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Produced by Dagny; and John Bickers
PETTY TROUBLES OF MARRIED LIFE
PART | 1,421.873429 |
2023-11-16 18:40:45.8562320 | 1,075 | 27 |
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* * * * *
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: Every effort has been made to replicate this text as
faithfully as possible; please see detailed list of printing issues at
the end of the text.
* * * * *
ALCOHOL
A DANGEROUS AND UNNECESSARY MEDICINE
HOW AND WHY
What Medical Writers Say
BY
MRS. MARTHA M. ALLEN
Superintendent of the Department of Medical Temperance
for the National Woman's Christian Temperance Union
Published by the
DEPARTMENT OF MEDICAL TEMPERANCE OF THE
NATIONAL WOMAN'S CHRISTIAN TEMPERANCE UNION
MARCELLUS, NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1900.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION 5
PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION 7
CHAPTER I.
HISTORY OF THE STUDY OF ALCOHOL.
Discovery of distillation--First American investigator of
effects of alcohol--Medical Declarations--Sir B. W.
Richardson's researches--Scientific Temperance Instruction
in American Schools--Committee of Fifty 9
CHAPTER II.
THE WOMAN'S CHRISTIAN TEMPERANCE UNION IN
OPPOSITION TO ALCOHOL AS MEDICINE.
How the Opposition began--Memorial to International
Medical Congress--Origin of Medical Temperance
Department--Objects of the department--Public agitation
against patent medicines originated by the department--Laws
of Georgia, Alabama and Kansas on Medical
prescription of alcohol 21
CHAPTER III.
ALCOHOL AS A PRODUCER OF DISEASE.
Alcohol a poison--Sudden deaths from brandy--Changes
in liver, kidneys, heart, blood-vessels and nerves caused
by alcohol--Beer and wine as harmful as the stronger
drinks--Alcohol causes indigestion--Other diseases
caused by alcohol--Deaths from alcoholism in Switzerland 28
CHAPTER IV.
TEMPERANCE HOSPITALS.
The London Temperance Hospital--Methods of treatment--The Frances
E. Willard Temperance Hospital, Chicago--"As a beverage" in the
pledge--Address by Miss Frances E. Willard at opening of
hospital--The Red Cross Hospital--Clara Barton and non-alcoholic
medication--Reports of treatment in Red Cross Hospital--Use of
Alcohol declining in other hospitals 37
CHAPTER V.
THE EFFECTS OF ALCOHOL UPON THE HUMAN BODY.
The body composed of cells--Effect of alcohol on cells--Alcohol
and Digestion--Effects on the blood--The heart--The liver--The
kidneys--Incipient Bright's disease recovered from by total
abstinence--<DW44>s oxidation and elimination of waste
matters--Lengthens duration of sickness and increases mortality 58
CHAPTER VI.
ALCOHOL AS MEDICINE.
Medical use of alcohol a bulwark of the liquor traffic--Alcohol
not a Food--Alcohol reduces temperature--Food principle of grains
and fruits destroyed by fermentation--Alcohol not a
Stimulant--Experiments proving this--Alcohol not a
tonic--Professor Atwater on Alcohol as Food 96
CHAPTER VII.
ALCOHOL IN PHARMACY.
Strong tinctures rouse desire for drink in reformed
inebriates--Glycerine and acetic acid to preserve
drugs--Non-alcohol tinctures in use at London Temperance
Hospital--Sale of liquor in drug-stores condemned by pharmacists 131
CHAPTER VIII.
DISEASES, AND THEIR TREATMENT WITHOUT ALCOHOL.
Alcoholic Craving--Anaemia--Apoplexy--Boils and
Carbuncle--Catarrh--Hay-Fever--Colds--Colic--Cholera--Cholera
Infantum--Consumption--Displacements--Debility--Diarrhoea--
Dysentery--Dyspepsia--Fainting--Fits--Flatulence--Headache--
Hemorrhage--Heart Disease--Heart Failure--Insomnia--La
Grippe--Measles--Malaria--Neuralgia--Nausea--Pneumonia--Pain After
Food--Snake-bite--Rheumatism--Spasms--Shock--Sudden
Illness--Sunstroke--Typhoid Fever--Vomiting 140
CHAPTER IX.
ALCOHOL AND NURSING MOTHERS.
Beer not good for nursing mothers--Helpful diet--Opinions of
medical men--Analysis of milk of a temperate woman--Of a drinking
woman-- | 1,421.876272 |
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Transcriber’s note: Superscripts are preceded by the caret character ^,
as in 20^d. Multi-letter and mid-word superscripts are enclosed in
{braces}, as in w^{th} and w^{t}out. Italics are represented by
_underscores_.
WOMEN IN ENGLISH LIFE.
[Illustration: _C. Cook, sculp._
ANN,
_Lady Fanshawe_.
London Richard Bentley & Son 1896]
WOMEN
IN ENGLISH LIFE
from Mediæval to Modern Times.
BY
GEORGIANA HILL,
AUTHOR OF “A HISTORY OF ENGLISH DRESS.”
_IN TWO VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty.
MDCCCXCVI.
INTRODUCTION.
The object aimed at in the following pages is to show the place that
women have held in our national life, from the days when what we call
the Saxon race was dominant in England, down to the present time. For
this purpose those phases of our social history have been dwelt upon
which display most clearly the changes that have taken place in the
position of women, and the influence of great forces like the Church
and Feudalism. Names have been used as illustrations, and not with any
intention of adding to biographical literature. Instances that are
the most striking individually do not always serve best as examples.
For this reason many familiar historical scenes and figures have
been omitted. The continuity of a general record would be broken by
divergence into episodes interesting on account of their exceptional
character. Prominence has been given to domestic life, as that
concerns the larger number, and to those aspects of the case which have
not been summed up in the numerous accounts of noteworthy women.
In literature and art, which have their own special histories, where
the part that women have played is recounted at length, only a few
general points have been noted in order to show how women have stood
in relation to letters and art in successive periods. The subjects
themselves are treated as stages marking social advance, not discussed
in the light of their intrinsic interest and attractiveness.
A consideration of the position of women in England leads, naturally,
to the subject of their position in Europe generally, for the main
influences which have affected women in this country are the same
as those that have operated on the Continent, although the result
has taken different forms in accordance with the idiosyncracies of
each nation. It is unnecessary to discuss the condition of women
in the Eastern parts, for while Western Europe has been changing
and progressing with ever-increasing rapidity during the last ten
centuries, Eastern Europe--as far as social life is concerned--remained
for a long period in an almost stationary state. In character it was
Asiatic, though during the last three hundred years it has succumbed
more to the influences of its geographical position.
In the Middle Ages the conditions of life in Western Europe were pretty
uniform. There was hardly any education in the sense of book-learning,
except among religious communities. Locomotion was difficult and
dangerous, so that there was but scanty intercourse between the
inhabitants of different parts of the same country. Fighting was the
chief business of men, and manual work, skilled and unskilled, occupied
women of all ranks.
In an age when war was so frequent, the civil duties of life were left
to women, who fulfilled obligations that in more peaceful times fell
to the lot of men. They not only had entire charge of the household,
but shared largely in the operations of the field and the farm; they
were the spinners, the weavers, the brewsters, and the bakers. They
frequently controlled the management of estates, and occasionally
held public offices of trust and importance. There were no laws to
prevent women from filling such positions, and the fittest came to the
front unhampered by conventionality or arbitrary restrictions. But
although women appear to have had a wider field of activity than they
afterwards enjoyed, when social life became more complex, there was a
counteracting influence which told against the development and free
exercise of their energies. This was the influence of the Church.
It was the policy of the Church to keep women in a subordinate
position. As long as they remained thoroughly convinced of their
natural inferiority, and of the duty of subservience, they could be
reckoned upon as valuable aids to the building up of the ecclesiastical
power. The immense force of the religious and devotional spirit in
woman was at the absolute disposal of her spiritual directors. At a
time when there was no science, no art, and, for the majority, no
literature, the power of the Church was incomparably greater than
anything we can conceive of now.
The Church did not find it difficult to persuade women to accept the
limits marked out for them. There was no public sentiment to set off
against the power of the priest. Society was ruled by physical force;
the law was weak, and the Church was women’s shelter from the rudeness
of an age when those who should have protected the defenceless were
themselves the greatest offenders.
In order to enforce the doctrine of inferiority, the Church went
further, and proclaimed that there was in woman a wickedness additional
to the sin common to humanity. The “eternal feminine” was held before
men’s eyes as a temptation to be warred against. To fly from the
presence of woman was to resist evil. Celibacy was a saintly virtue,
and family life a thing to be tolerated rather than approved.
In the words of St. Chrysostom, woman was “a necessary evil, a
natural temptation, a desirable calamity, a domestic peril, a deadly
fascination, and a painted ill.” The influence of the Fathers was not
confined to their own age; their writings continued to affect the whole
teaching of the Church, Anglican as well as Roman, which has always
been in favour of the subordination of woman. She has been assigned
a lower place in religious exercises, and has been excluded from the
priestly office.
In successive periods of history the Church was largely responsible
for the terrible persecutions inflicted upon women--and chiefly upon
the poorest and most helpless--on the ground of witchcraft. Once
having disseminated the theory of woman’s inherent vice, it was only
a natural corollary to impute to her both the desire and the power of
working extraordinary mischief. The doctrine suited ages which believed
not only in an embodied and | 1,421.876303 |
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THE CHEMISTRY OF COOKERY
_OPINIONS OF THE PRESS_
ON
THE CHEMISTRY OF COOKERY.
‘The reader who wants to satisfy himself as to the value of this book,
and the novelty which its teaching possesses, need not go beyond the
first chapter, on “The Boiling of Water.” But if he reads this he
certainly will go further, and will probably begin to think how he can
induce his cook to assimilate some of the valuable lessons which Mr.
Williams gives. If he can succeed in that he will have done a very good
day’s work for his health and house.... About the economical value
of the book there can be no doubt.’—SPECTATOR.
‘Will be welcomed by all who wish to see the subject of the preparation
of food reduced to a science.... Perspicuously and pleasantly Mr.
Williams explains the why and the wherefore of each successive step
in any given piece of culinary work. Every mistress of a household
who wishes to raise her cook above the level of a mere automaton
will purchase two copies of Mr. Williams’s excellent book—the one
for the kitchen, and the other for her own careful and studious
perusal.’—KNOWLEDGE.
‘Thoroughly readable, full of interest, with enough of the author’s
personality to give a piquancy to the stories told.’—WESTMINSTER REVIEW.
‘Mr. Williams is a good chemist and a pleasant writer: he has evidently
been a keen observer of dietaries in various countries, and his little
book contains much that is worth reading.’—ATHENÆUM.
‘There is plenty of room for this excellent book by Mr. Mattieu
Williams.... There are few conductors of cookery classes who are so
thoroughly grounded in the science of the subject that they will not
find many valuable hints in Mr. Williams’s pages.’—SCOTSMAN.
‘Throughout the work we find the signs of care and thoughtful
investigation.... Mr. Williams has managed most judiciously to
compress into a very small compass a vast amount of authoritative
information on the subject of food and feeding generally—and the volume
is really quite a compendium of its subject.’—FOOD.
‘The British cook might derive a good many useful hints from Mr.
Williams’s latest book.... The author of “The Chemistry of Cookery”
has produced a very interesting work. We heartily recommend it to
theorists, to people who cook for themselves, and to all who are
anxious to spread abroad enlightened ideas upon a most important
subject.... Hereafter, cookery will be regarded, even in this
island, as a high art and science. We may not live to those delightful
days; but when they come, and the degree of Master of Cookery is
granted to qualified candidates, the “Chemistry of Cookery” will be
a text-book in the schools, and the bust of Mr. Mattieu Williams
will stand side by side with that of Count Rumford upon every
properly-appointed kitchen dresser.’—PALL MALL GAZETTE.
‘Housekeepers who wish to be fully informed as to the nature of
successful culinary operations should read “The Chemistry of
Cookery.”’—CHRISTIAN WORLD.
‘In all the nineteen chapters into which the work is divided there
is much both to interest and to instruct the general reader, while
deserving the attention of the “dietetic reformer.”... The author
has made almost a life-long study of the subject.’—ENGLISH MECHANIC.
_OTHER WORKS BY MR. MATTIEU WILLIAMS._
Crown 8vo. cloth extra, 7_s._ 6_d._
SCIENCE IN SHORT CHAPTERS.
‘Few writers on popular science know better how to steer a middle
course between the Scylla of technical abstruseness and the Charybdis
of empty frivolity than Mr. Mattieu Williams. He writes for intelligent
people who are not technically scientific, and he expects them to
understand what he tells them when he has explained it to them in his
perfectly lucid fashion without any of the embellishments, in very
doubtful taste, which usually pass for popularisation. The papers are
not mere réchauffés of common knowledge. Almost all of them are marked
by original thought, and many of them contain demonstrations or aperçus
of considerable scientific value.’—PALL MALL GAZETTE.
‘There are few writers on the subjects which Mr. Williams selects whose
fertility and originality are equal to his own. We read | 1,421.8819 |
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BY RODRIGUES OTTOLENGUI
=An Artist in Crime.= 16^o, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.
=A Conflict of Evidence.= 16^o, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.
=A Modern Wizard.= 16^o, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.
=The Crime of the Century.= 16^o, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.
=Final Proof, or, the Value of Evidence.= 16^o, $1.00; paper, 50 cts.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK & LONDON
FINAL PROOF
OR
THE VALUE OF EVIDENCE
BY
R. OTTOLENGUI
AUTHOR OF "AN ARTIST IN CRIME," "A CONFLICT OF EVIDENCE,"
"THE CRIME OF THE CENTURY," ETC.
[Illustration]
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
1898
Copyright, 1898
BY
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
PREFATORY
The first meeting between Mr. Barnes, the detective, and Robert Leroy
Mitchel, the gentleman who imagines himself to be able to outdo
detectives in their own line of work, was fully set forth in the
narrative entitled _An Artist in Crime_. Subsequently the two men
occupied themselves with the solution of a startling murder mystery, the
details of which were recorded in _The Crime of the Century_. The
present volume contains the history of several cases which attracted
their attention in the interval between those already given to the
world, the first having occured shortly after the termination of the
events in _An Artist in Crime_, and the others in the order here given,
so that in a sense these stories are continuous and interdependent.
R. O.
CONTENTS
PAGE
I
THE PHOENIX OF CRIME 1
II
THE MISSING LINK 132
III
THE NAMELESS MAN 151
IV
THE MONTEZUMA EMERALD 169
V
A SINGULAR ABDUCTION 189
VI
THE AZTEC OPAL 210
VII
THE DUPLICATE HARLEQUIN 230
VIII
THE PEARLS OF ISIS 261
IX
A PROMISSORY NOTE 294
X
A NOVEL FORGERY 325
XI
A FROSTY MORNING 341
XII
A SHADOW OF PROOF 365
FINAL PROOF
OR
THE VALUE OF EVIDENCE
FINAL PROOF
I
THE PHOENIX OF CRIME
I
Mr. Mitchel was still at breakfast one morning, when the card of Mr.
Barnes was brought to him by his man Williams.
"Show Mr. Barnes in here," said he. "I imagine that he must be in a
hurry to see me, else he would not call so early."
A few minutes later the detective entered, saying:
"It is very kind of you to let me come in without waiting. I hope that I
am not intruding."
"Not at all. As to being kind, why I am kind to myself. I knew you must
have something interesting on hand to bring you around so early, and I
am proportionately curious; at the same time I hate to go without my
coffee, and I do not like to drink it too fast, especially good coffee,
and this is good, I assure you. Draw up and have a cup, for I observe
that you came off in such a hurry this morning that you did not get
any."
"Why, thank you, I will take some, but how do you know that I came off
in a hurry and had no coffee at home? It seems to me that if you can
tell that, you are becoming as clever as the famous Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh, no, indeed! You and I can hardly expect to be as shrewd as the
detectives of romance. As to my guessing that you have had no coffee,
that is not very troublesome. I notice three drops of milk on your coat,
and one on your shoe, from which I deduce, first, that you have | 1,421.977683 |
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_The_ SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL
BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.
Each 12mo, Cloth.
The Spirit of the School.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four Afloat.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four Afoot.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Four in Camp.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
On Your Mark.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
The Arrival of Jimpson.
Illustrated. $1.50.
Weatherby’s Inning.
Illustrated in Colors. $1.50.
Behind the Line.
Illustrated. $1.50.
Captain of the Crew.
Illustrated. $1.50.
For the Honor of the School.
Illustrated. $1.50.
The Half-Back.
Illustrated. $1.50.
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY, NEW YORK.
[Illustration: “A more harmless youth it would have been hard to find.”]
_The_
SPIRIT
OF THE SCHOOL
RALPH HENRY BARBOUR
Author of “The Half-Back,” “Weatherby’s Inning,”
“On Your Mark,” etc.
[Illustration]
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
NEW YORK
1907
Copyright, 1907, by
PERRY MASON COMPANY
Copyright, 1907, by
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
_Published, September, 1907_
TO
JOSEPH SHERMAN FORD
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I.--AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE IN A NEW RÔLE 1
II.--HANSEL DECLARES FOR REFORM 20
III.--MR. AMES TELLS A STORY 36
IV.--SCHOOL AGAINST TOWN 56
V.--HANSEL MEETS PHINEAS DORR 73
VI.--THE CAUSE GAINS A CONVERT 91
VII.--THE FIRST SKIRMISH 111
VIII.--MR. AMES STATES HIS POSITION 131
IX.--THE SECOND SKIRMISH 149
X.--HANSEL LEAVES THE TEAM 159
XI.--HANSEL MAKES A BARGAIN 176
XII.--THREE IN CONSPIRACY 191
XIII.--FAIRVIEW SENDS A PROTEST 216
XIV.--THE SPIRIT OF THE SCHOOL 241
XV.--THE GAME WITH FAIRVIEW 255
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS[*]
FACING
PAGE
“A more harmless youth it would have been hard to
find.” _Frontispiece_
“‘I am looking for Bert Middleton,’ he announced.” 12
“‘Play the game the best you can, and let me manage your
campaign.’” 108
“In place of his former attire was an immaculate suit of
evening dress.” 118
“He was beginning to be looked upon as ‘queer.’” 156
“‘Who do you think will win, sir?’ asked Phin.” 192
“‘Gee! I didn’t know I represented anything!’” 236
“Lockhard... was streaking around | 1,421.977838 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Jack and Jill in the Witch's House.]
MORE TALES
IN THE LAND OF
NURSERY RHYME
BY
ADA M. MARZIALS
AUTHOR OF
"IN THE LAND OF NURSERY RHYME"
WITH FRONTISPIECE
LONDON: H. R. ALLENSON, LIMITED
RACQUET COURT, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1913
TO
MY LITTLE COUSINS
KATHLEEN AND DOROTHY
CONTENTS
THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW
MARY, MARY, QUITE CONTRARY
JACK AND JILL
LITTLE MISS MUFFET
PUSSY CAT, PUSSY CAT
HEY, DIDDLE, DIDDLE!
THE NORTH WIND DOTH BLOW
"_Different people have different opinions_"
The North Wind doth blow,
And we shall have snow,
And what will the robin do then? Poor thing!
He will sit in a barn,
And to keep himself warm
He will hide his head under his wing. Poor thing!
Oh, how cold it was!
The North Wind howled round the barn, whirling the snowflakes into a
little heap inside the half-open door. Even beyond the little heap of
snow, right inside the barn among the whisps of hay and straw, and beyond
the pile of turnips piled up in one far corner, it was still bitterly
cold and draughty.
The few birds left had found their way into the old barn for shelter, and
were close together on a low bar of wood at the far end, where they sat
ruffling their feathers and shivering.
From time to time one of them would peer out at the leaden grey sky and
the falling snowflakes, and then hide its head under its wing again to
deaden the sound of the wind whistling through the crannies.
There were five of them.
A Robin, who had been blown in with the last gust of wind; a wretched
little Sparrow, who twittered helplessly from time to time, and then hid
her head ashamed at having been betrayed into such an exhibition of
weakness in public; an Owl, who, living habitually in the barn, regarded
the others with suspicion as intruders, and possibly thieves; and,
lastly, two queer Japanese birds, who had lived all the summer on the
ornamental lake in the garden.
These latter had been brought to the barn during the bad weather, as they
were considered too delicate to bear the stress of a really cold English
winter, and were looked down on and despised by the other birds as
foreigners. They were very shy, and crouched side by side in one corner,
never venturing a remark unless first spoken to. The Robin, though he
was the latest comer, had, by reason of his cheery good-nature, and a
certain perky self-confidence, already gained for himself a position as
leader among the other birds. Even the old Owl blinked and winked
occasionally at his jokes, and the Sparrow was soon reduced to a helpless
state of twittering giggles. But laughing will not keep you warm, and at
last even the Robin was forced to confess that he had never been colder
in his life; and what was the use of thinking of all the plum-puddings
and mince pies and bread crumbs and holly-berries in the world, when you
were feeling as though you had not a feather on your body to bless
yourself with!
"I wish I could make the snow stop somehow," he said. "It is all very
well for Mother Goose to go on plucking out feathers up there, but she
does not help to make _us_ any warmer."
"Pooh!" said the Owl, who had lately condescended to join in the
conversation. "Who told you all that rubbish about Mother Goose? Why,
the snow has no more to do with Mother Goose than I have!... Mother
Goose, indeed!" and she blinked twice, just to show that she could tell
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HEART OF MAN
BY
GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY
COPYRIGHT 1899,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
1899
"Deep in the general heart of man"
--WORDSWORTH
TO THE MEMORY OF
EUGENE MONTGOMERY
MY FRIEND
DEAR WAS HIS PRAISE, AND PLEASANT 'TWERE TO ME,
ON WHOSE FAR GRAVE TO-NIGHT THE DEEP SNOWS DRIFT;
IT NEEDS NOT NOW; TOGETHER WE SHALL SEE
HOW HIGH CHRIST'S LILIES O'ER MAN'S LAURELS LIFT
February 18, 1899.
PREFACE
OF the papers contained in this volume
"Taormina" was published in the _Century
Magazine_; the others are new. The intention
of the author was to illustrate how poetry, politics,
and religion are the flowering of the same
human spirit, and have their feeding roots in
a common soil, "deep in the general heart of
men."
COLUMBIA COLLEGE,
February 22, 1809.
CONTENTS
TAORMINA
A NEW DEFENCE OF POETRY
DEMOCRACY
THE RIDE
TAORMINA
I
What should there be in the glimmering lights of a poor fishing-village
to fascinate me? Far below, a mile perhaps, I behold them in the
darkness and the storm like some phosphorescence of the beach; I see the
pale tossing of the surf beside them; I hear the continuous roar borne
up and softened about these heights; and this is night at Taormina.
There is a weirdness in the scene--the feeling without the reality of
mystery; and at evening, I know not why, I cannot sleep without stepping
upon the terrace or peering through the panes to see those lights. At
morning the charm has flown from the shore to the further heights above
me. I glance at the vast banks of southward-lying cloud that envelop
Etna, like deep fog upon the ocean; and then, inevitably, my eyes seek
the double summit of the Taorminian mountain, rising nigh at hand a
thousand feet, almost sheer, less | 1,421.981233 |
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LIFE OF NAPOLEON
POCKET EDITION
VOL. I.
[Illustration: NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
1802]
LIFE OF
NAPOLEON BONAPARTE
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
VOL. I.
[Illustration: Napoleons Logement Qua Cont]
EDINBURGH; A. & C. BLACK.
1876
ADVERTISEMENT
The extent and purpose of this Work, have, in the course of its
progress, gradually but essentially changed from what the Author
originally proposed. It was at first intended merely as a brief and
popular abstract of the life of the most wonderful man, and the most
extraordinary events, of the last thirty years; in short, to emulate the
concise yet most interesting history of the great British Admiral, by
the Poet-Laureate of Britain.[1] The Author was partly induced to
undertake the task, by having formerly drawn up for a periodical
work--"The Edinburgh Annual Register"--the history of the two great
campaigns of 1814 and 1815; and three volumes were the compass assigned
to the proposed work. An introductory volume, giving a general account
of the Rise and Progress of the French Revolution, was thought
necessary; and the single volume, on a theme of such extent, soon
swelled into two.
As the Author composed under an anonymous title, he could neither seek
nor expect information from those who had been actively engaged in the
changeful scenes which he was attempting to record; nor was his object
more ambitious than that of compressing and arranging such information
as the ordinary authorities afforded. Circumstances, however,
unconnected with the undertaking, induced him to lay aside an
_incognito_, any farther attempt to preserve which must have been
considered as affectation; and since his having done so, he has been
favoured with access to some valuable materials, most of which have now,
for the first time, seen the light. For these he refers to the Appendix
at the close of the Work, where the reader will find several articles of
novelty and interest. Though not at liberty, in every case, to mention
the quarter from which his information has been derived, the Author has
been careful not to rely upon any which did not come from sufficient
authority. He has neither grubbed for anecdotes in the libels and
private scandal of the time, nor has he solicited information from
individuals who could not be impartial witnesses in the facts to which
they gave evidence. Yet the various public documents and private
information which he has received, have much enlarged his stock of
materials, and increased the whole work to more than twice the size
originally intended.
On the execution of his task, it becomes the Author to be silent. He is
aware it must exhibit many faults; but he claims credit for having
brought to the undertaking a mind disposed to do his subject as
impartial justice as his judgment could supply. He will be found no
enemy to the person of Napoleon. The term of hostility is ended when the
battle has been won, and the foe exists no longer. His splendid personal
qualities--his great military actions and political services to
France--will not, it is hoped, be found depreciated in the narrative.
Unhappily, the Author's task involved a duty of another kind, the
discharge of which is due to France, to Britain, to Europe, and to the
world. If the general system of Napoleon has rested upon force or fraud,
it is neither the greatness of his talents, nor the success of his
undertakings, that ought to stifle the voice or dazzle the eyes of him
who adventures to be his historian. The reasons, however, are carefully
summed up where the Author has presumed to express a favourable or
unfavourable opinion of the distinguished person of whom these volumes
treat; so that each reader may judge of their validity for himself.
The name, by an original error of the press, which proceeded too far
before it was discovered, has been printed with a _u_,--Buonaparte
instead of Bonaparte. Both spellings were indifferently adopted in the
family; but Napoleon always used the last,[2] and had an unquestionable
right to choose the orthography which he preferred.
EDINBURGH, _7th June, 1827._
ADVERTISEMENT TO EDITION 1834.
Sir Walter Scott left two interleaved copies of his LIFE OF NAPOLEON, in
both of which his executors have found various corrections of the text,
and additional notes. They were directed by his testament to take care,
that, in case a new edition of the work were called for, the annotations
of it might be completed in the fashion here adopted, dates and other
marginal elucidations regularly introduced, and the text itself,
wherever there appeared any redundancy of statement, abridged. With
these instructions, except the last, the Editor has now endeavoured to
comply.[3]
"Walter Scott," says Goëthe, "passed his childhood among the stirring
scenes of the American War, and was a youth of seventeen or eighteen
when the French Revolution broke out. Now well advanced in the fifties,
having all along been favourably placed for observation, he proposes to
lay before us his views and recollections of the important events
through which he has lived. The richest, the easiest, the most
celebrated narrator of the century, undertakes to write the history of
his own time.
"What expectations the announcement of such a work must have excited in
me, will be understood by any one who remembers that I, twenty years
older than Scott, conversed with Paoli in the twentieth year of my age,
and with Napoleon himself in the sixtieth.
"Through that long series of years, coming more or less into contact
with the great doings of the world, I failed not to think seriously on
what was passing around me, and, after my own fashion, to connect so
many extraordinary mutations into something like arrangement and
interdependence.
"What could now be more delightful to me than leisurely and calmly to
sit down and listen to the discourse of such a man, while clearly,
truly, and with all the skill of a great artist, he recalls to me the
incidents on which through life I have meditated, and the influence of
which is still daily in operation?"--Goëthe's _Posthumous Works_, vol.
vi., p. 253.
Sed non in Cæsare tantum
Nomen erat, nec fama ducis; sed nescia virtus
Stare loco: solusque pudor non vincere bello.
Acer et indomitus; quo spes quoque ira vocasset,
Ferre manum, et nunquam temerando parcere ferro:
Successus urgere suos: instare favori
Numinis: impellens quicquid sibi summa petenti
Obstaret: gaudensque viam fecisse ruina.
LUCANI, _Pharsalia_, Lib. I.[4]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Southey's _Life of Nelson_, 2 vols. fcap. 8vo. 1813.
[2] Barras, in his official account of the affair of the 13th
Vendémiaire, (Oct. 5, 1795,) calls him General _Buonaparte_; and in the
contract of marriage between Napoleon and Josephine, still existing in
the registry of the second arrondissement of Paris, dated March 9, 1796,
his signature is so written. No document has ever been produced, in
which the word appears as _Bonaparte_, prior to Napoleon's appointment
to the command of the Army of Italy.
[3] [Sir Walter Scott's Notes have the letter S affixed to them, all of
the others having been collected by the Editor of the 1843 Edition.]
[4]
"But Cæsar's greatness, and his strength, was more
Than past renown and antiquated power;
'Twas not the fame of what he once had been,
Or tales in old records and annals seen;
But 'twas a valour restless, unconfined,
Which no success could sate, nor limits bind;
'Twas shame, a soldier's shame, untaught to yield,
That blush'd for nothing but an ill-fought field;
Fierce in his hopes he was, nor knew to stay
Where vengeance or ambition led the way;
Still prodigal of war whene'er withstood,
Nor spared to stain the guilty sword with blood;
Urging advantage, he improved all odds,
And made the most of fortune and the gods;
Pleased to o'erturn whate'er withheld his prize,
And saw the ruin with rejoicing eyes."--ROWE.
CONTENTS
VIEW OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
PAGE
CHAP. I.--Review of the state of Europe after the Peace of
Versailles--England--France--Spain--Prussia--Imprudent Innovations
of the Emperor Joseph--Disturbances in his
Dominions--Russia--France--Her ancient System of Monarchy--how
organised--Causes of its Decay--Decay of the Nobility as a body--The
new Nobles--The Country Nobles--The Nobles of the highest Order--The
Church--The higher Orders of the Clergy--The lower Orders--The
Commons--Their increase in Power and Importance--Their Claims
opposed to those of the Privileged Classes, 1
CHAP. II.--State of France continued--State of Public Opinion--Men
of Letters encouraged by the Great--Disadvantages attending this
Patronage--Licentious tendency of the French Literature--Their
Irreligious and Infidel Opinions--Free Opinions on Politics
permitted to be expressed in an abstract and speculative, but not in
a practical Form--Disadvantages arising from the Suppression of Free
Discussion--Anglomania--Share of France in the American
War--Disposition of the Troops who returned from America, 22
CHAP. III.--Proximate Cause of the Revolution--Deranged State of the
Finances--Reforms in the Royal Household--System of Turgot and
Necker--Necker's Exposition of the State of the Public Revenue--The
Red-Book--Necker displaced--Succeeded by Calonne--General State of
the Revenue--Assembly of the Notables--Calonne dismissed--Archbishop
of Sens Administrator of the Finances--The King's Contest with the
Parliament--Bed of Justice--Resistance of the Parliament and general
Disorder in the Kingdom--Vacillating Policy of the Minister--Royal
Sitting--Scheme of forming a Cour Plénière--It proves
ineffectual--Archbishop of Sens retires, and is succeeded by
Necker--He resolves to convoke the States-General--Second Assembly
of Notables previous to Convocation of the States--Questions as to
the Numbers of which the Tiers Etat should consist, and the Mode in
which the Estates should deliberate, 39
CHAP. IV.--Meeting of the States-General--Predominant Influence of
the Tiers Etat--Property not represented sufficiently in that
Body--General character of the Members--Disposition of the Estate of
the Nobles--And of the Clergy--Plan of forming the Three Estates
into two Houses--Its advantages--It fails--The Clergy unite with the
Tiers Etat, which assumes the title of the National Assembly--They
assume the task of Legislation, and declare all former Fiscal
Regulations illegal--They assert their determination to continue
their Sessions--Royal Sitting--Terminates in the Triumph of the
Assembly--Parties in that Body--Mounier--Constitutionalists--
Republicans--Jacobins--Orleans, 58
CHAP. V.--Plan of the Democrats to bring the King and Assembly to
Paris--Banquet of the Garde du Corps--Riot at Paris--A formidable
Mob of Women assemble to march to Versailles--The National Guard
refuse to act against the Insurgents, and demand also to be led to
Versailles--The Female Mob arrive--Their behaviour to the
Assembly--To the King--Alarming Disorders at Night--La Fayette
arrives with the National Guard--Mob force the Palace--Murder the
Body Guards--The Queen's safety endangered--Fayette's arrival with
his Force restores Order--Royal Family obliged to go to reside at
Paris--The Procession--This Step agreeable to the Views of the
Constitutionalists, Republicans, and Anarchists--Duke of Orleans
sent to England, 88
CHAP. VI.--La Fayette resolves to enforce order--A Baker is murdered
by the Rabble--One of his Murderers executed--Decree imposing
Martial Law--Introduction of the Doctrines of Equality--They are in
their exaggerated sense inconsistent with Human Nature and the
progress of Society--The Assembly abolish titles of Nobility,
Armorial bearings, and phrases of Courtesy--Reasoning on these
Innovations--Disorder of Finance--Necker becomes unpopular--Seizure
of Church lands--Issue of Assignats--Necker leaves France in
unpopularity--New Religious Institution--Oath imposed on the
Clergy--Resisted by the greater part of the Order--General View of
the operations of the Constituent Assembly--Enthusiasm of the People
for their new Privileges--Limited Privileges of the Crown--King is
obliged to dissemble--His Negotiations with Mirabeau--With
Bouillé--Attack on the Palace--Prevented by Fayette--Royalists
expelled from the Tuileries--Escape of Louis--He is captured at
Varennes--Brought back to Paris--Riot in the Champ de Mars--Louis
accepts the Constitution, 102
CHAP. VII.--Legislative Assembly--Its Composition--Constitutionalists--
Girondists or Brissotins--Jacobins--Views and Sentiments of Foreign
Nations--England--Views of the Tories and Whigs--Anacharsis
Clootz--Austria--Prussia--Russia--Sweden--Emigration of the French
Princes and Clergy--Increasing Unpopularity of Louis from this
Cause--Death of the Emperor Leopold, and its Effects--France
declares War--Views and Interests of the different Parties in France
at this Period--Decree against Monsieur--Louis interposes his
Veto--Decree against the Priests who should refuse the
Constitutional Oath--Louis again interposes his Veto--Consequences
of these Refusals--Fall of De Lessart--Ministers now chosen from the
Brissotins--All Parties favourable to War, 128
CHAP. VIII.--Defeats of the French on the Frontier--Decay of
Constitutionalists--They form the Club of Feuillans, and are
dispersed by the Jacobins--The Ministry--Dumouriez--Breach of
confidence betwixt the King and his Ministers--Dissolution of the
King's Constitutional Guard--Extravagant measures of the
Jacobins--Alarms of the Girondists--Departmental Army proposed--King
puts his Veto on the decree, against Dumouriez's
representations--Decree against the recusant Priests--King refuses
it--Letter of the Ministers to the King--He dismisses Roland,
Clavière, and Servan--Dumouriez, Duranton, and Lacoste, appointed in
their stead--King ratifies the decree concerning the Departmental
Army--Dumouriez resigns, and departs for the Frontiers--New
Ministers named from the Constitutionalists--Insurrection of 20th
June--Armed Mob intrude into the Assembly--Thence into the
Tuileries--La Fayette repairs to Paris--Remonstrates in favour of
the King--But is compelled to return to the Frontiers--Marseillois
appear in Paris--Duke of Brunswick's manifesto, 152
CHAP. IX.--The Day of the Tenth of August--Tocsin sounded early in
the Morning--Swiss Guards, and relics of the Royal Party, repair to
the Tuileries--Mandat assassinated--Dejection of Louis, and energy
of the Queen--King's Ministers appear at the Bar of the Assembly,
stating the peril of the Royal Family, and requesting a Deputation
might be sent to the Palace--Assembly pass to the Order of the
Day--Louis and his Family repair to the Assembly--Conflict at the
Tuileries--Swiss ordered to repair to the King's Person--and are
many of them shot and dispersed on their way to the Assembly--At the
close of the Day almost all of them are massacred--Royal Family
spend the Night in the Convent of the Feuillans, 172
CHAP. X.--La Fayette compelled to Escape from France--Is made
Prisoner by the Prussians, with three Companions--Reflections--The
Triumvirate, Danton, Robespierre, and Marat--Revolutionary Tribunal
appointed--Stupor of the Legislative Assembly--Longwy, Stenay, and
Verdun, taken by the Prussians--Mob of Paris enraged--Great Massacre
of Prisoners in Paris, commencing on the 2d, and ending 6th
September--Apathy of the Assembly during and after these
Events--Review of its Causes, 182
CHAP. XI.--Election of Representatives for the National
Convention--Jacobins are very active--Right hand Party--Left hand
side--Neutral Members--The Girondists are in possession of the
ostensible Power--They denounce the Jacobin Chiefs, but in an
irregular and feeble manner--Marat, Robespierre, and Danton,
supported by the Commune and Populace of Paris--France declared a
Republic--Duke of Brunswick's Campaign--Neglects the French
Emigrants--Is tardy in his Operations--Occupies the poorest part of
Champagne--His Army becomes sickly--Prospects of a
Battle--Dumouriez's Army recruited with Carmagnoles--The Duke
resolves to Retreat--Thoughts on the consequences of that
measure--The retreat disastrous--The Emigrants disbanded in a great
measure--Reflections on their Fate--The Prince of Condé's Army, 199
CHAP. XII.--Jacobins determine upon the Execution of Louis--Progress
and Reasons of the King's Unpopularity--Girondists taken by
surprise, by a proposal for the Abolition of Royalty made by the
Jacobins--Proposal carried--Thoughts on the New System of
Government--Compared with that of Rome, Greece, America, and other
Republican States--Enthusiasm throughout France at the
Change--Follies it gave birth to--And Crimes--Monuments of Art
destroyed--Madame Roland interposes to save the Life of the
King--Barrère--Girondists move for a Departmental
Legion--Carried--Revoked--and Girondists defeated--The Authority of
the Community of Paris paramount even over the Convention--Documents
of the Iron-Chest--Parallel betwixt Charles I. and Louis
XVI.--Motion by Pétion, that the King should be Tried before the
Convention, 208
CHAP. XIII.--THE TRIAL OF LOUIS--Indecision of the Girondists, and
its Effects--The Royal Family insulted by the Agents of the
Community--The King deprived of his Son's society--The King brought
to Trial before the Convention--His First Examination--Carried back
to Prison amidst Insult and Abuse--Tumult in the Assembly--The King
deprived of Intercourse with his Family--Malesherbes appointed as
Counsel to defend the King--and De Seze--Louis again brought before
the Convention--Opening Speech of De Seze--King remanded to the
Temple--Stormy Debate--Eloquent attack of Vergniaud on the
Jacobins--Sentence of DEATH pronounced against the King--General
Sympathy for his Fate--Dumouriez arrives in Paris--Vainly tries to
avert the King's Fate--LOUIS XVI. BEHEADED on 21st January,
1793--MARIE ANTOINETTE on the 16th October thereafter--The Princess
ELIZABETH in May 1794--The Dauphin perishes, by cruelty, June 8th,
1795--The Princess Royal exchanged for La Fayette, 19th December,
1795, 236
CHAP. XIV.--Dumouriez--His displeasure at the Treatment of the
Flemish Provinces by the Convention--His projects in
consequence--Gains the ill-will of his Army--and is forced to fly to
the Austrian Camp--Lives many years in retreat, and finally dies in
England--Struggles betwixt the Girondists and Jacobins--Robespierre
impeaches the Leaders of the Girondists, and is denounced by
them--Decree of Accusation against Marat--Commission of
Twelve--Marat acquitted--Terror of the Girondists--Jacobins prepare
to attack the Palais Royal, but are repulsed--Repair to the
Convention, who recall the Commission of Twelve--Louvet and other
Girondist Leaders Fly from Paris--Convention go forth in procession
to expostulate with the People--Forced back to their Hall, and
compelled to Decree the Accusation of Thirty of their
Body--Girondists finally ruined--and their principal Leaders
perish--Close of their History, 258
CHAP. XV.--Views of Parties in Britain relative to the
Revolution--Affiliated Societies--Counterpoised by Aristocratic
Associations--Aristocratic Party eager for War with France--The
French proclaim the Navigation of the Scheldt--British Ambassador
recalled from Paris, and French Envoy no longer accredited in
London--France declares War against England--British Army sent to
Holland, under the Duke of York--State of the Army--View of the
Military Positions of France--in Flanders--on the Rhine--in
Piedmont--Savoy--on the Pyrenees--State of the War in La
Vendée--Description of the Country--Le Bocage--Le Louroux--Close
Union betwixt the Nobles and Peasantry--Both strongly attached to
Royalty, and abhorrent of the Revolution--The Priests--The Religion
of the Vendéans outraged by the Convention--A general Insurrection
takes place in 1793--Military Organisation and Habits of the
Vendéans--Division in the British Cabinet on the Mode of conducting
the War--Pitt--Wyndham--Reasoning upon the subject--Vendéans
defeated--They defeat, in their turn, the French Troops at
Laval--But are ultimately destroyed and dispersed--Unfortunate
Expedition to Quiberon--La Charette defeated and executed, and the
War of La Vendée finally terminated--Unsuccessful Resistance of
Bourdeaux, Marseilles, and Lyons, to the Convention--Siege of
Lyons--Its Surrender and dreadful Punishment--Siege of Toulon, 274
CHAP. XVI.--Views of the British Cabinet regarding the French
Revolution--Extraordinary Situation of France--Explanation of the
Anomaly which it exhibited--System of Terror--Committee of Public
Safety--Of Public Security--David the Painter--Law against Suspected
Persons--Revolutionary Tribunal--Effects of the Emigration of the
Princes and Nobles--Causes of the Passiveness of the French People
under the Tyranny of the Jacobins--Singular Address of the Committee
of Public Safety--General Reflections, 307
CHAP. XVII.--Marat, Danton, Robespierre--Marat poniarded--Danton and
Robespierre become Rivals--Commune of Paris--their gross
Irreligion--Gobel--Goddess of Reason--Marriage reduced to a Civil
Contract--Views of Danton--and of Robespierre--Principal Leaders of
the Commune arrested--and Nineteen of them executed--Danton arrested
by the influence of Robespierre--and, along with Camille Desmoulins,
Westermann, and La Croix, taken before the Revolutionary Tribunal,
condemned, and executed--Decree issued, on the motion of
Robespierre, acknowledging a Supreme Being--Cécilée
Regnault--Gradual Change in the Public Mind--Robespierre becomes
unpopular--Makes every effort to retrieve his power--Stormy Debate
in the Convention--Collot D'Herbois, Tallien, &c., expelled from the
Jacobin Club at the instigation of Robespierre--Robespierre
denounced in the Convention on the 9th Thermidor, (27th July, 1794,)
and, after furious struggles, arrested, along with his brother,
Couthon, and Saint Just--Henriot, Commandant of the National Guard,
arrested--Terrorists take refuge in the Hotel de Ville--Attempt
their own lives--Robespierre wounds himself--but lives, along with
most of the others, long enough to be carried to the Guillotine, and
executed--His character--Struggles that followed his Fate--Final
Destruction of the Jacobinical System--and return of
Tranquillity--Singular colour given to Society in Paris--Ball of the
Victims, 321
CHAP. XVIII.--Retrospective View of the External Relations of
France--Her great Military Successes--Whence they arose--Effect of
the Compulsory Levies--Military Genius and Character of the
French--French Generals--New Mode of Training the Troops--Light
Troops--Successive Attacks in Column--Attachment of the Soldiers to
the Revolution--Also of the Generals--Carnot--Effect of the French
principles preached to the Countries invaded by their Arms--Close of
the Revolution with the fall of Robespierre--Reflections upon what
was to succeed, 364
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
VIEW OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.
_Review of the state of Europe after the Peace of
Versailles--England--France--Spain--Prussia--Imprudent
Innovations of the Emperor Joseph--Disturbances in his
Dominions--Russia--France--Her ancient System of Monarchy--how
organized--Causes of its Decay--Decay of the Nobility as a
body--The new Nobles--The Country Nobles--The Nobles of the
highest Order--The Church--The higher Orders of the Clergy--The
lower Orders--The Commons--Their increase in Power and
Importance--Their Claims opposed to those of the Privileged
Classes._
When we look back on past events, however important, it is difficult to
| 1,422.080546 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.1532920 | 1,710 | 14 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
BOB, SON OF BATTLE
By Alfred Ollivant
CONTENTS
PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
Chapter I. The Gray Dog
Chapter II. A Son of Hagar
Chapter III. Red Wull
Chapter IV. First Blood
PART II THE LITTLE MAN
Chapter V. A Man's Son
Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie
Chapter VII. The White Winter
Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat
PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
Chapter IX. Rivals,
Chapter X. Red Wull Wins
Chapter XI. Oor Bob,
Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge
Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame
PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
Chapter XIV. A Mad Man
Chapter XV. Death on the Marches,
Chapter XVI. The Black Killer
Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog
Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed
Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass
Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String
Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness
PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid
Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un
Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night
Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy.
PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
Chapter XXVI. Red-handed
Chapter XXVII. For the Defence
Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl
Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl
Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay
Postscript
PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and low
in the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn,
relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashed
outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks.
In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men were
thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stood
perched on a ladder at a lower level.
The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was Tammas
Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half a
century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomy
meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--man, he, with huge hands and
hairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and
on his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
"Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!" the old man was saying. "Yo' canna beat
'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niver
knew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rex
son o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since his
day."
"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily.
Tammas clucked irritably.
"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'
yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor
young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as
what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l
Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex.
I mind me hoo--"
The big man interposed hurriedly.
"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave," he said.
Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply. "And
what have yo' heard afore?"
"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally."
"Which on' em
"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded.
The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on
yo' bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver
agin, says I."
"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l.
"Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had," said the other
viciously. "I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a
hunderd."
"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it," said
Sam'l brutally.
"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with spirit.
"I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."
"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver spake a
true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near run
or I'm the more mistook."
"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with
suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he whispered.
"Here's Master and oor Bob."
As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,
austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into
the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest
eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheon
of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, with
a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitably
graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you could
not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing
his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery
brush.
"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face
beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep,
yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather,
soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver
goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally."
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', | 1,422.173332 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.1748350 | 4,623 | 92 |
E-text prepared by Annie McGuire, Suzanne Shell, and the Project Gutenberg
Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
[Illustration: Book Cover]
THE BISHOP'S SECRET
by
FERGUS HUME,
Author of "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab," "For the Defense," "The
Harlequin Opal," "The Girl from Malta," Etc.
Chicago and New York:
Rand, McNally & Company,
Publishers.
Copyright, 1900, by Rand, McNally & Co.
Copyright, 1906, by Rand, McNally & Co.
PREFACE.
In his earlier works, notably in "The Mystery of a Hansom Cab" and "The
Silent House in Pimlico," Mr. Hume won a reputation second to none for
plot of the stirring, ingenious, misleading, and finally surprising
kind, and for working out his plot in vigorous and picturesque English.
In "The Bishop's Secret," while there is no falling off in plot and
style, there is a welcome and marvelous broadening out as to the cast of
characters, representing an unusually wide range of typical men and
women. These are not laboriously described by the author, but are made
to reveal themselves in action and speech in a way that has, for the
reader, all the charm of personal intercourse with living people.
Mr. Hume's treatment of the peculiar and exclusive ecclesiastical
society of a small English cathedral city is quite worthy of Anthony
Trollope, and his leading character, Bishop Pendle, is equal to
Trollope's best bishop. The Reverend Mr. Cargrim, the Bishop's poor and
most unworthy protege, is a meaner Uriah Heep. Mrs. Pansey is the
embodiment of all shrewishness, and yields unlimited amusement. The
Gypsies are genuine--such as George Borrow, himself, would have pictured
them--not the ignorant caricatures so frequently drawn by writers too
lazy to study their subject.
Besides these types, there are several which seem to have had no exact
prototypes in preceding fiction. Such are Doctor Graham, "The Man with a
Scar," the Mosk family--father, mother, and daughter--Gabriel Pendle,
Miss Winchello, and, last but not least, Mr. Baltic--a detective so
unique in character and methods as to make Conan Doyle turn green with
envy.
All in all, this story is so rich in the essential elements of worthy
fiction--in characterization, exciting adventure, suggestions of the
marvelous, wit, humor, pathos, and just enough of tragedy--that it is
offered to the American public in all confidence that it will be
generally and heartily welcomed.
THE PUBLISHERS.
CHAPTER I
'ENTER MRS PANSEY AS CHORUS'
Of late years an anonymous mathematician has declared that in the
British Isles the female population is seven times greater than the
male; therefore, in these days is fulfilled the scriptural prophecy that
seven women shall lay hold of one man and entreat to be called by his
name. Miss Daisy Norsham, a veteran Belgravian spinster, decided, after
some disappointing seasons, that this text was particularly applicable
to London. Doubtful, therefore, of securing a husband at the rate of one
chance in seven, or dissatisfied at the prospect of a seventh share in a
man, she resolved upon trying her matrimonial fortunes in the country.
She was plain, this lady, as she was poor; nor could she rightly be said
to be in the first flush of maidenhood. In all matters other than that
of man-catching she was shallow past belief. Still, she did hope, by
dint of some brisk campaigning in the diocese of Beorminster, to capture
a whole man unto herself.
Her first step was to wheedle an invitation out of Mrs Pansey, an
archdeacon's widow--then on a philanthropic visit to town--and she
arrived, towards the end of July, in the pleasant cathedral city of
Beorminster, in time to attend a reception at the bishop's palace. Thus
the autumn manoeuvres of Miss Norsham opened most auspiciously.
Mrs Pansey, with whom this elderly worshipper of Hymen had elected to
stay during her visit, was a gruff woman, with a scowl, who 'looked all
nose and eyebrows.' Few ecclesiastical matrons were so well known in
the diocese of Beorminster as was Mrs Pansey; not many, it must be
confessed, were so ardently hated, for there were few pies indeed in
which this dear lady had not a finger; few keyholes through which her
eye did not peer. Her memory and her tongue, severally and combined, had
ruined half the reputations in the county. In short, she was a renowned
social bully, and like most bullies she gained her ends by scaring the
lives out of meeker and better-bred people than herself. These latter
feared her'scenes' as she rejoiced in them, and as she knew the pasts
of her friends from their cradle upwards, she usually contrived, by a
pitiless use of her famous memory, to put to rout anyone so ill-advised
as to attempt a stand against her domineering authority. When her tall,
gaunt figure--invariably arrayed in the blackest of black silks--was
sighted in a room, those present either scuttled out of the way or
judiciously held their peace, for everyone knew Mrs Pansey's talent for
twisting the simplest observation into some evil shape calculated to get
its author into trouble. She excelled in this particular method of
making mischief. Possessed of ample means and ample leisure, both of
these helped her materially to build up her reputation of a
philanthropic bully. She literally swooped down upon the poor, taking
one and all in charge to be fed, physicked, worked and guided according
to her own ideas. In return for benefits conferred, she demanded an
unconditional surrender of free will. Nobody was to have an opinion but
Mrs Pansey; nobody knew what was good for them unless their ideas
coincided with those of their patroness--which they never did. Mrs
Pansey had never been a mother, yet, in her own opinion, there was
nothing about children she did not know. She had not studied medicine,
therefore she dubbed the doctors a pack of fools, saying she could cure
where they failed. Be they tinkers, tailors, soldiers, sailors, Mrs
Pansey invariably knew more about their vocations than they themselves
did or were ever likely to do. In short, this celebrated lady--for her
reputation was more than local--was what the American so succinctly
terms a'she-boss'; and in a less enlightened age she would indubitably
have been ducked in the Beorflete river as a meddlesome, scolding,
clattering jade. Indeed, had anyone been so brave as to ignore the
flight of time and thus suppress her, the righteousness of the act would
most assuredly have remained unquestioned.
Now, as Miss Norsham wanted, for her own purposes, to 'know the ropes,'
she was fortunate to come within the gloom of Mrs Pansey's silken robes.
For Mrs Pansey certainly knew everyone, if she did not know everything,
and whomsoever she chaperoned had to be received by Beorminster society,
whether Beorminster society liked it or not. All _protegees_ of Mrs
Pansey sheltered under the aegis of her terrible reputation, and woe to
the daring person who did not accept them as the most charming, the
cleverest, and in every way the most desirable of their sex. But in the
memory of man, no one had ever sustained battle against Mrs Pansey, and
so this feminine Selkirk remained monarch of all she surveyed, and ruled
over a community consisting mainly of canons, vicars and curates, with
their respective wives and offsprings. There were times when her
subjects made use of language not precisely ecclesiastic, and not
infrequently Mrs Pansey's name was mentally included in the Commination
Service.
Thus it chanced that Daisy, the spinster, found herself in Mrs Pansey's
carriage on her way to the episcopalian reception, extremely well
pleased with herself, her dress, her position, and her social guardian
angel. The elder lady was impressively gloomy in her usual black silk,
fashioned after the early Victorian mode, when elegance invariably gave
place to utility. Her headgear dated back to the later Georgian epoch.
It consisted mainly of a gauze turban twinkling with jet ornaments. Her
bosom was defended by a cuirass of cold-looking steel beads, finished
off at the throat by a gigantic brooch, containing the portrait and hair
of the late archdeacon. Her skirts were lengthy and voluminous, so that
they swept the floor with a creepy rustle like the frou-frou of a
brocaded spectre. She wore black silk mittens, and on either bony wrist
a band of black velvet clasped with a large cameo set hideously in pale
gold. Thus attired--a veritable caricature by Leech--this survival of a
prehistoric age sat rigidly upright and mangled the reputations of all
and sundry.
Miss Norsham, in all but age, was very modern indeed. Her neck was lean;
her arms were thin. She made up for lack of quality by display of
quantity. In her _decollete_ costume she appeared as if composed of
bones and diamonds. The diamonds represented the bulk of Miss Norsham's
wealth, and she used them not only for the adornment of her uncomely
person, but for the deception of any possible suitor into the belief
that she was well dowered. She affected gauzy fabrics and fluttering
baby ribbons, so that her dress was as the fleecy flakes of snow
clinging to a well-preserved ruin.
For the rest she had really beautiful eyes, a somewhat elastic mouth,
and a straight nose well powdered to gloss over its chronic redness. Her
teeth were genuine and she cultivated what society novelists term
silvery peals of laughter. In every way she accentuated or obliterated
nature in her efforts to render herself attractive.
Ichabod was writ large on her powdered brow, and it needed no great
foresight to foresee the speedy approach of acidulated spinsterhood.
But, to do her justice, this regrettable state of single blessedness was
far from being her own fault. If her good fortune had but equalled her
courage and energy she should have relinquished celibacy years ago.
'Oh, dear--dear Mrs Pansey,' said the younger lady, strong in adjectives
and interjections and reduplication of both, 'is the bishop very, very
sweet?'
'He's sweet enough as bishops go,' growled Mrs Pansey, in her deep-toned
voice. 'He might be better, and he might be worse. There is too much
Popish superstition and worship of idols about him for my taste. If the
departed can smell,' added the lady, with an illustrative sniff, 'the
late archdeacon must turn in his grave when those priests of Baal and
Dagon burn incense at the morning service. Still, Bishop Pendle has his
good points, although he _is_ a time-server and a sycophant.'
'Is he one of the Lancashire Pendles, dear Mrs Pansey?'
'A twenty-fifth cousin or thereabouts. He says he is a nearer relation,
but I know much more about it than he does. If you want an ornamental
bishop with good legs for gaiters, and a portly figure for an apron, Dr
Pendle's the man. But as a God-fearing priest' (with a groan), 'a
simple worshipper' (groan) 'and a lowly, repentant sinner' (groan), 'he
leaves much--much to be desired.'
'Oh, Mrs Pansey, the dear bishop a sinner?'
'Why not?' cried Mrs Pansey, ferociously; 'aren't we all miserable
sinners? Dr Pendle's a human worm, just as you are--as I am. You may
dress him in lawn sleeves and a mitre, and make pagan genuflections
before his throne, but he is only a worm for all that.'
'What about his wife?' asked Daisy, to avert further expansion of this
text.
'A poor thing, my dear, with a dilated heart and not as much blood in
her body as would fill a thimble. She ought to be in a hospital, and
would be, too, if I had my way. Lolling all day long on a sofa, and
taking glasses of champagne between doses of iron and extract of beef;
then giving receptions and wearing herself out. How he ever came to
marry the white-faced doll I can't imagine. She was a Mrs Creagth when
she caught him.'
'Oh, really! a widow?'
'Of course, of course. You don't suppose she's a bigamist even though
he's a fool, do you?' and the eyebrows went up and down in the most
alarming manner. 'The bishop--he was a London curate then--married her
some eight-and-twenty years ago, and I daresay he has repented of it
ever since. They have three children--George' (with a whisk of her fan
at the mention of each name), 'who is a good-looking idiot in a line
regiment; Gabriel, a curate as white-faced as his mother, and no doubt
afflicted as she is with heart trouble. He was in Whitechapel, but his
father put him in a curacy here--it was sheer nepotism. Then there is
Lucy; she is the best of the bunch, which is not saying much. They've
engaged her to young Sir Harry Brace, and now they are giving this
reception to celebrate having inveigled him into the match.'
'Engaged?' sighed the fair Daisy, enviously. 'Oh, do tell me if this
girl is really, really pretty.'
'Humph,' said the eyebrows, 'a pale, washed-out rag of a creature--but
what can you expect from such a mother? No brains, no style, no
conversation; always a simpering, weak-eyed rag baby. Oh, my dear, what
fools men are!'
'Ah, you may well say that, dear Mrs Pansey,' assented the spinster,
thinking wrathfully of this unknown girl who had succeeded where she had
failed. 'Is it a very, very good match?'
'Ten thousand a year and a fine estate, my dear. Sir Harry is a nice
young fellow, but a fool. An absentee landlord, too,' grumbled Mrs
Pansey, resentfully. 'Always running over the world poking his nose into
what doesn't concern him, like the Wandering Jew or the _Flying
Dutchman_. Ah, my dear, husbands are not what they used to be. The late
archdeacon never left his fireside while I was there. I knew better than
to let him go to Paris or Pekin, or some of those sinks of iniquity.
Cook and Gaze indeed!' snorted Mrs Pansey, indignantly; 'I would abolish
them by Act of Parliament. They turn men into so many Satans walking to
and fro upon the earth. Oh, the immorality of these latter days! No
wonder the end of all things is predicted.'
Miss Norsham paid little attention to the latter portion of this
diatribe. As Sir Harry Brace was out of the matrimonial market it
conveyed no information likely to be of use to her in the coming
campaign. She wished to be informed as to the number and the names of
eligible men, and forewarned with regard to possible rivals.
'And who is really and truly the most beautiful girl in Beorminster?'
she asked abruptly.
'Mab Arden,' replied Mrs Pansey, promptly. 'There, now,' with an
emphatic blow of her fan,'she is pretty, if you like, though I daresay
there is more art than nature about her.'
'Who is Mab Arden, dear Mrs Pansey?'
'She is Miss Whichello's niece, that's who she is.'
'Whichello? Oh, good gracious me! what a very, very funny name. Is Miss
Whichello a foreigner?'
'Foreigner? Bah!' cried Mrs Pansey, like a stentorian ram,'she belongs
to a good old English family, and, in my opinion, she disgraces them
thoroughly. A meddlesome old maid, who wants to foist her niece on to
George Pendle; and she's likely to succeed, too,' added the lady,
rubbing her nose with a vexed air, 'for the young ass is in love with
Mab, although she is three years older than he is. Mr Cargrim also likes
the girl, though I daresay it is money with him.'
'Really! Mr Cargrim?'
'Yes, he is the bishop's chaplain; a Jesuit in disguise I call him, with
his moping and mowing and sneaky ways. Butter wouldn't melt in his
mouth; oh, dear no! I gave my opinion about him pretty plainly to Dr
Graham, I can tell you, and Graham's the only man with brains in this
city of fools.'
'Is Dr Graham young?' asked Miss Norsham, in the faint hope that Mrs
Pansey's list of inhabitants might include a wealthy bachelor.
'Young? He's sixty, if you call that young, and in his second childhood.
An Atheist, too. Tom Payn, Colonel Ingersoll, Viscount Amberly--those
are his gods, the pagan! I'd burn him on a tar-barrel if I had my way.
It's a pity we don't stick to some customs of our ancestors.'
'Oh, dear me, are there no young men at all?'
'Plenty, and all idiots. Brainless officers, whose wives would have to
ride on a baggage-waggon; silly young squires, whose ideal of womanhood
is a brazen barmaid; and simpering curates, put into the Church as the
fools of their respective families. I don't know what men are coming
to,' groaned Mrs Pansey. 'The late archdeacon was clever and pious; he
honoured and obeyed me as the marriage service says a man should do. I
was the light of the dear man's eyes.'
Had Mrs Pansey stated that she had been the terror of the late
archdeacon's life she would have been vastly nearer the truth, but such
a remark never occurred to her. Although she had bullied and badgered
the wretched little man until he had seized the first opportunity of
finding in the grave the peace denied him in life, she really and truly
believed that she had been a model wife. The egotism of first person
singular was so firmly ingrained in the woman that she could not
conceive what a scourge she was to mankind in general; what a trial she
had been to her poor departed husband in particular. If the late
Archdeacon Pansey had not died he would doubtless have become a
missionary to some cannibal tribe in the South Seas in the hope that
his tough helpmate would be converted into 'long-pig.' But, unluckily
for Beorminster, he was dead and his relict was a mourning widow, who
constantly referred to her victim as a perfect husband. And yet Mrs
Pansey considered that Anthony Trollope's celebrated Mrs Proudie was an
overdrawn character.
As to Miss Norsham, she was in the depths of despair, for, if Mrs Pansey
was to be believed, there was no eligible husband for her in
Beorminster. It was with a heavy heart that the spinster entered the
palace, and it was with the courage born of desperation that she perked
up and smiled on the gay crowd she found within.
CHAPTER II
THE BISHOP IS WANTED
The episcopalian residence, situate some distance from the city, was a
mediaeval building, enshrined in the remnant of a royal chase, and in its
perfect quiet and loneliness resembled the palace of the Sleeping
Beauty. Its composite architecture was of many centuries and many
styles, for bishop after bishop had pulled down portions and added
others, had levelled a tower here and erected a wing there, until the
result was a jumble of divers designs, incongruous but picturesque. Time
had mellowed the various parts into one rich whole of perfect
beauty, and elevated on a green rise, surrounded by broad stone
terraces, with towers and oriels and turrets and machicolated
battlements; clothed with ivy, | 1,422.194875 |
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Produced by Elaine Laizure from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.
THE COZY LION
FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT
The Cozy Lion
As told by Queen Crosspatch
By
Frances Hodgson Burnett
Author of "Little Lord Fauntleroy"
With Illustrations by Harrison Cady
The Century Co.
New York
Copyright, 1907, by
THE CENTURY CO.
Published October, 1907
Printed in U. S. A.
I AM very fond of this story of the Cozy Lion because I consider
it a great credit to me. I reformed that Lion and taught him how
to behave himself. The grown-up person who reads this story aloud
to children MUST know how to Roar.
THE COZY LION
I SHALL never forget the scolding I gave him to begin with. One
of the advantages of being a Fairy even quite a common one is
that Lions can't bite you. A Fairy is too little and too light.
If they snap at you it's easy to fly through their mouths, and
even if they catch you, if you just get behind their teeth you
can make them so uncomfortable that they will beg you to get out
and leave them in peace.
Of course it was all the Lion's fault that I scolded him. Lions
ought to live far away from people. Nobody likes Lions roaming
about--particularly where there are children. But this Lion said he
wanted to get into Society, and that he was very fond of children--
little fat ones between three and four. So instead of living on a
desert, or in a deep forest or a jungle he took the large Cave on
the Huge Green Hill, only a few miles from a village full of the
fattest, rosiest little children you ever saw.
He had only been living in the Cave a few days, but even in that
short time the mothers and fathers had found out he was there, and
everybody who could afford it had bought a gun and snatched it up
even if they saw a donkey coming down the road, because they were
afraid it might turn out to be a Lion. As for the mothers, they
were nearly crazy with fright, and dare not let their children go
out to play and had to shut them up in top rooms and cupboards and
cellars, they were so afraid the Lion might be hiding behind trees
to jump out at them. So everything was beginning to be quite
spoiled because nobody could have any fun.
Of course if they had had any sense and believed in Fairies and had
just gone out some moonlight night and all joined hands and danced
slowly around in a circle and sung:
Fairies pink and Fairies rose
Fairies dancing on pearly toes
We want you, Oh! we want you!
Fairy Queens and Fairy slaves
Who are not afraid of Lions' Caves
Please to come to help us,
then it would have been all right, because we should have come in
millions, especially if they finished with this verse:
Our troubles we can never tell
But if _you_ would come it would all be well
Par-tic-u-lar-ly Silverbell.
But they hadn't sense enough for that--of course they hadn't--_of
course they hadn't_! Which shows what <DW38>s people are.
But you see I am much nicer than _un_-fairy persons, even if I have
lost my nice little, pink little, sweet little Temper and if I am
cross. So when I saw the children fretting and growing pale because
they had to be shut up, and the mothers crying into their washtubs
when they were washing, until the water slopped over, I made up my
mind I would go and talk to that Lion myself in a way he wouldn't
soon forget.
It was a beautiful morning, and the Huge Green Hill looked lovely.
A shepherd who saw me thought I was a gold and purple butterfly and
threw his hat at me--the idiot! Of course he fell down on his nose--
and very right and proper too.
When I got to the Cave, the Lion was sitting outside his door and
he was crying. He was one of these nasty-tempered, discontented
Lions who are always thinking themselves injured; large round tears
were rolling down his nose and he was sniffling. But I must say he
was handsome. He was big and smooth and had the most splendid mane
and tail I ever saw.
He would have been like a King if he had had a nicer expression.
But there he sat sniffling.
"I'm so lonely," he said. "Nobody calls. Nobody pays me any
attention. And I came here for the Society. No one is fonder of
Society than I am."
I sat down on a flowering branch near him and shouted at him,
"What's the use of Society when you eat it up?" I said.
He jumped up and lashed his tail and growled but at first he could
not see me.
"What's it for _but_ to be eaten up?" he roared. "First I want it
to entertain me and then I want it for dessert. Where are you? Who
are you?"
"I'm Queen Crosspatch--Queen Silverbell as was," I said. "I suppose
you have heard of _me_?"
"I've heard nothing good," he growled. "A good chewing is what
_you_ want!"
He _had_ heard something about me, but not enough. The truth was he
didn't really believe in Fairies--which was what brought him into
trouble.
By this time he had seen me and he was ignorant enough to think
that he could catch me, so he laid down flat in the thick, green
grass and stretched his big paws out and rested his nose on them,
thinking I would be taken in and imagine he was going to sleep. I
burst out laughing at him and swung to and fro on my flowery
branch.
"Do you want to eat me?" I said. "You'd need two or three quarts of
me with sugar and cream--like strawberries."
That made him so angry that he sprang roaring at my tree and
snapped and shook it and tore it with his claws. But I flew up into
the air and buzzed all about him and he got furious--just furious.
He jumped up in the air and lashed his tail and _thrashed_ his tail
and CRASHED his tail, and he turned round and round and tore up the
grass.
"Don't be a silly," I said. "It's a nice big tufty sort of tail and
you will only wear it out."
So then he opened his mouth and roared and roared. And what do you
suppose _I_ did? I flew right into his mouth. First I flew into his
throat and buzzed about like a bee and made | 1,422.195069 |
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Produced by Sigal Alon, Janet Blenkinship 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)
[Illustration: _Frontispiece_
ALTON TOWERS.]
ENGLAND,
PICTURESQUE AND DESCRIPTIVE.
A
REMINISCENCE OF FOREIGN TRAVEL.
By JOEL COOK,
AUTHOR OF "A HOLIDAY TOUR IN EUROPE," "BRIEF SUMMER RAMBLES," ETC.
[Illustration: OLD MILL AT SELBORNE.]
WITH NEARLY FIVE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS.
PHILADELPHIA;
PORTER AND COATES.
Copyright
By PORTER & COATES,
1882.
PRESS OF HENRY B. ASHMEAD, PHILADA.
ELECTROTYPED BY WESTCOTT & THOMSON, PHILADA.
TO
JOHN WALTER, Esq.,
MEMBER OF PARLIAMENT FOR BERKSHIRE,
AND
PROPRIETOR OF THE LONDON TIMES,
WHO HAS DONE SO MUCH TO WELCOME AMERICANS
WITH TRUE ENGLISH HOSPITALITY,
AND TO
GIVE ENGLISHMEN A MORE ACCURATE KNOWLEDGE OF,
AND MORE INTIMATE RELATIONS WITH,
THE UNITED STATES,
This Work on England,
BY AN AMERICAN,
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.
INTRODUCTION.
No land possesses greater attractions for the American tourist than
England. It was the home of his forefathers; its history is to a great
extent the history of his own country; and he is bound to it by the
powerful ties of consanguinity, language, laws, and customs. When the
American treads the busy London streets, threads the intricacies of the
Liverpool docks and shipping, wanders along the green lanes of
Devonshire, climbs Alnwick's castellated walls, or floats upon the
placid bosom of the picturesque Wye, he seems almost as much at home as
in his native land. But, apart from these considerations of common
Anglo-Saxon paternity, no country in the world is more interesting to
the intelligent traveller than England. The British system of entail,
whatever may be our opinion of its political and economic merits, has
built up vast estates and preserved the stately homes, renowned castles,
and ivy-clad ruins of ancient and celebrated structures, to an extent
and variety that no other land can show. The remains of the abbeys,
castles, churches, and ancient fortresses in England and Wales that war
and time together have crumbled and scarred tell the history of
centuries, while countless legends of the olden time are revived as the
tourist passes them in review. England, too, has other charms than
these. British scenery, though not always equal in sublimity and
grandeur to that displayed in many parts of our own country, is
exceedingly beautiful, and has always been a fruitful theme of song and
story.
"The splendor falls on castle-walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes.
And the wild cataract leaps in glory."
Yet there are few satisfactory and comprehensive books about this land
that is so full of renowned memorials of the past and so generously
gifted by Nature. Such books as there are either cover a few counties or
are devoted only to local description, or else are merely guide-books.
The present work is believed to be the first attempt to give in
attractive form a book which will serve not only as a guide to those
about visiting England and Wales, but also as an agreeable reminiscence
to others, who will find that its pages treat of familiar scenes. It
would be impossible to describe everything within the brief compass of a
single book, but it is believed that nearly all the more prominent
places in England and Wales are included, with enough of their history
and legend to make the description interesting. The artist's pencil has
also been called into requisition, | 1,422.195214 |
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Produced by Les Bowler
CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE
By Lord Byron
List of Contents
To Ianthe
Canto the First
Canto the Second
Canto the Third
Canto the Fourth
TO IANTHE. {1}
Not in those climes where I have late been straying,
Though Beauty long hath there been matchless deemed,
Not in those visions to the heart displaying
Forms which it sighs but to have only dreamed,
Hath aught like thee in truth or fancy seemed:
Nor, having seen thee, shall I vainly seek
To paint those charms which varied as they beamed--
To such as see thee not my words were weak;
To those who gaze on thee, what language could they speak?
Ah! mayst thou ever be what now thou art,
Nor unbeseem the promise of thy spring,
As fair in form, as warm yet pure in heart,
Love's image upon earth without his wing,
And guileless beyond Hope's imagining!
And surely she who now so fondly rears
Thy youth, in thee, thus hourly brightening,
Beholds the rainbow of her future years,
Before whose heavenly hues all sorrow disappears.
Young Peri of the West!--'tis well for me
My years already doubly number thine;
My loveless eye unmoved may gaze on thee,
And safely view thy ripening beauties shine:
Happy, I ne'er shall see them in decline;
Happier, that while all younger hearts shall bleed
Mine shall escape the doom thine eyes assign
To those whose admiration shall succeed,
But mixed with pangs to Love's even loveliest hours decreed.
Oh! let that eye, which, wild as the gazelle's,
Now brightly bold or beautifully shy,
Wins as it wanders, dazzles where it dwells,
Glance o'er this page, nor to my verse deny
That smile for which my breast might vainly sigh,
Could I to thee be ever more than friend:
This much, dear maid, accord; nor question why
To one so young my strain I would commend,
But bid me with my wreath one matchless lily blend.
Such is thy name with this my verse entwined;
And long as kinder eyes a look shall cast
On Harold's page, Ianthe's here enshrined
Shall thus be first beheld, forgotten last:
My days once numbered, should this homage past
Attract thy fairy fingers near the lyre
Of him who hailed thee, loveliest as thou wast,
Such is the most my memory may desire;
Though more than Hope can claim, could Friendship less require?
CANTO THE FIRST.
I.
Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,
Muse, formed or fabled at the minstrel's will!
Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill;
Yes! sighed o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine
Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale--this lowly lay of mine.
II.
Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth,
Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight;
But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
Few earthly things found favour in his sight
Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.
III.
Childe Harold was he hight:--but whence his name
And lineage long, it suits me not to say;
Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
And had been glorious in another day:
But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
However mighty in the olden time;
Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay,
Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lines of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.
IV.
Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,
Disporting there like any other fly,
Nor deemed before his little day was done
One blast might chill him into misery.
But long ere scarce a third of his passed by,
Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
He felt the fulness of satiety:
Then loathed he in his native land to dwell,
Which seemed to him more lone than eremite's sad cell.
V.
For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run,
Nor made atonement when he did amiss,
Had sighed to many, though he loved but one,
And that loved one, alas, could ne'er be his.
Ah, happy she! to'scape from him whose kiss
Had been pollution unto aught so chaste;
Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss,
And spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste,
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste.
VI.
And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,
And from his fellow bacchanals would flee;
'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start,
But pride congealed the drop within his e'e:
Apart he stalked in joyless reverie,
And from his native land resolved to go,
And visit scorching climes beyond the sea;
With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe,
And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.
VII.
The Childe departed from his father's hall;
It was a vast and venerable pile;
So old, it seemed only not to fall,
Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle.
Monastic dome! condemned to uses vile!
Where superstition once had made her den,
Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile;
And monks might deem their time was come agen,
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.
VIII.
Yet ofttimes in his maddest mirthful mood,
Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow,
As if the memory of some deadly feud
Or disappointed passion lurked below:
But this none knew, nor haply cared to know;
For his was not that open, artless soul
That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow;
Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole,
Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control.
IX | 1,422.277904 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.3583380 | 240 | 12 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Jane Hyland, Joseph Cooper and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THE STORY OF POCAHONTAS
AND CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH
TOLD AND PICTURED BY E. BOYD SMITH
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY E. BOYD SMITH
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
_Published November 1906._
[Illustration]
LIST OF COLORED PLATES
PLATE
1. POCAHONTAS
2. JOHN SMITH
3. HOW CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH WON HIS SPURS
4. STRANGE TALES OF A STRANGE PEOPLE
5. THE COMING OF THE WHITE MAN
6. THE LANDING OF THE COLONISTS--1607
7. THE AMBUSH
8. BATTLE WITH THE INDIANS
9. CAPTAIN JOHN SMITH A PRISONER
10. THE DANCE OF VICTORY
11, 12. POCAH | 1,422.378378 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.3598130 | 505 | 45 |
Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. The University
of Iowa, Iowa Authors collection graciously researched and
provided scans of missing pages for this book. (This book
was produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
YOUNG ALASKANS
IN THE
FAR NORTH
BY
EMERSON HOUGH
_Author of_ "YOUNG ALASKANS
IN THE ROCKIES" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
YOUNG ALASKANS IN THE FAR NORTH
Copyright, 1918, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
[Illustration: THE FIRST PORTAGE--SLAVE RIVER. "THE SCOWS WERE HAULED
UP THE STEEP BANK BY MEANS OF BLOCK AND TACKLE"]
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE START FOR THE MIDNIGHT SUN 1
II. THE SCOWS 12
III. THE GREAT BRIGADE 32
IV. THE GRAND RAPIDS 51
V. WHITE-WATER DAYS 64
VI. ON THE STEAMBOAT 79
VII. THE WILD PORTAGE 89
VIII. ON THE MACKENZIE 112
IX. UNDER THE ARCTIC CIRCLE 132
X. FARTHEST NORTH 149
XI. THE MIDNIGHT SUN 164
XII. THE RAT PORTAGE 176
XIII. DOWN THE PORCUPINE 192
XIV. AT FORT YUKON 212
XV. THE FUR TRADE 222
XVI. DAWSON, THE GOLDEN CITY 231
XVII. WHAT UNCLE DICK THOUGHT 246
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE FIRST PORTAGE--SLAVE RIVER. "THE SCOWS
WERE HAULED UP THE STEEP BANK BY MEANS
OF BLOCK AND TACKLE" _Frontispiece_
AN ENCAMPMENT OF ESKIMOS ON THE BEACH AT
FORT MCPHERSON _Facing p._ 55 | 1,422.379853 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.3600290 | 1,122 | 8 |
Transcribed from the 1913 Thomas J. Wise pamphlet by David Price, email
[email protected]. Many thanks to Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library,
UK, for kindly supplying the images from which this transcription was
made.
[Picture: Manuscript of Finnish Arts]
FINNISH ARTS
OR
SIR THOR AND DAMSEL THURE
A BALLAD
BY
GEORGE BORROW
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR PRIVATE CIRCULATION
1913
_Copyright in the United States of America_
_by Houghton_, _Mifflin & Co. for Clement Shorter_.
FINNISH ARTS
OR
SIR THOR AND DAMSEL THURE.
Sir Thor was a knight of prowess tried,
The son of a king he was beside.
He was a knight excelled by none,
At home such deeds of might he'd done.
And not alone in his native home,
But manhood had he displayed at Rome.
He faithfully served the emperor,
And hatred to all his foes he bore.
King of Norroway was his sire,
His fame spreads over the world entire.
He was a King both aged and grey,
So he summoned his son from Rome away.
He summoned his son from Rome away,
To help him Norway's land to sway.
As soon as the tidings reached Sir Thor,
He hied to the Roman Emperor.
"Hail, Emperor Ludvig, great and brave!
Thy leave to return to my sire I crave."
"Freely shalt thou permission gain,
And thy post shall vacant for thee remain."
He greeted all the knightly train,
They begged him quickly return again.
When from Rome he came to his own countrie,
His father welcomed him heartilie.
His dear son married he fain would see,
And divide with him his domain would he.
He envoys sends with all despatch
To seek a maid with his son to match.
They travelled wide with unwearied mind
Before his equal they could find.
O'er land and sea so wide they speed,
Until they reached the land of Swede.
And when they reached the Swedish State,
They found one worthy to be his mate.
Damsel Thura the maiden hight,
In Swedish land was none so bright.
The loveliest maiden in all the land,
Her father was high Sir Sallemand.
He was a noble rich and great,
His equal was not in Sweden's State.
So glad to Norroway back they wend,
That the matter be brought to a happy end.
They the tidings to their lord declare
That they had found a damsel rare.
No fairer was in the Swede countrie,
Nor in all the isles there round that be.
The heart of Sir Thor with joy beat loud
When they described the damsel proud.
He spoke to his men, so gallant and stout,
Who were to attend him in his rout:
"We must quickly away, so ready make,
I've sworn an oath I dare not break,
"As soon as the lovely rose was found,
To her o'er land and sea to bound."
They hoisted their sails on the yard so high,
And out of the haven away they fly.
So gay thence sailed they every one,
To Sweden in less than a month they won.
The noble he steered his ship to the land,
Sir Thor was the first who stepped on the sand.
The knight he sprang on his courser red:
"God help us now to this lovely maid."
As they through the land of Sweden hied,
The folks received them with joy and pride.
To Sir Sallemand's house came Sir Thor on his steed,
Erect in his sables stood the Swede.
"Here stand'st thou, Sir Sallemand, gallantly dight,
Say, wilt thou house me with thee to-night?"
"As one from God thou shalt welcome be,
Respect and honour I pay to thee."
To the hall of the women Sir Thor led they,
His eyes fell straight on the lovely may.
They washed their hands and to table went,
With the music and talk were they well content.
And when they had feasted all so free,
They cried for chess to increase their glee.
"Sir Sallemand, listen to what I say,
May I at chess with thy daughter play?"
"Yes, thou to play with her art free,
Whether within or without I be."
The young Sir Thor and Thure the maid,
A game of chess at the table played.
The longer they played, they happier grew,
Full pleased with each other were the two.
"Hear thou, May Thure, thou lily bright,
Wilt thou with thy white hand thyself to me plight?"
"Hear thou, Sir Thor, I tell thee plain,
My faith and troth thou may'st obtain.
"My faith and troth I would plight to thee
If I knew thou would'st be true to me."
"May Christ destroy the dastard vile
Who a noble maid would ever beguile!"
She gave him her troth with her hand so fair,
But what she did more there was none aware.
From his hand a gold bracelet he unbound,
And placed it the Damsel's arm around.
"Hear me, May Thure," then said he,
"How long wilt | 1,422.380069 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.3607930 | 2,534 | 10 |
Produced by Al Haines
SAVROLA
A TALE OF THE REVOLUTION IN LAURANIA
BY
WINSTON SPENCER CHURCHILL
AUTHOR OF "THE RIVER WAR: AN ACCOUNT OF THE RECOVERY
OF THE SOUDAN" AND "THE STORY OF THE MALAKAND
FIELD FORCE"
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
91 AND 93 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
LONDON AND BOMBAY
1900
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
TYPOGRAPHY BY J. B. CUSHING & CO., NORWOOD, MASS.
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED
TO
THE OFFICERS
OF THE
IVTH (QUEEN'S OWN) HUSSARS
IN WHOSE COMPANY THE AUTHOR LIVED
FOR FOUR HAPPY YEARS
PREFATORY NOTE
This story was written in 1897, and has already appeared in serial form
in _Macmillan's Magazine_. Since its first reception was not
unfriendly, I resolved to publish it as a book, and I now submit it
with considerable trepidation to the judgment or clemency of the public.
WINSTON S. CHURCHILL.
CONTENTS
I. An Event of Political Importance
II. The Head of the State
III. The Man of the Multitude
IV. The Deputation
V. A Private Conversation
VI. On Constitutional Grounds
VII. The State Ball
VIII. "In the Starlight"
IX. The Admiral
X. The Wand of the Magician
XI. In the Watches of the Night
XII. A Council of War
XIII. The Action of the Executive
XIV. The Loyalty of the Army
XV. Surprises
XVI. The Progress of the Revolt
XVII. The Defence of the Palace
XVIII. From a Window
XIX. An Educational Experience
XX. The End of the Quarrel
XXI. The Return of the Fleet
XXII. Life's Compensations
CHAPTER I.
AN EVENT OF POLITICAL IMPORTANCE.
There had been a heavy shower of rain, but the sun was already shining
through the breaks in the clouds and throwing swiftly changing shadows
on the streets, the houses, and the gardens of the city of Laurania.
Everything shone wetly in the sunlight: the dust had been laid; the air
was cool; the trees looked green and grateful. It was the first rain
after the summer heats, and it marked the beginning of that delightful
autumn climate which has made the Lauranian capital the home of the
artist, the invalid, and the sybarite.
The shower had been heavy, but it had not dispersed the crowds that
were gathered in the great square in front of the Parliament House. It
was welcome, but it had not altered their anxious and angry looks; it
had drenched them without cooling their excitement. Evidently an event
of consequence was taking place. The fine building, where the
representatives of the people were wont to meet, wore an aspect of
sombre importance that the trophies and statues, with which an ancient
and an art-loving people had decorated its façade, did not dispel. A
squadron of Lancers of the Republican Guard was drawn up at the foot of
the great steps, and a considerable body of infantry kept a broad space
clear in front of the entrance. Behind the soldiers the people filled
in the rest of the picture. They swarmed in the square and the streets
leading to it; they had scrambled on to the numerous monuments, which
the taste and pride of the Republic had raised to the memory of her
ancient heroes, covering them so completely that they looked like
mounds of human beings; even the trees contained their occupants, while
the windows and often the roofs, of the houses and offices which
overlooked the scene were crowded with spectators. It was a great
multitude and it vibrated with excitement. Wild passions surged across
the throng, as squalls sweep across a stormy sea. Here and there a
man, mounting above his fellows, would harangue those whom his voice
could reach, and a cheer or a shout was caught up by thousands who had
never heard the words but were searching for something to give
expression to their feelings.
It was a great day in the history of Laurania. For five long years
since the Civil War the people had endured the insult of autocratic
rule. The fact that the Government was strong, and the memory of the
disorders of the past, had operated powerfully on the minds of the more
sober citizens. But from the first there had been murmurs. There were
many who had borne arms on the losing side in the long struggle that
had ended in the victory of President Antonio Molara. Some had
suffered wounds or confiscation; others had undergone imprisonment;
many had lost friends and relations, who with their latest breath had
enjoined the uncompromising prosecution of the war. The Government had
started with implacable enemies, and their rule had been harsh and
tyrannical. The ancient constitution to which the citizens were so
strongly attached and of which they were so proud, had been subverted.
The President, alleging the prevalence of sedition, had declined to
invite the people to send their representatives to that chamber which
had for many centuries been regarded as the surest bulwark of popular
liberties. Thus the discontents increased day by day and year by year:
the National party, which had at first consisted only of a few
survivors of the beaten side, had swelled into the most numerous and
powerful faction in the State; and at last they had found a leader.
The agitation proceeded on all sides. The large and turbulent
population of the capital were thoroughly devoted to the rising cause.
Demonstration had followed demonstration; riot had succeeded riot; even
the army showed signs of unrest. At length the President had decided
to make concessions. It was announced that on the first of September
the electoral writs should be issued and the people should be accorded
an opportunity of expressing their wishes and opinions.
This pledge had contented the more peaceable citizens. The extremists,
finding themselves in a minority, had altered their tone. The
Government, taking advantage of the favourable moment, had arrested
several of the more violent leaders. Others, who had fought in the war
and had returned from exile to take part in the revolt, fled for their
lives across the border. A rigorous search for arms had resulted in
important captures. European nations, watching with interested and
anxious eyes the political barometer, were convinced that the
Government cause was in the ascendant. But meanwhile the people
waited, silent and expectant, for the fulfilment of the promise.
At length the day had come. The necessary preparations for summoning
the seventy thousand male electors to record their votes had been
carried out by the public officials. The President, as the custom
prescribed, was in person to sign the necessary writ of summons to the
faithful citizens. Warrants for election would be forwarded to the
various electoral divisions in the city and the provinces, and those
who were by the ancient law entitled to the franchise would give their
verdict on the conduct of him whom the Populists in bitter hatred had
called the Dictator.
It was for this moment that the crowd was waiting. Though cheers from
time to time arose, they waited for the most part in silence. Even
when the President had passed on his way to the Senate, they had
foreborne to hoot; in their eyes he was virtually abdicating, and that
made amends for all. The time-honoured observances, the long-loved
rights would be restored, and once more democratic government would be
triumphant in Laurania.
Suddenly, at the top of the steps in the full view of the people, a
young man appeared, his dress disordered and his face crimson with
excitement. It was Moret, one of the Civic Council. He was
immediately recognised by the populace, and a great cheer arose. Many
who could not see him took up the shout, which re-echoed through the
square, the expression of a nation's satisfaction. He gesticulated
vehemently, but his words, if he spoke at all, were lost in the tumult.
Another man, an usher, followed him out hurriedly, put his hand on his
shoulder, appeared to speak with earnestness, and drew him back into
the shadow of the entrance. The crowd still cheered.
A third figure issued from the door, an old man in the robes of
municipal office. He walked, or rather tottered feebly down the steps
to a carriage, which had drawn up to meet him. Again there were
cheers. "Godoy! Godoy! Bravo, Godoy! Champion of the People!
Hurrah, hurrah!"
It was the Mayor, one of the strongest and most reputable members of
the party of Reform. He entered his carriage and drove through the
open space, maintained by the soldiery, into the crowd, which, still
cheering, gave way with respect.
The carriage was open and it was evident that the old man was painfully
moved. His face was pale, his mouth puckered into an expression of
grief and anger, his whole frame shaken with suppressed emotion. The
crowd had greeted him with applause, but, quick to notice, were struck
by his altered appearance and woeful looks. They crowded round the
carriage crying: "What has happened? Is all well? Speak, Godoy,
speak!" But he would have none of them, and quivering with agitation
bade his coachman drive the faster. The people gave way slowly,
sullenly, thoughtfully, as men who make momentous resolutions.
Something had happened, untoward, unforeseen, unwelcome; what this was,
they were anxious to know.
And then began a period of wild rumour. The President had refused to
sign the writs; he had committed suicide; the troops had been ordered
to fire; the elections would not take place, after all; Savrola had
been arrested,--seized in the very Senate, said one, murdered added
another. The noise of the multitude changed into a dull dissonant hum
of rising anger.
At last the answer came. There was a house, overlooking the square,
which was separated from the Chamber of Representatives only by a
narrow street, and this street had been kept clear for traffic by the
troops. On the balcony of this house the young man, Moret, the Civic
Councillor, now reappeared, and his coming was the signal for a storm
of wild, anxious cries from the vast concourse. He held up his hand
for silence and after some moments his words became audible to those
nearest. "You are betrayed--a cruel fraud--the hopes we had cherished
are dashed to the ground--all has been done in vain-- Cheated!
cheated! cheated!" The broken fragments of his oratory reached far
into the mass of excited humanity, and then he | 1,422.380833 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.3608090 | 1,076 | 7 |
Produced by Keith G Richardson
CALVINISTIC CONTROVERSY:
EMBRACING A SERMON
ON PREDESTINATION AND ELECTION,
AND SEVERAL NUMBERS,
FORMERLY PUBLISHED IN THE CHRISTIAN ADVOCATE AND JOURNAL.
BY REV. WILBUR FISK, D. D.
NEW-YORK,
PUBLISHED BY B. WAUGH AND T. MASON,
For the Methodist Episcopal Church at the Conference Office, 200
Mulberry-street.
_J. Collord, Printer_.
1835.
"Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1835, by B. Waugh and
T. Mason, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern
District of New-York."
CONTENTS.
Advertisement
Sermon on Predestination and Election
I. Reply to the Christian Spectator
II. A proposition to Calvinists
III. Indefiniteness of Calvinism
IV. Brief sketch of the past changes and present state of Calvinism in
this country
V. Same subject continued
VI. Predestination
VII. Predestination, continued
VIII. Moral agency and accountability
IX. Moral agency and accountability, continued
X. Moral agency as affected by the fall, and the subsequent provisions
of grace
XI. Same subject continued
XII. Objections to gracious ability answered
XIII. Regeneration
XIV. Regeneration, continued
XV. Regeneration, continued
ADVERTISEMENT.
The numbers following the sermon on predestination and election, were
written at different times, and in some instances at quite distant
intervals from each other. This will be received, it is hoped, as an
apology for any want of connection or uniformity of style, which the
reader may notice. And if any farther apology be necessary, it may be
found in the fact, that the entire contents of the volume as it is now
presented, were written in the midst of other pressing duties.--And the
same reason has prevented my giving the work such a thorough revision,
as it should have had, before it was presented to the public, in the
more set and imposing form of a book. Such a form was not originally
thought of--and now that this is called for, the author is well aware
that the public might expect a careful revision and correction of the
whole. From this however, he must, of _necessity_, be excused. He has
been able to do little more than correct the typographical errors. If
the public have it, therefore, it must go "with all its imperfections on
its head." Only let it be understood, that _I do not send it out_. The
publishers say it is called for; and I consent that it may go. The
doctrines I believe, will stand the test of reason and Scripture,
although some of the arguments by which they are defended may be found
defective.
It was my original design to have added one or two numbers on election;
but upon farther reflection, it appeared to me that enough had been said
in the sermon on that point; and that at any rate, if Calvinian
predestination, and the Calvinistic views of moral agency and
regeneration, were found to be fallacious, the whole superstructure must
fall of course. On these points therefore, we may safely rest the entire
question between us and the Calvinists.
W. Fisk.
_Wesleyan University, April_ 28, 1835.
A DISCOURSE
ON
PREDESTINATION AND ELECTION.
According as he hath chosen us in him before the foundation of the
world, that we should be holy and without blame before him in love.
Having predestinated us unto the adoption of children, by Jesus Christ,
to himself, according to the good pleasure of his will, Ephesians i, 4,
5.
In this passage, the kindred doctrines of predestination and election
are brought into view. To discuss them, to notice some errors respecting
them, and to exhibit what is believed to be the Scriptural and rational
view of these doctrines, is the proposed object of the present
discourse. In doing this, much that is new cannot be expected. The whole
ground of this controversy has been examined and re-examined; and the
various arguments, on both sides, have been urged and opposed, by the
most able polemics in philosophy and theology. The most, therefore, that
can now be expected, is to give a concise view of the subject, in a form
and manner suited to the present state of the controversy, and to the
circumstances of the present congregation.
It is hoped, at least, that the subject may be investigated in the
spirit of Christianity; and that there will be no loss of brotherly and
Christian candour, if there be no gain, on the side of truth. Yet, in a
desire to give no offence, I must not suppress the truth, nor neglect to
point out, as I am able, the absurdity of | 1,422.380849 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.4586590 | 7,437 | 21 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Notes: Mathematical problems could not be represented as
in the original as we cannot stack numbers. The following rules were
used:
Parentheses added to groupings of numbers.
Bracket and "rt" square roots. [3rt]
Carets and curly brackets indicate a superscripted number, letter or
symbol. 4^{3}
An underscore and curly brackets indicate a subscript. H_{2}O
Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic text is surrounded
by _underscores_.]
[Illustration: _The "Suna" before the Explosion._]
[Illustration: _The Torpedo._]
[Illustration: _The "Suna" after the Explosion._]
Griffin & C^{o.} Portsmouth. W.F. Mitchell del.
TORPEDOES
AND
TORPEDO WARFARE:
CONTAINING A
COMPLETE AND CONCISE ACCOUNT OF THE
RISE AND PROGRESS OF SUBMARINE WARFARE;
ALSO A
DETAILED DESCRIPTION OF ALL MATTERS APPERTAINING THERETO,
INCLUDING THE LATEST IMPROVEMENTS.
BY
C. W. SLEEMAN, ESQ.,
LATE LIEUT. R.N., AND LATE COMMANDER IMPERIAL OTTOMAN NAVY.
_WITH FIFTY-SEVEN FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS, DIAGRAMS,
WOODCUTS, &c._
PORTSMOUTH:
GRIFFIN & CO., 2, THE HARD,
(_Publishers by Appointment to H.R.H. The Duke of Edinburgh._)
LONDON AGENTS: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, & CO.
1880.
_All Rights reserved._]
PREFACE.
IN the following pages the Author has endeavoured to supply a want,
viz. a comprehensive work on Torpedo Warfare, brought down to the
latest date.
The information has been obtained while practically engaged in torpedo
work at home and abroad, and from the study of the principal books
which have already appeared on the subject, and to the authors of which
he would now beg to express his acknowledgments, viz.: "Submarine
Warfare," by Lieut.-Commander Barnes, U.S.N.; "Notes on Torpedoes," by
Major Stotherd, R.E.; "Art of War in Europe," by General Delafield,
U.S.A.; "Life of Fulton," by C. D. Colden; "Torpedo War," by R.
Fulton; "Armsmear," by H. Barnard; "Treatise on Coast Defence," by
Colonel Von Scheliha; Professional Papers of the Royal Engineers; "The
Engineering"; "The Engineer"; "Scientific American"; "Iron"; &c., &c.
The Author is also desirous of thanking the following gentlemen, to
whom he is indebted for much of the valuable information contained
herein:--
Messrs. Siemens Brothers, Messrs. Thornycroft and Co., Messrs. Yarrow
and Co., Captain C. A. McEvoy, 18 Adam Street, W.C., Mr. L. Lay,
Messrs. J. Vavaseur and Co.
LONDON, 1879.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Preface iii
CHAPTER I.
The early History of the Torpedo--Remarks on the existing
State of Torpedo Warfare 1
CHAPTER II.
Defensive Torpedo Warfare--Mechanical Submarine
Mines--Mechanical Fuzes--Mooring Mechanical Mines 13
CHAPTER III.
Defensive Torpedo Warfare (_continued_)--Electrical
Submarine Mines--Electrical Fuzes--Insulated Electric
Cables--Electric Cable Joints--Junction Boxes--Mooring
Electrical Submarine Mines 27
CHAPTER IV.
Defensive Torpedo Warfare (_continued_)--Circuit
Closers--Firing by Observation--Voltaic
Batteries--Electrical Machines--Firing Keys and Shutter
Apparatus--Testing Submarine Mines--Clearing a Passage
through Torpedo Defences 60
CHAPTER V.
Offensive Torpedo Warfare--Drifting Torpedoes--Towing
Torpedoes--Locomotive Torpedoes--Spar Torpedoes--General
Remarks on Offensive Torpedoes 115
CHAPTER VI.
Torpedo Vessels and Boats--The _Uhlan_--The _Alarm_--The
_Destroyer_--Thornycroft's Torpedo Boats--Yarrow's
Torpedo Boats--Schibau's Torpedo Boats--Herreshoff's
Torpedo Boats--Torpedo Boat Attacks--Submarine Boats 158
CHAPTER VII.
Torpedo Operations--The Crimean War (1854-56)--The
Austro-Italian War (1859)--The American Civil War
(1861-65)--The Paraguayan War (1864-68)--The Austrian
War (1866)--The Franco-German War (1870-71)--The
Russo-Turkish War (1877-78) 187
CHAPTER VIII.
On Explosives--Definitions--Experiments--Gunpowder--Picric
Powder--Nitro-Glycerine--Dynamite--Gun-cotton--Fulminate
of Mercury--Dualin--Lithofracteur--Horsley's
Powder--Torpedo Explosive Agents--Torpedo Explosions 204
CHAPTER IX.
Torpedo Experiments--Chatham, England,
1865--Austria--Carlscrona, Sweden, 1868--Kiel,
Prussia--England, 1874--Copenhagen, Denmark,
1874--Carlscrona, Sweden, 1874-75--Portsmouth, England,
1874-75--Pola, Austria, 1875--Portsmouth, England,
1876--Experiments with Countermines--The Medway, England,
1870--Stokes Bay, England, 1873--Carlscrona, Sweden, 1874 220
CHAPTER X.
The Electric Light--The Nordenfelt and Hotchkiss Torpedo
Guns--Diving 239
CHAPTER XI.
Electricity 265
APPENDIX.
McEvoy's Single Main Systems 283
Siemens' Universal Galvanometer Tables 287
Synopsis of the Principal Events that have occurred in
connection with the History of the Torpedo 290
Index 297
LIST OF PLATES.
DESTRUCTION OF TURKISH GUNBOAT "SUNA" (_Frontispiece_).
I. FULTON'S TORPEDOES.
II. FRAME TORPEDOES, BUOYANT MECHANICAL MINES.
III. SINGER'S AND MCEVOY'S MECHANICAL MINES.
IV. EXTEMPORE MECHANICAL MINE, MECHANICAL PRIMERS.
V. MECHANICAL FUZES.
VI. FORM OF CASE OF SUBMARINE MINES.
VII. ELECTRIC FUZES.
VIII. ELECTRIC CABLES, EXTEMPORE CABLE JOINTS.
IX. PERMANENT JOINTS FOR ELECTRIC CABLES.
X. JUNCTION BOXES, MECHANICAL TURK'S HEAD.
XI. MOORINGS FOR SUBMARINE MINES.
XII. STEAM LAUNCH FOR MOORING SUBMARINE MINES.
XIII. MATHIESON'S CIRCUIT CLOSER.
XIV. AUSTRIAN CIRCUIT CLOSER, MERCURY CIRCUIT CLOSER.
XV. MCEVOY'S MAGNETO ELECTRO CIRCUIT CLOSER.
XVI. RUSSIAN SUBMARINE MINE, FIRING BY OBSERVATION.
XVII. APPARATUS FOR FIRING BY OBSERVATION.
XVIII. SYSTEMS OF DEFENCE BY SUBMARINE MINES.
XIX. FIRING BATTERIES, TESTING BATTERIES.
XX. FIRING KEYS, SHUTTER APPARATUS.
XXI. SHUTTER APPARATUS.
XXII. GALVANOMETERS FOR TESTING.
XXIII. SIEMENS' UNIVERSAL GALVANOMETER.
XXIIIA. DITTO DITTO.
XXIV. DITTO DITTO.
XXIVA. DITTO DITTO.
XXV. SHUNT, COMMUTATOR, RHEOSTAT.
XXVI. WHEATSTONE'S BRIDGE.
XXVII. TEST TABLE, DIFFERENTIAL GALVANOMETER.
XXVIII. METHODS OF TESTING--ARMSTRONG--AUSTRIAN.
XXIX. DRIFTING TORPEDOES.
XXX. HARVEY'S TOWING TORPEDO.
XXXI. DITTO DITTO.
XXXII. SYSTEMS OF ATTACK WITH HARVEY'S SEA TORPEDO.
XXXIII. DITTO DITTO.
XXXIV. DITTO DITTO.
XXXV. GERMAN AND FRENCH TOWING TORPEDOES.
XXXVI. WHITEHEAD'S FISH TORPEDOES.
XXXVII. THORNYCROFT'S BOAT APPARATUS FOR FISH TORPEDOES.
XXXVIII. LAY'S LOCOMOTIVE TORPEDO.
XXXIX. DITTO DITTO.
XL. DITTO DITTO.
XLI. DITTO DITTO.
XLII. DITTO DITTO.
XLIII. DITTO DITTO.
XLIV. MCEVOY'S DUPLEX SPAR TORPEDOES.
XLV. THE "ALARM" TORPEDO SHIP.
XLVI. THE "DESTROYER" TORPEDO SHIP.
XLVII. THORNYCROFT'S TORPEDO BOATS.
XLVIII. DITTO DITTO.
XLIX. YARROW'S TORPEDO BOATS.
L. DITTO DITTO.
LI. RUSSIAN TORPEDO BOAT, HERRESHOFF'S TORPEDO BOAT.
LII. SUBMARINE MINE EXPLOSION.
LIII. DITTO DITTO.
LIV. MCEVOY'S SINGLE MAIN SYSTEM.
[Illustration]
Torpedoes and Torpedo Warfare.
CHAPTER I.
THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE TORPEDO.--REMARKS ON THE EXISTING STATE OF
TORPEDO WARFARE.
THE earliest record we have of the employment of an infernal machine
at all resembling the torpedo of the present day, was in 1585 at the
siege of Antwerp. Here by means of certain small vessels, drifted down
the stream, in each of which was placed a magazine of gunpowder, to be
fired either by a trigger, or a combination of levers and clockwork, an
Italian engineer, Lambelli, succeeded in demolishing a bridge that the
enemy had formed over the Scheldt.
So successful was this first attempt, and so tremendous was the effect
produced on the spectators, by the explosion of one of these torpedoes,
that further investigation of this new mode of Naval warfare was at
once instituted.
But it was not until some two hundred years after that any real
progress was effected, though numerous attempts were made during this
period, to destroy vessels by means of sub-marine infernal machines.
It was owing to the fact, that the condition which is now considered as
essential in torpedo warfare, viz., that the charge must be submerged,
was then entirely ignored, that so long a standstill occurred in this
new art of making war.
_Captain Bushnell, the Inventor of Torpedoes._--To Captain David
Bushnell, of Connecticut, in 1775, is most certainly due the credit
of inventing torpedoes, or as he termed them submarine magazines. For
he first proved practically that a charge of gunpowder could be fired
under water, which is incontestably the essence of submarine warfare.
_Submarine Boat._--To Captain Bushnell is also due the credit of first
devizing a submarine boat for the purpose of conveying his magazines to
the bottom of hostile ships and there exploding them.
_Drifting Torpedoes._--Another plan of his for destroying vessels, was
that of connecting two of his infernal machines together by means of a
line, and throwing them into the water, allowing the current to carry
them across the bows of the attacked ship.
_Mode of Ignition._--The ignition of his magazines was generally
effected by means of clockwork, which, when set in motion, would
run for some time before exploding the machines, thus enabling the
operators to get clear of the explosion.
Captain Bushnell's few attempts to destroy our ships off the American
coast in 1776 and 1777, with his submarine boat, and his drifting
torpedoes were all attended with failure, a result generally
experienced, where new inventions are for the first time subjected to
the test of actual service.
_Robert Fulton._--Robert Fulton, an American, following in his
footsteps, some twenty years after, revived the subject of submarine
warfare, which during that interval seems to have been entirely
forgotten.
A resident in France, in 1797, he is found during that year making
various experiments on the Seine with a machine which he had
constructed, and by which he designed "to impart to carcasses of
gunpowder a progressive motion under water, to a certain point, and
there explode them."[A]
_Fulton's Failures._--Though these first essays of his resulted in
failure, Fulton thoroughly believed in the efficacy of his schemes, and
we find him, during that and succeeding years, vainly importunating the
French and Dutch Governments, to grant him aid and support in carrying
out experiments with his new inventions, whereby he might perfect
them, and thus ensure to whichever government acceded to his views, the
total destruction of their enemy's fleets.
_Bonaparte aids Fulton._--Though holding out such favourable terms, it
was not until 1800, when Bonaparte became First Consul, that Fulton's
solicitations were successful, and that money was granted him to carry
out a series of experiments.
In the following year (1801), under Bonaparte's immediate patronage,
Fulton carried out various and numerous experiments in the harbour of
Brest, principally with a submarine boat devised by him (named the
_Nautilus_), subsequently to his invention of submarine carcasses as
a means of approaching a ship and fixing one of his infernal machines
beneath her, unbeknown to the crew of the attacked ship.
_First Vessel destroyed by Torpedoes._--In August, 1801, Fulton
completely destroyed a small vessel in Brest harbour by means of one of
his submarine bombs, then called by him for the first time, torpedoes,
containing some twenty pounds of gunpowder. This is the first vessel
known to have been sunk by a submarine mine.
_Bonaparte's patronage withdrawn._--Notwithstanding the apparent
success, and enormous power of Fulton's projects, on account of a
failure on his part to destroy one of the English Channel fleet, at the
end of 1801, Bonaparte at once withdrew his support and aid.
Disgusted with this treatment, and having been previously pressed by
some of England's most influential men, to bring his projects to that
country, so that the English might reap the benefit of his wonderful
schemes, Fulton left France, and arrived in London, in May, 1804.
_Pitt supports Fulton._--Mr. Pitt, then Prime Minister, was much struck
with Fulton's various schemes of submarine warfare, and after examining
one of his infernal machines, or torpedoes, exclaimed, "that if
introduced into practice, it could not fail to annihilate all military
marines."[B]
Though having secured the approval of Mr. Pitt, and a few other members
of the Government, he was quite unable to induce the English to accept
his schemes in toto, and at once employ them in the Naval service.
Twice Fulton attempted to destroy French men-of-war, lying in the
harbour of Boulogne, by means of his drifting torpedoes, but each time
he failed, owing as he then explained, and which afterwards proved
to be the case, to the simple mistake of having made his machines
specifically heavier than water, thus preventing the current from
carrying them under a vessel's bottom.
_Destruction of the "Dorothea."_--Though in each of the above-mentioned
attempts Fulton succeeded in exploding his machines, and though on the
15th October, 1805, in the presence of a numerous company of Naval
and other scientific men, he completely demolished a stout brig, the
_Dorothea_, off Walmer Castle, by means of his drifting torpedoes,
similar to those employed by him at Boulogne, but considerably
improved, still the English Government refused to have anything further
to do with him or his schemes.
England, at that time, being mistress of the seas, it was clearly
her interest to make the world believe that Fulton's schemes were
impracticable and absurd.
Earl St. Vincent, in a conversation with Fulton, told him in very
strong language, "that Pitt was a fool for encouraging a mode of
warfare, which, if successful, would wrest the trident from those who
then claimed to bear it, as the sceptre of supremacy on the ocean."[C]
Wearied with incessant applications and neglect, and with failures, not
with his inventions, but in inducing governments to accept them, he
left England in 1806, and returned to his native country.
_Application to Congress for Help._--Arrived there, he lost no time in
solicitating aid from Congress to enable him to carry out experiments
with his torpedoes and submarine boats, practice alone in his opinion
being necessary to develop the extraordinary powers of his invention,
as an auxiliary to harbour defence.
By incessant applications to his government, and by circulating his
torpedo book[D] among the members, in which he had given detailed
accounts of all his previous experiments in France and England, and
elaborate plans for rendering American harbours, etc., invulnerable
to British attack, a Commission was appointed to inquire into and
practically test the value of these schemes.
They were as follows:--
1.--_Drifting Torpedoes._--Two torpedoes connected by
a line floated in the tide at a certain depth, and
suffered to drift across the bows of the vessel to
be attacked; the coupling line being arrested by the
ship's cable would cause the torpedoes to be forced
under her bottom; this plan is represented and will be
readily understood by Fig. 3.
2.--_Harpoon Torpedo._--A torpedo attached to one end
of a line, the other part to a harpoon, which was to be
fired into the bows of the doomed vessel from a piece
of ordnance mounted in the bows of a boat, specially
constructed for the purpose; the line being fixed to
the vessel by the harpoon, the current, if the vessel
were at anchor, or her progress if underweigh, would
carry the torpedo under her bottom. Fig. 2 represents
this type of Fulton's submarine infernal machine.
3.--_Spar Torpedo._--A torpedo attached to a spar
suspended by a swivel from the bowsprit of a torpedo
boat, so nearly balanced, that a man could easily
depress, or elevate the torpedo with one hand, whilst
with the other he pulled a trigger and exploded it.
4.--_Block Ship._--Block ships, that is vessels from
50 to 100 tons, constructed with sides impervious to
cannon shot, and decks made impenetrable to musket
shot. A spar torpedo _a, a, a_, to be carried on each
bow and quarter Fig. 4 represents this curious craft.
_Stationary Mines._--Stationary buoyant torpedoes
for harbour defence, to be fired by means of levers
attached to triggers. This kind of mine is shown at
Fig. 1.
5.--_Cable Cutters._--Cable cutters, that is submarine
guns discharging a sharp piece of iron in the shape of
a crescent, with sufficient force to cut through ship's
cables, or other obstructions.[E]
_Practical Experiments._--Various and exhaustive experiments were
carried out in the presence of the Commissioners, tending generally to
impress them with a favourable view of Fulton's many projects.
As a final test, the sloop _Argus_ was ordered, under the
superintendence of Commodore Rodgers, to whom Fulton had previously
explained his mode of attack, to be prepared to repel all attempts made
against her by Fulton, with his torpedoes.
_Defence of the "Argus."_--Though repeated attempts were made, none
were successful, owing to the energetic, though somewhat exaggerated
manner in which the defence of the sloop had been carried out. She
was surrounded by numerous spars lashed together, nets down to the
ground, grappling irons, heavy pieces of metal suspended from the yard
arms ready to be dropped into any boat that came beneath them, scythes
fitted to long spars for the purpose of mowing off the heads of any who
might be rash enough to get within range of them.
As Robert Fulton very justly remarked, "a system, then only in its
infancy, which compelled a hostile vessel to guard herself by such
extraordinary means could not fail of becoming a most important mode of
warfare."
Three of the Commissioners reported as favourably as could be expected,
considering its infancy, on the practical value of Fulton's scheme of
torpedo warfare.
_Congress refuse aid._--But on the strength of Commodore Rodgers's
report, which was as unfair and prejudiced, as the others were fair
and unprejudiced, Congress refused Fulton any further aid, or to
countenance any further experiments that he might still feel inclined
to prosecute.
Though undeterred by this fresh instance of neglect, and still having a
firm belief in the efficacy of his various torpedo projects, yet other
important matters connected with the improvement of the steam engine
occupied his whole time and prevented him from making any further
experiments with his submarine inventions.
_Mode of Firing, 1829._--Up to 1829, that is to say for nearly sixty
years after the invention of torpedoes, mechanical means only were
employed to effect the ignition of the torpedo charges, such as levers,
clockwork, and triggers pulled by hand; with such crude means of
exploding them, it is not extraordinary to find, that all the attempts
made to destroy hostile ships, resulted in failure.
[Illustration: FULTON'S TORPEDOES.
PLATE I]
Briefly reviewing the history of the torpedo during its first period
of existence, viz., from Captain Bushnell's invention of submarine
magazines in 1775, down to the introduction of electricity, as a
means of exploding submarine mines, by Colonel Colt, in 1829, we
find that due to the unwearied exertions, and numerous experiments
carried out by Captain Bushnell, Mr. R. Fulton and others, the
following very important principles in the art of torpedo warfare were
fully proved:--
1.--That a charge of gunpowder could be exploded under
water.
2.--That any vessel could be sunk by a torpedo,
provided only the charge were large enough.
3.--That it was possible to construct a boat which
could be navigated, and remain for several hours under
water, without detriment to her crew.
4.--That a ship at anchor could be destroyed, by means
of drifting torpedoes, or by a submarine or ordinary
boat, armed with a spar torpedo.
5.--That a vessel underweigh could be destroyed by
means of stationary submarine mines, and by the harpoon
torpedo.
These principles, which at the time were fully admitted, laid the
foundations of the systems of torpedo warfare, that are at the present
day in vogue, all over the world.
_Second Epoch._--The second epoch in the life of the torpedo dates from
1829, when Colonel Colt, then a mere lad, commenced experiments with
his submarine battery.
_Colt's Experiments._--His first public essay, was on the 4th June,
1842, when he exploded a case of powder in New York harbour, while
himself standing at a great distance off.
Having by numerous successful experiments satisfactorily proved that
vessels at anchor could be sunk by means of his electrical mines,
Colonel Colt engaged to destroy a vessel underweigh by similar means,
which feat he successfully accomplished on 13th April, 1844.
_Colt's Electric Cable._--The electric cable as used by Colonel Colt,
was insulated by cotton yarn, soaked in a solution of asphaltum and
beeswax, and the whole enclosed in a metal case.
_Colt's Reflector._--On examining Colt's papers after his death, one
was found illustrating one of his many devices for effecting the
explosion of a submarine mine at the proper instant.
_Description of Reflector._--One set of conducting wires from all the
mines is permanently attached to a single pole of a very powerful
firing battery, the other wires lead to metal points which are attached
to marks on a chart of the channel in front of the operator and which
marks correspond with the actual positions of the mines in the channel.
A reflector, is arranged to throw the image of a hostile vessel on the
chart, and as this image passes over either of the wire terminations
on it, the operator with the other battery wire, completes the
circuit, and explodes the torpedo, over which by her image thrown on
the chart, the vessel is supposed to be at that precise moment.[F] In
his experiment with a vessel under weigh, Colt had probably taken the
precaution of laying down several circles of mines, and thus aided by
cross staffs, ensured the experiment being a success.
With regard to the invention of the word torpedo, for submarine
infernal machines, Dr. Barnard in his life of Colt says, "that Fulton
used the word torpedo, probably on account of its power of stunning or
making torpid, and that a long way through the water,--in so naming it,
he buildeth better than he knew, for Colt's torpedoes being fired by
electricity may with special fitness take its name from the electric
eel."[G]
_Theoretical Knowledge._--Though many opportunities have occurred
during the last thirty-five years for practically testing the
effectiveness of torpedoes when employed on actual service, especially
during the American Civil War (1861-65) and the late Turco-Russian
War (1877-78), yet in so far as the offensive and electrical portion
of submarine warfare is concerned, our knowledge of them is still
principally theoretically.
_Failure of Offensive Torpedoes._--The manipulation of the ordinary
spar or outrigger torpedo boats, and of the various automatic
torpedoes, appears simple enough, when practice is made with those
submarine weapons during peace time, also the results of such practice
is without doubt uniformly successful, yet when the crucial test of
actual service is applied, as was the case during the war of 1877, with
the Whitehead and spar torpedoes, then a succession of failures had to
be recorded.[H]
The cause of this want of success in war-time with offensive torpedoes,
lies in the fact, that during peace time the experiments and practice
carried out with them, are done so, under the most favourable
circumstances, that is to say in daylight, and the nerves of the
operators not in that high state of tension, which would be the case,
were they attacking a man-of-war on a pitch dark night, whose exact
position cannot be known, and from whose guns at any moment a sheet of
fire may be belched forth, and a storm of shot and bullets be poured on
them, whilst on actual service, this would in nine out of ten instances
be the case.
Some uncertainty must and will always exist in offensive torpedo
operations when carried out in actual war, where, as in this case, the
success of the enterprise depends almost wholly on the state of a man's
nerves, yet this defect, a want of certainty, may to a considerable
extent be eradicated were means to be found of carrying out in time of
peace, a systematic practice of this branch of torpedo warfare, under
circumstances similar to those experienced in war time, and this is not
only possible, but practicable.
_Moral Effect of Torpedoes._--We now come to the moral effect of
torpedoes, which is undoubtedly the very essence of the vast power of
these terrible engines of war. Each successive war that has occurred,
in which the torpedo has taken a part, since Captain Bushnell's futile
attempt in 1775 to destroy our fleet by drifting numerous kegs charged
with gunpowder down the Delawarre, teem with proofs of the great worth
of torpedoes in this respect alone.
That such a dread of them should and always will be met with in future
Naval wars, at times creating a regular torpedo scare or funk, is not
extraordinary, when it is remembered that these submarine weapons of
the present day, are capable of sinking the finest ironclad afloat, and
of launching into eternity without a moment's warning or preparation,
whole ships' crews.
The torpedoes existing at the present day have, without doubt, reached
a very high degree of excellence, in so far as their construction,
fuzes, cables, &c., both electrically and mechanically, is concerned,
but much has yet to be done to develop their actual effectiveness.
The result of the numerous and exhaustive experiments that have of
late years been carried out by England, America, and Europe prove that
the necessary distances between stationary submarine mines are by far
greater than those within which the explosions are effective.
Therefore it will be found necessary to supplement those submarine
harbour defences, by automatic torpedoes that can be controlled and
directed from the shore, as well as by specially constructed torpedo
boats.
_Automatic Arrangements._--And to ensure certainty, which is the
desideratum in torpedo warfare, circuit closers, or other automatic
arrangements for exploding the submarine mines, must be employed, as
the system of firing them by judgment is not at all a sure one.
_Ship Defence._--The problem, which occupies the attention of Naval
and other scientific men, at the present day, is how best to enable a
ship to guard herself against attacks from the fish and other automatic
torpedoes, and this without in any way impairing her efficiency as a
man-of-war.
The means of such defence, should most certainly be inherent in the
vessel herself, outward methods, such as nets, booms, etc., are
to great extent impracticable, besides one of the above mentioned
torpedoes, being caught by such obstructions would, on exploding, most
probably destroy them, thus leaving the vessel undefended against
further attacks.
_Mechanical Mines._--Several ingenious methods have of late been
devised for the purpose of obviating one of the principal defects
common to all kinds of mechanical submarine mines, the most efficient
and practical of which will be found fully described in the following
pages, viz., the great danger attendant on the mooring of such mines;
but as yet, no really practical mode of rendering mechanical mines
safe, after they have once been moored and put in action, has been
discovered, were such to be devised, a very difficult and extremely
important problem of defensive torpedo warfare would be solved.
_Electrical Mines._--In regard to electrical submarine mines, much
has been done by torpedoists in general to simplify this otherwise
somewhat complicated branch of defensive torpedo warfare, by adopting
the platinum wire fuze, in the place of the high tension one, by the
employment of Leclanche firing batteries, by the simplification of
the circuit closer, and discarding the use of a circuit breaker, by
altering the form of torpedo case, and whenever possible by enclosing
the circuit closer in the submarine mine.
The necessity of a very elaborate system of testing should, if
possible, be overcome, for a system of submarine mines that requires
the numerous and various tests that are at the present day employed,
to enable those in charge of them to know for certain that when wanted
the mines will explode, cannot be considered as adaptable to actual
service. It must be remembered that the safety of many ports, etc.,
will in future wars depend almost entirely on the practical efficiency
of electrical and mechanical mines. As yet, in actual war, little or
no experience has been gained of the real value of a mode of coast
defence by electrical mines, excepting from a moral point of view,
though in this particular they have most undoubtedly been proved to be
exceedingly effective.
A submarine mine much wanted on active service, is one that can be
carried on board ships, capable of being fitted for use at a moment's
notice, and of | 1,422.478699 |
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Transcribed from the [1860?] T. Goode edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Pamphlet cover]
THE
GIPSY
FORTUNE
TELLER
[Picture: Picture of Gipsy woman telling fortune]
CONTAINING
JUDGMENT FOR THE 29 DAYS OF THE MOON,
THE SIGNIFICATION OF MOLES,
AND
THE ART OF TELLING FORTUNES BY DICE,
DOMINOES, &c., &c.
* * * * *
LONDON:
PUBLISHED BY T. GOODE. “LION” PRINTING WORKS,
CLERKENWELL GREEN.
* * * * *
JUDGEMENTS
FOR THE
29 DAYS OF THE MOON.
By W. PARKER, Professor of Astrology.
1st.—A child born on this day, will not live to any great age, is likely
to have many excellent friends, and will do well in business, have much
money and property, of a very hasty temper, liable to fevers, falls,
hurts, bruises, harm by horses, &c. The most successful years for gain
and good fortune, are their 19th, 24th, 27th, 35th, 38th, and 42nd; will
marry at 19, or 22 years of age. This day is good to send messages,
write letters, apply to surgeons, take medicine, travel, or open shops,
favourable to sell, but not to buy, aged people may favour you on this
day.
2nd.—A child born on this day, will be fortunate, and gain much by their
own perseverance, they will have few enemies, and may gain by deaths; of
good temper, and obliging disposition, and will enjoy tolerable good
health throughout life. The most successful years, for gain and good
fortune, rises in life, &c. are the 17th, 21st, 25th, 29th, 34th, 41st,
53rd, and 62nd. Will Marry in the 20th, or 23rd, year of age, and gain
many friends by marriage. This day is good to buy, or sell, to let
houses and land, favourable for gardening, to purchase new clothes, apply
to females, collect debts, &c.
3rd.—If born on this day, will be very liable to hardships up to the 21st
birthday, after that period, will have more success, and better friends,
may be rather public, and remove or travel in their business, or calling;
moderate good health, liable to have imprisonment. The most successful
time for gain, and prosperity, commences after 38 years of age, will
marry in the 21st or 25th year of age. This day is good to take
medicine, and to deal with Ironmongers, Jewellers, Booksellers, and those
who sell ladies wearing apparel, good to marry, and send letters to
either sex, commence law suits, &c.
4th.—If born on this day, will possess an uncommon share of wisdom, and
learning, may travel to distant countries, and gain thereby, have the
management of other peoples affairs, of an agreeable temper, and
disposition, moderate good health, subject to losses of money, in
contentions, Law suits, &c. The most fortunate years for gain and
prosperity, are the 23rd, 28th, 33rd, 42nd, 49th, 55th and 59th, will
marry in the 19th or 22nd year of age. This day is good to go journeys,
visit friends, and apply to haberdashers, have parties, and favourable to
take medicine, or visit physicians.
5th.—If born on this day, will meet with many crosses and disappointments
in early life, until the 23rd year is gone by, may have many favors from
strangers, and will have money in the funds, and freehold property left
them, tolerable good health, of a wavering temper. The fortunate part of
life begins after 34 years of age, will marry either in the 20th or 22nd
year. This day is good to buy or sell, deal with females, begin any new
work, apply to elderly people, good for gardening and to visit any
exhibitions.
6th.—If born on this day, will have many excellent and superior friends,
rather high in life, and the person will be in a very extensive line of
trade, and is likely | 1,422.481562 |
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Transcribed from the 1883 Trübner & Co. edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Book cover]
[Picture: Shakespeare on his death-bed]
SHAKESPEARE’S BONES
* * * * *
_THE PROPOSAL TO DISINTER THEM_,
CONSIDERED IN RELATION TO THEIR POSSIBLE BEARING
ON HIS PORTRAITURE:
ILLUSTRATED BY INSTANCES OF
VISITS OF THE LIVING TO THE DEAD.
BY
C. M. INGLEBY, LL.D., V.P.R.S.L.,
Honorary Member of the German Shakespeare Society,
and a Life-Trustee of Shakespeare’s Birthplace, Museum, and New Place,
at Stratford-upon-Avon.
[Picture: Decorative graphic]
_LONDON_:
TRÜBNER & CO., 57 & 59, _Ludgate Hill_.
1883.
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
* * * * *
“Let’s talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs.”
_Richard II_, a. iii, s. 2.
* * * * *
This Essay
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED TO
THE MAJOR AND CORPORATION OF STRATFORD-UPON-AVON,
AND THE VICAR
OF THE CHURCH OF THE HOLY TRINITY THERE,
BY THEIR FRIEND AND COLLEAGUE,
THE AUTHOR.
INDEX TO BIBLIOGRAPHY.
PAGE
Anonymous Articles _Argosy_ 46 October, 1879.
_Atlantic Monthly_ 45 June, 1878.
_Birmingham Daily 43 August 23, 1876.
Mail_
,,,,,,,, _Post_ 44 September 29,
1877.
,,,,,,,, _Gazette_ 47 December 17, 1880.
,,,,,, _Town Crier_ 44 November, 1877.
_Cincinnati 48 May 26, 1883.
Commercial Gazette_
_Daily Telegraph_ 43 August 24, 1876.
_New York Nation_ 45 May 21, 1878.
Letter _Birmingham Daily 45 October 10, 1877.
Post_
Gower, Lord Ronald _Antiquary_ 46 August, 1880.
Halliwell-Phillipps, 46 1881.
J. O.
Hawthorne, Nathaniel _Atlantic Monthly_ 41 January, 1863.
Ingleby, C. M. 48 June, 1883.
Norris, J. Parker _N. Y. American 41 April, 1876, and
Bibliopolist_ August 4, 1876.
Schaafhausen, Hermann _Shakespeare 43 1874–5.
Jahrbuch_
Timmins, Sam. _Letter to J. Parker 42 _Circa_ 1874 and
Norris_ 1876.
SHAKESPEARE’S BONES.
THE sentiment which affects survivors in the disposition of their dead,
and which is, in one regard, a superstition, is, in another, a creditable
outcome of our common humanity: namely, the desire to honour the memory
of departed worth, and to guard the “hallowed reliques” by the erection
of a shrine, both as a visible mark of respect for the dead, and as a
place of resort for those pilgrims who may come to pay him tribute. It
is this sentiment which dots our graveyards with memorial tablets and
more ambitious sculptures, and which still preserves so many of our
closed churchyards from desecration, and our {1a} ancient tombs from the
molestation of careless, curious, or mercenary persons.
But there is another sentiment, not inconsistent with this, which prompts
us, on suitable occasions, to disinter the remains of great men, and
remove them to a more fitting and more honourable resting-place. The
Hôtel des Invalides at Paris, and the Basilica of San Lorenzo Fuori le
Mura at Rome, {1b} are indebted to this sentiment for the possession of
relics which make those edifices the natural resort of pilgrims as of
sight-seers. It were a work of superfluity to adduce further
illustration of the position that the mere exhumation and reinterment of
a great man’s remains, is commonly held to be, in special cases, a
justifiable proceeding, not a violation of that honourable sentiment of
humanity, which protects and consecrates the depositaries of the dead.
On a late occasion it was not the belief that such a proceeding is a
violation of our more sacred instincts which hindered the removal to
Pennsylvania of the remains of William Penn; but simply the belief that
they had already a more suitable resting-place in his native land. {2}
There is still another sentiment, honourable in itself and not
inconsistent with those which I have specified, though still more
conditional upon the sufficiency of the reasons conducing to the act:
namely, the desire, by exhumation, to set at rest a reasonable or
important issue respecting the person of the deceased while he was yet a
living man. Accordingly it is held justifiable to exhume a body recently
buried, in order to discover the cause of death, or to settle a question
of disputed identity: nor is it usually held unjustifiable to exhume a
body long since deceased, in order to find such evidences as time may not
have wholly destroyed, of his personal appearance, including the size and
shape of his head, and the special characteristics of his living face.
It is too late for the most reverential and scrupulous to object to this
as an invasion of the sanctity of the grave, or a violation of the rights
of the dead or of the feelings of his family. When a man has been long
in the grave, there are probably no family feelings to be wounded by such
an act: and, as for his rights, if he can be said to have any, we may
surely reckon among them the right of not being supposed to possess such
objectionable personal defects as may have been imputed to him by the
malice of critics or by the incapacity of sculptor or painter, and which
his remains may be sufficiently unchanged to rebut: in a word we owe him
something more than refraining from disturbing his remains until they are
undistinguishable from the earth in which they lie, a debt which no
supposed inviolable sanctity of the grave ought to prevent us from
paying.
It is, I say, too late to raise such an objection, because exhumation has
been performed many times with a perfectly legitimate object, even in the
case of our most illustrious dead, without protest or objection from the
most sensitive person. As the examples, more or less analogous to that
of Shakespeare, which I am about to adduce, concern great men who were
born and were buried within the limits of our island, I will preface them
by giving the very extraordinary cases of Schiller and Raphael, which
illustrate both classes: those in which the object of the exhumation was
to give the remains a more honourable sepulture, and those in which it
was purely to resolve certain questions affecting the skull of the
deceased. The following is abridged from Mr. Andrew Hamilton’s
narrative, entitled “The Story of Schiller’s Life,” published in
_Macmillan’s Magazine_ for May, 1863.
“At the time of his death | 1,422.576227 |
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Produced by Turgut Dincer and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
BACON’S ESSAYS
AND
WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS
WITH A BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE BY A. SPIERS
PREFACE BY B. MONTAGU, AND
NOTES BY DIFFERENT WRITERS
[Illustration]
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_Copyright, 1884_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, MASS., U. S. A.
ADVERTISEMENT.
In preparing the present volume for the press, use has been freely
made of several publications which have recently appeared in England.
The Biographical Notice of the author is taken from an edition of the
Essays, by A. Spiers, Ph. D. To this has been added the Preface to
Pickering’s edition of the Essays and Wisdom of the Ancients, by Basil
Montagu, Esq. Parker’s edition, by Thomas Markby, M. A., has furnished
the arrangement of the Table prefixed to the Essays, and also “the
references to the most important quotations.” The Notes, including the
translations of the Latin, are chiefly copied from Bohn’s edition,
prepared by Joseph Devey, M. A. We have given the modern translation of
the Wisdom of the Ancients contained in Bohn’s edition, in preference
to that “done by Sir Arthur Gorges,” although the last mentioned has a
claim upon regard, as having been made by a contemporary of Lord Bacon,
and published in his lifetime. Its language is in the style of English
current in the author’s age, and for this reason may resemble more
nearly what the philosopher himself would have used, had he composed
the work in his own tongue instead of Latin.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Preface by B. Montagu, Esq. xi
Introductory Notice of the Life and Writings of Bacon, by
A. Spiers, Ph. D. 1
ESSAYS; OR, COUNSELS CIVIL AND MORAL.
NO.
1. Of Truth 1625; 57
2. Of Death 1612; enlarged 1625 62
3. Of Unity in Religion; Of Religion 1612; rewritten 1625 65
4. Of Revenge 1625; 73
5. Of Adversity 1625; 75
6. Of Simulation and Dissimulation 1625; 78
7. Of Parents and Children 1612; enlarged 1625 82
8. Of Marriage and Single Life 1612; slightly enlarged 1625 84
9. Of Envy 1625; 87
10. Of Love 1612; rewritten 1625 95
11. Of Great Place 1612; slightly enlarged 1625 98
12. Of Boldness 1625; 103
13. Of Goodness, and Goodness
of Nature 1612; enlarged 1625 105
14. Of Nobility 1612; rewritten 1625 110
15. Of Seditions and Troubles 1625 113
16. Of Atheism 1612; slightly enlarged 1625 124
17. Of Superstition 1612; ” ” 1625 130
18. Of Travel 1625; 132
19. Of Empire 1612; much enlarged 1625 135
20. Of Counsels 1612; enlarged 1625 143
21. Of Delays 1625; 151
22. Of Cunning 1612; rewritten 1625 153
23. Of Wisdom for a Man’s Self 1612; enlarged 1625 159
24. Of Innovations 1625; 161
25. Of Dispatch 1612; 163
26. Of Seeming Wise 1612; 166
27. Of Friendship 1612; rewritten 1625 168
28. Of Expense 1597; enlarged 1612;
and again 1625 179
29. Of the true Greatness of
Kingdoms and Estates 1612; enlarged 1625 181
30. Of Regimen of Health 1597; enlarged 1612;
again 1625 195
31. Of Suspicion 1625; 197
32. Of Discourse 1597; slightly enlarged 1612;
again 1625 199
33. Of Plantations 1625; 202
34. Of Riches 1612; much enlarged 1625 207
35. Of Prophecies 1625; 212
36. Of Ambition 1612; enlarged 1625 217
37. Of Masques and Triumphs 1625; 218
38. Of Nature in Men 1612; enlarged 1625 223
39. Of Custom and Education 1612; ” ” 225
40. Of Fortune 1612; slightly enlarged 1625 228
41. Of Usury 1625; 231
42. Of Youth and Age 1612; slightly enlarged 1625 237
43. Of Beauty 1612; ” ” 1625 240
44. Of Deformity 1612; somewhat altered 1625 241
45. Of Building 1625; 243
46. Of Gardens 1625; 249
47. Of Negotiating 1597; enlarged 1612;
very slightly
altered 1625 259
48. Of Followers and Friends 1597; slightly enlarged 1625 261
49. Of Suitors 1597; enlarged 1625 264
50. Of Studies 1597; ” 1625 266
51. Of Faction 1597; much enlarged 1625 269
52. Of Ceremonies and Respects 1597; enlarged 1625 271
53. Of Praise 1612; ” 1625 273
54. Of Vainglory 1612; 276
55. Of Honor and Reputation 1597; omitted 1612;
republished 1625 279
56. Of Judicature 1612; 282
57. Of Anger 1625; 289
58. Of the Vicissitude of Things 1625; 292
APPENDIX TO ESSAYS.
1. Fragment of an Essay of Fame 301
2. Of a King 303
3. An Essay on Death 307
THE WISDOM OF THE ANCIENTS; A SERIES OF
MYTHOLOGICAL FABLES.
Preface 317
1. Cassandra, or Divination. Explained of too free and
unseasonable Advice 323
2. Typhon, or a Rebel. Explained of Rebellion 324
3. The Cyclops, or the Ministers of Terror. Explained
of base Court Officers 327
4. Narcissus, or Self-Love 329
5. The River Styx, or Leagues. Explained of Necessity,
in the Oaths or Solemn Leagues of Princes 331
6. Pan, or Nature. Explained of Natural Philosophy 333
7. Perseus, or War. Explained of the Preparation and
Conduct necessary to War 343
8. Endymion, or a Favorite. Explained of Court Favorites 348
9. The Sister of the Giants, or Fame. Explained of
Public Detraction 350
10. Acteon and Pentheus, or a Curious Man. Explained
of Curiosity, or Prying into the Secrets of Princes
and Divine Mysteries 351
11. Orpheus, or Philosophy. Explained of Natural and
Moral Philosophy 353
12. Cœlum, or Beginnings. Explained of the Creation,
or Origin of all Things 357
13. Proteus, or Matter. Explained of Matter and its
Changes 360
14. Memnon, or a Youth too forward. Explained of the
fatal Precipitancy of Youth 363
15. Tythonus, or Satiety. Explained of Predominant
Passions 364
16. Juno’s Suitor, or Baseness. Explained of Submission
and Abjection 365
17. Cupid, or an Atom. Explained of the Corpuscular
Philosophy 366
18. Diomed, or Zeal. Explained of Persecution, or Zeal
for Religion 371
19. Dædalus, or Mechanical Skill. Explained of Arts and
Artists in Kingdoms and States 374
20. Ericthonius, or Imposture. Explained of the improper
Use of Force in Natural Philosophy 378
21. Deucalion, or Restitution. Explained of a useful Hint
in Natural Philosophy 379
22. Nemesis, or the Vicissitude of Things. Explained of
the Reverses of Fortune 380
23. Achelous, or Battle. Explained of War by Invasion 383
24. Dionysus, or Bacchus. Explained of the Passions 384
25. Atalanta and Hippomenes, or Gain. Explained of the
Contest betwixt Art and Nature 389
26. Prometheus, or the State of Man. Explained of an
Overruling Providence, and of Human Nature 391
27. Icarus and Scylla and Charybdis, or the Middle Way.
Explained of Mediocrity in Natural and Moral
Philosophy 407
28. Sphinx, or Science. Explained of the Sciences 409
29. Proserpine, or Spirit. Explained of the Spirit included
in Natural Bodies 413
30. Metis, or Counsel. Explained of Princes and their
Council 419
31. The Sirens, or Pleasures. Explained of Men’s Passion
for Pleasures 420
PREFACE.
In the early part of the year 1597, Lord Bacon’s first publication
appeared. It is a small 12mo. volume, entitled “Essayes, Religious
Meditations, Places of Perswasion and Disswasion.” It is dedicated
“_To M. Anthony Bacon, his deare Brother_.
“Louing and beloued Brother, I doe nowe like some that have an
Orcharde ill Neighbored, that gather their Fruit before it is
ripe, to preuent stealing. These Fragments of my Conceites were
going to print, To labour the staie of them had bin troublesome,
and subiect to interpretation; to let them passe had beene to
aduenture the wrong they mought receiue by vntrue Coppies, or
by some Garnishment, which it mought please any that should set
them forth to bestow vpon them. Therefore I helde it best as
they passed long agoe from my Pen, without any further disgrace,
then the weaknesse of the Author. And as I did euer hold, there
mought be as great a vanitie in retiring and withdrawing mens
conceites (except they bee of some nature) from the World, as
in obtruding them: So in these particulars I haue played myself
the Inquisitor, and find nothing to my vnderstanding in them
contrarie or infectious to the state of Religion, or Manners, but
rather (as I suppose) medecinable. Only I disliked now to put
them out, because they will be like the late new Halfepence,
which, though the Siluer were good, yet the Peeces were small.
But since they would not stay with their Master, but would needes
trauaile abroade, I haue preferred them to you that are next my
selfe, Dedicating them, such as they are, to our Loue, in the
depth whereof (I assure you) I sometimes wish your Infirmities
translated vppon my selfe, that her Maiestie mought haue the
Seruice of so actiue and able a Mind, and I mought be with
excuse confined to these Contemplations and Studies for which I
am fittest, so commend I you to the Preseruation of the Diuine
Maiestie: From my Chamber at Graies Inne, this 30 of Januarie,
1597. Your entire Louing Brother, FRAN. BACON.”
The Essays, which are ten in number, abound with condensed thought and
practical wisdom, neatly, pressly, and weightily stated, and, like
all his early works, are simple, without imagery. They are written in
his favorite style of aphorisms, although each essay is apparently a
continued work, and without that love of antithesis and false glitter
to which truth and justness of thought are frequently sacrificed by the
writers of maxims.
A second edition, with a translation of the _Meditationes Sacræ_, was
published in the next year; and another edition enlarged in 1612, when
he was solicitor-general, containing thirty-eight essays; and one still
more enlarged in 1625, containing fifty-eight essays, the year before
his death.
The Essays in the subsequent editions are much augmented, according
to his own words: “I always alter when I add, so that nothing is
finished till all is finished,” and they are adorned by happy and
familiar illustration, as in the essay of Wisdom for a Man’s Self,
which concludes, in the edition of 1625, with the following extract,
not to be found in the previous edition: “Wisdom for a man’s self is,
in many branches thereof, a depraved thing. It is the wisdom of rats,
that will be sure to leave a house somewhat before it fall. It is the
wisdom of the fox, that thrusts out the badger, who digged and made
room for him. It is the wisdom of crocodiles, that shed tears when they
would devour. But that which is specially to be noted is, that those
which (as Cicero says of Pompey) are _Sui Amantes sine Rivali_ are many
times unfortunate. And whereas they have all their time sacrificed
to themselves, they become in the end themselves sacrifices to the
inconstancy of Fortune, whose wings they thought, by their self wisdom,
to have pinioned.”
So in the essay upon Adversity, on which he had deeply reflected before
the edition of 1625, when it first appeared, he says: “The virtue of
prosperity is temperance; the virtue of adversity is fortitude; which
in morals is the more heroical virtue. Prosperity is the blessing of
the Old Testament; adversity is the blessing of the New, which carrieth
the great benediction, and the clearer revelation of God’s favor. Yet,
even in the Old Testament, if you listen to David’s harp, you shall
hear as many hearse-like airs as carols; and the pencil of the Holy
Ghost hath labored more in describing the afflictions of Job than
the felicities of Solomon. Prosperity is not without many fears and
distastes, and adversity is not without comforts and hopes. We see in
needle-works and embroideries, it is more pleasing to have a lively
work upon a sad and solemn ground than to have a dark and melancholy
work upon a lightsome ground; judge, therefore, of the pleasure of the
heart by the pleasure of the eye. Certainly, virtue is like precious
odors, most fragrant when they are incensed, or crushed; for prosperity
doth best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.”
The Essays were immediately translated into French and Italian, and
into Latin, by some of his friends, amongst whom were Hacket, Bishop of
Lichfield, and his constant, affectionate friend, Ben Jonson.
His own estimate of the value of this work is thus stated in his
letter to the Bishop of Winchester: “As for my Essays, and some other
particulars of that nature, I count them but as the recreations of my
other studies, and in that manner purpose to continue them; though I
am not ignorant that these kind of writings would, with less pains and
assiduity, perhaps yield more lustre and reputation to my name than the
others I have in hand.”
Although it was not likely that such lustre and reputation would dazzle
him, the admirer of Phocion, who, when applauded, turned to one of his
friends, and asked, “What have I said amiss?” although popular judgment
was not likely to mislead him who concludes his observations upon the
objections to learning and the advantages of knowledge by saying:
“Nevertheless, I do not pretend, and I know it will be impossible for
me, by any pleading of mine, to reverse the judgment either of Æsop’s
cock, that preferred the barleycorn before the gem; or of Midas, that
being chosen judge between Apollo, president of the Muses, and Pan,
god of the flocks, judged for plenty; or of Paris, that judged for
beauty and love against wisdom and power. For these things continue
as they have been; but so will that also continue whereupon learning
hath ever relied and which faileth not, _Justificata est sapientia
a filiis suis_:” yet he seems to have undervalued this little work,
which for two centuries has been favorably received by every lover
of knowledge and of beauty, and is now so well appreciated that a
celebrated professor of our own times truly says: “The small volume to
which he has given the title of ‘Essays,’ the best known and the most
popular of all his works, is one of those where the superiority of his
genius appears to the greatest advantage, the novelty and depth of his
reflections often receiving a strong relief from the triteness of the
subject. It may be read from beginning to end in a few hours; and yet
after the twentieth perusal one seldom fails to remark in it something
overlooked before. This, indeed, is a characteristic of all Bacon’s
writings, and is only to be accounted for by the inexhaustible aliment
they furnish to our own thoughts and the sympathetic activity they
impart to our torpid faculties.”
During his life six or more editions, which seem to have been pirated,
were published; and after his death, two spurious essays, “Of Death,”
and “Of a King,” the only authentic posthumous essay being the Fragment
of an Essay on Fame, which was published by his friend and chaplain,
Dr. Rawley.
This edition is a transcript of the edition of 1625, with the
posthumous essays. In the life of Bacon[1] there is a minute account of
the different editions of the Essays and of their contents.
They may shortly be stated as follows:—
First edition, 1597, genuine.
There are two copies of this edition in the university library at
Cambridge; and there is Archbishop Sancroft’s copy in Emanuel Library;
there is a copy in the Bodleian, and I have a copy.
Second edition, 1598, genuine.
Third edition, 1606, pirated.
Fourth edition, entitled “The Essaies of Sir Francis Bacon, Knight, the
Kings Solliciter Generall. Imprinted at London by Iohn Beale, 1612,”
genuine. It was the intention of Sir Francis to have dedicated this
edition to Henry, Prince of Wales; but he was prevented by the death
of the prince on the 6th of November in that year. This appears by the
following letter:—
_To the Most High and Excellent Prince, Henry, Prince of Wales,
Duke of Cornwall, and Earl of Chester._
It may please your Highness: Having divided my life into the
contemplative and active part, I am desirous to give his Majesty
and your Highness of the fruits of both, simple though they be.
To write just treatises, requireth leisure in the writer and
leisure in the reader, and therefore are not so fit, neither in
regard of your Highness’s princely affairs nor in regard of my
continual service; which is the cause that hath made me choose
to write certain brief notes, set down rather significantly than
curiously, which I have called Essays. The word is late, but the
thing is ancient; for Seneca’s Epistles to Lucilius, if you mark
them well, are but Essays; that is, dispersed meditations though
conveyed in the form of epistles. These labors of mine, I know,
cannot be worthy of your Highness, for what can be worthy of you?
But my hope is, they may be as grains of salt, that will rather
give you an appetite than offend you with satiety. And although
they handle those things wherein both men’s lives and their
persons are most conversant; yet what I have attained I know not;
but I have endeavored to make them not vulgar, but of a nature
whereof a man shall find much in experience and little in books;
so as they are neither repetitions nor fancies. But, however, I
shall most humbly desire your Highness to accept them in gracious
part, and to conceive, that if I cannot rest but must show my
dutiful and devoted affection to your Highness in these things
which proceed from myself, I shall be much more ready to do it in
performance of any of your princely commandments. And so wishing
your Highness all princely felicity, I rest your Highness’s most
humble servant,
1612. FR. BACON.
It was dedicated as follows:—
_To my loving Brother, Sir John Constable, Knt._
My last Essaies I dedicated to my deare brother Master Anthony
Bacon, who is with God. Looking amongst my Papers this vacation,
I found others of the same nature: which, if I myselfe shall
not suffer to be lost, it seemeth the World will not; by the
often printing of the former. Missing my Brother, I found you
next; in respect of bond both of neare Alliance, and of straight
Friendship and Societie, and particularly of communication in
Studies. Wherein I must acknowledge my selfe beholding to you.
For as my Businesse found rest in my Contemplations, so my
Contemplations ever found rest in your loving Conference and
Judgment. So wishing you all good, I remaine your louing Brother
and Friend,
FRA. BACON.
Fifth edition, 1612, pirated. Sixth edition, 1613, pirated. Seventh
edition, 1624, pirated. Eighth edition, 1624, pirated. Ninth edition,
entitled, “The Essayes or Covnsels, Civill and Morall, of Francis Lo.
Vervlam, Viscovnt St. Alban. Newly enlarged. London, Printed by Iohn
Haviland for Hanna Barret and Richard Whitaker, and are to be sold at
the Signe of the King’s Head in Paul’s Churchyard.” 1625, genuine.
This edition is a small quarto of 340 pages; it clearly was published
by Lord Bacon; and in the next year, 1626, Lord Bacon died. The
Dedication is as follows, to the Duke of Buckingham:—
_To the Right Honorable my very good Lo. the Duke of Buckingham
his Grace, Lo. High Admirall of England._
EXCELLENT LO.:—Salomon saies, A good Name is as a precious
Oyntment; and I assure myselfe, such wil your Grace’s Name bee,
with Posteritie. For your Fortune and Merit both, haue beene
eminent. And you haue planted things that are like to last. I
doe now publish my Essayes; which, of all my other Workes, have
beene most currant: for that, as it seemes, they come home to
Mens Businesse and Bosomes. I haue enlarged them both in number
and weight, so that they are indeed a new Work. I thought it
therefore agreeable to my Affection, and Obligation to your
Grace, to prefix your Name before them, both in English and in
Latine. For I doe conceiue, that the Latine Volume of them (being
in the vniuersal language) may last as long as Bookes last. My
Instauration I dedicated to the King: my Historie of Henry the
Seventh (which I haue now also translated into Latine), and my
Portions of Naturall History, to the Prince: and these I dedicate
to your Grace: being of the best Fruits, that by the good
encrease which God gives to my pen and labours, I could yeeld.
God leade your Grace by the Hand. Your Graces most obliged and
faithfull Seruant.
FR. ST. ALBAN.
Of this edition, Lord Bacon sent a copy to the Marquis Fiat, with the
following letter:[2]—
“MONSIEUR L’AMBASSADEUR MON FILZ: Voyant que vostre Excellence
faict et traite Mariages, non seulement entre les Princes
d’Angleterre et de France, mais aussi entre les langues (puis
que faictes traduire mon Liure de l’Advancement des Sciences en
Francois) i’ai bien voulu vous envoyer mon Liure dernierement
imprimé que i’avois pourveu pour vous, mais i’estois en doubte,
de le vous envoyer, pour ce qu’il estoit escrit en Anglois. Mais
a’ cest’heure pour la raison susdicte ie le vous envoye. C’est un
Recompilement de mes Essays Morales et Civiles; mais tellement
enlargiés et enrichiés, tant de nombre que de poix, que c’est de
fait un ouvre nouveau. Ie vous baise les mains, et reste vostre
tres affectionée Ami, et tres humble Serviteur.
THE SAME IN ENGLISH.
MY LORD AMBASSADOR, MY SON: Seeing that your Excellency makes and
treats of Marriages, not only betwixt the Princes of France and
England, but also betwixt their languages (for you have caused
my book of the Advancement of Learning to be translated into
French), I was much inclined to make you a present of the last
book which I published, and which I had in readiness for you. I
was sometimes in doubt whether I ought to have sent it to you,
because it was written in the English tongue. But now, for that
very reason, I send it to you. It is a recompilement of my Essays
Moral and Civil; but in such manner enlarged and enriched both in
number and weight, that it is in effect a new work. I kiss your
hands, and remain your most affectionate friend and most humble
servant, &c.
Of the translation of the Essays into Latin, Bacon speaks in the
following letter:—
“TO MR. TOBIE MATHEW: It is true my labors are now most set to
have those works which I had formerly published, as that of
Advancement of Learning, that of Henry VII., that of the Essays,
being retractate and made more perfect, well translated into
Latin by the help of some good pens which forsake me not. For
these modern languages will, at one time or other, play the
bankrupt with books; and since I have lost much time with this
age, I would be glad, as God shall give me leave, to recover it
with posterity. For the Essay of Friendship, while I took your
speech of it for a cursory request, I took my promise for a
compliment. But since you call for it, I shall perform it.”
In his letter to Father Fulgentio, giving some account of his writings,
he says:—
“The _Novum Organum_ should immediately follow; but my moral and
political writings step in between as being more finished. These
are, the History of King Henry VII., and the small book, which,
in your language, you have called _Saggi Morali_, but I give it a
graver title, that of _Sermones Fideles_, or _Interiora Rerum_,
and these Essays will not only be enlarged in number, but still
more in substance.”
The nature of the Latin edition, and of the Essays in general, is thus
stated by Archbishop Tenison:—
“The Essays, or Counsels Civil and Moral, though a by-work
also, do yet make up a book of greater weight by far than the
Apothegms; and coming home to men’s business and bosoms, his
lordship entertained this persuasion concerning them, that
the Latin volume might last as long as books should last. His
lordship wrote them in the English tongue, and enlarged them as
occasion served, and at last added to them the Colors of Good and
Evil, which are likewise found in his book _De Augmentis_. The
Latin translation of them was a work performed by divers hands:
by those of Dr. Hacket (late Bishop of Lichfield), Mr. Benjamin
Jonson (the learned and judicious poet,) and some others, whose
names I once heard from Dr. Rawley, but I cannot now recall them.
To this Latin edition he gave the title of _Sermones Fideles_,
after the manner of the Jews, who called the words Adagies, or
Observations of the Wise, Faithful Sayings; that is, credible
propositions worthy of firm assent and ready acceptance. And
(as I think), he alluded more particularly, in this title, to
a passage in _Ecclesiastes_, where the preacher saith, that he
sought to find out _Verba Delectabilia_ (as Tremellius rendereth
the Hebrew), pleasant words; (that is, perhaps, his Book of
Canticles;) and _Verba Fidelia_ (as the same Tremellius),
Faithful Sayings; meaning, it may be, his collection of Proverbs.
In the next verse, he calls them Words of the Wise, and so many
goads and nails given _ab eodem pastore_, from the same shepherd
[of the flock of Israel”].
In the year 1638, Rawley published, in folio, a volume containing,
amongst other works, _Sermones Fideles, ab ipso Honoratissimo Auctore,
præterquam in paucis, Latinitate donati_. In his address to the reader,
he says:—
_Accedunt, quas priùs_ Delibationes Civiles _et_ Morales
_inscripserat; Quas etiam in Linguas plurimas Modernas translatas
esse novit; sed eas posteà, et Numero, et Pondere, auxit; In
tantum, ut veluti Opus Novum videri possint; Quas mutato Titulo_,
Sermones Fideles, _sive_ Interiora Rerum, _inscribi placuit_. The
title-page and dedication are annexed: _Sermones Fideles sive
Interiora Rerum. Per Franciscum | 1,422.579326 |
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Produced by Robin Katsuya-Corbet
BEOWULF
By Anonymous
Translated by Gummere
BEOWULF
PRELUDE OF THE FOUNDER OF THE DANISH HOUSE
LO, praise of the prowess of people-kings
of spear-armed Danes, in days long sped,
we have heard, and what honor the athelings won!
Oft Scyld the Scefing from squadroned foes,
from many a tribe, the mead-bench tore,
awing the earls. Since erst he lay
friendless, a foundling, fate repaid him:
for he waxed under welkin, in wealth he throve,
till before him the folk, both far and near,
who house by the whale-path, heard his mandate,
gave him gifts: a good king he!
To him an heir was afterward born,
a son in his halls, whom heaven sent
to favor the folk, feeling their woe
that erst they had lacked an earl for leader
so long a while; the Lord endowed him,
the Wielder of Wonder, with world's renown.
Famed was this Beowulf: {0a} far flew the boast of him,
son of Scyld, in the Scandian lands.
So becomes it a youth to quit him well
with his father's friends, by fee and gift,
that to aid him, aged, in after days,
come warriors willing, should war draw nigh,
liegemen loyal: by lauded deeds
shall an earl have honor in every clan.
Forth he fared at the fated moment,
sturdy Scyld to the shelter of God.
Then they bore him over to ocean's billow,
loving clansmen, as late he charged them,
while wielded words the winsome Scyld,
the leader beloved who long had ruled....
In the roadstead rocked a ring-dight vessel,
ice-flecked, outbound, atheling's barge:
there laid they down their darling lord
on the breast of the boat, the breaker-of-rings, {0b}
by the mast the mighty one. Many a treasure
fetched from far was freighted with him.
No ship have I known so nobly dight
with weapons of war and weeds of battle,
with breastplate and blade: on his bosom lay
a heaped hoard that hence should go
far o'er the flood with him floating away.
No less these loaded the lordly gifts,
thanes' huge treasure, than those had done
who in former time forth had sent him
sole on the seas, a suckling child.
High o'er his head they hoist the standard,
a gold-wove banner; let billows take him,
gave him to ocean. Grave were their spirits,
mournful their mood. No man is able
to say in sooth, no son of the halls,
no hero 'neath heaven, -- who harbored that freight!
I
Now Beowulf bode in the burg of the Scyldings,
leader beloved, and long he ruled
in fame with all folk, since his father had gone
away from the world, till awoke an heir,
haughty Healfdene, who held through life,
sage and sturdy, the Scyldings glad.
Then, one after one, there woke to him,
to the chieftain of clansmen, children four:
Heorogar, then Hrothgar, then Halga brave;
and I heard that -- was --'s queen,
the Heathoscylfing's helpmate dear.
To Hrothgar was given such glory of war,
such honor of combat, that all his kin
obeyed him gladly till great grew his band
of youthful comrades. It came in his mind
to bid his henchmen a hall uprear,
a master mead-house, mightier far
than ever was seen by the sons of earth,
and within it, then, to old and young
he would all allot that the Lord had sent him,
save only the land and the lives of his men.
Wide, I heard, was the work commanded,
for many a tribe this mid-earth round,
to fashion the folkstead. It fell, as he ordered,
in rapid achievement that ready it stood there,
of halls the noblest: Heorot {1a} he named it
whose message had might in many a land.
Not reckless of promise, the rings he dealt,
treasure at banquet: there towered the hall,
high, gabled wide, the hot surge waiting
of furious flame. {1b} Nor far was that day
when father and son-in-law stood in feud
for warfare and hatred that woke again. {1c}
With envy and anger an evil spirit
endured the dole in his dark abode,
that he heard each day the din of revel
high in the hall: there harps rang out,
clear song of the singer. He sang who knew {1d}
tales of the early time of man,
how the Almighty made the earth,
fairest fields enfolded by water,
set, triumphant, sun and moon
for a light to lighten the land-dwellers,
and braided bright the breast of earth
with limbs and leaves, made life for all
of mortal beings that breathe and move.
So lived the clansmen in cheer and revel
a winsome life, till one began
to fashion evils, that field of hell.
Grendel this monster grim was called,
march-riever {1e} mighty, in moorland living,
in fen and fastness; fief of the giants
the hapless wight a while had kept
since the Creator his exile doomed.
On kin of Cain was the killing avenged
by sovran God for slaughtered Abel.
Ill fared his feud, {1f} and far was he driven,
for the slaughter's sake, from sight of men.
Of Cain awoke all that woful breed,
Etins {1g} and elves and evil-spirits,
as well as the giants that warred with God
weary while: but their wage was paid them!
II
WENT he forth to find at fall of night
that haughty house, and heed wherever
the Ring-Danes, outrevelled, to rest had gone.
Found within it the atheling band
asleep after feasting and fearless of sorrow,
of human hardship. Unhallowed wight,
grim and greedy, he grasped betimes,
wrathful, reckless, from resting-places,
thirty of the thanes, and thence he rushed
fain of his fell spoil, faring homeward,
laden with slaughter, his lair to seek.
Then at the dawning, as day was breaking,
the might of Grendel to men was known;
then after wassail was wail uplifted,
loud moan in the morn. The mighty chief,
atheling excellent, unblithe sat,
labored in woe for the loss of his thanes,
when once had been traced the trail of the fiend,
spirit accurst: too cruel that sorrow,
too long, too loathsome. Not late the respite;
with night returning, anew began
ruthless murder; he recked no whit,
firm in his guilt, of the feud and crime.
They were easy to find who elsewhere sought
in room remote their rest at night,
bed in the bowers, {2a} when that bale was shown,
was seen in sooth, with surest token, --
the hall-thane's {2b} hate. Such held themselves
far and fast who the fiend outran!
Thus ruled unrighteous and raged his fill
one against all; until empty stood
that lordly building, and long it bode so.
Twelve years' tide the trouble he bore,
sovran of Scyldings, sorrows in plenty,
boundless cares. There came unhidden
tidings true to the tribes of men,
in sorrowful songs, how ceaselessly Grendel
harassed Hrothgar, what hate he bore him,
what murder and massacre, many a year,
feud unfading, -- refused consent
to deal with any of Daneland's earls,
make pact of peace, or compound for gold:
still less did the wise men ween to get
great fee for the feud from his fiendish hands.
But the evil one ambushed old and young
death-shadow dark, and dogged them still,
lured, or lurked in the livelong night
of misty moorlands: men may say not
where the haunts of these Hell-Runes {2c} be.
Such heaping of horrors the hater of men,
lonely roamer, wrought unceasing,
harassings heavy. O'er Heorot he lorded,
gold-bright hall, in gloomy nights;
and ne'er could the prince {2d} approach his throne,
-- 'twas judgment of God, -- or have joy in his hall.
Sore was the sorrow to Scyldings'-friend,
heart-rending misery. Many nobles
sat assembled, and searched out counsel
how it were best for bold-hearted men
against harassing terror to try their hand.
Whiles they vowed in their heathen fanes
altar-offerings, asked with words {2e}
that the slayer-of-souls would succor give them
for the pain of their people. Their practice this,
their heathen hope; 'twas Hell they thought of
in mood of their mind. Almighty they knew not,
Doomsman of Deeds and dreadful Lord,
nor Heaven's-Helmet heeded they ever,
Wielder-of-Wonder. -- Woe for that man
who in harm and hatred hales his soul
to fiery embraces; -- nor favor nor change
awaits he ever. But well for him
that after death-day may draw to his Lord,
and friendship find in the Father's arms!
III
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these days; not wisest men
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.
This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,
great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.
He was the mightiest man of valor
in that same day of this our life,
stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker
he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
far o'er the swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble monarch who needed men!
The prince's journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.
And now the bold one from bands of Geats
comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
e'er he could find; with fourteen men
the sea-wood {3a} he sought, and, sailor proved,
led them on to the land's confines.
Time had now flown; {3b} afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff. On board they climbed,
warriors ready; waves were churning
sea with sand; the sailors bore
on the breast of the bark their bright array,
their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,
on its willing way, the well-braced craft.
Then moved o'er the waters by might of the wind
that bark like a bird with breast of foam,
till in season due, on the second day,
the curved prow such course had run
that sailors now could see the land,
sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,
headlands broad. Their haven was found,
their journey ended. Up then quickly
the Weders' { | 1,422.580299 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
AGNES STRICKLAND'S QUEENS OF ENGLAND
Abridged
By Rosalie Kaufman
Vol. III. (Of III)
Fully Illustrated
Boston
Estes & Lauriat
1882
NOTE.
In presenting this last volume of Queens of England to our readers, we
are glad to say that we have been permitted to carry the story through
the entire history of that country, from the Conquest to the present
day. We present a more complete, although less extended account than is
given in any volume or series of volumes now before the public. We feel
sure that the interest has been continued unabated from the beginning,
and that not only pleasure but real profit will be derived from a
careful perusal of every page of these three volumes. It is true that
some eminent names and many noteworthy events have been sacrificed; but
nothing has been omitted which has been requisite for the comprehension
of events which have depended upon them. Those who follow carefully
the story of these famous characters, will find suggestions which will
prompt them to independent inquiry and landmarks which will indicate a
more elaborate and complete course of study.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Sebastopol...........................................Frontispiece
India.........................................................014
Revocation of the Edict of Nantes,............................017
Zell..........................................................025
Sophia Dorothea of Zell.......................................033
The Bower.....................................................039
George I......................................................053
Caroline Wilhelmina Dorothea of Anspach.......................061
Lady Walpole's Reception......................................069
Sir Robert Walpole............................................083
George II.....................................................101
Kensington Palace.............................................115
Landing of George II..........................................121
Stoke Pogis Church............................................125
The Ivy Tower.................................................127
Charlotte Sophia..............................................137
William Pitt..................................................145
Garrick's Villa...............................................153
George III....................................................157
Cedar from Kew Gardens........................................163
Carlton House.................................................173
Pox...........................................................175
William Pitt the Younger......................................183
What a Little Place you Occupy................................195
Caroline of Brunswick.........................................205
Cowley's House................................................217
Country-scat..................................................223
View from Richmond Hill.......................................229
Hampton Court.................................................237
George IV.....................................................245
The Grotto....................................................231
Warwick Castle................................................259
Kensington Gardens............................................269
Caroline Refused Admittance to Westminster Abbey..............277
Adelaide Louisa...............................................281
O'Connell Haranguing the People...............................287
Lafayette.....................................................303
Queen Victoria................................................311
Victoria at the age of Eight..................................318
Marshal Soult.................................................325
The Youthful Queen............................................328
Street in Coburg..............................................335
Sir Robert Peel...............................................345
Houses of Parliament..........................................357
Beethoven's House at Bonn.....................................365
Castle of Coburg..............................................369
Lord John Russell.............................................373
Orleans House.................................................376
Drawing-room at Balmoral......................................379
Scene in Ireland..............................................385
Duke of Wellington............................................395
Lord Aberdeen.................................................403
Custom-House, Dublin..........................................408
Charge of the Light Brigade...................................413
Park of St. Cloud.............................................419
Capture of the Malakoff.......................................423
Calcutta......................................................433
Sans-Souci....................................................441
Frankfort-on-the-Main.........................................451
Windsor Castle................................................459
An old Castle on the Thames...................................463
The "San Jacinto" stopping the "Trent"........................465
Queen Victoria................................................473
STORIES OF THE LIVES OF THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND.
Compiled From Agnes Strickland, For Young People, By Rosalie Kaufman
{014}
[Illustration: 0020]
THE QUEENS OF ENGLAND. {015}
CHAPTER I. SOPHIA DOROTHEA OF ZELL, WIFE OF GEORGE I.
(A.D. 1666-1726.)
|When the Edict of Nantes was revoked by Louis XIV., of which mention
has been made in a previous reign, persecutions that equalled the
never-to-be-forgotten St. Bartholomew, followed, and being spread over
a longer period, affected a larger number of victims. This Edict had
permitted to Protestants the free observance of their religion so long
that when it was repealed it was a cruel blow, though perhaps a triumph
to Roman Catholics. Those faithful adherents to Protestantism who
refused to become converts were executed or imprisoned; but thousands
escaped and fled, leaving their property to be confiscated to the crown,
while they sought refuge, strangers in a strange land, with poverty
staring them | 1,422.581486 |
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Transcribed from the 1824 Office of W. Smith edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
[Picture: Pamphlet cover]
A
LETTER
ON
SUSPENDED ANIMATION,
CONTAINING
EXPERIMENTS
_Shewing that it may be safely employed during_
OPERATIONS ON ANIMALS,
With the View of ascertaining
ITS PROBABLE UTILITY IN SURGICAL OPERATIONS ON THE
Human Subject,
_Addressed to_
T. A. KNIGHT, ESQ. OF DOWNTON CASTLE,
Herefordshire,
ONE OF THE PRESIDENTS OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY.
* * * * *
BY DR. H. HICKMAN,
OF SHIFFNAL;
Member of the Royal Medical Societies of Edinburgh, and of
the Royal College of Surgeons, London.
* * * * *
IRONBRIDGE: Printed at the Office of W. Smith.
1824.
_TO THE PUBLIC_.
AT the particular request of gentlemen of the first rate talent, and who
rank high in the scientific world, it is, that the author of the
following letter is induced to lay it before the public generally, but
more particularly his medical brethren; in the hope that some one or
other, may be more fortunate in reducing the object of it beyond a
possibility of doubt. It may be said, and with truth, that publications
are too frequently the vehicles of self-adulation, and as such, suffer
greatly from the lash of severe criticism; but the author begs to assure
his readers, that his views are totally different, merely considering it
a duty incumbent on him, (as a medical practitioner, and servant to the
public), to make known any thing which has not been tried, and which
ultimately may add something towards the relief of human suffering,
arising from acute disease. The only method of obtaining this end, is,
in the author’s opinion, candid discussion, and liberality of sentiment,
which, too commonly is a deficient ingredient in the welfare of so
important a profession, productive of serious consequences, not only to
the parties themselves, but to the patient whose life is entrusted to
their care. The duty and object, however, of the Physician and Surgeon,
is generally considered to be the relief of a fellow-creature, by
applying certain remedies to the cure of internal affections, or cutting
some portion of the body, whereby parts are severed from each other
altogether, or relieving cavities of the aggravating cause of disease.
There is not an individual, he believes, who does not shudder at the idea
of an operation, however skilful the Surgeon, or urgent the case, knowing
the great pain that must necessarily be endured; and it is frequently
lamented by the operator himself, that something has not been done to
tranquilize fear, and diminish the agony of the patient. With this view
of the subject then, it is, that he submits his observations and
experiments to the public in the brief form of a letter to a private
gentleman of the highest talent as a man of science, who with others,
thought them worthy to be laid before the Royal Society; and if one grain
of knowledge can be added to the general fund, to obtain a means for the
relief of pain, the labours of the author will be amply rewarded.
A LETTER, &c.
_Sir_,
THE facility of suspending animation, by carbonic acid gas, and other
means, without permanent injury to the subject, having been long known,
it appears to me rather singular that no experiments have hitherto been
made with the object of ascertaining whether operations could be
successfully performed upon animals whilst in a torpid state; and whether
wounds inflicted upon them in such a state would be found to heal with
greater or less facility than similar wounds inflicted on the same
animals whilst in possession of all their powers of feeling and
suffering. Several circumstances led me to suspect that wounds made on
animals whilst in a torpid state, would be found, in many cases, to heal
most readily; and | 1,422.68035 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
ORNITHOLOGIST
—AND—
OÖLOGIST.
$1.00 per Joseph M. Wade, Editor and Publisher. Single Copy
Annum. Established, March, 1875. 10 Cents.
VOL. VIII. BOSTON, MARCH, 1883. No. 3.
Among the Buteos.
The voices of our New England Buzzards are again ringing through their
old haunts, and it may now be seasonable to review my local notes on
their breeding habits last Spring. In short, then, I took 104 eggs. And
from other nests in my circle of observation were taken or destroyed by
farmers, hawk-hunters and others, sixty more eggs and young birds. So
until a more favored breeding range is made known I shall claim this to
be the home of the Buteos. A correspondent in Rochester writes that he
thinks as many eggs can be taken yearly in that vicinity, but until this
is shown to be true I shall not believe the distribution of species is
so equal. If this article could be accompanied by a good physical map of
Norwich and its environs, it would help greatly to support my claims. An
irregular line drawn around the city just outside the suburbs would pass
through the breeding places of sixteen pairs of Red-shouldered Hawks
which I marked down the second week in April. Except a few hemlocks, the
groves and strips of first growth are all deciduous and nearly all
nut-bearing. The red squirrel, which is not so relentlessly shot down as
his gray cousin, is amazingly plenty in these suburban woods. While
skating yesterday on Yantic cove, within the city limits, I saw seven
squirrels playing in the small patch above Christ’s church on the river
bank. Every one who has climbed to nests of young Buteos nearly fledged,
must have been astonished at the great quantity of these young rodents,
supplied by the parent birds. In one nest of Red-tailed Hawks I have
seen portions of nine red squirrels, and from another have counted out
on the ground seven entire bodies. A game bird or chicken now and then,
but red squirrels for every day bill-of-fare. Mousing, Master Buteo will
go. And frogging, too, for I have several times surprised him in muddy
sloughs in the woods, and field collectors often are called to notice
the black mud on fresh Hawk’s eggs. Given then a great food supply and
the species that follow it will be abundant. Over the grove of second
growths to the left of Love Lane, last Spring, I saw a pair of
Red-shouldered Hawks hovering for days in succession. I knew they were
not breeding in the patch, as they had not done so in former years, and
there were but three old Crow’s nests very low down. But to be very sure
I examined the grove repeatedly with care and found it to be alive with
red squirrels. In one apple-tree hole was a litter of six; in the butt
of an oak were five with eyes unopened, and the conspicuous outside
nests were many. A Barred Owl clung to the top of a white birch with one
claw, and was tearing away at a squirrel’s new domed nest with the other
claw. The Hawks had their nest with two young in the swamp beyond, and
this grove was their handy larder, and very noisy they were over their
daily grace before meat.
The Buteos’ nests from which my ’82 series was taken, were for the most
part old ones, the very few exceptions being smaller than those used for
several seasons. The use of an old nest by the Great-horned Owl is
habitual. The Barred Owl takes a hole when it can find one, and if not,
an old nest. Failing there, he builds a very small nest of the flimsiest
sort. To show the dislike of our Raptores to nidification, let me
reproduce an avian drama to which usher nature gave me a free pass and
open stall last Spring. The scene opens late in March on Plain Hill,
where a pair of Red-shouldered Hawks were furbishing up the nest in
which off and on they had bred for five years. Their dalliance was
pleasant, no doubt, but dangerously long, for a Barred Owl slipped in
and laid two eggs April 1 and 3. The Hawks were virtually indignant, and
were often seen to dash down towards the nest, as if to dispossess the
intruder, but they always wisely stopped a few inches above the snapping
bill and mass of fluffy feathers with nine points of law in its favor.
The Hawks at length went across a small swamp and re-upholstered the
nest in which the Owl bred in ’81. I now took the two Owl’s eggs,
supposing the clutch complete, but she then went across the swamp and
laid the third egg in her old tenement. When I climbed to the second
nest, with the Hawks in possession, it contained three Buteo’s eggs and
one Barred Owl’s. Blowing showed that the Owl’s egg was slightly
incubated, and it would have been interesting perhaps to have let nature
had her course with this motley clutch. The unwearied owl now went back
to the first nest and laid and hatched her second clutch of two eggs.
Ovipositing after a while again becoming a necessity for the Hawks, they
too repaired to the opening scene of our drama from high life, and after
a few noisy demonstrations against the Owl, took up their new quarters
in a tree within gunshot of the first. The nest was so small I could not
believe that even our smallest Buteo (_pennsylvanicus_), could breed in
it, though I saw the great female Red-shouldered come from it, and could
see that it was feathered through my field glass. Climbing showed it to
have a very large and bright initial egg, which was riddled with shot
the next day by so-called hawk-hunters. The marauders completed the
series of reprisals by carrying away my young owls.
Aside from my first object, I have dwelt on the final details of this
little tragedy, because it also is a fair illustration of the domestic
troubles of the Rapaciæ here in the breeding season. With every man’s
hand against them—hunter, farmer and collector—it is a continued source
of wonder that so many eggs are taken and so many hawks left. Some may
be alien birds drawn by the food supply. But as a solution to this
question it is not unreasonable to suppose that later in the season when
the farmers are busy with field work and the collector is eagerly
following the small birds in their Summer homes in the outskirts of the
woods, that made wary by pursuit, and screened by the dense foliage, the
resident Buteos manage to “steal” an occasional nest and bring up enough
young to keep up the old local race. This idea is in part born out by
the fact that in my Winter tramps through our leafless woods, I now and
then run across a Hawk’s nest which I knew was not there the year before
and the first chapter of whose life history had not been revealed to
me.—_J. M. W., Norwich, Conn._
Notes from Nebraska.
April 21, ’82, found my first nest of the American Long Eared Owl. ’Twas
in the forks of a small white oak tree fifteen feet from the ground and
contained five eggs ready to hatch. It resembled that of the Common
Crow, only smaller. While I was examining this nest the old birds showed
their displeasure by flying and darting close to me, continually
snapping the bill.
At times they would alight upon the ground and with spread wings and
tail flutter around, doubtless for the purpose of alluring the intruder
from their nest. The same day I found the nest of a Black Cap Chickadee
containing six fresh eggs.
April 23d I found the nest of a Screech Owl in a hollow oak tree twenty
inches below the opening. It contained three fresh eggs. From this same
tree during the Winter of 1881 and ’82 I captured five fine specimens of
this owl.
May 1st I took another set of eggs of the American Long-eared Owl. This,
like the former, contained five eggs and they were incubated | 1,422.680406 |
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THE RIVERS AND STREAMS
OF ENGLAND
AGENTS
AMERICA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK
AUSTRALASIA THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
205 FLINDERS LANE, MELBOURNE
CANADA THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
ST. MARTIN'S HOUSE, 70 BOND STREET, TORONTO
INDIA MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE DERWENT, HIGH TOR, MATLOCK, DERBYSHIRE]
THE
RIVERS & STREAMS
OF ENGLAND
PAINTED BY
SUTTON PALMER
DESCRIBED BY
A. G. BRADLEY
[Illustration: colophon]
PUBLISHED BY 4 SOHO SQUARE
ADAM AND CHARLES LONDON, W
BLACK MCMIX
PREFACE
Though this is not a book on angling, a life-long attachment to the
fly-rod on the part of the author, and to the delightful scenes into
which such predilections notoriously lead one, makes it at once more
difficult and more easy to write than if one were approaching the
subject as a stranger to the atmosphere, and merely to "write round" the
pictures Mr. Palmer has so admirably painted. But in my case it is by no
means only this. A predilection for British landscape in general, and
all that thereby hangs, has stimulated a far wider acquaintance with it
than any mere angling rambles could achieve, and resulted in the
publication of several books concerned with such things, and covering
more or less about twenty counties. I feel this explanation is
desirable, lest the note of intimacy with many far-sundered streams, in
allusion and otherwise, that must occur in these pages may be suspect.
The more so, as from the fascination of the Cook's ticket or what not,
comparatively few of my countrymen have any considerable knowledge of
their own land. The Rhine is certainly better known than the Wye, and
the Danube probably than the Severn.
But these very experiences made the first proposal to write a book,
other than a mere encyclopaedia, within a brief space on such a big
subject, seem almost hopeless. Rivers and streams from every direction,
by scores, came surging out upon the memory at the very thought of it,
in quite distracting fashion. It was finally agreed, however, that the
literary part of the book should take shape in a series of essays or
chapters dealing with the rivers mainly in separate groups or
water-sheds, leaving the proportions to my discretion. Capricious in a
measure this was bound to be. Selection was inevitable. It is not of
supreme importance. _Caeteris paribus_, and without diverging more than
necessary from the skilful illustrator, I have dealt more freely with
the rivers I know best, and also with those I hold to be more worthy of
notice. There are, of course, omissions, this book being neither a guide
nor an encyclopaedia, but rather a collection of descriptive essays and
of water-colour sketches covering, though necessarily in brief, most of
the groups. In this particular subject there is happily no need for
author and illustrator to keep close company in detail. What inspires
the pen, and in actual survey stirs the blood, is often unpaintable.
What makes a delightful picture, on the other hand, tells sometimes but
a dull tale in print. I have had to leave to the artist's capable brush,
owing to the necessary limitations of the letterpress, several subjects;
a matter, however, which seems to me as quite immaterial to the general
purport of the book, as it is unavoidable. But otherwise I think we run
reasonably together. At first sight the omission of the Thames in
description may seem outrageous. A moment's reflection, however, will, I
am sure, conduce to a saner view. Illustration is wholly another matter;
but to attempt ten or fifteen pages on that great and familiar river,
dealt with, too, in bulk and brief by innumerable pens, that could serve
any purpose or gratify any reader, seems to me a fatuous undertaking.
The Severn, on the other hand, as great, almost as important as the
Thames, and still more beautiful, is by comparison an absolutely unknown
river, and we have given it the first place.
A. G. B.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE SEVERN 1
CHAPTER II
THE WYE 39
CHAPTER III
THE CHALK STREAMS 64
CHAPTER IV
THE BORDER RIVERS 101
CHAPTER V
TWO AVONS 149
CHAPTER VI
THE RIVERS OF DEVON 161
CHAPTER VII
THE RIVERS OF THE SOUTH-EAST 209
CHAPTER VIII
THE YORKSHIRE DALES 227
CHAPTER IX
AN EAST ANGLIAN RIVER 269
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
1. The Derwent, High Tor, Matlock _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
2. The Severn, near Arley, Shropshire 6
3. The Severn, Bridgenorth, Shropshire 18
4. The Severn, near Cam, Gloucestershire 30
5. Chepstow with Wye and Severn 34
6. The Wye, Haddon Hall, Derbyshire 38
7. The Wye, Hay, Breconshire 40
8. The Wye, Ross, Herefordshire 46
9. The Monnow, Old Bridge, Monmouth 52
10. The Wye, Symond's Yat, Herefordshire 60
11. The Wye, Tintern, Monmouthshire 62
12. The Thames, looking towards Henley 64
13. The Avon, near Salisbury 66
14. The Thames, the Bells of Ouseley, Old Windsor 70
15. Stapleford on the Wiley 82
16. The Itchen, St. Cross, Winchester 88
17. The Itchen, and St. Giles' Hill, Winchester 94
18. The Dove, Dovedale, Derbyshire 100
19. The Tyne, Hexham, Northumberland 102
20. The Coquet, and Warkworth Castle, Northumberland 124
21. The Eden, Samson's Chamber, near Carlisle 136
22. The Eden, near Lazonby, Cumberland 140
23. The Derwent, Grange, Borrowdale 142
24. Skelwith Force, near Ambleside, Westmoreland 144
25. The Derwent, Borrowdale, Cumberland 146
26. The Brathay, Langdale, Westmoreland 150
27. The Thames, Backwater by the Islands, Henley 152
28. The Avon at Clifton 154
29. The Avon, Stratford, Warwickshire 158
30. A Glimpse of the Thames, Kew 160
31. The Hamoaze, Devonport, from Mount Edgcumbe 162
32. The Dart, Dittisham, Devon 166
33. The Erme, Ivy Bridge, Devon 172
34. The Tamar, Cotehele, Cornwall 178
35. The Tamar, near Calstock, Cornwall 182
36. The Tavy, Tavistock, Devon 186
37. The Okement, Oakhampton, Devon 192
38. On the West Lynn, Lynmouth, Devon 198
39. The Exe, Countess Weir, Devon 200
40. The Exe, Topsham, Devon 202
41. The Axe, Axmouth, Devon 204
42. The Thames, Eton 208
43. The Thames, Richmond 208
44. The Arun, Arundel Castle, Sussex 208
45. The Arun, Amberley, Sussex 210
46. The Ouse, near Barcombe Mills, Sussex 212
47. The Ouse, near Lewes, Sussex 214
48. A Stream, near Leith Hill, Surrey 216
49. The Rother, Fittleworth, Sussex 216
50. The Wey, Surrey 218
51. The Medway, Aylesford, Kent 220
52. The Wey, Elstead, Surrey 222
53. The Medway, Maidstone, Kent 224
54. The Medway, Rochester 226
55. The Trent, Nottingham 228
56. The Wharfe, Bolton Abbey, Yorkshire 230
57. The Wharfe, the Strid, Yorkshire 234
58. The Wharfe, Barden Tower, Yorkshire 238
59. The Nidd, Knaresborough, Yorkshire 242
60. The Ure, near Ripon, Yorkshire 246
61. The Ure, Aysgarth Force, Yorkshire 250
62. The Swale, Richmond, Yorkshire 252
63. The Swale, Richmond, Yorkshire 254
64. The Swale, Richmond, Yorkshire 256
65. The Swale, Easby Abbey, Yorkshire 258
66. High Force, Tees, Yorkshire 260
67. The Tees, Cotherstone, Yorkshire 264
68. The Tees, Barnard Castle, Durham 266
69. The Stour, Bergholt, Suffolk 268
70. The Ouse, near St. Ives, Huntingdonshire 268
71. The Ouse, Huntingdonshire 270
72. The Ouse, Houghton Mill, Huntingdonshire 272
73. The Ouse, Hemingford Abbots, Huntingdonshire 274
74. The Ouse, near Holywell, Huntingdonshire 276
75. The Stour, near Dedham, Essex 278
_Sketch Map at end of Volume._
RIVERS AND STREAMS OF ENGLAND
CHAPTER I
THE SEVERN
There is surely some peculiar fascination in the birthplace of a famous
river when this lies in the heart of moors and mountains. For myself, I
admit at once to but scant interest in the infant springs of even such
slow running rivers as I have some personal affection for. There is
neither mystery, nor solitude, nor privacy about their birth. They come
into the world amid much the same surroundings as those in which they
spend the greater part of their mature existence--amid ploughed fields,
cattle pastures, and villages, farmyards, game covers, and ozier beds.
When full they are inevitably muddy, and when empty are very empty
indeed; lifeless, and mute at the best, at the worst actually dry. The
river of low-country birth acquires, in short, neither character nor
quality worthy of consideration till as a full-grown stream it can trace
a shining coil in the valley, or reflect the shadow of spire, bridge or
mill, of willow or poplar.
How different is the source of a mountain-born river, above all when it
boasts some name famous in story, and is to become the feeder of
historic cities and bearer of great navies. Its hoarse voice plashing
amid the silence of the eternal hills strikes the chord responsive to
such scenes as these with singular force, and a little louder perhaps
than its comparatively nameless neighbour, which leaves their common
watershed for some other sea. As the lowland landscape of England is
unique, so the mountain and moorland solitudes of these two islands are
quite different from anything else in the whole universe. The mountain
regions of England and Wales, Scotland and Ireland, exhibit, to be sure,
some slight variety of detail, due partly to human and partly to natural
agencies. But such differences are positively trifling compared to the
contrast they each and all present to any other of the waste places of
the earth, unless perhaps some wilder portion of Brittany may be a
qualified exception. This delightful singularity, to my thinking a
wholly favourable one, is not sufficiently understood or appreciated.
There are tremendous masses of snow and crag and evergreen timber, as
well as marvellous formations of naked rock, in four continents
appealing to practically another sense. There are lower ranges, too, on
the scale of our own mountains, in many parts of the world draped in
timber from base to summit, which again are of another family, and those
who have lived or been much among them know how unsatisfactory by
comparison are their limitations, how obstructive both of free movement
and of outlook.
But there is nothing anywhere resembling our open hills where heather
and bog grasses of many hues, where emerald turf, spreading bracken and
golden gorse, broken with cliff and crag and scaur, invite the wanderer
to a delightful and easy intimacy with their innermost haunts. Here you
may ramble practically at will, with the unobstructed glories of earth
and air always before your eyes, the fresh tempered breezes of our
gulf-stream-washed island in your lungs, your feet pressing upon plants
and grasses all instinct of a soil that knows nothing of fierce heats
and binding frosts as those terms are understood in most other lands.
And then, again, how futile to parade the altitude of our British
mountains as evidence of insignificance. They laugh to scorn all such
arithmetic, and many times in a single day will wrap themselves in some
magic veil, and lift their peaks and shoulders round you, till scale and
altitude as expressed in figures become practically a thing of naught.
The obvious of the past garish and sunny hour, when their modest
measurement proclaimed itself to any reasonably experienced eye, has
vanished, and you find yourself confronted by heights that lack
absolutely nothing in stature and dignity, and are in effect mountains
of 10,000 feet. Everything that shapely form and atmosphere can achieve
in the way of effect these little mountains of ours are capable of. Our
much maligned climate not merely clothes them in a chequered mantle of
green and russet, of grey, purple, or saffron, only less in winter than
in summer, but gives them those ever-changing moods and aspects that few
people who know both would as a permanency exchange for all the sun
glare of the earth. And how solitary are the hollows of these hills
where rivers rise: nay, often more than that, and little short of
awesome. Here again, perhaps, comes in the quite undisturbing reflection
that there is a railway within five miles and a town possibly within
ten! What does it matter, when nobody ever comes here, and there is not
a trace visible anywhere of man's handiwork but possibly the dark line
of some stone <DW18> built two centuries ago? The very consciousness that
this is in populous Britain makes the wild wilder, the silence stiller,
the solitude more solitary.
For myself, I know of a score of such valley heads in the North and
Wales, whence streams and rivers have their birth, that provoke a
feeling of positive and pleasurable creepiness, such as the wildest
woods and the remotest prairies never touched me with. Whether opening
and shutting in a driving winter mist, or with their high rocky
shoulders turned gloomily from the sun on a fine autumn morning, these
inner sanctuaries and water-sheds where so many of our English rivers
rise seem as if they gathered the silence of unlimited wastes and
distilled its very essence. The very sounds that break their solitude,
intensify it: the plashing of the tiny stream when it has struggled out
of the meshes of the high bog that gives it birth, and is taking its
first leap for liberty and independence down the rocky ledges of the
precipice towards the world below, the mournful call of the curlew, the
fitful, plaintive bleat of the mountain sheep, or the faint rattle of
stones misplaced by its nimble feet. Poets have written of the "startled
air," and some of them perhaps have used the phrase but tritely, and
themselves but half suspecting the true felicity of the metaphor. In
these sombre chambers of the hills, walled in upon every side, the
stillness seems literally to grasp at every slight sound and cling to it
with strange vibrations and lingering echoes, which remind one how
utterly alien to these places are the common sounds of the everyday
world that pass unnoticed--a world so ridiculously near and yet so
infinitely remote.
Among the outstanding geographical facts which used to be hammered into
the heads of schoolboys was that of Plinlimmon being the parent of both
the Severn and the Wye. Many poems both in Welsh and English have been
inspired by this picture of two infant streams springing from the bosom
of the same mountain, and after following widely sundered courses
through various counties, meeting again as great rivers, just in time to
mingle their waters before merging them in the brine. It would be a
pretty conceit even if it were not in the case of these two rivers an
actual fact. Whether
[Illustration: THE SEVERN, NEAR ARLEY, SHROPSHIRE]
[Illustration]
it is on this account, or because of the huge bulk and prominent
situation of Plinlimmon, many "eminent geographers" of not very remote
days wrote it down for the benefit of generations of misguided students
as the third loftiest mountain in Wales. But it is not even in the first
rank, being less than 2500 feet. There are several mountains in South
Wales alone of greater altitude and more graceful shape. But Plinlimmon,
all the same, is a fine upstanding mass of wild bog, linked upon both
| 1,422.681885 |
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Myths of the Norsemen
From the Eddas and Sagas
By
H. A. Guerber
Author of "The Myths of Greece and Rome" etc.
London
George G. Harrap & Company
15 York Street Covent Garden
1909
Printed by Ballantyne & Co. Limited
Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London
CONTENTS
Chap. Page
I. The Beginning 1
II. Odin 16
III. Frigga 42
IV. Thor 59
V. Tyr 85
VI. Bragi 95
VII. Idun 103
VIII. Nioerd 111
IX. Frey 117
X. Freya 131
XI. Uller 139
XII. Forseti 142
XIII. Heimdall 146
XIV. Hermod 154
XV. Vidar 158
XVI. Vali 162
XVII. The Norns 166
XVIII. The Valkyrs 173
XIX. Hel 180
XX. AEgir 185
XXI. Balder 197
XXII. Loki 216
XXIII. The Giants 230
XXIV. The Dwarfs 239
XXV. The Elves 246
XXVI. The Sigurd Saga 251
XXVII. The Frithiof Saga 298
XXVIII. The Twilight of the Gods 329
XXIX. Greek and Northern Mythologies--A Comparison 342
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Norsemen Landing in Iceland (Oscar Wergeland) Frontispiece
To face page
The Giant with the Flaming Sword (J. C. Dollman) 2
The Wolves Pursuing Sol and Mani (J. C. Dollman) 8
Odin (Sir E. Burne-Jones) 16
The Chosen Slain (K. Dielitz) 18
A Viking Foray (J. C. Dollman) 20
The Pied Piper of Hamelin (H. Kaulbach) 28
Odin (B. E. Fogelberg) 36
Frigga Spinning the Clouds (J. C. Dollman) 42
Tannhaeuser and Frau Venus (J. Wagrez) 52
Eastre (Jacques Reich) 54
Huldra's Nymphs (B. E. Ward) 58
Thor (B. E. Fogelberg) 60
Sif (J. C. Dollman) 64
Thor and the Mountain (J. C. Dollman) 72
A Foray (A. Malmstroem) 88
The Binding of Fenris (Dorothy Hardy) 92
Idun (B. E. Ward) 100
Loki and Thiassi (Dorothy Hardy) 104
Frey (Jacques Reich) 118
Freya (N. J. O. Blommer) 132
The Rainbow Bridge (H. Hendrich) 146
Heimdall (Dorothy Hardy) 148
Jarl (Albert Edelfelt) 152
The Norns (C. Ehrenberg) 166
The Dises (Dorothy Hardy) 170
The Swan-Maiden (Gertrude Demain Hammond, R.I.) 174
The Ride of the Valkyrs (J. C. Dollman) 176
Brunhild and Siegmund (J. Wagrez) 178
The Road to Valhalla (Severin Nilsson) 182
AEgir (J. P. Molin) 186
Ran (M. E. Winge) 190
The Neckan (J. P. Molin) 194
Loki and Hodur (C. G. Qvarnstroem) 202
The Death of Balder (Dorothy Hardy) 206
Hermod before Hela (J. C. Dollman) 210
Loki and Svadilfari (Dorothy Hardy) 222
Loki and Sigyn (M. E. Winge) 228
Thor and the Giants (M. E. Winge) 230
Torghatten 234
The Peaks of the Trolls 244
The Elf-Dance (N. J. O. Blommer) 246
The White Elves (Charles P. Sainton, R.I.) 248
Old Houses with Carved Posts 250
The Were-Wolves (J. C. Dollman) 260
A Hero's Farewell (M. E. Winge) 264
The Funeral Procession (H. Hendrich) 268
Sigurd and Fafnir (K. Dielitz) 274
Sigurd Finds Brunhild (J. Wagrez) 278
Odin and Brunhild (K. Dielitz) 280
Aslaug (Gertrude Demain Hammond, R.I.) 282
Sigurd and Gunnar (J. C. Dollman) 284
The Death of Siegfried (H. Hendrich) 288
The End of Brunhild (J. Wagrez) 290
Ingeborg (M. E. Winge) 304
Frithiof Cleaves the Shield of Helge (Knut Ekwall) 308
Ingeborg Watches her Lover Depart (Knut Ekwall) 312
Frithiof's Return to Framnaes (Knut Ekwall) 316
Frithiof at the Shrine of Balder (Knut Ekwall) 318
Frithiof at the Court of Ring (Knut Ekwall) 320
Frithiof Watches the Sleeping King (Knut Ekwall) 324
Odin and Fenris (Dorothy Hardy) 334
The Ride of the Valkyrs (H. Hendrich) 344
The Storm-Ride (Gilbert Bayes) 358
INTRODUCTION
The prime importance of the rude fragments of poetry preserved in
early Icelandic literature will now be disputed by none, but there
has been until recent times an extraordinary indifference to the
wealth of religious tradition and mythical lore which they contain.
The long neglect of these precious records of our heathen ancestors
is not the fault of the material in which all that survives of
their religious beliefs is enshrined, for it may safely be asserted
that the Edda is as rich in the essentials of national romance
and race-imagination, rugged though it be, as the more graceful
and idyllic mythology of the South | 1,422.683562 |
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Haines.
A WOMAN INTERVENES
BY
ROBERT BARR
AUTHOR OF
'IN THE MIDST OF ALARMS,' 'IN A STEAMER CHAIR,' 'FROM WHOSE BOURNE,'
ETC.
WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY HAL HURST
1896
TO
MY FRIEND
HORACE HART
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
'I HAD NO INTENTION OF INSULTING YOU' _Frontispiece_
WENTWORTH SHOWED HER HOW TO TURN IT ROUND
MISS JENNIE ALLOWED HIM TO ADJUST THE WRAPS AROUND HER
'OH, YES! YOU WILL STAY,' CRIED THE OTHER
SHE WALKED ALONE UP AND DOWN THE PROMENADE
SHE SPRANG SUDDENLY TO HER FEET
'YOU HAVE A PRODIGIOUS HEAD FOR BUSINESS'
EDITH LONGWORTH HAD SAT DOWN BESIDE HIM
CHAPTER I.
The managing editor of the _New York Argus_ sat at his desk with a deep
frown on his face, looking out from under his shaggy eyebrows at the
young man who had just thrown a huge fur overcoat on the back of one
chair, while he sat down himself on another.
'I got your telegram,' began the editor. 'Am I to understand from it that
you have failed?'
'Yes, sir,' answered the young man, without the slightest hesitation.
'Completely?'
'Utterly.'
'Didn't you even get a synopsis of the documents?'
'Not a hanged synop.'
The editor's frown grew deeper. The ends of his fingers drummed nervously
on the desk.
'You take failure rather jauntily, it strikes me,' he said at last.
'What's the use of taking it any other way? I have the consciousness of
knowing that I did my best.'
'Um, yes. It's a great consolation, no doubt, but it doesn't count in
the newspaper business. What did you do?'
'I received your telegram at Montreal, and at once left for Burnt
Pine--most out | 1,422.683807 |
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Transcribed from the 1876 H. Colbran edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
ROME, TURKEY,
AND
JERUSALEM.
* * * * *
BY THE REV. E. HOARE,
VICAR OF TRINITY, TUNBRIDGE WELLS,
AND HONORARY CANON OF CANTERBURY.
* * * * *
_SECOND EDITION_.
* * * * *
LONDON:
HATCHARDS, PICCADILLY.
H. COLBRAN, CALVERLEY ROAD, TUNBRIDGE WELLS.
1876.
* * * * *
LONDON:
Printed by JOHN STRANGEWAYS,
Castle St. Leicester | 1,422.877945 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE INSIDE OF THE CUP
By Winston Churchill
Volume 6.
XX. THE ARRAIGNMENT
XXI. ALISON GOES TO CHURCH
XXII. WHICH SAY TO THE SEERS, SEE NOT!
CHAPTER XX
THE ARRAIGNMENT
I
Looking backward, Hodder perceived that he had really come to the
momentous decision of remaining at St. John's in the twilight of an
evening when, on returning home from seeing Kate Marcy at Mr. Bentley's
he had entered the darkening church. It was then that his mission had
appeared to him as a vision. Every day, afterward, his sense and
knowledge of this mission had grown stronger.
To his mind, not the least of the trials it was to impose upon him, and
one which would have to be dealt with shortly, was a necessary talk with
his assistant, McCrae. If their relationship had from the beginning been
unusual and unsatisfactory, adjectives would seem to defy what it had
become during the summer. What did McCrae think of him? For Hodder had,
it will be recalled, bidden his assistant good-by--and then had remained.
At another brief interview, during which McCrae had betrayed no surprise,
uttered no censure or comment, Hodder had announced his determination to
remain in the city, and to take no part in the services. An announcement
sufficiently astounding. During the months that followed, they had met,
at rare intervals, exchanged casual greetings, and passed on. And yet
Hodder had the feeling, more firmly planted than ever, that McCrae was
awaiting, with an interest which might be called suspense, the
culmination of the process going on within him.
Well, now that he had worked it out, now that he had reached his
decision, it was incumbent upon him to tell his assistant what that
decision was. Hodder shrank from it as from an ordeal. His affection
for the man, his admiration for McCrae's faithful, untiring, and
unrecognized services had deepened. He had a theory that McCrae
really liked him--would even sympathize with his solution; yet he
procrastinated. He was afraid to put his theory to the test. It was not
that Hodder feared that his own solution was not the right one, but that
McCrae might not find it so: he was intensely concerned that it should
also be McCrae's solution--the answer, if one liked, to McCrae's mute and
eternal questionings. He wished to have it a fruition for McCrae as well
as for himself; since theoretically, at least, he had pierced the hard
crust of his assistant's exterior, and conceived him beneath to be all
suppressed fire. In short, Hodder wished to go into battle side by side
with McCrae. Therein lay his anxiety.
Another consideration troubled him--McCrae's family, dependent on a
rather meagre salary. His assistant, in sustaining him in the struggle
he meant to enter, would be making even a greater sacrifice than himself.
For Hodder had no illusions, and knew that the odds against him were
incalculable. Whatever, if defeated, his own future might be, McCrae's
was still more problematical and tragic.
The situation, when it came, was even more difficult than Hodder
had imagined it, since McCrae was not a man to oil the wheels of
conversation. In silence he followed the rector up the stairs and into
his study, in silence he took the seat at the opposite side of the table.
And Hodder, as he hesitated over his opening, contemplated in no little
perplexity and travail the gaunt and non-committal face before him:
"McCrae," he began at length, "you must have thought my conduct this
summer most peculiar. I wish to thank you, first of all, for the
consideration you have shown me, and to tell you how deeply I appreciate
your taking the entire burden of the work of the parish."
McCrae shook his head vigorously, but did not speak.
"I owe it to you to give you some clew to what happened to me," the
rector continued, "although I have an idea that you do not need much
enlightenment on this matter. I have a feeling that you have somehow
been aware of my discouragement during the past year or so, and of the
causes of it. You yourself hold ideals concerning the Church which you
have not confided to me. Of this I am sure. I came here to St. John's
full of hope and confidence, gradually to lose both, gradually to realise
that there was something wrong with me, that in spite of all my efforts
I was unable to make any headway in the right direction. I became
perplexed, dissatisfied--the results were so meagre, so out of proportion
to the labour. And the very fact that those who may be called our chief
parishioners had no complaint merely added to my uneasiness. That kind
of success didn't satisfy me, and I venture to assume it didn't satisfy
you."
Still McCrae made no sign.
"Finally I came to what may be termed a double conclusion. In the first
place, I began to see more and more clearly that our modern civilization
is at fault, to perceive how completely it is conducted on the
materialistic theory of the survival of the fittest rather than that of
the brotherhood of man, and that those who mainly support this church
are, consciously or not, using it as a bulwark for the privilege they
have gained at the expense of their fellow-citizens. And my conclusion
was that Christianity must contain some vital germ which I had somehow
missed, and which I must find if I could, and preach and release it.
That it was the release of this germ these people feared unconsciously.
I say to you, at the risk of the accusation of conceit, that I believed
myself to have a power in the pulpit if I could only discover the truth."
Hodder thought he detected, as he spoke these words, a certain relaxation
of the tension.
"For a while, as the result of discouragement, of cowardice, I may say,
of the tearing-down process of the theological structure--built of debris
from many ruins on which my conception of Christianity rested, I lost all
faith. For many weeks I did not enter the church, as you yourself must
know. Then, when I had given up all hope, through certain incidents and
certain persona, a process of reconstruction began. In short, through no
virtue which I can claim as my own, I believe I have arrived at the
threshold of an understanding of Christianity as our Lord taught it and
lived it. And I intend to take the pulpit and begin to preach it.
"I am deeply concerned in regard to yourself as to what effect my course
may have on you. And I am not you to listen to me with a view that you
should see your way clear to support me McCrae, but rather that you
should be fully apprised of my new belief and intentions. I owe this to
you, for your loyal support in the pest. I shall go over with you,
later, if you care to listen, my whole position. It may be called the
extreme Protestant position, and I use protestant, for want of a better
word, to express what I believe is Paul's true as distinguished from the
false of his two inconsistent theologies. It was this doctrine of Paul's
of redemption by faith, of reacting grace by an inevitable spiritual law
--of rebirth, if you will--that Luther and the Protestant reformers
revived and recognized, rightly, as the vital element of Christ's
teachings, although they did not succeed in separating it wholly from the
dross which clung to it. It is the leaven which has changed governments,
and which in the end, I am firmly convinced, will make true democracy
inevitable. And those who oppose democracy inherently dread its
workings.
"I do not know your views, but it is only fair to add at this time that I
no longer believe in the external and imposed authority of the Church in
the sense in which I formerly accepted it, nor in the virgin birth, nor
in certain other dogmas in which I once acquiesced. Other clergymen of
our communion have proclaimed, in speech and writing, their disbelief in
these things. I have satisfied my conscience as they have, and I mean to
make no secret of my change. I am convinced that not one man or woman
in ten thousand to-day who has rejected Christianity ever knew what
Christianity is. The science and archaic philosophy in which
Christianity has been swaddled and hampered is discredited, and the
conclusion is drawn that Christianity itself must be discredited."
"Ye're going to preach all this?" McCrae demanded, almost fiercely.
"Yes," Hodder replied, still uncertain as to his assistant's attitude,
"and more. I have fully reflected, and I am willing to accept all the
consequences. I understand perfectly, McCrae, that the promulgation
alone of the liberal orthodoxy of which I have spoken will bring me into
conflict with the majority of the vestry and the congregation, and that
the bishop will be appealed to. They will say, in effect, that I have
cheated them, that they hired one man and that another has turned up,
whom they never would have hired. But that won't be the whole story.
If it were merely a question of doctrine, I should resign. It's deeper
than that, more sinister." Hodder doubled up his hand, and laid it on
the table. "It's a matter," he said, looking into McCrae's eyes, "of
freeing this church from those who now hold it in chains. And the two
questions, I see clearly now, the doctrinal and the economic, are so
interwoven as to be inseparable. My former, ancient presentation of
Christianity left men and women cold. It did not draw them into this
church and send them out again fired with the determination to bring
religion into everyday life, resolved to do their part in the removal of
the injustices and cruelties with which we are surrounded, to bring
Christianity into government, where it belongs. Don't misunderstand me
I'm not going to preach politics, but religion."
"I don't misunderstand ye," answered McCrae. He leaned a little forward,
staring at the rector from behind his steel spectacles with a glance
which had become piercing.
"And I am going to discourage a charity which is a mockery of
Christianity," Hodder went on, "the spectacle of which turns thousands
of men and women in sickening revolt against the Church of Christ to-day.
I have discovered, at last, how some of these persons have made their
money, and are making it. And I am going to let them know, since they
have repudiated God in their own souls, since they have denied the
Christian principle of individual responsibility, that I, as the vicar of
God, will not be a party to the transaction of using the Church as a
means of doling out ill-gotten gains to the poor."
"Mr. Parr!" McCrae exclaimed.
"Yes," said the rector, slowly, and with a touch of sadness, "since you
have mentioned him, Mr. Parr. But I need not say that this must go no
farther. I am in possession of definite facts in regard to Mr. Parr
which I shall present to him when he returns."
"Ye'll tell him to his face?"
"It is the only way."
McCrae had risen. A remarkable transformation had come over the man,
--he was reminiscent, at that moment, of some Covenanter ancestor going
into battle. And his voice shook with excitement.
"Ye may count on me, Mr. Hodder," he cried. "These many years I've
waited, these many years I've seen what ye see now, but I was not the
man. Aye, I've watched ye, since the day ye first set foot in this
church. I knew what was going on inside of ye, because it was just
that I felt myself. I hoped--I prayed ye might come to it."
The sight of this taciturn Scotchman, moved in this way, had an
extraordinary effect on Hodder himself, and his own emotion was so
inexpressibly stirred that he kept silence a moment to control it.
This proof of the truth of his theory in regard to McCrae he found
overwhelming.
"But you said nothing, McCrae," he began presently. "I felt all along
that you knew what was wrong--if you had only spoken."
"I could not," said McCrae. "I give ye my word I tried, but I just could
not. Many's the time I wanted to--but I said to myself, when I looked at
you, 'wait, it will come, much better than ye can say it.' And ye have
made me see more than I saw, Mr. Hodder,--already ye have. Ye've got the
whole thing in ye're eye, and I only had a part of it. It's because
ye're the bigger man of the two."
"You thought I'd come to it?" demanded Hodder, as though the full force
of this insight had just struck him.
"Well," said McCrae, "I hoped. It seemed, to look at ye, ye'r true
nature--what was by rights inside of ye. That's the best explaining I
can do. And I call to mind that time ye spoke about not making the men
in the classes Christians--that was what started me to thinking."
"And you asked me," returned the rector, "how welcome some of them would
be in Mr. Parr's Pew."
"Ah, it worried me," declared the assistant, with characteristic
frankness, "to see how deep ye were getting in with him."
Hodder did not reply to this. He had himself risen, and stood looking at
McCrae, filled with a new thought.
"There is one thing I should like to say to you--which is very difficult,
McCrae, but I have no doubt you see the matter as clearly as I do. In
making this fight, I have no one but myself to consider. I am a single
man--"
"Yell not need to go on," answered McCrae, with an odd mixture of
sternness and gentleness in his voice. "I'll stand and fall with ye, Mr.
Hodder. Before I ever thought of the Church I learned a trade, as a boy
in Scotland. I'm not a bad carpenter. And if worse comes to worse, I've
an idea I can make as much with my hands as I make in the ministry."
The smile they exchanged across the table sealed the compact between
them.
II
The electric car which carried him to his appointment with the financier
shot westward like a meteor through the night. And now that the hour was
actually at hand, it seemed to Hodder that he was absurdly unprepared to
meet it. New and formidable aspects, hitherto unthought of, rose in his
mind, and the figure of Eldon Parr loomed to Brobdingnagian proportions
as he approached it. In spite of his determination, the life-blood of
his confidence ebbed, a sense of the power and might of the man who had
now become his adversary increased; and that apprehension of the impact
of the great banker's personality, the cutting edge with the vast
achievements wedged in behind it, each adding weight and impetus to its
momentum the apprehension he had felt in less degree on the day of the
first meeting, and which had almost immediately evaporated--surged up
in him now. His fear was lest the charged atmosphere of the banker's
presence might deflect his own hitherto clear perception of true worth.
He dreaded, once in the midst of those disturbing currents, a bungling
presentation of the cause which inspired him, and which he knew to be
righteousness itself.
Suddenly his mood shifted, betraying still another weakness, and he saw
Eldon Parr, suddenly, vividly--more vividly, indeed, than ever before--in
the shades of the hell of his loneliness. And pity welled up, drowning
the image of incarnate greed and selfishness and lust for wealth and
power: The unique pathos of his former relationship with the man
reasserted itself, and Hodder was conscious once more of the dependence
which Eldon Parr had had on his friendship. During that friendship he,
Hodder, had never lost the sense of being the stronger of the two, of
being leaned upon: leaned upon by a man whom the world feared and hated,
and whom he had been enable to regard with anything but compassion and
the unquestionable affection which sprang from it. Appalled by this
transition, he alighted from the car, and stood for a moment alone in the
darkness gazing at the great white houses that rose above the dusky
outline of shrubbery and trees.
At any rate, he wouldn't find that sense of dependence to-night. And it
steeled him somewhat to think, as he resumed his steps, that he would
meet now the other side, the hard side hitherto always turned away. Had
he needed no other warning of this, the answer to his note asking for an
appointment would have been enough,--a brief and formal communication
signed by the banker's secretary...
"Mr. Parr is engaged just at present, sir," said the servant who opened
the door. "Would you be good enough to step into the library?"
Hardly had he entered the room when he heard a sound behind him, and
turned to confront Alison. The thought of her, too, had complicated
infinitely his emotions concerning the interview before him, and the
sight of her now, of her mature beauty displayed in evening dress, of her
white throat gleaming whiter against the severe black of her gown, made
him literally speechless. Never had he accused her of boldness, and now
least of all. It was the quality of her splendid courage that was borne
in upon him once more above the host of other feelings and impressions,
for he read in her eyes a knowledge of the meaning of his visit.
They stood facing each other an appreciable moment.
"Mr. Langmaid is with him now," she said, in a low voice.
"Yes," he answered.
Her eyes still rested on his face, questioningly, appraisingly, as though
she were seeking to estimate his preparedness for the ordeal before him,
his ability to go through with it successfully, triumphantly. And in her
mention of Langmaid he recognized that she had meant to sound a note of
warning. She had intimated a consultation of the captains, a council of
war. And yet he had never spoken to her of this visit. This proof of
her partisanship, that she had come to him at the crucial instant,
overwhelmed him.
"You know why I am here?" he managed to say. It had to do with the
extent of her knowledge.
"Oh, why shouldn't I?" she cried, "after what you have told me. And
could you think I didn't understand, from the beginning, that it meant
this?"
His agitation still hampered him. He made a gesture of assent.
"It was inevitable," he said.
"Yes, it' was inevitable," she assented, and walked slowly to the mantel,
resting her hand on it and bending her head. "I felt that you would not
shirk it, and yet I realize how painful it must be to you."
"And to you," he replied quickly.
"Yes, and to me. I do not know what you know, specifically,--I have
never sought to find out things, in detail. That would be horrid. But
I understand--in general--I have understood for many years." She raised
her head, and flashed him a glance that was between a quivering smile and
tears. "And I know that you have certain specific information."
He could only wonder at her intuition.
"So far as I am concerned, it is not for the world," he answered.
"Oh, I appreciate that in you!" she exclaimed. "I wished you to know it.
I wished you to know," she added, a little unsteadily, "how much I admire
you for what you are doing. They are afraid of you--they will crush you
if they can."
He did not reply.
"But you are going to speak the truth," she continued, her voice low and
vibrating, "that is splendid! It must have its effect, no matter what
happens."
"Do you feel that?" he asked, taking a step toward her.
"Yes. When I see you, I feel it, I think."...
Whatever answer he might have made to this was frustrated by the
appearance of the figure of Nelson Langmaid in the doorway. He seemed
to survey them benevolently through his spectacles.
"How are you, Hodder? Well, Alison, I have to leave without seeing
anything of you-- | 1,422.878008 |
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THE WRECK
ON
THE ANDAMANS:
BEING
A NARRATIVE OF THE VERY REMARKABLE PRESERVATION,
AND ULTIMATE DELIVERANCE, OF THE SOLDIERS
AND SEAMEN, WHO FORMED THE SHIPS' COMPANIES OF
THE RUNNYMEDE AND BRITON TROOP-SHIPS, BOTH
WRECKED ON THE MORNING OF THE 12TH OF NOVEMBER,
1844, UPON ONE OF THE ANDAMAN ISLANDS, IN
THE BAY OF BENGAL.
_TAKEN FROM AUTHENTIC DOCUMENTS_
BY
JOSEPH DARVALL, Esq.
_At the request of_
CAPT. CHARLES INGRAM, AND CAPT. HENRY JOHN HALL,
_Owners of the Runnymede._
"The dangers of the sea,
All the cares and all the fears,
When the stormy winds do blow."
(_Song._)
LONDON: PELHAM RICHARDSON, 23, CORNHILL.
1845.
PELHAM RICHARDSON, PRINTER, 23, CORNHILL.
PREFACE.
The Author, owing to circumstances, has had access to authentic
documents and facts, relating to one of the most remarkable shipwrecks
which have ever happened, that of the troop-ships Runnymede and
Briton, on the morning of the 12th of November, 1844, upon one of the
Andaman Islands.
In reading these, it struck him forcibly, that the circumstances, if
thrown into the shape of a narrative, would form not only an
interesting publication, but would serve as a monument of the cool
intrepidity and judicious presence of mind of British officers,
soldiers, and seamen, in a time of remarkable trial.
They also tend to illustrate in a very striking manner the correctness
of the classic and poetical description of the "dangers of the sea,"
contained in that passage of Scripture, which the Author has often
observed to be listened to with great interest, when read in its
course, in the churches of our seaports, and which, on that account,
he makes no apology for quoting in a work, not professedly religious.
"They that go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in
great waters; these men see the works of the Lord, and his wonders in
the deep. For at his word the stormy wind ariseth, which lifteth up
the waves thereof. They are carried up to the heaven, and down again
to the deep: their soul melteth away because of the trouble. They reel
to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man: and are at their wits'
end. So when they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, he delivereth
them out of their distress. For he maketh the storm to cease: so that
the waves thereof are still. Then are they glad because they are at
rest; and so he bringeth them unto the haven where they would be."[A]
[A] Psalm cvii., v. 23-30, Com. Pr. Book.
If this little work should answer the author's intention by proving
entertaining as well as instructive, he will feel that he has been
rewarded for the pains he has taken in compiling it.
_Reading,_
_July, 1845._
THE
WRECK ON THE ANDAMANS.
THE DEPARTURE.
"O'er the smooth bosom of the faithless tides,
Propelled by gentle gales, the vessel glides."
_Falconer._
The gallant Barque the Runnymede, of 507 tons burthen, commanded by
Captain William Clement Doutty, an experienced seaman, and the property
of Messrs. Hall & Co. and Ingram of Riches-court, Lime-street, London,
being a remarkably staunch river-built vessel of the | 1,422.878787 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.8615620 | 2,927 | 9 |
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Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Note
Obvious spelling and punctuation errors have been corrected.
Spelling variations have been kept as in the original.
Italic text is indicated by underscores surrounding the _italic text_.
Small capitals in the original have been converted to ALL CAPS.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GREAT
TAXICAB ROBBERY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration:
RHINELANDER WALDO
Commissioner of Police, New York City
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GREAT
TAXICAB ROBBERY
_A True Detective Story_
BY
JAMES H. COLLINS
WRITTEN FROM RECORDS AND PERSONAL ACCOUNTS
OF THE CASE FURNISHED BY THE NEW
YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT
NEW YORK
JOHN LANE COMPANY
MCMXII
------------------------------------------------------------------------
COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY
JOHN LANE COMPANY
------------------------------------------------------------------------
This book has something to say about practical
results of wiser police administration in New
York. It is respectfully dedicated to
HON. WILLIAM J. GAYNOR
MAYOR OF NEW YORK CITY
the official who took the initiative in improving
conditions
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE
There are several reasons for this little book, but the best of all is
the main reason—that it is a cracking good story, and right out of life.
The characters will be found interesting, and they are real people,
every one of them. The incidents are full of action and color. The plot
has mystery, surprise, interplay of mind and motive—had a novelist
invented it, the reader might declare it improbable. This is the kind of
story that is fundamental—the kind Mr. Chesterton says is so necessary
to plain people that, when writers do not happen to write it, plain
people invent it for themselves in the form of folk-lore.
But apart from the story interest there are other reasons.
When the New York police department had run down all the threads of the
plot, and accounted for most of the characters by locking them up, they
had become so absorbed in the story themselves, as a story, that they
thought the public would enjoy following it from the inside.
While the crime was being dealt with, the police were subjected to
pretty severe criticism. They felt that the facts would make it clear
that they knew their trade and had been working at it diligently.
The story gives an insight into real police methods. These are very
different from the methods of the fiction detective, and also from the
average citizen’s idea of police work. They ought to be better known.
When the public understands that there is nothing secret, tyrannical or
dangerous in good police practice, and that our laws safeguard even the
guilty against abuses, there will be helpful public opinion behind
officers of the law, and we shall have a higher degree of order and
security.
The directing mind in this case was that of Commissioner George
Dougherty, executive head of the detectives of the New York Police
Department. Thousands of clean, ambitious young fellows are constantly
putting on the policeman’s uniform all over the country, and rising to
places as detectives and officials. The manufacturer or merchant may
find himself in the police commissioner’s chair. Even the suburbanite,
with his bundles, may be, out at Lonesomehurst, a member of the village
council, and thus responsible for the supervision of a police force
that, though it be only two patrolmen and a chief, is important in its
place. So in writing the story there has been an effort to show how a
first-rate man like Commissioner Dougherty works. His methods are plain
business methods. Most of his life he has earned his living following
the policeman’s trade as a commercial business. What he did in a case of
this kind, and how, and why, are matters of general interest and
importance.
Finally, the story throws some useful light on criminals. It shows the
cunning of the underworld, and also its limitations. To free the
law-abiding mind of romantic notions about the criminal, and show him as
he is, is highly important in the prevention of crime.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING
PAGE
Rhinelander Waldo, Commissioner of
Police, New York City
_Frontispiece_
George S. Dougherty, Second Deputy 20
Police Commissioner
Edward P. Hughes, Inspector in Command 40
of Detective Bureau, and Dominick G.
Riley, Lieutenant and Aide to
Commissioner Dougherty
Geno Montani, Eddie Kinsman, Gene 60
Splaine, “Scotty the Lamb” and John
Molloy
James Pasquale, Bob Delio, Jess 80
Albrazzo, and Matteo Arbrano
“Scotty” Receives Final Instructions 110
“The Brigands” “Stick-up” the Hold-up 126
Men for Theirs
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE CAST
GENO MONTANI, a taxicab proprietor.
WILBUR SMITH, an elderly bank teller.
FRANK WARDLE, a seventeen-year-old bank office boy.
EDDIE KINSMAN, alias “Collins,” alias “Eddie the Boob,” a hold-up man.
BILLY KELLER, alias “Dutch,” a hold-up man.
GENE SPLAINE, a hold-up man.
“SCOTTY THE LAMB,” a thieves’ helper, or “stall.”
JOE PHILADELPHIA, alias “The Kid,” a runner for thieves, or “lobbygow.”
JAMES PASQUALE, alias “Jimmy the Push,” keeper of shady resorts known
as “208” and “233.”
BOB DEILIO, partner of “Jimmy the Push.”
JESS ALBRAZZO, a middleman, formerly keeper of the Arch Café, pal of
Montani, “Jimmy the Push” and Bob Deilio.
MATTEO ARBRANO, }
PAULI GONZALES, } The “Three Brigands.”
CHARLES CAVAGNARO, }
“KING DODO,” a Bowery character.
RHINELANDER WALDO, Police Commissioner of New York.
GEORGE S. DOUGHERTY, Second Deputy Police Commissioner, executive head
of detectives.
INSPECTOR EDWARD P. HUGHES, in command of Detective Bureau.
POLICE LIEUTENANT DOMINICK G. RILEY, Aide of Commissioner Dougherty’s
staff.
DETECTIVE SERGT JOHN J. O’CONNELL, Official Stenographer.
THE DETECTIVES on “Plants,” “Trailing,” “Surrounding,” “Arresting,”
etc.:
John P. Barron, Edward Boyle, Frank Campbell, James Dalton, James J.
Finan, John W. Finn, Joseph A. Daly, Daniel W. Clare, John Gaynor,
Anthony Grieco, John P. Griffith, Daniel F. Hallihan, Edward Lennon,
Henry Mugge, Richard Oliver, Gustavus J. Riley, James F. Shevlin,
Joseph Toner, George Trojan, James A. Watson.
“SWEDE ANNIE,” Kinsman’s sweetheart.
MYRTLE HORN, a pal of Annie.
ROSE LEVY, a newcomer in Thompson street, Jess Albrazzo’s girl.
MRS. ISABELLA GOODWIN, a police matron.
MRS. SULLIVAN, keeper of a West Side rooming house.
“JOSIE,” a lady of the Levee district, Chicago.
Detectives, policemen, informants, witnesses, denizens of the
underworld, newspaper reporters, trainmen, ticket sellers, etc.,
etc.
* * * * *
PLACE—Chiefly in New York, with Scenes in Chicago, Albany, Memphis,
Boston and Montreal.
TIME—February and March, 1912.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The
Great Taxicab Robbery
CHAPTER I
WHAT THE PUBLIC HEARD ABOUT THE CRIME
On Thursday, February 15, 1912, the New York evening papers had a
startling news story.
Between ten and eleven o’clock that morning two messengers were sent in
a taxicab from the East River National Bank, at Broadway and Third
street, to draw $25,000 in currency from the Produce Exchange National
Bank, at Broadway and Beaver street, in the downtown financial district,
and bring it uptown. This transfer of money had been made several times
a week for so long a period without danger or loss that the messengers
were unarmed. One of them, Wilbur F. Smith, was an old man who had been
in the service of the bank thirty-five years, and the other was a mere
boy, named Wardle, seventeen years old. The taxicab man, an Italian
named Geno Montani, seemed almost a trusted employee, too, for he
operated two cabs from a stand near the bank, and was frequently called
upon for such trips.
While the cab was returning uptown through Church street with the money,
five men suddenly closed in upon it. According to the chauffeur’s story,
a sixth man forced him to slacken speed by stumbling in front of the
vehicle. Immediately two men on each side of the cab opened the doors.
Two assailants were boosted in and quickly beat the messengers into
insensibility, while their two helpers ran along on the sidewalk. The
fifth man climbed onto the seat beside the chauffeur, held a revolver to
his ribs, and ordered him to drive fast on peril of his life. This
fellow seemed to be familiar with automobiles, and threatened the driver
when he tried to slacken speed. That is a busy part of the city. Yet
nobody on the sidewalks seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary.
The cab dodged vehicles, going at high speed for several blocks. At Park
Place and Church street, after a trip of eleven blocks, at a busy
corner, the chauffeur was ordered to stop the cab, and the three robbers
got down, carrying the $25,000 in a leather bag, ran quickly to a black
automobile without a license number which was waiting for them, and in a
few moments were gone.
That was the substance of the story.
Information came chiefly from the chauffeur, because the two bank
employees had been attacked so suddenly and viciously that they lost
consciousness in a moment. When the chauffeur looked inside his cab
after the crime, he said, he saw them both lying senseless and bleeding.
They could give no description of the assailants. Eye-witnesses were
found who had seen men loitering in the neighborhood where the cab was
boarded shortly before the crime, but their descriptions were not very
useful.
That night the New York evening papers published accounts of the crime
under great black headlines, and on the following morning every news
item of a criminal nature was grouped in the same part of the papers to
prove that the city had entered one of its sensational “waves of crime.”
And for more than a week the public read criticism and denunciation of
the police force.
It was charged that the police had become “demoralized,” and various
changes of administrative policy introduced into the department within
the past eight months were blindly denounced.
The most important of these changes was that devised by Mayor Gaynor.
Eight or ten years ago, every uniformed policeman in New York carried a
club, and often used it freely in defending himself while making
arrests. Abuses led to the abolition of this means of defense except for
officers patrolling the streets at night. There were still undoubted
abuses, however, and when Mayor Gaynor came into office, bringing
well-thought-out opinions of police administration from his experience
as a magistrate on the bench, he took a determined stand for more humane
methods of making arrests, and strict holding of every policeman to the
letter of the laws. Every case of clubbing was prosecuted, the plain
legal rights of citizens or criminals upheld, and the Police Department
began teaching its men new ways of defending themselves by skillful
holds in wrestling whereby prisoners may be handled effectually and
without doing them harm. Sentiment against the use of the club began to
grow in the Police Department itself, it being recognized that clubbing
was an unskillful means of defense, and that special athletic devices
were more workmanlike.
Now, however, the newspapers published every chance opinion of
discharged, retired and anonymous police officers who objected to the
new regulations. It was alleged that criminals had got out of bounds
because policemen no longer dared club them into good behavior, and the
editors, without paying much attention to the many good points of the
new regulations, or trying to understand the merits of a settled policy
applied to an organization of more than ten thousand men, set up a cry
for the presumably “good old days” of Inspector So-and-So and Chief
This-and-That, when every known criminal was promptly struck over the
head on sight and thereby taught to know his place. If the files of New
York journals for those days following the robbery are examined they
will reveal a curious exhibition of pleading for official lawlessness
and autocracy.
| 1,422.881602 |
2023-11-16 18:40:46.9608730 | 1,077 | 10 |
E-text prepared by Brian Foley, Barbara Magni, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 41085-h.htm or 41085-h.zip:
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41085/41085-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
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http://archive.org/details/newlifelavitanuo00dantrich
The Siddal Edition
THE NEW LIFE
(LA VITA NUOVA)
of
DANTE ALIGHIERI
Translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Ellis and Elvey
London
1899
Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.
_PREFATORY NOTE_
Dante Gabriel Rossetti, being the son of an Italian who was greatly
immersed in the study of Dante Alighieri, and who produced a Comment on
the _Inferno_, and other books relating to Dantesque literature, was
from his earliest childhood familiar with the name of the stupendous
Florentine, and to some extent aware of the range and quality of his
writings. Nevertheless--or perhaps indeed it may have been partly on
that very account--he did not in those opening years read Dante to
any degree worth mentioning: he was well versed in Shakespeare, Walter
Scott, Byron, and some other writers, years before he applied himself
to Dante. He may have been fourteen years of age, or even fifteen (May
1843), before he took seriously to the author of the _Divina Commedia_.
He then read him eagerly, and with the profoundest admiration and
delight; and from the _Commedia_ he proceeded to the lyrical poems and
the _Vita Nuova_. I question whether he ever read--unless in the most
cursory way--other and less fascinating writings of Alighieri, such as
the _Convito_ and the _De Monarchia_.
From reading, Rossetti went on to translating. He translated at an
early age, chiefly between 1845 and 1849, a great number of poems by
the Italians contemporary with Dante, or preceding him; and, among
other things, he made a version of the whole _Vita Nuova_, prose
and verse. This may possibly have been the first important thing
that he translated from the Italian: if not the first, still less
was it the last, and it may well be that his rendering of the book
was completed within the year 1846, or early in 1847. He did not, of
course, leave his version exactly as it had come at first: on the
contrary, he took counsel with friends (Alfred Tennyson among the
number), toned down crudities and juvenilities, and worked to make the
whole thing impressive and artistic--for in such matters he was much
more chargeable with over-fastidiousness than with laxity. Still, the
work, as we now have it, is essentially the work of those adolescent
years--from time to time reconsidered and improved, but not transmuted.
Some few years after producing his translation of the _Vita Nuova_,
Rossetti was desirous of publishing it, and of illustrating the volume
with etchings from various designs, which he had meanwhile done, of
incidents in the story. This project, however, had to be laid aside,
owing to want of means, and the etchings were never undertaken. It was
only in 1861 that the volume named _The Early Italian Poets_, including
the translated _Vita Nuova_, was brought out: the same volume, with
a change in the arrangement of its contents, was reissued in 1874,
entitled _Dante and his Circle_. This book, in its original form, was
received with favour, and settled the claim of Rossetti to rank as a
poetic translator, or indeed as a poet in his own right.
For _The Early Italian Poets_ he wrote a Preface, from which a passage,
immediately relating to the _Vita Nuova_, is extracted in the present
edition. There are some other passages, affecting the whole of the
translations in that volume, which deserve to be borne in mind, as
showing the spirit in which he undertook the translating work, and I
give them here:--
"The life-blood of rhythmical translation is this commandment--that a
good poem shall not be turned into a bad one. The only true motive for
putting poetry into a fresh language must be to endow a fresh nation,
as far as possible, with one | 1,422.980913 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.0594780 | 1,050 | 18 |
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Collections and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note: The etext attempts to replicate the printed book as
closely as possible. Obvious errors in spelling and punctuation have
been corrected. The spellings of names, places and Spanish words used by
the author have not been corrected or modernized by the etext
transcriber. The footnotes have been moved to the end of the text body.
The images have been moved from the middle of a paragraph to the closest
paragraph break for ease of reading.
[Illustration]
THE ANDES OF SOUTHERN
PERU
GEOGRAPHICAL RECONNAISSANCE ALONG THE
SEVENTY-THIRD MERIDIAN
BY
ISAIAH BOWMAN
Director of the American Geographical Society
[Illustration: colophon]
PUBLISHED FOR
THE AMERICAN GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY
OF NEW YORK
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1916
LATIN
AMERICA
COPYRIGHT, 1918
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N.J.
TO
C. G. B.
PREFACE
The geographic work of the Yale Peruvian Expedition of 1911 was
essentially a reconnaissance of the Peruvian Andes along the 73rd
meridian. The route led from the tropical plains of the lower Urubamba
southward over lofty snow-covered passes to the desert coast at Camaná.
The strong climatic and topographic contrasts and the varied human life
which the region contains are of geographic interest chiefly because
they present so many and such clear cases of environmental control
within short distances. Though we speak of “isolated” mountain
communities in the Andes, it is only in a relative sense. The extreme
isolation felt in some of the world’s great deserts is here unknown. It
is therefore all the more remarkable when we come upon differences of
customs and character in Peru to find them strongly developed in spite
of the small distances that separate unlike groups of people.
My division of the Expedition undertook to make a contour map of the
two-hundred-mile stretch of mountain country between Abancay and the
Pacific coast, and a great deal of detailed geographic and physiographic
work had to be sacrificed to insure the completion of the survey. Camp
sites, forage, water, and, above all, strong beasts for the
topographer’s difficult and excessively lofty stations brought daily
problems that were always serious and sometimes critical. I was so
deeply interested in the progress of the topographic map that whenever
it came to a choice of plans the map and not the geography was first
considered. The effect upon my work was to distribute it with little
regard to the demands of the problems, but I cannot regret this in view
of the great value of the maps. Mr. Kai Hendriksen did splendid work in
putting through two hundred miles of plane-tabling in two months under
conditions of extreme difficulty. Many of his triangulation stations
ranged in elevation from 14,000 to nearly 18,000 feet, and the cold and
storms--especially the hailstorms of mid-afternoon--were at times most
severe.
It is also a pleasure to say that Mr. Paul Baxter Lanius, my assistant
on the lower Urubamba journey, rendered an invaluable service in
securing continuous weather records at Yavero and elsewhere, and in
getting food and men to the river party at a critical time. Dr. W. G.
Erving, surgeon of the Expedition, accompanied me on a canoe journey
through the lower gorge of the Urubamba between Rosalina and the mouth
of the Timpia, and again by pack train from Santa Ana to Cotahuasi. For
a time he assisted the topographer. It is due to his prompt surgical
assistance to various members of the party that the field work was
uninterrupted. He was especially useful when two of our river Indians
from Pongo de Mainique were accidentally shot. I have since been
informed by their _patrón_ that they were at work within a few months.
It is difficult to express the gratitude I feel toward Professor Hiram
Bingham, Director of the Expedition, first for the executive care he
displayed in the organization of the expedition’s plans, which left the
various members largely care-free, and second, for generously supplying
the time of various assistants in the preparation of results. I have
enjoyed so many facilities for the completion of the work that at least
a year’s time has been saved thereby. Professor Bingham’s enthusiasm for
pioneer field | 1,423.079518 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.0613220 | 535 | 6 |
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THE
WITCH-MAID
&
OTHER VERSES
THE WITCH-MAID
&
OTHER VERSES
DOROTHEA MACKELLAR
1914
LONDON AND TORONTO
J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON _&_ CO.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
About a third of these poems have appeared before in a volume published
in Australia; several in _The Spectator_ and _The Sydney Bulletin_,
and a few elsewhere. I have to thank the editors for permission to
reprint.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE WITCH-MAID 9
THE COLOURS OF LIGHT 14
FROM A TOWN WINDOW 17
THE SANTA MARIA 19
“SUMER IS ICUMEN IN” 21
NIGHT ON THE PLAINS 24
SETTLERS 25
MY COUNTRY 29
SWALLOWS 32
FIRE 34
HIGH PLACES 35
THE CLOSED DOOR 37
REMINDER 40
CULGAI PADDOCK 41
CANTICLE 43
MARCH WINDS 46
COLOUR 47
NON PENSO A LEI 50
THE ROAD TO RONDA 52
THE MOON AND THE MORNING 54
FLOWER AND THORN 56
THE GREY LAKE 58
BURNING OFF 61
AN OLD SONG 63
BAZAR 64
SPRING ON THE PLAINS 66
PILGRIM SONG 68
THE COORONG SANDHILLS 69
TWO JAPANESE SONGS:
I. The Heart of a Bird 71
II. A Smoke Song 72
AN AFTERGLOW ON THE NILE 73
THE EXPLORER 75
SEPTEMBER 77
RIDING RHYME 80
FOUR TRANSLATIONS FROM THE GERMAN 82
CHÂTEAU D’ESPAGNE 86
BATH | 1,423.081362 |
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Produced by Al Haines
OCTAVIA
The Octoroon
BY
J. F. LEE, M.D.
THE
Abbey Press
PUBLISHERS
114
FIFTH AVENUE
London NEW YORK Montreal
Copyright, 1900,
by
THE
Abbey Press
in
the
United States
and
Great Britain.
All Rights Reserved.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The Prize Fight
CHAPTER II.
A Baptismal Scene
CHAPTER III.
The Birth of Octavia
CHAPTER IV.
Almost a Watery Grave
CHAPTER V.
The "Underground Railway"
CHAPTER VI.
Mistaken Identity and Escape from Bruin
CHAPTER VII.
Liberated
CHAPTER VIII.
Cotton Prowling--Employing Octavia's Governess
CHAPTER IX.
Progress in Studies
CHAPTER X.
Ready for College
CHAPTER XI.
In the Red Cross Service
CHAPTER XII.
In Foreign Lands--Strategy--Love Conquers
Octavia the Octoroon.
CHAPTER I.
THE PRIZE FIGHT.
Just before the beginning of the civil war between the States there was
a large and valuable plantation on the Alabama River on which there
were several hundred slaves, said farm being in what is known as the
"black belt of Alabama," having a river front of several miles, and
annually producing five hundred bales of cotton, fifteen thousand
bushels of corn, besides oats, wheat, hay, mules, horses, hogs, cattle,
sheep and goats in abundance.
This mammoth farm belonged to Hon. R., then a member of the United
States Congress from Alabama, and afterwards a gallant officer in the
Confederate army, rising from the rank of first lieutenant to colonel,
by which latter title he will be known in this story. He lived in what
was then one of the flourishing towns of the State, but which has long
since gone to ruin and decay. Colonel R.'s farm was managed by what
was then known as an "overseer," but now would be termed a
superintendent. He had assistants, white and black, who, with the
overseer, managed the farm in a systematic and scientific manner,
bringing it up to a high state of cultivation, which made it one of the
most productive and valuable in the State.
Colonel R., with his man in livery, a thousand-dollar carriage and
finely caparisoned span of horses, visited his farm once a month when
at home, to give general directions to his overseer, and receive the
annual proceeds of his cotton crop. This was the state of affairs when
Lincoln was elected President, when the Southern States seceded from
the Union, and when the guns at Fort Sumter belched forth their shot
and shell, ushering in a war that had no equal in ancient or modern
times.
When the call to arms was made Colonel R. resigned his seat in the
Federal Congress, hastened home, raised and equipped a company, which
rendered valuable service in the Southern army. Colonel R.'s overseer
and his white assistants also responded to the call, joining the
company which Colonel R. equipped. Thus was Colonel R.'s farm deprived
of white men, and as every able-bodied man was needed at the front, it
was out of the question to replace them; nor did he make any effort to
do so. However, Colonel R. was not wanting for some one to take charge
of his business; he had a quadroon named Simon, who had been carefully
trained and drilled by the overseer in farm management. He had been a
favorite with the overseer, who made no objection to his
fourteen-year-old son teaching him to read and write. He also taught
Simon's sister, Elsie. They were both bright quadroons, good looking,
and exceptionally intelligent for slaves.
Let me say here that if the planters had any inclination to teach their
slaves, the latter had no time but at night to learn, and after working
from the time they could see in the morning until they could not see at
night, they felt like sleeping when reaching their cabins. However,
here and there you would find a <DW64> who could read and write, who
generally received such instruction from their owner's or overseer's
children.
Simon was twenty-five and Elsie eighteen years of age, both having the
same mother, Aunt Dinah, and the same white father.
After the overseer and his assistants left for the army Colonel R.
installed Simon as his foreman, with the authority of an overseer.
Under his administration farm matters moved along as well as they did
under the overseer. In slavery times there was always a <DW64> head
man, leader and squire among the <DW64>s, who performed their marriage
ceremonies (without license), exhorted at their religious meetings and
could sing and pray and be heard a mile. Simon could "out-Herod Herod"
in doing all this. He was faithful, honest and upright, three virtues
rare among <DW64>s. He successfully kept the farm books, in which were
to be recorded the number of pounds of cotton picked per day; the
number and weight of each bale of cotton--in a word, this book gave the
exact production of the farm, whether it was stock, cotton, corn or
what not.
He was provided with a horse and whip, two concomitants that every
ante-bellum overseer possessed. Simon felt his importance, and
probably was too severe in some instances in using the lash on the
slaves. This, however, is characteristic of the <DW64>, as they have
since freedom been known to almost whip their children to death. The
writer has interfered several times where <DW64> parents were
unmercifully chastising their children.
Aunt Dinah, Simon's mother, was rather prepossessing in appearance, and
was the plantation mammy, nurse and midwife, as well as the keeper of
the orphan asylum for all the little pickaninnies on the plantation.
Every place of any size had this character. It is often and truly said
that it is the ambition of <DW64> men to be preachers and of the women
to be midwives.
Simon had interceded with his master and the overseer to exempt Elsie
from farm work, and to appoint her seamstress, who had several
assistants on the farm. She was very apt with the needle and scissors,
cutting and making any garment she wished, and doing it all with the
needle, this being before the introduction of sewing machines on
plantations.
In the eyes of Simon and his mother Elsie was a piece of perfection, a
paragon of virtue and chastity, two possessions rare among <DW64>s of
both sexes. Elsie was the belle of the plantation, having a large
number of suitors, among them two of Colonel R.'s slaves, Brutus and
Caesar.
They were rivals and had an intense hatred for each other on Elsie's
account. While Elsie had no idea of accepting either one or any <DW | 1,423.085545 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.0656130 | 914 | 9 |
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THE
PEARL STORY BOOK
_Stories and Legends of
Winter, Christmas, and New Year's Day_
COMPILED BY
ADA M. SKINNER
AND
ELEANOR L. SKINNER
_Editors of "The Emerald Story Book,"
"The Topaz Story Book," "The Turquoise
Story Book," "Children's Plays," Etc._
[Decoration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1919
Copyright 1910 by
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
[Illustration: {Three shepherds look up at the sky, amazed}
_Drawn by Maxfield Parrish_]
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The editors' thanks are due to the following authors and publishers
for the use of valuable material in this book:
To T. C. and E. C. Jack of Edinburgh for permission to use "Holly" and
the legend of the "Yew" from "Shown to the Children Series"; to
Frederick A. Stokes Company for "The Voice of the Pine Trees," from
"Myths and Legends of Japan"; to the Wessels Company for "The First
Winter" by W. W. Canfield; to Julia Dodge for permission to use two
poems by Mary Mapes Dodge; to the Christian Herald for a poem by
Margaret E. Sangster, Jr.; to Lothrop, Lee and Shepherd for "The Pine
and the Flax" by Albrekt Segerstedt; to the Outlook Company for a
story by Mine Morishima; to the Independent for the poem "Who Loves
the Trees Best?"; to Laura E. Richards for her story "Christmas
Gifts"; to George Putnam and Sons for "Silver Bells" by Hamish Hendry,
and "The Happy Prince" by Oscar Wilde; to the Churchman for a story
by John P. Peters; to Dodd, Mead and Company for the story "Holly"
from the "Story Hour"; and "Prince Winter" from "The Four Seasons" by
Carl Ewald; to George Jacobs for "A Legend of St. Nicholas" from "In
God's Garden" by Amy Steedman; to A. Flanagan Company for "The New
Year's Bell" from "Christ-Child Tales" by Andrea Hofer Proudfoot; to
Jay T. Stocking and the Pilgrims Press for "The Snowball That Didn't
Melt" from "The Golden Goblet"; to the New York State Museum for
permission to use two stories contained in Bulletin 125, by Mrs. H. M.
Converse; to Small, Maynard and Company for "A Song of the Snow," from
"Complete Works of Madison Cawein."
The selections from James Russell Lowell, Edna Dean Proctor, Celia
Thaxter, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Edith M. Thomas, Margaret Deland, John
Townsend Trowbridge, and Frank Dempster Sherman are used by permission
of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin Company,
authorized publishers of their works.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
WINTER STORIES AND LEGENDS
PAGE
Winter (selection) _James Russell Lowell_ 2
The Ice King (Indian legend) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 3
A Song of the Snow (poem) _Madison Cawein_ 9
King Frost and King Winter
(adapted) _Margaret T. Canby_ 11
The Snowstorm (poem) _Ralph Waldo Emerson_ 18
The First Winter (Iroquois
legend) _W. W. Canfield_ 20
Snow Song (poem) _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 24
The Snow Maiden (Russian
legend. Translated from
the French) _Eleanor L. Skinner_ 25
The Frost | 1,423.085653 |
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PETER OF NEW AMSTERDAM
A STORY OF OLD NEW YORK
BY
JAMES OTIS
[Illustration]
NEW YORK -:- CINCINNATI -:- CHICAGO
AMERICAN BOOK COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
JAMES OTIS KALER
ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL, LONDON
W. P. 4
FOREWORD
The purpose of this series of stories is to show the children, and even
those who have already taken up the study of history, the _home life_ of
the colonists with whom they meet in their books. To this end every
effort has been made to avoid anything savoring of romance, and to deal
only with facts, so far as that is possible, while describing the daily
life of those people who conquered the wilderness whether for conscience
sake or for gain.
That the stories may appeal more directly to the children, they are told
from the viewpoint of a child, and purport to have been related by a
child. Should any criticism be made regarding the seeming neglect to
mention important historical facts, the answer would be that these books
are not sent out as histories,--although it is believed that they will
awaken a desire to learn more of the building of the nation,--and only
such incidents as would be particularly noted by a child are used.
Surely it is entertaining as well as instructive for young people to
read of the toil and privations in the homes of those who came into a
new world to build up a country for themselves, and such homely facts
are not to be found in the real histories of our land.
JAMES OTIS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
WHERE I WAS BORN 9
ALONE IN HOLLAND 11
AN IMPORTANT INTRODUCTION 13
I GO MY WAY 15
THE BARGAIN 16
SAILING FOR THE NEW WORLD 18
A VIEW OF NEW NETHERLAND 20
THE "BROWN MEN" OR SAVAGES 22
SUMMONED TO THE CABIN 24
TOYS FOR THE SAVAGES 27
CLAIM OF THE WEST INDIA COMPANY 29
MAKING READY FOR TRADE 30
HANS BRAUN AND KRYN GILDERSLEEVE 32
THE GATHERING OF THE SAVAGES 34
GOING ASHORE 36
BUYING THE ISLAND OF MANHATTAN 38
BOATS USED BY THE SAVAGES 41
WANDERING OVER THE ISLAND 42
THE HOMES OF THE SAVAGES 44
MASTER MINUIT'S HOME 46
BEGINNING THE WORK 48
A STRANGE KIND OF CRAFT 49
BUILDING A FORT 52
IN CHARGE OF THE GOODS 53
THE VALUE OF WAMPUM 56
BUILDINGS OF STONE 59
THE GOVERNMENT 60
A PROSPEROUS TOWN 61
QUARRELSOME SLAVES 64
A BRUTAL MURDER 67
THE VILLAGE CALLED PLYMOUTH 68
I GO ON A VOYAGE 70
A LUKEWARM WELCOME | 1,423.177001 |
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[Illustration: "Your address!" bawled the Duke.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE PLACE OF HONEYMOONS
By
HAROLD MACGRATH
Author of
THE MAN ON THE BOX, THE GOOSE GIRL,
THE CARPET FROM BAGDAD, ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
ARTHUR I. KELLER
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright 1912
The Bobbs-Merrill | 1,423.477767 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.4629450 | 1,882 | 55 |
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 41025-h.htm or 41025-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41025/41025-h/41025-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/41025/41025-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/joshbillingsonic00bill
JOSH BILLINGS ON ICE,
And Other Things.
* * * * *
_A NEW COMIC WORK_
JUST PUBLISHED, UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME, ENTITLED
Josh Billings, His Book.
WITH TWELVE COMIC ILLUSTRATIONS.
[Symbol: Asterism] Copies sent by mail free
of postage, on receipt of price, $1.50 by
G. W. CARLETON & CO., Publishers.
New York.
* * * * *
[Illustration: Josh Billings visits the new Skating Pond, and witnesses
a rather interesting accident, which he describes as "a living lovely
mass ov disastrous skirt and tapring ankle."--_See page 12._]
JOSH BILLINGS ON ICE,
And Other Things.
With Comic Illustrations by J. H. Howard.
NEW YORK:
Carleton, Publisher, Madison Square.
London: S. Low, Son & Co.
M DCCC LXX.
Entered according to act of Congress in the year 1868, by
G. W. Carleton & Co.,
In the Clerk's office of the District Court of the United States, for
the Southern District of New York.
THIS BOOK
IZ DEDICATED TO
AMAZI BARBOUR,
TEW LIQUIDATE A DET OV $17-50/100 THAT I OWED HIM.
JOSH BILLINGS.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I.--JOSH ON ICE 11
II.--SUM NATRAL HISTORY 14
III.--LIVE YANKEES 20
IV.--LINCH PINS 23
V.--GOOSE TALK 26
VI.--JOSH BILLINGS: HIZ SHADE TREE 28
VII.--JOSH CORRESPONDS FREELY WITH 3 FELLOWS 31
VIII.--MONOGRAFFS 36
IX.--HONESTA IS THE BEST POLICY 39
X.--GREAT AGRIKULTURAL HOSS-TROTT 42
XI.--JOSH BILLINGS DEFINES HIS POSITION 46
XII.--COLD PIECES 47
XIII.--LETTER FROM JOSH BILLINGS 50
XIV.--WISDOM CHUNKS 54
XV.--BILLIARDS 58
XVI.--JOSH BILLINGS "RIZES" 60
XVII.--BILLINGS ON PILLS 63
XVIII.--JOSH IN SARATOGA 66
XIX.--SUM VEGETABLE HISTORY 72
XX.--JOSH REPLIES TO CORRESPONDENTS 77
XXI.--LIST OF HOUSEN TEW LET 80
XXII.--LAUGHING 83
XXIII.--LYING 85
XXIV.--PERKUSSION CAPS 87
XXV.--ONE WEEK FROM MY DIARY 91
XXVI.--AMERICAN ARISTOCRACY 94
XXVII.--LOVE 96
XXVIII.--THE GAME OF YEWKER 98
XXIX.--NOW AND THEN 100
XXX.--OATS 103
XXXI.--WATERFALLS 106
XXXII.--POLITENESS 109
XXXIII.--DREAMS 111
XXXIV.--JOSH CORRESPONDS 113
XXXV.--NEWS CUT FROM OUR EXCHANGES 118
XXXVI.--DEAD BEATS 122
XXXVII.--SPRING--MAY, 1868 125
XXXVIII.--HARTES 127
XXXIX.--MONOGRAFFS 128
XL.--JOSH BILLINGS AND THE LEKTUR COMMITTY 133
XLI.--ORPHAN CHILDREN 137
XLII.--BILLINGS REPLIZE TEW CORRESPONDENTS 140
XLIII.--CHIPS FROM THE BUTT CUT OF WISDUM 143
XLIV.--ESSA ON SWINE 146
XLV.--ON SEWING MACHINES 148
XLVI.--SUM ADVISE 150
XLVII.--TAKE IT EASY 153
XLVIII.--JOSH CORRESPONDS 155
XLIX.--THEM GOOD OLD DAZE 159
L.--A HUM TRANSACTION 161
LI.--MILK, WHISKEE AND BEER 164
LII.--PLUCK 170
LIII.--FREE LOVE 171
LIV.--FAST MEN 173
LV.--JOSH REPLIZE TO ONE OF HIZ CORRESPONDENTS 175
LVI.--HUMAN HAPPINESS 177
LVII.--PHILOSOPHEE OV THE BILLINGS FAMILEE 180
LVIII.--AMERIKANS 183
LIX.--JOSH CLEANS OUT HIS PIGEON-HOLE OF CORRESPONDENTS 186
LX.--JOSH CHAWS HIS CUD 190
LXI.--MONOGRAFFS 193
LXII.--JOSH TALKS 198
LXIII.--GIMBLETS 203
LXIV.--MORE CORRESPONDENTS 205
LXV.--SOME NATRAL HISTORY 210
LXVI.--SLIVVERS OF THOUGHT 216
LXVII.--THE BUZZERS 219
LXVIII.--MONOGRAFFS 223
LXIX.--PHILOSOPHEE ON THE HALF-SHELL 227
LXX.--JOSH EPISTOLATES 229
LXXI.--ALMINAK FOR 1869 234
LXXII.--SUM NATRAL HISTRY 239
LXXIII.--MONOGRAFFS 242
LXXIV.--JOSH DOES UP HIS CORRESPONDENTS 247
LXXV.--CUPID ON A RAISE 251
LXXVI.--JOSH COMMENCES WITH HIS FRIEND 255
LXXVII.--JAW BONES 259
LXXVIII.--MORE PHILOSOPHY 260
I.
JOSH ON ICE.
Having herd mutch sed about skating parks, and the grate amount ov
helth and muscle they woz imparting tew the present generashun at a
slite advanse from fust cost, i bought a ticket and went within the
fense.
I found the ice in a slippery condishun, covering about 5 akers ov
artyfishall water, which waz owned bi a stock company, and froze tew
order.
Upon one side ov the pond waz erekted little grosery buildings, where
the wimmin sot on benches while the fellers (kivvered with blushes)
hitched the magick iron tew their feet.
It waz a most exsiting scene: the sun waz in the skey--and the wind waz
in the air--and the birds were in the South--and the snow waz on the
ground--and the ice lay shivering with a bad kold--and angells (ov both
genders) flucktuated past me pro and con, 2 and fro, here a littl and
thare a good deal.
It waz a most exsiting scene; I wanted tew holler "Bully" or lay down
and rool over.
But i kept in, and aked with glory.
Helth waz piktured on menny a nobell brow. Az the femail angells put
out ov the pond, side by side with the male angells, it waz the most
powerfull scene i | 1,423.482985 |
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CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN
KEY TO THE COVER.
The 1st Arch contains a glimpse of Palamon and Arcite fighting
desperately, yet wounded oftener and sharplier by Love's arrows than by
each deadly stroke. The ruthless boy aloft showers gaily upon them his
poisoned shafts.
The 2nd contains Aurelius and Dorigen--that loving wife left on Breton
shores, who was so nearly caught in the trap she set for herself. Aurelius
offers her his heart aflame. It is true his attitude is humble, but she is
utterly in his power--she cannot get away whilst he is kneeling on her
dress.
The 3rd represents the Summoner led away, but this time neither to profit
nor to pleasure, by his horned companion. The wicked spirit holds the
reins of both horses in his hand, and the Summoner already quakes in
anticipation of what is in store for him.
The 4th contains the three rioters. The emblem of that Death they sought
so wantonly hangs over their heads; the reward of sin is not far off.
The 5th Arch is too much concealed by the lock to do more than suggest one
of Griselda's babes.
The KEY, from which the book takes its name, we trust may unlock the too
little known treasures of the first of English poets. The _Daisy_, symbol
for all time both of Chaucer and of children, and thus curiously fitted to
be the connecting link between them, may point the way to lessons fairer
than flowers in stories as simple as daisies.
_CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN_
Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 2_s._ 6_d._
CHAUCER FOR SCHOOLS.
By MRS. HAWEIS, Author of 'CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN.'
_This is a copious and judicious selection from Chaucer's Tales, with
full notes on the history, manners, customs, and language of the
fourteenth century, with marginal glossary and a literal poetical
version in modern English in parallel columns with the original
poetry. Six of the Canterbury Tales are thus presented, in sections of
from 10 to 200 lines, mingled with prose narrative. 'Chaucer for
Schools' is issued to meet a widely-expressed want, and is especially
adapted for class instruction. It may be profitably studied in
connection with the maps and illustrations of 'Chaucer for Children.'_
'We hail with pleasure the appearance of Mrs. Haweis's "Chaucer for
Schools." Her account of "Chaucer the Tale-teller" is certainly the
pleasantest, chattiest, and at the same time one of the soundest
descriptions of the old master, his life and works and general
surroundings, that have ever been written. The chapter cannot be too
highly praised.'--ACADEMY.
'The authoress is in such felicitous harmony with her task, that the young
student, who in this way first makes acquaintance with Chaucer, may well
through life ever after associate Mrs. Haweis with the rare productions of
the father of English poetry.'--SCHOOL-BOARD CHRONICLE.
'Unmistakably presents the best means yet provided of introducing young
pupils to the study of our first great poet.'--SCOTSMAN.
'In her "Chaucer for Schools" Mrs. Haweis has prepared a great assistance
for boys and girls who have to make the acquaintance of the poet. Even
grown people, who like their reading made easy for them, will find the
book a pleasant companion.'--GUARDIAN.
'The subject has been dealt with in such a full and comprehensive way,
that the book must be commended to everyone whose study of early English
poetry has been neglected.'--DAILY CHRONICLE.
'We venture to think that this happy idea will attract to the study of
Chaucer not a few children of a larger growth, who have found Chaucer to
be very hard reading, even with the help of a glossary and copious notes.
Mrs. Haweis's book displays throughout most excellent and patient
workmanship, and it cannot fail to induce many to make themselves more
fully acquainted with the writings of the father of English
literature.'--ECHO.
'The book is a mine of poetic beauty and most scholarly explanation, which
deserves a place on the shelves of every school library.'--SCHOOL
NEWSPAPER.
'For those who have yet to make the acquaintance of the sweet and quaint
singer, there could not well be a better book than this. Mrs. Haweis is,
of course, an enthusiast, and her enthusiasm is contagious. Her volume
ought to be included in all lists of school books--at least, in schools
where boys and girls are supposed to be laying the foundations of a
liberal education.'--LITERARY WORLD.
'Mrs. Haweis has, by her "Chaucer for Schools," rendered invaluable
assistance to those who are anxious to promote the study of English
literature in our higher and middle-grade schools.... Although this
edition of Chaucer has been expressly prepared for school use, it will be
of great service to many adult readers.'--SCHOOL GUARDIAN.
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.
[Illustration: MINE HOST ASSEMBLING THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS.
KNIGHT. SQUIRE. BOY. WIFE OF BATH. PRIORESS. CHAUCER (A CLERK). FRIAR.
MINE HOST. MONK. SUMMONER. PARDONER. SECOND NUN. FRANKLIN.]
CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN
A Golden Key
BY MRS. H. R. HAWEIS
_ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT PICTURES AND NUMEROUS WOODCUTS
BY THE AUTHOR_
[Illustration: 'Doth now your devoir, yonge knightes proude!']
A New Edition, Revised.
London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1882
[Illustration]
CHIEFLY FOR THE USE AND PLEASURE OF MY LITTLE LIONEL, FOR WHOM I FELT THE
NEED OF SOME BOOK OF THE KIND, I HAVE ARRANGED AND ILLUSTRATED THIS
CHAUCER STORY-BOOK.
CONTENTS
FOREWORDS TO THE SECOND EDITION ix
FOREWORDS xi
CHAUCER THE TALE-TELLER 1
CANTERBURY TALES:--
CHAUCER'S PILGRIMS 17
CHAUCER'S PROLOGUE 18
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 34
THE FRIAR'S TALE 57
THE CLERK'S TALE 65
THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 84
THE PARDONER'S TALE 92
MINOR POEMS:--
COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS PURSE 100
TWO RONDEAUX 101
VIRELAI 102
GOOD COUNSEL OF CHAUCER 104
NOTES ON THE PICTURES 107
List of Illustrations.
PICTURES.
PAGE
I. PILGRIMS STARTING _Frontispiece_
II. DINNER IN THE OLDEN TIME _To face_ 2
III. LADY CROSSING THE STREET " 6
IV. FAIR EMELYE " 37
V. GRISELDA'S MARRIAGE " 69
VI. GRISELDA'S BEREAVEMENT " 72
VII. DORIGEN AND AURELIUS " 86
VIII. THE RIOTER " 97
CHAUCER'S PORTRAIT " 3
WOODCUTS.
PAGE
I. TOURNAMENT _Title-page_
II. TABLE 2
III. HEAD-DRESSES 2
IV. MAPS OF OLD AND MODERN LONDON _To face_ 4
V. LADIES' HEAD-DRESSES 5
VI. SHOE 6
VII. JOHN OF GAUNT 7
VIII. SHIP 8
IX. STYLUS 10
X. THE KNIGHT 19
XI. THE SQUIRE 20
XII. THE YEOMAN 21
XIII. THE PRIORESS 22
XIV. THE MONK 24
XV. THE FRIAR 25
XVI. THE MERCHANT 26
XVII. THE CLERK 27
XVIII. THE SERJEANT-OF-LAW 28
XIX. THE FRANKLIN 28
XX. TABLE DORMANT 28
XXI. THE DOCTOR OF PHYSIC 29
XXII. THE WIFE OF BATH 29
XXIII. THE PARSON 30
XXIV. THE PLOUGHMAN 31
XXV. THE SUMMONER 31
XXVI. THE PARDONER 31
XXVII. MINE HOST 32
XXVIII., XXIX. KNIGHTS IN ARMOUR 48
FOREWORDS TO THE SECOND EDITION.
In revising _Chaucer for Children_ for a New Edition, I have fully availed
myself of the help and counsel of my numerous reviewers and
correspondents, without weighting the book, which is really designed for
children, with a number of new facts, and theories springing from the new
facts, such as I have incorporated in my Book for older readers, _Chaucer
for Schools_.
Curious discoveries are still being made, and will continue to be, thanks
to the labours of men like Mr. F. J. Furnivall, and many other able and
industrious scholars, encouraged by the steadily increasing public
interest in Chaucer.
I must express my sincere thanks and gratification for the reception this
book has met with from the press generally, and from many eminent critics
in particular; and last, not least, from those to whom I devoted my
pleasant toil, the children of England.
M. E. HAWEIS.
FOREWORDS.
To the Mother.
A Chaucer for Children may seem to some an impossible story-book, but it
is one which I have been encouraged to put together by noticing how
quickly my own little boy learned and understood fragments of early
English poetry. I believe that if they had the chance, many other children
would do the same.
I think that much of the construction and pronunciation of old English
which seems stiff and obscure to grown up people, appears easy to
children, whose crude language is in many ways its counterpart.
The narrative in early English poetry is almost always very simply and
clearly expressed, with the same kind of repetition of facts and names
which, as every mother knows, is what children most require in
story-telling. The emphasis[1] which the final E gives to many words is
another thing which helps to impress the sentences on the memory, the
sense being often shorter than the sound.
It seems but natural that every English child should know something of one
who left so deep an impression on his age, and on the English tongue, that
he has been called by Occleve "the finder of our fair language." For in
his day there was actually no _national_ language, no _national_
literature, English consisting of so many dialects, each having its own
literature intelligible to comparatively few; and the Court and educated
classes still adhering greatly to Norman-French for both speaking and
writing. Chaucer, who wrote for the people, chose the best form of
English, which was that spoken at Court, at a time when English was
regaining supremacy over French; and the form he adopted laid the
foundation of our present National Tongue.
Chaucer is, moreover, a thoroughly religious poet, all his merriest
stories having a fair moral; even those which are too coarse for modern
taste are rather _naive_ than injurious; and his pages breathe a genuine
faith in God, and a passionate sense of the beauty and harmony of the
divine work. The selections I have made are some of the most beautiful
portions of Chaucer's most beautiful tales.
I believe that some knowledge of, or at least interest in, the domestic
life and manners of the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries, would materially
help young children in their reading of English history. The political
life would often be interpreted by the domestic life, and much of that
time which to a child's mind forms the _dryest_ portion of history,
because so unknown, would then stand out as it really was, glorious and
fascinating in its vigour and vivacity, its enthusiasm, and love of beauty
and bravery. There is no clearer or safer exponent of the life of the 14th
century, as far as he describes it, than Geoffrey Chaucer.
As to the difficulties of understanding Chaucer, they have been greatly
overstated. An occasional reference to a glossary is all that is
requisite; and, with a little attention to a very simple general rule,
anybody with moderate intelligence and an ear for musical rhythm can enjoy
the lines.
In the first place, it must be borne in mind that the _E_ at the end of
the old English words was usually a syllable, and must be sounded, as
_Aprille_, _swoote_, &c.
Note, then, that Chaucer is always _rhythmical_. Hardly ever is his rhythm
a shade wrong, and therefore, roughly speaking, _if you pronounce the
words so as to preserve the rhythm_ all will be well. When the final _e_
must be sounded in order to make the rhythm right, sound it, but where it
is not needed leave it mute.[2]
Thus:--in the opening lines--
Whan that | _April_ | _le_ with | his _schowr_ | _es_ swoote when,
showers,
sweet
The drought | of Marche | hath per | ced to | the roote pierced,
root
And bath | ud eve | ry veyne | in swich | licour such,
liquor
Of whiche | vertue | engen | dred is | the flour. (_Prologue._) flower
You see that in those words which I have put in italics the final E must
be sounded slightly, for the rhythm's sake.
And _sma_ | _le fow_ | _les_ ma | ken me | lodie small
birds
make
That sle | pen al | the night | with o | pen yhe. (_Prologue._) sleep,
all
Again, to quote at random--
The bu | sy _lark_ | _e_ mess | ager | of day, lark, messenger
Salu | eth in | hire song | the _mor_ | _we_ gray. saluteth, her,
morning
(_Knight's Tale._)
Ful _long_ | _e_ wern | his leg | gus, and | ful lene; legs, lean
Al like | a staff | ther was | no calf | y-sene. (_Prologue--'Reve.'_)
or in Chaucer's exquisite greeting of the daisy--
Knelyng | alwey | til it | unclo | sed was always
Upon | the _sma_ | _le_, _sof_ | _te_, _swo_ | _te_ gras. small, soft,
sweet
(_Legend of Good Women._)
How much of the beauty and natural swing of Chaucer's poetry is lost by
translation into modern English, is but too clear when that beauty is once
perceived; but I thought some modernization of the old lines would help
the child to catch the sense of the original more readily: for my own
rendering, I can only make the apology that when I commenced my work I did
not know it would be impossible to procure suitable modernized versions by
eminent poets. Finding that unattainable, I merely endeavoured to render
the old version in modern English as closely as was compatible with sense,
and the simplicity needful for a child's mind; and I do not in any degree
pretend to have rendered it in poetry.
The beauty of such passages as the death of Arcite is too delicate and
evanescent to bear rough handling. But I may here quote some of the lines
as an example of the importance of the final _e_ in emphasizing certain
words with an almost solemn music.
And with | that word | his _spech_ | _e fail_ | _e_ gan; speech, fail
For fro | his feete | up to | his brest | was come
The cold | of deth | that hadde | him o | ver nome; overtaken
And yet | moreo | ver in | his _ar_ | _mes_ twoo now, arms
The vi | tal strength | is lost, | and al | agoo. gone
Only | the in | tellect, | withou | ten more, without
That dwel | led in | his _her_ | _te_ sik | and sore, heart, sick
Gan _fayl_ | _e_ when | the _her_ | _te felt_ | _e_ deth. began to fail,
felt death
(_Knight's Tale._)
There is hardly anything finer than Chaucer's version of the story of
these passionate young men, up to the touching close of Arcite's accident
and the beautiful patience of death. In life nothing would have reconciled
the almost animal fury of the rivals, but at the last such a resignation
comes to Arcite that he gives up Emelye to Palamon with a sublime effort
of self-sacrifice. Throughout the whole of the Knight's Tale sounds as of
rich organ music seem to peal from the page; throughout the Clerk's Tale
one seems to hear strains of infinite sadness echoing the strange outrages
imposed on patient Grizel. But without attention to the rhythm half the
grace and music is lost, and therefore it is all-important that the child
be properly taught to preserve it.
I have adhered generally to Morris's text (1866), being both good and
popular,[3] only checking it by his Clarendon Press edition, and by
Tyrwhitt, Skeat, Bell, &c., when I conceive force is gained, and I have
added a running glossary of such words as are not immediately clear, on a
level with the line, to disperse any lingering difficulty.
In the pictures I have been careful to preserve the right costumes,
colours, and surroundings, for which I have resorted to the MSS. of the
time, knowing that a child's mind, unaided by the eye, fails to realize
half of what comes through the ear. Children may be encouraged to verify
these costumes in the figures upon many tombs and stalls, &c., in old
churches, and in old pictures.
In conclusion I must offer my sincere and hearty thanks to many friends
for their advice, assistance, and encouragement during my work; amongst
them, Mr. A. J. Ellis, Mr. F. J. Furnivall, and Mr. Calderon.
Whatever may be the shortcomings of the book, I cannot but hope that many
little ones, while listening to Chaucer's Tales, will soon begin to be
interested in the picturesque life of the middle ages, and may thus be led
to study and appreciate 'The English Homer'[4] by the pages I have written
for my own little boy.
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Transcriber's Note:
Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been retained as in
the original.
A few typographical errors have been corrected. A complete list
follows the text.
Words italicized in the original are surrounded by _underscores_.
Words with bold emphasis in the original are surrounded by =equals
signs=.
STORIES FROM TAGORE
[Illustration]
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK A. BOSTON A. CHICAGO A. DALLAS
ATLANTA A. SAN FRANCISCO
MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED
LONDON A. BOMBAY A. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
Stories from Tagore
New York
The Macmillan Company
1918
_All rights reserved_
Copyright 1916 and 1918
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published, October, 1918
PREFACE
Every experienced teacher must have noticed the difficulty of
instructing Indian children out of books that are specially intended for
use in English schools. It is not merely that the subjects are
unfamiliar, but almost every phrase has English associations that are
strange to Indian ears. The environment in which they are written is
unknown to the Indian school boy and his mind becomes overburdened with
its details which he fails to understand. He cannot give his whole
attention to the language and thus master it quickly.
The present Indian story-book avoids some at least of these impediments.
The surroundings described in it are those of the students' everyday
life; the sentiments and characters are familiar. The stories are simply
told, and the notes at the end will be sufficient to explain obscure
passages. It should be possible for the Indian student to follow the
pages of the book easily and intelligently. Those students who have read
the stories in the original will have the further advantage of knowing
beforehand the whole trend of the narrative and thus they will be able
to concentrate their thoughts on the English language itself.
It is proposed to publish together in a single volume the original
stories whose English translations are given in this Reader. Versions of
the same stories in the different Indian vernaculars have already
appeared, and others are likely to follow.
Two of the longest stories in this book--"Master Mashai" and "The Son of
Rashmani"--are reproduced in English for the first time. The rest of the
stories have been taken, with slight revision, from two English volumes
entitled "The Hungry Stones" and "Mashi." A short paragraph has been
added from the original Bengali at the end of the story called "The
Postmaster." This was unfortunately omitted in the first English
edition.
The list of words to be studied has been chosen from each story in order
to bring to notice different types of English words. The lists are in no
sense exhaustive. The end in view has been to endeavour to create an
interest in Indian words and their history, which may lead on to further
study.
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE CABULIWALLAH 3
THE HOME-COMING 21
ONCE THERE WAS A KING 35
THE CHILD'S RETURN 51
MASTER MASHAI 69
SUBHA 101
THE POSTMASTER 115
THE CASTAWAY 129
THE SON OF RASHMANI 151
THE BABUS OF NAYANJORE 203
NOTES 223
THE CABULIWALLAH
STORIES FROM TAGORE
I
THE CABULIWALLAH
My five years' old daughter Mini cannot live without chattering. I
really believe that in all her life she has not wasted a minute in
silence. Her mother is often vexed at this, and would stop her prattle,
but I would not. To see Mini quiet is unnatural, and I cannot bear it
long. And so my own talk with her is always lively.
One morning, for instance, when I was in the midst of the seventeenth
chapter of my new novel, my little Mini stole into the room, and putting
her hand into mine, said: "Father! Ramdayal the door-keeper calls a crow | 1,423.576991 |
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THE ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES
by
SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
I. A Scandal in Bohemia
II. The Red-headed League
III. A Case of Identity
IV. The Boscombe Valley Mystery
V. The Five Orange Pips
VI. The Man with the Twisted Lip
VII. The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle
VIII. The Adventure of the Speckled Band
IX. The Adventure of the Engineer's Thumb
X. The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor
XI. The Adventure of the Beryl Coronet
XII. The Adventure of the Copper Beeches
ADVENTURE I. A SCANDAL IN BOHEMIA
I.
To Sherlock Holmes she is always THE woman. I have seldom heard
him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses
and predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt
any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that
one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but
admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect
reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a
lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never
spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They
were admirable things for the observer--excellent for drawing the
veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner
to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely
adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which
might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a
sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power
lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a
nature such as his. And yet there was but one woman to him, and
that woman was the late Irene Adler, of dubious and questionable
memory.
I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us
away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the
home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first
finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to
absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of
society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in
Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from
week to week between cocaine and ambition, the drowsiness of the
drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen nature. He was still,
as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime, and occupied his
immense faculties and extraordinary powers of observation in
following out those clues, and clearing up those mysteries which
had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police. From time
to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his summons
to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up
of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee,
and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so
delicately and successfully for the reigning family of Holland.
Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely
shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of
my former friend and companion.
One night--it was on the twentieth of March, 1888--I was
returning from a journey to a patient (for I had now returned to
civil practice), when my way led me through Baker Street. As I
passed the well-remembered door, which must always be associated
in my mind with my wooing, and with the dark incidents of the
Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a keen desire to see Holmes
again, and to know how he was employing his extraordinary powers.
His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I looked up, I saw
his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette against
the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his head
sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who
knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their
own story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his
drug-created dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new
problem. I rang the bell and was shown up to the chamber which
had formerly been in part my own.
His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I
think, to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly
eye, he waved me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars,
and indicated a spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he
stood before the fire and looked me over in his singular
introspective fashion.
"Wedlock suits you," he remarked. "I think, Watson, that you have
put on seven and a half pounds since I saw you."
"Seven!" I answered.
"Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more,
I fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not
tell me that you intended to go into harness."
"Then, how do you know?"
"I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting
yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and
careless servant girl?"
"My dear Holmes," said I, "this is too much. You would certainly
have been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true
that I had a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful
mess, but as I have changed my clothes I can't imagine how you
deduce it. As to Mary Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has
given her notice, but there, again, I fail to see how you work it
out."
He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands
together.
"It is simplicity itself," said he; "my eyes tell me that on the
inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it,
the leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they
have been caused by someone who has very carelessly scraped round
the edges of the sole in order to remove crusted mud from it.
Hence, you see, my double deduction that you had been out in vile
weather, and that you had a particularly malignant boot-slitting
specimen of the London slavey. As to your practice, if a
gentleman walks into my rooms smelling of iodoform, with a black
mark of nitrate of silver upon his right forefinger, and a bulge
on the right side of his top-hat to show where he has secreted
his stethoscope, I must be dull, indeed, if I do not pronounce
him to be an active member of the medical profession."
I could not help laughing at the ease with which he explained his
process of deduction. "When I hear you give your reasons," I
remarked, "the thing always appears to me to be so ridiculously
simple that I could easily do it myself, though at each
successive instance of your reasoning I am baffled until you
explain your process. And yet I believe that my eyes are as good
as yours."
"Quite so," he answered, lighting a cigarette, and throwing
himself down into an armchair. "You see, but you do not observe.
The distinction is clear. For example, you have frequently seen
the steps which lead up from the hall to this room."
"Frequently."
"How often?"
"Well, some hundreds of times."
"Then how many are there?"
"How many? I don't know."
"Quite so! You have not observed. And yet you have seen. That is
just my point. Now, I know that there are seventeen steps,
because I have both seen and observed. By-the-way, since you are
interested in these little problems, and since you are good
enough to chronicle one or two of my trifling experiences, you
may be interested in this." He threw over a sheet of thick,
pink-tinted note-paper which had been lying open upon the table.
"It came by the last post," said he. "Read it aloud."
The note was undated, and without either signature or address.
"There will call upon you to-night, at a quarter to eight
o'clock," it said, "a gentleman who desires to consult you upon a
matter of the very deepest moment. Your recent services to one of
the royal houses of Europe have shown that you are one who may
safely be trusted with matters which are of an importance which
can hardly be exaggerated. This account of you we have from all
quarters received. Be in your chamber then at that hour, and do
not take it amiss if your visitor wear a mask."
"This is indeed a mystery," I remarked. "What do you imagine that
it means?"
"I have no data yet. It is a capital mistake to theorize before
one has data. Insensibly one begins to twist facts to suit
theories, instead of theories to suit facts. But the note itself.
What do you deduce from it?"
I carefully examined the writing, and the paper upon which it was
written.
"The man who wrote it was presumably well to do," I remarked,
endeavouring to imitate my companion's processes. "Such paper
could not be bought under half a crown a packet. It is peculiarly
strong and stiff."
"Peculiar--that is the very word," said Holmes. "It is not an
English paper at all. Hold it up to the light."
I did so, and saw a large "E" with a small "g," a "P," and a
large "G" with a small "t" woven into the texture of the paper.
| 1,423.577185 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE GOLDEN RULE COOK BOOK
SIX HUNDRED RECIPES FOR MEATLESS
DISHES. ORIGINATED COLLECTED AND
ARRANGED BY M. R. L. SHARPE. NEW
EDITION PUBLISHED BY LITTLE, BROWN,
AND COMPANY, BOSTON, 1912
It was Margaret More who said, "The world needs not so
much to be taught, as reminded." May this book remind
many of the Love they owe to every living creature.
And God said, Behold, I have given you every herb bearing seed,
which is upon the face of all the earth, and every tree, in the
which is the fruit of a tree yielding seed; to you it shall be
for meat.
And to every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air,
and to every thing that creepeth upon the earth, wherein there
is life, I have given every green herb for meat; and it was so.
Genesis i. 29, 30
CONTENTS
Page
INTRODUCTION 11
THE KITCHEN 29
THE DINING ROOM 35
SUGGESTIVE COMMENTS 39
SOUPS 45
VEGETABLES 79
VEGETABLE COMBINATIONS 167
NUT DISHES 177
RICE, MACARONI, ETC. 185
CROQUETTES 197
TIMBALES AND PATTIES 209
SAUCES 217
EGGS 231
CHEESE 249
SALADS 257
SAVOURIES 273
SANDWICHES 281
PASTRY, PATTY CASES, ETC. 287
A FEW HOT BREADS 293
PLUM PUDDING AND MINCE PIE 299
MENUS 303
INDEX 315
Let none falter who thinks he is right.
Abraham Lincoln.
INTRODUCTION
The arranging of this help for those who are seeking to obey the call
to a higher humanitarianism, which is put forth by non-flesh-eating
men and women, has been a labour of love: the labour, the result of
an earnest endeavour to so write the receipts that "the way-faring
woman may not err therein," the love, of a kind whose integrity
may not be questioned, since it has inspired to the never easy task
of going against the stream of habit and custom, and to individual
effort in behalf of the myriads of gentle and amenable creatures,
which an animality that defiles the use of the word has accustomed
man to killing and eating.
The name Vegetarian has come to mean one who abstains from animal
flesh as food; and, as some designation is necessary, it is perhaps
a sufficiently suitable one. This term did not, however, originally
classify those who used a bloodless diet, but is derived from the
Latin <DW25> Vegitus, which words described to the Romans a strong,
vigorous man. The definition of the word Vegitus, as given in
Thomas Holyoke's Latin Dictionary, is "whole, sound, quick, fresh,
lively, lusty, gallant, trim, brave," and of Vegito, "to refresh,
to re-create." Professor Mayor of England adds to these definitions:
"The word vegetarian belongs to an illustrious family; vegetable,
which has been called its mother, is really its niece."
The word has unfortunately become intermingled with various dietetic
theories, but the Vegetarian who is one because his conscience
for one reason or another condemns the eating of flesh, occupies a
very different place in the world of ethics from one who is simply
refraining from meat eating in an effort to cure bodily ills.
Indeed, the dyspeptic frequenting the usual Vegetarian restaurant
has little opportunity to know much about vegetables as food,
the menu being, as a rule, so crowded with various mixtures which
are supposedly "meat substitutes" that vegetables pure and simple
find small place. This book contains no meat substitutes, as such,
but receipts for the palatable preparation of what is called by many
"live foods,"--that is, food which has no blood to shed and does not,
therefore, become dead before it can be eaten.
There will also be found lacking from the index such dishes as
"Vegetarian Hamburg Steak," "Pigeon Pie, Vegetarian style," etc.,
which should repel rather than attract, by bringing to mind what
Bernard Shaw has graphically spoken of as "scorched carcasses."
It has been proven by myself and my household that flesh eating may
be safely stopped in one day with no injury to health or strength,
and that a table supplied from the receipts in this book can make
those whom it furnishes with food well and strong as far as food can
make them so.
There are many reasons why thoughtful, cleanly, humane people should
not feed upon animals, but there is a surprising deafness to this
fact shown by the majority of those active in humane charities. One
marvels to see hundreds of consecrated workers in session, putting
forth every effort for the enacting of laws for the amelioration of the
sufferings of cattle travelling to slaughter by car and ship, who are
still content to patronise the butcher shop to buy food supplied by
the dead bodies of these tortured victims of a false appetite. Mere
thoughtlessness can make the kindest act cruelly inconsistent, for
I once saw a woman presiding at a meeting held to discountenance the
wearing of aigrettes with a sheaf of them decorating her bonnet. This
looks much like receiving stolen goods while denouncing theft.
It is well to write, and legislate, and pray for better and kinder
treatment of these frightened, thirst-maddened, tortured creatures
on their journey to our tables, but the surest, quickest way to help
(and this can be done even while continuing to work for the alleviation
of their sufferings) is to stop feeding upon them.
In a recent issue of a paper devoted to humane matters there is an
indignant protest against the sufferings endured by crated chickens
in a certain market, and another article deplores the cruelty shown
to turtles in the same place, but when we know the writers of these
protests to be still willing to use these creatures on their tables,
it is not always easy to fully credit their tender-heartedness. In
another such paper there appear from year to year sentimental pictures
and poems extolling the kindliness and virtues of "the cattle upon
a thousand hills," while those same pages print instructions on the
most humane way of slaying them, giving as a reason for the sudden
and painless death described that suffering "poisons the meat."
The favourite phrase, "our four-footed friends," seems rather an
anachronism in the face of our acknowledged relations to them as eater
and eaten, for the phrase indicates a mutual pact of friendship,
which, however well sustained by them, is dishonoured by man; for
even cannibals, we are told, sink no lower than to eat their foes.
The demand for butcher's meat may not seem materially lessened because
I do not eat it, but it is lessened notwithstanding, and I rejoice to
know that in the past seven years my abstinence from flesh must have
resulted in a little less slaughter, and I am glad to have reduced
by even one drop the depth of that ocean of blood. I have heard the
Biblical statement | 1,423.579183 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.5609500 | 7,436 | 11 | XIV***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Charlie Kirschner, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
LORD'S LECTURES
BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY, VOLUME XIV
THE NEW ERA
A Supplementary Volume, by Recent Writers,
as Set Forth in the Preface and Table of Contents.
BY JOHN LORD, LL.D.,
AUTHOR OF "THE OLD ROMAN WORLD," "MODERN EUROPE,"
ETC., ETC.
PUBLISHERS' PREFACE.
In preparing the new edition of Dr. Lord's great work, it has been
thought desirable to do what the venerable author's death in 1894 did
not permit him to accomplish, and add a volume summarizing certain broad
aspects of achievement in the last fifty years. It were manifestly
impossible to cover in any single volume--except in the dry, cyclopaedic
style of chronicling multitudinous facts, so different from the vivid,
personal method of Dr. Lord--all the growths of the wonderful period
just closed. The only practicable way has been to follow our author's
principle of portraying _selected historic forces_,--to take, as
representative or typical of the various departments, certain great
characters whose services have signalized them as "Beacon Lights" along
the path of progress, and to secure adequate portrayal of these by men
known to be competent for interesting exposition of the several themes.
Thus the volume opens with a paper on "Richard Wagner: Modern Music," by
Henry T. Finck, the musical critic of the _New York Evening Post_, and
author of various works on music, travel, etc.; and then follow in order
these: "John Ruskin: Modern Art," by G. Mercer Adam, author of "A Precis
of English History," recently editor of the _Self-Culture Magazine_ and
of the Werner Supplements to the Encyclopaedia Britannica; "Herbert
Spencer: The Evolutionary Philosophy," and "Charles Darwin: His Place in
Modern Science," both by Mayo W. Hazeltine, literary editor of the _New
York Sun_, whose book reviews over the signature "M.W.H." have for years
made the _Sun's_ book-page notable; "John Ericsson: Navies of War and
Commerce," by Prof. W.F. Durand, of the School of Marine Engineering and
the Mechanic Arts in Cornell University; "Li Hung Chang: The Far East,"
by Dr. William A. P. Martin, the distinguished missionary, diplomat, and
author, recently president of the Imperial University, Peking, China;
"David Livingstone: African Exploration," by Cyrus C. Adams,
geographical and historical expert, and a member of the editorial staff
of the _New York Sun_; "Sir Austen H. Layard: Modern Archaeology," by
Rev. William Hayes Ward, D.D., editor of _The Independent_, New York,
himself eminent in Oriental exploration and decipherment; "Michael
Faraday: Electricity and Magnetism," by Prof. Edwin J. Houston of
Philadelphia, an accepted authority in electrical engineering; and,
"Rudolf Virchow: Modern Medicine and Surgery," by Dr. Frank P. Foster,
physician, author, and editor of the _New York Medical Journal_.
The selection of themes must be arbitrary, amid the numberless lines of
development during the "New Era" of the Nineteenth Century, in which
every mental, moral, and physical science and art has grown and
diversified and fructified with a rapidity seen in no other five
centuries. It is hoped, however, that the choice will be justified by
the interest of the separate papers, and that their result will be such
a view of the main features as to leave a distinct impression of the
general life and advancement, especially of the last half of
the century.
It is proper to say that the preparation and issuance of Dr. Lord's
"Beacon Lights of History" were under the editorial care of Mr. John E.
Howard of Messrs. Fords, Howard, and Hulbert, the original publishers of
the work, while the proof-sheets also received the critical attention of
Mr. Abram W. Stevens, one of the accomplished readers of the University
Press in Cambridge, Mass. Mr. Howard has also supervised the new
edition, including this final volume, which issues from the same choice
typographical source.
NEW YORK, September, 1902.
CONTENTS.
RICHARD WAGNER.
MODERN Music.
BY HENRY T. FINCK.
Youth-time; early ambitions as a composer.
Weber, his fascinator and first inspirer.
"Der Freischuetz" and "Euryanthe" prototypes of his operas.
Their supernatural, mythical, and romantic elements.
What he owed to his predecessors acknowledged in his essay on "The Music
of the Future" (1860).
Marriage and early vicissitudes.
"Rienzi," "The Novice of Palermo," and "The Flying Dutchman".
Writes stories and essays for musical publications.
After many disappointments wins success at Dresden.
"Tannhaeuser" and "Lohengrin".
Compromises himself in Revolution of 1849 and has to seek safety in
Switzerland.
Here he conceives and partly writes the "Nibelung Tetralogy".
Discouragements at London and at Paris.
"Siegfried" and "Tristan and Isolde".
Finds a patron in Ludwig II. of Bavaria.
Nibelung Festival at Bayreuth.
"Parsifal" appears; death of Wagner at Vienna (1882).
Beethoven, Schubert, and Chopin.
Other eminent composers and pianists.
Liszt as a contributor to current of modern music.
Berlioz, Saint-Saens, Tchaikovsky, Dvorak, Strauss, and Weber.
"The Music of the Future" the music of the present.
JOHN RUSKIN.
MODERN ART.
BY G. MERCER ADAM.
Passionate and luminous exponent of Nature's beauties.
His high if somewhat quixotic ideal of life.
Stimulating writings in ethics, education, and political economy.
Frederic Harrison on Ruskin's stirring thoughts and melodious speech.
Birth and youth-time; Collingwood's "Life" and his own "Praeterita".
Defence of Turner and what it grew into.
Architectural writings, lectures, and early publications.
Interest in Pre-Raphaelitism and its disciples.
Growing fame; with admiring friends and correspondents.
On the public platform; personal appearance of the man.
Economic and socialistic vagaries.
F. Harrison on "Ruskin as Prophet" and teacher.
Inspiring lay sermons and minor writings.
Reformer and would-be regenerator of modern society.
Attitude towards industrial problems of his time.
Founds the communal "Guild of St. George".
Philanthropies, and lecturings in "Working Men's College".
Death and epoch-making influence, in modern art.
HERBERT SPENCER.
THE EVOLUTIONARY PHILOSOPHY.
BY MAYO W. HAZELTINE.
Constructs a philosophical system in harmony with the theory of
evolution.
Birth, parentage, and early career.
Scheme of his system of Synthetic Philosophy.
His "Facts and Comments;" views on party government, patriotism, and
style.
His religious attitude that of an agnostic.
The doctrine of the Unknowable and the knowable.
"First Principles;" progress of evolution in life, mind, society, and
morality.
The relations of matter, motion, and force.
"Principles of Biology;" the data of; the development hypothesis.
The evolutionary hypothesis _versus_ the special creation hypothesis;
arguments.
Causes and interpretation of the evolution phenomena.
Development as displayed in the structures and functions of individual
organisms.
"Principles of Psychology;" the evolution of mind and analysis of mental
states.
"Principles of Sociology;" the adaptation of human nature to the social
state.
Evolution of governments, political and ecclesiastical; industrial
organizations.
Qualifications; Nature's plan an advance, and again a retrogression.
Social evolution; equilibriums between constitution and conditions.
Assisted by others in the collection, but not the systemization, of his
illustrative material.
"Principles of Ethics;" natural basis for; secularization of morals.
General inductions; his "Social Statics".
Relations of Mr. Spencer and Mr. Darwin to the thought of the Nineteenth
Century.
CHARLES DARWIN.
HIS PLACE IN MODERN SCIENCE.
BY MAYO W. HAZELTINE.
The Darwinian hypothesis a rational and widely accepted explanation of
the genesis of organic life on the earth.
Darwin; birth, parentage, and education.
Naturalist on the voyage of the "Beagle".
His work on "Coral Reefs" and the "Geology of South America".
Observations and experiments on the transmutation of species.
Contemporaneous work on the same lines by Alfred R. Wallace.
"The Origin of Species" (1859).
His "Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication" (1868).
"The Descent of Man" (1871).
On the "Expression of Emotion in Man and Animals" (1872).
"Fertilization of Orchids" (1862), "The Effects of Cross and
Self-Fertilization" (1876), and "The Formation of Vegetable Mould
through the Action of Worms" (1881).
Ill-health, death, and burial.
Personality, tastes, and mental characteristics.
His beliefs and agnostic attitude toward religion.
His prime postulate, that species have been modified during a long
course of descent.
Antagonistic views on the immutability of species.
His theory of natural selection: that all animal and plant life has a
common progenitor, difference in their forms arising primarily from
beneficial variations.
Enunciates in the "Descent of Man" the great principle of Evolution, and
the common kinship of man and the lower animals.
Biological evidence to sustain this view.
Man's moral qualities, and the social instinct of animals.
Religious beliefs not innate, nor instinctive.
Bearing of this on belief in the immortality of the soul.
As a scientist Darwin concerned only with truth; general acceptance of
his theory of the origin of species.
JOHN ERICSSON.
NAVIES OF WAR AND COMMERCE.
BY PROF. W. F. DUKAND.
Ericsson's life-work little foreseen in his youth and early
surroundings.
His impress on the engineering practice of his time.
Dependence, in our modern civilization, on the utilization of the great
natural forces and energies of the world.
Life-periods in Sweden, England, and the United States.
Birth, parentage, and early engineering career.
An officer in the Swedish army, and topographical surveyor for his
native government.
Astonishing insight into mechanical and scientific questions.
His work, 1827 to 1839, when he came to the United States.
"A spendthrift in invention;" versatility and daring.
The screw-propeller _vs_. the paddle-wheel for marine propulsion.
Designs and constructs the steam-frigate "Princeton" and the hot-air
ship "Ericsson".
The Civil War and his services in the art of naval construction.
His new model of a floating battery and warship, "The Monitor".
The battle between it and the "Merrimac" a turning-point in naval aspect
of the war.
"The Destroyer," built in connection with Mr. Delamater.
Improves the character and reduces friction in the use of heavy
ordnance.
Work on the improvement of steam-engines for warships.
Death, and international honors paid at his funeral.
His work in improving the motive-power of ships.
Special contributions to the art of naval war.
Ships of low freeboard equipped with revolving turrets.
Influence of his work lives in the modern battleship.
Other features of work which he did for his age.
Personality and professional traits.
Essentially a designer rather than a constructing engineer.
LI HUNG CHANG.
THE FAR EAST.
BY W.A.P. MARTIN, D.D., LL.D.
Introductory; Earl Li's foreign fame; his rising star.
Intercourse with China by land.
The Great Wall; China first known to the western world through its
conquest by the Mongols.
The houses of Han, Tang, and Sang.
The diplomat Su Wu on an embassy to Turkey.
Intercourse by sea.
Expulsion of the Mongols; the magnetic needle.
Art of printing; birth of alchemy.
Manchu conquest; Macao and Canton opened to foreign trade.
The Opium War.
Li Hung Chang appears on the scene.
His contests for academical honors and preferment.
The Taiping rebellion.
Li a soldier; General Ward and "Chinese Gordon".
The Arrow War; the treaties.
Lord Elgin's mistake leads to renewal of the war.
Fall of the Peiho forts and flight of the Court.
The war with France.
Mr. Seward and Anson Burlingame.
War ended through the agency of Sir Robert Hart.
War with Japan.
Perry at Tokio (Yeddo); overturn of the Shogans.
Formosa ceded to Japan.
China follows Japan and throws off trammels of antiquated usage.
War with the world.
The Boxer rising; menace to the Peking legations.
Prince Ching and Viceroy Li arrange terms of peace.
Li's death; patriot, and patron of educational reform.
DAVID LIVINGSTONE.
AFRICAN DEVELOPMENT.
BY CYRUS C. ADAMS.
Difficulties of exploration in the "Dark Continent"
Livingstone's belief that "there was good in Africa," and that it was
worth reclaiming.
His early journeyings kindled the great African movement.
Youthful career and studies, marriage, etc.
Contact with the natives; wins his way by kindness.
Sublime faith in the future of Africa.
Progress in the heart of the continent since his day.
Interest of his second and third journeyings (1853-56).
Visits to Britain, reception, and personal characteristics.
Later discoveries and journeyings (1858-1864, 1866-1873).
Death at Chitambo (Ilala) Lake Bangweolo, May 1, 1873.
General accuracy of his geographical records; his work, as a whole,
stands the test of time.
Downfall of the African slave-trade, the "open sore of the world".
Remarkable achievements of later explorers and surveyors.
The work of Burton, Junker, Speke, and Stanley.
Father Schynse's chart.
Surveys of Commander Whitehouse.
Missionary maps of the Congo Free State and basin.
Other areas besides tropical Africa made known and opened up.
Pygmy tribes and cannibalism in the Congo basin.
Human sacrifices now prohibited and punishable with death.
Railway and steamboat development, and partition of the continent.
South Africa: the gold and diamond mines and natural resources.
Future philanthropic work.
SIR AUSTEN HENRY LAYARD.
MODERN ARCHAEOLOGY.
BY WILLIAM HAYES WARD, D.D., LL/D.
Overthrow of Nineveh and destruction of the Assyrian Empire.
Kingdoms and empires extant and buried before the era of Hebrew and
Greek history.
Bonaparte in Egypt, and the impulse he gave to French archaeology.
Champollion and his deciphering Egyptian hieroglyphic inscriptions.
Paul Emile Botta and his discoveries in Assyria.
His excavations of King Sargon's palace at Khorsabad.
Layard begins his excavations and discoveries at Nineveh.
Sir Stratford Canning's (Viscount Stratford de Redcliffe) gift to the
British Museum of the marbles of Halicarnassus.
Layard's published researches, "Nineveh and its Remains," and "Babylon
and Nineveh".
His work, "The Monuments of Nineveh" (1849-53).
Obelisk and monoliths of Shalmaneser II., King of Assyria, discovered by
Layard at Nimroud.
George Smith and his discovery of the Babylonian account of the Deluge.
Light thrown by these discoveries on the Pharaoh of the Bible, and on
Melchizedek, who reigned in Abraham's day.
Other archaeologists of note, Glaser, De Morgan, De Sarzec, and Botta.
Relics of Buddha, and the Hittite inscriptions.
The Moabite Stone, and work of the English Palestine Exploration Fund at
Jerusalem.
Dr. Schliemann's labors among the ruins of Troy.
Researches and discoveries at Crete.
The mounds, pyramids, and temples of the American aborigines.
The cliff-dwellers and the Mayas, Incas, and Toltecs.
The Calendar Stone and statue of the gods of war and death found in
Mexico.
What treasure yet remains to be recovered of a past civilization.
MICHAEL FARADAY.
ELECTRICITY AND MAGNETISM.
BY EDWIN J. HOUSTON, PH.D.
"The Prince of Experimental Philosophers".
Unprecocious as a child; environment of his early years.
His early study of Mrs. Marcet's "Conversations on Chemistry," and the
articles on electricity in the "Encyclopaedia Britannica".
Appointed laboratory assistant at the London Royal Institution.
Inspiration received from his teacher, Sir Humphry Davy.
Investigations in chemistry, electricity, and magnetism.
His discovery (1831) of the means for developing electricity direct from
magnetism.
Substitutes magnets for active circuits.
Simplicity of the apparatus used in his successful experiments.
Some of the results obtained by him in his experimental researches.
What is to-day owing to him for his discovery and investigation of all
forms of magneto-electric induction.
His discovery of the relations between light and magnetism.
Action of glass and other solid substances on a beam of polarized light.
His paper on "Magnetization of Light and the Illumination of the Lines
of Magnetic Force".
His contribution (1845) on the "Magnetic Condition of All Matter".
Investigation of the phenomena which he calls "the Magne-crystallic
force".
Extent of his work in the electro-chemical field.
His invention of the first dynamo.
His alternating-current transformer.
Induction coils and their use in producing the Roentgen rays.
Edison's invention of the fluoroscope.
Faraday's gift to commercial science of the electric motor.
His dynamo-electric machine.
Modern electric transmissions of power.
Tesla's multiphase alternating-current motor.
Faraday's electric generator and motor.
The telephone, aid given by Faraday's discoveries in the invention and
use of the transmitter.
Modern power-generating and transmission plants a magnificent
testimonial to the genius of Faraday.
Death and honors.
RUDOLF VIRCHOW.
MEDICINE AND SURGERY.
BY FRANK P. FOSTER, M.D.
Jenner demonstrates efficacy of vaccination against small-pox.
Debt to the physicists, chemists, and botanists of the new era.
Appendicitis (peritonitis), its present frequency.
Experimental methods of study in physiology.
Hahnemann, founder of homoeopathy, and physical diagnosis of the sick.
The clinical thermometer and other instruments of precision.
Animal parasites the direct cause of many diseases.
Bacteria and the germ theory of disease.
Pasteur, viruses, and aseptic surgery.
Consumption and its germ; the corpuscles and their resistance to
bacterial invasion.
Antitoxines as a cure in diphtheria.
Their use in surgery; asepticism and Lord Lister.
Listerism and midwifery.
American aid in the treatment of fractures.
Use of artificial serum in disease treatment.
Koch's tuberculin and its use in consumption.
Chemistry as a handmaid of medicine.
Brown-Sequard and "internal secretions".
Febrile ailment and cold-water applications.
Surgical anaesthetics; Long, Morton, and Simpson.
Ovariotomy operations by McDowell and Bell.
Professional nursing.
Virchow and the literature of medicine, anatomy, and physiology; his
death; his "Archiv," "Cellular-Pathology," etc.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME XIV.
Dr. Jenner Vaccinates a Child
_After the painting by George Gaston Melingue_
Richard Wagner
_After the painting by Franz von Lenbach_
John Ruskin
_After a photograph from life_
Herbert Spencer
_After a photograph from life_
Charles Robert Darwin
_After the painting by G. F. Watts, R.A._
John Ericsson
_From a contemporaneous engraving_
Li Hung Chang
_After a photograph from life_
David Livingstone
_After a photograph from life_
Sir Austen Henry Layard
_After the painting by H. W. Phillips_
Michael Faraday
_After a photograph from life_
Rudolf Virchow
_After a photograph from life_
BEACON LIGHTS OF HISTORY.
RICHARD WAGNER: MODERN MUSIC.
BY HENRY T. FINCK.
If the Dresden schoolboys who attended the _Kreuzschule_ in the years
1823-1827 could have been told that one of them was destined to be the
greatest opera composer of all times, and to influence the musicians of
all countries throughout the second half of the nineteenth century, they
would, no doubt, have been very much surprised. Nor is it likely that
they could have guessed which of them was the chosen one. For Richard
Wagner--or Richard Geyer, as he was then called, after his
stepfather--was by no means a youthful prodigy, like Mozart or Liszt. It
is related that Beethoven shed tears of displeasure over his first music
lessons; nevertheless, it was obvious from the beginning that he had a
special gift for music. Richard Wagner, on the other hand, apparently
had none. When he was eight years old his stepfather, shortly before his
death, heard him play on the piano two pieces from one of Weber's
operas, which made him wonder if Richard might "perhaps" have talent for
music. His piano teacher did not believe even in that "perhaps," but
told him bluntly he would "never amount to anything" as a musician.
For poetry, however, young Richard had a decided inclination in his
school years; and this was significant, inasmuch as it afterwards became
his cardinal maxim that in an opera "the play's the thing," and the
music merely a means of intensifying the emotional expression. Before
his time the music, or rather the singing of florid tunes, had been "the
thing," and the libretto merely a peg to hang these tunes on. In this
respect, therefore, the child was father to the man. At the age of
eleven he received a prize for the best poem on the death of a
schoolmate. At thirteen he translated the first twelve books of Homer's
Odyssey. He studied English for the sole purpose of being able to read
Shakspeare. Then he projected a stupendous tragedy, in the course of
which he killed off forty-two persons, many of whom had to be brought
back as ghosts to enable him to finish the play.
This extravagance also characterized his first efforts as a composer,
when he at last turned to music, at the age of sixteen. One of his first
tasks, when he had barely mastered the rudiments of composition, was to
write an overture which he intended to be more complicated than
Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Heinrich Dorn, who recognized his talent
amid all the bombast, conducted this piece at a concert. At the
rehearsal the musicians were convulsed with laughter, and at the
performance the audience was at first surprised and then disgusted at
the persistence of the drum-player, who made himself heard loudly every
fourth bar. Finally there was a general outburst of hilarity which
taught the young man a needed lesson.
Undoubtedly the germs of his musical genius had been in Wagner's brain
in his childhood,--for genius is not a thing that can be acquired. They
had simply lain dormant, and it required a special influence to develop
them. This influence was supplied by Weber and his operas. In 1815, two
years after Wagner's birth, the King of Saxony founded a German opera in
Dresden, where theretofore Italian opera had ruled alone. Weber was
chosen as conductor, and thus it happened that Wagner's earliest and
deepest impressions came from the composer of the "Freischuetz." In his
autobiographic sketch Wagner writes: "Nothing gave me so much pleasure
as the 'Freischuetz.' I often saw Weber pass by our house when he came
from rehearsals. I always looked upon him with a holy awe." It was lucky
for young Richard that his stepfather, Geyer, besides being a
portrait-painter, an actor, and a playwright, was also one of Weber's
tenors at the opera. This enabled the boy, in spite of the family's
poverty, to hear many of the performances. In fact, Wagner, like Weber,
owes a considerable part of his success as a writer for the stage to the
fact that he belonged to a theatrical family, and thus gradually learned
"how the wheels go round." Such practical experience is worth more than
years of academic study.
While Wagner cordially acknowledged the fascination which Weber's music
exerted on him in his boyhood, he was hardly fair to Weber in his later
writings. In these he tries to prove that his own music-dramas are an
outgrowth of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. When Beethoven wrote that work,
Wagner argues, he had come to the conclusion that purely instrumental
music had reached a point beyond which it could not go alone, wherefore
he called in the aid of poetry (sung by soloists and chorus), and thus
intimated that the art-work of the future was the musical drama,--a
combination of poetry and music.
This is a purely fantastic notion on Wagner's part. There is no evidence
that Beethoven had any such purpose; he merely called in the aid of the
human voice to secure variety of sound and expression. Poetry and music
had been combined centuries before Beethoven in the opera and in
lyric song.
No, the roots of Wagner's music-dramas are not to be found in Beethoven,
but in Weber. His "Freischuetz" and "Euryanthe" are the prototypes of
Wagner's operas. The "Freischuetz" is the first masterwork, as Wagner's
operas are the last, up to date, of the romantic school; and it embodies
admirably two of the principal characteristics of that school: one, a
delight in the demoniac, the supernatural--what the Germans call
_gruseln_; the other, the use of certain instruments, alone or in
combination, for the sake of securing peculiar emotional effects. In
both these respects Wagner followed in Weber's footsteps. With the
exception of "Rienzi" and "Die Meistersinger," all of his operas, from
the "Flying Dutchman" to "Parsifal," embody supernatural, mythical,
romantic elements; and in the use of novel tone colors for special
emotional effects he opened a new wonder-world of sound, to which Weber,
however, had given him the key.
"Lohengrin," the last one of what are usually called Wagner's "operas,"
as distinguished from his "music-dramas" (comprising the last seven of
his works), betrays very strongly the influence of Weber's other
masterwork, "Euryanthe." This opera, indeed, may also be called the
direct precursor of Wagner's music-dramas. It contains eight "leading
motives," which recur thirty times in course of the opera; and the
dramatic recitatives are sometimes quite in the "Wagnerian" manner. But
the most remarkable thing is that Weber uses language which practically
sums up Wagner's idea of the music-drama. "'Euryanthe,'" he says, "is a
purely dramatic work, which depends for its success solely on the
co-operation of the united sister-arts, and is certain to lose its
effect if deprived of their assistance."
When Wagner wrote his essay on "The Music of the Future" for the
Parisians (1860) he remembered his obligations to the Dresden idol of
his boyhood by calling attention to "the still very noticeable
connection" of his early work, "Tannhaeuser," with "the operas of my
predecessors, among whom I name especially Weber," He might have
mentioned others,--Gluck, for instance, who curbed the vanity of the
singers, and taught them that they were not "the whole show;" Marschner,
whose grewsome "Hans Heiling" Wagner had in mind when he wrote his
"Flying Dutchman;" Auber, whose "Masaniello," with its dumb heroine,
taught Wagner the importance and expressiveness of pantomimic music, of
which there are such eloquent examples in all his operas. During his
three and a half years' sojourn in Paris, just at the opening of his
career as an opera composer (1839-1842), he learned many things
regarding operatic scenery, machinery, processions, and details, which
he subsequently turned to good account. Even Meyerbeer, the ruler of the
musical world in Paris at that time, was not without influence on him,
though he had cause to disapprove of him because of his submission to
the demands of the fashionable taste of the day, which contrasted so
strongly with Wagner's own courageous defiance of everything
inconsistent with his ideals of art. The result to-day--Meyerbeer's fall
and Wagner's triumph--shows that courage, like honesty, is, in the long
run, the best policy, and, like virtue, its own reward.
It is important to bear in mind all these lessons that Wagner learned
from his predecessors, as it helps to explain the enormous influence he
exerted on his contemporaries. Wonderful as was the power and
originality of his genius, even he could not have achieved such results
had he not had truth on his side,--truth, as hinted at, in moments of
inspiration, by many of his predecessors.
Wagner was most shamefully misrepresented by his enemies during his
lifetime. A thousand times they wrote unblushingly that he despised and
abused the great masters, whereas in truth no one ever spoke of them
more enthusiastically than he, or was more eager to learn of them,
though, to be sure, he was honest and courageous enough also to call
attention to their shortcomings. In all his autobiographic writings
there is not a more luminous passage than the following, in which he
relates his experiences as conductor at the Riga Opera in 1838, when he
was at work on "Rienzi":--
"The peculiar gnawing melancholy which habitually overpowered me when I
conducted one of our ordinary operas was interrupted by an
inexpressible, enthusiastic delight, when, here and there, during the
performance of nobler works, I became conscious of the incomparable
effects that can be produced by musico-dramatic combinations on the
stage,--effects of a depth, sincerity, and direct realistic vivacity,
such as no other art can produce. I felt quite elated and ennobled
during the time that I was rehearsing Mehul's enchanting 'Joseph' with
my little opera company." "Such impressions," he continues, "like
flashes of lightning" revealed to him "unsuspected possibilities." It
was by utilizing these "possibilities" and hints, and at the same time
avoiding the errors and blemishes of his predecessors, that his
superlative genius was enabled to create such unapproachable masterworks
as "Siegfried" and "Tristan and Isolde."
The way up to those peaks was, however, slow and toilsome. For years he
groped in darkness, and light came but gradually. It has already been
intimated that his genius was slow in developing. A brief review of his
romantic career will bring out this and other interesting points.
At the time when Richard Wagner was born (May 22, 1813), Leipzig was in
such a state of commotion on account of the war to liberate Germany from
the Napoleonic yoke that the child's baptism was deferred several
months. To his schooldays reference has been made already, and we may
therefore pass on to the time when he tried to make his living as an
operatic conductor. Although he was then only twenty-one years old, he
showed remarkable aptitude for this kind of work from the beginning, and
it was through no fault of his that misfortune overtook every opera
company with which he had anything to do. The bankruptcy, in 1836, of
the manager of the Magdeburg Opera, affected him most disastrously, for
it came at the moment when he had arranged for the first performance of
an opera he had written, entitled, "Das Liebesverbot," or "The Novice of
Palermo," and which therefore was given only once. Many years later an
attempt was made to revive this juvenile work at Munich, but the project
was abandoned because, as the famous Wagnerian tenor, Heinrich Vogl,
informed the writer of this article, "Its arias and other numbers were
such ludicrous and undisguised imitations of Donizetti and other popular
composers of that time that we all burst out laughing, and kept up the
merriment throughout the rehearsal." This is of interest because it
shows that Wagner, like that other great reformer, Gluck, began his
career by writing fashionable operas in the Italian style. A still
earlier opera of his, "The Fairies,"--the first one he completed,--was
not produced till 1888, fifty-five years after it had been written, and
five years after Wagner's death. This has been performed a number of
times in Munich, but it is so weak and uninteresting in itself that it
required a splendid stage setting, and the "historic" curiosity of
| 1,423.58099 |
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Produced by Katie Hernandez, sp1nd and the Online
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Transcriber's Note:
All obvious errors have been corrected.
Archaic and alternate spellings have been retained.
By DMITRI MEREJKOWSKI
=THE DEATH OF THE GODS.= Authorized English Version by HERBERT
TRENCH. 12^o
=THE ROMANCE OF LEONARDO DA VINCI: THE FORERUNNER.= (The
Resurrection of the Gods.) Authorized English Version from the
Russian. 12^o. With 8 Illustrations
----Artist's Edition, with 64 illustrations. 2 vols., 8^o
=PETER AND ALEXIS.= Authorized English Version from the Russian.
12^o
=G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS=
=New York= =London=
+Christ and Antichrist+
The Death of the
Gods
By
Dmitri Merejkowski
Translated by
Herbert Trench
Sometime Fellow of All Souls College, Oxford
_Authorised English Version_
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
The Knickerbocker Press
Copyright 1901
by
G. P. Putnam's Sons
Made in the United States of America
The Knickerbocker Press, New York
MEREJKOWSKI
Dmitri Merejkowski is perhaps the most interesting and powerful of the
younger Russian novelists, the only writer that promises to carry on
the work of Tolstoi, Turgeniev, and Dostoievski. His books, which are
already numerous, are animated by a single master-idea, the
Pagano-Christian dualism of our human nature. What specially interests
him in the vast spectacle of human affairs is the everlasting contest
between the idea of a God-Man and the idea of a Man-God; that is to
say, between the conception of a God incarnate for awhile (as in
Christ) and the conception of Man as himself God--gradually evolving
higher types of splendid and ruling character which draw after them
the generations.
The novelist's own doctrine seems to be that both the Pagan and the
Christian elements in our nature, although distinct elements, are
equally legitimate and sacred. His teaching is that the soul and the
senses have an equal right to be respected; that hedonism and altruism
are equals, and that the really full man, the perfect man, is he who
can ally in harmonious equilibrium the cult of Dionysus | 1,423.677873 |
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Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive)
Philippine Bureau of Agriculture.
Farmer's Bulletin No. 2.
CACAO CULTURE IN THE PHILIPPINES
By
WILLIAM S. LYON,
In charge of seed and plant introduction.
Prepared under the direction of the Chief of the Bureau.
Manila:
Bureau of Public Printing.
1902.
CONTENTS.
Page.
Letter of transmittal 4
Introduction 5
Climate 6
The plantation site 7
The soil 7
Preparation of the soil 8
Drainage 8
Forming the plantation 9
Selection of varieties 10
Planting 11
Cultivation 13
Pruning 13
Harvest 16
Enemies and diseases 18
Manuring 19
Supplemental notes 21
New varieties 21
Residence 21
Cost of a cacao plantation 22
LETTER OF TRANSMITTAL.
Sir: I submit herewith an essay on the cultivation of cacao, for the
use of planters in the Philippines. This essay is prompted first,
because much of the cacao grown here is of such excellent quality as
to induce keen rivalry among buyers to procure it at an advance of
quite 50 per cent over the common export grades of the Java bean,
notwithstanding the failure on the part of the local grower to
"process" or cure the product in any way; second, because in parts
of Mindanao and <DW64>s, despite ill treatment or no treatment, the
plant exhibits a luxuriance of growth and wealth of productiveness
that demonstrates its entire fitness for those regions and leads us
to believe in the successful extension of its propagation throughout
these Islands; and lastly because of the repeated calls upon the Chief
of the Agricultural Bureau for literature or information bearing upon
this important horticultural industry.
The importance of cacao-growing in the Philippines can hardly be
overestimated. Recent statistics place the world's demand for cacao
(exclusive of local consumption) at 200,000,000 pounds, valued at
more than $30,000,000 gold.
There is little danger of overproduction and consequent low prices
for very many years to come. So far as known, the areas where cacao
prospers in the great equatorial zone are small, and the opening and
development of suitable regions has altogether failed to keep pace
with the demand.
The bibliography of cacao is rather limited, and some of the best
publications, [2] being in French, are unavailable to many. The leading
English treatise, by Professor Hart, [3] admirable in many respects,
deals mainly with conditions in Trinidad, West Indies, and is fatally
defective, if not misleading, on the all-important question of pruning.
The life history of the cacao, its botany, chemistry, and statistics
are replete with interest, and will, perhaps, be treated in a future
paper.
Respectfully,
Wm. S. Lyon,
In Charge of Seed and Plant Introduction.
Hon. F. Lamson-Scribner,
Chief of the Insular Bureau of Agriculture.
CACAO CULTURE IN THE PHILIPPINES.
INTRODUCTION.
Cacao in cultivation exists nearly everywhere in the Archipelago. I
have observed it in several provinces of Luzon, in Mindanao, Jolo,
Basilan, Panay, and <DW64>s, and have well-verified assurances of its
presence in Cebu, Bohol, and Masbate, and it is altogether reasonable
to predicate its existence upon all the larger islands anywhere under
an elevation of 1,000 or possibly 1,200 meters. Nevertheless, in many
localities the condition of the plants is such as not to justify the
general extension of cacao cultivation into all regions. The presence
of cacao in a given locality is an interesting fact, furnishing a
useful guide for investigation and agricultural experimentation, but,
as the purpose of this paper is to deal with cacao growing from a
commercial standpoint, it is well to state that wherever reference is
made to the growth, requirements, habits, or cultural treatment of the
plant the commercial aspect is alone considered. As an illustration,
attention is called to the statement made elsewhere, that "cacao exacts
a minimum temperature of 18 deg."; although, as is perfectly well known
to the writer, its fruit has sometimes matured where the recorded
temperatures have fallen as low as 10 deg.. There is much to be learned
here by experimentation, for as yet the cultivation is primitive
in the extreme, pruning of any kind rudimentary or negative, and
"treatment" of the nut altogether unknown.
Elsewhere in cacao-producing countries its cultivation has long passed
the experimental stage, and the practices that govern the management
of a well-ordered cacao plantation are as clearly defined as those
of an orange grove in Florida or a vineyard in California.
In widely scattered localities the close observer will find many
young trees that in vigor, color, and general health leave nothing
to be desired, but before making final selection for a plantation he
should inspect trees of larger growth for evidences of "die back" of
the branches. If "die back" is present, superficial examination will
generally determine if it is caused by neglect or by the attacks
of insects. If not caused by neglect or insect attacks, he may
assume that some primary essential to the continued and successful
cultivation of the tree is wanting and that the location is unsuited
to profitable plantations.
With due regard to these preliminary precautions and a close
oversight of every subsequent operation, there is no reason why the
growing of cacao may not ultimately become one of the most profitable
horticultural enterprises that can engage the attention of planters
in this Archipelago.
CLIMATE.
It is customary, when writing of any crop culture, to give precedence
to site and soil, but in the case of cacao these considerations are
of secondary importance, and while none of the minor operations of
planting, pruning, cultivation, and fertilizing may be overlooked,
they are all outweighed by the single essential--climate.
In general, a state of atmospheric saturation keeps pace with heavy
rainfall, and for that reason we may successfully look for the highest
relative humidity upon the eastern shores of the Archipelago, where
the rainfall is more uniformly distributed over the whole year,
than upon the west.
There are places where the conditions are so peculiar as to challenge
especial inquiry. We find on the peninsula of Zamboanga a recorded
annual mean rainfall of only 888 mm., and yet cacao (unirrigated)
exhibits exceptional thrift and vigor. It is true that this rain is
so evenly distributed throughout the year that every drop becomes
available, yet the total rainfall is insufficient to account for
the very evident and abundant atmospheric humidity indicated by
the prosperous conditions of the cacao plantations. The explanation
of this phenomenon, as made to me by the Rev. Father Algue, of the
Observatory of Manila, is to the effect that strong equatorial ocean
currents constantly prevail against southern Mindanao, and that their
influence extend north nearly to the tenth degree of latitude. These
currents, carrying their moisture-laden atmosphere, would naturally
affect the whole of this narrow neck of land and influence as well
some of the western coast of Mindanao, and probably place it upon
the same favored hygrometric plane as the eastern coast, where the
rainfall in some localities amounts to 4 meters a year.
While 2,000 mm | 1,423.679907 |
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+-----------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Transliterated Greek words are marked with |
| +'s like so: +Greek+. |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------+
ASBESTOS
ITS PRODUCTION AND USE
WITH
_SOME ACCOUNT OF THE ASBESTOS MINES OF CANADA_
BY ROBERT H. JONES
[Illustration]
LONDON:
CROSBY LOCKWOOD AND SON
7, STATIONERS' HALL COURT, LUDGATE HILL
1888
PREFACE.
The substance of the following pages was originally comprised in a
series of Letters from Canada to a friend in London, who was desirous of
obtaining all the authentic information possible on a subject on which
so little appears to be generally known.
The use of Asbestos in the arts and manufactures is now rapidly assuming
such large proportions that, it is believed, it will presently be found
more difficult to say to what purposes it cannot be applied than to what
it can and is.
Under these circumstances, although much of the information here given
is not new, but has been gathered from every available source, it is
hoped that the compilation in its present shape may be found acceptable.
R. H. J.
HOTEL VICTORIA,
NORTHUMBERLAND AVENUE
_April 20, 1888._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 5-8
ASBESTOS AT THE AMERICAN EXHIBITION 9, 10
WHERE FOUND 12-15
ITALIAN AND CANADIAN ASBESTOS COMPARED 16-18
WHERE USED 18
THE ASBESTOS OF ITALY 19-24
CANADIAN MINING FOR ASBESTOS 24-29
ASBESTOS MINES OF CANADA--
THE THETFORD GROUP 29-36
THE COLERAINE GROUP 36-42
BROUGHTON 42-46
DANVILLE 46
SOUTH HAM 47-50
WOLFESTOWN 50
USES TO WHICH ASBESTOS IS APPLIED 55-72
INDEX 75, 76
ASBESTOS.
One of Nature's most marvellous productions, asbestos is a physical
paradox. It has been called a mineralogical vegetable; it is both
fibrous and crystalline, elastic yet brittle; a floating stone, which
can be as readily carded, spun, and woven into tissue as cotton or the
finest silk.
Called by geologists "asbestus" (the termination in os being the
adjective form of the word), the name of the mineral in its Greek form
as commonly used (+asbestos+), signifies "indestructible." The French
adopt the same derivation, calling it "asbeste" (mineral filamenteux et
incombustible). In Germany it is called "steinflachs" (stone-flax); and
by the Italians "amianto" (from +amiantos+, pure, incorruptible);
so-called because cloth made from it was cleansed by passing it through
fire. Charlemagne, we are told, having a cloth made of this material in
his possession, one day after dinner astonished his rude warrior guests
by throwing it in the fire, and then withdrawing it cleansed and
unconsumed.
As a modern pendent to this well-known legend, the following is current
in Quebec. A labouring man, who had left the old country to seek a
better fortune in the Dominion, found employment at once on arrival in
one of the many lumber yards on the St. Lawrence, where his energy and
activity, supplemented by great bodily strength, soon secured for him a
good position. It so happened, however, that one evening, on returning
from their daily toil to their common apartment, some of his
fellow-workmen saw him deliberately throw himself into a seat, kick off
his boots, and then pull off his socks, and having opened the door of
the stove, coolly fling them in on to the mass of burning wood. Possibly
no particular notice would have been taken of this, judged as a mere act
of folly and waste on the part of the new-comer; but when, almost
immediately afterwards, they saw him open the stove door again, take out
the apparently blazing socks, and, after giving them a shake, proceed
just as deliberately to draw them on to his feet again, that was a
trifle too much! Human nature could not stand that. Consequently the
horrified spectators, having for a moment looked on aghast, fled
precipitately from the room. To them the facts were clear enough. This,
they said, was no human being like themselves; such hellish practices
could have but one origin. If not the devil himself, this man certainly
could be no other than one of his emissaries. So off they went in a body
to the manager and demanded his instant dismissal, loudly asseverating
that they would no longer eat, drink, or work in company with such a
monster. Enquiry being at once set on foot, it turned out that some time
before leaving England the man had worked at an asbestos factory, where
he had learned to appreciate the valuable properties of this mineral;
and being of an ingenious turn of mind, he had managed to procure some
of the fiberized material and therewith knit himself a pair of socks,
which he was accustomed to cleanse in the manner described. He was, as
has been said, an unusually good workman, consequently his employers had
no wish to part with him. Explanation and expostulation, however, were
all in vain; nothing could remove the horrible impression that his
conduct had made upon the minds of his superstitious fellow-workmen; go
he must and did, nor could the tumult be in any way allayed until he had
been dismissed from his work and had left the yard.
Leaving this digression, however, it may be said that the peculiar
properties of the mineral were known long before Charlemagne's time. The
ancients, who believed it to be a plant, made a cere-cloth of it, in
which they were accustomed to enwrap the bodies which were to be burned
on the funeral pyre, so that the ashes might be retained, separate and
intact, for preservation in the family urn, an aperture being left in
the cloth to allow a free passage for the flames. How they succeeded in
weaving this cloth is now unknown. It has been suggested that its
accomplishment was effected by weaving the fibres along with those of
flax, and then passing the whole through a furnace to burn out the flax.
The lamps used by the vestal virgins are also said to have been
furnished with asbestos wicks, so that the modern adaptation of it to
this purpose is only another exemplification of the truth of Solomon's
saying that "there is nothing new under the sun."
The mineral has been variously described. In general terms it may be
said to be a fibrous variety of serpentine, closely allied to the
hornblende family of minerals, the Canadian variety of which is called
by mineralogists "chrysotile." In the local vernacular of the mining
districts this is "pierre-a-coton" (cotton-stone), perhaps as expressive
a term as can be found.
The ore takes a variety of forms; much of it (especially that found in
the States) is of a coarse woody character, of but little value for
mercantile purposes.
Sir William Logan, in his "Geology of Canada," says that foliated and
fibrous varieties of serpentine are common in veins of the ophiolites of
the Silurian series, constituting the varieties which have been
described under the various names of baltimorite, marmolite, picrolite,
and chrysotile. The true asbestos, however, he says, is a fibrous
variety of tremolite or hornblende.
In _Le Genie Civil_ for September, 1883, Canadian asbestos is thus
described: "La chrysotile du Canada n'est pas comme l'amiante ordinaire
formee d'un paquet de fils d'un blanc verdatre et remplissant des
cavites irregulieres: c'est une veritable pierre d'une densite comprise
entre 2 et 3, qui se trouve en couches de 3 a 10 centimetres
d'epaisseur. Cette pierre possede la propriete de se reduire en fibres
perpendiculairement a sa longueur sous un effort tres faible. Ses fibres
transversales sont plus resistantes et beaucoup plus facile a filer, a
tisser, et a feutrer que l'amiante ordinaire." This is as good a
description of chrysotile as can be found anywhere.
Until the discovery of the Canadian mines, the variety here spoken of as
amiante (amianthus), was esteemed the most rare and delicate kind, on
account of its beautifully white, flexible, long, and delicately laid
fibres. This variety is generally found buried in the centre of the
older crystalline rocks in the Pyrenees, the Alps of Dauphiny, on Mount
St. Gothard, in North America, in the serpentines of Sweden, the Ural
Mountains, Silesia, and New South Wales. The most beautiful specimens,
such as are preserved in museums and mineralogical collections, have
mostly been brought from Tarantaise in Savoy, or from Corsica.[1] In
this latter place it is said to be so abundant that, its mercantile
value being unknown, it has often been used, instead of tow, as a
material for packing.
In a handbook published by the Dominion Government in 1882 (before the
discovery of the mines of chrysotile) on the mineral resources of
Canada, it is said that--
"What is commercially known as asbestos is really a term used to denote
a peculiar fibrous form assumed by several distinct minerals, rather
than to designate any particular species. Tremolite, actinolite, and
other forms of hornblende and serpentine, passing into fibrous
varieties, assume the name of asbestos, and the 'Geology of Canada' does
not give the mineral as a distinct one, but recognizes it under these
different headings. As yet comparatively little asbestos has been found
in Canada."
This is sufficient to show how small was the interest, even so recently
as that, attaching to this substance in the very country which was so
soon to find it taking important rank amongst her natural productions.
That singularly beautiful mineral termed "crocidolite," which displays
such sheens and radiances of gold and bronze and green as give it the
appearance of satin changed into stone, is nothing more than compressed
asbestos. The derivation of its name is not happy. It is said to be from
+krokos lithos+, simply crocus- or yellow stone. This is
doubtless its general colour, but the finest crocidolite is anything but
yellow.
Having heard that there were some fine specimens of asbestos on view at
the recent exhibition of the United States products at Earl's Court, I
made a journey there specially to see them. In this, however, I was
disappointed. There was but one small tray of so-called asbestos
(amphibole) on view; and this was of a coarse woody character, very
similar in appearance to a sample I had had sent to me recently from
California. It was, moreover, of a very poor colour and certainly not of
the kind that would readily find a market. I found there, however, a
piece of unmistakable chrysotile, grouped amongst a miscellaneous lot of
American minerals. The exhibitor at once told me, in reply to my
questions, that this was not an American product at all, but that it was
a "vegetable matter" found in Canada. He evidently did not know much
about it, and said it was not asbestos at all. It was not by any means a
fine specimen: it had somewhat the appearance of ordinary Thetford No.
1, though differing slightly in colour. I could get no further
information about it, except that it had come from near Ottawa.
At this exhibition I found a splendid display of crocidolite, the sight
of which well repaid the visit. I secured a good specimen, but found, on
enquiry, that like all the superior qualities of this mineral, it had
been brought from Griqualand (South Africa). The sample I secured was of
the kind that in the States is called "Tiger-eye," as I presume, from
its general tawny- streaky brilliancy. The exhibitor said it was
a silicate of iron occurring in asbestos-like fibres. It is of an
exceedingly hard, densely compact nature; from its hardness difficult to
work, but susceptible of a very high polish. A few years ago it was
thought to be a precious stone and accordingly commanded a high price,
but recent discoveries of large deposits considerably reduced its value.
It is used for a variety of ornamental purposes, for which, from its
extreme natural beauty, it is peculiarly adapted. The grain is very fine
and in its rough state the fibres are singularly distinct.
There is another very singular substance worth alluding to here, which
is often put forward as a substitute for asbestos, and which is said by
the manufacturers to be fireproof, frost-proof, vermin-proof,
sound-proof, indestructible, and odourless. This is a good deal to say,
but is in a great measure true. It is largely used in the United Slates,
especially for insulating and other purposes of a like kind. I mean the
artificially manufactured material called "Mineral or Slag Wool," which
is made from the refuse of the furnaces at ironworks, by, it is said,
passing jets of steam through molten slag. This material is manufactured
on a somewhat extensive scale by the Western Mineral Wool Company, of
Cleveland, Ohio. There is no doubt it is a very useful substance for
many of the purposes for which it is recommended, but it can scarcely be
expected to compete to any material extent with asbestos from its total
want of elasticity and lubricity. Even the finest quality on being
crushed between the fingers has a harsh, gritty, metallic feeling, very
different from the silky, springy, and greasy feel of the natural fibre.
In connection with this manufactured article, a very curious natural
production is called to mind, the origin of which is somewhat similar
though brought about by natural causes. I refer to the product of the
lava-beds of Hawaii, called by the natives "Pele's hair." Miss C. F.
Gordon Cumming, in her "Fire Fountains of Hawaii," speaks of this as
"filaments of stringy brown lava, like spun glass, which lie scattered
here and there, having been caught by the wind (when thrown up) in
mid-air in a state of perfect fusion, forming fine lava drops, a rain of
liquid rock, and so drawn out in silky threads like fine silky hair."
"In fact, this filmy, finely spun glass is known as Pele's hair--Rauoho o
Pele. It is of a rich olive green or yellowish brown colour--a hint for
aesthetic fashions--and is glossy, like the byssus of certain shells, but
very brittle to handle. Sometimes when the great fire-fountains toss
their spray so high that it flies above the level of the cliffs, the
breeze catches it sportively and carries it far away over the island;
and the birds line their nests with this silky volcanic hair. Sometimes
you can collect handfuls clinging to the rocks to which it has drifted,
generally with a pear-shaped drop attached to it." This, it is evident,
would crumble and break off short in the fingers, and the mineral wool
when handled has just the same gritty brittle feeling one can imagine
Pele's hair to have.
Returning to asbestos, however, its formation or actual origin is at
present unknown. In its pure state it is as heavy as the rock in which
it is found, so closely are its fine elastic crystalline fibres
compressed together. These have a beautiful silky lustre, varying in
colour from pure white to a dusky grey or green, sometimes of a
yellowish green; the direction of the fibres being transverse to the
walls of the vein. The essential point in which it differs from any
other known mineral consists in its being at once fibrous and textile.
Its quality is determined by the greater or less proportion of silicious
or gritty matter with which its fibres are associated. When crushed out
from the rock, these fibres, which vie in delicacy with the finest flax
or the most beautiful silk, can be corded, spun, and woven into cloth in
precisely the same way as any other textile fibre.
Of good quality it is only found in serpentine. One instance of its
having been found in quartz is mentioned; but, even in that case we are
told, when six feet of the superficial quartz rock had been blasted
away, the inevitable serpentine was found cropping through.
According to Mr. Ells,[2] the serpentines in which it is found are
intimately associated with masses of dioritic or doloritic rocks, of
which rocks certain varieties, rich in olivine or some allied mineral,
the serpentine is, in many cases, an alteration product. They are
frequently associated with masses and <DW18>s of whitish rocks, which are
often composed entirely of quartz and felspar, but occasionally with a
mixture of black mica, forming a granitoid rock. They occur generally
not far from the axes of certain anticlinals which exist in the group of
rocks called by Sir William Logan the "altered Quebec group."
For centuries asbestos was regarded merely as a mineral curiosity.
Indeed, it is only within the last few years that it has developed into
a valuable article of commerce, the first modern experiments in the use
of it practically extending no farther back than 1850.
Its uses in the arts and manufactures are of a very important character,
and now that it is clearly demonstrated that a fairly abundant supply
can be obtained at a moderate cost, there seems no reasonable limit to
be put to the demand, new uses for it being continually found. These
will, of course, rapidly increase as its value becomes more clearly and
widely known.
It is found in most parts of the world, but in only a few places of a
sufficiently valuable kind or in quantities large enough to give it any
commercial value. The main sources of supply at present are Canada and
Italy.
A good deal has, at times, been found in Russia; and I remember an
incident which occurred a few years ago at some extensive ironworks in
that country, with which I was at the time connected, which amusingly
illustrates how little was then known there of the nature and properties
of the mineral. The iron ore, in the district referred to, is found in
bunches or nodules, near the surface of the ground; and in order to get
it, the peasants dig out pits about seven or eight feet in depth, and
then burrow, rabbit-like, into the surrounding earth in all directions
below. When all the ore is got out from one spot, they dig another pit
further afield, and so they go on until the particular patch of ground
they are working on is exhausted. On the occasion referred to, some of
our men, in their burrowing, threw out a considerable quantity of
asbestos. They had not the slightest idea what it was. In fact, they
knew nothing at all about it, except that it was not what they were in
search of; and, consequently, as it obstructed their work, they threw it
all out in a heap near the piles of ore. Presently, one of the foremen
or overlookers saw it, and wanted to know what all that rubbish had been
put there for. "Here," said he, to some of the men, "just clear up all
that mess at once, and fling it into the furnace, and get rid of it."
And this was immediately done, with what result you may imagine.
Recently, however, it is said that enormous quantities of asbestos have
been found in Russia, although I cannot learn that any use is made of it
there at present. Its mercantile value must of course depend on its
quality and distance from market. I have had a great number of specimens
sent me, but they mostly turn out to be a coarse kind of so-called
bastard asbestos, which would not pay for extracting. Now, however, we
are told that from Orenburg to Ekaterinburg the country is thickly
dotted with asbestos deposits, while near the Verkin Tagil ironworks
there is a hill called Sholkovaya Gora, or Hill of Silk, which it is
asserted is entirely composed of asbestos. The ore here is also said to
be of the best white quality, well adapted for all the most important
purposes to which asbestos is applied. I should much like to see a
specimen of this; its value could be easily determined on inspection. In
the Gorobtagsdat district of Perm, again, there are said to be large
deposits cropping out above the surface, and also that enormous
quantities could be had there for nothing, as at this moment it
possesses no value in the Ural region. I imagine it would be found of
considerable value if a practical man were sent out to see to its
fiberization on the spot, when it might be compressed, packed, and
exported in the same way as cotton. There can, however, be little doubt
that if its quality is as good as it is represented to be, it will very
soon be utilized, and will then form a very important addition to the
vast mineral wealth of that region.
As might be expected, asbestos is also found in China, but, as a matter
of course, the use to which it is put there is one we should little
dream of here. For instance, in the translation of a Chinese medical
book by Dr. Hobson, of the London Medical Mission, asbestos is seen to
figure (of all places in the world) under the head of _tonics_, in
company with such heterogeneous substances as "dried spotted lizard,
silkworm moth, human milk, parasite of the mulberry tree, asses' glue,
stalactite," and a few more surprising things. Perhaps it may be just as
well for us that we are not yet educated up to so fine a point as that,
and that consequently the mineral we are speaking of does not yet find a
place in the British Pharmacopoeia, but is left to exhibit its
apparently more natural properties in the arts and manufactures.
A correspondent of _The Financial News_, writing from Barberton in
January, 1888, says that at Komali Fields, fifty miles from that place,
asbestos has just been found, but that it was as yet too soon to discuss
the merits of the find.
In sending you an account of the Canadian asbestos industry, you will
scarcely expect me to give you any very detailed information about its
Italian competitor. Any account of the one, however, would necessarily
be so incomplete without some mention of the other, that I will do the
best I can with the little information I have been enabled to obtain on
the subject of the Italian mines.
Experiments with the view of utilizing asbestos in Italy appear to have
been first successfully carried on in 1850 by the Chevalier Aldini, of
Milan, and others, mainly with the object of turning the mineral to
account in the manufacture of asbestos cloth. The Chevalier had a
complete suit made of it--cap, gloves, tunic, and stockings--for the
purpose of testing its protective powers for firemen; and of this I
shall have something to say presently.[3] But it was not until twenty
years after this that any success was attained in the manufacture of
asbestos millboard and paper, the commercial value of which is now
assuming such large proportions.
About the same time the manufacture of asbestos into packings for piston
glands was successfully accomplished in America; and some two years
afterwards a company, calling itself "The Patent Asbestos Manufacturing
Company, Limited," was formed in Glasgow for the purpose of making
piston packings according to this American invention. In 1880 this
Glasgow Company united its business with that of Messrs. Furse Brothers
and Co., of Rome, asbestos manufacturers, as well as with that of the
Italo-English Pure Asbestos Company, and, when the amalgamation was
complete, the new Company, taking the name of "The United Asbestos
Company, Limited," became possessed of nearly the whole of the known
Italian mines, and, consequently, of a practical monopoly of the trade
in asbestos from that country.
Italian differs very materially from Canadian asbestos, not only in
appearance, but in formation also, as well as in the mode of extraction.
The two are, in fact, entirely separate and distinct kinds of the same
mineral; notwithstanding which their intrinsic qualities are practically
the same, and the uses to which they are put are almost identical.
An extraordinary specimen of Italian asbestos, obtained from one of the
mines of the United Asbestos Company, situate in the Valtellina Valley,
is in the possession of that company, and is no doubt the finest piece
of asbestos ever brought from Italy, whether as regards strength or
fineness of fibre. Any one interested in the matter would, I have no
doubt, be readily permitted to inspect this natural curiosity, on
application to Mr. Boyd, the courteous manager of the company, in Queen
Victoria Street.
Just about this time (1880) Canadian asbestos, also, was being much
talked about and sought after; and it is therefore perhaps scarcely to
be wondered at that the company which first began to work the mineral in
Italy on a large scale, and which, at great expense and trouble, had
managed to secure the whole of the Italian mines, and so become
possessed, as they supposed, of a monopoly of the trade, should have
viewed with jealousy the rapid progress made in public estimation by the
Canadian ore when once it was introduced to the market.
It is not my purpose, however, to enter on the vexed question of the
relative merits of the two varieties, which would be altogether out of
place in a letter of this kind. But I think we may safely conclude that
both possess undeniably good qualities, and that there is an ample field
for both, inasmuch as the peculiar properties which render one kind
unsuitable for some particular purpose are often precisely those which
best adapt it for another. Each variety will assuredly make its own way
and take its proper place in public estimation as further experiments
and greater experience in the use of it shall bring its special value
more prominently to light.
Ample proof has been given of the valuable qualities of Italian
asbestos; and if any proof were needed of the intrinsic value of its
Canadian competitor, nothing more would be required than to point to
such houses as that of John Bell & Son, of London; of Wertheim, of
Frankfort; or to the Johns Manufacturing Company, or the Chalmers-Spence
Company, of New York, whose world-renowned manufactures are made of
Canadian asbestos alone.
The essential characteristics of both sorts are alike in this respect,
that they are absolutely indestructible by fire, or even when exposed to
the action of any known acid; the Canadian variety possessing in
addition, in a very high degree, that strange peculiarity (which is also
claimed for one of the Italian sorts), and is common also to plumbago
and soapstone, of being a self-lubricator. Good Canadian fibre is known
at once by its soft, greasy, soapy feeling; and one of the leading New
York firms claims for its products, made entirely of Canadian asbestos,
that they will resist even the flame of the blowpipe; and further
asserts that this mineral transcends all previously thought-of materials
for fireproofing, in that it is not only absolutely indestructible by
fire, but that its power of resistance cannot be worn away or diminished
by lapse of time or hard usage, as invariably happens in the case of
such applications as tungstate of soda.
Regarding its use, Germany is a very large consumer. In France the
consumption is not so great, although manufacturers in that country are
now beginning to bestir themselves, especially in regard to some very
valuable kinds of paper, which they are making entirely out of Canadian
fibre; and Paris has now set the world an example by the adoption of the
Chevalier Aldini's plan of clothing firemen in a dress of asbestos
cloth.
America, however, is the country where the most rapid strides are being
made in the development of every branch of this new industry, and there
also the Canadian fibre alone is used.
A considerable quantity of it is made use of in England, in the
manufacture of some valuable kinds of packing for engineering work,
millboards, felts, lubricants, paint, and the like; but in England we
lack in some degree the readiness which is found on the other side of
the ocean, in the adaptation of new materials and new methods of work.
Whether it be that Englishmen are influenced by climatic or other
causes, certain it is that they are slow to adopt new systems, to
cultivate novel ideas, or to move out of old grooves. Consequently, when
new materials, or even novel applications of those long used, are
suggested, they ponder over them, hesitate, and weigh the chances, and
in so doing not infrequently let slip valuable opportunities; whilst the
keener and more enterprising American, once he sees the drift of the new
matter, will, to use his own expression, "catch hold" at once. It by no
means follows, however, that this is the fault of the manufacturers
alone; they have naturally to gauge the requirements of their customers,
and prefer to limit their make to what they know they can sell.
The finer kinds of asbestos, the strong fibres of which are of a pure
white colour and of a fine silky texture, being at the same time free
from silicic acid or metallic oxide, are comparatively rare; and, on
account of their lubricating qualities, are especially valuable. This
particular kind, I am told, is at the present time only to be found in
Canada and some parts of the States. Whether this statement is correct
or not, I am not in a position to say; but that it is found in Canada I
know, for I have there personally witnessed the blasting out of many
hundreds of tons. In the Dominion it is invariably obtained from hard
rock somewhat difficult to work.
In an interesting paper on Italian asbestos, to be found in the "Journal
of the Society of Arts" for April, 1886, to which I have been indebted
for a good deal of information respecting the Italian mines, I find a
very singular statement given as the result of long observation by the
_employes_ of the United Company in Italy. It is there said that "if
asbestos be found on the surface of a rock exposed either to the south
or south-west, the product is generally fairly abundant and of good
quality. If exposed to the east there is fine quality, but very small
quantity; whilst if exposed to the north the quantity is plentiful but
dry and hard, and on entering the rock all traces of it are lost."
Whether this be at all consistent with Canadian experience I cannot say.
The lie of the ground and the course of the veins being so different, it
is quite possible the theory may have no applicability at all to
Canadian mining. But it is certainly suggestive and interesting, and I
will cause inquiry in this direction to be set on foot at once.
In the same paper I find the following given as analyses of the two
varieties. The first is stated to be by Professor Barff, but by whom the
latter was made does not appear. According to these there would be
little doubt which was the most valuable for general manufacturing
purposes, but as there is nothing to show what kind of Canadian ore was
submitted for analysis, or by whom the analysis was made, you must take
it as an analysis only, _quantum valeat_.
ITALIAN. CANADIAN.
Lime and magnesia 37.84 33.20
Silica 41.69 40.90
Oxide of iron 3.01 5.75
Potash .85 traces
Soda 1.41 .68
Alumina 2.57 6.60
Moisture evaporated at 100 deg. C. 3.04 --
Loss on heating to white heat, water
of hydration, and organic matter 9.56 12.50
Chlorine -- .25
Loss .03 .12
------ ------
100 100
Three distinct kinds of asbestos are said to be found in Italy, viz.,
Grey, Flossy, and Powdery. The grey is a long, fibrous variety,
possessing, in addition to strength, the much-prized saponaceous
quality; and this is mostly found in the two Alpine valleys of
Valtellina and d'Aosta. The flossy, which has a smooth, silky
appearance, but a dry feeling when touched, is found | 1,423.681032 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
There are two footnotes, which are positioned directly
following the paragraph where they are referenced.
More detailed comments may be found at the end of this
text.
[Illustration: GARFIELD PEAK.]
THE CREST OF THE CONTINENT:
A Record of a Summer's Ramble in the Rocky Mountains and Beyond.
by
ERNEST INGERSOLL.
"We climbed the rock-built breasts of earth!
We saw the snowy mountains rolled
Like mighty billows; saw the birth
Of sudden dawn; beheld the gold
Of awful sunsets; saw the face
Of God, and named it boundless space."
Twenty Ninth Edition.
Chicago:
R. R. Donnelley & Sons, Publishers.
1887.
Copyright,
By S. K. Hooper,
1885.
R. R. Donnelley & Sons, The Lakeside Press, Chicago.
TO
THE PEOPLE OF COLORADO,
SAGACIOUS IN PERCEIVING, DILIGENT IN DEVELOPING,
AND WISE IN ENJOYING
THE
RESOURCES AND ATTRACTIONS OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
WITH
THE HOMAGE OF
THE AUTHOR.
PREFACE.
Probably nothing in this artificial world is more deceptive than
absolute candor. Hence, though the ensuing text may lack nothing in
straightforwardness of assertion, and seem impossible to misunderstand,
it may be worth while to say distinctly, here at the start, that it is
all true. We actually _did_ make such an excursion, in such cars, and
with such equipments, as I have described; and we would like to do it
again.
It was wild and rough in many respects. Re-arranging the trip, luxuries
might be added, and certain inconveniences avoided; but I doubt whether,
in so doing, we should greatly increase the pleasure or the profit.
"No man should desire a soft life," wrote King Aelfred the Great.
Roughing it, within reasonable grounds, is the marrow of this sort of
recreation. What a pungent and wholesome savor to the healthy taste
there is in the very phrase! The zest with which one goes about an
expedition of any kind in the Rocky Mountains is phenomenal in itself; I
despair of making it credited or comprehended by inexperienced
lowlanders. We are told that the joys of Paradise will not only actually
be greater than earthly pleasures, but that they will be further
magnified by our increased spiritual sensitiveness to the "good times"
of heaven. Well, in the same way, the senses are so quickened by the
clear, vivifying climate of the western uplands in summer, that an
experience is tenfold more pleasurable there than it could become in the
Mississippi valley. I elsewhere have had something to say about this
exhilaration of body and soul in the high Rockies, which you will
perhaps pardon me for repeating briefly, for it was written honestly,
long ago, and outside of the present connection.
"At sunrise breakfast is over, the mules and everybody else have been
good-natured and you feel the glory of mere existence as you vault into
the saddle and break into a gallop. Not that this or that particular day
is so different from other pleasant mornings, but all that we call _the
weather_ is constituted in the most perfect proportions. The air is
'nimble and sweet,' and you ride gayly across meadows, through sunny
woods of pine and aspen, and between granite knolls that are piled up in
the most noble and romantic proportions....
"Sometimes it seems, when camp is reached | 1,423.682084 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.7554890 | 2,643 | 20 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE BROWN MOUSE
By
HERBERT QUICK
Author of
Aladdin & Company, The Broken Lance
On Board the Good Ship Earth, Etc.
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
Copyright 1915
The Bobbs-Merrill Company
Printed in the United States of America
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOK MANUFACTURERS
BROOKLYN, N. Y.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I A Maiden's "Humph" 1
II Reversed Unanimity 24
III What Is a Brown Mouse 38
IV The First Day of School 48
V The Promotion of Jennie 55
VI Jim Talks the Weather Cold 65
VII The New Wine 75
VIII And the Old Bottles 89
IX Jennie Arranges a Christmas Party 99
X How Jim Was Lined Up 111
XI The Mouse Escapes 122
XII Facing Trial 132
XIII Fame or Notoriety 147
XIV The Colonel Takes the Field 164
XV A Minor Casts Half a Vote 188
XVI The Glorious Fourth 203
XVII A Trouble Shooter 218
XVIII Jim Goes to Ames 235
XIX Jim's World Widens 242
XX Think of It 248
XXI A School District Held Up 258
XXII An Embassy From Dixie 277
XXIII And So They Lived---- 295
THE BROWN MOUSE
CHAPTER I
A MAIDEN'S "HUMPH"
A Farm-hand nodded in answer to a question asked him by Napoleon on the
morning of Waterloo. The nod was false, or the emperor misunderstood--and
Waterloo was lost. On the nod of a farm-hand rested the fate of Europe.
This story may not be so important as the battle of Waterloo--and it may
be. I think that Napoleon was sure to lose to Wellington sooner or later,
and therefore the words "fate of Europe" in the last paragraph should be
understood as modified by "for a while." But this story may change the
world permanently. We will not discuss that, if you please. What I am
endeavoring to make plain is that this history would never have been
written if a farmer's daughter had not said "Humph!" to her father's hired
man.
Of course she never said it as it is printed. People never say "Humph!" in
that way. She just closed her lips tight in the manner of people who have
a great deal to say and prefer not to say it, and--I dislike to record
this of a young lady who has been "off to school," but truthfulness
compels--she grunted through her little nose the ordinary "Humph!" of
conversational commerce, which was accepted at its face value by the
farm-hand as an evidence of displeasure, disapproval, and even of
contempt. Things then began to happen as they never would have done if the
maiden hadn't "Humphed!" and this is a history of those happenings.
As I have said, it may be more important than Waterloo. _Uncle Tom's
Cabin_ was, and I hope--I am just beginning, you know--to make this a much
greater book than _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. And it all rests on a "Humph!"
Holmes says,
"Soft is the breath of a maiden's 'Yes,'
Not the light gossamer stirs with less."
but what bard shall rightly sing the importance of a maiden's "Humph!"
when I shall have finished telling what came of what Jennie Woodruff said
to Jim Irwin, her father's hired man?
Jim brought from his day's work all the fragrances of next year's meadows.
He had been feeding the crops. All things have opposite poles, and the
scents of the farm are no exception to the rule. Just now, Jim Irwin
possessed in his clothes and person the olfactory pole opposite to the
new-mown hay, the fragrant butter and the scented breath of the lowing
kine--perspiration and top-dressing.
He was not quite so keenly conscious of this as was Jennie Woodruff. Had
he been so, the glimmer of her white pique dress on the bench under the
basswood would not have drawn him back from the gate. He had come to the
house to ask Colonel Woodruff about the farm work, and having received
instructions to take a team and join in the road work next day, he had
gone down the walk between the beds of four o'clocks and petunias to the
lane. Turning to latch the gate, he saw through the dusk the white dress
under the tree and drawn by the greatest attraction known in nature, had
re-entered the Woodruff grounds and strolled back.
A brief hello betrayed old acquaintance, and that social equality which
still persists in theory between the work people on the American farm and
the family of the employer. A desultory murmur of voices ensued. Jim Irwin
sat down on the bench--not too close, be it observed, to the pique
skirt.... There came into the voices a note of deeper earnestness,
betokening something quite aside from the rippling of the course of true
love running smoothly. In the man's voice was a tone of protest and
pleading....
"I know you are," said she; "but after all these years don't you think you
should be at least preparing to be something more than that?"
"What can I do?" he pleaded. "I'm tied hand and foot.... I might have
..."
"You might have," said she, "but, Jim, you haven't... and I don't see any
prospects...." "I have been writing for the farm papers," said Jim; "but
..."
"But that doesn't get you anywhere, you know.... You're a great deal more
able and intelligent than Ed ---- and see what a fine position he has in
Chicago...."
"There's mother, you know," said Jim gently.
"You can't do anything here," said Jennie. "You've been a farm-hand for
fifteen years... and you always will be unless you pull yourself loose.
Even a girl can make a place for herself if she doesn't marry and leaves
the farm. You're twenty-eight years old."
"It's all wrong!" said Jim gently. "The farm ought to be the place for the
best sort of career--I love the soil!"
"I've been teaching for only two years, and they say I'll be nominated for
county superintendent if I'll take it. Of course I won't--it seems
silly--but if it were you, now, it would be a first step to a life that
leads to something."
"Mother and I can live on my wages--and the garden and chickens and the
cow," said Jim. "After I received my teacher's certificate, I tried to
work out some way of doing the same thing on a country teacher's wages. I
couldn't. It doesn't seem right."
Jim rose and after pacing back and forth sat down again, a little closer
to Jennie. Jennie moved away to the extreme end of the bench, and the
shrinking away of Jim as if he had been repelled by some sort of negative
magnetism showed either sensitiveness or temper.
"It seems as if it ought to be possible," said Jim, "for a man to do work
on the farm, or in the rural schools, that would make him a livelihood. If
he is only a field-hand, it ought to be possible for him to save money and
buy a farm."
"Pa's land is worth two hundred dollars an acre," said Jennie. "Six months
of your wages for an acre--even if you lived on nothing."
"No," he assented, "it can't be done. And the other thing can't, either.
There ought to be such conditions that a teacher could make a living."
"They do," said Jennie, "if they can live at home during vacations. _I_
do."
"But a man teaching in the country ought to be able to marry."
"Marry!" said Jennie, rather unfeelingly, I think. "_You_ marry!" Then
after remaining silent for nearly a minute, she uttered the
syllable--without the utterance of which this narrative would not have
been written. "_You_ marry! Humph!"
Jim Irwin rose from the bench tingling with the insult he found in her
tone. They had been boy-and-girl sweethearts in the old days at the
Woodruff schoolhouse down the road, and before the fateful time when
Jennie went "off to school" and Jim began to support his mother. They had
even kissed--and on Jim's side, lonely as was his life, cut off as it
necessarily was from all companionship save that of his tiny home and his
fellow-workers of the field, the tender little love-story was the sole
romance of his life. Jennie's "Humph!" retired this romance from
circulation, he felt. It showed contempt for the idea of his marrying. It
relegated him to a sexless category with other defectives, and badged him
with the celibacy of a sort of twentieth-century monk, without the honor
of the priestly vocation. From another girl it would have been bad enough,
but from Jennie Woodruff--and especially on that quiet summer night under
the linden--it was insupportable.
"Good night," said Jim--simply because he could not trust himself to say
more.
"Good night," replied Jennie, and sat for a long time wondering just how
deeply she had unintentionally wounded the feelings of her father's
field-hand; deciding that if he was driven from her forever, it would
solve the problem of terminating that old childish love affair which still
persisted in occupying a suite of rooms all of its own in her memory; and
finally repenting of the unpremeditated thrust which might easily have
hurt too deeply so sensitive a man as Jim Irwin. But girls are not usually
so made as to feel any very bitter remorse for their male victims, and so
Jennie slept very well that night.
Great events, I find myself repeating, sometimes hinge on trivial things.
Considered deeply, all those matters which we are wont to call great
events are only the outward and visible results of occurrences in the
minds and souls of people. Sir Walter Raleigh thought of laying his cloak
under the feet of Queen Elizabeth as she passed over a mud-puddle, and all
the rest of his career followed, as the effect of Sir Walter's mental
attitude. Elias Howe thought of a machine for sewing, Eli Whitney of a
machine for ginning cotton, George Stephenson of a tubular boiler for his
locomotive engine, and Cyrus McCormick of a sickle-bar, and the world was
changed by those thoughts, rather than by the machines themselves. John D.
Rockefeller thought strongly that he would be rich, and this thought, and
not the Standard Oil Company, changed the commerce and finance of the
world. As a man thinketh so is he; and as men think so is the world. Jim
Irwin went home thinking of the "Humph!" of Jennie Woodruff--thinking with
hot waves and cold waves running over his body, and swellings in his
throat. Such thoughts centered upon his club foot made Lord Byron a great
sardonic poet. That club foot set him apart from the world of boys and
tortured him into a fury which lasted until he had lashed society with the
whips of his scorn.
Jim Irwin was not club-footed; far from it. He was bony and rugged and
homely, with | 1,423.775529 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Bold text is denoted by =equal signs=.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
More detail can be found at the end of the book.
ETHAN ALLEN
The Robin Hood of Vermont
BY
HENRY HALL
[Illustration: RUINS OF TICONDEROGA]
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1892
COPYRIGHT, 1892,
BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
PREFACE.
At the time of the death of Mr. Henry Hall, in 1889, the manuscript
for this volume consisted of finished fragments and many notes. It
was left in the hands of his daughters to complete. The purpose of
the author was to make a fuller life of Allen than has been written,
and singling him from that cluster of sturdy patriots in the New
Hampshire Grants, to make plain the vivid personality of a Vermont
hero to the younger generations. Mr. Hall's well-known habit of
accuracy and painstaking investigation must be the guaranty that this
"Life" is worthy of a place among the volumes of the history of our
nation.
HENRIETTA HALL BOARDMAN.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
AN ACCOUNT OF ALLEN'S FAMILY, 1
CHAPTER II.
EARLY LIFE, HABITS OF THOUGHT, AND RELIGIOUS TENDENCIES, 12
CHAPTER III.
REMOVAL TO VERMONT.--THE NEW HAMPSHIRE GRANTS, 22
CHAPTER IV.
ALLEN AND THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.--NEGOTIATIONS BETWEEN NEW YORK
AND THE NEW HAMPSHIRE GRANTS, 32
CHAPTER V.
THE RAID UPON COLONEL REID'S SETTLERS.--ALLEN'S OUTLAWRY.--CREAN
BRUSH.--PHILIP SKENE, 46
CHAPTER VI.
PREPARATIONS TO CAPTURE TICONDEROGA.--DIARY OF EDWARD
MOTT.--EXPEDITIONS PLANNED.--BENEDICT ARNOLD.--GERSHOM BEACH, 61
CHAPTER VII.
CAPTURE OF TICONDEROGA, 73
CHAPTER VIII.
ALLEN'S LETTERS TO THE CONTINENTAL CONGRESS, TO THE NEW YORK
PROVINCIAL CONGRESS, AND TO THE MASSACHUSETTS CONGRESS, 81
CHAPTER IX.
ALLEN'S LETTERS TO THE MONTREAL MERCHANTS, TO THE INDIANS IN
CANADA, AND TO THE CANADIANS.--JOHN BROWN, 89
CHAPTER X.
WARNER ELECTED COLONEL OF THE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.--ALLEN'S
LETTER TO GOVERNOR TRUMBULL.--CORRESPONDENCE IN REGARD TO THE
INVASION OF CANADA.--ATTACK ON MONTREAL.--DEFEAT AND
CAPTURE.--WARNER'S REPORT, 98
CHAPTER XI.
ALLEN'S NARRATIVE.--ATTACK ON MONTREAL.--DEFEAT AND
SURRENDER.--BRUTAL TREATMENT.--ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND.--DEBATES IN
PARLIAMENT, 110
CHAPTER XII.
LIFE IN PENDENNIS CASTLE.--LORD NORTH.--ON BOARD THE
"SOLEBAY."--ATTENTIONS RECEIVED IN IRELAND AND MADEIRA, 128
CHAPTER XIII.
RENDEZVOUS AT CAPE FEAR.--SICKNESS.--HALIFAX JAIL.--LETTER TO
GENERAL MASSEY.--VOYAGE TO NEW YORK.--ON PAROLE, 144
CHAPTER XIV.
RELEASE FROM PRISON.--WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE.--THE
HALDIMAND CORRESPONDENCE, 162
CHAPTER XV.
VERMONT'S TREATMENT BY CONGRESS.--ALLEN'S LETTERS TO COLONEL
WEBSTER AND TO CONGRESS.--REASONS FOR BELIEVING ALLEN A PATRIOT, 173
CHAPTER XVI.
ALLEN WITH GATES.--AT BENNINGTON.--DAVID REDDING.--REPLY TO
CLINTON.--EMBASSIES TO CONGRESS.--COMPLAINT AGAINST BROTHER
LEVI.--ALLEN IN COURT, 183
CHAPTER XVII.
ALLEN AT GUILFORD.--"ORACLES OF REASON."--JOHN STARK.--ST. JOHN
DE CRÈVECŒUR.--HONORS TO ALLEN.--SHAY'S REBELLION.--SECOND
MARRIAGE, 191
CHAPTER XVIII.
DEATH.--CIVILIZATION IN ALLEN'S TIME.--ESTIMATES OF
ALLEN.--RELIGIOUS FEELING IN VERMONT.--MONUMENTS, 198
ETHAN ALLEN.
CHAPTER I.
AN ACCOUNT OF HIS FAMILY.
Ethan Allen is the Robin Hood of Vermont. As Robin Hood's life was
an Anglo-Saxon protest against Norman despotism, so Allen's life was
a protest against domestic robbery and foreign tyranny. As Sherwood
Forest was the rendezvous of the gallant and chivalrous Robin Hood,
so the Green Mountains were the home of the dauntless and high-minded
Ethan Allen. As Robin Hood, in Scott's "Ivanhoe," so does Allen,
in Thompson's "Green Mountain Boys," win our admiration. Although
never a citizen of the United States, he is one of the heroes of
the state and the nation; one of those whose names the people will
not willingly let die. History and tradition, song and story,
sculpture, engraving, and photography alike blazon his memory from
ocean to ocean. The librarian of the great library at Worcester,
Massachusetts, told Colonel Higginson that the book most read was
Daniel P. Thompson's "Green Mountain Boys." Already one centennial
celebration of the capture of Ticonderoga has been celebrated. Who
can tell how many future anniversaries of that capture our nation
will live to see! Another reason for refreshing our memories with
the history of Allen is the bitterness with which he is attacked.
He has been accused of ignorance, weakness of mind, cowardice,
infidelity, and atheism. Among his assailants have been the president
of a college, a clergyman, editors, contributors to magazines and
newspapers, and even a local historian among a variety of writers of
greater or less prominence. If Vermont is careful of her own fame,
well does it become the people to know whether Ethan Allen was a hero
or a humbug.
Arnold calls history the vast Mississippi of falsehood. The untruths
that have been published about Allen during the last hundred and
fifteen years might not fill and overflow the Ohio branch of such
a Mississippi, but they would make a lively rivulet run until
it was dammed by its own silt. The late Benjamin Disraeli, Lord
Beaconsfield, fought a duel with Daniel O'Connell, because O'Connell
declared it to be his belief that Disraeli was a lineal descendant
of the impenitent thief on the Cross. Perhaps the libellers of Allen
are descended from the Yorkers whom he stamped so ignominiously with
the beech seal. The fierce light of publicity perhaps never beat upon
a throne more sharply than for more than a hundred years it has beat
upon Ethan Allen. His patriotism, courage, religious belief, and
general character have been travestied and caricatured until now the
real man has to be dug up from heaps of untruthful rubbish, as the
peerless Apollo Belvidere was dug in the days of Columbus from the
ruins of classic Antium.
Discrepancies exist even in regard to his age. On the stone tablet
over his grave his age is given as fifty years. Thompson said his
age was fifty-two. At the unveiling of his statue, he was called
thirty-eight years old when Ticonderoga was taken. These three
statements are erroneous, and, strange to say, Burlington is
responsible for them all, Burlington, the Athens of Vermont, the
town wherein rest his ashes, the town wherein most | 1,423.777521 |
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IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY,
Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
[Illustration: GROUP OF INDIANS NEAR NIAGARA.
Drawn & Etched by A. Hervieu.]
IMPRESSIONS OF AMERICA,
DURING THE YEARS 1833, 1834, AND 1835.
BY TYRONE POWER, ESQ.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET,
Publisher in Ordinary to His Majesty.
1836.
CONTENTS
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
Page
NAHANT 1
THE BALLOON 10
Taunton.--Cotton Manufactures.--Pocassett.--Rhode Island._ib._
NEWPORT 22
Rhode Island _ib._
BLOCK ISLAND 28
NEW YORK 32
Rockaway.--A Road Adventure. _ib._
JOURNAL 40
IMPRESSIONS OF PETERSBURG 82
Virginia _ib._
A Rhapsody 83
Impressions of Petersburg.--The deserted Church. 87
CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA 93
Total Eclipse of the Sun 102
SAVANNAH 117
COLUMBUS 132
TRAVELLING THROUGH THE C | 1,423.77755 |
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FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD
[Illustration: "Come down aff the top o' dthat harrse!"]
FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD
A STORY OF THE WAR DAYS
BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A. AUTHOR OF "TROOPER ROSS," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY VIOLET OAKLEY AND CHARLES H. STEPHENS
PHILADELPHIA J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1899
COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
ILLUSTRATIONS
"COME DOWN AFF THE TOP O' DTHAT HARRSE!"
ALMOST SENSELESS, TILL SHORTY STROVE TO LIFT HIS BLEEDING HEAD UPON
HIS KNEE
"I COULDN'T STAND IT. I HAD TO GO"
SHE WAS PERMITTED TO READ AND TO WEEP OVER SNIPE'S PATHETIC LETTER
FIRST CAPTURE OF THE ADVANCING ARMS OF THE UNION
"WHERE'D YOU GET THAT WATCH?"
FROM SCHOOL TO BATTLE-FIELD.
CHAPTER I.
"If there's anything I hate more than a rainy Saturday, call me a
tadpole!" said the taller of two boys who, with their chins on their
arms and their arms on the top of the window-sash, were gazing gloomily
out over a dripping world. It was the second day of an east wind, and
every boy on Manhattan Island knows what an east wind brings to New York
City, or used to in days before the war, and this was one of them.
"And our nine could have lammed that Murray Hill crowd a dozen to
nothing!" moaned the shorter, with disgust in every tone. "Next Saturday
the 'Actives' have that ground, and there'll be no decent place to
play--unless we can trap them over to Hoboken. What shall we do,
anyhow?"
The taller boy, a curly-headed, dark-eyed fellow of sixteen, whose long
legs had led to his school name of Snipe, turned from the contemplation
of an endless vista of roofs, chimneys, skylights, clothes-lines, all
swimming in an atmosphere of mist, smoke, and rain, and glanced back at
the book-laden table.
"There's that Virgil," he began, tentatively.
"Oh, Virgil be blowed!" broke in the other on the instant. "It's bad
enough to have to work week-days. I mean what can we do for--fun?" and
the blue eyes of the youngster looked up into the brown of his taller
chum.
"That's all very well for you, Shorty," said Snipe. "Latin comes easy to
you, but it don't to me. You've got a sure thing on exam., I haven't,
and the pater's been rowing me every week over those blasted reports."
"Well-l, I'm as bad off in algebra or Greek, for that matter. 'Pop' told
me last week I ought to be ashamed of myself," was the junior's answer.
And, lest it be supposed that by "Pop" he referred to the author of his
being, and thereby deserves the disapproval of every right-minded reader
at the start, let it be explained here and now that "Pop" was the
head--the "rector"--of a school famous in the ante-bellum days of
Gotham; famous indeed as was its famous head, and though they called him
nicknames, the boys worshipped him. Older boys, passed on into the cap
and gown of Columbia (items of scholastic attire sported only, however,
at examinations and the semi-annual speech-making), referred to the
revered professor of the Greek language and literature as "Bull," and
were no less fond of him, nor did they hold him less in reverence. Where
are they now, I wonder?--those numerous works bound in calf, embellished
on the back with red leather bands on which were stamped in gold ----'s
Virgil, ----'s Horace, ----'s Sallust, ----'s Homer? Book after book had
he, grammars of both tongues, prosodies likewise, Roman and Greek
antiquities, to say nothing of the huge classical dictionary. One could
cover a long shelf in one's student library without drawing upon the
works of any other authority, and here in this dark little room, on the
topmost floor of a brownstone house in Fourteenth Street, a school-boy
table was laden at its back with at least eight of Pop's ponderous tomes
to the exclusion of other classics.
But on the shelf above were books by no means so scholarly and far more
worn. There they stood in goodly array, Mayne Reid's "Boy Hunters,"
"Scalp Hunters," "The Desert Home," "The White Chief," flanked by a
dusty "Sanford and Merton" that appeared to hold aloof from its
associates. There, dingy with wear though far newer, was Thomas Hughes's
inimitable "Tom Brown's School-Days at Rugby." There was what was then
his latest, "The Scouring of the White Horse," which, somehow, retained
the freshness of the shop. There were a few volumes of Dickens, and
Cooper's Leatherstocking Tales. There on the wall were some vivid battle
pictures, cut from the _London Illustrated News_,--the Scots Grays in
the melee with the Russian cavalry at Balaklava; the Guards, in their
tall bearskins and spike-tail coats, breasting the <DW72>s of the Alma.
There hung a battered set of boxing-gloves, and on the hooks above them
a little brown rifle, muzzle-loading, of course. The white-covered bed
stood against the wall on the east side of the twelve-by-eight
apartment, its head to the north. At its foot were some objects at which
school-boys of to-day would stare in wonderment; a pair of heavy boots
stood on the floor, with a pair of trousers so adjusted to them that, in
putting on the boots, one was already half-way into the trousers, and
had only to pull them up and tightly belt them at the | 1,423.778565 |
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Memoirs from the Biological Laboratory
OF THE
JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY
IV, 4
WILLIAM K. BROOKS, EDITOR
PHYSIOLOGY AND HISTOLOGY
OF
THE CUBOMEDUSÆ
INCLUDING
DR. F. S. CONANT’S NOTES ON THE PHYSIOLOGY
A DISSERTATION PRESENTED TO THE BOARD OF UNIVERSITY STUDIES
OF THE JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY
FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
BY
E. W. BERGER
BALTIMORE
THE JOHNS HOPKINS PRESS
1900
[Illustration]
PRINTED BY
The Lord Baltimore Press
THE FRIEDENWALD COMPANY
BALTIMORE, MD., U.S.A.
This Memoir is a continuation of the work upon the Cubomedusæ which was
begun by the late Dr. FRANKLIN STORY CONANT, and it contains his notes
of physiological experiments, as well as new results which have been
obtained by Dr. E. W. BERGER from the study of material which had been
collected by Dr. CONANT, who had hoped to make it the object of further
study.
In order that this work may be made public as a continuation of Dr.
CONANT’S researches, his sister, GRACE WILBUR CONANT, has, with the
coöperation of other members of his family, made an adequate and generous
provision for its publication.
For this gift, which is at once a contribution to science and a memorial
of an able and promising investigator, lately student and fellow in
this institution, the Johns Hopkins University returns its grateful
acknowledgments.
DANIEL C. GILMAN, _President_.
W. K. BROOKS, _Professor of Zoölogy_.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION.
History 1
Epitome of Anatomy 2
PHYSIOLOGICAL.
CHARYBDEA.
Light | 1,423.779621 |
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The Bontoc Igorot
by Albert Ernest Jenks
Letter of Transmittal
Department of the Interior, The Ethnological Survey,
MANILA, FEBRUARY 3, 1904.
Sir: I have the honor to submit a study of the Bontoc Igorot made
for this Survey during the year 1903. It is transmitted with the
recommendation that it be published as Volume I of a series of
scientific studies to be issued by The Ethnological Survey for the
Philippine Islands.
Respectfully,
Albert Ernst Jenks,
CHIEF OF THE ETHNOLOGICAL SURVEY.
Hon. Dean C. Worcester,
SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR, MANILA, P. I.
Preface
After an expedition of two months in September, October, and November,
1902, among the people of northern Luzon it was decided that the Igorot
of Bontoc pueblo, in the Province of Lepanto-Bontoc, are as typical of
the primitive mountain agriculturist of Luzon as any group visited, and
that ethnologic investigations directed from Bontoc pueblo would enable
the investigator to show the culture of the primitive mountaineer of
Luzon as well as or better than investigations centered elsewhere.
Accompanied by Mrs. Jenks, the writer took up residence in Bontoc
pueblo the 1st of January, 1903, and remained five months. The
following data were gathered during that Bontoc residence, the previous
expedition of two months, and a residence of about six weeks among
the Benguet Igorot.
The accompanying illustrations are mainly from photographs. Some of
them were taken in April, 1903, by Hon. Dean C. Worcester, Secretary
of the Interior; others are the work of Mr. Charles Martin, Government
photographer, and were taken in January, 1903; the others were made
by the writer to supplement those taken by Mr. Martin, whose time
was limited in the area. Credit for each photograph is given with
the halftone as it appears.
I wish to express my gratitude for the many favors of the only other
Americans living in Bontoc Province during my stay there, namely,
Lieutenant-Governor Truman K. Hunt, M.D.; Constabulary Lieutenant (now
Captain) Elmer A. Eckman; and Mr. William F. Smith, American teacher.
In the following pages native words have their syllabic divisions
shown by hyphens and their accented syllables and vowels marked in the
various sections wherein the words are considered technically for the
first time, and also in the vocabulary in the last chapter. In all
other places they are unmarked. A later study of the language may
show that errors have been made in writing sentences, since it was
not always possible to get a consistent answer to the question as to
what part of a sentence constitutes a single word, and time was too
limited for any extensive language study. The following alphabet has
been used in writing native words.
A as in FAR; Spanish RAMO
A as in LAW; as O in French OR
AY as AI in AISLE; Spanish HAY
AO as OU in OUT; as AU in Spanish AUTO
B as in BAD; Spanish BAJAR
CH as in CHECK; Spanish CHICO
D as in DOG; Spanish DAR
E as in THEY; Spanish HALLE
E as in THEN; Spanish COMEN
F as in FIGHT; Spanish FIRMAR
G as in GO; Spanish GOZAR
H as in HE; Tagalog BAHAY
I as in PIQUE; Spanish HIJO
I as in PICK
K as in KEEN
L as in LAMB; Spanish LENTE
M as in MAN; Spanish MENOS
N as in NOW; Spanish JABON
NG as in FINGER; Spanish LENGUA
O as in NOTE; Spanish NOSOTROS
OI as in BOIL
P as in POOR; Spanish PERO
Q as CH in German ICH
S as in SAUCE; Spanish SORDO
SH as in SHALL; as CH in French CHARMER
T as in TOUCH; Spanish TOMAR
U as in RULE; Spanish UNO
U as in BUT
U as in German KUHL
V as in VALVE; Spanish VOLVER
W as in WILL; nearly as OU in French OUI
Y as in YOU; Spanish YA
It seems not improper to say a word here regarding some of my commonest
impressions of the Bontoc Igorot.
Physically he is a clean-limbed, well-built, dark-brown man of medium
stature, with no evidence of degeneracy. He belongs to that extensive
stock of primitive people of which the Malay is the most commonly
named. I do not believe he has received any of his characteristics,
as a group, from either the Chinese or Japanese, though this theory
has frequently been presented. The Bontoc man would be a | 1,423.781555 |
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MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
No. 1. PRICE, FIVE CENTS.
FROM FARM TO FORTUNE
OR
Only A Farmer’s Daughter
BY GRACE SHIRLEY
PUBLISHED WEEKLY BY STREET & SMITH, 238 William Street, New York City.
_Copyright, 1900, by Street & Smith. All rights reserved. Entered at
York Post-Office as Second-Class Matter._
MY QUEEN
A WEEKLY JOURNAL FOR YOUNG WOMEN
_Issued Weekly. By Subscription $2.50 per year. Entered as Second Class
Matter at the N. Y. Post Office, by_ Street & Smith, _238 William St.,
N. Y._
_Entered According to Act of Congress in the year 1900, in the Office of
the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C._
No. 1. NEW YORK, September 29, 1900. Price Five Cents.
From Farm to Fortune;
OR,
ONLY A FARMER’S DAUGHTER.
By GRACE SHIRLEY.
CHAPTER I.
THE DAISY CHAIN.
There was hardly a ripple on the sultry air as Marion Marlowe walked
slowly along the dusty country road picking a daisy here and there and
linking them together in an artistic manner.
When the chain was finished she swung it lightly in her hand,
notwithstanding the fact that each link held one of her heart secrets
interwoven in the form of a wish, as she fashioned the frail necklace.
She paused for a moment upon the brow of the steep hill behind her
father’s farm, and pushing the gingham sunbonnet back from her face,
took her usual evening glance over the surrounding country.
“Same old hills! Same old trees!” she whispered irritably. “And always
that hideous old Poor Farm staring one in the face! Oh, I’m just sick
of country life and a horrid farm! Why couldn’t I have been born
something besides a farmer’s daughter?”
The view which Marion gazed upon was not altogether unlovely, but the
hills were steep and the pastures were scorched and the Poor Farm,
always a blot upon the peaceful picture, stood out with aggressive
ugliness in the keen glow of sunset.
Just over the brow of a low hill rose a curling line of smoke. It came
from the chimney of the little station where the Boston and New York
Express stopped morning and evening, the only connecting link between
them and civilization.
Marion Marlowe was seventeen and superbly handsome. Her twin sister
was fairer, more childish and a trifle smaller, but both were far more
beautiful than most country maidens.
As Marion spoke, her gray eyes darkened until they were almost black,
and the ungainly sunbonnet could not begin to cover her hair, which was
long and silky and a rich, ripe chestnut.
Turning her back upon the Poor Farm, which always offended her, Marion
suddenly gave vent to her mood in a most extraordinary manner.
Posing on the very crest of the hill with her shoulders thrown back
haughtily, she began singing a quaint air which was full of solemn
melody, and as she sang her eyes glistened and her cheeks grew even
redder, for Marion loved the sound of her beautiful voice—she knew well
that she was a magnificent singer, and might readily be forgiven for
glorying in her superb natural endowments.
“And to think it should all be wasted here!” she muttered as she
finished.
There was a scornful wave of her hand as she indicated the inoffensive
country.
She pulled on her sunbonnet with a sudden jerk.
“What could she do?” She asked the question hopelessly, and the very
trees seemed to mock her with their rustling whispers.
She could do nothing! She was only a farmer’s daughter! She must bake,
roast and boil, weed the garden, tend the chickens, and last but not
least, she must marry some stupid farmer and live exactly the life that
her mother had lived before her.
“I won’t do it!” she cried, angrily, when she had reached this point in
her thoughts.
“I’ll never submit to it! Never! Never! I will make a name somehow,
somewhere, some time! Do you hear me, you glorious old sun? I will do
it! I swear it!”
With a sudden impulse she lifted her hand above her head. The setting
sun threw a shaft of light directly across her path which clothed her
in a shining radiance as her vow was registered.
The sky was darkening when Marion drew her sunbonnet on again and
started slowly down the hill toward her father’s pasture.
She let down the bars at the entrance to the pasture lot easily with
her strong, white hands. There were five of the patient creatures
awaiting her coming. The sixth had strayed a little, so she strolled
about, calling to it, through the straggling brush and birches.
Suddenly there came the unmistakable patter of bare feet along the
road; Marion listened a moment and then went on with her search.
“Move faster, there, Bert Jackson! What’s the matter with ye, anyway?”
The words were shouted in a brutal voice which Marion knew only too
well to belong to Matt Jenkins, the keeper of the Poor Farm.
“I am moving as fast as I can,” answered a boyish voice, “but my arm
aches so badly that I can hardly walk, Mr. Jenkins.”
“As if an ache in your arm hindered you from walkin’ fast!” roared Matt
Jenkins again. “Faster, I say, or I’ll put the whip on ye!”
There was no reply, only the hurried tramp of bare feet in the road,
but there was a light crackle in the bushes of the pasture lot as
Marion hurried to the bars driving the truant cow before her.
A group of nearly a dozen lads from the Poor Farm were shuffling down
the road. They had been working about on various farms through the day,
and now were “rounded up” like so many cattle by Matt Jenkins, their
keeper, and were being hurried home under the constant goad of voice
and lash, the latter a cart whip of ugly dimensions.
Just as Marion reached the bars the squad of boys came abreast of her,
and one—a fine, manly looking chap of seventeen or eighteen—glanced
quickly in her direction, almost stopping short as he did so.
“Hi, there! Laggin’ ag’in, air ye, Bert Jackson!” roared the keeper
again. “There! Take that fer yer stubbornness in not doin’ as I tell
ye!”
The long lash circled through the air and came down with a hiss that
made Marion’s blood run cold—but only for a minute.
The next instant she had darted straight out into the road, and as the
vicious whip was raised for a second cut at the poor youth she sprang
at Matt Jenkins with the fury of a panther—snatching the whip from his
hands and throwing it over the fence into the pasture.
“How dare you, Mr. Jenkins!”
Marion’s eyes flashed like fire as she faced him.
Her sunbonnet had fallen off and showed her beautiful hair and
rose-tinted features. The daisy chain fell and was trampled under her
feet in the dust—the links which bound her wishes were scattered and
broken.
“How dare you strike a poor orphan?” she cried again. “You are a coward
to strike a boy! You ought to be kicked straight out of your position,
Matt Jenkins!”
“Huh! You’re mighty independent, Marion Marlowe!” growled Matt Jenkins
angrily. “I’ll tell yer father of ye, Miss High-flyer, an’ then | 1,423.87334 |
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_"If a wife is allowed to boil at
all she will always boil over."_
The Gentle Art
_of_
Cooking Wives
By ELIZABETH STRONG WORTHINGTON
Author _of_ "How to
Cook Husbands," etc.
Published at 150 Fifth Avenue, New York
by the Dodge Publishing Company
[The Gentle Art of Cooking Wives]
COPYRIGHT IN THE YEAR
NINETEEN HUNDRED BY
DODGE PUBLISHING CO.
[Illustration: "CONSTANCE"]
I
"Girls, come to order!" shouted Hilda Bretherton in a somewhat
disorderly tone.
"How can we come to order without a president?" queried a
rosy-cheeked, roly-poly damsel answering to the name of Puddy Kennett.
"I elect Prue Shaftsbury!" screamed Hilda above the merry din of
voices.
"You can't elect--you simply nominate," said Prue.
"I second the motion," said Nannie Branscome, and her remark was
instantly followed by a storm of "ayes" before they were called for,
and the president was declared elected and proceeded to take her seat.
"Young ladies," said she, "we are met to consider a scandalous----"
"Scurrilous," suggested Hilda.
"----alarming article," continued the president, "entitled 'How to
Cook Wives.'"
"Here! here!" interrupted Hilda again, "we can't do anything until
we've elected officers and appointed committees."
"Out of a club of four members?" queried Prudence.
"Certainly. Mother said that yesterday at her club, out of eight women
they elected twelve officers and appointed seven committees of three
each. Why, you know two men can't meet on a street corner without
immediately forming a secret society, electing president,
vice-president, secretary, and treasurer, and appointing a committee
of five to get up a banquet."
"But to return to the subject," persisted the president--a long-faced
girl with a solemn countenance, but a suspicious gleam in her eye.
"'How to Cook Wives'--that is the question before the house."
"'How to Cook Wives!' Well, if that isn't rich! It makes me think of
the old English nursery song--'Come, ducky, come and be killed.' Now
it will be, 'Come, ducky, come and be cooked.' I move that Congress be
urged to enact a law adopting that phrase as the only legal form of
proposal. Then if any little goose accepts she knows what to expect,
and is not caught up and fried without foreknowledge."
"Young ladies," said the president.
"Don't mow me down in my prime," urged Hilda in an injured tone. "I'm
making my maiden speech in the house."
"Oh, girls, look, quick!" cried Puddy. "See Miss Leigh. Isn't that a
fetching gown she has on?"
The entire club rushed to the window.
"Who's she with?" asked Hilda. "He's rather fetching, too."
"I believe his name is Chance," said Puddy Kennett. "He's not a
society fellow."
"Oh, he's the chum of that lovely man," said Hilda.
"Which lovely man?" asked Prue. "There are so many of them."
"Why--oh, you know his name. I can't think of it--Loveland--Steve
Loveland. We met him at Constance Leigh's one evening."
Here Nannie Branscome, but no one noticed her.
"Young ladies, come to order," said the president.
"Or order will come to you," said Hilda. "Prue has raised her
parasol--gavel, I mean."
"There goes Amy Frisbe," remarked Puddy from her post by the window.
"Do you know her engagement's off?"
"Well, I'll be jig----" Hilda began.
"Sh-h!" said the president.
"The president objects to slang, but I'll still be jiggered, as Lord
Fauntleroy's friend remarked."
"Sh-h!" said the president.
"Girls, that reminds me," said Puddy. "I met a publisher from New York
at the opera last night who objected to the slightest slang."
"Oh, me!" exclaimed Hilda. "Why, where has Mother Nature been keeping
the dear man all these years?"
"On Mr. Sheldon's editorial staff," suggested Nannie Branscome.
"Oh, that's too bad, Nannie," exclaimed Prudence. "My father--and he's
not a religious man--said the Topeka _Capital_ was a wonderful paper
Sheldon's week."
"I'm not denying that," said Nannie. "I believe it was wonderful. I
believe and tremble."
"With other little----"
"Sh-h!" said the president, and Hilda subsided.
"Was Amy Frisbe at the opera last night?" asked Puddy rather
irrelevantly.
"No," said Hilda, "but Arthur Driscol was. He sat in a box with the
Gorman party and was devoted to Mamie Moore all the evening. If I'd
been Mrs. Gorman I'd dropped him over the railing."
"You don't mean that Amy Frisbe has been jilted?" exclaimed the
president.
"I do, and it's her third serious heart wound. Really, that girl is
entitled to draw a pension."
"Well, I'll be jig----" began Nannie.
"Sh-h!" said the president, and then she added: "Young ladies, it is
for you to decide how you'll be served up in future."
"_Is_ it for us to decide?" asked Nannie Branscome.
She had a peculiar way of saying things of this sort. She would lower
her head and look out from under her head frizzles in a non-committal
fashion, but with a suggestion of something that made her piquant,
bewitching face irresistible.
"Certainly," said the president. "The style of cooking depends on the
cook."
"Well, let us first see what choice we have in the matter. What
variety of dishes are named? Where's the article and where did it come
from?" asked Hilda.
"George Daly had it last night and he read bits of it between the
acts."
"So that's what I missed by declining Mrs. Warren's box party
invitation!" exclaimed Hilda. "Well, let's have the article."
"I haven't got it," said Puddy. "George wouldn't give it to me. He
said it belonged to Mr. Porter, but I copied some of it."
"Oh, there's Evelyn Rogers. Let's call her in. Evelyn! Evelyn!"
Hilda was at the window gesticulating and calling.
"Young ladies," said the president, "I'm surprised. Come to order.
Good-morning, Evelyn. We are met to consider an important matter--'How
to Cook Wives.'"
Evelyn laughed.
"Is that all you called me in for? I heard enough of that last night.
It was George Daly's theme all the evening."
"Were you at the box party?" asked Hilda.
"Yes, I was so silly as to go. Oh, these society people just wear me
out. I'm more tired this morning than I should be if I'd worked at a
churn all day yesterday. They're so stupid. They talk all night about
nothing."
"You ought to commend them for intellectual economy; they make a
little go such a long way," said Prudence.
"Seriously, though, are you met to consider that piece?" asked Evelyn.
"No," said Puddy. "We just happened to meet, and that came up for
discussion."
"Well, as I don't care----" began Evelyn, laughing.
"Sh-h!" said the president.
"The publisher from New York says slang is not used in the best
circles," said Hilda.
She recited this in a loud, stereotyped tone, giving the last word a
strong upward inflection, suggestive of a final call to the
dining-room.
"Yes, I know," said Evelyn. "I met him at the box party last night,
and he told me so."
"What did you say?" inquired Puddy.
"I said it must be awful to be deaf from birth."
"Did he hear that?" laughed Hilda.
"I presume he did, for he gave me one look and straightway became dumb
as well as deaf."
"Girls, I must be going!" exclaimed Hilda suddenly. "Really, if any
po | 1,423.879351 |
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[Illustration: This book belongs to]
Clown the Circus Dog
[Illustration: Clown the Circus Dog]
CLOWN
The Circus Dog
Story and Illustrations
By
A. Vimar
Author of "The Curly-Haired Hen"
Translated by Nora K. Hills
[Illustration: Clown the Circus Dog]
The Reilly & Britton Company
Chicago
Copyright, 1917
by
The Reilly & Britton Co.
_Clown, the Circus Dog_
_To My Little Daughter
Genevieve Vimar_
[Illustration: Child with cat and dog]
Table
Clown's Puppy Days 15
The Capture of Clown 43
Clown Escapes 54
Clown at the Circus 64
The Return Home 101
[Illustration: Dog on book]
Clown, the Circus Dog
1
CLOWN'S PUPPY DAYS
Summer was here at last. The winter had not been very cold, but it had
stayed long after spring should have come. Now it seemed almost too
warm, perhaps because only a few days before it had been so cold.
[Illustration: Desk with books, paper, quill, laurel wreaths]
It was the end of the school-year, the time for examinations and the
giving of prizes, and these last few days were hard on both teachers
and children.
[Illustration: Girl with dogs]
Already a holiday breeze was blowing over the budding and blossoming
country, and the hum of insects and the singing of birds made one think
of the fun that would come with vacation.
Among the scholars bending over their desks was Bertha, a little
dark-haired girl, her black eyes fringed with long lashes. She was
twelve years old and was working for her first certificate. Morning and
afternoon she came to the school, sometimes brought by the maid, but
more often by her mother.
As a child she had always been petted and spoiled by her parents, who
gave her all the candies and toys she wanted. Her little room was
crowded with dolls and playthings of all sorts, each of which had its
name.
There were fair dolls, dark dolls, white dolls, black dolls, big
dolls--some even were life-size--fat dolls, thin dolls, little dolls,
tiny dolls; there were jointed dolls, who opened and shut their eyes;
there were dolls who could talk, and dolls who kept silent. I believe
myself that Bertha loved the silent ones best; they could not answer
back, you see.
Uncle Jean, the brother of Bertha's father, had made a point of giving
Bertha her first toy. He brought her, one fine morning, a lovely white
poodle, which had pink silk ribbons on it and little tinkly bells.
There was a spring inside, and when Bertha pressed this gently with
her fingers, the dog barked. It was altogether so well made that you
would have thought it was alive.
When he gave it to her, before the whole family, Uncle Jean made her
the following speech:
[Illustration: Desk with toys...and dog puppet]
"My dear niece, I give you this dog rather than a doll, because the
dog is the friend of man, but a doll--" here he mumbled into his big
moustache a lot of long words which got so mixed up with the barking of
the dog that nobody could catch them. Perhaps it was just as well.
[Illustration: Woman with child, man with dog]
Uncle Jean was always saying funny clever things to make people laugh
but really he was very wise and thoughtful. Everybody liked him and he
was invited places all the time.
So Bertha's first plaything was this dog, who was then and there given
the name of "Clown." Why they hit upon this name I really cannot say.
After the dog there came, one by one, all the dolls I just told you
about, but Bertha loved Clown best. You see, he was the only dog she
had, but there were many dolls to share her love.
[Illustration: Bertha and dog puppet]
Every night he was put to bed at the feet of his little mistress, who,
each morning as she woke up, took him into her arms and hugged him
tight.
Later on, as Bertha grew older, she would talk to him for hours, Clown
answering with long barks, really made by Bertha's fingers pressing on
the spring.
They were then, as | 1,423.881571 |
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Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: Philip IV at the age of 55. _From a portrait by
Valazquez in the National Gallery, London._]
The Court of
Philip IV.
SPAIN IN DECADENCE
BY
MARTIN HUME
EDITOR OF THE CALENDARS OF SPANISH STATE PAPERS
(PUBLIC RECORD OFFICE)
LECTURER IN SPANISH HISTORY AND LITERATURE
PEMBROKE COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
_Vuestras augustisinas Soberanias vivan_, O GRAN
FELIPE, _inclitamente triunfantes, gravadas en los Anales
de la Fama, pues sois sólida columna y mobil Atlante de
la Fe, unica defensa di la iglesia, y bien universal de
vuestras invencibles reinos_
LONDON
EVELEIGH NASH
1907
{v}
PREFACE
"I lighted upon great files and heaps of papers and writings of all
sorts.... In searching and turning over whereof, whilst I laboured
till I sweat again, covered all over with dust, to gather fit matter
together... that noble Lord died, and my industry began to flag and
wax cold in the business."
Thus wrote William Camden with reference to his projected life of Lord
Burghley, which was never written; and the words may be applied not
inappropriately to the present book and its writer. Some years ago I
passed many laborious months in archives and libraries at home and
abroad, searching and transcribing contemporary papers for what I hoped
to make a complete history of the long reign of Philip IV., during
which the final seal of decline was stamped indelibly upon the proud
Spanish empire handed down by the great Charles V. to his descendants.
I had dreamed of writing a book which should not only be a social
review of the period signalised by the triumph of French over Spanish
influence in the civilisation of Europe, but also a political history
of the wane and final disappearance of the prodigious national
imposture that had enabled Spain, aided by the rivalries between other
nations, to dominate the world for a century by moral force unsupported
by any proportionate material power.
{vi}
The sources to be studied for such a history were enormous in bulk and
widely scattered, and I worked very hard at my self-set task. But at
length I, too, began to wax faint-hearted; not, indeed, because my
"noble Lord had died"; for no individual lord, noble or ignoble, has
ever done, or I suppose ever will do, anything for me or my books; but
because I was told by those whose business it is to study his moods,
that the only "noble Lord" to whom I look for patronage, namely the
sympathetic public in England and the United States that buys and reads
my books, had somewhat changed his tastes. He wanted to know and
understand, I was told, more about the human beings who personified the
events of history, than about the plans of the battles they fought. He
wanted to draw aside the impersonal veil which historians had
interposed between him and the men and women whose lives made up the
world of long ago; to see the great ones in their habits as they lived,
to witness their sports, to listen to their words, to read their
private letters, and with these advantages to obtain the key to their
hearts and to get behind their minds; and so to learn history through
the human actors, rather than dimly divine the human actors by means of
the events of their times. In fact, he cared no longer, I was told,
for the stately three-decker histories which occupied half a lifetime
to write, and are now for the most part relegated, in handsome leather
bindings, to the least frequented shelves of dusty libraries.
I therefore decided to reduce my plan to more modest proportions, and
to present not a universal {vii} history of the period of Spain's
decline, but rather a series of pictures chronologically arranged of
the life and surroundings of the "Planet King" Philip IV.--that monarch
with the long, tragic, uncanny face, whose impassive mask and the
raging soul within, the greatest portrait painter of all time limned
with merciless fidelity from the King's callow youth to his sin-seared
age. I have adopted this method of writing a history of the reign,
because the great wars throughout Europe in which Spain took a leading
part, under Philip and his successor, have already been described in
fullest details by eminent writers in every civilised language, and
because I conceive that the truest understanding of the broader
phenomena of the period may be gained by an intimate study of the mode
of life and ruling sentiments of the King and his Court, at a time when
they were the human embodiment, and Madrid the phosphorescent focus, of
a great nation's decay.
The ground was practically virgin. John Dunlop, three-quarters of a
century ago, wrote a stolid history of the reign, mainly concerned with
the Spanish wars in Germany, Flanders, and Italy. But that was before
the archives of Europe were accessible; and, creditable as was Dunlop's
history for the time in which it was written, it is obsolete now. The
Spanish reproduction in recent years, of seventeenth-century documents,
for the most part unknown in England, has added much to recent
information; whilst numerous original manuscripts, and old printed
narratives and letters of the time, in Spanish, English, and French,
have also provided ample material for the embodiment {viii} in the text
of first-hand descriptions of events. The book as it stands is far
less ambitious than that originally projected; but it contains much of
the contemporary matter which would have provided substance for the
wider history; and though it is limited in its scope, it may
nevertheless render the important period it covers human and
interesting to ordinary readers who seek intellectual amusement, as
well as intelligible to students who read for information alone.
The book--"a poor thing, but mine own"--owes nothing to the labours of
previous English historians, except that in describing the Prince of
Wales' visit to Madrid I have referred to two documents published by
the Camden Society under the editorship of the late Dr. Gardiner. With
these exceptions the material has been sought in contemporary
unpublished manuscripts and printed records and letters, in most cases
now first utilised for the purpose. Whatever its faults may be--and
doubtless the critical microscope may discover many--it is the only
comprehensive history of Philip IV. and the decadent society over which
he reigned that modern research has yet produced. May good fortune
follow it; for, as the Bachiller Carasco sagely said: "_No hay libra
tan malo que no tenga algo bueno_," and I hope that in this book, at
least, the "good" will be held to outbalance the "bad."
MARTIN HUME.
LONDON, _October_ 1907
{ix}
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY--PHILIP'S BAPTISM, 1605--THE ENGLISH EMBASSY--EXALTED
RELIGIOUS FEELING--DEDICATION OF PHILIP'S LIFE TO THE VINDICATION OF
ORTHODOXY--STATE OF SPAIN--EFFECTS OF LERMA'S POLICY--POVERTY OF THE
COUNTRY--EXPULSION OF THE MORISCOS--PHILIP'S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH--HIS
BETROTHAL--FALL OF LERMA--THE PRINCE AND OLIVARES--DEATH OF PHILIP III.
CHAPTER II
ACCESSION OF PHILIP IV.--OLIVARES THE VICE-KING--CONDITION OF THE
COUNTRY--MEASURES ADOPTED BY THE NEW KING--RETRENCHMENT--MODE OF LIFE
OF PHILIP AND HIS MINISTER--PHILIP'S IDLENESS--HIS
_APOLOGIA_--DISSOLUTENESS OF THE CAPITAL--VILLA MEDIANA--THE AMUSEMENTS
OF THE KING AND COURT--A SUMPTUOUS SHOW--ARRIVAL OF THE PRINCE OF WALES
IN MADRID--HIS PROCEEDINGS--OLIVARES AND BUCKINGHAM
CHAPTER III
STATE ENTRY OF CHARLES INTO MADRID--GREAT FESTIVITIES--HIS
LOVE-MAKING--ATTEMPTS TO CONVERT THE PRINCE--THE REAL INTENTION OF
OLIVARES--HIS CLEVER PROCRASTINATION--CHARLES AND BUCKINGHAM LOSE
PATIENCE--HOWELL'S STORY OF CHARLES AND THE INFANTA--THE FEELING
AGAINST BUCKINGHAM--ANXIETY OF KING JAMES--HIS CORRESPONDENCE WITH {x}
"BABY AND STEENIE"--CHARLES DECIDES TO DEPART--FURTHER DELAY--THE
DIPLOMACY OF OLIVARES--BUCKINGHAM AND ARCHY ARMSTRONG--DEPARTURE OF
CHARLES--HIS RETURN HOME, AND THE ENGLISH DISILLUSION
CHAPTER IV
FOREIGN WAR RENDERED INEVITABLE BY OLIVARES' POLICY--ITS EFFECTS IN
SPAIN--CONDITION OF THE COURT--WASTE, IDLENESS, AND OSTENTATION OF ALL
CLASSES--EXTRAVAGANCE IN DRESS--PHILIP'S EFFORTS TO REFORM
MANNERS--RETRENCHMENT IN HIS HOUSEHOLD--THE SUMPTUARY ENACTMENTS--THE
_GOLILLA_--THE INDUSTRY OF OLIVARES--HIS CHARACTER AND APPEARANCE--HIS
MAIN OBJECT TO SECURE POLITICAL AND FISCAL UNITY IN SPAIN--THE
DIFFICULTIES IN THE WAY OF THIS--THE COMEDIES--THEATRES IN
MADRID--PHILIP'S LOVE FOR THE STAGE--AN _AUTO DE FE_--LORD WIMBLEDON'S
ATTACK ON CADIZ--RICHELIEU'S LEAGUE AGAINST SPAIN--SPANISH
SUCCESSES--"PHILIP THE GREAT"--VISIT OF THE KING TO ARAGON AND
CATALONIA IN 1626--DISCONTENT AND DISSENSION--PHILIP'S LIFE TRAGEDY
CHAPTER V
RISE OF THE PARTY OPPOSED TO OLIVARES--THE QUEEN AND THE INFANTES
CARLOS AND FERNANDO--OLIVARES REMONSTRATES WITH PHILIP FOR HIS NEGLECT
OF BUSINESS--PHILIP'S REPLY--ILLNESS OF THE KING--FEARS OF
OLIVARES--PHILIP'S CONSCIENCE--ASPECT OF MADRID AT THE TIME--HABITS OF
THE PEOPLE--A GREAT ARTISTIC CENTRE--MANY FOREIGN
VISITORS--VELASQUEZ--PHILIP'S LOVE OF ART, LITERATURE, AND THE
DRAMA--CONTEMPORARY DESCRIPTION OF A PLAYHOUSE--PHILIP AND THE
_CALDERONA_, MOTHER OF DON JUAN OF AUSTRIA--BIRTH AND BAPTISM OF
BALTASAR CARLOS--PHILIP'S FIELD SPORTS--GENERAL SOCIAL DECADENCE
{xi}
CHAPTER VI
RENEWED WAR WITH FRANCE, LATE IN 1628--RECONCILIATION WITH ENGLAND--THE
PALATINATE AGAIN--COTTINGTON IN MADRID--HIS RECEPTION AND NEGOTIATIONS
WITH OLIVARES AND PHILIP--FETES IN MADRID FOR BIRTH OF THE PRINCE OF
WALES--DEATH OF SPINOLA--TREATY OF CASALE--A "LOCAL PEACE" WITH
FRANCE--SPAIN AND THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR--POVERTY AND MISERY OF THE
COUNTRY--UNPOPULARITY OF OLIVARES--HIS MONOPOLY OF POWER--HIS GREAT
ENTERTAINMENT TO THE KING--HIS INTERVENTION IN PHILIP'S DOMESTIC
AFFAIRS--"DON FRANCISCO FERNANDO OF AUSTRIA"--THE BUEN RETIRO--HOPTON
IN MADRID--HIS DESCRIPTIVE LETTERS--THE INFANTES--PHILIP'S VISIT TO
BARCELONA--DISCONTENT OF THE CORTES--THE INFANTE FERNANDO LEFT AS
GOVERNOR--DEATH OF THE INFANTE CARLOS--DEATH OF THE INFANTA ISABEL IN
FLANDERS--THE INFANTE FERNANDO ON HIS WAY THITHER WINS BATTLE OF
NORDLINGEN--GREAT WAR NOW INEVITABLE WITH FRANCE
CHAPTER VII
INTRIGUES TO SECURE ENGLISH NEUTRALITY--HOPTON AND OLIVARES--SOCIAL
LAXITY IN MADRID--CHARLES I. APPROACHES SPAIN--THE BUEN RETIRO AND THE
ARTS--WAR IN CATALONIA--DISTRESS IN THE CAPITAL AND FRIVOLITY IN THE
COURT--PREVAILING LAWLESSNESS--THE RECEPTION OF THE PRINCESS OF
CARIGNANO--SIR WALTER ASTON IN MADRID--THE ENGLISH INTRIGUE ABANDONED
CHAPTER VIII
FESTIVITIES IN MADRID--EXTRAVAGANCE AND PENURY--NEW WAYS OF RAISING
MONEY--HOPTON AND WINDEBANK--BATTLE OF THE DOWNS--VIOLENCE IN THE
STREETS OF MADRID--REVOLT OF PORTUGAL--FRENCH {xii} INVASION OF
SPAIN--REVOLT OF CATALONIA--PHILIP'S AMOUR WITH THE NUN OF ST.
PLACIDO--THE WANE OF OLIVARES--PHILIP'S VOYAGE TO ARAGON--INTRIGUES
AGAINST OLIVARES--FALL OF OLIVARES
CHAPTER IX
DEATH OF RICHELIEU AND OF THE CARDINAL INFANTE--PHILIP'S GOOD
RESOLUTIONS--HIS CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE NUN OF AGREDA--PHILIP WITH HIS
ARMIES--DEATH OF QUEEN ISABEL OF BOURBON--THE WAR CONTINUES IN
CATALONIA--DEATH OF BALTASAR CARLOS--PHILIP'S GRIEF--HE LOSES
HEART--INFLUENCE OF THE NUN--HIS SECOND MARRIAGE WITH HIS NIECE
MARIANA--HIS LIFE WITH HER--DON LUIS DE HARO--NEGOTIATIONS WITH
ENGLAND--CROMWELL'S ENVOY, ANTHONY ASCHAM--HIS MURDER IN
MADRID--FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN PHILIP AND THE ENGLISH
COMMONWEALTH--CROMWELL SEIZES JAMAICA--WAR WITH ENGLAND
CHAPTER X
MORAL AND SOCIAL DECADENCE IN MADRID--PHILIP'S HABITS--POVERTY IN THE
PALACE--VELAZQUEZ--THE MENINAS--BIRTH OF AN HEIR--THE CHRISTENING--THE
PEACE OF THE PYRENEES--PHILIP'S JOURNEY TO THE FRONTIER--MARRIAGE OF
MARIA TERESA--CAMPAIGNS IN PORTUGAL--DON JUAN--DEATH OF HARO--PHILIP
BEWITCHED--DEATH OF PHILIP PROSPER--BIRTH OF CHARLES--FANSHAWE'S
EMBASSY--LADY FANSHAWE AND SPAIN--ROUT OF CARACENA IN
PORTUGAL--PHILIP'S ILLNESS--THE INQUISITION AND WITCHCRAFT--DEATH OF
PHILIP
INDEX
{xiii}
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PHILIP IV. AT THE AGE OF 55... _Frontispiece_
_From a portrait by_ VELAZUEZ _in the National Gallery, London._
ISABEL DE BOURBON, FIRST WIFE OF PHILIP IV
_From a portrait by_ VELAZQUEZ _in the possession of Edward Huth, Esq._
PHILIP IV. AS A YOUNG MAN
_From a contemporary portrait in the possession of His Grace the Duke
of Wellington, at Strathfieldsaye._
CASPAR DE GUZMAN, COUNT-DUKE OF OLIVARES
_From a portrait by_ VELAZQUEZ _in the possession of Edward Huth, Esq._
PRINCE BALTASAR CARLOS ON HORSEBACK
_From a picture by_ VELAZQUEZ _at the Prado Museum._
THE NUN SOR MARIA DE AGREDA
_From an etching reproducing a contemporary portrait in the Franciscan
Convent of St. Domingo de la Calzada._
{xiv}
MARIANA DE AUSTRIA, SECOND WIFE OF PHILIP IV.
_From a portrait by_ VELAZQUEZ _at the Prado Museum._
THE MAIDS OF HONOUR
_Portrait of the Infanta Margaret; from a picture by_ VELAZQUEZ _at the
Prado Museum._
{1}
THE COURT OF PHILIP IV.
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY--PHILIP'S BAPTISM, 1605--THE ENGLISH EMBASSY--EXALTED
RELIGIOUS FEELING--DEDICATION OF PHILIP'S LIFE TO THE VINDICATION OF
ORTHODOXY--STATE OF SPAIN--EFFECTS OF LERMA'S POLICY--POVERTY OF THE
COUNTRY--EXPULSION OF THE MORISCOS--PHILIP'S CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH--HIS
BETROTHAL--FALL OF LERMA--THE PRINCE AND OLIVARES--DEATH OF PHILIP III
The mean city of Valladolid reached the summit of its glory on the 28th
of May 1605. Seven weeks before--on Good Friday, the 8th April--there
had been born in the King's palace an heir to the world-wide monarchy
of the Spains, the first male child that had been vouchsafed to the
tenuous reigning house for seven-and-twenty years; and the new capital,
proud of the fleeting importance that the folly of Lerma had conferred
upon it, curtailed its lenten penance, and gave itself up to sensuous
devotion blent with ostentatious revelry. King Philip III. and his
nobles, in a blaze of splendour, had knelt in thanksgiving to sacred
images of the {2} Holy Mother bedizened with priceless gems; well-fed
monks and friars had chanted praises before a hundred glittering
altars; and famished common folk, in filthy tatters, snarled like
ravening beasts over the free food that had been flung to them, and
fought fiercely for the silver coins that had been lavishly scattered
for their scrambling.[1] From every window had flared waxen torches;
for the hovels of beggars were illumined as well as the palaces of
nobles,--nay, the courtly chronicler records that the very bells in the
church tower of St. Benedict, seventeen of them, "melted in glittering
tears of joy" when, to put it more prosaically, the edifice was gutted
by a conflagration accidentally caused by the torches.[2] Cavalry
parades, bull fights, and cane-tourneys by knights and nobles had
alternated with banquets and balls during the fifty days that had been
needed to bring together in the city of the Castilian plain the
chivalry of Philip's realms. One after the other grandees and
prelates, with long cavalcades of followers as fine as money or credit
could make them, had crowded into the narrow streets and straggling
plazas of Valladolid; and as the great day approached for the baptism
of the Prince, who had been pledged by his father at his birth to the
Virgin of San Llorente as the future champion of Catholic orthodoxy,
news came that a greater company than that of any {3} grandee of them
all was slowly riding over the mountains of Leon to honour the
festival, and to pledge the most Catholic King to lasting peace and
amity with heretic England, that in forty years of bitter strife had
challenged the pretension of Spain to dictate doctrine to Christendom;
and had, though few saw it yet, sapped the foundation upon which the
imposing edifice of Spanish predominance was reared.
[Sidenote: Howard in Spain]
Then grave heads were shaken in doubt that this thing might be of evil
omen. Already had the rigid Ribera, Archbishop of Valencia,[3]
solemnly warned the King and Lerma of their impiety in making terms
with the enemies of the faith; lamentations, as loud as was consistent
with safety, had gone up from churches and guardrooms innumerable at
this tacit confession of a falling away from the stern standard of
Philip II. But now that Lord Admiral Howard, Earl of Nottingham, who
had defeated the great Armada in 1588, and had commanded at the sack of
Cadiz in 1596, was to ruffle and feast, with six hundred heretic
Englishmen at his heels, in the very capital of orthodox Spain, whilst
the baby prince whom God had sent to realise the dream of his house was
baptized into the Church, offended pride almost overcame the stately
courtesy and hospitality which are inborn in the Spanish character.
But not quite: for though priests looked sour, and soldiers swaggered a
little more than usual when they met the Englishmen in the {4} cobbled
streets, yet to outward seeming all was kind on both sides; and even
the biting satires of the poets were decently suppressed until the
strangers had gone their way.[4]
[Sidenote: Howard's reception]
Howard and his train were lodged on the night of the 25th May in the
castle and town of Simancas, on its bold bluff seven miles from the
city; and betimes in the morning the six hundred and more British
horsemen, all in their finest garb, set forth over the arid sandy plain
on the banks of the Pisuerga, to enter in stately friendship the
capital of the realm that they and theirs had harried by land and sea
for two score years. For seven months no drop of rain had fallen on
the parched earth; and as the noble figure of the old earl, in white
satin and gold, surrounded by equally splendid kinsmen, passed on
horseback to the appointed meeting place outside the walls of the city,
the dust alone marred the magnificence of the cavalcade. For two hours
the Englishmen were kept waiting under the trees, {5} where the Grand
Constable, the Duke of Frias,[5] and the other grandees were to meet
them; for Spanish pride was never at a loss for a device to inflict a
polite snub upon a rival. This time it was a diplomatic illness of the
Duke of Alba that delayed the starting of the great crowd of nobles who
were to greet the English ambassador, and it was five o'clock in the
afternoon before the Spanish horsemen reached their waiting guests.
Then, as if by magic, the heavens grew suddenly black as night, and
such a deluge as few men had seen[6] descended upon the gaudy throng;
"heaven weeping in sorrow at their reception," said the bigots. In
vain the Constable of Castile besought the stiff old Lord Admiral to
take shelter in a coach. He would not balk the people of the sight, he
said, and the costly finery of both English and Spanish received such a
baptism as for ever spoilt its pristine beauty. Wet to the skin, their
velvets and satins bedraggled, their plumes drooping, and their great
lace ruffs as limp as rags, the thousand noble horsemen passed through
dripping, silent, but curious crowds to their quarters.
[Sidenote: English peculiarities]
Howard himself was lodged in seven fine rooms in the palace of Count de
Salinas, hard by the yet unfinished palace; and his six hundred
followers were billeted in the houses of nobles and citizens.[7] {6}
Fifty English gentlemen of rank dined together that evening in Howard's
lodging, and their manners, dress, and demeanour furnished food for
curious discourse in Spain for many days to come. How tall and
handsome they were, though some of them were spoilt by full beards!
said the gossips; how careful to show respect for the objects of
worship in the churches, although only fourteen of the whole number
were avowed Catholics. Many of them spoke Spanish well, as did Howard
himself, and their dress was, on the whole, adjudged to be handsome;
"though their ornaments were not so fine as ours." But what amused
their critics more than anything else was their industrious poking
about the city in search of books, and a curious fashion they had of
breaking off in their discourse--or in a pause of the conversation--and
practising a few steps of a dance, the tune of which they hummed
between their teeth.[8] In the innocence of their hearts, too, they
imagined that they were {7} paying a compliment to the Spaniards by
saying how little real difference there was between their own creed and
that of their hosts; a view which the latter received in courteous
silence in their presence, but rejected with scorn and derision behind
their backs.[9] Brave doings there had been, too, the next day, when
Howard had his first interview with Philip III. Surrounded by the
King's Spanish and Teuton guard, in new uniforms of yellow and red, the
Lord Admiral was led by the Duke of Lerma into the presence of the
King. Of the genuflections and embraces, of the advances on each side,
measured and recorded to an inch by jealous onlookers, of the piled-up
sumptuousness of the garments and the gifts, it boots not here to tell
in full, but the King's new liveries alone on this occasion are said to
have cost 120,000 ducats; and Howard excused himself for the poverty of
his country when he handed to Queen Margaret an Austrian eagle in
precious stones worth no more than the same great sum.[10]
All this, however, was a mere foretaste of the overwhelming
magnificence of the following day, Whit Sunday, the 28th May, for ever
memorable in the annals of Valladolid as the greatest day in its long
history; for then it was that in solemn majesty, and lavish ostentation
without example, there was dedicated to the great task in which his
ancestors had failed, a babe with a lily-fair skin and wide open light
blue eyes, upon whom were {8} centred the hopes and prayers of a
sensitive, devout people, who had seen in a few years their high-strung
illusions vanish, their assurance of divine selection grow fainter and
fainter, the cause they thought was that of heaven conquered everywhere
by the legions of evil, and their own country reduced to chronic
penury; burdened with a weight beyond its strength, yet too proud to
cast the burden down or to acknowledge its own defeat.
The almost despairing cry that constant disaster had wrung from Philip
II: "Surely God will in the end make His own cause triumph," still
found an echo in thousands of Spanish hearts; and this child of many
prayers was greeted as an instrument sent at last from heaven, on the
most solemn day in the Christian year, to put all things right when he
should grow to be a man.[11] The presence of the "heretic" peace
embassy seemed of no good omen, though some men even affected to
interpret it as such when Howard knelt before the King and was raised
and embraced by him; but, as if to banish every doubt, and mark for all
the world that the vocation of the Prince was irrevocably fixed
beforehand, there was brought in solemn pomp, from the remote village
of Calguera, the {9} crumbling little font in which, five hundred years
before, had been baptized the fierce firebrand St. Dominic, scourge of
heresy and founder of the Holy Inquisition, whose work it was to make
all Christians one, though blood and fire alone might do it.
[Sidenote: Philip and the Dominicans]
Nothing was omitted that could connect the Prince with the Dominican
idea. Early in the morning of the day of the baptism, the King, who
was to take no public part in the later christening ceremony, walked in
state with all his Court[12] in a great procession of six hundred monks
of Saint Dominic from their monastery of San Pablo to the cathedral,
there again solemnly to dedicate his infant heir to the vindication of
the Church; and at the dazzling ceremony which took place the same
afternoon in the Dominican church of San Pablo a similar note was
struck. The fair infant, with its vague blue eyes, was borne in
triumph by the Duke of Lerma, a half dozen of the proudest dukes in
Christendom carried the symbols and implements of the ceremony,
cardinals and bishops in pontificals received the baby with royal state
at the church porch, the populace pressed in thousands around with
tears and blessings to see their future King; all that lavish
extravagance and exuberant {10} fancy could devise to add refulgence to
the solemnity was there; but, looking back with understanding eyes, we
can see that the two significant objects which stand forth clearly in
antagonism from all that welter of gew-gaws are the humble rough font
of St. Dominic under its jewelled canopy, supported by great silver
pillars, and the stately white-haired figure of the "heretic"
ambassador with his prominent eyes bowing gravely, yet triumphantly, in
his balcony, as the pompous procession swept by.
Other less important things there were which must have told their tale
and cast their shadow as plainly to those who witnessed them as to us.
The two black-browed Savoyard cousins, who walked in the place of
honour, the eldest of them as chief sponsor, must have been but
skeletons at the feast, for the birth of the Prince had spoilt their
cherished hope of the great inheritance; and, as we shall see in the
course of this history, Victor-Amadeus of Savoy and his kin brought,
therefore, abounding sorrow to his god-son and to Spain. When the
infant, too, was denuded of his rich adornments for the ceremony, and
they were deposited upon the solid silver bed that had been erected in
the church for the purpose, some of the great personages, who alone
could have had access to the precious objects, stole them all, and the
heir of Spain, Prince Philip Dominic, who entered the church with his
tiny body covered with gems, left it as unadorned as ascetic St.
Dominic himself could have wished.[13]
{11}
[Sidenote: Philip's dedication]
Thus, in a whirlwind of squandering waste, surrounded by pompous pride,
unscrupulous dishonesty, and ecstatic devotion, Philip from his birth
was pledged to the hopeless task of extirpating religious dissent from
Christendom: the task that had been too great for the Emperor and his
steadfast son, that had drained to exhaustion the wealth of the Indies,
had turned Castile into a wilderness, and was to drag the Spanish
Empire to ruin and dissolution under the sceptre of the babe whose
christening we have witnessed. The life-story of the unhappy monarch
which we have to tell is one of constant struggle amidst the
antagonistic circumstances that surrounded his baptism; against the
impossibility of reconciling the successful performance of the work, to
which devotional pride and not national interest had bound him, with
the poverty and exhaustion that had forced Philip III. and Lerma to
seek peace with Protestants, and had made the victor of the Invincible
Armada an honoured guest when the heir of Catholic Spain was dedicated
to the ideal of Dominic. For, in good truth, it was from no lack of
either devotion or pride that Philip III. had been forced to parley
with the thing that he had been taught to look upon as accursed of God.
Almost the only policy in which he was ever vehemently energetic was
the attempt in the first days of his reign to invade Ireland in the
interests of the Catholics, and to secure the control of the Crown of
England by {12} means of the anti-Jacobite party.[14] He was, as
Llorente truly says, more fit himself for a Dominican friar's frock
than a regal mantle; and if rigid obedience to the directions of his
spiritual guides had enabled him to root out Protestant dissent from
Christendom, as he rooted out the Moriscos from his realms, Philip III.
would have succeeded where his greater father and grandfather failed.
[Sidenote: The Philips compared]
But devotion was not enough to secure the triumph of Spain; fervent
belief in the divine approval was not enough. Both Philip II. and the
Spaniards of his time possessed those qualities to excess, and yet they
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Produced by Levent Kurnaz. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Raven
by
Edgar Allan Poe
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
"'Tis some visitor," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door--
Only this and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;--vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore--
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me--filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
"'Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;
This it is and nothing more."
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
"Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you"--here I opened wide the door--
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lenore?"
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, "Lenore!"--
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before.
"Surely," said I, "surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is and this mystery explore--
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;--
'Tis the wind and nothing more.
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he,
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door--
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then the ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
"Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore--
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore."
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning--little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door--
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as "Nevermore."
But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did outpour
Nothing farther then he uttered; not a feather then he fluttered--
Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow _he_ will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before."
Then the bird said "Nevermore."
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
"Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store,
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore--
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of 'Never--nevermore.'"
But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore--
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Christian
Boissonnas, The Internet Archive for some images and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
BIRDS AND ALL NATURE.
ILLUSTRATED BY COLOR PHOTOGRAPHY.
VOL. VI. NOVEMBER, 1899. NO. 4
CONTENTS
Page
A RARE HUMMING BIRD. 145
THE LADY'S SLIPPER. 146
JIM AND I. 149
WHY AND WHEREFORE OF THE COLORS OF BIRDS' EGGS. 152
TEA. 155
THE TOWHEE; CHEWINK. 158
WEE BABIES. 161
WISH-TON-WISH. 162
THE BEE AND THE FLOWER. 164
THE CANARY. 167
THE PAROQUET. 169
THE CAROLINA PAROQUET. 170
WHAT THE WOOD FIRE SAID TO A LITTLE BOY. 173
THE MISSISSIPPI. 174
INDIAN SUMMER. 176
THE CHIPMUNK. 179
TED'S WEATHER PROPHET. 180
THREATENED EXTERMINATION OF THE FUR SEAL. 181
THE PEACH. 182
THE TRANSFORMATION OF THE VICEROY. 185
BIRD LORE OF THE ANCIENT FINNS. 186
BIRD NOTES. 187
STORY OF A NEST. 188
COMMON MINERALS AND VALUABLE ORES. 191
WHEN ANIMALS ARE SEASICK. 192
A RARE HUMMING BIRD.
HOW ONE OF THESE LITTLE FAIRY CREATURES WAS TAMED.
P. W. H.
Instances are very rare where birds are familiar with human beings,
and the humming birds especially are considered unapproachable, yet a
naturalist tells how he succeeded in catching one in his hand. Several
cases are on record of attempts to tame humming birds, but when placed
in a cage they do not thrive, and soon die. The orange groves of
southern California abound in these attractive creatures, and several
can often be seen about the flowering bushes, seeking food or chasing
each other in play. "Once, when living on the <DW72>s of the Sierra
Madre mountains, where they were very plentiful, I accomplished the
feat of taking one in my hand," says the naturalist.
"I first noticed it in the garden, resting on a mustard stalk, and,
thinking to see how near I could approach, I gradually moved toward it
by pretending to be otherwise engaged, until I was within five feet of
it. The bird looked at me calmly and I moved slowly nearer, whistling
gently to attract its attention, as I began to think something was the
matter with it. It bent its head upon one side, eyed me sharply, then
flew to another stalk a few feet away, contemplating me as before.
Again I approached, taking care not to alarm it, and this time I was
almost within reaching distance before it flew away. The bird seemed to
have a growing confidence in me, and I became more and more deliberate
in my movements until I finally stood beside it, the little creature
gazing at me with its head tipped upon one side as if questioning what
I was about. I then withdrew and approached again, repeating this
several times before I stretched out my hand to take it, at which it
flew to another bush. But the next time it allowed me to grasp it, and
I had caught a wild bird open-handed without even the use of salt!"
One of the curious features of humming birds is that they are never
found in Europe, being exclusively American, ranging in this country
from the extreme north to the tropics, adding to the beauty of field
and grove, being veritable living gems. Nothing can approach the
humming bird in its gorgeousness of decoration. It is especially rich
in the metallic tints, seemingly splashed with red, blue, green, and
other bronzes. Some appear to be decked in a coat of mail, others
blazing in the sunlight with head-dresses and breast-plates that are
dazzling to behold and defy description. The smallest of birds, they
are one of the most beautiful of the many ornaments of our fields and
gardens.
In some islands of the south Pacific birds have been found that had
never seen a man before, and allowed themselves to be picked up, and
even had to be pushed out of peoples' way, it is said, yet they must
have been very unlike the birds that are generally known, or they would
have been more timid, even if they had not learned the fear of man.
THE LADY'S SLIPPER.
WILLIAM KERR HIGLEY,
Secretary of The Chicago Academy of Sciences.
This interesting plant belongs to that remarkable family of orchids
(_Orchidaceæ_) which includes over four hundred genera and five
thousand species. They are especially noted for the great variety of
shapes and colors of their flowers, many of them resembling beetles
and other insects, monkey, snake, and lizard heads, as well as helmets
and slippers, the latter giving rise to the name of the plant in our
illustration. The variety, singular beauty, and delicate odor, as well
as the peculiar arrangement of the parts of the flower, make many of
the species of great financial value. This is also enhanced by the
extreme care required in their cultivation, which must be accomplished
in hothouses, for the majority of the more valuable forms are native
only in the tropical forests. Many, too, are rarely found except as
single individuals widely separated.
There are many parasitic species, and in the tropics a larger number
attach themselves by their long roots to trees, but do not obtain their
nourishment from them, while those belonging to temperate regions
usually grow on the ground.
In the last sixty years the cultivation of orchids has become a passion
in Europe and, to a great extent, in America.
It is said that "Linnæus, in the middle of the last century, knew but a
dozen exotic orchids." To-day over three thousand are known to English
and American horticulturists.
Though admired by all, the orchids are especially interesting to
the scientist, for in their peculiar flowers is found an unusual
arrangement to bring about cross-fertilization, so necessary to the
best development of plant life. It is evident also, as shown by Dr.
Charles Darwin, that this was not so in the earlier life of the family,
but has been a gradual change, through centuries, by which the species
have been better prepared to survive.
No other family of plants presents as much evidence of the provision
in nature for the protection of species and their continuance by
propagation.
Few of the orchids are of economic value to man. The most important
ones, outside of a few used in medicine, are the vanillas, natives of
tropical America and Africa.
The lady's slipper belongs to the genus _Cypripedium_ (from two Greek
words meaning _Venus_ and _a buskin_, that is, Venus' slipper).
There are about forty species found in both temperate and tropical
countries. The one used for our illustration is the "showy lady's
slipper" (_Cypripedium reginæ_ or _spectabile_) and is a native of
eastern North America from Canada nearly to the Gulf of Mexico. It
grows to a height of from one to three feet, and is leafy to the top.
It grows in swamps and wet woods, and in many localities where it
is extensively gathered for ornamental purposes it is being rapidly
exterminated.
Those living before the era of modern investigation knew little of
the functions of the various parts of flowers. We find an excellent
illustration of this ignorance in the following peculiar account of a
South American lady's slipper, written by Dr. Erasmus Darwin, father of
Dr. Charles Darwin, in the latter part of the last century.
In his notes on his poem, "The Economy of Vegetation," he says: "It has
a large globular nectary * * * of a fleshy color, and an incision or
depression much resembling the body of the large American spider * * *
attached to divergent slender petals not unlike the legs of the same
spider." He says that Linnæus claims this spider catches small birds as
well as insects, and adds: "The similitude of this flower to this great
spider seems to be a vegetable contrivance to prevent the humming-bird
from plundering its honey."
[Illustration: A. W. MUMFORD, PUBLISHER, CHICAGO.
LADY'S SLIPPER.
COPYRIGHT 1899, BY
NATURE STUDY PUB. CO., CHICAGO.]
JIM AND I.
BY ELANORA KINSLEY MARBLE.
Wouldn't the little readers of BIRDS AND ALL NATURE enjoy a talk with a
mother-bird? The father-bird, it seems to me, has done all the talking
hitherto. Because he is handsome and can sing is no reason why Jim, my
mate, should write up the history of his family. It would have been a
sorry attempt had he tried, I promise you, for though he is a Hartz
Mountain Canary--pure yellow and white like the lower bird in the
picture--he is not at all clever. My mistress says I have more sense in
one of my little toes than Jim has in his whole body.
"You cute little thing," she exclaims when I kiss her, or take a hemp
seed from off her finger, "you are the dearest and wisest little bird
in the world."
Jim sometimes taunts me because I wear such sober colors--black
and brown with green and yellow mixed--like the upper bird in the
picture--but I retort that I am a Hartz Mountain bird, also, and have
just as good German blood in my veins as he has. Neither of us ever saw
the Hartz Mountains, of course, for we were born in Chicago, but our
great grandmothers did, I am sure.
A good husband? No, I can't say that Jim is. He is too quarrelsome. My
mistress says he is a bully, whatever that may mean. He has a fashion
of standing by the seed cup and daring me to come and pick up a seed;
the same with the drinking-water and the bathing-dish. Then again he
is very gracious, and calls me pet names, and sings at the top of his
voice every love song he knows. Sometimes I try to imitate him, when
he flies into a rage and sharply bids me "shut up." I am too meek to
return the compliment, even when I have grown weary of his music, but
my mistress shakes her finger at him and calls him a "naughty, naughty
bird."
She can't tame Jim, all she may do. Few canary birds will resist a
hemp seed when offered on a finger. My mistress used to crack them
between her teeth and coax and coax him to take one, but he never
would. That's the reason she calls him stupid, for we love hemp seed
just as you little folks love peanuts, you know. That's the way she
tamed me, and that's the way you can tame your canary if you have one.
I have had a rather eventful history for a bird. In the first
place--but let me begin at the beginning and tell you the circumstance
just as it happened.
It was about four years ago, so far as I can recollect, that I caught
my first glimpse of the world and tasted the sweets of freedom. One
balmy morning in June, I escaped from my cage, and the window being
open, out I joyously flew into the bright sunshine. I was a little
dazzled at first and frightened. How immense the world seemed! How far
away the tender blue sky over which the fleecy clouds sailed, that
sky which I had thought a mere patch when seen from my cage in the
window! How many houses there were, and how inviting the green trees
and grass-plots! I fairly danced with joy, and chirped, "I'm free, I'm
free," as I flew from place to place, my wings, never tiring, bearing
me from tree to housetop and from housetop to tree.
Ah, that was a day never to be forgotten. How I escaped the dangers
which lurk about the steps of the unwary and innocent has always been
a marvel to me. The hostile sparrows, for instance, the green-eyed,
sharp-clawed cat, the sling-shot | 1,423.978986 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.9603280 | 1,359 | 10 |
Produced by David Starner, Brownfox and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES
This e-book contains the text of _The Prince of Parthia_, extracted from
Representative Plays by American Dramatists: Vol 1, 1765-1819. Comments and
background to all the plays and the other plays are available at Project
Gutenberg.
Spelling as in the original has been preserved.
THE
PRINCE OF PARTHIA
_A TRAGEDY_
THOMAS GODFREY, JR. (1736-1763)
Thomas Godfrey, Jr., was born in Philadelphia, on December 4, 1736,
the son of a man who himself won fame as an inventor of the Quadrant.
Godfrey, Senior, was a friend of Benjamin Franklin, the two probably
having been drawn together by their common interest in science. When
Godfrey, Senior, died, December, 1749, it was Franklin who wrote his
obituary notice.[1]
Young Godfrey was a student at the College or Academy of Philadelphia,
and when his education was completed, he became apprenticed to a
watch-maker, remaining in that profession until 1758. As a student at
the Academy, he came under the special influence of Dr. William Smith,
the first Principal or Provost of that institution,[2] and it was Dr.
Smith who not only obtained for Godfrey a lieutenancy with the
Pennsylvania troops in 1758, which sent him in the expedition against
Fort Duquesne, but who, likewise, as the Editor of _The American
Magazine_, was only too glad to accept and publish some of Godfrey's
poetical effusions.
That the young man was popular, and that he associated with some of
the most promising figures of the time, will be seen from the fact
that, although he was only twenty-seven when he died, he was counted
among the friends of Benjamin West and John Green, both portrait
painters, of Francis Hopkinson, who was a student at the College of
Philadelphia, and of Nathaniel Evans, a young minister whose loyalty
found outlet after Godfrey's death in the Memorial Edition of
Godfrey's works. Evans himself wrote poems and dialogues. In his
confirmation of the fact that, as a poet, Godfrey was regarded
favourably by the Philadelphians of the time, he quotes from the diary
of one Miss Sarah Eve, who referred to him as "our poet."
Godfrey's reputation, as a young man with musical talents and a
decided taste for painting, has come down to us. Certain it is that,
during all of this time of varied occupation as a watch-maker and a
soldier, he must have been courting the poetic Muse. There are some
who speculate, without authority, on his having been a theatre-goer,
and having become inspired as a playwright by the work of the American
Company, in Philadelphia; especially by the good work of Douglass.
Because of insufficient evidence, that is a question which remains
unproven. Nevertheless, it is certain, from an extant letter written
by Godfrey on November 17, 1759, and quoted by Seilhamer, that he must
have had his attention turned to playwriting as a special art. He says
to his correspondent, writing from North Carolina:
By the last vessel from this place, I sent you the copy of a
tragedy I finished here, and desired your interest in bringing
it on the stage; I have not yet heard of the vessel's safe
arrival, and believe if she is safe it will be too late for the
company now in Philadelphia. [Meaning, of course, Douglass's
company.]
There are two facts to be noted in this communication: first, that it
was written from North Carolina, where, in 1759, Godfrey had gone on
some plantation business--probably as factor; and second, that it must
have been penned with the idea of immediate production by the actors
in Philadelphia. According to Seilhamer, Godfrey remained in North
Carolina for three years. He did not write the entire manuscript of
"The Prince of Parthia" while living in the South but, as he
definitely states in his letter, finished it soon after his arrival.
There is no evidence as to why Godfrey sailed to the Island of New
Providence in the last year of his life, and then returned to
Wilmington, N.C. There is no definite statement as to whether he
contracted fever and had a sunstroke on that expedition, or after his
return home. But, nevertheless, he did contract the fever and have a
sunstroke; with the result that he succumbed to his illness, and died
near Wilmington, North Carolina, on August 3, 1763.[3]
After his death, Godfrey's friends decided among themselves that the
young man was too much of a genius for them to allow his productions
to remain scattered and unrecognized. Evidently, correspondence
regarding this must have taken place between Dr. Smith, Nathaniel
Evans, the young minister, and John Green, the portrait painter. For,
in 1765, a book was published, entitled "Juvenile Poems on Various
Subjects, with the Prince of Parthia," printed in Philadelphia by one
Henry Miller.[4] The volume contained a life written by Evans, a
critical estimate written by Dr. Smith, of the College of
Philadelphia, and an Elegy from the pen of John Green, who had been
previously complimented by Godfrey in a poem entitled "A Night Piece."
The whole spirit of the publication was one of friendly devotion and
of firm belief in the permanency of Godfrey's position in the literary
world. As was the custom of the time, the Edition was issued under the
patronage of subscribers, a list being included. We know, for example,
that Benjamin Franklin subscribed for twelve copies, his own private,
autographed copy having been put on sale a few years ago.
As yet, no concerted effort had been made for the production of
Godfrey's "The Prince of Parthia." We do not know if, during this
time, the American Company had any claim on the manuscript, or
| 1,423.980368 |
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Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
+------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Note: |
| |
| Obvious typographical errors have been corrected in |
| this text. For a complete list, please see the bottom of |
| this document. |
+------------------------------------------------------------+
ON
THE UNCERTAINTY
OF
THE SIGNS OF MURDER
IN THE CASE OF
BASTARD CHILDREN.
BY THE LATE
WILLIAM HUNTER, M.D. F.R.S.
PHYSICIAN EXTRAORDINARY TO THE QUEEN,
AND MEMBER OF THE ROYAL ACADEMY OF SCIENCES AT PARIS.
London:
PRINTED FOR J. CALLOW, CROWN COURT,
PRINCES STREET, SOHO.
1818.
TO THE
_Members of the Medical Society_.
Read July 14, 1783.
GENTLEMEN,
In the course of the present year, one of our friends, distinguished by
rank, fortune, and science, came to me upon the following occasion: In
the country, he said, a young woman was taken up, and committed to jail
to take her trial, for the supposed murder of her bastard child.
According to the information which he had received, he was inclined to
believe, from the circumstances, that she was innocent; and yet,
understanding that the minds of the people in that part of the country
were much exasperated against her, by the popular cry of _a cruel and
unnatural_ murder, he feared, though innocent, she might fall a victim
to prejudice and blind zeal. What he wished, he said, was to procure an
unprejudiced enquiry. He had been informed that it was a subject which
I had considered in my lectures, and made some remarks upon it, which
were not perhaps sufficiently known, or enough attended to; and his
visit to me was, to know what these remarks were. I told him what I had
commonly said upon that question. He thought some of the observations so
material, that he imagined they might sometimes be the means of saving
an innocent life: and if they could upon the present occasion do so,
which he thought very possible, he was sure I would willingly take the
trouble of putting them upon paper. Next day I sent them to him in a
letter, which I said he was at liberty to use as he might think proper.
Some time afterwards he told me that he had great pleasure in thanking
me for the letter, and telling me that the trial was over; that the
unfortunate young woman was acquitted, and that he had reason to believe
that my letter had been instrumental. This having been the subject of
some conversation one evening at our medical meeting, you remember,
Gentlemen, that you thought the subject interesting, and desired me to
give you a paper upon it. I now obey your command.
* * * * *
In those unhappy cases of the death of bastard children, as in every
action indeed that is either criminal or suspicious, reason and justice
demand an enquiry into all the circumstances; and particularly to find
out from what views and motives the act proceeded. For, as nothing can
be so criminal but that circumstances might be added by the imagination
to make it worse; so nothing can be conceived so wicked and offensive to
the feelings of a good mind, as not to be somewhat softened or
extenuated by circumstances and motives. In making up a just estimate of
any human action, much will depend on the state of the agent's mind at
the time; and therefore the laws of all countries make ample allowance
for insanity. The insane are not held to be responsible for their
actions.
The world will give me credit, surely, for having had sufficient
opportunities of knowing a good deal of female characters. I have seen
the private as well as the public virtues, the private as well as the
more public frailties of women in all ranks of life. I have been in
their secrets, their counsellor and adviser in the moments of their
greatest distress in body and mind. I have been a witness to their
private conduct, when they were preparing themselves to meet danger, and
have heard their last and most serious reflections, when they were
certain they had but a few hours to live.
That knowledge of women has enabled me to say, though no doubt there
will be many exceptions to the general rule, that women who are pregnant
without daring to avow their situation, are commonly objects of the
greatest _compassion_; and generally are less criminal than the world
imagine. In most of these cases the father of the child is really
criminal, often cruelly so; the mother is weak, credulous, and deluded.
Having obtained gratification, he thinks no more of his promises; she
finds herself abused, disappointed of his affection, attention, and
support, and left to struggle as she can, with sickness, pains, poverty,
infamy; in short, with compleat _ruin_ for _life_!
A worthless woman can never be reduced to that wretched situation,
because she is insensible to infamy; but a woman who has that
respectable virtue, a high sense of shame, and a strong desire of being
respectable in her character, finding herself surrounded by such
horrors, often has not strength of mind to meet them, and in despair
puts an end to a life which is become insupportable. In that case, can
any man, whose heart ever felt what pity is, be _angry_ with the memory
of such an unfortunate woman for what she did? She felt life to be so
dreadful and oppressive, that she _could not_ longer support it. With
that view of her situation, every humane heart will forget the
indiscretion or crime, and bleed for the sufferings which a woman must
have gone through; who, but for having listened to the perfidious
protestations and vows of our sex, might have been an affectionate and
faithful wife, a virtuous and honoured mother, through a long and happy
life; and probably that very reflection raised the last pang of despair,
which hurried her into eternity. To think seriously of what a
fellow-creature must feel, at such an awful moment, must melt to pity
every man whose heart is not steeled with habits of cruelty; and every
woman who does not affect to be more severely | 1,423.980503 |
2023-11-16 18:40:47.9615040 | 7,435 | 10 |
Produced by Al Haines
OCTAVIA
The Octoroon
BY
J. F. LEE, M.D.
THE
Abbey Press
PUBLISHERS
114
FIFTH AVENUE
London NEW YORK Montreal
Copyright, 1900,
by
THE
Abbey Press
in
the
United States
and
Great Britain.
All Rights Reserved.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The Prize Fight
CHAPTER II.
A Baptismal Scene
CHAPTER III.
The Birth of Octavia
CHAPTER IV.
Almost a Watery Grave
CHAPTER V.
The "Underground Railway"
CHAPTER VI.
Mistaken Identity and Escape from Bruin
CHAPTER VII.
Liberated
CHAPTER VIII.
Cotton Prowling--Employing Octavia's Governess
CHAPTER IX.
Progress in Studies
CHAPTER X.
Ready for College
CHAPTER XI.
In the Red Cross Service
CHAPTER XII.
In Foreign Lands--Strategy--Love Conquers
Octavia the Octoroon.
CHAPTER I.
THE PRIZE FIGHT.
Just before the beginning of the civil war between the States there was
a large and valuable plantation on the Alabama River on which there
were several hundred slaves, said farm being in what is known as the
"black belt of Alabama," having a river front of several miles, and
annually producing five hundred bales of cotton, fifteen thousand
bushels of corn, besides oats, wheat, hay, mules, horses, hogs, cattle,
sheep and goats in abundance.
This mammoth farm belonged to Hon. R., then a member of the United
States Congress from Alabama, and afterwards a gallant officer in the
Confederate army, rising from the rank of first lieutenant to colonel,
by which latter title he will be known in this story. He lived in what
was then one of the flourishing towns of the State, but which has long
since gone to ruin and decay. Colonel R.'s farm was managed by what
was then known as an "overseer," but now would be termed a
superintendent. He had assistants, white and black, who, with the
overseer, managed the farm in a systematic and scientific manner,
bringing it up to a high state of cultivation, which made it one of the
most productive and valuable in the State.
Colonel R., with his man in livery, a thousand-dollar carriage and
finely caparisoned span of horses, visited his farm once a month when
at home, to give general directions to his overseer, and receive the
annual proceeds of his cotton crop. This was the state of affairs when
Lincoln was elected President, when the Southern States seceded from
the Union, and when the guns at Fort Sumter belched forth their shot
and shell, ushering in a war that had no equal in ancient or modern
times.
When the call to arms was made Colonel R. resigned his seat in the
Federal Congress, hastened home, raised and equipped a company, which
rendered valuable service in the Southern army. Colonel R.'s overseer
and his white assistants also responded to the call, joining the
company which Colonel R. equipped. Thus was Colonel R.'s farm deprived
of white men, and as every able-bodied man was needed at the front, it
was out of the question to replace them; nor did he make any effort to
do so. However, Colonel R. was not wanting for some one to take charge
of his business; he had a quadroon named Simon, who had been carefully
trained and drilled by the overseer in farm management. He had been a
favorite with the overseer, who made no objection to his
fourteen-year-old son teaching him to read and write. He also taught
Simon's sister, Elsie. They were both bright quadroons, good looking,
and exceptionally intelligent for slaves.
Let me say here that if the planters had any inclination to teach their
slaves, the latter had no time but at night to learn, and after working
from the time they could see in the morning until they could not see at
night, they felt like sleeping when reaching their cabins. However,
here and there you would find a <DW64> who could read and write, who
generally received such instruction from their owner's or overseer's
children.
Simon was twenty-five and Elsie eighteen years of age, both having the
same mother, Aunt Dinah, and the same white father.
After the overseer and his assistants left for the army Colonel R.
installed Simon as his foreman, with the authority of an overseer.
Under his administration farm matters moved along as well as they did
under the overseer. In slavery times there was always a <DW64> head
man, leader and squire among the <DW64>s, who performed their marriage
ceremonies (without license), exhorted at their religious meetings and
could sing and pray and be heard a mile. Simon could "out-Herod Herod"
in doing all this. He was faithful, honest and upright, three virtues
rare among <DW64>s. He successfully kept the farm books, in which were
to be recorded the number of pounds of cotton picked per day; the
number and weight of each bale of cotton--in a word, this book gave the
exact production of the farm, whether it was stock, cotton, corn or
what not.
He was provided with a horse and whip, two concomitants that every
ante-bellum overseer possessed. Simon felt his importance, and
probably was too severe in some instances in using the lash on the
slaves. This, however, is characteristic of the <DW64>, as they have
since freedom been known to almost whip their children to death. The
writer has interfered several times where <DW64> parents were
unmercifully chastising their children.
Aunt Dinah, Simon's mother, was rather prepossessing in appearance, and
was the plantation mammy, nurse and midwife, as well as the keeper of
the orphan asylum for all the little pickaninnies on the plantation.
Every place of any size had this character. It is often and truly said
that it is the ambition of <DW64> men to be preachers and of the women
to be midwives.
Simon had interceded with his master and the overseer to exempt Elsie
from farm work, and to appoint her seamstress, who had several
assistants on the farm. She was very apt with the needle and scissors,
cutting and making any garment she wished, and doing it all with the
needle, this being before the introduction of sewing machines on
plantations.
In the eyes of Simon and his mother Elsie was a piece of perfection, a
paragon of virtue and chastity, two possessions rare among <DW64>s of
both sexes. Elsie was the belle of the plantation, having a large
number of suitors, among them two of Colonel R.'s slaves, Brutus and
Caesar.
They were rivals and had an intense hatred for each other on Elsie's
account. While Elsie had no idea of accepting either one or any <DW64>,
saying that she did not want a "kinky-headed <DW65>," she encouraged
the attentions of both--a consummate flirt, to say the least. Brutus
and Caesar were good specimens of their race, and fairly good looking.
Their rivalry increased in intensity and bitterness until they
threatened each other's lives.
At this stage of their would-be courtship Simon interfered and told
them that, as Elsie was a prize worth contending for, they had to fight
a fair fight in the ring, and that he would bestow Elsie upon the
victor. The time was appointed for the contest, referees chosen, and
all the <DW64>s on the plantation assembled to witness something _a la_
Corbett and Fitzsimmons. The battle was fierce, a battle royal; they
were contending for the heart and hand of the beautiful Elsie. Neither
was able to get the mastery over the other. Both could well say, "Lay
on, Macduff! and damned be him who first cries hold, enough!" At times
it looked as if Brutus would be victorious, at another, Caesar.
After they had pounded and bruised each other considerably, and both
being well nigh exhausted, the match was called off, and Simon
threatened each with a severe lashing if he heard of their fussing any
more about Elsie, as she would not marry either one of them. This
threat and declaration that Elsie would marry neither embittered the
combatants against Simon, both declaring _sotto voce_ that they would
get even with him yet; that they were as good as he was; that his head
was as "kinky" as theirs, and that while they were rivals and personal
enemies, they would make common cause against him and kill the bigoted
"<DW65> driver" if he "monkeyed with them."
CHAPTER II.
A BAPTISMAL SCENE.
About a year before this prize fight the "kernel," as his slaves called
Colonel R., obtained a furlough to visit his home and plantation. He
expressed himself to Simon as being highly pleased at the manner in
which he conducted plantation affairs, saying the farm books were
neatly kept, stock sleek and fat, cribs full of corn, smoke-houses full
of meat, ditches cleaned out, briars kept out of the fence corners--in
fact, he saw no difference in his (Simon's) or the overseer's
administration, and that he hoped that the work would move along as it
was being done at that time. Simon was glad to receive this
commendation from his master, and promised that it would be his earnest
endeavor to still merit the Colonel's approval.
Colonel R. had been in the army long enough to know that in the end the
Confederacy would be beaten; he reasoned that the Southern States were
hemmed in by a blockade that no ship of the Confederacy could break,
and that they had to depend upon home resources for men, munitions and
supplies, while the United States had not only themselves, but the
whole world to draw upon. This was good, philosophic reasoning, and he
determined to prepare for the collapse, which would be only a question
of time. As there was no chance to sell cotton (there being an
accumulation of two crops of the fleecy staple, amounting to about a
thousand bales, on his place), he gave Simon explicit instructions to
hide this cotton if there was any danger of the Federal army raiding
that section of the State. He also intrusted to his keeping a large
amount of gold which he had hoarded. He told Simon that if he were
faithful to the trust he would reward him liberally--that if the
Confederacy won he would give him his freedom and $10,000 in gold; and
that if the United States won he would still give him the gold named
above and make him superintendent on his farm at an annual salary of
$2,000. As the sequel will show this compact was faithfully complied
with by both parties, and for so doing Simon came near losing his life.
Colonel R. assembled all of his slaves and bade them an affectionate
adieu, telling them to be faithful, industrious and diligent, and to be
submissive to Simon's authority, and that if he was killed in battle,
Mrs. R., his wife and their mistress, would have general supervision of
the plantation. He was soon at the front and resumed command of his
regiment. Between now and the close of hostilities it will be my
endeavor to describe some of the scenes that were enacted on the
Colonel's plantation. Elsie was still the belle and had suitors galore.
At every frolic she was the "cynosure of all eyes," the observed of all
observers. She never wanted for a partner in the dance or play.
Brutus and Caesar were still rivals and bitter enemies on her account,
and at one of the plantation frolics they got into a fight, and Caesar
was killed by Brutus driving an axe into Caesar's brain. Brutus fled
and was a "runaway <DW65>" until the close of the war.
Simon had a pack of <DW64> dogs which were soon in full cry on Brutus'
track, who ran to the river and went up a tree bending over the water.
The dogs were soon there and "treed" Brutus. Simon shortly arrived on
the spot, thinking the dogs had Brutus up the tree. The dogs were
there, the tree was there, and no doubt Brutus went up the tree, but he
was not there. Simon gave up the chase, declaring that a <DW64> who was
sharp and strategical enough to climb a tree, and then jump into the
river and swim across, would no doubt outwit the dogs, were he to take
them across and continue the pursuit.
Elsie was thus relieved of her two most importunate and troublesome
suitors--one dead and the other in the woods.
A <DW64> is intensely religious, regardless of honesty and integrity; he
will attend night services, shout, sing and pray, and then return home
by some hen-roost and lift off a chanticleer which has been doing
business at that stand for a half dozen years with as much nonchalance
as if he, "Cuffee," were eating his dinner or taking a drink of water.
On this plantation there were two rival churches, Methodist and
Baptist, and I would say here that, as a rule, Southern <DW64>s belong
to one or the other of these two large branches of the Christian Church.
During the summer these two churches held revival (and rival) services
every night and Sunday for three or four weeks, at which there was a
great awakening and a large ingathering of souls to the flock. For
some reason it is thought the Methodist "<DW65>" can shout, sing and
pray louder than his Baptist brother, while the latter can head him off
in drinking whisky, which is counteracted by the Methodist brother's
love for chickens and turkeys and their proclivities for lifting them
off the roost.
At one of these night services, when everybody was happy, shouting,
singing and praying, and the house was in an uproar and it seemed that
pandemonium had turned loose, a large lighted lamp full of oil was
turned over and exploded.
<DW64>s piled out of the windows and doors by the dozens. Some of the
cooler heads pulled off their coats, and wrapping up the burning
<DW64>s, finally subdued the flames. Order was finally restored and
all assembled again in the house. The pastor in charge then arose and
said: "My bredderin an' sisterin, we is all run a narrer resk in bein'
burn to deth, an' it shood be a terrible warnin' tu perpare for de
burnin' dat awaits de ongodly, an' ef de richous am skasely saved whar
shall de sinner an' ongodly appeer? Brudder Sam, you is de wus burnt
<DW65> hear tu-nite, an' ef you keep on stealin' chickens you is gwine
to go whar de wurm dieth not an' de fire is not squinched."
At this eloquent appeal on the part of the pastor moans and groans were
heard all over the house, that have to be heard to be realized. Old
Sister Ann, a two-hundred-and-fifty-pounder, got happy and began
throwing her hands in the air, and popping them together, shouting,
"Glory! Glory!" and started towards the pastor, saying, "Brudder Zeke,
I'm so happy I wants tu hug you!" whereupon she gathered him, a weak
man, in her herculean arms. He began to struggle to free himself from
her vise-like grasp--she was about to squeeze the life out of him--but
in vain! He then shouted for some one to "take her off! take her off!"
Several of the brethren interfered and finally released the struggling
pastor. After which he said: "Sister Ann, de wedder is tu hot, soap is
tu scase, an' you is tu big an' fat tu git close to ennybody; so pleas
kep yo' distunce."
Brother "Zeke," fearing a similar experience, announced services for
the following night, and immediately dismissed the congregation. On
the last Sunday of the meeting baptismal services were held at both
churches, the Baptists assembling at the river to perform the rite by
immersion, and the Methodists at their church to perform it by
sprinkling or pouring.
At the latter church the pastor requested all the converts, which were
fifty or sixty, to come forward to receive baptism, whereupon about a
dozen responded. He stated that only about a fourth of the converts
had come forward, and that if the rest were in the house they will now
come forward and be baptized.
The preacher replied that he was very liberal in his views, and that he
would baptize by sprinkling, pouring or immersion, and for each
applicant to designate the mode, and it would be carried out. Those
who had not come forward said that they "wanted tu go under de water."
He said they would go to the river just as soon as he got through with
those present. Whereupon those who had come forward told the preacher
that as he had to go into the water they would be immersed also. The
minister then announced for the congregation to assemble on the river
to witness the baptisms. The Baptist and Methodist preachers reached
the water about the same time, and after conferring with one another,
agreed that the order would be for one minister to baptize one of his
flock and the other one, and so on, alternately, until they were
through. This took some time, as each had about fifty apiece to
baptize. There was shouting and rejoicing during this baptismal scene.
There were probably two thousand <DW64>s present, those on adjoining
plantations also being present. It is a fact that baptism in water
will draw almost as large a crowd as a circus.
With the exception of shouting on the part of converts there was no
noise or disturbance, and all went well until the last, the baptism of
a large, fleshy sister, who, as she arose from the water clapped her
hands and shouted: "I see my Jesus!" When she said this a <DW64>, who
had climbed into a willow tree leaning over the water, replied: "Yu
lie, yu hypercritical old huzzie; tain't nuthin' but a snappin' mud
turcle yu seed, an' hit's a pity he hadn't kotched yu by de nose an'
drowned yu, so as yu would not tell lies enny more on'spectable
<DW65>s." As he said this the tree broke, precipitating him into water
twenty feet deep, and as he could not swim he went straight to the
bottom. Both of the parsons were silent spectators of this last act,
and were making for the shore as the congregation sang "Pull for the
Shore." They had been fishers, as it were, of souls; now that an
opportunity presented itself, they in reality would have to be fishers
of men--at least one would have to be. The Methodist, thinking the
Baptist more used to water than he, waited for the Baptist to strike
out for the drowning man, and the Baptist did the same for the
Methodist. The latter, seeing that the man would drown if no
assistance were rendered, and being the nearest, swam to him. The
drowning man grabbed him around the waist and both sank. The Baptist
parson, being in the water, thought he was duty bound to render
assistance, and swam to the scene just as they arose, when the
Methodist grabbed the Baptist around the waist, and all three went
under together. Things were getting serious, as it would be the third
time the man went under. One of the men on shore succeeded in time to
catch the first man, who was sinking the last time, by the hair, and by
superhuman jerks released him from the parson and succeeded in carrying
him to the shore. As this was being done another <DW64> on shore swam
and caught the exhausted Methodist parson by the wool, jerking him off
from the Baptist, and carried him to shore. Another wicked <DW64> on
the bank shouted: "Fair play; I'll be darned if the Baptis' shell
drown," and made for him, catching him by his cue and landing him
safely on land. The congregation could have consistently sung, during
the last three acts, "Pull for the Shore." As the submerged <DW64>s
were resting one skeptical <DW54> shouted out, "You's all Baptis' now."
Thus ended this baptismal and almost tragical scene.
CHAPTER III.
THE BIRTH OF OCTAVIA.
Not long after this Simon's mother, Aunt Dinah, "went the way of all
the earth, and was gathered to her fathers." This caused great
mourning and lamentation on the plantation. The old auntie was almost
looked upon with reverence. She was, as it were, an oracle, being
consulted on everything that transpired on the place.
This was a severe grief to Simon and Elsie, who received the
condolences of all the slaves on the place. The little <DW64>s were
bereft of a true friend, as Aunt Lucy, Aunt Dinah's successor, was not
as thoughtful, good and kind to the little ones as Aunt Dinah had been.
The <DW64> is no nurse and of no account in a sick room. This was so in
the case of the deceased old auntie, who was sick quite awhile and
doubtless wanted good nursing. But let one of their number die and
they are very much in evidence, sitting up with the corpse or attending
the funeral. Aunt Dinah had one of the longest funeral processions
ever witnessed in that country.
The <DW64>s not only preach at the burial, but appoint a time several
months ahead, giving it great publicity, when So and So's funeral will
be preached with great _eclat_. On these occasions there is as much
shouting, singing, groaning, moaning and praying as there is in their
revival meetings.
Simon and Elsie put on the usual mourning for parents, and to show
their grateful remembrance asked their mistress to get them an elegant
monument, with the proper inscription thereon, and erected it at the
head of her grave, something very rare for slaves.
Soon after this Elsie got in bad health, would not eat, and
notwithstanding much was done for her restoration to health, she failed
to improve. The <DW64> as a race has a larger share of superstition
than any other. With this Simon was considerably tinctured. As Elsie
failed to improve it was noised around that she was "conjured." Simon,
notwithstanding his intelligence, began to share in the belief that
this was so. There was an old <DW64> "conjure" doctor on the place,
whom Simon asked to go around and see Elsie.
After talking with Elsie awhile he left, and seeing Simon told him that
"Elsie grievin' 'bout Brutus." He protested that she cared nothing in
the world about that <DW64> in the woods, and he would have to search
for another cause. Believing that she was "conjured," he insisted that
the conjurer take the "spell" off. To this he agreed, and appointed a
day when he would bring her around all right. The "conjurer" told
Simon that Elsie had "lizards and roaches" in her ear, and that they
must come out. It is possible that Simon believed this stuff by
letting his superstition get the better of his judgment and
intelligence. At the appointed time the "conjurer" came, having
lizards and roaches in a box up his sleeve. After songs, incantations
and gesticulations, all the while rubbing her head, he adroitly
liberated the lizards and roaches, which ran off, making Elsie scream.
This may have had effect on the few spectators present, but it
certainly had none on Elsie, who knew that she had been acting a piece
of consummate duplicity from the first. The "conjurer" told Elsie,
"dem live things in her hed wus de cause of all her trubble, and that
she would get well now." Elsie, however, failed to improve, and Simon
went to see his mistress in regard to the matter, who sent a physician
back with him to see Elsie. When leaving he told Simon that Elsie had
given birth to a beautiful girl baby as white as he, the physician,
was, and with hair as straight.
Horror of horrors! This was "the unkindest cut of all." Simon was
crushed, humiliated, and felt that he was disgraced by the conduct of
his sister; and to think of her duplicity for all those months was
enough to cause an angel to swear. He and his sister were the most
intelligent and refined <DW64>s in all that country. They were the
_elite_, the bon ton, the upper crust, and were looked on as such by
the other slaves. If there were aristocrats among slaves, Simon and
sister filled the bill. Simon had held his sister up to the <DW64>
girls on the place as an example, and for her to bring disgrace on them
in that way was too much!
Aunt Lucy, Elsie's nurse, said that Elsie had no ordinary baby; that
"it was white as the whitest, eyes as blue as ole mars'er, an' hair as
strate as ole missis, an' not a white man in de kentry. Dis weren't no
<DW65> baby; Elsie she got wid chile by de Holy Spirit." Simon knew
that the days of miracles had passed, and that none other than a white
man was its father. Elsie admitted after a long time that her owner
was the child's father. Whether he was satisfied, Simon said no more
about it, but refused for a long while to even see the baby. Time
heals all things, and finally Simon consented to see it and was struck
with her beauty. Elsie named her child Octavia, and as it grew in
years Simon began to love the child as his own. She became a favorite
on the whole plantation, nothing being too good that any of the slaves
had for little Octavia. She was a heroine from the first, as she
proved to be in after life.
To all appearances she was as pure as the purest Caucasian, and if an
expert had been put on the stand to swear as to her race he would have
said Caucasian. Such are the circumstances under which this afterwards
wonderful being was brought into existence.
With a white father and quadroon mother, this made her seven-eighths
Caucasian.
CHAPTER IV.
ALMOST A WATERY GRAVE.
Before proceeding further I would say that the standard of virtue among
the <DW64>s is very low, and that if any of their girls wander from the
paths of virtue they are not cast off as is the case with the whites.
It must be admitted, however, that there is an improvement among them
along this line. When Octavia was a year old she came very near being
drowned in the river. Elsie was fond of fishing, and carried Octavia
and a little <DW64> nurse to watch the child. The nurse got careless
and let the child fall into the river, and would have drowned had not
Simon happened to be near and heard his sister's screams, and getting
there, jumped in just in time to rescue both mother and child, the
former having leaped in to save the child. Simon gave his sister a
good lecture and the nurse a switching for their carelessness. It
seemed that Simon's nearness was providential.
Simon always said, after the child was a few months old, that she had a
bright future before her; that, though a slave, the Lord would open up
a way for her.
In Colonel R.'s absence Simon was required to make frequent visits to
his mistress's home to report to her the progress he was making on the
farm. The war had been over half fought, and while the Confederacy had
gained many battles it suffered serious losses, and was daily getting
weaker, and it was only a question of time when it would collapse.
During his visits to his mistress Simon gained this intelligence in
regard to the progress of the war, and while he was sure of his
freedom, regardless of the way the war terminated, he could not but
wish for the success of the Union armies on account of his sister and
her child, who would thereby gain their freedom. He also had a broad,
sympathetic feeling for his race and wanted them liberated.
He was also broad enough in his philosophy and intelligence to accord
to his master and other Southern slaveholders the right to resort to
arms to fight for property which they had bought or inherited, and
which was recognized in the Constitution of the United States.
While he was legally a slave he enjoyed freedom as much so as his
master or other white men. He had all the comforts of a country home,
and while the large plantation over which he was foreman was not his,
he was in one respect "lord of all he surveyed." He had a buggy,
horse, saddle, whip, pack of hounds, and said to this, do so and so,
and it was done; or go and they came or went. When one of the slaves
transgressed he used the lash on him--in a word, he was as supreme in
authority as the Nabob of Cawnpore or the Sultan of Turkey. Enjoying
and having all these things at his command, why should he want them
terminated? It must be remembered that he was three-fourths white, and
one of the instincts of the Anglo-Saxon is freedom and liberty. Simon
was attached to his master and mistress, who were humane, kind and
thoughtful of their slaves. Still, with all this, there was a longing
in his heart that would not be satisfied. It is admitted on all sides
that had there not been cruel and heartless slaveholders, "Uncle Tom's
Cabin" would never have been written, sympathy in Northern pulpits and
Abolition societies would not have spread, and in all probability the
<DW64> would yet have been a slave. Simon's reasoning was that he nor
his master were responsible for human slavery, which in some respects
had been a benefit and in others an injury to the <DW64>, and that there
had been slavery in all ages of the world.
He knew that the mistake was made when slavery was recognized in the
Constitution of the United States; also that the mistake had brought
the <DW64> from the wilds of Africa, and civilized, tamed and made a
good laborer and citizen of him. That was the entering wedge which had
caused all the contention, and finally precipitated the most gigantic
war in history.
Let the consequences be what they may, Simon did his duty in
successfully managing the affairs on his master's plantation.
CHAPTER V.
THE "UNDERGROUND RAILWAY."
While he did nothing openly to oppose the Confederacy, he aided in a
secret way the escape of his sister and niece.
Simon was not absolutely certain of the success of the Union armies,
and to insure the freedom of his sister and niece, he made use of the
first opportunity, which soon presented itself. As is well known,
there was before the war what was known as an "Underground Railway" for
the escape of slaves to the free States and Canada. This was nothing
more nor less than agents sent out by Northern Abolition societies to
abduct slaves, thousands of whom escaped in this manner.
It was on this account that the "Fugitive Slave Law" was passed by
Congress, on which there was the test case before the Supreme Court in
the slave, Dred Scott, said court sustaining the law. One of the
Northern societies at this time sent an agent South as a spy, and to
abduct any slave or slaves that he could entice away. This agent made
his way to Colonel R.'s plantation, over which Simon was foreman. He
cautiously made known his business to Simon, who welcomed and secretly
harbored him. This agent was joined two days after by an escaped Union
soldier from the Confederate prison at ----. This was a happy and
unexpected meeting between the spy and soldier. What they did had to
be done quickly and secretly. If they were captured the spy would be
executed and the soldier reincarcerated in prison. Simon also had
enemies on the farm who would give him away to the nearest provost
marshal if it was known that he was harboring these men. Simon
arranged for an immediate conference at night, when it was agreed upon
that they were to take El | 1,423.981544 |
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generously provided by the Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State
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A CATECHISM OF THE STEAM ENGINE
IN ITS VARIOUS APPLICATIONS TO MINES,
MILLS, STEAM NAVIGATION, RAILWAYS,
AND AGRICULTURE.
WITH
PRACTICAL INSTRUCTIONS FOR THE MANUFACTURE
AND MANAGEMENT OF ENGINES OF EVERY CLASS.
BY
JOHN BOURNE, C.E.
_NEW AND REVISED EDITION._
[Transcriber's Note: Inconsistencies in chapter headings and numbering
of paragraphs and illustrations have been retained in this edition.]
PREFACE
TO THE FOURTH EDITION.
For some years past a new edition of this work has been called for, but I
was unwilling to allow a new edition to go forth with all the original
faults of the work upon its head, and I have been too much engaged in the
practical construction of steam ships and steam engines to find time for
the thorough revision which I knew the work required. At length, however, I
have sufficiently disengaged myself from these onerous pursuits to
accomplish this necessary revision; and I now offer the work to the public,
with the confidence that it will be found better deserving of the favorable
acceptation and high praise it has already received. There are very few
errors, either of fact or of inference, in the early editions, which I have
had to correct; but there are many omissions which I have had to supply,
and faults of arrangement and classification which I have had to rectify. I
have also had to bring the information, which the work professes to afford,
up to the present time, so as to comprehend the latest improvements.
For the sake of greater distinctness the work is now divided into chapters.
Some of these chapters are altogether new, and the rest have received such
extensive additions and improvements as to make the book almost a new one.
One purpose of my emendations has been to render my remarks intelligible to
a tyro, as well as instructive to an advanced student. With this view, I
have devoted the first chapter to a popular description of the Steam
Engine--which all may understand who can understand anything--and in the
subsequent gradations of progress I have been careful to set no object
before the reader for the first time, of which the nature and functions are
not simultaneously explained. The design I have proposed to myself, in the
composition of this work, is to take a young lad who knows nothing of steam
engines, and to lead him by easy advances up to the highest point of
information I have myself attained; and it has been a pleasing duty to me
to smooth for others the path which I myself found so rugged, and to
impart, for the general good of mankind, the secrets which others have
guarded with so much jealousy. I believe I am the first author who has
communicated that practical information respecting the steam engine, which
persons proposing to follow the business of an engineer desire to possess.
My business has, therefore, been the rough business of a pioneer; and while
hewing a road through the trackless forest, along which all might hereafter
travel with ease, I had no time to attend to those minute graces of
composition and petty perfection of arrangement and collocation, which are
the attribute of the academic grove, or the literary parterre. I am,
nevertheless, not insensible to the advantages of method and clear
arrangement in any work professing to instruct mankind in the principles
and practice of any art; and many of the changes introduced into the
present edition of this work are designed to render it less exceptionable
in this respect. The woodcuts now introduced into the work for the first
time will, I believe, much increase its interest and utility; and upon the
whole I am content to dismiss it into circulation, in the belief that those
who peruse it attentively will obtain a more rapid and more practical
acquaintance with the steam engine in its various applications, than they
would be likely otherwise to acquire.
I have only to add that I have prepared a sequel to the present work, in
the shape of a Hand-Book of the Steam Engine, containing the whole of the
rules given in the present work, illustrated by examples worked out at
length, and also containing such useful tables and other data, as the
engineer requires to refer to constantly in the course of his practice.
This work may be bound up with the "Catechism," if desired, to which it is
in fact a Key.
I shall thankfully receive from engineers, either abroad or at home,
accounts of any engines or other machinery, with which they may become
familiar in their several localities; and I shall be happy, in my turn, to
answer any inquiries on engineering subjects which fall within the compass
of my information. If young engineers meet with any difficulty in their
studies, I shall be happy to resolve it if I can; and they may communicate
with me upon any such point without hesitation, in whatever quarter of the
world they may happen to be.
JOHN BOURNE.
9 BILLITER STREET,
LONDON,
_March 1st, 1856_.
PREFACE
TO THE FIFTH EDITION.
The last edition of the present work, consisting of 3,500 copies, having
been all sold off in about ten months, I now issue another edition, the
demand for the work being still unabated. It affords, certainly, some
presumption that a work in some measure supplies an ascertained want, when,
though addressing only a limited circle--discoursing only of technical
questions, and without any accident to | 1,423.984533 |
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E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Jacqueline Jeremy, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
COUNTRY NEIGHBORS
by
ALICE BROWN
Boston and New York
Houghton Mifflin Company
The Riverside Press Cambridge 1910
Copyright, 1910, by Alice Brown
All Rights Reserved
Published April 1910
CONTENTS
THE PLAY HOUSE 1
HIS FIRST WIFE 20
A FLOWER OF APRIL 42
THE AUCTION 53
SATURDAY NIGHT 76
A GRIEF DEFERRED 96
THE CHALLENGE 122
PARTNERS 150
FLOWERS OF PARADISE 171
GARDENER JIM 192
THE SILVER TEA-SET 215
THE OTHER MRS. DILL 237
THE ADVOCATE 265
THE MASQUERADE 285
A POETESS IN SPRING 314
THE MASTER MINDS OF HISTORY 341
THE PLAY HOUSE
Amelia Maxwell sat by the front-chamber window of the great house
overlooking the road, and her own "story-an'-a-half" farther toward the
west. Every day she was alone under her own roof, save at the times when
old lady Knowles of the great house summoned her for work at fine sewing
or braiding rags. All Amelia's kin were dead. Now she was used to their
solemn absence, and sufficiently at one with her own humble way of life,
letting her few acres at the halves, and earning a dollar here and there
with her clever fingers. She was but little over forty, yet she was
aware that her life, in its keener phases, was already done. She had had
her romance and striven to forget it; but out of that time pathetic
voices now and then called to her, and old longings awoke, to breathe
for a moment and then sleep again.
Amelia seemed, even to old lady Knowles, who knew her best, a cheerful,
humorous body; but only Amelia saw the road by which her serenity had
come. Chiefly it was through an inexplicable devotion to the great
house. She could not remember a time when it was not wonderful to her.
While she was a little girl, living alone with her mother, she used to
sit on the doorstone with her bread and milk at bedtime, and think of
the great house, how grand it was and large. There was a wonderful way
the sun had of falling, at twilight, across the pillars of its porch
where the elm drooped sweetly, and in the moonlight it was like a fairy
city. But the morning was perhaps the best moment of all. The great
house was painted a pale yellow, and when Amelia awoke with the sun in
her little unshaded chamber, she thought how dark the blinds were there,
with such a solemn richness in their green. The flower-beds in front
were beautiful to her; but the back garden, lying alongside the orchard,
and stretching through tangles of sweet-william and rose, was an
enchanted spot to play in. The child that was, used to wander there and
feel very rich. Now, a woman, she sat in the great house sewing, and
felt rich again. As it happened, for one of the many times it came to
her, she was thinking what the great house had done for her. Old lady
Knowles had, in her stately way, been a kind of patron saint, and in
that summer, years ago, when Amelia's romance died and she had drooped
like a starving plant, Rufus, the old lady's son, had seemed to see her
trouble and stood by her. He did not speak of it. He only took her for
long drives, and made his cheerful presence evident in many ways, and
when he died, with a tragic suddenness, Amelia used selfishly to feel
that he had lived at least long enough to keep her from failing of that
inner blight.
On this day when old lady Knowles had gone with Ann, her faithful help,
to see the cousin to whom she made pilgrimage once a year, Amelia
resolved to enjoy herself to the full. She laid down her sewing, from
time to time, to look about her at the poppy-strewn paper, the four-post
bed and flowered tester, the great fireplace with its shining dogs, and
the Venus and Cupid mirror. Over and over again she had played that the
house was hers, and to-day, through some heralding excitement in the
air, it seemed doubly so. She sat in a dream of housewifely possession,
conning idly over the pleasant things she might do before the day was
over. There was cold tongue for her dinner, Ann had told her, and a
clear soup, if she liked to heat it. She might cook vegetables if she
chose. And there was the best of tea to be made out of the china caddy,
and rich cake in the parlor crock. After one such glad deliberation, she
caught her sewing guiltily up from her lap and began to set compensating
stitches. But even then her conscience slept unstirred. Old lady Knowles
was in no hurry for the work, she knew, and she would make up for her
dreaming in the account of her day.
There was a sound without. The gate swung softly shut and a man came up
the path. Amelia, at the glance, rose quickly, dropped her sewing, and
hurried out and down the stairs. The front door was open, she knew, and
though there was never anything to be afraid of, still the house was in
her charge. At the door she met him, just lifting his hand to touch the
knocker. He was a tall, weedy fellow of something more than her own age,
with light hair and blue eyes and a strangely arrested look, as if he
obstinately, and against his own advantage, continued to keep young.
Amelia knew him at once, as he did her, though it was twenty years since
they had met.
"Why, Jared Beale!" she faltered.
He was much moved. The flush came quickly to his face in a way she had
known, and his eyes softened.
"I should ha' recognized ye anywheres, Milly," he asserted.
She still stood looking at him, unable to ask him in or to make apology
for the lack.
"I went straight to your house from the train," he said. "'Twas all shut
up. Don't anybody live there now?"
"Yes," answered Amelia, "somebody lives there." The red had come into
her cheeks, and her eyes burned brightly. Then as he looked at her
hesitatingly, in the way he used to look, she trembled a little.
"Come in, Jared," she said, retreating a hospitable space. "Come right
in."
She stood aside, and then, when he stepped over the sill, led the way
into the dining-room, where there was a cool green light from the
darkened blinds, and the only window open to the sun disclosed a
trembling grapevine and a vista down the garden path. Amelia drew
forward a chair, with a decided motion.
"Sit down," she said, and busied herself with opening a blind.
When she took her own chair opposite him, she found that he had laid his
hat beside him on the floor, and, with the tips of his fingers together,
was bending forward in an attitude belonging to his youth. He was
regarding her with the slightly blurred look of his near-sighted eyes,
and she began hastily to speak.
"You stayin' round these parts?"
"No," said Jared, "no. I had to come east on business. There was some
property to be settled up in Beulah, so I thought I'd jest step down
here an' see how things were."
"Beulah!" she repeated. "Why, that's fifty miles from here!"
"Yes," returned Jared. "It's a matter o' fifty mile. Fact is," he said
uneasily, "I didn't know how you was fixed. It's kinder worried me."
A flush ran into her face, to the roots of her pretty hair; yet her
frank eyes never left him. Then her evasive speech belied her look.
"I get along real well. I s'pose you knew mother wa'n't with me now?"
"I ain't heard a word from here for seventeen year," he said, half
bitterly, as if the silence had been hard to bear. "There's no way for
me to hear now. The last was from Tom Merrick. He said you'd begun to
go with Rufus Knowles."
Amelia trembled over her whole body.
"That was a good while ago," she ventured.
"Yes, 'twas. A good many things have come an' gone. An' now Rufus is
dead--I see his death in an old paper--an' here you be, his widder,
livin' in the old house."
"Why!" breathed Amelia, "why!" She choked upon the word, but before she
could deny it he had begun again, in gentle reminiscence.
"'Twon't harm nobody to talk over old times a mite, Amelia. Mebbe that's
what I come on for, though I thought 'twas to see how you was fixed. I
thought mebbe I should find you livin' kinder near the wind, an' mebbe
you'd let me look out for you a mite."
The tears came into Amelia's eyes. She looked about her as if she owned
the room, the old china, and the house.
"That's real good of you, Jared," she said movingly. "I sha'n't ever
forget it. But you see for yourself. I don't want for nothin'."
"I guess we should ha' thought 'twas queer, when you went trottin' by to
school," he said irrelevantly, "if anybody'd told you you'd reign over
the old Knowles house."
"Yes," said Amelia softly, again looking about her, this time with love
and thankfulness, "I guess they would. You leave your wife well?" she
asked suddenly, perhaps to suggest the reality of his own house of life.
Jared shook his head.
"She ain't stepped a step for seven year."
"Oh, my!" grieved Amelia. "Won't she ever be any better?"
"No. We've had all the doctors, eclectic an' herb besides, an' they
don't give her no hope. She was a great driver. We laid up money steady
them years before she was took down. She knew how to make an' she knew
how to save."
His face settled into lines of brooding recollection. Immediately Amelia
was aware that those years had been bitter to him, and that the fruit of
them was stale and dry. She cut by instinct into a pleasant by-path.
"You play your fiddle any now?"
He started out of his maze at life.
"No," he owned, "no!" as if he hardly remembered such a thing had been.
"I dropped that more'n fifteen year ago."
"Seems if my feet never could keep still when you played 'Money Musk,'"
avowed Amelia, her eyes shining. "'The Road to Boston,' too! My! wa'n't
that grand!"
"'Twas mostly dance-music I knew," said Jared. "She never liked it," he
added, in a burst of weary confidence.
"Your wife?"
"She was a church member, old-fashioned kind. Didn't believe in dancin'.
'The devil's tunes,' she called 'em. Well, mebbe they were; but I kinder
liked 'em myself."
"Well," said Amelia, in a safe commonplace, "I guess there's some harm
in'most everything. It's 'cordin' to the way you take it." Then one of
her quick changes came upon her. The self that played at life when real
life failed her, and so kept youth alive, awoke to shine in her eyes and
flush her pretty cheek. She looked about the room, as if to seek
concurrence from the hearthside gods. "Jared," she said, "you goin' to
stay round here long?"
He made an involuntary motion toward his hat.
"No, oh, no," he answered. "I'm goin' 'cross lots to the Junction. I
come round the road. I guess 'tain't more'n four mile along by the pine
woods an' the b'ilin' spring," he added, smiling at her. "Leastways it
didn't use to be. I thought | 1,424.078829 |
2023-11-16 18:40:48.0595640 | 134 | 7 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Volumes I and II of this work have been published by Project Gutenberg:
-Vol. I: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49104
-Vol. II: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/49118
THE
HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES
BY
JOSEPH FRANCOIS MIC | 1,424.079604 |
2023-11-16 18:40:48.0596400 | 5,226 | 11 |
Produced by David Widger
PRAY YOU, SIR, WHOSE DAUGHTER?
By Helen H. Gardener
R. F. Fenno & Company
9 and 11 East 16th Street
New York
1892
I saw a woman sleeping. In her sleep she dreampt Life stood before her,
and held in each hand a gift--in the one Love, in the other Freedom. And
she said to the woman, "Choose!"
And the woman waited long; and she said: "Freedom!" And Life said, "Thou
hast well chosen. If thou hadst said, 'Love,' I would have given thee
that thou didst ask for; and I would have gone from thee, and returned
to thee no more. Now, the day will come when I shall return. In that
day I shall bear both gifts in one hand." I heard the woman laugh in her
sleep.
Olive Schreener's Dreams.
DEDICATED
With the love and admiration of the Author,
To Her Husband
Who is ever at once her first, most severe, and most sympathetic critic,
whose encouragement and interest in her work never flags; whose abiding
belief in human rights, without sex limitations, and in equality of
opportunity leaves scant room in his great soul to harbor patience with
sex domination in a land which boasts of freedom for all, and embodies
its symbol of Liberty in the form of the only legally disqualified and
unrepresented class to be found upon its shores.
PREFACE.
In the following story the writer shows us what poverty and dependence
are in their revolting outward aspects, as well as in their crippling
effects on all the tender sentiments of the human soul. Whilst the many
suffer for want of the decencies of life, the few have no knowledge of
such conditions.
They require the poor to keep clean, where water by landlords is
considered a luxury; to keep their garments whole, where they have
naught but rags to stitch together, twice and thrice worn threadbare.
The improvidence of the poor as a valid excuse for ignorance, poverty,
and vice, is as inadequate as is the providence of the rich, for their
virtue, luxury, and power. The artificial conditions of society are
based on false theories of government, religion, and morals, and not
upon the decrees of a God.
In this little volume we have a picture, too, of what the world would
call a happy family, in which a naturally strong, honest woman is
shrivelled into a mere echo of her husband, and the popular sentiment of
the class to which she belongs. The daughter having been educated in a
college with young men, and tasted of the tree of knowledge, and,
like the Gods, knowing good and evil, can no longer square her life by
opinions she has outgrown; hence with her parents there is friction,
struggle, open revolt, though conscientious and respectful withal.
Three girls belonging to different classes in society; each illustrates
the false philosophy on which woman's character is based, and each in a
different way, in the supreme moment of her life, shows the necessity of
self-reliance and self-support.
As the wrongs of society can be more deeply impressed on a large class
of readers in the form of fiction than by essays, sermons, or the facts
of science, I hail with pleasure all such attempts by the young writers
of our day. The slave has had his novelist and poet, the farmer his,
the victims of ignorance and poverty theirs, but up to this time the
refinements of cruelty suffered by intelligent, educated women, have
never been painted in glowing colors, so that the living picture could
be seen and understood. It is easy to rouse attention to the grosser
forms of suffering and injustice, but the humiliations of spirit are not
so easily described and appreciated.
A class of earnest reformers have, for the last fifty years, in the
press, the pulpit, and on the platform, with essays, speeches, and
constitutional arguments before legislative assemblies, demanded the
complete emancipation of women from the political, religious, and social
bondage she now endures; but as yet few see clearly the need of larger
freedom, and the many maintain a stolid indifference to the demand.
I have long waited and watched for some woman to arise to do for her sex
what Mrs. Stowe did for the black race in "Uncle Tom's Cabin," a book
that did more to rouse the national conscience than all the glowing
appeals and constitutional arguments that agitated our people during
half a century. If, from an objective point of view, a writer could
thus eloquently portray the sorrows of a subject race, how much more
graphically should some woman describe the degradation of sex.
In Helen Gardener's stories, I see the promise, in the near future,
of such a work of fiction, that shall paint the awful facts of woman's
position in living colors that all must see and feel. The civil and
canon law, state and church alike, make the mothers of the race a
helpless, ostracised class, pariahs of a corrupt civilization. In view
of woman's multiplied wrongs, my heart oft echoes the Russian poet who
said: "God has forgotten where he hid the key to woman's emancipation."
Those who know the sad facts of woman's life, so carefully veiled
from society at large, will not consider the pictures in this story
overdrawn.
The shallow and thoughtless may know nothing of their existence, while
the helpless victims, not being able to trace the causes of their
misery, are in no position to state their wrongs themselves.
Nevertheless all the author describes in this sad story, and worse
still, is realized in everyday life, and the dark shadows dim the
sunshine in every household.
The apathy of the public to the wrongs of woman is clearly seen at this
hour, in propositions now under consideration in the Legislature of New
York. Though two infamous bills have been laid before select committees,
one to legalize prostitution, and one to lower the age of consent, the
people have been alike ignorant and indifferent to these measures. When
it was proposed to take a fragment of Central Park for a race course, a
great public meeting of protest was called at once, and hundreds of men
hastened to Albany to defeat the measure.
But the proposed invasion of the personal rights of woman, and the
wholesale desecration of childhood has scarce created a ripple on the
surface of society. The many do not know what laws their rulers are
making, and the few do not care, so long as they do not feel the iron
teeth of the law in their own flesh. Not one father in the House or
Senate would willingly have his wife, sister, or daughter subject to
these infamous bills proposed for the daughters of the people. Alas! for
the degradation of sex, even in this republic. When one may barter away
all that is precious to pure and innocent childhood at the age of ten
years, you may as well talk of a girl's safety with wild beasts in the
tangled forests of Africa, as in the present civilizations of England
and America, the leading nations on the globe.
Some critics say that every one knows and condemns these facts in our
social life, and that we do not need fiction to intensify the public
disgust. Others say, Why call the attention of the young and the
innocent to the existence of evils they should never know. The majority
of people do not watch legislative proceedings.
To keep our sons and daughters innocent, we must warn them of the
dangers that beset their path on every side.
Ignorance under no circumstances ensures safety. Honor protected by
knowledge, is safer than innocence protected by ignorance.
A few brave women are laboring to-day to secure for their less capable,
less thoughtful, less imaginative sisters, a recognition of a true
womanhood based on individual rights. There is just one remedy for the
social complications based on sex, and that is equality for woman in
every relation in life.
Men must learn to respect her as an equal factor in civilization, and
she must learn to respect herself as mother of the race. Womanhood is
the great primal fact of her existence; marriage and maternity, its
incidents.
This story shows that the very traits of character which society (whose
opinions are made and modified by men) considers most important and
charming in woman to ensure her success in social life, are the very
traits that ultimately lead to her failure.
Self-effacement, self-distrust, dependence and desire to please,
compliance, deference to the judgment and will of another, are what make
young women, in the opinion of these believers in sex domination, most
agreeable; but these are the very traits that lead to her ruin.
The danger of such training is well illustrated in the sad end of Ettie
Berton. When the trials and temptations of life come, then each one
must decide for herself, and hold in her own hands the reins of action.
Educated women of the passing generation chafe under the old order of
things, but, like Mrs. Foster in the present volume, are not strong
enough to swim up stream. But girls like Gertrude, who in the college
curriculum have measured their powers and capacities with strong young
men and found themselves their equals, have outgrown this superstition
of divinely ordained sex domination. The divine rights of kings, nobles,
popes, and bishops have long been questioned, and now that of sex is
under consideration and from the signs of the times, with all other
forms of class and caste, it is destined soon to pass away.
Elizabeth Cady Stanton
PRAY YOU, SIR, WHOSE DAUGHTER?
I
To say that Mrs. Foster was cruel, that she lacked sympathy with the
unfortunate, or that she was selfish, would be to state only the dark
half of a truism that has a wider application than class or sex could
give it; a truism whose boundary lines, indeed, are set by nothing short
of the ignorance of human beings hedged in by prejudice and handicapped
by lack of imagination. So when she sat, with dainty folded hands whose
jeweled softness found fitting background on the crimson velvet of her
trailing gown, and announced that she could endure everything associated
with, and felt deep sympathy for, the poor if it were not for the
besetting sin of uncleanliness that found its home almost invariably
where poverty dwelt, it would be unjust to pronounce her hard-hearted or
base.
"It is all nonsense to say that the poor need be so dirty," she
announced, as she held her splendid feather fan in one hand and caressed
the dainty tips of the white plumes with the tips of fingers only less
dainty and white.
"I have rarely ever seen a really poor man, woman, or child who was at
the same time really clean looking in person, and as to clothes--"
She broke off with an impatient and disgusted little shrug, as if to
say--what was quite true--that even the touch of properly descriptive
words held for her more soilure than she cared to bear contact with.
John Martin laughed. Then he essayed to banter his hostess, addressing
his remarks meanwhile to her daughter.
"One could not imagine your mamma a victim of poverty and hunger, much
less of dirt, Miss Gertrude," he began slowly; "but even that sumptuous
velvet gown of hers would grow to look more or less--let us say--rusty,
in time, I fear, if it were the only costume she possessed, and she were
obliged to eat, cook, wash, iron, sew, and market in it."
The two ladies laughed merrily at the droll suggestion, and Miss
Gertrude pursed up her lips and developed a decided squint in her eyes
as she turned them upon the folds of her mother's robe. Then she took up
Mr. Martin's description where the laugh had broken in upon it.
"Too true, too true," she drawled; "and if she dusted the furniture
a week or so with that fan, I'm afraid it would lose more or less
of its--gloss. Mamma quite prides herself upon the delicate
peach-fuzz-bloom, so to speak, of those feathers. Just look at them!"
The girl reached over and took the fan from her mother's lap. She spread
the fine plumes to their fullest capacity, and held them under the rays
of the brass lamp that stood near their guest. Then she made a flourish
with it in the direction of the music stand, as if she were intent upon
whisking the last speck of dust from the sheets of Tannhauser that lay
on its top A little cry of alarm and protest escaped Mrs. Foster's lips
and she stretched oat her hand to rescue the beloved fan.
"Gertrude! how can you?" She settled back comfortably against the
cushions of the low divan with her rescued treasure once more waving in
gentle gracefulness before her.
"Oh, no," she protested. "Of course one could not work or live
constantly in one or two gowns and look fresh, but one could look and be
clean and--and whole. A patch is not pretty I admit, but it is a decided
improvement upon a bare elbow."
"I don't agree with you at all," smiled her guest; "I don't believe
I ever saw a patch in all my life that would be an improvement
upon--upon--" He glanced at the lovely round white arms before him, and
all three laughed. Mrs. Foster thought of how many Russian baths and
massage treatments had tended to give the exquisite curve and tint to
her arm.
"Then beside," smiled Mr. Martin, "a rent or hole may be an immediate
accident, liable to happen to the best of us. A patch looks like
premeditated poverty." Gertrude laughed brightly, but her mother did not
appear to have heard. She reverted to the previous insinuation.
"Oh, well; that is not fair! You know what I mean. I'm talking of elbows
that burst or wear out--not about those that never were intended to be
in. Then, besides, it is not the elbow I object to; it is the hole
one sees it through. _It_ tells a tale of shiftlessness and personal
untidiness that saps all sympathy for the poverty that compelled the
long wearing of the garment."
"Why, my dear Mrs. Foster," said Martin, slowly, "I wonder if you have
any idea of a grade of poverty that simply can't be either whole or
clean. Did--?"
"I'll give up the whole, but I won't give in on the clean. I can easily
see how a woman could be too tired, too ill, or too busy to mend a
garment; I can fancy her not knowing how to sew, or not having thread,
needles, and patches; but, surely, surely, Mr. Martin, no one living is
too poor to keep clean. Water is free, and it doesn't take long to take
a bath. Besides--"
Gertrude looked at her mother with a smile. Then she said with her
sarcastic little drawl again:--
"Russian, or Turkish?"
"Well, but fun' and nonsense aside, Gertrude," said her mother, "a plain
hot bath at home would make a new creature out of half the wretches one
sees or reads of, and--"
"Porcelain lined bath-tub, hot and cold water furnished at all hours.
Bath-room adjoining each sleeping apartment," laughed Mr. Martin. "What
a delightful idea you have of abject poverty, Mrs. Foster. I do wish
Fred could have heard that last remark of yours. I went with his clerk
one day to collect rents down in Mulberry Street. He had the collection
of the rents for the Feedour estate on his hands--"
"What's that about the rents of the Feedour estate?" inquired the head
of the house, extending his hand to their guest as he entered. Mrs.
Foster put out her hand and her husband touched the tips of her fingers
to his lips, while Gertrude slipped her arm through her father's and
drew him to a seat beside her. Her eyes were dancing, and she showed a
double row of the whitest of teeth.
"Oh, Mr. Martin was just explaining to mamma how your clerk collects
rent for the porcelain bath-tubs in the Feedour property down in
Mulberry Street. Mamma thinks that bath-rooms should be free--hot and
cold water, and all convenient appointments."
Fred Foster looked at their guest for a moment, and then both men burst
into a hearty laugh.
"I don't see anything to laugh at," protested Mrs. Foster. "Unless you
are guying me for thinking Mr. Martin in earnest about the tubs being
rented. I suppose, of course, the bath-rooms go with the apartments,
and one rent covers the whole of it. In which case, I still insist that
there is no reason why the poor can't be clean, and if they have only
one suit of clothes, they can wash them out at night and have them dry
next morning."
The men laughed again.
"Gertrude, has your mamma read her essay yet before the Ladies' Artistic
and Ethical Club on the 'Self-Inflicted Sorrows of the Poor?'" asked Mr.
Foster, pinching his daughter's chin, and allowing a chuckle of humorous
derision to escape him as he glanced at their guest.
"No," said the girl, a trifle uneasily; "Lizzie Feedour read last time.
Mamma's is next, and she has read her paper to me. It is just as good
as it can be. Better than half the essays used to be at college, not
excepting Mr. Holt's prize thesis on economics. I wish the poor people
could hear it. She speaks very kindly of their faults even while
criticising them. You--"
"Don't visit the tenement houses of the Feedour estate, dear, until
after you read your paper to the club," laughed her husband, "or your
essay won't take half so well. College theses and cold facts are not
likely to be more than third cousins; eh, Martin? I'm sure the part on
cleanliness would be easier for her to manage in discussion before she
visited the Spillini family, for example."
"Which one is that, Fred?" asked Mr. Foster.
Martin, a droll twinkle in his eye. "The family of eight, with Irish
mother and Italian father, who live in one room and take boarders?"
There was a little explosive "oh" of protest from Gertrude, while her
mother laughed delightedly.
"Mr. Martin, you are so perfectly absurd. Why didn't you say that the
room was only ten by fifteen feet and had but one window!"
"Because I don't think it is quite so big as that, and there is no
outside window at all," said he, quite gravely. "And their only bath-tub
for the entire crowd is a small tin basin also used to wash dishes in."
"W-h-a-t!" exclaimed Mrs. Foster, as if she were beginning to suspect
their guest's sanity, for she recognized that his mood had changed from
one of banter.
The portiere was drawn aside, and other guests announced. As Mrs. Foster
swept forward to meet them, Gertrude grasped her father's arm and looked
into his eyes with something very like terror in her own. "Papa," she
said hastily, in an intense undertone; "Papa, is he in earnest? Do the
Feedour girls collect rent from such awful poverty as that? Do eight
human beings eat and sleep--live--in one room anywhere in a Christian
country? Does--?"
Her father took both of her hands in his own for a moment and looked
steadily into her face.
"Hundreds of them, darling," he said, gently. "Don't stare at Miss
Feedour that way. Go speak to her. She is looking toward us, and your
mother has left her with Martin quite long enough. He is in an ugly
humor to-night. Go--no, come," he said, slipping her hand in his arm and
drawing her forward through the long rooms to where the group of guests
were greeting each other with that easy familiarity which told of
frequent intercourse and community of interests and social information.
II.
Two hours later Gertrude found herself near a low window seat upon
which sat John Martin. She could not remember when he had not been her
father's closest friend, and she had no idea why his moods had changed
so of late. He was much less free and fatherly with her. She wondered
now if he despised her because she knew so little of the real woes of
a real world about her, while she, in common with those of her station,
sighed so heavily over the needs of a more distant or less repulsive
human swarm.
"Will you take me to see the Spillini family some day soon, Mr. Martin,"
she asked, seating herself by his side. "Papa said that you were telling
the truth--were not joking as I thought at first."
Her eyes were following the graceful movements of Lizzie Feedour, as
that young lady turned the leaves of a handsome volume that lay on
the table before her, and a gentleman with whom she was discussing its
merits and defects.
"I don't believe the call would be a pleasure on either side," said Mr.
Martin, brusquely, "unless we sent word the day before and had some of
the family moved out and a chair taken in."
The girl turned her eyes slowly upon him, but she did not speak. The
color began to climb into his face and dye the very roots of his hair.
She wondered why. Her own face was rather paler than usual and her eyes
were very serious.
"You don't want to take me," she said. "I wonder why men always try to
keep girls from knowing things--from learning of the world as it is--and
then blame them for their ignorance! You naturally think I am a very
silly, light girl, but--"
A great panic overtook John Martin's heart. He could hardly keep back
the tears. He felt the blood rush to his face again, but he did not know
just what he said.
"I do not--I do not! You are--I--I--should hate to be the one to
introduce you to such a view of life. I was an old fool to talk as I did
this evening. I--"
"Oh, that is it!" exclaimed Gertrude, relieved. "You found me ignorant,
and content because I was ignorant, and you regret that you have struck
a chord--a serious chord--where only make-believe or merry ones were
ever struck between us before."
John Martin fidgeted.
"No, it is not that I would like to strike the first serious chord for
you--in your heart, Gertrude."
He had called her Gertrude for years. Indeed the Miss upon his lips was
of very recent date, but there was a meaning in the name just now as
he spoke it that gave the girl a distinct shock. She felt that he was
covering retreat in one direction by a mendacious advance in another.
She arose suddenly.
"Lizzie Feedour is looking her best tonight," she said. "She grows
handsomer every day."
She had moved forward a step, but he caught the hand that hung by her
side. She faced him with a look of mingled protest and surprise in her
face; but when her eyes met his, she understood.
"Gertrude, darling!" was all he could say. This time the blood dyed her
face and a mist blinded her for a moment. She remembered feeling glad
that her back was turned to everyone but him, and that the window
drapery hid his face from the others, for the intensity of appeal
| 1,424.07968 |
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THE CANDY COUNTRY
BY
LOUISA M. ALCOTT
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "LITTLE MEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL,"
"AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG," "LULU'S LIBRARY," ETC.
Illustrated
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_Copyright, 1885,_
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT
_Copyright, 1900,_
BY JOHN S. P. ALCOTT
University Press
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "Hollo, what do you want?" he asked, staring at her.
PAGE 10.]
THE CANDY COUNTRY
"I shall take mamma's red sun umbrella, it is so warm, and none of the
children at school will have one like it," said Lily, one day, as she
went through the hall.
"The wind is very high; I'm afraid you'll be blown away if you carry
that big thing," called Nurse from the window, as the red umbrella went
bobbing down the garden walk with a small girl under it.
"I wish it would; I always wanted to go up in a balloon," answered Lily,
as she struggled out of the gate.
She got on very well till she came to the bridge and stopped to look
over the railing at the water running by so fast, and the turtles
sunning themselves on the rocks. Lily was fond of throwing stones at
them; it was so funny to watch them tumble, heels over head, splash into
the water. Now, when she saw three big fellows close by, she stooped for
a stone, and just at that minute a gale of wind nearly took the umbrella
out of her hand. She clutched it fast; and away she went like a
thistle-down, right up in the air, over river and hill, houses and
trees, faster and faster, till her head spun round, her breath was all
gone, and she had to let go. The dear red umbrella flew away like a
leaf; and Lily fell down, down, till she went crash into a tree which
grew in such a curious place that she forgot her fright as she sat
looking about her, wondering what part of the world it could be.
The tree looked as if made of glass or sugar; for she could see
through the red cherries, the green leaves, and the brown branches. An
agreeable smell met her nose; and she said at once, as any child would,
"I smell candy!" She picked a cherry and ate it. Oh, how good it
was!--all sugar and no stone. The next discovery was such a delightful
one that she nearly fell off her perch; for by touching her tongue here
and there, she found that the whole tree was made of candy. Think what
fun to sit and break off twigs of barley sugar, candied cherries, and
leaves that tasted like peppermint and sassafras!
Lily rocked and ate till she finished the top of the little tree;
then she climbed down and strolled along, making more surprising and
agreeable discoveries as she went.
What looked like snow under her feet was white sugar; the rocks were
lumps of chocolate, the flowers of all colors and tastes; and every sort
of fruit grew on these delightful trees. Little white houses soon
appeared; and here lived the dainty candy-people, all made of the best
sugar, and painted to look like real people. Dear little men and women,
looking as if they had stepped off of wedding cakes and bonbons, went
about in their gay sugar clothes, laughing and talking in the sweetest
voices. Bits of babies rocked in open-work cradles, and sugar boys and
girls played with sugar toys in the most natural way. Carriages rolled
along the jujube streets, drawn by the red and yellow barley horses we
all love so well; cows fed in the green fields, and sugar birds sang in
the trees.
Lily listened, and in a moment she understood what the song said,--
"Sweet! Sweet!
Come, come and eat,
Dear little girls
With yellow curls;
For here you'll find
Sweets to your mind.
On every tree
Sugar-plums you'll see;
In every dell
Grows the caramel.
Over every wall
Gum-drops fall;
Molasses flows
Where our river goes.
Under your feet
Lies sugar sweet;
Over your head
Grow almonds red.
Our lily and rose
Are not for the nose;
Our | 1,424.081762 |
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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 of dead
joys.
She went round the gardens and shrubberies in the early morning,
looking sadly at everything, as if she were bidding the trees and
flowers a long farewell. The rhododendron thickets were shining with
dew, the grassy tracks in that wilderness of verdure were wet and cold
under Vixen's feet. She wandered in and out among the groups of wild
growing shrubs, rising one above another to the height of forest trees,
and then she went out by the old five-barred gate which Titmouse used
to jump so merrily, and rambled in the plantation till the sun was
high, and the pines began to breathe forth their incense as the day-god
warmed them into life.
It was half-past eight. Nine was the hour for breakfast, a meal at
which, during the Squire's time, the fragile Pamela had rarely
appeared, but which, under the present _regime_, she generally graced
with her presence. Captain Winstanley was an early riser, and was not
sparing in his contempt for sluggish habits.
Vixen had made up her mind never again to sit at meat with her
stepfather; so she went straight to her own den, and told Phoebe to
bring her a cup of tea.
"I don't want anything else," she said wearily when the girl suggested
a more substantial breakfast; "I should like to see mamma presently. Do
you know if she has gone down?"
"No, miss. Mrs. Winstanley is not very well this morning. Pauline has
taken her up a cup of tea."
Vixen sat idly by the open window, sipping her tea, and caressing
Argus's big head with a listless hand, waiting for the next stroke of
fate. She was sorry for her mother, but had no wish to see her. What
could they say to each other--they, whose thoughts and feelings were so
wide apart? Presently Phoebe came in with a little three-cornered note,
written in pencil.
"Pauline asked me to give you this from your ma, miss."
The note was brief, written in short gasps, with dashes between them.
"I feel too crushed and ill to see you--I have told Conrad what you
wish--he is all goodness--he will tell you what we have decided--try to
be worthier of his kindness--poor misguided child--he will see you in
his study, directly after breakfast--pray control your unhappy temper."
"His study, indeed!" ejaculated Vixen, tearing up the little note and
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Produced by Goncalo Silva, sp1nd and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
THE COPPERHEAD
BY HAROLD FREDERIC.
IN THE VALLEY.
Illustrated by Howard Pyle $1.50
THE LAWTON GIRL.
12mo, paper, 50 cents; cloth $1.25
SETH'S BROTHER'S WIFE.
12mo $1.25
THE COPPERHEAD.
12mo $1.00
THE COPPERHEAD
BY
HAROLD FREDERIC
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1893
COPYRIGHT, 1893, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ABNER BEECH 1
II. JEFF'S MUTINY 17
III. ABSALOM 35
IV. ANTIETAM 47
V. "JEE'S" TIDINGS 63
VI. NI'S TALK WITH ABNER 76
VII. THE ELECTION 90
VIII. THE ELECTION BONFIRE 106
IX. ESTHER'S VISIT 115
X. THE FIRE 133
XI. THE CONQUEST OF ABNER 146
XII. THE UNWELCOME GUEST 158
XIII. THE BREAKFAST 172
XIV. FINIS 182
THE COPPERHEAD
CHAPTER I
ABNER BEECH
It was on the night of my thirteenth birthday, I know, that the old
farm-house was burned over our heads. By that reckoning I must have
been six or seven when I went to live with Farmer Beech, because at the
time he testified I had been with him half my life.
Abner Beech had often been supervisor for his town, and could have
gone to the Assembly, it was said, had he chosen. He was a stalwart,
thick-shouldered, big man, with shaggy dark eyebrows shading stern
hazel eyes, and with a long, straight nose, and a broad, firmly shut
mouth. His expansive upper lip was blue from many years of shaving; all
the rest was bushing beard, mounting high upon the cheeks and rolling
downward in iron-gray billows over his breast. That shaven upper lip,
which still may be found among the farmers of the old blood in our
district was, I dare say, a survival from the time of the Puritan
protest against the mustaches of the Cavaliers. If Abner Beech, in the
latter days, had been told that this shaving on Wednesday and Saturday
nights was a New England rite, I feel sure he would never have touched
razor again.
He was a well-to-do man in the earlier time--a tremendous worker, a
" | 1,424.27863 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Captain Chub
[Illustration: The boys entertain Mr. Ewing]
Captain Chub
By
Ralph Henry Barbour
Author of “The Crimson Sweater,” “Tom, Dick, and Harriet,”
“Harry’s Island,” etc.
With Illustrations
By C. M. Relyea
[Illustration]
New York
The Century Co.
1909
Copyright, 1908, 1909, by
THE CENTURY CO.
_Published September, 1909_
J. F. TAPLEY CO.
TO J. P. M.
WITH THE AUTHOR’S REGARDS
AND BEST WISHES
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE STOLEN RUN 3
II. LETTERS AND PLANS 19
III. AN INVITATION TO MISS EMERY 30
IV. LEASING A HOUSE-BOAT 47
V. A TRIP OF INSPECTION 61
VI. THE JOLLY ROGER 74
VII. THE CRUISE BEGINS 96
VIII. DRIVEN TO COVER 114
IX. PRISONERS 125
X. A NEW ACQUAINTANCE 139
XI. MR. EWING IS OUTWITTED 163
XII. THE TABLES TURNED 167
XIII. CHUB TRIES A NEW BAIT 180
XIV. THE CREW ENTERS SOCIETY 198
XV. HARRY GOES TO SEA 217
XVI. UNDER THE AWNING 234
XVII. MRS. URIAH PEEL 249
XVIII. KEEPING STORE 263
XIX. A MIDNIGHT ALARM 282
XX. “GASOLINE AND SUPPLIES” 306
XXI. THE BURGLARY 323
XXII. CLUES 336
XXIII. IN THE GIPSY CAMP 349
XXIV. AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE APPEARS 362
XXV. MR. EWING IS SUSPICIOUS 373
XXVI. CHUB’S ADVENTURE 382
XXVII. GIFTS AND FAREWELLS 397
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
The boys entertain Mr. Ewing _Frontispiece_
Chub Eaton was lying in a cloud of dust 15
Writing the invitation to Harry 37
In a great studio 49
Roy 59
Chub descended at the Porter’s bag and baggage 71
The boys arrive at the wharf 83
The “Jolly Roger” begins her cruise up the Hudson River 99
Roy stared silently, with open mouth 123
Dick and Roy slumbering 153
But Mister Trout didn’t want to come 193
They had dressed in their best clothes 207
The next moment they were all shaking hands 223
Before noon camp was made at the edge of the grove 245
She tied together the strings of a quaint little black bonnet 251
The figure disappeared noiselessly into the night 291
“A little more of the hegg, ma’am?” 299
“I want the key of the store” 309
The till was empty 333
Two men entered the tent 359
“You stay where you are” 369
They waved back to her and went on 405
The doctor was called on for a speech 409
CAPTAIN CHUB
CHAPTER I
THE STOLEN RUN
“That settles that,” groaned the captain of the Crimson nine as the
long fly settled gracefully into the hands of the Blue’s left-fielder.
The runner who, at the sound of bat meeting ball, had shot away from
second base, slowed his pace and dropped his head disconsolately as he
left the path to the plate and turned toward the bench.
“Come on, fellows,” said the captain cheerfully. “We’ve got to hold ’em
tight. Not a man sees first, Tom; don’t lose ’em.”
Pritchett, the Crimson pitcher, nodded silently as he drew on his glove
and walked across to the box. He didn’t mean to lose them. So far, at
the beginning of the ninth inning, it was anybody’s game. The score was
3 to 3. Pritchett had pitched a grand game: had eight strike-outs to
his credit, had given but one base on balls, and had been hit but three
times for a total of four bases. For five innings, for the scoring on
both sides had been done in the first part of the game, he had held the
Blue well in hand, and he didn’t mean to lose control of the situation
now. The cheering from the stands occupied by the supporters of the
Crimson team, which had died away as the unlucky hit to left-fielder
had retired the side, began again, and continued until the first of the
blue-stockinged batsmen stepped to the plate.
It was the end of the year, the final game and the deciding one.
The stands, which started far beyond third base and continued around
behind first, were filled with a gaily-hued throng, every member of
which claimed allegiance to Crimson or Blue. Fully eight thousand
persons were awaiting with fast-beating hearts the outcome of this
last inning. The June sun shone hotly down, and the little breeze
which came across the green field from the direction of the glinting
river did little to mitigate the intolerable heat. Score-cards waved
in front of red, perspiring faces, straw hats did like duty, and
pocket-handkerchiefs were tucked inside wilting collars.
Half-way up the cheering section sat a little group of freshmen,
hot and excited, hoarse and heroic. At every fresh demand from the
cheerleader they strained their tired lungs to new excesses of sound.
Now, panting and laughing, they fell against each other in simulated
exhaustion.
“I wish a thunder-storm would come along,” said one of the group,
weakly.
“Why?” asked another.
“So they’d call the game and I wouldn’t have to cheer any more,” he
sighed.
“Why don’t you do the way Chick does?” asked a third. “Chick just opens
his mouth and goes through the motions and doesn’t let out a single
yip.”
“I like that!” exclaimed the maligned one. “I’ve been making more
noise than all the rest of you put together. The leader’s been casting
grateful looks at me for an hour.”
There was a howl of derision from the others.
“Well,” said a tall, broad-shouldered fellow, “I don’t intend to yell
any more until something happens, and--”
“Yell now, then, Porter,” said Chick gloomily as the first of the
opponents’ batsmen beat the ball to first by a bare inch. But instead
of yelling Roy Porter merely looked bored, and for a while there was
silence in that particular part of the stand.
The next Blue batsman bunted toward third, and although he went out
himself, he had placed the first man on second. The Blue’s best batters
were coming up, and the outlook wasn’t encouraging. The sharp, short
cheer of the Blue’s adherents rattled forth triumphantly. But Pritchett
wasn’t dismayed. Instead, he settled down and struck out the next man
ignominiously. Then, with two strikes and two balls called by the
umpire, the succeeding batsman rolled a slow one toward short-stop and
that player, pausing to hold the runner on second, threw wide of first.
The batsman streaked for second and the man ahead darted to third and
made the turn toward home. But right-fielder had been prompt in backing
up and the foremost runner was satisfied to scuttle back to third.
The Blue’s first-baseman came to bat. He was the best hitter on the
team, and, with men on second and third, it seemed that the Blue was
destined to wave triumphantly that day.
“Two down!” called the Crimson captain encouragingly. “Now for the next
one, fellows! Don’t lose him, Tom!”
“Two out!” bawled the coachers back of first and third. “Run on
anything! Well, I guess we’ve got them going now! I guess we’ve got
them going! He’s sort of worried, Bill! He’s sort of worried! _Look
out!_” For the “sort of worried” one had turned quickly and sped the
ball to third.
“That’s all right!” cried the irrepressible coacher. “He won’t do that
again. Take a lead; take a lead! Steady!”
Pritchett glanced grimly at the two on bases and turned to the batsman.
He was in a bad place, and he realized it. A hit would bring in two
runs. The man who faced him was a veteran player, and couldn’t be
fooled easily. He considered the advisability of giving him his base,
knowing that the next man up would be easier to dispose of. It was
risky, but he decided to do it. He shook his head at the catcher’s
signal and sent a wide one.
“Ball!” droned the umpire, and the blue flags waved gleefully.
The next was also a ball, and the next, and the next, and--
“Take your base,” said the umpire.
“Thunder!” muttered Chick nervously as the man trotted leisurely down
the line and the sharp cheers rattled forth like musketry. “Bases full!”
“He did it on purpose,” said Roy Porter. “Burton’s a hard-hitter and a
clever one, and Pritchett didn’t want to risk it.”
“Well, a hit now won’t mean a thing!” grieved Chick.
“It’ll mean two runs; just what it meant before,” answered Roy. “Who’s
this at bat?”
“Kneeland,” answered his neighbor on the other side, referring to his
score-card.
“What’s he done?”
“Nothing. Got his base twice, once on fielder’s choice and once on
balls.”
“That’s good. Watch Pritchett fool him.”
They watched, breathlessly, in an agony of suspense. One ball; one
strike; two strikes; two balls; a foul; another foul.
“He’s spoiling ’em,” muttered Chick uneasily. But the next moment he
was on his feet with every one else on that side of the field, yelling
wildly, frantically. Pritchett had one more strike-out to his credit,
and three blue-stockinged players turned ruefully from their captured
bases and sought their places in the field.
The Crimson players came flocking back to the bench, panting and
smiling, and threw themselves under the grateful shade of the little
strip of awning.
“Easy with the water,” cautioned the trainer as the tin cup clattered
against the mouth of the big water-bottle.
“Who’s up?” asked some one. The coach was studying the score-book
silently. Pritchett was up, but Pritchett, like most pitchers, was a
poor batsman. The coach’s glance turned and wandered down the farther
bench where the substitutes sat.
“Eaton up!” he called, and turning to the scorer: “Eaton in place of
Pritchett,” he said.
The youngster who stood before him awaiting instructions was a rather
stockily-built chap, with brown hair and eyes and a merry, good-natured
face. But there was something besides good nature on his face at this
moment; something besides freckles, too; it was an expression that
mingled gratification, anxiety, and determination. Tom Eaton had been
a substitute on the varsity nine only since the disbanding of the
freshman team, of which he had been captain, and during that scant
fortnight he had not succeeded in getting into a game.
“You’ve got to get to first, Eaton,” said the coach softly. “Try and
get your base on balls; make him think you’re anxious to hit, see? But
keep your wits about you and see if you can’t walk. If he gets two
strikes on you, why, do the best you can; hit it down toward third.
Understand? Once on first I expect you to get around. Take all the risk
you want; we’ve got to score.”
“Batter up!” called the umpire, impatiently.
Eaton selected a bat carefully from the rack and walked out to the
plate. The head cheerleader, looking over his shoulder, ready to summon
a “short cheer” for the batsman, hesitated and ran across to the bench.
“Who’s batting?” he asked.
“Eaton,” he was told. “Batting for Pritchett.”
“A short cheer for Eaton, fellows, and make it good!”
It was good, and as the freshman captain faced the Blue’s pitcher the
cheer swept across to him and sent a thrill along his spine. Perhaps he
needed it, for there is no denying that he was feeling pretty nervous,
although he succeeded in disguising that fact from either catcher or
pitcher.
Up in the cheering section there was joy among the group of freshmen.
“Look who’s here!” shrieked Chick. “It’s Chub!”
“Chub Eaton!” cried another. “What do you think of that?”
“Batting for Pritchett! Say, can he bat much, Roy?”
“Yes; but I don’t know what he can do against this fellow. He hasn’t
been in a game since they took him on. But I guess the coach knows he
can run the bases. If he gets to first I’ll bet he’ll steal the rest!”
And then the cheer came, and the way those classmates of Chub’s worked
their lungs was a caution.
In the last inning of a game it is customary to replace the weak
batsman with players who can hit the ball, and when Chub Eaton stepped
to the plate the Blue’s catcher and pitcher assumed that they had a
difficult person to contend with. The catcher signaled for a drop, for
from the way Chub handled his bat it seemed that he would, in baseball
slang, “bite at it,” and Chub seemed to want to badly. He almost
swung at it, but he didn’t quite, and the umpire called “Ball!” Well,
reflected the catcher, it was easy to see that he was anxious to hit,
and so he signaled for a nice slow ball that looked for all the world
like an easy one until it almost reached the plate; then it “broke” in
a surprising way and went off to the left. Chub almost reached for it,
but, again, not quite. And “Two balls!” said the umpire. Chub swung his
bat back and forth impatiently, just begging the Blue pitcher to give
him a fair chance. The pitcher did. He sent a nice drop that cleared
the plate knee-high. “Strike!” announced the umpire. Chub turned on him
in surprise and shook his head. Then he settled back and worked his bat
in a way that said: “Just try that again! I dare you to!”
The pitcher did try it again; at least, he seemed to, but the ball
dropped so low this time that it failed of being a strike by several
inches. Chub looked pained. On the bench the coach was smiling dryly.
The Blue pitcher awoke to the fact that he had been fooled. He sent a
high ball straight over the plate and Chub let it go by. “Strike two!”
called the umpire. The Blue stands cheered mightily. Two strikes and
three balls! Chub gripped his bat hard. Again the pitcher shot the ball
forward. It came straight and true for the plate, broke when a few feet
away and came down at a weird tangent. Chub swung desperately and the
ball glanced off the bat and went arching back into the stand. “Foul!”
growled the umpire. Chub drew a deep breath of relief. Once more the
pitcher poised himself and threw. The ball whirled by him and Chub
dropped his bat and started across the plate, his heart in his mouth.
“Four balls! Take your base!”
The umpire’s voice was drowned by the sudden burst of wild acclaim from
the Crimson stands, and Chub trotted to first, to be enthusiastically
patted and thumped on the back by the coacher stationed there. Up
in the cheering section five freshmen were hugging each other
ecstatically. The head of the Crimson’s batting list was coming up, and
things looked bright. The cheering became incessant. The coach shouted
and bawled. But the Blue’s pitcher refused to be rattled. He settled
down, held Chub close on first and, before any one quite realized what
was happening, had struck out the next man.
But Chub had made up his mind to go on, and he went. He made his steal
on the first ball thrown to the new batter and, although catcher threw
straight and fast to second-baseman, Chub slid around the latter and
reached the bag. Then, while the cheers broke forth again, he got
up, patted the dust out of his clothes, and took a fresh lead. The
pitcher eyed him darkly for a moment and then gave his attention to the
batsman. _Crack!_ Ball and bat met and the short-stop ran in to field
a fast grounder, and as he ran Chub flashed behind him. Gathering up
the ball, short-stop turned toward third, saw that he was too late, and
threw to first, putting the batsman out by the narrowest of margins.
“Two out!”
[Illustration: Chub Eaton was lying in a cloud of dust]
The Crimson captain stepped to the plate, looking determined, and
hit the first delivery safely. But it was a bunt near the plate and,
although Chub was ready to run in, he had no chance. The captain stole
second and Chub looked for a chance to get home; but they were watching
him. The Crimson supporters were on their feet, their shouts imploring
victory. The next man up was an erratic batsman, one who had made home
runs before this in time of stress and who had, quite as often, failed
to “make good.” Amid the wildest excitement, the Blue pitcher pulled
down his cap, calmly studied the signal, and sped the ball toward the
plate.
“Strike!” Again, and the batsman swung and the ball glanced back
against the netting.
“Foul! Strike two!”
Then came a ball. The batsman was plainly discouraged, plainly nervous.
Chub, dancing around at third, worrying the pitcher to the best of his
ability, decided that it was now or never for him. Taking a long lead,
he waited poised on his toes. As the ball left the pitcher’s hand he
raced for home.
“Hit it! Hit it!” shrieked the men on the bench. The batsman, awakening
suddenly to the demands, struck wildly as the ball came to him, struck
without hitting. But the catcher, with that red-stockinged figure
racing toward him, made his one error of the game. The ball glanced
from his mitt and rolled back of the plate, and although he had thrown
off his mask and was after it like a cat after a mouse, he was too
late. Chub Eaton was lying in a cloud of dust with one hand on the
plate, and the crowd was streaming, shouting and dancing, onto the
field.
CHAPTER II
LETTERS AND PLANS
That 4 to 3 victory took place on a Thursday, in the third week of June.
Some two hours later the hero of the conflict lay stretched at full
length on a window-seat in the front room of a house within sound of
the college bell. His hands were under his head, one foot nestled
inelegantly amidst the cushions at the far end of the seat and the
other was sprawled upon the floor. The window beside him was wide open
and through it came the soft, warm air, redolent of things growing,
of moist pavements, of freshly-sprinkled lawns. The sounds of passing
footsteps and voices entered, too; and from across the shaded street
came the tinkle of a banjo. The voices were joyous and care-free.
To-morrow was Class-Day; the year’s work was over; books had been
tossed aside, and already the exodus from college had begun. The
twilight deepened and the long June day came unwillingly to its end.
The shadows darkened under the elms and here and there a light glared
out from an open window. But in the room the twilight held undisputed
sway, hiding the half-packed trunks and the untidy disorder of | 1,424.279328 |
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The Battleship Boys in Foreign Service
OR
Earning New Ratings in European Seas
By FRANK GEE PATCHIN
Illustrated
THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
Akron, Ohio New York
Made in U. S. A.
Copyright MCMXI
_By_ THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
PRINTED IN U. S. A.
[Illustration: "Hip, Hip, Hooray!" Yelled Dan.]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BATTLESHIP BOYS TO THE RESCUE 7
II. A SERIOUS CHARGE 20
III. AMBASSADORS ON THEIR TRAIL 32
IV. ICE CREAM COMES HIGH 42
V. A PLUNGE INTO SOCIETY 52
VI. STRANDED IN A STRANGE CITY 59
VII. UNDER THE FLAG ONCE MORE 66
VIII. HIS FIRST COMMAND 74
IX. ROUNDING UP THE STRAGGLERS 83
X. OUTWITTED BY A BOY 95
XI. BETWEEN SKY AND SEA 106
XII. IN THE COILS OF A "TWISTER" 118
XIII. TWO ARE MISSING 127
XIV. DOWN THE AMMUNITION HOIST 136
XV. LAND HO! 146
XVII. ON GIBRALTAR'S PEAK 154
XVII. ON THE BLUE MEDITERRANEAN 167
XVIII. JOLLY TARS IN EGYPT 178
XIX. ON THE SHIPS OF THE DESERT 193
XX. CALLING ON THE MUMMIES 201
XXI. CONCLUSION 209
The Battleship Boys in Foreign Service
CHAPTER I
BATTLESHIP BOYS TO THE RESCUE
"This is the famous Bois de Boulogne Sam."
"The what?"
"Bois de Boulogne, one of the most popular drives in Paris."
"Huh!" grunted Sam Hickey. "That sounds to me like some kind of sausage.
What do they ever name their streets that way for in Paris?"
"All the names in this great, gay city mean something," answered Dan
Davis. "This park here bears the same name. It was infested by desperate
robbers as far back as the fourteenth century."
"Robbers!" exclaimed the red-haired boy.
"Yes."
"Are they here yet?"
"No; Napoleon cleaned them out. We shall soon be out by the Arch. The
Frenchmen call it Arc de Triomphe."
"They do?"
"Yes."
"Just like that?"
"Of course."
"I'll bet there isn't a Frenchman in France who would know what you were
talking about if they heard you call it by that name. I don't know
anything about French, but if that is French give me plain United
States. You are sure there are no robbers left in the Bologna sausage?"
"Bois de Boulogne, Sam," corrected Dan. "No; there are no robbers here.
You need not be afraid."
"Afraid! What do you take me for, Dan Davis. I----"
"Hark!"
"Nothing of the sort. I'm no coward. I, a sailor in Uncle Sam's Navy,
and afraid of robbers? Pooh!"
"Listen! Did you hear that, Sam?"
"Hear what? No; I didn't hear anything. But--wow! What's that?"
Hickey gave a sudden startled jump.
"It's a woman's scream," breathed Dan, listening intently. "Did you hear
it?"
"I--I should say I did. Yes, and there it goes again. She's some sort of
foreigner. I wonder what is going on?"
The scream was repeated. Though the lads were unable to understand what
the voice was saying, it was evident that the woman, whoever or whatever
she might be, was in dire distress.
"Where is it--where is it?" demanded Sam, now very much excited.
"The sound came from off yonder, where the trees are thickest."
"I see nothing."
"I do," answered Dan. "See, yonder is a carriage. Come on! There's a
woman in trouble. What is it?" shouted the boy, raising his voice.
"Help! Help!" came the answer in plain English.
"It's one of our own countrywomen--our own United States. We're coming,
madam!"
Dan was off with a bound, followed a few paces behind by his red-haired
friend, Sam Hickey.
As they ran they made out a coupe that had been drawn up beside the
road. One man was holding the horses by the heads, while a group of
others were standing by the door of the carriage.
"What's going on there?" demanded Dan.
"I--I guess Napoleon didn't chase all the robbers out," stammered Hickey
in a doubtful tone.
"They are robbers and they're robbing two lone women," exclaimed Dan.
"I guess we're Johnnie-on-the-spot, then," answered Sam. "Me for the
party holding the horses. He looks kind of weak like."
Two women, attired in evening gowns, were standing beside their
carriage, which, at a glance, was seen to be an elegant private
equipage. The men surrounding the women wore small, black caps with the
visors pulled down over their eyes, and long, flowing handkerchiefs
about their necks.
As the lads drew near they saw two of the men strip the handkerchiefs
from their necks, quickly twisting the cloths about the necks of the
women. The cries of the latter were stilled almost instantly.
"Break away, you villains!" roared Dan Davis.
"Yes; chase yourselves or you'll get your faces slapped," added Sam.
"Vamoose! Allez vous--scat!"
"We're coming, ladies! Charge them, Sam! They're thugs! Look out for
yourself!"
"I've got one of them!" yelled Sam Hickey triumphantly.
In passing the horses he had sheered close to the fellow who was
holding them, hitting the man a blow on the jaw that tumbled him over in
a heap. The man did not rise, but Sam was too excited to notice the
fact.
"Whoop!" he howled, making a rush and coming up by his companion. "We're
the wild men from the land of the cowboy!"
The boys swept down on the robbers, the formers' fists working like the
piston rods of a locomotive.
The ruffians turned on them instantly.
"Quick! Into your carriage!" called Dan. He had neither the time nor
opportunity to assist the ladies in doing so. Both boys were now
altogether too busy to give further heed to the frightened women.
Smashing right and left, they fell upon the robbers.
Bang!
A bullet whistled close to the head of Sam Hickey. The latter made a
dive for the man who had fired the shot, and ere the fellow could pull
the trigger for another shot, Hickey's fist had struck him on the jaw,
laying the fellow flat on his back.
"Whoop!" howled the boy. "That's the way we do the thing in the good old
United States."
Dan was having a lively battle with two men, each of whom held a knife
in his hand and was making quick thrusts at the lad, who was quickly
diving in and out.
All at once Dan's foot came up. It caught one of the men on the wrist of
his knife hand. The fellow uttered a yell and his knife went soaring up
into the air. Dan tried to serve the other assailant in the same way,
but instead of reaching the man's wrist, the kick caught the fellow in
the stomach. This answered quite as well. With a groan the robber fell
down heavily.
"Lay in! We've got them!" yelled Davis.
"I am laying in," answered Sam. "Lay--lay in yourself. Whoop! That was a
beauty. I spun him like a top. He's spinning yet! Watch him, Dan!"
Dan knew better than to turn his head. Three desperate men were now
seeking to surround and put an end to his fighting abilities. Dan found
them more difficult to handle than he had those others who had gone down
under his sturdy blows.
In the meantime the women had sprung into their carriage, and the
driver, whipping up his horses, had started away.
Attracted by the uproar, a squad of gendarmes were bearing down on the
scene on the run.
"Robbers!" yelled the driver in French as he swept | 1,424.382669 |
2023-11-16 18:40:48.3642630 | 1,050 | 39 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tapio Riikonen
and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE WORKS OF APHRA BEHN, VOL. III
EDITED BY MONTAGUE SUMMERS
MCMXV
CONTENTS:
THE TOWN-<DW2>; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY
THE FALSE COUNT
THE LUCKY CHANCE; OR, AN ALDERMAN'S BARGAIN
THE FORC'D MARRIAGE; OR, THE JEALOUS BRIDEGROOM
THE EMPEROR OF THE MOON
NOTES
THE TOWN-<DW2>; OR, SIR TIMOTHY TAWDREY.
ARGUMENT.
Sir Timothy Tawdrey is by the wishes of his mother and the lady's father
designed for Celinda, who loves Bellmour, nephew to Lord Plotwell. A
coxcomb of the first water, Sir Timothy receives a sharp rebuff when he
opens his suit, and accordingly he challenges Bellmour, but fails to
appear at the place of meeting. Celinda's old nurse, at night, admits
Bellmour to her mistress' chamber, where they are surprized by
Friendlove, her brother, who is, however, favourable to the union, the
more so as he is a friend of Bellmour, and they have but newly returned
from travelling together in Italy. Lord Plotwell warmly welcomes his
nephew home, and proceeds to unfold his design of giving him his niece
Diana in marriage. When he demurs, the old lord threatens to deprive him
of his estate, and he is compelled eventually to acquiesce in the
matrimonial schemes of his guardian. Bellmour sends word to Celinda, who
replies in a heart-broken letter; and at the wedding feast Friendlove,
who himself is deeply enamoured of Diana, appears in disguise to observe
the traitor. He is followed by his sister disguised as a boy, and upon
Friendlove's drawing on Bellmour a scuffle ensues which, however, ends
without harm. In the nuptial chamber Bellmour informs Diana that he
cannot love her and she quits him maddened with rage and disappointment.
Sir Timothy serenades the newly-mated pair and is threatened by
Bellmour, whilst Celinda, who has been watching the house, attacks the
<DW2> and his fiddlers. During the brawl Diana issuing forth meets
Celinda, and taking her for a boy leads her into the house and shortly
makes advances of love. They are interrupted by Friendlove, disguised,
and he receives Diana's commands to seek out and challenge Bellmour. At
the same time he reveals his love as though he told the tale of another,
but he is met with scorn and only bidden to fight the husband who has
repulsed her. Bellmour, meantime, in despair and rage at his misery
plunges into reckless debauchery, and in company with Sir Timothy visits
a bagnio, where they meet Betty Flauntit, the knight's kept mistress,
and other cyprians. Hither they are tracked by Charles, Bellmour's
younger brother, and Trusty, Lord Plotwell's old steward. Sharp words
pass, the brothers fight and Charles is slighted wounded. Their Uncle
hears of this with much indignation, and at the same time receiving a
letter from Diana begging for a divorce, he announces his intention to
further her purpose, and to abandon wholly Charles and Phillis, his
sister, in consequence of their elder brother's conduct. Sir Timothy,
induced by old Trusty, begins a warm courtship of Phillis, and arranges
with a parasite named Sham to deceive her by a mock marriage. Sham,
however, procures a real parson, and Sir Timothy is for the moment
afraid he has got a wife without a dowry or portion. Lord Plotwell
eventually promises to provide for her, and at Diana's request, now she
recognizes her mistake in trying to hold a man who does not love her,
Bellmour is forgiven and allowed to wed Celinda as soon as the divorce
has been pronounced, whilst Diana herself rewards Friendlove with
her hand.
SOURCE.
_The Town-<DW2>; or, Sir Timothy Tawdrey_ is materially founded upon
George Wilkins' popular play, _The Miseries of Enforced Marriage_ (4to,
1607, 1611, 1629, 1637), reprinted in Dodsley. Sir Timothy himself is
moulded to some extent upon Sir Francis Ilford, but, as Geneste aptly
remarks, he may be considered a new character. In the older drama,
Clare, the original of Celinda, dies tragically of a broken heart. It
cannot be denied that Mrs. Behn has greatly improved Wilkins' scenes.
The well-drawn | 1,424.384303 |
2023-11-16 18:40:48.4570860 | 1,839 | 9 |
Produced by sp1nd, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
ANN ARBOR TALES
By
Karl Edwin Harriman
Philadelphia, George W. Jacobs and Company, MCMII
COPYRIGHT, 1902,
BY GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO.
_Published November, 1902._
_TO MY PARENTS_
Contents
PAGE
THE MAKING OF A MAN 11
THE KIDNAPPING 61
THE CHAMPIONS 97
THE CASE OF CATHERWOOD 123
THE DOOR--A NOCTURNE 177
A MODERN MERCURY 207
THE DAY OF THE GAME 259
THE OLD PROFESSOR 303
THE MAKING OF A MAN
Florence affected low candle-lights, glowing through softly tinted
shades, of pale-green, blue, old-rose, pink; for such low lights set
each coiled tress of her golden hair a-dancing--and Florence knew this.
The hangings in the little round room where she received her guests were
deeper than the shades, and the tapestry of the semi-circular
window-seat was red. It was in the arc of this that Florence was wont to
sit--the star amidst her satellites.
It was one's privilege to smoke in the little room, and somehow the odor
of the burned tobacco did not get into the draperies; nor filter through
the _portieres_ into the hall beyond; and the air of the _boudoir_ was
always cool and fresh and sweet.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday--every night--and Sunday most of all--there
were loungers on that window-seat, their faces half in shadow. It was
hard at such times to take one's eyes off Florence, sitting in the arc,
the soft light of old-rose moving across her cheek, creeping around her
white throat, leaping in her twisted hair, quivering in her blue, soft
eyes.
When she smiled, one thought in verse--if one were that sort--or,
perhaps, muttered, "Gad!" shiveringly under the breath.
Well may you--or I--shake our heads now and smile, albeit a bit sadly;
but then it was different. We have learned much, too much perhaps, and
the once keen edge of joy is dulled. But then we were young. Youth was
our inheritance and we spent it, flung it away, you say, as we knelt
before the Shrine of Beauty set up in a little round room where low
lights glimmered among deep shaded draperies.
We realized that it was a serious matter--a deadly serious matter; just
as did a score or more of our fellows on the campus in whose hearts, as
well, flared the flame of the fine young love that we were feeling in
our own.
For you--and I--loved Florence.
Dear little room! Dearest, dearest Florence! Many are the men who never
learned; in whose hearts your image is enshrined to-night. And few are
they who ever learned and really knew you, dear.
Some few thought they did and called you a "College Widow," because they
could remember a certain tall, dark-browed senior who danced ten times
with you at the Jay Hop of '87. Others were convinced through them; but
these were mostly freshmen upon whom you had not sought to work your
magic. How far wrong they were! Yet even you, Florence, I am thinking,
were wont, at least in blue moments, to take yourself at the scant
valuation these few saw fit to place upon you.
But in the end you, even, saw and understood.
I am glad, my dear, that I may tell the story. And if those who read it
here shall call it fiction, you, and Jim, and I, at least, shall know it
for the truth.
And then, when I have done, and you have put aside the book, to hide
your eyes from him who holds you fonder far than you can know, remember,
dear, the glory of it and be glad.
I
It was June.
The rain had been plentiful and the green things of earth rioted
joyously in their silent life. In the trees were many birds that sang
all day long, and in the night the moon was pale and the shadows were
ghostly and the air was sweet with roses that hung in pink profusion
from the trellis.
The grass was soft beneath the quick, light tread of the lads; and the
laughter of the summer-time was in the eyes of all the maids.
Many the gay straw-rides to the Lake; frequent and long the walks
through leafy lanes, down which the footfalls echoed; sweet the vigils
on the broad stone steps distributed about the campus with so much
regard for youthful lovers.
Too warm for dancing; too languorous for study, that June was made only
for swains and sweethearts.
At least Jack Houston thought as much, and casting an eye about the town
it chanced to fall upon fair Florence. Older than he by half-a-dozen
years--older still in the experience of her art--her blue eyes captured
him, the sheen of her soft hair, coiled high upon her head, dazzled him;
and the night of the day they met he forgot--quite forgot--that
half-a-dozen boon companions awaited him in a dingy, hot room down-town,
among whom he was to have been the ruling spirit--a party of vain
misguided youths of his own class, any one of whom he could drink under
the table at a sitting, and nearly all of whom he had.
The next night, however, he was of the party and led the roistering and
drank longer, harder than the rest, until--in the little hours of the
new day--sodden, unsteady, he found his way to his room, where he flung
himself heavily upon his bed to sleep until the noonday sun mercifully
cast a beam across his heavy eyes and wakened him.
This life he had led for two years and now his face had lines; his eyes
lacked lustre; his hand trembled when he rolled his cigarettes, but his
brain was keener, his intelligence subtler, than ever. The wick of his
mental lamp was submerged in alcohol and the light it gave seemed
brighter for it. There were those who shook their heads when his name
was mentioned; while others only laughed and called it the way of youth
unrestrained.
There was only one who seemed to see the end--Crowley--Houston's
room-mate, nearest pal--as unlike him as white is unlike black, and
therefore, perhaps, more fondly loving. It was because he loved him as
he did that Crowley saw--saw the end as clearly as he saw the printed
page before his eyes, and shuddered at the sight. He saw a brilliant
mind dethroned; a splendid body ruined; a father killed with grief--and
seeing, thus, he was glad that Houston's mother had passed away while he
was yet a little, brown-eyed, red-cheeked boy.
His misgivings heavy upon his heart, he spoke of them to Florence. At
first, her eyes glinted a cold harsh light, but as he talked on and on,
fervently, passionately, that light went out, and another came that
burned brighter, as he cried:
"Oh, can't something be done? _Something?_"
They walked on a way in silence, and then she said, quietly, as was her
manner, always: "Do you think I could help?"
He seized her hand and she looked up into his eyes, smiling.
"Oh, if you could!" he cried; and then: "Would you try?" But before she
could answer he flung down her hand saying: "But no, you couldn't; what
was I thinking of!"
They were walking by the river to the east, where, on the right, the
hill rose sheer--a tangle of vivid green--from the heart of which a
spring leapt and tinkled over smooth, white pebbles, to lose itself
again in the earth below, bubbling noisily.
At his expression, or, more at the tone he employed in its utterance,
she sh | 1,424.477126 |
2023-11-16 18:40:48.4582720 | 6,673 | 14 | Project Gutenberg Etext of The Ordeal of Richard Feverel by Meredith, v5
#16 in our series by George Meredith
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THE ORDEAL OF RICHARD FEVEREL
By George Meredith
1905
BOOK 5.
XXXIV. CONQUEST OF AN EPICURE
XXXV. CLARE'S MARRIAGE
XXXVI. A DINNER-PARTY AT RICHMOND
XXXVII. MRS. BERRY ON MATRIMONY
XXXVIII. AN ENCHANTRESS
CHAPTER XXXIV
It was the month of July. The Solent ran up green waves before a full-
blowing South-wester. Gay little yachts bounded out like foam, and
flashed their sails, light as sea-nymphs. A crown of deep Summer blue
topped the flying mountains of cloud.
By an open window that looked on the brine through nodding roses, our
young bridal pair were at breakfast, regaling worthily, both of them.
Had the Scientific Humanist observed them, he could not have contested
the fact, that as a couple who had set up to be father and mother of
Britons, they were doing their duty. Files of egg-cups with
disintegrated shells bore witness to it, and they were still at work,
hardly talking from rapidity of exercise. Both were dressed for an
expedition. She had her bonnet on, and he his yachting-hat. His sleeves
were turned over at the wrists, and her gown showed its lining on her
lap. At times a chance word might spring a laugh, but eating was the
business of the hour, as I would have you to know it always will be where
Cupid is in earnest. Tribute flowed in to them from the subject land.
Neglected lies Love's penny-whistle on which they played so prettily and
charmed the spheres to hear them. What do they care for the spheres, who
have one another? Come, eggs! come, bread and butter! come, tea with
sugar in it and milk! and welcome, the jolly hours. That is a fair
interpretation of the music in them just now. Yonder instrument was good
only for the overture. After all, what finer aspiration can lovers have,
than to be free man and woman in the heart of plenty? And is it not a
glorious level to have attained? Ah, wretched Scientific Humanist! not
to be by and mark the admirable sight of these young creatures feeding.
It would have been a spell to exorcise the Manichee, methinks.
The mighty performance came to an end, and then, with a flourish of his
table-napkin, husband stood over wife, who met him on the confident
budding of her mouth. The poetry of mortals is their daily prose. Is it
not a glorious level to have attained? A short, quick-blooded kiss,
radiant, fresh, and honest as Aurora, and then Richard says without lack
of cheer, "No letter to-day, my Lucy!" whereat her sweet eyes dwell on
him a little seriously, but he cries, "Never mind! he'll be coming down
himself some morning. He has only to know her, and all's well! eh?" and
so saying he puts a hand beneath her chin, and seems to frame her fair
face in fancy, she smiling up to be looked at.
"But one thing I do want to ask my darling," says Lucy, and dropped into
his bosom with hands of petition. "Take me on board his yacht with him
to-day--not leave me with those people! Will he? I'm a good sailor, he
knows!"
"The best afloat!" laughs Richard, hugging her, "but, you know, you
darling bit of a sailor, they don't allow more than a certain number on
board for the race, and if they hear you've been with me, there'll be
cries of foul play! Besides, there's Lady Judith to talk to you about
Austin, and Lord Mountfalcon's compliments for you to listen to, and Mr.
Morton to take care of you."
Lucy's eyes fixed sideways an instant.
"I hope I don't frown and blush as I did?" she said, screwing her pliable
brows up to him winningly, and he bent his cheek against hers, and
murmured something delicious.
"And we shall be separated for--how many hours? one, two, three hours!"
she pouted to his flatteries.
"And then I shall come on board to receive my bride's congratulations."
"And then my husband will talk all the time to Lady Judith."
"And then I shall see my wife frowning and blushing at Lord Mountfalcon."
"Am I so foolish, Richard?" she forgot her trifling to ask in an earnest
way, and had another Aurorean kiss, just brushing the dew on her lips,
for answer.
After hiding a month in shyest shade, the pair of happy sinners had
wandered forth one day to look on men and marvel at them, and had chanced
to meet Mr. Morton of Poer Hall, Austin Wentworth's friend, and Ralph's
uncle. Mr. Morton had once been intimate with the baronet, but had given
him up for many years as impracticable and hopeless, for which reason he
was the more inclined to regard Richard's misdemeanour charitably, and to
lay the faults of the son on the father; and thinking society to be the
one thing requisite to the young man, he had introduced him to the people
he knew in the island; among others to the Lady Judith Felle, a fair
young dame, who introduced him to Lord Mountfalcon, a puissant nobleman;
who introduced him to the yachtsmen beginning to congregate; so that in a
few weeks he found himself in the centre of a brilliant company, and for
the first time in his life tasted what it was to have free intercourse
with his fellow-creatures of both sews. The son of a System was,
therefore, launched; not only through the surf, but in deep waters.
Now the baronet had so far compromised between the recurrence of his
softer feelings and the suggestions of his new familiar, that he had
determined to act toward Richard with justness. The world called it
magnanimity, and even Lady Blandish had some thoughts of the same kind
when she heard that he had decreed to Richard a handsome allowance, and
had scouted Mrs. Doria's proposal for him to contest the legality of the
marriage; but Sir Austin knew well he was simply just in not withholding
money from a youth so situated. And here again the world deceived him by
embellishing his conduct. For what is it to be just to whom we love! He
knew it was not magnanimous, but the cry of the world somehow fortified
him in the conceit that in dealing perfect justice to his son he was
doing all that was possible, because so much more than common fathers
would have done. He had shut his heart.
Consequently Richard did not want money. What he wanted more, and did
not get, was a word from his father, and though he said nothing to sadden
his young bride, she felt how much it preyed upon him to be at variance
with the man whom, now that he had offended him and gone against him, he
would have fallen on his knees to; the man who was as no other man to
him. She heard him of nights when she lay by his side, and the darkness,
and the broken mutterings, of those nights clothed the figure of the
strange stern man in her mind. Not that it affected the appetites of the
pretty pair. We must not expect that of Cupid enthroned and in
condition; under the influence of sea-air, too. The files of egg-cups
laugh at such an idea. Still the worm did gnaw them. Judge, then, of
their delight when, on this pleasant morning, as they were issuing from
the garden of their cottage to go down to the sea, they caught sight of
Tom Bakewell rushing up the road with a portmanteau on his shoulders,
and, some distance behind him, discerned Adrian.
"It's all right!" shouted Richard, and ran off to meet him, and never
left his hand till he had hauled him up, firing questions at him all the
way, to where Lucy stood.
"Lucy! this is Adrian, my cousin."--"Isn't he an angel?" his eyes seemed
to add; while Lucy's clearly answered, "That he is!"
The full-bodied angel ceremoniously bowed to her, and acted with reserved
unction the benefactor he saw in their greetings. "I think we are not
strangers," he was good enough to remark, and very quickly let them know
he had not breakfasted; on hearing which they hurried him into the house,
and Lucy put herself in motion to have him served.
"Dear old Rady," said Richard, tugging at his hand again, "how glad I am
you've come! I don't mind telling you we've been horridly wretched."
"Six, seven, eight, nine eggs," was Adrian's comment on a survey of the
breakfast-table.
"Why wouldn't he write? Why didn't he answer one of my letters? But
here you are, so I don't mind now. He wants to see us, does he? We'll
go up to-night. I've a match on at eleven; my little yacht--I've called
her the 'Blandish'--against Fred Cuirie's 'Begum.' I shall beat, but
whether I do or not, we'll go up to-night. What's the news? What are
they all doing?"
"My dear boy!" Adrian returned, sitting comfortably down, "let me put
myself a little more on an equal footing with you before I undertake to
reply. Half that number of eggs will be sufficient for an unmarried man,
and then we'll talk. They're all very well, as well as I can recollect
after the shaking my total vacuity has had this morning. I came over by
the first boat, and the sea, the sea has made me love mother earth, and
desire of her fruits."
Richard fretted restlessly opposite his cool relative.
"Adrian! what did he say when he heard of it? I want to know exactly
what words he said."
"Well says the sage, my son! 'Speech is the small change of Silence.'
He said less than I do."
"That's how he took it!" cried Richard, and plunged in meditation.
Soon the table was cleared, and laid out afresh, and Lucy preceded the
maid bearing eggs on the tray, and sat down unbonneted, and like a
thorough-bred housewife, to pour out the tea for him.
"Now we'll commence," said Adrian, tapping his egg with meditative
cheerfulness; but his expression soon changed to one of pain, all the
more alarming for his benevolent efforts to conceal it. Could it be
possible the egg was bad? oh, horror! Lucy watched him, and waited in
trepidation.
"This egg has boiled three minutes and three-quarters," he observed,
ceasing to contemplate it.
"Dear, dear!" said Lucy, "I boiled them myself exactly that time.
Richard likes them so. And you like them hard, Mr. Harley?"
"On the contrary, I like them soft. Two minutes and a half, or three-
quarters at the outside. An egg should never rashly verge upon hardness-
-never. Three minutes is the excess of temerity."
"If Richard had told me! If I had only known!" the lovely little hostess
interjected ruefully, biting her lip.
"We mustn't expect him to pay attention to such matters," said Adrian,
trying to smile.
"Hang it! there are more eggs in the house," cried Richard, and pulled
savagely at the bell.
Lucy jumped up, saying, "Oh, yes! I will go and boil some exactly the
time you like. Pray let me go, Mr. Harley."
Adrian restrained her departure with a motion of his hand. "No," he
said, "I will be ruled by Richard's tastes, and heaven grant me his
digestion!"
Lucy threw a sad look at Richard, who stretched on a sofa, and left the
burden of the entertainment entirely to her. The eggs were a melancholy
beginning, but her ardour to please Adrian would not be damped, and she
deeply admired his resignation. If she failed in pleasing this glorious
herald of peace, no matter by what small misadventure, she apprehended
calamity; so there sat this fair dove with brows at work above her
serious smiling blue eyes, covertly studying every aspect of the plump-
faced epicure, that she might learn to propitiate him. "He shall not
think me timid and stupid," thought this brave girl, and indeed Adrian
was astonished to find that she could both chat and be useful, as well as
look ornamental. When he had finished one egg, behold, two fresh ones
came in, boiled according to his prescription. She had quietly given her
orders to the maid, and he had them without fuss. Possibly his look of
dismay at the offending eggs had not been altogether involuntary, and her
woman's instinct, inexperienced as she was, may have told her that he had
come prepared to be not very well satisfied with anything in Love's
cottage. There was mental faculty in those pliable brows to see through,
and combat, an unwitting wise youth.
How much she had achieved already she partly divined when Adrian said: "I
think now I'm in case to answer your questions, my dear boy--thanks to
Mrs. Richard," and he bowed to her his first direct acknowledgment of her
position. Lucy thrilled with pleasure.
"Ah!" cried Richard, and settled easily on his back.
"To begin, the Pilgrim has lost his Note-book, and has been persuaded to
offer a reward which shall maintain the happy finder thereof in an asylum
for life. Benson--superlative Benson--has turned his shoulders upon
Raynham. None know whither he has departed. It is believed that the
sole surviving member of the sect of the Shaddock-Dogmatists is under a
total eclipse of Woman."
"Benson gone?" Richard exclaimed. "What a tremendous time it seems since
I left Raynham!"
"So it is, my dear boy. The honeymoon is Mahomet's minute; or say, the
Persian King's water-pail that you read of in the story: You dip your
head in it, and when you draw it out, you discover that you have lived a
life. To resume your uncle Algernon still roams in pursuit of the lost
one--I should say, hops. | 1,424.478312 |
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IN BAD COMPANY
AND OTHER STORIES
THE WORKS OF
ROLF BOLDREWOOD
UNIFORM EDITION
_Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. each._
ROBBERY UNDER ARMS.
A COLONIAL REFORMER.
THE MINER'S RIGHT.
A MODERN BUCCANEER.
NEVERMORE.
THE SQUATTER'S DREAM.
A SYDNEY-SIDE SAXON.
OLD MELBOURNE MEMORIES.
MY RUN HOME.
THE SEALSKIN CLOAK.
THE CROOKED STICK; OR, POLLIE'S PROBATION.
PLAIN LIVING.
A ROMANCE OF CANVAS TOWN.
WAR TO THE KNIFE.
BABES IN THE BUSH.
IN BAD COMPANY, AND OTHER STORIES.
* * * * *
THE SPHINX OF EAGLEHAWK: A TALE OF OLD BENDIGO. Fcap. 8vo. 2s.
THE GHOST CAMP; OR, THE AVENGERS. Cr. 8vo. 6s.
MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD., LONDON.
IN BAD COMPANY
AND OTHER STORIES
BY
ROLF BOLDREWOOD
AUTHOR OF
'ROBBERY UNDER ARMS,' 'THE MINER'S RIGHT,' 'THE SQUATTER'S DREAM,'
'A COLONIAL REFORMER,' ETC.
London
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
1903
_All rights reserved_
_First Edition 1901_
_Re-issue 1903_
CONTENTS
PAGE
IN BAD COMPANY 1
MORGAN THE BUSHRANGER 135
HOW I BECAME A BUTCHER 146
MOONLIGHTING ON THE MACQUARIE 165
AN AUSTRALIAN ROUGHRIDING CONTEST 174
THE MAILMAN'S YARN 182
DEAR DERMOT 190
THE STORY OF AN OLD LOG-BOOK 199
A KANGAROO SHOOT 208
FIVE MEN'S LIVES FOR ONE HORSE 214
REEDY LAKE STATION 220
A FORGOTTEN TRAGEDY 234
THE HORSE YOU DON'T SEE NOW 241
HOW I BEGAN TO WRITE 249
A MOUNTAIN FOREST 255
THE FREE SELECTOR—A COMEDIETTA 261
BUSH HOSPITALITY 282
LAPSED GENTLEFOLK 288
SHEARING IN RIVERINA, NEW SOUTH WALES 296
ANCIENT SYDNEY 321
AFTER LONG YEARS 335
IN THE DROVING DAYS 341
THE AUSTRALIAN NATIVE-BORN TYPE 351
MY SCHOOL DAYS 360
SYDNEY FIFTY YEARS AGO 369
OLD TIME THOROUGHBREDS 377
THE FIRST PORT FAIRY HUNT 387
BENDEMEER 398
SPORT IN AUSTRALIA 407
OLD STOCK-RIDERS 415
MOUNT MACEDON 422
WALKS ABROAD 430
FROM TUMUT TO TUMBERUMBA 437
IN THE THROES OF A DROUGHT 444
A SPRING SKETCH 449
NEW YEAR'S DAY 1886 455
A DRY TIME 461
AUSTRALIAN COLLIES 466
IN THE BLOOM OF THE YEAR 474
FALLEN AMONG THIEVES 481
A TRANSFORMATION SCENE 491
IN BUSHRANGING DAYS 501
IN BAD COMPANY
CHAPTER I
Bill Hardwick was as fine a specimen of an Australian as you could find
in a day's march. Active as a cat and strong withal, he was mostly
described as 'a real good all-round chap, that you couldn't put wrong at
any kind of work that a man could be asked to do.'
He could plough and reap, dig and mow, put up fences and huts, break in
horses and drive bullocks; he could milk cows and help in the dairy as
handily as a woman. These and other accomplishments he was known to
possess, and being a steady, sensible fellow, was always welcome when
work was needed and a good man valued. Besides all this he was the
fastest and the best shearer in the district of Tumut, New South Wales,
where he was born, as had been his father and mother before him. So that
he was a true Australian in every sense of the word.
It could not be said that the British race had degenerated as far as he
was concerned. Six feet high, broad-chested, light-flanked, and standing
on his legs like a gamecock, he was always ready to fight or work, run,
ride or swim, in fact to tackle any muscular exercise in the world at
the shortest notice.
Bill had always been temperate, declining to spend his earnings to
enrich the easy-going township publican, whose mode of gaining a living
struck him as being too far removed from that of honest toil. Such being
his principles and mode of life, he had put by a couple of hundred
pounds, and 'taken up a selection.' This means (in Australia) that he
had conditionally purchased three hundred and twenty acres of Crown
Land, had paid up two shillings per acre of the upset price, leaving the
balance of eighteen shillings, to be paid off when convenient. He had
constructed thereon, chiefly with his own hands, a comfortable,
four-roomed cottage, of the'slab' architecture of the period, and after
fencing in his property and devoting the proceeds of a couple of
shearings to a modest outlay in furniture, had married Jenny Dawson, a
good-looking, well-conducted young woman, whom he had known ever since
he was big enough to crack a stockwhip.
In her way she was as clever and capable; exceptionally well adapted for
the position of a farmer's wife, towards which occupation her birth and
surroundings had tended. She was strong and enduring in her way, as were
her husband and brothers in theirs. She could milk cows and make
excellent butter, wasn't afraid of a turbulent heifer in the dairy herd,
or indisposed to rise before daylight in the winter mornings and drive
in the milkers through the wet or frozen grass. She could catch and
saddle her own riding-horse or drive the spring cart along an
indifferent road to the country town. She knew all about the rearing of
calves, pigs, and poultry; could salt beef and cure bacon—in a general
way attend to all the details of a farm. Her father had acquired a small
grant in the early colonial days, and from its produce and profits
reared a family of healthy boys and girls.
They had not been educated up to the State school standard now
considered necessary for every dweller in town or country, but they
could read and write decently; had also such knowledge of arithmetic as
enabled them to keep their modest accounts. Such having been the early
training of Bill's helpmate, it was a fair augury that, with luck and
good conduct, they were as likely as any young couple of their age to
prosper reasonably, so as eventually to acquire a competence, or even,
as indeed not a few of their old friends and neighbours had done, to
attain to that enviable position generally described as'making a
fortune.'
For the first few years nothing could have been more promising than the
course of affairs at Chidowla or 'Appletree Flat,' as their homestead
was formerly named, in consequence of the umbrageous growth of the
'angophora' in the meadow by the mountain creek, which bordered their
farm. Bill stayed at home and worked steadily, until he had put in his
crop. He cleared and cultivated a larger piece of ground with each
succeeding year. The seasons were genial, and the rainfall, though
occasionally precarious, did not, during this period, show any
diminution. But annually, before the first spring month came round, Bill
saddled the old mare, and leading a less valuable or perhaps half-broken
young horse, packed his travelling'swag' upon it and started off for
the shearing. Jenny did not particularly like being left alone for three
months or perhaps four, with no one but the children, for by this time a
sturdy boy and baby girl had been added to the household. But Bill
brought home such a welcome addition to the funds in the shape of the
squatters' cheques, that she hid her uneasiness and discomfort from him,
only hoping, as she said, that some day, if matters went on as they were
going, they would be able to do without the shearing money, and Bill
could afford to stop with his wife and children all the year round. That
was what _she_ would like.
So time went on, till after one more shearing, Bill began to think about
buying the next selection, which an improvident neighbour would shortly
be forced to sell, owing to his drinking habits and too great fondness
for country race meetings.
The soil of the land so handily situated was better than their own, and,
as an adjoining farm, could be managed without additional expense.
The 'improvements' necessary for holding it under the lenient land laws
of New South Wales had been effected.
They were not particularly valuable, but they had been passed by the
Inspector of Conditional Purchases, who was not too hard on a poor man,
if he made his selection his '_bona fide_ home and residence.' This
condition Mr. Dick Donahue certainly had fulfilled as far as locating
his hard-working wife Bridget and half-a-dozen bare-legged, ragged
children thereon, with very little to eat sometimes, while he was acting
as judge at a bush race meeting, or drinking recklessly at the
public-house in the township.
So now the end had come. The place was mortgaged up to its full value
with the bank at Talmorah, the manager of which had refused to advance
another shilling upon it.
The storekeeper, who had a bill of sale over the furniture, horses and
cows, plough, harrow, and winnowing machine, had decided to sell him up.
The butcher and the baker, despairing of getting their bills paid,
declined further orders. Poor Bridget had been lately feeding herself
and the children on milk and potatoes, last year's bacon, and what eggs
the fowls, not too well fed themselves, kindly produced.
Jenny had helped them many a time, from womanly pity. But for her, they
would often have been without the 'damper' bread, which served to fill
up crevices with the hungry brood—not that she expected return or
payment, but as she said, 'How could I see the poor things hungry, while
we have a snug home and all we can eat and drink?'
Then she would mentally compare Bill's industry with Dick's neglect, and
a feeling of wifely pride would thrill her heart as she returned to her
comfortable cottage and put her children, always neatly dressed, to
sleep in their clean cots.
As she sat before the fire, near the trimly-swept hearth, which looked
so pleasant and homely, though there was but a wooden slab chimney
with a stone facing, a vision arose before her of prosperous days when
they would have a ring fence round their own and the Donahues'
farm—perhaps even an 'additional conditional lease,' to be freehold
eventually—afterwards a flock of sheep and who knows what in the years
to come.
'The Donahues, poor things, would have to sell and go away, that was
certain; _they_ couldn't prevent them being sold up—and, of course, Bill
might as well buy it as another. The bank manager, Mr. Calthorpe, would
sell the place, partly on credit, trusting Bill for the remainder, with
security on both farms, because he was sober and industrious. Indeed, he
told Bill so last week. What a thing it was to have a good name! When
she thought of the way other women's husbands "knocked down" their money
after shearing, forty and fifty pounds, even more, in a week's drunken
bout, she felt that she could not be too thankful.
'Now Bill, when shearing was over, generally took a small sum in
cash—just enough to see him home, and paid in the cheque for the
season's shearing to his bank account. It was over sixty pounds last
year, for he sold his spare horse—a thirty-shilling colt out of the
pound, that he had broken in himself—to the overseer, for ten guineas,
and rode home on the old mare, who, being fat and frolicsome after her
spell, "carried him and his swag first-rate."
'As to the two farms, no doubt it would give them all they knew, at
first, to live and pay interest. But other people could do it, and why
shouldn't they? Look at the Mullers! The bark hut they lived in for the
first few years is still there. They kept tools, seed potatoes, odds and
ends in it now. Next, they built a snug four-roomed slab cottage, with
an iron roof. That's used for the kitchen and men's room. For they've
got a fine brick house, with a verandah and grand furniture, and a big
orchard and more land, and a flock of sheep and a dairy and a buggy
and—everything. How I should like a buggy to drive myself and the
children to the township! Wouldn't it be grand? To be sure they're
Germans, and it's well known they work harder and save more than us
natives. But what one man and woman can do, another ought to be able
for, I say!'
And here Jenny shut her mouth with a resolute expression and worked away
at her needle till bedtime. Things were going on comfortably with this
meritorious young couple, and Bill was getting ready to start for the
annual trip 'down the river,' as it was generally described. This was a
region distant three hundred miles from the agricultural district where
the little homestead had been created. The 'down the river' woolsheds
were larger and less strictly managed (so report said) than those of the
more temperate region, which lay near the sources of the great rivers.
In some of them as many as one hundred, two hundred, even three hundred
thousand sheep were annually shorn. And as the fast shearers would do
from a hundred to a hundred and fifty sheep per day, it may be
calculated, at the rate of one pound per hundred, what a nice little
cheque would be coming to every man after a season's shearing. More
particularly if the weather was fine.
Bill was getting ready to start on the following morning when a man
named Janus Stoate arrived, whom he knew pretty well, having more than
once shorn in the same shed with him.
He was a cleverish, talkative fellow, with some ability and more
assurance, qualities which attract steady-going, unimaginative men like
Bill, who at once invited him to stay till the morning, when they could
travel together. Stoate cheerfully assented, and on the morrow they took
the road after breakfast, much to Mrs. Hardwick's annoyance, who did not
care for the arrangement. For, with feminine intuition, she distrusted
Janus Stoate, about whom she and her husband had had arguments.
He was a Londoner—an 'assisted' emigrant, a radical socialist, brought
out at the expense of the colony. For which service he was so little
grateful that he spoke disrespectfully of all the authorities, from the
Governor downward, and indeed, as it seemed to her, of respectable
people of every rank and condition. Now Jenny, besides being naturally
an intelligent young woman, utilised her leisure hours during her
husband's absence, for reading the newspapers, as well as any books she
could get at. She had indeed more brains than he had, which gift she
owed to an Irish grandmother. And though she did by no means attempt to
rule him, her advice was always listened to and considered.
'I wish you were going with some one else,' she said with an air of
vexation. 'It's strange that that Stoate should come, just on your last
evening at home. I don't like him a little bit. He's just artful enough
to persuade you men that he's going to do something great with this
"Australian Shearers' Union" that I see so much about in the newspapers.
I don't believe in him, and so I tell you, Bill!'
'I know you don't like Unions,' he answered, 'but see what they've done
for the working classes! What could we shearers have done without ours?'
' | 1,424.480495 |
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THE VALLEY OF VISION
A Book Of Romance
And Some Half-Told Tales
By Henry Van <DW18>
_"Your old men shall dream dreams,
Your young men shall see visions."_
TO MY CHILDREN
AND CHILDREN'S CHILDREN
WHO MAY REMEMBER THESE TROUBLOUS TIMES WHEN WE ARE GONE ON NEW ADVENTURE
PREFACE
"Why do you choose such a title as _The Valley of Vision_ for
your book," said my friend; "do you mean that one can see farther
from the valley than from the mountain-top?"
This question set me thinking, as every honest question ought to
do. Here is the result of my thoughts, which you will take for what
it is worth, if you care to read the book.
The mountain-top is the place of outlook over the earth and the sea.
But it is in the valley of suffering, endurance, and self-sacrifice
that the deepest visions of the meaning of life come to us.
I take the outcome of this Twentieth Century War as a victory over
the mad illusion of world-dominion which the Germans saw from
the peak of their military power in 1914. The united force of the
Allies has grown, through valley-visions of right and justice and
human kindness, into an irresistible might before which the German
"will to power" has gone down in ruin.
There are some Half-Told Tales in the volume--fables, fantasies--mere
sketches, grave and gay, on the margin of the book of life,
"Where more is meant than meets the ear."
Dreams have a part in most of the longer stories. That is because
I believe dreams have a part in real life. Some of them we remember
as vividly as any actual experience. These belong to the imperfect
sleep. But others we do not remember, because they are given to
us in that perfect sleep in which the soul is liberated, and goes
visiting. Yet sometimes we get a trace of them, by a happy chance,
and often their influence remains with us in that spiritual refreshment
with which we awake from profound slumber. This is the meaning of
that verse in the old psalm: "He giveth to His beloved in sleep."
The final story in the book was written before the War of 1914
began, and it has to do with the Light of the World, leading us
through conflict and suffering towards Peace.
AVALON, November 24, 1918.
CONTENTS
A Remembered Dream
Antwerp Road
A City of Refuge
A Sanctuary of Trees
The King's High Way
HALF-TOLD TALES
The Traitor in the House
Justice of the Elements
Ashes of Vengeance
The Broken Soldier and the Maid of France
The Hearing Ear
Sketches of Quebec
A Classic Instance
HALF-TOLD TALES
The New Era and Carry On
The Primitive and His Sandals
Diana and the Lions
The Hero and Tin Soldiers
Salvage Point
The Boy of Nazareth Dreams
ILLUSTRATIONS
The sails and smoke-stacks of great shift were visible, all passing
out to sea
The cathedral spire... was swaying and rocking in the air like the
mast of a ship at sea
All were fugitives, anxious to be gone... and making no more speed
than a creeping snail's pace of unutterable fatigue
"I will ask you to choose between your old home and your new home
now"
"I'm going to carry you in,'spite of hell"
"I was a lumberjack"
"I am going to become a virtuous peasant, a son of the soil, a
primitive"
The Finding of Christ in the Temple
A REMEMBERED DREAM
This is the story of a dream that came to me some five-and-twenty
years ago. It is as vivid in memory as anything that I have ever
seen in the outward world, as distinct as any experience through
which I have ever passed. Not all dreams are thus remembered. But
some are. In the records of the mind, where the inner chronicle of
life is written, they are intensely clear and veridical. I shall
try to tell the story of this dream with an absolute faithfulness,
adding nothing and leaving nothing out, but writing the narrative
just as if the thing were real.
Perhaps it was. Who can say?
In the course of a journey, of the beginning and end of which
I know nothing, I had come to a great city, whose name, if it was
ever told me, I cannot recall.
It was evidently a very ancient place. The dwelling-houses and
larger buildings were gray and beautiful with age, and the streets
wound in and out among them wonderfully, like a maze.
This city lay beside a river or estuary--though that was something
that I did not find out until later, as you will see--and the newer
part of the town extended mainly on a wide, bare street running
along a kind of low cliff or embankment, where the basements of
the small houses on the water-side went down, below the level of
the street, to the shore. But the older part of the town was closely
and intricately built, with gabled roofs and heavy carved facades
hanging over the narrow stone-paved ways, which here and there
led out suddenly into open squares.
It was in what appeared to be the largest and most important of
these squares that I was standing, a little before midnight. I
had left my wife and our little girl in the lodging which we had
found, and walked out alone to visit the sleeping town.
The night sky was clear, save for a few filmy clouds, which floated
over the face of the full moon, obscuring it for an instant, but
never completely hiding it--like veils in a shadow dance. The spire
of the great cathedral was silver filigree on the moonlit side, and
on the other side, black lace. The square was empty. But on the
broad, shallow steps in front of the main entrance of the cathedral
two heroic figures were seated. At first I thought they were statues.
Then I perceived they were alive, and talking earnestly together.
They were like Greek gods, very strong and beautiful, and naked
but for some slight drapery that fell snow-white around them. They
glistened in the moonlight. I could not hear what they were saying;
yet I could see that they were in a dispute which went to the very
roots of life.
They resembled each other strangely in form and feature--like twin
brothers. But the face of one was noble, lofty, calm, full of a vast
regret and compassion. The face of the other was proud, resentful,
drawn with passion. He appeared to be accusing and renouncing his
companion, breaking away from an ancient friendship in a swift,
implacable hatred. But the companion seemed to plead with him,
and lean toward him, and try to draw him closer.
A strange fear and sorrow shook my heart. I felt that this
mysterious contest was something of immense importance; a secret,
ominous strife; a menace to the world.
Then the two figures stood up, marvellously alike in strength and
beauty, yet absolutely different in expression and bearing, the
one serene and benignant, the other fierce and threatening. The
quiet one was still pleading, with a hand laid upon the other's
shoulder. But he shook it off, and thrust his companion away with
a proud, impatient gesture.
At last I heard him speak.
"I have done with you," he cried. "I do not believe in you. I have
no more need of you. I renounce you. I will live without you. Away
forever out of my life!"
At this a look of ineffable sorrow and pity came upon the great
companion's face.
"You are free," he answered. "I have only besought you, never
constrained you. Since you will have it so, I must leave you, now,
to yourself."
He rose into the air, still looking downward with wise eyes full
of grief and warning, until he vanished in silence beyond the thin
clouds.
The other did not look up, but lifting his head with a defiant
laugh, shook his shoulders as if they were free of a burden. He
strode swiftly around the corner of the cathedral and disappeared
among the deep shadows.
A sense of intolerable calamity fell upon me. I said to myself:
"That was Man! And the other was God! And they have parted!"
Then the multitude of bells hidden in the lace-work of the high
tower began to sound. It was not the aerial fluttering music of
the carillon that I remembered hearing long ago from the belfries
of the Low Countries. This was a confused and strident ringing,
jangled and broken, full of sudden tumults and discords, as if the
tower were shaken and the bells gave out their notes at hazard, in
surprise and trepidation.
It stopped as suddenly as it began. The great bell of the hours
struck twelve. The windows of the cathedral glowed faintly with a
light from within.
"It is New Year's Eve," I thought--although I knew perfectly well
that the time was late summer. I had seen that though the leaves
on the trees of the square were no longer fresh, they had not yet
fallen.
I was certain that I must go into the cathedral. The western
entrance was shut. I hurried to the south side. The dark, low door
of the transept was open. I went in. The building was dimly lighted
by huge candles which flickered and smoked like torches. I noticed
that one of them, fastened against a pillar, was burning crooked,
and the tallow ran down its side in thick white tears.
The nave of the church was packed with a vast throng of people,
all standing, closely crowded together, like the undergrowth in
a forest. The rood-screen was open, or broken down, I could not
tell which. The choir was bare, like a clearing in the woods, and
filled with blazing light.
On the high steps, with his back to the altar, stood Man, his face
gleaming with pride.
"I am the Lord!" he cried. "There is none above me! No law, no God!
Man is power. Man is the highest of all!"
A tremor of wonder and dismay, of excitement and division, shivered
through the crowd. Some covered their faces. Others stretched
out their hands. Others shook their fists in the air. A tumult of
voices broke from the multitude--voices of exultation, and anger,
and horror, and strife.
The floor of the cathedral was moved and lifted by a mysterious
ground-swell. The pillars trembled and wavered. The candles flared
and went out. The crowd, stricken dumb with a panic fear, rushed
to the doors, burst open the main entrance, and struggling in furious
silence poured out of the building. I was swept along with them,
striving to keep on my feet.
One thought possessed me. I must get to my wife and child, save
them, bring them out of this accursed city.
As I hurried across the square I looked up at the cathedral spire.
It was swaying and rocking in the air like the mast of a ship
at sea. The lace-work fell from it in blocks of stone. The people
rushed screaming through the rain of death. Many were struck down,
and lay where they fell.
I ran as fast as I could. But it was impossible to run far. Every
street and alley vomited men--all struggling together, fighting,
shouting, or shrieking, striking one another down, trampling over
the fallen--a hideous melee. There was an incessant rattling noise
in the air, and heavier peals as of thunder shook the houses. Here
a wide rent yawned in a wall--there a roof caved in--the windows
fell into the street in showers of broken glass.
How I got through this inferno I do not know. Buffeted and blinded,
stumbling and scrambling to my feet again, turning this way or
that way to avoid the thickest centres of the strife, oppressed and
paralyzed by a feeling of impotence that put an iron band around
my heart, driven always by the intense longing to reach my wife and
child, somehow I had a sense of struggling on. Then I came into a
quieter quarter of the town, and ran until I reached the lodging
where I had left them.
They were waiting just inside the door, anxious and trembling. But
I was amazed to find them so little panic-stricken. The little girl
had her doll in her arms.
[Illustration with caption: The cathedral spire... was swaying and
rocking in the air like the mast of a ship at sea.] "What is it?"
asked my wife. "What must we do?"
"Come," I cried. "Something frightful has happened here. I can't
explain now. We must get away at once. Come, quickly."
Then I took a hand of each and we hastened through the streets,
vaguely steering away from the centre of the city.
Presently we came into that wide new street of mean houses, of
which I have already spoken. There were a few people in it, but
they moved heavily and feebly, as if some mortal illness lay upon
them. Their faces were pale and haggard with a helpless anxiety to
escape more quickly. The houses seemed half deserted. The shades
were drawn, the doors closed.
But since it was all so quiet, I thought that we might find some
temporary shelter there. So I knocked at the door of a house where
there was a dim light behind the drawn shade in one of the windows.
After a while the door was opened by a woman who held the end of
her shawl across her mouth. All that I could see was the black
sorrow of her eyes.
"Go away," she said slowly; "the plague is here. My children are
dying of it. You must not come in! Go away."
So we hurried on through that plague-smitten street, burdened
with a new fear. Soon we saw a house on the riverside which looked
absolutely empty. The shades were up, the windows open, the door
stood ajar. I hesitated; plucked up courage; resolved that we
must get to the waterside in some way in order to escape from the
net of death which encircled us.
"Come," I said, "let us try to go down through this house. But
cover your mouths."
We groped through the empty passageway, and down the basement-stair.
The thick cobwebs swept my face. I noted them with joy, for I thought
they proved that the house had been deserted for some time, and so
perhaps it might not be infected.
We descended into a room which seemed to have been the kitchen.
There was a stove dimly visible at one side, and an old broken
kettle on the floor, over which we stumbled. The back door was
locked. But it swung outward as I broke it open. We stood upon a
narrow, dingy beach, where the small waves were lapping.
By this time the "little day" had begun to whiten the eastern sky;
a pallid light was diffused; I could see westward down to the main
harbor, beside the heart of the city. The sails and smoke-stacks
of great ships were visible, all passing out to sea. I wished that
we were there.
Here in front of us the water seemed shallower. It was probably only
a tributary or backwater of the main stream. But it was sprinkled
with smaller vessels--sloops, and yawls, and luggers--all filled
with people and slowly creeping seaward.
There was one little boat, quite near to us, which seemed to be
waiting for some one. There were some people on it, but it was not
crowded.
"Come," I said, "this is for us. We must wade out to it."
So I took my wife by the hand, and the child in the other arm,
and we went into the water. Soon it came up to our knees, to our
waists.
"Hurry," shouted the old man at the tiller. "No time to spare!"
"Just a minute more," I answered, "only one minute!"
That minute seemed like a year. The sail of the boat was shaking
in the wind. When it filled she must move away. We waded on, and
at last I grasped the gunwale of the boat. I lifted the child in
and helped my wife to climb over the side. They clung to me. The
little vessel began to move gently away.
"Get in," cried the old man sharply; "get in quick."
But I felt that I could not, I dared not. I let go of the boat. I
cried "Good-by," and turned to wade ashore.
I was compelled to go back to the doomed city. I must know what
would come of the parting of Man from God!
The tide was running out more swiftly. The water swirled around my
knees. I awoke.
But the dream remained with me, just as I have told it to you.
ANTWERP ROAD
[OCTOBER, 1914]
Along the straight, glistening road, through a dim arcade of drooping
trees, a tunnel of faded green and gold, dripping with the misty
rain of a late October afternoon, a human tide was flowing, not
swiftly, but slowly, with the patient, pathetic slowness of weary
feet, and numb brains, and heavy hearts.
Yet they were in haste, all of these old men and women, fathers
and mothers, and little children; they were flying as fast as
they could; either away from something that they feared, or toward
something that they desired.
That was the strange thing--the tide on the road flowed in two
directions.
Some fled away from ruined homes to escape the perils of war. Some
fled back to ruined homes to escape the desolation of exile. But
all were fugitives, anxious to be gone, striving along the road
one way or the other, and making no more speed than a creeping
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*ROSE OF THE WORLD*
BY
AGNES & EGERTON CASTLE
AUTHORS OF
"THE SECRET ORCHARD" AND "THE STAR DREAMER"
_O Dream of my Life, my Glory,_
_O Rose of the World, my Dream_
(THE DOMINION OF DREAMS)
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE
1905
(_All rights reserved_)
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON AND BECCLES.
*BOOK I*
*ROSE OF THE WORLD*
*CHAPTER I*
It is our fate as a nation, head and heart of a world empire, that much
of our manhood must pursue its career far away from home. And it is our
strength that these English sons of ours have taught themselves to make
it home wherever they find their work.
The fervid land of India had become home to Raymond Bethune for so many
years that it would have been difficult for him to picture his life
elsewhere. The glamour of the East, of the East that is England's, had
entered into his blood, without, however, altering its cool northern
deliberate course; that it can be thus with our children, therein also
lies the strength of England.
Raymond Bethune, Major of Guides, loved the fierce lads to whom he was
at once father and despot, as perhaps he could have loved no troop of
honest thick-skulled English soldiers. He was content with the
comradeship of his brother officers, men who thought like himself and
fought like himself; content to spend the best years of existence
hanging between heaven and earth on the arid flanks of a Kashmir
mountain range, in forts the walls of which had been cemented by
centuries of blood; looked forward, without blenching, to the
probability of laying down his life in some obscure frontier skirmish,
unmourned and unnoticed. His duty sufficed him. He found happiness in
it that it was his duty. Such men as he are the very stones of our
Empire's foundation.
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by The Internet Archive)
COMPARATIVE STUDIES
IN NURSERY RHYMES
COMPARATIVE STUDIES
IN
NURSERY RHYMES
BY
LINA ECKENSTEIN
AUTHOR OF "WOMAN UNDER MONASTICISM"
_There were more things in Mrs. Gurton's eye,
Mayhap, than are dreamed of in our philosophy_
C. S. CALVERLEY
[Illustration]
LONDON
DUCKWORTH & CO.
3 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN
1906
TO THE GENTLE READER
The walls of the temple of King Sety at Abydos in Upper Egypt are
decorated with sculptured scenes which represent the cult of the gods
and the offerings brought to them. In a side chapel there is depicted
the following curious scene. A dead figure lies extended on a bier;
sorrowing hawks surround him; a flying hawk reaches down a seal amulet
from above. Had I succeeded in procuring a picture of the scene, it
would stand reproduced here; for the figure and his mourners recalled
the quaint little woodcut of a toy-book which told the tale of the Death
and Burial of Cock Robin. The sculptures of Sety date from the
fourteenth century before Christ; the knell of the robin can be traced
back no further than the middle of the eighteenth century A.D. Can the
space that lies between be bridged over, and the conception of the dead
robin be linked on to that of the dead hawk? However that may be, the
sight of the sculptured scene strengthened my resolve to place some of
the coincidences of comparative nursery lore before the gentle reader.
It lies with him to decide whether the wares are such as to make a
further instalment desirable.
_23 September, 1906._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. FIRST APPEARANCE OF RHYMES IN PRINT 1
II. EARLY REFERENCES 13
III. RHYMES AND POPULAR SONGS 23
IV. RHYMES IN TOY-BOOKS 36
V. RHYMES AND BALLADS 45
VI. RHYMES AND COUNTRY DANCES 57
VII. THE GAME OF "SALLY WATERS" 67
VIII. "THE LADY OF THE LAND" 78
IX. CUSTOM RHYMES 89
X. RIDDLE-RHYMES 104
XI. CUMULATIVE PIECES 115
XII. CHANTS OF NUMBERS 134
XIII. CHANTS OF THE CREED 143
XIV. HEATHEN CHANTS OF THE CREED 152
XV. SACRIFICIAL HUNTING 171
XVI. BIRD SACRIFICE 185
XVII. THE ROBIN AND THE WREN 200
XVIII. CONCLUDING REMARKS 215
LIST OF FOREIGN COLLECTIONS 221
ALPHABETICAL INDEX 223
_... To my gaze the phantoms of the Past,
The cherished fictions of my boyhood, rise:_
* * * * *
_The House that Jack built--and the Malt that lay
Within the House--the Rat that ate the Malt--
The Cat, that in that sanguinary way
Punished the poor thing for its venial fault--
The Worrier-Dog--the Cow with crumpled horn--
And then--ah yes! and then--the Maiden all forlorn!_
_O Mrs. Gurton--(may I call thee Gammer?)
Thou more than mother to my infant mind!
I loved thee better than I loved my grammar--
I used to wonder why the Mice were blind,
And who was gard | 1,424.675634 |
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WOODSTOCK
AN HISTORICAL SKETCH
BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN, PH.D.
READ AT ROSELAND PARK, WOODSTOCK, CONNECTICUT, AT THE BI-CENTENNIAL
CELEBRATION OF THE TOWN, ON TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 7, 1886
NEW YORK & LONDON
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
The Knickerbocker Press
1886
COPYRIGHT BY
CLARENCE WINTHROP BOWEN
1886
Press of
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
New York
As a full history of Woodstock has been in preparation for several
years and will, it is hoped, be published in the course of another
year, this brief sketch is issued as it was read at the Bi-Centennial
Anniversary of the town.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. INTRODUCTION 7
II. THE SETTLEMENT OF MASSACHUSETTS BAY
AND OF ROXBURY 8
III. THE NIPMUCK COUNTRY AND THE VISIT OF
JOHN ELIOT TO THE INDIANS AT WABBAQUASSET,
OR WOODSTOCK 12
IV. THE SETTLEMENT OF NEW ROXBURY, OR
WOODSTOCK 20
V. THE CHANGE OF THE NAME OF NEW ROXBURY
TO WOODSTOCK 28
VI. THE GROWTH OF THE NEW TOWNSHIP--1690-1731 32
VII. ECCLESIASTICAL AFFAIRS 36
VIII. THE TRANSFER OF WOODSTOCK FROM MASSACHUSETTS
TO CONNECTICUT 43
IX. MILITARY RECORD 46
X. EDUCATIONAL MATTERS 53
XI. DISTINGUISHED CITIZENS 55
XII. CHARACTERISTICS OF WOODSTOCK 58
XIII. CONCLUSION 61
INDEX 63
I.
The history of the town of Woodstock is associated with the beginnings
of history in New England. The ideas of the first settlers of Woodstock
were the ideas of the first settlers of the Colony of Plymouth and
the Province of Massachusetts Bay. The planting of these colonies
was one of the fruits of the Reformation. The antagonism between the
Established Church of England and the Non-Conformists led to the
settlement of New England. The Puritans of Massachusetts, at first
Non-Conformists, became Separatists like the Pilgrims of Plymouth.
Pilgrims and Puritans alike accepted persecution and surrendered the
comforts of home to obtain religious liberty. They found it in New
England; and here, more quickly than in the mother country, they
developed also that civil liberty which is now the birthright of every
Anglo-Saxon.
II.
The settlement of Woodstock is intimately connected with the first
organized settlement on Massachusetts Bay; and how our mother town
of Roxbury was first established is best told in the words of Thomas
Dudley in his letter to the Countess of Lincoln under date of Boston,
March 12, 1630-1:
"About the year 1627 some friends, being together in Lincolnshire,
fell into discourse about New England and the planting of the
gospel there. In 1628 we procured a patent from his Majesty for
our planting between the Massachusetts Bay and Charles River on
the South and the River of Merrimack on the North and three miles
on either side of those rivers and bay... and the same year we
sent Mr. John Endicott and some with him to begin a plantation. In
1629 we sent divers ships over with about three hundred people. Mr.
Winthrop, of Suffolk (who was well known in his own country and
well approved here for his piety, liberality, wisdom, and gravity),
coming in to us we came to such resolution that in April, 1630, we
set sail from Old England.... We were forced to change counsel,
and, for our present shelter, to plant dispersedly."
Settlements were accordingly made at Salem, Charlestown, Boston,
Medford, Watertown, and in several other localities. The sixth
settlement was made, to quote further from the same letter to the
Countess of Lincoln, by "others of us two miles from Boston, in a place
we named Rocksbury."[1]
The date of settlement was September 28, 1630, and just three weeks
later the first General Court that ever sat in America was held in
Boston. The same year the first church in Boston was organized.[2]
Roxbury, like the other settlements of Massachusetts Bay, was a little
republic in itself. The people chose the selectmen and governed
themselves; and as early as 1634, like the seven other organized towns,
they sent three deputies to Boston to attend the first representative
Assembly at which important business was transacted. The government
of Roxbury, like the other plantations, was founded on a theocratic
basis. Church and state were inseparable. No one could be admitted
as a citizen unless he was a member of the church. Many of the first
settlers came from Nazing, a small village in England, about twenty
miles from London, on the river Lee. Morris, Ruggles, Payson, and
Peacock, names read in the earliest records of Woodstock, were old
family names in Nazing. Other first inhabitants of Roxbury came from
Wales and the west of England, or London and its vicinity. Among the
founders were John Johnson, Richard Bugbee, and John Leavens, whose
family names are well known as among the first settlers of Woodstock.
All were men of property[3]; none were "of the poorer sort." In 1631
the Rev. John Eliot, a native of the village of Nazing, arrived with a
company of Nazing pilgrims. Eliot, though earnestly solicited to become
pastor of the church in Boston,[4] accepted the charge of the church
in Roxbury, which was organized in 1632,[5] and was the sixth church,
in order of time, established in New England. Another name equally
prominent in the earliest years of the history of Roxbury was that of
William Pynchon, afterwards known as the founder of Springfield in
Massachusetts. Only Boston excels Roxbury in the number of its citizens
who have made illustrious the early history of the Massachusetts
colony.[6] Among the early settlers of Roxbury who themselves became,
or whose descendants became, the early settlers of Woodstock, were the
Bartholomews, Bowens, Bugbees, Chandlers, Childs, Corbins, Crafts,
Griggses, Gareys, Holmeses, Johnsons, Lyons, Levinses, Mays, Morrises,
Paysons, Peacocks, Peakes, Perrins, Scarboroughs, and Williamses.[7]
In 1643 the towns within the jurisdiction of Massachusetts had grown
to thirty, and Roxbury did more than her share towards the organization
of the new towns. In fact, Roxbury has been called the mother of
towns, no less than fifteen communities having been founded by her
citizens.[8] Among the most important of these settlements was the town
of Woodstock, whose Bicentennial we this day celebrate.
III.
A glance at the country about us previous to the settlement of the
town, in 1686, shows us a land sparsely inhabited by small bands of
peaceful Indians, without an independent chief of their own, but who
paid tribute to the Sachem of the Mohegans, the warriors who had
revolted from the Pequots. Woodstock was a portion of the Nipmuck[9]
country, so-called because it contained fresh ponds or lakes in
contrast to other sections that bordered upon the sea or along running
rivers. Wabbaquasset, or the mat-producing place, was the name of the
principal Indian village, and that name still exists in the corrupted
form of Quasset to designate a section of the town. Indians from
the Nipmuck[10] country took corn to Boston in 1630, soon after the
arrival of the "Bay Colony"; and in 1633[11] John Oldman and his three
Dorchester companions passed through this same section on their way to
learn something of the Connecticut River country; and they may have
rested on yonder "Plaine Hill," for history states that they "lodged
at Indians towns all the way."[12] The old "Connecticut Path" over
which that distinguished band[13] of colonists went in 1635 and 1636 to
settle the towns of Windsor, Wethersfield, and Hartford, passed through
the heart of what is now Woodstock.[14] This path so famous in the
early days of New England history, came out of Thompson Woods, a little
north of Woodstock Lake, and proceeding across the Senexet meadow, ran
west near Plaine Hill, Marcy's Hill, and a little south of the base of
Coatney Hill. For more than fifty years before the settlement of the
town, this historic path near Woodstock Hill was the outlet for the
surplus population of Massachusetts Bay and the line of communication
between Massachusetts and the Connecticut and New Haven colonies.
But the most noteworthy feature in the description of the Indians of
the Nipmuck country is that as early as 1670 they were formed into
Praying Villages. Evidently the instructions of Gov. Cradock in his
letter of March, 1629, to John Endicott had not been forgotten. In that
letter he said: "Be not unmindful of the main end of our plantation
by endeavoring to bring the Indians to the knowledge of the gospel."
In the heart of one man at least that idea was paramount. John Eliot,
the Apostle to the Indians, was not content to be simply the pastor of
the church of Roxbury for nearly sixty years. Amid his countless other
labors he preached the gospel to the Indians of the Nipmuck country.
The first Indian church in America had been established by him at
Natick in 1651; and, in 1674, he visited the Indian villages in the
wild territory about these very hills. As he found it, to quote his own
words,[15] "absolutely necessary to carry on civility with religion,"
he was accompanied by Major Daniel Gookin, who had been appointed, in
1656, magistrate of all the Indian towns. Maanexit was first visited
on the Mohegan or Quinebaug River, near what is now New Boston, where
Eliot preached to the natives, using as his text the seventh verse of
the twenty-fourth Psalm: "Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye
lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the king of glory shall come in."
Quinnatisset, on what is now Thompson Hill, was the name of another
Praying Town. But a quotation[16] from the homely narrative of Major
Gookin is the best description of Eliot's memorable visit to Woodstock:
"We went not to it [Quinnatisset], being straitened for time, but
we spake with some of the principal people at Wabquissit.[17]...
Wabquissit... lieth about nine or ten miles from Maanexit, upon
the west side, six miles of Mohegan River, and is distant from
Boston west and by south, about seventy-two miles. It lieth about
four miles within the Massachusetts south line. It hath about
thirty families, and one hundred and fifty souls. It is situated in
a very rich soil, manifested by the goodly crop of Indian corn then
newly ingathered, not less than forty bushels upon an acre. We came
thither late in the evening upon the 15th of September, and took
up our quarters at the sagamore's wigwam, who was not at home: but
his squaw courteously admitted us, and provided liberally, in their
way, for the Indians that accompanied us. This sagamore inclines to
religion, and keeps the meeting on sabbath days at his house, which
is spacious, about sixty feet in length and twenty feet in width.
The teacher of this place is named Sampson; an active and ingenious
person. He speaks good English and reads well. He is brother
unto Joseph, before named, teacher at Chabanakougkomun[18]...
being both hopeful, pious, and active men; especially the younger
before-named Sampson, teacher at Wabquissit, who was, a few years
since, a dissolute person, and I have been forced to be severe
in punishing him for his misdemeanors formerly. But now he is,
through grace, changed and become sober and pious; and he is now
very thankful to me for the discipline formerly exercised towards
him. And besides his flagitious life heretofore, he lived very
uncomfortably with his wife; but now they live very well together,
I confess this story is a digression. But because it tendeth to
magnify grace, and that to a prodigal, and to declare how God
remembers his covenant unto the children of such as are faithful
and zealous for him in their time and generation, I have mentioned
it.
"We being at Wabquissit, at the sagamore's wigwam, divers of the
principal people that were at home came to us, with whom we spent a
good part of the night in prayer, singing psalms, and exhortations.
There was a person among them, who, sitting mute a great space, at
last spake to this effect: That he was agent for Unkas, Sachem of
Mohegan, who challenged right to, and dominion over, this people of
Wabquissit. And said he, Unkas is not well pleased that the English
should pass over Mohegan River to call his Indians to pray to God.
Upon which speech Mr. Eliot first answered, that it was his work to
call upon all men everywhere, as he had opportunity, especially the
Indians, to repent and embrace the gospel; but he did not meddle
with civil right or jurisdiction. When he had done speaking, then I
declared to him, and desired him to inform Unkas what I said, that
Wabquissit was within the jurisdiction of Massachusetts, and that
the government of that people did belong to them; and that they do
look upon themselves concerned to promote the good of all people
within their limits, especially if they embraced Christianity. Yet
it was not hereby intended to abridge the Indian sachems of their
just and ancient right over the Indians, in respect of paying
tribute or any other dues. But the main design of the English was
to bring them to the good knowledge of God in Christ Jesus; and to
suppress among them those sins of drunkenness, idolatry, powowing
or witchcraft, whoredom, murder, and like sins. As for the English,
they had taken no tribute from them, nor taxed them with any thing
of the kind.
"Upon the 16th day of September[19] being at Wabquissit, as soon
as the people were come together, Mr. Eliot first prayed, and then
preached to them, in their own language, out of Mat. vi., 33:
_First seek the kingdom of heaven and the righteousness thereof,
and all these things shall be added unto you._ Their teacher,
Sampson, first reading and setting the cxix. Ps., 1st part, which
was sung. The exercise was concluded with prayer.
"Then I began a Court among the Indians, and first I approved
their teacher, Sampson, and their constable, Black James,[20]
giving each of them a charge to be diligent and faithful in their
places. Also I exhorted the people to yield obedience to the
gospel of Christ and to those set in order there. Then published
a warrant or order, that I had prepared, empowering the constable
to suppress drunkenness, Sabbath breaking, especially powowing and
idolatry. And, after warning given, to apprehend all delinquents
and bring them before authority to answer for their misdoings; the
smaller faults to bring before Watasacompamun, ruler of the Nipmuck
country; for idolatry and powowing to bring them before me: So we
took leave of this people of Wabquissit, and about eleven o'clock
returned back to Maanexit and Chabanakougkomun, where we lodged
this night."
History fails to locate the spot where John Eliot's sermon to the
Indians of Woodstock was delivered, but tradition points to "Pulpit
Rock," so-called, under the aged chestnut trees of the McClellan farm
near the "Old Hall"[21] road.
But Eliot's good work in the Nipmuck country was destroyed when King
Philip's war broke out in 1675. In August of that year a company of
Providence men journeyed as far as Wabbaquasset, thinking that possibly
King Philip himself had escaped thither.[22] They found an Indian fort
a mile or two west of Woodstock Hill, but no Indians. A party from
Norwich in June of the following year also found deserted Wabbaquasset
and the other Praying Villages. Desolation and devastation followed
the disappearance of the Red Man. The Nipmuck country became more a
wilderness than ever, forsaken of its aboriginal inhabitants whose
barbaric tenure could not stand against a superior civilization.
"Forgotten race, farewell! Your haunts we tread,
Our mighty rivers speak your words of yore,
Our mountains wear them on their misty head,
Our sounding cataracts hurl them to the shore;
But on the lake your flashing oar is still,
Hush'd is your hunter's cry on dale and hill,
Your arrow stays the eagle's flight no more,
And ye, like troubled shadows, sink to rest
In unremember'd tombs, unpitied and unbless'd."[23]
IV.
The time had now arrived for the white man to make a settlement at
Wabbaquasset. In May, of 1681, the General Court of Massachusetts
Bay had given to William Stoughton and Joseph Dudley the care of
the Nipmuck country, with power to ascertain the titles belonging
to the Indians and others, and a meeting of the claimants was held
the following month at Cambridge, at which John Eliot rendered much
assistance as interpreter. Dudley and Stoughton purchased all the
claims, and the following year,[24] the whole Nipmuck country became
the property of Massachusetts Bay. Jurisdiction over the country had
already been claimed, under the terms of the Massachusetts charter.
Many of the inhabitants of the town of Roxbury now felt that they could
improve their condition and increase their usefulness by forming a
settlement in some desirable portion of the new country. Undoubtedly
their pastor, John Eliot, had told them of the beauty and fertility
of the country about the Praying Villages of Maanexit, Quinnatisset,
and Wabbaquasset.[25] Town meetings to arrange for a new settlement,
were held in Roxbury in October of 1683.[26] A petition was signed,
by a number of representative citizens of the town, asking that the
General Court might grant to them a tract seven miles square about
Quinnatisset, in the Nipmuck country. All save six of the thirty-six
who signed this petition, afterwards became settlers of the new town,
and of the five selectmen of Roxbury who presented the petition to
the General Court, three[27] represented families prominent in the
early history of Woodstock. The General Court at once granted[28]
the petition provided the grant should not fall within a section to
be reserved for Messrs Stoughton and Dudley, and Major Thompson, and
provided also that thirty families should be settled on the plantation
within three years from the following June, "and mainteyne amongst
them an able, orthodox, godly minister."[29] In 1684 Roxbury accepted
the terms of the General Court, and sent Samuel and John Ruggles,
John Curtis, and Edward Morris, as a committee of four, to "view the
wilderness and find a convenient place."
As Quinnatisset had been in part already granted, the committee
reported[30] a territory "commodiose" for settlement at "Seneksuk and
Wapagusset and the lands ajasiant." A committee was therefore appointed
to draw up an agreement for the "goers," as they were called, to sign.
In 1685,[31] in answer to the petition of Edward Morris, deputy in
behalf of the town of Roxbury, the General Court extended the limit
of the time of settlement from June 10, 1687, to Jan. 31, 1688, and
granted freedom from rates up to that time.[32] At town meetings held
in Roxbury, during the same year, it was arranged that one half of
the grant should belong to the new settlers and one hundred pounds in
money be given to them in instalments of twenty pounds a year, and the
other half of the grant should belong to "the stayers" in consideration
of the aid given "the goers." The southern half of the grant was the
portion subsequently occupied by "the goers." Actual possession,
however, was not taken until April of the following year. On the second
page of the cover of the old and musty first volume of records of the
proprietors of New Roxbury, afterwards called Woodstock, are these
words:
"April 5, 1686.
"These are the thirteen who were sent out to spy out Woodstock as
planters and to take actual posession: Jonathan Smithers, John
Frissell, Nathaniel Garey, John Marcy, Benjamin Griggs, John Lord,
Benjamin Sabin, Henry Bowen, Matthew Davis, Thomas Bacon, Peter
Aspinwall, George Griggs, and Ebenezer Morris."
These thirteen planters, or the "Old Thirteen" as they have always been
called, were visited in May or June[33] by a committee who had been
appointed to ascertain the bounds of the grant. The last meeting of the
"goers to settle" was held in Roxbury, July 21st; their first meeting
in New Roxbury was held August 25th. A committee of seven, consisting
of Joseph Griggs, Edward Morris, Henry Bowen, Sr., John Chandler, Sr.,
Samuel Craft, Samuel Scarborough, and Jonathan Smithers, having been
appointed to make needful arrangements preliminary to the drawing of
home lots, that drawing took place on the twenty-eighth of August,
or, by the new style of reckoning time, exactly two hundred years ago
to-day.
Say the old records: "After solemn prayer to God, who is the Disposer
of all things, they drew lots according to the agreement, every man
being satisfied and contented with God's disposing." Would that the
words of that prayer and the picture of that scene could to-day be
reproduced! Surely the spirit of the Puritans of 1630 was the spirit
of that band of pilgrims in 1686 on yonder hill. These are the honored
names of the first settlers: Thomas and Joseph Bacon, James Corbin,
Benjamin Sabin, Henry Bowen, Thomas Lyon, Ebenezer Morris, Matthew
Davis, William Lyon, Sr., John Chandler, Sr., Peter Aspinwall, John
Frizzel, Joseph Frizzel, Jonathan Smithers, John Butcher, Jonathan
Davis, Jonathan Peake, Nathaniel Garey, John Bowen, Nathaniel Johnson,
John Hubbard, George Griggs, Benjamin Griggs, William Lyon, Jr., John
Leavens, Nathaniel Sanger, Samuel Scarborough, Samuel Craft, Samuel
May, Joseph Bugbee, Samuel Peacock, Arthur Humphrey, John Bugbee, Jr.,
Andrew Watkins, John Marcy, Edward Morris, Joseph Peake, John Holmes,
and John Chandler, Jr.
Of that list of thirty-nine,[34] Benjamin Sabin, Nathaniel Sanger,
Nathaniel Garey, John Hubbard, Matthew Davis, and George Griggs
afterwards moved to Pomfret; Peter Aspinwall and his step-sons, the
sons of John Leavens, went to Killingby; and Arthur Humphrey and others
became the first settlers of Ashford. A few returned to Roxbury. But
a large share of the original settlers lived and died in Woodstock,
including Edward and Ebenezer Morris, Jonathan and Joseph Peake, James
Corbin, Thomas and Joseph Bacon, Henry Bowen, William and Thomas Lyon,
John Chandler, Sr., and John Chandler, Jr., John Butcher, Nathaniel
Johnson, Joseph and John Bugbee, John Marcy, John Holmes, and perhaps
a few others. As an illustration of the ages of the pioneers in 1686,
it may be mentioned that Benjamin Griggs was nineteen; Joseph Bacon
and Andrew Watkins, twenty; John Bugbee, John Chandler, Jr., James
Corbin, and Jonathan Davis, twenty-one; Peter Aspinwall, Matthew Davis,
John Frizzel, and Lieut. Ebenezer Morris, twenty-two; John Butcher and
Nathaniel Garey, twenty-three; John Bowen and John Marcy, twenty-four;
George Griggs, John Holmes, and Samuel May, twenty-five; Thomas Bacon,
twenty-eight; Samuel Peacock, twenty-nine; William Lyon, Jr., and
Nathaniel Sanger, thirty-four; Thomas Lyon, thirty-eight; Nathaniel
Johnson, thirty-nine; Benjamin Sabin and Samuel Scarborough, forty;
Joseph Peake, forty-one; Joseph Bugbee and John Leavens, forty-six;
Samuel Craft and Jonathan Peake,[35] forty-nine; Deacon John Chandler,
fifty-one; Lieut. Henry Bowen, fifty-three; Edward Morris, fifty-six;
and William Lyon Sr., sixty-five.[36]
The first one of the thirty-nine to die was Lieut. Edward Morris,
whose gravestone bears the date of 1689, the oldest in the county.[37]
The last one of the thirty-nine to die was Thomas Bacon, who lived
to be ninety-six years of age. To show the extreme ages of some of
the Woodstock people, it may here be said that Paraclete Skinner, now
living, remembers Deacon Jedediah Morse, who died in 1819 at the age
of ninety-three, and Deacon Morse was seventeen years old when Col.
John Chandler, a first settler, was living; and thirty-two years of
age the year that Thomas Bacon, another first settler, died. That is,
an inhabitant of this town remembers one who knew some of the first
settlers of Woodstock. Lieut. Henry Bowen, one of the first settlers,
attained the age of ninety. Deacon Morse's grandmother, who came in
April of 1687 to Woodstock with her husband Jonathan Peake, Jr.,[38]
likewise lived to be ninety, lacking twelve days. One of the oldest
persons that ever lived in Woodstock was Sarah, the daughter of
Jonathan Peake, Jr., and the mother of Deacon Morse, who reached the
age of ninety-nine, lacking forty-four days, and who had about her
while living three hundred and nineteen descendants.[39] The combined
ages of Thomas Bacon, Sarah Morse, and Paraclete Skinner is now two
hundred and eighty years. Time alone can tell to what figure their
combined ages may attain!
But what a small number in that list of first settlers have descendants
bearing the same family name among the citizens of Woodstock to-day!
Only James Corbin, William Lyon, John Chandler, Nathaniel Johnson,
Benjamin Griggs, Henry Bowen, Joseph Bugbee, Nathaniel Sanger, and John
Marcy! But Woodstock is proud to own among the descendants of the first
settlers influential and honored citizens of many towns and cities, and
some of them, I rejoice to say are here to-day.
The first settlers of Woodstock had the right stuff in them to succeed.
After the home-lots were chosen highways were laid out, a grist-mill
and saw-mill built, bridges constructed, new inhabitants brought in,
and every thing possible was done to make the settlement permanent. A
general meeting of the inhabitants was held July 2, 1687, when "John
Chandler, Sr., Nathaniel Johnson, Joseph Bugbee, James White, and James
Peake, were chosen to order the prudential affairs of the place as
selectmen, for the year ensuing."
V.
An effort was now made to get a confirmation of the grant occupied
by the new settlers, but as long as Sir Edmund Andros was the Royal
Governor of the Province, it was impossible. A delay ensued until
William and Mary became sovereigns of Great Britain. The new settlers
had not yet an organized town government. The settlement, like the
first settlements in Windsor and Hartford, received its name from the
mother town.[40] But the New Roxbury people wished to have a name
of their own and a town of their own. At the beginning of the year
1690 they chose a committee of three to petition the General Court to
substitute a new name for that of New Roxbury. The committee at once
conferred with the mother town, for on Jan. 13, 1690, Roxbury held
a town meeting at which it was voted to request the General Court
to allow the settlement in the Nipmuck country to become a town,
to confirm the grant and to give a suitable name. The New Roxbury
committee pressed their claims, and on March 18, 1690, the General
Court confirmed the grant and voted that the name of the plantation
be Woodstock. We owe the name of Woodstock to Capt. Samuel Sewell[41]
who was Chief-Justice of Massachusetts from 1718 to 1728. He has been
called "a typical Puritan" and "the Pepys of New England,"--the man who
judged the witches of Salem and afterwards repented of it.[42] In 1690,
when Count Frontenac's[43] forces were coming down from Canada upon
the settlements of the United Colonies, and Massachusetts determined
to ask the help of Connecticut in protecting the upper towns on the
Connecticut River, Captain Sewell rode past Woodstock on his way to
Connecticut. He was no doubt on business of state, being one of the
Governor's Counsellors, and one of a Committee of Seven of the Council
with the same power as the Council to arrange "for setting forth the
forces."[44] The proximity of New Roxbury to Oxford in Massachusetts
suggested to him, he tells us, the name of a famous place near old
Oxford in England.
In his Diary of March 18, 1689/90, Capt. Sewell, says:
"I gave New Roxbury the name of Woodstock, because of its nearness
to Oxford, for the sake of Queen Elizabeth, and the notable
meetings that have been held at the place bearing that name in
England, some of which Dr. Gilbert[45] informed me of when in
England. It stands on a Hill. I saw it as I [went] to Coventry, but
left it on the left hand. Some told Capt. Ruggles[46] that I gave
the name and put words in his mouth to desire of me a Bell for the
Town."[47]
Though Judge Sewell, years after his first visit had social
relations[48] with some of the inhabitants of Woodstock, there is
no evidence to show that he ever gave a bell to the town or to the
church.[49] But he gave us something better, a good name,--the name of
Woodstock, associated with the memories of Saxon and Norman Kings, the
spot where King Alfred translated "The Consolations of Philosophy,"
by Boethius, the birthplace of the poet Chaucer, the prison of
Queen Elizabeth.[50] History and romance[51] have made illustrious
the names of Woodstock and Woodstock Park, and "the notable meetings"
spoken of by Judge Sewell as having taken place in Old England have
been transferred to the settlement in New England. Surely the name of
Woodstock, as applied to the little village of New Roxbury, has proved
to be no misnomer.
It should be said that the western part of the town, when it became
a settlement years after, revived the old name of New Roxbury. The
church in West Woodstock belonged to what was called the Parish of New
Roxbury, or the Second Precinct of Woodstock.[52]
VI.
The most pressing duty for our ancestors to perform, after securing
a name and legalized status for the town, was the settlement of "an
able, orthodox, godly minister." The Rev. Josiah Dwight, a graduate of
Harvard College in the class of 1687 | 1,424.679306 |
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Produced by Brian Coe, Charlie Howard, and the Online
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AFFAIRS OF STATE
Being an Account of Certain Surprising Adventures Which
Befell an American Family in the Land of Windmills
BY
BURTON E. STEVENSON
AUTHOR OF "THE MARATHON MYSTERY," "THE HOLLADAY CASE," ETC.
With Illustrations by F. VAUX WILSON
1906
TO G. H. T.:
OLD FRIEND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE WILES OF WOMANKIND
II. THE ROLE OF GOOD ANGEL
III. DISTINGUISHED ARRIVALS AT WEET-SUR-MER
IV. AN ADVENTURE AND A RESCUE
V. TELLIER TAKES A HAND
VI. THE PATH GROWS CROOKED
VII. AN APPEAL FOR AID
VIII. PRIDE HAS A FALL
IX. PELLETAN'S SKELETON
X. AN INTRODUCTION AND A PROMENADE
XI. THE PRINCE GAINS AN ALLY
XII. EVENTS OF THE NIGHT
XIII. THE SECOND PROMENADE
XIV. A BEARDING OF THE LION
XV. "BE BOLD, BE BOLD"
XVI. A PRINCE AND HIS IDEALS
XVII. THE DUCHESS TO THE RESCUE
XVIII. MAN'S PERFIDY
XIX. AN AMERICAN OPINION OF EUROPEAN MORALS
XX. THE DOWAGER'S BOMBSHELL
XXI. PARDON
ILLUSTRATIONS
"EEF MONSIEUR PLEASE"
"IT WAS MY GREAT GOOD FORTUNE," SAID THE STRANGER, BOWING, "TO BE OF
SERVICE TO A COMPATRIOT"
"OH!" SHE CRIED, WITH A LITTLE START, "THERE HE IS NOW, ALMOST NEAR
ENOUGH TO HEAR!"
"WHAT IS IT?" SHE DEMANDED. "DON'T YOU SEE WE ARE ALL WAITING?"
AFFAIRS OF STATE
CHAPTER I
The Wiles of Womankind
Archibald Rushford, tall, lean, the embodiment of energy, stood at the
window, hands in pockets, and stared disgustedly out at the dreary vista
of sand-dunes and bathing-machines, closed in the distance by a stretch
of gray sea mounting toward a horizon scarcely discernible through the
drifting mist which hung above the water.
"Though why you wanted to come here at all," he continued, presumably
addressing two young ladies in the room behind him, "or why you want to
stay, now you _are_ here, passes my comprehension. One might as well be
buried alive, and be done with it. The sensations, I should imagine,
are about the same."
"Oh, come, dad!" protested one of the girls, laughing, "you know it
isn't so bad as that! There's plenty of life--not just at this hour of
the morning, perhaps,"--with a fleeting glance at the empty
landscape,--"but the hour is unfashionable."
"As everything seasonable and sensible seems to be here," put in her
father, grimly.
"And such interesting life, too," added the other girl.
"Interesting! Bah! When I want to see monkeys and peacocks, I'll go to a
menagerie."
"But you never do go to the menagerie, at home, you know, dad."
"No--because I don't care for monkeys or peacocks--in fact, I
particularly detest them!"
"But lions, dad! There are lions--"
"In the menagerie at home, perhaps."
"Yes, and in this one--bigger lions than you ever dreamed of | 1,424.775641 |
2023-11-16 18:40:48.7596060 | 2,753 | 13 |
Produced by Judy Boss
IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS
By Jules Verne
From The Works Of Jules Verne
Edited By Charles F. Horne, Ph.D.
VOLUME FOUR
PAGE
IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS
SOUTH AMERICA . . . . . . 3
AUSTRALIA . . . . . . . 165
NEW ZEALAND. . . . . . . 305
[page intentionally blank]
INTRODUCTION TO VOLUME FOUR
THE three books gathered under the title "In Search of the Castaways"
occupied much of Verne's attention during the three years following
1865. The characters used in these books were afterwards reintroduced
in "The Mysterious Island," which was in its turn a sequel to "Twenty
Thousand Leagues Under the Sea." Thus this entire set of books form a
united series upon which Verne worked intermittently during ten years.
"In Search of the Castaways," which has also been published as "The
Children of Captain Grant" and as "A Voyage Around the World," is
perhaps most interesting in connection with the last of these titles. It
is our author's first distinctly geographical romance. By an ingenious
device he sets before the rescuers a search which compels their
circumnavigation of the globe around a certain parallel of the southern
hemisphere. Thus they cross in turn through South America, Australia and
New Zealand, besides visiting minor islands.
The three great regions form the sub-titles of the three books which
compose the story. In each region the rescuers meet with adventures
characteristic of the land. They encounter Indians in America;
bushrangers in Australia; and Maoris in New Zealand. The passage of
the searching party gives ground,--one is almost tempted to say,
excuse,--for a close and careful description of each country and of its
inhabitants, step by step. Even the lesser incidents of the story
are employed to emphasise the distinctive features of each land. The
explorers are almost frozen on the heights of the Andes, and almost
drowned in the floods of the Patagonian Pampas. An avalanche sweeps some
of them away; a condor carries off a lad. In Australia they are stopped
by jungles and by quagmires; they hunt kangaroos. In New Zealand they
take refuge amid hot sulphur springs and in a house "tabooed"; they
escape by starting a volcano into eruption.
Here then are fancy and extravagance mixed with truth and information.
Verne has done a vast and useful work in stimulating the interest not
only of Frenchmen but of all civilised nations, with regard to the
lesser known regions of our globe. He has broadened knowledge and guided
study. During the years following 1865 he even, for a time, deserted
his favorite field of labor, fiction, and devoted himself to a popular
semi-scientific book, now superseded by later works, entitled "The
Illustrated Geography of France and her Colonies."
Verne has perhaps had a larger share than any other single individual
in causing the ever-increasing yearly tide of international travel.
And because with mutual knowledge among the nations comes mutual
understanding and appreciation, mutual brotherhood; hence Jules Verne
was one of the first and greatest of those teachers who are now leading
us toward International Peace.
IN SEARCH OF THE CASTAWAYS
or
THE CHILDREN OF CAPTAIN GRANT
SOUTH AMERICA
CHAPTER I THE SHARK
ON the 26th of July, 1864, a magnificent yacht was steaming along the
North Channel at full speed, with a strong breeze blowing from the N.
E. The Union Jack was flying at the mizzen-mast, and a blue standard
bearing the initials E. G., embroidered in gold, and surmounted by a
ducal coronet, floated from the topgallant head of the main-mast. The
name of the yacht was the DUNCAN, and the owner was Lord Glenarvan, one
of the sixteen Scotch peers who sit in the Upper House, and the
most distinguished member of the Royal Thames Yacht Club, so famous
throughout the United Kingdom.
Lord Edward Glenarvan was on board with his young wife, Lady Helena, and
one of his cousins, Major McNabbs.
The DUNCAN was newly built, and had been making a trial trip a few miles
outside the Firth of Clyde. She was returning to Glasgow, and the Isle
of Arran already loomed in the distance, when the sailor on watch caught
sight of an enormous fish sporting in the wake of the ship. Lord Edward,
who was immediately apprised of the fact, came up on the poop a few
minutes after with his cousin, and asked John Mangles, the captain, what
sort of an animal he thought it was.
"Well, since your Lordship asks my opinion," said Mangles, "I think it
is a shark, and a fine large one too."
"A shark on these shores!"
"There is nothing at all improbable in that," returned the captain.
"This fish belongs to a species that is found in all latitudes and in
all seas. It is the 'balance-fish,' or hammer-headed shark, if I am not
much mistaken. But if your Lordship has no objections, and it would
give the smallest pleasure to Lady Helena to see a novelty in the way of
fishing, we'll soon haul up the monster and find out what it really is."
"What do you say, McNabbs? Shall we try to catch it?" asked Lord
Glenarvan.
"If you like; it's all one to me," was his cousin's cool reply.
"The more of those terrible creatures that are killed the better, at all
events," said John Mangles, "so let's seize the chance, and it will not
only give us a little diversion, but be doing a good action."
"Very well, set to work, then," said Glenarvan.
Lady Helena soon joined her husband on deck, quite charmed at the
prospect of such exciting sport. The sea was splendid, and every
movement of the shark was distinctly visible. In obedience to the
captain's orders, the sailors threw a strong rope over the starboard
side of the yacht, with a big hook at the end of it, concealed in a
thick lump of bacon. The bait took at once, though the shark was full
fifty yards distant. He began to make rapidly for the yacht, beating
the waves violently with his fins, and keeping his tail in a perfectly
straight line. As he got nearer, his great projecting eyes could be seen
inflamed with greed, and his gaping jaws with their quadruple row of
teeth. His head was large, and shaped like a double hammer at the end
of a handle. John Mangles was right. This was evidently a
balance-fish--the most voracious of all the SQUALIDAE species.
The passengers and sailors on the yacht were watching all the animal's
movements with the liveliest interest. He soon came within reach of the
bait, turned over on his back to make a good dart at it, and in a second
bacon and contents had disappeared. He had hooked himself now, as the
tremendous jerk he gave the cable proved, and the sailors began to haul
in the monster by means of tackle attached to the mainyard. He struggled
desperately, but his captors were prepared for his violence, and had a
long rope ready with a slip knot, which caught his tail and rendered him
powerless at once. In a few minutes more he was hoisted up over the side
of the yacht and thrown on the deck. A man came forward immediately,
hatchet in hand, and approaching him cautiously, with one powerful
stroke cut off his tail.
This ended the business, for there was no longer any fear of the shark.
But, though the sailors' vengeance was satisfied, their curiosity was
not; they knew the brute had no very delicate appetite, and the contents
of his stomach might be worth investigation. This is the common practice
on all ships when a shark is captured, but Lady Glenarvan declined to
be present at such a disgusting exploration, and withdrew to the cabin
again. The fish was still breathing; it measured ten feet in length, and
weighed more than six hundred pounds. This was nothing extraordinary,
for though the hammer-headed shark is not classed among the most
gigantic of the species, it is always reckoned among the most
formidable.
The huge brute was soon ripped up in a very unceremonious fashion. The
hook had fixed right in the stomach, which was found to be absolutely
empty, and the disappointed sailors were just going to throw the remains
overboard, when the boatswain's attention was attracted by some large
object sticking fast in one of the viscera.
"I say! what's this?" he exclaimed.
"That!" replied one of the sailors, "why, it's a piece of rock the beast
swallowed by way of ballast."
"It's just a bottle, neither more nor less, that the fellow has got in
his inside, and couldn't digest," said another of the crew.
"Hold your tongues, all of you!" said Tom Austin, the mate of the
DUNCAN. "Don't you see the animal has been such an inveterate tippler
that he has not only drunk the wine, but swallowed the bottle?"
"What!" said Lord Glenarvan. "Do you mean to say it is a bottle that the
shark has got in his stomach."
"Ay, it is a bottle, most certainly," replied the boatswain, "but not
just from the cellar."
"Well, Tom, be careful how you take it out," said Lord Glenarvan, "for
bottles found in the sea often contain precious documents."
"Do you think this does?" said Major McNabbs, incredulously.
"It possibly may, at any rate."
"Oh! I'm not saying it doesn't. There may perhaps be some secret in it,"
returned the Major.
"That's just what we're to see," said his cousin. "Well, Tom."
"Here it is," said the mate, holding up a shapeless lump he had managed
to pull out, though with some difficulty.
"Get the filthy thing washed then, and bring it to the cabin."
Tom obeyed, and in a few minutes brought in the bottle and laid it on
the table, at which Lord Glenarvan and the Major were sitting ready with
the captain, and, of course Lady Helena, for women, they say, are always
a little curious. Everything is an event at sea. For a moment they all
sat silent, gazing at this frail relic, wondering if it told the tale
of sad disaster, or brought some trifling message from a frolic-loving
sailor, who had flung it into the sea to amuse himself when he had
nothing better to do.
However, the only way to know was to examine the bottle, and Glenarvan
set to work without further delay, so carefully and minutely, that he
might have been taken for a coroner making an inquest.
He commenced by a close inspection of the outside. The neck was long and
slender, and round the thick rim there was still an end of wire hanging,
though eaten away with rust. The sides were very thick, and strong
enough to bear great pressure. It was evidently of Champagne origin, and
the Major said immediately, "That's one of our Clicquot's bottles."
Nobody contradicted him, as he was supposed to know; but Lady Helena
exclaimed, "What does it matter about the bottle, if we don't know where
it comes from?"
"We shall know that, too, presently, and we may affirm this much
already--it comes from a long way off. Look at those petrifactions all
over it, these different substances almost turned to mineral, we might
say, through the action of the salt water! This waif had been tossing
about in the ocean a long time before the shark swallowed it."
"I quite agree with you," said McNabbs. "I dare say this frail concern
has made a long voyage, protected by this strong covering."
"But I want to know where from?" said Lady Glenarvan.
"Wait a little, dear Helena, wait; we must have patience with bottles;
but if I am not much mistaken, this one will answer all our questions,"
replied her husband, beginning to scrape away the hard substances round
the neck. Soon the cork made its appearance, but much damaged by the
water.
"That's vexing," said Lord Edward | 1,424.779646 |
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E-text prepared by Clarity, Cindy Beyer, and the Online Distributed
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available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/pestshore00shoriala
THE PEST
by
W. TEIGNMOUTH SHORE
Author of “The Talking Master,” “Egomet,” etc., and
Part Author of “The Fruit of the Tree”
[Illustration]
New York
C. H. Doscher & Co.
1909
Copyright, 1909, by
C. H. Doscher & Co.
The Pest
CHAPTER I
PAVEMENTS and roadway slippery with greasy, black mud; atmosphere yellow
with evil-tasting vapor; a November afternoon in London; evening drawing
on, fog closing down.
George Maddison, tall, erect, dark, walked slowly along, his eyes, ever
ready to seize upon any striking effect of color, noting the curious
mingling of lights: the dull yellow overhead, the chilly beams of the
street lamps, the glow and warmth from the shop windows. Few of the
faces he saw were cheerful, almost all wearing that expression of
discontent which such dreary circumstances bring to even the most
hardened and experienced Cockneys. For his own part he was well pleased,
having heard that morning of his election as an Associate of the Royal
Academy, a fact that gratified him not as adding anything to his repute,
but as being a compliment to the school of young painters of which he
was the acknowledged leader and ornament: impressionists whose
impressions showed the world to be beautiful; idealists who had the
imagination to see that the ideal is but the better part of the real.
Maddison paused before a highly lighted picture-dealer’s window,
glancing with amusement at the conventional prettiness there displayed;
then, turning his back upon it, he looked across the street, debating
whether he should cross over and have some tea at the famous pastry
cook’s. A tall, slight figure of a woman, neatly dressed in black,
caught his attention. Obviously, she too was hesitating over the same
question. In spite of the simplicity and quiet fashion of her black
gown, her air was elegant | 1,424.782942 |
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Produced by Jeff Kaylin, Bruce Albrecht, and Andrew Sly.
[Illustration: That is where we play--I mean it is most pleasant there]
The
Very Small Person
By
Annie Hamilton Donnell
Author of "Rebecca Mary"
Illustrated by Elizabeth Shippen Green
New York and London
Harper & Brothers Publishers
MCMVI
Contents
I. Little Blue Overalls
II. The Boy
III. The Adopted
IV. Bobby Unwelcome
V. The Little Girl Who Should Have Been a Boy
VI. The Lie
VII. The Princess of Make-Believe
VIII. The Promise
IX. The Little Lover
X. The Child
XI. The Recompense
Illustrations
That is where we play--I mean it is most pleasant there
Little Blue Overalls climbed into a chair
'Fore I'd lean my chin on folks's gates and watch 'em!
She stayed there a week--a month--a year
It was worse than creepy, creaky noises
I can't play... I'm being good
Murray had... seen the vision, too
Elizabeth
Chapter I
Little Blue Overalls
Miss Salome's face was gently frowning as she wrote.
"Dear John," the letter began,--"It's all very well except one thing.
I wonder you didn't think of that. _I'm_ thinking of it most
of the time, and it takes away so much of the pleasure of the
rose-garden and the raspberry-bushes! Anne is in raptures over the
raspberry-bushes.
"Yes, the raspberries and the roses are all right. And I like the
stone-wall with the woodbine over it. (Good boy, you remembered that,
didn't you?) And the apple-tree and the horse-chestnut and the
elm--of course I like them.
"The house is just big enough and just small enough, and there's a
trunk-closet, as I stipulated. And Anne's room has a'southern
exposure'--Anne's crazy spot is southern exposures. Mine's _it_.
Dear, dear, John, how could you forget _it!_ That everything
else--closets and stone-walls and exposures--should be to my mind but
_that!_ Well, I am thinking of moving out, before I move in. But I
haven't told Anne. Anne is the kind of person _not_ to tell, until
the last moment. It saves one's nerves--heigh-ho! I thought I was
coming here to get away from nerves! I was so satisfied. I really
meant to thank you, John, until I discovered--it. Oh yes, I
know--Elizabeth is looking over your shoulder, and you two are saying
something that is unfit for publication about old maids! My children,
then thank the Lord you aren't either of you old maids. Make the most
of it."
Miss Salome let her pen slip to the bare floor and gazed before her
wistfully. The room was in the dreary early stages of unpacking, but
it was not of that Miss Salome was thinking. Her eyes were gazing out
of the window at a thin gray trail of smoke against the blue ground
of the sky. She could see the little house, too, brown and tiny and a
little battered. She could see the clothes-line, and count easily
enough the pairs of little stockings on it. She caught up the pen
again fiercely.
"There are eight," she wrote. "Allowing two legs to a child, doesn't
that make _four?_ John Dearborn, you have bought me a house next
door to four children! I think I shall begin to put the books back
to-night. As ill luck will have it, they are all unpacked.
"I have said nothing to Anne; Anne has said nothing to me. But we
both know. She has counted the stockings too. We are both old maids.
No, I have not _seen_ them yet--anything but their stockings on the
clothes-line. But the mother is not a washer-woman--there is no hope.
I don't know how I know she isn't a washer-woman, but I do. It is
impressed upon me. So there are four children, to say nothing of the
Lord knows how many babies still in socks! I cannot forgive you,
John."
Miss Salome had been abroad for many years. Stricken suddenly with
homesickness, she and her ancient serving-woman, Anne, had fled
across seas to their native land. Miss Salome had first commissioned
John, long-suffering John,-- | 1,424.782998 |
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Produced by Andrea Ball, David Starner, Charles Franks,
Juliet Sutherland, and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team
EZRA POUND: HIS METRIC AND POETRY
By T. S. Eliot
BOOKS BY EZRA POUND
PROVENCA, being poems selected from Personae, Exultations, and
Canzoniere. (Small, Maynard, Boston, 1910)
THE SPIRIT OF ROMANCE: An attempt to define somewhat the charm
of the pre-renaissance literature of Latin-Europe. (Dent,
London, 1910; and Dutton, New York)
THE SONNETS AND BALLATE OF GUIDO CAVALCANTI. (Small, Maynard,
Boston, 1912)
RIPOSTES. (Swift, London, 1912; and Mathews, London, 1913)
DES IMAGISTES: An anthology of the Imagists, Ezra Pound,
Aldington, Amy Lowell, Ford Maddox Hueffer, and others
GAUDIER-BRZESKA: A memoir. (John Lane, London and New York,
1916)
NOH: A study of the Classical Stage of Japan with Ernest
Fenollosa. (Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1917; and Macmillan,
London, 1917)
LUSTRA with Earlier Poems. (Alfred A. Knopf, New York, 1917)
PAVANNES AHD DIVISIONS. (Prose. In preparation: Alfred A. Knopf,
New York)
EZRA POUND: HIS METRIC AND POETRY
I
"All talk on modern poetry, by people who know," wrote Mr. Carl
Sandburg in _Poetry_, "ends with dragging in Ezra Pound
somewhere. He may be named only to be cursed as wanton and
mocker, poseur, trifler and vagrant. Or he may be classed as
filling a niche today like that of Keats in a preceding epoch.
The point is, he will be mentioned."
This is a simple statement of fact. But though Mr. Pound is well
known, even having been the victim of interviews for Sunday
papers, it does not follow that his work is thoroughly known.
There are twenty people who have their opinion of him for every
one who has read his writings with any care. Of those twenty,
there will be some who are shocked, some who are ruffled, some
who are irritated, and one or two whose sense of dignity is
outraged. The twenty-first critic will probably be one who knows
and admires some of the poems, but who either says: "Pound is
primarily a scholar, a translator," or "Pound's early verse was
beautiful; his later work shows nothing better than the itch for
advertisement, a mischievous desire to be annoying, or a
childish desire to be original." There is a third type of
reader, rare enough, who has perceived Mr. Pound for some years,
who has followed his career intelligently, and who recognizes
its consistency.
This essay is not written for the first twenty critics of
literature, nor for that rare twenty-second who has just been
mentioned, but for the admirer of a poem here or there, whose
appreciation is capable of yielding him a larger return. If the
reader is already at the stage where he can maintain at once the
two propositions, "Pound is merely a scholar" and "Pound is
merely a yellow journalist," or the other two propositions,
"Pound is merely a technician" and "Pound is merely a prophet of
chaos," then there is very little hope. But there are readers of
poetry who have not yet reached this hypertrophy of the logical
faculty; their attention might be arrested, not by an outburst
of praise, but by a simple statement. The present essay aims
merely at such a statement. It is not intended to be either a
biographical or a critical study. It will not dilate upon
"beauties"; it is a summary account of ten years' work in
poetry. The citations from reviews will perhaps stimulate the
reader to form his own opinion. We do not wish to form it for
him. Nor shall we enter into other phases of Mr. Pound's
activity during this ten years; his writings and views on art
and music; though these would take an important place in any
comprehensive biography.
II
Pound's first book was published in Venice. Venice was a halting
point after he had left America and before he had settled in
England, and here, in 1908, "A Lume Spento" appeared. The
volume is now a rarity of literature; it was published by the
author and made at a Venetian press where the author was able
personally to supervise the printing; on paper which was a
remainder of a supply which had been used for a History of the
Church. Pound left Venice in the same year, and took "A Lume
Spento" with him to London. It was not to be expected that a
first book of verse, published by an unknown American in Venice,
should attract much attention. The "Evening Standard" has the
distinction of having noticed the volume, in a review summing it
up as:
wild and haunting stuff, absolutely poetic, original,
imaginative, passionate, and spiritual. Those who do not
consider it crazy may well consider it inspired. Coming
after the trite and decorous verse of most of our decorous
poets, this poet seems like a minstrel of Provence at a
suburban musical evening.... The unseizable magic of poetry
is in the queer paper volume, and words are no good in
describing it.
As the chief poems in "A Lume Spento" were afterwards
incorporated in "Personae," the book demands mention only as a
date in the author's history. "Personae," the first book
published in London, followed early in 1909. Few poets have
undertaken the siege of London with so little backing; few books
of verse have ever owed their success so purely to their own
merits. Pound came to London a complete stranger, without either
literary patronage or financial means. He took "Personae" to Mr.
Elkin Mathews, who has the glory of having published Yeats'
"Wind Among the Reeds," and the "Books of the Rhymers' Club," in
which many of the poets of the '90s, now famous, found a place.
Mr. Mathews first suggested, as was natural to an unknown
author, that the author should bear part of the cost of
printing. "I have a shilling in my pocket, if that is any use to
you," said the latter. "Well," said Mr. Mathews, "I want to
publish it anyway." His acumen was justified. The book was, it
is true, received with opposition, but it was received. There
were a few appreciative critics, notably Mr. Edward Thomas, the
poet (known also as "Edward Eastaway"; he has since been killed
in France). Thomas, writing in the "English Review" (then in its
brightest days under the editorship of Ford Madox Hueffer),
recognized the first-hand intensity of feeling in "Personae":
He has... hardly any of the superficial good qualities of
modern versifiers.... He has not the current melancholy or
resignation or unwillingness to live; nor the kind of
feeling for nature which runs to minute description and
decorative metaphor. He cannot be usefully compared with any
living writers;... full of personality and with such power
to express it, that from the first to the last lines of most
of his poems he holds us steadily in his own pure grave,
passionate world.... The beauty of it (In Praise of Ysolt)
is the beauty of passion, sincerity and intensity, not of
beautiful words and images and suggestions... the thought
dominates the words and is greater than they are. Here
(Idyll for Glaucus) the effect is full of human passion and
natural magic, without any of the phrases which a reader of
modern verse would expect in the treatment of such a
subject.
Mr. Scott James, in the "Daily News," speaks in praise of his
metres:
At first the whole thing may seem to be mere madness and
rhetoric, a vain exhibition of force and passion without
beauty. But, as we read on, these curious metres of his seem
to have a law and order of their own; the brute force of Mr.
Pound's imagination seems to impart some quality of
infectious beauty to his words. Sometimes there is a strange
beating of anapaests when he quickens to his subject; again
and again he unexpectedly ends a line with the second half
of a reverberant hexameter:
"Flesh shrouded, bearing the secret."
... And a few lines later comes an example of his favourite
use of spondee, followed by dactyl and spondee, which comes
in strangely and, as we first read it, with the appearance
of discord, but afterwards seems to gain a curious and
distinctive vigour:
"Eyes, dreams, lips, and the night goes."
Another line like the end of a hexameter is
"But if e'er I come to my love's land."
But even so favourable a critic pauses to remark that
He baffles us by archaic words and unfamiliar metres; he
often seems to be scorning the limitations of form and
metre, breaking out into any sort of expression which suits
itself to his mood.
and counsels the poet to "have a little more respect for his
art."
It is, in fact, just this adaptability of metre to mood,
an adaptability due to an intensive study of metre, that
constitutes an important element in Pound's technique. Few
readers were prepared to accept or follow the amount of
erudition which entered into "Personae" and its close successor,
"Exultations," or to devote the care to reading them which they
demand. It is here that many have been led astray. Pound is not
one of those poets who make no demand of the reader; and the
casual reader of verse, disconcerted by the difference between
Pound's poetry and that on which his taste has been trained,
attributes his own difficulties to excessive scholarship on the
part of the author. "This," he will say of some of the poems in
Provencal form or on Provencal subjects, "is archaeology; it
requires knowledge on the part of its reader, and true poetry
does not require such knowledge." But to display knowledge is
not the same thing as to expect it on the part of the reader;
and of this sort of pedantry Pound is quite free. He is, it is
true, one of the most learned of poets. In America he had taken
up the study of Romance Languages with the intention of
teaching. After work in Spain and Italy, after pursuing the
Provencal verb from Milan to Freiburg, he deserted the thesis
on Lope de Vega and the Ph.D. and the professorial chair,
and elected to remain in Europe. Mr. Pound has spoken out
his mind from time to time on the subject of scholarship in
American universities, its deadness, its isolation from genuine
appreciation, and the active creative life of literature. He has
always been ready to battle against pedantry. As for his own
learning, he has studied poetry carefully, and has made use of
his study in his own verse. "Personae" and "Exultations"
show his talent for turning his studies to account. He was
supersaturated in Provence; he had tramped over most of the
country; and the life of the courts where the Troubadours
thronged was part of his own life to him. Yet, though "Personae"
and "Exultations" do exact something from the reader, they do
not require a knowledge of Provencal or of Spanish or Italian.
Very few people know the Arthurian legends well, or even Malory
(if they did they might realize that the Idylls of the King are
hardly more important than a parody, or a "Chaucer retold for
Children"); but no one accuses Tennyson of needing footnotes, or
of superciliousness toward the uninstructed. The difference is
merely in what people are prepared for; most readers could no
more relate the myth of Atys correctly than they could give a
biography of Bertrand de Born. It is hardly too much to say that
there is no poem in these volumes of Mr. Pound which needs
fuller explanation than he gives himself. What the poems do
require is a trained ear, or at least the willingness to be
trained.
The metres and the use of language are unfamiliar. There are
certain traces of modern influence. We cannot agree with Mr.
Scott-James that among these are "W. E. Henley, Kipling,
Chatterton, and especially Walt Whitman"--least of all Walt
Whitman. Probably there are only two: Yeats and Browning. Yeats
in "La Fraisne," in "Personae," for instance, in the attitude
and somewhat in the vocabulary:
I wrapped my tears in an ellum leaf
And left them under a stone,
And now men call me mad because I have thrown
All folly from me, putting it aside
To leave the old barren ways of men...
For Browning, Mr. Pound has always professed strong admiration
(see "Mesmerism" in "Personae"); there are traces of him in
"Cino" and "Famam Librosque Cano," in the same volume. But it is
more profitable to comment upon the variety of metres and the
original use of language.
Ezra Pound has been fathered with vers libre in English, with
all its vices and virtues. The term is a loose one--any verse is
called "free" by people whose ears are not accustomed to it--in
the second place, Pound's use of this medium has shown the
temperance of the artist, and his belief in it as a vehicle is
not that of the fanatic. He has said himself that when one has
the proper material for a sonnet, one should use the sonnet
form; but that it happens very rarely to any poet to find
himself in possession of just the block of stuff which can
perfectly be modelled into the sonnet. It is true that up to
very recently it was impossible to get free verse printed in any
periodical except those in which Pound had influence; and
that now it is possible to print free verse (second, third, or
tenth-rate) in almost any American magazine. Who is responsible
for the bad free verse is a question of no importance, inasmuch
as its authors would have written bad verse in any form; Pound
has at least the right to be judged by the success or failure of
his own. Pound's vers libre is such as is only possible for a
poet who has worked tirelessly with rigid forms and different
systems of metric. His "Canzoni" are in a way aside from his
direct line of progress; they are much more nearly studies in
mediaeval appreciation than any of his other verse; but they are
interesting, apart from their merit, as showing the poet at work
with the most intricate Provencal forms--so intricate that the
pattern cannot be exhibited without quoting an entire poem. (M.
Jean de Bosschere, whose French is translated in the "Egoist,"
has already called attention to the fact that Pound was the
first writer in English to use five Provencal forms.) Quotation
will show, however, the great variety of rhythm which Pound
manages to introduce into the ordinary iambic pentameter:
Thy gracious ways,
O lady of my heart, have
O'er all my thought their golden glamour cast;
As amber torch-flames, where strange men-at-arms
Tread softly 'neath the damask shield of night,
Rise from the flowing steel in part reflected,
So on my mailed thought that with thee goeth,
Though dark the way, a golden glamour falleth.
Within the iambic limits, there are no two lines in the whole
poem that have an identical rhythm.
We turn from this to a poem in "Exultations," the "Night
Litany":
O God, what great kindness
have we done in times past
and forgotten it,
That thou givest this wonder unto us,
O God of waters?
O God of the night
What great sorrow
Cometh unto us,
That thou thus repayest us
Before the time of its coming?
There is evident, and more strongly in certain later poems, a
tendency toward quantitative measure. Such a "freedom" as this
lays so heavy a burden upon every word in a line that it becomes
impossible to write like Shelley, leaving blanks for the
adjectives, or like Swinburne, whose adjectives are practically
blanks. Other poets have manipulated a great variety of metres
and forms; but few have studied the forms and metres which they
use so carefully as has Pound. His ballad of the "Goodly Fere"
shows great knowledge of the ballad form:
I ha' seen him cow a thousand men
On the hills o' Galilee,
They whined as he walked out | 1,424.784142 |
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Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: The Girls Made Camp and Ate Supper.]
The Meadow-Brook Girls Across Country
OR
The Young Pathfinders on a Summer Hike
By
JANET ALDRIDGE
Author of The Meadow-Brook Girls Under Canvas,
The Meadow-Brook Girls Afloat, etc.
Illustrated
PHILADELPHIA
HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY
Copyright, 1913, by
Howard E. Altemus
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Night of Excitement 7
II. The Red Eye in the Dark 30
III. A Blessing and a Threat 39
IV. The Coming of Crazy Jane 50
V. Catching the Speckled Beauties 62
VI. The Call of the Dancing Bear 69
VII. Discovering Midnight Prowlers 79
VIII. Caught in a Morass 90
IX. The Tramp Club to the Rescue 102
X. In the Hands of the Rescuers 112
XI. A Contest of Endurance 124
XII. Meadow-Brook Girls up a Tree 134
XIII. A Serious Predicament 146
XIV. Harriet Is Resourceful 152
XV. A Race for Life 163
XVI. A Treat That Was Not a Treat 173
XVII. Trying out the Gipsy Trail 186
XVIII. The Queen Takes a Hand 196
XIX. Delving Into the Mysteries 206
XX. Getting Even With George 217
XXI. Harriet Plans to Outwit the Tramp Club 225
XXII. A Combietta Concert 230
XXIII. The Harmonica Serenade 236
XXIV. Conclusion 244
THE MEADOW-BROOK GIRLS ACROSS COUNTRY
CHAPTER I--A NIGHT OF EXCITEMENT
"Oh, where can Crazy Jane be!" wailed Margery Brown.
"It isn't so much a question of where Jane may be as where we ourselves
are, Buster," answered Harriet Burrell, laughingly. "However, if she
doesn't come, why, we will make the best of it. This will not be the
first time we have spent the night out of doors."
"Are we lost?" gasped Hazel Holland.
"It looks very much as though we had gone astray," replied Miss Elting,
who was acting as guardian and chaperon to the Meadow-Brook Girls.
"Oh, thave me!" wailed Grace Thompson, her impish little face appearing
to grow several degrees smaller.
"Girls! Please do not become excited," urged the guardian. "There is no
cause for alarm. Even if we have lost our way we shall find it again on
the morrow. Harriet, you have the map. Suppose we examine it again and
see if we can find out where we are. We surely must be near human
habitation, and the country is so open that really getting lost is quite
impossible."
Harriet Burrell unslung the pack that she carried over her shoulder,
then felt about in it until she found that for which she was looking.
She spread the map out on the ground at one side of the road, her
companions gathering about and gazing down over her shoulder. Miss
Elting sat down beside the map.
"Here! Trace our day's route with the pencil," she said. "This should be
Harmon's Valley. That being the case, the village of Harmon should be
not more than a mile farther on."
"There is no village anywhere near us, according to the route we have
traveled since this morning," answered Harriet.
"Oh, that can't be possible," exclaimed Miss Elting.
"Please look for yourself, Miss Elting," Harriet replied earnestly.
"After leaving Granite Mountain we swung to the left as you will see by
the line I have marked."
"Hm-m-m," murmured the guardian as she scanned the map.
"It looks to me very much as though we had taken the wrong valley," said
Harriet, as she paused in her scrutiny of the map to glance up at the
hills that shut in the valley where they now were. "See! There isn't a
town marked on this map anywhere in this valley."
"I believe you are right. In order to get to our stopping place for the
night we shall have to cross those hills to the right. How far is it
across?"
"Five miles," answered Harriet, after making some brief measurements.
"Five mileth?" wailed Grace. "Oh, thave me!"
"Tommy, will you be quiet?" begged Margery. "You make me nervous. Miss
Elting, you aren't going on, to-night, are you? I simply can't walk
another mile. My feet are so numb that I can't feel them."
"I can feel mine. They are ath big ath elephantth," declared Tommy.
"What do you say, girls? Shall we go on or make camp for the night?"
questioned the guardian. "Remember, Jane McCarthy is no doubt waiting
with her car for us over in the other valley. She will not know where to
go if we do not get in touch with her to-night."
Grace, Hazel and Margery begged Miss Elting to go no farther. They
already had made ten miles that day, which they declared was quite
enough.
"What do you say, Harriet?" asked Miss Elting.
"Of course I am a little footsore, but I could walk another ten miles if
necessary. However, the other girls do not wish to go farther, so I vote
with them to remain here for the night. But won't Jane be puzzled where
to go in the morning!"
"She will find us, my dear," smiled the guardian.
"If you think best I will cross the ridge, after supper, and see if I
can find her," suggested Harriet Burrell.
"No. I could not think of permitting you to do that, Harriet. Jane will
be sure to wait at the meeting place we agreed upon until noon to-morrow
before starting on to the next stopping place."
"But we haven't any plathe to thleep," protested the lisping Tommy. "I
can't thleep on the ground, can I?"
"No. You are going to sleep standing up like a horse," answered Margery
petulantly.
"No, I'm not. I'm going to lie down jutht like I alwayth do," lisped the
little girl.
"Girls, stop your disputing. We have other things to think of," rebuked
Harriet. "Let's try to make the best of our unpleasant situation."
Miss Elting, shading her eyes with her hand, gazed inquiringly at the
surrounding country. It was barren of buildings except for a large barn
and a number of stacks and sheds, some distance away in a field to the
west. Still beyond this was a clump of trees and bushes. There was
nothing else--no house, no human beings other than themselves in sight.
"Girls, let's investigate that miniature forest over yonder," called the
guardian. "It looks as though it might be an excellent place in which to
cook supper, provided we are able to find water."
"Supper!" cried the girls in chorus. They realized all at once that they
were hungry. With one accord they snatched up their packs, heavy as they
were, slung them over their shoulders and laboriously climbed the
roadside fence. Tommy caught her foot on the top rail in attempting to
jump to the ground on the other side.
"Look out!" warned Miss Elting sharply.
"Thave me!" wailed the lisping Tommy and sprawled on all fours on the
other side of the fence, kicking frantically as she fell.
"Are you hurt, dear?" cried Harriet, springing over to her companion.
"Hurt? I gueth I am. Don't you thee, I've thkinned my nothe. Oh, I withh
I were home!"
"No, you don't. Think what a lot of fun you are having," comforted
Harriet. "There! You are all right now."
"Am I all right?"
"Of course you are."
"All right, if you thay tho," nodded Tommy, gathering up her pack and
moving away with Harriet Burrell's arm about her. Miss Elting and the
other girls had started for the clump of trees. Arriving, they quickly
flung down their packs. The guardian began hunting for water. She found
a stream of cold water just inside the clump of trees beyond the field,
as she had anticipated. The greenness of the foliage about the spot had
told her that water was near. In other parts of the valley the leaves
were turning. There was a strong suggestion of Autumn in the air, which
at night was crisp and bracing, though the days thus far on their long
tramp, had been unusually warm for so late in the Fall.
It was Harriet's duty to build the fire. She went about this task at
once. There was some difficulty in finding wood that would burn. After
searching she found some pieces of old fence rails. These were of pine,
and as they were too long for a fire over which to cook food, Harriet
got out her hatchet and began to chop them into smaller pieces. It was a
hard task to chop through a rail, sharp though the hatchet was. However,
within fifteen minutes, the girl had accomplished the task and the fire
was burning.
"I am afraid I can't promise a great variety or quantity of edibles for
supper," announced Miss Elting, "though what there is to eat will be
appetizing."
"If there is enough, it will answer," Margery declared.
"Enough?" repeated Tommy wisely. "Buthter, you thurely ought to diet--a
girl ath thtout ath you are."
"I think I've heard you remark something of the sort before," sighed
Margery wearily. "I wish you would forget that I weigh--well, never mind
how much! The subject is a distressing one. I'm almost too hungry
to-night to think of anything except eating."
Tommy's mischievous glance roved about, resting first on Harriet, who
with flushed face was bending over the fire, then on Miss Elting, who
was slicing bacon. In addition to the bacon there was to be coffee,
supplemented by a few biscuits. There was nothing very hearty about that
repast for healthy girls who had tramped for hours under a warm
September sun. Still, there were no complaints, save as Tommy and
Margery had voiced their disgust with their present life.
Though none of these young women could guess it, they were destined,
before morning, to encounter enough excitement to make them all wish
they had never started on this long walk from Camp Wau-Wau, where they
had spent the summer, to their homes in Meadow-Brook.
Surely the Meadow-Brook Girls need no introduction to the readers of
this series who will recall how, under | 1,424.785504 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif, MFR and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
LOVE’S OLD SWEET SONG
A SHEAF OF LATTER-DAY LOVE-POEMS
GARNERED FROM MANY SOURCES
Books by the Same Author
THE GARDEN’S STORY, OR PLEASURES AND TRIALS OF AN AMATEUR GARDENER
THE STORY OF MY HOUSE
IN GOLD AND SILVER
THE ROSE. By H. B. Ellwanger. Revised edition, with an Introduction
by George H. Ellwanger.
IDYLLISTS OF THE COUNTRY-SIDE
LOVE’S DEMESNE
MEDITATIONS ON GOUT
THE PLEASURES OF THE TABLE
[Illustration:
LOVE’S
OLD SWEET SONG
A SHEAF OF
LATTER-DAY LOVE-POEMS
_Gathered from Many Sources_
BY
GEORGE H. ELLWANGER
_New York_
_Dodd-Mead
and
Company_
1903]
_Copyright, 1903_,
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
_Copyright, 1896_,
BY DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY,
AS “LOVE’S DEMESNE.”
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
TO
THE MEMORY OF
GLEESON WHITE, ESQ.
In Friendliest Regard
_ENVOY._
_Resound, ye strains, attuned by master-fingers,
That breathe so fondly Love’s consuming fire;
Some sweet and subtle as a chord that lingers,
Some grave and plaintive as the heart’s desire._
_Like June’s gay laughter thro’ the woodlands ringing,
These hymn the Present’s gladsome roundelay;
As Autumn grieves when choirs have ceased their singing,
Those voice their haunting burden, “Well-a-day!”_
_Yet, past or present, who the power would banish
That charms or blights, that blesses or that mars:
To happy lovers, how may Love e’er vanish,--
To hearts forlorn, how hallowed are his scars!_
PUBLISHERS’ NOTE.
In this Anthology is included in more convenient form the greater
portion of the poems contained in the two volumes entitled “Love’s
Demesne,” now out of print. The present collection has been carefully
revised by the Compiler, and like its predecessor occupies an entirely
distinct field, most of the selections being otherwise only accessible
in the volumes where they originally appeared, and the major part being
by living lyrists.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
The sincere thanks of the Editor are due, not only to those American
authors who have graciously allowed the reproduction of their poems, but
equally to the numerous British living poets whose graceful verses
appear in the following pages. In but one instance on the part of a
native author, and in but one instance on the part of a publisher, was
permission to include poems refused. With these exceptions the Compiler
has received the most cordial assistance from holders of copyrights. It
becomes a personal pleasure, therefore, to thank the following in
particular for their uniform courtesy, without which many a flowing
measure contained in “Love’s Old Sweet Song” must necessarily have been
omitted: Messrs. HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO., ROBERTS BROS., CHARLES
SCRIBNER’S SONS, MACMILLAN & CO., G. P. PUTNAM’S SONS, STONE & KIMBALL,
J. G. CUPPLES, BELFORD, CLARKE & CO., D. LOTHROP & CO., COPELAND & DAY,
HENRY HOLT & CO., R. WORTHINGTON & CO., WAY & WILLIAMS, LONGMANS, GREEN
& CO. To these and other publishers, to the sonorous choir of the poets
quoted from, and, finally, to Mr. GLEESON WHITE and Mr. _Edmund Clarence
Stedman_, the Compiler tenders his most grateful acknowledgments.
A PASSING WORD.
Bearing in mind the assertion of Monsieur de Milcourt, that prefaces for
the most part seem only made in order to “impose” upon the reader, a
brief foreword will suffice to explain the scope of the following pages.
As will be apparent at a glance, the selections are all from modern, and
largely from living poets; the dominant chord is lyrical; and in the
general unisance the minor prevails over the major key. No excuse seems
called for in presenting a new anthology; for, given the same theme,
each compiler must of necessity present a different score, subject to
individual taste and preferences. “To apologize for a new anthology is
but one degree less sensible than to prepare it,” pertinently remarks
the editor of _Ballades and Rondeaus_. Such were but another case of
_qui s’excuse, s’accuse_. It may be observed, nevertheless, that the
path of the compiler is far from being strewn with flowers. Indeed, it
has been truly said that Æsop’s old man and boy with the donkey had not
a harder task than the maker of selections and collections of verses.
Of recent years a number of excellent anthologies have been published on
a similar theme. But these deal mainly with the rhythmic fancies of the
elder bards, or in fewer instances, combine the older and the younger
schools. In the present instance the editor has been guided solely by
his own taste or predilections, having had no recourse to other
collections, beyond that of avoiding _excerpta_ too oft repeated; the
aim being so far as possible to include such examples of merit as are
not generally familiar to the average lover of poetry. Whether these be
by well-known authors, or by those who are little known, has not entered
into consideration, the prime object being to present as intrinsically
meritorious a collection, by both British and American modern lyrists,
as is possible within the limits of the space at command.
The writer is not aware of a similar compilation having been previously
attempted, there being few who would care to brave the “omissions” that
must naturally be thrust at one’s door, more especially in the case of
an abstract from the works of living writers. Yet while fault may be
found, perchance, on the score of selection both by those who may be
excluded, as well as by those who are included, the editor of an
anthology should at least be thanked for placing many selections before
the reader that in the ordinary course of things he would miss,--either
through lack of time, or the inability to possess or consult the
multitudinous volumes he would be called upon to peruse.
“The purchasing public for poetry,” says Mr. Lang, “must now consist
chiefly of poets, and they are usually poor.” The anthologist is the
bee, therefore, to extract the honey from the fragrant garland of song,
at the least fatigue to the reader. For every poet has not a hive of
sweets to draw from; and though the blooms be many in the parterre of
poesy, still these require to be plucked with reference not only to
individual beauty, but to general harmony as well. A single line may
sadly mar an otherwise flawless verse, as a single sonnet rendered
immortal the name of Félix Arvers. Many no doubt will miss some
favourites. Of such it may be observed that not a few lovely apostrophes
have been omitted on account of too great length, or, as previously
stated, owing to their being familiar to the great majority of readers.
Some poems, moreover, beautiful in themselves, have not been included,
despite their intrinsic merits, because they seemed to be out of accord
with the prevailing key, as in the case of numerous lyrics approaching
the form of so-termed _Vers de Société_. Still others, and many of these
extremely beautiful amatory poems, somewhat free in _motif_ or
treatment, have been excluded as not fulfilling the precise requirements
of the present collection; these were more appropriate grouped in a
volume by themselves.
A few translations only have been admitted; the satisfactory translation
of verse being an art by itself, demanding special qualifications
possessed only by the few. But though it is not often that a rendition
does not suffer when compared with its original, it is equally true that
in some hands a transcription may equal if not surpass its prototype.
Witness, for example, Mr. Andrew Lang’s graceful stanzas entitled “An
Old Tune,” adapted from Gérard de Nerval’s dreamy _Fantaisie_, and which
although very closely rendered fully equal the original in colour and
fragrance, while surpassing it in melodiousness and rhythm. Nearly as
much might be said of Mr. Edmund Gosse’s version of Théophile de Viau’s
lovely sonnet, _Au moins ay-ie songé que ie vous ay baisée_, as also of
the late Thomas Ashe’s phrasing of _Ma vie a son secret, mon âme a son
mystère_, which has been so variously rendered by various translators.
With Waller’s “Go, lovely rose,” Herrick’s “Gather ye roses,” Ford’s
“There is a lady sweet and kind,” and many another harmonious measure of
Lily, Lodge, Lovelace, Campion, Carew, and the rest of them ringing in
our ears | 1,424.879974 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THEY PACKED AWAY NEARLY EVERY TROPHY THE ROOM CONTAINED.--_Page 249._
_The Putnam Hall Champions._]
THE PUTNAM HALL
CHAMPIONS
_Or, Bound to Win Out_
BY
ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
AUTHOR OF "THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS," "THE PUTNAM HALL RIVALS," "THE ROVER
BOYS SERIES," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1908, by
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Race on the Lake 1
II. What the Wind Did 11
III. About a Gymnastic Contest 22
IV. Shortcake and Lemonade 32
V. The Interview in the Office 43
VI. Andy Snow's Victory 54
VII. At the Drug Store 64
VIII. A Scare on the Road 75
IX. The Inspection 85
X. What Happened to Jack 96
XI. A Challenge from Pornell Academy 106
XII. The Bowling Match 116
XIII. Fun with Peleg Snuggers 126
XIV. The Mystery of a Bracelet 136
XV. The Great Bicycle Race 146
XVI. At the Chetwood Cottage 157
XVII. An Interview with George Strong 165
XVIII. Searching the Woods 173
XIX. The Bone and Blood Club 181
XX. The End of the Search 189
XXI. Surprises of a Night 197
XXII. Prisoners on the Sloop 205
XXIII. The Race of the Sloops 213
XXIV. Fred Century Makes a Change 221
XXV. A Cannon and a Flagstaff Disappear 229
XXVI. A Conference of Importance 237
XXVII. In the Trophy Room 245
XXVIII. An Unlooked-for Disappearance 253
XXIX. The Hill Climbing Contest 261
XXX. A Capture--Conclusion 269
INTRODUCTION
My Dear Boys:
This tale is complete in itself, but forms volume three in a line issued
under the general title of "Putnam Hall Series."
This series was started at the request of many boys and girls who had
read some volumes of the "Rover Boys' Series," and who wanted to know
what had taken place at Putnam Hall previous to the arrival there of the
three Rover brothers. When the Rovers came on the scene Putnam Hall had
been flourishing for some time and was filled with bright, go-ahead
cadets, who had been mixed up in innumerable scrapes, and who had gone
through quite a few adventures. My young friends wanted to hear all
about these wideawake lads, and for their benefit I started this series.
In the first volume, called "The Putnam Hall Cadets," I told just how
the school came to be founded, and related many of the adventures of
Jack Ruddy, Pepper Ditmore, and their chums. In the second volume,
entitled "The Putnam Hall Rivals," the doings of these cadets were again
followed, and I also told the particulars of a queer balloon ride and of
a remarkable discovery in the woods.
In the present story I have endeavored to show something of what the
Putnam Hall boys could do when it came to contests on the lake, in the
gymnasium, and elsewhere. A large portion of the cadets' "off time" was
devoted to sports, and the rivalry, both in the academy and against
other schools, was of the keenest. Mixed in with the rivalry was a
generous share of fun, and what some of this hilarity led to I leave the
pages which follow to tell.
Once again I thank my young friends for the interest they have shown in
my stories. I trust the reading of this volume will please you all.
Affectionately and sincerely yours,
Arthur M. Winfield.
THE PUTNAM HALL CHAMPIONS
CHAPTER I
A RACE ON THE LAKE
"Talk about a life on the ocean wave, Pep; isn't this good enough for
anybody?"
"It certainly is, Jack," answered Pepper Ditmore. "And I think the
_Alice_ is going to prove a dandy."
"The _Alice_ a dandy?" came from a third youth aboard the sloop. "How
can you make that out? Girls aren't dandies."
"But this girl is a boat," put in a fourth youth. "Say, has anybody got
an apple he doesn't want?" he went on, looking from one to another of
his companions.
"What, Stuffer, aren't you filled up yet?" demanded Jack Ruddy, who had
hold of the tiller of the craft that was speeding up the lake. "To my
certain knowledge you have eaten ten apples already."
"Ten?" snorted Paul Singleton, who was often called Stuffer because of
his love of eating. "Not a bit of it! I've only had four--and two were
very small."
"Here's another--my last," cried Pepper, and threw the apple to his chum.
"By the way, Jack, I want to ask a question," said Dale Blackmore. "Why
did you call the new sloop the _Alice_?"
"Name of his best girl," answered Pepper, promptly. "Why do you ask
foolish questions?"
"I haven't any best girl and you know it," retorted Jack Ruddy. "I named
the sloop after my cousin, Alice Smith. Her father, my uncle, gave me
the boat. He----"
"Hullo, here comes another sloop!" cried Paul Singleton, looking across
the lake. "Wonder what boat that is?"
"I see a big P on the mainsail," answered Dale Blackmore. "Must belong
to some of the Pornell Academy fellows."
"I know that boat--heard about her when I was in town yesterday," said
Pepper Ditmore. "She belongs to a fellow of Pornell named Fred Century."
"Gracious, Imp, is he a hundred years old?" queried Dale, with a
grimace.
"Hardly. He's only a little older than I am. The sloop is named the
_Ajax_, and Century claims she is the swiftest thing that was ever
launched here."
"She certainly looks as if she could make time," was Dale Blackmore's
critical comment, as he gazed at the approaching craft, with her snowy
spread of sails. "I don't think she is quite as wide as the _Alice_."
"She is every bit as long," came from Paul Singleton. "And her sails are
every bit as big."
"Sloop ahoy!" came a hail from the approaching craft.
"Ahoy, the _Ajax_!" answered Jack Ruddy.
"Is that the new boat from Putnam Hall?"
"Yes."
"We thought it might be," went on Fred Century, as he came closer. "This
is the new boat from Pornell Academy."
"Yes, we know that," answered Jack. "Fine-looking sloop, too," he added.
"Do you want to race?" asked another youth aboard the _Ajax_.
"Well, we didn't come out to race," answered the young owner of the
_Alice_. "We just came out for a quiet sail. We've got to be back to the
Hall by six o'clock."
"Oh, they are afraid to race you, Fred," said another boy aboard the
_Ajax_. "They know you can beat them out of their boots."
"Let us race them, Jack," whispered Pepper.
"No use of racing if the _Alice_ isn't in proper condition," interrupted
Dale.
"Oh, she's all right--but I like to go over everything before a race,"
said Jack, a bit doubtfully. "Some of the blocks work rather stiffly,
and I haven't quite got the swing of this tiller yet."
"Want to race or not?" cried a third boy aboard the _Ajax_.
"Of course, if you are afraid of being beaten----" began Fred Century.
"Did you come out just for the purpose of racing?" demanded Jack.
"Why, hardly," said the owner of the _Ajax_. "We just saw you, and
thought you'd like a little brush, that's all."
"How far do you want to race?"
"As far as you please."
"Very well, what do you say to Cat Point and from there to Borden's
Cove? The first sloop to reach the white rock at the cove is to be the
winner."
"Done!" answered Fred Century, promptly.
"We'll beat you by half a mile!" sang out one of the boys aboard the
Pornell boat, a lad named Will Carey.
"Better do your blowing after the race is over," answered Pepper.
"Oh, we'll beat you all right enough," said the owner of the Pornell
boat. "This sloop of mine is going to be the queen of this lake, and
don't you forget it."
A few words more were spoken--as to how the boats should round Cat
Point--and then the race was started. There was a favorable breeze, and
each craft let out its mainsail to the fullest and likewise the topsail
and the jib.
"We are carrying four passengers while they are only carrying three,"
said Dale, when the race was on in earnest. "We should have made them
take some extra ballast aboard."
The course mapped out was about two miles in one direction and two miles
in another. At the start of the race the _Alice_ had a little the better
of it, but before half a mile had been covered the _Ajax_ came crawling
up and then passed the Putnam Hall boat.
"Here is where we leave you behind!" sang out Fred Century.
"We'll show you a clean pair of heels over the whole course," added Will
Carey.
"As soon as you are ready to give up the race, blow your fog-horn," said
Bat Sedley, the third member of the party aboard the _Ajax_.
"You'll hear no fog-horn to-day," answered Paul.
"Good-bye!" shouted Fred Century, and then his sloop took an extra spurt
and went ahead a distance of a hundred yards or more.
"Oh, Jack, we've got to beat them!" murmured Pepper. "If we don't----"
"They'll never get done crowing," finished Paul.
"We'll do our best," answered the youthful owner of the _Alice_. "This
race has only started." And then he moved the tiller a trifle, to bring
his boat on a more direct course for Cat Point.
To those who have read the previous volumes in this "Putnam Hall Series"
the boys aboard the _Alice_ need no special introduction. For the
benefit of those who now meet them for the first time I would state that
they were all pupils at Putnam Hall military academy, a fine institution
of learning, located on the shore of Cayuga Lake, in New York State. Of
the lads Jack Ruddy was a little the oldest. He was a well-built and
handsome boy, and had been chosen as major of the school battalion.
Jack's bosom companion was Pepper Ditmore, often called Imp, because he
loved to play pranks. Pepper was such a wideawake, jolly youth you could
not help but love him, and he had a host of friends.
Putnam Hall had been built by Captain Victor Putnam, a retired officer
of the United States Army, who had seen strenuous service for Uncle Sam
in the far West. The captain had had considerable money left to him, and
with this he had purchased ten acres of land on the shore of the lake
and erected his school, a handsome structure of brick and stone,
containing many class-rooms, a large number of dormitories, and likewise
a library, mess-room, or dining hall, an office, and other necessary
apartments. There was a beautiful campus in front of the building and a
parade ground to one side. Towards the rear were a gymnasium and several
barns, and also a boathouse, fronting the lake. Beyond, around a curve
of the shore, were fields cultivated for the benefit of the Hall, and
further away were several patches of woods.
As was but natural in the case of an old army officer, Captain Putnam
had organized his school upon military lines, and his students made up a
battalion of two companies, as related in details in the first volume of
this series, called "The Putnam Hall Cadets." The students had voted for
their own officers, and after a contest that was more or less spirited,
Jack Ruddy was elected major of the battalion, and a youth named Henry
Lee became captain of Company A, and Bart Conners captain of Company B.
Some of the boys wanted Pepper to try for an officer's position, but he
declined, stating he would just as lief remain "a high private in the
rear rank."
At the school there was a big youth named Dan Baxter, who was a good
deal of a bully. He had wanted to be an officer, and it made him very
sore to see himself defeated. Together with a crony named Nick Paxton
and a boy called Mumps he plotted to break up a picnic of Jack and his
friends. This plot proved a boomerang, and after that Baxter and his
cohorts did all they could to get Jack and his chums into trouble.
The first assistant teacher at the Hall was Josiah Crabtree, a man of
good education, but one who was decidedly sour in his make-up and who
never knew how to take fun. With him the cadets were continually in "hot
water," and more than once the boys wished Crabtree would leave Putnam
Hall never to return.
The second assistant teacher was George Strong, and he was as much
beloved as the first assistant was despised. George Strong had not
forgotten the time when he was a boy himself, and he often came out on
the lake or the athletic field, or in the gymnasium, to take part in
their sports and pastimes. Pepper voted him "the prince of good
teachers," and Jack and the others endorsed this sentiment.
During the first session of Putnam Hall, George Strong had mysteriously
disappeared. Two strange men had been seen around the school, and it was
learned that the strangers had something to do with the missing
instructor. A hunt was instituted by Captain Putnam, and in this he was
joined by Jack, Pepper, Dale, and an acrobatic pupil named Andy Snow.
George Strong was found to be a prisoner in a hut in the woods, and it
was learned that his captors were the two strange men. These men were
related distantly to the teacher and both were insane--their minds having
been affected by the loss of their fortunes.
After the insane men were cared for George Strong told the cadets about
a pot of gold which his ancestors had buried during the Revolutionary
War. One day some of the cadets took a balloon ride, as related in
detail in the second volume of this series, entitled "The Putnam Hall
Rivals," and this ride brought them to a strange part of the woods near
the lake. Here they came on some landmarks which had been mentioned to
them, and to their joy unearthed the pot of gold coins. For this find
the cadets were rewarded by George Strong, and the teacher became a
closer friend to the boys than ever.
Dan Baxter had been called away from Putnam Hall by his father. He had
had a fierce fight with Pepper and gotten the worst of it, and he was,
consequently, glad enough to disappear for the time being. But he left
behind him many of his cronies, and three of these, Reff Ritter, Gus
Coulter, and Nick Paxton, vowed they would "square accounts" with the
Imp and also with his chums.
"I've got a plan to make Pep Ditmore eat humble pie," said Reff Ritter,
one day. And then he related some of the details to Coulter and Paxton.
"Just the thing!" cried Coulter. "But don't leave out Jack Ruddy. I'd
rather get square with Ruddy than anybody. He has been down on me ever
since I came to the Hall. I hate him like poison." And Gus Coulter's
face took on a dark look.
"Yes, we'll include Ruddy," answered Reff Ritter. "I hate him, too. I'd
give most anything if we could drive 'em both from the school."
"Maybe we can--if we watch our chances," answered Gus Coulter.
CHAPTER II
WHAT THE WIND DID
Pornell Academy was a rival institution of learning, located several
miles from Putnam Hall. It was presided over by Doctor Pornell, who had
not fancied Captain Putnam's coming to that locality. The students of
Pornell were for the most part sons of wealthy parents, and a large
number of them thought themselves superior to the Putnam Hall cadets.
On one occasion the lads of the two institutions had had quite a lively
row, but this had been patched up, and several contests on the lake and
on the athletic field had come off. Sometimes the Putnam Hall cadets
were defeated, but more times they were victorious, which pleased them
not a little.
Fred Century had come to Pornell Academy several months before this
story opens. He was from Portland, Maine, and belonged to a boat club
that usually sailed its craft on Casco Bay. Immediately on his arrival
at Cayuga Lake he took up boating and then had his father purchase for
him the _Ajax_, certainly a craft of which any young man might well be
proud. Then he heard that Jack had a new boat, the _Alice_, and he
watched for his opportunity to race. That opportunity had now presented
itself; and the race was on.
It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly and the breeze
strong enough to make the sails of the sloops fill well. The Putnam Hall
cadets had left the school with no idea of a contest of any sort, but
now that the race was in progress they were keenly interested.
"I've heard about this Fred Century," remarked Dale, as the _Alice_ sped
on her course. "They tell me his father is next door to being a
millionaire."
"One thing is certain--he has a good opinion of his boat," added Pepper.
"Well, I've got a good opinion of my boat, too," answered the young
major. "I want her to win."
"Oh, she must win!" cried Stuffer. "Why, don't you know that those
Pornell fellows are just aching for a chance to crow over us?"
The race had now been noted by a number of people out in pleasure boats.
Many knew that the two sloops were new boats and they were curious to
learn which might prove to be the better. Some waved their hands and
handkerchiefs, and others shouted words of encouragement to one group of
lads or the other.
"It looks to me as if the Pornell boat was going to win," said one
gentleman, who was out in his pleasure yacht.
"Oh, papa, how can you say that?" cried his daughter, who was an admirer
of the Putnam Hall cadets.
"Because their boat is ahead," was the answer.
It was not long before Cat Point was reached. The _Ajax_ rounded the
rocks in fine style, for Fred Century was really a skillful skipper and
knew how to handle his craft to perfection.
"Good-bye to you!" he called out, as his craft stood for a moment close
to the _Alice_.
"We'll tell everybody you're coming sooner or later," added Bat Sedley.
"Don't be too long--folks may get tired of waiting."
"I rather think they'll get tired of your blowing," retorted Paul.
"Don't get uppish!" cried the Pornell Academy boy, angrily, and then the
two sloops passed out of speaking distance of each other.
"I wish the wind would freshen," said Jack, with something like a sigh.
"What good will that do?" demanded Dale.
"If it got too fresh it would make them take in some sail. The _Alice_
is broader than the _Ajax_, consequently we can risk a little more than
they can."
"Well, I think the breeze is freshening," said Pepper. "Just look down
the lake."
They did as directed and saw that he was right, for the water was
beginning to show numerous whitecaps and ripples. The _Alice_ rounded
Cat Point, the mainsail was thrown over, and they started for Borden's
Cove with the rival sloop more than a quarter of a mile in the lead.
"I don't believe we can catch up to that boat even if the wind does
freshen," remarked Dale, soberly. "She's got too much of a lead."
"Here comes the breeze!" shouted Pepper, and he was right, the wind had
freshened as if by magic, and at once the sloop bounded forward at an
increased speed, cutting the water like a thing of life and sending a
shower of spray over all those on board.
"Hi! I didn't come out for a shower-bath!" yelled Pepper.
"Got to stand for it, though," answered Jack, with a grin. "All for the
glory of the cause, you know."
The breeze kept increasing, and this caused the _Alice_ to heel well
over on her side. This made Paul a little bit anxious.
"Hadn't we better take in some sail?" he ventured. "We don't want to be
dumped into the lake."
"Not yet," answered Jack. "It will have to blow harder than this to send
the _Alice_ over. There is a whole lot of lead in her keel."
With the increase in the wind the _Alice_ kept gaining slowly but surely
on the _Ajax_, and this gladdened the heart of the youthful owner. He
looked ahead and saw that Fred Century was gazing back anxiously on the
rival that was coming nearer.
"I guess he is wondering when we'll take in some sail," said Jack.
"Well, he can keep on wondering."
"He is taking in his topsail!" cried Pepper, a moment later, and the
announcement proved correct. In the meantime the wind came stronger than
ever, until it fairly whistled through the ropes aboard the _Alice_.
Under ordinary circumstances Jack would have lowered not only his
topsail but also his mainsail--or at least taken a reef in the latter--but
now he was determined to win the race if taking a small risk would do
it. By this time the other boats on the lake were making for various
harbors.
But if Jack was willing to take a risk, so was Fred Century, and against
the wishes of his two companions the lad from Pornell Academy kept all
his sails flying. As a consequence the _Ajax_ suddenly careened and took
aboard enough water to literally wash the deck and flood the
standing-room.
"Hi, look out, or we'll all be drowned!" yelled Will Carey. He was not
much of a sailor or a swimmer.
"Oh, you mustn't mind a dip like that," said Fred Century, reassuringly,
yet even as he spoke he looked anxiously at the sky and at the
wind-clouds scurrying past. He knew that if the wind increased much more
he would have to take in his topsail and his mainsail and perhaps his
jib.
"That other sloop is coming up fast," announced Bat Sedley, not a great
while later. And he spoke the truth, the _Alice_ was approaching by what
looked to be leaps and bounds, making the best possible use of the
stiffening breeze as Jack hung to the tiller and eased her off, this way
or that. The young major had issued orders to his chums, and they stood
ready to lower both mainsail and topsail at the word of command.
The _Alice_ was still a good half-mile from Borden's Cove when her bow
overlapped the stern of the _Ajax_. At this Pepper set up a yell of
pleasure and all with him joined in. They waved their hands to those on
the other craft, but received no answer. Then they forged ahead, the
ever-increasing wind driving them along faster and faster.
"Lower the topsail as soon as we are far enough ahead," ordered Jack.
"No use of running the risk of breaking our mast now."
A strange whistling of the wind followed, and down came the topsail in a
jiffy. Then several reefs were taken in the mainsail. The bosom of the
lake was now a mass of whitecaps, while the sun went under a heavy
cloud.
"It's a wind squall, and a corker!" cried Jack.
"Why don't they take in some sail on the _Ajax_?" asked Dale, as he
clung to a guard rail, to keep from being swept overboard.
"They are taking in the topsail," announced Jack. "But that isn't
enough. If they don't----"
The rest of his words was lost in the piping of the gale that came extra
strong just then. The sloop seemed to be fairly lifted from the lake,
then she sank into a hollow and the water dashed over her stern. Then
she bobbed up like a cork and shot forward as before. Pepper, holding
tight with might and main, glanced back.
"The _Ajax_ has gone over!" he screamed, in alarm.
Only Jack understood his words, but the others saw the look in his face
and saw him nod to a spot behind them on the bosom of the angry lake.
True enough, carrying the mainsail had proved too much for the Pornell
craft, and she was now drifting along on her side, her mast
half-submerged in the lashing and foaming waves.
The Putnam Hall cadets were greatly alarmed, and with good reason. They
had no desire to see any of their rivals drowned, and they felt it was
more than likely one or another had gone overboard. Indeed, as they
looked back, they saw one youth struggling in the water near the
toppled-over mast, while another was trailing behind, clutching some
broken cordage. The third lad was nowhere to be seen.
"What shall we do?" yelled Paul, to make himself heard above the wind.
"I'll try to bring the sloop around," answered Jack. "Stand ready to
throw them some ropes and those life-preservers."
As well as the squall would permit, the young major sent the _Alice_
around. Even with only the jib set this was a dangerous operation, and
he would not have undertaken it had he not thought it a case of life or
death. As the sloop came broadside to the squall a wave struck her and
broke over the deck. The full force of this landed on Pepper, carrying
him off his feet in a twinkling. As he slid around Paul made a clutch
for him and held fast.
"Goo--good for you, Stuffer!" gasped Pepper, when he could speak. "Say,
but that was something awful!" And he took a better hold than before.
"I am afraid some of those fellows will go down before we can reach
them," answered Paul. "My, what a blow this is! And it looked to be a
perfect afternoon when we started out!"
The sloop boasted of two life-preservers, with lines attached, and as
well as they were able the cadets got these in readiness for use. In the
meanwhile Jack, having brought the craft up in the wind, was now
"jockeying" to get close to the overturned craft without crashing into
the wreck or running anybody down. This was a delicate task, and would
have been practically impossible had not the breeze just then died down
a little.
"Save us! Save us!" came from the water, as the _Alice_ drew closer.
"We'll do it!" yelled back the boys from Putnam Hall.
"Here, catch the life-preserver!" called out Paul, and flung the
preserver in question toward Bat Sedley, who was floundering around near
the half-submerged mast. The Pornell Academy lad saw it coming and made
a dive for it, catching it with one hand. Pepper threw the second
life-preserver to Fred Century, who was trying to pull himself toward
his wrecked craft by some loose ropes.
"Where is the third boy?" was asked, but for the moment nobody could
answer that question. Bat Sedley had seen him hanging fast to some ropes
as the _Ajax_ went over, but had not seen him since.
"He must have gone down----" began Pepper, when Jack set up a shout.
"There he is, under the edge of that sail," and he pointed to where the
broad mainsail of the _Ajax_ rose and fell on the waves. True enough,
Will Carey was there, one arm and one leg caught fast in the sheeting
and some ropes. He had been struggling, but now he fell back and went
under, out of sight.
"We have got to save him!" cried Jack. "Here, Pepper, take the tiller."
"What are you going to do?"
"Go overboard after him."
As he spoke the youthful owner of the _Alice_ pulled off his cadet coat
and cap. The next instant he was at the side of the sloop. He poised
himself for a dive, and then cut the water like a knife and disappeared
from view.
CHAPTER III
ABOUT A GYMNASTIC CONTEST
Major Jack Ruddy was a good swimmer, and felt perfectly at home in the
water. He did not go down deep, but he made a long "fetch," and when he
came up he was close beside Will Carey. He caught that youth by the arm
and dragged him clear of the sail.
"Sa--save m--me!" sputtered the Pornell Academy youth, after blowing some
water from his mouth.
"I will," answered Jack. "But keep quiet."
"M--my foot is--is fast!"
"So I see."
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Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration: Cover art: THE TORII OF THE TEMPLE]
[Frontispiece: OUTSIDE A TEA-HOUSE]
PEEPS AT MANY LANDS
JAPAN
BY
JOHN FINNEMORE
WITH TWELVE FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
BY
ELLA DU CANE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN
II. BOYS AND GIRLS IN JAPAN
III. BOYS AND GIRLS IN JAPAN (_continued_)
IV. THE JAPANESE BOY
V. THE JAPANESE GIRL
VI. IN THE HOUSE
VII. IN THE HOUSE (_continued_)
VIII. A JAPANESE DAY
IX. A JAPANESE DAY (_continued_)
X. JAPANESE GAMES
XI. THE FEAST OF DOLLS AND THE FEAST OF FLAGS
XII. A FARTHING'S WORTH OF FUN
XIII. KITE-FLYING
XIV. FAIRY STORIES
XV. TEA-HOUSES AND TEMPLES
XVI. TEA-HOUSES AND TEMPLES (_continued_)
XVII. THE RICKSHAW-MAN
XVIII. IN THE COUNTRY
XIX. IN THE COUNTRY (_continued_)
XX. THE POLICEMAN AND THE SOLDIER
XXI. TWO GREAT FESTIVALS
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BY ELLA DU CANE
OUTSIDE A TEA-HOUSE
_Sketch-Map of Japan_
THE LITTLE NURSE
THE WRITING LESSON
GOING TO THE TEMPLE
A JAPANESE HOUSE
OFFERING TEA TO A GUEST
FIGHTING TOPS
THE TOY SHOP
A BUDDHIST SHRINE
PEACH TREES IN BLOSSOM
THE FEAST OF FLAGS
THE TORII OF THE TEMPLE
[Illustration: SKETCH-MAP OF JAPAN]
[Illustration: THE LITTLE NURSE]
CHAPTER I
THE LAND OF THE RISING SUN
Far away from our land, on the other side of the world, lies a group of
islands which form the kingdom of Japan. The word "Japan" means the "Land
of the Rising Sun," and it is certainly a good name for a country of the
Far East, the land of sunrise.
The flag of Japan, too, is painted with a rising sun which sheds its beams
on every hand, and this flag is now for ever famous, so great and wonderful
have been the victories in which it has been borne triumphant over Russian
arms.
In some ways the Japanese are fond of comparing themselves with their
English friends and allies. They point out that Japan is a cluster of
islands off the coast of Asia, as Britain is a cluster of islands off the
coast of Europe. They have proved themselves, like the English, brave and
clever on the sea, while their troops have fought as nobly as British
soldiers on the land. They are fond of calling themselves the "English of
the East," and say that their land is the "Britain of the Pacific."
The rise of Japan in becoming one of the Great Powers of the world has been
very sudden and wonderful. Fifty years ago Japan lay hidden from the world;
she forbade strangers to visit the country, and very little was known of
her people and her customs.
Her navy then consisted of a few wooden junks; to-day she has a fleet of
splendid ironclads, handled by men who know their duties as well as English
seamen. Her army consisted of troops armed with two swords and carrying
bows and arrows; to-day her troops are the admiration of the world, armed
with the most modern weapons, and, as foes, to be dreaded by the most
powerful nations.
Fifty years ago Japan was in the purely feudal stage. Her great native
Princes were called Daimios. Each had a strong castle and a private army
of his own. There were ceaseless feuds between these Princes and constant
fighting between their armies of samurai, as their followers were called.
Japan was like England at the time of our War of the Roses: family quarrels
were fought out in pitched battle. All that has now gone. The Daimios have
become private gentlemen; the armies of samurai have been disbanded, and
Japan is ruled and managed just like a European country, with judges, and
policemen, and law-courts, after the model of Western lands.
When the Japanese decided to come out and take their place among the great
nations of the world, they did not adopt any half-measures; they simply
came out once and for all. They threw themselves into the stream of modern
inventions and movements with a will. They have built railways and set up
telegraph and telephone lines. They have erected banks and warehouses,
mills and factories. They have built bridges and improved roads. They have
law-courts and a Parliament, to which the members are elected by the
people, and newspapers flourish everywhere.
Japan is a very beautiful country. It is full of fine mountains, with
rivers leaping down the steep <DW72>s and dashing over the rocks in snowy
waterfalls. At the foot of the hills are rich plains and valleys, well
watered by the streams which rush down from the hills. But the mountains
are so many and the plains are so few that only a small part of the land
can be used for growing crops, and this makes Japan poor. Its climate is
not unlike ours in Great Britain, but the summer is hotter, and the winter
is in some parts very cold. Many of the mountains are volcanoes. Some of
these are still active, and earthquakes often take place. Sometimes these
earthquakes do terrible harm. The great earthquake of 1871 killed 10,000
people, injured 20,000, and destroyed 130,000 houses.
The highest mountain of Japan also is the most beautiful, and it is greatly
beloved by the Japanese, who regard it as a sacred height. Its name is
Fujisan, or Fusi-Yama, and it stands near the sea and the capital city
of Tokyo. It is of most beautiful shape, an almost perfect cone, and it
springs nearly 13,000 feet into the air. From the sea it forms a most
superb and majestic sight. Long before a glimpse can be caught of the shore
and the city, the traveller sees the lofty peak, crowned with a glittering
crest of snow, rising in lonely majesty, with no hint of the land on which
it rests. The Japanese have a great love of natural beauty, and they adore
Fujisan. Their artists are never tired of painting it, and pictures of it
are to be found in the most distant parts of the land.
CHAPTER II
BOYS AND GIRLS IN JAPAN
In no country in the world do children have a happier childhood than in
Japan. Their parents are devoted to them, and the children are always good.
This seems a great deal to say, but it is quite true. Japanese boys and
girls behave as quietly and with as much composure as grown-up men and
women. From the first moment that it can understand anything, a Japanese
baby is taught to control its feelings. If it is in pain or sad, it is not
to cry or to pull an ugly face; that would not be nice for other people to
hear or see. If it is very merry or happy, it is not to laugh too loudly or
to make too much noise; that would be vulgar. So the Japanese boy or girl
grows up very quiet, very gentle, and very polite, with a smile for
everything and everybody.
While they are little they have plenty of play and fun when they are not in
school. In both towns and villages the streets are the playground, and here
they play ball, or battledore and shuttlecock, or fly kites.
Almost every little girl has a baby brother or sister strapped on her back,
for babies are never carried in the arms in Japan except by the nurses of
very wealthy people. The baby is fastened on its mother's or its sister's
shoulders by a shawl, and that serves it for both cot and cradle. The
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THE HISTORY OF THE TELEPHONE
By Herbert N. Casson
PREFACE
Thirty-five short years, and presto! the newborn art of telephony is
fullgrown. Three million telephones are now scattered abroad in foreign
countries, and seven millions are massed here, in the land of its birth.
So entirely has the telephone outgrown the ridicule with which, as many
people can well remember, it was first received, that it is now in
most places taken for granted, as though it were a part of the natural
phenomena of this planet. It has so marvellously extended the
facilities of conversation--that "art in which a man has all mankind for
competitors"--that it is now an indispensable help to whoever would
live the convenient life. The disadvantage of being deaf and dumb to
all absent persons, which was universal in pre-telephonic days, has now
happily been overcome; and I hope that this story of how and by whom it
was done will be a welcome addition to American libraries.
It is such a story as the telephone itself might tell, if it could speak
with a voice of its own. It is not technical. It is not statistical. It
is not exhaustive. It is so brief, in fact, that a second volume could
readily be made by describing the careers of telephone leaders whose
names I find have been omitted unintentionally from this book--such
indispensable men, for instance, as William R. Driver, who has signed
more telephone cheques and larger ones than any other man; Geo. S.
Hibbard, Henry W. Pope, and W. D. Sargent, three veterans who know
telephony in all its phases; George Y. Wallace, the last survivor of the
Rocky Mountain pioneers; Jasper N. Keller, of Texas and New England;
W. T. Gentry, the central figure of the Southeast, and the following
presidents of telephone companies: Bernard E. Sunny, of Chicago; E. B.
Field, of Denver; D. Leet Wilson, of Pittsburg; L. G. Richardson, of
Indianapolis; Caspar E. Yost, of Omaha; James E. Caldwell, of Nashville;
Thomas Sherwin, of Boston; Henry T. Scott, of San Francisco; H. J.
Pettengill, of Dallas; Alonzo Burt, of Milwaukee; John Kilgour, of
Cincinnati; and Chas. S. Gleed, of Kansas City.
I am deeply indebted to most of these men for the information which
is herewith presented; and also to such pioneers, now dead, as O. E.
Madden, the first General Agent; Frank L. Pope, the noted electrical
expert; C. H. Haskins, of Milwaukee; George F. Ladd, of San Francisco;
and Geo. F. Durant, of St. Louis.
H. N. C. PINE HILL, N. Y., June 1, 1910.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE BIRTH OF THE TELEPHONE
II THE BUILDING OF THE BUSINESS
III THE HOLDING OF THE BUSINESS
IV THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE ART
V THE EXPANSION OF THE BUSINESS
VI NOTABLE USERS OF THE TELEPHONE
VII THE TELEPHONE AND NATIONAL EFFICIENCY
VIII THE TELEPHONE IN FOREIGN COUNTRIES
IX THE FUTURE OF THE TELEPHONE
THE HISTORY OF THE TELEPHONE
CHAPTER I. THE BIRTH OF THE TELEPHONE
In that somewhat distant year 1875, when the telegraph and the Atlantic
cable were the most wonderful things in the world, a tall young
professor of elocution was desperately busy in a noisy machine-shop
that stood in one of the narrow streets of Boston, not far from Scollay
Square. It was a very hot afternoon in June, but the young professor had
forgotten the heat and the grime of the workshop. He was wholly absorbed
in the making of a nondescript machine, a sort of crude harmonica with
a clock-spring reed, a magnet, and a wire. It was a most absurd toy in
appearance. It was unlike any other thing that had ever been made in any
country. The young professor had been toiling over it for three years
and it had constantly baffled him, until, on this hot afternoon in June,
1875, he heard an almost inaudible sound--a faint TWANG--come from the
machine itself.
For an instant he was stunned. He had been expecting just such a sound
for several months, but it came so suddenly as to give him the sensation
of surprise. His eyes blazed with delight, and he sprang in a passion of
eagerness to an adjoining room in which stood a young mechanic who was
assisting him.
"Snap that reed again, Watson," cried the apparently irrational young
professor. There was one of the odd-looking machines in each room, so
it appears, and the two were connected by an electric wire. Watson had
snapped the reed on one of the machines and the professor had heard from
the other machine exactly the same sound. It was no more than the gentle
TWANG of a clock-spring; but it was the first time in the history of the
world that a complete sound had been carried along a wire, reproduced
perfectly at the other end, and heard by an expert in acoustics.
That twang of the clock-spring was the first tiny cry of the newborn
telephone, uttered in the clanging din of a machine-shop and happily
heard by a man whose ear had been trained to recognize the strange voice
of the little newcomer. There, amidst flying belts and jarring wheels,
the baby telephone was born, as feeble and helpless as any other baby,
and "with no language but a cry."
The professor-inventor, who had thus rescued the tiny foundling of
science, was a young Scottish American. His name, now known as widely
as the telephone itself, was Alexander Graham Bell. He was a teacher
of acoustics and a student of electricity, possibly the only man in his
generation who was able to focus a knowledge of both subjects upon the
problem of the telephone. To other men that exceedingly faint sound
would have been as inaudible as silence itself; but to Bell it was a
thunder-clap. It was a dream come true. It was an impossible thing which
had in a flash become so easy that he could scarcely believe it. Here,
without the use of a battery, with no more electric current than that
made by a couple of magnets, all the waves of a sound had been carried
along a wire and changed back to sound at the farther end. It was
absurd. It was incredible. It was something which neither wire nor
electricity had been known to do before. But it was true.
No discovery has ever been less accidental. It was the last link of
a long chain of discoveries. It was the result of a persistent and
deliberate search. Already, for half a year or longer, Bell had known
the correct theory of the telephone; but he had not realized that the
feeble undulatory current generated by a magnet was strong enough
for the transmission of speech. He had been taught to undervalue the
incredible efficiency of electricity.
Not only was Bell himself a teacher of the laws of speech, so highly
skilled that he was an instructor in Boston University. His father,
also, his two brothers, his uncle, and his grandfather had taught the
laws of speech in the universities of Edinburgh, Dublin, and London.
For three generations the Bells had been professors of the science
of talking. They had even helped to create that science by several
inven-tions. The first of them, Alexander Bell, had invented a system
for the correction of stammering and similar defects of speech. The
second, Alexander Melville Bell, was the dean of British elocutionists,
a man of creative brain and a most impressive facility of rhetoric. He
was the author of a dozen text-books on the art of speaking correctly,
and also of a most ingenious sign-language which he called "Visible
Speech." Every letter in the alphabet of this language represented a
certain action of the lips and tongue; so that a new method was provided
for those who wished to learn foreign languages or to speak their own
language more correctly. And the third of these speech-improving Bells,
the inventor of the telephone, inherited the peculiar genius of his
fathers, both inventive and rhetorical, to such a degree that as a boy
he had constructed an artificial skull, from gutta-percha and India
rubber, which, when enlivened by a blast of air from a hand-bellows,
would actually pronounce several words in an almost human manner.
The third Bell, the only one of this remarkable family who concerns us
at this time, was a young man, barely twenty-eight, at the time when his
ear caught the first cry of the telephone. But he was already a man of
some note on his own account. He had been educated in Edinburgh, the
city of his birth, and in London; and had in one way and another picked
up a smattering of anatomy, music, electricity, and telegraphy. Until he
was sixteen years of age, he had read nothing but novels and poetry and
romantic tales of Scottish heroes. Then he left home to become a teacher
of elocution in various British schools, and by the time he was of age
he had made several slight discoveries as to the nature of vowel-sounds.
Shortly afterwards, he met in London two distinguished men, Alexander J.
Ellis and Sir Charles Wheatstone, who did far more than they ever knew
to forward Bell in the direction of the telephone.
Ellis was the president of the London Philological Society. Also, he was
the translator of the famous book on "The Sensations of Tone," written
by Helmholtz, who, in the period from 1871 to 1894 made Berlin the
world-centre for the study of the physical sciences. So it happened that
when Bell ran to Ellis as a young enthusiast and told his experiments,
Ellis informed him that Helmholtz had done the same things several years
before and done them more completely. He brought Bell to his house and
showed him what Helmholtz had done--how he had kept tuning-forks in
vibration by the power of electro-magnets, and blended the tones of
several tuning-forks together to produce the complex quality of the
human voice.
Now, Helmholtz had not been trying to invent a telephone, nor any sort
of message-carrier. His aim was to point out the physical basis of
music, and nothing more. But this fact that an electro-magnet would set
a tuning-fork humming was new to Bell and very attractive. It appealed
at once to him as a student of speech. If a tuning-fork could be made to
sing by a magnet or an electrified wire, why would it not be possible
to make a musical telegraph--a telegraph with a piano key-board, so that
many messages could be sent at once over a single wire? Unknown to Bell,
there were several dozen inven-tors then at work upon this problem,
which proved in the end to be very elusive. But it gave him at least a
starting-point, and he forthwith commenced his quest of the telephone.
As he was then in England, his first step was naturally to visit Sir
Charles Wheatstone, the best known English expert on telegraphy. Sir
Charles had earned his title by many inventions. He was a simple-natured
scientist, and treated Bell with the utmost kindness. He showed him an
ingenious talking-machine that had been made by Baron de Kempelin. At
this time Bell was twenty-two and unknown; Wheatstone was sixty-seven
and famous. And the personality of the veteran scientist made so vivid
a picture upon the mind of the impressionable young Bell that the grand
passion of science became henceforth the master-motif of his life.
From this summit of glorious ambition he was thrown, several months
later, into the depths of grief and despondency. The White Plague had
come to the home in Edinburgh and taken away his two brothers. More, it
had put its mark upon the young inventor himself. Nothing but a change
of climate, said his doctor, would put him out of danger. And so, to
save his life, he and his father and mother set sail from Glasgow and
came to the small Canadian town of Brantford, where for a year he fought
down his tendency to consumption, and satisfied his nervous energy by
teaching "Visible Speech" to a tribe of Mohawk Indians.
By this time it had become evident, both to his parents and to his
friends, that young Graham was destined to become some sort of a
creative genius. He was tall and supple, with a pale complexion, large
nose, full lips, jet-black eyes, and jet-black hair, brushed high
and usually rumpled into a curly tangle. In temperament he was a true
scientific Bohemian, with the ideals of a savant and the disposition
of an artist. He was wholly a man of enthusiasms, more devoted to ideas
than to people; and less likely to master his own thoughts than to be
mastered by them. He had no shrewdness, in any commercial sense, and
very little knowledge of the small practical details of ordinary living.
He was always intense, always absorbed. When he applied his mind to a
problem, it became at once an enthralling arena, in which there went
whirling a chariot-race of ideas and inventive fancies.
He had been fascinated from boyhood by his father's system of "Visible
Speech." He knew it so well that he once astonished a professor of
Oriental languages by repeating correctly a sentence of Sanscrit that
had been written in "Visible Speech" characters. While he was living in
London his most absorbing enthusiasm was the instruction of a class of
deaf-mutes, who could be trained to talk, he believed, by means of the
"Visible Speech" alphabet. He was so deeply impressed by the progress
made by these pupils, and by the pathos of their dumbness, that when he
arrived in Canada he was in doubt as to which of these two tasks was the
more important--the teaching of deaf-mutes or the invention of a musical
telegraph.
At this point, and before Bell had begun to experiment with his
telegraph, the scene of the story shifts from Canada to Massachusetts.
It appears that his father, while lecturing in Boston, had mentioned
Graham's exploits with a class of deaf-mutes; and soon afterward the
Boston Board of Education wrote to Graham, offering him five hundred
dollars if he would come to Boston and introduce his system of teaching
in a school for deaf-mutes that had been opened recently. The young man
joyfully agreed, and on the first of April, 1871, crossed the line and
became for the remainder of his life an American.
For the next two years his telegraphic work was laid aside, if not
forgotten. His success as a teacher of deaf-mutes was sudden and
overwhelming. It was the educational sensation of 1871. It won him a
professorship in Boston University; and brought so many pupils around
him that he ventured to open an ambitious "School of Vocal Physiology,"
which became at once a profitable enterprise. For a time there seemed
to be little hope of his escaping from the burden of this success and
becoming an inventor, when, by a most happy coincidence, two of his
pupils brought to him exactly the sort of stimulation and practical help
that he needed and had not up to this time received.
One of these pupils was a little deaf-mute tot, five years of age, named
Georgie Sanders. Bell had agreed to give him a series of private lessons
for $350 a year; and as the child lived with his grandmother in the city
of Salem, sixteen miles from Boston, it was agreed that Bell should make
his home with the Sanders family. Here he not only found the keenest
interest and sympathy in his air-castles of invention, but also was
given permission to use the cellar of the house as his workshop.
For the next three years this cellar was his favorite retreat. He
littered it with tuning-forks, magnets, batteries, coils of wire, tin
trumpets, and cigar-boxes. No one outside of the Sanders family was
allowed to enter it, as Bell was nervously afraid of having his ideas
stolen. He would even go to five or six stores to buy his supplies, for
fear that his intentions should be discovered. Almost with the secrecy
of a conspirator, he worked alone in this cellar, usually at night, and
quite oblivious of the fact that sleep was a necessity to him and to the
Sanders family.
"Often in the middle of the night Bell would wake me up," said Thomas
Sanders, the father of Georgie. "His black eyes would be blazing with
excitement. Leaving me to go down to the cellar, he would rush wildly to
the barn and begin to send me signals along his experimental wires. If I
noticed any improvement in his machine, he would be delighted. He would
leap and whirl around in one of his `war-dances' and then go contentedly
to bed. But if the experiment was a failure, he would go back to his
workbench and try some different plan."
The second pupil who became a factor--a very considerable factor--in
Bell's career was a fifteen-year-old girl named Mabel Hubbard, who had
lost her hearing, and consequently her speech, through an attack of
scarlet-fever when a baby. She was a gentle and lovable girl, and Bell,
in his ardent and headlong way, lost his heart to her completely; and
four years later, he had the happiness of making her his wife. Mabel
Hubbard did much to encourage Bell. She followed each step of his
progress with the keenest interest. She wrote his letters and copied his
patents. She cheered him on when he felt himself beaten. And through her
sympathy with Bell and his ambitions, she led her father--a widely
known Boston lawyer named Gardiner G. Hubbard--to become Bell's chief
spokesman and defender, a true apostle of the telephone.
Hubbard first became aware of Bell's inventive efforts one evening when
Bell was visiting at his home in Cambridge. Bell was illustrating some
of the mysteries of acoustics by the aid of a piano. "Do you know," he
said to Hubbard, "that if I sing the note G close to the strings of
the piano, that the G-string will answer me?" "Well, what then?" asked
Hubbard. "It is a fact of tremendous importance," replied Bell. "It is
an evidence that we may some day have a musical telegraph, which will
send as many messages simultaneously over one wire as there are notes on
that piano."
Later, Bell ventured to confide to Hubbard his wild dream of sending
speech over an electric wire, but Hubbard laughed him to scorn. "Now you
are talking nonsense," he said. "Such a thing never could be more than
a scientific toy. You had better throw that idea out of your mind and go
ahead with your musical telegraph, which if it is successful will make
you a millionaire."
But the longer Bell toiled at his musical telegraph, the more he dreamed
of replacing the telegraph and its cumbrous sign-language by a new
machine that would carry, not dots and dashes, but the human voice.
"If I can make a deaf-mute talk," he said, "I can make iron talk." For
months he wavered between the two ideas. He had no more than the most
hazy conception of what this voice-carrying machine would be like.
At first he conceived of having a harp at one end of the wire, and a
speaking-trumpet at the other, so that the tones of the voice would be
reproduced by the strings of the harp.
Then, in the early Summer of 1874, while he was puzzling over this harp
apparatus, the dim outline of a new path suddenly glinted in front of
him. He had not been forgetful of "Visible Speech" all this while,
but had been making experiments with two remarkable machines--the
phonautograph and the manometric capsule, by means of which the
vibrations of sound were made plainly visible. If these could be
im-proved, he thought, then the deaf might be taught to speak by
SIGHT--by learning an alphabet of vibrations. He mentioned these
experiments to a Boston friend, Dr. Clarence J. Blake, and he, being a
surgeon and an aurist, naturally said, "Why don't you use a REAL EAR?"
Such an idea never had, and probably never could have, occurred to Bell;
but he accepted it with eagerness. Dr. Blake cut an ear from a dead
man's head, together with the ear-drum and the associated bones. Bell
took this fragment of a skull and arranged it so that a straw touched
the ear-drum at one end and a piece of moving smoked glass at the other.
Thus, when Bell spoke loudly into the ear, the vibrations of the drum
made tiny markings upon the glass.
It was one of the most extraordinary incidents in the whole history of
the telephone. To an uninitiated onlooker, nothing could have been more
ghastly or absurd. How could any one have interpreted the gruesome joy
of this young professor with the pale face and the black eyes, who stood
earnestly singing, whispering, and shouting into a dead man's ear? What
sort of a wizard must he be, or ghoul, or madman? And in Salem, too, the
home of the witchcraft superstition! Certainly it would not have gone
well with Bell had he lived two centuries earlier and been caught at
such black magic.
What had this dead man's ear to do with the invention of the telephone?
Much. Bell noticed how small and thin was the ear-drum, and yet how
effectively it could send thrills and vibrations through heavy bones.
"If this tiny disc can vibrate a bone," he thought, "then an iron disc
might vibrate an iron rod, or at least, an iron wire." In a flash the
conception of a membrane telephone was pictured in his mind. He saw in
imagination two iron discs, or ear-drums, far apart and connected by
an electrified wire, catching the vibrations of sound at one end, and
reproducing them at the other. At last he was on the right path, and had
a theoretical knowledge of what a speaking telephone ought to be. What
remained to be done was to construct such a machine and find out how the
electric current could best be brought into harness.
Then, as though Fortune suddenly felt that he was winning this
stupendous success too easily, Bell was flung back by an avalanche
of troubles. Sanders and Hubbard, who had been paying the cost of his
experiments, abruptly announced that they would pay no more unless he
confined his attention to the musical telegraph, and stopped wasting his
time on ear-toys that never could be of any financial value. What
these two men asked could scarcely be denied, as one of them was his
best-paying patron and the other was the father of the girl whom he
hoped to marry. "If you wish my daughter," said Hubbard, "you must
abandon your foolish telephone." Bell's "School of Vocal Physiology,"
too, from which he had hoped so much, had come to an inglorious end.
He had been too much absorbed in his experiments to sustain it. His
professorship had been given up, and he had no pupils except Georgie
Sanders and Mabel Hubbard. He was poor, much poorer than his associates
knew. And his mind was torn and distracted by the contrary calls of
science, poverty, business, and affection. Pouring out his sorrows in a
letter to his mother, he said: "I am now beginning to realize the cares
and anxieties of being an inventor. I have had to put off all pupils and
classes, for flesh and blood could not stand much longer such a strain
as I have had upon me."
While stumbling through this Slough of Despond, he was called to
Washington by his patent lawyer. Not having enough money to pay the cost
of such a journey, he borrowed the price of a return ticket from Sanders
and arranged to stay with a friend in Washington, to save a hotel bill
that he could not afford. At that time Professor Joseph Henry, who knew
more of the theory of electrical science than any other American,
was the Grand Old Man of Washington; and poor Bell, in his doubt and
desperation, resolved to run to him for advice.
Then came a meeting which deserves to be historic. For an entire
afternoon the two men worked together over the apparatus that Bell had
brought from Boston, just as Henry had worked over the telegraph before
Bell was born. Henry was now a veteran of seventy-eight, with only
three years remaining to his credit in the bank of Time, while Bell was
twenty-eight. There was a long half-century between them; but the youth
had discovered a New Fact that the sage, in all his wisdom, had never
known.
"You are in possession of the germ of a great invention," said Henry,
"and I would advise you to work at it until you have made it complete."
"But," replied Bell, "I have not got the electrical knowledge that is
necessary."
"Get it," responded the aged scientist.
"I cannot tell you how much these two words have encouraged me," said
Bell afterwards, in describing this interview to his parents. "I live
too much in an atmosphere of discouragement for scientific pursuits; and
such a chimerical idea as telegraphing VOCAL SOUNDS would indeed seem to
most minds scarcely feasible enough to spend time in working over."
By this time Bell had moved his workshop from the cellar in Salem to 109
Court Street, Boston, where he had rented a room from Charles Williams,
a manufacturer of electrical supplies. Thomas A. Watson was his
assistant, and both Bell and Watson lived nearby, in two cheap little
bedrooms. The rent of the workshop and bedrooms, and Watson's wages
of nine dollars a week, were being paid by Sanders and Hubbard.
Consequently, when Bell returned from Washington, he was compelled
by his agreement to devote himself mainly to the musical telegraph,
although his heart was now with the telephone. For exactly three months
after his interview with Professor Henry, he continued to plod ahead,
along both lines, until, on that memorable hot afternoon in June, 1875,
the full TWANG of the clock-spring came over the wire, and the telephone
was born.
From this moment, Bell was a man of one purpose. He won over Sanders and
Hubbard. He converted Watson into an enthusiast. He forgot his musical
telegraph, his "Visible Speech," his classes, his poverty. He threw
aside a profession in which he was already locally famous. And he
grappled with this new mystery of electricity, as Henry had advised
him to do, encouraging himself with the fact that Morse, who was only
a painter, had mastered his electrical difficulties, and there was no
reason why a professor of acoustics should not do as much.
The telephone was now in existence, but it was the youngest and feeblest
thing in the nation. It had not yet spoken a word. It had to be taught,
developed, and made fit for the service of the irritable business world.
All manner of discs had to be tried, some smaller and thinner than
a dime and others of steel boiler-plate as heavy as the shield of
Achilles. In all the books of electrical science, there was nothing to
help Bell and Watson in this journey they were making through an unknown
country. They were as chartless as Columbus was in 1492. Neither they
nor any one else had acquired any experience in the rearing of a young
telephone. No one knew what to do next. There was nothing to know.
For forty weeks--long exasperating weeks--the telephone could do no more
than gasp and make strange inarticulate noises. Its educators had not
learned how to manage it. Then, on March 10, 1876, IT TALKED. It said
distinctly--
"MR. WATSON, COME HERE, I WANT YOU." Watson, who was at the lower end of
the wire, in the basement, dropped the receiver and rushed with wild joy
up three flights of stairs to tell the glad tidings to Bell. "I can hear
you!" he shouted breathlessly. "I can hear the WORDS."
It was not easy, of course, for the weak young telephone to make itself
heard in that noisy workshop. No one, not even Bell and Watson, was
familiar with its odd little voice. Usually Watson, who had a
remarkably keen sense of hearing, did the listening; and Bell, who was
a professional elocutionist, did the talking. And day by day the tone
of the baby instrument grew clearer--a new note in the orchestra of
civilization.
On his twenty-ninth birthday, Bell received his patent, No.
174,465--"the most valuable single patent ever issued" in any country.
He had created something so entirely new that there was no name for it
in any of the world's languages. In describing it to the officials
of the Patent Office, he was obliged to call it "an improvement in
telegraphy," when, in truth, it was nothing of the kind. It was as
different from the telegraph as the eloquence of a great orator is from
the sign-language of a deaf-mute.
Other inventors had worked from the standpoint of the telegraph; and
they never did, and never could, get any better results than signs and
symbols. But Bell worked from the standpoint of the human voice. He
cross-fertilized the two sciences of acoustics and electricity. His
study of "Visible Speech" had trained his mind so that he could mentally
SEE the shape of a word as he spoke it. He knew what a spoken word was,
and how it acted upon the air, or the ether, that carried its vibrations
from the lips to the ear. He was a third-generation specialist in the
nature of speech, and he knew that for the transmission of spoken words
there must be | 1,424.978638 |
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book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
THE JOB
AN AMERICAN NOVEL
BY
SINCLAIR LEWIS
AUTHOR OF MAIN STREET, BABBITT, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Made in the United States of America
Copyright, 1917, by Harper & Brothers
Printed in the United States of America
Published February, 1917
TO
MY WIFE
WHO HAS MADE "THE JOB" POSSIBLE AND LIFE ITSELF
QUITE BEAUTIFULLY IMPROBABLE
CONTENTS
Page
Part I 3
THE CITY
Part II 133
THE OFFICE
Part III 251
MAN AND WOMAN
Part I
THE CITY
CHAPTER I
Captain Lew Golden would have saved any foreign observer a great deal of
trouble in studying America. He was an almost perfect type of the petty
small-town middle-class lawyer. He lived in Panama, Pennsylvania. He had
never been "captain" of anything except the Crescent Volunteer Fire
Company, but he owned the title because he collected rents, wrote
insurance, and meddled with lawsuits.
He carried a quite visible mustache-comb and wore a collar, but no tie.
On warm days he appeared on the street in his shirt-sleeves, and
discussed the comparative temperatures of the past thirty years with
Doctor Smith and the Mansion House 'bus-driver. He never used the word
"beauty" except in reference to a setter dog--beauty of words or music,
of faith or rebellion, did not exist for him. He rather fancied large,
ambitious, banal, red-and-gold sunsets, but he merely glanced at them as
he straggled home, and remarked that they were "nice." He believed that
all Parisians, artists, millionaires, and socialists were immoral. His
entire system of theology was comprised in the Bible, which he never
read, and the Methodist Church, which he rarely attended; and he desired
no system of economics beyond the current platform of the Republican
party. He was aimlessly industrious, crotchety but kind, and almost
quixotically honest.
He believed that "Panama, Pennsylvania, was good enough for anybody."
This last opinion was not shared by his wife, nor by his daughter Una.
Mrs. Golden was one of the women who aspire just enough to be vaguely
discontented; not enough to make them toil at the acquisition of
understanding and knowledge. She had floated into a comfortable
semi-belief in a semi-Christian Science, and she read novels with a
conviction that she would have been a romantic person "if she hadn't
married Mr. Golden--not but what he's a fine man and very bright and
all, but he hasn't got much imagination or any, well, _romance_!"
She wrote poetry about spring and neighborhood births, and Captain
Golden admired it so actively that he read it aloud to callers. She
attended all the meetings of the Panama Study Club, and desired to learn
French, though she never went beyond borrowing a French grammar from the
Episcopalian rector and learning one conjugation. But in the pioneer
suffrage movement she took no part--she didn't "think it was quite
ladylike."... She was a poor cook, and her house always smelled stuffy,
but she liked to have flowers about. She was pretty of face, frail of
body, genuinely gracious of manner. She really did like people, liked to
give cookies to the neighborhood boys, and--if you weren't impatient
with her slackness--you found her a wistful and touching figure in her
slight youthfulness and in the ambition to be a romantic personage, a
Marie Antoinette or a Mrs. Grover Cleveland, which ambition she still
retained at fifty-five.
She was, in appearance, the ideal wife and mother--sympathetic,
forgiving, bright-lipped as a May morning. She never demanded; she
merely suggested her desires, and, if they were refused, let her lips
droop in a manner which only a brute could withstand.
She plaintively admired her efficient daughter Una.
Una Golden was a "good little woman"--not pretty, not noisy, not
particularly articulate, but instinctively on the inside of things;
naturally able to size up people and affairs. She had common sense and
unkindled passion. She was a matter-of-fact idealist, with a healthy
woman's simple longing for love and life. At twenty-four Una had half a
dozen times fancied herself in love. She had been embraced at a dance,
and felt the stirring of a desire for surrender. But always a native
shrewdness had kept her from agonizing over these affairs.
She was not--and will not be--a misunderstood genius, an undeveloped
artist, an embryonic leader in feminism, nor an ugly duckling who would
put on a Georgette hat and captivate the theatrical world. She was an
untrained, ambitious, thoroughly commonplace, small-town girl. But she
was a natural executive and she secretly controlled the Golden
household; kept Captain Golden from eating with his knife, and her
mother from becoming drugged with too much reading of poppy-flavored
novels.
She wanted to learn, learn anything. But the Goldens were too
respectable to permit her to have a job, and too poor to permit her to
go to college. From the age of seventeen, when she had graduated from
the high school--in white ribbons and heavy new boots and tight new
organdy--to twenty-three, she had kept house and gone to gossip-parties
and unmethodically read books from the town library--Walter Scott,
Richard Le Gallienne, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Mrs. Humphry Ward, _How to
Know the Birds_, _My Year in the Holy Land_, _Home Needlework_, _Sartor
Resartus_, and _Ships that Pass in the Night_. Her residue of knowledge
from reading them was a disbelief in Panama, Pennsylvania.
She was likely never to be anything more amazing than a mother and wife,
who would entertain the Honiton Embroidery Circle twice a year.
Yet, potentially, Una Golden was as glowing as any princess of balladry.
She was waiting for the fairy prince, though he seemed likely to be
nothing more decorative than a salesman in a brown derby. She was fluid;
indeterminate as a moving cloud.
Although Una Golden had neither piquant prettiness nor grave
handsomeness, her soft littleness made people call her "Puss," and want
to cuddle her as a child cuddles a kitten. If you noted Una at all, when
you met her, you first noted her gentle face, her fine-textured hair of
faded gold, and her rimless eye-glasses with a gold chain over her ear.
These glasses made a business-like center to her face; you felt that
without them she would have been too childish. Her mouth was as kind as
her spirited eyes, but it drooped. Her body was so femininely soft that
you regarded her as rather plump. But for all her curving hips, and the
thick ankles which she considered "common," she was rather anemic. Her
cheeks were round, not rosy, but clear and soft; her lips a pale pink.
Her chin was plucky and undimpled; it was usually spotted with one or
two unimportant eruptions, which she kept so well covered with powder
that they were never noticeable. No one ever thought of them except Una
herself, to whom they were tragic blemishes which she timorously
examined in the mirror every time she went to wash her hands. She knew
that they were the result of the indigestible Golden family meals; she
tried to take comfort by noticing their prevalence among other girls;
but they kept startling her anew; she would secretly touch them with a
worried forefinger, and wonder whether men were able to see anything
else in her face.
You remembered her best as she hurried through the street in her tan
mackintosh with its yellow velveteen collar turned high up, and one of
those modest round hats to which she was addicted. For then you were
aware only of the pale-gold hair fluffing round her school-mistress
eye-glasses, her gentle air of respectability, and her undistinguished
littleness.
She trusted in the village ideal of virginal vacuousness as the type of
beauty which most captivated men, though every year she was more
shrewdly doubtful of the divine superiority of these men. That a woman's
business in life was to remain respectable and to secure a man, and
consequent security, was her unmeditated faith--till, in 1905, when Una
was twenty-four years old, her father died.
Sec. 2
Captain Golden left to wife and daughter a good name, a number of debts,
and eleven hundred dollars in lodge insurance. The funeral was scarcely
over before neighbors--the furniture man, the grocer, the polite old
homeopathic doctor--began to come in with bland sympathy and large
bills. When the debts were all cleared away the Goldens had only six
hundred dollars and no income beyond the good name. All right-minded
persons agree that a good name is precious beyond rubies, but Una would
have preferred less honor and more rubies.
She was so engaged in comforting her mother that she scarcely grieved
for her father. She took charge of everything--money, house, bills.
Mrs. Golden had been overwhelmed by a realization that, however slack
and shallow Captain Golden had been, he had adored her and encouraged
her in her gentility, her pawing at culture. With an emerging sincerity,
Mrs. Golden mourned him, now, missed his gossipy presence--and at the
same time she was alive to the distinction it added to her slim
gracefulness to wear black and look wan. She sobbed on Una's shoulder;
she said that she was lonely; and Una sturdily comforted her and looked
for work.
One of the most familiar human combinations in the world is that of
unemployed daughter and widowed mother. A thousand times you have seen
the jobless daughter devoting all of her curiosity, all of her youth, to
a widowed mother of small pleasantries, a small income, and a shabby
security. Thirty comes, and thirty-five. The daughter ages steadily. At
forty she is as old as her unwithering mother. Sweet she is, and
pathetically hopeful of being a pianist or a nurse; never quite
reconciled to spinsterhood, though she often laughs about it; often, by
her insistence that she is an "old maid," she makes the thought of her
barren age embarrassing to others. The mother is sweet, too, and "wants
to keep in touch with her daughter's interests," only, her daughter has
no interests. Had the daughter revolted at eighteen, had she stubbornly
insisted that mother either accompany her to parties or be | 1,424.978797 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The Aeroplane Boys Series
In the Clouds for Uncle Sam
OR
Morey Marshall of the Signal Corps
The Aeroplane Boys Series
By ASHTON LAMAR
I IN THE CLOUDS FOR UNCLE SAM
Or, Morey Marshall of the Signal Corps.
II THE STOLEN AEROPLANE
Or, How Bud Wilson Made Good.
III THE AEROPLANE EXPRESS
Or, The Boy Aeronaut’s Grit.
IV THE BOY AERONAUTS’ CLUB
Or, Flying For Fun.
V A CRUISE IN THE SKY
Or, The Legend of the Great Pink Pearl.
VI BATTLING THE BIG H | 1,424.979584 |
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MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR
EDITED BY T. LEMAN HARE
RUBENS
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
_In Preparation_
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
J. F. MILLET. PERCY M. TURNER.
MEMLINC. W. H. JAMES WEALE.
ALBERT DUeRER. HERBERT FURST.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
BOUCHER. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
WATTEAU. C. LEWIS HIND.
MURILLO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
AND OTHERS.
[Illustration: PLATE I.--ELIZABETH OF FRANCE, DAUGHTER OF HENRY IV.
Frontispiece (In the Louvre)
The Princess is seen to great advantage in this fine portrait. The fair
complexion of the sitter is remarkably preserved, the white ruff, the
jewels, and the gold brocade are very cleverly handled. Another portrait
of Princess Elizabeth, painted in Madrid, may now be seen in St.
Petersburg.]
Rubens
BY S. L. BENSUSAN
ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR
[Illustration]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES CO.
CONTENTS
Page
I. Introduction 11
II. The Painter's Life 21
III. Second Period 35
IV. The Later Years 45
V. The Painter's Art 55
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. Elizabeth of France, Daughter of Henry IV. Frontispiece
In the Louvre
Page
II. Christ a la Paille 14
At Antwerp Museum
III. The Four Philosophers 24
In the Pitti Palace, Florence
IV. Isabella Brandt 34
In the Wallace Collection
V. Le Chapeau de Paille 40
In the National Gallery
VI. The Descent from the Cross 50
In the Cathedral, Antwerp
VII. Henry IV. leaving for a Campaign 60
In the Louvre
VIII. The Virgin and the Holy Innocents 70
In the Louvre
[Illustration]
I
INTRODUCTION
The name of Peter Paul Rubens is written so large in the history of
European art, that all the efforts of detractors have failed to stem the
tide of appreciation that flows towards it. Rubens was a great master
in nearly every pictorial sense of the term; and if at times the
coarseness and lack of restraint of his era were reflected upon his
canvas, we must blame the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries rather
than the man who worked through some of their most interesting years,
and at worst was no more than a realist. There may have been seasons
when he elected to attempt more than any man could hope to achieve.
There were times when he set himself to work deliberately to express
certain scenes, romantic or mythological, in a fashion that must have
startled his contemporaries and gives offence to-day; but to do justice
to the painter, we must consider his work as a whole, we must set the
best against the worst.
[Illustration: PLATE II.--CHRIST A LA PAILLE (At Antwerp Museum)
Whatever the Biblical story Rubens chose, he handled it not only with
skill, but with a certain sense of conviction that is the more
remarkable in one who owed no allegiance to the Church. There is fine
feeling and deep reverence in the "Christ a la Paille," in addition to
the dramatic feeling that accompanied all his religious pictures. The
colouring, though very bold, is most effective; in the hands of a less
skilled painter such a display of primary colouring might well have
seemed violent or even vulgar.]
Consider the vast range of achievements that embraced landscape,
portraiture, and decorative work, giving to every subject such quality
of workmanship and skill in composition, as none save a very few of the
world's great masters have been able to convey to canvas. And let it be
remembered, too, that Rubens was not only a painter, he was a statesman
and a diplomat; and amid cares and anxieties that might well have filled
the life of any smaller man, he found time to paint countless pictures
in every style, and to move steadily forward along the road to mastery,
so that his second period is better than the first, in which he was, if
the expression may be used with propriety, finding himself. The third
period, which saw the painting of the great works that hang in Antwerp's
Cathedral and Museum to-day, and is represented in our own National
Gallery and Wallace Collection, was the best of all. Passing from his
labours as he did at a comparatively early age, for Rubens was but
sixty-three when he died, he did not suffer the slow decline of powers
that has so often accompanied men who reached their greatest
achievements in ripe middle age and shrink to mere shadows of a name. He
did not reach his supreme mastery of colour until he had lived for half
a century or more, and the pictures that have the greatest blots upon
them from the point of view of the twentieth century, were painted
before he reached the summit of his powers. It is perhaps unfortunate
that Rubens painted far too many works to admit of a truly
representative collection in any city or gallery. The best are widely
scattered; some are in the Prado in Madrid, others are in Belgium, some
are in Florence. Holland has a goodly collection, while Antwerp boasts
among many masterpieces "The Passing of Christ," "The Adoration of the
Magi," "The Prodigal Son," and "The Christ a la Paille." Munich,
Brussels, Dresden, Vienna, and other cities have famous examples of both
ripe and early art that must be seen before the master can be judged
fairly and without prejudice. It is impossible to found an opinion not
likely to be shaken, upon the work to be seen in London or in Paris,
where the Louvre holds many of the painter's least attractive works. It
may be said that Peter Paul Rubens is represented in every gallery of
importance throughout Europe, that | 1,425.073363 |
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_The WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
_Limited to one thousand sets
for America and Great Britain._
“_Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared
eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation.
* * * * * Let us say it with a sentiment of
profound respect: JESUS WEPT: VOLTAIRE SMILED.
Of that divine tear and of that human smile is composed the
sweetness of the present civilization._”
_VICTOR HUGO._
[Illustration: AT THIS INTERESTING MOMENT, AS MAY EASILY BE
IMAGINED, WHO SHOULD COME IN BUT THE UNCLE]
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
THE WORKS OF
VOLTAIRE
A CONTEMPORARY VERSION
With Notes by Tobias Smollett, Revised and Modernized
New Translations by William F. Fleming, and an
Introduction by Oliver H. G. Leigh
A CRITIQUE AND BIOGRAPHY
BY
THE RT. HON. JOHN MORLEY
_FORTY-THREE VOLUMES_
ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-EIGHT DESIGNS,
COMPRISING REPRODUCTIONS OF RARE OLD
ENGRAVINGS, STEEL PLATES, PHOTOGRAVURES,
AND CURIOUS FAC-SIMILES
VOLUME IV
E. R. DuMONT
PARIS : LONDON : NEW YORK : CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT 1901
BY E. R. DUMONT
OWNED by
THE WERNER COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO
MADE BY
THE WERNER COMPANY
AKRON, OHIO
VOLTAIRE
ROMANCES
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. III.
CONTENTS
——————
I. ANDRÉ DES TOUCHES IN SIAM … 5
II. THE BLIND AS JUDGES OF COLOR … 13
III. THE CLERGYMAN AND HIS SOUL … 15
IV. A CONVERSATION WITH A CHINESE … 28
V. MEMNON THE PHILOSOPHER … 33
VI. PLATO’S DREAM … 42
VII. AN ADVENTURE IN INDIA … 47
VIII. BABABEC … 51
IX. ANCIENT FAITH AND FABLE … 56
X. THE TWO COMFORTERS … 61
XI. DIALOGUE BETWEEN MARCUS AURELIUS AND A RECOLLET
FRIAR … 64
XII. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A BRAHMIN AND A JESUIT … 70
XIII. DIALOGUES BETWEEN LUCRETIUS AND POSIDONIUS … 76
XIV. DIALOGUE BETWEEN A CLIENT AND HIS LAWYER … 95
XV. D | 1,425.079232 |
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[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: T. M. Kettle]
POEMS & PARODIES
BY
T. M. KETTLE
DUBLIN
THE TALBOT PRESS
1916
Printed by
The Educational Company of Ireland
at
THE TALBOT PRESS
89 Talbot St., Dublin
TOM KETTLE
1880-1916
Two simple words, charged now for some of us with sad and infinite
memories. It is not the death of the Professor, nor of the soldier, nor
of the politician--nor even of the poet or the essayist--that causes the
heart-ache that we feel. It is the loss of that rare, charming,
wondrous personality summed up in those two simple words, TOM KETTLE.
A genial cynic, a pleasant pessimist, an earnest trifler, he was made up
of contradictions. A fellow of infinite jest--and infinite sadness.
His prototypes were Hamlet or the Melancholy Jacques. Among the
delightful essays he has left us in that charming little book, _The
Day's Burden_, is one entitled "A new way of misunderstanding _Hamlet_."
He was himself a veritable Hamlet in this twentieth century Ireland.
One may ask, did he quite understand himself? Master of paradox,
enunciator of enigma, he was a paradox and an enigma in, and to,
himself. Shall we seek now to pluck out the heart of his mystery? The
lines are hackneyed beyond hope, but in this instance they apply in
truth.
The personality of Kettle had in it something subtle; something
essential yet elusive; something not to be defined. He was a great
talker in the Johnsonian sense. As a story-teller, it was not so much
the point of his tale that counted as his telling of it. The
divagations from the text in which he loved to indulge were the delight
of his auditors. With truth it may be said that his rich humour, his
brilliant, mordant wit, caused his listeners to hang upon his words.
And his outlook was so wide, his soul so big, his mind so broad, and a
deep love of humanity so permeated him that his talk, or one might more
fittingly say, his discourse, was educating and uplifting. But he was a
man of moods, descending from heights of Homeric humour to the depths of
a divine despair. Those privileged to hear him thus expounding will
cherish the memory while they live. We, too, as it were, have "seen
Shelley plain." He charmed, he fascinated. This, in truth, describes
him for his spell wrought even on those who actually disliked him.
In the numerous notices printed of him since he died much has been
written of the promise of his career. More appropriate it would be to
write of his performance. He crowded into thirty-six years of life far
more than most men achieve in twice that span. Now the orator is
silent, the brilliant wit has ceased to sparkle, the skilful pen will
ply no more. Tom Kettle knows at last the answer to the riddle that
baffled him, the Riddle of the Universe.
Well may we mourn--
_For Lycidas is dead;_
_Young Lycidas: dead ere his prime,_
_And hath not left his peer._
WILLIAM DAWSON.
CONTENTS
PERSONAL
Dedication Sonnet: To my Wife
To my daughter Betty, the gift of God
On Leaving Ireland
Epigram
EARLY POEMS
To Young Ireland
Sowing
Dreams and Duty
A Song of Vengeance
TRANSLATIONS
1At Achensee, Tirol`_
1The Monks`_
MISCELLANEOUS
The Lady of Life
When others see us as we see ourselves
Ennui
Ballad Autumnal
The Lost Ball
POLITICAL
Parnell
The House of Lords: An Epitaph
Reason in Rhyme
Asquith in Dublin
Ulster
To Ireland
WAR POEMS
Paddy
Sergeant Mike O'Leary
A Nation's Freedom
A Song of the Irish Armies
Permission to reprint several of the poems in this Volume has been
kindly granted by the proprietors of the _Daily Chronicle, Freeman's
Journal, Cork Examiner,_ Messrs. MAUNSEL & Co., Ltd.. and THE TALBOT
PRESS
PERSONAL
"Memorial I would have
... a constant presence
with those that love me"
DEDICATION SONNET
TO MY WIFE
"Not the sea, only, wrecks the hopes of men,
Look deeper, there is shipwreck everywhere,"
So mourned the exquisite Roman's rich despair,
Too high in death for that ignoble pen.
Nero, his wrecker, is amply wrecked since then,
And all that Rome's a whiff of charnel air;
But to subdue Petronius' mal-de-mer
Have we found drugs? I pray you, What? and When?
Shipwreck, one grieves to say, retains its vogue:
Or let the keel win on in stouter fashion,
And look! your golden lie of Tir-na-n'Og
Is sunset and waste waters, chill and ashen--
Faith lasts? Nay, since I knew your yielded eyes,
I am content with sight.... of Paradise.
TO MY DAUGHTER BETTY,
THE GIFT OF GOD
(ELIZABETH DOROTHY)
In wiser days, my darling rosebud, blown
To beauty proud as was your mother's prime,
In that desired, delayed, incredible time,
You'll ask why I abandoned you, my own,
And the dear heart that was your baby throne,
To dice with death. And oh! they'll give you rhyme
And reason: some will call the thing sublime,
And some decry it in a knowing tone.
So here, while the mad guns curse overhead,
And tired men sigh with mud for couch and floor,
Know that we fools, now with the foolish dead,
Died not for flag, nor King, nor Emperor,
But for a dream, born in a herdsman's shed,
And for the secret Scripture of the poor.
the field, before Guillemont, Somme,
September 4, 1916.
ON LEAVING IRELAND
(JULY 14, 1916)
The pathos of departure is indubitable.
I never felt my own essay "On saying Good-Bye" so profoundly _aux
trefonds du coeur_. The sun was a clear globe of blood which we caught
hanging over Ben Edar, with a trail of pure blood vibrating to us across
the waves. It dropped into darkness before we left the deck. Some lines
came to me, suggested by a friend who thought the mood cynical.
As the sun died in blood, and hill and sea
Grew to an altar, red with mystery,
One came who knew me (it may be over-much)
Seeking the cynical and staining touch,
But I, against the great sun's burial
Thought only of bayonet-flash and bugle-call,
And saw him as God's eye upon the deep,
Closed in the dream in which no women weep,
And knew that even I shall fall on sleep.
EPIGRAM
If grief, like fire, smoked up against our sight,
The Earth were scarfed in eternal night.
EARLY POEMS
TO YOUNG IRELAND
(WRITTEN IN 1899)
Dead! art thou dead or sleepest, in this blank, twilight time,
When hearts are sere and pithless? Land of the sword and lyre!
Thy waxen lips are silent, thy brow is bound with rime,
Hast thou late wed with winter, child of earth's primal fire?
The sheathed blade rusts foully, through bitter, barren years,
And harp and pen are bond slaves, thralls to thy children's
shame.
We garner cockle harvests, vain words and little fleers.
From waste lands sown with rancour, search them with proving
flame!
We droop'd, stark sons of warfare, we blushed and slunk from
day,
While Love and Truth and Honour died in mere fretful fume.
Free brain, free brawn, is given us, then sweep we from our way
These shamers of our mother, this idle, noisome spume.
For, lo! an army gathers around a standard clean;
I gird me dinted armour, and press to touch the throng.
Hark! Hark! The minstrels' war-hymn in very strength serene,
My harp is harsh of utterance, yet take a pupil's song.
Then stout heart join our battle! who hail an eastern sun,
Our toil shall set this people upon earth's purest height.
Then faint heart join our battle! and if our sands be run,
At least we caoin a swan-lay upon the edge of night.
SOWING
(WRITTEN IN 1899)
One mocked: "Thy brain is mad with wine;
The fairies spin the threads of night,
And pour their vials of sour blight
About the roots of health, yet thine
And thou, ye garner into verse
Bright flowers to trick a solemn hearse:
The cowslip, maiden-love of spring,
The burning incense of the rose,
The austere lily, her that blows
By winter's marge--each gracious thing
Past or unborn. Weak, trusting fool!
Old Time shall file thee in his school."
"I know not Time, his last or first;
With master hands I despoil all
His hoarded sweetness and his gall.
I crush the aeons for my thirst,
And so am mad. Pencils of fire
Limn visions of soul-large desire.
In Faith I cast on frozen ground
An obscure life of sweat and tears;
In the far Autumn of the years
Men reap full harvests, springing round,
And judge them gifts of kindly chance,
My deed laughs through each mellow lance."
DREAMS AND DUTY
Life is an inconstant April laughing into May,
Weeping with the aftergust of March storms laid away,
Light o' love! Her mood is gracious, fondling sunbeams stray
Out across the cloud-smoke purple of her cloud robes gray.
Let us dream among the daisies, troll a roundelay
Where the gorse gold is lavished, and the lilies pray,
Mary's nuns, whose stainless gift is Heaven's chaliced ray,
Let us twine a wreath of science, let us play our play,
Ere we fight the fight of ages, one sweet prelude-day.
* * * * *
The stranger heard and mocked us from the usurped throne,
Reeled in his scornful laughter, eater of hearts, blood-blown.
But the Lord God heard and heeded, therefore we do not moan;
For He has whispered to us, 'The secret shuttles fly,
Ye know not warp or weaver, yet neither swerve or sigh,
The eater of hearts shall wither, the drinker of blood shall
die.
I have set you labour, work it; I will give you increase,
For first is winter-ploughing, after, my guerdon, peace;
Ye shall pluck strength from sorrow, ripe when the sorrows
cease;
Ye shall win strength and wisdom to break the stranger's rule,
But if ye slink and babble ye are but as the fools,
Ye are but as the stranger, fit for the thorny schools."
A SONG OF VENGEANCE
FOR COMMANDANT SCHEEPERS
(Murdered January 18, 1902)
It is done inexpiably; thrust him deep in shameful clay,
Charge his name with every foulness, rule the world's ear as you
may--
But the shadow at your banquet that you cannot put away!
Weak you thought him, sickness-vanquished, given to your eager
hate.
So you played him and you slew him with your feline shows of
state,
Weak--and lo! the sanctifying touch of death has made him great.
As a seed that broadening splits the rock on which a palace
stands,
As a trickling breach that godlike parts one land in hostile
lands,
Is the memory of Scheepers and his slaying at your hands.
Hill and plain and stream shall guard it, town and fireside,
phrase and song;
Young men's unsubdued aspiring, old men's striving wise and
strong;
And though Hope die, Hatred may not for remembrance of his
wrong.
Murdered leader--may God fold you in the mercy of His temple,
Sleep as sleep our unborn children, bravest hero and example--
Float the flag or sink for ever, your red eric shall be ample.
TRANSLATIONS
AT ACHENSEE, TIROL
(From the German of A. Pickler.--Died, 1893)
The old path up, the wood's ranked gloomy legions,
The lap and the rustle of the lake behind,
And, roused by these, from Death's more timely regions
The old thoughts fluttering in a lonely mind;
About my way the pine-stems thick and thicker
Huddle, the mossed stone drips abundantly,
And, thro' the screen of woven branches, flicker
The bright and heaving waves of Achensee.
Pinewood and primrose scents, the air has mixt them;
Poised butterflies, a shining sun-bathed fleet,
Sky's blue, gaunt granite jags, and buoyed betwixt them,
The cloud-fleece flushing with the day's defeat.
The spell is on me, nor can aught deliver;
Slowly my spirit fails from life and light,
And Past and Future like a pauseless | 1,425.081032 |
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WOOD AND GARDEN
[Illustration: _Frontispiece._]
WOOD AND GARDEN
NOTES AND THOUGHTS, PRACTICAL AND
CRITICAL, OF A WORKING AMATEUR
By
GERTRUDE JEKYLL
_With 71 Illustrations from Photographs
by the Author_
[Illustration]
Second Edition
Longmans, Green, and Co.
39 Paternoster Row, London
New York and Bombay
1899
_All rights reserved_
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
PREFACE
From its simple nature, this book seems scarcely to need any prefatory
remarks, with the exception only of certain acknowledgments.
A portion of the contents (about one-third) appeared during the years
1896 and 1897 in the pages of the _Guardian_, as "Notes from Garden and
Woodland." I am indebted to the courtesy of the editor and proprietors
of that journal for permission to republish these notes.
The greater part of the photographs from which the illustrations have
been prepared were done on my own ground--a space of some fifteen acres.
Some of them, owing to my want of technical ability as a photographer,
were very weak, and have only been rendered available by the skill of
the reproducer, for whose careful work my thanks are due.
A small number of the photographs were done for reproduction in
wood-engraving for Mr. Robinson's _Garden_, _Gardening Illustrated_, and
_English Flower Garden_. I have his kind permission to use the original
plates.
G. J.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY 1-6
CHAPTER II
JANUARY 7-18
Beauty of woodland in winter -- The nut-walk --
Thinning the overgrowth -- A nut nursery -- _Iris
stylosa_ -- Its culture -- Its home in Algeria --
Discovery of the white variety -- Flowers and branches
for indoor decoration.
CHAPTER III
FEBRUARY 19-31
Distant promise of summer -- Ivy-berries --
leaves -- _Berberis Aquifolium_ -- Its many merits --
Thinning and pruning shrubs -- Lilacs -- Removing
Suckers -- Training _Clematis flammula_ -- Forms of
trees -- Juniper, a neglected native evergreen --
Effect of snow -- Power of recovery -- Beauty of colour
-- Moss-grown stems.
CHAPTER IV
MARCH 32-45
Flowering bulbs -- Dog-tooth Violet -- Rock-garden --
Variety of Rhododendron foliage -- A beautiful old
kind -- Suckers on grafted plants -- Plants for
filling up the beds -- Heaths -- Andromedas -- Lady
Fern -- _Lilium auratum_ -- Pruning Roses -- Training
and tying climbing plants -- Climbing and free-growing
Roses -- The Vine the best wall-covering -- Other
climbers -- Wild Clematis -- Wild Rose.
CHAPTER V
APRIL 46-58
Woodland spring flowers -- Daffodils in the copse --
Grape Hyacinths and other spring bulbs -- How best to
plant them -- Flowering shrubs -- Rock-plants -- Sweet
scents of April -- Snowy Mespilus, Marsh Marigolds,
and other spring flowers -- Primrose garden -- Pollen
of Scotch Fir -- Opening seed-pods of Fir and Gorse --
Auriculas -- Tulips -- Small shrubs for rock-garden --
Daffodils as cut flowers -- Lent Hellebores --
Primroses -- Leaves of wild Arum.
CHAPTER VI
MAY 59-76
Cowslips -- Morells -- Woodruff -- Felling oak timber --
Trillium and other wood-plants -- Lily of the Valley
naturalised -- Rock-wall flowers -- Two good wall-shrubs
-- Queen wasps -- Rhododendrons -- Arrangement for colour
-- Separate colour-groups -- Difficulty of choosing --
Hardy Azaleas -- Grouping flowers that bloom together --
Guelder-rose as climber -- The garden-wall door -- The
Paeony garden -- Moutans -- Paeony varieties -- Species
desirable for garden.
CHAPTER VII
JUNE 77-88
The gladness of June -- The time of Roses -- Garden
Roses -- Reine Blanche -- The old white Rose -- Old
garden Roses as standards -- Climbing and rambling Roses
-- Scotch Briars -- Hybrid Perpetuals a difficulty --
Tea Roses -- Pruning -- Sweet Peas autumn sown --
Elder-trees -- Virginian Cowslip -- Dividing
spring-blooming plants -- Two best Mulleins -- White
French Willow -- Bracken.
CHAPTER VIII
JULY 89-99
Scarcity of flowers -- Delphiniums -- Yuccas --
Cottager's way of protecting tender plants --
Alstroemerias -- Carnations -- Gypsophila -- _Lilium
giganteum_ -- Cutting fern-pegs.
CHAPTER IX
AUGUST 100-111
Leycesteria -- Early recollections -- Bank of choice
shrubs -- Bank of Briar Roses -- Hollyhocks -- Lavender
-- Lilies -- Bracken and Heaths -- The Fern-walk --
Late-blooming rock-plants -- Autumn flowers -- Tea Roses
-- Fruit of _Rosa rugosa_ -- Fungi -- Chantarelle.
CHAPTER X
SEPTEMBER 112-124
Sowing Sweet Peas -- Autumn-sown annuals -- Dahlias --
Worthless kinds -- Staking -- Planting the rock-garden
-- Growing small plants in a wall -- The old wall --
Dry-walling -- How built -- How planted -- Hyssop -- A
destructive storm -- Berries of Water-elder -- Beginning
ground-work.
CHAPTER XI
OCTOBER 125-143
Michaelmas Daisies -- Arranging and staking --
Spindle-tree -- Autumn colour of Azaleas -- Quinces --
Medlars -- Advantage of early planting of shrubs --
Careful planting -- Pot-bound roots -- Cypress hedge
-- Planting in difficult places -- Hardy flower border
-- Lifting Dahlias -- Dividing hardy plants --
Dividing tools -- Plants difficult to divide --
Periwinkles -- Sternbergia -- Czar Violets -- Deep
cultivation for _Lilium giganteum_.
CHAPTER XII
NOVEMBER 144-157
Giant Christmas Rose -- Hardy Chrysanthemums --
Sheltering tender shrubs -- Turfing by inoculation --
Transplanting large trees -- Sir Henry Steuart's
experience early in the century -- Collecting fallen
leaves -- Preparing grubbing tools -- Butcher's Broom
-- Alexandrian Laurel -- Hollies and Birches -- A
lesson in planting.
CHAPTER XIII
DECEMBER 158-170
The woodman at work -- Tree-cutting in frosty weather
-- Preparing sticks and stakes -- Winter Jasmine --
Ferns in the wood-walk -- Winter colour of evergreen
shrubs -- Copse-cutting -- Hoop-making -- Tools used
-- Sizes of hoops -- Men camping out -- Thatching with
hoop-chips -- The old thatcher's bill.
CHAPTER XIV
LARGE AND SMALL GARDENS 171-187
A well done villa-garden -- A small town-garden -- Two
delightful gardens of small size -- Twenty acres
within the walls -- A large country house and its
garden -- Terrace -- Lawn -- Parterre -- Free garden
-- Kitchen garden -- Buildings -- Ornamental orchard
-- Instructive mixed gardens -- Mr. Wilson's at Wisley
-- A window garden.
CHAPTER XV
BEGINNING AND LEARNING 188-199
The ignorant questioner -- Beginning at the end -- An
example -- Personal experience -- Absence of outer
help -- Johns' "Flowers of the Field" -- Collecting
plants -- Nurseries near London -- Wheel-spokes as
labels -- Garden friends -- Mr. Robinson's "English
Flower-Garden" -- Mr. Nicholson's "Dictionary of
Gardening" -- One main idea desirable -- Pictorial
treatment -- Training in fine art -- Adapting from
Nature -- Study of colour -- Ignorant use of the word
"artistic."
CHAPTER XVI
THE FLOWER-BORDER AND PERGOLA 200-215
The flower-border -- The wall and its occupants --
_Choisya ternata_ -- Nandina -- Canon Ellacombe's
garden -- Treatment of colour-masses -- Arrangement of
plants in the border -- Dahlias and Cannas -- Covering
bare places -- The Pergola -- How made -- Suitable
climbers -- Arbours of trained Planes -- Garden
houses.
CHAPTER XVII
THE PRIMROSE GARDEN 216-220
CHAPTER XVIII
COLOURS OF FLOWERS 221-228
CHAPTER XIX
THE SCENTS OF THE GARDEN 229-240
CHAPTER XX
THE WORSHIP OF FALSE GODS 241-248
CHAPTER XXI
NOVELTY AND VARIETY 249-255
CHAPTER XXII
WEEDS AND PESTS 256-262
CHAPTER XXIII
THE BEDDING FASHION AND ITS INFLUENCE 263-270
CHAPTER XXIV
MASTERS AND MEN 271-279
INDEX 280
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
FRONTISPIECE _face title_
A WILD JUNIPER _face page_ 19
SCOTCH FIRS THROWN ON TO FROZEN WATER BY SNOWSTORM " 27
OLD JUNIPER, SHOWING FORMER INJURIES " 29
JUNIPER, LATELY WRECKED BY SNOWSTORM " 29
GARDEN DOOR-WAY WREATHED WITH CLEMATIS GRAVEOLENS " 39
COTTAGE PORCH WREATHED WITH THE DOUBLE WHITE ROSE
(_R. alba_) " 39
WILD HOP, ENTWINING WORMWOOD AND COW-PARSNIP " 43
DAFFODILS IN THE COPSE " 48
MAGNOLIA STELLATA " 50
DAFFODILS AMONG JUNIPERS WHERE GARDEN JOINS COPSE " 51
TIARELLA CORDIFOLIA " 53
HOLLYHOCK, PINK BEAUTY. (_See page 105_) " 53
TULIPA RETROFLEXA " 55
LATE SINGLE TULIPS, BREEDERS AND BYBLOEMEN " 55
TRILLIUM IN THE WILD GARDEN " 61
RHODODENDRONS WHERE THE COPSE AND GARDEN MEET " 65
GRASS WALKS THROUGH THE COPSE " 66
RHODODENDRONS AT THE EDGE OF THE COPSE " 68
SOUTH SIDE OF DOOR, WITH CLEMATIS MONTANA
AND CHOISYA " 72
NORTH SIDE OF THE SAME DOOR, WITH CLEMATIS
MONTANA AND GUELDER-ROSE " 72
FREE CLUSTER-ROSE AS STANDARD IN A COTTAGE GARDEN " 77
DOUBLE WHITE SCOTCH BRIAR " 81
PART OF A BUSH OF ROSA POLYANTHA " 82
GARLAND-ROSE SHOWING NATURAL WAY OF GROWTH " 82
LILAC MARIE LEGRAYE (_See page 23_) " 84
FLOWERING ELDER AND PATH FROM GARDEN TO COPSE " 84
THE GIANT LILY " 96
CISTUS FLORENTINUS " 101
THE GREAT ASPHODEL " 101
LAVENDER HEDGE AND STEPS TO THE LOFT " 105
HOLLYHOCK, PINK BEAUTY " 105
SOLOMON'S SEAL IN SPRING, IN THE UPPER PART
OF THE FERN-WALK " 107
THE FERN-WALK IN AUGUST " 107
JACK (_See page 79_) " 117
THE "OLD WALL" " 117
ERINUS ALPINUS, CLOTHING STEPS IN ROCK-WALL " 121
BORDERS OF MICHAELMAS DAISIES " 126
PENS FOR STORING DEAD LEAVES " 150
CAREFUL WILD-GARDENING--WHITE FOXGLOVES AT
THE EDGE OF THE FIR WOOD. (_See page 270_) " 150
HOLLY STEMS IN AN OLD HEDGE-ROW " 153
WILD JUNIPERS " 154
WILD JUNIPERS " 156
THE WOODMAN " 158
GRUBBING A TREE-STUMP " 161
FELLING AND GRUBBING TOOLS (_See page 150_) " 161
HOOP-MAKING IN THE WOODS " 167
HOOP-SHAVING " 169
SHED-ROOF, THATCHED WITH HOOP-CHIP " 169
GARLAND-ROSE WREATHING THE END OF A TERRACE WALL " 178
A ROADSIDE COTTAGE GARDEN " 185
A FLOWER-BORDER IN JUNE " 200
PATHWAY ACROSS THE SOUTH BORDER IN JULY " 202
OUTSIDE VIEW OF THE BRICK PERGOLA SHOWN
AT PAGE 214, AFTER SIX YEARS' GROWTH " 202
END OF FLOWER-BORDER AND ENTRANCE OF PERGOLA " 210
SOUTH BORDER DOOR AND YUCCAS IN AUGUST " 210
STONE-BUILT PERGOLA WITH WROUGHT OAK BEAMS " 214
PERGOLA WITH BRICK PIERS AND BEAMS OF ROUGH OAK " 214
EVENING IN THE PRIMROSE GARDEN " 217
TALL SNAPDRAGONS GROWING IN A DRY WALL " 251
MULLEINS GROWING IN THE FACE OF DRY WALL
(_See "Old Wall," page 116_) " 251
GERANIUMS IN NEAPOLITAN POTS " 267
SPACE IN STEP AND TANK-GARDEN FOR LILIES,
CANNAS, AND GERANIUMS " 268
HYDRANGEAS IN TUBS, IN A PART OF THE SAME GARDEN " 268
MULLEIN (VERBASCUM PHLOMOIDES) AT THE EDGE
OF THE FIR WOOD " 270
A GRASS PATH IN THE COPSE " 270
WOOD AND GARDEN
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCTORY
There are already many and excellent books about gardening; but the love
of a garden, already so deeply implanted in the English heart, is so
rapidly growing, that no excuse is needed for putting forth another.
I lay no claim either to literary ability, or to botanical knowledge, or
even to knowing the best practical methods of cultivation; but I have
lived among outdoor flowers for many years, and have not spared myself
in the way of actual labour, and have come to be on closely intimate and
friendly terms with a great many growing things, and have acquired
certain instincts which, though not clearly defined, are of the nature
of useful knowledge.
But the lesson I have thoroughly learnt, and wish to pass on to others,
is to know the enduring happiness that the love of a garden gives. I
rejoice when I see any one, and especially children, inquiring about
flowers, and wanting gardens of their own, and carefully working in
them. For the love of gardening is a seed that once sown never dies, but
always grows and grows to an enduring and ever-increasing source of
happiness.
If in the following chapters I have laid special stress upon gardening
for beautiful effect, it is because it is the way of gardening that I
love best, and understand most of, and that seems to me capable of
giving the greatest amount of pleasure. I am strongly for treating
garden and wooded ground in a pictorial way, mainly with large effects,
and in the second place with lesser beautiful incidents, and for so
arranging plants and trees and grassy spaces that they look happy and at
home, and make no parade of conscious effort. I try for beauty and
harmony everywhere, and especially for harmony of colour. A garden so
treated gives the delightful feeling of repose, and refreshment, and
purest enjoyment of beauty, that seems to my understanding to be the
best fulfilment of its purpose; while to the diligent worker its
happiness is like the offering of a constant hymn of praise. For I hold
that the best purpose of a garden is to give delight and to give
refreshment of mind, to soothe, to refine, and to lift up the heart in a
spirit | 1,425.176305 |
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