jane Austen, Anne and Jane Taylor, Hannah More, the
Brontës, and many others are wanting--still, it is very good. But
few males are admitted. Robert Browning is very properly allowed
to accompany his wife, and the fact, we presume, that his wife was
with him, has also gained access for Thomas Hood. A portrait of Lady
Hamilton strikes us as a little out of place, but the Museum has as
yet no department for female charm, and as this is by Romney it may
have been difficult to refuse it. With the exception of it and one of
Elizabeth Fry, all the others have more or less direct claim to be
associated with literature or science. To Mrs. Opie, Mrs. Browning
and Miss Strickland no one will hesitate to accord the praise of good
looks, and many others exhibit in a remarkable degree the bright-eyed
intelligence which we expect from authoresses. Several show a splendid
breadth of forehead, the accompaniment, no doubt, of a brachycephalic
or broad head. Mrs. Carter, Miss Mitford (of “Our village”), Mrs.
Trimmer, Miss Strickland and George Eliot are the best, but not the
only instances of this. It might be hardly good manners to describe
too exactly the various features of feminine faces, and the fact that
but few show the profile makes it difficult to judge accurately as to
size and shape of nose and chin. Few are, in any sense, disappointing.
That of Mrs. Carlisle might have been kept back without loss, since,
if it is in the least true to life, it gives a too painful sense
of justification to the rumours of married unhappiness, which were
probably to a large extent unfounded. The portrait of Sarah Austin,
when old and ill, might also perhaps be spared, since there is a very
pleasing one of her in earlier life. At any rate, the two ought to be
placed together. Declining, as we do, in reference to almost the whole,
the task of detailed analysis of features, we cannot, in the interests
of physiognomical research, exempt those behind which lay the most
profound intellect ever possessed by a woman. Mrs. Carter in classical
and literary attainments, and Mary Somerville in the domain of science,
must be accorded foremost places. Mrs. Browning is second, perhaps, to
none in depth of human sympathy and beauty of poetic expression; but
if we estimate character by profundity of insight, we shall probably
accord to George Eliot amongst women much the same position as that
which Shakespeare holds amongst men. We do not for a moment compare her
with Shakespeare.
Of George Eliot the Museum possesses three portraits. Most fortunately,
it has also one of her father. It would add enormously to the value
of portraits as a means to the illustration of character, if we might
always have associated with that of a distinguished individual those
of his parents, and even of his brothers and sisters. The portrait of
Robert Evans (George Eliot’s father) is a very pleasing one--a grave,
serious face, with a large Roman nose, well-formed lips and chin, and
a really magnificent forehead. The nose probably gives a clue to his
family descent.
Of those of the authoress herself, the first, taken when she was 23,
by a lady friend (Mrs. Bray), is a poor work of art, and exhibits a
commonplace face, surmounted by a very large rounded forehead. It is
impossible to judge of the nose. A second is of some years older, and
is much better executed. The forehead is still there, and the nose is
shown of good size and shapely, and the lips and chin are well formed.
The face is a shorter one than in the next, and the hair is of a much
lighter tint. The face is pleasing and attractive, not much unlike, if
we remember rightly, one which represented Jenny Lind.
Lastly, we come to the often copied and well-known portrait at age 46,
by Sir F. Burton. In this the nose and face are long, almost suggesting
an approach to what is called a horse face. The chin is good, but as
the fine forehead is much concealed by folds of hair, the balance of
features is not perfect, and the whole result not pleasing. All the
three show the eyes light grey or blue. There can be no doubt that
George Eliot had a large forehead and a fairly large nose and chin, but
further than this these somewhat disaccording portraits do not take us.
We must fall back on her father’s Roman nose and really beautifully
balanced features.
Mary Somerville’s face is a very intellectual one, but a trifle cold as
regards mouth and chin. Looking at Mrs. Carter’s width of forehead, no
one can doubt that she had “skull-room” for many languages and what had
been written in them. There is a most pleasant expression on her face,
suggesting a genial companion and ready conversation, but her chin is
weak and small. Mrs. Browning’s face is alive with graceful vigour, and
her forehead, as we have already said, is full and round.
It is held that the heads of women are dolichocephalic (long in
proportion to breadth) in larger average than those of men. There is
certainly nothing in this collection of portraits which would oppose
the supposition that the higher developments of intellect in women,
as in men, are usually met with in heads unusually broad. Such an
inference must, however, be accepted with some caution.
* * * * *
THE BRAIN IN RELATION TO INTELLECT.
When we speak of size of brain in reference to intellectual endowments
we must draw a clear distinction between the eminence of a specialist
and that of one of wide attainments. A man may become famous as a
specialist by the sedulous cultivation of one branch of knowledge,
whilst far from being distinguished by wide grasp of thought. Indeed,
the absence of interest in some branches of knowledge may greatly
favour the exclusive devotion to a single one. Peschell quotes
the weights of the brains of some Göttingen professors which were
considerably below the average: Gauss, Fuchs (pathologist), Hermann
(philologist), Haussmann (mineralogist).
Cuvier and Lord Byron are usually cited as having had brains much
heavier than the average, but there is some uncertainty, especially as
to the latter. None of his lordship’s portraits suggest a large head.
Although there are considerable discrepancies in the statements of
those who have examined the matter, there can be little or no doubt
that the brain increases somewhat with the advance of civilisation, and
that it was smaller in the prehistoric races of man than in the more
advanced ones of the present age. The differences are probably not so
great as many may expect, but they are real. The Australian natives
stand the lowest, and the Europeans the highest. The American Indian
had a larger brain than the Asiatic, and the Asiatic than the African.
The Chinese stand between the European and the <DW64>. Two Irish skulls
are perhaps the largest on record.
The size of the skull may possibly not be always a safe indication of
the amount of useful brain matter contained in it. It is said that the
large-skulled Germans have brains which are of lower specific gravity
than those of others.
There are many sources of fallacy as regards the weight of the brain
in different persons, different races, and in the two sexes. We must
not trust too implicitly to statistics or to tabulated records. It is
better to be content with general results, and to state even these with
great caution.
There can, however, be but little doubt that the brain of woman weighs
less than that of man, and that this difference is greatest in highly
civilised races. The brains of the broad-headed are, as a rule,
somewhat heavier than those of the long-headed. This conclusion has
been arrived at by comparing the brains of different individuals of the
same race, not those of different races (Peschell, p. 70).
There are some observations which support the conclusion that the brain
attains its greatest weight before 30 years of age, and then undergoes
diminution. At the age of 80 this diminution is supposed to reach 10
per cent. The diminution concerns the brain proper and the cerebellum,
but not their connecting part, the pons, which increases up to the
fiftieth year. Whilst it is, however, difficult to imagine methods
by which, without risk of great fallacy, such conclusions could be
arrived at, we may safely believe that the advance of age is attended
by some reduction in the size of the skull cavity and the weight of its
contents.
It appears to be a constant law that with advance of civilisation the
differences between the sexes in general become increased. This is seen
in measurements of the skull and in the weight of the brain. In the
brains of <DW64>s the woman is but little below that of the man, 984
to 1,000, but in the English it is only 860, and Germans 838. These
figures indicate, of course, proportions only, and like all other
calculations in this difficult subject, must be received with caution;
but they probably indicate, if they do not precisely express, the fact.
The height of the skull is usually in inverse ratio to its breadth. The
variation in height is far less than is common in breadth.
The brachycephalic have heavier brains than the dolichocephalic.
In Hottentots both indices, breadth and height, are low.
The following may be mentioned as examples of remarkably broad heads
(wide foreheads), in association with genius: Shakespeare, Beranger,
Mirabeau, Peacock (the novelist), Miss Austen, Blackmore (“Lorna
Doone”), Tennyson, Erskine.
The following had heads both tall and broad: Scott, Goethe, Cervantes,
Ambrose Paré, John Foster, Father Paul, Galileo, Michael Angelo,
Machiavelli, Benjamin West.
We shall be indebted to any of our readers who may direct our attention
to other well-marked examples.
The following afford instances of remarkably tall heads: Motley (the
historian of the Netherlands), Remin (engineer), Richard Roberts
(engineer).
The following had remarkably long faces: Francis I., Inigo Jones,
George Eliot (Miss Evans), Savonorola.
* * * * *
THE EGG MARKET IN ENGLAND.
A wholesale dealer gives us the following items as to the consumption
of eggs in London: When eggs are 16 for a shilling the sale amongst
the working classes is enormous. When they are 12 a shilling it falls
at once 40 per cent., and when only 8 it drops very low. The bulk
of London eggs are imported; Italy supplies many, France many, and
some even come from Turkey. They will travel from Trebizond and be
perfectly fresh when they arrive in London. We are assured that most
of the new-laid eggs consumed in Haslemere come from Italy, and this
at all periods of the year. Our English housewives are not clever at
preserving eggs, and the witty classification of eggs into new-laid
eggs, fresh eggs, and eggs, is but too often illustrated.
* * * * *
ON OUTGROWTHS AND APPENDAGES.
(_Part of a Museum Lecture._)
Let us draw a clear distinction between “Appendages” and “Outgrowths.”
The prickles which are formed on the branch of a rose are appendages;
they may be detached without really breaking any part of the bush.
The spines which grow on the blackthorn are outgrowths, and cannot be
so detached. I wish that some better word than “appendages” could be
found, for it seems almost to imply insignificance, and many of the
appendages to plants are of the utmost importance. Still, it is true of
them all that they may be removed and yet leave the plant, as a plant,
complete, and many or most of them have only a transitory life, which
does not by any means equal that of the plant itself. They are like the
luncheon basket at the summer day’s ramble, not absolutely essential,
but very conducive to perfection. Now most forms of leaf, flower, fruit
and prickle are in this sense merely appendages. From the very earliest
stages of their formation arrangements exist for their separation, in
whole or part, from the plants on which they are produced. You will
see that I am cautious in my terms, and say in part or in whole, for
in truth some appendages never are detached as wholes, and very great
variety exists in the ways in which they are dealt with. For the most
part they are susceptible of death, and have their fixed duration
of life quite independently of the plant which bears them. In many
this independent death is the cause of their being cast off. In some
instances, however, it is not death, nor even sickness, but the fulness
of life and the attainment of adult age which causes them to leave the
parental home. I hold in my hand an oak twig with two empty acorn cups.
The acorns having attained maturity, have fallen out. Shall we say they
have detached themselves, or that the tree has detached them? They
have not fallen by mere weight, for they were doubtless nearly, if not
quite, as heavy whilst still green, and they were then firmly fixed.
You see at the bottom of the empty cup the large round scar which marks
the site of former attachment. It is brown and dry. It was by changes
which took place here that the acorn was loosened. The acorn had
ripened and ceased its growth. It no longer attracted sap through its
base of attachment, and the latter consequently became dry and brittle.
Possibly its feeding tubes were choked; at any rate, it is certain that
it underwent a sort of death and was no longer able to keep the acorn
in place. The process was much like that which occurs in the shedding
of leaves, with, however, the very noteworthy difference that the acorn
itself was still alive.
We have not, however, done with our oak twig. The acorns which it
bore were only appendages to an appendage, and it now becomes the
turn of the cups themselves and the whole of the long foot-stalk on
which they are mounted to become detached. These are no part of the
tree, and are of no use to it. They were developed in order to bear
flowers and fruit; that function they have now discharged, and they
must die. Life is preserved only by the discharge of function, or at
any rate the effort to discharge it. Utter inactivity leads to death,
and death leads to separation from the living and to decay. You see
that the whole foot-stalk is brown and shrunken and evidently dead.
This condition ends abruptly where the foot-stalk joins the stem. At
this spot, if you look carefully, you will see that there is a ring
of constriction, marking definitely where detachment is in progress.
This was the spot at which the production of the whole appendage began,
and here a sort of joint was left at which the final detachment was
destined to occur. Just one word of caution, that we must not carry
our distinctions too far. After all, they are to some extent matters
of degree. The joint which separates the appendage from the twig on
which it is produced can hardly be termed a true joint, for certain
structures run in unbroken continuity from the stem to the appendage.
These are the fibro-vascular bundles by which the appendage is fed and
also fixed in place. These bundles are usually quite visible in the
scar-surface left when a leaf or fruit is broken off. They are “the
nails in the horse-shoe” of the leaf-scar of the horse chestnut. Still,
it is certain that a sort of joint is present, and that the structures
are continuous in a very different sense from that of a stem or true
branch. You may observe this difference in my acorn-bearing twig, for
there are two acorn cups, and one has been produced by a branching out
from the stem of the other. This little branch is smoothly continuous
with the parent branch, and shows no preparation for detachment
whatever.
Thus we have seen that the arrangements under which leaves are shed
are exactly repeated in the case of fruits, and that it is by no means
needful that the object to be detached should be dead or dying. It
may perhaps surprise you to be told that sometimes appendages are
shed which have by no means accomplished their prospective work. Some
plants shed their flowers and do this deliberately, having made their
arrangements for a step which is apparently suicidal. In reality it is
not suicidal, nor is it one of limitation of population, but simply of
preferential employment of capital. The potato gives a good example of
this. Every spring you may see on the heads of this plant beautiful
flowers produced, which are destined in the course of another week to
be only flowerless foot-stalks. The flowers break off at a pre-existing
joint, just as leaves are shed. The influence which causes them to fall
is inability to attract sap, in consequence of inability to proceed to
the further stage of producing fruit. The young tubers underground make
such overpowering demands upon the sap-furnishing capabilities of the
roots that the flowers cannot obtain sufficient for their seed forming.
Thus they at once die: if not obviously, at any rate practically, and
detachment follows as a natural result.
It is a case of competitive growth and the tubers win. After a time the
plant will in the course of inheritance learn that it is useless to
produce flowers, will give up the attempt; indeed, many varieties have
already done so to a considerable extent.
No better instance could perhaps be given of the law which goes through
all animated Nature that activity is almost essential to continuance of
life, whether in individuals or their parts.
* * * * *
THE OLDEST FOSSILS (Lingula).--It is a noteworthy fact that these, the
oldest fossil animals known, belong to species by no means low in the
scale. Yet every trace of the many millions which must have preceded
them, and have gradually led up to their development, have perished.
The period of time which must have elapsed subsequent to the advent of
life upon the planet and the development of the lingula mollusc was
probably quite as long as that which has passed since the lingula left
its shell in the mud of the Portmadoc slate. The oldest fossils which
are known are found in the lower Cambrian rocks. They are small oval
shells, which were, during life, the protection of small soft-bodied
sea animals of highly complex structure: they had red blood. Their
descendants are still found in great numbers burrowing in sand on the
shores of tropical oceans. They have received the name of Lingula, and
have in turn conferred that name on certain hard rocks in which their
shells occur in abundance, the “Lingula flags” of Wales (RAY LANKESTER).
* * * * *
HUGE SHARK’S TEETH.--Ray Lankester figures, in his interesting lectures
on extinct animals from which we have quoted the above a gigantic
shark’s tooth. It is that of the _Carharodon megalodon_, and is three
times the length of the tooth of any living shark. Specimens of this
fossil tooth of smaller dimensions are common, and one should be found
in every museum. They are obtained from the bone bed of the Red Crag
at Felixstowe, but were not originally deposited in it. Many of them
have fragments of a yet older sandstone adhering to them. Lankester
calculates that his shark was 100 feet long.
* * * * *
THE GREAT FAMILY OF THE CAMELS AND DEER.
The Camel, the Camelopard, the Musk-deer and the Deer are all more or
less nearly related. They constitute a branch of the great family of
Ruminants, and all chew the cud. With the Camel are associated the
Bactrian or two-humped Camel, the Alpaca, the Llama and the Vicuna.
With the Giraffe we have the Okapi, and several extinct animals. The
Musk-deer stands almost alone. Of Deer there are a great many species.
It is easy enough to distinguish these various animals the one from the
other when seen living in a Zoological Garden or stuffed in a museum.
Indeed, at first sight, there might seem to be no great similarity
between a Camel, a Giraffe, and a Fallow-deer. To the student of
natural history, however, it becomes of great interest to observe the
essential peculiarities of each. These may be grouped as those which
prove relationship and those which show differences. We will leave
aside the very important peculiarities in the stomach, because but few
of our readers will have opportunities for examining them, and will
confine our attention to the feet, horns, skull and teeth. All have two
hoofs or more, and the Camel group have behind their hoofs a pad which
covers the sole. None of them have hollow horns, and in none are their
weapons of offence--horns, teeth, tusks, &c.--very effective. In all
when adult the cutting teeth (incisors) in the upper jaw are absent,
and in most the canines are either absent or much modified.
The Camel tribe differ from Giraffes in possessing a pad, and in
having, when young, incisor teeth in the upper jaw, and fewer lower
incisors by two. They have also strong canines in both jaws, no trace
of horns, and nothing to be called tusks.
The Giraffes have two, three, or even five abortive horns of very
peculiar development. They have very long necks, no pads, no tusks.
The canine teeth in the lower jaw, which look like incisors, are much
specialised in being cleft or notched.
The little Musk-deer has no sort of horn; but his upper canine teeth
are large and form tusks.
The true Deer have antlers (in the male), which they shed every year.
The males, and sometimes the females, have canine teeth in the upper
jaw. The antlers are dermal bones, that is, are formed in the skin, and
do not grow from the skull. They have two rudimentary digits above the
hoofs.
The whole of this group, which we may call the Camel and Deer family,
are almost wholly defenceless, the Giraffe the most so of all, and,
excepting those which are useful in domestication, are threatened with
extinction. The Camels and the Llamas, although separated as distantly
as Peru and Arabia, have in common the very peculiar habit of snorting
most offensively at those who oppress or annoy them.
This large family of Camels and Deer stands between a small one which
comprises Pigs, and a very large one, to which Cattle, Sheep, Goats and
Antelopes are assigned. Pigs are not ruminants, and have incisor teeth
in the upper jaws. Cattle, sheep, &c., like camels and deer, ruminate,
and have no cutting teeth in the upper jaw. Their distinctive features
are hollow horns (which are present in both sexes), and the invariable
absence of tusks.
The canine teeth in all members of the Giraffe group are peculiar,
in that they show a cleft in the free edge which divides them into
two lobes. These teeth look as if they belonged to the incisors, but
various facts prove them to be really the canines. Those of the extinct
Sivatherium, and those of the recently discovered Okapi, have similar
peculiarities, and thus prove their relationship.
It is curious that our natural history authorities are not yet agreed
as to whether the Giraffe has his fore limbs longer than the hind ones
or not. Claus and Sedgwick say, “hind legs much shorter, and therefore
the back <DW72>s backwards.” Those who have measured the bones, however,
say that there is no difference, and that the <DW72> depends entirely
upon the setting of the shoulder blade.
* * * * *
ENGLISH EDIBLE SNAILS.
“WALL-FISH.”
The term “wall-fish” will be unknown to many of our readers. It is
applied by dealers in Covent Garden and other markets to the common
garden snail (_Helix aspersa_). This mollusc is held in especial esteem
by the poor in Bristol, and in consequence is now very scarce in the
environs of that city. There are men who make a livelihood during the
winter by collecting these snails from their hybernating places. In
November, 1896, the writer met a “wall-fish” collector in a remote
village in Somerset, and had an interesting conversation with him. He
was collecting for a Bristol dealer, his home being in Kent, where he
worked as a carpenter in summer and autumn. For many winters past he
had regularly visited Somerset to collect snails. According to his
experience these snails seldom hybernate in banks facing east or north,
but usually seek winter quarters in those facing south-west.
They generally congregate in some numbers, and appear to have a
predilection for certain spots. From an hybernaculum near the village
he had that morning taken a gallon and a half of them, but this was
very unusual; his “takings” as a rule did not exceed a gallon per day.
Ash stumps, or crannies at the base of ash-trees, are very favourite
haunts. They seldom hybernate under oaks, and although old walls are
favourite places in summer, whence they probably owe their name of
“wall-fish,” they seldom hybernate in them.
Our “wall fisherman” carried an iron rod about 2 feet long, slightly
crooked at one end for probing likely nooks and corners. _H. aspersa_
is quite the most nearly domesticated of the snail tribe. It loves the
haunts of man, and is seldom found in any numbers in places remote from
villages and roadsides.
A conchologist should never miss an opportunity of examining the bag of
a wall-fish collector. Occasionally rare varieties--_scalariforme_ for
instance--may be secured in this way. I asked my friend to allow me to
inspect his “catch,” and he very obligingly turned out the contents of
his creel. I found nothing better than three or four examples of the
variety _exalbida_, which is greenish-white. It is, however, widely
distributed in the southern counties. It is stated by Forbes and Hanley
(“Hist. Brit. Moll.,” vol. iv., p. 46), that “owing to its being an
article of food in some countries, or else a supposed remedy for
pulmonary affections, _H. aspersa_ has been transported and distributed
by the agency of man to all parts of the world. It is especially
abundant in the neighbourhood of gardens.” In 1840, according to
Turton, _H. aspersa_ was sold in Covent Garden and elsewhere as a cure
for diseases of the chest, and was sent to the United States as a
delicacy. “The glassmen at Newcastle once a year have a snail feast;
they generally collect | 1,349.745678 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.8305750 | 7,436 | 8 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, ismail user and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcribers Note: The italic text is denoted as _italic_.
"_... And remembering these, trust Pindar for the truth of his
saying, that to the cunning workman--(and let me solemnly enforce
the words by adding, that to him only)--knowledge comes
undeceitful._"
--RUSKIN ("Aratra Pentelici").
"_'Very cool of Tom,' as East thought but didn't say,'seeing as
how he only came out of Egypt himself last night at bed-time.'_"
--("Tom Brown's Schooldays").
THE ARTISTIC CRAFTS SERIES
OF TECHNICAL HANDBOOKS
EDITED BY W. R. LETHABY
STAINED GLASS WORK
[Illustration: CUTTING AND GLAZING
_Frontispiece_ (_See p. 137_)]
STAINED GLASS WORK
A TEXT-BOOK FOR STUDENTS
AND WORKERS IN GLASS. BY
C. W. WHALL. WITH DIAGRAMS
BY TWO OF HIS APPRENTICES
AND OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
MCMXIV
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
at the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
_To his Pupils and Assistants, who, if they
have learned as much from him as he has
from them, have spent their time profitably;
and who, if they have enjoyed learning as
much as he has teaching, have spent it happily;
this little book is Dedicated by their Affectionate
Master and Servant,_
_THE AUTHOR._
EDITOR'S PREFACE
In issuing these volumes of a series of Handbooks on the Artistic
Crafts, it will be well to state what are our general aims.
In the first place, we wish to provide trustworthy text-books of
workshop practice, from the points of view of experts who have
critically examined the methods current in the shops, and putting aside
vain survivals, are prepared to say what is good workmanship, and to set
up a standard of quality in the crafts which are more especially
associated with design. Secondly, in doing this, we hope to treat design
itself as an essential part of good workmanship. During the last century
most of the arts, save painting and sculpture of an academic kind, were
little considered, and there was a tendency to look on "design" as a
mere matter of _appearance_. Such "ornamentation" as there was was
usually obtained by following in a mechanical way a drawing provided by
an artist who often knew little of the technical processes involved in
production. With the critical attention given to the crafts by Ruskin
and Morris, it came to be seen that it was impossible to detach design
from craft in this way, and that, in the widest sense, true design is an
inseparable element of good quality, involving as it does the selection
of good and suitable material, contrivance for special purpose, expert
workmanship, proper finish, and so on, far more than mere ornament, and
indeed, that ornamentation itself was rather an exuberance of fine
workmanship than a matter of merely abstract lines. Workmanship when
separated by too wide a gulf from fresh thought--that is, from
design--inevitably decays, and, on the other hand, ornamentation,
divorced from workmanship, is necessarily unreal, and quickly falls into
affectation. Proper ornamentation may be defined as a language addressed
to the eye; it is pleasant thought expressed in the speech of the tool.
In the third place, we would have this series put artistic craftsmanship
before people as furnishing reasonable occupations for those who would
gain a livelihood. Although within the bounds of academic art, the
competition, of its kind, is so acute that only a very few per cent. can
fairly hope to succeed as painters and sculptors; yet, as artistic
craftsmen, there is every probability that nearly every one who would
pass through a sufficient period of apprenticeship to workmanship and
design would reach a measure of success.
In the blending of handwork and thought in such arts as we propose to
deal with, happy careers may be found as far removed from the dreary
routine of hack labour as from the terrible uncertainty of academic art.
It is desirable in every way that men of good education should be
brought back into the productive crafts: there are more than enough of
us "in the city," and it is probable that more consideration will be
given in this century than in the last to Design and Workmanship.
* * * * *
Our last volume dealt with one of the branches of sculpture, the present
treats of one of the chief forms of painting. Glass-painting has been,
and is capable of again becoming, one of the most noble forms of Art.
Because of its subjection to strict conditions, and its special glory of
illuminated colour, it holds a supreme position in its association with
architecture, a position higher than any other art, except, perhaps,
mosaic and sculpture.
The conditions and aptitudes of the Art are most suggestively discussed
in the present volume by one who is not only an artist, but also a
master craftsman. The great question of colour has been here opened up
for the first time in our series, and it is well that it should be so,
in connection with this, the pre-eminent colour-art.
Windows of glass were used by the Romans. The thick lattices
found in Arab art, in which brightly- morsels of glass are set,
and upon which the idea of the jewelled windows in the story of Aladdin
is doubtless based, are Eastern off-shoots from this root.
Painting in line and shade on glass was probably invented in the West
not later than the year 1100, and there are in France many examples, at
Chartres, Le Mans, and other places, which date back to the middle of
the twelfth century.
Theophilus, the twelfth-century writer on Art, tells us that the French
glass was the most famous. In England the first notice of stained glass
is in connection with Bishop Hugh's work at Durham, of which we are told
that around the altar he placed several glazed windows remarkable for
the beauty of the figures which they contained; this was about 1175.
In the Fabric Accounts of our national monuments many interesting facts
as to mediaeval stained glass are preserved. The accounts of the building
of St. Stephen's Chapel, in the middle of the fourteenth century, make
known to us the procedure of the mediaeval craftsmen. We find in these
first a workman preparing white boards, and then the master glazier
drawing the cartoons on the whitened boards, and many other details as
to customs, prices, and wages.
There is not much old glass to be studied in London, but in the museum
at South Kensington there are specimens of some of the principal
varieties. These are to be found in the Furniture corridor and the
corridor which leads from it. Close by a fine series of English coats of
arms of the fourteenth century, which are excellent examples of
Heraldry, is placed a fragment of a broad border probably of late
twelfth-century work. The thirteenth century is represented by a
remarkable collection, mostly from the Ste. Chapelle in Paris and
executed about 1248. The most striking of these remnants show a series
of Kings seated amidst bold scrolls of foliage, being parts of a Jesse
Tree, the narrower strips, in which are Prophets, were placed to the
right and left of the Kings, and all three made up the width of one
light in the original window. The deep brilliant colour, the small
pieces of glass used, and the rich backgrounds are all characteristic of
mid-thirteenth-century glazing. Of early fifteenth-century workmanship
are the large single figures standing under canopies, and these are good
examples of English glass of this time. They were removed from
Winchester College Chapel about 1825 by the process known as
restoration.
W. R. LETHABY.
_January 1905._
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The author must be permitted to explain that he undertook his task with
some reluctance, and to say a word by way of explaining his position.
I have always held that no art can be taught by books, and that an
artist's best way of teaching is directly and personally to his own
pupils, and maintained these things stubbornly and for long to those who
wished this book written. But I have such respect for the good judgment
of those who have, during the last eight years, worked in the teaching
side of the art and craft movement, and, in furtherance of its objects,
have commenced this series of handbooks, and such a belief in the
movement, of which these persons and circumstances form a part, that I
felt bound to yield on the condition of saying just what I liked in my
own way, and addressing myself only to students, speaking as I would
speak to a class or at the bench, careless of the general reader.
You will find yourself, therefore, reader, addressed as "Dear Student."
(I know the term occurs further on.) But because this book is written
for students, it does not therefore mean that it must all be brought
within the comprehension of the youngest apprentice. For it is becoming
the fashion, in our days, for artists of merit--painters, perhaps, even
of distinction--to take up the practice of one or other of the crafts.
All would be well, for such new workers are needed, if it was indeed the
_practice_ of the craft that they set themselves to. But too often it is
what is called the _designing_ for it only in which they engage, and it
is the duty of every one speaking or writing about the matter to point
out how fatal is that error.
One must provide a word, then, for such as these also here if one can.
Indeed, to reckon up all the classes to whom such a book as this should
be addressed, we should have, I think, to name:--
(1) The worker in the ordinary "shop," who is learning there at present,
to our regret, only a portion of his craft, and who should be given an
insight into the whole, and into the fairyland of design.
(2) The magnificent and superior artist, mature in imagination and
composition, fully equipped as a painter of pictures, perhaps even of
academical distinction, who turns his attention to the craft, and
without any adequate practical training in it, which alone could teach
its right principles, makes, and in the nature of things is bound to
make, great mistakes--mistakes easily avoidable. No such thing can
possibly be right. Raphael himself designed for tapestry, and the
cartoons are priceless, but the tapestry a ghastly failure. It could not
have been otherwise under the conditions. Executant separated from
designer by all the leagues that lie between Arras and Rome.
(3) The patron, who should know something of the craft, that he may not,
mistrusting, as so often at present, his own taste, be compelled to
trust to some one else's Name, and of course looks out for a big one.
(4) The architect and church dignitary who, having such grave
responsibilities in their hands towards the buildings of which they are
the guardians, wish, naturally, to understand the details which form a
part of their charge. And lastly, a new and important class that has
lately sprung into existence, the well-equipped, picked
student--brilliant and be-medalled, able draughtsman, able painter;
young, thoughtful, ambitious, and educated, who, instead of drifting, as
till recently, into the overcrowded ranks of picture-making, has now the
opportunity of choosing other weapons in the armoury of the arts.
To all these classes apply those golden words from Ruskin's "Aratra
Pentelici" which are quoted on the fly-leaf of the present volume, while
the spirit in which I myself would write in amplifying them is implied
by my adopting the comment and warning expressed in the other sentence
there quoted. The face of the arts is in a state of change. The words
"craft" and "craftsmanship," unheard a decade or two ago, now fill the
air; we are none of us inheritors of any worthy tradition, and those who
have chanced to grope about for themselves, and seem to have found some
safe footing, have very little, it seems to me, to plume or pride
themselves upon, but only something to be thankful for in their good
luck. But "to have learnt faithfully" one of the "ingenuous arts" (or
crafts) _is_ good luck and _is_ firm footing; we may not doubt it who
feel it strong beneath our feet, and it must be proper to us to help
towards it the doubtless quite as worthy or worthier, but less
fortunate, who may yet be in some of the quicksands around.
It also happens that the art of stained glass, though reaching to very
high and great things, is in its methods and processes a simple, or at
least a very limited, one. There are but few things to do, while at the
same time the principles of it touch the whole field of art, and it is
impossible to treat of it without discussing these great matters and the
laws which guide decorative art generally. It happens conveniently,
therefore, as the technical part requires less space, that these things
should be treated of in this particular book, and it becomes the
author's delicate and difficult task to do so. He, therefore, wishes to
make clear at starting the spirit in which the task is undertaken.
It remains only to express his thanks to Mr. Drury and Mr. Noel Heaton
for help respectively, with the technical and scientific detail; to Mr.
St. John Hope for permission to use his reproductions from the Windsor
stall-plates, and to Mr. Selwyn Image for his great kindness in revising
the proofs.
C. W. WHALL.
_January 1905._
CONTENTS
PAGE
EDITOR'S PREFACE xi
AUTHOR'S PREFACE xvii
PART I
CHAPTER I
Introductory, and Concerning the Raw Material 29
CHAPTER II
Cutting (elementary)--The Diamond--The Wheel--Sharpening--How
to Cut--Amount of Force--The
Beginner's Mistake--Tapping--Possible and
Impossible Cuts--"Grozeing"--Defects of the
Wheel--The Actual Nature of a "Cut" in
Glass 33
CHAPTER III
Painting (elementary)--Pigments--Mixing--How to
Fill the Brush--Outline--Examples--Industry--The
Needle and Stick--Completing the Outline 56
CHAPTER IV
Matting--Badgering--How to preserve Correctness of
Outline--Difficulty of Large Work--Ill-ground
Pigment--The Muller--Overground Pigment--Taking
out Lights--"Scrubs"--The Need of a
Master 72
CHAPTER V
Cutting (advanced)--The Ideal Cartoon--The Cut-line--Setting
the Cartoon--Transferring the Cut-line
to the Glass--Another Way--Some Principles
of Taste--Countercharging 83
CHAPTER VI
Painting (advanced)--Waxing-up--Cleanliness--Further
Methods of Painting--Stipple--Dry
Stipple--Film--Effects of Distance--Danger of
Over-Painting--Frying 94
CHAPTER VII
Firing--Three Kinds of Kiln--Advantages and Disadvantages--The
Gas-Kiln--Quick Firing--Danger--Sufficient
Firing--Soft Pigments--Difference in
Glasses--"Stale" Work--The Scientific Facts--How
to Judge of Firing--Drawing the Kiln 105
CHAPTER VIII
The Second Painting--Disappointment with Fired
Work--A False Remedy--A Useful Tool--The
Needle--A Resource of Desperation--The Middle
Course--Use of the Finger--The Second Painting--Procedure 118
CHAPTER IX
Of Staining and Aciding--Yellow Stain--Aciding--Caution
required in Use--Remedy for Burning--Uses
of Aciding--Other Resources of Stained
Glass Work 129
CHAPTER X
Leading-Up and Fixing--Setting out the Bench--Relation
of Leading to mode of Fixing in the
Stone--Process of Fixing--Leading-Up Resumed--Straightening
the Lead--The "Lathykin"--The
Cutting-Knife--The Nails--The Stopping-Knife--Knocking
Up 133
CHAPTER XI
Soldering--Handling the Leaded Panel--Cementing--Recipe
for Cement--The Brush--Division of
Long Lights into Sections--How Joined when
Fixed--Banding--Fixing--Chipping out the Old
Glazing--Inserting the New and Cementing 144
PART II
CHAPTER XII
Introductory--The Great Questions--Colour--Light--Architectural
Fitness--Limitations--Thought--Imagination--Allegory 154
CHAPTER XIII
Of Economy--The Englishman's Wastefulness--Its
Good Side--Its Excess--Difficulties--A Calculation--Remedies 156
CHAPTER XIV
Of Perfection--In Little Things--Cleanliness--Alertness--But
not Hurry--Realising your Conditions--False
Lead-Lines--Shutting out Light--Bars--Their
Number--Their Importance--Precedence--Observing
your Limitations--A Result of
Complete Training--The Special Limitations of
Stained Glass--Disguising the Lead-Line--No full
Realism--No violent Action--Self-Effacement--No
Craft-Jugglery--Architectural Fitness founded
on Architectural Knowledge--Seeing Work _in
Situ_--Sketching in Glass--The Artistic Use of
the Lead--Stepping Back--Accepting Bars and
Leads--Loving Care--White Spaces to be Interesting--Bringing
out the "Quality" of the
Glass--Spotting and Dappling--"Builders-Glazing"
_versus_ Modern Restoring 163
CHAPTER XV
A Few Little Dodges--A Clumsy Tool--A Substitute--A
Glass Rack--An Inconvenient Easel--A
Convenient Easel--A Waxing-up Tool--An
Easel with Movable Plates--Making the
most of a Room--Handling Cartoons--Cleanliness--Dust--The
Selvage Edge--Drying a
"Badger"--A Comment 182
CHAPTER XVI
Of Colour 198
CHAPTER XVII
Of Architectural Fitness 234
CHAPTER XVIII
Of Thought, Imagination, and Allegory 248
CHAPTER XIX
Of General Conduct and Procedure--Amount of
Legitimate Assistance--The Ordinary Practice--The
Great Rule--The Second Great Rule--Four
Things to Observe--Art _v._ Routine--The
Truth of the Case--The Penalty of Virtue in
the Matter--The Compensating Privilege--Practical
Applications--An Economy of Time
in the Studio--Industry--Work "To Order"--Clients
and Patrons--And Requests Reasonable
and Unreasonable--The Chief Difficulty the
Chief Opportunity--But ascertain all Conditions
before starting Work--Business Habits--Order--Accuracy--Setting
out Cartoon Forms--An Artist
must Dream--But Wake--Three Plain Rules 264
CHAPTER XX
A String of Beads 290
APPENDIX I
Some Suggestions as to the Study of Old Glass 308
APPENDIX II
On the Restoring of Ancient Windows 315
APPENDIX III
PAGE
Hints for the Curriculum of a Technical School for
Stained Glass--Examples for Painting--Examples
of Drapery--Drawing from Nature--Ornamental
Design 321
NOTES ON THE COLLOTYPE PLATES 327
THE COLLOTYPE PLATES 337
GLOSSARY 369
INDEX 373
PART I
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY, AND CONCERNING THE RAW MATERIAL
You are to know that stained glass means pieces of glasses put
together with strips of lead into the form of windows; not a picture
painted on glass with paints.
You know that a beer bottle is blackish, a hock bottle orange-brown, a
soda-water bottle greenish-white--these are the colours of the whole
substance of which they are respectively made.
Break such a bottle, each little bit is still a bit of glass.
So, also, blue is used for poison bottles, deep green and deep red for
certain wine glasses, and, indeed, almost all colours for one purpose or
another.
Now these are the same glass, and in the same way as that used
for church windows.
Such glasses are cut into the shapes of faces, or figures, or
robes, or canopies, or whatever you want and whatever the subject
demands; then features are painted on the faces, folds on the robes, and
so forth--not with colour, merely with brown shading; then, when this
shading has been burnt into the glass in a kiln, the pieces are put
together into a picture by means of grooved strips of lead, into which
they fit.
This book, it is hoped, will set forth plainly how these things are
done, for the benefit of those who do not know; and, for the benefit of
those who do know, it will examine and discuss the right principles on
which windows should be made, and the rules of good taste and of
imagination, which make such a difference between beautiful and vulgar
art; for you may know intimately all the processes I have spoken of, and
be skilful in them, and yet misapply them, so that your window had
better never have been made.
Skill is good if you use it wisely and for good end; but craft of hand
employed foolishly is no more use to you than swiftness of foot would be
upon the broad road leading downwards--the <DW36> is happier.
A clear and calculating brain may be used for statesmanship or science,
or merely for gambling. You, we will say, have a true eye and a cunning
hand; will you use them on the passing fashion of the hour--the morbid,
the trivial, the insincere--or in illustrating the eternal truths and
dignities, the heroisms and sanctities of life, and its innocencies and
gaieties?
This book, then, is divided into two parts, of which the intention of
one is to promote and produce skilfulness of hand, and of the other to
direct it to worthy ends.
The making of glass itself--of the raw material--the glasses
used in stained-glass windows, cannot be treated of here. What are
called "Antiques" are chiefly used, and there are also special glasses
representing the ideals and experiments of enthusiasts--Prior's "Early
English" glass, and the somewhat similar "Norman" glass. These glasses,
however, are for craftsmen of experience to use: they require mature
skill and judgment in the using; to the beginner, "Antiques" are enough
for many a day to come.
_How to know the Right and Wrong Sides of a Piece of "Antique"
Glass._--Take up a sheet of one of these and look at it. You will notice
that the two sides look different; one side has certain little
depressions as if it had been pricked with a pin, sometimes also some
wavy streaks. Turn it round, and, looking at the other side, you still
see these things, but blurred, as if seen through water, while the
surface itself on this side looks smooth; what inequalities there are
being projections rather than depressions. Now the side you first looked
at is the side to cut on, and the side to paint on, and it is the side
placed inwards when the window is put up.
The reason is this. Glass is made into sheets by being blown into
bubbles, just as a child blows soap-bubbles. If you blow a soap-bubble
you will see streaks playing about in it, just like the wavy streaks you
notice in the glass.
The bubble is blown, opened at the ends, and manipulated with tools
while hot, until it is the shape of a drain-pipe; then cut down one side
and opened out upon a flattening-stone until the round pipe is a flat
sheet; and it is this stone which gives the glass the different texture,
the dimpled surface which you notice.
Some glasses are "flashed"; that is to say, a bubble is blown which is
mainly composed of white glass; but, before blowing, it is also dipped
into another glass--red, perhaps, or blue--and the two are then
blown together, so that the red or blue glass spreads out into a thin
film closely united to, in fact fused on to, and completely one with,
the white glass which forms the base; most "Ruby" glasses are made in
this way.
CHAPTER II
Cutting (elementary)--The Diamond--The Wheel--Sharpening--How to
Cut--Amount of Force--- The Beginner's Mistake--Tapping--Possible
and Impossible Cuts--"Grozeing"--Defects of the Wheel--The Actual
Nature of a "Cut" in Glass.
No written directions can teach the use of the diamond; it is as
sensitive to the hand as the string of a violin, and a good workman
feels with a most delicate touch exactly where the cutting edge is, and
uses his tool accordingly. Every apprentice counts on spoiling a guinea
diamond in the learning, which will take him from one to two years.
Most cutters now use the wheel, of which illustrations are given (figs.
1 and 2).
[Illustration: FIGS. 1 AND 2.]
The wheels themselves are good things, and cut as well as the diamond,
in some respects almost better; but many of the handles are very
unsatisfactory. From some of them indeed one might suppose, if such a
thing were conceivable, that the maker knew nothing of the use of the
tool.
For it is held thus (fig. 5), the pressure of the _forefinger_ both
guiding the cut and supplying force for it: and they give you an _edge_
to press on (fig. 1) instead of a surface! In some other patterns,
indeed, they do give you the desired surface, but the tool is so thin
that there is nothing to grip. What ought to be done is to reproduce the
shape of the old wooden handle of the diamond proper (figs. 3 and 4).
[Illustration: FIGS. 3 AND 4.]
The foregoing passage must, however, be amplified and modified, but this
I will do further on, for you will understand the reasons better if I
insert it after what I had written further with regard to the cutting of
glass.
_How to Sharpen the Wheel Cutter._--The right way to do this is
difficult to describe in writing. You must, first of all, grind down the
"shoulders" of the tool, through which the pivot of the wheel goes, for
they are made so large that the wheel cannot reach the stone (fig. 6),
and must be reduced (fig. 7). Then, after first oiling the pivot so that
the wheel may run easily, you must hold the tool as shown in fig. 8, and
rub it swiftly up and down the stone. The angle at which the wheel
should rest on the stone is shown in fig. 9. You will see that the angle
at which the wheel meets the stone is a little _blunter_ than the angle
of the side of the wheel itself. You do not want to make the tool _too
sharp_, otherwise you will risk breaking down the edge, when the wheel
will cease to be truly circular, and when that occurs it is absolutely
useless. The same thing will happen if the wheel is _checked_ in its
revolution while sharpening, and therefore the pivot must be kept oiled
both for cutting and sharpening.
[Illustration: FIG. 5.]
[Illustration: FIGS. 6 and 7.]
It is a curious fact to notice that the tool, be it wheel or diamond,
that is _too sharp_ is not, in practice, found to make so good a cut as
one that is less sharp; it scratches the glass and throws up a line of
splinters.
_How to Cut Glass._--Hold the cutter as shown in the illustration (fig.
5), a little sloping towards you, but perfectly upright laterally; draw
it towards you, hard enough to make it just _bite_ the glass. If it
leaves a mark you can hardly see it is a good cut (fig. 10B), but if it
scratches a white line, throwing up glass-dust as it goes, either the
tool is faulty, or you are pressing too hard, or you are applying the
pressure to the wheel unevenly and at an angle to the direction of the
cut (fig. 10A). Not that you can make the wheel _move_ sideways in the
cut actually; it will keep itself straight as a ploughshare keeps in its
furrow, but it will press sideways, and so break down the edges of the
furrow, while if you exaggerate this enough it will actually leave the
furrow, and, ceasing to cut, will "skid" aside over the glass. As to
pressure, all cutters begin by pressing much too hard; the tool having
started biting, it should be kept only _just biting_ while drawn along.
The cut should be almost _noiseless_. You think you're not cutting
because you don't hear it grate, but hold the glass sideways to the
light and you will see the silver line quite continuous.
Having made your cut, take the glass up; hold it as in fig. 11, press
downward with the thumbs and upward with the fingers, and the glass will
come apart.
[Illustration: FIG. 8.]
[Illustration: FIG. 9.]
[Illustration: FIG. 10, A and B]
[Illustration: FIG. 11.]
But you want to cut shaped pieces as well as straight. You cannot break
these directly the cut is made, but, holding the glass as in fig. 12,
and pressing it firmly with the left thumb, jerk the tool up by little,
sharp jerks of the fingers _only_, so as to tap along the underside of
your cut. You will see a little silver line spring along the cut,
showing that the glass is dividing; and when that silver line has sprung
from end to end, a gentle pressure will bring the glass apart.
[Illustration: FIG. 12.]
This upward jerk must be sharp and swift, but must be calculated so as
only just to _reach_ the glass, being checked just at the right point,
as one hammers a _nail_ when one does not want to stir the work into
which the nail is driven. A _pushing_ stroke, a blow that would go much
further if the glass were not there, is no use; and for this reason
neither the elbow nor the hand must move; the knuckles are the hinge
upon which the stroke revolves.
[Illustration: FIG. 13.]
[Illustration: FIG. 14.]
But you can only cut certain shapes--for instance, you cannot cut a
wedge-shaped gap out of a piece of glass (fig. 13); however tenderly you
handle it, it will split at point A. The nearest you can go to it is a
curve; and the deeper the curve the more difficult it is to get the
piece out. In fig. 14 A is an average easy curve, B a difficult one, C
impossible, except by "groseing" or "grozeing" as cutters call it; that
is, after the cut is made, setting to work to patiently bite the piece
out with pliers (fig. 15).
[Illustration: FIG. 15.]
Now, further, you must understand that you must not cut round all the
sides of a shaped piece of glass at once; indeed, you must only cut one
side at a time, and draw your cut right up to the edge of the glass, and
break away the whole piece which _contains_ the side you are cutting
before you go on to another.
Thus, in fig. 16, suppose the shaded portion to be the shape that you
wish to cut out of the piece of glass, A, B, C, D. You must lay your
gauge _anglewise_ down upon the piece. Do not try to get the sides
parallel to the shapes of your gauge, for that makes it much more
difficult; angular pieces break off the easiest.
[Illustration: FIG. 16.]
Now, then, _cut the most difficult piece first_. That marked | 1,349.850615 |
2023-11-16 18:39:33.9255200 | 349 | 34 |
Produced by Nicole Apostola
MASTER OLOF
A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS
By August Strindberg
INTRODUCTION
The original prose version of Master Olof, which is here presented for
the first time in English form, was written between June 8 and August
8, 1872, while Strindberg, then only twenty-three years old, was living
with two friends on one of the numerous little islands that lie between
Stockholm and the open sea.
Up to that time he had produced half-a-dozen plays, one of which had
been performed at the Royal Theatre of Stockholm and had won him the
good-will and financial support of King Carl XV. Thus he had been able
to return to the University of Upsala, whence he had been driven a year
earlier by poverty as well as by spiritual revolt. During his second
term of study at the old university Strindberg wrote some plays that
he subsequently destroyed. In the same period he not only conceived the
idea later developed in Master Olof, but he also acquired the historical
data underlying the play and actually began to put it into dialogue.
During that same winter of 1871-72 he read extensively, although his
reading probably had slight reference to the university curriculum. The
two works that seem to have taken the lion's share of his attention were
Goethe's youthful drama Goetz von Berlichingen and Buckle's History of
Civilization in England. Both impressed him deeply, and both became in
his mind logically connected with an external event which, perhaps, had
touched his supersensitive soul more keenly than anything else | 1,349.94556 |
2023-11-16 18:39:34.0256720 | 4,114 | 21 |
Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE IDOL OF THE BLIND
BOOKS BY T. GALLON.
Each, 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.
The Idol of the Blind.
"No person well posted in current fiction lets a story by Mr. Gallon
pass unnoticed."--_Buffalo Commercial._
The Kingdom of Hate.
"The whole story is told with an appearance of honest, straightforward
sincerity that is very clever and well sustained, and the suspicion of
satire will only dawn on the reader when the story is well advanced,
and he is thoroughly interested in the tumultuous swing."--_Chicago
Chronicle._
Dicky Monteith. A Love Story.
"A good story, told in an engaging style."--_Philadelphia Press._
"A refreshing example of everything that a love story ought to
be."--_San Francisco Call._
A Prince of Mischance.
"The story is a powerful one, and holds the reader from the
start."--_Boston Budget._
"An admirable story."--_London Telegraph._
Tatterly.
"A charming love story runs through the book, which is written in a
bright and lively style.... The book is worth reading."--_New York Sun._
"We believe in 'Tatterly' through thick and thin. We could not
recommend a better story."--_London Academy._
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
THE IDOL
OF THE BLIND
_A NOVEL_
BY
TOM GALLON
AUTHOR OF
TATTERLY, A PRINCE OF MISCHANCE,
DICKY MONTEITH, ETC.
"When pious frauds and holy shifts
Are dispensations and gifts."
HUDIBRAS
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--COMETHUP ENTERS LIFE DISASTROUSLY 1
II.--AND MAKES DISCOVERIES 10
III.--THE GHOST OF A LITTLE CHILD 20
IV.--THE CAPTAIN PLAYS THE KNIGHT-ERRANT 40
V.--TELLS OF AN ERRING WOMAN 55
VI.--THE CAPTAIN IN STRANGE COMPANY 62
VII.--IN WHICH SEPARATIONS ARE SUGGESTED 79
VIII.--COMETHUP SUFFERS A LOSS 88
IX.--THE COMING OF AUNT CHARLOTTE 100
X.--COMETHUP LEAVES THE OLD LIFE 115
XI.--AND BECOMES A PERSONAGE 131
XII.--THE CAPTAIN SPEAKS HIS MIND 141
XIII.--A RETROSPECT--AND A FLUTTERING OF HEARTS 158
XIV.--AN INCUBUS, AND THE DEMON OF JEALOUSY 175
XV.--COMETHUP PRACTISES DECEPTION 183
XVI.--COMETHUP IS SHADOWED 199
XVII.--THE BEGINNINGS OF A GENIUS 214
XVIII.--AUNT CHARLOTTE IS SYMPATHETIC 231
XIX.--GENIUS ASSERTS ITSELF 247
XX.--THE DESERTION OF A PARENT 262
XXI.--GENIUS AND THE DOMESTIC VIRTUES 276
XXII.--A SECOND DESERTION 286
XXIII.--COMETHUP DRIVES A BARGAIN 301
XXIV.--UNCLE ROBERT HAS AN INSPIRATION 311
XXV.--THE FALL OF PRINCE CHARMING 327
XXVI.--BRIAN PAYS HIS DEBTS 332
XXVII.--THE PLEADING OF THE CAPTAIN 351
XXVIII.--MEDMER MELTS A SILVER SPOON 361
XXIX.--COMETHUP LEARNS THE TRUTH 369
XXX.--AUNT CHARLOTTE ATTENDS A CELEBRATION 374
THE IDOL OF THE BLIND.
CHAPTER I.
COMETHUP ENTERS LIFE DISASTROUSLY.
"My dear" had looked her last upon a troublesome world. She had taken
life sighingly, in little frightened gasps, as it were, with the fear
upon her, even from childhood, that unknown horrors lurked for her
in each day to which she was awakened. It can scarcely be said that
she had clung to life with any tenacity--rather with the instinct of
living; and she had fluttered out of it resignedly enough, a little
sorry, perhaps, that she had left any one behind to grieve for her. And
yet, with the inconsistency which had marked her life, she had died at
the very moment when life had actually begun to be worth living for her.
"My dear" was one of those who wait long for the happiness, if any,
that is to come to them, and find it a little tasteless when it is
at last given to them. She had been the younger child of a stern and
unbending man, who bent or broke to his code of rules those who were
weak enough to be bent or broken, and thrust sternly aside those whose
strength opposed itself to his. He had found in his little daughter
one who smilingly and timidly obeyed in everything, and worshipped him
without question--up to a certain point. That point was determined by
the arrival of David Willis.
It was an old and a very ordinary story; such stories are played out
to their bitter end day after day around us. David Willis was poor,
and had absolutely no expectations; so far as old Robert Carlaw was
concerned he simply did not exist--except as many other people existed,
as a part of the world with which he had nothing to do. David, for
his part, was as patient and long-suffering as the girl who loved
him; and so they solemnly and pitifully plighted their troth, and
agreed to wait. Boldness or resource of action was not in either of
them; the girl, despite her love for the man, and the sort of humble,
patient faithfulness with which she was endowed, would not have risked
her father's anger on any account. So, in a poor, half-ridiculous,
half-heroic fashion, they parted and waited.
They waited, strange as it may seem, for nearly twenty years; until
the man had entered the forties and the woman was nearing them. She
was still a pretty woman, soft-eyed and gentle of voice, with a great
mine of tenderness hidden away in her which no one had been able to
discover. When, on her father's death, she married David Willis, there
seemed a prospect that the mine would be discovered, but the time had
gone past; life had been so long a flat and stale and unprofitable
thing that the old fierce heart-beats at the thought of her lover, the
old hunger of love for him, had died away into a mere tremulous wonder
as to whether he would be good to her, or whether he might have moments
of harshness and sternness, like her father. She had hung too long
expectant on hope to believe that the world was going to be very good
to her now; she was only a little glad, for her lover's sake, that his
time of waiting was ended.
David Willis was a musician and a dreamer; not a very great musician,
and certainly a dreamer whose dreams brought him no profit. He had
filled the place of organist in one or two minor churches, living
simply and contentedly. By the very irony of things, when the woman
he loved was able to come to him and put her hands in his, and tell
him that there was no further bar to their happiness, he was out of
an engagement, and had scarcely a penny in the world. But, with a
childlike faith which, even at their years, came near to the sublime,
they married first and tried to be worldly afterward. Fortunately
for them, her brother was a man of property in a small, old-fashioned
town near the coast of Kent; and, having considerable influence in the
place, he offered, through the clergyman of the parish, the vacant post
of organist in the parish church to David Willis, after first roundly
abusing his sister for having married a pauper.
It was a quaint old town, a place of red roofs and winding streets and
strange old buildings; a very paradise to the dreamer and the woman who
had waited so long for him. Her brother's house stood at the far end
of the town, in the newer part of it; but they saw little of him, and
had, indeed, no particular desire to do so. They had their own quiet
dwelling-place, a little house nestling under the frowning shadows of
the church wherein he worked; a strange old place, with low ceilings
and black beams, with a garden of roses stretching right along under
the gray old church wall. Her life, for a few months at least, was a
sweet and shadowed thing; people said afterward--people who had never
known her--that they had seen her sitting often in the old church,
with her mild eyes looking upward at a great rose window over the
porch, while her husband practised for the services on the wheezy old
organ; had seen her wandering in her garden among the roses, singing to
herself in a subdued voice--the voice of one who has long been forced
to be silent, or to subdue any natural mirth that might be in her.
The summer went by, while David Willis played on his organ, and his
wife sang among her roses; and with the autumn came a new light in the
eyes of the woman--a light as of one who waits and hopes for something.
Poor, trembling, wistful creature, what dreams were hers then! What
dreams when she sat by her husband's side in the twilight, looking out
over the town where the lights were beginning to twinkle one by one
like sleepy eyes! What dreams of a little life that was to recompense
her for all she had missed, and all she never could find in any other
way! Childish hands were to draw all that mine of tenderness out of
her, as no other hands could have done; childish words were to wake
echoing words in her dull heart, and stir it to life again. She dreamed
tremblingly of all she would do; of all she would teach the child; saw
it walking by her side among the roses; fluttered into church proudly,
braving the eyes of younger women with the mite beside her.
Those were dreams which never came true. She had waited, through dull
and spiritless years, for her chance of life; it was written, in that
book which no man shall read, that her life in that fuller sense was
to be but a short one. She gave birth to her child--a boy--and knew
her fate even before they told her. She sank slowly, drifting out of
life with as little effort to retain it as she had shown throughout her
days. Almost the last thing she did was to take her husband's hand, as
he sat speechless with grief beside her, and put it to her lips, and
draw it up against her cheek.
"We waited--a long time--Davie," she whispered. "I wish--I
might--have--stayed." She did not speak again; she held his hand in
that position until the last breath fluttered out of her lips.
David Willis was utterly incapable of appreciating anything except
the magnitude of his loss. He wandered desolately from room to room,
picking up things that had belonged to her and putting his lips to
them, and weeping, in a hopeless, despairing fashion, like a child.
Fortunately for that other child who had been the direct cause of the
disaster, there were kindly people about the place who cared for it,
and found a nurse for it--a young and healthy woman who had but just
lost a child of her own, and who was installed in the house of David
Willis at once. From that big house in the newer part of the town came
Mr. Robert Carlaw, the brother of the dead woman, hushing his loud and
blustering voice a little as he crossed the threshold of the place of
mourning.
He had an air with him, this Robert Carlaw; a sense of saying, when he
entered a room, that it was something poorer and meaner than before he
came; a magnificent air of proprietorship in every one he honoured by
a nod or a handshake; the very town through which he walked became,
not a sweet and beautiful old place which seemed to have been dropped
clean out of the middle ages, but an awkward, badly built little place
in which Robert Carlaw was good enough to live. The swing of him was so
fine that the skirts of his coat brushed the houses as he went down the
street; other passengers humbly took the roadway.
He was very kind and sympathetic with David Willis, with the kindness
and sympathy of a patron to a dependent who has suffered a loss; he had
scarcely seen his sister since she was a child, and knew absolutely
nothing of her. He seated himself in an armchair--the chair which had
been hers--opposite to where David Willis sat with his head bowed in
his hands; he coughed, with a little shade of annoyance in the cough,
as of one who is not receiving proper attention. David Willis looked up
without speaking.
"Bad business, this," said Mr. Carlaw, with a jerk of the head which
was meant to convey that he referred to what was lying upstairs. "A man
feels these things; I know _I_ did. Cut me up dreadfully."
"Yes," said David, in a low voice.
"She was never strong, you know," went on the brother; "not like the
others, I mean. And then she married late, which tries a woman, I'm
told."
"Yes," replied the other again in the same tone.
"She was just the sort that would give in without making what I call a
kick for it. Hadn't half enough of the devil in her. Not a bit like her
brother in that respect. Why, I assure you, they've positively _tried_
to kill me, half a dozen times; given me over for dead. But they didn't
know Bob Carlaw; he's always proved one too many for 'em. There's a lot
of life in Bob."
David Willis got up slowly. "Would you like to see her?" he asked.
"No, no; I don't think so. It wouldn't--wouldn't do any good, and the
sight of any one dead always upsets me. No, I don't think I'll see
her; I only--only called in case I could do anything. A man needs
sympathy at such a time." He got up and took his hat, and swung toward
the door. Turning there, he said abruptly, "What about the kid?"
"The----" said David, looking at him blankly.
"The child; is it alive?"
"Yes," replied David; "doing well, they tell me."
"Ah--that's bad--for you, I mean." He paused a moment, coughed
uncomfortably, and stuck his hat sideways on his head; then remembered
himself, and took it off and frowned at it. Finally he got out of the
door awkwardly, and swung himself out through the garden of the roses
and went up the street, trying hard not to whistle.
It was on the day of the funeral that David Willis first seemed to
grasp the idea of his responsibility in regard to his infant son. He
had had no thought of that before; had listened to the sympathizing
remarks of the few friends he had with indifference, and had scarcely
appeared to realize that there was a new element in his life at all. He
grasped things slowly at all times, and required time to digest them;
he had room for nothing else in his mind then but the thought of his
loss. The day that saw her committed to the earth in the old churchyard
within sight of the garden where she had walked was a day which passed
for him like a troubled dream; he had a vague remembrance that people
were very kind to him, and helped him, and told him what to do and
where to stand. It was while he stood beside the grave that some words
from the burial service broke upon his ears as though nothing had been
said before; he saw in them something new and fresh and hopeful.
"Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full
of misery. He cometh up and----"
He lost all that followed; with those final words came a new thought
into his mind. The woman he had loved, for whom he had waited and
hungered so patiently, was to sleep her last sleep in that quiet place,
to sleep as calmly and as gently as she had lived. But there was
something more than this, something to comfort him. God had, after all,
been very merciful; so, in his simple mind, he told himself. The poor,
frail woman was gone; in her place had come a little child. The words
were true; he applied them at once to the baby. "He cometh up--like a
flower." Surely that was true; his eyes brightened as he thought of it;
the bitterness fell away from his heart; he almost longed to leave her
sleeping there and to get back to the child. He scarcely seemed to have
seen the child yet--to know what it was like.
As he crossed the churchyard to his house the thing was forced more
clearly and strongly upon him; he saw, with the fine instinct of love,
that this was what she would have wished, that the child must grow up
to think well of her, and to take her place. A man of rare singleness
of life and purpose, he had been capable only of single emotions; and
those emotions must, of necessity, be great. His dogged patience in
waiting for one woman through all the best years of his life had had in
it much of heroism; that was ended, and he turned now to something else
to fill his days. The child should do it; the child had been sent for
that very purpose. Over and over again the words came back to him, "He
cometh up | 1,350.045712 |
2023-11-16 18:39:34.0270580 | 2,356 | 11 |
Produced by Distributed Proofreaders
CLEVELAND PAST AND PRESENT
Its Representative Men
Comprising Biographical Sketches of Pioneer Settlers and Prominent
Citizens
With a History of the City and Historical Sketches of Its Commerce,
Manufactures, Ship Building, Railroads, Telegraphy, Schools, Churches,
Etc., Profusely Illustrated with Photographic Views and Portraits
1869
Photographically Illustrated by E. Decker
Preface.
In many ways the story of the survey and first settlement of Cleveland has
been made familiar to the public. It has been told at pioneer gatherings,
reproduced in newspapers and periodicals, enlarged upon in directory
prefaces and condensed for works of topographical reference. Within a
short time Col. Charles Whittlesey has gathered up, collected, and
arranged the abundant materials for the Early History of Cleveland in a
handsome volume bearing that title.
But Col. Whittlesy's volume closes with the war of 1812, when Cleveland
was still a pioneer settlement with but a few families. The history of the
growth of that settlement to a village, its development into a commercial
port, and then into a large and flourishing city, with a busy population
of a hundred thousand persons, remained mostly unwritten, and no part of
it existing in permanent form. The whole period is covered by the active
lives of men yet with us who have grown up with the place, and with whose
history that of the city is inseparably connected. It occurred to the
projector of this work that a history of Cleveland could be written in the
individual histories of its representative men, that such a volume would
not only be a reliable account of the growth of the city in its general
features and in the development of its several branches of industry, but
would possess the additional advantage of the interest attaching to
personal narrative. This idea has been faithfully worked out in the
following pages, not without much labor and difficulty in the collection
and arrangement of the materials. Besides the personal narratives, an
introductory sketch to each of the departments of business into which the
biographical sketches are grouped gives a brief account of the rise and
present position of that particular industry; these, taken together,
forming a full and accurate business and professional history of the city.
An introductory sketch of the general history of Cleveland gives
completeness to the whole, whilst the numerous illustrations and portraits
add greatly to the interest and value of the work.
Numerous as are the sketches, it is not, of course, claimed that all are
represented in the volume who deserve a place in it. This would be
impossible in a work of ordinary dimensions, even were it convenient, or
even possible, to obtain the necessary materials. The aim has been to
sketch sufficient of the representative men in each leading business and
professional department to give a fair idea of the nature and extent of
that department. It is not a complete biographical dictionary of
Cleveland, but a volume of biographical selections, made, as the lawyers
say, "without prejudice."
History of Cleveland.
For the records of the first sixteen or seventeen years of the history of
Cleveland, what may be styled its pioneer history, the local historian
will hereafter be indebted to the work of Col. Whittlesey, where every
known and reliable fact connected with that period of Cleveland's history
is carefully preserved.
The city was originally comprised in lands purchased by the "Connecticut
Land Company," and formed a portion of what is termed the Western Reserve.
This company was organized in 1795, and in the month of May of the
following year, it commissioned General Moses Cleaveland to superintend
the survey of their lands, with a staff of forty-eight assistants. On the
22d of July, 1796, General Cleaveland, accompanied by Augustus Porter, the
principal of the surveying department, and several others, entered the
mouth of the Cuyahoga from the lake. Job P. Stiles and his wife are
supposed to have been with the party. General Cleaveland continued his
progress to Sandusky Bay, leaving enough men to put up a storehouse for
the supplies, and a cabin for the accommodation of the surveyors. These
were located a short distance south of St. Clair street, west of Union
lane, at a spring in the side-hill, in rear of Scott's warehouse. During
the season a cabin was put up for Stiles, on lot 53, east side of Bank
street, north of the Herald Building, where Morgan & Root's block now
stands. This was the first building for permanent settlement erected on
the site of the city, although huts for temporary occupancy had been
previously built in the neighborhood.
Upon the return of the party from Sandusky, Mr. Porter prepared the
outlines of the city. He says: "I surveyed a piece of land designed for a
town--its dimensions I do not recollect--probably equal to about a mile
square, bounding west on the river, and north on the lake. I made a plot
of this ground, and laid it off into streets and lots. Most or all the
streets I surveyed myself, when I left it in charge of Mr. Holley to
complete the survey of the lots."
The survey of the city was commenced on the 16th of September, and
completed about the 1st of October, 1796. Holley's notes state that on
Monday, October 17th, he "finished surveying in New Connecticut; weather
rainy," and on the following day he records: "We left Cuyahoga at 3
o'clock 17 minutes, for home. We left at Cuyahoga, Job Stiles and wife,
and Joseph Landon, with provisions for the Winter." Landon soon abandoned
the spot and his place was taken by Edward Paine, who had arrived from the
State of New York, for the purpose of trading with the Indians, and who
may be considered the first mercantile man who transacted business in
Cleveland. Thus, during the Winter of 1796-7, the population of the city
consisted of three inhabitants. During the Winter a child is reputed to
have been born in the cabin, which had only squaws for nurses.
Early in the Spring of 1797, James Kingsbury and family, from New England,
with Elijah Gunn, one of the surveying party, all of whom had continued
during the Winter at Conneaut, where they had endured incredible
hardships, removed to Cleveland. His first cabin was put up on the site of
the Case Block, east of the Public Square, but he subsequently removed to
a point east of the present city limits, somewhere on a line with Kinsman
Street. Here he remained until his death.
The next families who were attracted to this settlement were those of
Major Lorenzo Carter and Ezekiel Hawley, who came from Kirtland, Vermont,
the family of the Major being accompanied by Miss Cloe Inches. In the
Spring of the following year, (1798,) the former gentleman sowed two acres
of corn on the west side of Water street. He was also the first person who
erected a frame building in the city, which he completed in 1802; but an
unfortunate casualty proved fatal to the enterprise, for when he was about
to occupy the residence it was totally destroyed by fire. In 1803,
however, he erected another house on the site of the destroyed building,
but on this occasion he confined himself to hewn logs.
The fourth addition of the season was that of Nathan Chapman and his
family, who, like the patriarchs of yore, traveled with his herd, and
marched into the Forest City at the head of two yoke of oxen and four
milch cows, which were the first neat stock that fed from the rich
pasturage on the banks of the Cuyahoga.
In the Summer of 1797, the surveying party returned to the Western Reserve
and resumed their labors, with Cleveland as a head-quarters. It was a very
sickly season and three of the number died, one of whom was David
Eldridge, whose remains were interred in a piece of ground chosen as a
cemetery, at the corner of Prospect and Ontario streets. This funeral
occurred on the 3d of June, 1797, and is the first recorded in the city.
Recently, while making some improvements to the buildings now occupying
that location, some human bones were discovered.
Less than one month after the first funeral, occurred the first wedding.
On the 1st of July, 1797, the marriage was solemnized of William Clement,
of Erie, to Miss Cloe Inches, who had come to this city with the family of
Major Lorenzo Carter. The ceremony was performed by Mr. Seth Hart, who was
regarded by the surveying party as their chaplain.
In the beginning of the following year, (1798,) the population had
increased to fifteen. No other immigration is recorded until that of
Rodolphus Edwards and Nathaniel Doane and their families, in 1799, the
latter consisting of nine persons. They journeyed from Chatham,
Connecticut, and were occupied ninety-two days in their transit--a longer
period than is now allowed to accomplish a voyage to the East Indies.
In 1799, the Land Company caused a road to be surveyed and partially
worked, from Cleveland to the Pennsylvania line, about ten miles from the
lake, which was the first road opened through the Reserve. In the Spring
of that year Wheeler W. Williams, from Norwich, Connecticut, and Major
Wyatt, erected a grist mill at the falls at Newburgh, and in 1800 a saw
mill was also built by them; a substantial proof that sufficient corn and
wheat were grown and lumber required to warrant the speculation.
The desire of moral culture and education did not relax in this lonely
region, and in 1800, a township school was organized, and the children
were taught by Sarah Doane. The site of the school house was near
Kingsbury's, on the ridge road.
Cleveland received two additions in 1800, in the persons of David Clarke
and Amos Spafford, the former of whom erected a house on Water street. The
first sermon preached in Cleveland, was delivered in that year by the Rev.
Joseph Badger, an agent of the Connecticut Missionary Society.
The years of 1798, 1799 and 1800, were remarkable for the early
commencement of genial weather. Pinks were in bloom in February, and the
peach trees were also in full blossom in March.
In 1801, the first distillery was erected by David Bryant. The memorable
4th of July of the same year was celebrated by the first ball in
Cleveland. It took place at Major Carter's log house, on the <DW72> | 1,350.047098 |
2023-11-16 18:39:34.1934070 | 3,818 | 12 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
By Thomas Dixon
TO GERTRUDE ATHERTON WITH GRATITUDE AND ADMIRATION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A FRIENDLY WARNING
II. TEMPTATION
III. FATE
IV. DOUBTS AND FEARS
V. WINGS OF STEEL
VI. BESIDE THE SEA
VII. A VAIN APPEAL
VIII. JIM'S TRIAL
IX. ELLA'S SECRET
X. THE WEDDING
XI. "UNTIL DEATH"
XII. THE LOTOS-EATERS
XIII. THE REAL MAN
XIV. UNWELCOME GUESTS
XV. A LITTLE BLACK BAG
XVI. THE AWAKENING
XVII. THE SURRENDER
XVIII. TO THE NEW GOD
XIX. NANCE'S STOREHOUSE
XX. TRAPPED
XXI. THE DEVIL'S DISCIPLE
XXII. DELIVERANCE
XXIII. THE DOCTOR
XXIV. THE CALL DIVINE
XXV. THE MOTHER
XXVI. A SOUL IS BORN
XXVII. THE BABY
XXVIII. WHAT IS LOVE?
XXIX. THE NEW MAN
LEADING CHARACTERS OF THE STORY
MARY ADAMS, An Old-Fashioned Girl.
JIM ANTHONY, A Modern Youth.
JANE ANDERSON, An Artist.
ELLA, A Scrubwoman.
NANCE OWENS, Jim Anthony's Mother.
A DOCTOR, Whose Call was Divine.
THE BABY, A Mascot.
THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
CHAPTER I. A FRIENDLY WARNING
"Mary Adams, you're a fool!"
The single dimple in a smooth red cheek smiled in answer.
"You're repeating yourself, Jane----"
"You won't give him one hour's time for just three sittings?"
"Not a second for one sitting----"
"Hopeless!"
Mary smiled provokingly, her white teeth gleaming in obstinate good
humor.
"He's the most distinguished artist in America----"
"I've heard so."
"It would be a liberal education for a girl of your training to know
such a man----"
"I'll omit that course of instruction."
The younger woman was silent a moment, and a flush of anger slowly
mounted her temples. The blue eyes were fixed reproachfully on her
friend.
"You really thought that I would pose?"
"I hoped so."
"Alone with a man in his studio for hours?"
Jane Anderson lifted her dark brows.
"Why, no, I hardly expected that! I'm sure he would take his easel and
palette out into the square in front of the Plaza Hotel and let you sit
on the base of the Sherman monument. The crowds would cheer and inspire
him--bah! Can't you have a little common-sense? There are a few
brutes among artists, as there are in all professions--even among the
superintendents of your schools. Gordon's a great creative genius. If
you'd try to flirt with him, he'd stop his work and send you home. You'd
be as safe in his studio as in your mother's nursery. I've known him
for ten years. He's the gentlest, truest man I've ever met. He's doing a
canvas on which he has set his whole heart."
"He can get professional models."
"For his usual work, yes--but this is the head of the Madonna. He saw
you walking with me in the Park last week and has been to my studio a
half-dozen times begging me to take you to see him. Please, Mary dear,
do this for my sake. I owe Gordon a debt I can never pay. He gave me
the cue to the work that set me on my feet. He was big and generous
and helpful when I needed a friend. He asked nothing in return but the
privilege of helping me again if I ever needed it. You can do me an
enormous favor--please."
Mary Adams rose with a gesture of impatience, walked to her window and
gazed on the torrent of humanity pouring through Twenty-third Street
from the beehives of industry that have changed this quarter of New York
so rapidly in the last five years. She turned suddenly and confronted
her friend.
"How could you think that I would stoop to such a thing?"
"Stoop!"
"Yes," she snapped, "--pose for an artist! I'd as soon think of rushing
stark naked through Twenty-third Street at noon!"
The older woman looked at her flushed face, suppressed a sharp answer,
broke into a fit of laughter and threw her arms around Mary's neck.
"Honey, you're such a hopeless little fool, you're delicious! You know
that I love you--don't you?"
The pretty lips quivered.
"Yes."
"Could I possibly ask you to do a thing that would harm a single brown
hair of your head?"
The firm hand of the older girl touched a rebellious lock with
tenderness.
"Of course not, from your point of view, Jane dear," the stubborn lips
persisted. "But you see it's not my point of view. You're older than
I----"
Jane smiled.
"Hoity toity, Miss! I'm just twenty-eight and you're twenty-four. Age is
not measured by calendars these days."
"I didn't mean that," the girl apologized. "But you're an artist. You're
established and distinguished. You belong to a different world."
Jane Anderson laid her hand softly on her friend's.
"That's just it, dear. I do belong to a different world--a big new world
of whose existence you are not quite conscious. You are living in the
old, old world in which women have groped for thousands of years. I
don't mind confessing that I undertook this job of getting you to pose
for Gordon for a double purpose. I wished to do something to repay
the debt I owe him--but I wished far more to be of help to you. You're
living in the Dark Ages, and it's a dangerous thing for a pretty girl to
live in the Dark Ages and date her letters from New York to-day----"
"I don't understand you in the least."
"And I'm afraid you never will."
She paused suddenly and changed her tone.
"Tell me now, are you happy in your work?"
"I'm earning sixty dollars a month--my position is secure----"
"But are you happy in it?"
"I don't expect to teach school all my life," was the vague answer.
"Exactly. You loathe the sight of a school-room. You do the task they
set you because your father's a clergyman and can't support his
big family. You're waiting and longing for the day of your
deliverance--isn't it so?"
"Perhaps."
"And that day of deliverance?"
"Will come when I meet my Fate!"
"You'll meet him, too!"
"I will----"
Jane Anderson shook her fine head.
"And may the Lord have mercy on your poor little soul when you do!"
"And why, pray?"
"Because you're the most helpless and defenseless of all the things He
created."
Mary smiled.
"I've managed to take pretty good care of myself so far."
"And you will--until the thunderbolt falls."
"The thunderbolt?"
"Until you meet your Fate."
"I'll have someone to look after me then."
"We'll hope so anyhow," was the quick retort.
"But can't you see, Jane dear, that we look at life from such utterly
different angles. You glory in your work. It's your inspiration--the
breath you breathe. I don't believe in women working for money. I don't
believe God ever meant us to work when He made us women. He made
us women for something more wonderful. I don't see anything good or
glorious in the fact that half the torrent of humanity you see down
there pouring through the street from those factories and offices is
made up of women. They are wage-earners--so much the worse. They are
forcing the scale of wages for men lower and lower. They are paying for
it in weakened bodies and sickly, hopeless children. We should not shout
for joy; we should cry. God never meant for woman to be a wage-earner!"
A sob caught her voice and she paused.
The artist watched her emotion with keen interest.
"Neither do I believe that God means to force woman at last to do the
tasks of man. But she's doing them, dear--and it must be so until a
brighter day dawns for humanity. The new world that opens before us
will never abolish marriage, but it has opened our eyes to know what it
means. You refuse to open yours. You refuse to see this new world about
you. I've begged you to join one of my clubs. You refuse. I beg you to
meet and know such men of genius as Gordon----"
"As an artist's model!"
"It's the only way on earth you can meet him. You stick to your narrow,
hide-bound conventional life and dream of the Knight who will suddenly
appear some day out of the mists and clouds. You dream of the Fate God
has prepared for you in His mysterious Providence. It's funny how that
idea persists even today in novels. As a matter of fact we know that the
old-fashioned girl met her Fate because her shrewd mother planned the
meeting--planned it with cunning and stratagem. You're alone in a great
modern city, with all the conditions of the life of the old regime
reversed or blotted out. Your mother is not here. And if she were, her
schemes to bring about the mysterious meeting of the Fates would be
impossible. You outgrew the limits of your village life. Your highly
trained mind landed you in New York. You've fought your way to a
competent living in five years and kept yourself clean and unspotted
from the world. Granted. But how many men have you met who are your
equals in culture and character?"
Jane paused and held Mary's gaze with steady persistence.
"How many--honest?"
"None as yet," she confessed.
"But you live in the one fond, imperishable hope! It's the only
thing that keeps you alive and going--this idea of your Fate. It's an
obsession--this mysterious Knight somewhere in the future riding to meet
you----"
"I'll find him, never fear," the girl laughed.
"Of course you will. You'll make him out of whole cloth if it's
necessary. Our ideals are really the same when you come to analyze my
wider outlook."
The artist paused and laughed softly.
"The same?" the girl asked incredulously.
"Certainly. Mine is based on intelligence, however--yours on blind
instinct perverted and twisted by the idiotic fiction you read morning,
noon and night."
"I don't see it," Mary answered emphatically. "Your ideal is fame,
achievement, the applause of the world--mine just a home and a baby----"
Jane laughed softly.
"And that's all you know about me?"
"Isn't it true?"
"You've been in this room five years, haven't you?" the older girl asked
musingly.
"Yes----"
"And though you've kept your lamp trimmed and burning, you haven't yet
seen a man whom you could recognize as your equal."
"I'm only twenty-four."
"In these five years I've met a hundred men my equal."
"And smashed the conventions of Society whenever you saw fit."
"Without breaking a single law of reason or common-sense. In the
meantime I've met two men who have really made love to me. I thought I
loved one of them--until I met the other. The second proved himself to
be an unprincipled scoundrel. If I had held your views of life and hated
my work, I would have married this man and lived to awake in a prison
whose only door was Death. But I loved my work. Life meant more than
one man who was not worth an hour's tears. I turned to my studio and he
slipped back into the gutter where he belonged. I'll meet MY Fate
some day, too, dear. I'm waiting and watching--but with clear eyes
and unafraid. I'll know mine when he comes, I shall not be blinded by
passion or the fear of drudgery. Can't you see this bigger world of
realities?"
The dimple flashed again in the smooth red cheek.
"It's not for me, Jane. I'm just a modest little home body. I'll bide my
time----"
"And eat your foolish heart out here between the narrow walls of this
cell you've built for yourself. I should think you'd die living here
alone."
The girl flushed.
"I'm not lonely----"
"Don't fib! I know better. Your birds and kitten occupy daily about
thirty minutes of the time that's your own. What do you do with the rest
of it?"
"Sit by my window, watch the crowds stream through the streets below,
read and dream and think----"
"Yes--read love stories and dream about your Knight."
"Well?"
"It's morbid and unhealthy. You've hedged yourself about with the old
conventions and imagine you're safe--and you are--until you meet HIM!"
"I'll know how to behave--never fear."
"You mean you'll know how instantly to blindfold, halter and lead him to
the Little Church Around the Corner?"
Mary moved uneasily.
"And what else should I do with him?"
"Compare him with other men. Weigh him in the balances of a remorseless
common-sense. Study him under a microscope and keep your reason clear.
The girl who rushes into marriage in a great city under the conditions
in which you and I live is a fool. More girls are ruined in New York
by marriage than by any other process. The thunderbolt out of the blue
hasn't struck you yet, but when it does----"
"I'll tell you, Jane."
"Will you, honestly?"
The question was asked with wistful tenderness.
"I promise. And you mustn't think I don't appreciate this visit and the
chance you've given again to enter the `big world' you're always telling
me about. I just can't do it, dear. It's not my world."
"All right, my little foolish virgin, have it your own way. When you're
lonely, run up to my studio to see me. I won't ask you to pose or meet
any of the dangerous men of my circle. We'll lock the doors and have a
snug time all by ourselves."
"I'll remember."
The clock in the Metropolitan Tower chimed the hour of five, and Jane
Anderson rose with a quick, business-like movement.
"Don't hurry," Mary protested. "I know I've been stubborn, but I've
been so happy in your coming. I do get lonely--frightfully lonely,
sometimes--don't think I'm ungrateful----"
"You're dangerously beautiful, child," the artist said, with enthusiasm.
"And remember that I love you--no matter how silly you are--good-by."
"You won't stay for a cup of tea? I meant to ask you an hour ago."
"No, I've an engagement with a dreadful man whom I've no idea of ever
marrying. I'm going to dinner with him--just to study the animal at dose
range."
With a jolly laugh and quick, firm step she was gone.
Mary snatched the kitten from his snug bed between the pillows of the
window-seat and pressed his fuzzy head under her chin.
"She tempted us terribly, Kitty darling, but we didn't let her find
out--did we? You know deep down in your cat's soul that I was just dying
to meet the distinguished Gordon--but such high honors are not for home
bodies like you and me----"
She dropped on the seat and closed her eyes for a long time. The kitten
watched her wonderingly sure of a sudden outbreak with each passing
moment. Two soft paws at last touched her cheeks and two bright eyes
sought in vain for hers. The little nose pressed closer and kissed the
drooping eyelids until they opened. He curled himself on her bosom and
began to sing a gentle lullaby. For a long while she lay and listened to
the music of love with which her pet sought to soothe the ache within.
The clock in the tower chimed six.
She lifted her body and placed her head on a pillow beside the window.
The human torrent below was now at its flood. Two streams of humanity
flowed eastward along each broad sidewalk. Hundreds were pouring in
endless procession across Madison Square. The cars in Broadway north and
South were jammed. Every day she watched this crowd hurrying, hurrying
away into the twilight--and among all its hundreds of thousands not
an eye was ever lifted to hers--not one man or woman among them cared
whether she lived or died.
It was horrible, this loneliness of the desert in an ocean of humanity!
For the past year it had become an increasing horror to look into the
silent faces of this crowd of men and women and never feel the touch of
a friendly hand or hear the sound of a human voice in greeting.
And yet this endless procession held for her a supreme fascination.
Somewhere among its myriads of tramping feet, walked the one man created
for her. She no more doubted this than she doubted God Himself. It was
| 1,350.213447 |
2023-11-16 18:39:34.3684520 | 4,115 | 6 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Cathy Maxam and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Minor inconsistencies in hyphenated words have
been adjusted to correspond with the author's most frequent usage.
On page 60 a printer error from the original text was corrected: the
word "drawings" has been changed to "drawing" in the phrase, "...
drawing has been taught...."
HOW WE THINK
BY
JOHN DEWEY
PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT, 1910,
BY D. C. HEATH & CO.
2 F 8
Printed in U. S. A.
PREFACE
Our schools are troubled with a multiplication of studies, each in turn
having its own multiplication of materials and principles. Our teachers
find their tasks made heavier in that they have come to deal with pupils
individually and not merely in mass. Unless these steps in advance are
to end in distraction, some clew of unity, some principle that makes for
simplification, must be found. This book represents the conviction that
the needed steadying and centralizing factor is found in adopting as the
end of endeavor that attitude of mind, that habit of thought, which we
call scientific. This scientific attitude of mind might, conceivably, be
quite irrelevant to teaching children and youth. But this book also
represents the conviction that such is not the case; that the native and
unspoiled attitude of childhood, marked by ardent curiosity, fertile
imagination, and love of experimental inquiry, is near, very near, to
the attitude of the scientific mind. If these pages assist any to
appreciate this kinship and to consider seriously how its recognition in
educational practice would make for individual happiness and the
reduction of social waste, the book will amply have served its purpose.
It is hardly necessary to enumerate the authors to whom I am indebted.
My fundamental indebtedness is to my wife, by whom the ideas of this
book were inspired, and through whose work in connection with the
Laboratory School, existing in Chicago between 1896 and 1903, the ideas
attained such concreteness as comes from embodiment and testing in
practice. It is a pleasure, also, to acknowledge indebtedness to the
intelligence and sympathy of those who cooeperated as teachers and
supervisors in the conduct of that school, and especially to Mrs. Ella
Flagg Young, then a colleague in the University, and now Superintendent
of the Schools of Chicago.
NEW YORK CITY, December, 1909.
CONTENTS
PART I
THE PROBLEM OF TRAINING THOUGHT
CHAPTER PAGE
I. WHAT IS THOUGHT? 1
II. THE NEED FOR TRAINING THOUGHT 14
III. NATURAL RESOURCES IN THE TRAINING OF THOUGHT 29
IV. SCHOOL CONDITIONS AND THE TRAINING OF THOUGHT 45
V. THE MEANS AND END OF MENTAL TRAINING: THE
PSYCHOLOGICAL AND THE LOGICAL 56
PART II
LOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS
VI. THE ANALYSIS OF A COMPLETE ACT OF THOUGHT 68
VII. SYSTEMATIC INFERENCE: INDUCTION AND DEDUCTION 79
VIII. JUDGMENT: THE INTERPRETATION OF FACTS 101
IX. MEANING: OR CONCEPTIONS AND UNDERSTANDING 116
X. CONCRETE AND ABSTRACT THINKING 135
XI. EMPIRICAL AND SCIENTIFIC THINKING 145
PART III
THE TRAINING OF THOUGHT
XII. ACTIVITY AND THE TRAINING OF THOUGHT 157
XIII. LANGUAGE AND THE TRAINING OF THOUGHT 170
XIV. OBSERVATION AND INFORMATION IN THE TRAINING
OF MIND 188
XV. THE RECITATION AND THE TRAINING OF THOUGHT 201
XVI. SOME GENERAL CONCLUSIONS 214
HOW WE THINK
PART ONE: THE PROBLEM OF TRAINING THOUGHT
CHAPTER ONE
WHAT IS THOUGHT?
Sec. 1. _Varied Senses of the Term_
[Sidenote: Four senses of thought, from the wider to the limited]
No words are oftener on our lips than _thinking_ and _thought_. So
profuse and varied, indeed, is our use of these words that it is not
easy to define just what we mean by them. The aim of this chapter is to
find a single consistent meaning. Assistance may be had by considering
some typical ways in which the terms are employed. In the first place
_thought_ is used broadly, not to say loosely. Everything that comes to
mind, that "goes through our heads," is called a thought. To think of a
thing is just to be conscious of it in any way whatsoever. Second, the
term is restricted by excluding whatever is directly presented; we think
(or think of) only such things as we do not directly see, hear, smell,
or taste. Then, third, the meaning is further limited to beliefs that
rest upon some kind of evidence or testimony. Of this third type, two
kinds--or, rather, two degrees--must be discriminated. In some cases, a
belief is accepted with slight or almost no attempt to state the grounds
that support it. In other cases, the ground or basis for a belief is
deliberately sought and its adequacy to support the belief examined.
This process is called reflective thought; it alone is truly educative
in value, and it forms, accordingly, the principal subject of this
volume. We shall now briefly describe each of the four senses.
[Sidenote: Chance and idle thinking]
I. In its loosest sense, thinking signifies everything that, as we say,
is "in our heads" or that "goes through our minds." He who offers "a
penny for your thoughts" does not expect to drive any great bargain. In
calling the objects of his demand _thoughts_, he does not intend to
ascribe to them dignity, consecutiveness, or truth. Any idle fancy,
trivial recollection, or flitting impression will satisfy his demand.
Daydreaming, building of castles in the air, that loose flux of casual
and disconnected material that floats through our minds in relaxed
moments are, in this random sense, _thinking_. More of our waking life
than we should care to admit, even to ourselves, is likely to be whiled
away in this inconsequential trifling with idle fancy and unsubstantial
hope.
[Sidenote: Reflective thought is consecutive, not merely a sequence]
In this sense, silly folk and dullards _think_. The story is told of a
man in slight repute for intelligence, who, desiring to be chosen
selectman in his New England town, addressed a knot of neighbors in this
wise: "I hear you don't believe I know enough to hold office. I wish you
to understand that I am thinking about something or other most of the
time." Now reflective thought is like this random coursing of things
through the mind in that it consists of a succession of things thought
of; but it is unlike, in that the mere chance occurrence of any chance
"something or other" in an irregular sequence does not suffice.
Reflection involves not simply a sequence of ideas, but a
_con_sequence--a consecutive ordering in such a way that each
determines the next as its proper outcome, while each in turn leans back
on its predecessors. The successive portions of the reflective thought
grow out of one another and support one another; they do not
come and go in a medley. Each phase is a step from something to
something--technically speaking, it is a term of thought. Each term
leaves a deposit which is utilized in the next term. The stream or flow
becomes a train, chain, or thread.
[Sidenote: The restriction of _thinking_ to what goes beyond direct
observation]
[Sidenote: Reflective thought aims, however, at belief]
II. Even when thinking is used in a broad sense, it is usually
restricted to matters not directly perceived: to what we do not see,
smell, hear, or touch. We ask the man telling a story if he saw a
certain incident happen, and his reply may be, "No, I only thought of
it." A note of invention, as distinct from faithful record of
observation, is present. Most important in this class are successions of
imaginative incidents and episodes which, having a certain coherence,
hanging together on a continuous thread, lie between kaleidoscopic
flights of fancy and considerations deliberately employed to establish a
conclusion. The imaginative stories poured forth by children possess all
degrees of internal congruity; some are disjointed, some are
articulated. When connected, they simulate reflective thought; indeed,
they usually occur in minds of logical capacity. These imaginative
enterprises often precede thinking of the close-knit type and prepare
the way for it. But _they do not aim at knowledge, at belief about facts
or in truths_; and thereby they are marked off from reflective thought
even when they most resemble it. Those who express such thoughts do not
expect credence, but rather credit for a well-constructed plot or a
well-arranged climax. They produce good stories, not--unless by
chance--knowledge. Such thoughts are an efflorescence of feeling; the
enhancement of a mood or sentiment is their aim; congruity of emotion,
their binding tie.
[Sidenote: Thought induces belief in two ways]
III. In its next sense, thought denotes belief resting upon some basis,
that is, real or supposed knowledge going beyond what is directly
present. It is marked by _acceptance or rejection of something as
reasonably probable or improbable_. This phase of thought, however,
includes two such distinct types of belief that, even though their
difference is strictly one of degree, not of kind, it becomes
practically important to consider them separately. Some beliefs are
accepted when their grounds have not themselves been considered, others
are accepted because their grounds have been examined.
When we say, "Men used to think the world was flat," or, "I thought you
went by the house," we express belief: something is accepted, held to,
acquiesced in, or affirmed. But such thoughts may mean a supposition
accepted without reference to its real grounds. These may be adequate,
they may not; but their value with reference to the support they afford
the belief has not been considered.
Such thoughts grow up unconsciously and without reference to the
attainment of correct belief. They are picked up--we know not how. From
obscure sources and by unnoticed channels they insinuate themselves into
acceptance and become unconsciously a part of our mental furniture.
Tradition, instruction, imitation--all of which depend upon authority in
some form, or appeal to our own advantage, or fall in with a strong
passion--are responsible for them. Such thoughts are prejudices, that
is, prejudgments, not judgments proper that rest upon a survey of
evidence.[1]
[1] This mode of thinking in its contrast with thoughtful inquiry
receives special notice in the next chapter.
[Sidenote: Thinking in its best sense is that which considers the basis
and consequences of beliefs]
IV. Thoughts that result in belief have an importance attached to them
which leads to reflective thought, to conscious inquiry into the nature,
conditions, and bearings of the belief. To _think_ of whales and camels
in the clouds is to entertain ourselves with fancies, terminable at our
pleasure, which do not lead to any belief in particular. But to think of
the world as flat is to ascribe a quality to a real thing as its real
property. This conclusion denotes a connection among things and hence is
not, like imaginative thought, plastic to our mood. Belief in the
world's flatness commits him who holds it to thinking in certain
specific ways of other objects, such as the heavenly bodies, antipodes,
the possibility of navigation. It prescribes to him actions in
accordance with his conception of these objects.
The consequences of a belief upon other beliefs and upon behavior may be
so important, then, that men are forced to consider the grounds or
reasons of their belief and its logical consequences. This means
reflective thought--thought in its eulogistic and emphatic sense.
[Sidenote: Reflective thought defined]
Men _thought_ the world was flat until Columbus _thought_ it to be
round. The earlier thought was a belief held because men had not the
energy or the courage to question what those about them accepted and
taught, especially as it was suggested and seemingly confirmed by
obvious sensible facts. The thought of Columbus was a _reasoned
conclusion_. It marked the close of study into facts, of scrutiny and
revision of evidence, of working out the implications of various
hypotheses, and of comparing these theoretical results with one another
and with known facts. Because Columbus did not accept unhesitatingly the
current traditional theory, because he doubted and inquired, he arrived
at his thought. Skeptical of what, from long habit, seemed most certain,
and credulous of what seemed impossible, he went on thinking until he
could produce evidence for both his confidence and his disbelief. Even
if his conclusion had finally turned out wrong, it would have been a
different sort of belief from those it antagonized, because it was
reached by a different method. _Active, persistent, and careful
consideration of any belief or supposed form of knowledge in the light
of the grounds that support it, and the further conclusions to which it
tends_, constitutes reflective thought. Any one of the first three kinds
of thought may elicit this type; but once begun, it is a conscious and
voluntary effort to establish belief upon a firm basis of reasons.
Sec. 2. _The Central Factor in Thinking_
[Sidenote: There is a common element in all types of thought:]
There are, however, no sharp lines of demarcation between the various
operations just outlined. The problem of attaining correct habits of
reflection would be much easier than it is, did not the different modes
of thinking blend insensibly into one another. So far, we have
considered rather extreme instances of each kind in order to get the
field clearly before us. Let us now reverse this operation; let us
consider a rudimentary case of thinking, lying between careful
examination of evidence and a mere irresponsible stream of fancies. A
man is walking on a warm day. The sky was clear the last time he
observed it; but presently he notes, while occupied primarily with other
things, that the air is cooler. It occurs to him that it is probably
going to rain; looking up, he sees a dark cloud between him and the
sun, and he then quickens his steps. What, if anything, in such a
situation can be called thought? Neither the act of walking nor the
noting of the cold is a thought. Walking is one direction of activity;
looking and noting are other modes of activity. The likelihood that it
will rain is, however, something _suggested_. The pedestrian _feels_ the
cold; he _thinks of_ clouds and a coming shower.
[Sidenote: _viz._ suggestion of something not observed]
[Sidenote: But reflection involves also the relation of _signifying_]
So far there is the same sort of situation as when one looking at a
cloud is reminded of a human figure and face. Thinking in both of these
cases (the cases of belief and of fancy) involves a noted or perceived
fact, followed by something else which is not observed but which is
brought to mind, suggested by the thing seen. One reminds us, as we say,
of the other. Side by side, however, with this factor of agreement in
the two cases of suggestion is a factor of marked disagreement. We do
not _believe_ in the face suggested by the cloud; we do not consider at
all the probability of its being a fact. There is no _reflective_
thought. The danger of rain, on the contrary, presents itself to us as a
genuine possibility--as a possible fact of the same nature as the
observed coolness. Put differently, we do not regard the cloud as
meaning or indicating a face, but merely as suggesting it, while we do
consider that the coolness may mean rain. In the first case, seeing an
object, we just happen, as we say, to think of something else; in the
second, we consider the _possibility and nature of the connection
between the object seen and the object suggested_. The seen thing is
regarded as in some way _the ground or basis of belief_ in the suggested
thing; it possesses the quality of _evidence_.
[Sidenote: Various synonymous expressions for the function of
signifying]
This function by which one thing signifies or indicates another, and
thereby leads us to consider how far one may be regarded as warrant for
belief in the other, is, then, the central factor in all reflective or
distinctively intellectual thinking. By calling up various situations to
which such terms as _signifies_ and _indicates_ apply, the student will
best realize for himself the actual facts denoted by the words
_reflective thought_. Synonyms for these terms are: points to, tells of,
betokens, prognosticates, represents, stands for, implies.[2] We also
say one thing portends another; is ominous of another, or a symptom of
it, or a key to it, or (if the connection is quite obscure) that it
gives a hint, clue, or intimation.
[2] _Implies_ is more often used when a principle or general truth
brings about belief in some other truth; the other phrases are more
frequently used to denote the cases in which one fact or event leads
us to believe in something else.
[Sidenote: Reflection and belief on evidence]
Reflection thus implies that something is believed in (or disbelieved
in), not on its own direct account, but through something else which
stands as witness, evidence, proof, voucher, warrant; that is, as
_ground of belief_. At one time, rain is actually felt or directly
experienced; at another time, we infer that it has rained from the looks
of the grass and trees, or that it is going to rain because of the
condition of the air or the state of the barometer. At one time, we see
a man (or suppose we do) without any intermediary fact; at another time,
we are not | 1,350.388492 |
2023-11-16 18:39:34.6409120 | 350 | 9 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Hollowdell Grange, by George Manville Fenn.
________________________________________________________________________
This is one of Fenn's earliest books. The theme is that a boy from
London goes down to stay in the country with his cousins, where the way
of life is so very different, and challenging, from all that he had
known in the great city. The descriptions of country life of those days
are very well done, but we must make one warning--that many of the
countrymen we meet in the story speak with a strong Lincolnshire accent,
and the author has done his best to represent these sounds with what
must very often look like mistakes in transcription.
There are all sorts of country situations to be encountered, from
working with animals, to meeting the various village characters, to a
near drowning, and even, at the very end to an attempted rescue, one
that failed, of a drowning boy caught in a sluice on the beach.
There may well be a few mistakes, because the copy used was very old,
and the pages very browned, while at the same time not very well
printed. But we have done our best and at least what we offer here is
better than what you would have got from the book itself in its aged
condition. As so often with this kind of book it makes a very good
audio-book, and listening to it is a great pleasure.
________________________________________________________________________
HOLLOWDELL GRANGE, BY GEORGE MANVILLE FENN.
CHAPTER ONE.
A FISH OUT OF WATER.
It was such a fine hot Midsummer day at Hollowdell station, | 1,350.660952 |
2023-11-16 18:39:35.1002060 | 4,116 | 20 |
Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
SERAPHITA
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Madame Eveline de Hanska, nee Comtesse Rzewuska.
Madame,--Here is the work which you asked of me. I am happy, in
thus dedicating it, to offer you a proof of the respectful
affection you allow me to bear you. If I am reproached for
impotence in this attempt to draw from the depths of mysticism a
book which seeks to give, in the lucid transparency of our
beautiful language, the luminous poesy of the Orient, to you the
blame! Did you not command this struggle (resembling that of
Jacob) by telling me that the most imperfect sketch of this
Figure, dreamed of by you, as it has been by me since childhood,
would still be something to you?
Here, then, it is,--that something. Would that this book could
belong exclusively to noble spirits, preserved like yours from
worldly pettiness by solitude! THEY would know how to give to it
the melodious rhythm that it lacks, which might have made it, in
the hands of a poet, the glorious epic that France still awaits.
But from me they must accept it as one of those sculptured
balustrades, carved by a hand of faith, on which the pilgrims
lean, in the choir of some glorious church, to think upon the end
of man.
I am, madame, with respect,
Your devoted servant,
De Balzac.
SERAPHITA
CHAPTER I. SERAPHITUS
As the eye glances over a map of the coasts of Norway, can the
imagination fail to marvel at their fantastic indentations and serrated
edges, like a granite lace, against which the surges of the North Sea
roar incessantly? Who has not dreamed of the majestic sights to be seen
on those beachless shores, of that multitude of creeks and inlets and
little bays, no two of them alike, yet all trackless abysses? We may
almost fancy that Nature took pleasure in recording by ineffaceable
hieroglyphics the symbol of Norwegian life, bestowing on these coasts
the conformation of a fish's spine, fishery being the staple commerce of
the country, and well-nigh the only means of living of the hardy men who
cling like tufts of lichen to the arid cliffs. Here, through fourteen
degrees of longitude, barely seven hundred thousand souls maintain
existence. Thanks to perils devoid of glory, to year-long snows which
clothe the Norway peaks and guard them from profaning foot of traveller,
these sublime beauties are virgin still; they will be seen to harmonize
with human phenomena, also virgin--at least to poetry--which here took
place, the history of which it is our purpose to relate.
If one of these inlets, mere fissures to the eyes of the eider-ducks, is
wide enough for the sea not to freeze between the prison-walls of
rock against which it surges, the country-people call the little bay
a "fiord,"--a word which geographers of every nation have adopted into
their respective languages. Though a certain resemblance exists
among all these fiords, each has its own characteristics. The sea has
everywhere forced its way as through a breach, yet the rocks about each
fissure are diversely rent, and their tumultuous precipices defy the
rules of geometric law. Here the scarp is dentelled like a saw; there
the narrow ledges barely allow the snow to lodge or the noble crests of
the Northern pines to spread themselves; farther on, some convulsion of
Nature may have rounded a coquettish curve into a lovely valley flanked
in rising terraces with black-plumed pines. Truly we are tempted to call
this land the Switzerland of Ocean.
Midway between Trondhjem and Christiansand lies an inlet called the
Strom-fiord. If the Strom-fiord is not the loveliest of these rocky
landscapes, it has the merit of displaying the terrestrial grandeurs
of Norway, and of enshrining the scenes of a history that is indeed
celestial.
The general outline of the Strom-fiord seems at first sight to be that
of a funnel washed out by the sea. The passage which the waves have
forced present to the eye an image of the eternal struggle between old
Ocean and the granite rock,--two creations of equal power, one through
inertia, the other by ceaseless motion. Reefs of fantastic shape run out
on either side, and bar the way of ships and forbid their entrance. The
intrepid sons of Norway cross these reefs on foot, springing from rock
to rock, undismayed at the abyss--a hundred fathoms deep and only six
feet wide--which yawns beneath them. Here a tottering block of gneiss
falling athwart two rocks gives an uncertain footway; there the
hunters or the fishermen, carrying their loads, have flung the stems of
fir-trees in guise of bridges, to join the projecting reefs, around and
beneath which the surges roar incessantly. This dangerous entrance to
the little bay bears obliquely to the right with a serpentine movement,
and there encounters a mountain rising some twenty-five hundred feet
above sea-level, the base of which is a vertical palisade of solid
rock more than a mile and a half long, the inflexible granite nowhere
yielding to clefts or undulations until it reaches a height of two
hundred feet above the water. Rushing violently in, the sea is driven
back with equal violence by the inert force of the mountain to the
opposite shore, gently curved by the spent force of the retreating
waves.
The fiord is closed at the upper end by a vast gneiss formation crowned
with forests, down which a river plunges in cascades, becomes a torrent
when the snows are melting, spreads into a sheet of waters, and then
falls with a roar into the bay,--vomiting as it does so the hoary pines
and the aged larches washed down from the forests and scarce seen amid
the foam. These trees plunge headlong into the fiord and reappear after
a time on the surface, clinging together and forming islets which float
ashore on the beaches, where the inhabitants of a village on the left
bank of the Strom-fiord gather them up, split, broken (though sometimes
whole), and always stripped of bark and branches. The mountain which
receives at its base the assaults of Ocean, and at its summit the
buffeting of the wild North wind, is called the Falberg. Its crest,
wrapped at all seasons in a mantle of snow and ice, is the sharpest peak
of Norway; its proximity to the pole produces, at the height of eighteen
hundred feet, a degree of cold equal to that of the highest mountains of
the globe. The summit of this rocky mass, rising sheer from the fiord
on one side, <DW72>s gradually downward to the east, where it joins the
declivities of the Sieg and forms a series of terraced valleys, the
chilly temperature of which allows no growth but that of shrubs and
stunted trees.
The upper end of the fiord, where the waters enter it as they come down
from the forest, is called the Siegdahlen,--a word which may be held to
mean "the shedding of the Sieg,"--the river itself receiving that name.
The curving shore opposite to the face of the Falberg is the valley
of Jarvis,--a smiling scene overlooked by hills clothed with firs,
birch-trees, and larches, mingled with a few oaks and beeches, the
richest coloring of all the varied tapestries which Nature in these
northern regions spreads upon the surface of her rugged rocks. The eye
can readily mark the line where the soil, warmed by the rays of the sun,
bears cultivation and shows the native growth of the Norwegian flora.
Here the expanse of the fiord is broad enough to allow the sea, dashed
back by the Falberg, to spend its expiring force in gentle murmurs upon
the lower <DW72> of these hills,--a shore bordered with finest sand,
strewn with mica and sparkling pebbles, porphyry, and marbles of a
thousand tints, brought from Sweden by the river floods, together with
ocean waifs, shells, and flowers of the sea driven in by tempests,
whether of the Pole or Tropics.
At the foot of the hills of Jarvis lies a village of some two hundred
wooden houses, where an isolated population lives like a swarm of bees
in a forest, without increasing or diminishing; vegetating happily,
while wringing their means of living from the breast of a stern Nature.
The almost unknown existence of the little hamlet is readily accounted
for. Few of its inhabitants were bold enough to risk their lives
among the reefs to reach the deep-sea fishing,--the staple industry of
Norwegians on the least dangerous portions of their coast. The fish of
the fiord were numerous enough to suffice, in part at least, for the
sustenance of the inhabitants; the valley pastures provided milk and
butter; a certain amount of fruitful, well-tilled soil yielded rye
and hemp and vegetables, which necessity taught the people to protect
against the severity of the cold and the fleeting but terrible heat of
the sun with the shrewd ability which Norwegians display in the two-fold
struggle. The difficulty of communication with the outer world, either
by land where the roads are impassable, or by sea where none but tiny
boats can thread their way through the maritime defiles that guard the
entrance to the bay, hinder these people from growing rich by the sale
of their timber. It would cost enormous sums to either blast a channel
out to sea or construct a way to the interior. The roads from Christiana
to Trondhjem all turn toward the Strom-fiord, and cross the Sieg by a
bridge some score of miles above its fall into the bay. The country to
the north, between Jarvis and Trondhjem, is covered with impenetrable
forests, while to the south the Falberg is nearly as much separated
from Christiana by inaccessible precipices. The village of Jarvis might
perhaps have communicated with the interior of Norway and Sweden by
the river Sieg; but to do this and to be thus brought into contact with
civilization, the Strom-fiord needed the presence of a man of genius.
Such a man did actually appear there,--a poet, a Swede of great
religious fervor, who died admiring, even reverencing this region as one
of the noblest works of the Creator.
Minds endowed by study with an inward sight, and whose quick perceptions
bring before the soul, as though painted on a canvas, the contrasting
scenery of this universe, will now apprehend the general features of
the Strom-fiord. They alone, perhaps, can thread their way through the
tortuous channels of the reef, or flee with the battling waves to the
everlasting rebuff of the Falberg whose white peaks mingle with the
vaporous clouds of the pearl-gray sky, or watch with delight the curving
sheet of waters, or hear the rushing of the Sieg as it hangs for an
instant in long fillets and then falls over a picturesque abatis of
noble trees toppled confusedly together, sometimes upright, sometimes
half-sunken beneath the rocks. It may be that such minds alone can dwell
upon the smiling scenes nestling among the lower hills of Jarvis; where
the luscious Northern vegetables spring up in families, in myriads,
where the white birches bend, graceful as maidens, where colonnades
of beeches rear their boles mossy with the growth of centuries, where
shades of green contrast, and white clouds float amid the blackness of
the distant pines, and tracts of many-tinted crimson and purple shrubs
are shaded endlessly; in short, where blend all colors, all perfumes of
a flora whose wonders are still ignored. Widen the boundaries of this
limited ampitheatre, spring upward to the clouds, lose yourself among
the rocks where the seals are lying and even then your thought cannot
compass the wealth of beauty nor the poetry of this Norwegian coast.
Can your thought be as vast as the ocean that bounds it? as weird as
the fantastic forms drawn by these forests, these clouds, these shadows,
these changeful lights?
Do you see above the meadows on that lowest <DW72> which undulates around
the higher hills of Jarvis two or three hundred houses roofed with
"noever," a sort of thatch made of birch-bark,--frail houses, long and
low, looking like silk-worms on a mulberry-leaf tossed hither by the
winds? Above these humble, peaceful dwellings stands the church, built
with a simplicity in keeping with the poverty of the villagers. A
graveyard surrounds the chancel, and a little farther on you see
the parsonage. Higher up, on a projection of the mountain is a
dwelling-house, the only one of stone; for which reason the inhabitants
of the village call it "the Swedish Castle." In fact, a wealthy Swede
settled in Jarvis about thirty years before this history begins, and did
his best to ameliorate its condition. This little house, certainly not
a castle, built with the intention of leading the inhabitants to build
others like it, was noticeable for its solidity and for the wall that
inclosed it, a rare thing in Norway where, notwithstanding the abundance
of stone, wood alone is used for all fences, even those of fields.
This Swedish house, thus protected against the climate, stood on rising
ground in the centre of an immense courtyard. The windows were sheltered
by those projecting pent-house roofs supported by squared trunks of
trees which give so patriarchal an air to Northern dwellings. From
beneath them the eye could see the savage nudity of the Falberg, or
compare the infinitude of the open sea with the tiny drop of water in
the foaming fiord; the ear could hear the flowing of the Sieg, whose
white sheet far away looked motionless as it fell into its granite
cup edged for miles around with glaciers,--in short, from this vantage
ground the whole landscape whereon our simple yet superhuman drama was
about to be enacted could be seen and noted.
The winter of 1799-1800 was one of the most severe ever known to
Europeans. The Norwegian sea was frozen in all the fiords, where, as a
usual thing, the violence of the surf kept the ice from forming. A wind,
whose effects were like those of the Spanish levanter, swept the ice of
the Strom-fiord, driving the snow to the upper end of the gulf. Seldom
indeed could the people of Jarvis see the mirror of frozen waters
reflecting the colors of the sky; a wondrous site in the bosom of
these mountains when all other aspects of nature are levelled beneath
successive sheets of snow, and crests and valleys are alike mere
folds of the vast mantle flung by winter across a landscape at once so
mournfully dazzling and so monotonous. The falling volume of the Sieg,
suddenly frozen, formed an immense arcade beneath which the inhabitants
might have crossed under shelter from the blast had any dared to risk
themselves inland. But the dangers of every step away from their own
surroundings kept even the boldest hunters in their homes, afraid lest
the narrow paths along the precipices, the clefts and fissures among the
rocks, might be unrecognizable beneath the snow.
Thus it was that no human creature gave life to the white desert where
Boreas reigned, his voice alone resounding at distant intervals. The
sky, nearly always gray, gave tones of polished steel to the ice of the
fiord. Perchance some ancient eider-duck crossed the expanse, trusting
to the warm down beneath which dream, in other lands, the luxurious
rich, little knowing of the dangers through which their luxury has come
to them. Like the Bedouin of the desert who darts alone across the sands
of Africa, the bird is neither seen nor heard; the torpid atmosphere,
deprived of its electrical conditions, echoes neither the whirr of its
wings nor its joyous notes. Besides, what human eye was strong enough to
bear the glitter of those pinnacles adorned with sparkling crystals, or
the sharp reflections of the snow, iridescent on the summits in the rays
of a pallid sun which infrequently appeared, like a dying man seeking to
make known that he still lives. Often, when the flocks of gray clouds,
driven in squadrons athwart the mountains and among the tree-tops, hid
the sky with their triple veils Earth, lacking the celestial lights, lit
herself by herself.
Here, then, we meet the majesty of Cold, seated eternally at the pole
in that regal silence which is the attribute of all absolute monarchy.
Every extreme principle carries with it an appearance of negation and
the symptoms of death; for is not life the struggle of two forces? Here
in this Northern nature nothing lived. One sole power--the unproductive
power of ice--reigned unchallenged. The roar of the open sea no longer
reached the deaf, dumb inlet, where during one short season of the year
Nature made haste to produce the slender harvests necessary for the food
of the patient people. A few tall pine-trees lifted their black pyramids
garlanded with snow, and the form of their long branches and depending
shoots completed the mourning garments of those solemn heights.
Each household gathered in its chimney-corner, in houses carefully
closed from the outer air, and well supplied with biscuit, melted
butter, dried fish, and other provisions laid in for the seven-months
winter. The very smoke of these dwellings was hardly seen, half-hidden
as they were beneath the snow, against the weight of which they were
protected by long planks reaching from the roof and fastened at some
distance to solid blocks on the ground, forming a covered way around
each building.
During these terrible winter months the women spun and dyed the woollen
stuffs and the linen fabrics with which they clothed their families,
while the men read, or fell into those endless meditations which have
given birth to so many profound theories, to the mystic dreams of the
North, to its beliefs, to its studies (so full and so complete in one
science, at | 1,351.120246 |
2023-11-16 18:39:35.1550090 | 7,436 | 7 |
E-text prepared by Robert Shimmin, Linda Cantoni, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net).
Color title-page images were generously provided by the University of
Pennsylvania Schoenberg Center for Electronic Text & Image
(http://dewey.library.upenn.edu/sceti).
Transcriber's Notes:
This e-book was prepared from a facsimile of the 1661 first
edition and contains spelling, capitalization, and punctuation
inconsistencies typical of the era. These have been preserved
as they appear in the original.
Printer errors have also been preserved. Those mentioned in
the Errata at the end of the book are noted with [Errata:
corrected text]. Other obvious printer errors are noted with
[Transcriber's Note: corrected text] where the meaning might
be unclear without the correction. See also the printer's note
preceding the Errata, which contains material omitted from the
text (the place where it should be inserted is marked in the
text with a Transcriber's Note).
There are a number of sidenotes in this book, most of which
function as footnotes (e.g., citations to other works) and some
of which function as true sidenotes. For the sake of clarity,
sidenotes functioning as footnotes have been converted to
numbered footnotes, with number markers at appropriate places
in the text.
A character with a macron is represented by an equal sign.
E.g., [=a] indicates "a" with macron.
A table of contents has been provided for the reader's
convenience.
THE
SCEPTICAL CHYMIST:
OR
CHYMICO-PHYSICAL
Doubts & Paradoxes,
Touching the
SPAGYRIST'S PRINCIPLES
Commonly call'd
HYPOSTATICAL,
As they are wont to be Propos'd and Defended by the Generality of
ALCHYMISTS.
Whereunto is praemis'd Part of another Discourse relating to the same
Subject.
BY
The Honourable _ROBERT BOYLE_, Esq;
_LONDON,_
Printed by _J. Cadwell_ for _J. Crooke_, and are to be Sold at the
_Ship_ in St. _Paul's_ Church-Yard.
_MDCLXI._
CONTENTS
A Praeface Introductory
Physiological Considerations
The First Part
The Second Part
The Third Part
The Fourth Part
The Fifth Part
The Sixth Part
The Conclusion
Printer's Note
Errata
A
PRAEFACE
INTRODUCTORY
_To the following Treatise._
_To give the Reader an account, Why the following Treatise is suffer'd
to pass abroad so maim'd and imperfect, I must inform him that 'tis
now long since, that to gratify an ingenious Gentleman, I set down
some of the Reasons that kept me from fully acquiescing either in the
Peripatetical, or in the Chymical Doctrine, of the Material Principles
of mixt Bodies. This Discourse some years after falling into the hands
of some Learned men, had the good luck to be so favourably receiv'd,
and advantageously spoken of by them, that having had more then
ordinary Invitations given me to make it publick, I thought fit to
review it, that I might retrench some things that seem'd not so fit to
be shewn to every Reader, And substitute some of those other things
that occurr'd to me of the trials and observations I had since made.
What became of my papers, I elsewhere mention in a Preface where I
complain of it: But since I writ That, I found many sheets that
belong'd to the subjects I am now about to discourse of. Wherefore
seeing that I had then in my hands as much of the first Dialogue as
was requisite to state the Case, and serve for an Introduction as well
to the conference betwixt_ Carneades _and_ Eleutherius, _as to some
other Dialogues, which for certain reasons are not now herewith
publish'd, I resolv'd to supply, as well as I could, the Contents of a
Paper belonging to the second of the following Discourses, which I
could not possibly retrive, though it were the chief of them all. And
having once more try'd the Opinion of Friends, but not of the same,
about this imperfect work, I found it such, that I was content in
complyance with their Desires; that not only it should be publish'd,
but that it should be publish'd as soon as conveniently might be. I
had indeed all along the Dialogues spoken of my self, as of a third
Person; For, they containing Discourses which were among the first
Treatises that I ventur'd long ago to write of matters Philosophical,
I had reason to desire, with the Painter, to_ latere pone tabulam,
_and hear what men would say of them, before I own'd my self to be
their Author. But besides that now I find, 'tis not unknown to many
who it is that writ them, I am made to believe that 'tis not
inexpedient, they should be known to come from a Person not altogether
a stranger to Chymical Affairs. And I made the lesse scruple to let
them come abroad uncompleated, partly, because my affairs and
Prae-ingagements to publish divers other Treatises allow'd me small
hopes of being able in a great while to compleat these Dialogues. And
partly, because I am not unapt to think, that they may come abroad
seasonably enough, though not for the Authors reputation, yet for
other purposes. For I observe, that of late Chymistry begins, as
indeed it deserves, to be cultivated by Learned Men who before
despis'd it; and to be pretended to by many who never cultivated it,
that they may be thought not to ignore it: Whence it is come to passe,
that divers Chymical Notions about Matters Philosophical are taken for
granted and employ'd, and so adopted by very eminent Writers both
Naturalists and Physitians. Now this I fear may prove somewhat
prejudicial to the Advancement of solid Philosophy: For though I am a
great Lover of Chymical Experiments, and though I have no mean esteem
of divers Chymical Remedies, yet I distinguish these from their
Notions about the causes of things, and their manner of Generation.
And for ought I can hitherto discern, there are a thousand_ Phaenomena
_in Nature, besides a Multitude of Accidents relating to the humane
Body, which will scarcely be clearly & satisfactorily made out by them
that confine themselves to deduce things from Salt, Sulphur and
Mercury, and the other Notions peculiar to the Chymists, without
taking much more Notice than they are wont to do, of the Motions and
Figures, of the small Parts of Matter, and the other more Catholick
and Fruitful affections of Bodies. Wherefore it will not perhaps be
now unseasonable to let our_ Carneades _warne Men, not to subscribe to
the grand Doctrine of the Chymists touching their three Hypostatical
Principles, till they have a little examin'd it, and consider'd, how
they can clear it from his Objections, divers of which 'tis like they
may never have thought on; since a Chymist scarce would, and none but
a Chymist could propose them. I hope also it will not be unacceptable
to several Ingenious Persons, who are unwilling to determine of any
important Controversie, without a previous consideration of what may
be said on both sides, and yet have greater desires to understand
Chymical Matters, than Opportunities of learning them, to find here
together, besides several Experiments of my own purposely made to
Illustrate the Doctrine of the Elements, divers others scarce to be
met with, otherwise then Scatter'd among many Chymical Books. And to
Find these Associated Experiments so Deliver'd as that an Ordinary
Reader, if he be but Acquainted with the usuall Chymical Termes, may
easily enough Understand Them; and even a wary One may safely rely on
Them. These Things I add, because a Person any Thing vers'd in the
Writings of Chymists cannot but Discern by their obscure, Ambiguous,
and almost AEnigmatical Way of expressing what they pretend to Teach,
that they have no Mind, to be understood at all, but by_ the Sons of
Art _(as they call them) nor to be Understood even by these without
Difficulty And Hazardous Tryalls. Insomuch that some of Them Scarce
ever speak so candidly, as when they make use of that known Chymical
Sentence;_ Ubi palam locuti fumus, ibi nihil diximus. _And as the
obscurity of what some Writers deliver makes it very difficult to be
understood; so the Unfaithfulness of too many others makes it unfit to
be reli'd on. For though unwillingly, Yet I must for the truths sake,
and the Readers, warne him not to be forward to believe Chymical
Experiments when they are set down only by way of Prescriptions, and
not of Relations; that is, unless he that delivers them mentions his
doing it upon his own particular knowledge, or upon the Relation of
some credible person, avowing it upon his own experience. For I am
troubled, I must complain, that even Eminent Writers, both Physitians
and Philosophers, whom I can easily name, if it be requir'd, have of
late suffer'd themselves to be so far impos'd upon, as to Publish and
Build upon Chymical Experiments, which questionless they never try'd;
for if they had, they would, as well as I, have found them not to be
true. And indeed it were to be wish'd, that now that those begin to
quote Chymical Experiments that are not themselves Acquainted with
Chymical Operations, men would Leave off that Indefinite Way of
Vouching the Chymists say this, or the Chymists affirme that, and
would rather for each Experiment they alledge name the Author or
Authors, upon whose credit they relate it; For, by this means they
would secure themselves from the suspition of falshood (to which the
other Practice Exposes them) and they would Leave the Reader to Judge
of what is fit for him to Believe of what is Deliver'd, whilst they
employ not their own great names to Countenance doubtfull Relations;
and they will also do Justice to the Inventors or Publishers of true
Experiments, as well as upon the Obtruders of false ones. Whereas by
that general Way of quoting the Chymists, the candid Writer is
Defrauded of the particular Praise, and the Impostor escapes the
Personal Disgrace that is due to him._
_The remaining Part of this Praeface must be imploy'd in saying
something for_ Carneades, _and something for my Self._
_And first_, Carneades _hopes that he will be thought to have disputed
civilly and Modestly enough for one that was to play the Antagonist
and the Sceptick. And if he any where seem to sleight his Adversaries
Tenents and Arguments, he is willing to have it look'd upon as what he
was induc'd to, not so much by his Opinion of them, as the Examples
of_ Themistius _and_ Philoponus, _and the custom of such kind of
Disputes._
_Next, In case that some of his Arguments shall not be thought of the
most Cogent sort that may be, he hopes it will be consider'd that it
ought not to be Expected, that they should be So. For, his Part being
chiefly but to propose Doubts and Scruples, he does enough, if he
shews that his Adversaries Arguments are not strongly Concluding,
though his own be not so neither. And if there should appear any
disagreement betwixt the things he delivers in divers passages, he
hopes it will be consider'd, that it is not necessary that all the
things a Sceptick Proposes, should be consonant; since it being his
work to Suggest doubts against the Opinion he questions, it is
allowable for him to propose two or more severall_ Hypotheses _about
the same thing: And to say that it may be accounted for this way, or
that way, or the other Way, though these wayes be perhaps inconsistent
among Themselves. Because it is enough for him, if either of the
proposed_ Hypotheses _be but as probable as that he calls a question.
And if he proposes many that are Each of them probable, he does the
more satisfie his doubts, by making it appear the more difficult to be
sure, that that which they alwayes differ from is the true. And our_
Carneades _by holding the Negative, he has this Advantage, that if
among all the Instances he brings to invalidate all the Vulgar
Doctrine of those he Disputes with, any one be Irrefragable, that
alone is sufficient to overthrow a Doctrine which Universally asserts
what he opposes. For, it cannot be true, that all Bodies whatsoever
that are reckon'd among the Perfectly mixt Ones, are Compounded of
such a Determinate Number of such or such Ingredients, in case any one
such Body can be produc'd, that is not so compounded; and he hopes
too, that Accurateness will be the less expected from him, because his
undertaking obliges him to maintain such Opinions in Chymistry, and
that chiefly by Chymical Arguments, as are Contrary to the very
Principles of the Chymists; From whose writings it is not Therefore
like he should receive any intentionall Assistance, except from some
Passages of the Bold and Ingenious_ Helmont, _with whom he yet
disagrees in many things (which reduce him to explicate Divers
Chymical_ Phaenomena, _according to other Notions;) And of whose
Ratiocinations, not only some seem very Extravagant, but even the Rest
are not wont to be as considerable as his Experiments. And though it
be True indeed, that some_ Aristotelians _have occasionally written
against the Chymical Doctrine he Oppugnes, yet since they have done it
according to their Principles, And since our_ Carneades _must as well
oppose their_ Hypothesis _as that of the Spagyrist, he was fain to
fight his Adversaries with their own Weapons, Those of the
Peripatetick being Improper, if not hurtfull for a Person of his
Tenents; besides that those_ Aristotelians, _(at Least, those he met
with,) that have written against the Chymists, seem to have had so
little Experimental Knowledge in Chymical Matters, that by their
frequent Mistakes and unskilfull Way of Oppugning, they have too often
expos'd Themselves to the Derision of their Adversaries, for writing
so Confidently against what they appear so little to understand._
_And Lastly_, Carneades _hopes, he shall doe the Ingenious this Piece
of service, that by having Thus drawn the Chymists Doctrine out of
their Dark and Smoakie Laboratories, and both brought it into the open
light, and shewn the weakness of their Proofs, that have hitherto
been wont to be brought for it, either Judicious Men shall henceforth
be allowed calmly and after due information to disbelieve it, or those
abler Chymists, that are zealous for the reputation of it, will be
oblig'd to speak plainer then hitherto has been done, and maintain it
by better Experiments and Arguments then Those_ Carneades _hath
examin'd: so That he hopes, the Curious will one Way or other Derive
either satisfaction or instruction from his endeavours. And as he is
ready to make good the profession he makes in the close of his
Discourse, he being ready to be better inform'd, so he expects either
to be indeed inform'd, or to be let alone. For Though if any Truly
knowing Chymists shall Think fit in a civil and rational way to shew
him any truth touching the matter in Dispute That he yet discernes
not,_ Carneades _will not refuse either to admit, or to own a
Conviction: yet if any impertinent Person shall, either to get Himself
a Name, or for what other end soever, wilfully or carelesly mistake
the State of the Controversie, or the sence of his Arguments, or shall
rail instead of arguing, as hath been done of Late in Print by divers
Chymists;_[1] _or lastly, shall write against them in a canting way; I
mean, shall express himself in ambiguous or obscure termes, or argue
from experiments not intelligibly enough Deliver'd_, Carneades
_professes, That he values his time so much, as not to think the
answering such Trifles worth the loss of it._
[Footnote 1: G. and F. and H. and others, in their books against one
another.]
_And now having said thus much for_ Carneades, _I hope the Reader will
give me leave to say something too for my self._
_And first, if some morose Readers shall find fault with my having
made the Interlocutors upon occasion complement with one another, and
that I have almost all along written these Dialogues in a stile more
Fashionable then That of meer scholars is wont to be, I hope I shall
be excus'd by them that shall consider, that to keep a due_ decorum
_in the Discourses, it was fit that in a book written by a Gentleman,
and wherein only Gentlemen are introduc'd as speakers, the Language
should be more smooth, and the Expressions more civil than is usual in
the more Scholastick way of writing. And indeed, I am not sorry to
have this Opportunity of giving an example how to manage even Disputes
with Civility; whence perhaps some Readers will be assisted to discern
a Difference betwixt Bluntness of speech and Strength of reason, and
find that a man may be a Champion for Truth, without being an Enemy to
Civility; and may confute an Opinion without railing at Them that hold
it; To whom he that desires to convince and not to provoke them, must
make some amends by his Civility to their Persons, for his severity
to their mistakes; and must say as little else as he can, to displease
them, when he says that they are in an error._
_But perhaps other Readers will be less apt to find fault with the
Civility of my Disputants, than the Chymists will be, upon the reading
of some Passages of the following Dialogue, to accuse_ Carneades _of
Asperity. But if I have made my Sceptick sometimes speak sleightingly
of the Opinions he opposes, I hope it will not be found that I have
done any more, than became the Part he was to act of an Opponent:
Especially, if what I have made him say be compar'd with what the
Prince of the Romane Orators himself makes both great Persons and
Friends say of one anothers Opinions, in his excellent Dialogues,_ De
Natura Deorum: _And I shall scarce be suspected of Partiality, in the
case, by them that take Notice that there is full as much (if not far
more) liberty of sleighting their Adversaries Tenents to be met with
in the Discourses of those with whom_ Carneades _disputes. Nor needed
I make the Interlocutors speak otherwise then freely in a Dialogue,
wherein it was sufficiently intimated, that I meant not to declare my
own Opinion of the Arguments propos'd, much lesse of the whole
Controversy it self otherwise than as it may by an attentive Reader be
guess'd at by some Passages of_ Carneades: _(I say, some Passages,
because I make not all that he says, especially in the heat of
Disputation, mine,) partly in this Discourse, and partly in some other
Dialogues betwixt the same speakers (though they treat not immediately
of the Elements) which have long layn by me, and expect the
Entertainment that these present Discourses will meet with. And indeed
they will much mistake me, that shall conclude from what I now
publish, that I am at Defyance with Chymistry, or would make my
Readers so. I hope the_ Specimina _I have lately publish'd of an
attempt to shew the usefulness of Chymical Experiments to
Contemplative Philosophers, will give those that shall read them other
thoughts of me: & I had a design (but wanted opportunity) to publish
with these Papers an Essay I have lying by me, the greater part of
which is Apologetical for one sort of Chymists. And at least, as for
those that know me, I hope the pain I have taken in the fire will both
convince them, that I am far from being an Enemy to the Chymists Art,
(though I am no friend to many that disgrace it by professing it,) and
perswade them to believe me when I declare that I distinguish betwixt
those Chymists that are either Cheats, or but Laborants, and the true_
Adepti; _By whom, could I enjoy their Conversation, I would both
willingly and thankfully be instructed; especially concerning the
Nature and Generation of Metals: And possibly, those that know how
little I have remitted of my former addictedness to make Chymical
Experiments, will easily believe, that one of the chief Designes of
this Sceptical Discourse was, not so much to discredit Chymistry, as
to give an occasion and a kind of necessity to the more knowing
Artists to lay aside a little of their over-great Reservedness, &
either explicate or prove the Chymical Theory better than ordinary
Chymists have done, or by enriching us with some of their nobler
secrets to evince that Their art is able to make amends even for the
deficiencies of their Theory: And thus much I shall here make bold to
add, that we shall much undervalue Chymistry, if we imagine, that it
cannot teach us things farr more useful, not only to Physick but to
Philosophy, than those that are hitherto known to vulgar Chymists. And
yet as for inferiour Spagyrists themselves, they have by their labours
deserv'd so well of the Common-wealth of Learning, that methinks 'tis
Pity they should ever misse the Truth which they have so industriously
sought. And though I be no Admirer of the Theorical Part of their Art,
yet my conjectures will much deceive me, if the Practical Part be not
much more cultivated than hitherto it has been, and do not both employ
Philosophy and Philosophers, and help to make men such. Nor would I
that have been diverted by other Studies as well as affairs, be
thought to pretend being a profound Spagyrist, by finding so many
faults in the Doctrine wherein the Generality of Chymists scruples not
to Acquiesce: For besides that 'tis most commonly far easier to frame
Objections against any propos'd_ Hypothesis, _than to propose an_
Hypothesis _not lyable to Objections (besides this I say) 'tis no such
great matter, if whereas Beginners in Chymistry are commonly at once
imbu'd with the Theory and Operations of their profession, I who had
the good Fortune to Learn the Operations from illiterate Persons,
upon whose credit I was not Tempted to take up any opinion about them,
should consider things with lesse prejudice, and consequently with
other Eyes than the Generality of Learners; And should be more
dispos'd to accommodate the_ Phaenomena _that occur'd to me to other
Notions than to those of the Spagyrists. And having at first
entertain'd a suspition That the Vulgar Principles were lesse General
and comprehensive, or lesse considerately Deduc'd from Chymical
Operations, than was believ'd; it was not uneasie for me both to Take
notice of divers_ Phaenomena, _overlook'd by prepossest Persons, that
seem'd not to suite so well with the_ Hermetical _Doctrine; and, to
devise some Experiments likely to furnish me with Objections against
it, not known to many, that having practis'd Chymistry longer
perchance then I have yet liv'd, may have far more Experience, Than I,
of particular processes._
_To conclude, whether the Notions I have propos'd, and the Experiments
I have communicated, be considerable, or not, I willingly leave others
to Judge; and This only I shall say for my Self, That I have
endeavour'd to deliver matters of Fact, so faithfully, that I may as
well assist the lesse skilful Readers to examine the Chymical_
Hypothesis, _as provoke the Spagyrical Philosophers to illustrate it:
which if they do, and that either the Chymical opinion, or the
Peripatetick, or any other Theory of the Elements differing from that
I am most inclin'd to, shall be intelligibly explicated, and duly
prov'd to me; what I have hitherto discours'd will not hinder it from
making a Proselyte of a Person that Loves Fluctuation of Judgment
little enough to be willing to be eas'd of it by any thing but
Error._
PHYSIOLOGICAL
CONSIDERATIONS
Touching
_The experiments wont to be employed to evince either the IV
Peripatetick Elements, or the III Chymical Principles of Mixt Bodies._
Part of the First Dialogue.
I Perceive that divers of my Friends have thought it very strange to
hear me speak so irresolvedly, as I have been wont to do, concerning
those things which some take to be the Elements, and others to be the
Principles of all mixt Bodies. But I blush not to acknowledge that I
much lesse scruple to confess that I Doubt, when I do so, then to
profess that I Know what I do not: And I should have much stronger
Expectations then I dare yet entertain, to see Philosophy solidly
establish't, if men would more carefully distinguish those things that
they know, from those that they ignore or do but think, and then
explicate clearly the things they conceive they understand,
acknowledge ingenuously what it is they ignore, and profess so
candidly their Doubts, that the industry of intelligent persons might
be set on work to make further enquiries, and the easiness of less
discerning Men might not be impos'd on. But because a more particular
accompt will probably be expected of my unsatisfyedness not only with
the Peripatetick, but with the Chymical Doctrine of the Primitive
Ingredients of Bodies: It may possibly serve to satisfy others of the
excusableness of my disatisfaction to peruse the ensuing Relation of
what passed a while since at a meeting of persons of several opinions,
in a place that need not here be named; where the subject whereof we
have been speaking, was amply and variously discours'd of.
It was on one of the fairest dayes of this Summer that the inquisitive
_Eleutherius_ came to invite me to make a visit with him to his friend
_Carneades_. I readily consented to this motion, telling him that if
he would but permit me to go first and make an excuse at a place not
far off, where I had at that hour appointed to meet, but not about a
business either of moment, or that could not well admit of a delay, I
would presently wait on him, because of my knowing _Carneades_ to be
so conversant with nature and with Furnaces, and so unconfin'd to
vulgar Opinions, that he would probably by some ingenious Paradox or
other, give our mindes at least a pleasing Exercise, and perhaps
enrich them with some solid instruction. _Eleutherius_ then first
going with me to the place where my Apology was to be made, I
accompanied him to the lodging of _Carneades_, where when we were
come, we were told by the Servants, that he was retired with a couple
of Friends (whose names they also told us) to one of the Arbours in
his Garden, to enjoy under its coole shades a delightful protection
from the yet troublesome heat of the Sun.
_Eleutherius_ being perfectly acquainted with that Garden immediately
led me to the Arbour, and relying on the intimate familiarity that had
been long cherish'd betwixt him and _Carneades_; in spight of my
Reluctancy to what might look like an intrusion upon his privacy,
drawing me by the hand, he abruptly entered the Arbour, where we found
_Carneades_, _Philoponus_, and _Themistius_, sitting close about a
little round Table, on which besides paper, pen, and inke, there lay
two or three open Books; _Carneades_ appeared not at all troubled at
this surprise, but rising from the Table, received his Friend with
open looks and armes, and welcoming me also with his wonted freedom
and civility, invited us to rest our selves by him, which, as soon as
we had exchanged with his two Friends (who were ours also) the
civilities accustomed on such occasions, we did. And he presently
after we had seated our selves, shutting the Books that lay open, and
turning to us with a smiling countenance seemed ready to begin some
such unconcerning discourse as is wont to pass or rather waste the
time in promiscuous companies.
But _Eleutherius_ guessing at what he meant to do, prevented him by
telling him, I perceive _Carneades_ by the books that you have been
now shutting, and much more by the posture wherein I found Persons
qualifi'd [Errata: so qualify'd] to discourse of serious matters; and
so accustom'd to do it, that you three were before our coming, engag'd
in some Philosophical conference, which I hope you will either
prosecute, and allow us to be partakers of, in recompence of the
freedome we have us'd in presuming to surprise you, or else give us
leave to repair the injury we should otherwise do you, by leaving you
to the freedom we have interrupted, and punishing our selves for our
boldness by depriving our selves of the happiness of your company.
With these last words he and I rose up, as if we meant to be gone, But
_Carneades_ suddenly laying hold on his arme, and stopping him by it,
smileingly told him, We are not so forward to lose good company as you
seem to imagine; especially since you are pleas'd to desire to be
present at what we shall say, about such a Subject as that You found
us considering. For that, being the number of the Elements,
Principles, or Materiall Ingredients of Bodies, is an enquiry whose
truth is of that Importance, and of that Difficulty, that it may as
well deserve as require to be searched into by such skilfull
Indagators of Nature as your selves. And therefore we sent to invite
the bold and acute _Leucippus_ to lend us some light by his Atomical
Paradox, upon which we expected such pregnant hints, that 'twas not
without a great deal of trouble that we had lately word brought us
that he was not to be found; and we had likewise begg'd the Assistance
of your presence and thoughts, had not the messenger we employ'd to
_Leucippus_ inform'd us, that as he was going, he saw you both pass by
towards another part of the Town; And this frustrated expectation of
_Leucippus_ his company, who told me but last night that he would be
ready to give me a meeting where I pleas'd to day, having very long
suspended our conference about the freshly mention'd Subject, it was
so newly begun when you came in, that we shall scarce need to repeat
any thing to acquaint you with what has pass'd betwixt us before your
arrival, so that I cannot but look upon it as a fortunate Accident
that you should come so seasonably, to be not hearers alone, but we
hope Interlocutors at our conference. For we shall not only allow of
your presence at it, but desire your Assistance in it; which I adde
both for other reasons, and because though these learned Gentlemen
(sayes he, turning to his two friends) need not fear to discourse
before any Auditory, provided it be intelligent enough to understand
them, yet for my part (continues he with a new smile,) I shall not
dare to vent my unpremeditated thoughts before two such Criticks,
unless by promising to take your turnes of speaking, You will allow me
mine of quarrelling, with what has been said. He and his friends added
divers things to convince us that they were | 1,351.175049 |
2023-11-16 18:39:35.5295730 | 2,530 | 8 |
E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Louise Pryor, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Transcriber's note:
Spelling is inconsistent and has been neither modernised nor
corrected.
In the original, footnotes are marked with lower case letters,
numbers, or asterisks. In this transcription, the asterisks
have been replaced by the number of the page on which the
footnote appears.
Contractions (such as atq; for atque) have not been expanded.
THE
Natural HISTORY
OF
CHOCOLATE:
BEING
A Distinct and Particular Account of the COCOA-TREE, its Growth and
Culture, and the Preparation, Excellent Properties, and Medicinal
Vertues of its Fruit.
Wherein the Errors of those who have wrote upon this Subject are
discover'd; the Best Way of Making CHOCOLATE is explain'd; and
several Uncommon MEDICINES drawn from it, are communicated.
_Translated from the last EDITION of the _French_,
_By_ R. BROOKES, M. D._
The SECOND EDITION.
_LONDON:_
Printed for J. ROBERTS, near the _Oxford-Arms_ in _Warwick-Lane_.
M DCC.XXX.
PREFACE
If the Merit of a Natural History depends upon the Truth of the Facts
which are brought to support it, then an unprejudiced Eye-Witness is
more proper to write it, than any other Person; and I dare even flatter
myself, that this will not be disagreeable to the Publick
notwithstanding its Resemblance to the particular Treatises of
_Colmenero_[1], _Dufour_[2], and several others who have wrote upon the
same Subject. Upon examination, so great a Difference will appear, that
no one can justly accuse me of having borrow'd any thing from these
Writers.
This small Treatise is nothing but the Substance and Result of the
Observations that I made in the _American Islands_, during the fifteen
Years which I was obliged to stay there, upon the account of his
Majesty's Service. The great Trade they drive there in _Chocolate_,
excited my Curiosity to examine more strictly than ordinary into its
Origin, Culture, Properties, and Uses. I was not a little surprized when
I every day discover'd, as to the Nature of the Plant, and the Customs
of the Country, a great Number of Facts contrary to the Ideas, and
Prejudices, for which the Writers on this Subject have given room.
For this reason, I resolved to examine every thing myself, and to
represent nothing but as it really was in Nature, to advance nothing but
what I had experienced, and even to doubt of the Experiments themselves,
till I had repeated them with the utmost Exactness. Without these
Precautions, there can be no great Dependance on the greatest Part of
the Facts, which are produced by those who write upon any Historical
Matter from Memorandums; which, from the Nature of the Subject, they
cannot fully comprehend.
As for my Reasonings upon the Nature, Vertues, and Uses of Chocolate,
perhaps they may be suspected by some People, because they relate to an
Art which I do not profess; but let that be as it will, the Facts upon
which they are founded are certain, and every one is at liberty to make
what other Inferences they like best.
As there are several Names of Plants, and Terms of Art used in those
Countries, which I have been obliged to make use of, and which it was
necessary to explain somewhat at large, that they might be rightly
understood; rather than make frequent Digressions, and interrupt the
Discourse, I have thought fit to number these Terms, and to explain them
at the End of this Treatise: the Reader must therefore look forward for
those Remarks under their particular Numbers.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] De Chocolata Inda.
[2] Du The, du Caffe, & du Chocolat.
THE TABLE.
The First PART.
Chap. I. The Description of the _Cocao-Tree_. Pag. 2
Chap. II. Of the Choice and Disposition of the Place
to plant a Nursery. 10
Chap. III. Of the Method of Planting a Nursery, and of
its Cultivation, till the Fruit comes to Maturity. 16
Chap. IV. Of the gathering the _Cocao-Nuts_, and of the
Manner of making the Kernels sweat; and also of drying
them that they may be transported into _Europe_. 24
The Second PART.
Of the Properties of Chocolate. 38
Chap. I. Of the old Prejudices against Chocolate. 39
Chap. II. Of the real Properties of Chocolate. 44
Sect. I. Chocolate is very Temperate. 45
Sect. II. Chocolate is very nourishing, and of easy Digestion. 47
Sect. III. Chocolate speedily repairs the dissipated Spirits
and decayed Strength. 51
Sect. IV. Chocolate is very proper to preserve Health, and
to prolong the Life of old Men. 56
The Third PART.
Of the Uses of Chocolate. 60
Chap. I. Of Chocolate in Confections. 61
Chap. II. Of Chocolate properly so called. 62
Sect. I. Of the Origin of Chocolate, and the different
Methods of preparing it. 63
The Method of preparing Chocolate used in the _French_
Islands of _America_. 67
Sect. II. Of the Uses that may be made of Chocolate, with
relation to Medicine. 70
Chap. III. Of the Oil or Butter of Chocolate. 74
Remarks upon some Places of this Treatise. 80
Medicines in whose Composition Oil, or Butter of Chocolate,
is made use of. 91
The wonderful Plaister for the curing of all Kinds of Ulcers. ibid.
An excellent Pomatum for the Cure of Tettars, Ringworms,
Pimples, and other Deformities of the Skin. 94
* * * * *
The APPROBATION of Monsieur _Andry_, Counsellor, Lecturer, and Regal
Professor, Doctor, Regent of the Faculty of Medicine at _Paris_, and
Censor Royal of Books.
I Have read, by order of the Lord Keeper of the Seals, this _Natural
History of Chocolate_, and I judge that the Impression will be very
necessary and useful for the Publick. Given at _Paris_ this 5th of
_April, 1719_.
THE
Natural HISTORY
OF
CHOCOLATE.
Of the Division of this Treatise.
I Shall divide this Treatise on Chocolate into three Parts: In the
_First_, after I have given a Description of the _Cocao Tree_, I shall
explain how it is cultivated, and give an Account how its Fruit is
prepared: In the _Second_, I shall speak of the Properties of
_Chocolate_; and in the _Third_, of its Uses.
PART I.
CHAP. I.
The Description of the _Cocao-Tree_.
The _Cocao-Tree_ is moderately tall and thick, and either thrives, or
not, according to the Quality of the Soil wherein it grows: Upon the
Coast of _Caraqua_, for instance, it grows considerably larger than in
the Islands belonging to the _French_.
Its _Wood_ is porous, and very light; the _Bark_ is pretty firm, and of
the Colour of _Cinnamon_, more or less dark, according to the Age of the
Tree. The _Leaves_ are about nine Inches long, and four in breadth,
where they are broadest; for they grow less towards the two Extremities,
where they terminate in a point: their Colour is a little darkish, but
more bright above than underneath; they are joined to Stalks three
Inches long, and the tenth part of an Inch broad. This Stalk, as it
enters the Leaf, makes a strait Rib, a little raised along the Middle,
which grows proportionably less the nearer it comes to the End. From
each side of this Rib proceed thirteen or fourteen crooked Threads
alternately.
As these Leaves only fall off successively, and in proportion as others
grow again, this Tree never appears naked: It is always flourishing, but
more especially so towards the two _Solstices_, than in the other
Seasons.
The _Blossoms_, which are regular and like a Rose, but very small, and
without smell, proceed from the Places from which the old Leaves fall,
as it were in Bunches. A large Quantity of these fall off, for hardly
Ten of a Thousand come to good, insomuch that the Earth underneath seems
cover'd over with them.
Every _Blossom_ is joined to the Tree by a slender Stalk half an Inch or
a little more in length; when it is yet in the Bud, it is one Fifth of
an Inch broad, and about one fourth or a little more in length: when it
was least, in proportion to the Tree and the Fruit, the more strange it
appeared to me, and more worthy of Attention[a].
When the Buds begin to blow, one may consider the _Calix_, the
_Foliage_, and the Heart of the Blossom. The _Calix_ is formed of the
Cover of the Bud, divided into five Parts, or Leaves, of a very pale
flesh-colour. These are succeeded by the five true Leaves of the same
Colour, which fill up the empty Spaces or Partitions of the _Calix_.
These Leaves have two Parts, the undermost of which is like an oblong
Cup, striped with Purple; on the inside, it bends towards the Center by
the help of a _Stamen_, which serves to fasten it; from this proceeds
outwardly, the other Part of the Leaf, which seems to be separate from
it, and is formed like the End of a Pike.
The Heart is composed of five Threads and five _Stamina_, with the
_Pistilla_ in the middle. The Threads are strait, and of a purple
Colour, and placed over-against the Intervals of the Leaves. The
_Stamina_ are white, and bend outwardly with a kind of a Button on the
top, which insinuates itself into the middle of each Leaf to sustain
itself.
When one looks at these small Objects through a Microscope, one is ready
to say, That the Point of the Threads is like Silver, and that the
_Stamina_ are Chrystal; as well as the _Pistilla_, which Nature seems to
have placed in the Center, either to be the _Primitiae_ of the young
Fruit, or to serve to defend it, if it be true that this Embryo unfolds
itself, and is produced in no other place but the Base.
For want of observing these small Parts, as well as the Bulk of the
Blossom, _F. Plumier_ had no distinct Knowledge of them, nor has he
exactly design'd them, any more than _Mons. Tournefort_, who has done
them after his Draught[b].
The _Cocao- | 1,351.549613 |
2023-11-16 18:39:35.6313010 | 1,918 | 58 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Vittoria by George Meredith, v6
#46 in our series by George Meredith
Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the
copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other
Project Gutenberg file.
We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your
own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future
readers. Please do not remove this.
This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to
view the etext. Do not change or edit it without written permission.
The words are carefully chosen to provide users with the
information they need to understand what they may and may not
do with the etext.
**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts**
**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971**
*****These Etexts Are Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get etexts, and
further information, is included below. We need your donations.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a 501(c)(3)
organization with EIN [Employee Identification Number] 64-6221541
Title: Vittoria, v6
Author: George Meredith
Release Date: September, 2003 [Etext #4440]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on January 24, 2002]
Edition: 10
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
The Project Gutenberg Etext of Vittoria by George Meredith, v6
*****This file should be named 4440.txt or 4440.zip*****
This etext was produced by David Widger <[email protected]>
Project Gutenberg Etexts are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we usually do not
keep etexts in compliance with any particular paper edition.
We are now trying to release all our etexts one year in advance
of the official release dates, leaving time for better editing.
Please be encouraged to tell us about any error or corrections,
even years after the official publication date.
Please note neither this listing nor its contents are final til
midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement.
The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at
Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A
preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment
and editing by those who wish to do so.
Most people start at our sites at:
http://gutenberg.net or
http://promo.net/pg
These Web sites include award-winning information about Project
Gutenberg, including how to donate, how to help produce our new
etexts, and how to subscribe to our email newsletter (free!).
Those of you who want to download any Etext before announcement
can get to them as follows, and just download by date. This is
also a good way to get them instantly upon announcement, as the
indexes our cataloguers produce obviously take a while after an
announcement goes out in the Project Gutenberg Newsletter.
http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/etext03 or
ftp://ftp.ibiblio.org/pub/docs/books/gutenberg/etext03
Or /etext02, 01, 00, 99, 98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90
Just search by the first five letters of the filename you want,
as it appears in our Newsletters.
Information about Project Gutenberg (one page)
We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The
time it takes us, a rather conservative estimate, is fifty hours
to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright
searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. Our
projected audience is one hundred million readers. If the value
per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2
million dollars per hour in 2001 as we release over 50 new Etext
files per month, or 500 more Etexts in 2000 for a total of 4000+
If they reach just 1-2% of the world's population then the total
should reach over 300 billion Etexts given away by year's end.
The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext
Files by December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000 = 1 Trillion]
This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers,
which is only about 4% of the present number of computer users.
At our revised rates of production, we will reach only one-third
of that goal by the end of 2001, or about 4,000 Etexts. We need
funding, as well as continued efforts by volunteers, to maintain
or increase our production and reach our goals.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been created
to secure a future for Project Gutenberg into the next millennium.
We need your donations more than ever!
As of November, 2001, contributions are being solicited from people
and organizations in: Alabama, Arkansas, Connecticut, Delaware,
Florida, Georgia, Idaho, Illinois, Indiana, Iowa, Kansas, Kentucky,
Louisiana, Maine, Michigan, Missouri, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New
Hampshire, New Jersey, New Mexico, New York, North Carolina, Oklahoma,
Oregon, Pennsylvania, Rhode Island, South Carolina, South Dakota,
Tennessee, Texas, Utah, Vermont, Virginia, Washington, West Virginia,
Wisconsin, and Wyoming.
We have filed in about 45 states now, but these are the only ones
that have responded.
As the requirements for other states are met, additions to this list
will be made and fund raising will begin in the additional states.
Please feel free to ask to check the status of your state.
In answer to various questions we have received on this:
We are constantly working on finishing the paperwork to legally
request donations in all 50 states. If your state is not listed and
you would like to know if we have added it since the list you have,
just ask.
While we cannot solicit donations from people in states where we are
not yet registered, we know of no prohibition against accepting
donations from donors in these states who approach us with an offer to
donate.
International donations are accepted, but we don't know ANYTHING about
how to make them tax-deductible, or even if they CAN be made
deductible, and don't have the staff to handle it even if there are
ways.
All donations should be made to:
Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
PMB 113
1739 University Ave.
Oxford, MS 38655-4109
Contact us if you want to arrange for a wire transfer or payment
method other than by check or money order.
The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation has been approved by
the US Internal Revenue Service as a 501(c)(3) organization with EIN
[Employee Identification Number] 64-622154. Donations are
tax-deductible to the maximum extent permitted by law. As fundraising
requirements for other states are met, additions to this list will be
made and fundraising will begin in the additional states.
We need your donations more than ever!
You can get up to date donation information at:
http://www.gutenberg.net/donation.html
***
If you can't reach Project Gutenberg,
you can always email directly to:
Michael S. Hart <[email protected]>
Prof. Hart will answer or forward your message.
We would prefer to send you information by email.
**The Legal Small Print**
(Three Pages)
***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START***
Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers.
They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with
your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from
someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our
fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement
disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how
you may distribute copies of this etext if you want to.
*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT
By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept
this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive
a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by
sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person
you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical
medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request.
ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS
| 1,351.651341 |
2023-11-16 18:39:35.9504140 | 638 | 12 |
Produced by David Edwards, Lesley Halamek 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 NURSERY RHYMES OF ENGLAND.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE NURSERY RHYMES OF ENGLAND:
Collected by
JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL.
THE NURSERY RHYMES
OF
ENGLAND.
BY JAMES ORCHARD HALLIWELL.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. B. SCOTT.
[Illustration]
LONDON AND NEW YORK: FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
1886.
[Illustration]
PREFACE
TO THE
FIFTH EDITION.
The great encouragement which has been given by the public to the
previous editions of this little work, satisfactorily proves that,
notwithstanding the extension of serious education to all but the very
earliest periods of life, there still exists an undying love for the
popular remnants of the ancient Scandinavian nursery literature.
The infants and children of the nineteenth century have not, then,
deserted the rhymes chanted so many ages since by the mothers of the
North. This is a "great nursery fact"--a proof that there is contained
in some of these traditional nonsense-rhymes a meaning and a romance,
possibly intelligible only to very young minds, that exercise an
influence on the fancy of children. It is obvious there must exist
something of this kind; for no modern compositions are found to supply
altogether the place of the ancient doggerel.
The nursery rhyme is the novel and light reading of the infant
scholar. It occupies, with respect to the A B C, the position of a
romance which relieves the mind from the cares of a riper age.
The absurdity and frivolity of a rhyme may naturally be its chief
attractions to the very young; and there will be something lost from
the imagination of that child, whose parents insist so much on matters
of fact, that the "cow" must be made, in compliance with the rules
of their educational code, to jump "_under_" instead of "_over_ the
moon;" while of course the little dog must be considered as "barking,"
not "laughing" at the circumstance.
These, or any such objections,--for it seems there are others of
about equal weight,--are, it appears to me, more silly than the worst
nursery rhyme the little readers will meet with in the following
pages. I am quite willing to leave the question to their decision,
feeling assured the catering for them has not been in vain, and
that these cullings from the high-ways and bye-ways--they have been
collected from nearly every county in England--will be to them real
flowers, | 1,351.970454 |
2023-11-16 18:39:36.1255080 | 352 | 31 |
Transcribed from the 1845 Thomas Nelson “Works of the Puritan Divines
(Bunyan)” edition by David Price, email [email protected]
[Picture: Bunyan’s cottage at Elstow]
MISCELLANEOUS PIECES
CONTENTS
Page
Of the Trinity and a Christian 245
Of the Law and a Christian 251
Bunyan’s Last Sermon 257
Bunyan’s Dying Sayings 267
OF THE
TRINITY AND A CHRISTIAN.
_How a young or shaken Christian should demean himself under the weighty
thoughts of the Doctrine of the Trinity or Plurality of Persons in the
eternal Godhead_.
THE reason why I say a _young_ or _shaken_ Christian, is, because some
that are not young, but of an ancient standing, may not only be assaulted
with violent temptations concerning gospel-principles, but a second time
may become a child, a babe, a shallow man, in the things of God:
especially, either when by backsliding he hath provoked God to leave him,
or when some new, unexpected, and (as to present strength) over weighty
objection doth fall upon the spirit, by means of which great shakings of
mind do commonly attend such a soul in the most weighty matters of the
concerns of faith, of which this is one that I have supposed in the
above-mentioned question: Wherefore passing other things, I will come
directly to that, and briefly propose some helps to a soul in such a
case.
| 1,352.145548 |
2023-11-16 18:39:36.3710180 | 456 | 72 |
Produced by Lesley Halamek, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOLUME 98, JUNE 14TH 1890
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
[Illustration: MAXIMS FOR THE BAR. No. VI.
"Never miss a chance of ingratiating yourself with the Jury, even at
the expense of the Judge." (An opportunity often occurs after Lunch.)]
* * * * *
"GOOD OLD GRACE!"
(_Doggerel on "The Doctor," by an "Old Duffer."_)
"Dr. GRACE, who seemed to forget his lameness, played with
great vigour and dash, and his cuts and drives possessed all
their old brilliancy."--_The Times, on the exciting finish in
the Cricket Match between the M.C.C. and the Australians, June
3, 1890._
One hundred and eleven runs, and eighty-five minutes to make 'em in,
And with TURNER and FERRIS to trundle as fast as they could pitch
and break 'em in!
And it looked any odds on MURDOCH'S men contriving to make a draw
of it;
But Cricket, my lads, is a curious game, and uncertainty seems the
sole law of it.
So they sent in GRACE and SHUTER to start. Well, the Doctor is now
called "a veteran,"
But at forty-two when he's on the job 'tisn't easy to pick out a
better 'un.
And he "spanked for four," like a lad once more, and he cut and he
drove like winking;
Though his leg _was_ lame, he forgot that same, and he "played the
game" without shrinking.
And Surrey's SHUTER he did his part, and so did Notts' GUNN, Sir,
Though he _might_ have chucked the game away when the Doctor | 1,352.391058 |
2023-11-16 18:39:36.3827320 | 581 | 153 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by Google Books.
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
https://books.google.com/books?id=QKYxAQAAMAAJ
(Cornell University)
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
=============
VOL. 966.
THE RED COURT FARM.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.--VOL. 2.
LEIPZIG: BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ.
PARIS: C. REINWALD & CIE, 15, RUE DES SAINTS-PÈRES.
PARIS: THE GALIGNANI LIBRARY, 224, RUE DE RIVOLI,
AND AT NICE, 48, QUAI ST. JEAN BAPTISTE.
_This Collection is, published with copyright for Continental
circulation, but all purchasers are earnestly requested not to
introduce the volumes into England or into any British Colony_.
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS.
VOL. 966.
---------
THE RED COURT FARM BY MRS. HENRY WOOD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
THE
RED COURT FARM.
A NOVEL.
BY
MRS. HENRY WOOD,
AUTHOR OF "EAST LYNNE," "TREVLYN HOLD," ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1868.
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS
OF VOLUME II.
CHAP.
I. At School in London.
II. Captain Copp.
III. Isaac Thornycroft's Stratagem.
IV. In Love.
V. Wilful Disobedience.
VI. The Half-moon Beach.
VII. My Lady at the Red Court.
VIII. A Last Interview.
IX. The Crowd in the Early Morning.
X. Shot down from the Heights.
XI. The Coroner's Inquest.
XII. Robert Hunter's Funeral.
XIII. Curious Rumours.
XIV. Robert Hunter's Ghost.
XV. In the Churchyard Porch.
XVI. In the Dog-cart to Jutpoint.
XVII. Ladies disputing.
XVIII. Disclosing it to Justice Thornycroft.
THE RED COURT FARM.
PART THE THIRD.
CHAPTER I.
At School in London.
Two years have gone by, and it is June again.
A good, substantial house in one of the western suburbs of the
met | 1,352.402772 |
2023-11-16 18:39:36.4523610 | 2,215 | 27 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: A YOUNG PRINCE WATCHING THE SCOTS GUARDS FROM
MARLBOROUGH HOUSE]
PEEPS AT MANY LANDS
ENGLAND
BY
JOHN FINNEMORE
CONTAINING TWELVE FULL-PAGE
ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
LONDON
ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK
1908
CONTENTS
I. IN LONDON TOWN--I.
II. IN LONDON TOWN--II.
III. IN LONDON TOWN--III.
IV. OLD FATHER THAMES--I.
V. OLD FATHER THAMES--II.
VI. IN A CATHEDRAL CITY
VII. THROUGH WESSEX--I.
VIII. THROUGH WESSEX--II.
IX. THROUGH WESSEX--III.
X. ROUND THE TORS
XI. THE LAND OF SAINTS
XII. IN SHAKESPEARE'S COUNTRY
XIII. AN OLD ENGLISH HOUSE
XIV. BY FEN AND BROAD
XV. BY DALE AND FELL
XVI. THE PLAYGROUND OF ENGLAND--I.
XVII. THE PLAYGROUND OF ENGLAND--II.
XVIII. HEROES OF THE STORM
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS LOI A YOUNG PRINCE WATCHING THE SCOTS
GUARDS FROM MARLBOROUGH HOUSE... _Rose Barton_. _Frontispiece_
LONDON: ST. PAUL'S AND LUDGATE HILL... _Herbert Marshall_
BY AN ENGLISH RIVER... _Birket Foster_
TOMB OF THE BLACK PRINCE IN
CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL... _W. Biscombe Gardner_
IN AN ENGLISH COUNTRY TOWN... _Walter Tyndale_
IN AN ENGLISH LANE... _Birket Foster_
SHAKESPEARE'S BIRTHPLACE... _Fred Whitehead_
AN ENGLISH COUNTRY HOUSE... _Walter Tyndale_
IN AN ENGLISH VILLAGE... _W. Biscombe Gardner_
AN ENGLISH COTTAGE... _Mrs. Allingham_
IN AN ENGLISH WOOD... _Stilton Palmer_
ON AN ENGLISH COMMON... _Birket Foster_ ELOI
[Illustration: SKETCH-MAP OF ENGLAND.]
ENGLAND
IN LONDON TOWN--I.
London is the greatest city in the world. How easy it is to say that
or read it! How very, very hard it is to get the least idea of what it
means! We may talk of millions of people, of thousands of streets, of
hundreds of thousands of houses, but words will give us little grasp of
what London means. And if we go to see for ourselves, we may travel up
and down its highways and byways until we are dizzy with the rush of
its hurrying crowds, its streams of close-packed vehicles, its rows
upon rows of houses, shops, banks, churches, museums, halls, theatres,
and begin to think that at last we have seen London. But alas for our
fancy! We find that all the time we have only been in one small corner
of it, and the great city spreads far and wide around the district we
have learned to know, just as a sea spreads around an islet on its
broad surface.
When we read or hear of London, we are always coming across the terms
West End and East End. West and East of what? Where is the
dividing-line? The dividing-place is the City, the heart of London,
the oldest part of the great town. Once the City was a compact little
town inside a strong wall which kept out its enemies. It was full of
narrow streets, where shops stood thickly together, and over the shops
lived the City merchants in their tall houses. The narrow streets and
the shops are still there, but the merchants have long since gone to
live elsewhere, and the walls have been pulled down.
Now the City is nothing but a business quarter. It is packed with
offices, warehouses, banks and public buildings, and it is the busiest
part of London by day and the quietest by night. It is a wonderful
sight to see the many, many thousands of people who work in the City
pour in with the morning and stream out at evening. Every road, every
bridge, leading to and from the City is packed with men and women, boys
and girls, marching like a huge army, flowing and ebbing like the tides
of the sea.
In the centre of the City there is a famous open space where seven
streets meet. It is famous for the buildings which surround it, and
the traffic which flows through it. All day long an endless stream of
omnibuses, cabs, drays, vans, carts, motor-cars, motor-buses,
carriages, and every kind of vehicle which runs on wheels, pours by.
So great is the crush of traffic that underground passages have now
been built for people to cross from side to side, and that is a very
good thing, for only the very nimble could dodge their way through the
mass of vehicles.
Upon one side of this space there stands a building with blank walls,
not very high nor very striking in appearance. But it is the Bank of
England, where the money matters of half the world are dealt with! If
we went inside we should find that the Bank is built around a
courtyard, into which the windows look. Thus there is no chance for
burglars to break in, and besides, the Bank is guarded very carefully,
for its cellars are filled with great bars of gold, and its drawers are
full of sovereigns and crisp bank-notes.
Upon the other side of the busy space stands the Mansion House, where
the Lord Mayor of London lives during his year of office. Here are
held gay feasts, and splendid processions often march up to the doors;
for if a king or great prince visits London, he is always asked to
visit the City, and he goes in state to a fine banquet.
A third great building is the Royal Exchange, adorned with its great
pillars, and here the merchants meet, and business matters affecting
every corner of the globe are dealt with.
But there are two places which we must glance at before we leave the
City, whatever else we miss, and these are the Tower and St. Paul's
Cathedral. And first of all we will go to the Tower, for it is the
oldest and most famous of all the City's many buildings. Nay, the
Tower is more than that: it is one of the famous buildings of the world.
For many hundreds of years the grey old Tower has raised its walls
beside the Thames, and in its time it has played many parts. It has
been a fortress, a palace, a treasure-house, and a prison. William the
Conqueror began it, William Rufus went on with the work, and the latter
finished the central keep, the famous White Tower, the heart of the
citadel. For many centuries the Tower was the strongest place in the
land, with its thick walls and its deep moat filled with water from the
Thames, and the rulers of England took great care to keep it in their
own hands.
To-day it is a show-place more than anything else, and everyone is free
to visit it, to see the Crown jewels stored there, and to view the
splendid collection of weapons and armour. But after all the place
itself is the finest thing to see--to wander through the rooms where
kings and queens have lived, to stand in the dungeons and
prison-chambers where some of the best and noblest of our race have
been shut up, and to climb the narrow winding stairs from floor to
floor.
Many of the prisoners of the Tower were brought into it by the
Traitor's Gate, a great gloomy archway under which the waters of the
Thames once flowed. In those days the river was the great highway of
London, and when the judges at Westminster had condemned a prisoner to
be sent to the Tower, he was carried down the river in a barge and
landed at the Traitor's Gate. Many and many a poor prisoner saw his
last glimpse of the outer world from the gloomy gate. Before him lay
nothing save a dreadful death at the hands of the headsman.
Outside the White Tower there is a garden, where once stood the block
where the greatest of the prisoners were beheaded. Outside the Tower
is Tower Hill, where those of a lesser rank suffered; we may still see
in the Tower a headsman's block whereon heads have been laid and necks
offered to the sharp, heavy axe. As for the names of those who have
been executed in the Tower, history is full of them--Lady Jane Grey,
Sir Thomas More, Anne Boleyn, Sir Walter Raleigh, Katherine Howard, the
Earl of Essex, to name but a few who have suffered there. An earlier
tragedy than any of these is the murder of the two little princes,
Edward V. and his brother, put to death by command of Richard of
Gloucester, Richard Crookback, their wicked uncle who wanted to seize
the throne.
From the upper windows of the White Tower we can see the river crowded
with ships and steamers and barges, and on a fine day it is a most
beautiful sight. But the most striking thing in the view is the Tower
Bridge. "This is a new bridge, and it has two great towers rising one
on each side, as it seems, to the sky, and the bridge lies across low
down between those towers. But when a big ship comes and wants to get
up the river under the bridge, what is to be done? The bridge is not
high enough! Well, | 1,352.472401 |
2023-11-16 18:39:36.4668780 | 22 | 10 |
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, MFR and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at | 1,352.486918 |
2023-11-16 18:39:36.5255110 | 1,484 | 6 |
Produced by David Edwards, David E. Brown and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Books project.)
[Illustration: SAFE AT HOME]
THOSE SMITH BOYS
ON THE DIAMOND
OR
NIP AND TUCK FOR VICTORY
BY
HOWARD R. GARIS
_Author of
Uncle Wiggily and Alice in Wonderland, Uncle Wiggily
Longears, Uncle Wiggily and Mother Goose,
Uncle Wiggily’s Arabian Nights_
[Illustration]
MADE IN U. S. A.
M·A·DONOHUE·&·COMPANY
CHICAGO NEW YORK
Made in U. S. A.
COPYRIGHT, 1912 BY
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
_Those Smith Boys on the Diamond_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A CLOSE GAME 9
II A FIRE DEPARTMENT RUN 19
III A LEAKY BOAT 30
IV A GREAT HOME RUN 39
V OFF FOR WESTFIELD 50
VI A LIVELY HAZING 58
VII MOVING THE SENIOR STONE 69
VIII ORGANIZING THE NINE 77
IX BILL IS HIT 84
X THE DOCTOR’S VERDICT 91
XI MEETING AN OLD FRIEND 96
XII PROFESSOR CLATTER’S PLAN 105
XIII BILL IS HIMSELF AGAIN 113
XIV THE TRY-OUT 125
XV THE CONSPIRATORS 131
XVI CAUGHT 136
XVII BILL’S PITCHING 141
XVIII A PLOT AGAINST BILL 154
XIX THE PROFESSOR’S WARNING 160
XX THE PLOTTERS CAUGHT 171
XXI AN INTERRUPTED SUPPER 181
XXII HITTING A BULLY 190
XXIII THE FIGHT 197
XXIV THE KIDNAPPED PITCHER 203
XXV TO THE RESCUE 211
XXVI JUST IN TIME 219
XXVII A SCRIMMAGE 230
XXVIII THE GLASSES ARE GONE 235
XXIX MERSFELD IN THE BOX 239
XXX BILL’S FALL 245
XXXI “PLAY BALL!” 250
XXXII NIP AND TUCK FOR VICTORY 257
XXXIII WINNING THE PENNANT 263
THOSE SMITH BOYS ON THE
DIAMOND
OR
NIP AND TUCK FOR VICTORY
THOSE SMITH BOYS ON THE DIAMOND
CHAPTER I
A CLOSE GAME
“Come on now, Bateye, soak it in!”
“Say, are you going to hold that ball all day?”
“What’s the matter with you; didn’t you ever see a horsehide before?”
“Oh, for the love of Mike! Throw it! Throw it! Do you want to give ’em
a run?”
“That’s the way! Wake up, Bateye!”
These were only a few of the expressions and questions hurled by the
other players at Bateye Jones, the Freeport rightfielder, who, after
running back to recover a ball that had passed high over his head, was
holding the sphere for a moment until he had made sure of the position
of the runner, Jake Jensen, of the Vandalia team.
“Throw it! Throw it! You can take a picture of it after the game!”
howled Captain John Smith of the Freeport nine, as he danced about
behind home plate, and saw Tom Evans come in from third, and noticed
Jensen legging it around from second.
Bateye threw, and, mingling with the cries of the players and the yells
of the crowd, there were groans of anguish as the ball passed high over
the second baseman’s head, who jumped for it in vain.
Bill Smith, the wiry little pitcher, made a successful grab for the
horsehide as it bounced on the ground, captured it, and hurled it to
third, just in time to catch Jensen there.
“Out!” yelled the umpire.
“Aw, say, I beat it a mile!” protested the panting runner. “What’s the
matter with you, Foster?”
“Out,” said the umpire again, waving his hand to indicate that Jensen
was to leave the bag.
“Say, I’ll leave it to anybody if I—”
“Come on in,” invited Rube Mantell, captain of the Vandalias in a weary
tone, and Jake shuffled to the bench.
“Mighty lucky stop, Bill,” called Pete, or “Sawed-off” Smith, to his
brother the pitcher. The small-statured lad again took his position at
short stop which he had left for a moment. “I wonder what’s the matter
with Bateye to-day? That’s the second error he’s made.”
“Oh, I guess he got a bit rattled with so many howling at him,” spoke
Bill good-naturedly. “Come on now, Pete. There are two down, and we
ought to wallop ’em easy when it comes our turn. Watch me strike Flub
Madison out.”
Bill, who was the best pitcher the Freeport team had secured in
several seasons, again took his place in the box, while his brother
John, or “Cap” from the likeness of his name to that of the old Indian
fighter, resumed his mask, after shooting a few indignant looks in the
direction of the unfortunate Bateye Jones.
“He’s got to improve if he wants to stay on the team,” murmured Cap
Smith as he waited for the next ball. “I s’pose he’ll excuse himself by
saying the sun was in his eyes, or something like that. Or else that
he can’t see well in the daytime. He certainly can see good at night.
Old Bateye—well, here goes for the next one,” and Cap plumped his fist
into the big mitt, and signalled to his pitching brother to send in a
slow out curve to Flub Madison who took his place at the plate.
It was the ending of the eighth inning, and the score was seven to
six, in favor of the Freeport lads. The game was far from won, | 1,352.545551 |
2023-11-16 18:39:37.2885220 | 1,484 | 6 |
Produced by Cindy Horton, John Campbell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
A superscript is denoted by ^x or ^{xx}.
All changes noted in the ERRATA (at the front of the book) have been
applied to the etext.
As the ERRATA states: "Errors in spelling, and occasionally
discrepancies in dates may be found, but their correction will
readily suggest itself to the reader." Errors in dates, even
seemingly obvious ones, have not been corrected.
The lists of children in the book are predominantly given in a
compact run-on format, probably to save printing space. All lists
have been unwrapped, indented and presented on separate lines in
this etext.
The two Indexes are incomplete and contain many errors. With a few
exceptions these errors have not been adjusted; one valid page
number has been added to an entry when none was present in the
original Index.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
More detail of changes made can be found at the end of the book.
"GATHER THE CHILDREN."
HORTON GENEALOGY;
OR
CHRONICLES
OF THE
DESCENDANTS OF BARNABAS HORTON,
OF SOUTHOLD, L. I., 1640.
COMPILED BY GEO. F. HORTON, M.D.
PHILADELPHIA:
PUBLISHED BY THE HOME CIRCLE PUBLISHING CO.
1876.
_ERRATA._
Page 11, line 25, for _Zenia_ read _Zeruiah_, and in the same
line read _case_ instead of _cose_.
Page 18, line 13, for _Elizabeth_ read _Elijah_, and in the
same line read _Pamela_ instead of _Jarnella_.
Page 26, line 6, for _Elizabeth_ read _Jemima_.
Page 68, line 4, for _1698_ read _1689_, and in the 9th line
instead of _1776_ read _1767_.
Page 100, line 32, read _Rowena Nancy M., Capt. Familton, Harry
M., unmarried_.
Errors in spelling, and occasionally discrepancies in dates may
be found, but their correction will readily suggest itself to the
reader.
[Illustration: Horton.]
_HORTON ARMS. DERBYSHIRE._
A stag's head cabossed, _silver_; attired, _gold_; and, for
distinction, a canton ermine.
Crest, out of the waves of the sea _proper_, a tilting spear
erect, _gold_; enfiled with a dolphin, _silver_, finned,
_gold_, and charged with a shell.
[_Cabossed_ means cut off short so as not to show the neck; _attired_
denotes the horns; _canton ermine_, means the black spots upon the
white field in the left-hand corner. In the picture the artist has
not given the shell upon the dolphin.]
Motto.--"QUOD VULT, VALDE VULT,"--_What he wills, he wills cordially
and without stint._
Arms are hereditary, but the mottoes are not, and may be changed to
suit the taste or fancy of any family. There are other Arms of the
Horton family, varying somewhat from the above. The date of the grant
of the arms I have not found--probably many centuries ago.
PREFACE--INTRODUCTION.
We give BARNABAS HORTON as the _Preface_ and Introduction to this
little volume of Chronicles. He was probably the son of Joseph
Horton, of Leicestershire, England, and born in the little hamlet of
Mousely of that shire. Of his history before he came to America very
little is known. He came over in the ship "_Swallow_" in 1633-38.
He landed at Hampton, Mass. How long he remained at Hampton is not
known. But in 1640 we find him with his wife and two children in New
Haven, Conn., in company with the Rev. John Youngs, William Welles,
Esq., Peter Hallock, John Tuthill, Richard Terry, Thomas Mapes,
Matthias Corwin, Robert Ackerly, Jacob Corey, John Conklin, Isaac
Arnold, and John Budd, and on the 21st day of Oct., 1640, assisted
by the venerable Rev. John Davenport and Gov. Eaton, they organized
themselves into a Congregational Church, and sailed to the east end
of Long Island, now Southold. They had all been members of Puritan
churches in England, and all had families with them except Peter
Hallock. They doubtless had been on the island previous to this time
and looked out their homes. On nearing the shore they cast lots to
decide who should first set foot on the land. The lot fell on Peter
Hallock, and the place where he stepped upon the land has ever since
been known as Hallock's Landing.
On coming ashore, they all knelt down and engaged in prayer, Peter
Hallock leading, as had been determined by the lot. These were the
first persons of any civilized nation that had ever attempted to
settle on the east end of Long Island. _See Griffin's Journal._
Barnabas Horton was a man of deep-toned piety, and a warm advocate
of civil and religious freedom. He was one of the most prominent and
influential men of Southold. He was for many years a magistrate, and
several times a member of the General Court at New Haven and Harford.
He built the first framed dwelling-house ever erected on the east of
Long Island, and that house is still (1875) standing and occupied. It
is a shingle-house, that is, shingles are used for weather-boards,
and the sides have never been reshingled, and the roof but once,
according to the statement of Jonathan Goldsmith Horton, the last
Horton occupant of the old house.
It is said that Barnabas Horton I. was large in stature, and of a
ruddy complexion, and of fine social qualities.
His tombstone is of English blue marble, five feet long and about
three feet wide. It is placed horizontally over the grave. The stone
was re | 1,353.308562 |
2023-11-16 18:39:37.3255460 | 2,224 | 9 |
Produced by Ted Garvin, Beth Trapaga and the Distributed Proofreading
Team
NORMANDY:
THE SCENERY & ROMANCE OF ITS ANCIENT TOWNS:
DEPICTED BY GORDON HOME
Part 3.
CHAPTER VII
Concerning Mont St Michel
So, when their feet were planted on the plain
That broaden'd toward the base of Camelot,
Far off they saw the silver-misty morn
Rolling her smoke about the Royal mount,
That rose between the forest and the field.
At times the summit of the high city flash'd;
At times the spires and turrets half-way down
Pricked through the mist; at times the great gate shone
Only, that open'd on the field below:
Anon, the whole fair city disappeared.
Tennyson's _Gareth and Lynette_
"The majestic splendour of this gulf, its strategetic importance, have at
all times attracted the attention of warriors." In this quaint fashion
commences the third chapter of a book upon Mont St Michel which is to be
purchased in the little town. We have already had a glimpse of the
splendour of the gulf from Avranches, but there are other aspects of the
rock which are equally impressive. They are missed by all those who,
instead of going by the picturesque and winding coast-road from
Pontaubault, take the straight and dusty _route nationale_ to Pontorson,
and then turn to follow the tramway that has in recent years been extended
along the causeway to the mount itself. If one can manage to make it a
rather late ride along the coast-road just mentioned, many beautiful
distant views of Mont St Michel, backed by sunset lights, will be an ample
reward. Even on a grey and almost featureless evening, when the sea is
leaden-hued, there may, perhaps, appear one of those thin crimson lines
that are the last efforts of the setting sun. This often appears just
behind the grey and dim rock, and the crimson is reflected in a delicate
tinge upon the glistening sands. Tiny rustic villages, with churches humble
and unobtrusive, and prominent calvaries, are passed one after the other.
At times the farmyards seem to have taken the road into their own hands,
for a stone well-head will appear almost in the roadway, and chickens,
pigs, and a litter of straw have to be allowed for by those who ride or
drive along this rural way. When the rock is still some distance off, the
road seems to determine to take a short cut across the sands, but thinking
better of it, it runs along the outer margin of the reclaimed land, and
there is nothing to prevent the sea from flooding over the road at its own
discretion. Once on the broad and solidly constructed causeway, the rock
rapidly gathers in bulk and detail. It has, indeed, as one approaches, an
almost fantastic and fairy-like outline. Then as more and more grows from
the hazy mass, one sees that this remarkable place has a crowded and much
embattled loneliness. Two round towers, sturdy and boldly machicolated,
appear straight ahead, but oddly enough the wall between them has no
opening of any sort, and the stranger is perplexed at the inhospitable
curtain-wall that seems to refuse him admittance to the mediaeval delights
within. It almost heightens the impression that the place belongs
altogether to dreamland, for in that shadowy world all that is most
desirable is so often beyond the reach of the dreamer. It is a very
different impression that one gains if the steam train has been taken, for
its arrival is awaited by a small crowd of vulture-like servants and
porters from the hotels. The little crowd treats the incoming train-load of
tourists as its carrion, and one has no time to notice whether there is a
gateway or not before being swept along the sloping wooden staging that
leads to the only entrance. The simple archway in the outer wall leads into
the Cour de l'Avancee where those two great iron cannons, mentioned in an
earlier chapter, are conspicuous objects. They were captured by the heroic
garrison when the English, in 1433, made their last great effort to obtain
possession of the rock. Beyond these, one passes through the barbican to
the Cour de la Herse, which is largely occupied by the Hotel Poulard Aine.
Then one passes through the Porte du Roi, and enters the town proper. The
narrow little street is flanked by many an old house that has seen most of
the vicissitudes that the little island city has suffered. In fact many of
these shops which are now almost entirely given over to the sale of
mementoes and books of photographs of the island, are individually of great
interest. One of the most ancient in the upper part of the street, is
pointed out as that occupied in the fourteenth century by Tiphane de
Raguenel, the wife of the heroic Bertrand du Guesclin.
It is almost impossible for those who are sensitive in such matters, not to
feel some annoyance at the pleasant but persistent efforts of the vendors
of souvenirs to induce every single visitor to purchase at each separate
shop. To get an opportunity for closely examining the carved oaken beams
and architectural details of the houses, one must make at least some small
purchase at each trinket store in front of which one is inclined to pause.
Perhaps it would even be wise before attempting to look at anything
architectural in this quaintest of old-world streets, to go from one end to
the other, buying something of trifling cost, say a picture postcard, from
each saleswoman. In this way, one might purchase immunity from the
over-solicitous shop-keepers, and have the privilege of being able to
realise the mediaeval character of the place without constant
interruptions.
Nearly every visitor to Mont St Michel considers that this historic gem, in
its wonderful setting of opalescent sand, can be "done" in a few hours.
They think that if they climb up the steps to the museum--a new building
made more conspicuous than it need be by a board bearing the word _Musee_
in enormous letters--if they walk along the ramparts, stare for a moment at
the gateways, and then go round the abbey buildings with one of the small
crowds that the guide pilots through the maze of extraordinary vaulted
passages and chambers, that they have done ample justice to this
world-famous sight. If the rock had only one-half of its historic and
fantastically arranged buildings, it would still deserve considerably more
than this fleeting attention paid to it by such a large proportion of the
tourists. So many of these poor folk come to Mont St Michel quite willing
to learn the reasons for its past greatness, but they do not bring with
them the smallest grains of knowledge. The guides, whose knowledge of
English is limited to such words as "Sirteenth Senchury" (thirteenth
century), give them no clues to the reasons for the existence of any
buildings on the island, and quite a large proportion of visitors go away
without any more knowledge than they could have obtained from the
examination of a good book of photographs.
To really appreciate in any degree the natural charms of Mont St Michel, at
least one night should be spent on the rock. Having debated between the
rival houses of Poularde Aine and Poularde Jeune, and probably decided on
the older branch of the family, perhaps with a view to being able to speak
of their famous omelettes with enthusiasm, one is conducted to one of the
houses or dependences connected with the hotel. If one has selected the
Maison Rouge, it is necessary to make a long climb to one's bedroom. The
long salle a manger, where dinner is served, is in a tall wedge-like
building just outside the Porte du Roi and in the twilight of evening
coffee can be taken on the little tables of the cafe that overflows on to
the pavement of the narrow street. The cafe faces the head-quarters of the
hotel, and is as much a part of it as any of the other buildings which
contain the bedrooms. To the stranger it comes as a surprise to be handed a
Chinese lantern at bedtime, and to be conducted by one of the hotel
servants almost to the top of the tall house just mentioned. Suddenly the
man opens a door and you step out into an oppressive darkness. Here the use
of the Chinese lantern is obvious, for without some artificial light, the
long series of worn stone steps, that must be climbed before reaching the
Maison Rouge, would offer many opportunities for awkward falls. The
bedrooms in this house, when one has finally reached a floor far above the
little street, have a most enviable position. They are all provided with
small balconies where the enormous sweep of sand or glistening ocean,
according to the condition of the tides, is a sight which will drag the
greatest sluggard from his bed at the first hour of dawn. Right away down
below are the hoary old houses of the town, hemmed in by the fortified wall
that surrounds this side of the island. Then stretching away towards the
greeny-blue coast-line is the long line of digue or causeway on which one
may see a distant puff of white smoke, betokening the arrival of the early
train of the morning. The attaches of the rival hotels are already awaiting
the arrival of the early batch of sight-seers. All over the delicately
tinted sands there are constantly moving shadows from the light clouds
forming over the sea, and blowing freshly from the west there comes an
invigorating breeze.
Before even the museum can have a real interest for us, we must go back to
the early times when Mont St Michel was a bare rock; when it was not even
an island, and when the bay of Mont St Michel was covered by the forest of
Scissey.
It seems that the Romans raised a shrine to Jupiter on the rock, which soon
gave to it the name of Mons Jovis, afterwards to be contracted into
Mont-Jou. They had displaced some earlier Druid | 1,353.345586 |
2023-11-16 18:39:37.4264520 | 2,530 | 35 | AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 20, ISSUE 570, OCTOBER 13, 1832***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Gregory Margo, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 11864-h.htm or 11864-h.zip:
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/8/6/11864/11864-h/11864-h.htm)
or
(http://www.ibiblio.org/gutenberg/1/1/8/6/11864/11864-h.zip)
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
Vol. 20, No. 570.] SATURDAY, OCTOBER 13, 1832. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
THE ISLE OF WIGHT.
[Illustration: (Wilkes's Cottage.)]
NOTES FROM A PEDESTRIAN EXCURSION IN THE ISLAND.
By a Correspondent.
Although the roads of the island have within the last twenty years
been rendered passable for vehicles of all kinds, even to stage
coaches, yet by far the best mode of inspecting this English Arcadia
is to travel through it on foot, commencing at Ryde.
From this town a footpath leads across the park and grounds of St.
John's into the high road which may be followed to Brading. About a
mile from that place is Nunwell, the seat of Sir W. Oglander; and
opposite is a delightful view of Bembridge (the birthplace of Madame
de Feuchares) and Brading Harbour, which at high water presents to the
eye a rich, deep, green colour, with an increased effect from being
surveyed through the long line of tall elms on the road side. Brading
boasts of a mayor and corporation, and formerly sent a member to
parliament, which privilege was abolished by Queen Elizabeth. The town
is of high antiquity, as is also the church, which tradition says was
the first built in the island. It contains few monuments of interest
or note, but the surrounding burial-ground can boast of a collection
of epitaphs and inscriptions which are above mediocrity. The following
to the memory of Miss Barry by the Rev. Mr. Gill has been rendered
celebrated by the admirable music of Dr. Calcott:
Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear,
That mourns thy exit from a world like this;
Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here,
And stayed thy progress to the realms of bliss.
No more confined to grov'ling scenes of night--
No more a tenant pent in mortal clay;
Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight,
And trace thy journey to the realms of day.
On a rising ground at the end of the town is the Mall; at the entrance
of which the earth reverberates to the tread of horses' feet in a
manner similar to that produced by riding over a bridge or hollow. It
is most probably occasioned by a natural cleft in the chalk beneath
the gravel road. Here the tourist should rest to enjoy a scene of
unrivalled beauty. On the left, below the road, lies the town of
Brading, and more remote, St. Helen's Road, and the opposite coasts of
Portsmouth and Southsea. In front, at the foot of the hill, are the
rich levels, with the sinuous river Yar slowly winding towards the
harbour, with the full broad front of Bembridge Down interrupting the
marine view, which is again presented on the right from the village of
Sandown to the extremity of Shanklin. At the foot of Brading Hill the
road divides itself into two branches. The one to the right leads
direct to Shanklin, over Morton Common: the other to the left lies
through Yarbridge to Yaverland and Sandown. We recommend the latter,
as the farm-house and church at Yaverland are worthy of notice. The
former is a fine capacious stone building, of the time of James I.,
containing some well executed specimens of carved oak. The church is
annexed to the house, and has a curious semicircular doorway. Culver
Cliffs, about a mile and a half from Yaverland, may be approached by a
footpath across the fields, which will also lead to Hermit's Hole, a
cavern of great depth in the side of the cliff. These cliffs were much
celebrated for a choice breed of falcons, which were esteemed so
highly by Queen Elizabeth, that she procured the birds regularly from
the Culver Cliffs, and they were trained with much care for her
majesty's own use. On the shore beneath, but more towards Sandown,
near what is called the Red Cliff, (from the colour of the soil,) many
fossil remains have been lately discovered; some of animals of a
gigantic size.
Sandown Fort is the next object in the road to Shanklin. "It commands
the bay from which it derives its name, and is a low, square building
flanked by four bastions, and encompassed by a ditch. A small garrison
is kept in it. This fort commands the only part of the coast of the
island where an enemy could land. A castle was built near this by
Henry VIII., and its establishment in that monarch's reign was, a
captain, at 4s. per day; an under captain, at 2s.; thirteen soldiers,
at 6d. per day each; one porter, at 8d.; one master gunner, at 8d.;
and seven other gunners, at 6d. per day. Fee 363l. 6s. 8d. It was
erected to defend the only accessible place of debarkation on the
coast from the hostile visits the island had in this and the preceding
reign been so often subjected to; but, from the encroachments of the
sea, it was deemed necessary, in the time of Charles I. to remove the
old structure, and with the materials to construct the present
building. The arms of Richard Weston, Earl of Portland, are carved in
the panels of the chimney-piece in the drawing-room, with the
supporters, and collar of the Garter, and implements of war."[1]
[1] From Sheridan's _Guide to the Isle of Wight_--one of the
best books of the kind that has lately fallen under our
notice.
About half a mile from the Fort is Sandown Cottage, formerly the
elegant retreat of the celebrated John Wilkes, the chief star in the
political horizon, during the administration of the Earl of Bute. The
cottage is situated as the Engraving shows, near the shore of Sandown
Bay, which extends about six miles, the eastern extremity being
terminated by the chalky cliffs of Culver, and the south-western by
the craggy rocks of the mountainous part of Dunnose. The house is
small, and has been elegantly fitted up; in the gardens were some
detached and pleasant apartments, constructed with floorcloth of
Kensington manufacture. But the labours of Wilkes's retirement have
been swept away, and there is scarcely a relic
Where once the garden smiled.
Shanklin may be approached by the sea shore at low water or by Lake
and Hillyards, if the high road be preferred. At this delightful
village seem assembled all the charms of rural scenery, hill, wood,
valley, corn field and water; aided by the wide extended ocean,
reaching to the eastern horizon, with the majestic white cliffs of
Culver at the extremity of the bay on the left, and the long range of
cliffs of every hue and colour gradually declining in height as the
eye glances along to the cottages of Sandown, and then again
imperceptibly rising to their highest point of elevation.
The situation of the village of Shanklin is as romantic as any of the
lovers of nature can desire. The salubrity of the atmosphere and the
proximity of the village to the sea may account for the extraordinary
growth of the myrtle-tree, which attains here an astonishing height.
Virgil tells us this plant is best cultivated on the sea side; but
every maritime situation is not congenial, unless a protection is
afforded from the cold northerly winds.
The chief attraction of Shanklin is the Chine. This is a natural
fissure or cleft in the earth, running from the village to the sea in
a circuitous direction and increasing in width and depth as it
approaches the shore. It was most probably formed by the long
continued running of a stream of water from the adjoining hills; this
now forms a cascade at the commencement of the path which has been
formed in the side to facilitate strangers in exploring their way
through the rocks and underwood. But the admirers of sublime nature
will mourn the ruthless devastation that has thus been made,
ostensibly for the public benefit, to serve private interest. In the
Chine is a chalybeate spring, highly impregnated with iron and alum,
and of course beneficial in cases of debility and nervous affections.
C.R.S.
* * * * *
LINES TO ----.
Life's earliest sweets are wasted,
And time impatient flies;
The flowers of youth are blasted,
Their lingering beauty dies.
Yet my bosom owns a pleasure,
That no icy breath can chill;--
'Tis thy friendship, dearest treasure,
For my hopes are with thee still.
Though mine eye, by sorrow shaded,
Drops the solitary tear,
O'er remember'd joys, now faded,
To young love and rapture dear.
E'en the retrospective feeling,
Leaves a momentary thrill;
All the wounds of sorrow healing,
For my hopes are with thee still.
Though I've bid adieu to pleasure,
With her giddy, fleeting train;
And her song of joyous measure,
I may never raise again.
Yet the chilling gloom of sadness,
Waving o'er me, brooding ill,
Emits one ray of gladness,
For my hopes are with thee still.
When the reckless world is sleeping,
And the star of eve shines gay;
While the night winds softly creeping
O'er the waters, die away;
When the moonbeams softly playing,
Silver o'er the glistening rill;
'Tis to thee my thoughts are straying,
For my hopes are with thee still.
When the fragrant breath of morning
Wanders o'er the silent dews;
And flowers the vale adorning,
Do their balmy sweets diffuse.
When the orb of day appearing,
From behind the distant hill,
Gilds the landscape bright and cheering,
E'en my hopes are with thee still.
_Leeds._
J.B. WALKER.
* * * * *
ANTIQUITY OF MALT LIQUOR.
Malt liquor appears to have had its origin in the attention paid by an
eastern sovereign to the comfort and health of his soldiers; as we are
informed by the historian Xenophon, that "the virtuous Cyrus" having
observed the good effects that water in which parched barley had been
steeped, produced, exhorted and commanded his troops to drink this
liquor; the historian entitled it | 1,353.446492 |
2023-11-16 18:39:37.9255900 | 7,436 | 9 |
Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger
A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE,
DURING THE YEARS
1792, 1793, 1794, AND 1795;
DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS
FROM AN ENGLISH LADY;
With General And Incidental Remarks
On The French Character And Manners.
Prepared for the Press
By John Gifford, Esq.
Author of the History of France, Letter to Lord
Lauderdale, Letter to the Hon. T. Erskine, &c.
Second Edition.
_Plus je vis l'Etranger plus j'aimai ma Patrie._
--Du Belloy.
London: Printed for T. N. Longman, Paternoster Row. 1797.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS BY THE EDITOR.
The following Letters were submitted to my inspection and judgement by
the Author, of whose principles and abilities I had reason to entertain a
very high opinion. How far my judgement has been exercised to advantage
in enforcing the propriety of introducing them to the public, that public
must decide. To me, I confess, it appeared, that a series of important
facts, tending to throw a strong light on the internal state of France,
during the most important period of the Revolution, could neither prove
uninteresting to the general reader, nor indifferent to the future
historian of that momentous epoch; and I conceived, that the opposite and
judicious reflections of a well-formed and well-cultivated mind,
naturally arising out of events within the immediate scope of its own
observation, could not in the smallest degree diminish the interest
which, in my apprehension, they are calculated to excite. My advice upon
this occasion was farther influenced by another consideration. Having
traced, with minute attention, the progress of the revolution, and the
conduct of its advocates, I had remarked the extreme affiduity employed
(as well by translations of the most violent productions of the Gallic
press, as by original compositions,) to introduce and propagate, in
foreign countries, those pernicious principles which have already sapped
the foundation of social order, destroyed the happiness of millions, and
spread desolation and ruin over the finest country in Europe. I had
particularly observed the incredible efforts exerted in England, and, I
am sorry to say, with too much success, for the base purpose of giving a
false colour to every action of the persons exercising the powers of
government in France; and I had marked, with indignation, the atrocious
attempt to strip vice of its deformity, to dress crime in the garb of
virtue, to decorate slavery with the symbols of freedom, and give to
folly the attributes of wisdom. I had seen, with extreme concern, men,
whom the lenity, mistaken lenity, I must call it, of our government had
rescued from punishment, if not from ruin, busily engaged in this
scandalous traffic, and, availing themselves of their extensive
connections to diffuse, by an infinite variety of channels, the poison of
democracy over their native land. In short, I had seen the British
press, the grand palladium of British liberty, devoted to the cause of
Gallic licentiousness, that mortal enemy of all freedom, and even the
pure stream of British criticism diverted from its natural course, and
polluted by the pestilential vapours of Gallic republicanism. I
therefore deemed it essential, by an exhibition of well-authenticated
facts, to correct, as far as might be, the evil effects of
misrepresentation and error, and to defend the empire of truth, which had
been assailed by a host of foes.
My opinion of the principles on which the present system of government in
France was founded, and the war to which those principles gave rise, have
been long since submitted to the public. Subsequent events, far from
invalidating, have strongly confirmed it. In all the public declarations
of the Directory, in their domestic polity, in their conduct to foreign
powers, I plainly trace the prevalence of the same principles, the same
contempt for the rights and happiness of the people, the same spirit of
aggression and aggrandizement, the same eagerness to overturn the
existing institutions of neighbouring states, and the same desire to
promote "the universal revolution of Europe," which marked the conduct of
BRISSOT, LE BRUN, DESMOULINS, ROBESPIERRE, and their disciples. Indeed,
what stronger instance need be adduced of the continued prevalence of
these principles, than the promotion to the supreme rank in the state, of
two men who took an active part in the most atrocious proceedings of the
Convention at the close of 1792, and at the commencement of the following
year?
In all the various constitutions which have been successively adopted
in that devoted country, the welfare of the people has been wholly
disregarded, and while they have been amused with the shadow of liberty,
they have been cruelly despoiled of the substance. Even on the
establishment of the present constitution, the one which bore the nearest
resemblance to a rational system, the freedom of election, which had been
frequently proclaimed as the very corner-stone of liberty, was shamefully
violated by the legislative body, who, in their eagerness to perpetuate
their own power, did not scruple to destroy the principle on which it was
founded. Nor is this the only violation of their own principles. A
French writer has aptly observed, that "En revolution comme en morale, ce
n'est que le premier pas qui coute:" thus the executive, in imitation of
the legislative body, seem disposed to render their power perpetual. For
though it be expressly declared by the 137th article of the 6th title of
their present constitutional code, that the "Directory shall be partially
renewed by the election of a new member every year," no step towards such
election has been taken, although the time prescribed by the law is
elapsed.--In a private letter from Paris now before me, written within
these few days, is the following observation on this very circumstance:
"The constitution has received another blow. The month of Vendemiaire is
past, and our Directors still remain the same. Hence we begin to drop
the appalation of Directory, and substitute that of the Cinqvir, who are
more to be dreaded for their power, and more to be detested for their
crimes, than the Decemvir of ancient Rome." The same letter also
contains a brief abstract of the state of the metropolis of the French
republic, which is wonderfully characteristic of the attention of the
government to the welfare and happiness of its inhabitants!
"The reign of misery and of crime seems to be perpetuated in this
distracted capital: suicides, pillage, and assassinations, are daily
committed, and are still suffered to pass unnoticed. But what renders
our situation still more deplorable, is the existence of an innumerable
band of spies, who infest all public places, and all private societies.
More than a hundred thousand of these men are registered on the books of
the modern SARTINE; and as the population of Paris, at most, does not
exceed six hundred thousand souls, we are sure to find in six individuals
one spy. This consideration makes me shudder, and, accordingly, all
confidence, and all the sweets of social intercourse, are banished from
among us. People salute each other, look at each other, betray mutual
suspicions, observe a profound silence, and part. This, in few words, is
an exact description of our modern republican parties. It is said, that
poverty has compelled many respectable persons, and even state-creditors,
to enlist under the standard of COCHON, (the Police Minister,) because
such is the honourable conduct of our sovereigns, that they pay their
spies in specie--and their soldiers, and the creditors of the state, in
paper.--Such is the morality, such the justice, such are the republican
virtues, so loudly vaunted by our good and dearest friends, our
pensioners--the Gazetteers of England and Germany!"
There is not a single abuse, which the modern reformers reprobated so
loudly under the ancient system, that is not magnified, in an infinite
degree, under the present establishment. For one Lettre de Cachet issued
during the mild reign of LOUIS the Sixteenth, a thousand Mandats d'Arret
have been granted by the tyrannical demagogues of the revolution; for one
Bastile which existed under the Monarchy, a thousand Maisons de Detention
have been established by the Republic. In short, crimes of every
denomination, and acts of tyranny and injustice, of every kind, have
multiplied, since the abolition of royalty, in a proportion which sets
all the powers of calculation at defiance.
It is scarcely possible to notice the present situation of France,
without adverting to the circumstances of the WAR, and to the attempt now
making, through the medium of negotiation, to bring it to a speedy
conclusion. Since the publication of my Letter to a Noble Earl, now
destined to chew the cud of disappointment in the vale of obscurity, I
have been astonished to hear the same assertions advance, by the members
and advocates of that party whose merit is said to consist in the
violence of their opposition to the measures of government, on the origin
of the war, which had experienced the most ample confutation, without the
assistance of any additional reason, and without the smallest attempt to
expose the invalidity of those proofs which, in my conception, amounted
nearly to mathematical demonstration, and which I had dared them, in
terms the most pointed, to invalidate. The question of aggression before
stood on such high ground, that I had not the presumption to suppose it
could derive an accession of strength from any arguments which I could
supply; but I was confident, that the authentic documents which I offered
to the public would remove every intervening object that tended to
obstruct the fight of inattentive observers, and reflect on it such an
additional light as would flash instant conviction on the minds of all.
It seems, I have been deceived; but I must be permitted to suggest, that
men who persist in the renewal of assertions, without a single effort to
controvert the proofs which have been adduced to demonstrate their
fallacy, cannot have for their object the establishment of truth--which
ought, exclusively, to influence the conduct of public characters,
whether writers or orators.
With regard to the negotiation, I can derive not the smallest hopes of
success from a contemplation of the past conduct, or of the present
principles, of the government of France. When I compare the projects of
aggrandizement openly avowed by the French rulers, previous to the
declaration of war against this country, with the exorbitant pretensions
advanced in the arrogant reply of the Executive Directory to the note
presented by the British Envoy at Basil in the month of February, 1796,
and with the more recent observations contained in their official note of
the 19th of September last, I cannot think it probable that they will
accede to any terms of peace that are compatible with the interest and
safety of the Allies. Their object is not so much the establishment as
the extension of their republic.
As to the danger to be incurred by a treaty of peace with the republic of
France, though it has been considerably diminished by the events of the
war, it is still unquestionably great. This danger principally arises
from a pertinacious adherence, on the part of the Directory, to those
very principles which were adopted by the original promoters of the
abolition of Monarchy in France. No greater proof of such adherence need
be required than their refusal to repeal those obnoxious decrees (passed
in the months of November and December, 1792,) which created so general
and so just an alarm throughout Europe, and which excited the reprobation
even of that party in England, which was willing to admit the equivocal
interpretation given to them by the Executive Council of the day. I
proved, in the Letter to a Noble Earl before alluded to, from the very
testimony of the members of that Council themselves, as exhibited in
their official instructions to one of their confidential agents, that the
interpretation which they had assigned to those decrees, in their
communications with the British Ministry, was a base interpretation, and
that they really intended to enforce the decrees, to the utmost extent of
their possible operation, and, by a literal construction thereof, to
encourage rebellion in every state, within the reach of their arms or
their principles. Nor have the present government merely forborne to
repeal those destructive laws--they have imitated the conduct of their
predecessors, have actually put them in execution wherever they had the
ability to do so, and have, in all respects, as far as related to those
decrees, adopted the precise spirit and principles of the faction which
declared war against England. Let any man read the instructions of the
Executive Council to PUBLICOLA CHAUSSARD, their Commissary in the
Netherlands, in 1792 and 1793, and an account of the proceedings in the
Low Countries consequent thereon, and then examine the conduct of the
republican General, BOUNAPARTE, in Italy--who must necessarily act from
the instructions of the Executive Directory----and he will be compelled
to acknowledge the justice of my remark, and to admit that the latter
actuated by the same pernicious desire to overturn the settled order of
society, which invariably marked the conduct of the former.
"It is an acknowledged fact, that every revolution requires a provisional
power to regulate its disorganizing movements, and to direct the
methodical demolition of every part of the ancient social constitution.--
Such ought to be the revolutionary power.
"To whom can such power belong, but to the French, in those countries
into which they may carry their arms? Can they with safety suffer it to
be exercised by any other persons? It becomes the French republic, then,
to assume this kind of guardianship over the people whom she awakens to
Liberty!*"
* _Considerations Generales fur l'Esprit et les Principes du Decret
du 15 Decembre_.
Such were the Lacedaemonian principles avowed by the French government in
1792, and such is the Lacedaimonian policy* pursued by the French
government in 1796! It cannot then, I conceive, be contended, that a
treaty with a government still professing principles which have been
repeatedly proved to be subversive of all social order, which have been
acknowledged by their parents to have for their object the methodical
demolition of existing constitutions, can be concluded without danger or
risk. That danger, I admit, is greatly diminished, because the power
which was destined to carry into execution those gigantic projects which
constituted its object, has, by the operations of the war, been
considerably curtailed. They well may exist in equal force, but the
ability is no longer the same.
MACHIAVEL justly observes, that it was the narrow policy of the
Lacedaemonians always to destroy the ancient constitution, and establish
their own form of government, in the counties and cities which they
subdued.
But though I maintain the existence of danger in a Treaty with the
Republic of France, unless she previously repeal the decrees to which I
have adverted, and abrogate the acts to which they have given birth, I by
no means contend that it exists in such a degree as to justify a
determination, on the part of the British government, to make its removal
the sine qua non of negotiation, or peace. Greatly as I admire the
brilliant endowments of Mr. BURKE, and highly as I respect and esteem him
for the manly and decisive part which he has taken, in opposition to the
destructive anarchy of republican France, and in defence of the
constitutional freedom of Britain; I cannot either agree with him on this
point, or concur with him in the idea that the restoration of the
Monarchy of France was ever the object of the war. That the British
Ministers ardently desired that event, and were earnest in their
endeavours to promote it, is certain; not because it was the object of
the war, but because they considered it as the best means of promoting
the object of the war, which was, and is, the establishment of the safety
and tranquillity of Europe, on a solid and permanent basis. If that
object can be attained, and the republic exist, there is nothing in the
past conduct and professions of the British Ministers, that can interpose
an obstacle to the conclusion of peace. Indeed, in my apprehension, it
would be highly impolitic in any Minister, at the commencement of a war,
to advance any specific object, that attainment of which should be
declared to be the sine qua non of peace. If mortals could arrogate to
themselves the attributes of the Deity, if they could direct the course
of events, and controul the chances of war, such conduct would be
justifiable; but on no other principle, I think, can its defence be
undertaken. It is, I grant, much to be lamented, that the protection
offered to the friends of monarchy in France, by the declaration of the
29th of October, 1793, could not be rendered effectual: as far as the
offer went it was certainly obligatory on the party who made it; but it
was merely conditional--restricted, as all similar offers necessarily
must be, by the ability to fulfil the obligation incurred.
In paying this tribute to truth, it is not my intention to retract, in
the smallest degree, the opinion I have ever professed, that the
restoration of the ancient monarchy of France would be the best possible
means not only of securing the different states of Europe from the
dangers of republican anarchy, but of promoting the real interests,
welfare, and happiness of the French people themselves. The reasons on
which this opinion is founded I have long since explained; and the
intelligence which I have since received from France, at different times,
has convinced me that a very great proportion of her inhabitants concur
in the sentiment.
The miseries resulting from the establishment of a republican system of
government have been severely felt, and deeply deplored; and I am fully
persuaded, that the subjects and tributaries of France will cordially
subscribe to the following observation on republican freedom, advanced by
a writer who had deeply studied the genius of republics: _"Di tutte le
fervitu dure, quella e durissima, che ti sottomette ad una republica;
l'una, perche e la piu durabile, e manco si puo sperarne d'ufare: L'altra
perche il fine della republica e enervare ed indebolire, debolire, per
accrescere il corpo suo, tutti gli altri corpi._*"
JOHN GIFFORD. London, Nov. 12, 1796.
* _Discorsi di Nicoli Machiavelli,_ Lib. ii. p. 88.
P.S. Since I wrote the preceding remarks, I have been given to
understand, that by a decree, subsequent to the completion of the
constitutional code, the first partial renewal of the Executive Directory
was deferred till the month of March, 1979; and that, therefore, in this
instance, the present Directory cannot be accused of having violated the
constitution. But the guilt is only to be transferred from the Directory
to the Convention, who passed that decree, as well as some others, in
contradiction to a positive constitutional law.-----Indeed, the Directory
themselves betrayed no greater delicacy with regard to the observance of
the constitution, or M. BARRAS would never have taken his seat among
them; for the constitution expressly says, (and this positive provision
was not even modified by any subsequent mandate of the Convention,) that
no man shall be elected a member of the Directory who has not completed
his fortieth year--whereas it is notorious that Barras had not this
requisite qualification, having been born in the year 1758!
- - - - - - - - - - - -
I avail myself of the opportunity afforded me by the publication of a
Second Edition to notice some insinuations which have been thrown out,
tending to question the authenticity of the work. The motives which have
induced the author to withhold from these Letters the sanction of her
name, relate not to herself, but to some friends still remaining in
France, whose safety she justly conceives might be affected by the
disclosure. Acceding to the force and propriety of these motives, yet
aware of the suspicions to which a recital of important facts, by an
anonymous writer, would naturally be exposed, and sensible, also, that a
certain description of critics would gladly avail themselves of any
opportunity for discouraging the circulation of a work which contained
principles hostile to their own; I determined to prefix my name to the
publication. By so doing, I conceived that I stood pledged for its
authenticity; and the matter has certainly been put in a proper light by
an able and respectable critic, who has observed that "Mr. GIFFORD stands
between the writer and the public," and that "his name and character are
the guarantees for the authenticity of the Letters."
This is precisely the situation in which I meant to place myself--
precisely the pledge which I meant to give. The Letters are exactly what
they profess to be; the production of a Lady's pen, and written in the
very situations which they describe.--The public can have no grounds for
suspecting my veracity on a point in which I can have no possible
interest in deceiving them; and those who know me will do me the justice
to acknowledge, that I have a mind superior to the arts of deception, and
that I am incapable of sanctioning an imposition, for any purpose, or
from any motives whatever. Thus much I deemed it necessary to say, as
well from a regard for my own character, and from a due attention to the
public, as from a wish to prevent the circulation of the work from being
subjected to the impediments arising from the prevalence of a groundless
suspicion.
I naturally expected, that some of the preceding remarks would excite the
resentment and draw down the vengeance of those persons to whom they
evidently applied. The contents of every publication are certainly a
fair subject for criticism; and to the fair comments of real critics,
however repugnant to the sentiments I entertain, or the doctrine I seek
to inculcate, I shall ever submit without murmur or reproach. But, when
men, assuming that respectable office, openly violate all the duties
attached to it, and, sinking the critic in the partizan, make a wanton
attack on my veracity, it becomes proper to repel the injurious
imputation; and the same spirit which dictates submission to the candid
award of an impartial judge, prescribes indignation and scorn at the
cowardly attacks of a secret assassin.
April 14, 1797.
RESIDENCE IN FRANCE
DEDICATION
To The RIGHT HON. EDMUND BURKE.
SIR,
It is with extreme diffidence that I offer the following pages to Your
notice; yet as they describe circumstances which more than justify Your
own prophetic reflections, and are submitted to the public eye from no
other motive than a love of truth and my country, I may, perhaps, be
excused for presuming them to be not altogether unworthy of such a
distinction.
While Your puny opponents, if opponents they may be called, are either
sunk into oblivion, or remembered only as associated with the degrading
cause they attempted to support, every true friend of mankind,
anticipating the judgement of posterity, views with esteem and veneration
the unvarying Moralist, the profound Politician, the indefatigable
Servant of the Public, and the warm Promoter of his country's happiness.
To this universal testimony of the great and good, permit me, Sir, to
join my humble tribute; being, with the utmost respect,
SIR,
Your obedient Servant, THE AUTHOR. Sept. 12, 1796.
PREFACE
After having, more than once, in the following Letters, expressed
opinions decidedly unfavourable to female authorship, when not justified
by superior talents, I may, by now producing them to the public, subject
myself to the imputation either of vanity or inconsistency; and I
acknowledge that a great share of candour and indulgence must be
possessed by readers who attend to the apologies usually made on such
occasions: yet I may with the strictest truth alledge, that I should
never have ventured to offer any production of mine to the world, had I
not conceived it possible that information and reflections collected and
made on the spot, during a period when France exhibited a state, of which
there is no example in the annals of mankind, might gratify curiosity
without the aid of literary embellishment; and an adherence to truth, I
flattered myself, might, on a subject of this nature, be more acceptable
than brilliancy of thought, or elegance of language. The eruption of a
volcano may be more scientifically described and accounted for by the
philosopher; but the relation of the illiterate peasant who beheld it,
and suffered from its effects, may not be less interesting to the common
hearer.
Above all, I was actuated by the desire of conveying to my countrymen a
just idea of that revolution which they have been incited to imitate, and
of that government by which it has been proposed to model our own.
Since these pages were written, the Convention has nominally been
dissolved, and a new constitution and government have succeeded, but no
real change of principle or actors has taken place; and the system, of
which I have endeavoured to trace the progress, must still be considered
as existing, with no other variations than such as have been necessarily
produced by the difference of time and circumstances. The people grew
tired of massacres en masse, and executions en detail: even the national
fickleness operated in favour of humanity; and it was also discovered,
that however a spirit of royalism might be subdued to temporary inaction,
it was not to be eradicated, and that the sufferings of its martyrs only
tended to propagate and confirm it. Hence the scaffolds flow less
frequently with blood, and the barbarous prudence of CAMILLE DESMOULINS'
guillotine economique has been adopted. But exaction and oppression are
still practised in every shape, and justice is not less violated, nor is
property more secure, than when the former was administered by
revolutionary tribunals, and the latter was at the disposition of
revolutionary armies.
The error of supposing that the various parties which have usurped the
government of France have differed essentially from each other is pretty
general; and it is common enough to hear the revolutionary tyranny
exclusively associated with the person of ROBESPIERRE, and the
thirty-first of May, 1793, considered as the epoch of its introduction.
Yet whoever examines attentively the situation and politics of France,
from the subversion of the Monarchy, will be convinced that all the
principles of this monstrous government were established during the
administration of the Brissotins, and that the factions which succeeded,
from Danton and Robespierre to Sieyes and Barras, have only developed
them, and reduced them to practice. The revolution of the thirty-first
of May, 1793, was not a contest for system but for power--that of July
the twenty-eighth, 1794, (9th Thermidor,) was merely a struggle which of
two parties should sacrifice the other--that of October the fifth, 1795,
(13th Vendemiaire,) a war of the government against the people. But in
all these convulsions, the primitive doctrines of tyranny and injustice
were watched like the sacred fire, and have never for a moment been
suffered to languish.
It may appear incredible to those who have not personally witnessed this
phoenomenon, that a government detested and despised by an immense
majority of the nation, should have been able not only to resist the
efforts of so many powers combined against it, but even to proceed from
defence to conquest, and to mingle surprize and terror with those
sentiments of contempt and abhorrence which it originally excited.
That wisdom or talents are not the sources of this success, may be
deduced from the situation of France itself. The armies of the republic
have, indeed, invaded the territories of its enemies, but the desolation
of their own country seems to increase with every triumph--the genius of
the French government appears powerful only in destruction, and inventive
only in oppression--and, while it is endowed with the faculty of
spreading universal ruin, it is incapable of promoting the happiness of
the smallest district under its protection. The unrestrained pillage of
the conquered countries has not saved France from multiplied
bankruptcies, nor her state-creditors from dying through want; and
the French, in the midst of their external prosperity, are often
distinguished from the people whom their armies have been subjugated,
only by a superior degree of wretchedness, and a more irregular
despotism.
With a power excessive and unlimited, and surpassing what has hitherto
been possessed by any Sovereign, it would be difficult to prove that
these democratic despots have effected any thing either useful or
beneficent. Whatever has the appearance of being so will be found, on
examination, to have for its object some purpose of individual interest
or personal vanity. They manage the armies, they embellish Paris, they
purchase the friendship of some states and the neutrality of others; but
if there be any real patriots in France, how little do they appreciate
these useless triumphs, these pilfered museums, and these fallacious
negotiations, when they behold the population of their country
diminished, its commerce annihilated, its wealth dissipated, its morals
corrupted, and its liberty destroyed--
"Thus, on deceitful Aetna's Flow'ry side
Unfading verdure glads the roving eye,
While secret flames with unextinguish'd rage
Insatiate on her wafted entrails prey,
And melt her treach'rous beauties into ruin."
Those efforts which the partizans of republicanism admire, and which even
well-disposed persons regard as prodigies, are the simple and natural
result of an unprincipled despotism, acting upon, and disposing of, all
the resources of a rich, populous, and enslaved nation. _"Il devient aise
d'etre habile lorsqu'on s'est delivre des scrupules et des loix, de tout
honneur et de toute justice, des droits de ses semblables, et des devoirs
de l'autorite--a ce degre d'independence la plupart des obstacles qui
modifient l'activite humaine disparaissent; l'on parait avoir du talent
lorsqu'on n'a que de l'impudence, et l'abus de la force passe pour
energie._*"
* "Exertions of ability become easy, when men have released
themselves from the scruples of conscience, the restraints of law,
the ties of honour, the bonds of justice, the claims of their fellow
creatures, and obedience to their superiors:--at this point of
independence, most of the obstacles which modify human activity
disappear; impudence is mistaken for talents; and the abuse of power
passes for energy."
The operations of all other governments must, in a great measure, be
restrained by the will of the people, and by established laws; with them,
physical and political force are necessarily separate considerations:
they have not only to calculate what can be borne, but what will be
submitted to; and perhaps France is the first country that has been
compelled to an exertion of its whole strength, without regard to any
obstacle, natural, moral, or divine. It is for want of sufficiently
investigating and allowing for this moral and political latitudinarianism
of our enemies, that we are apt to be too precipitate in censuring the
conduct of the war; and, in our estimation of what has been done, we pay
too little regard to the principles by which we have been directed. An
honest man could scarcely imagine the means we have had to oppose, and an
Englishman still less conceive that they would have been submitted to:
for the same reason that the Romans had no law against parricide, till
experience had evinced the possibility of the crime.
In a war like the present, advantage is not altogether to be appreciated
by military superiority. If, as there is just ground for believing, our
external hostilities have averted an internal revolution, what we have
escaped is of infinitely more importance to us than what we could
acquire. Commerce and conquest, compared to this, are secondary objects;
and the preservation of our liberties and our constitution
is a more solid blessing than the commerce of both the Indies, or the
conquest of nations.
Should the following pages contribute to impress this salutary truth on
my countrymen, my utmost ambition will be gratified; persuaded, | 1,353.94563 |
2023-11-16 18:39:37.9686720 | 7,435 | 12 |
Produced by Martin Adamson. HTML version by Al Haines.
ROSMERSHOLM
A play in four acts
by
HENRIK IBSEN
Translated by R. FARQUHARSON SHARP
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
John Rosmer, of Rosmersholm, an ex-clergyman.
Rebecca West, one of his household, originally engaged as
companion to the late Mrs. Rosmer.
Kroll, headmaster of the local grammar school, Rosmer's
brother-in-law.
Ulrik Brendel.
Peter Mortensgaard.
Mrs. Helseth, Rosmer's housekeeper.
(The action takes place at Rosmersholm, an old manor-house in the
neighbourhood of a small town on a fjord in western Norway.)
ACT 1
(SCENE--The sitting-room at Rosmersholm; a spacious room, comfortably
furnished in old-fashioned style. In the foreground, against the
right-hand wall, is a stove decorated with sprigs of fresh birch and
wild flowers. Farther back, a door. In the back wall folding doors
leading into the entrance hall. In the left-hand wall a window, in
front of which is a stand filled with flowers and plants. Near the
stove stand a table, a couch and an easy-chair. The walls are hung
round with portraits, dating from various periods, of clergymen,
military officers and other officials in uniform. The window is open,
and so are the doors into the lobby and the outer door. Through the
latter is seen an avenue of old trees leading to a courtyard. It is a
summer evening, after sunset. REBECCA WEST is sitting by the window
crocheting a large white woollen shawl, which is nearly completed. From
time to time she peeps out of window through the flowers. MRS. HELSETH
comes in from the right.)
Mrs. Helseth. Hadn't I better begin and lay the table for supper, miss?
Rebecca. Yes, do. Mr. Rosmer ought to be in directly.
Mrs. Helseth. Isn't there a draught where you are sitting, miss?
Rebecca. There is a little. Will you shut up, please? (MRS. HELSETH
goes to the hall door and shuts it. Then she goes to the window, to
shut it, and looks out.)
Mrs. Helseth. Isn't that Mr. Rosmer coming there?
Rebecca. Where? (Gets up.) Yes, it is he. (Stands behind the
window-curtain.) Stand on one side. Don't let him catch sight of us.
Mrs. Helseth (stepping back). Look, miss--he is beginning to use the
mill path again.
Rebecca. He came by the mill path the day before yesterday too. (Peeps
out between the curtain and the window-frame). Now we shall see
whether--
Mrs. Helseth. Is he going over the wooden bridge?
Rebecca. That is just what I want to see. (After a moment.) No. He has
turned aside. He is coming the other way round to-day too. (Comes away
from the window.) It is a long way round.
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, of course. One can well understand his shrinking
from going over that bridge. The spot where such a thing has happened
is--
Rebecca (folding up her work). They cling to their dead a long time at
Rosmersholm.
Mrs. Helseth. If you ask me, miss, I should say it is the dead that
cling to Rosmersholm a long time.
Rebecca (looking at her). The dead?
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, one might almost say that they don't seem to be able
to tear themselves away from those they have left behind.
Rebecca. What puts that idea into your head?
Mrs. Helseth. Well, otherwise I know the White Horses would not be seen
here.
Rebecca. Tell me, Mrs. Helseth--what is this superstition about the
White Horses?
Mrs. Helseth. Oh, it is not worth talking about. I am sure you don't
believe in such things, either.
Rebecca. Do you believe in them?
Mrs. Helseth (goes to the window and shuts it). Oh, I am not going to
give you a chance of laughing at me, miss. (Looks out.) See--is that
not Mr. Rosmer out on the mill path again?
Rebecca (looking out). That man out there? (Goes to the window.) Why,
that is Mr. Kroll, of course!
Mrs. Helseth. So it is, to be sure.
Rebecca. That is delightful, because he is certain to be coming here.
Mrs. Helseth. He actually comes straight over the wooden bridge, he
does for all that she was his own sister. Well, I will go in and get
the supper laid, miss. (Goes out to the right. REBECCA stands still for
a moment, then waves her hand out of the window, nodding and smiling.
Darkness is beginning to fall.)
Rebecca (going to the door on the right and calling through it). Mrs.
Helseth, I am sure you won't mind preparing something extra nice for
supper? You know what dishes Mr. Kroll is especially fond of.
Mrs. Helseth. Certainly, miss. I will.
Rebecca (opening the door into the lobby). At last, Mr. Kroll! I am so
glad to see you!
Kroll (coming into the lobby and putting down his stick). Thank you.
Are you sure I am not disturbing you?
Rebecca. You? How can you say such a thing?
Kroll (coming into the room). You are always so kind. (Looks round the
room.) Is John up in his room?
Rebecca. No, he has gone out for a walk. He is later than usual of
coming in, but he is sure to be back directly. (Points to the sofa.) Do
sit down and wait for him.
Kroll (putting down his hat). Thank you. (Sits down and looks about
him.) How charmingly pretty you have made the old room look! Flowers
everywhere!
Rebecca. Mr. Rosmer is so fond of having fresh flowers about him.
Kroll. And so are you, I should say.
Rebecca. Yes, I am. I think their scent has such a delicious effect on
one--and till lately we had to deny ourselves that pleasure, you know.
Kroll (nodding slowly). Poor Beata could not stand the scent of them.
Rebecca. Nor their colours either. They made her feel dazed.
Kroll. Yes, I remember. (Continues in a more cheerful tone of voice).
Well, and how are things going here?
Rebecca. Oh, everything goes on in the same quiet, placid way. One day
is exactly like another. And how are things with you? Is your wife--?
Kroll. Oh, my dear Miss West, don't let us talk about my affairs. In a
family there is always something or other going awry--especially in
such times as we live in now.
Rebecca (after a short pause, sitting down in an easy-chair near the
sofa). Why have you never once been near us during the whole of your
holidays?
Kroll. Oh, it doesn't do to be importunate, you know.
Rebecca. If you only knew how we have missed you.
Kroll. And, besides, I have been away, you know.
Rebecca. Yes, for a fortnight or so. I suppose you have been going the
round of the public meetings?
Kroll (nods). Yes, what do you say to that? Would you ever have thought
I would become a political agitator in my old age--eh?
Rebecca (smilingly). You have always been a little bit of an agitator,
Mr. Kroll.
Kroll. Oh, yes; just for my own amusement. But for the future it is
going to be in real earnest. Do you ever read the Radical newspapers?
Rebecca. Yes, I won't deny that!
Kroll. My dear Miss West, there is no objection to that--not as far as
you are concerned.
Rebecca. No, that is just what I think. I must follow the course of
events--keep up with what is happening.
Kroll. Well, under any circumstances, I should never expect you, as a
woman, to side actively with either party in the civic dispute--indeed
one might more properly call it the civil war--that is raging here. I
dare say you have read, then, the abuse these "nature's gentlemen" are
pleased to shower upon me, and the scandalous coarseness they consider
they are entitled to make use of?
Rebecca. Yes, but I think you have held your own pretty forcibly.
Kroll. That I have--though I say it. I have tasted blood now, and I
will make them realise that I am not the sort of man to take it lying
down--. (Checks himself.) No, no, do not let us get upon that sad and
distressing topic this evening.
Rebecca. No, my dear Mr. Kroll, certainly not.
Kroll. Tell me, instead, how you find you get on at Rosmersholm, now
that you are alone here--I mean, since our poor Beata--
Rebecca. Oh, thanks--I get on very well here. Her death has made a
great gap in the house in many ways, of course--and one misses her and
grieves for her, naturally. But in other respects--
Kroll. Do you think you will remain here?--permanently, I mean?
Rebecca. Dear Mr. Kroll, I really never think about it at all. The fact
is that I have become so thoroughly domesticated here that I almost
feel as if I belonged to the place too.
Kroll. You? I should think you did!
Rebecca. And as long as Mr. Rosmer finds I can be any comfort or any
use to him, I will gladly remain here, undoubtedly.
Kroll (looking at her, with some emotion). You know, there is something
splendid about a woman's sacrificing the whole of her youth for others.
Rebecca. What else have I had to live for?
Kroll. At first when you came here there was your perpetual worry with
that unreasonable <DW36> of a foster-father of yours--
Rebecca. You mustn't think that Dr. West was as unreasonable as that
when we lived in Finmark. It was the trying journeys by sea that broke
him up. But it is quite true that after we had moved here there were
one or two hard years before his sufferings were over.
Kroll. Were not the years that followed even harder for you?
Rebecca. No; how can you say such a thing! I, who was so genuinely fond
of Beata--! And she, poor soul was so sadly in need of care and
sympathetic companionship.
Kroll. You deserve to be thanked and rewarded for the forbearance with
which you speak of her.
Rebecca (moving a little nearer to him). Dear Mr. Kroll, you say that
so kindly and so sincerely that I feel sure you really bear me no
ill-will.
Kroll. Ill-will? What do you mean?
Rebecca. Well, it would not be so very surprising if it were rather
painful for you to see me, a stranger, doing just as I like here at
Rosmersholm.
Kroll. How in the world could you think--!
Rebecca. Then it is not so? (Holds out her hand to, him.) Thank you,
Mr. Kroll; thank you for that.
Kroll. But what on earth could make you take such an idea into your
head?
Rebecca. I began to be afraid it might be so, as you have so seldom
been out here to see us lately.
Kroll. I can assure you, you have been on the wrong scent entirely,
Miss West. And, in any case, the situation of affairs is unchanged in
any essential point; because during the last sad years of poor Beata's
life it was you and you alone, even then, that looked after everything
here.
Rebecca. But it was more like a kind of regency in the wife's name.
Kroll. Whatever it was, I--. I will tell you what, Miss West; as far as
I am concerned I should have nothing whatever to say against it if you.
But it doesn't do to say such things.
Rebecca. What things?
Kroll. Well, if it so happened that you were to step into the empty
place--
Rebecca. I have the place I want, already, Mr. Kroll.
Kroll. Yes, as far as material benefits go; but not--
Rebecca (interrupting him, in a serious voice). For shame, Mr. Kroll!
How can you sit there and jest about such things!
Kroll. Oh, well, I dare say our good John Rosmer thinks he has had more
than enough of married life. But, all the same--
Rebecca. Really, you almost make me feel inclined to laugh at you.
Kroll. All the same--Tell me, Miss West, if I may be allowed the
question, how old are you?
Rebecca. I am ashamed to say I was twenty-nine on my last birthday, Mr.
Kroll. I am nearly thirty.
Kroll. Quite so. And Rosmer--how old is he? Let me see. He is five
years younger than me, so he must be just about forty-three. It seems
to me it would be very suitable.
Rebecca. No doubt, no doubt. It would be remarkably suitable--Will you
stop and have supper with us?
Kroll. Thank you. I had meant to pay you a good long visit, because
there is a matter I want to talk over with our excellent friend--Well,
then, Miss West, to prevent your taking foolish ideas into your head
again, I will come out here again from time to time, as in the old days.
Rebecca. Yes, please do. (Holds out her hand to, him.) Thank you, thank
you! You are really uncommonly good-natured.
Kroll (with a little grumble). Am I? I can tell you that is more than
they say at home. (ROSMER comes in by the door on the right.)
Rebecca. Mr. Rosmer, do you see who is sitting here?
Rosmer. Mrs. Helseth told me. (KROLL gets up.) I am so glad to see you
here again, my dear fellow. (Puts his hands on KROLL'S shoulders and
looks him in the face.) Dear old friend! I knew that one day we should
be on our old footing again.
Kroll. My dear fellow, have you that insane idea in your head too, that
any thing could come between us?
Rebecca (to ROSMER). Isn't it delightful to think it was all our
imagination!
Rosmer. Is that really true, Kroll? But why have you kept so
obstinately away from us?
Kroll (seriously, and in, a subdued voice). Because I did not want to
come here like a living reminder of the unhappy time that is past--and
of her who met her death in the mill-race.
Rosmer. It was a very kind thought on your part. You are always so
considerate. But it was altogether unnecessary to keep away from us on
that account. Come along, let us sit down on the sofa. (They sit down.)
I can assure you it is not in the least painful for me to think about
Beata. We talk about her every day. She seems to us to have a part in
the house still.
Kroll. Does she really?
Rebecca (lighting the lamp). Yes, it is really quite true.
Rosmer. She really does. We both think so affectionately of her. And
both Rebecca--both Miss West and I know in our hearts that we did all
that lay in our power for the poor afflicted creature. We have nothing
to reproach ourselves with. That is why I feel there is something sweet
and peaceful in the way we can think of Beata now.
Kroll. You dear good people! In future I am coming out to see you every
day.
Rebecca (sitting down in an arm-chair). Yes, let us see that you keep
your word.
Rosmer (with a slight hesitation). I assure you, my dear fellow, my
dearest wish would be that our intimacy should never suffer in any way.
You know, you have seemed to be my natural adviser as long as we have
known one another, even from my student days.
Kroll. I know, and I am very proud of the privilege. Is there by any
chance anything in particular just now--?
Rosmer. There are a great many things that I want very much to talk
over with you frankly--things that lie very near my heart.
Rebecca. I feel that is so, too, Mr. Rosmer. It seems to me it would be
such a good thing if you two old friends--
Kroll. Well, I can assure you I have even more to talk over with
you--because I have become an active politician, as I dare say you know.
Rosmer. Yes, I know you have. How did that come about?
Kroll. I had to, you see, whether I liked it or not. It became
impossible for me to remain an idle spectator any longer. Now that the
Radicals have become so distressingly powerful, it was high time. And
that is also why I have induced our little circle of friends in the
town to bind themselves more definitely together. It was high time, I
can tell you!
Rebecca (with a slight smile). As a matter of fact, isn't it really
rather late now?
Kroll. There is no denying it would have been more fortunate if we had
succeeded in checking the stream at an earlier point. But who could
really foresee what was coming? I am sure I could not. (Gets up and
walks up and down.) Anyway, my eyes are completely opened now; for the
spirit of revolt has spread even into my school.
Rosmer. Into the school? Surely not into your school?
Kroll. Indeed it has. Into my own school. What do you think of this? I
have got wind of the fact that the boys in the top class--or rather, a
part of the boys in it--have formed themselves into a secret society
and have been taking in Mortensgaard's paper!
Rebecca. Ah, the "Searchlight".
Kroll. Yes, don't you think that is a nice sort of intellectual pabulum
for future public servants? But the saddest part of it is that it is
all the most promising boys in the class that have conspired together
and hatched this plot against me. It is only the duffers and dunces
that have held aloof from it.
Rebecca. Do you take it so much to heart, Mr. Kroll?
Kroll. Do I take it to heart, to find myself so hampered and thwarted
in my life's work? (Speaking more gently.) I might find it in my heart
to say that I could even take that for what it is worth; but I have not
told you the worst of it yet. (Looks round the room.) I suppose nobody
is likely to be listening at the doors?
Rebecca. Oh, certainly not.
Kroll. Then let me tell you that the revolt and dissension has spread
into my own home--into my own peaceful home--and has disturbed the
peace of my family life.
Rosmer (getting up). Do you mean it? In your own home?
Rebecca (going up to Kroll). Dear Mr. Kroll, what has happened?
Kroll. Would you believe it that my own children--. To make a long
story short, my boy Laurits is the moving spirit of the conspiracy at
the school. And Hilda has embroidered a red portfolio to keep the
numbers of the "Searchlight" in.
Rosmer. I should never have dreamed of such a thing; in your family--in
your own house!
Kroll. No, who would ever have dreamed of such a thing? In my house,
where obedience and order have always ruled--where hitherto there has
never been anything but one unanimous will--
Rebecca. How does your wife take it?
Kroll. Ah, that is the most incredible part of the whole thing. She,
who all her days--in great things and small--has concurred in my
opinions and approved of all my views, has actually not refrained from
throwing her weight on the children's side on many points. And now she
considers I am to blame for what has happened. She says I try to coerce
the young people too much. Just as if it were not necessary to--. Well,
those are the sort of dissensions I have going on at home. But
naturally I talk as little about it as possible; it is better to be
silent about such things. (Walks across the floor.) Oh, yes.--Oh, yes.
(Stands by the window, with his hands behind his back, and looks out.)
Rebecca (goes up to ROSMER, and speaks in low, hurried tones, unheard
by KROLL). Do it!
Rosmer (in the same tone). Not to-night.
Rebecca (as before). Yes, this night of all others. (Goes away from him
and adjusts the lamp.)
Kroll (coming back). Yes, my dear John, so now you know the sort of
spirit of the age that has cast its shadow both over my home life and
my official work. Ought I not to oppose this appalling, destructive,
disorganising tendency with all the weapons I can lay my hands upon? Of
course it is certainly my duty--and that both with my pen and my tongue.
Rosmer. But have you any hope that you can produce any effect in that
way?
Kroll. At all events I mean to take my share in the fight as a citizen.
And I consider that it is the duty of every patriotic man, every man
who is concerned about what is right, to do the same. And, I may as
well tell you, that is really the reason why I have come here to see
you to-night.
Rosmer. My dear fellow, what do you mean? What can I--?
Kroll. You are going to help your old friends, and do as we are
doing--take your share in it to the best of your ability.
Rebecca. But, Mr. Kroll, you know how little taste Mr. Rosmer has for
that sort of thing.
Kroll. Then he has got to overcome that distaste now. You do not keep
abreast of the times, John. You sit here and bury yourself in your
historical researches. Goodness knows, I have the greatest respect for
family pedigrees and all that they imply. But this is not the time for
such occupations, unhappily. You have no conception of the state of
affairs that is going on all over the country. Every single idea is
turned upside down, or very nearly so. It will be a hard fight to get
all the errors straightened out again.
Rosmer. I can quite believe it. But that sort of a fight is not in my
line at all.
Rebecca. Besides, I rather fancy that Mr. Rosmer has come to look at
the affairs of life with wider opened eyes than before.
Kroll (with a start). Wider opened eyes?
Rebecca. Yes, or with an opener mind--with less prejudice.
Kroll. What do you mean by that? John--surely you could never be so
weak as to allow yourself to be deluded by the accidental circumstance
that the demagogues have scored a temporary success!
Rosmer. My dear fellow, you know very well that I am no judge of
politics; but it certainly seems to me that of late years individual
thought has become somewhat more independent.
Kroll. Quite so--but do you consider that as a matter of course to be a
good thing? In any case you are vastly mistaken, my friend. Just
inquire a little into the opinions that are current amongst the
Radicals, both out here in the country and in town. You will find them
to be nothing else than the words of wisdom that appear in the
"Searchlight".
Rebecca. Yes, Mortensgaard has a great deal of influence over the
people about here.
Kroll. Yes, just think of it--a man with as dirty a record as his! A
fellow that was turned out of his place as a schoolmaster because of
his immoral conduct! This is the sort of man that poses as a leader of
the people! And successfully, too!--actually successfully! I hear that
he means to enlarge his paper now. I know, on reliable authority, that
he is looking for a competent assistant.
Rebecca. It seems to me surprising that you and your friends do not
start an opposition paper.
Kroll. That is exactly what we intend to do. This very day we have
bought the "County News." There was no difficulty about the financial
side of the matter; but-- (Turns towards ROSMER) Now we have come to
the real purport of my visit. It is the Management of it--the editorial
management--that is the difficulty, you see. Look here, Rosmer--don't
you feel called upon to undertake it, for the sake of the good cause?
Rosmer (in a tone of consternation). I!
Rebecca. How can you think of such a thing!
Kroll. I can quite understand your having a horror of public meetings
and being unwilling to expose yourself to the mercies of the rabble
that frequents them. But an editor's work, which is carried on in much
greater privacy, or rather--
Rosmer. No, no, my dear fellow, you must not ask that of me.
Kroll. It would give me the greatest pleasure to have a try at work of
that sort myself--only it would be quite out of the question for me; I
am already saddled with such an endless number of duties. You, on the
other hand, who are no longer hampered by any official duties, might--.
Of course the rest of us would give you all the help in our power.
Rosmer. I cannot do it, Kroll. I am not fitted for it.
Kroll. Not fitted for it? That was just what you said when your father
got you your living.
Rosmer. I was quite right; and that was why I resigned it, too.
Kroll. Well, if you only make as good an editor as you did a parson, we
shall be quite satisfied.
Rosmer. My dear Kroll--once for all--I cannot do it.
Kroll. Well, then, I suppose you will give us the use of your name, at
all events?
Rosmer. My name?
Kroll. Yes, the mere fact of John Rosmer's name being connected with it
will be a great advantage to the paper. We others are looked upon as
pronounced partisans. I myself even have the reputation of being a
wicked fanatic, I am told. Therefore we cannot count upon our own names
to give us any particular help in making the paper known to the
misguided masses. But you, on the contrary, have always held aloof from
this kind of fighting. Your gentle and upright disposition, your
polished mind, your unimpeachable honour, are known to and appreciated
by every one about here. And then there is the deference and respect
that your former position as a clergyman ensures for you--and, besides
that, there is the veneration in which your family, name is held!
Rosmer. Oh, my family name.
Kroll (pointing to the portraits). Rosmers of Rosmersholm--clergymen,
soldiers, men who have filled high places in the state--men of
scrupulous honour, every one of them--a family that has been rooted
here, the most influential in the place, for nearly two centuries.
(Lays his hand on ROSMER'S shoulder.) John, you owe it to yourself and
to the traditions of your race to join us in defence of all that has
hitherto been held sacred in our community. (Turning to REBECCA.) What
do you say, Miss West?
Rebecca (with a quiet little laugh). my dear Mr. Kroll--it all sounds
so absurdly ludicrous to me.
Kroll. What! Ludicrous?
Rebecca. Yes, because it is time you were told plainly--
Rosmer (hurriedly). No, no--don't! Not now!
Kroll (looking from one to the other). But, my dear friends, what on
earth--? (Breaks off, as MRS. HELSETH comes in, by the door on the
right.) Ahem!
Mrs. Helseth. There is a man at the kitchen door, sir. He says he wants
to see you.
Rosmer (in a relieved voice). Is there? Well, ask him to come in.
Mrs. Helseth. Shall I show him in here, sir?
Rosmer. Certainly.
Mrs. Helseth. But he doesn't look the sort of man one ought to allow in
here.
Rebecca. What does he look like, Mrs. Helseth?
Mrs. Helseth. Oh, he is not much to look at, Miss.
Rosmer. Did he not give you his name?
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, I think he said it was Hekman, or something like
that.
Rosmer. I do not know any one of that name.
Mrs. Helseth. And he said his Christian name was Ulrik.
Rosmer (with a start of surprise). Ulrik Hetman! Was that it?
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, sir, it was Hetman.
Kroll. I am certain I have heard that name before.
Rebecca. Surely it was the name that strange creature used to write
under--
Rosmer (to Kroll). It is Ulrik Brendel's pseudonym, you know.
Kroll. That scamp Ulrik Brendel. You are quite right.
Rebecca. So he is alive still.
Rosmer. I thought he was travelling with a theatrical company.
Kroll. The last I heard of him was that he was in the workhouse.
Rosmer. Ask him to come in, Mrs. Helseth.
Mrs. Helseth. Yes, sir. (Goes out.)
Kroll. Do you really mean to allow this fellow into your house?
Rosmer. Oh, well, you know he was my tutor once.
Kroll. I know that what he did was to stuff your head with
revolutionary ideas, and that in consequence your father turned him out
of the house with a horsewhip.
Rosmer (a little bitterly). Yes, my father was always the commanding
officer--even at home.
Kroll. Be grateful to his memory for that, my dear John. Ah!
(MRS. HELSETH shows ULRIK BRENDEL in at the door, then goes out and
shuts the door after her. BRENDEL is a good-looking man with grey hair
and beard; somewhat emaciated, but active and alert; he is dressed like
a common tramp, in a threadbare frock coat, shoes with holes in them,
and no visible linen at his neck or wrists. He wears a pair of old
black gloves, carries a dirty soft hat under his arm, and has a
walking-stick in his hand. He looks puzzled at first, then goes quickly
up to KROLL and holds out his hand to him.)
Brendel. Good-evening, John!
Kroll. Excuse me
Brendel. Did you ever expect to see me again? And inside these hated
walls, too?
Kroll. Excuse me. (Points to ROSMER.) Over there.
Brendel (turning round). Quite right. There he is. John--my boy--my
favourite pupil!
Rosmer (shaking hands with him). My old tutor!
Brendel. In spite of certain recollections, I could not pass by
Rosmersholm without paying you a flying visit.
Rosmer. You are very welcome here now. Be sure of that.
Brendel. And this charming lady--? (Bows to Rebecca.) Your wife, of
course.
Rosmer. Miss West.
Brendel. A near relation, I presume. And our stranger friend here? A
colleague, I can see.
Rosmer. Mr. Kroll, master of the grammar school here.
Brendel. Kroll? Kroll? Wait a moment. Did you take the Philology course
in your student days?
Kroll. Certainly I did.
Brendel. By Jove, I used to know you, then
Kroll. Excuse me--
Brendel. Were you not--
Kroll. Excuse me--
Brendel. --one of those champions of all the virtues that got me turned
out of the Debating Society?
Kroll. Very possibly. But I disclaim any other acquaintance with you.
Brendel. All right, all right! Nach Belieben, Mr. Kroll. I dare say I
shall get over it. Ulrik Brendel will still be himself in spite of it.
Rebecca. Are you on your way to the town, Mr. Brendel?
Brendel. You have hit the nail on the head, ma'am. At certain intervals
I am obliged to do something for my living. I do not do it
willingly--but, enfin--when needs must--
Rosmer. My dear Mr. Brendel, will you not let me be of assistance to
you? In some way or another, I mean--
Brendel. Ah, what a proposal to come from you! | 1,353.988712 |
2023-11-16 18:39:37.9785510 | 2,115 | 15 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: DANDELIONS]
Dandelions, dandelions, shining through the dew,
Let the Kings have Cloth of Gold, but let _us_ have _you_!
CHILD SONGS OF CHEER
BY
EVALEEN STEIN
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ANTOINETTE INGLIS
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
Published, August, 1918
COPYRIGHT, 1918,
BY LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
* * * * *
_Dear Children, all the little words
These printed pages through,
They are a flock of little birds
I bring to sing to you.
Sometimes they sing of foolish things,
And other times they try
To tell their gladness when their wings
Soar up to seek the sky.
So, Sweethearts, do but kindly hark!
If but a sparrow throng,
Or if among them there's a lark,
To you their songs belong!_
* * * * *
Contents
Up, Little Ones!
Dandelions
Our Puppies
The Lost Balloon
The Circus Procession
May-Baskets
The Picture-Book Giant
Did You Ever?
Decoration Day
Chu-Chu Cars
Fairy Rings
The Firefly
A Rain Song
Fairies
The Little Fir-Trees
The Wren-House
The Baby's Ride
An Indian Raid
The First Sleigh-Ride
Sleepy Time
When Bettie and Anne Went Walking
The Bluebird
The Organ-Grinder
The New Moon
Showery Time
Easter Day
The Sandman
Dandelion Curls
Pop-Corn
The Rash Little Sparrow
What If?
Easter Eggs
The Birds' Bath
November Morning
The Runaway
Lost!
The Queen's Page
Our Tree-Toad
In the Water-World
Who Was It?
Visiting Day
A Valentine to Catherine
Fireflies
The Rainy Day
The First Red-Bird
The Weather-Vane
The Swan
Baby's Baking
A Sure Sign
Another Sure Sign
The Robin's Bath
The Frosted Pane
The First Snow
Grandfather Knows
Sleigh-Bells
The Red-Bird
Wild Beasts
Wherefore Wings?
Basking
With a May-Basket for Baby Agnes
The Little Nest
Christmas Candles
A Song of the Christmas-Tree
Our Kittens
In July
A Valentine to a Little Child
Zip!
A Little Carol
Song
The Three Candles
* * * * *
Illustrations
DANDELIONS
Dandelions, dandelions, shining through the dew,
Let the kings have Cloth of Gold, but let _us_
have _you_! _Frontispiece_
FAIRY RINGS
See them dancing, dancing,
While the silver moon
Tips their swiftly glancing
Little silver shoon!
THE BIRDS' BATH
When the sun shines warm and high
Robins cluster round its brink
CHRISTMAS CANDLES
We can tell Him of our love
If we set a light for Him
* * * * *
Child Songs of Cheer
UP, LITTLE ONES!
A robin redbreast, fluting there
Upon the apple-bough,
Is telling all the world how fair
Are apple-blossoms now;
The honey-dew its sweetness spills
From cuckoo-cups, and all
The crocuses and daffodils
Are drest for festival!
Such pretty things are to be seen,
Such pleasant things to do,
The April earth it is so green,
The April sky so blue,
The path from dawn to even-song
So joyous is to-day,
Up, little ones! and dance along
The lilac-scented way!
DANDELIONS
Hey-a-day-a-day, my dear! Dandelion time!
Come, and let us make for them a pretty little rhyme!
See the meadows twinkling now, beautiful and bright
As the sky when through the blue shine the stars at night!
Once upon a time, folks say, mighty kings of old
Met upon a splendid field called "The Cloth of Gold."
But, we wonder, could it be there was ever seen
Brighter gold than glitters now in our meadows green?
Dandelions, dandelions, shining through the dew,
Let the kings have Cloth of Gold, but let _us_ have _you_!
OUR PUPPIES
Little ears as soft as silk,
Little teeth as white as milk,
Little noses cool and pink,
Little eyes that blink and blink,
Little bodies round and fat,
Little hearts that pit-a-pat,
Surely prettier puppies never
Were before nor can be ever!
THE LOST BALLOON
O dear! my purple toy balloon
Has flown away! and very soon
It will be high up as the moon!
And don't you think the man up there
Will wonder what it is, and stare?
Perhaps hell say, "_Well, I declare!_"
Or, maybe if it chance there are
Some little boys in yonder star,
And if it floats away so far,
Perhaps they'll jump up very high
And catch the cord as it goes by!
At any rate I hope they'll try!
THE CIRCUS PROCESSION
_Oh, hurry! hurry!_ here they come,
The band in front with the big bass drum
And blaring bugles,--there they are,
On golden thrones in a golden car,
Tooting and fluting, oh, how grand!
Hi diddle, diddle!
The fife and the fiddle!
_Hurrah, hurrah_ for the circus band!
And the red-plumed horses, oh, see them prance
And daintily lift their hoofs and dance,
While beautiful ladies with golden curls
Are jingling their bridles of gold and pearls,
And close behind
Come every kind
Of animal cages great and small,
O how I wonder what's in them all!
Here's one that's open and glaring there
Is the shaggiest snow-white polar bear!
_Woof!_ but I wonder what we'd do
If his bars broke loose right now, don't you?
And O dear me!
Just look and see
That pink-cheeked lady in skirts of gauze
And the great big lion with folded paws!
O me! O my!
I'm glad that I
Am not in that lion's cage, because
_Suppose he'd open his horrible jaws!_
--But look! the clown is coming! Of course
Facing the tail of a spotted horse
And shouting out things to make folks laugh,
And grinning up at the tall giraffe
That placidly paces along and looks
Just like giraffes in the picture-books!
And there are the elephants, two and two,
Lumbering on as they always do!
The men who lead them look so small
I wonder the elephants mind at all
As they wag their queer
Long trunks, and peer
Through their beady eyes,--folks say they know
No end of things, and I'm sure it's so!
And you never must do a thing that's bad
Or that possibly might make an elephant mad,
For he'll never forgive you, it appears,
And will punish you sure, if it takes him _years!_
So do not stare
But take good care
To mind your manners, and always try
To smile politely as they go by!
But the camels don't care if you laugh at them
With their bumpy humps like a capital M,
They lurch and sway
And seem to say,
As they wrinkle their noses, long and gray,
"This swaggering stride is quite the plan,
It's the way we walked in the caravan!"
And now more cages come rumbling by
With glittering people throned on high;
So many spangles and precious things,
They surely must all be queens and kings!
They look so proud
Above the crowd,
O my, how fine it must feel to ride
On golden wagons that hide inside
Strange animals caught in cannibal isles
And brought in ships for a million miles!
But hark! it's near
The end, for hear
That sudden screeching in piercing key!
The steaming, screaming _cal-li-o-pe_!
Just plain pianos sound terribly tame
Beside this one with the wonderful name,
And wouldn't you love some day to sit
In a circus wagon and play on it?
MAY-BASKETS
Let us take our baskets early
To the meadows green,
While the wild-flowers still are pearly
With the dewdrops' sheen.
Fill them full of blossoms rosy,
Violets and gay
Cowslips, every pretty posy
Welcoming the May.
Then our lovely loads we'll carry
Down the village street,
On each door, | 1,353.998591 |
2023-11-16 18:39:38.1460970 | 1,169 | 297 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
_By S. G. Tallentyre_
The Life of Voltaire
The Life of Mirabeau
Matthew Hargraves
THE LIFE
OF
VOLTAIRE
[Illustration: _Voltaire from the statue by Houdon at the Comédie
Française._]
THE LIFE
OF
VOLTAIRE
BY
S. G. TALLENTYRE
AUTHOR OF “THE WOMEN OF THE SALONS,” ETC.
“_Je n’ai point de sceptre, mais j’ai une plume._”--VOLTAIRE
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
THIRD EDITION
G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE BOYHOOD 1
II. EPIGRAMS AND THE BASTILLE 16
III. “ŒDIPE,” AND THE JOURNEY TO HOLLAND 25
IV. THE “HENRIADE,” AND A VISIT TO COURT 37
V. ENGLAND, AND THE “ENGLISH LETTERS” 48
VI. PLAYS, A BURLESQUE, AND THE APPEARANCE OF THE “LETTERS” 60
VII. MADAME DU CHÂTELET 74
VIII. A YEAR OF STORMS 86
IX. WORK AT CIREY 96
X. PLEASURE AT CIREY 106
XI. THE AFFAIR DESFONTAINES 117
XII. FLYING VISITS TO FREDERICK 127
XIII. TWO PLAYS AND A FAILURE 137
XIV. VOLTAIRE AS DIPLOMATIST AND COURTIER 149
XV. THE POPE, THE POMPADOUR, AND “THE TEMPLE OF GLORY” 159
XVI. THE ACADEMY, AND A VISIT 167
XVII. COURT DISFAVOUR, AND HIDING AT SCEAUX 175
XVIII. THE MARQUIS DE SAINT-LAMBERT 183
XIX. THE DEATH OF MADAME DU CHÂTELET 194
XX. PARIS, “ORESTE” AND “ROME SAUVÉE” 206
XXI. GLAMOUR 221
XXII. THE RIFT WITHIN THE LUTE 233
XXIII. THE QUARREL WITH MAUPERTUIS 249
XXIV. THE FLIGHT FROM PRUSSIA 265
XXV. THE COMEDY OF FRANKFORT 274
XXVI. THE “ESSAY ON THE MANNERS AND MIND OF NATIONS” 286
XXVII. THE ARRIVAL IN SWITZERLAND 296
XXVIII. THE DÉLICES, AND THE “POEM ON THE DISASTER OF LISBON” 307
XXIX. “NATURAL LAW,” THE VISIT OF D’ALEMBERT, AND THE AFFAIR OF BYNG 318
XXX. THE INTERFERENCE IN THE SEVEN YEARS’ WAR, THE
“GENEVA” ARTICLE, AND LIFE AT DÉLICES 329
XXXI. “THE LITERARY WAR,” AND THE PURCHASE OF FERNEY AND TOURNEY 344
XXXII. FERNEY 356
XXXIII. “CANDIDE,” AND “ÉCRASEZ L’INFÂME” 369
XXXIV. THE BATTLE OF PARTICLES, AND THE BATTLE OF COMEDIES 384
XXXV. BUILDING A CHURCH, AND ENDOWING A DAUGHTER 401
XXXVI. THE AFFAIR OF CALAS 413
XXXVII. THE “TREATISE ON TOLERANCE” 429
XXXVIII. THE SIRVENS AND LA BARRE 446
XXXIX. VOLTAIRE AND GENEVA: VOLTAIRE AND LA HARPE 463
XL. THE COLONY OF WATCHMAKERS AND WEAVERS 481
XLI. THE PIGALLE STATUE, AND THE VINDICATION OF LALLY 497
XLII. LATTER DAYS 514
XLIII. THE LAST VISIT 530
XLIV. THE END 553
INDEX 573
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
VOLTAIRE _Frontispiece_
_From the Statue by Houdon at the Comédie Française._
NINON DE L’ENCLOS 6
_From an original Picture given by herself to the Countess of Sandwich._
J. B. ROUSSEAU 32
_From an Engraving after a Picture by J. Aved._
LOUIS XV. 40
_From the Picture by Carle Van Loo in the Museum at Versailles._
MADAME DU CHÂTELET 70
_From an Engraving after Marianne Loir._
MADAME DE POMPADOUR 152
_From the Painting by François | 1,354.166137 |
2023-11-16 18:39:38.4995030 | 2,224 | 21 |
Produced by David Reed, and Ronald J. Wilson
REAL SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE
By Richard Harding Davis
MAJOR-GENERAL HENRY RONALD DOUGLAS MACIVER
ANY sunny afternoon, on Fifth Avenue, or at night in the _table d'hote_
restaurants of University Place, you may meet the soldier of fortune who
of all his brothers in arms now living is the most remarkable. You may
have noticed him; a stiffly erect, distinguished-looking man, with gray
hair, an imperial of the fashion of Louis Napoleon, fierce blue eyes,
and across his forehead a sabre cut.
This is Henry Ronald Douglas MacIver, for some time in India an ensign
in the Sepoy mutiny; in Italy, lieutenant under Garibaldi; in Spain,
captain under Don Carlos; in our Civil War, major in the Confederate
army; in Mexico, lieutenant-colonel under the Emperor Maximilian;
colonel under Napoleon III, inspector of cavalry for the Khedive of
Egypt, and chief of cavalry and general of brigade of the army of King
Milan of Servia. These are only a few of his military titles. In 1884
was published a book giving the story of his life up to that year. It
was called "Under Fourteen Flags." If to-day General MacIver were to
reprint the book, it would be called "Under Eighteen Flags."
MacIver was born on Christmas Day, 1841, at sea, a league off the shore
of Virginia. His mother was Miss Anna Douglas of that State; Ronald
MacIver, his father, was a Scot, a Rossshire gentleman, a younger son of
the chief of the Clan MacIver. Until he was ten years old young MacIver
played in Virginia at the home of his father. Then, in order that he
might be educated, he was shipped to Edinburgh to an uncle, General
Donald Graham. After five years his uncle obtained for him a commission
as ensign in the Honorable East India Company, and at sixteen, when
other boys are preparing for college, MacIver was in the Indian Mutiny,
fighting, not for a flag, nor a country, but as one fights a wild
animal, for his life. He was wounded in the arm, and, with a sword, cut
over the head. As a safeguard against the sun the boy had placed inside
his helmet a wet towel. This saved him to fight another day, but even
with that protection the sword sank through the helmet, the towel, and
into the skull. To-day you can see the scar. He was left in the road
for dead, and even after his wounds had healed, was six weeks in the
hospital.
This tough handling at the very start might have satisfied some men, but
in the very next war MacIver was a volunteer and wore the red shirt of
Garibaldi. He remained at the front throughout that campaign, and until
within a few years there has been no campaign of consequence in which he
has not taken part. He served in the Ten Years' War in Cuba, in
Brazil, in Argentina, in Crete, in Greece, twice in Spain in Carlist
revolutions, in Bosnia, and for four years in our Civil War under
Generals Jackson and Stuart around Richmond. In this great war he was
four times wounded.
It was after the surrender of the Confederate army, that, with other
Southern officers, he served under Maximilian in Mexico; in Egypt, and
in France. Whenever in any part of the world there was fighting, or the
rumor of fighting, the procedure of the general invariably was the
same. He would order himself to instantly depart for the front, and on
arriving there would offer to organize a foreign legion. The command of
this organization always was given to him. But the foreign legion was
merely the entering wedge. He would soon show that he was fitted for
a better command than a band of undisciplined volunteers, and would
receive a commission in the regular army. In almost every command in
which he served that is the manner in which promotion came. Sometimes he
saw but little fighting, sometimes he should have died several deaths,
each of a nature more unpleasant than the others. For in war the obvious
danger of a bullet is but a three hundred to one shot, while in the pack
against the combatant the jokers are innumerable. And in the career of
the general the unforeseen adventures are the most interesting. A man
who in eighteen campaigns has played his part would seem to have
earned exemption from any other risks, but often it was outside the
battle-field that MacIver encountered the greatest danger. He fought
several duels, in two of which he killed his adversary; several attempts
were made to assassinate him, and while on his way to Mexico he was
captured by hostile Indians. On returning from an expedition in Cuba he
was cast adrift in an open boat and for days was without food.
Long before I met General MacIver I had read his book and had heard of
him from many men who had met him in many different lands while
engaged in as many different undertakings. Several of the older war
correspondents knew him intimately; Bennett Burleigh of the _Telegraph_
was his friend, and E. F. Knight of the _Times_ was one of those who
volunteered for a filibustering expedition which MacIver organized
against New Guinea. The late Colonel Ochiltree of Texas told me tales
of MacIver's bravery, when as young men they were fellow officers in the
Southern army, and Stephen Bonsal had met him when MacIver was United
States Consul at Denia in Spain. When MacIver arrived at this post, the
ex-consul refused to vacate the Consulate, and MacIver wished to settle
the difficulty with duelling pistols. As Denia is a small place, the
inhabitants feared for their safety, and Bonsal, who was our _charge
d'affaires_ then, was sent from Madrid to adjust matters. Without
bloodshed he got rid of the ex-consul, and later MacIver so endeared
himself to the Denians that they begged the State Department to retain
him in that place for the remainder of his life.
Before General MacIver was appointed to a high position at the St. Louis
Fair, I saw much of him in New York. His room was in a side street in
an old-fashioned boarding-house, and overlooked his neighbor's back yard
and a typical New York City sumac tree; but when the general talked one
forgot he was within a block of the Elevated, and roamed over all
the world. On his bed he would spread out wonderful parchments, with
strange, heathenish inscriptions, with great seals, with faded ribbons.
These were signed by Sultans, Secretaries of War, Emperors, filibusters.
They were military commissions, titles of nobility, brevets for
decorations, instructions and commands from superior officers.
Translated the phrases ran: "Imposing special confidence in," "we
appoint," or "create," or "declare," or "In recognition of services
rendered to our person," or "country," or "cause," or "For bravery on
the field of battle we bestow the Cross----"
As must a soldier, the general travels "light," and all his worldly
possessions were crowded ready for mobilization into a small compass. He
had his sword, his field blanket, his trunk, and the tin despatch
boxes that held his papers. From these, like a conjurer, he would draw
souvenirs of all the world. From the embrace of faded letters, he would
unfold old photographs, daguerrotypes, and miniatures of fair women and
adventurous men: women who now are queens in exile, men who, lifted on
waves of absinthe, still, across a _cafe_ table, tell how they will win
back a crown.
Once in a written document the general did me the honor to appoint me
his literary executor, but as he is young, and as healthy as myself, it
never may be my lot to perform such an unwelcome duty. And to-day all
one can write of him is what the world can read in "Under Fourteen
Flags," and some of the "foot-notes to history" which I have copied
from his scrap-book. This scrap-book is a wonderful volume, but owing
to "political" and other reasons, for the present, of the many clippings
from newspapers it contains there are only a few I am at liberty to
print. And from them it is difficult to make a choice. To sketch in a
few thousand words a career that had developed under Eighteen Flags is
in its very wealth embarrassing.
Here is one story, as told by the scrap-book, of an expedition that
failed. That it failed was due to a British Cabinet Minister; for had
Lord Derby possessed the imagination of the Soldier of Fortune, his
Majesty's dominions might now be the richer by many thousands of square
miles and many thousands of black subjects.
On October 29, 1883, the following appeared in the London _Standard_:
"The New Guinea Exploration and Colonization Company is already
chartered, and the first expedition expects to leave before Christmas."
"The prospectus states settlers intending to join the first party must
contribute one hundred pounds toward the company. This subscription will
include all expenses for passage money. Six months' provisions will be
provided, together with tents and arms for protection. Each subscriber
of one hundred pounds is to obtain a certificate entitling him to one
thousand acres."
The view of the colonization scheme taken by the _Times_ of London, of
the same date, is less complaisant. "The latest commercial sensation is
a proposed company for the seizure of New Guinea. Certain adventurous
gentlemen are looking out for one hundred others who have money and
a taste for buccaneering. When the company has been completed, its
share-holders are to place themselves under military regulations, sail
in a body for New Guinea, and without asking anybody's leave, seize
upon the island and at once, in some unspecified way, proceed to | 1,354.519543 |
2023-11-16 18:39:38.5937770 | 2,128 | 15 |
Produced by Donald Cummings, Bryan Ness and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
WITH SACK AND STOCK IN ALASKA
PRINTED BY SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE LONDON
WITH SACK AND STOCK
IN ALASKA
BY
GEORGE BROKE, A.C., F.R.G.S.
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
AND NEW YORK: 15 EAST 16th STREET
1891
_All rights reserved_
Dedicated
TO THE MEMORY OF
A⸺ M⸺
KILLED ON THE DÜSSISTOCK
AUGUST 16, 1890
PREFACE
The publishing of these simple notes is due to the wishes of one who is
now no more. But for this they would probably have never seen the light,
and I feel therefore that less apology is needed for their crudeness and
‘diariness’ than would otherwise have been the case.
G. B.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO SITKA
The summons—Across the Atlantic in the ‘Polynesian’—A deceitful
car-conductor—The C.P.R.—At Victoria—On the ‘Ancon’—Fort
Wrangel—Juneau—Sitka 1
CHAPTER II
SITKA TO YAKUTAT
The town—Ascent of Sha-klokh—Expedition to Edgcumbe—Dick’s
dismissal—Enlisting recruits—Ascent of Verstovia—Arrival of
W.—On board the ‘Alpha’—Miserable weather—Run ashore at Yakutat 20
CHAPTER III
OPENING APPROACHES
Getting canoes and men—A false start—Icy Bay—Torrents of
rain—On march—The Yahkhtze-tah-heen—A wet camp—More wading—Our
forces—Camp on the glacier—Across the ice—The Chaix Hills 37
CHAPTER IV
AN ATTACK AND A COUNTERMARCH
A long lie—Men return to the beach—We make a
cache—Shifting camp—The Libbey Glacier—The south-east
face of St. Elias—Right-about-turn—Lake Castani—The Guyot
Glacier—Reappearance of the men—Wild-geese for supper 61
CHAPTER V
FURTHER ADVANCE AND MY RETREAT
Across the Tyndall Glacier—Ptarmigan—Another bear—The Daisy and
Coal Glaciers—A catastrophe—The others go on—Alone with Billy
and Jimmy—More geese—The blue bear—Marmot hunting 81
CHAPTER VI
BACK TO THE SHORE
Ptarmigan with a revolver—Back to Camp G—The others
return—Their narrative—The men turn up again—We start down—A
wasp’s nest—Mosquitoes—Wading extraordinary—We leave Icy Bay—A
luxurious breakfast 99
CHAPTER VII
LIFE AT YAKUTAT
Curio-hunting—Small plover—W. goes down on the ‘Active’—Siwash
dogs—A great potlatch—Cricket under difficulties—No signs of
the ‘Alpha’—I determine to go down in a canoe—The white men
accompany me 122
CHAPTER VIII
YAKUTAT TO SITKA
Farewells—A drunken skipper—Cape Fairweather—Loss of our
frying-pan—Mount Fairweather and its glaciers—Murphy’s
Cove—Stuck at Cape Spencer—Salmon and sour-dough bread—We reach
Cape Edwardes—The ‘Pinta’—Safe back—Height of St. Elias 137
_MAPS_
COAST OF PART OF SOUTH-EASTERN ALASKA, SHOWING THE ST. ELIAS
ALPS _To face p._ 1
THE SOUTHERN <DW72>s OF MOUNT ST. ELIAS 〃 61
[Illustration: COAST OF part of SOUTH-EASTERN ALASKA showing the ST.
ELIAS ALPS.
_Longmans, Green & Co., London & New York. F.S. Weller._]
WITH SACK AND STOCK IN ALASKA
CHAPTER I
LONDON TO SITKA
On the twenty-fifth of April, 1888, I was playing golf on our little
links at home, and had driven off for the Stile Hole, situated on the
lawn-tennis ground, when I observed the butler emerge from the house
with an orange envelope in his hand, and come towards me across the
lawn. Having with due deliberation played a neat approach shot over the
railings on to the green, I climbed over after it, putted out the hole,
and then went to meet him. The telegram proved to be from my friend
Harold T., with whom at Saas in the previous summer I had discussed
Seton-Karr’s book on Alaska, and we had both come to the conclusion that
we should much like to go there. Finding that I should have the summer
of ’88 at my disposal, I had written to him at the end of March to ask
about his plans and now got this telegram in reply. It was sent from
Victoria, B.C., and was an urgent appeal to join him and his brother at
once, as they meant to make an attempt on Mount St. Elias that summer,
and must start northward by the end of May. I retired to the smoking-room
to consider the situation, and finally came to the conclusion that such a
hurried departure might be managed.
I crossed over to Brussels, where I was then posted, packed up all my
goods and chattels, left masses of P.P.C. cards, and returned again
three days later. The afternoon of May 11 found me on board the Allan
liner ‘Polynesian’ at Liverpool. I was fortunate in making some very
charming acquaintances among the few saloon passengers on board, and
though the good ship did not bely her sobriquet of ‘Roly-poly,’ we had a
very pleasant crossing till the 17th, when we got into a horrible cold
wet fog, the temperature on deck not rising above 34° for two days,
while for about twelve hours we ran along the edge of, and occasionally
through, thin field-ice, all broken into very small pieces. About noon
on the 18th we sighted land to the north, covered with snow, and entered
the Gulf of St. Lawrence next day. We stopped off Rimouski to pick up
our pilot at lunch-time on Whit-Sunday, a lovely day but very cold, and
having left summer in England, we seemed to have returned suddenly into
winter. Next morning we awoke to find ourselves at Quebec.
As we had brought nine hundred emigrants, and the ‘Oregon’ and
‘Carthaginian’ came in at the same time, there was a mob of over two
thousand despairing passengers at the landing-stage station hunting
wildly for their luggage. I abandoned the conflict and went round the
town, calling at the Post Office, in hopes of hearing something from
H., but there was nothing, which was not very wonderful, as, though I
had telegraphed to say I was coming, I had not indicated my route in
any way. So I returned and collected my things, and after a successful
interview with the Customs officials got the greater part of them
checked to Vancouver, and conveyed the remainder to the railway station,
where I found my friends of the voyage. There was a train to Montreal
at half-past one, but it was very crowded, and we fell victims to the
blandishments of a parlour-car conductor, who represented to us that his
car would be attached to the emigrant special which would leave at three
o’clock and reach Montreal as soon, if not sooner, than the ordinary
train, as it would run right through. We fell into the snare, deposited
our properties in the car, and went off into the town again, returning
punctually at three. Alas there was no sign of the emigrant train, and
it did not leave till six, while its progress even then was of the most
contemptible character, stopping for long periods at benighted little
stations, so that we did not reach Montreal till three in the morning.
Fortunately we had furnished ourselves with biscuits, potted meat,
etc., including whisky, and so did not actually starve, but we were all
very cross, the ladies especially; and though the train was going to
continue its weird journey we declined to have anything more to do with
it, and hurried up to the big hotel, where we were soon wrapped in
dreamless slumbers, which lasted so long that we very nearly came under
the operation of a stern rule which decreed that no breakfasts should be
served after half-past ten.
After seeing as much of the city as we could during the day, we had
an excellent dinner, drove down in plenty of time to catch the 8.30
Pacific train, and ensconced ourselves in the recesses of a most
admirable sleeping-car, the name of which was, I fancy, the ‘Sydney.’ The
C.P.R. berths are most comfortable, and so wide that in many cases two
people are willing to share one, but the greater part of dressing and
undressing has to be done inside the berth | 1,354.613817 |
2023-11-16 18:39:38.6301720 | 7,436 | 9 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Annie McGuire and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS FROM THE PAINTING BY ELLEN EMMET
_Copyright, 1908, by Ellen Emmet_]
McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
VOL. XXXI JUNE, 1908 No. 2
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA
THE DECREE MADE ABSOLUTE
PRESIDENT JOHNSON AND HIS WAR ON CONGRESS
THE CRYSTAL-GAZER
BOB, DEBUTANT
TWO PORTRAITS BY GILBERT STUART
MARY BAKER G. EDDY
HER FRUITS
THE KEY TO THE DOOR
THE WAYFARERS
THE PROBLEMS OF SUICIDE
PRAIRIE DAWN
THE DOINGS OF THE DEVIL
YOUNG HENRY AND THE OLD MAN
EDITORIAL
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The Table of Contents was
added by the transcriber.
* * * * *
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA[1]
BY
ELLEN TERRY
The first time that there was any talk of my going to America was, I
think, in 1874, when I was playing in "The Wandering Heir." Dion
Boucicault wanted me to go, and dazzled me with figures, but I expect
the cautious Charles Reade influenced me against accepting the
engagement.
When I did go, in 1883, I was thirty-five and had an assured position in
my profession. It was the first of eight tours, seven of which I went
with Henry Irving. The last was in 1907, after his death. I also went to
America one summer on a pleasure trip. The tours lasted three months at
least, seven months at most. After a rough calculation, I find that I
have spent not quite five years of my life in America. Five out of sixty
is not a large proportion, yet I often feel that I am half American.
This says a good deal for the hospitality of a people who can make a
stranger feel so completely at home in their midst. Perhaps it also says
something for my adaptableness!
"When we do not speak of things with a partiality full of love, what we
say is not worth being repeated." That was the answer of a courteous
Frenchman, who was asked for his impressions of a country. In any case
it is almost imprudent to give one's impressions of America. The country
is so vast and complex that even those who have amassed mountains of
impressions soon find that there still are mountains more. I have lived
in New York, Boston, and Chicago for a month at a time, and have felt
that to know any of these great towns even superficially would take a
year. I have become acquainted with this and that class of Americans,
but I realize that there are thousands of other classes that remain
unknown.
[Illustration: _Copyrighted by Window & Grove From the collections of
Miss Frances Johnson and Mrs. Evelyn Smalley_
ELLEN TERRY OPHELIA, AND HENRIETTA MARIA, THREE PARTS WHICH SHE PLAYED
ON THE FIRST AMERICAN TOUR]
_The Unknown Dangers of America_
I set out in 1883 from Liverpool on board the "Britannic" with the fixed
conviction that I should never, never return. For six weeks before we
started the word America had only to be breathed to me, and I burst into
floods of tears! I was leaving my children, my bullfinch, my parrot, my
"aunt" Boo, whom I never expected to see again alive, just because she
said I never would, and I was going to face the unknown dangers of the
Atlantic and of a strange, barbarous land. Our farewell performances in
London had cheered me up a little--though I wept copiously at every
one--by showing us that we should be missed. Henry Irving's position
seemed to be confirmed and ratified by all that took place before his
departure. The dinners he had to eat, the speeches he had to make and to
listen to, were really terrific! One speech at the Rabelais Club had, it
was said, the longest peroration on record. It was this kind of thing:
"Where is our friend Irving going? He is not going like Nares to face
the perils of the far North. He is not going like A---- to face
something else. He is not going to China," etc.--and so on. After about
the hundredth "he is not going," Lord Houghton, who was one of the
guests, grew very impatient and interrupted the orator with: "Of course
he isn't! He's going to New York by the Cunard Line. It'll take him
about a week!"
_New York Before the "Sky-scrapers"_
My first voyage was a voyage of enchantment to me. The ship was laden
with pig-iron, but she rolled and rolled and rolled. She could never
roll too much for me. I have always been a splendid sailor, and I feel
jolly at sea. The sudden leap from home into the wilderness of waves
does not give me any sensation of melancholy.
What I thought I was going to see when I arrived in America, I hardly
remember. I had a vague idea that all American women wore red flannel
shirts and bowie knives and that I might be sandbagged in the street!
From somewhere or other I had derived an impression that New York was an
ugly, noisy place.
Ugly! When I first saw that marvellous harbour I nearly cried--it was so
beautiful. Whenever I come now to the unequalled approach to New York I
wonder what Americans must think of the approach from the sea to London.
How different are the mean, flat, marshy banks of the Thames, and the
wooden toy light-house at Dungeness, to the vast, spreading harbour,
with its busy multitude of steam boats and ferry boats, its wharf upon
wharf, and its tall statue of Liberty dominating all the racket and
bustle of the sea traffic of the world!
That was one of the few times in America when I did not miss the poetry
of the past. The poetry of the present, gigantic, colossal, and
enormous, made me forget it. The "sky-scrapers," so splendid in the
landscape now, did not exist in 1883; but I find it difficult to divide
my early impressions from my later ones. There was Brooklyn Bridge,
though, hung up high in the air like a vast spider's web. Between 1883
and 1893 I noticed a great change in New York and other cities. In ten
years they seemed to have grown with the energy of tropical plants. But
between 1893 and 1907 I saw no evidence of such feverish increase. It is
possible that the Americans are arriving at a stage when they can no
longer beat the record! There is a vast difference between one of the
old New York brownstone houses and one of the fourteen-storied buildings
near the river, but between this and the Times Square Building or the
still more amazing Flatiron Building, which is said to oscillate at the
top--it is so far from the ground--there is very little difference. I
hear that they are now beginning to build downwards into the earth, but
this will not change the appearance of New York for a long time.
[Illustration: _From the collection of Miss Evelyn Smalley_
HENRY IRVING AS MATHIAS IN "THE BELLS"
THE PART IN WHICH IRVING MADE HIS FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA]
I had not to endure the wooden shed in which most people landing in
America have to struggle with the custom-house officials--a struggle as
brutal as a "round in the ring" as Paul Bourget describes it. We were
taken off the "Britannic" in a tug, and Mr. Abbey, Lawrence Barrett, and
many other friends met us--including the much-dreaded reporters.
[Illustration: _Lent by The Century Co._
THE REJECTED DESIGN FOR A COLUMBIAN MEDAL MADE BY AUGUSTUS
SAINT-GAUDENS]
When we landed, I drove to the Hotel Dam, Henry to the Brevoort House.
There was no Diana on the top of the Madison Square Building then--the
building did not exist, to cheer the heart of a new arrival as the first
evidence of _beauty_ in the city. There were horse trams instead of
cable cars; but a quarter of a century has not altered the peculiarly
dilapidated carriages in which one drives from the dock, the muddy
sidewalks, and the cavernous holes in the cobble-paved streets. Had the
elevated railway, the first sign of _power_ that one notices after
leaving the boat, begun to thunder through the streets? I cannot
remember New York without it.
[Illustration: _Lent by The Century Co._
THE BAS-RELIEF PORTRAIT OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE MODELED BY AUGUSTUS
SAINT-GAUDENS. SAINT-GAUDENS GAVE A CAST OF THE PORTRAIT TO MISS TERRY]
I missed then, as I miss now, the numberless _hansoms_ of London plying
in the streets for hire. People in New York get about in the cars,
unless they have their own carriages. The hired carriage has no reason
for existing, and when it does, it celebrates its unique position by
charging two dollars for a journey which in London would not cost fifty
cents!
[Illustration: THE BAS-RELIEF PORTRAIT OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MODELED
BY AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS FOR THE ST. GILES CATHEDRAL, EDINBURGH.
SAINT-GAUDENS GAVE A CAST OF THIS PORTRAIT TO MISS TERRY'S DAUGHTER,
EDITH CRAIG]
_Irving Brings Shakespeare to America_
There were very few theatres in New York when we first went there. All
that part of the city which is now "up town" did not exist, and what was
then "up" is now more than "down" town. The American stage has changed
almost as much. Even then there was a liking for local plays which
showed the peculiarities of the different States, but they were more
violent and crude than now. The original American genius and the true
dramatic pleasure of the people is, I believe, in such plays, where very
complete observation of certain phases of American life and very real
pictures of manners are combined with comedy almost childlike in its
naivete. The sovereignty of the young girl which is such a marked
feature in social life is reflected in American plays. This is by the
way. What I want to make clear is that in 1883 there was no living
American drama as there is now, that such productions of romantic plays
and Shakespeare as Henry Irving brought over from England, were unknown,
and that the extraordinary success of our first tours would be
impossible now. We were the first, and we were pioneers and we were
_new_. To be new is everything in America. Such palaces as the Hudson
Theatre, New York, were not dreamed of when we were at the Star, which
was, however, quite equal to any theatre in London, in front of the
footlights. The stage itself, the lighting appliances, and the
dressing-rooms were inferior.
[Illustration: HENRY IRVING AS HAMLET
FROM THE STATUE BY E. ONSLOW FORD, R. A., IN THE GUILDHALL OF THE CITY OF
LONDON]
[Illustration: ELLEN TERRY AS IMOGEN
DRAWN BY ALMA-TADEMA FOR MISS TERRY'S JUBILEE IN 1906]
[Illustration: ELLEN TERRY AS PORTIA
FROM THE PAINTING BY SIR JOHN MILLAIS, R. A.]
_Our First Appearance Before an American Audience_
Henry made his first appearance in America in "The Bells." He was not at
his best on the first night, but he could be pretty good even when he
was not at his best. I watched him from a box. Nervousness made the
company very slow. The audience was a splendid one--discriminating and
appreciative. We felt that the Americans _wanted_ to like us. We felt in
a few days so extraordinarily at home. The first sensation of entering a
foreign city was quickly wiped out.
[Illustration: WILLIAM WINTER--
ONE OF THE FIRST CRITICS TO WELCOME IRVING TO THIS COUNTRY]
On the second night in New York it was my turn. "Command yourself--this
is the time to show you can act!" I said to myself as I went on the
stage of the Star Theatre, dressed as Henrietta Maria. But I could not
command myself. I played badly and cried too much in the last act. But
the people liked me, and they liked the play, perhaps because it was
historical, and of history the Americans are passionately fond. The
audience took many points which had been ignored in London. I had always
thought Henry as Charles I. most moving when he made that involuntary
effort to kneel to his subject, Moray, but the Lyceum audiences never
seemed to notice it. In New York the audience burst out into the most
sympathetic, spontaneous applause that I have ever heard in a theatre.
_American Clothes_
My impression of the way the American women dressed in 1883 was not
favourable. Some of them wore Indian shawls and diamond ear-rings. They
dressed too grandly in the street and too dowdily in the theatre. All
this has changed. The stores in New York are now the most beautiful in
the world, and the women are dressed to perfection. They are as clever
at the _demi-toilette_ as the Parisian, and the extreme neatness and
smartness of their walking gowns is very refreshing after the floppy,
blowsy, trailing dresses, accompanied by the inevitable feather boa, of
which English girls, who used to be so tidy and "tailor-made," now seem
so fond. The universal white "waist" is so pretty and trim on the
American girl. It is one of the distinguishing marks of a land of the
free, a land where "class" hardly exists. The girl in the store wears
the white waist; so does the rich girl on Fifth Avenue. It costs
anything from seventy-five cents to fifty dollars!
London, when I come back from America, always seems at first like an
ill-lighted village, strangely tame, peaceful, and backward. Above all,
I miss the sunlight of America, and the clear blue skies of an evening.
"Are you glad to get back?" said an English friend.
"Very."
"It's a land of vulgarity, isn't it?"
"Oh, yes, if you mean by that a wonderful land--a land of sunshine and
light, of happiness, of faith in the future!" I answered. I saw no
misery or poverty there. Everyone looked happy. What hurts me on coming
back to England is the _hopeless_ look on so many faces; the dejection
and apathy of the people standing about in the streets. Of course there
is poverty in New York, but not among the Americans. The Italians, the
Russians, the Poles--all the host of immigrants washed in daily across
the harbour--these are poor, but you don't see them unless you go Bowery
ways and even then you can't help feeling that in their sufferings there
is always hope. Vulgarity? I saw little of it. I thought that the people
who had amassed large fortunes used their wealth beautifully. When a man
is rich enough to build himself a big, new house, he remembers some old
house which he once admired, and he has it imitated with all the
technical skill and care that can be had in America. This accounts for
the odd jumble of styles in Fifth Avenue, along the lake-side in
Chicago, in the new avenues in St. Louis and elsewhere. One
millionaire's house is modelled on a French chateau, another on an old
Colonial house in Virginia, another on a monastery in Mexico, another is
like an Italian _palazzo_. And their imitations are never weak or
pretentious. The architects in America seem to me to be far more able
than ours, or else they have a freer hand and more money.
_The Work of Augustus Saint-Gaudens_
It is sad to remember that Mr. Stanford White was one of the best of
these splendid architects. It was Stanford White with Saint-Gaudens,
that great sculptor, whose work dignifies nearly all the great cities in
America, who had most to do with the Exhibition buildings of the World's
Fair in Chicago in 1893. It was odd to see that fair dream city rising
out of the lake, so far more beautiful in its fleeting loveliness than
the Chicago of the stock-yards and the pit which had provided the money
for its beauty. The millionaires did not interfere with the artists at
all. They gave their thousands--and stood aside. The result was one of
the loveliest things conceivable. Saint-Gaudens and the rest did their
work as well as though the buildings were to endure for centuries
instead of being burned in a year to save the trouble of pulling down!
The World's Fair recalled to me the story of how Michelangelo carved a
figure in snow which, says the chronicler Vasari who saw it, "was
superb."
Saint-Gaudens gave me a cast of his medallion of Bastien-Lepage, and
wrote to a friend of mine: "Bastien had '_le coeur au metier_.' So has
Miss Terry, and I will place that saying in the frame that is to replace
the present unsatisfactory one." He was very fastidious about this frame
and took such a lot of trouble to get it right.
It must have been very irritating to Saint-Gaudens when he fell a victim
to that extraordinary official Puritanism which sometimes exercises a
petty censorship over works of art in America. The medal that he made
for the World's Fair was rejected at Washington because it had on it a
beautiful little nude figure of a boy--holding an olive
branch--emblematical of young America. I think a commonplace wreath and
some lettering were substituted.
Saint-Gaudens did the fine bas-relief of Robert Louis Stevenson which
was chosen for the monument in St. Giles' Cathedral, Edinburgh. He gave
my daughter a medallion cast from this, because he knew that she was a
great lover of Stevenson. The bas-relief was dedicated to his friend,
Joe Evans. I knew Saint-Gaudens first through Joe Evans, an artist who,
while he lived, was to me and to my daughter the dearest of all in
America. His character was so fine and noble--his nature so perfect.
Many were the birthday cards he did for me, original in design,
beautiful in execution. Whatever he did, he put the best of himself
into it. I wrote this in my diary the year he died:
"I heard on Saturday that our dear Joe Evans is dangerously ill.
Yesterday came the worst news. Joe was not happy, but he was just
heroic, and this world wasn't half good enough for him. I wonder if
he has gone to a better. I keep on getting letters about him. He
seems to have been so glad to die. It was like a child's funeral, I
am told, and all his American friends seem to have been
there--Saint-Gaudens, Taber, etc. A poem about the dear fellow by
Mr. Gilder has one very good line in which he says the grave'might
snatch a brightness from his presence there.' I thought that was
very happy, the love of light and gladness being the most
remarkable thing about him, the dear sad Joe."
_Robert Taber_
Robert Taber, dear, and rather sad too, was a great friend of Joe's.
They both came to me first in the shape of a little book in which was
inscribed: "Never anything can be amiss when simpleness and duty tender
it." "Upon this hint I spake," the book began. It was all the work of a
few boys and girls who from the gallery of the Star Theatre, New York,
had watched Irving's productions and learned to love him and me. Joe
Evans had done a lovely picture by way of frontispiece of a group of
eager heads hanging over the gallery's edge, his own and Taber's among
them. Eventually Taber came to England and acted with Henry Irving in
"Peter the Great" and other plays.
Like his friend Joe, he too was heroic. His health was bad and his life
none too happy--but he struggled on. His career was cut short by
consumption and he died in the Adirondacks in 1904.
I cannot speak of all my friends in America, or anywhere, for the matter
of that, _individually_. My personal friends are so many, and they are
_all_ wonderful--wonderfully staunch to me! I have "tried" them so, and
they have never given me up as a bad job.
_Dramatic Criticism in America_
William Winter, poet, critic, and exquisite man, was one of the first to
write of Henry with whole-hearted appreciation. But all the criticism in
America, favourable and unfavourable, surprised us by the scholarly
knowledge it displayed. In Chicago the notices were worthy of the
_Temps_ or the _Journal des Debats_. There was no attempt to force the
personality of the writer into the foreground nor to write a style that
would attract attention to the critic and leave the thing criticised to
take care of itself. William Winter and, of late years, Alan Dale have
had their personalities associated with their criticisms, but they are
exceptions. Curiously enough, the art of acting appears to bore most
dramatic critics, the very people who might be expected to be interested
in it. The American critics, however, at the time of our early visits,
were keenly interested, and showed it by their observation of many
points which our English critics had passed over. For instance, writing
of "Much Ado about Nothing," one of the Americans said of Henry in the
Church Scene that "something of him as a subtle interpreter of doubtful
situations was exquisitely shown in the early part of this fine scene by
his suspicion of Don John--felt by him alone, and expressed only by a
quick covert look, but a look so full of intelligence as to proclaim him
a sharer in the secret with his audience."
"Wherein does the superiority lie?" wrote another critic in comparing
our productions with those which had been seen in America up to 1884.
"Not in the amount of money expended, but in the amount of brains; in
the artistic intelligence and careful and earnest pains with which every
detail is studied and worked out. Nor is there any reason why Mr. Irving
or any other foreigner should have a monopoly of either intelligence or
pains. They are common property and one man's money can buy them as well
as another's. The defect in the American manager's policy heretofore has
been that he has squandered his money upon high salaries for a few of
his actors; and in costly, because unintelligent, expenditure for mere
dazzle and show."
_William Winter and His Children_
William Winter soon became a great personal friend of ours, and visited
us in England. He was one of the few _sad_ people I met in America. He
could have sat upon the ground and "told sad stories of the deaths of
kings" with the best. In England he loved going to see graveyards, and
knew where every poet was buried. He was very familiar with the poetry
of the _immediate_ past--Cowper, Coleridge, Gray, Wordsworth, Shelley,
Keats, and the rest. He _liked_ us, so everything we did was right to
him. He could not help being guided entirely by his feelings. If he
disliked a thing, he had no use for it. Some men can say, "I hate this
play, but of its kind it is admirable." Willie Winter could never take
that unemotional point of view.
His children came to stay with me in London. When we were all coming
home from the theatre one night after Faust (the year must have been
1886), I said to little Willie:
"Well, what do you think of the play?"
"Oh my!" said he, "it takes the cake."
"Takes the _cake_," said his little sister scornfully. "It takes the
ice-cream!"
"Won't you give me a kiss?" said Henry to the same little girl one
night.
"No, I _won't_, with all that blue stuff on your face." (He was made up
for Mephistopheles.) Then, after a pause, "But why--why don't you _take_
it!" She was only five years old at the time!
_Discovering the Southern Darkey_
For quite a while during the first tour I stayed in Washington with my
friend, Miss Olive Seward, and all the servants of that delightful
household were. This was my first introduction to the <DW64>s,
whose presence in the country makes America seem more foreign than
anything to European eyes. They are more sharply divided into high and
low types than white people, and are not in the least alike in their
types. It is safe to call any <DW52> man "George." They all love it,
perhaps because of George Washington; and most of them are really named
George. I never met with such perfect service as they can give. _Some_
of them are delightful. The beautiful, full voice of the "darkey" is so
attractive--so soothing, and they are so deft and gentle. Some of the
women are beautiful, and all the young appeared to me to be well-formed.
As for the babies! I washed two or three little piccaninnies when I was
in the South, and the way they rolled their gorgeous eyes at me was "too
cute," which means, in British-English, "fascinating."
At the Washington house, the servants danced a cake-walk for me--the
<DW52> cook, a magnificent type, who "took the cake," saying, "That
was because I chose a good handsome boy to dance with, Missie." They
sang, too. Their voices were beautiful--with such illimitable power, yet
as sweet as treacle.
The little page boy had a pet of a woolly head--Henry once gave him a
tip, a "fee," in American-English, and said: "There, that's for a new
wig when this one is worn out," gently pulling the astrakhan-like hair.
The tip would have bought him many wigs, I think!
"Why, Uncle Tom, how your face shines to-night!" said my hostess to one
of the very old servants.
"Yes, Missie, glycerine and rose-water, Missie!"
He had taken some from her dressing-table to shine up his face in honour
of me! A shiny complexion is considered to be a great beauty among the
blacks. The dear old man! He was very bent and very old; and looked like
one of the logs that he used to bring in for the fire--a log from some
hoary, lichened tree whose life was long since past. He would produce
pins from his head when you wanted one; he had them stuck in his pad of
white woolly hair. "Always handy then, Missie," he would say.
"Ask them to sing 'Sweet Violets,' Uncle Tom."
He was acting as a sort of master of the ceremonies at the entertainment
the servants were giving me.
"Don't think they know dat, Miss Olly."
"Why I heard them singing it the other night!" And she hummed the tune.
"Oh, dat was 'Sweet Vio-_letts_,' Miss Olly!"
_American Women_
Washington was the first city I had seen in America where the people did
not hurry, and where the social life did not seem entirely the work of
women. The men asserted themselves here as something more than machines
in the background, untiringly turning out the dollars while their wives
and daughters give luncheons and teas at which only women are present.
Beautifully as the women dress, they talk very little about clothes. I
was much struck by their culture--by the evidence that they had read far
more and developed a more fastidious taste than most young Englishwomen.
Yet it is all mixed up with extraordinary naivete. Their vivacity, the
appearance, at least, of _reality_, the animation, the energy of
American women, delighted me. They are very sympathetic, too, in spite
of a certain callousness which comes of regarding everything in life,
even love, as "lots of fun." I did not think that they, or the men
either, had much natural sense of beauty. They admire beauty in a
curious way through their intellect. Nearly every American girl has a
cast of the winged Victory of the Louvre in her room. She makes it a
point of her _education_ to admire it.
There! I am beginning to generalize--the very thing I was resolute to
avoid. How silly to generalize about a country which embraces such
extremes of climate as the sharp winters of Boston and New York, and the
warm winds of Florida which blow through palms and orange groves!
THE DECREE MADE ABSOLUTE
BY MARIE BELLOC LOWNDES
ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARTHUR G. DOVE
James Tapster was eating his solitary, well-cooked dinner in his
comfortable and handsome house, a house situated in one of the half-moon
terraces which line and frame the more aristocratic side of Regent's
Park, and which may, indeed, be said to have private grounds of their
own, for each resident enjoys the use of a key to a portion of the Park
entitled locally the "Inclosure."
Very early in his life Mr. Tapster had made up his mind that he would
like to live in Cumberland Crescent, and now he was living there; very
early in his life he had decided that no one could order a plain yet
palatable meal as well as he could himself, and now for some months past
Mr. Tapster had given his own orders, each morning, to the cook.
To-night Mr. Tapster had already eaten his fried sole, and was about to
cut himself off a generous portion of the grilled undercut before him,
when he heard the postman's steps hurrying around the Crescent. He rose
with a certain quick deliberateness, and, going out into the hall,
opened the front door just in time to avoid the rat-tat-tat. Then, the
one letter he had expected duly in his hand, he waited till he had sat
down again in front of his still empty plate before he broke the seal
and glanced over the type-written sheet of note-paper:
SHORTERS COURT,
THROGMORTON ST.
November 4, 190-.
DEAR JAMES:
In reply to your letter of yesterday's date, I have been to Bedford
Row and seen Greenfield, and he thinks it probable that the Decree
will be made Absolute to-day; in that case you will have received a
wire before this letter reaches you.
Your affect' brother,
WM. A. TAPSTER.
In the same handwriting as the signature were added two holograph lines:
"Glad you have the children home again. Maud will be round to see them
soon."
Mr. Tapster read over once again the body of the letter, and there came
upon him an instinctive feeling of intense relief; then, with a not less
instinctive feeling of impatience, his eyes traveled down again to the
postscript: "Maud will be round to see them soon." Well, he would see
about that! But he did not exclaim, even mentally, as most men feeling
as he then felt would have done, "I'll be damned if she will!" knowing
the while that Maud certainly would.
His brother's letter, though most satisfactory as regarded its main
point, put Mr. Tapster out of conceit with the rest of his dinner; so he
rang twice and had the table cleared, frowning at the parlor-maid as she
hurried through her duties, and yet not daring to rebuke her for having
neglected to answer the bell the first time he rang. After a pause, he
rose and turned toward the door--but no, he could not face the large,
cheerless drawing-room up-stairs; instead, he sat down by the fire, and
set himself to consider his future and, in a more hazy sense, that of
his now motherless children.
But very soon, as generally happens to those who devote any time to that
least profitable of occupations, Mr. Tapster found that his thoughts
drifted aimlessly, not to the future where he would have them be, but to
the past--that past which he desired to forget, to obliterate from his
memory.
Till rather more than a year ago few men of his age--he had then been
sixty, he was now sixty-one--enjoyed a pleasanter and, from his own
point of view, a better filled life than James Tapster. How he had
scorned the gambler, the spendthrift, | 1,354.650212 |
2023-11-16 18:39:38.6304660 | 352 | 29 |
Produced by Shaun Pinder, Roger Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
CHRIST LEGENDS
BY
SELMA LAGERLOeF
Translated from the Swedish
BY
VELMA SWANSTON HOWARD
DECORATIONS BY BERTHA STUART
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1908
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1908,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
-------
Published October, 1908
THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N. J.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
THE HOLY NIGHT 1
THE EMPEROR'S VISION 13
THE WISE MEN'S WELL 25
BETHLEHEM'S CHILDREN 41
THE FLIGHT INTO EGYPT 73
IN NAZARETH 85
IN THE TEMPLE 95
SAINT VERONICA'S KERCHIEF 119
ROBIN REDBREAST 191
OUR LORD AND SAINT PETER 203
THE SACRED FLAME 221
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: The Holy Night]
THE HOLY NIGHT
When I was five years old I had such a great sorrow! I hardly know if I
have had a greater since.
It was then my grandmother died. | 1,354.650506 |
2023-11-16 18:39:38.7258080 | 7,436 | 8 |
Produced by Mark C. Orton, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
OLIVE...
IN ITALY
BY MORAY DALTON
[Illustration]
London
T. FISHER UNWIN
MCMIX
[_All Rights Reserved_]
"For in the hand of the Lord there is a cup, and the
wine is red; it is full mixed, and He poureth out of the
same. As for the dregs thereof: all the ungodly of the
earth shall drink them...."
CONTENTS
BOOK I. PAGE
SIENA 17
BOOK II.
FLORENCE 115
BOOK III.
ROME 213
OLIVE IN ITALY
BOOK I.--SIENA
CHAPTER I
"I believe that Olive Agar is going to tell you that she can't pay her
bill," said the landlady's daughter as she set the breakfast tray down
on the kitchen table.
"Good gracious, Gwen, how you do startle one! Why?"
"She began again about the toast, and I told her straight that you
always set yourself against any unnecessary cooking. Meat and
vegetables must be done, I said, but those who can't relish bread as
it comes from the baker's, and plain boiled potatoes, can go without,
I said. Then she says, of course I must do as my mother tells me, and
would I ask you to step up and see her presently."
"Perhaps you were a bit too sharp with her."
The girl sniffed resentfully. "Good riddance if she goes," she called
after her mother.
Mrs Simons knocked perfunctorily at the dining-room door.
A young voice bade her come in. "I wanted to tell you that I heard
from my cousins in Italy this morning. I am going to stay with them
for a little, so I shall be leaving you at the end of the week."
The landlady's cold stare was disconcerting. There was a distinct note
of disapproval in her voice as she answered, "I do not know much about
Italy." She seemed to think it not quite a seemly subject, yet she
pursued it. "I should have thought it was better for a young lady
without parents or friends to find some occupation in her own
country."
Olive smiled. "Ah, but I hate boiled potatoes, and I think I shall
love Italy and Italian cooking. You remember the Athenians who were
always seeking some new thing? They had a good time, Mrs Simons."
"I hope you may not live to wish those words unsaid, miss," the woman
answered primly. "You have as good as sold your birthright, as Esau
did, in that speech."
"He was much nicer than Jacob."
"Oh, miss, how can you! But, after all, I suppose you are not
altogether one of us since you have foreign cousins. What's bred in
the bone comes out in the flesh they say."
"I am quite English, if that is what you mean. My aunt married an
Italian."
Mrs Simons's eyes had wandered from the girl's face to the heavy
chandelier tied up in yellow muslin, and thence, by way of "Bubbles,"
framed in tarnished gilt, to the door. "Ah, well, I shall take your
notice," she said finally.
She went down again into the kitchen. "I never know where to have
her," she complained. "There's something queer and foreign about her
for all she says. What's bred in the bone! I said that to her face,
and I repeat it to you, Gwendolen."
Mrs Simons might have added that adventures are to the adventurous.
Olive's father was Jack Agar, of the Agars of Lyme, and he married his
cousin. If Mrs Simons had known all that must be implied in this
statement she might have held forth at some length on the subject of
heredity, and have traced the girl's dislike of boiled potatoes to her
great-great-uncle's friendship with Lord Byron, and her longing for
sunshine to a still more remote ancestress, lady-in-waiting to a
princess at the court of Le Roi Soleil.
Adventures to the adventurous! The Agars were always aware of the
magnificent possibilities of life and love, and inclined to ignore the
unpleasant actualities of existence and the married state; hence some
remarkable histories, and, in the end, ruin. Olive was the last of the
old name. Jack Agar had died at thirty, leaving his wife and child
totally unprovided for but for the little annuity that had sufficed
for dress in the far-off salad days, and that now must be made to
maintain them. Olive was sent to a cheap boarding-school, where she
proved herself a fool at arithmetic; history, very good; conduct,
fair; according to her reports. She was not happy there. She hated
muddy walks and ink-stained desks and plain dumpling, and all these
things seemed to be an essential part of life at Miss Blake's.
She left at eighteen, and thereafter she and her mother lived together
in lodgings at various seaside resorts within their means, practising
a strict economy, improving their minds at the free library, doing
their own dressmaking, and keeping body and soul together on potted
meats, cocoa and patent cereals. Mary Agar rebelled sometimes in
secret, regretting the lack of "opportunities," _i.e._, of possible
husbands. She would have been glad to see her daughter settled. The
Agars never used commonsense in affairs of the heart. Her own marriage
had been very foolish from a worldly point of view, and her sister
Alice had run away with her music-master.
"In those days girls had a governess at home and finished with
masters, and young Signor Menotti came twice a week to our house in
Russell Square to teach Alice the guitar and mandoline. We shared
singing and French lessons, but she had him to herself. He was very
good-looking, dark, and rather haggard, and just shabby enough to make
one sorry for him. When Alice said she would marry him mamma was
furious, but she was just of age, and she had a little money of her
own, an annuity as I have, and she went her own way. They were
married at a registry office, I think, and soon afterwards they went
to his home in Italy. Mamma never forgave, but Alice and I used to
write to each other, and her eldest child was called after me. I don't
know how it turned out. She never said she was unhappy, but she died
after eight years, leaving her three little girls to be brought up by
their father's sister."
Olive knew little more than this of her aunt. Further questioning
elicited the fact that Signor Menotti's name was Ernesto.
"The girls are your cousins, Olive dear, and you have no other
relations. I should like to see them."
"So should I."
Olive knew all about the annuity, but she had not realised until her
mother died quite suddenly, of heart failure after influenza, what it
means to have no money at all. She was dazed with grief at first, and
Mrs Simons was as kind as could be expected and did not thrust the
weekly bill upon her on the morning after the funeral, though it was
due on that day. But lodgers are not supposed to give much trouble,
and though death is not quite so heinous as infectious disease or ink
spilt on the carpet it is still distinctly not a thing to be
encouraged by too great a display of sympathy, and Olive was soon made
to understand that it behoved her to seek some means of livelihood,
some way out into the world.
No proverb is too hackneyed to be comforting at times, and the girl
reminded herself that blood is thicker than water as she looked among
her mother's papers for the Menotti address. They were her cousins,
birds of a feather. She wrote them a queer, shy, charming letter in
strange Italian, laboriously learnt out of a grammar, and then--since
some days must elapse before she could get any answer--she
conscientiously studied the advertisement columns of the papers. She
might be a nursery governess if only she could be sure of herself at
long division, or--horrid alternative--a useful help. Mrs Simons
suggested a shop.
"You have a nice appearance, miss. Perhaps you would do as one of the
young ladies in the drapery department, beginning with the tapes and
thread and ribbon counter, you know, and working your way up to the
showroom."
But Olive altogether declined to be a young lady.
She waited anxiously for her cousins' letter, and it meant so much to
her that when it came she was half afraid to open it.
It was grotesquely addressed to the
Genteel Miss Agar Olive,
Marsden Street, 159,
Brighton,
Provincia di Sussex,
Inghilterra.
The post-mark was Siena. It was stamped on the flap, which was also
decorated with a blue bird carrying a rose in its beak, and was rather
strongly scented.
"DEAR COUSIN,--We were so pleased and interested to hear
from you, though we greatly regret to have the news of
our aunt's death. Our father's sister lives with us
since we are orphans. She is a widow and has no children
of her own. If you can pay us fifteen lire a week we
shall be satisfied, and we will try to get you pupils
for English. Kindly let us know the date and hour of
your arrival.--Believe us, yours devotedly,
"MARIA, GEMMA and CARMELA."
Olive read it carefully twice over, and then sat down at the table and
began to scribble on the back of the envelope. She convinced herself
that three times fifteen was forty-five, and that so many lire
amounted to not quite two pounds. Then there was the fare out to be
reckoned. Finally, she decided that she would be able to get out to
Italy and to live there for three weeks before she need call herself
penniless.
She went to the window and stood for a while looking out. The houses
opposite and all down the road were exactly alike, all featureless and
grey, roofed with slate, three-storied, with basement kitchens. Nearly
every one of them had "Apartments" in gilt letters on the fanlight
over the front door. It was raining. The pavements were wet and there
was mud on the roadway. The woman who lived in the corner house was
spring-cleaning. Olive saw her helping the servant to take down the
curtains in the front room. Dust and tea-leaves and last year's
cobwebs. It occurred to her that spring would bring a recurrence of
these things only if she became a useful help, as she must if she
stayed in England and earned her living as best she could--only these
and nothing more. The idea was horrible and she shuddered at it. "I
shall go," she said aloud. "I shall go."
CHAPTER II
Olive, advised by a clerk in Cook's office, had taken a through ticket
to Siena, third class to Dover, first on the boat, second in France
and Italy. She got to Victoria in good time, had her luggage labelled,
secured a corner seat, and, having twenty minutes to spare, strolled
round the bookstall, eyeing the illustrated weeklies and the cheap
reprints. The blue and gold of a shilling edition of Keats lay ready
to her hand and she picked it up and opened it.
The girl, true lover of all beauty, flushed with pleasure at the dear,
familiar word music, the sound of Arcadian pipes heard faintly for a
moment above the harsh roar of London. For her the dead poet's voice
rose clearly through the clamour of the living; it was like the silver
wailing of a violin in a blaring discord of brass instruments.
She laid down the book reluctantly, and turning, met the eager eyes of
the man who stood beside her. He had just bought an armful of current
literature, and his business at the bookstall was evidently done, yet
he lingered for an appreciable instant. He, too, was a lover of
beauty, and in his heart he was saying, "Oh, English rose!"
He did not look English himself. He wore his black hair rather longer
than is usual in this country, and there was a curiously vivid look, a
suggestion of fire about him, which is conspicuously lacking in the
average Briton, whose ambition it is to look as cool as possible. His
face was thin and his eyes were deep set, like those of Julius
Caesar--in fact, the girl was strongly reminded of the emperor's bust
in the British Museum. He looked about thirty-five, but might have
been older.
All this Olive saw in the brief instant during which they stood there
together and aware of each other. When he turned away she bought some
magazines, without any great regard for their interest or suitability,
and went to take her place in the third-class compartment she had
selected.
He would travel first, of course. She watched his leisurely progress
along the platform, and noted that he was taller than any of the other
men there, and better-looking. His thin, clean-shaven face compelled
attention; she saw some women looking at him, and was pleased to
observe that he did not even glance at them. Then people came hurrying
up to the door of her compartment to say good-bye to some of her
fellow-travellers, and she lost sight of him.
The train started and passed through the arid wilderness of backyards
that lies between each one of the London termini and the clean green
country.
Olive fluttered the pages of her magazine, but she felt disinclined
to read. She was pretty; her brown hair framed a rose-tinted face, her
smile was charming, her blue eyes were gay and honest and kind. Men
often looked at her, and it cannot be denied that the swift
appraisement of masculine eyes, the momentary homage of a glance that
said "you are fair," meant something to her. Such tributes to her
beauty were minor joys, to be classed with the pleasure to be derived
from _marrons glaces_ or the scent of violets, but the remembrance of
them did not often make her dream by day or bring a flush to her
cheeks.
She roused herself presently and began to look out of the window with
the remorseful feeling of one who has been neglecting an old friend
for an acquaintance. After all, this was England, where she was born
and where her mother had died, and she was leaving it perhaps for
ever. She tried to fix the varying aspects of the spring in her mind
for future reference; the tender green of the young larches in the
plantation, the pale gold of the primroses, and the flowering gorse
close to the line, the square grey towers of the village churches,
even the cold, pinched faces of the people waiting on the platforms of
the little stations. Italy would be otherwise, and she might never see
these familiar things again.
When the train rushed out on to the pier at Dover she dared not look
back at the white cliffs, but kept her eyes resolutely seaward. The
wind was high, and she heard that the crossing would be rough. Caesar
was close behind her, and she caught a glimpse of him going aft as she
made her way to the ladies' cabin.
She lay down on one of the red velvet divans in the stuffy saloon, and
closed her eyes as she had been advised to do, and in ten minutes her
misery was complete.
"If you are going to be ill nothing will stop you," observed the
sympathetic stewardess. "It is like Monte Carlo. Most people have a
system, and sometimes they win, but they are bound to lose in the end.
Champagne, munching biscuits, patent medicines, lying down as you are
now. It is all vanity and vexation of spirit, my dear."
Olive joined feebly in her laugh. "I feel better now. Are we nearly
there?"
"Just coming into harbour."
"Thank heaven!"
When Olive crawled up on deck her one idea, after her luggage, was to
avoid anyone who had seemed to admire her. She could not bear that the
man should see her green face, and she was grateful to him for keeping
his distance in the crush to get off the boat, and for disappearing
altogether in the station. A porter in a blue linen blouse piloted her
to the waiting train, and she climbed into the compartment labelled
"Turin," and settled herself in a window seat.
The country between Calais and Paris can only be described as flat,
stale and unprofitable by a beauty lover panting for the light and
glow and colour of the South, and Olive soon got a book out of her bag
and began to read. Her only fellow-passenger, a middle-aged English
lady with an indefinite face, spoke to her presently. "You are reading
a French novel?"
"No, it is in Italian. _La Citta Morta_, by Gabriele D'Annunzio. I
want to rub up my few words of the language."
"Is he not a very terrible writer?"
Olive was so tired of the disapproving note. "He writes very well, and
his descriptions are gorgeous. Of course he is horrid sometimes, but
one can skip those parts."
"Do you?"
Olive smiled. "No, I do not," she said frankly, "but I don't enjoy
them. They make me tired of life."
"Is not that rather a pity?"
"Perhaps; but you have to sift dirt to find diamonds, don't you? And
this man says things that are worth tiaras sometimes."
"Surely there must be Italian authors who write books suitable for
young people in a pretty style?"
"A pretty style? No doubt. But I don't read them."
The older woman sighed, and then smiled quite pleasantly. "I suppose
you are clever. One of my nieces is, and they find her rather a
handful. Will you try one of my sandwiches?"
Olive produced her biscuits and bananas, and they munched together in
amity. After all, an aunt might be worse than stupid, and this one was
quite good-natured, and so kind that her taste in literature might be
excused. There were affectionate farewells at the Paris station, where
she got out with all her accumulation of bags and bundles.
The train rushed on through the woods of Fontainebleau and across wide
plains intersected by poplar-fringed canals. As the evening mists rose
lights began to twinkle in cottage windows, and in the villages the
church bells were ringing the prayer to the Virgin. Olive had laid
aside her book some time since, and now, wearying of the grey twilit
world, she fell asleep.
Jean Avenel, too, had watched the waning of the day from his place in
a smoking first for a while, before he got up and began to prowl
restlessly about the corridors. "She will be so tired if she does not
eat," he said to himself. "They ought not to let a child like that
travel alone. I wonder--" He walked down the corridor again, but this
time he looked into each compartment. He saw three Englishmen and an
American playing whist, Germans eating, and French people sleeping,
and at last he came upon his rose. A small man, mean-featured and
scrubby-haired, was seated opposite to her, and his shining eyes were
fixed upon her face. She had taken off her hat and was holding it on
her lap, and Jean saw that she was clutching at it nervously, and
that she was pale. He understood that it was probably her first
experience of the Italian stare, deliberate, merciless, and
indefinitely prolonged. She flushed as he came forward, and her eyes
were eloquent as they met his. He sat down beside her.
"Please forgive me," he said quietly, "but I can see this man is
annoying you. Shall I glare him out of the place? I can."
"Oh, please do," she answered. "He has frightened me so. He was
talking before you came."
The culprit already looked disconcerted and rather foolish, and now,
as Jean leant forward and seemed about to speak to him, he began to be
frightened. He fidgeted, thrusting his hands in his pockets, looking
out of the window, humming a tune. His ears grew red. He tried to meet
the other man's level gaze and failed. He got up rather hurriedly. The
brown eyes watched him slinking out before they allowed themselves a
second sight of the rose.
"Thank you so much," said Olive. "I feel as if you had killed a spider
for me, or an earwig. He was more like an earwig. He must have come in
here while I was asleep."
"A deported waiter going back to his native Naples, I imagine," Jean
said. "They ought not to have let you travel alone."
She smiled. "I am a law unto myself."
"That is a pity. Will you think me very impertinent if I confess that
I have been watching over you--at a respectful distance--ever since we
left Victoria? I do not approve of children wandering--"
She tilted her pretty chin at him. "Children! So you have made
yourself into a sort of G.F.S. for me?"
"You know," he said gravely, "we have a mutual friend." He drew a blue
and gold volume from an inner pocket.
Olive flushed scarlet, but she only said, "Oh, Keats!"
She looked at his hands as they turned the pages; they were clever and
kind, she thought, and she wondered if he was an artist or a doctor.
Those fingers might set a butterfly's wing, and yet they seemed very
strong. She did not know she had sighed until he said, "Am I boring
you?"
"Oh, no," she answered eagerly. "Please don't go yet unless you want
to. But tell me why you bought that book?"
"If you could have seen yourself as I saw you, you would understand,"
he answered. "I once saw a woman on my brother's estate pick up a
piece of gold on the road. She had never had so much money without
earning it in her life before, I suppose. At any rate she kissed it,
and her face was radiant. She was old and ugly and worn by her long
days of toil in the fields, and you-- Well, in spite of the
differences you reminded me of her, and I am curious to know which
poem of Keats brought that swift, rapt light of joy."
"It was 'White hawthorn and the pastoral eglantine'--"
Jean found the place and marked the passage before returning the book
to his pocket. "Now," he said, "you will come with me and have some
dinner."
CHAPTER III
Many women are shepherded through all life's journeyings by their
men--fathers, brothers, husbands--who look out their trains for them,
put them in the care of guards, and shield them from all contact with
sulky porters and extortionate cabmen. Olive, who had always to take
her own ticket and fight her own and her mother's battles, now tasted
the joys of irresponsibility with Avenel. He compounded with Customs
officials, who bowed low before him, he took part in the midnight
scramble for pillows at Modane, emerging from the crowd in triumph
with no less than three of the coveted aids to repose under his arm,
and he saw Olive comfortably settled in another compartment with two
motherly German women, and there left her.
At Turin he secured places in the _diretto_ to Florence, and sent his
man to the buffet for coffee and rolls, and the two broke their fast
together.
"Italy and the joy of life," Olive said lightly, as she lifted her
cup, and he looked at her with melancholy brown eyes that yet held the
ghost of a smile.
"The passing hour," he answered; adding prosaically, "This is good
coffee."
Referring to the grey silvery trees whose name she bore he assured
her that he did not think she resembled them. "They are old and you
seem eternally young. You should have been called Primavera."
She laughed. "Ah, if you had been my godfather--"
"I should not have cared to have held you in my arms when you were a
bald-headed baby," he answered with perfect gravity.
Apparently he always said what he thought, but his frankness was
disconcerting, and Olive changed the subject.
"Is Siena beautiful?"
"It is a gem of the Renaissance, and you will love it as I do, I know,
but I wish you could have seen Florence first. My brother has a villa
at Settignano and I am going there now. The fruit trees in the orchard
will be all white with blossom. You remember Romeo's April oath: 'By
yonder moon that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--'"
They lunched in the station restaurant at Genoa, and there he bought
the girl a basket of fruit. "A poor substitute for the tea you will be
wanting presently," he explained. "You have no tea-basket with you?
You will want one if you are going to live with Italians."
"I never thought of it."
"May I send you one?" he asked eagerly. "Do let me."
Olive flushed with pleasure. No one had been so kind to her since her
mother died. Evidently he liked her--oh! he liked her very much. She
suddenly realised how much she would miss him when they parted at
Florence and she had to go on alone. It had been so good to be with
someone stronger than herself who would take care of her. He had
seemed happy too, and she thought he looked younger now than he did
when she first saw him standing by the bookstall at Victoria station.
"It is very good of you," she said. "I should like it. Thank you. I--I
shall be sorry to say good-bye."
He met her wistful eyes gravely. "I should like you to know that I
shall never forget this day," he said. "I shall never cease to be
grateful to you for being so--for being what you are. My wife is
different."
"Your wife--"
"I don't live with her."
He took a card from his case presently and scribbled an address on it.
"I dare not hope that I shall ever hear from you again, but that is my
name, and letters will always be forwarded to me from my brother's
place. If ever I could do anything--"
She faltered some word of thanks in an uncertain voice. She felt as if
something had come upon her for which she was unprepared, some shadow
of the world's pain, some flame of its fires that flickered at her
heart for a moment and was gone. She was suddenly afraid, not of the
brown eyes that were fixed so hungrily upon her face, but of herself.
She could hear the beating of her own heart. The pity of it--the pity
of it! He was so nice. Why could not they be friends--
The night had fallen long since and they were nearing Florence.
"Don't forget to change at Empoli," he said. "I will send my man on as
far as that to look after you. Will you let me kiss you?"
"Yes."
He came over and sat on the seat by her side. "Don't be afraid. I
won't hurt you," he said gently, and then, seeing her pale, he drew
back. "No, I won't. It would not be fair. Oh, I beg your pardon! It
will be enough for me to remember how good you were."
The train passed into the lighted station, and he stood up and took
his hat and coat from the rack before he turned to her once more.
"Good-bye."
CHAPTER IV
"Has anyone seen our cousin?" asked Gemma as she helped herself to
_spaghetti_.
Her aunt shrugged her fat shoulders. "No! The _donna di servizio_ is
mistress here, and she has ordained that the cousin shall not be
disturbed. She has even locked the door, and she carries the key in
her pocket."
"It is true," old Carolina said placidly. She was accustomed to join
in the conversation at table when she chose, and Italian servants are
allowed great freedom of speech. "You were all in your beds when
Giovanni Scampo drove her here in his cab this morning or you would
have seen her then. The poor child is half dead with fatigue. Let her
sleep, I say. There are veal cutlets to come, Signorina Maria; will
you have more _spaghetti_?"
"A little more."
The old woman shook her head. "You eat too much."
The Menotti lived in a small stuffy flat on the third floor of 25,
Piazza Tolomei. It had the one advantage of being central, but was
otherwise extremely inconvenient. The kitchen was hot and airless, and
the servant had to sleep in a dark cupboard adjoining, in an
atmosphere compounded of the scent of cheese, black beetles and old
boots. There were four bedrooms besides, all opening on to the
dining-room; and a tiny drawing-room, seldom used and never dusted,
was filled to overflowing with gilt furniture and decorative fantasies
in wool work.
The Menotti did not entertain. They met their friends at church, or at
the theatre, or in the Lizza gardens, where they walked every evening
in the summer. No man had ever seen them other than well dressed, but
in the house they wore loose white cotton jackets and old skirts. They
were _en deshabille_ now, though their heads were elaborately dressed
and their faces powdered, and Maria's waist was considerably larger
than it appeared to be when she was socially "visible."
"I must breathe sometimes," she said.
The three girls were inclined to stoutness, but Gemma drank vinegar
and ate sparingly, and so had succeeded in keeping herself slim
hitherto, though she was only three years younger than Maria, who was
twenty-nine and looked forty.
Carmela was podgy, but she might lace or not just as she pleased. No
one would look at her in any case since her kind, good-humoured, silly
face was marked with smallpox.
Gemma was the pride of her aunt and the hope of the family. The girls
were poor, and it is hard for such to find husbands, but she had
recently become engaged to a young lawyer from Lucca, who had been
staying with friends in Siena when he saw and fell in love with the
girl whom the students at the University named the "Odalisque."
Hers was the strange, boding loveliness of a pale orchid. She had no
colour, but her curved lips were faintly pink, as were the palms of
her soft, idle hands. "I shall be glad when she is married," her aunt
said often. "It is very well for Maria or Carmela to go through the
streets alone, but Gemma is otherwise, and I cannot be always running
after her. Then her temper... _Dio mio!_"
"Perhaps it is the vinegar," suggested Carolina rather spitefully.
"No. She wants a husband."
When the dinner was over Signora Carosi went to her room to lie down,
and her two elder nieces followed her example, but Carmela passed into
the kitchen with Carolina.
"You will let me see the cousin," she said, wheedling. "Gemma thinks
she will be ugly, with great teeth and a red face like the
Englishwomen in the Asino, but I do not believe it."
"If the signorina is hoping for a miracle of plainness she will be
unpleasantly surprised," said the old woman, and her shrivelled face
was as mischievous as a monkey's as she drew the key of Olive's room
from her pocket. "I am going to take her some soup now, and you shall
come with me."
It is quite impossible to be retiring, or even modest, in the
mid-Victorian sense, in flats. A bedroom cannot remain an inviolate
sanctuary when it affords the only means of access to the bathroom or
is a short cut to the kitchen. Olive had had some experience of
suburban flats during holidays spent with school friends, and had
suffered the familiarity that breeds weariness in such close quarters.
As she woke now she was unpleasantly aware of strangers in the room.
"Only a lover or a nurse may look at a woman while she sleeps without
offence," she said drowsily. "It is an unpardonable liberty in all
other classes of the population. Are you swains, or sisters of mercy?"
She opened her eyes and met Carmela's puzzled stare with laughter. "I
was saying that when one is ill or in love one can endure many
things," she explained in halting Italian.
"Ah," Carmela said uncomprehendingly, "I am never ill, _grazia a Dio_,
but when Maria has an indigestion she is cross, and when Gemma is in
love her temper is dreadful. Perhaps, being a foreigner, you are
different. Are you tired?"
"Yes, I | 1,354.745848 |
2023-11-16 18:39:39.1742720 | 2,129 | 49 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel, RichardW, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
TRACED AND TRACKED
OR
_Memoirs of a City Detective_.
BY JAMES M^cGOVAN,
AUTHOR OF “BROUGHT TO BAY,” “HUNTED DOWN,” AND
“STRANGE CLUES.”
SEVENTH EDITION.
EDINBURGH:
JOHN MENZIES & COMPANY
LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO.
1886.
_All rights reserved._
_WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
BROUGHT TO BAY;
OR,
_EXPERIENCES OF A CITY DETECTIVE_.
THIRTEENTH EDITION.
HUNTED DOWN;
OR,
_RECOLLECTIONS OF A CITY DETECTIVE_.
ELEVENTH EDITION.
STRANGE CLUES;
OR,
_CHRONICLES OF A CITY DETECTIVE_.
NINTH EDITION.
The above are uniform in size and price with “TRACED AND TRACKED,”
and the four works form the complete set of M^cGovan’s Detective
Experiences.
To
JOHN LENG, ESQ.,
KINBRAE, NEWPORT, FIFE
This Book
IS INSCRIBED, IN GRATEFUL REMEMBRANCE OF HIS
LOVING-KINDNESS DURING A CRITICAL
ILLNESS OF THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
The gratifying success of my former experiences—25,000 copies having
already been sold, and the demand steadily continuing—has induced
me to put forth another volume. In doing so, I have again to thank
numerous correspondents, as well as the reviewers of the public
press, for their warm expressions of appreciation and approval.
I have also to notice a graceful compliment from Berlin, in the
translation of my works into German, by H. Ernst Duby; and another
from Geneva, in the translation of a selection of my sketches into
French, by the Countess Agènor de Gasparin.
A severe and unexpected attack of hæmorrhage of the lungs has
prevented me revising about a third of the present volume. I trust,
therefore, that any trifling slips or errors will be excused on that
account.
In conclusion, I would remind readers and reviewers of the words
of Handel, when he was complimented by an Irish nobleman on having
amused the citizens of Dublin with his _Messiah_. “Amuse dem?” he
warmly replied; “I do not vant to amuse dem only; I vant to make dem
petter.”
JAMES M^cGOVAN.
EDINBURGH, _October 1884_.
CONTENTS.
A PEDESTRIAN’S PLOT, • 1
BILLY’S BITE, • 13
THE MURDERED TAILOR’S WATCH, • 24
THE STREET PORTER’S SON, • 44
A BIT OF TOBACCO PIPE, • 57
THE BROKEN CAIRNGORM, • 68
THE ROMANCE OF A REAL CREMONA, • 79
THE SPIDER AND THE SPIDER-KILLER, • 104
THE SPOILT PHOTOGRAPH, • 115
THE STOLEN DOWRY, • 127
M^cSWEENY AND THE MAGIC JEWELS, • 139
BENJIE BLUNT’S CLEVER ALIBI, • 150
JIM HUTSON’S KNIFE, • 161
THE HERRING SCALES, • 174
ONE LESS TO EAT, • 185
THE CAPTAIN’S CHRONOMETER, • 196
THE TORN TARTAN SHAWL, • 207
A LIFT ON THE ROAD, • 218
THE ORGAN-GRINDER’S MONEY-BAG, • 229
THE BERWICK BURR, • 240
THE WRONG UMBRELLA, • 252
A WHITE SAVAGE, • 263
THE BROKEN MISSIONARY, • 274
A MURDERER’S MISTAKE, • 285
A HOUSE-BREAKER’S WIFE, • 297
M^cSWEENY AND THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP, • 308
THE FAMILY BIBLE, • 320
CONSCIENCE MONEY, • 332
A WOLF IN SHEEP’S CLOTHING, • 343
TRACED AND TRACKED.
A PEDESTRIAN’S PLOT.
I have alluded to the fact that many criminals affect a particular
line of business, and show a certain style in their work which often
points unerringly to the doer when all other clues are wanting. A
glance over any record of convictions will convey a good idea of how
much reliance we are led to place upon this curious fact. One man’s
list will show a string of pocket-picking cases, or attempts in that
line, and it will be rare, indeed, to find in that record a case of
robbery with violence, housebreaking, or any crime necessitating
great daring or strength. Another shows nothing but deeds of brute
strength or bull-dog ferocity, and to find in his record of _prev.
con._ a case of delicate pocket-picking would make any one of
experience open his eyes wide indeed. The style of the work is even
a surer guide than the particular line, as the variety there is
unlimited as it is marked. This is all very well; and often I have
been complimented on my astuteness in thus making very simple and
natural deductions leading to convictions. But the pleasure ceases
to be unmixed when the criminal is as cunning as the detective, and
works upon that knowledge. To show how a detective may be deceived in
working on this—one of his surest modes of tracing a criminal—I give
the present case.
Dave Larkins was a Yorkshire thief, who had drifted northwards by
some chance and landed in Edinburgh. Street robbery was his line,
and, as he was a professional pedestrian, or racing man, he was not
caught, I should say, once in twenty cases. The list of his previous
convictions in Manchester, Liverpool, Preston, and other places
showed with unvarying monotony the same crime and the same style of
working. He would go up to some gentleman on the street and make an
excuse for addressing him, snatch at his watch, and run for it. More
often the victim was a lady with a reticule or purse in her hand, and
then no preliminary speaking was indulged in. He made the snatch,
and ran like the wind, and the whole was done so quickly that the
astounded victim seldom retained the slightest recollection of his
appearance.
Yet Dave’s appearance was striking enough. He was a wiry man of
medium height, with strongly-marked features, red hair, and a stumpy
little turned up nose, the round point of which was always red as a
cherry with bad whisky, except at those rare intervals when he was
“in training” for some foot race which it was to his advantage to win.
Then his dress had notable points. He generally wore a knitted jersey
in place of a waistcoat, and he had a grey felt hat covered with
grease spots, for which he had such a peculiar affection that he
never changed it for a new one. Under these circumstances it may be
thought that a conviction would have been easily got against Dave.
But Dave was “Yorkshire,” as I have indicated, and about as smart
and cunning in arranging an _alibi_ as any I ever met. No doubt his
racing powers helped him in that, but his native cunning did more.
There is a popular impression that a Yorkshire man will hold his
own in cunning against all the world, but I have here to record
that Dave met his match in a Scotchman who had nothing like Dave’s
reputation for smartness, and who was so stupid-looking that few
could have conceived him capable of the task. This man was known in
racing circles—for he was a pedestrian too—as Jake Mackay, but more
generally received the nickname of “The Gander.”
Why he had been so named I cannot tell—perhaps because some one
had discovered that there was nothing of the goose about him. Your
stupid-looking man, who is not stupid but supremely sharp-witted, has
an infinite advantage over those who carry a needle eye like Dave
Larkins, and have cunning printed on every line about their lips and
eyes.
The Gander was not a professional thief, though he was often in the
company of thieves. He had been in the army, and had a pension, which
he eked out by odd jobs, such as bill-posting and acting as “super.”
in the theatres. He was a thorough rascal at heart, and would have
cheated his own grandfather had opportunity served, and had there
been a shilling or two to gain by it.
These two men became acquainted at a pedestrian meeting at Glasgow,
and when Dave Larkins came to Edinburgh they became rather close
companions. The Gander had the advantage of local knowledge, and
could get at all the men who backed pedestrians, and then told them
to win or lose according to the way the money was staked. A racing
tournament was arranged about that time in which both of them were
entered for one of the shorter races, in which great speed, rather
than endurance, was called for. In that particular race they had the
result entirely in their own hands, though, if fairly put to it,
Dave Larkins, or “Yorky” as he was named, | 1,355.194312 |
2023-11-16 18:39:39.3256110 | 1,351 | 22 |
Produced by Janet Keller, D. Alexander and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
AT
GOOD OLD SIWASH
BY GEORGE FITCH
ILLUSTRATED
BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1916
_Copyright, 1910, 1911,_ BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY.
_Copyright, 1911,_ BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Printers S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U.S.A.
[Illustration: Twenty-five yards with four Muggledorfer men hanging on
his legs
FRONTISPIECE. _Page 19_]
AT GOOD OLD SIWASH
PREFACE
Little did I think, during the countless occasions on which I have
skipped blithely over the preface of a book in order to plunge into the
plot, that I should be called upon to write a preface myself some day.
And little have I realized until just now the extreme importance to the
author of having his preface read.
I want this preface to be read, though I have an uneasy premonition that
it is going to be skipped as joyously as ever I skipped a preface
myself. I want the reader to toil through my preface in order to save
him the task of trying to follow a plot through this book. For if he
attempts to do this he will most certainly dislocate something about
himself very seriously. I have found it impossible, in writing of
college days which are just one deep-laid scheme after another, to
confine myself to one plot. How could I describe in one plot the life of
the student who carries out an average of three plots a day? It is
unreasonable. So I have done the next best thing. There is a plot in
every chapter. This requires the use of upwards of a dozen villains, an
almost equal number of heroes, and a whole bouquet of heroines. But I
do not begrudge this extravagance. It is necessary, and that settles it.
Then, again, I want to answer in this preface a number of questions by
readers who kindly consented to become interested in the stories when
they appeared in the _Saturday Evening Post_. Siwash isn't Michigan in
disguise. It isn't Kansas. It isn't Knox. It isn't Minnesota. It isn't
Tuskegee, Texas, or Tufts. It is just Siwash College. I built it myself
with a typewriter out of memories, legends, and contributed tales from a
score of colleges. I have tried to locate it myself a dozen times, but I
can't. I have tried to place my thumb on it firmly and say, "There, darn
you, stay put." But no halfback was ever so elusive as this infernal
college. Just as I have it definitely located on the Knox College
campus, which I myself once infested, I look up to find it on the Kansas
prairies. I surround it with infinite caution and attempt to nail it
down there. Instead, I find it in Minnesota with a strong Norwegian
accent running through the course of study. Worse than that, I often
find it in two or three places at once. It is harder to corner than a
flea. I never saw such a peripatetic school.
That is only the least of my troubles, too. The college itself is never
twice the same. Sometimes I am amazed at its size and perfection, by the
grandeur of its gymnasium and the colossal lines of its stadium. But at
other times I cannot find the stadium at all, and the gymnasium has
shrunk until it looks amazingly like the old wooden barn in which we
once built up Sandow biceps at Knox. I never saw such a college to get
lost in, either. I know as well as anything that to get to the Eta Bita
Pie house, you go north from the old bricks, past the new science hall
and past Browning Hall. But often when I start north from the campus, I
find my way blocked by the stadium, and when I try to dodge it, I run
into the Alfalfa Delt House, and the Eatemalive boarding club, and other
places which belong properly to the south. And when I go south I
frequently lose sight of the college altogether, and can't for the life
of me remember what the library tower looks like or whether the
theological school is just falling down, or is to be built next year; or
whether I ought to turn to my right, and ask for directions at Prexie's
house, or turn to my left and crawl under a freight train which blocks a
crossing on the Hither, Yonder and Elsewhere Railroad. If you think it
is an easy task to carry a whole college in your head without getting it
jumbled, just try it a while.
Then, again, the Siwash people puzzle me. Professor Grubb is always a
trial. That man alternates a smooth-shaven face with a full beard in the
most startling manner. Petey Simmons is short and flaxen-haired, long
and black-haired, and wide and hatchet-faced in turns, depending on the
illustrator. I never know Ole Skjarsen when I see him for the same
reason. As for Prince Hogboom, Allie Bangs, Keg Rearick and the rest of
them, nobody knows how they look but the artists who illustrated the
stories; and as I read each number and viewed the smiling faces of
these students, I murmured, "Goodness, how you have changed!"
So I have struggled along as best I could to administer the affairs of a
college which is located nowhere, has no student body, has no endowment,
never looks the same twice, and cannot be reached by any reliable route.
The situation is impossible. I must locate it somewhere. If you are
interested in the college when you have read these few stories, suppose
you hunt for it wherever college boys are full of applied deviltry and
college girls are distractingly fair; where it is necessary to win
football games in order to be half-way contented | 1,355.345651 |
2023-11-16 18:39:39.3691680 | 1,469 | 16 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
In many cases, Bancroft uses both “u” and “v” to spell an
author’s name. Examples include:
Villagutierre and Villagvtierre
Mondo Nuovo and Mondo Nvovo
Villagutierre and Villagvtierre
Aluarado and Alvarado
Gvat. and Guat.
Cogolludo and Cogollvdo
Vetancurt and Vetancvrt.
Other archaic letter substitutions include "b" for "v" and "i" for
"y" and vice versa. These have been left as printed.
Possible printers errors include:
Esquemelin and Exquemelin are both used, possibly for the same
person.
Castile and Castille are both used, possibly for the same
place.
Fray Zambano and Zambrano are both used, possibly for the
same person.
On page 16, Mama Ocollo should possibly be Mama Ocllo or Occlo.
On page 237, "In 1519 he ordered the council of the Indies to
draw" (date possibly incorrect).
On page 424, mines of Chuluteca should possibly be mines of
Choluteca.
In footnote I-17, "vamrasen en tieren" is a possible printer's
error.
There is possibly text missing from the quote in footnote I-31.
In footnote X-45, Ariat should possibly be Arias.
In footnote X-45, Malapalte should possibly be Malaparte.
In footnote XI-11, "Ia Gottierez" is a possible printer's error.
In footnote XI-11, "ten zy binnen vier dagen" is a possible
printer's error.
The references in footnote XVII-12 and footnote XVII-20 to
Volume ii. of this series should possibly refer to Volume i.
In footnote XVII-35, "mirá que todo lo bueno que bacare" is a
possible printer's error.
The reference to "this volume" in footnote XVIII-31, is
ambiguous. A map of Guatemala can be found in the current
volume.
In footnote XXVI-24, "en gaossir" should possibly be
"engrossir."
In footnote XXVII-6, Casttell should possibly be Castell.
In footnote XXVII-15, Governor Mercedo should possibly be
Governor Mercado.
The sentence "no hicesters enterar la suma que el cinsutacto,
y corneríco de Lima so obligo a suplir por imaginaria, á lo
epetwo del registro que salió de aquella ciudad" in footnote
XXVII-22 was corrected to "no hicesteis enterar la suma que
el Consulado, y comercio de Lima se obligo a suplir por
ynmaxinaria, a lo efectibo del rexistro que salio de aquella
ciudad."
In footnote XXXVII-46, Moninbo should possibly be Monimbo (Nicaragua).
Italics in the footnote citations were inconsistently applied
by the typesetter.
Accents and other diacritics are inconsistently used.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
This volume contains references to the previous six volumes
of this work.
They can be found at:
Volume 1: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41070/41070-h/41070-h.htm
Volume 2: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/42808/42808-h/42808-h.htm
Volume 3: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43123/43123-h/43123-h.htm
Volume 4: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44104/44104-h/44104-h.htm
Volume 5: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45268/45268-h/45268-h.htm
Volume 6: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/58658/58658-h/58658-h.htm
THE WORKS
OF
HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT.
VOLUME VII.
HISTORY OF CENTRAL AMERICA.
VOL. II. 1530-1800.
SAN FRANCISCO:
A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS.
1883.
Entered according to Act of Congress in the Year 1883, by
HUBERT H. BANCROFT,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
_All Rights Reserved._
CONTENTS OF THIS VOLUME.
CHAPTER I.
PIZARRO AND PERU.
1524-1544.
PAGE.
Origin and Character of the Conqueror—The Triumvirate
Copartnership of Pizarro, Friar Luque, and
Diego de Almagro for Continuing the Discovery of
Andagoya—Departure—Attitude of Pedrarias—Slow Development
of their Plans—Return and Reëmbarkation—Persistence of
Pizarro—Sufferings on Gallo Island—Fate Defied—Discovery
of Tumbez and the Coast Beyond—Return to Panamá—Pizarro
Visits Spain—A New Expedition—Aboriginal History of
Peru—The Rival Incas—Establishment of the Spaniards at
San Miguel—Atahualpa at Caxamalca—The Spaniards Visit Him
there—Seizure of the Inca—Pacification of Peru—Arrival
of Almagro—Death of Father Luque—Judicial Murder of
the Inca—A King's Ransom—Downfall of the Peruvian
Monarchy—Disputes and Violent Deaths of the Almagros and
Pizarros 1
CHAPTER II.
CASTILLA DEL ORO.
1527-1537.
Administration of Pedro de los Rios—He is Superseded
by the Licentiate Antonio de la Gama—Barrionuevo's
Reign—A Province in Nueva Andalucía Granted to Pedro
de Heredia—He Sails for Cart | 1,355.389208 |
2023-11-16 18:39:39.4256960 | 2,226 | 19 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, D Alexander and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PEGGY OWEN
AND LIBERTY
_BY_ LUCY
FOSTER
MADISON
AUTHOR OF
"PEGGY OWEN"
"PEGGY OWEN,
PATRIOT"
"PEGGY OWEN
AT YORKTOWN"
ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
H. J. PECK
The Penn Publishing Company
PHILADELPHIA MCMXIII
COPYRIGHT
1912 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
[Illustration: "WHY, IT'S FATHER!"]
"The motto of our father-band
Circled the world in its embrace:
'Twas Liberty throughout the land,
And good to all their brother race.
Long here--within the pilgrim's bell
Had lingered--though it often pealed--
Those treasured tones, that eke should tell
Where freedom's proudest scroll was sealed!
Here the dawn of reason broke
On the trampled rights of man;
And a moral era woke
Brightest since the world began."
Introduction
In "Peggy Owen," the first book of this series, is related the story
of a little Quaker maid who lived across from the State House in
Philadelphia, and who, neutral at first on account of her religion,
became at length an active patriot. The vicissitudes and annoyances to
which she and her mother are subjected by one William Owen, an officer
in the English army and a kinsman of her father's, are also given.
"Peggy Owen, Patriot" tells of Peggy's winter at Middlebrook, in
northern New Jersey, where Washington's army is camped, her capture by
the British and enforced journey to the Carolinas, and final return
home.
"Peggy Owen at Yorktown" details how Peggy goes to Virginia to nurse a
cousin, who is wounded and a prisoner. The town is captured by the
British under Benedict Arnold, the traitor, and Peggy is led to
believe that he has induced the desertion of her friend, John
Drayton. Drayton's rescue from execution as a spy and the siege of
Yorktown follow.
In the present volume Peggy's friends rally about her when her Cousin
Clifford is in danger of capture. The exciting events of the story
show the unsettled state of the country after the surrender of
Cornwallis.
Contents
I. A SMALL DINNER BECOMES A PARTY 11
II. PEGGY IS SURPRISED 26
III. ON THE HORNS OF A DILEMMA 40
IV. THE SEARCH 53
V. FRIENDS IN NEED 69
VI. APPEARANCES AGAINST HER 81
VII. DAVID OWEN IS INFORMED OF THE FACTS 94
VIII. BEFORE THE COUNCIL 108
IX. OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN INTO THE FIRE 120
X. A RACE FOR LIFE 134
XI. THE CHOICE OF FAIRFAX 144
XII. "THEY MUST GO HOME" 163
XIII. A WOMAN'S WIT 176
XIV. MARCHING ORDERS 194
XV. THE ATTACK ON THE BLOCKHOUSE 215
XVI. "OF WHAT WAS HE GUILTY?" 227
XVII. A GLIMPSE OF HOME 244
XVIII. HEROD OUT HERODED 256
XIX. THE TURN OF THE WHEEL 272
XX. A SLIGHT EMPHASIS OF "THAT" 285
XXI. CHOSEN BY LOT 303
XXII. WHAT CAN BE DONE? 318
XXIII. A LITTLE HUMOR DESPITE A GRIM SITUATION 334
XXIV. "THEE MAY TELL HIM AT THE LAST" 348
XXV. AT HEADQUARTERS 363
XXVI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE GLEN 376
XXVII. THE SAFEGUARD OF HIS HONOR 392
XXVIII. "HOW COULD SHE KNOW?" 407
XXIX. IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH 424
XXX. AND THEN THE END 437
Illustrations
PAGE
"WHY, IT'S FATHER!" _Frontispiece_
"CLOSE THE DOOR" 47
THE TWO GIRLS SET FORTH 97
A SHOWER OF BULLETS FELL ABOUT THE SLEIGH 138
A CRY OF ANGUISH WENT UP 221
"WHERE IS THEE GOING?" 268
"I KNEEL TO YOU, SIR" 373
Peggy Owen and Liberty
CHAPTER I
A SMALL DINNER BECOMES A PARTY
"At Delaware's broad stream, the view begin
Where jutting wharfs, food-freighted boats take in;
Then, with the advancing sun direct your eye
Wide opes the street with firm brick buildings high;
Step, gently rising, over the pebbly way,
And see the shops their tempting wares display."
--_"Description of Philadelphia," Breitnal, 1729._
It was the first of March, 1782, and over the city of Philadelphia a
severe storm was raging. A stiff wind, that lashed the black waters of
the Delaware into sullen fury and sent the snow whirling and eddying
before it, blew savagely from the northeast. The snow, which had begun
falling the day before, had continued all night with such rigorous,
relentless persistence that by the noon hour the whole city was
sheeted with a soft white blanket that spread abroad a solemn
stillness. The rolling wheels of the few vehicles in the streets were
noiseless, and the sharp ring and clatter of horses' hoofs became a
dull muffled tramp. High up overhead the snow settled on the church
spires, clothing them in a garb of pure cold white, and drifted among
the niches of the State House Tower, until the face of the great clock
was hidden, and could scarce be told for what it was.
Just across from the State House, in the midst of extensive grounds,
stood a large double brick house which was taking its share of the
storm. There were piles of snow on the steps and broad piazzas, huge
drifts against the fences, and great banks on the terraces of the
gardens. The wind lashed the lithe limbs of the leafless trees of the
orchard, shrieked through the sooty caverns of the wide chimneys,
whistled merrily as it drove the snow against the windows, and rattled
the casements with howls of glee as it went whirling by.
Storm-bound the mansion seemed, but its cold and wintry appearance was
wholly on the outside, for within its walls there was no lack of
cheerfulness and warmth. Great fires blazed on every hearth and puffed
clouds of smoke through the broad chimneys, in defiance of the wind
which strove there for the mastery. Between the heavy gusts of wind
came gleeful bursts of laughter from the sitting-room as though the
inmates were too happy to heed the driving storm without, and from the
kitchen arose savory odors that spoke of tempting preparations for a
bounteous meal, which further enhanced the air of geniality that
pervaded the dwelling.
In this latter apartment were two persons: one, a serene faced woman
of middle age who was busily engaged at the kneading board; the other,
a slender maiden well covered by a huge apron and with sleeves rolled
back, stood before a deal table reducing loaf sugar to usable shape.
They were Mistress David Owen and her daughter Peggy.
"How it blows!" exclaimed the girl, looking up from her task as a
sudden gust of wind flung the outside door wide, and sent the snow
scurrying across the sanded floor of the kitchen. "What shall be done
anent that door, mother?"
"Tell Sukey to bring a large stick of wood and put against it,"
returned the lady. "Then look to the oven, Peggy. 'Tis hard to get a
clear fire with so much wind."
"I do believe that everything is going to be done to a turn in spite
of it," remarked Peggy, a little frown of anxiety which had puckered
her brow disappearing as she glanced into the great oven.
"Then as soon as thou hast set the table the dinner will be ready to
take up. I make no doubt but that thy friends are hungry. And what a
time they seem to be having," Mrs. Owen added as a merry peal of
laughter came from the sitting-room.
"Are they not?" Peggy smiled in sympathy. "I am so glad they came
yesterday. I fear me that they could not have reached here to-day in
this dreadful storm. 'Tis too bad to have such weather now when 'tis
Robert's first home leave in three years."
"Methinks that 'twould better come when one is on a furlough than in
camp," remarked her mother gravely. "It must be terrible for the
soldiers who lack so much to keep them comfortable."
"True," assented the girl soberly. "Would that the war were at an end,
and the peace we long for had come in very truth."
"And so do we all, my daughter. 'Tis weary waiting, but we must of
necessity possess ourselves with patience. But there! let not the
thought of it sadden thee to-day. 'Tis long since thou hast had thy
friends together. Enjoy the present, for we know not what the morrow
may bring. And now----"
"Set the table," added Peggy with a laugh, as she rolled down her
sleeves. "And don't thee dally too long talking | 1,355.445736 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.0430780 | 1,444 | 18 | POEMS***
E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Carol David, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE LONELY DANCER AND OTHER POEMS
BY
RICHARD LE GALLIENNE
1913
WITH A FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT BY
IRMA LE GALLIENNE
TO
IRMA
ALL THE WAY
Not all my treasure hath the bandit Time
Locked in his glimmering caverns of the Past:
Fair women dead and friendships of old rhyme,
And noble dreams that had to end at last:--
Ah! these indeed; and from youth's sacristy
Full many a holy relic hath he torn,
Vessels of mystic faith God filled for me,
Holding them up to Him in life's young morn.
All these are mine no more--Time hath them all,
Time and his adamantine gaoler Death:
Despoilure vast--yet seemeth it but small,
When unto thee I turn, thy bloom and breath
Filling with light and incense the last shrine,
Innermost, inaccessible,--yea, thine.
CONTENTS
THE LONELY DANCER
I
FLOS AEVORUM
"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"
"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"
"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"
"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"
"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"
II
TO A BIRD AT DAWN
ALMA VENUS
"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"
APRIL
MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE
SHADOW
JUNE
GREEN SILENCE
SUMMER SONGS
TO A WILD BIRD
"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"
"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"
"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"
AUGUST MOONLIGHT
TO A ROSE
INVITATION
SUMMER GOING
AUTUMN TREASURE
WINTER
THE MYSTIC FRIENDS
THE COUNTRY GODS
III
TO ONE ON A JOURNEY
HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL
SPRING'S PROMISES
"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"
"SINGING GO I"
"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"
"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"
"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"
RESURRECTION
"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"
"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"
"THE DEAD AROSE"
"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"
THE FRIEND
ADORATION
"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"
IV
SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA
V
A BALLAD OF WOMAN
AN EASTER HYMN
BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE
MORALITY
VI
FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"
VII
A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY
SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS
A FACE IN A BOOK
TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND
YOUNG LOVE
LOVERS
FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL
LOVE IN SPAIN
THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND
A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES
BLUE FLOWER
THE HEART UNSEEN
THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND
A SONG OF SINGERS
THE END
THE LONELY DANCER
I had no heart to join the dance,
I danced it all so long ago--
Ah! light-winged music out of France,
Let other feet glide to and fro,
Weaving new patterns of romance
For bosoms of new-fallen snow.
But leave me thus where I may hear
The leafy rustle of the waltz,
The shell-like murmur in my ear,
The silken whisper fairy-false
Of unseen rainbows circling near,
And the glad shuddering of the walls.
Another dance the dancers spin,
A shadow-dance of mystic pain,
And other partners enter in
And dance within my lonely brain--
The swaying woodland shod in green,
The ghostly dancers of the rain;
The lonely dancers of the sea,
Foam-footed on the sandy bar,
The wizard dance of wind and tree,
The eddying dance of stream and star;
Yea, all these dancers tread for me
A measure mournful and bizarre:
An echo-dance where ear is eye,
And sound evokes the shapes of things,
Where out of silence and a sigh
The sad world like a picture springs,
As, when some secret bird sweeps by,
We see it in the sound of wings.
Those human feet upon the floor,
That eager pulse of rhythmic breath,--
How sadly to an unknown shore
Each silver footfall hurryeth;
A dance of autumn leaves, no more,
On the fantastic wind of death.
Fire clasped to elemental fire,
'Tis thus the solar atom whirls;
The butterfly in aery gyre,
On autumn mornings, swarms and swirls,
In dance of delicate desire,
No other than these boys and girls.
The same strange music everywhere,
The woven paces just the same,
Dancing from out the viewless air
Into the void from whence they came;
Ah! but they make a gallant flare
Against the dark, each little flame!
And what if all the meaning lies
Just in the music, not in those
Who dance thus with transfigured eyes,
Holding in vain each other close;
Only the music never dies,
The dance goes on,--the dancer goes.
A woman dancing, or a world
Poised on one crystal foot afar,
In shining gulfs of silence whirled,
Like notes of the strange music are;
Small shape against another curled,
Or dancing dust that makes a star.
To him who plays the violin
All one it is who joins the reel,
Drops from the dance, or enters in;
So that the never-ending wheel
Cease not its mystic course to spin,
For weal or woe, for woe or weal.
I
FLOS AEVORUM
You must mean | 1,363.063118 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.1406020 | 240 | 9 |
Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
* * * * *
LONDON: MARTIN SECKER
NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI
* * * * *
This edition first published 1915
The text follows that of the
Definitive Edition
* * * * *
I
“THEY’VE got him for life!” I said to myself that evening on my way back
to the station; but later on, alone in the compartment (from Wimbledon to
Waterloo, before the glory of the District Railway) I amended this
declaration in the light of the sense that my friends would probably
after all not enjoy a monopoly of Mr. Saltram. I won’t pretend to have
taken his vast measure on that first occasion, but I think I had achieved
a glimpse of what the privilege of his acquaintance might mean for | 1,363.160642 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.3423900 | 651 | 10 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Italics in the footnote citations were inconsistently applied by
the typesetter.
Footnote 1-1 has an un-opened quote ending "a very slow current."
Footnote I-219: Landnama should possibly be Landnama.
Page 357: Words are possibly missing in the sentence starting, "We
have no further details".
Page 788: A reversed lower case "c" has been replaced with =c=.
Many index entries could not be found in the text. Many index
cross-references could not be found. A complete list of the latter
can be found at the end of this volume.
Alphabetization errors in the index were not corrected.
This volume contains extensive references to the previous four volumes
of this work. They can be found at:
Volume 1: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41070
Volume 2: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42808
Volume 3: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43123
Volume 4: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44104
THE WORKS OF HUBERT HOWE BANCROFT.
VOLUME V.
THE NATIVE RACES.
VOL. V. PRIMITIVE HISTORY.
SAN FRANCISCO:
A. L. BANCROFT & COMPANY, PUBLISHERS.
1883.
Entered according to Act of Congress in the Year 1882, by
HUBERT H. BANCROFT.
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
_All Rights Reserved._
PREFACE TO VOLUME V.
This volume concludes the Native Races of the Pacific States. During
the year in which it has been going through the press, I have received
letters of encouragement from the most eminent scholars of Europe
and America, and flattering commendations from learned societies.
None but an author can know the value of such cheering words. This,
my first attempt, was made in a new field; the scope of the work was
very extensive; the system and machinery by which alone it could be
accomplished were untried; and the subject was not one of great popular
interest. It was not, therefore, without misgivings that I sent it
forth.
That the work had been so planned as to embody practically all
information extant on what I had come to regard as an important
subject, and that the plan had been faithfully executed, I thoroughly
believed. But that others would, to any great extent, share my opinion;
that the subject would interest so many classes of readers; | 1,363.36243 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.3425180 | 3,251 | 10 |
Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
SOUND MIND;
OR,
_CONTRIBUTIONS_
TO THE
NATURAL HISTORY AND PHYSIOLOGY
OF THE
HUMAN INTELLECT.
By JOHN HASLAM, M.D.
LATE OF PEMBROKE HALL, CAMBRIDGE:
FORMERLY PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL MEDICAL, NATURAL HISTORY,
AND CHEMICAL SOCIETIES OF EDINBURGH.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1819.
Printed by Strahan and Spottiswoode,
Printers-Street, London.
TO
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, M.P.
DEAR SIR,
The privilege of long acquaintance, and a sufficient experience of the
kindness of your disposition, might be an adequate inducement to
dedicate the following pages to your notice. To this offering, I am
however impelled by motives, which boast a higher descent, and more
enlightened character:--an admiration of your superior talents, and the
adaptation of those excellent endowments, to the advancement and
happiness of the human race,--and by which you have been enabled
"The applause of listening senates to command."
The subjects to which I now solicit the permission of prefixing your
name, were once your favourite study; and I am induced to consider your
profound researches into the nature and constitution of the human
intellect, as the basis of that high reputation, you now so deservedly
maintain among the wise and dignified of your contemporaries.
I am, Dear Sir,
with respect, esteem,
and the kindest feelings,
Your very obedient servant,
JOHN HASLAM.
PREFACE.
The indulgence of the public has been already extended to several works
which I have submitted to its decision on the subject of INSANITY; and
the same favourable interpretation is now solicited for the present
performance,--which attempts the more difficult investigation of SOUND
MIND. In treating of Mental Derangement, I became very early sensible,
that a competent knowledge of the faculties and operations of the
Intellect in its healthy state, was indispensably necessary to him, who
professed to describe its disorders:--that in order to define the
aberrations, the standard should be fixed. There was indeed no lack of
theories and systems of Metaphysic; and although they essentially
differed, many possessed the highest reputation. Amidst this distraction
of conflicting opinions, which no mediator could adequately
reconcile,--without daring to contend with a host of discrepancies, or
presuming to demolish the lofty edifices which scholastic Pneumatology
had reared,--I determined to throw off the shackles of authority, and
think for myself. For it was evident, on the freehold ground of
literature, that there is "ample room and verge enough" for every man to
build his own tenement;--and the present construction is too lowly to
intercept another's prospect, and without those ornaments that might
provoke the jealousy, or challenge the rivalship of surrounding
inhabitants.
The mind of every rational person may be considered as an elaboratory,
wherein he may conduct psychological experiments:--he is enabled to
analyze his own acquirement,--and if he be sufficiently attentive, he
may note its formation and progress in his children:--and thus trace the
accumulation of knowledge, from the dawn of infancy to the meridian of
manhood. The prosecution of these means, according to my own views, will
qualify the diligent observer, to become the Natural Historian and
Physiologist of the Human Mind.
In the comparative survey of the capacities of Man, and the intelligence
of animals, the contrast has appeared so striking, that it was
impossible wholly to abstain from the inference of his future
destination:--notwithstanding very different conclusions had been
extorted by some modern physiologists. It has been often remarked, that
the practitioners of the healing art, have been very moderately
impressed with a solicitude for the future. This observation, in some
late instances, has been unhappily confirmed:--but it would be unjust to
visit the whole tribe with a sweeping and acrimonious censure, for the
transgressions of a few. The reproach has, however, long existed. The
venerable father of English poetry, in his description of the Doctor,
has passed a high and merited compliment to his learning; which at that
period was a heterogeneous compound of Greek, Latin, and Arabian lore,
mysteriously engrafted on Galenicals and Astrology:--yet with this
courteous concession to his professional science he could not refrain
from a dry and sarcastic memorandum, that
"His study was but little in the Bible."
Throughout this inquiry, the province of the Theologian has never been
invaded:--it has been my humble toil to collect and concentrate the
scattered rays which emanate from natural reason,--a pale phosphoric
light, and "uneffectual" glow, compared with the splendid and animating
beams, which issue from the source of divine communication.
As the object of these contributions, has been principally to convey my
opinions, concerning the formation of the human mind, from the superior
capacities that man possesses, many subjects have been left untouched,
which, in similar works, urge an important claim to the attention of the
reader. Among these neglected articles, the IMAGINATION is the chief
omission:--of which many authors have treated so copiously, and so well.
According to my own views, the consideration of this faculty was not
essential to the outline that has been traced;--and it has been rather
deemed a graceful embellishment, than a constituent pillar of the
edifice of mind. This gay attirer of thought, that decks passion and
sentiment, is also the prolific parent of fiction;--and justly banished
from the retreats of sober demonstration.--To the science of
numbers,--to mathematical precision, and to the whole range of
experimental philosophy,--Imagination does not lend her glowing and
gaudy tints. No vestiges of her colouring can be discovered in Divine
ordinances, or in the systems of human jurisprudence:--neither in the
Ten Commandments nor in the Statutes at Large. Imagination may indeed
enliven the cold pages of historical narrative, and blend the "Utile
Dulci"--but even here she is a profane intruder: and a vigilant eye must
be directed, lest, in some unguarded moment, her seductive
blandishments should decoy the nakedness of truth. A sedate and
unambitious recorder of facts, does not presume to describe her regions,
or to enumerate her attributes. That delightful task must be performed
by her votaries,
"The poet, the lunatic, and the lover;"
nor should the Orator be excluded from his fair participation and
kindred alliance with this airy and fascinating group.
If the present essay should conform to nature, and be founded in
truth,--should it assist the young inquirer, and more especially the
medical student,--for whom no compendium of the science of mind has been
hitherto prepared; my own expectations will be fully answered; and this
scantling may probably lead some more capable person to an extensive
investigation, enlarged comprehension, and luminous arrangement of the
phenomena of the human intellect.
JOHN HASLAM.
57. Frith-Street, Soho-Square,
1st November, 1819.
CONTENTS.
Page
Perception 1
Memory 16
On the intellectual superiority which man has
acquired by speech, and the possession of the
hand 28
On the nature and composition of language, as
applied to the investigation of the phenomena
of mind 59
On will or volition 74
On thought or reflection 110
On reason 135
Instinct 160
Conclusion 182
_Works by the same Author._
I. Observations on Madness and Melancholy.
II. Illustrations of Madness.
III. On the Moral Management of the Insane.
IV. Medical Jurisprudence, as it relates to Insanity.
V. A Letter to the Governors of Bethlem Hospital.
SOUND MIND.
PERCEPTION.
The faculty of perceiving the objects which surround us, is an important
feature in the history of mind; but by what means or contrivance this is
effected, can only be known to the Supreme Being, who has thus been
pleased to endow us; and our utmost endeavours to detect the _modus
operandi_ will be puerile and unavailing.
The first operations of the infant are to educate its senses, in order
to become acquainted, through these organs, with surrounding objects.
This, in the human species, is a process of very slow attainment; and
our information concerning this subject, must be derived from
attentively watching the progress of the infant itself; as of these
early perceptions, for a reason which will be afterwards assigned, we
retain no distinct recollection.
For the manner in which we become acquainted with the objects in nature,
we have appropriated a term, which was probably supposed to be
explanatory of the process, by which we received our intelligence of
these phenomena, and have accordingly termed it _Perception_. The
intrinsic meaning of this word is the taking, seizing, or grasping, of
an object, from the Latin _Cum_ and _Capio_, and the same figure
pervades most of the European languages. This term may sufficiently
apply to the information we derive from the organ of touch; but it
affords no solution of that which we obtain through the medium of the
other senses, as sight, smell, and hearing. It has been the bane of
philosophy, and the great obstacle to its advancement, that we have
endeavoured to penetrate that which is inscrutable; and in this vain
pursuit, we have neglected to detect and cultivate that which is
obvious, and the legitimate province of our research.
These organs of sense are the instruments by which we obtain our
different perceptions; they are the tests by which we become acquainted
with the objects of nature.
When we view the newly-born infant, and consider its state for many
weeks after it has become a member of our community, we are then
enabled to form some opinion of the almost insensible gradations, by
which it acquires its perceptions. An enumeration of the progressive
steps of this tardy process is within the power of any patient and
accurate observer; but this detail does not constitute a part of the
plan which has been adopted.
It has been endeavoured by writers on this subject, to establish a
distinction between perception and sensation, and the reader for his
information may consult their works: they do not however appear to have
founded this distinction on any obvious difference, nor to have adduced
sufficient reasons for their separate establishment, as independent
properties of the nerves. To feel, to experience a sensation, or to
perceive, implies consciousness; it is that which is transmitted by the
nerves to the sensorium, either by the organs of sense, or by the
internal nerves; as pain, or feelings of which we are conscious.
Consciousness is the test, the evidence, the proof of sensation or
perception. This point has been adverted to, in order that terms should
not be multiplied without a distinct and essential difference of
meaning.
The five senses, together with some auxiliaries, which will be the
subjects of future notice, may be considered as the instruments or
agents, by which the edifice of mind is constructed. In the act of
perceiving by the different senses, there are some circumstances, which
are particularly deserving of attention. In order that perception may
fully and certainly take place, it is necessary that the person should
be undisturbed; he ought to be exempt from external intrusions, and
internal perturbation. During this process the respiration is in general
more slowly drawn, the body endeavours to maintain a perfect quietude,
and its position becomes fixed. When we perceive objects by the eye,
this organ becomes fixed and the lips are usually closed. During our
examinations by the touch, the eye is also fixed, the breathing is
suspended, and the lips brought into contact: the fingers are separated,
and their more delicately tangent surfaces applied to the object with
their utmost expansion. In the exercise of audible perception, the neck
is stretched forth, and the ear applied to the quarter from whence the
sound appears to issue; the mouth is partly open to conduct the
vibrations to the Eustachian tube. When we acquire intelligence by the
smell, the lips are very firmly closed, the nostrils become dilated, and
the inspiration of air through them is conducted by short and successive
inhalations. From the connection between the smell and organs of taste,
(and this association is more remarkable in some animals than in man,)
it is difficult to describe the process, which, however, principally
consists, when minutely tasting, in moving the tongue (the principal
discriminator) on the palate:--but when urged by strong appetite as in
the act of feeding, and when divested of the restraints which refined
society imposes; the nostrils are widely expanded, the eye is keenly
directed to the portion, and the hands are busily employed.
Experience has sufficiently informed us that the organs of sense must be
in a healthy state, in order to the due conveyance of perception. When
the function of any organ is altogether defective, as when a person is
born blind, he is cut off from all perception of light and of visible
objects. If by nature deaf, from the intonation of sounds; and many
unhappy instances of such connate defects abound among our species. In
one particular subject, both these defects existed from birth; so that
the sum of his intelligence was conveyed by the touch, smell, and
taste, or in other words, his mind was exclusively composed of the
perceptions he derived from these senses. This case will be more
particularly noticed in a subsequent chapter. The alterations which take
place in the state of our perceptions from a morbid cause, are generally
known. Thus a person labouring under a catarrh, will be unable to detect
the odours which certain substances communicate in a healthy condition
of his olfactory organ. In fever excited by a disordered stomach, the
taste will become vitiated, and the partial obstruction of the ear by
accumulated wax, will impress him with the bubbling of a pot | 1,363.362558 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.3426560 | 2,766 | 8 |
Produced by K Nordquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
Transcriber's Note: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and Black
Letter text is denoted by =equals signs=.
OVER THE OCEAN;
OR,
SIGHTS AND SCENES
IN
FOREIGN LANDS.
BY
CURTIS GUILD,
EDITOR OF THE BOSTON COMMERCIAL BULLETIN.
BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD, PUBLISHERS.
NEW YORK:
LEE, SHEPARD AND DILLINGHAM.
1871.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871,
BY LEE AND SHEPARD,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Cambridge: Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co.
Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,
No. 10 Spring Lane.
PREFACE.
The following pages are the record of the fruition of years of desire
and anticipation; probably the same that fills the hearts of many who
will read them--a tour in Europe.
The habits of observation, acquired by many years' constant occupation
as a journalist, were found by the author to have become almost second
nature, even when the duties of that profession were thrown aside for
simple gratification and enjoyment; consequently, during a journey of
nearly seven months, which was enjoyed with all the zest of a first
tour, the matter which composes this volume was prepared.
Its original form was in a series of sketches in the columns of the
Boston Commercial Bulletin. In these the writer attempted to give as
vivid and exact an idea of the sights and scenes which he witnessed as
could be conveyed to those who had never visited Europe.
Whether describing Westminster Abbey, or York Minster,
Stratford-on-Avon, or the streets of London; the wonders of the Louvre,
or the gayeties and glitter of Paris; the grandeur of the Alpine passes;
the quaintness of old continental cities; experiences of post
travelling; the romantic beauties of the Italian lakes; the underground
wonders of Adelsberg, or the aqueous highways of Venice,--the author
aimed to give many minute particulars, which foreign letter-writers deem
of too little importance to mention, but which, nevertheless, are of
great interest to the reader.
That the effort was, in some measure, successful, has been evinced by a
demand for the sketches in permanent form, sufficient to warrant the
publication of this volume.
In so presenting them, it is with the belief that it may be pleasant to
those who have visited the same scenes to revisit them in fancy with the
writer, and with a hope that the volume may, in some degree, serve as a
guide to those who intend to go "over the ocean," as well as an
agreeable entertainment to the stay-at-homes.
C. G.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
Going Abroad.--What it costs.--Hints to Tourists.--Life
on board Ship.--Land Ho!--Examining Luggage.--The Emerald
Isle.--Blarney Castle.--Dublin.--Dublin Castle.--St.
Patrick's Cathedral.--Cheap John's Paradise.--Phoenix
Park.--Across the Irish Sea.--Railroad travelling in
England.--Guard _vs._ Conductor.--Word to the Wise.--
Railroad Stations.--An Old English City.--Chester
Cathedral.--The City Walls. 1-28
CHAPTER II.
Chester to Liverpool.--An English Breakfast.--A Trial of
Patience.--Liverpool Docks.--St. George's Hall.--Poverty
and Suffering.--The Lake District.--Home of the Poets.--
Keswick.--An English Church.--The Druids' Temple.--
Brougham Hall.--A Roadside Inn. 28-46
CHAPTER III.
Edinburgh.--Historic Streets.--Edinburgh Castle.--Bonnie
Dundee.--Rooms of Historic Story.--The Scottish Regalia.
--Curiosities of the Old City.--Holyrood Palace.--Relics
of the Past.--Holyrood Abbey.--Antiquarian Museum.--Scott
and Scotland.--Hawthornden.--Roslin Chapel.--Melrose
Abbey.--The Abbey Hotel.--Abbotsford.--Stirling Castle.--
The Tournament Field.--Field of Bannockburn.--Lady of the
Lake Scenes.--Scotch Lakes and Hills. 47-79
CHAPTER IV.
Glasgow Cathedral.--Vestiges of Vandalism.--Bible Stories
in Glass.--The Actor's Epitaph.--Tam O'Shanter's
Ride.--Burns's Cottage.--Kirk Alloway.--A Reminder from
the Witches.--Bonnie Doon.--Newcastle-on-Tyne.--York.--
Beauties of York Minster.--Old Saxon Relics.--Sheffield.--
The Cutlery Works.--English Mechanics.--English Ale.--
Chatsworth.--Interior of the Palace.--Sculpture Gallery.--
Landscape Effects.--Grand Conservatory.--Haddon Hall. 80-115
CHAPTER V.
Kenilworth.--Stratford on Avon.--Interesting Mementos.--
Stratford Church.--Shakespeare's Safeguard.--Warwick
Castle.--Dungeon and Hall.--Warder's Horn and Warwick
Vase.--Leicester's Hospital.--Beauchamp Chapel.--Mugby
Junction.--Oxford.--The Mitre Tavern.--Bodleian Library.
--Literary Treasures.--Curiosities and Rarities.--Story
of an Old Portrait.--Queen Bess on Matrimony.--Addison's
Walk.--Boating on the Isis.--Martyr's Memorial. 116-151
CHAPTER VI.
London.--Feeing Servants.--Railway Porters.--London
Hotels.--Sights in London Streets.--Cabs and Cab-drivers.
--London Shops.--Hints to Buyers.--A London Banking-house.
--Routine _vs._ Courtesy.--Westminster Abbey.--Tombs of
Kings and Warriors.--Poets' Corner.--Tributes to Genius.
--Penny Steamboat Trip.--Kew Gardens.--The Star and
Garter. 152-185
CHAPTER VII.
The Original Wax Works.--London Theatres.--Full Dress at
the Opera.--Play Bills.--A Palace for the People.--Parks
of London.--Zoological Gardens.--The Tower of London.--The
Silver Key.--Site of the Scaffold.--Knights in Armor.--
Regalia of England.--St. Paul's.--The Whispering Gallery.
--Up into the Ball.--Down into the Crypt.--Gog and Magog.
--Bank of England.--Hampton Court Palace.--The Gardens and
People.--Windsor Castle.--Windsor Parks.--London
Newspapers.--The Times.--The British Museum.--
Bibliographical Curiosities.--Egyptian Galleries.--A
Wealth of Antiquities.--Original Magna Charta.--Priceless
Manuscripts. 185-246
CHAPTER VIII.
From London to Paris.--Grand Hotels.--The Arch of Triumph.
--Paris by Gaslight.--Site of the Guillotine.--
Improvements in Paris.--The Bastille.--The Old Guard.--The
Louvre.--Gallery of Masterpieces.--Relics of Napoleon I.
--Palais Royal.--Jewelry.--French Funeral.--Pere La Chaise.
--Millions in Marble.--Tomb of Bonaparte.--Versailles.--
Halls of the Crusades.--Gallery of the Empire.--Gallery of
Battles.--Theatre in the Palace.--Fountains at Versailles.
--Notre Dame.--Sainte Chapelle.--The Madeleine.--The
Pantheon.--Les Champs Elysees.--Cafes Chantants.--The
Jardin Mabille.--The Luxembourg.--Palace of St. Cloud.--
Shops in Paris.--Bargains. 246-309
CHAPTER IX.
Good by to Paris.--Church of St. Gudule.--Field of
Waterloo.--Brussels Lace.--Antwerp.--The Cathedral Spire.
--Dusseldorf.--Cologne Cathedral.--Riches of the Church.
--Up the Rhine.--Bridge of Boats.--Coblentz and
Ehrenbreitstein.--Stolzenfels.--Legendary Castles.--Bingen
on the Rhine.--Roman Remains.--Mayence.--Wiesbaden.--
Gambling Halls.--Frankfort-on-the-Main.--Heidelberg Castle.
--The Great Tun.--The King's Seat.--Baden-Baden.--Sabbath
Amusement.--Satan's Snare baited.--Among the Gamblers.--
Scene at the Table.--Strasburg Cathedral.--Strasburg
Clock.--Clock at Basle.--Swiss Railways.--Travelling in
Switzerland.--Zurich and its Scenery. 309-375
CHAPTER X.
The Righi.--Guides and Alpenstocks.--Climbing the Alps.--
Night on the Mountain Top.--The Yodlyn.--Lucerne.--
Wonderful Organ Playing.--A Sail on Lake Lucerne.--Scene
of Tell's Archery.--The St. Gothard Pass.--The Devil's
Bridge.--The Brunig Pass.--A Valley of Beauty.--Interlaken.
--Staubbach Waterfall.--Glaciers and Avalanches.--An
Illuminated Waterfall.--Berne.--The Freiburg Organ.--Lake
Leman.--The Prison of Chillon.--Geneva.--Swiss Washerwomen.
--Glaciers by Moonlight.--Sunrise on Mont Blanc.--Valley of
Chamouny.--View from Flegere.--Climbing again.--Crossing
the Sea of Ice.--The Mauvais Pass.--Under a Glacier.--The
Tete Noir Pass.--Italian Post Drivers.--The Rhone Valley.
--Simplon Pass.--Gorge of Gondo.--Fressinone Waterfall.--
Domo d'Ossola.--An Italian Inn.--Lake Maggiore.--Milan
Cathedral.--A Wonderful Statue.--Death and Dross.--The La
Scala Theatre.--Lake Como.--Italian Monks.--Madesimo
Waterfall. 376-450
CHAPTER XI.
The Spluegen Pass.--The Via Main.--Tamina Gorge.--Falls of
Schaffhausen.--Munich.--Galleries of Paintings.--Grecian
Sculpture restored.--A Bronze Giant.--Hall of the Colossi.
--The Palace.--Basilica of St. Boniface.--Salzburg.--
Aquarial Wonders.--Visiting Lilliput.--Vienna.--Judging by
Appearances.--Royal Regalia.--Cabinet of Minerals.--The
Ambras Museum. 450-475
CHAPTER XII.
Superb Mausoleum.--The Strauss Band.--Summer Palace.--
Imperial Gallery.--Vienna Leather Work.--Shops and Prices.
--The Cave of Adelsberg.--Underground Wonders.--Nature's
Imitation of Art. 476-487
CHAPTER XIII.
Venice.--Gondolas and Gondoliers.--Shylock.--The Rialto.--
The Giant's Staircase.--The Lion's Mouth.--Terrible
Dungeons.--Square of St. Mark.--The Bronze Horses.--Church
of St. Mark.--Titian's Monument.--Canova's Monument.--
Cathedrals and Pictures.--Florence.--Art in the Streets.--
The Uffizi Gallery.--Old Masters in Battalions.--Hall of
Niobe.--Cabinet of Gems.--Michael Angelo's House.--The
Duomo.--The Campanile.--Church of Santa Croce.--Michael
Angelo's Statuary.--Florentine Mosaics.--Medicean Chapel.
--Pitti Palace.--Halls of the Gods.--The Cascine.--Powers,
the Sculptor. 487-530
CHAPTER XIV.
Tower of Pisa.--The Duomo.--Galileo's Lamp.--The
Baptistery.--Campo Santo.--Over the Apennines.--Genoa.--
Streets of Genoa.--Pallavicini Gardens.--Water Jokes.--
Turin to Susa.--Mt. Cenis Pass.--Paris again.--Down in the
Sewers. 531-548
| 1,363.362696 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.4424990 | 1,775 | 6 |
Produced by D Alexander, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
SILVER LINKS
A COLLECTION OF SALUTATORY, VALEDICTORY AND
OTHER ADDRESSES DELIVERED AT THE FIRST
FIVE COMMENCEMENTS OF THE FEMALE
STENOGRAPHIC AND TYPEWRITING
CLASS OF THE GENERAL SOCIETY
OF MECHANICS AND
TRADESMEN
OF THE
CITY OF NEW YORK
COMPILED BY
W. L. MASON
NEW YORK
ALBERT B. KING, 89 WILLIAM STREET
1892
TO
MR. ISAAC PITMAN
THE "FATHER OF PHONOGRAPHY"
THIS LITTLE VOLUME IS MOST RESPECTFULLY
INSCRIBED
BY
THE COMPILER
Introductory Note
It is always beautiful to see the young confront the uncertainties of
the future, and look forward with faith to happiness and success. I am
proud of young women who are willing to devote their evenings, when
they must toil for a livelihood through the day, to a course of study
which will secure to them the knowledge of a mechanical art. This
knowledge becomes a treasure which no disaster of fire or flood can
ever destroy, and a source of comfortable income through life. It
makes dependent young women independent, and I congratulate every one
who graduates from this excellent school of instruction with her
well-earned diploma, which is more valuable to her than any legacy of
gold or precious stones.
Martha J Lamb
New York City, April 16, 1892.
Address of Rev. C. S. Harrower, D. D.
_To the Class of '87._
"Ladies of the graduating class,--Ladies and Gentlemen: It seems as
if words were hardly in place to-night, because of the interesting
programme which is before you. I suppose we have no conception of
the exercises prepared for us this evening. I never knew of this
Institution until Mr. Moore told me of it, and I am particularly glad
to be here.
"I have often remarked that our New York life is like the life of one
of our great rivers,--the Hudson. Did you ever live upon its banks
and look away upon its stretch of water to the south or to the north;
count its sails, and its tugs, and its fleets of canal boats and all
its life,--for half an hour fascinated by the beautiful scene; and
then go away to your work, or to your pleasure, for a few hours, and
return and look upon that great stretch of river and see that other
sails had taken the place of those first sails, and other vessels
were coming into view, indicating the marvelous life of that mighty
stream? I did that, year after year, and it seems to me that the
General Society of Mechanics and Tradesmen is like the mighty river
Hudson, doing its work day after day and year after year,--a work
that seems to me to be so useful and inspiring.
"The gentlemen interested in this Society are to be congratulated.
It seems to me that such an Institution as this is among the most
beautiful, among the most stimulating of all institutions that mark
our civilization."
Dr. Harrower then spoke of the serious consequences which often follow
the carelessness of a lawyer, the blunder of a switchman, the neglect
of a servant, or the indolence of a physician, and, in contrast, dwelt
upon the beneficent results attained by close attention to duty,
explaining also how great good arises from even very trifling acts. He
also remarked how strange it is that some people have every chance of
getting on in this world, while others are "mortgaged to begin with,"
and hampered and chained through life.
"But," said he, in conclusion, "it seems to me that this Society is
engaged in a work that is characteristic of the civilization to which
we belong, and is following after our Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ,
who lived not to serve Himself, but the world. I congratulate you,
young ladies, that when you were put upon your trial it was found that
you had been laboring in the race of life; and to-night you are to
receive the signal token of the skill you have attained, and of the
favor in which you stand in this school."
Salutatory Address
BY MISS S. J. SIRINE.
_Class of '87._
In meeting you this evening, gentlemen of the Committee and friends,
we, the members of the Classes in Shorthand and Typewriting,
experience a double pleasure. First, is the satisfaction that we
have accomplished the task which we undertook last October, and the
consciousness that we are about to go forth carrying our diplomas as
proof that the Winter has been well spent, and that we are master of
a very fascinating and important art; and, secondly, we feel the
delightful sensation of being highly complimented at the kindly
interest taken in the Class displayed by those present this evening.
We sincerely hope that the exercises of the evening, and the gratitude
of the teachers and class, feebly expressed through this channel, will
be ample proof to you of our appreciation of the compliment conveyed
by your presence, and trust that we shall continue to receive your
good wishes for our success; that we shall go forth into the business
world making good use of our profession, and worthy of the interest in
our progress displayed by the Committee and friends of this Society,
and of the care and attention bestowed on us by our teachers.
To my classmates, cordial congratulations that we can meet to-night,
and, comparing notes, find that the report for the Winter is goodly
evidence of time well spent; that, in spite of what at first appeared
to be the insurmountable obstacle of the alphabet, we plodded bravely
on to the primer, and from the slowly and carefully drawn outlines of
familiar words, we entered at last into the spirit of our art, and
with pencils tipped, as it were, with electricity, learned to catch
the swiftly flowing words from the lips of the speaker, and to present
them in a tangible form, ready for future reference. So also with
typewriting. Though the unruly instrument at first persisted in
spelling "cat" t-a-c, and always put an interrogation point where a
period ought to be; still, with patient perseverance, cheered by the
inspiring words of our teacher: "I used to do the same thing," and
filled with envy at his display of skill, we took fresh hope, tried
again, and, as we were told we should,--succeeded. The pleasure of the
art of shorthand, more than any other, is not confined alone to the
artist. You all know the important offices in business life which
shorthand fills; of its importance to the press and all departments of
the literary world, it is not necessary to speak. From the eloquent
words of gifted speakers to the eagerly watched for words of the
President's Message; from the business letter in the merchant's office
to the words of the witness on the witness stand; our art fulfills its
important mission of giving to others the pleasure and satisfaction
which are experienced on hearing them.
This evening forty more are added to the list of American writers of
the Isaac Pitman Phonography. It is to be hoped that none of us shall
ever, in any way, be the means of bringing reproach on our art; but
rather that we shall work to make many improvements, that we shall
help to prove its value in the different departments of business into
which it enters, and ere another fifty years shall cause the trumpet
of Jubilee to sound throughout the land, this class of Isaac Pitman
phonographers shall have been the means of bringing to ripe perfection
the system of Phonography.
Valedictory Address
BY MISS N. C. STEPHENS.
_Class of '87._
"The Spirit of the Time shall teach me speed," says Shakespeare.
How truly that applies to the present day, when one might say we are
living, as it were, in an age of rapidity, and cannot fail to catch
the infection, for the very air seems filled with it. Competition | 1,363.462539 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.4436830 | 7,412 | 68 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
WEBSTER--MAN'S MAN
By Peter B. Kyne
Author Of “Cappy Ricks”
“The Three Godfathers,” Etc.
Illustrated By Dean Cornwell
[Illustration:ustration: 0006]
[Illustration:ustration: 0007]
New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1917
WEBSTER-MAN'S MAN
CHAPTER I
|WHEN John Stuart Webster, mining engineer and kicker-up-of-dust on
distant trails, flagged the S. P., L. A. & S. L. Limited at a blistered
board station in Death Valley, California, he had definitely resolved to
do certain things. To begin, he would invade the dining car at the first
call to dinner and order approximately twenty dollars' worth of ham and
eggs, which provender is, as all who know will certify, the pinnacle of
epicurean delight to an old sour-dough coming out of the wilderness with
a healthy bankroll and a healthier appetite; for even as the hydrophobic
dog avoids water, so does the adventurer of the Webster type avoid
the weird concoctions of high-priced French chefs until he has first
satisfied that void which yawns to receive ham and eggs.
Following the ham and eggs, Mr. Webster planned to saturate himself from
soul to vermiform appendix with nicotine, which he purposed obtaining
from tobacco with nicotine in it. It was a week since he had smoked
anything, and months since he had tasted anything with an odour even
remotely like tobacco, for the August temperature in Death Valley is no
respecter of moisture in any man or his tobacco. By reason of the fact
that he had not always dwelt in Death Valley, however, John Stuart
Webster knew the dining-car steward would have in the ice chest some
wonderful cigars, wonderfully preserved.
Webster realized that, having sampled civilization thus far, his debauch
would be at an end until he reached Salt Lake City-unless, indeed, he
should find aboard the train something fit to read or somebody worth
talking to. Upon arrival in Salt Lake City, however, his spree would
really begin. Immediately upon leaving the train he would proceed to
a clothing shop and purchase a twenty-five-dollar ready-to-wear suit,
together with the appurtenances thereunto pertaining or in any wise
belonging. These habiliments he would wear just long enough to shop in
respectably and without attracting the attention of the passing throng;
and when later his “tailor-mades” and sundry other finery should be
delivered, he would send the store clothes to one Ubehebe Henry, a
prospector down in the Mojave country, who would appreciate them and
wear them when he came to town in the fall to get drunk.
Having arranged for the delivery of his temporary attire at the best
hotel in town, Webster designed chartering a taxicab and proceeding
forthwith to that hotel, where he would engage a sunny room with a bath,
fill the bathtub, climb blithely in and soak for two hours at least,
for it was nearly eight months since he had had a regular bath and he
purposed making the most of his opportunity. His long-drawn ablutions at
length over, he would don a silken dressing gown and slippers, order up
a barber, and proceed to part with enough hair and whiskers to upholster
an automobile; and upon the completion of his tonsorial adventures he
would encase his person in a suit of mauve- silk pajamas, climb
into bed and stay there for forty-eight hours, merely waking long enough
to take another bath, order up periodical consignments of ham and
eggs and, incidentally, make certain that a friendly side-winder or
chuck-walla hadn't crawled under the blankets with him.
So much for John Stuart Webster's plans. Now for the gentleman himself.
No one--not even the Pullman porter, shrewd judge of mankind that he
was--could have discerned in the chrysalis that flagged the Limited
the butterfly of fashion that was to be. As the ebony George raised
the vestibule platform, opened the car door and looked out, he had no
confidence in the lean, sun-baked big man standing by the train. Plainly
the fellow was not a first-class passenger but a wandering prospector,
for he was dog-dirty, a ruin of rags and hairy as a tarantula. The only
clean thing about him was a heavy-calibred automatic pistol of the army
type, swinging at his hip.
“Day coach an' tourist up in front,” the knight of the whiskbroom
announced in disapproving tones and started to close down the platform.
“So I perceived,” John Stuart Webster replied blandly. “I also observed
that you failed to employ the title _sir_ when addressing a white man.
Put that platform back and hop out here with your little stool, you
saddle- son of Senegambia, or I'll make you a hard porter to
catch.”
“Yassah, yassah!” the porter sputtered, and obeyed instantly. Mr.
Webster handed him a disreputable-looking suitcase and stepped aboard
in state, only to be informed by the sleeping-car conductor that there
wasn't a vacant first-class berth on the train.
“Yes, I know I'm dirty,” the late arrival announced cheerfully, “but
still, as Bobby Burns once remarked, 'a man's a man for a' that'--and
I'm _not_ unsanitary. I sloshed around some in Furnace Creek the night
before last, and while of course I got the top layer off, still, a
fellow can't accomplish a great deal without hot water, soap, a good
scrubbing-brush and a can of lye.”
“I'm very sorry,” the conductor replied perfunctorily and endeavoured to
pass on, but Webster secured a firm grip on his lapel and frustrated the
escape.
“You're not sorry,” the ragged wanderer declared, “not one little bit.
You're only apprehensive. However, you needn't be. There is no wild
life on me, brother, I assure you. If you can prove it, I'll give you
a thousand-dollar bill for each and every bit of testimony you can
adduce.”
“But I tell you, the train is full up. You'll have to roost in the
daycoach or the tourist. I'm very sorry----”
“So am I, for I know what daycoaches and tourist-cars smell like in the
middle of August, because, as the poet says, I've been there many a
time and oft.' Nevertheless, despite your deep grief, something tells me
you're spoofing, so while I must, of necessity, accept your suggestion,
said acceptance will be but temporary. In about two hours, young fellow,
you're going to make the alarming discovery that you have bats in your
belfry.” And with a whiskery grin which, under the circumstances, was
charming in its absolute freedom from malice, Mr. Webster departed for
the daycoach.
Two hours later the conductor found him in the aforementioned daycoach,
engaged in a mild game of poker with a mule-skinner, a Chinaman, an aged
prospector, and a half-breed Indian, and waited until Mr. Webster, on a
bob-tailed club flush, bluffed the Chinaman out of a dollar-and-a-half
pot.
“Maud, Lily, and Kate!” Webster murmured, as the Celestial laid down
three queens and watched his ragged opponent rake in the pot. “Had I
held those three queens and had you made a two-card draw as I did, only
death could have stopped me from seeing what you held! Hello! Here's
Little Boy Blue again. All right, son. Blow your horn.”
“Are you Mr. John S. Webster?”
“Your assumption that I am that person is so eminently correct that
it would be a waste of time for me to dispute it,” Webster replied
quizzically. “However, just to prove that you're not the only
clairvoyant on this train, I'm going to tell _you_ something about
_yourself_. In your pocket you have a telegram; it is from
Chicago, where your pay-check originates; it is a short, sweet, and
comprehensive, containing an order which you are going to obey. It reads
somewhat as follows:
“'My friend, John S. Webster, wires me from Blank that he boarded train
at Blank and was refused first-class accommodation because he looked
like a hobo. Give him the best you have in stock, if you have to throw
somebody off the train to accommodate him. Unless you see your way clear
to heed this suggestion your resignation is not only in order but has
already been accepted.' Signed, 'Sweeney.'
“Do I hit the target?”
The conductor nodded. “You win, Mr. Webster,” he admitted.
“Occasionally I lose, old-timer. Well?”
“Who the devil is Sweeney?”
John Stuart Webster turned to his cosmopolitan comrades of the national
game. “Listen to him,” he entreated them. “He has worked for the
company, lo, these many years, and he doesn't know who Sweeney is?” He
eyed the conductor severely. “Sweeney,” he declared, “is the man who
is responsible for the whichness of the why-for. Ignorance of the man
higher up excuses no sleeping-car conductor, and if your job is gone
when you reach Salt Lake, old-timer, don't blame it on me, but rather
on your distressing propensity to ask foolish questions. _Vamos, amigo_,
and leave me to my despair. Can't you see I'm happy here?”
“No offense, Mr. Webster, no offense. I can let you have a
stateroom----”
“That's trading talk. I'll take it.”
The conductor gave him his receipt and led him back to the stateroom in
the observation-car. At the door Webster handed him a five-dollar bill.
“For you, son,” he said gently, “just to take the sting out of what I'm
about to tell you. Now that I possess your receipt and know that ten men
and a boy cannot take it away from me, I'm going to tell you who Sweeney
is.”
“Who is he?” the conductor queried. Already he suspected he had been
outgeneralled.
“Sweeney,” said Mr. Webster, “is the chief clerk in one of Chicago's
most pretentious hotels and a young man who can find all the angles of a
situation without working it out in logarithms. I wired him the details
of my predicament; he heard the Macedonian cry and kicked in. Neat, is
it not?”
The conductor grinned. “I hate to take your money,” he declared.
“Don't. Just at present I'm very flush. Yes, sir, I'm as prosperous as
a yearling burro up to his ears in alfalfa, and the only use I have ever
found for money is to make other people happy with it, thereby getting
some enjoyment out of it myself. Just as soon as I get a little chunk
together, some smarter man than I takes it all away from me again--so
the cleaning process might just as well start here. When I'm broke I'll
make some more.”
“How?”
“By remembering that all a man needs in this world, in order to excel,
is about two per cent, more courage than a jack-rabbit; also that an
ounce of promotion in a world of boobs is worth a ton of perspiration.
Thank you for falling for my bluff.”
And having wotted the which, Mr. Webster retired to his hard-won
sanctuary, where he removed as much alkali and perspiration as he could,
carded his long hair and whiskers, manicured his finger nails with a
jack-knife, changed his shirt, provided five minutes of industry for
George, with his whiskbroom and brush, and set himself patiently to
await the first call to dinner.
The better to hear the dinner call Webster left his stateroom door open,
and presently a pink-jowled, well-curried, flashily dressed big man, of
about Webster's age, passed in the corridor, going toward the head of
the train. An instant later a woman's voice said very distinctly:
“I do not know you, sir; I do not wish to know you, and it is loathsome
of you to persist in addressing me. If you do not stop your annoying
attentions, I shall call the conductor.”
“Ah! Beauty in distress,” John Stuart Webster soliloquized. “I look so
much like an Angora goat I might as well butt in.” He stepped to the
door of his stateroom. A girl stood in the vestibule, confronting the
man who had just passed Webster's door. Webster bowed.
“Madame, or mademoiselle, as the case may be,” he said, “unlike this
other male biped, my sole purpose in presuming to address you is to
suggest that there is not the slightest necessity for taking this matter
up with the conductor. I am here and very much at your service.”
The girl turned--and John Stuart Webster's heart flopped twice in rapid
succession, like a trout newly grassed. She was as lovely as a royal
flush. Her starry glance began at his miner's boots, travelled up his
old, soiled, whipcord trousers, over his light blue chambray shirt
and found the man behind the whiskers. She favoured him with a quick,
curious scrutiny and a grave, sweet smile. “Thank you so much, sir,” she
answered, and passed down the corridor to the observation-car.
“Well, old-timer,” Webster greeted the fellow who had been annoying
her, “how about you? What do you think we ought to do about this little
affair?”
“The sensible thing would be to do--nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.”
“Why?”
“You might start something you couldn't finish.”
“That's a dare,” Webster declared brightly, “and wasn't it the immortal
_Huckleberry Finn_ who remarked that anybody that'd take a dare would
suck eggs and steal sheep?” He caressed his beard meditatively. “They
say the good Lord made man to His own image and likeness. I take it
those were only the specifications for the building complete--the
painting and interior decorating, not to mention the furnishings, being
let to a sub-contractor.” He was silent a few seconds, appraising his
man. “I suppose you commenced operations by moving into her section and
asking if she would like to have the window open and enjoy the fresh
air. Of course if she had wanted the window open, she would have called
the porter. She rebuffed you, but being a persistent devil, you followed
her into the observation-car, and in all probability you ogled her at
luncheon and ruined her appetite. And just now, when you met her in
this vestibule, you doubtless jostled her, begged her pardon and
without waiting to be introduced asked her to have dinner with you this
evening.”
“Well?” the fellow echoed belligerently.
“It's all bad form. You shouldn't try to make a mash on a lady. I don't
know who she is, of course, but she's not common; she's travelling
without a chaperon, I take it, and for the sake of the mother that bore
me I always respect and protect a good woman and whale hell out of those
that do not.”
He reached inside his stateroom and pressed the bell. The porter arrived
on the run.
“George,” said Mr. Webster, “in a few minutes we're due at Smithville.
If my memory serves me aright, we stop five minutes for water and
orders.”
“Yassah.”
“Remain right here and let me off as soon as the train comes to a stop.”
When the train slid to a grinding halt and the porter opened the car
door, Webster pointed.
“Out!” he said. “This is no nice place to pull off a scrap.”
“See here, neighbour, I don't want to have any trouble with you----”
“I know it. All the same, you're going to have it--or come with me to
that young lady and beg her pardon.”
There are some things in this world which the most craven of men will
not do--and the vanity of that masher forbade acceptance of Webster's
alternative. He preferred to fight, but--he did not purpose being
thrashed. He resolved on strategy.
“All right. I'll apologize,” he declared, and started forward as if
to pass Webster in the vestibule, on his way to the observation-car,
whither the subject of his annoying attentions had gone. Two steps
brought him within striking distance of his enemy, and before Webster
could dodge, a sizzling righthanded blow landed on his jaw and set him
back on his haunches in the vestibule.
It was almost a knockout--almost, but not quite. As Webster's body
struck the floor the big automatic came out of the holster; swinging in
a weak circle, it covered the other.
“That was a daisy,” Webster mumbled. “If you move before my head clears,
I'll put four bullets into you before you reach the corridor.”
He waited about a minute; then with the gun he pointed to the car
door, and the masher stepped out. Webster handed the porter his gun and
followed; two minutes later he returned, dragging his assailant by the
collar. Up the steps he jerked the big battered hulk and tossed it in
the corner of the vestibule, just as the girl came through the car,
making for the diner up ahead.
Again she favoured him with that calm, grave, yet vitally interested
gaze, nodded appreciatively, made as if to pass on, changed her mind,
and said very gravely: “You are--a very courtly gentleman, sir.”
He bowed. There was nothing else to do, nothing that he could say,
under the circumstances; to use his chivalry as a wedge to open an
acquaintance never occurred to him--but his whiskers did occur to him.
Hastily he backed into his stateroom and closed the door; presently
he rose and surveyed himself critically in the small mirror over the
washstand.
“No, Johnny,” he murmured, “we can't go into the diner now. We're too
blamed disreputable. We were bad enough before that big swine hung
the shanty on our right eye, but whatever our physical and personal
feelings, far be it from us to parade our iridescent orb in public.
Besides, one look at that queen is enough to do us for the remainder of
our natural life, and a second look, minus a proper introduction, would
only drive us into a suicide's grave. That's a fair sample of our
luck, Johnny. It rains duck soup--and we're there like a Chinaman--with
chopsticks; and on the only day in the history of the human race, here
I am with a marvellous black eye, a dislocated thumb, four skinned
knuckles, and a grouch, while otherwise looking like a cross between
_Rip Van Winkle_ and a hired man.” He sighed, rang for the porter and
told him to send a waiter for his order, since he would fain break his
fast in the privacy of his stateroom. And when the waiter came for the
order, such was Mr. Webster's mental perturbation that ham and eggs
were furthest from his thoughts. He ordered a steak with French fried
potatoes.
CHAPTER II
|JOHN STUART WEBSTER passed a restless night. Sleep came to him in
hourly installments, from which he would rouse to ask himself whether
it was worth while to continue to go through the motions of living,
or alight at the next station, seek a lonely and unfrequented spot and
there surrender to outrageous fortune. He had _lived_ every moment of
his life; fair fortune and ill had been his portion so often that he had
long since ceased to care which took precedence over the other; to quote
Mr. Kipling, he had schooled himself to “treat those two impostors both
the same”--not a very difficult task, if one be granted a breathing
spell between the arrival of each impostor! Hitherto, in Webster's
experience, there had always been a decent interval between the two--say
a day, a week, a month or more; whereas in the present instance, two
minutes had sufficed to make the journey from a heaven of contentment to
the dungeons of despair.
It was altogether damnable. In a careless moment, Fate had accorded
him a glimpse of the only woman he had ever met and desired to meet
again--for Webster was essentially a man's man, and his profession
and environment had militated against his opportunities for meeting
extraordinary women; and extraordinary women were the only kind that
could hope to challenge his serious attention. Had his luck changed
there, he might have rested content with his lot--but it hadn't. Fate
had gone farther. She had accorded him a signal opportunity for knightly
combat in the service of this extraordinary woman; and in the absence
of a formal introduction, what man could desire a finer opportunity
for getting acquainted! If only their meeting had but been delayed
two weeks, ten days, a week! Once free of his ugly cocoon of rags and
whiskers, the butterfly Webster would not have hesitated one brief
instant to inform himself of that young lady's name and address,
following his summary disposal of her tormentor. Trusting to the mingled
respect and confusion in his manner, and to her own womanly intuition to
warn her that no rudeness or brazen familiarity was intended, he would
have presented himself before her and addressed her in these words:
“A few minutes ago, Miss, you were gracious enough to accord me the
rare pleasure of being of slight service to you. May I presume on that
evidence of your generosity and perfect understanding to risk a seeming
impertinence by presuming to address you?”
Webster pictured her as bowing, favouring him with that grave yet
interested scrutiny and saying: “Certainly, sir.” Whereupon he would
say:
“It has occurred to me--for, like _Bimi_, the orangoutang, I have
perhaps too much ego in my cosmos--that you might be charitably moved
to admit me to the happy circle of those privileged to call you by name.
Were there a mutual friend on this train whom I could prevail upon to
introduce me formally, I should not be reduced to the necessity of being
unconventional. Under the circumstances, however, I am daring enough to
presume that this misfortune is not so great that I should permit it to
interfere with my respectful desires. Therefore--have I your permission
to present myself, with the hope that in so doing I _may_ feel freer
to be of additional service to you throughout the remainder of our
journey?”
That would be a pretty, a graceful speech--a little ornate, doubtless,
but diplomatic in the extreme. Having been accorded permission to
introduce himself, he would cease thereafter to be flowery. However,
Webster realized that however graceful might be his speech and bearing,
should he essay the great adventure in the morning, his appearance would
render him ridiculous and presumptuous and perhaps shock and humiliate
her; for in all things there is a limit, and John Stuart Webster's right
eye constituted a deadline beyond which, as a gentleman, he dared not
venture; so with a heavy heart he bowed to the inevitable. Brilliant and
mysterious as a meteorite she had flashed once across his horizon and
was gone.
In the privacy of his stateroom Webster had ham and eggs for breakfast.
He was lighting his second cigar when the porter knocked and entered
with an envelope.
“Lady in the observation-car asked me to deliver this to you, sah,” he
announced importantly.
It 'was a note, freshly written on the train stationery. Webster read:
The distressed lady desires to thank the gentleman in stateroom A for
his chivalry of yesterday. She quite realizes that the gentleman's offer
to relieve her of the annoyance to which she was being subjected was
such a direct expression of his nature and code, that to have declined
his aid would have been discourteous, despite her distress at the
possible outcome. She is delighted to know that her confidence in the
ability of her champion has been fully justified by a swift and sweeping
victory, but profoundly sorry that in her service the gentleman in
stateroom A was so unfortunate as to acquire a red eye with blue
trimmings.
John Stuart Webster swore his mightiest oath, “By the twelve apostles,
Simon Peter, Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas,
James, Jude, and Simon, not omitting Judas Iscariot, the scaly scoundrel
who betrayed his Lord and Master!” He searched through an old wallet
until he discovered a fairly clean professional card, across the
bottom of which he wrote, “Thank you. J. S.W.” and sent it to the
no-longer-distressed lady.
“The most signal adventure of my life is now over,” he soliloquized and
turned to his cigar. “For the sake of my self-respect, I had to let
her know I'm not a hobo! And now to the task of framing up a scheme
for future acquaintance. I must learn her name and destination; so as a
preliminary I'll interview the train conductor.”
He did, and under the ameliorating influence of a five-dollar bill the
conductor bent a respectful ear to the Websterian message.
“In Car Seven,” he began, “there is a young lady. I do not know what
section she occupies; neither do I know her name and destination. I only
know what she looks like.”
The conductor nodded. “And you want to ascertain her name and
destination?”
“I do.”
“Easiest thing in life. There is only one young lady in Car Seven. I
suppose you mean that queen with the olive complexion, the green suit,
and----”
“Hold! Enough.”
“All right. I have the unused portion of her transportation to return to
her before we hit Salt Lake; her name is on the ticket, and the ticket
indicates her destination. I'll make a mental note of both as soon as
I've identified her ticket.”
“After you've made the said mental note,” Webster pleaded, “be sure you
write it down, so you'll not forget.”
A few hours later the conductor came to Webster's stateroom and handed
him a card upon which was written:
Dolores Ruey. From Los Angeles, via San Pedro, Los Angeles & Salt Lake,
to Salt Lake City, Denver & Rio Grande to Denver, Burlington to St.
Louis, Illinois Central to New Orleans. Stop-over at Denver.
John Stuart Webster studied the name after the conductor withdrew.
“That's a Spanish name,” he soliloquized, “but for all that, she's not a
parakeet. There's something Gaelic about her features, particularly her
eyes. They're brown, with golden flecks in them, and if she had a drop
of dark blood in her, they'd be smoky and languid. Also if she were a
Latin she would have referred to my black eye--whereas she referred
to, a red eye with blue trimmings! Same thing but different! All things
considered, I guess I'll take a chance and investigate.”
CHAPTER III
|WEBSTER'S dreams of bliss had, with very slight variation, come true as
per schedule.
In Salt Lake City he abandoned the beefsteak on his damaged eye for two
businesslike leeches, which quickly reduced the nocturne effect around
his orb, enabling him, the third day, to saunter forth among his
fellowmen. By the end of the week he was a being reincarnated, and so he
packed a huge new wardrobe-trunk with his latest purchases and journeyed
on to Denver. Coincident with his arrival there, we again take up the
thread of our story.
One hour after his trunk arrived the gentleman from Death Valley might
have been observed standing before a cheval glass looking long and
earnestly at the reflection of his middle-aged person, the while he
marked the fit of his new raiment.
Let us describe these habiliments, alleging as an excuse for dwelling
with emphasis upon the subject the fact that John Stuart Webster was all
dressed up for the first time in three long, labour-ridden years, and
was tremendously glad of it. Hark to this inventory. There were the
silken hose and underwear next his well-scrubbed skin; then there was
the white pleated linen shirt--a shirt so expensive and exquisite that
Mr. Webster longed to go somewhere and shoot a game of billiards, in
order that thus he might have an excuse to remove his coat and exhibit
that shirt to the gaze of the multitude. His collar irked him slightly,
but he had been assured by the clerk who sold it to him “that it was
strictly in vogue.” His gray silk Ascot tie was held in a graceful puff
by a scarfpin with a head of perfect crystal prettily shot with virgin
gold; his black afternoon coat enveloped his wide shoulders and flanked
his powerful neck with the perfection of the epidermis on a goose in the
pink of condition; his gray striped trousers broke exactly right over
his new “patent leather” shoes. The _tout ensemble_, as the gentleman
himself might have expressed it had he possessed a working knowledge of
French (which he did not), was perfect.
He “shot” his cuffs and strutted backward and forward, striving to
observe his spinal column over his right shoulder, for he was in
a transport of delight as truly juvenile as that on the
never-to-be-forgotten day when he had attained to the dignity of his
first pair of long trousers. He observed to himself that it was truly
remarkable, the metamorphosis nine tailors and a talkative barber can
make in an old sour-dough.
Presently, convinced that he was the glass of fashion and the mould of
form, Mr. Webster took up a smart lancewood stick and a pair of new
gray suede gloves and descended to the lobby of Denver's most exclusive
hotel. He paused at the cigar stand long enough to fill his case with
three-for-a-half perfectos and permit the young woman in charge to feast
her world-weary eyes on his radiant person (which she did, classifying
and tabulating him instantly as a millionaire mining man from Nevada).
After this he lighted a cigar and stepped forth into Seventeenth Street,
along which he strolled until he came to a certain building into the
elevator of which he entered and was whisked to the twelfth floor, where
he alighted and found himself before a wide portal which bore in gold
letters the words: Engineers' Club.
The Engineers' Club was the closest approach to a home that John Stuart
Webster had known for twenty years, and so he paused just within the
entrance to perform the time-honoured ceremonial of home-coming. Over
the arched doorway leading to the lounge hung a large bronze gong such
as is used in mines, and from the lever of the gong-clapper depended a
cord which Webster seized and jerked thrice--thus striking the signal
known to all of the mining fraternity--the signal to hoist! Only those
members who had been sojourning in distant parts six months or more were
privileged thus to disturb the peace and dignity of the Engineers'
Club, the same privilege, by the way, carrying with it the obligation of
paying for the materials shortly to be hoisted!
Having announced the return of a prodigal, our hero stepped to the door
of the lounge and shouted:
“John Stuart Webster, E. M.”
The room was empty. Not a single member was present to greet the
wanderer and accept of his invitation!
“Home was never like this when I was a boy,” he complained to the
servant at the telephone exchange. “Times must be pretty good in the
mining game in Colorado when everybody has a job that keeps him out of
Denver.”
The servant rose and essayed a raid on his hat and stick, but Mr.
Webster, who was impatient at thus finding himself amidst old scenes,
fended him away and said “Shoo fly!” Then he crossed the empty lounge
and ascended the stairs leading to the card room, at the entrance of
which he paused, leaning on his stick--in unconscious imitation of a
Sicilian gentleman posing for his photograph after his first payday in
America--swept that room with a wistful eye and sighed because nothing
had changed in three long years.
Save for the slight job of kalsomining which Father Time had done on the
edges of the close-cropped Websterian moustache, the returned prodigal
might have stepped out of the Club but yesterday. He would not have
taken the short end of a modest bet that even a fresh log had been
placed on the fire or that the domino-players over against the wall had
won or lost a drink or two and then resumed playing--although perchance
there _were_ a few more gray hairs in the thickly thatched head of old
Neddy Jerome, sitting in his favourite seat by the window and turning
the cards in his eternal game of solitaire, in blissful ignorance that
John Stuart Webster stood within the portals of home and awaited the
fatted calf.
“I'll hypnotize the old pelican into looking up,” Webster soliloquized,
and forthwith bent a beetling gaze upon the player. For as many as five
| 1,363.463723 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.5370500 | 125 | 6 |
Produced by D.R. Thompson
HISTORY OF FRIEDRICH II OF PRUSSIA, Volume 14
by Thomas Carlyle
BOOK XIV.--THE SURROUNDING EUROPEAN WAR DOES NOT END.--August,
1742-July, 1744.
Chapter I.--FRIEDRICH RESUMES HIS PEACEABLE PURSUITS.
Friedrich's own Peace being made on such terms, his wish and hope was,
that it might soon be followed by a general European one; that, the
live-coal, which had kindled this War, | 1,363.55709 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.5379550 | 2,731 | 12 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (the Bavarian State Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
https://books.google.com/books?id=1vhLAAAAcAAJ
(the Bavarian State Library)
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS.
VOL. CXV.
---------
THE CASTLE OF EHRENSTEIN BY G. P. R. JAMES.
IN ONE VOLUME.
THE
CASTLE OF EHRENSTEIN;
ITS LORDS
SPIRITUAL AND TEMPORAL;
ITS INHABITANTS
EARTHLY AND UNEARTHLY.
BY
G. P. R. JAMES.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION FOR CONTINENTAL CIRCULATION_.
LEIPZIG
BERNH. TAUCHNITZ JUN.
1847.
EHRENSTEIN.
CHAPTER I.
It was an awfully dark and tempestuous night; the wind howled in fury
through the trees, and round the towers; the large drops of rain
dashed against the casements, the small lozenges of glass rattled and
clattered in their leaden frames, and the thick boards of the oaken
floor heaved and shivered under the force of the tempest. From time to
time a keen blue streak of lightning crossed the descending deluge,
and for an instant the great black masses of the forest, and the high
and broken rocks around, appeared like spectres of a gone-by world,
and sank into Egyptian darkness again, almost as soon as seen; and
then the roar of the thunder was added to the scream of the blast,
seeming to shake the whole building to its foundation.
In the midst of this storm, and towards one o'clock in the morning, a
young man, of about one-and-twenty years of age, took his way
silently, and with a stealthy step, through the large old halls and
long passages of the castle of Ehrenstein. His dress was that of one
moving in the higher ranks of society, but poor for his class; and
though the times were unusually peaceful, he wore a heavy sword by his
side, and a poniard hanging by a ring from his girdle. Gracefully yet
powerfully formed, his frame afforded the promise of great future
strength, and his face, frank and handsome without being strictly
beautiful, owed perhaps more to the expression than to the features.
He carried a small brazen lamp in his hand, and seemed bound upon some
grave and important errand, for his countenance was serious and
thoughtful, his eyes generally bent down, and his step quick,
although, as we have said, light and cautious.
The room that he quitted was high up in the building, and, descending
by a narrow and steep staircase, formed of large square blocks of oak,
with nothing but a rope to steady the steps, he entered a long wide
corridor below, flanked on one side by tall windows like those of a
church, and on the other by numerous small doors. The darkness was so
profound that, at first, the rays of the lamp only served to dissipate
the obscurity immediately around it, while the rest of the corridor
beyond looked like the mouth of a yawning interminable vault, filled
with gloom and shadows. The next moment, however, as he advanced, a
blazing sheet of electric flame glanced over the windows, displaying
their long line upon the right, and the whole interior of the
corridor. Here and there an old suit of armour caught the light, and
the grotesque figures on two large antique stone benches seemed to
grin and gibber in the flame. Still the young man walked on, pausing
only for one moment at a door on the left, and looking up at it with a
smile somewhat melancholy.
At the end of the corridor, on the left, he came to a larger staircase
than that which he had before descended, and going cautiously down,
and through some other passages, he found himself in a small
vestibule, with two doors on either hand. They were of various
dimensions, but all studded with large nails, and secured by thick
bands of iron; and turning to the largest of the four, he quietly
lifted the latch, and pushed it open. The wind, as he did so, had
nearly blown out the lamp, and in suddenly shading it with his hand,
he let slip the ponderous mass of woodwork, which was blown back
against its lintels with a dull clang, which echoed far away through
the vaulted passages of the castle.
The young man paused and listened, apparently fearful that his
proceedings might be noticed; but then, as all was silent till a loud
peal of thunder again shook the ear of night, he opened the door once
more, carefully shading the lamp with his cloak. Then, closing the
door gently behind him, he turned a large key that was in the lock,
seemingly to ensure that he should not be followed. He was now in a
vast old hall, which seemed to have been long unused, for there were
manifold green stains upon the stone pavement, no customary rushes
strewed the floor, no benches stood at the sides, and the table, at
which many a merry meal had passed, was no longer to be seen. A number
of torn and dusty banners and pennons, on the lances which had borne
them to the field, waved overhead, as the wind, which found its way
through many a broken lozenge in the casements, played amongst these
shreds of departed glories. A whispering sound came from them
likewise, and to an imaginative mind like that of the youth who walked
on beneath them, some of the rustling banners seemed to ask, "Whither,
whither?" and others to answer, "To dust, to dust."
In the middle of the hall he paused and thought. A degree of
hesitation appeared to come over him; and then, murmuring "It must be
all nonsense; but, true or not, I have promised, and I will go," he
walked forward to another door at the far end of the hall, much
smaller than that by which he had entered. Apparently, it had not been
opened for a long time, as a pile of dust lay thick, against it. There
was no key in the lock, and it seemed fastened from the other side.
After pushing it, however, to see if it would give way, the young man
drew forth a key, saying to himself, "Perhaps this opens all," and
applying it, after some examination of the key-hole, he turned it, and
threw back the door. Then holding up the lamp ere he entered, he gazed
into the space before him. It was a low narrow passage in the
stone-work, with no windows, or even loopholes, perceptible; but yet
the damp found its way in, for the walls were glistening all over with
unwholesome slime. The pavement, too, if pavement indeed there was at
all, was covered thickly with a coating of black mould, from which,
every here and there, sprang up a crop of pale sickly fungi covered
with noxious dew, spreading a sort of faint, unpleasant, odour around.
So foul, and damp, and gloomy looked the place, that it evidently
required an effort of resolution on the young man's part to enter; but
after pausing for a moment he did so, and closed and locked the door
behind him; then turning round, he looked on, still holding up the
lamp, as if he expected to see some fearful object in the way: all was
vacant, however, and as the faint rays of light dispersed the
darkness, he could perceive another door at the end of the passage,
some twenty yards in advance. It, when he reached it, was found
unfastened, and on drawing it back--for it opened inwards--the top of
a flight of stone steps was before him, descending, apparently, into a
well.
It was no faint heart that beat within his bosom, but those were days
in which existed a belief almost universal in things which our more
material times reject as visionary; or which, at least, are only
credited by a few, who can see no reason why, in the scheme of
creation, there should not be means of communication between the
spiritual and the corporeal, or why the bond of mortal life once
dissolved, the immortal tenant of the fleshly body should not still
feel some interest in the things of earth, amongst which it moved so
long, and have the power and the permission to make its presence felt
for warning and for guidance. It is very different to feel an awe and
a dread in any undertaking, and to shrink from executing it. The young
man did feel awe, for he was going in solitude and the midst of night
into places where mortal foot rarely trod, where every association and
every object was connected with dark and dreary memories, and with
still more gloomy anticipations--the memorials of the dead, the
mouldering ruins of fellow-men, the records of the tomb, the picture
of all that warm existence comes to in the end. He stopped for a
moment there, and gazed down into the dark void below, but the next
instant, with a slow and careful foot upon the wet and slippery steps,
he began the descent. The air, which was sultry above, felt cold and
chilling as he descended, and the lamp burned dim, with a diminished
flame, from the impure vapours that seemed congregated in the place.
Each step, too, produced a hollow echo, ringing round, and decreasing
gradually in sound, both above and below, till it seemed as if voices
were whispering behind him and before him. Twice he paused to listen,
scarcely able to persuade himself that he did not hear tongues
speaking, but as he stopped the sound ceased, and again he proceeded
on his way. The square cut stones forming the shaft in which the
staircase turned, with the jointing only more clearly discernible from
the mortar having dropped out, soon gave way to the more solid masonry
of nature, and the rude rock, roughly hewn, was all that was left
around him, with the stairs still descending in the midst. A hundred
and seventeen steps, some of them perilous from decay, brought him, at
length, to the termination, with a door ajar at the foot. All was
darkness beyond, and though there seemed a freer air as he pulled the
door back, and the lamp burned up somewhat more clearly, yet the vast
gloomy expanse before him lost scarcely a particle of its gloom, as he
advanced with a beating heart, bearing the light in his hand. He was
unconscious of touching the door as he passed, but the moment he had
entered it swung slowly to, and a solemn clang echoed through the
vault.
Laying his left hand on his dagger, he turned suddenly, and looked
behind him, but there was no one there, and he saw nothing but the
heavy stone walls and low groined arches, which seemed spreading out
interminably on either side. The next moment a bat fluttered across,
and swept his face with its cold dewy wing, nearly extinguishing the
lamp as it passed; and then, as he took a few steps forward, a low
voice asked, "Who is he?"
"Who? who?" several other voices seemed to say; and then another
cried, "Hush!"
The young man caught the lamp in his left hand, and half drew his
sword with his right, demanding aloud, "Who spoke?" There was no reply
but the echo of his own voice amidst the arches; and holding the lamp
before him, he turned to the side from which the first question seemed
to proceed, and thought he saw a figure standing in the dim obscurity,
at a few paces distance. "Who are you?" he cried, stepping forward,
but there the figure stood, grew more defined as the rays fell upon
it, and the eyeless grinning head, and long mouldy bones of a skeleton
appeared, bound with a rusty chain to a thick column. Instinctively he
started back, when he first discovered what the object was, and as he
did so, a low, wild, echoing laugh rang round through the arches on
every side, as if mocking the horror which his countenance expressed.
Nothing showed itself, however | 1,363.557995 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.6379580 | 3,324 | 15 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 123. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, March 7, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "I DON'T BELIEVE THE PEOPLE OF THE EARTH WOULD HAVE DARED
TO TREAT YOU AS THEY HAVE TREATED US."]
FATHER TIME'S DILEMMA.
BY RAJA.
There was a commotion in the moon. Father Time had the rheumatism in
both legs, and could not move from his seat by the fire-place. This was
a horrible state of affairs. For thousands upon thousands of
years--nobody knows how many--he had never failed to make his visit to
the earth, and now he was helpless; and what would be the result of a
day's neglect of duty? Perhaps the world would come to an end; for with
the end of Time, what else could be expected? At all events, his
reputation would be ruined, and the bare idea made him writhe and groan.
"My dear, pray be more careful," said his wife, anxiously. "If you toss
your arms about in that reckless fashion, you will certainly do some
mischief. I have picked up your scythe seven times, and your hour-glass
was just on the point of tumbling from the table."
"Let it tumble," growled Father Time, crossly. "If my reputation goes,
what do I care for the hour-glass? Aïe! aïe! where do you suppose I took
this rheumatism? Never dreamed that I could have it at my age, after all
the draughts that I've been exposed to. It must have been that dreadful
eclipse that made the air so chilly."
At this there went up such a howl from the Moon that all the inhabitants
of Venus, which happened to be in the neighborhood, thought there was a
thunder-storm. Father Time's billions and trillions of children had just
come quietly into his room to ask how he felt, and when they heard their
usually gentle parent express himself in such impatient tones they
thought he must certainly be delirious, and wept aloud in anguish. He
was rather ashamed of his burst of passion when he saw how they took it
to heart, and hung his head for a while, upon which his wife tried to
comfort him.
"It's almost time for Sol to go to earth, and how can he if I'm not with
him? I shall go crazy if this state of things continues."
"Papa," cried two billion of his children, "why could not we take your
place for to-day?"
"Oh yes," echoed all the rest; "we do so long to be useful!"
A gleam of hope lighted their father's gloomy face, but he looked a bit
doubtful. "Are you sure that you know what to do and where to go? You
have not my power of ubiquity; that is to say, you can not be everywhere
at once as I am."
"But there are more than enough of us to go around," answered the
children. "Each one of us will spend the day by the side of some mortal,
and we are sure you will not be missed. As for old Sol, it will be easy
enough to explain your absence to him. It is all his fault for letting
himself be eclipsed."
"Very well, then, my dear children; go, and success attend you. Do not
forget our family motto." He stretched out both his arms in blessing,
and solemnly pronounced the words "Tempus fugit."
* * * * *
Earth's daylight had fled, and all its inhabitants were soundly
sleeping. Father Time's children trooped back into his room, and a more
dejected multitude was never seen before. With very few exceptions, they
were all pale and tired and forlorn. He looked at them for a moment, and
then a sly twinkle crept into his eyes as he said:
"What is the matter, children? Haven't you enjoyed your day on the
earth?"
They raised their heads to groan an emphatic "No," and wearily let them
drop again.
"Why, you have envied me my daily trip there for ages"--they gave a sigh
in unison--"and never would believe me when I said it had its
drawbacks."
They looked too crushed to answer, but finally one of them said, "I
don't believe the people of earth would have dared to treat you as they
treated us."
Father Time leaned back in his chair and laughed aloud. "Let me hear
what they have done to you," he said. "You begin," nodding to the child
who sat nearest to him, an attenuated little creature with hollow
cheeks. She raised her head, and began, in a feeble voice:
"I am so weak that I can hardly speak, for I have had the most dreadful
day that can be imagined. I took my place by a nice-appearing little
boy, whose mischievous look and dancing eyes attracted me to him at
once. At first I got on very well; he seemed to take a fancy to me. But
after a while he grew careless, dropped his books, yawned and stretched.
Then he began to get into mischief, and did more naughty things in the
course of an hour than I imagined could be done in a day; and so matters
went on from bad to worse. I felt myself wasting away, but he never once
thought of me, never gave me another bit of attention, and I thought I
should not live to get home. Finally, when his mamma came in, and wanted
to know what he had been doing, the naughty child threw all the blame of
his neglected duties on me; said that I was a 'hateful Time to go so
fast,' and called me a hundred other unjust names. I am so tired!--so
tired!"
Father Time smiled pityingly, and stroked his poor child's head.
"You have been terribly wasted, my dear; I know how unpleasant that is.
But never fear; a good sleep will quite restore you.--What have you to
say, my son?" to the next child.
"Look at me," moaned the one questioned. "I am one mass of bruises from
head to foot. I can hardly walk. I was never so treated in my life."
"What has happened to you?"
"I went into the house of a child who seemed very fond of study, and
whom I thought would be very pleasant company. Stupid little
thing!"--with a burst of rage--"she began to practice her music, and
that moment I felt a sharp pain; she set to work beating me with all her
might and main, great irregular thumps, now on my head, now on my
shoulders, until I thought I must scream. I did groan and moan; it was
all of no use, for she went on, as it seemed to me, forever. By-and-by
her teacher came in, and that was better, for although he beat me, it
was in an entirely different way, that did not hurt at all. It was as if
he were caressing me. But the little vixen, belabored me again, and I am
all black and blue."
"Never mind, poor boy," said Father Time. "You will be all right
to-morrow; but I have had enough of such beatings to sympathize with you
fully."
"They have neither of them suffered as much as I," remarked a third
young Time, in a pathetic, subdued voice, "for they at least were abused
in an open sort of way; but I have been mortified beyond conception.
Shortly after my arrival in the world I entered the house of a
respectable middle-aged woman: you know I have always been fond of
associating with my elders, and I thought that I should be likely to
learn something from her which might be of use to me."
"Quite right, my child," said Father Time, nodding his approval.
"But there never was a greater mistake," continued his son. "From
morning until night that same respectable middle-aged lady has done
nothing but attempt to hide me, as if I were something to be ashamed of;
I, a scion of the oldest house in existence; I, a Time with a pedigree
which goes farther back than Adam, though it consists of only one
generation besides my own." (He said this with such pride that the
trillions of dejected Times for one second really straightened
themselves with family feeling.) "The first thing that she did was to
cover my face with the most disgusting paint and powder that were ever
invented, sighing all the time about wrinkles, crow's-feet, and the
ravages of time. Then she put on some untidy mess of hair all over my
forehead, and into my very eyes, after which she dressed me in a style
which made me blush under the paint. Such furbelows! such gew-gaws! Then
followed visits and conversations. She giggled; she simpered; she talked
to me and of me as if I were a babe in arms; why, she talked like Mother
Goose herself, and Father Gander, and the whole family of geese,"
indignantly. "I declare it made my blood boil."
Father Time looked grave. "I know thousands of such women," he said,
"who are ashamed of their acquaintance with us. Very foolish of them,
since they can not possibly cut us, and since, if they only knew it,
there is no alliance in the world more highly respectable. Cheer up, my
dear. You have nothing to be ashamed of.--And now tell me your
experience," to a fourth young Time, who was holding his head with both
hands, and groaning in agony.
"I am tired almost to death, if a Time could die," was the reply. "I
have been with a poet."
"Good things in their way," remarked his father.
"But this one wasn't a good one, though he thought himself so. And the
worst of it all was that he insisted upon writing an ode to Time. Before
the day was over I almost wished that you, my dear father, had never
existed."
"I know the man you mean," said Father Time, gravely; "he lives in every
town on the globe, and is the greatest time-waster on record. You look
thin with the fatigue.--Why, why, what is this?"
A beautiful child stepped up before Father Time, and smiled in answer to
his exclamation.
"Don't you know me, papa?"
"Are you--is it possible--can you be one of my children? What has
happened to make you so lovely?"
"I have been improved," was the answer. "I have never had a happier day
in all my life."
Her brothers and sisters looked up in amazement.
"Yes, I think I am the only one of us all who has been fortunate to-day.
I went into the house of the dearest child in all the world. Why, the
first thing that she did was to kiss and pet me, and say, 'Dear Time,
let us see how we can help each other to-day.' From the moment I came
until the moment I left she never faltered. In the first place, she
studied her lessons with great diligence--"
"Ah!" said Father Time, "that is what makes your eyes shine so
brightly."
"Then she played with some little friends, and was always sweet and
gentle with them. She talked so cheerfully and lovingly--"
"That is what gives your lips that lovely smile," said Father Time
again.
"She helped them in various little ways; picked up one when she fell,
fetched some toys to amuse another--did all she could to make them
happy. And when I left her this evening, she was as much improved as I.
Do you wonder that I have had a happy day?"
"No, indeed," replied Father Time, while his children cried, in chorus,
"Oh, I wish there had been more like her!"
"Well," said the father, "now go to bed, you poor unfortunate creatures,
and sleep off your woes. My rheumatism has disappeared, and I shall be
able to go to earth myself to-morrow. Repeat our motto once more."
With one voice the trillions of children replied: "Tempus Fugit.
Good-night."
MY BEAR HUNT.
BY ALLAN FORMAN.
It wasn't a regular bear hunt; that is, I didn't do nearly as much
hunting as the bear did. I did not start out intending to hunt. He did.
I went to get the butter, when-- But I am getting ahead of my story. It
was when I was about thirteen years old that my father took my brother
and myself camping with him in the Adirondacks. We pitched our tent at
the head of Little Tupper Lake. There was a spring of fine cold water
not far back in the woods. So, after making our beds out of pine boughs,
building a fire, and setting up the table, we went down to the spring,
and put our butter--which was in a tin pail fitted with a water-tight
cover--in it to keep cool.
All went well for the first few days. Father and brother Will (who was
fifteen) shot a deer, so that we had plenty of venison. The guide caught
a quantity of trout, and we were enjoying ourselves so thoroughly that
we began to dread the time when we should have to return home.
"Can't we stay longer than two weeks?" I asked father one morning.
"We'll stay until the butter gives out," he replied, laughing.
The nearest place to get butter was twenty miles away, and as it was
disappearing rapidly, owing to the appetites of growing boys, father had
already warned us of the necessity of economy in that direction. We
were, after that, very sparing in our use of butter, and it seemed, to
bid fair to last longer than the promised two weeks. As the guide was
preparing supper one evening, father said, "Will, I wish that you would
go down to the spring and get some water; and, Charlie, you go too, and
bring up some butter." It was a simple request, but thereby hangs the
tale of my first and only bear hunt.
We started off, and soon came to the spring. The path led around it into
a thicket of huckleberry bushes. Will proposed that we should pick some
for supper. We plunged into the thicket, and soon were busy picking the
delicious fruit. We had not been occupied in this manner very long when
we heard a crashing in the bushes near the spring, and as we looked
back, we saw a great black bear. He was not fifty feet away from us, and
was gazing into the spring with a complacent air.
"He's looking at himself," said Will.
"See him grin," I replied, divided | 1,363.657998 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.6420490 | 3,600 | 7 |
Produced by JoAnn Greenwood, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Books by Mr. Torrey.
BIRDS IN THE BUSH. 16mo, $1.25.
A RAMBLER'S LEASE. 16mo, $1.25.
THE FOOT-PATH WAY. 16mo, gilt top, $1.25.
A FLORIDA SKETCH-BOOK. 16mo, $1.25.
SPRING NOTES FROM TENNESSEE. 16mo, $1.25.
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
BOSTON AND NEW YORK.
SPRING NOTES FROM TENNESSEE
BY
BRADFORD TORREY
We travelled in the print of olden wars;
Yet all the land was green.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON.
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1896
Copyright, 1896,
BY BRADFORD TORREY.
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
AN IDLER ON MISSIONARY RIDGE 1
LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN 28
CHICKAMAUGA 57
ORCHARD KNOB AND THE NATIONAL CEMETERY 89
AN AFTERNOON BY THE RIVER 102
A MORNING IN THE NORTH WOODS 113
A WEEK ON WALDEN'S RIDGE 124
SOME TENNESSEE BIRD NOTES 183
A LIST OF BIRDS 213
INDEX 221
SPRING NOTES FROM TENNESSEE.
AN IDLER ON MISSIONARY RIDGE.
I reached Chattanooga on the evening of April 26th, in the midst of
a rattling thunder-shower,--which, to look back upon it, seems to
have been prophetic,--and the next morning, after an early breakfast,
took an electric car for Missionary Ridge. Among my fellow-passengers
were four Louisiana veterans fresh from their annual reunion at
Birmingham, where, doubtless, their hearts had been kindled by much
fervent oratory, as well as by much private talk of those bygone days
when they did everything but die for the cause they loved. As the
car mounted the Ridge, one of them called his companions' attention
to a place down the valley where "the Rebels and the Yankees" (his
own words) used to meet to play cards. "A regular gambling-hole,"
he called it. Their boys brought back lots of coffee. In another
direction was a spot where the Rebels once "had a regular picnic,"
killing some extraordinary number of Yankees in some incredibly
brief time. I interrupted the conversation, and at the same time
made myself known as a stranger and a Northerner, by inquiring after
the whereabouts of Orchard Knob, General Grant's headquarters; and
the same man, who seemed to be the spokesman of the party, after
pointing out the place, a savin-sprinkled knoll between us and the
city, kindly invited me to go with him and his comrades up to the
tower,--on the site of General Bragg's headquarters,--where he would
show me the whole battlefield and tell me about the fight.
We left the car together for that purpose, and walked up the <DW72> to
the foot of the observatory,--an open structure of iron, erected by
the national government; but just then my ear caught somewhere beyond
us the song of a Bachman's finch,--a song I had heard a year before
in the pine woods of Florida, and, in my ignorance, was unprepared
for here. I must see the bird and make sure of its identity. It led
me a little chase, and when I had seen it I must look also at a
summer tanager, a chat, and so on, one thing leading to another; and
by the time I returned to the observatory the veterans had come down
and were under some apple-trees, from one of which the spokesman was
cutting a big walking-stick. He had stood under those trees--which
were now in bloom--thirty years before, he said, with General Bragg
himself.
I was sorry to have missed his story of the battle, and ashamed to
have seemed ungrateful and rude, but I forget what apology I offered.
At this distance it is hard to see how I could have got out of the
affair with much dignity. I might have heard all about the battle
from a man who was there, and instead I went off to listen to a
sparrow singing in a bush. I thought, to be sure, that the men would
be longer upon the observatory, and that I should still be in season.
Probably that was my excuse, if I made one; and in all likelihood
the veteran was too completely taken up with his own concerns to
think twice about the vagaries of a stray Yankee, who seemed to be
an odd stick, to say nothing worse of him. Well, the loss, such
as it was, was mine, not his; and I have lost too much time in the
way of business to fret over a little lost (or saved) in the way of
pleasure. As for any apparent lack of patriotic feeling, I suppose
that the noblest patriot in the world, if he chanced to be also an
ornithologist, would notice a bird even amid the smoke of battle; and
why should not I do as much on a field from which the battle smoke
had vanished thirty years before?
So I reason now; at the time I had no leisure for such sophistries.
Every moment brought some fresh distraction. The long hill--woodland,
brambly pasture, and shrubby dooryard--was a nest of singing birds;
and when at last I climbed the tower, I came down again almost as
suddenly as my Louisiana friends had done. The landscape,--the city
and its suburbs, the river, the mountains,--all this would be here
to-morrow; just now there were other things to look at. Here in the
grass, almost under my nose, were a pair of Bewick wrens, hopping
and walking by turns, as song sparrows may sometimes be found doing;
conscious through and through of my presence, yet affecting to
ignore it; carrying themselves with an indescribable and pretty
demureness, as if a nest were something never dreamed of by birds
of their kind; the female, nevertheless, having at that moment her
beak bristling with straws, while the male, a proud young husband,
hovered officiously about her with a continual sweetly possessive
manner and an occasional burst of song. Till yesterday Bewick's wren
had been nothing but a name to me. Then, somewhere after crossing the
state line, the train stopped at a station, and suddenly through the
open window came a song. "That's a Bewick wren," I said to myself,
as I stepped across the aisle to look out; and there he stood, on
the fence beside the track, his long tail striking the eye on the
instant. He sang again, and once again, before the train started.
Tennessee was beginning well with a visiting bird-gazer.
There must be some wrennish quality about the Bewick's song, it would
seem: else how did I recognize it so promptly? And yet, so far as I
am able to give an account of my own impressions, it had in my ears
no resemblance to any wren song I had ever heard. I think it never
suggested to me any music except the song sparrow's. The truth is, I
suppose, that we _feel_ resemblances and relationships of which the
mind takes no cognizance.
I wandered at a venture down the further <DW72>, turning this way and
that as a song invited me. Here were Southerners and Northerners
fraternally commingled: summer tanagers, Carolina wrens, blue-gray
gnatcatchers, cardinal grosbeaks, chats, Bachman finches, field
sparrows, chippers, white-throated sparrows, chewinks, indigo
buntings, black-poll warblers, myrtle-birds, prairie warblers, a
Maryland yellow-throat, a bay-breasted warbler, a black-and-white
creeper, a redstart, brown thrushes, catbirds, a single mocking-bird,
wood thrushes, red-eyed vireos, white-eyed vireos, wood pewees, a
quail, and, in the air, purple martins and turkey buzzards. On the
Ridge, as well as near the foot on our way up, a mocking-bird and a
wood thrush sang within hearing of each other. Comparison as between
birds so dissimilar is useless and out of place; but how shall a man
avoid it? The mocking-bird is a great vocalist,--yes, and a great
singer; but to my Northern ears the wood thrush carried the day with
his _voice_.
Having climbed the Ridge again,--though climbing might be thought
rather too laborious a word for so gradual a <DW72>,--and started
down on the side toward the city, I came to a patch of blackberry
vines, in the midst of which sat a thrasher on her nest, all a
mother's anxiety in her staring yellow eyes. Close by her stood
an olive-backed thrush. There, too, was my first hooded warbler,
a female. She escaped me the next instant, though I made an eager
chase, not knowing yet how common birds of her sort were to prove in
that Chattanooga country.
In my delight at finding Missionary Ridge so happy a hunting-ground
for an opera-glass naturalist, I went thither again the very
next morning. This time some Virginia veterans were in the car
(they all wore badges), and when we had left it, and were about
separating,--after a bit of talk about the battle, of course,--one
of them, with almost painful scrupulosity, insisted upon assuring me
that if the thing were all to be done over again, he should do just
as before. One of his comrades, seeing me a Northerner, interrupted
him more than once in a vain attempt to smooth matters over. They had
buried the hatchet, he said; let bygones be bygones. But the first
man was not to be cajoled with a phrase. He spoke without passion,
with no raising of the voice, quite simply and amicably: he too
accepted the result; the thing never _would_ be done over again; only
let his position be understood,--he had nothing to take back. It was
impossible not to respect such conscientiousness. For my own part, at
any rate, I felt no prompting to argue against it, being sufficiently
"opinionated" to appreciate a difficulty which some obstinate people
experience in altering their convictions as circumstances change,
or accepting the failure of a cause as proof of its injustice. If
a man is not _too_ obstinate, to be sure, time and the course of
events may bring him new light; but that is another matter. Once,
when the men were talking among themselves, I overheard one say, as
he pointed down the hill, "The Rebels were there, and the Union men
yonder." That careless recurrence of the word "Rebel" came to me as a
surprise.
The principal excitement of the morning was a glimpse of a Kentucky
warbler, a bird most peculiarly desired. I had finished my jaunt,
and was standing beside the bramble patch not far from the railway,
where I had seen the hooded warbler the day before, when the splendid
creature flashed into sight, saw me, uttered a volley of quick, clear
notes, and vanished up the hillside. I ran after him, but might as
well have remained where I was. "He _is_ a beauty!" I find written
in my notebook. And so he is, clothed in lustrous olive and the
most gorgeous of yellows with trimmings of black, all in the best
of taste, with nothing patchy, nothing fantastic or even fanciful.
I was again impressed with the abundance of chats, indigo-birds,
and white-eyed vireos. Bachman sparrows were numerous, also, in
appropriate localities,--dry and bushy,--and I noted a bluebird, a
yellow-throated vireo, and, shouting from a dead treetop, a great
crested flycatcher.
My most vivid recollection of this second visit, however, is of the
power of the sun, an old enemy of mine, by whom, in my ignorance
of spring weather in Tennessee, I allowed myself to be taken at a
cruel noonday disadvantage. Even now, in the deep frigidity of a
Massachusetts winter, I cannot think of Missionary Ridge without
seeing again those long stretches of burning sunshine, wherein the
least spot of shade was like a palm in the desert. In every such
shelter I used to stand awhile, bareheaded; then, marking the next
similar haven, so many rods ahead, I would hoist my umbrella and
push forward, cringing at every step as if I were crossing a field
under fire. Possibly I exaggerate, but, if I do, it is very little;
and though it be an abuse of an exquisite poem, I say over to myself
again and again a couplet of Miss Guiney's:--
"Weather on a sunny ridge,
Showery weather, far from here."
In truth, early as the season was, the excessive heat, combined with
a trying dog-day humidity, sadly circumscribed all my Tennessee
rambles. As for my umbrella, my obligations to it were such that
nothing but a dread of plagiarism has restrained me from entitling
this sketch "An Umbrella on Missionary Ridge." Nature never intended
me for a tropical explorer. Often I did nothing more than seek a
shady retreat and stay there, letting the birds come to me, if they
would.
Improved after this indolent fashion, one of the hottest of my
forenoons became also one of the most enjoyable. I left the car
midway up the Ridge,--at the angle of the Y,--and, passing my
thrasher's blackberry tangle and descending a wooded <DW72>, found
myself unexpectedly in a pleasant place, half wood, half grassy
field, through which ran a tiny streamlet, the first one I had seen
in this dry and thirsty land. Near the streamlet, on the edge of the
wood, quite by itself, stood a cabin of most forlorn appearance, with
a garden patch under the window,--if there _was_ a window, as to
which I do not remember, and the chances seem against it,--the whole
closely and meanly surrounded by a fence. In the door stood an aged
white woman, looking every whit as old and forlorn as the cabin, with
a tall mastiff on one side of her and a black cat on the other.
"Your dog and cat are good friends," I remarked, feeling it polite to
speak even to a stranger in so lonesome a spot.
"Yes," she answered gruffly, "they're good friends, only once in a
while he wants to kill her."
She said nothing more, and her manner did not encourage further
attempts at neighborly intercourse; but as I passed the cabin now and
then during the forenoon, the birds leading me about, I heard her
muttering often and at considerable length to her hens and ducks.
Evidently she enjoyed conversation as well as most people, only
she liked to pick her own company. She was "Aunt Tilly," I learned
afterwards, and had lived there by herself for many years; one of the
characters of the city, a fortune-teller, whose professional services
were in frequent request.
In this favored nook, especially along the watercourse, were many
birds, some | 1,363.662089 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.8350900 | 4,256 | 21 | LITERATURE***
E-text prepared by Andrea Ball & Marc D'Hooghe
(http://www.freeliterature.org) from page images generously made available
by Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/russiaitspeoplei00pardiala
RUSSIA
ITS PEOPLE AND ITS LITERATURE
BY
EMILIA PARDO BAZAN
Translated from the Spanish
By FANNY HALE GARDINER
CHICAGO
A.C. McCLURG & CO.
1901
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Emilia Pardo Bazan, the author of the following critical survey of
Russian literature, is a Spanish woman of well-known literary
attainments as well as wealth and position. Her life has been spent in
association with men of mark, both during frequent sojourns at Madrid
and at home in Galicia, "the Switzerland of Spain," from which province
her father was a deputy to Cortes.
Books and libraries were almost her only pleasures in childhood, as she
was allowed few companions, and she says she could never apply herself
to music. By the time she was fourteen she had read widely in history,
sciences, poetry, and fiction, excepting the works of the French
romanticists, Dumas, George Sand, and Victor Hugo, which were forbidden
fruit and were finally obtained and enjoyed as such. At sixteen she
married and went to live in Madrid, where, amid the gayeties of the
capital, her love for literature suffered a long eclipse.
Her father was obliged, for political reasons, to leave the country
after the abdication of Amadeus, and she accompanied him in a long and
to her profitable period of wandering, during which she learned French,
English, and Italian, in order to read the literatures of those tongues.
She also plunged deep into German philosophy, at first out of curiosity,
because it was then in vogue; but she confesses a debt of gratitude to
it nevertheless.
While she was thus absorbed in foreign tongues and literatures, she
remained almost entirely ignorant of the new movement in her own land,
led by Valera, Galdos, and Alarcon. The prostration which characterized
the reign of Isabella II. had been followed by a rejuvenation born of
the Revolution of 1868. When this new literature was at last brought to
her notice, she read it with delighted surprise, and was immediately
struck by something resembling the spirit of Cervantes, Hurtado, and
other Spanish writers of old renown. Inspired by the possibility of this
heredity, she resolved to try novel-writing herself,--a thought which
had never occurred to her when her idea of the novel had been bounded by
the romantic limitations of Victor Hugo and his suite. But if the novel
might consist of descriptions of places and customs familiar to us, and
studies of the people we see about us, then she would dare attempt it.
As yet, however, no one talked of realism or naturalism in Spain; the
tendency of Spanish writers was rather toward a restoration of elegant
Castilian, and her own first novel followed this line, although
evidently inspired by the breath of realism as far as she was then aware
of it. The methods and objects of the French realists became fully
manifest to her shortly afterward; for, being in poor health, she went
to Vichy, where in hours of enforced leisure she read for the first time
Balzac, Flaubert, Goncourt, and Daudet. The result led her to see the
importance of their aims and the force of their art, to which she added
the idea that each country should cultivate its own tradition while
following the modern methods. These convictions she embodied first in a
prologue to her second novel, "A Wedding Journey," and then in a series
of articles published in the "Epoca" at Madrid, and afterward in Paris;
these she avers were the first echoes in Spain of the French realist
movement.
All of her novels have been influenced by the school of art to which she
has devoted her attention and criticism, and her study of which has well
qualified her for the essays contained in this volume. This work on
Russian literature was published in 1887, but prior to its appearance
in print the Senora de Bazan was invited to read selections from it
before the Ateneo de Madrid,--an honor never before extended to a woman,
I believe.
Few Spanish women are accustomed to speaking in public, and she thus
describes her own first attempt in 1885, when, during the festivities
attending the opening of the first railway between Madrid and Coruna,
the capital of her native province, she was asked to address a large
audience invited to honor the memory of a local poet:--
"Fearful of attempting so unusual a performance, as well as
doubtful of the ability to make my voice heard in a large
theatre, I took advantage of the presence of my friend
Emilio Castelar to read to him my discourse and confide to
him my fears. On the eve of the performance, Castelar,
ensconced in an arm-chair in my library, puzzled his brains
over the questions whether I should read standing or
sitting, whether I should hold my papers in my hand or no,
and having an artist's eye to the scenic effect, I think he
would have liked to suggest that I pose before the mirror!
But I was less troubled about my attitude than by the
knowledge that Castelar was to speak also, and before me,
which would hardly predispose my audience in my favor....
The theatre was crowded to suffocation, but I found that
this rather animated than terrified me. I rose to read (for
it was finally decided that I should stand), and I cannot
tell how thin and hard and unsympathetic my voice sounded in
the silence. My throat choked with emotion; but I was
scarcely through the first paragraph when I heard at my
right hand the voice of Castelar, low and earnest, saying
over and over again, 'Very good, very good! That is the
tone! So, so! 'I breathed more freely, speaking became
easier to me; and my audience, far from becoming impatient,
gave me an attention and applause doubly grateful to one
whose only hope had been to avoid a fiasco. Castelar greeted
me at the close with a warm hand-grasp and beaming eyes,
saying, 'We ought to be well satisfied, Emilia; we have
achieved a notable and brilliant success; let us be happy,
then!'"
Probably the Senora de Bazan learned her lesson well, and had no need of
the friendly admonitions of Castelar when she came to address the
distinguished audience at the Ateneo, for she is said to have "looked
very much at ease," and to have been very well received, but a good deal
criticised afterward, being the first Spanish woman who ever dared to
read in the Ateneo.
Turning from the authoress to the work, I will only add that I hope the
American reader may find it to be what it seemed to me as I read it in
Spanish,--an epitome of a vast and elaborate subject, and a guide to a
clear path through this maze which without a guide can hardly be clear
to any but a profound student of belles-lettres; for classicism,
romanticism, and realism are technical terms, and the purpose of the
modern novel is only just beginning to be understood by even fairly
intelligent readers. In the belief that the interest awakened by Russian
literature is not ephemeral, and that this great, young, and original
people has come upon the world's stage with a work to perform before the
world's eye, I have translated this careful, critical, synthetical study
of the Russian people and literature for the benefit of my intelligent
countrymen.
F.H.G.
Chicago, March, 1890.
CONTENTS.
Book I.
THE EVOLUTION OF RUSSIA.
I. Scope and Purpose of the Present Essay
II. The Russian Country
III. The Russian Race
IV. Russian History
V. The Russian Autocracy
VI. The Agrarian Communes
VII. Social Classes in Russia
VIII. Russian Serfdom
Book II.
RUSSIAN NIHILISM AND ITS LITERATURE.
I. The Word "Nihilism"
II. Origin of the Intellectual Revolution
III. Woman and the Family
IV. Going to the People
V. Herzen and the Nihilist Novel
VI. The Reign of Terror
VII. The Police and the Censor
Book III.
RISE OF THE RUSSIAN NOVEL.
I. The Beginnings of Russian Literature
II. Russian Romanticism.--The Lyric Poets
III. Russian Realism: Gogol, its Founder
Book IV.
MODERN RUSSIAN REALISM.
I. Turguenief, Poet and Artist
II. Gontcharof and Oblomovism
III. Dostoiewsky, Psychologist and Visionary
IV. Tolstoi, Nihilist and Mystic
V. French Realism and Russian Realism
Book I.
THE EVOLUTION OF RUSSIA.
I.
Scope And Purpose of the Present Essay.
The idea of writing something about Russia, the Russian novel, and
Russian social conditions (all of which bear an intimate relationship to
one another), occurred to me during a sojourn in Paris, where I was
struck with the popularity and success achieved by the Russian authors,
and especially the novelists. I remember that it was in the month of
March, 1885, that the Russian novel "Crime and Punishment," by
Dostoiewsky, fell into my hands and left on my mind a deep impression.
Circumstances prevented my following up at that time my idea of literary
work on the subject; but the next winter I had nothing more important to
do than to make my projected excursion into this new realm.
My interest was quickened by all the reports I read of those who had
done the same. They all declared that one branch of Russian literature,
that which flourishes to-day in every part of Europe, namely, the novel,
has no rival in any other nation, and that the so much discussed
tendency to the pre-eminence of truth in art, variously called realism,
naturalism, etc., has existed in the Russian novel ever since the
Romantic period, a full quarter of a century earlier than in France. I
saw also that the more refined and select portion of the Parisian
public, that part which boasts an educated and exacting taste, bought
and devoured the works of Turguenief, Tolstoi, and Dostoiewsky with as
much eagerness as those of Zola, Goncourt, and Daudet; and it was
useless to ascribe this universal eagerness merely to a conspiracy
intended to produce jealousy and humiliation among the masters and
leaders of naturalism or realism in France, even though I may be aware
that such a conspiracy tacitly exists, as well as a certain amount of
involuntary jealousy, which, in fact, even the most illustrious artist
is prone to display.
I do not ignore the objections that might be urged against going to
foreign lands in search of novelties, and I should decline to face them
if Russian literature were but one of the many caprices of the exhausted
Parisian imagination. I know very well that the French capital is a city
of novelties, hungry for extravagances which may entertain for a moment
and appease its yawning weariness, and that to this necessity for
diversion the _decadent_ school (which has lately had such a revival,
and claims the aberrations of the Spanish Gongora as its master), though
aided by some talent and some technical skill, owes the favor it enjoys.
Some years ago I attended a concert in Paris, where I heard an orchestra
of Bohemians, or Zingaras, itinerant musicians from Hungary. I was
asked my opinion of them at the close, and I frankly confessed that the
orchestra sounded to me very like a jangling of mule-bells or a
caterwauling; they were only a little more tolerable than a street band
of my own country (Spain), and only because these were gypsies were
their scrapings to be endured at all. Literary oddities are puffed and
made much of by certain Parisian critics very much as the Bohemian
musicians were, as, for example, the Japanese novel "The Loyal Ronins,"
and certain romantic sketches of North American origin.
It is but just, nevertheless, to acknowledge that in France the mania
for the exotic has a laudable aim and obeys an instinct of equity. To
know everything, to call nothing outlandish, to accord the highest right
of human citizenship, the right of creating their own art and of
sacrificing according to their own rites and customs on the altar sacred
to Beauty, not only to the great nations, but to the decayed and obscure
ones,--this surely is a generous act on the part of a people endowed
with directive energies; the more so as, in order to do this, the French
have to overcome a certain petulant vanity which naturally leads them to
consider themselves not merely the first but the only people.
But confining myself now to Russia, I do not deny that to my curiosity
there were added certain doubts as to the value of her literary
treasures. During my investigations, however, I have discovered that,
apart from the intrinsic merit of her famous authors, her literature
must attract our attention because of its intimate connections with
social, political, and historical problems which are occupying the mind
of Europe to-day, and are outcomes of the great revolutionary movement,
unless it would be more correct to say that they inspired and directed
that movement.
I take this opportunity to confess frankly that I lack one almost
indispensable qualification for my task,--the knowledge of the Russian
language. It would have been easy for me, during my residence in Paris,
to acquire a smattering of it perhaps, enough to conceal my ignorance
and to enable me to read some selections in poetry and prose; but not so
easy thus to learn thoroughly a language which for intricacy, splendid
coloring, and marvellous flexibility and harmony can only be compared,
in the opinion of philologists, to the ancient Greek. Of what use then a
mere smattering, which would be insufficient to give to my studies a
positive character and an indisputable authority? Two years would not
have been too long to devote to such an accomplishment, and in that
length of time new ideas, different lines of thought, and unexpected
obstacles might perhaps arise; the opportunity would be gone and my plan
would have lost interest.
Still, I mentioned my scruples on this head to certain competent
persons, and they agreed that ignorance of the Russian language, though
an ignorance scarcely uncommon, would be an insuperable difficulty if I
proposed to write a didactic treatise upon Russian letters, instead of
a rapid review or a mere sketch in the form of a modest essay or two.
They added that the best Russian books were translated into French or
German, and that in these languages, and also in English and Italian,
had been published several able and clever works relative to Muscovite
literature and institutions, solid enough foundations upon which to
build my efforts.
It may be said, and with good reason, that if I could not learn the
language I might at least have made a trip to Russia, and like Madame de
Stael when she revealed to her countrymen the culture of a foreign land,
see the places and people with my own eyes. But Russia is not just
around the corner, and the women of my country, though not cowardly, are
not accustomed to travel so intrepidly as for example the women of Great
Britain. I have often envied the good fortune of that clever Scotchman,
Mackenzie Wallace, who has explored the whole empire of Russia, ridden
in sleighs over her frozen rivers, chatted with peasants and _popes_,
slept beneath the tents of the nomadic tribes, and shared their offered
refreshment of fermented mare's-milk, the only delicacy their
patriarchal hospitality afforded. But I acknowledge my deficiencies, and
can only hope that some one better qualified than I may take up and
carry on this imperfect and tentative attempt.
I have tried to supply from other sources those things which I lacked.
Not only have I read everything written upon Russia in every language
with which I am acquainted, but I have associated myself with Russian
writers and artists, and noted the opinions of well-informed persons
(who often, however, be it said in parenthesis, only served to confuse
me by their differences and opposition). A good part of the books (a
list of which I give at the end) were hardly of use to me, and I read
them merely from motives of literary honesty. To save continual
references I prefer to speak at once and now of those which I used
principally: Mackenzie Wallace's work entitled "Russia" abounds in
practical insight and appreciation; Anatole Leroy-Beaulieu's "The Empire
of the Czars" is a profound, exact, and finished study, so acknowledged
even by the Russians themselves in their most just and calm judgments;
Tikomirov's "Russia, Political and Social" is clear and comprehensible,
though rather radical and passionate, as might be expected of the work
of an exile; Melchior de Voguie's "The Russian Novel" is a critical
study of incomparable delicacy, though I do not always acquiesce in his
conclusions. From these four books, to which I would add the remarkable
"History of Russia" by Rambaud, I have drawn copious draughts; and
giving them this mention, I may dispense with further reference to
them.
II.
The Russian Country.
If we consider the present state of European nations, we shall observe a
decided decline of the political fever which excited them from about the
end of the last century to the middle of the present one. A certain
calm, almost a stagnation with some, has followed upon the conquest of
rights more craved than appreciated. The idea of socialistic reforms is
agitated darkly and threateningly among the masses, openly declaring
itself from time to time in strikes and riots; but on the other hand,
the middle classes almost everywhere are anxious for a long respite in
which to enjoy the new social conditions created by themselves and for
themselves. The middle classes represent the largest amount of
intellectual force; they have withdrawn voluntarily (through egoism,
prudence, or indifference) from active political fields, and renounced
further efforts in the line of experiment; the arts and letters, which
are in the main the work of well-to-do people, cry out against this
withdrawal, and, losing all social affinities, become likewise isolated.
France possesses at this moment that form of government for which she
yearned so long and so convulsively; yet she has not found in it the
sort of well-being she most desired,--that industrial and economical
prosperity, that coveted satisfaction and compensation which should
restore to the Cock of Brenus his glittering spurs and scarlet crest.
| 1,363.85513 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.8353060 | 1,061 | 30 |
Produced by Andrea Ball, Christine Bell & Marc D'Hooghe
at http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously
made available by the Internet Archive)
ARIADNE IN MANTUA
A ROMANCE IN FIVE ACTS
BY
VERNON LEE
Portland, Maine
THOMAS B. MOSHER
MDCCCCXII
TO
ETHEL SMYTH
THANKING, AND BEGGING, HER FOR MUSIC
PREFACE
Ariadne _in Mantua_, _A Romance in Five Acts, by Vernon Lee.
Oxford: B.H. Blackwell 50 and 51 Broad Street. London:
Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Company. A.D. MCMIII.
Octavo. Pp. x: 11-66_.
Like almost everything else written by Vernon Lee there is to
be found that insistent little touch which is her sign-manual
when dealing with Italy or its makers of forgotten melodies.
In other words, the music of her rhythmic prose is summed up
in one poignant vocable--_Forlorn_.
As for her vanished world of dear dead women and their lovers
who are dust, we may indeed for a brief hour enter that
enchanted atmosphere. Then a vapour arises as out of long lost
lagoons, and, be it Venice or Mantua, we come to feel "how
deep an abyss separates us--and how many faint and nameless
ghosts crowd round the few enduring things bequeathed to us by
the past."
T.B.M.
PREFACE
_"Alles Vergaengliche ist nur ein Gleichniss"_
_It is in order to give others the pleasure of reading or
re-reading a small masterpiece, that I mention the likelihood
of the catastrophe of my_ Ariadne _having been suggested by
the late Mr. Shorthouse's_ Little Schoolmaster Mark; _but I
must ask forgiveness of my dear old friend, Madame Emile
Duclaux_ (Mary Robinson), _for unwarranted use of one of the
songs of her_ Italian Garden.
_Readers of my own little volume_ Genius Loci _may meanwhile
recognise that I have been guilty of plagiarism towards myself
also_.[1]
_For a couple of years after writing those pages, the image of
the Palace of Mantua and the lakes it steeps in, haunted my
fancy with that peculiar insistency, as of the half-lapsed
recollection of a name or date, which tells us that we know
(if we could only remember!)_ what happened in a place. _I let
the matter rest. But, looking into my mind one day, I found
that a certain song of the early seventeenth century_--(not
_Monteverde's_ Lamento d'Arianna _but an air_, Amarilli, _by
Caccini, printed alongside in Parisotti's collection_)--_had
entered that Palace of Mantua, and was, in some manner not
easy to define, the musical shape of what must have happened
there. And that, translated back into human personages, was
the story I have set forth in the following little Drama_.
_So much for the origin of_ Ariadne in Mantua, _supposing any
friend to be curious about it. What seems more interesting is
my feeling, which grew upon me as I worked over and over the
piece and its French translation, that these personages had an
importance greater than that of their life and adventures, a
meaning, if I may say so, a little_ sub specie aeternitatis.
_For, besides the real figures, there appeared to me vague
shadows cast by them, as it were, on the vast spaces of life,
and magnified far beyond those little puppets that I twitched.
And I seem to feel here the struggle, eternal, necessary,
between mere impulse, unreasoning and violent, but absolutely
true to its aim; and all the moderating, the weighing and
restraining influences of civilisation, with their idealism,
their vacillation, but their final triumph over the mere
forces of nature. These well-born people of Mantua,
privileged beings wanting little because they have much, and
able therefore to spend themselves in quite harmonious effort,
must necessarily get the better of the poor gutter-born
creature without whom, after all, one of them would have been
dead and the others would have had no opening in life. Poor_
Diego _acts magnanimously, being cornered; but he (or she) has
not the delicacy, the dignity to melt into thin air with a
mere lyric Metastasian "Piangendo parte", and leave them to
their untroubled conscience. He must needs assert himself,
violently wrench at their heart-strings, give them a final
stab, hand them over to endless remorse; briefly, commit that
public | 1,363.855346 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.8382340 | 1,680 | 73 |
Produced by Rosanna Murphy, sp1nd and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Notes: Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
_The Early History of the Scottish Union Question_
SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS ON THE FIRST EDITION.
"With considerable literary skill he has compressed into a brief compass
a most readable and impartial account of the efforts which from the time
of Edward I. went on to weld the two countries into one."--_Edinburgh
Evening News._
"Mr. Omond tells his story brightly and with full
knowledge."--_Manchester Guardian._
"A genuine contribution to British history."--_Dumfries Courier._
"There is much to interest and inform in this volume."--_Liverpool
Mercury._
"The conciseness of the sketch, instead of detracting from the worth of
the work, rather enables the author to give a more vivid description of
the course and progress of events."--_Dundee Advertiser._
"Mr. Omond has laid students of British history under a debt of
gratitude to him for his work on the Scottish Union question."--_Leeds
Mercury._
"Mr. Omond is at home in the struggles which led up to the act of Union
in 1707."--_British Weekly._
"His book, modest and unpretentious as it is, is a careful contribution
to the study of one of the most important features of the history of the
two kingdoms, since 1707 united as Great Britain."--_Liverpool Daily
Post._
"A handy summary of the history of such international relations, written
with an orderly method and much clearness and good sense."--_The
Academy._
"A handy, well-written volume."--_Pall Mall Gazette._
"A very interesting, as well as very instructive book."--_Literary
World._
[Illustration: JOHN HAMILTON, LORD BELHAVEN.]
_The Early History
of the
Scottish Union Question_
_By
G. W. T. Omond_
_Author of
"Fletcher of Saltoun" in the "Famous Scots" Series_
_Bi-Centenary Edition_
_Edinburgh & London
Oliphant Anderson & Ferrier
1906_
_Now Complete in 42 Volumes_
_The Famous Scots Series_
_Post 8vo, Art Canvas, 1s. 6d. net; and with gilt top and uncut
edges, price 2s. net_
THOMAS CARLYLE. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ALLAN RAMSAY. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
HUGH MILLER. By W. KEITH LEASK.
JOHN KNOX. By A. TAYLOR INNES.
ROBERT BURNS. By GABRIEL SETOUN.
THE BALLADISTS. By JOHN GEDDIE.
RICHARD CAMERON. By Professor HERKLESS.
SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. By EVE BLANTYRE SIMPSON.
THOMAS CHALMERS. By Professor W. GARDEN BLAIKIE.
JAMES BOSWELL. By W. KEITH LEASK.
TOBIAS SMOLLETT. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
FLETCHER OF SALTOUN. By G. W. T. OMOND.
THE BLACKWOOD GROUP. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
NORMAN MACLEOD. By JOHN WELLWOOD.
SIR WALTER SCOTT. By Professor SAINTSBURY.
KIRKCALDY OF GRANGE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
ROBERT FERGUSSON. By A. B. GROSART.
JAMES THOMSON. By WILLIAM BAYNE.
MUNGO PARK. By T. BANKS MACLACHLAN.
DAVID HUME. By Professor CALDERWOOD.
WILLIAM DUNBAR. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By Professor MURISON.
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. By MARGARET MOYES BLACK.
THOMAS REID. By Professor CAMPBELL FRASER.
POLLOK AND AYTOUN. By ROSALINE MASSON.
ADAM SMITH. By HECTOR C. MACPHERSON.
ANDREW MELVILLE. By WILLIAM MORISON.
JAMES FREDERICK FERRIER. By E. S. HALDANE.
KING ROBERT THE BRUCE. By A. F. MURISON.
JAMES HOGG. By Sir GEORGE DOUGLAS.
THOMAS CAMPBELL. By J. CUTHBERT HADDEN.
GEORGE BUCHANAN. By ROBERT WALLACE. Completed by
J. CAMPBELL SMITH.
SIR DAVID WILKIE, AND THE SCOTS SCHOOL OF PAINTERS. By
EDWARD PINNINGTON.
THE ERSKINES, EBENEZER AND RALPH. By A. R. MACEWEN.
THOMAS GUTHRIE. By OLIPHANT SMEATON.
DAVID LIVINGSTONE. By T. BANKS MACLACHLAN.
THE ACADEMIC GREGORIES. By AGNES GRAINGER-STEWART.
JOHNSTON OF WARRISTON. By WILLIAM MORISON.
HENRY DRUMMOND. By JAMES Y. SIMPSON.
PRINCIPAL CAIRNS. By JOHN CAIRNS.
VISCOUNT DUNDEE. By LOUIS A. BARBE.
JAMES WATT. By ANDREW CARNEGIE.
_Preface_
The history of the final union of England and Scotland, which took place
on the 1st of May 1707, commences with the accession of Queen Anne; and
with regard to that event, the best sources of information, apart from
original letters, diaries, and other contemporary documents, are Daniel
Defoe's _History of the Union_, published in 1709, Dr. Hill Burton's
_History of Scotland_, Mr. John Bruce's _Report on the Events and
Circumstances which produced the Union_, published, for the use of
Government, in 1799, and Dr. James Mackinnon's _Union of England and
Scotland_, published in 1896. In this volume I have endeavoured to
describe the _earlier_ attempts to unite the kingdoms. These commence,
practically, in the reign of Edward I. of England, and continue, taking
sometimes one form and sometimes another, down to the reign of William
III.
While giving an account of the various negotiations for union, and of
the union which was actually accomplished during the Commonwealth, I
have tried to depict the state of feeling between the two countries on
various points, and particularly in regard to the Church question, which
bulks more largely than any other in the international history of
England and Scotland.
It is a story, sometimes of mutual confidence and common aspirations, as
at the Reformation and the Revolution, but more frequently of
jealousies, recriminations, and misunderstandings, most of which are now
happily removed.
My authorities are sufficiently indicated in the footnotes.
G. W. T. O.
_Contents_
CHAP. PAGE
I. INTERNATIONAL POLITICS BEFORE THE UNION OF THE CROWNS 9
II | 1,363.858274 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.8392090 | 1,447 | 17 |
Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
ENDYMION
by Benjamin Disraeli, Earl Of Beaconsfield, K.G.
First Published 1880
CHAPTER I
It was a rich, warm night, at the beginning of August, when a gentleman
enveloped in a cloak, for he was in evening dress, emerged from
a club-house at the top of St. James' Street, and descended that
celebrated eminence. He had not proceeded more than half way down the
street when, encountering a friend, he stopped with some abruptness.
"I have been looking for you everywhere," he said.
"What is it?"
"We can hardly talk about it here."
"Shall we go to White's?"
"I have just left it, and, between ourselves, I would rather we should
be more alone. 'Tis as warm as noon. Let us cross the street and get
into St. James' Place. That is always my idea of solitude."
So they crossed the street, and, at the corner of St. James' Place, met
several gentlemen who had just come out of Brookes' Club-house. These
saluted the companions as they passed, and said, "Capital account
from Chiswick--Lord Howard says the chief will be in Downing Street on
Monday."
"It is of Chiswick that I am going to speak to you," said the gentleman
in the cloak, putting his arm in that of his companion as they walked
on. "What I am about to tell you is known only to three persons, and is
the most sacred of secrets. Nothing but our friendship could authorise
me to impart it to you."
"I hope it is something to your advantage," said his companion.
"Nothing of that sort; it is of yourself that I am thinking. Since our
political estrangement, I have never had a contented moment. From Christ
Church, until that unhappy paralytic stroke, which broke up a government
that had lasted fifteen years, and might have continued fifteen more, we
seemed always to have been working together. That we should again unite
is my dearest wish. A crisis is at hand. I want you to use it to your
advantage. Know then, that what they were just saying about Chiswick
is moonshine. His case is hopeless, and it has been communicated to the
King."
"Hopeless!"
"Rely upon it; it came direct from the Cottage to my friend."
"I thought he had a mission?" said his companion, with emotion; "and men
with missions do not disappear till they have fulfilled them."
"But why did you think so? How often have I asked you for your grounds
for such a conviction! There are none. The man of the age is clearly the
Duke, the saviour of Europe, in the perfection of manhood, and with an
iron constitution."
"The salvation of Europe is the affair of a past generation," said his
companion. "We want something else now. The salvation of England should
be the subject rather of our present thoughts."
"England! why when were things more sound? Except the split among our
own men, which will be now cured, there is not a cause of disquietude."
"I have much," said his friend.
"You never used to have any, Sidney. What extraordinary revelations can
have been made to you during three months of office under a semi-Whig
Ministry?"
"Your taunt is fair, though it pains me. And I confess to you that
when I resolved to follow Canning and join his new allies, I had many a
twinge. I was bred in the Tory camp; the Tories put me in Parliament
and gave me office; I lived with them and liked them; we dined and
voted together, and together pasquinaded our opponents. And yet, after
Castlereagh's death, to whom like yourself I was much attached, I had
great misgivings as to the position of our party, and the future of the
country. I tried to drive them from my mind, and at last took refuge in
Canning, who seemed just the man appointed for an age of transition."
"But a transition to what?"
"Well, his foreign policy was Liberal."
"The same as the Duke's; the same as poor dear Castlereagh's. Nothing
more unjust than the affected belief that there was any difference
between them--a ruse of the Whigs to foster discord in our ranks. And
as for domestic affairs, no one is stouter against Parliamentary Reform,
while he is for the Church and no surrender, though he may make a
harmless speech now and then, as many of us do, in favour of the
Catholic claims."
"Well, we will not now pursue this old controversy, my dear Ferrars,
particularly if it be true, as you say, that Mr. Canning now lies upon
his deathbed."
"If! I tell you at this very moment it may be all over."
"I am shaken to my very centre."
"It is doubtless a great blow to you," rejoined Mr. Ferrars, "and I wish
to alleviate it. That is why I was looking for you. The King will,
of course, send for the Duke, but I can tell you there will be a
disposition to draw back our friends that left us, at least the younger
ones of promise. If you are awake, there is no reason why you should not
retain your office."
"I am not so sure the King will send for the Duke."
"It is certain."
"Well," said his companion musingly, "it may be fancy, but I cannot
resist the feeling that this country, and the world generally, are on
the eve of a great change--and I do not think the Duke is the man for
the epoch."
"I see no reason why there should be any great change; certainly not in
this country," said Mr. Ferrars. "Here we have changed everything that
was required. Peel has settled the criminal law, and Huskisson the
currency, and though I am prepared myself still further to reduce the
duties on foreign imports, no one can deny that on this subject the
Government is in advance of public opinion."
"The whole affair rests on too contracted a basis," said his companion.
"We are habituated to its exclusiveness, and, no doubt, custom in
England is a power; but let some event suddenly occur which makes a
nation feel or think, and the whole thing might vanish like a dream."
"What can happen? Such affairs as the Luddites do not occur twice in a
century, and as for Spafields riots, they are impossible now with Peel's
new police. The country is employed and prosperous, and were it not so,
the landed interest would always keep things straight."
| 1,363.859249 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.8412880 | 125 | 6 |
Produced by Annie McGuire. This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Internet
Archive.
[Illustration: Book Cover]
POPULAR BOOKS BY
ARTHUR HORNBLOW
John Marsh's Millions
Fifth Large Edition
The struggle of a young girl, heiress to millions, to protect her
rights.
"Has many thrilling dramatic situations."--_St. Louis
Post-Dispatch._
The Third Degree
70th Thousand
A brilliant novelization of Charles Klein's great play.
"A strongly-painted picture of certain | 1,363.861328 |
2023-11-16 18:39:47.9343150 | 1,137 | 20 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Notes:
Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate _italics_
in the original text.
Small capitals have been converted to SOLID capitals.
Old or antiquated spellings have been preserved.
Typographical errors have been silently corrected but other variations
in spelling and punctuation remain unaltered.
Where double quotes have been repeated at the beginnings of
consecutive stanzas, they have been omitted for clarity.
POEMS BY JULIA C. R. DORR
[Illustration: Julia C. R. Dorr.]
POEMS
BY JULIA C. R. DORR
COMPLETE EDITION
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
MDCCCXCII
COPYRIGHT, 1879, 1885, 1892, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
TROW DIRECTORY
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY
NEW YORK
_TO S. M. D._
_Let us go forth and gather golden-rod!
O love, my love, see how upon the hills,
Where still the warm air palpitates and thrills,
And earth lies breathless in the smile of God,
Like plumes of serried hosts its tassels nod!
All the green vales its golden glory fills;
By lonely waysides and by mountain rills
Its yellow banners flaunt above the sod.
Perhaps the apple-blossoms were more fair;
Perhaps, dear heart, the roses were more sweet,
June’s dewy roses, with their buds half blown;
Yet what care we, while tremulous and rare
This golden sunshine falleth at our feet
And song lives on, though summer birds have flown?
August, 1884._
_Let the words stand as they were writ, dear heart!
Although no more for thee in earthly bowers
Shall bloom the earlier or the later flowers;
Although to-day ’tis springtime where thou art,
While I, with Autumn, wander far apart,
Yet, in the name of that long love of ours,
Tested by years and tried by sun and showers,
Let the words stand as they were writ, dear heart!_
CONTENTS
PAGE
DEDICATION. TO S. M. D. v
EARLIER POEMS.
THE THREE SHIPS, 3
MAUD AND MADGE, 6
A MOTHER’S QUESTION, 8
OVER THE WALL, 9
OUTGROWN, 11
A SONG FOR TWO, 14
A PICTURE, 15
HYMN TO LIFE, 16
THE CHIMNEY SWALLOW, 18
HEIRSHIP, 20
HILDA, SPINNING, 22
HEREAFTER, 25
WITHOUT AND WITHIN, 27
VASHTI’S SCROLL, 29
WHAT MY FRIEND SAID TO ME, 37
HYMN. For the Dedication of a Cemetery, 38
YESTERDAY AND TO-DAY, 39
LYRIC. For the Dedication of a Music-Hall, 41
WHAT I LOST, 43
ONCE! 45
CATHARINE, 47
THE NAME, 48
UNDER THE PALM-TREES, 49
NIGHT AND MORNING, 51
AGNES, 53
“INTO THY HANDS,” 55
IDLE WORDS, 56
THE SPARROW TO THE SKYLARK, 58
THE BELL OF ST. PAUL’S, 60
DECEMBER 26, 1910.
A Ballad of Major Anderson, 62
FROM BATON ROUGE, 66
IN THE WILDERNESS, 68
CHARLEY OF MALVERN HILL, 70
SUPPLICAMUS, 73
THE LAST OF SIX, 75
THE DRUMMER BOY’S BURIAL, 79
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE, 82
OUR FLAGS AT THE CAPITOL, 84
MY MOCKING-BIRD, 86
COMING HOME, 88
WAKENING EARLY, 90
BLEST, 92
HELEN, 94
“PRO PATRIA.”
THE DEAD CENTURY, 97
THE RIVER OTTER, 106
PAST AND PRESENT, 109
VERMONT, 114
GETTYSBURG. 1863-1889. 126
“NO MORE THE | 1,363.954355 |
2023-11-16 18:39:49.1365620 | 126 | 19 | ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*IN BEAVER COVE*
AND ELSEWHERE
BY
MATT CRIM
New York
CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO.
1892
Copyright, 1892,
CHARLES L. WEBSTER & CO.
(_All rights reserved._)
PRESS OF
JENKINS & McCOWAN,
NEW YORK.
TO
Father and Mother.
*CONTENTS.*
In Beaver Cove
S'phiry Ann
An "Onfortunit Creetur | 1,365.156602 |
2023-11-16 18:39:49.1375250 | 1,683 | 11 |
Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE MYSTERY OF
THE BARRANCA
BY
HERMAN WHITAKER
AUTHOR OF
"THE PLANTER" AND
"THE SETTLER"
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
MCMXIII
COPYRIGHT 1913 BY HARPER & BROTHERS
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PUBLISHED FEBRUARY 1913
[Illustration: [See page 248
SEYD LIFTED FRANCESCA AND LEAPED]
"_To Vera, my daughter and gentle collaborator, whose nimble fingers
lightened the load of many labors, this book is lovingly dedicated._"
THE MYSTERY OF THE BARRANCA
CHAPTER I
"Oh Bob, just look at them!"
Leaning down from his perch on the sacked mining tools which formed the
apex of their baggage, Billy Thornton punched his companion in the back
to call his attention to a scene which had spread a blaze of humor over
his own rich crop of freckles.
As a matter of fact, the spectacle of two men fondly embracing can
always be depended on to stir the crude Anglo-Saxon sense of humor. In
this case it was rendered still more ridiculous by age and portliness,
but two years' wandering through interior Mexico had accustomed
Thornton's comrade, Robert Seyd, to the sight. After a careless glance
he resumed his contemplation of the crowd that thronged the little
station. Exhibiting every variety of Mexican costume, from the plain
white blanket of the peons to the leather suits of the rancheros and
the hacendados, or owners of estates, it was as picturesque and
brilliant in color and movement as anything in a musical extravaganza.
The European clothing of a young girl who presently stepped out of the
ticket office emphasized the theatrical flavor by its vivid contrast.
She might easily have been the captive heroine among bandits, and the
thought actually occurred to Billy. While she paused to call her dog, a
huge Siberian wolf hound, she was hidden from Seyd's view by the stout
embracers. Therefore it was to the dog that he applied Billy's remark at
first.
"Isn't she a peach?"
She seemed the finest of her race that he had ever seen, and Seyd was
just about to say that she carried herself like a "perfect lady" when
the dissolution of the aforesaid embrace brought the girl into view. He
stopped--with a small gasp that testified to his astonishment at her
unusual type.
Although slender for her years--about two and twenty--her throat and
bust were rounded in perfect development. The clear olive complexion
was undoubtedly Spanish, yet her face lacked the firm line that hardens
with the years. Perhaps some strain of Aztec blood--from which the
Spanish-Mexican is never free--had helped to soften her features,
but this would not account for their pleasing irregularity. A bit
_retrousee_, the small nose with its well-defined nostrils patterned
after the Celtic. Had Seyd known it, the face in its entirety--colors
and soft contours--is to be found to this day among the descendants of
the sailors who escaped from the wreck of the Spanish Armada on the west
coast of Ireland. Pretty and unusual as she was, her greatest charm
centered in the large black eyes that shone amid her clear pallor,
conveying in broad day the tantalizing mystery of a face seen for an
instant through a warm gloaming. In the moment that he caught their
velvet glance Seyd received an impression of vivacious intelligence
altogether foreign in his experience of Mexican women.
As she was standing only a few feet away, he knew that she must have
heard Billy's remark; but, counting on her probable ignorance of
English, he did not hesitate to answer. "Pretty? Well, I should
say--pretty enough to marry. The trouble is that in this country the
ugliness of the grown woman seems to be in inverse ratio to her girlish
beauty. Bet you the fattest hacendado is her father. And she'll give him
pounds at half his age."
"Maybe," Billy answered. "Yet I'd be almost willing to take the chance."
As the girl had turned just then to look at the approaching train
neither of them caught the sudden dark flash, supreme disdain, that drew
an otherwise quite tender red mouth into a scarlet line. But for the dog
they would never have been a whit the wiser. For as the engine came
hissing along the platform the brute sprang and crouched on the tracks,
furiously snarling, ready for a spring at the headlight, which it
evidently took for the Adam's apple of the strange monster. The train
still being under way, the poor beast's faith would have cost it its
life but for Seyd's quickness. In the moment that the girl's cry rang
out, and in less time than it took Billy to slide from his perch, Seyd
leaped down, threw the dog aside, and saved himself by a spring to the
cow-catcher.
"Oh, you fool! You crazy idiot!" While thumping him soundly, Billy ran
on, "To risk your life for a dog--a Mexican's, at that!"
But he stopped dead, blushed till his freckles were extinguished, as the
girl's voice broke in from behind.
"And the Mexican thanks you, sir. It was foolhardy, yes, and dearly as I
love the dog I would not have had you take such a risk. But now that it
is done--accept my thanks." As the stouter of the embracers now came
bustling up, she added in Spanish, "My uncle, senor."
At close range she was even prettier; but, though gratitude had wiped
out the flash of disdain, a vivid memory of his late remarks caused Seyd
to turn with relief to the hacendado. During the delivery of effusive
thanks he had time to cancel a first impression--gained from a rear view
of a gaudy jacket--of a fat tenor in a Spanish opera, for the man's
head and features were cast in a massive mold. His big fleshy nose
jutted out from under heavy brows that overshadowed wide, sagacious
eyes, Indian-brown in color. If the wind and weather of sixty years had
tanned him dark as a peon, it went excellently with his grizzled
mustache. Despite his stoutness and the costume, every fat inch of him
expressed the soldier.
"My cousin, senor."
Having been placed, metaphorically, in possession of all the hacendado's
earthly possessions, Seyd turned to exchange bows with a young man who
had just emerged from the baggage-room--at least he seemed young at the
first glance. A second look showed that the impression was largely due
to a certain trimness of figure which was accentuated by the perfect fit
of a suit of soft-dressed leather. When he raised his felt sombrero the
hair showed thin on his temples. Neither were his poise and
imperturbable manner attributes of youth.
"It was very clever of you, senor."
A slight peculiarity of intonation made Seyd look up. "Jealous," he
thought, yet he was conscious of something else--some feeling too
elusively subtle to be analyzed on the spur of the moment. Suggesting,
as it did, that he had made a "gallery play," the remark roused | 1,365.157565 |
2023-11-16 18:39:49.2390520 | 2,765 | 9 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Matthew Wheaton and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER
BY
ROSE LUCIA
Formerly Principal of the Primary School
Montpelier, Vermont
_Author of "Peter and Polly in Spring," "Peter and Polly in
Summer," and "Peter and Polly in Autumn."_
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
NEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO
BOSTON ATLANTA
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
ROSE LUCIA.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, IN GREAT BRITAIN.
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER.
E. P. 21
To
C. M. G.
[Illustration: _Frontispiece_ MAP]
CONTENTS
PETER AND POLLY
THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE
PLAYING IN THE LEAVES
"HOW THE LEAVES COME DOWN"
THE BONFIRE
THE HEN THAT HELPED PETER
THE FIRST ICE
THE THREE GUESSES
THE FIRST SNOWSTORM
THE STAR SNOWFLAKE
HOW PETER HELPED GRANDMOTHER
THE SNOW MAN
PETER'S DREAM
CUTTING THE CHRISTMAS TREE
THE GIVE-AWAY BOX
CHRISTMAS MORNING
THE SNOW HOUSE
THE FALL OF THE IGLOO
PULLING PETER'S TOOTH
DRIVING WITH FATHER
THE STAG
POLLY'S BIRD PARTY
THE NEW SLED
BROWNIE
DISH-PAN SLEDS
CAT AND COPY-CAT
POLLY'S SNOWSHOES
THE WOODS IN WINTER
THE WINTER PICNIC
THE SEWING LESSON
FISHING THROUGH THE ICE
MAKING MOLASSES CANDY
GRANDMOTHER'S BIRTHDAY PARTY
AROUND THE OPEN FIRE
PETER AND POLLY IN WINTER
PETER AND POLLY
Peter Howe is a little boy. Polly is his sister. She is older than
Peter.
They live in a white house. The house is on a hill. It is not in the
city. It is in the country.
There are no houses close about it. But there are trees and fields
around it.
In summer these fields are green. In winter the snow covers them.
The fields and the hills are as white as the house. Then there is fun
playing in the snow.
Peter likes to watch the snowflakes. He calls them "white butterflies."
But he knows what they are.
His friend, the Story Lady, told him. They are just frozen clouds.
Peter said to her, "I think they are prettier than raindrops. They can
sail about in the air, too. Raindrops cannot. I like winter better than
summer."
"It will be winter soon, Peter," said the Story Lady. "But many things
must happen first.
"The birds must fly away. The leaves must turn red and yellow. Then they
will fall and you can rake them into heaps. We will go to the woods for
nuts.
"All these things will happen before winter comes."
"Yes," said Peter. "And my grandmother must knit me some thick
stockings. And my father must buy me a winter coat. Grandmother must
knit some stockings for Wag-wag, too."
"But Wag-wag is a dog, Peter. Dogs do not need stockings."
"My dog does," said Peter. "He needs a coat, too. His hair is short. It
will not keep him warm. I shall ask father to buy him a coat."
"Do, Peter," said the Story Lady. "It is good to be kind to dogs. And
when Wag-wag wears his coat and stockings, bring him to see me. I will
take his picture."
THE BIRDS' GAME OF TAG
It is fall. Summer is really over. But it is still warm. Jack Frost has
not yet begun his work.
Peter and Polly have been watching the birds. For days they have seen
great flocks of them. In the summer there were not so many together.
One day they saw several robins. These were flying from tree to tree.
Peter said, "I know they are having a party. They are playing tag."
"Perhaps they are," said his father. "Perhaps each bird is telling
something to the bird he tags."
"What is he telling?" asked Peter.
"I think he is saying, 'Brother bird, don't you know that winter is
coming? Soon the snow will be here. What shall we do then?
"'We cannot get food. We shall freeze. Come, let us fly away to the
South. It is warm there.'"
"What does brother bird say?" asked Peter.
"I think brother bird says, 'It is a long way to the South. It will take
many days and nights to fly there.
"'Are our children's wings yet strong enough? I do not like to go. But
I know that we must.'"
"Doesn't he like to go, truly?" asked Peter.
"We do not know, Peter. The robins make their nests here. They lay their
blue eggs here. They hatch their little birds here. They never do this
in the South.
"Besides, they sing their beautiful songs here. They never sing them in
the South. We like to think that they love the North better. But, of
course, we do not know."
"How can they find their way back?" asked Polly.
"We do not know that, either, Polly. Many birds fly in the nighttime.
Then they rest a part of the day."
"I couldn't find my way in the dark," said Polly.
"But the birds can," said father. "We do not know how. The winter home
of some of our birds is thousands of miles from here."
"I like to watch the swallows," said Polly. "They sit in a line on a
telephone wire. Then one flies to another wire. In a minute they all
fly, too.
"I think that they are talking about going away soon. I hope they will
not get lost."
"Yes," said father. "They will soon be gone. But perhaps some of these
very birds will come back here next summer."
"I wish we could know them," said Polly.
"We shall have a few birds left this winter," said father. "You know
some of them. You know the chick-a-dees and the woodpeckers. And this
winter I shall show you others."
"May we hunt for nests and eggs, father?" asked Peter.
"We may hunt, Peter, but we won't find any eggs in winter. We shall find
other things. Perhaps we shall find the white-footed mouse. He sometimes
makes his home in an old bird's nest."
"Can a mouse climb trees, father? If he lives in a bird's nest, does he
lay bird's eggs?"
"He can climb trees, Peter. But he cannot lay eggs. We will see if we
can find Mr. White-foot some day.
"But first we will watch the birds fly away and the snow come."
THE STONE-WALL POST OFFICE
Around Peter's house is a beautiful field. This is Mr. Howe's hayfield.
You can find it on the map in the front of this book.
The children like this field. All the year round, it is a pleasant
place.
In the spring they find blue violets here. In the summer they watch the
birds that make nests in the tall grass. In the winter they slide here
on the crust.
At the farther side of the field, there are some trees. These are
butternut trees. In front of the trees is a stone wall.
Peter and Polly like to play by this wall. Sometimes they play that it
is a post office.
The holes in the wall are the boxes. There is a box for every one in the
village. Peter has more than one box; so has Polly.
The children take turns being the postmaster. If Peter is the
postmaster, Polly calls for the mail.
The real post office is in their father's store. So they have often seen
Mr. Howe put the mail into the boxes.
They use little sticks for the post cards. Leaves are the letters.
Stones are the packages. Sometimes the boxes are full of
mail--especially Peter's and Polly's.
Often they play that it is Christmas time. Then the boxes are full of
packages. It is fun to guess what is in each package.
One day Peter said, "There is a knife in this package. I like it. There
is a hammer in this package. I will build a house with it.
"There is a game in this package. Will you play it with me, Polly? And,
O Polly! There is a pony in this package! That is what I wish for most
of all."
"But, Peter, a pony is too big to be in your post-office box. It would
not come by mail."
"Then Santa Claus will bring it," said Peter. "If I get it, I do not
care how it comes."
One day the children saw that the butternuts were falling.
Polly said, "Let's pick up all we can. We will put them in our
post-office boxes. When they are full, we will bring your cart. Then we
can take the nuts home. We will crack them next winter."
So they filled the boxes with nuts. The nuts were still green. The
children stained their hands with them.
While they were playing with the nuts, they saw two squirrels. These sat
in the trees above them. They watched Peter and Polly with their bright
eyes, and scolded them a great deal.
"They want our nuts," said Polly. "But we have put them into our
post-office boxes. We will keep them."
The next day the children went for their nuts. They took Peter's cart
with them. What do you think they found?
Why, they found their boxes empty! The nuts were all gone!
"Some one bad has been here," said Peter.
Polly laughed. "You always say that, Peter. I think it was those
squirrels. And I don't care, because they need the nuts to eat this
winter."
"I don't care, either," said Peter. "I think we forgot to lock our
boxes."
"Perhaps we did," said Polly. "But I guess the squirrels thought the
boxes were theirs. When they called for their mail, they found the boxes
full. How pleased they must have been! Let's pick up more nuts for
them."
So the children again filled the post-office boxes with nuts. Then they
went home and left them for the squirrels.
PLAYING IN THE LEAVES
One day Peter saw something that pleased him. It was a branch of red
leaves on a maple tree.
He said to mother, "It will be winter soon."
"Why do you think so, Peter?"
"I have seen red leaves," said Peter.
"But, Peter, a few red leaves do not count. There are red leaves in the
summer. You must watch until you see many red, yellow, and brown
leaves."
"What makes the leaves red and yellow, mother? Is it magic?" asked
Peter. "Can you do it?"
"Perhaps it is a kind of magic, Peter. It is like the clouds turning
into snow. I cannot do that."
Then Peter watched for all the trees to turn. At last they were bright
with colors.
The maples were red and yellow; the oaks a deep red. The beeches were a
bright yellow.
Even the elm trees in front of the house were yellow. Now Polly liked
more than ever to swing. The swing took her way up among the yellow
leaves.
Then, one day, the leaves began to fall. Down they came, a few at a
time. The next day more fell, and the next and the next.
Polly said, "They are prettier than the snowflakes. The snow is white.
These have lovely colors. See them flying through the air."
At last most of the trees were bare. The leaves lay on the ground.
Then Peter said, "Oh, the poor trees! They haven't any clothes on. I am
so sorry."
Polly said, "The leaves are not clothes. They are children. Now they
have gone to bed. The snow is their blanket. When it comes, it will keep
them warm. If we leave them alone, they will sleep all winter. I learned
it in a poem."
"They cannot go to sleep yet," said Peter. "I shall not let them. I
shall wake them up."
"How | 1,365.259092 |
2023-11-16 18:39:49.2396070 | 2,764 | 10 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: IAN HAMILTON. _From the Picture by_ John S. Sargent,
R.A.]
IAN HAMILTON'S MARCH
BY
WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL
_WITH PORTRAIT, MAPS AND PLANS_
TORONTO
THE COPP, CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY
WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL
_All rights reserved_
THIS COLLECTION OF LETTERS
IS INSCRIBED TO
LIEUT-GENERAL IAN HAMILTON, C.B., D.S.O.
WITH WHOSE MILITARY ACHIEVEMENTS
IT IS LARGELY CONCERNED
PREFACE.
This book is a continuation of those letters to the _Morning Post_
newspaper on the South African war, which have been lately published
under the title 'London to Ladysmith _via_ Pretoria.' Although the
letters had been read to some extent in their serial form, their
reproduction in a book has been indulgently regarded by the public; and
I am encouraged to repeat the experiment.
The principal event with which the second series deals is the march of
Lieutenant-General Ian Hamilton's column on the flank of Lord Roberts's
main army from Bloemfontein to Pretoria. This force, which encountered
and overcame the brunt of the Boer resistance, which, far from the
railway, marched more than 400 miles through the most fertile parts of
the enemy's country, which fought ten general actions and fourteen
smaller affairs, and captured five towns, was, owing to the difficulties
of telegraphing, scarcely attended by a single newspaper correspondent,
and accompanied continuously by none. Little has therefore been heard
of its fortunes, nor do I know of anyone who is likely to write an
account.
The letters now submitted to the public find in these facts their chief
claim to be reprinted. While written in the style of personal narrative
I have hitherto found it convenient to follow, they form a complete
record of the operations of the flank column from the day when Ian
Hamilton left Bloemfontein to attack the Waterworks position, until he
returned to Pretoria after the successful engagement of Diamond Hill.
Although in an account written mainly in the field, and immediately
after the actual events, there must be mistakes, no care has been spared
in the work. The whole book has been diligently revised. Four letters,
which our long marches did not allow me to finish while with the troops,
have been added and are now published for the first time. The rest have
been lengthened or corrected by the light of after-knowledge and
reflection, and although the epistolary form remains, I hope the
narrative will be found to be fairly consecutive.
I do not want the reader to think that the personal incidents and
adventures described in this book are extraordinary, and beyond the
common lot of those who move unrestricted about the field of war. They
are included in the narrative, not on account of any peculiar or
historic interest, but because this method is the easiest, and, so far
as my wit serves me, the best way of telling the story with due regard
at once to detail and proportion.
In conclusion I must express my obligations to the proprietors of the
_Morning Post_ newspaper for the assistance they have given my
publishers in allowing them to set up the copy as each letter arrived
from the war; to the DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH, to whom I am indebted for the
details of the strength and composition of the force which will be found
in the Appendix, and for much assistance in the attempt to attain
accuracy; and thirdly, to MR. FRANKLAND, whose manly record of the heavy
days he passed as a prisoner in Pretoria may help to make this book
acceptable to the public.
WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL.
LONDON:
_September_ 10, 1900.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. A Roving Commission
II. Exit General Gatacre
III. At Half-Way House
IV. Two Days with Brabazon
V. Two Days with Brabazon--*Continued*
VI. The Dewetsdorp Episode
VII. Ian Hamilton's March
VIII. Ian Hamilton
IX. The Action of Houtnek
X. The Army of the Right Flank
XI. Lindley
XII. Concerning a Boer Convoy
XIII. Action of Johannesburg
XIV. The Fall of Johannesburg
XV. The Capture Of Pretoria
XVI. "Held By The Enemy"
XVII. Action Of Diamond Hill
APPENDIX
Composition of Lieut.-General Ian Hamilton's Force
PORTRAIT.
IAN HAMILTON............... _Frontispiece_
_From the Picture by_ JOHN S. SARGENT, R.A.
MAPS AND PLANS.
Operations in the Orange Free State, April, 1900
Diagram Explaining Hamilton's Action at Israel's Poorte, the 25th of
April
Diagram Explaining French's Operations Round Thabanchu, the 25th and
27th of April
Diagram Explaining the Action of Houtnek
Diagram to Explain the Passage of the Sand River, 10th of May, 1900
Ian Hamilton's Action at the Sand River, 10th of May, 1900
Ian Hamilton's Action before Johannesburg
Plan of the Operations of 11th and 12th of June, 1900
Diagram Explaining the Action of Diamond Hill
Map of March from Bloemfontein to Pretoria _At end of book_
IAN HAMILTON'S MARCH
CHAPTER I
A ROVING COMMISSION
In the train near Pieters, Natal: March 31.
Ladysmith, her garrison and her rescuers, were still recovering, the one
from the effects of long confinement, the other from over-exertion. All
was quiet along the Tugela except for the plashing of the waters, and
from Hunger's Poorte to Weenen no sound of rifle or cannon shot
disturbed the echoes.
The war had rolled northward: the floods of invasion that had
isolated--almost overwhelmed--Ladysmith and threatened to submerge the
whole country had abated and receded, so that the Army of Natal might
spread itself out to feed and strengthen at its leisure and convenience
on the reconquered territory.
Knox's (Ladysmith) Brigade went into camp at Arcadia, five miles west of
the town. Howard's (Ladysmith) Brigade retired to the breezy plains
south of Colenso. Clery's Division--for the gallant Clery, recovered
from his sickness, had displaced the gallant and successful
Lyttelton--moved north and encamped beyond Elandslaagte along the banks
of Sunday's River. Hunter's Division was disposed with one brigade at
Elandslaagte and one at Tinta Inyoni. Warren, whom it was no longer
necessary to send to the Cape Colony, established himself and his two
brigades north of Ladysmith, along the railway line to the Orange Free
State. Brocklehurst, with the remnants of what had once been almost a
Cavalry Division, and now could scarcely mount three squadrons, occupied
a neighbouring plain, sending his regiments one by one to Colenso, or
even Mooi River, to be re-horsed; and around all this great Army,
resting after its labours and preparing for fresh efforts, the Cavalry
brigades of Dundonald and Burn-Murdoch drew an immense curtain of
pickets and patrols which extended from Acton Homes in the east, through
Bester's Station right round to Wessels Nek and further still, and which
enabled the protected soldiers within to close their eyes by night and
stretch their legs by day.
Meanwhile, the burghers had all retreated to the Drakensburg and the
Biggarsburg and other refuges, from which elevated positions they defied
intrusion or attack, and their scattered line stretched in a vast
crescent even around our widely extended front from the Tintwa Pass,
through Waschbank to Pomeroy.
But with the exception of outpost skirmishes, wholly unimportant to
those not engaged in them, a strange peace brooded over Natal, and
tranquillity was intensified by the recollection of the struggle that
was over and the anticipation of the struggle that impended. It was a
lull in the storm.
All this might be war, but it was not journalism. The tempest for the
moment had passed, and above the army in Natal the sky was monotonously
blue. It was true that dark clouds hung near the northern horizon, but
who should say when they would break? Not, at any rate, for three weeks,
I thought, and so resolved to fill the interval by trying to catch a
little of the tempest elsewhere.
After the relief of Ladysmith four courses offered themselves to Sir
Redvers Buller. To stand strictly on the defensive in Natal and to send
Lord Roberts every gun and man who could be spared; to break into the
Free State by forcing Van Reenen's Pass or the Tintwa; to attack the
twelve thousand Boers in the Biggarsburg, clear Natal, and invade the
Transvaal through the Vryheid district; and, lastly, to unite and
reorganise and co-operate with Lord Roberts's main advance either by
striking west or north.
Which course would be adopted? I made inquiries. Staff officers, bland
and inscrutable--it is wonderful how well men can keep secrets they have
not been told--continued to smile and smile. Brigadiers frankly
confessed their ignorance. The general-in-chief observed pleasantly
that he would 'go for' the enemy as soon as he was ready, but was
scarcely precise about when and where.
It was necessary to go to more humble sources for truth, and after
diligent search I learned from a railway porter, or somebody like that,
that all attempts to repair the bridge across the Sunday's River had
been postponed indefinitely. This, on further inquiry, proved to be
true.
Now, what does this mean? It means, I take it, that no direct advance
against the Biggarsburg is intended for some time; and as the idea of
reducing the Natal Army to reinforce the Cape Colony forces has been
definitely abandoned the western line of advance suggests itself.
It would be absurd to force Van Reenen's Pass with heavy loss of life,
when by waiting until the main Army has reached, let us say, Kroonstad,
we could walk through without opposition; so that it looks very likely
that the Natal troops will do nothing until Lord Roberts's advance is
more developed, and that then they will enter the Free State and operate
in conjunction with him, all of which is strategy and common-sense
besides. At any rate there will be a long delay.
Therefore, I said to myself, I will go to Bloemfontein, see all that may
be seen there and on the way, and rejoin the Natal Army when it comes
through the passes. Such was the plan, and the reader shall be a
witness of its abandonment.
I left the camp of Dundonald's Brigade early in the morning of the 29th
of March, and riding through Ladysmith, round the hill on which stands
the battered convent, now serving as headquarters, and down the main
street, along which the relieving Army had entered the city, reached the
railway station and caught the 10 A.M. down train.
We were delayed for a few minutes by the departure for Elandslaagte of a
train load of Volunteers, the first to reach the Natal Army, and the
officers hastened to look at these citizen soldiers. There were five
companies in all, making nearly a thousand men, fine looking fellows,
with bright intelligent eyes, which they turned inquiringly on every
object in turn, pointing and laughing at the numerous shell holes in the
corrugated iron engine sheds and other buildings of the station.
A few regulars--sunburnt men, who had fought their way in with
Buller--sauntered up to the trucks, and began a conversation with the
reinforcement. I caught a fragment: 'Cattle trucks, are | 1,365.259647 |
2023-11-16 18:39:49.2396810 | 430 | 9 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Dialect spellings, contractions and discrepancies have
been retained.
THE HISTORY
OF
SIR RICHARD CALMADY
A Romance
By
Lucas Malet
NEW YORK
Dodd, Mead & Company
1901
_Copyright_, 1901
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
THE CAXTON PRESS
NEW YORK.
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE CLOWN
CHAP. PAGE
I. Acquainting the Reader with a Fair Domain
and the Maker Thereof 1
II. Giving the Very Earliest Information
Obtainable of the Hero of this Book 7
III. Touching Matters Clerical and Controversial 19
IV. Raising Problems which it is the Purpose
of this History to Resolve 25
V. In which Julius March Beholds the Vision
of the New Life 34
VI. Accident or Destiny, According to Your Humour 44
VII. Mrs. William Ormiston Sacrifices a Wine-glass
to Fate 57
VIII. Enter a Child of Promise 69
IX. In which Katherine Calmady Looks on Her Son 76
X. The Birds of the Air Take Their Breakfast 84
BOOK II
THE BREAKING OF DREAMS
I. Recording some Aspects of a Small Pilgrim's Progress 93
II. In which Our Hero Improves His Acquaintance
with Many Things--Himself Included 104
III. Concerning that which, Thank God, Happens
Almost Every Day 117
IV. Which Smells very Vilely of the Stable 128
V. In which Dick | 1,365.259721 |
2023-11-16 18:39:49.3377760 | 2,454 | 13 |
Produced by Sonya Schermann, Greg Bergquist and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's Notes:
When italics were used in the original book, the corresponding text has
been surrounded by _underscores_.
Some presumed printer's errors have been corrected. In particular,
punctuation has been normalized and entries in the List of Illustrations
and in the Index were altered to match the main text. Further, a single
entry in the original List of Illustrations which referred to two
distinct maps was split into two entries (SCOTLAND and ENGLAND AND
WALES).
Other corrections are listed below with the original text (top) and the
replacement text (bottom):
p. 40 many quaint timbered house
many quaint timbered houses
p. 95 employe
employee
p. 249 Wordsworh
Wordsworth
p. 212 Fort Williams
Fort William
p. 311 appoach
approach
p. 350 July 5, 1585
July 5, 1685
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ON OLD-WORLD
HIGHWAYS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_By the Same Author_
British Highways and Byways from a
Motor Car
THIRD IMPRESSION
WITH FORTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color, and Thirty-two Duogravures
320 Pages, 8vo, Decorated Cloth
Price (Boxed), $3.00
-------
In Unfamiliar England With a Motor Car
SECOND IMPRESSION
WITH SIXTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Forty-eight Duogravures
400 Pages, 8vo, Decorated Cloth
Price (Boxed), $3.00
-------
Three Wonderlands of the American West
SECOND IMPRESSION
WITH FORTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS AND TWO MAPS
Sixteen Reproductions in Color and Thirty-two Duogravures
180 Pages, Tall 8vo, Decorated Cloth
Price (Boxed) $3.00 Net
-------
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
BOSTON
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: THE MOUNTAIN MEADOWS, BAVARIAN TYROL
From original painting by the late John MacWhirter, R. A.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ON OLD-WORLD HIGHWAYS
A Book of Motor Rambles in France and Germany and
the Record of a Pilgrimage from Land's End
to John O'Groats in Britain.
BY THOS. D. MURPHY
AUTHOR OF "THREE WONDERLANDS OF THE AMERICAN WEST,"
"BRITISH HIGHWAYS AND BYWAYS FROM A MOTOR CAR"
AND "IN UNFAMILIAR ENGLAND WITH A MOTOR CAR."
WITH SIXTEEN REPRODUCTIONS IN COLORS FROM ORIGINAL
PAINTINGS BY EMINENT ARTISTS AND FORTY DUOGRAVURES
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS. ALSO MAPS
SHOWING ROUTES OF AUTHOR.
[Illustration]
BOSTON
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
MDCCCCXIV
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_Copyright, 1914_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
-------
_All rights reserved_
-------
First Impression, January, 1914
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Preface
I know that of making books of travel there is no limit--they come from
the press in a never-ending stream; but no one can say that any one of
these is superfluous if it finds appreciative readers, even though they
be but few.
My chief excuse for the present volume is the success of my previous
books of motor travel, which have run through several fair-sized
editions. I have had many warmly appreciative letters concerning these
from native Englishmen and the books were commended by the Royal
Automobile Club Journal as accurate and readable. So I take it that my
point of view from the wheel of a motor car interests some people, and I
shall feel justified in writing such books so long as this is the case.
I know that in some instances I have had to deal with hackneyed
subjects; but I have striven for a different viewpoint and I hope I have
contributed something worth while in describing even well-known places.
On the other hand, I know that I have discovered many delightful nooks
and corners in Britain that even the guide-books have overlooked.
Besides, I am sure that books of travel have ample justification in the
fact that travel itself is one of the greatest of educators and
civilizers. It teaches us that we are not the only people--that wisdom
shall not die with us alone. It shows us that in some things other
people may do better than we are doing and it may enable us to avoid
mistakes that others make. In short, it widens our horizon and tones
down our self-conceit--or it should do all of this if we keep ears and
eyes open when abroad.
I make no apology for the fact that the greater bulk of the present
volume deals with the Motherland, even if its title does not so
indicate. Her romantic charm is as limitless as the sea that encircles
her. Even now, after our long journeyings in every corner of the Island,
I would not undertake to say to what extent we might still carry our
exploration in historic and picturesque Britain. Should one delight in
ivy-covered castles, rambling old manors, ruined abbeys, romantic
country-seats, haunted houses, great cathedrals and storied churches
past numbering, I know not where the limit may be. But I do know that
the little party upon whose experiences this book is founded is still
far from being satisfied after nearly twenty thousand miles of motoring
in the Kingdom, and if I fail to make plain why we still think of the
highways and byways of Britain with an undiminished longing, the fault
is mine rather than that of my subject.
In this book, as in my previous ones, the illustrations play a principal
part. The color plates are from originals by distinguished artists and
the photographs have been carefully selected and perfectly reproduced.
The maps will also be of assistance in following the text. I hope that
these valuable adjuncts may make amends for the many literary
shortcomings of my text.
THOMAS D. MURPHY
Red Oak, Iowa, January 1, 1914.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
Page
I BOULOGNE TO ROUEN 1
II THE CHATEAU DISTRICT 29
III ORLEANS TO THE GERMAN BORDER 45
IV COLMAR TO OBERAMMERGAU 59
V BAVARIA AND THE RHINE 77
VI THE CAPTAIN'S STORY 104
VII A FLIGHT THROUGH THE NORTH 125
VIII THE MOTHERLAND ONCE MORE 145
IX OLD WHITBY 157
X SCOTT COUNTRY AND HEART OF HIGHLANDS 173
XI IN SUTHERLAND AND CAITHNESS 191
XII DOWN THE GREAT GLEN 210
XIII ALONG THE WEST COAST 224
XIV ODD CORNERS OF LAKELAND 246
XV WE DISCOVER DENBIGH 262
XVI CONWAY 279
XVII THE HARDY COUNTRY AND BERRY POMEROY 298
XVIII POLPERRO AND THE SOUTH CORNISH COAST 320
XIX LAND'S END TO LONDON 336
XX THE ENGLISH AND THEIR INSTITUTIONS 355
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
COLOR PLATES
Page
THE MOUNTAIN MEADOWS, BAVARIAN TYROL Frontispiece
SUNSET IN TOURAINE 1
WOODS IN BRITTANY 26
PIER LANE, WHITBY 164
HARVEST TIME, STRATHTAY 180
A HIGHLAND LOCH 188
ACKERGILL HARBOUR, CAITHNESS 204
GLEN AFFRICK, NEAR INVERNESS 208
THE GREAT GLEN, SUNSET 210
"THE COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT" 236
THE FALLEN GIANT--A HIGHLAND STUDY 240
CONWAY CASTLE, NORTH WALES 280
"THE NEW ARRIVAL" 282
KYNANCE COVE, CORNWALL 334
SUNSET NEAR LAND'S END, CORNWALL 336
"A DISTANT VIEW OF THE TOWERS OF WINDSOR" 355
DUOGRAVURES
ST. LO FROM THE RIVER 18
A STREET IN ST. MALO 24
CHENONCEAUX--THE ORIENTAL FRONT 32
AMBOISE FROM ACROSS THE LOIRE 34
GRAND STAIRWAY OF FRANCIS I. AT BLOIS 36
PORT DU CROUX--A MEDIEVAL WATCHTOWER AT NEVERS 46
CASTLE AT FUSSEN 66
OBERAMMERGAU 70
ULM AND THE CATHEDRAL 82
GOETHE'S HOUSE--FRANKFORT 86
BINGEN ON THE RHINE 88
CASTLE RHEINSTEIN 90
EHRENFELS ON THE RHINE 92
RUINS OF CASTLE RHEINFELS 94
LUXEMBURG--GENERAL VIEW 102
ST. WULFRAM'S CHURCH--GRANTHAM 150
OLD PEEL TOWER AT DARNICK, NEAR ABBOTSFORD 178
HOTEL, JOHN O'GROATS 200
URQUHART CASTLE, LOCH NESS 214
THE MACDONALD MONUMENT, GLENCOE 220
"McCAIG'S FOLLY," OBAN 224
GLENLUCE ABBEY 242
SWEETHEART ABBEY 244
WORDSWORTH'S BIRTHPLACE--COCKERMOUTH 250
CALDER ABBEY, CUMBERLAND 252
KENDAL CASTLE 258
KENDAL PARISH CHURCH 260
DENBIGH CASTLE--THE ENTRANCE AND KEEP 266
ST. HILARY'S CHURCH, DENBIGH 272
GATE TOWERS RHUDDLAN CASTLE, | 1,365.357816 |
Subsets and Splits
No saved queries yet
Save your SQL queries to embed, download, and access them later. Queries will appear here once saved.