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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
########################################################################
Transcriber’s Notes
Hyphenation and punctuation have been corrected and standardised.
Cromwell’s letters, however, have been fully retained according to the
original text; no changes in spelling have been applied here.
Numbered ranges have been expanded in full, i.e. 1595-6 is now
1595-1596. Dittoes in the Table of Contents have been eliminated by
insertion of appropriate text. Internal references have been adapted
to match the numbering scheme used in this electronic version.
The following passages have been changed:
p. 28: 'England and Francis' → 'England and France'
Footnote 240: 'Harl. MSS 6, 148' → 'Harl. MSS 6,148'
Underscores have been used to highlight _italic_ text. The caret symbol
(^) represents superscript characters; multiple characters have been
grouped using a pair of curly brackets (^{text}).
########################################################################
[Illustration: THOMAS CROMWELL
FROM A PICTURE IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY]
LIFE AND LETTERS OF
THOMAS CROMWELL
BY
ROGER BIGELOW MERRIMAN
A.M. HARV., B.LITT. OXON.
WITH A PORTRAIT AND FACSIMILE
VOL. I
LIFE, LETTERS TO 1535
OXFORD
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1902
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
_PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD_
LONDON, EDINBURGH
NEW YORK
PREFACE
This book is an attempt to present the life of Thomas Cromwell as a
statesman, and to estimate his work without religious bias. Though it
would certainly be difficult to overrate his importance in the history
of the Church of England, I maintain that the motives that inspired his
actions were invariably political, and that the many ecclesiastical
changes carried through under his guidance were but incidents of his
administration, not ends in themselves. Consequently any attempt to | 1,411.781553 |
2023-11-16 18:40:35.7616020 | 867 | 16 |
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provided by the Internet Archive
PEGGY O'NEAL
By Alfred Henry Lewis
Illustrated By Henry Hutt
A. J. Drexel Biddle
1902
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0007]
[Illustration: 0010]
[Illustration: 0011]
TO
MRS. A. J. DREXEL BIDDLE
THIS VOLUME
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED
PREFACE
Doubtless I shall tell this tale but poorly, since I have no skill
of writing or rhetoric and must, for the most part, proceed by blunt
sentences and short one-syllable words to the end that I be understood.
This record is worth while, I think, for it exhibits the growth of
favor for the Union within the General's breast; and to be corollary
thereunto, his wrath against States Rights as a doctrine, together with
a hatred of Calhoun, its champion, and what other folk were found to
uphold the Vice-President's hands in those ill courses of nullification
and separation and secession he laid down for national misguidance. I
myself had been with the General, war and peace, for thirty years
on end. He was like an elder brother to me, and I apprehended no man
better. And knowing him thus well--having his thought and feeling and
emotion of politics at my mental finger-ends--it is in my strong belief
that not until he came and made oath as chief magistrate, did he
conclude his position touching this claim of right on a state's part
to nullify general law and strike her name from the roll of our common
sisterhood. I was with him, I say, when the seed of the General's
determination to stand for a union, one and indivisible, was planted;
and I witnessed its quick upgrowing and broadening until it sheltered
and shadowed with wide safety the very integrity of the country. We
had arrived at a fork in the road; the ways were about to part. Calhoun
would have led us to the left where no man could be sure of national
continuance over night. But the General ruled; he was for the right
hand. By his iron courage, and the brisk, white clearness of his mental
lights, the General was to triumph. As descendant of such victory the
States were to be unified and secession beaten down. Nor shall that
hour find its morning in all time when the mighty excellences of the
General's labors are not to have their evidence, and the tree he
planted bear into the hands of men its fruits upon the earth. He was a
tremendous mechanic of state, was General Jackson; and the world in
its construction will wear his hammer-marks with those of Cromwell and
Napoleon while the ages keep to their procession.
And yet, as may the Amazon have ultimate well-head in some rivulet as
thin as a thread, or a spring so little that a gourd might serve for its
exhaustion, so did the General come to select his place in this business
of upholding the Union against those who would pull it down, as
incident to bucklering a woman--poor and slight and feeble, she was;
the beautiful Peg O'Neal!--who for her loveliness was envied and for her
goodness was hated and for her origin as a tavern-keeper's daughter was
contemned by those proud folk who named themselves the nation's court of
fashion.
The General was a sentimentalist; justice and to do right were with
him instincts, and came not as grist ground coldly in the mills of
calculated selfishness and reason. Scotch-Irish he was in his strain;
but more Irish than the Irish and more Scotch than the Scotch, he in a
manner wonderful could in the same moment be cool and warm, and cautious
and | 1,411.781642 |
2023-11-16 18:40:35.8273650 | 67 | 15 |
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THE PRICE
BY
FRANCIS LYNDE
AUTHOR OF
THE TAMING OF RED BUTTE WESTERN, ETC.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
GROS | 1,411.847405 |
2023-11-16 18:40:35.8591220 | 175 | 40 |
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by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
TALES BY POLISH AUTHORS
London
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL & Co., LTD.
New York
LONGMANS, GREEN & Co.
FOURTH AVENUE AND 30TH STREET
TALES
BY
POLISH AUTHORS
HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ
STEFAN ZEROMSKI ADAM SZYMANSKI
WACLAW SIEROSZEWSKI
TRANSLATED BY
ELSE C. M. BENECKE
Oxford
B. H. BLACKW | 1,411.879162 |
2023-11-16 18:40:35.8610840 | 1,482 | 31 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Christine P. Travers 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: 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.
Page 382: Words are missing in the sentence "The genuine leaders of
the Socialists should [...] the labor organizations realized
immediately the policy which the dark forces were initiating." The
place is marked with [see TN].]
THE STORY OF THE GREAT WAR
History of the European War from Official Sources
Complete Historical Records of Events to Date,
Illustrated with Drawings, Maps, and Photographs
Prefaced by
What the War Means to America
Major General Leonard Wood, U.S.A.
Naval Lessons of the War
Rear Admiral Austin M. Knight, U.S.N.
The World's War
Frederick Palmer
Theatres of the War's Campaigns
Frank H. Simonds
The War Correspondent
Arthur Ruhl
Edited by
Francis J. Reynolds
Former Reference Librarian of Congress
Allen L. Churchill
Associate Editor, The New International Encyclopedia
Francis Trevelyan Miller
Editor in Chieft, Photographic History of the Civil War
P. F. Collier & Son Company
New York
[Illustration: _Major General John J. Pershing, appointed to organize
and command the American forces in France, is shown landing in France
on June 12, 1917. French officers and officials of high rank are there
to welcome him. His arrival is recognized as an epoch-making date in
the war, for it foreshadows the creation of a great American Army in
France._]
THE STORY OF THE GREAT WAR
SOMME. RUSSIAN DRIVE
FALL OF GORITZ. RUMANIA
GERMAN RETREAT. VIMY
REVOLUTION IN RUSSIA
UNITED STATES AT WAR
VOLUME VI
P. F. Collier & Son. New York
Copyright 1916
By P. F. Collier & Son
CONTENTS
PART I.--WESTERN FRONT--SOMME AND VERDUN
CHAPTER Page
I. French and British Advances 9
II. Further Successes--French Capture Maurepas 13
III. German Counterattacks 16
IV. Operations at Verdun--British Victories in the Somme 19
V. The "Tanks"--British Capture Martinpuich 21
VI. Capture of Combles--Air Raids 25
VII. British Capture Eaucourt L'Abbaye-Regina Trench 28
VIII. Continued Allied Advance 31
IX. French Retake Douaumont 34
X. Germans Lose Fort Vaux--French Take Saillisel 37
XI. British Successes in the Ancre 41
XII. Operations on the French Front--Further Fighting in
the Ancre 47
XIII. Weather Conditions--Movements Around Loos 51
XIV. French Win at Verdun 53
XV. Canadians at Arras--Nivelle in Command 55
XVI. German Attacks at Verdun--Result of Six Months' Fighting 58
XVII. German Attack on Hill 304--British Surprise Attack 61
PART II.--EASTERN FRONT
XVIII. The New Drive Against Lemberg 70
XIX. The Battle on the Stokhod River 76
XX. Renewed Drive Against Lemberg 81
XXI. The Fighting from Riga to Lutsk 86
XXII. Fighting in the Carpathians 90
XXIII. Winter at the Eastern Front 93
PART III.--THE BALKANS
XXIV. Rumania's Military Strength 95
XXV. Hostilities Begin 96
XXVI. Bulgaria Attacks 98
XXVII. The Germans Arrive 103
XXVIII. The Rumanian Raid Across the Danube 106
XXIX. Mackensen Pressed Back 111
XXX. The Rumanians Pressed Back 113
XXXI. The Battle of the River Argechu 117
XXXII. Bucharest Falls 119
XXXIII. Sarrail's Offensive 124
XXXIV. Unrest in Greece 126
XXXV. A Greek Army Surrenders to Germany 129
XXXVI. The Serbians Advance 132
XXXVII. The Greeks on the Firing Line 134
XXXVIII. Seizure of the Greek Fleet 136
XXXIX. The Bulgarians Driven Back 138
XL. Monastir Falls 140
XLI. Greek Fights Greek 143
XLII. Fighting in the Streets of Athens 145
XLIII. The Serbians Checked 148
PART IV.--AUSTRO-ITALIAN FRONT
XLIV. The Fall of Goritz 149
XLV. Fall and Winter on the Austro-Italian Front 153
XLVI. Fighting on Mountain Peaks 159
PART V.--WAR IN THE AIR AND ON THE SEA
XLVII. Aeroplane Warfare 168
XLVIII. Zeppelin Raids 176
XLIX. Submarine Warfare 182
PART VI.--THE UNITED STATES AND THE BELLIGERENTS
L. The Old Menace 189
LI. The U-53's Exploits 194
LII. Gathering Clouds 200
LIII. Rupture With Germany 205
LIV. Nothing Settled 212
PART VII.--WESTERN FRONT
LV. The German Retreat on the Ancre 217
LVI. The German Retreat Continues--French Recover 120 Towns 227
LVII. The British Troops Capture Vimy Ridge and Monchy--French
Victories on the Aisne 239
LVIII. French Victories in Champagne--The British Capture
Bullecourt 252
LIX. The Battle of Messines Ridge--British Smash the
German Salient South of Ypres 263
LX. The Germans Defeat British on Belgian Coast--Intense | 1,411.881124 |
2023-11-16 18:40:35.8655430 | 7,436 | 15 |
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produced from images generously made available 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_. Superscripted
characters are indicated with a carat (‘^’). If multiple characters are
superscripted, they are delimited with curly braces (e.g. M^{rs.}).
Footnotes have been moved to follow the paragraphs in which they are
referenced. Most illustrations are full-page photographs. These were
described by a simple caption as well as a brief paragraph. This
material is included here, moved slightly to avoid falling on a paragraph
break.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
THE POST OFFICE & ITS STORY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: HEAVING OVERBOARD THE MAILS.]
Fernando Noronha is a little island in the South Atlantic
Ocean, and when a vessel does not call there the letters are
enclosed in a cask, to which a flag is attached; this is
cast into the sea and there left floating until a boat from
the island picks it up. The island is sighted by perhaps
more ships and visited by fewer than any other spot on the
globe.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE POST OFFICE
AND ITS STORY
_AN INTERESTING ACCOUNT OF
THE ACTIVITIES OF A GREAT GOVERNMENT
DEPARTMENT_
BY
EDWARD BENNETT
With 31 Illustrations
LONDON
SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LTD.
38 GREAT RUSSELL STREET
1912
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE SCIENCE OF TO-DAY SERIES
_With many illustrations. Extra Crown 8vo. 5s. net._
=BOTANY OF TO-DAY.= A Popular Account of the Evolution of Modern Botany.
By Prof. G. F. SCOTT ELLIOT, M.A., B.SC., Author of “The Romance of
Plant Life,” _&c. &c._
“One of the books that turn botany from a dryasdust into a
fascinating study.”—_Evening Standard._
=AERIAL NAVIGATION OF TO-DAY.= A Popular Account of the Evolution of
Aeronautics. By CHARLES C. TURNER.
“Mr. Turner is well qualified to write with authority on the
subject. The book sets forth the principles of flight in plain
non-technical language. One is impressed by the complete
thoroughness with which the subject is treated.”—_Daily Graphic._
=SCIENTIFIC IDEAS OF TO-DAY.= A Popular Account, in Non-technical
Language, of the Nature of Matter, Electricity, Light, Heat,
Electrons, _&c. &c._ By CHARLES R. GIBSON, F.R.S.E., Author of
“Electricity of To-Day,” _&c._
“Supplies a real need.... Mr. Gibson has a fine gift of
exposition.”—_Birmingham Post._
=ASTRONOMY OF TO-DAY.= A Popular Introduction in Non-technical Language.
By CECIL G. DOLMAGE, LL.D., F.R.A.S. With frontispiece in colours, &
45 other illustrations.
“Dr. Dolmage has absolutely kept to his promise to introduce the
reader to an acquaintance with the astronomy of to-day in
non-technical language.”—_Saturday Review._
=ELECTRICITY OF TO-DAY.= Its Work and Mysteries Explained. By CHARLES R.
GIBSON, F.R.S.E.
“Mr. Gibson has given us one of the best examples of popular
scientific exposition that we remember seeing. His book may be
strongly commended to all who wish to realise what electricity means
and does in our daily life.”—_The Tribune._
=ENGINEERING OF TO-DAY.= A Popular Account of the Present State of the
Science, with many interesting Examples, described in Non-technical
Language. By THOMAS W. CORBIN. With 73 illustrations & diagrams.
“Most attractive and instructive.”—_Record._
“The descriptions which are given of various types of engineering
structures and work are excellent.”—_Yorkshire Observer._
“Altogether a most delightful book.”—_Literary World._
=MEDICAL SCIENCE OF TO-DAY.= A Popular Account of the more recent
Developments in Medicine & Surgery. By WILLMOTT EVANS, M.D., B.S.,
B.SC. (Lond.), F.R.C.S. (Eng.), Surgeon to the Royal Free Hospital.
=MECHANICAL INVENTIONS OF TO-DAY.= An Interesting Description of Modern
Mechanical Inventions told in Non-technical Language. By THOMAS W.
CORBIN, Author of “Engineering of To-Day.” With 95 illustrations &
diagrams.
SEELEY, SERVICE & CO. LIMITED
AUTHOR'S NOTE
A great deal has been written about the General Post Office in
newspapers and magazines, but the books on the subject are comparatively
few. And these volumes are either exhaustive historical treatises, such
as Mr. Herbert Joyce's _History of the Post Office_, or more popularly
written descriptions of Post Office life and work of the character of
Lewin's _His Majesty's Mails_ or J. W. Heyde's _Royal Mail_. Mr. Joyce's
work, however, carries us no farther than the eve of penny postage,
while the other books were written too long ago to be a guide to the
Post Office of to-day. It is within the last twenty years that the
Department has made the most rapid strides in the extension of its
activities, and it is this period especially which is without an
historian.
What I have attempted to do is to tell the story of the Department,
briefly in its early beginnings, more fully in its modern developments,
and in such a way as to give the reader the impression that the Post
Office is alive, that it is in close touch with the needs of the nation,
and is in less danger of being strangled with red-tape methods than at
any time of its existence.
A book on the Post Office written for the student should contain
abundant references to authorities and exhaustive tables of figures and
estimates, but in the interest of the general reader I have omitted
these aids to reflection. Mark Twain, when he published one of his
novels, said he had omitted all descriptions of scenery in the story,
but those who liked that sort of thing would find it in the appendix. I
have dispensed even with an appendix, and those who really want figures
and estimates must be referred to the Postmaster-General's Annual
Reports.
Of course I am largely indebted to the volumes I have mentioned and to
others for the historical portions of my book. To Sir Rowland Hill's
Life, written by his daughter, I owe many of the facts contained in my
chapter on “The Penny Post.”
The staff of the General Post Office have during the last twenty-one
years conducted a magazine entitled _St. Martin's le Grand_, the volumes
of which have been of great assistance to me, as they will be in the
future to a more serious historian of the Post Office than I can claim
to be. Among the writers to this magazine whose contributions I have
found of great use are A. M. Ogilvie, J. A. J. Housden, C. H. Denver, R.
C. Tombs, I.S.O., and R. W. Johnston. Mr. Johnston, who had held during
a long life several important posts in the Department, took a keen
interest in this book in its early stages, but, to my great regret, died
before it was completed. Articles by J. G. Hendry and W. C. Waller
helped me considerably in my chapter on “The Travelling Post Office.”
Mr. E. Wells and Mr. A. Davey gave me their kind help on the subject of
“Motor Mails” and “The Parcel Post,” and to my friend Mr. A. W. Edwards
I am indebted for most valuable assistance in the writing of my chapters
on “The Telegraph.” I have also to thank another friend, Mr. R. W.
Hatswell, for advice and help in many directions.
My acknowledgments are due to Messrs Jarrold and Sons of Norwich and
Warwick Lane, E.C., for their kind permission to include a schoolboy's
essay on the postman in my chapter dealing with that official. The essay
is to be found in a book entitled _The Comic Side of School Life_, by H.
J. Barker.
The Post Office has many critics, friendly and unfriendly, but it counts
its friends in millions, and I have written this book with the belief
that a closer knowledge of the Department with which we all have
dealings will be acceptable.
EDWARD BENNETT.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. POSTBOYS AND MAIL COACHES 17
II. THE PENNY POST 31
III. LOMBARD STREET AND ST. MARTIN'S LE GRAND 43
IV. KING EDWARD'S BUILDING 56
V. THE TRAVELLING POST OFFICE 69
VI. THE PARCEL POST 83
VII. MOTOR MAILS 98
VIII. THE UNDELIVERED POSTAL PACKET 108
IX. MONEY ORDERS AND POSTAL ORDERS 125
X. THE POST OFFICE SAVINGS BANK 137
XI. THE TELEGRAPH 155
XII. THE TELEGRAPH (_continued_) 170
XIII. THE TELEPHONE 181
XIV. ENGINEERS, STORES AND FACTORIES 195
XV. OCEAN MAILS 208
XVI. THE POSTAL UNION 222
XVII. CONCERNING FOREIGN POST OFFICES 231
XVIII. THE POST OFFICES OF THE EMPIRE 246
XIX. THE POSTMASTER-GENERAL AND THE PERMANENT 261
STAFF
XX. THE HEAD POSTMASTER 276
XXI. THE VILLAGE POST OFFICE 289
XXII. THE POSTMAN 304
XXIII. THE POST OFFICE GUIDE 317
XXIV. OLD AGE PENSIONS AND OTHER ACTIVITIES OF 332
THE POST OFFICE
INDEX 350
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HEAVING OVERBOARD THE MAILS _Frontispiece_
PAGE
THE MAIL COACHES LEAVING LONDON 20
MAIL COACH AND TRAIN 34
ST. MARTIN'S LE GRAND 48
THE BLIND SECTION 62
THE TRAVELLING POST OFFICE—
INTERIOR 70
SUSPENDING THE POUCH 76
POUCH AND NET 76
POUCH TAKEN 76
APPARATUS FOR RECEIVING POUCH 78
APPARATUS FOR DELIVERING POUCH 78
THE PARCEL POST HOSPITAL 94
THE CUSTOM HOUSE OFFICERS AT WORK 96
THE SORTING OFFICE 110
A POSTCARD 114
A POSTCARD 120
A LONDON POSTMAN (OLD STYLE) 126
THE WOODPECKER AND THE TELEGRAPH POST 156
TELEGRAMS ON TELEPHONE WIRES 172
THE TELEPHONE DETECTIVE 182
THREE MINUTES' CONVERSATION BY TELEPHONE 192
UNDERGROUND TELEPHONE WIRES 198
HOW TREASURE WAS BROUGHT TO LONDON 210
ST. KILDA MAIL 219
THE POSTAL UNION MONUMENT 228
A POST OFFICE STONE 255
THE RIVER POSTMAN 258
THE SORTING SCHOOL 280
THE POSTMAN'S BELL 306
A COUNTRY POSTWOMAN 314
A NEST IN A LETTER-BOX 328
THE POST OFFICE
& ITS STORY
CHAPTER I
POSTBOYS AND MAIL COACHES
A schoolboy who was given the task of writing an essay on the Post
Office used these words: “The Post Office contains the whole world's
circumstances, or welfare, day after day, as a mother shuts all her
chickens under her wings. A man would not reveal his very secreate words
to his wife or to any one, but he trusts them to a weak envelope in the
Post Office.” This boy was perhaps wiser than he knew. For there is no
institution existing in the country which comes so near to the hearts
and homes of the British people as the General Post Office. Created
primarily for the despatch and delivery of letters, it has developed
into a vast organisation which is at once the carrier of the people's
correspondence and parcels, the people's bank, and the agency by which
all communications by telegraph and telephone are conducted. To tell the
story of that organisation, how from the smallest beginnings in the
Middle Ages it developed into the Post Office of the present day, would
be a delightful task, but my intention is rather to relate its modern
triumphs and to deal with its history so far as it helps us to
understand the position of things to-day.
It is usual, in telling the story of the Post Office, to go as far back
as Greek, Roman, and Jewish times. In almost every book and article on
the subject we are reminded that Ahasuerus sent letters into all
provinces concerning his wife Vashti, and that Queen Jezebel has at
least one urbane action to her credit in that she despatched the first
recorded circular letter. Then we are reminded that Cicero and Pliny
were accomplished correspondents, and that St. Paul wrote letters which
have had a wide circulation. But these instances usually belong to the
history of letter-writing and have little relation to our subject. It is
obvious that so soon as letters began to be written in any nation they
must have been despatched by some means or other to the persons for whom
the communications were intended. Ancient history has many instances of
posts specially created for the delivery of perhaps only one letter. The
story of the Post Office can only properly begin at the time when the
first efforts were made to systematise what was already a prevailing
habit of the people.
The history of the British Post Office as a system can be divided into
three periods. There was the age of the post-horses and postboys,
extending from the time of the Tudors far into the eighteenth century.
There was the age of the mail coaches, the romantic age of the General
Post Office, full of stirring deeds and adventures. Indeed the title
“His Majesty's Mails” would have accurately described the whole of the
business transacted by the British Post Office during these centuries.
Lastly there is the age in which we are living, the age of the mail
train, which has produced a wide extension of the duties of the
Department, and the despatch and delivery of letters is now only one of
its activities. There is possibly another age in the near future of
which we can already distinguish the dawn, that of the airship and
aeroplane, but we are dealing in these pages with only accomplished
facts.
There is little doubt that the first posts organised in this country
were simply for the transmission of public despatches, and though from
time to time attempts were made by private individuals to organise posts
of their own, these efforts met with but little success, and in 1637 it
was ordered by proclamation that no other messengers or foot posts were
to carry letters except those employed by the King's Postmaster-General,
unless to places untouched by the King's posts. This order marked the
beginning of the monopoly which ever since has been in the hands of the
Government.
The word “post” comes to us from the French; in early English records
the carrier of the post is called a runner or a messenger. We
assimilated the word under the Tudors, and the first man to be described
as Master of the Posts was Brian Tuke, appointed by Henry VIII. in 1509.
In this reign there was a service more or less regular between London
and Berwick and between London and Calais. The Dover road is probably
the oldest mail route in the kingdom. During the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries services were gradually extended to Scotland,
Ireland, and the West of England.
The posts were slow and unreliable. The roads of this country were for
several centuries in a wretched condition, and travelling was difficult
and dangerous. The causeway or bridle-track ran down the middle of the
road, while “the margin on either side was little better than a ditch,
and being lower than the adjoining soil and at the same time soft and
unmade, received and retained the sludge.” The authorities were chiefly
concerned to preserve the causeway, for the mails were carried by
runners or postboys on horseback. The maximum speed for the postboys
allowed by the Master of the Posts was seven miles an hour: there was no
authorised minimum, and the speed, including stoppages, rarely exceeded
four miles an hour. Moreover the postboys were undisciplined and a
source of infinite trouble to their employers. The postmaster on the
other hand frequently considered that any horse was good enough to carry
the mails, and the animals he supplied were a disgrace to the service.
The temptations of the wayside inn often also explained the long delays.
An official in the early part of the eighteenth century complained that
“the gentry doe give much money to the riders whereby they be very
subject to get in liquor which stops _the males_.”
The words, “Haste, Post, haste,” have been found on the backs of private
letters written at the close of the fifteenth century, and this was no
formal endorsement but an urgent appeal to the lazy postboy to hurry up.
“Ride, villain, ride,—for thy life—for thy life—for thy life,” appeared
also on letters with sketches of a skull and cross-bones or of a man
hanging from a cross-bar. It was thought desirable to frighten the
servant of the Government into the performance of his duties.
The towns on the route were bound to supply the horses for the King's
posts. The postmasters in each town were the persons immediately
responsible for this business, and it is interesting to know that one of
the qualifications for the situation was the ability of the candidate to
furnish a certificate under the hand and seal of the Bishop of the
diocese that he was conformable to the discipline of the Church of
England, and he was required to receive the Sacrament of the Lord's
Supper three months after admittance to office. The postmaster was
frequently the innkeeper: he was the person best able to supply horses;
and though his salary was small, the position was probably remunerative,
as travellers were drawn to his house.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: THE MAIL COACHES LEAVING LONDON.]
In the early part of the nineteenth century one of the
sights of London was the departure from St. Martin's le
Grand every evening of the mail coaches bound for all parts
of England.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
But we must not forget the foot posts in the old days, or runners as
they are usually called. In the year 1715 there was not a single horse
post in Scotland, all the mails being conveyed by runners on foot. Cross
posts were frequently undertaken by runners, and the runners were not
extravagantly paid for their services. A post-runner travelled from
Inverness to Lochcarron—a distance, across country, of about fifty
miles—making the journey once a week, for which he was paid five
shillings. Naturally there was much difficulty with them, and they were
continually at the mercy of highwaymen. Moreover, in spite of the
penalty of capital punishment being visited on those who robbed his
Majesty's mails, the postman himself was a frequent offender.
The difficulties of travelling in the seventeenth century are
illustrated by the fact that in 1626 nearly £60 was spent in setting up
wooden posts along the highway and causeway, near Bristol, for the
guidance of travellers and runners. A Government running post then
existed from London to Bristol. There is a spirited description in
Cowper's _Task_ of the arrival of the mail which would have been
applicable during the whole of the postboy period:—
“Hark, 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,
He comes the herald of a noisy world,
With spattered boots, strapped waist and frozen locks,
News from all nations lumbering at his back.
True to his charge, the close packed load behind,
Yet careless what he brings, his one concern
Is to conduct it to the destined inn,
And having dropped the expected bag, pass on.”
Such was the service with which our forefathers were more or less
contented during the greater part of two centuries. At the end of the
seventeenth century there were weekly posts to many parts of the
country: there was a mail six days a week along the Kent road: at any
place where the Court happened to be in residence a daily post was at
once created, and during the season at Bath and Tunbridge Wells the
visitors enjoyed the privilege of a daily despatch and delivery of
letters.
It was not until late in the eighteenth century that any radical
alteration in the system took place. For many years it had become a
reproach against the Post Office that it had not kept pace with the
travelling capacities and requirements of the time. What were called
“Flying Coaches” had been established in the seventeenth century to many
towns in the Kingdom, and while these conveyances were increasing in
speed and comfort the Post Office was still satisfied with its four or
five miles an hour. The slowness of the posts was in fact becoming
intolerable to the people. The General Convention of the Royal Burghs of
Scotland called the attention of the Postmasters-General to the slowness
of the posts on the Great North Road. “Every common traveller,” they
wrote, “passed the King's mail on the first road in the kingdom,” and
complaints were made, generally by traders and professional men, that
business was hampered by the backwardness of the Post Office.
To John Palmer, proprietor of the theatre at Bath, belongs the credit of
the proposal to use the coach for the carriage of the mails. He was
remorseless in his description of the system he wished to abolish. The
correspondence, he said, “was entrusted to some idle boy without
character mounted on a worn-out hack, who so far from being able to
defend himself against a robber, was more likely to be in league with
one.” Palmer's duties carried him into many parts of the country, and he
thought letters should be conveyed at the same pace at which it was
possible to travel in a chaise. He submitted his plan to Pitt, who was
Prime Minister, and this statesman gave his warm approval to a trial of
the scheme. On the 2nd August 1784 the first mail coach started from
Bristol, and so successful was the experiment that in the following year
there were coaches running to all parts of the Kingdom. Then ensued a
period of great activity on the part of the General Post Office. There
was competition with the private coaches, and year after year there were
attempts to make records and to accelerate the mails.
The mail-coaching period extended a little over fifty years, and it
marked as great an advance on the service of the past as the mail train
has since shown compared with the mail coach. For instance, in 1715 the
time allowed for the mail between London and Edinburgh was six days.
Eighty years later a great advance had taken place. In 1798 Lord
Campbell relates: “I was to perform the journey by mail coach to
Edinburgh, and was supposed to travel with marvellous velocity, taking
only three nights and two days for the whole distance from London. But
this speed was thought to be highly dangerous to the head, independently
of all the perils of an overturn, and stories were told of men and women
who, having reached London with such celerity, died suddenly of an
affection of the brain. My family and friends were seriously alarmed for
me and advised me at all events to stay a day at York to recruit
myself.” The fares he mentions were £10 from Edinburgh to London; to
York, £4, 15s.; and from York to London, £5.
In 1836 the speed of some of the mail coaches was nearly ten miles an
hour including stoppages, and this was kept up over very long distances.
From Edinburgh to London, a distance of 400 miles, the time allowed was
forty-five and a half hours; from London to York, 197 miles, twenty
hours; from London to Holyhead, 259 miles, twenty-seven hours. The
time-bills of the old mail coaches are most interesting, and they show
how complete was the organisation of the service. There was a column for
the distance between each place, another column for the time allowed,
and another column for the actual arrival and starting times. The
numbers of the coach and the timepiece which it carried were recorded,
and the delivery of the timepiece “safe” was always signed for at the
conclusion of the journey.
The coachman, though not a Post Office servant—he was employed by the
contractors—always wore a brilliant uniform; and the mail guard, an
officer of the Postmaster-General, also arrayed in bright uniform,
carried firearms. The mail guard had to see that time was kept, and
especially that there was no delay in the time allowed for refreshments.
The instructions to guards bring home to us the ways of the road a
hundred years ago. At the beginning of the last century the chief
superintendent of mail coaches was Thomas Hasker, an official of the
Post Office. His instructions, written in homely language, seem to be
instinct with a vitalising influence which was speeding up the whole
system. What to him was the safety of mere passengers compared with the
punctual delivery of his Majesty's mails? To the postmaster of Ipswich
he wrote: “Tell Mr. Foster to get fresh horses immediately, and that I
must see him in town next Monday. Shameful work—three hours and twenty
minutes coming over his eighteen miles!” On the Exeter road the mail
guards were instructed by him as follows: “You are not to stop at any
place whatever to leave any letters at, but to blow your horn to give
the people notice that you have got letters for them. Therefore if they
do not choose to come out to receive them don't you get down from your
dicky, but take them on to Exeter and bring them back with you on your
next journey.” Again an instruction to the mail guards reads: “If the
coachman go into a public-house to drink, don't you go with him and make
the stop longer, but hurry him out.”
The halt for refreshments was always an annoying necessity to Hasker. A
guard had attempted to hurry out the passengers as well as the driver.
And the passengers had complained. “Sir,” wrote Hasker, “stick to your
bill and never mind what passengers say respecting waiting overtime. Is
it not the fault of the landlord to keep them so long? Some day when you
have waited a considerable time (suppose five or eight minutes longer
than is allowed by the bill), drive away and leave them behind.” We can
imagine a guard acting on this instruction and losing his tips!
The guards were expected to be as regular as clock-pieces, but even Mr.
Hasker had sometimes to reckon with them as human beings. “The
superintendents,” he writes in another memorandum, “will please to
observe that Mr. Hasker does not wish to be too hard on the guards. Such
a thing as a joint of meat or a couple of fowls or any other article for
their own family in moderation he does not wish to debar them from the
privilige of carrying.” But he was against the guards assisting the
poachers.
Even in those days Post Office servants were obliged to give written
explanation of their misdeeds, and they occasionally scored against
their fault-finders. A mail guard had been reported for impertinence by
certain contractors who were notorious for the indifferent lights with
which they supplied their coaches. The mail guard admitted his offence,
“but,” he slyly added, “perhaps something may be said for the feelings
of a guard that hears the continual complaints of passengers against bad
lights and the disagreeable smell of stinking oil, especially when
through such things the passengers withhold the gratuity which the guard
expects.” There is some dignity in this way of putting the matter.
The mails were of course the first consideration on the coaches. The
available room after the loading of the mails was given to passengers'
luggage, and this had frequently to be reduced by the passenger himself
before starting. The great trouble with the guards was the temptation to
overload the coaches. A contributor to the _Quarterly Review_ in 1837
said: “Yet notwithstanding the moral improvement of the drivers, the
improved state of the high roads throughout the kingdom, stage-coach
travelling is more dangerous than it was before owing to the unmerciful
speed of the swift coaches and the unmerciful loads which are piled upon
the others like Pelion upon Ossa, or suspended from them, wherever they
can be hung on. 'Coachman,' said an outside passenger who was being
driven at a furious rate over one of the most mountainous roads in
England, 'have you no consideration for our lives and limbs?' 'What are
your lives and limbs to me?' was the reply, 'I'm behind my time.'”
Sometimes the driver himself suffered after a spell of bad weather which
had rutted the roads. Mr. Hasker reported that “the York coachman and
guard were both chucked from their seats going down to Huntingdon last
journey, and coming up the guard is lost this morning, supposed from the
same cause, as the passengers say he was blowing his horn just before
they missed him.” These were strenuous days, and weather conditions,
especially after a fall of snow, were formidable enemies to the
timekeeping of the guards. Robberies of the mail were far less frequent
than in the days of the post-horses, and the roads, thanks to the
splendid efforts of the great engineers Telford and Macadam, were
immensely improved, but snow and flood were still to be reckoned with.
It was one of the sights of London to see the mail coaches start at
night from the Swan with Two Necks and the Bull and Mouth in Aldersgate
Street. A small crowd was usually to be seen at Hyde Park Corner
watching the westward-bound coaches go by on their night journey.
The great coaching event of the year was the procession of mail coaches
which took place in London on the King's Birthday, and heading the
procession was usually the oldest established mail, the Bristol coach.
In 1834 there were twenty-seven coaches in the procession. At the start
from Millbank “the bells of the churches rang out merrily, continuing
their rejoicing peals till the coaches arrived at the General Post
Office.” I quote from a book, _Annals of the Road_: “In the cramped
interior of the vehicle were closely packed buxom dames and blooming
lassies, the wives, daughters, or sweethearts of the coachmen or guards,
the fair passengers arrayed in coal-scuttle bonnets and in
canary- or scarlet silk. But the great feature after all was
that stirring note so clearly blown and well drawn out, and every now
and again sounded by the guards and alternated with such airs as 'The
Days when we went Gipsying,' capitally played on a key-bugle. Should a
mail come late, the tune from a passing one would be, “Oh dear! what can
the matter be?”
I have already spoken of the mail-coach era as the romantic age of the
General Post Office. English literature and English art have drawn upon
the real and legendary history of the period for much of their
inspiration. Nobody has revealed to us with more vivacity the humours of
the mail coach than Charles Dickens—did not Mr. Tony Weller drive a
coach?—nobody has written of the glories of the mail coach with greater
power than Thomas de Quincey. De Quincey has described one journey in
particular which lives in our literature. The mail was carrying with it
into the country districts the news of a great victory. “From eight P.M.
to fifteen or twenty minutes later, imagine the mails assembled on
parade in Lombard Street, where at that time and not at St. Martin's le
Grand was seated the General Post Office. In what exact strength we
mustered I do not remember, but from the length of each separate
_attelage_ we filled the street, though a long one, and though we were
drawn up in double file. On _any_ night the spectacle was beautiful. The
absolute perfection of all the appointments about the carriages and the
harness, their strength | 1,411.885583 |
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Title: A Romance of Youth, v2
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FARM LEGENDS.
[Illustration:
"THEY STOOD IN THE SHADE OF THE WESTERN DOOR." _Page 32._]
FARM LEGENDS
BY WILL CARLETON
AUTHOR OF "FARM BALLADS"
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration: Colophon]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS
FRANKLIN SQUARE
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
Copyright, 1887, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
TO
THE MEMORY OF A NOBLEMAN,
MY
FARMER FATHER.
PREFACE.
The "Farm Ballads" have met with so kind and general a reception as to
encourage the publishing of a companion volume.
In this book, also, the author has aimed to give expression to the
truth, that with every person, even if humble or debased, there may
be some good, worth lifting up and saving; that in each human being,
though revered and seemingly immaculate, are some faults which deserve
pointing out and correcting; and that all circumstances of life,
however trivial they appear, may possess those alternations of the
comic and pathetic, the good and bad, the joyful and sorrowful, upon
which walk the days and nights, the summers and winters, the lives and
deaths, of this strange world.
He would take this occasion to give a word of thanks to those who have
staid with him through evil and good report; who have overlooked his
literary faults for the sake of the truths he was struggling to tell;
and who have believed--what he knows--that he is honest.
With these few words of introduction, the author launches this second
bark upon the sea of popular opinion; grinds his axe, and enters once
more the great forest of Human Nature, for timber to go on with his
boat-building.
W.C.
CONTENTS.
_FARM LEGENDS:_ PAGE
_The School-master's Guests._ 17
_Three Links of a Life._ 26
_Rob, the Pauper._ 40
_The Three Lovers._ 51
_The Song of Home._ 63
_Paul's run off with the Show._ 69
_The Key to Thomas' Heart._ 73
_The Doctor's Story._ 76
_The Christmas Baby._ 80
_DECORATION-DAY POEMS:_
_Cover Them Over._ 87
_The Loves of the Nations._ 92
_COLLEGE POEMS:_
_Rifts in the Cloud._ 103
_Brothers and Friends._ 113
_Our March through the Past._ 121
_That Day we Graduated._ 131
_POEMS OF SORROW AND DEATH:_
_The Burning of Chicago._ 137
_The Railroad Holocaust._ 145
_Ship "City of Boston"._ 147
_Gone Before._ 149
_The Little Sleeper._ 151
_'Tis Snowing._ 153
_POEMS OF HOPE:_
_Some Time._ 157
_The Good of the Future._ 160
_The Joys that are Left._ 161
_When my Ship went Down._ 163
_To the Carleton Circle._ 164
_THE SANCTUM KING._ 169
_STRAY STANZAS:_
_Lines to James Russell Lowell._ 185
_To Monsieur Pasteur._ 185
_To a Young Lady._ 186
_Death of the Richest Man._ 186
_To the Smothered Miners._ 186
_The Deathless Song._ 187
_On a "Poet"-Critic._ 187
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
"_They stood in the Shade of the western Door_" Frontispiece
"_A Class in the Front, with their Readers,
were telling, with difficult Pains_" 19
"_And nodded obliquely, and muttered, 'Them 'ere
is my Sentiments tew'_" 23
"_When grave Baw Beese, the Indian Chief, had beaded
the Neck of the pale-face Miss_" 27
"_Hiding e'en from the Dark his Face_" 35
"_E'en in your Desolation you are not quite unblest_" 37
"_Himself on the Door-stone idly sitting_" 41
"_He runs and stumbles, leaps and clambers_" 45
_Rob, the Pauper_ 50
"_And Bess said, 'Keep still, for there's Plenty of Room'_" 55
"_Several Times he, with Policy stern, repressed a
Desire to break out of the Churn_" 57
"_And there his plump Limbs through the Orifice swung_" 59
"_Alice, the country Maiden, with the sweet loving Face_" 65
"_My Boy! come in! come in!_" 71
"_The Mother, who carries the Key to Thomas' Heart_" 74
"_I threw them as far as I could throw_" 78
_The Christmas Baby_ 80, 81, 82, 83
"_They who in Mountain and Hill-side and Dell_" 90
"_And does Columbia love_ her _dead_?" 93
"_When a Man throws the Treasures of his Life_" 97
"_E'en when was fixed, with far-resounding strokes_" 109
"_How happy are We!_" 119
"_'Twas a bright, glorious March! full of Joys
that were New_" 123
"_And loudly wild Accents of Terror came pealing from
Thousands of Throats_" 141
_Ship "City of Boston"_ 147
_Some Time_ 157
"_With the World, Flesh, and--Lad of General Work_" 171
"_The Public Heart's Prime-ministers are We_" 179
[Illustration]
FARM LEGENDS.
FARM LEGENDS.
THE SCHOOL-MASTER'S GUESTS.
I.
The district school-master was sitting behind his great book-laden
desk,
Close-watching the motions of scholars, pathetic and gay and
grotesque.
As whisper the half-leafless branches, when Autumn's brisk breezes
have come,
His little scrub-thicket of pupils sent upward a half-smothered hum;
Like the frequent sharp bang of a wagon, when treading a forest
path o'er,
Resounded the feet of his pupils, whenever their heels struck the
floor.
There was little Tom Timms on the front seat, whose face was
withstanding a drouth;
And jolly Jack Gibbs just behind him, with a rainy new moon for a
mouth;
There were both of the Smith boys, as studious as if they bore names
that could bloom:
And Jim Jones, a heaven-built mechanic, the slyest young knave in the
room:
With a countenance grave as a horse's, and his honest eyes fixed on a
pin,
Queer-bent on a deeply laid project to tunnel Joe Hawkins's skin.
There were anxious young novices, drilling their spelling-books into
the brain,
Loud-puffing each half-whispered letter, like an engine just starting
a train.
There was one fiercely muscular fellow, who scowled at the sums on his
slate,
And leered at the innocent figures a look of unspeakable hate,
And set his white teeth close together, and gave his thin lips a short
twist,
As to say, "I could whip you, confound you! if sums could be done with
my fist!"
There were two pretty girls in the corner, each one with some cunning
possessed,
In a whisper discussing a problem: which one the young master liked
best!
A class in the front, with their readers, were telling, with difficult
pains,
How perished brave Marco Bozzaris while bleeding at all of his veins;
And a boy on the floor to be punished, a statue of idleness stood,
Making faces at all of the others, and enjoying the task all he could.
II.
Around were the walls, gray and dingy, which every old school-sanctum
hath,
With many a break on their surface, where grinned a wood-grating of
lath;
A patch of thick plaster, just over the school-master's rickety chair,
Seemed threat'ningly o'er him suspended, like Damocles' sword, by a
hair;
There were tracks on the desks where the knife-blades had wandered in
search of their prey;
Their tops were as duskily spattered as if they drank ink every day;
[Illustration:
"A CLASS IN THE FRONT, WITH THEIR READERS, WERE TELLING, WITH
DIFFICULT PAINS, HOW PERISHED BRAVE MARCO BOZZARIS WHILE BLEEDING AT
ALL OF HIS VEINS."]
The square stove it puffed and it thundered, and broke out in
red-flaming sores,
Till the great iron quadruped trembled like a dog fierce to rush
out-o'-doors;
White snow-flakes looked in at the windows; the gale pressed its lips
to the cracks;
And the children's hot faces were streaming, the while they were
freezing their backs.
III.
Now Marco Bozzaris had fallen, and all of his suff'rings were o'er,
And the class to their seats were retreating, when footsteps were
heard at the door;
And five of the good district fathers marched into the room in a row,
And stood themselves up by the hot fire, and shook off their white
cloaks of snow;
And the spokesman, a grave squire of sixty, with countenance solemnly
sad,
Spoke thus, while the children all listened, with all of the ears that
they had:
"We've come here, school-master, intendin' to cast an inquirin' eye
'round,
Concarnin' complaints that's | 1,411.98337 |
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material from the Google Print project.)
AN ESSAY
ON
DEMONOLOGY, GHOSTS AND APPARITIONS,
AND
POPULAR SUPERSTITIONS,
ALSO,
AN ACCOUNT
OF THE
WITCHCRAFT DELUSION AT SALEM,
IN 1682.
By JAMES THACHER, M. D., A. A. S.
'With spells and charms I break the viper's jaw,
Cleave solid rocks, oaks from their fissures draw,
Whole woods remove, the airy mountains shake,
Earth forced to groan, and ghosts from graves awake.'
Ovid's Metamor.
There are mysteries even in nature, which we cannot
investigate, paradoxes which we can never resolve.
BOSTON:
CARTER AND HENDEE.
M DCCC XXXI.
ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the
year 1831, by CARTER & HENDEE, in the Clerk's
Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
BOSTON CLASSIC PRESS.
I. R. BUTTS.
ADVERTISEMENT.
The following pages were in substance composed to be read before the
Plymouth Lyceum, in 1829. When it was understood that Rev. CHARLES W.
UPHAM was about to favor the public with a work on the same subject,
it was determined that this little performance should be suppressed.
The | 1,411.984125 |
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THE MEDIAEVAL MIND
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE MEDIAEVAL MIND
A HISTORY OF THE DEVELOPMENT
OF THOUGHT AND EMOTION
IN THE MIDDLE AGES
BY HENRY OSBORN TAYLOR
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1911
TO J. I. T.
PREFACE
The Middle Ages! They seem so far away; intellectually so preposterous,
spiritually so strange. Bits of them may touch our sympathy, please our
taste; their window-glass, their sculpture, certain of their stories,
their romances,--as if those straitened ages really were the time of
romance, which they were not, God knows, in the sense commonly taken. Yet
perhaps they were such intellectually, or at least spiritually. Their
_terra_--not for them _incognita_, though full of mystery and pall and
vaguer glory--was not the earth. It was the land of metaphysical
construction and the land of spiritual passion. There lay their romance,
thither pointed their veriest thinking, thither drew their utter yearning.
Is it possible that the Middle Ages should speak to us, as through a
common humanity? Their mask is by no means dumb: in full voice speaks the
noble beauty of Chartres Cathedral. Such mediaeval product, we hope, is of
the universal human, and therefore of us as well as of the bygone
craftsmen. Why it moves us, we are not certain, being ignorant, perhaps,
of the building's formative and earnestly intended meaning. Do we care to
get at that? There is no way save by entering the mediaeval depths,
penetrating to the _rationale_ of the Middle Ages, learning the
_doctrinale_, or _emotionale_, of the modes in which they still present
themselves so persuasively.
But if the pageant of those centuries charm our eyes with forms that seem
so full of meaning, why should we stand indifferent to the harnessed
processes of mediaeval thinking and the passion surging through the
thought? Thought marshalled the great mediaeval procession, which moved to
measures of pulsating and glorifying emotion. Shall we not press on,
through knowledge, and search out its efficient causes, so that we too may
feel the reality of the mediaeval argumentation, with the possible
validity of mediaeval conclusions, and tread those channels of mediaeval
passion which were cleared and deepened by the thought? This would be to
reach human comradeship with mediaeval motives, no longer found too remote
for our sympathy, or too fantastic or shallow for our understanding.
But where is the path through these footless mazes? Obviously, if we would
attain, perhaps, no unified, but at least an orderly presentation of
mediaeval intellectual and emotional development, we must avoid
entanglements with manifold and not always relevant detail. We must not
drift too far with studies of daily life, habits and dress, wars and
raiding, crimes and brutalities, or trade and craft and agriculture. Nor
will it be wise to keep too close to theology or within the lines of
growth of secular and ecclesiastical institutions. Let the student be
mindful of his purpose (which is my purpose in this book) to follow
through the Middle Ages the development of intellectual energy and the
growth of emotion. Holding this end in view, we, students all, shall not
stray from our quest after those human qualities which impelled the
strivings of mediaeval men and women, informed their imaginations, and
moved them to love and tears and pity.
The plan and method by which I have endeavoured to realize this purpose in
my book may be gathered from the Table of Contents and the First Chapter,
which is introductory. These will obviate the need of sketching here the
order of presentation of the successive or co-ordinated topics forming the
subject-matter.
Yet one word as to the standpoint from which the book is written. An
historian explains by the standards and limitations of the times to which
his people belong. He judges--for he must also judge--by his own best
wisdom. His sympathy cannot but reach out to those who lived up to their
best understanding of life; for who can do more? Yet woe unto that man
whose mind is closed, whose standards are material and base.
Not only shalt thou do what seems well to thee; but thou shalt do right,
with wisdom. History has laid some thousands of years of emphasis on this.
Thou shalt not only be sincere, but thou shalt be righteous, and not
iniquitous; beneficent, and not malignant; loving and lovable, and not
hating and hateful. Thou shalt be a promoter of light, and not of
darkness; an illuminator, and not an obscurer. Not only shalt thou seek to
choose aright, but at thy peril thou shalt so choose. "Unto him that hath
shall be given"--nothing is said about sincerity. The fool, the maniac, is
sincere; the mainsprings of the good which we may commend lie deeper.
So, and at _his_ peril likewise, must the historian judge. He cannot state
the facts and sit aloof, impartial between good and ill, between success
and failure, progress and retrogression, the soul's health and loveliness,
and spiritual foulness and disease. He must love and hate, and at his
peril love aright and hate what is truly hateful. And although his
sympathies quiver to understand and feel as the man and woman before him,
his sympathies must be controlled by wisdom.
Whatever may be one's beliefs, a realization of the power and import of
the Christian Faith is needed for an understanding of the thoughts and
feelings moving the men and women of the Middle Ages, and for a just
appreciation of their aspirations and ideals. Perhaps the fittest standard
to apply to them is one's own broadest conception of the Christian scheme,
the Christian scheme whole and entire with the full life of Christ's
Gospel. Every age has offered an interpretation of that Gospel and an
attempt at fulfilment. Neither the interpretation of the Church Fathers,
nor that of the Middle Ages satisfies us now. And by our further
understanding of life and the Gospel of life, we criticize the judgment of
mediaeval men. We have to sympathize with their best, and understand their
lives out of their lives and the conditions in which they were passed. But
we must judge according to our own best wisdom, and out of ourselves offer
our comment and contribution.
HENRY OSBORN TAYLOR.
Many translations from mediaeval (chiefly Latin) writings will be found in
this work, which seeks to make the Middle Ages speak for themselves. With
a very few exceptions, mentioned in the foot-notes, these translations are
my own. I have tried to keep them literal, and at all events free from the
intrusion of thoughts and suggestions not in the originals.
CONTENTS
PAGE
BOOK I
THE GROUNDWORK
CHAPTER I
GENESIS OF THE MEDIAEVAL GENIUS 3
CHAPTER II
THE LATINIZING OF THE WEST 23
CHAPTER III
GREEK PHILOSOPHY AS THE ANTECEDENT OF THE PATRISTIC
APPREHENSION OF FACT 33
CHAPTER IV
INTELLECTUAL INTERESTS OF THE LATIN FATHERS 61
CHAPTER V
LATIN TRANSMITTERS OF ANTIQUE AND PATRISTIC THOUGHT 88
CHAPTER VI
THE BARBARIC DISRUPTION OF THE EMPIRE 110
CHAPTER VII
THE CELTIC STRAIN IN GAUL AND IRELAND 124
CHAPTER VIII
TEUTON QUALITIES: ANGLO-SAXON, GERMAN, NORSE 138
CHAPTER IX
THE BRINGING OF CHRISTIANITY AND ANTIQUE KNOWLEDGE TO THE
NORTHERN PEOPLES 169
I. Irish Activities; Columbanus of Luxeuil.
II. Conversion of the English; the learning of Bede and Alfred.
III. Gaul and Germany; from Clovis to St. Winifried-Boniface.
BOOK II
THE EARLY MIDDLE AGES
CHAPTER X
CAROLINGIAN PERIOD: THE FIRST STAGE IN THE APPROPRIATION OF
THE PATRISTIC AND ANTIQUE 207
CHAPTER XI
MENTAL ASPECTS OF THE ELEVENTH CENTURY: ITALY 238
I. From Charlemagne to Hildebrand.
II. The Human Situation.
III. The Italian Continuity of Antique Culture.
IV. Italy's Intellectual Piety: Peter Damiani and St. Anselm.
CHAPTER XII
MENTAL ASPECTS OF THE ELEVENTH CENTURY: FRANCE 280
I. Gerbert.
II. Odilo of Cluny.
III. Fulbert and the School of Chartres; Trivium and Quadrivium.
IV. Berengar of Tours, Roscellin, and the coming time.
CHAPTER XIII
MENTAL ASPECTS OF THE ELEVENTH CENTURY: GERMANY; ENGLAND 307
I. German Appropriation of Christianity and Antique Culture.
II. Othloh's Spiritual Conflict.
III. England; Closing Comparisons.
CHAPTER XIV
THE GROWTH OF MEDIAEVAL EMOTION 330
I. The Patristic Chart of Passion.
II. Emotionalizing of Latin Christianity.
BOOK III
THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL: THE SAINTS
CHAPTER XV
THE REFORMS OF MONASTICISM 353
Mediaeval Extremes; Benedict of Aniane; Cluny; Citeaux's
_Charta Charitatis_; the _vita contemplativa_ accepts the
_vita activa_.
CHAPTER XVI
THE HERMIT TEMPER 368
Peter Damiani; Romuald; Dominicus Loricatus; Bruno and Guigo,
Carthusians.
CHAPTER XVII
THE QUALITY OF LOVE IN ST. BERNARD 392
CHAPTER XVIII
ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI 415
CHAPTER XIX
MYSTIC VISIONS OF ASCETIC WOMEN 442
Elizabeth of Schoenau; Hildegard of Bingen; Mary of Ognies;
Liutgard of Tongern; Mechthild of Magdeburg.
CHAPTER XX
THE SPOTTED ACTUALITY 471
The Testimony of Invective and Satire; Archbishop Rigaud's
_Register_; Engelbert of Cologne; Popular Credences.
CHAPTER XXI
THE WORLD OF SALIMBENE 494
BOOK IV
THE IDEAL AND THE ACTUAL: SOCIETY
CHAPTER XXII
FEUDALISM AND KNIGHTHOOD 521
Feudal and Christian Origin of Knightly Virtue; the Order of
the Temple; Godfrey of Bouillon; St. Louis; Froissart's
_Chronicles_.
CHAPTER XXIII
ROMANTIC CHIVALRY AND COURTLY LOVE 558
From Roland to Tristan and Lancelot.
CHAPTER XXIV
PARZIVAL, THE BRAVE MAN SLOWLY WISE 588
BOOK I
THE GROUNDWORK
CHAPTER I
GENESIS OF THE MEDIAEVAL GENIUS
The antique civilization of the Roman Empire was followed by that
depression of decadence and barbarization which separates antiquity from
the Middle Ages. Out of the confusion of this intervening period emerged
the mediaeval peoples of western Europe. These, as knowledge increased
with them, began to manifest spiritual traits having no clear counterpart
in the ancient sources from which they drew the matter of their thought
and contemplation.
The past which furnished the content of mediaeval thought was twofold,
very dual, even carrying within itself the elements of irreconcilable
conflict; and yet with its opposing fronts seemingly confederated, if not
made into one. Sprung from such warring elements, fashioned by all the
interests of life in heaven as well as life on earth, the traits and
faculties of mediaeval humanity were to make a motley company. Clearly
each mediaeval century will offer a manifold of disparity and
irrelationship, not to be brought to unity, any more than can be followed
to the breast of one mighty wind-god the blasts that blow from every
quarter over the waters of our own time. Nevertheless, each mediaeval
century, and if one will, the entire Middle Ages, seen in distant
perspective, presents a consistent picture, in which dominant mediaeval
traits, retaining their due pre-eminence, may afford a just conception of
the mediaeval genius.[1]
I
While complex in themselves, and intricate in their interaction, the
elements that were to form the spiritual constituency of the Middle Ages
of western Europe may be disentangled and regarded separately. There was
first the element of the antique, which was descended from the thought and
knowledge current in Italy and the western provinces of the Roman Empire,
where Latin was the common language. In those Roman times, this fund of
thought and knowledge consisted of Greek metaphysics, physical science,
and ethics, and also of much that the Latins had themselves evolved,
especially in private law and political institutions.
Rome had borrowed her philosophy and the motives of her literature and art
from Greece. At first, quite provincially, she drew as from a foreign
source; but as the great Republic extended her boundaries around the
Mediterranean world, and brought under her levelling power the Hellenized
or still Asiatic East, and Africa and Spain and Gaul as well, Greek
thought, as the informing principle of knowledge, was diffused throughout
all this Roman Empire, and ceased to be alien to the Latin West. Yet the
peoples of the West did not become Hellenized, or change their speech for
Greek. Latin held its own against its subtle rival, and continued to
advance with power through the lands which had spoken other tongues before
their Roman subjugation; and it was the soul of Latium, and not the soul
of Hellas, that imbued these lands with a new homogeneity of civic order.
The Greek knowledge which spread through them was transmuted in Latin
speech or writings; while the great Latin authors who modelled Latin
literature upon the Greek, and did so much to fill the Latin mind with
Greek thoughts, recast their borrowings in their own style as well as
language, and re-tempered the matter to accord with the Roman natures of
themselves and their countrymen. Hence only through Latin paraphrase, and
through transformation in the Latin classics, Greek thought reached the
mediaeval peoples; until the thirteenth century, when a better
acquaintance was opened with the Greek sources, yet still through closer
Latin translations, as will be seen.
Thus it was with the pagan antique as an element of mediaeval culture. Nor
was it very different with the patristic, or Christian antique, element.
For in the fourth and fifth centuries, the influence of pagan Greece on
pagan Rome tended to repeat itself in the relations between the Greek and
the Latin Fathers of the Church. The dogmatic formulation of Christianity
was mainly the work of the former. Tertullian, a Latin, had indeed been an
early and important contributor to the process. But, in general, the Latin
Fathers were to approve and confirm the work of Athanasius and of his
coadjutors and predecessors, who thought and wrote in Greek. Nevertheless,
Augustine and other Latin Fathers ordered and made anew what had come from
their elder brethren in the East, Latinizing it in form and temper as well
as language. At the same time, they supplemented it with matter drawn from
their own thinking. And so, the thoughts of the Greek Fathers having been
well transmuted in the writings of Ambrose, Hilary, and Augustine,
patristic theology and the entire mass of Christianized knowledge and
opinion came to the Middle Ages in a Latin medium.
A third and vaguest factor in the evolution of the mediaeval genius
consisted in the diverse and manifold capacities of the mediaeval peoples:
Italians whose ancestors had been very part of the antique; inhabitants of
Spain and Gaul who were descended from once Latinized provincials; and
lastly that widespread Teuton folk, whose forbears had barbarized and
broken the Roman Empire in those centuries when a decadent civilization
could no longer make Romans of barbarians. Moreover, the way in which
Christianity was brought to the Teuton peoples and accepted by them, and
the manner of their introduction to the pagan culture, reduced at last to
following in the Christian train, did not cease for centuries to react
upon the course of mediaeval development.
The distinguishing characteristics which make the Middle Ages a period in
the history of western Europe were the result of the interaction of the
elements of mediaeval development working together, and did not spring
from the singular nature of any one of them. Accordingly, the proper
beginning of the Middle Ages, so far as one may speak of a beginning,
should lie in the time of the conjunction of these elements in a joint
activity. That could not be before the barbaric disturbers of the Roman
peace had settled down to life and progress under the action of Latin
Christianity and the surviving antique culture. Nor may this beginning be
placed before the time when Gregory the Great (died 604) had refashioned
Augustine, and much that was earlier, to the measure of the coming
centuries; nor before Boethius (died 523), Cassiodorus (died 575), and
Isidore of Seville (died 636), had prepared the antique pabulum for the
mediaeval stomach. All these men were intermediaries or transmitters, and
bel | 1,411.98521 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.0623490 | 351 | 9 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 132. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, May 9, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER.[1]
[1] Begun in No. 127, HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE.
BY JAMES OTIS,
AUTHOR OF "TOBY TYLER," "TIM AND TIP," ETC.
CHAPTER VI.
OLD BEN.
Toby watched anxiously as each wagon came up, but he failed to recognize
any of the drivers. For the first time it occurred to him that perhaps
those whom he knew were no longer with this particular company, and his
delight gave way to sadness.
Fully twenty wagons had come, and he had just begun to think his fears
had good foundation, when in the distance he saw the well-remembered
monkey wagon, with the burly form of old Ben on the box.
Toby could not wait for that particular team to come up, even though it
was driven at a reasonably rapid speed; but he started toward it as fast
as he could run. After him, something like the tail of a comet, followed
all his friends, who, having come so far, were determined not to lose
sight | 1,412.082389 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.1639160 | 7,436 | 10 |
Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Lisa Tang,
Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
Volume 108, February 9th, 1895.
_edited by Sir Francis Burnand_
TO LUCENDA.
(_Who had made "Copy" of Me._)
The bright September when we met
My prospects were _not_ over healthy,
Though you were, I do _not_ forget,
Extremely wealthy.
I know not why it chanced to be,
But this I recollect most clearly--
It never once occurred to me
To love you dearly.
'Twas not your fault, so do not vex
Yourself, for I admired your beauty,
Since admiration of your sex
Is Man's Whole Duty.
And thus it came to be our lot
To part without a sign or token;
I went upon my way, but not
The least heart-broken.
My "fatal pride" does not object
At your fair hands to be made verse on;
But p'raps next time you will select--
Some other person!
* * * * *
UNANSWERABLE.--The Archbishop of CANTERBURY, speaking at Folkestone
last week, said that "The Disestablishment Bill does not need any
answering: it answers itself." An' it please your Grace, if it does
"answer," and answers its purpose, what more can be required of this
Bill or any other?
* * * * *
THE NEW WEATHER PROVERB.--It never rains--but it snows!
* * * * *
[Illustration: BRAVE GIRL!
_Millicent_ (_from the country_). "_NOW_, MABEL! LET'S MAKE A DASH!!"]
* * * * *
QUEER QUERIES.
FREEZING THE VERTEBRAE.--I am in the last stage of bronchitis,
complicated with pneumonia, influenza, and asthma, and a friend has
advised me to try the new French cure of applying ice to the spine.
Will some obliging physician tell me whether he considers such a
course safe? None but a recognised specialist need trouble to reply;
and if he does so, I shall have the satisfaction of feeling that I
have saved his fee, as well as my own life. My boy advises me to go
skating, and "I shall be sure then to have my back applied to the
ice," which he says is the same thing as applying ice to my back. But
is it? A nephew who is staying in the house also kindly offers to "shy
hard snow-balls at my spine," if that would help me in any way. It is
a pity that the newspaper (from which I derived this medical hint) was
not clear as to details; for instance, when I _have_ applied the ice,
what is to prevent its melting and trickling all over me?--NON-PAYING
PATIENT.
* * * * *
Meteorological Moralising.
'Tis an ill-wind which blows nobody good,
And one man's meat another's poison is.
What is disaster to one man or mood,
Is to another mood or man "good biz."
What to your dramatist means love's labour's lost,
Your would-be skater craves--"a perfect frost!"
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
By the publication of _The Play Actress_ (S. R. CROCKETT) Mr. FISHER
UNWIN fully maintains the success attained by his Autonym Library. My
Baronite is least attracted by the scenes which possibly pleased the
author most--those in which he describes life in the purlieus of
London theatres. Mr. CROCKETT is much more at home in Galloway, and
with the people who sparsely populate it. The opening chapter,
describing Sabbath day in the Kirk of the Hill is in his best style,
as are others describing the Great Preacher's tender caring for his
little grand-daughter. _The Play Actress_ is just the sort of thing to
buy at a bookstall on starting for a journey. It will be felt to be a
matter of regret if the journey isn't quite long enough to finish it
at a sitting.
In _The Worst Woman in London_ ("and other stories," a subtitle
craftily suppressed on the outside of the book by F. C. PHILIPS) the
author gives us a number of capital detached stories of a most
irritating abruptness. Almost every one of these stories is a novel
thrown away; that is, every story is in itself the germ of what might
have been a good novel. They are little more than "jottings for
plottings." Yet, to be read with a pipe or small cigar, they just
suffice to wile away time and obviate conversation. They are dedicated
to Mr. WALTER HERRIES POLLOCK, who has on more than one occasion shown
himself an adept at real good short stories--not merely as plots, but
genuinely complete in themselves and full of humour--and from whom the
Baron expects something more in the same line, or, rather, on the same
lines.
The BARON DE B.-W.
* * * * *
A MODERN ECLOGUE.
SCENE--_A Crowded Thoroughfare._ _Enter_ STREPHON _and_ PHYLLIS
_on bicycles, at the rate of fifteen miles an hour_.
_Strephon._
We care not, PHYLLIS, my own, to-day,
For walking in Kensington Park,
To flirt in the old conventional way,
And saunter home in the dark.
Nay, pleasanter far it is to "scorch"--
To hear your silvery bell,
While the answering squeak of my horn may speak
For the fact that I love you well!
_Both._
Oh, isn't it sweet to clear the street,
While elderly persons frown!
"Now, stoopid, look out!" we pleasantly shout,
And bang goes a gentleman down!
_Phyllis._
STREPHON, I love you, I confess,
For who could fail to admire
The humorous way you spoil a dress
And ruin a girl's attire?
To see you silently creep along,
And then with a burst of speed
Spread liberal dirt on the feminine skirt
Is a sight for the gods, indeed!
_Both._
Oh, isn't it glee to do it, and see
The lady-pedestrian flinch,
With jubilant rush to scatter the slush
And miss her foot by an inch!
_Strephon._
I frightened those horses, I'm much afraid,--
The excellent coachman's riled!
_Phyllis._
And I've demolished a nursery-maid,
And certainly hurt a child!
_Strephon._
I made that stately dowager jump,
She leapt to one side, and puffed!
_Phyllis._
That leisurely cur, I'm inclined to infer,
To-morrow will go to be stuffed!
_Both._
So side by side we merrily ride,
And scatter the murmuring throng,
Who think the police should compel us to cease,
And mournfully ask, "How long?"
* * * * *
JUST A LITTLE TOO MUCH.--When a parliamentary candidate or popular
Member is received with a torchlight procession, it is almost
unnecessary for his constituents to present him, on a dark night, with
"an illuminated address."
* * * * *
THE FRENCH AMNESTY.
_Bruxelles, le 31. Janvier._
MONSIEUR,--I write to you, _M. Punch_, these some words, which I essay
to write in english. I come of to receive--how say you _la
nouvelle?_--the new of the amnesty in France. The government which
banished the descendant of the great NAPOLEON has recalled some
exileds. But he has not recalled me, _ce gouvernement infame!_ He has
left to languish the heir of the crown imperial in this droll of
little town. _Nom d'une pipe, quelle ville! Rien qu'un Palais de
Justice et quelques rues desertes!_ But I go to write in english. I
rest here, at five hours of Paris, alldays ready, alldays vigilant.
_Mais que c'est triste!_ _Tiens_, it is not perhaps so sad as
that--how write you the name?--that Stove, in your _departement_ of
the Bukkinhammshir. At least one speak french in this country. It is
not the french of Paris, or the french of Touraine, but all of same it
values better than english--a language so difficult. Thus I rest here,
I walk myself to horse in their Wood of Cambre, I visit of time in
time the Palace of Justice and Ste. Gudule, _et voila c'est fini!_
Then I recommence and I see, _encore une fois_, the _Bois_, the
_Palais_, and the _Cathedrale_. I go not to Waterloo, for people say
my Great Ancestor there was conquered by your Duc of WELINTONG. One
has wrong, the historians have wrong, _mais enfin, que faire?_ I may
not to write the history of new. _A l'avenir nous verrons. En
attendant j'attends._ And I stand, like my Great Ancestor, the arms
folded, and frown towards the frontier of the France, _la patrie
ingrate_. It is a fine attitude, and I study it all the days.
_Agreez, &c._ N.
_Stowe, the 31. January._
Sir,--I tell you my thoughts as calmly as possibly, but my heart
burns! Heaven, what injustice! To France--ah, I say not her name
without emotion!--to France I offered my sword, my service, my life!
She refused them! Ingrateful country! Me who--but I go to be calm!
When CASIMIR-PERIER resigns I voyage without to lose an instant to
Dover, I wait, I receive each instant some despatch, I regard the
coast of France and weep, I am photographed! Me, the descendant of St.
LOUIS, I am photographed! But in vain! I desire even to die for
France, but I may not! By blue, what ingratitude! And now she
proclaims the amnesty and I am forgotten! Me, the descendant of St.
LOUIS! Me who desire the struggle, the efforts of a life of soldier,
of a life of king, me I rest here in simple renter of province! Me who
wish to die for France, I am obliged to live in England! To live, just
heaven! And in England, which I despise, though she shelters me!
Perhaps she is not worse than Belgium, Buckingham or Bruxelles! It is
equal to me! Nor the one nor the other is France! Again I weep! Ah, if
I could shed tears of blood! I can not! Heaven, that I should not have
even that consolation there! And ROCHEFORT returns! He may die for his
country, for France! Once more I weep bitterly! But me I may not! I
conclude, and my last word shall be a word of order! It shall be,
though she spurns me, though she mock herself of me, "Live France!"
Again I weep! Receive, &c. P.
* * * * *
[Illustration: SUCCESSFUL SANITATION.
_Anxious Tourist._ "SINCE YOUR TOWN HAS BEEN NEWLY DRAINED, I SUPPOSE
THERE IS LESS FEVER HERE?"
_Hotel-Keeper_ (_reassuringly_). "ACH, YES, SIR! ZE TEEFOOSE (TYPHUS)
IS NOW QUITE _ZE EXCEPTION!_"]
* * * * *
"VOICI LE SABRE DE MON PERE!"
["Let all know that, in devoting all my strength to the welfare of
the people, I intend to protect the principle of autocracy as
firmly and unswervingly as did my late and never-to-be-forgotten
father."
_The Czar to the assembled Deputies and Delegates in the
Winter Palace._]
[Illustration: "VOICI LE SABRE DE MON PERE!"
"I intend to protect the principle of autocracy as firmly and
unswervingly as did my late and never-to-be-forgotten father."
--_Czar's Speech, Jan. 29._]
"_It was my father's custom, and so it shall be mine!_"--
One seems to hear those simple words'midst all the show and shine
Of the great, gay, white-pillared hall. The gold and silver chains
Of deputies and delegates from distant steppes and plains
Gleam in the winter daylight. The tall white-tunic'd Guards
Stand with drawn swords, Autocracy's serene and stalwart wards.
All in the Winter Palace; from regions vast and far
They come of many a race and creed to welcome their young Czar.
The nobles and the Zemstros, too, are represented here.
With tribes of the wild Caucasus, the hosts who love--and fear--
The monarch of one hundred and twenty million souls.
And through thine Hall, St. Nicholas, in full firm accents rolls
The Voice of armed Autocracy, unbending and unchanged.
Unfaltering the youthful eye that boldly roved and ranged
Over that motley muster. He lifts his sire's great sword,
This youthful heir to power supreme, by freemen much abhorred,
But dear to bowing myriads of Slavdom's loyal hosts;
And with that calm cold dignity which despotism boasts
Establishes the Ego of Autocracy once more.
_Voici le sabre de mon sire!_ What ALEXANDER bore
Shall NICHOLAS not wear and wield? The appanage of our line!
"_It was my father's custom, and so it shall be mine!_"
Old rustic song, your refrain long shall echo round our world,
Until all burdens from the back of toiling men are hurled.
Far, far off day! Now proud and gay Autocracy's strong thralls
Muster to-day in fine array in those white-pillared halls.
To be--not snubbed, say _reassured_, that Autocrats, still strong,
Still give small heed to serfs who plead, to freedom's siren song,
Or to "absurd illusions," which, slipped from mouth to mouth,
Must still be silenced in the North, if heeded in the South.
Those Zemstros voices must be hushed. Autocracy's sole hand
Must wield the sabre of his sire, and sway a silent land;
The Bear from the new Bearward gentler treatment well may hope,
But hardly loosening of the chain or slackening of the rope.
The patient Northern Bruin stands and rubs a dubious ear.
Amnesty means not Liberty. Autocracy is clear
In "firmly and unswervingly," with strength that doth not tire,
Holding the mastery of its race, the Sabre of its Sire!
* * * * *
"MR. PEPYS'S PARISH CHURCH."--The Rev. ALFRED POVAH'S interesting work
gives us the origin of the "Navy pew" in St. Olave's. In such a church
how appropriate was the old "three-decker," as this structure, which
contained clerk below, parson in the middle, and preacher in the
topmost compartment, used to be termed.
* * * * *
A JUST CORRECTION.--In _Macmillan's_ for this month there is an
interesting article entitled "_In the Wake of Captain Cook_." An Irish
member of the club threw the number down, exclaiming, "The man who
wrote that can't write English! 'Tis not '_in_ the wake' at all. Sure
it ought to be '_at_ the wake.'"
* * * * *
LEGAL CLOCKWORK.--Towards the end of last week, the key of the
difficulty having been found, the Justice-VAUGHAN-WILLIAMS'-winding-up
business was wound up, and J. V. W., being wound up, was set going
again. There is, however, still some difficulty, and a little oil on
the troubled works will be necessary. _Mem. to the Lord
Chancellor._--"Please not to touch the figures."
* * * * *
_Q._ What is the best sort of cigar to smoke in a Hansom?
_A._ A Cab-ana.
* * * * *
LITTLE MOPSEMAN.
THE SECOND ACT.
[Illustration: "Yes, Alfred, Retribution!"]
_A little narrow glen, with a <DW72> in the background, belonging
to_ ALFRED. _Under the dripping trees a table and chairs, all made
of thin birchstaves. Everything is sodden with wet, and
mist-wreaths are driving about._ ALFRED FRUeYSECK, _dressed in a
black mackintosh, sits dejectedly on a chair. Presently_ MOPSA
BROVIK _comes down the <DW72> cautiously behind, and touches his
shoulder_; ALFRED _jumps_.
_Mopsa._ You shouldn't really sit about on damp seats in such
miserable weather, ALFRED. I have been hunting for you everywhere.
[_Closing her umbrella with quiet significance._
_Alfred_ (_to himself_). Run to earth! Oh, Lor'! (_Aloud._) If you
would only be kind enough to search for MOPSEMAN instead! I _cannot_
unravel the mystery of his disappearance. There he was, just entering
upon conscious intelligence--full of the infinite possibilities of
performing poodlehood. I had charged myself with his education. After
having been an usher at so many boarding-schools, I felt peculiarly
fitted for such a task. And then a shady scoundrel has only to come
his way with rats in a bag----!
_Mopsa._ But we don't in the least know how it really all came about.
_Alfred._ That infernal VARMINT-BL[=O]K is at the bottom of it, you may
depend upon that! Though what motive in the world----(_Quivering._)
It's not as if MOPSEMAN would ever have faced a rat. He used to bolt
at the mere sight of a blackbeetle even. The whole thing is so utterly
meaningless, MOPSA. And yet, I suppose the order of the universe
requires it.
_Mopsa._ Have you indulged in these abstruse philosophical
speculations with SPRETA?
_Alfred_ (_shakes his head hopelessly_). She is so utterly incapable
of----(MOPSA _nods_.) I prefer discussing them with _you_. There is
something unnatural in imparting confidences to a mere wife. What on
earth have you got there?
_Mopsa_ (_takes a little housewife out of her pocket_). SPRETA said
you had lost the button off the back of your collar. I thought I would
sew it on for you. _May_ I? (_With quiet warmth._) I'll _try_ not to
run the needle into you.
_Alfred_ (_absently_). Do; it may distract my thoughts a little. Where
_is_ SPRETA, by the way?
_Mopsa._ Only taking a little walk with BLOCHDRAeHN. (_Sewing._)
Perhaps it is _hardly_ the weather for a stroll; but then he was
always so perfectly devoted to--h'm--to Little MOPSEMAN, you know.
_Alfred_ (_surprised_). But SPRETA wasn't. She never liked him--not
even as a puppy. And now tell me--don't you think you could take a
fancy to BLOCHDRAeHN--h'm?
_Mopsa._ Oh, no! Please! (_Covers her face with her hands._) You
mustn't really ask me why. (_Looks at him through her fingers._)
Because I _know_ I should tell you; you have such an irresistible
influence over me. Oh dear! oh dear! what _will_ you think of me?
(_Moves close up to him._) There's a button off your _shirt-front_
now!
_Alfred_ (_plaintively_). Am I to have _that_ one sewn on too?
_Mopsa._ Yes, it's the right thing to do. Though how SPRETA can _let_
you go about like this, I _can't_ think!
_Alfred_ (_with a half smile_). When I have _you_ to look after me.
This is quite like the dear old days!
_Mopsa._ Yes. (_Sewing._) I remember I mended all your things, like a
sister. Even then you never had _quite_ all your buttons, _had_ you,
dear?
_Alfred_ (_patting her hand_). Not even then. And do you remember how
you used to follow me about, just like a little dog? And I used to
call you "Little MOPSEMAN," because your name was MOPSA; and if I had
_had_ a dog, I should have called _him_ Little MOPSEMAN. And then how
you used to sit up and hold a biscuit on your nose, my dear faithful
MOPSA!
_Mopsa._ I wonder how you can be so childish! (_Smiling
involuntarily._) It _was_ a rich beautiful time; but it was all over
when you married. I hope you have never mentioned all that nonsense to
SPRETA?
_Alfred._ I _may_ have. One _does_ tell one's wife some
things--unintentionally. (_Clutching his forehead._) But oh, how _can_
I sit here and forget Little MOPSEMAN so completely? Have I _no_
heart?
_Mopsa._ If you have lost it, I think I know where it is. And you must
surely give your grief a rest occasionally, too.
_Alfred._ I mustn't. I won't. I _will_ think of him.... By the way,
are we to have dried fish for dinner _again?_... Oh, _there_ I go once
more--in the very middle of my agony--just when I want to be torturing
myself unspeakably with this gnawing crushing regret! What a
wonderfully realistic touch it is, though, eh? So dramatic! But after
all, I have _you_, MOPSA. I'm so glad of that!
_Mopsa_ (_looking earnestly at him_). Surely you mean dear SPRETA--not
_me_, ALFRED?
_Alfred._ What relation is a wife to her husband? None whatever. Now
you, MOPSA, _you_ are very nearly a second cousin once removed, not
quite--because our family is a thing so entirely apart. We have always
had vowels (the very _best_ vowels) for our initials, and the same
spectacles, and poor relations we invariably cut, and great
thick works we never get really on with. You take after your mother,
KAIA.
_Mopsa._ And my Aunt--she that was a Miss REBECCA WEST. I feel so
irresistibly drawn to disturb other people's domestic harmony. But you
must really forget me, and try to care for poor SPRETA a little.
_Alfred_ (_vehemently_). It's no use. I _can't_. You've entranced me
so thoroughly. (_Helplessly._) I _knew_ you would! Do let me remain
here with you!
[_Seizes her hand._
_Mopsa_ (_looks warmly at him_). Of course, if you really mean _that_,
I cannot pretend that such comradeship is----Hush! let go my
hand--there's somebody coming!
[SPRETA _and_ BLOCHDRAeHN _enter in waterproofs, sharing the same
umbrella_.
_Alfred_ (_annoyed_). Why do you come bothering here? Surely you must
see that such an interruption is _most_ ill-timed.
_Spreta_ (_with a cutting laugh_). We did gather _that_, ALFRED. I
came to see what you were about.
_Alfred._ MOPSA was simply sympathising with me over Little MOPSEMAN'S
disappearance--that was all.
_Spreta._ Sympathising and philandering, ALFRED, are synonymous terms
in the Norwegian Drama. And I may be allowed to observe that _other_
people can philander if they're driven to it.
[_Glances at_ BLOCHDRAeHN.
_Mopsa_ (_taking her umbrella quickly, to_ BLOCHDRAeHN). We seem to be
somewhat _de trop_ here. Suppose we withdraw?
[_They do._
_Spreta._ Doesn't it strike you, ALFRED, that all this morbid harping
on that missing mongrel may be just a little monotonous--for a popular
audience, I mean?
_Alfred_ (_gloomily_). They'll have to sit through another Act and a
half of it--that's all. I shall harp if I choose. I _like_ harping.
And you always detested MOPSEMAN. You said he ate too much, and had
evil eyes.
_Spreta._ So he _did_--so he _had_! And _you_ never really and truly
loved him either, or you would never have made such a fool of the dog
as you did!
_Alfred._ I had renounced my wonderful thick book. I needed
_something_ to fill up my life!
_Spreta._ You might have chosen something better than a miserable
little poodle with no hair on his tail!
_Alfred_ (_turns pale_). It is you--_you_, who were the guilty one in
that. (_Harshly and coldly._) It was _your_ hand that spilt the hot
water over him as he lay comfortably on the hearthrug. It _was!_ And
you _know_ it!
_Spreta_ (_terrified, yet defiant_). Better own at once that you came
behind me and jogged my arm!
_Alfred_ (_in suppressed desperation_). Yes, that is true. You looked
so entrancingly beautiful as you were putting the kettle on for tea,
that I was irresistibly impelled to kiss you!
_Spreta_ (_exasperated_). ALFRED! This is intolerable of you. _Do_ I
deserve to be reproached for looking entrancingly beautiful?
_Alfred_ (_with sarcasm_). Not in the least--_now_. You are subject to
the Law of Change. But what does all that matter? We have _both_
sinned, if you like. While we had him, we both shrank in secret from
him--we could not bear to see the tail he dragged about after him!
_Spreta_ (_whispers_). You were so perpetually putting paraffin upon
it, ALFRED!
_Alfred_ (_calmer_). Yes, _that_. I tried to perfect its
possibilities. But it was no use--I could never, never make it good
again. And after that I dressed him up in military uniform, and then
he had to remain too much indoors, so, of course, he followed the
VARMINT-BL[=O]K, and then the street curs chevied him over the pier. And
after I had trained him so thoroughly to shoulder a musket, he was so
totally unable to swim. Oh, it all works out into quite a logical
Retribution. And I must go away into the solitudes and writhe with
remorse--by myself.
_Spreta_ (_bitingly_). Unless, of course, you can induce MOPSA to----I
think you mentioned once that she used to follow you about like a
little dog?
_Alfred_ (_in a hollow voice_). I did. I remember now. That time when
the tea-kettle----Retribution!
[_He staggers into the thinnest birchstave chair, which collapses
under him._
_Spreta_ (_menacingly standing over him_). Yes, ALFRED, Retribution!
[MOPSA _and_ BLOCHDRAeHN _return_.
_Mopsa_ (_pleasantly_). Well, my dear SPRETA, have you and dear ALFRED
talked things thoroughly out?
_Spreta._ Oh, yes; quite thoroughly enough, I really will _not_ be
left alone with ALFRED any more; he is _too_ depressing!
_Alfred_ (_on the ground_). One cannot be expected to rollick when one
is being gnawed with remorse! But perhaps BLOCHDRAeHN _would_ be a more
cheerful companion for you; go on with him, while MOPSA helps me up
again. We'll follow you--presently.
[SPRETA _and_ BLOCHDRAeHN _go off together;_ MOPSA _tenderly
assists_ ALFRED _to rise_.
_Mopsa._ Oh, dear me! it does seem _such_ a pity! But SPRETA always
_was_ peculiar. It must be so trying for _you_, dear!
_Alfred._ So much so that I can't stand her any longer. I _must_ get
away, anywhere--quite alone. MOPSA, will you come _too?_
_Mopsa_ (_shocked_). ALFRED! How _can_ you? What _have_ I said or done
to encourage such a proposal? So utterly unexpected!
_Alfred_ (_feebly_). I really couldn't help it. It's the troll inside
me. What am I saying? That belongs to another Norwegian drama!
_Mopsa._ All this part belongs to _several_ other Norwegian dramas,
dear. But we must see if we can't get out of the old groove _this_
time!
_Alfred._ But why in the world----? When you showed such a wonderful
preference for my society, too!
_Mopsa_ (_gently_). I know, dear. But that was before----. Let me tell
you something. (_Slow music;_ ALFRED _sits down, cautiously_.) I've
just been looking through my big portfolio, and I've discovered--what
_do_ you think? (ALFRED _shakes his head hopelessly_.) I'm not KAIA'S
daughter at all, really. I'm only adopted!
_Alfred._ But what difference does that make in _our_ relations?
Practically, none whatever!
_Mopsa._ _All_ the difference, ALFRED. I always pursued you about with
reluctance and under protest. Being, as I supposed, descended from
KAIA FOSLI, and related to REBECCA WEST, it seemed so utterly the
right thing to do. But I know _now_ that I am nothing of the sort, and
that if my real mother ever possessed such a thing as a Past at all,
it was Plu-perfect. So heredity doesn't come in, and, rather than
interfere between you and poor dear SPRETA, I have decided to go right
away and never see you again. I really _mean_ it, _this_ time!
[_She opens her umbrella and runs off up the <DW72>._
_Alfred_ (_takes up his hat sadly_). Isn't this play going to end
pessimistically after all, then? (_Shudders._) Are we actually going
to be--moral? (_More hopefully._) After all, there's another Act left.
There's a chance still!
[_He follows hastily after_ MOPSA.
* * * * *
MOTTO FOR THE PRESIDENT OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC.--"Faure-warned,
Faure-armed."
* * * * *
[Illustration: TOO MUCH.
(_Pity the Sorrows of a poor Hunting Man!_)
_Sportsman_ (_suffering from intense aberration of mind in consequence
of the Weather, in reply to Wife of his bosom_). "PUT OUT? WHY, O'
COURSE I'M PUT OUT. BEEN JUST THROUGH THE VILLAGE, AND HANG ME IF AT
LEAST HALF A DOZEN FOOLS HAVEN'T TOLD ME THAT IT'S NICE SEASONABLE
| 1,412.183956 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.1640390 | 7,435 | 64 |
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Into the Unknown, by Lawrence Fletcher.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
INTO THE UNKNOWN, BY LAWRENCE FLETCHER.
Into the Unknown--by Lawrence Fletcher
CHAPTER ONE.
THE GHOSTS' PASS.
"Well, old man, what do we do next?" The speaker, a fine young fellow
of some five-and-twenty summers, reclining on the rough grass, with
clouds of tobacco-smoke filtering through his lips, looked the picture
of comfort, his appearance belying in every way the discontent expressed
in his tones as he smoked his pipe in the welcome shade of a giant rock,
which protected him and his two companions from the mid-day glare of a
South African sun.
Alfred Leigh, second son of Lord Drelincourt, was certainly a handsome
man: powerfully and somewhat heavily built, his physique looked perfect,
and, as he gradually and lazily raised his huge frame from the rough
grass, he appeared--what he was, in truth--a splendid specimen of
nineteenth-century humanity, upwards of six feet high, and in the
perfection of health and spirits; a fine, clear-cut face, with blue eyes
and a fair, close-cropped beard, completed a _tout ensemble_ which was
English to a degree.
The person addressed was evidently related to the speaker, for, though
darker than his companion, and by no means so striking in face or
figure, he still had fair hair, which curled crisply on a well-shaped
head, and keen blue eyes which seemed incessantly on the watch and were
well matched by a resolute mouth and chin, and a broad-shouldered frame
which promised strength from its perfect lines. Dick Grenville,
_aetat._ thirty, and his cousin, Alf Leigh, were a pair which any three
ordinary mortals might well wish to be excused from taking on.
The third person--singular he certainly looked--was a magnificent
creature, a pure-blooded Zulu chief, descended from a race of warriors,
every line of his countenance grave and stern, with eyes that glistened
like fiery stars under a lowering cloud, the man having withal a general
"straightness" of appearance more easily detected than described. A
"Keshla," or ringed man, some six feet three inches high, of enormously
powerful physique, armed with a murderous-looking club and a brace of
broad-bladed spears, and you have a faithful picture of Myzukulwa, the
Zulu friend of the two cousins.
The scene is magnificently striking, but grand with a loneliness awful
beyond description, for, so far as the eye can reach, the fervid sun
beats upon nothing but towering mountain-peaks, whose grey and rugged
summits pierce the fleecy heat-clouds, and seem to lose themselves in a
hopeless attempt to fathom the unspeakable majesty beyond.
"Do next, old fellow?" The words came in cool, quiet tones. "Well, if
I were you, Alf, I should convey my carcass out of the line of fire from
yonder rifle, which has been pointed at each of our persons in
succession during the last two minutes;" and Grenville, with the stem of
his pipe, indicated a spot some three hundred yards away, where his keen
eye had detected the browned barrel of a rifle projected through a
fissure in the rock; then, in quick, incisive tones, suiting the action
to the word, "Lie down, man!" and not a moment too soon, as an angry
rifle-bullet sang over his head and flattened against the rock. In
another instant all three were ensconced behind a rocky projection, and
endeavouring to ascertain their unknown assailants' force.
Truly, an unpleasant place was this to be beleaguered in--little food,
still less water, and positively no cover to protect them in the event
of a night attack upon the position they occupied. Grenville quietly
picked up the flattened bullet, eyed it curiously, and then handed it to
Myzukulwa with an interrogative look; the other scarcely glanced at the
missile and replied quietly, yet in singularly correct English, "Inkoos
(chief), that lead came from a very old gun, but it is a true one--the
Inkoos, my master, was too near it."
"Yes," responded Grenville, who had now quite taken command of matters,
"but we must find out how many of these rascals are lurking behind
yonder rocks with murder in their hearts." So saying he coolly stepped
out into the open again, ostensibly to pick up his pipe, which lay on
the ground, but kept his eye warily fixed upon the expected point of
offence, and instantly dropped on his hands and knees as another bullet
whizzed over him. Then he quietly rose to his feet, but with a beating
heart, for, if the rifle were a double-barrelled one, or if more than
the one marksman were lying hid, he was in deadly peril. No shot
followed, however, and he calmly picked up his pipe and again sought
shelter with his companions.
"Now, chief," said Grenville, after a brief interval, "wait till I have
drawn the scoundrel's fire again, and then rush him," and, executing a
rapid movement round the rocky boulder which served the party as a
shelter, he once more provoked the fire of the hidden foe, delivered
with greater accuracy than before, the bullet grazing the skin of one
hand as he swung himself into cover, crying, "Now, Myzukulwa!" but the
fleet-footed Zulu was already half-way across the open space, going like
a sprint-runner, having started simultaneously with the flash of the
rifle. In a moment more the cousins were after him, only to find, upon
reaching the rock, that there was no trace of the would-be assassin, and
that the Zulu was hopelessly at fault. A little powder spilled upon a
stone showed where the man had been placed, and that was all.
Just then Grenville's quick eye "spotted" the barrel of a rifle slowly
rising a hundred yards away, out of a hollow in the ground,
imperceptible from where they stood; he instinctively pitched forward
his Winchester, and the two reports blended into one. Leigh's hat flew
off his head, carried away by a bullet, and at the same instant
Myzukulwa again "rushed" the hidden marksman, only to find the work
done; and a gruesome sight it was. There lay a fine-looking man,
stone-dead, with the blood welling out of a ghastly hole in his head,
the heavy shell-bullet doing frightful execution at such short range,
having fairly smashed his skull to pieces.
The Englishmen were very considerably taken aback at finding that their
assailant was as white-skinned as themselves; they had half expected to
find some loafing Hottentot or Kaffir, though the accuracy of the
shooting had already caused Grenville to doubt that the marksman could
be either of these, for, as a general rule, if a Kaffir aims at anything
a hundred yards from him he misses it nine times out of ten. The dead
man was dressed in a deerskin costume, which caused the cousins to
remark that he looked like many a man they had seen when shooting
buffalo on the prairies of the Wild West. His gun proved to be a long
flint-lock rifle of an obsolete type, but extremely well finished, and
it was the flash of the powder in the pan which had enabled Grenville to
anticipate the leaden messenger from this weapon.
Leigh, who was disposed to scoff at their present undertaking, which he
called "a wild-goose chase," gave it as his opinion that the miserable
man was some escaped convict who had gravitated up country, and who, no
doubt, imagined that the white men were in search of him with a native
tracker--anyway, it had been a very near thing with them, and nothing
but Grenville's unceasing watchfulness could have saved his cousin's
life, as it unquestionably had done, twice over.
Grenville listened in silence to Leigh's remarks, and then, turning
their backs on the mortal remains of their foe, they left him to the
eternal solitude of that vast and rocky wilderness.
Several hours of hard toil followed, during which they slowly and warily
ascended the Pass, without, however, seeing any further sign of life.
Stopping once to take a hurried mouthful of dried deer-flesh, the party
was soon again on its way, and reached the top of the Pass just before
sunset. Beyond this point all possibility of advance in any direction
seemed at an end. The mountains shot up towards the sky, based, as it
were, by a precipitous wall of rock, and flanked by mighty spurs, whose
peaks stood out, clear and sharp, some fifteen thousand feet above the
Pass, their barren and rugged sides almost beautified by the glow of the
setting sun.
The sterile appearance of the valley was, however, to some slight extent
relieved by a magnificent waterfall, which appeared to receive its
supply through a fissure in the wall of rock, whence it came sheer over
a beetling crag and fell from a height of at least one hundred feet into
a rocky basin at the very head of the Pass.
Grenville quickly bestowed his party in a small cave for the night, and
by the time they were comfortably domiciled the sun had set. He then
mounted guard whilst the others slept, and three hours later, having
aroused the Zulu, he himself turned in for a much-needed rest.
CHAPTER TWO.
AN ANXIOUS DAY.
In the morning, after a meal of dried flesh and water--an appetising
repast at which Leigh grumbled considerably--the trio lighted their
pipes and went into council.
"Now then, Dick," said Alf Leigh, "as I, at all events, see no more of
those objectionable rifle-barrels round here, I'll repeat my question of
yesterday--What do we do next?"
"Ah! that's the point," responded Grenville. "Now doesn't it strike you
as very odd, not to say significant, that we should be so murderously
assaulted precisely on the spot where our mission is supposed to
commence? I am convinced that there is more in that attack than you
fancy. However, here is the inscription which, as you know, we found
scratched with a pin-point on a slaty rock down the Pass yesterday--`_An
Englishman and his daughter imprisoned in the Hell at the top of this
Pass. Help us, for the love of Heaven_.' Well, as you also know, we
resolved to carry help to the unfortunates who make this pitiful appeal
to our honour as countrymen, or die in the attempt; and, by Jove, if you
ask me anything, we came perilously near doing the latter yesterday. To
proceed, Myzukulwa here declares that there has been handed down for
generations in his tribe, legends of a strange and mighty people, who
frequent this pass by night only, who, on being followed, vanish into
thin air, and whose description answers accurately to the gentleman I
settled yesterday, with the one exception, easily accounted for, that
these people were said to have black faces."
"And a nice beginning we've made if, according to your idea, our friend
of yesterday was one of them," grumbled Leigh.
"Don't make any mistake, Alf," rejoined Grenville; "we shall gain
nothing by palaver; whoever sees the inside of their territory will
never again, with their consent, re-enter the outside world to give them
away. This kingdom is an inscrutable mystery, enveloped in something
like a hundred miles of inaccessible rock and impassable mountain, and
upon the very threshold of it I feel convinced that we have now
arrived."
"Inkoos," said the great Zulu, "your words are wise, even as the wisdom
of my father's father. For a thousand moons--ay, and for a thousand
before that--has this place been haunted, and the traditions of my
people ever warn us to beware of sleeping nigh to this falling water.
Many have done so, and have never again visited their kraals; I,
Myzukulwa, have alone done so and lived. More, Inkoos; as I watched
yesternight I heard strange sounds, as though the spooks (ghosts) were
mourning over the dead one who lies below us."
"Hah!" said Grenville, starting suddenly to his feet, "we'll have
another look at that body," and, followed by his companions, he strode
away down the Pass, but, when the party reached the scene of the
previous day's rencontre, the lifeless remains were nowhere to be seen;
there was the hole, the rock crusted with coagulated blood, but not the
faintest trace of the body they had left behind them a dozen hours
before. Clearly no beast of prey had been responsible for its
disappearance, for the man's gun and ammunition had also been removed.
A lengthy and careful examination of the surroundings revealed nothing;
all was barren rock, without a single sign of its having ever been
pressed by the foot of man, and, with most uncomfortable feelings, the
trio retraced their steps up the Pass, and reached the cave again, weary
and disheartened, as the sun went out with the rapidity peculiar to the
latitudes of Equatorial Africa, at once plunging everything into
darkness that might be felt.
Grenville's active mind was, however, at work upon the incidents of the
day, and he never rested until his party was safely housed in a cave
some hundred yards from the previous location. This night all kept
watch; and well was it for them that they were on the alert, for, just
before the moon got up, the darkness of the Pass was suddenly cut, as if
by magic, with the flash of at least a score of rifles, fired so as to
fairly sweep their old resting-place. Grenville and his companions
crouched down amongst the rocks, straining eyes and ears for sight or
sound of their murderously-inclined foes; but all was as still as death,
and at daybreak the Pass was again, to all appearance, utterly deserted,
only their old cave was strewn with flattened bullets, which had been
fired with murderous precision.
Grenville tried to get Myzukulwa's views upon the events of the night as
they smoked their pipes after breakfast, but the chief was unusually
reticent. "Spooks," he said, "who shot as well as these did were
dangerous; nothing but a spook could shoot like that in the dark."
Leigh was for clearing out altogether; he was as plucky a fellow as ever
stepped, but this sort of thing was enough to shake any man's nerves.
That day was spent in a rigid search which literally left no stone
unturned; but the keenest scrutiny revealed no place of concealment and
no way into the mountain--over it none could go, for that towering wall
of rock would have defied anything short of an eagle's wings--and a
couple of hours before sunset the party set off again down the Pass.
CHAPTER THREE.
A LEAP IN THE DARK.
As the party sullenly descended the Pass, no one seemed in a
conversational mood, but Leigh noticed that his cousin took a very easy
pace, and urged them to feed well, just before the sun set.
No sooner was the darkness fairly upon them than Grenville turned short
in his tracks and quietly said, "I'm going back, Alf, and I'm going
through with this. There's a secret up there, and I believe it's a
black one, and I've no intention of playing into the hands of these
rascals by running away."
"But, my dear boy," remonstrated Leigh, with a rueful face, "you don't
know your way into the mountain; you aren't a bird to fly over it, and
you'll only get yourself shot."
"I believe I do know my way into the mountain, and I hope I shan't get
shot; so come along, old fellow," replied his cousin.
Grumbling and arguing, Leigh turned to follow, and very soon Grenville
imposed the strictest silence upon his companions.
The darkness was now something almost tangible, but after walking--or,
rather, feeling--their way at a funereal pace for a couple of hours, the
murmur of the waterfall broke upon their ears, and the stars now
beginning to grow bright, greater caution than ever became necessary.
Soon the trio were flat on the ground, wriggling along like three
gigantic lizards over the rough, knobbly rocks, which called forth many
a subdued groan from poor Leigh. The advance was, however, continued,
all obstacles to the contrary notwithstanding, and in another hour the
party lay securely hidden within a stone-throw of the waterfall.
A little later, becoming dissatisfied with his position, Grenville drew
his party back some fifty yards under the cover of a rock, and then
proceeded to act in a most singular manner. Divesting himself of his
hat, jacket, and hunting-shirt, he slipped a brace of six-shooters into
his hip-pockets, and, directing Leigh and the Zulu to stay where they
where--unless they heard him blow a small whistle, which he always
carried--he left the pair wondering at his extraordinary movements, and
gradually and cautiously approached the Fall. Arrived there, his
conduct became curious to a degree, for, lying flat on the rock, on the
very edge of the basin indeed, where the spray from the cataract fell in
a continuous and blinding shower, Grenville first commenced feeling
about inside the rush of the water at the very back of the Fall, and
finally buried himself, head and shoulders, in the water of the basin,
frequently raising his head to take breath. After he had expended quite
ten minutes in this edifying manner, he gave a grunt indicative of
satisfaction, rose dripping wet, and retired into concealment behind the
nearest rock, watching the Fall like a lynx.
Soon his patience was well rewarded, for a wonderful and beautiful thing
happened. In a single instant the Fall grew gloriously light and
beautiful, and the foaming, flashing surface of the water seemed by the
touch of some fairy wand transformed into a stupendous rainbow of
indescribable loveliness, as the changing lights appeared to come and go
through the driving rifts of steaming, gauze-like vapour.
Grenville smiled, and made himself, if possible, still smaller amongst
the stones; a slight splashing was heard, and in another moment the
light went out suddenly and the Fall resumed its normal appearance--a
white, angry-looking streak of sliding foam, clearly outlined against
the dark background of rock. And now Grenville could see by the
starlight the forms of fully a dozen men who appeared to have sprung
from the earth; crouching down, he lay for some moments breathless and
motionless as the rocks beneath him, but, hearing no footsteps, and
cautiously raising his head, he found no one within his limited range of
vision. Hazardous though the act was, Grenville crawled out,
snake-like, to the spot where he had seen the strange party take its
stand, and, by following the damp feel of the rock where wet footsteps
had passed, quickly satisfied himself that the enemy had proceeded down
the Pass. Quietly rejoining his anxious friends, he led them back,
after a brief consultation, to the basin at the foot of the Fall, into
which each silently dropped in turn, and instantly vanished from sight.
A few moments later three dripping, panting forms stood whispering
together upon a rocky ledge, which was in fact the entrance to a vast
cave, by which, as Grenville had cleverly surmised, their assailants
passed through the base of the mountain-range and obtained access to
their mysterious country beyond.
The air, though dense with a heavy, noxious odour, was still very
refreshing to the party after their dive; but Grenville soon reminded
the others that they had no time to lose, and, warning them to look to
their arms, ammunition and matches, all of which had been most carefully
enveloped in mackintosh ground-sheets, himself proceeded to strike a
light. Now the striking of a match is a very trifling affair at
ordinary times, but, with a dark and doubtless vast unknown before them,
each waited anxiously to see what the tiny flame would reveal. One
brief instant it shed its feeble light upon their pallid faces, then, in
an endeavour to pierce the apparently limitless gloom, Grenville raised
the match above his head, and at that very moment there was a wild,
hissing rush, and the cavern stood revealed in a blinding glare of
light. The match had evidently ignited by accident a reservoir of
natural gas, and this, in the shape of an enormous stream of fire, now
hung globe-like from a rift in the roof of rock, where it arched a score
of feet above their heads.
One glance was sufficient to tell the merest novice in such matters that
this cavern had at some distant date formed the channel of one of those
underground rivers by no means uncommon in Africa. What had been the
bed of the stream was, however, filled in with earth, and was now to all
intents and purposes a very passable road, which, after mounting a short
hill that served in fact to keep back the water from the basin, ran
straight before them as far as the light could penetrate.
The first act of the whole party was to remove themselves from the
intense heat thrown out by the gas; their next, to draw their
pistol-cartridges and slip fresh ones into the chambers; and hardly was
this done when a startled exclamation, uttered just behind them, caused
all to turn hurriedly, only to find themselves confronted by a most
repulsive-looking white man, who stood dripping unpleasantly upon the
rocky ledge and regarding them with a scowling face.
The newcomer appeared altogether unarmed, and our friends promptly
rushed at him; but he incontinently turned tail, and dived out through
the entrance, followed like a flash of light by Myzukulwa.
The cousins waited in anxious suspense for close upon a minute, and then
the great Zulu silently appeared upon the rock and lay gasping for
breath. Soon, however, regaining his wind--
"Inkoos," he said, "he was too quick for me; the coward ran away down
the pass; but first he fired his gun, and it was answered by another gun
a mile away."
It was quite clear that the man had been a sentinel near to their old
sleeping-place, and, seeing the Fall suddenly light up of its own
accord, had come down to examine the unusual phenomenon.
The three now fell to eagerly discussing their position. If they were
holding the only entrance to the passage, they could with their
revolvers defy almost any number of men attacking through the water; but
if, on the other hand, there was more than one way of access to the
cave, or if another hostile body, attracted by the firing, should come
up the river Pass, our friends would be placed between the devil and the
deep sea with a vengeance.
Then, again, if the foe had any means of extinguishing the light from
outside, the trio would be entirely at their mercy.
This light was evidently a pure gas generated in the mountain, and used
by these strange people to light them to the entrance of the cave; but
how they extinguished it, and how without its help they followed their
subterranean road through the absolutely inky gloom, was a mystery to
the adventurers.
On looking about, however, they discovered a bundle of torches made of a
resinous woody fibre, and lighting one of these in the gas-flame,
Grenville proceeded to examine the road and see what cover, if any, it
might offer. Hardly had he taken a dozen steps when a stream of water
poured through the fissure in the roof of rock, extinguishing the gas in
an instant. Grenville quickly whispered to his friends to bring the
torches and follow him, as without proper light to shoot by it was
impossible for them to hold the entrance to the passage. "Bring every
single torch you can find," he said, "and keep your eyes skinned for any
more lying about the road. We'll keep these beggars in darkness if
possible; and once let us get to daylight, and we'll fight them if need
be."
And now by the light of one torch the party proceeded in single file at
a good speed, for the roadway was fair, and, when the first hill had
been climbed, proved decidedly on the down grade. This surprised
Grenville, as he had been of opinion that the water had formerly come
from the inside of the cavern and emptied itself into the basin; the
reverse, however, had evidently been the case.
After they had travelled about half a mile, the road, to Grenville's
delight, twisted almost at a right angle--this would, of course, hide
the light from their pursuers--and directly after the turn had been
negotiated, Leigh called attention to a niche in the rock where several
more torches were found; these they promptly annexed, and the party
again hurried on, the air momentarily growing fresher and keener.
Truly this cavernous road was a strange and awesome affair; the roof
here and there vanished from human ken in utter and indescribable
blackness, but uniformly it hung some fifteen to twenty feet above their
heads, and had been worn quite smooth by the rapid action of water, but
was quickly becoming a vast bed of growing stalactites, which flashed
back the rays of the torch like a sparkling sea of vivid radiance set
with many-hued and lovely diadems.
After the party had accomplished quite five miles, Grenville suddenly
called a halt, whilst all listened intently for a moment, and then,
having first examined his matches, he extinguished the torch, and,
holding one another's hands, the trio crept cautiously forward. Despite
all their care, however, in turning a corner some hundred yards further
they fairly walked into another sentinel, who promptly flew at their
throats, and for a full minute Pandemonium seemed let loose in the
bowels of the mountain. Grenville, with his customary coolness, quickly
extricated himself from the scrimmage and struck a light, only to find
Leigh and an awkward-looking customer locked in a deadly grip. The
draught here proved strong, and the match was blown out as soon as
lighted; but its flash showed the Zulu all he needed to know--enemy from
friend--and in another instant the sentinel lay a corpse, and Myzukulwa
was eulogising his war-club. Quickly the party passed on, and in
another minute found themselves at the top of a massive stone stairway,
and again under the lovely canopy of heaven, with the welcome moon
shimmering down upon them in all the weird, glittering glory of an
Equatorial African midnight.
The scene revealed to them by the moonlight was inexpressibly beautiful
and magnificent; below them some hundred feet only the rolling veldt in
all its mysterious silence swept sheer away as far as the eye could
reach, whilst to the right and left towered the majestic spurs of the
mountain-range, their snowcapped crests gleaming white under the
brilliant moon, and rendered even more vivid by contrast with the awful
chasms which here and there rent the precipitous rocks with unfathomed
depths of yawning blackness.
No sign of any living creature could they see; yet each knew that it
would be sheer madness to strike out into the unknown veldt, without
water, almost without food, and with the knowledge that a few minutes,
more or less, would in all likelihood bring their pursuers to the head
of the stairway, whence, under such a clear light, the movements of
their party over the scrub would be distinctly visible for miles. After
a brief colloquy, they descended the stairway and glided along the wall
of rock, stepping on the stones and keeping carefully in the shadow,
meantime seeking keen-eyed for a secure hiding-place adjacent to water.
Almost within gun-shot of the stairway, the party hit upon a narrow
canon in the rocks, into which they entered, and, posting Leigh as a
sentinel, Grenville consulted with Myzukulwa, and, after they had
whispered together for a few moments, the Zulu slipped out of the
opening and was instantly engulfed in the shadows of the mountain.
Taking up his position opposite his cousin, Grenville looked at his
watch and found it was after two o'clock in the morning; the pair then
proceeded carefully to wipe out their Winchester rifles, and each felt
happier when he lowered his gun with the magazine chock-full of
cartridges. These rifles, though made on the Winchester pattern,
carried a heavy shell-bullet, and had proved themselves uncommonly
serviceable weapons amongst the heaviest game, and, as both men were
crack shots, any hostile person getting within range was likely to have
an unpleasantly hot time of it. The Zulu alone carried no rifle, but he
had so far overcome the traditions of his race as to use a heavy service
revolver, whilst each of the cousins possessed a brace of Smith and
Wesson's six-shooters. This and the knowledge that they had plenty of
ammunition, having only parted with their bearers two days before at the
foot of the Pass, was reassuring. And now, as the pair awaited the
Zulu's return, a very curious and fearsome thing happened: the canon,
which, when they entered it, had been as dark as Erebus, was being
gradually lighted by the moon, and, as the silvery radiance illumined
the centre of the gulf, a guarded exclamation broke from the astonished
watchers as they saw that the canon terminated abruptly some two hundred
yards from them in a gigantic wall of apparently solid rock; yet from
the very centre of this mighty but otherwise commonplace mass looked out
a prodigious and perfect model of a human face, about five times the
size of life, complete in every detail, and most diabolical in its
expression; the eyes, from which streamed scintillating rays of fire,
appeared to be rigidly examining every nook and corner of the canon, and
the cousins, who felt somewhat creepy, almost involuntarily drew outside
the entrance and kept close in the shadow.
At this juncture a cloud crossed the moon, and it was at once evident
that the unearthly-looking figure borrowed no light from the heavenly
orb, for the exaggerated lineaments showed up as if cut with a sword of
fire out of the inky blackness of the chasm, and on its brow they could
now read, in English, the words:--
"The Eyes of the Holy Three are Unsleeping."
And each knew he was gazing upon the fateful and universally-hated
emblem of the false and filthy prophet of the Mormon creed. The cloud
passed from the moon, and even as it did so, the light behind the
hideous face died out, and the wall of rock regained its normal
appearance, scarcely revealing to the straining eyes of the watchers
that the counterfeit presentment of the human head had ever existed,
save in their excited imaginations.
At this moment the Zulu rejoined the cousins, but as both eagerly
welcomed him, and were about to speak, another diversion occurred. A
gleaming, rushing thread of living fire suddenly shot up from the
stairway and cut its way across the heavens, bursting at its extreme
height into a shower of blazing and meteoric stars; and hardly had its
radiance died out, than it was followed by a second and similar
messenger, which in its turn was succeeded by a third, and then all was
again as still as death.
"Three rockets," said Grenville, "meaning three enemies in the camp; so
look out for squalls. Watch keenly where the answer comes from." And
hardly had he spoken, when a single answering rocket was fired, probably
a score of miles away, across the veldt.
CHAPTER FOUR.
INTO THE UNKNOWN.
Grenville briefly detailed to the Zulu all they had seen in the canon,
eliciting many wondering comments from him as to the possible utility of
the figure in warfare, after which he gave them an account of his
reconnaissance. Suffice it to say that he had rigidly examined the
adjacent rocks, and found several small fissures which appeared quite
practicable of defence, but had ultimately concluded their present
position to be the best, as they were free to strike out upon the veldt,
without--so far as he could judge--bringing themselves within range of
any likely rifle-posts.
On repassing the stairway, he had heard a subdued murmur of voices, and
guessed that their enemies were consulting over the body of the
sentinel, and had now realised that three men, already accountable for
the deaths of two of their comrades, were by this time at large
somewhere within the jealously-guarded precincts of their own secret
kingdom; and thinking that the sooner he regained his party the | 1,412.184079 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.2593130 | 1,480 | 6 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, JUNE 2, 1896. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVII.--NO. 866. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
CRISTOBAL THE CATALAN.
BY WILLIAM DRYSDALE.
A cell in the great Morro Castle of Havana was a strange place for a boy
of fourteen; but there sat young Cristobal Nunez on the cold stone
floor, his face hidden in his hands, and bitter tears trickling between
his fingers. He was a small boy for fourteen, and not dark, like the
Cubans, but fair as any sunburnt American boy.
He was not alone in the cell, for it was a great damp vault twenty feet
wide by a hundred feet long, with an arched roof of stone, the lower
part of a storehouse standing just within the outer wall of the
fortress. He was only one of the 108 political prisoners confined in
that unhealthy vault, where was not a cot for them to lie upon, nor a
chair or bench to sit upon.
"Cheer up, my son," said a well-dressed elderly gentleman, one of his
fellow-prisoners, stooping beside him, and laying his hand kindly on
Cristobal's shoulder; "these dark days must have an end; and tears, at
any rate, will do no good. You are young to be engaged in this
business."
"I am not engaged in this business, señor," Cristobal quickly answered,
brushing his hand across his eyes and looking up. "I am no insurgent; I
am a Spaniard, a Catalan, and know nothing about rebellions. And it is
not for myself that I shed tears, but for my young sister, who is alone
on this strange island, with no one to take care of her."
As he spoke of his sister the young Catalan again buried his face in his
hands, and his little frame shook.
"This is strange," said the gentleman; and he seated himself on the
floor beside Cristobal, and kindly drew the young Spaniard's smooth
cheek against his shoulder. "If you are a Catalan, and no insurgent, how
do you come to be here?"
Though the cell was crowded with prisoners, there was no danger of
interruption, for each was amusing himself in his own way. Some played
games with strange Spanish cards, on which were pictures of swords and
men and horses; some read books, for no newspapers were allowed them;
some sang brave songs to keep their spirits up; and others, sickened by
the bad air and bad food, lay stretched upon the stones, groaning.
"They have made a mistake," Cristobal answered, as soon as he was able
to speak. "I am only a poor boy from Barcelona, trying to take my young
sister to our uncle in Cienfuegos. But they have arrested me for an
insurgent, and what is to become of my poor sister? We were in a
cane-field only twenty-five miles from Cienfuegos, when they tore me
away from her; and there I had to leave her, without a friend on the
island, unless she finds our uncle. Oh, señor, what is to become of
her?"
"They have made many mistakes," the kindly old gentleman replied,
ignoring Cristobal's last question. "Here in this miserable cell are old
men and young--merchants, professional men, clerks, laborers, and what
not--at least half of whom are entirely innocent. It is one of the
misfortunes of war that the innocent must suffer with the guilty. But if
you are a Catalan from Barcelona, tell me how you come to be in Cuba,
and at such a time."
"My mother knew nothing about the troubles in Cuba," Cristobal answered.
"She died in Barcelona four months ago, telling us to come to her
brother, our uncle, in Cienfuegos. There was barely enough money left to
bring us in a sailing vessel to Havana, and from here I wrote and wrote
to our uncle, but received no answer, so I am afraid he must be in the
field. We started to walk--"
"To walk to Cienfuegos!" the gentleman exclaimed; "a hundred and twenty
miles! How old is your sister?"
"She is only twelve," Cristobal answered, sadly; "but she has the sense
of a grown woman--a great deal more than I have."
"And then?" the old man said, encouragingly.
"We walked as far as Ysabel," Cristobal went on, "seventy-five miles
from here, and there, by accident, I got a situation in a small store.
For nearly three months I was able to take care of my sister; but then
my employer was arrested for a rebel, and we started on for Cienfuegos."
"Poor little chaps!" exclaimed the old gentleman; "fourteen and twelve;
in a strange country; no money or friends! Well?"
"There is not much more," the young Catalan answered. "We were within
twenty-five miles of Cienfuegos, and at noon we went into a small patch
of cane for our dinner, for sugar-cane was almost our only food. It was
part of a great field, but all the cane had been burned but one little
corner. We made a spark of fire to boil our coffee, and while it boiled
there came along a squad of Spanish troops. They saw the smoke, and
accused me of firing the field, and in a minute they had handcuffs on me
and tore me away. They took me to Sagua la Grande, and in a few days I
was brought here in a steamer. But what they did with me is nothing.
What can have become of my poor sister?"
"My son," said the old gentleman, devoutly making the sign of the cross
upon his forehead, "your sister is in stronger hands than yours. The
Friend of the Fatherless will take care of her. And mark my words, my
poor boy, it will be through your sister that you will be released from
this unjust imprisonment. For yourself you can do nothing, nor can I aid
you in any way. But she is your sister, and at liberty. She will go on
foot to the Governor-General, perhaps; perhaps she will besiege every
public office in Havana. I cannot say what course she will take; but if
she has the wisdom you give her credit for, she will never rest till she
sets you | 1,412.279353 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.2623150 | 2,841 | 37 |
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The Art and Life Library
Edited by
WALTER SHAW SPARROW.
VOLUME I.
The British Home of To-day
A BOOK OF MODERN DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE AND THE APPLIED ARTS.
(_Published June, 1904. Out of Print_).
VOLUME II.
The Gospels in Art
THE LIFE OF CHRIST BY GREAT PAINTERS FROM FRA ANGELICO TO HOLMAN
HUNT.
(_Published November, 1904_).
VOLUME III.
Women Painters of the World
FROM THE TIME OF CATERINA VIGRI (1413-1463) TO ROSA BONHEUR AND
THE PRESENT DAY.
DEDICATED TO HER MAJESTY QUEEN ALEXANDRA.
(Published March, 1905).
Hodder & Stoughton, 27, Paternoster Row, London.
[Illustration: BRITISH SCHOOL, 1901
"JOY AND THE LABOURER." REPRODUCED FROM THE ORIGINAL PICTURE IN
THE COLLECTION OF W. A. CADBURY, ESQ.
Mrs. Mary Young Hunter, Painter]
Women Painters of the World _from the time of Caterina Vigri
1413-1463 to Rosa Bonheur and the Present Day_
_Edited by Walter Shaw Sparrow_
The Art and Life Library
H&S
1905
Hodder & Stoughton
27 Paternoster Row-London
DEDICATED BY GRACIOVS PERMISSION
TO
HER MAJESTY QVEEN ALEXANDRA
IN THIS YEAR OF OVR LORD ONE THOVSAND NINE HVNDRED & FIVE
Printed by
Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., Ltd.
The Country Press, Bradford.
[Illustration: BRITISH SCHOOL, 1874
"MISSED!" REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION OF CHARLES CHESTON, ESQ.,
FROM: THE ORIGINAL WATER-COLOUR DATED 1874, THE YEAR IN WHICH
THE PAINTER'S FAMOUS "ROLL-CALL" WAS PURCHASED BY QUEEN VICTORIA
AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
Lady Elizabeth Butler, Painter]
PREFACE
What is genius? Is it not both masculine and feminine? Are not some of
its qualities instinct with manhood, while others delight us with the
most winning graces of a perfect womanhood? Does not genius make its
appeal as a single creative agent with a two-fold sex?
But if genius has its Mirandas and its Regans no less than its
infinite types of men, ranging from Prospero and Ferdinand to Caliban
and Trinculo, its union of the sexes does not remain always at peace
within the sphere of art. Sometimes, in the genius of men, the female
characteristics gain mastery over the male qualities; at other times
the male attributes of woman's genius win empire and precedence over
the female; and whenever these things happen, the works produced in
art soon recede from the world's sympathies, losing all their first
freshness. They may guide us, perhaps, as finger-posts in history,
pointing the way to some movement of interest; but their first
popularity as art is never renewed. Style is the man in the genius of
men, style is the woman in the genius of the fair. No male artist,
however gifted he may be, will ever be able to experience all the
emotional life to which women are subject; and no woman of abilities,
how much soever she may try, will be able to borrow from men anything
so invaluable to art as her own intuition and the prescient tenderness
and grace of her nursery-nature. Thus, then, the bisexuality of genius
has limits in art, and those limits should be determined by a worker's
sex.
As examples in art of complete womanliness, mention may be made of two
exquisite portraits by Madame Le Brun, in which, whilst representing
her little daughter and herself, the painter discloses the inner
essence and the life of maternal love, and discloses them with a
caressing playfulness of passion unattainable by men, and sometimes
unappreciated by men. Here, indeed, we have the poetry of universal
motherhood, common to the household hearts of good women the wide
world over. Such pictures may not be the highest form of painting, but
highest they are in their own realm of human emotion; and they recall
to one's memory that truth in which Napoleon the Great ranked the
gentler sex as the most potent of all creative artists. "The future
destiny of children," said he, "is always the work of mothers."
But some persons may answer: "Yes, but the achievements of women
painters have been second-rate. Where is there a woman artist equal to
any man among the greatest masters?" Persons who do not think are
constantly asking that question. The greatest geniuses were all
hustled and moulded into shape by the greatest epochs of ambition in
the lives of nations, just as the mountains of Switzerland were thrown
up to their towering heights by tremendous forces underground; and, as
the Alps do not repeat themselves, here and there, for the pleasure of
tourists, so the greatest geniuses do not reappear for the pleasure of
critics or of theorists. And this is not all. Why compare the
differing genius of women and men? There is room in the garden of art
for flowers of every kind and for butterflies and birds of every
species; and why should anyone complain because a daisy is not a rose,
or because nightingales and thrushes, despite their family
resemblance, have voices of their own, dissimilar in compass and in
quality?
The present book, then, is a history of woman's garden in the art of
painting, and its three hundred pictures show what she has grown in
her garden during the last four centuries and a half. The Editor has
tried to free his mind of every bias, so that this book, within the
limits of 332 pages, might be as varied as the subject. The choice of
pictures has not been easy, and a few disappointments have attended
the many communications with the owners of copyrights; but only two
invited artists have declined to contribute. It is not often that so
much willing and generous help has come to an Editor from so many
countries; and it is with gratitude that I acknowledge the assistance
received from the contributors of to-day. Seven pictures are
reproduced in colour-facsimile, thanks to the courtesy of the
following artists and collectors: Mrs. Allingham, Miss Ann Macbeth,
Mr. James Orrock, R.I., Mr. W A. Cadbury, Mr. Charles Cheston, Mr.
Klackner, and Mr. Charles Dowdeswell.
The Dedication Page, the Initials Letters, the End Papers, are all
designs by Miss Ethel Larcombe, while the Title Page and the Cover are
the work of Mr. David Veazey. The silhouettes by Mlle. Nelly
Bodenheim, used as tail-pieces, are published by permission of S. L.
van Looy, Amsterdam.
This volume being the first illustrated history of the Women Painters
of the World, Her Majesty Queen Alexandra has honoured it by
graciously accepting the Dedication; and in this encouraging act is
revealed the untiring interest and solicitude with which Her Majesty
has ever followed the progress of women's work.
THE EDITOR.
[Illustration: SILHOUETTE BY NELLY BODENHEIM, HOLLAND.]
[Illustration: SCHOOL OF BRITISH WATER-COLOUR, CONTEMPORARY
AN ENGLISH HEBE.
AFTER THE ORIGINAL DRAWING
H.R.H. The Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll]
CONTENTS
Preface: "ON THE SCOPE OF THE PRESENT VOLUME." By the Editor.
Chapter I: "WOMEN PAINTERS IN ITALY SINCE THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY."
By Walter Shaw Sparrow
Chapter II: "EARLY BRITISH WOMEN PAINTERS." By the Editor.
Chapter III: "MODERN BRITISH WOMEN PAINTERS." By Ralph Peacock.
Chapter IV: "WOMEN PAINTERS IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA." By
the Editor.
Chapter V: "OF WOMEN PAINTERS IN FRANCE." By Leonce Benedite.
Translated into English by Edgar Preston.
Chapter VI: "WOMEN PAINTERS IN BELGIUM AND IN HOLLAND." By N.
Jany. Translated into English by Edgar Preston.
Chapter VII: "WOMEN PAINTERS IN GERMANY AND AUSTRIA, IN RUSSIA,
SWITZERLAND AND SPAIN." By Wilhelm Schoelermann.
Translated into English by Wilfrid Sparroy.
Chapter VIII: "SOME FINNISH WOMEN PAINTERS." By Helena Westermarck.
FACSIMILE PLATES IN COLOUR
1. Mrs. Mary Young Hunter. "JOY AND THE LABOURER" Frontispiece
PAGE
2. Lady Elizabeth Butler (Elizabeth Thompson). "MISSED!" 9
3. H.I.M. The Empress Frederick of Germany (1840-1891). "THE
AKROPOLIS, ATHENS: FROM THE BALCONY OF THE CROWN PRINCE'S
HOUSE" 56
4. Miss Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale, A.R.W.S. "YOUTH AND THE
LADY" 73
5. Miss Ann Macbeth. "ELSPETH" 97
6. Mrs. Helen Allingham, R.W.S. "A COTTAGE NEAR CROCKEN HILL" 109
7. Helen Hyde. "DAY DREAMS" 145
REMBRANDT PHOTOGRAVURES
1. Rosalba Carriera. "PORTRAIT OF A LADY UNKNOWN" 20
2. Madame Vigee Le Brun. "HERSELF AND HER DAUGHTER" 166
3. Madame Adele Romany. "PORTRAIT OF GAETANO APOLLINO
BALDASSARE VESTRIS, DANCER" 171
4. Mademoiselle Marie Amelie Cogniet. "PORTRAIT OF MADAME
ADELAIDE D'ORLEANS" 189
5. Rosa Bonheur. "SHEPHERD WATCHING HIS SHEEP" 205
6. Francine Charderon. "SLEEP" 229
MONOCHROME PLATES
1. H.R.H. the Princess Louise, Duchess of Argyll.
"AN ENGLISH HEBE." 13
2. Sophonisba Anguisciola. "HER THREE SISTERS PLAYING AT CHESS" 25
3. Artemisia Gentileschi. "MARY MAGDALENE" 31
4. Rosalba Carriera. "CHARITY AND JUSTICE" 37
5. Elisabetta Sirani. "THE DREAM OF ST. ANTHONY OF PADUA" 43
6. Signorina Elisa Koch. "THE LITTLE SISTER" 49
7. Catharine Read. "THE LADY GEORGIANA SPENCER" 61
8. Angelica Kauffman, R.A. "THE SIBYL" 67
9. Mrs. Stanhope Forbes, A.R.W.S. "THE FISHER WIFE" 85
10. Mrs. William De Morgan (Evelyn Pickering). "FLORA" 91
11. Miss Eleanor Fortescue Brickdale, A.R.W.S. "TO-DAY FOR ME" 103
12. Miss Cecilia Beaux. "MOTHER AND CHILD" 121
13. Miss Kate Greenaway. "A. FOR APPLE PIE: E. EAT IT" 127
14. Mrs. Annie L. Swynnerton. "THE SENSE OF SIGHT" 133
15. Mrs. Anna Lea | 1,412.282355 |
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THE
FATAL FALSEHOOD:
A TRAGEDY.
IN FIVE ACTS.
AS IT WAS ACTED AT THE
THEATRE ROYAL, COVENT GARDEN.
Drawn from:
THE
WORKS
OF
HANNAH MORE.
VOL. II.
LONDON
PRINTED FOR T. CADELL, STRAND
1830.
TO THE
COUNTESS BATHURST,
THIS TRAGEDY
IS
VERY RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED,
AS
A SMALL TRIBUTE TO HER MANY VIRTUES,
AND
AS A GRATEFUL TESTIMONY
OF THE FRIENDSHIP WITH WHICH SHE HONOURS
HER MOST OBEDIENT
AND MOST OBLIGED
HUMBLE SERVANT,
THE AUTHOR.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
Earl GUILDFORD, _Mr. Clarke._
RIVERS, his Son, _Mr. Lewis._
ORLANDO, a young Italian Count, _Mr. Wroughton._
BERTRAND, _Mr. Aickin._
EMM | 1,412.285731 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.3632670 | 343 | 72 |
E-text prepared by Guus van Baalen
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Words which may seem to be transcriber's typos, or otherwise
suspect, but which are reproduced faithfully (archaic spellings,
printer's typos--sometimes I couldn't tell):
Ch. I: befel, undigged
Ch. III: chaperon
Ch. IV: babby, mun, valtz
Ch. V: zounded, dimpsey, after'n, ax'n, ax
Ch. VI: picquet, damitol
Ch. XI: alwaies, Desarts, Eternitie
2. Diphthongs, given as single characters in the printed copy, are
transcribed as two separate characters.
THE WESTCOTES
by
ARTHUR THOMAS QUILLER-COUCH
DEDICATION
MY DEAR HENRY JAMES,
A spinster, having borrowed a man's hat to decorate her front hall,
excused herself on the ground that the house 'wanted a something.'
By inscribing your name above this little story I please myself at
the risk of helping the reader to discover not only that it wants a
something, but precisely what that something is. It wants--to confess
and have done with it--all the penetrating subtleties of insight, all
the delicacies of interpretation, you would have brought to Dorothea's
aid, if for a moment I may suppose her worth your championing. So I
invoke your name to stand before | 1,412.383307 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.3641540 | 4,559 | 30 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
THE RIVER OF LIFE
THE RIVER OF LIFE
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
ALEXANDER KUPRIN
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY
S. KOTELIANSKY AND J. M. MURRY
JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
BOSTON
1916
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
Alexander Kuprin was born in 1870. He attended the Cadet School and
the Military College at Moscow, and entered the Russian Army as a
lieutenant in 1890. Seven years later he resigned his commission to
devote himself to literature.
He achieved fame by a novel, _The Duel_, in which he described with
a ruthless realism the army life in a garrison town upon the Western
Frontier. The book, which in reality falls into line with the rest of
his work as a severely objective presentation of a life which he has
found vivid and rich, was, fortunately for his success, interpreted
as an indictment of the Russian Army and the ill-starred Manchurian
campaign. He was accepted by the propagandists as one of themselves,
and though he protested vigorously against his unsought reputation, his
position was thenceforward assured.
But the interest of Kuprin’s talent is independent of the accidents
of his material. He is an artist who has found life wide and rich and
inexhaustible. He has been fascinated by the reality itself rather
than by the problems with which it confronts a differently sensitive
mind. Therefore he has not held himself aloof, but plunged into the
riotous waters of the River of Life. He has swum with the stream and
battled against it as the mood turned in him; and he has emerged with
stories of the joy he has found in his own eager acceptance. Thus
Kuprin is alive as none of his contemporaries is alive, and his stories
are stories told for the delight of the telling and of the tale.
They may not be profound with the secrets of the universe; but they
are, within their compass, shaped by the perfect art of one to whom
the telling of a story of life is an exercise of his whole being in
complete harmony with the act of life itself.
J. M. M.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE RIVER OF LIFE 1
II
CAPTAIN RIBNIKOV 37
III
THE OUTRAGE 99
IV
THE WITCH 127
I
THE RIVER OF LIFE
I
The landlady’s room in the ‘Serbia.’ Yellow wallpaper; two windows
with dirty muslin curtains; between them an oval squinting mirror,
stuck at an angle of forty-five degrees, reflects a painted floor and
chair legs; on the window-sills dusty, pimply cactuses; a cage with
a canary hangs from the ceiling. The room is partitioned off by red
screens of printed calico: the smaller part on the left is the bedroom
of the landlady and her children; that on the right is blocked up with
varied odds and ends of furniture--bedridden, rickety, and lame. In the
corners all kinds of rubbish are in chaotic cobwebbed heaps: a sextant
in a ginger leather case, and with it a tripod and a chain, some old
trunks and boxes, a guitar without strings, hunting boots, a sewing
machine, a ‘Monopan’ musical box, a camera, about five lamps, piles of
books, dresses, bundles of linen, and a great many things besides. All
these things had been detained at various times by the landlady for
rent unpaid, or left behind by runaway lodgers. You cannot move in the
room because of them.
The ‘Serbia’ is a third-rate hotel. Permanent lodgers are a rarity, and
those are prostitutes. Mostly they are casual passengers who float
up to town on the Dnieper: small farmers, Jewish commission agents,
distant provincials, pilgrims, and village priests who come to town to
inform, or are returning home when the information has been lodged.
Rooms in the ‘Serbia’ are also occupied by couples from the town for
the night or a few days.
Spring. About three in the afternoon. The curtains of the open windows
stir gently, and the room smells of kerosene and baked cabbage. It
is the landlady warming up on her stove a _bigoss à la Polonaise_ of
cabbage, pork fat, and sausage, with a great deal of pepper and bay
leaves. She is a widow between thirty-six and forty, a strong, quick,
good-looking woman. The hair that she wears in curls over her forehead
has a strong tinge of grey; but her face is fresh, her big sensual
mouth red, and her young dark eyes moist and playfully sly. Her name
is Anna Friedrichovna. She is half German, half Pole, and comes from
the Baltic Provinces; but her close friends call her Friedrich simply,
which suits her determined character better. She is quick-tempered,
scolds and talks bawdy. Sometimes she fights with her porters and the
lodgers who have been on the spree; she drinks as well as any man, and
has a mad passion for dancing. She changes from abuse to laughing in a
second. She has but small respect for the law, receives lodgers without
passports, and with her own hands, as she says, ‘chucks into the
street’ those who don’t pay up--that is, she unlocks his door while
he is out, and puts all his things in the passage or on the stairs,
and sometimes in her own room. The police are friendly with her for
her hospitality, her cheerful character, and particularly for the gay,
easy, unceremonious, disinterested complaisance with which she responds
to man’s passing emotions.
She has four children. The two eldest, Romka and Alychka, have not yet
come back from school, and the younger, Adka, seven, and Edka, five,
strong brats with cheeks mottled with mud, blotches, tear-stains, and
the sunburn of early spring, are always to be found near their mother.
Both of them hold on to the table leg and beg. They are perpetually
hungry, because their mother does not pay much attention to food; they
eat anyhow, at different times, sending into a little general shop for
anything they want. Sticking out his lips in a circle, frowning, and
looking out under his forehead, Adka roars in a loud bass: ‘That’s what
you’re like. You won’t give me a taste.’ ‘Let me try,’ Edka speaks
through his nose, scratching his calf with his bare foot.
At the table by the window sits Lieutenant Valerian Ivanovich
Tchijhevich of the Army Reserve. Before him is the register, in which
he enters the lodgers’ passports. But after yesterday’s affair the
work goes badly; the letters wave about and crawl away. His trembling
fingers quarrel with the pen. There is a roaring in his ears like the
telegraph poles in autumn. At times it seems to him that his head is
beginning to swell, to swell... and the table, the book, the inkstand,
and the lieutenant’s hand go terribly far away and become quite tiny.
Then again the book comes up to his very eyes, the inkstand grows and
repeats itself, and his head grows small, turns to queer strange sizes.
Lieutenant Tchijhevich’s appearance speaks of former beauty and lost
position; his black hair bristles, and a bald patch shows on the nape
of his neck. His beard is fashionably trimmed to a sharp point. His
face is lean, dirty, pale, dissipated. On it is, as it were written,
the full history of the lieutenant’s obvious weaknesses and secret
diseases.
His situation in the ‘Serbia’ is complicated. He goes to the
magistrates on Anna Friedrichovna’s behalf. He hears the children’s
lessons and teaches them deportment, keeps the house register, makes
out the lodgers’ accounts, reads the newspaper aloud in the morning
and talks of politics. He usually sleeps in one of the vacant rooms
and, in case of an influx of guests, in the passage on an ancient sofa,
whose springs and stuffing stick out together. When this happens the
lieutenant carefully hangs all his property on nails above the sofa:
his overcoat, cap, his morning coat, shiny with age and white in the
seams but tolerably clean, a ‘Monopole’ paper collar, an officer’s cap
with a blue band; but he puts his notebook and his handkerchief with
some one else’s initials under his pillow.
The widow keeps her lieutenant under her thumb. ‘Marry me and I’ll
do anything for you,’ she promises. ‘Full equipment, all the linen
you want, a fine pair of boots and goloshes as well. You’ll have
everything, and on holidays I’ll let you wear my late husband’s watch
with the chain.’ But the lieutenant is still thinking about it. He
values his freedom, and sets high store by his former dignity as an
officer. However, he is wearing out some of the older portions of the
deceased’s linen.
II
From time to time storms break out in the landlady’s room. Sometimes
it happens that the lieutenant, with the assistance of his pupil
Romka, sells a heap of somebody else’s books to a second-hand dealer.
Sometimes he takes advantage of the landlady’s absence to intercept
the payment for a room by day. Or he secretly begins to have playful
relations with the servant-maid. Just the other day the lieutenant
abused Anna Friedrichovna’s credit in the public-house over the way.
This came to light, and a quarrel raged, with abuse and a fight in the
corridor. The doors of all the rooms opened, and men and women poked
their heads out in curiosity. Anna Friedrichovna shouted so loud that
she was heard in the street:
‘You get out of here, you blackguard, get out, you tramp! I’ve spent on
you every penny of the money I’ve earned by sweating blood. You fill
your belly with the farthings I sweat for my children!’
‘You fill your belly with our farthings,’ squalled the schoolboy Romka,
making faces at him from behind his mother’s skirt.
‘You fill your belly!’ Adka and Edka accompanied from a distance.
Arseny the porter, in stony silence, pressed his chest against the
lieutenant. From room No. 9, the valiant possessor of a magnificently
parted black beard leaned out to his waist in his underclothes, with a
round hat for some reason perched on his head, and resolutely gave his
advice:
‘Arseny, give him one between the eyes.’
Thus the lieutenant was driven to the stairs; but there was a broad
window opening on to these very stairs from the corridor. Anna
Friedrichovna hung out of it and still went on shouting after the
lieutenant:
‘You dirty beast... you murderer... scoundrel... Kiev
gutter-sweeping!’
‘Gutter-sweeping!’ ‘Gutter-sweeping!’ the brats in the corridor
strained their voices, shouting.
‘Don’t come eating here any more! Take your filthy things away with
you. Take them. Take them!’
The things the lieutenant had left upstairs in his haste descended on
him: a stick, his paper collar, and his notebook. The lieutenant halted
on the bottom stair, raised his head, and brandished his fist. His face
was pale, a bruise showed red beneath his left eye.
‘You just wait, you scum. I tell everything in the proper quarter. Ah!
ah.... They’re a lot of pimps, robbing the lodgers!’
‘You just sling your hook while you’ve got a whole skin,’ said Arseny
sternly, pressing on the lieutenant from behind and pushing him with
his shoulder.
‘Get away, you swine! You’ve not the right to lay a finger on an
officer,’ the lieutenant proudly exclaimed. ‘I know about everything!
You let people in here without passports! You receive--you receive
stolen goods.... You keep a broth----’
At this point Arseny seized the lieutenant adroitly from behind. The
door slammed with a shattering noise. The two men rolled out into the
street together like a ball, and thence came an angry: ‘Brothel!’
This morning, as it had always happened before, Lieutenant Tchijhevich
came back penitent, with a bouquet of lilac torn out of somebody’s
garden. His face was weary. A dim blue surrounded his hollow eyes. His
forehead was yellow, his clothes unbrushed, and there were feathers in
his hair. The reconciliation goes slowly. Anna Friedrichovna hasn’t
yet had her fill of her lover’s submissive look and repentant words.
Besides, she is a little jealous of the three nights her Valerian has
passed, she knows not where.
‘Anna, darling,... where...’ the lieutenant began in an
extraordinarily meek and tender falsetto, slightly tremulous even.
‘Wha-at! Who’s Anna darling, I’d like to know,’ the landlady
contemptuously cut him short. ‘I’m not Anna darling to any scum of a
road sweeper!’
‘But I only wanted to ask what address I was to write for “Praskovia
Uvertiesheva, 34 years old,” there’s nothing written down here.’
‘Put her down at the Rag-market, and put yourself there, too. You’re a
pretty pair. Or put yourself in a doss-house.’
‘Dirty beast,’ thinks the lieutenant, but he only gives a deep,
submissive sigh. ‘You’re very nervous to-day, Anna, darling!’
‘Nervous! Whatever I am, I know I’m an honest, hard-working woman....
Get out of the way, you bastards,’ she shouts at the children, and
suddenly, ‘Shlop, shlop’--two well-aimed smacks with the spoon come
down on Adka’s and Edka’s foreheads. The boys begin to snivel.
‘There’s a curse on my business, and on me,’ the landlady growls
angrily. ‘When I lived with my husband I never had any sorrows. Now,
all the porters are drunkards, and all the maids are thieves. Sh! you
cursed brats!... That Proska... she hasn’t been here two days when she
steals the stockings from the girl in No. 12. Other people go off to
pubs with other people’s money, and never do a stroke....’
The lieutenant knew perfectly who Anna Friedrichovna was speaking
about, but he maintained a concentrated silence. The smell of the
_bigoss_ inspired him with some faint hopes. Then the door opened and
Arseny the porter entered without taking off his hat with the three
gold braids. He looks like an Albino eunuch, and his dirty face is
pitted. This is at least the fortieth time he has had this place with
Anna Friedrichovna. He keeps it until the first fit of drinking, when
the landlady herself beats him and puts him into the streets, first
having taken away the symbol of his authority, his three-braided cap.
Then Arseny puts a white Caucasian fur hat on his head and a dark blue
pince-nez on his nose, and swaggers in the public-house opposite until
he’s drunk everything on him away, and at the end of his spree he will
cry on the bosom of the indifferent waiter about his hopeless love for
Friedrich and threaten to murder Lieutenant Tchijhevich. When he sobers
down he comes to the ‘Serbia’ and falls at his landlady’s feet. And
she takes him back again, because the porter who succeeded Arseny had
already managed in this short time to steal from her, to get drunk, to
make a row and be taken off to the police station.
‘You... have you come from the steamer?’ Anna Friedrichovna asked.
‘Yes. I’ve brought half a dozen pilgrims. It was a job to get ’em away
from Jacob--the “Commercial.” He was just leading them off, when I
comes up to him and says, “It’s all the same to me, I says, go wherever
you like. But as there are people who don’t know these places, and I’m
very sorry for you, I tell you straight you’d better not go with that
man. In their hotel last week they put some powder in a pilgrim’s food
and robbed him.” So I got them away. Afterwards Jacob shook his fist at
me in the distance, and called out: “You just wait, Arseny. I’ll get
you. You won’t get away from me!” But when that happens, I’ll do it
myself....’
‘All right,’ the landlady interrupted. ‘I don’t care twopence about
your Jacob. What price did you fix?’
‘Thirty kopeks. I did my best, but I couldn’t make them give more.’
‘You fool. You can’t do anything.... Give them No. 2.’
‘All in the one room?’
‘You fool. Two rooms, each.... Of course, all in one room. Bring three
mattresses from the old ones, and tell them that they’re not to lie on
the sofa. These pilgrims have always got bugs. Get along!’
When he had gone the lieutenant said in a tender and solicitous
undertone: ‘Anna, darling, I wonder why you allow him to enter the
room in his hat. It is disrespectful to you, both as a lady and
proprietress. And then--consider my position. I’m an officer in
Reserve, and he is a private. It’s rather awkward.’
But Anna Friedrichovna leapt upon him in fresh exasperation: ‘Don’t you
poke your nose in where it’s not wanted. Of-ficer indeed! There are
plenty of officers like you spending the night in a shelter. Arseny’s
a working man. He earns his bread... not like.... Get away, you lazy
brats, take your hands away!’
‘Ye-es, but give us something to eat,’ roars Adka.
‘Give us something to eat....’
Meanwhile the _bigoss_ is ready. Anna Friedrichovna clatters the dishes
on the table. The lieutenant keeps his head busily down over the
register. He is completely absorbed in his business.
‘Well, sit down,’ the landlady abruptly invited him.
‘No thanks, Anna, darling. Eat, yourself. I’m not very keen,’
Tchijhevich said, without turning round, in a stifled voice, loudly
swallowing.
‘You do what you are told.... He’s giving himself airs, too.... Come
on!’
‘Immediately, this very minute. I’ll just finish the last page. “The
certificate issued by the Bilden Rural District Council... of the
province... number 2039....” Ready.’ The lieutenant rose and rubbed
his hands. ‘I love working.’
‘H’m. You call that work,’ the landlady snorted in disdain. ‘Sit down.’
‘Anna, darling, just one... little....’
‘You can manage without.’
But since peace is already almost restored, Anna Friedrichovna takes a
small, fat-bodied cut-glass decanter from the cupboard, out of which
the deceased’s father used to drink. Adka spreads his cabbage all over
his plate and teases his brother because he has more. Edka is upset and
screams:
‘Adka’s got more. You gave him----’
Shlop! Edka gets a sounding smack with the spoon upon his forehead.
Immediately Anna Friedrichovna continues the conversation as if nothing
had happened:
‘Tell us another of your lies. I bet you were with some woman.’
‘Anna, darling!’ the lieutenant exclaimed reproachfully. Then he
stopped eating and pressed his hands--in one of which was a fork with a
piece of sausage--to his chest. ‘I... oh, how little you know me. I’d
rather have my head cut off than let such a thing happen. When I went
away that time, I felt so bitter, so hard! I just walked in the street,
and you can imagine, I was drowned in tears. My God,’ I thought, ‘and
I’ve let myself insult that woman--the one woman whom I love sacredly,
madly....’
‘That’s a | 1,412.384194 |
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#6 in our series by William Makepeace Thackeray
Copyright laws are changing | 1,412.385245 |
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by The Internet Archive)
THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY:
His Life and Adventures.
Imperial 16mo, cloth, 6s. Boys' Edition, crown 8vo, cloth gilt, gilt
edges, 5s.
THE STORY OF HUNGARY.
Fully Illustrated. Large crown 8vo, cloth, 5s. (THE STORY OF THE NATIONS
SERIES.)
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
[Illustration: VAMBÉRY AFTER HIS RETURN FROM CENTRAL ASIA.
_Photographed in Teheran, 1863._
_Frontispiece to Vol._ II.]
THE STORY OF MY STRUGGLES
THE MEMOIRS OF ARMINIUS VAMBÉRY
PROFESSOR OF ORIENTAL LANGUAGES
IN THE UNIVERSITY OF BUDAPEST
VOLUME II
[Illustration: Logo]
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 1904
(_All rights reserved._)
Contents
CHAPTER VII.
PAGE
FROM LONDON TO BUDAPEST 237
CHAPTER VIII.
MY POLITICAL CAREER AND POSITION IN ENGLAND 283
CHAPTER IX.
THE TRIUMPH OF MY LABOURS 317
CHAPTER X.
AT THE ENGLISH COURT 329
CHAPTER XI.
MY INTERCOURSE WITH SULTAN ABDUL HAMID 343
CHAPTER XII.
MY INTERCOURSE WITH NASREDDIN SHAH AND HIS
SUCCESSOR 391
CHAPTER XIII.
THE STRUGGLE'S END, AND YET NO END 411
APPENDICES 459
Illustrations
PROFESSOR VAMBÉRY AFTER HIS RETURN FROM
CENTRAL ASIA _Frontispiece_
PROFESSOR VAMBÉRY AND HIS TARTAR, 1864 _Facing page_ 393
From London to Budapest
CHAPTER VII
FROM LONDON TO BUDAPEST
I have often been asked how it was that, after the bitter disappointment
I had experienced in my native land on my return from Asia, and after
the brilliant reception accorded to me in England, I yet preferred to
settle down permanently in Hungary.
People have been surprised that I should choose a quiet literary career,
whereas my many years of intimate intercourse with various Eastern
nations might have been turned to so much better account, and a
practical, active career would have been so much more in keeping with my
character. All these questions were asked of me at the time in London,
but filled as I then became with a sense of oppression and a great
longing for home I could not give a satisfactory answer to these
queries. Now that the cloud has lifted, and my vision is clear, now that
sober reflection has taken the place of former rapture and exultation,
the causes which influenced my decision are perfectly clear. I see now
that I could not have acted differently; that the step I took was
partly the result of my personal inclination and views of life, and
partly influenced by the circumstances of my birth and bringing up, and
the notions then generally prevailing in Hungary; nor have I cause or
ground to regret my decision.
In the first place I have to confess that in England, notwithstanding
the noisy, brilliant receptions I had, and all the attention paid to me,
no one ever made me any actual proposal with a view to my future
benefit, and no one seemed at all disposed to turn to account my
practical experiences in the service of the State or of private
enterprise. The Memorandum about the condition of things in Central
Asia, written at the time in Teheran at the request of the British
Ambassador there, had duly found its way to Lord Palmerston, the Prime
Minister. The gray statesman received me most kindly; I was often a
guest at his private house, or dined with him at Mr. Tomlin's, of
Carlton House Terrace, or at Sir Roderick Murchison's, of 16, Belgrave
Square. At his initiative I was invited to other distinguished houses,
for the merry old gentleman was much entertained by my lively
conversation and my anecdotes from Asia, which I used to relate after
dinner when the ladies had retired. My stories about the white ass of
the English Embassy at Teheran, of diplomatic repute, and similar
amusing details of court life in Persia and the Khanates of Central
Asia, tickled the fancy of the most serious, sober-minded of these high
lords, and went the round in the fashionable West End circles. But for
all that they saw in me merely the "lively foreigner," the versatile
traveller, and if here and there some interest was shown in my future,
it amounted to asking what were my latest travelling plans, and when I
thought of setting out in search of fresh discoveries. As if I had not
been on the go for two-and-twenty years, ever since I was ten years old!
as if I had not battled and struggled and suffered enough! And now that
for the first time in my life I had lighted on a green bough and hoped
to have accomplished something, was I again straightway to plunge into
the vague ocean of destiny? "No, no," I reflected; "I am now thirty-two
years old, without for one moment having enjoyed the pleasures of a
quiet, peaceful life, and without possessing enough to permit myself the
luxury of resting on my own bed, or of working comfortably at my own
table." This uncertain, unsatisfactory state of things must come to an
end sometime; and so the desire for rest and peace necessarily overruled
any inclination for great and ambitious plans, and nipped in the bud all
projects which possibly might have made my career more brilliant, but
certainly not happier than it afterwards turned out.
The kind reader of these pages who is familiar with the struggles and
troubles of my childhood, who has followed me in thought on the thorny
path of early youth, and knows something of my experiences as
self-taught scholar and tutor, will perhaps accuse me of dejection, and
blame me for want of perseverance and steadiness of purpose. Possibly I
have disregarded the golden saying of my mother, "One must make one's
bed half the night, the better to rest the other half." I did give way
to dejection, but my resolve, however blameworthy it may be, should be
looked upon as the natural consequence of a struggle for existence which
began all too early and lasted sadly too long. Man is not made of iron,
too great a tension must be followed | 1,412.48116 |
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DAGONET DITTIES
WORKS BY GEORGE R. SIMS.
_Post 8vo., illustrated boards_, =2s.= _each; cloth limp_, =2s. 6d.= _each_.
=ROGUES AND VAGABONDS.=
=THE RING O’ BELLS.=
=MARY JANE’S MEMOIRS.=
=MARY JANE MARRIED.=
=TALES OF TO-DAY.=
=DRAMAS OF LIFE.= With 60 Illustrations.
=TINKLETOP’S CRIME.= With a Frontispiece by MAURICE GREIFFENHAGEN.
_Crown 8vo., picture cover_, =1s.= _each; cloth_, =1s. 6d.= _each_.
=HOW THE POOR LIVE=; and =HORRIBLE LONDON=.
=THE DAGONET RECITER AND READER=: being Readings and Recitations in
Prose and Verse, selected from his own Works by GEORGE R. SIMS.
THE CASE OF GEORGE CANDLEMAS.
LONDON: CHATTO & WINDUS, 214, PICCADILLY, W.
DAGONET DITTIES
[_FROM ‘THE REFEREE’_]
BY
GEORGE R. SIMS
AUTHOR OF ‘HOW THE POOR LIVE,’ ‘ROGUES AND VAGABONDS,’ ETC.
[Illustration: colophon]
_SECOND EDITION_
London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1891
CONTENTS.
PAGE
LONDON DAY BY DAY 1
FOR E’ER AND HAIR 3
THE ARTIST’S DILEMMA 5
A DOMESTIC TRAGEDY 7
THE PICK-ME-UP 9
AD COR MEUM 11
ICHABOD 12
A DERBY DITTY 14
SHALL WE REMEMBER? 15
PARADISE AND THE SINNER 16
THE INCOME TAX 19
NONSENSE 20
LE MARDI GRAS 23
TWO SUNDAYS 24
THE MAILS ABOARD 25
AT THE PHOTOGRAPHER’S 27
IN GAY JAPAN 29
THE BALACLAVA HEROES 31
A CHILD’S IDEA 32
SANITATION AT SEA 34
GUIGNOL 35
THE ENGLISH SUMMER 35
A PERFECT PARADISE 36
THAT BREEZE 38
BALLAD OF OLD-TIME FOGS 39
UNDER THE CLOCK 40
THE GIRL OF FORTY-SEVEN 41
CONVENTIONAL MALGRÉ LUI 42
HOME, SWEET HOME 44
IN PORTLAND PLACE 45
THE SHIRT BUTTONS 46
THE LONDONER TO HIS LOVE 48
THE EIFFEL BONNET 49
TO A FAIR MUSICIAN 51
A WORD FOR THE POLICE 52
THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 53
MY AMBITION 55
A WISH 56
THE SONG OF HEREDITY 57
SCOTCH’D, NOT KILT 58
THE LAST RESOURCE 59
YE BARS AND GATES 60
PORTRAIT OF A PRINCE 61
THE STRONG MEN 63
A BALLAD OF SOAP 65
THE JOKELETEER 67
BILL SIKES’S PROTEST 68
THE CLARINET 69
NO EVENING DRESS 70
ALONE IN LONDON 70
THE VOLUNTEER 71
THOSE BOOTS 73
A SUNDAY SONG 74
UP THE RIGI 75
A PLEA FOR MERCY 77
IF YOU WERE HERE 78
LE BRAV’ GÉNÉRAL 80
THE PARIS EXHIBITION 81
THE NEW LEGEND 82
A MILD DECEMBER 84
THE LAST DUKE 86
TO THE FOG 88
THE REMINISCENCES OF MR. JOHN DOBBS 89
PICKPOCKET POEMS 91
THE CIGARETTE 94
THE EARLY MILK-CART 95
THE COLLABORATORS 98
THE WEN CURE 101
THAT NEW-BORN BABE 103
THE BUTTON 106
A FAÇON DE PARLER 109
JACKSON 110
ANOTHER DANGER 112
AFTER THE ACT 114
THE RIGADOON 117
HOW TO WRITE A NOVEL 121
THE GERMAN GYM 124
TOTTIE 126
THE WELSHMAN IN LONDON 127
THE MAGISTRATE 129
THE IMPERIAL INSTITUTE 131
THE PLAN OF CAMPAIGN 132
THE PEOPLE’S PALACE 133
A CHARADE 135
A TRUE STORY 137
THE PIRATE ’BUS 138
THE WAR-CRY 141
THE “LANCET” 143
A TALE OF A TUB 148
THE COMIC KING 150
DAGONET DITTIES.
London Day by Day.
The smoke in vaster volumes rolls,
The fever fiend takes larger tolls,
And sin a fiercer grip of souls,
In London day by day.
Still Buggins builds on swampy site,
And Eiffel houses block the light,
And make a town of dreadful night
Of London day by day.
In fashion’s long and busy street,
The outcast foreign harlots meet,
While Robert smiles upon his beat,
In London day by day.
Still modest maidens’ cheeks are stung
With foulest words from wanton’s tongue,
And oaths yelled out with leathern lung,
In London day by day.
Wealth riots in a mad excess,
While thousands, poor and penniless,
Starve in the mighty wilderness,
Of London day by day.
Wrong proudly rears its wicked head,
While Right’s sad eyes with tears are red,
And sluggard Justice lies abed,
In London day by day.
The liar triumphs, and the knave
Rides buoyant on the rolling wave,
And Liberty makes many a slave
In London day by day.
Yet Hope and Trust and Faith and Love,
And God’s fair dowers from above,
Still find a branch, like Noah’s dove,
In London day by day.
And onward still, though slow the pace,
Press pilgrims of our grand old race,
Who seek the Right with firm-set face,
And shed Truth’s light by God’s good grace
O’er London day by day.
For E’er and Hair.
I said to my sweet in the morning,
“We must start on our journey at ten”--
She was up in her bedroom adorning,
She’d been there a goodish time then;
And she answered me tenderly, “Poppet,”
As she came to the top of the stair,
“If you see a cab pass you can stop it,
For I’ve only to finish my hair.”
It was ten by the clock of St. Stephen’s
As I sat and looked glum in the hall,
And I offered to wager her evens
She would never be ready at all.
I counted the half and the quarters--
At eleven I ventured to swear;
Then she answered, like one of Eve’s daughters,
“All right, dear--I _must_ do my hair.”
I waited till daylight was waning,
I waited till darkness began,
Upbraiding myself for complaining
Like a selfish and bad-tempered man.
But when midnight rang out from the steeple
I ventured to whisper a prayer,
And she answered, “I hate surly people;
You _must_ let me finish my hair!”
I paid for the cab and dismissed it,
I took off my coat and my hat,
I held her fair hand and I kissed it,
And I curled myself up on the mat.
And when I awoke on the morrow,
I cried, “Oh, where art thou, my fair?”
And she answered, “Oh, run out and borrow
A hairpin or two for my hair.”
The summers have faded to winters,
The winters have melted to springs;
My patience is shivered to splinters,
And still, as she “puts on her things,”
My sweet, though I’m weary of waiting,
And groan in my bitter despair,
Contents herself simply by stating
“She’s just got to finish her hair.”
If she’s here when the world’s at its finish,
And lists to the last crack of doom,
She will watch our poor planet diminish
From the window upstairs in her room.
And when the last trumpet is blowing,
And the angel says, “Hurry up, there!”
She will answer, “All right, sir, I’m going,
But you _must_ let me finish my hair!”
The Artist’s Dilemma.
The artist was out on the stormy seas,
When his vessel turned upside down,
And his body was blown by the autumn breeze
To the shores of a seaside town.
The fisher-folk spied him miles away,
And, raising a hearty cheer,
They rowed the lifeboat across the bay,
And shouted that help was near.
The artist had sunk for the second time,
He’d a shark on his starboard tack,
But he looked on the boat with a look sublime,
And he told them to take it back.
“My bones may bleach in the mermaid’s cave,
But to art will I e’er be true,
And never a man my life shall save
In a boat of that vulgar blue.”
They found his body at break of day,
It lay on the briny beach,
But he soon got better and stole away
To the house of a local leech.
He took a draught, and he went to bed
In a garret that was to spare;
And when he awoke his host had fled,
For the place had begun to flare.
He was up in a garret against the sky,
And a fire had broken out,
The flames about him were broad and high,
And he heard the people shout.
“Oh, come to the window!” the people cried,
As they bellowed a mighty cheer;
“You’d better come down before you’re fried,
For the fire-escape is here.”
He opened the casement wide, and reeled
Back through the flame and smoke--
For the fire-escape the light revealed--
And then to the crowd he spoke:
“I’ll leap in the jaws of the flames that gape,
For I’d rather be picked up dead
Than save my life in a fire-escape
That is painted a vulgar red.”
They gathered him up with a broom and pan
From the pavement where he fell,
And they sent for the undertaker’s man,
And they toll’d him a passing bell.
They gave him a funeral plain but good,
And out of the local purse
They bought him a coffin of polished wood,
Which they put in a pair-horse hearse.
But the artist-spirit in death was strong,
And it lifted the coffin-lid
While the horses lazily jogged along,
And out of the hearse it slid.
It raised its body and yelled a curse,
And it shouted and cried “Alack!
I’m blest if I ride in a beastly hearse
That is painted a vulgar black.”
A Domestic Tragedy.
She was a housemaid, tall and slim,
A well-conducted, modest girl;
Her dress was always neat and trim,
She never sported fringe or curl.
She did her work, and kept her mind
Intent upon her household cares;
One fault alone there was to find--
She left her dustpan on the stairs.
She loved her mistress very much,
She held her master in respect;
Her grief the hardest heart would touch
When they’d occasion to correct;
But still, in spite of all they said--
In spite of scolding and of prayers--
Ah, me! to what at last it led!--
She left her dustpan on the stairs.
One morn while breakfasting below,
And glancing at the _Morning Post_,
She heard a wild and sudden “Oh!”
That made her drop her buttered toast.
She heard a heavy fall--and groans;
The master, taken unawares,
Had slipped and broken sev’ral bones--
She’d left the dustpan on the stairs.
They sent for doctors by the score,
They fetched in haste Sir Andrew Clark;
But master’s sufferings soon were o’er--
That night he sat in Charon’s barque.
Now in a cell at Colney Hatch
A gibbering housemaid groans and glares,
And tries with trembling hands to snatch
A ghostly dustpan from the stairs.
MORAL.
Ye housemaids who this tale may read,
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RUTLEDGE
By
MIRIAM COLES HARRIS
NEW YORK:
DERBY & JACKSON, 498 BROADWAY.
1860.
CHAPTER I.
"Heavily hangs the broad sunflower,
Over its grave i' the earth so chilly;
Heavily hangs the hollyhock,
Heavily hangs the tiger lily."
TENNYSON.
It was the gloomy twilight of a gloomy November day; dark and leaden
clouds were fast shutting out every lingering ray of daylight; and the
wind, which moaned dismally around the house, was tossing into mad
antics the leaves which strewed the playground. The lamps were not
lighted yet; of visible fires the _pensionnat_ of St. Catharine's was
innocent; a dull black stove, more or less gigantic, according to the
size of the apartment, gloomed in every one, and affected favorably the
thermometer, if not the imagination. We paced untiringly up and down the
dim corridor--Nelly, Agnes and I--three children, who, by virtue of our
youth, ought to have been let off, one would have thought, for some
years yet, from the deep depression that was fast settling on our
spirits. In truth we were all three very miserable, we thought--Nelly
and Agnes, I am afraid, more so than I, who in common justice ought to
have participated deeply in, as I was the chief occasion of, their
grief.
My trunk was packed and strapped, and stood outside the door of my
dormitory, ready for the porter's attention. In it lay my school-books,
closed forever, as I hoped; and souvenirs innumerable of school
friendships and the undying love of the extremely young persons by whom
I was surrounded.
From them I was to be severed to-morrow, as was expected, and
"It might be for years, and it might be for ever,"
as Nelly had just said, choking up on the last sentence. I _did_ feel
unhappy, and very much like "choking up" too, when I passed the great
windows, that looked into the playground, and remembered all the mad
hours of frolic I had passed there; when I took down my shawl from the
peg where it had hung nightly for five years, and remembered, with a
thrill, it was "the last time;" when the lid of my empty desk fell down
with an echo that sounded drearily through the long school-room; when I
thought "where I might be this time to-morrow," and when Agnes' and
Nelly's arms twined about me, reminded me of the rapidly approaching
hour of separation from those who had represented the world to me for
five years--whom I had loved and hated, and by whom I had been loved and
hated, with all the fervor of sixteen. The hatreds now were softened
down by the nearness of the parting; all my ancient foes, (and they had
not been few), had "made up" and promised forgiveness and forgetfulness
entire; and all ancient feuds were dead. All my friends now loved me
with tenfold the ardor they had ever felt before; all the staff of
teachers, who had, I am afraid, a great deal to forgive, of impatient
self-will, mad spirits and thoughtless inattention, were good enough to
forget all, and remember only what they were pleased to call the truth
and honesty and courage, that in the years we had been together, they
had never known to fail.
They little knew how their unlooked for praise humbled me; and how far
more deeply than any reproach, it made me realize the waste of time and
talents that I had to look back upon.
So, most unexpectedly to myself, I found that I was going off with
flying colors; that all were joining to deplore my departure and laud my
good qualities; and that, from being rather a "limb" in the eyes of the
school, and a hopeless sinner in my own, I was promoted, temporarily, to
the dignity of heroine at St. Catharine's.
It was with a very full heart that I remembered all this; and deeper
feelings than I had known since my childhood were stirred by the
kindness I was certain was as undeserved as it was unexpected. But such
a future dawned before me, that tender regret struggled hard with giddy
hope for the mastery. In almost every girl's life, leaving school is a
marked and important event; and imagination has always a wide, and
generally well-cultivated field for its powers, even when home and
future are as certain as things mundane can be. But in my case there was
so much room for dreaming, so much raw material for fancy to work up,
that a tamer and less imaginative child than I was, would have been
tempted into castle-building. The sad event that five years before had
placed me, a stunned, bewildered, motherless child, in the midst of
strangers, had largely developed the turn for dreaming that such
children always possess. The sympathy and love that God provides for
every child that is born into the world, withdrawn, they turn "not
sullen, nor in scorn," but from an instinct He has himself implanted,
inward, for their sympathy and counsel. So it happened, that though
Nelly and Agnes, and a dozen merry girls beside, were my sworn friends
and very firmest allies, none of them knew anything of the keen wonder
and almost painful longing with which I pictured the future to myself.
They knew, of course, the simple facts, that as I had no father or
mother, I was to go and live with my aunt, who had been in Europe until
this summer and whom I had not seen since my mother died; that she had
three daughters, one older, two younger than myself; that she had sent
me some pretty things from Paris, and was, probably, very kind, and I
should have a very nice time.
They knew only these bare beams and framework of the gorgeous fabric I
had reared upon them; they little knew the hours of wakefulness in which
I wondered whether I should be happy or miserable in that new home;
whether my aunt would love me as I already most ardently loved her;
whether the new cousins were at all like Nelly and Agnes; and whether
they were prepared to value the wealth of affection I had in reserve for
them. But time would soon settle all this into certainty; and my aunt's
last letter, containing all the | 1,412.488226 |
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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.
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH AT THE PLAY
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Actor (on the stage)._ "Me mind is made up!"
_Voice from the Gallery._ "What abeaout yer fice?"]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH AT THE PLAY
HUMOURS OF MUSIC AND THE DRAMA
_WITH 140 ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
BY CHARLES KEENE, PHIL MAY, GEORGE DU MAURIER, BERNARD PARTRIDGE, L.
RAVEN-HILL, E. T. REED, F. H. TOWNSEND, C. E. BROCK, A. S. BOYD, TOM
BROWNE, EVERARD HOPKINS AND OTHERS
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A VINDICATION OF NATURAL DIET.
BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
A NEW EDITION.
"Our simple life wants little, and true taste
Hires not the pale drudge Luxury to waste
The scene it would adorn, and therefore still
Nature, with all her children, haunts the hill."
_Epipsychidion._
LONDON: F. PITMAN, 20, PATERNOSTER ROW.
MANCHESTER: JOHN HEYWOOD, RIDGEFIELD; AND OFFICES
OF THE VEGETARIAN SOCIETY, 75, PRINCESS STREET.
1884.
PREFATORY NOTICE.
Shelley's "Vindication of Natural Diet" was first written as part of the
notes to "Queen Mab," which was privately issued in 1813. Later in the
same year the "Vindication" was separately published as a pamphlet, and
it is from this later publication that the present reprint is made. The
original pamphlet is now exceedingly scarce, but it is said to have been
reprinted in 1835, as an appendix to an American medical work, the
"Manual on Health," by Dr. Turnbull, of New York. Two copies only are
known to have been preserved of this excessively rare pamphlet, though
possibly others may be hidden in unfrequented libraries and out of the
way country houses. One copy is in the British Museum, and the other is
in the possession of Mr. H. Buxton Forman, who has reprinted it in his
great edition of Shelley, where it forms the opening part of the second
volume of the "Prose Works."
The main object of Shelley's pamphlet was to show that a vegetable diet
is the most _natural_, and therefore the best for mankind. It is not an
appeal to humanitarian sentiment, but an argument based on individual
experience, concerning the intimate connection of health and morality
with food. It has no claim to originality in the arguments adduced; its
materials being avowedly drawn from the works of Dr. Lambe and Mr.
Newton, of whom an account may be read in Mr. Howard Williams' "Catena,"
but the style is Shelley's own, and the pamphlet is in many ways one of
the most interesting and characteristic of his prose works. Perhaps its
most remarkable feature is to be found in the very pertinent remarks as
to the bearing of Vegetarianism on those questions of economy and social
reform, which are now forcing themselves more and more on the attention
of the English people.[1]
At the time of writing his "Vindication of Natural Diet," Shelley had
himself, for some months past, adopted a Vegetarian diet, chiefly, no
doubt, through his intimacy with the Newton family. There seems no
reason to doubt that he continued to practise Vegetarianism during the
rest of his stay in England, that is from 1813 to the spring of 1818.
Leigh Hunt's account of his life at Marlow, in 1817, is as
follows:--"This was the round of his daily life. He was up early,
breakfasted sparingly, wrote this 'Revolt of Islam' all the morning;
went out in his boat, or in the woods, with some Greek author or the
Bible in his hands; came home to a dinner of vegetables (for he took
neither meat nor wine); visited, if necessary, the sick and fatherless,
whom others gave Bibles to and no help; wrote or studied again, or read
to his wife and friends the whole evening; took a crust of bread or a
glass of whey for his supper, and went early to bed."
In 1818, he left England for Italy, and during his last four years, the
most dreamy and speculative period of his life, he seems to have been
less strict in his observance of Vegetarian practice. It is not true
however, as has sometimes been asserted, that Shelley lost faith in the
principles of Vegetarianism; for his change in diet was owing partly to
his well-known carelessness about his food, which became more marked at
this time, and partly to a desire to avoid giving trouble to the other
members of his household, which, as we see from a line in his letter to
Maria Gisborne, written in 1820, "Though we eat little flesh and drink
no wine" was not entirely a Vegetarian one. Yet, even at this period of
his life, he himself was practically, if not systematically, a
Vegetarian, for all his biographers agree in informing us that bread was
literally his "staff of life." We cannot doubt that if he had lived in
the present time he would have taken a leading part in the movement
towards Food Reform. As it is, he has left us an invaluable legacy in
his "Vindication of Natural Diet," perhaps the most powerful and
eloquent plea ever put forward in favour of the Vegetarian cause.
He found in this the presage of his ideal future. To his enthusiastic
faith in the transforming effect of the Vegetarian principle, we owe
some of the finest passages in his poetry. In the close of the eighth
canto of "Queen Mab," we have a picture of a time when man no more
Slays the lamb that looks him in the face.
It is the same ideal of bloodless innocence as that of Israel's
prophet-poet, who declares that in the Holy Mountain they shall not hurt
nor destroy. Never did sage or singer, prophet or priest, or poet, see a
brighter vision of the future than that which is imaged in the
description of a glorified earth, from which cruelty, bloodshed, and
tyranny, have been banished.
"My brethren, we are free! The fruits are glowing
Beneath the stars, and the night-winds are flowing
O'er the ripe corn. The birds and beasts are dreaming.
Never again may blood of bird or beast
Stain with its venomous stream a human feast,
To the pure skies in accusation steaming;
Avenging poisons shall have ceased
To feed disease and fear and madness;
The dwellers of the earth and air
Shall throng around our steps in gladness,
Seeking their food or refuge there.
Our toil from thought all glorious forms shall cull,
To make this earth, our home, more beautiful;
And Science, and her sister Poesy,
Shall clothe in light the fields and cities of the free!"
* * * * *
Over the plain the throngs were scattered then
In groups around the fires, which from the sea
Even to the gorge of the first mountain-glen
Blazed wide and far. The banquet of the free
Was spread beneath many a dark cypress-tree;
Beneath whose spires which swayed in the red flame
Reclining as they ate, of liberty,
And hope, and justice, and Laone's name,
Earth's children did a woof of happy converse frame.
Their feast was such as Earth, the general mother,
Pours from her fairest bosom, when she smiles
In the embrace of Autumn. To each other
As when some parent fondly reconciles
Her warring children, she their wrath beguiles
With her own sustenance; they relenting weep:--
Such was this festival, which, from their isles
And continents and winds and oceans deep,
All shapes might throng to share that fly or walk or creep.
That this was no mere poetic sentiment is proved by this pamphlet, which
is an earnest vindication of Vegetarianism.
H. S. S.
W. E. A. A.
[ORIGINAL TITLE PAGE.]
A VINDICATION OF NATURAL DIET.
BEING ONE IN A SERIES OF NOTES TO QUEEN MAB
(A PHILOSOPHICAL POEM).
[Greek: Iapetionide, panton peri medea eidos,
Chaireis pur klepsas, kai emas phrenas eperopeusas;
Soit' auto mega pema kai andrasin essomenoisi.
Toisd'ego anti puros doso kakon, o ken apantes
Terpontai kata thumon, eon kakon amphagapontes.]
[Greek: ESIOD.] Op. et Dies. 1, 54.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. CALLOW, MEDICAL BOOKSELLER, CROWN COURT,
PRINCE'S STREET, SOHO,
BY SMITH & DAVY, QUEEN STREET, SEVEN DIALS.
1813.
_PRICE ONE SHILLING AND SIXPENCE._
A VINDICATION OF NATURAL DIET.
I hold that the depravity of the physical and moral nature of man
originated in his unnatural habits of life. The origin of man, like that
of the universe of which he is a part, is enveloped in impenetrable
mystery. His generations either had a beginning, or they had not. The
weight of evidence in favour of each of these suppositions seems
tolerably equal; and it is perfectly unimportant to the present argument
which is assumed. The language spoken, however, by the mythology of
nearly all religions seems to prove, that at some distant period man
forsook the path of nature, and sacrificed the purity and happiness of
his being to unnatural appetites. The date of this event seems to have
also been that of some great change in the climates of the earth, with
which it has an obvious correspondence. The allegory of Adam and Eve
eating of the tree of evil, and entailing upon their posterity the wrath
of God, and the loss of everlasting life, admits of no other explanation
than the disease and crime that have flowed from unnatural diet. Milton
was so well aware of this, that he makes Raphael thus exhibit to Adam
the consequence of his disobedience:--
... Immediately a place
Before his eyes appeared: sad, noisome, dark:
A lazar-house it seemed; wherein were laid
Numbers of all diseased: all maladies
Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms
Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds,
Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs;
Intestine stone and ulcer, cholic pangs,
Daemoniac frenzy, moping melancholy,
And moon-struck madness, pining atrophy,
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence,
Dropsies, and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums.
And how many thousands more might not be added to this frightful
catalogue!
The story of Prometheus is one likewise which, although universally
admitted to be allegorical, has never been satisfactorily explained.
Prometheus stole fire from heaven, and was chained for this crime to
Mount Caucasus, where a vulture continually devoured his liver, that
grew to meet its hunger. Hesiod says, that, before the time of
Prometheus, mankind were exempt from suffering; that they enjoyed a
vigorous youth, and that death, when at length it came, approached like
sleep, and gently closed their eyes. Again, so general was this opinion,
that Horace, a poet of the Augustan age, writes:--
Audax omnia perpeti,
Gens humana ruit per vetitum nefas,
Audax Iapeti genus
Ignem fraude mala gentibus intulit,
Post ignem aetherea domo
Subductum, macies et nova febrium
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Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistencies in hyphenation, and apparent punctuation and spelling
errors, have been corrected. Repetitions of "of" and "the" have been
removed.
An advertisement for the Expositor's Bible series has been moved to
the end of the text.
Inconsistencies in spelling have been corrected by the following
changes:
chapters 3 and 4, "Judea" to "Judaea";
chapters 5 and 9, "intrusted" to "entrusted";
chapter 10, "baptized" to "baptised";
chapter 21, "Cesarea" to "Caesarea".
Bold text has been rendered in ordinary font, and small capitals in
ordinary capitals. Italics are indicated by _underscores_.
THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
EDITED BY THE REV.
W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.,
_Editor of "The Expositor."_
THE GOSPEL OF ST. MATTHEW.
BY
JOHN MONRO GIBSON, M.A., D.D.
_London._
TORONTO:
WILLARD TRACT DEPOSITORY AND BIBLE DEPOT,
CORNER OF YONGE AND TEMPERANCE STREETS.
1890.
THE GOSPEL
OF
ST. MATTHEW.
BY
JOHN MONRO GIBSON, M.A., D.D.,
_London_,
AUTHOR OF "THE AGES BEFORE MOSES," "THE MOSAIC ERA," ETC.
TORONTO:
WILLARD TRACT DEPOSITORY AND BIBLE DEPOT,
CORNER OF YONGE AND TEMPERANCE STREETS.
1890.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE COMING OF THE CHRIST 1
MATT. I.
II. HIS RECEPTION 13
MATT. II.
III. HIS HERALD 24
MATT. III. 1-12.
IV. HIS BAPTISM 31
MATT. III. 13-17.
V. HIS TEMPTATION | 1,412.586043 |
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Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
DOCTOR THERNE
By H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATED
In all sincerity
(but without permission)
to the
MEMBERS OF THE JENNER SOCIETY
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Some months since the leaders of the Government dismayed their
supporters and astonished the world by a sudden surrender to the clamour
of the anti-vaccinationists. In the space of a single evening, with
a marvellous versatility, they threw to the agitators the ascertained
results of generations of the medical faculty, the report of a Royal
Commission, what are understood to be their own convictions, and the
President of the Local Government Board. After one ineffectual fight the
House of Lords answered to the whip, and, under the guise of a "graceful
concession," the health of the country was given without appeal into the
hand of the "Conscientious Objector."
In his perplexity it has occurred to an observer of these events--as a
person who in other lands has seen and learned something of the ravages
of smallpox among the unvaccinated--to try to forecast their natural
and, in the view of many, their almost certain end. Hence these pages
from the life history of the pitiable, but unfortunate Dr. Therne.[*]
_Absit omen!_ May the prophecy be falsified! But, on the other hand,
it may not. Some who are very competent to judge say that it will not;
that, on the contrary, this strange paralysis of "the most powerful
ministry of the generation" must result hereafter in much terror, and in
the sacrifice of innocent lives.
[*] It need hardly be explained that Dr. Therne himself is a
character convenient to the dramatic purpose of the story,
and in no way intended to be taken as a type of anti-
vaccinationist medical men, who are, the author believes, as
conscientious in principle as they are select in number.
The importance of the issue to those helpless children from whom
the State has thus withdrawn its shield, is this writer's excuse for
inviting the public to interest itself in a medical tale. As for the
moral, each reader can fashion it to his fancy.
DOCTOR THERNE
CHAPTER I
THE DILIGENCE
James Therne is not my real name, for why should I publish it to the
world? A year or two ago it was famous--or infamous--enough, but in
that time many things have happened. There has been a war, a continental
revolution, two scandals of world-wide celebrity, one moral and the
other financial, and, to come to events that interest me particularly
as a doctor, an epidemic of Asiatic plague in Italy and France, and,
stranger still, an outbreak of the mediaeval grain sickness, which is
believed to have carried off 20,000 people in Russia and German Poland,
consequent, I have no doubt, upon the wet season and poor rye harvest in
those countries.
These occurrences and others are more than enough to turn the public
mind from the recollection of the appalling smallpox epidemic that
passed over England last autumn two years, of which the first fury broke
upon the city of Dunchester, my native place, that for many years I had
the honour to represent in Parliament. The population of Dunchester, it
is true, is smaller by over five thousand souls, and many of those who
survive are not so good-looking as they were, but the gap is easily
filled and pock-marks are not hereditary. Also, such a horror will
never happen again, for now the law of compulsory vaccination is strong
enough! Only the dead have cause of complaint, those who were cut off
from the world and despatched hot-foot whither we see not. Myself I am
certain of nothing; I know too much about the brain and body to have
much faith in the soul, and I pray to God that I may be right. Ah! there
it comes in. If a God, why not the rest, and who shall say there is no
God? Somehow it seems to me that more than once in my life I have seen
His Finger.
Yet I pray that I am right, for if I am wrong what a welcome awaits me
yonder when grief and chloral and that "slight weakness of the heart"
have done their work.
Yes--five thousand of them or more in Dunchester alone, and, making
every allowance, I suppose that in this one city there were very many of
these--young people mostly--who owed their deaths to me, since it was
my persuasion, my eloquent arguments, working upon the minds of their
prejudiced and credulous elders, that surely, if indirectly, brought
their doom upon them. "A doctor is not infallible, he may make
mistakes." Quite so, and if a mistake of his should kill a few
thousands, why, that is the act of God (or of Fate) working through his
blindness. But if it does not happen to have been a mistake, if, for
instance, all those dead, should they still live in any place or shape,
could say to me, "James Therne, you are the murderer of our bodies,
since, for your own ends, you taught us that which you knew _not_ to be
the truth."
How then? I ask. So--let them say it if they will. Let all that great
cloud of witnesses compass me about, lads and maidens, children and
infants, whose bones cumber the churchyards yonder in Dunchester. I defy
them, for it is done and cannot be undone. Yet, in their company are two
whose eyes I dread to meet: Jane, my daughter, whose life was sacrificed
through me, and Ernest Merchison, her lover, who went to seek her in the
tomb.
They would not reproach me now, I know, for she was too sweet and loved
me too well with all my faults, and, if he proved pitiless in the
first torment of his loss, Merchison was a good and honest man, who,
understanding my remorse and misery, forgave me before he died. Still,
I dread to meet them, who, if that old fable be true and they live, read
me for what I am. Yet why should I fear, for all this they knew before
they died, and, knowing, could forgive? Surely it is with another
vengeance that I must reckon.
Well, after her mother's death my daughter was the only being whom I
ever truly loved, and no future mental hell that the imagination can
invent would have power to make me suffer more because of her than I
have always suffered since the grave closed over her--the virgin martyr
sacrificed on the altar of a false prophet and a coward.
I come of a family of doctors. My grandfather, Thomas Therne, whose
name still lives in medicine, was a doctor in the neighbourhood of
Dunchester, and my father succeeded to his practice and nothing else,
for the old gentleman had lived beyond his means. Shortly after my
father's marriage he sold this practice and removed into Dunchester,
where he soon acquired a considerable reputation as a surgeon, and
prospered, until not long after my birth, just as a brilliant career
seemed to be opening itself to him, death closed his book for ever. In
attending a case of smallpox, about four months before I was born, he
contracted the disease, but the attack was not considered serious and
he recovered from it quickly. It would seem, however, that it left some
constitutional weakness, for a year later he was found to be suffering
from tuberculosis of the lungs, and was ordered to a warmer climate.
Selling his Dunchester practice for what it would fetch to his
assistant, Dr. Bell, my father came to Madeira--whither, I scarcely know
why, I have also drifted now that all is over for me--for here he hoped
to be able to earn a living by doctoring the English visitors. This,
however, he could not do, since the climate proved no match for his
disease, though he lingered for nearly two years, during which time he
spent all the money that he had. When he died there was scarcely enough
left to pay for his funeral in the little churchyard yonder that I can
see from the windows of this _quinta_. Where he lies exactly I do not
know as no record was kept, and the wooden cross, the only monument that
my mother could afford to set over him, has long ago rotted away.
Some charitable English people helped my mother to return to England,
where we went to live with her mother, who existed on a pension of about
120 pounds a year, in a fishing-village near Brighton. Here I grew up,
getting my education--a very good one by the way--at a cheap day school.
My mother's wish was that I should become a sailor like her own father,
who had been a captain in the Navy, but the necessary money was not
forthcoming to put me into the Royal Navy, and my liking for the sea was
not strong enough to take me into the merchant service.
From the beginning I wished to be a doctor like my father and
grandfather before me, for I knew that I was clever, and I knew also
that successful doctors make a great deal of money. Ground down as I
had been by poverty from babyhood, already at nineteen years of age
I desired money above everything on earth. I saw then, and subsequent
experience has only confirmed my views, that the world as it has become
under the pressure of high civilisation is a world for the rich. Leaving
material comforts and advantages out of the question, what ambition
can a man satisfy without money? Take the successful politicians for
instance, and it will be found that almost every one of them is rich.
This country is too full; there is scant room for the individual. Only
intellectual Titans can force their heads above the crowd, and, as a
rule, they have not even then the money to take them higher. If I had
my life over again--and it is my advice to all young men of ability and
ambition--I would leave the old country and settle in America or in one
of the great colonies. There, where the conditions are more elastic and
the competition is not so cruel, a hard-working man of talent does not
need to be endowed with fortune to enable him to rise to the top of the
tree.
Well, my desire was to be accomplished, for as it chanced a younger
brother of my father, who during his lifetime had never taken any notice
of me, died and left me 750 pounds. Seven hundred and fifty pounds! To
me at that time it was colossal wealth, for it enabled us to rent
some rooms in London, where I entered myself as a medical student at
University College.
There is no need for me to dwell upon my college career, but if any one
were to take the trouble to consult the old records he would find that
it was sufficiently brilliant. I worked hard, and I had a natural,
perhaps an hereditary liking, for the work. Medicine always fascinated
me. I think it the greatest of the sciences, and from the beginning I
was determined that I would be among the greatest of its masters.
At four and twenty, having finished my curriculum with high honours--I
was gold medallist of my year in both medicine and surgery--I became
house-surgeon to one of the London hospitals. After my term of office
was over I remained at the hospital for another year, for I wished
to make a practical study of my profession in all its branches before
starting a private practice. At the end of this time my mother died
while still comparatively young. She had never really recovered from the
loss of my father, and, though it was long about it, sorrow sapped her
strength at last. Her loss was a shock to me, although in fact we had
few tastes in common. To divert my mind, and also because I was somewhat
run down and really needed a change, I asked a friend of mine who was a
director of a great steamship line running to the West Indies and Mexico
to give me a trip out, offering my medicine services in return for the
passage. This he agreed to do with pleasure; moreover, matters were so
arranged that I could stop in Mexico for three months and rejoin the
vessel on her next homeward trip.
After a very pleasant voyage I reached Vera Cruz. It is a quaint and in
some ways a pretty place, with its tall cool-looking houses and narrow
streets, not unlike Funchal, only more tropical. Whenever I think of it,
however, the first memories that leap to my mind are those of the stench
of the open drains and of the scavenger carts going their rounds with
the _zaphilotes_ or vultures actually sitting upon them. As it happened,
those carts were very necessary then, for a yellow fever epidemic was
raging in the place. Having nothing particular to do I stopped there
for three weeks to study it, working in the hospitals with the local
doctors, for I felt no fear of yellow fever--only one contagious disease
terrifies me, and with that I was soon destined to make acquaintance.
At length I arranged to start for the City of Mexico, to which in
those days the journey from Vera Cruz was performed by diligence as the
railway as not yet finished. At that time Mexico was a wild country.
Wars and revolutions innumerable, together with a certain natural
leaning that way, had reduced a considerable proportion of its
inhabitants to the road, where they earned a precarious living--not by
mending it, but by robbing and occasionally cutting the throats of any
travellers whom they could catch.
The track from Vera Cruz to Mexico City runs persistently uphill;
indeed, I think the one place is 7000 feet above the level of the other.
First, there is the hot zone, where the women by the wayside sell you
pineapples and cocoanuts; then the temperate zone, where they offer you
oranges and bananas; then the cold country, in which you are expected
to drink a filthy liquid extracted from aloes called _pulque_, that in
taste and appearance resembles soapy water.
It was somewhere in the temperate zone that we passed a town consisting
of fifteen _adobe_ or mud houses and seventeen churches. The excessive
religious equipment of this city is accounted for by an almost
inaccessible mountain stronghold in the neighbourhood. This stronghold
for generations had been occupied by brigands, and it was the
time-honoured custom of each chieftain of the band, when he retired on
a hard-earned competence, to expiate any regrettable incidents in his
career by building a church in the town dedicated to his patron saint
and to the memory of those whose souls he had helped to Paradise. This
pious and picturesque, if somewhat mediaeval, custom has now come to an
end, as I understand that the Mexican Government caused the stronghold
to be stormed a good many years ago, and put its occupants, to the
number of several hundreds, to the sword.
We were eight in the coach, which was drawn by as many mules--four
merchants, two priests, myself and the lady who afterwards became my
wife. She was a blue-eyed and fair-haired American from New York. Her
name, I soon discovered, was Emma Becker, and her father, who was dead,
had been a lawyer. We made friends at once, and before we had jolted
ten miles on our journey I learned her story. It seemed that she was an
orphan with a very small fortune, and only one near relative, an aunt
who had married a Mexican named Gomez, the owner of a fine range or
_hacienda_ situated on the border of the highlands, about eighty miles
from the City of Mexico. On the death of her father, being like most
American girls adventurous and independent, Miss Becker had accepted
an invitation from her aunt Gomez and her husband to come and live with
them a while. Now, quite alone and unescorted, she was on her way to
Mexico City, where she expected to be met by some friends of her uncle.
We started from Vera Cruz about mid-day and slept, or rather passed the
night, at a filthy inn alive with every sort of insect pest. Two hours
before dawn we were bundled into the _diligencia_ and slowly dragged up
a mountain road so steep that, notwithstanding the blows and oaths of
the drivers, the mules had to stop every few hundred yards to rest. I
remember that at last I fell asleep, my head reposing on the shoulder
of a very fat priest, who snored tempestuously, then awoke to pray, then
snored again. It was the voice of Miss Becker, who sat opposite to me,
that wakened me.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Dr. Therne," she said, "but you really
must look," and she pointed through the window of the coach.
Following her hand I saw a sight which no one who has witnessed it can
ever forget: the sun rising on the mighty peak of Orizaba, the Star
Mountain, as the old Aztecs named it. Eighteen thousand feet above our
heads towered the great volcano, its foot clothed with forests, its cone
dusted with snow. The green flanks of the peak and the country beneath
them were still wrapped in shadow, but on its white and lofty crest
already the lights of dawn were burning. Never have I seen anything more
beautiful than this soaring mountain top flaming like some giant torch
over a world of darkness; indeed, the unearthly grandeur of the sight
amazed and half paralysed my mind.
A lantern swung from the roof of the coach, and, turning my eyes from
the mountain, in its light I saw the face of my travelling companion
and--fell in love with it. I had seen it before without any such idea
entering my mind; then it had been to me only the face of a rather
piquante and pretty girl, but with this strange and inconvenient result,
the sight of the dawn breaking upon Orizaba seemed to have worked some
change in me. At least, if only for an instant, it had pierced the
barrier that day by day we build within us to protect ourselves from the
attack of the impulses of nature.
In that moment at any rate there was a look upon this girl's countenance
and a light shining in her eyes which overcame my caution and swept
me out of myself, for I think that she too was under the shadow of the
glory which broke upon the crest of Orizaba. In vain did I try to save
myself and to struggle back to common-sense, since hitherto the prospect
of domestic love had played no part in my scheme of life. It was
useless, so I gave it up, and our eyes met.
Neither of us said anything, but from that time forward we knew that we
did not wish to be parted any more.
After a while, to relieve a tension of mind which neither of us cared to
reveal, we drifted into desultory and indifferent conversation. In the
course of our talk Emma told me that her aunt had written to her that if
she could leave the coach at Orizaba she would be within fifty miles of
the _hacienda_ of La Concepcion, whereas when she reached Mexico City
she would still be eighty miles from it. Her aunt had added, however,
that this was not practicable at present, why she did not say, and that | 1,412.587456 |
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Produced by David Widger
JOHN LEECH'S PICTURES OF LIFE AND CHARACTER
Volume Two (of Three)
FROM THE COLLECTION OF "MR. PUNCH"
LONDON: BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO.,
1887
Transcriber's Note: The only text in this file is that drawn in the images. This is not easily read unless viewing the "medium size" and "original size" available by link under each image.
INDEX
Academic Costume.......................................1851...134...134
Adding Insult to Injury...............................1845...052...052
Adding Insult to Injury...............................1857...188...188
Adding Iasult to Injury...............................1859...202...202
Advent of Spring, The.................................1849...157...157
Affecting Incident at Boulogne........................1853...052...052
Affecting-Rather.......................................1851...107...107
After the Bath........................................1857...264...264
Afternoon Tea.........................................1859...220...220
Agreeable Prescription, An.............................1858...106...106
Agricultural Distress..................................1851...074...074
Alarming Proposition..................................1859...189...189
Always be Polite when Travelling.......................1856...195...195
Amateur Pantomime......................................1857...014...014
Ample Protection......................................1859...136...136
An Absentee...........................................1845...232...232
An Art that doth Disfigure Nature......................1856...186...186
An Hour's Ride.........................................1852...074...074
Angling Delights......................................1859...062...062
Another Bit from the Mining District...................1854...139...139
Another Railway Misery.................................1855...092...092
April Fool, An........................................1855...046...046
Aquatic Manouvres......................................1859...168...168
'Arry and 'Arriet.....................................1S58...195...195
Art Progress..........................................1S57...127...127
Artificial Ice-Grand Pas des Patineurs.................1850...026...026
Artistic (!) Studio, The...............................1857...193...193
Assurance.............................................1847...105...105
Astounding Announcement................................1857...130...130
Astonishing a Young One...............................1858...370...370
Astonishing Request An................................1857...199...199
As Well be out of the World as out of the Fashion......1850...105...105
At Aldershot - A Rather Difficult Manouvre............1859...269...269
At Epsom..............................................1850...232...232
At Paris...............................................1853...169...169
At the Play............................................1858...261...261
At the Seaside.......................................1853...271...271
Average W'eight of the Foot'Guards.....................1850...096...096
Awkward Predicament....................................1858...189...189
Bad Time for John Thomas, A...........................1856...225...225
Bare Assertion, A.....................................1854...087...087
Battle of the Hyde Park...............................1855...200...200
Beard Movement, The....................................1854...064...064
Beard Movement, The....................................1857...128...128
Beard Movement, The....................................1856...263...263
Beauty in Distress.....................................1858...392...392
Benefit of Clergy.....................................1852...087...087
Best Run of the Season, The...........................1857...126...126
Bit of a Breeze, A.....................................1856...185...185
Black Indignity, A....................................1857...127...127
Bless You-Bless You!...................................1855...153...153
Blind with Rage........................................1856...201...201
Bon-bon from a Juvenile Tarty, A.......................1851...033...033
British Forces, The, and the Crimean War..............1853...114...114
1856...120...120
British Juryman Preparing for the Worst, The...........1859...236...236
Broad Caricature......................................1843...047...047
Brothers in Arms......................................1853...187...187
Brown Entertains his Friends wi' a Haggis..............1859...010...010
Brutal levity..........................................1863...258...258
Business-like.........................................1854...063...063
Bye-Day at Easter, A..................................1858...211...211
By the Sad Sea Waves...................................1858...108...108
Camp Lite-A Bit of Sentiment...........................1853...060...060
Camp Life-A Day Surprise..............................1853...271...271
Camp Life-A Night Surprise............................1853...271...271
Candid.................................................1859...231...231
Canine.................................................1851...139...139
Careful Rider, A......................................1853...269...269
Case of Real Distress, A...............................1854...047...047
Catching a Tartar......................................1856...184...184
Caution During Mistletoe Season.......................1855...002...002
Caution to Gentlemen Walking to Evening Parlies........1855...250...250
Caution to Travellers.................................1853...171...171
CautiouS Bird, A......................................1858...100...100
Cavalier, A............................................1857...241...241
Censors...............................................1858...256...256
Census, The...........................................1861...259...259
Certainly Not..........................................1S55...072...072
Champion, The..........................................1844...020...020
Christmas Eve.........................................1863...005...005
Christmas Party, A, Grandpapa Dances Sir Roger........1856...009...009
Citizen of the World, A...............................1855...207...207
Civil Cabman, The.....................................1857...240...240
Coarse, but Characteristic............................1S50...139...139
Cold Wealher...........................................1855...029...029
Comet, The............................................1858...229...229
Coming Collision, The..................................1857...225...225
Common Objects at the Seaside..........................1858...193...193
Common Objects at the Seaside..........................1857...254...254
Complacent Belief, A..................................1857...270...270
Compliments of the Season..............................1861...004...004
Confidence of Youth, The..............................1847...096...096
Consolation............................................1856...263...263
Consultation, A........................................1856...143...143
Cool Request, A.......................................1856...247...247
Cool Request..........................................1857...082...082
Cracker Bon-Bon........................................1862...021...021
Cricket-Capital Practice Bowling of the Period........1859...265...265
Crinoline Again........................................1858...132...132
Crinoline on the Water.................................1858...197...197
Cupid at Sea..........................................1859...103...103
Currency Question, The................................1847...272...272
Day After the Juvenile Party, The......................1847...037...037
Day at the Camp, A.....................................1860...251...251
Day Very Late in the Season, A.........................1859...198...198
Deceiver, A...........................................1859...039...039
Deerstalking Made Easy.................................1857...233...233
Delicate Compliment, A................................1856...067...067
Delicate Creature, A...................................1855...085...085
Delicate Hint, A..................................... 1855...108...108
Delicate Way of Putting It.............................1862...247...247
Delicate Test.........................................1859...225...225
Delicious..............................................1857...036...036
Delicious Dip, A......................................1857...207...207
Delightful Privilege during the Winter Months.........1847...025...025
Delusive Notion........................................1852...146...146
Demon of the Street, The..............................1858...223...223
Did You Ever?.........................................1858...111...1ll
Disagreeable Truth....................................1851...092...092
Disappointed One, The.................................1858...187...187
Discretion........................................... 1847...064...064
Disgusting for Augustus...............................1858...196...196
Distressed Agriculturist, A............................1856...238...238
Distressing Result of Eating Turkey...................1855...034...034
Disturber of Public Peace, A..........................1848...135...135
Domestic Bliss........................................1847...056...056
Domestic Doctoring....................................1856...181...181
Domestic Economy......................................1859...099...099
Domestic Extravaganza.................................1858...205...205
Double Game, A........................................1858...239...239
Drawing the Line...............-.......................1857...141...141
Dreadful for Young Oxford..............................1859...213...213
Dreadful Joke.........................................1855...007...007
Dress Circle at Punch and Judy.........................1854...039...039
Dweadful Accident in High Life.........................1857...093...093
Eager Applicants..,....................................1854...039...039
Early Philosophy......................................1847...112...112
Easier Said than Done..................................1856...239...239
East Wind Joke, An....................................1855...255...255
Easy Matter, An.......................................1859...270...270
Education in the Mining Districts......................1855...095...095
Eligible Party, An....................................1848...103...103
English Nobleman, An, Painted by the French...........1848...109...109
Enthusiasm............................................1854...115...115
Envious Youth, An.....................................1857...018...018
Epigrammatic..........................................1845...189...189
Equestrian Difficulty, An.............................1858...227...227
Equine................................................1858...144...144
Evening Party at Sebastopol...........................1854...116...116
Every Lady her Own Bathing Machine.....................1849...058...058
Excitement............................................1856...053...053
Expanse of Fashion, The...............................1859...203...203
Fact, A................................................1861...243...243
Fact from the Nursery, A..............................1856...234...234
Faded Youth, A........................................1847...131...131
Fair and Equal.........................................1858...030...030
Fair Disputants.......................................1858...258...258
Fair Toxophilites, The................................1858...221...221
Family Group, A, Baby Stirring the Pudding.............1862...006...006
Fancy goes a Great Way.................................1846...257...257
Fancy Sketch..........................................1858...270...270
Farm-yard, The........................................1853...246...246
Fashion of the Period.................................1858...247...247
Fellow Feeling.........................................1856...246...246
Feminine Amenities.....................................1856...174...174
Festive Season, The....................................1857...025...025
Fine Hautboys..........................................1855...051...051
Finishing Touch to a Picture..........................1854...051...051
Flattering............................................1855...087...087
Flunkeiana.............................................1848...054...054
Flunkeiana.............................................1857...184...184
Flunkeiana Rustica....................................1857...024...024
Flycatcher, The.......................................1852...064...064
Fly Fishing...........................................1855...057...057
Fog. The, is so very Thick.............................1855...028...028
Folly and Innocence....................................1856...140...140
Fortune's Favourite....................................1847...100...100
Fortunate Fellows......................................1858...231...231
Fortune-Telling, a Scene of Domestic Interest.........1858...070...070
Four-in-Hand Mania, The................................1856...226...226
Fox Hunting in a Fog...................................1856...223...223
Fraternity............................................1859...128...128
French as it is Spoken.................................1856...245...245
Friendly Badinage......................................1856...217...217
Friendly Mount, A.....................................1857...061...061
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PASSAGES FROM THE AMERICAN NOTE-BOOKS, VOLUME I
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
Salem, June 15, 1835.--A walk down to the Juniper. The shore of the coves
strewn with bunches of sea-weed, driven in by recent winds. Eel-grass,
rolled and bundled up, and entangled with it,--large marine vegetables,
of an olive-color, with round, slender, snake-like stalks, four or five
feet long, and nearly two feet broad: these are the herbage of the deep
sea. Shoals of fishes, at a little distance from the shore, discernible
by their fins out of water. Among the heaps of sea-weed there were
sometimes small pieces of painted wood, bark, and other driftage. On the
shore, with pebbles of granite, there were round or oval pieces of brick,
which the waves had rolled about till they resembled a natural mineral.
Huge stones tossed about, in every variety of confusion, some shagged all
over with sea-weed, others only partly covered, others bare. The old
ten-gun battery, at the outer angle of the Juniper, very verdant, and
besprinkled with white-weed, clover, and buttercups. The juniper-trees
are very aged and decayed and moss-grown. The grass about the hospital
is rank, being trodden, probably, by nobody but myself. There is a
representation of a vessel under sail, cut with a penknife, on the corner
of the house.
Returning by the almshouse, I stopped a good while to look at the pigs,--a
great herd,--who seemed to be just finishing their suppers. They
certainly are types of unmitigated sensuality,--some standing in the
trough, in the midst of their own and others' victuals,--some thrusting
their noses deep into the food,--some rubbing their backs against a
post,--some huddled together between sleeping and waking, breathing
hard,--all wallowing about; a great boar swaggering round, and a big sow
waddling along with her huge paunch. Notwithstanding the unspeakable
defilement with which these strange sensualists spice all their food, they
seem to have a quick and delicate sense of smell. What
ridiculous-looking animals! Swift himself could not have imagined
anything nastier than what they practise by the mere impulse of natural
genius. Yet the Shakers keep their pigs very clean, and with great
advantage. The legion of devils in the herd of swine,--what a scene it
must have been!
Sunday evening, going by the jail, the setting sun kindled up the windows
most cheerfully; as if there were a bright, comfortable light within its
darksome stone wall.
June 18th.--A walk in North Salem in the decline of yesterday afternoon,
--beautiful weather, bright, sunny, with a western or northwestern wind
just cool enough, and a slight superfluity of heat. The verdure, both of
trees and grass, is now in its prime, the leaves elastic, all life. The
grass-fields are plenteously bestrewn with white-weed, large spaces
looking as white as a sheet of snow, at a distance, yet with an
indescribably warmer tinge than snow,--living white, intermixed with
living green. The hills and hollows beyond the Cold Spring copiously
shaded, principally with oaks of good growth, and some walnut-trees, with
the rich sun brightening in the | 1,412.678831 |
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images generously made available by JSTOR www.jstor.org)
THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 16. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 17, 1840. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: THE CASTLE AND LAKE OF INCHIQUIN, COUNTY OF CLARE.]
Connemara itself, now so celebrated for its lakes and mountains, was not
less unknown a few years since than the greater portion of the county
of Clare. Without roads, or houses of entertainment for travellers, its
magnificent coast and other scenery were necessarily unvisited by the
pleasure tourists, and but little appreciated even by their inhabitants
themselves. But Clare can no longer be said to be an unvisited district:
the recent formation of roads has opened to observation many features of
interest previously inaccessible to the traveller, and its singular coast
scenery--the most sublimely magnificent in the British islands, if not in
Europe--has at least been made known to the public by topographical and
scientific explorers--it has become an attractive locality to artists and
pleasure tourists, and will doubtless be visited by increasing numbers of
such persons in each successive year.
There is however as yet in this county too great a deficiency in the
number of respectable houses of entertainment suited to the habits
of pleasure tourists; for though the wealthier and more educated
classes in the British empire are becoming daily a more travelling and
picturesque-hunting genus, they will not be content to live on fine
scenery, | 1,412.6789 |
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Iohn the yongest sonne of Henrie the second.
[Sidenote: An. Reg. 1.]
[Sidenote: _Rog. Houed._]
[Sidenote: _Matth. Paris._ Chinon. Robert de Turneham. Sawmer.]
[Sidenote: _Rog. Houed._ Thomas de Furnes.]
Iohn the yoongest son of Henrie the second was proclaimed king of
England, beginning his reigne the sixt daie of Aprill, in the yeare
of our Lord 1199, the first of Philip emperour of Rome, and the 20 of
Philip king of France, K. William as yet liuing in gouernement ouer
the Scots. This man so soone as his brother Richard was deceased,
sent Hubert archbishop of Canturburie, and William Marshall earle of
Striguill (otherwise called Chepstow) into England, both to proclaime
him king, and also to see his peace kept, togither with Geffrey Fitz
Peter lord cheefe justice, and diuerse other barons of the realme,
whilest he himselfe went to Chinon where his brothers treasure laie,
which was foorthwith deliuered vnto him by Robert de Turneham: and
therewith all the castel of Chinon and Sawmer and diuerse other
places, which were in the custodie of the foresaid Robert. But Thomas
de Furnes nephue to the said Robert de Turneham deliuered the citie
and castell of Angiers vnto Arthur duke of Britaine. For by generall
consent of the nobles and peeres of the countries of Aniou, Maine, and
Touraine, Arthur was receiued as the liege and souereigne lord of the
same countries.
[Sidenote: Strife amongst the English subiects on the other side of the
sea.]
For euen at this present, and so soone as it was knowne that king
Richard was deceased, diuerse cities and townes on that side of the
sea belonging to the said Richard whilest he liued, fell at ods among
themselues, some of them indeuouring to preferre king John, other
labouring rather to be vnder the gouernance of Arthur duke of Britaine,
considering that he seemed by most right to be their cheefe lord,
forsomuch as he was sonne to Geffrey elder brother to John. And thus
began the broile in those quarters, whereof in processe of time insued
great inconuenience, and finallie the death of the said Arthur, as
shall be shewed hereafter.
[Sidenote: _Matth. Paris._ The states assembled at Northampton.]
Now whilest king John was thus occupied in recouering his brothers
treasure, and traueling with his subiects to reduce them to his
obedience, queene Elianor his mother by the helpe of Hubert archbishop
of Canturburie and other of the noble men and barons of the land,
trauelled as diligentlie to procure the English people to receiue their
oth of allegiance to be true to king John. For the said archbishop and
William Marshall earle of Striguill, being sent ouer into England (as
before you haue heard) to proclaime him king, and to keepe the land
in quiet, assembled the estates of the realme at Northampton, where
Geffrey Fitz Peter lord cheefe iustice was present with other of the
Nobles, afore whom those lords whose fidelities were earst suspected,
willinglie tooke their oths of obedience to the new king, and were
assured by the same lords on his behalfe, that they should find him
a liberall, a noble and a righteous prince, and such a one as would
see that euerie man should inioy his owne, and such as were knowne to
be notorious transgressors, should be sure to receiue their condigne
punishment.
[Sidenote: Eustace Vescie sent into Scotland.]
They sent Eustace de Vescie also vnto William king of Scotland, to
signifie to him, that king John vpon his arriuall in England, would
satisfie him of all such right as he pretended to haue within the
English dominions. And thus was king John accompted and proclaimed
king of England by the generall consent of all the lords and barons of
the same. The names of the cheefe of those peeres that were sworne (as
you haue heard) are as followeth. Dauid earle of Huntington brother
vnto William king of Scots, Richard earle of Clare, Ranulfe earle of
Chester, William earle of Tutberie or rather Darbie, Walran earle of
Warwike, Roger Lacie constable of Chester, and William de Mowbraie,
with diuerse other, whose names I here omit, bicause I would not be
tedious and irksome to the readers.
Now the king of Scotland being informed by the lord Eustace Vescie (who
had maried his daughter) that there was some hope to be had on his
part, for the recouerie of such seigniories as he and his predecessours
somtime held in England, did further dispatch sundrie ambassadours with
full purpose to send them ouer into Normandie vnto king John, there to
require restitution of the countries of Northumberland and Cumberland,
with their appurtenances, and he promised also by his letters, that
if the same might be granted vnto him, in as ample manner as they had
beene in times past to his ancestors, he would gladlie doo his homage
to king John, as to the true & lawfull king of England for the same,
and furthermore yeeld to him his faithfull seruice against all men, so
often as he should be required thervnto. Howbeit when the archbishop
of Canturburie and the rest of the councell, vnderstood that these
ambassadors should passe through England, they would not suffer them
so to doo, but speedilie sent Dauid earle of Huntington into Scotland
vnto the king his brother, requiring him earnestlie that he would not
send any ambassadours ouer as yet, but rather tarie, and take patience
a while, till the king should come ouer into England: which (as they
said) he purposed to doo verie shortlie.
King John also hauing vnderstanding of his purpose, sent ouer the said
lord Eustace againe vnto him with the like request, who in such wise
persuaded him, that he was contented to abide a time, in hope of the
better successe in his late attempted suit. And all this was doone
cheeflie by the working of the kings mother, whom the nobilitie much
honoured and loued. For she being bent to prefer hir sonne John, left
no stone vnturned to establish him in the throne, comparing oftentimes
the difference of gouernement betweene a king that is a man, and a king
that is but a child. For as John was 32 yeares old, so Arthur duke
of Britaine was but a babe to speake of. In the end, winning all the
nobilitie wholie vnto hir will, and seeing the coast to be cleare on
euerie side, without any doubt of tempestuous weather likelie to arise,
she signified the whole matter vnto K. John, who foorthwith framed all
his indeuours to the accomplishment of his businesse.
[Sidenote: Queene Elianors enuie against Arthur.]
[Sidenote: Constance dutchesse of Britaine.]
Surelie queene Elianor the kings mother was sore against hir nephue
Arthur, rather mooued thereto by enuie conceiued against his mother,
than vpon any iust occasion giuen in the behalfe of the child, for that
she saw if he were king, how his mother Constance would looke to beare
most rule within the realme of England, till hir sonne should come to
lawfull age, to gouerne of himselfe. ¶ So hard it is to bring women to
agree in one mind, their natures commonlie being so contrarie, their
words so variable, and their deeds so vndiscreet. And therfore it was
well said of one (alluding to their disposition and qualities,
[Sidenote: _Prep. lib. 2._]
----nulla diu foemina pondus habet.)
[Sidenote: Queene Elianor passeth into Normandie.]
[Sidenote: The citie of Mauns take. _Matth._ _Paris._ _R. Houed._]
When this dooing of the queene was signified vnto the said Constance,
she doubting the suertie of hir sonne, committed him to the trust
of the French king, who receiuing him into his tuition, promised to
defend him from all his enimies, and foorthwith furnished the holds in
Britaine with French souldiers. Queene Elianor being aduertised hereof,
stood in doubt by and by of hir countrie of Guien, and therefore with
all possible speed passed ouer the sea, and came to hir sonne John
into Normandie, and shortlie after they went foorth togither into the
countrie of Maine, and there tooke both the citie and castell of Mauns,
throwing downe the wals and turrets therof, with all the fortifications
and stonehouses in and about the same, and kept the citizens as
prisoners, bicause they had aided Arthur against his vncle John.
[Sidenote: K. John inuested duke of Normandie.]
[Sidenote: The citie of Angiers taken.]
After this, king John entring into Aniou, held his Easter at Beaufort
(which feast fell that yeare the 18 day of Aprill) and from thence he
went streight vnto Rouen, where on the sundaie next after Easter being
S. Marks day, he was girded with the sword of the dutchie of Normandie
in the high church there by the hands of Walter archbishop of Rouen.
And so being inuested duke of Normandie, receiued the oth according
to the custome, that he should defend the church, and mainteine the
liberties thereof, see iustice ministred, good lawes put in execution,
and naughtie lawes and orders abolished. In the meane time his mother
queene Elianor, togither with capteine Marchades entred into Aniou,
and wasted the same, bicause they of that countrie had receiued Arthur
for their souereigne lord and gouernour. And amongst other townes
and fortresses, they tooke the citie of Angiers, slue manie of the
citizens, and committed the rest to prison.
This enterprise being thus luckilie atchiued, the residue of the people
in those parties were put in such feare, that of their owne accord
they turned to their woonted obedience, seeming as though they would
continue still therein. The French king all this while conceiuing
an other exploit in his head, more commodious vnto him than as yet
to attempt warre against the Englishmen vpon so light an occasion,
dissembled the matter for a time, as though he would know nothing of
all that was doone, till the king should be otherwise occupied in
England about his coronation.
[Sidenote: K. John commeth ouer into England.]
In the meane season king John hauing set some stay in his businesse
on the further side of the sea, he left his mother still in Guien, to
defend that countrie against the enimies, and taking the sea, came ouer
himselfe into England, landing at Shorham, the 25 day of Maie. On the
next day, being Ascension eeue, he came to London there to receiue the
crowne. On the morow after being Ascension daie, when the Nobilitie
and commons were assembled, and the king brought into the church of
S. Peter at Westminster there to receiue his diademe; Hubert the
archbishop of Canturburie being cheefe in authoritie and honour, both
for his age and calling, spake these words or the like in substance
before the whole assemblie, as followeth.
Hubert the archbishop of Canturburies oration to the lords spirituall
and temporall in the presence of the king, &c.
Most honorable lords of the spiritualtie, and most graue and politike
peeres and barons of the temporaltie, you are come hither this day to
choose you a king, and such a one as (if need should require) may be
able of himselfe to take such a charge vpon him, and (hauing vndertaken
the same) readie to execute that which he shall thinke to be expedient
for the profit of his subiects: we haue therefore one present heere
among vs, vpon whome harts and good willes of high and low, rich and
poore, doo generallie depend: a man I doubt not, but that for his owne
part will applie his whole endeuour, studie, and thought vnto that
onelie end, which he shall perceiue to be most profitable for the
common-wealth, as knowing himselfe to be borne not to serue his owne
turne, but for to profit his countrie, and to seeke for the generall
benefit of vs that are his subiects.
And albeit I am sure that you doo well know, how all these qualities
are most abundantlie planted in the person of John duke of Normandie
(a person of high prowesse and no lesse prudence, for the which yee
ought to iudge him right worthie of the gouernement) yet beeing in
doubt least the common fame should carrie you awaie, or least you
should turne your minds to the fauour of an other, as in respect of
some better right, by title of a more lawfull descent of inheritance
pretended by others than he hath to shew, I require you to giue eare
vnto my words: who bearing the state of two manner of persons, ought to
be profitable to my countrie, not onelie by example and exhortation,
but also by loialtie and good counsell, which hitherto I haue euer
studied to performe, and wherein (God willing) I meane to persist, so
long as I shall continue in this mortall and transitorie tabernacle.
Therefore whereas at this present we haue in hand to conclude vpon such
a weitie matter, which beeing once doone, cannot be vndoone, I commend
vnto you this John, euen with all my verie heart, and iudge that you
ought to accept him for your king, who in all things which he shall
ordeine, purpose, or take in hand, shall not faile so to answer your
opinions with his well dooing, and so satisfie your good expectations
alreadie conceiued of him with his diligent prouidence, that all the
whole realme shall not onelie like of and allow your dooing heerin, but
also with high commendation extoll the same to the verie stars. These
things do I promise vnto you, and so farforth as in me may lie, I dare
take vpon me all chances and perils that may proceed thereof.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: _Matth. Paris._]
[Sidenote: _Polydor._]
[Sidenote: _Reg. Houed._]
[Sidenote: _Matth. Paris._]
[Sidenote: Additions to _Iohn Pike_.]
When the archbishop had ended his speach, diuerse held their peace,
and manie with great zeale saluted king John, whom the same daie the
said archbishop crowned at Westminster, after the maner then vsed with
great solemnitie, and no lesse reioising of all such as were present.
At the same time also he receiued the homages of the lords and barons
of the realme, and promised with all speed to haue consideration of
things that apperteined as well to religion as to the due execution of
laws, whereby euerie man might come to inioie that which was his owne,
by right and due course of iustice. We find that there were present at
this solemnitie and coronation of king John, which was celebrated on
the Ascension day the 27 of Maie, archbishops and bishops to the number
of seauenteene, as Hubert archbishop of Canturburie, John archbishop
of Dubline, also the archbishop of Raguse, William bishop of London,
Gilbert bishop of Rochester, John bishop of Norwich, Hugh bishop of
Lincolne, Eustace bishop of Elie, Godfrey bishop of Winchester, Henrie
bishop of Exeter, Sefride bishop of Chichester, Godfrey bishop of
Couentrie, Sauarie bishop of Bath, Herbert bishop of Salisburie, Philip
bishop of Duresme, Roger bishop of saint Andrew in Scotland, and Henrie
bishop of Landaffe in Wales. The bishop of Duresme found himselfe
somewhat greeued in the matter, making obiections, that the coronation
ought not to be celebrated without the presence of Geffrey archbishop
of Yorke: but it preuailed not.
[Sidenote: _Rog. Houed._]
[Sidenote: Willi[=a]m Marshall earle of Striguille.]
[Sidenote: Geffrey Fitz Peter created earle of Essex.]
Besides these bishops, there were of the temporall lords and earles,
Robert of Leicester, Richard of Clare, William of Tutburie, Hamlin of
Warren, William of Salisburie, William of Chepstow otherwise called
Striguille, Walran of Warwike, Roger Bigot, William of Arundell, and
Ranulfe of Chester, with manie other barons, lords, knights, and no
small multitudes of gentlemen and other common people. The same daie of
his coronation also, he inuested William Marshall with the sword of the
earledome of Striguille, and Geffrey Fitz Peter, with the sword of the
earledome of Essex. For although they were called earles, and exercised
the administration of their earledoms; yet were they not till that daie
girded with the sword of those earledoms, and so that day they serued
at the table with their swords girded vnto them.
[Sidenote: The archb. of Canturburie made lord chancellour.]
In like maner, Hubert the archbishop of Canturburie was made lord
chancellour of England; who as he vttered some words vnaduisedlie, that
shewed how he inwardlie reioised at the kings fauour toward him in
the gift of this office, and so gloried in the honour whereto he was
preferred (which he would neuer haue doone, if he had weied of worldlie
pompe as by his profession he ought, and as one asketh the question in
the same case:
----dic mini, nunquid
Corporibus prosunt? certe nil; dic animisue?
Tantundem, &c.)
[Sidenote: The saieng of the lord Bardolfe.]
[Sidenote: Ambassadors from the king of Scots.]
the lord Hugh Bardolfe said vnto him, yet not so softlie in his
eare, but that some ouerheard it; "My lord, to speake and not offend
you, suerlie if you would well consider the dignitie and honor of
your calling, you would not willinglie yeeld to suffer this yoke of
bondage to be laid vpon your shoulders, for we haue oftentimes heard
of a chancellour made an archbishop, but neuer an archbishop made a
chancellour till now." The coronation being thus ended, it was not
long yer there came ambassadors from the Scotish king, namelie William
the prior of May, William the prior of saint Colmes Ins, and one
William Hay, the which on the behalfe of the said Scotish king required
restitution of Northumberland and Cumberland, with the appurtenances,
promising that if the same were restored to him, he would serue
the king of England with all his power against all men then aliue;
otherwise, that is, if he could not haue those countries, which of
right to him apperteined by law, as he pretended, he would doo the best
he could to recouer them by force.
King John made answer heerevnto, that if his coosen the king of Scots
would come vnto him, he should be assured to receiue at his hands all
that was reason, as well in those demands, as in all other things. He
also sent to him the bishop of Duresme, to require him to come vnto
Notingham, where he would meet with him. Howbeit, king William refused
to come himselfe as then, but sent the bishop of saint Andrew, and
Hugh Malebisse to follow his suit, with promise to absteine from any
forceable inuasion of England, by the space of fortie daies, so that
he might within that terme haue some resolute answer from king John,
wherevnto he might stand either on the one side or the other.
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MOTLEY'S HISTORY OF THE NETHERLANDS, PG EDITION
THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC, 1555-1566, Complete
A History
By JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, D.C.L., LL.D.
Corresponding Member of the Institute of France, Etc.
1855
[Etext Editor's Note: JOHN LOTHROP MOTLEY, born in Dorchester, Mass.
1814, died 1877. Other works: Morton's Hopes and Merry Mount, novels.
Motley was the United States Minister to Austria, 1861-67, and the United
States Minister to England, 1869-70. Mark Twain mentions his respect for
John Motley. Oliver Wendell Holmes said in 'An Oration delivered before
the City Authorities of Boston' on the 4th of July, 1863: "'It cannot be
denied,'--says another observer, placed on one of our national
watch-towers in a foreign capital,--'it cannot be denied that the
tendency of European public opinion, as delivered from high places, is
more and more unfriendly to our cause; but the people,' he adds,
'everywhere sympathize with us, for they know that our cause is that of
free institutions,--that our struggle is that of the people against an | 1,412.680887 |
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College Voluntary Study Courses
Fourth Year--Part 1
The Social Principles Of Jesus
By
Walter Rauschenbusch
Professor of Church History, Rochester Theological Seminary
Written under the Direction of Sub-Committee on College Courses, Sunday
School Council of Evangelical Denominations, and Committee on Voluntary
Study, Council of North American Student Movements
The Woman's Press
600 Lexington Avenue
New York City
1917
Copyright, 1916, by
The International Committee of Young Men's Christian Associations
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London, 1916
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
Introduction
Part I. The Axiomatic Social Convictions Of Jesus
Chapter I. The Value Of Life
Chapter II. The Solidarity Of The Human Family
Chapter III. Standing With The People
Part II. The Social Ideal Of Jesus
Chapter IV. The Kingdom Of God: Its Values
Chapter V. The Kingdom Of God: Its Tasks
Chapter VI. A New Age And New Standards
Part III. The Recalcitrant Social Forces
Chapter VII. Leadership For Service
Chapter VIII. Private Property And The Common Good
Chapter IX. The Social Test Of Religion
Part IV. Conquest By Conflict
Chapter X. The Conflict With Evil
Chapter XI. The Cross As A Social Principle
Chapter XII. A Review And A Challenge
Footnotes
COLLEGE VOLUNTARY STUDY COURSES
"The Social Principles of Jesus" takes seventh place in a series of
text-books known as College Voluntary Study Courses. The general outline
for this curriculum has been prepared by the Committee on Voluntary Study
of the Council of North American Student Movements, representing the
Student Young Men's and Young Women's Christian Associations and the
Student Volunteer Movement, and the Sub-Committee on College Courses of
the Sunday School Council of Evangelical Denominations, representing
twenty-nine communions. Therefore the text-books are planned for the use
of student classes in the Sunday School, as well as for the supplementary
groups on the campus. The present text-book has been written under the
direction of these Committees.
The text-books are not suitable for use in the academic curriculum, as
they have been definitely planned for voluntary study groups.
This series, covering four years, is designed to form a minimum curriculum
for the voluntary study of the Bible, foreign missions, and North American
problems. Daily Bible Readings are printed with each text-book. The
student viewpoint is given first emphasis--what are the student interests?
what are the student problems?
The Bible text printed in short measure (indented both sides) is
taken from the American Standard Edition of the Revised Bible,
copyright, 1901, by Thomas Nelson & Sons, and is used by
permission.
INTRODUCTION
This book is not a life of Christ, nor an exposition of his religious
teachings, nor a doctrinal statement about his person and work. It is an
attempt to formulate in simple propositions the fundamental convictions of
Jesus about the social and ethical relations and duties of men.
Our generation is profoundly troubled by the problems of organized
society. The most active interest of serious men and women in the colleges
is concentrated on them. We know that we are in deep need of moral light
and spiritual inspiration in our gropings. There is an increasing
realization, too, that the salvation of society lies in the direction
toward which Jesus led. And yet there is no clear understanding of what he
stood for. Those who have grown up under Christian teaching can sum up the
doctrines of the Church readily, but the principles which we must
understand if we are to follow Jesus in the way of life, seem enveloped in
a haze. The ordinary man sees clearly only Christ's law of love and the
golden rule. This book seeks to bring to a point what we all vaguely know.
It does not undertake to furnish predigested material, or to impose
conclusions. It spreads out the most important source passages for
personal study, points out the connection between the principles of Jesus
and modern social problems, and raises questions for discussion. It was
written primarily for voluntary study groups of college seniors, and their
intellectual and spiritual needs are not like those of an average church
audience. It challenges college men and women to face the social
convictions of Jesus and to make their own adjustments.
PART I. THE AXIOMATIC SOCIAL CONVICTIONS OF JESUS
Chapter I. The Value Of Life
Whatever our present conceptions of Jesus Christ may be, we ought to
approach our study of his teachings with a sense of reverence. With the
slenderest human means at his disposal, within a brief span of time, he
raised our understanding of God and of human life to new levels forever,
and set forces in motion which revolutionized history.
Of his teachings we have only fragments, but they have an inexhaustible
vitality. In this course we are to examine these as our source material in
order to discover, if possible, what fundamental ethical principles were
in the mind of Jesus. This part of his thought has been less understood
and appropriated than other parts, and it is more needed today than ever.
Let us go at this study with the sense of handling something great, which
may have guiding force for our own lives. Let us work out for ourselves
the social meaning of the personality and thought of Jesus Christ, and be
prepared to face his challenge to the present social and economic order of
which we are part.
How did Jesus view the life and personality of the men about him? How did
he see the social relation which binds people together? What was the
reaction of his mind in face of the inequalities and sufferings of actual
society? If we can get hold of the convictions which were axiomatic and
immediate with him on these three questions, we shall have the key to his
social principles. We shall take them up in the first three chapters.
DAILY READINGS
First Day: The Worth of a Child
And they were bringing unto him little children, that he should
touch them: and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it,
he was moved with indignation, and said unto them, Suffer the
little children to come unto me; forbid them not: for to such
belongeth the kingdom of God. Verily I say unto you, Whosoever
shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little child, he shall
in no wise enter therein. And he took them in his arms, and
blessed them, laying his hands upon them.--Mark 10:13-16.
The child is humanity reduced to its simplest terms. Affectionate joy in
children is perhaps the purest expression of social feeling. Jesus was
indignant when the disciples thought children were not of sufficient
importance to occupy his attention. Compared with the selfish ambition of
grown-ups he felt something heavenly in children, a breath of the Kingdom
of God. They are nearer the Kingdom than those whom the world has smudged.
To inflict any spiritual injury on one of these little ones seemed to him
an inexpressible guilt. See Matthew 18:1-6.
_Can the moral standing of a community be fairly judged by the statistics
of child labor and infant mortality?_
_What prompts some young men to tyrannize over their younger brothers?_
_How does this passage and the principle of the sacredness of life bear on
the problem of eugenics?_
Second Day: The Humanity of a Leper
And when he was come down from the mountain, great multitudes
followed him. And behold, there came to him a leper, and
worshipped him, saying, Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me
clean. And he stretched forth his hand, and touched him, saying, I
will; be thou made clean. And straightway his leprosy was
cleansed. And Jesus saith unto him, See thou tell no man; but go,
show thyself to the priest, and offer the gift that Moses
commanded, for a testimony unto them.--Matt. 8:1-4.
Whenever Jesus healed he rendered a social service to his fellows. The
spontaneous tenderness which he put into his contact with the sick was an
expression of his sense of the sacredness of life. A leper with fingerless
hands and decaying joints was repulsive to the aesthetic feelings and a
menace to selfish fear of infection. The community quarantined the lepers
in waste places by stoning them when they crossed bounds. (Remember Ben
Hur's mother and sister.) Jesus not only healed this man, but his sense of
humanity so went out to him that "he stretched forth his hand and touched
him." Even the most wretched specimen of humanity still had value to him.
_What is the social and moral importance of those professions which cure
or prevent sickness?_
_How would a strong religious sense of the sacredness of life affect
members of these professions?_
Third Day: The Moral Quality of Contempt
Ye have heard that it was said to them of old time, Thou shalt not
kill; and whosoever shall kill shall be in danger of the judgment:
but I say unto you, that every one who is angry with his brother
shall be in danger of the judgment; and whosoever shall say to his
brother, Raca, shall be in danger of the council; and whosoever
shall say, Thou fool, shall be in danger of the hell of
fire.--Matt. 5:21, 22.
In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus demanded that the standards of social
morality be raised to a new level. He proposed that the feeling of anger
and hate be treated as seriously as murder had been treated under the old
code, and if anyone went so far as to use hateful and contemptuous
expressions toward a fellow-man, it ought to be a case for the supreme
court. Of course this was simply a vivid form of putting it. The important
point is that Jesus ranged hate and contempt under the category of murder.
To abuse a man with words of contempt denies his worth, breaks down his
self-respect, and robs him of the regard of others. It is an attempt to
murder his soul. The horror which Jesus feels for such action is an
expression of his own respect for the worth of personality.
_How is the self-respect and sense of personal worth of men built up or
broken down in college communities?_
_How in industrial communities?_
Fourth Day: Bringing Back the Outcast
Now all the publicans and sinners were drawing near unto him to
hear him. And both the Pharisees and the scribes murmured, saying,
This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them.
And he spake unto them this parable, saying, What man of you,
having a hundred sheep, and having lost one of them, doth not
leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and go after that
which is lost, until he find it? And when he hath found it, he
layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he
calleth together his friends and his neighbors, saying unto them,
Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost. I say
unto you, that even so there shall be joy in heaven over one
sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine righteous
persons, who need no repentance.
Or what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she lose one piece,
doth not light a lamp, and sweep the house, and seek diligently
until she find it? And when she hath found it, she calleth
together her friends and neighbors, saying, Rejoice with me, for I
have found the piece which I had lost. Even so, I say unto you,
there is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner
that repenteth.--Luke 15:1-10.
Every Jewish community had a fringe of unchurched people, who could not
keep up the strict observance of the Law and had given up trying. The
pious people, just because they were pious, felt they must cold-shoulder
such. Jesus walked across the lines established. What seems to have been
the motive that prompted him? Why did the Pharisee withdraw, and why did
Jesus mix with the publicans?
_What groups in our own communities correspond to the __"__publicans and
sinners,__"__ and what is the attitude of religious people toward them?_
_What social groups in college towns are spoken of with contempt by
college men, and why?_
_Is there a Pharisaism of education? Define and locate it._
Fifth Day: The Problem of the Delinquents
For the Son of man came to seek and to save that which was
lost.--Luke 19:10.
Here Jesus formulates the inner meaning and mission of his life as he
himself felt it. He was here for social restoration and moral salvage. No
human being should go to pieces if he could help it. He was not only
willing to help people who came to him for help, but he proposed to go
after them. The "lost" man was too valuable and sacred to be lost.
_How does the Christian impulse of salvation connect with the activities
represented in the National Conference of Charities and Correction?_
_How does a college community regard its __"__sinners__"__?_ Suppose a man
has an instinct for low amusements and a yellow sense of honor, how do the
higher forces in college life get at that man to set him right?
Sixth Day: Going Beyond Justice
For the kingdom of heaven is like unto a man that was a
householder, who went out early in the morning to hire laborers
into his vineyard. And when he had agreed with the laborers for a
shilling a day, he sent them into his vineyard. And he went out
about the third hour, and saw others standing in the marketplace
idle; and to them he said, Go ye also into the vineyard, and
whatsoever is right I will give you. And they went their way.
Again he went out about the sixth and the ninth hour, and did
likewise. And about the eleventh hour he went out and found others
standing: and he saith unto them, Why stand ye here all the day
idle? They say unto him, Because no man hath hired us. He said
unto them, Go ye also into the vineyard. And when even was come,
the lord of the vineyard said unto his steward, Call the laborers,
and pay them their hire, beginning from the last unto the first.
And when they came that were hired about the eleventh hour, they
received every man a shilling. And when the first came, they
supposed that they would receive more; and they likewise received
every man a shilling. And when they received it, they murmured
against the householder, saying, These last have spent but one
hour, and thou hast made them equal unto us, who have borne the
burden of the day and the scorching heat. But he answered and said
to one of them, Friend, I do thee no wrong: didst not thou agree
with me for a shilling? Take up that which is thine, and go thy
way; it is my will to give unto this last, even as unto thee. Is
it not lawful for me to do what I will with mine own? or is thine
eye evil, because I am good? So the last shall be first, and the
first last.--Matt. 20:1-16.
Judaism rested on legality. So much obedience to the law earned so much
reward, according to the contract between God and Israel. Theoretically
this was just; practically it gave the inside track to the respectable and
well to do, for it took leisure and money to obey the minutiae of the Law.
In this parable the employer rises from the level of justice to the higher
plane of human fellow-feeling. These eleventh-hour men had been ready to
work; they had to eat and live; he proposed to give them a living wage
because he felt an inner prompting to do so. In the parable of the
Prodigal Son the father does more for his son than justice required,
because he was a father. Here the employer does more because he is a man.
Each acted from a sense of the worth of the human life with which he was
dealing. It was the same sense of worth and sacredness in Jesus which
prompted him to invent these parables.
_Do we find ourselves valuing people according to their utility to us, or
do we have an active feeling of their human interest and worth?_ Let us
run over in our minds our family and relatives, our professors and
friends, and the people in town who serve us, and see with whom we are on
a human footing.
Seventh Day: The Courtesy of Jesus
And early in the morning he came again into the temple, and all
the people came unto him; and he sat down, and taught them. And
the scribes and the Pharisees bring a woman taken in adultery; and
having set her in the midst, they say unto him, Teacher, this
woman hath been taken in adultery, in the very act. Now in the law
Moses commanded us to stone such: what then sayest thou of her?
And this they said, trying him that they might have whereof to
accuse him. But Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on
the ground. But when they continued asking him, he lifted up
himself, and said unto them, He that is without sin among you, let
him first cast a stone at her. And again he stooped down and with
his finger wrote on the ground. And they, when they heard it, went
out one by one, beginning from the eldest, even unto the last: and
Jesus was left alone, and the woman, where she was, in the midst.
And Jesus lifted up himself, and said unto her, Woman, where are
they? did no man condemn thee? And she said, No man, Lord. And
Jesus said, Neither do I condemn thee: go thy way; from henceforth
sin no more.--John 8:2-11.
Was there ever a more gentlemanly handling of a raw situation? This woman
was going through one of the most harrowing experiences conceivable,
exposed to the gaze of a leering and scornful crowd, her good name torn
away, her self-respect crushed. Jesus shielded her from stoning by the
power of his personality and his consummate skill in handling men. He got
inside their guard, aroused their own sense of past guilt, and so awakened
some human fellow-feeling for the woman. When he was alone with her, what
a mingling of kindness and severity! Surely she would carry away the
memory of a wonderful friend who came to her in her dire need. Why did
Jesus twice turn his eyes away to the ground? Was he ashamed to look at
her shame?
Such a sudden, tragic happening is a severe test of a man's qualities. It
brought out the courtesy of Jesus, his respect for human personality even
in its shame. _How can we train ourselves so that we may be equal to such
emergencies?_ Would continued spiritual contact with Jesus be likely to
make a difference?
Study for the Week
The passages we have studied are inductive material. Can there be any
doubt that Jesus had a spontaneous love for his fellow-men and a deep
sense of the sacredness of human personality? Physical deformity and moral
guilt could not obscure the divine worth of human life to him. To cause
any soul to stumble and go down, or to express contempt for any human
being, was to him a horrible guilt.
I
This regard for human life was based on the same social instinct which
every normal man possesses. But with Jesus it was so strong that it
determined all his viewpoints and activities. He affirmed the humane
instinct consciously and intelligently, and raised it to the dignity of a
social principle. This alone would be enough to mark him out as a new
type, prophetic and creative of a new development of the race.
Whence did Jesus derive the strength and purity of his social feeling? Was
it simply the endowment of a finely attuned nature? Other fine minds of
the ancient world valued men according to their wealth, their rank, their
power, their education, their beauty. Jesus valued men as such, apart from
any attractive equipment. Why | 1,412.686761 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.7594260 | 5,051 | 52 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Linda Hamilton, 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)
ULSTER FOLKLORE
[Illustration: PLATE I. [_R. Welch, Photo._
HARVEST KNOT.]
ULSTER FOLKLORE
BY
ELIZABETH ANDREWS, F.R.A.I.
WITH FOURTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON: ELLIOT STOCK
7, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C.
1913
INTRODUCTION
In 1894 I was at the meeting of the British Association at Oxford, and
had the good fortune to hear Professor Julius Kollmann give his paper on
"Pygmies in Europe," in which he described the skeletons which had then
recently been discovered near Schaffhausen. As I listened to his account
of these small people, whose average height was about four and a half
feet, I recalled the description of Irish fairies given to me by an old
woman from Galway, and it appeared to me that our traditional "wee-folk"
were about the size of these Swiss dwarfs. I determined to collect what
information I could, and the result is given in the following pages. I
found that the fairies are, indeed, regarded as small; but their height
may be that of a well-grown boy or girl, or they may not be larger than
a child beginning to walk. I once asked a woman if they were as small as
cocks and hens, but she laughed at the suggestion.
I had collected a number of stories, and had become convinced that in
these tales we had a reminiscence of a dwarf race, when I read some of
Mr. David MacRitchie's works, and was gratified to find that the
traditions I had gathered were in accordance with the conclusions he had
drawn from his investigations in Scotland. A little later I made his
acquaintance, and owe him many thanks for his great kindness and the
encouragement he has given me in my work.
As will be seen in the following pages, tradition records several small
races in Ulster: the Grogachs, who are closely allied to the fairies,
and also to the Scotch and English Brownies; the short Danes, whom I am
inclined to identify with the Tuatha de Danann; the Pechts, or Picts;
and also the small Finns. My belief is that all these, including the
fairies, represent primitive races of mankind, and that in the stories
of women, children, and men being carried off by the fairies, we have a
record of warfare, when stealthy raids were made and captives brought to
the dark souterrain. These souterrains, or, as the country people call
them, "coves," are very numerous. They are underground structures, built
of rough stones without mortar, and roofed with large flat slabs. Plate
II. shows a fine one at Ardtole, near Ardglass, Co. Down. The total
length of this souterrain is about one hundred and eight feet, its width
three feet, and its height five feet three inches.[1] The entrance to
another souterrain is shown in the Sweathouse at Maghera[2] (Plate
III.).
As a rule, although the fairies are regarded as "fallen angels," they
are said to be kind to the poor, and to possess many good qualities. "It
was better for the land before they went away" is an expression I have
heard more than once. The belief in the fairy changeling has, however,
led to many acts of cruelty. We know of the terrible cases which
occurred in the South of Ireland some years ago, and I met with the same
superstition in the North. I was told a man believed his sick wife was
not herself, but a fairy who had been substituted for her. Fortunately
the poor woman was in hospital, so no harm could come to her.
Much of primitive belief has gathered round the fairy--we have the fairy
well and the fairy thorn. It is said that fairies can make themselves so
small that they can creep through keyholes, and they are generally
invisible to ordinary mortals. They can shoot their arrows at cattle and
human beings, and by their magic powers bring disease on both. They
seldom, however, partake of the nature of ghosts, and I do not think
belief in fairies is connected with ancestral worship.
Sometimes I have been asked if the people did not invent these stories
to please me. The best answer to this question is to be found in the
diverse localities from which the same tale comes. I have heard of the
making of heather ale by the Danes, and the tragic fate of the father
and son, the last of this race, in Down, Antrim, Londonderry, and Kerry.
The same story is told in many parts of Scotland, although there it is
the Picts who make the heather ale. I have been told of the woman
attending the fairy-man's wife, acquiring the power of seeing the
fairies, and subsequently having her eye put out, in Donegal and Derry,
and variants of the story come to us from Wales and the Holy Land.
I am aware that I labour under a disadvantage in not being an Irish
scholar, but most of those in Down, Antrim, and Derry from whom I heard
the tales spoke only English, and in Donegal the peasants who related
the stories knew both languages well, and I believe gave me a faithful
version of their Irish tales.
Some of these essays appeared in the _Antiquary_, others were read to
the Archaeological Section of the Belfast Naturalists' Field Club, but
are now published for the first time _in extenso_. All have been
revised, and additional notes introduced. To these chapters on folklore
I have added an article on the Rev. William Hamilton, who, in his
"Letters on the North-East Coast of Antrim," written towards the close
of the eighteenth century, gives an account of the geology, antiquities,
and customs of the country.
The plan of the souterrain at Ballymagreehan Fort, Co. Down, was kindly
drawn for me by Mr. Arthur Birch. I am much indebted to the Council of
the Royal Anthropological Institute for their kindness in allowing me to
reproduce the plan of the souterrain at Knockdhu from Mrs. Hobson's
paper, "Some Ulster Souterrains," published in the _Journal_ of the
Institute, vol. xxxix., January to June, 1909. My best thanks are also
due to Mrs. Hobson for allowing me to make use of her photograph of the
entrance to this souterrain. The other illustrations are from
photographs by Mr. Robert Welch, M.R.I.A., who has done so much to make
the scenery, geology, and antiquities of the North of Ireland better
known to the English public.
BELFAST,
_August, 1913_.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See "Ardtole Souterrain, Co. Down," by F. J. Bigger and W.
J. Fennell in _Ulster Journal of Archaeology_, 1898-99, pp. 146, 147.
[2] I am much indebted to Mr. S. D. Lytle of that town for
kind permission to reproduce this view.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION V
FAIRIES AND THEIR DWELLING-PLACES 1
A DAY AT MAGHERA, CO. LONDONDERRY 14
ULSTER FAIRIES, DANES, AND PECHTS 24
FOLKLORE CONNECTED WITH ULSTER RATHS AND SOUTERRAINS 36
TRADITIONS OF DWARF RACES IN IRELAND AND IN
SWITZERLAND 47
FOLKLORE FROM DONEGAL 64
GIANTS AND DWARFS 84
THE REV. WILLIAM HAMILTON, D.D. 105
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PLATES
I. HARVEST KNOT _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
II. SOUTERRAIN AT ARDTOLE, ARDGLASS, CO. DOWN 1
III. ENTRANCE TO SWEATHOUSE, MAGHERA 14
IV. RUSH AND STRAW CROSSES 17
V. HARVEST KNOTS 19
VI. "CHURN" 20
VII. ENTRANCE TO SOUTERRAIN AT KNOCKDHU 30
VIII. THE OLD FORT, ANTRIM 36
IX. GREY MAN'S PATH, FAIR HEAD 49
X. TORMORE, TORY ISLAND 73
XI. VALLEY NEAR ARMOY, WHENCE, ACCORDING TO
LEGEND, EARTH WAS TAKEN TO FORM RATHLIN 90
XII. FLINT SPEARHEAD AND BASALT AXES FOUND UNDER
FORT IN LENAGH TOWNLAND 97
PLANS
SOUTERRAIN AT BALLYMAGREEHAN 6
SOUTERRAIN AT KNOCKDHU 30
[Illustration: PLATE II. [_R. Welch, Photo._
SOUTERRAIN AT ARDTOLE, ARDGLASS CO. DOWN.]
Fairies and their Dwelling-places[3]
In the following notes I have recorded a few traditions gathered from
the peasantry in Co. Down and other parts of Ireland regarding the
fairies. The belief is general that these little people were at one time
very numerous throughout the country, but have now disappeared from many
of their former haunts. At Ballynahinch I was told they had been blown
away fifty years ago by a great storm, and the caretaker of the old
church and graveyard of Killevy said they had gone to Scotland. They
are, however, supposed still to inhabit the more remote parts of the
country, and the old people have many stories of fairy visitors, and of
what happened in their own youth and in the time of their fathers and
grandfathers.
We must not, however, think of Irish fairies as tiny creatures who
could hide under a mushroom or dance on a blade of grass. I remember
well how strongly an old woman from Galway repudiated such an idea. The
fairies, according to her, were indeed small people, but no mushroom
could give them shelter. She described them as about the size of
children, and as far as I can ascertain from inquiries made in many
parts of Ulster and Munster, this is the almost universal belief among
the peasantry. Sometimes I was told the fairies were as large as a
well-grown boy or girl, sometimes that they were as small as children
beginning to walk; the height of a chair or a table was often used as a
comparison, and on one occasion an old woman spoke of them as being
about the size of monkeys.
The colour red appears to be closely associated with these little
people. In Co. Waterford, if a child has a red handkerchief on its head,
it is said to be wearing a fairy cap. I have frequently been told of the
small men in red jackets running about the forts; the fairy women
sometimes appear in red cloaks; and I have heard more than once that
fairies have red hair.
A farmer living in one of the valleys of the Mourne Mountains said he
had seen one stormy night little creatures with red hair, about the size
of children. I asked him if they might not have been really children
from some of the cottages, but his reply was that no child could have
been out in such weather.
An old woman living near Tullamore Park, Co. Down, described vividly
how, going out to look after her goat and its young kid, she had heard
loud screams and seen wild-looking figures with scanty clothing whose
hair stood up like the mane of a horse. She spoke with much respect of
the fairies as the gentry, said they formerly inhabited hills in
Tullamore Park, and that care was taken not to destroy their
thorn-bushes. She related the following story: As a friend of hers was
sitting alone one night, a small old woman, dressed in a white cap and
apron, came in and borrowed a bowl of meal. The debt was repaid, and the
meal brought by the fairy put in the barrel. The woman kept the matter
secret, and was surprised to find her barrel did not need replenishing.
At last her husband asked if her store of meal was not coming to an end;
she replied that she would show him she had sufficient, and lifted the
cover of the barrel. To her astonishment it was almost empty; no doubt,
had she kept her secret, she would have had an unlimited supply of meal.
I have heard several similar stories, and have not found that any evil
consequences were supposed to follow from partaking of food brought by
the fairies. Men have been carried off by them, have heard their
beautiful music, seen them dancing, or witnessed a fairy battle without
bringing any misfortune on themselves. On the other hand, according to a
story I heard at Buncrana, Co. Donegal, a little herd-boy paid dearly
for having entered one of their dwellings. As he was climbing among the
rocks, he saw a cleft, and creeping through it came to where a fairy
woman was spinning with her "weans," or children, around her. His sister
missed him, and after searching for a time, she too, came to the cleft,
and looking down saw her brother, and called to him to come out. He
came, but was never able to speak again.
In another case deafness followed intercourse with the fairies. An
elderly man at Maghera, Co. Down, told me that his brother when four or
five years old went out with his father. The child lay down on the
grass. After a while the father heard a great noise, and looking up saw
little men about two feet in height dancing round his son. He called to
them to be gone, and they ran towards a fort and disappeared. The child
became deaf, and did not recover his hearing for ten years. He died at
the age of seventeen.
To cut down a fairy thorn or to injure the house of a fairy is regarded
as certain to bring misfortune. An old woman also living at Maghera,
related how her great-grandmother had received a visit from a small old
woman, who forbade the building of a certain turf-stack, saying that
evil would befall anyone who injured the chimneys of her house. The
warning was disregarded, the turf-stack built, and before long four cows
died.
I was told that when a certain fort in Co. Fermanagh was levelled to
the ground misfortune overtook the men who did the work, although,
apparently, they were only labourers, many of them dying suddenly. It
was also said that where this fort had stood there were caves or hollows
in the ground into which the oxen would fall when ploughing. An attempt
to bring a fort near Newcastle under cultivation is believed to have
caused the sudden death of the owner.
The fairies are celebrated as fine musicians; they ride on small horses;
the women grind meal, and the sound of their spinning is often heard at
night in the peasants' cottages. The following story is related as
having occurred at Camlough, near Newry.
A woman was spinning one evening when three fairies came into the house,
each bringing a spinning-wheel. They said they would help her with her
work, and one of them asked for a drink of water. The woman went to the
well to fetch it. When there she was warned, apparently by a friendly
fairy, that the others had come only to mock and harm her. Acting on the
advice of this friend, the woman, as soon as she had given water to the
three, turned again to the open door, and stood looking intently towards
a fort. They asked what she was gazing at, and the reply was: "At the
blaze on the fort." No sooner had she uttered these words than the three
fairies rushed out with such haste that one of them left her
spinning-wheel behind, which, according to the story, is now to be seen
in Dublin Castle. The woman then shut her door, and put a pin in the
keyhole, thus effectually preventing the return of her visitors.
In this story we have probably an allusion to the signal fires which
are believed by the peasantry to have been lit on the forts in time of
danger, one fort being always within view of another. These forts, or
raths, appear to have been the favourite abode of the fairies. To use
the language of the peasantry, these little people live in the "coves of
the forths," an expression which puzzled me until I found that coves, or
caves, meant underground passages--in other words, souterrains.
There are a number of these souterrains in the neighbourhood of
Castlewellan, and with a young friend, who helped me to take a few rough
measurements, I explored several.
[Illustration: PLAN OF BALLYMAGREEHAN SOUTERRAIN.]
Ballymagreehan Fort is a short distance from Castlewellan, near the
Newry Road. It is a small fort, and on the top we saw the narrow
entrance to the souterrain. Passing down through this, we found
ourselves in a short passage, or chamber, which led us to another
passage at right angles to the first. It is about forty feet in length
and three feet in width; the height varies from four to five feet. The
roof is formed of flat slabs, and the walls are carefully built of round
stones, but without mortar. At one end this passage appeared to
terminate in a wall, but at the other it was only choked with fallen
stones and debris, and I should think had formerly extended farther.
Herman's Fort is another small fort on the opposite side of
Castlewellan, in the townland of Clarkill. Climbing to the top of it, we
came to an enclosure where several thorn-bushes were growing. The farmer
who kindly acted as our guide showed us two openings. One of these led
to a narrow chamber fully six feet high, the other to a passage more
than thirty feet in length and about three feet wide, while the height
varied from three and a half feet in one part to more than five feet in
another. I was told that water is always to be found near these forts,
and was shown a well which had existed from time immemorial; the sides
were built of round stones without mortar, in the same way as the walls
of the passage.
We heard here of another souterrain about a mile distant, called
Backaderry Cove. It is on the side of a hill close to the road leading
from Castlewellan to Dromara. A number of thorn-bushes grow near the
place, but there is no mound, either natural or artificial. Creeping
through the opening, we found ourselves in a passage about forty feet in
length; a chamber opens off it nine feet in length, and between five and
six feet in height, while the height of the passage varies from four and
a half to five and a half feet. There is a tradition that this passage
formerly connected Backaderry with Herman's Fort.
Ballyginney Fort is near Maghera. I only saw the entrance to the
souterrain, but from what I heard I believe that here also there is a
chamber opening off the passage. The farmer on whose land the fort is
situated told me that one dry summer he had planted flax in the field
adjoining the fort. The small depth of soil above the flat slabs
affected the crop, so that by the difference in the flax it was easy to
trace where the passage ran below the field.
We have seen that the fairies are believed to inhabit the souterrains;
they are also said to live inside certain hills, and in forts where, so
far as is known, no underground structure exists. I may mention as an
example the large fort on the Shimna River, near Newcastle, where I was
told their music was often to be heard. There may be many souterrains
whose entrance has been choked up, and of which no record has been
preserved. Mr. Bigger gave last session an interesting account of one
discovered at Stranocum; another was accidentally found last September
in a field about three miles from Newry. Mr. Mann Harbison, who visited
the souterrain, writes to me that the excavation has been made in a
circular portion which is six feet wide and five feet high. A gallery
opens out of this chamber, and is in some places not more than three
feet six inches high.
The building of the forts and souterrains is ascribed by the country
people to the Danes, a race of whom various traditions exist. They are
said to have had red hair; sometimes they are spoken of as large men,
sometimes as short men. One old woman, who had little belief in fairies,
told me that in the old troubled times in Ireland people lived inside
the forts; these people were the Danes, and they used to light fires on
the top as a signal from one fort to another. I heard from an elderly
man of Danes having encamped on his grandmother's farm. Smoke was seen
rising from an unfrequented spot, and when an uncle went to investigate
the matter he found small huts with no doors, only a bundle of sticks
laid across the entrance. In one of the huts he saw a pot boiling on the
fire, and going forward he began to stir the contents. Immediately a
red-haired man and woman rushed in; they appeared angry at the
intrusion, and when he went out threw a plate after him.
The traditions in regard both to Danes and fairies are very similar in
different parts of Ireland. In Co. Cavan the country people spoke of the
beautiful music of the fairies, and told me of their living in a fort
near Lough Oughter. One woman said they were sometimes called Ganelochs,
and were about the size of children, and an old man described them as
little people about one or two feet high, riding on small horses.
In Co. Waterford I was told that the fairies were not ghosts: they lived
in the air. One man might see them while they would be invisible to
others.
In an interesting lecture on the "Customs and Superst | 1,412.779466 |
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Price 25 Cents
The Vampire Cat
By
GERARD VAN ETTEN
SERGEL'S
ACTING
DRAMA
No. 641
ART WORKERS LEAGUE
PUBLISHED BY
THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY
CHARLES H SERGEL, PRESIDENT
Practical Instructions for
Private Theatricals
By W. D. EMERSON
Author of "A Country Romance," "The Unknown Rival,"
"Humble Pie," etc.
Price, 25 cents
Here is a practical hand-book, describing in detail all the
accessories, properties, scenes and apparatus necessary for an
amateur production. In addition to the descriptions in words,
everything is clearly shown in the numerous pictures, more
than one hundred being inserted in the book. No such useful
book has ever been offered to the amateur players of any
country.
CONTENTS
Chapter I. =Introductory Remarks.=
Chapter II. =Stage, How to Make, etc.= In drawing-rooms or
parl | 1,412.782445 |
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DEBORAH
By James M. Ludlow
_Along the Friendly Way._ Reminiscences and impressions. Illustrated,
$2.00.
_Avanti!_ _Garibaldi's Battle Cry._ A Tale of the Resurrection of
Sicily--1860. 12mo, cloth, net $1.25.
Sicily, the picturesque in the time of Garibaldi, is the scene of this
stirring romance.
_Sir Raoul._ A Story of the Theft of an Empire. Illustrated. 12mo,
cloth, net $1.50.
"Adventure succeeds adventure with breathless rapidity."--_New York
Sun._
_Deborah._ A Tale of the Times of Judas Maccabæus. Illustrated, net
$1.50.
"Nothing in the class of fiction to which 'Deborah' belongs, exceeds
it in vividness and rapidity of action."--_The Outlook._
_Judge West's Opinion._ Cloth, net $1.00.
_Jesse ben David._ A Shepherd of Bethlehem. Illustrated, cloth, boxed,
net $1.00.
_Incentives for Life._ _Personal and Public._ Cloth, $1.25.
_The Baritone's Parish._ Illustrated,.35.
_The Discovery of Self._ Paper-board, net.50.
[Illustration]
DEBORAH
A TALE OF THE TIMES
_of_
JUDAS MACCABAEUS
_by_
JAMES M. LUDLOW
_AUTHOR OF
THE CAPTAIN OF THE JANIZARIES_
_ETC_
[Illustration]
NEW YORK CHICAGO TORONTO
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
Copyright, 1901, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 17 North Wabash Ave.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 75 Princes Street
TABLE OF CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--THE CITY OF PRIDE, 11
II.--THE CITY OF DESOLATION, 22
III.--THE LITTLE BLIND SEER, 32
IV.--THE DISCUS THROW, 39
V.--A FLOWER IN A TORRENT, 46
VI.--A JEWISH CUPID, 54
VII.--IN THE TOILS OF APOLLONIUS, 63
VIII.--DEBORAH DISCOVERS HERSELF, 71
IX.--THE NASI'S TRIUMPH, 79
X.--JUDAS MACCABÆUS, 91
XI.--THE PRIEST'S KNIFE, 106
XII.--THE FORT OF THE ROCKS, 111
XIII.--THE DAUGHTER OF THE VOICE, 120
XIV.--THE SPY, 130
XV.--THE BATTLE OF THE WADY, 140
XVI.--THE BATTLEFIELD OF A HEART, 146
XVII.--A FAIR WASHERWOMAN, 160
XVIII.--HIGH PRIEST! HIGH DEVIL! 171
XIX.--THE RENEGADE, 179
XX.--A FEMALE SYMPOSIUM, 185
XXI.--BATTLE OF BETHHORON, 193
XXII.--A PRELUDE WITHOUT THE PLAY, 200
XXIII.--THE GREED OF GLAUCON, 205
XXIV.--LESSONS IN DIPLOMACY, 209
XXV.--A JEWESS TAKES NO ORDERS FROM THE ENEMY, 215
XXVI.--TO UNMASK THE PRINCESS, 221
XXVII.--THE QUEEN OF THE GROVE, 227
XXVIII.--A PRISONER, 234
XXIX.--A RAID, 243
XXX.--FOILED, 250
XXXI.--THE SHEIKHS, 258
XXXII.--THE CASTLE OF MASADA, 266
XXXIII.--WITH BEN AARON, 276
XXXIV.--QUICK LOVE: QUICK HATE! 282
XXXV.--WORSHIP BEFORE BATTLE, 289
XXXVI.--THE TEMPTRESS, 298
XXXVII.--"IF I WERE A JEW," 304
XXXVIII.--THE POISONER, 309
XXXIX.--BATTLE OF EMMAUS, 313
XL.--"A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM," 321
XLI.--A STRANGE VISITOR, 327
XLII.--A CLOSE CALL FOR DION, 332
XLIII.--BATTLE OF BETHZUR, 339
XLIV.--A WIFE? 346
XLV.--THE TRIAL, 354
XLVI.--DISENTANGLED THREADS, 363
XLVII.--A QUEEN OF ISRAEL? 367
XLVIII.--A BROKEN SENTENCE FINISHED, 377
XLIX.--THE HIDDEN HAND, 386
L.--THE VENGEANCE OF JUDAS, 392
LI.--A KING, INDEED, 401
AUTHOR'S NOTE, 407
DEBORAH
I
THE CITY OF PRIDE
King Antiochus, self-styled Epiphanes, the Glorious, was in a humor
that ill-suited that title. He cursed his scribe who had just read to
him a letter, kicked away the cushions where his royal and gouty feet
had been resting, and strode about the chamber declaring that, by all
the gods! he would make such a show in Antioch that the whole world
would be agog with amazement.
The letter which exploded the temper of his majesty was from Philippi,
in Macedonia, and told how the Romans, those insolent republicans of
the West, had made a magnificent fête to commemorate their conquest of
the country of Perseus, the last of the kings of Greece.
Epiphanes was a compound of pusillanimity and conceit. He could forget
the insult offered by a Roman officer who drew about "The Glorious" a
circle in the sand, and threatened to thrash the kingship out of him
if he did not at once desist from a certain attempt upon Egypt; but he
could not endure that another should outshine him in the pomp for which
Antioch was famous. This Eagle of Syria, as he liked to be called,
would rather have his talons cut than lose any of his plumage.
Hence that great oath of the king. So loud and ominous was it that
the pet jackanapes sprang to the shoulder of the statue of the Syrian
Venus, and clung with his hairy arms about her marble neck. The giant
guardsmen in the adjacent court, who, half asleep, stood leaning upon
their pikes, were startled into spasmodic motion, and shouldered their
weapons, before their contemptuous glances showed that they understood
the words that rang out to them.
"By all the gods! if Rome has the power, and Alexandria the commerce,
Antioch shall be queen in splendor, though it takes all the gold of all
the provinces to dress her."
The scribe smiled blandly and bowed his appreciation of this new-coming
glory of his master. The jackanapes took heart, and, after annihilating
some of his own personal enemies with vigorous scratching of his
haunches, leaped from the statue to the arm of the King's chair. So the
grand pageant was ordered.
All the world was invited to the Syrian capital. For an entire
month such splendors and sports were seen at Daphne, the famous
pleasure-grounds near to Antioch, that ever after the capital was
called Epidaphne, the City by the Grove. The heights of Silpius, on
whose lower <DW72> Antioch lay like a jewel in the lap of a queen,
blazed by day with a thousand banners, and at night with fires whose
reflection turned the Orontes that flowed below the city into a stream
of molten gold.
One day was devoted to military display. There were fifty thousand
soldiers of many nations, from the perfectly formed Greek of the
Peloponnesus to the Persian, who made up for his lack of muscle by the
superior glitter of his spear, and the lithe and swarthy Arabs from
all the deserts between the Ægean and the Euphrates. Plumes of gold
nodded above shields of bronze and silver. Hundreds of chariots glowed
like rainbows in their parti- enamel, and were drawn by horses
buckled and bossed with precious gems. Droves of elephants armored in
dazzling steel carried upon their backs howdahs like thrones.
A stalwart young Greek stood looking at this martial display. He wore
the chiton, or under-garment, cut short above the knees, and belted
at the loins, where hung a stout sword indicating that he too was a
soldier.
"What think you, Dion?" asked a comrade.
"Why, that the body-guard of our King Perseus, though numbering but
three thousand, could have annihilated this whole mongrel horde as
readily as Alexander did the million when he won this land for his
degenerate successors. But I must not criticise the service I am
enrolled to enter."
Following the soldiery in the procession came a thousand young men,
each wearing a crown of seeming gold, clad in glistening white silk,
and holding aloft a huge tusk of ivory. These symboled the trade wealth
of Syria.
But the army having passed by, the Greek was soon wearied with the rest
of the display; and, bidding his companion farewell, with a few sage
suggestions about the temptations of the Grove at night, such as one
young fellow might give another, went into the city.
The second day's festivities were of a less valiant, though not less
fascinating sort. It was the Day of Beauty. Hundreds of fair women,
in balconies that overhung the narrow streets of the city, or grouped
upon platforms here and there throughout the Grove, flung into the air
the dust of sandalwood and other spiceries, or sprinkled the crowds
with drops of aromatic ointments. At the crossing of the paths were
great vessels of nard and cinnamon and oils, scented with marjoram and
lily, that even the paupers might delight themselves with the perfume
of princes. Tanks of wine and tables spread with viands were as free as
they were costly.
But the King himself was the most extravagant provision of the show.
In him the dignity of a king was less than the vanity of the man: his
coxcomb more than his crown. It cut him to the quick that a courtier
should outdress him, a charioteer better manage his steeds, or a
fakir set the mouths of the crowd more widely gaping. In the military
procession yesterday he had sat between the tusks of an enormous
elephant, and pricked the brute's trunk with a golden <DW8>. He had also
ridden a famous stallion,--tightly curbed, it is true, and flanked by
six athletic grooms.
His majesty's originality was especially shown on the Day of Beauty by
his riding beside Clarissa, the famous dancer, in the chariot where
she reclined as Queen of the Grove, an apparition of Astarte herself.
The extemporized divinity of love wore a moon-shaped tiara of silver,
the symbol of the Queen of Heaven; Epiphanes put on an aureole of gold
to represent the glory of the Sun. A score of women whose forms were
familiar to all the frequenters of the dancing gardens of Daphne lay at
their feet.
Dion was an onlooker. He had caught so much of the spirit of the day as
to curl his locks and drape a purple himation or outer cloak from his
left shoulder.
"That's the Macedonian," said one of Clarissa's satellites, as from her
float she spied the graceful form in the crowd.
"A perfect Apollo!" was the critical response, which drew a jealous
glance from even The Glorious, who made the un | 1,412.786005 |
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Transcribed form the 1911 W. Foulsham & Co. Ltd. edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM
To my friend Bertha Nicoll with affectionate esteem.
CHAPTER I--ADAM SALTON ARRIVES
Adam Salton sauntered into the Empire Club, Sydney, and found awaiting
him a letter from his grand-uncle. He had first heard from the old
gentleman less than a year before, when Richard Salton had claimed
kinship, stating that he had been unable to write earlier, as he had
found it very difficult to trace his grand-nephew's address. Adam was
delighted and replied cordially; he had often heard his father speak of
the older branch of the family with whom his people had long lost touch.
Some interesting correspondence had ensued. Adam eagerly opened the
letter which had only just arrived, and conveyed a cordial invitation to
stop with his grand-uncle at Lesser Hill, for as long a time as he could
spare.
"Indeed," Richard Salton went on, "I am in hopes that you will make your
permanent home here. You see, my dear boy, you and I are all that remain
of our race, and it is but fitting that you should succeed me when the
time comes. In this year of grace, 1860, I am close on eighty years of
age, and though we have been a long-lived race, the span of life cannot
be prolonged beyond reasonable bounds. I am prepared to like you, and to
make your home with me as happy as you could wish. So do come at once on
| 1,412.787812 |
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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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CONSIDERATIONS
ON
RELIGION AND PUBLIC EDUCATION,
WITH
REMARKS
ON THE _SPEECH_ OF
_M. DUPONT_,
DELIVERED IN THE
NATIONAL CONVENTION
OF
FRANCE.
TOGETHER WITH
AN ADDRESS TO THE LADIES, &c.
OF
_GREAT BRITAIN and IRELAND_.
[Decoration]
BY HANNAH MORE.
FIRST _AMERICAN_ EDITION.
PRINTED AT _BOSTON_,
BY WELD AND GREENOUGH.
SOLD at the MAGAZINE OFFICE, No. 49, State Street.
MDCCXCIV.
[Decoration]
A PREFATORY ADDRESS TO THE LADIES, &c. of GREAT BRITAIN and IRELAND, IN
BEHALF OF THE FRENCH EMIGRANT CLERGY.
[Decoration]
If it be allowed that there may arise occasions so extraordinary, that
all the lesser motives of delicacy ought to vanish before them; it is
presumed that the present emergency will in some measure justify the
hardiness of an Address from a private individual, who, stimulated by
the urgency of the case, sacrifices inferior considerations to the
ardent desire of raising further supplies towards relieving a distress
as pressing as it is unexampled.
We are informed by public advertisement, that the large sums already so
liberally subscribed for the Emigrant Clergy, are almost exhausted.
Authentic information adds, that multitudes of distressed Exiles in the
island of Jersey, are on the point of wanting bread.
Very many to whom this address is made have already contributed. O let
them not be weary in well-doing! Many are making generous exertions for
the just and natural claims of the widows and children of our brave
seamen and soldiers. Let it not be said, that the present is an
_interfering_ claim. Those to whom I write, have bread enough, and to
spare. You, who fare sumptuously every day, and yet complain you have
little to bestow, let not this bounty be subtracted from another bounty,
but rather from some superfluous expense.
The beneficent and right minded want no arguments to be pressed upon
them; but I write to those of every description. Luxurious habits of
living, which really furnish the distressed with the fairest grounds for
application, are too often urged as a motive for withholding assistance,
and produced as a plea for having little to spare. Let her who indulges
such habits, and pleads such excuses in consequence, reflect, that by
retrenching _one_ costly dish from her abundant table, the superfluities
of _one_ expensive desert, _one_ evening's public amusement, she may
furnish at least a week's subsistence to more than one person,[A] as
liberally bred perhaps as herself, and who, in his own country, may have
often tasted how much more blessed it is to give than to receive--to a
minister of God, who has been long accustomed to bestow the necessaries
he is now reduced to solicit.
Even your young daughters, whom maternal prudence has not yet furnished
with the means of bestowing, may be cheaply taught the first rudiments
of charity, together with an important lesson of economy: They may be
taught to sacrifice a feather, a set of ribbons, an expensive ornament,
an idle diversion. And if they are thus instructed, that there is no
true charity without self denial, they will _gain_ more than they are
called upon to _give_: For the suppression of one luxury for a
charitable purpose, is the exercise of two virtues, and this without any
pecuniary expense.
Let the sick and afflicted remember how dreadful it must be, to be
exposed to sufferings, without one of the alleviations which mitigate
_their_ affliction. How dreadful it is to be without comforts, without
necessaries, without a home--_without a country_! While the gay and
prosperous would do well to recollect, how suddenly and terribly those
for whom we plead, were, by the surprising vicissitudes of life, thrown
from equal heights of gaiety and prosperity. And let those who have
husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, or friends, reflect on the
uncertainties of war, and the revolution of human affairs. It is only by
imagining the possibility of those who are dear to us being placed in
the same calamitous circumstances, that we can obtain an adequate
feeling of the woes we are called upon to commiserate.
In a distress so wide and comprehensive, many are prevented from giving
by that common excuse--"That it is but a drop of water in the ocean."
But let them reflect, that if all the individual drops were withheld,
there would be no ocean at all; and the inability to give much ought
not, on any occasion, to be converted into an excuse for giving nothing.
Even moderate circumstances need not plead an exemption. The industrious
tradesman will not, even in a political view, be eventually a loser by
his small contribution. The money raised is neither carried out of our
country, nor dissipated in luxuries, but returns again to the community;
to our shops and to our markets, to procure the bare necessaries of
life.
Some have objected to the difference of _religion_ of those for whom we
solicit. Such an objection hardly deserves a serious answer. Surely if
the superstitious Tartar hopes to become possessed of the courage and
talents of the enemy he slays, the Christian is not afraid of catching,
or of propagating the error of the sufferer he relieves.--Christian
charity is of no party. We plead not for their faith, but for their
wants. And let the more scrupulous, who look for desert as well as
distress in the objects of their bounty, bear in mind, that if these men
could have sacrificed their conscience to their convenience, they had
not now been in this country. Let us shew them the purity of _our_
religion, by the beneficence of our actions.
If you will permit me to press upon you such high motives (and it were
to be wished that in every action we were to be influenced by the
highest) perhaps no act of bounty to which you may be called out, can
ever come so immediately under that solemn and affecting description,
which will be recorded in the great day of account--_I was a stranger
and ye took me in_.----
[Decoration]
_The following is an exact Translation from a_ SPEECH _made in the
National Convention at Paris, on Friday the 14th of December, 1792, in a
Debate on the Subject of establishing Public Schools for the Education
of Youth, by Citizen_ DUPONT, _a Member of considerable Weight; and as
the Doctrines contained in it were received with unanimous Applause,
except from two or three of the Clergy, it may be fairly considered as
an Exposition of the Creed of that Enlightened Assembly. Translated
from_ Le Moniteur _of Sunday the 16th of December, 1792_.
[Decoration]
What! Thrones are overturned! Sceptres broken! Kings expire! And yet the
Altars of GOD remain! (Here there is a murmur from some Members; and the
Abbe ICHON demands that the person speaking may be called to order.)
Tyrants, in outrage to nature, continue to burn an impious incense on
those Altars! (Some murmurs arise, but they are lost in the applauses
from the majority of the Assembly.) The Thrones that have been reversed,
have left these Altars naked, unsupported, and tottering. A single
breath of enlightened reason will now be sufficient to make them
disappear; and if humanity is under obligations to the French nation for
the first of these benefits, the fall of Kings, can it be doubted but
that the French people | 1,412.885062 |
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/oystersfish00murr
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
OYSTERS AND FISH
by
THOMAS J. MURREY
Author of “Fifty Soups,” “Fifty Salads,” “Breakfast
Dainties,” “Puddings and Dainty Desserts,” “The
Book of Entrées,” “Cookery for Invalids,”
“Practical Carving,” “Luncheon,” “Valuable
Cooking Recipes,” etc.
[Illustration]
New York
Copyright, 1888, by
Frederick A. Stokes & Brother
1888
DEDICATION.
_To the Inventor of the_
SHELDON CLOSE-TOP GAS-STOVE,
_Who spent the best part of his life solving the
perplexed problem of Economy in Fuel and
Labor in our homes, and to those gentlemen
connected with gas companies, who assisted
and encouraged him, this little work is
most respectfully dedicated by_
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 11
THE OYSTER 11
THE OYSTER SEASON 11
OYSTERS OUT OF SEASON 12
OYSTERS PRESERVED IN SHELL 12
THE FOOD OF THE OYSTER 14
FORMATION OF THE DEEP SHELL 14
COCK OYSTERS 15
GREEN OYSTERS 15
BANQUET OYSTERS 16
ORDERING OYSTERS FOR THE FAMILY TABLE 17
HOW OYSTERS SHOULD BE OPENED 18
HOW TO SERVE RAW OYSTERS 18
COLLATION SERVICE 19
HOW TO EAT A RAW OYSTER 19
A BARREL OF OYSTERS 20
READ THIS! 20
COOKED OYSTERS 21
STEWED OYSTERS 21
PHILADELPHIA FRIED OYSTERS 22
CURRY OF OYSTERS 24
PICKLED-OYSTER OMELET 24
DEVILED OYSTERS ON TOAST 24
PICKLED OYSTERS 24
SCALLOPED OYSTERS 25
OYSTER SALAD 25
PLAIN FRIED OYSTERS 26
MISS PARLOA’S “NEW COOK-BOOK” 26
OYSTER TOAST 26
OYSTER OMELET 26
OYSTERS, BROILED 27
TRIPE WITH OYSTERS 27
OYSTERS EN BROCHETTE 27
FRIED OYSTERS 28
OYSTER AND CANNED SALMON PIE 28
OYSTER PATTIES 28
OYSTERS À LA POULETTE 29
PIE OF OYSTERS AND SCALLOPS 29
STEAMED OYSTERS 30
TO SERVE STEAMED OYSTERS 30
ROAST OYSTERS 31
BAKED OYSTERS 31
CLAMS 31
LITTLE-NECK CLAMS 31
SOFT CLAMS IN CHAFING-DISH 32
STEWED LITTLE-NECK CLAMS 33
SOFT CLAMS 33
SOFT-SHELL CLAMS SCALLOPED 33
CLAM TOAST 34
CLAM BROTH 34
CLAM FRITTERS 34
FRIED SOFT CLAMS 35
CRABS 35
HARD-SHELL CRABS 35
CRAB PATTIES, CREAM SAUCE 36
SOFT-SHELL CRABS 37
THE CARE OF SOFT CRABS 38
CRABS, SOFT-SHELL 39
CRAB CROQUETTES 39
CRAB PATTIES, À LA BECHAMEL 40
CRABS, À L’AMÉRICAINE 41
CRABS, DEVILED 41
SCALLOPS 42
SCALLOP BROTH 42
SMALL PATTIES OF SCALLOPS 43
FRIED SCALLOPS 43
SCALLOPS EN BROCHETTE 44
STEWED SCALLOPS 44
MUSSELS 44
THE MUSSEL 44
THE LOBSTER 45
REMARKS ON THE LOBSTER 45
THE SEASON FOR LOBSTER 45
SOFT-SHELL LOBSTER NOT EDIBLE 46
SELECTING LOBSTERS 46
VALUE OF THE LOBSTER AS FOOD 46
BROILED LOBSTER 47
LOBSTER CROQUETTES WITH PEASE 48
LOBSTERS EN BROCHETTE 48
DEVILED LOBSTER 49
STEWED LOBSTER, À LA CRÉOLE 49
CURRY OF LOBSTER 50
LOBSTER SALAD 50
THE OYSTER CRAB 51
TO SERVE OYSTER CRABS 52
OYSTER-CRAB OMELET 52
OYSTER-CRAB SAUCE 52
ACKNOWLEDGMENT 53
SHRIMPS 53
MARKET PRICE OF SHRIMPS 54
SHRIMP OMELET 54
SHRIMP SAUCE 54
PRAWNS 54
CURRY OF PRAWNS 55
PRAWNS, DEVILED, EN COQUILLE 55
PRAWNS, SAUTÉ, À LA MARENGO 55
PRAWN SALAD 56
CRAYFISH 56
CRAYFISH OMELET 57
SALMON 57
SALMON STEAK 57
CANNED SALMON 57
SALMON PATTIES 58
SALMON SURPRISE 59
SALMON À LA CRÉOLE 59
SALMON PIE 60
SALMON IN JELLY 60
SALMON OMELET 61
SALMON, GERMAN STYLE 61
SALMON À L’ITALIENNE 61
SALMON À LA HOLLANDAISE 62
SALMON, HUNTER’S STYLE 62
BOUILLABAISSE 63
CODFISH 63
BOILED CODFISH, OYSTER SAUCE 63
CODFISH TONGUES 64
CODFISH STEAK 64
NEW-ENGLAND CODFISH BALLS 65
BAKED COD 66
SALT CODFISH WITH CREAM 66
SCROD 67
BROOK TROUT 67
BROOK TROUT, SPORTSMAN STYLE 68
BROILED TROUT 69
BROOK TROUT, BAKED 69
BROOK TROUT, BOILED 70
MISCELLANEOUS 70
CATFISH, FRIED 70
TENDERLOIN TROUT 71
FRICASSEED EELS 71
EEL PATTIES 72
STEWED EELS, HOBOKEN TURTLE CLUB STYLE 72
PAN BASS, ANCHOVY BUTTER 73
FILLET OF FLOUNDER, TARTAR SAUCE 74
FRIED TOMCODS 75
BROILED SALT CODFISH 75
BROILED SALT MACKEREL 76
FRIED PORGIES WITH SALT PORK 77
FISH CURRIES 78
A PLAIN FISH CURRY 78
CURRY OF SCALLOPS 78
CURRY OF CRAYFISH 79
CURRY OF EELS, WITH RICE 79
CURRY OF SHAD ROE 79
CURRY OF FROGS’ LEGS 80
BROILED WEAKFISH 80
BAKED WHITEFISH, BORDEAUX SAUCE 81
HALIBUT, EGG SAUCE 82
EGG SAUCE 82
FRIED BUTTERFISH 82
BROILED SHAD 82
BAKED SHAD 83
SHAD ROE À LA POULETTE 83
BROILED ROYANS 84
BROILED SARDINES 84
BROILED SMELTS, SAUCE TARTARE 84
SMELTS FRIED, SAUCE TARTARE 85
BROILED WHITEFISH 85
SHEEP’S-HEAD WITH DRAWN BUTTER 85
DRAWN BUTTER 86
BROILED SHEEP’S-HEAD 86
INTRODUCTORY.
Would it not be beneficial, were the average American to substitute
fish for the everlasting steak and chop of the breakfast-table?
For the sake of variety, if for no other reason, we should eat more
fish; and it need not always be fried or broiled. A well-made fish stew
or a curry should be acceptable to the majority of us, and undoubtedly
would be if appetizingly prepared.
This little work does not by any means propose to exhaust the subject
of sea-food, for the subject is almost inexhaustible; but it places
within the reach of all a series of recipes and suggestions extremely
valuable to the average housewife.
THE OYSTER.
=The Oyster Season= opens in the city of New York on the first day
of September, and closes on the last day of April in each year. The
annual amount of business done in the oyster trade is close on to
$5,000,000. Each successive year witnesses an increase in the business.
Notwithstanding the R canon, there are thousands of persons who eat
oysters at the summer resorts along the seashore throughout hot weather.
=Oysters out of Season.=--The writer does not recommend the eating of
oysters out of their season, no matter how fresh they may be, or how
appetizing they may appear.
To supply the demands made upon them by summer resorts, oyster-planters
shift the oysters, during the spawning season, from warm shallow water
to cold deep water. This checks or prevents the oysters from spawning,
and to all appearance they are edible; but the writer firmly believes
that interfering with the laws of nature affects the health of the
oyster, and they cannot be as wholesome as planters would have us
believe.
=Oysters Preserved in Shell.=--So long as the oyster retains its
natural juices, it will live out of water, provided the changes in
the temperature are not too sudden. The moment the oyster opens its
shells, however, the juices run out, and in a short time afterward the
oyster dies. To prevent the oyster opening its stony overcoat, is
the object of oyster-shippers; and the Patent Office bears witness to
their many devices having this object in view. Some wire the shells,
others clasp or envelope the broad end of the shells with tin or
other metal. No doubt these devices aid in keeping the oyster alive
and fresh a little longer. Whether the nervous system of the oyster
is affected by the process, is a question. Scientists tell us that
oysters possess organs of sensation, and all who have handled oysters
learn in time that a sudden jar or shock will kill them. The jar of the
machinery of a steamboat will sometimes kill an oyster. When shipped
to Europe they are ordered to be stored as far away from the machinery
as possible. Some authorities claim that the oyster can hear. One
cannot noisily approach an oyster-bed at feeding time without their
hearing, and instantly every shell is closed. A cloud or a boat passing
over an oyster-bank will cause every shell to close with proverbial
tightness, and the sound of thunder will often kill them while they are
in transit,--conclusive evidence that the nervous system in an oyster,
while not highly developed, is of sufficient importance to merit
attention from those who roughly handle oysters.
=The Food of the Oyster= consists of minute animal and vegetable
organisms and small particles of organized matter. Ordinary sea-water
contains an abundance of this sort of food, which is drawn into the
gills with the water. As the water strains through the pores into
the water tubes, the food particles are caught on the surface of the
gills by a layer of adhesive slime. As soon as they are entangled,
the microscopic hair-like projections on the gills strike against
them in such a way as to slide them along the gills toward the mouth.
When they reach the anterior ends of the gills, they are pushed off,
and fall between the lips, which are also covered with thin hair-like
projections, which carry the particles forward until they slide into
the mouth. No wonder the intelligent tramp wished that he might become
an oyster. His food would then come to him in a sort of endless
progression.
=Formation of the Deep Shell.=--Although the oyster lies upon the
bottom with one shell above and one below, the shells are not upon the
top and bottom of the body, but upon the right and left sides. The
two shells are symmetrical in the young oyster; but after it becomes
attached, the lower or attached side grows faster than the other, and
becomes deep and spoon-shaped, while the free valve remains nearly
flat. In nearly every case the lower or deep valve is the left.
=Cock Oysters.=--There is a belief among oyster-eaters, that the
dark-gray or black oysters are male oysters, and are therefore superior
to the female oyster. Such misinformation was evidently promulgated
by oyster-openers in anticipation of a tip for serving selected
oysters. There is no truth in the assertion, however, for there are
just as many black female oysters as there are black male oysters.
There is no characteristic color by which a male or cock oyster can
be distinguished from a female oyster. Microscopic examination, or a
scientific eye, is the means of discovering the sex of an oyster.
The black-oyster romance is of ancient origin. The Roman
oyster-smashers successfully “worked it” on Pliny, Horace, and other
ancient writers and epicures.
=Green Oysters.=--At least a million dollars worth of oysters are
annually destroyed in New-York waters by sludge acid from the oil
refineries and illegal dumpings. The acid kills the oysters the instant
it touches them, and turns them green. There is very little danger that
a poisoned oyster will reach the consumer, but the loss to the planter
is enormous.
The green tint of the oyster, or in fact any distinguished color the
oyster may possess, is due to the color of its food and to the nature
of the surrounding bottom. The bottom of the Shrewsbury River is mud;
the oysters take on a peculiar tawny color from their muddy bed.
Rockaway oysters exist on a hard sandy bottom. If the beds are covered
with sea-lettuce, as they often are, the oysters take on a delicate
green tint. When the lettuce is removed by a strong tide or high wind,
the oysters gradually assume their white, slightly grayish color. Their
shells are round, thin, and brittle. The shells from mud bottoms are
long, narrow, thick, and spongy. Intruded mud is enclosed by a thin
layer of pearly shell.
The oyster epicure may rest assured of one fact. No matter what the
color of an oyster may be, so long as it is alive and seasonable it is
wholesome. It cannot absorb enough foreign matter to injure the epicure
without committing suicide, and there is no possible danger of any one
_swallowing_ a dead oyster.
=Banquet Oysters.=--As served at the average public banquet, the
raw oyster is a thing of terror to appetite and to weak digestive
organs. When looking for one’s seat, where, through an oversight,
one is not furnished with a chart of the tables, one beholds six
very small emaciated oysters. The heat in the room has absorbed their
moisture, afterwards the bed of fine ice on which they were placed
has melted, and the water overflowed them, thereby finishing the work
of destruction. One must be under the influence of the sherry and
Vermouth of the reception-rooms, to be willing to begin the feast with
such an introductory course. No wonder fashionable society demands a
substitute for the oyster as the dinner season progresses. In the name
of humanity, order the oysters to table and announce the dinner at
the same time. Guests are willing to wait a few moments for toothsome
oysters, provided they are direct from the ice-box.
=Ordering Oysters for the Family Table.=--Send the servant to the
nearest dealer, a few minutes before the oysters are wanted, and let
her wait for them. In this way one is quite sure of procuring freshly
opened oysters. Many dealers begin opening oysters for their family
orders hours before they are to be served; and the result is, they have
lost much of their juices before being served.
Miss Parloa’s “New Cook Book” says, “Six large oysters are usually
allowed each person.” This error should be corrected in future
editions. Large raw oysters on the half-shell are only served at
oyster-counters to countrymen, and are not served at a dinner, no
matter how unpretentious or how elaborate the affair may be.
=How Oysters should be opened.=--In the author’s work on “Luncheon,”
reference is made to the great care which should be exercised in
opening oysters; and it will bear repeating. Reject all oysters opened
by the “smashing” process. The shells are not only broken and ragged,
but, should a person swallow a ragged splinter of oyster-shell, there
is great danger of its killing him. Insist on it that your oysters are
opened by the so-called “stabbing” process.
=How to serve Raw Oysters.=--If for a quiet family affair, where
“opened” oysters are used, keep the plates in ice-water, and dry them
before placing the oysters on them. For more pretentious affairs, but
where fancy oyster-plates are not a part of the dinner service, use
soup-plates. Fill them with fine cracked ice, place a dainty doily
over each, and set the oysters on top of the doily. The lemon should
be served on a side-dish, and not in the centre of the dish as though
one were dining in a restaurant. Four small Rockaways are sufficient
to serve at the ordinary course dinner. In nine cases are out of
ten, Rockaways are served instead of the Blue Points. It is therefore
advisable to order the former; the dealer might make a mistake if he
had them in stock, and send the latter.
It is quite English to serve raw oysters on the flat half-shell, but it
is quite American to serve them on the deep shell. The American way is
the best.
=Collation Service.=--At evening collations, the oysters are served in
the centre of a block of ice. A clear, square block of ice is selected,
and a cavity or receptacle is made in it by the aid of a hot flat-iron
held close to the ice. If one has patience, the cavity may be shaved
out with an ice shave; if a pick is used, one is likely to split the
cake of ice. An ice boat is easily formed by holding a hot flat-iron to
a long piece of ice. Holes may be made through the bottom of the block
of ice, and filled with brilliant flowers; and the outer sides and top
should be handsomely decorated with flowers and smilax. If electric
lights are used in the house, it is an easy matter to place them in the
cake of ice: the effect is striking. The wires are carried from the
room below the dining-room, or under the carpet.
=How to eat a Raw Oyster.=--Avoid as much as possible the use of
condiments, when eating oysters. They were never intended as an
accompaniment of the oyster, and are only used by country people.
A suspicion of lemon; a dash of salt when the dealer has kept them
covered with cracked ice, and the descending ice-water washed out all
sea flavor; and, for palates grown callous, a dash of cayenne. Such
abominations as ketchup, Worcestershire sauce, etc., should never be
used. Do not bolt the oyster, but masticate it; and one will soon learn
to tell the different oysters by their different flavors. By bolting
them, one will never know how to thoroughly appreciate them.
=A Barrel of Oysters.=--Persons living away from the city are advised
to purchase oysters by the barrel. If kept with the deep shell down,
and in a cool place, they will live a long time. The novice is likely
to bruise fingers in vain attempts to open them; but, like carving,
the opening of oysters should be part of a man’s education. Then there
is the charm of roasting the oysters in the old-fashioned fire-place.
Here the novice may burn a finger or two, but then it’s fun for the
youngsters.
=Read this!=--In W. Mattieu Williams’s “Chemistry of Cookery,” I
find the following: “More than half a century has elapsed since Dr.
Beaumont published the results of his experiments on Alexis St. Martin.
These showed that fresh raw oysters required two hours and fifty-five
minutes to digest, and stewed fresh oysters three and a half hours for
digestion; against one hour for boiled tripe, and three hours for roast
or boiled beef or mutton.”
The general impression among the people is, that raw oysters digest
almost as soon as they become of the same temperature of the stomach.
COOKED OYSTERS.
=Stewed Oysters.=--Boil half a pint of milk; add to it eleven
good-sized oysters, a walnut of butter, a dash of salt and of pepper.
Allow the milk to boil up just once, and serve.
The average cook puts the oysters on first, and after they boil cold
milk is added. When the milk boils, the stew is served. The result
of such treatment of the oyster causes it to shrivel so that it is
hardly recognizable, and a good-sized oyster becomes a mere sprat. From
this process of cooking originated the ancient moth-eaten jokes about
church-fair stews.
Cooked as in the foregoing recipe, the oyster retains its plump
characteristics.
=Philadelphia Fried Oysters.=--The author originally published this
recipe in the New York “Evening Sun” by request.
The average New Yorker may call the City of Brotherly Love a sleepy
sort of a place, but it is wide enough awake gastronomically. It has
within its city limits cooks who prepare fried oysters that fairly
melt in one’s mouth. They are so delicate that there is not a pang of
dyspepsia in a whole winter’s supply of the toothsome dainties. The
reputation of Finneli’s Philadelphia fried oysters extends from Maine
to California; and immense sums have been offered for the recipe, but
its owner would not sell his secret at any price.
Beat up three eggs thoroughly; add half a pint of oyster-juice,
a pepper-spoonful of cayenne, a saltspoonful of black pepper, a
tablespoonful of salt, and a teaspoonful of English mustard. Work
the mixture to a batter, and gradually add a gill of oil. Now comes
the more particular part of the formula. Cover a board or part of a
table with a layer of cracker-crumbs half an inch deep. Drain fifty
oysters free from liquid, place them on the cracker-crumbs, and
dredge over them more cracker-crumbs. See to it that one oyster is
not on top of another. Pick up each oyster by its beard, and dip it
in the batter. Have ready a quantity of bread-crumbs grated from the
white part of stale bread; spread this out on the table, and after
the oysters have been dipped in the batter lay them carefully on the
bread-crumbs two inches apart. After they are all spread out, turn them
over neatly, which will bread-crumb the other side. Dip them in the
batter again by taking hold of the beard, and again spread them out on
the bread-crumbs. Under no circumstances place one oyster on top of
another, or in any way press them together; this would make them heavy.
When the fat is so hot that the smoke from it would light a match, then
fry them by again taking hold of the beard, one at a time, and dropping
them into the fat. When they are dark brown, take them up, and strew
over them a quantity of salt.
The secret is in carefully handling the oyster after it has been
breaded. How differently New York restaurants serve fried oysters!
In almost every eating place in the city, one sees piles of oysters
covered with a batter that plainly shows the cook purposely pressed
them between his hands. When served they look more like liver-pads than
human food. Nothing short of a human ostrich could possibly digest
them. The Philadelphia oyster, however, is a culinary poem.
=Curry of Oysters.=--Put an ounce of butter in a pan; add to it a
teaspoon of curry-powder, and water enough to prevent burning. Put
fifteen oysters in just water enough to cover them, simmer three
minutes, and drain; thicken the broth with a teaspoonful of flour, salt
to taste, stir this into the curry; add the oysters, simmer a moment,
and serve with boiled rice.
=Pickled-Oyster Omelet.=--Rinse six spiced or pickled oysters in cold
water. Divide an ounce of butter into little balls, and roll them in
flour; put them in a saucepan, heat gradually, and whisk to a cream;
add a gill of hot water, salt and pepper. Cut the oysters in two,
and add to the butter. Prepare an omelet in the usual manner; before
folding, add the oysters; turn out on a hot dish, and serve.
=Deviled Oysters on Toast.=--Mix together a heaping saltspoonful of
mustard flour, half a saltspoonful each of white pepper and salt, and
the yolk of one egg. Dip six oysters in the paste, then in fine crumbs,
and broil over a moderate fire. When done, arrange on toast, and
squeeze over them the juice of half a lemon.
=Pickled Oysters.=--A few pickled oysters may be served instead of
clams during warm weather. Scald a quart of oysters a moment, drain,
and put them in jars. To a pint of oyster liquor, add half a pint of
hot water and half a pint of hot vinegar; pour over the oysters; add
three cloves, four whole peppers, a small bit of mace, and a slice of
lemon, to each jar. This will be sufficient for two ordinary fruit-jars.
=Scalloped Oysters.=--Put in the bottom of a yellow dish two ounces of
sweet butter, divided into little pieces. Add a layer of raw oysters,
and cover them with cracker-dust or bread-crumbs, and add salt and
pepper to taste; another layer of oysters, and so on until the dish is
full, the last or top layer to be crumbs, and between each layer there
should be a small amount of butter. Moisten the ingredients with a
liberal quantity of oyster liquid, put small butter balls on top of the
dish, and bake a delicate brown color. Oysters were formerly baked in a
scalloped or shell-shaped dish, hence the name.
=Oyster Salad.=--Boil two dozen small oysters for five minutes in water
enough to cover them; add a little salt and a tablespoonful of vinegar;
drain and cool. Put into a salad-bowl the centre leaves of two heads of
cabbage lettuce, add the oysters whole, pour over them a mayonnaise;
garnish with oyster-crabs, hard-boiled eggs, and, if liked, a few
anchovies cut into fillets.
=Plain Fried Oysters.=--As a rule, fried oysters are not served as
a breakfast dish, owing to the coating with which they are usually
surrounded. Served plain, however, they are quite acceptable. Dry them
well in a napkin, and roll them in a little flour to insure that they
are quite dry, then cook them in a very little hot dripping.
Miss Parloa’s “New Cook-Book” says, “a quart of oysters is enough for a
party of ten” (p. 118). There are from twenty to twenty-five oysters in
a quart, rarely more than this.
=Oyster Toast.=--Select fifteen plump oysters; chop them fine, and add
salt, pepper, and a suspicion of nutmeg. Beat up the yolks of two eggs
with a gill of cream; whisk this into the simmering oysters. When set,
pour the whole over slices of buttered toast.
=Oyster Omelet.=--Stew six oysters in their own liquor for five
minutes; remove the oysters, and thicken the liquid with a walnut of
butter rolled in flour; season with salt and cayenne; whisk this to a
cream. Chop the oysters, and add them to the sauce; simmer until the
sauce thickens. Beat up four eggs lightly, and add a tablespoonful of
cream; turn out into a hot pan, and fry a light gold-color. Before
folding the omelet entirely, place the oysters with part of the sauce
within, and turn it over on a hot dish. The remainder of the sauce
should be poured round it.
=Oysters Broiled.=--Rub the bars of a wire broiler with a little sweet
butter; dry twelve large, plump oysters in a napkin, and place them on
the broiler; brush a little butter over them, and broil over a fire
free from flame and smoke. When done on both sides, arrange them neatly
on toast; pour a little well-seasoned melted butter over them, and
serve.
Do not bread-crumb oysters intend for broiling.
=Tripe with Oysters.=--Tripe, when properly prepared by a simple
process, is very nutritious and easily digested.
Cut up half a pound of well-washed tripe; simmer for three-quarters of
an hour in water slightly salted; take out the tripe; add to the broth
a little butter rolled in flour, salt and pepper; add a little more
flour if not thick enough. Return the tripe and a dozen oysters; simmer
for a few minutes longer, and serve.
=Oysters en Brochette.=--Select one dozen choice oysters; plunge them
into hot water a second to make them firm (this process is called
blanching), then drain, and dip them into melted butter; arrange them
on skewers with alternate layers of neatly sliced bacon; broil over a
moderate fire. When done, add maitre-d’hôtel butter to them, and serve
on the skewers.
=Fried Oysters.=--Beat up the yolks of four eggs with three
tablespoonfuls of sweet oil, and season them with a teaspoonful of
salt and a saltspoonful of cayenne pepper; beat up thoroughly. Dry
twelve fat oysters on a napkin; dip them in the egg batter, then in
cracker-dust; shake off the loose cracker-dust, dip them again in the
egg batter, and lastly roll them in fine _bread-crumbs_. Fry in very
hot fat, using fat enough to cover them. The oil gives them a nice
flavor.
=Oyster and Canned Salmon Pie.=--One pound of best canned salmon, one
pint of solid oysters, half a pint of oyster liquid; cover the bottom
of the dish with neat pieces of the salmon, season with salt and pepper
and an ounce of butter rolled in flour, add a few oysters, and so | 1,412.886239 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.8664100 | 2,945 | 6 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
_By the same Author._
A LITTLE PILGRIM:
In the Unseen.
Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.
MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.
THE LAND OF DARKNESS
[Illustration: colophon]
THE
LAND OF DARKNESS
ALONG WITH SOME
FURTHER CHAPTERS IN THE EXPERIENCES
OF
THE LITTLE PILGRIM
London
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
1888
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE LAND OF DARKNESS 1
THE LITTLE PILGRIM 127
ON THE DARK MOUNTAINS 177
I
THE LAND OF DARKNESS
I found myself standing on my feet, with the tingling sensation of
having come down rapidly upon the ground from a height. There was a
similar feeling in my head, as of the whirling and sickening sensation
of passing downward through the air, like the description Dante gives of
his descent upon Geryon. My mind, curiously enough, was sufficiently
disengaged to think of that, or at least to allow swift passage for the
recollection through my thoughts. All the aching of wonder, doubt, and
fear which I had been conscious of a little while before was gone. There
was no distinct interval between the one condition and the other, nor
in my fall (as I supposed it must have been) had I any consciousness of
change. There was the whirling of the air, resisting my passage, yet
giving way under me in giddy circles, and then the sharp shock of once
more feeling under my feet something solid, which struck yet sustained.
After a little while the giddiness above and the tingling below passed
away, and I felt able to look about me and discern where I was. But not
all at once: the things immediately about me impressed me first--then
the general aspect of the new place.
First of all the light, which was lurid, as if a thunderstorm were
coming on. I looked up involuntarily to see if it had begun to rain; but
there was nothing of the kind, though what I saw above me was a lowering
canopy of cloud, dark, threatening, with a faint reddish tint diffused
upon the vaporous darkness. It was, however, quite sufficiently clear to
see everything, and there was a good deal to see. I was in a street of
what seemed a great and very populous place. There were shops on either
side, full apparently of all sorts of costly wares. There was a
continual current of passengers up and down on both sides of the way,
and in the middle of the street carriages of every description, humble
and splendid. The noise was great and ceaseless, the traffic continual.
Some of the shops were most brilliantly lighted, attracting one’s eyes
in the sombre light outside, which, however, had just enough of day in
it to make these spots of illumination look sickly; most of the places
thus distinguished were apparently bright with the electric or some
other scientific light; and delicate machines of every description,
brought to the greatest perfection, were in some windows, as were also
many fine productions of art, but mingled with the gaudiest and coarsest
in a way which struck me with astonishment. I was also much surprised by
the fact that the traffic, which was never stilled for a moment, seemed
to have no sort of regulation. Some carriages dashed along, upsetting
the smaller vehicles in their way, without the least restraint or order,
either, as it seemed, from their own good sense, or from the laws and
customs of the place. When an accident happened, there was a great
shouting, and sometimes a furious encounter--but nobody seemed to
interfere. This was the first impression made upon me. The passengers on
the pavement were equally regardless. I was myself pushed out of the
way, first to one side, then to another, hustled when I paused for a
moment, trodden upon and driven about. I retreated soon to the doorway
of a shop, from whence with a little more safety I could see what was
going on. The noise made my head ring. It seemed to me that I could not
hear myself think. If this were to go on for ever, I said to myself, I
should soon go mad.
‘Oh no,’ said some one behind me, ‘not at all; you will get used to it;
you will be glad of it. One does not want to hear one’s thoughts; most
of them are not worth hearing.’
I turned round and saw it was the master of the shop, who had come to
the door on seeing me. He had the usual smile of a man who hoped to sell
his wares; but to my horror and astonishment, by some process which I
could not understand, I saw that he was saying to himself, ‘What a d----
d fool! here’s another of those cursed wretches, d---- him!’ all with
the same smile. I started back, and answered him as hotly, ‘What do you
mean by calling me a d----d fool?--fool yourself, and all the rest of
it. Is this the way you receive strangers here?’
‘Yes,’ he said, with the same smile, ‘this is the way; and I only
describe you as you are, as you will soon see. Will you walk in and look
over my shop? Perhaps you will find something to suit you if you are
just setting up, as I suppose.’
I looked at him closely, but this time I could not see that he was
saying anything beyond what was expressed by his lips, and I followed
him into the shop, principally because it was quieter than the street,
and without any intention of buying--for what should I buy in a strange
place where I had no settled habitation, and which probably I was only
passing through?
‘I will look at your things,’ I said, in a way which I believe I had, of
perhaps undue pretension. I had never been over-rich, or of very
elevated station; but I was believed by my friends (or enemies) to have
an inclination to make myself out something more important than I was.
‘I will look at your things, and possibly I may find something that may
suit me; but with all the _ateliers_ of Paris and London to draw from,
it is scarcely to be expected that in a place like this----’
Here I stopped to draw my breath, with a good deal of confusion; for I
was unwilling to let him see that I did not know where I was.
‘A place like this,’ said the shopkeeper, with a little laugh which
seemed to me full of mockery, ‘will supply you better, you will find,
than--any other place. At least you will find it the only place
practicable,’ he added. ‘I perceive you are a stranger here.’
‘Well--I may allow myself to be so--more or less. I have not had time to
form much acquaintance with--the place: what--do you call the
place?--its formal name, I mean,’ I said, with a great desire to keep up
the air of superior information. Except for the first moment I had not
experienced that strange power of looking into the man below the surface
which had frightened me. Now there occurred another gleam of insight,
which gave me once more a sensation of alarm. I seemed to see a light of
hatred and contempt below his smile, and I felt that he was not in the
least taken in by the air which I assumed.
‘The name of the place,’ he said, ‘is not a pretty one. I hear the
gentlemen who come to my shop say that it is not to be named to ears
polite; and I am sure your ears are very polite.’ He said this with the
most offensive laugh, and I turned upon him and answered him, without
mincing matters, with a plainness of speech which startled myself, but
did not seem to move him, for he only laughed again. ‘Are you not
afraid,’ I said, ‘that I will leave your shop and never enter it more?’
‘Oh, it helps to pass the time,’ he said; and without any further
comment began to show me very elaborate and fine articles of furniture.
I had always been attracted to this sort of thing, and had longed to buy
such articles for my house when I had one, but never had it in my power.
Now I had no house, nor any means of paying so far as I knew, but I felt
quite at my ease about buying, and inquired into the prices with the
greatest composure.
‘They are just the sort of thing I want. I will take these, I think;
but you must set them aside for me, for I do not at the present moment
exactly know----’
‘You mean you have got no rooms to put them in,’ said the master of the
shop. ‘You must get a house directly, that’s all. If you’re only up to
it, it is easy enough. Look about until you find something you like, and
then--take possession.’
‘Take possession’--I was so much surprised that I stared at him with
mingled indignation and surprise--‘of what belongs to another man?’ I
said.
I was not conscious of anything ridiculous in my look. I was indignant,
which is not a state of mind in which there is any absurdity; but the
shopkeeper suddenly burst into a storm of laughter. He laughed till he
seemed almost to fall into convulsions, with a harsh mirth which
reminded me of the old image of the crackling of thorns, and had neither
amusement nor warmth in it; and presently this was echoed all around,
and looking up, I saw grinning faces full of derision, bent upon me
from every side, from the stairs which led to the upper part of the
house and from the depths of the shop behind--faces with pens behind
their ears, faces in workmen’s caps, all distended from ear to ear, with
a sneer and a mock and a rage of laughter which nearly sent me mad. I
hurled I don’t know what imprecations at them as I rushed out, stopping
my ears in a paroxysm of fury and mortification. My mind was so
distracted by this occurrence that I rushed without knowing it upon some
one who was passing, and threw him down with the violence of my exit;
upon which I was set on by a party of half a dozen ruffians, apparently
his companions, who would, I thought, kill me, but who only flung me,
wounded, bleeding, and feeling as if every bone in my body had been
broken, down on the pavement--when they went away, laughing too.
I picked myself up from the edge of the causeway, aching and sore from
head to foot, scarcely able to move, yet conscious that if I did not get
myself out of the way one or other of the vehicles which were dashing
along would run over me. It would be impossible to describe the
miserable sensations, both of body and mind, with which I dragged myself
across the crowded pavement, not without curses and even kicks from the
passers-by; and, avoiding the shop from which I still heard those
shrieks of devilish laughter, gathered myself up in the shelter of a
little projection of a wall, where I was for the moment safe. The pain
which I felt was as nothing to the sense of humiliation, the
mortification, the rage with which I was possessed. There is nothing in
existence more dreadful than rage which is impotent, which cannot punish
or avenge, which has to restrain itself and put up with insults showered
upon it. I had never known before what that helpless, hideous
exasperation was; and I was humiliated beyond description, brought
down--I, whose inclination it was to make more of myself than was
justifiable--to the aspect of a miserable ruffian beaten in a brawl,
soiled, covered with mud and dust, my clothes torn, my face bruised and
disfigured: all this within half an hour or thereabout of my arrival in
a strange place where nobody knew me or could do me justice! I kept
looking out feverishly for some one with an air of authority to whom I
could appeal. Sooner or later somebody must go by, who, seeing me in
such a plight, must inquire how it came about, must help me and
vindicate me. I sat there for I cannot tell how long, expecting every
moment that, were it but a policeman, somebody would notice and help me.
But no one came. Crowds seemed to sweep by without a pause--all
hurrying, restless: some with anxious faces, as if any delay would be
mortal; some in noisy groups intercepting the passage of the others.
Sometimes one would pause to point me out to his comrades, with a shout
of derision at my miserable plight; or if by a change of posture I got
outside the protection of my wall, would kick me back with a coarse
injunction to keep out of the way. No one was sorry for me--not a | 1,412.88645 |
2023-11-16 18:40:36.8683330 | 1,476 | 8 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt,
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Title: Correspondence of Wagner and Liszt, Volume 2
Author: Francis Hueffer (translator)
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Transcribed from the 1864 Chapman and Hall “Tales of All Countries”
edition by David Price, email [email protected]
A RIDE ACROSS PALESTINE.
CIRCUMSTANCES took me to the Holy Land without a companion, and compelled
me to visit Bethany, the Mount of Olives, and the Church of the Sepulchre
alone. I acknowledge myself to be a gregarious animal, or, perhaps,
rather one of those which nature has intended to go in pairs. At any
rate I dislike solitude, and especially travelling solitude, and was,
therefore, rather sad at heart as I sat one night at Z—’s hotel, in
Jerusalem, thinking over my proposed wanderings for the next few days.
Early on the following morning I intended to start, of course on
horseback, for the Dead Sea, the banks of Jordan, Jericho, and those
mountains of the wilderness through which it is supposed that Our Saviour
wandered for the forty days when the devil tempted him. I would then
return to the Holy City, and remaining only long enough to refresh my
horse and wipe the dust from my hands and feet, I would start again for
Jaffa, and there catch a certain Austrian steamer which would take me to
Egypt. Such was my programme, and I confess that I was but ill contented
with it, seeing that I was to be alone during the time.
I had already made all my arrangements, and though I had no reason for
any doubt as to my personal security during the trip, I did not feel
altogether satisfied with them. I intended to take a French guide, or
dragoman, who had been with me for some days, and to put myself under the
peculiar guardianship of two Bedouin Arabs, who were to accompany me as
long as I should remain east of Jerusalem. This travelling through the
desert under the protection of Bedouins was, in idea, pleasant enough;
and I must here declare that I did not at all begrudge the forty
shillings which I was told by our British consul that I must pay them for
their trouble, in accordance with the established tariff. But I did
begrudge the fact of the tariff. I would rather have fallen in with my
friendly Arabs, as it were by chance, and have rewarded their fidelity at
the end of our joint journeyings by a donation of piastres to be settled
by myself, and which, under such circumstances, would certainly have been
as agreeable to them as the stipulated sum. In the same way I dislike
having waiters put down in my bill. I find that I pay them twice over,
and thus lose money; and as they do not expect to be so treated, I never
have the advantage of their civility. The world, I fear, is becoming too
fond of tariffs.
“A tariff!” said I to the consul, feeling that the whole romance of my
expedition would be dissipated by such an arrangement. “Then I’ll go
alone; I’ll take a revolver with me.”
“You can’t do it, sir,” said the consul, in a dry and somewhat angry
tone. “You have no more right to ride through that country without
paying the regular price for protection, than you have to stop in Z—’s
hotel without settling the bill.”
I could not contest the point, so I ordered my Bedouins for the appointed
day, exactly as I would send for a ticket-porter at home, and determined
to make the best of it. The wild unlimited sands, the desolation of the
Dead Sea, the rushing waters of Jordan, the outlines of the mountains of
Moab;—those things the consular tariff could not alter, nor deprive them
of the glories of their association.
I had submitted, and the arrangements had been made. Joseph, my
dragoman, was to come to me with the horses and an Arab groom at five in
the morning, and we were to encounter our Bedouins outside the gate of
St. Stephen, down the hill, where the road turns, close to the tomb of
the Virgin.
I was sitting alone in the public room at the hotel, filling my flask
with brandy,—for matters of primary importance I never leave to servant,
dragoman, or guide,—when the waiter entered, and said that a gentleman
wished to speak with me. The gentleman had not sent in his card or name;
but any gentleman was welcome to me in my solitude, and I requested that
the gentleman might enter. In appearance the gentleman certainly was a
gentleman, for I thought that I had never before seen a young man whose
looks were more in his favour, or whose face and gait and outward bearing
seemed to betoken better breeding. He might be some twenty or twenty-one
years of age, was slight and well made, with very black hair, which he
wore rather long, very dark long bright eyes, a straight nose, and teeth
that were perfectly white. He was dressed throughout in grey tweed
clothing, having coat, waistcoat, and trousers of the same; and in his
hand he carried a very broad-brimmed straw hat.
“Mr. Jones, I believe,” he said, as he bowed to me. Jones is a good
travelling name, and, if the reader will allow me, I will call myself
Jones on the present occasion.
“Yes,” I said, pausing with the brandy-bottle in one hand, and the flask
in the other. “That’s my name; I’m Jones. Can I do anything for you,
sir?”
“Why, yes, you can,” said he. “My name is Smith,—John Smith.”
“Pray sit down, Mr. Smith,” I said, pointing to a chair. “Will you do
anything in this way?” and I proposed to hand the bottle to him. “As far
as I can judge from a short stay, you won’t find much like that in
Jerusalem.”
He declined the Cognac, however, and immediately began his story. “I
hear, Mr. Jones,” said he, “that you are going to Moab to-morrow.”
“Well,” I replied, “I don’t know whether I shall cross the water. It’s
not very easy, I take it, at all times; but I shall certainly get as far
as Jordan. Can I do anything for you in those parts?”
And then he explained to me what was the object of his visit. He was
quite alone in Jerusalem, as I was myself; and was staying at H—’s hotel.
He had heard that I was starting for the Dead Sea, and had called to ask
if I objected to his joining me. He had found himself, he said, very
lonely; and as he had heard that I also was alone, he had ventured to
call and make his proposition. He seemed to be very bashful, and half
ashamed of what he was doing; and when he had done speaking he declared
himself conscious that he was intruding, and expressed a hope that I
would not hesitate to say so if his suggestion were from any cause
disagreeable to me.
As a rule I am rather shy of chance travelling English friends. It has
so frequently happened to me that I have had to blush for the
acquaintances whom I have selected, that I seldom indulge in any close
int | 1,412.984168 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.1614750 | 331 | 61 |
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THE COLLECTOR.
THE COLLECTOR
_ESSAYS ON_
BOOKS, NEWSPAPERS, PICTURES, INNS, AUTHORS,
DOCTORS, HOLIDAYS, ACTORS, PREACHERS.
BY HENRY T. TUCKERMAN.
[Illustration]
WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY DR. DORAN,
_Author of "Table Traits," "Monarchs Retired
from Business," "History of Court Fools,"
"Their Majesties' Servants," &c. &c._
LONDON:
JOHN CAMDEN HOTTEN, PICCADILLY.
(_All Rights Reserved._)
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION BY DR. DORAN 1
INNS 29
AUTHORS 65
PICTURES 95
DOCTORS 120
HOLIDAYS 143
LAWYERS 176
SEPULCHRES 203
ACTORS 221
NEWSPAPERS 246
PREACHERS 280
STATUES 308
BRIDGES 325
INTRODUCTION.
It was one of the conclusions arrived at by Adelung, that the same
language would not maintain itself beyond the limit of a hundred and fifty
thousand square miles; | 1,413.181515 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.1649420 | 200 | 42 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*INSURGENT
MEXICO*
BY
*JOHN REED*
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
EPISODES IN THIS BOOK ARE ALSO PROTECTED BY THE
FOLLOWING COPYRIGHT:
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
_To
PROFESSOR CHARLES TOWNSEND COPELAND
of
HARVARD UNIVERSITY_
_Dear Copey:_
_I remember you thought it strange that my first trip abroad didn't make
me want to write about what I saw there. But since then I have visited
a country which stimulated me to express it in words. And as | 1,413.184982 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.1686210 | 1,491 | 9 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, JoAnn Greenwood and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
NEURALGIA
AND
THE DISEASES THAT RESEMBLE IT.
BY
FRANCIS E. ANSTIE, M.D., LONDON,
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL COLLEGE OF PHYSICIANS; HONORARY FELLOW OF KING'S
COLLEGE, LONDON; SENIOR ASSISTANT PHYSICIAN TO WESTMINSTER HOSPITAL;
LECTURER ON MEDICINE IN WESTMINSTER HOSPITAL SCHOOL; PHYSICIAN TO THE
BELGRAVE HOSPITAL FOR CHILDREN.
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
BERMINGHAM & CO., UNION SQUARE.
1882.
W. L. MERSHON & CO.,
_Printers, Electrotypers and Binders_,
RAHWAY, N. J.
PREFACE.
I believe it will not be disputed that there was considerable need for
an English treatise dealing rather fully with the subject of Neuralgia,
and therefore I hope that the profession will be willing to give me a
hearing. The present work, moreover, does not profess to be a mere
compilation of standard authorities corrected down to the present time,
but puts forward a substantially new view of the subject--at least, a
view that has been only briefly sketched by me in an article that
appeared, three years ago, in Reynolds's "System of Medicine." My
principal object, in writing this volume, was to vindicate for Neuralgia
that distinct and independent position which I have long been convinced
it really holds, and to prove that it is not a mere offshoot of the
Gouty or Rheumatic diatheses, still less a mere chance symptom of a
score of different and incongruous diseases. In order to set the
diagnosis of true Neuralgia from its counterfeits in the clearest light,
it seemed advisable to draw separate pictures of each of the latter (at
least of as many as are of real importance) and present them separately,
as a kind of gallery of spurious neuralgias, and this I have done in the
second part of the volume. No one who had not tried to do it would
imagine how difficult this latter kind of work is. It was necessary for
the sketches to be very brief (unless my book was to become unmanageably
large), and yet to be as truthfully characteristic as possible; and it
was necessary also that only those diseases which so much resemble
Neuralgia as practically to lead medical men astray in diagnosis, should
be dealt with. The selection of the subjects, and the execution of this
part, took a long time, though it only covers about fifty pages. Then,
as regards Neuralgia itself, it became necessary to completely recast
the chapters on "Pathology" and on "Complications," on account of some
of the polite criticisms which Dr. Eulenburg directed (in his recent
"Lehrbuch der Nervenkrankheiten") to my argument in the article above
referred to, since it was obvious that a too brief statement of my views
had caused them to be partially misunderstood by the German physician.
These chapters (Part I., Chapters II. and III.) are certainly the most
important portion of my book, and I would particularly direct attention
to them, in order that their contents may be affirmed or corrected: the
reader will at any time find that they contain a kind of investigation
never before systematically carried out with regard to Neuralgia. The
causes above mentioned, together with others over which I had no
control, have kept back the appearance of this work so long beyond the
date for which it was originally announced, that I feel I ought to
apologize for an amount of delay that would seem hardly justified by the
moderate size of the volume.
16 WIMPOLE STREET, LONDON, _October_ 1, 1871.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION--ON PAIN IN GENERAL 7
PART I.
_ON NEURALGIA._
CHAP. PAGE
I.--CLINICAL HISTORY 12
II.--COMPLICATIONS OF NEURALGIA 79
III.--PATHOLOGY AND ETIOLOGY OF NEURALGIA 96
IV.--DIAGNOSIS AND PROGNOSIS OF NEURALGIA 142
V.--TREATMENT OF NEURALGIA 149
PART II.
_DISEASES THAT RESEMBLE NEURALGIA._
CHAP.
I.--MYALGIA 196
II.--SPINAL IRRITATION 200
III.--THE PAINS OF HYPOCHONDRIASIS 207
IV.--THE PAINS OF LOCOMOTOR ATAXY 210
V.--THE PAINS OF CEREBRAL ABSCESS 213
VI.--THE PAINS OF ALCOHOLISM 215
VII.--THE PAINS OF SYPHILIS 218
VIII.--THE PAINS OF SUBACUTE AND CHRONIC
RHEUMATISM 225
IX.--THE PAINS OF LATENT GOUT 227
X.--COLIC, AND OTHER PAINS OF PERIPHERAL
IRRITATION 229
XI.--DYSPEPTIC HEADACHE 231
INTRODUCTION.
ON PAIN IN GENERAL.
Although it is, in a general way, unadvisable to introduce abstract
discussions into a treatise which should be strictly practical, it is
almost impossible to avoid some few general reflections on the
physiological import of Pain, as a preliminary to the discussion of the
maladies which form the subject of this volume. This whole group of
disorders is linked together by the fact that pain is their most
prominent feature; and, with regard to most of them, the relief of the
pain is the one thing required of the physician. It seems, therefore,
very important that we should ascertain, at least approximately, in what
the immediate state consists, which consciousness interprets as pain. It
is not necessary to enter at this stage into any inquiry as to the
pathological causes of the phenomenon; what we know of these, and it is
unfortunately too little, will be discussed in detail under the headings
of the several affections which I shall have to describe.
The question before us now is this: What is that functional state of the
nerves which consciousness interprets as pain? Is it, or is it not, an
exaltation of the ordinary function of sensation?
The latter question is generally answered affirmatively, without much
thought, by those to whom it casually occurs; but indeed there is | 1,413.188661 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Underscores are used as delimiters for _italics_]
THE STORY OF THE
PULLMAN CAR
[Illustration: GEORGE MORTIMER PULLMAN
1831-1897]
The Story of the
Pullman Car
BY
JOSEPH HUSBAND
Author of "America at Work" and "A Year in a Coal-Mine."
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1917
Copyright
A. C. McCLURG & CO.
1917
Published May, 1917
W. F. HALL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO
To
George Mortimer Pullman
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Of the many books from which information was drawn for the preparation
of this volume the author wishes to make particular acknowledgment to
_The Modern Railroad_, by Mr. Edward Hungerford, to the article "Railway
Passenger Travel," by Mr. Horace Porter, published in _Scribner's
Magazine_, September, 1888; and to _Contemporary American Biography_,
as well as to the many newspapers and magazines from whose files
information and extracts have been freely drawn.
J. H.
Chicago, April, 1917
CONTENTS
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http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously made
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THE
TRAVELS
AND
ADVENTURES
OF
_JAMES MASSEY._
Translated from the FRENCH.
LONDON:
Printed for JOHN WATTS, at the Printing-Office
in _Wild-Court_ near _Lincoln's-Inn Fields_.
MDCCXXXIII.
[Illustration: G. Van de Gucht Inv. et Sculp.]
DEDICATION
TO
JEREMIAH DUMMER, Esq;
SIR,
The Recommendation these Travels have been favour'd with from
yourself and other good Judges, as a History admirably adapted
both to the Entertainment and Instruction of the Reader; and your
Commands upon me to translate it, lay me under the strongest
Inducement to claim your Patronage.
And I humbly conceive that your Retirement from that AGENCY,
during which you perform'd so many National Services in
cultivating a mutual good Understanding and Commerce between
_Old_ and _New England_, as justly gain'd you the Love and
Applause of those who truly understand the Interests of both
People, gives you the more Leisure to receive a Dedication.
It must be own'd that bright Accomplishments, acquired and
im | 1,413.283212 |
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Produced by Donald Lainson
LITTLE RIVERS
A BOOK OF ESSAYS IN PROFITABLE IDLENESS
by Henry Van <DW18>
"And suppose he takes nothing, yet he enjoyeth a delightful walk by
pleasant Rivers, in sweet Pastures, amongst odoriferous Flowers, which
gratifie his Senses, and delight his Mind; which Contentments induce
many (who affect not Angling) to choose those places of pleasure for
their summer Recreation and Health."
COL. ROBERT VENABLES, The Experienc'd Angler, 1662.
DEDICATION
To one who wanders by my side
As cheerfully as waters glide;
Whose eyes are brown as woodland streams,
And very fair and full of dreams;
Whose heart is like a mountain spring,
Whose thoughts like merry rivers sing:
To her--my little daughter Brooke--
I dedicate this little book.
CONTENTS
I. Prelude
II. Little Rivers
III. A Leaf of Spearmint
IV. Ampersand
V. A Handful of Heather
VI. The Ristigouche from a Horse-Yacht
VII. Alpenrosen and Goat's-Milk
VIII. Au Large
IX. Trout-Fishing in the Traun
X. At the sign of the Balsam Bough
XI. A Song after Sundown
PRELUDE
AN ANGLER'S WISH IN TOWN
When tulips bloom in Union Square,
And timid breaths of vernal air
Are wandering down the dusty town,
Like children lost in Vanity Fair;
When every long, unlovely row
Of westward houses stands aglow
And leads the eyes toward sunset skies,
Beyond the hills where green trees grow;
Then weary is the street parade,
And weary books, and weary trade:
I'm only wishing to go a-fishing;
For this the month of May was made.
I guess the pussy-willows now
Are creeping out on every bough
Along the brook; and robins look
For early worms behind the plough.
The thistle-birds have changed their dun
For yellow coats to match the sun;
And in the same array of flame
The Dandelion Show's begun.
The flocks of young anemones
Are dancing round the budding trees:
Who can help wishing to go a-fishing
In days as full of joy as these?
I think the meadow-lark's clear sound
Leaks upward slowly from the ground,
While on the wing the bluebirds ring
Their wedding-bells to woods around:
The flirting chewink calls his dear
Behind the bush; and very near,
Where water flows, where green grass grows,
Song-sparrows gently sing, "Good cheer:"
And, best of all, through twilight's calm
The hermit-thrush repeats his psalm:
How much I'm wishing to go a-fishing
In days so sweet with music's balm!
'Tis not a proud desire of mine;
I ask for nothing superfine;
No heavy weight, no salmon great,
To break the record, or my line:
Only an idle little stream,
Whose amber waters softly gleam,
Where I may wade, through woodland shade,
And cast the fly, and loaf, and dream:
Only a trout or two, to dart
From foaming pools, and try my art:
No more I'm wishing--old-fashioned fishing,
And just a day on Nature's heart.
1894.
LITTLE RIVERS
A river is the most human and companionable of all inanimate things.
It has a life, a character, a voice of its own, and is as full of good
fellowship as a sugar-maple is of sap. It can talk in various tones,
loud or low, and of many subjects, grave and gay. Under favourable
circumstances it will even make a shift to sing, not in a fashion that
can be reduced to notes and set down in black and white on a sheet of
paper, but in a vague, refreshing manner, and to a wandering air that
goes
"Over the hills and far away."
For real company and friendship, there is nothing outside of the animal
kingdom that is comparable to a river.
I will admit that a very good case can be made out in favour of some
other objects of natural affection. For example, a fair apology has been
offered by those ambitious persons who have fallen in love with the sea.
But, after all, that is a formless and disquieting passion. It lacks
solid comfort and mutual confidence. The sea is too big for loving, and
too uncertain. It will not fit into our thoughts. It has no personality
because it has so many. It is a salt abstraction. You might as well
think of loving a glittering generality like "the American woman." One
would be more to the purpose.
Mountains are more satisfying because they are more individual. It is
possible to feel a very strong attachment for a certain range whose
outline has grown familiar to our eyes, or a clear peak that has looked
down, day after day, upon our joys and sorrows, moderating our passions
with its calm aspect. We come back from our travels, and the sight of
such a well-known mountain is like meeting an old friend unchanged.
But it is a one-sided affection. The mountain is voiceless and
imperturbable; and its very loftiness and serenity sometimes make us the
more lonely.
Trees seem to come closer to our life. They are often rooted in our
richest feelings, and our sweetest memories, like birds, build nests
in their branches. I remember, the last time that I saw James Russell
Lowell, (only a few weeks before his musical voice was hushed,) he
walked out with me into the quiet garden at Elmwood to say good-bye.
There was a great horse-chestnut tree beside the house, towering above
the gable, and covered with blossoms from base to summit,--a pyramid of
green supporting a thousand smaller pyramids of white. The poet looked
up at it with his gray, pain-furrowed face, and laid his trembling hand
upon the trunk. "I planted the nut," said he, "from which this tree
grew. And my father was with me and showed me how to plant it."
Yes, there is a good deal to be said in behalf of tree-worship; and when
I recline with my friend Tityrus beneath the shade of his favourite oak,
I consent in his devotions. But when I invite him with me to share my
orisons, or wander alone to indulge the luxury of grateful, unlaborious
thought, my feet turn not to a tree, but to the bank of a river, for
there the musings of solitude find a friendly accompaniment, and human
intercourse is purified and sweetened by the flowing, murmuring water.
It is by a river that I would choose to make love, and to revive old
friendships, and to play with the children, and to confess my faults,
and to escape from vain, selfish desires, and to cleanse my mind from
all the false and foolish things that mar the joy and peace of living.
Like David's hart, I pant for the water-brooks. There is wisdom in the
advice of Seneca, who says, "Where a spring rises, or a river flows,
there should we build altars and offer sacrifices."
The personality of a river is not to be found in its water, nor in its
bed, nor in its shore. Either of these elements, by itself, would be
nothing. Confine the fluid contents of the noblest stream in a walled
channel of stone, and it ceases to be a stream; it becomes what
Charles Lamb calls "a mockery of a river--a liquid artifice--a wretched
conduit." But take away the water from the most beautiful river-banks,
and what is left? An ugly road with none to travel it; a long, ghastly
scar on the bosom of the earth.
The life of a river, like that of a human being, consists in the union
of soul and body, the water and the banks. They belong together. They
act and react upon each other. The stream moulds and makes the shore;
hollowing out a bay here, and building a long point there; alluring the
little bushes close to its side, and bending the tall slim trees over
its current; sweeping a rocky ledge clean of everything but moss, and
sending a still lagoon full of white arrow-heads and rosy knot-weed
far back into the meadow. The shore guides and controls the stream;
now detaining and now advancing it; now bending it in a hundred sinuous
curves, and now speeding it straight as a wild-bee on its homeward
flight; here hiding the water in a deep cleft overhung with green
branches, and there spreading it out, like a mirror framed in daisies,
to reflect the sky and the clouds; sometimes breaking it with sudden
turns and unexpected falls into a foam of musical laughter, sometimes
soothing it into a sleepy motion like the flow of a dream.
Is it otherwise with the men and women whom we know and like? Does not
the spirit influence the form, and the form affect the spirit? Can we
divide and separate them in our affections?
I am no friend to purely psychological attachments. In some unknown
future they may be satisfying, but in the present I want your words and
your voice with your thoughts, your looks and your gestures to interpret
your feelings. The warm, strong grasp of Greatheart's hand is as dear
to me as the steadfast fashion of his friendships; the lively, sparkling
eyes of the master of Rudder Grange charm me as much as the nimbleness
of his fancy; and the firm poise of the Hoosier Schoolmaster's shaggy
head gives me new confidence in the solidity of his views of life. I
like the pure tranquillity of Isabel's brow as well as her
"most silver flow
Of subtle-paced counsel in distress."
The soft cadences and turns in my lady Katrina's speech draw me into
the humour of her gentle judgments of men and things. The touches of
quaintness in Angelica's dress, her folded kerchief and smooth-parted
hair, seem to partake of herself, and enhance my admiration for the
sweet order of her thoughts and her old-fashioned ideals of love and
duty. Even so the stream and its channel are one life, and I cannot
think of the swift, brown flood of the Batiscan without its shadowing
primeval forests, or the crystalline current of the Boquet without
its beds of pebbles and golden sand and grassy banks embroidered with
flowers.
Every country--or at least every country that is fit for habitation--has
its own rivers; and every river has its own quality; and it is the
part of wisdom to know and love as many as you can, seeing each in the
fairest possible light, and receiving from each the best that it has
to give. The torrents of Norway leap down from their mountain home with
plentiful cataracts, and run brief but glorious races to the sea.
The streams of England move smoothly through green fields and beside
ancient, sleepy towns. The Scotch rivers brawl through the open moorland
and flash along steep Highland glens. The rivers of the Alps are born in
icy caves, from which they issue forth with furious, turbid waters; but
when their anger has been forgotten in the slumber of some blue lake,
they flow down more softly to see the vineyards of France and Italy,
the gray castles of Germany, the verdant meadows of Holland. The mighty
rivers of the West roll their yellow floods through broad valleys,
or plunge down dark canyons. The rivers of the South creep under dim
arboreal archways hung with banners of waving moss. The Delaware and
the Hudson and the Connecticut are the children of the Catskills and the
Adirondacks and the White Mountains, cradled among the forests of spruce
and hemlock, playing through a wild woodland youth, gathering strength
from numberless tributaries to bear their great burdens of lumber
and turn the wheels of many mills, issuing from the hills to water
a thousand farms, and descending at last, beside new cities, to the
ancient sea.
Every river that flows is good, and has something worthy to be loved.
But those that we love most are always the ones that we have known
best,--the stream that ran before our father's door, the current on
which we ventured our first boat or cast our first fly, the brook on
whose banks we first picked the twinflower of young love. However far we
may travel, we come back to Naaman's state of mind: "Are not Abana and
Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel?"
It is with rivers as it is with people: the greatest are not always the
most agreeable, nor the best to live with. Diogenes must have been an
uncomfortable bedfellow: Antinous was bored to death in the society
of the Emperor Hadrian: and you can imagine much better company for a
walking trip than Napoleon Bonaparte. Semiramis was a lofty queen, but I
fancy that Ninus had more than one bad quarter-of-an-hour with her: and
in "the spacious times of great Elizabeth" there was many a milkmaid
whom the wise man would have chosen for his friend, before the royal
red-haired virgin. "I confess," says the poet Cowley, "I love littleness
almost in all things. A little convenient Estate, a little chearful
House, a little Company, and a very little Feast, and if I were ever to
fall in Love again, (which is a great Passion, and therefore, I hope, I
have done with it,) it would be, I think, with Prettiness, rather than
with Majestical Beauty. I would neither wish that my Mistress, nor my
Fortune, should be a Bona Roba, as Homer uses to describe his Beauties,
like a daughter of great Jupiter for the stateliness and largeness of
her Person, but as Lucretius says:
'Parvula, pumilio, [Greek text omitted], tota merum sal.'"
Now in talking about women it is prudent to disguise a prejudice like
this, in the security of a dead language, and to intrench it behind
a fortress of reputable authority. But in lowlier and less dangerous
matters, such as we are now concerned with, one may dare to speak in
plain English. I am all for the little rivers. Let those who will, chant
in heroic verse the renown of Amazon and Mississippi and Niagara, but my
prose shall flow--or straggle along at such a pace as the prosaic
muse may grant me to attain--in praise of Beaverkill and Neversink
and Swiftwater, of Saranac and Raquette and Ausable, of Allegash and
Aroostook and Moose River. "Whene'er I take my walks abroad," it shall
be to trace the clear Rauma from its rise on the fjeld to its rest
in the fjord; or to follow the Ericht and the Halladale through the
heather. The Ziller and the Salzach shall be my guides through the
Tyrol; the Rotha and the Dove shall lead me into the heart of England.
My sacrificial flames shall be kindled with birch-bark along the wooded
stillwaters of the Penobscot and the Peribonca, and my libations drawn
from the pure current of the Ristigouche and the Ampersand, and my altar
of remembrance shall rise upon the rocks beside the falls of Seboomok.
I will set my affections upon rivers that are not too great for
intimacy. And if by chance any of these little ones have also become
famous, like the Tweed and the Thames and the Arno, I at least will
praise them, because they are still at heart little rivers | 1,413.287233 |
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[Illustration]
Notes of a Staff Officer
of our
First New Jersey Brigade
on the
Seven Day's Battle on the
Peninsula in 1862
by
E. Burd Grubb
Brevet Brigadier General U. S. Volunteers
MOORESTOWN, N. J.
MOORESTOWN PRINTING CO.
1910.
The Seven Day's Battle on the Peninsula
as Seen by a Lieutenant on the Staff
Camille Baquet, Esq.,
Historian of First New Jersey Brigade,
Elizabeth, N. J.
DEAR SIR:
In accordance with your request I give you herewith my recollections of
the Battle of Gaines' Mills. In order to give a minute description of
this battle, it may be well to describe where the New Jersey Brigade
started from to go into it, and how it came to be where it did start
from.
The Brigade had been at the village of Mechanicsville about three and a
half miles from Richmond on the northern side of the Chickahominy during
the latter part of the month of May. It was moved up from Mechanicsville
about a mile and a half west up the Chickahominy near the Meadow Bridge,
but was not on picket at that bridge when Fitzhugh Lee's cavalry
attacked the picket of the United States Cavalry commanded by Captain
Royal and killed a number of his men and desperately wounded that
officer. Captain Royal was well known in Burlington, New Jersey, he
having married a sister of Admiral John Howell of that city.
The brigade was withdrawn soon after that and moved down the
Chickahominy taking the road on top of the northern ridge and stopping
near Dr. Gaines' house.
On the 31st of May the brigade was under orders to move at a moment's
notice and the Battle of Fair Oaks was in progress on the southern side
of the river. Part of it could be seen and a good deal of it heard.
On the morning of the first of June the brigade moved down across the
Chickahominy and out on the battle field of Fair Oaks. General Taylor
informed me that we had been held in reserve through the morning and
were considered the support of the second line. We were not engaged
because the fight was practically over before we reached the field, but
Captain George Wood, whose mother lived next to my father's house in
Burlington and who was captain in a Pennsylvania regiment, was carried
by and spoke to me while I was sitting on my horse with General Taylor
at the edge of the battle field. Captain Wood was shot through the leg.
The brigade was encamped on this battle field along the eastern side of
the road running to Richmond, having crossed on what was known as the
Grapevine Bridge, across the Chickahominy, and while there I visited the
Second Brigade, many of whom, particularly in the Fifth Regiment, came
from Burlington. George Burling, afterwards Gen. Burling, commanded a
regiment. They had had a very desperate fight and many of them had been
killed and wounded. They were camped directly on the spot where they had
fought, and for many reasons it was the most disagreeable camp I ever
saw, dead men and dead horses having been only covered with perhaps six
inches or a foot of earth and the stench and the flies exceeded anything
I ever saw before or since. We remained here until the morning of the
27th of June. All through the afternoon of the 26th up to nine o'clock | 1,413.287311 |
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E-text prepared by sp1nd, Matthew Wheaton, and | 1,413.381943 |
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Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 11. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, January 13, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: JEANIE AND THE UMBRELLA.]
JEANIE LOWRIE, THE YOUNG IMMIGRANT.
BY MISS F. E. FRYATT.
It was early winter evening at Castle Garden, the scores of gas jets
that light the vast rotunda dimly showing the great hall deserted by all
the bustling throngs of the morning, save the few women and children
clustered around the glowing stove, and closely watched by the keen-eyed
officials who smoked and chatted within the railings near them.
Sitting apart from these, taking no notice of the gambols of the
children, was a wee lassie of perhaps eight summers, her round, childish
face drawn with trouble, and her great blue eyes brimful of tears. She
was evidently expecting somebody, for her gaze was fixed on the door
beyond, which seemed never to open.
It was little Jeanie Lowrie waiting for her grandfather's return. Old
Sandy Lowrie, thinking to take advantage of their stay overnight in New
York to visit his foster-son, who had left Scotland for America when a
lad, had gone out in the afternoon into the great city, bidding Jeanie
carefully guard their small luggage--a few treasures tied up in a silken
kerchief, and Granny's precious umbrella, which was a sort of heirloom
in the family.
While the great crowd surged to and fro, and the winter sunlight flooded
the room, Jeanie had been content to watch and wait, half pleased and
half frightened at the shouts and noises that fill the place on steamer
day; but when the men, women, and children all went away, by twos and
threes, save a few, and silence came with the increasing darkness, and
the dim gas jets were lighted overhead, her heart, oppressed by a
thousand fears, sunk within her, and she fell to sobbing bitterly.
Now there were not wanting kind hearts in the little groups around the
stove; for there was Mary Dennett, with her five laddies, going to join
her husband at the mines in Maryland; and Janet Brown, her neighbor,
with her three rosy lassies; and Jessie Lawson, with her wee Davie; and
not one of these three would see a child suffering without offering
consolation. Kind Janet soon had her folded in motherly arms in spite of
the bundle and the great umbrella, which the lassie stoutly refused to
part with for a moment; and Mary Dennett, crossing over to the counter
on the far side of the room, bought her cakes and apples; while the
children, not to be outdone, made shy endeavors to beguile her into
their innocent play.
But to each and all of these Jeanie turned a deaf ear, moaning
constantly: "I want my ain, ain gran'daddie; he hae gaun awa', an' left
me alane. Oh, gran'daddie, cam back to your Jeanie!"
The evening wore on into night, and still no Sandy came to comfort
Jeanie; but there came that great consoler, sleep. Soon she slumbered in
Janet's arms, and the kind soul, fearing to waken her, held her there
till the beds for the little company were spread on the floor; then she
laid Jeanie tenderly down, with her treasures still clasped in her arms,
and covering her, stooped to print a warm kiss on the round tear-stained
cheek, not forgetting to breathe a prayer for the missing Sandy's safe
return.
The snow glistened on the walks and grass-plats of the park without; the
wind roared down the streets and whistled among the bare branches of the
trees, and rushing along, heaped up the waters in huge billows, dashing
them against the great stone pier; men passed to and fro, but Sandy came
not, for far off in the great city he had lost his way.
In vain he had asked every one to tell him where his foster-son Alec
Deans lived. Meeting only laughter or rebuffs, he tried in the growing
darkness to find his way back to Castle Garden, but could not. No one
seemed to understand him, or cared to; so at last, worn out in mind and
body, he sunk down on the stone steps of a house, unable to proceed a
step further.
Bright and early the next morning at Castle Garden the women were roused
from their sleep, for the beds must be rolled up, and the place cleared
for the business of the day, and all must be ready for the early train.
In the confusion of preparing the children for breakfast and the
journey, the women had forgotten Jeanie for the time, till suddenly
Janet, spying her, with her bundle and her umbrella, standing and
casting troubled, wistful glances at the door, ran over and brought her
to where the women and children were drinking coffee from great cups,
and eating rolls of brown-bread and butter. Seating her in the midst of
them, she said, "Eat a bit o' the bannock, dearie. Gran'daddie will cam
back wi' a braw new bonnet for Jeanie, and then we'll a' gang awa' i'
the train togither."
"I dinna want a bonnet," cried Jeanie; "I on'y want gran'daddie."
"Dinna greet, bairnie; he'll no leave ye lang noo."
But the old man, contrary to their hopes, failed to appear, so there
rose a troubled consultation among the women regarding Jeanie. They had
all lived neighbors to the Lowries, a mile or so beyond the dike which
is a stone's-throw from the duke's palace, near Hamilton; the "gudemen"
of their families, hearing great reports of the mines in America, and
the times being hard for miners at home, had gone out to verify them,
Angus Lowrie among the rest. All four had prospered, and now sent for
their wives and bairnies. Young Lowrie, however, was doomed to the
bitter sorrow of never more seeing the bonny wife he had left behind
him, for a fever had carried her off in her prime; so that Jeanie, her
bairn, was left to the sole care of her grandfather, who loved her
tenderly, as the old are wont to love the young.
While the women were in the midst of their dilemma, half resolved to
carry off the "lane bairnie" privately, lest the officers should
interfere, the superintendent, seeing some trouble was afoot, came over
and soon settled the matter, for there was a law on the subject that he
was bound to obey.
But we are quite forgetting old Sandy all this time. Seeing that he was
lost, and there was no help for it, that he should sit down in the
particular spot he did was a peculiar stroke of good fortune, for it was
the very house he had been seeking, and what was most wonderful, just at
that moment the door above opened, and down came Alec Deans in time to
hear Sandy's faint cry, "God help my puir Jeanie!"
Alec Deans had not heard the dear Scottish accent in many a year, so
straightway that sound went to his very heart-strings, making them
thrill and tingle with a joy that was as suddenly turned to pain, when,
stooping down, he found the old man fallen back as one dead.
With little ado--for Sandy was small and thin--he lifted him bodily,
carried him up the steps, and rang a peal which soon brought his wife to
the door. Placing the old man on a sofa in the warm sitting-room where
the light fell on his poor, pale face, Alec Deans in a moment recognized
his foster-father, and set to work to restore him. The long stormy
passage, and the trials incident to emigrant life on shipboard, added to
the fatigue and fright of his night's wanderings, had so told on the old
man's feeble frame, that after much effort on the part of Alec Deans to
revive him, he could do no more than move restlessly, murmuring, "Puir
Jeanie! Puir wee bairnie Jeanie!"
Before he could well tell his story, the most of it became known to his
foster-son, for the Commissioners, finding he did not return to Castle
Garden, sending Jeanie weeping away to the Refuge on Ward's Island, and
notifying the police, advertised the missing man in the papers.
It was on the second day after Sandy's falling into such good hands that
Alec, reading the morning paper at his breakfast table, saw the
advertisement describing Sandy to the very Glengarry cap he wore on his
head when missing.
In short order he made his way to the Rotunda at Castle Garden, told the
old man's adventure, and obtained a permit to bring Jeanie away from the
Refuge.
There was an hour to spare before the little steamboat _Fidelity_ would
start for Ward's Island, so Alec, being a thoughtful man, employed it in
purchasing a pretty fur hat and tippet and | 1,413.386874 |
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[Transcriber’s Note:
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διορθῶσαι or ϹΥΝΑΓΩΓ (Greek)
שָׁלוֹם (Hebrew)
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THE MADNESS OF MAY
by
MEREDITH NICHOLSON
With illustrations by Frederic Dorr Steele
[Illustration: "I didn't know it was _your_ moon," he said.
[_Page_ 60]]
Upon the morn they took their horses with the queen, and rode
a-maying in woods and meadows, as it pleased them.
--The Age of Chivalry.
New York
Charles Scribner's Sons
1917
Copyright, 1917, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
Published March, 1917
TO
MRS. CHARLES THOMAS KOUNTZE
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"I didn't know it was _your_ moon," he said. _Frontispiece_
"The young person left in haste, that's clear enough,"
remarked Hood. 30
"I make it a rule never to deny food to any applicant,
no matter how unworthy. You may remain." 123
"Throw up your hands, boys; it's no use!" cried Hood
in mock despair. 166
THE MADNESS OF MAY
I
Billy Deering let himself into his father's house near Radford Hills,
Westchester County, and with a nod to Briggs, who came into the hall to
take his hat and coat, began turning over the letters that lay on the
table.
"Mr. Hood has arrived, sir," the servant announced. "I put him in the
south guest-room."
Deering lifted his head with a jerk. "Hood--what Hood?"
"Mr. Hood is all I know, sir. He said he was expected--you had asked him
for the night. If there's a mistake----"
Deering reached for his hat and coat, which Briggs still held. His face
whitened, and the outstretched hand shook visibly. Briggs eyed him with
grave concern, then took a step toward the stairway.
"If you wish, sir----"
"Never mind, Briggs," Deering snapped. "It's all right. I'd forgotten I
had a guest coming; that's all."
He opened a letter with assumed carelessness and held it before his eyes
until the door closed upon Briggs. Then his jaws tightened. He struck his
hands together and mounted the steps doggedly, as though prepared for a
disagreeable encounter.
All the way out on the train he had feared that this might happen. The
long arm of the law was already clutching at his collar, but he had not
reckoned with this quick retribution. The presence of the unknown man in
the house could be explained on no other hypothesis than the discovery of
his theft of two hundred thousand dollars in gilt-edged bonds from the
banking-house of Deering, Gaylord & Co. It only remained for him to kill
himself and escape from the shame that would follow exposure. He must do
this at once, but first he would see who had been sent to apprehend him.
Hood was an unfamiliar name; he had never known a Hood anywhere, he was
confident of that.
The house was ominously quiet. Deering paused when he reached his own
room, glanced down the hall, then opened the door softly, and fell back
with a gasp before the blaze of lights. There, lost in the recesses of a
comfortable chair, with his legs thrown across the mahogany table, sat a
man he had never seen before.
"Ah, Deering; very glad you've come," murmured the stranger, glancing up
unhurriedly from his perusal of a newspaper.
He had evidently been reading for some time, as the floor was littered
with papers. At this instant something in the page before him caught his
attention and he deftly extracted a quarter of a column of text, pinched
it with the scissors' points and dropped it on a pile of similar cuttings
on the edge of the table.
"Just a moment!" he remarked in the tone of a man tolerant of
interruptions, "and do pardon me for mussing up your room. I liked it
better here than in the pink room your man gave me--no place there to put
your legs! Creature of habit; can't rest without sticking my feet up."
He opened a fresh newspaper and ran his eyes over the first page with the
trained glance of an expert exchange reader.
"The Minneapolis papers are usually worthless for my purposes, and yet
occasionally they print something I wouldn't miss. I'm the best friend
the 'buy your home paper' man has," he ran on musingly, skimming the page
and ignoring Deering, who continued to stare in stupefied amazement from
the doorway. "Ah!"
The scissors flashed and the unknown added another item to his
collection.
"That's all," he remarked with a sigh. He dropped his feet to the floor,
rose, and lazily stretched himself.
Tall, compactly built, a face weather-beaten where the flesh showed above
a close-clipped brownish beard, and hair, slightly gray, brushed back
smoothly from a broad forehead--these items Deering noted swiftly as he
dragged himself across the threshold.
"Really, a day like this would put soul into a gargoyle," the stranger
remarked, brushing the paper-shavings from his trousers. "Motored up from
Jersey and had a grand time all the way. I walk, mostly, but commandeer a
machine for long skips. To learn how to live, my dear boy, that's the
great business! Not sure I've caught the trick, but I'm working at it,
with such feeble talents as the gods have bestowed."
He filled a pipe deftly from a canvas bag, and drew the strings together
with white, even teeth.
This cool, lounging stranger was playing a trick of some kind; Deering
was confident of this and furious at his utter inability to cope with
him. He clung to the back of a chair, trembling with anger.
"My name," the visitor continued, tossing his match into an ash-tray, "is
Hood--R. Hood. The lone initial might suggest Robert or Roderigo, but if
your nursery library was properly stocked you will recall a gentleman
named Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest. I don't pretend to be a
descendant--far from it; adopted the name out of sheer admiration for one
of the grandest figures in all literature. Robin Hood, Don Quixote, and
George Borrow are rubricated saints in my calendar. By the expression on
your face I see that you don't make me out, and I can't blame you for
thinking me insane; but, my dear boy, such an assumption does me a cruel
wrong. Briefly, I'm a hobo with a weakness for good society, and yet a
friend of the under dog. I confess to a passion for grand opera and
lobster in all its forms. Do you grasp the idea?"
Deering did not grasp it. The man had protested his sanity, but Deering
had heard somewhere that a confident belief in their mental soundness is
a common hallucination of lunatics. Still, the stranger's steady gray
eyes did not encourage the suspicion that he was mad. Deering's own
reason, already severely taxed, was unequal to the task of dealing with
this assured and cheerful Hood, who looked like a gentleman but talked
like a fool.
"For God's sake, who are you and what do you want?" he demanded angrily.
Hood pushed him gently into a chair, utterly ignoring his fury.
"What time do we dine? Seven-thirty, I think your servant told me. I
shan't dress if you don't mind. Speaking of clothes, that man of yours is
a very superficial observer; let me in on the strength of my automobile
coat, and I suppose the machine impressed him too. If he'd looked under
the surface at these poor rags, I'd never have got by! That illustrates
an ancient habit of the serving class in thinking all is gold that
glitters. Snobs! Deplorable weakness! Let's talk like sensible men till
the gong sounds."
Deering shook himself impatiently. This absurd talk, carefully
calculated, he assumed, to prolong his misery, had torn his nerves to
shreds. Hood sat down close to him in a straight-backed chair, crossed
his legs, and thrust his hands into his coat pockets.
"My dear boy, in the name of all the gods at once, cheer up! To satisfy
your very natural curiosity, I'll say that I fancied you were in trouble
and needed a strong arm to sustain you in your hour of trial. Laudable
purpose--ah, I see you begin to feel more comfortable. I have every
intention of playing the big brother to you for a few hours, weeks, or
months, or till you come out of your green funk. You wonder, of course,
what motive I have for intruding in this way--lying to your servant, and
making myself at home in your house. The motive, so far as there is any,
is the purely selfish one of finding enjoyment for myself, while
incidentally being of service to you. And you're bound to admit that
that's a fair offer in this world of greed and selfishness. The great
trouble with most of us is that the flavor so soon wears out of the
chewing-gum. Do you remember the last time you had a good, hearty laugh?
I'll wager you don't!"
Deering scowled, but Hood continued to expound his philosophy:
"The world's roaring along at such a rate we can't find happiness
anywhere but in the dictionary. It's worrying me to death, just the
spectacle of the fool old human race never getting a chance to sit down
by the side of the road and pick the pebbles out of its shoes.
Everybody's feet hurt and everybody's carrying a blood pressure that's
bound to blow the roof off. I tell you, Deering, civilization hasn't got
anything on the gypsies but soap and sanitary plumbing, I'm just
forty-five and for years I've kept in motion most of the time. Alone of
great travellers William Jennings Bryan has reviewed more water-tanks
than I. I find the same delight in Butte, Peoria, Galesburg, Des Moines,
Ashtabula, and Bangor, in Tallahassee, Birmingham, and Waco, that others
seek in London, Paris, and Vienna--and it's all American stuff--business
of flags flying and Constitution being chanted offstage by a choir of a
million voices! I've lived in coal-camps in Colorado, wintered with Maine
lumbermen, hopped the ties with hobos, and enjoyed the friendship of
thieves. I don't mean to brag, but I suppose there isn't a really
first-rate crook in the country that I don't know. And down in the
underworld they look on me--if I may modestly say it--as an old reliable
friend. I've found these contacts immensely instructive, as you may
imagine. Don't get nervous! I never stole anything in my life."
He thrust his fingers into his inside waistcoat pocket, and drew out a
packet of bills, neatly folded, and opened them for Deering's wondering
inspection.
"I beg of you don't jump to the conclusion that I roll in wealth. Money
is poison to me; I hate the very smell of it--haven't a cent of my own in
the world. This belongs to my chauffeur--carry it as a precaution
merely."
Hood relighted his pipe, and dreamily watched the match blacken and curl
in his fingers.
"Your chauffeur?" Deering suggested, like a child prompting a parent in
the midst of an absorbing story.
"Oh, yes! Cassowary"--he pronounced the word lingeringly as though to
prolong his pleasure in it--"real name doesn't matter. His father rolled
up a big wad cutting the forest primeval into lumber, and left it to
Cassowary--matter of a million or two. Cassowary had been driven to drink
by an unhappy love-affair when I plucked him as a brand from burning
Broadway. Nice chap, but too much self-indulgence; never had any
discipline. He's pretty well broken in now, and as we seemed to need each
other we follow the long trail together. Manage to hit it off first-rate.
He's still mooning over the girl; tough that he can't have the only thing
in the world he wants! Obstreperous parent adumbrated in the foreground,
shotgun in hand. I don't allow Cassowary to carry any money--would rather
risk contamination myself than expose him to it. If he stays with me for
a few years, his accumulated income will roll up so that he can endow
orchestras and art museums all through the prairie towns of the West, and
become a great benefactor of mankind."
Hood's story was manifestly absurd, and yet he invested it with a certain
plausibility. Even Cassowary, as Hood described him, seemed a wholly
credible person, and the bills Hood had drawn from his pocket bore all
the marks of honest money.
Dinner was announced, and Hood lounged down-stairs and into the
dining-room arm in arm with Deering. A tapestry on the wall immediately
attracted his attention. After pecking at the edges with his long,
slender fingers he turned to his seat with a sigh.
"Preposterous imitation! I dare say it was passed off as a real Gobelin,
but I know the artist who fakes those things--a New Jersey genius and
very smooth at the game."
Deering had never paid the slightest attention to the tapestry, which had
hung in the room for a dozen years, but he apologized in a vein of irony
for its spuriousness, and steeled himself against complaints of the food;
but after tasting the soup Hood praised it with enthusiasm. He was wholly
at ease, and his table manners were beyond criticism. He seemed
indifferent to the construction Deering or the bewildered Briggs might
place upon his confessions, to which he now glibly addressed himself.
"A couple of years ago I was roaming through the Western provinces with a
couple of old friends who persist--against my advice, I assure you--in
the childish pastime of safe-blowing. We got pinched _en bloc_, and as I
was broke I had to sponge on the yeggs to get me out of jail."
Briggs dropped a plate and Deering frowned at the interruption. Hood went
on tranquilly:
"However, I was immured only three weeks, and the experience was
broadening. That was in Omaha, and I'll say without fear of contradiction
that the Omaha jail is one of the most comfortable in the Missouri
Valley. I recommend it, Deering, without reservation, to any one in
search of tranquillity. After they turned me loose I introduced myself to
an old college classmate--fraternity brother--no danger of exposure. I
had him put me up at the Omaha Club, and then I gave a dinner to the
United States commissioner who heard my case, the district attorney, and
the United States marshal. I wanted to ask the yeggs too--it seemed only
square--but the judge was out of town, and the marshal was afraid his
Honor might cite him for contempt if he brought his prisoners to my
party. These things probably seem to you most banal, but take it all
round I do manage to keep amused. Of course, now and then I pay more for
my fun than it's worth. Last summer I mixed in with some moonshiners in
Tennessee. Moonshining is almost a lost art, and I wanted the experience
before the business became extinct. An unsociable lot, the lone still
boys, and wouldn't warm up to me a bit. The unhappy result was a bullet
through my left lung. I got patched up by a country doctor, but had to
spend two months in a Philadelphia hospital for the finishing touches."
Deering's uneasiness increased. This man who spoke so blithely of
imprisonment and bullets in his lung must have a motive for his visit.
With a jerk of the head he sent Briggs from the room.
"This is all very amusing," he remarked with decision as he put down his
salad-fork, "but will you pardon me for asking just why you came here? I
have your own word for it that your favorite amusement is consorting with
criminals, and that money you flashed may have been stolen for all I
know! If you have any business with me----"
"My dear boy, I don't blame you for growing restless," replied Hood
amiably. "Of course, I know that your father and sister are away, and
that you are alone. Your family history I am pretty familiar with; your
antecedents and connections are excellent. Your mother, who died four
years ago, was of the Rhode Island Ranger family--and there is no better
blood in America. Your sister Constance won the Westchester golf
championship last year--I learned that from the newspapers, which I read
with a certain passion, as you have observed. If I hadn't thought you
needed company--my company particularly--I shouldn't have landed on your
door-step. You dined Monday night at the Hotel Pendragon--at a table in
the corner on the Fifth Avenue side, and your dejection touched me
deeply. Afterward you went down to the rathskeller, and sat there all
alone drinking stuff you didn't need. It roused my apprehensions. I
feared things were going badly with you, and I thought I'd give you a
chance to unburden your soul to me, Hood, the enchanted hobo----"
"For sheer cheek--" began Deering hotly.
Hood lifted his hand deprecatingly.
"Please don't!" he remarked soothingly. "With the tinkle of a bell you
can call your man and have me bounced. I repacked my bag after taking a
bath in your very comfortable guest-room, and we can part immediately.
But let us be sensible, Deering; just between ourselves, don't you really
need me?"
His tone was ingratiating, his manner the kindest. Deering had walked the
streets for two days trying to bring himself to the point of confessing
his plight to one of a score of loyal friends--men he had known from
prep-school days, and on through college: active, resourceful, wealthy
young fellows who would risk much to help him--and yet in his fear and
misery he had shrunk from approaching them. Hood, he was now convinced,
was not a detective come to arrest him; in fact his guest's sympathies
and connections seemed to lie on the other side of the law's barricade.
They had coffee in the living-room, where Hood, inspired by specimens of
the work of several of the later French painters, discussed art with
sophistication. Deering observed him intently. There was something
immensely attractive in Hood's face; his profile, clean-cut as a cameo,
was thoroughly masculine; his head was finely moulded, and his gray eyes
were frank and responsive.
"It's possible," said Deering, after a long silence in which Hood smoked
meditatively, "that you may be able to help me."
On a sudden impulse he rose and put out his hand.
"Thank you," said Hood gravely, "but don't tell me unless you really want
to."
II
"So after all the bother of stealing two hundred thousand dollars' worth
of negotiable securities you _lost_ them!" Hood remarked when Deering
ended his recital.
Deering frowned and nodded. Not only had he told his story to this utter
stranger, but he had found infinite relief in doing so.
"Let us go over the points again," said Hood calmly. "You set down your
suitcase containing two hundred K. & L. Terminal 5's in the Grand Central
Station, turned round to buy a ticket to Boston, and when you picked up
the bag it was the wrong one! Such instances are not rare; the strong
family resemblance between suitcases has caused much trouble in this
world. Only the other day a literary friend told me the magazine editors
have placed a ban on mixed suitcases as a fictional device; but of course
that doesn't help us any in this affair. I've known a few professional
suitcase lifters. One of the smoothest is Sammy Tibbots, but he's doing
time in Joliet, so we may as well eliminate Sammy."
"No, no!" Deering exclaimed impatiently. "It was a girl who did the
trick! She was at the local ticket window, just behind me. You see, I was
nervous and after I bought my ticket it dropped to the floor, and while I
was picking it up that girl grabbed my suitcase and beat it for the
gate."
"Enter the girl," Hood muttered. "'Twas ever thus! Of course, you
telegraphed ahead and stopped her--that was the obvious course."
"There you go! If I'd done that, there wouldn't have been any publicity;
oh, no!" Deering replied contemptuously. "People don't carry big bunches
of bonds around in suitcases; they send 'em by registered express. Of
course, if the girl was honest she'd report the matter to the railroad
officials and they'd notify the police, and they'd be looking for the
thief! And that's just what I don't want."
"Of course not," Hood assented readily. "That was Wednesday and this is
Friday, and you haven't seen any ads in the papers about a suitcase full
of bonds? Well, I'd hardly have missed such a thing myself. What did the
girl look like?"
"Small, dressed in blue and wearing a white veil. She made a lively
sprint for the gate, and climbed into the last car just as the train
started. The conductor yelled to her not to try it, but the porter jumped
out and pushed her up the steps."
At Hood's suggestion Deering brought the suitcase that had been exchanged
for his own, and disclosed its contents--a filmy night-dress, a silk
shirt-waist, a case of ivory toilet articles bearing a complicated
monogram, a bottle of violet-water, half empty, a pair of silk stockings,
a novel, a pair of patent-leather pumps, all tumbled together.
[Illustration: "The young person left in haste, that's clear enough,"
remarked Hood.]
"The young person left in haste, that's clear enough," remarked Hood,
balancing one of the pumps in his hand. "'Bonet, Paris,'" he read,
squinting at the lining. "Most deplorable that we have both slippers; one
would have been a clew, and we could have spent the rest of our lives
measuring footprints. Very nice slippers, though; fastidious young person,
I'll wager. The monogram on these trinkets is of no assistance--it might
be R. G. T., or T. G. R., or G. R. T. Monograms are a nuisance, a
delusion, a snare!"
Deering flung the faintly scented violet-tinted toilet-case into the bag
resentfully.
"The silly little fool; why didn't she mind what she was doing!" he
exclaimed angrily, "and not steal other people's things!"
"Pardon me," Hood remonstrated, "but from your story the less you speak
of stealing the better. But it isn't clear yet why you sneaked the bonds.
Your father has a reputation for generosity; you're an only son and
slated to succeed him in the banking-house. Just what was your idea in
starting for Boston with the loot?"
"It was to help Ned Ranscomb, an old pal of mine," Deering blurted--"one
of the best fellows on earth, who has pulled me out of a lot of holes.
He'd taken options on Mizpah Copper for more than he could pay for and
fell on my neck to help him out. And the rotten part of it is that I
can't find him anywhere! I've telephoned and telegraphed all over
creation, but he's fallen off the earth! I tell you everything from the
start has gone wrong. I guess I didn't tell you that I already had a
couple of hundred thousand in Mizpah--all I could put up personally, and
now I've lost the two hundred thousand I stole, and Ned's got cold feet
and drowned himself, and here I'm talking about it to a man who may be a
crook for all I know!"
"This disappearance of Ranscomb has a suspicious look," remarked Hood,
ignoring the fling. "Either money or a woman, of course."
"Ranscomb," Deering retorted savagely, "is all business and never fools
with women. And you can bet that with this big copper deal on he wouldn't
waste time on any girl that ever was born."
"Human beings are as we find them," observed Hood judicially, "but you're
entirely too tragic about this whole business. If it isn't comedy, it's
nothing. I'll wager the girl who skipped with your stolen boodle has a
sense of humor. The key-note to her character is in this novel she
grabbed as she hastily packed her bag--'The Madness of May.' That's one
of the drollest books ever written. A story like that is a boon to
mankind; it kept me chuckling all night. Haven't read it? Well, the
heroine excused herself from a dinner-table that was boring her to death,
ran to her room and packed a suitcase, and that was the last her friends
saw of her for some time. Along about this season it's in the blood of
healthy human beings to pine for clean air and the open road. It's the
wanderlust that's in all of us, old and young alike. It's possible that
the young lady who ran off with your bonds felt the spring madness and
determined to hit the trail as the girl did in that yarn. Finding herself
possessed of a lot of bonds belonging to a stranger, I dare say she is
badly frightened. Put yourself in that girl's place, Deering--imagine her
feelings, landing somewhere after a hurried journey, opening her suitcase
to chalk her nose, and finding herself a thief!"
"Rot!" sniffed Deering angrily.
One moment he distrusted Hood; the next his heart warmed to him. At the
table the light-hearted adventurer had kept him entertained and amused
with his running comment on books, public characters, the world's gold
supply, and scrapes he had been in, without dropping any clew to his
identity. He seemed to be a veritable encyclopaedia of places; apparently
there was not a town in the United States that he hadn't visited, and he
spoke of exclusive clubs and thieves' dens in the same breath. But
Deering's hopes of gaining practical aid in the search for the lost bonds
was rapidly waning.
"There's no use being silly about this; I'm going to telephone to a
detective agency and tell them to send out a good man, right
away--to-night----"
"As you please," Hood assented, "but if you do, you'll regret it to your
last hour. I know the whole breed, and you may count on their making a
mess of it. And consider for a moment that what you propose means putting
a hired bloodhound on the trail of a girl who probably never harmed a
kitten in her life. It would be rotten caddishness to send a policeman
after her. It isn't done, Deering; it isn't done! Of course, there's not
much chance that the sleuths would ever come within a hundred miles of
her, but what if they found her! You are a gentleman, Deering, and that's
not the game for you to play."
"Then tell me a better one! In ten days at the farthest father will be
back and what am I going to say to him--how am I going to explain
breaking into his safety box and stealing those bonds?"
"You can't explain it, of course, and it's rather up to you, son, to put
'em back. Every hour you spend talking about it is wasted time. That
girl's had your suitcase two days, and it's your duty to find her.
Something must have happened or she'd have turned it back to the railroad
company. Perhaps she's been arrested as a thief and thrown into jail!
Again, her few effects point to a degree of prosperity--she's not a girl
who would steal for profit; I'll swear to that. We must find that girl!
We'll toss a slipper and start off the way the toe points."
Indifferent to Deering's snort of disgust, Hood was already whirling the
slipper in the air.
"Slightly northeast! There you are, Deering--the clear pointing of Fate!
The girl wasn't going far or she wouldn't have been in the local ticket
line, and even a lady in haste packs more stuff for a long journey. We'll
run up to the Barton Arms--an excellent inn, and establish headquarters.
The girl who danced off with your two hundred thousand is probably around
there somewhere, bringing up her tennis for the first tournaments of the
season. Let's be moving; a breath of air will do you good."
"That's all you can do about it, is it?" demanded Deering. "Let me tell
my whole story--put myself in your power, and now the best you can do is
to flip a slipper to see which way to start!"
"Just as good a way as any," remarked Hood amiably.
He pressed the button, ordered his car, and then led the way back to
Deering's room.
"Throw some things into a bag. You'll soon forget your sordid money
affairs and begin to live, and you'd better be prepared for anything that
turns up. I'll fold the coats; some old fishing-togs for rough work and
jails, and even your dress suit may come in handy."
He fell to work, folding the suits neatly, while Deering moved about like
a man in a trance, assembling linen and toilet articles.
"Something tells me we're going to have a pretty good time," continued
Hood musingly. "I'll show you untold kingdoms, things that never were on
sea or land. We shall meet people worn with the world-old struggle for
things they don't need, and who are out in the tender May air looking for
happiness--the only business, my dear boy, that's really worth while. And
you'll be surprised, son, to find how many such people there are."
"Ah, you're ready, Cassowary!" remarked Hood as they stepped out of the
side door where a big touring-car was drawn up in the driveway. "Just a
moment till I get my stick."
Briggs had placed their bags in the car, and Deering had a moment in
which to observe the chauffeur, who stood erect and touched his cap.
Hood's protege proved to be a tall, dark, well-knit young fellow
dressed in a well-fitting chauffeur's costume.
"It's a good night for a run," Deering suggested, eying the man in the
light from the door.
"Fine, sir."
"I hope the people in the house took good care of you."
"Very good, sir."
There was nothing in Cassowary's voice or manner to indicate that he was
the possessor of the fortune to which Hood had referred so lightly.
Deering's hastily formed impressions of Hood's chauffeur were wholly
agreeable and satisfying.
Hood, lingering in the hall, could be heard warning Briggs against the
further accumulation of fat. He recommended a new system of reducing, and
gave the flushed and stuttering butler the name of a New York specialist
in dietetics whom he advised him to consult without delay.
The chauffeur's lips twitched and, catching Deering's eye, he winked.
Deering tapped his forehead. Cassowary shook his head.
"Don't you believe it!" he ejaculated with spirit.
At this moment Hood appeared on the steps, banging his recovered stick
noisily as he descended.
"The Barton Arms, Cassowary," he ordered, and they set off at a lively
clip.
III
On the steps of the Barton Arms an hour later Hood and Deering ran into
two men who were just leaving the inn. Hood greeted them heartily as old
acquaintances and remained talking to them while Deering went to ask for
rooms.
"The suspicions of those fellows always tickle me," he remarked as he
joined Deering at the desk, where he scrawled "R. Hood, Sherwoodville,"
on the register. "Detectives--rather good as the breed goes, but not men
of true vision. Now and then I've been able to give them a useful
hint--the slightest, mind you, and only where I could divert suspicion
from some of my friends in the underworld. I always try to be of
assistance to predatory genius; there are clever crooks and stupid ones;
the kind who stoop to vulgar gun-work when their own stupidity gets them
into a tight pinch don't appeal to me. My artistic sensibilities are
affronted by clumsy work."
"Perhaps--" Deering suggested with a hasty glance | 1,413.481188 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.4632950 | 7,435 | 93 |
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Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_), and text
enclosed by equal signs is in bold (=bold=).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
The History Teacher’s Magazine
Volume I.
Number 5.
PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1910.
$1.00 a year
15 cents a copy
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
INTRODUCTORY COURSE IN HISTORY IN HARVARD COLLEGE,
by Prof. Charles H. Haskins 95
IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICAN HISTORY TEACHING, by Sara A. Burstall 96
“THE OLD SOUTH LEAFLETS” CLASSIFIED, by Rex W. Wells 98
MUNICIPAL CIVICS, by Dr. James J. Sheppard 99
HAS HISTORY A PRACTICAL VALUE? by Prof. J. N. Bowman 103
CALDWELL AND PERSINGER’S “A SOURCE HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES” 105
EDITORIAL 106
AMERICAN HISTORY IN THE SECONDARY SCHOOL,
by Arthur M. Wolfson, Ph.D. 107
ASHLEY’S “AMERICAN HISTORY,” reviewed by H. R. Tucker 108
ANCIENT HISTORY IN THE SECONDARY SCHOOL,
by William Fairley, Ph.D. 109
EUROPEAN HISTORY IN THE SECONDARY SCHOOL,
by D. C. Knowlton, Ph.D. 110
HISTORY IN THE GRADES, by Armand J. Gerson 112
REPORTS FROM THE HISTORICAL FIELD, by Walter H. Cushing:
The English Historical Association; California Association;
New York City Conference; Missouri Society; Bibliography of
History for Schools 113
CORRESPONDENCE:
Source Methods; School Libraries 114
* * * * *
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Harding’s Essentials in Mediaeval History
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This text-book is designed for elementary college classes, having
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have been selected with great care. The continuity of the history has
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of mediaeval life and institutions are clearly brought out. The book
affords a clear, scholarly, compact outline, which can be filled in
in various ways. At the end of each chapter are suggestive topics and
search topics, and numerous specific references to the best books for
collateral reading. The aim of the book is to be accurate in substance
and definite in statement, to seize the vital and interesting facts,
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necessary in dealing with matters so remote and alien as those which
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The History Teacher’s Magazine
Volume I.
Number 5.
PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1910.
$1.00 a year
15 cents a copy
Introductory Course in History[1] In Harvard College
BY PROFESSOR CHARLES H. HASKINS.
Perhaps the most difficult question which now confronts the college
teacher of history is the work of the first year of the college course.
The problem is comparatively new, and becomes each year more serious.
Twenty-five or thirty years ago the small amount of history taught
in American colleges came in the junior or senior year, and was not
organized into any regular curriculum. With the recent development
of historical courses, however, the teaching of history has worked
down into the sophomore and often into the freshman year, so that
the teacher of the first course in history is not only charged with
introducing students to college work in history, but must also take
his share of the task of introducing them to college work in general.
At the same time the enlargement of the curriculum and the improvement
of instruction in history in many of our secondary schools result
in sending to the colleges a body of students who have already some
familiarity with history and cannot be treated in the same way as the
great mass of freshmen. Moreover, the first college course in history
in all our larger institutions attracts a considerable number of
students, in some cases as many as four hundred, so that the management
of a large class adds another element to the problem; and matters are
further complicated by the fact that while some of these will continue
their historical studies in later years, others must get from this
course all the historical training which they will receive in college.
I take it that no one pretends to have found the solution of these
difficulties, and that what is at present likely to prove helpful is
not dogmatic discussion so much as a comparison of the experience of
different institutions.
The introductory course at Harvard, History 1, is designed to be useful
to those whose historical studies are to stop at this point, as well as
to serve as a basis for further study. A period of the world’s history
is chosen which is sufficiently large to give an idea of the growth
of institutions and the nature of historical evolution, yet not so
extensive as to render impossible an acquaintance at close range with
some of the characteristic personalities and conditions of the age; and
an effort is made to stimulate interest in history and to give some
idea of the nature and purposes of historical study. The field covered
is the history of Europe, including England, from the fourth to the
fifteenth centuries. This period has generally received little or no
attention in school, so that students come to it with a freshness which
they could not bring to ancient history or American history, and are
introduced to a new world of action and movement and color which easily
rouses their interest. The year devoted to the Middle Ages bridges the
gap between their ancient and modern studies, and not only gives a
feeling of historical continuity, but by showing the remote origin of
modern institutions and culture it deepens the sense of indebtedness to
the past and furnishes something of the background so much needed in
our American life.
Most introductory courses now give considerable attention to the Middle
Ages; the point of difference is whether the attempt should be made to
cover something of the modern period as well. Where a longer period
has been chosen, it has been quite generally found impracticable in
a single year to bring the course down to the present time, and such
courses have ordinarily stopped somewhere in the eighteenth century,
leaving to a subsequent year the study of the more recent period.
Thus the course which was given at Harvard until 1903 stopped at the
Treaty of Utrecht. Assuming that two years are necessary for the
satisfactory treatment of mediæval and modern history for the purposes
of the general student, the question then becomes one as to the point
where the break shall come, and we believe that experience is in
favor of placing this point fairly early. The pace should be slower
in the first year than in the second, so that students may not be
confused and hurried while they are learning new methods of work and
being emancipated from habits of close dependence on the text-book.
There should be time for reading and assimilation, as well as for
thorough drill, in a way that is not possible when too much ground
is gone over. Good training in the first year makes it easier to
cover a considerable period in the second. Such at least has been the
experience at Harvard, where about half of the students in History 1 go
on to the survey of modern history given in History 2 in the following
year, while most of the others go directly to modern English history or
American history. It ought to be added that while about nine-tenths of
the class of three hundred who elect History 1 are freshmen, students
who have given a good deal of attention to history in school are
permitted to go on immediately to more advanced courses; and for those
who take only American history in their later years, the introductory
course in government is accepted as sufficient preparation.
The class meets three times a week, twice in a body for lectures,
and the third hour in sections of about twenty. The lectures do not
attempt to give a narrative, but seek to bind together the students’
reading, comment upon it, clarify it, reënforce the significant
points, and discuss special aspects of the subject. The processes of
historical interpretation and criticism are illustrated by a few simple
examples, and from time to time the work is vivified by the use of
lantern slides. The reading is divided into two parts, prescribed and
collateral, and indicated on a printed “List of References” which each
member of the class is required to buy. The prescribed reading, from
seventy-five to one hundred pages a week, is made, as far as possible,
the central part of the student’s work. At first this is selected
largely from text-books and illustrative sources; later in the year
text-books drop into the background, and narrative and descriptive
works are taken up, although the student is urged to have at hand a
manual for consultation and for securing a connected view of events.
The effort is made to break away from high school methods of study
and to teach students to use intelligently larger historical books.
Stubb’s “Early Plantagenets,” Jessopp’s “Coming of the Friars,” Bryce’s
“Holy Roman Empire,” Brown’s “Venetian Republic,” Day’s “History of
Commerce,” Reinach’s “Apollo,” and Robinson and Rolfe’s “Petrarch,”
are examples of the kind of books from which the required reading
is chosen. Some sources are given in their entirety, such as the
“Germania,” the “Life of St. Columban,” and Einhard’s “Charlemagne”;
but reliance is placed mainly upon the extracts given in Ogg’s “Source
Book” and Robinson’s “Readings.” It is found that the proper use and
appreciation of sources is one of the hardest things for beginners
to learn, and careful and explicit teaching is required both at the
lectures and at the meetings of the sections. Each student is required
to provide himself with two or three texts, a source book, and an
historical atlas, and many buy a number of the other books used in
the course. The books in which the reading is assigned are kept in a
special reading-room, where the supply is sufficient to provide one
copy of each for every ten men in the course. Duplicates of the works
recommended for collateral reading are also furnished.
At the weekly section meetings the students are held responsible for
the required reading and the lectures for the week. There is always a
short written paper about twenty minutes in length, including usually
an exercise on the outline map, and the rest of the hour is spent in
explanation, review and discussion. No attempt is made at systematic
quizzing, as the work of the week is much more effectively tested by
the written paper. These sections are held by the assistants, four in
number, who are chosen from men who have had two or three years of
graduate study and generally some experience in teaching.
For the collateral reading certain topics are suggested each week,
and every month each member of the class is required to read the
references under at least one of the assigned topics. These topics
have considerable range, and students are encouraged to select those
which have special interest for them and to read freely upon them.
Thus if a student takes the Northmen as his topic, he will read the
greater part of Keary’s “Vikings,” and translated extracts from Norse
poetry or sagas; if he chooses Henry II, he will have Mrs. Green’s
biography and Stubb’s characterization in the introduction to Benedict
of Peterborough; if he reads on monasticism, he will compare different
views of the subject as found in specified chapters of Montalembert,
Lecky, Taylor’s “Classical Heritage of the Middle Ages,” and in
Harnack’s “Monasticism”; on castles and castle life he will read
portions of Miss Bateson’s “Mediæval England,” and Viollet-le-Duc’s
“Annals of a Fortress,” and examine the illustrations in Enlart’s
“Manuel” and Schultz’s “Höfisches Leben”; on St. Louis he will have
Joinville, certain pages of Langlois, and William Stearns Davis’s
novel, “Falaise of the Blessed Voices.” A certain fixed minimum of such
reading is set for each one in the course, and a higher minimum for
those who expect distinction, and ambitious students will read from
1,500 to 2,000 pages in the course of the year.
The effort is constantly made to develop individual aptitudes and
stimulate the better men. Every student has at least eight individual
conferences with the assistant during the year. The conference is
devoted mainly to a discussion of the collateral reading, but it
also serves as an opportunity for examining note books, talking over
difficulties, and in general for closer personal acquaintance between
assistant and student. Sometimes small voluntary groups of men have
been formed which meet the assistant weekly at his room for the reading
and discussion of short historical papers written by students.
Considerable attention is given to well-reasoned note-taking upon both
lectures and required reading, a matter respecting which the freshman
is at first likely to be quite helpless. Here the personal supervision
of the assistant is of the greatest value, and is often exercised
weekly.
Special emphasis is put upon historical geography, not only by constant
reference to wall maps and by special exercises involving the use of
the principal historical atlases, but also by means of the regular use
of blank outline maps. Members of the class are required to bring such
a map to all meetings of the sections, and to be able to locate upon it
important places and boundaries. The mid-year and final examinations
also include a regular test of such geographical knowledge. More time
than should be necessary is devoted to this work, but experience
has shown that college students have at the outset only the vaguest
ideas of European geography, and in this and in some other respects
it is necessary to do in college, work that ought to have been done
in the secondary or grammar school. If the ordinary freshman brought
with him an elementary knowledge of geography and the ability to read
intelligently, the task of the college teacher of history would be
greatly lightened.
No attempt is made to require theses or formal written reports,
as such work is useful rather for those who are to continue their
historical studies, and as regular training of this sort is given in
the second-year courses. Some attempts have, however, been made to
coördinate the student’s work in history and in English composition by
having the results of reading upon an historical topic embodied in a
brief essay which is read and graded both by the instructor in history
and the instructor in English. Such coöperative efforts are still in
the experimental stage, but they are regarded favorably by those who
believe that the occasion for writing good English is not confined to
courses in English composition, and that a broader policy with regard
to the student’s work is necessary if the American college is to give
an education as well as to teach particular subjects.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] Some use has here been made of material contained in a paper
on “The Historical Curriculum in Colleges,” in the Minutes of the
Association of History Teachers of the Middle States and Maryland for
1904; and in the Report of the Conference on the First Year of College
Work in History, in Report of the American Historical Association for
1905, I, pp. 147-174.
Impressions of American History Teaching[2]
EXTRACTS FROM MISS BURSTALL’S RECENT WORK, “IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICAN
EDUCATION.”
Miss Sara A. Burstall, head mistress of the Manchester (England) High
School for Girls, traveled in the United States during the year 1908,
studying and inspecting American educational systems. Miss Burstall has
written out her experiences in America in a book entitled “Impressions
of American Education in 1908.” The author was particularly interested
in the teaching of history in American schools. The following extracts
are printed in the belief that American teachers would desire “to see
themselves as others see them.” In the chapter on “Method” occur the
following statements:
“Recitation is indeed an accurate description of what one hears,
sitting in an American class-room; the pupil stands up and recites
what he has learnt, whether from the standard text-book or from other
sources. The teacher may question some statement in order to make
sure that the pupil understands what he has said, other pupils will
also question it. A girl will put up her hand and (the teacher giving
permission by looking in her direction) will say, ‘But I thought
that I read in----’ and will proceed to give some other view of the
subject. A general discussion will follow which the teacher will not
authoritatively close by giving her correct opinion; she will pass
on to another part of the subject and ask another pupil to recite
what he or she has learnt about it. If the reciter makes an error the
teacher will call upon another pupil to correct it; very rarely does
the teacher make a correction herself, and still more rarely does
she express her opinion. We were not struck by the good English or
excellence of oral composition which we heard. The American boys and
girls did not do any better in this respect than the English girls
we know. One can hardly expect fluent, elegant oral descriptions and
accounts except from practiced speakers. With a class of thirty or
forty and a lesson period of forty-five minutes obviously not all in
the class recite; quite half may take no share except as listeners.
The presumption is that they have learnt up their work, that they
are interested in listening to what others say about it; their turn
will come next day, and in any case it is to their interest to follow
carefully what goes on.
“Three criticisms must occur to even a sympathetic English teacher:
first, the possibility of what in England would be a probable waste
of time to the listeners. Americans say that these, though they often
look indifferent and inattentive, are really attending; they are
used to the method and they play the game, so to speak, by listening
attentively as well as by reciting readily when their turn comes.
Second, the whole thing is very dull and slow; each pupil speaks very
slowly, with very little grace of delivery or beauty of language, such
as might be expected from the teacher, and nothing like the same amount
of ground is covered as is the case in a lesson on the oral method.
With the recitation method in England we should not arouse sufficient
interest to get the best out of our pupils; we could not get through
the work we have to do in the time, nor would English boys and girls
be sufficiently quick and clever to understand the difficulties in
geometry, for example, or in Latin or French grammar, unless they
had clear and skilful explanations from the teacher, who presumably
understands the art of making things clear. Americans would probably
say that their students are quick enough and earnest enough to make
progress without this careful exposition and without this atmosphere of
interest and intellectual stimulus, and there is probably some truth
in the reply. Our pupils too often do not want to work, and their
minds do move more slowly. We have been obliged to find ways of making
class-work attractive, either by intellectual stimulus and interest,
or by rewards and punishments, since we have not that strong outside
belief in education which makes the task of the American teacher much
more easy. It is also true that the examination demand has forced us to
explain clearly to the duller pupils in the class difficulties which
the cleverer ones could see through for themselves. Probably here
Americans are right and we are wrong; we make the work too easy by,
as it were, peptonizing the lesson material, before giving it to the
hungry sheep who look up to us to be fed. Our aim has been to help them
to assimilate the knowledge required, not to develop in them the power
to grapple with new material. This aim the American recitation system
undoubtedly develops, and this is one of its great merits.
“Our third criticism is that the teacher appears to do too little; her
share in the lesson is at a minimum; the new ideas do not come from
her, her influence is indirect. Here, again, the American would say, so
much the better. The democratic ideal is undoubtedly one cause for the
existence and the popularity of the recitation method. The teacher and
the pupils are very much on a level. She is not teaching them; she acts
rather as chairman of the meeting, the object of which is to ascertain
whether they have studied for themselves in a text-book, and what they
think about the material they have been studying. Clearly, then, the
master is the text-book, and here we strike on a vital peculiarity of
American education. Its aim has been intellectually the mastery of
books; with us education has always been very much more, always and
everywhere, a personal relation. The children learn from the master or
mistress with or without the aid of a book.”
“The rise of the method can be explained from historical causes;
in the old ungraded rural school of America, meeting perhaps only
for a few months in the year, taught, it may be, by a woman in the
summer, and a man in the winter, there could be no classification
or organization. Each pupil worked through an authorized text-book,
much as in the old Scottish rural school, when a plowman might come
back for a couple of months to rub up his arithmetic or English in
the book if he did not finish before leaving school. The teacher went
around and helped individual pupils over difficulties, or heard them
‘recite’ the lesson they had each learnt, while the others went on with
their own tasks. Then when the schools came to be graded, a number
of pupils at about the same stage could recite together out of the
book, and so the recitation method developed, evolved by the American
genius for invention to fit the necessities of the position. Among
these conditions was the absence of a body of experienced and skilled
teachers; much of the work was done by all sorts of people, many with
very scanty qualifications, who would ‘teach school’ for a few months
to earn enough to go on with some other occupation. Such people could
not be in the true sense of the word teachers; they could ‘conduct
recitations’ and engage in the friendly questioning and discussion as
an equal, which the American method implies. When first-rate, highly
qualified, skilled teachers come to play on this instrument they bring
forth from it a wonderful result.
“The writer was fortunate enough to see some very fine work by a woman
teacher, brilliant, systematized, full of interest and fire, the pupils
really taking part and bringing their material which the teacher
skillfully percussed so that it kindled. Indeed, the recitation method
at its best and our own oral method are almost identical in effect;
and far excel as educational instruments anything that can be attained
by lectures. But how rarely is it seen at its best? At its worst, of
course, it becomes mere memoriter repetition out of the text-book with
very little intelligence anywhere; any teacher would do this who could
keep order.
“It is hoped that this imperfect sketch may at least afford some idea
of what is to be seen in the United States by a teacher of history,
and of what we can learn from them. Probably there is more to be
learnt in this subject by English students of American education than
in any other, and the study is the more interesting and profitable
since the evolution of the present condition of history teaching
there is so recent. The present writer can only say that she has
heard finer history teaching in more than one American institution
than she ever heard in England, though her experiences here have been
fortunate, and that such teaching has set for her an ideal standard of
professional skill in our difficult art. England might learn, too, from
the life and vigor of the subject in the common schools, the breadth
and thoughtfulness and the self-reliance in the history classes of
secondary schools, and the volume and power of the historical work in
the colleges and technological institutes.
“The equipment is well worth our imitation if only we could get the
money for it. Every good high school has a room or rooms for the
history lessons; cases of maps to be drawn down when required--a
product of the American skill in mechanical appliances--are universal,
and an average high school has a better supply of these maps than some
of our colleges. Pictures of every sort abound.
“It is the opinion of one of the leading American authorities on the
teaching of history, herself a distinguished teacher, that there is
a very real increase of intellectual interest; some of it may be
superficial, but it is at least widespread. A nidus has been formed and
there is a real advance in the subject.
“In England we have, as things are, the tradition of public service and
the inner instinct of patriotism; formal teaching of civic duty is not
so much needed among the wealthier and more cultivated classes, though
more ought to be done than is done in the public elementary schools,
and in some of the new secondary schools. In America this sociological
teaching given in connection with history is the one thing they have
to train citizens for citizenship; religious instruction has been
excluded from their school system, personal influence and corporate
life play but little part compared with the powerful one they play
here. There is no universal military service as in Germany and France
to teach by hard experience the duty and the need of patriotism; the
tradition of unpaid public work so strong in England is not known in
the United States. The teaching of history and of patriotism through
history is the one force which America has in her schools and colleges
to stimulate and train the sense of civic duty. One cannot but conclude
that to a half-conscious conviction of this truth is due the system,
the earnestness, the concentration, and the excellence that America
achieves in the teaching of history throughout every grade of her
education.”
FOOTNOTE:
[2] Impressions of American Education in 1908, by Sara A. Burstall, pp.
xii, 829, Longmans, Green & Co.
“The Old South Leaflets” Classified
BY REX W. WELLS, TEACHER OF HISTORY, EAST HIGH SCHOOL, TOLEDO, OHIO.
English History.
Vol. No.
Augustine in England V 113
King Alfred’s Description of Europe V 112
Magna Charta (1215) I 5
Passages from Wyclif’s Bible (1382) V 125
Passages from More’s “Utopia” (1516) V 124
Letters of Hooper to Bullinger (“The First Puritan”) III 58
The Invention of Ships, Raleigh VII 166
The Petition of Right (1628) I 23
Sir John Eliot’s “Apologie for Socrates” III 59
Ship Money Papers III 60
The Scottish National Covenant (1638) I 25
Pym’s Speech against Strafford (1641) III 61
The Grand Remonstrance (1641) I 24
The Agreement of the People (1648-9) II 26
Cromwell’s First Speech to his Parliament (1653) II 28
The Instrument of Government (1653) II 27
Vane’s “Healing Question” (1656) I 6
Milton’s “Free Commonwealth” (1660) III 63
Sir Henry Vane’s Defense (1662) III 64
The Bill of Rights (1689) I 18
Old Jersey (Island of) VI 150
Miscellaneous Subjects.
Strabo’s Introduction to Geography (10 B. C.) II 30
Dante’s “De Monarchia” V 123
Grotius’s “The Rights of War and Peace” (1625) V 101
Marco Polo’s Account of Japan and Java II 32
Penn’s Plan for the Peace of Europe III 75
The Law of Nature in Government, John Wise (1717) VII 165
The Swiss Constitution (1874) I 18
The Hague Arbitration Treaty (1899) V 114
America--(Unclassified).
Boston in | 1,413.483335 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.5658080 | 1,777 | 20 |
Produced by Emma Wong Shee, John Bickers, and Dagny
PEVERIL OF THE PEAK
By Sir Walter Scott, Bart.
PEVERIL OF THE PEAK
CHAPTER I
When civil dudgeon first grew high,
And men fell out, they knew not why;
When foul words, jealousies, and fears,
Set folk together by the ears--
--BUTLER.
William, the Conqueror of England, was, or supposed himself to be, the
father of a certain William Peveril, who attended him to the battle of
Hastings, and there distinguished himself. The liberal-minded monarch,
who assumed in his charters the veritable title of Gulielmus Bastardus,
was not likely to let his son's illegitimacy be any bar to the course of
his royal favour, when the laws of England were issued from the mouth
of the Norman victor, and the lands of the Saxons were at his unlimited
disposal. William Peveril obtained a liberal grant of property and
lordships in Derbyshire, and became the erecter of that Gothic fortress,
which, hanging over the mouth of the Devil's Cavern, so well known to
tourists, gives the name of Castleton to the adjacent village.
From this feudal Baron, who chose his nest upon the principles on which
an eagle selects her eyry, and built it in such a fashion as if he had
intended it, as an Irishman said of the Martello towers, for the sole
purpose of puzzling posterity, there was, or conceived themselves to be,
descended (for their pedigree was rather hypothetical) an opulent
family of knightly rank, in the same county of Derby. The great fief
of Castleton, with its adjacent wastes and forests, and all the wonders
which they contain, had been forfeited in King John's stormy days, by
one William Peveril, and had been granted anew to the Lord Ferrers of
that day. Yet this William's descendants, though no longer possessed
of what they alleged to have been their original property, were long
distinguished by the proud title of Peverils of the Peak, which served
to mark their high descent and lofty pretensions.
In Charles the Second's time, the representative of this ancient family
was Sir Geoffrey Peveril, a man who had many of the ordinary attributes
of an old-fashioned country gentleman, and very few individual traits
to distinguish him from the general portrait of that worthy class
of mankind. He was proud of small advantages, angry at small
disappointments, incapable of forming any resolution or opinion
abstracted from his own prejudices--he was proud of his birth, lavish
in his housekeeping, convivial with those kindred and acquaintances, who
would allow his superiority in rank--contentious and quarrelsome with
all that crossed his pretensions--kind to the poor, except when they
plundered his game--a Royalist in his political opinions, and one who
detested alike a Roundhead, a poacher, and a Presbyterian. In religion
Sir Geoffrey was a high-churchman, of so exalted a strain that many
thought he still nourished in private the Roman Catholic tenets, which
his family had only renounced in his father's time, and that he had a
dispensation for conforming in outward observances to the Protestant
faith. There was at least such a scandal amongst the Puritans, and
the influence which Sir Geoffrey Peveril certainly appeared to possess
amongst the Catholic gentlemen of Derbyshire and Cheshire, seemed to
give countenance to the rumour.
Such was Sir Geoffrey, who might have passed to his grave without
further distinction than a brass-plate in the chancel, had he not lived
in times which forced the most inactive spirits into exertion, as a
tempest influences the sluggish waters of the deadest mere. When the
Civil Wars broke out, Peveril of the Peak, proud from pedigree, and
brave by constitution, raised a regiment for the King, and showed upon
several occasions more capacity for command than men had heretofore
given him credit for.
Even in the midst of the civil turmoil, he fell in love with, and
married, a beautiful and amiable young lady of the noble house of
Stanley; and from that time had the more merit in his loyalty, as it
divorced him from her society, unless at very brief intervals, when his
duty permitted an occasional visit to his home. Scorning to be allured
from his military duty by domestic inducements, Peveril of the Peak
fought on for several rough years of civil war, and performed his part
with sufficient gallantry, until his regiment was surprised and cut
to pieces by Poyntz, Cromwell's enterprising and successful general of
cavalry. The defeated Cavalier escaped from the field of battle, and,
like a true descendant of William the Conqueror, disdaining submission,
threw himself into his own castellated mansion, which was attacked and
defended in a siege of that irregular kind which caused the destruction
of so many baronial residences during the course of those unhappy wars.
Martindale Castle, after having suffered severely from the cannon which
Cromwell himself brought against it, was at length surrendered when in
the last extremity. Sir Geoffrey himself became a prisoner, and while
his liberty was only restored upon a promise of remaining a peaceful
subject to the Commonwealth in future, his former delinquencies, as
they were termed by the ruling party, were severely punished by fine and
sequestration.
But neither his forced promise, nor the fear of farther unpleasant
consequences to his person or property, could prevent Peveril of the
Peak from joining the gallant Earl of Derby the night before the fatal
engagement in Wiggan Lane, where the Earl's forces were dispersed. Sir
Geoffrey having had his share in that action, escaped with the relics
of the Royalists after the defeat, to join Charles II. He witnessed also
the final defeat of Worcester, where he was a second time made prisoner;
and as, in the opinion of Cromwell and the language of the times, he
was regarded as an obstinate malignant, he was in great danger of having
shared with the Earl of Derby his execution at Bolton-le-Moor, having
partaken with him the dangers of two actions. But Sir Geoffrey's life
was preserved by the interest of a friend, who possessed influence in
the councils of Oliver.--This was a Mr. Bridgenorth, a gentleman of
middling quality, whose father had been successful in some commercial
adventure during the peaceful reign of James I.; and who had bequeathed
his son a considerable sum of money, in addition to the moderate
patrimony which he inherited from his father.
The substantial, though small-sized, brick building of Moultrassie
Hall, was but two miles distant from Martindale Castle, and the young
Bridgenorth attended the same school with the heir of the Peverils. A
sort of companionship, if not intimacy, took place betwixt them, which
continued during their youthful sports--the rather that Bridgenorth,
though he did not at heart admit Sir Geoffrey's claims of superiority to
the extent which the other's vanity would have exacted, paid deference
in a reasonable degree to the representative of a family so much more
ancient and important than his own, without conceiving that he in any
respect degraded himself by doing so.
Mr. Bridgenorth did not, however, carry his complaisance so far as to
embrace Sir Geoffrey's side during the Civil War. On the contrary, as an
active Justice of the Peace, he rendered much assistance in arraying
the militia in the cause of the Parliament, and for some time held
a military commission in that service. This was partly owing to his
religious principles, for he was a zealous Presbyterian, partly to his
political ideas, which, without being absolutely democratical, favoured
the popular side of the great national question. Besides, he was a
moneyed man, and to a certain extent had a shrewd eye to his worldly
interest. He understood how | 1,413.585848 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.5679120 | 4,972 | 286 |
Produced by Edward A. Malone
L'ALLEGRO, IL PENSEROSO, COMUS, AND LYCIDAS
By
John Milton
L'ALLEGRO
HENCE, loathed Melancholy,
............Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born
In Stygian cave forlorn
............'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights
unholy!
Find out some uncouth cell,
............Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings,
And the night-raven sings;
............There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
............In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou Goddess fair and free,
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne,
And by men heart-easing Mirth;
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth,
With two sister Graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore:
Or whether (as some sager sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a-Maying,
There, on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown roses washed in dew,
Filled her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest, and youthful Jollity,
Quips and cranks and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks and wreathed smiles
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.
Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free:
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And, singing, startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come, in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine;
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:
Oft listening how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Sometime walking, not unseen,
By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate
Where the great Sun begins his state,
Robed in flames and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight;
While the ploughman, near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrowed land,
And the milkmaid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.
Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilst the landskip round it measures:
Russet lawns, and fallows grey,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim, with daisies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide;
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosomed high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
Hard by a cottage chimney smokes
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met
Are at their savoury dinner set
Of herbs and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tanned haycock in the mead.
Sometimes, with secure delight,
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks sound
To many a youth and many a maid
Dancing in the chequered shade,
And young and old come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the livelong daylight fail:
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How Faery Mab the junkets eat.
She was pinched and pulled, she said;
And he, by Friar's lantern led,
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly set,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end;
Then lies him down, the lubber fiend,
And, stretched out all the chimney's length,
Basks at the fire his hairy strength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock his matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds soon lulled asleep.
Towered cities please us then,
And the busy hum of men,
Where throngs of knights and barons bold,
In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold
With store of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear
In saffron robe, with taper clear,
And pomp, and feast, and revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry;
Such sights as youthful poets dream
On summer eves by haunted stream.
Then to the well-trod stage anon,
If Jonson's learned sock be on,
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever, against eating cares,
Lap me in soft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,
Such as the meeting soul may pierce,
In notes with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out
With wanton heed and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony;
That Orpheus' self may heave his head
From golden slumber on a bed
Of heaped Elysian flowers, and hear
Such strains as would have won the ear
Of Pluto to have quite set free
His half-regained Eurydice.
These delights if thou canst give,
Mirth, with thee I mean to live.
IL PENSEROSO
HENCE, vain deluding Joys,
............The brood of Folly without father bred!
How little you bested
............Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys!
Dwell in some idle brain,
............And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
............As the gay motes that people the sun-beams,
Or likest hovering dreams,
............The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train.
But, hail! thou Goddess sage and holy!
Hail, divinest Melancholy!
Whose saintly visage is too bright
To hit the sense of human sight,
And therefore to our weaker view
O'erlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue;
Black, but such as in esteem
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem,
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove
To set her beauty's praise above
The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended.
Yet thou art higher far descended:
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore
To solitary Saturn bore;
His daughter she; in Saturn's reign
Such mixture was not held a stain.
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades
He met her, and in secret shades
Of woody Ida's inmost grove,
Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove.
Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure,
Sober, steadfast, and demure,
All in a robe of darkest grain,
Flowing with majestic train,
And sable stole of cypress lawn
Over thy decent shoulders drawn.
Come; but keep thy wonted state,
With even step, and musing gait,
And looks commercing with the skies,
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes:
There, held in holy passion still,
Forget thyself to marble, till
With a sad leaden downward cast
Thou fix them on the earth as fast.
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet,
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the Muses in a ring
Aye round about Jove's altar sing;
And add to these retired Leisure,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;
But, first and chiefest, with thee bring
Him that yon soars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The Cherub Contemplation;
And the mute Silence hist along,
'Less Philomel will deign a song,
In her sweetest saddest plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night,
While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke
Gently o'er the accustomed oak.
Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly,
Most musical, most melancholy!
Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among
I woo, to hear thy even-song;
And, missing thee, I walk unseen
On the dry smooth-shaven green,
To behold the wandering moon,
Riding near her highest noon,
Like one that had been led astray
Through the heaven's wide pathless way,
And oft, as if her head she bowed,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud.
Oft, on a plat of rising ground,
I hear the far-off curfew sound,
Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow with sullen roar;
Or, if the air will not permit,
Some still removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom,
Far from all resort of mirth,
Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bellman's drowsy charm
To bless the doors from nightly harm.
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,
Be seen in some high lonely tower,
Where I may oft outwatch the Bear,
With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere
The spirit of Plato, to unfold
What worlds or what vast regions hold
The immortal mind that hath forsook
Her mansion in this fleshly nook;
And of those demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or underground,
Whose power hath a true consent
With planet or with element.
Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy
In sceptred pall come sweeping by,
Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line,
Or the tale of Troy divine,
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the buskined stage.
But, O sad Virgin! that thy power
Might raise Musaeus from his bower;
Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing
Such notes as, warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek,
And made Hell grant what love did seek;
Or call up him that left half-told
The story of Cambuscan bold,
Of Camball, and of Algarsife,
And who had Canace to wife,
That owned the virtuous ring and glass,
And of the wondrous horse of brass
On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught else great bards beside
In sage and solemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys, and of trophies hung,
Of forests, and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career,
Till civil-suited Morn appear,
Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont
With the Attic boy to hunt,
But kerchieft in a comely cloud
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ushered with a shower still,
When the gust hath blown his fill,
Ending on the rustling leaves,
With minute-drops from off the eaves.
And, when the sun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, Goddess, bring
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves,
Of pine, or monumental oak,
Where the rude axe with heaved stroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallowed haunt.
There, in close covert, by some brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honeyed thigh,
That at her flowery work doth sing,
And the waters murmuring,
With such consort as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep.
And let some strange mysterious dream
Wave at his wings, in airy stream
Of lively portraiture displayed,
Softly on my eyelids laid;
And, as I wake, sweet music breathe
Above, about, or underneath,
Sent by some Spirit to mortals good,
Or the unseen Genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the studious cloister's pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antique pillars massy proof,
And storied windows richly dight,
Casting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voiced quire below,
In service high and anthems clear,
As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstasies,
And bring all Heaven before mine eyes.
And may at last my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and mossy cell,
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew,
Till old experience do attain
To something like prophetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give;
And I with thee will choose to live.
COMUS
A MASQUE PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE, 1634, BEFORE
THE EARL OF BRIDGEWATER, THEN PRESIDENT OF WALES.
The Persons
The ATTENDANT SPIRIT, afterwards in the habit of THYRSIS.
COMUS, with his Crew.
The LADY.
FIRST BROTHER.
SECOND BROTHER.
SABRINA, the Nymph.
The Chief Persons which presented were:--
The Lord Brackley;
Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother;
The Lady Alice Egerton.
The first Scene discovers a wild wood.
The ATTENDANT SPIRIT descends or enters.
BEFORE the starry threshold of Jove's court
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered
In regions mild of calm and serene air,
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot
Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care,
Confined and pestered in this pinfold here,
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being,
Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives,
After this mortal change, to her true servants
Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats.
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire
To lay their just hands on that golden key
That opes the palace of eternity.
To Such my errand is; and, but for such,
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould.
But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream,
Took in by lot, 'twixt high and nether Jove,
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay
The unadorned bosom of the deep;
Which he, to grace his tributary gods,
By course commits to several government,
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns
And wield their little tridents. But this Isle,
The greatest and the best of all the main,
He quarters to his blue-haired deities;
And all this tract that fronts the falling sun
A noble Peer of mickle trust and power
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms:
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore,
Are coming to attend their father's state,
And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood,
The nodding horror of whose shady brows
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger;
And here their tender age might suffer peril,
But that, by quick command from sovran Jove,
I was despatched for their defence and guard:
And listen why; for I will tell you now
What never yet was heard in tale or song,
From old or modern bard, in hall or bower.
Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine,
After the Tuscan mariners transformed,
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed,
On Circe's island fell. (Who knows not Circe,
The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape,
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?)
This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks,
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth,
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son
Much like his father, but his mother more,
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named:
Who, ripe and frolic of his full-grown age,
Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields,
At last betakes him to this ominous wood,
And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered,
Excels his mother at her mighty art;
Offering to every weary traveller
His orient liquor in a crystal glass,
To quench the drouth of Phoebus; which as they taste
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst),
Soon as the potion works, their human count'nance,
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed
Into some brutish form of wolf or bear,
Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat,
All other parts remaining as they were.
And they, so perfect is their misery,
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement,
But boast themselves more comely than before,
And all their friends and native home forget,
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty.
Therefore, when any favoured of high Jove
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade,
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star
I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy,
As now I do. But first I must put off
These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris' woof,
And take the weeds and likeness of a swain
That to the service of this house belongs,
Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song,
Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar,
And hush the waving woods; nor of less faith
And in this office of his mountain watch
Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid
Of this occasion. But I hear the tread
Of hateful steps; I must be viewless now.
COMUS enters, with a charming-rod in one hand, his glass in the
other: with him a rout of monsters, headed like sundry sorts of
wild
beasts, but otherwise like men and women, their apparel
glistering.
They come in making a riotous and unruly noise, with torches in
their hands.
COMUS. The star that bids the shepherd fold
Now the top of heaven doth hold;
And the gilded car of day
His glowing axle doth allay
In the steep Atlantic stream;
And the <DW72> sun his upward beam
Shoots against the dusky pole,
Pacing toward the other goal
Of his chamber in the east.
Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast,
Midnight shout and revelry,
Tipsy dance and jollity.
Braid your locks with rosy twine,
Dropping odours, dropping wine.
Rigour now is gone to bed;
And Advice with scrupulous head,
Strict Age, and sour Severity,
With their grave saws, in slumber lie.
We, that are of purer fire,
Imitate the starry quire,
Who, in their nightly watchful spheres,
Lead in swift round the months and years.
The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove,
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move;
And on the tawny sands and shelves
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves.
By dimpled brook and fountain-brim,
The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim,
Their merry wakes and pastimes keep:
What hath night to do with sleep?
Night hath better sweets to prove;
Venus now wakes, and wakens Love.
Come, let us our rights begin;
'T is only daylight that makes sin,
Which these dun shades will ne'er report.
Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport,
| 1,413.587952 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.5690110 | 1,609 | 20 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Walt Farrell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE BANDBOX
BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
The Bandbox
Cynthia-of-the-Minute
No Man's Land
The Fortune Hunter
The Pool of Flame
The Bronze Bell
The Black Bag
The Brass Bowl
The Private War
Terence O'Rourke
[Illustration: "Now, sir!" she exclaimed, turning
FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 83_]
The Bandbox
BY LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
Author of "The Brass Bowl," "The Bronze Bell,"
"Cynthia-of-the-Minute," etc.
With Four Illustrations
By ARTHUR I. KELLER
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
_Copyright, 1911, 1912,_
By Louis Joseph Vance.
_All rights reserved, including those of translation into foreign
languages, including the Scandinavian_
Published, April, 1912
Reprinted, April, 1912 (three times)
TO
LEWIS BUDDY III
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I INTRODUCING MR. IFF 1
II THE BANDBOX 14
III TWINS 26
IV QUEENSTOWN 43
V ISMAY? 65
VI IFF? 87
VII STOLE AWAY! 109
VIII THE WRONG BOX 128
IX A LIKELY STORY 158
X DEAD O' NIGHT 177
XI THE COLD GREY DAWN 194
XII WON'T YOU WALK INTO MY PARLOUR? 216
XIII WRECK ISLAND 233
XIV THE STRONG-BOX 254
XV THE ENEMY'S HAND 275
XVI NINETY MINUTES 295
XVII HOLOCAUST 312
THE BANDBOX
I
INTRODUCING MR. IFF
At half-past two of a sunny, sultry afternoon late in the month of
August, Mr. Benjamin Staff sat at table in the dining-room of the
Authors' Club, moodily munching a morsel of cheese and a segment of
cast-iron biscuit and wondering what he must do to be saved from the
death-in-life of sheer ennui.
A long, lank gentleman, surprisingly thin, of a slightly saturnine cast:
he was not only unhappy, he looked it. He was alone and he was lonely;
he was an American and a man of sentiment (though he didn't look _that_)
and he wanted to go home; to sum up, he found himself in love and in
London at one and the same time, and felt precisely as ill at ease in
the one as in the other of these, to him, exotic circumstances.
Inconceivable as it may seem that any rational man should yearn for New
York in August, that and nothing less was what Staff wanted with all his
heart. He wanted to go home and swelter and be swindled by taxicab
drivers and snubbed by imported head-waiters; he wanted to patronise the
subway at peril of asphyxiation and to walk down Fifth Avenue at that
witching hour when electric globes begin to dot the dusk of
evening--pale moons of a world of steel and stone; he wanted to ride in
elevators instead of lifts, in trolley-cars instead of trams; he wanted
to go to a ball-game at the Polo Grounds, to dine dressed as he pleased,
to insult his intelligence with a roof-garden show if he felt so
disposed, and to see for himself just how much of Town had been torn
down in the two months of his exile and what they were going to put up
in its place. He wanted, in short, his own people; more specifically he
wanted just one of them, meaning to marry her if she'd have him.
Now to be homesick and lovesick all at once is a tremendously disturbing
state of affairs. So influenced, the strongest men are prone to folly.
Staff, for instance, had excellent reason to doubt the advisability of
leaving London just then, with an unfinished play on his hands; but he
was really no more than a mere, normal human being, and he did want very
badly to go home. If it was a sharp struggle, it was a short one that
prefaced his decision.
Of a sudden he rose, called for his bill and paid it, called for his hat
and stick, got them, and resolutely--yet with a furtive air, as one who
would throw a dogging conscience off the scent--fled the premises of his
club, shaping a course through Whitehall and Charing Cross to Cockspur
Street, where, with the unerring instinct of a homing pigeon, he dodged
hastily into the booking-office of a steamship company.
Now Mystery is where one finds it, and Romantic Adventure is as a rule
to be come upon infesting the same identical premises. Mr. Staff was not
seeking mysteries and the last role in the world in which he could fancy
himself was that of Romantic Adventurer. But in retrospect he can see
quite clearly that it was there, in the humdrum and prosaic setting of a
steamship booking-office, that he first stumbled (all unwittingly) into
the toils of his Great Adventure.
When he entered, there was but one other person on the outer or public
side of the booking-counter; and he, sticking close in a far corner and
inaudibly conferring with a clerk, seemed so slight and unpretending a
body that Staff overlooked his existence altogether until circumstances
obliged him to recognise it.
The ignored person, on the other hand, showed an instant interest in the
appearance of Mr. Staff. You might have thought that he had been waiting
for the latter to come in--absurd as this might seem, in view of the
fact that Staff had made up his mind to book for home only within the
last quarter-hour. None the less, on sight of him this other patron of
the company, who had seemed till then to be of two minds as to what he
wanted, straightened up and bent a freshened interest on the cabin-plot
which the clerk had spread out upon the counter for his advisement. And
a moment after Staff had audibly stated his wishes, the other prodded a
certain spot of the chart with a thin and fragile forefinger.
"I'll take this one," he said quietly.
"Upper'r lower?" enquired his clerk.
"Lower."
"Then-Q," said the clerk....
Meanwhile Staff had caught the eye of an impregnable young Englishman
behind the counter; and, the latter coming forward, he opened
negotiations with a succinct statement:
"I want to book on the Autocratic, sailing tomorrow from Liverpool, if
I'm not mistaken."
"Quite so," said his clerk, not without condescension. "For yourself,
may I awsk?"
"For myself alone."
"Then-Q." The clerk fetched a cabin-plot.
"I'm afraid, sir," | 1,413.589051 |
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THE TALE OF JOLLY ROBIN
TUCK-ME-IN TALES
(Trademark Registered)
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
AUTHOR OF
SLEEPY-TIME TALES
(Trademark Registered)
The Tale of Jolly Robin
The Tale of Old Mr. Crow
The Tale of Solomon Owl
The Tale of Jasper Jay
The Tale of Rusty Wren
The Tale of Daddy Longlegs
The Tale of Kiddie Katydid
The Tale of Buster Bumblebee
The Tale of Freddy Firefly
The Tale of Betsy Butterfly
The Tale of Bobby Bobolink
The Tale or Chirpy Cricket
The Tale of Mrs. Ladybug
The Tale of Reddy Woodpecker
The Tale of Grandmother Goose
[Illustration: Jolly Robin Asks Jasper Jay About The Sign
Frontispiece--(Page 44)]
TUCK-ME-IN TALES
THE TALE OF JOLLY ROBIN
BY
ARTHUR SCOTT BAILEY
Author of
"S | 1,413.589217 |
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Transcriber's note
On page 156 are macrons for the letters "o" and "e"; these are
represented by [=o] and [=e] respectively. Printer errors have been
changed and are listed at the end. The author's spelling has been
maintained.
[Illustration: Elephants at Work
From a photograph copyrighted by the Keystone View Co.]
_HEATH SUPPLEMENTARY READERS_
THE WONDERS OF
THE JUNGLE
PRINCE SARATH GHOSH
Book Two
[Illustration]
D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO ATLANTA
DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1918,
BY D. C. HEATH & CO.
3 B 1
PRINTED IN U.S.A.
TO THE CHILDREN
My dear, I am now going to tell you many more Wonders of the Jungle, as
I promised to do in Book I.
In that Book, as you will remember, I promised to tell you more about
the elephants and about the laws of their herd. So I shall do so now.
Then I shall tell you about some animals which I did not describe in
Book I. Among these you may like to know especially about the tiger, the
lion, the leopard, and the wolf.
You may like to know how really _clever_ some of these animals are, and
how some of them have _affections_, just as we have.
But while you are reading about them, you must try to _think_. Then you
will understand _why_ these animals do certain things. And that will
show how clever _you_ are!
I have used a few new words in this Book. But I am sure you know them
already.
Now I shall begin with the laws of the elephants.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ELEPHANT HERD A REPUBLIC 1
The Duties of the President 2
He Must Provide Daily Food 3
He Must Provide Daily Drink 9
He Must Keep Order in the Herd 12
He Must Avoid Danger from Outside 18
II. WAR AND NEUTRALITY IN THE JUNGLE 26
Wise Elephant Leader Avoids War 27
Wise Elephant Leader Keeps Neutral 29
When it is Impossible to Remain Neutral 29
III. THE POLICEMEN OF THE ELEPHANT HERD 31
IV. THE PUNISHMENT OF THE WICKED ELEPHANT 39
The Princes and the Bad Elephant 40
The Trial of the Criminal Elephant--as in a Court of Law 55
The Infliction of the Punishment 57
The Rogue Elephant 61
The Brand of the Rogue 63
The Reward of Repentance 64
V. FLESH-EATING ANIMALS: THE FELINES, OR THE CAT TRIBE 66
The Feline has Strong Fangs 67
The Feline's Tongue is Rough 68
The Feline's Claws are Retractile 68
The Feline has Padded Paws 71
VI. THE TIGER 73
The Life History of the Tiger Family 78
The Tiger's Family Dinner 83
VII. THE TIGER CUBS' LESSONS 87
Tiger Cubs Learn to Kill Prey, After their
Parents have Caught It 88
Tiger Cubs Take Part in Hunt to Catch Prey 90
Tiger Cubs Learn to Catch Prey by Themselves 91
VIII. THE TIGRESS MOTHER'S SPECIAL DUTIES 97
The Truce of the Water Hole 100
IX. THE SPECIAL QUALITIES OF TIGER AND TIGRESS 102
Both Tiger and Tigress Defend Their Cubs 104
The Tiger Family's Lost Dinner 110
The Tiger as a Heroic Husband 116
X. THE LION 128
The Lion Has the Fangs, the Tongue, the Claws,
and the Paws of a Cat 132
How the Lion is Different from Other Cats 138
XI. THE LION'S DAILY LIFE 142
XII. THE LION A NOBLE ANIMAL 156
Androcles and the Lion 156
The Lady and the Lioness 163
XIII. THE LEOPARD 168
The Leopard's Ground Color and Spots 169
Why the Leopard has Spots 170
XIV. THE LEOPARD'S HABITS 176
The Panther: Popular Name For Large Leopard 180
How the Leopard Seizes his Prey 181
The Leopard's One Amiable Quality--He Loves Perfumes 182
The Leopard and the Lavender 183
XV. AMERICAN LEOPARD: THE JAGUAR 188
XVI. THE DOG TRIBE 194
The American Gray Wolf 196
The American Wolf Learns to Evade the Gun 200
The American Wolf Learns to Evade the Trap 202
The American Wolf Learns to Evade the Poison 205
ILLUSTRATIONS
ELEPHANTS AT WORK _Frontispiece_
PAGE
ELEPHANT LEADING HERD THROUGH THE JUNGLE 5
TRAINED ELEPHANTS AT THE COURT OF A KING 23
ELEPHANTS GUARDING A BAD ELEPHANT 33
POLICEMEN ELEPHANTS ARRESTING A CRIMINAL ELEPHANT 45
GOOD ELEPHANT HEADING OFF A CRIMINAL ELEPHANT 51
TIGER 75
TIGER PROTECTING HIS CUB 107
TIGER CHARGING HUNTING PARTY 121
GROUP OF LIONS 129
PUMA 129
AFRICAN LION 133
GIRAFFES 147
KANGAROO 147
ANDROCLES AND THE LION 161
LEOPARD 171
JAGUAR 171
THE CHAIN OF CONFLICT IN THE JUNGLE 191
GRAY WOLF 197
THE WONDERS OF THE JUNGLE
CHAPTER I
The Elephant Herd a Republic
An elephant herd is a kind of republic, something like the United States
of America, only much smaller and much simpler. So its leader is a sort
of president. He is usually the wisest elephant in the herd.
You may like to know how the elephants choose their president. I shall
tell you how they do that.
But you must first consider how the people of the United States choose
_their_ President. They find out who among their important men is best
able to lead them in all the great duties of the nation. Then they
choose _him_.
But if afterward they find that he is _not_ leading the nation in the
wisest manner, then the people of the United States choose another man
to be their President the next time.
The elephants in a herd do something like that. They first follow the
elephant who, they think, is best able to lead them. But if afterward
they find that he is not leading them through the jungle in the right
way, and that another elephant could lead them in a better manner, then
they follow him instead. He then becomes the president of the herd.
"But what is the best way of leading the herd through the jungle?" you
may ask.
I shall now tell you about that. The best way to lead the herd is _to
satisfy all their needs_. So the president of the herd has four great
duties.
_The Duties of the President_
First Duty: He must lead the herd in such a manner that all the
elephants will get enough _food to eat_ every day.
Second Duty: He must lead the herd in such a manner that all the
elephants will get enough _water to drink_ every day.
Third Duty: He must _keep order_ in the herd, and not allow any naughty
elephant to fight or quarrel.
Fourth Duty: He must guide the elephants in such a manner as to _avoid
all danger from outside_; and if such danger does happen to come, he
must guard the herd from that danger.
I shall now tell you about these four duties more fully.
_He Must Provide Daily Food_
Elephants are such large animals that they need a great amount of food.
So they have to walk a long way every day, munching the leaves of the
trees as they go.
They walk in line, one behind another, as that is the easiest method of
walking through the thick jungle; for then one gap through the jungle is
enough for all the elephants to go through, one at a time, and they need
not make a different gap for each elephant.
Now you will understand that if that one gap is big enough for the
_largest_ elephant to go through, it is of course big enough for _all_
the elephants to go through. So, if the largest elephant walks first, in
front of the line of elephants, he can force a way through the thick
jungle that will be big enough for all the other elephants who come
behind him.
So usually the largest and strongest bull elephant is the leader of the
herd--if he also has the other qualities of a president, which I shall
presently describe more fully. To have all the qualities of a president,
he must not only be strong, but also wise and clever. Why? Because even
in merely going through the jungle a wise leader avoids many
difficulties. It might be that the jungle straight ahead was very thick,
and it would be hard to force a way through it; but by turning a little
to the right or to the left, an easier passage could be made. This a
wise leader would find out, and then turn in that direction.
Again, in the jungle, the ground is sometimes too soft; it might be made
of clay which had become soft owing to rain a few days before. But
elephants are such heavy animals that they cannot go far over soft
ground, as their feet would sink in too deep. And the ground might be
covered with bushes or tall grass, so that the elephants | 1,413.685996 |
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[Illustration: The good-natured Giant]
THE
TWO STORY MITTENS
AND THE
LITTLE PLAY MITTENS:
BEING
THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE SERIES.
BY
AUNT FANNY,
AUTHOR OF THE SIX NIGHTCAP BOOKS, ETC.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
443 & 445 BROADWAY.
LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN.
1867.
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
FANNY BARROW,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the
Southern District of New York.
I DEDICATE
THESE TWO STORIES AND THIS LITTLE PLAY
TO MY FRIEND
MR. FRANK A----,
who makes fun of me before my face and speaks well of me behind my back.
I don't mind the first a bit; and as long as he continues to practise
the second, we will fight under the same flag.
LONG MAY IT AND HE WAVE!
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS, 7
THE PARTY LILLIE GAVE FOR MISS FLORENCE, 12
THE FAIRY BENEVOLENCE, 45
MASTER EDWARD'S TRIAL, 80
THE LITTLE PLAY MITTENS, 139
MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS.
THE mittens were coming bravely on. Some evenings, Aunt Fanny could not
send a story; and then the little mother read an entertaining book, or
chatted pleasantly with her children.
There had been twelve pairs finished, during the reading of the third
book, and several more were on the way. George had written the most
delightful letters, each of which was read to his eagerly-listening
sisters and brothers several times, for they were never tired of hearing
about life in camp.
This evening, the mother drew another letter, received that day, out of
her pocket. The very sight of the envelope, with the precious flag in
the corner, caused their eyes to sparkle, and their fingers to fly at
their patriotic and loving work.
"Attention!" said the mother in a severe, military tone. Everybody burst
out laughing, choked it off, immediately straightened themselves up as
stiff as ramrods, and she began:
"DEAR MOTHER, CAPTAIN, AND ALL THE BELOVED
SQUAD:--Our camp is splendid! We call it Camp
Ellsworth. It covers the westward <DW72> of a
beautiful hill. The air is pure and fresh, and our
streets (for we have real ones) are kept as clean
as a pin. Not an end of a cigar, or an inch of
potato peeling, dare to show themselves. Directly
back of the camp strong earthworks have been
thrown up, with rifle pits in front; and these are
manned by four artillery companies from New York.
Our commissary is a very good fellow, but I wish
he would buy pork with less fat. I am like the boy
in school, who wrote home to his mother, his face
all puckered up with disgust: "They make us eat
p-h-a-t!!" When I swizzle it (or whatever you call
that kind of cooking) in a pan over the fire,
there is nothing left of a large slice, but a
little shrivelled brown bit, swimming in about
half a pint of melted lard, not quarter enough to
satisfy a great robin redbreast like me; but I
make the most of it, by pointing my bread for some
time at it, and then eating a lot of bread before
I begin at the pork. The pointing, you see, gives
the bread a flavor."
The children screamed with laughter at this, and wanted to have some
salt pork cooked immediately to try the "pointing" flavor. Their mother
promised to have some for breakfast, and went on reading:
"We are very busy at drills. I give the boys
plenty of field exercise, quick step, skirmishes,
double quick, and all manner of manoeuvres. After
drill, we sing songs, tell jokes, and _play_ jokes
upon each other, but we don't forget, in doing
this, that we are _gentlemen_.
"Oh dear mother, I am crazy to be in action! I am
afraid, if we don't have a battle soon, I shall
get motheaten. Our General is a glorious fellow,
and is just as anxious as we are to have it over;
peace will come all the sooner. Hollo! Here comes
"Tapp," and I must blow out my half inch of tallow
candle, and go to bed.
"Good-by, all my dear ones. Love and pray for your
affectionate son and brother, GEORGE."
"Ah!" sighed the children, as the mother folded up the letter. Then they
were silent, thinking of the dear brother who wanted so much to be in
the dreadful battle; and the little mother was looking very mournful
when there came a ring at the bell.
The servant handed in a package, which proved to be a story from "Aunt
Fanny." It came very fortunately; and the mittens grew fast, as the
little mother read the interesting history of--
THE PARTY LILLIE GAVE FOR MISS FLORENCE.
THE PARTY LILLIE GAVE FOR MISS FLORENCE.
"OH, mamma, please _do_ buy me a new doll," said Lillie, one day in
June.
"Why, how you talk!" answered her mother. "What has become of your large
family?"
"Oh, mamma! Minnie, the china doll, has only one leg, and my three wax
dolls are no better. Fanny has only one arm; both Julia's eyes are out;
and the kitten scratched off Maria's wig the other day, and she has the
most dreadful-looking, bald pate you ever saw! Instead of its being made
of nice white wax, it is nothing but old brown paper! I think it is
very mean not to make dolls' bald heads like other people's! Then I
could have dressed Maria up in pantaloons, and made a grandfather of
her. But now she is fit for nothing but to be put in a cornfield to
scare away the crows."
Lillie's mother | 1,413.782006 |
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE HOSPITAL BULLETIN
Published Monthly in the Interest of the Medical Department
of the University of Maryland
PRICE $1.00 PER YEAR
Contributions invited from the Alumni of the University.
Business Address, Baltimore, Md.
Entered at the Baltimore Post-office
as Second Class Matter.
VOL. V BALTIMORE, Md., APRIL 15, 1909 No. 2
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE ETHICS OF THE GENERAL PRACTITIONER.
_An Address delivered Before the University of
Maryland Medical Association,
March 16, 1909_,
BY GUY STEELE, M. D.
Of Cambridge, Md.
A celebrated divine once said that the most difficult part of a sermon
was the selection of a proper text. I must thank the President of this
society for saving me this trouble. When, however, Webster's is
consulted for a proper definition of the word "Ethics," and it is found
to mean "The science of human duty," it would seem that he has chosen a
text almost too comprehensive for the limits of a short paper, even when
restricted to the "ethics of the medical profession." It may not be out
of place to thank him for the honor he has conferred upon me by deeming
one whose student days are scarce twelve years behind him worthy of
presenting this subject to you, for a paper on this topic is almost of
itself a sermon, and we naturally look up to those, whose many years of
experience and works have brought them prominence, for instruction in
morals and duty. Still, I take it, whether young or old, all of us like
to preach on fitting occasions, and not the least part of the
inspiration to effort is the character of the audience. My invitation
was to read a paper before the Clinical Society, and incidentally I was
told that some of the students had expressed a desire to be present.
Little, however, did I anticipate such a flattering attendance from them
when examination time so nearly approached, and it is evidence of a most
commendable spirit when they can bring themselves to take even an hour
of their most valuable time from study to devote to a consideration of
the moral duties and responsibilities which shall be theirs when they
shall have passed through the April ordeal. Much that I have to say
tonight will be directed especially to them, and if they or their elders
in the profession may in the years to come look back upon this night
with the recollection that I have more forcibly brought to mind some of
the old and half-forgotten maxims and axioms that make for a better and
purer professional life, I will have been more than repaid for the time
I have expended in the preparation of this paper.
In discussing the ethics of the general practitioner towards his
patient, I would have you remember that your first and most important
duty is to give to those who trust you the very best that is in you.
To you young men, full of enthusiasm for your new profession, and imbued
with Utopian ideas of the mission which you have undertaken for the good
of mankind, it would seem almost foolish for me to mention this as the
first advice I would offer you. But I think I can see a smile of
understanding flit across the faces of those who have for some years
fought the battle of life, and who have had the wire edge of early
ambitions and determinations blunted by contact with unappreciative
patients and unworthy professional competition and the daily incidents
of a busy life. They know that it is very easy to feel too tired, or be
too busy, or have some other engrossing affair in mind which prevents
that entire devotion to duty which all admit is essential to success in
medicine. Half of success in life or in any undertaking is due to a
successful start; therefore, let me ask you to firmly determine on one
or two fixed principles, and to stick to those principles through thick
and thin. Be fully assured that no halfway devotion to your profession
will ever bring you prominence or success. The time-worn phrase that
"Medicine is a jealous mistress" loses none of its truth by frequent
repetition. Recently I saw in a prominent medical journal the advice
given that doctors should take a prominent part in politics and bring
themselves forward in other ways, and that thereby in some way unknown
to me the glory of the profession would be enhanced, and much benefit
result to the community. Far be it from me to discourage a proper civic
spirit and a proper interest in public affairs, or to advise an
avoidance of any duty which good citizenship imposes upon every honest,
patriotic man, whatever his business or profession. But I take it that
no more baneful, no more dangerous advice can be given to our young
professional man than this. You cannot be successful in both politics
and medicine, and while we can point to one member of our profession in
the United States Senate, and to some notable exceptions in our own
State, where men of our profession have, for a time, abandoned medicine
and returned to it to win success, you can rest assured that the medical
politician possesses little beyond a musty diploma to remind the world
that he was once of our cult. So don't be a halfway politician and
halfway doctor. Success in either field will take all of your best
effort and all of your time.
What I have said of politics will apply, though not quite so forcibly,
to any other engrossing business or pleasure. Time forbids me to
elaborate this idea, and in concluding it let me say that you cannot be
a successful politician, merchant, sport or what not and carry medicine
as a side line.
It may seem useless to remind you that, in order to give the best that
is in you, you must keep abreast with what is new and best in
professional literature and scientific progress. You all have determined
to be students, and even those who pride themselves on having passed
through the University without having opened a book have a half-formed
desire to really know something beyond spotting a possible examination
question, and when once examinations are over, and they have reluctantly
withdrawn themselves from the delights of the city by gaslight for the
pine woods and mountain trail, they will burn the midnight oil and
browse diligently through their musty tomes. May I tell you that nothing
is harder than to find time for study. Many of us, even though city men,
with the best and latest literature at our elbows, are ashamed to think
how thoroughly we abhor the sight of a medical book or magazine, and how
easily we can persuade ourselves that we are too tired and stale, and so
engrossed during the day with scenes of sickness and suffering that we
must have our brief hours of release from duty for recreation. We do
need our hours of relaxation and rest and our too infrequent holidays,
and they are absolutely essential to good health and good work. Don't,
however, confuse the words rest and relaxation with sloth and idleness,
and don't think your professional work completed when your round of
daily visits is done. Indeed, if you would know medicine you must woo
your mistress in the small hours of the night, and in many of the
leisure moments that the day may bring you.
Much has been spoken of the man who practices by common sense, and whose
school has been that of observation and hard experience. A most worthy
brother he is at times, and many are his friends and wonderful his
success. But if the science of medicine is to advance, more is required
for progress than mere common sense, and observation untrained and
experience undirected and unguided by the observation and experience of
others will rarely discover a new bacillus or elaborate a side chain
theory. So, to be truly ethical in the duty you owe to give the best
that is in you, you should be reading men. Take one or more of the
medical journals. Buy for reference the latest and best text-books. Make
the opportunity to read the daily papers and something of current
literature. A well-rounded man can afford to do nothing less. Besides
the information you obtain, it pays in the respect of the community to
have the reputation of being posted in your profession. Often the
country man simply hasn't time at home to read. A busy life, with its
miles upon miles of dusty roads to travel, precludes all chance for the
easy chair. Then cultivate the habit of reading while driving. Many are
the useful and happy hours I have spent in my carriage with my journals
and magazines. I am frank to say that, but for this habit, I never could
have found time for one-half of the reading I have done. Last year I was
somewhat amused when a most worthy, well-educated and well-posted man
summed up his opinion of another by saying that he was one of those who
read magazines in his carriage. If I mistake not, this indictment was
brought against the late Dr. Miltenberger, who as a young and busy man
was forced to form this habit, and I could but think that, could I die
with half the honor and respect and love that were his, I could plead
guilty to even this mark of devotion to my profession and desire to
advance in it.
Would you be ethical in giving the best that is in you to your patients,
you must give ungrudgingly of your time. This may again seem a useless
piece of advice, and yet almost all of us are familiar with the man
whose motto is "Veni, Vidi, Vici"--"I came, I saw, I conquered." This
intuitive diagnostician is by no means a myth. The man who comes in a
rush and goes in a rush, and who, with pencil in one hand and
prescription pad in the other, feels the pulse while the thermometer is
under the tongue; who sees at a glance, without necessity of personal or
family history or of physical examination, just what is the matter, and
who, giving four or five prescriptions, rushes out, trusting that
something in his shotgun therapy may hit the enemy. Perhaps the next day
he prescribes four or five more remedies or combination of remedies, and
should the patient begin to improve, prides himself that he has made and
confirmed a diagnosis by his experimental therapy. Is it necessary for
me to say that no ethical man with any regard for the rights of his
patients and his obligation to his profession can really practice
medicine in this manner? The plea that you are too busy to give the
proper time to your cases is no justification for your neglect. Anything
less than a careful inquiry into family and personal history, followed
by a painstaking and thorough physical examination, is unjust to your
patient and unjust to yourself. No ethical man can give the best that is
in him by doing less than this. If you haven't the time to do your work
thoroughly, make a clean breast of the matter and take fewer cases. But
you will say that a man, even in large practice, cannot afford to give
any of it up. He needs every dollar that honestly comes his way, and to
say that he hasn't time for his work is only another way of throwing
practice into the hands of a rival. This is, indeed, a proposition hard
to solve, as most of us do need every dollar that honestly comes our
way; but if our work is only half done, if we have neglected some
important point in diagnosis, and thereby omitted some equally important
measure in treatment, have our dollars been honestly earned? Let us
start out with and carry in mind this axiom of a truly ethical life,
that success in medicine cannot be measured by commercial success; that,
while no sensible man can neglect the business side of his vocation, or
refuse to demand and collect just compensation for his service, such
compensation cannot be measured in dollars and cents alone; that a good
conscience and whole-souled devotion to duty, giving ungrudgingly of the
very best that is in you to those that have confided in you, will be
your very best asset when the final account is made up.
May I impress the fact upon you that an ethical man, with a just
appreciation of his duty to his patients, can never be a vendor of
patent or unofficial medicines. Indeed, I would be lacking in my duty
if, with the opportunity this paper offers me, I did not, from the
standpoint of experience, impress upon you with all of the force at my
command the necessity of being wary of the detail man and the alluring
advertising literature with which your mail will be flooded. You will
scarcely have opened your office, and be waiting with what patience you
can command that rush of the halt, the lame and the blind to which you
feel that your talents entitle you, before the suave detail man, having
heard of the new field, puts in | 1,413.783091 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.8622820 | 203 | 58 |
Produced by Barbara Watson, Mark Akrigg and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net
MY
LITTLE BOY
_by
CARL EWALD_
TRANSLATED FROM THE DANISH
BY
ALEXANDER TEIXEIRA DE MATTOS
MY LITTLE BOY
COPYRIGHT 1906 BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
SOLE AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION
REPRINTED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH THE PUBLISHERS. NO PART OF THIS
WORK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM WITHOUT THE PERMISSION OF
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
_MY LITTLE BOY_
I
My little boy is beginning to live.
Carefully, stumbling now and then on his little knock-kneed legs, he
makes his way over the paving-stones, looks | 1,413.882322 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.8641030 | 2,365 | 10 |
Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
W. & R. CHAMBERS'S BOOKS
SUITABLE FOR PRIZES AND PRESENTATION.
Price 6s., gilt edges.
GIRLS OF THE TRUE BLUE: A School Story. By L. T. MEADE. With ten
Illustrations by Percy Tarrant. 6/
Girls of all ages are sure to be fascinated by the pathetic and
highly interesting narrative of Nan Esterleigh, the orphan girl
who makes her home with a friend of her mother's, where she has
abundance of nice pets, good companions, and an atmosphere of
wholesome comfort, and where she is quite happy until an act of
deceit puts her in the power of an older and designing girl, and
renders her at times very miserable. This wrong-doing is the
shadow over her life, as she finds when Captain Richmond starts
the Royal True Blue society, with its prize to be given for the
best girl who had cultivated every side of her nature--moral,
intellectual, and physical. She is seriously handicapped, and
the prize falls, through an error, to the designing girl who has
ruined her happiness. Misfortune brings this maiden to a better
mind and true repentance, and Nan comes to her own again in the
esteem and respect of every one. There are many other attractive
girl characters in this entertaining story.
[Illustration: _From_ A NEST OF GIRLS. 6/]
A NEST OF GIRLS; or, Boarding School Days. By E. WESTYN TIMLOW. With
eight Illustrations by H. R. Richards. 6/
Here we are introduced to a bevy of smart, clever, American
girls in a boarding-school, just at the time that Winifred
Douglas becomes teacher of English Literature there. Winifred
was wise, if only four-and-twenty, and the love she felt for her
work was only equalled by the sense of responsibility she had
for the impressionable girls under her charge. How she helped
and influenced them for good, although she 'hurt sometimes,'
comes out in the story, which is brimful of life and vivacity.
The lady principal and the doings of a circle of immensely smart
girls keep up the interest of this wholesome picture of
girl-life.
SEVEN MAIDS. By L. T. MEADE. With ten Illustrations by Percy
Tarrant. 6/
'A sweetly written and graceful story of girl-life.'--_Scotsman._
THE ODDS AND THE EVENS. By Mrs L. T. MEADE. With ten Illustrations
by Percy Tarrant. 6/
'Full of fun and adventure. Told in the manner to interest and
amuse children of any age.'--_Birmingham Gazette._
Price 5s.
A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL. By L. T. MEADE. With eight Illustrations by W.
Rainey. 5/
All spirited maidens will follow with interest the training and
development of the character of Evelyn Wynford, heiress of
Castle Wynford, who, when she arrives from Tasmania at her
uncle's house, which will afterwards be her own, is extremely
self-conscious though clever, and is wilful, selfish, vain, and
altogether unladylike. Her maid Jasper is her evil genius. As
the story develops, her aunt, her cousin, and others begin to
have a wholesome influence over her; then certain misdemeanours,
which land her in serious trouble, humble her, and leave her
much changed and truly repentant. The 'Naughty Girl' becomes
transformed into a wise and comely young woman.
COURAGE AND CONFLICT. A Series of Stories by G. A. HENTY, G.
MANVILLE FENN, F. T. BULLEN, FRED WHISHAW, &c. With eight
Illustrations by W. Boucher. 5/
The names of the writers here are a guarantee for the sound
entertainment provided in this companion volume to _Dash and
Daring_, _Peril and Prowess_, and _Venture and Valour_. The
story by Mr G. A. Henty is one of pioneering in the days of the
early settlers in America, when the natives were troublesome,
and who in this case rose up and nearly exterminated the white
people. Mr G. M. Fenn tells a funny seaside story; while Andrew
Balfour, Captain North, Walter Thornbury, James Patey, Fred
Whishaw, Harold Bindloss, and others contribute dashing stories
of peril and adventure, and great heroism in the hour of danger.
[_From_ GIRLS OF THE TRUE BLUE, _by L. T. Meade; price 6s._]
[Illustration: 'He is not horrid at all,' said Nan, very cross.
PAGE 64.]
THE KOPJE GARRISON: A Tale of the Boer War. By G. MANVILLE FENN.
With eight Illustrations by W. Boucher. 5/
Mr Fenn transports his readers to the South African veldt,
where, in imagination and in reality, so many of his countrymen
have been for the past two years, and helps them to understand
by means of this brisk and exciting tale what so many of our
gallant soldiers have had to endure. This new story mainly
follows the fortunes of two young men in khaki--Drew Lennox and
Bob Dickenson--in and around the village of Groenfontein, which
is bravely held by a little British force against the Boers.
Sometimes half-starved, and subjected to night and day attacks,
they make a little Gibraltar of the place, and ever render a
good account of themselves. Something is always happening within
or without Groenfontein, and in the end the story leaves Drew
Lennox captain and V.C.
MISS NONENTITY. By L. T. MEADE. With eight Illustrations by W.
Rainey. 5/
_Punch_ says--'My Baronitess informs me that she has not the
slightest hesitation in advising everybody young enough to enjoy
the story to make the acquaintance of _Miss Nonentity_, by L. T.
Meade. She will be found a very delightful person, who proves
herself to be a "Miss Somebody," and of considerable importance,
too.'
CHARGE! OR BRITON AND BOER. By GEORGE MANVILLE FENN. With eight
Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome. 5/
'For a rattling war story for boys, there are few better hands
than Mr Manville Fenn.'--_Outlook._
VENTURE AND VALOUR. Being Stories told by G. A. HENTY, A. CONAN
DOYLE, G. M. FENN, W. W. JACOBS, TOM GALLON, GORDON STABLES, &c.
With eight Illustrations by W. Boucher. 5/
'The moral appearing to be that men have many admirable
qualities, conspicuous among which is bravery.'--_Scotsman._
TOM'S BOY. By the Author of _Laddie_, _Tip-Cat_, &c. With eight
Illustrations by Percy Tarrant. 5/
'Both he and the people round about him are made uncommonly
interesting.'--_Scotsman._
FIX BAY'NETS! or, The Regiment in the Hills. By G. MANVILLE FENN.
With eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome. 5/
'The story is full of spirit and dash.... Gedge is a fine
specimen of the Tommy Atkins species, and may be not improperly
ranked with Mr Rudyard Kipling's creations.'--_Spectator._
[_From_ A VERY NAUGHTY GIRL, _by L. T. Meade; price 5s._]
[Illustration: 'I say,' cried the girl, coming up eagerly, 'I have
lost my way.']
LIGHT O' THE MORNING. The Story of an Irish Girl. By L. T. MEADE.
With eight Illustrations by W. Rainey. 5/
'Mrs Meade has never written anything better.'--_Yorkshire Post._
PERIL AND PROWESS. Being Stories told by G. A. HENTY, G. MANVILLE
FENN, A. CONAN DOYLE, W. W. JACOBS, D. KER, C. R. LOW, D. LAWSON
JOHNSTONE, ANDREW BALFOUR, and others. With eight Illustrations by
W. Boucher. 5/
'The stories are of supreme interest, and admirably
told.'--_Birmingham Gazette._
'No boy with healthy animal instincts could help reading and
enjoying _Peril and Prowess_.'--_Edinburgh Evening News._
DASH AND DARING. Being Stories told by G. A. HENTY, G. MANVILLE
FENN, D. KER, and many others. With eight Illustrations by W. H. C.
Groome. 5/
'The volume is one to be treasured by British boys.'--_Liverpool
Post._
THE GIRLS OF ST WODE'S. By L. T. MEADE. With eight Illustrations by
W. Rainey. 5/
'Written with strong vivacity.'--_British Weekly._
'The story is a cheerful, heartsome tale.'--_Scotsman._
DRAW SWORDS! By G. MANVILLE FENN. With eight Illustrations by W. H.
C. Groome. 5/
'Attractively bound and capitally illustrated, will be a
veritable prize for a host of our boys.'--_Manchester Courier._
MEG LANGHOLME. By Mrs MOLESWORTH. With eight Illustrations by W.
Rainey. 5/
'Mrs Molesworth presents a study of girl-life with all her
accustomed felicity and unfailing interest.'--_Sheffield Daily
Telegraph._
VINCE THE REBEL, or the Sanctuary in the Bog. By GEORGE MANVILLE
FENN. With eight Illustrations by W. H. C. Groome. 5/
' | 1,413.884143 |
2023-11-16 18:40:37.9634520 | 14 | 7 |
Produced by Internet Archive; University of Florida, David Garcia | 1,413.983492 |
2023-11-16 18:40:38.1586220 | 363 | 12 |
Produced by David Widger
APHORISMS AND REFLECTIONS
FROM THE WORKS OF T. H. HUXLEY
Selected By Henrietta A. Huxley
1908
PREFACE
Although a man by his works and personality shall have made his mark
upon the age he lives in, yet when he has passed away and his influence
with him, the next generation, and still more the succeeding one, will
know little of this work, of his ideals and of the goal he strove to
win, although for the student his scientific work may always live.
Thomas Henry Huxley may come to be remembered by the public merely as
the man who held that we were descended from the ape, or as the apostle
of Darwinism, or as the man who worsted Bishop Wilberforce at Oxford.
To prevent such limitation, and to afford more intimate and valuable
reasons for remembrance of this man of science and lover of his
fellow-men, I have gathered together passages, on widely differing
themes, from the nine volumes of his "Essays," from his "Scientific
Memoirs" and his "Letters," to be published in a small volume, complete
in itself and of a size that can be carried in the pocket.
Some of the passages were picked out for their philosophy, some for
their moral guidances, some for their scientific exposition of natural
facts, or for their insight into social questions; others for their
charms of imagination or genial humour, and many--not the least--for
their pure beauty of lucid English writing.
In so much wealth of material it was difficult to restrict the
gathering.
My great wish is that this small book, | 1,414.178662 |
2023-11-16 18:40:38.1621720 | 509 | 6 |
Produced by Daniel Fromont. HTML version by Al Haines.
COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH AUTHORS
TAUCHNITZ EDITION.
VOL. 1811.
VIXEN BY M. E. BRADDON
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
VIXEN
A NOVEL
BY
M. E. BRADDON,
AUTHOR OF "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET," ETC. ETC.
_COPYRIGHT EDITION_.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ
1879.
_The Right of Translation is reserved_.
CONTENTS
OF VOLUME III.
CHAPTER I. Going into Exile
CHAPTER II. Chiefly Financial
CHAPTER III. "With weary Days thou shalt be clothed and fed"
CHAPTER IV. Love and AEsthetics
CHAPTER V. Crumpled Rose-Leaves
CHAPTER VI. A Fool's Paradise
CHAPTER VII. "It might have been"
CHAPTER VIII. Wedding Bells
CHAPTER IX. The nearest Way to Norway
CHAPTER X. "All the Rivers run into the Sea"
CHAPTER XI. The Bluebeard Chamber
Epilogue
VIXEN.
CHAPTER I.
Going into Exile.
After a long sleepless night of tossing to and fro, Vixen rose with the
first stir of life in the old house, and made herself ready to face the
bleak hard world. Her meditations of the night had brought no new light
to her mind. It was very clear to her that she must go away--as far as
possible--from her old home. Her banishment was necessary for
everybody's sake. For the sake of Rorie, who must behave like a man of
honour, and keep his engagement with Lady Mabel, and shut his old
playfellow out of his heart. For the sake of Mrs. Winstanley, who could
never be happy while there was discord in her home; and last of all,
for Violet herself, who felt that joy and peace had fled from the Abbey
House for ever, and that it would be better to be anywhere, in the
coldest strangest region of this wide earth, verily friendless and
alone among strange faces, than here among friends who were but friends
in name, and among scenes that were haunted with the ghosts | 1,414.182212 |
2023-11-16 18:40:38.1668760 | 509 | 77 |
Produced by Keith G. Richardson
WONDROUS LOVE
AND OTHER GOSPEL ADDRESSES
BY
D. L. MOODY
AUTHOR OF
"PREVAILING PRAYER" "SOVEREIGN GRACE" ETC.
DELIVERED DURING MESSRS. MOODY AND SANKEY'S
FIRST CAMPAIGN IN ENGLAND
PICKERING & INGLIS
14 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C. 4
229 BOTHWELL STREET, GLASGOW, C. 2
29 GEORGE IV. BRIDGE, EDINBURGH
_THE WORLD-WIDE LIBRARY_
THE SEEKING SAVIOUR
By Dr. W. P. Mackay
Author of "Grace and Truth"
HOW AND WHEN
Do we Become Children of God?
50 Answers by Well-Known Men
THE GOOD SHEPHERD
By H. Forbes Witherby
ABUNDANT GRACE
By DR. W. P. MACKAY
Author of "Grace and Truth"
FORGIVENESS, LIFE AND GLORY
By Sir S. Arthur Blackwood
WONDROUS LOVE: Original Addresses
By D. L. Moody
First issued in 1876
Made and Printed in Great Britain
CONTENTS
Christ's Boundless Compassion
The New Birth
The Blood (Two Addresses)
Christ All in All
Naaman the Syrian
One Word--"Gospel"
The Way of Salvation
Eight "I wills" of Christ
The Right Kind of Faith
The Dying Thief
WONDROUS LOVE
God loved the world of sinners lost
And ruined by the fall;
Salvation full, at highest cost,
He offers free to all.
Oh, 'twas love, 'twas wondrous love,
The love of God to me;
It brought my Saviour from above,
To die on Calvary!
E'en now by faith I claim Him mine,
The risen Son of God;
Redemption by His death I find,
And cleansing through the blood.
Love brings the glorious fulness in,
And to His saints makes known
The blessed rest from inbred sin,
Through faith in Christ alone.
Believing souls, rejoicing go;
There shall to you be given
A glorious foretaste, here below,
Of | 1,414.186916 |
2023-11-16 18:40:38.1682190 | 1,611 | 6 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Zibeline, by Phillipe de Massa, v3
#20 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy
#3 in our series by Phillipe de Massa
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E-text prepared by sp1nd, Matthew Wheaton, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Masterpieces in Colour
Edited by--T. Leman Hare
GREUZE
1725-1805
* * * * * *
"MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR" SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
COROT. SIDNEY ALLNUTT.
DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
DELACROIX. PAUL G. KONODY.
DUERER. H. E. A. FURST.
| 1,414.1883 |
2023-11-16 18:40:38.5642590 | 371 | 11 |
Produced by David Widger
THE CRISIS
By Winston Churchill
BOOK III
Volume 6.
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING A CAPITALIST
A cordon of blue regiments surrounded the city at first from Carondelet
to North St. Louis, like an open fan. The crowds liked best to go to
Compton Heights, where the tents of the German citizen-soldiers were
spread out like so many slices of white cake on the green beside the
city's reservoir. Thence the eye stretched across the town, catching the
dome of the Court House and the spire of St. John's. Away to the west, on
the line of the Pacific railroad that led halfway across the state, was
another camp. Then another, and another, on the circle of the fan, until
the river was reached to the northward, far above the bend. Within was a
peace that passed understanding,--the peace of martial law.
Without the city, in the great state beyond, an irate governor had
gathered his forces from the east and from the west. Letters came and
went between Jefferson City and Jefferson Davis, their purport being that
the Governor was to work out his own salvation, for a while at least.
Young men of St. Louis, struck in a night by the fever of militarism,
arose and went to Glencoe. Prying sergeants and commissioned officers,
mostly of hated German extraction, thundered at the door of Colonel
Carvel's house, and other houses, there--for Glencoe was a border town.
They searched the place more than once from garret to cellar, muttered
guttural oaths, and smelled of beer and sauerkraut, The haughty | 1,414.584299 |
2023-11-16 18:40:38.5652300 | 7,435 | 138 |
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/American Libraries.)
THE
HEROES OF ASGARD
_TALES FROM SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY_
BY A. & E. KEARY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HUARD
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1909
_All rights reserved_
New edition September, 1906. Reprinted July, 1909.
Norwood Press:
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE.
In preparing the Second Edition of this little volume of tales from
the Northern Mythology for the press, the Authors have thought it
advisable to omit the conversations at the beginning and end of the
chapters, which had been objected to as breaking the course of the
narrative. They have carefully revised the whole, corrected many
inaccuracies and added fresh information drawn from sources they had
not had an opportunity of consulting when the volume first appeared.
The writers to whose works the Authors have been most indebted, are
Simrock, Mallet, Laing, Thorpe, Howitt and Dasent.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION, 9
CHAPTER I. THE AESIR.
PART I.--A GIANT--A COW--AND A HERO, 41
II.--AIR THRONE, THE DWARFS, AND THE LIGHT ELVES, 51
III.--NIFLHEIM, 59
IV.--THE CHILDREN OF LOKI, 67
V.--BIFROeST, URDA, AND THE NORNS, 72
VI.--ODHAERIR, 81
CHAPTER II. HOW THOR WENT TO JOeTUNHEIM.
PART I.--FROM ASGARD TO UTGARD, 109
II.--THE SERPENT AND THE KETTLE, 130
CHAPTER III. FREY.
PART I.--ON TIPTOE IN AIR THRONE, 147
II.--THE GIFT, 152
III.--FAIREST GERD, 157
IV.--THE WOOD BARRI, 163
CHAPTER IV. THE WANDERINGS OF FREYJA.
PART I.--THE NECKLACE BRISINGAMEN, 169
II.--LOKI--THE IRON WOOD--A BOUNDLESS WASTE, 177
III.--THE KING OF THE SEA AND HIS DAUGHTERS, 185
CHAPTER V. IDUNA'S APPLES.
PART I.--REFLECTIONS IN THE WATER, 191
II.--THE WINGED-GIANT, 198
III.--HELA, 212
IV.--THROUGH FLOOD AND FIRE, 218
CHAPTER VI. BALDUR.
PART I.--THE DREAM, 231
II.--THE PEACESTEAD, 240
III.--BALDUR DEAD, 247
IV.--HELHEIM, 250
V.--WEEPING, 256
CHAPTER VII. THE BINDING OF FENRIR.
PART I.--THE MIGHT OF ASGARD, 263
II.--THE SECRET OF SVARTHEIM, 272
III.--HONOUR, 279
CHAPTER VIII. THE PUNISHMENT OF LOKI, 285
CHAPTER IX. RAGNAROeK.
OR, THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS, 295
INDEX OF NAMES, WITH MEANINGS, 315
List of Illustrations.
PAGE
GIANT SUTTUNG AND THE DWARFS, 86
GIANT SKRYMIR AND THOR, 115
FREYJA IN THE DWARFS' CAVE, 172
IDUNA GIVING THE MAGIC APPLES, 195
SKADI CHOOSING HER HUSBAND, 227
TYR FEEDING FENRIR, 265
THE PUNISHMENT OF LOKI, 292
THE HEROES OF ASGARD.
INTRODUCTION.
If we would understand the religion of the ancient Scandinavians, we
ought to study at the same time the myths of all Teutonic nations. A
drawing together of these, and a comparison of one with another, has
been most beautifully effected by Simrock, in his _Handbuch der
Deutschen Mythologie_, where he tells us that whilst the Scandinavian
records are richer and more definite, they are also younger than
those of Germany, which latter may be compared to ancient half
choked-up streams from which the fuller river flows, but which, it is
to be remarked, that river has mingled in its flowing. Grimm says
that both religions--the German and the Northern--were in the main
identical, though in details they varied; and as heathenism lingered
longer in Scandinavia than in any other part of Europe, it is not
surprising that there, rather than anywhere else, we should find the
old world wants and hopes and fears, dark guesses, crude imaginings,
childlike poetic expressions, crystallised into a pretty definite
system of belief and worship. Yes, we can walk through the glittering
ice halls of the old frozen faith, and count its gems and wonder at
its fearful images; but the warm heart-reachings from which they
alike once flowed, we can only darkly feel, at best but narrowly pry
into here and there. Ah! if we could but break up the poem again into
the syllables of the far off years.
The little tales which follow, drawn from the most striking and
picturesque of the Northern myths, are put together in the simplest
possible form, and were written only with a design to make the
subject interesting to children. By-and-bye, however, as we through
their means become in a slight degree acquainted with the characters
belonging to, and the parts played by, the various deities of this
mythology, it will not be uninteresting to consider what their
meaning may be, and to try if we can trace the connection of one with
another. At present it seems best, as an introduction to them--and
without it they would be scarcely intelligible--to give a very slight
sketch of the Northern mythology, as it is gathered from the earliest
Scandinavian sources, as well as a short account of the sources from
which it is gathered.
Laing, in the introduction to his Translation of the Heimskringla
Saga, says,--"A nation's literature is its breath of life, without
which a nation has no existence, is but a congregation of
individuals. During the five centuries in which the Northmen were
riding over the seas, and conquering wheresoever they landed, the
literature of the people they overcame was locked up in a dead
language, and within the walls of monasteries. But the Northmen had a
literature of their own, rude as it was." Songs and sagas, mythical
and heroic, were the staple of this literature of the north; and
these appear to have been handed down by word of mouth from skald to
skald until about the beginning of the twelfth century. Then Saemund
the Learned, and others, began to commit them to writing. Saemund the
Learned was born in Iceland about the year 1057, fifty years after
Christianity had been positively established in that island. He
passed his youth in Germany, France, and Italy, studying at one time
with a famous master, "by whom he was instructed in every kind of
lore." So full, indeed, did Saemund's head become of all that he had
learnt, that he frequently "forgot the commonest things," even his
own name and identity, so that when asked who he was, he would give
the name of any one he had been reading about. He was also said to be
an astrologer, and a charming little anecdote is related of him in
this capacity, which, however, would be out of place here. When he
went back to Iceland, he became priest of Oddi, instructed the people
about him, studied the old religion, and, besides writing a history
of Norway and Iceland, which has been lost, transcribed several of
the mythic and heroic songs of the North, which together form a
collection known by the name of the _Poetic_, _Elder_, or _Saemund's
Edda_. The songs themselves are supposed to date from about the
eighth century; Saemund wrote them down in the twelfth. The oldest
copy of his original MS. is of the fourteenth century, and this copy
is now in the Royal Library of Copenhagen. A few years ago they were
translated into English by B. Thorpe. So much for the history of the
_Elder Edda_--great-grandmother the name is said to mean, but after
all she scarcely seems old enough to be called a great-grandmother.
We have traced her growing up, and seen how she has dressed herself,
and we begin to think of her almost as a modern young lady. When we
listen to the odd jumble of tales she tells us, too, we are more than
half inclined to quarrel with her, though without exactly knowing
whether it is with her youth or her age that we find fault. You are
too young to know what you are talking about, great-grandmother, we
complain; but, oh dear! you mumble so and make use of such odd
old-fashioned words we can scarcely understand you. Saemund was not
the only man who wrote down songs and sagas; he had some
contemporaries, many successors; and, about fifty years after his
death, we hear of Snorro Sturleson, a rich man, twice Supreme
Magistrate of the Icelandic Republic, who also lived for some time at
Oddi, and who has left many valuable additions to the stock of
Icelandic written lore. Laing says of him--"Snorro Sturleson has done
for the history of the Northmen, what Livy did for the history of the
Romans." Amongst other things, he wrote a sort of commentary or
enlargement of Saemund's _Edda_, probably drawn from MSS. of Saemund
and of others, which were preserved at Oddi. This is called the
_Prose_, _Younger_, or _Snorro's Edda_, and was translated many years
ago by M. Mallet into French. Added to these two sources of
information respecting the Scandinavian mythology, there are many
allusions to the myths scattered through the heroic lays with which
Northern literature abounds.
The _Poetic Edda_ consists of two parts--the mythological and the
heroic. The mythological songs contain an account of the formation
and destruction of the world, of the origin, genealogies, adventures,
journeys, conversations of the gods, magic incantations, and one lay
which may be called ethical. This portion of the _Edda_ concludes
with a song called "The Song of the Sun," of which it is supposed
Saemund himself was the author. Thorpe, the English translator, says,
"It exhibits a strange mixture of Christianity and heathenism, whence
it would seem that the poet's own religion was in a transition state.
We may as well remark here that the only allusion to Christianity in
the _Elder Edda_, with the exception of this last song, which stands
quite alone, is a single strophe in an incantation:--
"An eighth I will sing to thee,
If night overtake thee,
When out on the misty way,
That the dead Christian woman
No power may have to do thee harm."
Which savours curiously of the horror which these heathens then
evidently felt of the new faith.
The _Younger Edda_ is a very queer old lady indeed. She begins by
telling a sort of story. She says "there was once a King called
Gylfi, renowned for his wisdom and skill in magic;" he being seized
with a desire to know all about the gods, and wishing also to get his
information first-hand, sets off on a journey to Asgard itself, the
gods' own abode. When he gets there he finds a mysterious Three
seated upon three thrones--the High, the Equally High, and the Third.
The story-teller is supposed to have taken this picture from a temple
at Upsal, where the thrones of Odin, Thor, and Frey were placed in
the same manner, one above another. Gylfi introduces himself as
Gangler, a name for traveller (connected with the present Scotch word
gang), and proceeded to question the Three upon the origin of the
world, the nature and adventures of the gods, &c., &c. Gangler's
questions, and the answers which he receives, will, with reference to
the _Elder Edda_ tales, help us to get just the short summary we want
of the Scandinavian mythology--the mythology grown up and old, and
frozen tight, as we find it in the _Eddas_.
"What was the beginning of things?" asks Gangler; and Har (the
highest of the Three), replying in the words of an ancient poem,
says,--
"Once was the age
When all was not--
No sand, nor sea,
No salt waves,
No earth was found,
Nor over-skies,
But yawning precipice
And nowhere grass."
This nothingness was called Ginnungagap, the gap of gaps, the gaping
of the chasms: and Har goes on to relate what took place in it. On
the north side of Ginnungagap, he says, lay Niflheim, the shadowy
nebulous home of freezing cold and gathering gloom; but on the south
lay the glowing region of Muspellheim. There was besides a roaring
cauldron called Hvergelmir, which seethed in the middle of Niflheim,
and sent forth twelve rivers called the strange waves; these flowed
into the gap and froze there, and so filled the gap with ice: but
sparks and flakes of fire from Muspellheim fell upon the ice.
Ginnungagap on the north side was now filled with ice and vapour and
fleeting mists and whirlwinds, but southwards with glowing radiancy,
with calm and light and wind--still air; and so, continues Har, the
heat met the frost, the frost melted into drops, the drops quickened
into life, and there was a human form called Ymir, a giant. "Was he a
god?" asks Gangler. "Oh! dear no," answers Har; "we are very far
indeed from believing him to have been a god; he was wicked and the
father of all the Frost Giants." "I wonder what he ate?" said
Gangler. "There was a cow," Har went on to explain; "she was made out
of the drops, too, and the giant fed upon her milk." "Good," answered
Gangler; "but what fed the cow?" "She licked the stones of
Ginnungagap, which were covered with salt hoar frost;" and then Har
goes on to relate how by degrees a man, Bur, grew up out of the
stones as the cow licked them, good, not like Ymir, but the father of
the gods; and here we may remark that the giant and the god equally
were the sole progenitors of their immediate descendants. Ymir was
the father of the first giant, Bur had a son called Boer. But after
that the races mix to a certain extent, for Boer married a giantess
and became the father of three sons, Odin, Vili and Ve.
"Was there any degree of good understanding between these two races?"
asks Gangler. "Far from it," replies Har; and then he tells how the
sons of the god slew all the frost giants but one, dragged the body
of old Ymir into the middle of Ginnungagap, made the earth out of
it,--"from his blood the seas, from his flesh the land, from his
bones the mountains, of his hair the trees, of his skull the heavens
and of his brains the clouds. Then they took wandering flakes from
Muspellheim, and placed them in the heavens." Until this time, says
the _Voeluspa_.
"The sun knew not
Where she a dwelling had,
The moon knew not
What power he possessed,
The stars knew not
Where they had a station."
About this time it happened that the sons of the god took a walk
along the sea-beach, and there found two stems of wood which they
fashioned into the first man and woman:--
"Spirit gave them Odin
Sense gave Hoenir
Blood gave Lodin (Loki)
And goodly colour."
After this it is said that the all-holy gods, the AEsir, the Lords,
went to their judgment seats, held council, and gave names to the
"night and to the waning moon, morn, midday, afternoon, and eve
whereby to reckon years." Then they built a city called Asgard in the
middle of the earth, altars and temples, "made furnaces, forged tongs
and fabricated tools and precious things;" after which they stayed at
home and played joyously with tables. This was the golden age of the
gods; they were happy. "To them," says the old song, "was naught the
want of gold, until there came three maids all powerful from the
giants."
In some mysterious way it appears that a desire for gold seized upon
the gods in the midst of their innocent golden play. Then they formed
the dwarfs, in order that these might get gold for them out of the
earth. The dwarfs till then had been just like maggots in Ymir's dead
flesh, but now received human likeness. A shadow begins to creep over
the earth, the golden age is past. At the same time three things
happen. The gods discover the use or want of gold; the first war
breaks out, as it is said, "Odin hurled his spear amid the people,
and then was the first war;" and the three all-powerful giant maids
appear. "Gold," says the old song (and calls her by a name as if she
were a person), "they pierced with lances,--
"And in the High one's Hall
Burnt her once,
Burnt her thrice,
Oft not seldom,
Yet she still lives.
Wolves she tamed,
Magic arts she knew, she practised,
Ever was she the joy
Of evil people."
The three giant maidens are the three Fates--the sisters,--Past,
Present and Future. They came from giant land, which in this place
typifies the first mixed cause of all things; they came at the moment
when the golden age was disappearing; they stand upon the very edge
of its existence, at once the bringers and the avengers of evil. "The
golden age ceased when gold was invented," is an old saying. "After
the golden age, time begins," is another, or, in the words of a
German proverb, "To the happy no hour strikes." And now let us see
what sort of looking world these giants, gods, men, dwarfs and
fateful maids whom Har has been talking about were living in.
"Round without," Har says so; but a _flat_ round. The outmost circle
a frozen region full of frost giants; inside that circle, the sea; in
the middle of the sea, the earth in which men live, called Midgard,
and made out of Ymir's eyebrows; in the midst of the earth Asgard,
the city of the gods. It seems to be rather a disputed point whether
or not Asgard was on the top of a hill. Heavenly mountains are
mentioned in the _Edda_, but they are placed at the edge of heaven
under one end of the rainbow, not at all near Asgard, if Asgard was
in the middle of the earth. However, to make the city more
conspicuous we have placed it on the summit of a hill in the picture
of the Scandinavian World which stands at the beginning of this
chapter, and here remark that this picture must not be looked at
exactly in a geographical light even from a Scandinavian point of
view. It is rather an expression of ideas than of places, for we have
tried to figure by it what is said about the great World Tree
Yggdrassil and its three roots. "That ash," says Har, which was
indeed the earth-bearer, "is the greatest and best of all trees." Its
branches spread over the whole world and even reach above heaven. It
has three roots, very wide asunder. One of them goes down to
Ginnungagap. The frost giants live over it, and over this root is a
deep well which we shall hear more of by-and-bye. In the picture this
root could not be shown, but the branches which encircle the ice
region are supposed to spring from it. Another root extends to
Niflheim, the old roaring cauldron lies under it, a great snake
called Nidhoegg gnaws it night and day as the old lay says.
"Yggdrasil's ash suffers greater hardship than men know of. Nidhoegg
tears it." Under this root also lies Helheim, a home of the dead. The
third root is in heaven: gods and men live under it, in Asgard and
Midgard; the giant fate-sisters also live under it, at the top of the
Rainbow's arch in their palace very beauteous, which stands by the
Holy Urda Fount. They water the tree every day with the holy water,
so that ever "it stands green over Urda's Fount."
These maidens are called Norns;--they fix the destinies of men, Har
says; "but besides them," he adds, "there are a great many other
norns--indeed, for each man that is born there is a norn to decide
his fate."
"Methinks, then," says Gangler, "that these Norns were born far
asunder; they are not of the same race." "Some belong to the AEsir,
some come from the Elves, and some are dwarfs' daughters." Besides
these wonders, we are told that an eagle perched amongst the highest
branches of Yggdrasil with a hawk between his eyes, four harts ran
amongst the branches and bit off the buds, and a squirrel called
Ratatoesk or branch borer ran up and down, carrying messages between
the Eagle and Nidhoegg, as one account says, causing strife between
them--a kind of typical busybody, in fact.
Such is the myth of Yggdrasil, of which Jacob Grimm remarks "it bears
the stamp of a very high antiquity, but does not appear to be fully
unfolded." Of course, it was only the symbol of a thought, the
Scandinavians could not have believed that there was such a tree. But
of what thought was it the symbol? The editor of Mallet's _Northern
Antiquities_ says, "We are inclined to regard this mythic Tree as the
symbol of ever-enduring time, or rather of universal nature, ever
varying in its aspects but subsisting throughout eternity." It is
called somewhere "Time's hoary nurse," and we see the principles of
destruction and of renovation acting upon it. One root in the
formless elemental abyss, one in the formed ice-frozen-over
giant land, its branches spreading over the whole world; one
reaching up to the unseen. Its name means "Ygg"--terror, horror,
fear--"drasil"--horse or bearer--and the first syllable is one of the
names of Odin the chief god. We must not omit to mention that our
Maypoles and the German Christmas trees are offshoots of Yggdrasil,
"that ash, the greatest and best of trees."
"But who is the first and eldest of the gods?" Gangler asks. "We call
him Allfather," says Har, "but besides this he has twelve names."
Allfather, Odin or Woden, the eldest son of Boer by a giantess, is the
chief god of the _Eddas_, and it is quite true, as Har says, that he
has many names. He was called Allfather--the father of gods and men,
and Valfather or the chooser, because he chose which of the slain in
battle should come and live with him in heaven; he called himself by
many names when he travelled, he was known as Ygg, but generally,
chiefly, he was Odin. The meaning of the first syllable of this last
name is terror (like Ygg), or violent emotion. Simrock says that air
in calm or storm lies at the root of Odin's being; from this he grew
up to be a god of the spirit, a king of gods, "as in the simple ideas
of the people," he says, "nature and spirit are inseparable; he
became as much a commander of the spirits of men as of the forces of
nature." Air, widespread and most spiritual of the elements, how
naturally akin it seems to that wind, blowing where it listeth, which
moves in hidden ways the spirits of men. Inspiration, madness,
poetry, warrior-rage, the storm of wind, the storm of mind--we find
Odin in them all. Thor the thunder-god stood next in importance to
Odin. Odin was his father, and he had a giantess mother, Joerd (the
earth). Besides these Har enumerates Baldur, Tyr, Vidar, Vali, Hoedur,
Bragi, all called sons of Odin;--we shall hear the stories that
belong to them by-and-bye.
All these were of the race of the AEsir or Asgard gods; there were
other deities counted amongst them, and yet kept a little
distinct--the Vanir gods and goddesses. These were of a different
race, and it is not clear how and when they became mixed with the
AEsir. What the _Eddas_ say about it is simply this, that the AEsir
made peace with the Vanir and exchanged hostages with them. Amongst
these we find Nioerd a kind of sea-coast god, the original of Nipen
still known in Norway, his son and daughter Frey and Freyja,
"beauteous and mighty,"--Frey presiding over rain, sunshine, and the
fruits of the earth; Freyja goddess of the beautiful year and of
love, and Heimdall, a god who lived upon the heavenly hills at one
end of the rainbow. A sea-king called AEgir, whose nature is not
quite defined whether he belonged to the god or the giant is
occasionally mentioned in the _Edda_ tales, and also a wise giant
Mimer. But there is besides a mysterious being whom we name last
because he requires a little explanation. This is Loki. He was one of
the AEsir; we read of his being with Odin when that god took his
fateful walk along the seashore and made man, he helped Odin in the
work; we come upon him frequently travelling with the gods, sometimes
at least as a friend, and yet it is evident that Loki was looked upon
as an evil being. "Some call him the calumniator of the gods," says
Har, "the contriver of all fraud and mischief, the disgrace of gods
and men. Loki is handsome," he adds, "and well made, but of a very
fickle mood and most evil disposition. He surpasses all beings in
those arts called cunning and perfidy." Simrock says that fire lies
at the root of Loki's being as air lies in that of Odin,--fire which
has good and evil in it, but most outwardly _destructive_ power;
hence the beginning of the idea of his evil-heartedness. From simple
nature myths, it is quite easy to conceive that the moral principle,
as it grew up in a people, would develop spiritual ones, and the
character of the gods would materially alter with the growth of the
religion. Good and evil are scarcely conceptions which the wars of
the elements give birth to. By the law is the knowledge of sin. The
name of Loki, it is said, may mean the bright element.
Amongst the goddesses who were called Asyniur, Frigga stands out
chief in the _Eddas_ as Odin's wife, but several others are named,
and also the Valkyrior, swayers of the battle and heavenly serving
maidens. The peace between the AEsir and the Vanir, and the
perceptible difference between these races of gods, points to an
amalgamation of the religions of two tribes of Teutons in very early
times: their faiths would be similar, drawn indeed from one source,
but would have been modified by the circumstances and requirements of
the divergent tribes. Simrock supposes that the Vanir worshippers may
have been dwellers by the sea, and have had a special reverence for
wind and water deities--mild, wide, beneficent airs. Their gods are a
little milder in nature than those of Asgard, they are also more
purely nature deities, with less of the moral element in their
characters, which looks as if the two faiths had joined at different
stages of development, at different levels one may say, so that the
line between them is still discernible. We have seen how Har explains
to Gangler the formation of the universe in Ginnungagap out of the
strange ice waves; primeval giant; beneficent might of the gods; its
endurance, rooted in the mighty Tree, that reached from depth to
height,--
"Laved with limpid water,
Gnawed by more serpents
Than any one would think
Of witless mortals."
He had also something to say concerning the future of the world.
"What hast thou to tell me about it?" said Gangler; and Har
replied,--"In the first place there will come a winter;" and then he
described the destruction of the world--flood and storm, and ice and
fire, and warfare, a supreme conflict; all the powers of evil, the
chaotic powers--primeval chaos surging again out of Niflheim and
Muspellheim--on one side, the gods, the forming orderly principle of
the course of the universe, on the other--all rage within, and
through the mighty ash, which itself trembles, "Groans that aged
tree." Monsters and gods alike fall, killing each other, and one
cannot say with whom the victory lies; for though the sun, moon, and
stars are made away with, and the earth sinks into the flood, it soon
emerges again, "beauteously green," destined, as it would seem, to
run a second course. Brighter, purer? The account is so mixed that
one cannot say, and why should we puzzle over it; perhaps they knew
as little what they thought and hoped as we know about them--those
old song-singers and myth-spinners of days gone by, as one of them
says,--
"Few may see
Further forth
Than when Odin
Meets the wolf."
Notwithstanding, we cannot help feeling, as we contemplate this myth,
that there was something noble, very grimly courageous in its
fatalism. Simrock says, "the course of Northern mythology is like a
drama." The world's beginning, the golden years, the first shadow of
evil, evil that came with times, evil fated to come, the troubles of
various kinds, all death shadows which fell upon the gods (we shall
trace them in the following tales); and above all, hanging over all,
crowning all, the twilight, the struggle, the end, the renewing; for
it is not, be it observed, the end of the world, of time, of
succession of events that is recorded in this myth (called the
Ragnaroek Myth), but rather of the struggling powers that had been
brought by these, that had formed these. Looking through this drama
two things chiefly strike us, fatalism and combat. The two do not
contradict one another. The gods fight the giants from the earliest
times; they go on fighting them in a thousand ways, even though they
know that their own final defeat and destruction are fixed--they ward
off the evil day as far as possible, hoping through its shadow again
and again, dauntless to the end. It is impossible to help admiring
the impulses which led to the building up, and dictated the worship
of this idea,--the worship of the gods who were to die, who were, in
spite of most courageous defiance of it, after all but the servants
of the inevitable. Of course it was perfectly simple and natural that
this conception of unceasing strife, of the alternate victory and
defeat of light and darkness, cold and heat, should arise in the
minds of any worshippers of the natural world, but it must, one would
think, have acquired some moral significance to these heathen
Northmen by the time that Odin had come to be Allfather, even
Valfather, and Frigga, through the | 1,414.58527 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
VEGETABLE DIET:
AS SANCTIONED BY
MEDICAL MEN,
AND BY
EXPERIENCE IN ALL AGES.
INCLUDING A
SYSTEM OF VEGETABLE COOKERY.
BY DR. WM. A. ALCOTT,
AUTHOR OF THE YOUNG MAN'S GUIDE, YOUNG WOMAN'S GUIDE, YOUNG MOTHER,
YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER, AND LATE EDITOR OF THE LIBRARY OF HEALTH.
SECOND EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED.
NEW YORK:
FOWLER AND WELLS, PUBLISHERS,
No. 308 BROADWAY
1859.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849,
BY FOWLERS & WELLS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New York.
BANES & PALMER, STEREOTYPERS,
201 William st. corner Frankfort, N. Y.
PREFACE
The following volume embraces the testimony, direct or indirect, of more
than a HUNDRED individuals--besides that of societies and
communities--on the subject of vegetable diet. Most of this one hundred
persons are, or were, persons of considerable distinction in society;
and more than FIFTY of them were either medical men, or such as have
made physiology, hygiene, anatomy, pathology, medicine, or surgery a
leading or favorite study.
As I have written other works besides this--especially the "Young
House-Keeper"--which treat, more or less, of diet, it may possibly be
objected, that I sometimes repeat the same idea. But how is it to be
avoided? In writing for various classes of the community, and presenting
my views in various connections and aspects, it is almost necessary to
do so. Writers on theology, or education, or any other important topic,
do the same--probably to a far greater extent, in many instances, than I
have yet done. I repeat no idea for the _sake_ of repeating it. Not a
word is inserted but what seems to me necessary, in order that I may be
intelligible. Moreover, | 1,414.588229 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif, Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and
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[Illustration: THE GREAT YARMOUTH TOLHOUSE.]
_The
Antiquarian Magazine
& Bibliographer._
EDITED BY
EDWARD WALFORD, M.A.,
_Formerly Scholar of Balliol College, Oxford, and
late Editor of “The Gentleman’s
Magazine,” &c._
“Time doth consecrate,
And what is grey with age becomes religion.”
SCHILLER.
VOLUME VI.
JULY-DECEMBER, 1884.
London:
DAVID BOGUE, 27, KING WILLIAM STREET,
CHARING CROSS, W.C.
The Gresham Press.
UNWIN BROTHERS,
PRINTERS,
LONDON AND CHILWORTH.
List of Illustrations.
_Page_
THE GREAT YARMOUTH TOLHOUSE 2
ARCHITECTURAL DETAILS FROM SOUTHWELL MINSTER 49
GLOVES OF SHAKESPEARE, IN THE POSSESSION OF MISS BENSON 102
SEAL OF THE BOROUGH OF SEAFORD 154
TESSELLATED PAVEMENT DISCOVERED AT THE ROMAN VILLA NEAR
BRADING 206
THE OLD PALACE, RICHMOND 258
_The Antiquarian Magazine & Bibliographer._
The Great Yarmouth Tolhouse.
GREAT YARMOUTH possesses a building of considerable antiquarian
interest. This is known by the somewhat unsuggestive name of the
Tolhouse. Its relation to the collection of tolls is referred to in many
old documents; but since this was but one of many uses to which it was
devoted, and far from a primary one, it is highly probable that, like
the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, its name is derived from its use in a greater
degree as the common prison of the town.
The building is spoken of by the old local historian, Manship, in 1619,
who states that it was used in his time as the Borough Gaol, and had
been so used from the time of the granting of the Charter by King John
to the Burgesses. There are also records, which are referred to in
Palmer’s “Perlustrations of Great Yarmouth,” of the very early use of
the building as a gaol by the burgesses. A gaol for prisoners was also
granted by Henry III. in 1261.
Apart from this, the building has been used for almost every municipal
purpose, though it has never been actually a town-hall, for Great
Yarmouth, like many other corporations, possessed a town-hall over or
beside the entrance to the churchyard. Here various courts were held.
The bailiffs were accustomed to receive their tolls or dues in the great
chamber on the first floor. It was called the Host House, from a
peculiar local custom. The accounts for the herrings, the staple article
of commerce of the town in old days as now, that were caught by foreign
fishermen, and sold by their “hosts,” or salesmen of the town to whom
they were consigned, had to be settled in the great chamber, and their
“heightening money” paid. It was used also as their apartment of state
by the local authorities; and there are many records of the quarrels
over the questions of precedence with the deputies of the Cinque Ports
when they paid official visits here.
It is for these most varying uses that the Tolhouse of Great Yarmouth is
unique among our municipal antiquities, for England has not its
counterpart elsewhere. Its history affords evidence of a most
interesting nature of the growth and development of the authority of the
town, no different it may be from what has taken place in other
corporations, but illustrated here by the actual building.
The structure also is the original erection in all its essential
features. Its walls are of early thirteenth century date, thus
indicating its existence prior to 1261. It has a picturesque external
staircase of open woodwork, giving access from the street to the level
of the first floor, where the “Great Chamber” is situated, access being
gained through a doorway of Early English moulded work; while the lobby
of approach is lighted by a two-light open arcade, of somewhat later
date. A very quaint figure of Justice, with sword and scales, stands on
a projecting buttress; and the high-pitched roof, and the general
features of the design, are both of considerable artistic interest.
Internally, the Great Chamber has lost its open roof, which was replaced
by a flat ceiling, probably in 1622, when it was “fitted up for
assemblies.” The windows, too, are square-headed, with wood frames and
mullions; but there are several features of the original work of great
beauty, while others peep temptingly from the plastering and whitewash
of more recent days.
Below the Hall is the “pit,” or common hold, wherein prisoners were
thrust indiscriminately, and chained to a horizontal beam, which has
long since disappeared. In this portion of the building the doors are
iron-bound, and very solidly framed.
The recent history of the building deserves more than passing reference.
On the completion of the handsome new town-hall the few recent uses even
of the Tolhouse were no longer needed, and the demolition of the
building was decided upon. The local antiquaries, however, being fully
alive to the great interest of the building in relation to its forming a
part, so to speak, of the history of the town, strove to prevent this
loss occurring. Their persevering efforts have been eminently
successful. Not only has the Town Council reconsidered the proposal,
but it has finally handed the building over to trustees, to be devoted
to some useful purpose. Thus has an example been set to other lovers of
our ancient buildings elsewhere.
The trustees have undertaken to repair the building, and they are now
seeking to raise a fund for defraying the cost of this much-needed work.
The building is in a sadly dilapidated state. It has been surveyed by
Mr. E. P. Loftus Brock, F.S.A., architect, of London, and in his hands,
and in those of a local firm of architects, it may be reasonably
concluded that none but really necessary works will be carried out. The
intention is, indeed, to repair the building only, and to retain all its
ancient features.
The rough-cast, covering and hiding the ancient walling, will be taken
off, the great hall will have its flat ceiling removed, and some
approach made to the open appearance it formerly possessed; the walls
will be strengthened where needed, the roofs made watertight, and
general works of cleansing and repair done. No attempt whatever will be
made to alter the structural appearance.
The trustees have undertaken their duties on public grounds, in the
belief that, in these days when the removal of an ancient building is so
greatly deplored, funds will not be wanting to uphold it for all time.
Subscriptions will be gladly received by C. S. Ade, Esq., Treasurer of
the Fund (Messrs. Gurney & Co., Great Yarmouth); or by F. Danby-Palmer,
Esq., Honorary Secretary, also at Great Yarmouth.
Misericordes in Ludlow Church.
THE following details of sundry carvings on the misericordes still
remaining in the choir of the collegiate church of St. Lawrence at
Ludlow, in Shropshire, may interest such of our readers as are students
of church architecture:--
NORTH SIDE. (_Read from West to East._)
1. _A_ (left) and _B_ (right), a rose. _C_ (centre), four roses.
2. _A_ and _B_, a padlock (or stirrup?). _C_, an eagle with two cords
entwined behind.
3. _A_ and _B_, floriated ornament. _C_, an angel holding a trumpet.
4. _A_ and _B_, floriated ornament. _C_, king’s head, whiskers and beard
flowing.
5. _A_ and _B_, an animal holding a band in its mouth. _C_, a stag
kneeling, a band behind it.
6. _A_, two figures opposite each other; the left one has pointed shoes,
the right one has his right arm raised as if to strike the other figure,
and an animal is arising from under him. _B_, a floriated ornament. _C_,
a mitred bishop in a pulpit preaching to birds; the bishop has a
donkey’s face.
7. _A_ and _B_, three feathers. _C_, the same, larger.
8. _A_ and _B_, mitres on many-pointed stars. _C_, mitred bishop’s head,
labels flying.
9. _A_ and _B_, a face, from whose mouth two oak sprigs, right and left,
issue. _C_, a stag, with a crowned collar round its neck attached to a
chain, sitting on its haunches biting a band or flat snake.
10. _A_, a pot with two handles, on a fire. _B_, floriated ornament.
_C_, two figures fighting; a third figure on the right is trying to hold
one of the other figures; the left figure is sitting on the ground, as
if knocked down; his head is broken off.
11. _A_ and _B_, a fish with its tail in its mouth. _C_, a mermaid
holding a circular mirror in its right hand, looking at it; the left
hand four fingers broken off.
12. _A_, devil seated, holding a scroll. _B_, figure of a woman coming
out of a pair of gaping jaws, the hinder parts of a man disappearing
head foremost into the jaws; there are seven teeth in the upper jaw and
three in the lower jaw. _C_, a man, whose head is broken off, carrying a
naked female slung over his shoulders, one leg on either side of his
head; her head and body hang down behind; she has a head-dress, a
necklace from which is a pendant, and a ribbed jug or scroll in her left
hand, her right hand is open, showing the palm; opposite the man, on the
right, is a figure evidently meant to personate the Devil; he has wings,
and is playing the bagpipes.
13. _A_ and _B_, a winged beast. _C_, the same, with head-piece and five
bands round its waist, terminating in the wings; there are eight balls
or buttons on, and between these bands in front of the figure.
14. _A_ and _B_, figure of a man, probably dancing; he holds a round
thing like a cymbal in the right hand, the other is holding a branch;
one knee is on the ground; it has pointed boots; part of the head and
left foot below the knee of _A_ is broken off. _C_, a woman’s head with
head-dress, scowling, showing open ugly mouth and four teeth; the body
of the dress is low, cut square; some thinner article of dress is
beneath, concealing bare skin.
SOUTH SIDE. (_West to East._)
1. _A_, ring, formed by two circles entwined. _B_ is gone. _C_, rose on
a ----?
2. _A_ and _B_, a head in a cloth or shroud. _C_, a man seated in cap
and gown, holding a band.
3. _A_ and _B_, a four-legged table, a barrel, end upwards, in centre,
showing the bung in the middle; on one side is a jug or flagon, on the
other a cup or chalice with a cover. _C_, two figures, men, kneeling;
both heads are gone; a barrel on a bracket-shelf appears to be supported
on one knee of each; one knee of each is on the ground.
4. _A_ and _B_, floriated ornament. _C_, a woman drawing liquor from a
barrel into a jug which she is holding; on the left of the barrel
another barrel, on the right a jug on a shelf below; the figure has a
mallet attached to a girdle round his waist.
5. _A_ and _B_, a cock’s head. _C_, animal with wings, on its haunches.
6. _A_ and _B_, pretty floriated ornament. _C_, remains of the trunk of
an animal surrounded with the remnants of birds, broken off.
7. _A_ a pack-horse; three of its legs are gone. _B_, a bag with a rose
on centre, from which are suspended two smaller roses; below bag is a
cushion, tasselled. _C_, two pairs of wrestlers wrestling; on left a
figure is looking on.
8. _A_, pot with three feet and two handles, through which is a loose
cord, on some burning fagots. _B_, trunks of two animals slung on a
pole. _C_, a woman seated in a chair, holding hands and feet to fire
which is in front of her.
9. _A_ and _B_, floriated ornament. _C_, a swan standing.
10. _A_ and _B_, a sparrow. _C_, an owl.
11. _A_ and _B_, a woman’s head with head-dress. _C_, the same, with
additional loose piece of material on top of her head, hanging over her
shoulders.
12. _A_ and _B_, floriated ornament. _C_, a man with a pack on his back,
strapped on over his shoulders; he is pulling up his right boot with his
hands; the boots are pointed.
13. _A_,_B_ and _C_, floriated ornament.
14. _A_, a figure with pointed shoes, seated on a four-legged stool;
both arms are gone. _B_, a wrist and hand from a cloud, on which, under
the wrist, is a hammer, holding a pestle and mortar; beneath the hammer
is a thigh bone, a skull, a skull, and a thigh bone; beneath these is a
perpendicular altar tomb, with a spade and shovel crossed; the shovel is
standing on the ground in front of the tomb, and has a T handle, the
spade having a circular one. _C_, a figure with a row of beads on top of
coat from shoulder to shoulder, and wears a belt; on the left is a
barrel on a shelf; under this is a pair of pattens hung on wall, and
below these a pair of bellows, also hung on the wall; a hammer lies by
his right foot on the left; all on the left-hand side are gone.
R. C. HOPE, F.S.A.
Characters of the Wars of the Roses.
BY THE REV. H. H. MOORE, M.A.
_PART II._
(_Continued from Vol. V. p. 282._)
THE characters of Warwick and of Edward IV. were so similar up to a
certain point, and beyond that so opposite, their fortunes were so
closely intertwined up to a certain time and afterwards were so fatally
antagonistic, that they must be considered together awhile. The virtues
of the one shine the brighter, and the defects of the other loom the
darker by contrast; and the juxtaposition of the two figures in history
makes the contrast all the more striking. In Warwick we see the nobler
and more antique form of chivalry; in Edward we see chivalry modernised
and debased by the additions of a voluptuousness more vicious than
refined, and of a selfishness Italian in its intensity, and
Machiavellian in its policy. Equally brave and distinguished for
personal prowess in the field, Warwick joined to the courage the
magnanimity of the lion, while Edward showed the cruelty as well as the
fierceness of the tiger. But Edward greatly excelled Warwick, as well as
all the other captains of his day, in generalship. His boldness, which
cared for no odds however great, which shunned no danger however
desperate, would have seemed mere foolhardiness, had not his
marvellously quick perception, sagacious judgment, and tremendous
energy, made prudence foolish and boldness prudent. His confidence in
his own powers, which made them ten times more formidable, was fully
justified by the results of nine pitched battles, in which victory never
left his standard. But as soon as the opposition was overcome which had
roused his energies into so fierce an activity, he abandoned himself to
luxurious habits and indulgence in amorous and convivial pleasures. They
who had seen him awhile ago delighting like a war-horse in the sound of
the battle, would never expect such “a martial man to become soft
fancy’s slave.” Yet so it was; terrible as Cæsar in war, in peace he was
another Antony, and would risk the loss of an empire for a woman’s
smile. His generous affection for Elizabeth Woodville would be a bright
spot in his character, had he not sullied it by his numerous amours and
gross licentiousness. While Edward thus stained his character as much by
his wantonness in peace as by his cruelty in war, Warwick, who despised
such pleasures, won from both equally honourable laurels. The young
King’s Court was no genial place for his severe manliness; and the
disgraceful match-making and place-hunting by which the Queen’s
relatives and friends were acquiring power, not only disgusted, but also
alarmed him for the power of his family and of the old nobility. Edward
and Warwick were equally proud, but Warwick’s was the pride of conscious
worth, Edward’s the pride of an arbitrary will. More kingly than the
King himself, Warwick overshadowed the throne with his greatness. To him
Edward knew that he owed his crown, but he felt that he was strong
enough to keep it without his help. His gratitude was swallowed up in
the humiliation of his dependence, for he felt that he was not a king
when Warwick was by. Accordingly, all his efforts were directed to abase
that power which made him feel like a subject in his own realms.
Warwick’s fall would, he knew, be the death-blow to his order; and, once
determined on this policy, not even fear of Warwick moved this wonderful
man, whose hand never hesitated to execute what his heart dared to
design. He saw that the age was with him, while Warwick and the men of
whom he was the type were behind the age. He knew also the advantage
which his own character and talents gave him over Warwick. The latter
was honest, unsuspecting, incapable of intrigue as he was indisposed to
it; and though he joined to these soldier’s qualities a soldier’s
sagacity also, yet he was no match for Edward, and fell an easy victim
to his perfidious heart and scheming brain. And when outraged honour and
insulted pride made him desert the Yorkist cause, which he had served
and supported for years, and range himself with those whom he had most
injured and who most hated him, he fell as easy a victim to the same
man’s charmed sword. And Edward did prove himself strong enough to reign
alone. No man was better fitted for his age and his circumstances; and
this is shown by his popularity, vigorous even during Warwick’s life and
while growing under his shade. Victor everywhere and at all times,
Edward had won the heart of the nation even before he gained the throne.
The painful tragedy of his father’s death, his own youth, beauty,
princely bearing and accomplishments, excited the sympathy and
admiration of the people on his earliest appearance on the stage on
which he was to play so great a part. His successful fortunes in war,
and Warwick’s support, had commended young Edward to a people who had
nothing to lose in losing Henry VI., and who hoped at least to gain
peace and security under the protection of an arm which promised to be
as strong to hold as it had been to acquire. Their minds, sickened by
the gloom and horrors of war, were refreshed by the sight of their young
King throwing himself with all the ardour of his nature into the light
amusements and pleasures of peace; the citizens were charmed by his
affability, their wives and daughters by his gaiety and gallantry. A new
nobility, the mushroom growth of an hour, sprang up to sun itself in his
smiles, to help him in the pursuit of pleasure, to increase the
attractions of peace and of a Court. The commercial towns, and
especially London, were pleased with a monarch who enriched them by his
magnificent and sumptuous expenditure, and who gave a more liberal
encouragement to commerce than they had known before. But two classes
stood aloof and sullen: the old nobility, who felt that they were losing
both their place and power in the Court and in the State; and those of
the people who felt that, whether York or Lancaster were uppermost, they
equally lost their rights, and failed to better their condition. The
battlefields of Barnet and Tewkesbury rendered this dangerous element
harmless for the future, and Edward, now able to breathe more freely
than he had done heretofore, gave himself up without restraint to the
impulses of his passions. His life henceforth became one voluptuous
revel. The people were more ready to turn with him and his courtiers to
pleasure than to criticise and condemn their vices; and so, in peace as
in war, Edward’s sail was filled by the favouring breath of popularity.
His love for his children and care for their education, his
courteousness, his wisdom in weakening the power of the nobility, his
encouragement of commerce, and his statesmanship, enlightened for those
days, are all good points in Edward’s favour, and should be valued at
their proper worth; but the possession of the ordinary virtues, and the
performance of the ordinary duties of a prince and a parent, cannot
fully redeem and make up for his extraordinary vice, perfidiousness,
selfishness, and cruelty; and in the opinion of an age that is not
dazzled by his fortune and ability, Edward’s hard, worldly, fleshly
nature cannot be deemed worthy of admiration.
Richard III. and Henry VII. are but little concerned in the actual
conduct of the civil war; not at all in its origin, but chiefly in
furthering its effects, or reaping its fruits; but few words therefore
need be spent on them here, as it is their policy rather than their
personal characters that is of chief interest. The same terribly
precocious development of an unscrupulous will and of a heart steeled
against mercy, marks the character of Richard III. as that we have seen
in Edward IV. The school of civil war in which he had been trained
taught him to despise the barriers which could be removed by the
shedding of blood, and none ever showed greater aptness in improving on
the lessons he had learned. He equalled Louis XI. in dissimulation, in
cunning, in statesmanship; he equalled his brother Edward in
fearlessness and inflexible purpose; he surpassed him in learning and
mental culture. In the estimation of some minds the special pleading of
Horace Walpole and others may have succeeded in clearing Richard’s name
of the crimes imputed to him, but the majority in this age, as in
Richard’s own, who do not demand positive proofs of everything, but
judge by the laws of probability, cannot help feeling (rightly or not) a
moral certainty of his guilt.
The character of Henry VII. was admirably adapted to heal the sores and
bind the wounds caused by the long civil war. Sufficiently bold, if
necessity demanded it, he was yet disinclined to war; cold and cautious
in temperament, he was little tolerant of any disturbing element of
passion, and greatly averse to violent and extreme measures which might
derange the stability and order of his government. Eminently practical
in his views of men and of affairs--in this ushering in the modern order
of rulers and of statesmen--he preferred the reality to the show of
power, peace to war, order to misrule, wealth to poverty, domestic
security to foreign aggrandisement.
The unfortunate Richard, Duke of York, hesitating when he should have
been bold, and bold when he should have hesitated, with a heart that
could not keep pace with his ambition, without the wisdom to justify his
pretensions by the Right which is derived from Might, not sufficiently
scrupulous to resist temptation, and too scrupulous to win the prize
that tempted, ensuring his son’s success by his own failure; the
amiable, generous, unsuspecting Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester; the wily,
avaricious, scheming Suffolk; the bold, grasping, passionate Cardinal
Beaufort; the accomplished courtier, boon companion, and skilful
general, Montacute (brother to Warwick); George, Duke of Clarence,
unstable as water, changeable as the wind, uniting a weak head to a bad
heart; Earl Rivers, accomplished, brave, learned, and a patron of
learning, the type of the modern nobleman; the high-spirited,
unfortunate son of Margaret; Lord Hastings, the gay gallant, the daring
knight, the sage in the council, the scholar in the study; all these
and many more helped to swell the list of the horrid deeds, or served to
supply the victims of those bloodstained times.
The Legend of King Arthur in Somerset.
By MRS. C. G. BOGER.
(_Continued from Vol. V. p. 228._)
_PART II.--AT CAMELOT._
“Arthur’s antient seat
Which made the Britons’ name through all the world so great,
Like Camelot what place was ever yet renown’d,
Where, as at Caerleon oft, he kept the Table round?
Most famous for the sports at Pentecost so long,
From whence all knightly deeds and brave achievements sprung.”
DRAYTON’S _Polyolbion_, Song III.
ARTHUR had arrived at man’s estate, and his people would fain that he
should take a wife, so that, if, like his uncle, Aurelius Ambrosius, he
were taken from them, he might, unlike him, leave an heir of his own
blood. Among the petty kings of the West was Leodogran, King of
Cameliard, a county represented at this day by Camelot or Cadbury-fort,
and a cluster of other places in the east of Somerset, whose names are
derived from the same root: North and South Cadbury, Queen’s Camel, West
Camel, and Castle Cary. Leodogran’s kingdom had been beset by the
invaders, and overrun with wild beasts: Arthur had come to his help and
rescued his dominions. So it came to pass that when his people spake to
him of marriage, Guinivere, the fair daughter of Leodogran, came to his
mind, and he asked her of her father. The King of Cameliard was well
pleased, and with his daughter’s hand he promised him his greatest
treasure, the Table round, and made him his heir.
But Guinivere, in her pride of youth and beauty, had little noted her
father’s deliverer, and scarce glanced at the young knight, who paid her
none of the homage she thought her due, and who was ever engrossed in
earnest consultations with her father on the state of the kingdom, on
knights and wars, on castles and sieges; and so it came to pass that
when Launcelot, Arthur’s best and most trusted knight, was sent by him
to fetch her home, she, never doubting but that the King would have come
himself, thought Launcelot was Arthur, and when she saw him her heart
leapt to his. But when she came to see her pure and stainless lord, he
seemed cold and passionless beside Launcelot; and he, who had no
thought of guile and loved when he trusted, and trusted when he loved,
gave them unconsciously opportunities of meeting, and Guinivere’s heart
passed more and more from Arthur, and attached itself more and more
passionately to Launcelot. For Arthur was taken up with affairs of
state, and with his beautiful dream of the Knights of the Round Table.
In this order none was higher than other; and here, in his Palace of
Camelot, built by Merlin’s magic power in a single night, he would
assemble a hundred and fifty knights of noble birth, pure and stainless
like himself, and the Knights bound themselves by solemn oaths to keep
the rules of the order. They were as follows:--
1. That every knight should be well armed and furnished to undertake any
enterprise wherein he was employed by sea or by land, on horseback, or
on foot.
2. That he should be ever prest (ready) to assail all tyrants or
oppressors of the people.
3. That he should protect widows and maids, restore children to their
just rights, repossess such persons as without just cause were exiled,
and with all his force maintain the Christian faith.
4. That he should be a champion for the public weal, and as a lion
repulse the enemies of his country.
5. That he should advance the reputation of honour and suppress all
vice, relieve the afflicted by adverse fortune, give aid to Holy Church,
and protect pilgrims.
6. That he should bury soldiers that wanted sepulture, deliver
prisoners, ransom captives, and cure men hurt in the services of their
country.
7. That he should in all honourable actions adventure his person, yet
with respect to justice and truth, and in all enterprises proceed
sincerely, never failing to use the utmost force of body and labour of
mind.
8. That after the attaining of an enterprise he should cause it to be
recorded, to the end the fame of the fact might ever live to the eternal
honour and renown of the noble order.
9. That if any complaint were made at the court of this mighty king, of
perjury and oppression, then some knight of the order whom the King
should appoint ought to revenge the same.
10. That if any knight of foreign nation did come into the Court, with
desire to challenge or make any show of prowess (were he single or
accompanied) those knights ought to be ready in arms to make answer.
11. That if any lady, gentleman, or widow, or maid, or other oppressed
person did present a petition declaring that they were or had been in
this or other nations injured or offered dishonour, that they should be
graciously heard, and without delay one or more knights should be sent
to take revenge.
12. That every knight should be willing to inform young princes, lords,
and gentlemen, in the orders and exercises of arms, thereby not only to
avoid idleness, but also to increase the honour of knighthood and
chivalry. Such were the rules which, combined with the disturbed state
of the country, caused that--
“Every morning brought a noble chance,
And every chance brought out a noble knight.”
It may, as I have before stated, have been probably the taking of
Winchester by the Saxon Cerdic in 515 which caused Arthur to concentrate
his forces in the Western Peninsula. Cameliard was now his, in right of
his wife. He determined therefore to fortify his kingdom, and at the
three extreme points to place strong castles, which he strengthened by
every available means. These points were Caerleon on Usk, which guarded
the Sabrina or estuary of the Severn, and St. Michael’s Mount at the
extreme south-west; but the post of danger and therefore of honour was
held by Camelot. He pitched with an experienced eye upon this great
Belgic fortress, situated in one of the most fertile and picturesque
parts of South Somerset, as the place where the great stand must be
made. The shape of the mound is irregular, neither quite round nor
square; part of it was hewed from the solid rock, its circumference is
about a mile. Four deep ditches in concentric rings with as many
ramparts of earth and stones form the primary defences: these are
further strengthened by a series of zig-zag terraces on inclined planes,
so constructed that the besieged, though he retreated from his
assailants, could still make a desperate resistance. On the top of this
fortified mount is a moated mount or Prætorium, enclosing a space of at
least twenty acres; and here Merlin raised the enchanted Palace of
Camelot. The spot must have been well-nigh impregnable in days when
artillery was unknown.
Here, then, was Arthur’s great rallying point; hither the persecuted
fled for protection, the wronged for redress, the patriotic to assist in
the defence of their county. Every possibility of defence and adornment
was lavished here; and here were held, specially at Whitsuntide,
chapters of the order of the Knights of the Round Table. Here, in
intervals of peace, were held the mimic games of warfare, and from
here, after a time of repose, they issued forth again and again against
the heathen hordes. Within the Greater Triangle was a smaller and more
sacred one; its three points | 1,418.282037 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: image of the book's cover]
MEMORIES OF A
MUSICAL LIFE
[Illustration: WILLIAM MASON IN 1899]
Memories of a
Musical Life
by
William Mason
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
MCMII
Copyright, 1900, 1901, by
THE CENTURY CO.
_Published October, 1901._
THE DEVINE PRESS.
TO
MY DAUGHTER
MINA MASON VAN SINDEREN
AT WHOSE REQUEST
THESE MEMORIES
HAVE BEEN WRITTEN
CONTENTS
PAGE
EARLY DAYS IN NEW ENGLAND 3
Lowell Mason's Career 7
First Beethoven Symphony in America 8
Musical Conventions 9
Early Musical Training 10
Webster and Clay 11
First Public Appearance 18
Leopold de Meyer 19
"Father Heinrich" 22
An Embarrassing Experience 25
STUDENT LIFE ABROAD 27
Meeting with Meyerbeer 28
Liszt's Feat of Memory 31
First Meeting with Liszt 33
Arrival at Leipsic 34
Moscheles, Beethoven, and Chopin 36
The Intimacy of Moscheles and Mendelssohn 37
Schumann 38
Schumann's "Symphony No. 1, B Flat" 39
Schumann's Absent-mindedness 42
Moritz Hauptmann 44
A Visit to Wagner 48
Wagner on Mendelssohn and Beethoven 51
A Wagner Autograph 55
Moscheles 57
Joseph Joachim 62
Schumann's "Concerto in A Minor" 63
Carl Mayer 65
Dreyschock 66
Prince de Rohan's Dinner 71
Chopin, Henselt, and Thalberg 75
Anton Schindler, "Ami de Beethoven" 79
Schindler and Schnyder von Wartensee 82
First London Concert 84
WITH LISZT IN WEIMAR 86
Accepted by Liszt 88
The Altenburg 93
How Liszt Taught 97
"Play It Like This" 99
Liszt in 1854 101
His Fascination 102
Liszt's Indignation 103
Objects to my Eye-glasses 106
A Musical Breakfast 108
Liszt's Playing 110
Liszt and Pixis 117
Liszt Conducting 119
Liszt's Symphonic Poems--Rehearsing "Tasso" 121
Extracts from a Diary 122
Opportunities 126
Brahms in 1853 127
Nervous before Liszt 128
Dozing while Liszt Played 129
"Lohengrin" for the First Time in Leipsic 132
In Stuttgart--Hotel Marquand 135
The Schumann "Feier" in Bonn, 1880 136
Brahms's Pianoforte-playing 137
A Historical Error Corrected 141
More about Liszt's Wonderful Sight-reading 142
Liszt's Moments of Contrition 144
Peter Cornelius 145
Some Famous Violinists 147
Remenyi 151
Some Distinguished Opera-singers 153
Henriette Sontag 154
Johanna Wagner 156
Mme. de la Grange 157
"Der Verein der Murls" 158
The Wagner Cause in Weimar 159
Raff in Weimar 161
Dr. Adolf Bernhard Marx 165
Berlioz in Weimar 168
Entertaining Liszt's "Young Beethoven" 171
Rubinstein's Opposition to Wagner 174
AT WORK IN AMERICA 183
Touring the Country 184
"Yankee Doodle" and "Old Hundred" 187
Settling down to Teach | 1,418.282247 |
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Produced by Sue Asscher. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE VALLEY OF DECISION
BY
EDITH WHARTON
Author of "A Gift from the Grave," "Crucial Instances," etc.
"Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision."
TO
MY FRIENDS
PAUL AND MINNIE BOURGET
IN REMEMBRANCE OF
ITALIAN DAYS TOGETHER.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I. THE OLD ORDER.
BOOK II. THE NEW LIGHT.
BOOK III. THE CHOICE.
BOOK IV. THE REWARD.
BOOK I.
THE OLD ORDER.
Prima che incontro alla festosa fronte
I lugubri suoi lampi il ver baleni.
1.1.
It was very still in the small neglected chapel. The noises of the farm
came faintly through closed doors--voices shouting at the oxen in the
lower fields, the querulous bark of the old house-dog, and Filomena's
angry calls to the little white-faced foundling in the kitchen.
The February day was closing, and a ray of sunshine, slanting through a
slit in the chapel wall, brought out the vision of a pale haloed head
floating against the dusky background of the chancel like a water-lily
on its leaf. The face was that of the saint of Assisi--a sunken ravaged
countenance, lit with an ecstasy of suffering that seemed not so much to
reflect the anguish of the Christ at whose feet the saint knelt, as the
mute pain of all poor down-trodden folk on earth.
When the small Odo Valsecca--the only frequenter of the chapel--had been
taunted by the farmer's wife for being a beggar's brat, or when his ears
were tingling from the heavy hand of the farmer's son, he found a
melancholy kinship in that suffering face; but since he had fighting
blood in him too, coming on the mother's side of the rude Piedmontese
stock of the Marquesses di Donnaz, there were other moods when he turned
instead to the stout Saint George in gold armour, just discernible
through the grime and dust of the opposite wall.
The chapel of Pontesordo was indeed as wonderful a storybook as fate
ever unrolled before the eyes of a neglected and solitary child. For a
hundred years or more Pontesordo, a fortified manor of the Dukes of
Pianura, had been used as a farmhouse; and the chapel was never opened
save when, on Easter Sunday, a priest came from the town to say mass. At
other times it stood abandoned, cobwebs curtaining the narrow windows,
farm tools leaning against the walls, and the dust deep on the sea-gods
and acanthus volutes of the altar. The manor of Pontesordo was very old.
The country people said that the great warlock Virgil, whose
dwelling-place was at Mantua, had once shut himself up for a year in the
topmost chamber of the keep, engaged in unholy researches; and another
legend related that Alda, wife of an early lord of Pianura, had thrown
herself from its battlements to escape the pursuit of the terrible
Ezzelino. The chapel adjoined this keep, and Filomena, the farmer's
wife, told Odo that it was even older than the tower and that the walls
had been painted by early martyrs who had concealed themselves there
from the persecutions of the pagan emperors.
On such questions a child of Odo's age could obviously have no
pronounced opinion, the less so as Filomena's facts varied according to
the seasons or her mood, so that on a day of east wind or when the worms
were not hatching well, she had been known to affirm that the pagans had
painted the chapel under Virgil's instruction, to commemorate the
Christians they had tortured. In spite of the distance to which these
conflicting statements seemed to relegate them, Odo somehow felt as
though these pale strange people--youths with ardent faces under their
small round caps, damsels with wheat- hair and boys no bigger
than himself, holding spotted dogs in leash--were younger and nearer to
him than the dwellers on the farm: Jacopone the farmer, the shrill
Filomena, who was Odo's foster-mother, the hulking bully their son and
the abate who once a week came out from Pianura to give Odo religious
instruction and who dismissed his questions with the invariable
exhortation not to pry into matters that were beyond his years. Odo had
loved the pictures in the chapel all the better since the abate, with a
shrug, had told him they were nothing but old rubbish, the work of the
barbarians.
Life at Pontesordo was in truth not very pleasant for an ardent and
sensitive little boy of nine, whose remote connection with the reigning
line of Pianura did not preserve him from wearing torn clothes and
eating black bread and beans out of an earthen bowl on the kitchen
doorstep.
"Go ask your mother for new clothes!" Filomena would snap at him, when
his toes came through his shoes and the rents in his jacket-sleeves had
spread beyond darning. "These you are wearing are my Giannozzo's, as you
well know, and every rag on your back is mine, if there were any law for
poor folk, for not a copper of pay for your keep or a stitch of clothing
for your body have we had these two years come Assumption--. What's
that? You can't ask your mother, you say, because she never comes here?
True enough--fine ladies let their brats live in cow-dung, but they must
have Indian carpets under their own feet. Well, ask the abate, then--he
has lace ruffles to his coat and a naked woman painted on his snuff
box--What? He only holds his hands up when you ask? Well, then, go ask
your friends on the chapel-walls--maybe they'll give you a pair of
shoes--though Saint Francis, for that matter, was the father of the
discalced, and would doubtless tell you to go without!" And she would
add with a coarse laugh: "Don't you know that the discalced are shod
with gold?"
It was after such a scene that the beggar-noble, as they called him at
Pontesordo, would steal away to the chapel and, seating himself on an
upturned basket or a heap of pumpkins, gaze long into the face of the
mournful saint.
There was nothing unusual in Odo's lot. It was that of many children in
the eighteenth century, especially those whose parents were cadets of
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Produced by Jana Srna, 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.)
ELEMENTS OF MORALS:
WITH
SPECIAL APPLICATION OF THE MORAL LAW TO THE
DUTIES OF THE INDIVIDUAL AND OF
SOCIETY AND THE STATE.
BY PAUL JANET,
MEMBER OF THE INSTITUTE, OF THE ACADEMY OF MORAL AND POLITICAL
SCIENCES, AUTHOR OF THEORY OF MORALS, HISTORY OF MORAL
AND POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY, FINAL CAUSES, ETC., ETC.
TRANSLATED BY
MRS. C. R. CORSON.
A. S. BARNES & CO.,
NEW YORK AND CHICAGO
_Copyright, 1884, by A. S. Barnes & Co._
PREFACE.
The _Elements de Morale_, by M. Paul Janet, which we here present to the
educational world, translated from the latest edition, is, of all the
works of that distinguished moralist, the one best adapted to college and
school purposes. Its scholarly and methodical arrangement, its clear and
direct reasonings, its felicitous examples and illustrations, drawn with
rare impartiality from the best ancient and modern writers, make of this
study of Ethics, generally so unattractive to young students, one
singularly inviting. It is a system of morals, practical rather than
theoretical, setting forth man's duties and the application thereto of the
moral law. Starting with _Preliminary Notions_, M. Janet follows these up
with a general division of duties, establishes the general principles of
social and individual morality, and chapter by chapter moves from duties
to duties, developing each in all its ramifications with unerring
clearness, decision, and completeness. Never before, perhaps, was this
difficult subject brought to the comprehension of the student with more
convincing certainty, and, at the same time, with more vivid and
impressive illustrations.
The position of M. Paul Janet is that of the _religious_ moralist.
"He supplies," says a writer in the _British Quarterly Review_,[1] in a
notice of his _Theory of Morals_, "the very element to which Mr. Sully
gives so little place. He cannot conceive morals without religion. Stated
short | 1,419.37723 |
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Transcribed from the 1901 Charles Scribner’s Sons edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
MEMOIR
OF
FLEEMING JENKIN
* * * * *
BY
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
* * * * *
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
1901
PREFACE TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
ON the death of Fleeming Jenkin, his family and friends determined to
publish a selection of his various papers; by way of introduction, the
following pages were drawn up; and the whole, forming two considerable
volumes, has been issued in England. In the States, it has not been
thought advisable to reproduce the whole; and the memoir appearing alone,
shorn of that other matter which was at once its occasion and its
justification, so large an account of a man so little known may seem to a
stranger out of all proportion. But Jenkin was a man much more
remarkable than the mere bulk or merit of his work approves him. It was
in the world, in the commerce of friendship, by his brave attitude
towards life, by his high moral value and unwearied intellectual effort,
that he struck the minds of his contemporaries. His was an individual
figure, such as authors delight to draw, and all men to read of, in the
pages of a novel. His was a face worth painting for its own sake. If
the sitter shall not seem to have justified the portrait, if Jenkin,
after his death, shall not continue to make new friends, the fault will
be altogether mine.
R. L S.
SARANAC, _Oct._, 1887.
CHAPTER I.
The Jenkins of Stowting—Fleeming’s grandfather—Mrs. Buckner’s
fortune—Fleeming’s father; goes to sea; at St. Helena; meets King Tom;
service in the West Indies; end of his career—The
Campbell-Jacksons—Fleeming’s mother—Fleeming’s uncle John.
IN the reign of Henry VIII., a family of the name of Jenkin, claiming to
come from York, and bearing the arms of Jenkin ap Philip of St. Melans,
are found reputably settled in the county of Kent. Persons of strong
genealogical pinion pass from William Jenkin, Mayor of Folkestone in
1555, to his contemporary ‘John Jenkin, of the Citie of York, Receiver
General of the County,’ and thence, by way of Jenkin ap Philip, to the
proper summit of any Cambrian pedigree—a prince; ‘Guaith Voeth, Lord of
Cardigan,’ the name and style of him. It may suffice, however, for the
present, that these Kentish Jenkins must have undoubtedly derived from
Wales, and being a stock of some efficiency, they struck root and grew to
wealth and consequence in their new home.
Of their consequence we have proof enough in the fact that not only was
William Jenkin (as already mentioned) Mayor of Folkestone in 1555, but no
less than twenty-three times in the succeeding century and a half, a
Jenkin (William, Thomas, Henry, or Robert) sat in the same place of
humble honour. Of their wealth we know that in the reign of Charles I.,
Thomas Jenkin of Eythorne was more than once in the market buying land,
and notably, in 1633, acquired | 1,419.574995 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This | 1,419.578062 |
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Produced by Greg Weeks, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
OR
THE CASTAWAYS OF EARTHQUAKE ISLAND
BY VICTOR APPLETON
AUTHOR OF "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR
BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE
BOAT," "TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
BOOKS BY VICTOR APPLETON
THE TOM SWIFT SERIES
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-CYCLE
Or Fun and Adventures on the Road
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR-BOAT
Or the Rivals of Lake Carlopa
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
Or the Stirring Cruise of the Red Cloud
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
Or Under the Ocean for Sunken Treasure
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
Or the Speediest Car on the Road
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
Or the Castaways of Earthquake Island
TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
Or the Secret of Phantom Mountain
TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
Or the Wreck of the Airship
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
Or the Quickest Flight on Record
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
Or Daring Adventures in Elephant Land
(Other Volumes in Preparation)
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
CONTENTS
I. AN APPEAL FOR AID
II. MISS NESTOR'S NEWS
III. TOM KNOCKS OUT ANDY
IV. MR. DAMON WILL GO ALONG
V. VOL-PLANING TO EARTH
VI. THE NEW AIRSHIP
VII. MAKING SOME CHANGES
VIII. ANDY FOGER'S REVENGE
IX. THE WHIZZER FLIES
X. OVER THE OCEAN
XI. A NIGHT OF TERROR
XII. A DOWNWARD GLIDE
XIII. ON EARTHQUAKE ISLAND
XIV. A NIGHT IN CAMP
XV. THE OTHER CASTAWAY
XVI. AN ALARMING THEORY
XVII. A MIGHTY SHOCK
XVIII. MR. JENKS HAS DIAMONDS
XIX. SECRET OPERATIONS
XX. THE WIRELESS PLANT
XXI. MESSAGES INTO SPACE
XXII. ANXIOUS DAYS
XXIII. A REPLY IN THE DARK
XXIV. "WE ARE LOST!"
XXV. THE RESCUE-CONCLUSION
CHAPTER I
AN APPEAL FOR AID
Tom Swift stepped from the door of the machine shop, where he was at
work making some adjustments to the motor of his airship, and
glanced down the road. He saw a cloud of dust, which effectually
concealed whatever was causing it.
"Some one must be in a hurry this morning," the lad remarked, "Looks
like a motor speeding along. MY! but we certainly do need rain," he
added, as he looked up toward the sky. "It's very dusty. Well, I may
as well get back to work. I'll take the airship out for a flight
this afternoon, if the wind dies down a bit."
The young inventor, for Tom Swift himself had built the airship, as
well as several other crafts for swift locomotion, turned to
re-enter the shop.
Something about the approaching cloud of dust, however, held his
attention. He glanced more intently at it.
"If it's an automobile coming along," he murmured, "it's moving very
slowly, to make so much fuss. And I never saw a motor-cycle that
would kick up as much sand, and not speed along more. It ought to be
here by now. I wonder what it can be?"
The cloud of highway dirt rolled along, making some progress toward
Tom's house and the group of shops and other buildings surrounding
it. But, as the lad had said, the dust did not move at all quickly
in comparison to any of the speedy machines that might be causing
it. And the cloud seemed momentarily to grow thicker and thicker.
"I wonder if it could be a miniature tornado, or a cyclone or
whirlwind?" and Tom spoke aloud, a habit of his when he was
thinking, and had no one to talk to. "Yet it can hardly be that." he
went on. "Guess I'll watch and see what it is."
Nearer and nearer came the dust cloud. Tom peered anxiously ahead, a
puzzled look on his face. A few seconds later there came from the
midst of the obscuring cloud a voice, exclaiming:
"G'lang there now, Boomerang! Keep to' feet a-movin' an' we sho'
will make a record. 'Tain't laik we was a autermobiler, er a
electricity car, but we sho' hab been goin' sence we started. Yo'
sho' done yo'se'f proud t'day, Boomerang, an' I'se gwine t' keep mah
promise an' gib yo' de bestest oats I kin find. Ah reckon Massa Tom
Swift will done say we brought dis yeah message t' him as quick as
anybody could."
Then there followed the sound of hoofbeats on the dusty road, and
the rattle of some many-jointed vehicle, with loose springs and
looser wheels.
"Eradicate Sampson!" exclaimed Tom. "But who would ever think that
the <DW52> man's mule could get up such speed as that cloud of dust
indicates. His mule's feet must be working overtime, but he goes
backward about as often as he moves forward. That accounts for it.
There's lots of dust, but not much motion."
Once more, from the midst of the ball-like cloud of dirt came the
voice of the <DW52> man:
"Now behave yo'se'f, Boomerang. We'm almost dere an' den yo' kin sit
down an' rest if yo' laik. Jest keep it up a little longer, an'
we'll gib Massa Tom his telephone. G'lang now, Boomerang."
The tattoo of hoofbeats was slowing up now, and the cloud of dust
was not so heavy. It was gradually blowing away. Tom Swift walked
down to the fence that separated the house, grounds and shops from
the road. As he got there the sounds of the mule's progress, and the
rattle of the wagon, suddenly ceased.
"G'lang! G'lang! Don't yo' dare t' stop now, when we am most dere!"
cried Eradicate Sampson. "Keep a-movin', Boomerang!"
"It's all right, Eradicate. I'm here," called Tom, and when the last
of the dust had blown away, the lad waved his hand to an aged
<DW52> man, who sat upon the seat of perhaps the most dilapidated
wagon that was ever dignified by such a name. It was held together
with bits of wire, rope and strings, and each of the four wheels
leaned out at a different angle. It was drawn by a big mule, whose
bones seemed protruding through his skin, but that fact evidently
worried him but little, for now the animal was placidly sleeping,
while standing up, his long ears moving slowly to and fro.
"Am dat yo', Massa Tom?" asked Eradicate, ceasing his task of
jerking on the lines, to which operation the mule paid not the least
attention.
"Yes, I'm here, Rad," replied Tom, smiling. "I came out of my shop
to see what all the excitement was about. How did you ever get your
mule to make so much dust?"
"I done promise him an extra helpin' ob oats ef he make good time,"
said the <DW52> man. "An' he done it, too. Did yo' see de dust we
made?"
"I sure did, but you didn't do much else. And you didn't make very
good time. I watched you, and you came along like an ice wagon after
a day's work on the Fourth of July. You were going fast, but moving
slow."
"I'spects we was, Massa Tom," was the <DW52> man's answer. "But
Boomerang done better dan I'spected he would. I done tole him yo'd
be in a hurry t' git yo' telephone, an' he sho' did trot along."
"My telephone?" repeated Tom, wonderingly. "What have you and your
mule Boomerang to do with my telephone? That's up in the house."
"No, it ain't! it's right yeah in mah pocket," chuckled Eradicate,
opening a ragged coat, and reaching for something. "I got yo'
telephone right yeah." he went on. "De agent at de station see me
dribin' ober dis way, an' he done ast he t' deliber it. He said as
how he ain't got no messenger boy now, 'cause de one he done hab
went on a strike fo' five cents mo' a day. So I done took de
telephone," and with that the <DW52> man pulled out a crumpled
yellow envelope.
"Oh, you mean a telegram," said Tom, with a laugh, as he took the
message from the odd <DW52> man.
"Well, maybe it's telegraf, but I done understood de agent t' say
telephone. Anyhow, dere it is. An' I s'pects we'd better git along,
Boomerang."
The mule never moved, though Eradicate yanked on the reins, and used
a splintered whip with energy.
"I said as how we'd better git along, Boomerang," went on the
darkey, raising his voice, "Dinnah am mos' ready, an' I'm goin' t'
giv yo' an extra helpin' ob oats."
The effect of these words seemed magical. The mule suddenly came to
life, and was about to start off.
"I done thought dat would cotch yo', Boomerang," chuckled Eradicate.
"Wait a minute, Rad," called Tom, who was tearing open the envelope
of the telegram. "I might want to send an answer back by you. I
wonder who is wiring me now?"
He read the message slowly, and Eradicate remarked:
"'Taint no kind ob use, Massa Tom, fo' t' send a message back wif
me."
"Why not?" asked the young inventor, looking up from the sheet of
yellow paper.
"'Case as how I done promised Boomerang his airman, an' he won't do
nothin' till he has it. Ef I started him back t' town now he would
jest lay down in de road. I'll take de answer back fo' you dis
arternoon."
"All right, perhaps that will do," assented Tom. "I haven't quite
got the hang of this yet. Drop around this afternoon, Rad," and as
the <DW52> man, who, with his mule Boomerang, did odd jobs around
the village, started off down the highway, in another cloud of dust,
Tom Swift resumed the reading of the message.
"Hum, this is rather queer," he mused, when having read it once, he
began at it again. "It must have cost him something to send all this
over the wire. He could just as well have written it. So he wants my
help, eh? Well, I never heard of him, and he may be all right, but I
had other plans, and I don't know whether I can spare the time to go
to Philadelphia or not. I'll have to think it over. An electric
airship, eh? He's sort of following along the lines of my
inventions. Wants my aid--hum--well, I don't know--"
Tom's musings were suddenly cut short by the approach of an elderly
gentleman, who was walking slowly down the path that led from the
house to the country highway which ran in front of it.
"A telegram, Tom?" asked the newcomer.
"Yes, dad," was the reply. "I was just coming in to ask your advice
about it. Eradicate brought it to me."
"What, with his mule, Boomerang?" and the gentleman seemed much
amused. "How did he ever get up speed enough to deliver a telegram?"
"Oh, Eradicate has some special means he uses on his mule when he's
in a hurry. But listen to this message, dad. It's from a Mr. Hosmer
Fenwick, of Philadelphia. He says:"
"'Tom Swift--Can you come on to Philadelphia at once and aid me in
perfecting my new electric airship? I want to get it ready for a
flight before some government experts who have promised to purchase
several if it works well. I am in trouble, and I can't get it to
rise off the ground. I need help. I have heard about your airship,
and the other inventions you and your father have perfected, and I
am sure you can aid me. I am stuck. Can you hurry to the Quaker
City? I will pay you well. Answer at once!'"
"Well?" remarked Mr. Swift, questioningly, as his son finished
reading the telegram. "What are you going to do about it, Tom?"
"I don't exactly know, dad. I was going to ask your advice. What
would you do? Who is this Mr. Fenwick?"
"Well, he is an inventor of some note, but he has had many failures.
I have not heard of him in some years until now. He is a gentleman
of wealth, and can be relied upon to do just as he says. We are
slightly acquainted. Perhaps it would be well to aid him, if you can
spare the time. Not that you need the money, but inventors should be
mutually helpful. If you feel like going to Philadelphia, and aiding
him in getting his electric airship in shape, you have my
permission."
"I don't know," answered Tom, doubtfully. "I was just getting my
monoplane in shape for a little flight. It was nothing particular,
though. Dad, I think I WILL take a run to Philadelphia, and see if I
can help Mr. Fenwick. I'll wire him that I am coming, to-morrow or
next day."
"Very well," assented Mr. Swift, and then he and his son went into
one of the shops, talking of a new invention which they were about
to patent.
Tom little knew what a strange series of adventures were to follow
his decision to go to the Quaker City, nor the danger involved in
aiding Mr. Fenwick to operate his electric airship.
CHAPTER II
MISS NESTOR'S NEWS
"When do you think you will go to Philadelphia, Tom?" asked Mr.
Swift, a little later, as the aged inventor and his son were looking
over some blueprints which Garret Jackson, an engineer employed by
them, had spread out on a table.
"I don't exactly know," was the answer. "It's quite a little run
from Shopton, because I can't get a through train. But I think I'll
start tomorrow."
"Why do you go by train?" asked Mr. Jackson.
"Why--er--because--" was Tom's rather hesitating reply. "How else
would I go?"
"Your monoplane would be a good deal quicker, and you wouldn't have
to change cars," said the engineer. "That is if you don't want to
take out the big airship. Why don't you go in the monoplane?"
"By Jove! I believe I will!" exclaimed Tom. "I never thought of
that, though it's a wonder I didn't. I'll not take the RED CLOUD, as
she's too hard to handle alone. But the BUTTERFLY will be just the
thing," and Tom looked over to where a new monoplane rested on the
three bicycle wheels which formed part of its landing frame. "I
haven't had it out since I mended the left wing tip," he went on,
"and it will also be a good chance to test my new rudder. I believe
I WILL go to Philadelphia by the BUTTERFLY."
"Well, as long as that's settled, suppose you give us your views on
this new form of storage battery," suggested Mr. Swift, with a fond
glance at his son, for Tom's opinion was considered valuable in
matters electrical, as those of you, who have read the previous
books in this series, well know.
The little group in the machine shop was soon deep in the discussion
of ohms, amperes, volts and currents, and, for a time, Tom almost
forgot the message calling him to Philadelphia.
Taking advantage of the momentary lull in the activities of the
young inventor, I will tell my readers something about him, so that
those who have no previous introduction to him may feel that he is a
friend.
Tom Swift lived with his father, Barton Swift, a widower, in the
village of Shopton, New York. There was also in the household Mrs.
Baggert, the aged housekeeper, who looked after Tom almost like a
mother. Garret Jackson, an engineer and general helper, also lived
with the Swifts.
Eradicate Sampson might also be called a retainer of the family, for
though the aged <DW52> man and his mule Boomerang did odd work
about the village, they were more often employed by Tom and his
father than by any one else. Eradicate was so called because, as he
said, he "eradicated" the dirt. He did whitewashing, made gardens,
and did anything else that was needed. Boomerang was thus named by
his owner, because, as Eradicate said, "yo' nebber know jest what
dat mule am goin' t' do next. He may go forward or he may go
backward, jest laik them Australian boomerangs."
There was another valued friend of the family, Wakefield Damon by
name, to whom the reader will be introduced in due course. And then
there was Mary Nestor, about whom I prefer to let Tom tell you
himself, for he might be jealous if I talked too much about her.
In the first book of this series, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Cycle,"
there was told how he became possessed of the machine, after
it had nearly killed Mr. Damon, who was learning to ride it. Mr.
Damon, who had a habit of "blessing" everything from his collar
button to his shoe laces, did not "bless" the motor-cycle after it
tried to climb a tree with him; and he sold it to Tom very cheaply.
Tom repaired it, invented some new attachments for it, and had a
number of adventures on it. Not the least of these was trailing
after a gang of scoundrels who tried to get possession of a valuable
patent model belonging to Mr. Swift.
Our second book, called "Tom Swift and His Motor-Boat," related some
exciting times following the acquisition by the young inventor of a
speedy craft which the thieves of the patent model had stolen. In
the boat Tom raced with Andy Foger, a town bully, and beat him. Tom
also took out on pleasure trips his chum, Ned Newton, who worked in
a Shopton bank, and the two had fine times together. Need I also say
that Mary Nestor also had trips in the motor-boat? Besides some other
stirring adventures in his speedy craft | 1,419.674784 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
FRENCH AND ENGLISH FURNITURE
[Illustration: LOUIS XIII INTERIOR]
FRENCH AND ENGLISH FURNITURE
DISTINCTIVE STYLES AND PERIODS DESCRIBED AND ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
BY
ESTHER SINGLETON
AUTHOR OF THE FURNITURE OF OUR FOREFATHERS
ILLUSTRATED FROM ORIGINAL SOURCES
BY
H. D. NICHOLS
NEW YORK
McCLURE PHILLIPS & CO
MCMIII
Copyright 1903
BY MCCLURE, PHILLIPS & CO.
Published December, 1903. N
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
[Illustration]
PREFACE
_The purpose of this work is to provide all who are interested in
French and English furniture since the Renaissance period with a
comprehensive and detailed view of the various periods or styles. A
chapter is devoted to each period, and the chapters naturally vary in
size, in accordance with the importance and length of the different
periods. So far as I have been able to discover in my researches,
there is no work precisely of the same aim and scope as this one in
existence. Many books have been written about furniture as a whole,
and the history of furniture,—especially the French styles; but I do
not know of one that enables the student to learn with slight
expenditure of time and energy all that is necessary to know in order
to fit up a room in any given style. Anyone who wants to furnish and
decorate a Louis XV. boudoir properly, or a Heppelwhite dining-room,
or an Empire bedroom, can find all about it in the following pages.
The collector, the student, the cabinet-maker, the upholsterer, and
even the architect will find ready at hand valuable material gathered
from many sources. The ceilings, wall-decorations and chimney-pieces
proper to each period are described from contemporary authorities and
illustrated from contemporary pictures and prints. The furniture is
described from specimens existing in many collections and museums; and
frequently in the words of the great makers and designers themselves._
_In many instances | 1,419.873993 |
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[Illustration: "_She dragged off the engagement ring, and dashed it on
the floor in front of his feet._" _See p._ 335.]
PRINCE FORTUNATUS
A Novel
BY
WILLIAM BLACK
AUTHOR OF "A PRINCESS OF THULE" "MACLEOD OF DARE"
"IN FAR LOCHABER" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1905
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A REHEARSAL 5
II. THE GREAT GOD PAN 21
III. NINA 37
IV. COUNTRY AND TOWN 55
V. WARS AND RUMORS 78
VI. A DEPARTURE 90
VII. IN STRATHAIVRON 106
VIII. THE TWELFTH 123
IX. VENATOR IMMEMOR 142
X. AIVRON AND GEINIG 159
XI. THE PHANTOM STAG 174
XII. A GLOBE OF GOLD-FISH 192
XIII. A NEW EXPERIENCE 207
XIV. A MAGNANIMOUS RIVAL 225
XV. "LET THE STRUCKEN DEER GO WEEP" 243
XVI. AN AWAKENING 259
XVII. A CRISIS 276
XVIII. AN INVOCATION 294
XIX. ENTRAPPED 310
XX. IN DIRER STRAITS 326
XXI. IN A DEN OF LIONS, AND THEREAFTER 342
XXII. PRIUS DEMENTAT 359
XXIII. A MEMORABLE DAY 376
XXIV. FRIENDS IN NEED 393
XXV. CHANGES 410
XXVI. TOWARDS THE DAWN 425
XXVII. A REUNION 430
ILLUSTRATIONS.
"SHE DRAGGED OFF THE ENGAGEMENT-RING, AND DASHED
IT ON THE FLOOR IN FRONT OF HIS FEET" _Frontispiece._
"'YOU SAY AT YOUR FEET THAT I WEPT IN DESPAIR'" _Facing p._ 18
"WHEN THEY HAD FINISHED SUPPER, LIONEL MOORE
LIT A CIGARETTE, AND HIS FRIEND A BRIAR-ROOT PIPE" " 34
"THEY PASSED IN THROUGH THE GATE, AND FOUND THE
DOOR LEFT OPEN FOR THEM" " 64
"AND YET HERE WAS THIS GIRL WATCHING COOLLY
AND CRITICALLY THE MOTION OF THE LINE" " 116
"CAUTIOUSLY OLD ROBERT CREPT DOWN. WHEN HE
WAS CLOSE TO THE WATER, HE BARED HIS RIGHT
ARM AND GRASPED THE GAFF BY THE HANDLE" " 170
"ROBERT GOT THE SMALL PARCELS AND THE DRINKING-CUPS
OUT OF THE BAG, AND ARRANGED THEM ON THE WARM TURF" " 198
"AND NINA, HANGING SOME WAY BACK, COULD SEE
THEM BEING PRESENTED TO MISS BURGOYNE" " 252
"'WHY, YOU SEEM TO KNOW EVERYBODY, MR. MOORE!'
SHE SAID TO HIM, WITH A SMILE" " 264
"HE THREW HIS ARMS ON THE TABLE BEFORE HIM,
AND HID HIS FACE" " 310
"AND AGAIN SHE FILLED UP HIS GLASS, WHICH HE HAD
NOT EMPTIED" " 322
"THERE WAS A SLIGHT TOUCH OF COLOR VISIBLE ON
THE GRACIOUS FOREHEAD WHEN SHE OFFERED HIM HER HAND" " 346
"HE UTTERED A LOUD SHRIEK, AND STRUGGLED
WILDLY TO RAISE HIMSELF" " 394
"SHE THREW HERSELF ON HER KNEES BY THE BEDSIDE
AND SEIZED HIS HAND" " 400
"MAURICE WALKED BACK UNTIL HE FOUND A GATE,
ENTERED, AND WENT FORWARD AND OVERTOOK HER" " 420
"I HAVE AN EXTREMELY IMPORTANT LETTER TO SEND OFF" " 430
PRINCE FORTUNATUS.
CHAPTER I.
A REHEARSAL.
When the curtain fell on the last act of "The Squire's Daughter," the
comedy-opera that had taken all musical London by storm, a tall and
elegant young English matron and her still taller brother rose from
their places in the private box they had been occupying, and made ready
to depart; and he had just assisted her to put on her long-skirted coat
of rose-red plush when an attendant made his appearance.
"Mr. Moore's compliments, your ladyship, and will you please to step
this way?"
The box was close to the stage. Lady Adela Cunyngham and her brother,
Lord Rockminster, followed their guide through a narrow little door, and
almost at once found themselves in the wings, amid the usual motley
crowd of gas-men, scene-shifters, dressers, and the like. But the
company were still fronting the footlights; for there had been a general
recall, and the curtain had gone up again; and probably, during this
brief second of scrutiny, it may have seemed odd to these two strangers
to find themselves looking, not at rows of smiling faces on the stage,
but at the backs of the heads of the performers. However, the curtain
once more came down; the great wedding-party in the squire's hall grew
suddenly quite business-like and went their several ways as if they had
no longer any concern with one another; and then it was that the
squire's daughter herself--a piquant little person she was, in a
magnificent costume of richly flowered white satin, and with a
portentous head-gear of powdered hair and brilliants and strings of
pearls--was brought forward by a handsome young gentleman who wore a
tied wig, a laced coat and ruffles, satin knee-breeches, shining silken
stockings, and silver-buckled shoes.
"Lady Adela," said he, "let me introduce you to Miss Burgoyne. Miss
Burgoyne has been kind enough to say she will take you into her room for
a little while, until I get off my war-paint. I sha'n't keep you more
than a few minutes."
"It is very good of you," said the tall young matron in the crimson coat
to this gorgeous little white bride, whose lips were brilliant with
cherry-paste, and whose bright and frank eyes were surrounded by such a
mighty mass of make-up.
"Not at all," she answered, pleasantly enough, and therewith she led the
way down some steps into a long, white-tiled corridor, from which
branched the various dressing-rooms. "I'm afraid I can't give you any
tea now; but there's some lemonade, of my own making--it has become very
popular in the theatre--you would hardly believe the number of callers I
have of an evening."
By this time Lionel Moore, who was responsible for these strangers being
in the theatre, had gone quickly off to his own dressing-room to change
his attire, so that when the two ladies reached a certain half-open door
where the prima-donna's maid was waiting for her, Lord Rockminster
naturally hung back and would have remained without. Miss Burgoyne
instantly turned to him.
"Oh, but you may come in too!" she said, with great complaisance.
Somewhat timorously he followed these two into a prettily furnished
little sitting-room, where he was bidden to take a seat and regale
himself with lemonade, if he was so minded; and then Miss Burgoyne drew
aside the curtain of an inner apartment, and said to her other guest:
"_You_ may come in here, if you like. Mr. Moore said you wished to
know about stage make-up and that kind of thing--I will show you all the
dreadful secrets--Jane!" Thereupon these three disappeared behind the
curtain, and Lord Rockminster was left alone.
But Lord Rockminster liked being left alone. He was a great thinker, who
rarely revealed his thoughts, but who was quite happy in possessing
them. He could sit for an hour at a club-window, calmly gazing out into
the street, and be perfectly content. It is true that the pale
tobacco-tinge that overspread the young man's fair complexion seemed to
speak of an out-of-door life; but he had long ago emancipated himself
from the tyranny of field-sports. That thraldom had begun early with
him, as with most of his class. He had hardly been out of his Eton
jacket when gillies and water-bailiffs got hold of him, and made him
thrash salmon-pools with a seventeen-foot rod until his back was
breaking; and then keepers and foresters had taken possession of him,
and compelled him to crawl for miles up wet gullies and across
peat-hags, and then put a rifle in his hand, expecting him to hit a
bewildering object on | 1,419.880294 |
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AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE
by
Henrik Ibsen
Translated by R. Farquharson Sharp
AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE
A play in five acts
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
Dr. Thomas Stockmann, Medical Officer of the Municipal Baths.
Mrs. Stockmann, his wife.
Petra (their daughter) a teacher.
Ejlif & Morten (their sons, aged 13 and 10 respectively).
Peter Stockmann (the Doctor's elder brother), Mayor of the
Town and Chief Constable, Chairman of the Baths' Committee, etc.
Morten Kiil, a tanner (Mrs. Stockmann's adoptive father).
Hovstad, editor of the "People's Messenger."
Billing, sub-editor.
Captain Horster.
Aslaksen, a printer.
Men of various conditions and occupations, a few women, and a troop of
schoolboys--the audience at a public meeting.
The action takes place in a coastal town in southern Norway,
AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE
ACT I
(SCENE.--DR. STOCKMANN'S sitting-room. It is evening. The room is
plainly but neatly appointed and furnished. In the right-hand wall are
two doors; the farther leads out to the hall, the nearer to the
doctor's study. In the left-hand wall, opposite the door leading to the
hall, is a door leading to the other rooms occupied by the family. In
the middle of the same wall stands the stove, and, further forward, a
couch with a looking-glass hanging over it and an oval table in front
of it. On the table, a lighted lamp, with a lampshade. At the back of
the room, an open door leads to the dining-room. BILLING is seen
sitting at the dining table, on which a lamp is burning. He has a
napkin tucked under his chin, and MRS. STOCKMANN is standing by the
table handing him a large plate-full of roast beef. The other places at
the table are empty, and the table somewhat in disorder, evidently a
meal having recently been finished.)
Mrs. Stockmann. You see, if you come an hour late, Mr. Billing, you
have to put up with cold meat.
Billing (as he eats). It is uncommonly good, thank you--remarkably good.
Mrs. Stockmann. My husband makes such a point of having his meals
punctually, you know.
Billing. That doesn't affect me a bit. Indeed, I almost think I enjoy a
meal all the better when I can sit down and eat all by myself, and
undisturbed.
Mrs. Stockmann. Oh well, as long as you are enjoying it--. (Turns to
the hall door, listening.) I expect that is Mr. Hovstad coming too.
Billing. Very likely.
(PETER STOCKMANN comes in. He wears an overcoat and his official hat,
and carries a stick.)
Peter Stockmann. Good evening, Katherine.
Mrs. Stockmann (coming forward into the sitting-room). Ah, good
evening--is it you? How good of you to come up and see us!
Peter Stockmann. I happened to be passing, and so--(looks into the
dining-room). But you have company with you, I see.
Mrs. Stockmann (a little embarrassed). Oh, no--it was quite by chance
he came in. (Hurriedly.) Won't you come in and have something, too?
Peter Stockmann. I! No, thank you. Good gracious--hot meat at night!
Not with my digestion.
Mrs. Stockmann. Oh, but just once in a way--
Peter Stockmann. No, no, my dear lady; I stick to my tea and bread and
butter. It is much more wholesome in the long run--and a little more
economical, too.
Mrs. Stockmann (smiling). Now you mustn't think that Thomas and I are
spendthrifts.
Peter Stockmann. Not you, my dear; I would never think that of you.
(Points to the Doctor's study.) Is he not at home?
Mrs. Stockmann. No, he went out for a little turn after supper--he and
the boys.
Peter Stockmann. I doubt if that is a wise thing to do. (Listens.) I
fancy I hear him coming now.
Mrs. Stockmann. No, I don't think it is he. (A knock is heard at the
door.) Come in! (HOVSTAD comes in from the hall.) Oh, it is you, Mr.
Hovstad!
Hovstad. Yes, I hope you will forgive me, but I was delayed at the
printers. Good evening, Mr. | 1,420.078832 |
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Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903
Lucy Maud Montgomery was born at Clifton (now New London), Prince
Edward Island, Canada, on November 30, 1874. She achieved
international fame in her lifetime, putting Prince Edward Island and
Canada on the world literary map. Best known for her "Anne of Green
Gables" books, she was also a prolific writer of short stories and
poetry. She published some 500 short stories and poems and twenty
novels before her death in 1942. The Project Gutenberg collection of
her short stories was gathered from numerous sources and is presented
in chronological publishing order:
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1896 to 1901
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1904
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1905 to 1906
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1907 to 1908
Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1909 to 1922
* * * * *
Short Stories 1902 to 1903
A Patent Medicine Testimonial 1903
A Sandshore Wooing 1903
After Many Days 1903
An Unconventional Confidence 1903
Aunt Cyrilla's Christmas Basket 1903
Davenport's Story 1902
Emily's Husband 1903
Min 1903
Miss Cordelia's Accommodation 1903
Ned's Stroke of Business 1903
Our Runaway Kite 1903
The Bride Roses 1903
The Josephs' Christmas 1902
The Magical Bond of the Sea 1903
The Martyrdom of Estella 1902
The Old Chest at Wyther Grange 1903
The Osborne's Christmas 1903
The Romance of Aunt Beatrice 1902
The Running Away of Chester | 1,420.274984 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Library of Early Journals.)
BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE.
NO. 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 | 1,420.475873 |
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The Freedom of Science
By
Joseph Donat, S.J., D.D.
Professor Innsbruck University
New York
Joseph F. Wagner
1914
CONTENTS
Imprimatur.
Author's Preface To The English Edition.
Translator's Note.
First Section. The Freedom of Science and its Philosophical Basis.
Chapter I. Science And Freedom.
Chapter II. Two Views Of The World And Their Freedom.
Chapter III. Subjectivism And Its Freedom.
Second Section. Freedom of Research and Faith.
Chapter I. Research And Faith In General.
Chapter II. The Authority Of Faith And The Free Exercise Of Research.
Chapter III. Unprepossession Of Research.
Chapter IV. Accusations And Objections.
Chapter V. The Witnesses of the Incompatibility Of Science And Faith.
Third Section. The Liberal Freedom of Research.
Chapter I. Free From The Yoke Of The Supernatural.
Chapter II. The Unscientific Method.
Chapter III. The Bitter Fruit.
Fourth Section. Freedom of Teaching.
Chapter I. Freedom Of Teaching And Ethics.
Chapter II. Freedom Of Teaching And The State.
Fifth Section. Theology.
Chapter I. Theology And Science.
Chapter II. Theology And University.
Index.
Footnotes
IMPRIMATUR.
Nihil Obstat
REMIGIUS LAFORT, D.D.
_Censor_
Imprimatur
JOHN CARDINAL FARLEY
_Archbishop of New York_
NEW YORK, January 22, 1914.
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY JOSEPH F. WAGNER, NEW YORK
AUTHOR'S PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION.
The present work has already secured many friends in German Europe. An
invitation has now been extended for its reception among the
English-speaking countries, with the object that there, too, it may seek
readers and friends, and communicate to them its thoughts--the ideas it has
to convey and to interpret. While wishing it heartfelt success and good
fortune on its journey, the Author desires it to convey his greetings to
its new readers.
This book has issued from the throes of dissension and strife, seeing the
light at a time when, in Austria and Germany, the bitter forces of
opposition, that range themselves about the shibboleth _Freedom of
Science_, were seen engaging in a combat of fiercer intensity than ever.
Yet, notwithstanding, this Child of Strife has learned the language of
Peace only. It speaks the language of an impartial objectivity which
endeavours, in a spirit of unimpassioned, though earnest, calm, to range
itself over the burning questions of the day--over those great
_Weltanschauung_ questions, that stand in such close relation with the
compendious motto: _Freedom of Science_. Yes, _Freedom_ and _Science_
serve, in our age and on both sides of the Atlantic, as trumpet-calls, to
summon together--often indeed to pit in deadly combat--the rival forces of
opposition. They are catch-words that tend to hold at fever-pitch the
intellectual life of modern civilization--agents as they are of such mighty
and far-reaching influences. On the one hand, Science, whence the moving
and leading ideas of the time take shape and form to go forth in turn and
subject to their sway the intellect of man; on the other, Freedom--that
Freedom of sovereign emancipation, that Christian Freedom of well-ordered
self-development, which determine the actions, the strivings of the human
spirit, even as they control imperceptibly the march of Science. While the
present volume is connected with this chain of profound problems, it
becomes, of itself, a representation of the intellectual life of our day,
with its far-reaching philosophical questions, its forces of struggle and
opposition, its dangers, and deep-seated evils.
The Author has a lively recollection of an expression which he heard a few
years ago, in a conversation with an American professor, then journeying
in Europe. "Here, they talk of tolerance," he observed, "while in America
we put it into practice." The catch-word _Freedom of Science_ will not,
therefore, in _every_ quarter of the world, serve as a call to arms,
causing the opposing columns to engage in mutual conflict, as is the case
in many portions of Europe. But certain it is that everywhere alike--in the
new world of America, as well as in the old world of Europe--the human
spirit has its attention engaged with the same identical questions--those
topics of nerve-straining interest that sway and surge about this same
catch-word like so many opposing forces. Everywhere we shall have those
tense oppositions between sovereign Humanity and Christianity, between
Knowledge and Faith, between Law and Freedom; everywhere those questions
on the Rights and Obligations of Science, on Catholic Thought, and on
Catholic Doctrinal Beliefs and Duties.
May | 1,420.57562 |
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[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 401
NEW YORK, SEPTEMBER 8, 1883
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XVI, No. 401.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. CHEMISTRY.--On the Different Modifications of Silver Bromide
and Silver Chloride.
Analysis of New Zealand Coal.
On the Determination of Manganese in Steel, Cast Iron,
Ferro-manganese, etc.
Manganese and its Uses.
Ozokerite or Earth-wax. By WILLIAM L. LAY. A valuable
and instructive paper read before the New York Academy of
Sciences.--Showing the nature, sources, and applications of this
remarkable product.
On the Constitution of the Natural Fats.
II. ENGINEERING AND MECHANICS.--Improved Spring wheel
Traction Engine.--With two engravings.
An Improved Iron Frame Gang Saw Mill.--With one large
engraving.
The Heat Regenerative System of Firing Gas Retorts.--Siemens'
principle.--As operated at the Glasgow Corporation Works.--With
two engravings.
A New Gas Heated Baker's Oven.
III. TECHNOLOGY.--How to Produce Permanent Photographic Pictures
on Terra Cotta, Glass, etc.--With recipes and full directions.
How to Make Paper Photo Negatives.--Full directions.
Some of the Uses of Common Alum.
An Improved Cloth Stretching Machine.--With an engraving.
Purification of Woolen Fabrics by Hydrochloric Acid Gas.
Apparatus for Preventing the Loss of Carbonic Acid in Racking
Beer.--With an engraving.
IV. ELECTRICITY.--Application of Electricity to the Bleaching of
Vetable Textile Materials.--With figure of apparatus.
Table Showing the Relative Dimensions, Lengths, Electrical
Resistances, and Weights of Pure Copper Wires.
V. ASTRONOMY.--The Solar Eclipse of 1883.--An interesting abstract
from a report of C. S. HASTINGS (Johns Hopkins University), of
the American Astronomical Exhibition to the Caroline Islands.
VI. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY.--Recent Experiments Affecting the
Received Theory of Music.--An interesting paper descriptive of
certain experiments by President Morton, of Stevens Institute.
The Motions of Camphor upon Water.--With an engraving.
VII. ARCHITECTURE.--Suggestions in Village Architecture.--
Semidetached villas.--Bloomfield crescent.--With an engraving.
Specimens of Old Knocking Devices for Doors.--Several figures.
VIII. ARCHAEOLOGY.--A Buried City of the Exodus.--Being an account
of the recent excavations and discoveries of Pithom
Succoth, in Egypt.--With an engraving.
The Moabite Manuscripts.
IX. AGRICULTURE. HORTICULTURE, ETC.--The Queen Victoria
Century Plant.--With an engraving.
Charred Clover.
A New Weathercock.--With one figure.
X. MISCELLANEOUS.--New Monumental Statue and Landing Place
in Honor of Christopher Columbus at Barcelona, Spain.--With an
engraving.
Scenery on the Utah Line of the Denver and Rio Grande Railway.
Captain Matthew Webb.--Biographical sketch.--With portrait.
The Dwellings of the Poor In Paris.
Shipment of Ostriches from Cape Town, South Africa.--With one
page of engravings.
* * * * *
MONUMENT TO CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA, SPAIN.
The cultivated and patriotic city of Barcelona is about to erect
a magnificent monument in honor of Columbus, the personage most
distinguished in the historic annals of all nations and all epochs.
The City of Earls does not forget that here the discoverer of America
disembarked on the 3d of April, 1493, to present to the Catholic
monarchs the evidences of the happy termination of his enterprise. In
honoring Columbus they honor and exalt the sons of Catalonia, who also
took part in the discovery and civilization of the New World, among whom
may be named the Treasurer Santangel, Captain Margarit, Friar Benardo
Boyl, first patriarch of the Indies, and the twelve missionaries of
Monserrat, who accompanied the illustrious admiral on his second voyage.
In September, 1881, a national competition was opened by the central
executive committee for the monument, and by the unanimous voice of
the committee the premium plans of the architect, Don Cayetano
Buigas Monraba, were adopted. From these plans, which we find in _La
Ilustracion Espanola_, we give an engraving. Richness, grandeur, and
expression, worthily combined, are the characteristics of these plans.
The landing structure is divided into three parts, a central and two
laterals, each of which extends forward, after the manner of a cutwater,
in the form of the bow of a vessel of the fifteenth century, bringing to
mind the two caravels, the Pinta and Nina; two great lights occupy the
advance points on each side; a rich balustrade and four statues of
celebrated persons complete the magnificent frontage. A noble monument,
surmounted by a statue of the discoverer, is seen on the esplanade.
[Illustration: MONUMENTAL LANDING AND STATUE TO COLUMBUS, AT BARCELONA,
SPAIN.]
* * * * *
The commission appointed in France to consider the phylloxera has not
awarded to anybody the prize of three hundred thousand francs that was
offered to the discoverer of a trustworthy remedy or preventive for the
fatal grape disease. There were not less than 182 competitors for the
prize; but none had made a discovery that filled the bill. It is said,
however, that a Strasbourg physician has found in naphthaline an
absolutely trustworthy remedy. This liquid is poured upon the ground
about the root of the vine, and it is said that it kills the parasites
without hurting the grape.
* * * * *
SCENERY ON THE UTAH LINE OF THE DENVER AND RIO GRANDE.
Mr. R.W. Raymond gives the following interesting account of the
remarkable scenery on this recently opened route from Denver to Salt
Lake:
Having just made the trip from Salt Lake City to this place on the
Denver & Rio Grande line, I cannot write you on any other subject at
present. There is not in the world a railroad journey of thirty hours
so filled with grand and beautiful views. I should perhaps qualify this
statement by deducting the hours of darkness; yet this is really a
fortunate enhancement of the traveler's enjoyment; it seems providential
that there is one part of the way just long enough and uninteresting
enough to permit one to go to sleep without the fear of missing anything
sublime. Leaving Salt Lake City at noon, we sped through the fertile and
populous Jordan Valley, past the fresh and lovely Utah Lake, and up the
Valley of Spanish Fork. All the way the superb granite walls and summits
of the Wahsatch accompanied us on the east, while westward, across the
wide valley, were the blue outlines of the Oquirrh range. One after
another of the magnificent canyons of the Wahsatch we passed, their
mouths seeming mere gashes in the massive rock, but promising wild and
rugged variety to him who enters--a promise which I have abundantly
tested in other days. Parley's Canyon, the Big and Little Cottonwood, and
most wonderful of all, the canyon of the American Fork, form a series not
inferior to those of Boulder, Clear Creek, the Platte, and the Arkansas,
in the front range of the Rockies.
Following Spanish Fork eastward so far as it served our purpose, we
crossed the divide to the head waters of the South Fork of Price River,
a tributary of Green River. It was a regret to me, in choosing this
route, that I should miss the familiar and beloved scenery of Weber and
Echo canyons--the only part of the Union Pacific road which tempts one
to look out of a car window, unless one may be tempted by the boundless
monotony of the plains or the chance of a prairie dog. Great was my
satisfaction, therefore, to find that this part of the new road,
parallel with the Union Pacific, but a hundred miles farther south,
traverses the same belt of rocks, and exhibits them in forms not less
picturesque. Castle Canyon, on the South Fork of the Price, is the
equivalent of Echo Canyon, and is equal or superior in everything except
color. The brilliant red of the Echo cliffs is wanting. The towers
and walls of Castle Canyon are yellowish-gray. But their forms are
incomparably various and grotesque--in some instances sublime. The
valley of Green River at this point is a cheerless sage-brush desert,
as it is further north. To be sure, this uninviting stream, a couple of
hundred miles further south, having united with the Grande, and formed
the Rio Colorado, does indeed, by dint of burrowing deeper and deeper
into the sunless chasms, become at last sublime. But here it gives no
hint of its future somber glory. I remained awake till we had crossed
Green River, to make sure that no striking scenery should be missed by
sleep. But I got nothing for my pains except the moonlight on the muddy
water; and next time I shall go to bed comfortably, proving to the
conductor that I am a veteran and not a tender-foot.
In the morning, we breakfasted at Cimarron, having in the interval
passed the foot-hills of the Roan Mountains, crossed the Grande, and
ascended for some distance the Gunnison, a tributary of the Grande, the
Uncompahgre, a tributary of the Gunnison, and finally a branch, flowing
westward, of the Uncompahgre. A high divide at the head of the latter
was laboriously surmounted; and then, one of our two engines shooting
ahead and piloting us, we slid speedily down to Cimarron. It is in such
descents that the unaccustomed traveler usually feels alarmed. But the
experience of the Rio Grande Railroad people is, that derailment is
likely to occur on up-grades, and almost never in going down.
From this point, comparison with the Union Pacific line in the matter
of scenery ceases. As everybody knows, that road crosses the Rocky
Mountains proper in a pass so wide and of such gradual ascent that the
high summits are quite out of sight. If it were not for the monument to
the Ameses, there would be nothing to mark the highest point. For all
the wonderful scenery on the Rio Grande road, between Cimarron and
Pueblo, the Union Pacific in the same longitudes has nothing to show.
From an artistic stand-point, one road has crossed the ranges at the
most tame and uninteresting point that could be found, and the other at
the most picturesque.
At Cimarron, the road again strikes the Gunnison, and plunges into the
famous Black Canyon. In length, variety, and certain elements of beauty,
such as forest-ravines and waterfalls, this canyon surpasses the Royal
Gorge of the Arkansas. There is, however, one spot in the latter (I
mean, of course, the point where the turbulent river fills the whole
space between walls 2,800 ft. high, and the railroad is hung over it)
which is superior in desolate, overwhelming grandeur to anything on the
Gunnison. Take them all in all, it is difficult to say which is the
finer. I have usually found the opinion of travelers to favor the
Gunnison Canyon. But why need the question be solved at all? This one
matchless journey comprises them both; and he who was overwhelmed in the
morning by the one, holds his breath in the afternoon before the mighty
precipices of the other. To excuse myself from even hinting such folly
as a comparison of scenery, I will merely remark that these two canyons
are more capable of a comparison than different scenes usually are; for
they belong to the same type--deep cuts in crystalline rocks.
Between them come the Marshall Pass (nearly 11,000 ft. above sea-level),
over the continental divide, and the Poncha Pass, over the Sangre di
Cristo range. This range contains Harvard, Yale, Princeton, Elbert,
Massive (the peak opposite Leadville), and other summits exceeding the
altitude of 14,000 ft. To the east of it is the valley of the Arkansas,
into which and down which we pass, and so through the Royal Gorge to
Canyon City and Pueblo, where we arrived before dark on the day after
leaving Salt Lake.
Salt Lake, the Jordan Valley, Utah Lake, the Wahsatch, Castle Canyon, the
Black Canyon of the Gunnison, Marshall Pass, Poncha Pass, the Arkansas
Valley, the Royal Gorge--what a catalogue for so brief a journey! No
wonder everybody who has made it is "wild about it!" If enthusiastic
urgency of recommendation from every passenger has any influence (and I
know it has a great deal), this road will continue to be, as it is at
present, crowded with tourists. It furnishes a delightful route for
those who wish on the overland journey to see Denver (as who does not?)
and to visit Colorado Springs and Manitou. All this can be done _en
route_, without retracing the steps.
* * * * *
PHOTOGRAPHY APPLIED TO TERRA-COTTA AND OPAL GLASS.
In the natural course of things it must necessarily have occurred to
practical men to utilize photography in the case of terra-cotta, as it
has already been employed in connection with so many other wares; but I
have not to this day known of its successful application to terra-cotta.
Now this is strange, if one considers how fashionable _plaque_ and plate
painting have become of late, and the good photographic results that
are easily obtained on these as on sundry articles of this same "burnt
earth." Portraits, animals, landscapes, seascapes, and reproductions are
one and all easily transferred, whether for painting upon or to be left
purely photographic. As a matter of business, too, one fails to see
that it would not be remunerative, but rather the contrary. It was with
something of this feeling that I was led to try and see what could be
done to attain the end in view, and as I knew of no data to go by, I had
to use my own experience, or rather experiment on my own account.
Since emulsion was constantly at hand in my establishment, in the
commercial production of my gelatine dry plates, it was but natural I
should first have turned to this as a mode of obtaining the desired
results; but, alas! all attempts in that direction signally failed--the
ware most persistently refused to have anything to do with emulsion. The
bugbear was the fixing agent or hypo., which not only left indelible
marks, but, despite any amount of washing, the image on a finished plate
vanished to nothing at the end of an hour's exposure in the show window.
There was nothing left but to seek other means for the attainment of my
object. I would not have troubled the reader as to this unsuccessful
line of experiment but that I wished to put him on his guard and save
him useless researches in the same direction. To cut matters short, the
method I found best and most direct was the now old but still excellent
wet collodion transfer. I will now proceed to detail my system of
working to facilitate the matter to the inexperienced in collodion
transfer.
TERRA-COTTA PHOTOGRAPHY IN PRACTICE.
The first and indispensable operation, in the preparation of the surface
to receive the transfer, is the "sizing of the surface." It simply
consists of a solution of gelatine chrome-alumed, as follows:
Gelatine. 10 grains.
Water. 1 ounce.
A trace of chrome alum.
Coat with a soft camel's hair brush and let dry. It is needless to say
that numbers of _plaques_, plates, vases, etc., may be coated right off,
and will then be ready for use at any time.
Having settled on the subject and carefully dusted the negative, as well
as placed it _in situ_ for reproduction, the next thing required is a
suitable collodion, and the following will be found all that can be
desired:
TRANSFER COLLODION.
Cotton. 3 drachms.
Iodide of cadmium. 65 grains.
Ammonium iodide. 25 "
Bromide of cadmium. 19 "
Ammonium bromide. 11 "
Alcohol. 15 ounces.
Ether. 15 "
The plate thoroughly cleaned and coated with the collodion is now
transferred to a bath, as follows:
Nitrate of silver (common) 25 grains to the ounce.
Made slightly acid with nitric acid.
After sensitizing, the plate is exposed in the usual way and taken to
the room where pictures are ordinarily developed, and _quantum suff_. of
the following poured into the developing cup to bring out the image:
DEVELOPING SOLUTION.
A Winchester of water, i.e. 80 ounces.
Protosulphate of iron. 240 grains.
Citric acid. 240 "
Or the following may be used:
Pyro 3 grains\
Citric acid 2 " } per ounce of water.
Glacial acetic acid 30 drops /
After perfect development the picture is well washed and then fixed in a
saturated solution of hypo.; after which it is thoroughly washed.
It will now be found that the picture is not altogether satisfactory; it
lacks both vigor and color. To improve matters recourse is now had to
TONING.
Gold. 1 grain.
Water. 5 ounces.
With this a very fine depth is soon attained, and a nice picture the
result. Leave out the toning, and only a poor, sunken-looking picture
will be the outcome; but directly the toning bath is employed richness
at once comes to the fore. I have, however, known of instances where the
picture needed no toning.
OPAL PRODUCTION IN PRACTICE.
This is still a secret with some in the profession. A limited number
of workers have succeeded in bringing out good opals, and their _modus
operandi_ is kept from the many. Now this is a pity, when one considers
the great charm attached to a good picture on opal, with pure whites and
rich blacks, and in many localities the demand that might be created for
them. Apart from their beauty, another charm attaches to opals--their
absolute permanence; and this, it must be allowed, is no trifle. What,
in fact, can be more painful to the worker who values his work, and sets
store by it, than to feel it must ere long fade and pass into oblivion!
A properly executed opal will no more fade than the glass pictures so
common at one time, and which, wherever taken care of, are as perfect
now as they were when first taken.
Now, excellent pictures are to be made on opals by means of emulsion;
but I propose first taking the transfer method (mainly applicable to
ground opal and canvas) as given above for pottery, since in practice
it is found very ready, easy of manipulation, and safe. The details are
much | 1,420.576508 |
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HITTEL
ON
GOLD MINES
AND
MINING.
QUEBEC:
PRINTED BY G. & G. E. DESBARATS.
1864.
HITTEL
ON
GOLD MINES
AND
MINING.
_Chief Industry._--Mining is the chief industry of California. It
employs more men and pays larger average wages than any other branch of
physical labor. Although it has been gradually decreasing in the amount
of its production, in the profits to the individuals engaged in it, and
in its relative importance in the business of the state, it is yet and
will long continue to be the largest source of our wealth, and the
basis to support the other kinds of occupation.
_Metals obtained._--Our mines now wrought are of gold, silver,
quicksilver, copper and coal. Ores of tin, lead, and antimony in large
veins, beds of sulphur, alum and asphaltum; lakes of borax and springs
of sulphate of magnesia, are also found in the state, but they are not
wrought at the present time, though they will probably all become
valuable in a few years. Platinum, iridium, and osmium are obtained
with the gold in some of the placer mines, but are never found alone,
nor are they ever the main object sought by the miner. The annual yield
of our gold mines is about forty millions of dollars, of our quicksilver
two millions of dollars. Our silver, copper and coal mines have been
opened within a year, and their value is yet unknown. All our other
mining is of little importance as compared with the gold.
_Gold Mines._--Our gold mines are divided into placer and quartz. In
the former, the metal is found imbedded in layers of earthy matter,
such as clay, sand and gravel; in the latter it is incased in veins of
rock. The methods of mining must be adapted to the size of the
particles of gold, and the nature of the material in which they are
found. In placer mining, the earthy matter containing the gold, called
the "pay-dirt," is washed in water, which dissolves the clay and
carries it off in solution, and the current sweeps away the sand,
gravel and stones, while the gold, by reason of the higher specific
gravity, remains in the channel or is caught with quicksilver. In
quartz mining the auriferous rock is ground to a very fine powder, the
gold in which is caught in quicksilver, or on the rough surface of a
blanket, over which the fine material is borne by a stream of water.
About two-thirds of our gold is obtained from the placers, and
one-third from the quartz.
A mine is defined and generally understood to mean "a subterraneous
work or excavation for obtaining metals, metallic ores or mineral
substances;" but this definition does not apply to our placer mines,
which are places where gold is taken from diluvial or alluvial
deposits. Most of the work is not subterraneous; it is done in the full
light of day. In some of the claims the pay-dirt lies within two feet
of the surface; in others it lies much deeper, but all the
superincumbent matter is swept away.
Water is the great agent of the placer miner; it is the element of his
power; its amount is the measure of his work, and its cost is the
measure of his profit. With an abundance of water he can wash every
thing; without water he can do little or nothing. Placer mining is
almost entirely mechanical, and of such a kind that no accuracy of
workmanship or scientific or literary education is necessary to mastery
in it. Amalgamation is a chemical process it is true, but it is so
simple that after a few days' experience, the rudest laborer will
manage it as well as the most thorough chemist.
It is impossible to ascertain the amount of gold which has been taken
from the mines of California. Records have been kept of the sums
manifested at the San Francisco Custom House, for exportation, and
deposited for coinage in the mints of the United States; and there is
also some knowledge of the amounts sent in bars and dust to England;
but we have no account of the sums carried by passengers to foreign
countries and coined elsewhere than at London, or used as jewelry, or
of the amount now in circulation in this state. According to the books
of the Custom House of San Francisco, the sums manifested for export
were as follows:
In 1849, $4,921,250; in 1850, $27,676,346; in 1851, $42,582,695; in
1852, $46,586,134; in 1853, $57,331,034; in 1854, $51,328,653; in 1855,
$45,182,631; in 1856, $48,887,543; in 1857, $48,976,697; in 1858,
$47,548,025; in 1859, $47,640,462; in 1860, $42,303,345; in 1861,
$40,639,089; a total of $551,603,904 in twelve years.
The exportation of gold commenced in 1848, but we have no record of the
sums sent away in that year. Previous to 1854 very large sums were
carried away by passengers, who gave no statement at the Custom House;
since that year, the manifests show the exportation correctly within a
few millions. I am entirely satisfied that the total gold yield of
California has been not less than seven hundred millions of dollars;
but I have not room here to state the reasons for this opinion. My
estimate is considerably less than that of most business men of the
state, and less than that made by Hunt's _Merchants' Magazine_. There
was undoubtedly a regular increase in the annual yield of the mines
from 1848 to the end of 1853; and there has been a gradual decrease
since the beginning of 1854--a decrease perhaps not very regular but
still certain. Since 1854 considerable sums exported from San
Francisco, and included in our tables, came from mines beyond the
limits of California, such as the mines in Southern Oregon, in the
eastern part of Washington Territory, in British Columbia, and in
Nevada Territory; and while the California gold yield has been
decreasing, these extraneous supplies have been increasing. Several
millions must be deducted from the annual shipments since 1858, for
foreign gold. The gold yield will undoubtedly continue to fall, but to
what point and at what rate no one can know. I believe that in 1870,
the yield will not exceed thirty millions of dollars.
_Placer Mines._--Placer mines are divided into many classifications.
The first and most important is into deep and shallow. In the former
the pay-dirt is found deep, twenty feet or more beneath the surface; in
the latter, near the surface. The shallow or surface diggings are
chiefly found in the beds of ravines and gullies, in the bars of
rivers, and in shallow flats; the deep diggings are in hills and deep
flats. The pay-dirt is usually covered by layers of barren dirt, which
is sometimes washed, and sometimes left undisturbed, while the pay-dirt
is taken out from beneath it through tunnels or shafts. So far as our
present information goes, we have reason to believe that no gold
country ever possessed so large an extent of paying placer mines, with
the pay-dirt so near the surface, and with so many facilities for
working them as California. In Australia the diggings are very deep and
spotted, that is, the gold is unevenly distributed, and the supply of
water for mining is scanty. In Siberia the winter is terribly cold
during six months of the year. In Brazil the diggings were not so
extensive nor so rich as in this state. Here we have numerous large
streams coming down through the mining districts, very large bodies of
pay-dirt, and a mild climate.
After dividing placers into deep and shallow, the next classification
will be according to their topographical position, as into hill, flat,
bench, bar, river-bed, ancient river-bed, and gulch mines. Hill
diggings are those where the pay-dirt is in or under a hill. Flat
diggings are in a flat. Bench diggings are in a "bench" or narrow table
on the side of a hill above a river. Benches of this kind are not
uncommon in California, and they often indicate the place where the
stream ran in some very remote age. Bars are low collections of sand
and gravel at the side of a river and above its surface at low water.
River-bed claims are those beneath the surface of the river at low
water, and access is obtained to them only by removing the water from
the bed by flumes or ditches. Ancient river-bed claims are those of
which the gold was deposited by streams in places where no streams now
exist. Gulch claims are those in gullies which have no water, save
during a small part of the year. A "claim" is the mining land owned or
held by one man or a company.
The placer mines are again classified according to the manner in which,
or the instruments with which they are wrought. There are sluice
claims, hydraulic claims, tunnel claims, dry washing, dry digging, and
knife claims. In 1849 and 1850, the main classification of the placers
was into wet diggings and dry diggings, the former meaning mines in the
bars and beds of rivers, and dry diggings were those in gullies and
flats where water could be obtained only part of the year or not at
all. That classification was made while nearly all the mining was done
near the surface, before the great deposits of pay-dirt in the hills
had been discovered, and before ditches, sluices, and the hydraulic
process had been introduced. The class of mines then known as the "dry
diggings," and which for several years furnished nearly half of the
gold yield of the state, are now, with a few unimportant exceptions,
exhausted, or left to the attention of the Chinamen.
The purpose of all placer miners is not to catch all the gold in the
dirt which they wash, but to catch the greatest possible quantity
within a given time. It is not supposed that any process used in gold
mining catches all the metal. Part of it is lost; in some processes a
considerable proportion. The general estimate in California is, that
one-twentieth of the gold in the dirt which is washed is lost. Many of
the particles are so very small as to be invisible to the naked eye,
and so light that their specific gravity does not avail to prevent them
from being carried away by the water like sand. The larger pieces will
sink to the bottom and resist the force of the water; the smaller the
particles, the greater the danger that it will be borne away. Many
devices have been tried to catch all the gold, but none have succeeded
perfectly, and some which have caught a portion of what escaped from
the ordinary modes of mining, have been found to cost more than their
yield. The miner does not grieve about that which he cannot catch. He
is not careful | 1,420.581538 |
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SHAVING MADE EASY
What the Man Who
Shaves Ought to Know
ILLUSTRATED
PUBLISHED BY
THE 20th CENTURY
CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1905
BY
THE 20TH CENTURY
CORRESPONDENCE SCHOOL
THIS BOOK
IS DEDICATED TO THOSE
MEN WHO HAVE DIFFICULTIES IN
SHAVING, IN HOPE THAT ITS CONTENTS
WILL BE OF ASSISTANCE IN REMEDYING
THEIR TROUBLES.
PREFACE.
The object of this little book is to furnish clear and full information
about the art of shaving. There are few men who do not experience more or
less difficulty in shaving themselves, and many who, after a few
unsuccessful attempts, give it up in dispair and go to the barber shop. We
believe most of these would much prefer to shave themselves if only they
could do as well as a barber.
The advantages, indeed, seem to be wholly with the man who shaves himself.
In the first place the shaving is done in the privacy of his own room. He
has his own razor, cup, soap, brush and towels, which can be kept
scrupulously clean and sanitary, thus avoiding the constant danger of
infection. There is no long wait for the call of "next." After the first
cost of the outfit there is nothing to pay, either for services or "tips."
Thus in point of time, money and health, the man who shaves himself is a
decided gainer.
There are few things in life that are really difficult to perform when one
thoroughly knows how to do them. Shaving is no exception. The art of
shaving can be easily acquired if one only has the will, and the necessary
practical information. This book, which, as far as we are aware, is the
only one treating the subject at all completely, endeavors to supply such
information; as well for the improvement of men accustomed to shave
themselves, as for the instruction of beginners. We believe that any man
who will carefully read and follow the instructions here given, will, with
some little practice, soon be able to shave himself easily and even better
than the barber can do it for him.
CONTENTS.
I. The Shaving Outfit 9
II. The Razor 11
III. Care of the Razor 19
IV. The Safety Razor 21
V. The Hone 23
VI. How to Use the Hone 29
VII. The Strop 37
VIII. How to Strop the Razor 41
IX. The Brush 45
X. The Cup 48
XI. The Soap 50
XII. The Lather 53
XIII. Instructions to Beginners 56
XIV. The Right Way to Shave 61
XV. Care of the Face After Shaving 74
XVI. Irritation of the Skin--Its Cause
and Prevention 78
Shaving Made Easy
What the Man Who Shaves Ought to Know
I.
THE SHAVING OUTFIT.
First-class tools are necessary at the very outset. No matter how
skillfully one may handle inferior tools, they will invariably produce
poor results.
Probably as many failures have resulted from the use of poor razors,
strops, or soap as from the lack of knowledge how to use them. In order
that the best possible results may be attained, _good tools_ and _skill
in using them_ should go hand in hand.
The shaving outfit should consist of one or two good razors, a first-class
strop, a mirror, a cup, a brush, a cake of shaving soap, and a bottle of
either bay rum, witch hazel, or some other good face lotion. These
constitute what may be considered the _necessary_ articles, and to these
may be added a number of others, such as a good hone, magnesia or talcum
powder, astringent or styptic pencils, antiseptic lotions, etc. which,
while not absolutely requisite, will nevertheless add much to the
convenience, comfort and luxury of the shave.
II.
THE RAZOR.
The most important article of the shaving outfit is of course the razor,
and upon its selection your success or failure in self-shaving will
largely depend. Never purchase a razor because it happens to be cheap; a
poor razor is dear at any price. You want not the cheapest, but the best.
[Illustration: AN IDEAL RAZOR.]
A _good_ razor if rightly used, will last for years, and will be a source
of continual pleasure when used, whereas a _poor_ razor will do inferior
work, irritate the skin and make the face sore, and be a continual source
of trouble and annoyance. If you have such a razor, the sooner you throw
it aside and substitute a good one, the better.
The principal point to be considered in selecting a razor is the quality
of the steel. By "quality" is meant its _temper_ or degree of solidity,
and its consequent capability of receiving, even after a series of years,
a firm and fine edge. This is undoubtedly the first point to which the
purchaser should give attention. By what means though, can he judge of the
temper of a razor without using it? The unassisted eye is not sufficient.
Its power extends no further than to the discovery of defects the most
striking and injurious. The irregularities in a razor's edge, which arise
from improper tempering and lack of skill in working, are usually so
minute, that they may remain undistinguished until the razor is used. They
will nevertheless very sensibly add to the friction the razor produces on
the skin and particularly if it happens to be thin and tender. There are
two ways of judging of the temper of a razor; one of these is practically
infallible--viz:--the examination of the blade and its edge by means of a
microscope.
It will be readily admitted that the real excellence of a razor is in
direct proportion to the firmness and unbroken regularity of its edge.
When a razor is too brittle, in consequence of having been either to much
heated in the process of hardening, or not sufficiently cooled in that of
tempering, it cannot possibly take a good cutting edge, no matter how much
skill may be employed in honing and stropping it. Such defects are quickly
detected by the use of a microscope in the | 1,420.676062 |
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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
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 39612-h.htm or 39612-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39612/39612-h/39612-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39612/39612-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
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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 | 1,420.775103 |
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GOLDSMITH'S FRIEND ABROAD AGAIN
By Mark Twain
NOTE.--No experience is set down in the following letters
which had to be invented. Fancy is not needed to give
variety to the history of a Chinaman's sojourn in America.
Plain fact is amply sufficient.
Contents
LETTER I
LETTER II
LETTER III
LETTER IV
LETTER V
LETTER VI
LETTER VII
LETTER I
SHANGHAI, 18--.
DEAR CHING-FOO: It is all settled, and I am to leave my oppressed and overburdened native land and cross the sea to that noble realm where all are free and all equal, and none reviled or abused--America! America, whose precious privilege it is to call herself the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. We and all that are about us here look over the waves longingly, contrasting the privations of this our birthplace with the opulent comfort of that happy refuge. We know how America has welcomed the Germans and the Frenchmen and the stricken and sorrowing Irish, and we know how she has given them bread and work, and liberty, and how grateful they are. And we know that America stands ready to welcome all other oppressed peoples and offer her abundance to all that come, without asking what their nationality is, or their creed or color. And, without being told it, we know that the foreign sufferers she has rescued from oppression and starvation are the most eager of her children to welcome us, because, having suffered themselves, they know what suffering is, and having been generously succored, they long to be generous to other unfortunates and thus show that magnanimity is not wasted upon them.
AH SONG HI.
LETTER II
AT SEA, 18--.
DEAR CHING-FOO: We are far away at sea now; on our way to the beautiful Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. We shall soon be where all men are alike, and where sorrow is not known.
The good American who hired me to go to his country is to pay me $12 a month, which is immense wages, you know--twenty times as much as one gets in China. My passage in the ship is a very large sum--indeed, it is a fortune--and this I must pay myself eventually, but I am allowed ample time to make it good to my employer in, he advancing it now. For a mere form, I have turned over my wife, my boy, and my two daughters to my employer's partner for security for the payment of the ship fare. But my employer says they are in no danger of being sold, for he knows I will be faithful to him, and that is the main security.
I thought I would have twelve dollars to begin life with in America, but the American Consul took two of them for making a certificate that I was shipped on the steamer. He has no right to do more than charge the ship two dollars for one certificate for the ship, with the number of her Chinese passengers set down in it; but he chooses to force a certificate upon each and every Chinaman and put the two dollars in his pocket. As 1,300 of my countrymen are in this vessel, the Consul received $2,600 for certificates. My employer tells me that the Government at Washington know of this fraud, and are so bitterly opposed to the existence of such a wrong that they tried hard to have the extor--the fee, I mean, legalised by the last Congress;--[Pacific and Mediterranean steamship bills.(Ed. Mem.)]--but as the bill did not pass, the Consul will have to take the fee dishonestly until next Congress makes it legitimate. It is a great and good and noble country, and hates all forms of vice and chicanery.
We are in that part of the vessel always reserved for my countrymen. It is called the steerage. It is kept for us, my employer says, because it is not subject to changes of temperature and dangerous drafts of air. It is only another instance of the loving unselfishness of the Americans for all unfortunate foreigners. The steerage is a little crowded, and rather warm and close, but no doubt it is best for us that it should be so.
Yesterday our people got to quarrelling among themselves, and the captain turned a volume of hot steam upon a mass of them and scalded eighty or ninety of them more or less severely. Flakes and ribbons of skin came off some of them. There was wild shrieking and struggling while the vapour enveloped the great throng, and so some who were not scalded got trampled upon and hurt. We do not complain, for my employer says this is the usual way of quieting disturbances on board the ship, and that it is done in the cabins among the Americans every day or two.
Congratulate me, Ching-Foo In ten days more I shall step upon the shore of America, and be received by her great-hearted people; and I shall straighten myself up and feel that I am a free man among freemen.
AH SONG HI.
LETTER III
SAN FRANCISCO, 18--.
DEAR CHING-FOO: I stepped ashore jubilant! I wanted to dance, shout, sing, worship the generous Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. But as I walked from the gangplank a man in a gray uniform--[Policeman] --kicked me violently behind and told me to look out--so my employer translated it. As I turned, another officer of the same kind struck me with a short club and also instructed me to look out. I was about to take hold of my end of the pole which had mine and Hong-Wo's basket and things suspended from it, when a third officer hit me with his club to signify that I was to drop it, and then kicked me to signify that he was satisfied with my promptness. Another person came now, and searched all through our basket and bundles, emptying everything out on the dirty wharf. Then this person and another searched us all over. They found a little package of opium sewed into the artificial part of Hong-Wo's queue, and they took that, and also they made him prisoner and handed him over to an officer, who marched him away. They took his luggage, too, because of his crime, and as our luggage was so mixed together that they could not tell mine from his, they took it all. When I offered to help divide it, they kicked me and desired me to look out.
Having now no baggage and no companion, I told my employer that if he was willing, I would walk about a little and see the city and the people until he needed me. I did not like to seem disappointed with my reception in the good land of refuge for the oppressed, and so I looked and spoke as cheerily as I could. But he said, wait a minute--I must be vaccinated to prevent my taking the small-pox. I smiled and said I had already had the small-pox, as he could see by the marks, and so I need not wait to be "vaccinated," as he called it. But he said it was the law, and I must be vaccinated anyhow. The doctor would never let me pass, for the law obliged him to vaccinate all Chinamen and charge them ten dollars apiece for it, and I might be sure that no doctor who would be the servant of that law would let a fee slip through his fingers to accommodate any absurd fool who had seen fit to have the disease in some other country. And presently the doctor came and did his work and took my last penny--my ten dollars which were the hard savings of nearly a year and a half of labour and privation. Ah, if the law-makers had only known there were plenty of doctors in the city glad of a chance to vaccinate people for a dollar or two, they would never have put the price up so high against a poor friendless Irish, or Italian, or Chinese pa | 1,420.775156 |
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Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produ | 1,420.786023 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES:
THE STEADFAST PRINCE;
AND OTHER POEMS.
BY
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.
LONDON:
EDWARD MOXON, DOVER STREET.
MDCCCXLII.
LONDON:
BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.
CONTENTS.
POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES.
PAGE
ALEXANDER AT THE GATES OF PARADISE.—A LEGEND
FROM THE TALMUD 3
CHIDHER’S WELL 11
THE BANISHED KINGS 14
THE BALLADS OF HAROUN AL RASCHID:
I.—THE SPILT PEARLS 20
II.—THE BARMECIDES 24
III.—THE FESTIVAL 35
THE EASTERN NARCISSUS 41
THE SEASONS:
I.—WINTER 43
II.—SPRING 46
III.—SUMMER 49
IV.—AUTUMN 52
MOSES AND JETHRO 55
PROVERBS, TURKISH AND PERSIAN 60
“THE GOOD THAT ONE MAN FLINGS ASIDE” 64
LOVE 67
THE FALCON 69
LIFE THROUGH DEATH:
I.—“A PAGAN KING TORMENTED FIERCELY ALL” 71
II.—“A DEW-DROP FALLING ON THE WILD SEA
WAVE” 73
III.—“THE SEED MUST DIE, BEFORE THE CORN
APPEARS” 74
THE WORLD 75
THE MONK AND SINNER 78
“WHAT, THOU ASKEST, IS THE HEAVEN, AND THE
ROUND EARTH AND THE SEA” 81
THE SUPPLIANT 84
THE PANTHEIST; OR, THE ORIGIN OF EVIL 87
GHAZEL 90
THE RIGHTEOUS OF THE WORLD 91
MAXIMS 94
THE FALCON’S REWARD 96
THE CONVERSION OF ABRAHAM 101
SONNET 103
THE DEAD DOG 104
“FAIR VESSEL HAST THOU SEEN WITH HONEY FILLED” 106
FRAGMENTS:
I.—THE CERTAINTY OF FAITH 108
II.—MAN’S TWOFOLD NATURE 109
III.—SCIENCE AND LOVE 110
IV.—“THE BUSINESS OF THE WORLD IS CHILD’S
PLAY MERE” 111
V.—“SAGE, THAT WOULD’ST MAKER OF THINE OWN
GOD BE” 112
VI.—“MAN, THE CAGED BIRD THAT OWNED AN
HIGHER NEST” 113
NOTES TO THE POEMS FROM EASTERN SOURCES 115
THE STEADFAST PRINCE:
PART I. 125
PART II. 152
ORPHEUS AND THE SIRENS 173
ST. CHRYSOSTOM 184
THE OIL OF MERCY 185
THE TREE OF LIFE.—FROM THE GERMAN OF RÜCKERT 192
THE TREE OF LIFE.—FROM AN OLD LATIN POEM 195
PARADISE.—FROM THE GERMAN OF RÜCKERT 199
THE LOREY LEY.—FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE 203
“OH THOU OF DARK FOREBODINGS DREAR” 205
THE PRODIGAL 206
THE CORREGAN.—A BALLAD OF BRITTANY 208
SONNET 214
SONNET 215
SONNET 216
THE ETRURIAN KING 217
THE FAMINE 219
THE PRIZE OF SONG 231
NOTES 235
ERRATA.
Page 39, line 9, for _one_ read _our_.
— 191, — 11, dele comma.
— 215, — 2, for _light_ read _slight_.
POEMS
FROM
EASTERN SOURCES.
NOTE.
The following Poems bear somewhat a vague title, because
such only would describe the nature of Poems which have been
derived in very different degrees from the sources thus indicated.
Some are mere translations; others have been modelled anew,
and only such portions used of the originals as were adapted to
my purpose: of others it is only the imagery and thought which
are Eastern, and these have been put together in new combinations;
while of others it is the story, and nothing more, which has been
borrowed, it may be from some prose source. On this subject,
however, more information will be given in the Notes.
ALEXANDER AT THE GATES OF PARADISE.
A Legend from the Talmud.
Fierce was the glare of Cashmere’s middle day,
When Alexander for Hydaspes bent,
Through trackless wilds urged his impetuous way
Yet in that vast and sandy continent
A little vale he found, so calm, so sweet,
He there awhile to tarry was content.
A crystal stream was murmuring at his feet,
Whereof the Monarch, when his meal was done,
Took a long draught, to slake his fever heat.
Again he drank, and yet again, as one
Who would have drained that river crystalline
Of all its waves, and left it dry anon:
For in his veins, ofttimes a-fire with wine,
And in his bosom, throne of sleepless pride,
The while he drank, went circling peace divine.
It seemed as though all evil passions died
Within him, slaked was every fire accurst;
So that in rapturous joy aloud he cried:
“Oh! might I find where these pure waters first
Shoot sparkling from their living fountain-head,
Oh! there to quench my spirit’s inmost thirst.
“Sure, if we followed where these waters led,
We should at last some fairer region gain
Than yet has quaked beneath our iron tread,—
“Some land that should in very truth contain
Whate’er we dream of beautiful and bright,
And idly dreaming of, pursue in vain;
“That land must stoop beneath our conquering might.
Companions dear, this toil remains alone,
To win that region of unmatched delight.
“Oh faithful in a thousand labours known,
One toil remains, the noblest and the last;
Let us arise—and make that land | 1,420.978795 |
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Produced by Turgut Dincer, Charlie Howard, 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 indicated by _underscores_, boldface
by =equals signs=.
OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY
AND HOW THE BANKERS USE IT
OTHER PEOPLE’S MONEY
AND HOW THE BANKERS USE IT
BY
LOUIS D. BRANDEIS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1913, 1914, by_
THE MCCLURE PUBLICATIONS
_Copyright, 1914, by_
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
_All rights reserved_
FASCo _March, 1914_
PREFACE
While Louis D. Brandeis’s series of articles on the money trust was
running in Harper’s Weekly many inquiries came about publication in
more accessible permanent form. Even without such urgence through the
mail, however, it would have been clear that these articles inevitably
constituted a book, since they embodied an analysis and a narrative
by that mind which, on the great industrial movements of our era, is
the most expert in the United States. The inquiries meant that the
attentive public recognized that here was a contribution to history.
Here was the clearest and most profound treatment ever published on
that part of our business development which, as President Wilson and
other wise men have said, has come to constitute the greatest of our
problems. The story of our time is the story of industry. No scholar
of the future will be able to describe our era with authority unless
he comprehends that expansion and concentration which followed the
harnessing of steam and electricity, the great uses of the change, and
the great excesses. No historian of the future, in my opinion, will
find among our contemporary documents so masterful an analysis of why
concentration went astray. I am but one among many who look upon Mr.
Brandeis as having, in the field of economics, the most inventive and
sound mind of our time. While his articles were running in Harper’s
Weekly I had ample opportunity to know how widespread was the belief
among intelligent men that this brilliant diagnosis of our money trust
was the most important contribution to current thought in many years.
“Great” is one of the words that I do not use loosely, and I look upon
Mr. Brandeis as a great man. In the composition of his intellect, one
of the most important elements is his comprehension of figures. As one
of the leading financiers of the country said to me, “Mr. Brandeis’s
greatness as a lawyer is part of his greatness as a mathematician.”
My views on this subject are sufficiently indicated in the following
editorial in Harper’s Weekly.
ARITHMETIC
About five years before the Metropolitan Traction Company of New
York went into the hands of a receiver, Mr. Brandeis came down
from Boston, and in a speech at Cooper Union prophesied that that
company must fail. Leading bankers in New York and Boston were
heartily recommending the stock to their customers. Mr. Brandeis
made his prophecy merely by analyzing the published figures. How
did he win in the Pinchot-Glavis-Ballinger controversy? In various
ways, no doubt; but perhaps the most critical step was when he
calculated just how long it would take a fast worker to go through
the Glavis-Ballinger record and make a judgment of it; whereupon he
decided that Mr. Wickersham could not have made his report at the
time it was stated to have been made, and therefore it must have
been predated.
Most of Mr. Brandeis’s other contributions to current history
have involved arithmetic. When he succeeded in preventing a raise
in freight rates, it was through an exact analysis of cost. When
he got Savings Bank Insurance started in Massachusetts, it was
by being able to figure what insurance ought to cost. When he
made the best contract between a city and a public utility that
exists in this country, a definite grasp of the gas business was
necessary--combined, of course, with the wisdom and originality
that make a statesman. He could not have invented the preferential
shop if that new idea had not been founded on a precise knowledge
of the conditions in the garment trades. When he established
before the United States Supreme Court the constitutionality of
legislation affecting women only, he relied much less upon reason
than upon the amount of knowledge displayed of what actually
happens to women when they are overworked--which, while not
arithmetic, is built on the same intellectual quality. Nearly two
years before Mr. Mellen resigned from the New Haven Railroad, Mr.
Brandeis wrote to the present editor of this paper a private letter
in which he said:
“When the New Haven reduces its dividends and Mellen resigns, the
‘Decline of New Haven and Fall of Mellen’ will make a dramatic
story of human interest with a moral--or two--including the evils
of private monopoly. Events cannot be long deferred, and possibly
you may want to prepare for their coming.
“Anticipating the future a little, I suggest the following as an
epitaph or obituary notice:
“Mellen was a masterful man, resourceful, courageous, broad
of view. He fired the imagination of New England; but, being
oblique of vision, merely distorted its judgment and silenced its
conscience. For a while he trampled with impunity on laws human and
divine; but, as he was obsessed with the delusion that two and two
make five, he fell, at last, a victim to the relentless rules of
humble arithmetic.
“‘Remember, O Stranger, Arithmetic is the first of the sciences and
the mother of safety.’”
The exposure of the bad financial management of the New Haven railroad,
more than any other one thing, led to the exposure and comprehension
of the wasteful methods of big business all over the country and
that exposure of the New Haven was the almost single-handed work of
Mr. Brandeis. He is a person who fights against any odds while it is
necessary to fight and stops fighting as soon as the fight is won. For
a long time very respectable and honest leaders of finance said that
his charges against the New Haven were unsound and inexcusable. He
kept ahead. A year before the actual crash came, however, he ceased
worrying, for he knew the work had been carried far enough to complete
itself. When someone asked him to take part in some little controversy
shortly before the collapse, he replied, “That fight does not need me
any longer. Time and arithmetic will do the rest.”
This grasp of the concrete is combined in Mr. Brandeis with an equally
distinguished grasp of bearing and significance. His imagination is
as notable as his understanding of business. In those accomplishments
which have given him his place in American life, the two sides of his
mind have worked together. The arrangement between the Gas Company
and the City of Boston rests on one of the guiding principles of Mr.
Brandeis’s life, that no contract is good that is not advantageous
to both parties to it. Behind his understanding of the methods of
obtaining insurance and the proper cost of it to the laboring man lay
a philosophy of the vast advantage to the fibre and energy of the
community that would come from devising methods by which the laboring
classes could make themselves comfortable through their whole lives
and thus perhaps making unnecessary elaborate systems of state help.
The most important ideas put forth in the Armstrong Committee Report
on insurance had been previously suggested by Mr. Brandeis, acting
as counsel for the Equitable policy holders. Business and the more
important statesmanship were intimately combined in the management of
the Protocol in New York, which has done so much to improve conditions
in the clothing industry. The welfare of the laborer and his relation
to his employer seems to Mr. Brandeis, as it does to all the most
competent thinkers today, to constitute the most important question we
have to solve, and he won the case, coming up to the Supreme Court of
the United States, from Oregon, establishing the constitutionality of
special protective legislation for women. In the Minimum Wage case,
also from the State of Oregon, which is about to be heard before | 1,421.078087 |
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Web Archive (New York Public Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/snowball00weymgoog
(New York Public Library)
[Illustration: FLUNG A SNOWBALL AT ME. _Page 11_.]
THE SNOWBALL
BY
STANLEY J. WEYMAN
AUTHOR OF "A GENTLEMAN OF FRANCE," "UNDER
THE RED ROBE," "MY LADY ROTHA,"
ETC. ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
THE MERRIAM COMPANY
67 Fifth Avenue
Copyright, 1895, by
THE MERRIAM COMPANY
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
* * *
Flung a snowball at me. _Frontispiece_.
He dropped his napkin.
"Your scribe might do for me."
She sprang forward.
It was the king.
"Are you coming out there?"
MERRIAM'S
VIOLET SERIES.
* * *
Illustrated, Square 32mo, Cloth, 40c.
* * *
No. 6
I.--A Man and His Model. By Anthony Hope.
II.--The Body-Snatcher. By Robert Louis Stevenson.
III.--The Silence of the Maharajah. By Marie Corelli.
IV.--Some Good Intentions and a Blunder.
V.--After To-Morrow. By the Author of "The Green Carnation."
VI.--The Snowball. By Stanley J. Weyman.
* * *
OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION.
* * *
_For sale by all booksellers, or will be sent post-paid
upon receipt of price by_
THE MERRIAM COMPANY
_Publishers and Booksellers_
67 FIFTH AVENUE NEW YORK
THE SNOWBALL.
The slight indisposition from which the Queen suffered in the spring
of 1602, and which was occasioned by a cold caught during her
lying-in, by diverting the King's attention from matters of State, had
the effect of doubling the burden cast on my shoulders. Though the
main threads of M. de Biron's conspiracy were in our hands as early as
the month of November of the preceding year, and steps had been
immediately taken to sound the chief associates by summoning them to
court, an interval necessarily followed during which we had everything
to fear; and this not only from the despair of the guilty, but from
the timidity of the innocent who, in a court filled with cabals and
rumors of intrigues, might see no way to clear themselves. Even the
shows and interludes which followed the Dauphin's birth, and made that
Christmas remarkable, served only to amuse the idle; they could not
disperse the cloud which hung over the Louvre, nor divert those who,
on the one side or the other, had aught to fear.
In connection with this period of suspense I recall an episode, both
characteristic in itself, and worthy, I think, by reason of its
oddity, to be set down here; where it may serve for a preface to those
more serious events, attending the trial and execution of M. de Biron,
which I shall have presently to relate.
I had occasion, about the end of the month of January, to see M. du
Hallot. The weather was cold, and partly for that reason, partly from
a desire to keep my visit, which had to do with La Fin's disclosures,
from the general eye, I chose to go on foot. For the same reason I
took with me only two armed servants, and a confidential page, the son
of my friend Arnaud. M. du Hallot, who lived at this time in a house
in the Faubourg St. Germain, not far from the College of France,
detained me long, and when I rose to leave insisted that I should take
his coach, as snow had begun to fall and already lay an inch deep in
the streets. At first I was unwilling to do this, but reflecting that
such small services are highly appreciated by those who render them,
and attach men more surely and subtly than the greatest bribes, I
finally consented, and, taking my place with some becoming
expressions, bade young Arnaud find his way home on foot.
The coach had nearly reached the south end of the Pont au Change, when
a number of youths ran by me, pelting one another with snowballs, and
shouting so lustily that I was at a loss which to admire more--the
silence of their feet or the loudness of their voices. Aware that lads
of that age are small respecters of persons, I was not surprised to
see two or three of them rush on to the bridge before us, and even
continue their Parthian warfare under the very feet of the horses. The
result was, however, that the latter presently took fright at that
part of the bridge where the houses encroach most boldly on the
roadway; and, but for the care of the running footman, who hastened to
their heads, might have done some harm either to the coach or the
passersby.
As it was, we were brought to a stop while one of the wheels was
extricated from the kennel, into which it had become wedged. Smiling
to think what the King--for he, strangely warned by Providence, was
all his life long timid in a coach--would have said to this, I went to
open the curtains, and had just effected this to a certain extent,
when one of a crowd of idlers who stood on the raised pavement beside
us deliberately lifted up his arm and flung a snowball at me.
The missile flew wide of its mark by an inch or two only. That I was
amazed at such audacity goes without saying, but in my doubt of what
it might be the prelude--for the breakdown of the coach in that narrow
place, the haunt of the rufflers and vagrants of every kind, might be
a part of a concerted plan--I fell back into my place. The coach, as
it happened, moved on with a jerk at the same moment; and before I had
well digested the matter, or had time to mark the demeanor of the
crowd, we were clear of the bridge and rolling past the Chatelet.
A smaller man might have stopped to revenge, and to cook a sprat have
passed all Paris through the net. But remembering my own youthful
days, when I attended the College of Burgundy, I set down the freak to
the insolence of some young student, and, shrugging my shoulders,
dismissed it from my thoughts. An instant later, however, observing
that the fragments of the snowball were melting on the seat by my side
and wetting the cushion, I raised my hand to brush them away. In the
act I saw, to my surprise, a piece of paper lying among the _debris_.
"Ho, ho!" said I to myself. "This is a strange snowball! I have heard
that the apprentices put stones in theirs. But paper! Let me see what
this means."
The morsel, though moistened by contact with the snow, remained
intact. Unfolding it with the greatest care--for already I began to
discern that here was something out of the common--I found written on
the inner side, in a clear, clerkly hand, the words, "_Beware of
Nicholas!_"
It will be remembered that Simon Nicholas was at this time secretary
to the King, and so high in his | 1,421.174983 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.1639140 | 6,156 | 12 |
Produced by Heather Clark, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
BEN PEPPER
BY MARGARET SIDNEY
AUTHOR OF "FIVE LITTLE PEPPERS AND THEIR FRIENDS," "A LITTLE MAID
OF CONCORD TOWN," "OLD CONCORD," "HESTER, AND OTHER NEW ENGLAND
STORIES," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED BY
EUGENIE M. WIREMAN_
BOSTON:
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
PEPPER
TRADE MARK
Registered in U. S. Patent Office.
COPYRIGHT, 1905,
BY HARRIETT M. LOTHROP.
PUBLISHED, AUGUST, 1905.
_Twentieth Thousand_
Norwood Press:
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
[Illustration: THEN SHE HOPPED AWAY FROM POLLY AND MADE A LITTLE CHEESE
RIGHT ON THE SIDEWALK.]
PREFACE
It was quite impossible that the detailed records presented through the
later Pepper books, of the doings and sayings of the "Little Brown
House" family, should omit Ben. He, the eldest-born of Mother Pepper's
brood, and her mainstay after the father died, the quiet,
"steady-as-a-rock boy," as the Badgertown people all called him, with
lots of fun in him too, because he could not help it, being a Pepper,
was worthy of a book to himself.
So the hosts of readers of the Pepper Series decided, and many of them
accordingly be-sought the author to give Ben a chance to be better
known. He was always so ready to efface himself, that it was Margaret
Sidney's responsibility, after all, to bring him more to the front, to
be understood by all who loved his life in the earlier records.
So Margaret Sidney, despite Ben's wishes, has written this latest
volume. To do it, Polly and Joel and David and Phronsie have told her
most lovingly the facts with which it is strewn. Most of all, Mother
Pepper-Fisher contributed to the new book, out of a heart full of
gratitude and love for her Ben.
MARGARET SIDNEY.
CONTENTS
I. THE CHRISTMAS SHOPPING EXPEDITION
II. BEN'S PLAN
III. HAPS AND MISHAPS
IV. "IT'S JOEL'S OLD LADY"
V. "THE PRESENTS ALL GO FROM SANTA CLAUS"
VI. BEN GOES SHOPPING WITH MADAM VAN RUYPEN
VII. "WHERE'S PIP?" AND JASPER TURNED BACK
VIII. "ANY ONE WHO WANTS TO PLEASE JASPER," SAID BEN, "HAD BETTER TAKE
UP THIS CHAP"
IX. WHAT A HOME-COMING
X. "I'LL LOVE HER JUST FOREVER!"
XI. AN AFTERNOON CALL
XII. VAN
XIII. THE BIG BOX
XIV. THE CHILDREN IN THE MOUNTAIN CABIN
XV. THE MINISTER LOOKS AFTER HIS PARISHIONERS
XVI. WHO WILL HELP?
XVII. "NOW WE CAN HAVE OUR CHRISTMAS!"
XVIII. TELLING ALL THE NEWS
XIX. JOCKO
XX. REPAIRING DAMAGES
XXI. THE POSTPONED CHRISTMAS MORNING
XXII. AROUND THE CHRISTMAS TREE
XXIII. THE SLEIGHING PARTY
XXIV. JASPER AND BEN
XXV. IT WAS POLLY WHO HEARD IT FIRST
XXVI. "COULD YOU TAKE HIM, BEN?"
XXVII. "MR. KING, WHO IS THAT PIP YOU HAVE HERE?"
XXVIII. BEN DECIDES THE MATTER FOR HIMSELF
ILLUSTRATIONS
Then she hopped away from Polly and made a little cheese right on the
sidewalk
"O dear me," wailed Polly, burrowing deeper within the folds of the
black alpaca apron
And the first person he ran up against was a small boy, his hands full
of little wads of paper bundles
"See what you've done; that's castor oil"
There was an awful pause, every one staring at the smooth layer of brown
paper
"Did you ever see such sweet little fingers?" said Polly
Ben Pepper
I
THE CHRISTMAS SHOPPING EXPEDITION
"Oh, yes, the children can go as long as Ben and Polly are with them,"
said Mother Fisher, with pride. "I'll trust them anywhere," her face
said as plainly as if she had put it all into words.
"I wish I could go with them." Mrs. Whitney took her gaze from the busy
fingers sorting the pile of small stockings Jane had brought up from the
laundry, and went abruptly over to the window with a troubled face.
"But you can't," said Mrs. Fisher, cheerfully, nowise dismayed at the
number of holes staring up at her, "so don't let us think any more of
it. And Ben's big enough to take them anywhere, I'm sure. And Polly can
look after their manners," she thought, but didn't finish aloud.
"You see father didn't know about this picture exhibit till Mr. Cabot's
note came a half hour ago, begging him not to miss it. And if I told him
of the children's plans, he'd give the whole thing up and stay at home
rather than have them disappointed. He mustn't do that."
"Indeed he mustn't!" echoed Mrs. Fisher, in her most decided fashion,
and putting the last stocking into place on top of the big pile on the
table. "Hush! Here comes Polly!"
"Oh, Mamsie!" Polly rushed up to the work-table. "Just think what
splendid fun!" She threw her arms around Mrs. Fisher's neck and gave her
a big hug. "Isn't Aunty Whitney too lovely for anything to take us out
to buy our Christmas presents? Dear me! What richness!"
"Polly, see here, child," Mother Fisher brought her face around to look
into the rosy one; "Mrs. Whitney cannot--"
Polly tore herself away with a gasp, and stood quite still, her brown
eyes fixed on Mother Fisher's face, and the color dying out of her
cheek. "Do you mean we are not to go, Mamsie?" she cried, her hands
working nervously; "we must!" she brought up passionately.
"You see, Polly," Mrs. Whitney came quickly away from the window. Polly
at that turned and stared in dismay. O dear! To think Aunty Whitney was
there, and now she would be so distressed. "It is just this way," Mrs.
Whitney was hurrying on in quite as unhappy a state as Polly had feared:
"Father has received word that there is a picture exhibit this
afternoon, and I must go with him. I'm sorry, dear, but it can't be
helped." She bent to kiss Polly's cheek where the color had rushed this
time up to the brown hair.
"I'm so sorry, too," Polly burst out, clinging to Mrs. Whitney's hand.
Oh, why had she given way to her passion? The tears were running down
her cheeks now, "I didn't mean--" she murmured.
"Why, you are going, Polly," said Mrs. Whitney, comfortingly, and
patting the brown hair.
"What?" exclaimed Polly, bringing up her head suddenly to stare into the
kind face.
"Yes," laughed Mrs. Whitney, "the Christmas shopping isn't to be given
up. Mrs. Fisher is going to let you and Ben take the children. Just
think, Polly, that's much better than to go with me," she finished
gayly.
All this time Mother Fisher had sat quite still, her black eyes fastened
on Polly's face. "I don't know," she said slowly, "about their going
now."
"Oh, Mrs. Fisher," cried Mrs. Whitney, in dismay, "you can't think of--"
but she didn't finish, on seeing Mrs. Fisher's face. Instead, she went
softly out and closed the door.
"I didn't mean--" mumbled Polly again, and then she tumbled down on her
knees and hid her face on Mamsie's lap, and sobbed as hard as she could.
"Yes, that's the trouble, Polly," Mother Fisher's hands were busy
smoothing the brown hair; "you didn't mean to, but you said it just the
same; and that's the mischief of it, not to mean to say a thing, and yet
say it."
"O dear me!" wailed Polly, burrowing deeper within the folds of the
black alpaca apron. "Why did I? O dear!"
[Illustration: "O DEAR ME," WAILED POLLY, BURROWING DEEPER WITHIN THE
FOLDS OF THE BLACK ALPACA APRON.]
Mother Fisher's hands kept on at their task, but she said nothing, and
at last Polly's sobs grew quieter. "Mamsie," she said faintly.
"Yes, dear."
"I'm so sorry."
"I know you are, child; but, Polly, there is no'must' unless mother
says so. And to fly into a passion--why, then you ought not to go at
all."
"Oh, I don't want to go now, Mamsie," cried Polly, flying up to sit
straight on the floor, and brushing away the tears with a hasty hand, "I
really don't, Mamsie."
"Well, then you see you'll just keep the children at home," said Mrs.
Fisher; "for I can't let Ben have all the care alone, and they'll be so
disappointed."
Polly gave a groan and wriggled on the carpet in distress.
"You see, Polly, that's the trouble when we give way to our passion; it
hurts more than ourselves," said Mother Fisher, "so I can't see but that
you have got to go."
"Oh, I don't want to, Mamsie; don't make me," cried Polly, squeezing her
mother's hands tightly in both of her own. "I can't go now!"
"Tut, tut, Polly," said Mrs. Fisher, reprovingly; "'can't' isn't the
thing to say any more than'must.'" And her black eyes had such a look
in them that Polly ducked her head, taking refuge in the lap again.
"And now you must get up," said Mother Fisher, "and get ready, for I am
going to let you and Ben take the children; that's decided."
"Oh, Mamsie!" Polly found her feet somehow, and flung her arms again
around her mother's neck; "you won't trust me ever again. O dear me!"
"Yes, I will," said Mrs. Fisher, quickly, and, seizing Polly's hands,
she made the brown eyes look at her; "why, Polly child, did you suppose
Mother would let you go and help Ben take care of the children if she
didn't know you would do everything just right? Never say such a word as
that again, Polly!" and the black eyes shone with love and pride. "And
now hurry, child, for here's Ben coming," as steps sounded in the hall,
and then his voice asking, "Where's Mamsie?"
Polly flew up to her feet and stumbled over to the washstand. "O dear
me!" she gasped, catching sight of her face in the long mirror on the
way, "I can't--oh, I mean my eyes are so red, and my nose, Mamsie! Just
look at it!"
"That's the trouble of crying and giving way to fits of passion,"
observed Mrs. Fisher, quietly; "it makes a good deal of trouble, first
and last," as Ben came hurrying in.
Polly splashed the water all over her hot face with such a hasty hand
that a little stream ran down the pretty brown waist, which only served
to increase her dismay.
"Oh, Mamsie!" Ben was saying, "we're not to go, after all. What a pity!
Polly'll be so sorry." His blue eyes looked very much troubled. To have
anything make Polly sorry hurt him dreadfully.
"Oh, yes, you are going, Ben," Mrs. Fisher made haste to say.
"Why, Aunty Whitney can't go," said Ben, in surprise. "Grandpapa just
said she is going out with him."
"You didn't say anything of the shopping plan, Ben?" ejaculated Mrs.
Fisher, involuntarily, yet she knew she didn't need to ask the question.
"Why, no," said Ben, in amazement; "of course not, Mamsie."
"Of course not, too," said his mother, with a little laugh; "and why I
asked such a stupid question, I'm sure I don't know, Ben."
All this gave Polly time to sop her face quite cool, and she had buried
her red cheeks in the towel to dry them off, when Mother Fisher, having
made Ben acquainted with the joyful news, called, "Come, Polly, it's
time to get on your hat and coat."
"Halloo, Polly, you there?" cried Ben, whirling round, as Polly hurried
into the little room next to get her out-of-door things.
"Yes," called back Polly, on her way, "I'll be ready in a minute, Ben."
"Isn't it no end jolly that we're going, Polly?" he cried, deserting his
mother to hurry over to the doorway where he could stand and see Polly
get ready. His blue eyes shone and his head was held very high. To think
that Polly and he were to be allowed to take the children out shopping
amid all the excitement of Christmas week! It was almost too good to be
true! "Say, Polly, did you ever know anything like it?" He came in and
pressed close to the bureau where Polly was putting on her hat.
"Yes, yes, I know. Ugh!" Polly, with all her eyes on the red-rimmed ones
looking out at her from the mirror, beside what she saw of the poor
swollen nose, jammed on the hat over her face and jumped away from the
bureau.
"You needn't hurry so," said Ben, "'tisn't any matter if we don't start
right away. Besides, I don't suppose Jane has Phronsie ready yet. But
isn't it perfectly splendid that we can go alone, you and I, and, just
think, Polly Pepper, can take the children?" He was quite overcome again
at the idea and leaned against the bureau to think it all out.
"Yes," said Polly, in a muffled voice. But she was in the closet now,
getting into her coat, because if she stayed out in the room Ben would
help her into it, and then he would be sure to see her face! So Ben,
although he thought it funny that Polly, who was generally bubbling over
with joy at the prospect of any pleasant expedition, should be very
quiet and dull in the light of such an extraordinary one, set it down to
the hurry she was in getting ready.
"Oh, Polly, don't hurry so!" he cried, going over to the closet. "Here,
come out here, and let me help you with that."
"Ugh, no, go right away, Ben," cried Polly, wriggling off frantically,
and only succeeding in flopping up one sleeve to knock her hat farther
down over her nose. "O dear me! where _is_ the other armhole?"
"Do come out," cried Ben; "whoever heard of trying to put on a coat in a
closet? Whatever makes you, Polly?"
"And I do wish you'd go away," cried Polly, quite exasperated, and
setting her hat straight, forgetting all about her face.
But instead, Ben, after a good look, took hold of her two shoulders and
marched her out into the room. And before Polly knew it, her other arm
was in its sleeve, and he was trying to button up her coat.
"Oh, Bensie," she mumbled; "I'm so sorry I was cross."
"Never mind," said Ben, giving her a comforting pat. "Well, come on, now
you're ready, Polly."
And Joel and David plunging in tumultuously into Mamsie's room, followed
by Jane ushering in Phronsie all attired for the trip, the whole bunch
gathered around Mother Fisher's chair for final instructions.
"See, Mamsie," piped Phronsie, crowding up closely, to hold up the
little money-bag dangling by its chain from her arm; "my own purse, and
I'm going to buy things."
"Don't, Phron," said Joel, "push so," and he tried to get past her to
stand nearest to Mother Fisher.
"What are you doing yourself," said Ben, "I sh'd like to know, Joel
Pepper?"
"Well, that was my place," said Joel, loudly, and not yielding an inch.
"Joel!" said Mrs. Fisher.
"It was my place," he grumbled. But he hung his head and wouldn't look
up into Mamsie's face.
"It's my very own purse," cried Phronsie, in a joyful little key, "and
I'm going to buy things, I am. See, Mamsie!" She held it up before Mrs.
Fisher, and patted it lovingly, while she crowded in worse than ever.
"Yes, I see," said Mrs. Fisher, smiling down into her face, but there
was no smile for Joel, and looking up he caught her black eyes resting
on him in a way he didn't like.
"You may have it, Phron!" he exclaimed, tumbling back against David
suddenly, who was nearly knocked over by his sudden rebound. "I'd just
as lief you would. Here, get in next to Mamsie."
"And I'm going to buy you something, Mamsie," said Phronsie, standing on
her tiptoes to whisper confidentially into Mother Fisher's ear.
"You are, dear?" Mrs. Fisher leaned over to catch the whisper, but not
before she sent a smile over to Joel that seemed to drop right down into
the farthest corner of his heart. "Now Mother'll like that very much
indeed."
"And you must be s'prised," said Phronsie, bobbing her head in its big,
fur-trimmed bonnet, and fastening a grave look of great importance on
Mrs. Fisher's face.
"Hoh--hoh!" began Joel, who had recovered his composure. Then he
thought, and stopped. And again Mother Fisher smiled at him.
"Now, children, you understand this is the first time you have ever been
out shopping without Mr. King or Mrs. Whitney or me," began Mrs. Fisher,
looking around on them all. "Well, it's quite time that you should make
the trial, for I can trust you all." She lifted her head proudly and her
black eyes shone. "I'm sure you'll all be good."
"Oh, we will, we will, Mamsie," declared all the little Peppers
together. And their heads went up, too, in pride.
"So I am going to let Ben and Polly take you about in the shops. And
whatever they tell you, you are to do. And remember one thing, you are
not to crowd and push."
"We can't see if the big people all get in front," said Joel,
grumblingly.
"Then you must go without seeing," said Mrs. Fisher, decidedly. "At any
rate, you are not to crowd and push. Remember, Joel, and all of you."
"I won't," said Joel, "crowd and push. Now may we go, Mamsie?" and he
began to prance to the door impatiently.
"One thing more. Come back, Joel." Mrs. Fisher waited until the group
was once more quiet around her chair. "And you are none of you to handle
things."
"Not when we are going to buy them?" cried Joel, in an injured tone.
"Oh, Mamsie, I sh'd think we might when we are out shopping. And I've
got such lots of money in my pocket-book." He swung it high, clenched in
his hot little fist.
"Take care or you'll lose it if you show it like that, Joe," said Ben.
"How am I going to lose it?" demanded Joel, squaring around at Ben.
"Somebody'll pick it out of your hand if you don't look out," warned
Ben.
"I guess there won't anybody pick my pocket-book. I'm going to get a
pin," and he raced off to the big mahogany bureau in the corner.
"What for?" asked David, who always followed Joel's movements with
attention; "what are you going to do with a pin, Joel?"
"I'm going to pin up my pocket so no old picker can get my purse,"
declared Joel, with energy, and running back with the biggest pin he
could find on the cushion, the one Mrs. Fisher fastened her shawl with.
"Yes, and likely enough you'll forget all about it and stick your own
hand in," said Ben, "then, says I, what'll you do, Joel?"
"Humph--I won't forget," snorted Joel, puckering up the pocket edge and
jamming the pin through the folds; "there, I guess the pickers will let
my pocket alone. Yes-sir-ee," he cried triumphantly.
"Now you remember you are not to touch things on the counters," Mrs.
Fisher was saying. "I don't want my children to be picking and handling
at such a time. You can look all you want to; but when you see what you
would really like to buy, why, Polly and Ben must ask the saleswoman to
show it to you."
"I've got my money-purse," said Phronsie, exactly as if the fact had not
been announced before; "see, Mamsie," and she held it up with an
important air.
"I see," said Mother Fisher, "it's the one Grandpapa gave you last
birthday, isn't it, Phronsie?"
"Yes," she said, patting it lovingly. "My dear Grandpapa gave it to me,
and it's my very own, and I'm going to buy things, I am."
"So you shall," said Mrs. Fisher, approvingly. All the while Joel was
screaming, "Come on, Phron, we'll be late," as he pranced out into the
hall and down the stairs.
"Oh, Mamsie," Polly flung her arms around Mrs. Fisher's neck, "I wish
you were going too."
"Well, Mother can't go," said Mrs. Fisher, patting Polly's shoulder;
"and take care, Phronsie will hear you."
"And I want to kiss my Mamsie good-by, too," said Phronsie, clambering
up into Mrs. Fisher's lap, as well as she could for the fur-trimmed
coat. So Mother Fisher took her up, and Phronsie cooed and hummed her
satisfaction, and was kissed and set down again. And then David had to
say good-by too, and Ben as well; and then Polly made up her mind she
would have the last kiss, so it was some minutes before the four
children got out of Mamsie's room and ran down the stairs. And there
they found Joel hanging on to the newel post and howling: "You've been
an awful long time. Come on!"
"We wanted to bid Mamsie good-by," said Polly, twitching Phronsie's coat
straight. "Well, we're all ready now; come on, children."
Joel had thrown the big front door open with a flourish and was rushing
out. When Polly said that about Mamsie, he stopped suddenly, then
plunged back, nearly upsetting Phronsie, and ran over the steps as fast
as he could. "Oh, Mamsie," he cried, flying up to her. Mrs. Fisher had
gotten out of her chair, and was now over by the window to see her
little brood go off so happy and important. "Why, Joel!" she exclaimed,
"what's the matter?" as he precipitated himself into her arms.
"I want to kiss you good-by, too," howled Joel, burrowing within them;
"good-by, Mamsie!"
"So you shall, Mother's boy," said Mrs. Fisher, cuddling him. "Well now,
Joel, you remember all I said."
"I'll remember," said Joel, lifting a radiant face; "I'll be good all
the time."
"Yes, you must, else Mother'll feel badly. Well, good-by."
Joel's good-by floated back as he raced down the stairs and overtook the
group waiting for him out on the big stone steps.
"Who's keeping us waiting now, I wonder?" said Ben, as he came up
panting.
"Well, I guess I'm going to bid my Mamsie good-by, too," said Joel,
importantly. "Come on, Dave, let's race to the big gate!"
II
BEN'S PLAN
When Phronsie saw the two boys racing away, she wanted to run too, and
started to patter off after them.
"No, no, Phronsie," said Polly, calling her back. "She'll get all tired
out to begin with," she said to Ben, "then what should we do?"
"Oh, I want to race to the big gate with Joel and David," said Phronsie,
coming back slowly. "Can't I, Polly? Do let me," she begged.
"No," said Polly, decidedly, "you'll get all tired out, Phronsie."
"I won't be tired," said Phronsie, drawing herself up very straight; "I
won't be, Polly."
"You will be if you run and race to begin with," declared Polly, very
much wishing she could join the boys herself. But she was holding
Phronsie's hand by this time, and it never would do to leave her. "So we
must walk till we reach the car."
Phronsie heaved a sigh, but she kept tight hold of Polly's hand, and
walked obediently on.
"You see," said Polly, who never could bear to hear Phronsie sigh,
"we're going shopping, Phronsie, and there's a good deal of walking we
have before us, and--"
"And I have my money-bag," cried Phronsie, breaking in jubilantly, and
not waiting for Polly to finish, and lifting it high as it dangled from
her arm. "See, Polly, and dear Grandpapa gave it to me, he did."
"I know, pet," said Polly; "take care, now, or you'll tumble on your
nose."
"And I'm going to buy my dear Grandpapa something," declared Phronsie,
with a bob of her fur-trimmed bonnet; "I am, Polly."
"So you shall," cried Polly, radiantly; "now that'll be fine."
"Polly," said Ben, on her other side, "I've been thinking of something
that perhaps it would be good to do."
"Oh, Ben, what is it?" she cried, all in a twitter to know, for Ben's
plans, if sometimes slow, were always so good to follow.
"Why, let's us all put our money together instead of buying little
things for Grandpapa, for of course we are all going to give him
something, and buy one good present." It was a long speech for Ben, and
he was quite glad when it was all out.
"Let's," said Polly, quite enchanted. "Oh, Ben, you do think of just the
right things."
"No," said Ben, "I don't think up such nice things as you do, Polly,"
and he looked at her admiringly; "I can't."
"Well, your things are always best in the end, anyway," said Polly,
unwilling to take | 1,421.183954 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.2562320 | 1,075 | 19 |
Produced by Michael Gray
POPE ADRIAN IV.
AN
HISTORICAL SKETCH.
BY RICHARD RABY.
LONDON:
THOMAS RICHARDSON AND SON,
172, FLEET STREET; 9, CAPEL STREET, DUBLIN; AND DERBY.
1849.
I. PREFACE.
The following sketch was written to supply what its author felt
persuaded could not fail to interest his fellow Catholics in England;
namely, some account of the only English Pope who ever reigned.
In it he does not pretend to any novelty of research; but simply to
present a connected narrative of such events in the history of Pope
Adrian IV. as have hitherto lain broken and concealed in old
chronicles, or been slightly touched for the most part in an
incidental way by modern writers.
In the course of his sketch, the author has ventured to take part with
Pope Adrian in some acts of his, which it is commonly the mode to
condemn. Should his opinions in so doing not be deemed sound, he yet
hopes that at least the spirit which inspired them--in other words,
the spirit to promote the cause of practical rather than theoretical
policy, as also of public order and legitimate authority, will deserve
commendation.
For the rest, the striking similarity between the difficulties which
Pius IX. in our day has to contend with, and those which Pope Adrian
had to encounter in the twelfth century, should only lend the more
interest to his story.
R. R.
_Munich, May, 1849._
POPE ADRIAN IV.
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH.
I.
THE information, which has come down to us respecting the early life
of the only Englishman, who ever sat on the papal throne, is so
defective and scanty, as easily to be comprised in a few paragraphs.
Nicholas Breakspere was born near St. Albans, most probably about the
close of the 11th century. His father was a clergyman, who became a
monk in the monastery of that city, while his son was yet a boy. Owing
to extreme poverty, Nicholas could not pay for his education, and was
obliged to attend the school of the monks on charity. [1] This
circumstance would seem to have put his father so painfully to the
blush, that he took an unnatural dislike to his son; whom he shortly
compelled by his threats and reproaches to flee the neighbourhood in a
state of utter destitution.
Thus cruelly cast on the world, Nicholas to settle the church in those
remote countries, where it had been planted about 150 years. The
circumstances which led to this legation were as follows:[2]--originally
the three kingdoms of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, were
spiritually subject to the archbishop of Hamburg, whose province was
then the most extensive in Christendom. In the year 1102, Denmark
succeeded, after much protracted agitation of the question, in
obtaining from Pope Paschal II., a metropolitan see of its own, which
was founded at Lund; and to whose authority Sweden and Norway were
transferred. The same feeling of national independence, which had
procured this boon for Denmark, was not long before it began to work
in those kingdoms also; and the more so as the Danish supremacy was
asserted over them with much greater rigour than had formerly been
that of Hamburg, and was otherwise repugnant to them, as emanating
from a power with which they stood in far closer political relations,
and more constant rivalry than with Germany. After some indirect
preliminary steps in the business,--which do not seem to have
forwarded it,--the kings of Sweden and Norway sent ambassadors to Pope
Eugenius III., to request for their states the same privilege which
his predecessor had granted to Denmark; and which he himself had just
extended to Ireland, in the erection of the four archbishoprics of
that country. The arrival of these ambassadors at Rome happened a year
before the elevation of the abbot of St. Rufus to the see of Albano.
The pope promised to accede to their request. It was in fulfilment of
this promise that Nicholas Breakspere was sent into the north.
Doubtless, the circumstance of his being an Englishman had weight in
his selection; as, in consequence of that circumstance, he would be
viewed as far more likely to possess a correct knowledge of the
character and government peculiar to northern nations than an Italian.
Taking England in his way, the Cardinal legate passed thence into
Norway; where he landed in June of the year above-mentioned. The
country was then governed by three brothers, named Sigurd, Inge, and
Eystein, sons of the late King Harrold Gille. Between the first two, a
serious quarrel happened to rage. For a Norwegian nobleman having
murder | 1,421.276272 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.2570570 | 169 | 18 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: "FLOATING SERENELY ON THE SURFACE WAS A SUBMARINE; ONE
OF THE MOST MODERN OF THE GERMAN _UNTERSEEBOOTEN_"]
The Fight for Constantinople
A Story of the Gallipoli Peninsula
BY
PERCY F. WESTERMAN
Author of "The Dispatch-Riders" "The Sea-girt Fortress" "When East
Meets West" "Captured at Tripoli" &c. &c.
_Illustrated by W. E. Wigfull_
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
Contents
CHAP.
I. Under Sealed Orders
II. Cleared for | 1,421.277097 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.2571130 | 1,121 | 9 |
Transcribed from the 1833 T. T. and J. Tegg edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: The Mænai Bridge; Beaumaris Castle; Holyhead Church. London.
Published by T. T. & J. Tegg, Cheapside, Oct. 1st 1832]
SCENES
IN
NORTH WALES.
WITH
HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS, LEGENDS,
AND
BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES.
BY
G. N. WRIGHT, A. M. P. A. R. H. A.
AUTHOR OF “WELSH TOPOGRAPHY,” “ILLUSTRATIONS OF IRELAND,” ETC.
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
Embellished with Thirty-six Engravings.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. T. AND J. TEGG, CHEAPSIDE:
R. GRIFFIN AND CO. GLASGOW;
J. CUMMING AND W. F. WAKEMAN, DUBLIN.
* * * * *
CHISWICK:
PRINTED BY C WHITTINGHAM.
* * * * *
PREFACE.
THERE is a local interest attached to mountain scenery, arising not only
from a natural concentration of grand and majestic objects, but also from
a spirit of independence and ardent love of liberty with which the
mountaineer, invariably, seems to be inspired.
The great deeds of Leonidas were done amidst the rocks and
glens;—Switzerland displays her hatred of tyranny in an undying affection
for the memory of Tell;—while from the chivalrous exploits of Glandwr,
brandishing high the torch of liberty, a stream of light has issued, that
seems to have poured its rays into the deepest recesses of his native
glens.
The demi-anarchy of the feudal system occasioned the erection, in
Gwynedd, of many stately castles, whose lonely ruins now adorn the petty
kingdoms they once overawed. And in the violent struggles of the ancient
Briton to preserve his wild home from Saxon intrusion, originated those
yet more splendid palaces, that illustrate like monuments, or like
medals, the history of those periods in which they were erected.
Notwithstanding the great power by which the Cambrians were overthrown,
and the healing measures subsequently pursued to obtain a willing
submission to their conquerors, the draught appears to have been
imbittered by the introduction of some ingredient not easily detected by
historical analysis; for, as a people, the ancient Britons are still
totally distinct from the parent state in customs, manners, dress, in
feelings, and in language. The tenacity with which they adhere to their
primitive tongue, tends to a dissociation from the greater part of the
empire, and contributes to the preservation, by intermarriages amongst
themselves and otherwise, of a state of society peculiar and
extraordinary as existing in the very bosom of the British isles.
The Isaurians were a small nation in the heart of the Roman empire; they
dwelt among mountains; they saw civilization on every side, yet they
rejected it with scorn, and, on occasion, found employment for the
legions through several ages.
The Cambrians have not despised civilization, but have rather so
engrafted it upon the ancient stem, that the variation in the tree is
scarce perceptible. The fruit however proves fair and wholesome. A
nation is produced, of such proverbial gentleness, that although the
envious attribute it to the obscurity of their abode, the legislature
must appreciate the moral value of subjects who are honest from a love of
justice, and governed without expense.
To illustrate the scenery of a country possessing so large a portion of
natural beauty, abounding in so many records of eminent persons and
remarkable events, and occupied by a peasantry peaceful, innocent, and
happy, presents a favourable opportunity for the production of a work
both of amusement and interest. If these ends shall not have been
happily attained, there is still one more valuable recommendation in
reserve, that is, the moral tendency of the whole.
The inhabitants of North and South Wales are to be considered as quite
distinct. They speak different dialects of the ancient language, are
sprung from a different ancestorial stock, and, in the Southern half of
the principality, the arts and manufactures of England are introduced and
cultivated with the most entire success.
The selection and arrangement of the graphic illustrations, which precede
each historic sketch, are influenced by two circumstances. First, a
desire to include scenes intimately connected with the most interesting
periods of local history, and, secondly, a wish to introduce a number of
picturesque views sufficient to convey a distinct idea of the peculiar
features of a country so romantic.
Notwithstanding the small cabinet size to which public convenience limits
each delineation, truth and expression will uniformly be found
associated, accompanied also | 1,421.277153 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.6579590 | 1,888 | 7 |
Produced by Ron Swanson
Vol. II. No. 1.
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.
PUBLISHED BY THE
NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC SOCIETY.
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Price 50 Cents.
CONTENTS.
On the Telegraphic Determinations of Longitude by the Bureau of
Navigation: Lieut. J. A. Norris, U. S. N.
Reports of the Vice-Presidents:
Geography of the Land: Herbert G. Ogden
Geography of the Air: A. W. Greely, Chief Signal Officer, U. S. A.
Annual Report of the Treasurer
Report of Auditing Committee
Annual Report of the Secretary
National Geographic Society:
Abstract of Minutes
Officers for 1890
Members of the Society
Published April, 1890.
PRESS OF TUTTLE, MOREHOUSE & TAYLOR, NEW HAVEN, CONN.
THE NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.
Vol. II. 1890. No. 1.
ON THE TELEGRAPHIC DETERMINATIONS OF LONGITUDE BY THE BUREAU OF
NAVIGATION.
BY LIEUT. J. A. NORRIS, U. S. N.
The following definitions are given by Chauvenet in his Spherical and
Practical Astronomy.
"The longitude of a point on the earth's surface is the angle at the
Pole included between the meridian of that point and some assumed first
meridian. The difference of longitude between any two points is the
angle included between their meridians." To describe the practical
methods of obtaining this difference or angle, by means of the electric
telegraph both overland and submarine, and especially those employed by
the expeditions sent out by the Navy department, is the object of this
paper.
* * * * *
Before the invention of the telegraph various methods more or less
accurate in their results were employed, and are still in use where the
telegraph is not available. The one most used and giving the best
results was that in which a number of chronometers were transported
back and forth between two places the difference of whose longitudes
was required. "For," as the author quoted above says, "the
determination of an absolute longitude from the first meridian or of a
difference of longitude in general, resolves itself into the
determination of the difference of the time reckoned at the two
meridians at the same absolute instant." If a chronometer be regulated
to the time at any place _A_, and then transported to a second place
_B_, and the local time at _B_, be determined at any instant, and at
that instant the time at _A_, as shown by the chronometer is noted, the
difference of the times is at once known, and that is the difference of
longitude required. The principal objection to this plan is that the
best chronometers vary. If the variations were constant and regular,
and the chronometer always gained or lost a fixed amount for the same
interval of time, this objection would disappear. But the variation is
not constant, the rate of gain or loss, even in the best instruments,
changes from time to time from various causes. Some of these causes may
be discovered and allowed for in a measure, others are accidental and
unknown. Of the former class are variations due to changes of
temperature. At the Naval Observatory, chronometers are rated at
different temperatures, and the changes due thereto are noted, and
serve to a great extent as a guide in their use. But the transportation
of a chronometer, even when done with great care is liable to cause
sudden changes in its indications, and of course in carrying it long
distances, numerous shocks of greater or less violence are unavoidable.
Still, chronometric measurements, when well carried out with a number
of chronometers and skilled observers have been very successful. Among
notable expeditions of this sort was that undertaken in 1843, by Struve
between Pulkova and Altona, in which eighty-one chronometers were
employed and nine voyages made from Pulkova to Altona and eight the
other way. The results from thirteen of the chronometers were rejected
as being discordant, and the deduced longitude was made to depend on
the remaining 68. The result thus obtained differs from the latest
determination by 0^{s}.2.
The U. S. Coast Survey instituted chronometric expeditions between
Cambridge, Mass., and Liverpool, England, in the years 1849, '50, '51
and '55. The probable error of the results of six voyages, three in
each direction, in 1855 was 0^{s}.19, fifty chronometers being carried.
Among other methods of determining differences of time may be mentioned
the observation of certain celestial phenomena, which are visible at
the same absolute instant by observers in various parts of the globe,
such as the instant of the beginning or end of an eclipse of the moon,
the eclipses of Jupiter's satellites by the shadow of the planet, the
bursting of a meteor, and the appearance or disappearance of a shooting
star. The difficulty of identifying these last mentioned objects and
the impossibility of foretelling their occurrence prevents the extended
use of this method.
Terrestrial signals may be used and among these can be included those
sent by the electric telegraph. But when two stations are near together
a signal may be made at either or at an intermediate station, which can
be observed at both, the time may be noted at each of the stations and
the difference found directly. These signals may be made by flashes of
gunpowder, or the appearance and disappearance of a strong light, or a
pre-concerted movement of any object easily seen. The heliotrope
reflecting the image of the sun from one station to the other with an
arrangement for suddenly eclipsing it, is a useful and efficient
apparatus.
Various truly astronomical methods have been employed with good
results, of these may be mentioned moon-culminations, azimuths of the
moon, lunar distances, etc.
Coming now to the use of the electric telegraph for this purpose the
following is a rough outline of the methods employed. Suppose two
stations A and B connected by wire, and provided with clocks,
chronographs and transit instruments. A list of suitable fixed stars is
compiled and each observer furnished with a copy. The observer at A the
eastern station, selects a star from his list and sets his transit
instrument upon it. He is furnished with a key by which he can send
telegraphic signals over the line and also mark the time on his own
chronograph. The instant he observes the star crossing the spider line
which represents the meridian, he taps his key, thus registering the
time on his own chronograph and on that at station B and this operation
he repeats with as many stars as necessary. B has his instrument set
for the first star, and when it crosses his meridian, he taps his key
marking the time on his own chronograph and also on A's. Then,
disregarding instrumental and personal errors and the rate of the
clock, A has a record of the times at which the star passed both
meridians. The difference of these times is the difference of longitude
sought, except for an error due to the time occupied in the
transmission of the signal over the wire between the stations. B also
has a record of the same difference of time with the same error
affecting it in the opposite way. A mean of these two differences, will
be the true difference with the error of transmission eliminated. This
method has the advantage of not depending upon the computed position of
the star. The instrumental errors may be allowed for, as well as the
rate of the clocks, and the personal error may be eliminated by the
exchange of stations.
There are disadvantages inseparable from this method, however,
especially when the meridian distance is great. A star observed at the
first station, may be obscured by clouds at the time of its meridian
passage at the second. And the weather generally, at the two stations
may be cloudy, so that while stars can be observed at intervals, yet it
may be impossible to note the meridian passage of the same star at both
places on the same night. Then the telegraph lines are usually the
property of some commercial company and while their use for a short
time might be freely granted, yet a protracted occupation of them as
necessary when the meridians are distant from each other, would prove a
serious hindrance to their regular business.
The method at this time most generally employed, is to observe at each
station a number of stars entirely independently of the other. From
these stars are deduced the clock errors | 1,421.677999 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.6579660 | 359 | 6 |
Produced by Renald Levesque
WOMAN
VOLUME V
WOMEN OF MEDIAEVAL FRANCE
BY
PIERCE BUTLER, PH. D.
OF TULANE UNIVERSITY OF LOUISIANA
[Illustration 1:
ODETTE DE CHAMPDIVERS AND CHARLES VI.
After the painting by Albrecht de Vriendt.
The king, now often idiotic when he was not raving,... To amuse and
distract him, and also to strengthen the Burgundian influence, the Duke
of Burgundy provided him with a fair child as playmate and mistress. To
the sway once held by Valentine over Charles there now succeeded Odette.
She was little more than a child, but she became mistress as well as
playfellow of the mad king. Of humble origin (daughter of a horse
dealer), she wears in court history a name better than that she was born
to, Odette de Champdivers; and the people, indulgent of the sin of the
mad king, called her "la petite reine" She was happy, it seems, and kind
to the king, amused him, was loved by him; and, more true to him than
was quite pleasing to the Burgundians, did not play false to France in
later years when Burgundy and England were leagued together.]
Woman
In all ages and in all countries
VOLUME V
WOMEN OF MEDIAEVAL FRANCE
BY
PIERCE BUTLER, PH. D.
Of Tulane University of Louisiana
ILLUSTRATED
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE BARRIE & SONS, | 1,421.678006 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.7612000 | 1,568 | 125 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
MY FRIEND PASQUALE
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
JAMES SELWIN TAIT
AUTHOR OF
“WHO IS THE MAN?” “THE NEAPOLITAN BANKER,” ETC., ETC.
NEW YORK
TAIT, SONS & COMPANY
UNION SQUARE
COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY
J. SELWIN TAIT
[_All rights reserved_]
TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER,
WHO FIRST INSPIRED MY PEN,
I DEDICATE THESE PAGES.
MY FRIEND PASQUALE.
CHAPTER I.
The events narrated in the following story happened a score and more of
years ago. They have never before been made public, and I make them
known now with pain and misgiving, but impelled by a sense of duty which
I can no longer disregard.
During their occurrence they changed the current of my life, once from
grave to gay, and then and finally, from gaiety to unspeakable gloom.
Although time has to some extent dulled the edge of my grief at the loss
of my friend Pasquale, his memory will remain with me while life lasts
as a cherished and sacred thing.
When the reader ends this simple narration this eulogy of the dead may
surprise and shock him, and, in reply and explanation, I have only to
say in advance that I pity him if the faithful, unvarnished record
leaves that impression on his mind--he did not know Pasquale.
* * * * *
I was wending my way homeward from Hampstead Heath one Saturday
afternoon in the early summer time, when I found myself, on recovering
from a lengthened reverie, midway on the Old North Road at a point now
occupied by the Midland Railway Terminus at Saint Pancras.
My day’s work at the bank was finished and with it all the duties of the
week, and I felt that sense of relief and buoyancy which, perhaps, comes
to all, young and old alike, at the completion of tedious work honestly
performed.
I was still--at the period of which I write--a good deal of a
day-dreamer, living in a world of my own for many hours of the
twenty-four, and when the heavy bank doors clanged behind me, with all
business cares and anxieties doubly barred within the impregnable vault,
my mind would soar away from business thoughts as an imprisoned lark
leaps to freedom from its narrow cage.
The road I was traveling was not one which I would have taken
intentionally, but in my fit of absent-mindedness I had unconsciously
followed the trend of the highway with the result that I was committed
to one of the most uninviting thoroughfares in the city of London.
As a highway this road was but little used; it had already been secured
by the railway company, and with the exception of one public-house of
low character there were no dwellings fronting it, but only the wreck of
the torn down structures demolished to make way for the company’s
projected improvements; and this wreckage was walled, or penned in, by a
high and closely boarded fence running the full length of the road.
The Old North Road was nearly a mile in length between these wooden
walls, and it was a street to be shunned not only by females but by
solitary travelers of even the stronger sex, for it afforded no means of
escape from an unpleasant encounter.
When I had traveled about one third of its length my attention was
attracted to an excited group of men some three hundred yards distant.
These men I found, on nearing them, to be coal-heavers employed by the
railway company, and already a good deal exhilarated by their wages-day
libations.
They were broad-shouldered, powerful men--a collection of sooty
giants--and the sport which they were enjoying was an impromptu
dog-fight, an amusement entirely after their own heart.
As I approached the group on the one side, a young man of about my own
age neared it from the other, and we both stopped to ascertain the cause
of the excitement.
The sight of one dog apparently killing the other was to me a revolting
spectacle, and I was turning away in disgust when I saw the other
arrival elbow his way fiercely through the men and attempt to drag off
the dog which seemed to be gaining the victory; in doing which he
certainly risked his life.
“O, you great, black cowards!” he shouted, his voice ringing in the air
like a trumpet, “to allow two poor creatures to worry each other in such
a way!”
His movements were so sudden that he had actually grasped one of the
dogs before his intention could be frustrated, but as soon as he touched
the animal a burly coal-heaver seized him round the waist, and lifting
him high in air, carried him out of the crush into the middle of the
road, where he planted him on the ground and released his hold. Not
ill-naturedly altogether, but yet with a warning look in his grimy face
he placed his bulky body in front of the disturber of the fight, saying
as he did so, “Master, we are not molesting you, leave us alone, or----”
the threat in his eyes supplied the rest.
The stranger whose face was pale as death, and whose eyes literally
flamed with rage, said not a word, but, quick as lightning, his right
hand shot out and struck his opponent straight between the eyes. The
amazing fury of the blow, the skill with which it was given, and the
smallness of the hand which struck it, had, to some extent, the same
effect on the dense skull of the coal-heaver as the pole axe has on the
head of the ox. He fell, not backward, but forward, on his knees, as a
bullock falls when struck.
The group around the two dogs had given no more thought to the intruder
after their companion had removed him, but now one looked around and
seeing his friend on the ground and probably concluding that the
foreign-looking stranger had stabbed him, he rushed to secure the
intruder.
The latter, however, seemed possessed with an ungovernable fury and flew
at his new assailant as if he would rend him to pieces. Even a blow
from the ponderous fist, though it landed him three yards away flat on
his back in the dusty road, in nowise discouraged him. In a moment he
was on his feet flying like a tiger-cat at his antagonist’s throat, his
dark eyes gleaming anew with electric fire. In the midst of the _mêlée_
a hansom cab drove up, and the driver stopped to witness the double
event.
Others of the group now gathered around, and I feared, not for the
safety of the stranger’s limbs, but for his life. It was an “ugly” group
for any single man to attack. These men, although easygoing enough up to
a certain point, were incarnate fiends when roused, and they were
| 1,421.78124 |
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