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AUBREY'S 'BRIEF LIVES'
_ANDREW CLARK_
VOL. I.
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD
[Illustration]
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK
[Illustration: JOHN AUBREY: AETAT. 40
_From a pen-and-ink drawing in the Bodleian_]
_'Brief Lives,' chiefly of Contemporaries,
set down by
John Aubrey, between
the Years 1669 & 1696_
EDITED FROM THE AUTHOR'S MSS.
BY
ANDREW CLARK
M.A., LINCOLN COLLEGE, OXFORD; M.A. AND LL.D., ST. ANDREWS
_WITH FACSIMILES_
VOLUME I. (A-H)
Oxford
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1898
[Illustration: Oxford]
PRINTED AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
BY HORACE HART, M.A.
PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY
PREFACE
The rules laid down for this edition have been fully stated in
the Introduction. It need only be said here that these have been
scrupulously followed.
I may take this opportunity of saying that the text gives Aubrey's
quotations, English and Latin alike, in the form in which they are
found in his MSS. They are plainly cited from memory, not from book:
they frequently do not scan, and at times do not even construe. A few
are incorrect cementings of odd half lines.
The necessary excisions have not been numerous. They suggest two
reflections. The turbulence attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh seems to
have made his name in the next age the centre of aggregation of quite
a number of coarse stories. In the same way, Aubrey is generally nasty
when he mentions the noble house of Herbert, earl of Pembroke, and
the allied family of Sydney. There may be personal pique in this, for
Aubrey thinks he had a narrow escape from assassination by a Herbert
(i. 48); perhaps also there may be the after-glow of a Wiltshire 'feud'
(i. 316).
The Index gives all references to persons mentioned in the text, except
to a few found only in pedigrees, or otherwise quite insignificant;
also to all places of which anything distinctive is said.
ANDREW CLARK.
_January 4, 1898._
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
FRONTISPIECE: JOHN AUBREY, AETAT. 40.
PAGE
SYNOPSIS OF THE LIVES ix-xv
INTRODUCTION 1-23
LIVES:--=Abbot= TO =Hyde= 24-427
VOLUME II
FRONTISPIECE: AUBREY'S BOOK-PLATE.
LIVES:--=Ingelbert= TO =York= 1-316
APPENDIX I:--AUBREY'S NOTES OF ANTIQUITIES 317-332
APPENDIX II:--AUBREY'S COMEDY _The Countrey Revell_ 333-339
INDEX 341-370
FACSIMILES _At end._
I. Castle Mound, Oxford. Riding at the Quintin.
II. Verulam House.
III. Horoscope and cottage of Thomas Hobbes.
IV. Plans of Malmsbury and district.
V. Horoscope and arms of Sir William Petty.
VI. Wolsey's Chapel at Christ Church.
SYNOPSIS OF THE 'LIVES'
In the text the Lives have been given in alphabetical order of the
names. This was necessary, not only on account of their number--more
than 400--but because Aubrey, in compiling them, followed more than one
principle of selection, writing, first, lives of authors, then, lives
of mathematicians, but bringing in also lives of statesmen, soldiers,
people of fashion, and personal friends.
The following synopsis of the lives may serve to show (i) the heads
under which they naturally fall, (ii) their chronological sequence.
The mark † indicates the year or approximate year of death; ‡ denotes a
life which Aubrey said he would write, but which has not been found; §
is attached to the few names of foreigners.
BEFORE HENRY VIII.
WRITERS.
_Poets._
Geoffrey Chaucer (†1400).
John Gower (†1408).
_Prose._
Sir John Mandeville (†1372).
MATHEMATICS.
John Holywood (†1256).
Roger Bacon (†1294).
John Ashindon (†13..).
ALCHEMY.
George Ripley (†1490).
CHURCH AND STATE.
S. Dunstan (†988).
S. Edmund Rich (†1240).
Owen Glendower (†1415).
William Canynges (†1474).
John Morton (†1500).
HENRY VIII--MARY (†1558).
WRITERS.
Sir Thomas More (†1535).
§Desiderius Erasmus (†1536).
MATHEMATICS.
Richard Benese (†1546).
Robert Record (†1558).
CHURCH AND STATE.
John Colet (†1519).
Thomas Wolsey (†1530).
John Innocent (†1545).
Sir Thomas Pope (†1559).
Edmund Bonner (†1569).
* * * * *
Sir Erasmus Dryden (†1632).
ELIZABETH (†1603).
WRITERS.
_Poets._
Thomas Tusser (†1580).
Edmund Spenser (†1599).
Sir Edward Dyer (†1607).
William Shakespear (†1616).
_Prose._
§‡ Petrus Ramus (†1572).
John Twyne (†1581).
Sir Philip Sydney (†1586).
John Foxe (†1587).
Robert Glover (†1588).
Thomas Cooper (†1594).
Thomas Stapleton (†1598).
Thomas North (†1601).
William Watson (†1603).
John Stowe (†1605).
Thomas Brightman (†1607).
John David Rhese (†1609).
Nicholas Hill (†1610).
MATHEMATICS.
James Peele (†15..).
Leonard Digges (†1571).
Thomas Digges (†1595).
John Securis (†...).
Evans Lloyd (†...).
Cyprian Lucar (†...).
Thomas Hoode (†...).
‡ Thomas Blundeville (†16..).
Henry Billingsley (†1606).
§ Ludolph van Keulen (†1610).
John Blagrave (†1611).
Edward Wright (†1615).
Thomas Hariot (†1621).
Sir Henry Savile (†1622).
CHEMISTRY.
Adrian Gilbert (†...).
ZOOLOGY.
Thomas Mouffet (†1604).
ALCHEMY AND ASTROLOGY.
Thomas Charnocke (†1581).
John Dee (†1608).
Arthur Dee (†1651).
STATE.
William Herbert, 1st earl of Pembroke (†1570).
William Cecil, lord Burghley (†1598).
Robert Devereux, earl of Essex (†1601).
Sir Charles Danvers (†1601).
George Clifford, earl of Cumberland (†1605).
Thomas Sackville, earl of Dorset (†1608).
? Sir Thomas Penruddock (†...).
LAW.
Sir William Fleetwood (†1594).
William Aubrey (†1595).
Sir John Popham (†1607).
COMMERCE, ETC.
Sir | 1,376.454396 |
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THE PROUD PRINCE
BY
JUSTIN HUNTLY McCARTHY
AUTHOR OF "MARJORIE" "IF I WERE KING" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
R. H. RUSSELL
1903
Copyright, 1903, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
Published October, 1903.
[Illustration: "'I LOVE THE MAN'"
See p. 276]
DEDICATED
TO
E. H. SOTHERN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FAIR MAID AND FOUL FOOL 1
II. THE COMING OF THE KING 28
III. ROBERT OF SICILY 46
IV. THE HUNTER 71
V. LYCABETTA | 1,376.45882 |
2023-11-16 18:40:00.4388430 | 1,666 | 35 |
Produced by Roy Brown, Wiltshire, England
THE LIGHTHOUSE
By R.M.BALLANTYNE
Author of "The Coral Island" &c.
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW BOMBAY
E-Test prepared by Roy Brown
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE ROCK.
II. THE LOVERS AND THE PRESS-GANG.
III. OUR HERO OBLIGED TO GO TO SEA.
IV. THE BURGLARY.
V. THE BELL ROCK INVADED.
VI. THE CAPTAIN CHANGES HIS QUARTERS.
VII. RUBY IN DIFFICULTIES.
VIII THE SCENE CHANGES--RUBY IS VULCANIZED.
IX. STORMS AND TROUBLES.
X. THE RISING OF THE TIDE--A NARROW ESCAPE.
XI. A STORM, AND A DISMAL STATE OF THINGS ON BOARD THE
PHAROS.
XII. BELL ROCK BILLOWS--AN UNEXPECTED VISIT--A DISASTER AND A
RESCUE.
XIII. A SLEEPLESS BUT A PLEASANT NIGHT.
XIV. SOMEWHAT STATISTICAL.
XV. RUBY HAS A RISE IN LIFE, AND A FALL.
XVI. NEW ARRANGEMENTS--THE CAPTAIN'S PHILOSOPHY IN REGARD TO
PIPEOLOGY.
XVII. A MEETING WITH OLD FRIENDS, AND AN EXCURSION.
XVIII. THE BATTLE OF ARBROATH, AND OTHER WARLIKE MATTERS.
XIX. AN ADVENTURE--SECRETS REVEALED, AND A PRIZE.
XX. THE SMUGGLERS ARE "TREATED" TO GIN AND ASTONISHMENT.
XXI. THE BELL ROCK AGAIN--A DREARY NIGHT IN A STRANGE
HABITATION.
XXII. LIFE IN THE BEACON--STORY OF THE EDDYSTONE LIGHTHOUSE.
XXIII. THE STORM.
XXIV. A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
XXV. THE BELL ROOK IN A FOG--NARROW ESCAPE OF THE SMEATON.
XXVI. A SUDDEN AND TREMENDOUS CHANGE IN FORTUNES.
XXVII. OTHER THINGS BESIDES MURDER "WILL OUT".
XXVIII. THE LIGHTHOUSE COMPLETED--RUBY'S ESCAPE FROM TROUBLE BY A
DESPERATE VENTURE.
XXIX. THE WRECK.
XXX. OLD FRIENDS IN NEW CIRCUMSTANCES.
XXXI. MIDNIGHT CHAT IN A LANTERN.
XXXII. EVERYDAY LIFE ON THE BELL ROOK, AND OLD MEMORIES
RECALLED.
XXXIII. CONCLUSION.
THE LIGHTHOUSE
CHAPTER I
THE ROCK
Early on a summer morning, about the beginning of the nineteenth
century, two fishermen of Forfarshire wended their way to the shore,
launched their boat, and put off to sea.
One of the men was tall and ill-favoured, the other, short and
well-favoured. Both were square-built, powerful fellows, like most
men of the class to which they belonged.
It was about that calm hour of the morning which precedes sunrise,
when most living creatures are still asleep, and inanimate nature
wears, more than at other times, the semblance of repose. The sea was
like a sheet of undulating glass. A breeze had been expected, but,
in defiance of expectation, it had not come, so the boatmen were
obliged to use their oars. They used them well, however, insomuch
that the land ere long appeared like a blue line on the horizon, then
became tremulous and indistinct, and finally vanished in the mists of
morning.
The men pulled "with a will,"--as seamen pithily express in silence.
Only once during the first hour did the ill-favoured man venture a
remark. Referring to the absence of wind, he said, that "it would be
a' the better for landin' on the rock."
This was said in the broadest vernacular dialect, as, indeed, was
everything that dropped from the fishermen's lips. We take the
liberty of modifying it a little, believing that strict fidelity here
would entail inevitable loss of sense to many of our readers.
The remark, such as it was, called forth a rejoinder from the short
comrade, who stated his belief that "they would be likely to find
somethin' there that day."
They then relapsed into silence.
Under the regular stroke of the oars the boat advanced steadily,
straight out to sea. At first the mirror over which they skimmed was
grey, and the foam at the cutwater leaden-. By degrees they
rowed, as it were, into a brighter region. The sea ahead lightened
up, became pale yellow, then warmed into saffron, and, when the sun
rose, blazed into liquid gold.
The words spoken by the boatmen, though few, were significant. The
"rock" alluded to was the celebrated and much dreaded Inch Cape--more
familiarly known as the Bell Rock--which being at that time unmarked
by lighthouse or beacon of any kind, was the terror of mariners who
were making for the firths of Forth and Tay. The "something" that was
expected to be found there may be guessed at, when we say that one of
the fiercest storms that ever swept our eastern shores had just
exhausted itself after strewing the coast with wrecks. The breast of
ocean, though calm on the surface, as has been said, was still
heaving with a mighty swell, from the effects of the recent elemental
conflict.
"D'ye see the breakers noo, Davy?" enquired the ill-favoured man, who
pulled the aft oar.
"Ay, and hear them, too," said Davy Spink, ceasing to row, and
looking over his shoulder towards the seaward horizon.
"Yer een and lugs are better than mine, then," returned the
ill-favoured comrade, who answered, when among his friends, to the
name of Big Swankie, otherwise, and more correctly, Jock Swankie.
"Od! I believe ye're right," he added, shading his heavy red brows
with his heavier and redder hand, "that _is_ the rock, but a man wad
need the een o' an eagle to see onything in the face o' sik a
bleezin' sun. Pull awa', Davy, we'll hae time to catch a bit cod or a
haddy afore the rock's bare."
Influenced by these encouraging hopes, the stout pair urged their
boat in the direction of a thin line of snow-white foam that lay
apparently many miles away, but which was in reality not very far
distant.
By degrees the white line expanded in size and became massive, as
though a huge breaker were rolling towards them; ever and anon jets
of foam flew high into the air from various parts of the mass, like
smoke from a cannon's mouth. Presently, a low continuous roar became
audible above the noise of the oars; as the boat advanced, the swells
from the southeast could be seen towering upwards as they neared the
foaming spot, gradually changing their broad-backed form, and coming
on in majestic walls of green water, which fell | 1,376.458883 |
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LIFE'S HANDICAP
BEING STORIES OF MINE OWN PEOPLE
By Rudyard Kipling
1915
TO
E.K.R.
FROM
R.K.
| 1,376.459032 |
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IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY
COPYRIGHT, 1895,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
Those who are acquainted with the delightful Memoires Secrets de M. Le
Comte de Bussy Rabutin (particularly the supplements to them), and
with Rousset's Histoire de Louvois, will, perhaps, recognise the
inspiration of this story. Those who are not so acquainted with these
works will, I trust, still be able to take some interest in the
adventures of Georges St. Georges.
J. B.-B.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I.--"THE KING'S COMMAND" 1
II.--HOSPITALITY! 10
III.--IT IS THE MAN 18
IV.--"HER LIFE STANDS IN THE PATH OF OTHERS' GREED" 27
V.--THE GRAVEYARD 34
VI.--A LITTLE LIGHT 44
VII.--A REASON 53
VIII.--DRAWING NEAR 62
IX.--A ROYAL SUMMONS 71
X.--MADAME LA MARQUISE 80
XI.--THE MARQUISE TELLS A STORY 89
XII.--LOST 96
XIII.--DE ROQUEMAURE'S WORK 105
XIV.--"I MUST SPEAK!" 114
XV.--THE MINISTER OF WAR 123
XVI.--PASQUEDIEU! 132
XVII.--"KILL HIM DEAD, RAOUL!" 140
XVIII.--LA GALERE GRANDE REALE 149
XIX.--"A NEW LIFE" 158
XX.--"HURRY, HURRY, HURRY!" 166
XXI.--MAY, 1692 175
XXII.--LA HOGUE 183
XXIII.--THE BITTERNESS OF DEATH 191
XXIV.--ON THE ROAD 199
XXV.--"I KNOW YOUR FACE" 207
XXVI.--IN THE SNARE 216
XXVII.--ANOTHER ESCAPE 224
XXVIII.--THE FLEUR-DE-LIS 231
XXIX.--FAREWELL HOPE 240
XXX.--"IT IS TRUE" 248
XXXI.--ST. GEORGES'S DOOM 256
XXXII.--THE LAST CHANCE 265
XXXIII.--THE DAY OF EXECUTION 274
XXXIV.--"I WILL NEVER FORGIVE HER" 283
XXXV.--AT LAST 291
CONCLUSION 300
* * * * *
IN THE DAY OF ADVERSITY.
THE FIRST PERIOD.
CHAPTER I.
"THE KING'S COMMAND."
All over Franche-Comte the snow had fallen for three days unceasingly,
yet through it for those three days a man--a soldier--had ridden,
heading his course north, for Paris.
Wrapped in his cloak, and prevented from falling by his bridle arm, he
bore a little child--a girl some three years old--on whom, as the
cloak would sometimes become disarranged, he would look down fondly,
his firm, grave features relaxing into a sad smile as the blue eyes of
the little creature gazed upward and smiled into his own face. Then he
would whisper a word of love to it, press it closer to his great
breast, and again ride on.
For three days the snow had fallen; was falling when he left the
garrison of Pontarlier and threaded his way through the pine woods on
the Jura <DW72>s; fell still as, with the wintry night close at hand,
he approached the city of Dijon. Yet, except to sleep at nights, to
rest himself, the child, and the horse, he had gone on and on
unstopping, or only stopping to shoot once a wolf that, maddened with
hunger, had sprung out at him and endeavoured to leap to his saddle;
and once to cut down two footpads--perhaps poor wretches, also
maddened with hunger--who had striven to stop his way.
On and on and on through the unceasing snow he had gone with the child
still held fast to his bosom, resting the first night at Poligny,
since the snow was so heavy on the ground that his horse could go no
further, and another at Dole for the same reason, until now he drew
near to Dijon.
"A short distance to travel in three days," he muttered to himself,
as, afar off, his eye caught the gleam of a great beacon flaring
surlily through the snow-laden air--the beacon on the southern
watchtower of the city walls--"a short distance. Yet I have done my
best. Have obeyed orders. Now let me see for further instructions."
There was still sufficient light left in the wintry gloom to read by,
whereon, shifting the child a little as he drew rein--it needed not
much drawing, since the good horse beneath him could hardly progress
beyond the slowest walk, owing to the accumulated snow--he took from
his holster a letter, and, passing over the beginning of it, turned to
the last leaf and read:
"At Dijon you will stay at the chateau of my good friend and
subject the Marquis Phelypeaux, avoiding all inns; at
Troyes, at the manoir of Madame la Marquise de Roquemaure;
at Melun, if you have to halt there, at the chateau of
Monsieur de Riverac. Between these, | 1,376.754265 |
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CONSTABLE’S MISCELLANY,
VOLS. LIII. LIV.
Will appear on the 3d and 17th April, containing,
THE LIFE
OF
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE,
OF
ELDERSLIE.
BY JOHN D. CARRICK.
THE BUGLE NE’ER SUNG TO A BRAVER KNIGHT
THAN WILLIAM OF ELDERSLIE.
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
EDINBURGH:
CONSTABLE AND CO., 19, WATERLOO PLACE;
AND HURST, CHANCE, AND CO., LONDON.
BOURRIENNE.
Preparing for immediate Publication
IN
CONSTABLE’S MISCELLANY,
MEMOIRS
OF
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE,
FROM THE FRENCH
OF
M. DE BOURRIENNE,
PRIVATE SECRETARY TO THE EMPEROR.
BY JAMES S. MEMES, LL.D.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
CONSTABLE’S MISCELLANY,
OF
ORIGINAL AND SELECTED PUBLICATIONS
“A real and existing Library of Useful and Entertaining knowledge.”
LITERARY GAZETTE.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The unlimited desire of knowledge which now pervades every class
of Society, suggested the design, of not only reprinting, without
abridgment or curtailment, in a cheap form, several interesting and
valuable Publications, hitherto placed beyond the reach of a great
proportion of readers, but also of issuing, in that form, many Original
Treatises, by some of the most Distinguished Authors of the age. Such
is the object of the present Work, which is publishing in a series of
Volumes, under the general title of “CONSTABLE’S MISCELLANY OF ORIGINAL
AND SELECTED PUBLICATIONS, IN THE VARIOUS DEPARTMENTS OF LITERATURE,
SCIENCE, AND THE ARTS.”
Immediately after its commencement, in January 1827, this Miscellany
met with extensive encouragement, which has enabled the Publishers
to bring forward a series of works of the very highest interest, and
at unparalleled low prices. Fifty-two volumes are already before
the Public, forming thirty-four distinct works, any of which may be
purchased separately. Every volume contains a Vignette Title-page;
and numerous other illustrations, such as Maps, Portraits, &c. are
occasionally given.
Being intended for all ages as well as ranks, Constable’s Miscellany is
printed in a style and form which combine at once the means of giving
much matter in a small space, with the requisites of great clearness
and facility.
A Volume, containing at least 324 pages, appears every three weeks,
price 3s. 6d., a limited number being printed on fine paper, with early
impressions of the Vignettes, price 5s.
EDINBURGH:
PUBLISHED BY CONSTABLE AND CO.; AND HURST, CHANCE, AND CO., LONDON.
ORIGINAL WORKS
PREPARING FOR
CONSTABLE’S MISCELLANY.
I. LIFE of K. JAMES the FIRST. By R. CHAMBERS, Author of “The
Rebellions in Scotland,” &c. 2 vols.
II. The ACHIEVEMENTS of the KNIGHTS of MALTA, from the
Institution of the Hospitallers of St John, in 1099, till the
Political Extinction of the Order, by Napoleon, in 1800. By ALEX.
SUTHERLAND, Esq. 2 vols.
III. LIFE of FRANCIS PIZZARO, and an ACCOUNT of the CONQUEST of
PERU, &c. By the Author of the “Life of Hernan Cortes.” 1 vol.
IV. HISTORY of MODERN GREECE, and the Ionian Islands; including
a detailed Account of the late Revolutionary War. By THOMAS
KEIGHTLEY, Esq., Author of “Fairy Mythology,” &c. 2 vols.
V. A TOUR in SICILY, &c. By J. S. MEMES, Esq. LL.D., Author of
the “History of Sculpture, Painting, and Architecture,” &c. 1 vol.
VI. MEMOIRS of the IRISH REBELLIONS; By J. MCCAUL, Esq. M. A. of
Trin. Coll., Dublin. 2 vols.
VII. HISTORY of FRANCE, from the earliest authentic era till
the present time. By WILLIAM FRASER, Esq., Editor of “The Foreign
Review.” 3 vols.
VIII. A JOURNEY through the SOUTHERN PROVINCES of FRANCE, the
PYRENEES, and SWITZERLAND. By DERWENT CONWAY, Author of “A Tour
through Norway, Sweden, and Denmark.” 2 vols.
IX. The POEMS and LETTERS of ROBERT BURNS, Chronologically
arranged, with a Preliminary Essay and Notes, and Sundry Additions.
By J. G. LOCKHART, LL.B.* 2 vols.
X. LIFE and REIGN of MAHMOUD II., present Grand Sultan of Turkey,
including the Geographical, Moral, and Political History of that
Empire. By E. UPHAM, Esq. Author of the “History of the Ottoman
Empire,” &c.* 1 vol.
LIST OF WORKS ALREADY PUBLISHED.
Price 3s. 6d. each Volume, cloth boards; or on fine paper, 5s.
Vols. 1. 2. 3. CAPT. BASIL HALL’S VOYAGES.
4. ADVENTURES of BRITISH SEAMEN. By HUGH MURRAY, Esq. F.R.S.E.
5. MEMOIRS of LA ROCHE JAQUELEIN. With a Preface and Notes, by SIR
WALTER SCOTT, Bart.
6. & 7. CONVERTS from INFIDELITY. By ANDREW CRICHTON.
8. & 9. SYMES’ EMBASSY to the KINGDOM of AVA. With a Narrative of the
late Military and Political Operations in the Birman Empire.
10. TABLE-TALK; or, SELECTIONS from the ANA.
11. PERILS and CAPTIVITY.
12. SELECTIONS of the MOST REMARKABLE PHENOMENA of NATURE.
13. & 14. MARINER’S ACCOUNT of the NATIVES of the TONGA ISLANDS, in the
South Pacific Ocean.
15. & 16. HISTORY of the REBELLIONS in SCOTLAND in 1745, 1746. By
ROBERT CHAMBERS.
17. VOYAGES and EXCURSIONS in CENTRAL AMERICA. By ORLANDO W. ROBERTS,
many years a resident Trader.
18. & 19. The HISTORICAL WORKS of FREDERICK SCHILLER, from the German,
by GEORGE MOIR, Esq. Translator of “Wallenstein.”
20. & 21. An HISTORICAL VIEW of the Manners, Customs, Literature,
&c. of Great Britain, from the Time of the Saxons, down to the 18th
Century. By R. THOMSON, Author of “Chronicles of London Bridge.”
22. The GENERAL REGISTER of Politics, Science, and Literature, for 1827.
23. LIFE of ROBERT BURNS. By J. G. LOCKHART, LL.B.
24. & 25. LIFE of MARY, QUEEN of SCOTS. By HENRY GLASSFORD BELL, Esq.
26. EVIDENCES of CHRISTIANITY. By the Venerable ARCHDEACON WRANGHAM.
27. & 28. MEMORIALS of the LATE WAR.
29. & 30. A TOUR in GERMANY and in the AUSTRIAN EMPIRE, in 1820, 21,
22. By J. RUSSELL, Esq.
_Works already Published._
31. & 32. The REBELLIONS in SCOTLAND, under Montrose and Others, from
1638 till 1660. By ROBERT CHAMBERS, Author of “The Rebellion of 1745.”
33. 34. & 35. HISTORY of the PRINCIPAL REVOLUTIONS in EUROPE. From the
French of C. W. KOCH.
36. & 37. A PEDESTRIAN JOURNEY through RUSSIA and SIBERIAN TARTARY. By
CAPT. JOHN DUNDAS COCHRANE, R. N.
38. NARRATIVE of a TOUR through NORWAY, SWEDEN, and DENMARK. By DERWENT
CONWAY, Author of “Solitary Walks,” &c.
39. HISTORY of SCULPTURE, PAINTING, and ARCHITECTURE. By J. S. MEMES,
LL.D. Author of “The Life of Canova,” &c.
40. & 41. HISTORY of the OTTOMAN EMPIRE. By EDWARD UPHAM, Esq.
M.R.A.S., Author of the “History of Budhism,” &c.
42. HISTORY of the REBELLIONS in SCOTLAND, under DUNDEE and MAR, in
1689 and 1715. By ROBERT CHAMBERS, Author of the “Rebellion in Scotland
in 1745,” &c.
43. & 44. HISTORY of MOST REMARKABLE CONSPIRACIES connected with
European History. By J. P. LAWSON, M. A., Author of the “Life and Times
of Archbishop Laud.”
45. The NATURAL HISTORY of SELBORNE. By the late REV. GILBERT WHITE, M.
A. A New Edition with Additions. By SIR WILLIAM JARDINE, BART., Author
of “Illustrations of Ornithology,” &c.
46. An AUTUMN in ITALY, being a PERSONAL NARRATIVE of a TOUR in the
AUSTRIAN, TUSCAN, ROMAN, and SARDINIAN STATES, in 1827. By J. D.
SINCLAIR, Esq.
47. & 48. The LIFE of OLIVER CROMWELL. By M. RUSSELL, LL.D.
49. LIFE of HERNAN CORTES. By DON TELESFORO DE TRUEBA Y COSIO, Author
of “Gomez Arias,” “The Castilian,” &c.
50. & 51. HISTORY of CHIVALRY and the CRUSADES. By the Rev. HENRY
STEBBING, M. A.
52. HISTORY of MUSIC. By W. C. STAFFORD.
53. & 54. LIFE of SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. By JOHN D. CARRICK.
LIFE
OF
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE.
[Illustration: Blackwood Sculpt
SEAL OF BALIOL USED BY WALLACE WHILE REGENT OF SCOTLAND.
Vol I, Page 137
]
CONSTABLE’S MISCELLANY
OF
Original and Selected Publications
IN THE VARIOUS DEPARTMENTS
OF
LITERATURE, SCIENCE & THE ARTS.
VOL. LIII.
LIFE OF SIR WILLIAM WALLACE, VOL. I.
[Illustration:
Drawn by A. Nasmyth Engraved by W. Miller
WALLACE’S TREE--TORWOOD.]
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR CONSTABLE & Co. EDINBURGH.
AND HURST, CHANCE & Co. LONDON.
1830.
LIFE
OF
SIR WILLIAM WALLACE,
OF
ELDERSLIE.
BY JOHN D. CARRICK.
THE BUGLE NE’ER SUNG TO A BRAVER KNIGHT
THAN WILLIAM OF ELDERSLIE.
THOMAS CAMPBELL.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR CONSTABLE AND CO.;
AND HURST, CHANCE AND CO., LONDON.
1830.
PREFACE.
In presenting to the British Public the Life of a man, whose name has
been for ages the _slogan_, or _cri de guerre_, when the liberty of his
country was | 1,376.754271 |
2023-11-16 18:40:01.3376030 | 630 | 13 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
* Italics are denoted by underscores as in _italics_, and small caps
are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS.
* Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.
* Original spelling was kept, but variant spellings were made
consistent when a predominant usage was found.
* Notwithstanding, original Spanish text in the Appendices has been
kept without any alteration, as found in the printed book.
* Footnotes have been renumbered into a single series and placed at
the end of the paragraph that includes each anchor.
HISTORY
OF
SPANISH LITERATURE.
VOL. III.
HISTORY
OF
SPANISH LITERATURE.
BY
GEORGE TICKNOR.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOLUME III.
NEW YORK:
HARPER AND BROTHERS, 82 CLIFF STREET.
M DCCC XLIX.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by
GEORGE TICKNOR,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
CONTENTS
OF
VOLUME THIRD.
SECOND PERIOD.
(CONTINUED.)
CHAPTER XXXI.
SATIRICAL POETRY, EPISTOLARY, ELEGIAC, PASTORAL, EPIGRAMMATIC,
DIDACTIC, AND DESCRIPTIVE.
Satirical Poetry 3
Mendoza, Boscan 3
Castillejo, Montemayor 4
Padilla, Cantorál 4
Murillo, Artieda 4
Barahona de Soto 4
Juan de Jauregui 4
The Argensolas 5
Quevedo, Góngora 5
Cervantes, Espinel 6
Arguijo, Rioja 6
Salcedo, Ulloa, Melo 6
Rebolledo, Solís 6
Satire discouraged 7
Elegiac Poetry 8
Garcilasso 8
Figueroa, Silvestre 9
Cantorál, the Argensolas 9
Borja, Herrera 9
Rioja, Quevedo 9
Villegas 9
Elegy does not succeed 9
Pastoral Poetry 10
Garcilasso, Boscan, Mendoza 10
| 1,377.357643 |
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E-text prepared by Robert Cicconetti, Pat McCoy, and the Online
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(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 39612-h.htm or 39612-h.zip:
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Transcriber's note:
A letter or letters contained within curly brackets was a
superscript in the original text. Example: exam{t}
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics. Example:
_Criminal Trials_
Another transcriber's note is at the end of this text.
THE LIFE OF A CONSPIRATOR
[Illustration: SIR EVERARD DIGBY
_From a portrait belonging to W. R. M. Wynne, Esq. of Peniarth, Merioneth_]
THE LIFE OF A CONSPIRATOR
Being a Biography of Sir Everard Digby by One of His Descendants
by the author of
"A Life of Archbishop Laud," By a Romish Recusant, "The
Life of a Prig, by One," etc.
With Illustrations
London
Kegan Paul, Trench, Truebner & Co., Ltd.
Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road
1895
PREFACE
The chief difficulty in writing a life of Sir Everard Digby is to steer
clear of the alternate dangers of perverting it into a mere history of
the Gunpowder Plot, on the one hand, and of failing to say enough of
that great conspiracy to illustrate his conduct, on the other. Again, in
dealing with that plot, to condemn all concerned in it may seem like
kicking a dead dog to Protestants, and to Catholics like joining in one
of the bitterest and most irritating taunts to which they have been
exposed in this country throughout the last three centuries.
Nevertheless, I am not discouraged. The Gunpowder Plot is an historical
event about which the last word has not yet been said, nor is likely to
be said for some time to come; and monographs of men who were, either
directly or indirectly, concerned in it, may not be altogether useless
to those who desire to make a study of it. However faulty the following
pages may be in fact or in inference, they will not have been written in
vain if they have the effect of eliciting from others that which all
students of historical subjects ought most to desire--the Truth.
I wish to acknowledge most valuable assistance received from the Right
Rev. Edmund Knight, formerly Bishop of Shrewsbury, as well as from the
Rev. John Hungerford Pollen, S.J., who was untiring in his replies to my
questions on some very difficult points; but it is only fair to both of
them to say that the inferences they draw from the facts, which I have
brought forward, occasionally vary from my own. My thanks are also due
to that most able, most courteous, and most patient of editors, Mr Kegan
Paul, to say nothing of his services in the very different capacity of a
publisher, to Mr Wynne of Peniarth, for permission to photograph his
portrait of Sir Everard Digby, and to Mr Walter Carlile for information
concerning Gayhurst.
The names of the authorities of which I have made most use are given in
my footnotes; but I am perhaps most indebted to one whose name does not
appear the oftenest. The back-bone of every work dealing with the times
of the Stuarts must necessarily be the magnificent history of Mr Samuel
Rawson Gardiner.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The portrait of Sir Everard Digby--Genealogy--His father a
literary man--His father's book--Was Sir Everard brought up a
Protestant?--At the Court of Queen Elizabeth--Persecution of
Catholics--Character of Sir Everard--Gothurst--Mary
Mulsho--Marriage--Knighthood 1-14
CHAPTER II.
Hospitality at Gothurst--Roger Lee--Sir Everard "Catholickly
inclined"--Country visiting 300 years ago--An absent
host--A good hostess--Wish to see a priest--Priest or
sportsman?--Father Gerard--Reception of Lady Digby--Question
of Underhandedness--Illness of Sir Everard--Conversion--Second
Illness--Impulsiveness of Sir Everard 15-32
CHAPTER III.
The wrench of conversion--Position of converts at different
periods--The Digbys as converts--Their chapel--Father
Strange--Father Percy--Chapels in the days of
persecution--Luisa de Carvajal--Oliver Manners--Pious
dodges--Stolen waters--Persecution under Elizabeth 33-48
CHAPTER IV.
The succession to the Crown--Accession of James--The Bye
Plot--Guy Fawkes--Father Watson's revenge on the
Jesuits--Question as to the faithlessness of
James--Martyrdoms and persecutions--A Protestant Bishop upon
them 49-69
CHAPTER V.
Catholics and the Court--Queen Anne of Denmark--Fears of the
Catholics--Catesby--Chivalry--Tyringham--The Spanish
Ambassador--Attitude of foreign Catholic powers--Indictments
of Catholics--Pound's case--Bancroft--Catesby and
Garnet--Thomas Winter--William Ellis--Lord Vaux--Elizabeth,
Anne, and Eleanor Vaux--Calumnies 70-96
CHAPTER VI.
Roger Manners--A pilgrimage--Harrowden--Catesby informs Sir
Everard of the Conspiracy--Scriptural precedents--Other
Gunpowder Plots--Mary Queen of Scots, Bothwell and
Darnley--Pretended Jesuit approval 97-113
CHAPTER VII.
A Latin Book--Immoderate friendships--Principles--Second-hand
approval--How Catesby deceived Garnet--He deceived his
fellow-conspirators--A liar 114-129
CHAPTER VIII.
Garnet's unfortunate conversation with Sir Everard--Garnet's
weakness--How Garnet first learned about the Plot--Secresy of
the Confessional--Catesby and the Sacraments--Catesby a
Catholic on Protestant principles--Could Garnet have saved
Sir Everard?--Were the conspirators driven to
desperation?--Did Cecil originate the Plot? 130-148
CHAPTER IX.
Financial aspects of the Gunpowder Plot--Sir Everard's
relations to his wife--Little John--Secret room at
Gothurst--Persecution of Catholics in Wales--The plan of
Campaign--Coughton--Guy Fawkes--His visit to Gothurst 149-168
CHAPTER X.
White Webbs--Baynham's Mission--All-Hallows at Coughton--All
Souls at Gothurst--An unwelcome Guest--The remains of
feudalism--Start from Gothurst--Arrival at Dunchurch--What
was going on in London--Tresham--The hunting-party--A
card-party--Arrival of the fugitives--The discovery in
London--The flight 169-191
CHAPTER XI.
Catesby lies to Sir Everard--Expected help from Talbot--The
hunting-party repudiates the conspirators--The future Earl of
Bristol--The start--Warwick--Norbrook--Alcester--Coughton--
Huddington--Talbot refuses to join in the Insurrection--Father
Greenway--Father Oldcorne--Whewell Grange--Shadowed--No
Catholics will join the conspirators--Don Quixote 192-218
CHAPTER XII.
Holbeche House--Sir Everard deserts--Sir Fulke Greville--The
Hue-and-Cry--Hunted--In cover--Caught--Journey to
London--Confiscation--The fate of the conspirators at
Holbeche--The Archpriest--Denunciations--Letter of Sir
Everard-- | 1,377.360984 |
2023-11-16 18:40:01.5364470 | 7,436 | 76 |
Produced by Mark C. Orton, Christine P. Travers and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
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[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected.
Hyphenation and accentuation have been standardised, all other
inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling has been
maintained.
Bold text is marked with =.]
LIVES OF THE MOST EMINENT PAINTERS SCULPTORS AND ARCHITECTS BY GIORGIO
VASARI:
VOLUME VIII. BASTIANO TO TADDEO ZUCCHERO 1914
NEWLY TRANSLATED BY GASTON Du C. DE VERE. WITH FIVE HUNDRED
ILLUSTRATIONS: IN TEN VOLUMES
[Illustration: 1511-1574]
PHILIP LEE WARNER, PUBLISHER TO THE MEDICI SOCIETY, LIMITED 7 GRAFTON
ST. LONDON, W. 1912-15
CONTENTS OF VOLUME VIII
PAGE
BASTIANO DA SAN GALLO, CALLED ARISTOTILE 3
BENVENUTO GAROFALO AND GIROLAMO DA CARPI, AND OTHER LOMBARDS 23
RIDOLFO, DAVID, AND BENEDETTO GHIRLANDAJO 59
GIOVANNI DA UDINE 73
BATTISTA FRANCO 89
GIOVAN FRANCESCO RUSTICI 111
FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI 133
FRANCESCO SALVIATI 161
DANIELLO RICCIARELLI 197
TADDEO ZUCCHERO 215
INDEX OF NAMES 265
ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOLUME VIII
PLATES IN COLOUR
FACING PAGE
ALESSANDRO BONVICINO (MORETTO DA BRESCIA)
S. Justina
Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 218 22
GAUDENZIO FERRARI
Madonna and Child
Milan: Brera, 277 56
RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO
Portrait of a Lady
Florence: Pitti, 224 64
JACOPO TINTORETTO
Bacchus and Ariadne
Venice: Doges' Palace, Sala Anticollegio 96
PLATES IN MONOCHROME
FRANCESCO UBERTINI (IL BACCHIACCA)
The Baptist in Jordan
Berlin: Kaiser Friedrich Museum, 267 18
BENVENUTO GAROFALO
The Madonna and Child with Saints
Ferrara: Pinacoteca, 1514 24
BENVENUTO GAROFALO
The Massacre of the Innocents
Ferrara: Pinacoteca, 1519 26
BENVENUTO GAROFALO
The Adoration of the Magi
Ferrara: Pinacoteca, 1537 30
NICCOLO (NICCOLO DELL'ABATE)
Scene from the AEneid
Modena: Reale Galleria Estense 34
IL MODENA (ANTONIO BEGARELLI)
The Madonna and Child with S. John
Modena: Museo Civico 38
IL MODENA (ANTONIO BEGARELLI)
Four Saints
Modena: S. Pietro 40
GIULIO CAMPO
The Purification of the Virgin
Cremona: S. Margherita 42
SOFONISBA ANGUISCIUOLA
Portrait of the Artist
Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 109 44
GIROLAMO ROMANINO
The Madonna and Child with Saints
Brescia: S. Francesco 46
ALESSANDRO BONVICINO (MORETTO DA BRESCIA)
The Coronation of the Virgin
Brescia: SS. Nazzaro e Celso 48
GIAN GIROLAMO BRESCIANO (SAVOLDO)
The Adoration of the Shepherds
Brescia: Palazzo Martinengo 50
BRAMANTINO
The Holy Family
Milan: Brera, 279 50
BRAMANTINO
A Warrior
Milan: Brera, 494 52
CESARE DA SESTO
Salome
Vienna: Imperial Gallery, 91 54
GAUDENZIO (GAUDENZIO FERRARI)
S. Paul
Paris: Louvre, 1285 56
RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO
Christ bearing the Cross
London: N. G., 1143 60
RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO
The Miracle of S. Zanobi
Florence: Uffizi, 1275 62
ANTONIO DEL CERAIOLO
The Crucifixion with SS. Francis and Mary Magdalene
Florence: Accademia, 163 66
RIDOLFO GHIRLANDAJO
The Madonna giving the Girdle to S. Thomas
Prato: Duomo 70
GIOVANNI DA UDINE
Arabesques
Rome: The Vatican, Loggia di Raffaello 78
JACOPO TINTORETTO
The Pool of Bethesda
Venice: S. Rocco 98
JACOPO TINTORETTO
The Last Judgment
Venice: S. Maria dell'Orto 102
JACOPO TINTORETTO
The Miracle of S. Mark
Venice: Accademia 104
JACOPO TINTORETTO
The Apotheosis of S. Rocco
Venice: Scuola di S. Rocco 106
GIOVAN FRANCESCO RUSTICI
S. John Preaching
Florence: The Baptistry 114
FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI
S. Cosmas
Florence: S. Lorenzo, Medici Chapel 136
FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI
Tomb of Andrea Doria
Genoa: S. Matteo 144
FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI
Fountain of Neptune
Messina: Piazza del Duomo 146
FRA GIOVANNI AGNOLO MONTORSOLI
High Altar
Bologna: S. Maria dei Servi 150
FRANCESCO SALVIATI (FRANCESCO DE' ROSSI)
Portrait of a Man
Florence: Uffizi, 1256 162
FRANCESCO SALVIATI (FRANCESCO DE' ROSSI)
Justice
Florence: Bargello 174
FRANCESCO SALVIATI (FRANCESCO DE' ROSSI)
The Deposition
Florence: S. Croce, the Refectory 180
FRANCESCO DAL PRATO
Medal of Pope Clement VII.
London: British Museum 190
GIUSEPPE DEL SALVIATI (GIUSEPPE PORTA)
The Reconciliation of Pope Alexander III and
Frederick Barbarossa
Rome: The Vatican, Sala Regia 192
DANIELLO RICCIARELLI
The Descent from the Cross
Rome: SS. Trinita dei Monti 200
DANIELLO RICCIARELLI
The Massacre of the Innocents
Florence: Uffizi, 1107 208
FEDERIGO ZUCCHERO
Portrait of the Artist
Florence: Uffizi, 270 226
BASTIANO DA SAN GALLO, CALLED ARISTOTILE
LIFE OF BASTIANO DA SAN GALLO, CALLED ARISTOTILE,
PAINTER AND SCULPTOR OF FLORENCE
When Pietro Perugino, by that time an old man, was painting the
altar-piece of the high-altar of the Servites at Florence, a nephew of
Giuliano and Antonio da San Gallo, called Bastiano, was placed with him
to learn the art of painting. But the boy had not been long with
Perugino, when he saw the manner of Michelagnolo in the cartoon for the
Hall, of which we have already spoken so many times, in the house of the
Medici, and was so struck with admiration, that he would not return any
more to Pietro's workshop, considering that his manner, beside that of
Buonarroti, was dry, petty, and by no means worthy to be imitated. And
since, among those who used to go to paint that cartoon, which was for a
time the school of all who wished to attend to painting, the most able
of all was held to be Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, Bastiano chose him as his
companion, in order to learn colouring from him, and so they became fast
friends. But not ceasing therefore to give his attention to that cartoon
and to work at those nudes, Bastiano copied all together in a little
cartoon the whole composition of that mass of figures, which not one of
all those who had worked at it had ever drawn as a whole. And since he
applied himself to it with all the earnestness that was in him, it
proved that he was afterwards able on any occasion to render an account
of the attitudes, muscles, and movements of those figures, and of the
reasons that had caused Buonarroti to depict certain difficult postures;
in doing which he would speak slowly and sententiously, with great
gravity, so that a company of able craftsmen gave him the name of
Aristotile, which, moreover, sat upon him all the better because it
appeared that according to an ancient portrait of that supreme
philosopher and confidant of Nature, Bastiano much resembled him.
But to return to the little cartoon drawn by Aristotile; he held it
always so dear, that, after Buonarroti's original had perished, he would
never let it go either at a price or on any other terms, or allow it to
be copied; indeed, he would not show it, save only as a man shows
precious things to his dearest friends, as a favour. Afterwards, in the
year 1542, this drawing was copied in oils by Aristotile, at the
persuasion of Giorgio Vasari, who was much his friend, in a picture in
chiaroscuro, which was sent through Monsignor Giovio to King Francis of
France, who held it very dear, and gave a handsome reward to San Gallo.
This Vasari did in order that the memory of that work might be
preserved, seeing that drawings perish very readily.
In his youth, then, Aristotile delighted, as the others of his house
have done, in the matters of architecture, and he therefore gave his
attention to measuring the ground-plans of buildings and with great
diligence to the study of perspective; in doing which he was much
assisted by a brother of his, called Giovan Francesco, who was employed
as architect in the building of S. Pietro, under Giuliano Leno, the
proveditor. Giovan Francesco, having drawn Aristotile to Rome, employed
him to keep the accounts in a great business that he had of furnaces for
lime and works in pozzolana and tufa, which brought him very large
profits; and in this way Bastiano lived for a time, without doing
anything but draw in the Chapel of Michelagnolo, and resort, by means of
M. Giannozzo Pandolfini, Bishop of Troia, to the house of Raffaello da
Urbino. After a time, Raffaello having made for that Bishop the design
of a palace which he wished to erect in the Via di S. Gallo at Florence,
the above-named Giovan Francesco was sent to put it into execution,
which he did with all the diligence wherewith it is possible for such a
work to be carried out. But in the year 1530, Giovan Francesco being
dead, and the siege of Florence in progress, that work, as we shall
relate, was left unfinished. Its completion was afterwards entrusted to
his brother Aristotile, who, as will be told, had returned to Florence
many and many a year before, after having amassed a large sum of money
under the above-named Giuliano Leno, in the business that his brother
had left him in Rome; with a part of which money Aristotile bought, at
the persuasion of Luigi Alamanni and Zanobi Buondelmonte, who were much
his friends, a site for a house behind the Convent of the Servites, near
Andrea del Sarto, where, with the intention of taking a wife and living
at leisure, he afterwards built a very commodious little house.
After returning to Florence, then, Aristotile, being much inclined to
perspective, to which he had given his attention under Bramante in Rome,
appeared to delight in scarcely any other thing; but nevertheless,
besides executing a portrait or two from the life, he painted in oils,
on two large canvases, the Eating of the Fruit by Adam and Eve and their
Expulsion from Paradise, which he did after copies that he had made from
the works painted by Michelagnolo on the vaulting of the Chapel in Rome.
These two canvases of Aristotile's, because of his having taken them
bodily from that place, were little extolled; but, on the other hand, he
was well praised for all that he did in Florence for the entry of Pope
Leo, making, in company with Francesco Granacci, a triumphal arch
opposite to the door of the Badia, with many scenes, which was very
beautiful. In like manner, at the nuptials of Duke Lorenzo de' Medici,
he was of great assistance in all the festive preparations, and
particularly in some prospect-views for comedies, to Franciabigio and
Ridolfo Ghirlandajo, who had charge of everything.
He afterwards executed many pictures of Our Lady in oils, partly from
his own fancy, and partly copied from the works of others; and among
them he painted one similar to that which Raffaello executed for S.
Maria del Popolo in Rome, with the Madonna covering the Child with a
veil, which now belongs to Filippo dell'Antella. And another is in the
possession of the heirs of Messer Ottaviano de' Medici, together with
the portrait of the above-named Lorenzo, which Aristotile copied from
that which Raffaello had executed. Many other pictures he painted about
the same time, which were sent to England. But, recognizing that he had
no invention, and how much study and good grounding in design painting
required, and that for lack of these qualities he would not be able to
achieve any great excellence, Aristotile resolved that his profession
should be architecture and perspective, executing scenery for comedies,
to which he was much inclined, on every occasion that might present
itself to him. And so, the above-mentioned Bishop of Troia having once
more set his hand to his palace in the Via di S. Gallo, the charge of
this was given to Aristotile, who in time carried it with much credit to
himself to the condition in which it is now to be seen.
Meanwhile Aristotile had formed a great friendship with Andrea del
Sarto, his neighbour, from whom he learned to do many things to
perfection, attending with much study to perspective; wherefore he was
afterwards employed in many festivals that were held by certain
companies of gentlemen who were living at Florence in those peaceful
times. Thus, when the Mandragola, a most amusing comedy, was to be
performed by the Company of the Cazzuola in the house of Bernardino di
Giordano, on the Canto a Monteloro, Andrea del Sarto and Aristotile
executed the scenery, which was very beautiful; and not long afterwards
Aristotile executed the scenery for another comedy by the same author,
in the house of the furnace-master Jacopo at the Porta S. Friano. From
that kind of scenery and prospect-views, which much pleased the citizens
in general, and in particular Signor Alessandro and Signor Ippolito de'
Medici (who were in Florence at that time, under the care of Silvio
Passerini, Cardinal of Cortona), Aristotile acquired so great a name,
that it was ever afterwards his principal profession; indeed, so some
will have it, his name of Aristotile was given him because he appeared
in truth to be in perspective what Aristotle was in philosophy.
But, as it often happens that from the height of peace and tranquillity
one falls into wars and discords, with the year 1527 all peace and
gladness in Florence were changed into sorrow and distress, for by that
time the Medici had been driven out, and then came the plague and the
siege, and for many years life was anything but gay; wherefore no good
could be done then by craftsmen, and Aristotile lived in those days
always in his own house, attending to his studies and fantasies.
Afterwards, however, when Duke Alessandro had assumed the government of
Florence, and matters were beginning to clear up a little, the young men
of the Company of the Children of the Purification, which is opposite to
S. Marco, arranged to perform a tragi-comedy taken from the Book of
Kings, of the tribulations that ensued from the violation of Tamar,
which had been composed by Giovan Maria Primerani. Thereupon the charge
of the scenery and prospect-views was given to Aristotile, and he
prepared the most beautiful scenery, considering the capacity of the
place, that had ever been made. And since, besides the beauty of the
setting, the tragi-comedy was beautiful in itself and well performed,
and very pleasing to Duke Alessandro and his sister, who heard it, their
Excellencies caused the author, who was in prison, to be liberated, on
the condition that he should write another comedy, but after his own
fancy. Which having been done by him, Aristotile made in the loggia of
the garden of the Medici, on the Piazza di S. Marco, a very beautiful
scene and prospect-view, full of colonnades, niches, tabernacles,
statues, and many other fanciful things that had not been used up to
that time in festive settings of that kind; which all gave infinite
satisfaction, and greatly enriched that sort of painting. The subject of
the piece was Joseph falsely accused of having sought to violate his
mistress, and therefore imprisoned, and then liberated after his
interpretation of the King's dream.
This scenery having also much pleased the Duke, he ordained, when the
time came, that for his nuptials with Madama Margherita of Austria
another comedy should be performed, with scenery by Aristotile, in the
Company of Weavers, which is joined to the house of the Magnificent
Ottaviano de' Medici, in the Via di S. Gallo. To which having set his
hand with all the study, diligence, and labour of which he was capable,
Aristotile executed all those preparations to perfection. Now Lorenzo di
Pier Francesco de' Medici, having himself written the piece that was to
be performed, had charge of the whole representation and the music; and,
being such a man that he was always thinking in what way he might be
able to kill the Duke, by whom he was so much favoured and beloved, he
thought to find a way of bringing him to his end in the preparations for
the play. And so, where the steps of the prospect-view and the floor of
the stage ended, he caused the wing-walls on either side to be thrown
down to the height of eighteen braccia, intending to build up in that
space a room in the form of a purse-shaped recess, which was to be of
considerable size, and a stage on a level with the stage proper, which
might serve for the choral music. Above this first stage he wished to
make another for harpsichords, organs, and other suchlike instruments
that cannot be moved or changed about with ease; and the space where he
had pulled down the walls, in front, he wished to have covered with
curtains painted with prospect-views and buildings. All which pleased
Aristotile, because it enriched the proscenium, and left the stage free
of musicians, but he was by no means pleased that the rafters upholding
the roof, which had been left without the walls below to support them,
should be arranged otherwise than with a great double arch, which should
be very strong; whereas Lorenzo wished that it should be sustained by
some props, and by nothing else that could in any way interfere with the
music. Aristotile, knowing that this was a trap certain to fall headlong
down on a multitude of people, would not on any account agree in the
matter with Lorenzo, who in truth had no other intention but to kill the
Duke in that catastrophe. Wherefore, perceiving that he could not drive
his excellent reasons into Lorenzo's head, he had determined that he
would withdraw from the whole affair, when Giorgio Vasari, who was the
protege of Ottaviano de' Medici, and was at that time, although a mere
lad, working in the service of Duke Alessandro, hearing, while he was
painting on that scenery, the disputes and differences of opinion that
there were between Lorenzo and Aristotile, set himself dexterously
between them, and, after hearing both the one and the other and
perceiving the danger that Lorenzo's method involved, showed that
without making any arch or interfering in any other way with the stage
for the music, those rafters of the roof could be arranged easily
enough. Two double beams of wood, he said, each of fifteen braccia,
should be placed along the wall, and fastened firmly with clamps of iron
beside the other rafters, and upon them the central rafter could be
securely placed, for in that way it would lie as safely as upon an arch,
neither more nor less. But Lorenzo, refusing to believe either Giorgio,
who proposed the plan, or Aristotile, who approved it, did nothing but
oppose them with his cavillings, which made his evil intention known to
everyone. Whereupon Giorgio, having seen what a terrible disaster might
result from this, and that it was nothing less than an attempt to kill
three hundred persons, said that come what might he would speak of it to
the Duke, to the end that he might send to examine and render safe the
whole fabric. Hearing this, and fearing to betray himself, Lorenzo,
after many words, gave leave to Aristotile that he should follow the
advice of Giorgio; and so it was done. This scenery, then, was the most
beautiful not only of all that Aristotile had executed up to that time,
but also of all that had ever been made by others, for he made in it
many corner-pieces in relief, and also, in the opening of the stage, a
representation of a most beautiful triumphal arch in imitation of
marble, covered with scenes and statues, not to mention the streets
receding into the distance, and many other things wrought with
marvellous invention and incredible diligence and study.
After Duke Alessandro had been killed by the above-named Lorenzo, and
Cosimo had been elected Duke; in 1536, there came to be married to him
Signora Leonora di Toledo, a lady in truth most rare, and of such great
and incomparable worth, that she may be likened without question, and
perchance preferred, to the most celebrated and renowned woman in
ancient history. And for the nuptials, which took place on the 27th of
June in the year 1539, Aristotile made in the great court of the Medici
Palace, where the fountain is, another scenic setting that represented
Pisa, in which he surpassed himself, ever improving and achieving
variety; wherefore it will never be possible to put together a more
varied arrangement of doors and windows, or facades of palaces more
fantastic and bizarre, or streets and distant views that recede more
beautifully and comply more perfectly with the rules of perspective. And
he depicted there, besides all this, the Leaning Tower of the Duomo, the
Cupola, and the round Temple of S. Giovanni, with other features of that
city. Of the flights of steps that he made in the work, and how everyone
was deceived by them, I shall say nothing, lest I should appear to be
saying the same that has been said at other times; save only this, that
the flight of steps which appeared to rise from the ground to the stage
was octagonal in the centre and quadrangular at the sides--an artifice
extraordinary in its simplicity, which gave such grace to the
prospect-view above, that it would not be possible to find anything
better of that kind. He then arranged with much ingenuity a lantern of
wood in the manner of an arch, behind all the buildings, with a sun one
braccio high, in the form of a ball of crystal filled with distilled
water, behind which were two lighted torches, which rendered the sky of
the scenery and prospect-view so luminous, that it had the appearance of
the real and natural sun. This sun, which had around it an ornament of
golden rays that covered the curtain, was drawn little by little by
means of a small windlass that was there, in such a manner that at the
beginning of the performance the sun appeared to be rising, and then,
having climbed to the centre of the arch, it so descended that at the
end of the piece it was setting and sinking below the horizon.
The author of the piece was Antonio Landi, a gentleman of Florence, and
the interludes and music were in the hands of Giovan Battista Strozzi, a
man of very beautiful genius, who was then very young. But since enough
was written at that time about the other things that adorned the
performance, such as the interludes and music, I shall do no more than
mention who they were who executed certain pictures, and it must suffice
for the present to know that all the other things were carried out by
the above-named Giovan Battista Strozzi, Tribolo, and Aristotile. Below
the scenery of the comedy, the walls at the sides were divided into six
painted pictures, each eight braccia in height and five in breadth, and
each having around it an ornamental border one braccio and two-thirds in
width, which formed a frieze about it and was moulded on the side next
the picture, containing four medallions in the form of a cross, with two
Latin mottoes for each scene, and in the rest were suitable devices.
Over all, right round, ran a frieze of blue baize, save where the scene
was, above which was a canopy, likewise of baize, which covered the
whole court. On that frieze of baize, above every painted story, were
the arms of some of the most illustrious families with which the house
of Medici had kinship.
Beginning with the eastern side, then, next to the stage, in the first
picture, which was by the hand of Francesco Ubertini, called Il
Bacchiacca, was the Return from Exile of the Magnificent Cosimo de'
Medici; the device consisted of two Doves on a Golden Bough, and the
arms in the frieze were those of Duke Cosimo. In the second, which was
by the same hand, was the Journey of the Magnificent Lorenzo to Naples;
the device a Pelican, and the arms those of Duke Lorenzo--namely, Medici
and Savoy. In the third picture, painted by Pier Francesco di Jacopo di
Sandro, was Pope Leo X on his visit to Florence, being carried by his
fellow-citizens under the baldachin; the device was an Upright Arm, and
the arms those of Duke Giuliano--Medici and Savoy. In the fourth
picture, by the same hand, was Biegrassa taken by Signor Giovanni, who
was to be seen issuing victorious from that city; the device was Jove's
Thunderbolt, and the arms in the frieze were those of Duke
Alessandro--Austria and Medici. In the fifth, Pope Clement was crowning
Charles V at Bologna; the device was a Serpent that was biting its own
tail, and the arms were those of France and Medici. That picture was by
the hand of Domenico Conti, the disciple of Andrea del Sarto, who proved
that he had no great ability, being deprived of the assistance of
certain young men whose services he had thought to use, since all, both
good and bad, were employed; wherefore he was laughed at, who, much
presuming, at other times with little discretion had laughed at others.
In the sixth scene, the last on that side, by the hand of Bronzino, was
the Dispute that took place at Naples, before the Emperor, between Duke
Alessandro and the Florentine exiles, with the River Sebeto and many
figures, and this was a most beautiful picture, and better than any of
the others; the device was a Palm, and the arms those of Spain.
Opposite to the Return of Cosimo the Magnificent (that is, on the other
side), was the happy day of the birth of Duke Cosimo; the device was a
Phoenix, and the arms those of the city of Florence--namely, a Red Lily.
Beside this was the Creation, or rather, Election of the same Cosimo to
the dignity of Duke; the device was the Caduceus of Mercury, and in the
frieze were the arms of the Castellan of the Fortress; and this scene,
which was designed by Francesco Salviati, who had to depart in those
days from Florence, was finished excellently well by Carlo Portelli of
Loro. In the third were the three proud Campanian envoys, driven out of
the Roman Senate for their presumptuous demand, as Titus Livius relates
in the twentieth book of his history; and in that place they represented
three Cardinals who had come to Duke Cosimo, but in vain, with the
intention of removing him from the government; the device was a Winged
Horse, and the arms those of the Salviati and the Medici. In the fourth
was the Taking of Monte Murlo; the device an Egyptian Horn-owl over the
head of Pyrrhus, and the arms those of the houses of Sforza and Medici;
in which scene, painted by Antonio di Donnino, a bold painter of things
in motion, might be seen in the distance a skirmish of horsemen, which
was so beautiful that this picture, by the hand of a person reputed to
be feeble, proved to be much better than the works of some others who
were able men only by report. In the fifth could be seen Duke Alessandro
being invested by his Imperial Majesty with all the devices and insignia
of a Duke; the device was a Magpie, with leaves of laurel in its beak,
and in the frieze were the arms of the Medici and of Toledo; and that
picture was by the hand of Battista Franco the Venetian. In the last of
all those pictures were the Espousals of the same Duke Alessandro, which
took place at Naples; the devices were two Crows, the ancient symbols of
marriage, and in the frieze were the arms of Don Pedro di Toledo,
Viceroy of Naples; and that picture, which was by the hand of Bronzino,
was executed with such grace, that, like the first-named, it surpassed
the scenes of all the others.
By the same Aristotile, likewise, there was executed over the loggia a
frieze with other little scenes and arms, which was much extolled, and
which pleased his Excellency, who rewarded him liberally for the whole
work. Afterwards, almost every year, he executed scenery and
prospect-views for the comedies that were performed at Carnival time;
and he had in that manner of painting such assistance from nature and
such practice, that he had determined that he would write of it and
teach others; but this he abandoned, because the undertaking proved to
be more difficult than he had expected, but particularly because
afterwards commissions to execute prospect-views were given by new men
in authority at the Palace to Bronzino and Francesco Salviati, as will
be related in the proper place. Aristotile, therefore, perceiving that
many years had passed during which he had not been employed, went off
to Rome to find Antonio da San Gallo, his cousin, who, immediately after
his arrival, having received and welcomed him | 1,377.556487 |
2023-11-16 18:40:01.6351910 | 5,011 | 16 |
Produced by the Mormon Texts Project
(http://mormontextsproject.org), with thanks to Trevor
Nysetvold for proofreading.
DEFENSE OF THE FAITH
AND THE SAINTS
BY
B. H. ROBERTS
AUTHOR OF
"The Gospel"
"Outlines of Ecclesiastical History"
"New Witness for God"
"Mormon Doctrine of Deity"
Etc., Etc.
VOLUME II.
Salt Lake City
1912
GENERAL FOREWORD
No word of Preface is necessary to this Volume, except to say that
in presenting it to his readers, the author feels that that he is
fulfilling a promise made to them when Volume I of the series was
issued.
A word of explanation will be found as an introduction to each
subdivision of the book, which excludes the necessity of making any
reference to such subdivisions in this General Forward.
THE AUTHOR.
Salt Lake City, January, 1912.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
GENERAL FOREWORD
Part I.
ORIGIN OF THE BOOK OF MORMON.
Schroeder-Roberts' Debate.
Foreword.
The Appearing of Moroni.
The Book of Mormon.
Description of the Nephite Record.
THE ORIGIN OF THE BOOK OF MORMON.
By Theodore Schroeder.
I.
Solomon Spaulding and his first manuscript.
Spaulding's rewritten manuscript.
Erroneous theories examined.
II.
How about Sidney Rigdon?
Rigdon's prior religious dishonesty.
Rigdon had opportunity to steal the manuscript.
Rigdon's only denial analyzed.
Rigdon and Lambdin in 1815.
Rigdon exhibits Spaulding's manuscript.
Rigdon foreknows the coming and contents of the Book of Mormon.
III.
From Rigdon to Smith via P. P. Pratt.
Rigdon visits Smith before Mormonism.
The conversion of Parley P. Pratt.
Rigdon's miraculous conversion.
The plagiarism clinched.
IV.
For the love of gold, not God.
Concluding comment.
THE ORIGIN OF THE BOOK OF MORMON.
By Brigham H. Roberts.
I.
Justifications for replying to Mr. Schroeder.
Preliminary considerations.
Various classes of witnesses.
Conflicting theories of origin.
Mr. Schroeder's statement of his case.
The facts of the Spaulding manuscript.
The task of the present writer.
The enemies of the Prophet.
"Dr." Philastus Hurlburt.
Rev. Adamson Bently, et al.
II.
The "second" Spaulding manuscript.
The failure of Howe's book.
The Conneaut witnesses.
E. D. Howe discredited as a witness.
The Davidson statement.
Alleged statement of Mrs. Davidson, formerly the wife of Solomon
Spaulding.
The Haven-Davidson interview.
Mrs. Ellen E. Dickinson's repudiation of the Davidson statement.
Reverend John A. Clark and the Davidson statement.
Mutilation of the Haven-Davidson interview.
Mr. Schroeder and the Davidson statement.
Why Mr. Schroeder discredits the Spaulding witnesses.
III.
The connection of Sidney Rigdon with the Spaulding manuscript.
Of Rigdon's alleged "religious dishonesty."
Rigdon's opportunity to steal Spaulding's manuscript.
Did Rigdon exhibit the Spaulding manuscript.
Did Rigdon foreknown the coming and contents of the Book of Mormon?
Alexander Campbell and the Book of Mormon in 1831.
IV.
"The Angel of the Prairies."
The supposed meetings of Joseph Smith and Sidney Rigdon before the
publication of the Book of Mormon.
Of the conversion of Pratt and Rigdon.
The denials of Rigdon.
The real origin of the Spaulding theory.
The motive for publishing the Book of Mormon.
Concluding remarks.
Part II.
RECENT DISCUSSION OF MORMON AFFAIRS.
Foreword.
I.
AN ADDRESS.
By the Presidency of the Church.
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to the world.
II.
REVIEW OF ADDRESS TO THE WORLD.
By the Ministerial Association.
Foreword.
Review.
III.
ANSWER TO MINISTERIAL ASSOCIATION'S REVIEW.
By B. H. Roberts.
Foreword.
Answer.
Part III.
JOSEPH SMITH'S DOCTRINES VINDICATED.
Foreword.
I.
THE FIRST MESSAGE OF MORMONISM VINDICATED.
Joseph Smith's first vision.
"Creeds are an abomination."
God's first message confirmed.
Reform in Protestantism.
What Mormonism affirms.
Immortality of man.
II.
OTHER DOCTRINES OF JOSEPH SMITH VINDICATED BY THE COLLEGES.
I. Men the Avatars of God.
II. The Existence of a Plurality of Divine Intelligences--Gods.
Part IV.
MISCELLANEOUS DISCOURSES.
I.
THE SPIRIT OF MORMONISM; A SLANDER REFUTED.
Introductory.
People judged by their laws.
The calling of Sidney Rigdon.
A few days with the Prophet--Prayerfulness.
Woman's place in Mormonism.
God's Herald of the Resurrection and Human Brotherhood--Woman.
Unjust criticism answered.
By their works they shall be judged.
II.
ERRONEOUS IMPRESSIONS ABOUT THE LATTER-DAY SAINTS--SOME THINGS THEY DO
NOT BELIEVE.
Catholic belief.
Faith in the Godhead.
Erroneous reports.
Revelation quoted.
Belief in revelation.
Inspired utterances.
Revealed word.
God's word is Truth.
Testimony borne.
III.
THE THINGS OF GOD GREATER THAN MAN'S CONCEPTION OF THEM.
Divine things misjudged.
Marvelous work and a wonder.
The New Jerusalem.
Restoration of Israel.
Lost tribes in the north.
Israel now gathering.
Purposes of God will not fail.
IV.
MORMONISM AS A BODY OF DOCTRINE.
Introductory.
Mormon view of the universe.
Philosophy of Mormonism.
Source of moral evil.
The place and mission of Christ in Mormon doctrine.
V.
PEACE.
The blessedness of peace.
The God of Battles.
Justice the basis of peace.
VI.
THE MYSTERIOUS HARMONIES OF THE GREAT REPUBLIC.
Introduction.
The miracle of American achievements.
The inspiration of the founders of the American Constitution.
The unique things in American government.
Part I.
Origin of the Book of Mormon.
SCHROEDER-ROBERTS DEBATE.
Published with the consent and by courtesy of the National American
Society,
David I. Nelke, President.
FOREWORD.
The following debate on the "Origin of the Book of Mormon," came about
in the following manner: The writer saw in the _Salt Lake Tribune_ two
numbers of Mr. Schroeder's article and observing the general trend
of the argument felt that a prompt reply should appear in the same
publication, that it might be read by the same people who would read
Mr. Schroeder's article. A letter was accordingly addressed to the
_Tribune,_ to ascertain if that paper would publish a reply to Mr.
Schroeder. The Editor answered that the _Tribune_ was reproducing the
article from the _American Historical Magazine,_ published in New York,
and that perhaps its publishers would be pleased to receive a reply to
Mr. Schroeder. If the publishers of the _Historical Magazine_ accepted
such an article, the _Tribune_ would then be willing to reproduce it,
if the _Deseret News,_ the Mormon Church organ, would agree to publish
Mr. Schroeder's article.
This suggested a too complicated arrangement to suit the writer, hence
he dropped the matter with the _Tribune,_ and took it up with the
publishers of the _American Historical Magazine,_ who gave place to his
answer to Mr. Schroeder in current numbers of that publication, 1908-9.
And the writer has heard nothing from the _Tribune_ or Mr. Schroeder
since.
At the conclusion of the article on the "Origin of the Book of Mormon,"
the _Historical Magazine Company,_ Mr. David I. Nelke, President,
announced their willingness to publish in _Americana,_--which in the
meantime had succeeded the _American Historical Magazine_ a detailed
history of the "Mormon Church," if the writer would prepare it.
The History has been running in _Americana_ now for more than two and
a half years, and will continue until the History of the Church is
completed up to date.
* * * * * *
And now a word as to the origin of the Book of Mormon before presenting
the discussion. It will be an advantage to the reader if he has before
him Joseph Smith's account of the origin of the Book of Mormon. For our
present purpose the account the Prophet gives in his statement to Mr.
John Wentworth, of Chicago, of the origin of the Book of Mormon is,
on account of its brevity and comprehensiveness, most suitable. After
detailing the events of his first vision, received in the Spring of
1820, and the intervening three years, the Prophet comes to the Book of
Mormon part of his narrative:
THE APPEARING OF MORONI.
"On the evening of the 21st of September, A. D. 1823, while I was
praying unto God and endeavoring to exercise faith in the precious
promises of scripture, on a sudden a light like that of day, only
of a far purer and more glorious appearance and brightness, burst
into the room,--indeed the first sight was as though the house was
filled with consuming fire; the appearance producing a shock that
affected the whole body; in a moment a personage stood before me
surrounded with a glory yet greater than that with which I was
already surrounded. This messenger proclaimed himself to be an
angel of God, sent to bring the joyful tidings that the covenant
which God made with ancient Israel was at hand to be fulfilled;
that the preparatory work for the second coming of the Messiah was
speedily to commence; that the time was at hand for the gospel in
all its fulness to be preached in power unto all nations, that a
people might be prepared for the Millennial reign. I was informed
that I was chosen to be an instrument in the hands of God to bring
about some of His purposes in this glorious dispensation.
THE BOOK OF MORMON.
"I was also informed concerning the aboriginal inhabitants of this
country and shown who they were, and whence they came; a brief
sketch of their origin, progress, civilization, laws, governments;
of their righteousness and iniquity, and the blessings of God
being finally withdrawn from them as a people, was made known to
me; I was also told where were deposited some plates on which were
engraven an abridgment of the records of the ancient prophets that
had existed on this continent. The angel appeared to me three times
the same night and unfolded the same things. After having received
many visits from the angels of God unfolding the majesty and glory
of the events that should transpire in the last days, on the
morning of the 22d of September, A.D. 1827, the angel of the Lord
delivered the records into my hands.
DESCRIPTION OF THE NEPHITE RECORD.
"These records were engraven on plates which had the appearance
of gold; each plate was six inches wide and eight inches long,
and not quite so thick as common tin. They were filled with
engravings, in Egyptian characters, and bound together in a volume
as the leaves of a book, with three rings running through the
whole. The volume was something near six inches in thickness, a
part of which was sealed. The characters on the unsealed part were
small, and beautifully engraved. The whole book exhibited many
marks of antiquity in its construction and much skill in the art
of engraving. With the records was found a curious instrument,
which the ancients called 'Urim and Thummim,' which consisted
of two transparent stones set in the rim of a bow fastened to
a breastplate. Through the medium of the Urim and Thummim I
translated the record by the gift and power of God.
"In this important and interesting book the history of ancient
America is unfolded, from its first settlement by a colony that
came from the Tower of Babel, at the confusion of languages, to
the beginning of the fifth century of the Christian era. We are
informed by these records that America in ancient times had been
inhabited by two distinct races of people. The first was called
Jaredites and came directly from the Tower of Babel. The second
race came directly from the City of Jerusalem, about six hundred
years before Christ. They were principally Israelites, of the
descendants of Joseph. The Jaredites were destroyed about the time
that the Israelites came from Jerusalem, who succeeded them in the
inheritance of the country. The principal nation of the second race
fell in battle towards the close of the fourth century [A.D.].
The remnant are the Indians that now inhabit this country. This
book also tells us that our Savior made His appearance upon this
continent after His resurrection; that He planted the gospel here
in all its fulness, and richness, and power, and blessing; that
they had apostles, prophets, pastors, teachers, and evangelists;
the same order, the same priesthood, the same ordinances,
gifts, powers, and blessings, as were enjoyed on the Eastern
continent; that the people were cut off in consequence of their
transgressions; that the last of their prophets who existed among
them was commanded to write an abridgment of their prophecies,
history, etc., and to hide it up in the earth, and that it should
come forth and be united with the Bible for the accomplishment of
the purposes of God in the last days."
The book issued from the press sometime in the month of March, 1830. [A]
[Footnote A: For a more detailed account of the origin of the Book of
Mormon, see the writer's work, "New Witnesses for God," Vol. II, chs.
iv and viii.]
From the first appearance of Joseph Smith's account of the origin
of the Book of Mormon, there was felt the need of a counter theory
of origin. The first to respond to this "felt" need was Alexander
Campbell, founder of the "Disciples" or "Christian" Church. He
assigned the book's origin straight to Joseph Smith, whom he accused
of conscious fraud in "foisting it upon the public as a revelation."
This in 1831. Then came the Spaulding theory of origin by Hurlburt,
Howe, _et al.,_ 1834; for which Mr. Campbell repudiated his first
theory of the Joseph Smith authorship. In 1899 Lily Dougall in "The
Mormon Prophet," advanced her theory of the Prophet's "self delusion,"
"by the automatic freaks of a vigorous but undisciplined brain." This
was supplemented in 1902 by Mr. I. Woodbridge Riley's theory of "pure
hallucination, honestly mistaken for inspired vision; with partly
conscious and partly unconscious hypnotic powers over others." [B]
[Footnote B: Both the Dougall and Riley theories are considered in Vol.
I. of _Defense of the Faith and the Saints_, pp. 42-62; and the older
theories of the origin in _New Witness for God_, Vol. III, chas. xliv,
xlv.]
Mr. Schroeder, however, will have none of these later theories; and
although the finding of the Rev. Mr. Spauldings' "Manuscript Found,"
by Professor Fairchild of Oberlin College, in 1884--details of which
are given in the debate gave a serious set back to that theory, Mr.
Schroeder deems the Spaulding theory of the origin of the Book of
Mormon the only tenable counter theory advanced, and assuming the
existence of another Spaulding manuscript _not found,_ and not likely
to be found, he proceeds with his argument; to which I make answer,
with what success the reader must judge.
B. H. ROBERTS.
Salt Lake City, October, 1911.
THE ORIGIN OF THE BOOK OF MORMON.
BY THEODORE SCHROEDER
I.
Every complete, critical discussion of the divine origin of the Book
of Mormon naturally divides itself into three parts:--first, an
examination as to the sufficiency of the evidence adduced in support
of its miraculous and divine origin; second, an examination of the
internal evidences of its origin, [1] such as its verbiage, its alleged
history, chronology, archaeology, etc.; third, an accounting for its
existence by purely human agency and upon a rational basis, remembering
that Joseph Smith, the nominal founder and first prophet of Mormonism,
was probably too ignorant to have produced the whole volume unaided.
Under the last head, two theories have been advocated by non-Mormons.
By one of these, conscious fraud has been imputed to Smith, and by the
other, psychic mysteries have been explored [2] in an effort to supplant
the conscious fraud by an unconscious self-deception.
[Footnote 1: Valuable contributions to this study are Lamb's "Golden
Bible" and a pamphlet by Lamoni Call classifying two thousand
corrections in the inspired grammar of the first edition of the Book of
Mormon.]
[Footnote 2: The best effort along this line is Riley's "The Founder of
Mormonism." To me the conclusions are very unsatisfactory, because so
many material considerations were overlooked by that author.]
In 1834, four years after its first appearance, an effort was made to
show that the Book of Mormon was a plagiarism from an unpublished novel
of Solomon Spaulding. For a long time this seemed the accepted theory
of all non-Mormons. In the past fifteen years, apparently following
in the lead of President Fairchild of Oberlin College, [3] all but
two of the numerous writers upon the subject have asserted that the
theory of the Spaulding manuscript origin of the Book of Mormon must be
abandoned, and Mormons assert that only fools and knaves still profess
belief in it. [4] With these last conclusions I am compelled to disagree.
[Footnote 3: President Fairchild, in the New York _Observer_ for
February 5, 1885, that being immediately after his discovery of the
Oberlin Manuscript, says: "The theory of the origin of the Book of
Mormon in the traditional manuscript of Solomon Spaulding will probably
have to be relinquished. * * * Mr. Rice, myself, and others compared it
with the Book of Mormon, and could detect no resemblance between the
two in general or detail. * * * Some other explanation of the origin
of the Book of Mormon must be found, if an explanation is required."
(Reproduced in Whitney's "History of Utah," 56. Talmage's "Articles of
Faith," 278.)
Ten years later Mr. Fairchild is not so brash in assuming the Oberlin
Manuscript to be the only Spaulding Manuscript, and he certifies
only that the Oberlin Manuscript "is not the original of the Book
of Mormon." (Letter dated Oct. 17, 1895, published in vol. lx.,
_Millennial Star,_ p. 697, Nov. 3, 1898. Talmage's "Articles of Faith,"
279.)
_Fairchild's Latest Statement._--In 1900 President Fairchild wrote the
Rev. J. D. Nutting as follows:
"With regard to the manuscript of Mr. Spaulding now in the library of
Oberlin College, I have never stated, and know of no one who can state,
that it is the only manuscript which Spaulding wrote, or that it is
certainly the one which has been supposed to be the original of the
Book of Mormon. The discovery of this MS. does not prove that there may
not have been another, which became the basis of the Book of Mormon.
The use which has been made of statements emanating from me as implying
the contrary of the above is entirely unwarranted.
"JAMES H. FAIRCHILD"]
[Footnote 4: The _Deseret News_ editorially says this on July 19, 1900:
"The discovery of the manuscript written by Mr. Spaulding, and its
deposit in the library at Oberlin College, O., * * * has so completely
demolished the theory once relied upon by superficial minds that the
Book of Mormon was concocted from that manuscript, that it has been
entirely abandoned by all opponents of Mormonism except the densely
ignorant or unscrupulously dishonest."
And this on May 14, 1901:
"It is only the densely ignorant, the totally depraved and clergymen of
different denominations afflicted with anti-Mormon rabies who still use
the Spaulding story to account for the origin of the Book of Mormon."]
In setting forth my convictions and the reasons for them, I have
undertaken nothing entirely new, but have only assigned myself the task
of establishing as an historical fact what is now an abandoned and
almost forgotten theory. This will be done by marshaling in its support
a more complete array of the old evidences than has been heretofore
made and the addition of new circumstantial evidence not heretofore
used in this connection.
It will be shown that Solomon Spaulding was much interested in American
antiquities; that he wrote a novel entitled the "Manuscript Found," in
which he attempted to account for the existence of the American Indian
by giving him an Israelitish origin; that the first incomplete outline
of this story, with many features peculiar to itself and the Book of
Mormon, is now in the library of Oberlin College, and that while the
story as rewritten was in the hands of a prospective publisher, it
was stolen from the office under circumstances which caused Sidney
Rigdon, of early Mormon fame, to be suspected as the thief; that
later Rigdon, on two occasions, exhibited a similar manuscript which
in one instance he declared had been written by Spaulding and left
with a printer for publication. It will be shown further that Rigdon
had opportunity to steal the manuscript and that he foreknew the
forthcoming and the contents of the Book of Mormon; that through Parley
P. Pratt, later one of the first Mormon apostles, a plain and certain
connection is traced between Sidney Rigdon and Joseph Smith, and that
they were friends between 1827 and 1830. To all this will be added very
conclusive evidence of the identity of the distinguished | 1,377.655231 |
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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 in him
quick irritation. But had it been possible to frame an answer there was
no time, for just then the familiar cry, "_Vaminos!_" rang out, and the
American conductor hustled uncle, niece, and her dog into the nearest
car.
The entire incident had occupied little more than a moment, and as, a
little bewildered by its rush, Seyd stood looking after the train he
found himself automatically raising his cap in reply to a fluttering
handkerchief.
"You Yankees are certainly very enterprising."
Turning quickly, Seyd met again the glance of subtle hostility. But,
though he felt certain that the remark had been called forth by his
salute, he had no option but to apply it to the mining kit toward which
the other was pointing.
"You are for the mines, senor? In return for your service to my cousin
it is, perhaps, that I can be of assistance--in the hiring of men and
mules?"
While equally quiet and subtle, the patronage in his manner was easier
to meet. Undisturbed, however, when Seyd declined his offer, he
sauntered quietly away.
"_Bueno!_ As you wish."
CHAPTER II
"I'll be with you in a minute, folks."
To appreciate the accent which the American station agent laid on
"folks" it is necessary that one should have been marooned for a couple
of years in a ramshackle Mexican station with only a chocolate-skinned
henchman, or _mozo_, for companion. It asserted at once welcome and
patriotic feeling.
"You know this isn't the old United States," he added, hurrying by.
"These greasers are the limit. Close one eye for half a minute and when
you open it again it's a cinch you'll find the other gone. If they'd
just swipe each other's baggage it wouldn't be so bad. But they steal
their own, then sue the company for the loss. Here, you sons of burros,
drop that!" with which he dived headlong into the midst of the free
fight that a crowd of _cargadores_, or porters, were waging over the
up train baggage.
Taking warning, the two returned to their own baggage. As they waited,
talking, these two closest of friends offered a fairly startling
contrast. In the case of Seyd, a graduate in mining of California
University, years of study and strain had tooled his face till his
aggressive nose stood boldly out above hollowed cheeks and black-gray
eyes. A trifle over medium height, the hundred and sixty pounds he ought
to have carried had been reduced a good ten pounds by years of
prospecting in Mexico and Arizona. This loss of flesh, however, had been
more than made up by a corresponding gain in muscle. Moving a few paces
around the baggage, he exhibited the easy, steady movement that comes
from the perfect co-ordination of nerve and muscle. His feet seemed
first to feel, then to take hold of the ground. In fact, his entire
appearance conveyed the impression of force under perfect control, ready
to be turned loose in any direction.
Shorter than Seyd by nearly half a foot, Billy Thornton, on the other
hand, was red where the other was dark, loquacious instead of
thoughtful. From his fiery shock of red hair and undergrowths of red
stubble to his slangy college utterance he proved the theory of the
attraction of opposites. Bosom friends at college, it had always been
understood between them that when either got his "hunch" the other
should be called in to share it. And as the luck--in the shape of a rich
copper mine--had come first to Seyd, he had immediately wired for Billy.
They were talking it over, as they so often before had done, when the
agent returned.
"Why--you're the fellow that was down here last fall, ain't you?" he
asked, offering his hand. "Didn't recognize you at first. You don't mean
to say that you have denounced--"
"--The Santa Gertrudis prospect?" Seyd nodded. "He means the opposition
I told you we might expect." He answered Billy's look of inquiry.
"Opposition!" The agent spluttered. "That's one word for it. But since
you're so consarnedly cool about it, mister, let me tell you that this
makes the eleventh time that mine has been denounced, and so far nobody
has succeeded in holding it." Looking at Billy, probably as being the
more impressionable, he ran on: "The first five were Mex and as there
were no pesky foreign consuls to complicate the case with bothersome
inquiries, they simply vanished. One by one they came, hit the trail out
there in a cloud of dust, and were never seen again.
"After them came the Dutchman, a big fat fellow, obstinate as one of his
own mules, and a scrapper. For a while it looked as though he'd make
good--might have, perhaps, if he hadn't taken to using his dynamite box
for a pillow. You see, his peons used to steal the sticks to fish, and
so many of them blew themselves into kingdom come that he was always
running shy on labor. So, as I say, he used the box for a pillow till it
went off one night and distributed him all over the Barranca de
Guerrero. Just how it came about of course nobody knew, nor cared, and
they never did find a piece big enough to warrant an inquest. It just
went as accidental, and he'd scarcely, so to say, stopped raining before
a Frenchman jumped the claim. But he only lasted for a couple of days,
landed back here within a week, and jumped the up train without a word.
"Last came the English Johnnies, two of 'em, the real 'haw, haw' boys;
no end of style to them and their outfit. As they had hosts of friends
up Mexico City, it would never have done to use harsh measures. But if
the Johnnies had influence of one sort, Don Luis--he's the landowner,
you know--had it to burn of another. Not only did he gain a general's
commission during the revolutionary wars, but he's also a member of
the Mexican Congress, so close to the government that he needs only
to wink to get what he wants. So just about the time the Johnnies had
finished development work and begun to deliver ore out here at the
railroad--presto! freights went up, prices went down, till they'd wiped
out the last cent of profit. Out go the Johnnies--enter you." With real
earnestness he concluded: "Of course, there's nothing I'd like better
than to have you for neighbors. It ain't so damn lively here. But I'd
hate to see you killed. Take my advice, and quit."
He had addressed himself principally to Billy. But instead of
discouragement, impish delight illumined the latter's freckles.
"A full-sized general with the whole Mexican government behind him?
Bully! I never expected anything half so good. But, say! If the mine is
so rich why don't the old cock work it himself instead of leaving it to
be denounced by any old tramp?"
"Because he don't have to. He has more money now than he ever can use.
He is worth half a million in cattle alone. And he's your old-fashioned
sort that hate the very thought of change. By the way, he just left on
the up train, him and his niece."
"What, the girl with the dog?" Billy yelled it. "Didn't you see--no, you
were in the baggage-room. Well, he's our dearest friend--presented Seyd
here with all of his horses, cattle, lands, and friends. A bit of a
mining claim ought not to cut much ice in an order like that."
"You met them?" The agent shook his head, however, after he had heard
the particulars. "Don't count much on Spanish courtesies. They go no
deeper than the skin. Nice girl, the niece, more like us than Mex,
and she ain't full-blood, for matter of that. Her grandfather was
Irish, a free lance that fought with Diaz during the French war. His
son by a Mexican wife married Don Luis's sister, and when he died she
and her daughter came to keep the old fellow's house, for he's been
a widower these twenty years. Like most of the sprigs of the best
Mexican families, she was educated in Europe, so she speaks three
languages--English, French, and Spanish. Yes, they're nice people from
the old Don down, but lordy! how he hates us gringos. He'll repay you
for the life of the dog--perhaps by saving you alive for a month? But
after that--take my advice, and git."
While he was talking, Seyd had listened with quiet interest. Now he put
in, "We will--just as quickly as we can hire men and burros to pack our
stuff out to the mine."
"Well, if you will--you will." Having thus divested himself of
responsibility, the agent continued: "And here's where your troubles
begin. Though donkey-drivers are as thick as fleas in this town, I doubt
whether you can hire one to go to Santa Gertrudis."
"But the Englishmen?" Seyd questioned. "They must have had help."
"Brought their entire outfit down with them from Mexico City."
After Seyd's rejection of his offer the hacendado had entered into
conversation with a ranchero at the other end of the platform, and,
glancing a little regretfully in his direction, Seyd asked, "Do you
know him?"
The agent nodded. "Sebastien Rocha? Yes, he's a nephew to the General."
"He offered to get me mules."
"He did! Why, man alive! he hates gringos worse than--worse than I hate
Mexicans. _He_ offered you help? I doubt he'll do it when he knows
where you're going." In a last attempt at dissuasion he added, "But if
he doesn't I can't see how you can win out with rates and prices at the
same mark that wiped out the Johnnies."
"That's our business." Seyd laughed. Then, warmed by the honest fellow's
undoubted anxiety, he said, "Do you remember any consignment of brick
that ever came to this station?"
"Sure, three car loads, billed to the Dutchman. But what has that to
do--"
"Just this--that the man had the right idea. Though the mine is the
richest copper proposition I have ever seen--besides carrying gold
values sufficient to cover smelting expenses--it would never pay, as you
say, to ship it out at present prices. But once smelted down into copper
matte there's a fortune in it, as the Dutchman knew. He had already laid
out the foundation of an old-style Welsh smelter, and, though it isn't
very big, we propose to make it stake us to a modern plant."
"So that's your game!" The agent whistled.
"That's our game," Billy confirmed. "If dear cousin over there can only
be persuaded to furnish the mules we will do the rest. Go ask him, Bob."
Seyd hesitated. "I'm afraid that I turned him down rather roughly. Let's
try first ourselves."
For the last half hour their baggage had formed a center of interest
for the porters, mule-drivers, and hackmen who formed the bulk of the
crowd, and the snap of the agent's fingers brought a score of them
running. Each tried to make his calling and election sure by seizing a
piece of baggage. In ten seconds the pile was dissolved and was flowing
off in as many different directions when Seyd's answer to a question
brought all to a sudden halt.
"To the _mina_ Santa Gertrudis."
Crash! the kit of mining tools dropped from the shoulder of the muleteer
who had asked the question, and it had no more than touched earth before
it was buried under the other pieces.
"I told you so," the agent commented, and was going on when a voice
spoke in from their rear.
"What is the trouble, senors?"
The hacendado had approached unnoticed, and, turning quickly, Seyd met
for the third time the equivocal look, now lightened by a touch of
amusement. Suppressing a recurrence of irritation he answered, quietly:
"We wish to go to the hacienda San Nicolas, senor, upon which we have | 1,377.954438 |
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Produced by Tapio Riikonen and David Widger
DON CARLOS.
By Frederich Schiller
Translated by R. D. Boylan
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
PHILIP THE SECOND, King of Spain.
DON CARLOS, Prince, Son of Philip.
ALEXANDER FARNESE, Prince of Parma.
MARQUIS DE POSA.
DUKE OF ALVA.
Grandees of Spain:
COUNT LERMA, Colonel of the Body Guard,
DUKE OF FERIA, Knight of the Golden Fleece,
DUKE OF MEDINA SIDONIA, Admiral,
DON RAIMOND DE TAXIS, Postmaster-General,
DOMINGO, Confessor to the King.
GRAND INQUISITOR of Spain.
PRIOR of a Carthusian Convent.
PAGE of the Queen.
DON LOUIS MERCADO, Physician to the Queen.
ELIZABETH DE VALOIS, Queen of Spain.
INFANTA CLARA FARNESE, a Child three years of age.
DUCHESS D'OLIVAREZ, Principal Attendant on the Queen.
Ladies Attendant on the Queen:
MARCHIONESS DE MONDECAR,
PRINCESS EBOLI,
COUNTESS FUENTES,
Several Ladies, Nobles, Pages, Officers of the Body-Guard,
and mute Characters.
ACT I.
SCENE I.
The Royal Gardens in Aranjuez.
CARLOS and DOMINGO.
DOMINGO.
Our pleasant sojourn in Aranjuez
Is over now, and yet your highness quits
These joyous scenes no happier than before.
Our visit hath been fruitless. Oh, my prince,
Break this mysterious and gloomy silence!
Open your heart to your own father's heart!
A monarch never can too dearly buy
The peace of his own son--his only son.
[CARLOS looks on the ground in silence.
Is there one dearest wish that bounteous Heaven
Hath e'er withheld from her most favored child?
I stood beside, when in Toledo's walls
The lofty Charles received his vassals' homage,
When conquered princes thronged to kiss his hand,
And there at once six mighty kingdoms fell
In fealty at his feet: I stood and marked
The young, proud blood mount to his glowing cheek,
I saw his bosom swell with high resolves,
His eye, all radiant with triumphant pride,
Flash through the assembled throng; and that same eye
Confessed, "Now am I wholly satisfied!"
[CARLOS turns away.
This silent sorrow, which for eight long moons
Hath hung its shadows, prince, upon your brow--
The mystery of the court, the nation's grief--
Hath cost your father many a sleepless night,
And many a tear of anguish to your mother.
CARLOS (turning hastily round).
My mother! Grant, O heaven, I may forget
How she became my mother!
DOMINGO.
Gracious prince!
CARLOS (passing his hands thoughtfully over his brow).
Alas! alas! a fruitful source of woe
Have mothers been to me. My youngest act,
When first these eyes beheld the light of day,
Destroyed a mother.
DOMINGO.
Is it possible
That this reproach disturbs your conscience, prince?
CARLOS.
And my new mother! Hath she not already
Cost me my father's heart? Scarce loved at best.
My claim to some small favor lay in this--
I was his only child! 'Tis over! She
Hath blest him with a daughter--and who knows
What slumbering ills the future hath in store?
DOMINGO.
You jest, my prince. All Spain adores its queen.
Shall it be thought that you, of all the world,
Alone should view her with the eyes of hate--
Gaze on her charms, and yet be coldly wise?
How, prince? The loveliest lady of her time,
A queen withal, and once your own betrothed?
No, no, impossible--it cannot be!
Where all men love, you surely cannot hate.
Carlos could never so belie himself.
I prithee, prince, take heed she do not learn
That she hath lost her son's regard. The news
Would pain her deeply.
CARLOS. Ay, sir! think you so?
DOMINGO.
Your highness doubtless will remember how,
At the late tournament in Saragossa,
A lance's splinter struck our gracious sire.
The queen, attended by her ladies, sat
High in the centre gallery of the palace,
And looked upon the fight. A cry arose,
"The king! he bleeds!" Soon through the general din,
A rising murmur strikes upon her ear.
"The prince--the prince!" she cries, and forward rushed,
As though to leap down from the balcony,
When a voice answered, "No, the king himself!"
"Then send for his physicians!" she replied,
And straight regained her former self-composure.
[After a short pause.
But you seem wrapped in thought?
CARLOS. In wonder, sir,
That the king's merry confessor should own
So rare a skill in the romancer's art.
[Austerely.
Yet have I heard it said that those
Who watch men's looks and carry tales about,
Have done more mischief in this world of ours
Than the assassin's knife, or poisoned bowl.
Your labor, Sir, hath been but ill-bestowed;
Would you win thanks, go seek them of the king.
DOMINGO.
This caution, prince, is wise. Be circumspect
With men--but not with every man alike.
Repel not friends and hypocrites together;
I mean you well, believe me!
CARLOS. Say you so?
Let not my father mark it, then, or else
Farewell your hopes forever of the purple.
DOMINGO (starts).
CARLOS.
How!
CARLOS. Even so! Hath he not promised you
The earliest purple in the gift of Spain?
DOMINGO.
You mock me, prince!
CARLOS. Nay! Heaven forefend, that I
Should mock that awful man whose fateful lips
Can doom my father or to heaven or hell!
DOMINGO.
I dare not, prince, presume to penetrate
The sacred mystery of your secret grief,
Yet I implore your highness to remember
That, for a conscience ill at ease, the church
Hath opened an asylum, of which kings
Hold not the key--where even crimes are purged
Beneath the holy sacramental seal.
You know my meaning, prince--I've said enough.
CARLOS.
No! be it, never said, I tempted so
The keeper of that seal.
DOMINGO.
Prince, this mistrust--
You wrong the most devoted of your servants.
CARLOS.
Then give me up at once without a thought
Thou art a holy man--the world knows that--
But, to speak plain, too zealous far for me.
The road to Peter's chair is long and rough,
And too much knowledge might encumber you.
Go, tell this to the king, who sent thee hither!
DOMINGO.
Who sent me hither?
CARLOS. Ay! Those were my words.
Too well-too well, I know, that I'm betrayed,
Slandered on every hand--that at this court
A hundred eyes are hired to watch my steps.
I know, that royal Philip to his slaves
Hath sold his only son, and every wretch,
Who takes account of each half-uttered word,
Receives such princely guerdon as was ne'er
Bestowed on deeds of honor, Oh, I know
But hush!--no more of that! My heart will else
O'erflow and I've already said too much.
DOMINGO.
The king is minded, ere the set of sun,
To reach Madrid: I see the court is mustering.
Have I permission | 1,378.159491 |
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A Cabinet Secret
[Illustration: SHE STOOPED OVER ME. 'A Cabinet Secret.'
_Page 118._ (_Frontispiece_.)]
A Cabinet Secret
By Guy Boothby
Author of "Dr Nikola," "The Beautiful White Devil,"
"Pharos the Egyptian," "A Sailor's Bride," etc., etc.
With Illustrations by A. Wallis Mills
London
F. V. White & Co.
14 Bedford Street, Strand, W.C.
1901
INTRODUCTION
The Author deems it right to preface his work with the remark, that
while the War between England and the South African Republics forms the
basis of the story, the characters and incidents therein described are
purely fictional, and have no sort of resemblance, either intended or
implied, with living people. The Author's only desire is to show what,
under certain, doubtless improbable, conditions, might very well have
happened, had a secret power endeavoured to harass the Empire by taking
advantage of her temporary difficulties.
A CABINET SECRET
INTRODUCTION
Night was falling, and Naples Harbour, always picturesque, appeared even
more so than usual in the warm light of the departing day. The city
itself, climbing up the hillside, almost from the water's edge, was
a pale pink by the sunset, and even old Vesuvius, from whose
top a thin column of black smoke was issuing, seemed somewhat less
sombre than usual. Out Ischiawards, the heavens were a mass of gold and
crimson colouring, and this was reflected in the calm waters of the Bay,
till the whole world was a veritable glow. Taken altogether, a more
beautiful evening could scarcely have been desired. And yet it is not
with the city, the mountain, or the sunset, that we have to do, but
with the first movement of a conspiracy that was destined ultimately to
shake one of the greatest Empires, the earth has ever seen, to the very
foundations of its being.
Though the world was not aware of it, and would not, in all human
probability, have concerned itself very much about it even if it had,
the fact remains that for some hours past two men, from a house situated
on one of the loftiest pinnacles of the city, had been concentrating
their attention, by means of powerful glasses, upon the harbour, closely
scrutinizing every vessel that entered and dropped her anchor inside the
Mole.
"Can anything have happened that she does not come?" asked the taller of
the pair, as he put down his glasses, and began to pace the room. "The
cable said most distinctly that the steam yacht, _Princess
Badroulbadour_ passed through the Straits of Messina yesterday at seven
o'clock. Surely they should be here by this time?"
"One would have thought so," his companion replied. "It must be borne in
mind, however, that the _Princess_ is a private yacht, and it is more
likely, as the wind is fair, that the owner is sailing in order to save
his fuel."
"To the devil with him, then, for his English meanness," answered the
other angrily. "He does not know how anxious we are to see her."
"And, everything taken into consideration, it is just as well for us and
for the safety of his passengers that he does not," his friend retorted.
"If he did, his first act after he dropped anchor would be to hand them
over to the tender mercies of the Police. In that case we should be
ruined for ever and a day. Perhaps that aspect of the affair has not
struck you?"
"It is evident that you take me for a fool," the other answered angrily.
"Of course, I know all that; but it does not make me any the less
anxious to see them. Consider for a moment what we have at stake. Never
before has there been such a chance of bringing to her knees one of the
proudest nations of the earth. And to think that if that vessel does not
put in an appearance within the next few hours, all our preparations may
be in vain!"
"She will be here in good time, never fear," his companion replied
soothingly. "She has never disappointed us yet."
"Not willingly, I will admit," the other returned; "but in this matter
she may not be her own mistress. She is a beautiful woman, and for all
we know to the contrary, this English _milord_ may be prolonging the
voyage in order to enjoy her society. Who knows but that he may carry
her off altogether?"
"In that case his country should erect a memorial to him, similar to the
Nelson Monument," said the smaller man. "For it is certain he will have
rendered her as great a service as that empty-sleeved Hero ever did."
The other did not reply, but, after another impatient glance at the
Harbour, once more began to pace the room. He was a tall, | 1,378.454378 |
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THE CHILDREN'S PILGRIMAGE
BY
MRS. L. T. MEADE
THE CHILDREN'S PILGRIMAGE
FIRST PART.
"LOOKING FOR THE GUIDE."
"The night is dark, and I am far from home.
Lead Thou me on"
CHAPTER I.
"THREE ON A DOORSTEP."
In a poor part of London, but not in the very poorest part--two
children sat on a certain autumn evening, side by side on a doorstep.
The eldest might have been ten, the youngest eight. The eldest was a
girl, the youngest a boy. Drawn up in front of these children, looking
into their little faces with hungry, loving, pathetic eyes, lay a
mongrel dog.
The three were alone, for the street in which they sat was a
cul-de-sac--leading nowhere; and at this hour, on this Sunday evening,
seemed quite deserted. The boy and girl were no East End waifs; they
were clean; they looked respectable; and the doorstep which gave them a
temporary resting-place belonged to no far-famed Stepney or Poplar. It
stood in a little, old-fashioned, old-world court, back of Bloomsbury.
They were a foreign-looking little pair--not in their dress, which was
truly English in its clumsiness and want of picturesque coloring--but
their faces were foreign. The contour was peculiar, the setting of the
two pairs of eyes--un-Saxon. They sat very close together, a grave
little couple. Presently the girl threw her arm round the boy's neck,
the boy laid his head on her shoulder. In this position those who
watched could have traced motherly lines round this little girl's firm
mouth. She was a creature to defend and protect. The evening fell and
the court grew dark, but the boy had found shelter on her breast, and
the dog, coming close, laid his head on her lap.
After a time the boy raised his eyes, looked at her and spoke:
"Will it be soon, Cecile?"
"I think so, Maurice; I think it must be soon now."
"I'm so cold, Cecile, and it's getting so dark."
"Never mind, darling, stepmother will soon wake now, and then you can
come indoors and sit by the fire."
The boy, with a slight impatient sigh, laid his head once more on her
shoulder, and the grave trio sat on as before.
Presently a step was heard approaching inside the house--it came along
the passage, the door was opened, and a gentleman in a plain black coat
came out. He was a doctor and a young man. His smooth, almost boyish
face looked so kind that it could not but be an index to a charitable
heart.
He stopped before the children | 1,378.454498 |
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WOODSTOCK
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH
BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN, PH.D.
READ AT ROSELAND PARK, WOODSTOCK, CONNECTICUT, AT THE BI-CENTENNIAL
CELEBRATION OF THE TOWN, ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1886
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN
1886
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
As a full history of Woodstock has been in preparation for several
years and will, it is hoped, be published in the course of another
year, this brief sketch is issued as it was read at the Bi-Centennial
Anniversary of the town.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 7
II. THE SETTLEMENT OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY
AND OF ROXBURY 8
III. THE NIPMUCK COUNTRY AND THE VISIT OF
JOHN ELIOT TO THE INDIANS AT WABBAQUASSET,
OR WOODSTOCK 12
IV. THE SETTLEMENT OF NEW ROXBURY, OR
WOODSTOCK 20
V. THE CHANGE OF THE NAME OF NEW ROXBURY
TO WOODSTOCK 28
VI. THE GROWTH OF THE NEW TOWNSHIP--1690-1731 32
VII. ECCLESIASTICAL AFFAIRS 36
VIII. THE TRANSFER OF WOODSTOCK FROM MASSACHUSETTS
TO CONNECTICUT 43
IX. MILITARY RECORD 46
X. EDUCATIONAL MATTERS 53
XI. DISTINGUISHED CITIZENS 55
XII. CHARACTERISTICS OF WOODSTOCK 58
XIII. CONCLUSION 61
INDEX 63
I.
The history of the town of Woodstock is associated with the beginnings
of history in New England. The ideas of the first settlers of Woodstock
were the ideas of the first settlers of the Colony of Plymouth and
the Province of Massachusetts Bay. The planting of these colonies
was one of the fruits of the Reformation. The antagonism between the
Established Church of England and the Non-Conformists led to the
settlement of New England. The Puritans of Massachusetts, at first
Non-Conformists, became Separatists like the Pilgrims of Plymouth.
Pilgrims and Puritans alike accepted persecution and surrendered the
comforts of home to obtain religious liberty. They found it in New
England; and here, more quickly than in the mother country, they
developed also that civil liberty which is now the birthright of every
Anglo-Saxon.
II.
The settlement of Woodstock is intimately connected with the first
organized settlement on Massachusetts Bay; and how our mother town
of Roxbury was first established is best told in the words of Thomas
Dudley in his letter to the Countess of Lincoln under date of Boston,
March 12, 1630-1:
"About the year 1627 some friends, being together in Lincolnshire,
fell into discourse about New England and the planting of the
gospel there. In 1628 we procured a patent from his Majesty for
our planting between the Massachusetts Bay and Charles River on
the South and the River of Merrimack on the North and three miles
on either side of those rivers and bay... and the same year we
sent Mr. John Endicott and some with him to begin a plantation. In
1629 we sent divers ships over with about three hundred people. Mr.
Winthrop, of Suffolk (who was well known in his own country and
well approved here for his piety, liberality, wisdom, and gravity),
coming in to us we came to such resolution that in April, 1630, we
set sail from Old England.... We were forced to change counsel,
and, for our present shelter, to plant dispersedly."
Settlements were accordingly made at Salem, Charlestown, Boston,
Medford, Watertown, and in several other localities. The sixth
settlement was made, to quote further from the same letter to the
Countess of Lincoln, by "others of us two miles from Boston, in a place
we named Rocksbury."[1]
The date of settlement was September 28, 1630, and just three weeks
later the first General Court that ever sat in America was held in
Boston. The same year the first church in Boston was organized.[2]
Roxbury, like the other settlements of Massachusetts Bay, was a little
republic in itself. The people chose the selectmen and governed
themselves; and as early as 1634, like the seven other organized towns,
they sent three deputies to Boston to attend the first representative
Assembly at which important business was transacted. The government
of Roxbury, like the other plantations, was founded on a theocratic
basis. Church and state were inseparable. No one could be admitted
as a citizen unless he was a member of the church. Many of the first
settlers came from Nazing, a small village in England, about twenty
miles from London, on the river Lee. Morris, Ruggles, Payson, and
Peacock, names read in the earliest records of Woodstock, were old
family names in Nazing. Other first inhabitants of Roxbury came from
Wales and the west of England, or London and its vicinity. Among the
founders were John Johnson, Richard Bugbee, and John Leavens, whose
family names are well known as among the first settlers of Woodstock.
All were men of property[3]; none were "of the poorer sort." In 1631
the Rev. John Eliot, a native of the village of Nazing, arrived with a
company of Nazing pilgrims. Eliot, though earnestly solicited to become
pastor of the church in Boston,[4] accepted the charge of the church
in Roxbury, which was organized in 1632,[5] and was the sixth church,
in order of time, established in New England. Another name equally
prominent in the earliest years of the history of Roxbury was that of
William Pynchon, afterwards known as the founder of Springfield in
Massachusetts. Only Boston excels Roxbury in the number of its citizens
who have made illustrious the early history of the Massachusetts
colony.[6] Among the early settlers of Roxbury who themselves became,
or whose descendants became, the early settlers of Woodstock, were the
Bartholomews, Bowens, Bugbees, Chandlers, Childs, Corbins, Crafts,
Griggses, Gareys, Holmeses, Johnsons, Lyons, Levinses, Mays, Morrises,
Paysons, Peacocks, Peakes, Perrins, Scarboroughs, and Williamses.[7]
In 1643 the towns within the jurisdiction of Massachusetts had grown
to thirty, and Roxbury did more than her share towards the organization
of the new towns. In fact, Roxbury has been called the mother of
towns, no less than fifteen communities having been founded by her
citizens.[8] Among the most important of these settlements was the town
of Woodstock, whose Bicentennial we this day celebrate.
III.
A glance at the country about us previous to the settlement of the
town, in 1686, shows us a land sparsely inhabited by small bands of
peaceful Indians, without an independent chief of their own, but who
paid tribute to the Sachem of the Mohegans, the warriors who had
revolted from the Pequots. Woodstock was a portion of the Nipmuck[9]
country, so-called because it contained fresh ponds or lakes in
contrast to other sections that bordered upon the sea or along running
rivers. Wabbaquasset, or the mat-producing place, was the name of the
principal Indian village, and that name still exists in the corrupted
form of Quasset to designate a section of the town. Indians from
the Nipmuck[10] country took corn to Boston in 1630, soon after the
arrival of the "Bay Colony"; and in 1633[11] John Oldman and his three
Dorchester companions passed through this same section on their way to
learn something of the Connecticut River country; and they may have
rested on yonder "Plaine Hill," for history states that they "lodged
at Indians towns all the way."[12] The old "Connecticut Path" over
which that distinguished band[13] of colonists went in 1635 and 1636 to
settle the towns of Windsor, Wethersfield, and Hartford, passed through
the heart of what is now Woodstock.[14] This path so famous in the
early days of New England history, came out of Thompson Woods, a little
north of Woodstock Lake, and proceeding across the Senexet meadow, ran
west near Plaine Hill, Marcy's Hill, and a little south of the base of
Coatney Hill. For more than fifty years before the settlement of the
town, this historic path near Woodstock Hill was the outlet for the
surplus population of Massachusetts Bay and the line of communication
between Massachusetts and the Connecticut and New Haven colonies.
But the most noteworthy feature in the description of the Indians of
the Nipmuck country is that as early as 1670 they were formed into
Praying Villages. Evidently the instructions of Gov. Cradock in his
letter of March, 1629, to John Endicott had not been forgotten. In that
letter he said: "Be not unmindful of the main end of our plantation
by endeavoring to bring the Indians to the knowledge of the gospel."
In the heart of one man at least that idea was paramount. John Eliot,
the Apostle to the Indians, was not content to be simply the pastor of
the church of Roxbury for nearly sixty years. Amid his countless other
labors he preached the gospel to the Indians of the Nipmuck country.
The first Indian church in America had been established by him at
Natick in 1651; and, in 1674, he visited the Indian villages in the
wild territory about these very hills. As he found it, to quote his own
words,[15] "absolutely necessary to carry on civility with religion,"
he was accompanied by Major Daniel Gookin, who had been appointed, in
1656, magistrate of all the Indian towns. Maanexit was first visited
on the Mohegan or Quinebaug River, near what is now New Boston, where
Eliot preached to the natives, using as his text the seventh verse of
the twenty-fourth Psalm: "Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye
lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the king of glory shall come in."
Quinnatisset, on what is now Thompson Hill, was the name of another
Praying Town. But a quotation[16] from the homely narrative of Major
Gookin is the best description of Eliot's memorable visit to Woodstock:
"We went not to it [Quinnatisset], being straitened for time, but
we spake with some of the principal people at Wabquissit.[17]...
Wabquissit... lieth about nine or ten miles from Maanexit, upon
the west side, six miles of Mohegan River, and is distant from
Boston west and by south, about seventy-two miles. It lieth about
four miles within the Massachusetts south line. It hath about
thirty families, and one hundred and fifty souls. It is situated in
a very rich soil, manifested by the goodly crop of Indian corn then
newly ingathered, not less than forty bushels upon an acre. We came
thither late in the evening upon the 15th of September, and took
up our quarters at the sagamore's wigwam, who was not at home: but
his squaw courteously admitted us, and provided liberally, in their
way, for the Indians that accompanied us. This sagamore inclines to
religion, and keeps the meeting on sabbath days at his house, which
is spacious, about sixty feet in length and twenty feet in width.
The teacher of this place is named Sampson; an active and ingenious
person. He speaks good English and reads well. He is brother
unto Joseph, before named, teacher at Chabanakougkomun[18]...
being both hopeful, pious, and active men; especially the younger
before-named Sampson, teacher at Wabquissit, who was, a few years
since, a dissolute person, and I have been forced to be severe
in punishing him for his misdemeanors formerly. But now he is,
through grace, changed and become sober and pious; and he is now
very thankful to me for the discipline formerly exercised towards
him. And besides his flagitious life heretofore, he lived very
uncomfortably with his wife; but now they live very well together,
I confess this story is a digression. But because it tendeth to
magnify grace, and that to a prodigal, and to declare how God
remembers his covenant unto the children of such as are faithful
and zealous for him in their time and generation, I have mentioned
it.
"We being at Wabquissit, at the sagamore's wigwam, divers of the
principal people that were at home came to us, with whom we spent a
good part of the night in prayer, singing psalms, and exhortations.
There was a person among them, who, sitting mute a great space, at
last spake to this effect: That he was agent for Unkas, Sachem of
Mohegan, who challenged right to, and dominion over | 1,378.554197 |
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[Transcriber's note: Underscores have been used to indicate _italic_
fonts. Original spelling variants have not been standardized. In the
tables, _s._ or s. was used for Shillings; and _d._ or d. for Pence. "It
should also be noted that slight errors of a few farthings in the
additions have crept into the totals of some of the columns, but as they
do not affect the accuracy of the wage figures the Appendix has been
copied exactly as it was published." (Appendix VI.)]
WOMEN IN THE PRINTING TRADES:
A SOCIOLOGICAL STUDY.
EDITED BY
J. RAMSAY MACDONALD,
WITH A PREFACE BY PROFESSOR F. Y. EDGEWORTH.
INVESTIGATORS:
MRS. J. L. HAMMOND, MRS. H. OAKESHOTT, MISS A. BLACK, MISS A. HARRISON,
MISS IRWIN, and Others.
LONDON: P. S. KING & SON,
ORCHARD HOUSE, WESTMINSTER.
1904.
PREFACE.
My only qualification for writing this preface is the circumstance that,
as a representative of the Royal Economic Society, I attended the
meetings of the Committee appointed to direct and conduct the
investigations of which the results are summarised in the following
pages. From what I saw and heard at those meetings I received the
impression that the evidence here recorded was collected with great
diligence and sifted with great care. It seems to constitute a solid
contribution to a department of political economy which has perhaps not
received as much attention as it deserves.
Among the aspects of women's work on which some new light has been
thrown, is the question why women in return for the same or a not very
different amount of work should often receive very much less wages. It
is a question which not only in its bearing on social life is of the
highest practical importance, but also from a more abstract point of
view is of considerable theoretical interest, so far as it seems to
present the paradox of _entrepreneurs_ paying at very different rates
for factors of production which are not so different in efficiency.
The question as stated has some resemblance to the well-known demand for
an explanation which Charles II. preferred to the Royal Society: there
occurs the preliminary question whether the circumstance to be explained
exists. The alleged disproportion between the remuneration of men and
women is indeed sometimes only apparent, or at least appears to be
greater than it is really. Often, however, it is real and great where it
is not apparent.
On the one hand, in many cases in which at first sight women seem to be
doing the same work as men for less pay, it is found on careful inquiry,
that they are not doing the same work. "The same work nominally is not
always the same work actually," as the Editor reminds us (Chapter IV.
par. 1). "Men feeders, for instance, carry formes and do little things
about the machine which women do not do." In this and other ways men
afford to the employer a greater "net advantageousness," as Mr. Sidney
Webb puts it in his valuable study on the "Alleged Differences in the
Wages paid to Men and to Women for similar Work" (_Economic Journal_,
Vol. I. pp. 635 _et seq._). The examples of this phenomenon adduced by
Mr. Webb, and in the evidence before the Royal Commission on Labour, are
supplemented by these records. To instance one of the less obvious ways
in which a difference in net advantageousness makes itself felt,
employers say: "It does not pay to train women: they would leave us
before we got the same return for our trouble as we get from men." At
the same time it is to be noticed in many of these cases that though the
work of women is less efficient, it is not so inferior as their pay. For
instance, a Manchester employer "estimated that a woman was two-thirds
as valuable in a printer's and stationer's warehouse as a man, and she
was paid 15_s._ or 20_s._ to his 33 | 1,378.656336 |
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Richard Rogers Bowker
COPYRIGHT: ITS HISTORY AND ITS LAW.
THE ARTS OF LIFE.
OF BUSINESS.
OF POLITICS.
OF RELIGION.
OF EDUCATION.
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT
ITS HISTORY AND ITS LAW
BEING A SUMMARY OF THE
PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF COPYRIGHT
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO
THE AMERICAN CODE OF 1909 AND
THE BRITISH ACT OF 1911
BY
RICHARD ROGERS BOWKER
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
1912
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY R. R. BOWKER
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SEA-DOGS ALL!
A Tale of Forest and Sea
by
TOM BEVAN
Author of
"Red Dickon the Outlaw,"
"The Fen Robbers,"
etc., etc.
[Frontispiece: Dolly stood near the fire, her face rosy with the heat]
Thomas Nelson and Sons
London, Edinburgh, Dublin, and New York
1911
CONTENTS.
I. The Man in Black
II. The Plotters
III. Two Friends
IV. Johnnie Morgan takes a Walk
V. Master Windybank
VI. A Sinister Meeting
VII. In the Toils
VIII. Master Windybank walks abroad
IX. The Hunt
X. Master Windybank rebels
XI. Darkness and the River
XII. Snaring a Flock of Night Ravens
XIII. A Double Fight
XIV. What happened in Westbury Steeple
XV. A Letter from Court
XVI. To London Town
XVII. Sir Walter as Chaperon
XVIII. Three Broken Mariners
XIX. Paignton Rob's Story
XX. Rob dines at "Ye Swanne"
XXI. Morgan goes to Whitehall
XXII. The Queen
XXIII. Johnnie sees many Sights
XXIV. Two Chance Wayfarers
XXV. Brother Basil
XXVI. All on a bright March Morning
XXVII. In Plymouth
XXVIII. The Parlour of the "Blue Dolphin"
XXIX. The Widow's House
XXX. Ho! for the Spanish Main
XXXI. In the Bay of San Joseph
XXXII. A Glimpse of the Fabled City
XXXIII. Wandering in a Maze
XXXIV. Flood and Fever
XXXV. A Foe
XXXVI. The Attack on the Village
XXXVII. Council Fires in Two Places
XXXVIII. The Way back
XXXIX. John Oxenham's Creek
XL. A Haven of Peace
XLI. The Trap
XLII. Captives
XLIII. In Panama
XLIV. The Trial
XLV. For Faith and Country!
XLVI. The Galley Slaves
XLVII. Hernando speaks
XLVIII. The Revolt of the Slaves
XLIX. Eastward Ho!
L. Home
LI. The Forest again--and the Sea
List of Illustrations
Cover art
Dolly stood near the fire, her face rosy with the heat.. _Frontispiece_
The odds were hopelessly against him.
SEA-DOGS ALL!
Chapter I.
THE MAN IN BLACK.
The river-path along the Severn shore at Gatcombe was almost knee-deep
with turbid water, and only a post here and there showed where river
ordinarily ended and firm land began. Fishers and foresters stood in
the pelting rain and buffeting wind anxiously calculating what havoc
the sudden summer storm might work, helpless themselves to put forth a
hand to save anything from its fury. Stout doors and firm casements
(both were needed in the river-side hamlet) bent with the fury of the
sou'-wester that beat upon them. The tide roared up the narrowing
estuary like a mill-race, and the gale tore off the tops of the waves,
raised them with the lashing raindrops, and hurled both furiously
against everything that fringed the shore. Gatcombe Pill leapt and
plunged muddily between its high, red banks, and the yellow tide surged
up the opening and held back the seething waters like a dam. There was
black sky above, and many- earth and water below.
The lading jetty against the village only appeared at odd moments above
the tumult of waters, and a couple of timber ships that lay on the
north side, partially loaded, were plunging and leaping at their anchor
cables like two dogs at the end of their chains. Great oaken logs
bobbed up and down like corks, or raced with the current upstream; the
product of many weeks' timber-cutting in the forest would be scattered
as driftwood from Gloucester to the shores of Devon and Wales.
On the high bank above Gatcombe, one other man, half hidden by the
thick trees, braved the fury of the storm. There was nothing of the
fisher or forester about him; the pale, worn face and the tall, lean
figure soberly clad in black betokened the monk or the scholar, but
claimed no kinship with them that toiled in the woodlands or won a
living from the dangerous sea. Leaning against a giant beech that
rocked in wild rhythm with the storm, he watched the wind and tide at
their work of devastation, an odd smile of satisfaction playing about
the corners of his thin lips.
"A hundred candles to St. James for this tempest!" he murmured. "If
the ships do but break loose and get aground, I will tramp Christendom
for the money to build him a church." But though the man in black
watched the river for the space of two hours longer, his hopes of utter
destruction were unrealized; the cables held, the rain ceased, the wind
abated, and the tide began to run seawards once more. Bit by bit the
jetty rose above the swirling waters. Inshore the sands of the
river-bed were uncovered, and the fishers and wharfmen swarmed along
them and on the pier, saving from the sea the logs of oak that were
within reach. For a while the man on the cliff watched them; then he
turned aside into the dripping recesses of the forest. "Comfort
thyself," he said, tapping his bosom as he walked; "the omens are good.
What water hath commenced, the fire shall finish!"
Almost upon the instant a sturdy figure broke from the bushes above
Gatcombe Pill and hurried along the cliff towards the harbour.
Deep-chested, full-throated, weather-stained, compacted of brawn and
sinew, he looked the ruddy-faced, daring sailor-man, every inch of him.
From crown to toe he was clad in homely gray; but if, on the one hand,
the ass peeps out from the borrowed lion's skin, so will royalty shine
through fustian; and the newcomer had the air of a king among men. He
hallooed to the ships, and then hastily scrambled down the cliff.
Only the groaning of the trees and rustling of the undergrowth hid the
footfalls of the man in black from the ears of the man in gray. He was
looking for him, but the time when they should meet was not yet come.
Chapter II.
THE PLOTTERS.
The morrow after the storm was windless and genial; the morning stepped
out from the east bearing the promise of a fine day; the tide was
running strongly to the sea. At Newnham the ferryman stood knee-deep
in the water washing his boat and hoping for a fare. The man in black
came down and was carried across to Arlingham. He asked many questions
concerning the tides and the sands. The water ran like a mill-race
round the Nab, and the stranger crossed himself when he entered the
boat, and again when the ferryman took him on his back to carry him
through the shallow water and the mud. He paid the penny for the
passage, and then vanished quickly into the trees that shut in the
village of Arlingham from the river. The boatman watched him curiously | 1,378.855604 |
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Produced by Jim Tinsley
SOMETHING NEW
by Pelham Grenville Wodehouse
CHAPTER I
The sunshine of a fair Spring morning fell graciously on London
town. Out in Piccadilly its heartening warmth seemed to infuse
into traffic and pedestrians alike a novel jauntiness, so that | 1,378.955882 |
2023-11-16 18:40:03.0370290 | 3,486 | 18 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE POETICS OF ARISTOTLE
By Aristotle
A Translation By S. H. Butcher
[Transcriber's Annotations and Conventions: the translator left
intact some Greek words to illustrate a specific point of the original
discourse. In this transcription, in order to retain the accuracy of
this text, those words are rendered by spelling out each Greek letter
individually, such as {alpha beta gamma delta...}. The reader can
distinguish these words by the enclosing braces {}. Where multiple
words occur together, they are separated by the "/" symbol for clarity.
Readers who do not speak or read the Greek language will usually neither
gain nor lose understanding by skipping over these passages. Those who
understand Greek, however, may gain a deeper insight to the original
meaning and distinctions expressed by Aristotle.]
Analysis of Contents
I 'Imitation' the common principle of the Arts of Poetry.
II The Objects of Imitation.
III The Manner of Imitation.
IV The Origin and Development of Poetry.
V Definition of the Ludicrous, and a brief sketch of the rise of
Comedy.
VI Definition of Tragedy.
VII The Plot must be a Whole.
VIII The Plot must be a Unity.
IX (Plot continued.) Dramatic Unity.
X (Plot continued.) Definitions of Simple and Complex Plots.
XI (Plot continued.) Reversal of the Situation, Recognition, and
Tragic or disastrous Incident defined and explained.
XII The 'quantitative parts' of Tragedy defined.
XIII (Plot continued.) What constitutes Tragic Action.
XIV (Plot continued.) The tragic emotions of pity and fear should
spring out of the Plot itself.
XV The element of Character in Tragedy.
XVI (Plot continued.) Recognition: its various kinds, with examples.
XVII Practical rules for the Tragic Poet.
XVIII Further rules for the Tragic Poet.
XIX Thought, or the Intellectual element, and Diction in Tragedy.
XX Diction, or Language in general.
XXI Poetic Diction.
XXII (Poetic Diction continued.) How Poetry combines elevation of
language with perspicuity.
XXIII Epic Poetry.
XXIV (Epic Poetry continued.) Further points of agreement with Tragedy.
XXV Critical Objections brought against Poetry, and the principles on
which they are to be answered.
XXVI A general estimate of the comparative worth of Epic Poetry and
Tragedy.
ARISTOTLE'S POETICS
I
I propose to treat of Poetry in itself and of its various kinds, noting
the essential quality of each; to inquire into the structure of the plot
as requisite to a good poem; into the number and nature of the parts of
which a poem is composed; and similarly into whatever else falls within
the same inquiry. Following, then, the order of nature, let us begin
with the principles which come first.
Epic poetry and Tragedy, Comedy also and Dithyrambic: poetry, and the
music of the flute and of the lyre in most of their forms, are all in
their general conception modes of imitation. They differ, however, from
one: another in three respects,--the medium, the objects, the manner or
mode of imitation, being in each case distinct.
For as there are persons who, by conscious art or mere habit, imitate
and represent various objects through the medium of colour and form, or
again by the voice; so in the arts above mentioned, taken as a whole,
the imitation is produced by rhythm, language, or 'harmony,' either
singly or combined.
Thus in the music of the flute and of the lyre, 'harmony' and rhythm
alone are employed; also in other arts, such as that of the shepherd's
pipe, which are essentially similar to these. In dancing, rhythm alone
is used without 'harmony'; for even dancing imitates character, emotion,
and action, by rhythmical movement.
There is another art which imitates by means of language alone, and
that either in prose or verse--which, verse, again, may either combine
different metres or consist of but one kind--but this has hitherto been
without a name. For there is no common term we could apply to the mimes
of Sophron and Xenarchus and the Socratic dialogues on the one hand;
and, on the other, to poetic imitations in iambic, elegiac, or any
similar metre. People do, indeed, add the word'maker' or 'poet' to
the name of the metre, and speak of elegiac poets, or epic (that is,
hexameter) poets, as if it were not the imitation that makes the poet,
but the verse that entitles them all indiscriminately to the name. Even
when a treatise on medicine or natural science is brought out in verse,
the name of poet is by custom given to the author; and yet Homer and
Empedocles have nothing in common but the metre, so that it would be
right to call the one poet, the other physicist rather than poet. On the
same principle, even if a writer in his poetic imitation were to combine
all metres, as Chaeremon did in his Centaur, which is a medley composed
of metres of all kinds, we should bring him too under the general term
poet. So much then for these distinctions.
There are, again, some arts which employ all the means above mentioned,
namely, rhythm, tune, and metre. Such are Dithyrambic and Nomic poetry,
and also Tragedy and Comedy; but between them the difference is, that in
the first two cases these means are all employed in combination, in the
latter, now one means is employed, now another.
Such, then, are the differences of the arts with respect to the medium
of imitation.
II
Since the objects of imitation are men in action, and these men must be
either of a higher or a lower type (for moral character mainly answers
to these divisions, goodness and badness being the distinguishing marks
of moral differences), it follows that we must represent men either as
better than in real life, or as worse, or as they are. It is the same
in painting. Polygnotus depicted men as nobler than they are, Pauson as
less noble, Dionysius drew them true to life.
Now it is evident that each of the modes of imitation above mentioned
will exhibit these differences, and become a distinct kind in imitating
objects that are thus distinct. Such diversities may be found even in
dancing, flute-playing, and lyre-playing. So again in language, whether
prose or verse unaccompanied by music. Homer, for example, makes men
better than they are; Cleophon as they are; Hegemon the Thasian, the
inventor of parodies, and Nicochares, the author of the Deiliad, worse
than they are. The same thing holds good of Dithyrambs and Nomes;
here too one may portray different types, as Timotheus and Philoxenus
differed in representing their Cyclopes. The same distinction marks
off Tragedy from Comedy; for Comedy aims at representing men as worse,
Tragedy as better than in actual life.
III
There is still a third difference--the manner in which each of these
objects may be imitated. For the medium being the same, and the objects
the same, the poet may imitate by narration--in which case he can either
take another personality as Homer does, or speak in his own person,
unchanged--or he may present all his characters as living and moving
before us.
These, then, as we said at the beginning, are the three differences
which distinguish artistic imitation,--the medium, the objects, and the
manner. So that from one point of view, Sophocles is an imitator of the
same kind as Homer--for both imitate higher types of character; from
another point of view, of the same kind as Aristophanes--for both
imitate persons acting and doing. Hence, some say, the name of 'drama'
is given to such poems, as representing action. For the same reason the
Dorians claim the invention both of Tragedy and Comedy. The claim to
Comedy is put forward by the Megarians,--not only by those of Greece
proper, who allege that it originated under their democracy, but also
by the Megarians of Sicily, for the poet Epicharmus, who is much earlier
than Chionides and Magnes, belonged to that country. Tragedy too is
claimed by certain Dorians of the Peloponnese. In each case they appeal
to the evidence of language. The outlying villages, they say, are by
them called {kappa omega mu alpha iota}, by the Athenians {delta eta
mu iota}: and they assume that Comedians were so named not from {kappa
omega mu 'alpha zeta epsilon iota nu}, 'to revel,' but because they
wandered from village to village (kappa alpha tau alpha / kappa omega mu
alpha sigma), being excluded contemptuously from the city. They add
also that the Dorian word for 'doing' is {delta rho alpha nu}, and the
Athenian, {pi rho alpha tau tau epsilon iota nu}.
This may suffice as to the number and nature of the various modes of
imitation.
IV
Poetry in general seems to have sprung from two causes, each of them
lying deep in our nature. First, the instinct of imitation is implanted
in man from childhood, one difference between him and other animals
being that he is the most imitative of living creatures, and through
imitation learns his earliest lessons; and no less universal is the
pleasure felt in things imitated. We have evidence of this in the facts
of experience. Objects which in themselves we view with pain, we delight
to contemplate when reproduced with minute fidelity: such as the forms
of the most ignoble animals and of dead bodies. The cause of this again
is, that to learn gives the liveliest pleasure, not only to philosophers
but to men in general; whose capacity, however, of learning is more
limited. Thus the reason why men enjoy seeing a likeness is, that in
contemplating it they find themselves learning or inferring, and saying
perhaps, 'Ah, that is he.' For if you happen not to have seen the
original, the pleasure will be due not to the imitation as such, but to
the execution, the colouring, or some such other cause.
Imitation, then, is one instinct of our nature. Next, there is the
instinct for 'harmony' and rhythm, metres being manifestly sections of
rhythm. Persons, therefore, starting with this natural gift developed
by degrees their special aptitudes, till their rude improvisations gave
birth to Poetry.
Poetry now diverged in two directions, according to the individual
character of the writers. The graver spirits imitated noble actions, and
the actions of good men. The more trivial sort imitated the actions of
meaner persons, at first composing satires, as the former did hymns to
the gods and the praises of famous men. A poem of the satirical kind
cannot indeed be put down to any author earlier than Homer; though many
such writers probably there were. But from Homer onward, instances
can be cited,--his own Margites, for example, and other similar
compositions. The appropriate metre was also here introduced; hence the
measure is still called the iambic or lampooning measure, being that
in which people lampooned one another. Thus the older poets were
distinguished as writers of heroic or of lampooning verse.
As, in the serious style, Homer is pre-eminent among poets, for he alone
combined dramatic form with excellence of imitation, so he too first
laid down the main lines of Comedy, by dramatising the ludicrous instead
of writing personal satire. His Margites bears the same relation to
Comedy that the Iliad and Odyssey do to Tragedy. But when Tragedy and
Comedy came to light, the two classes of poets still followed their
natural bent: the lampooners became writers of Comedy, and the Epic
poets were succeeded by Tragedians, since the drama was a larger and
higher form of art.
Whether Tragedy has as yet perfected its proper types or not; and
whether it is to be judged in itself, or in relation also to the
audience,--this raises another question. Be that as it may, Tragedy--as
also Comedy--was at first mere improvisation. The one originated with
the authors of the Dithyramb, the other with those of the phallic songs,
which are still in use in many of our cities. Tragedy advanced by slow
degrees; each new element that showed itself was in turn developed.
Having passed through many changes, it found its natural form, and there
it stopped.
Aeschylus first introduced a second actor; he diminished the importance
of the Chorus, and assigned the leading part to the dialogue. Sophocles
raised the number of actors to three, and added scene-painting.
Moreover, it was not till late that the short plot was discarded for
one of greater compass, and the grotesque diction of the earlier satyric
form for the stately manner of Tragedy. The iambic measure then replaced
the trochaic tetrameter, which was originally employed when the poetry
was of the Satyric order, and had greater affinities with dancing. Once
dialogue had come in, Nature herself discovered the appropriate measure.
For the iambic is, of all measures, the most colloquial: we see it
in the fact that conversational speech runs into iambic lines more
frequently than into any other kind of verse; rarely into hexameters,
and only when we drop the colloquial intonation. The additions to
the number of 'episodes' or acts, and the other accessories of which
tradition; tells, must be taken as already described; for to discuss
them in detail would, doubtless, be a large undertaking.
V
Comedy is, as we have said, an imitation of characters of a lower type,
not, however, in the full sense of the word bad, the Ludicrous being
merely a subdivision of the ugly. It consists in some defect or ugliness
which is not painful or destructive. To take an obvious example, the
comic mask is ugly and distorted, but does not imply pain.
The successive changes through which Tragedy passed, and the authors
of these changes, are well known, whereas Comedy has had no history,
because it was not at first treated seriously. It was late before the
Archon granted a comic chorus to a poet; the performers were till then
voluntary. Comedy had already taken definite shape when comic poets,
distinctively so called, are heard of. Who furnished it with masks, or
prologues, or increased the number of actors,--these and other similar
details remain unknown. As for the plot, it came originally from
Sicily; but of Athenian writers Crates was the first who, abandoning the
'iambic' or lampooning form, generalised his themes and plots.
Epic poetry agrees with Tragedy in so far as it is an imitation in verse
of characters of a higher type. They differ, in that Epic poetry admits
but one kind of metre, and is narrative in form. They differ, again,
in their length: for Tragedy endeavours, as far as possible, to confine
itself to a single revolution of the sun, or but slightly to exceed this
limit; whereas the Epic action has no limits of time. This, then, is
a second point of difference; | 1,379.057069 |
2023-11-16 18:40:03.1344280 | 5,722 | 6 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Tom Cosmas and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=. For readability, all small caps formatted text was not
converted to ALL CAPS. *.* is an asterism.
[Illustration: CABINET AQUARIUM.]
THE BOOK
OF
THE AQUARIUM
AND
WATER CABINET;
OR
Practical Instructions
ON THE FORMATION, STOCKING, AND MANAGEMENT, IN ALL
SEASONS, OF COLLECTIONS OF FRESH WATER AND
MARINE LIFE:
BY SHIRLEY HIBBERD,
AUTHOR OF "RUSTIC ADORNMENTS FOR HOMES OF TASTE," &c., &c.
LONDON:
GROOMBRIDGE & SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW.
1856.
W. H. COLLINGRIDGE, PRINTER, 1, LONG LANE.
CONTENTS.
THE FRESH-WATER TANK.
PAGE
Chapter I.--What is an Aquarium? 6
The Name and the Object--Philosophy of the Aquarium.
Chapter II.--Proper Kinds of Vessels 10
Rectangular Tanks--Construction of Tanks--Warington's
Stope-back Tank--Bell Glasses and Vases--Stands for Vases.
Chapter III.--Fitting-up--Rockwork 17
The Bottom--Mould--Planting--The Water--Aspect.
Chapter IV.--Plants for the Aquarium 21
How to stock a Tank quickly--Selection of Plants--Water
Soldier--Starwort--Vallisneria--Anacharis--Myriophyllum--
Potamogeton--Nuphar Lutea--Pipewort--Utricularia--Isopelis--
Subularia--Ranunculus--Hydrocaris--Alisma--Lemna, &c.
Chapter V.--Fishes for the Aquarium 32
Cyprinus Carpio, Gibelio, Carassius, Auratus, Brama,
Leucisus, Rutilus, Alburnus, Phoxinus, Gobio, Tinca,
Barbus, Barbatula, Cephalus--Percidae--Gasterosteus.
Chapter VI.--Reptiles, Mollusks, and Insects 44
Chapter VII.--Selection of Stock 46
Chapter VIII.--General Management 48
Feeding--Confervae--Uses of Mollusks--Objections to
Mollusks--Use of Confervoid Growths--Periodical
Cleansing--Exhaustion of Oxygen--Temperature--Dead
Specimens--Disease of Fishes.
THE MARINE TANK.
Chapter I.--The Vessel 53
Points in which the Marine differs from the River Tank--
Stained Glass.
Chapter II.--Fitting-up 56
The Bottom--Rocks, Arches, and Caves--The Water--Artificial
Sea Water--Marine Salts--Management of Artificial Water--
Caution to the Uninitiated--Filtering.
Chapter III.--Collecting Specimens 66
Chapter IV.--The Plants 69
Chapter V.--The Animals 71
Fishes--Mollusks--Annelides--Zoophytes--Actinia
Mesembryanthemum--Anguicoma, Bellis, Gemmacea,
Crassicornis, Parasitica, Dianthus, &c.
Chapter VI.--What is an Anemone? 84
Chapter VII.--General Management 91
Grouping of Objects--Sulphuretted Hydrogen--Preservation
of the Water--Aeration--Filter--Decay of Plants--Death of
Anemones--Removal of Objects--Density of the Water--
Green Stain--Feeding--The Syphon--Purchase of Specimens.
THE WATER CABINET.
Chapter I.--Construction of Cabinets 101
Distinctions between the Cabinet and the Aquarium--
Construction of a Cabinet--Glasses.
Chapter II.--Collecting and Arranging Specimens 106
Implements for Collecting--Nets, Jars, and Phials--
Pond Fishing.
Chapter III.--The Stock 110
Chapter IV.--Larva 114
The Dragon Fly--The Gnat--The Case Fly.
Chapter V.--Coleoptera 130
Dytiscus Marginalis--Hydrous Piceus--Colymbetes--
Gyrinus Natator.
Chapter VI.--Heteroptera 139
Hydrometra--Notanecta, Nepa, &c.
Chapter VII.--The Frog--Notes on Management 140
LIST OF ENGRAVINGS.
Cabinet Aquarium _Frontispiece._
Tank containing Vallisneria Spiralis, Anacharis,
Gold Carp, Roach, and Minnow _Page_ 11
Vase Aquarium 15
Callitriche 22
Stratoides Aloides 24
Vallisneria Spiralis 25
Myriophyllum Spicatum 27
Potamogeton Densus 28
Ranunculus Aquatalis 30
Hydrocaris Morsus Ranae 31
Tank containing Gudgeon, Prussian Carp, Loach, and Bream 33
Tank containing Minnow, Tench, and Perch 41
Tank containing Planorbis Corneus, Paludina Vivipara,
Lymnea Stagnalis, Unio Pictorum, Tumidus, and Anodon
Cygneus 45
Cleansing Sponge 50
Actinia Mesembryanthemum, Dictyota Dychotoma 64
Porcellana Platycheles, and Cancer Pagurus 72
Carcinas Maenas 73
Actinia Anguicoma, Trochus Ziziphinus, Ulva Latissima,
Bryopsis Plumosa, Acorn Barnacle 75
Actinia Bellis and Gemmacea, Delesseria Alata,
Polysiphonia Urceolata 76
Actinia Dianthus, Delesseria Sanguinea, Callithamnium
Roseum, Griffithsia Setacea 82
Edwardsia Vestita, AEsop Prawn, Enteromorpha Compressa,
Ulva Latissima 86
Dipping Tube 96
Syphon 99
Hand Net 107
Diving Spiders and Nests 112
Transformation of the Dragon Fly 120
Virgin and Green Dragon Flies 122
Larva of the Gnat 124
Larva of Stratiomys 125
Larvae and Imago of Case Fly 128
Grating of Case Worm, Magnified 129
Dytiscus and Larva, Reduced 132
Hydrous Piceus 134
Colymbetes 135
Gyrinus Natator 137
Gyrinus, Magnified 138
Water Scorpion 142
Transformations of the Tadpole 144, 145
Pocket Lens 147
PREFACE.
Every day adds to the popularity of the Aquarium, but every day does not
add to the accuracy of the published descriptions of it, or the
perspicuity of the directions everywhere given for its formation and
maintenance. Lately the periodical press has teemed with essays on the
subject; but it does not require a very close scrutiny for the practical
man to discern that a majority of such papers express the enthusiasm
rather than the knowledge of their authors--a few weeks' management of a
tank seeming to be considered a sufficient qualification for the
expounding of its philosophy, though it demands an acquaintance with the
minutest details of the most refined departments of botany and zoology
to do anything like justice to it.
I have done my best to explain and illustrate the whole _rationale_ of
marine and fresh-water tanks in my lately published work, _Rustic
Adornments for Homes of Taste_; but since that work, owing to the
expense incurred in its production, is published at a price which every
lover of the Aquarium cannot command, I have thought it no less a duty
than a pleasure to treat the subject more briefly, but still
practically, and I hope profitably, in a volume of less dimensions and
less cost, written for another class of readers.
The object of this little work is to teach the beginner how to proceed
safely and pleasurably in setting up aquaria, whether for mere ornament
or for the study of the novel forms of animal and vegetable life which
these collections enable us to observe closely, no less for the increase
of our knowledge of the world, than for the exaltation of our sense of
the omnipotence and benignity of Him who created it.
The Nursery, Tottenham.
THE BOOK OF THE AQUARIUM.
THE FRESH WATER TANK.
CHAPTER I.
WHAT IS AN AQUARIUM?
_The Name._--The term _vivarium_ was first applied to the vessel
containing a collection of specimens of aquatic life, and the first
vivarium of such a kind, on anything like an extensive scale, was that
opened to public exhibition in the Regent's Park Zoological Gardens.
Many naturalists had previously made experiments to ascertain some
certain method of preserving aquatic animals in a living and healthy
state; and the vivarium, which is the result of those experiments, may
be considered as an imitation of the means employed by nature herself in
the preservation and perpetuation of the various forms of animal and
vegetable life which people the oceans and the streams.
The vivarium is, therefore, no recent or sudden discovery, but a growth
of years; and its present perfection is the fruit of many patient
investigations, trials, disappointments, and determinations to achieve
success.
The term _vivarium_ applies to _any_ collection of animals, to a park of
deer, a rabbit warren, a menagerie, or even a travelling show
containing an asthmatic lion, a seedy cockatoo, and a pair of snakes
that are hourly stirred up with a long pole. Hence such a term could
never convey the very special idea of a vessel containing such specimens
as form the stock of the aquarium. When this was felt, the affix _aqua_
was added, to convey the idea of the watery medium in which the
specimens are immersed, and hence we had _aqua-vivarium_, a compound of
too clumsy a character to remain long in use. It is the _water_ that
gives the collection its special character; and water always reminds us
of old Aquarius, who treats us to an annual drenching from his celestial
watering-pot. Aquarius triumphed, and the pretty prison in which his
cool companions of the sign Pisces were doomed to be confined acquired
his name; and, since it is better to follow than to oppose usage, we
leave the philological part of the question to the learned, and adopt
_Aquarium_ as the name of our collection.
_The Object_ of the Aquarium is to enable us to study the economy and
derive pleasure from the contemplation of various forms of aquatic life,
contributed by the lakes, the mountain rills, and the "resounding sea."
Collections of objects that inhabit rivers and lakes are of course
called Fresh-water aquaria; those that owe their origin to the sea are
called Marine aquaria. A more simple name for the first would be _River
aquarium_, which I humbly suggest it shall in future be called. But an
aquarium is not a mere cabinet of specimens; it is a water garden in
which we cultivate choice plants, and it is also in some sort a
menagerie, in which we see living creatures of kinds hitherto the least
studied by naturalists, displaying to our close gaze their natural
forms, and colours, and instincts, and economy, as freely and as happily
as if they were still hidden from us in their native depths. In this
sense, the aquarium remunerates for any trouble it may cost, in the
lessons it affords of the workings of Almighty Wisdom, in those regions
of life and wonder to which it introduces us.
_The Philosophy of the Aquarium_ must be clearly understood by those who
purpose to cultivate it. It is a self-supporting, self-renovating
collection, in which the various influences of animal and vegetable life
balance each other, and maintain within the vessel a correspondence of
action which preserves the whole. A mere globe of fish is not an
aquarium in the sense here indicated; because, to preserve the fish for
any length of time, the water must be frequently changed; and even then
the excess of light to which they are exposed, and the confinement in a
small space, in which they quickly exhaust the vital properties of the
water, are circumstances at variance with their nature, and sooner or
later prove fatal to their lives.
In an aquarium, _the water is not changed at all_, or at least only at
long intervals, as we shall explain hereafter; and besides the enclosure
of fishes in a vessel of water, _growing plants_ of a suitable kind,
always form a feature of the collection. Formed on this plan, an
aquarium is an imitation of Nature on a small scale. The tank is a lake
containing aquatic plants and animals, and these maintain each other in
the water in the same way as terrestrial plants and animals contribute
mutually to each other's support in the preservation of the purity of
the air.
What happens when we put half-a-dozen gold fish into a globe? The fishes
gulp in water and expel it at the gills. As it passes through the gills,
whatever free oxygen the water contains is absorbed, and carbonic acid
given in its place; and in course of time the free oxygen of the water
is exhausted, the water becomes stale, and at last poisonous, from
excess of carbonic acid. If the water is not changed the fishes come to
the surface and gulp atmospheric air. But, though they naturally
_breathe air as we do_, yet they are formed to extract it from the
water; and when compelled to take air from the surface, the gills, or
lungs, soon get inflamed, and death at last puts an end to their
sufferings.
Now if a gold-fish globe be not over-crowded with fishes we have only to
throw in a goodly handful of some water weed--such as the _Callitriche_,
for instance--and a new set of chemical operations commences at once,
and it becomes unnecessary to change the water. The reason of this is
easily explained. Plants absorb oxygen as animals do; but they also
absorb carbonic acid, and from the carbonic acid thus absorbed, they
remove the pure carbon, and convert it into vegetable tissue, giving out
the free oxygen either to the water or the air, as the case may be.
Hence, in a vessel containing water plants in a state of healthy growth,
the plants exhale more oxygen than they absorb, and thus replace that
which the fishes require for maintaining healthy respiration. Any one
who will observe the healthy plants in an aquarium, when the sun shines
through the tank, will see the leaves studded with bright beads, some of
them sending up continuous streams of minute bubbles. These beads and
bubbles are pure oxygen, which the plants distil from the water itself,
in order to obtain its hydrogen, and from carbonic acid, in order to
obtain its carbon.
There is one more feature, which no writer on the aquarium has yet
noticed, namely--when a tank is properly stocked, the water soon gets
crowded with infusorial animalculae, which swarm among the plants, and on
the sides of the glass in countless thousands, visible only by the aid
of the microscope. These are in accordance with a natural law; the
presence of vegetable matter in water always induces them. But observe
their value: they contribute to the sustenance of the smaller fishes, by
supplying them with food; and, strangely enough, the researches of
modern chemists have proved that these minute creatures respire in much
the same way as plants. While all other animals absorb oxygen, and
perish if the supply of that gas is withdrawn, these minute organisms
absorb carbonic acid, _and give out oxygen in abundance_. This has been
proved by Professor Liebig, who collected several jars of oxygen from
tanks containing infusoria only. Every one who has had experience in the
management of tanks must have noticed that the water in a tank which has
been established some months will sustain a much greater amount of
animal life than one of the same dimensions, but recently stocked. The
presence of infusoria in immense numbers is _one_ of the reasons for
this.
So far I have endeavoured to explain the theory of the aquarium, in the
merest outline. Still, brief as this chapter must be, I must here
impress upon the mind of the beginner, that unless the leading features
of the theory are borne in mind, success can never be achieved in the
establishment of water collections of any kind.
If a tank requires frequent cleansing, or frequent changing of water, if
the fishes come to the surface for air, or perish through the presence
in the water of offensive matter--in fact, if the whole affair has not a
distinctly self-supporting character, such as will preserve its purity,
and strength, and beauty, without alteration of any kind--it must be
concluded that it has been either unskilfully stocked or injudiciously
managed.
It is my object to explain briefly, but clearly, the whole _rationale_
of aquarium management, whether the tank be adopted as a mere
ornament--than which there is nothing more beautiful--or as a museum of
instruction and a school of study--than which there is nothing more
suggestive, nothing that can afford finer lessons of the subtlety of the
forces, or the refinement of the instincts, that give life and
loveliness to the "world of waters."
CHAPTER II.
PROPER KINDS OF VESSELS.
_Rectangular Tanks._--Any vessel that will hold water may be quickly
converted into an aquarium; but as we desire to have at all times a
clear view of the contents of the vessel, glass takes pre-eminence among
the materials for tanks. For elegance and general utility, a properly
built vessel of rectangular outline, having at least two sides of glass,
is found by most aquarians to be the best. Of course, no rule can be
laid down as to the dimensions or forms of tanks--those details will
best be determined by the means and tastes of the persons requiring
them--but a few general remarks may prove useful.
[Illustration: VALLISNERIA SPIRALIS, ANACHARIS ALSINASTRUM--GOLD CARP,
ROACH, AND MINNOW.]
The tanks in use at the Regent's Park Gardens were constructed by
Messrs. Saunders and Woolcot, of 54, Doughty Street, London, and that
firm has since set apart a portion of the premises in Doughty Street, to
meet the new and increasing demand for vessels for domestic aquaria, and
have brought the manufacture to a perfection which leaves little to
desire.
For the adornment of a dwelling room or a conservatory, an oblong tank,
measuring three feet by one foot four inches, and one foot six inches
deep, would be very suitable, and would be supplied by Messrs. Saunders
and Woolcot for L5, though vessels of smaller dimensions are sent out by
them at from L2 to L3. In my work on "Rustic Adornments," I have given
several designs for rectangular tanks, but must here beg my reader to
remain content with a simple explanatory outline. Messrs. Treggon and
Co., of 57, Gracechurch Street, and 22, Jewin Street, London, are also
manufacturers of tanks for aquaria. I can recommend either of these
houses with the greatest confidence.
_Construction of Tanks._--As this work may reach many remote districts,
where an aquarian would find it difficult to get a tank properly made, a
few hints on the proper mode of construction may be acceptable.
It must be borne in mind, then, that when a tank is filled, its weight
is enormous, and hence it is difficult, sometimes impossible, to move it
without first removing the whole or greater portion of its contents.
Strength in the joints to resist pressure from within, and strength in
the table or other support on which the tank is placed, is of the first
importance. The bottom of such a tank as we have figured (p. 11), is
best formed of a slab of slate, and the two ends may be of slate also;
the front and back of plate or very stout crown glass. The most elegant
form for such a body is that of the double cube, the length of the tank
being just double its width and depth, so that if it were cut into two
equal parts two cubes would be formed. The glass must be set in grooves
in the slate, and bound outside with zinc or turned pillars of birch
wood. The best cement is white-lead putty, or what is known as Scott's
cement; the composition of which it is not in my power to inform the
reader. If a coating of shell-lac, dissolved in naptha, and made into a
paste with whiting, were laid over the white-lead cement, as suggested
by Mr. W. Dodgson, of Wigton, the water would be kept from contact with
the lead, and the tank would require less seasoning.
The use of slate at the ends is to enable us to affix rockwork or carry
across a rude arch; the cement used in constructing rockwork does not
adhere to glass. But if rockwork is not thought desirable the slate ends
may be dispensed with, and the vessel may be composed wholly of glass,
except the bottom, which may be of slate or wood.
In some districts slate is not to be easily obtained, and wood or stone
are then the best substitutes, wood being preferable of the two. I have
seen some handsome tanks composed wholly of wood and glass; it is only
necessary to choose well-seasoned material, and unite the joints very
perfectly.
The yellow clay used by potters would be found suitable in some
districts; and if the two ends and bottom were formed of such a
material, and buttressed together by means of a rude arch, the fire
would unite the whole, and render it as hard as stone. Mr. Dodgson, of
Wigton, states, through Mr. Gosse's pages, that he has formed two tanks
of this kind of clay: they measure three feet long by thirty inches
broad and high, holding thirty gallons each. The weight being very
enormous, the cost of carriage is so serious a matter that such tanks
can only be had in the neighbourhood of a pottery. In London, the
substitute for the clay would be _terra cotta_.
_Mr. Warington's Tank_ is of a peculiar construction, and is intended to
admit the light from above only, and also to enable the water to absorb
atmospheric air freely. Mr. Warington says:--"After five years' and
upwards experience, I have now adopted an aquarium, the form of which
consists in a four-sided vessel, having the back gradually sloping
upwards from the bottom at an angle of fifty degrees. The chief
peculiarity of this tank is, that it admits light at the top only; the
back and sides are usually composed of slate."
[Illustration (Bell Glasses)]
_Bell Glasses_, or vases, are now largely used for aquaria. Mr. Hall, of
the City Road, was the first who thought of turning a propagating glass
upside down to extemporise an aquarium; but he surely never thought that
in a few months the aquarium would gain thousands of new followers
through that simple trick of his in creating a cheap and elegant tank.
Bell glasses for aquaria are to be obtained of any of the dealers in
aquarian stock, and at most horticultural glass warehouses. The sizes
range from ten inches to twenty inches in diameter, and the prices from
one to fifteen shillings. For general purposes of use and ornament, I
should recommend vessels of from twelve to eighteen inches. Those below
twelve inches are too small to be of much service, and those above
eighteen are liable to fracture on the occasion of any sudden change of
temperature, especially in winter. Messrs. Phillips have lately, at my
suggestion, produced a bell-glass expressly for aquarian purposes; those
in use hitherto were made for gardening purposes, and were carelessly
blown. The shape I have suggested is one nearly approaching to that of
the blossom of the great bearbind, the sides of the vessel describing
straight lines, and the edges lipping over in an elegant vase-like
form. These are made of whiter and stouter glass than the common
propagators, and are, of course, charged at a slightly advanced rate.
_Stands for Vases_ are to be had of various forms and materials. Those
formed of turned wood have the preference for elegance and safety; and,
as the knob of the vase fits loosely in the depressed top of the stand,
the vase can be turned round for inspection.
Messrs. Claudet and Houghton, of 89, High Holborn, have recently brought
out improved forms of stands for vases. They are made of terra cotta,
elegantly fluted, or ornamented with architectural scrolls, and | 1,379.154468 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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[Illustration: CHELMSFORD HIGH STREET IN 1762.
(_Reduced by Photography from the Larger Engraving by J. Ryland._)]
THE
TRADE SIGNS OF ESSEX:
A Popular Account
OF
THE ORIGIN AND MEANINGS
OF THE
Public House & Other Signs
NOW OR FORMERLY
Found in the County of Essex.
BY
MILLER CHRISTY,
_Author of “Manitoba Described,”
“The Genus Primula in Essex,” “Our Empire,” &c._
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.
Chelmsford:
EDMUND DURRANT & CO., 90, HIGH STREET.
London:
GRIFFITH, FARRAN, OKEDEN, AND WELSH,
WEST CORNER ST. PAUL’S CHURCHYARD.
MDCCCLXXXVII.
[Illustration]
PREFACE.
“Prefaces to books [says a learned author] are like signs to
public-houses. They are intended to give one an idea of the kind of
entertainment to be found within.”
A student of the ancient and peculiarly interesting Art of Heraldry can
hardly fail, at an early period in his researches, to be struck with the
idea that some connection obviously exists between the various
“charges,” “crests,” “badges,” and “supporters” with which he is
familiar, and the curious designs now to be seen upon the sign-boards of
many of our roadside inns, and which were formerly displayed by most
other houses of business.
On first noticing this relationship when commencing the study of
Heraldry, somewhere about the year 1879, it occurred to me that the
subject was well worth following up. It seemed to me that much
interesting information would probably be brought to light by a careful
examination of the numerous signs of my native county of Essex. Still
more desirable did this appear when, after careful inquiry, I found that
(so far as I was able to discover) no more than three systematic
treatises upon the subject had ever been published. First and foremost
among these stands Messrs. Larwood and Hotten’s _History of
Sign-boards_,[1] a standard work which is evidently the result of a
very large amount of labour and research. I do not wish to conceal the
extent to which I am indebted to it. It is, however, to be regretted
that the authors should have paid so much attention to London signs, to
the partial neglect of those in other parts of the country, and that
they should not have provided a more complete index; but it is
significant of the completeness of their work that the other two writers
upon the subject have been able to add very little that is new, beside
mere local details. A second dissertation upon the origin and use of
trade-signs is to be found in a most interesting series of articles upon
the signs of the Town of Derby, contributed to the _Reliquary_[2] in
1867 by the late Mr. Llewellyn Jewitt, F.S.A., the editor of that
magazine; while the third and last source of information is to be found
| 1,379.158734 |
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Produced by David Widger
MY LITERARY PASSIONS
By William Dean Howells
1895
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL.
I. THE BOOKCASE AT HOME
II. GOLDSMITH
III. CERVANTES
IV. IRVING
V. FIRST FICTION AND DRAMA
VI. LONGFELLOW'S "SPANISH STUDENT"
VII. SCOTT
VIII. LIGHTER FANCIES
IX. POPE
X. VARIOUS PREFERENCES
XI. UNCLE TOM'S CABIN
XII. OSSIAN
XIII. SHAKESPEARE
XIV. IK MARVEL
XV. DICKENS
XVI. WORDSWORTH, LOWELL, CHAUCER
XVII. MACAULAY.
XVIII. CRITICS AND REVIEWS.
XIX. A NON-LITERARY EPISODE
XX. THACKERAY
XXI. "LAZARILLO DE TORMES"
XXII. CURTIS, LONGFELLOW, SCHLEGEL
XXIII. TENNYSON
XXIV. HEINE
XXV. DE QUINCEY, GOETHE, LONGFELLOW.
XXVI. GEORGE ELIOT, HAWTHORNE, GOETHE, HEINE
XXVII. CHARLES READE
XXVIII. DANTE.
XXIX. GOLDONI, MANZONI, D'AZEGLIO
XXX. "PASTOR FIDO," "AMINTA," "ROMOLA," "YEAST," "PAUL FERROLL"
XXXI. ERCKMANN-CHATRIAN, BJORSTJERNE BJORNSON
XXXII. TOURGUENIEF, AUERBACH
XXXIII. CERTAIN PREFERENCES AND EXPERIENCES
XXXIV. VALDES, GALDOS, VERGA, ZOLA, TROLLOPE, HARDY
XXXV. TOLSTOY
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL
The papers collected here under the name of 'My Literary Passions' were
printed serially in a periodical of such vast circulation that they might
well have been supposed to have found there all the acceptance that could
be reasonably hoped for them. Nevertheless, they were reissued in a
volume the year after they first appeared, in 1895, and they had a
pleasing share of such favor as their author's books have enjoyed. But
it is to be doubted whether any one liked reading them so much as he
liked writing them--say, some time in the years 1893 and 1894, in a New
York flat, where he could look from his lofty windows over two miles and
a half of woodland in Central Park, and halloo his fancy wherever he
chose in that faery realm of books which he re-entered in reminiscences
perhaps too fond at times, and perhaps always too eager for the reader's
following. The name was thought by the friendly editor of the popular
publication where they were serialized a main part of such inspiration as
they might be conjectured to have, and was, as seldom happens with editor
and author, cordially agreed upon before they were begun.
The name says, indeed, so exactly and so fully what they are that little
remains for their bibliographer to add beyond the meagre historical
detail here given. Their short and simple annals could be eked out by
confidences which would not appreciably enrich the materials of the
literary history of their time, and it seems better to leave them to the
imagination of such posterity as they may reach. They are rather
helplessly frank, but not, I hope, with all their rather helpless
frankness, offensively frank. They are at least not part of the polemic
which their author sustained in the essays following them in this volume,
and which might have been called, in conformity with 'My Literary
Passions', by the title of 'My Literary Opinions' better than by the
vague name which they actually wear.
They deal, to be sure, with the office of Criticism and the art of
Fiction, and so far their present name is not a misnomer. It follows
them from an earlier date and could not easily be changed, and it may
serve to recall to an elder generation than this the time when their
author was breaking so many lances in the great, forgotten war between
Realism and Romanticism that the floor of the "Editor's Study" in
Harper's Magazine was strewn with the embattled splinters. The "Editor's
Study" is now quite another place, but he who originally imagined it in
1886, and abode in it until 1892, made it at once the scene of such
constant offence that he had no time, if he had the temper, for defence.
The great Zola, or call him the immense Zola, was the prime mover in the
attack upon the masters of the Romanticistic school; but he lived to own
that he had fought a losing fight, and there are some proofs that he was
right. The Realists, who were undoubtedly the masters of fiction in
their passing generation, and who prevailed not only in France, but in
Russia, in Scandinavia, in Spain, in Portugal, were overborne in all
Anglo-Saxon countries by the innumerable hosts of Romanticism, who to
this day possess the land; though still, whenever a young novelist does
work instantly recognizable for its truth and beauty among us, he is seen
and felt to have wrought in the spirit of Realism. Not even yet,
however, does the average critic recognize this, and such lesson as the
"Editor's Study" assumed to teach remains here in all its essentials for
his improvement.
Month after month for the six years in which the "Editor's Study"
continued in the keeping of its first occupant, its lesson was more or
less stormily delivered, to the exclusion, for the greater part, of other
prophecy, but it has not been found well to keep the tempestuous manner
along with the fulminant matter in this volume. When the author came to
revise the material, he found sins against taste which his zeal for
righteousness could not suffice to atone for. He did not hesitate to
omit the proofs of these, and so far to make himself not only a precept,
but an example in criticism. He hopes that in other and slighter things
he has bettered his own instruction, and that in form and in fact the
book is altogether less crude and less rude than the papers from which it
has here been a second time evolved.
The papers, as they appeared from month to month, were not the product of
those unities of time and place which were the happy conditioning of
'My Literary Passions.' They could not have been written in quite so
many places as times, but they enjoyed a comparable variety of origin.
Beginning in Boston, they were continued in a Boston suburb, on the
shores of Lake George, in a Western New York health resort, in Buffalo,
in Nahant; once, twice, and thrice in New York, with reversions to
Boston, and summer excursions to the hills and waters of New England,
until it seemed that their author had at last said his say, and he
voluntarily lapsed into silence with the applause of friends and enemies
alike.
The papers had made him more of the last than of the first, but not as
still appears to him with greater reason. At moments his deliverances
seemed to | 1,379.159011 |
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[Illustration:
NO PLAYS EXCHANGED.
BAKER’S EDITION
OF PLAYS
The Changed Valentines
Price, 25 Cents
WALTER H. BAKER & CO.
BOSTON
]
* * * * *
A. W. Pinero’s Plays
Price, 50 Cents Each
THE AMAZONS Farce in Three Acts. Seven males, five females. Costumes,
modern; scenery, not difficult. Plays a full evening.
THE CABINET MINISTER Farce in Four Acts. Ten males, nine females.
Costumes, modern society; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening.
DANDY DICK Farce in Three Acts. Seven males, four females. Costumes,
modern; scenery, two interiors. Plays two hours and a half.
THE GAY LORD QUEX Comedy in Four Acts. Four males, ten females. Costumes,
modern; scenery, two interiors and an exterior. Plays a full evening.
HIS HOUSE IN ORDER Comedy in Four Acts. Nine males, four females.
Costumes, modern; scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening.
THE HOBBY HORSE Comedy in Three Acts. Ten males, five females. Costumes,
modern; scenery easy. Plays two hours and a half.
IRIS Drama in Five Acts. Seven males, seven females. Costumes, modern;
scenery, three interiors. Plays a full evening.
LADY BOUNTIFUL Play in Four Acts. Eight males, seven females. Costumes,
modern; scenery, four interiors, not easy. Plays a full evening.
LETTY Drama in Four Acts and an Epilogue. Ten males, five females.
Costumes, modern; scenery complicated. Plays a full evening.
THE MAGISTRATE Farce in Three Acts. Twelve males, four females. Costumes,
modern; scenery, all interior. Plays two hours and a half.
Sent prepaid on receipt of price by
Walter H. Baker & Company
No. 5 Hamilton Place, Boston, Massachusetts
The Changed Valentines
And Other Plays for St. Valentine’s Day
By
ELIZABETH F. GUPTILL
_Author of “A Troublesome Flock,” “Little Acts
for Little Actors,” etc._
BOSTON
WALTER H. BAKER & CO.
1918
The Changed Valentines
And Other Plays
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CHANGED VALENTINES, 3 males, 4 females 3
A ROMANCE OF ST. VALENTINE’S DAY, 1 male, 2 females 25
THE QUEEN OF HEARTS, 11 males, 13 females 45
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY WALTER H. BAKER & CO.
The Changed Valentines
In Two Acts
The Changed Valentines
CHARACTERS
BOBBY, _the small boy of the family_.
EVELYN }
HELEN } _his older sisters_.
LOUISE, _his younger sister_.
MRS. WINSTON, _his mother_.
BERT, _his older brother_.
MR. BERTRAM ELLIOTT, _his bachelor uncle_.
ACT I
SCENE.--_The setting is the same for both Acts--a living-room
or library._
(_As the curtain rises BERT is sitting at a desk, evidently
just finishing a letter or note._)
BERT. There! I’ll just tuck it in here with the valentine, and let her
get both together. (_Does so, and directs envelope._) Miss Eloise V.
Worthington! A pretty name, and a stately one, but somehow I like Winston
better. I wonder if she will?
(_Finishes addressing it, and sits looking at it._)
_Enter BOBBY, in a hurry._
BOBBY. Bert! Frank’s out here in his brother’s buzzcart, and wants to see
you. He says you can ride up-town if you’ll get a move on.
BERT. I will that.
(_Steps out, comes back through, putting on his coat._)
BOBBY (_with a grin_). Going bare-headed?
BERT (_putting hand to head_). Why, I thought I put it on! Run and get
it, kid.
(_Exit BOBBY. BERT paws around on table, upsetting everything._)
BOBBY. Here’s your lid.
BERT. Thanks. Where in the name of common sense are my gloves? I put them
here for Mother to mend, last night.
BOBBY. They’re sticking out of your pocket.
BERT. So they are. So long, kid.
(_Hurries out, forgetting valentine. BOBBY spies it and picks
it up._)
BOBBY. Gee! It’s a valentine for Eloise. Bet it ain’t as pretty as the
one I bought. There won’t no silly girl get it, either. I wonder----
(_He starts to take it out of envelope, hears some one
coming, and runs out, dropping it. There should be a curtain,
apparently separating two rooms, and behind this BOBBY hides._)
_Enter UNCLE BERTRAM; goes to desk._
UNCLE B. (_addressing his envelope_). Well, well! That’s the fortieth
valentine I’ve sent Ellen. I sent the first, I remember, when I was a
three-year-old, in kilts, and she a baby in little white dresses and
blue shoes. Ha, hum! Such is life! Here we are, both middle-aged people,
though blest if I feel so! If she’d only answered that twentieth one, I
might not have been sending the fortieth. I wonder---- (_He toys with
letter._)
MRS. WINSTON (_looking in_). Oh, here you are, Bertram. You’re wanted on
the ’phone.
UNCLE B. (_rising_). I’ll be right there.
(_He hurries out, and BOBBY hurries in, and picks up the
dropped letter._)
BOBBY (_going to desk_). Gee! I’ve thought of the best joke! This ain’t
sealed, either. I’m a-going to change ’em. Thirty-nine valentines are
enough for one lady to get from the same man, anybody’d know! (_Makes
the change, and seals both letters._) There! I guess a “change’ll be a
difference,” as Aunt Emily says, and Eloise oughtn’t to care. This one’s
from Bert, too. Didn’t know Uncle Bertram ever signed his name Bert.
Jumping frogs! He’s coming!
(_Hides again, BERT’S letter in his hand. His uncle takes the
letter, and sees it is sealed._)
UNCLE B. Funny! I thought I hadn’t sealed that. Getting absent-minded, I
guess.
(_Puts it in pocket, and goes out, whistling._)
_Enter EVELYN and HELEN. Both start toward desk. HELEN reaches
it first._
EVELYN. Oh, dear, Helen, won’t you let me have the desk a minute? I just
want to address a letter.
HELEN. So do I, and I’m in an awful rush.
EVELYN. What is it? A valentine?
HELEN. Is yours?
EVELYN. Well, why don’t you address it, or else let me have the desk?
HELEN (_rising_). You may have it, Evvie. I’ll wait. (_EVELYN seats
herself, toys with pen._) Well, why don’t you do it, if you’re in such a
rush? (_EVELYN laughs._)
EVELYN. For the same reason you don’t, I guess. Here! (_Hands her a
fountain pen._) You can do yours on the table. Then we won’t bother each
other.
HELEN. I’ll let you see who mine is addressed to, if you will, too.
EVELYN. No, thanks. (_Both hesitate, laugh, and HELEN takes hers to
table. Both write hastily. A crash is heard, followed by a loud scream,
and both girls rush out. BOBBY comes out of his hiding-place, and
changes valentines swiftly, sealing both, then darts back as he hears
girls coming. They enter._) Katy will scare us to death some day. Did you
ever see any one who could get so many tumbles?
HELEN. Or smash so many dishes? No, I never did. (_Takes up valentine._)
Why, I don’t remember sealing this.
EVELYN. Nor I mine. I suppose the--the Irish earthquake in an American
kitchen put it out of our heads. Want me to mail your letter? I’m going
out.
HELEN. No, thanks. I’m going out, too, and this envelope is private
property.
EVELYN. H’m! I could make a pretty good guess as to the name on the
outside. It’s “Pet,” of course.
HELEN. Really, it’s mean to call Phil that. He hates it so!
EVELYN. Then his mamma shouldn’t have named him Philip Etheridge, when
she knew his last name must always be Tuttle. Then he is such a pet. I
always want to see a big lawn bonnet on those golden curls of his, and
see his dear little self in ruffled white dresses, with short socks and
blue slippers. Of course the little darling wants a valentine! But I
should think he’d make you tired!
HELEN. He’s lots nicer than that homely Jack Hamilton. All he thinks of
is baseball.
EVELYN. Well, he isn’t soft and sentimental, and--mushy like Pet. I don’t
care to lead a nice little poodle-dog around by a blue ribbon.
HELEN. You’d prefer a bulldog?
EVELYN. I certainly should. Coming out to mail your precious epistle?
HELEN. I am.
EVELYN. Come on, then. (_Both pass out._)
BOBBY (_coming forth again_). Now maybe I’ll have a chance. No, here
comes Lou!
(_Dives out of sight again._)
LOUISE (_entering_). I saw you, Bobby Winston! What you hiding for?
BOBBY (_stepping out_). I ain’t hiding.
LOUISE. Well, you were. Thought you could jump out and scare some one, I
s’pose.
BOBBY (_as she seats herself at desk_). Who you writing to?
LOUISE. Nobody. I’m sending valentines.
BOBBY. Valentines? More than one? Helen and Evvie only sent one apiece,
and I’m going to send one.
LOUISE. Oh, Bobby, who to?
BOBBY. That ain’t good grammar.
LOUISE. And that is, I s’pose. H’m!
(_She takes two envelopes and tucks in valentines, and seals
them._)
BOBBY. Who you sending ’em to, Lou?
LOUISE. I shan’t tell. Go ’way, Bobby, so’s I can get ’em done.
BOBBY. Tell me who they’re going to?
LOUISE. No siree!
BOBBY. I’ll give you my glass agate if you will, Louie.
LOUISE. What you want to know for? To tell somebody, and get me laughed
at?
BOBBY. No, I won’t tell, honest Injun!
LOUISE. Well, the pretty one goes to Reginald, and the homely one goes to
Freddie, ’cause I’m mad on him!
BOBBY. What you mad at Freddie for?
LOUISE. ’Cause he said Valentine’s Day was silly, and he shouldn’t send
one.
BOBBY. Ho, ho! And you wanted him to send you one!
LOUISE. No such thing! He can keep his old valentines, if he wants to.
I’m going to send a lovely one to Reginald. He’s got sense enough to
’preciate it, maybe. And I got a horrid comic one of a miser, all ragged
and thin, gnawing a bare bone, like a dog, with his money all piled up
around him.
BOBBY. Mamma doesn’t like us to send comic ones.
LOUISE. Don’t you tell, Bobby Winston!
BOBBY. What’ll you give me not to? My aggie back again?
LOUISE. I haven’t got it yet to give back again. Yes, keep it if you want
to, but don’t tell. If you do, I’ll never tell you anything again, so
there, now!
BOBBY. Well, I won’t, but Mamma wouldn’t like it. You know she wouldn’t.
LOUISE. Maybe she wouldn’t like all you’ve been up to, either, Sir Robert.
BOBBY. What you know about what I’ve been up to?
LOUISE. Oh, you have! You have been up to some mischief! Now if you tell,
I will.
BOBBY. You can’t, for you don’t know it to tell, smarty. Say, Lou, let’s
see the funny one.
LOUISE. It isn’t funny. It’s just horrid, and I meant it to be. Besides,
they’re sealed now. Keep still while I direct them. (_She writes. BOBBY
gets behind her, and shows wild enjoyment. LOUISE rises._) There! Now
I’ll go mail ’em. Have you sent any, Bobby?
BOBBY. Not me. I’ve got too many sisters to want to send valentines to
girls. (_LOUISE goes out. BOBBY seats himself at desk._) See if I can
get mine sent some time to-day. (_Writes._) I suppose I’d better mail the
one Bert forgot. Gee! But wasn’t it good! Louise mixed up her own, and
she’s sent the pretty one to Fred, and the other to Reginald. Good one on
her! It seems to be catching. I’ll go out and mail mine before anything
happens to it. It’s a poor day for valentines. Sort of mixy, somehow.
Six of ’em, all going wrong! Gee! Mine’s the lucky seventh. Wish I was a
bumblebee, and could follow some of ’em. Wouldn’t it be fun! Well, Papa
says a boy ought to be a good mixer. Guess I’m all right. (_Goes to door,
and calls._) Mamma!
MRS. W. (_outside_). What is it, Bobby?
BOBBY (_as she enters_). Here’s a letter Bert left on the desk, all
addressed and sealed. Shall I mail it?
MRS. W. Certainly. Let me see it, Bobby. (_Takes it, and reads._) It’s
for Eloise. A valentine, probably. Mail it by all means, dear.
(_BOBBY runs out. MRS. W. tidies up the room a bit, and then
also passes out._)
ACT II
SCENE.--_Same room as before. Evening of same day._
(_MRS. WINSTON is seated, with sewing. BOBBY runs in._)
MRS. W. What do you think I got in the mail to-day, Bobby?
BOBBY. The paper, probably.
MRS. W. Yes, but something more.
BOBBY. A letter.
MRS. W. Something better and more precious still.
BOBBY. What was it?
MRS. W. A valentine--such a pretty one! Why, I haven’t had a valentine
for years!
BOBBY. Did you like it?
MRS. W. I certainly did, very much. If I only knew who sent it, I
should--kiss him, I think.
BOBBY. You mightn’t want to.
MRS. W. I’m sure I should want to, for, you see, I knew the writing on
the outside.
BOBBY. You did?
MRS. W. Yes indeed. Thank you so much, dear. It was very nice to receive
a valentine once more.
BOBBY. Don’t ladies get valentines?
MRS. W. Not usually after they are my age, dear.
BOBBY. But Miss Colwell does, and I heard you say once that you had the
same birthday.
MRS. W. So we have, dear, but what makes you think she gets valentines?
BOBBY. I know she does. Uncle Bertram sent her one this morning, and he
said it was the fortieth.
MRS. W. Uncle Bertram? Did he tell you that, Bobby?
BOBBY. N-no, not exactly; but he said it, Mamma. He did, really.
MRS. W. To whom, then, if not to you? How did you come to hear it?
BOBBY. He said it to himself, when he was directing it this morning.
MRS. W. Did he know you were there?
BOBBY. N-no. I wasn’t there, exactly.
MRS. W. Then where were you?
BOBBY. I was--in there. (_Points._)
MRS. W. Bobby! You weren’t listening?
BOBBY. Well, I couldn’t help hearing, could I?
MRS. W. Here comes Louise. Don’t mention what you have told me, Bobby.
Not to any one. Remember.
BOBBY (_as LOUISE enters_). Yes’m, I won’t. Hi, Louie! How many
valentines did you get?
LOUISE. Eight. Want to see ’em?
BOBBY. Sure I do. Come on over and show ’em to Mamma.
(_LOUISE passes to side of her mother’s chair; BOBBY stands at
other side, and they look at the valentines._)
LOUISE (_showing them_). Bert sent this one, and Uncle Bertram sent this
one, and Grandpa sent this one, and Harold sent this one, and Leon sent
this one, and Edwin sent this one, and Reginald sent this one.
(_She says this slowly, showing them, and MRS. W. and BOBBY
make comments on how pretty they are, etc._)
BOBBY. Gee! That’s a beaut of Reginald’s. Bet you’re glad you sent him
one.
LOUISE. No, I’m not. He bought one for every girl in our class--every
single girl! He likes to show off how much pocket money he has.
MRS. W. It’s a very pretty valentine, Louise.
LOUISE (_showing last one_). I like this better. Freddie made it all
himself, and it’s the only one he sent.
BOBBY. ’Tis pretty, but it isn’t nearly so swell as Reggie’s. Besides, I
thought Freddie wasn’t going to send any.
LOUISE. He said he wasn’t going to buy any, and he didn’t.
BOBBY. Gee! And you sent him----
LOUISE. I didn’t either, Bobby Winston. I got those envelopes mixed, and
sent him the nice one.
BOBBY. And you sent the other to Reg? Kinder tough, when he’d treated the
whole grade to valentines.
MRS. W. I hope my little daughter didn’t send a comic valentine to any
one.
LOUISE. I did, Mamma, but I shan’t again. I should have been so ashamed
if Freddie had got it, when he made me such a pretty one.
MRS. W. But how about Reginald?
LOUISE. Oh, Reggie didn’t care a bit. He never got a comic one before,
and he thought it was funny. He never guessed one of us girls sent it,
and you see, it was a miser, and Reggie isn’t a bit, you know, so it
didn’t touch him at all, but----
_Enter EVELYN and HELEN, evidently rather “huffy.”_
HELEN. Well, you got some, didn’t you, kiddo?
BOBBY. I should say she did! Eight of ’em! How many’d you get, Helen?
HELEN. Oh, five or six. What a foolish day it is! Worse than April first!
LOUISE. I think it’s lovely. Don’t you, Evvie?
EVELYN (_shortly_). No.
BOBBY. Looks as if you two had a grouch. What’s up?
EVELYN. Nothing.
HELEN (_scornfully_). Nothing!
EVELYN. Oh, dry up, do! Let your face rest a while.
MRS. W. Evelyn! What sort of talk is that?
EVELYN. Well, I’m sick of her nagging! And everything’s gone wrong to-day.
HELEN. I don’t see as anything went wrong with you.
EVELYN. I suppose you wouldn’t call it so, but why any one should want
that simp of a Pet hanging round her, I don’t know.
HELEN. Then why did you have him?
EVELYN. How could I help it? He doesn’t know enough to see when he’s
turned down. I did everything but slap his pretty face for him, but
nothing would penetrate that rhinoceros hide of self-esteem. Bah! He
makes me sick!
HELEN. You looked like it. I saw how earnestly you were talking to him.
EVELYN. I certainly was.
BOBBY. Gee! Evvie’s stole Helen’s beau, and Helen’s mad!
HELEN. No such thing.
MRS. W. That will do, Bobby. I have never seen any signs of Evelyn’s
fancying Philip. He isn’t her style.
EVELYN. No, he isn’t. I detest sissy boys, and always did. Helen can have
him and welcome.
HELEN. Then why did you send him a valentine? No wonder you wouldn’t show
me the address!
EVELYN. It wasn’t to him.
HELEN (_hotly_). You’re----
MRS. W. (_interrupting sharply_). Helen! I hope neither of my girls is
going to forget that she is a lady.
HELEN. Well, she did send him one.
EVELYN. I did not!
HELEN. I heard him thank you for it in two lines of poetry.
EVELYN | 1,379.162401 |
2023-11-16 18:40:03.2355120 | 2,815 | 40 |
Produced by David McClamrock
THE INQUISITION
A CRITICAL AND HISTORICAL STUDY OF THE COERCIVE POWER OF THE CHURCH
BY E. VACANDARD
TRANSLATED FROM THE SECOND EDITION BY BERTRAND L. CONWAY, C.S.P.
NEW EDITION
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. FOURTH AVENUE & 30TH STREET, NEW YORK
LONDON, BOMBAY, CALCUTTA AND MADRAS 1915
Nihil Obstat. THOMAS J. SHAHAN, S.T.D.
Imprimatur. + JOHN M. FARLEY, D.D Archbishop of New York.
NEW YORK, June 24, 1907.
Copyright, 1907, by BERTRAND L. CONWAY
All Rights Reserved
First Edition, February, 1908 Registered, May, 1908 New and Cheaper
Edition, September, 1915
NOTE TO THIS ELECTRONIC EDITION
In the print edition of this book, footnote numbers began with 1 on
each page, and the footnotes appeared at the bottom of each page. In
this electronic edition, the footnotes have been re-numbered
beginning with 1 for each paragraph, and they appear directly below
the paragraph that refers to them. A very few ascertainable errors
have been caught and corrected. All else is intended to correspond as
closely as possible to the contents of the print edition.
PREFACE
THERE are very few Catholic apologists who feel inclined to boast of
the annals of the Inquisition. The boldest of them defend this
institution against the attacks of modern liberalism, as if they
distrusted the force of their own arguments. Indeed they have hardly
answered the first objection of their opponents, when they instantly
endeavor to prove that the Protestant and Rationalistic critics of
the Inquisition have themselves been guilty of heinous crimes. "Why,"
they ask, "do you denounce our Inquisition, when you are responsible
for Inquisitions of your own?"
No good can be accomplished by such a false method of reasoning. It
seems practically to admit that the cause of the Church cannot be
defended. The accusation of wrongdoing made against the enemies they
are trying to reduce to silence comes back with equal force against
the friends they are trying to defend.
It does not follow that because the Inquisition of Calvin and the
French Revolutionists merits the reprobation of mankind, the
Inquisition of the Catholic Church must needs escape all censure. On
the contrary, the unfortunate comparison made between them naturally
leads one to think that both deserve equal blame. To our mind, there
is only one way of defending the attitude of the Catholic Church in
the Middle Ages toward the Inquisition. We must examine and judge
this institution objectively, from the standpoint of morality,
justice, and religion, instead of comparing its excesses with the
blameworthy actions of other tribunals.
No historian worthy of the name has as yet undertaken to treat the
Inquisition from this objective standpoint. In the seventeenth
century, a scholarly priest, Jacques Marsollier, canon of the Uzes,
published at Cologne (Paris), in 1693, a _Histoire de l'Inquisition
et de son Origine_. But his work, as a critic has pointed out, is
"not so much a history of the Inquisition, as a thesis written with a
strong Gallican bias, which details with evident delight the
cruelties of the Holy Office." The illustrations are taken from
Philip Limborch's _Historia Inquisitionis_.[1]
[1] Paul Fredericq, _Historiographie de l'Inquisition_, p. xiv.
Introduction to the French translation of Lea's book on the
Inquisition.
Henry Charles Lea, already known by his other works on religious
history, published in New York, in 1888, three large volumes entitled
_A History of the Inquisition of the Middle Ages._ This work has
received as a rule a most flattering reception at the hands of the
European press, and has been translated into French.[1] One can say
without exaggeration that it is "the most extensive, the most
profound, and the most thorough history of the Inquisition that we
possess."[2]
[1] _Histoire de l'Inquisition au moyen age_, Solomon Reinach. Paris,
Fischbacher, 1900-1903.
[2] Paul Fredericq, loc. cit., p. xxiv.
It is far, however, from being the last word of historical criticism.
And I am not speaking here of the changes in detail that may result
from the discovery of new documents. We have plenty of material at
hand to enable us to form an accurate notion of the institution
itself. Lea's judgment, despite evident signs of intellectual
honesty, is not to be trusted. Honest he may be, but impartial never.
His pen too often gives way to his prejudices and his hatred of the
Catholic Church. His critical judgment is sometimes gravely at
fault.[1]
[1] The reader may gather our estimate of this work from the various
criticisms we will pass upon it in the course of this study.
Tanon, the president of the Court of Cassation, has proved far more
impartial in his _Histoire des Tribunaux de l'Inquisition en
France._[1] This is evidently the work of a scholar, who possesses a
very wide and accurate grasp of ecclesiastical legislation. He is
deeply versed in the secrets of both the canon and the civil law.
However, we must remember that his scope is limited. He has of set
purpose omitted everything that happened outside of France. Besides
he is more concerned with the legal than with the theological aspect
of the Inquisition.
[1] Paris, 1893.
On the whole, the history of the Inquisition is still to be written.
It is not our purpose to attempt it; our ambition is more modest. But
we wish to picture this institution in its historical setting, to
show how it originated, and especially to indicate its relation to
the Church's notion of the coercive power prevalent in the Middle
Ages. For, as Lea himself says: "The Inquisition was not an
organization arbitrarily devised and imposed upon the judicial system
of Christendom by the ambition or fanaticism of the Church. It was
rather a natural--one may almost say an inevitable--evolution of the
forces at work in the thirteenth century, and no one can rightly
appreciate the process of its development and the results of its
activity, without a somewhat minute consideration of the factors
controlling the minds and souls of men during the ages which laid the
foundation of modern civilization."[1]
[1] Preface, p. iii.
We must also go back further than the thirteenth century and
ascertain how the coercive power which the Church finally confided to
the Inquisition developed from the beginning. Such is the purpose of
the present work. It is both a critical and an historical study. We
intend to record first everything that relates to the suppression of
heresy, from the origin of Christianity up to the Renaissance; then
we will see whether the attitude of the Church toward heretics can
not only be explained, but defended.
We undertake this study in a spirit of absolute honesty and
sincerity. The subject is undoubtedly a most delicate one. But no
consideration whatever should prevent our studying it from every
possible viewpoint. Cardinal Newman, in his Historical Sketches,
speaks of "that endemic perennial fidget which possesses certain
historians about giving scandal. Facts are omitted in great
histories, or glosses are put upon memorable acts, because they are
thought not edifying, whereas of all scandals such omissions, such
glosses, are the greatest."[1]
[1] Vol. ii, p. 231.
A Catholic apologist fails in his duty to-day if he writes merely to
edify the faithful. Granting that the history of the Inquisition will
reveal things we never dreamed of, our prejudices must not prevent an
honest facing of the facts. We ought to dread nothing more than the
reproach that we are afraid of the truth. "We can understand," says
Yves Le Querdec,[1] "why our forefathers did not wish to disturb
men's minds by placing before them certain questions. I believe they
were wrong, for all questions that can be presented will necessarily
be presented some day or other. If they are not presented fairly by
those who possess the true solution, or who honestly look for it,
they will be by their enemies. For this reason we think that not only
honesty but good policy require us to tell the world all the
facts.... Everything has been said, or will be said some day.... What
the friends of the Church will not mention will be spread broadcast
by her enemies. And they will make such an outcry over their
discovery, that their words will reach the most remote corners and
penetrate the deafest ears. We ought not to be afraid to-day of the
light of truth; but fear rather the darkness of lies and errors."
[1] _Univers_, June 2, 1906.
In a word, the best method of apologetics is to tell the whole truth.
In our mind, apologetics and history are two sisters, with the same
device: "_Ne quid falsi audeat, ne quid veri non audeat
historia_."[1]
[1] Cicero, De Oratore ii, 15.
CONTENTS
PREFACE
CHAPTER I FIRST PERIOD (I-IV CENTURIES): THE EPOCH OF THE
PERSECUTIONS.
The Teaching of St. Paul on the Suppression of Heretics The Teaching
of Tertullian The Teaching of Origen The Teaching of St. Cyprian The
Teaching of Lactantius Constantine, Bishop in Externals The Teaching
of St. Hilary
CHAPTER II SECOND PERIOD (FROM VALENTINIAN I TO THEODOSIUS II). THE
CHURCH AND THE CRIMINAL CODE OF THE CHRISTIAN EMPERORS AGAINST
HERESY.
Imperial Legislation against Heresy The Attitude of St. Augustine
towards the Manicheans St. Augustine and Donatism The Church and the
Priscillianists The Early Fathers and the Death Penalty
CHAPTER III THIRD PERIOD (A.D. 1100-1250). THE REVIVAL OF THE
MANICHEAN HERESIES.
Adoptianism and Predestinationism The Manicheans in the West Peter of
Bruys Henry of Lausanne Arnold of Brescia Eon de l'Etoile Views of
this Epoch upon the Suppression of Heresy
CHAPTER IV FOURTH PERIOD (FROM GRATIAN TO INNOCENT III). THE
INFLUENCE OF THE CANON LAW, AND THE REVIVAL OF THE ROMAN LAW.
Executions of Heretics The Death Penalty for Heretics Legislation of
Popes Alexander III and Lucius III and Frederic Barbarossa against
Heretics Legislation of Innocent III The First Canonists
CHAPTER V THE CATHARAN OR ALBIGENSIAN HERESY: ITS ANTI-CATHOLIC AND
ANTI-SOCIAL CHARACTER.
The Origin of the Catharan Heresy Its Progress It Attacks the
Hierarchy, Dogmas, and Worship of the Catholic Church It Undermines
the Authority of the State The Hierarchy of the Cathari The
_Convenenza_ The Initiation into the Sect Their Customs Their Horror
of Marriage The _Endura_ or Suicide
CHAPTER VI FIFTH PERIOD (GREGORY IX AND FREDERIC II). THE
ESTABLISHMENT OF THE MONASTIC INQUISITION.
Louis VIII and Louis IX Legislation of Frederic II against Heretics
Gregory IX Abandons Heretics to the Secular Arm The Establishment of
the Inquisition
CHAPTER VII SIXTH PERIOD. DEVELOPMENT OF THE INQUISITION. (INNOCENT
IV AND THE USE OF TORTURE.)
The Monastic and the Episcopal Inquisitions Experts to Aid the
Inquisitors Ecclesiastical Penalties The Infliction of the Death
Penalty The Introduction of Torture
CHAPTER VIII THEOLOGIANS, CANONISTS AND CASUISTS.
Heresy and Crimes Subject to the Inquisition The Procedure The Use of
Torture Theologians Defend the Death Penalty for Heresy Canonists
Defend the Use of the State The Church's Responsibility in Inflicting
the Death Penalty
CHAPTER IX THE INQUISITION IN OPERATION.
Its Field of Action The Excessive Cruelty of Inquisitors The Penalty
of Imprisonment The Number of Heretics Handed Over to the Secular Arm
Confiscation The _auto-da-fe_
CHAPTER X CRITICISM OF THE THEORY AND PRACTICE OF THE INQUISITION.
Development of the Theory | 1,379.255552 |
2023-11-16 18:40:03.7343840 | 5,722 | 6 | Project Gutenberg Etext of Creatures That Once Were Men, by Gorky
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Creatures That Once Were Men
by Maxim Gorky
Translated from the Russian by J. M. SHIRAZI and Others
Introduction by G. K. CHESTERTON
September, 1998 [Etext #1466]
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CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN
By MAXIM GORKY
Translated from the Russian by J. M. SHIRAZI and Others
Introduction by G. K. CHESTERTON
THE MODERN LIBRARY
PUBLISHERSNEW YORK
Copyright, 1918, by
BONI & LIVERIGHT, INC.
Manufactured in the United States of America
for The Modern Library, Inc., by H. Wolff
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION............ V
Creatures That Once were Men.... 13
Twenty-Six Men and a Girl .....104
Chelkash..............125
My Fellow-Traveller ........178
On a Raft .............229
INTRODUCTION
By G. K. CHESTERTON
It is certainly a curious fact that so many of the voices
of what is called our modern religion have come from countries
which are not only simple, but may even be called barbaric.
A nation like Norway has a great realistic drama without
having ever had either a great classical drama or a great
romantic drama. A nation like Russia makes us feel its
modern fiction when we have never felt its ancient fiction.
It has produced its Gissing without producing its Scott.
Everything that is most sad and scientific, everything that is most
grim and analytical, everything that can truly be called most modern,
everything that can without unreasonableness be called most morbid,
comes from these fresh and untried and unexhausted nationalities.
Out of these infant peoples come the oldest voices of the earth.
This contradiction, like many other contradictions, is one which
ought first of all to be registered as a mere fact; long before we
attempt to explain why things contradict themselves, we ought,
if we are honest men and good critics, to register the preliminary
truth that things do contradict themselves. In this case,
as I say, there are many possible and suggestive explanations.
It may be, to take an example, that our modern Europe is so exhausted
that even the vigorous expression of that exhaustion is difficult
for every one except the most robust.
It may be that all the nations are tired; and it may be that only
the boldest and breeziest are not too tired to say that they are tired.
It may be that a man like Ibsen in Norway or a man like Gorky
in Russia are the only people left who have so much faith that they
can really believe in scepticism. It may be that they are the only
people left who have so much animal spirits that they can really
feast high and drink deep at the ancient banquet of pessimism.
This is one of the possible hypotheses or explanations in the matter:
that all Europe feels these things and that only have strength to believe
them also. Many other explanations might, however, also be offered.
It might be suggested that half-barbaric countries, like Russia or Norway,
which have always lain, to say the least of it, on the extreme edge
of the circle of our European civilization, have a certain primal
melancholy which belongs to them through all the ages. It is highly
probable that this sadness, which to us is modern, is to them eternal.
It is highly probable that what we have solemnly and suddenly discovered
in scientific text-books and philosophical magazines they absorbed
and experienced thousands of years ago, when they offered human sacrifice
in black and cruel forests and cried to their gods in the dark.
Their agnosticism is perhaps merely paganism; their paganism,
as in old times, is merely devil-worship. Certainly, Schopenhauer could
hardly have written his hideous essay on women except in a country
which had once been full of slavery and the service of fiends.
It may be that these moderns are tricking us altogether, and are hiding
in their current scientific jargon things that they knew before science
or civilization were.
They say that they are determinists; but the truth is, probably,
that they are still worshipping the Norns. They say that they
describe scenes which are sickening and dehumanizing in the name
of art or in the name of truth; but it may be that they do it
in the name of some deity indescribable, whom they propitiated
with blood and terror before the beginning of history.
This hypothesis, like the hypothesis mentioned before it,
is highly disputable, and is at best a suggestion.
But there is one broad truth in the matter which may in any case
be considered as established. A country like Russia has far
more inherent capacity for producing revolution in revolutionists
than any country of the type of England or America.
Communities highly civilized and largely urban tend to a thing
which is now called evolution, the most cautious and the most
conservative of all social influences. The loyal Russian obeys
the Czar because he remembers the Czar and the Czar's importance.
The disloyal Russian frets against the Czar because he also remembers
the Czar, and makes a note of the necessity of knifing him.
But the loyal Englishman obeys the upper classes because he has
forgotten that they are there. Their operation has become to him
like daylight, or gravitation, or any of the forces of nature.
And there are no disloyal Englishmen; there are no English
revolutionists, because the oligarchic management of England
is so complete as to be invisible. The thing which can once
get itself forgotten can make itself omnipotent.
Gorky is preeminently Russian, in that he is a revolutionist;
not because most Russians are revolutionists (for I imagine that they
are not), but because most Russians--indeed, nearly all Russian--
are in that attitude of mind which makes revolution possible,
and which makes religion possible, an attitude of primary
and dogmatic assertion. To be a revolutionist it is first
necessary to be a revelationist. It is necessary to believe
in the sufficiency of some theory of the universe or the State.
But in countries that have come under the influence of what is
called the evolutionary idea, there has been no dramatic righting
of wrongs, and (unless the evolutionary idea loses its hold)
there never will be. These countries have no revolution,
they have to put up with an inferior and largely fictitious
thing which they call progress.
The interest of the Gorky tale, like the interest of so many
other Russian masterpieces, consists in this sharp contact
between a simplicity, which we in the West feel to be very old,
and a rebelliousness which we in the West feel to he very new.
We cannot in our graduated and polite civilization quite make head
or tail of the Russian anarch; we can only feel in a vague way
that his tale is the tale of the Missing Link, and that his head
is the head of the superman. We hear his lonely cry of anger.
But we cannot be quite certain whether his protest is the protest
of the first anarchist against government, or whether it
is the protest of the last savage against civilization.
The cruelty of ages and of political cynicism or necessity has
done much to burden the race of which Gorky writes; but time
has left them one thing which it has not left to the people
in Poplar or West Ham.
It has left them, apparently, the clear and childlike power
of seeing the cruelty which encompasses them. Gorky is a tramp,
a man of the people, and also a critic, and a bitter one.
In the West poor men, when they become articulate in literature,
are always sentimentalists and nearly always optimists.
It is no exaggeration to say that these people of whom Gorky
writes in such a story as "Creatures that once were Men"
are to the Western mind children. They have, indeed, been tortured
and broken by experience and sin. But this has only sufficed to make
them sad children or naughty children or bewildered children.
They have absolutely no trace of that quality upon which secure
government rests so largely in Western Europe, the quality
of being soothed by long words as if by an incantation.
They do not call hunger "economic pressure"; they call it hunger.
They do not call rich men "examples of capitalistic concentration,"
they call them rich men. And this note of plainness and of
something nobly prosaic is as characteristic of Gorky, in some ways
the most modern, and sophisticated of Russian authors, as it is
of Tolstoy or any of the Tolstoyan type of mind. The very title
of this story strike the note of this sudden and simple vision.
The philanthropist writing long letters to the Daily Telegraph says,
of men living in a slum, that "their degeneration is of such a kind
as almost to pass the limits of the semblance of humanity,"
and we read the whole thing with a tepid assent as we should
read phrases about the virtues of Queen Victoria or the dignity
of the House of Commons.
The Russian novelist, when he describes a dosshouse, says,
"Creatures that once were Men." And we are arrested,
and regard the facts as a kind of terrible fairy tale.
This story is a test case of the Russian manner, for it is in itself
a study of decay, a study of failure, and a study of old age.
And yet the author is forced to write even of staleness freshly;
and though he is treating of the world as seen by eyes
darkened or blood-shot with evil experience, his own eyes look
out upon the scene with a clarity that is almost babyish.
Through all runs that curious Russian sense that every man is only
a man, which, if the Russians ever are a democracy, will make
them the most democratic democracy that the world has ever seen.
Take this passage, for instance, from the austere conclusion
of "Creatures that once were Men":
Petunikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror and went back
into the dosshouse, but suddenly he stopped and trembled.
At the door facing him stood an old man with a stick
in his hand and a large bag on his back, a horrible old
man in rags and tatters, which covered his bony figure.
He bent under the weight of his burden, and lowered his head
on his breast, as if he wished to attack the merchant.
"What are you? Who are you?" shouted Petunikoff.
"A man..." he answered, In a hoarse voice. This hoarseness
pleased and tranquillized Petunikoff, he even smiled.
"A man! And are there really men like you?" Stepping aside,
he let the old man pass. He went, saying slowly:
"Men are of various kinds... as God wills... There are worse
than me... still worse... Yes...."
Here, in the very act of describing a kind of a fall from humanity,
Gorky expresses a sense of the strangeness and essential value
of the human being which is far too commonly absent altogether from
such complex civilizations as our own. To no Westerner, I am afraid,
would it occur, when asked what he was, to say, "A man."
He would be a plasterer who had walked from Reading, or an iron-puddler
who had been thrown out of work in Lancashire, or a University man
who would be really most grateful for the loan of five shillings,
or the son of a lieutenant-general living in Brighton, who would not
have made such an application if he had not known that he was talking
to another gentleman. With us it is not a question of men being
of various kinds; with us the kinds are almost different animals.
But in spite of all Gorky's superficial scepticism and brutality,
it is to him the fall from humanity, or the apparent fall
from humanity, which is not merely great and lamentable,
but essential and even mystical. The line between man and the beasts
is one of the transcendental essentials of every religion;
and it is, like most of the transcendental things of religion,
identical with the main sentiments of the man of common sense.
We feel this gulf when theologies say that it cannot be crossed.
But we feel it quite as much (and that with a primal shudder)
when philosophers or fanciful writers suggest that it might be crossed.
And if any man wishes to discover whether or no he has really
learned to regard the line between man and brute as merely relative
and evolutionary, let him say again to himself those frightful words,
"Creatures that once were Men."
G. K. CHESTERTON.
CREATURES THAT ONCE WERE MEN
PART I
In front of you is the main street, with two rows of miserable-looking
huts with shuttered windows and old walls pressing on each other
and leaning forward. The roofs of these time-worn habitations
are full of holes, and have been patched here and there with laths;
from underneath them project mildewed beams, which are shaded
by the dusty-leaved elder-trees and crooked white willow--
pitiable flora of those suburbs inhabited by the poor.
The dull green time-stained panes of the windows look upon each
other with the cowardly glances of cheats. Through the street
and toward the adjacent mountain runs the sinuous path,
winding through the deep ditches filled with rain-water.
Here and there are piled heaps of dust and other rubbish--
either refuse or else put there purposely to keep the rain-water
from flooding the houses. On the top of the mountain, among green
gardens with dense foliage, beautiful stone houses lie hidden;
the belfries of the churches rise proudly toward the sky,
and their gilded crosses shine beneath the rays of the sun.
During the rainy weather the neighboring town pours its water
into this main road, which, at other times, is full of its dust,
and all these miserable houses seem, as it were, thrown by some
powerful hand into that heap of dust, rubbish, and rainwater.
They cling to the ground beneath the high mountain, exposed to the sun,
surrounded by decaying refuse, and their sodden appearance impresses
one with the same feeling as would the half-rotten trunk of an old tree.
At the end of the main street, as if thrown out of | 1,379.754424 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Michael Lockey, and Project
Gutenberg Distributed Proofreaders
HAUNTINGS
FANTASTIC STORIES
VERNON LEE
1890
To _FLORA PRIESTLEY_ and _ARTHUR LEMON_
_Are Dedicated_
DIONEA, AMOUR DURE,
_and_ THESE PAGES OF INTRODUCTION AND APOLOGY.
_Preface_
We were talking last evening--as the blue moon-mist poured in through
the old-fashioned grated window, and mingled with our yellow
lamplight at table--we were talking of a certain castle whose
heir is initiated (as folk tell) on his twenty-first birthday to the
knowledge of a secret so terrible as to overshadow his subsequent life.
It struck us, discussing idly the various mysteries and terrors that
may lie behind this fact or this fable, that no doom or horror
conceivable and to be defined in words could ever adequately solve this
riddle; that no reality of dreadfulness could seem caught but paltry,
bearable, and easy to face in comparison with this vague we know not
what.
And this leads me to say, that it seems to me that the supernatural, in
order to call forth those sensations, terrible to our ancestors and
terrible but delicious to ourselves, skeptical posterity, must
necessarily, and with but a few exceptions, remain enwrapped in
mystery. Indeed, 'tis the mystery that touches us, the vague shroud of
moonbeams that hangs about the haunting lady, the glint on the
warrior's breastplate, the click of his unseen spurs, while the figure
itself wanders forth, scarcely outlined, scarcely separated from the
surrounding trees; or walks, and sucked back, ever and anon, into the
flickering shadows.
A number of ingenious persons of our day, desirous of a
pocket-superstition, as men of yore were greedy of a pocket-saint to
carry about in gold and enamel, a number of highly reasoning men of
semi-science have returned to the notion of our fathers, that ghosts
have an existence outside our own fancy and emotion; and have culled
from the experience of some Jemima Jackson, who fifty years ago, being
nine years of age, saw her maiden aunt appear six months after decease,
abundant proof of this fact. One feels glad to think the maiden aunt
should have walked about after death, if it afforded her any
satisfaction, poor soul! but one is struck by the extreme
uninterestingness of this lady's appearance in the spirit,
corresponding perhaps to her want of charm while in the flesh.
Altogether one quite agrees, having duly perused the collection of
evidence on the subject, with the wisdom of these modern ghost-experts,
when they affirm that you can always tell a genuine ghost-story by the
circumstance of its being about a nobody, its having no point or
picturesqueness, and being, generally speaking, flat, stale, and
unprofitable.
A genuine ghost-story! But then they are not genuine ghost-stories,
those tales that tingle through our additional sense, the sense of the
supernatural, and fill places, nay whole epochs, with their strange
perfume of witchgarden flowers.
No, alas! neither the story of the murdered King of Denmark (murdered
people, I am told, usually stay quiet, as a scientific fact), nor of
that weird woman who saw King James the Poet three times with his
shroud wrapped ever higher; nor the tale of the finger of the bronze
Venus closing over the wedding-ring, whether told by Morris in verse
patterned like some tapestry, or by Merimee in terror of cynical
reality, or droned by the original mediaeval professional story-teller,
none of these are genuine ghost-stories. They exist, these ghosts, only
in our minds, in the minds of those dead folk; they have never stumbled
and fumbled about, with Jemima Jackson's maiden aunt, among the
armchairs and rep sofas of reality.
They are things of the imagination, born there, bred there, sprung from
the strange confused heaps, half-rubbish, half-treasure, which lie in
our fancy, heaps of half-faded recollections, of fragmentary vivid
impressions, litter of multi- tatters, and faded herbs and
flowers, whence arises that odor (we all know it), musty and damp, but
penetratingly sweet and intoxicatingly heady, which hangs in the air
when the ghost has swept through the unopened door, and the flickering
flames of candle and fire start up once more after waning.
The genuine ghost? And is not this he, or she, this one born of
ourselves, of the weird places we have seen, the strange stories we
have heard--this one, and not the aunt of Miss Jemima Jackson? For what
use, I entreat you to tell me, is that respectable spinster's vision?
Was she worth seeing, that aunt of hers, or would she, if followed,
have led the way to any interesting brimstone or any endurable
beatitude?
The supernatural can open the caves of Jamschid and scale the ladder of
Jacob: what use has it got if it land us in Islington or Shepherd's
Bush? It is well known that Dr. Faustus, having been offered any ghost
he chose, boldly selected, for Mephistopheles to convey, no less a
person than Helena of Troy. Imagine if the familiar fiend had summoned
up some Miss Jemima Jackson's Aunt of Antiquity!
That is the thing--the Past, the more or less remote Past, of which the
prose is clean obliterated by distance--that is the place to get our
ghosts from. Indeed we live ourselves, we educated folk of modern
times, on the borderland of the Past, in houses looking down on its
troubadours' orchards and Greek folks' pillared courtyards; and a
legion of ghosts, very vague and changeful, are perpetually to and fro,
fetching and carrying for us between it and the Present.
Hence, my four little tales are of no genuine ghosts in the scientific
sense; they tell of no hauntings such as could be contributed by the
Society for Psychical Research, of no specters that can be caught in
definite places and made to dictate judicial evidence. My ghosts are
what you call spurious ghosts (according to me the only genuine ones),
of whom I can affirm only one thing, that they haunted certain brains,
and have haunted, among others, my own and my friends'--yours, dear
Arthur Lemon, along the dim twilit tracks, among the high growing
bracken and the spectral pines, of the south country; and yours, amidst
the mist of moonbeams and olive-branches, dear Flora Priestley, while
the moonlit sea moaned and rattled against the moldering walls of the
house whence Shelley set sail for eternity.
VERNON LEE
_MAIANO, near FLORENCE, June 1889._
_Amour Dure:_
PASSAGES FROM THE DIARY OF SPIRIDION TREPKA.
_Part I_
_Urbania, August 20th, 1885.--_
I had longed, these years and years, to be in Italy, to come face to
face with the Past; and was this Italy, was this the Past? I could have
cried, yes cried, for disappointment when I first wandered about Rome,
with an invitation to dine at the German Embassy in my pocket, and
three or four Berlin and Munich Vandals at my heels, telling me where
the best beer and sauerkraut could be had, and what the last article by
| 1,379.954605 |
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Produced by David Widger from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive
FOUR HUNDRED HUMOROUS ILLUSTRATIONS
By George Cruikshank
With Portrait and Biographical Sketch
Second Edition
London
Simpkin, Marshall, Hamilton, Kent & Co Glasgow
BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH
GEORGE CRUIKSHANK was born in London on the 27th of September, 1792.
His parents were of Scotch nationality. The father, namely, Isaac
Cruikshank, was an artist by profession, having considerable skill in
water-colour painting and etching. The mother was a Miss Macnaughten,
of Perth, a _protege_ of the Countess of Perth, and the possessor of
a small sum of money. She was a person of energetic temper and strong
will, and so thrifty that by saving she added considerably to her
original pecuniary possession. She was also careful to bring up her
children in a pious manner, being, along with them, a regular attendant
at the Scotch Church in Crown Court, Drury Lane.
The couple took up house in Duke Street, Bloomsbury, where two sons
and one daughter were burn. The elder son was born in 1789, named Isaac
Robert, and ultimately became an artist of considerable reputation,
but of much less originality in character and design than his younger
brother. George was born about three years later. In artistic work he
struck out in a new line, and although the difference between his
work and that of his father and brother was not in every case strongly
marked, still it was always sufficient to enable experts to select the
productions of the youngest from those of his two seniors, a distinctly
new and original vein appearing in them from the first.
While the three children were still quite young, the family removed to
No. 117 Dorset Street, Salisbury Square, Fleet Street, where the parents
let a portion of the house to lodgers. Here the father continued to
work on his plates, while his wife coloured them by hand, soon, however,
obtaining help in that respect from her sons. The boys went to school
at Mortlake, and afterwards to Edgeware, but not for long, so that they
owed little to school masters. The elder brother went to sea, and not
returning when expected, was supposed to be lost, and mourned for as
such. But after three years he suddenly re-appeared, and was welcomed
home with joy,--resuming engraving for a livelihood Unfortunately for
the family, the father died in 1811 Up to the time of his decease he
appears to have had a steady and good business, having produced an
immense number of sketches, coloured etchings, engravings, and designs
produced in various modes, many of them in connection with the stage. At
the time of his father's decease, the oldest son was twenty-two years of
age, and George, the second son, nineteen. They were both well-advanced
in their profession, and were quite capable of taking up and prosecuting
their father's business connection.
Previous to all this, there is no doubt that George began to draw when
he was a mere child. Some of his productions of 1799 are still extant.
"George's first playthings," says Mr. Bates "were the needle and the
dabber;" but play insensibly merged into work, as he began to assist his
hard-worked father. His earliest inclination, it is said, was to go
to sea, but his mother opposed this. The earliest job in the way of
etching, for which he was employed and received payment, was a child's
lottery ticket. This was in 1804, when he was about twelve years of age.
in 1805 he made a sketch of Nelson's funeral car, and whimsical etchings
of the fashions of the day. His earliest signed work is dated two years
later, and represents the demagogue Cobbett going to St. James's. His
father's early death threw the lad on his own resources, and he quickly
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Produced by Col Choat. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Getting of Wisdom
by
Henry Handel Richardson
TO MY
UNNAMED
LITTLE COLLABORATOR
Wisdom is the principal thing;
therefore get wisdom: and with
all thy getting get understanding.
Proverbs, iv, 7
I.
The four children were lying on the grass.
"... and the Prince went further and further into the forest," said the
elder girl, "till he came to a beautiful glade--a glade, you know, is a
place in the forest that is open and green and lovely. And there he saw
a lady, a beautiful lady, in a long white dress that hung down to her
ankles, with a golden belt and a golden crown. She was lying on the
sward--a sward, you know, is grass as smooth as velvet, just like green
velvet--and the Prince saw the marks of travel on her garments. The
bottom of the lovely silk dress was all dirty----"
"Wondrous Fair, if you don't mind you'll make that sheet dirty, too,"
said Pin.
"Shut up, will you!" answered her sister who, carried away by her
narrative, had approached her boots to some linen that was bleaching.
"Yes, but you know Sarah'll be awfly cross if she has to wash it
again," said Pin, who was practical.
"You'll put me out altogether," cried Laura angrily.--"Well, as I said,
the edge of her robe was all muddy--no, I don't think I will say that;
it sounds prettier if it's clean. So it hung in long, straight
beautiful folds to her ankles, and the Prince saw two little feet in
golden sandals peeping out from under the hem of the silken gown,
and----"
"But what about the marks of travel?" asked Leppie.
"Donkey! haven't I said they weren't there? If I say they weren't, then
they weren't. She hadn't travelled at all."
"Oh, parrakeets!" cried little Frank.
Four pairs of eyes went up to the bright green flock that was passing
over the garden.
"Now you've all interrupted, and I shan't tell any more," said Laura in
a proud voice.
"Oh, yes, please do, Wondrous Fair! Tell what happened next," begged
Pin and Leppie.
"No, not another word. You can only think of sheets and parrakeets."
"Please, Wondrous Fair," begged little Frank.
"No, I can't now.--Another thing: I don't mind if you call me Laura
to-day, as it's the last day."
She lay back on the grass, her hands clasped under her head. A voice
was heard, loud, imperative.
"Laura, I want you. Come here."
"That's mother calling," said Pin.
Laura kicked her heels. The two little boys laughed approval.
"Go on, Laura," coaxed Pin. "Mother'll be angry. I'll come, too."
Laura raised herself with a grumble. "It's to try on that horrid dress."
In very fact Mother was standing, already somewhat impatient, with the
dress in her hand. Laura wriggled out of the one she had on, and stood
stiffly and ungraciously, with her arms held like pokers from her
sides, while Mother on her knees arranged the length.
"Don't put on a face like that, miss!" she said sharply on seeing
Laura's air. "Do you think I'm making it for my own pleasure?" She had
sewn at it all day, and was hot and tired.
"It's too short," said Laura, looking down.
"It's nothing of the kind," said Mother, with her mouth full of pins.
"It is, it's much too short."
Mother gave her a slight shake. "Don't you contradict ME! Do you want
to tell me I don't know what length you're to wear your dresses?"
"I won't wear it at all if you don't make it longer," said Laura
defiantly.
Pin's chubby, featureless little face lengthened with apprehension.
"Do let her have it just a tiny bit longer, mother dear, dear!" she
pleaded.
"Now, Pin, what have you got to do with it I'd like to know!" said
Mother, on the verge of losing her temper over the back folds, which
WOULD not hang.
"I'm going to school to-morrow, and it's a shame," said Laura in the
low, passionate tone that never failed to exasperate Mother, so
different was it from her own hearty fashion of venting displeasure.
Pin began to sniff, in sheer nervous anxiety.
"Very well then, I won't do another stitch to it!" and Mother, now
angry in earnest, got up and bounced out of the room.
"Laura, how can you?" said Pin, dissolving. "It's only you who make her
so cross."
"I don't care," said Laura rebelliously, though she was not far off
tears herself. "It IS a shame. All the other girls will have dresses
down to the tops of their boots, and they'll laugh at me, and call me a
[P.4] baby;" and touched by the thought of what lay before her, she,
too, began to sniffle. She did not fail, however, to roll the dress up
and to throw it unto a corner of the room. She also kicked the ewer,
which fell over and flooded the floor. Pin cried more loudly, and ran
to fetch Sarah.
Laura returned to the garden. The two little boys came up to her; but
she waved them back.
"Let me alone, children. I want to think."
She stood in a becoming attitude by the garden-gate, her brothers
hovering in the background.--Then Mother called once more.
"Laura, where are you?"
"Here, mother. What is it?"
"Did you knock this jug over or did Pin?"
"I did, mother."
"Did you do it on purpose?"
"Yes."
"Come here to me."
She went, with lagging steps. But Mother's anger had passed: she was at
work on the dress again, and by squinting her eyes Laura could see that
a piece was being added to the skirt. She was penitent at once; and
when Mother in a sorry voice said: "I'm ashamed of you, Laura. And on
your last day, too," her throat grew narrow.
"I didn't mean it, mother."
"If only you would ask properly for things, you would get them."
Laura knew this; knew indeed that, did she coax, Mother could refuse
her nothing. But coaxing came hard to her; something within her forbade
it. Sarah called her "high-stomached", to the delight of the other
children and her own indignation; she had explained to them again and
again what Sarah really meant.
On leaving the house she went straight to the flower-beds: she would
give Mother, who liked flowers very well but had no time to gather
them, a bouquet the size of a cabbage. Pin and the boys were summoned
to help her, and when their hands were full, Laura led the way to a
secluded part of the garden on the farther side of the detached brick
kitchen. In this strip, which was filled with greenery, little sun
fell: two thick fir trees and a monstrous blue-gum stood there; high
bushes screened the fence; jessamine climbed the wall of the house and
encircled the bedroom windows; and on the damp and shady ground only
violets grew. Yet, with the love children bear to the limited and
compact, the four had chosen their own little plots here rather than in
the big garden at the back of the house; and many were the times they
had all begun anew to dig and to rake. But if Laura's energy did not
fizzle out as quickly as usual--she was the model for the rest--Mother
was sure to discover that it was too cramped and dark for them in
there, and send Sarah to drive them off.
Here, safely screened from sight, Laura sat on a bench and made up her
bouquet. When it was finished--red and white in the centre with a
darker border, the whole surrounded by a ring of violet leaves--she
looked about for something to tie it up with. Sarah, applied to, was
busy ironing, and had no string in the kitchen, so Pin ran to get a
reel of cotton. But while she was away Laura had an idea. Bidding
Leppie hold the flowers tight in both his sticky little hands, she
climbed in at her bedroom window, or rather, by lying on the sill with
her legs waving in the air, she managed to grab, without losing her
balance, a pair of scissors from the chest of drawers. With these
between her teeth she emerged, to the excited interest of the boys who
watched her open-mouthed.
Laura had dark curls, Pin fair, and both wore them flapping at their
backs, the only difference being that Laura, who was now twelve years
old, had for the past year been allowed to bind hers together with a
ribbon, while Pin's bobbed as they chose. Every morning early, Mother
brushed and twisted, with a kind of grim pride, these silky ringlets
round her finger. Although the five odd minutes the curling occupied
were durance vile to Laura, the child was proud of her hair in her own
way; and when in the street she heard some one say: "Look--what pretty
curls!" she would give her head a toss and send them all a-rippling. In
addition to this, there was a crowning glory connected with them: one
hot December morning, when they had been tangled and Mother had kept
her standing too long, she had fainted, pulling the whole
dressing-table down about her ears; and ever since, she had been marked
off in some mysterious fashion from the other children. Mother would
not let her go out at midday in summer: Sarah would say: "Let that be,
can't you!" did she try to lift something that was too heavy for her;
and the younger children were to be quelled by a threat to faint on the
spot, if they did not do as she wished. "Laura's faint" had become a
byword in the family; and Laura herself held it for so important a fact
in her life that she had more than once begun a friendship with the
words: "Have you ever fainted? I have."
From among these long, glossy curls, she now cut one of the longest and
most spiral, cut it off close to the root, and with it bound the
flowers together. Mother should see that she did know how to give up
something she cared for, and was not as selfish as she was usually
supposed to be.
"Oh.. h.. h!" said both little boys in a breath, then doubled up in
noisy mirth. Laura was constantly doing something to set their young
blood in amazement: they looked upon her as the personification of all
that was startling and unexpected. But Pin, returning with the reel of
thread, opened her eyes in a different way.
"Oh, Laura...!" she began, tearful at once.
"Now, res'vor!" retorted Laura scornfully--"res'vor" was Sarah's name
for Pin, on account of her perpetual wateriness. "Be a cry-baby, do."
But she was not damped, she was lost in the pleasure of self-sacrifice.
Pin looked after her as she danced off, then moved submissively in her
wake to be near at hand should intercession be needed. Laura was so
unsuspecting, and Mother would be so cross. In her dim, childish way
Pin longed to see these, her two nearest, at peace; she understood them
both so well, and they had little or no understanding for each
other.--So she crept to the house at her sister's heels.
Laura did not go indoors; hiding against the wall of the flagged
verandah, she threw her bouquet in at the window, meaning it to fall on
Mother's lap.
But Mother had dropped her needle, and was just lifting her face,
flushed with stooping, when the flowers hit her a thwack on the head.
She groped again, impatiently, to find what had struck her, recognised
the peace-offering, and thought of the surprise cake that was to go
into Laura's box on the morrow. Then she saw the curl, and her face
darkened. Was there ever such a tiresome child? What in all the world
would she do next?
"Laura, come here, directly!"
Laura had moved away; she was not expecting recognition. If Mother were
pleased she would call Pin to put the flowers in water for her, and
that would be the end of it. The idea of a word of thanks would have
made Laura feel uncomfortable. Now, however, at the tone of Mother's
voice, her mouth set stubbornly. She went indoors as bidden, but was
already up in arms again.
"You're a very naughty girl indeed!" began Mother as soon she appeared.
"How dare you cut off your hair? Upon my word, if it weren't your last
night I'd send you to bed without any supper!"--an unheard-of threat on
the part of Mother, who punished her children in any way but that of
denying them their food. "It's a very good thing you're leaving home
to-morrow, for you'd soon be setting the others at defiance, too, and I
should have four naughty children on my hands instead of one.-- But I'd
be ashamed to go to school such a fright if I were you. Turn round at
once and let me see you!"
Laura turned, with a sinking heart. Pin cried softly in a corner.
"She thought it would please you, mother," she sobbed.
"I WILL not have you interfering, Pin, when I'm speaking to Laura.
She's old enough by now to know what I like and what I don't," said
Mother, who was vexed at the thought of the child going among strangers
thus disfigured.--"And now get away, and don't let me see you again.
You're a perfect sight."
"Oh, Laura, you do look funny!" said Leppie and Frank in weak chorus,
as she passed them in the passage.
"Well, you 'ave made a guy of yourself this time, Miss Laura, and no
mistake!" said Sarah, who had heard the above.
Laura went into her own room and locked the door, a thing Mother did
| 1,380.054238 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
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[Illustration: Yours Sincerely,
Elizabeth Porter Gould.]
STRAY PEBBLES
FROM THE
SHORES OF THOUGHT
BY
ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD
BOSTON
PRESS OF T. O. METCALF & CO.
1892
COPYRIGHT 1892
BY
ELIZABETH PORTER GOULD
CONTENTS.
POEMS OF NATURE:
PAGE
To Walt Whitman 11
To Summer Hours 12
A True Vacation 13
A Question 14
To a Butterfly 16
In a Hammock 18
O rare, sweet summer day 20
An Old Man's Reverie 22
On Jefferson Hill 26
On Sugar Hill 28
At "Fairfield's," Wenham 29
Blossom-time 31
The Primrose 33
Joy, all Joy 35
Among the Pines 37
Conscious or Unconscious 39
POEMS OF LOVE:
Love's How and Why 43
Love's Guerdon 44
A Birthday Greeting 45
Three Kisses 48
If I were only sure 50
Absence 52
A Love Song 53
In Her Garden 55
Love's Wish 56
Is there anything purer 58
Longing 60
Young Love's Message 61
A Diary's Secret 63
A Monologue 65
A Priceless Gift 66
The Ocean's Moan 67
Love's Flower 70
Renunciation 71
Love Discrowned 74
A Widow's Heart Cry 76
Together 78
Shadowed Circles 80
MISCELLANEOUS POEMS:
A Song of Success 85
The Under World 87
She Knows 88
At Pittsford, Vermont 90
Childhood's Days 92
An Answer 94
Where, What, Whence 96
Heroes 98
A Magdalen's Easter Cry 100
For the Anniversary of Mrs. Browning's Death 103
Robert Browning 105
To Neptune, in behalf of S. C. G. 107
To the <DW29>s growing on the grave of A. S. D. 109
A Broken Heart 111
My Release 113
The god of music 115
To Wilhelm Gericke 118
For E. T. F.
1.--After the birth of her son 119
2.--Upon the death of her son 121
To C. H. F. 123
An Anniversary Poem 126
A Comfort 128
An Anniversary 129
To Miss Elizabeth P. Peabody 131
At Life's Setting 133
Grandma Waiting 136
Does it Pay 144
Auxilium ab Alto 145
Limitations 147
The Muse of History 148
An Impromptu to G. H. T. 151
To Mrs. Partington 153
Lines for the Seventieth Birthday Anniversary of Walt
Whitman 156
SONNETS:
The Known God 161
To Phillips Brooks 163
At the "Porter Manse" 165
Our Lady of the Manse 167
To B. P. Shillaber 169
To Our Mary 171
A Birthday Remembrance 173
Josef Hofmann 175
After the Denial 177
Gethsemane 179
On Lake Memphremagog 181
Luke 23: 24 183
To Members of my Home Club 185
FOR MY LITTLE NEPHEWS AND NIECES:
Mamma's Lullaby 189
Warren's Song 190
Baby Mildred 192
Rosamond and Mildred 194
'Chilla 196
Childish Fancies 197
What little Bertram did 199
"Dear little Mac" 202
Willard and Florence on Mt. Wachusett 207
A little Brazilian 210
The little doubter 213
Our Kitty's Trick 217
A Message 220
POEMS OF NATURE.
TO WALT WHITMAN.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I feel?
An influx of life from the great central power
That generates beauty from seedling to flower.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I hear?
Original harmonies piercing the din
Of measureless tragedy, sorrow, and sin.
"I loafe and invite my soul."
And what do I see?
The temple of God in the perfected man
Revealing the wisdom and end of earth's plan.
_August, 1891._
TO SUMMER HOURS.
DAY.
Trip lightly, joyous hours,
While Day her heart reveals.
Such wealth from secret bowers
King Time himself ne'er steals.
O joy, King Time ne'er steals!
NIGHT.
Breathe gently, tireless hours,
While Night in beauty sleeps.
Hold back e'en softest showers,--
Enough that mortal weeps.
Ah me, that my heart weeps!
A TRUE VACATION.
IN A HAMMOCK.
"Cradled thus and wind caressed,"
Under the trees,
(Oh what ease.)
Nature full of joyous greeting;
Dancing, singing, naught secreting,
Ever glorious thoughts repeating--
Pause, O Time,
I'm satisfied!
Now all life
Is glorified!
_Porter Manse, Wenham, Mass._
A QUESTION.
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O breeze,
Bearing the perfume of flowers and trees,
While gaily decked birds
Pour forth their gladness in songs beyond words,
And cloudlets coquette in the fresh summer air
Rejoicing in everything being so fair--
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When Nature at heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally saying, "I must God impart."
Is life a farce?
Tell me, O soul,
Struggling to act out humanity's whole
'Midst Error and Wrong,
And failure in sight of true victory's song;
With Wisdom and Virtue at times lost to view,
And love for the many lost in love for the few--
Is life a farce?
How can it be, child,
When humanity's heart
Is but the great spirit of love and of art
Eternally crying, "I must God impart."
TO A BUTTERFLY.
O butterfly, now prancing
Through the air,
So glad to share
The freedom of new living,
Come, tell me my heart's seeking.
Shall I too know
After earth's throe
Full freedom of my being?
Shall I, as you,
Through law as true,
Know life of fuller meaning?
O happy creature, dancing,
Is time too short
With pleasure fraught
For you to heed my seeking?
Ah, well, you've left me thinking:
If here on earth
A second birth
Can so transform a being,
Why may not I
In worlds on high
Be changed beyond earth's dreaming?
IN A HAMMOCK.
The rustling leaves above me,
The breezes sighing round me,
A network glimpse of bluest sky
To meet the upturned seeing eye,
The greenest lawn beneath me,
Loved flowers and birds to greet me,
A well-kept house of ancient days
To tell of human nature's ways,--
Oh | 1,380.0581 |
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Produced by Simon Gardner, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was made using scans of
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Libraries.)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Greek text has been replaced by a transliteration and indicated by
[Grk:...]. In "Constantine and Arete" the same transliteration scheme
has been used for modern Greek text as is customary for ancient Greek.
2. Footnotes have been relocated following the paragraph or section
where the anchor occurs. Footnote anchors are in the form [A], [B] etc.
3. Linenotes have been grouped at the end of each ballad. Linenote
anchors in the form [L##] have been added to the text (they are not in
the original but alert the reader to the presence of a note referring to
line number ##). Ballad line numbers have been regularised to multiples
of five and re-positioned or added where necessary.
4. [z] has been used to represent the yogh character.
5. Italic typeface is represented by _underscores_.
6. Archaic, unusual and inconsistent spelling or punctuation has
generally been retained as in the original. Where changes have been made
to the text these are listed in Transcriber's Notes at the end of the
book.
* * * * *
ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH
BALLADS.
EDITED BY
FRANCIS JAMES CHILD.
Sum bethe of wer, and sum of wo,
Sum of joie and mirthe also;
And sum of trecherie and of gile,
Of old aventours that fel while;
And sum of bourdes and ribaudy;
And many ther beth of fairy;
Of all thinges that men seth;--
Maist o love forsothe thai beth.
_Lay le Freine._
VOLUME I.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
M.DCCC.LX.
* * * * *
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857,
by LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of
the District Court of Massachusetts.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H.O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME FIRST.
Page
PREFACE vii
List of Collections of Ballads and Songs xiii
BOOK I.
1. The Boy and the Mantle 3
2. The Horn of King Arthur 17
3. The Marriage of Sir Gawaine 28
4. King Arthur's Death 40
5. The Legend of King | 1,380.254414 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
A Veldt Official, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
A VELDT OFFICIAL, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
CHAPTER ONE.
"WHERE'S DOPPERSDORP?"
"Now where the very mischief _is_ Doppersdorp?"
He who thus uttered his thoughts aloud looked up from the sheet of paper
in his hand, and gazed forth over the blue waters of Algoa Bay. Over
the vessels riding at their anchorage his gaze wandered, over the
stately hulls of two or three large mail steamships similar to that upon
whose deck he then stood; over the tall, tapering masts and web-like
rigging of numerous sailing craft; over the flotilla of cargo-boats and
lighters; over the low, sandy shores and sunbaked buildings of busy,
dusty Port Elizabeth, right away to the bold ridges of the Winterhoek
range looming black and hazy to the blue heavens; then returned to
re-peruse the large official communication. Thus it began:--
Sir,--I have the honour to inform you that His Excellency the Governor,
with the advice of the Executive Council, has been pleased to appoint
you to be--provisionally--clerk to the Resident Magistrate of
Doppersdorp, and distributer of stamps... Then followed particulars as
to salary, and, with the request that the recipient would be good enough
to proceed to that place as soon as possible, somebody whose name he
could not quite decipher, but whose style was "Acting Under Colonial
Secretary," had the honour to be his obedient servant.
The letter was dated from the Colonial Secretary's Office, and was
directed to "Roden Musgrave, Esq."
"The pay is not profuse," soliloquised the fortunate recipient of this
missive, "especially to make a fresh start upon at my time of life.
Well, the old saw about beggars and choosers holds good, but--where the
very deuce _is_ Doppersdorp?"
"Hallo, Musgrave! Had ten thousand a year left you?" cried a jolly,
hail-the-maintop sort of voice behind him.
Its owner was a powerfully built man of middle age, whose handsome face,
bronzed and bearded, was lit up by a pair of keen brown eyes with a
merry twinkle in them which was more than half satirical. He was clad
in a dark blue, gold-laced, quasi-naval uniform.
"You know something about this country, eh, skipper?" said the other,
turning away from the taffrail, over which he had been leaning.
"I ought to by now, considering the number of years I've had to do with
it," was the confident reply.
"So? Well, I'll bet you a bottle of Heidsieck you don't answer the
first question I put to you concerning it. But whether I win or lose
it'll be our parting drink together."
"Our parting drink? Man alive, what sort of humbug are you talking?
Aren't we going on as far as Natal together, and haven't we only just
begun our unlading? That means two days more here, if not three. Then
we are sure to be kept a couple of days at East London. So this day
week we can talk about our parting drink, not to-day."
"Never mind that for a moment. Is that bet on?"
"All right--yes. Now then, what's the question?"
"Where is Doppersdorp?"
"Eh?"
"To be more explicit--what section of this flourishing colony is
distinguished by the proud possession of the town or village of
Doppersdorp?"
"I'll be hanged if I know."
"I thought not. Skipper, you've lost; so order up the Monopole, while I
dive down and roll up my traps, for to that unpromising township, of so
far nebulous locality, I am officially directed to proceed without loss
of time."
"The dickens you are! That's a nuisance, Musgrave; especially as all
the other fellows are leaving us here. I thought you were going on to
Natal with us."
"So did I. But nothing is certain in this world, let alone the plans of
such a knock-about as yours truly. Well, we've done more than our share
of lie-splitting during the last three weeks, Cheyne, and it'll be for
your moral good now to absorb some of the improving conversation of that
elderly party who is dying to come down to your end of the table; also
of Larkins, who can succeed to my chair."
"Oh, Larkins!" grunted the other contemptuously. "Every voyage the
saloon has its percentage of fools, but Larkins undoubtedly is the prize
fool of the lot. Now, if there's one thing more than another I cannot
stand, it's a fool."
The commander of the _Siberian_ was not exactly a popular captain, a
fact perhaps readily accounted for by the prejudice we have just heard
him enunciate; yet he was more feared than disliked, for he was
possessed of a shrewd insight into character, and a keen and biting wit,
and those who came under its lash were not moved thereby precisely to
love its owner. But, withal, he was a genial and sociable man, ever
willing to promote and assist in the diversions of his passengers, as to
sports, theatricals, concerts, and the like; so, although a trifle
merciless towards those, and they were not few, whose ambition in life
seemed to consist in asking questions and making remarks of a stark
idiotic nature, he got on very well with his passengers on the whole.
Moreover, he was an excellent sailor, and, without being a martinet, was
a strict disciplinarian; consequently, in consideration of the comfort,
and shipshape readiness of the ordering of things on board the
_Siberian_, passengers who were capable of appreciation could forgive a
little sarcasm at the hands of her commander.
Those whom Captain Cheyne liked invariably returned the predilection,
those whom he disliked were sure not to remain unaware of the fact. And
out of a full complement of first-class passengers this voyage, the one
to whom he had taken most was Roden Musgrave; perhaps because of the
quality they held in common, a chronic cynicism and a rooted contempt
for the weaker-minded of their fellows--i.e., the bulk of human kind.
Anyhow, they would sit and exchange aphorisms and anecdotes illustrative
of this, until one of the other two or three passengers who almost
nightly participated in that snug and convivial gathering, was wont to
declare that it was like the sharpening of saws steeped in vinegar, to
sit and listen to Musgrave and the skipper in the latter's cabin an hour
or so before turning in.
"But if you don't know where this place is, how the deuce do you know
you've got to go ashore here, eh?" pursued the captain.
"Ha, ha! Because I don't want to, of course. Fancy you asking such a
question!"
"It may be nearer to go on to East London and land there. Here, I say,
Walker," he broke off, hailing an individual who, laden with bags and
bundles, was superintending the heaving of his heavier luggage into a
boat alongside; "where on earth is Doppersdorp?"
"Ha! There you are, are you captain? I was hunting for you everywhere
to say good-bye. Doppersdorp? Doppersdorp? No, hang me if I do know!
Sounds like some good old Dutch place, buried away up in the Karroo most
likely. Well, ta-ta. Excuse my hurry, but I shall barely catch the
Uitenhage train." And he made for the gangway again.
"That looks bad," said Musgrave. "A place nobody seems so much as to
have heard of is likely to be a hole indeed."
"What are you going there for, if it's not an impertinent question?"
said the captain.
"Got a Government billet."
"Well, come along to my crib and we'll settle that bet. I've got a map
or two that may give the place."
Not without a qualm did Musgrave find himself for the last time within
that snug berth where he had spent so many festive evenings, whether it
was when the rain and spray was lashing the closed scuttles while the
vessel was rolling under half steam against the tempestuous Biscayan
surges, or with door and windows | 1,380.756461 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
John Ames, Native Commissioner, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
JOHN AMES, NATIVE COMMISSIONER, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
CHAPTER ONE.
MADULA'S CATTLE.
Madula's kraal, in the Sikumbutana, was in a state of quite unusual
excitement.
The kraal, a large one, surrounded by an oval ring-fence of thorn,
contained some seventy or eighty huts. Three or four smaller kraals
were dotted around within a mile of it, and the whole lay in a wide,
open basin sparsely grown with mimosa and low scrub, shut in by
round-topped acacia-grown hills bearing up against the sky-line at no
great distance.
The time was towards evening, usually the busy time of the day, for then
it was that the cattle were driven in for milking. But now, although
the sun was within an hour of the western horizon, no lowing herds could
be descried, threading, in dappled streams, the surrounding bush,
converging upon the kraal. The denizens of the calf-pens might low for
their mothers, and might low in vain; and this was primarily at the root
of the prevailing excitement.
In the neighbourhood of the chief's hut squatted six or eight
head-ringed men, sullen and resentful, conversing not much, and in low
murmurs. At a respectful distance the young men of the kraal clustered
in dark groups; less reserved, judging from the fierce hubbub of angry
voices, which their elders made no effort to restrain. Few women were
visible, and such as were, kept well within the shelter of the huts at
the back of those of the chief, peering forth anxiously, or darting out
to retrieve some fat runaway toddler, which seemed to be straying in the
direction of all sorts of imaginary danger. And, in the centre of all
this brewing commotion, quite unconcerned, although clearly the object
of it, stood ten men, or to be more accurate, eleven. These were of the
same colour and build, of the same cast of features, as those around
them, but whereas the excited inhabitants of the kraal wore nothing but
the _mutya_, these were clad in neat uniform, consisting of blue serge
tunic, red-braided khaki knee-breeches, and fez caps; and while the
others showed no weapons--as yet--save knobsticks, these were armed with
Martini rifles and well-filled bandoliers. They consisted, in fact, of
a sergeant and ten men of the Chartered Company's Matabele Police, and
to their presence and errand there at that time was due the brooding,
not to say dangerous, excitement prevailing. The nature of that errand
stood revealed in the _indaba_ then being held between the two opposing
parties.
"Who talks of time?" said the police sergeant, swelling himself out in
his uniform, with the swagger of a native of no class who finds himself
in a position of authority, and by virtue of it qualified to domineer
over and flout those of his own race to whom formerly he looked up with
deference. "Who talks of time? You have had time, Madula--more than
enough time--yet the cattle have not been sent in. Now we have come to
take them. It is the `word' of the Government."
A click, expressive of contemptuous disgust, broke from the groups of
bystanders, and with it deep-toned murmurs of savage wrath. But its
only effect was further to develop the arrogant swagger of the native
sergeant.
"Keep your dogs quiet, Madula," he said insolently, with a sneering
glance at the murmurers. "_Hau_! A man cannot talk amid such a barking
of curs."
"A man! _Hau_! A man! A dog rather. A dog--who cringes to those who
throw stones at him and his father's house," they shouted, undeterred by
the presence of their elders and chief; for the familiar, and therefore
impudent manner in which this uniformed "dog of the Government" had
dared to address their chief by name, stung them beyond control. "Who
is the `dog'? Nanzicele, the bastard. Not his father's son, for Izwe
was a brave man and a true, and could never have been the father of such
a whelp as Nanzicele. _Au_! Go home, Nanzicele. Go home!" they
shouted, shaking their sticks with roars of jeering laughter, in which
there was no note of real mirth.
At these insults Nanzicele's broad countenance grew set with fury and
his eyes glared, for beneath the uniform seeming to tell of discipline
and self-restraint, the heart of a savage beat hard--the heart of a
savage as fierce and ruthless as that which beat in the dusky breast of
any of those around. A Matabele of pure blood, he had fought in the
ranks of Lo Bengula during the war of occupation, and that he and others
should have taken service under their conquerors was an offence the
conquered were not likely to forgive. As to his courage though, there
was no question, and for all his insolence and swagger, no qualm of
misgiving was in his mind as he faced the jeering, infuriated crowd with
a savage contempt not less than their own. They represented a couple of
hundred at least, and he and his ten men, for all their rifles and
cartridges, would be a mere mouthful to them in the event of a sudden
rush.
"Dogs? Nay, nay. It is ye who are the dogs--all dogs--dogs of the
Government which has made me a chief," was his fierce retort, as he
stood swelling out his chest in the pride of his newly acquired
importance. "You have no chiefs now; all are dogs--dogs of the
Government. I--_I_ am a chief."
"_Hau_! A dog-chief. _Nkose_! We hail thee, Nanzicele, chief of the
dogs!" roared some; while others, more infuriated than the rest, began
to crowd in upon the little knot of police. Before the latter could
even bring their rifles to the present, Madula rose, with both hands
outspread. Like magic the tumult was stayed at the gesture, though
deep-toned mutterings still rolled through the crowd like the
threatening of distant thunder.
The chief, Madula, was an elderly man, tall and powerfully built. Like
the police sergeant he was of the "Abezantzi," the "people from below"--
i.e. those from lower down the country, who came up with Umzilikazi, and
who constituted the aristocratic order of the Matabele nation, being of
pure Zulu parentage; whereas many of his tribal followers were not;
hence the haughty contempt with which the police sergeant treated the
menacing attitude of the crowd. Standing there; his shaven head--
crowned with the shiny ring--thrown back in the easy unconscious dignity
of command; his tall erect frame destitute of clothing save the _mutya_
round the loins--of adornment save for a string of symbolical wooden
beads, the savage chieftain showed to immeasurable advantage as
contrasted with the cheap swagger | 1,380.854248 |
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[Illustration: AT THE FOOT OF THE CHILKOOT PASS]
ALONG
ALASKA'S GREAT RIVER
A POPULAR ACCOUNT OF THE TRAVELS OF AN ALASKA
EXPLORING EXPEDITION ALONG THE GREAT
YUKON RIVER, FROM ITS SOURCE TO ITS
MOUTH, IN THE BRITISH NORTH-WEST
TERRITORY, AND IN
THE TERRITORY OF
ALASKA.
BY
FREDERICK SCHWATKA,
LAURENTE OF THE PARIS GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY AND OF THE IMPERIAL
GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY OF RUSSIA; HONORARY MEMBER
BREMEN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY, ETC., ETC., COMMANDER
OF THE EXPEDITION.
TOGETHER WITH THE LATEST INFORMATION ON THE
KLONDIKE COUNTRY.
_FULLY ILLUSTRATED._
CHICAGO NEW YORK
GEORGE M. HILL COMPANY
MDCCCC
COPYRIGHT, 1898,
GEO. M. HILL CO.
PREFACE.
These pages narrate the travels, in a popular sense, of an Alaskan
exploring expedition. The expedition was organized with seven members
at Vancouver Barracks, Washington, and left Portland, Oregon, ascending
through the inland passage to Alaska, as far as the Chilkat country. At
that point the party employed over three score of the Chilkat Indians,
the hardy inhabitants of that ice-bound country, to pack its effects
across the glacier-clad pass of the Alaskan coast range of mountains to
the headwaters of the Yukon. Here a large raft was constructed, and on
this primitive craft, sailing through nearly a hundred and fifty miles
of lakes, and shooting a number of rapids, the party floated along the
great stream for over thirteen hundred miles; the longest raft journey
ever made on behalf of geographical science. The entire river, over two
thousand miles, was traversed, the party returning home by Bering Sea,
and touching the Aleutian Islands.
The opening up of the great gold fields in the region of the upper
Yukon, has added especial interest to everything pertaining to the
great North-west. The Klondike region is the cynosure of the eyes
of all, whether they be in the clutches of the gold fever or not.
The geography, the climate, the scenery, the birds, beasts, and even
flowers of the country make fascinating subjects. In view of the new
discoveries in that part of the world, a new chapter, Chapter XIII, is
given up to a detailed description of the Klondike region. The numerous
routes by which it may be reached are described, and all the details as
to the possibilities and resources of the country are authoritatively
stated.
CHICAGO, March, 1898.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. INTRODUCTORY 9
II. THE INLAND PASSAGE TO ALASKA 12
III. IN THE CHILKAT COUNTRY 36
IV. OVER THE MOUNTAIN PASS 53
V. ALONG THE LAKES 90
VI. A CHAPTER ABOUT RAFTING 131
VII. THE GRAND CAÑON OF THE YUKON 154
VIII. DOWN THE RIVER TO SELKIRK 175
IX. THROUGH THE UPPER RAMPARTS 207
X. THROUGH THE YUKON FLAT-LANDS 264
XI. THROUGH THE LOWER RAMPARTS AND END OF RAFT JOURNEY 289
XII. DOWN THE RIVER AND HOME 313
XIII. THE KLONDIKE REGIONS 346
XIV. DISCOVERY AND HISTORY 368
XV. The People and Their Industries 386
XVI. GEOGRAPHICAL FEATURES 413
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
FRONTISPIECE (DRAWN BY WM. SCHMEDTGEN)
THE INLAND PASSAGE 12
SCENES IN THE INLAND PASSAGE 19
SITKA, ALASKA 29
CHILKAT BRACELET 36
PYRAMID HARBOR, CHILKAT INLET 43
CHILKAT INDIAN PACKER 53
METHODS OF TRACKING A CANOE UP A RAPID 64
CANOEING UP THE DAYAY 65
DAYAY VALLEY, NOURSE RIVER 73
SALMON SPEARS 76
DAYAY VALLEY, FROM CAMP 4 77
WALKING A LOG 80
CHASING A MOUNTAIN GOAT 82
ASCENDING THE PERRIER PASS 85
SNOW SHOES 87
IN A STORM ON THE LAKES 90
LAKE LINDEMAN 93
LAKE BENNETT 101
PINS FOR FASTENING MARMOT SNARES 112
LAKE BOVE 116
LAKE | 1,381.057732 |
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Transcriber's Notes: Format Conventions
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=
Superscripts are denoted by '^{XX}'. For example: 1^{st}
MARIANELA
BY
B. PEREZ GALDÓS
Author of "Gloria," etc.
From the Spanish by CLARA BELL
REVISED AND CORRECTED IN THE UNITED STATES
NEW YORK
WILLIAM S. GOTTSBERGER, PUBLISHER
11 MURRAY STREET
1883
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883
By William S. Gottsberger
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
THIS TRANSLATION WAS MADE EXPRESSLY FOR THE PUBLISHER
Press of
William S. Gottsberger
New York
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.
Those who have read "Gloria" will, it is hoped, hail with pleasure
another work by the same writer, Perez Galdós--different it is true,
but in its way not less delightful.
The strongly-marked humor and darkly-painted tragedy of "Gloria" are
not to be found in "Marianela;" the characters are distinct and crisply
sketched, but with a tender hand, the catastrophe is pitiable, rather
shocking; the whole tone is idyllic.
I have not hesitated to translate literally the Spanish words of
endearment; for though they are foreign to the calmer spirit of our
northern tongue they are too characteristic to be lost, and they are
strangely pathetic as the only outlet found for the imprisoned spirit
of the hapless little heroine.
CLARA BELL.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE.
I.--Gone Astray. 1
II.--Guided Right. 10
III.--A Dialogue which explains much. 24
IV.--Stony Hearts. 35
V.--Labor, and a Landscape with Figures. 52
VI.--Absurdities. 62
VII.--More Absurdities. 73
VIII.--And yet more. 84
IX.--The Brothers Golfin. 98
X.--Nobody's Children. 117
XI.--The Patriarch of Aldeacorba. 124
XII.--Doctor Celipin. 136
XIII.--Between two Baskets. 144
XIV.--How the Virgin Mary appeared to Nela. 151
XV.--The Three Children. 164
XVI.--The Vow. 172
XVII.--A Fugitive. 179
XVIII.--Nela decides that she must go. 192
XIX.--Nela is Tamed. 201
XX.--A New World. 220
XXI.--Eyes that Kill. 234
XXII.--Farewell. 260
MARIANELA.
CHAPTER I.
GONE ASTRAY.
The sun had set. After the brief interval of twilight the night fell
calm and dark, and in its gloomy bosom the last sounds of a sleepy
world died gently away. The traveller went forward on his way,
hastening his step as night came on; the path he followed was narrow
and worn by the constant tread of men and beasts, and led gently up a
hill on whose verdant <DW72>s grew picturesque clumps of wild cherry
trees, beeches and oaks.--The reader perceives that we are in the north
of Spain.
Our traveller was a man of middle age, strongly built, tall and
broad-shouldered; his movements were brisk and resolute, his step
firm, his manner somewhat rugged, his eye bold and bright; his pace
was nimble, considering that he was decidedly stout, and he was--the
reader may at once be told, though somewhat prematurely--as good a
soul as you may meet with anywhere. He was dressed, as a man in easy
circumstances should be dressed for a journey in spring weather, with
one of those round shady hats, which, from their ugly shape, have been
nicknamed mushrooms (_hongo_), a pair of field-glasses hanging to a
strap, and a knotted stick which, when he did not use it to support his
steps, served to push aside the brambles when they flung their thorny
branches across so as to catch his dress.
He presently stopped, and gazing round the dim horizon, he seemed vexed
and puzzled. He evidently was not sure of his way and was looking
round for some passing native of the district who might give him such
topographical information as might enable him to reach his destination.
"I cannot be mistaken," he said to himself. "They told me to cross the
river by the stepping-stones--and I did so--then to walk on, straight
on. And there, to my right, I do in fact, see that detestable town
which I should call _Villafangosa_ by reason of the enormous amount of
mud that chokes the streets.--Well then, I can but go 'on, straight
on'--I rather like the phrase, and if I bore arms, I would adopt it
for my motto--in order to find myself at last at the famous mines of
Socartes."
But before he had gone much farther, he added: "I have lost my way,
beyond a doubt I have lost my way.--This, Teodoro Golfin, is the
result of your 'on, straight on.' Bah! these blockheads do not know
the meaning of words; either they meant to laugh at you or else
they did not know the way to the mines of Socartes. A huge mining
establishment must be evident to the senses, with its buildings and
chimneys, its noise of hammers and snorting of furnaces, neighing of
horses and clattering of machinery--and I neither see, nor hear, nor
smell anything. I might be in a desert! How absolutely solitary! If I
believed in witches, I could fancy that Fate intended me this night to
have the honor of making acquaintance with some. Deuce take it! why is
there no one to be seen in these parts? And it will be half an hour
yet before the moon rises. Ah! treacherous Luna, it is you who are to
blame for my misadventure.--If only I could see what sort of place I
am in.--However, what could I expect?" and he shrugged his shoulders
with the air of a vigorous man who scorns danger. "What, Golfin, after
having wandered all round the world are you going to give in now? The
peasants were right after all: 'on, straight on.' The universal law of
locomotion cannot fail me here."
And he bravely set out to test the law, and went on about a kilometre
farther, following the paths which seemed to start from under his feet,
crossing each other and breaking off at a short distance, in a thousand
angles which puzzled and tired him. Stout as his resolution was, at
last he grew weary of his vain efforts. The paths, which had at first
all led upwards, began to <DW72> downwards as they crossed each other,
and at last he came to so steep a <DW72> that he could only hope to get
to the bottom by rolling down it.
"A pretty state of things!" he exclaimed, trying to console himself for
this provoking situation by his sense of the ridiculous. "Where have
you got to now my friend? This is a perfect abyss. Is anything to be
seen at the bottom. No, nothing, absolutely nothing--the hill-side has
disappeared, the earth has been dug away. There is nothing to be seen
but stones and barren soil tinged red with iron. I have reached the
mines, no doubt of that--and yet there is not a living soul to be seen,
no smoky chimneys; no noise, not a train in the distance, not even a
dog barking. What am I to do? Out there the path seems to <DW72> up
again.--Shall I follow that? Shall I leave the beaten track? Shall I go
back again? Oh! this is absurd! Either I am not myself or I will reach
Socartes to-night, and be welcomed by my worthy brother! 'On, straight
on.'"
He took a step, and his foot sank in the soft and crumbling soil.
"What next, ye ruling stars? Am I to be swallowed up alive? If only
that lazy moon would favor us with a little light we might see each
other's faces--and, upon my soul, I can hardly expect to find Paradise
at the bottom of this hole. It seems to be the crater of some extinct
volcano.... Nothing could be easier than a slide down this beautiful
precipice. What have we here?... A stone; capital--a good seat while I
smoke a cigar and wait for the moon to rise."
The philosophical Golfin seated himself as calmly as if it were a
bench by a promenade, and was preparing for his smoke, when he heard a
voice--yes, beyond a doubt, a human voice, at some little distance--a
plaintive air, or to speak more accurately, a melancholy chant of a
single phrase, of which the last cadence was prolonged into a "dying
fall," and which at last sank into the silence of the night, so softly
that the ear could not detect when it ceased.
"Come," said the listener, well pleased, "there are some human beings
about. That was a girl's voice; yes, certainly a girl's, and a lovely
voice too. I like the popular airs of this country-side. Now it has
stopped.... Hark! it will soon begin again.... Yes, I hear it once
more. What a beautiful voice, and what a pathetic air! You might
believe that it rose from the bowels of the earth, and that Señor
Golfin, the most matter-of-fact and least superstitious man in this
world, was going to make acquaintance with sylphs, nymphs, gnomes,
dryads, and all the rabble rout that obey the mysterious spirit of the
place.--But, if I am not mistaken, the voice is going farther away--the
fair singer is departing.... Hi, girl, child, stop--wait a minute!..."
The voice which had for a few minutes so charmed the lost wanderer with
its enchanting strains was dying away in the dark void, and at the
shouts of Golfin it was suddenly silent. Beyond a doubt the mysterious
gnome, who was solacing its underground loneliness by singing its
plaintive loves, had taken fright at this rough interruption by a human
being, and fled to the deepest caverns | 1,381.157466 |
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MEMOIRS OF GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN
By William T. Sherman
Volume I., Part 1
GENERAL W. T. SHERMAN
HIS COMRADES IN ARMS,
VOLUNTEERS AND REGULARS.
Nearly ten years have passed since the close of the civil war in
America, and yet no satisfactory history thereof is accessible to
the public; nor should any be attempted until the Government has
published, and placed within the reach of students, the abundant
materials that are buried in the War Department at Washington.
These are in process of compilation; but, at the rate of progress
for the past ten years, it is probable that a new century will come
before they are published and circulated, with full indexes to
enable the historian to make a judicious selection of materials.
What is now offered is not designed as a history of the war, or
even as a complete account of all the incidents in which the writer
bore a part, but merely his recollection of events, corrected by a
reference to his own memoranda, which may assist the future
historian when he comes to describe the whole, and account for the
motives and reasons which influenced some of the actors in the
grand drama of war.
I trust a perusal of these pages will prove interesting to the
survivors, who have manifested so often their intense love of the
"cause" which moved a nation to vindicate its own authority; and,
equally so, to the rising generation, who therefrom may learn that
a country and government such as ours are worth fighting for, and
dying for, if need be.
If successful in this, I shall feel amply repaid for departing from
the usage of military men, who seldom attempt to publish their own
deeds, but rest content with simply contributing by their acts to
the honor and glory of their country.
WILLIAM T. SHERMAN,
General
St. Louis, Missouri, January 21, 1875.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
Another ten years have passed since I ventured to publish my
Memoirs, and, being once more at leisure, I have revised them in
the light of the many criticisms public and private.
My habit has been to note in pencil the suggestions of critics, and
to examine the substance of their differences; for critics must
differ from the author, to manifest their superiority.
Where I have found material error I have corrected; and I have
added two chapters, one at the beginning, another at the end, both
of the most general character, and an appendix.
I wish my friends and enemies to understand that I disclaim the
character of historian, but assume to be a witness on the stand
before the great tribunal of history, to assist some future Napier,
Alison, or Hume to comprehend the feelings and thoughts of the
actors in the grand conflicts of the recent past, and thereby to
lessen his labors in the compilation necessary for the future
benefit of mankind.
In this free country every man is at perfect liberty to publish his
own thoughts and impressions, and any witness who may differ from
me should publish his own version of facts in the truthful
narration of which he is interested. I am publishing my own
memoirs, not theirs, and we all know that no three honest witnesses
of a simple brawl can agree on all the details. How much more
likely will be the difference in a great battle covering a vast
space of broken ground, when each division, brigade, regiment, and
even company, naturally and honestly believes that it was the focus
of the whole affair! Each of them won the battle. None ever lost.
That was the fate of the old man who unhappily commanded.
In this edition I give the best maps which I believe have ever been
prepared, compiled by General O. M. Poe, from personal knowledge
and official surveys, and what I chiefly aim to establish is the
true cause of the results which are already known to the whole
world; and it may be a relief to many to know that I shall publish
no other, but, like the player at cards, will "stand;" not that I
have accomplished perfection, but because I can do no better with
the cards in hand. Of omissions there are plenty, but of wilful
perversion of facts, none.
In the preface to the first edition, in 1875, I used these words:
"Nearly ten years have passed since the close of the civil war in
America, and yet no satisfactory history thereof is accessible to
the public; nor should any be attempted until the Government has
published, and placed within the reach of students, the abundant
materials that are buried in the War Department at Washington.
These are in process of compilation; but, at the rate of progress
for the past ten years, it is probable that a new century will come
before they are published and circulated, with full indexes to
enable the historian to make a judicious selection of materials"
Another decade is past, and I am in possession of all these
publications, my last being Volume XI, Part 3, Series 1, the last
date in which is August | 1,381.45426 |
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[Illustration: _Brahms at the age of 20._
LONDON. EDWARD ARNOLD: 1905]
THE LIFE
OF
JOHANNES BRAHMS
BY
FLORENCE MAY
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
LONDON
EDWARD ARNOLD
41 & 43 MADDOX STREET, BOND STREET, W.
1905
(_All rights reserved_)
TO
THE MANY KIND FRIENDS
WHOSE SYMPATHY
HAS HELPED ME DURING THE WRITING OF THESE VOLUMES,
THEY ARE GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
The biographical materials from which I have written the following Life
of Brahms have, excepting in the few instances indicated in footnotes,
been gathered by me, at first hand, chiefly in the course of several
Continental journeys, the first of which was undertaken in the summer of
1902. Dates of concerts throughout the volumes have been authenticated
by reference to original programmes or contemporary journals.
My aim in giving some account of Brahms' compositions has not been a
technical one. So far as I have exceeded purely biographical limits my
object has been to assist the general music-lover in his enjoyment of
the noble achievements of a beautiful life.
I feel it impossible to ignore numerous requests made to me to include
in my book some particulars of my own acquaintance with Brahms--begun
when I was a young student of the pianoforte. I have not wished,
however, to interrupt the main narrative of the Life by the introduction
of slight personal details, and therefore place together in an
introductory chapter some of my recollections and impressions, published
a few years ago in the _Musical Magazine_. These were verified by
reference to letters to my mother in which I recorded events as they
occurred. Written before the commencement of the Biography, they are in
no way essential to its completeness, which will not suffer should they
remain unread.
* * * * *
I am indebted for valuable assistance and sympathy to:
H.R.H. Alexander Frederick, Landgraf of Hesse.
Herr Carl Bade.
Fraeulein Berninger.
Mrs. Jellings Blow (b. Finke).
Fraeulein Theodore Blume.
Frau Professor Boeie.
Herr Professor Dr. Heinrich Bulthaupt.
Herr Professor Julius Buths.
The late Gerard F. Cobb, Esq.
Frederic R. Comec, Esq.
Herr Hugo Conrat.
Fraeulein Ilse Conrat.
Fraeulein Johanna Cossel.
Frau Elise Denninghoff-Giesemann.
Herr Geheimrath Dr. Hermann Deiters.
Herr Hofcapellmeister Albert Dietrich.
Herr k. k. Hofclavierfabrikant Friedrich Ehrbar.
Herr Geheimrath Dr. Engelmann.
Herr Professor Julius Epstein.
Fraeulein Anna Ettlinger.
Frau Dr. Maria Fellinger.
Herr Professor Dr. Josef Gaensbacher.
Otto Goldschmidt, Esq., Hon. R.A.M., Member of Swedish A.M., etc.
Dr. Josef Ritter Griez von Ronse.
Herr Carl Graf.
Fraeulein Marie Grimm.
Frau Grueber.
Herr Professor Robert Hausmann.
Fraeulein Heyden.
Herr Professor Walter Huebbe.
Herr Dr. Gustav Jansen.
Frau Dr. Marie Janssen.
Herr Professor Dr. Joseph Joachim.
Frau Dr. Louise Langhans-Japha.
Mrs. Johann Kruse.
Herr Carl Luestner.
J. A. Fuller Maitland, Esq., F.S.A.
Herr Dr. Eusebius Mandyczewski, Archivar to the Gesellschaft
der Musikfreunde.
Carl Freiherr von Meysenbug.
Hermann Freiherr von Meysenbug.
Herr Richard Muehlfeld, Hofkammermusiker.
Herr Professor Dr. Ernst Naumann.
Herr Professor Dr. Carl Neumann.
Herr Christian Otterer.
Fraeulein Henriette Reinthaler.
Herr Capellmeister Dr. Rottenberg.
Herr Kammermusiker Julius Schmidt.
Herr Fritz Schnack.
Herr Professor Dr. Bernhard Scholz.
Herr Heinrich Schroeder.
Fraeulein Marie Schumann.
Frau Simons (b. Kyllmann).
Herr Professor Josef Sittard.
Herr Dr. Julius Spengel.
Mrs. Edward Speyer.
Sir Charles Villiers Stanford, Mus. Doc.
Mrs. Edward Stone.
Frau Celestine Truxa.
Herr Superintendent Vogelsang.
Herr Dr. Josef Victor Widmann.
And others who prefer that their names should not be expressly mentioned.
F. M.
SOUTH KENSINGTON,
_September, 1905_.
CONTENTS OF VOL. I.
PAGE
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS 1
CHAPTER I
1760-1845
The Brahms family--Johann Jakob Brahms; his youth and marriage--Birth
and childhood of Johannes--The Alster Pavilion--Otto
F. W. Cossel--Johannes gives a private subscription concert 45
CHAPTER II
1845-1848
Edward Marxsen--Johannes' first instruction in theory--Herr Adolph
Giesemann--Winsen-an-der-Luhe--Lischen--Choral Society of
school-teachers--'A.B.C.' Part-song by Johannes--The Amtsvogt
Blume--First public appearance--First visit to the opera 63
CHAPTER III
1848-1853
Johannes' first public concert--Years of struggle--Hamburg
Lokals--Louise Japha--Edward Remenyi--Sonata in F sharp
minor--First concert-tour as Remenyi's accompanist--Concerts in
Winsen, Celle, Lueneburg, and Hildesheim--Musical parties in
1853--Leipzig and Weimar--Robert Schumann--Joseph Joachim 83
CHAPTER IV
1853
Brahms and Remenyi visit Joachim in Hanover--Concert at Court--Visit
to Liszt--Joachim and Brahms in Goettingen--Wasielewsky,
Reinecke, and Hiller--First meeting with Schumann--Albert
Dietrich 106
CHAPTER V
1853
Schumann's article 'New Paths'--Johannes in Hanover--Sonatas
in C major and F minor--Visit to Leipzig--First publications--Julius
Otto Grimm--Return to Hamburg via Hanover--Lost
Violin Sonata--Songs--Marxsen's influence as teacher 126
CHAPTER VI
1854-1855
Brahms at Hanover--Hans von Buelow--Robert and Clara Schumann
in Hanover--Schumann's illness--Brahms in Duesseldorf--Variations
on Schumann's theme in F sharp minor--B major Trio;
first public performance in New York--First attempt at symphony 153
CHAPTER VII
1855-1856
Lower Rhine Festival--Madame Jenny Lind-Goldschmidt--Edward
Hanslick--Brahms as a concert-player--Retirement and study--Frau
Schumann in Vienna and London--Julius Stockhausen--Schumann's
death 179
CHAPTER VIII
1856-1858
Brahms and Joachim in Duesseldorf--Grimm in Goettingen--Brahms'
visit to Detmold--Carl von Meysenbug--Court Concertmeister
Bargheer--Joachim and Liszt--Brahms returns to Detmold--Summer
at Goettingen--Pianoforte Concerto in D minor and
Orchestral Serenade in D major tried privately in Hanover 204
CHAPTER IX
1859
First public performances of the Pianoforte Concerto in Hanover,
Leipzig, and Hamburg--Brahms, Joachim, and Stockhausen
appear together in Hamburg--First public performance of the
Serenade in D major--Ladies' Choir--Fraeulein Friedchen
Wagner--Compositions for women's chorus 225
CHAPTER X
1859-1861
Third season at Detmold--'Ave Maria' and 'Begraebnissgesang'; performed
in Hamburg and Goettingen--Second Serenade first publicly performed in
Hamburg--Lower Rhine Festival--Summer at Bonn--Music at Herr
Kyllmann's--Life in Hamburg--Variations on an original theme first
performed in Leipzig by Frau Schumann--'Marienlieder'--First public
performance of the Sextet in B flat by the Joachim Quartet in
Hanover 243
CHAPTER XI
1861-1862
Concert season in Hamburg--Frau Denninghoff-Giesemann--Brahms
in Hamm--Herr Voelckers and his daughters--Dietrich's visit to
Brahms--Music at the Halliers' and Wagners'--First public performance
of the G minor Quartet--Brahms in Oldenburg--Second
Serenade performed in New York--First and second Pianoforte
Quartets--'Magelone Romances'--First public performances of
the Handel Variations and Fugue in Hamburg and Leipzig by
Frau Schumann--Brahms' departure for Vienna 262
APPENDIX No. I
MUSICAL FORM--ABSOLUTE MUSIC--PROGRAMME MUSIC--BERLIOZ
AND WAGNER 282
APPENDIX No. II
THE MAGELONE ROMANCES--PIERRE DE PROVENCE 290
APPENDIX No. III
RULES OF THE HAMBURG LADIES' CHOIR 304
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BRAHMS AT THE AGE OF TWENTY _Frontispiece_
No. 60, SPECKSTRASSE, HAMBURG _To face page_ 52
BRAHMS AND JOACHIM, 1855 " 182
BRAHMS AND STOCKHAUSEN, 1868 " 262
THE LIFE OF JOHANNES BRAHMS
PERSONAL RECOLLECTIONS
BADEN-BADEN.
It was to the kindness of Frau Schumann that I owed my introduction to
Brahms, which took place the very day of my arrival on my first visit to
Germany. I had had lessons from the great pianist during her visit to
London early in the year 1871, and on her departure from England she
allowed my father to arrange that I should follow her, as soon as I
could possibly get ready, to her home in Lichtenthal, a suburb of
Baden-Baden, in order to continue my studies under her guidance.
I can vividly recall the bright morning in the beginning of May on which
I arrived at Baden-Baden, rather home-sick and dreadfully tired, for
owing to a railway breakdown _en route_ my journey had occupied fourteen
hours longer than it ought to have done, and my father's arrangements
for my comfort had been completely upset. It was too early to go at once
to Frau Schumann's house, and I remember to have dreamily watched,
whilst waiting at the station, a passing procession of young girl
communicants in their white wreaths and veils, as I tried to realize
that I was, for the first time in my life, far away from home and from
England. When the morning was sufficiently advanced, I took an open
Droschke, and driving under the great trees of the Lichtenthaler Allee
to the door of Frau Schumann's house, I obtained the address of the
lodgings that had been taken for me in the village. Without alighting, I
proceeded at once to my rooms, where I was almost immediately joined by
Frau Schumann herself, who came round, as soon as she had finished
breakfast, to bid me welcome.
My delight at seeing the great artist | 1,381.457574 |
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THE HERRIGES HORROR IN PHILADELPHIA.
A Full History of the Whole Affair.
A Man Kept in a Dark Cage Like a Wild
Beast for Twenty Years,
As Alleged,
in His Own Mother's and Brother's House.
The Most Fiendish Cruelty of the Century.
Illustrated with Reliable Engravings,
Drawn Specially for This Work.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by C. W.
ALEXANDER, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court in and for the
Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
THE HERRIGES HORROR.
"Man's inhumanity to man
Makes countless thousands morn."
Every now and then the world is startled with an event of a like character
to the one which has just aroused in the city of Philadelphia the utmost
excitement, and which came near producing a scene of riot and even
bloodshed.
John Herriges is the name of the victim, and for an indefinite period of
from ten to twenty years has been confined in a little cagelike room and
kept in a condition far worse than the wild animals of a menagerie.
What adds an additional phase of horror to the case of this unfortunate
creature is the fact that he was thus confined in the same house with his
own brother and mother. To our minds this is the most abhorrent feature of
the whole affair.
We can imagine how a stranger, or an uncle, or an aunt possessed with the
demon of avarice could deliberately imprison the heir to a coveted estate
in some out of the way room or loft of a large building where the victim
would be so far removed from sight and sound as to prevent his groans and
tears being heard or seen. But how a brother and, Merciful Heaven, a
mother could live in a shanty of a house year after year with a brother,
and son shut up and in the condition in which the officers of the law
found poor John Herriges, is more than we can account for by any process
of reasoning. It only shows what perverted human nature is capable of.
THE HOUSE OF HORROR.
The house in which lived the Herriges family is a little two storied frame
building or more properly shanty, rickety and poverty stricken in its
appearance, more resembling the abodes of the denizens of Baker street
slums than the home of persons of real wealth as it really is. It stands
on the northeast corner of Fourth and Lombard streets, in Philadelphia.
Immediately to the north of it is an extensive soap boiling establishment,
while directly adjoining it in the east are some frame shanties still
smaller and more delapidated than itself, and which, belonging to the
Herriges also, were rented by Joseph Herriges, the accused, for a most
exhorbitant sum. To the credit of the occupants of these shanties, we must
say that by means of whitewash they have made them look far preferable to
that of their landlord--at least in appearance.
On the north of the soap boiling establishment referred to stretches the
burial ground of St. Peter's Episcopal Church, with its hundreds of
monuments and green graves, while on the opposite side of Fourth street
lies the burial ground of the Old Pine Street Church, with its almost
numberless dead.
The writer of this recollects years ago, when a boy, often passing and
repassing the Herriges house, and noticing on account of its forlorn
appearance and the comical Dutch Pompey which stood upon the wooden
pedestal at the door to indicate the business of a tobacconist.
How little he thought when contemplating it, that a human being languished
within its dingy wooden walls, in a condition worse than that of the
worst-cared-for brutes.
A fact in connection with this case is remarkable, which is this. On a
Sabbath morning there is no one spot in the whole city of Philadelphia,
standing on which, you can hear so many different church bells at once, or
so many different choirs singing the praises of Almighty God. And on every
returning Sunday the poor prisoner's ears drank in the sacred harmony. God
knows perhaps at such times the angels ministered to him in his dismal
cage, sent thither with sunshine that could not be shut out by human
monsters. Think of it, reader, a thousand recurring Sabbaths found the
poor young imbecile growing from youth to a dreadfully premature old age.
The mind staggers to think of it. Could we trace day by day the long
wearisome hours of the captive's life, how terrible would be the journey.
We should hear him sighing for the bright sun light that made the grave
yard green and clothed all the monuments in beautiful flowers. How he
would prize the fragrance of a little flower, condemned as he was to smell
nothing but the dank, noisome effluvia of the soap boiler's factory.
Hope had no place in his cramped, filthy cage. No genius but that of
Dispair ever found tenement in the grimed little room.
But though so long, oh, so long, Liberty came at last, and the pining boy,
now an old man, was set free, through the agency of a poor, but noble
woman, Mrs. Gibson, who had the heart to feel and the bravery to rescue
from his hellish bondage the unfortunate.
THE GIBSON'S HISTORY OF THE AFFAIR.
On the 1st of June 1870 Thos. J. Gibson and his mother rented the frame
house 337 Lombard Street from Joseph Herriges. The house adjoined Herriges
cigar store. Mr. Hoger, a shoemaker, living next door to Mrs. Gibson's,
told her at the time she moved into the house, that she would see a crazy
man in Herriges house and not to be afraid of him. Mrs. Charnes, living
next door but one, for seventeen years, laughed at her, when she asked
about the crazy man living locked up in Herriges house, as though making
light of the whole matter.
VERBATIM COPY OF AGREEMENT BETWEEN JOSEPH HERRIGES AND THE GIBSONS.
This Contract and Agreement is that the rent of sixteen dollars per month
is to be paid punctually in advance each and every month hereafter, and if
the terms of this contract is not complied with I will leave the house and
give up the possession to the lessor or his representatives.
THOS. J. GIBSON.
Received of Ann Gibson sixteen dollars for one month's rent in advance
from June 1. To 30 1870 rent to begin on 1. June and end on the 30.
Rented May 27 1870
J. HERRIGES.
THE DISCOVERY.
On Monday, June 14th, Mr. Gibson's little sister was sent up-stairs to get
ready for school, and on going to the window she was frightened by seeing
a man looking through the crevices of an upper window in Herriges house,
which window was in the second story. This window was closely barred with
pieces of plank from top to bottom.
The man was mumbling and singing and making strange and singular noises.
The little girl came running down stairs in the utmost terror exclaiming:
"Oh, mother! mother! there is a man up in that room! I saw him poke his
nose through the boards just like a dog!"
Being busy, Mrs. Gibson did not go up at this moment to verify the child's
statement, but when she did find time she went up. By that time the man
had withdrawn his nose from the window, but shortly afterwards she caught
a glimpse of something that she thought was the hand of a human being,
covered with filth, resting against the space between the bars.
At this moment Mrs. Gibson saw Mrs. Herriges, John's mother, in the yard,
and called to the prisoner, saying:
"What are you there for? Why don't you pull off the boards and get out?"
The man made some response; but in such indistinct tones of voice that | 1,381.755617 |
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Transcriber's Note.
Apparent typographical errors have been corrected. The use of hyphens
has been rationalised.
Notices of other books in the series have been moved to the end of the
text.
Small capitals have been replaced by full capitals, italics are
indicated by _underscores_, and bold font is indicated by +plus signs+.
Superscripts have been removed.
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS
_General Editors_: S. E. WINBOLT, M.A., and KENNETH BELL, M.A.
THE GROWTH OF PARLIAMENT
AND THE WAR WITH SCOTLAND
(1216-1307)
BY
W. D. ROBIESON, M.A.
ASSISTANT TO THE PROFESSOR OF HISTORY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF GLASGOW
[Illustration]
LONDON
G. BELL AND SONS, LTD.
1914
INTRODUCTION
This series of English History Source Books is intended for use with any
ordinary textbook of English History. Experience has conclusively shown
that such apparatus is a valuable--nay, an indispensable--adjunct to the
history lesson. It is capable of two main uses: either by way of lively
illustration at the close of a lesson, or by way of inference-drawing,
before the textbook is read, at the beginning of the lesson. The kind of
problems and exercises that may be based on the documents are legion,
and are admirably illustrated in a _History of England for Schools_,
Part I., by Keatinge and Frazer, pp. 377-381. However, we have no wish
to prescribe for the teacher the manner in which he shall exercise his
craft, but simply to provide him and his pupils with materials hitherto
not readily accessible for school purposes. The very moderate price of
the books in this series should bring them within the reach of every
secondary school. Source books enable the pupil to take a more active
part than hitherto in the history lesson. Here is the apparatus, the raw
material: its use we leave to teacher and taught.
Our belief is that the books may profitably be used by all grades of
historical students between the standards of fourth-form boys in
secondary schools and undergraduates at Universities. What
differentiates students at one extreme from those at the other is not so
much the kind of subject-matter dealt with, as the amount they can read
into or extract from it.
In regard to choice of subject-matter, while trying to satisfy the
natural demand for certain "stock" documents of vital importance, we
hope to introduce much fresh and novel matter. It is our intention that
the majority of the extracts should be lively in style--that is,
personal, or descriptive | 1,381.759103 |
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E-text prepared by Glynn Burleson
and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
SIXES AND SEVENS
by
O. HENRY
CONTENTS
I. THE LAST OF THE TROUBADOURS
II. THE SLEUTHS
III. WITCHES' LOAVES
IV. THE PRIDE OF THE CITIES
V. HOLDING UP A TRAIN
VI. ULYSSES AND THE DOGMAN
VII. THE CHAMPION OF THE WEATHER
VIII. MAKES THE WHOLE WORLD KIN
IX. AT ARMS WITH MORPHEUS
X. A GHOST OF A CHANCE
XI. JIMMY HAYES AND MURIEL
XII. THE DOOR OF UNREST
XIII. THE DUPLICITY OF HARGRAVES
XIV. LET ME FEEL YOUR PULSE
XV. OCTOBER AND JUNE
XVI. THE CHURCH WITH AN OVERSHOT-WHEEL
XVII. NEW YORK BY CAMP FIRE LIGHT
XVIII. THE ADVENTURES OF SHAMROCK JOLNES
XIX. THE LADY HIGHER UP
XX. THE GREATER CONEY
XXI. LAW AND ORDER
XXII. TRANSFORMATION OF MARTIN BURNEY
XXIII. THE CALIPH AND THE CAD
XXIV. THE DIAMOND OF KALI
XXV. THE DAY WE CELEBRATE
I
THE LAST OF THE TROUBADOURS
Inexorably Sam Galloway saddled his pony. He was going away from the
Rancho Altito at the end of a three-months' visit. It is not to be
expected that a guest should put up with wheat coffee and biscuits
yellow-streaked with saleratus for longer than that. Nick Napoleon,
the big <DW64> man cook, had never been able to make good biscuits.
Once before, when Nick was cooking at the Willow Ranch, Sam had been
forced to fly from his _cuisine_, after only a six-weeks' sojourn.
On Sam's face was an expression of sorrow, deepened with regret and
slightly tempered by the patient forgiveness of a connoisseur who
cannot be understood. But very firmly and inexorably he buckled his
saddle-cinches, looped his stake-rope and hung it to his saddle-horn,
tied his slicker and coat on the cantle, and looped his quirt on his
right wrist. The Merrydews (householders of the Rancho Altito), men,
women, children, and servants, vassals, visitors, employes, dogs, and
casual callers were grouped in the "gallery" of the ranch house, all
with faces set to the tune of melancholy and grief. For, as the coming
of Sam Galloway to any ranch, camp, or cabin between the rivers Frio
or Bravo del Norte aroused joy, so his departure caused mourning and
distress.
And then, during absolute silence, except for the bumping of a hind
elbow of a hound dog as he pursued a wicked flea, Sam tenderly and
carefully tied his guitar across his saddle on top of his slicker and
coat. The guitar was in a green duck bag; and if you catch the
significance of it, it explains Sam.
Sam Galloway was the Last of the Troubadours. Of course you know about
the troubadours. The encyclopaedia says they flourished between the
eleventh and the thirteenth centuries. What they flourished doesn't
seem clear--you may be pretty sure it wasn't a sword: maybe it was a
fiddlebow, or a forkful of spaghetti, or a lady's scarf. Anyhow, Sam
Galloway was one of 'em.
Sam put on a martyred expression as he mounted his pony. But the
expression on his face was hilarious compared with the one on his
pony's. You see, a pony gets to know his rider mighty well, and it is
not unlikely that cow ponies in pastures and at hitching racks had
often guyed Sam's pony for being ridden by a guitar player instead of
by a rollicking, cussing, all-wool cowboy. No man is a hero to his
saddle-horse. And even an escalator in a department store might be
excused for tripping up a troubadour.
Oh, I know I'm one; and so are you. You remember the stories you
memorize and the card tricks you study and that little piece on the
piano--how does it go?--ti-tum-te-tum-ti-tum--those little Arabian Ten
Minute Entertainments that you furnish when you go up to call on your
rich Aunt Jane. You should know that _omnae personae in tres partes
divisae sunt_. Namely: Barons, Troubadours, and Workers. Barons have no
inclination to read such folderol as this; and Workers have no time:
so I know you must be a Troubadour, and that you will understand Sam
Galloway. Whether we sing, act, dance, write, lecture, or paint, we
are only troubadours; so let us make the worst of it.
The pony with the Dante Alighieri face, guided by the pressure of
Sam's knees, bore that wandering minstrel sixteen miles southeastward.
Nature was in her most benignant mood. League after league of
delicate, sweet flowerets made fragrant the gently undulating
prairie. The east wind tempered the spring warmth; wool-white clouds
flying in from the Mexican Gulf hindered the direct rays of the April
sun. Sam sang songs as he rode. Under his pony's bridle he had tucked
some sprigs of chaparral to keep away the deer flies. Thus crowned,
the long-faced quadruped looked more Dantesque than before, and,
judging by his countenance, seemed to think of Beatrice.
Straight as topography permitted, Sam rode to the sheep ranch of old
man Ellison. A visit to a sheep ranch seemed to him desirable just
then. There had been too many people, too much noise, argument,
competition, confusion, at Rancho Altito. He had never conferred upon
old man Ellison the favour of sojourning at his ranch; but he knew he
would be welcome. The troubadour is his own passport everywhere. The
Workers in the castle let down the drawbridge to him, and the Baron
sets him at his left hand at table in the banquet hall. There ladies
smile upon him and applaud his songs and stories, while the Workers
bring boars' heads and flagons. If the Baron nods once or twice in his
carved oaken chair, he does not do it maliciously.
Old man Ellison welcomed the troubadour flatteringly. He had often
heard praises of Sam Galloway from other ranchmen who had been
complimented by his visits, but had never aspired to such an honour
for his own humble barony. I say barony because old man Ellison
was the Last of the Barons. Of course, Mr. Bulwer-Lytton lived too
early to know him, or he wouldn't have conferred that sobriquet
upon Warwick. In life it is the duty and the function of the Baron
to provide work for the Workers and lodging and shelter for the
Troubadours.
Old man Ellison was a shrunken old man, with a short, yellow-white
beard and a face lined and seamed by past-and-gone smiles. His ranch
was a little two-room box house in a grove of hackberry trees in the | 1,382.054253 |
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[Illustration: W. A. ALLEN, AUTHOR]
THE SHEEP EATERS
BY
W. A. | 1,382.054385 |
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HOME LYRICS.
A Book of Poems.
BY
H. S. BATTERSBY.
VOLUME II.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
This second volume of HOME LYRICS has been published since the death of
the authoress, and in fulfilment of her last wishes, by her children,
and is by them dedicated to the memory of the dearest of mothers, whose
whole life was consecrated to their happiness and welfare and who fully
reciprocated her self-denial, devotion and love.
HER CHILDREN.
INDEX.
* * * * *
To the Memory of a Beloved Son who passed from Earth April 3rd, 1887
Birdies. For a Little Five Year Old
The Angel on War
In Memoriam
The Rink
A Binghampton Home
Mrs. Langtry as Miss Hardcastle in "She Stoops to Conquer"
The Shaker Girl
Ice Palace
The Fable of the Sphynx
Up, Sisters, Morn is Breaking
Oh! I Love the Free Air of the Grand Mountain Height
Sunrise
Love
To the Empress Eugenie on the Death of Her Son
Science
Christmas Morn
A Victim to Modern Inventions
It is but an Autumn Leaflet
Written on board the S. S. "Egypt," September 5th, 1884
Roberval. A Legend of Old France
The Brooklyn Catastrophe
The Naini Tal Catastrophe
To Our Polar Explorers
To the Inconstant
Thanksgiving
"Peace with Honour"
The New Year
Home
It is but a Faded Rosebud
Cleopatra's Needle
A Voice from St. George's Hall
To the Museum Committee, on opening Museums on Sundays
Only a Few Links Wanting
A Painful History
Self Denial
To a Faithful Dog
Flowers
A Welcome from Liverpool to the Queen
In Response to a Kind Gift of Flowers
Health
Ingratitude
Trees
To a Faithful Dog
Self Discipline
The Centenary of a Hero
Springbank
Recollections of Fontainebleau
The Tunbridge Wells Flower Show
HOME LYRICS.
TO THE MEMORY OF A BELOVED SON WHO PASSED FROM EARTH, APRIL 3rd, 1887.
I would gaze down the vista of past years,
In fancy see to-night,
A loved one passed from sight,
But whose blest memory my spirit cheers.
Shrined in the sacred temple of my soul,
He seems again to live,
And fond affection give,
His mother's heart comfort and console.
Perception of the beautiful and bright,
In nature and in art,
Evolved from his true heart
Perpetual beams like sunshine's cheering light.
A simple unsophisticated life,
With faith in action strong,
And perseverance long,
Made all he did with vigorous purpose rife.
Responsive to sweet sympathy's kind claim,
His quick impulsive heart
Loved to take active part
In mirthful joy or sorrowing grief and pain.
His manly face would glow with honest glee.
As with parental pride,
Which he ne'er sought to hide,
He fondly gazed on his loved family.
For them he crowned with industry his days;
Ever they were to him
The sweetest, holiest hymn
Of his heart's jubilant, exultant praise.
And Oh, the tender pity of his eye.
The gentle touch and word,
When his fond heart was stirred
To practical display of sympathy.
His true affection, manners gently gay,
The kiss that seems e'en now
Warm on my lips and brow,
Are memories that ne'er can pass away.
Naught can e'er lessen the fond hope that we
May, one day, meet above
With all we dearly love,
To live again in blissful unity.
* * * * *
BIRDIES. FOR A LITTLE FIVE YEAR OLD.
A tender birdie mother sat
In her soft nest one day,
Teaching her little fledglings, three,
To gambol, sing, and play.
Dear little brood, the mother said,
'Tis time for you to fly
From branch to branch, from tree to tree,
And see the bright blue sky.
Chirrup, the eldest, quick replied,
O yes, sweet mother mine,
We'll be so glad to hop about,
And see the bright sunshine.
Twitter and Downy also said,
We, too, shall happy be,
To bask within the sun's warm rays,
And swing on branch and tree.
Well, then, the mother said, you shall,
And straight the birdies all,
Perched on the edge of the high nest,
Beside the chestnuts tall.
Remember, said the mother bird,
You must not go beyond
That row of trees that skirt the edge
Of the transparent pond.
For if you do you might get lost,
Or drowned, and die in pain,
And never to our dear home nest
Return in joy again.
Well mind your orders, mother dear,
And will not disagree,
But do just what you tell us now,
Said all the birdies three.
They hopped off on delighted wing,
To the next chestnut tree,
O'erjoyed and panting with delight,
The great, grand world to see.
Oh! what a bright, glad scene, they cried,
And what a wond'rous sky!
What joy 'twould be to kiss the Sun,
And be with him on high.
And I, said Downy, I should like
To sail on yonder sea,
And with that pretty milk-white bird,
Skim o'er the waters free.
Said Twitter, you talk very large,
And do not seem to know
Our little wings have not yet power
Beyond these trees to go.
Besides, said Chirrup, mother said
We must not go beyond,
But only hop and fly about
The trees that skirt the pond.
But mother's gone to get us food,
And she will never know,
Said Downy, so upon the pond
I am resolved to go.
O fie! exclaimed the birdies both,
To think of such a thing,
You might get harm, and on us all
Sorrow and trouble bring.
Oh, | 1,382.157793 |
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THE AMAZING MARRIAGE
By George Meredith
1895
CONTENTS:
BOOK 1.
I. ENTER DAME GOSSIP AS CHORUS
II. MISTRESS GOSSIP TELLS OF THE ELOPEMENT OF THE COUNTESS OF
CRESSETT WITH THE OLD BUCCANEER, AND OF CHARLES DUMP THE
POSTILLION CONDUCTING THEM, AND OF A GREAT COUNTY FAMILY
III. CONTINUATION OF THE INTRODUCTORY MEANDERINGS OF DAME GOSSIP,
TOGETHER WITH HER SUDDEN EXTINCTION
IV. MORNING AND FAREWELL TO AN OLD HOME
V. A MOUNTAIN WALK IN MIST AND SUNSHINE
VI. THE NATURAL PHILOSOPHER
VII. THE LADY'S LETTER
VIII. OF THE ENCOUNTER OF TWO STRANGE YOUNG MEN AND THEIR CONSORTING:
IN WHICH THE MALE READER IS REQUESTED TO BEAR IN MIND WHAT WILD
CREATURE HE WAS IN HIS YOUTH, WHILE THE FEMALE SHOULD MARVEL
CREDULOUSLY
IX. CONCERNING THE BLACK GODDESS FORTUNE AND THE WORSHIP OF HER,
TOGETHER WITH AN INTRODUCTION OF SOME OF HER VOTARIES
BOOK 2.
X. SMALL CAUSES
XI. THE PRISONER OF HIS WORD
XII. HENRIETTA'S LETTER TREATING OF THE GREAT EVENT
XIII. AN IRRUPTION OF MISTRESS GOSSIP IN BREACH OF THE CONVENTION
XIV. A PENDANT OF THE FOREGOING
XV. OPENING STAGE OF THE HONEYMOON
XVI. IN WHICH THE BRIDE FROM FOREIGN PARTS IS GIVEN A TASTE OF OLD
ENGLAND
XVII. RECORDS A SHADOW CONTEST CLOSE ON THE FOREGOING
XVIII. DOWN WHITECHAPEL WAY
XIX. THE GIRL MADGE
BOOK 3.
XX. STUDIES IN FOG, GOUT, AN OLD SEAMAN, A LOVELY SERPENT, AND THE
MORAL EFFECTS THAT MAY COME OF A BORROWED SHIRT
XXI. IN WHICH WE HAVE FURTHER GLIMPSES OF THE WONDROUS MECHANISM OF
OUR YOUNGER MAN
XXII. A RIGHT-MINDED GREAT LADY
XXIII. IN DAME GOSSIP'S VEIN
XXIV. A KIDNAPPING AND NO GREAT HARM
XXV. THE PHILOSOPHER MAN OF ACTION
XXVI. AFTER SOME FENCING THE DAME PASSES OUR GUARD
XXVII. WE DESCEND INTO A STEAMER'S ENGINE-ROOM
XXVIII. BY CONCESSIONS TO MISTRESS GOSSIP A FURTHER INTRUSION IS
AVERTED
BOOK 4.
XXIX. CARINTHIA IN WALES
XXX. REBECCA WYTHAN
XXXI. WE HAVE AGAIN TO DEAL WITH THE EXAMPLES OF OUR YOUNGER MAN
XXXII. IN WHICH WE SEE CARINTHIA PUT IN PRACTICE ONE OF HER | 1,382.255335 |
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[Frontispiece: Magna Charta, 1215: King John submits to the Barons, and
signs the Great Charter of British Liberties.]
A SHORT HISTORY OF
ENGLAND, IRELAND
AND SCOTLAND
BY
MARY PLATT PARMELE
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1907
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
WILLIAM BEVERLEY HARISON
COPYRIGHT, 1898, 1900, 1906, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
PREFACE
Will the readers of this little work please bear in mind the
difficulties which must attend the painting of a very large picture,
with multitudinous characters and details, upon a very small canvas!
This book is mainly an attempt to trace to their sources some of the
currents which enter into the life of Great Britain to-day, and to
indicate the starting-points of some among the various
threads--legislative, judicial, social, etc.--which are gathered into
the imposing strand of English civilization in this closing nineteenth
century.
The reader will please observe that there seem to have been two things
most closely interwoven with the life of England--RELIGION and MONEY
have been the great evolutionary factors in her development.
It has been, first, the resistance of the people to the extortions of
money by the ruling class, and second, the violating of their religious
instincts, which has made nearly all that is vital in English history.
The lines upon which the government has developed to its present
constitutional form are chiefly lines of resistance to oppressive
enactments in these two matters. The dynastic and military history of
England, although picturesque and interesting, is really only a
narrative of the external causes which have impeded the nation's growth
toward its ideal of "the greatest possible good to the greatest
possible number."
The historic development of Ireland and Scotland, and the events which
have brought these two countries into organic union with England are,
of necessity, very briefly related.
M. P. P.
CONTENTS
_HISTORY OF ENGLAND_
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Ancient Britain--Caesar's Invasion--Britain a Roman
Province--Boadicea--Lyndin or London--Roman Legions
Withdrawn--Angles and Saxons--Cerdic--Teutonic
Invasion--English Kingdoms Consolidated ........... 9
CHAPTER II.
Augustine--Edwin--Caedmon--Baeda--Alfred--Canute--Edward
the Confessor--Harold--William the Conqueror......... 25
CHAPTER III.
"Gilds" and Boroughs--William II.--Crusades--Henry I.--Henry
II.--Becket's Death | 1,382.461271 |
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[Illustration]
COBWEBS
FROM
AN EMPTY SKULL.
BY
DOD GRILE.
ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS BY DALZIEL BROTHERS.
[Illustration]
_LONDON AND NEW YORK:_
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
1874
To my friend,
SHERBURNE B. EATON.
CONTENTS
Fables of Zambri, the Parsee.
Brief Seasons of Intellectual Dissipation.
Divers Tales.
1. The Grateful Bear.
2. The Setting Sachem.
3. Feodora.
4. The Legend of Immortal Truth.
5. Converting a Prodigal.
6. Four Jacks and a Knave.
7. Dr. Deadwood, I Presume.
8. Nut-Cracking
9. The Magician's Little Joke
10. Seafaring.
11. Tony Rollo's Conclusion.
12. No Charge for Attendance.
13. Pernicketty's Fright.
14. Juniper.
15. Following the Sea.
16. A Tale of Spanish Vengeance.
17. Mrs. Dennison's Head.
18. A Fowl Witch.
19. The Civil Service in Florida.
20. A Tale of the Bosphorus.
21. John Smith.
22. Sundered Hearts.
23. The Early History of Bath.
24. The Following Dorg.
25. Snaking.
26. Maud's Papa.
27. Jim Beckwourth's Pond.
28. Stringing a Bear.
PREFACE.
The matter of which this volume is composed appeared originally in the
columns of "FUN," when the wisdom of the Fables and the truth of the
Tales tended to wholesomely diminish the levity of that jocund sheet.
Their publication in a new form would seem to be a fitting occasion to
say something as to their merit.
Homer's "Iliad," it will be remembered, was but imperfectly
appreciated by Homer's contemporaries. Milton's "Paradise Lost" was so
lightly regarded when first written, that the author received but
twenty-five pounds for it. Ben Jonson was for some time blind to the
beauties of Shakespeare, and Shakespeare himself had but small esteem
for his own work.
Appearing each week in "FUN," these Fables and Tales very soon
attracted the notice of the Editor, who was frank enough to say,
afterward, that when he accepted the manuscript he did not quite
perceive the quality of it. The printers, too, into whose hands it
came, have since admitted that for some days they felt very little
interest in it, and could not even make out what it was all about.
When to these evidences I add the confession that at first I did not
myself observe anything extraordinary in my work, I think I need say
no more: the discerning public will note the parallel, and my modesty
be spared the necessity of making an ass of itself.
D.G.
FABLES OF ZAMBRI, THE PARSEE.
[Illustration]
I.
A certain Persian nobleman obtained from a cow gipsy a small oyster.
Holding him up by the beard, he addressed him thus:
"You must try to forgive me for what I am about to do; and you might
as well set about it at once, for you haven't much time. I should
never think of swallowing you if it were not so easy; but opportunity
is the strongest of all temptations. Besides, I am an orphan, and very
hungry."
"Very well," replied the oyster; "it affords me genuine pleasure to
comfort the parentless and the starving. I have already done my best
for our friend here, of whom you purchased me; but although she has an
amiable and accommodating stomach, _we couldn't agree_. For this
trifling incompatibility--would you believe it?--she was about to stew
me! Saviour, benefactor, proceed."
"I think," said the nobleman, rising and laying down the oyster, "I
ought to know something more definite about your antecedents before
succouring you. If you couldn't agree with your mistress, you are
probably no better than you should be."
People who begin doing something from a selfish motive frequently drop
it when they learn that it is a real benevolence.
II.
A rat seeing a cat approaching, and finding no avenue of escape, went
boldly up to her, and said:
"Madam, I have just swallowed a dose of powerful bane, and in
accordance with instructions upon the label, have come out of my hole
to die. Will you kindly direct me to a spot where my corpse will prove
peculiarly offensive?"
"Since you are so ill," replied the cat, "I will myself transport you
to a spot which I think will suit | 1,382.582937 |
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FIRST LOVE.
A NOVEL
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
SAUNDERS AND OTLEY, CONDUIT STREET.
1830.
LONDON:
IBOTSON AND PALMER, PRINTERS, SAVOY-STREET, STRAND.
All the mottoes annexed to the chapters of this work, have been
selected from the Author's dramatic and other poetical works, not yet
published.
FIRST LOVE.
CHAPTER I.
"No hut shelters Comala from the rain."
A family of travelling vagrants were overtaken on the high road
just leading out of Keswick, on the Penrith side, by a gentleman
on horseback. He had observed the same group begging during the
entertainments of the regatta which had concluded but the evening
before.
"Ho! ho! my good woman," he said, as he passed in a sling trot, "I am
glad to see your boy has found his second leg!"
The woman, who appeared to be young, and who would have been handsome,
had not dirt and impudence rendered her disgusting, looked behind her,
and perceived that a poor, sickly, ragged child, apparently about five
years old, who followed her, tired of his crutches, which pushed up his
little shoulders almost out of their sockets, had contrived to loosen
the bandage of his tied-up leg, and slip it down out of the dirty linen
bag, in which it usually hung on the double, and from which it was not
always released, even at night, as so doing necessarily incurred the
further trouble of tying it up again in the morning. She laid down her
bundle, and stood still with her arms a-kimbo, till, with hesitating
steps, and looks of suppressed terror, her victim came up; then
glancing round, to ascertain that the gentleman was out of sight, she
seized the child, snatched both the crutches from his trembling hands,
and grasping them in one of hers, she began to flog him without pity.
He seemed used to this, for he uttered no sound of complaint; silent
tears only rolled down his face.
"Ye villain!" said she at last, with a strong Cumberland accent, and
gasping for breath, "it's not the first time, is it? it's not the first
time I've beat you within an inch of your life for this. But I'll
do for you this time: that I will! You shan't be a burden to me any
longer, instead of a profit. If it wasn't for the miserable looks of
ye," she added, shaking him almost to atoms as she wheeled him round,
"that sometimes wrings a penny out of the folk, I'd ha' finished ye
long ago." Then, with her great foot, armed with an iron-rimmed wooden
shoe, she gave him a violent kick on the offending leg, continuing
thus:--"Its best break the shanks on ye at ance, ye whey-faced urchin
ye! and then ye'll tak te yeer crutches without biddin'!"
Finding, however, that though he had staggered and fallen forward on
both hands, he had yet risen again, and still contrived to stand, she
once more lifted her foot, to repeat the kick with increased force: for
she was as much intoxicated by drink as by rage, and really seemed to
intend to break the child's leg; but her husband, a sort of travelling
tinker, coming up at the moment, and uttering a violent curse, struck
her a blow that, poised as she just then was on one foot, brought her
to the ground.
During the scuffle which ensued, the poor little sufferer, who had
occasioned it all, crept through the hedge of a field by the road side,
and hid himself under some bushes. But the woman, soon after pursuing
in search of him, jumped the fence, and dropped among the very brambles
where he lay. She perceived him instantly, and shook her clenched hand,
which so paralysed him, that he did not dare to move, though she for
some time delayed seizing him. Finding that the inside of the hedge
was covered with clothes for bleaching, she thought it best, the first
thing she did, to secure a good bundle of so desirable a booty, and
fling it over to her husband. She was just in the act of so doing,
when the owner of the linen came into the field, and immediately set
up the halloo of "Thieves! thieves!" upon which, dropping what she had
collected, and giving up all thoughts of carrying the child with her,
she made the best of her way, and disappeared not only from the spot,
but from the neighbourhood.
About an hour after, when the poor boy, pressed by hunger, crept from
his hiding place, a girl, who was left to watch the clothes, spying
him, cried out, "Ha! you little spawn e--the devil! did she leave you
to bring her the bundle?" And so saying, she pursued and beat him, till
she drove him out of the field, and into the adjoining garden of an old
woman, who was standing at the moment with a long pole in her hand,
endeavouring to beat down, as well as her failing sight would permit,
the few remaining apples from the topmost branches of her single
apple-tree: the well laden lower boughs of which had been robbed of
their goodly winter store but the preceding night.
On seeing a boy scramble through her hedge, she concluded, of course,
that his errand was to possess himself of the said remaining apples,
and, accordingly, uttering a yell of execration, she converted her
fruit-pole into a weapon defensive and offensive, and hobbling towards
the poor child, drove him from her premises; over the boundary of
which, long after he had so far escaped, she continued to address to
him, at the very top of her voice, every opprobrious epithet of which
she was mistress: her shrill tones the while collecting, at the heels
of the fugitive, hooting boys, and barking curs innumerable. These,
however, did not follow him far; and when they returned to their homes
or their sports, he wandered about for the rest of the day, avoiding
houses and people, and fearing that every one he met would beat him.
At length, towards evening, he found himself on the borders of the lake
of Derwent, and seeing a boat fastened close to the land, he got into
it; partly with the idea of hiding himself, and partly with a vague
recollection of having often wished to be a sailor-boy, when begging
about with his mother in sea-port towns. He rolled himself up in an old
cloak which lay under one of the benches, where, exhausted by pain,
hunger, and fatigue, he fell asleep.
Shortly after our poor wanderer had chosen this refuge, in stepped
Master Henry St. Aubin, whose pleasure-boat it was, to take a sail
_alone_, contrary to reiterated commands, and for no other reason,
but because, for fear of accidents, he had been desired never to go
without a servant. He pushed from the land, and began to arrange his
canvass. He put up his main-sail, which filling immediately, bent his
little bark on one side, almost level with the water, and made it fly
across the lake in great style. When, however, it got under shade of
the high mountains on the Borrowdale coast, the breeze slackened, and
he determined to add his mizen and jib; but what was his surprise,
when, on attempting to remove the old cloak which lay near them, he
discovered within its folds the sleeping boy. Supposing him to be a spy
placed there to watch his movements, and report his disobedience, he
began to curse and swear, kicked at him under the bench, and ordered
him to pack out of his boat instantly. The poor child, but half awake,
gazed all round him, got up as well as his bruises would permit, and
was about to obey in silence; but, when, he saw how far they were from
land, he hesitated; upon which Henry took up a rope's end, and lashed
at him in the manner that sailors call starting, repeating at each
stroke, "Jump, spy! jump!"
Driven almost wild with the pain of the blows, the child at last did
jump; but, at the same moment, caught instinctively at the side of
the boat, to which he hung with both hands | 1,382.994836 |
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produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
HISTORIC BUBBLES
BY
FREDERIC LEAKE.
[Illustration: colophon]
_The earth has bubbles as the water has,
And these are of them._--BANQUO.
_Mais les ouvrages les plus courts
Sont toujours les meilleurs._--LA FONTAINE.
ALBANY, N. Y.:
RIGGS PRINTING & PUBLISHING CO.,
1896.
COPYRIGHT, 1896
BY
RIGGS PRINTING AND PUBLISHING COMPANY
CONTENTS
PAGE
Duke of Berwick, 7
Captivity of Babylon, 45
The Second House of Burgundy, 75
Two Jaquelines, 115
Hoche, 152
An Interesting Ancestor of Queen Victoria, 185
John Wiclif, 201
PREFACE
Once upon a time I was a member of that arch-erudite body, the Faculty
of Williams College, and I took my turn in putting forth lectures
tending or pretending to edification. I was not to the manner born,
and had indulged even to indigestion, in the reading of history. These
ebullitions are what came of that intemperance.
The manuscripts were lying harmless in a bureau drawer, under gynæcian
strata, when, last summer, a near and rummaging relative, a printer,
unearthed them, read them, and asked leave to publish them. I refused;
but after conventional hesitation, I--still vowing I would ne’er
consent--consented.
With this diagnosis, I abandon them to the printer and the public.
Those who read them will form opinions of them, and some who read them
not, will do the same thing in accordance with a tempting canon of
criticism.
F. L.
WILLIAMSTOWN, MASS., 1896.
The Duke of Berwick
In the north-east corner of the map of England, or, if you are a
Scotchman, in the south-east corner of the map of Scotland, you will
find the town of Berwick.
That town was held first to belong to Scotland, and then to England.
Then the lawyers tried their hand at it, and made out that it belonged
to neither--that a writ issued either in England or Scotland, would
not run in Berwick-on-Tweed. So an act of Parliament was passed in the
reign of George II., to extend the authority of the British realm to
that evasive municipality.
The name is pronounced _Berrick_. It is a rule in England to spell
proper names one way and pronounce them another: thus Edinburgh is
Edinboro, Derby is Darby, Brougham is Broom, Cholmondeley is Chumly and
so on. This rule is sometimes inconvenient. An American tourist wished
to visit the home of Charlotte Brontë. He asked the way to Haworth.
_Ha-worth!_ Nobody had ever heard of such a place. No such place
in that part of England. At last somebody guessed that this stray
foreigner wanted to go to Hawth. Haworth is Hawth.
But that act of Parliament did not decree that folks should say Berrick
and not Berwick; and even if it had, it would not be of force in this
country; so the reader may pronounce it just as he pleases.
From that town was derived the ducal title of my subject.
In November, 1873, I sailed for England. Among my shipmates was Lord
Alfred Churchill an uncle of the present duke of Marlborough, and a
descendent of John Churchill duke of Marlborough the famous general
of Queen Anne. Walking the deck one day with Lord Alfred, I asked him
about his family--not about his wife and children--that would not have
been good manners; but about the historic line from which he sprang.
I asked how it was that he was a Churchill, when he was descended
not from a son but from a daughter of the great duke. He explained
that an act of parliament had authorised Charles Spencer, earl of
Sunderland, son-in-law of the duke, not only to take the title of duke
of Marlborough, but to change his name from Spencer to Churchill.
There can be no better evidence of the overshadowing glory of the
great captain than that the house of Sunderland should so nearly
suppress the old, aristocratic name of Spencer, in favor of the new,
the parvenu Churchill. The Spencers came in with the Conqueror, and we
meet them often in history. We well remember the two Spencers, father
and son, who were executed in the reign of Edward II. on a charge of
high-treason; and that bizarre historian A’Becket says that the sad
tale of those Spencers led afterwards to the introduction of spencers
without any tail at all.
I asked his lordship what had become of the Berwick branch of the
Churchills. He answered drily that he did not know--so drily in fact
that I inferred he had forgotten there had ever been such a branch.
In order to introduce that branch I must ask you to go back with me to
the middle of the seventeenth century.
Charles Stuart, Charles II. sits on the throne of England, or rather
perambulates about it, for he is a great walker: he and his dogs are
always in motion; and his favorite breed of those animals is still
known as the King Charles spaniel.
Charles was a witty and a disreputable monarch: one current view of him
is that he never said a foolish thing and never did a wise one.
Charles had married Catharine of Braganza a daughter of that John
of Braganza who had rescued Portugal from the yoke of the Spanish
Hapsburgs, and founded the present dynasty. Catharine bore no children,
and the next heir to the crown, was James duke of York brother of
Charles. The two brothers were unlike in everything but general
worthlessness: Charles was an idler and a scoffer; James a busybody
and a devoted--not exactly devout--Roman Catholic. Both were fond of
women; but mark the difference! Charles gathered to him handsome ones
only; and they were truly handsome, as their portraits still testify.
James fell in love so perseveringly with homely ones, that Charles said
in his ribald way, that it was the priests who imposed those girls on
James as a penance.
Among the damsels who won James’ heart, was Anne daughter of Sir
Edward Hyde, afterwards Earl of Clarendon. Now Miss Anne Hyde though
respectable, was certainly no match for the blood-royal, for the heir
apparent; and James after having gained her affections, sought to
jilt her. What led him to think better of it is not clear: stories
differ: it is even said that her father himself opposed the marriage
out of prudence and politics, just as Cardinal Mazarin prevented Louis
XIV. from marrying his niece Olympia with whom the young king was
desperately in love. Another legend is that Sir Edward came and knelt
before the king and pleaded the cause of his daughter; and Charles
told James he must marry that girl. At all events, he did marry her.
Little homely Anne Hyde was now great duchess of York, wife of the
heir apparent, prospective queen of England. Among her maids of honor
was Arabella daughter of Sir Winston Churchill a country gentlemen
of credit and renown. Arabella had a homely face--there is augury
in that--but her form was symmetrical. She was a bold horseman--or
horsewoman if you insist. James was equally equestrian, so he and
Arabella were often companions. One day Miss Churchill had mounted
the most unruly animal in the duke’s stables. Her horse reared and
kicked and plunged so violently that in spite of her horsemanship, (not
horsewomanship,) she was thrown to the ground. James sprang to her aid.
He passed his arm around that shapely bodice and looked into that plain
face as he raised her up; and his susceptible heart was transfixed once
more.
On the 21. August 1670, there was born James Fitzjames, James the son
of James and of Arabella Churchill. It was a lusty scion, Churchill
through and through; very little of the Stuart perceptible. Leaving
the brat to kick and yell and thrive--but don’t forget him--we will
consider some other of his relatives--respectable folks all, and
moving in the best society, or I should not venture to introduce them
to my readers.
Arabella had a brother named John who, you see, was uncle to the little
Fitzjames. But for this unclehood and this brotherhood, we probably
would never have heard of John. There might have been no Blenheim, no
Ramilies, no Oudenard, no Malplaquet, in fine, no duke of Marlborough.
James seeing that his morganatic brother-in-law was resolved to be a
soldier, sent him to France to serve under Turenne; and John did not
waste his time.
Another of the boy’s relations was William of Orange who was his first
cousin and married his half sister Mary daughter of James. William is
the hero, not of this story which is authentic, but of that fascinating
romance Macaulay’s History of England. William was endowed with all
the talents and perhaps with one or two of the many virtues attributed
to him in that romance. He was as licentious as his uncles Charles
and James, and was still keeping his odalisques at the very hour when
Macaulay pictures him to us, wringing his hands over his dying wife.
He was cruel and even blood-thirsty: the massacre of Glencoe has left
a stain on his memory which no romance can wash out. As we shall see
presently, he would have put to death this very boy, had he not been
held back by a hand which the fate of battle had made stronger than
his. He was the last able king of England; but he broke down the power
of the crown by impoverishing it. (Blackstone, Book 1. Chapter 8.) He
squandered the crown lands not only upon the Dutch adventurers who
had followed him from Holland, the Bentincks, the Zulesteins, the
Auverquerques, the Keppels who thus fattened and battened upon the
English people, but upon more questionable favorites, upon the partners
of his private vices, to such an extent that at his death parliament
took back what he had given to the women, but the men being politicians
found means to keep their share.
In 1685, Charles II. died. He was but 55. He had been temperate in
eating and drinking and had taken plenty of exercise, and in the
ordinary course of nature, was good for twenty years yet. But he had
caught cold and had a touch of vertigo. The doctors came and bled him.
It did him no good, because a bleeding never did anybody any good. The
next day they came and bled him a second time, and that did him no
good, because a second bleeding never did anybody any good. So they
came the third day and bled him a third time and that settled him. A
Roman Catholic priest was smuggled up the back stairs; the scoffer was
shrived and was gathered to his fathers--the Stuarts, the Tudors, the
Plantagenets, the Bourbons, the Valois; and his brother James reigned
in his stead.
Two years after his accession, James conferred the title of Duke of
Berwick on the boy Fitzjames who was now seventeen. It was a barren
title no estates annexed; but it was his father’s gift, and with filial
piety he cleaved to it his whole life, in preference to other and
better endowed patents of nobility which his sword won for him.
He too must be a soldier: the Churchill half of him would have scorned
any peaceful course of life; so his father sent him to France to study
the art of war in the same school where his uncle John had graduated.
When he was nineteen, western Europe being at peace, he got leave of
his father to offer his services to the emperor who was fighting the
Turks, and was sore pressed by those misbelievers. James gave him a
letter to an Irishman in the imperial service, named Taft who had
held the rank of colonel, and had just been made a general. Taft had
influence enough with the commander-in-chief, the duke of Lorraine, to
give to Berwick the regiment he had left.
The Turks lay encamped on the spot where a hundred years before, they
had won the first battle of Mohacs, and what still added to their
self-confidence, was that the duke of Lorraine, in obedience to the
emperor’s orders, had attacked their position and been repulsed; and
now scorning to act longer on the defensive, they marched upon the
Christians. A bloody struggle followed in which victory was wrested
from the hand of the Moslem. Berwick in his memoirs says that the
Imperialists lost only ten thousand men--only ten thousand men! How
many Turks fell in that dreadful day, he does not report. Perhaps
like a good Catholic he thought that misbelievers, especially dead
misbelievers were not worth the counting. He says next to nothing about
his own share in the battle; but from the fact that he was immediately
promoted, it may be inferred that the boy did not belie the blood of
Churchill in all that carnage.
He did not remain long in the Emperor’s service. His father now needed
the aid of every one of the few friends that were left him; and
Berwick returned to England. We all know that James lost his crown by
undertaking to reëstablish the Roman Catholic religion in England; but
he was by no means the natural fool for thinking of such a thing that
Macaulay represents him to be.
In the whole history of national religions there is no other instance
of such inconstancy as had been shown by the English in that and the
preceding century. At the beck of Henry VIII., they renounced the pope
and all his works. But Henry told them that he himself was now pope
in England, so they still cleaved to popery: they bowed the knee to a
Cockney pope instead of to an Italian pope. In the reign of Henry’s son
Edward VI., they went over body and soul to protestantism, priests and
all. Then under his sister Mary, Bloody Mary, they all hurried back
to the Mass and the Breviary. I know there were some exceptions, John
Rogers and all that, but they were too few to invalidate the rule.
In the next reign, that of Elizabeth, they changed their creed the
fourth time. The Venitian ambassador at the court of Elizabeth, wrote
home that the English would turn Turks or Jews to save their persons
or their pockets. Nor did this pliability of faith end there. James
himself remembered the day when, at the preaching of a few saints in
jack-boots and spurs, half of England stopped going decorously to
church, and repeating devoutly the liturgy, and fell to singing psalms
through the nose. Let me say in parenthesis, that it was then that a
certain nasal drawl came to be considered the mark of vital piety, and
it was then that these northern States were colonised. As we Americans
have remained more pious than the English, we have retained more of
that peculiar accent.
Cromwell died; jack-boots and spurs ceased to be evangelists; nasal
psalmody went out of fashion; and the Church of England was restored.
Was it strange that James should persuade himself that he could make
the English people turn one more somerset? But he was not the man to do
it, and his friends told him so. Louis XIV. warned him to be careful.
The archbishop of Rheims suggested that a mass might not be worth three
kingdoms. In the meantime the pope, Innocent the eleventh, was working
in a curious subterranean way against him. Louis had insulted Innocent
and imprisoned his nuncio; and the pope was ready to league himself
even with protestants to put on the English throne a dynasty hostile to
the French king.
England had but recently escaped from under the iron heel of the
saints; and she dreaded their return to power as much as the pope’s.
Consequently the Church of England which James’ grandfather (James I.)
said was the only church for a gentleman, was once more the strongest
ecclesiastical body in the land. If James had been a little tolerant
and let the bishops alone he might at least have reëstablished Roman
Catholicism as the religion of the Court; but he was a fanatic and
must have the whole or nothing; and he got the latter.
The English, split up into different sects which hated each other with
theological hatred, lost confidence in themselves. A foreign prince
and a foreign army were called in as in the days of James’ worthless
ancestor King John. William of Holland with an army of Dutchmen landed
at Torbay the fifth of November 1688; and England once more suffered
the humiliation of an invasion. It was at this juncture that Berwick
arrived in England, and took command of the king’s household troops
which his uncle Marlborough had abandoned. Nobody contributed more to
the overthrow of James than John Churchill who owed him everything. He
and his shrew of a wife Sarah had influence enough with Anne, James’
youngest daughter, and with her husband George of Denmark, to lead them
too to desert their father and to go over to William and Mary.
Anne was a stupid girl and made a stupid queen; but her stupidity was
but a mild form of that lesion in comparison with that which afflicted
her husband. We have King Charles’ own testimony on that point. Supping
one day with James, he said to him:--Brother James I have tried our
nephew George drunk and I have tried him sober, and drunk or sober
there is nothing in him. George had a stolid way of exclaiming _Est-il
possible_! When James was told that his daughter and son-in-law had
abandoned him: What, cried he, has Est-il possible gone too?
James was now reminded of the day when they cut his father’s head
off,[1] and he thought it time to quit. He fled and William and Mary
mounted the throne. They were not the next heirs: one little life stood
between and one only--that of the infant son of James and of his second
wife Mary Beatrice of Esté. But though, as Macaulay himself admits, no
birth was ever better attested, all England was made to believe that
the child was spurious. Even Mary and Anne gave countenance to that
infamous story. That child was afterwards known as the Pretender or
James III.
The revolution of 1688, which drove out James and put upon the throne
William and Mary, was a long step forward in the history of English
liberty; but the personal share in it of the daughters and sons-in-law
of James, was not commendable. King Lear’s daughters were less
unfilial than Mary and Anne. Goneril and Regan did not drive their old
father out into the storm: it was his own high temper that did that:
he was furious that they would not entertain his hundred knights.
They, the daughters, wanted him to sit by the fireside and let the
housemaid bring him his slippers. He insisted on traipsing through the
house at the head of a hundred stalking fellows, tracking the mud over
everything; and I leave it to any good housewife if the girls were not
right.
But Mary and Anne and William drove the poor old king from his throne,
from his home and from his country, and he died in exile.
Mary is Macaulay’s heroine, yet to make a point he cannot help
relating her untimely glee, running from room to room in the palace of
Whitehall, delighted to find herself the mistress of so fine a house
from which she had just expelled her own father.
James fled to France, and Berwick went with him. Among other devoted
friends who left their country and joined their fortunes to those of
the banished king, was an Irish gentleman named MacMahon. From him was
descended Marie Edmée Patrice Maurice MacMahon whilom president of the
Republic of France.
A few years later Berwick accompanied his father in his expedition to
Ireland which had remained faithful to him. That expedition came to
grief, as you know, at the battle of the Boyne, in which Berwick took
part. In another action during that campaign, he had two horses killed
under him, and was himself wounded. He says in his memoirs, that that
was the only wound he ever received; but he did receive one besides,
and we shall see by and by why he never mentions it.
On his return to France, Berwick became a French subject, and entered
the French army for the rest of his life. Under the last two kings,
Charles and James, England had been the ally of France. Louis XIV.
was their first cousin, all three being grand-children of Henry
IV. William’s mother a sister of Charles and James, was equally of
course cousin to Louis; but there was nobody on earth that William
hated as he did the French king. Nor was this hatred without a cause:
Louis had invaded and desolated William’s native country, Holland,
chiefly because a Dutch envoy who had not been brought up in refined
society, had told a French envoy to go to--well, it is not polite to
say where--and William succeeded in dragging England into a war with
France. England had nothing to gain in that war, and gained nothing but
defeat.
William himself took the command. In person William III. was thin,
pale, dyspeptic and unwholesome, which accounts for his bad temper.
He was brave and obstinate, and no series of defeats could take the
conceit out of him. A good statesman, he was a bad general: it has even
been said of him that he lost more battles than any other commander in
history. He was now opposed in the field by a genius of high order,
François de Montmorenci, Duke of Luxembourg, Marshal of France.
Luxembourg like Marlborough had learnt the art of war under Condé and
Turenne and would have equalled those leaders, if he had had their
bodily vigor; but he was a ricketty hunchback.
The first encounter at which Berwick was present, between those two
valetudinary warriors who ought both have been at home with their feet
in warm water, was at Steinkerk where William came near scrambling a
victory by a stratagem. He had seized one of Luxembourg’s spies and had
forced him to write false intelligence to him. Luxembourg was deceived,
and before he knew it the English were upon him; but so promptly did he
throw his troops into order of battle that after an engagement which
was surpassed in bloody obstinacy only by the one that followed, the
victory remained to him.
The next year these two generals met at Landen or Neerwinden. The
battle takes both names from two towns held by the English at the
beginning of it. Landen, says Macaulay, was the most terrible battle
of the seventeenth century. Berwick says he himself was chosen by
Luxembourg to open the ball. At the head of four battalions he marched
upon Neerwinden. He forced the English lines and drove them back into
the town. But they rallied; Berwick’s four battalions were broken up,
and he was left almost alone. He tore the trappings off his uniform,
and by speaking English hoped to pass for an English officer till he
could escape. But he was recognized, and gave up his sword to one of
his Churchill uncles a brother of Marlborough.
The awful carnage of this awful battle then centered around Neerwinden.
The French were repulsed time and again. At last the household troops
of King Louis were brought up to the attack. At their head was the
king’s nephew Philip duke of Chartres, afterwards duke of Orleans,
afterwards Regent of France. These soldiers had turned the tide at
Steinkerk, and now once more they maintained their high reputation: The
English were driven out.
Macaulay says:--“At Landen two poor, sickly beings were the soul of
two great armies. It is probable that among the hundred and twenty
thousand soldiers marshalled around Neerwinden, the two feeblist in
body were the hunchback dwarf who urged forward the fiery onset of
France, and the asthmatic skeleton who covered the slow retreat of
England.”
Quite picturesque, that! but the truth is William covered no retreat
slow or fast: he covered nothing but his horse and to him he applied
both spurs: it was the best he could do.
Before he fled William had summoned his cousin Berwick before
him. He told him he should send him to England to be tried for
high-treason--He, a born Englishman in arms against his native country!
This purpose was quite worthy of the signer of the warrant for the
massacre of Glencoe; but it was frustrated as follows:
In the list of prisoners to be exchanged on both sides, Luxembourg
observed that the name of Berwick was wanting. He learned for what fate
he was reserved; he seized the duke of Ormond one of his own prisoners,
and sent William word that whatever measure was meted out to Berwick,
should be measured again to Ormond. Ormond was a favorite of William,
and Berwick was exchanged for him.[2]
In all this dreadful fighting the best soldier in Europe remains nearly
inactive; not that he was sulky like our old friend Achilles; but his
sovereign feared and hated him, and was reluctant to employ him. It is
true that William had sent Marlborough into Ireland to quell the Irish
who were fighting the Saxon whenever there was Saxon there to fight,
and when there was none, were fighting each other for the mere love of
the sport. It was a task that had already baffled William and his Dutch
generals, and which perhaps he hoped would baffle Marlborough; but John
Churchill was not born to be baffled. He knocked the heads together so
smartly of Pat and Mike that those gentlemen made up their minds to be
_aisy_; and he finished his errand so promptly that William himself
felt bound to say that considering my lord Marlborough had seen so
little of war, he had done very well.
In 1702, William was returning one day from a ride which he was taking
for his dyspepsia, when his horse slipped and fell. The jolt shook
out of him what little of life he had left; and Anne succeeded to the
throne. Mary had died some years before. The day of Marlborough was
now come. The theatre of his glory and chiefly that of Berwick’s, was
the war of the Spanish succession.
Charles II. of Spain was the fifth of the Spanish Hapsburgs; he was
also the fifth in descent from the great emperor Charles V. who was
Charles I. of Spain. Charles II. having no children, the next heir was
the dauphin of France, son of Louis XIV. and of Maria Teresa the oldest
sister of Charles; but in order to prevent the two crowns from falling
upon one head, the dauphin assigned his right to his second son Philip.
The other claimants were the archduke Charles afterwards Emperor, and
a young prince of the house of Bavaria, both grand-children of younger
sisters of Maria. The Bourbon claim was therefore the best.
English historians lay great stress upon the fact that Louis and Maria
at their marriage, formally renounced all claim to the crown of Spain
both for themselves and their posterity; but those historians take care
not to tell the whole story. The renunciation in question was not a
compact with England or with the Empire: it was a compact with Spain
alone; and if Spain chose to waive it, it was nobody else’s business.
To avoid war however Louis and the Emperor agreed to withdraw their
claim, and leave it to the little Bavarian; but just then that prince
in an untimely manner died. Soon after his demise, the king of Spain
died after having, at the request of his nobles and by the advice of
the pope, made a will bequeathing the crown to the legitimate heir, the
house of Bourbon. It is noteworthy that the dying king was a Hapsburg,
and had expressed his preference for a Hapsburg successor; but the
pope who was also moribund warned him not to die with the sin upon his
conscience of having diverted the succession from the lawful channel.
Where did the renunciation stand in the opinion of these two potentates?
Philip of Bourbon now king of Spain entered Madrid accompanied by his
wife and a singular personage whom Louis had sent with them. This was
the Princess of Orsini of the house of La Trémoille in France, and
widow of the duke of Bracciano, prince of Orsini in Italy. She ruled
Philip, ruled his wife, ruled Spain, and was an indispensable agent
there of Louis XIV.
The Spaniards received Philip with open arms; but war was none the less
declared by the Empire, England and Holland for the purpose of driving
Philip out and putting the archduke in his place, which would have been
nearly to reëstablish the empire of Charles-the-Fifth. But the English
thought of nothing but of fighting the French, and of taking revenge
for Steinkerk and Landen.
Marlborough took command of the English and Dutch. The Emperor’s
troops were led by another great soldier, the Prince Eugene. I have
already alluded to a pretty Italian girl, Olympia Mancini niece of
Cardinal Mazarin, who won the heart of Louis XIV. in his youth, and
was prevented by her uncle from marrying him. She got over that
disappointment by which she missed being queen of France, and married
the Count of Soissons of the house of Savoy, and gave birth at Paris to
the Prince Eugene. He was educated for the Church; but he resolved to
be a soldier and applied to the king for a commission. Louis told him
to go back to his beads and his breviary; so he offered his services to
the Emperor, and spent his life fighting alternately against the Turks
and against his own countrymen. It was he who two years after the close
of the war, commanded the imperial forces at Petervaradin, and struck
the first irreparable blow to the Ottoman power.
I cannot follow the brilliant career of those two captains. Brilliant
as it was however, it came to nought, and chiefly by the soldiership
which the duke of Berwick displayed in Spain itself. The English had
landed an army there to which was added a contingent of Portuguese.
Louis sent Berwick to oppose them with what few troops he could
spare. It was now that Berwick showed himself to be a past master of
defensive warfare--a true Fabius. The English, superior in numbers,
could advance nowhere against this adroit and sleepless adversary. He
relates that on one occasion the enemy who had long tried to cross
a river, posted themselves at last on a tongue of land formed by a
sharp bend in the stream, so they could attempt the passage either at
the right or the left. This reduced him to the dangerous necessity of
dividing his forces so as to defend both fords. An accident of the
ground saved him. The bank on his side, was an interrupted series
of bluffs which half the time hid his men from the enemy. He kept
transferring them from one ford to the other, making them form ranks
and march slowly when visible, and run helter skelter when out of
sight. The English who kept counting the same men twice, did not risk
the crossing.
While thus disputing the passage of the river, Berwick received an
order from King Philip to return to Madrid in order to defend that
capital. He replied that the true place to defend Madrid, was on the
banks of that stream, and he refused to quit. Afterwards when the
English had retired, he learnt that Philip and his queen had sent such
a remonstrance to their grandfather that he had recalled him, and
sent the Marshal de Tessin to take his place. Tessin was a friend of
Berwick, and he asked Philip and his wife how they could make up their
minds to spare so able a soldier. They were silent; there was a pause;
at last the queen broke out with:--What can we do with a great, lank
devil of an Englishman who will have his own way?
Berwick reported himself at Versailles. Louis asked him why Philip had
demanded his recall. Has he made any charges against me, inquired the
duke. None whatever replied the king. Then said Berwick I have nothing
to say.
During his absence everything went wrong. Madrid was taken by the
Imperialists, and the archduke crowned with the title of Charles III.
and Spain enjoyed the advantage of two kings at a time: a Hapsburg at
one end of the land, and a Bourbon at the other.
In this confused state of things Louis sent Berwick back, having first
conferred upon him the rank of Marshal of France so that Philip might
treat him with more respect. Inferior in force | 1,383.455758 |
2023-11-16 18:40:07.4805780 | 3,474 | 34 |
Produced by Richard Tonsing, Juliet Sutherland and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: UNDER BLUE SKIES]
JULIUS BIEN & CO. LITH.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Under
Blue
Skies.
Verses &
Pictures
By
S. J. Brigham
Worthington Co.
747 BWAY. N. Y.
[Illustration]
UNDER BLUE SKIES.
_(Frontispiece)_
Under blue skies
Daffodils dance, and the Oriole flies,
Bright, golden butterflies float on the breeze
Over the clover with brown honey-bees;
Daisies and buttercups, slender and tall,
Nod to the roses that cover the wall,
Under blue skies.
Under blue skies,
Every day brings us a sweeter surprise,
Blooming of flowers and singing of birds,
Words without song, and song without words;
A world of bright children, all happy and gay,
In sunshine and shadow, at work and at play.
Copyright, 1886, by S. J. Brigham, N. Y.
Contents.
_UNDER BLUE SKIES._
_LITTLE NEIGHBORS._
_STUDY-HOUR._
_THE LETTER._
_DAFFY DIL AND JONNY QUIL._
_CAMPING SONG._
_THE FAMILY DRIVE._
_SILENT VOICES. I. DAISIES._
_SILENT VOICES. II. BLUE-EYED GRASS._
_SILENT VOICES. III. CLOSING FLOWERS._
_DANDELION._
_SWEET GRASS._
_THE MULLEIN PATCH._
"_TOSSED UP IN A BLANKET._"
_THE SAND-MAN._
_THE LILY POND._
_LUNCH TIME._
"_WHIRL THE BOAT._"
_KINDERGARTEN._
_THE ORIOLE'S NEST._
_THE JUNE-BUG._
_CHOCOLATE DROP._
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LITTLE NEIGHBORS.
Birds a-singing in the trees,
Marigolds a-blowing;
Bees a-humming what they please,
Coming and a-going;
Hiding in the hollyhocks,
Swinging on the clover,
Climbing up the Lily-stalks,
Honey running over.
Breath of roses in the air,
Roses are in hiding;
Breezes will not tell us where,—
Winds are not confiding;
Down the walks the children wind,
Through the fence a-peeping;
Like the bees and birds they find
Treasures for the seeking.
Little neighbors, like the birds,
Sing and talk at pleasure;
Like the bees, with honeyed words,
Choose their time and measure;
Like sweet peas they cling and climb,
Here and there and yonder;
All the pleasant summer-time
They visit and they wander.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
STUDY-HOUR.
O hush! you Robin, you sing and swing
In the lilac tree,
And my lessons seem long when I hear your song
So happy and free.
If only the hours had wings, I know
They would flutter away,
Like the bird on the tree, or the velvet bee,
Or the butterfly gay.
But then I know that a maid like me
Has a life to live,
And my heart and my mind has something to find
Before it can give.
O rest you, Robin, a little while
Your voice and your wing!
And then by-and-by dear Robin and I
Will both sing and swing.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE LETTER.
"O, wait, little maiden,
With hand letter-laden!
I'll take it one minute,
And please tell me who
You have written it to,
And all that is in it."
"Ah, no!" said the maiden,
"With love it is laden,
No stranger can take it:
I will just tell you this,
It is sealed with a kiss,
And _Mamma_ will break it."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
DAFFY DIL
AND
JONNY QUIL.
Said Jonny Quil
to Daffy Dil,
His pretty country cousin:
"Now is our chance
to have a dance,
Your sisters, full a dozen,
Are here in golden
cap and frill;
What say you,
Cousin Daffy Dil?"
Said Daffy Dil
to Jonny Quil,
"To dance would give
us pleasure;
But, then, you know,
the wind must blow,
To beat our time
and measure.
Young April Wind
will be here soon,
And he will whistle
us a tune."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
CAMPING SONG.
O who would live in a cottage close,
Shut in like a captive bird?
I would sooner have a tent like mine,
Within the shade of a fragrant pine,
Where the breaking waves are heard,—
Are heard,
The breaking waves are heard.
The song of winds in the sweet pine tree,
The waters that kiss the shore,
The white-winged sea-bird's mellow cry,
Mingled in one sweet melody,
Steals softly in at my door,—
My door,
Steals in at my open door.
All day I sing and read and sew,
Beneath this sheltering pine,
Kissed by cool breezes from the sea,
And people passing envy me,
And wish for a tent like mine,—
Like mine,
For a cosy tent like mine.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE FAMILY DRIVE.
"Heigh, ho!"
Like the wind we go,
For a family drive to Jericho;
The horses dance
And prink and prance,
But who is afraid of the horses, O?
"Heigh, ho!"
O, the daisies grow
Along the wayside to Jericho;
But the horses run
And spoil our fun,
And we cannot pick us a daisy, O.
"Whoa! whoa!!"
Won't you please go slow?
We are going home from Jericho;
All danger past,
We are home at last,
Without a tip or a tumble, O.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SILENT VOICES.
I.
DAISIES.
Hosts of little daisies white
Stand among the grasses,
Greeting with a girlish grace
Every breeze that passes.
Quaint white caps and golden hair,
Tresses green and slender;
With my heart I heard them say
Something very tender—
Saying something to the grass,
Very sweet and tender.
[Illustration]
SILENT VOICES.
II.
BLUE-EYED GRASS.
Hush—O hush! you wanton winds,
Hush you, while I listen!
In the blue eyes of the grass
Tear-drops seem to glisten.
A shy Daisy leaned that way,
When the winds were blowing;
With my heart I heard him say
Something worth the knowing—
Fondly, to the Daisy say,
Something worth the knowing.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SILENT VOICES.
III.
CLOSING FLOWERS.
When the sun, in red and gold,
Down the West was creeping;
When the bird beneath its wing
Tucked its head for sleeping,
Silently the silken doors
Of the flowers were closing;
Poppies each, with drooping head,
Slowly fell a-dozing.
With my heart, I heard them say,
"Good-night till the morrow:
Here's good-night to all the world
Till the happy morrow."
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
DANDELION.
Modest little Dandelion,
Standing in the grass,
Offering her plate of gold
To people as they pass.
If you slight her, soon her tresses
Will be growing gray,
And some antic, frantic wind
Will blow them all away!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SWEET GRASS.
The sweet grass grows
Where the Daisy blows,
But how sweet grass with its tender grace..
And the Daisy with its winsome face,
Came to live in the same sweet place,
Nobody knows.
The sweet grass grows
Where the Daisy blows,
And under the shade of the tender grass
The children saw some crickets pass;
But why they were all in black, alas!
Nobody knows.
The sweet grass grows
Where the Daisy blows;
The children pulled till their hands were red;
The grasshoppers shook with fear and fled;
But what Sweet Grass to the Daisy said,
Nobody knows.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE MULLEIN PATCH.
O Mullein, whisper in my ear
And tell me how you grow,
I was the taller of the two
But one short week ago,
And now, as I on tiptoe stand,
Can scarcely reach you with my hand.
You're growing very lovely, too,
In your pale-green velvet gown;
And golden as a daffodil
Are the flowers in your crown.
So tall and stately! Is it true
That all your neighbors envy you?
The Thistle flushed as the maiden spoke,
And thrust out every thorn;
The Wormwood very bitter grew;
And tossed her head in scorn;
The Teazle and the Burdock tried
To pull the maiden's dress aside.
The Mullein kept the secret well,
And the maiden never knew
That she the only object was
Of envy. And 'tis true
That when she left and said Good-bye!
For sadness they made no reply.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"TOSSED UP IN A BLANKET."
Toss away, toss away,
Low away, high,
Up in a blanket
To visit the sky;
Lightly she'll swing
In the silver moon,
And bring to her sisters
A star pretty soon.
Toss away, toss away,
High away, low,
Rock her to sleep
In the silver bow;
Toss up a kiss to
The man in the moon,
And bring back another
To us very soon.
[Illustration]
THE SAND-MAN.
Have you ever seen the sand-man, old,
Who comes to us every one, I'm told,
With his countless bags of silver sand,
And drops it down with an unseen hand;
And our eyelids very heavy grow,
As off to the land of dreams we go?
He is very shy. I have often tried
To keep my eyelids open wide
And watch for him. But he cheats me so,
And puts me to sleep before I know.
Is he like the wind, do you suppose,
Which is never seen when it comes and goes?
Oh, ho! The sand-man's fun is past,
He has gone to sleep himself at last;
We'll build a fort beside the sea,
And he our prisoner shall be.
He is not the wind with an unseen hand,
But a giant made of silver sand.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE
LILY
POND.
The wind is fair,
Shall we take a row,
Down to the cove
Where the lilies grow?
Their petals white
To the sun unfold,
Their trembling hearts
Are yellow as gold.
My boat is as safe
As a boat can be;
You need not fear
To go with me.
A fleet of lilies,
So fresh and fair,
Like fairy ships,
Are anchored there.
They rock and dip
With every breeze,
Like real ships
On real seas.
My boat is as safe
As a boat can be;
You need not fear
To go with me.
[Illustration]
LUNCH TIME.
The Bees are coming,
I hear them humming
Their pleasant Summer song.
You are late to-day;
Did you lose your way?
We have been waiting long.
My cream-white Clover
Is running over
With honey clear and sweet;
And my Brier-Rose,
As a bee well knows,
Holds something nice to eat.
Come, take your honey,
It costs no money,
The little gift is free;
Come every noon
Through merry June,
And take your lunch with me.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
"WHIRL THE BOAT."
Whirl, whirl,
Each little girl,
Like a gay butterfly over the grass;
Light as a feather,
Whirl they together,
Scaring the little brown birds as they pass.
Spin, spin,
See them begin,
Like two tops gliding over the ground;
Light as a feather,
Spin they together,
Whirling the boat around and around.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
KINDERGARTEN.
This is my class,
I am teacher, you see;
They stand in a row
And listen to me;
And never once
Have I seen them try
To whisper or laugh—
They are very shy.
I sometimes fear
They will never do
The nice little games
When I ask them to:
To keep good time,
To march and to sing,
And to whirl about
In a pretty ring.
But, then, I know
They will always do
Whatever they can
When I ask them to.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE ORIOLE'S NEST.
Swing, little hammock, swing high and swing low!
Birdies are sleeping while soft breezes blow;
Papa-bird fastened it well on the bough,
No harm can come to the baby-birds now.
Mother-bird comes with sweet food to the nest.
All the bright feathers aflame on her breast;
Swing, little birdies, be happy to-day,
Soon, I suppose, you will all fly away.
Rock, little hammock, the birdies to sleep,
Then I'll give Dolly a sly little peep;
She will not touch them, the dear little things,
With down on their heads and down on their wings.
Very soon, Dolly, their feathers will grow,
And out of their cradle the birdies will go;
High away, low away, out of our sight,
Off to the wood in a family flight!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
THE JUNE-BUG.
"Buzz, buzz, blundering bug,
Why do you come in June?
The roses are here,
And I greatly fear
You will put them out of tune.
"Buzz, buzz, blundering bug,
| 1,383.500618 |
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Produced by Greg Bergquist, Diane Monico, 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.)
IN THE OPEN
INTIMATE STUDIES
AND APPRECIATIONS OF
NATURE BY
STANTON DAVIS KIRKHAM
AUTHOR OF
"WHERE DWELLS THE SOUL SERENE"
"THE MINISTRY OF BEAUTY"
"_Over and above a healthy
curiosity, or any scientific
acquaintance, it is the
companionship of the woods
and fields which counts--
a real friendship for birds
and bees and flowers._"
PAUL ELDER & COMPANY
SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1908
by_ PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
TO MY WIFE
MARY WILLIAMS KIRKHAM
THIS BOOK IS
AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
PREFACE
_There is an estate on which we pay no tax and which is not susceptible
of improvement. It is of indefinite extent and is to be reached by
taking the road to the nearest woods and fields. While this is quite as
valuable as any property we may possess, as a matter of fact few assert
their title to it._
_Nature is in herself a perpetual invitation to come into the open. The
woods are an unfailing resource; the mountains and the sea,
companionable. To count among one's friends, the birds and flowers and
trees is surely worth while; for to come upon a new flower is then in
the nature of an agreeable event, and a chance meeting with a bird may
lend a pleasant flavor to the day._
CONTENTS
PREFACE v
THE POINT OF VIEW 1
SIGNS OF SPRING 11
BIRD LIFE 22
SONGS OF THE WOODS 40
WILD GARDENS 56
WEEDS 69
INSECT LORE 78
THE WAYS OF THE ANT 94
AUTUMN STUDIES 113
PASTURE STONES 127
NEIGHBORS 136
THE WINTER WOODS 153
LAUGHING WATERS 164
THE MOUNTAINS 173
THE FOREST 185
THE SEA 196
INDEX 209
_A flock of wild geese on the wing is no less than an
inspiration. When that strong-voiced, stout-hearted company
of pioneers pass overhead, our thoughts ascend and sail with
them over the roofs of the world. As band after band come
into the field of vision--minute glittering specks in the
distant blue--to cross the golden sea of the sunset and
disappear in the northern twilight, their faint melodious
honk is an Orphean strain drawing irresistibly._
AFTER THE PAINTING BY
LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES
[Illustration]
THE POINT OF VIEW
Nature is in herself a perpetual invitation: the birds call, the trees
beckon and the winds whisper to us. After the unfeeling pavements, the
yielding springy turf of the fields has a sympathy with the feet and
invites us to walk. It is good to hear again the fine long-drawn note
of the meadow-lark--voice of the early year,--the first bluebird's
warble, the field-sparrow's trill, the untamed melody of the kinglet--a
magic flute in the wilderness--and to see the ruby crown of the beloved
sprite. It is good to inhale the mint crushed underfoot and to roll
between the fingers the new leaves of the sweetbrier; to see again the
first anemones--the wind-children,--the mandrake's canopies, the
nestling erythronium and the spring beauty, like a delicate carpet; or
to seek the clintonia in its secluded haunts, and to feel the old
childlike joy at sight of lady's-slippers.
It is worth while to be out-of-doors all of one day, now and then, and
to really _know_ what is morning and what evening; to observe the
progress of the day as one might attend a spectacle, though this
requires leisure and a free mind. The spirit of the woods will not lend
itself to a mere fair-weather devotion. You must cast in your lot with
the wild and take such weather as befalls. If you do not now and then
spend a day in the snow, you miss some impressions that no fair weather
can give. When you have walked for a time in the spring shower, you
have a new and larger sympathy with the fields. The shining leaves,
glistening twigs, jeweled cobwebs and the gentle cadence of the falling
rain all tell you it is no time to stay indoors.
Life in the woods sharpens the nose, the eyes, the ears. There are
nose-feasts, eye-feasts, ear-feasts. What if the frost-grapes are
sour--they are fair to look at. Some things are for the palate and some
for the eye. The fragrance of blackberries is as delicate as the
flavor, a spicy aroma, a woodsy bouquet, and to eat without seeing or
smelling is to lose much. Clustered cherries, so lustrous black with
their red stems, refresh the inner and the outer man. You may safely
become a gourmand with respect to these wild flavors. Their virtue is
of the volatile sort that will not stand bottling; it will not enter
into essence or tincture. You must yourself go out and pick the cherry
under a September sky and in the presence of the first glowing leaves
of sumac and Virginia creeper.
Does not the bayberry revive and exhilarate the walker, as
smelling-salts restore fainting women? You have but to roll the waxen
berry in the fingers, or crush the leaf, to feel that indefinable
thrill which belongs to the woods, to the open air--the free life.
Another vigorous and stimulating odor is the fragrance of green
butternuts, which contains the goodness, the sweetness, the very marrow
of the woods, and calls out the natural and unaffected, as a strain of
music arouses the heroic. The tartness of the barberry matches the
crispness of the air and rebukes the lack of vigor in us. No true child
can resist the lure of wintergreen berries, while to nibble the bark of
a fresh young sassafras shoot admits us to some closer association with
Nature. A whiff of balsam is an invitation to share the abandon of the
woods, and awakens memories of the halcyon days, the shining hours,
when nutting and berrying were the real things of life.
One who is possessed with the idea of finding a certain bird or plant
is in a fair way to the discovery, and sooner or later each will come
into the field of vision. How the robin discovers the worm is a mystery
to be explained on the score of _attention_; it is perfect
concentration on a single point, with faculties trained in that
direction. That the footsteps of ants were audible had not occurred to
me till one day in watching the progress of the annual raid of the red
ants upon the black colonies, I plainly heard the patter of their feet,
as the column marched at double-quick over the floor of dry leaves.
There are many sounds in Nature that only become evident when we give
absolute attention, when we become all ear,--as there are things seen
only when we become for the time an eye.
Sensitive and sympathetic natures rarely confuse one person with
another, whereas the cold or obtuse really never see the finer
distinctions in a face. They make poor observers. Any one unacquainted
with birds will show by an attempted description that he has not in the
least seen the bird. I have known old lumbermen who had not noticed the
difference in the needles of the species of pine, nor the leaves of
oaks; but they knew the difference in the quality of the wood well
enough, because that appealed to their interest and held their
attention.
Preparedness adds zest to the walk and enriches it, precisely as a
broad culture and a fund of information enlarge the view of the
traveler. Notwithstanding what may be in the woods, it takes some
understanding and some interest to see it. An unprepared person will
see little; an uninterested person will see nothing. To many of the
villagers the wood-lot is a remote and unfamiliar wilderness, and the
warblers and vireos as unknown as any tropic bird. We should at least
know the kinglets by their caste-mark--whether it be red or yellow--and
the oriole by the colors of his ancient line.
Given a certain preparedness even the rocks become instinct with
suggestion. They are more than stone,--even historical reminders, which
incite one to long and pleasing trains of thought. In the mountains I
came upon a flat ledge of shale which showed ripple marks of an earlier
sea than any we know, a far-off Devonian ocean which once washed this
primitive beach. They had long parted company, and now the beach was
up among the spruce and balsams,--such vicissitudes are there in the
fortunes of all. The ancient waters had left their mark, that however
high the rock might go, it should none the less speak of the mother
sea. Again, the traces of glaciation on ledges and boulders appeal to
the imagination with a peculiar eloquence. What a mighty cosmic plane
was that which smoothed these granite ledges! It planed off New England
as if it were a knot on a plank, and scattered over it the dust and
chips of the workshop. These ledges serve as a fairly accurate compass,
and are at least more reliable than the lichens on the trees.
Some men have an eye for trees and an inborn sympathy with these rooted
giants, as | 1,383.502253 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS M.A. F.R.S.
CLERK OF THE ACTS AND SECRETARY TO THE ADMIRALTY
TRANSCRIBED FROM THE SHORTHAND MANUSCRIPT IN THE PEPYSIAN LIBRARY
MAGDALENE COLLEGE CAMBRIDGE BY THE REV. MYNORS BRIGHT M.A. LATE FELLOW
AND PRESIDENT OF THE COLLEGE
(Unabridged)
WITH LORD BRAYBROOKE'S NOTES
1961
By Samuel Pepys
Edited With Additions By
Henry B. Wheatley F.S.A.
LONDON
GEORGE BELL & SONS YORK ST. COVENT GARDEN
CAMBRIDGE DEIGHTON BELL & CO.
1893
JANUARY 1660-1661
1660-61. At the end of the last and the beginning of this year, I do
live in one of the houses belonging to the Navy Office, as one of the
principal officers, and have done now about half a year. After much
trouble with workmen I am now almost settled; my family being, myself,
my wife, Jane, Will. Hewer, and Wayneman,--[Will Wayneman appears by
this to have been forgiven for his theft (see ante). He was dismissed
on July 8th, 1663.]--my girle's brother. Myself in constant good health,
and in a most handsome and thriving condition. Blessed be Almighty God
for it. I am now taking of my sister to come and live with me. As to
things of State.--The King settled, and loved of all. The Duke of York
matched to my Lord Chancellor's daughter, which do not please many.
The Queen upon her return to France with the Princess Henrietta. The
Princess of Orange lately dead, and we into new mourning for her. We
have been lately frighted with a great plot, and many taken up on it,
and the fright not quite over. The Parliament, which had done all
this great good to the King, beginning to grow factious, the King
did dissolve it December 29th last, and another likely to be chosen
speedily. I take myself now to be worth L300 clear in money, and all my
goods and all manner of debts paid, which are none at all.
January 1st. Called up this morning by Mr. Moore, who brought me my last
things for me to sign for the last month, and to my great comfort tells
me that my fees will come to L80 clear to myself, and about L25 for him,
which he hath got out of the pardons, though there be no fee due to me
at all out of them. Then comes in my brother Thomas, and after him my
father, Dr. Thomas Pepys, my uncle Fenner and his two sons (Anthony's'
only child dying this morning, yet he was so civil to come, and was
pretty merry) to breakfast; and I had for them a barrel of oysters, a
dish of neat's tongues, and a dish of anchovies, wine of all sorts, and
Northdown ale. We were very merry till about eleven o'clock, and then
they went away. At noon I carried my wife by coach to my cozen, Thomas
Pepys, where we, with my father, Dr. Thomas, cozen Stradwick, Scott, and
their wives, dined. Here I saw first his second wife, which is a very
respectfull woman, but his dinner a sorry, poor dinner for a man of his
estate, there being nothing but ordinary meat in it. To-day the King
dined at a lord's, two doors from us. After dinner I took my wife
to Whitehall, I sent her to Mrs. Pierces (where we should have dined
today), and I to the Privy Seal, where Mr. Moore took out all his money,
and he and I went to Mr. Pierces; in our way seeing the Duke of York
bring his Lady this day to wait upon the Queen, the first time that ever
she did since that great business; and the Queen is said to receive her
now with much respect and love; and there he cast up the fees, and I
told the money, by the same token one L100 bag, after I had told it,
fell all about the room, and I fear I have lost some of it. That done I
left my friends and went to my Lord's, but he being not come in I lodged
the money with Mr. Shepley, and bade good night to Mr. Moore, and so
returned to Mr. Pierces, and there supped with them, and Mr. Pierce, the
purser, and his wife and mine, where we had a calf's head carboned,
[Meat cut crosswise and broiled was said to be carboned. Falstaff
says in "King Henry IV.," Part L, act v., sc. 3, "Well, if Percy be
alive, I'll pierce him. If he do come in my way, so; if he do not,
if I come in his willingly, let him make a carbonado of me."]
but it was raw, we could not eat it, and a good hen. But she is such a
slut that I do not love her victualls. After supper I sent them home
by coach, and I went to my Lord's and there played till 12 at night
at cards at Best with J. Goods and N. Osgood, and then to bed with Mr.
Shepley.
2d. Up early, and being called up to my Lord he did give me many
commands in his business. As about taking care to write to my uncle that
Mr. Barnewell's papers should be locked up, in case he should die, he
being now suspected to be very ill. Also about consulting with Mr. W.
Montagu for the settling of the L4000 a-year that the King had promised
my Lord. As also about getting of Mr. George Montagu to be chosen at
Huntingdon this next Parliament, &c. That done he to White Hall stairs
with much company, and I with him; where we took water for Lambeth, and
there coach for Portsmouth. The Queen's things were all in White Hall
Court ready to be sent away, and her Majesty ready to be gone an hour
after to Hampton Court to-night, and so to be at Ports mouth on Saturday
next. I by water to my office, and there all the morning, and so home
to dinner, where I found Pall (my sister) was come; but I do not let her
sit down at table with me, which I do at first that she may not expect
it hereafter from me. After dinner I to Westminster by water, and there
found my brother Spicer at the Leg with all the rest of the Exchequer
men (most of whom I now do not know) at dinner. Here I staid and
drank with them, and then to Mr. George Montagu about the business of
election, and he did give me a piece in gold; so to my Lord's and got
the chest of plate brought to the Exchequer, and my brother Spicer put
it into his treasury. So to Will's with them to a pot of ale, and so
parted. I took a turn in the Hall, and bought the King and Chancellor's
speeches at the dissolving the Parliament last Saturday. So to my
Lord's, and took my money I brought 'thither last night and the silver
candlesticks, and by coach left the latter at Alderman Backwell's, I
having no use for them, and the former home. There | 1,383.555047 |
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Produced by John Stuart Middleton
THE STROLLING SAINT
Being the Confessions of the High & Mighty Agostino D'Anguissola Tyrant
of Mondolfo & Lord of Carmina, in the State of Piacenza
By Raphael Sabatini
CONTENTS
BOOK ONE
THE OBLATE
CHAPTER
I. NOMEN ET OMEN
II. GINO FALCONE
III. THE PIETISTIC THRALL
IV. LUISINA
V. REBELLION
VI. FRA GERVASIO
BOOK TWO
GIULIANA
I. THE HOUSE OF ASTORRE FIFANTI
II. HUMANITIES
III. PREUX-CHEVALIER
IV. MY LORD GAMBARA CLEARS THE GROUND
V. PABULUM ACHERONTIS
VI. THE IRON GIRDLE
BOOK THREE
THE WILDERNESS
I. THE HOME-COMING
II. THE CAPTAIN OF JUSTICE
III. GAMBARA'S INTERESTS
IV. THE ANCHORITE OF MONTE ORSARO
V. THE RENUNCIATION
VI. HYPNEROTOMACHIA
VII. INTRUDERS
VIII. THE VISION
IX. THE ICONOCLAST
BOOK FOUR
THE WORLD
I. PAGLIANO
II. THE GOVERNOR OF MILAN
III. PIER LUIGI FARNESE
IV. MADONNA BIANCA
V. THE WARNING
VI. THE TALONS OF THE HOLY OFFICE
VII. THE PAPAL BULL
VIII. THE THIRD DEGREE
IX. THE RETURN
X. THE NUPTIALS OF BIANCA
XI. THE PENANCE
XII. BLOOD
XIII. THE OVERTHROW
XIV. THE CITATION
XV. THE WILL OF HEAVEN
BOOK I. THE OBLATE
CHAPTER I. NOMEN ET OMEN
In seeking other than in myself--as men will--the causes of my
tribulations, I have often inclined to lay the blame of much of the ill
that befell me, and the ill that in my sinful life I did to others, upon
those who held my mother at the baptismal font and concerted that she
should bear the name of Monica.
There are in life many things which, in themselves, seeming to the
vulgar and the heedless to be trivial and without consequence, may yet
be causes pregnant of terrible effects, mainsprings of Destiny itself.
Amid such portentous trifles I would number the names so heedlessly
bestowed upon us.
It surprises me that in none of the philosophic writings of the learned
scholars of antiquity can I find that this matter of names has been
touched upon, much less given the importance of which I account it to be
deserving.
Possibly it is because no one of them ever suffered, as I have suffered,
from the consequences of a name. Had it but been so, they might in their
weighty and impressive manner have set down a lesson on the subject,
and so relieved me--who am all-conscious of my shortcomings in this
direction-from the necessity of repairing that omission out of my own
experience.
Let it then, even at this late hour, be considered what a subtle
influence for good or ill, what a very mould of character may lie within
a name.
To the dull clod of earth, perhaps, or, again, to the truly
strong-minded nature that is beyond such influences, it can matter
little that he be called Alexander or Achilles; and once there was a man
named Judas who fell so far short of the noble associations of that name
that he has changed for all time the very sound and meaning of it.
But to him who has been endowed with imagination--that greatest boon and
greatest affliction of mankind--or whose nature is such as to crave for
models, the name he bears may become a thing portentous by the images
it conjures up of some mighty dead who bore it erstwhile and whose life
inspires to emulation.
Whatever may be accounted the general value of this premiss, at least as
it concerns my mother I shall hope to prove it apt.
They named her Monica. Why the name was chosen I have never learnt; but
I do not conceive that there was any reason for the choice other than
the taste of her parents in the matter of sounds. It is a pleasing
enough name, euphoniously considered, and beyond that--as is so commonly
the case--no considerations were taken into account.
To her, however, at once imaginative and of a feeble and dependent
spirit, the name was fateful. St. Monica was made the special object of
her devotions in girlhood, and remained so later when she became a wife.
The Life of St. Monica was the most soiled and fingered portion of an
old manuscript collection of the life histories of a score or so of
saints that was one of her dearest possessions. To render herself worthy
of the name she bore, to model her life upon that of the sainted woman
who had sorrowed and rejoiced so much in her famous offspring, became
the obsession of my mother's soul. And but that St. Monica had wed and
borne a son, I do not believe that my mother would ever have adventured
herself within the bonds of wedlock.
How often in the stressful, stormy hours of my most unhappy youth did I
not wish that she had preferred the virginal life of the cloister, and
thus spared me the heavy burden of an existence which her unholy and
mistaken saintliness went so near to laying waste!
I like to think that in the days when my father wooed her, she forgot
for a spell in the strong arms of that fierce ghibelline the pattern
upon which it had become her wont to weave her life; so that in all
that drab, sackcloth tissue there was embroidered at least one warm and
brilliant little wedge of colour; so that in all that desert waste, in
all that parched aridity of her existence, there was at least one little
patch of garden-land, fragrant, fruitful, and cool.
I like to think it, for at best such a spell must have been brief
indeed; and for that I pity her--I, who once blamed her so very
bitterly. Before ever I was born it must have ceased; whilst still she
bore me she put from her lips the cup that holds the warm and
potent wine of life, and turned her once more to her fasting, her
contemplations, and her prayers.
That was in the year in which the battle of Pavia was fought and won by
the Emperor. My father, who had raised a condotta to lend a hand in the
expulsion of the French, was left for dead upon that glorious field.
Afterwards he was found still living, but upon the very edge and border
of Eternity; and when the news of it was borne to my mother I have
little doubt but that she imagined it to be a visitation--a punishment
upon her for having strayed for that brief season of her adolescence
from the narrow flinty path that she had erst claimed to tread in the
footsteps of Holy Monica.
How much the love of my father may still have swayed her I do not know.
But to me it seems that in what next she did there was more of duty,
more of penitence, more of reparation for the sin of having been a woman
as God made her, than of love. Indeed, I almost know this to be so. In
delicate health as she was, she bade her people prepare a litter for
her, and so she had herself carried into Piacenza, to the Church of St.
Augustine. There, having confessed and received the Sacrament, upon her
knees before a minor altar consecrated to St. Monica, she made solemn
vow that if my father's life was spared she would devote the unborn
child she carried to the service of God and Holy Church.
Two months thereafter word was brought her that my father, his recovery
by now well-nigh complete, was making his way home.
On the morrow was I born--a votive offering, an oblate, ere yet I had
drawn the breath of life.
It has oft diverted me to conjecture what would have chanced had I been
born a girl-- | 1,383.559939 |
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Produced by Sue Asscher
GORGIAS
by Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION.
In several of the dialogues of Plato, doubts have arisen among his
interpreters as to which of the various subjects discussed in them
is the main thesis. The speakers have the freedom of conversation; no
severe rules of art restrict them, and sometimes we are inclined to
think, with one of the dramatis personae in the Theaetetus, that the
digressions have the greater interest. Yet in the most irregular of the
dialogues there is also a certain natural growth or unity; the beginning
is not forgotten at the end, and numerous allusions and references are
interspersed, which form the loose connecting links of the whole. We
must not neglect this unity, but neither must we attempt to confine
the Platonic dialogue on the Procrustean bed of a single idea. (Compare
Introduction to the Phaedrus.)
Two tendencies seem to have beset the interpreters of Plato in this
matter. First, they have endeavoured to hang the dialogues upon one
another by the slightest threads; and have thus been led to opposite and
contradictory assertions respecting their order and sequence. The mantle
of Schleiermacher has descended upon his successors, who have applied
his method with the most various results. The value and use of the
method has been hardly, if at all, examined either by him or them.
Secondly, they have extended almost indefinitely the scope of each
separate dialogue; in this way they think that they have escaped all
difficulties, not seeing that what they have gained in generality they
have lost in truth and distinctness. Metaphysical conceptions easily
pass into one another; and the simpler notions of antiquity, which
we can only realize by an effort, imperceptibly blend with the more
familiar theories of modern philosophers. An eye for proportion is
needed (his own art of measuring) in the study of Plato, as well as of
other great artists. We may hardly admit that the moral antithesis
of good and pleasure, or the intellectual antithesis of knowledge
and opinion, being and appearance, are never far off in a Platonic
discussion. But because they are in the background, we should not bring
them into the foreground, or expect to discern them equally in all the
dialogues.
There may be some advantage in drawing out a little the main outlines
of the building; but the use of this is limited, and may be easily
exaggerated. We may give Plato too much system, and alter the natural
form and connection of his thoughts. Under the idea that his dialogues
are finished works of art, we may find a reason for everything, and lose
the highest characteristic of art, which is simplicity. Most great works
receive a new light from a new and original mind. But whether these new
lights are true or only suggestive, will depend on their agreement with
the spirit of Plato, and the amount of direct evidence which can
be urged in support of them. When a theory is running away with
us, criticism does a friendly office in counselling moderation, and
recalling us to the indications of the text.
Like the Phaedrus, the Gorgias has puzzled students of Plato by the
appearance of two or more subjects. Under the cover of rhetoric higher
themes are introduced; the argument expands into a general view of the
good and evil of man. After making an ineffectual attempt to obtain a
sound definition of his art from Gorgias, Socrates assumes the
existence of a universal art of flattery or simulation having several
branches:--this is the genus of which rhetoric is only one, and not the
highest species. To flattery is opposed the true and noble art of life
which he who possesses seeks always to impart to others, and which at
last triumphs, if not here, at any rate in another world. These two
aspects of life and knowledge appear to be the two leading ideas of
the dialogue. The true and the false in individuals and states, in the
treatment of the soul as well as of the body, are conceived under the
forms of true and false art. In the development of this opposition
there arise various other questions, such as the two famous paradoxes of
Socrates (paradoxes as they are to the world in general, ideals as they
may be more worthily called): (1) that to do is worse than to suffer
evil; and (2) that when a man has done evil he had better be punished
than unpunished; to which may be added (3) a third Socratic paradox or
ideal, that bad men do what they think best, but not what they desire,
for the desire of all is towards the good. That pleasure is to be
distinguished from good is proved by the simultaneousness of pleasure
and pain, and by the possibility of the bad having in certain cases
pleasures as great as those of the good, or even greater. Not merely
rhetoricians, but poets, musicians, and other artists, the whole tribe
of statesmen, past as well as present, are included in the class of
flatterers. The true and false finally appear before the judgment-seat
of the gods below.
The dialogue naturally falls into three divisions, to which the three
characters of Gorgias, Polus, and Callicles respectively correspond; and
the form and manner change with the stages of the argument. Socrates is
deferential towards Gorgias, playful and yet cutting in dealing with the
youthful Polus, ironical and sarcastic in his encounter with Callicles.
In the first division the question is asked--What is rhetoric? To this
there is no answer given, for Gorgias is soon made to contradict
himself by Socrates, and the argument is transferred to the hands of his
disciple Polus, who rushes to the defence of his master. The answer has
at last to be given by Socrates himself, but before he can even explain
his meaning to Polus, he must enlighten him upon the great subject of
shams or flatteries. When Polus finds his favourite art reduced to
the level of cookery, he replies that at any rate rhetoricians, like
despots, have great power. Socrates denies that they have any real
power, and hence arise the three paradoxes already mentioned. Although
they are strange to him, Polus is at last convinced of their truth; at
least, they seem to him to follow legitimately from the premises. Thus
the second act of the dialogue closes. Then Callicles appears on the
scene, at first maintaining that pleasure is good, and that might is
right, and that law is nothing but the combination of the many weak
against the few strong. When he is confuted he withdraws from the
argument, and leaves Socrates to arrive at the conclusion by himself.
The conclusion is that there are two kinds of statesmanship, a higher
and a lower--that which makes the people better, and that which only
flatters them, and he exhorts Callicles to choose the higher. The
dialogue terminates with a mythus of a final judgment, in which there
will be no more flattery or disguise, and no further use for the
teaching of rhetoric.
The characters of the three interlocutors also correspond to the parts
which are assigned to them. Gorgias is the great rhetorician, now
advanced in years, who goes from city to city displaying his talents,
and is celebrated throughout Greece. Like all the Sophists in the
dialogues of Plato, he is vain and boastful, yet he has also a certain
dignity, and is treated by Socrates with considerable respect. But he is
no match for him in dialectics. Although he has been teaching rhetoric
all his life, he is still incapable of defining his own art. When his
ideas begin to clear up, he is unwilling to admit that rhetoric can
be wholly separated from justice and injustice, and this lingering
sentiment of morality, or regard for public opinion, enables Socrates to
detect him in a contradiction. Like Protagoras, he is described as of
a generous nature; he expresses his approbation of Socrates' manner of
approaching a question; he is quite 'one of Socrates' sort, ready to
be refuted as well as to refute,' and very eager that Callicles and
Socrates should have the game out. He knows by experience that rhetoric
exercises great influence over other men, but he is unable to explain
the puzzle how rhetoric can teach everything and know nothing.
Polus is an impetuous youth, a runaway 'colt,' as Socrates describes
him, who wanted originally to have taken the place of Gorgias under
the pretext that the old man was tired, and now avails himself of | 1,383.970223 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON A HOUSEBOAT
BY
LAURA LEE HOPE
Author Of The "Bobbsey Twins," "The Outdoor Girls Of Deepdale," "The
Outdoor Girls In Florida," "The Moving Picture Girls," "The Moving
Picture Girls At Rocky Ranch," Etc.
ILLUSTRATED
BOOKS BY LAURA LEE HOPE
THE BOBBSEY TWINS SERIES
For Little Men and Women
THE BOBBSEY TWINS
THE BOBBSEY TWINS IN THE COUNTRY
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT THE SEASHORE
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SCHOOL
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT SNOW LODGE
THE BOBBSEY TWINS ON A HOUSEBOAT
THE BOBBSEY TWINS AT MEADOW BROOK
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SERIES
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT OAK FARM
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS SNOWBOUND
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS UNDER THE PALMS
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT ROCKY RANCH
THE MOVING PICTURE GIRLS AT SEA
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS SERIES
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS OF DEEPDALE
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT RAINBOW LAKE
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A MOTOR CAR
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN A WINTER CAMP
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS IN FLORIDA
THE OUTDOOR GIRLS AT OCEAN VIEW
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. GOOD NEWS
II. SNAP SAVES FREDDIE
III. DINAH'S UPSET
IV. AT THE HOUSEBOAT
V. THE STRANGE BOY
VI. FREDDIE'S FIRE ENGINE
VII. THE TWO COUSINS
VIII. OFF IN THE "BLUEBIRD"
IX. SNOOP AND SNAP
X. DOWN THE CREEK
XI. THE MEAN MAN
XII. THE WIRE FENCE
XIII. THE RUNAWAY BOY
XIV. OFF AGAIN
XV. OVERBOARD
XVI. THE MISSING SANDWICHES
XVII. IN THE STORM
XVIII. STRANGE NOISES
XIX. SNAP'S QUEER ACTIONS
XX. AT THE WATERFALL
XXI. WHAT BERT SAW
XXII. THE STOWAWAY
CHAPTER I
GOOD NEWS
"What are you doing, Freddie?" asked Bert Bobbsey, leaning over to oil
the front wheel of his bicycle, while he glanced at his little
brother, who was tying strings about the neck of a large, handsome
dog.
"Making a harness," answered Freddie, not taking time to look up.
"A harness?" repeated Bert, with a little laugh. "How can you make a
harness out of bits of string?"
"I'm going to have straps, too," went on Freddie, keeping busily on
with his work. "Flossie has gone in after them. It's going to be a
fine, strong harness."
"Do you mean you are going to harness up Snap?" asked Bert, and he
stood his bicycle against the side of the house, and came over to
where Freddie sat near the big dog.
"Yes. Snap is going to be my horse," explained Freddie. "I'm going to
hitch him to my express wagon, and Flossie and I are going to have a
ride."
"Ha! Ha!" laughed Bert. "You won't get much of a ride with THAT
harness," and he looked at the thin cord which the small boy was
winding about the dog's neck.
"Why not?" asked Freddie, a little hurt at Bert's laughter. Freddie,
like all small boys, did not like to be laughed at.
"Why, Snap is so strong that he'll break that string in no time," said
Bert. "Besides--"
"Flossie's gone in for our booty straps, I tell you!" said Freddie.
"Then our harness will be strong enough. I'm only using string for
part of it. I wish she'd hurry up and come out!" and Freddie glanced
toward the house. But there was no sign of his little sister Flossie.
"Maybe she can't find them," suggested Bert. "You know what you and
Flossie do with your books and straps, when you come home from school
Friday afternoons--you toss them any old place until Monday morning."
"I didn't this time!" said sturdy little Freddie, looking up quickly.
"I--I put 'em--I put 'em--oh, well, I guess Flossie can find 'em!" he
ended, for trying to remember where he had left his books was more
than he could do this bright, beautiful, Saturday morning, when there
was no school.
"I thought so!" laughed Bert, as he turned to go back to his bicycle,
for he intended to go for a ride, and had just cleaned, and was now
oiling, his wheel.
"Well, | 1,384.054295 |
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THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD
by
CHARLOTTE M. YONGE
PREFACE
For an explanation of the allusions in the present Tale, scarcely any
Notes are necessary, save a reference to the bewitching Chronicle of
Froissart; and we cannot but hope that our sketch may serve as an
inducement to some young readers to make acquaintance with the
delectable old Canon for themselves, undeterred by the size of his
tomes.
The story of Orthon is almost verbally copied from him, and bears a
curious resemblance to various German legends--such as that of
"Heinzelman," to be found in Keightley's "Fairy Mythology," and to
"Teague of the Lea," as related in Croker's "Irish Fairy Legends."
The old French "Vie de Bertrand du Guesclin" has likewise been drawn
upon for materials, and would have supplied much more of great
interest, such as Enrique of Trastamare's arrival in the disguise of a
palmer, to consult with him during his captivity at Bordeaux, and many
most curious anecdotes of his early childhood and youth.
To Breton tradition, his excellent wife Epiphanie Raguenel owes her
title of Tiphaine la fee, meaning that she was endowed with magic
power, which enabled her to predict what would be lucky or unlucky days
for her husband. His disregard of them was thought to have twice cost
him the loss of a battle.
We must apologize for having made Henry of Lancaster a year or two
older than is warranted by the date of his birth.
THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD
CHAPTER I
Seldom had the interior of this island presented a more peaceful and
prosperous aspect than in the reign of Edward III., when the more
turbulent spirits among his subjects had found occupation in his
foreign wars, and his wise government had established at home a degree
of plenty, tranquility, and security, such as had probably never before
been experienced in England.
Castle and cottage, church and convent, alike showed the prosperity and
safety of the inhabitants, at once by the profuseness of embellishment
in those newly erected, and by the neglect of the jealous precautions
required in former days of confusion and misrule. Thus it was with the
village of Lynwood, where, among the cottages and farm-houses occupying
a fertile valley in Somersetshire, arose the ancient Keep, built of
gray stone, and strongly fortified; but the defences were kept up
rather as appendages of the owner's rank, than as requisite for his
protection; though the moat was clear of weeds, and full of water, the
drawbridge was so well covered with hard-trodden earth, overgrown at
the edges with grass, that, in spite of the massive | 1,384.155734 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
German Problems and Personalities
BY
CHARLES SAROLEA
LONDON
CHATTO & WINDUS
1917
_All rights reserved_
[Illustration: Charles Sarolea]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION 1
I. AN AMERICAN PREFACE 7
II. MY FORECASTS OF 1906 AND 1912 12
III. THE CURSE OF THE HOHENZOLLERN 53
IV. THE GERMAN WAR-TRIUMVIRATE 85
(i.) Nietzsche.
(ii.) Montaigne and Nietzsche.
(iii.) Treitschke.
(iv.) Bernhardi.
V. FREDERICK THE GREAT 136
VI. THE APOTHEOSIS OF GOETHE 142
VII. THE SERVICE OF THE CITY IN GERMANY 148
VIII. THE NEGLECT OF GERMAN 159
IX. MECKLENBURG, THE PARADISE OF PRUSSIAN JUNKERTHUM 164
X. THE GERMAN RACE HERESY AND THE WAR 169
XI. A SLUMP IN GERMAN THEOLOGY 183
XII. THE GERMAN ENIGMA 189
XIII. THE TRAGIC ISOLATION OF GERMANY 196
XIV. RUSSIA AND GERMANY 203
XV. THE PEACEMAKER OF GERMANY: PRINCE VON BUeLOW 218
XVI. THE SILENCE OF HERR VON BETHMANN-HOLLWEG 226
XVII. THE COMING REVOLUTION IN GERMANY 231
XVIII. VIA PACIS 248
APPENDIX: THE PRIVATE MORALITY OF THE PRUSSIAN KINGS 255
GERMAN PROBLEMS AND PERSONALITIES
INTRODUCTION BY THE LITERARY EDITOR OF THE NEW YORK "TIMES"
Three years ago there was one man in Europe who had a political sight
so clear that his words then written seem to-day uncanny in their
wisdom.[1]
[1] One of the most eminent American theologians, Bishop
Brent, wrote in an article on "Speculation and Prophecy": "In
Dr. Sarolea's volume, 'The Anglo-German Problem,' published
in 1912, there is a power of precognition so startling that
one can understand a sceptic of the twenty-first century
raising serious doubts as to whether parts of it were not
late interpolation." Mr. Gilbert Keith Chesterton in his
"Crimes of England" applied to the "Anglo-German Problem" the
epithet "almost magical."
This man saw the present war; he saw that Belgium would be invaded by
Germany; he saw that the Germans hated England with a profound and
bitter hate; that German diplomatic blunders had placed that nation in
almost complete isolation in the world; that the Triple Alliance was
really only a Dual Alliance, popular feeling in Italy becoming
increasingly hostile to Austria and to Prussia; that Germans felt
their culture to be superior to the civilization of the rest of the
world, and themselves to be a superior race, with the right to rule
other peoples; that Prussianism and Junkerism and militarism were in
complete control of the German soul; that Germany had ambitions for
world empire, a recurrence of "the old Napoleonic dream"; that the
danger to European peace lay with Germany and not with England; that
Germans believed war to be essentially moral and the mainspring of
national progress; that the whole German people had become
Bismarckian; that the Germans hoped to obtain by a victory over
England that shadowless place in the sun toward which they began to
leap when they beat France in 1870.
The seer who thus saw is Dr. Charles Sarolea, who recently came to the
United States in the interests of his country, one of the most
distinguished of Belgian scholars, a friend of King Albert, holder of
Belgian decorations and honours from British learned societies, for
the last fourteen years Belgian Consul in Edinburgh, and for the last
twenty-one years head of the French and Romance Department at the
University of Edinburgh. His vision was set out in "The Anglo-German
Problem," written in 1912, now published in an authorized American
edition, perhaps the most accurate forecast which has been penned of
to-day's conflict, and certainly one of the most exact analyses of the
German nation made before the world learned, since last August, to
know it as it is--as Sarolea, master delineator of a nation's
character, drew it. Clear, sane, calm, logical, strong--such is Dr.
Sarolea's book, with its "rare perspicacity" and "remarkable sense of
political realities," in the words of King Albert's appreciation of
the work.
Dr. Sarolea, looking at Germany from the British Isles, where he was
writing, perceived that "war is actually unavoidable" unless a
spiritual miracle was wrought; that Europe was "drifting slowly but
steadily toward an awful catastrophe." Why? Because Germany was
strong, envious, ambitious, conceited, arrogant, unscrupulous, and
dissatisfied. It was in Germany that "the pagan gods of the Nibelungen
are forging their deadly weapons," for Germans believe national
superiority is due to military superiority. Dr. Sarolea named as a war
year this very year[2] in which we now are when he said:
[2] 1915.
"Believing, as they do, that to-day they are rich and prosperous
mainly because in 1870 they beat the French people, why should they
not believe and trust that in 1915 they would become even stronger and
richer if they succeeded in beating the English?"
And the conflict, when it comes, will be "a political and religious
crusade," rather than a mere economic war, for the conflict between
England and Germany "is the old conflict between liberalism and
despotism, between industrialism and militarism, between progress and
reaction, between the masses and the classes."
So many other important points are made in Dr. Sarolea's closely
written book, in which practically every sentence contains a fact, an
idea, or a prophecy, that it is not possible in this review to do more
than present a few of them in the summary which follows. Though the
present tense is used by Dr. Sarolea and the reviewer, it should be
constantly remembered that Dr. Sarolea was thinking in 1912, not since
August, 1914.
Germany is in "tragic moral isolation." The moral and intellectual
influence of German culture is steadily diminishing. Other nations
feel a universal distrust and dislike toward Germany. So great is
this antipathy that the Germans imagine there is a malignant
conspiracy against them. An upstart nation, suddenly wealthy and
powerful, Germany has developed an inordinate self-conceit and
self-assertion. The German glories in being a realist. He thinks only
of political power and colonial expansion. Might is the supreme test
of right. He constantly emphasizes the indelible character of the
German race. Germans are suffering from "acute megalomania." They
think the English decadent, the French doomed to premature extinction,
the Russians "rotten." Germany is the "reactionary force in
international politics."
England believes the building of the German Navy is mainly directed
against her, though Germany says she is building to protect her
colonies and commerce. Yet it is not reasonably possible so to account
for the German fleet.
The greatest danger to England is not invasion of the British Isles,
but invasion of Belgium and France. These countries are the "Achilles
heel of the British Empire." The German strategic | 1,384.557213 |
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{Transcriber's Note: Quotation marks have been standardized to modern
usage. Footnotes have been placed to immediately follow the paragraphs
referencing them. Transcriber's notes are in curly braces; square brackets
and parentheses indicate original content.}
{Illustration: Cover}
INDIAN BIOGRAPHY:
OR,
AN HISTORICAL ACCOUNT
OF THOSE
INDIVIDUALS WHO HAVE BEEN DISTINGUISHED AMONG
THE NORTH AMERICAN NATIVES
AS
ORATORS, WARRIORS, STATESMEN,
AND
OTHER REMARKABLE CHARACTERS.
* * * * *
BY
B. B. THATCHER, ESQ.
* * * * *
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
* * * * *
NEW-YORK:
PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS,
No. 82 CLIFF-STREET
* * * * *
1836.
[Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1834, by
Harper & Brothers in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District
of New-York.]
PREFACE.
The Author does not propose an elaborate explanation, nor an apology of
any kind, for the benefit of the following work. If it absolutely requires
either, he must even be content to have written it in vain, as no
statement or argument can give it any degree of vitality or popularity in
the one case or in the other.
He has regarded it, historically, as an act of mere Justice to the fame
and the memories of many wise, brilliant, brave and generous
men,--patriots, orators, warriors and statesmen,--who ruled over barbarian
communities, and were indeed themselves barbarians, but whose influence,
eloquence and success of every description were _therefore_ but the nobler
objects of admiration and the worthier subjects for record. Nor can
Philosophy look upon them without predilection. Comparatively
unopinionated and unaffected as they were,--governed by impulse and guided
by native sense,--owing little to circumstances, and struggling much
amidst and against them,--their situation was the best possible for
developing both genius and principle, and their education at the sane time
the best for disclosing them. Their Lives, then, should illustrate the
true constitution of man. They should have, above all other history, the
praise and the interest of "philosophy teaching, by example."
The strictly moral inducements which have operated on the Author's mind,
must be too obvious to require dissertation. We owe, and our Fathers owed,
too much to the Indians,--too much from man to man,--too much from race to
race,--to deny them the poor restitution of historical justice at least,
however the issue may have been or may be with themselves. Nor need it be
suggested, that selfishness alone might dictate the policy of a collection
such as the Author has endeavored to make this, were it only for the
collateral light which it constantly throws on the history and biography of
our own nation.
Nothing of the same character is before the public. What may be called an
Indian Biographical Dictionary has indeed recently appeared, and to that
the Author has gladly referred in the course of his researches; but the
extreme difficulty of doing justice to any individuals of the race, and at
the same time to _all,_ may be inferred from the fact that the writer
alluded to has noticed such men as Uncas in some six or eight lines, while
he has wholly omitted characters so important as Buckongahelas, White-eyes,
Pipe, and Occonoetota. On these, and on all their more eminent countrymen,
the Author has intended to bestow the notice they deserve, by passing over
the vast multitude distinguished only by detached anecdote, or described
only in general terms.
In fine, conscious of many imperfections, but also conscious of a strenuous
exertion to render them as few and small as might be, the Author submits
the Biography to the public, and especially to the candor of those whose
own labors, if not the results of them, have shown them the essential
fallibility of every composition like this. He will have reason to be
satisfied if it do good, as he will assuredly be gratified if it give
pleasure.
Boston, Sept. 10, 1832.
CONTENTS
CHAP. I.--The Indian tribes of Virginia at the date of the Jamestown
settlement; their names, numbers and power--The Powhatan
confederacy--The Indian Village of that name--Powhatan--The
circumstances of the first interview between him and the
English--Opechancanough, his brother--Opitchipan--Reception of Captain
Smith by Powhatan--Interposition of Pocahontas in his favor--Second
visit of the colonists--Third visit, and coronation--Entertainment of
Smith by Pocahontas--Contest of ingenuity between Powhatan and Smith;
and between the latter and Opechancanough--Smith saved again by
Pocahontas--Political manoeuvres of Powhatan and Opechancanough--Smith's
return to Jamestown.
page 9
CHAP. II.--Conduct of Powhatan after Smith's departure for England, and
causes of it--Hostilities resumed--Peace finally effected by the capture
of Pocahontas--Manner of gaining this point--Marriage of Pocahontas with
John Rolfe--Death and character of Powhatan--His person, manner of
living, talents, influence. His method and means of warfare--The
discipline of his warriors--The manner in which he availed himself of
the English arms and science--Causes of his hostility towards the
colonists--His dignity--Shrewdness--Independence--Courtesy--Liberality--
Simplicity--Affection for his relatives--A review of various opinions
entertained of him by various historians.
40
CHAP. III.--The family of Powhatan--His successor--Sequel of the history
of Pocahontas--Her acts of kindness to the colonists at various times,
and especially to Smith--His gratitude--Her civilisation, and
instruction in Christianity--Her visit to England in 1616--Reception at
Court--Interview with Smith--His memorial respecting her to Queen
Anne--Her death and character--Her descendants.
66
CHAP. IV.--Sequel of the history of Opechancanough--Renewal, by him and
Opitchipan, of the treaty of peace--Finesse by which he extended his
dominion over the Chickahominies--Preparations for War--Causes of
it--Profound dissimulation under which his hostility was
concealed--Indian custom of making Conjurers--Manoeuvres against the
English interest--The great massacre of 1622; circumstances and
consequences of it--particular occasion which led to it--Character and
death of Nemattanow--Details of the war subsequent to the
massacre--Truce broken by the English--New exertions of
Opechancanough--Battle of Pamunkey--Peace of 1632--Massacre of
1641--Capture of Opechancanough by the English--His death and
character.
77
CHAP. V.--Biography of other Virginian ch | 1,384.599771 |
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E-text prepared by Matt Whittaker, Suzanne Shell, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
**********************************************************************
* Transcriber's Note: *
* *
* Obvious typographical errors were corrected and the use of hyphens *
* was made consistent throughout. All other spelling and punctuation *
* was retained as it appeared in the original text. *
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MY LIFE:
Or
The Adventures of Geo. Thompson.
Being the Auto-Biography of an
Author. Written by Himself.
Why rove in _Fiction's_ shadowy land,
And seek for treasures there,
When _Truth's_ domain, so near at hand,
Is filled with things most rare--
When every day brings something new,
Some great, stupendous change,
Something exciting, wild and _true_,
Most wonderful and strange!
[ORIGINAL.]
{First published 1854}
[Illustration: Yellow Cover of Thompson's _My Life_. Original size 6 x
9-1/8". Courtesy, American Antiquarian Society.]
INTRODUCTION
_In which the author defineth his position._
It having become the fashion of distinguished novelists to write their
own lives--or, in other words, to blow their own trumpets,--the author
of these pages is induced, at the solicitation of numerous friends,
whose bumps of inquisitiveness are strongly developed, to present his
auto-biography to the public--in so doing which, he but follows the
example of Alexandre Dumas, the brilliant French novelist, and of the
world-renowned Dickens, both of whom are understood to be preparing
their personal histories for the press.
Now, in comparing myself with the above great worthies, who are so
deservedly distinguished in the world of literature, I shall be accused
of unpardonable presumption and ridiculous egotism--but I care not what
may be said of me, inasmuch as a total independence of the opinions,
feelings and prejudices of the world, has always been a prominent
characteristic of mine--and that portion of the world and the "rest of
mankind" which does not like me, has my full permission to go to the
devil as soon as it can make all the necessary arrangements for the
journey.
I shall be true and candid, in these pages. I shall not seek to conceal
one of my numerous faults which I acknowledge and deplore; and, if I
imagine that I possess one solitary merit, I shall not be backward in
making that merit known. Those who know me personally, will never accuse
me of entertaining one single atom of that despicable quality,
self-conceit; those who do not know me, are at liberty to think what
they please.--Heaven knows that had I possessed a higher estimation of
myself, a more complete reliance upon my own powers, and some of that
universal commodity known as "cheek," I should at this present moment
have been far better off in fame and fortune. But I have been
unobtrusive, unambitious, retiring--and my friends have blamed me for
this a thousand times. I have seen writers of no talent at all--petty
scribblers, wasters of ink and spoilers of paper, who could not write
six consecutive lines of English grammar, and whose short paragraphs for
the newspapers invariably had to undergo revision and correction--I have
seen such fellows causing themselves to be invited to public banquets
and other festivals, and forcing their unwelcome presence into the
society of the most distinguished men of the day.
I have spoken of my friends--now a word or two in regard to my enemies.
Like most men who have figured before the public, in whatever capacity,
I have secured the hatred of many persons, who, jealous of my humble
fame, have lost no opportunity of spitting out their malice and opposing
my progress. The friendship of such persons is a misfortune--their
enmity is a blessing.
I assure them that their hatred will never cause me to lose a fraction
of my appetite, or my nightly rest. They may consider themselves very
fortunate, if, in the following pages, they do not find themselves
immortalized by my notice, although they are certainly unworthy of so
great a distinction. I enjoy the friendship of men of letters, and am
therefore not to be put down by the opposition of a parcel of senseless
blockheads, without brain, or heart, or soul.
I shall doubtless find it necessary to make allusions to local places,
persons, incidents, &c. Those will add greatly to the interest of the
narrative. Many portraits will be readily recognized, especially those
whose originals reside in Boston, where the greater portion of my
literary career has been passed.
_The life of an author_, must necessarily be one of peculiar and
absorbing interest, for he dwells in a world of his own creation, and
his tastes, habits, and feelings are different from those of other
people. How little is he understood--how imperfectly is he appreciated,
by a cold, unsympathising world! his eccentricities are ridiculed--his
excesses are condemned by unthinking persons, who cannot comprehend the
fact that a writer, whose mind is weary, naturally longs for physical
excitement of some kind of other, and too often seeks for a temporary
mental oblivion in the intoxicating bowl. Under any and every
circumstance, the author is certainly deserving of some degree of
charitable consideration, because he labors hard for the public
entertainment, and draws heavily on the treasures of his imagination, in
order to supply the continual demands of the reading community. When the
author has led a life of stirring adventure, his history becomes one of
extraordinary and thrilling interest. I flatter myself that this
narrative will be found worthy of the reader's perusal.
And now a few words concerning my personal identity. Many have insanely
supposed me to be George Thompson, the celebrated English abolitionist
and member of the British Parliament, but such cannot be the case, that
individual having returned to his own country. Again--others have taken
me for George Thompson, the pugilist; but by far the greater part of the
performers in this interesting "Comedy of Errors" have imagined me to be
no less a personage than the celebrated "_One-eyed Thompson_," and they
long continued in this belief, even after that talented but most
unfortunate man had committed suicide in New York, and in spite of the
fact that his name was William H., and not George. Two circumstances,
however, seemed to justify the belief before the man's death:--he, like
myself, had the great misfortune to be deprived of an eye. How the
misfortune happened to _me_, I shall relate in the proper place. I have
written many works of fiction, but I have passed through adventures
quite as extraordinary as any which I have drawn from the imagination.
In order to establish my claim to the title of "author," I will
enumerate a few of the works which I have written:--
Gay Girls of New York, Dissipation, The Housekeeper, Venus in Boston,
Jack Harold, Criminal, Outlaw, Road to Ruin, Brazen Star, Kate
Castleton, Redcliff, The Libertine, City Crimes, The Gay Deceiver, Twin
Brothers, Demon of Gold, Dashington, Lady's Garter, Harry Glindon,
Catharine and Clara.
In addition to these works--which have all met with a rapid sale and
most extensive circulation--I have written a sufficient quantity of
tales, sketches, poetry, essays and other literary stock of every
description, to constitute half a dozen cart loads. My adventures,
however, and not my productions must employ my pen; and begging the
reader's pardon for this rather lengthy, but very necessary,
introduction, I begin my task.
CHAPTER I
_In which I begin to Acquire a Knowledge of the World._
I have always thought, and still think, that it matters very little
where or when a man is born--it is sufficient for him to know that he is
_here_, and that he had better adapt himself, as far as possible, to the
circumstances by which he is surrounded, provided that he wishes to
toddle through the world with comfort and credit to himself and to the
approbation of others. But still, in order to please all classes of
readers, I will state that some thirty years ago a young stranger
struggled into existence in the city of New York; and I will just merely
hint that the twenty-eighth day of August, in the year of our Lord one
thousand eight hundred and twenty-three, should be inserted in the next
(comic) almanac as having been the birth-day of a great man--for when an
individual attains a bodily weight of two hundred pounds and over, may
he not be styled _great_?
My parents were certainly respectable people, but they both
inconsiderately died at a very early period of my life, leaving me a few
hundred dollars and a thickheaded uncle, to whom was attached an
objectionable aunt, the proprietress of a long nose and a shrewish
temper. The nose was adapted to the consumption of snuff, and the temper
was effective in the destruction of my happiness and peace of mind. The
worthy couple, with a prophetic eye, saw that I was destined to become,
in future years, somewhat of a _gourmand_, unless care should be taken
to prevent such a melancholy fate; therefore, actuated by the best
motives, and in order to teach me the luxury of abstinence, they began
by slow but sure degrees to starve me. Good people, how I reverence
their memory!
One night I committed burglary upon a closet, and feloniously carried
off a chunk of bread and meat, which I devoured in the cellar.
"Oh, my prophetic soul--_my uncle_!" That excellent man caught me in the
act of eating the provender, and--my bones ache at this very moment as I
think of the licking I got! I forgot to mention that I had a rather
insignificant brother, four years older than myself, who became my
uncle's apprentice, and who joined that gentleman in his persecutions
against me. My kind relatives were rather blissful people in the way of
ignorance, and they hated me because they imagined that I regarded
myself as their superior--a belief that was founded on the fact that I
shunned their society and passed the greater portion of my time in
reading and writing.
I lived at that time in Thomas street, very near the famous brothel of
Rosina Townsend, in whose house that dreadful murder was committed
which the New York public will still remember with a thrill of horror. I
allude to the murder of the celebrated courtezan Ellen Jewett. Her
lover, Richard P. Robinson, was tried and acquitted of the murder,
through the eloquence of his talented counsel, Ogden Hoffman, Esq. The
facts of the case are briefly these:--Robinson was a clerk in a
wholesale store, and was the paramour of Ellen, who was strongly
attached to him. Often have I seen them walking together, both dressed
in the height of fashion, the beautiful Ellen leaning upon the arm of
the dashing Dick, while their elegant appearance attracted universal
attention and admiration. But all this soon came to a bloody
termination. Dick was engaged to be married to a young lady of the
highest respectability, the heiress of wealth and the possessor of
surpassing loveliness. He informed Ellen that his connection with her
must cease in consequence of his matrimonial arrangements, whereupon
Ellen threatened to expose him to his "intended" if he abandoned her.
Embarrassed by the critical nature of his situation, Dick, then, in an
evil hour, resolved to kill the courtezan who threatened to destroy his
anticipated happiness. One Saturday night he visited her as usual; and
after a splendid supper, they returned to her chamber. Upon that
occasion, as was afterwards proved on the trial, Dick wore an ample
cloak, and several persons noticed that he seemed to have something
concealed beneath it. His manner towards Ellen and also his words, were
that night unusually caressing and affectionate. What passed in that
chamber, and who perpetrated that murder the Almighty knows--_and,
perhaps, Dick Robinson, if he is still alive, also knows_![A] The next
morning (Sunday,) at a very early hour, smoke was seen to proceed from
Ellen's chamber, and the curtains of her bed were found to have been set
on fire. The flames were with difficulty extinguished, and there in the
half consumed bed, was found the mangled corpse of Ellen Jewett, having
on the side of her head an awful wound, which had evidently been
inflicted by a hatchet. Dick Robinson was nowhere to be found, but in
the garden, near a fence, were discovered his cloak and a bloody
hatchet. With many others, I entered the room in which lay the body of
Ellen, and never shall I forget the horrid spectacle that met my gaze!
There, upon that couch of sin, which had been scathed by fire, lay
blackened the half-burned remains of a once-beautiful woman, whose head
exhibited the dreadful wound which had caused her death. It had plainly
been the murderer's intention to burn down the house in order to destroy
the ghastly evidence of his crime; but fate ordained that the fire
should be discovered and extinguished before the _fatal wound_ became
obliterated. Robinson, as I said before, was tried and pronounced
guiltless of the crime, through the ingenuity of his counsel, who termed
him an "_innocent boy_." The public, however, firmly believed in his
guilt; and the question arises--"If Dick Robinson did not kill Ellen
Jewett, _who did_?" I do not believe that ever before was presented so
shameful an instance of perverted justice, or so striking an
illustration of the "glorious uncertainty of the law." It is rather
singular that Furlong, a grocer, who swore to an _alibi_ in favor of
Robinson, and who was the chief instrument employed to effect the
acquittal of that young man, some time afterwards committed suicide by
drowning, having first declared that his conscience reproached him for
the part which he played at the trial!
The Sabbath upon which this murder was brought to light was a dark,
stormy day, and I have reason to remember it well, for, in the
afternoon, that good old pilgrim--my uncle, of course,--discovered that
I had played truant from Sunday School in the morning, and for that
atrocious crime, he, in his holy zeal for my spiritual and temporal
welfare, resolved to bestow upon me a wholesome and severe flogging,
being aided and abetted in the formation of that laudable resolution by
my religious aunt and my sanctimonious brother, the latter of whom had
turned _informer_ against me. Sweet relatives? how I love to think of
them--and never do I fail to remember them in my prayers. Well, I was
lugged up into the garret, which was intended to be the scene of my
punishment. If I recollect rightly, I was then about twelve years of
age, and rather a stout youth considering my years. I determined to
rebel against the authority of my beloved kindred, assert my
independence, and defend myself to the best of my ability. "I have
suffered enough;" said I to myself, "and now I'm _going in_."
"Sabbath-breaker, strip off your jacket," mildly remarked by dear uncle
as he savagely flourished a cowhide of most formidable aspect and
alarming suppleness.
My reply was brief, but expressive:
"I'll see you d----d first," said I.
My uncle turned pale, my aunt screamed, and my brother rolled up the
white of his eyes and groaned.
"What, what did you say?" demanded my uncle, who could not believe the
evidence of his own senses, for up to that moment I had always tamely
submitted to the good man's amiable treatment of me, and he found it
impossible to imagine that I was capable of resisting him. Well, if
there ever _was_ an angel on earth, that uncle of mine was that
particular angel. Saints in general are provided with pinched noses,
green eyes, and voices like unto the wailings of a small pig, which is
suffering the agonies of death beneath a cart-wheel. And, if there ever
was a cherub, my brother _was_ certainly that individual cherub,
although, in truth, my pious recollections do not furnish me with the
statement that cherubs are remarkable for swelled heads and bandy legs.
"I say," was my reply to my uncle's astonished inquiry, "that I ain't
going to stand any more abuse and beatings. I've stood bad treatment
long enough from the whole pack of you. I'm almost starved, and I'm
kicked about like a dog. Let any of you three tyrants touch me, and I'll
show you what is to get desperate. I disown you all as relatives, and
hereafter I'm going to live where I please, and do as I please."
Furious with rage, my sweet-tempered uncle raised the cowhide and with
it struck me across the face. I immediately pitched into that portion of
his person where he was accustomed to stow away his Sabbath beans, and
the excellent man fell head over heels down the garret stairs, landing
securely at the bottom and failing to pick himself up, for the simple
reason that he had broken his leg. What a pity it would have been, and
what a loss society would have sustained, if, instead of his leg, the
holy man had broken his _neck_!
My dear brother, accompanied by my affectionate aunt, now choked me, but
I was not to be conquered just then, for "thrice is he armed who hath
his quarrel just." The lady I landed in a tub of impure water that
happened to be standing near; and she presented quite an interesting
appearance, kicking up her heels and squalling like a cat in
difficulties. My other assailant I hurled into a heap of ashes, and the
way he blubbered was a caution to a Nantucket whaleman. Rushing down the
stairs, I passed over the prostrate form of my crippled uncle, who
requested me to come back, so that he might kick me with his serviceable
foot; but, brute that I was, I disregarded him--requested him to go to a
place which shall be nameless--and then left the house as expeditiously
as possible, fully determined never to return, whatever might be the
consequences.
"I am now old enough, and big enough," I mentally reflected, "to take
care of myself; and to-morrow I'll look for work, and try to get a
chance to learn a trade. Where shall I sleep to-night? It's easy enough
to ask that question, but deuced hard to answer it. I wish to-day wasn't
Sunday!"
Rather an impious wish, but quite natural under the circumstances. I
felt in my pockets, to see if I was the proprietor of any loose change;
my search was magnificently successful, for I discovered that I had a
sixpence!
Yes, reader, a new silver sixpence, that glittered in my hand like a
bright star of hope, urging me on to enterprise--to exertions. So
fearful was I of losing the precious coin, that I continued to grasp it
tightly in my hand. I never had been allowed any pocket money, even on
the Fourth of July; and this large sum had come into my possession
through the munificence of a neighbor, as a reward for performing an
errand.
Not knowing where else to go, I went down on the Battery, and sheltered
myself under a tree from the rain, which fell in torrents. Rather an
interesting situation for a youth of twelve--homeless, friendless,
almost penniless! I was wet through to the skin, and as night came on, I
became desperately hungry, for I had eaten no dinner that day, and even
my breakfast had been of the _phantom_ order--something like the
pasteboard meals which are displayed upon the stage of the theatre.
However, I did not despair, for I was young and active, full of the hope
so natural to a youth ere rough contact with the world has crushed his
spirit. I was well aware of the fact that I was no fool, although I had
often been called one by my hostile and unappreciating relatives, whose
opinions I had ever held in most supreme contempt. As I stood under that
tree to shelter myself from the rain, I felt quite happy, for a feeling
of independence had arisen within me. I was now my own master, and the
consciousness that I must solely rely upon myself, was to me a source of
gratification and pride. I had not the slightest doubt of being able to
dig my way through the world in some way or other.
Night came on at last, black as the brow of a Congo <DW65>, and starless
as a company of travelling actors. I could not remain under the tree all
night, that was certain; and so I left it, although I could scarcely see
my hand before me. That hand, by the way, still tenaciously grasped the
invaluable sixpence. Groping my way out of the Battery, and guided by a
light, I entered the bar-room of a respectable hotel, where a large
number of well-dressed gentlemen were assembled, who were seeking
shelter from the storm, and at the same time indulging their convivial
propensities. Much noise and confusion prevailed; and two gentlemen,
who, as I afterwards learned, were officers belonging to a Spanish
vessel then in port, fell into a dispute and got into a fight, during
which one of them stabbed the other with a dirk-knife, inflicting a
mortal wound.
Officers were sent for, the murderer and his victim were removed, and
comparative quiet prevailed. I was seated in an obscure corner of the
bar-room, wondering how I should get through the night, when I was
unceremoniously accosted by a lad of about my own age. He was a rakish
looking youth, quite handsome withal, dressed in the height of fashion,
and was smoking a cigar with great vigor and apparent relish. It will be
seen hereafter that I have reason to remember this individual to the
very last day of my life. Would to heaven that I had never met him!
This youth slapped me familiarly on the shoulder, and said--
"Hallo, bub! why, you're wet as a drowned rat! Come and take a brandy
cocktail--it will warm you up!"
I had never drank a drop of liquor in my life, and I hadn't the faintest
idea of what a brandy cocktail was, and so I told my new friend, who
laughed immoderately as he exclaimed--
"How jolly green you are, to be sure; why, you're a regular _greenhorn_,
and I'm going to call you by that name hereafter. Have you got any tin?"
I knew that he meant money, and so I told him that I had but a sixpence
in the world.
"Bah!" cried my friend, as he drew his cigar from his mouth and
salivated in the most fashionable manner, "who are you, what are you and
what are you doing here? Come, tell me all about yourself, and it may
perhaps be in my power to do you a service."
His frank, off-hand manner won my confidence. I told him my whole story,
without any reserve; and he laughed uproariously when I told him how I
had pitched my tyrannical uncle down stairs.
"It served the old chap right," said he approvingly--"you are a fellow
of some spirit, and I like you. Come take a drink, and we can afterwards
talk over what is best to be done."
I objected to drink, because I had formed a strong prejudice against
ardent spirits, having often been a witness of its deplorable effects in
depriving men--and women, too--of their reason, and reducing them to the
condition of brute beasts. So, in declining my friend's invitation, I
told him my reasons for so doing, whereupon he laughed louder than ever,
as he remarked--
"Why, _Greenhorn_, you'd make an excellent temperance lecturer. But
perhaps you think I haven't got any money to pay the rum. Look
here--what do you think of _that_?"
He displayed a large roll of bank bills, and flourished them
triumphantly. I had never before seen so much money, except in the
broker's windows; and my friend was immediately established in my mind
as a _millionaire_, whose wealth was inexhaustible. I suddenly conceived
for him the most profound respect, and would not have offended him for
the world. How could I persist in refusing to drink with a young
gentleman of such wealth, and (as a necessary consequence) such
distinction? Besides, I suddenly felt quite a curiosity to drink some
liquor, just to see how it tasted. After all, it was only very low
people who got drunk and wallowed in the mire. _Gentlemen_ (I thought)
never get drunk, and they always seem so happy and joyous after they
have been drinking! How they shake hands, and swear eternal friendship,
and seem generously willing to lend or give away all they have in the
world! So thought I, as my mind was made up to accept the invitation of
my friend. It is singular that I had forgotten all about the murder
which had just taken place in that bar-room, and which had been directly
produced by intemperance.
"The fact is, my dear _Greenhorn_," said my friend, impressively, as he
flourished his hand after the manner of some aged, experienced and
eloquent orator, "the fact is, the _use_ of liquor, and its _abuse_, are
two very different things. A man (here he drew himself up) can drink
like a gentleman, or he can swill like a loafer, or a beast. Now _I_
prefer the gentlemanly portion of the argument, and therefore we'll go
up and take a gentlemanly drink. I shall be happy, young man, to
initiate you into the divine joys and mysteries of Bacchus--ahem!"
I looked at my friend with increased wonder, for he displayed an
assurance, a self-possession, an elegant _nonchalance_, that were far
beyond his years, for he was only about twelve years old--my own age
exactly. And then what language he used--so refined, glowing, and
indicative of a knowledge of the world! I longed to be like him--to
equal him in his many perfections--to sport as much money as he did, and
to wear as good "_harness_." I forgot to mention that he carried a
splendid gold watch, and that several glittering rings adorned his
fingers. "Who can he be?" was the question which I asked myself; and of
course, I could not find an answer.
"Felix," said my friend, addressing the bar-keeper in a style of
patronizing condescension, as we approached the bar, "Felix, my good
fellow, just mix us a couple of brandy cocktails, will you, and make
them _strong_, d'ye hear, for the night is wet, and I and my verdant
friend here, are about to travel in search of amusement, even as the
Caliph and his Vizier used to perambulate the streets of Baghdad. Come,
hurry up!"
The bar-keeper grinned, mixed the liquor, and handed us the tumblers. My
friend knocked his glass against mine, and remarked "here's luck," a
ceremony and an observation which both somewhat surprised me at the
time, although I have long since become thoroughly acquainted with what
was then a mystery. Many of my readers--indeed, I may say the greater
portion of them--will require no explanation of this matter; and as for
those who are in ignorance of it, I will simply say, long may they keep
so!
My friend tossed off his cocktail with the air of one who is used to it,
and rather liked it than otherwise; but I was not quite so successful,
for being wholly unacquainted with the science of drinking, the strength
of the liquor nearly choked me, to the intense amusement of my more
experienced friend, who advised me to try again. I _did_ try again, and
more successfully, the liquor went the way | 1,384.620008 |
2023-11-16 18:40:08.6111770 | 2,465 | 12 |
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MRS. LESLIE'S BOOKS FOR LITTLE CHILDREN.
THE LITTLE FRANKIE SERIES.
BOOKS WRITTEN OR EDITED
By A. R. BAKER,
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
QUESTION BOOKS on the Topics of Christ's Sermon on the Mount.
VOL. I. FOR CHILDREN.
VOL. II. FOR YOUTH.
VOL. III. FOR ADULTS.
LECTURES ON THESE TOPICS, _in press_.
MRS. LESLIE'S SABBATH SCHOOL BOOKS.
TIM, THE SCISSORS GRINDER.
SEQUEL TO "TIM, THE SCISSORS GRINDER."
PRAIRIE FLOWER.
THE BOUND BOY.
THE BOUND GIRL.
VIRGINIA.
THE TWO HOMES; OR, EARNING AND SPENDING.
THE ORGAN-GRINDER, _in press_.
QUESTION BOOKS. The Catechism tested by the Bible.
VOL. I. FOR CHILDREN.
VOL. II. FOR ADULTS.
THE DERMOTT FAMILY; or, Stories Illustrating the Catechism.
VOL. I. DOCTRINES RESPECTING GOD AND MANKIND.
" II. DOCTRINES OF GRACE.
" III. COMMANDMENTS OF THE FIRST TABLE.
" IV. COMMANDMENTS OF THE SECOND TABLE.
" V. CONDITIONS OF ETERNAL LIFE.
MRS. LESLIE'S HOME LIFE.
VOL. I. CORA AND THE DOCTOR.
" II. COURTESIES OF WEDDED LIFE.
" III. THE HOUSEHOLD ANGEL.
MRS. LESLIE'S JUVENILE SERIES.
VOL. I. THE MOTHERLESS CHILDREN.
" II. PLAY AND STUDY.
" III. HOWARD AND HIS TEACHER.
" IV. TRYING TO BE USEFUL.
" V. JACK, THE CHIMNEY SWEEPER.
" VI. THE YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER.
" VII. LITTLE AGNES.
THE ROBIN REDBREAST SERIES.
THE ROBINS' NEST.
LITTLE ROBINS IN THE NEST.
LITTLE ROBINS LEARNING TO FLY.
LITTLE ROBINS IN TROUBLE.
LITTLE ROBINS' FRIENDS.
LITTLE ROBINS' LOVE ONE TO ANOTHER.
THE LITTLE FRANKIE SERIES.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS MOTHER.
LITTLE FRANKIE AT HIS PLAYS.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS COUSIN.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS FATHER.
LITTLE FRANKIE ON A JOURNEY.
LITTLE FRANKIE AT SCHOOL.
[Illustration: FRANKIE IN HIS JUMPER.]
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS MOTHER.
BY
MRS. MADELINE LESLIE,
AUTHOR OF "THE HOME LIFE SERIES;" "MRS. LESLIE'S
JUVENILE SERIES," ETC.
BOSTON:
CROSBY AND NICHOLS.
117 WASHINGTON STREET.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
A. R. BAKER,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District
of Massachusetts.
ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.
LITTLE FRANKIE AND HIS MOTHER.
CHAPTER I.
FRANKIE'S SILVER CUP.
DO you wish to know who little Frankie was, and where he lived? Come and
sit down in your pretty chair by my side, and I will tell you. Frankie
was not the real name of this little boy. When he was a tiny baby, not
much larger than black Dinah, his father came home one night from his
store, and asked, "Have you named the baby yet, mamma?"
"No," she answered, "I have not; but I have been thinking that if you
are pleased, I should like to call him Frank."
"Frank, Frank, Frankie," said his father, repeating it over and over
again, to hear how it would sound. "Yes, I like the name; and then my
friend, Mr. Wallace, is called Frank. Yes, Frank it shall be."
"While he is a baby, we will call him Frankie," said his mamma. So that
was the way he obtained so pretty a name.
About a week after this, there came one day a man on horseback riding up
to the front door. He jumped briskly down upon the wide stone step, and
rang the bell with a loud, quick jerk, which seemed to say, I am in a
hurry. Margie, the errand girl, ran to the door, when the man gave her a
box wrapped nicely in a piece of yellow paper, and tied with a small red
cord. Then he sprang upon the saddle, and galloped away down the avenue
into the road.
Margie carried the box into the parlor, and gave it to her mistress.
Mamma looked at the name on the paper, and her bright, loving eyes grew
still brighter. She took her scissors and cut the cord which held the
paper around the box, then pulled off the cover, and what do you think
was there? Why, a large piece of pink cotton nicely folded about a
beautiful silver cup, on one side of which was marked the name _Little
Frankie_.
Mamma laughed as she read it, and felt sure the pretty present came from
Mr. Wallace. She ran gayly up stairs into the nursery, where the baby
was sitting in the lap of his nurse, shaking his coral bells. "Here, my
darling," she said; "see what a nice cup has come for you; look! it is
so bright I can peep at your rosy face in it."
Baby crowed and stretched out his tiny hands, but he could not quite
reach it; and if he could he would have tried to crowd it into his
mouth. So mamma took him in her arms, and squeezed him very tight, and
kissed him ever so many times, until the little fellow was quite
astonished. Then she held him off a little to look at him; and her eyes
were so brimful of love that Frankie was never tired of gazing into
them.
By and by, mamma carried the baby and the new cup down to the parlor;
for papa had just come in, and was already calling for them.
Papa admired the present very much, and said that his friend, Mr.
Wallace, was a noble fellow, and he should be glad if their little
Frankie made as good a man. Then papa danced around the room, "to give
his boy a little exercise," he said, "and make him grow." But mamma
screamed, and was afraid so much shaking would take away her baby's
breath.
"Come, then," said papa, "we will sit down and trot a little." He
seated the little fellow on his knee, and began, "This is the way the
lady rides, trot, trot, trot, trot. This is the way the gentleman rides,
de canter, de canter, de canter, de canter. This is the way the huntsman
rides, de gallop, de gallop, de gallop."
Frankie laughed and cooed, and as soon as his papa stopped, kicked his
little feet to have it go again.
CHAPTER II.
FRANKIE'S LITTLE NURSE.
FRANKIE lived in a quiet, pleasant village about twenty miles from the
city. His home was a pretty cottage with a steep roof rising above the
windows of the second story. In front there was a smooth, green lawn,
and at the side a lovely flower garden, with nicely gravelled walks
leading through it. Then back of the house there were beds of peas, and
beans, and turnips, and beets, and all kinds of good things for the
table.
Frankie had a brother whose name was Willie, and who was five years
older than he. There had been a dear sister, too, but when she was only
one year old, the Saviour called her home to heaven; and she went with a
sweet smile upon her lip.
Beside his father, and mother, and Willie, there were in Frankie's
home, Jane, the cook, Sally, the nurse, and Margie, a little girl seven
years of age, who loved dearly to dance about and amuse the baby boy.
She was the daughter of Jane, and her father had been dead many years.
She had begun to go to school; but as soon as the teacher rang the bell
for the scholars to go home, Margie caught her bonnet from the hook, and
ran away as fast as she could go, she was so impatient to see little
Frankie.
Early in the morning, long before his mamma was ready to awake, the
little fellow would open his eyes and crow, and sing his morning song.
Then he would try to get his tiny toes into his mouth. As soon as Margie
heard him, she would knock softly at the door, and ask, "May I come in
and play with Frankie?"
If you were to see her, you would think she was quite an old lady; she
went around so steadily, and not at all like a school girl. First, she
took all the pillows from the cradle, and shook them up. Then she laid
them back so that the baby could sit up and see her play to him. When
all was ready, she would go to the side of the bed, and Frankie's papa
would put him carefully into her arms, and then turn over to take
another nap.
It was very strange that with all Margie's singing and laughing, and
crying "catchee, catchee, now catch baby;" and with Frankie's happy
shouts of delight, papa and mamma could sleep quite soundly. But the
instant the little fellow cried, as he sometimes did when he hurt his
gums against his coral ring, and Margie said, "O dear! has he hurt him?
Margie's sorry," mamma would spring from bed and be wide awake in a
minute.
There was one other member of the family whom I have not yet mentioned.
It was not a brother, nor a sister, but a large black dog, whose name
was Ponto. He was a very handsome fellow, with his shining black hair,
and his white ring about his neck; and he held his head up and looked
you right in the face, as if he knew that he was above common dogs.
Ponto liked to run in the garden with Willie, and catch the sticks his
young master threw to him between his teeth. But best of all he liked to
follow him to the nursery, and watch the motions of the new comer.
Frankie's eyes grew very large the first time he felt Ponto's cold nose
on his arm; and he cried, when the great, black creature began to lick
his hands and face. Mamma tried to push Ponto | 1,384.631217 |
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Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH
BY
ROBERT HICHENS
PREPARER'S NOTE
This text was prepared from an edition published by Grosset &
Dunlap, New York. It was originally published in 1904.
CONTENTS
BOOK I. PRELUDE
BOOK II. THE VOICE OF PRAYER
BOOK III. THE GARDEN
BOOK IV. THE JOURNEY
BOOK V. THE REVELATION
BOOK VI. THE JOURNEY BACK
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH
BOOK I. PRELUDE
CHAPTER I
The fatigue caused by a rough sea journey, and, perhaps, the
consciousness that she would have to be dressed before dawn to catch the
train for Beni-Mora, prevented Domini Enfilden from sleeping. There was
deep silence in the Hotel de la Mer at Robertville. The French officers
who took their pension there had long since ascended the hill of Addouna
to the barracks. The cafes had closed their doors to the drinkers and
domino players. The lounging Arab boys had deserted the sandy Place de
la Marine. In their small and dusky bazaars the Israelites had reckoned
up the takings of the day, and curled themselves up in gaudy quilts
on their low divans to rest. Only two or three _gendarmes_ were still
about, and a few French and Spaniards at the Port, where, moored against
the wharf, lay the steamer _Le General Bertrand_, in which Domini had
arrived that evening from Marseilles.
In the hotel the fair and plump Italian waiter, who had drifted to North
Africa from Pisa, had swept up the crumbs from the two long tables
in the _salle-a-manger_, smoked a thin, dark cigar over a copy of the
_Depeche Algerienne_, put the paper down, scratched his blonde head, on
which the hair stood up in bristles, stared for a while at nothing in
the firm manner of weary men who are at the same time thoughtless and
depressed, and thrown himself on his narrow bed in the dusty corner of
the little room on the stairs near the front door. Madame, the landlady,
had laid aside her front and said her prayer to the Virgin. Monsieur,
the landlord, had muttered his last curse against the Jews and drunk
his last glass of rum. They snored like honest people recruiting their
strength for the morrow. In number two Suzanne Charpot, Domini's maid,
was dreaming of the Rue de Rivoli.
But Domini with wide-open eyes, was staring from her big, square pillow
at the red brick floor of her bedroom, on which stood various trunks
marked by the officials of the Douane. There were two windows in the
room looking out towards the Place de la Marine, below which lay the
station. Closed _persiennes_ of brownish-green, blistered wood protected
them. One of these windows was open. Yet the candle at Domini's bedside
burnt steadily. The night was warm and quiet, without wind.
As she lay there, Domini still felt the movement of the sea. The passage
had been a bad one. The ship, crammed with French recruits for the
African regiments, had pitched and rolled almost incessantly for
thirty-one hours, and Domini and most of the recruits had been ill.
Domini had had an inner cabin, with a skylight opening on to the lower
deck, and heard above the sound of the waves and winds their groans and
exclamations, rough laughter, and half-timid, half-defiant conversations
as she shook in her berth. At Marseilles she had seen them come on
board, one by one, dressed in every variety of poor costume, each one
looking anxiously around to see what the others were like, each one
carrying a mean yellow or black bag or a carefully-tied bundle. On the
wharf stood a Zouave, in tremendous red trousers and a fez, among great
heaps of dull brown woollen rugs. And as the recruits came hesitatingly
along he stopped them with a sharp word, examined the tickets they held
out, gave each one a rug, and pointed to the gangway that led from the
wharf to the vessel. Domini, then leaning over the rail of the upper
deck, had noticed the different expressions with which the recruits
looked at the Zouave. To all of them he was a phenomenon, a mystery of
Africa and of the new life for which they were embarking. He stood there
impudently and indifferently among the woollen rugs, his red fez pushed
well back on his short, black hair cut _en brosse_, his bronzed face
twisted into a grimace of fiery contempt, throwing, with his big and
muscular arms, rug after rug to the anxious young peasants who filed
before him. They all gazed at his legs in the billowing red trousers;
some like children regarding a Jack-in-the-box which had just sprung
up into view, others like ignorant, but superstitious, people who
had unexpectedly come upon a shrine by the wayside. One or two seemed
disposed to laugh nervously, as the very stupid laugh at anything
they see for the first time. But fear seized them. They refrained
convulsively and shambled on to the gangway, looking sideways, like
fowls, and holding their rugs awkwardly to their breasts with their
dirty, red hands.
To Domini there was something pitiful in the sight of all these lads,
uprooted from their homes in France, stumbling helplessly on board this
ship that was to convey them to Africa. They crowded together. Their
poor bundles and bags jostled one against the other. With their clumsy
boots they trod on each other's feet. And yet all were lonely strangers.
No two in the mob seemed to be acquaintances. And every lad, each in
his different way, was furtively on the defensive, uneasily wondering
whether some misfortune might not presently come to him from one of
these unknown neighbours.
A few of the recruits, as they came on board, looked up at Domini as she
leant over the rail; and in all the different and shaped eyes
she thought she read a similar dread and nervous hope that things might
turn out pretty well for them in the new existence that had to be faced.
The Zouave, wholly careless or unconscious of the fact that he was
an incarnation of Africa to these raw peasants, who had never before
stirred beyond the provinces where they were born, went on taking
the tickets, and tossing the woollen rugs to the passing figures, and
pointing ferociously to the gangway. He got very tired of his task
towards the end, and showed his fatigue to the latest comers, shoving
their rugs into their arms with brusque violence. And when at length the
wharf was bare he spat on it, rubbed his short-fingered, sunburnt hands
down the sides of his blue jacket, and swaggered on board with the air
of a dutiful but injured man who longed to do harm in the world. By this
time the ship was about to cast off, and the recruits, ranged in line
along the bulwarks of the lower deck, were looking in silence towards
Marseilles, which, with its tangle of tall houses, its forest of masts,
its long, ugly factories and workshops, now represented to them the
whole of France. The bronchial hoot of the siren rose up menacingly.
Suddenly two Arabs, in dirty white burnouses and turbans bound with
cords of camel's hair, came running along the wharf. The siren hooted
again. The Arabs bounded over the gangway with grave faces. All the
recruits turned to examine them with a mixture of superiority and
deference, such as a schoolboy might display when observing the
agilities of a tiger. The ropes fell heavily from the posts of the
quay into the water, and were drawn up dripping by the sailors, and _Le
General Bertrand_ began to move out slowly among the motionless ships.
Domini, looking towards the land with the vague and yet inquiring glance
of those who are going out to sea, noticed the church of Notre dame de
la Garde, perched on its high hill, and dominating the noisy city,
the harbour, the cold, grey squadrons of the rocks and Monte Cristo's
dungeon. At the time she hardly knew it, but now, as she lay in bed in
the silent inn, she remembered that, keeping her eyes upon the church,
she had | 1,384.70565 |
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Produced by 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.)
3
THE RECONSTRUCTION OF GEORGIA
STUDIES IN HISTORY, ECONOMICS AND PUBLIC LAW
EDITED BY THE FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE OF
COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY
VOLUME XIII] [NUMBER 3
THE RECONSTRUCTION OF GEORGIA
BY EDWIN C. WOOLLEY, Ph.D.
New York
THE COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY PRESS
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY, AGENTS
LONDON: P. S. KING & SON
1901
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I
Presidential Reconstruction 9
CHAPTER II
The Johnson Government 16
CHAPTER III
Congress and the Johnson Governments--The Reconstruction
Acts of 1867 24
CHAPTER IV
The Administrations of Pope and Meade 38
CHAPTER V
The Supposed Restoration of 1868 49
CHAPTER VI
The Expulsion of the <DW64>s from the Legislature and
the Uses to which this Event was applied 56
CHAPTER VII
Congressional Action Regarding Georgia from December,
1868, to December, 1869 63
CHAPTER VIII
The Execution of the Act of December 22, 1869, and the
Final Restoration 72
CHAPTER IX
Reconstruction and the State Government 87
CHAPTER X
Conclusion 109
Bibliography 111
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS
A. A. C. = American Annual Cyclopaedia.
B. A. = Address of Bullock to the people of Georgia, a pamphlet dated
1872.
B. L. = Letter from Bullock to the chairman of the Ku Klux Committee,
published in Atlanta in 1871.
C. G. = Congressional Globe.
C. R. = Report of the State Comptroller.
E. D. = United States Executive Documents.
E. M. = Executive Minutes (of Georgia).
G. O. D. S. = General Orders issued in the Department of the South.
G. O. H. = General Orders issued from the headquarters of the army.
G. O. M. D. G. = General Orders issued in the Military District of
Georgia.
G. O. T. M. D. = General Orders issued in the Third Military District.
H. J. = Journal of the Georgia House of Representatives.
H. M. D. = United States House Miscellaneous Documents.
J. C., 1865 = Journal of the Georgia Constitutional Convention of 1865.
J. C., 1867-8 = Journal of the Georgia Constitutional Convention of
1867-8.
K. K. R. = Ku Klux Report (Report of the Joint Committee of Congress on
the Conditions in the Late Insurrectionary States, submitted at the 2d
session of the 42d Congress, 1872).
M. C. U. = Milledgeville _Confederate Union_.
M. F. U. = Milledgeville _Federal Union_.
R. C. = Reports of Committees of the United States House of
Representatives.
R. S. W. = Report of the Secretary of War.
S. D. = United States Senate Documents.
S. J. = Journal of the Georgia Senate.
S. L. = Session Laws of Georgia.
S. R. = United States Senate Reports.
S. O. M. D. G. = Special Orders issued in the Military District of
Georgia.
S. O. T. M. D. = Special Orders issued in the Third Military District.
U. S. L. = United States Statutes at Large.
CHAPTER I
PRESIDENTIAL RECONSTRUCTION
The question, what political disposition should be made of the Confederate
States after the destruction of their military power, began to be
prominent in public discussion in December, 1863. It was then that
President Lincoln announced his policy upon the subject, which was to
restore each state to its former position in the Union as soon as
one-tenth of its population had taken the oath of allegiance prescribed in
his amnesty proclamation and had organized a state government pledged to
abolish slavery. This policy Lincoln applied to those states which were
subdued by the federal forces during his administration, viz., Tennessee,
Arkansas and Louisiana. When the remaining states of the Confederacy
surrendered in 1865, President Johnson applied the same policy, with some
modifications, to each of them (except Virginia, where he simply
recognized the Pierpont government).
Before this policy was put into operation, however, an effort was made by
some of the leaders of the Confederacy to secure the restoration of those
states to the Union without the reconstruction and the pledge required by
the President. After the surrender of Lee's army (April 9, 1865), General
J. E. Johnston, acting under the authority of Jefferson Davis and with the
advice of Breckenridge, the Confederate Secretary of War, and Reagan, the
Confederate Postmaster General, proposed to General Sherman the surrender
of all the Confederate armies then in existence on certain conditions.
Among these was the condition that the executive of the United States
should recognize the lately hostile state governments upon the renewal by
their officers of their oath of allegiance to the federal Constitution,
and that the people of the states so recognized should be guaranteed, so
far as this lay in the power of the executive, their political rights as
defined by the federal Constitution. Sherman signed a convention with
Johnston agreeing to these terms, on April 18. That he intended by the
agreement to commit the federal government to any permanent policy is
doubtful. But when the convention was communicated for ratification to his
superiors at headquarters, they showed the most decided opposition to
granting the terms proposed even temporarily. The convention was
emphatically disavowed, and on April 26 Sherman had to content himself
with the surrender of Johnston's army only, agreed to on purely military
terms.[1]
Georgia formed a part of the district under the command of General
Johnston. As soon, therefore, as the news of the surrender could reach
that state, hostilities there ceased. On May 3, Governor Brown issued a
summons for a meeting of the state legislature to take place on May 22, in
order that measures might be taken "to prevent anarchy, restore and
preserve order, and save what [could be saved] of liberty and
civilization."[2] At a time of general consternation, when military
operations had displaced local government and closed the courts in many
places, when the whole population was in want[3] through the devastation
of the war or through the collapse of the Confederate currency which
followed the collapse of the Confederate army,[4] the need of such
measures was apparent.
The calling of the legislature incurred the disapproval of the federal
authorities for two reasons. First, they regarded it as an attempt to
prepare for further hostilities, and they accordingly arrested Brown,
carried him to Washington, and put him in prison.[5] Second, in any case,
as the disavowal of the convention of April 18 had shown, they did not
intend to allow the state governments of the South to resume their regular
activities at once, and accordingly the commander of the Department of the
South issued orders on May 15, declaring void the proclamation of Joseph
E. Brown, "styling himself Governor of Georgia," and forbidding obedience
thereto.[6]
The federal army now took control of the entire state government.
Detachments were stationed in all the principal towns and county seats,
and the commanders sometimes removed the civil officers and appointed
others, sometimes allowed them to remain, subject to their direction.
Military orders were issued regarding a wide range of civil affairs, such
as school administration, sanitary provisions, the regulation of trade,
the fixing of prices at which commodities should be sold, etc.[7] The
provost marshal's courts were further useful, to some extent, as
substitutes for the state courts, whose operations were largely
interrupted.[8] Directions to the officers of the Department admonished
them that "the military authority should sustain, not assume the functions
of, civil authority," except when the latter course was necessary to
preserve the peace.[9] This admonition from headquarters, issued after the
President's plan for reinstating Georgia in the Union had been put into
operation, reflects his desire for a quick restoration of normal
government.
President Johnson announced his policy toward the seceded states in his
proclamation of May 29, 1865, regarding North Carolina. By it a
provisional governor was appointed for that state, with the duty of making
the necessary arrangements for the meeting of a constitutional convention,
to be composed of and elected by men who had taken the oath of allegiance
prescribed by, the President's amnesty proclamation of the same date, and
who were qualified voters according to the laws of the state in force
before the war. The proclamation did not state what the President would
require of the convention, but we may mention by way of anticipation that
his requirements were the revocation of the ordinance of secession, the
construction of a new state government in place of the rebel government,
the repudiation of the rebel debt, and the abolition of slavery within the
state. The provisional governor was further authorized to do whatever was
"necessary and proper to enable [the] loyal people of the state of North
Carolina to restore said state to its constitutional relations to the
federal government."[10]
For each of the states subdued in 1865, except Virginia, a provisional
governor was appointed by a similar proclamation. On June 17, James
Johnson, a citizen of Georgia, was appointed to the position in that
state.[11] On July 13th, he issued a proclamation providing for the
election of the convention. Delegates were distributed on the basis of the
legislature of 1860; the first Wednesday in October was set for the
election, and the fourth Wednesday in the same month for the meeting of
the convention.[12] Next, the provisional governor undertook the task of
securing popular support to the programme of restoration. To encourage
subscription to the amnesty oath (a prerequisite to voting for delegates
to the convention) he removed the disagreeable necessity of taking it
before the military authorities by directing the ordinary and the clerk of
the Superior Court of each county to administer it.[13] He made many
speeches throughout the state urging the citizens to take the amnesty
oath, to enter earnestly into the election of the convention, and to
submit quietly to the conditions imposed by the President.
His efforts were very successful. This was partly due to the place he held
in public estimation. He was a lawyer widely known and universally
respected. It was also partly due to the attitude of Governor Brown.
Brown, after a confinement of several weeks in prison at Washington,
secured an interview with President Johnson, and satisfied the President
that his object in calling the legislature was simply public relief, that
he had no intention to prolong the war, but calmly submitted to the fact
that his side was defeated.[14] This explanation and the spirit displayed
were so satisfactory to Johnson that Brown was released, and permitted to
return to Georgia. His return, remarked Johnson, "can be turned to good
account. He will at once go to work and do all he can in restoring the
state."[15] This prediction proved correct. The war governor of Georgia
became the type of those Secessionists who practised and counseled quiet
acceptance of the terms imposed by the conqueror, as the most sensible and
advantageous course. On June 29th he issued an address to the people of
Georgia, resigning the governorship, and advising acquiescence in the
abolition of slavery and active participation in the reorganization of the
state government according to the President's wishes.[16] The assumption
of this attitude by Brown grieved and offended some of his fellow
Secessionists. But the majority shared his opinion. The provisional
governor was welcomed, and his speeches approved on all sides.[17] The
result was that the convention which met on October 25th was a body
distinguished for the reputation and ability of its members.
The convention was called to order by the provisional governor, and chose
as permanent chairman Herschel V. Johnson.[18] Then a message from the
provisional governor was read, suggesting certain measures of finance and
other state business requiring immediate action, suggesting also certain
alterations in the state judiciary, but especially pointing out the chief
objects of the convention, viz., the passage of those acts requisite for
the restoration of the state.[19] These measures the convention quickly
proceeded to pass. On October 26th it repealed the ordinance of secession
and the ordinance ratifying the Confederate constitution;[20] by paragraph
20 of article I. of the new constitution it abolished slavery in the
state; and on November 8th, the last day of the session, it declared the
state debt contracted to aid the Confederacy void.[21] The convention
provided for a general state election on the following November 15th, and
to expedite complete restoration, anticipated the regular work of the
legislature by creating congressional districts, in order that Georgia's
representatives might be chosen at that election.[22]
One thing now remained to be done before the President would withdraw
federal power and leave the state to its own government, viz.,
ratification of the Thirteenth Amendment. The legislature elected on
November 15th assembled on December 4th.[23] The provisional governor,
according to the President's directions,[24] laid the Thirteenth Amendment
before it. The Amendment was ratified on December 9th.[25] After this the
provisional governor was relieved, the governor elect was inaugurated
(December 14th | 1,384.7551 |
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Produced by Marius Masi, Don Kretz and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's notes:
(1) Numbers following letters (without space) like C2 were originally
printed in subscript. Letter subscripts are preceded by an
underscore, like C_n.
(2) Characters following a carat (^) were printed in superscript.
(3) Side-notes were relocated to function as titles of their respective
paragraphs.
(4) Macrons and breves above letters and dots below letters were not
inserted.
(5) [root] stands for the root symbol; [alpha], [beta], etc. for greek
letters.
(6) The following typographical errors have been corrected:
ARTICLE GABEL, KRISTOFFER: "See Carl Frederik Bricka, Dansk.
Biograf. Lex. art "Gabel" (Copenhagen, 1887, &c.); Danmarks Riges
Historie (Copenhagen, 1897-1905), vol. v." '1905' amended from
'1005'.
ARTICLE GALLS: "The same authority (loc. cit. p. 550) mentions a
willow-gall which provides no less than sixteen insects with food
and protection; these are preyed upon by about eight others, so
that altogether some twenty-four insects,..." 'altogether' amended
from 'alltogether'.
ARTICLE GANNET: "... and orderly takes its place in the rear of the
string, to repeat its headlong plunge so soon as it again finds
itself above its prey." 'its' amended from 'is'.
ARTICLE GARDNER, PERCY: "... an account of excavations in Greece
and Asia Minor; Manual of Greek Antiquities (with F.B. Jevons, 2nd
ed. 1898);..." 'Asia' amended from 'Aisa'.
ARTICLE GARNET, HENRY: "... by the Jesuit L'Heureux, under the
pseudonym Eudaemon-Joannes, and Dr Robert Abbot's reply, Antilogia
versus Apologiam Eudaemon-Joannes,..." 'Eudaemon' amended from
'Endaemon'.
ARTICLE GARTH, SIR SAMUEL: "He wrote little besides his best-known
work The Dispensary and Claremont, a moral epistle in verse."
'epistle' amended from 'espistle'.
ARTICLE GAS ENGINE: "The Westinghouse Co. of Pittsburgh have also
built large engines, several of which are in operation at the
various works of the Carnegie Steel Co." 'Pittsburgh' amended from
'Pittsburg'.
ENCYCLOPAEDIA BRITANNICA
A DICTIONARY OF ARTS, SCIENCES, LITERATURE
AND GENERAL INFORMATION
ELEVENTH EDITION
VOLUME XI, SLICE IV
G to Gaskell, Elizabeth
ARTICLES IN THIS SLICE:
G GALLUPPI, PASQUALE
GABBRO GALLUS, CORNELIUS
GABEL, KRISTOFFER GALLUS, GAIUS AELIUS
GABELENTZ, HANS CONON VON DER GALLUS, GAIUS CESTIUS
GABELLE GALLUS, GAIUS SULPICIUS
GABERDINE GALOIS, EVARISTE
GABES GALSTON
GABII GALT, SIR ALEXANDER TILLOCH
GABINIUS, AULUS GALT, JOHN
GABION GALT
GABLE GALTON, SIR FRANCIS
GABLER, GEORG ANDREAS GALUPPI, BALDASSARE
GABLER, JOHANN PHILIPP GALVANI, LUIGI
GABLETS GALVANIZED IRON
GABLONZ GALVANOMETER
GABORIAU, EMILE GALVESTON
GABRIEL GALWAY (county of Ireland)
GABRIEL HOUNDS GALWAY (town of Ireland)
GABRIELI, GIOVANNI GAMA, VASCO DA
GABUN GAMALIEL
GACE BRULE GAMBETTA, LEON
GACHARD, LOUIS PROSPER GAMBIA (river of West Africa)
GAD GAMBIA (country of West Africa)
GADAG GAMBIER, JAMES GAMBIER,
GADARA GAMBIER
GADDI GAMBOGE
GADE, NIELS WILHELM GAMBRINUS
GADOLINIUM GAME
GADSDEN, CHRISTOPHER GAME LAWS
GADSDEN, JAMES GAMES, CLASSICAL
GADWALL | 1,384.856613 |
2023-11-16 18:40:09.0342430 | 2,420 | 13 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Young Yagers
A Narrative of Hunting Adventures in Southern Africa
By Captain Mayne Reid
Published by Ticknor and Fields, Boston, USA
This edition dated 1857
The Young Yagers, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
THE YOUNG YAGERS, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE CAMP OF THE YOUNG YAGERS.
Near the confluence of the two great rivers of Southern Africa--the
_Yellow_ and _Orange_--behold the camp of the "young yagers!"
It stands upon the southern bank of the latter stream, in a grove of
Babylonian willows, whose silvery foliage, drooping gracefully to the
water's edge, fringes both shores of the noble river as far as the eye
can reach.
A tree of rare beauty is this _Salix Babylonica_--in gracefulness of
form scarce surpassed even by the palms, the "princes of the forest."
In our land, as we look upon it, a tinge of sadness steals over our
reflections. We have grown to regard it as the emblem of sorrow. We
have named it the "weeping willow," and draped the tomb with its soft
pale fronds, as with a winding-sheet of silver.
Far different are the feelings inspired by the sight of this beautiful
tree amid the _karoos_ of Southern Africa. That is a land where springs
and streams are "few and far between;" and the _weeping_ willow--sure
sign of the presence of water--is no longer the emblem of sorrow, but
the symbol of joy.
Joy reigns in the camp under its shade by the banks of the noble Orange
River, as is proved by the continuous peals of laughter that ring clear
and loud upon the air, and echo from the opposite shores of the stream.
Who are they that laugh so loudly and cheerfully? _The young yagers_.
And who are the young yagers?
Let us approach their camp and see for ourselves. It is night, but the
blaze of the camp-fire will enable us to distinguish all of them, as
they are all seated around it. By its light we can take their
portraits.
There are six of them--a full "set of six," and not one appears to be
yet twenty years of age. They are all boys between the ages of ten and
twenty--though two or three of them, and, maybe, more than that number,
think themselves quite men.
Three of the party you will recognise at a glance as old acquaintances.
They are no other than Hans, Hendrik, and Jan, our _ci-devant_
"Bush-boys."
It is several years since we saw them last, and they have grown a good
deal since then; but none of them has yet reached the full stature of
manhood. Though no longer "Bush-boys," they are yet only boys; and Jan,
who used to be called "little Jan," still merits and receives that
distinctive appellation. It would stretch Jan to his utmost to square
off against a four-foot measuring-stick; and he could only manage it by
standing upon the very tips of his toes.
Hans has grown taller, but, perhaps, thinner and paler. For two years
he has been at college, where he has been very busy with his books, and
has greatly distinguished himself by carrying off the first prizes in
everything. Upon Hendrik there is a decided change. He has outgrown
his elder brother both in length and breadth, and comes very near
looking like a full-grown man. He is yet but eighteen years old,
straight as a rush, with a decided military air and gait. The last is
not to be wondered at, as Hendrik has now been a cornet in the Cape
Mounted Rifles for more than a year, and still holds that commission, as
may be learnt by looking at his forage-cap, with its golden embroidery
over the peak. So much for our old acquaintances the "Bush-boys!"
But who are the other three that share with them the circle of the
camp-fire? Who are their companions? for they are evidently on terms of
companionship, and friendship too. Who are they? A word or two will
tell that. They are the _Van Wyks_. The three sons of Diedrik Van Wyk.
And who, then, is Diedrik Van Wyk? That must also be explained.
Diedrik is a very rich boor--a "vee-boor"--who every night shuts up
within his spacious _kraals_ more than three thousand horses and horned
cattle, with five times that number of sheep and goats! In fact,
Diedrik Van Wyk is accounted the richest vee-boor, or grazier, in all
the Graaf Reinet.
Now the broad _plaatz_, or farm, of Diedrik Van Wyk lies contiguous to
that of our old acquaintance, Hendrik Von Bloom; and it so chances that
Hendrik and Diedrik are fast friends and inseparable companions. They
see each other once a-day, at the least. Every evening Hendrik rides
over to the "kraal" of Diedrik, or Diedrik to that of Hendrik, to enjoy
a smoke together out of their ponderous pipes of meerschaum, or a
"zoopje" of _brandewyn_ distilled from their own peaches. They are, in
fact, a pair of regular old comrades,--for Van Wyk in early life has
seen military service as well as Von Bloom,--and, like all old soldiers,
they love to repeat their camp stories, and "fight their battles o'er
again."
Under such circumstances it is not to be wondered at, that the children
of both should be intimate acquaintances. But, in addition to the
friendship of their fathers, there is a tie of relationship between the
two families,--the two mothers were cousins,--so that the children are
what is usually termed second cousins,--a very interesting sort of
affinity. And it is not an unlikely thing that the relationship between
the families of Von Bloom and his friend Van Wyk may one day become
still closer and more interesting; for the former has for his daughter,
as all the world knows, the beautiful flaxen-haired cherry-cheeked
Truey, while the latter is the father of the pretty brunette
Wilhelmina--also an only daughter. Now there chance to be three boys in
each family; and though both boys and girls are by far too young to
think of getting married yet, there are suspicions abroad that the
families of Von Bloom and Van Wyk will, at no very distant day, be
connected by a double marriage--which would not be displeasing to either
of the old comrades, Hendrik and Diedrik.
I have said there are three boys in each family. You already know the
Von Blooms, Hans, Hendrik, and Jan. Allow me to introduce you to the
Van Wyks. Their names are Willem, Arend, and Klaas.
Willem is the eldest, and, though not yet eighteen, is quite a man in
size. Willem is, in fact, a boy of very large dimensions, so large that
he has received the _sobriquet_ of "Groot Willem" (Big William)
therefrom. All his companions call him "Groot Willem." But he is
strong in proportion to his size,--by far the strongest of the young
yagers. He is by no means tidy in his dress. His clothes, consisting
of a big jacket of homespun cloth, a check shirt, and an enormously wide
pair of leathern trousers, hang loosely about him, and make him look
larger than he really is. Even his broad-brimmed felt hat has a
slouching set upon his head, and his _feldtschoenen_ are a world too
wide for his feet.
And just as easy as his dress is the disposition of the wearer. Though
strong as a lion, and conscious of his strength, Groot Willem would not
harm a fly, and his kindly and unselfish nature makes him a favourite
with all.
Groot Willem is a mighty hunter, carries one of the largest of guns, a
regular Dutch "roer," and also an enormous powder-horn, and pouch full
of leaden bullets. An ordinary boy would stagger under such a load, but
it is nothing to Groot Willem.
Now it may be remembered that Hendrik Von Bloom is also a "mighty
hunter;" and I shall just whisper that a slight feeling of rivalry--I
shall not call it jealousy, for they are good friends--exists between
these two Nimrods. Hendrik's favourite gun is a rifle, while the roer
of Groot Willem is a "smooth bore;" and between the merits of these two
weapons camp-fire discussions are frequent and sharp. They are never
carried beyond the limits of gentlemanly feeling, for loose and slovenly
as is Groot Willem in outward appearance, he is a gentleman within.
Equally a gentleman, but of far more taste and style, is the second
brother of the Van Wyks, Arend. In striking appearance and manly beauty
he is quite a match for Hendrik Von Bloom himself, though in complexion
and features there is no resemblance between them. Hendrik is fair,
while Arend is very dark-skinned, with black eyes and hair. In fact,
all the Van Wyks are of the complexion known as "brunette," for they
belong to that section of the inhabitants of Holland sometimes
distinguished as "Black Dutch." But upon Arend's fine features the hue
sits well, and a handsomer youth is not to be seen in all the Graaf
Reinet. Some whisper that this is the opinion of the beautiful Gertrude
Von Bloom; but that can only be idle gossip, for the fair Truey is yet
but thirteen, and therefore can have no opinion on such a matter.
Africa, however, is an early country, and there _might_ be something in
it.
Arend's costume is a tasty one, and becomes him well. It consists of a
jacket of dressed antelope-skin,--the skin of the springbok; but this,
besides being tastefully cut and sewed, is very prettily embroidered
with slashes of beautiful leopard-skin, while broad bands of the same
extend along the outside seams of the trousers, from waist to ankle,
giving to the whole dress, a very rich and striking effect. Arend's
head-dress is similar to that worn by Hendrik Von Bloom, viz: a military
forage-cap, upon the front of which are embroidered in gold bullion a
bugle and some letters; and the explanation of that is, that Arend, like
his second cousin, is a corn | 1,385.054283 |
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Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall "Christmas Stories" edition by
David Price, email [email protected]
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LODGINGS
CHAPTER I--HOW MRS. LIRRIPER CARRIED ON THE BUSINESS
Whoever would begin to be worried with letting Lodgings that wasn't a
lone woman with a living to get is a thing inconceivable to me, my dear;
excuse the familiarity, but it comes natural to me in my own little room,
when wishing to open my mind to those that I can trust, and I should be
truly thankful if they were all mankind, but such is not so, for have but
a Furnished bill in the window and your watch on the mantelpiece, and
farewell to it if you turn your back for but a second, however
gentlemanly the manners; nor is being of your own sex any safeguard, as I
have reason, in the form of sugar-tongs to know, for that lady (and a
fine woman she was) got me to run for a glass of water, on the plea of
going to be confined, which certainly turned out true, but it was in the
Station-house.
Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street, Strand--situated midway between the
City and St. James's, and within five minutes' walk of the principal
places of public amusement--is my address. I have rented this house many
years, as the parish rate-books will testify; and I could wish my
landlord was as alive to the fact as I am myself; but no, bless you, not
a half a pound of paint to save his life, nor so much, my dear, as a tile
upon the roof, though on your bended knees.
My dear, you never have found Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strand
advertised in Bradshaw's _Railway Guide_, and with the blessing of Heaven
you never will or shall so find it. Some there are who do not think it
lowering themselves to make their names that cheap, and even going the
lengths of a portrait of the house not like it with a blot in every
window and a coach and four at the door, but what will suit Wozenham's
lower down on the other side of the way will not suit me, Miss Wozenham
having her opinions and me having mine, though when it comes to
systematic underbidding capable of being proved on oath in a court of
justice and taking the form of "If Mrs. Lirriper names eighteen shillings
a week, I name fifteen and six," it then comes to a settlement between
yourself and your conscience, supposing for the sake of argument your
name to be Wozenham, which I am well aware it is not or my opinion of you
would be greatly lowered, and as to airy bedrooms and a night-porter in
constant attendance the less | 1,385.111109 |
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Produced by John Hamm and David Widger
THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE
by Thomas Hardy
1.
One evening of late summer, before the nineteenth century had reached
one-third of its span, a young man and woman, the latter carrying a
child, were approaching the large village of Weydon-Priors, in Upper
Wessex, on foot. They were plainly but not ill clad, though | 1,385.358389 |
2023-11-16 18:40:09.5418970 | 2,207 | 8 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
_THE AMERICAN HISTORY SERIES_
THE MIDDLE PERIOD
1817-1858
BY
JOHN W. BURGESS, PH.D., LL.D.
PROFESSOR OF POLITICAL SCIENCE AND CONSTITUTIONAL LAW, AND DEAN OF THE
FACULTY OF POLITICAL SCIENCE, IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY IN THE CITY OF
NEW YORK
_WITH MAPS_
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1897, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
To the memory of my former teacher, colleague, and friend,
JULIUS HAWLEY SEELYE,
philosopher, theologian, statesman, and educator, this volume is
reverently and affectionately inscribed.
PREFACE
There is no more serious and delicate task in literature and morals
than that of writing the history of the United States from 1816 to
1860. The periods which precede this may be treated without fear of
arousing passion, prejudice, and resentment, and with little danger of
being misunderstood. Even the immaculateness of Washington may be
attacked without exciting anything worse than a sort of uncomfortable
admiration for the reckless courage of the assailant. But when we pass
the year 1820, and especially when we approach the year 1860, we find
ourselves in a different world. We find ourselves in the midst of the
ideas, the motives, and the occurrences which, and of the men who,
have, in large degree, produced the animosities, the friendships, and
the relations between parties and sections which prevail to-day.
Serious and delicate as the task is, however, the time has arrived
when it should be undertaken in a thoroughly impartial spirit. The
continued misunderstanding between the North and the South is an ever
present menace to the welfare of both sections and of the entire
nation. It makes it almost impossible to decide any question of our
politics upon its merits. It offers an almost insuperable obstacle to
the development of a national opinion upon the fundamental principles
of our polity. If we would clear up this confusion in the common
consciousness, we must do something to dispel this misunderstanding;
and I know of no means of accomplishing this, save the rewriting of
our history from 1816 to 1860, with an open mind and a willing spirit
to see and to represent truth and error, and right and wrong, without
regard to the men or the sections in whom or where they may appear.
I am by no means certain that I am able to do this. I am old enough to
have been a witness of the great struggle of 1861-65, and to have
participated, in a small way, in it. My early years were embittered by
the political hatreds which then prevailed. I learned before my
majority to regard secession as an abomination, and its chief cause,
slavery, as a great evil; and I cannot say that these feelings have
been much modified, if any at all, by longer experiences and maturer
thought. I have, therefore, undertaken this work with many misgivings.
Keenly conscious of my own prejudices, I have exerted my imagination
to the utmost to create a picture in my own mind of the environment of
those who held the opposite opinion upon these fundamental subjects,
and to appreciate the processes of their reasoning under the
influences of their own particular situation. And I have with sedulous
care avoided all the histories written immediately after the close of
the great contest of arms, and all rehashes of them of later date. In
fact I have made it an invariable rule to use no secondary material;
that is, no material in which original matter is mingled with
somebody's interpretation of its meaning. If, therefore, the facts in
my narration are twisted by prejudices and preconceptions, I think I
can assure my readers that they have suffered only one twist. I have
also endeavored to approach my subject in a reverent spirit, and to
deal with the characters who made our history, in this almost tragic
period, as serious and sincere men having a most perplexing and
momentous problem to solve, a problem not of their own making, but a
fatal inheritance from their predecessors.
I have been especially repelled by the flippant superficiality of the
foreign critics of this period of our history, and their evident
delight in representing the professions and teachings of the "Free
Republic" as canting hypocrisy. It has seemed to me a great misfortune
that the present generation and future generations should be taught to
regard so lightly the earnest efforts of wise, true, and honorable men
to rescue the country from the great catastrophe which, for so long,
impended over it. The passionate onesidedness of our own writers is
hardly more harmful, and is certainly less repulsive.
I recently heard a distinguished professor of history and politics say
that he thought the history of the United States, in this period,
could be truthfully written only by a Scotch-Irishman. I suppose he
meant that the Scotch element in this ideal historian would take the
Northern point of view, and the Irish element the Southern; but I
could not see how this would produce anything more than another pair
of narratives from the old contradictory points of view; and he did
not explain how it would.
My opinion is, on the contrary, that this history must be written by
an American and a Northerner, and from the Northern point of
view--because an American best understands Americans, after all;
because the victorious party can be and will be more liberal,
generous, and sympathetic than the vanquished; and because the
Northern view is, in the main, the correct view. It will not improve
matters to concede that the South had right and the North might, or,
even, that both were equally right and equally wrong. Such a doctrine
can only work injury to both, and more injury to the South than to the
North. Chewing the bitter cud of fancied wrong produces both spiritual
misery and material adversity, and tempts to foolish and reckless
action for righting the imagined injustice. Moreover, any such
doctrine is false, and acquiescence in it, however kindly meant, is
weak, and can have no other effect than the perpetuation of error and
misunderstanding. The time has come when the men of the South should
acknowledge that they were in error in their attempt to destroy the
Union, and it is unmanly in them not to do so. When they appealed the
great question from the decision at the ballot-box to the "trial by
battle," their leaders declared, over and over again, in calling their
followers to arms, that the "God of battles" would surely give the
victory to the right. In the great movements of the world's history
this is certainly a sound philosophy, and they should have held to it
after their defeat. Their recourse to the crude notion that they had
succumbed only to might was thus not only a bitter, false, and
dangerous consolation, but it was a stultification of themselves when
at their best as men and heroes.
While, therefore, great care has been taken, in the following pages,
to attribute to the Southern leaders and the Southern people sincerity
of purpose in their views and their acts, while their ideas and their
reasoning have been, I think, duly appreciated, and patiently
explained, while the right has been willingly acknowledged to them and
honor accorded them whenever and wherever they have had the right and
have merited honor, and while unbounded sympathy for personal
suffering and misfortune has been expressed, still not one scintilla
of justification for secession and rebellion must be expected. The
South must acknowledge its error as well as its defeat in regard to
these things, and that, too, not with lip service, but from the brain
and the heart and the manly will, before any real concord in thought
and feeling, any real national brotherhood, can be established. This
is not too much to demand, simply because it is right, and nothing can
be settled, as Mr. Lincoln said, until it is settled right. Any
interpretation of this period of American history which does not
demonstrate to the South its error will be worthless, simply because
it will not be true; and unless we are men enough to hear and accept
and stand upon the truth, it is useless to endeavor to find a bond of
real union between us. In a word, the conviction of the South of its
error in secession and rebellion is absolutely indispensable to the
establishment of national cordiality; and the history of this period
which fails to do this will fail in accomplishing one of the highest
works of history, the reconciliation of men to the plans of Providence
for their perfection.
I have not, in the following pages, undertaken to treat _all_ of the
events of our experience from 1816 to 1860. The space allowed me would
not admit of that. And even if it had, I still would have selected
only those events which, in my opinion, are significant of our
progress in civilization, and, as I am writing a political history,
only those which are significant of our progress in political
civilization. The truthful record, connection, and interpretation of
such events is what I call history in the highest sense, as
distinguished from chronology, narrative, and romance. Both necessity
and philosophy have confined me to these.
I cannot close these prefatory sentences without a word of grateful
acknowledgment to my friend and colleague, Dr. Harry A. Cushing, for
the important services which he has rendered me in the preparation of
this work.
JOHN W. BURGESS.
323 WEST FIFTY-SEVENTH STREET, NEW YORK CITY.
JANUARY 22, 1897.
CONTENTS
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
THE NATIONALIZATION OF THE OLD REPUBLICAN PARTY,....... 1
CHAPTER II.
THE ACQUISITION OF FLORIDA, .... | 1,385.561937 |
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A CANDID HISTORY OF THE JESUITS
A CANDID HISTORY
OF
THE JESUITS
BY
JOSEPH McCABE
AUTHOR OF
"THE DECAY OF THE CHURCH OF ROME" ETC.
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
1913
PREFACE
It is the historic custom of the Church of Rome to enlist in its
service monastic or quasi-monastic bodies in addition to the ordinary
clergy. In its hour of greatest need, at the very outbreak of the
Reformation, the Society of Jesus was formed as one of these auxiliary
regiments, and in the war which the Church of Rome has waged since
that date the Jesuits have rendered the most spirited and conspicuous
service. Yet the procedure of this Society has differed in many
important respects from that of the other regiments of the Church, and
a vast and unceasing controversy has gathered about it. It is probable
that a thousand times, or several thousand times, more books and
pamphlets and articles have been written about the Jesuits than about
even the oldest and most powerful or learned of the monastic bodies.
Not a work of history can be opened, in any language, but it will
contain more references to the Jesuits than to all the other religious
orders collectively. But opinions differ as much to-day as they did a
hundred or two hundred years ago about the character of the Jesuits,
and the warmest eulogies are chilled by the most bitter and withering
indictments.
What is a Jesuit? The question is asked still in every civilised
land, and the answer is a confusing mass of contradictions. The most
learned historians read the facts of their career so differently,
that one comes to a verdict expressing deep and criminal guilt, and
another acquits them with honour. Since the foundation of the Society
these drastically opposed views of its action have been taken, and
the praise and homage of admirers have been balanced by the intense
hatred of an equal number of Catholic opponents. It would seem that
some impenetrable veil lies over the history and present life of the
Society, yet on both sides its judges refuse to recognise obscurity.
Catholic monarchs and peoples have, time after time, driven the Jesuits
ignominiously over their frontiers; Popes have sternly condemned them.
But they are as active, and nearly as numerous, in the twentieth
century as in the last days of the old political world.
No marshalling of historical facts will change the feeling of the
pronounced admirers and opponents of the Jesuits, and it would be idle
to suppose that, because the present writer is neither Roman Catholic
nor Protestant, he will be awarded the virtue of impartiality. There
seems, however, some need for an historical study of the Jesuits which
will aim at impartiality and candour. On one side we have large and
important works like Crétineau-Joly's _Histoire religieuse, politique,
et littéraire de la Compagnie de Jésus_, and a number of smaller
works, written by Catholics of England or America, from the material,
and in the spirit, of the French historian's work. Such works as
these cannot for a moment be regarded as serious history. They are
panegyrics or apologies: pleasant reading for the man or woman who
wishes to admire, but mere untruth to the man or woman who wishes to
know. Indeed, the work of M. Crétineau-Joly, written in conjunction
with the Jesuits, which is at times recommended as the classical
authority on the Society, has worse defects than the genial omission
of unedifying episodes. He makes the most inflated general statements
on the scantiest of material, is seriously and frequently inaccurate,
makes a very generous use of the "mental reserve" which his friends
advocate, and sometimes embodies notoriously forged documents without
even intimating that they are questioned.
Such works naturally provoke an antagonistic class of volumes, in
which the unflattering truths only are presented and a false picture
is produced to the prejudice of the Jesuits. An entirely neutral
volume on the Jesuits does not exist, and probably never will exist.
The historian who surveys the whole of the facts of their remarkable
and romantic career cannot remain neutral. Nor is it merely a question
of whether the writer is a Roman Catholic or no. The work of M.
Crétineau-Joly was followed in France by one written by a zealous
priest, the Abbé Guettée, which tore its predecessor to shreds, and
represented the Society of Jesus as fitly condemned by Pope and kings.
It will be found, at least, that the present work contains an
impartial account both of the virtue and heroism that are found in
the chronicles of the Jesuits, and the scandals and misdeeds that may
justly be attributed to them. It is no less based on the original
Jesuit documents, as far as they have been published, and the work of
Crétineau-Joly, than on the antagonistic literature, as the reader
will perceive. Whether or no it seems to some an indictment, it is
a patient endeavour to give all the facts, within the compass of the
volume, and enable the reader to form a balanced judgment on the
Society. It is an attempt to _understand_ the Jesuits: to understand
the enthusiasm and fiery attachment of one half of the Catholic world
no less than the disdain or detestation of the other, to employ the
white and the black, not blended into a monotonous grey but in their
respective places and shades, so as to afford a truthful picture of
the dramatic fortunes of the Society during nearly four centuries, and
some insight into the character of the men who won for it such ardent
devotion and such intense hostility.
J.M.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. The Origin of the Society 1
II. The First Jesuits 27
III. Early Storms 55
IV. General Francis Borgia 80
V. Progress and Decay under Acquaviva 106
VI. The Early Jesuits in England 142
VII. The First Century of Jesuitism 167
VIII. Under the Stuarts 195
IX. The Struggle with the Jansenists 220
X. The Expulsion from Portugal and Spain 253
XI. The Foreign Missions 279
XII. In the Germanic Lands 311
XIII. The Suppression of the Society 334
XIV. The Restoration 364
XV. The New Jesuits 390
XVI. The Last Phase 424
Index 445
A CANDID HISTORY OF THE
JESUITS
CHAPTER I
THE ORIGIN OF THE SOCIETY
In the early summer of the year 1521, some months after Martin Luther
had burned the Pope's bull at Wittenberg and lit the fire of the
Reformation, a young Basque soldier lay abed in his father's castle
at the foot of the Pyrenees, contemplating the wreck of his ambition.
Iñigo of Loyola was the youngest son in a large family of ancient
lineage and little wealth. He had lost his mother at an early date, and
had been placed by a wealthy aunt at court, where he learned to love
the flash of swords, the smile of princes, the softness of silk and of
women's eyes, and all the hard deeds and rich rewards of the knight's
career. From the court he had gone to the camp, and had set himself
sternly to the task of cutting an honourable path back to court.
Fearless in war, skilful in sport and in martial exercises, refined
in person, cheerful in temper, and ardent in love, the young noble
had seen before him a long avenue of knightly adventure and gracious
recompense. He was, in 1521, in his thirtieth year of age, or near
it--his birth-year is variously given as 1491 or 1493; a clean-built,
sinewy little man, with dark lustrous eyes flashing in his olive-tinted
face, and thick black hair crowning his lofty forehead. And a French
ball at the siege of Pampeluna had, at one stroke, broken his leg and
shattered his ambition.
It took some time to realise the ruin of his ambition. The chivalrous
conquerors at Pampeluna had treated their brave opponent with
distinction, and had, after dressing his wounds, sent him to the Loyola
castle in the Basque provinces, where his elder brother had brought the
surgeons to make him fit for the field once more. The bone, they found,
had been badly set; it must be broken again and re-set. He bore their
operations without a moan, and then lay for weeks in pain and fever.
He still trusted to return to the camp and win the favour of a certain
great lady--probably the daughter of the Dowager-Queen of Naples--whose
memory he secretly cherished. Indeed, on the feast of the Apostles
Peter and Paul, he spoke of it with confidence; he told his brother
that the elder apostle had entered the dark chamber and healed him on
the eve of the festival. Unhappily he found, when the fever had gone,
that the second setting of his leg had been so ill done that a piece
of bone projected below the knee, and the right leg was shorter than
the left. Again he summoned the mediæval surgeons and their appalling
armoury, and they sawed off the protruding piece of bone and stretched
his leg on a rack they used for such purposes; and not a cry or curse
came from the tense lips. But the right leg still refused to meet its
fellow, and shades gathered about Iñigo's glorious prospect of life. A
young man who limps can hardly hope to reach a place of honour in the
camp, or the gardens of the palace, or the hearts of women. Talleyrand,
later, would set out on his career with a limp; and Talleyrand would
become a diplomatist.
Iñigo lay in the stout square castle of rugged stone, which is now
reverently enclosed, like a jewel, in a vast home of the Jesuits. It
then stood alone in a beautiful valley, just at the foot of the last
southern <DW72>s of the Pyrenees, about a mile from the little town
of Azpeitia. The mind of the young Basque heaved with confused and
feverish dreams as he lay there, in the summer heat, beside the wreck
of his ambition. He called for books of knight-errantry, to while
away the dreary days, but there were none in the Loyola castle, and
someone--a pious sister, perhaps--brought him a _Life of Christ_ and a
_Flowers of the Saints_. For lack of anything better he read them: at
first fingering the leaves with the nearest approach to disdain that a
Christian soldier dare admit, then starting with interest, at length
flushing with enthusiasm. What was this but another form of chivalry?
Nay, when you reflected, it was the only chivalry worth so fierce a
devotion as his. Here was a way of winning a fair lady, the Queen of
Heaven, whose glances were worth more than the caresses of all the
dames in Castile: here was a monarch to serve, whose court outshone
the courts of France and Spain as the sun outshines the stars: here
were adventures that called for a higher spirit than the bravado of the
soldier.
The young Basque began to look upon a new world from the narrow windows
of the old castle. Down the valley was Azpeitia, and even there one
could find monsters and evil knights to slay in the cause of Mary.
Southward were the broad provinces of Spain, full of half-converted
Moors and Jews and ever-flourishing vices. Across the hills and the
seas were other kingdoms, calling just as loudly for a new champion of
God and Mary. One field, far away at the edge of the world, summoned
him with peremptory voice; after all the Crusades the sites in the Holy
Land were still trodden by the feet of blaspheming Turks. The blood
began to course once more in the veins of the soldier.
During the winter that followed his friends noticed that he was
making a wonderful chronicle of the lives of Christ and His saints.
He was skilled in all courtly accomplishments--they did not include
learning--and could write, and illuminate very prettily, sonnets to
the secret lady of his inner shrine. Now he used his art to make a
pious chronicle, with the words and deeds of Christ in vermilion and
gold, the life of Mary in blue, and the stories of the saints in the
less royal colours of the rainbow, and his dark pale face was lit by a
strange light. There were times when this new light flickered or faded,
and the fleshly queen of his heart seemed to place white arms about
him, and the sunny earth fought with the faint vision of a far-off
heaven. Then he prayed, and scourged himself, and vowed that he would
be the knight of Christ and Mary; and--so he told his followers long
afterwards--the heavy stone castle shook and rumbled with the angry
passing of the demon. He told them also that he had at the time a
notion of burying himself in the Carthus | 1,385.577189 |
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BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. CCCLXXXIII. SEPTEMBER, 1847. Vol. LXII.
HOW I STOOD FOR THE DREEPDAILY BURGHS.
CHAPTER I.
"My dear Dunshunner," said my friend Robert M'Corkindale as he entered my
apartments one fine morning in June last, "do you happen to have seen the
share-list? Things are looking in Liverpool as black as thunder. The
bullion is all going out of the country, and the banks are refusing to
discount."
Bob M'Corkindale might very safely have kept his information to himself. I
was, to say the truth, most painfully aware of the facts which he
unfeelingly obtruded upon my notice. Six weeks before, in the full
confidence that the panic was subsiding, I had recklessly invested my
whole capital in the shares of a certain railway company, which for the
present shall be nameless; and each successive circular from my broker
conveyed the doleful intelligence that the stock was going down to Erebus.
Under these circumstances I certainly felt very far from being
comfortable. I could not sell out except at a ruinous loss; and I could
not well afford to hold on for any length of time, unless there was a
reasonable prospect of a speedy amendment of the market. Let me confess
it--I had of late come out rather too strong. When a man has made money
easily, he is somewhat prone to launch into expense, and to presume too
largely upon his credit. I had been idiot enough to make my _debut_ in the
sporting world--had started a couple of horses upon the verdant turf of
Paisley--and, as a matter of course, was remorselessly sold by my
advisers. These and some other minor amusements had preyed deleteriously
upon my purse. In fact, I had not the ready; and as every tradesman
throughout Glasgow was quaking in his shoes at the panic, and
inconveniently eager to realise, I began to feel the reverse of
comfortable, and was shy of showing myself in Buchanan Street. Several
documents of a suspicious appearance--owing to the beastly practice of
wafering, which is still adhered to by a certain class of
correspondents--were lying upon my table at the moment when Bob entered. I
could see that the villain comprehended their nature at a glance; but
there was no use in attempting to mystify him. The Political Economist
was, as I was well aware, in very much the same predicament as myself.
"To tell you the truth, M'Corkindale, I have not opened a share-list for a
week. The faces of some of our friends are quite long enough to serve as a
tolerable exponent of the market; and I saw Grabbie pass about five
minutes ago with a yard of misery in his visage. But what's the news?"
"Every thing that is bad! Total stoppage expected in a week, and the mills
already put upon short time."
"You don't say so!"
"It is a fact. Dunshunner, this infernal tampering with the currency will
be the ruin of every mother's son of us!"--and here Bob, in a fit of
indignant enthusiasm, commenced a vivid harangue upon the principles of
contraction and expansion, bullion, the metallic standard, and the bank
reserves, which no doubt was extremely sound, but which I shall not
recapitulate to the reader.
"That's all very well, Bob," said I--"very good in theory, but we should
confine ourselves at present to practice. The main question seems to me to
be this. How are we to get out of our present fix? I presume you are not
at present afflicted with a remarkable plethory of cash?"
"Every farthing I have in the world is locked up in a falling line."
"Any debts?"
"Not many; but quite enough to make me meditate a temporary retirement to
Boulogne."
"I believe you are better off than I am. I not only owe money, but am
terribly bothered about some bills."
"That's awkward. Would it not be advisable to bolt?"
"I don't think so. You used to tell me, Bob, that credit was the next best
thing to capital. Now, I don't despair of redeeming my capital yet, if I
can only keep up my credit."
"Right, undoubtedly, as you generally are. Do you know, Dunshunner, you
deserve credit for your notions on political economy. But how is that to
be done? Every body is realising; the banks won't discount; and when your
bills become due, they will be, to a dead certainty, protested."
"Well--and what then?"
"_Squalor carceris_, etcetera."
"Hum--an unpleasant alternative, certainly. Come, Bob I put your wits to
work. You used to be a capital hand for devices, and there must be some
way or other of steering clear. Time is all we want."
"Ay, to be sure--time is the great thing. It would be very unpleasant to
look out on the world through a grating during the summer months!"
"I perspire at the bare idea!"
"Not a soul in town--all your friends away in the Highlands boating, or
fishing, or shooting grouse--and you pent up in a stifling apartment of
eight feet square, with nobody to talk to save the turnkey, and no
prospect from the window, except a deserted gooseberry stall!"
"O Bob, don't talk in that way! You make me perfectly miserable."
"And all this for a ministerial currency crotchet? 'Pon my soul, it's too
bad! I wish those fellows in Parliament----"
"Well? Go on."
"By Jove! I've an idea at last!"
"You don't say so! My dear Bob--out with it!"
"Dunshunner, are you a man of pluck?"
"I should think I am."
"And ready to go the whole hog, if required?"
"The entire animal."
"Then I'll tell you what it is--the elections will be on immediately--and,
by St Andrew, we'll put you up for Parliament!"
"Me!"
"You. Why not? There are hundreds of men there quite as hard up, and not
half so clever as yourself."
"And what good would that do me?"
"Don't you see? You need not care a farthing about your debts then, for
the personal liberty of a member of the House of Commons is sacred. You
can fire away right and left at the currency; and who knows, if you play
your cards well, but you may get a comfortable place?"
"Well, you _are_ a genius, Bob! But then, what sort of principles should I
profess?"
"That is a matter which requires consideration. What are your own feelings
on the subject?"
"Perfect indifference. I am pledged to no party, and am free to exercise
my independent judgment."
"Of course, of course! We shall take care to stick all that into the
address; but you must positively come forward with some kind of tangible
political views. The currency will do for one point, but as to the others
I see a difficulty."
"Suppose I were to start as a Peelite?
"Something may be said in favour of that view; but, on the whole, I should
rather say not. That party may not look up for some little time, and then
the currency is a stumbling-block in the way. No, Dunshunner, I do not
think, upon my honour, that it would be wise for you to commit yourself in
that quarter at the present moment."
"Suppose I try the Protectionist dodge? One might come it very strong
against the foreigners, and in favour of native industry. Eh, Bob? What do
you say to that? It is an advantage to act with gentlemen."
"True; but at the same time, I see many objections. The principles of the
country party are not yet thoroughly understood by the people, and I
should like to have you start with at least popularity on your side."
"Radical, then? What do you think of Annual Parliaments, Universal
Suffrage, Vote by Ballot, and separation of Church and State?"
"I am clear against that. These views are not popular with the Electors,
and even the mob would entertain a strong suspicion that you were
humbugging them."
"What, then, on earth am I to do?"
"I will tell you. Come out as a pure and transparent Whig. In the present
position of parties, it is at least a safe course to pursue, and it is
always the readiest step to the possession of the loaves and the fishes."
"Bob, I don't like the Whigs!"
"No more do I. They are a bad lot; but they are _in_, and that is every
thing. Yes, Augustus," continued Bob solemnly, "there is nothing else for
it. You must start as a pure Whig, upon the Revolution principles of
sixteen hundred and eighty-eight."
"It would be a great relief to my mind, Bob, if you would tell me what
those principles really are?"
"I have not the remotest idea; but we have plenty time to look them up."
"Then, I suppose I must swallow the Dutchman and the Massacre of Glencoe?"
"Yes, and the Darien business into the bargain. These are the principles
of your party, and of course you are bound to subscribe."
"Well! you know best; but I'd rather do any thing else."
"Pooh! never fear; you and Whiggery will agree remarkably well. That
matter, then, we may consider as settled. The next point to be thought of
is the constituency."
"Ay, to be sure! what place am I to start for? I have got no interest, and
if I had any, there are no nomination burghs in Scotland."
"Aren't there? That's all you know, my fine fellow! Hark ye, Dunshunner,
more than half of the Scottish burghs are at this moment held by
nominees!"
"You amaze me, Bob! The thing is impossible! The Reform Bill, that great
charter of our liberties----"
"Bravo! There spoke the Whig! The Reform Bill, you think, put an end to
nomination? It did nothing of the kind, it merely transferred it. Did you
ever hear of such things as CLIQUES?"
"I have. But they are tremendously unpopular."
"Nevertheless, they hold the returning power. There is a Clique in almost
every town throughout Scotland, which loads the electors as quietly, but
as surely, as the blind man is conducted by his dog. These are modelled on
the true Venetian principles of secrecy and terrorism. They control the
whole constituency, put in the member, and in return monopolise the whole
patronage of the place. If you have the Clique with you, you are almost
sure of your election; if not, except in the larger towns, you have not a
shadow of success. Now, what I want to impress upon you is this, that
where-ever you go, be sure that you communicate with the Clique."
"But how am I to find it out?
"That is not always an easy matter, for nobody will acknowledge that they
belong to it. However, the thing is not impossible, and we shall certainly
make the experiment. Come, then, I suppose you agree with me, that it is
hopeless to attempt the larger towns?"
"Clearly. So far as I see, they are all provided already with candidates."
"And you may add, Cliques, Dunshunner. Well, then, let us search among
the smaller places. What would you think of a dash at the Stirling
District of Burghs?"
"Why, there are at least half-a-dozen candidates in the field."
"True, that would naturally lessen your chance. Depend upon it, some one
of them has already found the key to the Clique. But there's the
Dreepdaily District with nobody standing for it, except the Honourable
Paul Pozzlethwaite; and I question whether he knows himself the nature or
the texture of his politics. Really, Dunshunner, that's the very place for
you; and if we look sharp after it, I bet the long odds that you will
carry it in a canter."
"Do you really think so?
"I do indeed; and the sooner you start the better. Let me see. I know
Provost Binkie of Dreepdaily. He is a Railway bird, was an original
Glenmutchkin shareholder, and fortunately sold out at a premium. He is a
capital man to begin with, and I think will be favourable to you: besides,
Dreepdaily is in old Whig burgh. I am not so sure of Kittleweem. It is a
shade more respectable than Dreepdaily, and has always been rather
Conservative. The third burgh, Drouthielaw, is a nest of Radicalism; but I
think it may be won over, if we open the public-houses."
"But, about expenses, Bob--won't it be a serious matter?"
"Why, you must lay your account with spending some five or six hundred
pounds upon the nail; and I advise you to sell stock to that amount at
least. The remainder, should it cost you more, can stand over."
"Bob, five or six hundred pounds is a very serious sum!"
"Granted--but then look at the honour and the immunity you will enjoy.
Recollect that yours is an awkward predicament. If you don't get into
Parliament, I see nothing for it but a stoppage."
"That's true enough. Well--hang it, then, I will start!"
"There's a brave fellow! I should not in the least wonder to see you in
the Cabinet yet. The sooner you set about preparing your address the
better."
"What! without seeing Provost Binkie?"
"To be sure. What is the use of wading when you can plunge at once into
deep water? Besides, let me, tell you that you are a great deal more
likely to get credit when it is understood that you are an actual
candidate."
"There is something in that too. But I say, Bob--you really must help me
with the address. I am a bad hand at these things, and shall never be able
to tickle up the electors without your assistance."
"I'll do all I can. Just ring for a little sherry and water, and we'll set
to work. I make no doubt that, between us, we can polish off a plausible
placard."
Two hours afterwards, I forwarded through the post-office, a missive
addressed to the editor of the Dreepdaily Patriot, with the following
document enclosed. I am rather proud of it, as a manifesto of my political
principles.
"TO THE ELECTORS OF THE UNITED DISTRICT OF BURGHS OF DREEPDAILY,
DROUTHIELAW, AND KITTLEWEEM.
"GENTLEMEN,--I am induced, by a requisition, to which are appended the
signatures of a large majority of your influential and patriotic body, to
offer myself as a candidate for the high honour of your representation in
the ensuing session of Parliament. Had I consulted my own inclination, I
should have preferred the leisure of retirement and the pursuit of those
studies so congenial to my taste, to the more stormy and agitating of
politics. But a deep sense of public duty compels me to respond to your
call.
"My views upon most subjects are so well known to many of you, that a
lengthened explanation of them would probably be superfluous. Still,
however, it may be right and proper for me to explain generally what they
are.
"My principles are based upon the great and glorious Revolution settlement
of 1688, which, by abolishing, or at least superseding, hereditary right,
intrusted the guardianship of the crown to an enlightened oligarchy for
the protection of an unparticipating people. That oligarchy is now most
ably represented by her Majesty's present Ministers, to whom,
unhesitatingly and uncompromisingly, except upon a very few matters, I
give in my adhesion so long as they shall continue in office.
"Opposed to faction and an enemy to misrule, I am yet friendly to many
changes of a sweeping and organic character. Without relaxing the ties
which at present bind together church and state in harmonious coalition
and union, I would gradually confiscate the revenues of the one for the
increasing necessities of the other. I never would become a party to an
attack upon the House of Peers, so long as it remains subservient to the
will of the Commons; nor would I alter or extend the franchise, except
from cause shown, and the declared and universal wish of the non-electors.
"I highly approve of the policy which has been pursued towards Ireland,
and of further concessions to a deep-rooted system of agitation. I approve
of increased endowments to that much neglected country; and I applaud that
generosity which relieves it from all participation in the common burdens
of the state. Such a line of policy cannot fail to elevate the moral tone,
and to develop the internal resources of Ireland; and I never wish to see
the day when the Scotsman and the Irishman may, in so far as taxation is
concerned, be placed upon an equal footing. It appears to me a highly
equitable adjustment that the savings of the first should be appropriated
for the wants of the second.
"I am in favour of the centralising system, which, by drafting away the
wealth and talent of the provinces, must augment the importance of London.
I am strongly opposed to the maintenance of my local or Scottish
institutions, which can merely serve to foster a spirit of decayed
nationality; and I am of opinion that all boards and offices should be
transferred to England, with the exception of those connected with the
Dreepdaily district, which it is the bounden duty of the legislature to
protect and preserve.
"I am a friend to the spread of education, but hostile to any system by
means of which religion, especially Protestantism, may be taught.
"I am a supporter of free trade in all its branches. I cannot see any
reason for the protection of native industry, and am ready to support any
fundamental measure by means of which articles of foreign manufacture
maybe brought to compete in the home market with our own, without
restriction and without reciprocity. It has always appeared to me that our
imports are of far greater importance than our exports. I think that any
lowering of price which may be the result of such a commercial policy,
will be more than adequately compensated by a coercive measure which shall
compel the artisan to augment the period of his labour. I am against any
short hours' bill, and am of opinion that infant labour should be
stringently and universally enforced.
"With regard to the currency, I feel that I may safely leave that matter
in the hands of her Majesty's present Ministers, who have never shown any
indisposition to oppose themselves to the popular wish.
"These, gentlemen, are my sentiments; and I think that, upon
consideration, you will find them such as may entitle me to your cordial
support. I need not say how highly I shall value the trust, or how
zealously I shall endeavour to promote your local interests. These,
probably, can be best advanced by a cautious regard to my own.
"On any other topics I shall be happy to give you the fullest and most
satisfactory explanation. I shall merely add, as a summary of my opinions,
that while ready on the one hand to coerce labour, so as to stimulate
internal industry to the utmost, and to add largely to the amount of our
population; I am, upon the other, a friend to the liberty of the subject,
and to the promotion of such genial and sanatory measures as suit the
tendency of our enlightened age, the diffusion of universal philanthropy,
and the spread of popular opinion. I remain, GENTLEMEN, with the deepest
respect, your very obedient and humble servant,
"AUGUSTUS REGINALD DUNSHUNNER.
"_St Mirren's House,
"June, 1847_."
The editor of the Dreepdaily Patriot, wisely considering that this
advertisement was the mere prelude to many more, was kind enough to
dedicate a leading article to an exposition of my past services. I am not
a vain man; so that I shall not here reprint the panegyric passed upon
myself, or the ovation which my friend foresaw. Indeed, I am so far from
vain, that I really began to think, while perusing the columns of the
Patriot, that I had somewhat foolishly shut my eyes hitherto to the
greatness of that talent, and the brilliancy of those parts which were now
proclaimed to the world. Yes; it was quite clear that I had hitherto been
concealing my candle under a bushel--that I was cut out by nature for a
legislator--and that I was the very man for the Dreepdaily electors. Under
this conviction, I started upon my canvass, munimented with letters of
introduction from M'Corkindale, who, much against his inclination, was
compelled to remain at home.
CHAPTER II.
Dreepdaily is a beautiful little town, embosomed in an amphitheatre of
hills which have such a winning way with the clouds that the summits are
seldom visible. Dreepdaily, if situated in Arabia, would be deemed a
Paradise. All round it the vegetation is long, and lithe, and luxuriant;
the trees keep their verdure late; and the rush of the nettles is amazing.
How the inhabitants contrive to live, is to me a matter of mystery. There
is no particular trade or calling exercised in the place--no busy hum of
artisans, or clanking of hammer or machinery. Round the suburbs, indeed,
there are rows of mean-looking cottages, each with its strapping lass in
the national short gown at the door, from the interior of which resounds
the boom of the weaver's shuttle. There is also one factory at a little
distance; but when you reach the town itself, all is supereminently
silent. In fine weather, crowds of urchins of both sexes are seen sunning
themselves on the quaint-looking flights of steps by which the doors,
usually on the second story, are approached; and as you survey the swarms
of bare-legged and flaxen-haired infantry, you cannot help wondering in
your heart what has become of the adult population. It is only towards
evening that the seniors appear. Then you may find them either congregated
on the bridge discussing politics and polemics, or lounging in the little
square in affectionate vicinity to the public-house, or leaning over the
windows in their shirt-sleeves, in the tranquil enjoyment of a pipe. In
short, the cares and the bustle of the world, even in this railroad age,
seem to have fallen lightly on the pacific burghers of Dreepdaily.
According to their own account, the town was once a peculiar favourite of
royalty. It boasts of a charter from King David the First, and there is an
old ruin in the neighbourhood which is said to have been a palace of that
redoubted monarch. It may be so, for there is no accounting for
constitutions; but had I been King David, I certainly should have
preferred, a place where the younger branches of the family would have
been less liable to the accident of catarrh.
Dreepdaily, in the olden time, was among the closest of all the burghs.
Its representation had a fixed price, which was always rigorously exacted
and punctually paid; and for half a year thereafter, the corporation made
merry thereon. The Reform Bill, therefore, was by no means popular in the
council. A number of discontented Radicals and of small householders, who
hitherto had been excluded from participation in the good things of the
state, now got upon the roll, and seemed determined for a time to carry
matters with a high hand, and to return a member of their own. And
doubtless they would have succeeded, had not the same spirit been abroad
in the sister burghs of Drouthielaw and Kittleweem, which, for some
especial reason or other, known doubtless to Lord John Russell, but
utterly unintelligible to the rest of mankind, were, though situated in
different counties, associated with Dreepdaily in the return of their
future member. Each of these places had a separate interest, and started a
separate man; so that, amidst this conflict of Liberalism, the old member
for Dreepdaily, a Conservative, again slipped into his place. The
consequence was, that the three burghs were involved in a desperate feud.
In these days there lived in Dreepdaily one Laurence Linklater, more
commonly known by the name of Tod Lowrie, who exercised the respectable
functions of a writer and a messenger-at-arms. Lowrie was a remarkably
acute individual, of the Gilbert Glossin school, by no means scrupulous in
his dealings, but of singular plausibility and courage. He had started in
life as a Radical, but finding that that line did not pay well, he had
prudently subsided into a Whig, and in that capacity had acquired a sort
of local notoriety. He had contrived, moreover, to gain a tolerable
footing in Drouthielaw, and in the course of time became intimately
acquainted with the circumstances of its inhabitants, and under the plea
of agency had contrived to worm the greater part of their title-deeds into
his keeping.
It then occurred to Lowrie, that, notwithstanding the discordant situation
of the burghs, something might be done to effect a union under his own
especial chieftainship. Not that he cared in his heart one farthing about
the representation--Tyrian and Trojan were in reality the same to him--but
he saw that the gain of these burghs would be of immense advantage to his
party, and he determined that the advantage should be balanced by a
corresponding profit to himself. Accordingly, he began quietly to look to
the state of the neglected register; lodged objections to all claims given
in by parties upon whom he could not depend; smuggled a sufficient number
of his own clients and adherents upon the roll, and in the course of three
years, was able to intimate to an eminent Whig partisan, that he, Laurence
Linklater, held in his own hands the representation of the Dreepdaily
Burghs, could turn the election either way he pleased, and was open to
reasonable terms.
The result was, that Mr Linklater was promoted to a very lucrative county
office, and moreover, that the whole patronage of the district was
thereafter observed to flow through the Laurentian channel. Of course all
those who could claim kith or kindred with Lowrie were provided for in the
first instance; but there were stray crumbs still going, and in no one
case could even a gaugership be obtained without the adhesion of an
additional vote. Either the applicant must be ready to sell his
independence, or, if that were done already, to pervert the politics of a
relative. A Whig member was returned at the next election by an immense
majority; and for some time Linklater reigned supreme in the government of
Dreepdaily and Drouthielaw.
But death, which spares no governors, knocked at the door of Linklater. A
surfeit of partan-pie, after the triumphant termination of a law-suit,
threw the burghs into a state of anarchy. Lowrie was gathered unto his
fathers, and there was no one to reign in his stead.
At least there was no apparent ruler. Every one observed, that the stream
of patronage and of local jobbing still flowed on as copiously as before,
but nobody could discover by what hands it was now directed. Suspicion
fastened its eyes for some time upon Provost Binkie; but the vehement
denials of that gentleman, though not in themselves conclusive, at last
gained credence from the fact that a situation which he had solicited from
Government for his nephew was given to another person. Awful rumours began
to circulate of the existence of a secret junta. Each man regarded his
neighbour with intense suspicion and distrust, because, for any thing he
knew, that neighbour might be a member of the terrible tribunal, by means
of which all the affairs of the community were regulated, and a single
ill-timed word might absolutely prove his ruin. Such, indeed, in one
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MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF LOVE
PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
Edited by J. A. HAMMERTON
Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the
cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch," from its
beginning in 1841 to the present day.
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration:] _Edwin (suddenly, after a long pause)._ "Darling!"
_Angelina._ "Yes, darling?"
_Edwin._ "Nothing, darling. Only _darling_, darling!"
[_Bilious Old Gentleman feels quite sick._
]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF LOVE
BEING
THE HUMOURS OF COURTSHIP AND MATRIMONY
[Illustration]
_WITH 150 ILLUSTRATIONS_
BY
JOHN LEECH,
CHARLES KEENE,
GEORGE DU MAURIER,
SIR JOHN TENNIEL,
PHIL MAY,
E. T. REED,
L. RAVEN-HILL,
GORDON BROWNE,
TOM BROWNE,
J. BERNARD PARTRIDGE,
C. E. BROCK,
REGINALD CLEAVER,
CHARLES PEARS,
A. S. BOYD,
LEWIS BAUMER,
DAVID WILSON,
G. L. STAMPA,
AND OTHERS.
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"
THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.
THE PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages fully illustrated_
LIFE IN LONDON
COUNTRY LIFE
IN THE HIGHLANDS
SCOTTISH HUMOUR
IRISH HUMOUR
COCKNEY HUMOUR
IN SOCIETY
AFTER DINNER STORIES
IN BOHEMIA
AT THE PLAY
MR. PUNCH AT HOME
ON THE CONTINONG
RAILWAY BOOK
AT THE SEASIDE
MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
IN THE HUNTING FIELD
MR. PUNCH ON TOUR WITH ROD AND GUN
MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
BOOK OF SPORTS
GOLF STORIES
IN WIG AND GOWN
ON THE WARPATH
BOOK OF LOVE
WITH THE CHILDREN
[Illustration: Take Back the Heart That You Gave Me]
ABOUT MATRIMONIAL JOKES, AND ONE IN PARTICULAR
Of all Mr. Punch's jokes it might be fair to say that none has ever
rivalled the popularity of "Advice to persons about to marry,--Don't!"
unless it be that of the Scotsman who had been no more than a few hours
in London, "when bang went saxpence!" Of the latter, more in its place;
here, we are immediately concerned with "Punch's advice." The most
preposterous stories are current among the uninformed as to the origin
of some of Mr. Punch's favourite jests. Only recently we heard a
gentleman telling a group of people in a hotel smoking-room that Mark
Twain got a hundred pounds from Punch for writing that famous line, "I
used your soap two years ago; since then I have used no other," familiar
to every one by Mr. Harry Furniss's drawing of a disreputable tramp who
is supposed to be writing the words quoted. As a matter of fact, the
idea came to Mr. Furniss from an anonymous correspondent. Stories
equally, if not more, absurd have been told as to the origin of "Punch's
advice," which, thanks to the researches of Mr. Spielmann, we now know
to have been the happy inspiration of Henry Mayhew, one of the founders
of _Punch_. It was sixty-one years ago that Mayhew wrote the line, and
how many millions of times it must have been quoted since one dare not
guess!
It may be said to have struck the keynote of Mr. Punch's matrimonial
policy, as an examination of his pages reveals him an incorrigible
pessimist on the subject of marriage. He is very hard on the
mother-in-law, but in all his life he has not made more than one or two
jokes about the young wife's pastry, though he has made a good deal of
fun about her general ignorance of domestic affairs. Nor has he spared
the bachelor or the old maid, and the designing widow has been an
especial butt for his shafts.
It might be a good thing to pass a law prohibiting young and
marriageable men from reading _Punch_, in order to save many of them
from being discouraged and frightened out of the thought of marriage,
and it would certainly be an incentive thereto--they would be tempted to
become Benedicts if only that they might qualify for the removal of the
prohibition!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "DRIVEN TO DESPERATION"]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S BOOK OF LOVE
* * * * *
[Illustration]
ADVICE TO PERSONS ABOUT TO MARRY.--Don't.
* * * * *
ADVICE TO PERSONS WHO HAVE "FALLEN IN LOVE."--Fall out.
* * * * *
ENCOURAGING.--_George (who has just engaged himself to the Girl of his
heart) breaks the happy news to his friend Jack (who has been married
some time)._--_Jack._ "Ah! well, my dear fellow, marriage is the best
thing in the long run, and I can assure you that after a year or two a
man gets used to it, and feels just as jolly as if he'd never married at
all!"
* * * * *
A DEFINITION.--Flirtation: a spoon with nothing in it.
* * * * *
DOMESTIC.--It was a homely but pungent observation, on the part of a man
of much experience and observation, that marriage without love was like
tripe without onions.
* * * * *
ADAGE BY A YOUNG LADY.--Man proposes, but mamma disposes.
* * * * *
BY A BEASTLY OLD BACHELOR.--A married man's fate (in brief).--Hooked,
booked, cooked.
* * * * *
DESCRIBE A HOME-CIRCLE.--The wedding ring.
* * * * *
HOW TO FIX THE HAPPY DAY.--_Q._ When's the best day for a wedding? _A._
Why, of course, "A _Weddin's day_."
* * * * *
DOMESTIC ECONOMY.
Said Stiggins to his wife one day,
"We've nothing left to eat;
If things go on in this queer way,
We shan't make _both ends meet_."
The dame replied, in words discreet,
"We're not so badly fed,
If we can make but _one_ end _meat_,
And make the other _bread_."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Clergyman._ "Augustus, wilt thou take this woman----"
_Bride (late of Remnant & Co.'s Ribbon Department). "Lady!"_]
* * * * *
TO PERSONS ABOUT TO MARRY.--Take care to choose a lady help, and not a
lady encumbrance.
* * * * *
ACCOUNTED FOR AT LAST.--Is it not strange that the "best man" at a
wedding is not the bridegroom? This must be the reason of so many | 1,385.758542 |
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by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Note
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_.
Given the publication date (late 17th century), the capitalization,
spelling and punctuation of the original, is variable, There are a
number of instances where it is very likely a printer’s error has been
made, These have been corrected, and are summarized in the transcriber’s
note at the end of the text.
There are several full page panelled illustrations, which were not
included in the pagination, and have been moved slightly in the text in
order to avoid falling within a paragraph. Each panel serves as
illustration of a numbered chapter.
Several concessions to modernity are made. The text employed the long
‘s’ (‘ſ’), which has been rendered here as a modern ‘s’. Likewise the
ligature of ‘ct’ is given as the two separate characters.
[Illustration]
THE
~English Rogue~:
Continued in the Life of
MERITON LATROON,
AND OTHER
_EXTRAVAGANTS_.
Comprehending the most Eminent
CHEATS
OF
BOTH SEXES.
Read, _but do’nt_ Practice: _for the Author findes,
They which live_ Honest _have most quiet mindes_.
Dixero si quid forte jocosius hoc mihi juris
Cum & enia dabis.
----------------------------------------------------------------
The _Fourth_ Part.
----------------------------------------------------------------
With the Illustration of Pictures to every
Chapter.
----------------------------------------------------------------
_LONDON_,
Printed for _Francis Kirkman_, and are to be Sold by
_William Rands_ at the _Crown_ in _Duck-lane_. 1680.
THE
PREFACE.
Gentlemen
W_e see there is a necessity for our travailing in the common road or_
High-way _of_ Prefacing; _as if the Reader could neither receive nor
digest the_ Pabulum mentis, _or fatten by the mental nourishment,
without a preparatory. And yet we think it savours neither of civility,
nor good manners to fall on without saying something of a grace; but we
do not love that it should be so tedious, as to take away your stomack
from the meat, and therefore that we may not be condemned for that
prolixity we mislike in others, we shall briefly tell you how little we
value the favour of such_ Readers, _who take a pride to blast the_ Wits
_of others, imagining thereby to augment the reputation of their own:
What unexpected success we have obtained in the publication of the
former parts, will keep us from despairing, that in this we shall be
less fortunate than in the other. But although our_ Books _have been
generally received with great applause, and read with much delight and
satisfaction, at home and abroad, (having travailed many thousand miles)
yet we do not imagine them to be without their_ Errata’s, _for which
they have suffered very hard Correction; this is a younger brother to
the former, lawfully begotten, and if you will compare their faces, you
will find they resemble one another very much: Or else match this
pattern with the former cloth, you will find it of the same colour,
wool, and spinning, only it having passed the curious hands of an
excellent_ Artist, _he hath by shearing and dressing it made it somewhat
thinner, and withall finer, than was intended; however we hope it will
prove a good_ lasting piece, _and serviceable. You cannot imagin the
charge and trouble we have been at, in raising this building, which we
must acknowledg was erected upon an old foundation. From the actions of
others we gather’d matter, which materials we methodized, and so formed
this structure. We challenge nothing but the order; it may be called
ours, as the_ Bucentauro _may be now called the same it was some hundred
of years since, when the Pope therein first married the_ Duke _of_
Venice _to the_ Seas, _having been from that time so often mended and
repaired, as that it is thought, there is not left a chip of her
primitive building. So what remarkable stories, and strange relations we
have taken up on trust, by hear-say, or otherwise, we have so altered by
augmentation, or deminution, (as occasion served) that this may be more
properly called a new Composition, rather than an old Collection, of
what witty_ Extravagancies _are therein contained. As to the verity of
those ingenious Exploits, Subtle Contrivances, crafty projects, horrid
villanies_, &c. _we have little to say, but though we shall not assert
the truth of them all, yet there are none, which carry not circumstances
enough to make apparent their probability. And you may confidently
believe, that most of them have been lately acted, though not by one,
two, three, a score, nay many more. To conclude, (least we tire your
patience with tedious preambles) it is our desire that you will have a
charitable opinion of us, and censure not our writings according to
their desert; we are ready to condemn them, before you examine their
faults, what would ye more? We are not insensible, that_ ours _are many,
and are forc’t to bear the burden of the_ Printers _too; we know the
stile is mean and vulgar, so are the Interlocutors, and therefore most
requisite and allowable; the Subject is Evil, (you say) and may vitiate
the Reader; the_ Bee _gathers honey from the worst of weeds; and the_
Toad _poison, from the best of Herbs. An ignorant young_ Plowman
_learn’d from a Sermon how to steal an Ox, by the Parsons introducing a
Simile; even as_ the stubborn Horn is made soft, pliable, and to be
shaped as you please, by laying a Hot loaf thereon; _so is &c. which he
trying so effectually chang’d the form of the_ Ox-head, _that the right
Owner knew not his own Beast. There is no matter so good, but may be
perverted, which is worst of all, for_, Corruptio optimi est pessima;
_and there is no Subject so bad, out of which some good may not be
collected; this drolling discourse, will, I question not, in the
reading, prove not only facetious, but profitable, which if you find, we
have obtain’d our desired end._
(_Omne tulit punctum qui miscuit utile dulci._)
_And subscribe our selves_
Your Friends and Servants
_Richard Head_. _Fra. Kirkman_.
[Illustration]
THE
ENGLISH ROGUE
Continued in the Life of
MERITON LATROON,
AND OTHER
EXTRAVAGANTS.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
_PART, IV._
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CHAP. I.
_Sayling from St._ Helena, &c. _Landing at_ Messina, _the Captain_,
Latroon, &c. _sell Ship and Goods; the Seamen falling out and killing
one another, they leave them and go for_ Palermo; _Thence they travel
into the Country, and describe it with its Rarities and Wonders. A
comical Adventure in a house supposedly haunted, as they travelled
through_ Gergento _with their Mulletteer_.
Whilst we anchored at the Island of St. _Helena_ there happened a sad
Accident; whilst we were recreating and refreshing our selves in the
Island, one of our men (that brought us ashore in the Skiff) being an
excellent Swimmer, stript himself, and over the side of the Boat he
went, he had not been long in the water before such as stood on the
shore to see him swim, perceived a _Shark_ to make towards him; who
cryed out, A _Shark_, a _Shark_, hasten to the Boat; which he did with
incredible speed, and had laid his hands on her side as the _Shark_
snapt at his Leg, and having it in his mouth turned on his back, and
twisted it off from his knee. The fellow protested | 1,385.854381 |
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THE BROCHURE SERIES
Chippendale Chairs
MAY, 1900
[Illustration: PLATE XXXV CHIPPENDALE CHAIRS]
THE
BROCHURE SERIES
OF ARCHITECTURAL ILLUSTRATION.
1900. MAY No. 5.
CHIPPENDALE CHAIRS.
It is only within recent times that movable chairs have become common
and indispensable. Seats of some kind must have been used from the time
when houses were first built, but it is not until the civilization of
the last two or three centuries had transformed the old ways of living
that we begin to find them in common use. Representations of seats are
found in the sculptures and paintings of Egypt, Greece and Rome, and
all through the middle ages--many of them elaborate and luxurious--but
their use was confined to the noble and wealthy. In church furniture
chairs are familiar throughout the middle ages, but they were usually
fixed parts of the building. The seats of the common people were
probably constructed of rude blocks, or of single planks joined
together with little finish or skill.
In England, even so late as the sixteenth century, chairs as we know
them were of so rare occurrence as to be handed down from generation
to generation, and of such importance as to be frequently mentioned
in wills and deeds. Such chairs were of the rudest forms, ornamented,
however, with embroideries and costly stuffs. In the middle of the
seventeenth century it was customary even at royal banquets for all
but the king and queen to be seated upon benches without cushions. In
the reign of Charles I., however, with the encouragement of luxurious
living, chairs became more common among the favored classes, and under
the Commonwealth, with its levelling of class distinctions, their
use was extended. But in the latter period the revulsion against
unnecessary ornament and display simplified the models. With the
Restoration there was a return to the opposite extreme. The growing
taste for ease and luxury brought into requisition the richest
fabrics obtainable, and we find stuffed seats and backs, with Turkish
embroideries and heavily brocaded velvets. Chairs were elaborately
carved and gilded. French furniture was imported and copied, and the
influence of Indian art, through the recent acquisition of Bombay,
can be easily traced. Of the simpler patterns, those made of turned
spindles became common at the beginning of the eighteenth century.
Forms were borrowed and adapted from many sources, from France, Spain
and Holland. In the time of William and Mary, under Dutch influence,
the seats and backs were broadened, colored inlay introduced, and the
"cabriole" legs commonly employed, suggesting the forms later adopted
in the Chippendale period. The strong point of English furniture
was not its originality, but its catholicity. It was a mirror which
reflected the outcome of other times and countries in a frame of its
own.
[Illustration: PLATE XXXVI CHIPPENDALE CHAIRS]
The period when Chippendale appeared on the scene seems to have been
one very favorable to the success of his enterprise. The middle
classes were already accumulating wealth and beginning to assume
numerical and political importance. The troubles of civil war were
over, the reigning dynasty had successfully overcome the last attempt
at revolution, and the situation promised an age wherein the comforts
of life might again be enjoyed in security. English trade with
Holland, doubtless very largely fostered by the Dutch proclivities
of William III., had helped to disseminate a love for pottery and
lacquer work of the East; artificial works were multiplying, and the
middle classes, above all, wanted for the furnishing of their rapidly
rising, substantial dwellings something more sumptuous than the humble
simplicity of the common Jacobean--something which would have a taste,
at least, of the luxurious extravagances of the French reigning style.
[Illustration]
English furniture of the time of Chippendale had profited by the best
of the past and of the present. It closely resembled the French work
of Louis XIV., but it had reached such a stage of perfection, though
still made up of heterogeneous elements, that it was for the first
time valued above the productions of other countries, and was even
taken abroad to be copied, while the books of designs published by
the English cabinet-makers were translated into other languages. In
the preface to Hepplewhite's book of designs, published in 1789, there
is this statement, which is of interest as indicating the esteem in
which English cabinet work was held abroad, viz.: "English taste and
workmanship have of late years been much sought for by surrounding
nations; and the mutability of all things, but more especially of
fashions, has rendered the labours of our predecessors in this line of
little use; nay, in this day can only tend to mislead those foreigners
who seek a knowledge of English taste in the various articles of
household furniture."
[Illustration: PLATE XXXVII CHIPPENDALE CHAIRS]
Oak had been the prevailing material up to this time, but now mahogany
took its place. An interesting account of the introduction of mahogany
for furniture is given by Frederick Litchfield in his "History of
Furniture." He says, "Mahogany may be said to have come into general
use subsequent to 1720, and its introduction is asserted to have been
due to the tenacity of purpose of a Dr. Gibbon, whose wife wanted a
candle-box, an article of common domestic use at the time. The doctor,
who had laid by in the garden of his house in King Street, Covent
Garden, some planks sent to him by his brother, a West Indian
captain, asked the joiner to use a part of the wood for this purpose;
it was found too tough and hard for the tools of the period, but the
doctor was not to be thwarted, and insisted on harder-tempered tools
being found, and the task completed. The result was the production of a
candle-box which was admired by every one. He then ordered a bureau of
the same material, and when it was finished invited his friends to see
the new work; amongst others the Duchess of Buckingham begged a small
piece of the precious wood, and it soon became the fashion."
[Illustration]
The Jacobean and cognate styles, consisting fundamentally of "framing"
based on rectangular forms and decorated with characteristic carving
and turning, may be described as essentially suitable for oak, of
which the open character of the grain forbids any extreme minuteness
of detail. The particular qualities of the work of Chippendale and his
successors demanded, on the other hand, the use of a very different
material. Chippendale's delicate carving and his free use of curves,
even in constructive members of his design, could have only been
satisfactorily wrought out in a wood of fine, hard and close grain,
and one which also possessed great lateral tenacity, such as mahogany.
It is scarcely too much to say that, but for the introduction of this
beautiful wood the specialty in the work of the cabinet-makers of the
eighteenth century would have been impossible.
Together with the refinement of design came a perfection of
construction and workmanship which has rendered the furniture of this
period practically indestructible. It is said that Chippendale never
carved a fret without gluing together three thicknesses of wood with
opposing grain, and his work is so joined with tenons and pegs that
it stands as well today as when first put together. Sheraton devoted
whole pages of his book to constructive directions for the most simple
table. This excellence of construction, and the eminently practical and
usable character of the best of the eighteenth century work have been
potent factors in helping to preserve the many examples of it which we
fortunately possess today.
[Illustration: PLATE XXXVIII CHIPPENDALE CHAIRS]
It will probably be a surprise to the reader who has had no occasion to
inquire especially into the history of household furniture to know that
a century and a half ago furniture makers, in England and elsewhere,
resorted to much the same method of securing customers, by publishing
illustrated catalogues, as do our own enterprising manufacturers.
Among the earliest of these trade catalogues, as we now call them, was
that of Thomas Chippendale, the first edition of which was published
about 1750 (the exact date is in doubt), and two later editions are
known. This catalogue has been reproduced in recent years and many of
the plates have been frequently copied, until the Chippendale designs
have become familiar, and the name applied broadly but loosely to all
of the work of the period, including a great deal which by right has
no connection whatever with Chippendale. The illustrations in this
catalogue were elaborately engraved on copper, and it was entitled
"The Gentleman and Cabinet Maker's Director." It contained over two
hundred engravings of useful and decorative designs, some of which,
however, were probably never executed. It included designs "in the
most fashionable taste" for a great variety of furniture "calculated
to improve and refine the present taste, and suited to the fancy and
circumstances of persons in all degrees of life." A great deal of the
design is traceable to French influence, and may have been borrowed
directly from similar books by French cabinet-makers.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: "CHINESE" PATTERN CHIPPENDALE CHAIRS]
Of Chippendale himself little of a personal nature is known. Both he
and his father were carvers, and it is no doubt true that to the repute
established by his father as a basis, he added superior skill and
taste, and the shrewdness of a tradesman. It is by no means certain,
however, that in his time, or immediately after it, his reputation
was greater than that of other cabinet-makers. His present celebrity
depends more upon the survival and later reproduction of his book of
designs than upon any contemporary fame. That he had refinement of
taste is proved by his designs; but that he was anxious, above all,
to secure patrons is hardly open to question. Mr. J. A. Heaton
("Furniture and Decoration in England during the Eighteenth Century")
calls him a "vulgar hawker" ready to make anything that would fill his
purse. His book, the text of which is written in the bombastic style
of the period, begins with an explanation of the classical orders of
architecture, holding them up as the only basis of true design in
furniture; but he later refers to certain designs "in the Chinese
manner"--which were made, quite certainly, in response to the fashion
introduced in England by Sir William Chambers,--as the most appropriate
and successful of his whole collection.
[Illustration: PLATE XXXIX CH | 1,385.856044 |
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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 his existence, her taunts at his twisted limbs.
What use in rebellion or anger? With the fatalism of the East he
resigned himself to that which was. He had been born a deformity, and
even his glance carried evil. This was life. He knew no other. Of his
origin he knew nothing except that from the old woman's rambling
outbursts he had gathered that he was of Syrian blood and a homeless
outcast.
But though he had so long trained himself to look downward that it had
at last become an effort to lift his heavily lashed eyelids, there came
a time when he learned that his eyes were not so hideously evil as his
task-mistress had convinced him that they were. When he was only seven
years old she sent him out to beg alms for her, and on the first day of
his going forth she said a strange thing, the meaning of which he could
not understand.
"Go not forth with thine eyes bent downward on the dust. Lift them, and
look long at those from whom thou askest alms. Lift them and look as I
see thee look at the sky when thou knowest not I am near thee. I have
seen thee, hunchback. Gaze at the passers-by as if thou sawest their
souls and asked help of them."
She said it with a fierce laugh of derision, but when in his
astonishment he involuntarily lifted his gaze to hers, she struck at
him, her harsh laugh broken in two.
"Not at me, hunchback! Not at me! At those who are ready to give!" she
cried out.
He had gone out stunned with amazement. He wondered so greatly that when
he at last sat down by the roadside under a fig-tree he sat in a dream.
He looked up at the blueness above him as he always did when he was
alone. His eyelids did not seem heavy when he lifted them to look at the
sky. The blueness and the billows of white clouds brought rest to him,
and made him forget what he was. The floating clouds were his only
friends. There was something--yes, there was something, he did not know
what. He wished he were a cloud himself, and could lose himself at last
in the blueness as the clouds did when they melted away. Surely the
blueness was the something.
The soft, dull pad of camel's feet approached upon the road without his
hearing them. He was not roused from his absorption until the camel
stopped its tread so near him that he started and looked up. It was
necessary that he should look up a long way. He was a deformed little
child, and the camel was a tall and splendid one, with rich trappings
and golden bells. The man it carried was dressed richly, and the
expression of his dark face was at once restless and curious. He was
bending down and staring at Zia as if he were something strange.
"What dost thou see, child?" he said at last, and he spoke almost in a
breathless whisper. "What art thou waiting for?"
Zia stumbled to his feet and held out his bag, frightened, because he
had never begged before and did not know how, and if he did not carry
back money and food, he would be horribly beaten again.
"Alms! alms!" he stammered. "Master--Lord--I beg for--for her who keeps
me. She is poor and old. Alms, great lord, for a woman who is old!"
The man with the restless face still stared. He spoke as if unaware that
he uttered words and as if he were afraid.
"The child's eyes!" he said. "I cannot pass him by! What is it? I must
not be held back. But the unearthly beauty of his eyes!" He caught his
breath as he spoke. And then he seemed to awaken as one struggling
against a spell.
"What is thy name?" he asked.
Zia also had lost his breath. What had the man meant when he spoke of
his eyes?
He told his name, but he could answer no further questions. He did not
know whose son he was; he had no home; of his mistress he knew only that
her name was Judith and that she lived on alms.
Even while he related these things he remembered his lesson, and,
dropping his eyelids, fixed his gaze on the camel's feet.
"Why dost thou cast thine eyes downward?" the man asked in a troubled
and intense voice.
Zia could not speak, being stricken with fear and the dumbness of
bewilderment. He stood quite silent, and as he lifted his eyes and let
them rest on the stranger's own, they became large with tears--big,
piteous tears.
"Why?" persisted the man, anxiously. "Is it because thou seest evil in
my soul?"
"No, no!" sobbed Zia. "One taught me to look away because I am hideous
and--my eyes--are evil."
"Evil!" said the stranger. "They have lied to thee." He was trembling as
he spoke. "A man who has been pondering on sin dare not pass their
beauty by. They draw him, and show him his own soul. Having seen them, I
must turn my camel's feet backward and go no farther on this road which
was to lead me to a black deed." He bent down, and dropped a purse into
the child's alms-bag, still staring at him and breathing hard. "They
have the look," he muttered, "of eyes that might behold the Messiah. Who
knows? Who knows?" And he turned his camel's head, still shuddering a
little, and he rode away back toward the place from which he had come.
There was gold in the purse he had given, and when Zia carried it back
to Judith, she snatched it from him and asked him many questions. She
made him repeat word for word all that had passed.
After that he was sent out to beg day after day, and in time he vaguely
understood that the old woman had spoken falsely when she had said that
evil spirits looked forth hideously from his eyes. People often said that
they were beautiful, and gave him money because something in his gaze
drew them near to him. But this was not all. At times there were those
who spoke under their breath to one another of some wonder of light in
them, some strange luminousness which was not earthly.
[Illustration with caption: "'Perhaps when he is a man he will be a
great soothsayer and reader of the stars'"]
"He surely sees that which we cannot. Perhaps when he is a man he will
be a great soothsayer and reader of the stars," he heard a woman whisper
to a companion one day.
Those who were evil were afraid to meet his gaze, and hated it as old
Judith did, though, as he was not their servant, they dared not strike
him when he lifted his soft, heavy eyelids.
But Zia could not understand what people meant when they whispered about
him or turned away fiercely. A weight was lifted from his soul when he
realized that he was not as revolting as he had believed. And when
people spoke kindly to him he began to know something like happiness for
the first time in his life. He brought home so much in his alms-bag that
the old woman ceased to beat him and gave him more liberty. He was
allowed to go out at night and sleep under the stars. At such times he
used to lie and look up at the jeweled myriads until he felt himself
drawn upward and floating nearer and nearer to that unknown something
which he felt also in the high blueness of the day.
When he first began to feel as if some mysterious ailment was creeping
upon him he kept himself out of Judith's way as much as possible. He
dared not tell her that sometimes he could scarcely crawl from one place
to another. A miserable fevered weakness became his secret. As the old
woman took no notice of him except when he brought back his day's
earnings, it was easy to evade her. One morning, however, she fixed her
eyes on him suddenly and keenly.
"Why art thou so white?" she said, and caught him by the arm, whirling
him toward the light. "Art thou ailing?"
"No! no!" cried Zia.
She held him still for a few seconds, still staring.
"Thou art too white," she said. "I will have no such whiteness. It is
the whiteness of--of an accursed thing. Get thee gone!"
He went away, feeling cold and shaken. He knew he was white. One or two
almsgivers had spoken of it, and had looked at him a little fearfully.
He himself could see that the flesh of his thin body was becoming an
unearthly color. Now and then he had shuddered as he looked at it
because--because--There was one curse so horrible beyond all others that
the strongest man would have quailed in his dread of its drawing near
him. And he was a child, a twelve-year-old boy, a helpless little
hunchback mendicant.
When he saw the first white-and-red spot upon his flesh he stood still
and stared at it, gasping, and the sweat started out upon him and rolled
down in great drops.
"Jehovah!" he whispered, "God of Israel! Thy servant is but a child!"
But there broke out upon him other spots, and every time he found a new
one his flesh quaked, and he could not help looking at it in secret
again and again. Every time he looked it was because he hoped it might
have faded away. But no spot faded away, and the skin on the palms of
his hands began to be rough and cracked and to show spots also.
In a cave on a hillside near the road where he sat and begged there
lived a deathly being who, with face swathed in linen and with bandaged
stumps of limbs, hobbled forth now and then, and came down to beg also,
but always keeping at a distance from all human creatures, and, as he
approached the pitiful, rattled loudly his wooden clappers, wailing out:
"Unclean! Unclean!"
It was the leper Berias, whose hopeless tale of awful days was almost
done. Zia himself had sometimes limped up the hillside and laid some of
his own poor food upon a stone near his cave so that he might find it.
One day he had also taken a branch of almond-blossom in full flower, and
had laid it by the food. And when he had gone away and stood at some
distance watching to see the poor ghost come forth to take what he had
given, he had seen him first clutch at the blossoming branch and fall
upon his face, holding it to his breast, a white, bound, shapeless
thing, sobbing, and uttering hoarse, croaking, unhuman cries. No
almsgiver but Zia had ever dreamed of bringing a flower to him who was
forever cut off from all bloom and loveliness.
It was this white, shuddering creature that Zia remembered with the sick
chill of horror when he saw the spots.
"Unclean! Unclean!" he heard the cracked voice cry to the sound of the
wooden clappers. "Unclean! Unclean!"
Judith was standing at the door of her hovel one morning when Zia was
going forth for the day. He had fearfully been aware that for days she
had been watching him as he had never known her to watch him before.
This morning she had followed him to the door, and had held him there a
few moments in the light with some harsh speech, keeping her eyes fixed
on him the while.
Even as they so stood there fell upon the clear air of the morning a
hollow, far-off sound--the sound of wooden clappers rattled together,
and the hopeless crying of two words, "Unclean! Unclean!"
Then silence fell. Upon Zia descended a fear beyond all power of words
to utter. In his quaking young torment he lifted his eyes and met the
gaze of the old woman as it flamed down upon him.
"Go within!" she commanded suddenly, and pointed to the wretched room
inside. He obeyed her, and she followed him, closing the door behind
them.
"Tear off thy garment!" she ordered. "Strip thyself to thy skin--to thy
skin!"
He shook from head to foot, his trembling hands almost refusing to obey
him. She did not touch him, but stood apart, glaring. His garments fell
from him and lay in a heap at his feet, and he stood among them naked.
One look, and she broke forth, shaking with fear herself, into a
breathless storm of fury.
"Thou hast known this thing and hidden it!" she raved. "Leper! Leper!
Accursed hunchback thing!"
As he stood in his nakedness and sobbed great, heavy childish sobs, she
did not dare to strike him, and raged the more.
If it were known that she had harbored him, the priests would be upon
her, and all that she had would be taken from her and burned. She would
not even let him put his clothes on in her house.
"Take thy rags and begone in thy nakedness! Clothe thyself on the
hillside! Let none see thee until thou art far away! Rot as thou wilt,
but dare not to name me! Begone! begone! begone!"
And with his rags he fled naked through the doorway, and hid himself in
the little wood beyond.
Later, as he went on his way, he had hidden himself in the daytime
behind bushes by the wayside or off the road; he had crouched behind
rocks and boulders; he had slept in caves when he had found them; he had
shrunk away from all human sight. He knew it could not be long before he
would be discovered, and then he would be shut up; and afterward he
would be as Berias until he died alone. Like unto Berias! To him it
seemed as though surely never child had sobbed before as he sobbed,
lying hidden behind his boulders, among his bushes, on the bare hill
among the rocks.
For the first four nights of his wandering he had not known where he was
going, but on this fifth night he discovered. He was on the way to
Bethlehem--beautiful little Bethlehem curving on the crest of the
Judean mountains and smiling down upon the fairness of the fairest of
sweet valleys, rich with vines and figs and olives and almond-trees. He
dimly recalled stories he had overheard of its loveliness, and when he
found that he had wandered unknowingly toward it, he was aware of a
faint sense of peace. He had seen nothing of any other part of the world
than the poor village outside which the hovel of his bond-mistress had
clung to a low hill. Since he was near it, he vaguely desired to see
Bethlehem.
He had learned of its nearness as he lay hidden in the undergrowth on
the mountain-side that he had begun to climb the night before. Awakening
from sleep, he had heard many feet passing up the climbing road--the
feet of men and women and children, of camels and asses, and all had
seemed to be of a procession ascending the mountainside. Lying flat upon
the earth, he had parted the bushes cautiously, and watched, and
listened to the shouts, cries, laughter, and talk of those who were near
enough to be heard. So bit by bit he had heard the story of the passing
throng. The great Emperor Augustus, who, to the common herd seemed some
strange omnipotent in his remote and sumptuous paradise of Rome,
had issued a decree that all the world of his subjects should be
enrolled, and every man, woman, and child must enroll himself in his own
city. And to the little town of Bethlehem all these travelers were
wending their way, to the place of their nativity, in obedience to the
great Caesar's command.
All through the day he watched them--men and women and children who
belonged to one another, who rode together on their beasts, or walked
together hand in hand. Women on camels or asses held their little ones
in their arms, or walked with the youngest slung on their backs. He
heard boys laugh and talk with their fathers--boys of his own age, who
trudged merrily along, and now and again ran forward, shouting with
glee. He saw more than one strong man swing his child up to his shoulder
and bear him along as if he found joy in his burden. Boy and girl
companions played as they went and made holiday of their journey; young
men or women who were friends, lovers, or brothers and sisters bore one
another company.
"No one is alone," said Zia, twisting his thin fingers together--"no
one! no one! And there are no lepers. The great Caesar would not count a
leper. Perhaps, if he saw one, he would command him to be put to death."
And then he writhed upon the grass and sobbed again, his bent chest
almost bursting with his efforts to make no sound. He had always been
alone--always, always; but this loneliness was such as no young human
thing could bear. He was no longer alive; he was no longer a human
being. Unclean! Unclean! Unclean!
At last he slept, exhausted, and past his piteous, prostrate childhood
and helplessness the slow procession wound its way up the mountain road
toward the crescent of Bethlehem, knowing nothing of his nearness to its
unburdened comfort and simple peace.
When he awakened, the night had fallen, and he opened his eyes upon a
high vault of blue velvet darkness strewn with great stars. He saw this
at the first moment of his consciousness; then he realized that there
was no longer to be heard the sound either of passing hoofs or treading
feet. The travelers who had gone by during the day had probably reached
their journey's end, and gone to rest in their tents, or had found
refuge in the inclosing khan that gave shelter to wayfarers and their
beasts of burden.
But though there was no human creature near, and no sound of human voice
or human tread, a strange change had taken place in him. His loneliness
had passed away, and left him lying still and calm as though it had
never existed, as though the crushed and broken child who had plunged
from a precipice of woe into deadly, exhausted sleep was only a vague
memory of a creature in a dark past dream.
Had it been himself? Lying upon his back, seeing only the immensity of
the deep blue above him and the greatness of the stars, he scarcely
dared to draw breath lest he should arouse himself to new anguish. It
had not been he who had so suffered; surely it had been another Zia.
What had come upon him, what had come upon the world? All was so still
that it was as if the earth waited--as if it waited to hear some word
that would be spoken out of the great space in which it hung. He was not
hungry or cold or tired. It was as if he had never staggered and
stumbled up the mountain path and dropped shuddering, to hide behind the
bushes before the daylight came and men could see his white face. Surely
he had rested long. He had never felt like this before, and he had never
seen so wonderful a night. The stars had never been so many and so
large. What made them so soft and brilliant that each one was almost
like a sun? And he strangely felt that each looked down at him as if it
said the word, though he did not know what the word was. Why had he been
so terror-stricken? Why had he been so wretched? There were no lepers;
there were no hunchbacks. There was only Zia, and he was at peace, and
akin to the stars that looked down.
How heavenly still the waiting world was, how heavenly still! He lay and
smiled and smiled; perhaps he lay so for an hour. Then high, high above
he saw, or thought he saw, in the remoteness of the vault of blue a
brilliant whiteness float. Was it a strange snowy cloud or was he
dreaming? It seemed to grow whiter, more brilliant. His breath came
fast, and his heart beat trembling in his breast, because he had never
seen clouds so strangely, purely brilliant. There was another, higher,
farther distant, and yet more dazzling still. Another and another showed
its radiance until at last an arch of splendor seemed to stream across
the sky.
"It is like the glory of the ark of the covenant," he gasped, and threw
his arm across his blinded eyes, shuddering with rapture.
He could not uncover his face, and it was as he lay quaking with an
unearthly joy that he first thought he heard sounds of music as remotely
distant as the lights.
"Is it on earth?" he panted. "Is it on earth?"
He struggled to his knees. He had heard of miracles and wonders of old,
and of the past ages when the sons of God visited the earth.
"Glory to God in the highest!" he stammered again and again and again.
"Glory to the great Jehovah!" and he touched his forehead seven times to
the earth.
Then he beheld a singular thing. When he had gone to sleep a flock of
sheep had been lying near him on the grass. The flock was still there,
but something seemed to be happening to it. The creatures were awakening
from their sleep as if they had heard something. First one head was
raised, and then another and another and another, until every head was
lifted, and every one was turned toward a certain point as if listening.
What were they listening for? Zia could see nothing, though he turned
his own face toward the climbing road and listened with them. The
floating radiance was so increasing in the sky that at this point of the
mountain-side it seemed no longer to the night, and the far-away paeans
held him breathless with mysterious awe. Was the sound on earth? Where
did it come from? Where?
"Praised be Jehovah!" he heard his weak and shaking young voice quaver.
Some belated travelers were coming slowly up the road. He heard an ass's
feet and low voices.
The sheep heard them also. Had they been waiting for them? They rose one
by one--the whole flock--to their feet, and turned in a body toward the
approaching sounds.
Zia stood up with them. He waited also, and it was as if at this moment
his soul so lifted itself that it almost broke away from his
body--almost.
Around the curve an ass came slowly bearing a woman, and led by a man
who walked by his side. He was a man of sober years and walked wearily.
Zia's eyes grew wide with awe and wondering as he gazed, scarce
breathing.
The light upon the hillside was so softly radiant and so clear that he
could see that the woman's robe was blue and that she lifted her face to
the stars as she rode. It was a young face, and pale with the pallor of
lilies, and her eyes were as stars of the morning. But this was not all.
A radiance shone from her pure pallor, and bordering her blue robe and
veil was a faint, steady glow of light. And as she passed the standing
and waiting sheep, they slowly bowed themselves upon their knees before
her, and so knelt until she had passed by and was out of sight. Then
they returned to their places, and slept as before.
[Illustration with caption: "Zia's eyes grew wide with awe and wondering
as he gazed, scarce breathing"--Page 38]
When she was gone, Zia found that he also was kneeling. He did not know
when his knees had bent. He was faint with ecstasy.
"She goes to Bethlehem," he heard himself say as he had heard himself
speak before. "I, too; I, too."
He stood a moment listening to the sound of the ass's retreating feet as
it grew fainter in the distance. His breath came quick and soft. The
light had died away from the hillside, but the high-floating radiance
seemed to pass to and fro in the heavens, and now and again he thought
he heard the faint, far sound that was like music so distant that it was
as a thing heard in a dream.
"Perhaps I behold visions," he murmured. "It may be that I shall awake."
But he found himself making his way through the bushes and setting his
feet upon the road. He must follow, he must follow. Howsoever steep the
hill, he must climb to Bethlehem. But as he went on his way it did not
seem steep, and he did not waver or toil as he usually did when walking.
He felt no weariness or ache in his limbs, and the high radiance gently
lighted the path and dimly revealed that many white flowers he had never
seen before seemed to have sprung up by the roadside and to wave softly
to and fro, giving forth a fragrance so remote and faint, yet so clear,
that it did not seem of earth. It was perhaps part of the vision.
Of the distance he climbed his thought took no cognizance. There was in
this vision neither distance nor time. There was only faint radiance,
far, strange sounds, and the breathing of air which made him feel an
ecstasy of lightness as he moved. The other Zia had traveled painfully,
had stumbled and struck his feet against wayside stones. He seemed ten
thousand miles, ten thousand years away. It was not he who went to
Bethlehem, led as if by some power invisible. To Bethlehem! To
Bethlehem, where went the woman whose blue robe was bordered with a glow
of fair luminousness and whose face, like an uplifted lily, softly
shone. It was she he followed, knowing no reason but that his soul was
called.
When he reached the little town and stood at last near the gateway of
the khan in which the day-long procession of wayfarers had crowded to
take refuge for the night, he knew that he would find no place among the
multitude within its walls. Too many of the great Caesar's subjects had
been born in Bethlehem and had come back for their enrolment. The khan
was crowded to its utmost, and outside lingered many who had not been
able to gain admission and who consulted plaintively with one another as
to where they might find a place to sleep, and to eat the food they
carried with them.
Zia had made his way to the entrance-gate only because he knew the
travelers he had followed would seek shelter there, and that he might
chance to hear of them.
He stood a little apart from the gate and waited. Something would tell
him what he must do. Almost as this thought entered his mind he heard
voices speaking near him. Two women were talking together, and soon he
began to hear their words.
"Joseph of Nazareth and Mary his wife," one said. "Both of the line of
David. There was no room for them, even as there was no room for others
not of royal lineage. To the mangers in the cave they have gone, seeing
the woman had sore need of rest. She, thou knowest--"
Zia heard no more. He did not ask where the cave lay. He had not needed
to ask his way to Bethlehem. That which had led him again directed his
feet away from the entrance-gate of the khan, past the crowded court and
the long, low wall of stone within the inclosure of which the camels and
asses browsed and slept, on at last to a pathway leading to the gray of
rising rocks. Beneath them was the cave, he knew, though none had told
him so. Only a short distance, and he saw what drew him trembling
nearer. At the open entrance, through which he could see the rough
mangers of stone, the heaps of fodder, and the ass munching slowly in a
corner, the woman who wore the blue robe stood leaning wearily against
the heavy wooden post. And the soft light bordering her garments set her
in a frame of faint radiance and glowed in a halo about her head.
"The light! the light!" cried Zia in a breathless whisper. And he
crossed his hands upon his breast.
Her husband surely could not see it. He moved soberly about, unpacking
the burden the ass had carried and seeming to see naught else. He heaped
straw in a corner with care, and threw his mantle upon it.
"Come," he said. "Here thou canst rest, and I can watch by thy side. The
ang | 1,399.18393 |
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THE MAKING OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
THE HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE
Editors of THE HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE
Rt. Hon. H. A. L. Fisher, M.A., F.B.A.
Prof. Gilbert Murray, Litt.D., LL.D., F.B.A.
Prof. J. Arthur Thomson, M.A., LL.D.
_For list of volumes in the Library see end of book._
THE MAKING OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
_By_ BENJAMIN W. BACON D.D.
PROFESSOR OF NEW CRITICISM AND EXEGESIS IN YALE UNIVERSITY
[Illustration]
THORNTON BUTTERWORTH LIMITED 15 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.C.2
_First Impression September 1912 - All Rights Reserved_
MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
CONTENTS
PART I
CANONIZATION AND CRITICISM
CHAP. PAGE
I INSPIRATION AND CANONIZATION 7
II THE REACTION TO CRITICISM 33
PART II
THE LITERATURE OF THE APOSTLE
III PAUL AS MISSIONARY AND DEFENDER OF THE GOSPEL OF GRACE 56
IV PAUL AS PRISONER AND CHURCH FATHER 83
V PSEUDO-APOSTOLIC EPISTLES 104
PART III
THE LITERATURE OF CATECHIST AND PROPHET
VI THE MATTHAEAN TRADITION OF THE PRECEPTS OF JESUS 128
VII THE PETRINE TRADITION. EVANGELIC STORY 154
VIII THE JOHANNINE TRADITION. PROPHECY 185
PART IV
THE LITERATURE OF THE THEOLOGIAN
IX THE SPIRITUAL GOSPEL AND EPISTLES 206
X EPILOGUES AND CONCLUSIONS 233
BIBLIOGRAPHY 251
INDEX 255
THE MAKING OF THE NEW TESTAMENT
PART I
CANONIZATION AND CRITICISM
CHAPTER I
INSPIRATION AND CANONIZATION
The New Testament presents the paradox of a literature born of protest
against the tyranny of a canon, yet ultimately canonized itself through
an increasing demand for external authority. This paradox is full of
significance. We must examine it more closely.
The work of Jesus was a consistent effort to set religion free from the
deadening system of the scribes. He was conscious of a direct, divine
authority. The broken lights of former inspiration are lost in the full
dawn of God's presence to His soul.
So with Paul. The key to Paul's thought is his revolt against legalism.
It had been part of his servitude to persecute the sect which claimed to
know another Way besides the "way"[1] of the scribes. These Christians
signalized their faith by the rite of baptism, and gloried in the sense
of endowment with "the Spirit." Saul was profoundly conscious of the
yoke; only he had not drammed that his own deliverance could come from
such a quarter. But contact with victims of the type of Stephen, men
"filled with the Spirit," conscious of the very "power from God" for
lack of which his soul was fainting, could not but have some effect. It
came suddenly, overwhelmingly. The real issue, as Saul saw it, both
before and after his conversion, was Law _versus_ Grace. In seeking
"justification" by favour of Jesus these Christians were opening a new
and living way to acceptance with God. Traitorous and apostate as the
attempt must seem while the way of the Law still gave promise of
success, to souls sinking like Saul's deeper and deeper into the
despairing consciousness of "the weakness of the flesh" forgiveness in
the name of Jesus might prove to be light and life from God. The
despised sect of'sinners' whom he had been persecuting expressed the
essence of their faith in the doctrine that the gift of the Spirit of
Jesus had made them sons and heirs of God. If the converted Paul in turn
is uplifted--"energized," as he terms it--even beyond his
fellow-Christians, by the sense of present inspiration, it is no more
than we should expect.
Footnote 1: _Tarik_, i. e. "way," is still the Arabic term for a
sect, and the Rabbinic term for legal requirement is _halacha_, i.
e. "walk."
Paul's conversion to the new faith--or at least his persistent
satisfaction in it--will be inexplicable unless we appreciate the logic
of his recognition in it of an inherent opposition to the growing
demands of legalism. Jesus had, in truth, led a revolt against mere
book-religion. His chief opponents were the scribes, the devotees and
exponents of a sacred scripture, the Law. "Law" and "Prophets," the one
prescribing the conditions of the expected transcendental Kingdom, the
other illustrating their application and guaranteeing their promise,
constituted the canon of the synagogue. Judaism had become a religion of
written authority. Jesus set over against this a direct relation to the
living Father in heaven, ever presently revealed to the filial spirit.
The Sermon on the Mount makes the doing of this Father's will something
quite other than servitude to written precepts interpreted by official
authority and imposed under penalty. It is to be self-discipline in the
Father's spirit of disinterested goodness, as revealed in everyday
experience.
Even the reward of this self-discipline, the Kingdom, Jesus did not
conceive quite as the scribes. To them obedience in this world procured
a "share in the world to come." To Him the reward was more a matter of
being than of getting. The Kingdom was an heir-apparency; and,
therefore, present as well as future. It was "within" and "among" men as
well as before them. They should seek to "be sons and daughters of the
Highest," taking for granted that all other good things would be
"added." So Jesus made religion live again. It became spiritual, inward,
personal, actual.
After John the Baptist's ministry to what we should call the
'unchurched' masses, Jesus took up their cause. He became the "friend"
and champion of the "little ones," the "publicans and sinners," the
mixed 'people of the land' in populous, half-heathen, Galilee. The
burdens imposed by the scribes in the name of 'Scripture' were accepted
with alacrity by the typical Pharisee unaffected by Pauline misgivings
of'moral inability.' To "fulfil all righteousness" was to the Pharisee
untainted by Hellenism a pride and delight. To the "lost sheep of
Israel" whom Jesus addressed, remote from temple and synagogue, this
"righteousness" had proved (equally as to Paul, though on very different
grounds) "a yoke which neither we nor our fathers were able to bear."
Jesus "had compassion on the multitude." To them he "spoke with
authority"; and yet "not as the scribes" but as "a prophet." When
challenged by the scribes for his authority he referred to "the baptism
of John," and asked whether John's commission was "from heaven, or of
men." They admitted that John was "a prophet." Those who give utterance
after this manner to the simple, sincere conviction of the soul, voicing
its instinctive aspiration toward "the things that be of God," are
conscious that they speak not of themselves.
Jesus, it is true, was no iconoclast. He took pains to make clear that
if he superseded what they of old time had taught as righteousness, it
was in the interest of a higher, a "righteousness of God." If he
disregarded fasts and sabbaths, it was to put substance for form, end
for means. "Judgment, mercy, and good faith" should count more than
tithes from "mint and anise and cummin." He echoed what John the Baptist
had taught of repentance and forgiveness. Hope should no longer be based
on birth, or prerogative, or ritual form, but on the mercy of a God who
demands that we forgive if we would be forgiven. Such had been, however,
the message not of John only, but of all the prophets before him: "I
will have mercy, and not sacrifice." Jesus taught this higher, inward,
righteousness; but not merely as John had done. John had said: Repent,
for the wrath of God is at hand. Jesus said: Repent, for the forgiveness
of God is open. The Father's heart yearns over the wayward sons. Jesus
preached the nearness of the Kingdom as "glad tidings to the poor"; and
among these "poor" were included even aliens who put "faith" in the God
of Abraham.
The new Way started from the same Scripture as that of the scribes, but
it tended in an opposite direction. Theirs had been gradually developing
in definiteness and authority since the time of Ezra; yes, since Josiah
had made formal covenant, after the discovery of "the book of the Law"
in the temple, pledging himself and his people to obedience. As with
many ancient peoples, the codification of the ancient law had been
followed by its canonization, and as the national life had waned the
religious significance of the Law had increased. It was now declared to
express the complete will of God, for an ideal people of God, in a
renovated universe, whose centre was to be a new and glorified
Jerusalem. The Exile interrupted for a time the process of formal
development; but in the ecclesiastical reconstruction which followed in
Ezra's time "the book of the Law" had become all the more supreme; the
scribe took the place of the civil officer, the synagogue became local
sanctuary and court-house in one, the nation became a church, Israel
became 'the people of the book.'
Legal requirement calls for the incentive of reward. We need not wonder,
then, that the canon of the Law was soon supplemented by that of the
writings of the Prophets, historical and hortatory. The former were
considered to interpret the Law by showing its application in practice,
the latter were valued for their predictive element. Law and Prophets
were supplemented by Psalms, and elements from the later literature
having application to the religious system. The most influential were
the "apocalypses," or "revelations" of the transcendental Kingdom and of
the conditions and mode of its coming. Scripture had thus become an
embodiment of Israel's religion. It set forth the national law, civil,
criminal, or religious; and the national hope, the Kingdom of God. Its
custodian and interpreter was the'scribe,' lawyer and cleric in one.
The scribe held "the key of knowledge"; to him it was given to 'bind and
loose,' 'open and shut.' Any preacher who presumed to prescribe a
righteousness apart from 'the yoke of the Law,' or to promise
forgiveness of sins on other authority, must reckon with the scribes. He
would be regarded as seeking to 'take the Kingdom by violence.'
Jesus' martyrdom was effected through the priests, the temple
authorities; but at the instigation of the scribes and Pharisees. His
adherents were soon after driven out from orthodox Judaism and subjected
to persecution. This persecution, however, soon found its natural
leadership, not among the Sadducean temple-priesthood, but among the
devotees of the Law. It was "in the synagogues." From having been
quasi-political it became distinctly religious. This persecution by the
Pharisees is on the whole less surprising than the fact that so many of
the Jewish believers should have continued to regard themselves as
consistent Pharisees, and even been so regarded by their fellow-Jews. In
reality Jewish Christians as a rule could see no incompatibility between
average synagogue religion and their acceptance of Jesus as the man
supernaturally attested in the resurrection as destined to return
bringing the glory of the Kingdom. Jesus' idea of 'righteousness' did
not seem to them irreconcilable with the legalism of the scribes; still
less had they felt the subtle difference between his promise "Ye shall
be sons and daughters of the Highest" and the apocalyptic dreams which
they shared with their fellow-Jews. Saul the persecutor and Paul the
apostle were more logical. In Gal. ii. 15-21 we have Paul's own
statement of the essential issue as it still appeared to his clear mind.
Average synagogue religion still left room for a more fatherly relation
of God to the individual, in spite of the gradual encroachment of the
legalistic system of the scribes. Men not sensitive to inconsistency
could find room within the synagogue for the 'paternal theism | 1,399.189154 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
BRITISH POLICY IN THE ILLINOIS COUNTRY
1763-1768
BY
CLARENCE EDWIN CARTER
A. M., 1906 (UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN)
THESIS
SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS
FOR THE
DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN HISTORY
IN THE
GRADUATE SCHOOL
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
1908
UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS
June 1 1908
THIS IS TO CERTIFY THAT THE THESIS PREPARED UNDER MY SUPERVISION BY
Clarence Edwin Carter, A.M.
ENTITLED British Policy in the Illinois Country, 1763-1768
IS APPROVED BY ME AS FULFILLING THIS PART OF THE REQUIREMENTS
FOR THE DEGREE OF Doctor of Philosophy in History
Evarts B Greene
HEAD OF DEPARTMENT OF History.
BRITISH POLICY IN THE ILLINOIS COUNTRY
1763-1768
CHAPTER I.—Introductory Survey.
CHAPTER II.—The Occupation of Illinois.
CHAPTER III.—Status of the Illinois Country in the Empire.
CHAPTER IV.—Trade Conditions in Illinois, 1765-1775.
CHAPTER V.—Colonizing schemes in the Illinois.
CHAPTER VI.—Events in the Illinois Country, 1765-1768.
BIBLIOGRAPHY.—
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY SURVEY.
In 1763 Great Britain was confronted with the momentous problem of
the readjustment of all her colonial relations in order to meet the
new conditions resulting from the peace of Paris, when immense areas
of territory and savage alien peoples were added to the empire. The
necessity of strengthening the imperial ties between the old colonies
and the mother country and reorganizing the new acquisitions came to
the forefront at this time and led the government into a course soon
to end in the disruption of the empire. Certainly not the least of the
questions demanding solution was that of the disposition of the country
lying to the westward of the colonies, including a number of French | 1,399.278855 |
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Produced by R.G.P.M. van Giesen
[Illustration: cover art]
HOW A FARTHING MADE A FORTUNE
[Illustration: "DICK HAD TO BE BUSY." _p_. 55.]
HOW A FARTHING MADE A FORTUNE
OR
"HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY."
BY MRS. C. E. BOWEN
_Authoress of "Jack the Conqueror," "How Paul's Penny became a
Pound," "How Peter's Pound became a Penny," "The Brook's Story,"
etc., etc._
_THIRD EDITION._
LONDON
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
9 PATERNOSTER ROW.
Hazell, Watson, and Viney, Ltd. Printers, London and Aylesbury.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. DICK AND THE APPLES
CHAPTER II. DICK'S MISTAKE
CHAPTER III. A NEW HOME
CHAPTER IV. LIFE AT DENHAM COURT
CHAPTER V. THE VISITOR AT THE LODGE
CHAPTER VI. SIR JOHN'S PROPOSAL
CHAPTER VII. RETURNING GOOD FOR EVIL
Illustrations
"DICK HAD TO BE BUSY." _p_. 55
"I WANT TO SPEAK A WORD TO YOU, MY MAN."
"THERE, MY LAD, HOLD IT FIRMLY; THE HORSE IS QUIET ENOUGH."
SUSAN AND DICK IN THE RAILWAY-CARRIAGE.
THE MEETING OF MR WALTERS AND DICK.
"HE RAISED HIS LANTERN AND LOOKED BEHIND A TIER OF SHELVES."
HOW A FARTHING MADE A FORTUNE;
OR, "HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY."
CHAPTER I.
DICK AND THE APPLES.
FEW children, if any, who read this tale will probably be able to
form any idea of such a wretched home as that in which lived little
Dick Nason, the ragman's son. There are houses and rooms in some of
the back streets in London where men, women, and children herd almost
like wild beasts--haunts of iniquity and misery, and where the name
of God is never heard except in the utterance of terrible oaths or
execrations. Such was Roan's Court, a place which gave the police
continual trouble, and many a hard blow in the execution of their
duty. The houses were let out in rooms, of which the upper ones were
the most healthy, as possessing a little more light and air than the
others; but the cellar floors were almost destitute of both these
common luxuries of life, being sunk considerably below the level of
the court, and the windows, consisting of four small panes of glass,
begrimed with dirt, or if broken, as was generally the case, stuffed
up with dirty rags or paper.
It was in one of these cellar rooms that Dick Nason had been born,
and in which he lived till he was twelve years old. _How_ he had
lived, _how_ he had been fed, and _how_ clothed, it would be
difficult to imagine. His mother had been a tidy sort of woman in her
younger days, gaining her living as a servant in the family of a
small tradesman. But she married a man who was not of sober habits,
and who in consequence lost all steady employment, and sank lower and
lower till he was reduced to the position of a ragman, going about to
collect clothes, bones, rabbit-skins, and such odds and ends as he
could scrape together from the servants. The trade was not an
unlucrative one on the whole, but Nason spent so much in drink, and
his wife having fallen into the same bad habit, kept so little of
what she could contrive to get from her husband for household
purposes, that they seldom sat down to a regular meal, but scrambled
on in a wretched way, becoming every year more degraded and more
confirmed in their habits of intemperance.
Such was the home in which little Dick was reared. Fortunately he was
the only child. His father took little notice of him. His mother was
not without affection for him, but it was constantly deadened by the
almost stupefied state in which she lived. The child seldom knew real
hunger, for there was generally something to be found in the
three-cornered cupboard to which he had free access, nor did he often
get the hard words and blows that are so apt to fall to the lot of
the unfortunate children of drinking parents. Neither Nason nor his
wife were ranked amongst the more brawling and disorderly inhabitants
of Roan's Court; though drink stupefied and rendered them helpless
and good-for-nothing often for days together, especially after Nason
had had a good haul into his big clothes-bag, and had turned its
contents into money. But as for the dirt, untidiness, and general
discomfort of their abode, they might have won the prize in this
respect had one been offered for the most wretched room.
Dick was a queer little figure to look at, though he had the
brightest face possible. He used to be clothed entirely out of his
father's rag-bag. Nason had three of these bags, which hung up on
three nails in their cellar room. One was blue, made of strong
material, for the reception of old garments; the second, of stout
canvas, was for rabbit-skins; and the third for bones. Out of the
blue bag used to come forth jackets, which were by no means worn out,
as well as jackets well patched and darned. The latter always fell to
Dick's share, as the better ones were more valuable to turn into
cash. As to the fit, that was considered to be utterly unimportant.
If only they were large enough for Dick to squeeze into them, or
small enough for him to be able to walk about in them, that was
deemed sufficient; so the little fellow would at one time be seen to
be almost bursting through his things from their tightness, and at
another he looked like a walking clothes-peg with his garments
hanging loosely upon him. But it was all the same to Dick, whether
they were tight or loose, and his bright eyes and curly head were
what people looked at most after all. Dick's life for the first few
years was a very free and easy one. He made dirt pies beautifully as
soon as he was able to walk, being instructed in that art by some
children a little older than himself who lived next door. Then came
the ball-playing age--for even the poorest youngsters contrive to get
balls somehow or other--and Dick had his to roll about long before he
knew how to play with it. A little later on his amusement was to
stroll about the streets, peep in at the shop windows, look longingly
at the tempting piles of oranges and lollipops on the stalls at the
corner of the street, and occasionally, but very rarely, produce a
halfpenny from his pocket with which to purchase a scrap of the said
lollipops, or one of the smallest and most sour of the oranges.
But the greatest delight of Dick's life was to go to Covent Garden
Market to look at the flowers, his love for which seemed born with
him in a remarkable degree. He was in a perfect ecstasy of delight
the first time he went there in company with some other children, who
like himself had nothing to do but to stroll about the streets. What
they looked at with indifference, Dick gazed upon with rapture, and
from that day he constantly found his way to the same spot, which was
at no great distance from Roan's Court. He was there so often that
his appearance became familiar to the stall-holders, and they
sometimes employed him in running errands or doing little jobs for
them, rewarding him with an apple or orange, or, if it were towards
the evening, perhaps a bunch of flowers that had begun to fade.
Nothing ever pleased him so much as to have them to take home; and
then he tenderly put them in a cracked mug on the window seat, where
he could see them as soon as he awoke in the morning. In after years
he used to say that his first idea of God was taken from those
flowers; that their beauty carried off his mind in wonder as to the
greatness of the Power that made them. The strange contrast between
them in all their loveliness and the dingy dirty room he lived in,
had doubtless much to do with the effect they produced on his mind.
Dick knew little about religion. Once or twice he had peeped into a
church when service was going on, but had not cared to stay long; not
at all understanding what he heard, and feeling rather alarmed at the
man in the black gown whom he saw sitting near the door to keep
order.
But though Dick was a stranger to both church and Sunday-school, an
instructor was raised up for him in a quarter no one would have
expected. Not far from Covent Garden, in a single room, lived an old
man named John Walters, who had a small pension from a gentleman
whose servant he had once been, and who increased his means by doing
a variety of jobs about the market, where he was quite an
institution. This old man loved his God and loved his Bible. He lived
quite alone. His wife had been dead some years, and the only child he
ever had, a boy, died of measles when he was about twelve years of
age.
Perhaps it was the remembrance of this boy made him notice little
Dick as he lingered day after day about the market; but he might
never have spoken to him had it not been for an incident which we
will relate.
One day as a woman from the country was beginning to put up her fruit
and vegetables, she tripped and upset her basket of apples, which
rolled away in every direction. Dick was standing near and helped to
pick them up. The woman was anxious to collect them all, for they
were a valuable sort of apple which sold for a good price for
dessert, and every one was precious. Several rolled away to a
distance and lodged under a heap of empty hampers. Dick ran amongst
the hampers and picked them up; as he did so he slipped three of them
into the capacious pockets of the very loose clothes he had on, which
had lately been produced from the blue bag and would have fitted a
boy nearly twice his size. There was an Eye above that saw him commit
this theft, that | 1,399.284404 |
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THE LIGHTER SIDE OF ENGLISH LIFE
By Frank Frankfort Moore
Author Of “The Jessamy Bride”
Illustrated in Colour by George Belcher
T. N. Foulis, London & Edinburgh
1913
CHAPTER ONE--THE VILLAGE
ONE MORNING A FEW MONTHS AGO A foreigner under the influence of
an aeroplane descended somewhat hurriedly in a broad and--as he
ascertained--a soft meadow in Nethershire; and while he was picking
up his matches preparatory to lighting his cigarette--he has always a
cigarette in his waistcoat pocket, for a man with a Kodak may be lurking
behind the nearest tree--an agricultural labourer on his way to his work
looked over the hedge at him. The foreign person noticed him, and after
trying him in vain with German, French, and Hungarian, fell back upon
English, and in the few words of that language which he knew, inquired
the name of the place. “Why, Bleybar Lane, to be sure,” replied the man,
perceiving the trend of the question with the quick intelligence of the
agricultural labourer; and when the stranger shook his head and lapsed
into Russian, begging him to be more precise (for the aviator had not
altogether recovered from the daze of his sudden arrival), the man
repeated the words in a louder tone, “Bleybar Lane--everybody knows
Bleybar Lane; and that's Thurswell that you can't see, beyond the
windmill,” and then walked on. Happily our parson, who had watched the
descent of the stranger and was hastening to try if he could be of any
help to him, came up at that moment and explained that he was in
England, where English was, up to that time at least, spoken in
preference to German or, indeed, any other language, and that breakfast
would be ready at the Rectory in an hour.
I--THE ABORIGINES
It was the Rector who told me the story, adding in regard to the
labourer---- “Isn't that just like Thurswell--fancying that a Czech who
had just crossed the Channel, and believed himself to be in Belgium,
should know all about Thurswell and its Bleybar Lane?”
I thought that it was very like Thurswell indeed, and afterwards I made
it still more like by talking to the agricultural labourer himself about
the incident.
“Ay, he spoke gibberish with a foreign accent, and I told him plain
enough, when he had swept his arms and cried 'Where?' or words to that
effect, that he was by Bleybar Lane, and that the place he couldn't see
for the windmill was Thurswell; but it were no use: foreigners be in the
main woeful ignorant for Christian persons, and I could see that he had
no knowledge even of Thurswell when he heard the name.”
[Illustration: 0023]
That is our village down to the ground. You could not persuade one
of the aborigines that there is any place in England or outside it of
greater importance than Thurswell, because there is no place of greater
importance to the Thurswellian. An aged inhabitant was taken by his
son to see the coronation procession, and when he was asked what it was
like, replied, after a suitable pause, that it ran Thurs-well's Day
very hard--Thurswell's Day is the name given to the First Sunday after
Trinity, when the Free Foresters and Ancient Shepherds march to church
in sashes, with a band made up of a fife, three flutes, a drum, a
concertina, and a melodion.
“Ay, neighbours, it ran Thurswell's Day hard,” he affirmed, and did not
flinch from his statement in spite of the incredulous murmur that arose
from the bench nearest the door, which was immediately suppressed by the
landlord, who was apprehensive of a riot.
Thurswell is a village of antiquity. Its name occurs in _Domesday
Book_, where you may look in vain for any mention of Brindlington, that
mushroom town of 60.000 inhabitants, which is nine miles to the north,
or even of Broadminster, the Cathedral town, which is seven miles to the
west. “Broadminster is where the Dean lives,” I was told by the landlord
of the Wheatsheaf at Thurswell when I was making inquiries about the
district, “and Brindlington is where the brewery is; but my father got
his ale at Pipstone, and I get mine there too, though it's a blow to
Brindlington, for in harvest the best part of a cask goes within a
week.”
There are several other villages within a mile or so of Thurswell, and
the inhabitants of some are infatuated enough to believe that they
are on a social, as well as a commercial, level with the people of
Thurswell. This singular hallucination caused a good deal of friction on
all sides in years gone by, and _the rapprochement_ that was eventually
brought about between Thurswell and its neighbours by the thoughtfulness
of a Rector, who preached a sermon on the vision of St. Peter and
enjoined upon his hearers to remember that even though people have not
been born in Thurswell they are still God's creatures, was a purely
sentimental one, and did not last.
Some years ago an article appeared in the _Topographical Gazette_
from the pen of an eminent archaeologist affirming that Thurswell must
originally have been Thor's Well, so that the place dated back to
the time of the worship of the Scandinavian god Thor; but while
this evidence of its antiquity was received by some of us with
enthusiasm--having been a resident in the village for a whole year I was
naturally an ardent Thurswellian--it was, when reproduced in the _East
Nethershire Weekly_, generally regarded as the invention of some
one anxious to give the enemies of the village some ground for their
animosity toward it. For the suggestion that it had a heathen origin was
not one, it was felt, to which its people could tamely submit. There was
some talk of a public meeting to protest against the conclusions come to
by the archaeologist, and the Rector was considered in some quarters to
be but a half-hearted champion of the Faith when he refused to lend the
schoolhouse--sixty people could be crowded into it--for this purpose,
his argument that the more heathen Thurswell had been in the past, the
more marked should be its display of the Christian virtue of charity in
the present, being criticised as savouring of Jesuitry. For months the
matter was the leading topic of the neighbourhood, and the Hearts of Oak
Habitation of the Ancient Shepherds drew up a resolution protesting in
this connection against “archaeology and every form of idolatry.” It was
the misprint in the _Gazette_ that changed “Hearts of Oak” into “Heads
of Oak” in publishing the proceedings that quenched the violence of the
discussion, and now it is considered bad taste to refer to it at all.
II.--THE CENTENARIANS
More recently still another busybody endeavoured to deprive the village
of the reputation which it had long enjoyed as the centre of English
longevity. Now it would be impossible for any one to study the dates
on the tombstones in the churchyard without noticing how great was the
number of centenarians who died within the first fifty years of the
nineteenth century in the parish of Thurswell. There were apparently
eighteen men and fourteen women interred after passing their hundredth
year; indeed, one woman was recorded to have reached her hundred and
twenty-seventh year, which is a good age for a woman. The people were
naturally very proud of the constant references made in print to their
longevity; but one day there came down to the village a member of the
Statistical Society | 1,399.380322 |
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 4. SATURDAY, JULY 25, 1840. VOLUME 1.
[Illustration: CAISLEAN-NA-CIRCE, OR THE HEN'S CASTLE.]
Our prefixed illustration gives a near view of one of the most
interesting ruins now remaining in the romantic region of Connemara, or
the Irish Highlands, and which is no less remarkable for its great
antiquity than for the singularly wild and picturesque character of its
situation, and that of its surrounding scenery. It is the feature that
gives poetic interest to the most beautiful portion of Lough Corrib--its
upper extremity--where a portion of the lake, about three miles in
length, is apparently surrounded and shut in by the rocky and precipitous
mountains of Connemara and the Joyce country, which it reflects upon its
surface, without any object to break their shadows, or excite a feeling
of human interest, but the one little lonely Island-Castle of the Hen.
That an object thus situated--having no accompaniments around but those
in keeping with it--should, in the fanciful traditions of an imaginative
people, be deemed to have had a supernatural origin, is only what might
have been naturally expected; and such, indeed, is the popular belief. If
we inquire of the peasantry its origin, or the origin of its name, the
ready answer is given, that it was built by enchantment in one night by a
cock and a hen grouse, who had been an Irish prince and princess!
There is, indeed, among some of the people of the district a dim
tradition of its having been erected as a fastness by an O'Conor, King
of Connaught, and some venture to conjecture that this king was no other
than the unfortunate Roderick, the last King of Ireland; and that the
castle was intended by him to serve as a place of refuge and safety, to
which he could retire by boat, if necessity required, from the
neighbouring monastery of Cong, in which he spent the last few years of
his life: and it is only by this supposition that they can account for
the circumstance of a castle being erected by the O'Conors in the very
heart of a district which they believe to have been in the possession of
the O'Flahertys from time immemorial. But this conjecture is wholly
erroneous, and the true founders and age of this castle are to be found
in our authentic but as yet unpublished Annals, from which it appears
certain that the Hen's Castle was one of several fortresses erected, with
the assistance of Richard de Burgo, Lord of Connaught, and Lord Justice
of Ireland, by the sons of Roderick, the last monarch of the kingdom. It
is stated in the Annals of Connaught, and in the Annals of the Four
Masters, at the year 1225, that Hugh O'Conor (son of Cathal Crovedearg),
King of Connaught, and the Lord Justice of Ireland, Richard De Burgo,
arriving with their English at the Port of Inis Creamha, on the east side
of Lough Corrib, caused Hugh O'Flaherty, the Lord of West Connaught, to
surrender the island of Inis Creamha, Oilen-na-Circe, or the Hen's
Island, and all the vessels of the lake, into Hugh O'Conor's hands, for
assurance of his fidelity.
From this entry it would appear that the Hen's Island, as well as the
island called Inis Creamha, had each a castle on it previously; and this
conclusion is strengthened by a subsequent entry in the same Annals, at
the year 1233, from which it appears that this castle, as well as others,
had been erected by the sons of Roderick, who had been long in contention
for the government with Cathal Crovedearg, and his sons Hugh and Felim,
and had, during these troubles, possessed themselves of O'Flaherty's
country. On the death of Hugh O'Conor, who was treacherously slain by
Geoffry De Mares, or De Marisco, in 1228, they appear to have again
seized on the strongholds of the country, that of the Hen's Castle among
the rest, and to have retained them till 1233, when their rival Felim
O'Conor finally triumphed, and broke down their castles. This event is
thus narrated in the Annals of the Four Masters:--
"1233. Felim, the son of Charles the Red-handed, led an array into
Connaught. Cormac, the son of Tomaltagh (Lord of Moylurg), went to meet
him, and brought him to Moylurg, where they erected a camp at Druim
Greagraighe, and were joined by Cormac, by Conor his son, the inhabitants
of the three Tuathas, and by the two sons of Mortogh Mac Dermot, Donogh
and Mortogh. They here consulted with each other, and resolved upon going
in pursuit of Hugh (King of Connaught) and the other sons of Roderic.
After overtaking them, they defeated Hugh, slew himself, his brother,
Hugh Muimhneach his son, and Donogh More, the son of Dermot, who was the
son of Roderic, and many others besides. There were also slain Raghallach
O'Flanigan, Thomas Biris, Constable of Ireland, his relative John Guer,
and many other Englishmen. This was after the bells and croziers had been
rung against them, after they had been cursed and excommunicated by the
clergy of Connaught; for Hugh Muimhneach had violated and plundered
Tibohine and many other churches, so that he and his adherents fell in
revenge of their dishonour to the saints whose churches they had
violated. The kingdom and sovereignty of Connaught were wrested from the
sons of Roderic, the son of Torlogh, on that day. Felim, the son of
Charles the Red-handed, then assumed the government of Connaught, _and
demolished the castles which had been erected by the power of the sons of
Roderic O'Conor and Mac William Burke_, namely, the Castle of Bon
Gaillimbe, _Caislen-na-Circe_, Caislen-na-Caillighe, and the Castle of
Dunamon."
In subsequent times the Hen's Castle reverted to the O'Flahertys, and was
repaired and garrisoned by them till the time of Cromwell, when, as we
are informed by Roderick O'Flaherty, it was finally dismantled and left
to decay. Still, however, enough remains to exhibit its original plan,
which was that of an Anglo-Norman castle or keep, in the form of a
parallelogram, with three projecting towers on its two longest sides; and
the architectural features of the thirteenth century are also visible in
some of its beautifully executed windows and doorways.
The Hen's Castle is not without its legendary traditions connected with
its history anterior to its dilapidation; and the following outline of
one of these--and the latest--as told at the cottage firesides around
Lough Corrib, may be worth preserving as having a probable foundation in
truth.
It is said that during the troubled reign of Queen Elizabeth, a lady of
the O'Flahertys, who was an heiress and a widow, with an only child, a
daughter, to preserve her property from the grasp of her own family and
that of the De Burgos or Burkes, shut herself up with her child in the
Hen's Castle, attended by twenty faithful followers, of tried courage and
devotion to her service, of her own and her husband's family. As such a
step was, however, pregnant with danger to herself, by exciting the
attention and alarm of the government and local authorities, and
furnishing her enemies with an excuse for aggression, she felt it
necessary to obtain the queen's sanction to her proceedings; and
accordingly she addressed a letter to her majesty, requesting her
permission to arm her followers, and alleging as a reason for it, the
disaffected state of the country, and her ardent desire to preserve its
peace for her majesty. The letter, after the fashion of the times, was
not signed by the lady in her acquired matron's name, but in her maiden
one, of which no doubt she was more proud; it was Bivian or Bevinda
O'Flaherty. The queen received it graciously; but not being particularly
well acquainted with the gender of Irish Christian names, and never
suspecting, from the style or matter of the epistle, that it had emanated
from one of her own sex, she returned an answer, written with her own
hand, authorising her good friend "Captain Bivian O'Flaherty" to retain
twenty men at her majesty's expense, for the preservation of the peace of
the country; and they were maintained accordingly, till the infant
heiress, becoming adult, was united to Thomas Blake, the ancestor of the
present Sir John Blake of Menlo Castle, and proprietor of the Castle of
the Hen.
To these brief notices of an ancient castle, not hitherto described, or
its age ascertained, we shall only add, that there are few military
structures of lime and stone now remaining in Ireland that can boast an
equal antiquity.
P.
OCCUPATIONS FOR THE YOUNG.
BY MARTIN DOYLE.
Habit is said to be a second nature, and it is often stronger than the
first. At first we easily take the bend from the hand of the master, but
the second nature, which is of our own making, is frequently proof
against any alteration. How important, then, is _education_, which gives
the turn and moulding to the mind while it is flexible, fixes the habits,
and forms the character! The discipline of the mind, with respect to its
natural bias, is either misdirected or misunderstood in nine cases out of
ten, and latent talents or tendencies, which by proper culture might be
rendered sources of enjoyment to the possessor, and useful to the
community, are restrained, if not too powerful for suppression, from
their proper developement, by absurd and artificial treatment.
In the upper classes, a parent, perhaps, incapable of estimating the
capacity of his son, determines with himself that the profession, suppose
of divinity, of law, or of medicine, is the most lucrative,
gentlemanlike, or otherwise eligible, and that the boy shall be educated
accordingly.
The unfortunate youth who has no talent for the acquisition of languages,
and cannot comprehend the simplest proposition in geometry, is condemned
to pursue a prescribed routine, and to pass many of the most precious
years of his life in the unavailing effort to learn, through the drudgery
of a classical school, what is repugnant to his taste, and beyond his
powers of comprehension; and all this time, from being constantly engaged
in _thumbing_ the elementary books of the dead languages (which are never
at his _finger ends_, in the acceptation of the common phrase), he grows
up shamefully ignorant of his vernacular tongue, in which he can neither
read with fluency nor spell with correctness.
The schoolmaster, however, is expected to prepare him for the university
within a given time, and he must be _made up_ for entrance accordingly.
If the parents are told that Young Hopeful has no turn for a literary
life, no capacity for learning what is required, they doubt the judgment
of the informant, who tells them the truth; for the acknowledgment of
this would be an indirect admission of their own incapacity; and in
proportion to their ignorance and dullness, is their self assurance that
their booby has excellent abilities. The youth is therefore forced
forward in spite of his natural repugnance to books; and if afterwards
smuggled through the university into a profession which may give him
place or emolument, without ability or exertion on his part, he disgraces
his station by general ignorance and unfitness; and if he be admitted
into a profession which yields honour or emolument only in proportion to
talents and industry, he totally fails of the object, and it is
discovered too late that the selection of his avocation was in some way
_unlucky_.
Now, it is very probable that if such an every-day boy had been permitted
to pursue some track for which his inclinations qualified him, instead of
being limited to a course of unsuitable and distasteful occupations, he
might have acquired useful knowledge of some sort. For example, supposing
him to stumble at metrical "longs and shorts," or to be stuck between the
horns of a dilemma, or be lost amidst the mazes of metaphysics, he might
have that peculiar turn which would render him a good farmer, an
excellent judge of "long and short wools" or of "long and short horns,"
or that shrewdness which would render him a clever tradesman, a man
"Who knows what's what, and that's as high
As metaphysic wit doth fly."
And so certain am I that many young men who enter our university would
prefer and far better comprehend the plain and practical lecture of a
professor of agriculture, surrounded by models of machinery and plates of
cattle, &c., than lectures of a far more pretending character, that I
cannot avoid lamenting the deficiency in the department of agriculture
which Socrates designated "the nurse and mother of all the arts," and
Gibbon "the foundation of all manufactures."
The example afforded in this respect by the University of Edinburgh is
worthy of the imitation of Trinity College. To afford at least the
opportunities of gaining such information on this subject as the mind may
be capable of receiving or predisposed to receive, cannot but be deemed
judicious. And the theoretical knowledge of husbandry is incalculably
more needed by the gentry and middle classes of Ireland than by those of
the same grades in Scotland, where almost every land-proprietor and
farmer understands the subject more or less.
Far be it from me to decry the advantages of what is called learning, but
I would have a more diversified course, both in our schools _of every
class_, and in the universities, so as to comprehend those useful
branches of information, to which the student, if denied by Providence
the faculties requisite for the attainment of others, may apply himself
with pleasure or advantage.
I have met with many young persons of exceeding dullness in _book
learning_, of decided distaste to the pursuits of _literature_, who have
manifested a quick apprehension of _mechanical contrivances_, practically
exhibited a love of natural history, of gardening, of agriculture, of
something, in short, of a utilitarian character. If these tendencies had
been duly cultivated, the results would have been favourable to the
individuals themselves, and probably to the public also.
I have often been puzzled to account for the pre-eminence of the Scotch
as a clever and a _thinking_ people: it cannot be from atmospheric
influence; and I am disposed to question the correctness of the assertion
of a grave Caledonian, that the fine spirit of philosophical inquiry
which distinguishes his countrymen is mainly attributable to their use of
oatmeal porridge; it must rather be from well-directed education, from
the early acquired habit of _thinking for one's self_, and of giving _a
reason_ for every thing as far as they can, that the Scotch are so
intelligent and so fitted for their respective stations in the social
circle.
My own countrymen are _naturally_ as shrewd and intellectual as the
Scotch, but their minds are too generally ill disciplined, and school
education, for all classes, is too generally defective _every where_.
Several hours of the day are passed in wearisome restraint within the
walls of a schoolroom, in learning words without ideas, sounds without
sense; the mind being seldom engaged in the tasks with either pleasure or
profit.
And besides the impediments which obstruct the progress of useful
occupation, arising from the blindness of parents, the unfitness of
teachers, and the incapacity of pupils, there are to be encountered in
all schools the natural preference of idleness to any kind of systematic
occupation, the love of mischief and freaks, which prevail among
combinations of boys, and the difficulty of analysing character and
dispositions in crowded seminaries.
But in schools for the poor, where order and discipline are easily
enforced; in places of _private_ education, and under the paternal roof,
where, by far the greatest degree of happiness and simplicity of
character are enjoyed and preserved--in such cases, in which instructors
and parents are qualified to educate, a system of literary instruction,
combining with it relaxation of a useful kind, may be pursued.
Among the latter I would place gardening and botany foremost among the
out-of-door occupations, and these pursuits apply to both sexes, and to
the humblest of the peasantry, as well as to the nobles of the land, for
with the idea of a garden is connected every association that is pure and
heaven-born. I myself even now look back upon those of my childish hours
which were employed in the garden, with unmixed pleasure, and the first
early crop of radishes which I raised with my own hands in a garden
border, afforded me more innocent pride than any far more valuable crop
that I have subsequently raised upon my farm. The care of flowers and
shrubs, and the absence of corrupting influences, during the indulgence
of this pursuit, render it a subject of extreme interest in the formation
of individual and national character.
Those of the poor who are disposed to take a real interest in their
gardens as is the case of thousands of the English peasantry, instead of
finding their summer evening occupations in their allotments wearisome
after their day of other toil, seem to find relaxation in the
comparatively light work which they thus perform for _themselves_; and in
the pleasurable contemplation of their own flowers, though they be but
_common_ beauties, and of their own tiny crops, they feel that calmness
and tranquillity, that quiet satisfaction, which lay the passions at
rest, and therefore indispose for the boisterous mirth and the ungodly
society of the frequenters of the beer-house or the gin-shop.
Poultry, pigeons, and rabbits, may be reared by young people, both for
amusement and profit. The child who understands much of the natural
history of domestic animals from practical observation, and perceives the
force of those influences which unite the parent and the offspring, will
so far sympathize with, and apprehend the nature of, those influences, as
to feel pain at the thought of wantonly dissociating that connection, and
would be far less likely "to rob the poor birds of their young," than the
child who had not been familiarized with the nature and habits of the
feathered race.
Children who have watched over a brood of chickens from the moment of
their first disengagement from the shell, and witnessed the instinct with
which the Creator causes them to come at the call of their mother, and
contemplate the love with which "the hen gathers her chickens under her
wings," will take no pleasure in destroying that life of which they had
anxiously traced the progress from the hour in which the first sign of
developed animation appeared. It is improbable that the boy (and far more
so that the girl, who is naturally kind) to whose hand the birds have
fearlessly looked for food, while they clamorously delighted in his
presence, could in his manhood witness any torturing of the feathered
race, such as the diabolical barbarity of throwing at cocks on Shrove
Tuesday, which used to disgrace Great Britain; or take pleasure in the
barbarities of a cock-fight[A] or a gander-fight.[B]
For those who are excluded from the enjoyments of rural life, and those
occupations to which I have referred, there remain other pursuits of
extreme interest, according to their respective tastes--geology,
chemistry, mechanics, which employ both the head and the hand. Many a
youth may be taught "sermons in stones," &c.--see the quotation in
Shakspeare, _As You Like It_--and be kept from bad company, by having
access to a lathe, and becoming practically "a tool-making animal," who,
from his distaste to books, would be otherwise miserably destitute of
rational employment. I do not wish to see either young or old persons too
much
"Agog for novelty where'er it lies,
In mosses, fleas, or cockleshells, or flies"--
But natural history, to a reasonable extent, is surely a useful and
improving study for both rich and poor; it leads them to look from the
creature to the Creator; to contemplate His works, His glories, and His
beneficent _designs_, both in the material and the spiritual world. In
short, I would supply the mind and body with those occupations which best
harmonise together, and most powerfully tend to overcome the degrading
and demoralising effects of ignorance, which is confessedly the greatest
enemy to religion, to peace, good order, and social happiness.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] We learn from a German writer the origin of this cruel custom. When
the Danes ruled In England, the native inhabitants of some town formed a
conspiracy to regain possession of it by murdering the Danish usurpers.
Their design, however, was defeated by the crowing of some cocks. When
the English afterwards regained authority, they instituted the barbarous
and childishly resentful practice of throwing at cocks tied to a stake on
the commemoration day of their disappointment through the vigilance of
the cocks.
[B] "At St Petersburgh, in Russia (says Dr Granville), they have no
cock-pits; but they have a goose-pit, where in the spring they fight
ganders trained to the sport, and to peck at each other's shoulders till
they draw blood. These ganders have been sold as high as five hundred
roubles each; and the sport prevails to a degree of enthusiasm among the
hemp-merchants. Strange that the vicious and inhuman curiosity of man can
delight to arouse and stimulate the principles of enmity and cruelty in
these apparently peaceful and sociable birds!
The barbarities of which the human character is capable from habitual
indulgence in such brutal sports are almost inconceivable.
Every one has heard the horrible story of Ardesolf of Tottenham, who,
about forty years since, bring disappointed by a famous game-cock
refusing to fight, was incited by his savage passion to roast the animal
alive whilst entertaining his friends. The company, alarmed by the
dreadful shrieks of the victim, interfered, but were resisted by
Ardesolf, who threatened death to any who should oppose him; and in a
storm of raging and vindictive delirium, and uttering the most horrid
imprecations, he dropped down dead. I had hoped to find this one among
the thousand fanatical lies which have been coined in the insane
expectation that truth can be advanced by the propagation of falsehood;
but to my sorrowful disappointment, on a late inquiry among the friends
of the deceased miscreant, I found the truth of the horrible story but
too probable."--_Mowbray's Treatise on Poultry._
ALEXANDER AND THE TREE.
"From this tree it was that the Voice came which spake of old
to Iskander (Alexander the Great), saying, as an oracle,
'Iskander indeed cometh into India, but goeth from thence into
the Land of Darkness.'"--_Apocryphal History of Alexander the
Great._
The sun is bright, the air is bland,
The heavens wear that stainless blue
Which only in an Orient land
The eye of man may view;
And lo! around, and all abroad,
A glittering host, a mighty horde--
And at their head a demigod
Who slays with lightning-sword!
The bright noon burns, but idly now
Those warriors rest by copse and hill,
And shadows on their Leader's brow
Seem ominous of ill:
Spell-bound, he stands beside a tree,
And well he may, for through its leaves
Unstirred by wind, come brokenly
Moans, as of one that grieves!
How strange! he thought:--Life is a boon
Given, and resumed--but _how_? and _when_?
But now I asked myself how soon
I should go home agen!
How soon I might once more behold
My mourning mother's tearful face;
How soon my kindred might enfold
Me in their dear embrace!
There was an Indian Magian there--
And, stepping forth, he bent his knee:
"Oh, king!" he said, "be wise!--beware
This too prophetic tree!"
"Ha!" cried the king, "thou knowest, then, Seer,
What yon strange oracle reveals?"
"Alas!" the Magian said, "I hear
Deep words, like thunder-peals!
"I hear the groans of more than Man,
Hear tones that warn, denounce, beseech;
Hear--woe is me!--how darkly ran
That stream of thrilling speech!
'Oh, king,' it spake, 'all-trampling king!
Thou leadest legions from afar--
But Battle droops his clotted wing!
Night menaces thy star!
"'Fond visions of thy boyhood's years
Dawn like dim light upon thy soul;
Thou seest again thy mother's tears
Which Love could not control!
Ah! thy career in sooth is run!
Ah! thou indeed returnest home!
The Mother waits to clasp her son
Low in her lampless dome!
"'Yet go, rejoicing! He who reigns
O'er Earth alone leaves worlds unscanned;
Life binds the spirit as with chains;
Seek thou the Phantom-land!
Leave Conquest all it looks for here--
Leave willing slaves a bloody throne--
Thine henceforth is another sphere,
Death's realm, the dark Unknown!'"
The Magian paused; the leaves were hushed,
But wailings broke from all around,
Until the Chief, whose red blood flushed
His cheek with hotter bound.
Asked, in the tones of one with whom
Fear never yet had been a guest--
"And when doth Fate achieve my doom?
And where shall be my rest?"
"Oh, noble heart!" the Magian said,
And tears unbidden filled his eyes,
"We should not weep for thee!--the Dead
Change but their home and skies:
The moon shall beam, the myrtles bloom
For thee no more--yet sorrow not!
The immortal pomp of Hades' gloom
Best consecrates thy lot.
In June, in June, in laughing June,
And where the dells show deepest green,
Pavilioned overhead, at noon,
With gold and silken sheen--
These be for thee--the place, the time;
Trust not thy heart, trust not thine eyes,
Behind the Mount thy warm hopes climb,
The Land of Darkness lies!"
Unblenching at the fateful words,
The Hero turned around in haste--
"On! on!" he cried, "ye million swords,
Your course, like mine, is traced;
Let me but close Life's narrow span
Where weapons clash and banners wave;
I would not live to mourn that Man
But conquers for a grave!"
M.
APOLOGUES AND FABLES,
IN PROSE AND VERSE, FROM THE GERMAN AND OTHER LANGUAGES.
(_Translated for the Irish Penny Journal._)
No. II.--THE THREE RINGS.
In the reign of the Sultan Sal-ad-Deen there lived in the city of
Damascus a Jew called Nathaniel, who was pre-eminently distinguished
among his fellow-citizens for his wisdom, his liberality of mind, the
goodness of his disposition, and the urbanity of his manners, so that he
had acquired the esteem even of those among the Mooslemin who were
accounted the strictest adherents to the exclusive tenets of the
Mahommedan creed. From being generally talked of by the common people, he
came gradually to attract the notice of the higher classes, until the
sultan himself, hearing so much of the man, became curious to learn how
it was that so excellent and intelligent a person could reconcile it with
his conscience to live and die in the errors of Judaism. With the view of
satisfying himself on the subject, he at length resolved on condescending
to a personal interview with the Jew, and accordingly one day ordered him
to be summoned before him.
The Jew, in obedience to the imperial mandate, presented himself at the
palace gates, and was forthwith ushered, amid guards and slaves
innumerable, into the presence of the august Sal-ad-Deen, Light of the
World, Protector of the Universe, and Keeper of the Portals of Paradise;
who, however, being graciously determined that the lightning of his
glances should not annihilate the Israelite, had caused his face to be
covered on the occasion with a magnificent veil, through the golden
gauze-work of which he could carry on at his ease his own examination of
his visitor's features.
"Men talk highly of thee, Nathaniel," said the sultan, after he had
commanded the Jew to seat himself on the carpet; "they praise thy virtue,
thy integrity, thy understanding, beyond those of the sons of Adam. Yet
thou professest a false religion, and showest no sign of a disposition to
embrace the true one. How is this obstinacy of thine reconcilable with
the wisdom and moderation for which the true believers give thee credit?"
"If I profess a false religion, your highness," returned the Jew
modestly, "it is because I have never been able to distinguish infallibly
between false religions and true. I adhere to the faith of my fathers."
"The idolaters do so no less than thou," said Sal-ad-Deen, "but their
blindness is wilful, and so is thine. Dost thou mean to say that all
religions are upon the same level in the sight of the God of Truth?"
"Not so, assuredly," answered Nathaniel: "Truth is but one; and there can
be but one true religion. That is a simple and obvious axiom, the
correctness of which I have never sought to controvert."
"Spoken like a wise man!" cried the sultan;--"that is," he added, "if the
religion to which thou alludest be Islamism, as it must be of course.
Come: I know thou art favourably inclined towards the truth; thou hast an
honest countenance: declare openly the conviction at which thou must have
long since arrived, that they who believe in the Koran are the sole
inheritors of Paradise. Is not that thy unhesitating persuasion?"
"Will your highness pardon me," said the Jew, "if, instead of answering
you directly, I narrate to you a parable bearing upon this subject, and
leave you to draw from it such inferences as may please you?"
"I am satisfied to hear thee," said the sultan after a pause; "only let
there be no sophistry in the argument of thy narrative. Make the story
short also, for I hate long tales about nothing."
The Jew, thus licensed, began:--"May it please your highness," said he,
"there lived in Assyria, in one of the ages of old, a certain man who had
received from a venerated hand a beautiful and valuable ring, the stone
of which was an opal, and sparkled in the sunlight with ever-varying
hues. This ring, moreover, was a talisman, and had the secret power of
rendering him who wore it with a sincere desire of benefiting by it,
acceptable and amiable in the eyes of both God and man. It is not
therefore to be wondered at, that the owner continually wore it during
his lifetime, never taking it off his finger for an instant, or that,
when dying, he should adopt precautions to secure it to his lineal
descendants for ever. He bequeathed it accordingly first to the most
beloved of his sons, ordaining that by him it should be again bequeathed
to the dearest of _his_ offspring, and so down from generation to
generation, no one having a claim in right of priority of birth, but
preference being given to the favourite son, who, by virtue of the ring,
should rule unconstrained as lord of the house and head of the family.
Your highness listens?"
"I listen: I understand: proceed," said the sultan.
The Jew resumed:--"Well: from son to son this ring at length descended to
a father who had three sons, all of them alike remarkable for their
goodness of disposition, all equally prompt in anticipating his wishes,
all | 1,399.386224 |
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Produced by Les Bowler
Smoke Bellew
Contents
THE TASTE OF THE MEAT
THE MEAT
THE STAMPEDE TO SQUAW CREEK
SHORTY DREAMS
THE MAN ON THE OTHER BANK
THE RACE FOR NUMBER ONE
THE TASTE OF THE MEAT.
I.
In the beginning he was Christopher Bellew. By the time he was at
college he had become Chris Bellew. Later, in the Bohemian crowd of
San Francisco, he was called Kit Bellew. And in the end he was known
by no other name than Smoke Bellew. And this history of the evolution
of his name is the history of his evolution. Nor would it have
happened had he not had a fond mother and an | 1,399.387223 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
GOD AND THE
KING
BY
MARJORIE BOWEN
AUTHOR OF "I WILL MAINTAIN"
'LUCTOR ET EMERGO
MOTTO OF ZEELAND
METHUEN & GO. LTD
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_Published in 1911_
DEDICATED
VERY GRATEFULLY
TO
MAJOR-GENERAL F. DE BAS
DIRECTOR OF THE MILITARY HISTORICAL BRANCH
GENERAL STAFF OF THE DUTCH ARMY
CONTENTS
PART I
THE REVOLUTION
CHAP.
I. THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
II. THE EVENING OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
III. THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
IV. THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND
V. THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE
VI. THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT
VII. THE SILENT WOOD
VIII. THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE
IX. FRANCE MOVES
X. THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR
XI. THREE PAWNS
XII. FRANCE MOVES AGAIN
XIII. THE GREAT ENTERPRISE
XIV. STORMS
XV. THE SECOND SAILING
XVI | 1,399.580054 |
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Produced by Irma Spehar, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber's Note.
Bold text is indicated with =equals signs=. Italic text is indicated
with _underscores_.
Further transcriber's notes may be found at the end of the book.
QUEENS OF THE
RENAISSANCE
BY
M. BERESFORD RYLEY
WITH TWENTY-FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
_First Published in 1907_
[Illustration: BEATRICE AND LUDOVICO KNEELING
ALTAR-PIECE BY ZENALE]
To B----
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE ix
CATHERINE OF SIENA 1
BEATRICE D'ESTE 53
ANNE OF BRITTANY 104 | 1,399.58152 |
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Produced by Emmy, MFR, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive). Dedicated, with much affection, to our
friend Emmy, who "fell off the planet" far too soon.
The Boy Scouts
of
Woodcraft Camp
By
Thornton W. Burgess
Author of
The Boy Scouts on Swift River
The Boy Scouts on Lost Trail
The Boy Scouts in a Trapper's Camp
[Illustration]
Illustrated by C. S. Corson
The Penn Publishing
Company Philadelphia
1922
COPYRIGHT
1912 BY
THE PENN
PUBLISHING
COMPANY
| 1,399.686113 |
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CRITICAL MISCELLANIES
BY
JOHN MORLEY
VOL. III.
Essay 1: On Popular Culture
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., Limited
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1904
ON POPULAR CULTURE
PAGE
Introduction 1
Importance of provincial centres 2
Report of the Midland Institute 4
Success of the French classes 5
Less success of English history 6
Value of a short comprehensive course 8
Dr. Arnold's saying about history 'traced backwards' 9
Value of a short course of general history 10
Value of a sound notion of Evidence 16
Text-books of scientific logic not adequate for popular objects 21
A new instrument suggested 21
An incidental advantage of it 23
General knowledge not necessarily superficial 25
Popular culture and academic organisation 25
Some of the great commonplaces of study 29
Conclusion 34
ON POPULAR CULTURE
AN ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE TOWN HALL, BIRMINGHAM (OCTOBER 5,
1876), BY THE WRITER, AS PRESIDENT OF THE MIDLAND INSTITUTE.
The proceedings which have now been brought satisfactorily to an end
are of a kind which nobody who has sensibility as well as sense can
take a part in without some emotion. An illustrious French philosopher
who happened to be an examiner of candidates for admission to the
Polytechnic School, once confessed that, when a youth came before him
eager to do his best, competently taught, and of an apt intelligence,
he needed all his self-control to press back the tears from his eyes.
Well, when we think how much industry, patience, and intelligent
discipline; how many hard hours of self-denying toil; how many
temptations to worthless pleasures resisted; how much steadfast
feeling for things that are honest and true and of good report--are
all represented by the young men and young women to whom I have had
the honour of giving your prizes to-night, we must all feel our hearts
warmed and gladdened in generous sympathy with so much excellence, so
many good hopes, and so honourable a display of those qualities which
make life better worth having for ourselves, and are so likely to make
the world better worth living in for those who are to come after us.
If a prize-giving is always an occasion of lively satisfaction, my own
satisfaction is all the greater at this moment, because your
Institute, which is doing such good work in the world, and is in every
respect so prosperous and so flourishing, is the creation of the
people of your own district, without subsidy and without direction
either from London, or from Oxford, or from Cambridge, or from any
other centre whatever. Nobody in this town at any rate needs any
argument of mine to persuade him that we can only be sure of advancing
all kinds of knowledge, and developing our national life in all its
plenitude and variety, on condition of multiplying these local centres
both of secondary and higher education, and encouraging each of them
to fight its own battle, and do its work in its own way. For my own
part I look with the utmost dismay at the concentration, not only of
population, but of the treasures of instruction, in our vast city on
the banks of the Thames. At Birmingham, as I am informed, one has not
far to look for an example of this. One of the branches of your
multifarious trades in this town is the manufacture of jewellery. Some
of it is said commonly to be wanting in taste, elegance, skill; though
some of it also--if I am not misinformed--is good enough to be passed
off at Rome and at Paris, even to connoisseurs, as of Roman or French
production. Now the nation possesses a most superb collection of all
that is excellent and beautiful in jewellers' work. When I say that
the nation possesses it, I mean that London possesses it. The
University of Oxford, by the way, has also purchased a portion, but
that is not at present accessible. If one of your craftsmen in that
kind wants to profit by these admirable models, he must go to London.
What happens is that he goes to the capital and stays there. Its
superficial attractions are too strong for him. You lose a clever
workman and a citizen, and he adds one more atom to that huge,
overgrown, and unwieldy community. Now, why, in the name of common
sense, should not a portion of the Castellani collection pass six
months of the year in Birmingham, the very place of all others where
it is most likely to be of real service, and to make an effective mark
on the national taste?[1]
To pass on to the more general remarks which you are accustomed to
expect from the President of the Institute on this occasion. When I
consulted one of your townsmen as to the subject which he thought
would be most useful and most interesting to you, he said: 'Pray talk
about anything you please, if it is only not Education.' There is a
saying that there are two kinds of foolish people in the world, those
who give advice, and those who do not take it. My friend and I in this
matter represent these two interesting divisions of the race, for in
spite of what he said, it is upon Education after all that I propose
to offer you some short observations. You will believe it no
affectation on my part, when I say that I shall do so with the
sincerest willingness to be corrected by those of wider practical
experience in teaching. I am well aware, too, that I have very little
that is new to say, but education is one of those matters on which
much that has already been said will long bear saying over and over
again.
I have been looking through the Report of your classes, and two things
have rather struck me, which I will mention. One of them is the very
large attendance in the French classes. This appears a singularly
satisfactory thing, because you could scarcely do a hard-working man
of whatever class a greater service than to give him easy access to
French literature. Montesquieu used to say that he had never known a
pain or a distress which he could not soothe by half an hour of a good
book; and perhaps it is no more of an exaggeration to say that a man
who can read French with comfort need never have a dull hour. Our own
literature has assuredly many a kingly name. In boundless riches and
infinite imaginative variety, there is no rival to Shakespeare in the
world; in energy and height and majesty Milton and Burke have no
masters. But besides its great men of this loftier sort, France has a
long list of authors who have produced a literature whose chief mark
is its agreeableness. As has been so often said, the genius of the
French language is its clearness, firmness, and order; to this
clearness certain circumstances in the history of French society have
added the delightful qualities of liveliness in union with urbanity.
Now as one of the most important parts of popular education is to put
people in the way of amusing and refreshing themselves in a rational
rather than an irrational manner, it is a great gain to have given
them the key to the most amusing and refreshing set of books in the
world.
And here, perhaps, I may be permitted to remark that it seems a pity
that Racine is so constantly used as a school-book, instead of some of
the moderns who are nearer to ourselves in ideas and manners. Racine
is a great and admirable writer; but what you want for ordinary
readers who have not much time, and whose faculties of attention are
already largely exhausted by the more important industry of the day,
is a book which brings literature more close to actual life than such
a poet as Racine does. This is exactly one of the gifts and charms of
modern French. To put what I mean very shortly, I would say, by way of
illustration, that a man who could read the essays of Ste. Beuve with
moderate comfort would have in his hands--of course I am now speaking
of the active and busy part of the world, not of bookmen and
students--would, I say, have in his hands one of the very best
instruments that I can think of; such work is exquisite and
instructive in itself, it is a model of gracious writing, it is full
of ideas, it breathes the happiest moods over us, and it is the most
suggestive of guides, for those who have the capacity of extensive
interests, to all the greater spheres of thought and history.
This word brings me back to the second fact that has struck me in your
Report, and it is this. The subject of English history has apparently
so little popularity, that the class is as near being a failure as
anything connected with the Midland Institute can be. On the whole,
whatever may be the ability and the zeal of the teacher, this is in my
humble judgment neither very surprising nor particularly mortifying,
if we think what history in the established conception of it means.
How are we to expect workmen to make their way through constitutional
antiquities, through the labyrinthine shifts of party intrigue at
home, and through the entanglements of intricate diplomacy
abroad--'shallow village tales,' as Emerson calls them? These studies
are fit enough for professed students of the special subject, but such
exploration is for the ordinary run of men and women impossible, and I
do not know that it would lead them into very fruitful lands even if
it were easy. You know what the great Duke of Marlborough said: that
he had learnt all the history he ever knew out of Shakespeare's
historical plays. I have long thought that if we persuaded those
classes who have to fight their own little Battles of Blenheim for
bread every day, to make such a beginning of history as is furnished
by Shakespeare's plays and Scott's novels, we should have done more to
imbue them with a real interest in the past of mankind, than if we had
taken them through a course of Hume and Smollett, or Hallam on the
English Constitution, or even the dazzling Macaulay. What I for one
should like to see in such an institution as this, would be an attempt
to compress the whole history of England into a dozen or fifteen
lectures--lectures of course accompanied by catechetical instruction.
I am not so extravagant as to dream that a short general course of
this kind would be enough to go over so many of the details as it is
desirable for men to know, but details in popular instruction, though
not in study of the writer or the university professor, are only
important after you have imparted the largest general truths. It is
the general truths that stir a life-like curiosity as to the
particulars which they are the means of lighting up. Now this short
course would be quite enough to present in a bold outline--and it need
not be a whit the less true and real for being both bold and
rapid--the great chains of events and the decisive movements that have
made of ourselves and our institutions what we and what they are--the
Teutonic beginnings, the Conquest, the Great Charter, the Hundred
Years' War, the Reformation, the Civil Wars and the Revolution, the
Emancipation of the American Colonies from the Monarchy. If this
course were framed and filled in with a true social intelligence--men
would find that they had at the end of it a fair idea--an idea that
might be of great value, and at any rate an idea much to be preferred
to that blank ignorance which is in so many cases practically the only
alternative--of the large issues of our past, of the antagonistic
principles that strove with one another for mastery, of the chief
material forces and moral currents of successive ages, and above all
of those great men and our fathers that begat us--the Pyms, the
Hampdens, the Cromwells, the Chathams--yes, and shall we not say the
Washingtons--to whose sagacity, bravery, and unquenchable ardour for
justice and order and equal laws all our English-speaking peoples owe
a debt that can never be paid.
Another point is worth thinking of, besides the reduction of history
for your purposes to a comprehensive body of rightly grouped
generalities. Dr. Arnold says somewhere that he wishes the public
might have a history of our present state of society _traced
backwards_. It is the present that really interests us; it is the
present that we seek to understand and to explain. I do not in the
least want to know what happened in the past, except as it enables me
to see my way more clearly through what is happening to-day. I want to
know what men thought and did in the thirteenth century, not out of
any dilettante or idle antiquarian's curiosity, but because the
thirteenth century is at the root of what men think and do in the
nineteenth. Well then, it cannot be a bad educational rule to start
from what is most interesting, and to work from that outwards and
backwards. By beginning with the present we see more clearly what are
the two things best worth attending to in history--not party intrigues
nor battles nor dynastic affairs, nor even many acts of parliament,
but the great movements of the economic forces of a society on the one
hand, and on the other the forms of religious opinion and
ecc | 1,400.98476 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: JEAN HENRI DUNANT]
_The_ ORIGIN _of_
_the_ RED CROSS
"_Un Souvenir
de Solferino_"
BY
HENRI DUNANT
Translated from the French by
MRS. DAVID H. WRIGHT,
of the Philadelphia Chapter of the American
Red Cross, Independence Hall.
Philadelphia, Pa.
1911
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.
PHILADELPHIA, PA.
Copyright, 1911,
By MRS. DAVID H. WRIGHT.
AMERICAN RED CROSS.
WASHINGTON, D. C., November 9, 1910.
Mrs. David H. Wright,
Philadelphia, Pa.
DEAR MRS. WRIGHT:
I appreciate and thank you for your courtesy in dedicating to me, as
President of the American Red Cross, this recent translation of Henri
Dunant's "Un Souvenir de Solferino."
Whoever calls attention of the people to the sufferings and misery
caused by war so that men realizing its results become loath to
undertake it, performs a public service.
[Illustration: handwritten signature of William Howard Taft]
_President American Red Cross._
_EDITOR'S NOTE_
_So far as is known, this book of such far-reaching influence has never
before been translated or published in English._
PREFACE
_Henri Dunant, the famous author of "A Souvenir of Solferino," was born
in Geneva in 1828._
_The instruction and philanthropic principles received by him in his
youth, together with his natural energy and power of organization, were
a good foundation for the unfolding of the ideas and inclinations which
led to his fertile acts._
_In 1859 occurred the event which definitely impelled him to a course
of action which did not discontinue during his whole life. A course of
action for the mitigation of the sufferings caused by war, or from a
broader point of view, for the commencement of the reign of peace._
_This event was the battle of Solferino, when he first organized, in
Castiglione, corps of volunteers to search for and nurse the wounded._
_Having thus started the idea of a permanent organization of these
voluntary bands of compassionate workers, and also of an international
treaty agreement in regard to the wounded, he presented himself to
Marshal MacMahon and afterwards to Napoleon III, who became interested
in the project of Dunant and immediately ordered his army no longer to
make prisoners of the physicians and nurses of the enemy._
_Soon Dunant organized an Aid Committee in Geneva, and shortly
afterwards he published his "Souvenir of Solferino," which was
enthusiastically received and greatly applauded._
_He met, however, opposition and obstacles, principally from the French
Minister of War._
_The philanthropic ideas of this book were received with interest
by many European sovereigns with whom Dunant had intercourse,
either by correspondence or by conversation; he always propagated
persistently his ideas in regard to the organization of a national
permanent committee for the wounded, his International Treaty, and the
neutralization of those injured in war (he developed in separate works
his ideas which were outlined only in the "Souvenir")._
_The Geneva Society of Public Utility created a commission for the
purpose of studying the question. Meanwhile Dunant had the opportunity
to speak with the King of Saxony, and to persuade representatives of
some other countries to take up the question with their respective
sovereigns._
_Dunant interested the governments so much in his project that various
nations sent delegates to the International Conference, which was
held in Geneva, in 1863, when it was decided to establish a National
Committee, and when the desire was expressed that the neutralization
of the physicians, nurses and injured should be provided by treaty,
and for the adoption of a distinctive and uniform international emblem
and flag for the hospital corps, and the unanimous thanks of this
Conference were extended to Dunant._
_To consider this subject, a diplomatic International Congress was held
in 1864, at Geneva, by invitation of the Swiss Federate Counsel. The
treaty there drafted accepted the projects of Dunant and the formation
of Volunteer Aid Societies, later called Red Cross Societies, was
recommended by the Convention to the signatory powers._
_In the further development of the ideas of Dunant The Hague
Conference, in 1899, extended the provisions of the Treaty of Geneva to
naval warfare._
_Thus, a single individual, inspired with the sentiment of kindness
and compassion for his fellow-creatures, by his own untiring energy
attained the realization of his ideas, and aided in the progress of
mankind toward peace._
_Thus, truly all men, and above all, the workers for peace, owe to this
laborer merited and everlasting gratitude and remembrance._
* * * * *
_The recompense, however, arrived late._
_In the zealous propaganda, for which, during four years, he edited
pamphlets and articles in all languages, and traveled continuously
through the whole of Europe, Dunant spent everything that he possessed,
and, for many years, nothing more was heard of the modest and good man,
to whom the approval of his conscience was all sufficient._
_At last, in 1897, he was discovered in the Swiss village of Heiden,
where he was living in misery, in a "Home" for old men, with almost no
means other than a small pension received from the Empress of Russia._
_The Baroness von Suttner sent at that time to the press of the whole
world, and especially to those interested in International Peace,
an appeal to raise a contribution of money to ease his last years.
In 1901, when the Nobel-Peace-Prize, valued at 208,000 francs, was
awarded for the first time, it was divided between Henri Dunant and
Frederick Passy._
_It is true that many peace workers did not approve of this decision
of the Nobel Committee. They said in opposition, that the projects of
Dunant not only were not pacific, but could even have the contrary
effect. To lessen the terrors of war is really, according to them,
to destroy the most effective means of turning men from it, and
consequently tended to prolong the duration of its reign. One of the
chief representatives of this idea, Signor H. H. Fried, said that the
Geneva Convention was only a small concession by the governments to the
new idea that is fighting against war._
_Without doubt, they do not approve of the humane plan of Dunant, on
the contrary, they think that it is not essentially peace-making; that
it should not be recompensed by the first peace prize, and that it is
dangerous to confuse pacification with simple humanitarianism._
_The contrary opinion is shown by the following words, written by
Signor Ruyssin, in the review "Peace by Right," at the time when Dunant
received his prize:_
_"His glory has grown each year in proportion to all the lessening of
suffering which his work has accomplished, to all the lives which it
saves, and to all the self-devotion to which it gives birth._
_"Henri Dunant has decreased the abomination of war; Frederick Passy
fought to make it impossible. One has accomplished more; the other has
created more remote, but brighter hopes. One has harvested already;
the other sows for the future harvest; and so it would be arbitrary
and unjust to compare such dissimilar lines of work, both equally
meritorious. The accomplishment of the wishes of Nobel rightly placed
identical crowns on the heads of two old men who employed their lives
in fighting against war."_
_This disagreement is interesting in that it shows the contrary
judgment to which different zealous peace workers were led in regard to
the project of Dunant._
_Whatever may be the conclusion of the reader, about the relation
between it and the peace propaganda, he will certainly be of the
opinion that "A Souvenir of Solferino," showing the abominations of
war, is a useful instrument of the propaganda, and that the name of
Dunant should be blessed, as that of one of the most self-devoted
benefactors of mankind._
_Henri Dunant died at Heiden, Switzerland, on October the thirty-first,
1910._
THE ORIGIN OF THE RED CROSS
The bloody victory of Magenta opened the gates of Milan to the
French Army, which the towns of Pavia, Lodi and Cremona welcomed
enthusiastically.
The Austrians, abandoning the lines of the Adda, the Oglio, and the
Chiese, gathered their forces on the bank of the River Mincio, at whose
head the young and courageous Emperor Joseph placed himself.
The King of Sardinia, Victor Emmanuel, arrived on the seventeenth
of June, 1859, at Brescia, where, with great joy, the inhabitants
welcomed him, seeing in the son of Charles Albert a saviour and a hero.
During the next day the French Emperor entered the same town amid the
enthusiastic cries of the people, happy to show their gratitude to the
monarch who came to help them gain their independence.
On the twenty-first of June, Napoleon III and Victor Emmanuel II
left Brescia, from which place their armies had departed during the
previous day. On the twenty-second they occupied Lonato, Castenedolo
and Montechiaro. On the evening of the twenty-third Napoleon, who was
commander-in-chief, published strict orders for the army of the King
of Sardinia, encamped at Desenzano, and forming the left flank of the
allied armies, to proceed early the following day to Pozzelengo.
Marshal Baraguey d'Hilliers was ordered to march on Solferino; Marshal
MacMahon, Duke de Magenta, on Cavriana; General Neil was to proceed to
Guidizzolo; Marshal Canrobert to Medole; Marshal Regnaud de Saint-Jean
d'Angley, with the Imperial Guard, to Castiglione.
These united forces amounted to 150,000 men, with 400 cannon.
The Austrian Emperor had at his disposition, in the Lombardo-Venetian
kingdom, nine army corps, amounting in all to 250,000 men, comprising
the garrison of Verona and Mantua. The effective force prepared to
enter the line of battle consisted of seven corps, some 170,000 men,
supported by 500 cannon.
The headquarters of the Emperor Francis Joseph had been moved from
Verona to Villafranca, then to Valeggio. On the evening of the
twenty-third the Austrian troops received the order to recross the
River Mincio during the night to Peschiera, Salionze, Valeggio, Ferri,
Goito and Mantua. The main part of the army took up its position from
Pozzolengo to Guidizzolo, in order to attack the enemy between the
Rivers Mincio and Chiese.
The Austrian forces formed two armies. The first having as
Commander-in-chief Count Wimpffen, under whose orders were the corps
commanded by Field Marshals Prince Edmund Schwarzenberg, Count
Schaffgotsche and Baron Veigl, also the cavalry division of Count
Zeidewitz. This composed the left flank. It was stationed in the
neighborhood of Volta, Guidizzolo, Medole and Castel-Gioffredo.
The second army was commanded by Count Schlick, having under his orders
the Field Marshals Count Clam-Gallas, Count Stadion, Baron Zobel and
Cavalier Benedek, as well as the cavalry division of Count Mensdorf.
This composed the right flank. It occupied Cavriana, Pozzolengo and San
Martino.
Thus, on the morning of the twenty-fourth, the Austrians occupied all
the heights between Pozzolengo, Solferino, Cavriana and Guidizzolo.
They ranged their artillery in series of breastworks, forming the
center of the attacking line, which permitted their right and left
flanks to fall back upon these fortified heights which they believed to
be unconquerable.
The two belligerent armies, although marching one against the other,
did not expect such a sudden meeting. Austria, misinformed, supposed
that only a part of the allied army had crossed the Chiese River. On
their side the confederates did not expect this attack in return, and
did not believe that they would find themselves so soon before the army
of the Austrian Emperor. The reconnoitering, the observations and the
reports of the scouts, and those made from the fire balloons during the
day of the twenty-third showed no signs of such an imminent encounter.
The collision of the armies of Austria and Franco-Sardinia on Friday,
the twenty-fourth of June, 1859, was, therefore, unexpected, although
the combatants on both sides conjectured that a great battle was near.
The Austrian army, already fatigued by the difficult march during the
night of the twenty-third and twenty-fourth, had to support from the
earliest dawn the attack of the enemies' armies and to suffer from the
intensely hot weather as well as from hunger and thirst, for, except
a double ration of brandy, the greater number of the Austrians were
unable to take any food.
The French troops already in movement before daybreak had had nothing
but coffee. Therefore, this exhaustion of the soldiers, and above all,
of the unfortunate wounded, was extreme at the end of this very bloody
battle, which lasted more than fifteen hours.
Both armies are awake.
Three hundred thousand men are standing face to face. The line of
battle is ten miles long.
Already at three o'clock in the morning, corps commanded by Marshals
Baraguey d'Hilliers and MacMahon are commencing to move on Solferino
and Cavriana.
Hardly have the advance columns passed Castiglione when they themselves
are in the presence of the first posts of the Austrians, who dispute
the ground.
On all sides bugles are playing the charges and the drums are sounding.
The Emperor Napoleon who passed the night at Montechiaro hastens
rapidly to Castiglione.
By six o'clock a furious fire has commenced.
The Austrians march in a compact mass in perfect order along the open
roads. In the air are flying their black and yellow standards, on which
are embroidered the ancient Imperial arms.
The day is very clear. The Italian sun makes the brilliant equipments
of the dragoons, the lancers and the cuirassiers of the French army
glitter brightly.
At the commencement of the engagement the Emperor Francis Joseph,
together with his entire staff, leaves headquarters in order to go to
Volta. He is accompanied by the Archdukes of the House of Lorraine,
among whom are the Grand Duke of Tuscany and the Duke of Modena.
In the midst of the difficulties of a field unknown to the French
army the first meeting takes place. It has to make its way through
plantations of mulberry trees, interlaced by climbing vines, which form
almost impassable barriers.
The earth is cut by great dried up trenches which the horses have to
leap, and by long walls with broad foundations which they have to climb.
From the hills the Austrians pour on the enemy a constant hail of shot
and shell. With the smoke of the cannon's continual discharge the
rain of bullets is ploughing up the earth and dust into thousands of
missiles.
The French hurl themselves upon these strongly fortified places in
spite of the firing of the batteries which falls upon the earth with
redoubled force.
During the burning heat of noon the battle everywhere becomes more and
more furious.
Column after column throw themselves one against the other with the
force of a devastating torrent.
A number of French regiments surround masses of Austrian troops, but,
like iron walls, these resist and at first remain unshaken.
Entire divisions throw their knapsacks to the earth in order to rush at
the enemy with fixed bayonets.
If a battalion is driven away another replaces it; each hill, each
height, each rocky eminence becomes a theatre for an obstinate struggle.
On the heights, as well as in the ravines, the dead lie piled up. The
Austrians and the allied armies march one against the other, killing
each other above the blood-covered corpses, butchering with gunshots,
crushing each other's skulls or disemboweling with the sword or
bayonet. No cessation in the conflict, no quarter given. The wounded
are defending themselves to the last. It is butchery by madmen drunk
with blood.
Sometimes the fighting becomes more terrible on account of the arrival
of rushing, galloping cavalry. The horses, more compassionate than
their riders, seek in vain to step over the victims of this butchery,
but their iron hoofs crush the dead and dying. With the neighing of
the horses are mingled blasphemies, cries of rage, shrieks of pain and
despair.
The artillery, at full speed, follows the cavalry which has cut a way
through the corpses and the wounded lying in confusion on the ground.
A jaw-bone of one of these last is torn away; the head of another is
battered in; the breast of a third is crushed. Limbs are broken and
bruised; the field is covered with human remains; the earth is soaked
with blood.
The French troops, with fiery ardor, scale the steep hills and rocky
declivities in spite of shot and shell.
Hardly does some harassed and profusely perspiring company capture
a hill and reach its summit, when it falls like an avalanche on the
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SANDBURRS
By Alfred Henry Lewis
Author of “Wolfville,” etc.
Illustrated by Horace Taylor and George B. Luks
Second Edition
New York: Frederick A. Stokes Company
1898
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0009]
TO
JAMES ROBERT KEENE
PREFACE
A SANDBURR is a foolish, small vegetable, irritating and grievously
useless. Therefore this volume of sketches is named Sandburrs. Some folk
there be who apologize for the birth of a book. There's scant propriety
of it. A book is but a legless, dormant creature. The public has but to
let it alone to be safe. And a book, withal! is its own punishment. Is
it a bad book? the author loses. Is it very bad? the publisher loses.
In any case the public is preserved. For all of which there will be no
apology for SAND-BURRS. Nor will I tell what I think of it. No; this
volume may make its own running, without the handicap of my apology, or
the hamstringing of my criticism. There should be more than one to
do the latter with the least of luck. The Bowery dialect--if it be
a dialect--employed in sundry of these sketches is not an exalted
literature. The stories told are true, however; so much may they have
defence.
A. H. L.
New York, Nov. 15, 1899.
SANDBURRS
SPOT AND PINCHER.
Martin is the barkeeper of an East Side hotel--not a good hotel at
all--and flourishes as a sporting person of much emphasis. Martin, in
passing, is at the head of the dog-fighting brotherhood. I often talk
with Martin and love him very much.
Last week I visited Martin's bar. There was “nothin' doin',” to quote
from Martin. We talked of fighting men, a subject near to Martin, he
having fought three prize-fights himself. Martin boasted himself as
still being “an even break wit' any rough-and-tumble scrapper in d'
bunch.”
“Come here,” said Martin, in course of converse; “come here; I'll show
you a bute.”
Martin opened a door to the room back of the bar. As we entered a
pink-white bull terrier, with black spots about the eyes, raced across
to fawn on Martin. The terrier's black toe-nails, bright and hard as
agate, made a vast clatter on the ash floor.
“This is Spot,” said Martin. “Weighs thirty-three pounds, and he's a
hully terror! I'm goin' to fight him to-night for five hundred dollars.”
I stooped to express with a pat on his smooth white head my approbation
of Spot.
“Pick him up, and heft him,” said Martin. “He won't nip you,” 'he
continued, as I hesitated; “bulls is; d' most manful dogs there bees.
Bulls won't bite nobody.”
Thereupon I picked up Spot “to heft him.” Spot smiled widely, wagged
his stumpy tail, tried to lick my face, and felt like a bundle of live
steel.
“Spot's goin' to fight McDermott's Pincher,” said Martin. “And,”
addressing this to Spot, “you want to watch out, old boy! Pincher is
as hard as a hod of brick. And you want to look out for your Trilbys;
Pincher'll fight for your feet and legs. He's d' limit, Spot, Pincher
is! and you must tend to business when you're in d' pit wit' Pincher, or
he'll do you. Then McDermott would win me money, an' you an' me, Spot,
would look like a couple of suckers.”
Spot listened with a pleased air, as if drinking in every word, and
wagged his stump reassuringly. He would remember Pincher's genius for
crunching feet and legs, and see to it fully in a general way that
Pincher did not “do” him.
“Spot knows he's goin' to fight to-night as well as you and me,” said
Martin, as we returned to the bar. “Be d' way! don't you want to go?”
* * * * *
It was nine o'clock that evening. The pit, sixteen feet square, with
board walls three feet high, was built in the centre of an empty loft on
Bleecker street. Directly over the pit was a bunch of electric lights.
All about, raised six inches one above the other, were a dozen rows of
board seats like a circus. These were crowded with perhaps two hundred
sports. They sat close, and in the vague, smoky atmosphere, their faces,
row on row, tier above tier, put me in mind of potatoes in a bin.
Fincher was a bull terrier, the counterpart of Spot, save for the
markings about the face which gave Spot his name. Pincher seemed very
sanguine and full of eager hope; and as he and Spot, held in the arms of
their handlers, lolled at each other across the pit, it was plain they
languished to begin. Neither, however, made yelp or cry or bark. Bull
terriers of true worth on the battle-field were, I learned, a tacit,
wordless brood, making no sound.
Martin “handled” Spot and McDermott did kindly office for Pincher in
the same behalf. Martin and McDermott “tasted” Spot and Pincher
respectively; smelled and mouthed them for snuffs and poisons. Spot and
Pincher submitted to these examinations in a gentlemanly way, but were
glad when they ended.
At the word of the referee, Spot and Pincher were loosed, each in his
corner. They went straight at each other's throats. They met in the
exact centre of the pit like two milk-white thunderbolts, and the battle
began.
Spot and Pincher moiled and toiled bloodily for forty-five minutes
without halt or pause or space to breathe. Their handlers, who were
confined to their corners by quarter circles drawn in chalk so as to hem
them in, leaned forward toward the fray and breathed encouragement.
What struck me as wonderful, withal, was a lack of angry ferocity on
the parts of Spot and Pincher. There was naught of growl, naught of
rage-born cry or comment. They simply blazed with a zeal for blood;
burned with a blind death-ardour.
When Spot and Pincher began, all was so flash-like in their motions, I
could hardly tell what went on. They were in and out, down and up,
over and under, writhing like two serpents. Now and then a pair of jaws
clicked like castanets as they came together with a trap-like snap,
missing their hold. Now and then one or the other would get a half-grip
that would tear out. Then the blood flowed, painting both Spot and
Pincher crimson.
As time went on my eyes began to follow better, and I noted some amazing
matters. It was plain, for one thing, that both Spot and Pincher were as
wise and expert as two boxers. They fought intelligently, and each had
a system. As Martin had said, Pincher fought “under,” in never-ending
efforts to seize Spot's feet and legs. Spot was perfectly aware of this,
and never failed to keep his fore legs well back and beneath him, out of
Pinchers reach.
Spot, on his part, set his whole effort to the enterprise of getting
Pincher by the throat. A dog without breath means a dead dog, and Spot
knew this. Pincher appeared clear on the point, too; and would hold his
chin close to his breast, and shrug his head and shoulders well together
whenever Spot tried to work for a throat hold.
Now and then Spot and Pincher stood up to each other like wrestlers, and
fenced with their muzzles for “holds” as might two Frenchmen with foils.
In the wrestling Spot proved himself a perfect Whistler, and never
failed to throw Pincher heavily. And, as I stated, from the beginning,
the two warriors battled on without cry. Silent, sedulous, indomitable;
both were the sublimation of courage and fell purpose. They were
fighting to the death; they knew it, joyed in it, and gave themselves to
their destiny without reserve. Each was eager only to kill, willing only
to die. It was a lesson to men. And, as I looked, I realised that both
were two of the happiest of created things. In the very heat of the
encounter, with throbbing hearts and heaving sides, and rending fangs
and flowing blood, they found a great content.
All at once Spot and Pincher stood motionless. Their eyes were like
coals, and their respective stump tails stood stiffly, as indicating no
abatement of heart or courage. What was it that brought the halt? Spot
had set his long fangs through the side of Pinchers head in such fashion
that Pincher couldn't reach him nor retaliate with his teeth. Pincher,
discovering this, ceased to try, and stood there unconquered, resting
and awaiting developments. Spot, after the manner of his breed, kept his
grip like Death. They stood silent, motionless, while the blood dripped
from their gashes; a grim picture! They had fought, as I learned later,
to what is known in the great sport of dog fighting as “a turn.”
“It's a turn!” decided the referee.
At this Martin and McDermot seized each his dog and parted them
scientifically. Spot and Pincher were carried to their corners and
refreshed and sponged with cold water. At the end of one minute the
referee called:
“Time!”
At this point I further added to my learning touching the kingly pastime
of dog-fighting. When two dogs have “fought to a turn,” that is, locked
themselves in a grip, not deadly to either if persisted in, and which
still prevents further fighting,--as in the case of Spot and Pincher,--a
responsibility rests with the call of “Time” on the dog that “turns.” In
this instance, Pincher. At the call of “Time” Spot would be held by his
handler, standing in plain view of Pincher, but in his corner. It was
incumbent on Pincher--as a proof of good faith--to cross the pit to
get at him. If Pincher failed when released on call of “Time” to come
straight across to Spot, and come at once; if he looked to right or left
or hesitated even for the splinter of a second, he was a beaten dog. The
battle was against him.
“Time!” called the referee.
Just prior to the call I heard Martin whisper huskily over his shoulder
to a rough customer who sat just back of and above him, at Spot's corner
of the pit:
“Stand by wit' that glim now!” Martin muttered without turning his head.
At the call “Time!” McDermot released Pincher across in his corner.
Pincher's eyes were riveted on Spot, just over the way, and there's no
doubt of Pincher's full purpose to close with him at once. There was no
more of hesitation in his stout heart than in Spot's, who stood mouth
open and fire-eyed, waiting.
But a strange interference occurred. At the word “Time!” the rough
customer chronicled slipped the slide of a dark lantern and threw the
small glare of it squarely in Pincher's eyes. It dazed Pincher; he lost
sight of Spot; forgot for a moment his great purpose. There stood poor
Pincher, irresolute, not knowing where to find his enemy; thrall to the
glare of the dark lantern.
“Spot win!” declared the referee.
At that moment the dark-lantern rough-customer closed the slide and
disappeared.
Few saw the trick or its effects. Certainly the referee was guiltless.
But McDermot, who had had the same view of the dark lantern Pincher had,
and on whom for a moment it had similar effect, raised a great clamour.
But it was too late; Martin had claimed the thousand dollars from
the stake-holder, and with it in his pocket was already in a carriage
driving away, with Spot wrapped up in a lap robe occupying the front
seat.
“Let McDermot holler!” said Martin, with much heat, when I mentioned
the subject the next day. “Am I goin' to lose a fight and five hundred
dollars, just because some bloke brings a dark lantern to d' pit and
takes to monkeyin' wit' it? Not on your life!”
MULBERRY MARY
(Annals of The Bend)
Chucky d' Turk” was the _nom de guerre_ of my friend. Under this title
he fought the battles of life. If he had another name he never made me
his confidant concerning it. We had many talks, Chucky and I; generally
in a dingy little bar on Baxter Street, where, when I wearied of uptown
sights and smells, I | 1,401.278601 |
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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_.
This book was printed in a 6-volume set and a 3-volume set. Although
this e-book was from the 6-volume set, the title page refers
to "Vol. III." The index references are to the 3-volume set.
FROM THE OHIO TO THE GULF.
VOL. III.
[Illustration: _Pack Train on the Skaguay Trail, Alaska_]
_EDITION ARTISTIQUE_
The World's Famous
Places and Peoples
AMERICA
BY
JOEL COOK
In Six Volumes
Volume VI.
MERRILL AND BAKER
New York London
THIS EDITION ARTISTIQUE OF THE WORLD'S FAMOUS PLACES AND PEOPLES IS
LIMITED TO ONE THOUSAND NUMBERED AND REGISTERED COPIES, OF WHICH THIS
COPY IS NO. ____
Copyright, Henry T. Coates & Co., 1900
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME VI
PAGE
PACK TRAIN ON THE SKAGUAY TRAIL, ALASKA _Frontispiece_
TYLER-DAVIDSON FOUNTAIN, CINCINNATI, OHIO 332
BRIDGE CROSSING THE MISSISSIPPI AT ST. LOUIS 396
CLOISTER OF MISSION, SAN JUAN CAPISTRANO 442
GATEWAY, GARDEN OF THE GODS, COLORADO 466
SITKA, ALASKA, FROM THE SEA 500
XIX.
FROM THE OHIO TO THE GULF.
The Ohio River -- Economy -- The Harmonists -- Columbiana --
Wheeling -- Moundsville -- Marietta -- Parkersburg --
Blennerhassett's Island -- Point Pleasant -- Maysville --
Blue Grass -- Lexington -- Cincinnati -- Covington --
Newport -- Dayton -- North Bend -- Carrolton -- Frankfort --
Kentucky River -- Daniel Boone -- Louisville --
Jeffersonville -- Bowling Green -- Mammoth Cave -- Nashville
-- Battle of Nashville -- Evansville -- Cairo -- Cumberland
River -- Tennessee River -- Forts Henry and Donelson --
Battle of Shiloh -- Cumberland Mountains -- Cumberland Gap
-- Mount Mitchell -- Chattanooga -- Missionary Ridge --
Lookout Mountain -- Chickamauga Park -- The Chickamauga
Battles -- Rosecrans against Bragg -- Battle Above the
Clouds -- Grant Defeats Bragg -- Knoxville -- Parson
Brownlow -- Greenville -- Andrew Johnson -- Roan Mountain --
Land of the Sky -- Swannanoa River -- Buncombe -- Asheville
-- Biltmore -- Hickory-Nut Gap -- French Broad River -- Hot
Springs -- Spartansburg -- Cowpens -- King's Mountain --
Charlotte -- Mecklenburg -- Salisbury Prison -- Guilford
Court House -- Chapel Hill -- Durham -- Raleigh -- Columbia
-- Aiken -- Augusta -- Chattahoochee River -- Atlanta -- Its
Siege and Capture -- Sherman's March to the Sea -- Rome --
Anniston -- Talladega -- Birmingham -- Tuscaloosa -- Macon
-- Andersonville Prison -- Columbus -- West Point --
Tuskegee -- Alabama River -- Montgomery -- Cotton
Plantations -- Selma -- Meridian -- Jackson -- Tombigbee
River -- Mobile and Its Bay -- Admiral Farragut -- Capture
of Mobile Forts -- The Pine and the Orange.
THE OHIO RIVER.
The Ohio--the Indian "stream white with froth," the French _La Belle
Riviere_--is the greatest river draining the western <DW72>s of the
Alleghenies. Its basin embraces over two hundred thousand square
miles, and it flows for a thousand miles from Pittsburg to the
Mississippi at Cairo. In the upper reaches the Ohio is about twelve
hundred feet wide, broadening below to twenty-four hundred feet, its
depth varying fifty to sixty feet in the stages between low and high
water, and it goes along with smooth and placid current at one to
three miles an hour, having no fall excepting a rocky rapid of
twenty-six feet descent in two miles at Louisville. From Pittsburg it
flows northwest about twenty-six miles at the bottom of a deep canyon
it has carved down in the table land, so that steep and lofty hills
enclose it. Then the river turns west and finally south around the
long and narrow "Panhandle" protruding northward from the State of
West Virginia. It passes through a thriving agricultural region, with
many prosperous cities on its banks, almost everyone having a great
railway bridge carrying over the many lines seeking the west and
south. In its whole course it descends some four hundred feet; its
scenery is largely pastoral and gentle, without the grandeur given by
bold cliffs, although much of the shores are beautiful, and its banks
in various places disclose elevated terraces, indicating that it
formerly flowed at much higher levels, whilst its winding route gives
a constant succession of curves that add to the attractiveness.
Eighteen miles from Pittsburg is the town of Economy, where are the
fine farms and oil-wells of the quaint community of "Harmonists."
Georg Rapp, of Wurtumberg, believing he was divinely called to restore
the Christian religion to its original purity, established a colony
there on the model of the primitive church, with goods held in common,
which in 1803 he transplanted to Pennsylvania, settling in Butler
County. A few years later they removed to Indiana, but soon came back,
and founded their settlement of Economy in Beaver County in 1824.
Originally they numbered six hundred, and grew very rich, but being
celibates, their community dwindled until there were only eighteen,
who owned a tract of twenty-five hundred acres with valuable buildings
and much personal property, so that if divided it was estimated each
would have more than $100,000. The baby "Harmonist" then was over
sixty years old, and to perpetuate the community, in 1888 they began
accepting proselytes, who assumed all the obligations with vows of
celibacy, and thus the number was increased to fifty. Economy is a
sleepy village, its vine-covered houses built with gables towards the
street and without front doors, all being entered from side-yards.
They now labor but little themselves, their factories are silent, and
their noted brand of Pennsylvania "Economy whiskey" is no longer
distilled. Their church-bell rings them up at five o'clock in the
morning, they breakfast at six, and at seven the bell again rings for
the farmhands to go to work. At nine the bell summons them to lunch,
at twelve to dinner, at three to lunch again, at six to supper, and at
nine in the evening it finally warns the village to go to bed. They
have a noted wine-cellar, and none drink water, but they give all the
hands wine and cider, and present cake and wine to every visitor. At
the church service, the men sit on one side and the women on the
other, and when a "Harmonist" dies he is wrapped in a winding-sheet
and buried in the "white graveyard," no tombstone marking the grave.
They have recently suffered from litigation, others trying to get a
share of their wealth, but they live quietly, awaiting the final
summons, firm in their faith, and thoroughly believing its cardinal
principle that their last survivor will see the end of the world.
GOING DOWN THE OHIO.
Having crossed the Pennsylvania western boundary, the Ohio River
separates West Virginia from the State of Ohio, passing a region which
seems mournful from the many abandoned oil-derricks displayed near the
banks for a long distance. The Ohio shore is Columbiana County, a name
fancifully compounded by an early State Legislature from "Columbus"
and "Anna;" and it is recorded that when the subject was pending one
member proposed to add "Maria," so that the euphonious whole would be
"Columbianamaria." His effort failed, however. At the various towns,
the railroads come out from the mountain regions of West Virginia,
bringing the bituminous coal for shipment. Ninety-four miles below
Pittsburg is Wheeling, the metropolis of West | 1,401.286025 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
A Girl of Virginia
[Illustration: "He had stepped from his own room far up the corridor."]
A Girl of Virginia
BY
LUCY M. THRUSTON
Author of "Mistress Brent"
_With a Frontispiece by Ch. Grunwald_
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
_Copyright, 1902_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
_To_
GOVERNOR MONTAGUE, OF VIRGINIA
_A former Student of the University_
A Girl of Virginia
I
"Good morning!" The voice was cheery, insistent. It brought the young
girl on the porch above to the white wooden rail about its edge.
"Good morning!" she called back lightly.
"Beautiful day!" persisted the young man saying inanely the first words
he could think of for the sole purpose of keeping her there in sight.
"Lovely!" cried the girl enthusiastically, leaning a little further over
the rail. A vine, which had climbed the round pillar and twined its
tendrils about the porch's edge, set waving by the slight motion, sent a
shower of scarlet leaves about the young man below; one fluttered upon
his breast, he caught it and held it over his heart as if it were a
message from her to him; and then he fastened it in his button-hole.
The young woman laughed carelessly as he did so; she was too used to
students to exaggerate the meaning of their words or deeds, and there
was no answering flash in her gray eyes as she looked down on him.
"Don't you think it too fine to stay indoors?"
"I'm not in," answered the girl turning her head to look up at the blue
arch of the sky overhead.
"Oh, well"--the young fellow bit his lip, and flushed hotly,--"you know
it's--Come, take a walk across the quadrangle," he added boldly.
"There's no one around."
Frances leaned further for a survey of campus and corridor. "All right!"
she cried, and he could hear her footsteps as she ran down the polished
stair in the big old house. When she opened the great hall door she was
charmingly demure. "Glad to see you Mr. Lawson!" she exclaimed
mischievously to the young man, who stood hat in hand by the wide step.
"Delighted, I'm sure!" he flashed back, holding the hand she extended as
long as he dared,--so long that the young woman had drawn herself up
quite straight and was looking gravely along the corridor when he
released it.
"You haven't mailed your letter!" she said looking at the missive he
still held.
"Oh! and I came--"
"There's the box, don't forget it!"
"Which way are you going?"
"Up to the Rotunda, of course."
"See how it commands everything else," said Frances, pausing at the
sunken, well-worn steps in the terraced corridor to look about her. The
morning shadows of the maples on the quadrangle stretched to the brick
pavement at their feet, scarlet and yellow leaves, blown across the
green grass, rustled about them; the picturesque buildings on the other
side the campus loomed in deep shadowings, for the sun was yet behind
them. A late student slammed his door and went hurrying down the
corridor, his footsteps echoing along the way.
"It is beautiful!" said Frances softly, as she went up the few steps.
"Beautiful, yes, and you don't appreciate it half as much--"
"Appreciate it!"
"Don't you hear the men raving over it everywhere? Those from a good
long distance especially--Oregon, for instance, that's my state you
know; but you Virginians--"
"Are not given to boasting!" said the girl proudly.
"There you are! You are"--"a queer lot," he was about to say, but
remembered himself in time. "You are--" he blundered; "one scarce knows
how to take you."
"Don't take us!" said the girl quietly.
"Now, Miss Holloway," deprecated the young man, "you see, the things
other people think you would be proudest of, you don't care for at all,
and the things other people don't care for--"
"Perhaps there are some people who don't talk about the things they care
for most. Perhaps," she went on, her flushing cheek and darkening eye
belying her light tone, "that's a secret you haven't found out, and it
may be the reason you don't know how to take us," she repeated.
"I'm not going to quarrel about it a morning like this," declared the
young man as they went up the wide steps to the Rotunda and along the
marble floor of the east wing which roofed over the rooms devoted to the
learning of law.
"No, nothing is worth it," answered the girl as she leaned against the
balustrade at the edge and looked off towards the mountains, and they
both were silent.
It was a scene the young man had not yet gotten used to, nor the girl
either, though she was born in its sight. Beyond the stretch of the
outer grounds of the University, beyond the far-reaching roofs and
spires of Charlottesville and the narrow valley of the Rapidan, rose,
high and bold, the last spur of the Ragged Mountains. The blue haze
veiled it even at this early hour; the frost clothing much of it showed
all colors save those of sombre hue; and, set on its crown, just where
it began to dip downwards, shone the whiteness of Monticello.
"He was a great man!" said the young man presently.
The girl nodded. No one ever sat thus, the buildings of the University
stretching at their feet, Monticello gleaming on its mountain crest and
asked the name of the man they lauded.
By and by she asked a question. "For what is Jefferson noted?"
"For being the founder of the democratic--"
"I thought so!" indignantly.
"Indeed! Oh! for founding the University of Virginia."
"You know your lesson quite well," with a little tinge of sarcasm; "if
you stay here long enough you'll find he did a great many other things.
Ah! he knew the beautiful. Look! were there ever any buildings more in
harmony, more exquisite in design, more fitted for living--Pshaw!" she
broke off petulantly at the young man's laugh, "you've made me boast!
You've seen Monticello?" she asked a little haughtily, as she
straightened from her leaning position.
"Of course."
The girl's eyes darkened as she stood looking down the campus from her
point of vantage, and though she was too proud to speak again of its
beauty--for it was her home--the young man's glances followed hers and
he noted it all; the inner quadrangle framed in its buildings of quaint
architecture, the velvet green of the campus, set with maples, and
dipping thrice and then deeply toward the gleaming buildings at the end;
the long stretch of corridors and white pillars, the professors' houses
rising two-storied above the students' homes: and about these, outside,
the wide grounds, the embowering trees, yellow and russet and red; rows
of cottages showing their tops here and there; and far off, rimming it
all, the misty, hazy mountain tops.
"I'm going into the library," announced Frances, all the banter gone
from her voice.
"Have you been to breakfast?" in astonishment.
"Haven't you? Oh! you are lazy! You must go at once. Mrs. Lancey won't
save it for you."
"Yes she will!" He followed her into the fairy white interior of the
Rotunda, with its great pillars bearing above their Corinthian pilasters
the carved circle on which were written the names of the giants of the
book world.
He had some faint desire to see before which of the cases she would
pause. He was proud of his knowledge of his fellow beings, but this
young woman puzzled him. It was a pleasure to his beauty-loving eyes to
gaze on her--tall, slender, but well set up, frank-eyed, clear-skinned
with an air of utter independence; the things he had heard her say and
seen her do kept her from any place in his category.
The long serge gown rustling softly on the marble pavement, she went
straight to the books she wanted. It was late, and she wished to avoid
the stream of students that would soon be setting roomwards and
hallwards.
She took down the volumes instantly--Fiske's "Old Virginia and her
Neighbors," and Byrd's "History of the Dividing Line." If Lawson was
astonished she gave him no chance to express it.
"You must hurry to breakfast," she insisted as they went out.
The young man looked down at the sunlit quadrangle. "Won't you go for a
drive about ten?" he asked abruptly.
"I'm going."
He caught his breath, but before he could answer--
"Susan wants some chickens. I promised her I'd get them. You are not
going out?" severely.
"It's such a temptation!"
"Young men who come all the way from Oregon come to study."
He strove for answer, but the young woman's nod was positive. It sent
him to the mess hall, while she hurried along the corridor, hurried to
avoid the crowd that would soon be abroad. So she had been trained, and
such was second nature. She was not afraid of any student or of all of
them. She had had delightful friends among them. But she was not a
students' belle; her dear father's abhorrence of such had kept her
unscathed.
She lived among them, but the traditions of her household kept her
apart. She was motherless, but her mother's influence had set her feet
in the path of freedom and her father saw to it that they kept their
way. In all the gay students' life that surged about her she was somehow
untouched. She was keenly alive to its phases, to all the life as a
whole, but not to any unit forming it. She saw the belles of the season
come and go at Christmas, at Easter, or the Finals, without the least
desire to outshine them, or shine with them; yet it would have been easy
enough had she wished it. Had she social aspirations she would find many
matrons in the professors' homes to chaperon her; had she been
sentimental she could have made many a bosom friend in the young girls
of the town; had she been trained otherwise, her record from her first
long skirt might have been one of reckless flirtations--for there is no
limit to a student's daring--but as it was, she lived among them quite
simply.
She ordered her father's house; she read, few knew how deeply; she rode,
she drove, and went her own way happily.
One lesson she had at heart. She took the young men about her without an
atom of seriousness. It was this which nettled Frank Lawson.
His attentions had been taken quite seriously usually, too seriously
once, he might have remembered. It aroused his insistence; it sent him
loitering by the gate to the grounds when Frances came driving down the
ribbony road winding outwards.
"I think you might take me," he declared, as she drove slowly by.
"Jump in!" Frances pulled the horse around and left the wheels towards
him hospitably opened.
Lawson thought of the beauty he had driven the afternoon before, of the
roses on her breast for which she had thanked him so graciously, of the
shining skins of his horses and the glittering wheels of his carriage,
and he set his teeth; but he climbed up into the trap and sat down by
Frances' side.
She did not offer him the reins, and he hated being driven by a woman.
"You know most of the roads about here?"
The young man assented.
"Out towards Monticello and down beyond the University and Park Street;
but you don't know this."
Frances had turned towards town, and was driving smartly past
Chancellor's and Anderson's, bookstore and drug store and loitering
grounds of the students, though the porches were empty now, along the
long street, across the high bridge spanning the narrow valley through
which the Southern railroad swept into the town, on down a steep hill;
and then she pulled sharply to the left, down a rough road past <DW64>
cabins, another sharp hill, across a clear mountain stream, and they
were in the country.
"You've never been this way before," repeated Frances as she began to
point out the features of the country. She spoke of house and cabin and
mill; but Lawson's eyes were turned towards the misty mountains. The
keen air blew in his face, the frosty touch sent his pulses tingling:
the smell of green grass and falling leaves and fresh earth was abroad,
and over there, to right to left, swam the mountain-tops in purple
mists. Each hill they topped showed vistas of hill and valley and
far-reaching crest.
The horse went at a good pace; his driver was the most companionable of
drivers; Lawson was absurdly happy.
"What's that little blue flower?" he asked, pointing to a starry bloom,
daisy-shaped, blossoming on a weed-like stem.
"That's another of the beauties for which we thank Jefferson, that and
the Scotch broom in the woods; you saw it?"
"But where does this come from?"
"Don't ask me! Scotland, also, perhaps; here we are!" She pulled up
sharply before a cabin by the road, and, before he could take the reins
she threw down, sprang out.
Lawson sat feeling like a chagrined schoolboy. It was one of the small
accomplishments of which he was proud, to lift a woman from carriage or
saddle. He had strong muscles well trained, and he had a fashion of
putting his hands at the woman's waist and giving her a lift, quick,
light, and sure, and setting her on her feet with a look of pleased
astonishment in her eyes; now he sat holding the reins like any good boy
and watching the flutter of a blue skirt around the clusters of zinnias
and marigolds by the cabin corner. And then he heard voices and laughter
and the squawks of terrified chickens.
Frances was coming back,--a <DW52> woman, with a bunch of chickens in
either hand, walking by her side. He listened to the woman with intense
amusement.
"Why don't you say thanky?" she was demanding.
Frances only laughed.
"I done tole yuh how pretty yuh is; now why don't yuh say thanky?"
"She ought to, that she ought," called Lawson from the trap.
"Hi, honey!" cried the delighted darkey, "is dat him? La, chile, now he
suttenly is a nice beau!"
"Aunt Roxie," said Frances haughtily, "put the chickens in the back of
the trap. You're sure you've got them tied all right?"
"'Co'se I is!"
Lawson, delighted with Frances' discomfiture, was fussing about, helping
the <DW52> woman.
"Jes lissen at her, jes as mighty as you please," she muttered to him,
and then quite loudly, "some folks suttenly is hard to please; yuh
praises dem, dey got nutten to say; yuh praises de beau an' dey looks
mad!"
"Never mind!" cried Frances, "never mind! I'm not going to bring you any
tobacco next time I come!"
"La! Miss Frances, what mattah long yuh now--yuh know--hyar, chile,
lemme pull yuh some dese hyar flowers; de fros' done totch dem anyhow!"
But Frances was not listening; she was off fast as her horse would
trot, the chickens squawking indignantly, and Roxie by her zinnias and
marigolds gazing in open-mouthed astonishment. Lawson was shaking with
laughter. He was even with her he felt, and perhaps a little ahead. He
was sure he was ahead when, just outside the University gate, one of the
chickens, freed after much straining, fluttered under the edge of
Frances' skirt and shrieked a loud and triumphant squawk. Frances sprang
to her feet; but for Lawson she would have been out and under the wheel.
There was no laughter about that young man for one swift instant, when
he threw his arm out, pulled her back into the seat and snatched the
falling reins. The danger past, he caught the offending fowl, fluttering
now in the dash-board, handed it gravely to Frances and then, without a
word of excuse, leaned back and laughed until the tears were in his
eyes.
As for Frances, she was white, she was cold. She had been frightened for
the first time in her life into a silly deed. She was mad through and
through, but it was useless. Under that ringing laugh all else gave
way; she must join in it.
"Never mind," she declared, when Lawson drew rein outside the quadrangle
and lifted her out impressively. "I shall have that chicken for supper."
"I'm coming to help eat him!"
"Come on!" she called gayly, as she disappeared along the walk to the
campus.
II
Frances lingered in the dining-room after dinner was done. She pretended
to be rearranging the flowers on the table; in reality she was thinking
what to say to the little, spare, bent <DW52> woman who was busily
clearing away the dishes.
"Susan," she began, "I think I'll make a cake this afternoon."
"Dyar's half a one hyar now," grumbled Susan with a flash out of her
dark eyes that were like live coals in the wrinkled face.
"And--ah--I thought I'd make some floating island."
"La! chile, what yah gwine pester roun' de kitchen for ter-day?"
Susan had taught Frances the mysteries of cooking and was inordinately
proud of her pupil's skill, but she wanted it practised when it suited
her; and that afternoon had a vision of rest and mending.
"And," went on Frances, to finish now that the subject was broached, "I
got those chickens right out the coop. Roxie says they are nice and fat.
That Dominico now, how would it do to have it smothered?"
Susan wheeled on her. "You's gwine hab company to suppah?"
"Y--e--s!"
"An' yuh wants to hab smothered chicken an' floating island an' cake an'
eberything else I'll ben' my po' back to cook?"
"Your smothered chicken is always so good!" wheedled Frances, who had
managed Susan ever since she could talk.
"Why don' yuh say so den, jes say yuh's gwine hab company to suppah an'
be done wid it."
"Well, we are," laughed Frances, "and I want everything good, like you
always have it."
"Hm!"
But Frances was contented and was gone.
"Wondah who 'tis now?" Susan's eyes, black and still as ink pools in
her yellow, wrinkled face, looked dreamy as they often did when she
thought of Frances. As long as she was blithe and content so was her
faithful care-taker, who had nursed her father when Susan was a child of
ten, and he was a bad infant. She had married and had her own cabin and
her own children when fortune freed her. She had seen her "old man" and
her children die, all of them, there in the cabin in the mountain-side,
except one boy, Bill, and he had gone off to Baltimore; and she had been
glad in her heart when "Marse Robert" and his bright-faced young wife
had driven out to her home back there and asked if she would not come
and live with them. Susan locked her cabin door and looked up and down
the view of misty valley and purple mountains she had looked on for so
many years, and then went with them gladly.
But the cabin she kept. She would rent it to no one, she would not sell
it. It grew weather-beaten and rotten; the sage and mint and bergamot
were choked with weeds. But whatever Susan had lived of her own life
had been lived there. She had been happy, she had been miserable; she
had worked in gladness, she had worked in despair. She had borne
children, she had seen them die, in those four log walls.
The joy, the sorrow of that cabin were hers, and she would keep its
memories. No rude touch of alien life should spoil them. She put the big
key of the door in her pocket and went to be part and parcel of "Marse
Robert's" life; the flame of her devotion to him burned but brighter as
she stood by him when his daughter was laid in his arms,--as she stood
by him, ten years after, when his wife closed her eyes on life and
closed his heart on life's keenest joys.
She had watched his daughter with a delight that knew no limit. Over
most of the <DW64> race beauty holds a potent sway; and had Frances been
less fair, her saucy independence would have been Susan's pride.
"Nebbah see her hangin' 'roun' wid dem stujints," said Susan to herself,
as she finished her work in the dining-room, "Yuh sees 'em dribin'
through hyar sometimes, de young men an' de ladies, and de ladies dey's
fair sickenin' er hangin' on to ebery word; an' long 'bout closin'-up
time"--which was Susan's expression for "Finals"--"den 'tis fair
scanderlous. But Miss Frances--hm--she gib em jes as good as dey sends,
an' she r'ar her haid up in de air, an' I tell yuh now she's got one
pretty haid to r'ar up, sho's yuh born!"
"I's gwine see who's comin' hyar dis ebenin'," she ruminated. "Miss
Frances she don' nebbah 'vite much company nohow; 'tis Marse Robert mos'
always. I's gwine see who dis is, I's gwine watch 'em, sho."
And so she stood in jealous guard over the supper of the professor and
his daughter and their guest. Perhaps it was her watchfulness, her
half-jealous disapproval of Frank Lawson which made things go so badly,
or perhaps the jar began before that when Frances in the professor's
study announced there would be company and she would bring them in there
to spend the evening.
"Why don't you take them in the parlor?" protested the professor.
"It's cold!"
"You can have a fire."
"Yes, but 't would be cold anyhow; the air would feel as if it had been
on storage."
"Daughter!"
"And it would look so proper and prim, there would be no papers lying
around, and I--I should have to talk so hard," she wound up by tucking
her bare arm under the professor's; and he, looking on her winsome face
and soft white neck and shoulders, forgot there was a question and only
smiled at her.
"You, know, father, you needn't talk; you can read--"
"Read!"
"Well," she confided, cuddling close to him, "they do talk such
nonsense, you know, if you've got them off to yourself. I can't stand
it--you needn't laugh!" She rubbed her cheek along the worn broadcloth
of his coat--the professor gave little heed to his clothes-- "You
wouldn't like it either."
The professor's laugh rang through the house, but there was a heartache
under the laughter; his little comrade daughter was a woman grown, and
these questions of womanhood, slight as they were, puzzled him. And so
it was the guest was ushered into the room on the left, instead of the
one on the right, which was properly given over to the gods of company.
The guest gave a start when he saw the shimmer of Frances' white gown
and the gleam of her bare neck and shoulders, and he looked quickly at
her father, but the professor was in ordinary attire. The young stranger
had to learn later that it was merely a local custom, and to wonder
while he learned why the women did not freeze going so clad on a
winter's evening in the wide, high ceilinged, and cold brick houses.
He recovered himself quickly and came forward with jaunty assurance, but
the professor's careless hospitality and the demeanor of his hostess
left little of it when the evening was over. He felt his vaunted ease
ebbing from him and he was amazed that he should so feel it. Even at
the table he was angrily critical. Had it been his mother's board, the
damask and lace had been strewn with flowers, and its tinted shades of
candles shone here and there, and soft shod waiters come and gone, were
a guest bidden to a meal; here the electric light from the single shaded
bulb swinging overhead shone on spotless damask, where it shone at all
between the multitudinous dishes--chicken and ham, rolls and biscuit and
"batter-bread," pickles and preserves, cake, and, with its tremulous
crest of white, floating island shining with a yellow gleam in its glass
dish all before him at one serving.
Still, the young man being healthy and blessed with hunger, and seeing
that his hosts were hungry folk likewise, forgot all comparisons in the
urging of their hospitality, and not only followed their example, but
set the pace. Susan was fairly mollified.
"Knows good vittels when he sees 'em," she muttered in the recess of the
pantry as she eyed his ruddy cheeks and broad shoulders through the
half-opened door.
But, the easy hospitality of the supper over, Lawson's discomfiture
began again. In the morning he would have sworn it was happiness to sit
before the glowing fire which the chill evenings of the mountains
demanded, and to have Frances Holloway so near that one could watch the
color flicker in her clear cheek and catch each tone of her round low
voice and note the curve of white shoulders and dimpled arm.
Instead he felt himself growing steadily angry. Made conversation and an
effort which showed itself at being entertaining and faintly expressed
regrets at an early departure, were not in his line. What he opened his
room door on, was more so.
"Hello, Lawson, waiting for you!"
Three young men had the light oak table drawn up before them. The books
from it were flung on the foot of the narrow white-iron bed: the
table-cover hung on the brass foot-rod.
One of the men leaned back in Lawson's Morris chair, another was seated
a-straddle the only other chair the room contained, his chin resting on
the high back. A third was on the trunk pulled close to the table.
"Room!" he cried, pointing to the vacant half.
"Throw some coal on, Frank, it's chilly. By George, you look cold
yourself."
"Cold! I'm frozen!" Lawson's laugh was not the most pleasant thing to
hear.
"Where have you been? Land alive, look at him!"
"Shut up!" Lawson flung his Prince Albert over the books, crushing the
chrysanthemum he had fastened in his button-hole so carefully earlier in
the evening.
"Game?" he queried.
"I should say so, trot 'em out!" There was a box of cigars on the
mantel. He lit one, the rest were already smoking.
"Helped ourselves, you see!"
"Anything else?"
"Listen to him!"
"That's the stuff, set it here!" The cards were shuffled away for the
bottle and glasses. The window curtains were drawn tightly, the door was
closed and the portière hung in stiff folds across it; the coal snapped
in the grate and the young men settled down for the evening.
But Frances was not winding up her own affairs so nearly to her mind.
The professor had lain down his book as soon as the guest departed.
"Daughter," he began uneasily, "I didn't know you knew Mr. Lawson."
Frances looked at him in astonishment. "Why--how--" she stammered.
"Somehow, he's different from most of the students here," her father
went on, putting his half-framed opinion into words; "he's older and he
looks a man of the world, and he's not over studious," he added a little
sarcastically.
Frances after her first start was listening quietly to his broken
speech.
"These older men," the professor went on, "if they don't come for good
hard work, they--they are the most troublesome kind we have to deal
with. The young fellows, now, they have their faults, but they are the
faults of youth. When these older men graft their knowledge of the world
to their students' folly--well--well--" he was silent for a moment.
Frances, without the slightest wish to defend the absent, sat silent
likewise.
"He's rich too; his father owns immense lumber tracts in Oregon, and his
people live in great style, and--I scarcely know--He's in none of my
classes. But, somehow, he doesn't seem-- I wonder you invited him."
"I didn't."
"Didn't! Why--"
"Oh, daddy, it sort of happened. I'm not anxious to have it happen any
more."
"Well, neither am I, now that I think of it. Going to bed?"
"I'm sleepy as a cat--no! as the Sleeping Beauty!" saucily.
"I believe you always are!" The professor never knew at what hour he
crept to bed, but his daughter's sleepy-headedness was a constant jest.
He never failed to pause at the threshold of her door and listen to the
deep, long breaths of her slumber and to feel warmed to his heart's core
to know she was there, his own daughter, the joy of his life.
"Good night!" She leaned over him, rumpling his dark hair. "Why, there's
the telephone! What can it be so late?" She was hurrying along the hall.
"Hello!"
The father turned to watch with lazy interest the lithe figure and
bright face and bent head, as she stood, red lips pressed together, the
receiver at her ear.
"Ah!" she breathed ecstatically into the 'phone.
"Where did you catch him?"
"To-day!"
"To-morrow!"
"Eight o'clock?"
"Yes, indeed!"
"If father will let me," with one imploring glance fatherward.
"Yes, in a moment, wait!"
"Father, they are going to have a fox-hunt to-morrow--Orange Grove, you
know--meet at eight o'clock. Mr. Payne bought the fox from a <DW52> boy
to-day, he has it out at his house. They are going to turn it loose on
the hill. It's a big red fox, he says." She slipped down on the side of
his chair.
"Great Heavens! You don't want to go?"
Frances never answered, she only held on to him a little tighter.
"Frances, you know, since--"
"Starlight did behave dreadfully that time," she assented.
"Starlight!"
"Suppose I ask Mr. Payne to let me have a mount?"
"Daughter," the father was speaking quite sternly, "you know I told you
I never wanted you to ride behind the hounds again."
There was dead silence. Frances got to her feet and went over to the
mantelpiece, eyes downcast, red mouth down-curved.
"You might drive out to the meet," began her father.
A flash of her eyes answered him.
"I'll order the trap right now!" she said quickly.
"Now, it's late!" began the professor, not liking to be taken so
literally at his word. "I don't think there is any one at the stables."
"Mr. Payne telephoned from there; I told him to wait a moment. I'll try
again."
The professor listened anxiously to the whir and then to the monologue
in the hall.
"Is Mr. Carver there? Yes! So glad!" and then, after a minute's wait,
"Can you send Starlight and the trap up by seven? _Seven?_ Yes! And Mr.
Carver, please see that he is hitched up strongly, will you?"
She hung up the receiver. At the foot of the stairs she paused. "You
don't mind if I drive along the road and follow them a little if I can,
do you?" she asked laughingly.
The professor ran his hand over his perplexed face and picked up his
book; he had no answer. At any rate he felt he had had his say about
young Lawson and so he must not be too severe about this. He little knew
he had given that young man the very clue he needed: for some hour of
that night when the stars grew pale and the gay party in Lawson's room
was breaking up, one of the men vowed he must have an hour's sleep to
steady his nerves for the fox-hunt to-morrow; it was Saturday, and--
"Fox-hunt," cried Lawson.
"Yes; want to go? Meet me at the stables!" and it was | 1,401.286861 |
2023-11-16 18:40:25.3672170 | 680 | 7 |
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SAMBOE;
OR,
THE AFRICAN BOY.
BY THE AUTHOR OF
"Twilight Hours Improved," &c. &c.
And man, where Freedom's beams and fountains rise,
Springs from the dust, and blossoms to the skies.
Dead to the joys of light and life, the slave
Clings to the clod; his root is in the grave.
Bondage is winter, darkness, death, despair;
Freedom the sun, the sea, the mountain, and the air!
Montgomery.
London:
PRINTED FOR HARVEY AND DARTON,
GRACECHURCH-STREET.
1823.
TO
WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq.
M. P.
THIS SMALL VOLUME,
DIFFIDENTLY AIMING TO SERVE THE CAUSE OF HUMANITY
IS,
BY HIS KIND PERMISSION
TO GIVE IT THE SANCTION OF HIS NAME,
HUMBLY DEDICATED;
WITH EVERY SENTIMENT OF UNFEIGNED VENERATION
AND RESPECT FOR HIS
EXALTED PATRIOTIC AND PRIVATE VIRTUES,
And grateful acknowledgment
OF HIS CONDESCENSION, IN HONOURING WITH HIS
ATTENTION THE HUMBLE EFFORTS OF
THE AUTHOR.
ADVERTISEMENT.
It has been justly remarked, "that all who read may become
enlightened;" for readers, insensibly imbibing the sentiments of
others, and having their own latent sensibilities called forth,
contract, progressively, virtuous inclinations and habits; and thereby
become fitted to unite with their fellow-beings, in the removal or
amelioration of any of the evils of life. With a full conviction
of this, I have attempted, and now offer to my young readers, the
present little work. To the rising generation, I am told, the great
question of the slave-trade is little known; the abolition of it, by
our legislature, having taken place either before many of them existed,
or at too early a period of their lives to excite any interest. Present
circumstances, however, in reference to the subject, ensure for it
an intense interest, in every heart feeling the blessing of freedom
and all the sweet charities of home; blessings which it is our care
to dispose the youthful heart duly to appreciate, and hence to feel
for those, deprived, by violence and crime, of these high privileges
of man.
It is true, England has achieved the triumph of humanity, in effacing
from her Christian character so dark a stain as a traffic in human
beings; a commerce, "the history of which is written throughout in
characters of blood." Yet there are but too strong evidences that
it is yet pursued to great and fearful extent by other nations,
notwithstanding the solemn obligations they have entered into to
suppress it; obligations "imposed | 1,401.387257 |
2023-11-16 18:40:25.4683650 | 2,040 | 73 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE SOUL STEALER
BY C. RANGER-GULL
Author of "The Serf," "The Harvest of Love," "The Price of Pity,"
"A Story of the Stage," etc., etc.
LONDON
F. V. WHITE & Co., Limited
14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1906
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED
BREAD STREET HILL, E.C., AND
BUNGAY, SUFFOLK.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. MR. EUSTACE CHARLIEWOOD, MAN ABOUT TOWN 1
II. UNEXPECTED ENTRANCE OF TWO LADIES 19
III. NEWS OF A REVOLUTION 31
IV. THE SECOND LOVER ARRIVES 50
V. A CONSPIRACY OF SCIENTISTS 60
VI. "WILL YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR?" 70
VII. ENGLAND'S GREAT SENSATION 89
VIII. THE CHIVALROUS BARONET 100
IX. GRATITUDE OF MISS MARJORIE POOLE 109
X. A MAN ABOUT TOWN PAYS A DEBT 120
XI. BEEF TEA AND A PHOSPHATE SOLUTION 130
XII. THE TOMB-BOUND MAN 150
XIII. LORD MALVIN 160
XIV. DONALD MEGBIE SEES POSSIBILITIES 171
XV. HAIL TO THE LOVERS! 190
XVI. STRANGE OCCURRENCE IN THE TEMPLE 201
XVII. MARJORIE AND DONALD MEGBIE 211
XVIII. PLANS 222
XIX. A DEATH-WARRANT IS PRESENTED TO A PRISONER 230
XX. THOUGHTS OF ONE IN DURANCE 248
XXI. HOW THEY ALL WENT TO THE HOUSE IN REGENT'S PARK 258
XXII. THE DOOM BEGINS 264
XXIII. THE DOOM CONTINUES 280
XXIV. MR. WILSON GUEST MAKES A MISTAKE 286
XXV. AT LAST! 292
XXVI. TWO FINAL PICTURES 305
THE SOUL STEALER
CHAPTER I
MR. EUSTACE CHARLIEWOOD, MAN ABOUT TOWN
Upon a brilliant morning in the height of the winter, Mr. Eustace
Charliewood walked slowly up Bond Street.
The sun was shining brightly, and there was a keen, invigorating snap in
the air which sent the well-dressed people who were beginning to throng
the pavements, walking briskly and cheerily.
The great shops of one of the richest thoroughfares in the world were
brilliant with luxuries, the tall commissionaires who stood by the heavy
glass doors were continually opening them for the entrance of
fashionable women.
It was, in short, a typical winter's morning in Bond Street when
everything seemed gay, sumptuous and debonair.
Mr. Eustace Charliewood was greeted several times by various friends as
he walked slowly up the street. But his manner in reply was rather
languid, and his clean-shaven cheeks lacked the colour that the eager
air had given to most of the pedestrians.
He was a tall, well-built man, with light close-cropped hair and a large
intelligent face. His eyes were light blue in colour, not very direct in
expression, and were beginning to be surrounded by the fine wrinkles
that middle age and a life of pleasure imprint. The nose was aquiline,
the mouth clean cut and rather full.
In age one would have put Mr. Charliewood down as four and forty, in
status a man accustomed to move in good society, though probably more
frequently the society of the club than that of the drawing-room.
When he was nearly at the mouth of New Bond Street, Mr. Charliewood
stopped at a small and expensive-looking hairdresser's and perfumer's,
passed through its revolving glass doors and bowed to a stately young
lady with wonderfully-arranged coils of shining hair, who sat behind a
little glass counter covered with cut-glass bottles of scent and ivory
manicure sets.
"Good-morning, Miss Carling," he said easily and in a pleasant voice.
"Is Proctor disengaged?"
"Yes, Mr. Charliewood," the girl answered, "he's quite ready for you if
you'll go up-stairs."
"Quite well, my dear?" Mr. Charliewood said, with his hand upon the door
which led inwards to the toilette saloons.
"Perfectly, thank you, Mr. Charliewood. But you're looking a little
seedy this morning."
He made a gesture with his glove which he had just taken off.
"Ah well," he said, "very late last night, Miss Carling. It's the price
one has to pay, you know! But Proctor will soon put me right."
"Hope so, I'm sure," she answered, wagging a slim finger at him. "Oh,
you men about town!"
He smiled back at her, entered the saloon and mounted some thickly
carpeted stairs upon the left.
At the top of the stairs a glass door opened into a little ante-room,
furnished with a few arm-chairs and small tables on which _Punch_ and
other journals were lying. Beyond, another door stood half open, and at
the noise of Mr. Charliewood's entrance a short, clean-shaved,
Jewish-looking man came through it and began to help the visitor out of
his dark-blue overcoat lined and trimmed with astrachan fur.
Together the two men went into the inner room, where Mr. Charliewood
took off his coat and collar and sat down upon a padded chair in front
of a marble basin and a long mirror.
He saw himself in the glass, a handsome, tired face, the hair too light
to show the greyness at the temples, but hinting at that and growing a
little thin upon the top. The whole face, distinguished as it was, bore
an impress of weariness and dissipation, the face of a man who lived for
material enjoyment, and did so without cessation.
As he looked at his face, bearing undeniable marks of a late sitting the
night before, he smiled to think that in an hour or so he would be
turned out very different in appearance by the Jewish-looking man in the
frock coat who now began to busy himself with certain apparatus.
The up-stairs room at Proctor's toilette club was a select haunt of many
young-middle aged men about town. The new American invention known as
"Vibro Massage" was in use there, and Proctor reaped a large harvest by
"freshening up" gentlemen who were living not wisely but too well,
incidentally performing many other services for his clients. The masseur
pushed a wheeled pedestal up to the side of the chair, the top of which
was a large octagonal box of mahogany. Upon the side were various
electric switches, and from the centre of the box a thick silk-covered
wire terminated in a gleaming apparatus of vulcanite and steel which the
operator held in his hand.
Proctor tucked a towel round his client's neck, rubbed some
sweet-smelling cream all over his face and turned a switch in the side
of the pedestal.
Immediately an electric motor began to purr inside, like a great cat,
and the masseur brought the machine in his right hand, which looked not
unlike a telephone receiver, down upon the skin of the subject's face.
What was happening was just this. A little vulcanite hammer at the end
of the machine was vibrating some six thousand times a minute and
pounding and kneading the flesh, so swiftly and silently that
Charliewood felt nothing more than a faint thrill as the hammer was
guided skilfully over the pouches beneath the eyes, and beat out the
flabbiness from the cheeks.
After some five minutes, Proctor switched off the motor and began to
screw a larger and differently-shaped vulcanite instrument to the end of
the hand apparatus.
Mr. Charliewood lay back, in a moment of intense physical ease. By means
of the electrodes the recruiting force had vibrated gently through the
nerves. New animation had come into the blood and tissues of the tired
face, and already that sensation of youthful buoyancy, which is the
surest indication of good health, was returning to his dissipated mask.
"Now then, sir," said Proctor, "I've screwed on a saddle-shaped
electrode, and I'll go up and down the spine, if you please; kindly
stand up."
Once more the motor hummed, and Mr. Charliewood felt an indescribable
thrill of pleasure as the operator applied straight and angular strokes
of the rapidly vibrating instrument up and down his broad back,
impinging | 1,401.488405 |
2023-11-16 18:40:25.5609740 | 7,436 | 9 |
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_The_ SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.
Each 12mo, Cloth.
The Spirit of the School.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four Afloat.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four Afoot.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four in Camp.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
On Your Mark.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
The Arrival of Jimpson.
Illustrated. $1.50.
Weatherby’s Inning.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Behind the Line.
Illustrated. $1.50.
Captain of the Crew.
Illustrated. $1.50.
For the Honor of the School.
Illustrated. $1.50.
The Half-Back.
Illustrated. $1.50.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
[Illustration: “A more harmless youth it would have been hard to find.”]
_The_
SPIRIT
OF THE SCHOOL
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
Author of “The Half-Back,” “Weatherby’s Inning,”
“On Your Mark,” etc.
[Illustration]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
1907
Copyright, 1907, by
PERRY MASON COMPANY
Copyright, 1907, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published, September, 1907_
TO
JOSEPH SHERMAN FORD
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN A NEW RÔLE 1
II.--HANSEL DECLARES FOR REFORM 20
III.--MR. AMES TELLS A STORY 36
IV.--SCHOOL AGAINST TOWN 56
V.--HANSEL MEETS PHINEAS DORR 73
VI.--THE CAUSE GAINS A CONVERT 91
VII.--THE FIRST SKIRMISH 111
VIII.--MR. AMES STATES HIS POSITION 131
IX.--THE SECOND SKIRMISH 149
X.--HANSEL LEAVES THE TEAM 159
XI.--HANSEL MAKES A BARGAIN 176
XII.--THREE IN CONSPIRACY 191
XIII.--FAIRVIEW SENDS A PROTEST 216
XIV.--THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL 241
XV.--THE GAME WITH FAIRVIEW 255
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS[*]
FACING
PAGE
“A more harmless youth it would have been hard to
find.” _Frontispiece_
“‘I am looking for Bert Middleton,’ he announced.” 12
“‘Play the game the best you can, and let me manage your
campaign.’” 108
“In place of his former attire was an immaculate suit of
evening dress.” 118
“He was beginning to be looked upon as ‘queer.’” 156
“‘Who do you think will win, sir?’ asked Phin.” 192
“‘Gee! I didn’t know I represented anything!’” 236
“Lockhard... was streaking around the right end of his
line.” 264
[*] These illustrations are used by arrangement with the publishers of
_The Youth’s Companion_.
THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL
CHAPTER I
AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN A NEW RÔLE
“It’s all well enough for you to sit there and grin like a gargle.”
“Gargoyle is what you mean, my boy!”
“Well, gargoyle,” continued Bert Middleton. “What’s the difference?
Of course, it’s easy enough for you to laugh about it; it isn’t your
funeral; but I guess if you’d had all your plans made up only to have
them knocked higher than a kite at the last minute----”
“I know,” said Harry Folsom soothingly. “It’s rotten mean luck. I’d
have told the doctor that I wouldn’t do it.”
“But it wasn’t his fault, you see. It’s dad that’s to blame for the
whole business. You see, it was this way. The Danas used to live up in
Feltonville when I was a kid, and dad and Mr. Dana were second cousins
or something, and were sort of partners in a sawmill and one or two
things like that. Hansel Dana was about my age, maybe a year younger,
and we used to play together sometimes. But his mother used to take
him away on visits in the summer, and so we didn’t get very chummy.
The fact is I never cared much for him. He was sort of namby-pamby,
and used to read kid’s books most all the time. Mr. Dana died when I
was about twelve, and Mrs. Dana and Hansel went out to Ohio to live
with relatives. Then this summer dad gets a letter from her saying that
she wants to send Hansel to a good school in the East, and asking his
advice. And nothing would do for dad but that the little beggar must
come here to Beechcroft and room with me! Did you ever hear of such
luck? And Larry Royle and I had it all fixed to take that dandy big
suite in Weeks. Of course that wouldn’t do, for dad says I’ve got to
sort of look after the kid. And as his mother hasn’t much money, why,
we have to room up here on the top floor of Prince with the grinds and
the rest of the queer ones. Look at this hole! Isn’t it the limit? One
bedroom, about the size of a pill box, dirty wall paper, a rag of a
carpet, and a fireplace that I just bet won’t do a thing but smoke us
out!”
“Oh, I don’t know, Bert. I think the place looks mighty swell with all
your pictures and truck around. The carpet isn’t much, as you say, but
then that’s all the better; you won’t have to be careful about spilling
things on it. And maybe What’s-his-name will turn out all right.”
“A regular farmer, I’ll bet! They live in Davis City, Ohio, and I never
heard of the place before. He’s been going to some sort of a two-cent
academy out there, and now he’s got it into his head that he can enter
the third class here. If he makes the second he’ll be doing well.”
“You say he plays football?”
“That’s what dad says; says he was captain of his team last year. I can
just see the team, can’t you? And I dare say he’ll expect me to get him
a place on the eleven here; maybe he expects to be captain again!”
“Oh, well,” said Harry, smiling at his friend’s woe-begone countenance,
“perhaps it won’t be as bad as that. And if he’s played football at all
we ought to be glad to get him. We haven’t so much new material in
sight this fall that we can afford to be particular. I really think,
though, you ought to have gone to the station to meet him, Bert.”
“I was busy putting up pictures,” answered Bert grumpily. “If he can’t
find his way from the station up here he’d better go back where he came
from.”
“I can see where little--say, what the dickens _is_ his name, anyway?”
“Hansel.”
“Where’d he get it? Well, I can see where he’s going to have the time
of his young life when he gets here; you’re so sweet-tempered, old
man!” And Harry Folsom leaned back among the pillows of the window seat
and laughed. Bert, sprawling in a dilapidated Morris chair, observed
him gloomily.
What he saw was a rather plain-looking lad of seventeen, of medium
height and weight, with light hair and gray eyes and an expression of
good nature that was seldom absent. Bert had never seen Harry angry;
in fact, his good nature was proverbial throughout Beechcroft Academy.
He was manager of the football team, and was just the fellow for the
office. He possessed a good deal of executive ability, a fair share of
common sense, and a faculty for keeping his head and his temper under
the greatest provocation.
He differed widely in that respect from his host. Bert Middleton had
a temper, and anyone who was with him for any length of time was
pretty certain to find it out. Unfortunately, with the temper went a
stubbornness that made matters worse.
Except with a few fellows who, in spite of these failings, had stuck
to him long enough to discover his better qualities, he was not very
popular. His election the preceding year to the captaincy of the
football team had come to him as a tribute to his playing ability and
not his popularity. He was strikingly good looking, with very black
hair and snapping black eyes, and in spite of the fact that he was but
eighteen years old, he tipped the gymnasium scales at 170 and stood
six feet all but an inch. He was generally acknowledged to have won a
place on the All-Preparatory Football Team of the year before, and was
without doubt the best full back Beechcroft Academy had ever had. Just
at present his expression was not particularly attractive, his forehead
being wrinkled into a network of frowns and his mouth drawn down with
discontent. Both boys were in their senior year members of what at
Beechcroft is called the Fourth Class.
The room in which the two boys were sitting on the afternoon of the
day preceding the beginning of the fall term was, in spite of Bert’s
grumblings, pleasant and homelike. It was well furnished, and if the
walls were stained and cracked, the dozens of pictures which Bert
had just finished hanging concealed the fact. Through the double
window, which formed a recess for the comfortable window seat, the
mid-afternoon sun was pouring in, and with it came a fresh breeze and
scented from the beech forest which sloped away up the hill behind the
school buildings. To the right of the window an open door showed the
white unpapered walls of the small bedroom. In the center of the room,
beneath an antiquated chandelier, stood a green-topped study table,
at the present moment piled high with books awaiting installation in
the two low cases which flanked the fireplace. Had you lifted the
brown corduroy cushion from the window seat you would have discovered
the bench beneath to be engraved quite as completely and almost as
intricately as any Egyptian monolith. For Prince Hall is well over
eighty years old, and succeeding generations of students have left
their marks incised with pocket-knife or hot poker on the woodwork of
the rooms.
The residents of Prince Hall professed to be, and probably were,
proud of the antiquity and associations of their building. But they
couldn’t help being sometimes envious of the modern improvements,
large, well-lighted rooms, and up-to-date appointments of the rival
dormitory, Weeks Hall. Weeks stands at the other side of the academy
grounds, with the Academy Hall between it and Prince. The three
buildings form a row in front of which the well-kept gravel driveway
passes ere it disappears to circle the ivy-covered red brick walls of
the laboratory at the rear. Across the drive stand the gymnasium and
library, the former a modern brick and sandstone structure more ornate
than beautiful, and the latter a granite specimen of the unlovely
architecture of fifty years ago, charitably draped in a gown of green
ivy leaves, which in a measure hides its rude angles.
Beyond the gymnasium and library the ground <DW72>s in a gentle terrace
to a broad meadow, which, known as the Green, is the academy’s athletic
field, and has two wooden stands in various stages of disrepair. Then
comes the winding country road which leads to the village of Bevan
Hills a half mile or more away.
Beechcroft is encompassed on three sides by parklike forest, in which
the smooth gray boles of beech trees are everywhere visible. As yet
their pale-yellow leaves still rustled on the branches, for in the
Massachusetts hills the heavy frosts do not come until October at the
earliest. To-day, a Wednesday in the last week of September, summer
still held sway, and the thick woods were full of golden sunlight and
green gloom.
When, having recovered from his mirth, Harry Folsom raised himself and
looked out of the open window, he saw spread before him a sunlit vista
of yellowing fields, with here and there a white farmhouse amid a green
orchard. But the scene was a familiar one, and his gaze passed it by to
the village road along which was rattling a barge filled with returning
students.
“There’s a load of ’em coming around now,” announced Harry. “I think I
saw Larry out front with the driver.”
“That’s where he would be naturally,” answered Bert, some of the
despondency clearing from his face. “For years he’s been trying to get
Gibbs to let him drive the nags. Some day he will do it, and somebody
will get killed. I suppose Hansel was on that load; he wrote he was
coming on the 4.12.”
“I guess I’ll have to stay and see this Fidus Achates of yours, Bert.”
“Fidus Achates!” exploded the other. “Fidus poppycock! I wish he
was--was----”
“Careful, now!” cautioned Harry with a grin.
“I wish he was at home,” ended Bert with a gulp. “I thought I was going
to have a good time this year--a decent room with a fellow I liked, not
many studies, plenty of time for football and hockey, and--and--now
look at me! Stuck up here among the pills with a silly little runt of a
country kid for roommate! Oh, a nice cheerful fourth year I shall have!”
“Oh, quit your yowling!” said the other good-naturedly. “You don’t know
what Dana will be like. For my part I’m ready to like him, if only
because you’ve run him down so. I dare say he will prove to be a very
decent sort.”
“Oh, decent enough, maybe; but if he’s anything like what he used to
be, he’ll just sit here and read his old books all day and make me
nervous. Maybe he’ll turn out a grind!”
“But he can’t be so awfully fond of staying indoors and reading if he
was captain of his football team.”
“Shucks! I’ll bet I know what sort of football he plays! His team
probably averaged a hundred and twenty pounds and played back of the
village livery stable. I’m going to have the dustpan ready to sweep up
the hayseed when he takes his hat off!”
“Well, he will be here in a minute,” laughed Harry, “and then we’ll
know the worst. If he’s as bad as you picture him, I don’t blame you
for being----”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. The two exchanged
questioning glances, and then Bert called “Come in!” The door swung
open and a tall, well-built youth entered, set down a suit case, and
looked inquiringly from Harry to Bert.
“I’m looking for Bert Middleton,” he announced, “and I guess you’re the
chap, aren’t you?” He looked smilingly at Bert, who had arisen from his
chair and was observing the newcomer with a puzzled frown.
[Illustration: “‘I am looking for Bert Middleton,’ he announced.”]
“Why, yes; but--you--look here, you’re not Hansel Dana, are you?”
“Yes”--the two shook hands--“I suppose I’ve changed some since you saw
me last. So have you, for that matter. You’re heaps bigger, but that
black hair of yours looks just the same.”
“Yes, you have changed,” answered Bert. “I’m glad to see you.” He
turned to where Harry was smiling broadly at his amazement. “This is
Mr. Folsom, Hansel; Mr. Dana. We--we were just speaking of you when you
knocked.”
“Yes,” said Harry, shaking hands heartily, “Bert was telling me how
glad he was you and he were to be together.” He shot a malicious glance
at Bert and was rewarded with a scowl. The newcomer looked shrewdly at
Bert’s innocent countenance and smiled a little.
“Rather a pleasant room we’ve got, Bert,” he observed.
“Oh, fair for a cheap one.”
“Is this a cheap one?” asked the other, opening his eyes. “I thought
the rent was sixty dollars.”
“So it is. Over in Weeks some of the suites are two hundred.”
“Hum; things come high here, don’t they? Is this your furniture?”
“Yes, most of it; one or two things are rented.”
“I didn’t bring much. I didn’t quite know what was wanted. But I
suppose I can get things here, can’t I? I’d like to do my share.”
“You can’t get much here,” answered Harry. “You’ll have to go to
Boston, I guess. But I don’t see that you two need much else.”
“We need another easy chair,” said Bert, “and a rug or two wouldn’t
look bad. If we’ve got to live in a garret like this we might as well
be as comfortable as we can.”
The newcomer’s eyes narrowed a trifle.
“All right,” he answered quietly. “I’ll see what I can do.” He went
to the window and stood there a moment looking out over the sunlit
landscape and peeling off a pair of very proper tan gloves. Harry and
Bert exchanged glances. Presently he turned and, tossing his gloves
aside, sat down on the window seat, took one knee into his hands, and
looked about the room with frank interest.
Hansel Dana was seventeen years old, a tall, clean-cut boy with very
little superfluous flesh beneath his neat, well-fitting gray suit.
Despite his height he looked and was heavy. His hair was brown and so
were his eyes, and the latter had a way of looking straight at you
when he talked that was a little bit disconcerting at first. Harry
Folsom, who, being quite out of the running himself, had a deep liking
for good looks, mentally dubbed Dana the handsomest fellow in school.
His nose was straight, his mouth firm without being thin, and his chin
was square and aggressive. There was a liberal dash of healthy color
in each cheek. As for his attire, there was little to confirm Bert’s
prophecies. He wore a white negligee shirt, a suit of gray flannel,
low tan shoes, and when he had entered had worn a gray cloth cap.
The clothes were not expensive, but, as Harry ruefully acknowledged
to himself, looked better than did his own garments, for which he
had paid possibly three times as much. Altogether Hansel Dana made a
very presentable appearance. And his manner, a pleasing mixture of
self-possessed ease and modesty, was not the least of his charm.
“He looks to me,” mused Harry, “like a chap who knows his own mind
and won’t be afraid to let somebody else know it. And if he can play
football the way he took his gloves off and set that bag down, I fancy
there’ll be something doing. Also, unless I’m much mistaken, 22 Prince
Hall has got a new boss!” And he smiled to himself at the idea of Bert
Middleton knuckling under to anybody.
Hansel had plenty of questions to ask, and he asked them. And the
others supplied the answers, Bert becoming quite genial under his new
roommate’s implied deference to his experience and knowledge. Harry,
who fancied he could see a rude awakening ahead for Bert, enjoyed
himself hugely. Presently the talk worked around to football, as it
inevitably will where two or more boys are gathered together when frost
is in the air, and Bert inquired whether Hansel played.
“Yes, I’ve played some,” was the answer. “We had a team out home at the
academy. They made me captain last year. We had pretty good fun.”
“Did you win your big game?” asked Harry.
“No,” Hansel answered carelessly. “We lost that; lost plenty of others,
too, for that matter. But we were pretty light, had no coach, and had
to pay our own traveling expenses besides; that made it difficult,
for lots of the fellows couldn’t afford to pay fares, and so when we
went away from home it was mighty hard work to get a full eleven to go
along.”
Bert glanced across at Harry with a “I-told-you-so” expression.
“Yes, that must have made it hard,” laughed Harry. “Well, you must
come out for the team to-morrow. By the way, where did you play?”
“Last year at left end; before that at right half.”
“That’s bad,” said Bert. “We’re pretty well fixed in the back field and
we’ve got slathers of candidates for the end positions. What we need
are men for the line. But I guess you’d be too light there. What’s your
weight?”
“A hundred and fifty-eight when I’m in shape.”
“Well, maybe you’d have chance at tackle,” said Bert dubiously.
“Don’t believe I could make good there,” answered Hansel. “I guess it’s
end or nothing in my case. By the way, when do we get supper?”
“Six,” answered Harry.
“I’m starved. Didn’t get any lunch in Boston because my train from the
West was over an hour late. Well, I guess I can hold out another hour.”
“You’re going into the third class, Bert says,” said Harry.
“Yes, if I can pass the exams, and I guess I can. Latin’s the only
thing I’m afraid of.”
“Well, get Bert to bring you over to my room to-night. You take the
exams to-morrow, you know, and maybe we can give you a few pointers.
Bring him over, Bert, will you? I’ll see you in dining hall, maybe. I
want to run across and see whether Larry has turned up. Did you notice
a big fellow on the front seat coming up from the station?”
“Yes, weighed about a thousand pounds. Who is he?” asked Hansel.
“Larry Royle. He’s in your class. He lives in the big house across the
road. His dad owns pretty near everything around here. Larry’s our
center, and he’s a crackajack, too. I’ll run over a minute. By the way,
Bert, shall I find that dustpan for you?”
And Harry disappeared beyond the door, laughing.
“He seems a nice sort,” said Hansel warmly.
“He is; he’s a mighty good chap. He’s manager of the football team, by
the way, and if you want any favors you’d better stand in with him.
You know, I dare say, that I’m captain this year?”
“Yes, I think your father said something about it in one of his
letters.”
“Yes; well, of course, I’ll do what I can for you if you want to make
the team, but--there’s a bunch of pretty swift players here, and so--if
you shouldn’t make it, you know, you mustn’t be disappointed. Of
course, I can’t show any favoritism; you understand that; and----”
“Oh, that’s all right!” interrupted Hansel with a smile. “Don’t you
bother about me; I’ll look out for myself, Bert. If I thought there
was any likelihood of you showing favoritism I wouldn’t go out. But I
don’t believe there’s any danger--at least, not unless you’ve changed
a whole lot. Perhaps you don’t recall the fact, Bert, but you used to
make life pretty uncomfortable for me when we were kids back there in
Feltonville. I suppose you didn’t mean anything particularly, but I
haven’t quite forgotten it.”
“Pshaw!” said Bert uncomfortably. “You were such a little sissy----”
“And I don’t suppose,” the other continued calmly, “that you were
overpleased to have me for a roommate. For that matter, neither was I.
But there wasn’t any help for it, and so I thought we’d make the best
of it. What can’t be cured, you know, must be endured. I dare say we’ll
get on pretty well together. At least, we know where we stand. You’ll
find me pretty decent as long as you behave yourself. But”--Hansel
arose and went toward the bedroom--“but none of those old tricks of
yours, Bert.”
He disappeared, and Bert, sitting fairly open-mouthed and speechless
with amazement, heard him pouring water into the bowl.
CHAPTER II
HANSEL DECLARES FOR REFORM
Two days later Hansel Dana had officially become a student at
Beechcroft Academy, one of a colony of some one hundred and forty-odd
youths of from twelve to twenty years of age, about half of whom
lived in the two school dormitories and half in the village or in the
occasional white-painted and green-shuttered residences along the way
to it. (In Beechcroft parlance the former were called “Schoolers” and
the latter “Towners,” and there was always more or less rivalry between
them.) Hansel had passed his entrance examinations with a condition
in Latin which he must work off during the fall term, and he was very
well satisfied. Harry told him, in the words of Grover Cleveland, that
“it was a condition and not a theory which confronted him,” but Hansel
didn’t have any doubt as to his ability to work it off before the
Christmas recess.
He had also meanwhile passed another examination, and that without
conditions. The candidates for the school eleven, by which term the
first team was known, had assembled on the afternoon of the first day
of school, and never before, according to Mr. Ames, had there been so
many of them; and never, he had also added to himself, had they been
nearly so unpromising. Out of a possible one hundred and forty-odd
students, seventy-one, or practically one-half, had reported for
practice on the green. Of the number five had played on the last year’s
team, while many others had been on either the scrub or the class
elevens. Hansel, because of an examination in mathematics, had not been
able to reach the green until the first practice was almost half over.
He had reported to Bert Middleton, and had been ungraciously sent to
one of the awkward squads composed of the candidates from the entering
class. But he hadn’t stayed there very long. Mr. Ames, making the round
of the squads, had watched him for a moment and had thereupon sent
him into the second group, which was under the instruction of a big,
good-natured boy whom Hansel recognized as the Laurence Royle of whom
Harry Folsom had spoken. The first day’s practice consisted principally
of exercises designed to limber up stiff muscles, and proved most
uninteresting and disappointing to many of the new candidates. After
doing a quarter of a mile jog around the cinder track, the fellows
were sent up to the gymnasium, where their names and weights were
taken down by the manager. On the second afternoon the unpromising
candidates were weeded out, and definite teams--first, second, third,
and fourth--were formed; and Hansel found himself one of sixteen lucky
fellows constituting the first.
The coach was Mr. Ames, instructor in French and German. He had played
football and baseball during his college days at Harvard, and had,
in fact, been an all-round athlete. He was a young man, very popular
with the students and very successful in handling them, either on the
gridiron or in the classroom. During his five years as coach Beechcroft
had won three football games from Fairview School, her dearest enemy,
and had lost two; had been defeated three times in baseball, had tied
one game and won one; had been generally successful on the track, and
in the two years that hockey had been played had been twice defeated.
The physical training was looked after by Mr. Foote, the director
of the gymnasium. Undoubtedly Beechcroft could have done better in
athletics had she had a professional trainer and additional coaches,
but there was little revenue from athletics and almost no support from
graduates, and as a consequence what money was obtained for athletic
expenditure came from the students themselves and was insufficient
for anything more than the items of equipment, field maintenance,
and traveling expenses. Under the circumstances, it was felt that
Beechcroft did very well.
Mr. Ames believed that in Hansel the football team had a find of no
small importance. The boy evidently knew football from the ground up,
had weight, speed, and brains, and promised to develop into one of the
best men on the team. He confided his belief to Bert and Harry one
afternoon after practice was over, and even Bert was forced, seemingly
against his will, to agree with him. Harry was enthusiastic, possibly
because he had discerned Hansel’s abilities at their first meeting, and
so felt a sort of proprietary interest in him.
“He’s got end cinched,” declared the manager. “Cutter and Grant will
have to toss up to see which one of them goes to the scrub. I knew the
first moment I set eyes on the fellow that he could play the game.”
“Well, if he’s a find he’s the only one that I know about,” said Bert.
“There isn’t anyone else in sight who threatens to become famous.”
“That’s so,” agreed Mr. Ames. “The new men are a poor lot from the
football standpoint. But there’s some good track material in sight.”
“Hang your old track material,” laughed Bert. “What I’m looking for is
a few good heavy linemen.”
After the coach had taken himself off, Bert and Harry went up to the
latter’s room in Weeks.
“How are you and Achates getting on together?” asked Harry when he had
pushed Bert into an easy chair and thrown himself among the window
cushions.
“Oh, all right, I guess. I told you he had a grudge against me, didn’t
I, because he says I used to haze him when he was a youngster?”
“Yes, but of course you didn’t really do such a thing,” laughed Harry.
“You dry up! I dare say I did tease him a bit; he was such a milksop,
you see. But I think it’s mighty small of him to remember it all this
time!”
“Yes, I suppose so, but--oh, I don’t know; he seems sort of funny in
some ways, don’t you think?”
“Yes, he’s woozy, the silly dub! And I know all the time that he’s
sort of laughing at me up his sleeve because I told him not to be
disappointed if he didn’t make the team.”
“Did you tell him that?” laughed Harry.
“Yes; I didn’t want him to think he could get on just because he roomed
with the captain; you know lots of fellows would have thought that.”
“Ye-es, but I don’t think Dana’s that kind.”
“Maybe not; I know he isn’t, in fact. But I didn’t then. Gee but he
_can_ play!”
“You’d better believe it, Bert! I’ll bet he’ll turn out the best end in
years. Why, the chap can run like a gale of wind, and as for putting
his man out--” Words failed him. “Well, I’m glad you two are chummy; it
makes it better, eh?”
“We’re not exactly chummy,” answered Bert with a frown, “but we get on
all right. He attends to his affairs and I attend to mine; we don’t
have much to say to each other--yet.”
“Pshaw, don’t be nasty, Bert. He’ll be decent if you will, I bet. You
know you have a temper sometimes, and----”
“I don’t remember things a thousand years, do I?” asked the other
angrily. “Temper! Who wouldn’t have a temper when----”
“There, there, old chap! Don’t get waxy with me. If you do I’ll throw
you out of the window!”
Whereupon a scuffle ensued, and Bert’s ill temper passed.
Bert’s description of the existing relations between the occupants
of 22 Prince was a true one. He and Hansel “got on all right,” but
there wasn’t much chumming. Football seemed to be the only topic which
could induce conversation. Sometimes an hour passed in the evening
during which not a word was exchanged across the study table. Bert
would have been glad to let bygones be bygones, for he liked Hansel,
if only because of the latter’s ability to play football; Bert would
have found a warm corner in his heart for the sorriest specimen of
humanity imaginable had the latter been able to play the game well. But
he wasn’t one to make advances even had there been encouragement, which
there wasn’t. Hansel was always polite, always amiable, but, so far as
Bert could see, didn’t care a row of pins whether his roommate came or
went. Life at home wasn’t enlivening to Bert in those days, for he was | 1,401.581014 |
2023-11-16 18:40:25.6597950 | 331 | 12 |
Transcribed from the 1893 Oliphant Anderson and Ferrier edition by David
Price, email [email protected]
BUNYAN CHARACTERS: FIRST SERIES
BEING LECTURES DELIVERED IN ST. GEORGE'S FREE CHURCH EDINBURGH
BY ALEXANDER WHYTE, D.D.
INTRODUCTORY
'The express image' [Gr. 'the character'].--Heb. 1. 3.
The word 'character' occurs only once in the New Testament, and that is
in the passage in the prologue of the Epistle to the Hebrews, where the
original word is translated 'express image' in our version. Our Lord is
the Express Image of the Invisible Father. No man hath seen God at any
time. The only-begotten Son, who is in the bosom of the Father, He hath
declared Him. The Father hath sealed His divine image upon His Son, so
that he that hath seen the Son hath seen the Father. The Son is thus the
Father's character stamped upon and set forth in human nature. The Word
was made flesh. This is the highest and best use to which our so
expressive word 'character' has ever been put, and the use to which it is
put when we speak of Bunyan's Characters partakes of the same high sense
and usage. For it is of the outstanding good or evil in a man that we
think when we speak of his | 1,401.679835 |
2023-11-16 18:40:25.6598950 | 7,436 | 7 |
E-text prepared by Greg Bergquist, Charlie Howard, and the Online
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generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 44177-h.htm or 44177-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/mythsfablesoftod00drak
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY
* * * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
=The Watch Fires of '76= Illustrated =$1.25=
=The Campaign of Trenton= =.50=
=Burgoyne's Invasion of 1777= =.50=
=The Taking of Louisburg= =.50=
=The Battle of Gettysburg= =.50=
=Our Colonial Homes= Illustrated =2.50=
=Old Landmarks of Boston= Illustrated =2.00=
=Old Landmarks of Middlesex= Illustrated =2.00=
=Captain Nelson= A romance of Colonial Days =.75=
=The Heart of the White Mountains= Illustra'd =7.50=
=The Same= Tourists' Edition =3.00=
=Old Boston Taverns= Paper =.25=
=Around the Hub= A Boys' Book about Boston =1.12=
=New England Legends and Folk Lore= Illus'd =2.00=
=The Making of New England= Illustrated =1.50=
=The Making of the Great West= Illustrated =1.50=
=The Making of Virginia and Middle Colonies= =1.50=
=The Making of the Ohio Valley States= Ill'd =1.50=
=The Pine Tree Coast= Illustrated =1.50=
_Any book in the above list sent by mail, postpaid, on receipt of
price, by_
LEE AND SHEPARD BOSTON MASS.
* * * * * *
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY
"_Lord, what fools these mortals be!_"
[Illustration: HALLOWE'EN.]
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY
by
SAMUEL ADAMS DRAKE
Illustrations by Frank T. Merrill
Boston
Lee and Shepard
MCM
Copyright, 1900, by Samuel Adams Drake.
_All rights reserved._
THE MYTHS AND FABLES OF TO-DAY.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I. A RECKONING WITH TIME 1
II. THE FOLK-LORE OF CHILDHOOD 25
III. WEATHER LORE 34
IV. SIGNS OF ALL SORTS 47
V. CHARMS TO GOOD LUCK 55
VI. CHARMS AGAINST DISEASE 85
VII. OF FATE IN JEWELS 109
VIII. OF LOVE AND MARRIAGE 122
IX. OF EVIL OMENS 144
X. OF HAUNTED HOUSES, PERSONS, AND PLACES 182
XI. OF PRESENTIMENTS 208
XII. THE DIVINING-ROD 229
XIII. WONDERS OF THE PHYSICAL UNIVERSE 234
XIV. "SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT" 244
XV. FORTUNE-TELLING, ASTROLOGY, AND PALMISTRY 259
[Illustration]
I
A RECKONING WITH TIME
"Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too
superstitious."
To say that superstition is one of the facts of history is only to
state a truism. If that were all, we might treat the subject from
a purely philosophical or historical point of view, as one of the
inexplicable phenomena of an age much lower in intelligence than our
own, and there leave it.
But if, also, we must admit superstition to be a present, a living,
fact, influencing, if not controlling, the everyday acts of men, we
have to deal with a problem as yet unsolved, if not insolvable.
I know it is commonly said that such things belong to a past age--that
they were the legitimate product of ignorance, and have died out with
the education of the masses. In other words, we know more than our
ancestors did about the phenomena of nature, and therefore by no means
accept, as they did--good, superstitious souls!--the appearance of a
comet blazing in the heavens, or the heaving of an earthquake under our
feet, as events having moral significance. With the aid of electricity
or steam we perform miracles every day of our lives, such as, no doubt,
would have created equal wonder and fear for the general stability of
the world not many generations ago.
Very true. So far as merely physical phenomena are concerned, most of
us may have schooled ourselves to disunite them wholly from coming
events; but as regards those things which spring from the inward
consciousness of the man himself, his intuitions, his perceptions,
his aspirations, his imaginative nature, which, if strong enough, is
capable of creating and peopling a realm wholly outside of the little
world he lives in--"ay, there's the rub." Who will undertake to span
the gulf stretching out a shoreless void between the revelations of
science and the incomprehensible mysteries of life itself? It is upon
that debatable ground that superstition finds its strongest foothold,
and, like the ivy clinging round old walls, defies every attempt to
uproot it. As Hamlet so cogently puts it,--
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
Superstition, we know, is much older than recorded history, and we now
stand on the threshold of the twentieth century; yet just in proportion
as humanity has passed over this enormous space of time, hand in hand
with progress, superstition has followed it like its shadow. That
shadow has not yet passed away.
There is no sort of use in denying the proneness of weak human nature
to admit superstition. It is an open door, through which the marvellous
finds easy access. Imbibed in the cradle, it is not even buried in the
grave. "Age cannot stale, nor custom wither" those ancient fables of
ghosts, giants, goblins, and brownies told by fond mothers to children
to-day, just as they were told by mothers centuries ago. Even the
innocent looking Easter egg, which continues to enjoy such unbounded
popularity with old and young, comes of an old Aryan myth; while the
hanging up of one's stocking, at Christmas, is neither more nor less
than an act of superstition, originating in another myth; or, in plain
English, no Santa Claus, no stocking.
How much of childhood's charm in the greatest of all annual festivals,
the world over, would remain if Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, and St.
Nicholas were stripped of their traditional, but wholly fictitious,
character? One of our popular magazines for children--long life to
it!--flourishes under the title of St. Nicholas to-day; and during the
very latest observance of the time-honored festival, a leading journal
in New England's chief city devoted considerable space in its editorial
columns to an elaborate defence of that dear old myth Santa Claus,
with whom, indeed, we should be very loth to part, if only for the sake
of old associations.
It is also noticed that quite recently stories of the wonderful
brownies have enjoyed their greatest popularity. For a time these
spindle-shanked, goggle-eyed puppets could be seen in every household,
in picture-books, on book covers, in the newspapers--in short,
everywhere. Should the children be told that there never were any
such creatures as fairies or brownies, there would be an end to all
the charm they possess; for, unquestionably, their only hold upon
the popular mind rests upon the association with olden superstition.
Otherwise they would be only so many commonplace rag dolls.
Kipling's popular "Jungle Stories," probably more widely read than any
stories of the century, give still further effect to the same idea.
Now, is not the plea that these are mere harmless nothings by far the
most short-sighted one that could be advanced? The critical thought
to be impressed here is that about the first teaching little children
receive is a lesson in superstition, and that, too, at a time when
their young minds are most susceptible to lasting impressions. We have
yet to hear of the mother, nursery-maid, or governess, who begins the
story of Cinderella or Bluebeard with the warning that it is not "a
real true story," as children say.
Are children of a larger growth any less receptive to the marvellous?
"Great oaks from little acorns grow." The seed first planted in virgin
soil later bears an abundant harvest. Stage plays, operas, poetry,
romances, painting, and sculpture dealing with the supernatural
command quite as great a popularity, to-day, as ever. Fortune telling,
palmistry, astrology, clairvoyance, hypnotism, and the rest, continue
to thrive either as a means of getting a living, or of innocent
diversion, leaving their mark upon the inner consciousness just the
same in one case as in the other.
So much being undeniable, it stands with every honest inquirer after
truth to look these facts in the face without blinking. Ignorance we
dare not plead. The dictates of a sound common sense will not permit us
to dismiss what we do not understand with a laugh, a shrug, or a sneer.
"To scold is not to answer."
Superstition is not easily defined. To say that it is a disposition to
believe more than is warranted by reason, leaves us just as helpless
as ever; for where reason is impotent we have nothing tangible left to
fall back upon. There is absolutely no support on which to rest that
lever. Religion and philosophy, which at first fostered superstition,
long ago turned against it all the forces they possessed. Not even
science may hope to overthrow what can only be reached through the
inner consciousness of man, because science can have little to do with
the spiritual side of man. That intangible something still eludes
its grasp. If all these combined forces of civilization have so far
signally failed to eradicate superstition, so much the worse for
civilization.
We might also refer to the efforts of some very erudite scholars to
interpret modern superstition by the aid of comparative mythology.
Vastly interesting, if not wholly convincing, theories have been
constructed on this line. Instructive, too, is the fact that some
of our most familiar nursery stories may be traced to the ancient
folk-lore of still older peoples. Even a remote antiquity is claimed
for the familiar nursery tale of "Jack and Jill"; while something very
similar to the story of "Little Red Riding Hood" is found, in its
purity, in the grewsome werewolf folk-lore of Germany; and "Jonah's
Gourd," of the East, we are told, probably is the original of "Jack and
the Beanstalk" of the West.
But the very fact of the survival of all these hoary superstitions,
some of them going back so far that all further trace is lost,
certainly furnishes food for thought, since they seemingly enjoy as
great a popularity as ever.
Superstition being thus shown to be as old as human history, the
question naturally arises, not how it may have originated in the Dark
Ages, but how it has kept its hold so tenaciously throughout all the
succeeding centuries down to our own time.
Most peoples, barbarians even, believed in some sort of a future state,
in the principle of good and evil, and of rewards and punishments.
There needs no argument then to account for the insatiable longing to
pry into futurity, and to discover its hidden mysteries. The same idea
unsettled the minds of former generations, nor can it be truthfully
said to have disappeared before the vaunted wisdom of this utilitarian
age. Like all forbidden fruit, this may be said to be the subject of
greatest anxiety to weak human kind.
What then is this talisman with the aid of which we strive to penetrate
the secrets of the world beyond us?
Man being what he is, only "a little lower than the angels," endowed
with the supernatural power of calling up at will mental images of both
the living and the dead, of building air-castles, and peopling them
according to his fantasy, as well in Cathay as in Spain, of standing
by the side of an absent friend on the summit of Mont Blanc, one moment
among the snows, the next flitting through the garden spots of sunny
Italy--if he is thus capable of transporting himself into an enchanted
land by the mere exercise of the power of his imagination--what could
better serve him as a medium of communication with the unknown, and
what shall deter him from seeking to fathom its deepest mysteries?
Napoleon said truly that the imagination governs the universe. Every
one has painted his own picture of heaven and hell as well as Dante
or Milton, or the divine mysteries as truly as Leonardo or Murillo.
Surely, the imagination could go no further.
Assuming this to be true, there is little need to ask why, in this
enlightened age, the attempt should be made to revive vagaries already
decrepit, that would much better be allowed to go out with the departed
century, unhonored and unsung. Such a question could proceed only from
a want of knowledge of the true facts in the case.
But whether superstition is justified by the dictates of a sound common
sense, is not so material here, as whether it actually does exist;
and if so, to what extent. That is what we shall try to make clear in
the succeeding pages. The inquiry grows interesting in many ways, but
most of all, we think, as showing the slow stages by which the human
mind has enfranchised itself from a species of slavery, without its
counterpart in any direction to which we may turn for help or guidance.
Even science, that great leveller of popular error, limps here.
Certainly, what has existed as long as human history must be accepted
as a more or less active force in human affairs. We are not, therefore,
dealing with futilities.
Of the present status of superstition, the most that can be truthfully
said is that some of its worst forms are nearly or quite extinct,
some are apparently on the wane, while those representing, perhaps,
the widest extremes (the most puerile and the most vital), such, for
example, as relate to vapid tea-table gossip on the one hand, and to
fatal presentiments on the other, continue quite as active as ever.
Uncivilized beings are now supposed to be the only ones who still hold
to the belief in witchcraft, although within a very few months it has
been currently reported as a fact that the judge of a certain Colorado
court admitted the plea of witchcraft to be set up, because, as this
learned judge shrewdly argued, more than half the people there believed
in it. The defendant, who stood charged with committing a murderous
assault upon a woman, swore that she had bewitched him, and was
acquitted by the jury, mainly upon his own testimony.
Unquestionably modern hypnotism comes very close to solving the problem
of olden witchcraft, which so baffled the wisdom, as it tormented the
souls and bodies, of our ancestors, with this difference: that, while
witchcraft was believed to be a power to work evil, coming direct from
his Satanic Majesty himself, hypnotism is a power or gift residing in
the individual, like that of mesmerism.
But if it be true that there are very few believers in witchcraft among
enlightened beings to-day, it cannot be denied that thousands of highly
civilized men and women as firmly believe in some indefinable relation
between man and the spirit world as in their own existence; while
tens of thousands believe in such a relation between mind and mind.
Indeed, the former class counts some very notable persons among its
converts. For example, Camille Flammarion, the distinguished scientist,
positively declares that he has had direct communication with hundreds
of departed spirits.[1] And the Reverend M. J. Savage, pastor of the
Church of the Messiah, in New York, is reported to have announced
himself a convert to spiritualism to his congregation not long ago.
The true explanation for all these different beliefs must be sought
for, we think, deep down in the nature of man, which is much the same
to-day in its relation to the supernatural world as it was in the days
of our fathers of bigoted memory. In reality, the supernatural element
exists to a greater or less degree in all of us, and no merely human
agency can pretend to fix its limits.
Unquestionably, then, those beliefs which have exerted so potent an
influence in the past over the minds or affairs of men, which continue
to exert such influence to-day, and, for ought we know to the contrary,
may extend that influence indefinitely, are not to be whistled down
the wind, or kept hidden away under lock and key, especially when we
reflect that the most terrible examples of the frailty of all human
judgments concerning these beliefs have utterly failed to remove the
groundwork upon which they rest.
There still remains the sentimental side of superstition to consider.
What, for example, would become of much of our best literature, if
all those apt and beautiful figures culled from the rich stores of
ancient mythology--the very flowers of history, so to speak--were
to be weeded out of it with unsparing hand? What would Greek and
Roman history be with their gods and goddesses left out? With what
loving and appreciative art our greatest poets have gathered up the
scattered legends of the fading past. Some one has cunningly said that
superstition is the poetry of life, and that of all men poets should be
superstitious.
As a matter of history, it is well known that our Puritan ancestors
came over here filled full of the prevalent superstitions of the
old country; yet even they had waged uncompromising warfare against
all such ceremonious observances as could be traced back to heathen
mythology. Thus, although they cut down May-poles, they had too much
reverence for the Bible to refuse to believe in witches. Writers like
Mr. Hawthorne have supposed that the wild and extravagant mysteries of
their savage neighbors, may, to some extent, have become incorporated
with their own beliefs. However that may be, it is certain that the
Puritan fathers believed in no end of pregnant omens, also in ghosts,
apparitions, and witches, as well as in a personal devil, with whom,
indeed, later on, they had no end of trouble. In short, if anything
happened out of the common, the devil was in it. So say many to-day.
A certain amount of odium has attached itself to the Puritan fathers of
New England, on this account, among unreflecting or ill-natured critics
at least, just as if, upon leaving Old England, those people would
be expected to leave their superstitions behind them, like so much
useless luggage. As a matter of fact, rank superstition was the common
inheritance of all peoples of that day and generation, whether Jew or
Gentile, Frenchman or Dutchman, Virginian or New Englander. Of its wide
prevalence in Old England we find ample proof ready to our hand. For
example:
"At Boston, in Lincolnshire, Mr. Cotton being their former minister,
when he was gone the bishop desired to have organs set up in the
church, but the parish was unwilling to yield; but, however, the bishop
prevailed to be at the cost to set them up. But they being newly up
(not playing very often with them) a violent storm came in at one
window and blew the organs to another window, and brake both organs and
window down, and to this day the window is out of reputation, being
boarded and not glazed."[2]
Still further to show the feeling prevailing in England toward
superstition at the time of the settlement of this country, in the
historical essay entitled "With the King at Oxford," we find this
anecdote: The King (Charles I.), coming into the Bodleian Library on
a certain day, was shown a very curious copy of Virgil. Lord Falkland
persuaded his Majesty to make trial of his fortune by thrusting a knife
between the leaves, then opening the book at the place in which the
knife was inserted. The king there read as follows:--
"Yet let him vexed bee with arms and warres of people wilde,
And hunted out from place to place, an outlaw still exylde:
Let him go beg for helpe, and from his childe dissevered bee,
And death and slaughter vile of all his kindred let him see."
The narrative goes on to say that the king's majesty was "much
discomposed" by this uncanny incident, and that Lord Falkland, in order
to turn the king's thoughts away from brooding over it, proposed making
the trial himself.
We continue to draw irrefragable testimony to the truth of our
position from the highest personages in the realm. Again, according to
Wallington, Archbishop Laud, arch persecutor of the Puritans, has this
passage in his diary: "That on such or such a day of the month he was
made archbishop of Canterbury, and on that day, which was a great day
of honor to him, his coach and horses sunk as they came over the ferry
at Lambeth, in the ferry-boat, and he prayed that this might be no ill
omen.F
Our pious ancestors put a good deal of faith in so-called "judgments,"
or direct manifestations of the divine wrath toward evildoers, as all
readers of Mather's "Remarkable Providences" well know. But they were
by no means alone in such beliefs. It is related of the poet Milton,
after he became blind, that the Duke of York (later James II.) asked
him if he did not consider the loss of his eyesight as a judgment
inflicted upon him for what he had written of the late king. In reply
Milton asked the duke, if such afflictions were to be regarded as
judgments from heaven, in what manner he would account for the fate of
the late king;... he, the speaker, had only lost his eye, while the
king had lost his head."
John Josselyn, Gent., an Englishman, but no Puritan, who spent some
time in New England, chiefly at Scarborough in Maine, published, in
1672, in England, a little book under the title of "New England's
Rarities Discovered." Some things which Josselyn "discovered" would be
rarities indeed to this generation. For instance, he describes the
appearance of several prodigious apparitions--all of which has a value
in enabling us properly to gauge the tone and temper of popular feeling
where the book was written, and where it was published. One of his
"rarities" is worth repeating here, if only for the pretty sentiment
it embodies. He says of the twittering chimney-swallows, "that when
about to migrate they commonly throw down (the chimney) one of their
young into the room below, by way of gratitude," presumably in return
for the hospitalities of the house. He then goes on to say, "I have
more than once observed that, against the ruin of a family, these birds
will forsake the house and come no more." This comes from a more or
less close observer, who himself occupied the relation we desire to
establish, namely that of a transplanted Englishman, so thoroughly
grounded in old superstition that all the marvels he relates are told
with an air of truth quite refreshing.
An amusing instance of how far prevalent superstition can lead astray
minds usually enlightened is soberly set forth in Governor Winthrop's
celebrated history. It is a fit corollary to the organ superstition,
just narrated.
"Mr. Winthrop the younger, one of the magistrates, having many books
in a chamber, where there was corn of divers sorts, had among them
one wherein the Greek Testament, the Psalter and the Common Prayer
were bound together. He found the Common Prayer eaten with mice, every
leaf of it, and not any of the two other touched, nor any other of his
books, though there were above a thousand."
All these superstitious beliefs were solemnly bequeathed by the fathers
to their children under the sanction of a severe penal code, together
with all the accumulated traditions of their own immediate ancestors.
And in some form or other, whether masquerading under some thin
disguise or foolish notion, superstition has continued from that day to
this. As Polonius says:
"... 'Tis true, 'tis pity;
And pity 'tis 'tis true."
Although a great many popular beliefs may seem puerile in the extreme,
they none the less go to establish the fact to be kept in mind. Since I
began to look into the matter I have been most astonished at the number
of very intelligent persons who take care to conform to prevailing
beliefs in things lucky or the reverse. It is true Lord Bacon tells
us that "in all superstitions wise men follow fools." But this blunt
declaration of his has undoubted reference to the schoolmen, and to the
monastic legends which were such powerful aids in fostering the growth
of superstition as it existed long before Bacon's time:--
"A bone from a saintly anchorite's cave,
A vial of earth from a martyrs grave."
The class of persons just spoken of, is, however, so keenly sensitive
to ridicule that only some chance remark betrays their real mental
attitude.
With the unlettered it is different. Superstition is so much more
prevalent among them that less effort is made at concealment. Perhaps
the many agencies at work to put it down have not had so fair a trial
in the country as in the city. And yet the recent "Lucky-Box" craze
makes it difficult to draw the line. Be that as it may, it would hardly
be an exaggeration to say that some rural communities in New England
are simply honeycombed with it. Indeed, almost every insignificant
happening is a sign of something or other.
One result of my own observation in this field of research is, that
women, if not by nature more superstitious than men, hold to these
old beliefs much more tenaciously than men. In the country, it is the
woman who is ready to quarrel with you, if, in some unguarded moment,
you should venture to doubt the potency of her manifold signs. In the
city, it is still the woman who presents her husband with some charm or
other to be worn on his watch-chain, as a safeguard against disease,
inconstancy, late hours, or other uncounted happenings of life,
believing, as she does, more or less implicitly, in its traditional
efficacy. In all that relates to marriage, too, women are usually most
careful how they disregard any of the accepted dicta on a subject of so
much concern to their future happiness, as will appear later on.
Fifty years ago the poet Whittier declared that "There is scarcely
a superstition of the past three centuries which has not, at this
very time, more or less hold upon individual minds among us." The
broad declaration demands less qualification to-day than is generally
supposed.
Most of the examples collected in this volume have come under my
own observation; some have been contributed by friends, many by the
newspapers. If their number should prove a surprise to anybody, I can
only say that mine has fully equalled their own. But let us, at least,
be honest about it. We can conceal nothing from ourselves. Silence may
be golden, but it makes no converts.
[Illustration]
II
THE FOLK-LORE OF CHILDHOOD
"Why this is the best fooling when all is done."--_Twelfth
Night._
The trite saying that "children and fools are soothsayers" goes
straight to the heart of those familiar superstitions with which the
folk-lore of childhood abounds. We, the children of a larger growth,
often call to mind with what avidity we listened in our childhood's
days to the nursery tales of giants, dwarfs, ghosts, fairies, and the
like creations of pure fancy. We still remember how instantly all the
emotions of our childish nature were excited by the recital of these
marvels--told us, too, with such an air of truth, that never for a
moment did we doubt them. Oh, how we hated Blue Beard, and how we
adored Jack the Giant-Killer! Are we not treated, just as soon as we
are out of the cradle, as if superstition was the first law of nature?
What is the wonder, then, that the effects of these early impressions
are not easily got rid of, or the impressions themselves soon, if ever,
forgotten? "Brownie" is put into the arms of toddling infants before
they can articulate two words plainly. Just as soon as the child is
able to prattle a little, it is taught the familiar nursery rhyme of
"Bye, bye, Baby Bunting,
Papa's gone a-hunting,"
drawn from ancient folk-lore, with which the rabbit and hare are so
intimately associated. After the innocent face rhymes, found with
little variation, in no less than four different languages, giving
names to each of the chubby little features,--
"Eyes winker, Tom Tinker," etc.
come the well-known button rhymes, like this:
"Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,
Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief;"
or this one, told centuries ago to children across the water:--
"A tinker, a tailor,
A soldier or sailor,
A rich man, a poor man,
A priest or a parson,
A ploughman or a thief."
The virgin soil being thus artfully prepared to receive superstition,
the boy or girl goes forth among playmates similarly equipped, with
them to practice various forms of conjuration in their innocent sports,
without in the least knowing what they are doing. Here are a few of
them:--
Making a cross upon the ground before your opponent, at the same time
muttering "criss-cross," when playing at marbles, to make him miss his
shot, as I have often seen done in my schoolboy days. This is merely a
relic of that superstition attached to making the sign of the cross, as
a charm against the power of evil spirits.
The innocent sounding words "criss-cross" we believe originally to have
been Christ's Cross.
Children of both sexes count apple seeds by means of the pretty
jingling rhymes, so like to the German flower oracle, often employed by
children of a larger growth. It has been set to music.
"One I love,
Two I love.
Three I love, I say,
Four I love with all my heart,
Five I cast away;
Six he loves,
Seven she loves,
Eight both love;
Nine he comes,
Ten he tarries,
Eleven he courts,
Twelve he marries."
Holding the pretty field buttercup under another's chin, in order to
see if he or she loves butter, is a good form of divination. So is the
practice of blowing off the fluffy dandelion top, after the flower has
gone to seed, to determine the hour, as that flower always opens at
about five in the morning, and shuts at about eight in the evening,
thus making it stand in the room of a clock for shepherds. This plant
has also been called the rustic oracle. To find the time of day, as
many puffs as it takes to blow away the downy seed balls gives the
answer. The same method of divination is employed by children to find
out if their mothers want them; or to waft a message to some loved one;
or to know if such or such a person is thinking of them; and whether he
or she lives north, east, south, or west.
To the same general purport is the invocation:
"Rain, rain, go away,
Come again another day."
We understand that the equally familiar form,--
"Snail, snail, put out your horn,"
is repeated in China as well as in this country, though sometimes
altered to
"Snail, snail, come out of your | 1,401.679935 |
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[Illustration: THE SISTINE MADONNA.--RAPHAEL.]
CHILD-LIFE IN ART
BY
ESTELLE M. HURLL, M.A.
Illustrated
Children are God's apostles, day by day
Sent forth to preach of love and hope and peace.
LOWELL.
BOSTON
JO | 1,401.680846 |
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file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: HELGA IN THE FAIRY KING'S PARADISE. p. 154.]
Fairy Circles
TALES AND LEGENDS
OF
Giants, Dwarfs, Fairies, Water-Sprites, and Hobgoblins
FROM THE GERMAN OF VILLAMARIA
WITH NUMEROUS ILLUSTRATIONS
London:
MARCUS WARD & CO., 67 & 68, CHANDOS STREET
AND ROYAL ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST
1877
CONTENTS.
PAGE
BARBAROSSA'S YOUTHFUL DREAM 7
KING LAURIN 32
THE DWARF OF VENICE 54
RHINE GOLD 100
THE FRIENDSHIP OF THE DWARFS--
PART I. THE DYING DWARF-QUEEN 115
PART II. THE FRIENDS IN THE ROCK 124
THE FLOWER OF ICELAND 142
THE SEA-FAIRY 172
THE FAITHFUL GOBLIN 201
THE FALLEN BELL 223
THE LAST HOME OF THE GIANTS 249
Illustrations.
PAGE
HELGA IN THE FAIRY KING'S PARADISE (p. 155) _Frontispiece._
FREDERICK TAKES LEAVE OF GELA 7
BARBAROSSA IN THE HOLY LAND 21
BARBAROSSA AND GELA IN THE KYFFHAeUSER 27
VRENELI IN KING LAURIN'S ROSE-GARDEN 32
KING LAURIN IN VRENELI'S COTTAGE 43
THE DWARF OF VENICE TAKES HIS DEPARTURE FOR HIS NATIVE LAND 54
HANS SEES KING LAURIN'S KINGDOM IN THE MAGIC MIRROR 63
HANS RECEIVES A HEARTY WELCOME FROM AN OLD FRIEND 92
HACO THROWS THE TREASURE OF THE NIBELUNGEN INTO THE RHINE 100
CHARLEMAGNE MEETS WITH | 1,401.681893 |
2023-11-16 18:40:25.9663000 | 5,754 | 6 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Memoirs of Napoleon--1805, v8
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Title: Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte, v8
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MEMOIRS OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, VOLUME 8.
By LOUIS ANTOINE FAUVELET DE BOURRIENNE
His Private Secretary
Edited by R. W. Phipps
Colonel, Late Royal Artillery
1891
CONTENTS:
CHAPTER XXVII. to CHAPTER XXXIV. 1804-1805
CHAPTER XXVII.
1804.
Clavier and Hemart--Singular Proposal of Corvisart-M. Desmaisons--
Project of influencing the judges--Visit to the Tuileries--Rapp in
attendance--Long conversation with the Emperor--His opinion on the
trial of Moreau--English assassins and Mr. Fox--Complaints against
the English Government--Bonaparte and Lacuee--Affectionate
behaviour--Arrest of Pichegru--Method employed by the First Consul
to discover his presence in Paris--Character of Moreau--Measures of
Bonaparte regarding him--Lauriston sent to the Temple--Silence
respecting the Duc d'Enghien--Napoleon's opinion of Moreau and
Georges--Admiration of Georges--Offers of employment and dismissal--
Recital of former vexations--Audience of the Empress--Melancholy
forebodings--What Bonaparte said concerning himself--Marks of
kindness.
The judges composing the Tribunal which condemned Moreau were not all
like Thuriot and Hemart. History has recorded an honourable contrast to
the general meanness of the period in the reply given by M. Clavier, when
urged by Hemart to vote for the condemnation of Moreau. "Ah, Monsieur,
if we condemn him, how shall we be able to acquit ourselves?" I have,
besides, the best reason for asserting that the judges were tampered
with, from, a circumstance which occurred to myself.
Bonaparte knew that I was intimately connected with M. Desmaisons, one of
the members of the Tribunal, and brother in-law to Corvisart; he also
knew that Desmaisons was inclined to believe in Moreau's innocence, and
favourable to his acquittal. During the progress of the trial Corvisart
arrived at my house one morning at a very early hour, in a state of such
evident embarrassment that, before he had time to utter a word, I said to
him, "What is the matter? Have you heard any bad news?"
"No," replied Corvisart, "but I came by the Emperor's order. He wishes
you to see my brother-in-law. 'He is,' said he to me, 'the senior judge,
and a man of considerable eminence; his opinion will carry with it great
weight, and I know that he is favourable to Moreau; he is in the wrong.
Visit Bourrienne, said the Emperor, and concert with him respecting the
best method of convincing Desmaisons of his error, for I repeat he is
wrong, he is deceived.' This is the mission with which I am entrusted."
"How," said I, with thorough astonishment, "how came you to be employed
in this affair? Could you believe for one moment that I would tamper
with a magistrate in order to induce him to exercise an unjust rigour?"
"No, rest assured," replied Corvisart, "I merely visited you this morning
in obedience to the order of the Emperor; but I knew beforehand in what
manner you would regard the proposition with which I was charged. I knew
your opinions and your character too well to entertain the smallest doubt
in this respect, and I was convinced that I ran no risk in becoming the
bearer of a commission which would be attended with no effect. Besides,
had I refused to obey the Emperor, it would have proved prejudicial to
your interest, and confirmed him in the opinion that you were favourable
to the acquittal of Moreau. For myself," added Corvisart, "it is
needless to affirm that I have no intention of attempting to influence
the opinion of my brother-in-law; and if I had, you know him sufficiently
well to be convinced in what light he would regard such a proceeding."
Such were the object and result of Corvisart's visit, and I am thence led
to believe that similar attempts must have been made to influence other
members of the Tribunal.
--["The judges had been pressed and acted on in a thousand ways by
the hangerson of the Palace and especially by Real, the natural
intermediary between justice and the Government. Ambition,
servility, fear, every motive capable of influencing them, had been
used: even their humane scruples were employed" (Lanfrey tome iii.
p. 193, who goes on to say that the judges were urged to sentence
Moreau to death in order that the Emperor might fully pardon him).]
But however this may be, prudence led me to discontinue visiting
M. Desmaisons, with whom I was in habits of the strictest friendship.
About this period I paid a visit which occupies an important place in my
recollections. On the 14th of June 1804, four days after the
condemnation of Georges and his accomplices, I received a summons to
attend the Emperor at St. Cloud. It was Thursday, and as I thought on
the great events and tragic scenes about to be acted, I was rather uneasy
respecting his intentions.
But I was fortunate enough to find my friend Rapp in waiting, who said to
me as I entered, "Be not alarmed; he is in the best of humours at
present, and wishes to have some conversation. with you."
Rapp then announced me to the Emperor, and I was immediately admitted to
his presence. After pinching my ear and asking his usual questions, such
as, "What does the world say? How are your children? What are you
about? etc.," he said to me, "By the by, have you attended the
proceedings against Moreau?"--" Yes, Sire, I have not been absent during
one of the sittings."--" Well, Bourrienne, are you of the opinion that
Moreau is innocent?"--"Yes, Sire; at least I am certain that nothing has
come out in the course of the trial tending to criminate him; I am even
surprised how he came to be implicated in this conspiracy, since nothing
has appeared against him which has the most remote connexion with the
affair."--" I know your opinion on this subject; Duroc related to me the
conversation you held with him at the Tuileries; experience has shown
that you were correct; but how could I act otherwise? You know that
Bouvet de Lozier hanged himself in prison, and was only saved by
accident. Real hurried to the Temple in order to interrogate him, and in
his first confessions he criminated Moreau, affirming that he had held
repeated conferences with Pichegru. Real immediately reported to me this
fact, and proposed that Moreau should be arrested, since the rumours
against him seemed to be well founded; he had previously made the same
proposition. I at first refused my sanction to this measure; but after
the charge made against him by Bouvet de Lozier, how could I act
otherwise than I did? Could I suffer such open conspiracies against the
Government? Could I doubt the truth of Bouvet de Lozier's declaration,
under the circumstances in which it was made? Could I foresee that he
would deny his first declaration when brought before the Court? There
was a chain of circumstances which human sagacity could not penetrate,
and I consented to the arrest of Moreau when it was proved that he was in
league with Pichegru. Has not England sent assassins?"--"Sire," said I,
"permit me to call to your recollection the conversation you had in my
presence with Mr. Fox, after which you said to me, 'Bourrienne, I am very
happy at having heard from the mouth of a man of honour that the British
Government is incapable of seeking my life; I always wish to esteem my
enemies."--"Bah! you are a fool! Parbleu! I did not say that the
English Minister sent over an assassin, and that he said to him, 'Here is
gold and a poniard; go and kill the First Consul.' No, I did not believe
that; but it cannot be denied that all those foreign conspirators against
my Government were serving England, and receiving pay from that power.
Have I agents in London to disturb the Government of Great Britain?
I have waged with it honourable warfare; I have not attempted to awaken a
remembrance of the Stuarts amongst their old partisans. Is not Wright,
who landed Georges and his accomplices at Dieppe, a captain in the
British navy? But rest assured that, with the exception of a few
babblers, whom I can easily silence, the hearts of the French people are
with me; everywhere public opinion has been declared in my favour, so
that I have nothing to apprehend from giving the greatest publicity to
these plots, and bringing the accused to a solemn trial. The greater
number of those gentlemen wished me to bring the prisoners before a
military commission, that summary judgment might be obtained; but I
refused my consent to this measure. It might have been said that I
dreaded public opinion; and I fear it not. People may talk as much as
they please, well and good, I am not obliged to hear them; but I do not
like those who are attached to my person to blame what I have done."
As I could not wholly conceal an involuntary emotion, in which the
Emperor saw something more than mere surprise, he paused, took me by the
ear, and, smiling in the most affectionate manner, said, "I had no
reference to you in what I said, but I have to complain of Lacuee. Could
you believe that during the trial he went about clamouring in behalf of
Moreau? He, my aide de camp--a man who owes everything to me! As for
you, I have said that you acted very | 1,401.98634 |
2023-11-16 18:40:26.0613880 | 304 | 18 |
Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
THE END OF THE TETHER
By Joseph Conrad
I
For a long time after the course of the steamer _Sofala_ had been
altered for the land, the low swampy coast had retained its appearance
of a mere smudge of darkness beyond a belt of glitter. The sunrays
seemed to fall violently upon the calm sea--seemed to shatter themselves
upon an adamantine surface into sparkling dust, into a dazzling vapor
of light that blinded the eye and wearied the brain with its unsteady
brightness.
Captain Whalley did not look at it. When his Serang, approaching the
roomy cane arm-chair which he filled capably, had informed him in a low
voice that the course was to be altered, he had risen at once and had
remained on his feet, face forward, while the head of his ship swung
through a quarter of a circle. He had not uttered a single word, not
even the word to steady the helm. It was the Serang, an elderly, alert,
little Malay, with a very dark skin, who murmured the order to the
helmsman. And then slowly Captain Whalley sat down again in the
arm-chair on the bridge and fixed his eyes on the deck between his feet.
He could not hope to see anything new upon this lane of the sea. He had
been on these coasts for | 1,402.081428 |
2023-11-16 18:40:26.0615110 | 1,479 | 53 |
Produced by Brian Coe, Craig Kirkwood, 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:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE INVADED COUNTRY]
* * * * *
THE GERMAN TERROR IN BELGIUM
_An Historical Record_
BY
ARNOLD J. TOYNBEE
LATE FELLOW OF BALLIOL COLLEGE,
OXFORD
NEW YORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
MCMXVII
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT, 1917,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
PREFACE
The subject of this book is the treatment of the civil population in
the countries overrun by the German Armies during the first three
months of the European War. The form of it is a connected narrative,
based on the published documents[1] and reproducing them by direct
quotation or (for the sake of brevity) by reference.
With the documents now published on both sides it is at last
possible to present a clear narrative of what actually happened. The
co-ordination of this mass of evidence, which has gradually accumulated
since the first days of invasion, is the principal purpose for which
the book has been written. The evidence consists of first-hand
statements--some delivered on oath before a court, others taken down
from the witnesses without oath by competent legal examiners, others
written and published on the witnesses’ own initiative as books or
pamphlets. Most of them originally appeared in print in a controversial
setting, as proofs or disproofs of disputed fact, or as justifications
or condemnations of fact that was admitted. In the present work,
however, this argumentative aspect of them has been avoided as far
as possible. For it has either been treated exhaustively in official
publications--the case of Louvain, for instance, in the German White
Book and the Belgian Reply to it--or will not be capable of such
treatment till after the conclusion of the War. The ultimate inquiry
and verdict, if it is to have finality, must proceed either from a
mixed commission of representatives of all the States concerned,
or from a neutral commission like that appointed by the Carnegie
Foundation to inquire into the atrocities committed during the Balkan
War. But the German Government has repeatedly refused proposals,
made both unofficially and officially, that it should allow such
an investigation to be conducted in the territory at present under
German military occupation,[2] and the final critical assessment will
therefore necessarily be postponed till the German Armies have retired
again within their own frontiers.
Meanwhile, an ordered and documented narrative of the attested facts
seems the best preparation for that judicial appraisement for which
the time is not yet ripe. The facts have been drawn from statements
made by witnesses on opposite sides with different intentions and
beliefs, but as far as possible they have been disengaged from this
subjective setting and have been set out, without comment, to speak
for themselves. It has been impossible, however, to confine the
exposition to pure narration at every point, for in the original
evidence the facts observed and the inferred explanation of them
are seldom distinguished, and when the same observed fact is made a
ground for diametrically opposite inferences by different witnesses,
the difficulty becomes acute. A German soldier, say, in Louvain on
the night of August 25th, 1914, hears the sound of machine-gun firing
apparently coming from a certain spot in the town, and infers that at
this spot Belgian civilians are using a machine gun against German
troops; a Belgian inhabitant hears the same sound, and infers that
German troops are firing on civilians. In such cases the narrative
must be interpreted by a judgment as to which of the inferences is
the truth, and this judgment involves discussion. What is remarkable,
however, is the rarity of these contradictions. Usually the different
testimonies fit together into a presentation of fact which is not open
to argument.
The narrative has been arranged so as to follow separately the tracks
of the different German Armies or groups of Armies which traversed
different sectors of French and Belgian territory. Within each sector
the chronological order has been followed, which is generally identical
with the geographical order in which the places affected lie along the
route of march. The present volume describes the invasion of Belgium up
to the sack of Louvain.
ARNOLD J. TOYNBEE.
_March, 1917._
FOOTNOTES:
[1] A schedule of the more important documents will be found in the
“List of Abbreviations” pp. xi-xiii.
[2] Belgian Reply pp. vii. and 97-8.
CONTENTS
FRONTISPIECE _The Invaded Country (Map)_
PAGE
PREFACE v
TABLE OF CONTENTS ix
LIST OF MAPS ix
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS x
LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS xi
CHAPTER I.: THE TRACK OF THE ARMIES 15
CHAPTER II.: FROM THE FRONTIER TO LIÉGE 23
(i) ON THE VISÉ ROAD 23
(ii) ON THE BARCHON ROAD 27
(iii) ON THE FLÉRON ROAD 31
(iv) ON THE VERVIERS ROAD 37
(v) ON THE MALMÉDY ROAD 38
(vi) BETWEEN THE VESDRE AND THE OURTHE 42
(vii) ACROSS THE MEUSE 44
(viii) THE CITY OF LIÉGE 46
CHAPTER III.: FROM LIÉGE TO MALINES 52
(i) THROUGH LIMBURG TO AERSCHOT 52
(ii) AERSCHOT 57
(iii) THE AERSCHOT DISTRICT 74
(iv) THE RETREAT FROM MALINES 77
(v) LOUVAIN 89
MAPS
THE INVADED COUNTRY _Frontispiece_
THE TRACK OF THE ARMIES: FROM THE
FRONTIER TO MALINES[3] _End of Volume_
LOUVAIN, FROM THE GERMAN WHITE BOOK _End of Volume_
FOOTNOTE:
[3] _This map | 1,402.081551 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
TILL THE CLOCK STOPS
BY J. J. BELL
AUTHOR OF "WEE MACGREEGOR," ETC.
1917
THE PROLOGUE
On a certain brilliant Spring morning in London's City the seed of the
Story was lightly sown. Within the directors' room of the Aasvogel
Syndicate, Manchester House, New Broad Street, was done and hidden away a
deed, simple and commonplace, which in due season was fated to yield a
weighty crop of consequences complex and extraordinary.
At the table, pen in hand, sat a young man, slight of build, but of fresh
complexion, and attractive, eager countenance, neither definitely fair
nor definitely dark. He was silently reading over a document engrossed on
bluish hand-made folio; not a lengthy document--nineteen lines, to be
precise. And he was reading very slowly and carefully, chiefly to oblige
the man standing behind his chair.
This man, whose age might have been anything between forty and fifty, and
whose colouring was dark and a trifle florid, would probably have evoked
the epithet of "handsome" on the operatic stage, and in any city but
London that of "distinguished." In London, however, you could hardly fail
to find his like in one or other of the west-end restaurants about 8 p.m.
Francis Bullard, standing erect in the sunshine, a shade over-fed
looking, but perfectly groomed in his regulation city garb, an enigmatic
smile under his neat black moustache as he watched the reader, suggested
nothing ugly or mean, nothing worse, indeed, than worldly prosperity and
a frank enjoyment thereof. His well-kept fingers toyed with a little gold
nugget depending from his watch chain--his only ornament.
The third man was seated in a capacious leather-covered, easy chair by
the hearth. Leaning forward, he held his palms to the fire, though not
near enough for them to have derived much warmth. He was extremely tall
and thin. The head was long and rather narrow, the oval countenance had
singularly refined features. The hair, once reddish, now almost grey, was
parted in the middle and very smoothly brushed; the beard was clipped
close to the cheeks and trimmed to a point. Bluish-grey eyes, deepset,
gave an impression of weariness and sadness; indeed the whole face hinted
at melancholy. Its attractive kindliness was marred by a certain
furtiveness. He was as stylishly dressed as his co-director, Bullard, but
in light grey tweed; and he wore a pearl of price on his tie and a fine
diamond on his little finger. His name was Robert Lancaster, and no man
ever started life with loftier ideals and cleaner intentions.
At last the young man at the table, with a brisk motion, dipped his pen.
"One moment, Alan," said Bullard, and touched a bell-button.
A couple of clerks entered.
"Rose and Ferguson, you will witness Mr. Alan Craig's signature. All
right now, Alan!"
The young man dashed down his name and got up smiling.
Never was last will and testament more eagerly, more cheerfully signed.
The clerks performed their parts and retired.
Alan Craig seized Bullard's hand. "I'm more than obliged to you," he said
heartily, "and to you, too, Mr. Lancaster." He darted over to the hearth.
The oldish man seemed to rouse himself for the handshake. "Of course,
it's merely a matter of form, Alan," he said, and cleared his throat;
"merely a matter of form. In ordinary times you would have been welcome
to the money without--a--anything of the sort, but at present it so
happens--"
"Alan quite understands," Bullard interrupted genially, "that in present
circumstances it was not possible for us to advance even a trifle like
three thousand without something in the way of security--merely as a
matter of form, as you have put it. We might have asked him to sign a
bill or bond; but that method would have been repugnant to you,
Lancaster, as it was to me. As we have arranged it, Alan can start for
the Arctic without feeling a penny in debt--"
"Hardly that," the young man quickly put in. "But I shall go without
feeling I must meet grasping creditors the moment I return. Upon my word,
you have treated me magnificently. When the chance came, so unexpectedly,
of taking over Garnet's share and place in the expedition, and when my
Uncle Christopher flatly refused to advance the money, I felt hopelessly
knocked out, for such a trip had been the ambition of my life. Why, I had
studied for it, on the off-chance, for years! I didn't go into a
geographical publisher's business just to deal in maps, you know. And
then you both came to the rescue--why I can't think, unless it was just
because you knew my poor father in South Africa. Well, I wish he and my
mother were alive to add their thanks--"
"Don't say another word, old chap," said Bullard.
"I will say just this much: if I don't come back, I honestly hope that
will of mine may some day bring you the fortune I've been told I shall
inherit, though, candidly, I don't believe in it."
"But the will is only a matter of--" began Lancaster.
Bullard interposed. "You will repay us from the profits of the big book
you are going to write. I must say your publisher mentioned pretty decent
terms. However, let's finish the business and go to lunch. Here you are,
Alan!--our cheques for L1500 each."
Alan took the slips of tinted paper with a gesture in place of uttered
thanks. He was intensely grateful to these two men, who had made possible
the desire of years. The expedition was no great national affair; simply
the adventure of a few enthusiasts whose main object was to prove or
disprove the existence of land which a famous explorer had believed his
eyes had seen in the far distance. But the expedition would find much
that it did not seek for, and its success would mean reputation for its
members, and reputation would, sooner or later, mean money, which this
young man was by no means above desiring, especially as the money would
mean independence and--well, he was not yet absolutely sure of himself
with respect to matrimony.
He regretfully declined Bullard's invitation to lunch. There were so many
things to be done, for the expedition was to start only eight days later,
and he had promised to take a bite with his friend Teddy France.
"Then you will dine with us to-night," Lancaster said, rising. "You must
give us all the time you can possibly spare before you go. My wife and
Doris bade me say so."
"I will come with pleasure," he replied, flushing slightly. Of late he
had had passages bordering on the tender with Doris Lancaster, and but
for the sudden filling of his mind with thoughts of this great adventure
in the Arctic he might have slipped into the folly of a declaration.
Folly, indeed!--for well he was aware that he was outside any plans which
Mrs. Lancaster may | 1,402.180484 |
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images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 27. SATURDAY, JANUARY 2, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE IRISH MIDWIFE.--PART II.
BY WILLIAM CARLETON.]
The village of Ballycomaisy was as pleasant a little place as one
might wish to see of a summer’s day. To be sure, like all other Irish
villages, it was remarkable for a superfluity of “pigs, praties, and
childre,” which being the stock in trade of an Irish cabin, it is to be
presumed that very few villages either in Ireland or elsewhere could go
on properly without them. It consisted principally of one long street,
which you entered from the north-west side by one of those old-fashioned
bridges, the arches of which were much more akin to the Gothic than the
Roman. Most of the houses were of mud, a few of stone, one or two of
which had the honour of being slated on the front side of the roof, and
rustically thatched on the back, where ostentation was not necessary.
There were two or three shops, a liberal sprinkling of public-houses, a
chapel a little out of the town, and an old dilapidated market-house
near the centre. A few little bye-streets projected in a lateral
direction from the main one, which was terminated on the side opposite to
the north-west by a pound, through which, as usual, ran a shallow stream,
that was gathered into a little gutter as it crossed the road. A crazy
antiquated mill, all covered and cobwebbed with grey mealy dust, stood
about a couple of hundred yards out of the town, to which two straggling
rows of houses, that looked like an abortive street, led you. This mill
was surrounded by a green common, which was again hemmed in by a fine
river, that ran round in a curving line from under the hunchbacked arch
of the bridge we mentioned at the beginning. Now, a little behind, or
rather above this mill, on the skirt of the aforesaid common, stood a
rather neat-looking whitish cabin, with about half a rood of garden
behind it. It was but small, and consisted merely of a sleeping-room
and kitchen. On one side of the door there was a window, opening on
hinges; and on the outside, to the right as you entered the house, there
was placed a large stone, about four feet high, backed by a sloping
mound of earth, so graduated as to allow a person to ascend the stone
without any difficulty. In this cabin lived Rose Moan, the Midwife; and
we need scarcely inform our readers that the stone in question was her
mounting-stone, by which she was enabled to place herself on pillion or
crupper, as the case happened, when called out upon her usual avocation.
Rose was what might be called a _flahoolagh_, or portly woman, with a
good-humoured set of Milesian features; that is to say, a pair of red,
broad checks, a well-set nose, allowing for the disposition to turn up,
and two black twinkling eyes, with a mellow expression that betokened
good nature, and a peculiar description of knowing _professional_ humour
that is never to be met with in any _but_ a Midwife. Rose was dressed
in a red flannel petticoat, a warm cotton sack or wrapper, which pinned
easily over a large bust, and a comfortable woollen shawl. She always
wore a long-bordered morning cap, over which, while travelling, she
pinned a second shawl of Scotch plaid; and to protect her from the cold
night air, she enfolded her precious person in a deep blue cloak of the
true indigo tint. On her head, over cloak and shawl and morning cap, was
fixed a black “splush hat,” with the leaf strapped down by her ears on
each side, so that in point of fact she cared little how it blew, and
never once dreamed that such a process as that of Raper or Mackintosh was
necessary to keep the liege subjects of these realms warm and waterproof,
nor that two systems should exist in Ireland so strongly antithetical to
each other as those of Raper and Father Mathew.
Having thus given a brief sketch of her local habitation and personal
appearance, we shall transfer our readers to the house of a young
new-married farmer named Keho, who lived in a distant part of the parish.
Keho was a comfortable fellow, full of good nature and credulity; but his
wife happened to be one of the sharpest, meanest, most suspicious, and
miserable devils that ever was raised in good-humoured Ireland. Her voice
was as sharp and her heart as cold as an icicle; and as for her tongue,
it was incessant and interminable. Were it not that her husband, who,
though good-natured, was fiery and resolute when provoked, exercised a
firm and salutary control over her, she would have starved both him and
her servants into perfect skeletons. And what was still worse, with a
temper that was vindictive and tyrannical, she affected to be religious,
and upon those who did not know her, actually attempted to pass herself
off as a saint.
One night, about ten or twelve months after his marriage, honest Corny
Keho came out to the barn, where slept his two farm servants, named Phil
Hannigan and Barny Casey. He had been sitting by himself, composing his
mind for a calm night’s sleep, or probably for a curtain lecture, by
taking a contemplative whiff of the pipe, when the servant wench, with a
certain air of hurry, importance, and authority, entered the kitchen, and
informed him that Rose Moan must immediately be sent for.
“The misthress isn’t well, Masther, an’ the sooner she’s sint for, the
betther. So mind my words, sir, if you plaise, an’ pack aff either Phil
or Barny for Rose Moan, an’ I hope I won’t have to ax it again--hem!”
Dandy Keho--for so Corny was called, as being remarkable for his
slovenliness--started up hastily, and having taken the pipe out of his
mouth, was about to place it on the hob; but reflecting that the whiff
could not much <DW44> him in the delivery of his orders, he sallied out
to the barn, and knocked.
“Who’s there? Lave that, wid you, unless you wish to be shotted.” This
was followed by a loud laugh from within.
“Boys, get up wid all haste: it’s the misthress. Phil, saddle Hollowback
and fly--(puff)--fly in a jiffy for Rose Moan; an’ do you, Barny, clap
a back-sugaun--(puff)--an Sobersides, an’ be aff for the Misthress’s
mother--(puff.)”
Both were dressing themselves before he had concluded, and in a very few
minutes were off in different directions, each according to the orders
he had received. With Barny we have nothing to do, unless to say that he
lost little time in bringing Mrs Keho’s mother to her aid; but as Phil is
gone for a much more important character, we beg our readers to return
with us to the cabin of Rose Moan, who is now fast asleep; for it is
twelve o’clock of a beautiful moonlight night, in the pleasant month of
August. Tap-tap. “Is Mrs Moan at home?” In about half a minute her warm
good-looking face, enveloped in flannel, is protruded from the window.
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Produced by Stuart E. Thiel
THE COMMON LAW
By Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.
Conventions:
Numbers in square brackets (e.g. [245]) refer to original page
numbers. Original footnotes were numbered page-by-page, and are
collected at the end of the text. In the text, numbers in slashes
(e.g./1/) refer to original footnote numbers. In the footnote
section, a number such as 245/1 refers to (original) page 245,
footnote 1. The footnotes are mostly citations to old English law
reporters and to commentaries by writers such as Ihering, Bracton
and Blackstone. I cannot give a source for decrypting the
notation.
There is quite a little Latin and some Greek in the original
text. I have reproduced the Latin. The Greek text is omitted; its
place is marked by the expression [Greek characters]. Italics and
diacritical marks such as accents and cedillas are omitted and
unmarked.
Lecture X has two subheads--Successions After Death and
Successions Inter Vivos. Lecture XI is also titled Successions
Inter Vivos. This conforms to the original.
LECTURE I. -- EARLY FORMS OF LIABILITY.
[1] The object of this book is to present a general view of the
Common Law. To accomplish the task, other tools are needed
besides logic. It is something to show that the consistency of a
system requires a particular result, but it is not all. The life
of the law has not been logic: it has been experience. The felt
necessities of the time, the prevalent moral and political
theories, intuitions of public policy, avowed or unconscious,
even the prejudices which judges share with their fellow-men,
have had a good deal more to do than the syllogism in determining
the rules by which men should be governed. The law embodies the
story of a nation's development through many centuries, and it
cannot be dealt with as if it contained only the axioms and
corollaries of a book of mathematics. In order to know what it
is, we must know what it has been, and what it tends to become.
We must alternately consult history and existing theories of
legislation. But the most difficult labor will be to understand
the combination of the two into new products at every stage. The
substance of the law at any given time pretty nearly [2]
corresponds, so far as it goes, with what is then understood to
be convenient; but its form and machinery, and the degree to
which it is able to work out desired results, depend very much
upon its past.
In Massachusetts today, while, on the one hand, there are a great
many rules which are quite sufficiently accounted for by their
manifest good sense, on the other, there are some which can only
be understood by reference to the infancy of procedure among the
German tribes, or to the social condition of Rome under the
Decemvirs.
I shall use the history of our law so far as it is necessary to
explain a conception or to interpret a rule, but no further. In
doing so there are two errors equally to be avoided both by
writer and reader. One is that of supposing, because an idea
seems very familiar and natural to us, that it has always been
so. Many things which we take for granted have had to be
laboriously fought out or thought out in past times. The other
mistake is the opposite one of asking too much of history. We
start with man full grown. It may be assumed that the earliest
barbarian whose practices are to be considered, had a good many
of the same feelings and passions as ourselves.
The first subject to be discussed is the general theory of
liability civil and criminal. The Common Law has changed a good
deal since the beginning of our series of reports, and the search
after a theory which may now be said to prevail is very much a
study of tendencies. I believe that it will be instructive to go
back to the early forms of liability, and to start from them.
It is commonly known that the early forms of legal procedure were
grounded in vengeance. Modern writers [3] have thought that the
Roman law started from the blood feud, and all the authorities
agree that the German law begun in that way. The feud led to the
composition, at first optional, then compulsory, by which the
feud was bought off. The gradual encroachment of the composition
may be traced in the Anglo-Saxon laws, /1/ and the feud was
pretty well broken up, though not extinguished, by the time of
William the Conqueror. The killings and house-burnings of an
earlier day became the appeals of mayhem and arson. The appeals
de pace et plagis and of mayhem became, or rather were in
substance, the action of trespass which is still familiar to
lawyers. /2/ But as the compensation recovered in the appeal was
the alternative of vengeance, we might expect to find its scope
limited to the scope of vengeance. Vengeance imports a feeling of
blame, and an opinion, however distorted by passion, that a wrong
has been done. It can hardly go very far beyond the case of a
harm intentionally inflicted: even a dog distinguishes between
being stumbled over and being kicked.
Whether for this cause or another, the early English appeals for
personal violence seem to have been confined to intentional
wrongs. Glanvill /3/ mentions melees, blows, and wounds,--all
forms of intentional violence. In the fuller description of such
appeals given by Bracton /4/ it is made quite clear that they
were based on intentional assaults. The appeal de pace et plagis
laid an intentional assault, described the nature of the arms
used, and the length and depth of the wound. The appellor also
had [4] to show that he immediately raised the hue and cry. So
when Bracton speaks of the lesser offences, which were not sued
by way of appeal, he instances only intentional wrongs, such as
blows with the fist, flogging, wounding, insults, and so forth.
/1/ The cause of action in the cases of trespass reported in the
earlier Year Books and in the Abbreviatio Plaeitorum is always an
intentional wrong. It was only at a later day, and after
argument, that trespass was extended so as to embrace harms which
were foreseen, but which were not the intended consequence of the
defendant's act. /2/ Thence again it extended to unforeseen
injuries. /3/
It will be seen that this order of development is not quite
consistent with an opinion which has been held, that it was a
characteristic of early law not to penetrate beyond the external
visible fact, the damnum corpore corpori datum. It has been
thought that an inquiry into the internal condition of the
defendant, his culpability or innocence, implies a refinement of
juridical conception equally foreign to Rome before the Lex
Aquilia, and to England when trespass took its shape. I do not
know any very satisfactory evidence that a man was generally held
liable either in Rome /4/ or England for the accidental
consequences even of his own act. But whatever may have been the
early law, the foregoing account shows the starting-point of the
system with which we have to deal. Our system of private
liability for the consequences of a man's own acts, that is, for
his trespasses, started from the notion of actual intent and
actual personal culpability.
The original principles of liability for harm inflicted by [5]
another person or thing have been less carefully considered
hitherto than those which governed trespass, and I shall
therefore devote the rest of this Lecture to discussing them. I
shall try to show that this liability also had its root in the
passion of revenge, and to point out the changes by which it
reached its present form. But I shall not confine myself strictly
to what is needful for that purpose, because it is not only most
interesting to trace the transformation throughout its whole
extent, but the story will also afford an instructive example of
the mode in which the law has grown, without a break, from
barbarism to civilization. Furthermore, it will throw much light
upon some important and peculiar doctrines which cannot be
returned to later.
A very common phenomenon, and one very familiar to the student of
history, is this. The customs, beliefs, or needs of a primitive
time establish a rule or a formula. In the course of centuries
the custom, belief, or necessity disappears, but the rule
remains. The reason which gave rise to the rule has been
forgotten, and ingenious minds set themselves to inquire how it
is to be accounted for. Some ground of policy is thought of,
which seems to explain it and to reconcile it with the present
state of things; and then the rule adapts itself to the new
reasons which have been found for it, and enters on a new career.
The old form receives a new content, and in time even the form
modifies itself to fit the meaning which it has received. The
subject under consideration illustrates this course of events
very clearly.
I will begin by taking a medley of examples embodying as many
distinct rules, each with its plausible and seemingly sufficient
ground of policy to explain it.
[6] A man has an animal of known ferocious habits, which escapes
and does his neighbor damage. He can prove that the animal
escaped through no negligence of his, but still he is held
liable. Why? It is, says the analytical jurist, because, although
he was not negligent at the moment of escape, he was guilty of
remote heedlessness, or negligence, or fault, in having such a
creature at all. And one by whose fault damage is done ought to
pay for it.
A baker's man, while driving his master's cart to deliver hot
rolls of a morning, runs another man down. The master has to pay
for it. And when he has asked why he should have to pay for the
wrongful act of an independent and responsible being, he has been
answered from the time of Ulpian to that of Austin, that it is
because he was to blame for employing an improper person. If he
answers, that he used the greatest possible care in choosing his
driver, he is told that that is no excuse; and then perhaps the
reason is shifted, and it is said that there ought to be a remedy
against some one who can pay the damages, or that such wrongful
acts as by ordinary human laws are likely to happen in the course
of the service are imputable to the service.
Next, take a case where a limit has been set to liability which
had previously been unlimited. In 1851, Congress passed a law,
which is still in force, and by which the owners of ships in all
the more common cases of maritime loss can surrender the vessel
and her freight then pending to the losers; and it is provided
that, thereupon, further proceedings against the owners shall
cease. The legislators to whom we owe this act argued that, if a
merchant embark a portion of his property upon a hazardous
venture, it is reasonable that his stake should be confined to
what [7] he puts at risk,--a principle similar to that on which
corporations have been so largely created in America during the
last fifty years.
It has been a rule of criminal pleading in England down into the
present century, that an indictment for homicide must set forth
the value of the instrument causing the death, in order that the
king or his grantee might claim forfeiture of the deodand, "as an
accursed thing," in the language of Blackstone.
I might go on multiplying examples; but these are enough to show
the remoteness of the points to be brought together.--As a first
step towards a generalization, it will be necessary to consider
what is to be found in ancient and independent systems of law.
There is a well-known passage in Exodus, /1/ which we shall have
to remember later: "If an ox gore a man or a woman, that they
die: then the ox shall be surely stoned, and his flesh shall not
be eaten; but the owner of the ox shall be quit." When we turn
from the Jews to the Greeks, we find the principle of the passage
just quoted erected into a system. Plutarch, in his Solon, tells
us that a dog that had bitten a man was to be delivered up bound
to a log four cubits long. Plato made elaborate provisions in his
Laws for many such cases. If a slave killed a man, he was to be
given up to the relatives of the deceased. /2/ If he wounded a
man, he was to be given up to the injured party to use him as he
pleased. /3/ So if he did damage to which the injured party did
not contribute as a joint cause. In either case, if the owner [8]
failed to surrender the slave, he was bound to make good the
loss. /1/ If a beast killed a man, it was to be slain and cast
beyond the borders. If an inanimate thing caused death, it was to
be cast beyond the borders in like manner, and expiation was to
be made. /2/ Nor was all this an ideal creation of merely
imagined law, for it was said in one of the speeches of
Aeschines, that "we banish beyond our borders stocks and stones
and steel, voiceless and mindless things, if they chance to kill
a man; and if a man commits suicide, bury the hand that struck
the blow afar from its body." This is mentioned quite as an
every-day matter, evidently without thinking it at all
extraordinary, only to point an antithesis to the honors heaped
upon Demosthenes. /3/ As late as the second century after Christ
the traveller Pausanias observed with some surprise that they
still sat in judgment on inanimate things in the Prytaneum. /4/
Plutarch attributes the institution to Draco. /5/
In the Roman law we find the similar principles of the noxoe
deditio gradually leading to further results. The Twelve Tables
(451 B.C.) provided that, if an animal had done damage, either
the animal was to be surrendered or the damage paid for. /6/ We
learn from Gains that the same rule was applied to the torts of
children or slaves, /7/ and there is some trace of it with regard
to inanimate things.
The Roman lawyers, not looking beyond their own [9] system or
their own time, drew on their wits for an explanation which would
show that the law as they found it was reasonable. Gaius said
that it was unjust that the fault of children or slaves should be
a source of loss to their parents or owners beyond their own
bodies, and Ulpian reasoned that a fortiori this was true of
things devoid of life, and therefore incapable of fault. /1/ This
way of approaching the question seems to deal with the right of
surrender as if it were a limitation of a liability incurred by a
parent or owner, which would naturally and in the first instance
be unlimited. But if that is what was meant, it puts the cart
before the horse. The right of surrender was not introduced as a
limitation of liability, but, in Rome and Greece alike, payment
was introduced as the alternative of a failure to surrender.
The action was not based, as it would be nowadays, on the fault
of the parent or owner. If it had been, it would always have been
brought against the person who had control of the slave or animal
at the time it did the harm complained of, and who, if any one,
was to blame for not preventing the injury. So far from this
being the course, the person to be sued was the owner at the time
of suing. The action followed the guilty thing into whosesoever
hands it came. /2/ And in curious contrast with the principle as
inverted to meet still more modern views of public policy, if the
animal was of a wild nature, that is, in the very case of the
most ferocious animals, the owner ceased to be liable the moment
it escaped, because at that moment he ceased to be owner. /3/
There [10] seems to have been no other or more extensive
liability by the old law, even where a slave was guilty with his
master's knowledge, unless perhaps he was a mere tool in his
master's hands. /1/ Gains and Ulpian showed an inclination to cut
the noxoe deditio down to a privilege of the owner in case of
misdeeds committed without his knowledge; but Ulpian is obliged
to admit, that by the ancient law, according to Celsus, the
action was noxal where a slave was guilty even with the privity
of his master. /2/
All this shows very clearly that the liability of the owner was
merely a way of getting at the slave or animal which was the
immediate cause of offence. In other words, vengeance on the
immediate offender was the object of the Greek and early Roman
process, not indemnity from the master or owner. The liability of
the owner was simply a liability of the offending thing. In the
primitive customs of Greece it was enforced by a judicial process
expressly directed against the object, animate or inanimate. The
Roman Twelve Tables made the owner, instead of the thing itself,
the defendant, but did not in any way change the ground of
liability, or affect its limit. The change was simply a device to
allow the owner to protect his interest. /3/
But it may be asked how inanimate objects came to be [11] pursued
in this way, if the object of the procedure was to gratify the
passion of revenge. Learned men have been ready to find a reason
in the personification of inanimate nature common to savages and
children, and there is much to confirm this view. Without such a
personification, anger towards lifeless things would have been
transitory, at most. It is noticeable that the commonest example
in the most primitive customs and laws is that of a tree which
falls upon a man, or from which he falls and is killed. We can
conceive with comparative ease how a tree might have been put on
the same footing with animals. It certainly was treated like
them, and was delivered to the relatives, or chopped to pieces
for the gratification of a real or simulated passion. /1/
In the Athenian process there is also, no doubt, to be traced a
different thought. Expiation is one of the ends most insisted on
by Plato, and appears to have been the purpose of the procedure
mentioned by Aeschines. Some passages in the Roman historians
which will be mentioned again seem to point in the same
direction. /2/
Another peculiarity to be noticed is, that the liability seems to
have been regarded as attached to the body doing the damage, in
an almost physical sense. An untrained intelligence only
imperfectly performs the analysis by which jurists carry
responsibility back to the beginning of a chain of causation. The
hatred for anything giving us pain, which wreaks itself on the
manifest cause, and which leads even civilized man to kick a door
when it pinches his finger, is embodied in the noxoe deditio and
[12] other kindred doctrines of early Roman law. There is a
defective passage in Gaius, which seems to say that liability may
sometimes be escaped by giving up even the dead body of the
offender. /1/ So Livy relates that, Brutulus Papins having caused
a breach of truce with the Romans, the Samnites determined to
surrender him, and that, upon his avoiding disgrace and
punishment by suicide, they sent his lifeless body. It is
noticeable that the surrender seems to be regarded as the natural
expiation for the breach of treaty, /2/ and that it is equally a
matter of course to send the body when the wrong-doer has
perished. /3/
The most curious examples of this sort occur in the region of
what we should now call contract. Livy again furnishes an
example, if, indeed, the last is not one. The Roman Consul
Postumius concluded the disgraceful peace of the Caudine Forks
(per sponsionem, as Livy says, denying the common story that it
was per feedus), and he was sent to Rome to obtain the sanction
of the people. When there however, he proposed that the persons
who had made the [13] contract, including himself, should be
given up in satisfaction of it. For, he said, the Roman people
not having sanctioned the agreement, who is so ignorant of the
jus fetialium as not to know that they are released from
obligation by surrendering us? The formula of surrender seems to
bring the case within the noxoe deditio. /1/ Cicero narrates a
similar surrender of Mancinus by the pater-patratus to the
Numantines, who, however, like the Samnites in the former case,
refused to receive him. /2/
It might be asked what analogy could have been found between a
breach of contract and those wrongs which excite the desire for
vengeance. But it must be remembered that the distinction between
tort and breaches of contract, and especially between the
remedies for the two, is not found ready made. It is conceivable
that a procedure adapted to redress for violence was extended to
other cases as they arose. Slaves were surrendered for theft as
well as [14] for assault; /1/ and it is said that a debtor who
did not pay his debts, or a seller who failed to deliver an
article for which he had been paid, was dealt with on the same
footing as a thief. /2/ This line of thought, together with the
quasi material conception of legal obligations as binding the
offending body, which has been noticed, would perhaps explain the
well-known law of the Twelve Tables as to insolvent debtors.
According to that law, if a man was indebted to several creditors
and insolvent, after certain formalities they might cut up his
body and divide it among them. If there was a single creditor, he
might put his debtor to death or sell him as a slave. /3/
If no other right were given but to reduce a debtor to slavery,
the law might be taken to look only to compensation, and to be
modelled on the natural working of self-redress. /4/ The
principle of our own law, that taking a man's body on execution
satisfies the debt, although he is not detained an hour, seems to
be explained in that way. But the right to put to death looks
like vengeance, and the division of the body shows that the debt
was conceived very literally to inhere in or bind the body with a
vinculum juris.
Whatever may be the true explanation of surrender in connection
with contracts, for the present purpose we need not go further
than the common case of noxoe deditio for wrongs. Neither is the
seeming adhesion of liability to the very body which did the harm
of the first importance. [15] The Roman law dealt mainly with
living creatures,--with animals and slaves. If a man was run
over, it did not surrender the wagon which crushed him, but the
ox which drew the wagon. /1/ At this stage the notion is easy to
understand. The desire for vengeance may be felt as strongly
against a slave as against a freeman, and it is not without
example nowadays that a like passion should be felt against an
animal. The surrender of the slave or beast empowered the injured
party to do his will upon them. Payment by the owner was merely a
privilege in case he wanted to buy the vengeance off.
It will readily be imagined that such a system as has been
described could not last when civilization had advanced to any
considerable height. What had been the privilege of buying off
vengeance by agreement, of paying the damage instead of
surrendering the body of the offender, no doubt became a general
custom. The Aquilian law, passed about a couple of centuries
later than the date of the Twelve Tables, enlarged the sphere of
compensation for bodily injuries. Interpretation enlarged the
Aquilian law. Masters became personally liable for certain wrongs
committed by their slaves with their knowledge, where previously
they were only bound to surrender the slave. /2/ If a pack-mule
threw off his burden upon a passer-by because he had been
improperly overloaded, or a dog which might have been restrained
escaped from his master and bit any one, the old noxal action, as
it was called, gave way to an action under the new law to enforce
a general personal liability. /3/ Still later, ship-owners and
innkeepers were made liable [16] as if they were wrong-doers for
wrongs committed by those in their employ on board ship or in the
tavern, although of course committed without their knowledge. The
true reason for this exceptional responsibility was the
exceptional confidence which was necessarily reposed in carriers
and innkeepers. /1/ But some of the jurists, who regarded the
surrender of children and slaves as a privilege intended to limit
liability, explained this new liability on the ground that the
innkeeper or ship-owner was to a certain degree guilty of
negligence in having employed the services of bad men? This was
the first instance of a master being made unconditionally liable
for the wrongs of his servant. The reason given for it was of
general application, and the principle expanded to the scope of
the reason.
The law as to ship-owners and innkeepers introduced another and
more startling innovation. It made them responsible when those
whom they employed were free, as well as when they were slaves.
/3/ For the first time one man was made answerable for the wrongs
of another who was also answerable himself, and who had a
standing before the law. This was a great change from the bare
permission to ransom one's slave as a privilege. But here we have
the history of the whole modern doctrine of master and servant,
and principal and agent. All servants are now as free and as
liable to a suit as their masters. Yet the principle introduced
on special grounds in a special case, when servants were slaves,
is now the general law of this country and England, and under it
men daily have to pay large sums for other people's acts, in
which they had no part and [17] for which they are in no sense to
blame. And to this day the reason offered by the Roman jurists
for an exceptional rule is made to justify this universal and
unlimited responsibility. /1/
So much for one of the parents of our common law. Now let us turn
for a moment to the Teutonic side. The Salic Law embodies usages
which in all probability are of too early a date to have been
influenced either by Rome or the Old Testament. The thirty-sixth
chapter of the ancient text provides that, if a man is killed by
a domestic animal, the owner of the animal shall pay half the
composition (which he would have had to pay to buy off the blood
feud had he killed the man himself), and for the other half give
up the beast to the complainant. /2/ So, by chapter thirty-five,
if a slave killed a freeman, he was to be surrendered for one
half of the composition to the relatives of the slain man, and
the master was to pay the other half. But according to the gloss,
if the slave or his master had been maltreated by the slain man
or his relatives, the master had only to surrender the slave. /3/
It is interesting to notice that those | 1,402.184625 |
2023-11-16 18:40:26.2605290 | 2,403 | 12 |
Produced by Ted Garvin and PG Distributed Proofreaders
AT LOVE'S COST
By CHARLES GARVICE
AT LOVE'S COST
CHAPTER 1
"Until this moment I have never fully realised how great an ass a man
can be. When I think that this morning I scurried through what might
have been a decent breakfast, left my comfortable diggings, and was
cooped up in a train for seven hours, that I am now driving in a
pelting rain through, so far as I can see for the mist, what appears to
be a howling wilderness, I ask myself if I am still in possession of my
senses. I ask myself why I should commit such lurid folly. Last night I
was sitting over the fire with a book--for it was cold, though not so
cold as this," the speaker shivered and dragged the collar of his
overcoat still higher--"at peace with all the world, with Omar purring
placidly by my side, and my soul wrapped in that serenity which belongs
to a man who has long since rid himself of that inconvenient
appendage--a conscience, and has hit upon the right brand of
cigarettes, and now--"
He paused to sigh, to groan indeed, and shifted himself uneasily in the
well-padded seat of the luxurious mail-phaeton.
"When Williams brought me your note, vilely written--were you sober,
Stafford?--blandly asking me to join you in this mad business, I smiled
to myself as I pitched the note on the fire. Omar smiled too, the very
cigarette smiled. I said to myself I would see you blowed first; that
nothing would induce me to join you, that I'd read about the lakes too
much and too often to venture upon them in the early part of June; in
fact, had no desire to see the lakes at any time or under any
conditions. I told Omar that I would see you in the lowest pit of
Tophet before I would go with you to--whatever the name of this place
is. And yet, here I am."
The speaker paused in his complaint to empty a pool water from his
mackintosh, and succeeded--in turning it over his own leg.
He groaned again, and continued.
"And yet, here I am. My dear Stafford, I do not wish to upbraid you; I
am simply making to myself a confession of weakness which would be
pitiable in a stray dog, but which in a man of my years, with my
experience of the world and reputation for common sense, is simply
criminal. I do not wish to reproach you; I am quite aware that no
reproach, not even the spectacle of my present misery would touch your
callous and, permit me to frankly add, your abominably selfish nature;
but I do want to ask quite calmly and without any display of temper:
what the blazes you wanted to come this way round, and why you wanted
me with you?"
The speaker, a slightly built man, just beyond the vague line of
"young," glanced up with his dark, somewhat sombre and yet softly
cynical eyes at the face of his companion who was driving. This
companion was unmistakably young, and there was not a trace of cynicism
in his grey-blue eyes which looked out upon the rain and mist with
pleasant cheerfulness. He was neither particularly fair nor dark; but
there was a touch of brighter colour than usual in his short, crisp
hair; and no woman had yet found fault with the moustache or the lips
beneath. And yet, though Stafford Orme's face was rather too handsome
than otherwise, the signs of weakness which one sees in so many
good-looking faces did not mar it; indeed, there was a hint of
strength, not to say sternness, in the well-cut lips, a glint of power
and masterfulness in the grey eyes and the brows above them which
impressed one at first sight; though when one came to know him the
impression was soon lost, effaced by the charm for which Stafford was
famous, and which was perpetually recruiting his army of friends.
No doubt it is easy to be charming when the gods have made you good to
look upon, and have filled your pockets with gold into the bargain.
Life was a pageant of pleasure to Stafford Orme: no wonder he sang and
smiled upon the way and had no lack of companions.
Even this man beside him, Edmund Howard, whose name was a by-word for
cynicism, who had never, until he had met Stafford Orme, gone an inch
out of his self-contained way to please or benefit a fellow-man, was
the slave of the young fellow's imperious will, and though he made
burlesque complaint of his bondage, did not in his heart rebel against
it.
Stafford laughed shortly as he looked at the rain-swept hills round
which the two good horses were taking the well-appointed phaeton.
"Oh, I knew you would come," he said. "It was just this way. You know
the governor wrote and asked me to come down to this new place of his
at Bryndermere--"
"Pardon me, Stafford; you forget that I have been down South--where I
wish to Heaven I had remained!--and that I only returned yesterday
afternoon, and that I know nothing of these sudden alarums and
excursions of your esteemed parent."
"Ah, no; so you don't!" assented Stafford; "thought I'd told you: shall
have to tell you now; I'll cut it as short as possible." He paused for
a moment and gently drew the lash of the whip over the wet backs of the
two horses who were listening intently to the voice of their beloved
master. "Well, three days ago I got a letter from my father; it was a
long one; I think it's the first long letter I ever received from him.
He informed me that for some time past he has been building a little
place on the east side of Bryndermere Lake, that he thought it would be
ready by the ninth of this month; and would I go down--or is it
up?--there and meet him, as he was coming to England and would go
straight there from Liverpool. Of course there was not time for me to
reply, and equally, of course, I prepared to obey. I meant going
straight down to Bryndermere; and I should have done so, but two days
ago I received a telegram telling me that the place would not be ready,
and that he would not be there until the eleventh, and asking me to
fill up the interval by sending down some horses and carriages. It
occurred to me, with one of those brilliant flashes of genius which you
have so often remarked in me, my dear Howard, that I would drive down,
at any rate, part of the way; so I sent some of the traps direct and
got this turn-out as far as Preston with me. With another of those
remarkable flashes of genius, it also occurred to me that I should be
devilish lonely with only Pottinger here," he jerked his head towards
the groom, who sat in damp and stolid silence behind. "And so I wrote
and asked you to come. Kind of me, wasn't it?"
"Most infernally kind," said Howard, with a sigh of a ton weight. "Had
you any idea that your father was building this little place? By the
way, I can't imagine Sir Stephen building anything that could be
described as 'little'.
"You are right," assented Stafford, with a nod. "I heard coming down
that it was a perfect palace of a place, a kind of palace of art
and--and that sort of thing. You know the governor's style?" His brows
were slightly knit for just a second, then he threw, as it were, the
frown off, with a smile. "No, I knew nothing about it; I knew as little
about it as I do of the governor himself and his affairs."
Howard nodded.
"When you come to think of it, Howard, isn't it strange that father and
son should know so little of each other? I have not seen the governor
for I forget how many years. He has been out of England for the last
fourteen or fifteen, with the exception of a few flying visits; and on
the occasion of those visits I was either at school on the Continent or
tramping about with a gun or a rod, and so we never met. I've a kind of
uneasy suspicion that my revered parent had no particular desire to
renew his acquaintance with his dutiful offspring; anyway, if he had,
he would have arranged a meeting. Seems rather peculiar; for in every
other respect his conduct as a parent has been above reproach."
"Those are scarcely the terms by which I should designate a liberality
which can only be described as criminally lavish, and an indifference
to your moral progress which might more properly belong to an
unregenerate Turk than to an English baronet. Considering the
opportunities of evil afforded you by the possession of a practically
unlimited allowance, and a brazen cheek which can only be described as
colossal, the fact that you have not long since gone headlong to the
devil fills me with perpetual and ever-freshening wonder."
Stafford yawned and shrugged his shoulders with cheerful acquiescence.
"Should have gone a mucker ever so many times, old man, if it hadn't
been for you," he said; "but you've always been at hand just at the
critical moment to point out to me that I was playing the giddy goat
and going to smash. That's why I like to have you with me as a kind of
guide, monitor, and friend, you know."
Howard groaned and attempted to get rid of another miniature pool of
water, and succeeded--as before.
"I know," he assented. "My virtue has been its own reward--and
punishment. If I had allowed you to go your way to the proverbial dogs,
after whose society gilded youths like yourself appear to be always
hankering, I should not be sitting here with cold water running down my
back and surrounded by Nature in her gloomiest and dampest aspects.
Only once have I deviated from the life of consistent selfishness at
which every sensible man should aim, and see how I am punished! I do
not wish to be unduly inquisitive, but I should like to know where the
blazes we are going, and why we do not make for a decent hotel--if
there is such a thing in these desolate wilds."
Stafford handed him the reins so that he himself might get out his
cigar-case, and with some little difficulty, and assisted by
Pottinger's soaked hat, the two gentlemen got their cigars alight.
"There isn't a decent hotel for miles," explained Stafford. "There is
only a small inn at a little place called Carysford. I looked it out on
the map. I thought we'd drive there | 1,402.280569 |
2023-11-16 18:40:26.3601920 | 331 | 7 |
Produced by Julia Miller, Ritu Aggarwal and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries.)
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
1) Passages in italics are surrounded by _underscores_.
2) A few chapter sub-headings do not end with a period. For consistency,
obvious errors have been corrected by ending these with a period.
3) A few obvious misprints where sentences did not end with a period have
been corrected.
4) The words "manoeuvres" and "manoeuvre" use oe ligature in the original.
5) The following misprints have been corrected:
"which we pet in our" corrected to "which we put in our" (page 243)
"Britian" corrected to "Britain" (page 271)
6) Other than the corrections listed above, printer's inconsistencies in
spelling, punctuation, hyphenation and ligature usage have been retained.
DUE SOUTH
OR
CUBA PAST AND PRESENT
BY
MATURIN M. BALLOU
AUTHOR OF "DUE WEST; OR ROUND THE WORLD IN TEN MONTHS"
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1885,
By MATURIN M. BALLOU.
_All rights reserved._
ELEVENTH | 1,402.380232 |
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