TIMESTAMP
stringlengths 27
27
| ContextTokens
int64 3
7.44k
| GeneratedTokens
int64 6
1.9k
| text
stringlengths 9
41.5k
| time_delta
float64 0
3.44k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|
2023-11-16 18:41:12.6855250 | 5,826 | 19 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist, Diane Monico, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
IN THE OPEN
INTIMATE STUDIES
AND APPRECIATIONS OF
NATURE BY
STANTON DAVIS KIRKHAM
AUTHOR OF
"WHERE DWELLS THE SOUL SERENE"
"THE MINISTRY OF BEAUTY"
"_Over and above a healthy
curiosity, or any scientific
acquaintance, it is the
companionship of the woods
and fields which counts--
a real friendship for birds
and bees and flowers._"
PAUL ELDER & COMPANY
SAN FRANCISCO AND NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1908
by_ PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
TO MY WIFE
MARY WILLIAMS KIRKHAM
THIS BOOK IS
AFFECTIONATELY
DEDICATED
PREFACE
_There is an estate on which we pay no tax and which is not susceptible
of improvement. It is of indefinite extent and is to be reached by
taking the road to the nearest woods and fields. While this is quite as
valuable as any property we may possess, as a matter of fact few assert
their title to it._
_Nature is in herself a perpetual invitation to come into the open. The
woods are an unfailing resource; the mountains and the sea,
companionable. To count among one's friends, the birds and flowers and
trees is surely worth while; for to come upon a new flower is then in
the nature of an agreeable event, and a chance meeting with a bird may
lend a pleasant flavor to the day._
CONTENTS
PREFACE v
THE POINT OF VIEW 1
SIGNS OF SPRING 11
BIRD LIFE 22
SONGS OF THE WOODS 40
WILD GARDENS 56
WEEDS 69
INSECT LORE 78
THE WAYS OF THE ANT 94
AUTUMN STUDIES 113
PASTURE STONES 127
NEIGHBORS 136
THE WINTER WOODS 153
LAUGHING WATERS 164
THE MOUNTAINS 173
THE FOREST 185
THE SEA 196
INDEX 209
_A flock of wild geese on the wing is no less than an
inspiration. When that strong-voiced, stout-hearted company
of pioneers pass overhead, our thoughts ascend and sail with
them over the roofs of the world. As band after band come
into the field of vision--minute glittering specks in the
distant blue--to cross the golden sea of the sunset and
disappear in the northern twilight, their faint melodious
honk is an Orphean strain drawing irresistibly._
AFTER THE PAINTING BY
LOUIS AGASSIZ FUERTES
[Illustration]
THE POINT OF VIEW
Nature is in herself a perpetual invitation: the birds call, the trees
beckon and the winds whisper to us. After the unfeeling pavements, the
yielding springy turf of the fields has a sympathy with the feet and
invites us to walk. It is good to hear again the fine long-drawn note
of the meadow-lark--voice of the early year,--the first bluebird's
warble, the field-sparrow's trill, the untamed melody of the kinglet--a
magic flute in the wilderness--and to see the ruby crown of the beloved
sprite. It is good to inhale the mint crushed underfoot and to roll
between the fingers the new leaves of the sweetbrier; to see again the
first anemones--the wind-children,--the mandrake's canopies, the
nestling erythronium and the spring beauty, like a delicate carpet; or
to seek the clintonia in its secluded haunts, and to feel the old
childlike joy at sight of lady's-slippers.
It is worth while to be out-of-doors all of one day, now and then, and
to really _know_ what is morning and what evening; to observe the
progress of the day as one might attend a spectacle, though this
requires leisure and a free mind. The spirit of the woods will not lend
itself to a mere fair-weather devotion. You must cast in your lot with
the wild and take such weather as befalls. If you do not now and then
spend a day in the snow, you miss some impressions that no fair weather
can give. When you have walked for a time in the spring shower, you
have a new and larger sympathy with the fields. The shining leaves,
glistening twigs, jeweled cobwebs and the gentle cadence of the falling
rain all tell you it is no time to stay indoors.
Life in the woods sharpens the nose, the eyes, the ears. There are
nose-feasts, eye-feasts, ear-feasts. What if the frost-grapes are
sour--they are fair to look at. Some things are for the palate and some
for the eye. The fragrance of blackberries is as delicate as the
flavor, a spicy aroma, a woodsy bouquet, and to eat without seeing or
smelling is to lose much. Clustered cherries, so lustrous black with
their red stems, refresh the inner and the outer man. You may safely
become a gourmand with respect to these wild flavors. Their virtue is
of the volatile sort that will not stand bottling; it will not enter
into essence or tincture. You must yourself go out and pick the cherry
under a September sky and in the presence of the first glowing leaves
of sumac and Virginia creeper.
Does not the bayberry revive and exhilarate the walker, as
smelling-salts restore fainting women? You have but to roll the waxen
berry in the fingers, or crush the leaf, to feel that indefinable
thrill which belongs to the woods, to the open air--the free life.
Another vigorous and stimulating odor is the fragrance of green
butternuts, which contains the goodness, the sweetness, the very marrow
of the woods, and calls out the natural and unaffected, as a strain of
music arouses the heroic. The tartness of the barberry matches the
crispness of the air and rebukes the lack of vigor in us. No true child
can resist the lure of wintergreen berries, while to nibble the bark of
a fresh young sassafras shoot admits us to some closer association with
Nature. A whiff of balsam is an invitation to share the abandon of the
woods, and awakens memories of the halcyon days, the shining hours,
when nutting and berrying were the real things of life.
One who is possessed with the idea of finding a certain bird or plant
is in a fair way to the discovery, and sooner or later each will come
into the field of vision. How the robin discovers the worm is a mystery
to be explained on the score of _attention_; it is perfect
concentration on a single point, with faculties trained in that
direction. That the footsteps of ants were audible had not occurred to
me till one day in watching the progress of the annual raid of the red
ants upon the black colonies, I plainly heard the patter of their feet,
as the column marched at double-quick over the floor of dry leaves.
There are many sounds in Nature that only become evident when we give
absolute attention, when we become all ear,--as there are things seen
only when we become for the time an eye.
Sensitive and sympathetic natures rarely confuse one person with
another, whereas the cold or obtuse really never see the finer
distinctions in a face. They make poor observers. Any one unacquainted
with birds will show by an attempted description that he has not in the
least seen the bird. I have known old lumbermen who had not noticed the
difference in the needles of the species of pine, nor the leaves of
oaks; but they knew the difference in the quality of the wood well
enough, because that appealed to their interest and held their
attention.
Preparedness adds zest to the walk and enriches it, precisely as a
broad culture and a fund of information enlarge the view of the
traveler. Notwithstanding what may be in the woods, it takes some
understanding and some interest to see it. An unprepared person will
see little; an uninterested person will see nothing. To many of the
villagers the wood-lot is a remote and unfamiliar wilderness, and the
warblers and vireos as unknown as any tropic bird. We should at least
know the kinglets by their caste-mark--whether it be red or yellow--and
the oriole by the colors of his ancient line.
Given a certain preparedness even the rocks become instinct with
suggestion. They are more than stone,--even historical reminders, which
incite one to long and pleasing trains of thought. In the mountains I
came upon a flat ledge of shale which showed ripple marks of an earlier
sea than any we know, a far-off Devonian ocean which once washed this
primitive beach. They had long parted company, and now the beach was
up among the spruce and balsams,--such vicissitudes are there in the
fortunes of all. The ancient waters had left their mark, that however
high the rock might go, it should none the less speak of the mother
sea. Again, the traces of glaciation on ledges and boulders appeal to
the imagination with a peculiar eloquence. What a mighty cosmic plane
was that which smoothed these granite ledges! It planed off New England
as if it were a knot on a plank, and scattered over it the dust and
chips of the workshop. These ledges serve as a fairly accurate compass,
and are at least more reliable than the lichens on the trees.
Some men have an eye for trees and an inborn sympathy with these rooted
giants, as if the same sap ran in their own veins. To them trees have a
personality quite as animals have, and, to be sure, there are
"characters" among trees. I knew a solitary yellow pine which towered
in the landscape, the last of its race. Its vast columnar trunk seemed
to loom and expand as one approached. Always there was distant music in
the boughs above, a noble strain descending from the clouds. Its song
was more majestic than that of any other tree, and fell upon the
listening ear with the far-off cadence of the surf, but sweeter and
more lyrical, as if it might proceed from some celestial harp. Though
there was not a breeze stirring below, this vast tree hummed its mighty
song. Apparently its branches had penetrated to another world than
this, some sphere of unceasing melody.
There is a difference in the voices of trees. Some with difficulty
utter any note, or answer to the storm alone; others only sigh and
shiver. There are days when they gently murmur together, as if a rumor
of general interest had reached them. Again the woods are silent, until
one enters a grove of white pines, when on the instant a sweet low
chant falls on the ear. Come upon the aspen on quiet days and it is all
of a tremor, in a little ecstasy by itself, while the rest are mute.
Trees change their songs with the season. In winter the whistling,
rattling, roaring of hickories and oaks is a veritable witch-song,
beside which the voices of midsummer days are as the cooing of doves.
During a quiet snowfall, the white crystals sifting through the pines
convey the idea of a gentle sociability somewhere in the branches
overhead, the softly whispered and amiable gossip of pine-needles and
snowflakes, old cronies who have not met in the past eight months.
The woods offer unlimited opportunity for making acquaintances, and
nothing else stimulates the interest more than this. The keenest
pleasure is in meeting a new bird: a rare and subtle stimulus not to be
defined, to be experienced only and cherished as a memory. You stand in
the midst of one of the mixed flocks of autumn--winter visitants with a
sprinkling of warblers, and perhaps a blue-headed vireo and a pair of
silent thrushes--and recognize old friends, with a chance of
discovering a stranger. It calls out the zest for the woods like an
appetite for dinner--a finer, more ethereal appetite, which is
satisfied through the eye and ear. Occasionally the blue-headed vireo
may be heard, though the season is far advanced, and the little Parula
warbler indulges in a spiritual and melodious reverie, as if he already
had visions of another spring and was communicating in a state of
trance and ecstasy his prophetic thought.
One supremely mellow day the last of October, there came a pair of
hermits to a secluded spot, flitting into a white oak, where they
remained regarding me with round bright eyes. In due season they
crossed to the pine under which I sat, whereupon one, directly over my
head, began cautiously descending from branch to branch through the
lower dead limbs until he was but a few feet from my face. Here he sat,
regarding me in a gentle friendly way and talking to himself in an
undertone--or was he talking to me? The impelling force continued to
draw my little friend--it was mutual did he but know, a true case of
love at sight--for at last, with an indescribable little flutter, he
dropped from his perch with the evident intent of alighting upon me,
but changed his course directly in my face, and with a swift motion of
the wings darted into the shrubbery. Upon a near view the spell had
broken, and he was again the timid solitary thrush.
It is because the wild life is so shy and elusive that the unexpected
encounters have such charm. They are altogether clandestine and
romantic. You may stroll time and again without the least
encouragement, as though wholly ostracized from this society; and then
some morning you are welcomed on every hand and admitted to the inner
circle of the wood life. About the woods there is ever an enticing
mystery. They invite us to enter as though they concealed some
treasure we sought. A race dwells here apart, and we turn aside for
that silent and refreshing company. When they speak, their speech is
lyrical. There are men who have never known any friendship in Nature;
others again who never outgrow the love of birds and flowers, who
preserve some youthfulness and innocence which keeps them in touch with
wild life. Over and above a healthy curiosity, or any scientific
acquaintance, it is the _companionship_ of the woods and fields which
counts--a real friendship for birds and bees and flowers. Let us
remember the woods in the days of our youth, that we may have this
unfailing resource in later years.
SIGNS OF SPRING
The approach of spring is felt, rather than reasoned about. There is
that in us which rises to greet the incoming tide of the year before
our eyes have apprised us of any change. Winter lies over the world
much as ashes are banked on coals for the night, which nevertheless
retain their heat and will be found alive and glowing in the morning.
In the tropics the fire is not banked and there is no cold dawn with
anticipations of the kindly blaze soon to arise, no gradual uncovering
of the cheerful coals. Here in New England the dawn is rigorous and
spring more welcome. The winter buds are evidence that it is not far
away, and it takes but the least encouragement at any time for this
latent heat and life to awake and show itself in the high blueberry
twigs. Such buoyant faith has the skunk-cabbage it never entirely loses
sight of spring, but exerts some spell over its muddy bed, whereby you
may see that there, at least, it has already come in November.
The reddening of the twigs is in effect a prelude, and precedes the
real spring as dawn precedes daylight, or twilight the night; this is
the dawn of the year and these blueberry twigs its first flush. Smilax
turns suddenly green as the sap circulates in its spiny stems, and the
brown and sear aspect of the earth is relieved and enlivened. This
early green is as refreshing to the eye as the first rhubarb to the
palate.
One of the earliest signs is the little rosette of bright-
leaves on the smaller hair-cap mosses, growing in contact with an
outcropping ledge. You may see whole patches in the pastures, varying
from orange to deep red, a vivid bit of color next the brown earth and
looking like diminutive blossoms. Then come the fruiting spikes of the
common field horsetails, poking out of some sand-bank. These signs of
the awakening season appeal to the trained eye rather than to the
casual glance. Such an one detects the slightest swelling of a
leaf-bud, the faint reddening of a twig, the deeper green of another.
The sap dripping from the freshly cut limb of a birch, or pendent from
the wound in a long glittering icicle, is evidence of the quickened
circulation of the earth. Among the thick mat of dry leaves you may
perhaps find the delicate shoots of wood anemones, and in the swamps
the tightly rolled stipes of the osmunda, like little croziers, while
there is ice yet in the leaves of the pitcher-plant.
Deep lying in all men is a poetic vein which now appears on the
surface. The first pussy-willows and the arrival of bluebirds arouse
sentiments as common to us as the love of music: some suggestion of
renewal, of awakening after the sleep of winter, which touches even the
rough man and makes him kin for a day to the child. We embark each year
on the sea of winter, with unquestioning faith that on its other shore
spring awaits us, once more to shake the violets from her lap. When, in
March, that shore looms in the distance, we feel the joy of travelers
in sight of their native land. There may be rough seas, and March winds
are blustery, but _there_ in sight, nevertheless, is that faint outline
on the horizon.
No blossoming rod of Aaron could appear more miraculous than do the
flowering willows. These twigs of brown and lifeless aspect suddenly
burst into bloom and array themselves in exquisite silvery gray
catkins, while the snow may be still on the ground. Not long after,
the alders in the swamp unfold their clusters of drooping aments which
have been on the tree stiff and rigid throughout the winter. Thousands
of little tails are thus mysteriously hung out on the alder twigs to
sway gently in the breeze, turning from a reddish hue to a
sulphur-yellow as they expand and become powdered with pollen. Born
into a frosty world when the feeble sun is still distant and cold, the
March flowers are a link between winter and spring. But Nature has
certainly relaxed her features; there is just the ghost of a smile on
her icy lips.
This year I heard the bluebird's warble on the 4th of February, but did
not see the bird, and heard no more till early in March, when they came
in flocks. Out of the sky comes to us this liquid note, as if the
heavens had opened and poured upon us their benediction. How sweet it
is to the ear, what music to the heart! And when suddenly a little
flock starts up from the wall or fence, how rich and welcome to the
eye, long denied its modicum of color, is the blue of their backs! We
have had little but artificial tastes and colors and perfumes for so
long that the senses seize with avidity these first offerings--we are
hungry for them.
It changes the whole aspect of things, when on some raw day the first
redwing of the season appears--a vivid bit of color in the bleak swamp,
a hopeful and melodious voice breaking the silence of the year. The
birds are shy and elusive on their arrival and we have every year to
become acquainted again. Even the robins are furtive and silent,
flitting in the sheltered swamps; but the middle of March finds them
calling to each other in their old jocular way. Drawn by the same
subtle influence, the angleworm seems to work toward the surface about
the time the robin is thinking of the lawn, till one day they meet as
by appointment. If the season is late, the worm retires below where it
is less frosty, and the robin takes to the sumac berries, or whatever
else he can find, and defers his spring relish a little longer.
Round about there is an awakening as from an enchanted sleep; the
drowsy world yawns and stretches. The highhole is in evidence, and his
rattling call is calculated to awake the sleepers in that pasture at
least. Soon the chipmunk is on the wall, and the woodchuck warily pokes
his head from his burrow. This note of the highhole is irrepressibly
exuberant and ringing with energy. If it does not prove a tonic to you,
nothing else will. He is even more emphatic in his drumming. His lively
tattoo goes well with his vigorous call. Time to be up and doing! _Wake
up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!_
Presently the first flock of fox-sparrows drop down from somewhere and
go to scratching among the leaves, like so many chickens. The present
season a flock of perhaps fifty settled in and around a thicket on
March 24th. Their bold clear notes could be heard some distance away,
and drew one in that direction. Numbers of them were hopping about, and
occasionally a bird would rise to a branch overhead and sing, looking
like a hermit-thrush as his back was turned. The place was given over
to the sparrows, and never was thicket more tuneful. There was the
sound of unceasing revelry--a sylvan and melodious revelry.
At this season the impulse to expression is natural and daily becomes
more evident. Even the crow begins to affect music and to show off his
accomplishments. But it is Mlle. Corbeau, and not M. Reynard, that
incites him to this exhibition of vanity. You may hear him in the pine
grove, apparently gargling his throat, which is meant for a gay roulade
to please the ear of some dusky beauty lingering near and perhaps
affecting indifference. This is only a prelude to the astonishing
falsetto that sometimes follows, and which, be it hoped, may prove more
acceptable to Mlle. Corbeau than to our more critical ears. It is very
evident something is going on. The large flocks of winter have given
away to small and excited bands which keep up a perpetual clamor. It is
no surprise, then, some day in March to detect a crow carrying twigs.
At no other time is there such concerted singing among the
song-sparrows as in these first days of the arrival of any considerable
flocks. From bare fields and brown hedgerows arises this simple and
spontaneous expression of joy, a primitive invocation to the goddess
Spring, fresh and clear and innocent as the morning itself. As they hop
about among the dry weeds, one will now and then pick up a straw and
hold it meditatively a moment with some premonition of the nest.
Presently they will be flitting among the still leafless brambles and
briers with an air of secrecy and importance. Some bright morning in
March there comes to the listening ear the song of the purple finch--a
wild sweet strain with the abandon of gipsy music, which thrills with
its very wildness and unrestraint. Anon Phoebe arrives with dry
little voice and familiar swoop after the first incautious fly.
Every season has its characteristic song. More than all others is the
voice of the hyla, essentially springlike and to be associated with no
other time. For several days there has been an occasional desultory
chirp from the woods, when of a sudden, some clear evening, there comes
out of the stillness that wonderfully sweet piping of little frogs.
Fresh and ringing as child voices, it has, at a distance, a certain
rhythm, a soothing cadence, which lulls the ear like the musical patter
of rain-drops in summer showers. Put your ear close to one--if you can
find him--and the sound is deafening, so loud and shrill it pierces to
the very marrow. The small creature sits in some low shrub in the
swamp, grasping a twig on either side as with tiny hands, while it
inflates its air-sac from time to time and sings the love-song of its
race. Heard afar, how soft and pleasing are these answering calls of
the hylas which are the very voice of the evening itself.
About the time the hylas begin to sing in chorus, you may look for the
appearance of the leopard-frog. He is to be heard at midday in his pond
uttering a most deliberate and prolonged snore, evenly and smoothly
drawn out, as if his sleep were dreamless and content. Presently there
is an answering snore, full as deliberate and serene, from across the
pond, followed by long intervals of silence. Very different from this
somnolent song of the leopard-frog is the shrilling of garden-toads.
Not every one would recognize the solemn and dusty toad of the
flower-beds, that flops from under the feet in the dusk, in this
brighter creature, floating at full length in the shallow
water, his air-sac inflated before him like a parti- bubble. The
shrilling of toads fills the air; they are under a spell, a witchery,
which has set them all to chanting this single strain--high-pitched and
subdued--with a sort of mild frenzy.
April brings the twittering of tree-swallows, and spreads a tinge of
color like a faint | 1,448.705565 |
2023-11-16 18:41:12.7833230 | 1,761 | 12 |
Produced by Ralph Zimmerman, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
PECK'S BAD BOY WITH THE COWBOYS
By George W. Peck.
Author of Peck's Bad Boy Abroad, Peck's Bad Boy with the Circus, etc.
Relating the Amusing Experiences and Laughable Incidents of this
Strenuous American Boy and his Pa while among the Cowboys and Indians
in the Far West. Exciting Hunts and Adventures mingled with Humorous
Situations and Laugh Provoking Events.
Fully Illustrated
Chicago
John R. Stanton Co.
Publishers
Copyright 1905
By Joseph B. Bowles
Copyright 1906
By Joseph B. Bowles
Copyright 1907
By Thompson & Thomas
Made In U. S. A.
ILLUSTRATIONS (not available in this file)
"Got Any Trailing Dogs?" Frontispiece
Pa Kicked the Dog
The Grizzly Looked as Big as a Brewery Horse
They Gave Pa Three Cheers
The Squaws Seemed to be Worshipping Pa
The Horse Stumbled, Throwing Pa Over His Head and Killing the Wolf
He Looked Like Moonlight on the Lake
The Chiefs Knees Knocked Together
Pa Only Touched the High Places
A Boy Dinosaurus Reached Out His Neck and Picked Up a Steer
We Were Captured by the Curry's Gang
Pa Told Them About the Wave of Reform
Say to the Engineer--"Charley, Turn Her Off and Stop Her"
One Day the Robbers Came Back From a Raid With Piles of Greenbacks
Drank to the Health of Their Distinguished Guest
The Robbers Guided Us in the Dark Through the Valley
The Pony Tossed Pa in the Air
Pa Swung His Ax Handle
Pa Was Alive to His Danger
The Buffaloes Licked Pa's Bald Head--Pa Began to Pray
A Couple of Bouncers Took Pa by the Elbows and Fired Him Out
"Dog Does Kinder Act as Though He Had Something on His Mind"
"Jerusalem, But You Are a Sight," Said the Old Groceryman
Dad Said, "Good Shot, Hennery"
"It Rained Bananas and the <DW55> Came Down on His Head"
"The Farmer Had Grabbed Hold of a Wire Sign Across the Street"
"Hennery, This Attempt on Your Part to Murder Me Was Not the Success You
Expected"
"Dad Sat in the Parlor With a Widow Until the Porter Had to Tell Him to
Cut it Out"
"I Got a Gambler to Look Cross at Dad"
"Dad Was Up On a Limb and the Wild Animals Were Jumping Up to Eat His
Shoes"
"Hennery, I Feel as Though Your Dad Was Not Long For This World"
Dad Among the Cowboys
"Dad Began to Pose as a Regular Old Rough Rider"
Dad On a Bucking Broncho
"That's a Prairie Dog From Texas"
"Dad Heard Something at Night and Rose Up in Bed"
"Dad Stepped On My Prairie Dog and Yelled Murder"
"We Left Under Escort of the Police"
"Arrest That Boy With the Rattlesnake," Said the Groceryman
"Each Oyster Was As Big As a Pie Plate"
Landed With His Head in a Basket of Strictly Fresh Eggs
"You Ought to Have Seen Dad's Short Legs Carry Him to a Tree"
"Studied the Bears for Awhile and Let Dad Yell for the Police"
Come to Present Arms
When the Fireworks Went Off in the Grocery
"Dad Said if Rockefeller Could Raise Hair by the Sunshine Method, He
Could"
CHAPTER I.
The Bad Boy and His Pa Go West--Pa Plans to Be a Dead Ringer for Buffalo
Bill--They Visit an Indian Reservation and Pa Has an Encounter with a
Grizzly Bear.
Well, I never saw such a change in a man as there has been in pa, since
the circus managers gave him a commission to go out west and hire an
entire outfit for a wild west show, regardless of cost, to be a part
of our show next year. He acts like he was a duke, searching for a rich
wife. No country politician that never had been out of his own county,
appointed minister to England, could put on more style than Pa does.
The first day after the show left us at St. Louis we felt pretty bum,
'cause we missed the smell of the canvas, and the sawdust, and the
animals, and the indescribable odor that goes with a circus. We missed
the performers, the band, the surging crowds around the ticket wagon,
and the cheers from the seats. It almost seemed as though there had been
a funeral in the family, and we were sitting around in the cold parlor
waiting for the lawyers to read the will. But in a couple of days Pa got
busy, and he hired a young Indian who was a graduate of Carlisle, as an
interpreter, and a reformed cowboy, to go with us to the cattle ranges,
and an old big game hunter who was to accompany us to the places where
we could find buffalo and grizzly bears. Pa chartered a car to take us
west, and after the Indian and the cowboy and the hunter got sobered
up, on the train, and got the St. Louis ptomaine poison out of their
systems, and we were going through Kansas, Pa got us all into the
smoking compartment.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I want you to know that this expedition is backed
by the wealth of the circus world, and that there is nothing cheap about
it. We are to hire, regardless of expense, the best riders, the best
cattle ropers, and the best everything that goes with a wild west show.
We all know that Buffalo Bill must soon, in the nature of things, pass
away as a feature for shows, and I have been selected to take the place
of Bill in the circus world, when he cashes in. You may have noticed
that I have been letting my hair and mustache and chin whiskers grow the
last few months, so that next year I will be a dead ringer for Bill. All
I want is some experience as a hero of the plains, as a scout, a hunter,
a scalper of Indians, a rider of wild horses, and a few things like
that, and next year you will see me ride a white horse up in front of
the press seats in our show, take off my broad-brimmed hat, and wave it
at the crowned heads in the boxes, give the spurs to my horse, and
ride away like a cavalier, and the show will go on, to the music of
hand-clapping from the assembled thousands, see?"
The cowboy looked at pa's stomach, and said: "Well, Mr. Man, if you are
going to blow yourself for a second Buffalo Bill, I am with you, at the
salary agreed upon, till the cows come home, but you have got to show me
that you have got no yellow streak, when it comes to cutting out steers
that are wild and carry long horns, and you've got to rope 'em, and tie
'em all alone, and hold up your hands for judgment, in ten seconds."
Pa said he could learn to do it in a week, but the cowman said: "Not on
your life." The hunter said he would be ready to call pa B. Bill when he
could stand up straight, with the paws of a full-grown grizzly on each
of his shoulders, and its face in front of pa's, if Pa had the nerve to
pull a knife and disembowel the bear, and skin him without help. Pa said
that would be right into his hand, 'cause he use to work in a slaughter
house when he was a boy, and he had waded in gore.
The Indian said he would be ready to salute Pa as Buffalo Bill the
Second, when Pa had an Indian's left hand tangled in his hair, and a
knife in his right hand ready to scalp him, if Pa would look the Indian
in the eye and hypnotize the red man so he would drop the hair and the
knife, turn his back on pa, and invite him | 1,448.803363 |
2023-11-16 18:41:12.7834690 | 2,515 | 43 |
Produced by David E. Brown and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
LANAGAN
[Illustration: “TWO MORE SHOTS TORE THROUGH AND SPRAYED US WITH
SPLINTERS”]
LANAGAN
_AMATEUR DETECTIVE_
BY
EDWARD H. HURLBUT
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
FREDERIC DORR STEELE_
New York
STURGIS & WALTON
COMPANY
1913
COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY
STURGIS & WALTON COMPANY
Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1913
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I WHITHER THOU GOEST 3
II THE PATHS OF JUDGMENT 31
III THE CONSPIRACY OF ONE 63
IV WHOM THE GODS DESTROY 93
V THE AMBASSADOR’S STICK-PIN 121
VI WHATSOEVER A MAN SOWETH 151
VII THE PENDELTON LEGACY 181
VIII AT THE END OF THE LONG NIGHT 209
IX THE DOMINANT STRAIN 235
X OUT OF THE DEPTHS 263
ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM DRAWINGS BY
FREDERICK DORR STEELE
“Two more shots tore through, and sprayed
us with splinters” _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
“Then Lanagan took his leisurely turn, drawing up an
easy chair” 96
“He lit a match” 260
“On the floor they placed the figure they bore, a stalwart
figure of a man” 280
LANAGAN
_AMATEUR DETECTIVE_
I
WHITHER THOU GOEST
I
WHITHER THOU GOEST
Jack Lanagan of the San Francisco _Enquirer_ was conceded to have
“arrived” as the premier police reporter of San Francisco. This honour
was his not solely through a series of brilliant newspaper feats in his
especial field, but as well by reason of an entente that permitted him
to call half the patrolmen on the force by their given names; enjoy the
confidences of detective sergeants, a close-mouthed brotherhood; dine
tête-à-tête in private at French restaurants with well-groomed police
captains on canvasback or quail out of season, and sit nonchalantly on
a corner of the chief’s desk and absent-mindedly smoke up the chief’s
two-bit cigars.
It was an intimacy that carried much of the lore of the force with it:
that vital knowledge not of books. Bill Dougherty on the “pawnbroker
detail” knew scarcely more “fences” than did Lanagan; Charley Hartley,
who handled the bunco detail, found himself nettled now and then when
Lanagan would pick him up casually at the ferry building and point out
some “worker” among the incoming rustics whom Hartley had not “made,”
and debonair Harry O’Brien, who spent his time among the banks, was
more than once rudely jarred when Lanagan would slip over on the front
page of the _Enquirer_ a defalcation that had been engaging O’Brien’s
attention for a week.
So it went with Lanagan; from the “bell hops” of big hotels, the bar
boys of clubs, down to the coldest-blooded unpenned felon of the
Barbary Coast who sold impossible whiskey with one hand and wielded a
blackjack with the other, the police sources were his.
Consequently Lanagan, having “arrived,” may be accorded a few more
liberties than the average reporter and permitted to spend a little
more time than they in poker in the back room at Fogarty’s, hard
by the Hall of Justice. Here, when times were dull, he could drift
occasionally to fraternise with a “shyster,” those buzzards of the
police courts and the city prisons who served Fogarty; or with one of
the police court prosecuting attorneys affiliated with the Fogarty
political machine, for Fogarty was popularly credited with having at
least two and possibly three of the police judges in his vest pocket.
Or he could rattle the dice with a police judge himself and get the
“inside” on a closed-door hearing or the latest complaint on the secret
file; and he could keep in touch with the “plain-clothes” men who
dropped in to pass the time of day with Fogarty; or with the patrolmen
coming on and off watch, who reported to Fogarty as regularly as they
donned and doffed their belts and helmets things they thought Fogarty
should know.
In this fashion does the police reporter best serve his paper; for
it is by such unholy contact that he keeps in touch with the circles
within circles of the police department of a great city. Some he
handles by fear, some he wins by favour, some he wheedles. In the end,
if he be a brother post-graduate, the grist of the headquarters’ mill
is his.
Of the shysters there is Horace Lathrop, for instance, who boasts a
Harvard degree when he is drunk--never when he is sober.
Horace is sitting with Lanagan at Fogarty’s rear room table, while
Lanagan sips moodily at his drink.
Larry the Rat, runner for the shysters, pasty of face, flat of forehead
as of chin, with an upper lip whose malformation suggests unpleasantly
the rodent whose name he bears, shuffles in and bespeaks Lathrop at
length. That worthy straightens up, glances at Lanagan, and then
remarks:
“Casey has just brought in a moll,” and arises, with elaborate
unconcern, to leave the room.
“Well,” drawled Lanagan, “what else?”
“Nothing. That’s all I know. Going to try to get the case now, whatever
it is.”
“Is that all you told him, Larry?” asked Lanagan. The Rat mumbled
unintelligibly and shuffled away.
“The Rat’s answered after his breed,” said Lanagan. “He says no, it is
not. Now, Horace--pardon me, Barrister Lathrop--kick through. You know
I’ve got to deliver a story to my paper to-day. Come on.”
Lanagan never wasted words with Lathrop. There were a few trivialities
that he “had” on that individual. But Lathrop balked.
“Look here, Lanagan, all I got’s her name and address. It isn’t square.
She may have a roll as long as your arm. You print this story, the
newspaper men go at her for interviews, tip her off about me, she gets
a regular lawyer, and where do I come off? You fellows are always
crabbing our game. I gave you that shoplifter story a week ago and you
played it for a column. You know you did, Jack; now you know you did.”
Lathrop had been whining. Now he stiffened.
“I ain’t going to,” defiantly; “I’m tired o’ being bullied by you. Aw,
say now, Jack, it’s a big case. And I got a wife and kids to look out
for”--which was a fact--“and here you come taking the bread and butter
out of their mouths. It ain’t square, Jack; you know it ain’t.”
All morals to all men, reflected Lanagan, and laughed lazily, pulling a
copy of the _Enquirer_ across the table.
“See her, Horace? Right on this page--page one, column two, right here,
with your name in big black-face letters--a little story of about
one-third of a column on that $750 touch-off on that Oroville deacon,
who went astray for the first time of his life and was pinched as a
drunk--to be fleeced by you and your precious band. There isn’t any
way of getting his money back, or proving a case against you or the two
cops who cut the roll with you and Fogarty. I didn’t print the story,
but I’ve got the facts pretty straight; and it goes right here--right
in this nice, conspicuous place for the grand jury to see and for that
wife and those ‘kids’ to see also, who, singular as it may sound,
actually don’t know what particular brand of a ‘lawyer’ you are. Get
all that?”
Lathrop “got” it.
Lanagan was then told that the detinue cells held a young woman of
remarkable beauty, Miss Grace Turner, taken from a family rooming house
on O’Farrell Street. Also that through Lathrop word of her arrest was
to be taken to her brother there. Lathrop--or Larry the Rat, both
being cogs in the same machine--had come by the information by the
underground wire that runs from every city prison to the bail-bond
operators and their shysters without.
Fogarty was the bail-bond chief, and possibly one of the plain-clothes
men who just now rested his elbow upon the bar may have passed that
name and address to Larry the Rat.
The “detinue” cases are those on the secret book at headquarters, that
stable police violation of Magna Charta; the detinue cases, therefore,
become the focus of the police reporter’s activity.
“And incidentally, Horace, you stay away from 1153A O’Farrell Street
until I get through,” was Lanagan’s final command.
“But what about Fogarty?” whined the shyster. “He must know by this
time I got the case. You know what he could do to me if he wanted to,
Jack.”
“Yes, and I know what I could do to him if I wanted to, and he knows
it, too,” snapped Lanagan. “Leave him to me.”
“I’m a friend of Miss Turner’s,” he said as the landlady opened the
door at 1153A O’Farrell. “I wish to speak with her brother.”
“He’ll be glad to see you. He has been worrying. You ain’t another one
of them detectives? I didn’t tell him, though. He was asleep and the
doctor said he shouldn’t be worried just now. It might be fatal. What
did they do with the poor, dear girl?”
“Merely holding her for a few hours. What was the trouble?”
“Giving a bad check to the druggist for medicine. She did the same
thing at the grocer’s. It’s a dirty trick, I say, to arrest the poor
thing. Why, the grocer’s bill was only a few dollars. They don’t eat
enough to keep my canary. The man eats mostly almonds. Something wrong
with his stomach, and that seems to be all he can eat. Funny, ain’t it?”
The garrulous woman led Lanagan to a doorway in the rear. He knocked
and, in response to a feeble voice, entered.
Propped up with two pillows was a young man whose wasted features were
bright with a hectic flush; whose arms, hanging loosely from his gown,
were shrunk to the bone and sinews. The eyes were grey, steady, and
assured; so much so that Lan | 1,448.803509 |
2023-11-16 18:41:14.3823330 | 2,193 | 15 |
Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger
A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE,
DURING THE YEARS
1792, 1793, 1794, AND 1795;
DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS
FROM AN ENGLISH LADY;
With General And Incidental Remarks
On The French Character And Manners.
Prepared for the Press
By John Gifford, Esq.
Author of the History of France, Letter to Lord
Lauderdale, Letter to the Hon. T. Erskine, &c.
Second Edition.
_Plus je vis l'Etranger plus j'aimai ma Patrie._
--Du Belloy.
London: Printed for T. N. Longman, Paternoster Row. 1797.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS BY THE EDITOR.
The following Letters were submitted to my inspection and judgement by
the Author, of whose principles and abilities I had reason to entertain a
very high opinion. How far my judgement has been exercised to advantage
in enforcing the propriety of introducing them to the public, that public
must decide. To me, I confess, it appeared, that a series of important
facts, tending to throw a strong light on the internal state of France,
during the most important period of the Revolution, could neither prove
uninteresting to the general reader, nor indifferent to the future
historian of that momentous epoch; and I conceived, that the opposite and
judicious reflections of a well-formed and well-cultivated mind,
naturally arising out of events within the immediate scope of its own
observation, could not in the smallest degree diminish the interest
which, in my apprehension, they are calculated to excite. My advice upon
this occasion was farther influenced by another consideration. Having
traced, with minute attention, the progress of the revolution, and the
conduct of its advocates, I had remarked the extreme affiduity employed
(as well by translations of the most violent productions of the Gallic
press, as by original compositions,) to introduce and propagate, in
foreign countries, those pernicious principles which have already sapped
the foundation of social order, destroyed the happiness of millions, and
spread desolation and ruin over the finest country in Europe. I had
particularly observed the incredible efforts exerted in England, and, I
am sorry to say, with too much success, for the base purpose of giving a
false colour to every action of the persons exercising the powers of
government in France; and I had marked, with indignation, the atrocious
attempt to strip vice of its deformity, to dress crime in the garb of
virtue, to decorate slavery with the symbols of freedom, and give to
folly the attributes of wisdom. I had seen, with extreme concern, men,
whom the lenity, mistaken lenity, I must call it, of our government had
rescued from punishment, if not from ruin, busily engaged in this
scandalous traffic, and, availing themselves of their extensive
connections to diffuse, by an infinite variety of channels, the poison of
democracy over their native land. In short, I had seen the British
press, the grand palladium of British liberty, devoted to the cause of
Gallic licentiousness, that mortal enemy of all freedom, and even the
pure stream of British criticism diverted from its natural course, and
polluted by the pestilential vapours of Gallic republicanism. I
therefore deemed it essential, by an exhibition of well-authenticated
facts, to correct, as far as might be, the evil effects of
misrepresentation and error, and to defend the empire of truth, which had
been assailed by a host of foes.
My opinion of the principles on which the present system of government in
France was founded, and the war to which those principles gave rise, have
been long since submitted to the public. Subsequent events, far from
invalidating, have strongly confirmed it. In all the public declarations
of the Directory, in their domestic polity, in their conduct to foreign
powers, I plainly trace the prevalence of the same principles, the same
contempt for the rights and happiness of the people, the same spirit of
aggression and aggrandizement, the same eagerness to overturn the
existing institutions of neighbouring states, and the same desire to
promote "the universal revolution of Europe," which marked the conduct of
BRISSOT, LE BRUN, DESMOULINS, ROBESPIERRE, and their disciples. Indeed,
what stronger instance need be adduced of the continued prevalence of
these principles, than the promotion to the supreme rank in the state, of
two men who took an active part in the most atrocious proceedings of the
Convention at the close of 1792, and at the commencement of the following
year?
In all the various constitutions which have been successively adopted
in that devoted country, the welfare of the people has been wholly
disregarded, and while they have been amused with the shadow of liberty,
they have been cruelly despoiled of the substance. Even on the
establishment of the present constitution, the one which bore the nearest
resemblance to a rational system, the freedom of election, which had been
frequently proclaimed as the very corner-stone of liberty, was shamefully
violated by the legislative body, who, in their eagerness to perpetuate
their own power, did not scruple to destroy the principle on which it was
founded. Nor is this the only violation of their own principles. A
French writer has aptly observed, that "En revolution comme en morale, ce
n'est que le premier pas qui coute:" thus the executive, in imitation of
the legislative body, seem disposed to render their power perpetual. For
though it be expressly declared by the 137th article of the 6th title of
their present constitutional code, that the "Directory shall be partially
renewed by the election of a new member every year," no step towards such
election has been taken, although the time prescribed by the law is
elapsed.--In a private letter from Paris now before me, written within
these few days, is the following observation on this very circumstance:
"The constitution has received another blow. The month of Vendemiaire is
past, and our Directors still remain the same. Hence we begin to drop
the appalation of Directory, and substitute that of the Cinqvir, who are
more to be dreaded for their power, and more to be detested for their
crimes, than the Decemvir of ancient Rome." The same letter also
contains a brief abstract of the state of the metropolis of the French
republic, which is wonderfully characteristic of the attention of the
government to the welfare and happiness of its inhabitants!
"The reign of misery and of crime seems to be perpetuated in this
distracted capital: suicides, pillage, and assassinations, are daily
committed, and are still suffered to pass unnoticed. But what renders
our situation still more deplorable, is the existence of an innumerable
band of spies, who infest all public places, and all private societies.
More than a hundred thousand of these men are registered on the books of
the modern SARTINE; and as the population of Paris, at most, does not
exceed six hundred thousand souls, we are sure to find in six individuals
one spy. This consideration makes me shudder, and, accordingly, all
confidence, and all the sweets of social intercourse, are banished from
among us. People salute each other, look at each other, betray mutual
suspicions, observe a profound silence, and part. This, in few words, is
an exact description of our modern republican parties. It is said, that
poverty has compelled many respectable persons, and even state-creditors,
to enlist under the standard of COCHON, (the Police Minister,) because
such is the honourable conduct of our sovereigns, that they pay their
spies in specie--and their soldiers, and the creditors of the state, in
paper.--Such is the morality, such the justice, such are the republican
virtues, so loudly vaunted by our good and dearest friends, our
pensioners--the Gazetteers of England and Germany!"
There is not a single abuse, which the modern reformers reprobated so
loudly under the ancient system, that is not magnified, in an infinite
degree, under the present establishment. For one Lettre de Cachet issued
during the mild reign of LOUIS the Sixteenth, a thousand Mandats d'Arret
have been granted by the tyrannical demagogues of the revolution; for one
Bastile which existed under the Monarchy, a thousand Maisons de Detention
have been established by the Republic. In short, crimes of every
denomination, and acts of tyranny and injustice, of every kind, have
multiplied, since the abolition of royalty, in a proportion which sets
all the powers of calculation at defiance.
It is scarcely possible to notice the present situation of France,
without adverting to the circumstances of the WAR, and to the attempt now
making, through the medium of negotiation, to bring it to a speedy
conclusion. Since the publication of my Letter to a Noble Earl, now
destined to chew the cud of disappointment in the vale of obscurity, I
have been astonished to hear the same assertions advance, by the members
and advocates of that party whose merit is said to consist in the
violence of their opposition to the measures of government, on the origin
of the war, which had experienced the most ample confutation, without the
assistance of any additional reason, and without the smallest attempt to
expose the invalidity of those proofs which, in my conception, amounted
nearly to mathematical demonstration, and which I had dared them, in
terms the most pointed, to invalidate. The question of aggression before
stood on such high ground, that I had not the presumption to suppose it
could derive an accession of strength from any arguments which I could
supply; but I was confident, that | 1,450.402373 |
2023-11-16 18:41:14.4886270 | 1,488 | 79 |
Produced by Bruce Albrecht and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE WAY OF INITIATION
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
INITIATION AND ITS RESULTS
a sequel to the
"WAY OF INITIATION"
By
RUDOLF STEINER, Ph.D.
Translated from the German by Clifford Bax
CONTENTS
A FOREWORD
I. THE ASTRAL CENTERS (CHAKRAS)
II. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE ETHERIC BODY
III. DREAM LIFE
IV. THE THREE STATES OF CONSCIOUSNESS
V. THE DISSOCIATION OF HUMAN PERSONALITY DURING INITIATION
VI. THE FIRST GUARDIAN OF THE THRESHOLD
VII. THE SECOND GUARDIAN OF THE THRESHOLD
SELECTED LIST OF OCCULT WORKS
In same clear print and rich binding as this book
PRICE $1.00 PREPAID
THE WAY OF INITIATION
OR
HOW TO ATTAIN KNOWLEDGE OF THE HIGHER WORLDS
BY RUDOLF STEINER, Ph.D.
FROM THE GERMAN
BY
~MAX GYSI~
WITH SOME BIOGRAPHICAL NOTES OF THE AUTHOR BY
~EDOUARD SCHURE~
FIRST AMERICANIZED EDITION
MACOY PUBLISHING AND MASONIC SUPPLY CO.
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
Copyright 1910
BY
MACOY PUBLISHING
AND
MASONIC SUPPLY CO.
45-47-49 JOHN ST.
New York, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
The Personality of Rudolf Steiner and His Development 7
I. The Superphysical World and Its Gnosis 33
II. How to Attain Knowledge of the Higher Worlds 50
III. The Path of Discipleship 65
IV. Probation 81
V. Enlightenment 93
VI. Initiation 117
VII. The Higher Education of the Soul 135
VIII. The Conditions of Discipleship 149
List of Occult and Kindred Books 165
Transcriber's Note: Words printed in bold are noted with tildes;
~bold~. There is no corresponding anchor for footnote number 5.
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE.
(FOR THE ENGLISH EDITION.)
Being deeply interested in Dr. Steiner's work and teachings, and
desirous of sharing with my English-speaking friends the many
invaluable glimpses of Truth which are to be found therein, I decided
upon the translation of the present volume. It is due to the kind
co-operation of several friends who prefer to be anonymous that this
task has been accomplished, and I wish to express my hearty thanks for
the literary assistance rendered by them--also to thank Dr. Peipers of
Munich for permission to reproduce his excellent photograph of the
author.
The special value of this volume consists, I think, in the fact that
no advice is given and no statement made which is not based on the
personal experience of the author, who is, in the truest sense, both
a mystic and an occultist.
If the present volume should meet with a reception justifying a further
venture, we propose translating and issuing during the coming year a
further series of articles by Dr. Steiner in continuation of the same
subject, and a third volume will consist of the articles now appearing
in the pages of The Theosophist, entitled "The Education of Children."
MAX GYSI.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE.
While the pleasant German vernacular is still discernable in the text
of this work, we wish to state that it has been Americanized in
spelling, phraseology, and definition, to make plainer to the Western
mind the wonderful truths experienced by its distinguished author.
The readers, especially Occult, Theosophic, Masonic, and New Thought
students, we believe, will appreciate the clearness with which his
teachings lead to the simple rich Harmony of Life.
MACOY PUB. & MASONIC SUP. CO.
THE PERSONALITY OF RUDOLF STEINER AND HIS DEVELOPMENT
BY EDOUARD SCHURE[1]
Many of even the most cultivated men of our time have a very mistaken
idea of what is a true mystic and a true occultist. They know these two
forms of human mentality only by their imperfect or degenerate types,
of which recent times have afforded but too many examples. To the
intellectual man of the day, the mystic is a kind of fool and visionary
who takes his fancies for facts; the occultist is a dreamer or a
charlatan who abuses public credulity in order to boast of an imaginary
science and of pretended powers. Be it remarked, to begin with, that
this definition of mysticism, though deserved by some, would be as
unjust as erroneous if one sought to apply it to such personalities as
Joachim del Fiore of the thirteenth century, Jacob Boehme of the
sixteenth, or St. Martin, who is called "the unknown philosopher," of
the eighteenth century. No less unjust and false would be the current
definition of the occultist if one saw in it the slightest connection
with such earnest seekers as Paracelsus, Mesmer, or Fabre d'Olivet in
the past, as William Crookes, de Rochat, or Camille Flammarion in the
present. Think what we may of these bold investigators, it is
undeniable that they have opened out regions unknown to science, and
furnished the mind with new ideas.
[1] Translated by kind permission of the author from the
introduction to _Le Mystere Chretien et les Mysteres
Antiques_. Traduit de l'allemand par Edouard Schure,
Librairie academique, Perrin & Co., 1908, Paris.
No, these fanciful definitions can at most satisfy that scientific
dilettantism which hides its feebleness under a supercilious mask to
screen its indolence, or the worldly scepticism which ridicules all
that threatens to upset its indifference. But enough of these
superficial opinions. Let us study history, the sacred and profane
books of all nations, and the last results of experimental science; let
us subject all these facts to impartial criticism, inferring similar
effects from identical causes, and we shall be forced to give quite
another definition of the mystic and the occultist.
The true mystic is a man who enters into full possession of his inner
life, and who, having become cognizant of his sub-consciousness, finds
in it, through concentrated meditation and steady discipline, | 1,450.508667 |
2023-11-16 18:41:14.5794660 | 483 | 7 |
Produced by Neville Allen, Hagay Giller, Malcolm Farmer
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 147.
July 22, 1914.
CHARIVARIA.
Those who deny that Mr. LLOYD GEORGE is ruining land-owners will perhaps
be impressed by the following advertisement in _The Bazaar, Exchange and
Mart_:--
"To be sold, small holding, well stocked with fruit trees, good
double tenement house on good road and close to station, good outer
buildings. Price, Four Marks, Alton, Hunts."
The fact that the price should be translated into German looks
unpleasantly like an attempt to entrap an ignorant foreigner.
* * *
Meanwhile it looks as if the Socialist ideal of driving our landed
gentry into the workhouse is already being realised. The Abergavenny
Board of Guardians, we read, has decided to accept an offer by Lord
ABERGAVENNY to purchase the local workhouse for L3,000.
* * *
Three of the new peers have now chosen their titles. Sir EDGAR VINCENT
becomes Baron d'ABERNON; Major-General BROCKLEHURST, Baron RANKSBOROUGH,
and Sir EDWARD LYELL, Baron LYELL. Rather lazy of Sir EDWARD.
* * *
A lioness which escaped from a circus at Bourg-en-Brasse, France, the
other day, was killed, and a gendarme in the hunting party was shot in
the leg. As the lioness was not armed it is thought that the gendarme
must have been shot by one of the party.
* * *
It is frequently said that, if the Suffragettes were to drop their
militant tactics, the suffrage would be granted to-morrow. A Suffragette
now writes to stigmatise this as a hypocritical mis-statement. She
points out that recently the experiment was tried of allowing an entire
day to pass without an outrage, but not a single vote was granted.
* * *
Dr. HANS FRIEDENTHAL, a well-known Professor of | 1,450.599506 |
2023-11-16 18:41:14.5795540 | 480 | 10 |
This eBook was produced by Andrew Sly.
THE BRITISH NORTH AMERICA ACT, 1867.
30 VICTORIA, CHAPTER 3.
An Act for the Union of Canada, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick,
and the Government thereof; and for Purposes connected therewith.
[29th March, 1867.]
Whereas the Provinces of Canada, Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick have
expressed their Desire to be federally united into One Dominion under
the Crown of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, with a
Constitution similar in Principle to that of the United Kingdom:
And whereas such a Union would conduce to the Welfare of the Provinces
and promote the Interests of the British Empire:
And whereas on the Establishment of the Union by Authority of Parliament
it is expedient, not only that the Constitution of the Legislative
Authority in the Dominion be provided for, but also that the Nature of
the Executive Government therein be declared:
And whereas it is expedient that Provision be made for the eventual
Admission into the Union of other Parts of British North America:
Be it therefore enacted and declared by the Queen's most Excellent
Majesty, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Lords Spiritual and
Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by
the Authority of the same, as follows:
I.--PRELIMINARY.
1. [Short Title.] This Act may be cited as The British North America
Act, 1867.
2. [Application of Provisions referring to the Queen.] The Provisions of
this Act referring to Her Majesty the Queen extend also to the Heirs and
Successors of Her Majesty, Kings and Queens of the United Kingdom of
Great Britain and Ireland.
II.--UNION.
3. [Declaration of Union] It shall be lawful for the Queen, by and with
the Advice of Her Majesty's Most Honourable Privy Council, to declare by
Proclamation that, on and after a Day therein appointed, not being more
than Six Months after the passing of this Act, the Provinces of Canada,
Nova Scotia, and New Brunswick shall form and be One Dominion under the
Name of Canada; and on and after that Day those Three Provinces shall
form and be One Dominion under that Name | 1,450.599594 |
2023-11-16 18:41:14.7806690 | 96 | 31 | MONACO***
This ebook was transcribed by Les Bowler.
[Picture: Monaco Town, from Monte Carlo]
THE FALL
OF
PRINCE FLORESTAN OF MONACO.
* * * * *
BY HIMSELF.
* * * * *
London:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
1874.
[_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is reserved_.]
[ | 1,450.800709 |
2023-11-16 18:41:16.3809260 | 1,393 | 6 |
Produced by Steve Harris, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION
By
Walter Bagehot
CONTENTS
I. INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND EDITION.
II. THE CABINET.
III. THE MONARCHY.
IV. THE HOUSE OF LORDS.
V. THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
VI. ON CHANGES OF MINISTRY.
VII. ITS SUPPOSED CHECKS AND BALANCES.
VIII. THE PREREQUISITES OF CABINET GOVERNMENT, AND THE PECULIAR
FORM WHICH THEY HAVE ASSUMED IN ENGLAND.
IX. ITS HISTORY, AND THE EFFECTS OF THAT HISTORY.--CONCLUSION.
NO. I.
INTRODUCTION TO THE SECOND EDITION.
There is a great difficulty in the way of a writer who attempts to
sketch a living Constitution--a Constitution that is in actual work and
power. The difficulty is that the object is in constant change. An
historical writer does not feel this difficulty: he deals only with the
past; he can say definitely, the Constitution worked in such and such a
manner in the year at which he begins, and in a manner in such and such
respects different in the year at which he ends; he begins with a
definite point of time and ends with one also. But a contemporary
writer who tries to paint what is before him is puzzled and a
perplexed: what he sees is changing daily. He must paint it as it stood
at some one time, or else he will be putting side by side in his
representations things which never were contemporaneous in reality. The
difficulty is the greater because a writer who deals with a living
Government naturally compares it with the most important other living
Governments, and these are changing too; what he illustrates are
altered in one way, and his sources of illustration are altered
probably in a different way. This difficulty has been constantly in my
way in preparing a second edition of this book. It describes the
English Constitution as it stood in the years 1865 and 1866. Roughly
speaking, it describes its working as it was in the time of Lord
Palmerston; and since that time there have been many changes, some of
spirit and some of detail. In so short a period there have rarely been
more changes. If I had given a sketch of the Palmerston time as a
sketch of the present time, it would have been in many points untrue;
and if I had tried to change the sketch of seven years since into a
sketch of the present time, I should probably have blurred the picture
and have given something equally unlike both.
The best plan in such a case is, I think, to keep the original sketch
in all essentials as it was at first written, and to describe shortly
such changes either in the Constitution itself, or in the Constitutions
compared with it, as seem material. There are in this book various
expressions which allude to persons who were living and to events which
were happening when it first appeared; and I have carefully preserved
these. They will serve to warn the reader what time he is reading
about, and to prevent his mistaking the date at which the likeness was
attempted to be taken. I proceed to speak of the changes which have
taken place either in the Constitution itself or in the competing
institutions which illustrate it.
It is too soon as yet to attempt to estimate the effect of the Reform
Act of 1867. The people enfranchised under it do not yet know their
own power; a single election, so far from teaching us how they will use
that power, has not been even enough to explain to them that they have
such power. The Reform Act of 1832 did not for many years disclose its
real consequences; a writer in 1836, whether he approved or disapproved
of them, whether he thought too little of or whether he exaggerated
them, would have been sure to be mistaken in them. A new Constitution
does not produce its full effect as long as all its subjects were
reared under an old Constitution, as long as its statesmen were trained
by that old Constitution. It is not really tested till it comes to be
worked by statesmen and among a people neither of whom are guided by a
different experience.
In one respect we are indeed particularly likely to be mistaken as to
the effect of the last Reform Bill. Undeniably there has lately been a
great change in our politics. It is commonly said that "there is not a
brick of the Palmerston House standing". The change since 1865 is a
change not in one point but in a thousand points; it is a change not of
particular details but of pervading spirit. We are now quarrelling as
to the minor details of an Education Act; in Lord Palmerston's time no
such Act could have passed. In Lord Palmerston's time Sir George Grey
said that the disestablishment of the Irish Church would be an "act of
Revolution"; it has now been disestablished by great majorities, with
Sir George Grey himself assenting. A new world has arisen which is not
as the old world; and we naturally ascribe the change to the Reform
Act. But this is a complete mistake. If there had been no Reform Act at
all there would, nevertheless, have been a great change in English
politics. There has been a change of the sort which, above all,
generates other changes--a change of generation. Generally one
generation in politics succeeds another almost silently; at every
moment men of all ages between thirty and seventy have considerable
influence; each year removes many old men, makes all others older,
brings in many new. The transition is so gradual that we hardly
perceive it. The board of directors of the political company has a few
slight changes every year, and therefore the shareholders are conscious
of no abrupt change. But sometimes there IS an abrupt change. It
occasionally happens that several ruling directors who are about the
same age live on for many years, manage the company all through those
years, and then go off the scene almost together. In that case the
affairs of the company are apt to alter much, for good or for evil;
sometimes it becomes more successful, sometimes it is ruined, but it
hardly ever stays as it was. Something | 1,452.400966 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.5860930 | 2,129 | 6 |
Produced by Nicole Henn-Kneif, 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 Writings of
"FIONA MACLEOD"
_UNIFORM EDITION_
ARRANGED BY
MRS. WILLIAM SHARP
_I too will set my face to the wind and
throw my handful of seed on high._
--F. M.
[Illustration: Fiona Macleod]
Pharais
and
The Mountain Lovers
BY
"FIONA MACLEOD"
(WILLIAM SHARP)
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
1910
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
STONE & KIMBALL
COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY
JOHN LANE
COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY
DUFFIELD & COMPANY
THE TROW PRESS, NEW YORK
CONTENTS
PAGE
FOREWORD vii
By ELIZABETH A. SHARP
PHARAIS 11
THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS 181
BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE 401
By MRS. WILLIAM SHARP
"_It is Loveliness I seek, not lovely things._"
FOREWORD
Into this collected edition are gathered all the writings of William
Sharp published under his pseudonym "Fiona Macleod," which he cared to
have preserved; writings characterised by the distinctive idiom he
recognised to be the expression of one side of his very dual nature--of
the spiritual, intuitive, subjective self as distinct from the mental,
reasoning, objective self.
In the preparation of this edition I have carefully followed the
author's written and spoken instructions as to selection, deletion, and
arrangement. To the preliminary arrangement he gave much thought,
especially to the revision of the text, and he made considerable changes
in the later version of certain of the poems and tales. In one instance
only have I acted on my own judgment, and have done so because I felt
satisfied he would have offered no objection to my suggestion. In
accordance with his decision the romance _Green Fire_ is not reissued
in its entirety, because he considered the construction of it to be
seriously defective. He rewrote the second half of the story--the only
portion he cared to keep--renamed it "The Herdsman" and included it in
_The Dominion of Dreams_. Scattered throughout _Green Fire_ there are a
number of "Thoughts" which I and other readers are desirous of
preserving; I have therefore gathered them together and have included
them in the form of detached "Fragments."
The _Laughter of Peterkin_ is also excluded, because it is a retelling
of old familiar Celtic tales and not primarily an original work. Two of
these retellings, however, _Deirdre and the Sons of Usna_, and _The Four
White Swans_ have been published separately in America by Mr. Mosher
(Portland, Maine).
Though the "Fiona Macleod" phase belongs to the last twelve years of
William Sharp's life, the formative influences which prepared the way
for it went back to childhood. Though "the pains and penalties of
impecuniosity" during his early struggles in London tended temporarily
to silence the intuitive subjective side of his nature in the necessary
development of the more objective intellectual "William Sharp"--critic,
biographer, essay and novel writer as well as poet--he never lost sight
of his desire to give expression to his other self.
William Sharp was born in 1855 of Scottish parents (he died at Maniace,
Sicily, in 1905), was educated at the Academy and University of Glasgow,
and spent much of his youth among the Gaelic-speaking fisher-folk and
shepherds of the West Highlands. After a voyage to Australia for his
health, he settled in London in 1878 and strove to make for himself a
place in the profession of Literature. His friendships with Rossetti,
Browning, Pater, Meredith were important factors in his development; and
later he came into valued personal touch with W. D. Howells, Richard
Stoddart, Edward Clarence Stedman, and other English and American men of
letters.
In 1886, not long after his marriage, he suffered a serious illness and
a protracted convalescence. During the enforced leisure he dreamed many
dreams, saw visions, and remembered many things out of the past both
personal and racial. He determined, should he recover, to bend every
effort to ensure the necessary leisure wherein to write that which lay
nearest his heart. Accordingly in 1889 he left London for a time. The
first outcome of a wonderful winter and spring in Rome was a volume of
verse, in unrhymed metre, _Sospiri di Roma_, privately published in
1891, and followed in 1893 by a volume of dramatic interludes, _Vistas_;
and, though both are a blending of the two elements of the poet's dual
nature, they to some extent foreshadowed the special phase of work that
followed. He was feeling his way, but did not find what he sought until
he wrote _Pharais_, the first of the series of books which he issued
under the pseudonym of "Fiona Macleod."
In the sunshine and quiet of a little cottage in Sussex; in the delight
in "the green life" about him; impelled by the stimulus of a fine
friendship, he had gone back to the influences of his early memories,
and he began to give expression to his vision of the Beauty of the
World, of the meaning of Life, of its joys and sorrows. The ultimate
characteristic expression of his "dream self" was due to the inspiration
and incentive of the friend to whom he dedicated _Pharais_. It was, as
he states in a letter to me written in 1896, "to her I owe my
development as 'Fiona Macleod,' though in a sense, of course, that began
long before I knew her, and indeed while I was a child"; and again,
"without her there would never have been any 'Fiona Macleod.'"
The volumes appeared in quick succession. _Pharais_ in 1894; _The
Mountain Lovers_ in 1895; _The Sin-Eater_ in 1895; _The Washer of the
Ford_ in 1896; _Green Fire_ in 1896; _The Laughter of Peterkin_ in 1897;
_The Dominion of Dreams_ in 1899; and a volume of poems, _From the Hills
of Dream_, in 1896. A second serious illness intervened, and in 1900 he
published _The Divine Adventure_, and in 1904 _The Winged Destiny_. Of
his two dramas, written in 1898-9, _The House of Usna_ was performed by
the Stage Society in London in 1900, and was issued in book form in
America by Mr. Mosher in 1903; _The Immortal Hour_ was published in
America in 1907 and in England in 1908. The volume of nature essays,
_Where the Forest Murmurs_, and an enlarged edition of _From the Hills
of Dream_ were also published posthumously.
For twelve years the name of "Fiona Macleod" was one of the mysteries of
contemporary literature. The question of "her" identity provoked
discussion on both sides of the Atlantic; conjecture at times touched
the truth and threatened disclosure. But the secret was loyally guarded
by the small circle of friends in whom he had confided. "'Fiona' dies"
he was wont to say, "should the secret be found out." These friends
sympathised with and respected the author's desire to create for
himself, by means of a pseudonym, the necessary seclusion wherein to
weave his dreams and visions into outward form; to write a series of
Celtic poems, romances and essays different in character from the
literary and critical work with which William Sharp had always
approached his public.
In a letter to an American friend written in 1893, before he had decided
on the use of the pseudonym, he relates: "I am writing a strange Celtic
tale called _Pharais_, wherein the weird charm and terror of the night
of tragic significance is brought home to the reader (or I hope so) by a
stretch of dew-sweet moonflowers glimmering white through the mirk of a
dust laden with sea-mist. Though the actual scene was written a year ago
and one or other of the first parts of _Pharais_, I am going to rewrite
it." In 1895 he wrote to the same friend who had received a copy of the
book, and who, remembering the statement, was puzzled by the name of the
author: "Yes, _Pharais_ is mine. It is a book out of the core of my
heart.... Ignored in some quarters, abused in others, and unheeded by
the general reader, it has yet had a reception that has made me deeply
glad. It is the beginning of my true work. Only one or two know that I
am 'Fiona Macleod.'" To the last the secret was carefully guarded for
him, until he passed "from the dream of Beauty to Beauty."
In the author's "Foreword" to the Tauchnitz selection of the Fiona
Macleod Tales, entitled _Wind and Wave_, he has set down in explanation | 1,454.606133 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.6818710 | 7,436 | 28 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
THE MOST EXTRAORDINARY
TRIAL
OF
WILLIAM PALMER,
FOR THE
RUGELEY POISONINGS,
WHICH LASTED TWELVE DAYS.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
W. M. CLARK, 16 & 17, WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW
AND SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
COUNSEL FOR THE CROWN.
The ATTORNEY-GENERAL,
Mr. JAMES, Q.C.,
Mr. BODKIN,
Mr. WELSBY, and
Mr. HUDDLESTON.
COUNSEL FOR THE PRISONER.
Mr. Serjeant SHEE,
Mr. GROVE, Q.C.,
Mr. GRAY, and
Mr. KINNEALY.
The following Gentlemen were sworn on
THE JURY.
THOMAS KNIGHT, of Leytonstone.
RICHD. DUMBRELL, Fore Street.
WM. MAVOR, Park Street.
WM. NEWMAN, Coleshill Street.
GEORGE MILLER, Duke Street, Grosvenor Square.
GEORGE OAKSHOTT, Ham Lane, West Ham.
CHARLES BATES, Borough Road.
WM. ECCLESTONE, HAM LANE.
SAMUEL MULLETT, Great Portland Street.
JOHN OVER, Grosvenor Road, Pimlico.
WM. NASH, Conduit Street.
WM. FLETCHER, Fore Street.
The prisoner, WILLIAM PALMER, Surgeon, of Rugeley, aged 31, was indicted
for having at Rugeley, county of Stafford, on November 21st, 1855,
feloniously, wilfully, and with malice aforethought, committed murder on
the person of JOHN PARSONS COOK.
MEMOIR
OF
WILLIAM PALMER.
William Palmer is a member of a wealthy family, and is thirty-one years
of age. He was educated for the medical profession, was a pupil at St.
Bartholemew’s Hospital, London, received the diploma of the Royal
College of Surgeons in 1846, and shortly afterwards settled at Rugeley,
his native place. He seems, however, to have paid more attention to the
“turf,” and what are commonly called sporting pursuits, than to his
profession, and to have confined his practice to his own family and
friends.
His name appears in the “London and Provincial Medical Directory” of
1851, and again in 1855, as that of one of the persons who had neglected
to inform the editor of that work of the nature of their qualifications.
He married, in 1847, Anne, the natural daughter of Col. William Brookes
and Mary Thornton, his housekeeper. Col. Brookes, who, after quitting
the East India service, took up his residence at Stafford, died in 1834,
leaving considerable property, and more than one natural child.
To Anne Thornton he bequeathed, by a will dated July 27, 1833, nine
houses at Stafford, besides land, and the interest of 20,000 sicca
rupees, for herself and her children, and appointed Dr. Edward Knight, a
physician of Stafford, and Mr. Dawson, her guardians and trustees. To
Mary Thornton, the mother of Anne, the colonel bequeathed certain
property, which was to pass to her daughter at the decease of the
mother. Mary Thornton departed this life--it is said, while a guest at
Mr. Palmer’s house,--in 1848 or 1849.
Now, although the will of Colonel Brookes would seem clear enough to
anyone who was ignorant of law, and although, in the present state of
the law, as we are informed, it would be sufficient, yet it was
discovered by the legal fraternity, some years since, that the language
conveying the bequest to Anne Thornton was not sufficiently forcible to
convey it to her absolutely, but only to give her a life interest in it,
insomuch as, at her decease, it was liable to be claimed by the
heir-at-law to Colonel Brookes.
Under these circumstances, there was nothing unnatural or unusual in the
idea that Palmer should insure his wife’s life, in order to protect
himself from the inevitable loss which must ensue in case of her
decease; and since her property consisted of seventeen acres of land,
valued at between £300 and £400 per acre, besides nine houses, and the
interest of the sicca rupees--probably altogether worth at least £400
per annum, upon which he had borrowed largely from his mother--there
could be no doubt of his having such an interest in his wife’s life as
would justify insurance.
Accordingly, in January, 1854, he insured her life for £3,000 in the
Norwich Union, and in March in the Sun for £5,000; there was also an
insurance in the Scottish Equitable for £5,000. Mrs. Palmer died on
September 29, 1854, leaving only one surviving child, a boy of seven
years; and, as if to justify the husband in effecting an insurance, an
action was brought within a month by Colonel Brookes’s heir-at-law, to
obtain possession of Mrs. Palmer’s property.
Palmer brought up the life policies on the Sun and Norwich Union on the
16th of October, 1854, and employed Mr. Pratt, the solicitor, to obtain
the money from the offices. Mr. Pratt, who seems to have acted with
entire _bona fides_, and the caution usual among lawyers, required to be
furnished with evidence of the husband’s pecuniary interest in his
wife’s life, took counsel’s opinion on every step, and obtained the
£8,000 from the offices on the 6th of February, 1855; strangely enough,
the £5,000 from the Scottish Equitable was paid through a banker unknown
to Pratt.
Great excitement prevailed in reference to the trial, and large bodies
of persons who could have no possible chance of admission crowded the
avenues of the court. Day after day notices have appeared in the papers,
that only those who had obtained tickets of admission from the Sheriffs
would be admitted; and the under-sheriffs very wisely adhered to that
determination. In consequence of their very excellent arrangements, the
Court was at no time inconveniently crowded. At ten o’clock the judges
appointed to try the case entered the Court, and took their seats on the
bench. They were Lord Campbell, the Lord Chief Justice of the Queen’s
Bench, Mr. Baron Alderson, and Mr. Justice Cresswell.
TRIAL OF WILLIAM PALMER
FOR
THE RUGELEY POISONINGS.
CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT, MAY 14, 1856.
The long-deferred trial of William Palmer, which, owing to the necessity
of passing a special act of Parliament to enable it to take place in
this court, has been delayed for a period of several months since the
finding of a true bill by the Grand Jury of Staffordshire, commenced
to-day at the Old Bailey; and, notwithstanding the interval which has
elapsed since this extraordinary case was first brought under the notice
of the public, the intense interest and excitement which it then
occasioned seem in no degree to have abated. Indeed, if the applications
for admission to the court which were made so soon as the trial was
appointed, and the eager endeavours of large crowds to gain an entrance
to-day, may be regarded as a criterion of the public anxiety upon the
progress and issue of the trial, the interest would seem to have
augmented rather than diminished.
At a very early hour every entrance to the court was besieged by persons
of respectable appearance, who were favoured with cards giving them a
right of entrance. Without such cards no admittance could on any
pretence be obtained, and even the fortunate holders of them found that
they had many difficulties to overcome, and many stern janitors to
encounter, before an entrance to the much-coveted precincts could be
obtained. On the whole, however, the arrangements of the Under-Sheriffs
Stone and Ross were excellent, and, although there may be individual
cases of complaint, as there always will be when delicate and important
functions have to be performed with firmness, it is but justice to
testify to the general completeness and propriety of the regulations
which the Sheriffs had laid down.
Among the distinguished persons who were present at the opening of the
Court were the Earl of Derby, Earl Grey, the Marquis of Anglesea, Lord
Lucan, Lord Denbigh, Prince Edward of Saxe Weimar, Lord W. Lennox, Lord
G. G. Lennox, and Lord H. Lennox. The Lord Advocate of Scotland sat by
the side of the Attorney-General during the trial.
At five minutes to ten o’clock the learned Judges, Lord Chief Justice
Campbell, Mr. Baron Alderson, and Mr. Justice Cresswell, accompanied by
the Lord Mayor, and Aldermen Sir G. Carroll, Humphrey, Sir R. W. Carden,
Finnis, Sir F. G. Moon, and Sidney, Mr. Sheriff Kennedy, Mr. Sheriff
Rose, Mr. Under-Sheriff Stone, and Mr. Under-Sheriff Rose, took their
seats on the bench.
The prisoner, William Palmer, was immediately placed in the dock; and to
the indictment which charged him with the wilful murder of John Parsons
Cook, who died at Rugeley upon the 21st of November last, he pleaded, in
a clear, low, but perfectly audible and distinct tone, “Not guilty.” The
prisoner is described in the calendar as “William Palmer, 31, surgeon,
of superior degree of instruction.” In appearance Palmer is much older,
and, although there are no marks of care about his face, there are the
set expression and rounded frame which belong to the man of forty or
forty-five. His countenance is clear and open, the forehead high, the
complexion ruddy, and the general impression which one would form from
his appearance would be rather favourable than otherwise, although his
features are of a common and somewhat mean cast. There is certainly
nothing to indicate to the ordinary observer the presence either of
ferocity or cunning, and one would expect to find in him more of the
boon companion than the subtle adversary. His manner was remarkably calm
and collected throughout the whole of the day. It was altogether devoid
of bravado, but was respectful and attentive, and was calculated to
create a favourable impression. He frequently conversed with Mr. Smith,
his professional adviser, and remained standing until the close of the
speech for the prosecution, when at his request his counsel asked that
he might be permitted to sit--an application which was at once acceded
to by Lord Campbell.
The counsel engaged in the case were:--The Attorney-General, Mr. E.
James, Q.C., Mr. Bodkin, Mr. Welsby, and Mr. Huddleston, for the Crown;
and Mr. Serjeant Shee, Mr. Grove, Q.C., Mr. Gray, and Mr. Kenealy, for
the prisoner.
A most respectable jury having been empanelled, and all the witnesses,
with the exception of the medical men, having been ordered out of court,
THE ATTORNEY-GENERAL
proceeded, amid breathless silence, to open the case on the part of the
prosecution. He said: Gentlemen of the jury, the duty you are called
upon to discharge is the most solemn which a man can by possibility have
to perform--it is to sit in judgment and to decide an issue on which
depends the life of a fellow human being who stands charged with the
highest crime for which a man can be arraigned before a worldly
tribunal. I am sure that I need not ask your most anxious and earnest
attention to such a case; but there is one thing I feel it incumbent on
me to urge upon you. The peculiar circumstances of this case have given
it a profound and painful interest throughout the whole country. There
is scarcely a man, perhaps, who has not come to some conclusion on the
issue which you are now to decide. All the details have been seized on
with eager avidity, and there is, perhaps, no one who is not more or
less acquainted with those details. Standing here as a minister of
justice; with no interest and no desire save that justice shall be done
impartially, I feel it incumbent on me to warn you not to allow any
preconceived opinion to operate on your judgment this day. Your
duty--your bounden duty--is to try this case according to the evidence
which shall be brought before you, and according to that alone. You must
discard from your minds anything that you may have read or heard, or any
opinion that you may have formed. If the evidence shall satisfy you of
the prisoner’s guilt, you will discharge your duty to society, to your
consciences, and to the oaths which you have taken, by fearlessly
pronouncing your verdict accordingly; but if the evidence fail to
produce a reasonable conviction of guilt in your minds, God forbid that
the scale of justice should be inclined against the prisoner by anything
of prejudice or preconceived opinion. My duty, gentlemen, will be a
simple one. It will be to lay before you the facts on which the
prosecution is based, and in doing so I must ask for your most patient
attention. They are of a somewhat complicated character, and they range
over a considerable period of time, so that it will be necessary not
merely to look to circumstances which are immediately connected with the
accusation, but to go back to matters of an antecedent date. I may
safely say, however, that, in my conscience, I believe there is not a
fact to which I am about to ask your patient attention which has not an
immediate and most important bearing on this case. The prisoner at the
bar, William Palmer, was by profession a medical practitioner, and he
carried on that profession in the town of Rugeley, in Staffordshire, for
several years. In later years, however, he became addicted to turf
pursuits, which gradually drew off his attention and weaned him from his
profession. Within the last two or three years he made over his business
to a person named Thirlby, formerly his assistant, who now carries it
on. In the course of his pursuits connected with the turf, Palmer became
intimate with the man whose death forms the subject of this inquiry--Mr.
John Parsons Cook.
Now, Mr. Cook was a young man of decent family, who originally had been
intended for the profession of the law. He was articled to a solicitor;
but after a time, inheriting some property, to the extent, I think, of
some £12,000 or £15,000, he abandoned the laborious profession of the
law, and betook himself also to the turf. He kept racehorses and betted
considerably; and in the course of his operations he became much
connected and familiarly intimate with the prisoner William Palmer. It
is for the murder of that Mr. John Parsons Cook that the prisoner stands
indicted to-day, the charge against him being that he took away that
man’s life by poison. It will be necessary to show you the circumstances
in which the prisoner Palmer was then placed, and the position in which
he stood relatively to the deceased Cook. It will be impossible
thoroughly to understand this case in all its bearings without those
circumstances being laid before you, and it will be necessary,
therefore, that I should go into them particularly. The case which, on
the part of the prosecution, I have to urge against Palmer is
this--that, being in desperate circumstances, with ruin, disgrace, and
punishment staring him in the face, which could only be averted by means
of money, he took advantage of his intimacy with Cook, when Cook had
become the winner of a considerable sum, to destroy him, in order to
obtain possession of his money. Out of the circumstances of Palmer at
that time arose, as we say, the motive which induced him to commit this
crime. If I show you upon evidence which can leave no reasonable doubt
in your minds that he committed that crime, motives become a matter of
secondary importance. Nevertheless, in inquiries of this kind, it is
natural and right to look to see what may have been the motives by which
a man has been induced to commit the crime charged against him; and if
we find strong motives, the more readily shall we be led to believe in
the probability of the crime having been committed; but if we find an
absence of motive the probability is the other way. In this case, the
motive will be matter for serious consideration; and inasmuch as the
circumstances out of which we say that the motive arose come first in
order of time, I will deal with them before I come to that which is the
more immediate subject matter of our inquiry. It seems to me that it
would be most convenient that I should follow the chronological order of
events, and I will therefore pursue that course. It appears that as
early as the year 1853 Palmer had got into difficulties, and that he
began to raise money upon bills. In 1854 his circumstances became worse,
and he was at that time indebted to different persons in a large sum of
money. He then had recourse to an expedient which it is important that I
should bring before you; but, as it will become necessary for me to
detail to you transactions involving fraud, and, what is worse, forgery,
I wish to make a few observations to you before I detail those
transactions.
Although I am anxious, where I feel it to be absolutely necessary for
the elucidation of the truth, that those circumstances should be brought
before you, I wish that they should not have more than their fair and
legitimate weight. You must not allow them to prejudice your minds
against the prisoner with reference to that which is the real matter of
inquiry. I cannot avoid bringing them forward; but I would anxiously
caution you and pray you not to allow any prejudice by reason of those
transactions to operate against the prisoner; for, though a man may be
guilty of fraud and forgery, it does not follow, therefore, that he is
guilty of murder.
Among the bills on which Palmer raised money in 1853 was one for £2,000,
which he had discounted by a person named Padwick. That bill bore the
acceptance of Sarah Palmer, the mother of the prisoner. She was, and is,
a woman of considerable property, and her acceptance being believed to
be genuine, was a security upon which money could readily be raised. The
prisoner forged that acceptance, and that was, if not the first, at all
events one of the earliest transactions of that nature by means of which
for a long period of time money was obtained by him upon bills, with his
mother’s acceptance forged by him. This shows how, when things came to a
climax and he found himself involved in a position of great peril and
emergency, he had recourse to a desperate expedient to avoid the
consequences which seemed inevitably to press upon him. He owed in 1854
a very large sum of money. On the 29th of September in that year his
wife died. He had effected an insurance upon her life for £13,000, and
the proceeds of that insurance were realised, and by means of them he
discharged some of his most pressing liabilities. In dealing with a
portion of these liabilities he employed a gentleman named Pratt, a
solicitor in London, who was in the habit of discounting bills. Mr.
Pratt received from him £8,000, and Mr. Wright, a solicitor of
Birmingham, received £5,000; and with those two sums £13,000 of debt was
disposed of; but that still left Palmer with considerable liabilities,
and among other things, the bill of £2,000, which was discounted by
Padwick, remained unpaid. In the course of the same year he effected an
insurance on his brother’s life, and upon the strength of that policy
Palmer proceeded to issue fresh bills, which were discounted by Pratt at
the rate of 60 per cent., who kept the policy as collateral security.
The bills which were discounted in the course of that year amounted in
the whole to £12,500. I find that there were two bills discounted as
early as June, 1854, which were held over from month to month. In March,
1855, two bills were discounted for £2,000 each, with the proceeds of
which Palmer bought two race-horses, called Nettle and Chicken. Those
bills were renewed in June, and one became due on the 28th of September,
and the other on the 2nd of October, when they were again renewed. The
result of the bill proceedings of the year was that in November, when
the Shrewsbury races took place, there were in Pratt’s hands one bill
for £2,000, due the 25th of October; another for £2,000, due the 27th of
October; two for the joint sum of £1,500, due on the 9th of November;
one for £1,000, due on the 30th of September; one for £2,000, due on the
1st January; one for £2,000, due on the 5th of January; and another for
£2,000, due on the 15th of January; making altogether £12,500. £1,000 of
this sum, however, he had contrived to pay off, so that there was due in
November, 1855, no less than £11,500, upon bills, every one of which
bore the forged acceptance of the prisoner’s mother.
Under these circumstances, a pressure naturally arose--the pressure of
£11,500 of liabilities, with not a shilling in the world to meet them,
and the still greater pressure resulting from a consciousness that the
moment when he could no longer go on and his mother was resorted to for
payment, the fact of those forgeries would at once become manifest, and
would bring upon him the peril of the law for the crime of forgery. The
prisoner’s brother died in August, 1855. His life had been insured, and
the policy for £13,000 had been assigned to the prisoner, who, of
course, expected that the proceeds of that insurance would pay off his
liabilities; but the office in which the insurance was effected declined
to pay, and consequently there was no assistance to be derived from that
source. Now, in these transactions to which I have referred, the
deceased John Parsons Cook had been to a certain extent concerned. It
seems that in May, 1855, Palmer was pressed to pay £500 to a person
named Serjeant. He had at that time in the hands of Palmer a balance
upon bill transactions of £310 to his credit, and he wanted Pratt to
advance the £190 necessary to make up £500. Pratt declined to do that,
except upon security; upon which Palmer offered him the acceptance of
Cook, representing him to be a man of substance. Accordingly the
acceptance of Cook for £200 was sent up, and upon that Pratt advanced
the money. When that bill for £200 became due, Palmer failed to provide
for it, and Cook had to meet it himself. In August of the same year, an
occurrence took place to which I must call your particular attention.
Palmer wrote to Pratt to say that he must have £1,000 by a day named.
Pratt declined to advance it without security; upon which Palmer offered
the security of Cook’s acceptance for £500. Pratt still declined to
advance the money without some more tangible security. Now Palmer
represented this as a transaction in which Cook required the money, and
it may be that such was the fact. I have no means of ascertaining how
that was; but I will give him the credit of supposing it to be true.
Pratt still declining to advance the money, Palmer proposed an
assignment by Cook of two racehorses, one called Polestar, which won the
Shrewsbury races, and another called Sirius. That assignment was
afterwards executed by Cook in favour of Pratt, and Cook, therefore, was
clearly entitled to the money which was raised upon that security, which
realised £375 in cash, and a wine warrant for £65. Palmer contrived,
however, that the money and wine warrant should be sent to him, and not
to Cook. Mr. Pratt sent down his cheque to Palmer in the country on a
stamp as the Act of Parliament required, and he availed himself of the
opportunity now offered by law of striking out the word “bearer” and
writing “order,” the effect of which was to necessitate the endorsement
of Cook on the back of the cheque.
It was not intended by Palmer that those proceeds should fall into
Cook’s hands, and accordingly he forged the name of John Parsons Cook on
the back of that cheque. Cook never received the money, and you will see
that, within ten days from the period when he came to his end, the bill
in respect to that transaction, which was at three months, would have
fallen due, when it must have become apparent that Palmer received the
money; and that, in order to obtain it, he had forged the endorsement of
Cook. I wish these were the only transactions in which Cook had been at
all mixed up with the prisoner Palmer; but there is another to which it
is necessary to refer. In September, 1855, Palmer’s brother having died,
and the proceeds of the insurance not having been realised, Palmer
induced a person named Bates to propose his life for insurance. Palmer
had succeeded in raising money upon previous policies, and I have no
doubt that he persuaded Cook to assist him in that transaction, so that,
by representing Bates as a man of wealth and substance, they might get a
policy on his life, by which policy, deposited as a collateral security,
they might obtain advances of money. Bates had been somewhat better off
in the world, but he had fallen into decay, and he had accepted
employment from Palmer as a sort of hanger-on in his stables. He was a
healthy young man; and, being in the company of Palmer and Cook at
Rugeley on the 5th of September, Palmer asked him to insure his life,
and produced the form of proposal to the office. Bates declined, but
Palmer pressed him, and Cook interposed and said, “You had better do it;
it will be for your benefit, and you’ll be quite safe with Palmer.” At
length they succeeded in persuading him to sign the proposal for no less
a sum than £25,000, Cook attesting the proposal, which Palmer filled in,
Palmer being referred to as medical attendant, and his former assistant,
Thirlby, as general referee. That proposal was sent up to the Solicitors
and General Insurance Office, and in the ensuing month--that office not
being disposed to effect the insurance--they sent up another for £10,000
to the Midland Office--on that same life. That proposal also failed, and
no money, therefore, could be obtained from that source. All these
circumstances are important, because they show the desperate straits in
which the prisoner at that time found himself.
The learned counsel then read a series of letters from Mr. Pratt to the
prisoner, all pressing upon the prisoner the importance of his meeting
the numerous bills which Pratt held, bearing the acceptance of Mrs.
Sarah Palmer; and these letters appeared to become more urgent when the
writer found that the insurance office refused to pay the £13,000 upon
the policy effected on the life of the prisoner’s brother, and which
Pratt held as collateral security. The letters were dated at intervals
between the 10th of September and the 18th of October, 1855.
On the 6th of November, two writs were issued by Pratt for £4,000, one
against Palmer and the other against his mother; and Pratt wrote on the
same day to say that he had sent the writs to Mr. Crabbe, but that they
were not to be served until he sent further instructions, and he
strongly urged Palmer to make immediate arrangements for meeting them,
and also to arrange for the bills for £1,500 due on the 9th of November.
Between the 10th and the 13th of November, Palmer succeeded in paying
£600; but on that day Pratt again wrote to him, urging him to raise
£1,000, at all events, to meet the bills due on the 9th. That being the
state of things at that time, we now come to the events connected with
Shrewsbury Races. Cook was the owner of a mare called Polestar, which
was entered for the Shrewsbury Handicap. She had been advantageously
weighted, and Cook, believing that the mare would win, betted largely
upon the event. The race was run upon the 13th of November--the very day
on which that last letter was written by Pratt, which would reach Palmer
on the 14th. The result of the race was that Polestar won, and that Cook
was entitled, in the first place, to the stakes, which amounted to £424,
_minus_ certain deductions, which left a net sum of £381 19s. His bets
had also been successful, and he won, upon the whole, a total sum of
£2,050. He had won also in the previous week, at Worcester, and I shall
show that at Shrewsbury he had in his pocket, besides the stakes and
the money which he would be entitled to receive at Tattersall’s, between
£700 and £800. The stakes he would receive through Mr. Weatherby, a
great racing agent in London, with whom he kept an account, and upon
whom he would draw; and, the race being run on a Tuesday, he would be
entitled on the ensuing Monday to receive his bets at Tattersall’s,
which amounted to £1,020.
Within a week from that time Mr. Cook died, and the important inquiry
which we have now to make is how he came by his death--whether by
natural causes or by the hand of man? and if the latter, by whose hand?
It is important, in the first place, that I should show you what was his
state of health when he went down to Shrewsbury. He was a young man, but
twenty-eight when he died. He was slightly disposed to a pulmonary
complaint, and, although delicate in that respect, he was in all other
respects a hale and hearty young man. He had been in the habit, from
time to time, especially with reference to his chest, of consulting a
physician in London--Dr. Savage, who saw him a fortnight before his
death. For four years he had occasionally consulted Dr. Savage, being at
that time a little anxious about the state of his throat, in which there
happened to be one or two slight eruptions. He had been taking mercury
for these eruptions, having mistaken the character of the complaint. Dr.
Savage at once saw that he had made a mistake, and desired him to
discontinue the use of mercury, substituting for it a course of tonics.
Mr. Cook’s health immediately began to improve; but, inasmuch as the new
course of treatment might have involved serious consequences in case Dr.
Savage had been mistaken in the diagnosis of the disease, he asked Cook
to look in upon him from time to time, and Cook had, as recently as
within a fortnight of his death, gone to call upon Dr. Savage. Dr.
Savage then examined his throat and whole system carefully, and he will
be prepared to tell you that at that time he had nothing on earth the
matter with him except a certain degree of thickening of the tonsils, or
some of the glands of the throat, to which anyone is liable, and there
was no symptom whatever of ulcerated sore-throat or anything of the
sort. Having then seen Dr. Savage, he went down to Shrewsbury Races, and
his horse won. After that he was somewhat excited, as a man might
naturally be under the circumstances of having won a considerable sum of
money, and he asked several friends to dine with him to celebrate the
event. They dined together at the Raven, the hotel where he was staying,
and had two or three bottles of wine, but there was no excess of any
sort, and no foundation for saying that Cook was the worse for liquor.
Indeed he was not addicted to excesses, but was, on the contrary, an
abstemious man on all occasions. He went to bed that night, and there
was nothing the matter with him. He got up the next day, and went again
on the course, as usual.
That night, Wednesday, the 14th November, a remarkable incident
happened, to which I beg to draw your attention. A friend of his, a Mr.
Fisher, and a Mr. Herring, were at Shrewsbury Races, and Fisher, who,
besides being a sporting man, was an agent for receiving winnings, and
who received Cook’s bets at the settling day at Tattersall’s, occupied
the room next to that occupied by Cook. Late in the evening Fisher went
into a room in which he found Palmer and Cook drinking brandy-and-water.
Cook gave him something to drink, and said to Palmer, “You’ll have some
more, won’t you?” Palmer replied, “Not | 1,454.701911 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.6819960 | 201 | 190 |
Produced by StevenGibbs and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE BRONTE FAMILY
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO
PATRICK BRANWELL BRONTE
VOL. I.
BY
FRANCIS A. LEYLAND.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS,
13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1886.
_All rights reserved._
PREFACE.
It has long seemed to me that the history of the Bronte family is
incomplete, and, in some senses, not well understood. Those who have
written upon it--as I shall have occasion to point out in these
pages--have had certain objects in view, which have, perhaps
necessarily, led them to give undue weight to special points and to
overlook others. Thus it happens that, though there | 1,454.702036 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.6820760 | 2,193 | 14 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini 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:
—Has been mantained the ancient style, therefore just the more evident
printing errors have been corrected. Punctuation has not been corrected
also if inconsistent with modern English.
—Italics and smallcaps have been manteined as far as possible, since as
in old books (this one was printed in 1621) sometimes text style
changes when a word is hyphenated.
HIS
MAIESTIES
DECLARATION,
Touching his proceedings in the
_late Assemblie and Conuention_
of Parliament.
[Illustration: DIEV ET MON DROIT.]
_Imprinted at London by_ BONHAM
NORTON and IOHN BILL,
Printers to the Kings most Excellent
MAIESTIE. 1621.
[Illustration]
HIS
MAIESTIES
Declaration, touching his proceedings
in the late Assembly and
_Conuention of Parliament_.
Hauing of late, vpon mature deliberation, with the aduice and vniforme
consent of Our whole Priuie Councell, determined to dissolue the
Assembly and Conuention of Parliament, lately called together by Our
Regall power and Authoritie, Wee were pleased by Our Proclamation,
giuen at Our Palace of _Westminster_ the sixt day of this instant
_Ianuary_, to declare, not onely Our pleasure and resolution therein,
but also to expresse some especiall passages and proceedings, moouing
vs to that resolution: Wherein, albeit hauing so many yeeres swayed
the swords and scepters of three renowned kingdomes, Wee cannot but
discerne (as much as any Prince liuing) what apperteineth to the height
of a powerfull Monarch: yet, that all men might discerne, that Wee,
like Gods true Viceregent, delight not so much in the greatnesse of
Our place, as in the goodnesse & benignitie of our gouernment, We were
content in that one Act to descend many degrees beneath Our Selfe:
First, by communicating to all Our people the reasons of a resolution
of State, which Princes vse to reserue, _inter arcana Imperij_, to
themselues and their Priuie Councell: Secondly, by mollifying and
mixing the peremptorie and binding qualitie of a Proclamation, with
the indulgence of a milde and fatherly instruction: And lastly,
leading them, and opening to them that forbidden Arke of Our absolute
and indisputable Prerogatiue, concerning the calling, continuing,
and dissoluing of Parliaments: which, though it were more then
superabundant to make Our Subiects know the realitie of Our sincere
intentions; yet Wee not satisfied therewith, but finding the bounds of
a Proclamation too straight to conteine and expresse the boundlesse
affection that Wee beare to Our good and louing people, are pleased
hereby to inlarge Our Selfe, (as Wee promised in Our said Proclamation)
by a more full and plaine expression of those Letters and Messages that
passed from Vs to the Commons in Parliament, which by reason of the
length of them, could not bee related at large, but briefly pointed
at in Our said Proclamation. For, as in generall the great actions of
Kings are done as vpon a stage, obuious to the publike gazing of euery
man; so are Wee most willing, that the trueth of this particular,
concerning Our owne honour, and the satisfaction of Our Subjects,
should bee represented vnto all men without vaile or couering, being
assured that the most plainnesse and freedome will most aduantage Vs,
hauing in this, and all Our Actions euer affected such sinceritie and
vprightnes of heart, as were Wee all transparent, and that men might
readily passe to Our inward thoughts, they should there perceiue the
selfe–same affections which Wee haue euer professed in Our outward
words and Actions.
Hauing anticipated the time of reassembling Our Parliament to the
twentieth day of _Nouember_ last, (which Wee formerly appointed to
haue met vpon the eighth of _February_ next,) vpon the confidence
that their noble and generous declaration at their parting the fourth
of _Iune_ put vs in, of their free and liberall assistance to the
recouery of Our Childrens ancient inheritance, and hauing declared to
them Our resolution of taking vpon Vs the defence of Our childrens
patrimonie by way of Armes, the Commons very heartily and dutifully
fell immediatly after their reassembling, to treat of a necessary
supplie, and concluded, for the present, to grant a Subsidie to be paid
in _February_ next, (the last paiment of the latter Subsidie granted
by them being not to come in vntill _May_ following) whereby Wee were
well and cleerly satisfied of the good intenti[=o] of the Commons in
generall, by whose vniforme vote & assent that Subsidy was resolued
on, not without intimation of a more ample supplie to be yeelded in
conuenient time.
But before this their resolution was reduced into a formall Acte or
Bill, some discontented persons that were the cause of all that euill
which succeeded, endeauouring to clog the good will of the Commons with
their owne vnreasonable ends, fell to dispute in the House of Our high
Prerogatiues, namely of the match of Our dearest sonne the Prince, of
the making warre with forreigne Princes Our Allies, betweene whom and
Vs there was a firme peace religiously made and obserued hitherunto:
All which they couered with the cloake of Religion, and with the
faire pretence of a duetifull Petition to bee preferred to Vs. Wee
vnderstanding right well, that those points were not disputable in
Parliament, without Our owne Royall direction, being of Our highest
Prerogatiues, the very Characters of Souereignty; & thinking, that
when euery Subiect by nature, and the Lawes of the Realme, had the
power of matching their children according to their owne best liking,
none should denie Vs the like; especially Wee hauing at the beginning
of the Parliament declared Our purpose concerning the matching of Our
Sonne, the Prince, were fully perswaded, that those specious outsides
of Religion and humble petitioning, were added onely to gaine passage
vnto those things, which being propounded in their true colours, must
needs haue appeared vniust and vnreasonable, as matters wherewith
neuer any Parliament had presumed to meddle before, except they had
bene thereunto required by their King; nay, not befitting Our Priuie
Councell to meddle with, without Our speciall command and allowance;
since the very consulting vpon such matters (though in neuer so priuate
a maner) being discouered abroad, might at some time produce as ill
effects, as if they were publikely resolued vpon. For as concerning the
point of Religion, We aswell in the beginning of the Parliament, by a
publike and open Declaration made to both Houses in the higher House of
Parliament, as also shortly after, by a gracious answere vnto a former
Petition of theirs, expressed to the full Our immutable resolution to
maintaine true Religion, besides the vntainted practise of Our whole
life in that point. And howsoeuer an humble Petition beare a faire shew
of respect; yet if vnder colour of concluding on a Petition, a way
should bee opened to treat in Parliament of the mysteries of State,
without Our Royall allowance, it were a great and vnusuall breach vpon
the Royall power: Besides, who knoweth not that the preferring of a
Petition, includes an expectation to haue it graunted? and therefore to
nippe this springing euill in the beginning, Wee directed Our Letters
to the Speaker of that House, the tenour of which Letters followeth.
Master Speaker, _Wee haue heard by diuers reports to Our great griefe,
That the farre distance of Our Person at this time from Our high
Court of Parliament, caused by Our want of health, hath emboldened
some fiery and popular spirits in Our House of Commons, to debate and
argue publikely, in matters farre beyond their reach or capacitie,
and so tending to Our high dishonour, and to the trenching vpon Our
Prerogatiue Royall. You shall therefore acquaint that House with Our
Pleasure, That none therein shall henceforth presume to meddle with any
thing concerning Our gouernment, or mysteries of State; namely, not
to speake of Our dearest Sonnes match with the Daughter of_ Spaine,
_nor to touch the Honour of that King, or any other Our friends or
Confederates: And also not to meddle with any mens particulars, which
haue their due motion in Our ordinarie Courts of Justice. And whereas
We heare that they haue sent a message to_ S^[ir] Edwin Sandys, _to
know the reasons of his late restraint, you shall in Our name resolue
them, That it was not for any misdemeanour of his in Parliament: But
to put them out of doubt of any | 1,454.702116 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.7804690 | 173 | 15 |
Produced by Chuck Greif and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images available at The Internet Archive)
FROM SKETCH-BOOK AND DIARY
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
LETTERS FROM THE HOLY LAND
CONTAINING 16 FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR
FROM PAINTINGS BY THE AUTHOR
"Charmingly natural and spontaneous travel impressions with sixteen
harmonious illustrations. The glow, spaciousness and atmosphere of these
Eastern scenes are preserved in a way that eloquently attests the
possibilities of the best colour process work."--_Outlook_.
"The letters in themselves afford their own justification; the sketches
are by Lady Butler, and when we have said that we have said all.
Combined, they | 1,454.800509 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.7862760 | 533 | 30 | (VOLUME II) ***
Produced by Al Haines.
STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON!
A Novel
BY
WILLIAM BLACK,
AUTHOR OF
"A DAUGHTER OF HETH," "MACLEOD OF DARE," ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. II.
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON, LIMITED
St. Dunstan's House
FETTER LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C.
1891.
[_All rights reserved._]
LONDON:
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED,
STAMFORD STREET AND CHARING CROSS.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER
I. Doubts and Dreams
II. By Northern Seas
III. "Holy Palmer's Kiss"
IV. Interposition
V. The Gnawing Fox
VI. Put to the Proof
VII. Renewing is of Love
VIII. On the Brink
IX. "And hast thou played me this!"
STAND FAST, CRAIG-ROYSTON!
CHAPTER I.
DOUBTS AND DREAMS.
And at first Vincent was for rebelliously thrusting aside and ignoring
this information that had reached him so unexpectedly. Was he, on the
strength of a statement forwarded by an unknown correspondent in New
York, to suspect--nay, to condemn unheard--this proud and solitary old
man with whom he had all this while been on terms of such close and
friendly intimacy? Had he not had ample opportunities of judging
whether George Bethune was the sort of person likely to have done this
thing that was now charged against him? He went over these past weeks
and months. Was it any wonder that the old man's indomitable courage,
his passionate love of his native land, and the constant and assiduous
care and affection he bestowed on his granddaughter, should have aroused
alike the younger man's admiration and his gratitude? What if he talked
with too lofty an air of birth and lineage, or allowed his enthusiasm
about Scotland and Scottish song to lead him into the realms of
rodomontade: may not an old man have his harmless foibles? Any one who
had witnessed Maisrie's devotion to her grandfather, her gentle
forbearance and consideration, her skilful | 1,454.806316 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.9821030 | 5,827 | 34 |
Produced by Neville Allen, David Edwards and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
COUNTRY LIFE
PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
Edited by J. A. HAMMERTON
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Designed to provide in a series of volumes, each complete in itself, the
cream of our national humour, contributed by the masters of comic
draughtsmanship and the leading wits of the age to "Punch," from its
beginning in 1841 to the present day
[Illustration]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S COUNTRY LIFE
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration: BROWN'S COUNTRY HOUSE.--_Brown (who takes a friend home
to see his new purchase, and strikes a light to show it)._ "Confound it,
the beastly thing's stopped!"]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S COUNTRY LIFE
HUMOURS OF OUR RUSTICS
AS PICTURED BY
PHIL MAY, L. RAVEN-HILL,
CHARLES KEENE, GEORGE
DU MAURIER, BERNARD
PARTRIDGE, GUNNING
KING, LINLEY SAMBOURNE,
G. D. ARMOUR,
C. E. BROCK, TOM BROWNE,
LEWIS BAUMER, WILL
OWEN, F. H. TOWNSEND,
G. H. JALLAND, G. E.
STAMPA, AND OTHERS
_WITH 180 ILLUSTRATIONS_
PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH
THE PROPRIETORS OF "PUNCH"
* * * * *
THE EDUCATIONAL BOOK CO. LTD.
* * * * *
THE PUNCH LIBRARY OF HUMOUR
_Twenty-five volumes, crown 8vo, 192 pages fully illustrated_
LIFE IN LONDON
COUNTRY LIFE
IN THE HIGHLANDS
SCOTTISH HUMOUR
IRISH HUMOUR
COCKNEY HUMOUR
IN SOCIETY
AFTER DINNER STORIES
IN BOHEMIA
AT THE PLAY
MR. PUNCH AT HOME
ON THE CONTINONG
RAILWAY BOOK
AT THE SEASIDE
MR. PUNCH AFLOAT
IN THE HUNTING FIELD
MR. PUNCH ON TOUR
WITH ROD AND GUN
MR. PUNCH AWHEEL
BOOK OF SPORTS
GOLF STORIES
IN WIG AND GOWN
ON THE WARPATH
BOOK OF LOVE
WITH THE CHILDREN
[Illustration]
* * * * *
[Illustration]
ON RUSTIC HUMOUR
Than the compilation of such a series of books as that which includes
the present volume there could surely be no more engaging occupation for
one who delights to look on the humorous side of life. The editor feels
that if his readers derive as much enjoyment from the result of his
labours as these labours have afforded him he may reasonably
congratulate them! He has found himself many times over, as a book has
taken shape from his gatherings in the treasure house of Mr. Punch,
saying "This is the best of the lot"--and usually he has been right.
There is none but is "the best!" There _may_ be one that is not quite so
good as the other twenty-four; but wild horses would not drag the name
of that one from the editor. He feels, however, that in illustrating the
humours of country life Mr. Punch has risen to the very summit of his
genius. There is, of course, good reason for this, as it is notorious
that the richest humour is to be found in the lowly walks of life, and
flourishes chiefly in rustic places where folks are simple and character
has been allowed to grow with something of that individuality we find in
the untouched products of Nature. Your true humorist has always been in
quick sympathy with the humblest of his fellow men. In the village
worthy, in poor blundering Hodge, in the rough but kindly country
doctor, the picturesque tramp, the droning country parson, the inept
curate, the village glee singers, and such like familiar figures of
rural England, the humorist has never failed to find that "source of
innocent merriment" he might seek for vainly in more exalted ranks of
our complex society. But he seeks among the country folk because his
heart is there. The very best of Mr. Punch's humorists of the pencil,
Charles Keene and Phil May in the past, and Mr. Raven-Hill and Mr. C. E.
Brock to-day, have given more consideration to the country ways of life
than to any other, and hence the exceeding richness of the present
volume. It is thus in no sense a comic picture of Mr. Punch's notions of
how the so-called country life is attempted by the townsman--one of the
most notable features of our present social conditions--but is, in
effect, a refreshing breath of genuine rustic humour, kindly,
whole-hearted, and "racy of the soil."
[Illustration]
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S COUNTRY LIFE
* * * * *
THE BEST SHARE IN A FARM.--The plough-share.
* * * * *
A PROVERB FRESH FROM THE COUNTRY.--No gooseberry without a thorn.
* * * * *
THE CONNOISSEURS.--_Groom._ "Whew's Beer do you like best--this 'ere
hom'brewed o' Fisk's, or that there ale they gives yer at the White
Ho's'?"
_Keeper_ (_critically_). "Well, o' the tew I prefers this 'ere. That
there o' Wum'oods's don't fare to me to taste o' nawthun at all. Now
this 'ere dew taste o' the cask!!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE AGRICULTURAL OUTLOOK
(_From Dumb-Crambo Junior's Point of View._)]
* * * * *
THE LANGUAGE OF FRUITS
Apple Discord.
Pear Marriage.
Plum Wealth.
Pine Languishment.
Gooseberry Simplicity.
Medlar Interference.
Service Assistance.
Elder-berry Seniority.
Fig Defiance.
Sloe Tardiness.
Crab Sour Temper.
Date Chronology.
Hip Applause.
Haw Swells.
Plaintain Growth.
Pomegranate Seediness.
Prune Retrenchment.
* * * * *
THE REAL LAND QUESTION.--How to make land _answer_.
* * * * *
PERFECT QUIET.--The still room.
* * * * *
[Illustration: LAND AND WATER.--_Prospective Purchaser_ (_arrived from
town to see the locality as advertised some three weeks ago. He has not
heard of the recent floods in this part of the country_). "Look here.
Are you selling this property by the yard or by the pint?"]
* * * * *
A COUNTRY SELL.--_Native Joker_ (_dissembling_). It's been very fine
here for the last week.
_Tourist_ (_who has been kept in by the showers, indignantly_). _What's_
been very fine here?
_Native._ The rain. Very fine rain.
[_Exit Native Joker, hurriedly._
* * * * *
"THE BEST OF IT."--_First Gentleman Farmer._ "Why, there goes that
artful rogue, Billy Giles! Is he at his old tricks still?"
_Second Ditto._ "He has cheated everybody down about here, sir, except
me! He tried it on this winter, but I was too clever for him! Sold me a
cow, and--(_triumphantly_)--I made him take it back at _half-price!!_"
* * * * *
THE REAL "LAND AGITATION."--An earthquake.
* * * * *
A CRY FROM KENT.
Prosperity's fled from our gardens and grounds;
How spindly our bines and how scanty our crops!
Wealth _may_ be "advancing by leaps and by bounds,"
It certainly isn't by _hops_!
* * * * *
ADVICE TO FARMERS.--Feed your poultry well, and you will insure full
crops.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _First Tramp_ (_to second ditto_). "That's a stylish sort
of dawg you're a-wearin'!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: ENCOURAGING
_Curate_ (_who wishes to encourage local industry_). "Well, Adams, how
are you getting on with my watch?"
_Adams._ "Why, it be nigh finished now, zur, an' 'e do zeem to go mortal
well, but dang me, if there bain't a wheel as I can't find a place vor
summow!"]
* * * * *
"I'm sorry to hear you've been ailing again, John. I must send you down
something from the Rectory. How would you like some soup?"
"Thanky kindly, mum--but I bain't so terr'ble wrapped up in soup!"
* * * * *
WHAT RURAL DEANS SMOKE.--"Church-wardens."
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Convivial Party._ "I shay, ole f'ller, how long doesh it
take to gerout of thish wood?"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Doctor._ "Well, you got those leeches I sent for your
husband, Mrs. Giles?"
_Mrs. Giles._ "Yes, zur; but what on earth be the good o' sending they
little things vor a girt big chap like he? I jes' took an' clapped a
ferret on 'un!"]
* * * * *
NOTE BY A CHIROPODIST (_in the country for the first time_).--"Must be
very painful--corn in the ear."
* * * * *
A PASTORAL.--How should a shepherd arrange his dress? In folds.
* * * * *
THE DUNMOW FLITCH.--All gammon.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Hotel-keeper_ (_who has let his "Assembly Room" for a
concert_). "Well, sir, I 'ope you found the arrangements in the 'all
satisfactory last night?"
_Mr. Bawlington._ "Oh, yes; everything was all right. There was only one
thing to object to. I found the acoustics of the building not quite----"
_Hotel-keeper._ "No, sir; excuse me. _What you smelt was the stables
next door!_"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Giles._ "I be got up here, mister, but I don't zee 'ow
ever I be goin' to get down."
_Farmer._ "Thee zhut thee eyes an' walk about a bit, an' thee'll zoon
get down!"]
* * * * *
AN OLD OFFENDER.--_Country Gentleman_ (_eyeing his Gardener
suspiciously_). "Dear, dear me, Jeffries, this is too bad! After what I
said to you yesterday, I didn't think to find you----"
_Gardener._ "You can't shay--(_hic_)--I wash drunk yesht'day, sh----!"
_Country Gentleman_ (_sternly_). "Are you sober this morning, sir?"
_Gardener._ "I'm--shlightly shober, shir!!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: QUALIFIED ADMIRATION.--_Country Vicar._ "Well, John, what
do you think of London?" _Yokel._ "Lor' bless yer, sir, it'll be a fine
place _when it's finished!_"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Squire's Daughter._ "Do you think it is quite healthy to
keep your pigs so close to the cottage?"
_Hodge._ "I dunno, miss. Noan of they pigs ain't ever been ill!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: VERJUICE!
_Farmer's Wife_ (_whose beer is of the smallest_). "Why, you hevn't
drunk half of it, Mas'r Gearge!"
_Peasant_ (_politely_). "Thanky', mu'm--all the same, mu'm. But I bean't
so thusty as I thought I wor, mu'm!!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: OUR VILLAGE.
_Nephew_ (_on a visit to the "Old Country"_). "Ah, uncle, in Canada we
don't do our hay-makin' in this 'ere old-fashioned way."
_Uncle._ "Why, you bean't never goin' to tell I as you've bin an' turned
teetotal?"]
* * * * *
RECIPROCITY.--_Parson._ "I have missed you from your pew of late, Mr.
Stubbings----"
_Farmer_ (_apologetically_). "Well, sir, I hev' been to meet'n' lately,
but--y' see, sir, the Reverend Mr. Scowles o' the chapel, he bought some
pigs o' me, and I thought I ought to gi''m a tarn!"
* * * * *
THE FARMER FOR THE FAIR.--A husbandman.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Doctor._ "Well, Mrs. Muggeridge, how are you getting on?
Taken the medicine, eh?" _Mrs. M._ "Yes, doctor. I've taken all the
tabloids you sent, and now I want a new persecution."]
* * * * *
ON A FOOTING.--Almost every considerable town has a market for corn;
therefore, it is but fit that Bedford Market-place should have its
Bunyan.
* * * * *
PLACE OF RESIDENCE FOR LODGERS.--Border-land.
* * * * *
SOUNDINGS!--(_The living down at our village falling vacant,_ Lord
Pavondale _left it to the parish to choose the new rector._)
_Influential Parishioner._ "Then am I to understand, Mr. Maniple, that
you object to bury a Dissenter?"
_The Rev. Mr. Maniple_ (_one of the competitors_). "Oh, dear me, no, Mr.
Jinks; quite the contrary!"
* * * * *
A HIGH CHURCH PARTY.--A steeple-jack.
* * * * *
A CLERICAL ERROR.--A long sermon.
* * * * *
_Visitor._ "My good man, you keep your pigs much too near the house."
_Cottager._ "That's just what the doctor said, mum. But I don't see how
it's agoin' to hurt 'em!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: A QUIET VILLAGE]
* * * * *
A WET DIARY
_January._--Buy a house in the Midland Counties. Put a housekeeper in it
to look after it.
_February._--Housekeeper writes to say that, owing to the floods, the
neighbourhood is very damp and unhealthy.
_March._--Housekeeper writes to say that the garden is under water.
_April._--Housekeeper writes to say that there is two foot of water in
the drawing-room, and that the furniture is floating about.
_May._--Housekeeper writes to say that eighty feet of the garden wall
has been washed away.
_June._--Housekeeper writes to say that the two horses, one cow, and
four pigs are drowned.
_July._--Go and stop in the house myself.
_August._--Escape from the bedroom windows in a boat.
_September._--In bed with rheumatic fever.
_October._--Housekeeper writes to say that the floods are out worse than
ever.
_November._--Somebody writes to say that the housekeeper has been
drowned.
_December._--Will try and sell house in the Midland Counties.
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Our Curate (who is going to describe to us his little
holiday in lovely Lucerne)._ "My dear friends--I will not call you
'ladies and gentlemen,' since I know you too well----"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _First Tramp._ "Says in this 'ere paper as 'ow some of
them millionaires works eight and ten hours a day, Bill."
_The Philosopher._ "Ah, it's a 'ard world for some poor blokes!"]
* * * * *
A REAL CONVERT.--_Local Preacher (giving an account to the vicar of the
parish of a dispute he has had with the leading lights of his sect)._
"Yes, sir, after treatment the likes o' that, I says to 'em, 'For the
future,' says I, 'I chucks up all religion, and I goes to Church!'"
* * * * *
HABITS OF HEALTHY EXERCISE.--If a young lady is unable to sport a riding
habit, she should adopt a walking habit.
* * * * *
[Illustration: THE HUMOURS OF HOUSE HUNTING.--_Lady._ "Very healthy
place, is it? Have you any idea what the death-rate is here?"
_Caretaker._ "Well, mum, I can't 'xactly zay; but it's about one apiece
all round."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: OVERHEARD AT A COUNTRY FAIR
"'Ere y' are! All the jolly fun! Lidies' tormentors two a penny!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: NOT QUITE HER MEANING
_The Vicar's Daughter._ "I'm glad to find you've turned over a new leaf,
Muggles, and don't waste your money at the public-house."
_Muggles._ "Yes, miss, I have it in by the barrel now, and that _do_
come cheaper!"]
* * * * *
TOWN THOUGHTS FROM THE COUNTRY
_(With the usual apologies.)_
Oh, to be in London now that April's there,
And whoever walks in London sees, some morning in the square,
That the upper thousands have come to town,
To the plane-trees droll in their new bark gown,
While the sparrows chirp, and the cats miaow
In London--now!
And after April, when May follows
And the black-coats come and go like swallows!
Mark, where yon fairy blossom in the Row
Leans to the rails, and canters on in clover,
Blushing and drooping, with her head bent low!
That's the wise child: she makes him ask twice over,
Lest he should think she views with too much rapture
Her first fine wealthy capture!
But,--though her path looks smooth, and though, alack!
All will be gay, till Time has painted black
The _Marigold_, her mother's chosen flower,--
Far brighter is my _Heartsease_, Love's own dower.
* * * * *
MRS. RAMSBOTHAM is staying with her niece in the country. She is much
delighted with the rich colour of the spring bulbs, and says she at last
understands the meaning of "as rich as Crocus."
* * * * *
[Illustration: HIS BITTER HALF.--_John._ "Drink 'earty, Maria. Drink
werry nigh 'arf."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: HORTICULTURAL CUTTINGS
_(Culled by Dumb-Crambo Junior)_
Marshal Niel--Rose.
Row-doe-den'd-run.
Minion-ate.
Pick-o'-tea.
Car-nation.
Dahli-a.
Any-money.
Double Pink.
Few-shiers.
Glad I-o-la!]
* * * * *
A CONUNDRUM TO FILL UP A GAP IN THE CONVERSATION.--Why is a person older
than yourself like food for cattle?
Because he's past your age (_pasturage_).
* * * * *
EVERYTHING COMES TO THE MAN WHO WAITS.--_Country Rector's Wife (engaging
man-servant)._ And can you wait at dinner?
_Man._ Aw, yes, mum; I'm never that hoongry but I can wait till you've
done.
* * * * *
[Illustration: A QUESTION OF VESTED INTEREST
_Vicar._ "Well, gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
_Spokesman._ "Please, sir, we be a deputation from farmers down
Froglands parish, to ask you to pray for fine weather for t'arvest."
_Vicar._ "Why don't you ask your own Vicar?"
_Spokesman._ "Well, sir, we reckon 'e be'unt much good for this 'ere. 'E
do be that fond of fishin'."]
* * * * *
A RUSTIC MORALIST.--_Rector_ (_going his rounds_). "An uncommonly fine
pig, Mr. Dibbles, I declare!"
_Contemplative Villager._ "Ah, yes, sir: if we was only, all of us, as
fit to die as him, sir!!"
* * * * *
QUERY.--Has the want of rain this summer, and consequent failure of the
hay crops, affected the market for Grass Widows?
* * * * *
[Illustration: TRIALS OF A NOVICE
_The Boy (to Brown, who has just taken a "little place" in the
Country)._ "Plaze, zur, wot be I to start on?"
_Brown._ "Oh--er--er--let's see----Oh, confound it!--er--er--_make a
bonfire!_"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: A VILLAGE FIASCO.--_Gifted Amateur (concluding pet card
trick)._ "Now, ladies and gentlemen, you have seen the pack of cards
burnt before your eyes, and the ashes placed inside the box, which
mysteriously transformed itself into a rabbit, which, in turn,
disappeared into space. I will now ask this gentleman to name the card
he selected, when it will at once appear in my hand. Now, sir, what card
did you select from the pack?" _Giles (who has been following the trick
most intently)._ "Blessed if I recollect!"]
* * * * *
[Illustration: AFTER THE FIRE
_Rustic_ (_to burnt-out Farmer_). "We r--r--rescued the b--b--beer
zur!"]
* * * * *
LOCAL PECULIARITIES
At Bilston they always hit the right nail on the head.
At Bolton it is impossible for those who run up ticks to bolt off.
At Broadstairs the accommodation for stout visitors is unrivalled.
At Colchester they are all "natives."
At Coventry, strange to say, they can furnish no statistics of the
number of persons who have been sent there.
At Kidderminster there is certain to be something fresh on the _tapis_.
At Liverpool they are extremely orthodocks.
If you write to Newcastle (Staffordshire) take care to under-Lyne the
address.
At Newmarket they take particular interest in the question of races.
At Portsmouth everything is ship-shape.
At Rye you will meet none but Rye faces.
At Sheffield you will always find a knife and fork laid for you.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "A GOOD WIT WILL MAKE USE OF ANYTHING"
_Shakespeare, Henry the Fourth._
SCENE--_A Pit Village._ TIME--_Saturday Night._
_Barber_ (_to bibulous customer_). "Now, sir, if you don't hold your
head back, I can't shave you!"
_Pitman._ "A'well, hinney, just cut me hair!"]
* * * * *
WHAT OUR ARCHITECT HAS TO PUT UP WITH.--_Our Architect_ (_Spotting
Sixteenth Century gables_). "That's an old bit of work, my friend!"
"Oi, sir, yeu be roight, theer, that you be!"
_O. A._ (_keen for local tradition_). "You don't know exactly _how_ old,
I suppose?"
"Well, noa, sir; but old it be! Whoi, I's knowed it | 1,455.002143 |
2023-11-16 18:41:18.9880230 | 98 | 20 |
Produced by David Widger
LITERATURE AND LIFE--The Standard Household-Effect Company
by William Dean Howells
THE STANDARD HOUSEHOLD-EFFECT COMPANY
My friend came in the other day, before we had left town, and looked
round at the appointments of the room in their summer shrouds, and said,
with a faint sigh, "I see you have had the eternal-womanly with you,
too."
I.
"Isn't | 1,455.008063 |
2023-11-16 18:41:19.0845810 | 1,555 | 15 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Joris Van Dael and PG Distributed
Proofreaders
A TALE OF ONE CITY:
THE NEW BIRMINGHAM.
_Papers Reprinted from the "Midland Counties Herald"_,
BY
THOMAS ANDERTON.
Birmingham: "MIDLAND COUNTIES HERALD" OFFICE.
TO BE HAD FROM CORNISH BROTHERS, NEW STREET; MIDLAND EDUCATIONAL CO.,
CORPORATION STREET.
1900
I.
PROLOGUE.
The present century has seen the rise and development of many towns in
various parts of the country, and among them Birmingham is entitled to
take a front place. If Thomas Attwood or George Frederick Muntz could
now revisit the town they once represented in Parliament they would
probably stare with amazement at the changes that have taken place in
Birmingham, and would require a guide to show them their way about the
town--now a city--they once knew so well. The material history of
Birmingham was for a series of years a story of steady progress and
prosperity, but of late years the city has in a political, social, and
municipal sense advanced by leaps and bounds. It is no longer
"Brummagem" or the "Hardware Village," it is now recognised as the
centre of activity and influence in Mid-England; it is the Mecca of
surrounding populous districts, that attracts an increasing number of
pilgrims who love life, pleasure, and shopping.
Birmingham, indeed, has recently been styled "the best governed city in
the world"--a title that is, perhaps, a trifle too full and panegyrical
to find ready and general acceptance. If, however, by this very lofty
and eulogistic description is meant a city that has been exceptionally
prosperous, is well looked after, that has among its inhabitants many
energetic, public-spirited men, that has a good solid debt on its books,
also that has municipal officials of high capabilities with fairly high
salaries to match--then Birmingham is not altogether undeserving of the
high-sounding appellation. Many of those who only know Birmingham from
an outside point of view, and who have only lately begun to notice its
external developments, doubtless attribute all the improvements to Mr.
Chamberlain's great scheme, and the adoption of the Artisans' Dwellings
Act in 1878. The utilisation of this Act has certainly resulted in the
making of one fine street, a fine large debt, and the erection of a
handful of artisans' dwellings. The changes, however, that culminated in
Mr. Chamberlain's great project began years before the Artisans'
Dwellings Act became law.
The construction of the London and North Western Railway station--which,
with the Midland Railway adjunct, now covers some thirteen acres of
land--cleared away a large area of slums that were scarcely fit for
those who lived in them--which is saying very much. A region sacred to
squalor and low drinking shops, a paradise of marine store dealers, a
hotbed of filthy courts tenanted by a low and degraded class, was swept
away to make room for the large station now used by the London and
North Western and Midland Railway Companies.
The Great Western Railway station, too, in its making also disposed of
some shabby, narrow streets and dirty, pestiferous houses inhabited by
people who were not creditable to the locality or the community, and by
so doing contributed to the improvement of the town. Further, the
erection of two large railway stations in a central district naturally
tended to increase the number of visitors to the growing Midland
capital, and this, of course, brought into existence a better class of
shops and more extended trading. Then the suburbs of Birmingham, which
for some years had been stretching out north, south, east, and west,
have lately become to a considerable extent gathered into the arms of
the city, and the residents in some of the outskirts, at least, may now
pride themselves, if so inclined, upon being a part of the so-called
"best governed city in the world," sharing its honours, importance, and
debts, and contributing to its not altogether inconsiderable rates.
I do not purpose in these pages to go into the ancient history of
Birmingham. Other pens have told us how one Leland, in the sixteenth
century, visited the place, and what he said about the "toyshop of the
world." Also how he saw a "brooke," which was doubtless in his time a
pretty little river, but which is now a sewery looking stream that tries
to atone for its shallowness and narrowness by its thickness. They have
likewise told us about the old lords of Bermingham--whose monuments
still adorn the parish church--who have died out leaving no successors
to bear for their proud title the name of the "best governed city in the
world."
These other pens have also mentioned the little attentions Birmingham
received from Cromwell's troops; how the Roundheads fired at Aston Hall
(which had given hospitality to Charles I.) making a breakage--still
unrepaired!--in the great staircase of that grand old Elizabethan
mansion. My purpose, however, is not to deal with past records of
Birmingham, but rather with its modern growth and appearance.
MUNICIPAL STAGNATION.
After the sweeping alterations effected by the construction of the new
railway stations in Birmingham, further improvements were for a time of
a slow, jog-trot order, although the town, in a commercial sense, was
moving ahead, and its wealth and population were rapidly increasing.
Small improvements were made, but anything like big schemes, even if
desirable, were postponed or rejected. Birmingham, indeed, some thirty
years ago, was considerably under the influence of men of the
unprogressive tradesmen class--many of them worthy men in their way but
of limited ideas. In their private businesses they were not accustomed
to deal with big transactions and high figures, so that spending large
sums of money, if proposed, filled the brewer, the baker, and
candlestick maker with alarm. They were careful and economical, but
their care in finance was apt at times to be impolitic, and their
economy has in several cases proved to have been somewhat costly.
Indeed, until recent years, the leading authorities of the town were
anything but enterprising, and their view of future possibilities very
limited. Could they have seen a little farther ahead they might have
laid out money to the great profit and future advantage of the
community. They could have erected new corporation offices and municipal
buildings before land in the centre of the town became so very costly;
the gas and water interests might have been purchased, probably at a
price that would have saved the town thousands of pounds. It is also
understood that they might have purchased Aston Hall, with its 170 acres
close to the town, on terms which would have made the land (now nearly
all built upon) a veritable Tom Tidler's ground for the town and
corporation. But our shopkeeper senators would have nothing | 1,455.104621 |
2023-11-16 18:41:19.0846240 | 483 | 49 | MASKELL***
Transcribed from the 1850 William Pickering edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Pamphlet cover]
A LETTER
TO THE
REV. WILLIAM MASKELL, A.M.
BY
THE REV. MAYOW WYNELL MAYOW, A.M.
VICAR OF MARKET LAVINGTON, WILTS,
AND LATE STUDENT OF CHRIST CHURCH, OXFORD.
* * * * *
HOW FAR THE JUDICIAL COMMITTEE OF THE PRIVY COUNCIL
COMMITS THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND BY ITS DECISION,
EVEN ALLOWING IT TO HAVE
JURISDICTION IN POINTS
OF DOCTRINE.
* * * * *
Second Edition.
* * * * *
LONDON:
WILLIAM PICKERING.
1850.
* * * * *
MY DEAR MASKELL,
IN these “last days,” in which “perilous times” have “come,” it seems a
duty, to be somewhat less nice and scrupulous as to any charge of
presumption or lack of modesty to which a man may lay himself open by
making known his thoughts upon the great matters which now agitate us,
than would be the case at another time. One whose name will add no
weight to any thing he may say, might well shrink under ordinary
circumstances from commenting upon your recent letter, and appear, even
to himself, over-bold in supposing he can add any thing to the views
therein expounded. But the very pain with which we approach these topics
is some warrant to express our thoughts; inasmuch as it is, I think,
something of a guarantee that whatever is said, will be, at any rate, not
said lightly. Most heartily do I desire to adopt and echo your words
“that the enquiry on which we are all engaged is far too great to admit
of any personal consideration; and our aim is not to win a victory, or to
prove that we ourselves are in the right, but to discover the truth, and
point it out to others.”
If then I imagine a line | 1,455.104664 |
2023-11-16 18:41:19.1823340 | 1,778 | 9 |
Produced by Clarity, 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/American Libraries.)
TALLEYRAND
A BIOGRAPHICAL STUDY
[Illustration:
_From an engraving after a painting by Gerard._
_Allen H. London, Ltd. &c._
Signature of Talleyrand]
TALLEYRAND
_A Biographical Study_
By
JOSEPH McCABE
_Author of "Peter Abelard," "Saint Augustine," &c._
WITH 25 PORTRAITS
INCLUDING A PHOTOGRAVURE FRONTISPIECE
London
Hutchinson & Co.
Paternoster Row
1906
PREFACE
Sainte-Beuve, after an attempt that one cannot describe as successful,
declared that "it is hardly possible to write the life of M. de
Talleyrand." Frederic Masson noticed the figure of the great
diplomatist as he passed with a disdainful "ce Sphinx." Carlyle forgot
his dogmatism for a moment, and pronounced Talleyrand "one of the
strangest things ever seen or like to be seen, an enigma for future
ages." Even a woman of penetration, Mme. de Stael, who had known
him well, assures us that he was "the most impenetrable and most
inexplicable of men."
There were a few who thought that the long-sealed "Memoirs" of the
Prince, which were published only a few years ago, would reveal every
secret. They forgot that these were the work of the man who held
(improving on Voltaire) that "speech was given to man to disguise his
thoughts"--the man who conducted his exit from the world with all the
art he had used at the Congress of Vienna. Yet, if the "Memoirs" have
thrown no light, or only a deceptive light, on some of the obscurer
passages in Talleyrand's career, they have at least filled in our
picture of his personality, so that the tradition of its inscrutability
must be surrendered. There has been a prolonged and microscopic
research into the age or ages of Talleyrand,--the Old Regime, the
Revolution, the Consulate, the Restoration, and the second Revolution.
The memoirs of nearly all his contemporaries have seen the light, and
official records everywhere have been examined. I have made a careful
use of all this research up to date, and find it possible to present a
consistent and intelligible personality.
Lady Blennerhassett included the material of the "Memoirs" in the
biography of Talleyrand that she wrote ten years ago. But a good deal
of light has since been thrown on the earlier part of his career, and
in this regard I gratefully avail myself of the investigations of M.
de Lacombe. Moreover, Lady Blennerhassett is chiefly occupied with the
Prince's diplomatic action. His personality does not stand out very
clearly from her very crowded canvas. That is an inherent disadvantage
in writing the life of a great diplomatist. However, in spite of the
alluring character of the stretch of history across which the thread
of Talleyrand's life passes, I have tried to keep it in its place as a
background, and to bring out into the fullest light the elusive figure
of the man who made and unmade a dozen oaths of loyalty.
J. M.
LONDON, _June, 1906_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE TRAINING OF A DIPLOMATIST 1
II. THE ABBE MALGRE LUI 16
III. PRIEST AND BISHOP 38
IV. AT THE STATES GENERAL 56
V. THE BREACH WITH THE CHURCH 80
VI. CITIZEN TALLEYRAND 101
VII. EXILE 121
VIII. THE REGENERATED PARIS 141
IX. ENTER NAPOLEON 165
X. WAR AND DIPLOMACY 177
XI. THE RESTORATION OF RELIGION 200
XII. THE RENEWAL OF WAR 223
XIII. AWAY FROM NAPOLEON 251
XIV. THE RESTORATION 281
XV. A DIPLOMATIC ROMANCE 303
XVI. THE "FOREIGNERS OF THE INTERIOR" 326
XVII. THE LAST ACT 349
BIBLIOGRAPHY
This Study is chiefly based on the following Works:
1. Talleyrand's "Memoires" (edit, de Broglie, 5 volumes); Official
Correspondence from London in 1792, during the Directoire, during the
Vienna Congress, and from London in 1830-4 (edit. Pallain); Letters
to Napoleon, Mme. Adelaide, D'Hauterive, Choiseul-Gouffier, the
Duchess of Courland, Bacourt, Royer-Collard, Guizot, and others; and
his separately published Speeches and other Documents.
2. "Proces-verbal Historique des Actes du Clerge;" "Proces-verbal de
l'Assemblee Nationale;" "Histoire Parlementaire" (Bouchez et Roux);
and the Memoirs or Letters of Arnault, Barante, Carnot, Consalvi,
von Gagern, Mme. de Genlis, Guizot, Lauzun, Las Cases, Macdonald,
Meneval, Miot de Melito, Morellet, Napoleon, Pasquier, Mme. de
Remusat, Savary, Senfft, and Stapfer.
3. Of Biographies or Biographical Sketches of Talleyrand the chief
are those by Lady Blennerhassett (the first authority on his
diplomatic career), Brougham, Castellane, Castille, Lacombe (the best
authority on his ecclesiastical career), Sir H. Bulwer Lytton (a very
generous but imperfectly informed study), Mignet, Montarlot, and
Place et Florens. The following writers are too imaginative or too
prejudiced to be of much value: Bastide, Colmache, Marcade, Michaud,
Pichot, Sainte-Beuve, Salle, Stewartson, Touchard-Lafosse, Vars, and
Villemarest.
4. Subsidiary information has been derived chiefly from "Aus
dem Eheleben eines Bischofs" (anon.); Abt's "Lebensende des
F. Talleyrand;" Aulard's "Histoire Politique de la Revolution
Francaise;" Caro's "La Fin du XVIII Siecle;" Cretineau-Joly's
"Bonaparte et le Concordat;" Darcy's "L'ambassade de Talleyrand
a Londres;" Demaria's "Benevento sotto il Principe Talleyrand;"
Gazier's "Etude sur l'Histoire Religieuse de la Revolution
Francaise;" Goncourt's "Histoire de la Societe Francaise Pendant
la Revolution;" Louandre's "La Noblesse Francaise sous l'ancienne
Monarchie;" Mongras' "La fin d'une Societe;" Michelet's "Histoire
de la Revolution;" Rambaud et Levisse's "Histoire Generale;"
Rose's "Life of Napoleon I.;" Sloane's "Life of Napoleon;" Taine's
"Les Origines de la France Contemporaine;" Thier's "Revolution,"
"Consulat," and "Empire."
ILLUSTRATIONS | 1,455.202374 |
2023-11-16 18:41:19.2854120 | 2,518 | 14 |
Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by
Google Books (Harvard University)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://books.google.com/books?id=jvMtAAAAYAAJ
(Harvard University)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
[Illustration: Agincourt]
THE WORKS
OF
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
REVISED AND CORRECTED BY THE AUTHOR.
WITH AN INTRODUCTORY PREFACE.
"D'autres auteurs l'ont encore plus avili, (le roman,) en y melant les
tableaux degoutant du vice; et tandis que le premier avantage des
fictions est de rassembler autour de l'homme tout ce qui, dans la
nature, peut lui servir de lecon ou de modele, on a imagine qu'on
tirerait une utilite quelconque des peintures odieuses de mauvaises
m[oe]urs; comme si elles pouvaient jamais laisser le c[oe]ur qui les
repousse, dans une situation aussi pure que le c[oe]ur qui les aurait
toujours ignorees. Mais un roman tel qu'on peut le concevoir, tel que
nous en avons quelques modeles, est une des plus belles productions de
l'esprit humain, une des plus influentes sur la morale des individus,
qui doit former ensuite les m[oe]urs publiques."--Madame De Stael.
_Essai sur les Fictions_.
"Poca favilla gran flamma seconda:
Forse diretro a me, con miglior voci
Si preghera, perche Cirra risponda."
Dante. _Paradiso_, Canto I.
VOL. XX.
AGINCOURT.
LONDON:
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.
STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
MDCCCXLIX.
AGINCOURT.
A Romance.
BY
G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.
* * * * *
LONDON:
SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO.
STATIONERS' HALL COURT.
MDCCCXLIX.
AGINCOURT.
* * *
CHAPTER I.
THE NIGHT RIDE.
The night was as black as ink; not a solitary twinkling star looked
out through that wide expanse of shadow, which our great Poet has
called the "blanket of the dark;" clouds covered the heaven; the moon
had not risen to tinge them even with grey, and the sun had too long
set to leave one faint streak of purple upon the edge of the western
sky. Trees, houses, villages, fields, and gardens, all lay in one
profound obscurity, and even the course of the high-road itself
required eyes well-accustomed to night-travelling to be able to
distinguish it, as it wandered on through a rich part of Hampshire,
amidst alternate woods and meadows. Yet at that murky hour, a
traveller on horseback rode forward upon his way, at an easy pace, and
with a light heart, if one might judge by the snatches of homely
ballads that broke from his lips as he trotted on. These might,
indeed, afford a fallacious indication of what was going on within the
breast, and in his case they did so; for habit is more our master than
we know, and often rules our external demeanour, whenever the spirit
is called to take council in the deep chambers within, showing upon
the surface, without any effort on our part to hide our thoughts, a
very different aspect from that of the mind's business at the moment.
Thus, then, the traveller who there rode along, saluting the ear of
night with scraps of old songs, sung in a low, but melodious voice,
was as thoughtful, if not as sad, as it was in his nature to be; but
yet, as that nature was a cheerful one and all his habits were gay, no
sooner were the eyes of the spirit called to the consideration of
deeper things, than custom exercised her sway over the animal part,
and he gave voice, as we have said, to the old ballads which had
cheered his boyhood and his youth.
Whatever were his contemplations, they were interrupted, just as he
came to a small stream which crossed the road and then wandered along
at its side, by first hearing the quick foot-falls of a horse
approaching, and then a loud, but fine voice, exclaiming, "Who goes
there?"
"A friend to all true men," replied the traveller; "a foe to all false
knaves. 'Merry sings the throstle under the thorn.' Which be you,
friend of the highway?"
"Faith, I hardly know," replied the stranger; "every man is a bit of
both, I believe. But if you can tell me my way to Winchester, I will
give you thanks."
"I want nothing more," answered the first traveller, drawing in his
rein. "But Winchester!--Good faith, that is a long way off; and you
are going from it, master:" and he endeavoured, as far as the darkness
would permit, to gain some knowledge of the stranger's appearance. It
seemed that of a young man of good proportions, tall and slim, but
with broad shoulders and long arms. He wore no cloak, and his dress
fitting tight to his body, as was the fashion of the day, allowed his
interlocutor to perceive the unencumbered outline of his figure.
"A long way off!" said the second traveller, as his new acquaintance
gazed at him; "that is very unlucky; but all my stars are under that
black cloud. What is to be done now, I wonder?"
"What do you want to do?" inquired the first traveller. "Winchester is
distant five and twenty miles or more."
"Odds life! I want to find somewhere to lodge me and my horse for a
night," replied the other, "at a less distance than twenty-five miles,
and yet not quite upon this very spot."
"Why not Andover?" asked his companion; "'tis but six miles, and I am
going thither."
"Humph!" said the stranger, in a tone not quite satisfied; "it must be
so, if better cannot be found; and yet, my friend, I would fain find
some other lodging. Is there no inn hard by, where carriers bait their
beasts and fill their bellies, and country-folks carouse on nights of
merry-making? or some old hall or goodly castle, where a truckle bed,
or one of straw, a nunchion of bread and cheese, and a draught of ale,
is not likely to be refused to a traveller with a good coat on his
back and long-toed shoes?"
"Oh, ay!" rejoined the first; "of the latter there are many round,
but, on my life, it will be difficult to direct you to them. The men
of this part have a fondness for crooked ways, and, unless you were
the Daedalus who made them, or had some fair dame to guide you by the
clue, you might wander about for as many hours as would take you to
Winchester."
"Then Andover it must be, I suppose," answered the other; "though, to
say sooth, I may there have to pay for a frolic, the score of which
might better be reckoned with other men than myself."
"A frolic!" said his companion; "nothing more, my friend?"
"No, on my life!" replied the other; "a scurvy frolic, such as only a
fool would commit; but when a man has nothing else to do, he is sure
to fall into folly, and I am idle perforce."
"Well, I'll believe you," answered the first, after a moment's
thought; "I have, thank Heaven, the gift of credulity, and believe all
that men tell me. Come, I will turn back with you, and guide you to a
place of rest, though I shall be well laughed at for my pains."
"Not for an act of generous courtesy, surely," said the stranger,
quitting the half-jesting tone in which he had hitherto spoken. "If
they laugh at you for that, I care not to lodge with them, and will
not put your kindness to the test, for I should look for a cold
reception."
"Nay, nay, 'tis not for that, they will laugh," rejoined the other,
"and perhaps it may jump with my humour to go back, too. If you have
committed a folly in a frolic to-night, I have committed one in anger.
Come with me, therefore, and, as we go, give me some name by which to
call you when we arrive, that I may not have to throw you into my
uncle's hall as a keeper with a dead deer; and, moreover, before we
go, give me your word that we have no frolics here, for I would not,
for much, that any one I brought, should move the old knight's heart
with aught but pleasure."
"There is my hand, good youth," replied the stranger, following, as
the other turned his horse; "and I never break my word, whatever men
say of me, though they tell strange tales. As for my name, people call
me Hal of Hadnock; it will do as well as another."
"For the nonce," added his companion, understanding well that it was
assumed; "but it matters not. Let us ride on, and the gate shall soon
be opened to you; for I do think they will be glad to see me back
again, though I may not perchance stay long.
'The porter rose anon certaine
As soon as he heard John call.'"
"You seem learned for a countryman," said the traveller, riding on by
his side; "but, perchance, I am speaking to a clerk?"
"Good faith, no," replied the first wayfarer; "more soldier than
clerk, Hal of Hadnock; as old Robert of Langland says, 'I cannot
perfectly my Paternoster, as the priest it singeth, but I can rhyme of
Robin Hode and Randof Earl of Chester.' I have cheered my boyhood with
many a song and my youth with many a ballad. When lying in the field
upon the marches of Wales, I have wiled away many a cold night with
the--
'Quens Mountfort, sa dure mort,'
or,
'Richard of Alemaigne, while he was king,'
and then in the cold blasts of March, I ever found comfort in--
'Summer is icumen in,
Lhude sing cuccu,
Groweth sede and bloweth mode,
And springeth the wode nu.'"
"And good reason, too," said Hal of Hadnock; "I do the same, i'faith;
and when wintry winds are blowing, I think ever, that a warmer day may
come and all be bright again. Were it not for that, indeed, I might
well be cold-hearted."
"Fie, never flinch!" cried his gay companion; "there is but one thing
on earth should make a bold man coldhearted | 1,455.305452 |
2023-11-16 18:41:19.2855230 | 1,763 | 26 |
Produced by Dagny; John Bickers
BAR-20 DAYS
By Clarence E. Mulford
AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO "M. D."
BAR-20 DAYS
CHAPTER I
ON A STRANGE RANGE
Two tired but happy punchers rode into the coast town and dismounted in
front of the best hotel. Putting up their horses as quickly as possible
they made arrangements for sleeping quarters and then hastened out to
attend to business. Buck had been kind to delegate this mission to them
and they would feel free to enjoy what pleasures the town might afford.
While at that time the city was not what it is now, nevertheless it was
capable of satisfying what demands might be made upon it by two very
active and zealous cow-punchers. Their first experience began as they
left the hotel.
"Hey, you cow-wrastlers!" said a not unpleasant voice, and they turned
suspiciously as it continued: "You've shore got to hang up them guns
with the hotel clerk while you cavorts around on this range. This is
_fence_ country."
They regarded the speaker's smiling face and twinkling eyes and laughed.
"Well, yo're the foreman if you owns that badge," grinned Hopalong,
cheerfully. "We don't need no guns, nohow, in this town, we don't.
Plumb forgot we was toting them. But mebby you can tell us where lawyer
Jeremiah T. Jones grazes in daylight?"
"Right over yonder, second floor," replied the marshal. "An' come
to think of it, mebby you better leave most of yore cash with the
guns--somebody'll take it away from you if you don't. It'd be an awful
temptation, an' flesh is weak."
"Huh!" laughed Johnny, moving back into the hotel to leave his gun,
closely followed by Hopalong. "Anybody that can turn that little trick
on me an' Hoppy will shore earn every red cent; why, we've been to
Kansas City!"
As they emerged again Johnny slapped his pocket, from which sounded a
musical jingling. "If them weak people try anything on us, we may come
between them and _their_ money!" he boasted.
"From the bottom of my heart I pity you," called the marshal, watching
them depart, a broad smile illuminating his face. "In about twenty-four
hours they'll put up a holler for me to go git it back for 'em," he
muttered. "An' I almost believe I'll do it, too. I ain't never seen none
of that breed what ever left a town without empty pockets an' aching
heads--an' the smarter they think they are the easier they fall." A
fleeting expression of discontent clouded the smile, for the lure of the
open range is hard to resist when once a man has ridden free under
its sky and watched its stars. "An' I wish I was one of 'em again," he
muttered, sauntering on.
Jeremiah T. Jones, Esq., was busy when his door opened, but he leaned
back in his chair and smiled pleasantly at their bow-legged entry,
waving them towards two chairs. Hopalong hung his sombrero on a letter
press and tipped his chair back against the wall; Johnny hung grimly to
his hat, sat stiffly upright until he noticed his companion's pose,
and then, deciding that everything was all right, and that Hopalong was
better up in etiquette than himself, pitched his sombrero dexterously
over the water pitcher and also leaned against the wall. Nobody could
lose him when it came to doing the right thing.
"Well, gentlemen, you look tired and thirsty. This is considered good
for all human ailments of whatsoever nature, degree, or wheresoever
located, in part or entirety, _ab initio_," Mr. Jones remarked, filling
glasses. There was no argument and when the glasses were empty, he
continued: "Now what can I do for you? From the Bar-20? Ah, yes; I was
expecting you. We'll get right at it," and they did. Half an hour later
they emerged on the street, free to take in the town, or to have the
town take them in,--which was usually the case.
"What was that he said for us to keep away from?" asked Johnny with keen
interest.
"Sh! Not so loud," chuckled Hopalong, winking prodigiously.
Johnny pulled tentatively at his upper lip but before he could reply his
companion had accosted a stranger.
"Friend, we're pilgrims in a strange land, an' we don't know the trails.
Can you tell us where the docks are?"
"Certainly; glad to. You'll find them at the end of this street," and he
smilingly waved them towards the section of the town which Jeremiah T.
Jones had specifically and earnestly warned them to avoid.
"Wonder if you're as thirsty as me?" solicitously inquired Hopalong of
his companion.
"I was just wondering the same," replied Johnny. "Say," he confided in
a lower voice, "blamed if I don't feel sort of lost without that Colt.
Every time I lifts my right laig she goes too high--don't feel natural,
nohow."
"Same here; I'm allus feeling to see if I lost it," Hopalong responded.
"There ain't no rubbing, no weight, nor nothing."
"Wish I had something to put in its place, blamed if I don't."
"Why, now yo're talking--mebby we can buy something," grinned Hopalong,
happily. "Here's a hardware store--come on in."
The clerk looked up and laid aside his novel. "Good-morning, gentlemen;
what can I do for you? We've just got in some fine new rifles," he
suggested.
The customers exchanged looks and it was Hopalong who first found his
voice. "Nope, don't want no rifles," he replied, glancing around.
"To tell the truth, I don't know just what we do want, but we want
something, all right--got to have it. It's a funny thing, come to think
of it; I can't never pass a hardware store without going in an' buying
something. I've been told my father was the same way, so I must inherit
it. It's the same with my pardner, here, only he gets his weakness from
his whole family, and it's different from mine. He can't pass a saloon
without going in an' buying something."
"Yo're a cheerful liar, an' you know it," retorted Johnny. "You know the
reason why I goes in saloons so much--you'd never leave 'em if I didn't
drag you out. He inherits that weakness from his grandfather, twice
removed," he confided to the astonished clerk, whose expression didn't
know what to express.
"Let's see: a saw?" soliloquized Hopalong. "Nope; got lots of 'em, an'
they're all genuine Colts," he mused thoughtfully. "Axe? Nails? Augurs?
Corkscrews? Can we use a corkscrew, Johnny? Ah, thought I'd wake you up.
Now, what was it Cookie said for us to bring him? Bacon? Got any bacon?
Too bad--oh, don't apologize; it's all right. Cold chisels--that's the
thing if you ain't got no bacon. Let me see a three-pound cold chisel
about as big as that,"--extending a huge and crooked forefinger,--"an'
with a big bulge at one end. Straight in the middle, circling off into
a three-cornered wavy edge on the other side. What? Look here! You can't
tell us nothing about saloons that we don't know. I want a three-pound
cold chisel, any kind, so it's cold."
Johnny nudged him. "How about them wedges?"
"Twenty-five cents a pound," explained the clerk, | 1,455.305563 |
2023-11-16 18:41:19.6811020 | 6,078 | 33 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
PHAROS, THE EGYPTIAN
_A ROMANCE_
BY GUY BOOTHBY
AUTHOR OF DOCTOR NIKOLA, THE LUST OF HATE,
THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL, ETC.
NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1899
Copyright, 1898, 1899,
By D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
PHAROS, THE EGYPTIAN.
PREFACE.
BEING A LETTER FROM SIR WILLIAM BETFORD, OF BAMPTON ST. MARY, IN
DORSETSHIRE, TO GEORGE TREVELYAN, OF LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, LONDON.
"My dear Trevelyan: Never in my life have I been placed in such an
awkward, not to say invidious, position. I am, as you know, a plain man,
fond of a plain life and plain speaking, and yet I am about to imperil
that reputation by communicating to you what I fancy you will consider
the most extraordinary and unbelievable intelligence you have ever
received in your life. For my own part I do not know what to think. I
have puzzled over the matter until I am not in a position to judge
fairly. You must, therefore, weigh the evidence, first for us both. For
pity's sake, however, do not decide hastily. _In dubiis benigniora
semper sunt praeferenda_, as they used to say in our school days, must be
our motto, and by it we must abide at any hazards. As far as I can see,
we are confronted with one of the saddest and at the same time one of
the most inexplicable cases ever yet recorded on paper. Reduced to its
proper factors it stands as follows: Either Forrester has gone mad and
dreamed it all, or he is sane and has suffered as few others have done
in this world. In either case he is deserving of our deepest pity. In
one way only are we fortunate. Knowing the man as we do, we are in a
position to estimate the value of the accusations he brings against
himself. Of one thing I am convinced--a more honourable being does not
walk this earth. Our acquaintance with him is of equal length. We were
introduced to him, and to each other, on one and the same occasion,
upward of twelve years ago; and during that time I know I am right in
saying neither of us ever had reason to doubt his word or the honour of
a single action. Indeed, to my mind he had but one fault, a not uncommon
one in these latter days of the nineteenth century. I refer to his
somewhat morbid temperament and the consequent leaning toward the
supernatural it produced in him.
"As the world has good reason to remember, his father was perhaps the
most eminent Egyptologist our century has seen; a man whose whole mind
and being was impregnated with a love for that ancient country and its
mystic past. Small wonder, therefore, that the son should have inherited
his tastes and that his life should have been influenced by the same
peculiar partiality. While saying, however, that he had a weakness for
the supernatural, I am by no means admitting that he was what is
vulgarly termed a spiritualist. I do not believe for an instant that he
ever declared himself so openly. His mind was too evenly balanced, and
at the same time too healthy to permit such an enthusiastic declaration
of his interest. For my part, I believe he simply inquired into the
matter as he would have done into, shall we say, the Kinetic theory of
gases, or the history of the ruined cities of Mashonaland, for the
purpose of satisfying his curiosity and of perfecting his education on
the subject. Having thus made my own feelings known to you, I will leave
the matter in your hands, confident that you will do him justice, and
will proceed to describe how the pathetic record of our friend's
experiences came into my possession.
"I had been hunting all day and did not reach home until between
half-past six and seven o'clock. We had a house full of visitors at the
time, I remember, some of whom had been riding with me, and the
dressing-gong sounded as we dismounted from our horses at the steps. It
was plain that if we wished to change our attire and join the ladies in
the drawing-room before dinner was announced, we had no time to lose.
Accordingly we departed to our various rooms with all possible speed.
"There is nothing pleasanter or more refreshing after a long day in the
saddle than a warm bath. On this particular occasion I was in the full
enjoyment of this luxury when a knocking sounded at the door. I inquired
who was there.
"'Me, sir--Jenkins,' replied my servant. 'There is a person downstairs,
sir, who desires to see you.'
"'To see me at this hour,' I answered. 'What is his name, and what does
he want?'
"'His name is Silver, sir,' the man replied; and then, as if the
information might be put forward as some excuse for such a late visit,
he continued: 'I believe he is a kind of foreigner, sir. Leastways, he's
very dark, and don't speak the same, quite, as an Englishman might do.'
"I considered for a moment. I knew of no person named Silver who could
have any possible reason for desiring to see me at seven o'clock in the
evening.
"'Go down and inquire his business,' I said, at length. 'Tell him I am
engaged to-night; but if he can make it convenient to call in the
morning, I will see him.'
"The man departed on his errand, and by the time he returned I had
reached my dressing-room once more.
"'He is very sorry, sir,' he began, as soon as he had closed the door,
'but he says he must get back to Bampton in time to catch the 8.15
express to London. He wouldn't tell me his business, but asked me to say
that it is most important, and he would be deeply grateful if you could
grant him an interview this evening.'
"'In that case,' I said, 'I suppose I _must_ see him. Did he tell you no
more?'
"'No, sir. Leastways, that wasn't exactly the way he put it. He said,
sir, "If the gentleman won't see me otherwise, tell him I come to him
from Mr. Cyril Forrester. Then I think he will change his mind."'
"As the man, whoever he was, had predicted, this _did_ make me change my
mind. I immediately bade Jenkins return and inform him that I would be
with him in a few moments. Accordingly, as soon as I had dressed, I left
my room and descended to the study. The fire was burning brightly, and a
reading-lamp stood upon the writing-table. The remainder of the room,
however, was in shadow, but not sufficiently so to prevent my
distinguishing a dark figure seated between the two bookcases. He rose
as I entered, and bowed before me with a servility that, thank God! is
scarcely English. When he spoke, though what he said was grammatically
correct, his accent revealed the fact that he was not a native of our
Isles.
"'Sir William Betford, I believe,' he began, as I entered the room.
"'That is my name,' I answered, at the same time turning up the lamp and
lighting the candles upon the mantelpiece in order that I might see him
better. 'My man tells me you desire an interview with me. He also
mentioned that you have come from my old friend, Mr. Cyril Forrester,
the artist, who is now abroad. Is this true?'
"'Quite true,' he replied. 'I do come from Mr. Forrester.'
"The candles were burning brightly by this time, and, as a result, I was
able to see him more distinctly. He was of medium height, very thin, and
wore a long overcoat of some dark material. His face was distinctly
Asiatic in type, though the exact nationality I could not determine.
Possibly he might have hailed from Siam.
"'Having come from Mr. Forrester,' I said, when I had seated myself,
'you will be able to tell me his address, I have neither seen nor heard
of or from him for more than a year past.'
"'I regret exceedingly that it is impossible for me to give you the
information you seek,' the man replied, civilly but firmly. 'My
instructions were most explicit upon that point.'
"'You come to me from him, and yet you are instructed not to tell me his
address?' I said, with natural surprise. 'That is rather extraordinary,
is it not? Remember, I am one of his oldest, and certainly one of his
firmest, friends.'
"'Nevertheless, I was instructed on no account to reveal his present
residence to you,' the man replied.
"'What, then, can your business be with me?' I asked, more nettled at
his words than I cared to show.
"'I have brought you a packet,' he said, 'which Mr. Forrester was most
anxious I should personally deliver to your hands. There is a letter
inside which he said would explain everything. I was also instructed to
obtain from you a receipt, which I am to convey to him again.'
"So saying, he dived his hand into the pocket of his greatcoat, and
brought thence a roll, which he placed with some solemnity upon the
table.
"'There is the packet,' he said. 'Now if you will be kind enough to give
me a note stating that you have received it, I will take my departure.
It is most necessary that I should catch the express to London, and if I
desire to do so, I have a sharp walk in front of me.'
"'You shall have the receipt,' I answered; and, taking a sheet of
notepaper from a drawer, I wrote the following letter:--
"'THE GRANGE, BAMPTON ST. MARY,
"'_December 14, 18--._
"'DEAR FORRESTER: This evening I have been surprised by a visit
from a man named----'
"Here I paused and inquired the messenger's name, which I had, for the
moment, forgotten.
"'Honore de Silva,' he replied.
"'----from a man named Honore de Silva, who has handed me a
packet for which he desires this letter shall be a receipt. I
have endeavoured to elicit your address from him, but on this
point he is adamant. Is it kind to an old friend to let him
hear from you, but at the same time to refuse to permit him to
communicate with you? Why all this mystery? If you are in
trouble, who would so gladly share it with you as your old
friend? If you need help, who would so willingly give it? Are
the years during which we have known each other to count for
nothing? Trust me, and I think you are aware that I will not
abuse your confidence.
"Your affectionate friend,
"'WILLIAM BETFORD.'
"Having blotted it, I placed the letter in an envelope, directed it to
Cyril Forrester, Esq., and handed it to De Silva, who placed it
carefully in an inner pocket and rose to take leave of me.
"'Will nothing induce you to reveal your employer's present place of
residence?' I said. 'I assure you I am most anxious to prove his
friend.'
"'I can easily believe that,' he answered. 'He has often spoken of you
in terms of the warmest affection. If you could hear him, I am sure you
would have no doubt on that score.'
"I was much affected, as you may imagine, on hearing this, and his
assertion emboldened me to risk yet another question.
"'Upon one point, at least, you can set my mind at rest,' I said. 'Is
Mr. Forrester happy?'
"'He is a man who has done with happiness such as you mean, and will
never know it again,' he answered solemnly.
"'My poor old friend,' I said, half to myself and half to him. And then
added, 'Is there no way in which I can help him?'
"'None,' De Silva replied. 'But I can tell you no more, so I beg you
will not ask me.'
"'But you can surely answer one other question,' I continued, this time
with what was almost a note of supplication in my voice. 'You can tell
me whether, in your opinion, we, his friends, will see him again, or if
he intends to spend the remainder of his life in exile?'
"'That I can safely answer. No! You will never see him again. He will
not return to this country, or to the people who have known him here.'
"'Then may God help him and console him, for his trouble must be bitter
indeed!'
"'It is well-nigh insupportable,' said De Silva, with the same
solemnity; and then, picking up his hat, bowed, and moved toward the
door.
"'I must risk one last question. Tell me if he will communicate with me
again?'
"'Never,' the other replied. 'He bade me tell you, should you ask, that
you must henceforth consider him as one who is dead. You must not
attempt to seek for him, but consign him to that oblivion in which only
he can be at peace.'
"Before I could say more he had opened the door and passed into the
hall. A moment later I heard the front door close behind him, a step
sounded on the gravel before my window, and I was left standing upon the
hearthrug, staring at the packet upon the table. Then the gong sounded,
and I thrust the roll into a drawer. Having securely locked the latter,
I hastened to the drawing-room to meet my guests.
"Needless to say, my demeanour during dinner was not marked with any
great degree of gaiety. The interview with De Silva had upset me
completely; and though I endeavoured to play the part of an attentive
host, my attempt was far from being successful. I found my thoughts
continually reverting to that curious interview in the study, and to the
packet which had come into my possession in such a mysterious manner,
the secret contained in which I had still to learn.
"After dinner we adjourned to the billiard-room, where we spent the
evening; consequently it was not until my guests bade me 'Good night,'
and retired to their various rooms, by which time it was well after
eleven o'clock, that I found myself at liberty to return to the study.
"Once there, I made up the fire, wheeled an easy-chair to a position
before it, arranged the reading-lamp so that the light should fall upon
the paper over my left shoulder, and having made these preparations,
unlocked the drawer and took out the packet De Silva had handed to me.
"It was with a mixture of pain, a small measure of curiosity, but more
apprehension as to what I should find within, that I cut the string and
broke the seals. Inside I discovered a note and a roll of manuscript in
that fine and delicate handwriting we used to know so well. After a
hasty glance at it, I put the latter aside, and opened the envelope. The
note I found within was addressed to you, Trevelyan, as well as to
myself, and read as follows:--
"'MY DEAR OLD FRIENDS: In company with many other people, you
must have wondered what the circumstances could have been that
induced me to leave England so suddenly, to forfeit the success
I had won for myself after so much up-hill work, and, above
all, to bid farewell to a life and an art I loved so devotedly,
and from which, I think I may be excused for saying, I had such
brilliant expectations. I send you herewith, Betford, by a
bearer I can trust, an answer to that question. I want you to
read it, and, having done so, to forward it to George
Trevelyan, with the request that he will do the same. When you
have mastered the contents, you must unitedly arrange with some
publishing house to put it before the world, omitting nothing,
and in no way attempting to offer any extenuation for my
conduct. We were three good friends once, in an age as dead to
me now as the Neolithic. For the sake of that friendship,
therefore, I implore this favour at your hands. As you hope for
mercy on that Last Great Day when the sins of all men shall be
judged, do as I entreat you now. How heavily I have sinned
against my fellow-men--in ignorance, it is true--you will know
when you have read what I have written. This much is
certain--the effect of it weighs upon my soul like lead. If you
have any desire to make that load lighter, carry out the wish I
now express to you. Remember me also in your prayers, praying
not as for a man still living, but as you would for one long
since dead. That God may bless and keep you both will ever be
the wish of your unhappy friend,
"'CYRIL FORRESTER.
"'P. S.--Matthew Simpford, in the Strand, is keeping two
pictures for me. They were once considered among my best work.
I ask you each to accept one, and when you look at them try to
think as kindly as possible of the friend who is gone from you
forever.'
"So much for the letter. It is possible there may be people who will
smile sarcastically when they read that, as I finished it, tears stood
in my eyes, so that I could scarcely see the characters upon the paper.
"You, Trevelyan, I know, will understand my emotion better. And why
should I not have been affected? Forrester and I had been good friends
in the old days, and it was only fit and proper I should mourn his loss.
Handsome, generous, clever, who could help loving him? I could not,
that's certain.
"The letter finished, I replaced it in its envelope and turned my
attention to the manuscript. When I began to read, the hands of the
clock upon the chimneypiece stood at twenty minutes to twelve, and they
had reached a quarter past five before I had completed my task. All that
time I read on without stopping, filled with amazement at the story my
poor friend had to tell, and consumed with a great sorrow that his
brilliant career should have terminated in such an untoward manner.
"Now, having completed my share of the task, as required of me in the
letter, I send the manuscript by special messenger to you. Read it as he
desires, and when you have done so let me have your opinion upon it.
Then I will come up to town, and we will arrange to carry out the last
portion of our poor friend's request together. In the meantime,
"Believe me ever your friend,
"WILLIAM BETFORD."
* * * * *
_Six months later._
Trevelyan and I have completed the task allotted to us. We have read
Forrester's manuscript, and we have also discovered a publisher who will
place it before the world. What the result is to be it remains for time
to decide.
CHAPTER I.
If ever a man in this world had a terrible--I might almost go so far as
to add a shameful--story to relate, surely I, Cyril Forrester, am the
one. How strange--indeed, how most unbelievable--it is I do not think I
even realised myself until I sat down to write it. The question the
world will in all probability ask when it has read it is, why it should
have been told at all. It is possible it may be of opinion that I should
have served my generation just as well had I allowed it to remain locked
up in my own bosom for all time. This, however, my conscience would not
permit. There are numberless reasons, all of them important and some
imperative beyond all telling, why I should make my confession, though
God knows I am coward enough to shrink from the task. And if you
consider for a moment, I think you will understand why. In the first
place, the telling of the story can only have the effect of depriving me
of the affection of those I love, the respect of those whose good
opinion I have hitherto prized so highly, the sympathy of my most
faithful friends, and, what is an equal sacrifice as far as I am
personally concerned--though it is, perhaps, of less importance to
others--the fame I have won for myself after so hard a struggle. All
this is swept away like drift-wood before a rising tide, and as a result
I retire into voluntary exile, a man burdened with a life-long sorrow.
How I have suffered, both in body and mind, none will ever understand.
That I have been punished is also certain, how heavily you, my two old
friends, will be able to guess when you have read my story. With the
writing of it I have severed the last link that binds me to the
civilized world. Henceforth I shall be a wanderer and an outcast, and
but for one reason could wish myself dead. But that is enough of regret;
let me commence my story.
Two years ago, as you both have terrible reason to remember, there
occurred in Europe what may, perhaps, be justly termed the most
calamitous period in its history, a time so heart-breaking, that
scarcely a man or woman can look back upon it without experiencing the
keenest sorrow. Needless to say I refer to the outbreak of the plague
among us, that terrible pestilence which swept Europe from end to end,
depopulated its greatest cities, filled every burial-place to
overflowing, and caused such misery and desolation in all ranks of life
as has never before been known among us. Few homes were there, even in
this fair England of ours, but suffered some bereavement; few families
but mourn a loss the wound of which has even now barely healed. And it
is my part in this dreadful business that I have forced myself with so
much bitter humiliation to relate. Let me begin at the very beginning,
tell everything plainly and straightforwardly, offer nothing in
extenuation of my conduct, and trust only to the world to judge me, if
such a thing be possible, with an unbiassed mind.
I date my misery from a wet, miserable night in the last week of
March--a night without a glimpse of the moon, which, on that particular
evening, was almost at its full. There had been but one solitary hour of
painting-light all day; short as it was, however, it was sufficient for
my purpose. My picture for the Academy was finished, and now all that
remained was to pack it up and send it in. It was, as you remember, my
eighth, and in every way my most successful effort. The subject I had
chosen had enthralled me from the moment it had first entered my head,
and the hours of thought and preparation it had entailed will always
rank among the happiest of my life. It represented Merenptah, the
Pharaoh of the Exodus, learning from the magicians the effect of his
obstinacy in the death of his first-born son. The canvas showed him
seated on his throne, clad in his robes of state. His head was pushed a
little forward, his chin rested in his hand, while his eyes looked
straight before him as though he were endeavouring to peer into the
future in the hope of reading there the answer to the troubled thoughts
inside his brain. Behind him stood the sorcerers, one of whom had found
courage to announce the baneful tidings.
The land of Egypt has always possessed a singular attraction for me--a
taste which, doubtless, I inherit from my poor father, who, as you are
aware, was one of the greatest authorities upon the subject the world
has ever known.
As I have said, it was a miserable night, dark as the pit of Tophet. A
biting wind whistled through the streets, the pavements were dotted with
umbrella-laden figures, the kennels ran like mill-sluices, while the
roads were only a succession of lamp-lit puddles through which the
wheeled traffic splashed continuously. For some reason--perhaps because
the work upon which I had been so long and happily engaged was finished
and I felt lonely without it to occupy my mind--I was stricken with a
fit of the blues. Convinced that my own company would not take me out of
it, I left my studio in search of more congenial society. This was soon
forthcoming; and you will remember, Betford and Trevelyan, that we dined
together at a little restaurant in the neighbourhood of Leicester
Square, and followed the dinner up with a visit to a theatre. As
ill-luck would have it, I was in the minority in the choice of a place
of entertainment. The result was disastrous. Instead of ridding myself
of my melancholy, as I had hoped to do, I intensified it, and when, at
the end of the evening, I bade you farewell in the Strand, my spirits
had reached a lower level than they had attained all day. I remember
distinctly standing beneath a gas-lamp at the corner of Villiers Street,
as the clocks were striking midnight, feeling disinclined to return to
my abode and go to bed, and yet equally at a loss to know in what manner
I should employ myself until there was some likelihood of slumber
visiting my eyelids. To help me make up my mind I lit a fresh cigar and
strolled down toward the river. On the pavement, at the foot of the
steps leading to Hungerford Bridge, a poor tattered creature, yet still
possessing some pretensions to gentlemanly address, came from beneath
the archway and begged of me, assuring me most solemnly that, as far as
he was concerned, the game was played out, and if I did not comply with
his request, he would forthwith end his troubles in the river. I gave
him something--I can not now remember what--and then, crossing the road,
made my way along the Embankment toward Cleopatra's Needle. The rain had
ceased for the moment, and in the north a few stars were shining. The
myriad lights of the Embankment were reflected in the river like lines
of dancing fire, and I remember that behind me a train was rolling
across the bridge from Charing Cross with a noise like distant thunder.
I suppose I must have been thinking of my picture, and of the land and
period which had given me the idea. At any rate, I know that on this
occasion the ancient monument in front of which I soon found myself
affected me as it had never done before. I thought of the centuries that
had passed since those hieroglyphics were carved | 1,455.701142 |
2023-11-16 18:41:19.7835940 | 3,657 | 26 |
This etext was prepared by Christopher Hapka, Sunnyvale, California
Digital Editor's Note:
Italics are represented in the text with _underscores_. In the
interest of readability, where italics are used to indicate
non-English words, I have silently omitted them or replaced them
with quotation marks.
Haggard's spelling, especially of Zulu terms, is wildly inconsistent;
likewise his capitalization, especially of Zulu terms. For example,
Masapo is the chief of the Amansomi until chapter IX; thereafter his
tribe is consistently referred to as the "Amasomi". In general, I
have retained Haggard's spellings. Some obvious spelling mistakes
(as "Quartermain" for "Quatermain" in one instance) have been silently
corrected.
Some diacriticals in the text could not be represented in 7-bit
ASCII text and have been approximated here. To restore all
formatting, do the following throughout the text:
Replace the pound symbol "#" with the English pound symbol
Place an acute accent over the "e" in "Nombe", "acces",
"Amawombe", and "fiance", and the first "e" in "Bayete"
Place a circumflex accent over the "u" in "Harut" and
the "o" in "role"
Place a grave accent over the "a" and circumflex accents
over the first and third "e" in "tete-a-tete"
Replace "oe" with the oe ligature in "manoeuvring"
FINISHED
by H. RIDER HAGGARD
DEDICATION
Ditchingham House, Norfolk,
May, 1917.
My dear Roosevelt,--
You are, I know, a lover of old Allan Quatermain, one who
understands and appreciates the views of life and the aspirations
that underlie and inform his manifold adventures.
Therefore, since such is your kind wish, in memory of certain
hours wherein both of us found true refreshment and companionship
amidst the terrible anxieties of the World's journey along that
bloodstained road by which alone, so it is decreed, the pure Peak
of Freedom must be scaled, I dedicate to you this tale telling of
the events and experiences of my youth.
Your sincere friend,
H. RIDER HAGGARD.
To COLONEL THEODORE ROOSEVELT,
Sagamore Hill, U.S.A.
CONTENTS:
I. ALLAN QUATERMAIN MEETS ANSCOMBE
II. MR. MARNHAM
III. THE HUNTERS HUNTED
IV. DOCTOR RODD
V. A GAME OF CARDS
VI. MISS HEDA
VII. THE STOEP
VIII. RODD'S LAST CARD
IX. FLIGHT
X. NOMBE
XI. ZIKALI
XII. TRAPPED
XIII. CETEWAYO
XIV. THE VALLEY OF BONES
XV. THE GREAT COUNCIL
XVI. WAR
XVII. KAATJE BRINGS NEWS
XVIII. ISANDHLWANA
XIX. ALLAN AWAKES
XX. HEDA'S TALE
XXI. THE KING VISITS ZIKALI
XXII. THE MADNESS OF NOMBE
XXIII. THE KRAAL JAZI
INTRODUCTION
This book, although it can be read as a separate story, is the
third of the trilogy of which _Marie_ and _Child of Storm_ are
the first two parts. It narrates, through the mouth of Allan
Quatermain, the consummation of the vengeance of the wizard
Zikali, alias The Opener of Roads, or
"The-Thing-that-should-never-have-been-born," upon the royal Zulu
House of which Senzangacona was the founder and Cetewayo, our
enemy in the war of 1879, the last representative who ruled as a
king. Although, of course, much is added for the purposes of
romance, the main facts of history have been adhered to with some
faithfulness.
With these the author became acquainted a full generation ago,
Fortune having given him a part in the events that preceded the
Zulu War. Indeed he believes that with the exception of Colonel
Phillips, who, as a lieutenant, commanded the famous escort of
twenty-five policemen, he is now the last survivor of the party
who, under the leadership of Sir Theophilus Shepstone, or Sompseu
as the natives called him from the Zambesi to the Cape, were
concerned in the annexation of the Transvaal in 1877. Recently
also he has been called upon as a public servant to revisit South
Africa and took the opportunity to travel through Zululand, in
order to refresh his knowledge of its people, their customs,
their mysteries, and better to prepare himself for the writing of
this book. Here he stood by the fatal Mount of Isandhlawana
which, with some details of the battle, is described in these
pages, among the graves of many whom once he knew, Colonels
Durnford, Pulleine and others. Also he saw Ulundi's plain where
the traces of war still lie thick, and talked with an old Zulu
who fought in the attacking Impi until it crumbled away before
the fire of the Martinis and shells from the heavy guns. The
battle of the Wall of Sheet Iron, he called it, perhaps because
of the flashing fence of bayonets.
Lastly, in a mealie patch, he found the spot on which the corn
grows thin, where King Cetewayo breathed his last, poisoned
without a doubt, as he has known for many years. It is to be
seen at the Kraal, ominously named Jazi or, translated into
English, "Finished." The tragedy happened long ago, but even now
the quiet-faced Zulu who told the tale, looking about him as he
spoke, would not tell it all. "Yes, as a young man, I was there
at the time, but I do not remember, I do not know--the Inkoosi
Lundanda (i.e., this Chronicler, so named in past years by the
Zulus) stands on the very place where the king died--His bed was
on the left of the door-hole of the hut," and so forth, but no
certain word as to the exact reason of this sudden and violent
death or by whom it was caused. The name of that destroyer of a
king is for ever hid.
In this story the actual and immediate cause of the declaration
of war against the British Power is represented as the appearance
of the white goddess, or spirit of the Zulus, who is, or was,
called Nomkubulwana or Inkosazana-y-Zulu, i.e., the Princess of
Heaven. The exact circumstances which led to this decision are
not now ascertainable, though it is known that there was much
difference of opinion among the Zulu Indunas or great captains,
and like the writer, many believe that King Cetewayo was
personally averse to war against his old allies, the English.
The author's friend, Mr. J. Y. Gibson, at present the
representative of the Union in Zululand, writes in his admirable
history: "There was a good deal of discussion amongst the
assembled Zulu notables at Ulundi, but of how counsel was swayed
it is not possible now to obtain a reliable account."
The late Mr. F. B. Fynney, F.R.G.S., who also was his friend in
days bygone, and, with the exception of Sir Theophilus Shepstone,
who perhaps knew the Zulus and their language better than any
other official of his day, speaking of this fabled goddess wrote:
"I remember that just before the Zulu War Nomkubulwana appeared
revealing something or other which had a great effect throughout
the land."
The use made of this strange traditional Guardian Angel in the
following tale is not therefore an unsupported flight of fancy,
and the same may be said of many other incidents, such as the
account of the reading of the proclamation annexing the Transvaal
at Pretoria in 1877, which have been introduced to serve the
purposes of the romance.
Mameena, who haunts its pages, in a literal as well as figurative
sense, is the heroine of _Child of Storm,_ a book to which she
gave her own poetic title.
1916.
THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER I
ALLAN QUATERMAIN MEETS ANSCOMBE
You, my friend, into whose hand, if you live, I hope these
scribblings of mine will pass one day, must well remember the
12th of April of the year 1877 at Pretoria. Sir Theophilus
Shepstone, or Sompseu, for I prefer to call him by his native
name, having investigated the affairs of the Transvaal for a
couple of months or so, had made up his mind to annex that
country to the British Crown. It so happened that I, Allan
Quatermain, had been on a shooting and trading expedition at the
back of the Lydenburg district where there was plenty of game to
be killed in those times. Hearing that great events were toward
I made up my mind, curiosity being one of my weaknesses, to come
round by Pretoria, which after all was not very far out of my
way, instead of striking straight back to Natal. As it chanced I
reached the town about eleven o'clock on this very morning of the
12th of April and, trekking to the Church Square, proceeded to
outspan there, as was usual in the Seventies. The place was full
of people, English and Dutch together, and I noted that the
former seemed very elated and were talking excitedly, while the
latter for the most part appeared to be sullen and depressed.
Presently I saw a man I knew, a tall, dark man, a very good
fellow and an excellent shot, named Robinson. By the way you
knew him also, for afterwards he was an officer in the Pretoria
Horse at the time of the Zulu war, the corps in which you held a
commission. I called to him and asked what was up.
"A good deal, Allan," he said as he shook my hand. "Indeed we
shall be lucky if all isn't up, or something like it, before the
day is over. Shepstone's Proclamation annexing the Transvaal is
going to be read presently."
I whistled and asked,
"How will our Boer friends take it? They don't look very
pleased."
"That's just what no one knows, Allan. Burgers the President is
squared, they say. He is to have a pension; also he thinks it
the only thing to be done. Most of the Hollanders up here don't
like it, but I doubt whether they will put out their hands
further than they can draw them back. The question is--what will
be the line of the Boers themselves? There are a lot of them
about, all armed, you see, and more outside the town."
"What do you think?"
"Can't tell you. Anything may happen. They may shoot Shepstone
and his staff and the twenty-five policemen, or they may just
grumble and go home. Probably they have no fixed plan."
"How about the English?"
"Oh! we are all crazy with joy, but of course there is no
organization and many have no arms. Also there are only a few of
us."
"Well," I answered, "I came here to look for excitement, life
having been dull for me of late, and it seems that I have found
it. Still I bet you those Dutchmen do nothing, except protest.
They are slim and know that the shooting of an unarmed mission
would bring England on their heads."
"Can't say, I am sure. They like Shepstone who understands them,
and the move is so bold that it takes their breath away. But as
the Kaffirs say, when a strong wind blows a small spark will make
the whole veld burn. It just depends upon whether the spark is
there. If an Englishman and a Boer began to fight for instance,
anything might happen. Goodbye, I have got a message to deliver.
If things go right we might dine at the European tonight, and if
they don't, goodness knows where we shall dine."
I nodded sagely and he departed. Then I went to my wagon to tell
the boys not to send the oxen off to graze at present, for I
feared lest they should be stolen if there were trouble, but to
keep them tied to the trek-tow. After this I put on the best
coat and hat I had, feeling that as an Englishman it was my duty
to look decent on such an occasion, washed, brushed my hair--with
me a ceremony without meaning, for it always sticks up--and
slipped a loaded Smith & Wesson revolver into my inner poacher
pocket. Then I started out to see the fun, and avoiding the
groups of surly-looking Boers, mingled with the crowd that I saw
was gathering in front of a long, low building with a broad
stoep, which I supposed, rightly, to be one of the Government
offices.
Presently I found myself standing by a tall, rather loosely-built
man whose face attracted me. It was clean-shaven and much
bronzed by the sun, but not in any way good-looking; the features
were too irregular and the nose was a trifle too long for good
looks. Still the impression it gave was pleasant and the steady
blue eyes had that twinkle in them which suggests humour. He
might have been thirty or thirty-five years of age, and
notwithstanding his rough dress that consisted mainly of a pair
of trousers held up by a belt to which hung a pistol, and a
common flannel shirt, for he wore no coat, I guessed at once that
he was English-born.
For a while neither of us said anything after the taciturn habit
of our people even on the veld, and indeed I was fully occupied
in listening to the truculent talk of a little party of mounted
Boers behind us. I put my pipe into my mouth and began to hunt
for my tobacco, taking the opportunity to show the hilt of my
revolver, so that these men might see that I was armed. It was
not to be found, I had left it in the wagon.
"If you smoke Boer tobacco," said the stranger, "I can help you,"
and I noted that the voice was as pleasant as the face, and knew
at once that the owner of it was a gentleman.
"Thank you, Sir. I never smoke anything else," I answered,
whereon he produced from his trousers pocket a pouch made of lion
skin of unusually dark colour.
"I never saw a lion as black as this, except once beyond Buluwayo
on the borders of Lobengula's country," I said by way of making
conversation.
"Curious," answered the stranger, "for that's where I shot the
brute a few months ago. I tried to keep the whole skin but the
white ants got at it."
"Been trading up there?" I asked.
"Nothing so useful," he said. "Just idling and shooting. Came
to this country because it was one of the very few I had never
seen, and have only been here a year. I think I have had about
enough of it, though. Can you tell me of any boats running from
Durban to India? I should like to see those wild sheep in
Kashmir."
I told him that I did not know for certain as I had never taken
any interest in India, being an African elephant-hunter and
trader, but I thought they did occasionally. Just then Robinson
passed by and called to me--
"They'll be here presently, Quatermain, but Sompseu isn't coming
himself."
"Does your name happen to be Allan Quatermain?" asked the
stranger. "If so I have heard plenty about you up in Lobengula's
country, and of your wonderful shooting."
"Yes," I replied, "but as for the shooting, natives always
exaggerate."
"They never exaggerated about mine," he said with a twinkle in
his eye. "Anyhow I am very glad to see you in | 1,455.803634 |
2023-11-16 18:41:42.8531180 | 1,006 | 16 |
Produced by David Starner, Tiffany Vergon, William Patterson
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE
ESPERANTO TEACHER,
A SIMPLE COURSE FOR
NON-GRAMMARIANS.
BY
HELEN FRYER.
TENTH EDITION.
(B.E.A. PUBLICATIONS FUND--No. 3).
All profits from the sale of this book are devoted to the
propaganda of Esperanto.
LONDON:
BRITISH ESPERANTO ASSOCIATION (Incorporated),
17, Hart Street, W.C.I.
* * * * *
PRESENTATION.
Perhaps to no one is Esperanto of more service than to the
non-grammarian. It gives him for a minimum expenditure of time and money
a valuable insight into the principles of grammar and the meaning of
words, while enabling him, after only a few months of study, to get into
communication with his fellow men in all parts of the world.
To place these advantages within easy reach of all is the aim of this
little book. Written by an experienced teacher, revised by Mr. E. A.
Millidge, and based on the exercises of Dr. Zamenhof himself, it merits
the fullest confidence of the student, and may be heartily commended to
all into whose hands it may come.
W. W. PADFIELD.
PREFACE.
This little book has been prepared in the hope of helping those who,
having forgotten the lessons in grammar which they received at school,
find some difficulty in learning Esperanto from the existing textbooks.
It is hoped it will be found useful not only for solitary students, but
also for class work.
The exercises are taken chiefly from the "Ekzercaro" of Dr. Zamenhof.
The compiler also acknowledges her indebtedness especially to the
"Standard Course of Esperanto," by Mr. G. W. Bullen, and to the
"Esperanto Grammar and Commentary," by Major-General Geo. Cox, and while
accepting the whole responsibility for all inaccuracies and crudenesses,
she desires to thank all who have helped in the preparation, and
foremost among them Mr. W. W. Padfield, of Ipswich, for advice and
encouragement throughout the work, and to Mr. E. A. Millidge, for his
unfailing kindness and invaluable counsel and help in its preparation
and revision.
MANNER OF USING THE BOOK.
The student is strongly advised to cultivate the habit of thinking in
Esperanto from the very beginning of the study. To do this he should
try to realise the idea mentally without putting it into English words,
e.g., when learning the word "rozo" or "kolombo," let him bring the
object itself before his mind's eye, instead of repeating "'rozo',
rose; 'kolombo', pigeon"; or with the sentence "'la suno brilas', the
sun shines," let him picture the sun shining. Having studied the lesson
and learned the vocabulary, he should read the exercise, repeating each
sentence aloud until he has become familiar with it and can pronounce
it freely. Then turning to the English translation at the end of the
book, he should write the exercise into Esperanto, compare it with
the original, and re-learn and re-write if necessary. Although this
method may require a little more time and trouble at first, the greater
facility gained in speaking the language will well repay the outlay.
After mastering this book the student should take some reader, such
as "Unua Legolibro," by Dr. Kabe, and then proceed to the "Fundamenta
Krestomatio," the standard work on Esperanto, by Dr. Zamenhof.
A very good Esperanto-English vocabulary is to be found in the
"Esperanto Key," 1/2d., or in "The Whole of Esperanto for a Penny."
THE ORIGIN AND AIM OF ESPERANTO.
A few words as to the origin of Esperanto will perhaps not be out
of place here. The author of the language, Dr. Ludovic Zamenhof, a
Polish Jew, was born on December 3rd, 1859, at Bielovstok, in Poland,
a town whose inhabitants are of four distinct races, Poles, Russians,
Germans, and Jews, each with their own language and customs, and
often at open enmity with each other. Taught at home that all men are
brethren, Zamenhof found everywhere around him outside the denial of
this teaching, and even as a child came to the conclusion that the races
h | 1,478.873158 |
2023-11-16 18:41:43.1388780 | 4,462 | 14 |
Produced by Andrea Ball, Christine Bell & Marc D'Hooghe
at http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously
made available by the Internet Archive.)
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
VOLUME IV
By
VOLTAIRE
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 VIII
E.R. DuMONT
PARIS--LONDON--NEW YORK--CHICAGO
1901
_The WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_"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._
LIST OF PLATES--VOL. IV
VOLTAIRE'S ARREST AT FRANKFORT _Frontispiece_
OLIVER CROMWELL
TIME MAKES TRUTH TRIUMPHANT
FRANCIS I. AND HIS SISTER
[Illustration: Voltaire's arrest at Frankfort.]
* * * * *
VOLTAIRE
A PHILOSOPHICAL DICTIONARY
IN TEN VOLUMES
VOL. IV.
COUNTRY--FALSITY
* * * * *
COUNTRY.
SECTION I
According to our custom, we confine ourselves on this subject to the
statement of a few queries which we cannot resolve. Has a Jew a country?
If he is born at Coimbra, it is in the midst of a crowd of ignorant and
absurd persons, who will dispute with him, and to whom he makes foolish
answers, if he dare reply at all. He is surrounded by inquisitors, who
would burn him if they knew that he declined to eat bacon, and all his
wealth would belong to them. Is Coimbra _his_ country? Can he exclaim,
like the Horatii in Corneille:
_Mourir pour la patrie est un si digne sort_
_Qu'on briguerait en foule, une si belle mort._
So high his meed who for his country dies,
Men should contend to gain the glorious prize.
He might as well exclaim, "fiddlestick!" Again! is Jerusalem his
country? He has probably heard of his ancestors of old; that they had
formerly inhabited a sterile and stony country, which is bordered by a
horrible desert, of which little country the Turks are at present
masters, but derive little or nothing from it. Jerusalem is, therefore,
not his country. In short, he has no country: there is not a square
foot of land on the globe which belongs to him.
The Gueber, more ancient, and a hundred times more respectable than the
Jew, a slave of the Turks, the Persians, or the Great Mogul, can he
regard as his country the fire-altars which he raises in secret among
the mountains? The Banian, the Armenian, who pass their lives in
wandering through all the east, in the capacity of money-brokers, can
they exclaim, "My dear country, my dear country"--who have no other
country than their purses and their account-books?
Among the nations of Europe, all those cut-throats who let out their
services to hire, and sell their blood to the first king who will
purchase it--have they a country? Not so much so as a bird of prey, who
returns every evening to the hollow of the rock where its mother built
its nest! The monks--will they venture to say that they have a country?
It is in heaven, they say. All in good time; but in this world I know
nothing about one.
This expression, "my country," how sounds it from the mouth of a Greek,
who, altogether ignorant of the previous existence of a Miltiades, an
Agesilaus, only knows that he is the slave of a janissary, who is the
slave of an aga, who is the slave of a pasha, who is the slave of a
vizier, who is the slave of an individual whom we call, in Paris, the
Grand Turk?
What, then, is country?--Is it not, probably, a good piece of ground,
in the midst of which the owner, residing in a well-built and commodious
house, may say: "This field which I cultivate, this house which I have
built, is my own; I live under the protection of laws which no tyrant
can infringe. When those who, like me, possess fields and houses
assemble for their common interests, I have a voice in such assembly. I
am a part of the whole, one of the community, a portion of the
sovereignty: behold my country!" What cannot be included in this
description too often amounts to little beyond studs of horses under the
command of a groom, who employs the whip at his pleasure. People may
have a country under a good king, but never under a bad one.
SECTION II.
A young pastry-cook who had been to college, and who had mustered some
phrases from Cicero, gave himself airs one day about loving his country.
"What dost thou mean by country?" said a neighbor to him. "Is it thy
oven? Is it the village where thou wast born, which thou hast never
seen, and to which thou wilt never return? Is it the street in which thy
father and mother reside? Is it the town hall, where thou wilt never
become so much as a clerk or an alderman? Is it the church of Notre
Dame, in which thou hast not been able to obtain a place among the boys
of the choir, although a very silly person, who is archbishop and duke,
obtains from it an annual income of twenty-four thousand louis d'or?"
The young pastry-cook knew not how to reply; and a person of reflection,
who overheard the conversation, was led to infer that a country of
moderate extent may contain many millions of men who have no country at
all. And thou, voluptuous Parisian, who hast never made a longer voyage
than to Dieppe, to feed upon fresh sea-fish--who art acquainted only
with thy splendid town-house, thy pretty villa in the country, thy box
at that opera which all the world makes it a point to feel tiresome but
thyself--who speakest thy own language agreeably enough, because thou
art ignorant of every other; thou lovest all this, no doubt, as well as
thy brilliant champagne from Rheims, and thy rents, payable every six
months; and loving these, thou dwellest upon thy love for thy country.
Speaking conscientiously, can a financier cordially love his country?
Where was the country of the duke of Guise, surnamed Balafre--at Nancy,
at Paris, at Madrid, or at Rome? What country had your cardinals Balue,
Duprat, Lorraine, and Mazarin? Where was the country of Attila situated,
or that of a hundred other heroes of the same kind, who, although
eternally travelling, make themselves always at home? I should be much
obliged to any one who would acquaint me with the country of Abraham.
The first who observed that every land is our country in which we "do
well," was, I believe, Euripides, in his "_Phaedo_":
[Greek: "Os pantakoos ge patris boskousa gei."]
The first man, however, who left the place of his birth to seek a
greater share of welfare in another, said it before him.
SECTION III.
A country is a composition of many families; and as a family is commonly
supported on the principle of self-love, when, by an opposing interest,
the same self-love extends to our town, our province, or our nation, it
is called love of country. The greater a country becomes, the less we
love it; for love is weakened by diffusion. It is impossible to love a
family so numerous that all the members can scarcely be known.
He who is burning with ambition to be edile, tribune, praetor, consul, or
dictator, exclaims that he loves his country, while he loves only
himself. Every man wishes to possess the power of sleeping quietly at
home, and of preventing any other man from possessing the power of
sending him to sleep elsewhere. Every one would be certain of his
property and his life. Thus, all forming the same wishes, the particular
becomes the general interest. The welfare of the republic is spoken of,
while all that is signified is love of self.
It is impossible that a state was ever formed on earth, which was not
governed in the first instance as a republic: it is the natural march
of human nature. On the discovery of America, all the people were found
divided into republics; there were but two kingdoms in all that part of
the world. Of a thousand nations, but two were found subjugated.
It was the same in the ancient world; all was republican in Europe
before the little kinglings of Etruria and of Rome. There are yet
republics in Africa: the Hottentots, towards the south, still live as
people are said to have lived in the first ages of the world--free,
equal, without masters, without subjects, without money, and almost
without wants. The flesh of their sheep feeds them; they are clothed
with their skins; huts of wood and clay form their habitations. They are
the most dirty of all men, but they feel it not, but live and die more
easily than we do. There remain eight republics in Europe without
monarchs--Venice, Holland, Switzerland, Genoa, Lucca, Ragusa, Geneva,
and San Marino. Poland, Sweden, and England may be regarded as republics
under a king, but Poland is the only one of them which takes the name.
But which of the two is to be preferred for a country--a monarchy or a
republic? The question has been agitated for four thousand years. Ask
the rich, and they will tell you an aristocracy; ask the people, and
they will reply a democracy; kings alone prefer royalty. Why, then, is
almost all the earth governed by monarchs? Put that question to the rats
who proposed to hang a bell around the cat's neck. In truth, the
genuine reason is, because men are rarely worthy of governing
themselves.
It is lamentable, that to be a good patriot we must become the enemy of
the rest of mankind. That good citizen, the ancient Cato, always gave it
as his opinion, that Carthage must be destroyed: "_Delenda est
Carthago_." To be a good patriot is to wish our own country enriched by
commerce, and powerful by arms; but such is the condition of mankind,
that to wish the greatness of our own country is often to wish evil to
our neighbors. He who could bring himself to wish that his country
should always remain as it is, would be a citizen of the universe.
CRIMES OR OFFENCES.
_Of Time and Place._
A Roman in Egypt very unfortunately killed a consecrated cat, and the
infuriated people punished this sacrilege by tearing him to pieces. If
this Roman had been carried before the tribunal, and the judges had
possessed common sense, he would have been condemned to ask pardon of
the Egyptians and the cats, and to pay a heavy fine, either in money or
mice. They would have told him that he ought to respect the follies of
the people, since he was not strong enough to correct them.
The venerable chief justice should have spoken to him in this manner:
"Every country has its legal impertinences, and its offences of time
and place. If in your Rome, which has become the sovereign of Europe,
Africa, and Asia Minor, you were to kill a sacred fowl, at the precise
time that you give it grain in order to ascertain the just will of the
gods, you would be severely punished. We believe that you have only
killed our cat accidentally. The court admonishes you. Go in peace, and
be more circumspect in future."
It seems a very indifferent thing to have a statue in our hall; but if,
when Octavius, surnamed Augustus, was absolute master, a Roman had
placed in his house the statue of Brutus, he would have been punished as
seditious. If a citizen, under a reigning emperor, had the statue of the
competitor to the empire, it is said that it was accounted a crime of
high treason.
An Englishman, having nothing to do, went to Rome, where he met Prince
Charles Edward at the house of a cardinal. Pleased at the incident, on
his return he drank in a tavern to the health of Prince Charles Edward,
and was immediately accused of high treason. But whom did he highly
betray in wishing the prince well? If he had conspired to place him on
the throne, then he would have been guilty towards the nation; but I do
not see that the most rigid justice of parliament could require more
from him than to drink four cups to the health of the house of Hanover,
supposing he had drunk two to the house of Stuart.
_Of Crimes of Time and Place, which Ought to Be Concealed._
It is well known how much our Lady of Loretto ought to be respected in
the March of Ancona. Three young people happened to be joking on the
house of our lady, which has travelled through the air to Dalmatia;
which has two or three times changed its situation, and has only found
itself comfortable at Loretto. Our three scatterbrains sang a song at
supper, formerly made by a Huguenot, in ridicule of the translation of
the _santa casa_ of Jerusalem to the end of the Adriatic Gulf. A
fanatic, having heard by chance what passed at their supper, made strict
inquiries, sought witnesses, and engaged a magistrate to issue a
summons. This proceeding alarmed all consciences. Every one trembled in
speaking of it. Chambermaids, vergers, inn-keepers, lackeys, servants,
all heard what was never said, and saw what was never done: there was an
uproar, a horrible scandal throughout the whole March of Ancona. It was
said, half a league from Loretto, that these youths had killed our lady;
and a league farther, that they had thrown the _santa casa_ into the
sea. In short, they were condemned. The sentence was, that their hands
should be cut off, and their tongues be torn out; after which they were
to be put to the torture, to learn--at least by signs--how many
couplets there were in the song. Finally, they were to be burnt to death
by a slow fire.
An advocate of Milan, who happened to be at Loretto at this time, asked
the principal judge to what he would have condemned these boys if they
had violated their mother, and afterwards killed and eaten her? "Oh!"
replied the judge, "there is a great deal of difference; to assassinate
and devour their father and mother is only a crime against men." "Have
you an express law," said the Milanese, "which obliges you to put young
people scarcely out of their nurseries to such a horrible death, for
having indiscreetly made game of the _santa casa,_ which is
contemptuously laughed at all over the world, except in the March of
Ancona?" "No," said the judge, "the wisdom of our jurisprudence leaves
all to our discretion." "Very well, you ought to have discretion enough
to remember that one of these children is the grandson of a general who
has shed his blood for his country, and the nephew of an amiable and
respectable abbess; the youth and his companions are giddy boys, who
deserve paternal correction. You tear citizens from the state, who might
one day serve it; you imbrue yourself in innocent blood, and are more
cruel than cannibals. You will render yourselves execrable to posterity.
What motive has been powerful enough, thus to extinguish reason,
justice, and humanity in your minds, and to change you into ferocious
beasts?" The unhappy judge at last replied: "We have been quarrelling
with the clergy of Ancona; they accuse us of being too zealous for the
liberties of the Lombard Church, and consequently of having no
religion." "I understand, then," said the Milanese, "that you have made
yourselves assassins to appear Christians." At these words the judge
fell to the ground, as if struck by a thunderbolt; and his brother
judges having been since deprived of office, they cry out that injustice
is done them. They forget what they have done, and perceive not that the
hand of God is upon them.
For seven persons legally to amuse themselves by making an eighth perish
on a public scaffold by blows from iron bars; take a secret and
malignant pleasure in witnessing his torments; speak of it afterwards at
table with their wives and neighbors; for the executioners to perform
this office gaily, and joyously anticipate their reward; for the public
to run to this spectacle as to a fair--all this requires that a crime
merit this horrid punishment in the opinion of all well-governed
nations, and, as we here treat of universal humanity, that it is
necessary to the well-being of society. Above all, the actual
perpetration should be demonstrated beyond contradiction. If against a
hundred thousand probabilities that the accused be guilty there is a
single one that he is innocent, that alone should balance all the rest.
_Query: Are Two Witnesses Enough to Condemn a Man to be Hanged?_
It has been for a long time imagined, and the proverb assures us, that
two witnesses are enough to hang a man, with a safe conscience. Another
ambiguity! The world, then, is to be governed by equivoques. It is said
in St. Matthew that two or three witnesses will suffice to reconcile two
divided friends; and after this text has criminal jurisprudence been
regulated, so far as to decree that by divine law a citizen may be
condemned to die on the uniform deposition of two witnesses who may be
villains? It has been already said that a crowd of according witnesses
cannot prove an improbable thing when denied by the accused. What, then,
must be done in such a case? Put off the judgment for a hundred years,
like the Athenians!
We shall here relate a striking example of what passed under our eyes at
Lyons. A woman suddenly missed her daughter; she ran everywhere in
search of her in vain, and at length suspected a neighbor of having
secreted the girl, and of having caused her violation. Some weeks after
some fishermen found a female drowned, and in a state of putrefaction,
in the Rhone at Condmeux. The woman of whom we have spoken immediately
believed that it was her daughter. She was persuaded by the enemies of
her neighbor that the latter had caused the deceased to be dishonored,
strangled, and thrown into the Rhone. She made this accusation publicly,
and the populace repeated it; persons were found who knew the minutest
circumstances of the crime. The rumor ran through all the town, and all
mouths cried out for vengeance. There is nothing more common than this
in a populace without judgment; but here follows the most prodigious
part of the affair. This neighbor's own son, a child of five years and a
half old, accused his mother of having caused the unhappy girl who was
found in the Rhone to be violated before his | 1,479.158918 |
2023-11-16 18:41:43.1976230 | 1,464 | 69 |
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.)
A Source Book of Philippine History
To Supply a Fairer View of Filipino Participation and Supplement the
Defective Spanish Accounts
PHILIPPINE PROGRESS PRIOR TO 1898
By AUSTIN CRAIG and CONRADO BENITEZ
Of the College of Liberal Arts Faculty of the University of the
Philippines
Philippine Education Co., Inc., Manila, 1916
The following 720 pages are divided into two volumes, each of which,
for the convenience of the reader, is paged separately and has its
index, or table of contents:
VOLUME I
I. The Old Philippines' Industrial Development
(Chapters of an Economic History)
I.--Agriculture and Landholding at the time of the Discovery
and Conquest. II.--Industries at the Time of Discovery and
Conquest. III.--Trade and Commerce at the Time of Discovery and
Conquest. IV.--Trade and Commerce; the Period of Restriction. V.--The
XIX Century and Economic Development.
By Professor Conrado Benitez
II. The Filipinos' Part in the Philippines' Past
(Pre-Spanish Philippine History A. D. 43-1565; Beginnings of Philippine
Nationalism.)
By Professor Austin Craig
VOLUME II
III. The Former Philippines thru Foreign Eyes
(Jagor's Travels in the Philippines; Comyn's State of the Philippines
in 1810; Wilkes' Manila and Sulu in 1842; White's Manila in 1819;
Virchow's Peopling of the Philippines; 1778 and 1878; English Views
of the People and Prospects of the Philippines; and Karuth's Filipino
Merchants of the Early 1890s)
Edited by Professor Craig
Made in Manila--Press of E. C. McCullough & Co.--The Work of Filipinos
EDITOR'S EXPLANATIONS AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This work is pre-requisite to the needed re-writing of Philippine
history as the story of its people. The present treatment, as a chapter
of Spanish history, has been so long accepted that deviation from
the standard story without first furnishing proof would demoralize
students and might create the impression that a change of government
justified re-stating the facts of the past in the way which would
pander to its pride.
With foreigners' writing, the extracts herein have been extensive, even
to the inclusion of somewhat irrelevant matter to save any suspicion
that the context might modify the quotation's meaning. The choice of
matter has been to supplement what is now available in English, and,
wherever possible, reference data have taken the place of quotation,
even at the risk of giving a skeletony effect.
Another rule has been to give no personal opinion, where a quotation
within reasonable limits could be found to convey the same idea, and,
where given, it is because an explanation is considered essential. A
conjunction of circumstances fortunate for us made possible this
publication. Last August the Bureau of Education were feeling
disappointment over the revised school history which had failed to
realize their requirements; the Department of History, Economics and
Sociology of the University were regretting their inability to make
their typewritten material available for all their students; and
Commissioner Quezon came back from Washington vigorously protesting
against continuing in the public schools a Philippine history text
which took no account of what American scholarship has done to
supplement Spain's stereotyped story. Thus there were three problems
but the same solution served for all.
Commissioner Rafael Palma, after investigation, championed furnishing
a copy of such a book as the present work is and Chairman Leuterio of
the Assembly Committee on Public Instruction lent his support. With
the assistance of Governor-General Harrison and Speaker Osmena,
and the endorsement of Secretary Martin of the Department of Public
Instruction, the Bureau of Education obtained the necessary item
in their section of the general appropriation act. Possibly no one
deserves any credit for conforming to plain duty, but after listing
all these high officials, it may not be out of place to mention that
neither has there come from any one of them, nor from any one else
for that matter, any suggestion of what should be said or left unsaid
or how it should be said, nor has any one asked to see, or seen,
any of our manuscript till after its publication. Insular Purchasing
Agent Magee, who had been, till his promotion, Acting Director of the
Bureau of Education, Director Crone, returned from the San Francisco
Exposition, and Acting Auditor Dexter united to smoothe the way for
rapid work so the order placed in January is being filled in less than
three months. Three others whose endorsements have materially assisted
in the accomplishment of the work are President Villamor of our
University, Director Francisco Benitez of its School of Education, and
Director J. A. Robertson of the Philippine Library. And in recalling
the twelve years of study here which has shown the importance of
these notes there come to mind the names of those to whom I have
been accustomed to go for suggestion and advice: Mariano Ponce,
of the Assembly Library, Manuel Artigas, of the Filipiniana Section
of the Philippines Library, Manuel Iriarte of the Executive Bureau
Archives, Dr. T. H. Pardo de Tavera and Epifanio de los Santos,
associates in the Philippine Academy, Leon and Fernando Guerrero,
Jaime C. De Veyra, Valentin Ventura, of Barcelona, J. M. Ramirez, of
Paris, the late Rafael del Pan, Jose Basa, of Hongkong, and Doctor
Regidor, of London, all Filipinos, Doctor N. M. Saleeby, H. Otley
Beyer, Dr. David P. Barrows, now of the University of California,
along with assistance from the late Professor Ferdinand Blumentritt,
of Leitmeritz, Dr. C. M. Heller, of Dresden, and the authorities of
the British Museum, Congressional Library, America Institute of Berlin,
University of California Library, and the Hongkong and Shanghai public
libraries and Royal Asiatic Society branches.
It is due the printer, Mr. Frederic H. Stevens, manager of
E. C. McCullough & Co.'s press; Mr. John Howe who figured out
a sufficient and satisfactory paper supply despite the war-time
scarcity; and Superintendent Noronha, that after the first vigorous
protests against departures from established printing-house usages,
they loyally co-operated in producing a book whose chief consideration
has been the | 1,479.217663 |
2023-11-16 18:41:43.5556240 | 389 | 6 |
Produced by Charles Keller
THE EDUCATION OF THE CHILD
by Ellen Key
INTRODUCTORY NOTE
Edward Bok, Editor of the "Ladies' Home Journal," writes:
"Nothing finer on the wise education of the child has ever been brought
into print. To me this chapter is a perfect classic; it points the way
straight for every parent and it should find a place in every home in
America where there is a child."
THE EDUCATION OF THE CHILD
Goethe showed long ago in his Werther a clear understanding of
the significance of individualistic and psychological training, an
appreciation which will mark the century of the child. In this work he
shows how the future power of will lies hidden in the characteristics
of the child, and how along with every fault of the child an uncorrupted
germ capable of producing good is enclosed. "Always," he says, "I repeat
the golden words of the teacher of mankind, 'if ye do not become as
one of these,' and now, good friend, those who are our equals, whom we
should look upon as our models, we treat as subjects; they should have
no will of their own; do we have none? Where is our prerogative? Does it
consist in the fact that we are older and more experienced? Good God
of Heaven! Thou seest old and young children, nothing else. And in whom
Thou hast more joy, Thy Son announced ages ago. But people believe in
Him and do not hear Him--that, too, is an old trouble, and they model
their children after themselves." The same criticism might be applied to
our present educators, who constantly have on their tongues such words
as evolution, individuality, and natural tendencies, but do not heed
the new commandments in which they say | 1,479.575664 |
2023-11-16 18:41:43.8534280 | 6,293 | 11 |
Produced by Andrew Templeton, Juliet Sutherland, Charlie
Kirschner and PG Distributed Proofreaders
DELIA
BLANCHFLOWER
BY
MRS. HUMPHRY WARD
AUTHOR "LADY ROSE'S DAUGHTER," ETC.
Frontispiece in color by
WILL FOSTER
DELIA BLANCHFLOWER
Chapter I
"Not a Britisher to be seen--or scarcely! Well, I can do without 'em
for a bit!"
And the Englishman whose mind shaped these words continued his
leisurely survey of the crowded salon of a Tyrolese hotel, into which a
dining-room like a college hall had just emptied itself after the
mid-day meal. Meanwhile a German, sitting near, seeing that his tall
neighbour had been searching his pockets in vain for matches, offered
some. The Englishman's quick smile in response modified the German's
general opinion of English manners, and the two exchanged some remarks
on the weather--a thunder shower was splashing outside--remarks which
bore witness at least to the Englishman's courage in using such
knowledge of the German tongue as he possessed. Then, smoking
contentedly, he leant against the wall behind him, still looking on.
He saw a large room, some seventy feet long, filled with a
miscellaneous foreign crowd--South Germans, Austrians, Russians,
Italians--seated in groups round small tables, smoking, playing cards
or dominoes, reading the day's newspapers which the funicular had just
brought up, or lazily listening to the moderately good band which was
playing some Rheingold selection at the farther end.
To his left was a large family circle--Russians, according to
information derived from the headwaiter--and among them, a girl,
apparently about eighteen, sitting on the edge of the party and
absorbed in a novel of which she was eagerly turning the pages. From
her face and figure the half savage, or Asiatic note, present in the
physiognomy and complexion of her brothers and sisters, was entirely
absent. Her beautiful head with its luxuriant mass of black hair, worn
low upon the cheek, and coiled in thick plaits behind, reminded the
Englishman of a Greek fragment he had admired, not many days before, in
the Louvre; her form too was of a classical lightness and perfection.
The Englishman noticed indeed that her temper was apparently not equal
to her looks. When her small brothers interrupted her, she repelled
them with a pettish word or gesture; the English governess addressed
her, and got no answer beyond a haughty look; even her mother was
scarcely better treated.
Close by, at another table, was another young girl, rather younger than
the first, and equally pretty. She too was dark haired, with a delicate
oval face and velvet black eyes, but without any of the passionate
distinction, the fire and flame of the other. She was German,
evidently. She wore a plain white dress with a red sash, and her little
feet in white shoes were lightly crossed in front of her. The face and
eyes were all alive, it seemed to him, with happiness, with the mere
pleasure of life. She could not keep herself still for a moment. Either
she was sending laughing signals to an elderly man near her, presumably
her father, or chattering at top speed with another girl of her own
age, or gathering her whole graceful body into a gesture of delight as
the familiar Rheingold music passed from one lovely _motif_ to another.
"You dear little thing!" thought the Englishman, with an impulse of
tenderness, which passed into foreboding amusement as he compared the
pretty creature with some of the matrons sitting near her, with one in
particular, a lady of enormous girth, whose achievements in eating and
drinking at meals had seemed to him amazing. Almost all the middle-aged
women in the hotel were too fat, and had lost their youth thereby,
prematurely. Must the fairy herself--Euphrosyne--come to such a muddy
vesture in the end? Twenty years hence?--alack!
"Beauty that must die." The hackneyed words came suddenly to mind, and
haunted him, as his eyes wandered round the room. Amid many coarse or
commonplace types, he yet perceived an unusual number of agreeable or
handsome faces; as is indeed generally the case in any Austrian hotel.
Faces, some of them, among the very young girls especially, of a
rose-tinted fairness, and subtly expressive, the dark brows arching on
white foreheads, the features straight and clean, the heads well
carried, as though conscious of ancestry and tradition; faces, also, of
the _bourgeoisie_, of a simpler, Gretchen-like beauty; faces--a few--of
"intellectuals," as he fancied,--including the girl with the
novel?--not always handsome, but arresting, and sometimes noble. He
felt himself in a border land of races, where the Teutonic and Latin
strains had each improved the other; and the pretty young girls and
women seemed to him like flowers sprung from an old and rich soil. He
found his pleasure in watching them--the pleasure of the Ancient
Mariner when he blessed the water-snakes. Sex had little to say to it;
and personal desire nothing. Was he not just over forty?--a very busy
Englishman, snatching a hard-earned holiday--a bachelor, moreover,
whose own story lay far behind him.
"_Beauty that must die_" The words reverberated and would not be
dismissed. Was it because he had just been reading an article in a new
number of the _Quarterly_, on "Contemporary Feminism," with mingled
amazement and revolt, roused by some of the strange facts collected by
the writer? So women everywhere--many women at any rate--were turning
indiscriminately against the old bonds, the old yokes, affections,
servitudes, demanding "self-realisation," freedom for the individuality
and the personal will; rebelling against motherhood, and life-long
marriage; clamouring for easy divorce, and denouncing their own
fathers, brothers and husbands, as either tyrants or fools; casting
away the old props and veils; determined, apparently, to know
everything, however ugly, and to say everything, however outrageous? He
himself was a countryman, an English provincial, with English public
school and university traditions of the best kind behind him, a mind
steeped in history, and a natural taste for all that was ancient and
deep-rooted. The sketch of an emerging generation of women, given in
the _Quarterly_ article, had made a deep impression upon him. It seemed
to him frankly horrible. He was of course well acquainted, though
mainly through the newspapers, with English suffragism, moderate and
extreme. His own country district and circle were not, however, much
concerned with it. And certainly he knew personally no such types as
the _Quarterly_ article described. Among them, no doubt, were the women
who set fire to houses, and violently interrupted or assaulted Cabinet
ministers, who wrote and maintained newspapers that decent people would
rather not read, who grasped at martyrdom and had turned evasion of
penalty into a science, the continental type, though not as yet
involved like their English sisters in a hand-to-hand, or fist-to-fist
struggle with law and order, were, it seemed, even more revolutionary
in principle, and to some extent in action. The life and opinions of a
Sonia Kovalevski left him bewildered. For no man was less omniscient
than he. Like the Cabinet minister of recent fame, in the presence of
such _femmes fortes_, he might have honestly pleaded, _mutatis
mutandis_, "In these things I am a child."
Were these light-limbed, dark-eyed maidens under his eyes touched with
this new anarchy? They or their elders must know something about it.
There had been a Feminist congress lately at Trient--on the very site,
and among the ghosts of the great Council. Well, what could it bring
them? Was there anything so brief, so passing, if she did but know it,
as a woman's time for happiness? "_Beauty that must die_."
As the words recurred, some old anguish lying curled at his heart
raised its head and struck. He heard a voice--tremulously
sweet--"Mark!--dear Mark!--I'm not good enough--but I'll be to you all
a woman can."
_She_ had not played with life--or scorned it--or missed it. It was not
_her_ fault that she must put it from her.
In the midst of the crowd about him, he was no longer aware of it.
Still smoking mechanically, his eyelids had fallen over his eyes, as
his head rested against the wall.
He was interrupted by a voice which said in excellent though foreign
English--
"I beg your pardon, sir--I wonder if I might have that paper you are
standing on?"
He looked down astonished, and saw that he was trampling on the day's
_New York Herald_, which had fallen from a table near. With many
apologies he lifted it, smoothed it out, and presented it to the
elderly lady who had asked for it.
She looked at him through her spectacles with a pleasant smile.
"You don't find many English newspapers in these Tyrolese hotels?"
"No; but I provide myself. I get my _Times_ from home."
"Then, as an Englishman, you have all you want. But you seem to be
without it to-night?"
"It hasn't arrived. So I am reduced, as you see, to listening to the
music."
"You are not musical?"
"Well, I don't like this band anyway. It makes too much noise. Don't
you think it rather a nuisance?"
"No. It helps these people to talk," she said, in a crisp, cheerful
voice, looking round the room.
"But they don't want any help. Most of them talk by nature as fast as
the human tongue can go!"
"About nothing!" She shrugged her shoulders.
Winnington observed her more closely. She was, he guessed, somewhere
near fifty; her scanty hair was already grey, and her round, plain face
was wrinkled and scored like a dried apple. But her eyes, which were
dark and singularly bright, expressed both energy and wit; and her
mouth, of which the upper lip was caught up a little at one corner,
seemed as though quivering with unspoken and, as he thought, sarcastic
speech. Was she, perchance, the Swedish _Schriftstellerin_ of whom he
had heard the porter talking to some of the hotel guests? She looked a
lonely-ish, independent sort of body.
"They seem nice, kindly people," he said, glancing round the salon.
"And how they enjoy life!"
"You call it life?"
He laughed out.
"You are hard upon them, madame. Now I--being a mere man--am lost in
admiration of their good looks. We in England pride ourselves on our
women, But upon my word, it would be difficult to match this show in an
English hotel. Look at some of the faces!"
She followed his eyes--indifferently.
"Yes--they've plenty of beauty. And what'll it do for them? Lead them
into some wretched marriage or other--and in a couple of years there
will be neither beauty nor health, nor self-respect, nor any interest
in anything, but money, clothes, and outwitting their husbands."
"You forget the children!"
"Ah--the children"--she said in a dubious tone, shrugging her shoulders
again.
The Englishman--whose name was Mark Winnington--suddenly saw light
upon her.
A Swedish writer, a woman travelling alone? He remembered the sketch of
"feminism" in Sweden which he had just read. The names of certain
woman-writers flitted through his mind. He felt a curiosity mixed with
distaste. But curiosity prevailed.
He bent forward. And as he came thereby into stronger light from a
window on his left, the thought crossed the mind of his neighbour that
although so fully aware of other people's good looks, the tall
Englishman seemed to be quite unconscious of his own. Yet in truth he
appeared both to her, and to the hotel guests in general, a kind of
heroic creature. In height he towered beside the young or middle-aged
men from Munich, Buda-Pesth, or the north Italian towns, who filled the
_salon_. He had all that athlete could desire in the way of shoulders,
and lean length of body; a finely-carried head, on which the brown hair
was wearing a little thin at the crown, while still irrepressibly
strong and curly round the brow and temple; thick penthouse brows, and
beneath them a pair of greyish eyes which had already made him friends
with the children and the dogs and half the grown-ups in the place. The
Swedish lady admitted--but with no cordiality--that human kindness
could hardly speak more plainly in a human face than from those eyes.
Yet the mouth and chin were thin, strong and determined; so were the
hands. The man's whole aspect, moreover, spoke of assured position, and
of a keen intelligence free from personal pre-occupations, and keeping
a disinterested outlook on the world. The woman who observed him had in
her handbag a book by a Russian lady in which Man, with a capital,
figured either as "a great comic baby," or as the "Man-Beast," invented
for the torment of women. The gentleman before her seemed a little
difficult to fit into either category.
But if she was observing him, he had begun to question her.
"Will you forgive me if I ask an impertinent question?"
"Certainly. They are the only questions worth asking."
He laughed.
"You are, I think, from Sweden?"
"That is my country."
"And I am told you are a writer?" She bent her head. "I can see also
that you are--what shall I say?--very critical of your sex--no doubt,
still more of mine! I wonder if I may ask "--
He paused, his smiling eyes upon her.
"Ask anything you like."
"Well, there seems to be a great woman-movement in your country. Are
you interested in it?"
"You mean--am I a feminist? Yes, I happen to dislike the word; but it
describes me. I have been working for years for the advancement of
women. I have written about it--and in the Scandinavian countries we
have already got a good deal. The vote in Sweden and Norway; almost
complete equality with men in Denmark. Professional equality, too, has
gone far. We shall get all we want before long?" Her eyes sparkled in
her small lined face.
"And you are satisfied?"
"What human being of any intelligence--and I am intelligent," she
added, quietly,--"ever confessed to being'satisfied'? Our shoe pinched
us. We have eased it a good deal."
"You really find it substantially better to walk with?"
"Through this uncomfortable world? Certainly. Why not?"
He was silent a little. Then he said, with his pleasant look, throwing
his head back to observe her, as though aware he might rouse her
antagonism.
"All that seems to me to go such a little way."
"I daresay," she said, indifferently, though it seemed to him that she
flushed. "You men have had everything you want for so long, you have
lost the sense of value. Now that we want some of your rights, it is
your cue to belittle them. And England, of course, is hopelessly
behind!" The tone had sharpened.
He laughed again and was about to reply when the band struck up Brahm's
Hungarian dances, and talk was hopeless. When the music was over, and
the burst of clapping, from all the young folk especially, had died
away, the Swedish lady said abruptly--
"But we had an English lady here last year--quite a young girl--very
handsome too--who was an even stronger feminist than I."
"Oh, yes, we can produce them--in great numbers. You have only to look
at our newspapers."
His companion's upper lip mocked at the remark.
"You don't produce them in great numbers--like the young lady I speak
of."
"Ah, she was good-looking?" laughed Winnington. "That, of course, gave
her a most unfair advantage."
"A man's jest," said the other dryly--"and an old one. But naturally
women take all the advantage they can get--out of anything. They need
it. However, this young lady had plenty of other gifts--besides her
beauty. She was as strong as most men. She rode, she climbed, she sang.
The whole hotel did nothing but watch her. She was the centre of
everything. But after a little while she insisted on leaving her father
down here to over-eat himself and play cards, while she went with her
maid and a black mare that nobody but she wanted to ride, up to the
_Jagd-huette_ in the forest. There!--you can see a little blue smoke
coming from it now"--
She pointed through the window to the great forest-clothed cliff, some
five thousand feet high, which fronted the hotel; and across a deep
valley, just below its topmost point, Mark Winnington saw a puff of
smoke mounting into the clear sky.
--"Of course there was a great deal of talk. The men gossipped and the
women scoffed. Her father, who adored her and could not control her in
the least, shrugged his shoulders, played bridge all day long with an
English family, and would sit on the verandah watching the path--that
path there--which comes down from the _Jagd-huette_ with a spy-glass.
Sometimes she would send him down a letter by one of the Jager's boys,
and he would send a reply. And every now and then she would come
down--riding--like a Brunhilde, with her hair all blown about her--and
her eyes--_Ach_, superb!"
The little dowdy woman threw up her hands.
Her neighbour's face shewed that the story interested and amused him.
"A Valkyrie, indeed! But how a feminist?"
"You shall hear. One evening she offered to give an address at the
hotel on 'Women and the Future.' She was already of course regarded as
half mad, and her opinions were well known. Some people objected, and
spoke to the manager. Her father, it was said, tried to stop it, but
she got her own way with him. And the manager finally decided that the
advertisement would be greater than the risk. When the evening came the
place was _bonde_; people came from every inn and pension round for
miles. She spoke beautiful German, she had learnt it from a German
governess who had brought her up, and been a second mother to her; and
she hadn't a particle of _mauvaise honte_. Somebody had draped some
Austrian and English flags behind her. The South Germans and Viennese,
and Hungarians who came to listen--just the same kind of people who are
here to-night--could hardly keep themselves on their chairs. The men
laughed and stared--I heard a few brutalities--but they couldn't keep
their eyes off her, and in the end they cheered her. Most of the women
were shocked, and wished they hadn't come, or let their girls come. And
the girls themselves sat open-mouthed--drinking it in."
"Amazing!" laughed the Englishman. "Wish I had been there! Was it an
onslaught upon men?"
"Of course," said his companion coolly. "What else could it be? At
present you men are the gaolers, and we the prisoners in revolt. This
girl talked revolution--they all do. 'We women _intend_ to have equal
rights with you!--whatever it cost. And when we have got them we shall
begin to fashion the world as _we_ want it--and not as you men have
kept it till now. _Gare a vous!_ You have enslaved us for ages--you may
enslave us a good while yet--but the end is certain. There is a new age
coming, and it will be the age of the free woman!'--That was the kind
of thing. I daresay it sounds absurd to you--but as she put it--as she
looked it--I can tell you, it was fine!"
The small, work-worn hands of the Swedish lady shook on her knee. Her
eyes seemed to hold the Englishman at bay. Then she added, in another
tone.
"Some people of course walked out, and afterwards there were many
complaints from fathers of families that their daughters should have
been exposed to such a thing. But it all passed over."
"And the young lady went back to the forest?"
"Yes,--for a time."
"And what became of the black mare?"
"Its mistress gave her to an inn-keeper here when she left. But the
first time he went to see the horse in the stable, she trampled on him
and he was laid up for weeks."
"Like mistress, like mare?--Excuse the jest! But now, may I know the
name of the prophetess?"
"She was a Miss Blanchflower," said the Swedish lady, boggling a little
over the name. "Her father had been a governor of one of your
colonies."
Winnington started forward in his chair.
"Good heavens!--you don't mean a daughter of old Bob Blanchflower!"
"Her father's name was Sir Robert Blanchflower."
The tanned face beside her expressed the liveliest interest.
"Why, I knew Blanchflower quite well. I met him long ago when I was
staying with an uncle in India--at a station in the Bombay presidency.
He was Major Blanchflower then"--
The speaker's brow furrowed a little as though under the stress of some
sudden recollection, and he seemed to check himself in what he was
saying. But in a moment he resumed:--
"A little after that he left the army, and went into Parliament.
And--precisely!--after a few years they made him governor
somewhere--not much of a post. Then last year his old father, a
neighbour of mine in Hampshire, quite close to my little place, went
and died, and Blanchflower came into a fortune and a good deal of land
besides. And I remember hearing that he had thrown up the Colonial
Service, had broken down in health, and was living abroad for some
years to avoid the English climate. That's the man of course. And the
Valkyrie is Blanchflower's daughter! Very odd that! I must have seen
her as a child. Her mother"--he paused again slightly--"was a Greek by
birth, and gloriously handsome. Blanchflower met her when he was
military attache at Athens for a short time.--Well, that's all very
interesting!"
And in a ruminating mood the Englishman took out his cigarette-case.
"You smoke, Madame?"
The Swedish lady quietly accepted the courtesy. And while the too
insistent band paused between one murdered Wagnerian fragment and
another, they continued a conversation which seemed to amuse them both.
* * * * *
A little later the Englishman went out into the garden of the hotel,
meaning to start for a walk. But he espied a party of young people
gathered about the new lawn-tennis court where instead of the languid
and dishevelled trifling, with a broken net and a wretched court, that
was once supposed to attract English visitors, he had been already
astonished to find Austrians and Hungarians--both girls and
boys--playing a game quite up to the average of a good English club.
The growing athleticism and independence, indeed, of the foreign girl,
struck, for Winnington, the note of change in this mid-European
spectacle more clearly than anything else. It was some ten years since
he had been abroad in August, a month he had been always accustomed to
spend in Scotch visits; and these young girls, with whom the Tyrol
seemed to swarm, of all European nationalities other than English,
still in or just out of the schoolroom; hatless and fearless; with
their knapsacks on their backs, sometimes with ice-axes in their hands;
climbing peaks and passes with their fathers and brothers; playing
lawn-tennis like young men, and shewing their shapely forms sometimes,
when it was a question of attacking the heights, in knicker-bocker
costume, and at other times in fresh white dresses and bright-
jerseys, without a hint of waist; these young Atalantas, budding and
bloomed, made the strongest impression upon him, as of a new race.
Where had he been all these years? He felt himself a kind of Rip van
Winkle--face to face at forty-one with a generation unknown to him. No
one of course could live in England, and not be aware of the change
which has passed over English girls in the same direction. But the
Englishman always tacitly assumes that the foreigner is far behind him
in all matters of open-air sport and physical development. Winnington
had soon confessed the touch of national arrogance in his own surprise;
and was now the keen and much attracted spectator.
On one of the grounds he saw the little German girl--Euphrosyne, as he
had already dubbed her--having a lesson from a bullying elder brother.
The youth, amazed at his own condescension, scolded his sister
perpetually, and at last gave her up in despair, vowing that she would
never be any good, and he was not going to waste his time in teaching
such a ninny. Euphrosyne sat down beside the court, with tears in her
pretty eyes, her white feet crossed, her dark head drooping; and two
girl companions, aged about sixteen or seventeen, like herself, came up
to comfort her.
"I could soon shew you how to improve your service, Mademoiselle," said
Winnington, smiling, as he passed her. Euphrosyne looked up startled,
but at sight of the handsome middle-aged Englishman, whom she unkindly
judged to be not much younger than her father, she timidly replied:--
"It is hateful, Monsieur, to be so stupid as I am!"
"Let me shew you," repeated Winnington, kindly. At this moment, a
vigilant English governess--speaking with a strong Irish-American
accent--came up, and after a glance at the Englishman, smilingly
acquiesced. The two comforters of Euphrosyne, graceful little maids,
with cherry- jerseys over their white frocks, and golden brown
hair tied with the large black bows of the _Backfisch_, were eager to
share the lesson, and soon Winnington found himself the centre of a
whole bevy of boys and girls who had run up to watch Euphrosyne's
performance.
The English governess, a good girl, in spite of her accent, and the
unconscious fraud she was thereby perpetrating on her employers,
thought she had seldom witnessed a more agreeable scene.
"He treats them like princesses, and yet he makes them learn," she
thought, a comment which very fairly expressed the mixture of something
courtly with something masterful in the Englishman's manner. He was
patience itself; but he was also frankness itself, whether for praise
or blame; and the eagerness to please him grew fast and visibly in all
these young creatures.
But as soon as he had brought back Euphrosyne's smiles, and roused a
new and fierce ambition to excel in all their young breasts, he dropped
the lesson, with a few gay slangy words, and went his way, leaving a
stir behind him of which he was quite unconscious. And there was no
Englishman looking on who might have told the charmed and conquered
maidens that they had just been coached by one of the most famous of
English athletes, born with a natural genius for every kind of game,
from cricket downwards.
* * * * *
On his way to the eastern side of the pass on which stood the group of
hotels, Winnington got his post from the _concierge_, including his
nightly _Times_, and carried it with him to a seat with which he | 1,479.873468 |
2023-11-16 18:41:43.8574340 | 1,006 | 11 |
Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
BACTERIA IN DAILY LIFE
BY
MRS. PERCY FRANKLAND
FELLOW OF THE ROYAL MICROSCOPICAL SOCIETY; HONORARY MEMBER OF BEDFORD
COLLEGE, UNIVERSITY OF LONDON;
JOINT AUTHOR OF "MICRO-ORGANISMS IN WATER," "THE LIFE OF PASTEUR,"
ETC.
"Spirits, when they please,
Can either sex assume, or both; so soft
And uncompounded is their essence pure,
Not tied or manacled with joint or limb,
Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones,
Like cumbrous flesh; but, in what shape they choose,
Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure,
Can execute their aery purposes,
And works of love or enmity fulfil."
MILTON.
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
1903
_All rights reserved_
Transcriber's Note: Minor typographical errors have been corrected
without note. Irregularities and inconsistencies in the text have
been retained as printed. Words printed in italics are noted with
underscores; _italics_. The cover of this ebook was created by the
transcriber and is hereby placed in the public domain.
PREFACE
The title of this little volume sufficiently explains its contents; it
only remains to add that much of the text has already appeared from
time to time in the form of popular articles in various magazines. It
has, however, been carefully revised and considerably added to in
parts where later researches have thrown further light upon the
subjects dealt with.
G. C. FRANKLAND
NORTHFIELD, WORCESTERSHIRE,
_November, 1902_
CONTENTS
PAGE
BACTERIOLOGY IN THE VICTORIAN ERA 1
WHAT WE BREATHE 34
SUNSHINE AND LIFE 65
BACTERIOLOGY AND WATER 93
MILK DANGERS AND REMEDIES 118
BACTERIA AND ICE 149
SOME POISONS AND THEIR PREVENTION 168
BACTERIA IN DAILY LIFE
BACTERIOLOGY IN THE VICTORIAN ERA
A little more than sixty years ago the scientific world received with
almost incredulous astonishment the announcement that "beer yeast
consists of small spherules which have the property of multiplying,
and are therefore a living and not a dead chemical substance, that
they further _appear_ to belong to the vegetable kingdom, and to be in
some manner intimately connected with the process of fermentation."
When Cagniard Latour communicated the above observations on yeast to
the Paris Academy of Sciences on June 12, 1837, the whole scientific
world was taken by storm, so great was the novelty, boldness, and
originality of the conception that these insignificant particles,
hitherto reckoned as of little or no account, should be endowed with
functions of such responsibility and importance as suggested by
Latour.
At the time when Latour sowed the first seeds of this great gospel of
fermentation, started curiously almost simultaneously across the Rhine
by Schwann and Kuetzing, its greatest subsequent apostle and champion
was but a schoolboy, exhibiting nothing more than a schoolboy's truant
love of play and distaste for lessons. Louis Pasteur was only a lad of
fifteen, buried in a little town in the provinces of France, whose
peace of mind was certainly not disturbed, or likely to be, by rumours
of any scientific discussion, however momentous, carried on in the
great, far-distant metropolis. Yet, some thirty and odd years later,
there was not a country in the whole world where Pasteur's name was
not known and associated with those classical investigations on
fermentation, in the pursuit of which he spent so many years of his
life, and which have proved of such incalculable benefit to the world
of commerce as well as science.
Thanks to Pasteur, we are no longer in doubt as to the nature of yeast
cells; so familiar, in fact, have we become with them, that at the
dawn of the twentieth century we are able to select at will those
particular varieties for which we have a predilection, and employ
those which will produce for us the special flavour we desire in our
wines or in our beers | 1,479.877474 |
2023-11-16 18:41:43.8576660 | 1,746 | 16 |
E-text prepared by Al Haines
THERE WAS A KING IN EGYPT
by
NORMA LORIMER
Author of
"Catherine Sterling,"
"By the Waters of Germany,"
"By the Waters of Sicily,"
"The Second Woman,"
"The Gods' Carnival,"
"A Wife Out of Egypt"
"On Desert Altars,"
"On Etna," Etc. Etc.
London
Stanley Paul & Co
31 Essex Street, Strand, W.C.2
First published in 1918
PREFACE
The monarch indicated in _There was a King in Egypt_ is Akhnaton, the
heretic Pharaoh, first brought home to the English reader by the well
known Egyptian archaeologist, Mr. Arthur Weigall. Akhnaton, or
Amenhotep IV., has an interest for the whole world as the first
Messiah. Like Our Lord, he was of Syrian parentage--on the mother's
side. Interest in him is undying, because underlying his Sun-symbolism
we have the first foreshadowings of the altruism of Christianity.
The book is not directly devoted to Akhnaton. It is about a young
English Egyptologist, who is excavating the tomb of Akhnaton's mother,
in which the Pharaoh's exhumed body found its final repose; his sister;
and an Irish mystic, who copies the tomb-paintings excavated before
their freshness fades. Aton-worship and Mohammedanism have an almost
equal fascination for this Irishman, and the romance is permeated with
their mysticism. The prophecies of a Mohammedan saint who has attained
the light by a life of abstinence and self-discipline, influence the
current of the romance no less than the visions of the Pharaoh Messiah,
whose pure religion threatened his country with disasters like the
Russian revolution.
For the historical facts I am indebted to the brilliant _Akhnaton,
Pharaoh of Egypt_,[1] of Mr. Weigall, late Chief Inspector of Monuments
in Upper Egypt. The character of the Egyptian Messiah has fascinated
me ever since I began to read Egyptian history, and Mr. Weigall writes
with the grace and colour of a Pierre Loti. I have always used his
translations of Akhnaton's words, and very often his own words in
describing Akhnaton.
I take this opportunity of thanking Mr. Weigall for his ungrudging
permission to quote from him, and I should like him to know that his
book was the inspiration of _There was a King in Egypt_.
I must also acknowledge my indebtedness to Mr. Walter Tyndall's fine
volume, _Below the Cataracts_,[2]--he is equally successful as author
and artist--for my description of the tomb of Queen Thiy.
The teachings of the reformed Mohammedanism scattered through my book
are derived from the propaganda works of Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, especially
his _Teachings of Islam_.[3]
I trust that my readers will find the mysticism of the book not a clog
upon the wheels of the romance of Excavation in Egypt, but Virgil's
"vital breeze."
NORMA LORIMER.
7, PITCULLEN TERRACE, PERTH, SCOTLAND.
[1] Published by Wm. Blackwood & Sons.
[2] Published by Heinemann.
[3] Published by Dulau.
THERE WAS A KING IN EGYPT
PART I
CHAPTER I
Dawn held the world in stillness. In the vast stretches of barren
hills and soft sands there was nothing living or stirring but the
figure of an Englishman, standing at the door of his tent.
At the hour of sunrise and sunset the East is its own. Every
suggestion of Western influence and foreign invasion is wiped out. The
going and the coming of the sun throws the land of the Pharaohs, the
kingdom of Ra, the great Sun God, whose cradle was at Heliopolis, back
to the days when Egypt was the world; to the days when the sun governed
the religion of her people; to the days when civilization had barely
touched the Mediterranean and the world knew not Rome; back again to
the days when the Nile, the Mother of Life, bordered by bands of
fertile, food-giving land, had not as yet sheltered the infant Moses in
her reeds. Dawn in Egypt is the dawn of civilization.
Each dawn saw Michael Amory, wrapped in his thickest coat, standing
outside his tent, watching and waiting for the glory of Egypt, for Ra,
the Sun God, to appear above the horizon of the desert.
To stand alone, nerve-tense and oppressed by the soundless sands, and
surrounded by the Theban Hills, in whose bosoms lie the eternal remains
of the world's first kings, drew him so strongly that, tired as he
might be with his previous day's work, he seldom slept later than the
hour which links us with the day that is past and the morrow which
holds the magic of the future.
For that half-hour only his higher self was conscious of existence, and
it was infinitely nearer to God than he was aware of. The silence of
the desert and its simplicity, which to the complex mind of Western man
is so mysterious, banished all material thoughts and even the
consciousness of his own body, and left him a naked soul, alone in the
world, encompassed with Divinity, a world whose hills and rolling sands
had known neither labour nor strife, nor the despotism of kings.
For the dead Pharaohs, lying in their tombs under the hills, in the
grandest monuments ever wrought by the vanity of man, were forgotten.
His long days of labour in their depths might never have been. Man and
his place in the universe were wiped out.
The cold was intense. Michael shivered and turned up the collar of his
coat. A faint light had appeared on the horizon, a pale streak like a
silver thread, which widened and widened until it spread into the
higher heavens; with its spreading the indefinite forms of moving
figures appeared--ghostly figures of dawn.
Michael knew that they would appear; he knew that, just as soon as the
streak of light grew in width from a faint thread to a wider band, he
would see them, dignified, stately figures, like white-robed priests,
walking desertwards from the horizon to his tent.
Although he had seen the same figures every morning for some months, he
was not tired of watching them. It always gave him pleasure to recall
how vividly they had at first reminded him of the pictures, familiar to
him as a boy, of the Wise Men following the star in the east. But
these were not wise men coming to pay homage or bring presents to the
Galilean Babe who came to be called the Prince of Peace; they were the
Mohammedan workmen who were employed by the Exploration School to which
Michael Amory had attached himself; their labour was confined to the
rougher preliminary digging and the clearing away of the accumulation
of sand and debris on sites which had been selected for excavation.
As the dawn slipped back and counted itself with the years that are
spent and the first yellow gleam appeared in the sky, Michael saw the
tall figures go down on their knees and press their foreheads to the
sand. It was their third prayer of the day: devout Mohammedans begin
their new day at sunset; their second prayer is at nightfall, when it
is quite dark; their third is at daybreak.
Michael knew that the moment _el isfirar_, or the first yellow glow,
appeared in the heavens, the white figures would turn to the east and
perform their _subh_, or daybreak devotion. He knew that it would be
finished before the golden globe appeared above the rim of the desert,
for did not the Prophet counsel his people not to pray exactly at
sunrise or | 1,479.877706 |
2023-11-16 18:41:43.9532180 | 1,031 | 42 |
Produced by Delphine Lettau, Julia Neufeld and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter or number
is superscripted (example: 15^b-18^a).
[=e] represents "e" with a macon over it.
HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE
THE LITERATURE OF THE
OLD TESTAMENT
BY
GEORGE FOOT MOORE, M.A., D.D., LL.D.
LONDON
WILLIAMS & NORGATE
HENRY HOLT & Co., NEW YORK
CANADA: WM. BRIGGS, TORONTO
INDIA: R. & T. WASHBOURNE, LTD.
[Illustration:
HOME
UNIVERSITY
LIBRARY
OF
MODERN KNOWLEDGE
_Editors_:
HERBERT FISHER, M.A., F.B.A., LL.D.
PROF. GILBERT MURRAY, D.LITT., LL.D., F.B.A.
PROF. J. ARTHUR THOMSON, M.A., LL.D.
PROF. WILLIAM T. BREWSTER, M.A.
(COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY, U.S.A.)
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY]
[Illustration:
THE
LITERATURE
OF THE
OLD TESTAMENT
BY
GEORGE FOOT MOORE
M.A., D.D., LL.D.
Professor in Harvard University; Editor of the
Harvard Theological Review; Author
of "Commentary on Judges," etc.
LONDON
WILLIAMS AND NORGATE]
The following volumes of kindred interest have already been published
in the Home University Library:--
VOL. 56.--THE MAKING OF THE NEW TESTAMENT. By PROF. B. W.
BACON, LL.D., D.D.Vol.
VOL. 68.--COMPARATIVE RELIGION. By PRINCIPAL J. ESTLIN
CARPENTER, D.Litt.
VOL. 15.--MOHAMMEDANISM. By PROF. D. S. MARGOLIOUTH, M.A.,
D.Litt.
VOL. 47.--BUDDHISM. By MRS. RHYS DAVIDS, M.A.
VOL. 54.--ETHICS. By G. E. MOORE, M.A.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE CANON OF THE OLD TESTAMENT 7
II THE OLD TESTAMENT AS A NATIONAL
LITERATURE 25
III THE PENTATEUCH 29
IV CHARACTER OF THE SOURCES. GENESIS 33
V EXODUS, LEVITICUS, NUMBERS 47
VI DEUTERONOMY 58
VII AGE OF THE SOURCES. COMPOSITION OF THE
PENTATEUCH 65
VIII JOSHUA 73
IX JUDGES 81
X SAMUEL 91
XI KINGS 100
XII CHRONICLES 118
XIII EZRA AND NEHEMIAH 128
XIV STORY BOOKS: ESTHER, RUTH, JONAH 134
XV THE PROPHETS 144
XVI ISAIAH 147
XVII JEREMIAH 164
XVIII EZEKIEL 174
XIX DANIEL 180
XX MINOR PROPHETS 190
XXI PSALMS. LAMENTATIONS 218
XXII PROVERBS 231
XXIII JOB 235
XXIV ECCLESIASTES. SONG OF SONGS 243
BIBLIOGRAPHY 251
INDEX 253
THE LITERATURE
OF
THE OLD TESTAMENT
CHAPTER I
THE CANON OF THE OLD TESTAMENT
The early Christians received the Sacred Books of the Jews as inspired
Scripture containing a divine revelation and clothed with divine
authority, and till well on in the first century of the Christian era
the name Scriptures was applied exclusively to these books. In time,
as they came to attach the same authority to the Epistles and Gospels,
and to call them, too, Scriptures (2 Pet. iii. 16), they distinguished
the Christian writings as the Scriptures of the new dispensation, or,
as they called | 1,479.973258 |
2023-11-16 18:41:44.1787210 | 1,280 | 12 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, David Maranhao and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
HARPER’S “TELL ME HOW” BOOKS
_A New Series_
HARPER’S GASOLINE ENGINE BOOK
HARPER’S AIRCRAFT BOOK
HARPER’S WIRELESS BOOK
HARPER’S BEGINNING ELECTRICITY
HARPER’S EVERY-DAY ELECTRICITY
Illustrated. Crown 8vo.
-----
HARPER’S PRACTICAL BOOKS
HARPER’S BOOK FOR YOUNG GARDENERS
HARPER’S BOOK FOR YOUNG NATURALISTS
HARPER’S HOW TO UNDERSTAND ELECTRICAL WORK
HARPER’S ELECTRICITY BOOK FOR BOYS
HARPER’S BOATING BOOK FOR BOYS
HARPER’S CAMPING AND SCOUTING
HARPER’S OUTDOOR BOOK FOR BOYS
HARPER’S INDOOR BOOK FOR BOYS
HARPER’S MACHINERY BOOK FOR BOYS
HARPER’S HANDY BOOK FOR GIRLS
Illustrated. Crown 8vo.
-----
THE STORY OF GREAT INVENTIONS
Uniform in appearance with above.
MOTOR BOATING FOR BOYS
Illustrated. Crown 8vo.
-----
HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: FIG. 11—A SINGLE-TREE HUT]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
HARPER’S
OUTDOOR BOOK
FOR BOYS
BY
JOSEPH H. ADAMS
WITH CONTRIBUTIONS BY
KIRK MUNROE, TAPPAN ADNEY
CAPT. HOWARD PATTERSON
LEROY MILTON YALE
AND OTHERS
WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS
[Illustration]
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1907, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
B-W
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
Part I
IN BOUNDS
PAGE
CHAPTER I.—BACK-YARD PLEASURES 3
A WIGWAM
A SQUARE TEPEE
A RIDGE-POLE TEPEE
A FOUNTAIN
AN AQUARIUM
HOW TO MANAGE AN AQUARIUM
A MERRY-GO-ROUND
CHAPTER II.—PET SHELTERS 29
MARTIN BOXES
BIRD SHELTERS
PIGEON-COTES
DOG-KENNELS
GUINEA-PIG HOUSES
CHICKEN-COOPS
RABBIT-HUTCHES
SQUIRREL CAGES
REPTILE PENS
CHAPTER III.—SUMMER-HOUSES AND PERGOLAS 52
A SIMPLE SUMMER-HOUSE
A BACK-YARD PERGOLA
A TOADSTOOL TREE CANOPY
A RUSTIC PERGOLA
A CIRCULAR PERGOLA
A SUMMER SHELTER
CHAPTER IV.—WEATHER-VANES AND WINDMILLS 59
A PINION-WHEEL WEATHER-VANE
A WIND-SPEEDER
THE ARROW WEATHER-VANE
WOODEN VANES
A WIND-PENNANT
A BASKET-BALL VANE
A MERRY-GO-ROUND
A WIND TURBINE
A BARREL-HOOP PINION-WHEEL
A PUMPING WINDMILL
A WINDMILL AND TOWER
CHAPTER V.—AËRIAL TOYS 81
THE ELASTIC FLYING-MACHINE
SELF-ACTING AËRIAL CAR
AËRIAL BOAT-SAILING
A “HIGH-FLYER”
Part II
AFIELD
CHAPTER VI.—COASTERS, SKEES, AND SNOW-SHOES 101
TOBOGGANS
A ROCKER-COASTER
A SINGLE-RUNNER COASTER
A BOB-SLED
SKEES
SNOW-SHOES
CHAPTER VII.—SAIL-SKATING AND SNOWBALL
ARTILLERY 115
A SKATING-SAIL
A SQUARE-RIGGED ICE-SAIL
A SNOWBALL MORTAR
CHAPTER VIII.—KITES AND AEROPLANES 120
THE SHIP KITE
THE CHINESE-JUNK KITE
THE SCHOONER KITE
A BALLOON KITE
AN AIR-SHIP KITE
BAT-WING AND CROWN-TOP KITES
SANDWICH ISLANDS BIRD KITE
BOX KITES
THE FLYING-WEDGE AND DOUBLE-PLANE KITE
KITE-REELS
CHAPTER IX.—FISHING-TACKLE 144
CHOICE OF TACKLE
BAIT-RODS AND FLY-RODS
REPAIRS, KNOTS, AND SPLICES
AIDS FOR YOUNG ANGLERS
BAITS, AND WHERE TO FIND THEM
A TRAP FOR SMALL FISH
A WATER-TURTLE TRAP
AN EEL-POT
A SCAP-NET
A HOOK DROP-NET
CHAPTER X.—LAND-YACHTS AND PUSHMOBILES 177
A LAND-YACHT
A SAIL-WAGON
A PUSHMOBILE
| 1,480.198761 |
2023-11-16 18:41:44.4606190 | 1,109 | 11 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Wayne Hammond and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Transcriber’s Note:
Italicized text delimited by underscores.
This project uses utf-8 encoded characters. If some characters are not
readable, check your settings of your browser to ensure you have a
default font installed that can display utf-8 characters.]
WHAT THE WHITE RACE MAY
LEARN FROM THE INDIAN
BOOKS BY GEORGE WHARTON JAMES
What the White Race May Learn from the Indian.
In and Around the Grand Canyon.
Indians of the Painted Desert Region.
In and Out of the Old Missions of California.
The Wonders of the Colorado Desert.
The Story of Scraggles.
Indian Basketry.
How to Make Indian and Other Baskets.
Travelers’ Handbook to Southern California.
The Beacon Light.
[Illustration: GROUP OF HOPI MAIDENS AND AN OLD MAN AT MASHONGANAVI.]
What the White Race May
Learn from the Indian
BY
GEORGE WHARTON JAMES
AUTHOR OF “IN AND AROUND THE GRAND CANYON,” “INDIAN BASKETRY,” “HOW
TO MAKE INDIAN AND OTHER BASKETS,” “PRACTICAL BASKET MAKING,”
“THE INDIANS OF THE PAINTED DESERT REGION,” “TRAVELERS’ HANDBOOK
TO SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA,” “IN AND OUT OF THE OLD
MISSIONS OF CALIFORNIA,” “THE STORY OF SCRAGGLES,”
“THE WONDERS OF THE COLORADO DESERT,” “THROUGH
RAMONA’S COUNTRY,” “LIVING THE RADIANT
LIFE,” “THE BEACON LIGHT,” ETC.
[Illustration]
CHICAGO
FORBES & COMPANY
1908
COPYRIGHT, 1908
BY
EDITH E. FARNSWORTH
The Lakeside Press
R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS COMPANY
CHICAGO
[Illustration: WHAT THE WHITE RACE MAY LEARN FROM THE INDIAN]
FOREWORD
I would not have it thought that I commend indiscriminately everything
that the Indian does and is. There are scores of things about the
Indian that are reprehensible and to be avoided. Most Indians smoke,
and to me the habit is a vile and nauseating one. Indians often wear
filthy clothes. They are often coarse in their acts, words, and their
humor. Some of their habits are repulsive. I have seen Indian boys
and men maltreat helpless animals until my blood has boiled with an
indignation I could not suppress, and I have taken the animals away
from them. They are generally vindictive and relentless in pursuit of
their enemies. They often content themselves with impure and filthy
water when a little careful labor would give them a supply of fairly
good water.
Indeed, in numerous things and ways I have personally seen the Indian
is not to be commended, but condemned, and his methods of life avoided.
But because of this, I do not close my eyes to the many good things
of his life. My reason is useless to me unless it teaches me what to
accept and what to reject, and he is kin to fool who refuses to accept
good from a man or a race unless in everything that man or race is
perfect. There is no perfection, in man at least, on earth, and all the
good I have ever received from human beings has been from imperfect men
and women. So I fully recognize the imperfections of the Indian while
taking lessons from him in those things that go to make life fuller,
richer, better.
Neither must it be thought that everything here said of the Indians
with whom I have come in contact can be said of all Indians. Indians
are not all alike any more than white men and women are all alike. One
can find filthy, disgusting slovens among white women, yet we do not
condemn all white women on the strength of this indisputable fact. So
with Indians. Some are good, some indifferent, some bad. In dealing
with them as a race, a people, therefore, I do as I would with my own
race, I take what to me seem to be racial characteristics, or in other
words, the things that are manifested in the lives of the best men and
women, and which seem to represent their habitual aims, ambitions, and
desires.
This book lays no claim to completeness or thoroughness. It is merely
suggestive. The field is much larger than I have gleaned over. The
chapters of which the book is composed were written when away from
works of reference, and merely as transcripts of the remembrances
that flashed through my mind at the time of writing. Yet I believe in
everything I have said I have kept strictly within the bounds of truth,
and have written only that which I personally know to be | 1,480.480659 |
2023-11-16 18:41:44.4789820 | 4,464 | 18 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini, Markus Brenner, Irma Spehar and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
—Obvious print and punctuation errors were corrected.
—Bold text has been rendered as =bold text=.
—Spaced out text (gesperrt) has been rendered as ~spaced text~.
—Superscript letters have been rendered as a^b and a^{bc}.
A
~VIEW~
~OF~
Sir ~_ISAAC NEWTON_~’s
PHILOSOPHY.
[Illustration]
~_LONDON_~:
Printed by _S. PALMER_, 1728.
[Illustration]
To the Noble and Right Honourable
SIR _ROBERT WALPOLE._
_SIR,_
I Take the liberty to send you this view of Sir ~ISAAC NEWTON’S~
philosophy, which, if it were performed suitable to the dignity of the
subject, might not be a present unworthy the acceptance of the greatest
person. For his philosophy operations of nature, which for so many
ages had imployed the curiosity of mankind; though no one before him
was furnished with the strength of mind necessary to go any depth in
this difficult search. However, I am encouraged to hope, that this
attempt, imperfect as it is, to give our countrymen in general some
conception of the labours of a person, who shall always be the boast
of this nation, may be received with indulgence by one, under whose
influence these kingdoms enjoy so much happiness. Indeed my admiration
at the surprizing inventions of this great man, carries me to conceive
of him as a person, who not only must raise the glory of the country,
which gave him birth; but that he has even done honour to human nature,
by having extended the greatest and most noble of our faculties,
reason, to subjects, which, till he attempted them, appeared to be
wholly beyond the reach of our limited capacities. And what can give us
a more pleasing prospect of our own condition, than to see so exalted
a proof of the strength of that faculty, whereon the conduct of our
lives, and our happiness depends; our passions and all our motives to
action being in such manner guided by our opinions, that where these
are just, our whole behaviour will be praise-worthy? But why do I
presume to detain you, SIR, with such reflections as these, who must
have the fullest experience within your own mind, of the effects of
right reason? For to what other source can be ascribed that amiable
frankness and unreserved condescension among your friends, or that
masculine perspicuity and strength of argument, whereby you draw the
admiration of the publick, while you are engaged in the most important
of all causes, the liberties of mankind?
* * * * *
I humbly crave leave to make the only acknowledgement within my power,
for the benefits, which I receive in common with the rest of my
countrymen from these high talents, by subscribing my self
~_SIR_~,
_Your most faithful_,
_and_
_Most humble Servant_,
~HENRY PEMBERTON~.
~PREFACE~.
I _Drew up the following papers many years ago at the desire of some
friends, who, upon my taking care of the late edition of Sir_ ~ISAAC
NEWTON’S~ _Principia, perswaded me to make them publick. I laid hold
of that opportunity, when my thoughts were afresh employed on this
subject, to revise what I had formerly written. And I now send it
abroad not without some hopes of answering these two ends. My first
intention was to convey to such, as are not used to mathematical
reasoning, some idea of the philosophy of a person, who has acquired
an universal reputation, and rendered our nation famous for these
speculations in the learned world. To which purpose I have avoided
using terms of art as much as possible, and taken care to define such
as I was obliged to use. Though this caution was the less necessary at
present, since many of them are become familiar words to our language,
from the great number of books wrote in it upon philosophical subjects,
and the courses of experiments, that have of late years been given by
several ingenious men. The other view I had, was to encourage such
young gentlemen as have a turn for the mathematical sciences, to pursue
those studies the more chearfully, in order to understand in our
author himself the demonstrations of the things I here declare. And to
facilitate their progress herein, I intend to proceed still farther in
the explanation of Sir_ ~ISAAC NEWTON’S~ _philosophy. For as I have
received very much pleasure from perusing his writings, I hope it is
no illaudable ambition to endeavour the rendering them more easily
understood, that greater numbers may enjoy the same satisfaction._
_It will perhaps be expected, that I should say something particular
of a person, to whom I must always acknowledge my self to be much
obliged. What I have to declare on this head will be but short; for
it was in the very last years of Sir_ ~ISAAC~_’s life, that I had the
honour of his acquaintance. This happened on the following occasion.
Mr._ Polenus, _a Professor in the University of_ Padua, _from a
new experiment of his, thought the common opinion about the force
of moving bodies was overturned, and the truth of Mr._ Libnitz_’s
notion in that matter fully proved. The contrary of what Polenus had
asserted I demonstrated in a paper, which Dr._ ~MEAD~, _who takes all
opportunities of obliging his friends, was pleased to shew Sir_ ~ISAAC
NEWTON~ _This was so well approved of by him, that he did me the honour
to become a fellow-writer with me, by annexing to what I had written,
a demonstration of his own drawn from another consideration. When I
printed my discourse in the philosophical transactions, I put what Sir_
~ISAAC~ _had written in a scholium by it self, that I might not seem to
usurp what did not belong to me. But I concealed his name, not being
then sufficiently acquainted with him to ask whether he was willing
I might make use of it or not. In a little time after he engaged me
to take care of the new edition he was about making if his Principia.
This obliged me to be very frequently with him, and as he lived at some
distance from me, a great number of letters passed between us on this
account. When I had the honour of his conversation, I endeavoured to
learn his thoughts upon mathematical subjects, and something historical
concerning his inventions, that I had not been before acquainted
with. I found, he had read fewer of the modern mathematicians, than
one could have expected; but his own prodigious invention readily
supplied him with what he might have an occasion for in the pursuit of
any subject he undertook. I have often heard him censure the handling
geometrical subjects by algebraic calculations; and his book of Algebra
he called by the name of Universal Arithmetic, in opposition to the
injudicious title of Geometry, which_ Des Cartes _had given to the
treatise, wherein he shews, how the geometer may assist his invention
by such kind of computations. He frequently praised_ Slusius, Barrow
_and_ Huygens _for not being influenced by the false taste, which then
began to prevail. He used to commend the laudable attempt of_ Hugo
de Omerique _to restore the ancient analysis, and very much esteemed
Apollonius’s book De sectione rationis for giving us a clearer notion
of that analysis than we had before. Dr._ Barrow _may be esteemed as
having shewn a compass of invention equal, if not superior to any of
the moderns, our author only excepted; but Sir_ ~ISAAC NEWTON~ _has
several times particularly recommended to me_ Huygens_’s stile and
manner. He thought him the most elegant of any mathematical writer of
modern times, and the most just imitator of the antients. Of their
taste, and form of demonstration Sir_ ~ISAAC~ _always professed
himself a great admirer: I have heard him even censure himself for
not following them yet more closely than he did; and speak with
regret of his mistake at the beginning of his mathematical studies,
in applying himself to the works of_ Des Cartes _and other algebraic
writers, before he had considered the elements of_ Euclide _with that
attention, which so excellent a writer deserves. As to the history
of his inventions, what relates to his discoveries of the methods of
series and fluxions, and of his theory of light and colours, the world
has been sufficiently informed of already. The first thoughts, which
gave rise to his Principia, he had, when he retired from_ Cambridge
_in 1666 on account of the plague. As he sat alone in a garden, he
fell into a speculation on the power of gravity: that as this power
is not found sensibly diminished at the remotest distance from the
center of the earth, to which we can rise, neither at the tops of the
loftiest buildings, nor even on the summits of the highest mountains;
it appeared to him reasonable to conclude, that this power must extend
much farther than was usually thought; why not as high as the moon,
said he to himself? and if so, her motion must be influenced by it;
perhaps she is retained in her orbit thereby. However, though the power
of gravity is not sensibly weakened in the little change of distance,
at which we can place our selves from the center of the earth; yet it
is very possible, that so high as the moon this power may differ much
in strength from what it is here. To make an estimate, what might be
the degree of this diminution, he considered with himself, that if the
moon be retained in her orbit by the force of gravity, no doubt the
primary planets are carried round the sun by the like power. And by
comparing the periods of the several planets with their distances from
the sun, he found, that if any power like gravity held them in their
courses, its strength must decrease in the duplicate proportion of the
increase of distance. This be concluded by supposing them to move in
perfect circles concentrical to the sun, from which the orbits of the
greatest part of them do not much differ. Supposing therefore the power
of gravity, when extended to the moon, to decrease in the same manner,
he computed whether that force would be sufficient to keep the moon
in her orbit. In this computation, being absent from books, he took
the common estimate in use among geographers and our seamen, before_
Norwood _had measured the earth, that 60 English miles were contained
in one degree of latitude on the surface of the earth. But as this is
a very faulty supposition, each degree containing about 69½ of our
miles, his computation did not answer expectation; whence he concluded,
that some other cause must at least join with the action of the power
of gravity on the moon. On this account he laid aside for that time
any farther thoughts upon this matter. But some years after, a letter
which he received from Dr._ Hook, _put him on inquiring what was the
real figure, in which a body let fall from any high place descends,
taking the motion of the earth round its axis into consideration.
Such a body, having the same motion, which by the revolution of the
earth the place has whence it falls, is to be considered as projected
forward and at the same time drawn down to the center of the earth.
This gave occasion to his resuming his former thoughts concerning the
moon; and_ Picart _in_ France _having lately measured the earth, by
using his measures the moon appeared to be kept in her orbit purely by
the power of gravity; and consequently, that this power decreases as
you recede from the center of the earth in the manner our author had
formerly conjectured. Upon this principle he found the line described
by a falling body to be an ellipsis, the center of the earth being one
focus. And the primary planets moving in such orbits round the sun, he
had the satisfaction to see, that this inquiry, which he had undertaken
merely out of curiosity, could be applied to the greatest purposes.
Hereupon he composed near a dozen propositions relating to the motion
of the primary planets about the sun. Several years after this, some
discourse he had with Dr._ Halley, _who at Cambridge made him a
visit, engaged Sir_ ~ISAAC NEWTON~ _to resume again the consideration
of this subject; and gave occasion to his writing the treatise
which he published under the title of mathematical principles of
natural philosophy. This treatise, full of such a variety of profound
inventions, was composed by him from scarce any other materials than
the few propositions before mentioned, in the space of one year and an
half._
_Though his memory was much decayed, I found he perfectly understood
his own writings, contrary to what I had frequently heard in discourse
from many persons. This opinion of theirs might arise perhaps from his
not being always ready at speaking on these subjects, when it might
be expected he should. But as to this, it may be observed, that great
genius’s are frequently liable to be absent, not only in relation to
common life, but with regard to some of the parts of science they are
the best informed of. Inventors seem to treasure up in their minds,
what they have found out, after another manner than those do the same
things, who have not this inventive faculty. The former, when they
have occasion to produce their knowledge, are in some measure obliged
immediately to investigate part of what they want. For this they are
not equally fit at all times: so it has often happened, that such as
retain things chiefly by means of a very strong memory, have appeared
off hand more expert than the discoverers themselves._
_As to the moral endowments of his mind, they were as much to be
admired as his other talents. But this is a field I leave others to
exspatiate in. I only touch upon what I experienced myself during
the few years I was happy in his friendship. But this I immediately
discovered in him, which at once both surprized and charmed me: Neither
his extreme great age, nor his universal reputation had rendred him
stiff in opinion, or in any degree elated. Of this I had occasion
to have almost daily experience. The Remarks I continually sent him
by letters on his Principia were received with the utmost goodness.
These were so far from being any ways displeasing to him, that on
the contrary it occasioned him to speak many kind things of me to my
friends, and to honour me with a publick testimony of his good opinion.
He also approved of the following treatise, a great part of which we
read together. As many alterations were made in the late edition of
his Principia, so there would have been many more if there had been
a sufficient time. But whatever of this kind may be thought wanting,
I shall endeavour to supply in my comment on that book. I had reason
to believe he expected such a thing from me, and I intended to have
published it in his life time, after I had printed the following
discourse, and a mathematical treatise Sir_ ~ISAAC NEWTON~ _had written
a long while ago, containing the first principles of fluxions, for I
had prevailed on him to let that piece go abroad. I had examined all
the calculations, and prepared part of the figures; but as the latter
part of the treatise had never been finished, he was about letting me
have other papers, in order to supply what was wanting. But his death
put a stop to that design. As to my comment on the Principia, I intend
there to demonstrate whatever Sir_ ~ISAAC NEWTON~ _has set down without
express proof, and to explain all such expressions in his book, as
I shall judge necessary. This comment I shall forthwith put to the
press, joined to an english translation of his Principia, which I have
had some time by me. A more particular account of my whole design has
already been published in the new memoirs of literature for the month
of march 1727._
_I have presented my readers with a copy of verses on Sir_ ~ISAAC
NEWTON~, _which I have just received from a young Gentleman, whom I am
proud to reckon among the number of my dearest friends. If I had any
apprehension that this piece of poetry stood in need of an apology,
I should be desirous the reader might know, that the author is but
sixteen years old, and was obliged to finish his composition in a very
short space of time. But I shall only take the liberty to observe, that
the boldness of the digressions will be best judged of by those who are
acquainted with_ ~PINDAR~.
A
~POEM~
ON
Sir ~_ISAAC NEWTON_~.
TO ~NEWTON~’s genius, and immortal fame
Th’ advent’rous muse with trembling pinion soars.
Thou, heav’nly truth, from thy seraphick throne
Look favourable down, do thou assist
My lab’ring thought, do thou inspire my song.
NEWTON, who first th’ almighty’s works display’d,
And smooth’d that mirror, in whose polish’d face
The great creator now conspicuous shines;
Who open’d nature’s adamantine gates,
And to our minds her secret powers expos’d;
NEWTON demands the muse; his sacred hand
Shall guide her infant steps; his sacred hand
Shall raise her to the Heliconian height,
Where, on its lofty top inthron’d, her head
Shall mingle with the Stars. Hail nature, hail,
O Goddess, handmaid of th’ ethereal power,
Now lift thy head, and to th’ admiring world
Shew thy long hidden beauty. Thee the wise
Of ancient fame, immortal ~PLATO~’s self,
The Stagyrite, and Syracusian sage,
From black obscurity’s abyss to raise,
(Drooping and mourning o’er thy wondrous works)
With vain inquiry sought. Like meteors these
In their dark age bright sons of wisdom shone:
But at thy ~NEWTON~ all their laurels fade,
They shrink from all the honours of their names.
So glimm’ring stars contract their feeble rays,
When the swift lustre of ~AURORA~’s face
Flows o’er the skies, and wraps the heav’ns in light.
THE Deity’s omnipotence, the cause,
Th’ original of things long lay unknown.
Alone the beauties prominent to sight
(Of the celestial power the outward form)
Drew praise and wonder from the gazing world.
As when the deluge overspread the earth,
Whilst yet the mountains only rear’d their heads
Above the surface of the wild expanse,
Whelm’d deep below the great foundations lay,
Till some kind angel at heav’n’s high command
Roul’d back the rising tides, and haughty floods,
And to the ocean thunder’d out his voice:
Quick all the swelling and imperious waves,
The foaming billows and obscuring surge,
Back to their channels and their ancient seats
Recoil affrighted: from the darksome main
Earth raises smiling, as new-born, her head,
And with fresh charms her lovely face arrays.
So his extensive thought accomplish’d first
The mighty task to drive th’ obstructing mists
Of ignorance away, beneath whose gloom
Th’ inshrouded majesty of Nature lay.
He drew the veil and swell’d the spreading scene.
How had the moon around th’ eth | 1,480.499022 |
2023-11-16 18:41:44.7548290 | 653 | 6 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
[Illustration]
THE SURRENDER
OF SANTIAGO
AN ACCOUNT OF THE
HISTORIC SURRENDER OF SANTIAGO
TO GENERAL SHAFTER
JULY 17, 1898
BY FRANK NORRIS
SAN FRANCISCO
PAUL ELDER AND COMPANY
NINETEEN SEVENTEEN
Copyright, 1913, 1917
by Otis F. Wood
THE SURRENDER OF SANTIAGO
For two days we had been at the headquarters of the Second Brigade
(General McKibben's), so blissfully contented because at last we had a
real wooden and tiled roof over our heads that even the
tarantulas--Archibald shook two of them from his blanket in one
night--had no terrors for us.
The headquarters were in an abandoned country seat, a little six-roomed
villa, all on one floor, called the Hacienda San Pablo. To the left of
us along the crest of hills, in a mighty crescent that reached almost to
the sea, lay the army, panting from the effort of the first, second and
third days of the month, resting on its arms, its eyes to its sights,
Maxim, Hotchkiss and Krag-Jorgenson held ready, alert, watchful,
straining in the leash, waiting the expiration of the last truce that
had now been on for twenty-four hours.
That night we sat up very late on the porch of the hacienda, singing
"The Spanish Cavalier"--if you will recollect the words, singularly
appropriate--"The Star-Spangled Banner," and
'Tis a way we had at Caney, sir,
'Tis a way we had at Caney, sir,
'Tis a way we had at Caney, sir,
To drive the Dons away,
an adaptation by one of the General's aides, which had a great success.
Inside, the General himself lay on his spread blankets, his hands
clasped under his head, a pipe in his teeth, feebly applauding us at
intervals and trying to pretend that we sang out of tune. The night was
fine and very still. The wonderful Cuban fireflies, that are like little
electric lights gone somehow adrift, glowed and faded in the mango and
bamboo trees, and after a while a whip-poor-will began his lamentable
little plaint somewhere in the branches of the gorgeous vermilion
Flamboyana that overhung the hacienda.
The air was heavy with smells, smells that inevitable afternoon
downpours had distilled from the vast jungle of bush and vine and
thicket all up and down the valley. In Cuba everything, the very mud and
water, has a smell. After every rain, as | 1,480.774869 |
2023-11-16 18:41:44.8548800 | 2,160 | 12 |
Produced by David Widger
LITERATURE AND LIFE--The Standard Household-Effect Company
by William Dean Howells
THE STANDARD HOUSEHOLD-EFFECT COMPANY
My friend came in the other day, before we had left town, and looked
round at the appointments of the room in their summer shrouds, and said,
with a faint sigh, "I see you have had the eternal-womanly with you,
too."
I.
"Isn't the eternal-womanly everywhere? What has happened to you?"
I asked.
"I wish you would come to my house and see. Every rug has been up for a
month, and we have been living on bare floors. Everything that could be
tied up has been tied up, everything that could be sewed up has been
sewed up. Everything that could be moth-balled and put away in chests
has been moth-balled and put away. Everything that could be taken down
has been taken down. Bags with draw-strings at their necks have been
pulled over the chandeliers and tied. The pictures have been hidden in
cheese-cloth, and the mirrors veiled in gauze so that I cannot see my own
miserable face anywhere."
"Come! That's something."
"Yes, it's something. But I have been thinking this matter over very
seriously, and I believe it is going from bad to worse. I have heard
praises of the thorough housekeeping of our grandmothers, but the
housekeeping of their granddaughters is a thousand times more intense."
"Do you really believe that?" I asked. "And if you do, what of it?"
"Simply this, that if we don't put a stop to it, at the gait it's going,
it will put a stop to the eternal-womanly."
"I suppose we should hate that."
"Yes, it would be bad. It would be very bad; and I have been turning the
matter over in my mind, and studying out a remedy."
"The highest type of philosopher turns a thing over in his mind and lets
some one else study out a remedy."
"Yes, I know. I feel that I may be wrong in my processes, but I am sure
that I am right in my results. The reason why our grandmothers could be
such good housekeepers without danger of putting a stop to the eternal-
womanly was that they had so few things to look after in their houses.
Life was indefinitely simpler with them. But the modern improvements,
as we call them, have multiplied the cares of housekeeping without
subtracting its burdens, as they were expected to do. Every novel
convenience and comfort, every article of beauty and luxury, every means
of refinement and enjoyment in our houses, has been so much added to the
burdens of housekeeping, and the granddaughters have inherited from the
grandmothers an undiminished conscience against rust and the moth, which
will not suffer them to forget the least duty they owe to the naughtiest
of their superfluities."
"Yes, I see what you mean," I said. This is what one usually says when
one does not quite know what another is driving at; but in this case I
really did know, or thought I did. "That survival of the conscience is a
very curious thing, especially in our eternal-womanly. I suppose that
the North American conscience was evolved from the rudimental European
conscience during the first centuries of struggle here, and was more or
less religious and economical in its origin. But with the advance of
wealth and the decay of faith among us, the conscience seems to be simply
conscientious, or, if it is otherwise, it is social. The eternal-womanly
continues along the old lines of housekeeping from an atavistic impulse,
and no one woman can stop because all the other women are going on. It
is something in the air, or something in the blood. Perhaps it is
something in both."
"Yes," said my friend, quite as I had said already, "I see what you mean.
But I think it is in the air more than in the blood. I was in Paris,
about this time last year, perhaps because I was the only thing in my
house that had not been swathed in cheese-cloth, or tied up in a bag with
drawstrings, or rolled up with moth-balls and put away in chests. At any
rate, I was there. One day I left my wife in New York carefully tagging
three worn-out feather dusters, and putting them into a pillow-case, and
tagging it, and putting the pillow-case into a camphorated self-sealing
paper sack, and tagging it; and another day I was in Paris, dining at the
house of a lady whom I asked how she managed with the things in her house
when she went into the country for the summer. 'Leave them just as they
are,' she said. 'But what about the dust and the moths, and the rust and
the tarnish?' She said, 'Why, the things would have to be all gone over
when I came back in the autumn, anyway, and why should I give myself
double trouble?' I asked her if she didn't even roll anything up and put
it away in closets, and she said: 'Oh, you mean that old American horror
of getting ready to go away. I used to go through all that at home, too,
but I shouldn't dream of it here. In the first place, there are no
closets in the house, and I couldn't put anything away if I wanted to.
And really nothing happens. I scatter some Persian powder along the
edges of things, and under the lower shelves, and in the dim corners, and
I pull down the shades. When I come back in the fall I have the powder
swept out, and the shades pulled up, and begin living again. Suppose a
little dust has got in, and the moths have nibbled a little here and
there? The whole damage would not amount to half the cost of putting
everything away and taking everything out, not to speak of the weeks of
discomfort, and the wear and tear of spirit. No, thank goodness--I left
American housekeeping in America.' I asked her: 'But if you went back?'
and she gave a sigh, and said:
"'I suppose I should go back to that, along with all the rest. Everybody
does it there.' So you see," my friend concluded, "it's in the air,
rather than the blood."
"Then your famous specific is that our eternal-womanly should go and live
in Paris?"
"Oh, dear, not" said my friend. "Nothing so drastic as all that. Merely
the extinction of household property."
"I see what you mean," I said. "But--what do you mean?"
"Simply that hired houses, such as most of us live in, shall all be
furnished houses, and that the landlord shall own every stick in them,
and every appliance down to the last spoon and ultimate towel. There
must be no compromise, by which the tenant agrees to provide his own
linen and silver; that would neutralize the effect I intend by the
expropriation of the personal proprietor, if that says what I mean. It
must be in the lease, with severe penalties against the tenant in case of
violation, that the landlord into furnish everything in perfect order
when the tenant comes in, and is to put everything in perfect order when
the tenant goes out, and the tenant is not to touch anything, to clean
it, or dust it, or roll it up in moth-balls and put it away in chests.
All is to be so sacredly and inalienably the property of the landlord
that it shall constitute a kind of trespass if the tenant attempts to
close the house for the summer or to open it for the winter in the usual
way that houses are now closed and opened. Otherwise my scheme would be
measurably vitiated."
"I see what you mean," I murmured. "Well?"
"Some years ago," my friend went on, "when we came home from Europe, we
left our furniture in storage for a time, while we rather drifted about,
and did not settle anywhere in particular. During that interval my wife
opened and closed five furnished houses in two years."
"And she has lived to tell the tale?"
"She has lived to tell it a great many times. She can hardly be kept
from telling it yet. But it is my belief that, although she brought to
the work all the anguish of a quickened conscience, under the influence
of the American conditions she had returned to, she suffered far less in
her encounters with either of those furnished houses than she now does
with our own furniture when she shuts up our house in the summer, and
opens it for the winter. But if there had been a clause in the lease, as
there should have been, forbidding her to put those houses in order when
she left them, life would have been simply a rapture. Why, in Europe
custom almost supplies the place of statute in such cases, and you come
and go so lightly in and out of furnished houses that you do not mind
taking them for a month, or a few weeks. We are very far behind in this
matter, but I have no doubt that if we once came to do it on any extended
scale we should do it, as we do everything else we attempt, more
perfectly than any other people in the world. You see what I mean?"
"I am not sure that I do. But go on."
"I would invert the whole Henry George principle, and I would tax
personal property of the household kind so heavily that it would
necessarily pass out of private hands; I would make its tenure so costly
that it would be impossible to any but the very rich, who are also the
very wicked, and ought to suffer."
"Oh, come, now!"
"I refer you to your Testament. In the end, all household property would
pass into the hands of the state."
"Aren't you getting worse and worse?"
"Oh, | 1,480.87492 |
2023-11-16 18:41:44.9531280 | 4,338 | 14 |
Produced by deaurider, Petra A and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Note: Italic text is represented by _underscores_.
Small capitals in the original have been converted to all capitals.
Footnotes have been moved to the end of the text.]
A TREATISE
ON
HAT-MAKING AND FELTING,
INCLUDING A FULL
EXPOSITION OF THE SINGULAR PROPERTIES
OF FUR, WOOL, AND HAIR.
BY
JOHN THOMSON,
A PRACTICAL HATTER.
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY CAREY BAIRD,
INDUSTRIAL PUBLISHER,
406 Walnut Street.
LONDON:
E. & F. N. SPON,
48 Charing Cross.
1868.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
HENRY CAREY BAIRD,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
PHILADELPHIA:
COLLINS, PRINTER, 705 JAYNE STREET.
CONTENTS.
Descriptions of furs, wools, hairs, &c. 11
The fulling mill 24
History of hats and hatting 25
The fashions 28
Preparation of materials 29
Stiffening and water-proofing materials 31
The blowing machine 35
The manufacture of hats 36
Shaving 44
Stiffening process 44
Ruffing or napping 45
Blocking 47
Dyeing 47
Pumicing or pouncing 48
Finishing 49
Silk hatting 52
Forming machines 56
Shoes and gaiters of felt 60
Printer's sheets 61
Cloth hats 63
Conclusion 65
TREATISE ON HAT-MAKING AND FELTING.
It is conceded as an axiom, that theory and practice, in the pursuit of
any object, are in their natures essentially different and distinct.
But at the same time they long for a mutual understanding each to
confirm the assertions of the other, the consummation of all practical
results being the mutual embrace and perfect reconciliation of these
two attributes.
The writer of these pages, being a practical hatter, desires to
describe intelligibly his calling, dispensing with all technical
terms, at the same time conscious of being liable to receive an unfair
criticism from his brother tradesmen, although perfectly innocent
on their part, resulting from the prejudices engendered by the many
would-be secrets that pertain to the different work-shops, together
with their various modes and methods of working, all of which most
generally are but trifles merely to gain a name.
The practice of a trade without a knowledge of the why and the
wherefore of certain usages is a sad defect in any workman, but
more especially in certain trades: Hatting being one of those which
depends upon _second_ causes for its proficiency, we venture here an
explanation with perfect confidence, hoping that the fraternity of
hatters will be indulgent, and that they may profit by an experience
of many years in the trade, and that for one error or omission in the
writing of these sheets they will find compensation in the new ideas
that will spring from their perusal, which may be an incentive to
further improvements in the business resulting beneficially to all.
Theory without practice, or practice without theory, is like groping in
the dark, and perfection in no trade can be attained till every effect
can be traced to its cause, and _vice versa_.
It is much to be regretted that practical operative workmen are so
diffident in writing and publishing their experience in their several
trades and occupations, quietly permitting theorists ignorant of
the business to glean as best they can from other parties the most
intricate and complicated particulars of a trade, and hence the attempt
to illustrate the most useful branches of an art often results in crude
and even erroneous descriptions of things of the greatest moment, and
the dissemination as correct, of that which is altogether at variance
with the truth. In confirmation of the above, we may instance the
manufacture of hats as described in a work of much merit, and which is
accounted as worthy of all confidence, wherein the error above spoken
of is but too plainly visible. Thus, in the supplement to the third
edition of that most respectable work the Edinburgh "Encyclopedia
Britannica," in the article Hat, an apology is made for the original
treatise upon that subject, it being acknowledged as both defective
and erroneous from the imperfect source of the information. Such
a confession, and from such a source, sufficiently exonerates any
one from egotism in an attempt to write a more perfect and correct
description, coupling theory with practice; relieving the felting
process from its misty obscurity by a faithful expose of the whole
system: well knowing that an increase of business, like free trade,
will be the result of a right understanding of a formerly supposed
mystery, viz., the True cause of Felting.
Felt and felted articles being already in use, in many trades in
addition to that of hat-making, necessitates a general and indeed a
very full and lucid description of the materials of which they are made.
Descriptions of Furs, Wools, Hair, &c.
Fur, properly speaking, signifies the skins of various species of
animals, dressed in alum or some other preparation with the hair on,
and made into articles of wearing apparel; but the term fur also
signifies the stuff that is cut from the skin, for the use of the
hatter, and in this sense alone it will be employed in the following
pages.
Hair, wool, fur, and animal down are simply slender filaments or
thread-like fibres issuing out of the pores of the skins of animals,
and all partaking of the same general nature, such as great ductility,
flexibility, elasticity, and tenacity, differing entirely from the
vegetable wools and downs, such as cotton, &c., which contain neither
of these four great characteristics to any valuable or appreciable
extent.
To characterize in a familiar way these several grades of material, it
may be said that fur is distinguished from wool by its greater fineness
and softness, and hair from wool by its straightness and stiffness.
The nature of all these bearing some relation to each other, it will
be necessary in this treatise to use the word hair occasionally to
designate one and all of them, that word being most convenient, and
tending to avoid confusion.
Simple as the idea may be, and though trifling in appearance, yet
the study of a single hair is particularly interesting, both to the
naturalist and the man of business, as will be seen when we mention
a few of its many peculiarities; hoping it will prove a source of
enjoyment to the one and a profit to the other.
Hair, wool, fur, &c., form quite an extraneous appendage to the skin,
or body producing them, not at all directly dependent on the life of
the animal for their own existence, for they have been known to live
and grow for some time after the death of the animal itself. We also
know that they live, grow, and die, showing all the signs of youth,
maturity, and old age. Hair possesses no sensation at any period of its
existence; of itself it has no feeling of touch, nor has it the power
of voluntary action.
The growth of hair is peculiar as it projects and grows in length from
the root, and not by the top as with vegetable productions, the lower
portion lengthens out, and the top is merely projected forward; and
when once cut, it never again resumes its tapering point.
Hair or fur of whatever quality, consists of a single slender filament,
without a branch or knot of any kind, and that filament is a tube,
which is filled with a fat oil, the color of the hair being derived
from this oil.
By the chemical analysis of hair it is found to consist of nine
different substances: 1st, gelatine or animal matter, which constitutes
its greater part; 2d, a white concrete oil in small quantity; 3d,
another oil of a grayish-green color more abundant, these oils
comprising about one-fourth of the entire weight; 4th, a few particles
of oxide of manganese; 5th, iron, the state of which in the hair is
unknown; 6th, phosphate of lime; 7th, carbonate of lime in very
small quantity; 8th, silex in greater abundance; 9th, and lastly, a
considerable amount of sulphur--such is the constitution of all furs,
wools, hair, &c., most of which may be dissolved in pure water heated
to a temperature above 230 deg. of Fahrenheit, by which it is partially
decomposed. Hair is likewise soluble in alkalies, with which it forms
soap. Chlorine gas immediately decomposes it, producing a viscid mass.
It is worthy of particular remark, that of all animal products, hair
is the one least liable to spontaneous change, evidence of which may
be found in the fact that the Peruvian, Mexican, and Brazilian mummy
hair is still perfect, and is supposed to be from 2500 to 3000 years
old, and stands the hygrometric test with equal firmness. From this we
should suppose the body or substance of hair and wool to be exceedingly
hard and solid, which is really the case, as no pressure has yet been
applied sufficiently powerful to entirely deprive wool of the water
with which it has been washed--the interstices between the fibres of
the assemblage never having been closed by the power applied, as the
water therein collected may still be drained off when the pressure is
removed.
Although hair is of a tubular construction, yet all varieties are
not of a completely cylindrical form; a curl is the result of all
flat-sided or oval hairs, the exceeding oval being the unfailing
characteristic of the <DW64> race. A cross section of a hair, if
circular, denotes the long, soft, and lank fibre of a cold northern
animal; but if the cross section shows an extreme flat-sided hair, that
hair will be crisp and frizzled, and of a tropical extraction. Quite
a gradual change in the form of the fibre of hair is observed in all
animals as we ascend from the equator to the highest latitudes, other
things being equal.
It has long been a desideratum how to discriminate between the various
qualities of hatters' _fine_ furs, and no really reliable test has
yet been obtained, superior to the judgment of the human eye, the
fineness of fibre for the hatter being of most essential importance,
particularly that allotted for the flowing nap upon the outside of the
hat. Although the thickness of the fibre of the finer furs has never
been properly gauged, it will be a source of some satisfaction to know
that the diameter of the human hair varies from the 250th to the 600th
part of an inch, while the fibre of the coarsest wool is about the
500th and the finest about the 1500th part of an inch.
Hair may be bleached on the grass like linen, after previous washing
and steeping in a bleaching liquid, after which it may be dyed of any
color.
It is very doubtful whether the growth of hair can by any artificial
means be expedited, or the hair itself increased in length, in quality,
or in density. A fine field of enterprise would be opened for the
fortunate inventor who could increase the produce of the finer and more
expensive furs. In contradistinction to this, however, it may be stated
that the inhabitants of some countries, the Malays, for instance,
purposely destroy their hair by using quick-lime.
We come next to describe minutely another peculiarity appertaining
to hair, upon which all felting or shrinking of a fabric depends;
that grand secret that has been a mystery in all ages, until within
a few years, or at best was only surmised. Upon this property alone
depends the whole art of hatting and of felt making, whether in sheets
or otherwise, as well as the fulling of cloth and the shrinking of
flannels, and all articles the material of which is made of wool, hair,
or fur.
As many branches of business depend for their success upon the
_non-shrinking_ quality of their goods, a study of the felting
principle becomes quite appropriate and interesting to those
manufacturers, whilst perusing that of the opposite. Pulled wools,
rather than cut or shorn wools, must always have the preference with
the one class of manufacturers; at the same time, the other class must
adhere tenaciously to those which have been cut, the roots of the hair
causing all the difference, for that remarkable quality, the felting
principle, is upon all the same whether pulled or cut.
A few familiar facts dependent upon this inherent felting quality of
hair will aid the illustration. When a hair is held by the top, it can
be severed with a razor much more readily than if held by the root.
Again, a hair held by the root, and drawn through between the finger
and thumb, feels quite smooth, but when held by the top, a rough and
tremulous motion is perceived.
Again, place a hair of three or four inches in length by the middle,
between the finger and thumb, and twirl it a few times, when the hair
will be found to proceed towards one end, as the twirling and rubbing
are continued, and invariably advancing root end foremost, whichever
way the hair is placed between the fingers. If two hairs are used in
this example, lay the root of the one to the top of the other, their
respective motions will be doubly discernible.
The cause of all these singularities of the hair it is now designed to
explain, which shall be done as explicitly and concisely as possible,
with a few proofs of its astonishing power in a collective capacity.
The above-mentioned phenomena are the result of that same long-hidden
property, and which is nothing more than a certain clothing or
covering, entirely surrounding the stem of every hair, in the form of
very minute scales, so very minute, indeed, that it requires the aid of
a very powerful microscope to enable the beholder to discern them, and
even then but faintly. These scales, which cover thickly every filament
of animal hair, wool, fur, &c., are thin pointed lamina, quite similar
to the scales on a fish, and overlapping each other as do the shingles
or slates upon a house. This state of the hair being understood, the
_modus operandi_ of the above examples may be thus explained: When the
hair was held by the point, it was easily cut by the edge of the razor
entering under the scales; but when held by the root, the instrument
slipped smoothly over them; and the hair that was drawn through the
fingers, when held by the point, felt rough and tremulous, from the
jagged points of the scales, but smooth when drawn in their own
direction.
The twirling of the hairs between the finger and thumb, resulting in
their travelling motion, was on account of the points of the scales
catching on the fingers, in the act of rubbing, similar to the heads of
wheat or barley at harvest time which school-boys put into the sleeves
of their coats, and which are sure to come out at some other extremity
to that at which they were put in, caused by the working of the boy's
arm upon the jaggy beard or awn of the barley head.
The task of counting the number of these lamina that clothe the body
of these hairs, must have been both tedious and difficult, from their
very minuteness and profusion. On a single filament of merino wool,
as many as 2400 barbed scales, like teeth, projecting from the centre
stem, have been counted in the space of one inch. On Saxony wool there
were 2700, while other wools were as low as 1860, and none were found
to have so few as 1000 to the inch.
No vegetable wools whatever, such as cotton, &c., have any such
appendage upon their fibres, and, consequently, cotton or cotton goods
never shrink in the act of washing, as woollen goods do. Cotton,
therefore, never can become a suitable material for felting purposes,
every fibre being smooth from end to end in either direction, and in
contradistinction to fur, which, though equally smooth as the cotton in
one way, rebels triumphantly when irritated in the contrary direction,
as already described. Mechanically speaking, cotton is smooth, solid,
and triangular, whilst wool is rough, tubular, and cylindrical.
The grand cause of that mysterious and curious operation called
felting, fulling, shrinking, thickening, and solidifying of a fabric,
whether of original loose wool, fur, or other stuff, or of that spun
into yarn and woven into cloth, is the presence of these scales.
Till lately, the best operative hatter and the investigating
philosopher were equally at a loss to explain upon what principle
such effects were produced. Take, for instance, a handful of wet fur
or wool, which is merely an assemblage of hairs; squeeze and press
it, work it a little in the hand, and then observe the effect; for
immediately upon pressing it a certain locomotion is thereby conferred
upon every fibre of that assemblage, which is increased by every turn
of position that is given to the body of wool. The rolling and pressing
change the position of each fibre. A friction is produced upon every
member composing the mass; a footing as it were is obtained from
the scales of each, and the fur or wool being all bent or curled, a
progressive motion goes on, interlacing each other in their travels,
resulting in a compact, dense body, which may well challenge the
goddesses of both patience and perseverance to undo. Every hair has
been travelling in its own individual direction, boring, warping,
grasping, holding, and twisting amongst its fellows like a collection
of live worms.
The power of combination, like the fable of the bundle of sticks, is
strikingly illustrated in the case of the hair, which when viewed
singly seems so very insignificant, but collectively, and when pressed
by the hand of oppression, hardship, and ill treatment, they combine
and become strong and defiant, clasping each other in their embrace,
tenaciously clinging to each other the more they are tortured, as if
they were living rational beings, conscious of their innocence, and
free from guilt.
Stockings, for instance, that are knit with soft-spun wool, for the use
of whale fishermen in northern latitudes, are large enough, when first
formed, to hold the whole man, but are felted down to the required
size in the fulling mill, where they are battered, tossed about, and
tortured to that degree that is required by their tormentors. The
writer has seen a millful of these stockings whose sides were felted so
firmly together, from a neglect of the workmen to turn them inside out,
in due time, during the felting operation, that a knife was required to
open them, and which actually failed in several instances, so firmly
had | 1,480.973168 |
2023-11-16 18:41:45.0077760 | 176 | 61 |
Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive
THE NEW ABELARD
A Romance
By Robert Buchanan
Author Of ‘The Shadow Of The Sword’ ‘God And The Man’ Etc.
In Three Volumes--Vol. I.
[Illustration: 0001]
[Illustration: 0009]
London: Chatto & Windus, Piccadilly
1884
_DEDICATION_
TO MY DEAR FATHER
THE LATE ROBERT BUCHANAN
SOCIALIST LECTURER, REFORMER, AND POET I INSCBIBE
‘THE NEW ABELARD’
PREFATORY NOTE.
The leading character in this book is represented, dramatically, as
resembling, both in his strength and weakness, the great Abelard of
| 1,481.027816 |
2023-11-16 18:41:45.2688880 | 7,436 | 12 |
E-text prepared by Anne Soulard, Charles Aldarondo,
Tiffany Vergon, John R. Bilderback,
and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net)
and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.
THE EUSTACE DIAMONDS
by
ANTHONY TROLLOPE
First published in serial form in the _Fortnightly Review_ from July,
1871, to February, 1873, and in book form in 1872
CONTENTS
I. Lizzie Greystock
II. Lady Eustace
III. Lucy Morris
IV. Frank Greystock
V. The Eustace Necklace
VI. Lady Linlithgow's Mission
VII. Mr. Burke's Speeches
VIII. The Conquering Hero Comes
IX. Showing What the Miss Fawns Said, and What Mrs. Hittaway
Thought
X. Lizzie and Her Lover
XI. Lord Fawn at His Office
XII. "I Only Thought of It"
XIII. Showing What Frank Greystock Did
XIV. "Doan't Thou Marry for Munny"
XV. "I'll Give You a Hundred Guinea Brooch"
XVI. Certainly an Heirloom
XVII. The Diamonds Are Seen in Public
XVIII. "And I Have Nothing to Give"
XIX. "As My Brother"
XX. The Diamonds Become Troublesome
XXI. "Ianthe's Soul"
XXII. Lady Eustace Procures a Pony for the Use of Her Cousin
XXIII. Frank Greystock's First Visit to Portray
XXIV. Showing What Frank Greystock Thought About Marriage
XXV. Mr. Dove's Opinion
XXVI. Mr. Gowran Is Very Funny
XXVII. Lucy Morris Misbehaves
XXVIII. Mr. Dove in His Chambers
XXIX. "I Had Better Go Away"
XXX. Mr. Greystock's Troubles
XXXI. Frank Greystock's Second Visit to Portray
XXXII. Mr. and Mrs. Hittaway in Scotland
XXXIII. "It Won't Be True"
XXXIV. Lady Linlithgow at Home
XXXV. Too Bad for Sympathy
XXXVI. Lizzie's Guests
XXXVII. Lizzie's First Day
XXXVIII. Nappie's Grey Horse
XXXIX. Sir Griffin Takes an Unfair Advantage
XL. "You Are Not Angry?"
XLI. "Likewise the Bears in Couples Agree"
XLII. Sunday Morning
XLIII. Life at Portray
XLIV. A Midnight Adventure
XLV. The Journey to London
XLVI. Lucy Morris in Brook Street
XLVII. Matching Priory
XLVIII. Lizzie's Condition
XLIX. Bunfit and Gager
L. In Hertford Street
LI. Confidence
LII. Mrs. Carbuncle Goes to the Theatre
LIII. Lizzie's Sick-Room
LIV. "I Suppose I May Say a Word"
LV. Quints or Semitenths
LVI. Job's Comforters
LVII. Humpty Dumpty
LVIII. "The Fiddle with One String"
LIX. Mr. Gowran Up in London
LX. "Let It Be As Though It Had Never Been"
LXI. Lizzie's Great Friend
LXII. "You Know Where My Heart Is"
LXIII. The Corsair Is Afraid
LXIV. Lizzie's Last Scheme
LXV. Tribute
LXVI. The Aspirations of Mr. Emilius
LXVII. The Eye of the Public
LXVIII. The Major
LXIX. "I Cannot Do It"
LXX. Alas!
LXXI. Lizzie Is Threatened with the Treadmill
LXXII. Lizzie Triumphs
LXXIII. Lizzie's Last Lover
LXXIV. Lizzie at the Police-Court
LXXV. Lord George Gives His Reasons
LXXVI. Lizzie Returns to Scotland
LXXVII. The Story of Lucy Morris Is Concluded
LXXVIII. The Trial
LXXIX. Once More at Portray
LXXX. What Was Said About It All at Matching
VOLUME I
CHAPTER I
Lizzie Greystock
It was admitted by all her friends, and also by her enemies,--who
were in truth the more numerous and active body of the two,--that
Lizzie Greystock had done very well with herself. We will tell the
story of Lizzie Greystock from the beginning, but we will not dwell
over it at great length, as we might do if we loved her. She was the
only child of old Admiral Greystock, who in the latter years of his
life was much perplexed by the possession of a daughter. The admiral
was a man who liked whist, wine,--and wickedness in general we may
perhaps say, and whose ambition it was to live every day of his life
up to the end of it. People say that he succeeded, and that the
whist, wine, and wickedness were there, at the side even of his dying
bed. He had no particular fortune, and yet his daughter, when she was
little more than a child, went about everywhere with jewels on her
fingers, and red gems hanging round her neck, and yellow gems pendent
from her ears, and white gems shining in her black hair. She was
hardly nineteen when her father died and she was taken home by that
dreadful old termagant, her aunt, Lady Linlithgow. Lizzie would have
sooner gone to any other friend or relative, had there been any other
friend or relative to take her possessed of a house in town. Her
uncle, Dean Greystock, of Bobsborough, would have had her, and a more
good-natured old soul than the dean's wife did not exist,--and there
were three pleasant, good-tempered girls in the deanery, who had
made various little efforts at friendship with their cousin Lizzie;
but Lizzie had higher ideas for herself than life in the deanery at
Bobsborough. She hated Lady Linlithgow. During her father's lifetime,
when she hoped to be able to settle herself before his death, she was
not in the habit of concealing her hatred for Lady Linlithgow. Lady
Linlithgow was not indeed amiable or easily managed. But when the
admiral died, Lizzie did not hesitate for a moment in going to the
old "vulturess," as she was in the habit of calling the countess in
her occasional correspondence with the girls at Bobsborough.
The admiral died greatly in debt;--so much so that it was a marvel
how tradesmen had trusted him. There was literally nothing left
for anybody,--and Messrs. Harter and Benjamin of Old Bond Street
condescended to call at Lady Linlithgow's house in Brook Street, and
to beg that the jewels supplied during the last twelve months might
be returned. Lizzie protested that there were no jewels,--nothing
to signify, nothing worth restoring. Lady Linlithgow had seen the
diamonds, and demanded an explanation. They had been "parted with,"
by the admiral's orders,--so said Lizzie,--for the payment of other
debts. Of this Lady Linlithgow did not believe a word, but she could
not get at any exact truth. At that moment the jewels were in very
truth pawned for money which had been necessary for Lizzie's needs.
Certain things must be paid for,--one's own maid for instance; and
one must have some money in one's pocket for railway-trains and
little knick-knacks which cannot be had on credit. Lizzie when she
was nineteen knew how to do without money as well as most girls; but
there were calls which she could not withstand, debts which even she
must pay.
She did not, however, drop her acquaintance with Messrs. Harter and
Benjamin. Before her father had been dead eight months, she was
closeted with Mr. Benjamin, transacting a little business with him.
She had come to him, she told him, the moment she was of age, and
was willing to make herself responsible for the debt, signing any
bill, note, or document which the firm might demand from her, to that
effect. Of course she had nothing of her own, and never would have
anything. That Mr. Benjamin knew. As for payment of the debt by Lady
Linlithgow, who for a countess was as poor as Job, Mr. Benjamin,
she was quite sure, did not expect anything of the kind. But-- Then
Lizzie paused, and Mr. Benjamin, with the sweetest and wittiest
of smiles, suggested that perhaps Miss Greystock was going to be
married. Lizzie, with a pretty maiden blush, admitted that such a
catastrophe was probable. She had been asked in marriage by Sir
Florian Eustace. Now Mr. Benjamin knew, as all the world knew, that
Sir Florian Eustace was a very rich man indeed; a man in no degree
embarrassed, and who could pay any amount of jewellers' bills for
which claim might be made upon him. Well; what did Miss Greystock
want? Mr. Benjamin did not suppose that Miss Greystock was actuated
simply by a desire to have her old bills paid by her future husband.
Miss Greystock wanted a loan sufficient to take the jewels out of
pawn. She would then make herself responsible for the full amount
due. Mr. Benjamin said that he would make a few inquiries. "But you
won't betray me," said Lizzie, "for the match might be off." Mr.
Benjamin promised to be more than cautious.
There was not so much of falsehood as might have been expected in the
statement which Lizzie Greystock made to the jeweller. It was not
true that she was of age, and therefore no future husband would be
legally liable for any debt which she might then contract. And it was
not true that Sir Florian Eustace had asked her in marriage. Those
two little blemishes in her statement must be admitted. But it was
true that Sir Florian was at her feet, and that by a proper use of
her various charms,--the pawned jewels included,--she might bring
him to an offer. Mr. Benjamin made his inquiries, and acceded to the
proposal. He did not tell Miss Greystock that she had lied to him in
that matter of her age, though he had discovered the lie. Sir Florian
would no doubt pay the bill for his wife without any arguments as
to the legality of the claim. From such information as Mr. Benjamin
could acquire he thought that there would be a marriage, and that
the speculation was on the whole in his favour. Lizzie recovered
her jewels and Mr. Benjamin was in possession of a promissory note
purporting to have been executed by a person who was no longer a
minor. The jeweller was ultimately successful in his views,--and so
was the lady.
Lady Linlithgow saw the jewels come back, one by one, ring added
to ring on the little taper fingers, the rubies for the neck, and
the pendent yellow earrings. Though Lizzie was in mourning for her
father, still these things were allowed to be visible. The countess
was not the woman to see them without inquiry, and she inquired
vigorously. She threatened, stormed, and protested. She attempted
even a raid upon the young lady's jewel-box. But she was not
successful. Lizzie snapped and snarled and held her own,--for at that
time the match with Sir Florian was near its accomplishment, and
the countess understood too well the value of such a disposition of
her niece to risk it at the moment by any open rupture. The little
house in Brook Street,--for the house was very small and very
comfortless,--a house that had been squeezed in, as it were, between
two others without any fitting space for it,--did not contain a happy
family. One bedroom, and that the biggest, was appropriated to the
Earl of Linlithgow, the son of the countess, a young man who passed
perhaps five nights in town during the year. Other inmate there was
none besides the aunt and the niece and the four servants,--of whom
one was Lizzie's own maid. Why should such a countess have troubled
herself with the custody of such a niece? Simply because the
countess regarded it as a duty. Lady Linlithgow was worldly, stingy,
ill-tempered, selfish, and mean. Lady Linlithgow would cheat a
butcher out of a mutton-chop, or a cook out of a month's wages, if
she could do so with some slant of legal wind in her favour. She
would tell any number of lies to carry a point in what she believed
to be social success. It was said of her that she cheated at cards.
In back-biting, no venomous old woman between Bond Street and Park
Lane could beat her,--or, more wonderful still, no venomous old man
at the clubs. But nevertheless she recognised certain duties,--and
performed them, though she hated them. She went to church, not merely
that people might see her there,--as to which in truth she cared
nothing,--but because she thought it was right. And she took in
Lizzie Greystock, whom she hated almost as much as she did sermons,
because the admiral's wife had been her sister, and she recognised
a duty. But, having thus bound herself to Lizzie,--who was a
beauty,--of course it became the first object of her life to get rid
of Lizzie by a marriage. And, though she would have liked to think
that Lizzie would be tormented all her days, though she thoroughly
believed that Lizzie deserved to be tormented, she set her heart upon
a splendid match. She would at any rate be able to throw it daily in
her niece's teeth that the splendour was of her doing. Now a marriage
with Sir Florian Eustace would be very splendid, and therefore she
was unable to go into the matter of the jewels with that rigour which
in other circumstances she would certainly have displayed.
The match with Sir Florian Eustace,--for a match it came to
be,--was certainly very splendid. Sir Florian was a young man
about eight-and-twenty, very handsome, of immense wealth, quite
unencumbered, moving in the best circles, popular, so far prudent
that he never risked his fortune on the turf or in gambling-houses,
with the reputation of a gallant soldier, and a most devoted lover.
There were two facts concerning him which might, or might not, be
taken as objections. He was vicious, and--he was dying. When a
friend, intending to be kind, hinted the latter circumstance to Lady
Linlithgow, the countess blinked and winked and nodded, and then
swore that she had procured medical advice on the subject. Medical
advice declared that Sir Florian was not more likely to die than
another man,--if only he would get married; all of which statement on
her ladyship's part was a lie. When the same friend hinted the same
thing to Lizzie herself, Lizzie resolved that she would have her
revenge upon that friend. At any rate the courtship went on.
We have said that Sir Florian was vicious;--but he was not altogether
a bad man, nor was he vicious in the common sense of the word. He was
one who denied himself no pleasure, let the cost be what it might in
health, pocket, or morals. Of sin or wickedness he had probably no
distinct idea. In virtue, as an attribute of the world around him, he
had no belief. Of honour he thought very much, and had conceived a
somewhat noble idea that because much had been given to him much was
demanded of him. He was haughty, polite,--and very generous. There
was almost a nobility even about his vices. And he had a special
gallantry of which it is hard to say whether it is or is not to be
admired. They told him that he was like to die,--very like to die, if
he did not change his manner of living. Would he go to Algiers for a
period? Certainly not. He would do no such thing. If he died, there
was his brother John left to succeed him. And the fear of death never
cast a cloud over that grandly beautiful brow. They had all been
short-lived,--the Eustaces. Consumption had swept a hecatomb of
victims from the family. But still they were grand people, and never
were afraid of death.
And then Sir Florian fell in love. Discussing this matter with his
brother, who was perhaps his only intimate friend, he declared that
if the girl he loved would give herself to him, he would make what
atonement he could to her for his own early death by a princely
settlement. John Eustace, who was somewhat nearly concerned in
the matter, raised no objection to this proposal. There was ever
something grand about these Eustaces. Sir Florian was a grand
gentleman; but surely he must have been dull of intellect, slow of
discernment, blear-eyed in his ways about the town, when he took
Lizzie Greystock,--of all the women whom he could find in the
world,--to be the purest, the truest, and the noblest. It has been
said of Sir Florian that he did not believe in virtue. He freely
expressed disbelief in the virtue of women around him,--in the virtue
of women of all ranks. But he believed in his mother and sisters as
though they were heaven-born; and he was one who could believe in his
wife as though she were the queen of heaven. He did believe in Lizzie
Greystock, thinking that intellect, purity, truth, and beauty, each
perfect in its degree, were combined in her. The intellect and beauty
were there;--but, for the purity and truth--; how could it have been
that such a one as Sir Florian Eustace should have been so blind!
Sir Florian was not, indeed, a clever man; but he believed himself
to be a fool. And believing himself to be a fool, he desired, nay,
painfully longed, for some of those results of cleverness which
might, he thought, come to him, from contact with a clever woman.
Lizzie read poetry well, and she read verses to him,--sitting very
near to him, almost in the dark, with a shaded lamp throwing its
light on her book. He was astonished to find how sweet a thing was
poetry. By himself he could never read a line, but as it came from
her lips it seemed to charm him. It was a new pleasure, and one
which, though he had ridiculed it, he had so often coveted! And
then she told him of such wondrous thoughts,--such wondrous joys
in the world which would come from thinking! He was proud, I have
said, and haughty; but he was essentially modest and humble in his
self-estimation. How divine was this creature, whose voice to him was
as that of a goddess!
Then he spoke out to her, with his face a little turned from her.
Would she be his wife? But, before she answered him, let her listen
to him. They had told him that an early death must probably be his
fate. He did not himself feel that it must be so. Sometimes he was
ill,--very ill; but often he was well. If she would run the risk with
him he would endeavour to make her such recompense as might come from
his wealth. The speech he made was somewhat long, and as he made it
he hardly looked into her face.
But it was necessary to him that he should be made to know by some
signal from her how it was going with her feelings. As he spoke of
his danger, there came a gurgling little trill of wailing from her
throat, a soft, almost musical sound of woe, which seemed to add an
unaccustomed eloquence to his words. When he spoke of his own hope
the sound was somewhat changed, but it was still continued. When he
alluded to the disposition of his fortune, she was at his feet. "Not
that," she said, "not that!" He lifted her, and with his arm round
her waist he tried to tell her what it would be his duty to do
for her. She escaped from his arm and would not listen to him.
But,--but--! When he began to talk of love again, she stood with her
forehead bowed against his bosom. Of course the engagement was then a
thing accomplished.
But still the cup might slip from her lips. Her father was now dead
but ten months, and what answer could she make when the common
pressing petition for an early marriage was poured into her ear? This
was in July, and it would never do that he should be left, unmarried,
to the rigour of another winter. She looked into his face and knew
that she had cause for fear. Oh, heavens! if all these golden hopes
should fall to the ground, and she should come to be known only as
the girl who had been engaged to the late Sir Florian! But he himself
pressed the marriage on the same ground. "They tell me," he said,
"that I had better get a little south by the beginning of October.
I won't go alone. You know what I mean;--eh, Lizzie?" Of course she
married him in September.
They spent a honeymoon of six weeks at a place he had in Scotland,
and the first blow came upon him as they passed through London, back
from Scotland, on their way to Italy. Messrs. Harter and Benjamin
sent in their little bill, which amounted to something over L400, and
other little bills were sent in. Sir Florian was a man by whom such
bills would certainly be paid, but by whom they would not be paid
without his understanding much and conceiving more as to their
cause and nature. How much he really did understand she was never
quite aware;--but she did know that he detected her in a positive
falsehood. She might certainly have managed the matter better than
she did; and had she admitted everything there might probably have
been but few words about it. She did not, however, understand the
nature of the note she had signed, and thought that simply new bills
would be presented by the jewellers to her husband. She gave a false
account of the transaction, and the lie was detected. I do not
know that she cared very much. As she was utterly devoid of true
tenderness, so also was she devoid of conscience. They went abroad,
however; and by the time the winter was half over in Naples, he knew
what his wife was;--and before the end of the spring he was dead.
She had so far played her game well, and had won her stakes. What
regrets, what remorse she suffered when she knew that he was going
from her,--and then knew that he was gone, who can say? As man is
never strong enough to take unmixed delight in good, so may we
presume also that he cannot be quite so weak as to find perfect
satisfaction in evil. There must have been qualms as she looked at
his dying face, soured with the disappointment she had brought upon
him, and listened to the harsh querulous voice that was no longer
eager in the expressions of love. There must have been some pang when
she reflected that the cruel wrong which she had inflicted on him had
probably hurried him to his grave. As a widow, in the first solemnity
of her widowhood, she was wretched and would see no one. Then she
returned to England and shut herself up in a small house at Brighton.
Lady Linlithgow offered to go to her, but she begged that she might
be left to herself. For a few short months the awe arising from the
rapidity with which it had all occurred did afflict her. Twelve
months since she had hardly known the man who was to be her husband.
Now she was a widow,--a widow very richly endowed,--and she bore
beneath her bosom the fruit of her husband's love.
But, even in these early days, friends and enemies did not hesitate
to say that Lizzie Greystock had done very well with herself; for it
was known by all concerned that in the settlements made she had been
treated with unwonted generosity.
CHAPTER II
Lady Eustace
There were circumstances in her position which made it impossible
that Lizzie Greystock,--or Lady Eustace, as we must now call
her,--should be left altogether to herself in the modest widow's
retreat which she had found at Brighton. It was then April, and it
was known that if all things went well with her, she would be a
mother before the summer was over. On what the Fates might ordain
in this matter immense interests were dependent. If a son should be
born he would inherit everything, subject, of course, to his mother's
settlement. If a daughter, to her would belong the great personal
wealth which Sir Florian had owned at the time of his death. Should
there be no son, John Eustace, the brother, would inherit the estates
in Yorkshire which had been the backbone of the Eustace wealth.
Should no child be born, John Eustace would inherit everything that
had not been settled upon or left to the widow. Sir Florian had made
a settlement immediately before his marriage, and a will immediately
afterwards. Of what he had done then, nothing had been altered in
those sad Italian days. The settlement had been very generous. The
whole property in Scotland was to belong to Lizzie for her life,--and
after her death was to go to a second son, if such second son there
should be. By the will money was left to her, more than would be
needed for any possible temporary emergency. When she knew how it was
all arranged,--as far as she did know it,--she was aware that she was
a rich woman. For so clever a woman she was infinitely ignorant as
to the possession and value of money and land and income,--though,
perhaps, not more ignorant than are most young girls under
twenty-one. As for the Scotch property,--she thought that it was her
own, for ever, because there could not now be a second son,--and yet
was not quite sure whether it would be her own at all if she had
no son. Concerning that sum of money left to her, she did not know
whether it was to come out of the Scotch property or be given to
her separately,--and whether it was to come annually or to come
only once. She had received, while still in Naples, a letter from
the family lawyer, giving her such details of the will as it was
necessary that she should know, and now she longed to ask questions,
to have her belongings made plain to her, and to realise her wealth.
She had brilliant prospects; and yet, through it all, there was a
sense of loneliness that nearly killed her. Would it not have been
much better if her husband had lived, and still worshipped her, and
still allowed her to read poetry to him? But she had read no poetry
to him after that affair of Messrs. Harter and Benjamin.
The reader has, or will have, but little to do with these days, and
may be hurried on through the twelve, or even twenty-four months
which followed the death of poor Sir Florian. The question of the
heirship, however, was very grave, and early in the month of May
Lady Eustace was visited by her husband's uncle, Bishop Eustace, of
Bobsborough. The bishop had been the younger brother of Sir Florian's
father,--was at this time a man about fifty, very active and very
popular,--and was one who stood high in the world, even among
bishops. He suggested to his niece-in-law that it was very expedient
that, during her coming hour of trial, she should not absent herself
from her husband's family, and at last persuaded her to take up her
residence at the palace at Bobsborough till such time as the event
should be over. Lady Eustace was taken to the palace, and in due time
a son was born. John, who was now the uncle of the heir, came down,
and, with the frankest good humour, declared that he would devote
himself to the little head of the family. He had been left as
guardian, and the management of the great family estates was to be in
his hands. Lizzie had read no poetry to him, and he had never liked
her, and the bishop did not like her, and the ladies of the bishop's
family disliked her very much, and it was thought by them that the
dean's people,--the Dean of Bobsborough was Lizzie's uncle,--were not
very fond of Lizzie since Lizzie had so raised herself in the world
as to want no assistance from them. But still they were bound to do
their duty by her as the widow of the late and the mother of the
present baronet. And they did not find much cause of complaining as
to Lizzie's conduct in these days. In that matter of the great family
diamond necklace,--which certainly should not have been taken to
Naples at all, and as to which the jeweller had told the lawyer and
the lawyer had told John Eustace that it certainly should not now be
detained among the widow's own private property,--the bishop strongly
recommended that nothing should be said at present. The mistake, if
there was a mistake, could be remedied at any time. And nothing in
those very early days was said about the great Eustace necklace,
which afterwards became so famous.
Why Lizzie should have been so generally disliked by the Eustaces, it
might be hard to explain. While she remained at the palace she was
very discreet,--and perhaps demure. It may be said they disliked her
expressed determination to cut her aunt, Lady Linlithgow;--for they
knew that Lady Linlithgow had been, at any rate, a friend to Lizzie
Greystock. There are people who can be wise within a certain margin,
but beyond that commit great imprudences. Lady Eustace submitted
herself to the palace people for that period of her prostration, but
she could not hold her tongue as to her future intentions. She would,
too, now and then ask of Mrs. Eustace, and even of her daughter, an
eager, anxious question about her own property. "She is dying to
handle her money," said Mrs. Eustace to the bishop. "She is only like
the rest of the world in that," said the bishop. "If she would be
really open, I wouldn't mind it," said Mrs. Eustace. None of them
liked her,--and she did not like them.
She remained at the palace for six months, and at the end of that
time she went to her own place in Scotland. Mrs. Eustace had strongly
advised her to ask her aunt, Lady Linlithgow, to accompany her,
but in refusing to do this, Lizzie was quite firm. She had endured
Lady Linlithgow for that year between her father's death and her
marriage; she was now beginning to dare to hope for the enjoyment
of the good things which she had won, and the presence of the
dowager-countess,--"the vulturess,"--was certainly not one of these
good things. In what her enjoyment was to consist, she had not as
yet quite formed a definite conclusion. She liked jewels. She liked
admiration. She liked the power of being arrogant to those around
her. And she liked good things to eat. But there were other matters
that were also dear to her. She did like music,--though it may be
doubted whether she would ever play it or even listen to it alone.
She did like reading, and especially the reading of poetry,--though
even in this she was false and pretentious, skipping, pretending to
have read, lying about books, and making up her market of literature
for outside admiration at the easiest possible cost of trouble. And
she had some dream of being in love, and would take delight even in
building castles in the air, which she would people with friends
and lovers whom she would make happy with the most open-hearted
benevolence. She had theoretical ideas of life which were not
bad,--but in practice, she had gained her objects, and she was in a
hurry to have liberty to enjoy them.
There was considerable anxiety in the palace in reference to the
future mode of life of Lady Eustace. Had it not been for that
baby-heir, of course there would have been no cause for interference;
but the rights of that baby were so serious and important that it was
almost impossible not to interfere. The mother, however, gave some
little signs that she did not intend to submit to much interference,
and there was no real reason why she should not be as free as
air. But did she really intend to go down to Port | 1,481.288928 |
2023-11-16 18:41:45.3123570 | 151 | 48 |
Produced by Janet Kegg and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The PALACE of DARKENED WINDOWS
By
MARY HASTINGS BRADLEY
AUTHOR OF "THE FAVOR OF KINGS"
ILLUSTRATED BY EDMUND FREDERICK
NEW YORK AND LONDON
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1914
[Frontispiece illustration: "'It is no use,' he repeated.
'There is no way out for you.'" (Chapter IV)]
TO
MY HUSBAND
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE EAVESDROPPER
II. THE CAPTAIN CALLS
III. AT THE | 1,481.332397 |
2023-11-16 18:41:45.7449210 | 4,340 | 12 |
Produced by sp1nd, Diane Monico, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
BEDFORD STREET, COVENT GARDEN, LONDON.
_September 1874._
_MACMILLAN & CO.'S CATALOGUE of Works in BELLES
LETTRES, including Poetry, Fiction, etc._
=Allingham.=--LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND; or, the New
Landlord. By WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. New and Cheaper Issue, with a
Preface. Fcap. 8vo. cloth. 4_s._ 6_d._
"_It is vital with the national character.... It has
something of Pope's point and Goldsmith's simplicity,
touched to a more modern issue._"--ATHENAEUM.
=An Ancient City, and other Poems.=--By A NATIVE OF SURREY.
Extra fcap. 8vo. 6_s._
=Archer.=--CHRISTINA NORTH. By E. M. ARCHER. Two vols.
Crown 8vo. 21_s._
"_The work of a clever, cultivated person, wielding a
practised pen. The characters are drawn with force and
precision, the dialogue is easy: the whole book displays
powers of pathos and humour, and a shrewd knowledge of men
and things._"--SPECTATOR.
=Arnold.=--THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS. Vol. I. NARRATIVE AND ELEGIAC
POEMS. Vol. II. DRAMATIC AND LYRIC POEMS. By MATTHEW ARNOLD. Extra
fcap. 8vo. Price 6_s._ each.
_The two volumes comprehend the First and Second Series
of the Poems, and the New Poems._ "_Thyrsis is a poem
of perfect delight, exquisite in grave tenderness of
reminiscence, rich in breadth of western light, breathing
full the spirit of gray and ancient Oxford._"--SATURDAY
REVIEW.
=Atkinson.=--AN ART TOUR TO THE NORTHERN CAPITALS OF EUROPE. By
J. BEAVINGTON ATKINSON. 8vo. 12_s._
"_We can highly recommend it; not only for the valuable
information it gives on the special subjects to which it is
dedicated, but also for the interesting episodes of travel
which are interwoven with, and lighten, the weightier
matters of judicious and varied criticism on art and
artists in northern capitals._"--ART JOURNAL.
=Baker.=--CAST UP BY THE SEA; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF NED GREY.
By SIR SAMUEL BAKER, M.A., F.R.G.S. With Illustrations by
HUARD. Fifth Edition. Crown 8vo. cloth gilt. 7_s._ 6_d._
"_An admirable tale of adventure, of marvellous incidents,
wild exploits, and terrible denouements._"--DAILY
NEWS. "_A story of adventure by sea and land in the
good old style._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE.
=Baring-Gould.=--Works by S. BARING-GOULD, M.A.:--
IN EXITU ISRAEL. An Historical Novel. Two Vols. 8vo. 21_s._
"_Full of the most exciting incidents and ably portrayed
characters, abounding in beautifully attractive
legends, and relieved by descriptions fresh, vivid, and
truth-like._"--WESTMINSTER REVIEW.
LEGENDS OF OLD TESTAMENT CHARACTERS, from the Talmud and
other sources. Two vols. Crown 8vo. 16_s._ Vol. I. Adam to
Abraham. Vol. II. Melchizedek to Zachariah.
"_These volumes contain much that is very strange, and,
to the ordinary English reader, very novel._"--DAILY
NEWS.
=Barker.=--Works by LADY BARKER:--
"_Lady Barker is an unrivalled
story-teller._"--GUARDIAN.
STATION LIFE IN NEW ZEALAND. New and Cheaper Edition. Crown
8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._
"_We have never read a more truthful or a pleasanter little
book._"--ATHENAEUM.
SPRING COMEDIES. STORIES.
CONTENTS:--A Wedding Story--A Stupid Story--A
Scotch Story--A Man's Story. Crown 8vo. 7_s._ 6_d._
"_Lady Barker is endowed with a rare and delicate gift
for narrating stories,--she has the faculty of throwing
even into her printed narrative a soft and pleasant tone,
which goes far to make the reader think the subject or the
matter immaterial, so long as the author will go on telling
stories for his benefit._"--ATHENAEUM.
STORIES ABOUT:--With Six Illustrations. Third Edition.
Extra fcap. 8vo. 4_s._ 6_d._
_This volume contains several entertaining stories about
Monkeys, Jamaica, Camp Life, Dogs, Boys, &c. "There is not
a tale in the book which can fail to please children as
well as their elders._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE.
A CHRISTMAS CAKE IN FOUR QUARTERS. With Illustrations by
JELLICOE. Second Edition. Ex. fcap. 8vo. cloth
gilt. 4_s._ 6_d._
"_Contains just the stories that children should be
told. 'Christmas Cake' is a delightful Christmas
book._"--GLOBE.
RIBBON STORIES. With Illustrations by C. O. MURRAY.
Second Edition. Extra fcap. 8vo. cloth gilt. 4_s._ 6_d._
"_We cannot too highly commend. It is exceedingly happy
and original in the plan, and the graceful fancies of
its pages, merry and pathetic turns, will be found
the best reading by girls of all ages, and by boys
too._"--TIMES.
SYBIL'S BOOK. Illustrated by S. E. WALLER. Second Edition.
Globe 8vo. gilt. 4_s._ 6_d._
"_Another of Lady Barker's delightful stories, and one of
the most thoroughly original books for girls that has been
written for many years. Grown-up readers will like it quite
as much as young people, and will even better understand
the rarity of such simple, natural, and unaffected
writing.... That no one can read the story without interest
is not its highest praise, for no one ought to be able to
lay it down without being the better girl or boy, or man or
woman, for the reading of it. Lady Barker has never turned
her fertile and fascinating pen to better account, and for
the sake of all readers we wish 'Sybil's Book's a wide
success._"--TIMES.
=Bell.=--ROMANCES AND MINOR POEMS. By HENRY GLASSFORD BELL.
Fcap. 8vo. 6_s._
"_Full of life and genius._"--COURT CIRCULAR.
=Besant.=--STUDIES IN EARLY FRENCH POETRY. By WALTER BESANT, M.A.
Crown 8vo. 8_s._ 6_d._
_The present work aims to afford information and direction
touching the early efforts of France in poetical
literature._ "_In one moderately sized volume he has
contrived to introduce us to the very best, if not to all
of the early French poets._"--ATHENAEUM.
=Betsy Lee=; A FO'C'S'LE YARN. Extra fcap. 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._
"_There is great vigour and much pathos in this
poem._"--MORNING POST.
"_We can at least say that it is the work of a true
poet._"--ATHENAEUM.
=Black (W.)=--Works by W. BLACK, Author of "A Daughter of Heth."
THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF A PHAETON. Seventh and Cheaper
Edition. Crown 8vo. 6_s._ Also, Illustrated by S. E.
WALLER, 8vo. cloth gilt. 10_s._ 6_d._
"_The book is a really charming description of a thousand
English landscapes and of the emergencies and the fun and
the delight of a picnic journey through them by a party
determined to enjoy themselves, and as well matched as
the pair of horses which drew the phaeton they sat in.
The real charm and purpose of the book is its open-air
life among hills and dales._"--TIMES. "_The
great charm of Mr. Black's book is that there is nothing
hackneyed about it, nothing overdrawn,--all is bright and
lifelike._"--MORNING POST.
A PRINCESS OF THULE. Three vols. Sixth and cheaper Edition.
Crown 8vo. 6_s._
The SATURDAY REVIEW says:--"_A novel which is
both romantic and natural, which has much feeling, without
any touch of mawkishness, which goes deep into character
without any suggestion of painful analysis--this is a rare
gem to find amongst the debris of current literature,
and this, or nearly this, Mr. Black has given us in the
'Princess of Thule.'_" "_It has, for one thing, the great
charm of novelty.... There is a picturesqueness in all that
Mr. Black writes, but scarcely even in the 'Adventures
of a Phaeton' are there the freshness and sweetness and
perfect sense of natural beauty we find in this last
book._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE. "_A beautiful and
nearly perfect story._"--SPECTATOR.
=Borland Hall.=--By the Author of "Olrig Grange." Crown 8vo. 7_s._
=Brooke.=--THE FOOL OF QUALITY; OR, THE HISTORY OF HENRY, EARL OF
MORELAND. By HENRY BROOKE. Newly revised, with a Biographical
Preface by the Rev. CHARLES KINGSLEY, M.A., Rector of Eversley.
Crown 8vo. 6_s._
=Broome.=--THE STRANGER of SERIPHOS. A Dramatic Poem. By FREDERICK
NAPIER BROOME. Fcap. 8vo. 5_s._
_Founded on the Greek legend of Danae and Perseus._
"_Grace and beauty of expression are Mr. Broome's
characteristics; and these qualities are displayed in many
passages._"--ATHENAEUM. "_The story is rendered
with consummate beauty._"--LITERARY CHURCHMAN.
=Buist.=--BIRDS, THEIR CAGES AND THEIR KEEP: Being a Practical
Manual of Bird-Keeping and Bird-Rearing. By K. A. BUIST. With
Frontispiece and other Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 5_s._
=Burnand.=--MY TIME, AND WHAT I'VE DONE WITH IT. By F. C. BURNAND.
Crown 8vo. 6_s._
=Cabinet Pictures.=--Oblong folio, price 42_s._
CONTENTS:--"_Childe Harold's Pilgrimage_"
_and_ "_The Fighting Temeraire_," _by J. M. W. Turner_;
"_Crossing the Bridge_," _by Sir W. A. Callcott_; "_The
Cornfield_," _by John Constable_; _and_ "_A Landscape_,"
_by Birket Foster. The_ DAILY NEWS _says of them_,
"_They are very beautifully executed, and might be framed
and hung up on the wall, as creditable substitutes for the
originals._"
CABINET PICTURES. A Second Series.
_Containing_:--"_The Baths of Caligula_" _and_ "_The Golden
Bough_," _by J. W. M. Turner_; "_The Little Brigand_," _by
T. Uwins_; "_The Lake of Lucerne_," _by Percival Skelton_;
"_Evening Rest_," _by E. M. Wimperis._ Oblong folio. 42_s._
=Carroll.=--Works by "LEWIS CARROLL:"--
ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND. With Forty-two Illustrations
by TENNIEL. 46th Thousand. Crown 8vo. cloth. 6_s._
A GERMAN TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. With TENNIEL'S Illustrations.
Crown 8vo. gilt. 6_s._
A FRENCH TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. With TENNIEL'S Illustrations.
Crown 8vo. gilt. 6_s._
AN ITALIAN TRANSLATION OF THE SAME. By T. P. ROSSETTE. With
TENNIEL'S Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
"_Beyond question supreme among modern books for
children._"--SPECTATOR. "_One of the choicest
and most charming books ever composed for a child's
reading._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE. "_A very pretty
and highly original book, sure to delight the little
world of wondering minds, and which may well please
those who have unfortunately passed the years of
wondering._"--TIMES.
THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS, AND WHAT ALICE FOUND THERE. With
Fifty Illustrations by TENNIEL. Crown 8vo. gilt. 6_s._
35th Thousand.
"_Quite as rich in humorous whims of fantasy, quite as
laughable in its queer incidents, as loveable for its
pleasant spirit and graceful manner, as the wondrous tale
of Alice's former adventures._"--ILLUSTRATED LONDON
NEWS. "_If this had been given to the world first it
would have enjoyed a success at least equal to 'Alice in
Wonderland._'"--STANDARD.
=Children's (The) Garland=, FROM THE BEST POETS. Selected and
arranged by COVENTRY PATMORE. New Edition. With Illustrations
by J. LAWSON. Crown 8vo. Cloth extra. 6_s._
=Christmas Carol (A).= Printed in Colours from Original Designs
by Mr. and Mrs. TREVOR CRISPIN, with Illuminated Borders from
MSS. of the 14th and 15th Centuries. Imp. 4to. cloth inlaid,
gilt edges, L3 3_s._ Also a Cheaper Edition, 21_s._
"_A most exquisitely got up volume. Legend, carol, and text
are preciously enshrined in its emblazoned pages, and the
illuminated borders are far and away the best example of
their art we have seen this Christmas. The pictures and
borders are harmonious in their colouring, the dyes are
brilliant without being raw, and the volume is a trophy of
colour-printing. The binding by Burn is in the very best
taste._"--TIMES.
=Church (A. J.)=--HORAE TENNYSONIANAE, Sive Eclogae e Tennysono
Latine redditae. Cura A. J. CHURCH, A.M. Extra fcap. 8vo. 6_s._
"_Of Mr. Church's ode we may speak in almost unqualified
praise, and the same may be said of the contributions
generally._"--PALL MALL GAZETTE.
=Clough (Arthur Hugh).=--
THE POEMS AND PROSE REMAINS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. With
a Selection from his Letters and a Memoir. Edited by his
Wife. With Portrait. Two Vols. Crown 8vo. 21_s._
"_Taken as a whole_," _the_ SPECTATOR _says_,
"_these volumes cannot fail to be a lasting monument of one
of the most original men of our age._" "_Full of charming
letters from Rome_," _says the_ MORNING STAR,
"_from Greece, from America, from Oxford, and from Rugby._"
THE POEMS OF ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH, sometime Fellow of Oriel
College, Oxford. Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 6_s._
"_From the higher mind of cultivated, all-questioning,
but still conservative England, in this our puzzled
generation, we do not know of any utterance in
literature so characteristic as the poems of Arthur Hugh
Clough._"--FRASER'S MAGAZINE.
=Clunes.=--THE STORY OF PAULINE: an Autobiography. By G. C. CLUNES.
Crown 8vo. 6_s._
"_Both for vivid delineation of character and fluent
lucidity of style, 'The Story of Pauline' is in the first
rank of modern fiction._"--GLOBE. "_Told with
delightful vivacity, thorough appreciation of life, and
a complete knowledge of character._"--MANCHESTER
EXAMINER.
=Collects of the Church of England.= With a beautifully
Floral Design to each Collect, and Illuminated Cover. Crown
8vo. 12_s._ Also kept in various styles of morocco.
"_This is beyond question_," _the_ ART JOURNAL
_says_, "_the most beautiful book of the season._" _The_
GUARDIAN _thinks it_ "_a successful attempt to
associate in a natural and unforced manner the flowers of
our fields and gardens with the course of the Christian
year._"
=Cox.=--RECOLLECTIONS OF OXFORD. By G. V. COX, M.A., late Esquire
Bedel and Coroner in the University of Oxford. Second and
cheaper Edition. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
_The_ TIMES _says that it_ "_will pleasantly
recall in many a country parsonage the memory of youthful
days._"
=Culmshire Folk.=--By IGNOTUS. Three vols. Crown 8vo. 31_s._ 6_d._
"_Its sparkling pleasantness, its drollery, its shrewdness,
the charming little bits of character which frequently
come in, its easy liveliness, and a certain chattiness
which, while it is never vulgar, brings the writer very
near, and makes one feel as if the story were being told in
lazy confidence in an hour of idleness by a man who, while
thoroughly good-natured, is strongly humorous, and has an
ever-present perception of the absurdities of people and
things._"--SPECTATOR.
=Dante.=--DANTE'S COMEDY, THE HELL. Translated by W. M. ROSSETTI.
Fcap. 8vo. cloth. 5_s._
"_The aim of this translation of Dante may be summed up
in one word--Literality. To follow Dante sentence | 1,481.764961 |
2023-11-16 18:41:45.9963280 | 1,452 | 202 |
Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, KarenD and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by Cornell University Digital Collections)
VOL. XXXV. NO. 3.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
* * * * *
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
MARCH, 1881.
_CONTENTS_:
EDITORIAL.
PARAGRAPHS 65
SENATOR BROWN ON THE EDUCATIONAL QUESTION—OVERTURE
TO THE NATIONAL COUNCIL 67
MIXED SCHOOLS 68
EXCEPTIONS AND THE RULE—CONVERSION VERSUS EDUCATION 69
INCONSIDERATE GIVING 71
THE INDIAN PROBLEM: Gen. S. C. Armstrong 72
GENERAL NOTES—Africa, Indians 74
ITEMS FROM THE FIELD 76
THE FREEDMEN.
NORTH CAROLINA, MCLEANSVILLE—Severe Winter, Good
Progress, etc. 78
GEORGIA, ATLANTA—Sequel to Begging Letter: Mrs.
T. N. Chase 79
ALABAMA, MOBILE—Emerson Institute 80
MISSISSIPPI, TOUGALOO—A Changed Home 81
TENNESSEE, NASHVILLE—Cabin, Frame House and Little
Brick 82
TEXAS, PARIS—The African Congregational Church 83
THE INDIANS.
COMMUNION SUNDAY AT HAMPTON: Miss Isabel B. Eustis 85
WOMAN’S HOME MISS. ASSOC’N
ANNOUNCEMENT 87
CHILDREN’S PAGE.
CHILD’S LETTER—A CRUMB FOR THE BOYS 89
RECEIPTS 89
AIM, STATISTICS, WANTS, ETC. 96
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
Published by the American Missionary Association,
ROOMS, 56 READE STREET.
* * * * *
Price, 50 Cents a Year, in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as second-class matter.
American Missionary Association,
56 READE STREET, N. Y.
* * * * *
PRESIDENT.
HON. E. S. TOBEY, Boston.
VICE-PRESIDENTS.
Hon. F. D. PARISH, Ohio.
Hon. E. D. HOLTON, Wis.
Hon. WILLIAM CLAFLIN, Mass.
Rev. STEPHEN THURSTON, D. D., Me.
Rev. SAMUEL HARRIS, D. D., Ct.
WM. C. CHAPIN, Esq., R. I.
Rev. W. T. EUSTIS, D. D., Mass.
Hon. A. C. BARSTOW, R. I.
Rev. THATCHER THAYER, D. D., R. I.
Rev. RAY PALMER, D. D., N. J.
Rev. EDWARD BEECHER, D. D., N. Y.
Rev. J. M. STURTEVANT, D. D., Ill.
Rev. W. W. PATTON, D. D., D. C.
Hon. SEYMOUR STRAIGHT, La.
Rev. CYRUS W. WALLACE, D. D., N. H.
Rev. EDWARD HAWES, D.D., Ct.
DOUGLAS PUTNAM, Esq., Ohio.
Hon. THADDEUS FAIRBANKS, Vt.
Rev. M. M. G. DANA, D. D., Minn.
Rev. H. W. BEECHER, N. Y.
Gen. O. O. HOWARD, Washington Ter.
Rev. G. F. MAGOUN, D. D., Iowa.
Col. C. G. HAMMOND, Ill.
EDWARD SPAULDING, M. D., N. H.
Rev. WM. M. BARBOUR, D. D., Ct.
Rev. W. L. GAGE, D. D., Ct.
A. S. HATCH, Esq., N. Y.
Rev. J. H. FAIRCHILD, D. D., Ohio.
Rev. H. A. STIMSON, Minn.
Rev. A. L. STONE, D. D., California.
Rev. G. H. ATKINSON, D. D., Oregon.
Rev. J. E. RANKIN, D. D., D. C.
Rev. A. L. CHAPIN, D. D., Wis.
S. D. SMITH, Esq., Mass.
Dea. JOHN C. WHITIN, Mass.
Hon. J. B. GRINNELL, Iowa.
Rev. HORACE WINSLOW, Ct.
Sir PETER COATS, Scotland.
Rev. HENRY ALLON, D. D., London, Eng.
WM. E. WHITING, Esq., N. Y.
J. M. PINKERTON, Esq., Mass.
E. A. GRAVES, Esq., N. J.
Rev. F. A. NOBLE, D. D., Ill.
DANIEL HAND, Esq., Ct.
A. L. WILLISTON, Esq., Mass.
Rev. A. F. BEARD, D. D., N. Y.
FREDERICK BILLINGS, Esq., Vt.
JOSEPH CARPENTER, Esq., R. I.
Rev. E. P. GOODWIN, D.D., Ill.
Rev. C. L. GOODELL, D.D., Mo.
J. W. SCOVILLE, Esq., Ill.
E. W. BLATCHFORD, Esq., Ill.
C. D. TALCOTT, Esq., Ct.
Rev. JOHN K. MCLEAN, D.D., Cal.
Rev. RICHARD CORDLEY, D.D., Kansas.
Rev. W. H. WILLCOX, D. D., Mass.
Rev. G. B. WILLCOX, D. D., Ill.
| 1,482.016368 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.0107460 | 976 | 6 |
Produced by David Edwards, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
The Lost Kitty.
BY AUNT HATTIE,
AUTHOR OF "BROOKSIDE SERIES," ETC.
"In everything give thanks."--Paul.
BOSTON:
HENRY A. YOUNG & CO.,
24 CORNHILL.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
REV. A. R. BAKER.
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of
Massachusetts.
To
NELLIE, ROLAND COTTON, ANNIE, AND FULLER APPLETON,
CHILDREN OF MY BELOVED NEPHEW,
THE REV. JOHN COTTON SMITH, D.D.,
THESE SMALL VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
WITH THE EARNEST PRAYER
THAT THEIR LIVES MAY PROVE THEM TO BE LAMBS IN THE FOLD
OF THE GREAT AND GOOD
Shepherd of Israel.
CONTENTS.
Page
CHAPTER I.
THE MALTESE KITTY, 11
CHAPTER II.
NO THANKS, 22
CHAPTER III.
THE SABBATH SCHOOL, 32
CHAPTER IV.
THE DRUNKARD, 44
CHAPTER V.
THE UNGRATEFUL SON, 57
CHAPTER VI.
THE STRANGE VISITOR, 68
CHAPTER VII.
FINDING A PLACE, 79
CHAPTER VIII.
THE GRATEFUL DOG, 90
THE LOST KITTY.
CHAPTER I.
THE MALTESE KITTY.
"O Hatty! see that pretty kitty! I wonder where she came from."
Fred Carleton walked softly toward the puss, his hand outstretched,
calling, "Kitty, pretty kitty," until he had her in his arms.
His sister Hatty took her hands from the dish-water, wiped them on
the roller, and came toward him.
"Why Fred!" she exclaimed, "that's Ned Perry's kitty. Clara says it's
a real Maltese. They'll feel dreadfully when they know it's lost."
"I wish they wouldn't mind," said Fred, caressing the puss; "see how
she loves me! I'd like to keep her so much."
"But would you have Ned, who is a roguish boy, catch one of your
bantams and keep it? You'd call that stealing."
Fred sighed. "But I didn't go to catch her, Hatty; she came right into
the door. I think that's different."
"Perhaps she is hungry."
"O Hatty! may I try her with some milk?"
"Yes," she answered, laughing at his eagerness. "Pour some into a
saucer from the pitcher in the closet, and see whether she will drink
it."
He was rewarded by the sight of pussy lapping up the milk.
"I do believe kitty is thanking me," he said, laughing and clapping
his hands. "See how she keeps looking up! I never saw a kitty do so
before."
Puss did, indeed, seem to be grateful. She lapped away at the milk
with great eagerness, and then she would look in the face of her
benefactor, and utter a soft little mew.
[Illustration: PUSSY LAPPING THE MILK. Page 14.]
"Frederick," called out Mrs. Carleton from the head of the stairs,
"isn't it time for you to go to school?"
"It's Saturday, ma; I don't go to-day."
"Oh, I forgot," she said; "well, come up here a minute."
Fred obeyed, carrying kitty in his arms.
"What a pretty puss!" his mother exclaimed; "where did you find her?"
Fred, standing very erect and firm, told all the circumstances
relating to his new friend, and then asked,--
"What shall I do with her?"
"Carry her to Mrs. Perry, to be sure."
"But it's a long walk, and it's awful muddy, ma. Couldn't I let her
stay here, and tell Ned at Sabbath school?"
"Is that the way you would like Ned to do, if the kitty were yours?
Perhaps he is looking everywhere for her now, and mourning because his
pet is lost."
| 1,482.030786 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.1691640 | 389 | 9 |
Produced by Rose Mawhorter 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
All obvious spelling errors have been corrected.
The Greek word Ὠθεὰ has been corrected to Ὠ θεὰ.
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS
_General Editors_: +S. E. Winbolt+, M.A., and +Kenneth Bell+, M.A.
YORK AND LANCASTER
BELL'S ENGLISH HISTORY SOURCE BOOKS.
_Volumes now Ready, 1s. net each._
=449-1066.= =The Welding of the Race.= Edited by the Rev.
+John Wallis+, M.A.
=1066-1154.= =The Normans in England.= Edited by +A. E.
Bland+, M.A.
=1154-1216.= =The Angevins and the Charter.= Edited by
+S. M. Toyne+, M.A.
=1216-1307.= =The Growth of Parliament, and the War with
Scotland.= Edited by +W. D. Robieson+, M.A.
=1307-1399.= =War and Misrule.= Edited by +A. A.
Locke+.
=1399-1485.= =York and Lancaster.= Edited by +W. Garmon
Jones+, M.A.
=1485-1547.= =The Reformation and the Renaissance.= Edited
by +F. W. Bewsher+, B.A.
=1547-1603.= =The Age of Elizabeth.= Edited by +Arundell
Esdaile+, M.A.
=1603-1660 | 1,482.189204 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.1964140 | 2,124 | 6 | 6)***
E-text prepared by Louise Hope, Chris Curnow, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/pastonlettersad04gairuoft
Project Gutenberg has the other volumes of this work.
Volume I: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43348
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40989
Volume III: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41024
Volume V: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42239
Volume VI, Part 1 (Letters, Chronological Table): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42240
Volume VI, Part 2 (Index): see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42494
Transcriber's note:
The Gairdner edition of the Paston Letters was printed in six
volumes. Each volume is a separate e-text; Volume VI is further
divided into two e-texts, Letters and Index. Volume I, the
General Introduction, will be released after all other volumes,
matching the original publication order.
Except for footnotes and sidenotes, all brackets are in the
original, as are parenthetical question marks and (_sic_)
notations. Series of dots representing damaged text are as in
the printed original.
The year was shown in a sidenote at the top of each page; this
has been merged with the sidenote at the beginning of each
Letter or Abstract.
A carat character is used to denote superscription. The
character(s) following the carat is superscripted (example:
vj^ti). Braces { } are used only when the superscripted
text is immediately followed by non-superscripted letters
or period (full stop). Errata and other transcriber's notes
are shown in [[double brackets]]. "(o)" is used to represent
the male ordinal.
Footnotes have their original numbering, with added page
number to make them usable with the full Index. They are
grouped at the end of each Letter or Abstract.
Typographical errors are listed at the end of each Letter,
after the footnotes. In the primary text, errors were only
corrected if they are clearly editorial, such as missing
italics, or mechanical, such as u-for-n misprints. Italic
"d" misprinted as "a" was a recurring problem, especially
in Volume IV. The word "invisible" means that there is
an appropriately sized blank space, but the letter or
punctuation mark itself is missing.
The spelling "Jhon" is not an error. Gresham and Tresham
are different people. Conversely, the inconsistent spelling
of the name "Lipyate" or "Lipgate" in footnotes is
unchanged. In this volume, the spelling "apostyle" for
"apostille" is used consistently.
Note that the printed book used z to represent original small
letter yogh. This has not been changed for the e-text.
This edition, published by arrangement with Messrs. ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE
AND COMPANY, LIMITED, is strictly limited to 650 copies for Great
Britain and America, of which only 600 sets are for sale, and are
numbered 1 to 600.
No. 44.
[[The number 44 is handwritten.]]
* * * * *
* * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
* * * *
* * * * *
THE PASTON LETTERS
A.D. 1422-1509
New Complete Library Edition
Edited with Notes and an Introduction
by
JAMES GAIRDNER
of the Public Record Office
_VOLUME IV_
London
Chatto & Windus
[Decoration]
Exeter
James G. Commin
1904
Edinburgh: T. and A. CONSTABLE, Printers to His Majesty
THE PASTON LETTERS
_Edward IV_
488
MARGARET PASTON TO JOHN PASTON[1.1]
_A Lettre to J. Paston, Armig., from his wife, shewing his imprisonment
in the Fleete._[1.2]
[Sidenote: 1461 / NOV. 2]
Ryth worchepfull husbond, I recomand me to yow. Plesyt yow to wet that I
receyvyd yowyr lettyr that ye sent me by John Holme on Wednysday last
past, and also I receyvvd a nothyr lettyr on Fryday at nyt, that ye sent
me by Nycolas Newmanys man, of the whyche lettyrs I thanc yow; for I
schold ellys a' thowt that it had be wers with yow than it hathe be, or
schal be, by the grace of Almyty God. And yet I kowd not be mery, sethyn
I had the last lettyr tyll thys day that the Meyir sent to me, and sent
me werd that he had knowlege for very trowthe that ye wer delyveryd owt
of the Flet, and that Howard was comytyd to ward for dyvers gret
compleynts that wer mad to the Kyng of hym. It was talkyd in Norwyche
and in dyvers othyr plasys in the contre on Saterday last past, that ye
wer comytyd to Flet, and in good feyth, as I herd sey, the pepyle was
ryth sory ther of, bothe of Norwyche and in the contre. Ye ar ryth myche
bownde to thank God, and all tho that love yow, that ye have so gret
love of the pepyll as ye have. Ye ar myche behold to the Meyir[2.1] and
to Gylberd,[2.2] and to dyvers othyr of the aldyrmen, for feythfully
they owe yow good wyll to ther porys.
I have spoke with Syr Thomas Howys for swyche thyngys as ye wrot to me
for, and he promysyd me that he schold labour it aftyr yowyr intent as
fast as he kowd; and in good feyth, as my brodyr and Playter kan tell
yow, as be hys seying to us, he is and wole be feythfull to yow. And as
for Wylliam Wyrcestyr, he hathe be set so up on the hone, what by the
parson and by othyr, as my brodyr and Playter schall telle yow, that
they hope he wole do well i now. The parson seyd ryth well and pleynly
to hym. The parson tolde me that he had spook with Syr Wylliam
Chambyrleyn,[2.3] and with hys wyfe, and he thynkyth that they wole do
well i now aftyr yowyr intent, so that they be plesantly intretyd. The
parson tolde me that he wyst well that Syr Wylliam Chambyrleyn cowd do
more ese in swyche matyers as ye wrot of, towchyng my Lord of
Bedford,[2.4] than ony man kowd do that leveyth at thys day. Also he
tolde me that he felt by hem that they wold owe yow ryth good wyll, so
that ye wold owe hem good wyll. The parson hopyth verily to make yow
acordyd when he comyth to London.
Item, my brodyr and Playter wer with Calthorp[3.1] to inquer of the
mater that ye wrot to me of. What answer he gave hem, they schall tell
yow. I sent the Parson of Heylysdon[3.2] to Gurnay[3.3] to spek to hym
of the same mater, and he seyth feythefully ther was no swyche thyng
desyiryd of hym, and thow it had be desyiryd, he wold nowthyr a' seyd
nor done a yens yow. He seyd he had ever fownde you lovyng and feythfull
to hym, and so he seyd he wold be to yow to hys power, and desyiryng me
that I wold not thynk hym the contrary. As for John Gros, he is at
Slole; ther for he myth not be spok with.
I pray yow that ye wole send me word whedyr ye wole that I schall remeve
frome hens, for it begynyth to wax a cold abydyng her. Syr Thomas Howys
and John Rus schall make an end of all thyngys aftyr yowyr intent, as
myche as they can do ther in this wek, and he purposyth to come forward
to yow on the Monday next aftyr Seynt | 1,482.216454 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.2590160 | 1,748 | 58 | ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*JOHN HERRING*
_A WEST OF ENGLAND ROMANCE_
BY SABINE BARING-GOULD
AUTHOR OF 'MEHALAH'
IN THREE VOLUMES
VOL. II.
LONDON
SMITH, ELDER, & CO, 15 WATERLOO PLACE
1883
[All rights reserved]
*CONTENTS*
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER
XXI. The Cub
XXII. Moonshine and Diamonds
XXIII. Paste
XXIV. The Oxenham Arms
XXV. A Levee
XXVI. The Shekel
XXVII. Cobbledick's Rheumatics
XXVIII. Caught in the Act
XXIX. A Race
XXX. Between Cup and Lip
XXXI. Joyce's Patient
XXXII. Destitute
XXXIII. Transformation
XXXIV. Herring's Stockings
XXXV. Beggary
XXXVI. Mirelle's Guests
XXXVII. A Second Summons
XXXVIII. A Virgin Martyr
XXXIX. Welltown
XL. Noel! Noel!
*JOHN HERRING.*
*CHAPTER XXI.*
*THE CUB.*
Mirelle was conscious of a change in Trecarrel towards her. She ceased
to engross his attentions, which were now directed towards Orange. She
could not recall anything she had said or done that would account for
this change. When the Captain was alone with her, he was full of
sympathy and tenderness as before, but this was only when they were
alone. Trecarrel argued with himself that it would be unfair and
ungentlemanly to throw her over abruptly. He would lower her into the
water little by little, but the souse must come eventually. Some of the
martyrs were let down inch by inch into boiling pitch, others were cast
in headlong, and the fate of the latter was the preferable, and the
judge who sentenced to it was the most humane. Mirelle suffered. For
the first time in her life her heart had been roused, and it threw out
its fibres towards Trecarrel for support. She was young, an exile,
among those who were no associates, and he was the only person to whom
she could disclose her thoughts and with whom she could converse as an
equal. He had met her with warmth and with assurances of sympathy. Of
late he had drawn back, and she had been left entirely to herself,
whilst his attention was engrossed by Orange Tramplara.
But Orange, with no small spice of vindictiveness in her nature, urged
the Captain to show civility to Mirelle. She knew the impression
Trecarrel had made on her cousin's heart, and, now that she was sure of
the Captain, she was ready to encourage him to play with and torture her
rival. Women are only cruel to their own sex, and towards them they are
remorseless.
'Do speak to Mirelle, she is so lonely. She does not get on with us.
She does not understand our ways, she is Frenchified,' said Orange, with
an amiable smile. The Captain thought this very kind of his betrothed,
and was not slow to avail himself of the permission. Nevertheless,
Mirelle perceived the insincerity of his profession. She was unaware of
the engagement. This had not been talked about, and was by her
unsuspected. Orange was well aware of the fascination exerted over
Trecarrel by Mirelle: she knew that her own position with him had been
threatened, almost lost. She was unable to forgive her cousin for her
unconscious rivalry. She did not attempt to forgive her. She sought the
surest means of punishing her. Mirelle was uneasy and unhappy. She
considered all that had passed between her and Trecarrel. He had not
professed more than fraternal affection, but his manner had implied more
than his words had expressed. She became silent and abstracted, not more
than usual towards the Trampleasures, for she had never spoken more than
was necessary to them, nor had opened to them in the least, but silent
before Trecarrel, and abstracted from her work at all times. The frank
confidence she had accorded him was withdrawn, their interchange of
ideas interrupted. She found herself now with no one to whom she could
unfold, and she suffered the more acutely for having allowed herself to
open at all. She began now to wish that John Herring were nearer, and
to suspect that she had not treated him with sufficient consideration.
Mirelle was not jealous of Orange: she was surprised that Captain
Trecarrel should find attractions in her. Mirelle had formed her own
conception of her cousin's character; she thought her to be generous,
warm, and impulsive; coarse in mind and feeling, but yet kindly. How
could a gentleman such as the Captain find charms in such a person?
Mirelle did not see the money, nor did she measure correctly the
character of Orange.
About this time young Sampson Tramplara began to annoy her with his
attentions, offered uncouthly. The youth was perfectly satisfied with
himself, he believed himself to be irresistible and his manner to be
accomplished. He was wont to chuck chambermaids under the chin, and to
lounge over the bar flirting with the 'young lady' at the tap, but was
unaccustomed to the society of ladies, and felt awkward in their
presence.
Mirelle at once allured and repelled him. He could not fail to admire
her beauty, but he was unable to attain ease of manner in her presence.
She seemed to surround herself with an atmosphere of frost that chilled
him when he ventured near. After a while, when the first unfamiliarity
had worn off, through meeting frequently at meals and in the evenings,
he attempted to force himself on her notice by bragging of his doings
with dogs and horses, addressing himself to his father and mother, but
keeping an eye on Mirelle and observing the effect produced on her mind
by his exploits.
After that he ventured to address her; to admire her embroidery, her
tinsel flowers, her cut-paper lace, and to pass coarse flatteries on
them and her; and when this only froze her into frostier stiffness, to
attempt to take her by storm, by rollicking fun and insolent
familiarities.
He was hurt by the way in which she ignored him. He never once caught
her eye when telling his best hunting exploits. His raciest jokes did
not provoke a smile on her lips. He could extract from her no words
save cold answers to pointed questions.
Her position in the house became daily less endurable, and she could see
no means of escape from it. She had appealed to her guardian to allow
her to return to the convent of the Sacred Heart, but had met with a
peremptory refusal. A fluttering hope had sprung up that Trecarrel
might be her saviour, a hope scarce formulated, indistinctly existing,
but now that had died away.
Once she appealed to Mr. Trampleasure against his son. She begged that
he would insist on young Sampson refraining from causing her annoyance
by his impertinence. But she obtained no redress. 'My dear missie! the
boy is a good boy, full of spirit. He comes of the right stuff--true
Trampleasure, girl! We don't set up to Carrara marble here. You must
treat him in the right way. Flip him over the nose with your knitting
pins, or run your needle into | 1,482.279056 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.2590660 | 7,436 | 16 |
Produced by Bryan Ness, Emmanuel Ackerman, extra images
from The Internet Archive (TIA) and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)
Transcriber's Note:
Words which were in italics in the original book are surrounded by
underlines (_italic_). Words which were originally printed in small
caps are in all caps. Obvious misprints have been fixed. Archaic and
unusual words, spellings and styling have been maintained. Details of
the changes are in the Detailed Transcriber's Notes at the end of the
book.
FRUITS
OF THE
HAWAIIAN ISLANDS
BY
GERRIT PARMILE WILDER
(REVISED EDITION, INCLUDING VOL. 1, 1906.)
ILLUSTRATED BY ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-ONE HALF-TONE
PLATES WITH DESCRIPTIONS OF SAME
Copyright December 1906, December 1911
GERRIT PARMILE WILDER
HONOLULU, T. H.
PUBLISHED BY THE HAWAIIAN GAZETTE CO., LTD.
1911
INDEX
Preface 5
Persea gratissima, Avocado, Palta or Alligator Pear, Plate I 7
Persea gratissima, Avocado, Plate II 9
Persea gratissima, Guatamala Avocado, Plate III 11
Punica Granatum, Pomegranate, Plate IV 13
Ficus Carica (common var.), Fig, Plate V 15
Ficus Carica, Fig, Plate VI 17
Ficus Carica (white or lemon var.), Fig, Plate VII 19
Jambosa malaccensis, Mountain Apple or "Ohia Ai," Plate VIII 21
Jambosa sp., Water Apple, Plate IX 23
Jambosa sp. (white var.), Water Apple, Plate X 25
Jambosa sp. (red var.), Water Apple, Plate XI 27
Eugenia Jambos, Rose Apple, Plate XII 29
Eugenia brasiliensis, Brazilian Plum or Spanish Cherry, Plate XIII 31
Eugenia uniflora, French Cherry, Plate XIV 33
Eugenia sp., Plate XV 35
Syzygium Jambolana, Java Plum, Plate XVI 37
Syzygium Jambolana (small variety), Java Plum, Plate XVII 39
Averrhoa Carambola, Plate XVIII 41
Achras Sapota, Sapodilla or Naseberry, Plate XIX 43
Casimiroa edulis, White Sapodilla, Plate XX 45
Prunus Persica, Peach, Plate XXI 47
Chrysophyllum Cainito (purple var.), Star Apple, Plate XXII 49
Chrysophyllum Cainito (white var.), Star Apple, Plate XXIII 51
Chrysophyllum monopyrenum, Plate XXIV 53
Mimusops Elengi, Plate XXV 55
Spondias dulcis, "Wi," Plate XXVI 57
Spondias lutea, Hog Plum, Plate XXVII 59
Mammea Americana, Mammee Apple, Plate XXVIII 61
Tamarindus indica, Tamarind, Plate XXIX 63
Durio zibethinus, Durion, Plate XXX 65
Coffea arabica, Arabian Coffee, Plate XXXI 67
Coffea liberica, Liberian Coffee, Plate XXXII 69
Clausena Wampi, Wampi, Plate XXXIII 71
Physalis peruviana, Cape Gooseberry or "Poha," Plate XXXIV 73
Carica Papaya, Papaya (fruit, female tree), Plate XXXV 75
Carica Papaya, Papaya (fruit, male tree), Plate XXXVI 77
Carica quercifolia, Plate XXXVII 79
Citrus Japonica (var. "Hazara"), Chinese Orange, Plate XXXVIII 81
Citrus Japonica, Kumquat, Plate XXXIX 83
Citrus Nobilis, Mandarin Orange, Plate XL 85
Citrus medica limetta, Lime, Plate XLI 87
Citrus medica limonum, Lemon, Plate XLII 89
Citrus medica (var. limonum), Rough-skin Lemon, Plate XLIII 91
Citrus Aurantium Sinense, Waialua Orange, Plate XLIV 93
Citrus Aurantium, Bahia or Washington Navel Orange, Plate XLV 95
Citrus Decumana, Pomelo or Shaddock (pear-shaped var.), Plate XLVI 97
Citrus Decumana, Pomelo or Shaddock (round var.), Plate XLVII 99
Artocarpus incisa, Breadfruit (Hawaiian var.) or "Ulu," Plate XLVIII 101
Artocarpus incisa, Breadfruit (Samoan var.), Plate XLIX 103
Artocarpus incisa, Breadfruit (Tahitian var.), Plate L 105
Artocarpus incisa, Fertile Breadfruit, Plate LI 107
Artocarpus integrifolia, Jack Fruit, Plate LII 109
Anona muricata, Sour Sop, Plate LIII 111
Anona Cherimolia, Cherimoyer, Plate LIV 113
Anona reticulata, Custard Apple, Plate LV 115
Anona squamosa, Sugar Apple or Sweet Sop, Plate LVI 117
Psidium Guayava pomiferum, Common Guava, Plate LVII 119
Psidium Guayava, Sweet Red Guava, Plate LVIII 121
Psidium Guayava, White Lemon Guava, Plate LIX 123
Psidium Guayava pyriferum, "Waiawi," Plate LX 125
Psidium Cattleyanum, Strawberry Guava, Plate LXI 127
Psidium Cattleyanum (var. lucidum), Plate LXII 129
Psidium molle, Plate LXIII 131
Mangifera indica, Mango, Plate LXIV 133
Mangifera indica, Manini Mango, Plate LXV 135
Mangifera indica, No. 9 Mango, Plate LXVI 137
Musa (var.), Banana or "Maia," Plate LXVII 139
Morinda citrifolia, "Noni," Plate LXVIII 141
Vaccinium reticulatum, "Ohelo," Plate LXIX 143
Solanum pimpinellifolium, Currant Tomato, Plate LXX 145
Solanum Lycopersicum, Grape Tomato, Plate LXX 145
Solanum nodiflorum, "Popolo," Plate LXXI 147
Aleurites moluccana, Candlenut Tree or "Kukui Nut," Plate LXXII 149
Terminalia Catappa, Tropical Almond or "Kamani," Plate LXXIII 151
Calophyllum inophyllum "Kamani," Plate LXXIV 153
Noronhia emarginata, Plate LXXV 155
Castanea sativa, Japanese Chestnut, Plate LXXVI 157
Inocarpus edulis, Tahitian Chestnut, Plate LXXVII 159
Canarium commune, Canary Nut, Plate LXXVIII 161
Canarium commune, Canary Nut (round var.), Plate LXXIX 163
Macadamia ternifolia, Queensland Nut, Plate LXXX 165
Macadamia sp., Plate LXXXI 167
Aegle Marmelos, Bhel or Bael Fruit, Plate LXXXII 169
Diospyros decandra, Brown Persimmon, Plate LXXXIII 171
Lucuma Rivicoa, Plate LXXXIV 173
Eriobotrya Japonica, Loquat, Plate LXXXV 175
Litchi Chinensis, "Lichee," Plate LXXXVI 177
Euphoria Longana, Longan, Plate LXXXVII 179
Morus nigra, Mulberry, Plate LXXXVIII 181
Garcinia mangostana, Mangosteen, Plate LXXXIX 183
Garcinia Xanthochymus, Plate XC 185
Bunchosia sp., Plate XCI 187
Malpighia glabra, Barbados Cherry, Plate XCII 189
Theobroma Cacao, Cocoa or Chocolate Tree, Plate XCIII 191
Hibiscus Sabdariffa, Roselle, Plate XCIV 193
Monstera deliciosa, Plate XCV 195
Anacardium occidentale, Cashew Nut, Plate XCVI 197
Ziziphus Jujuba, "Jujube," Plate XCVII 199
Phyllanthus emblica, Plate XCVIII 201
Phyllanthus distichus, Otaheiti Gooseberry, Plate XCIX 203
Olea Europea, Olive, Plate C 205
Vitis Labrusca, "Isabella Grape," Plate CI 207
Pyrus Sinensis, Sand pear, Plate CII 209
Passiflora quadrangularis, Granadilla Vine, Plate CIII 211
Passiflora edulis, Purple Water Lemon or "Lilikoi," Plate CIV 213
Passiflora laurifolia, Yellow Water Lemon, Plate CV 215
Passiflora alata, Plate CVI 217
Passiflora var. foetida, Plate CVII 219
Cereus triangularis, Night-blooming Cereus, Plate CVIII 221
Kigelia pinnata, Sausage Tree, Plate CIX 223
Phoenix dactylifera, The Date Palm, Plate CX 225
Phoenix dactylifera, Date (red and yellow var.), Plate CXI 227
Acrocomia sp., Plate CXII 229
Cocos nucifera, Cocoanut Palm or "Niu," Plate CXIII 231
Cordia collococca, Clammy Cherry, Plate CXIV 233
Flacourtia cataphracta, Plate CXV 235
Atalantia buxifolia, Plate CXVI 237
Bumelia sp., Plate CXVII 239
Ochrosia elliptica, Plate CXVIII 241
Ananas sativus, Pineapple, Plate CXIX 243
Opuntia Tuna, Prickly Pear or "Panini," Plate CXX 245
Prosopis juliflora, Algaroba or "Kiawe," Plate CXXI 247
PREFACE
My original intention with regard to this work, was to publish it in a
series of three volumes; and to that end, the first volume was presented
to the public in 1906.
Since that time, however, I have deemed it advisable, for various
reasons, to incorporate all my data in one volume.
I desire to acknowledge my indebtedness for help in my researches, to
various works on Horticulture, and to many of my personal friends who
have given me valuable assistance.
I trust that this work will prove of some interest, as I believe that it
contains a fairly comprehensive list of both the indigenous and
naturalized Fruits of the Hawaiian Islands.
GERRIT PARMILE WILDER.
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE I
_Persea gratissima._
AVOCADO, PALTA OR ALLIGATOR PEAR.
Grown in the garden of Gerrit Wilder.
[Illustration: PLATE I.--_Avocado._]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE II
_Persea gratissima._
AVOCADO.
This spreading evergreen tree is a native of Tropical America. In the
Hawaiian Islands, the first trees of its kind were said to have been
planted in Pauoa Valley, Oahu, by Don Marin. It attains a height of from
10 to 40 feet, and is adverse to drought. Its leaves are
elliptico-oblong, from 4 to 7 inches in length. The flowers are
greenish-yellow and downy. The fruit, which ripens from June until
November, is a round or pear-shaped drupe, covered with a thin, rather
tough skin, which is either green or purple in color. The flesh is
yellow, firm and marrow-like, and has a delicious nutty flavor. The
seed-cavity is generally large, containing one round or oblong seed,
covered by a thin, brown, parchment-like skin. The quality of the pear
is judged, not only by its flavor, but by the presence or absence of
strings or fibre in the meat, and also by the quantity of flesh as
compared to the size of the seed. Innumerable variations as to size,
shape, and quality have been produced from seedlings--some of which may
be seen in the accompanying illustration. The Avocado is easily
reproduced by budding and grafting, and the best varieties may be
obtained in this manner.
[Illustration: PLATE II.--_Avocado._
One third natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE III
_Persea gratissima._
GUATAMALA AVOCADO.
This variety is a native of Mexico, and although known as the Guatamala
Avocado, it is more commonly to be found in the markets of the City of
Mexico. Its leaves are purplish-green. The flowers, which appear in May
and June, are like those of the preceding variety; and the drupe, which
matures in the early part of the year, has a long stem. This fruit is
round, from 3 to 5 inches in diameter, has a thick, tough, rough rind,
which when ripe is a deep claret color, and the meat, which is a
golden-yellow, is tinged with purple next to the rind, and is free from
strings or fibres. There are but two trees of this variety bearing fruit
in Honolulu. They were propagated from seeds brought here in 1890 by
Admiral Beardsley. These two trees are growing in private gardens.
[Illustration: PLATE III.--_Guatamala Avocado._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE IV
_Punica Granatum._
POMEGRANATE.
The name was derived from the word punicus, of Carthage, near which city
it is said to have been discovered; hence malumpunicum, Apple of
Carthage, which was the early name of the Pomegranate. It is a native of
Northern Africa, and of Southwestern Asia, and is grown in the Himalayas
up to an elevation of 6000 feet. It is a deciduous shrub, which by
careful training can be made to grow into a tree from 10 to 15 feet
high. Many shoots spring from the base of the tree, and should be cut
away, as they draw the sap which should go to the fruit-bearing stems.
The branches are slender, twiggy, nearly cylindrical, and somewhat
thorny. The bark contains about 32 per cent. tannin, and is used for
dying the yellow Morocco leather. The peel of the fruit serves also as a
dye. There are several varieties of Pomegranate growing in Hawaii: the
double-flowering variety is popular as an ornamental plant. All of the
varieties are of easy culture, and are readily propagated by means of
cuttings of the ripe wood. The leaves are lanceolate, glabrous, and a
glossy-green with red veins. The flowers are axillary, solitary or in
small clusters, and in color are a very showy rich orange-red. The fruit
is about the size of an ordinary orange, has a persistent calyx, and is
made up of many small compartments arranged in two series, one above the
other. The crisp, sweet, watery pink pulp enveloping each seed is the
edible portion of the Pomegranate.
[Illustration: PLATE IV.--_Pomegranate._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE V
_Ficus Carica_ (common variety).
FIG.
The Fig is the most ancient, as well as one of the most valuable of all
fruit trees. Its name is nearly the same in all European languages. The
tree is supposed to be a native of Caria in Asia Minor. The intelligent
cultivators of Anatolia, by whom the Smyrna Figs are produced, adhere to
the caprification process, used from time immemorial. In California,
efforts have been made to test this process. In the Hawaiian Islands,
the Portuguese seem to be the most successful cultivators of the Fig,
and several varieties are to be found throughout the group. This common
variety grows to a height of from 10 to 20 feet, is hardy, and can
easily be propagated from cuttings. Its leaves are alternate, 3 to 5
deeply lobed, and are shed during the fall months, at which season
careful pruning will increase the following year's yield. The fruit is
single, appearing from the axils of the leaves, on the new wood. It is a
hollow, pear-shaped receptacle, containing many minute seeds, scattered
throughout a soft, pinkish-white pulp.
[Illustration: PLATE V.--_Fig._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE VI
_Ficus Carica._
FIG.
Some years ago, this variety of Fig was to be found growing in large
numbers at Makawao, and in the Kula district of Maui. Now, however,
there are few, if any, trees remaining, as a destructive blight,
together with the lack of proper attention, has caused their
extermination. This variety is very prolific. The fruit is small,
pear-shaped, and has a particularly sweet and delicious flavor.
[Illustration: PLATE VI.--_Fig._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE VII
_Ficus Carica_ (white or lemon variety).
FIG.
This is a low-growing tree with compact foliage. The leaves are small,
and the fruit is round-turbinate, about 1 to 11/2 inches in diameter. The
skin is very thin, is light-green in color, turning to a greenish-yellow
when thoroughly ripe. The pulp is pink, very sweet, and when quite ripe
is free from milky juice. This variety is also prolific, is easily
dried, and on this account would find a ready sale in our markets.
[Illustration: PLATE VII.--_Fig._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE VIII
_Jambosa malaccensis._
MOUNTAIN APPLE, "OHIA AI."
This tree is found on all the large islands of the Polynesian groups,
and in the Malaysian Archipelago. In the Hawaiian Islands it confines
itself almost entirely to the moist, shady valleys, and thrives well, up
to an elevation of 1800 feet. It is generally gregarious, and on the
north side of East Maui it forms a forest belt. It attains a height of
from 25 to 50 feet. Its dark, shiny, glabrous leaves are opposite,
elliptico-oblong, and from 6 to 7 inches long, and from 21/2 to 3 inches
broad. The flowers are crimson, fluffy balls, appearing in March and
April, on the naked branches and upper trunk of the tree. The fruit,
which ripens from July until December, generally contains one seed, is
obovate, about 3 inches in diameter. The skin is so thin as to be barely
perceptible, and the fruit is very easily bruised. In color, it is a
deep, rich crimson, shading into pink and white; the pulp is firm,
white, and juicy, with a very agreeable flavor.
[Illustration: PLATE VIII.--_Mountain Apple._
One third natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE IX
_Jambosa sp._ (Solomon Island variety).
WATER APPLE.
This low-growing tree is very rare in the Hawaiian Islands. It was
introduced here, from the Solomon Islands, by Mr. A. Jaeger. The foliage
and crimson flowers resemble those of the _Jambosa malaccensis_, but the
drupe is not so highly, and is, in shape, much more elongated.
Specimens of this sweet, edible fruit have measured 5 inches in length.
[Illustration: PLATE IX.--_Water Apple._
One fourth natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE X
_Jambosa sp._ (white variety).
WATER APPLE.
This tree is a native of the Malay Islands. The foliage is symmetrical,
and its opposite, shiny leaves are broad, lanceolate, and
obtusely-acuminate. The pure white flowers, which bloom from March until
June, are about 1/2-inch in diameter, and are produced in bunches on the
naked branches. The fruit, which is also produced in bunches, ripens in
October. It is transversely oval in shape, about 1 to 11/2 inches in
diameter at its largest end. It contains from 1 to 3 seeds. Even when
quite ripe, the fruit remains pure white in color, and has a tart,
insipid flavor.
[Illustration: PLATE X.--_Water Apple._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XI
_Jambosa sp._ (red variety).
WATER APPLE.
This low-growing tree with its bright evergreen foliage, is not common
in Hawaii. The flowers are small, deep crimson, and appear on the
branches either singly or in bunches. The contrast between these
brilliant flowers and the fresh green leaves makes a very beautiful
sight when the tree is in full bloom. The fruit, which ripens in July,
appears in clusters; it is the same shape as that of the preceding
variety, but in color it is a bright scarlet. It contains from 1 to 3
seeds, which are somewhat difficult to germinate. The fruit is crisp,
watery, and has a sub-acid flavor.
[Illustration: PLATE XI.--_Water Apple._
One third natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XII
_Eugenia Jambos._
ROSE APPLE.
This evergreen tree, which is a native of the West Indies, is of medium
size, reaching a height of from 20 to 30 feet. It grows well in Hawaii,
and is found at an elevation of 2000 feet. It is propagated from seed,
as well as from cuttings of the ripe wood. The leaves are lanceolate,
acuminate, thick and shiny. The large, fluffy flowers which appear from
January until April, are produced freely, and are a beautiful
creamy-white. The fruit is a somewhat compressed, globular shell,
varying in size from 1 to 2 inches in diameter, and with a large cavity,
containing generally one seed. This shell, which is the edible portion
of the fruit, is a light creamy-yellow, with a tinge of pale-pink on one
side; it requires from 2 to 21/2 months to mature. It is firm, crisp, and
has a delicious flavor, somewhat resembling an apricot, and with a rose
odor. The season for the fruit varies according to the elevation, but
generally ends about August or September.
[Illustration: PLATE XII.--_Rose Apple._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XIII
_Eugenia brasiliensis._
BRAZILIAN PLUM, OR SPANISH CHERRY.
This evergreen shrub, or low-growing tree, which in many countries is
said to reach a height of but 6 feet, in Hawaii attains a height of 20
feet; and although it thrives in comparatively high altitudes, it bears
best below the 200-foot elevation, and requires considerable moisture.
The bluntish, dark, shiny leaves, which are scale-like along the
branches, are obovate, oblong, and about 3 inches in length. The
blossoming season varies according to the location; however, the tree
generally has flowers and fruit from July until December. The fruit is
the size of a cherry, is deep purple in color, and the persistent calyx
is very prominent. The sweet pulp has a very agreeable flavor.
Probably the first plants of this variety were brought here by Don
Marin, about a century ago. Some fine trees may be found in Pauoa and
Makiki valleys, and also in Nuuanu, in the garden which formerly
belonged to Dr. Hillebrand.
[Illustration: PLATE XIII.--_Brazilian Plum, or Spanish Cherry._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XIV
_Eugenia uniflora._
FRENCH CHERRY.
This shrub is said to be a native of Brazil. In Hawaii, it is a common
garden plant, sometimes reaching a height of 10 feet. Its glossy leaves
are ovate-lanceolate, and its peduncles short. It has small, single,
white fragrant flowers. The mature fruit, which resembles a cherry, is
about 1 inch in diameter, and is ribbed longitudinally. It has a
delicious, spicy, acid flavor. There is generally one large, round,
smooth seed.
[Illustration: PLATE XIV.--_French Cherry._
One third natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XV
_Eugenia sp._
This is a small Malayan tree which is rare in Hawaii. It has regular,
opposite, large, broad leaves; with the stems and branches four-sided.
The purplish-white flowers are produced in clusters. The waxy
light-green fruits, with a persistent calyx, resemble a small guava.
These fruits have a very tough, pithy skin and pulp combined, which is
edible, but too dry to be agreeable. The seed is large in proportion to
the size of the fruit.
[Illustration: PLATE XV.--_Eugenia sp._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XVI
_Syzygium Jambolana._
JAVA PLUM.
This tall, hardy tree is a native of Southern Asia. In Polynesia it
grows well, up to an elevation of 5000 feet. It is a very common tree in
the Hawaiian Islands. Its leaves, which are from 4 to 6 inches long, and
from 2 to 3 inches broad, are opposite, obtuse or shortly-acuminate. The
flowers, which bloom in June, July and August, are white and quite
fragrant, and are especially attractive to the honey-bee. The oblong
fruit grows in large clusters, ripens from September until November, and
varies in size from a cherry to a pigeon's egg. It is purplish-black in
color, and is edible only when thoroughly ripe. It contains one large,
oblong seed.
[Illustration: PLATE XVI.--_Java Plum._
One half size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XVII
_Syzygium Jambolana_ (small variety).
JAVA PLUM.
This tree, which is also very common in the Hawaiian Islands, is said to
have been introduced by Dr. Hillebrand. It bears but one crop a year,
will grow in any soil, and withstands dry weather. The foliage is
smaller than that of the preceding variety; its leaves are narrower, and
a lighter green in color. It blooms at about the same time of year, but
its flowers are not as large, and appear in thick bunches. The purplish
fruit ripens from September until December.
[Illustration: PLATE XVII.--_Java Plum._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XVIII
_Averrhoa Carambola._
This tree, which is said to have been named after Averrhoes, an Arabian
physician, is a native of Insular India, and is much cultivated in India
and China. It is evergreen, with dense foliage, and grows to a height of
from 15 to 20 feet. It is easily propagated from seeds, and fruits in
about three years. In Hawaii it bears one crop annually, the flowers
appearing in July and the fruit in November and December. The leaves are
alternate, odd-pinnate. The flowers, which are borne in clusters on the
naked stems and branches, are minute, fragrant, and in color shading
from a pale pink to a deep purplish-red. The fruit, varying in size from
a hen's egg to an orange, is ovate, and has five acutely-angled
longitudinal ribs. The fragrant, light-yellow skin is very thin, and the
pulp is watery; it contains a number of flat, brown seeds. This fruit is
of two varieties: the sweet, which may be eaten raw, and the acid which
is delicious when preserved. A very appetizing pickle may be made from
the half-ripe fruit of the acid variety.
[Illustration: PLATE XVIII.--_Averrhoa Carambola._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XIX
_Achras Sapota._
SAPODILLA, OR NASEBERRY.
This tree, which grows on almost all of the Islands of the Hawaiian
group, is a fine evergreen, growing to a height of from 10 to 20 feet,
and producing a fruit which is much prized in warm countries. The bark
possesses tonic properties, and from the juice chewing-gum is made. Its
foliage is dense, and the shiny leaves are thick, lance-oblong, entire,
and clustered at the ends of the branches. The flowers, which are small,
whitish, and perfect, are borne on the rusty pubescent growths of the
season. The fruit, of which there are two varieties, the round and the
oblong, is about the size of a hen's egg. It has a rough skin, the color
of a russet apple, beneath which is a firm, somewhat stringy, sweet
pulp, having the flavor of an apricot. This pulp is divided into 10 to
12 compartments, and contains from 4 to 6 large, flat, smooth, black
seeds.
[Illustration: PLATE XIX.--_Sapodilla, or Naseberry._
One half natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XX
_Casimiroa edulis._
WHITE SAPOTA.
This tree, which is a native of Mexico, is said to have been named after
Cardinal Casimiro Gomez. The first tree of its kind in Hawaii was
planted in 1884, at the Government Nursery, Honolulu. The seed came from
Santa Barbara, California, where there grows today, a tree more than
eighty years old, and which still bears its fruit. It is a tall
evergreen with irregular branches; its digitate leaves are dark and
glossy. The trunk is ashen-grey, with warty excrescences. The fruit,
which matures in April and May, is large, 1 to 4 inches in diameter; it
is depressed-globular and somewhat ribbed, like a tomato; in color it is
a light-green, turning to a dull yellow when ripe, and it has a very
thin skin. The pulp is yellow, resembling that of an over-ripe, and has
a melting, peach-like flavor. It contains from 1 to 3 large, oblong
seeds, which are said to be deleterious.
[Illustration: PLATE XX.--_White Sapota._
One fourth natural size.]
_G. P. W. Collection._ PLATE XX | 1,482.279106 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.2590780 | 1,771 | 9 |
Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Chuck Greif and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at DP Europe
(http://dp.rastko.net); produced from images of the
Bibliothèque nationale de France (BNF/Gallica) at
http://gallica.bnf.fr
A HISTORY OF THE INQUISITION
VOL. I.
A HISTORY OF
THE INQUISITION
OF
THE MIDDLE AGES.
BY
HENRY CHARLES LEA,
AUTHOR OF
"AN HISTORICAL SKETCH OF SACERDOTAL CELIBACY," "SUPERSTITION AND FORCE,"
"STUDIES IN CHURCH HISTORY."
_IN THREE VOLUMES_.
VOL. I.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE.
Copyright, 1887, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
PREFACE.
The history of the Inquisition naturally divides itself into two
portions, each of which may be considered as a whole. The Reformation is
the boundary-line between them, except in Spain, where the New
Inquisition was founded by Ferdinand and Isabella. In the present work I
have sought to present an impartial account of the institution as it
existed during the earlier period. For the second portion I have made
large collections of material, through which I hope in due time to
continue the history to its end.
The Inquisition was not an organization arbitrarily devised and imposed
upon the judicial system of Christendom by the ambition or fanaticism of
the Church. It was rather a natural--one may almost say an
inevitable--evolution of the forces at work in the thirteenth century,
and no one can rightly appreciate the process of its development and the
results of its activity without a somewhat minute consideration of the
factors controlling the minds and souls of men during the ages which
laid the foundation of modern civilization. To accomplish this it has
been necessary to pass in review nearly all the spiritual and
intellectual movements of the Middle Ages, and to glance at the
condition of society in certain of its phases.
At the commencement of my historical studies I speedily became convinced
that the surest basis of investigation for a given period lay in an
examination of its jurisprudence, which presents without disguise its
aspirations and the means regarded as best adapted for their
realization. I have accordingly devoted much space to the origin and
development of the inquisitorial process, feeling convinced that in this
manner only can we understand the operations of the Holy Office and the
influence which it exercised on successive generations. By the
application of the results thus obtained it has seemed to me that many
points which have been misunderstood or imperfectly appreciated can be
elucidated. If in this I have occasionally been led to conclusions
differing from those currently accepted, I beg the reader to believe
that the views presented have not been hastily formed, but that they are
the outcome of a conscientious survey of all the original sources
accessible to me.
No serious historical work is worth the writing or the reading unless it
conveys a moral, but to be useful the moral must develop itself in the
mind of the reader without being obtruded upon him. Especially is this
the case in a history treating of a subject which has called forth the
fiercest passions of man, arousing alternately his highest and his
basest impulses. I have not paused to moralize, but I have missed my aim
if the events narrated are not so presented as to teach their
appropriate lesson.
It only remains for me to express my thanks to the numerous friends and
correspondents who have rendered me assistance in the arduous labor of
collecting the very varied material, much of it inedited, on which the
present work is based. Especially do I desire to record my gratitude to
the memory of that cultured gentleman and earnest scholar, the late Hon.
George P. Marsh, who for so many years worthily represented the United
States at the Italian court. I never had the fortune to look upon his
face, but the courteous readiness with which he aided my researches in
Italy merit my warmest acknowledgments. To Professor Charles Molinier,
of the University of Toulouse, moreover, my special thanks are due as to
one who has always been ready to share with a fellow-student his own
unrivalled knowledge of the Inquisition of Languedoc. In the Florentine
archives I owe much to Francis Philip Nast, Esq., to Professor Felice
Tocco, and to Doctor Giuseppe Papaleoni; in those of Naples, to the
Superintendent Cav. Minieri Riccio and to the Cav. Leopoldo Ovary; in
those of Venice to the Cav. Teodoro Toderini and Sig. Bartolomeo
Cecchetti: in those of Brussels to M. Charles Rahlenbeck. In Paris I
have to congratulate myself on the careful assiduity with which M.L.
Sandret has exhausted for my benefit the rich collections of MSS.,
especially those of the Bibliothèque Nationale. To a student, separated
by a thousand leagues of ocean from the repositories of the Old World,
assistance of this nature is a necessity, and I esteem myself fortunate
in having enlisted the co-operation of those who have removed for me
some of the disabilities of time and space.
Should the remaining portion of my task be hereafter accomplished, I
hope to have the opportunity of acknowledging my obligations to many
other gentlemen of both hemispheres who have furnished me with
unpublished material illustrating the later development of the Holy
Office.
PHILADELPHIA, _August_, 1887.
CONTENTS.
BOOK I.--ORIGIN AND ORGANIZATION OF THE INQUISITION.
CHAPTER I.--THE CHURCH.
Page
Domination of the Church in the Twelfth Century 1
Causes of Antagonism with the Laity 5
Election of Bishops 6
Simony and Favoritism 7
Martial Character of Prelates 10
Difficulty of Punishing Offenders 13
Prostitution of the Episcopal Office 16
Abuse of Papal Jurisdiction 17
Abuse of Episcopal Jurisdiction 20
Oppression from the Building of Cathedrals 23
Neglect of Preaching 23
Abuses of Patronage 24
Pluralities 25
Tithes 26
Sale of the Sacraments 27
Extortion of Pious Legacies 28
Quarrels over Burials 30
Sexual Disorders 31
Clerical Immunity 32
The Monastic Orders 34
The Religion of the Middle Ages 39
Tendency to Fetishism 40
Indulgences 41
Magic Power of Formulas and Relics 47
Contemporary Opinion 51
CHAPTER II.--HERESY.
Awakening of the Human Intellect in the Twelfth Century 57
Popular Characteristics 59
Nature of Heresies 60
Antisacerdotal Heresies 62
Nullity of Sacraments in Polluted Hands 62
Tanchelm 64
Éon de l'Étoile 66
Peculiar Civilization of Southern France 66
Pierre de Bruys 68
Henry of Lausanne 69
Arnaldo of Brescia 72
Peter Waldo and the Waldenses 76
Passagii, Joseppini, Siscidentes, Runcarii 88
CHAPTER III.--THE CATHARI.
Attractions of the Dualistic Theory 89
Derivation of Catharism from Manichæism 89
Belief and Organization of the Catharan Church 93
Missionary Zeal and Thirst for Martyrdom 102
Not Devil-worshippers 105
Spread of Catharism from Slavonia 107
Diffusion throughout Europe in the Eleventh Century 108
Increase in | 1,482.279118 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.2590840 | 7,435 | 9 |
Produced by Marcia Brooks, Stephen Hutcheson and the online
Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at
http://www.pgdpcanada.net
A
SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS;
EMBRACING
A CANOE VOYAGE
UP THE MISSISSIPPI AND AROUND LAKE SUPERIOR.
BY
CHARLES LANMAN,
AUTHOR OF “ESSAYS FOR SUMMER HOURS,” ETC.
And I was in the wilderness alone.
Bryant.
NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY.
PHILADELPHIA:
GEO. S. APPLETON, 148 CHESNUT-ST.
MDCCCXLVII.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847,
By D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern District of
New-York.
TO
JAMES F. MELINE, ESQ.,
OF
CINCINNATI, OHIO,
THIS VOLUME
IS,
WITH FEELINGS OF THE HIGHEST RESPECT,
AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED,
BY HIS FRIEND,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Saint Louis—a Western Artist—Twilight in a Cathedral, 13
CHAPTER II.
The Lower Mississippi—Entrance to the Upper Mississippi—The Lower
Rapids—Scenery—Rock Island, 20
CHAPTER III.
Starved Rock on the Illinois—Legend of the Illinois Indians, 26
CHAPTER IV.
Nauvoo—Temple of Nauvoo—A Mormon, and his story—Superb Panorama, 30
CHAPTER V.
The Upper Rapids—Scenery—Prairie Du Chien—Battle of Bad Axe—The
Winnebagoe Indians—Winneshic, Chief of the Winnebagoes—A
Visit to his Wigwam, 34
CHAPTER VI.
The Lead Region—Anecdote of a noted Western Character, 41
CHAPTER VII.
The Alpine Region of the Mississippi—Lake Pepin—Wabashaw, Chief of
the Sioux—An Old Woman, and her story—Legend of Winona, 45
CHAPTER VIII.
Red-Wing Village—Lake Saint Croix—Little Crow, a Sioux
Chief—Scenery, 51
CHAPTER IX.
Mouth of the Saint Peter’s—Dog Feast—Playing Ball—The Sioux
Indians—The Soldier Artist—A Naturalist—Carver’s
Cave—Beautiful Waterfall—Falls of St. Anthony—Legend
connected with them, 56
CHAPTER X.
A Ride on Horseback—Grouse Shooting—A Wilderness Supper—A Race
with a Pack of Wolves, 64
CHAPTER XI.
Crow-Wing—Famous Battle fought here—Legend of the White
Panther—Hole-in-the-Day, Chief of the Chippeway
Indians—The Scalpless Indian—Indian Swimmers—Begging
Dance—Torchlight Fishing, 68
CHAPTER XII.
The Indian Trader—The Fur Trade, 75
CHAPTER XIII.
Spirit Lake—Legends of the Mysterious Spirit—Story of
White-Fisher—Story of Elder-Brother—Outside Feather—Legend
of the Mole, 80
CHAPTER XIV.
The Mississippi—Lake Winnepeg—Bear Hunt—Bear Feast—A Dream, and
its Fulfillment—Manner of Treating the Dead—A Wilderness
Grave-Yard, 85
CHAPTER XV.
Red Cedar Lake—The Chippeway Indians—Their Country—Their Idea of
Creation—Their Religion—Their Heaven and Hell—Their Manner
of Winning the Title of Brave—Their Manner of Life—Their
Idea of Marriage, and Mode of Courtship—Their Hospitality, 91
CHAPTER XVI.
Elk Lake and Surrounding Region—Legend of the Mammoth Elk—Four
Wilderness Pictures, 98
CHAPTER XVII.
Leech Lake—The Pillagers—The Medicine Dance—The Medicine
Society—Virgin Dance—Red River Trappers—Legend of the Two
Women—Legend of Pelican Island—Legend of a Battle between
the Gods of the White and Red Men—Original Indian
Corn—Game of this Region, 104
CHAPTER XVIII.
Fish of the Mississippi—A Catfish Adventure—Spearing Muskalounge—A
Trouting Adventure, 110
CHAPTER XIX.
Sandy Lake—A queer way of making a Portage, 117
CHAPTER XX.
The Saint Louis River—The Chippeway Falls—Fon du Lac—Scenery of
the Lower Saint Louis, and Passage to Lake Superior, 121
CHAPTER XXI.
General Description of Lake Superior, 128
CHAPTER XXII.
American Shore of Lake Superior—Picturesque Cliffs—Isle
Royal—Apostle Islands—La Point—Indian Payment—Streams
Emptying into the Lake, 132
CHAPTER XXIII.
Canadian Shore of Lake Superior—Thunder Cape—Cariboo Point—The
Island Wonder, with its Watch-Tower and Beautiful
Lake—Menaboujou—His Death and Monument, 136
CHAPTER XXIV.
The Voyager—My Voyaging Companions—Our Mode of Travelling, with
its Pleasures and Miseries—Making Portages—Passing
Rapids—Narrow Escape—The Voyager’s Cheerfulness—Canadian
Songs—Voyaging on Superior—A Midnight Prospect, 141
CHAPTER XXV.
The Copper Region—Rich Discoveries—Copper Companies—Point
Keweenaw—Its Towns and People—Upstart Geologists—A
Conglomerate Paragraph, 152
CHAPTER XXVI.
Sault Saint Marie—Fish of Lake Superior—The Lake Trout—The Common
Trout—The White Fish—A Run down the Sault, 157
CHAPTER XXVII.
Mackinaw—Arched Rock—Robinson’s Folly—The Cave of Skulls—The
Needle—An Idler’s Confession—Mackinaw in the Summer and in
the Winter—Its Destiny, 162
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Recollections of Michigan, 167
SUMMER IN THE WILDERNESS.
CHAPTER I.
Saint Louis, June, 1846.
The River Queen, as Saint Louis is sometimes called, is looked upon as
the threshold leading to the wild and romantic region of the Upper
Mississippi. It was founded in the year seventeen hundred and
sixty-four, by two Frenchmen, named Laclade and Chouteau, who were
accompanied by about thirty Creoles. The first steamer which landed here
came from New Orleans in the year eighteen hundred and nineteen; but the
number now belonging here is rated at three hundred, many of which are
unsurpassed in speed and splendor of accommodations. The population of
this city amounts to forty thousand souls. It is elevated some eighty
feet above the low-water mark of the Mississippi, and from the river
presents a handsome appearance. The old part of the town is inhabited by
a French population, and is in a dilapidated condition; but the more
modern portion is distinguished for its handsome streets, and tastefully
built mansions and public buildings. Fronting the levee or landing are
several blocks of stone stores, which give one an idea of the extensive
business transacted here. On one occasion I saw this wharfing ground so
completely crowded with merchandise of every possible variety, that
travellers were actually compelled to walk from the steamboats to the
hotels. This city is the home market for all the natural productions of
a wilderness country extending in different directions for thousands of
miles, and watered by several of the largest rivers in the world. Its
growth, however, has been somewhat retarded by the peculiar character of
its original inhabitants. The acknowledged wealth of many of its leading
men can only be equalled by their illiberality and want of enterprise.
But time is committing sad ravages among these ancient citizens, for
they are, from age and infirmities, almost daily dropping into the place
of graves. Under the benign influence of true American enterprise, this
city is rapidly becoming distinguished for its New England character, in
spite of the retarding cause alluded to above, and the baneful
institution of Slavery. In fine, it possesses, to an uncommon degree,
all the worthy qualities which should belong to an enlightened and
eminently prosperous city.
There is one unique feature connected with the River Queen, which gives
it, at times, a most romantic appearance. It is the point whence must
start all distant expeditions to the North and West, and where the
treasures of the wilderness are prepared for re-shipment to the more
distant markets of our own and foreign countries. Here, during the
spring and summer months may often be seen caravans about to depart for
California, Santa Fe, the Rocky Mountains, and Oregon, while the
sprightly step and sparkling eye will speak to you of the hopes and
anticipations which animate the various adventurers. At one time,
perhaps, may be seen a company of toil-worn trappers entering the city,
after an absence of months, far away on the head waters of the
Mississippi and Missouri rivers, where they have hunted the beaver, the
buffalo, the otter, the bear, and the deer; and as they steal away to
their several homes, from the door of the Fur Company, where they have
just rendered their account, it does the heart good to ponder on the
joys which will be brought into existence by the happy return. And the
Indians, from different nations, who often visit this place, also add
greatly to the picturesque appearance of its streets. Summoned by
curiosity, they congregate here in large numbers, and while their gaudy
trappings and painted faces remind us of the strange wild life they
lead, their prowling propensities and downcast eyes inform us of the
melancholy fact, that they are the victims of a most heartless, though
lawful oppression. This remark, by the way, reminds me of a living
picture which I lately witnessed, and will briefly describe. It was the
sunset hour, and I was returning from a ride on the eastern bank of the
great river. The western sky was flooded with a saffron glow, in the
midst of which floated unnumbered cloud-islands, tinged with deepest
gold. Underneath lay the beautiful city, with its church-spires
up-pointing to the Christian’s home; then passed the rushing tide of the
Mississippi ploughed by many a proud keel; and in the foreground was a
woody bluff, on the brow of which sat a solitary Indian, humming a
strangely solemn song, as his white locks and eagle plumes waved in the
evening breeze. I asked no question of the sorrowing dreamer, but
pursued my way, pondering on the cruel destiny which has power to make
man a stranger and an exile, on the very soil from which he sprang, and
where repose the ashes of his forgotten kindred.
Lover as I am of genuine art, it will not do for me to leave this city,
the sturdy child of a new and great empire, without alluding to its
treasures in this particular. The bright particular star, who uses the
pencil here, is Charles Deas. He is a young man who left New-York about
eight years ago, for the purpose of studying his art in the wilds west
of the Mississippi. He makes this city his head-quarters, but annually
spends a few months among the Indian tribes, familiarizing himself with
their manners and customs, and he is honorably identifying himself with
the history and scenery of a most interesting portion of the continent.
The great charm of his productions is found in the strongly marked
national character which they bear. His collection of sketches is
already very valuable. The following are a few of the pictures which I
saw in his studio, and which pleased me exceedingly. One, called the
Indian Guide, represents an aged Indian riding in the evening twilight
on a piebald horse, apparently musing upon the times of old. The
sentiment of such a painting is not to be described, and can only be
felt by the beholder who has a passion for the wilderness. Another, Long
Jake, is the literal portrait of a celebrated character of the Rocky
Mountains. He looks like an untamed hawk, figures in a flaming red
shirt, and is mounted on a black stallion. He is supposed to be on the
ridge of a hill, and as the sky is blue, the figure stands out in the
boldest relief. Artistically speaking, this is a most daring effort of
the pencil, but the artist has decidedly triumphed. In a picture called
Setting out for the Mountains, Mr. Deas has represented a species of
American Cockney, who has made up his mind to visit the Rocky Mountains.
He is mounted on a bob-tailed, saucy-looking pony, and completely loaded
down with clothing, pistols, guns, and ammunition. He is accompanied by
a few covered wagons, a jolly servant to be his right-hand man, and two
dogs, which are frolicking on the prairie ahead, and while the man
directs the attention of his master to some game, the latter shrugs his
feeble shoulders, seems to think this mode of travelling exceedingly
fatiguing, and personifies the latter end of a misspent life. You
imagine that a few months have elapsed, and, turning to another picture,
you behold our hero Returning from the Mountains. Exposure and hardships
have transformed him into a superb looking fellow, and he is now full of
life and buoyancy, and riding with the most perfect elegance and ease a
famous steed of the prairies. The wagons, servant and dogs, are now in
the rear of our adventurer, who, comically dressed with nothing but a
cap, a calico shirt, and pair of buckskin pantaloons, is dashing ahead,
fearless of every danger that may happen to cross his path. These
pictures completely epitomize a personal revolution which is constantly
taking place on the frontiers. One of our artist’s more ambitious
productions, represents the daring feat of Captain Walker, during a
recent memorable battle in Mexico. The story is that the Captain, who
happened to be alone on a plain, had his horse killed from under him,
and was himself wounded in the leg. Supposing, as was the case, that the
Mexican savage would approach to take his scalp, he feigned himself
dead, as he lay upon his horse, and as his enemy was about to butcher
him, he fired and killed the rascal on the spot, and seizing the reins
of his enemy’s horse, he mounted him and rode into his own camp. In the
picture Walker is in the act of firing. But the picture upon which Mr.
Deas’s fame will probably rest, contains a large number of figures, and
represents the heroism of Captain James Clarke, who, when about to be
murdered by a council of Indians at North-Bend, threw the war-belt in
the midst of the savages, with a defying shout, and actually overwhelmed
them with astonishment, thereby saving his own life and those of his
companions. This picture is true to history in every particular, and
full of expression.
But enough about these productions of art. I am bound to the fountain
head of the Mississippi, and feel impatient to be with nature in the
wilderness. Before concluding this chapter, however, I will describe a
characteristic incident which I met with in Saint Louis.
I had been taking a lonely walk along the banks of the Mississippi, and,
in fancy, revelling amid the charms of this great western world, as it
existed centuries ago. My mind was in a dreamy mood, and as I re-entered
the city the hum of business fell like discord on my ear. It was the
hour of twilight and the last day of the week, and the citizens whom I
saw seemed anxious to bring their labors to a close that they might be
ready for the Sabbath.
While sauntering leisurely through a retired street, I was startled from
a waking dream, by the sound of a deep-toned bell, and, on lifting my
eyes, I found that I stood before the Catholic cathedral. I noticed a
dim light through one of the windows, and as the gates were open, I
remembered that it was the vesper hour, and entered the church. The
inner door noiselessly swung to, and I found myself alone, the spectator
of a most impressive scene. A single lamp, hanging before the altar,
threw out a feeble light, and so feeble was it, that a solemn gloom
brooded throughout the temple. While a dark shadow filled the aisles and
remote corners, the capitals of the massive pillars on either side were
lost in a still deeper shade. From the ceiling hung many a gorgeous
chandelier, which were now content to be eclipsed by the humble solitary
lamp. Scriptural paintings and pieces of statuary were on every side,
but I could discern that Christ was the centre of attraction in all.
Over, and around the altar too, were many works of art, together with a
multitudinous array of sacred symbols. Just in front of these, and in
the centre of the mystic throne, hung the lonely lamp, which seemed to
be endowed with a thinking principle, as its feeble rays shot out into
the surrounding darkness. That part of the cathedral where towered the
stupendous organ, was in deep shadow, but I knew it to be there by the
faint glistening of its golden pipes: as to the silence of the place, it
was perfectly death-like and holy. I chanced to heave a sigh, and that
very sigh was not without an echo. The distant hum of life, alone
convinced me that I was in a living world.
But softly! A footstep now breaks upon the silence! A priest in a
ghost-like robe, is passing from one chancel door to another. Another
footstep! and lo! a woman, clothed in black, with her face completely
hidden in a veil, passes up an aisle and falls upon her knees in prayer.
She has come here to find consolation in her widowhood. And now, slowly
tottering along, comes a white-haired man, and he, too, falls in the
attitude of prayer. With the pleasures of this world he is fully
satisfied, and his thoughts are now taken up with that strange
pilgrimage, whence travellers never return, and upon which he feels he
must soon enter.
Other life-sick mortals, have also entered the sanctuary, offered up
their evening prayer, and mingled with the tide of life once more. But
again the front door slowly opens, and a little <DW64> boy, some seven
years of age, is standing by my side. What business has he here,—for
surely this offspring of a slave, and a slave himself, cannot be a
religious devotee? I take back that thought. I have wronged the child.
The Spirit of God must tabernacle in his heart, else he would not
approach the altar with such deep reverence. Behold him, like little
Samuel of old, calling upon the Invisible in prayer! What a picture!
Twilight in a superb cathedral, and the only worshipper a child and a
slave!
CHAPTER II.
Rock Island, July, 1846.
I have sailed upon the Mississippi, from the point where it empties into
the Gulf of Mexico, all the way up to the little Lake which gives it
existence, and I now intend to record a description of its scenery and
prominent characteristics. The literal meaning of the Chippeway word
Meseeseepe is—water every where—and conveys the same idea which has been
translated—father of waters. When we remember the immense extent of the
valley watered by this stream and its hundred tributaries, this name
must be considered as singularly expressive.
That portion of the river known as the Lower Mississippi, extends from
New Orleans to the mouth of the Missouri, a distance of about twelve
hundred miles. As the highway for a multitudinous number of steam
vessels of every size and character, it is of incalculable importance,
not only to this country but to the world; but with regard to its
scenery, it affords little of an interesting character. Excepting a few
rocky bluffs found some distance below Saint Louis, and in the vicinity
of Natchez, both shores of the river are low, level, and covered with
dense forests of cotton-wood and cypress, where the panther and the wolf
roam in perfect freedom, and the eagle swoops upon its prey undisturbed
by the presence of man. The banks are of an alluvial character, and as
the current is exceedingly rapid, the course of the river is constantly
changing. You might travel a hundred miles without finding a place
sufficiently secure to land; and the water is always so very muddy that
a tumbler full will always yield half an inch of the virgin soil. The
surface of the stream is never placid, but for ever turbulent and full
of eddies and whirlpools, as if its channel were composed of a continued
succession of caverns. Snags and sawyers abound throughout its whole
extent. They are taken from the shore by the rushing tide and planted in
the channel quite as rapidly as the snag-vessels can extricate them from
their dangerous positions.
The Lower Mississippi (always excepting the still more frantic Missouri)
is probably the most dangerous and least interesting river in the world
to navigate. When not in actual danger, you are likely to be so far
removed from it, high and dry on a sand bar, that the annoyance, like a
certain period in our national history, has a tendency to try men’s
souls. The following picture of an actual scene on this portion of the
great river, may be looked upon as characteristic of the whole. On your
right is a series of rocky bluffs, covered with a stunted growth of
trees, before you an expanse of water ten miles long and two wide, on
your left an array of sand bars and islands, where lie imbedded the
wrecks of some fifty steamboats, and in the more remote distance a belt
of thickly wooded bottom land. On the water, passing to and fro, are a
number of steamers, and immediately in the foreground a solitary sawyer
and the hull of a sunken steam-boat. This is the spot which has been
rightly named the Grave Yard, for hundreds of souls at different times
have passed from thence into eternity. When I left the turbid and unruly
bosom of the Lower Mississippi, I felt towards it as a person would
naturally feel towards an old tyrant who had vainly striven to destroy
him in his savage wrath. I should remark in passing that the bottom
lands of this river are not wholly without inhabitants; occasionally a
lonely log cabin meets the eye, which is the only home of a miserable
being who obtains his living by supplying the steamers with wood. Nailed
to a stump before one of these squatter residences, which stood in the
centre of a small clearing, I saw a board with the following
inscription,—“This _farm_ for sale—price $1 50.” Though I could not help
laughing at the unintentional wit of that sentence, it told me a
melancholy tale of poverty, intemperance, and sickness, which are too
often identified with the dangers of this wilderness.
I would now speak of the Upper Mississippi, and I only regret that I
cannot strike the poet’s lyre, and give to this “parent of perpetual
streams” an undying hymn of praise. The moment that you pass the mouth
of the Missouri on your way up the Father of Waters, you seem to be
entering an entirely new world, whose every feature is “beautiful
exceedingly.” The shores now <DW72> with their green verdure to the very
margin of the water, which is now of a deep green color, perfectly
clear, and placid as the slumber of a babe. My first view of this spot
was at the twilight hour, when the time was holy, and every object that
met my gaze seemed to have been baptized with an immortal loveliness.
Over the point where the sun had disappeared, floated a cavalcade of
golden clouds, and away to the eastward rolled on, along her clear, blue
pathway, the bright, full moon, and now and then a trembling star,—the
whole completely mirrored in the bosom of the softly flowing but ever
murmuring stream. On my right lay a somewhat cultivated shore; on my
left a flock of islands, whose heavy masses of foliage rested upon the
water; and in the distance was the pleasant and picturesque town of
Alton, with its church spires speaking of hope and heaven. No living
creatures met my gaze, save a wild duck and her brood gliding into their
shadowy home, and an occasional night-hawk as he shot through the upper
air after his living food; and no sound fell upon my ear, but the
jingling of a distant cow-bell and the splash of a leaping sturgeon.
Another picture which makes me remember with unalloyed pleasure this
portion of the Mississippi, was a scene that I witnessed early in the
morning. The sky was without a cloud, and the pleasant sunshine fell
upon my cheek, like the kiss of one whom we dearly love. On either side
of me was a row of heavily timbered islands, whose lofty columns, matted
vines, and luxuriant undergrowth of trees, told me of a soil that was
rich beyond compare but seldom trodden by the foot of man; and in the
distance was an open vista, beautified by other islands, and receding to
the sky. Now, unnumbered swallows were skimming over the water, uttering
a shrill chirp; then, the cry of a disappointed blue jay would grate
upon the ear; now, a boblink and black-bird held a noisy conversation,
and then the croak of a raven would descend from the top of some dead
tree; now the mocking-bird, the dove, the red and blue-bird, the robin
and the sparrow favored me with a chorus of their own, while the whistle
of the quail and the lark would occasionally break out to vary the
natural oratorio. And to cap the climax, an occasional flock of ducks
might be seen, startled away by our approach, also a crane feeding in a
cluster of trees, or a bold fish-hawk pursuing his prey, while the
senses were almost oppressed by the fragrance of blowing flowers, which
met the eye on every side.
By multiplying the above two scenes almost indefinitely, and tinging
them with the ever varying hues and features of the pleasant summer
time, and by fancying on either bank of the river an occasional thriving
village, “like sunshine in a shady place,” you will have a very good
idea of the Mississippi scenery between the mouth of the Missouri and
the Lower Rapids. These are twelve miles long, and the first on the
river which impede its navigation. The water, during the dry season
varies from two to four feet in depth on these rapids, but the channel
is so very crooked that even the smaller steamers with difficulty find a
passage. Below this point the eye of the traveller is occasionally
delighted by a fine prairie landscape, but the following picture may be
looked upon as a pretty accurate epitome of the scenery between Nauvoo
at the head of the Rapids, and Rock Island. It was the noontide hour of
one of those heavenly days which occasionally make very happy the
universal human world. My own heart, which had been darkened by the
shadows of human life, was made joyous by its dazzling loveliness. The
sunshine slept upon the quiet landscape, as sweetly as if the world had
never known a deed of sin, while every object which composed the scene
performed its secret ministry of good. It was just such a day as William
Herbert has made immortal in the following words:
“Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky;
The dew will weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.”
At my feet flowed the tranquil waters of the superb river, from whose
very margin receded a perfectly level prairie, which soon lost itself,
in a rolling country, whose motionless billows receded to the far
horizon. On my extreme left lay a range of wood-crowned and dreary
looking hills, and on my right a solitary bluff which was as smooth on
every side as the most highly cultivated lawn. The atmosphere was soft
and of a rosy hue, and made me long for the wings of a dove that I might
float away upon its bosom in a dream of bliss. Flowers of loveliest hue
and sweetest fragrance were on every side; and the only sound that fell
upon my ear was a hum of insect wings. On the bluffs already mentioned a
large herd of deer were quietly cropping their food; and in the air high
towards the zenith was floating in his pride of freedom, an immense
eagle, the seeming monarch of the western world.
Rock Island, whence I date this paper, and which lies in the river
midway between the villages of Davenport and Rock Island, is one of the
most picturesque points I have yet seen during my journey. It is
literally speaking a rocky island, and is surmounted by the dilapidated
walls of an ancient fortress, and was, in former days, the scene of many
a struggle between the red man and his _brotherly_ oppressor. But the
place is greatly changed. Where once the gayly dressed officer quaffed
his wine cup at the midnight hour, the lonely shriek of the owl is now
heard even until the break of day; and the rat, the toad, and the spider
have usurped the place where once the soldier hummed his thoughtless
song, or was heard the roar of his artillery.
CHAPTER III.
Rock Island, July, 1846.
Starved Rock is the unpoetical name of a singular spot on the Illinois
river about sixty miles east of this place, and eight miles south of
Ottawa. It is a rocky bluff, rising from the margin of the stream to the
height of more than a hundred feet, and is only separated from the main
land by a narrow chasm. Its length might probably measure two hundred
and fifty feet. Its sides are perpendicular, and there is only one point
where it can be ascended, and that is by a narrow stair-like path. It is
covered with many a cone-like evergreen, and, in summer, encircled by
luxuriant grape and ivy vines, and clusters of richly flowers.
It is undoubtedly the most conspicuous and beautiful pictorial feature
of the sluggish and lonely Illinois, and is associated with the final
extinction of the Illinois tribe of Indians. The legend, which I
listened to from the lips of a venerable Indian trader, is as follows.
Many years ago, the whole region lying between Lake Michigan and the
Mississippi was the home and dominion of the Illinois Indians. For them
alone did the buffalo and antelope range over its broad prairies; for
them did the finest of rivers roll their waters into the lap of Mexico,
and bear upon their bosoms the birchen canoe, as they sought to capture
the wild water fowl; and for them alone did the dense forests, crowding
upon these streams, shelter their unnumbered denizens.
In every direction might be seen the smoke of Indian wigwams curling
upwards to mingle with the sunset clouds, which told them tales of the
spirit land.
Years passed on, and they continued to be at ease in their possessions.
But the white man from the far east, with the miseries which have ever
accompanied him in his march of usurpation, began to wander into the
wilderness, and trouble to the poor red man was the inevitable
consequence. The baneful “fire water,” which was the gift of
civilization, created dissensions among the savage tribes, until in
process of time, and on account of purely imaginary evils, the
Pottowattomies from Michigan determined to make war upon the Indians of
Illinois. Fortune, or rather destiny, smiled upon the oppressors, and
the identical rock in question was the spot that witnessed the
extinction of an aboriginal race.
It was the close of a long siege of cruel warfare, and the afternoon of
a day in the delightful Indian summer. The sunshine threw a mellow haze
upon the prairies, and tinged the multitudinous flowers with deepest
gold; while, in the shadow of the forest islands, the doe and her fawn
reposed in perfect quietness, lulled into a temporary slumber by the hum
of the grasshopper and wild bee. The wilderness world wore the aspect of
a perfect sabbath. But now, in the twinkling of an eye, the delightful
solitude was broken by the shrill whoop and dreadful struggle of bloody
conflict upon the prairies and in the woods. All over the country were
seen | 1,482.279124 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.2591250 | 1,194 | 9 |
E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
THE MISER. (L'AVARE.)
by
MOLIERE
Translated into English Prose
With a Short Introduction and Explanatory Notes.
by
CHARLES HERON WALL
This play was acted for the first time on September 9, 1668. In it,
Moliere has borrowed from Plautus, and has imitated several other
authors, but he far surpasses them in the treatment of his subject.
The picture of the miser, in whom love of money takes the place of all
natural affections, who not only withdraws from family intercourse,
but considers his children as natural enemies, is finely drawn, and
renders Moliere's Miser altogether more dramatic and moral than those
of his predecessors.
Moliere acted the part of Harpagon.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
HARPAGON, _father to_ CLEANTE, _in love with_ MARIANNE.
CLEANTE, HARPAGON'S _son, lover to_ MARIANNE.
VALERE, _son to_ ANSELME, _and lover to_ ELISE.
ANSELME, _father to_ VALERE _and_ MARIANNE.
MASTER SIMON, _broker_.
MASTER JACQUES, _cook and coachman to_ HARPAGON.
LA FLECHE, _valet to_ CLEANTE.
BRINDAVOINE _and_ LA MERLUCHE, _lackeys to_ HARPAGON.
A MAGISTRATE _and his_ CLERK.
ELISE, _daughter to_ HARPAGON.
MARIANNE, _daughter to_ ANSELME.
FROSINE, _an intriguing woman_.
MISTRESS CLAUDE, _servant to_ HARPAGON.
* * * * *
_The scene is at_ PARIS, _in_ HARPAGON'S _house_.
THE MISER.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--VALERE, ELISE.
VAL. What, dear Elise! you grow sad after having given me such dear
tokens of your love; and I see you sigh in the midst of my joy! Can
you regret having made me happy? and do you repent of the engagement
which my love has forced from you?
ELI. No, Valere, I do not regret what I do for you; I feel carried on
by too delightful a power, and I do not even wish that things should
be otherwise than they are. Yet, to tell you the truth, I am very
anxious about the consequences; and I greatly fear that I love you
more than I should.
VAL. What can you possibly fear from the affection you have shown me?
ELI. Everything; the anger of my father, the reproaches of my family,
the censure of the world, and, above all, Valere, a change in your
heart! I fear that cruel coldness with which your sex so often repays
the too warm proofs of an innocent love.
VAL. Alas! do not wrong me thus; do not judge of me by others. Think
me capable of everything, Elise, except of falling short of what I owe
to you. I love you too much for that; and my love will be as lasting
as my life!
ELI. Ah! Valere, all men say the same thing; all men are alike in
their words; their actions only show the difference that exists
between them.
VAL. Then why not wait for actions, if by them alone you can judge of
the truthfulness of my heart? Do not suffer your anxious fears to
mislead you, and to wrong me. Do not let an unjust suspicion destroy
the happiness which is to me dearer than life; but give me time to
show you by a thousand proofs the sincerity of my affection.
ELI. Alas! how easily do we allow ourselves to be persuaded by those
we love. I believe you, Valere; I feel sure that your heart is utterly
incapable of deceiving me, that your love is sincere, and that you
will ever remain faithful to me. I will no longer doubt that happiness
is near. If I grieve, it will only be over the difficulties of our
position, and the possible censures of the world.
VAL. But why even this fear?
ELI. Oh, Valere! if everybody knew you as I do, I should not have much
to fear. I find in you enough to justify all I do for you; my heart
knows all your merit, and feels, moreover, bound to you by deep
gratitude. How can I forget that horrible moment when we met for the
first time? Your generous courage in risking your own life to save
mine from the fury of the waves; your tender care afterwards; your
constant attentions and your ardent love, which neither time nor
difficulties can lessen! For me you neglect your parents and your
country; you give up your own position in life to be a servant of my
father! How can I resist the influence that all this has over me? Is
it not enough to justify in my eyes my engagement to you? Yet, who
knows if it will be enough to justify it in the eyes of others? and
how can I feel sure that my motives will be understood?
VAL. You try in vain to find merit in what I have done; it is by my
love alone that I trust to deserve you. As for the | 1,482.279165 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.5686420 | 1,751 | 6 |
Produced by Melissa McDaniel and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s Note: This book was originally printed with two Chapter
XVIIs and two Chapter XVIIIs; I chose not to renumber the chapters. A
table of contents has been added for the reader’s convenience.
[Illustration: Lieutenant Decker smilingly extended his hand to his
astonished friend.
“You did not expect either of us, but we are here all the same.”—Page
184.
—_The Young Scout._]
THE YOUNG SCOUT.
The Story of a West Point Lieutenant.
By EDWARD S. ELLIS,
_Author of “Adrift in the Wilds,” “A Jaunt Through Java,”
“A Young Hero,” etc., etc._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
Copyright 1895, by A. L. BURT.
THE YOUNG SCOUT.
CONTENTS.
I. THE YOUNG CHAMPION. 1
II. A WELL EARNED REWARD. 10
III. DANGER IN THE AIR. 20
IV. GERONIMO. 32
V. COMPLIMENTS AT LONG RANGE. 40
VI. APACHE CUNNING. 48
VII. A SIGNAL. 56
VIII. MAROZ AND CEBALLOS. 64
IX. MENDEZ, THE SCOUT. 71
X. THE EAVESDROPPER. 78
XI. CAVARHO AND MENDEZ. 85
XII. A CALL AND A REPLY. 92
XIII. THE TROOPERS. 99
XIV. WAITING FOR DAYLIGHT. 107
XV. AN INTERRUPTED FLIGHT. 115
XVI. THE RANCHMAN’S HOME. 122
XVII. THE SHADOW OF DANGER. 130
XVIII. A CRUEL BLOW. 138
XVII. “NOW FOR IT.” 145
XVIII. “SEE DERE!” 157
XIX. AN APACHE SIGNAL. 170
XX. ON THE MOUNTAIN SIDE. 183
XXI. A GAME OF HIDE AND SEEK. 202
XXII. WHAT DOES IT MEAN? 211
XXIII. WHAT BEFELL MAURICE FREEMAN. 221
XXIV. THE REALITY. 231
XXV. A REMINISCENCE. 241
XXVI. A SURPRISE INDEED. 252
XXVII. CONCLUSION. 265
CHAPTER I.
THE YOUNG CHAMPION.
One warm summer afternoon, a half dozen boys on their way home from the
Burkville School, stopped to rest under the trees, which afforded a
grateful shade at the side of the dusty highway.
No matter how tired such a lot of youngsters may be, they are sure
to be brimming over with mischief, and on the alert for boisterous
amusement. To picture them seated quiet, thoughtful and well behaved is
to picture what was never seen. No such an occurrence is on record or
within the memory of the “oldest inhabitant.”
Among the group who reclined on the grass was little Almon Goodwin,
a <DW36>, with a withered leg, which compelled him to use a crutch
in walking and debarred him from the more active sports of his
playfellows. His sunny disposition, genial nature and scholarly ability
made him a favorite with the rest, who were always glad to favor him
and to accept playful annoyances at his hands which would have been
quickly resented on the part of the other lusty youths.
The largest boy of the group was Buck Kennon, a new pupil, whose folks
had lately removed to the neighborhood. He was two years older than the
eldest of the party, and in growth and appearance seemed to be fully
sixteen years of age. He was a rough, coarse, overbearing lad, who was
feared and disliked by the rest. Three of the boys, who resisted his
tyrannous conduct, had been beaten into submission, and every one felt
that a most disagreeable and unwelcome member had joined the school.
They would have been glad to be rid of him, but there he was and likely
to stay with all his detested qualities.
The party had been lolling on the grass in the shade for some minutes,
when Buck snatched off the hat of the crippled boy and dashed off with
it. Almon hobbled after him, but of course could not overtake his
persecutor.
“That isn’t fair; let me have my hat,” called Almon, halting in his
pursuit; “why don’t you take some one else’s hat?”
The bully, seeing he was not pursued, now picked up a stone, flung the
hat aloft and as it turned to descend, let fly with the stone, which
was aimed so well that it passed through the crown, leaving a jagged
hole. The owner crooked his arm and raised it to his face. His parents
were poor and he could not help crying over the damage done to his
property.
“Oh, what a baby!” called Buck, making ready to fling the hat up again
for another shot; “I ’spose your mother will give you a whipping for
not taking care of that purty head piece.”
Before the hat could leave the hand of the bully, a boy dashed forward,
snatched it from his grasp, and returned it to the sobbing owner.
“Buck Kennon, you are a mean coward! Why don’t you let him alone and
take _our_ hats?”
The boy who had the courage to do this was James Decker, two years
younger than the bully and of much slighter frame. He was the best
scholar in school and liked by playmates and teacher. Having handed
the property of the <DW36> to him, he turned about and confronted the
big lad, who stood a moment amazed at his daring. The face of Buck was
crimson with anger and all saw that trouble was impending.
“What business is it of yours?” he demanded; “I’ll do as I please
without asking you about it. I’ll teach you better than to interfere.”
He made a snatch at the young champion’s hat, but James dodged and
in a twinkling snatched off that of his assailant. James was much
more active than his bulky pursuer, and, dashing a few rods, suddenly
stopped, flung the handsome hat in air, and then with the accuracy of a
rifle-shot hurled a stone clean through it.
“There!” he said, “see how you like it yourself.” The other boys
laughed in their delight, and the bully boiled with rage. He never had
had the tables turned so completely upon him. It was exasperating
beyond endurance. Like a mad bull, he rushed upon young Decker, his
fists clenched and his eyes glaring. He meant to teach the audacious
youngster a lesson that he would remember all his life.
James was through running away from his enemy. He might have dodged and
eluded him, or sped down the highway and escaped him altogether, but
the bully would take his revenge upon the <DW36>, for it was just like
him. Besides, a fight for the supremacy, must come sooner or later, and
it might as well come now.
So Decker braced himself for the shock, and, when the big fellow was
upon him, he struck him twice quickly and with all his strength,
directly in the face. The shock, made the greater by the momentum of
his own body | 1,482.588682 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.6157620 | 4,468 | 19 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Brett Koonce and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team
ENGLAND AND THE WAR
being
SUNDRY ADDRESSES
delivered during the war
and now first collected
by
WALTER RALEIGH
OXFORD
1918
CONTENTS
PREFACE
MIGHT IS RIGHT
First published as one of the Oxford Pamphlets,
October 1914.
THE WAR OF IDEAS
An Address to the Royal Colonial Institute,
December 12, 1916.
THE FAITH OF ENGLAND
An Address to the Union Society of University
College, London, March 22, 1917.
SOME GAINS OF THE WAR
An Address to the Royal Colonial Institute,
February 13, 1918.
THE WAR AND THE PRESS
A Paper read to the Essay Society, Eton College,
March 14, 1918.
SHAKESPEARE AND ENGLAND
The Annual Shakespeare Lecture of the British
Academy, delivered July 4, 1918.
PREFACE
This book was not planned, but grew out of the troubles of the time.
When, on one occasion or another, I was invited to lecture, I did not
find, with Milton's Satan, that the mind is its own place; I could speak
only of what I was thinking of, and my mind was fixed on the War. I am
unacquainted with military science, so my treatment of the War was
limited to an estimate of the characters of the antagonists.
The character of Germany and the Germans is a riddle. I have seen no
convincing solution of it by any Englishman, and hardly any confident
attempt at a solution which did not speak the uncontrolled language of
passion. There is the same difficulty with the lower animals; our
description of them tends to be a description of nothing but our own
loves and hates. Who has ever fathomed the mind of a rhinoceros; or has
remembered, while he faces the beast, that a good rhinoceros is a
pleasant member of the community in which his life is passed? We see
only the folded hide, the horn, and the angry little eye. We know that
he is strong and cunning, and that his desires and instincts are
inconsistent with our welfare. Yet a rhinoceros is a simpler creature
than a German, and does not trouble our thought by conforming, on
occasion, to civilized standards and humane conditions.
It seems unreasonable to lay great stress on racial differences. The
insuperable barrier that divides England from Germany has grown out of
circumstance and habit and thought. For many hundreds of years the
German peoples have stood to arms in their own defence against the
encroachments of successive empires; and modern Germany learned the
doctrine of the omnipotence of force by prolonged suffering at the hands
of the greatest master of that immoral school--the Emperor Napoleon. No
German can understand the attitude of disinterested patronage which the
English mind quite naturally assumes when it is brought into contact
with foreigners. The best example of this superiority of attitude is to
be seen in the people who are called pacifists. They are a peculiarly
English type, and they are the most arrogant of all the English. The
idea that they should ever have to fight for their lives is to them
supremely absurd. There must be some mistake, they think, which can be
easily remedied once it is pointed out. Their title to existence is so
clear to themselves that they are convinced it will be universally
recognized; it must not be made a matter of international conflict.
Partly, no doubt, this belief is fostered by lack of imagination. The
sheltered conditions and leisured life which they enjoy as the parasites
of a dominant race have produced in them a false sense of security. But
there is something also of the English strength and obstinacy of
character in their self-confidence, and if ever Germany were to conquer
England some of them would spring to their full stature as the heroes of
an age-long and indomitable resistance. They are not held in much esteem
to-day among their own people; they are useless for the work in hand;
and their credit has suffered from the multitude of pretenders who make
principle a cover for cowardice. But for all that, they are kin to the
makers of England, and the fact that Germany would never tolerate them
for an instant is not without its lesson.
We shall never understand the Germans. Some of their traits may possibly
be explained by their history. Their passionate devotion to the State,
their amazing vulgarity, their worship of mechanism and mechanical
efficiency, are explicable in a people who are not strong in individual
character, who have suffered much to achieve union, and who have
achieved it by subordinating themselves, soul and body, to a brutal
taskmaster. But the convulsions of war have thrown up things that are
deeper than these, primaeval things, which, until recently, civilization
was believed to have destroyed. The old monstrous gods who gave their
names to the days of the week are alive again in Germany. The English
soldier of to-day goes into action with the cold courage of a man who is
prepared to make the best of a bad job. The German soldier sacrifices
himself, in a frenzy of religious exaltation, to the War-God. The
filthiness that the Germans use, their deliberate befouling of all that
is elegant and gracious and antique, their spitting into the food that
is to be eaten by their prisoners, their defiling with ordure the sacred
vessels in the churches--all these things, too numerous and too
monotonous to describe, are not the instinctive coarsenesses of the
brute beast; they are a solemn ritual of filth, religiously practised,
by officers no less than by men. The waves of emotional exaltation which
from time to time pass over the whole people have the same character,
the character of savage religion.
If they are alien to civilization when they fight, they are doubly alien
when they reason. They are glib and fluent in the use of the terms which
have been devised for the needs of thought and argument, but their use
of these terms is empty, and exhibits all the intellectual processes
with the intelligence left out. I know nothing more distressing than the
attempt to follow any German argument concerning the War. If it were
merely wrong-headed, cunning, deceitful, there might still be some
compensation in its cleverness. There is no such compensation. The
statements made are not false, but empty; the arguments used are not
bad, but meaningless. It is as if they despised language, and made use
of it only because they believe that it is an instrument of deceit. But
a man who has no respect for language cannot possibly use it in such a
manner as to deceive others, especially if those others are accustomed
to handle it delicately and powerfully. It ought surely to be easy to
apologize for a war that commands the whole-hearted support of a nation;
but no apology worthy of the name has been produced in Germany. The
pleadings which have been used are servile things, written to order, and
directed to some particular address, as if the truth were of no
importance. No one of these appeals has produced any appreciable effect
on the minds of educated Frenchmen, or Englishmen, or Americans, even
among those who are eager to hear all that the enemy has to say for
himself. This is a strange thing; and is perhaps the widest breach of
all. We are hopelessly separated from the Germans; we have lost the use
of a common language, and cannot talk with them if we would.
We cannot understand them; is it remotely possible that they will ever
understand us? Here, too, the difficulties seem insuperable. It is true
that in the past they have shown themselves willing to study us and to
imitate us. But unless they change their minds and their habits, it is
not easy to see how they are to get near enough to us to carry on their
study. While they remain what they are we do not want them in our
neighbourhood. We are not fighting to anglicize Germany, or to impose
ourselves on the Germans; our work is being done, as work is so often
done in this idle sport-loving country, with a view to a holiday. We
wish to forget the Germans; and when once we have policed them into
quiet and decency we shall have earned the right to forget them, at
least for a time. The time of our respite perhaps will not be long. If
the Allies defeat them, as the Allies will, it seems as certain as any
uncertain thing can be that a mania for imitating British and American
civilization will take possession of Germany. We are not vindictive to a
beaten enemy, and when the Germans offer themselves as pupils we are not
likely to be either enthusiastic in our welcome or obstinate in our
refusal. We shall be bored but concessive. I confess that there are
some things in the prospect of this imitation which haunt me like a
nightmare. The British soldier, whom the German knows to be second to
none, is distinguished for the levity and jocularity of his bearing in
the face of danger. What will happen when the German soldier attempts to
imitate that? We shall be delivered from the German peril as when Israel
came out of Egypt, and the mountains skipped like rams.
The only parts of this book for which I claim any measure of authority
are the parts which describe the English character. No one of purely
English descent has ever been known to describe the English character,
or to attempt to describe it. The English newspapers are full of praises
of almost any of the allied troops other than the English regiments. I
have more Scottish and Irish blood in my veins than English; and I think
I can see the English character truly, from a little distance. If, by
some fantastic chance, the statesmen of Germany could learn what I tell
them, it would save their country from a vast loss of life and from many
hopeless misadventures. The English character is not a removable part of
the British Empire; it is the foundation of the whole structure, and the
secret strength of the American Republic. But the statesmen of Germany,
who fall easy victims to anything foolish in the shape of a theory that
flatters their vanity, would not believe a word of my essays even if
they were to read them, so they must learn to know the English character
in the usual way, as King George the Third learned to know it from
Englishmen resident in America.
A habit of lying and a belief in the utility of lying are often
attended by the most unhappy and paralysing effects. The liars become
unable to recognize the truth when it is presented to them. This is the
misery which fate has fixed on the German cause. War, the Germans are
fond of remarking, is war. In almost all wars there is something to be
said on both sides of the question. To know that one side or the other
is right may be difficult; but it is always useful to know why your
enemies are fighting. We know why Germany is fighting; she explained it
very fully, by her most authoritative voices, on the very eve of the
struggle, and she has repeated it many times since in moments of
confidence or inadvertence. But here is the tragedy of Germany: she does
not know why we are fighting. We have told her often enough, but she
does not believe it, and treats our statement as an exercise in the
cunning use of what she calls ethical propaganda. Why ethics, or morals,
should be good enough to inspire sympathy, but not good enough to
inspire war, is one of the mysteries of German thought. No German, not
even any of those few feeble German writers who have fitfully criticized
the German plan, has any conception of the deep, sincere, unselfish, and
righteous anger that was aroused in millions of hearts by the cruelties
of the cowardly assault on Serbia and on Belgium. The late German
Chancellor became uneasily aware that the crucifixion of Belgium was one
of the causes which made this war a truceless war, and his offer, which
no doubt seemed to him perfectly reasonable, was that Germany is willing
to bargain about Belgium, and to relax her hold, in exchange for solid
advantages elsewhere. Perhaps he knew that if the Allies were to spend
five minutes in bargaining about Belgium they would thereby condone the
German crime and would lose all that they have fought for. But it seems
more likely that he did not know it. The Allies know it.
There is hope in these clear-cut issues. Of all wars that ever were
fought this war is least likely to have an indecisive ending. It must be
settled one way or the other. If the Allied Governments were to make
peace to-day, there would be no peace; the peoples of the free countries
would not suffer it. Germany cannot make peace, for she is bound by
heavy promises to her people, and she cannot deliver the goods. She is
tied to the stake, and must fight the course. Emaciated, exhausted,
repeating, as if in a bad dream, the old boastful appeals to military
glory, she must go on till she drops, and then at last there will be
peace.
These may themselves seem boastful words; they cannot be proved except
by the event. There are some few Englishmen, with no stomach for a
fight, who think that England is in a bad way because she is engaged in
a war of which the end is not demonstrably certain. If the issues of
wars were known beforehand, and could be discounted, there would be no
wars. Good wars are fought by nations who make their choice, and would
rather die than lose what they are fighting for. Military fortunes are
notoriously variable, and depend on a hundred accidents. Moral causes
are constant, and operate all the time. The chief of these moral causes
is the character of a people. Germany, by her vaunted study of the art
and science of war, has got herself into a position where no success can
come to her except by way of the collapse or failure of the
English-speaking peoples. A study of the moral causes, if she were
capable of making it, would not encourage her in her old impious belief
that God will destroy these peoples in order to clear the way for the
dominion of the Hohenzollerns.
MIGHT IS RIGHT
_First published as one of the Oxford Pamphlets, October 1914_
It is now recognized in England that our enemy in this war is not a
tyrant military caste, but the united people of modern Germany. We have
to combat an armed doctrine which is virtually the creed of all Germany.
Saxony and Bavaria, it is true, would never have invented the doctrine;
but they have accepted it from Prussia, and they believe it. The
Prussian doctrine has paid the German people handsomely; it has given
them their place in the world. When it ceases to pay them, and not till
then, they will reconsider it. They will not think, till they are
compelled to think. When they find themselves face to face with a
greater and more enduring strength than their own, they will renounce
their idol. But they are a brave people, a faithful people, and a stupid
people, so that they will need rough proofs. They cannot be driven from
their position by a little paper shot. In their present mood, if they
hear an appeal to pity, sensibility, and sympathy, they take it for a
cry of weakness. I am reminded of what I once heard said by a genial and
humane Irish officer concerning a proposal to treat with the leaders of
a Zulu rebellion. 'Kill them all,' he said, 'it's the only thing they
understand.' He meant that the Zulu chiefs would mistake moderation for
a sign of fear. By the irony of human history this sentence has become
almost true of the great German people, who built up the structure of
modern metaphysics. They can be argued with only by those who have the
will and the power to punish them.
The doctrine that Might is Right, though it is true, is an unprofitable
doctrine, for it is true only in so broad and simple a sense that no one
would dream of denying it. If a single nation can conquer, depress, and
destroy all the other nations of the earth and acquire for itself a sole
dominion, there may be matter for question whether God approves that
dominion; what is certain is that He permits it. No earthly governor who
is conscious of his power will waste time in listening to arguments
concerning what his power ought to be. His right to wield the sword can
be challenged only by the sword. An all-powerful governor who feared no
assault would never trouble himself to assert that Might is Right. He
would smile and sit still. The doctrine, when it is propounded by weak
humanity, is never a statement of abstract truth; it is a declaration of
intention, a threat, a boast, an advertisement. It has no value except
when there is some one to be frightened. But it is a very dangerous
doctrine when it becomes the creed of a stupid people, for it flatters
their self-sufficiency, and distracts their attention from the
difficult, subtle, frail, and wavering conditions of human power. The
tragic question for Germany to-day is what she can do, not whether it is
right for her to do it. The buffaloes, it must be allowed, had a
perfect right to dominate the prairie of America, till the hunters came.
They moved in herds, they practised shock-tactics, they were violent,
and very cunning. There are but few of them now. A nation of men who
mistake violence for strength, and cunning for wisdom, may conceivably
suffer the fate of the buffaloes and perish without knowing why.
To the English mind the German political doctrine is so incredibly
stupid that for many long years, while men in high authority in the
German Empire, ministers, generals, and professors, expounded that
doctrine at great length and with perfect clearness, hardly any one
could be found in England to take it seriously, or to regard it as
anything but the vapourings of a crazy sect. England knows better now;
the scream of the guns has awakened her. The German doctrine is to be
put to the proof. Who dares to say what the result will be? To predict
certain failure to the German arms is only a kind of boasting. Yet there
are guarded beliefs which a modest man is free to hold till they are
seen to be groundless. The Germans have taken Antwerp; they may possibly
destroy the British fleet, overrun England and France, repel Russia,
establish themselves as the dictators of Europe--in short, fulfil their
dreams. What then? At an immense cost of human suffering they will have
achieved, as it seems to us, a colossal and agonizing failure. Their
engines of destruction will never serve them to create anything so fair
as the civilization of France. Their uneasy jealousy and self-assertion
is a miserable substitute for the old laws of chivalry and regard for
the weak, which they have renounced and forgotten. The will and high
permission of all-ruling Heaven may leave them at large for a time, to
seek evil to others. When they have finished with it, the world will
have to be remade.
We cannot be sure that the Ruler of the world will forbid this. We
cannot even be sure that the destroyers, in the peace that their
destruction will procure for them, may not themselves learn to rebuild.
The Goths, who destroyed the fabric of the Roman Empire, gave their
name, in time, to the greatest mediaeval art. Nature, it is well known,
loves the strong, and gives to them, and to them alone, the chance of
becoming civilized. Are the German people strong enough to earn that
chance? That is what we are to see. They have some admirable elements of
strength, above any other European people. No other European army can be
marched, in close order, regiment after regiment, up the <DW72> of a
glacis, under the fire | 1,482.635802 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.8817440 | 979 | 8 |
E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/songsofwomanhood00almauoft
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold).
SONGS OF WOMANHOOD
* * * * *
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._
_Uniform with this Volume._
REALMS OF UNKNOWN KINGS.
=The Athenaeum.=--'_In this volume the critic recognises with sudden
joy the work of a true poet._'
=The Saturday Review.=--'_It is a book in which deep feeling speaks
... and it has something of that essentially poetical thought, the
thought that sees, which lies deeper than feeling._'
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS.
* * * * *
SONGS OF WOMANHOOD
by
LAURENCE ALMA TADEMA
Grant Richards
48 Leicester Square
London
1903
Edinburgh: Printed by T. and A. Constable
A great number of the following verses are already known to readers of
_The Herb o' Grace_, and of the little reprint, _Songs of Childhood_.
As these pamphlets, however, did not reach the public, it has been
thought advisable to re-issue the verses in book-form, together with
three or four more collected from various reviews, and a number that
are here printed for the first time.
L.A.T.
Contents
PAGE
CHILDHOOD
KING BABY 3
A BLESSING FOR THE BLESSED 5
TO RAOUL BOUCHARD 8
TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW 10
THE NESTING HOUR 11
THE LITTLE SISTER--Bath-time 12
Bed-time 13
A TWILIGHT SONG 14
A WINTRY LULLABY 15
THE WARM CRADLE 16
THE DROOPING FLOWER 17
MOTHERS IN THE GARDEN--I. 18
II. 19
THE GRAVEL PATH 20
THE NEW PELISSE 21
SOLACE 22
STRANGE LANDS 23
MARCH MEADOWS--A Lark 24
Lambs 25
THE ROBIN 26
THE MOUSE 27
THE BAT 28
THE SWALLOW 29
SNOWDROPS 30
FROST 32
APPLES 33
LONELY CHILDREN--I. 34
II. 35
PLAYGROUNDS 36
FAIRINGS 38
THE FLOWER TO THE BUD 40
SIX SONGS OF GIRLHOOD
LOVE AND THE MAIDENS 43
AWAKENINGS 44
THE CLOUDED SOUL 46
THE HEALER 47
THE OPEN DOOR 48
THE FUGITIVE 49
THE FAITHFUL WIFE 53
WOMANHOOD
A WOMAN TO HER POET 63
THE INFIDEL 64
LOVE WITHIN VOWS 65
THE EXILE 66
THE SCAR INDELIBLE 67
REVULSION 68
THE CAPTIVE 69
POSSESSION'S ANGUISH 70
TREASURES OF POVERTY 72
SOLITUDE 73
THE HEART ASLEEP 74
ADVERSITY 75
FACES OF THE DEAD 76
THE SLEEPER 80
STARS 81
TRELAWNY'S GRAVE 82
V.R.I.--JANUARY 22, 1901 83
LINES ON A PICTURE BY MARY GOW 84
TO SERENITY 85
ELEVEN SONNETS 89
THE | 1,482.901784 |
2023-11-16 18:41:46.9130930 | 6,292 | 10 |
Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, Chris Curnow, Joseph
Cooper and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
The WONDERFUL
WIZARD
OF
OZ
BY L. Frank Baum
W. W. Denslow.
[Illustration]
Geo. M. Hill Co.
New York.
INTRODUCTION.
Folk lore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood
through the ages, for every healthy youngster has a wholesome and
instinctive love for stories fantastic, marvelous and manifestly
unreal. The winged fairies of Grimm and Andersen have brought more
happiness to childish hearts than all other human creations.
Yet the old-time fairy tale, having served for generations, may
now be classed as "historical" in the children's library; for the
time has come for a series of newer "wonder tales" in which the
stereotyped genie, dwarf and fairy are eliminated, together with all
the horrible and blood-curdling incident devised by their authors
to point a fearsome moral to each tale. Modern education includes
morality; therefore the modern child seeks only entertainment in its
wonder-tales and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable incident.
[Illustration]
Having this thought in mind, the story of "The Wonderful Wizard of
Oz" was written solely to pleasure children of today. It aspires to
being a modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are
retained and the heart-aches and nightmares are left out.
L. FRANK BAUM.
CHICAGO, APRIL, 1900.
[Illustration]
Copyright 1899
By L. Frank Baum
and W. W. Denslow.
All rights reserved
[Illustration]
LIST OF CHAPTERS.
CHAPTER I.--The Cyclone.
CHAPTER II.--The Council with The Munchkins.
CHAPTER III.--How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow.
CHAPTER IV.--The Road Through the Forest.
CHAPTER V.--The Rescue of the Tin Woodman.
CHAPTER VI.--The Cowardly Lion.
CHAPTER VII.--The Journey to The Great Oz.
CHAPTER VIII.--The Deadly Poppy Field.
CHAPTER IX.--The Queen of the Field Mice.
CHAPTER X.--The Guardian of the Gates.
CHAPTER XI.--The Wonderful Emerald City of Oz.
CHAPTER XII.--The Search for the Wicked Witch.
CHAPTER XIII.--How the Four were Reunited.
CHAPTER XIV.--The Winged Monkeys.
CHAPTER XV.--The Discovery of Oz the Terrible.
CHAPTER XVI.--The Magic Art of the Great Humbug.
CHAPTER XVII.--How the Balloon was Launched.
CHAPTER XVIII.--Away to the South.
CHAPTER XIX.--Attacked by the Fighting Trees.
CHAPTER XX.--The Dainty China Country.
CHAPTER XXI.--The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts.
CHAPTER XXII.--The Country of the Quadlings.
CHAPTER XXIII.--The Good Witch grants Dorothy's Wish.
CHAPTER XXIV.--Home Again.
_This book is dedicated to my
good friend & comrade.
My Wife
L.F.B._
Chapter I.
The Cyclone.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle
Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife.
Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried
by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof,
which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cooking
stove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs,
and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner,
and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at
all, and no cellar--except a small hole, dug in the ground, called a
cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great
whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building in its path. It
was reached by a trap-door in the middle of the floor, from which a
ladder led down into the small, dark hole.
When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see
nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a
house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached the edge of
the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a
gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was
not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until
they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had
been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it
away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else.
[Illustration: "_She caught Toto by the ear._"]
When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The
sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from
her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her
cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt,
and never smiled, now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came
to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's laughter that
she would scream and press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy's
merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at the little girl
with wonder that she could find anything to laugh at.
Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and
did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to
his rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke.
It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as
gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little
black dog, with long, silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled
merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day
long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly.
[Illustration]
To-day, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the
door-step and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than
usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at
the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the dishes.
From the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle
Henry and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves
before the coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the
air from the south, and as they turned their eyes that way they saw
ripples in the grass coming from that direction also.
Suddenly Uncle Henry stood up.
"There's a cyclone coming, Em," he called to his wife; "I'll go look
after the stock." Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows and
horses were kept.
Aunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told her of
the danger close at hand.
"Quick, Dorothy!" she screamed; "run for the cellar!"
Toto jumped out of Dorothy's arms and hid under the bed, and the
girl started to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open the
trap-door in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small,
dark hole. Dorothy caught Toto at last, and started to follow her
aunt. When she was half way across the room there came a great shriek
from the wind, and the house shook so hard that she lost her footing
and sat down suddenly upon the floor.
A strange thing then happened.
The house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly through
the air. Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a balloon.
The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the
exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is
generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every side of
the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at the very
top of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried miles and
miles away as easily as you could carry a feather.
It was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but
Dorothy found she was riding quite easily. After the first few whirls
around, and one other time when the house tipped badly, she felt as
if she were being rocked gently, like a baby in a cradle.
Toto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now there,
barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited
to see what would happen.
Once Toto got too near the open trap-door, and fell in; and at first
the little girl thought she had lost him. But soon she saw one of his
ears sticking up through the hole, for the strong pressure of the air
was keeping him up so that he could not fall. She crept to the hole,
caught Toto by the ear, and dragged him into the room again; afterward
closing the trap-door so that no more accidents could happen.
Hour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her fright;
but she felt quite lonely, and the wind shrieked so loudly all about
her that she nearly became deaf. At first she had wondered if she
would be dashed to pieces when the house fell again; but as the hours
passed and nothing terrible happened, she stopped worrying and
resolved to wait calmly and see what the future would bring. At last
she crawled over the swaying floor to her bed, and lay down upon it;
and Toto followed and lay down beside her.
In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind,
Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.
[Illustration]
Chapter II.
The Council with
The Munchkins.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
She was awakened by a shock, so sudden and severe that if Dorothy
had not been lying on the soft bed she might have been hurt. As it
was, the jar made her catch her breath and wonder what had happened;
and Toto put his cold little nose into her face and whined dismally.
Dorothy sat up and noticed that the house was not moving; nor was it
dark, for the bright sunshine came in at the window, flooding the
little room. She sprang from her bed and with Toto at her heels ran
and opened the door.
The little girl gave a cry of amazement and looked about her, her
eyes growing bigger and bigger at the wonderful sights she saw.
The cyclone had set the house down, very gently--for a cyclone--in
the midst of a country of marvelous beauty. There were lovely patches
of green sward all about, with stately trees bearing rich and
luscious fruits. Banks of gorgeous flowers were on every hand, and
birds with rare and brilliant plumage sang and fluttered in the trees
and bushes. A little way off was a small brook, rushing and sparkling
along between green banks, and murmuring in a voice very grateful to
a little girl who had lived so long on the dry, gray prairies.
While she stood looking eagerly at the strange and beautiful sights,
she noticed coming toward her a group of the queerest people she had
ever seen. They were not as big as the grown folk she had always been
used to; but neither were they very small. In fact, they seemed about
as tall as Dorothy, who was a well-grown child for her age, although
they were, so far as looks go, many years older.
[Illustration: "_I am the Witch of the North._"]
Three were men and one a woman, and all were oddly dressed. They wore
round hats that rose to a small point a foot above their heads, with
little bells around the brims that tinkled sweetly as they moved. The
hats of the men were blue; the little woman's hat was white, and she
wore a white gown that hung in plaits from her shoulders; over it were
sprinkled little stars that glistened in the sun like diamonds. The men
were dressed in blue, of the same shade as their hats, and wore well
polished boots with a deep roll of blue at the tops. The men, Dorothy
thought, were about as old as Uncle Henry, for two of them had beards.
But the little woman was doubtless much older: her face was covered
with wrinkles, her hair was nearly white, and she walked rather stiffly.
When these people drew near the house where Dorothy was standing in
the doorway, they paused and whispered among themselves, as if afraid
to come farther. But the little old woman walked up to Dorothy, made
a low bow and said, in a sweet voice,
"You are welcome, most noble Sorceress, to the land of the Munchkins.
We are so grateful to you for having killed the wicked Witch of the
East, and for setting our people free from bondage."
[Illustration]
Dorothy listened to this speech with wonder. What could the little
woman possibly mean by calling her a sorceress, and saying she
had killed the wicked Witch of the East? Dorothy was an innocent,
harmless little girl, who had been carried by a cyclone many miles
from home; and she had never killed anything in all her life.
But the little woman evidently expected her to answer; so Dorothy
said, with hesitation,
"You are very kind; but there must be some mistake. I have not killed
anything."
"Your house did, anyway," replied the little old woman, with a laugh;
"and that is the same thing. See!" she continued, pointing to the
corner of the house; "there are her two toes, still sticking out from
under a block of wood."
Dorothy looked, and gave a little cry of fright. There, indeed, just
under the corner of the great beam the house rested on, two feet were
sticking out, shod in silver shoes with pointed toes.
"Oh, dear! oh, dear!" cried Dorothy, clasping her hands together in
dismay; "the house must have fallen on her. What ever shall we do?"
"There is nothing to be done," said the little woman, calmly.
[Illustration]
"But who was she?" asked Dorothy.
"She was the wicked Witch of the East, as I said," answered the
little woman. "She has held all the Munchkins in bondage for many
years, making them slave for her night and day. Now they are all set
free, and are grateful to you for the favour."
"Who are the Munchkins?" enquired Dorothy.
"They are the people who live in this land of the East, where the
wicked Witch ruled."
"Are you a Munchkin?" asked Dorothy.
"No; but I am their friend, although I live in the land of the North.
When they saw the Witch of the East was dead the Munchkins sent a swift
messenger to me, and I came at once. I am the Witch of the North."
"Oh, gracious!" cried Dorothy; "are you a real witch?"
"Yes, indeed;" answered the little woman. "But I am a good witch, and
the people love me. I am not as powerful as the wicked Witch was who
ruled here, or I should have set the people free myself."
"But I thought all witches were wicked," said the girl, who was half
frightened at facing a real witch.
"Oh, no; that is a great mistake. There were only four witches in all
the Land of Oz, and two of them, those who live in the North and the
South, are good witches. I know this is true, for I am one of them
myself, and cannot be mistaken. Those who dwelt in the East and the
West were, indeed, wicked witches; but now that you have killed one
of them, there is but one wicked Witch in all the Land of Oz--the one
who lives in the West."
"But," said Dorothy, after a moment's thought, "Aunt Em has told me
that the witches were all dead--years and years ago."
"Who is Aunt Em?" inquired the little old woman.
"She is my aunt who lives in Kansas, where I came from."
The Witch of the North seemed to think for a time, with her head
bowed and her eyes upon the ground. Then she looked up and said,
"I do not know where Kansas is, for I have never heard that country
mentioned before. But tell me, is it a civilized country?"
"Oh, yes;" replied Dorothy.
"Then that accounts for it. In the civilized countries I believe
there are no witches left; nor wizards, nor sorceresses, nor
magicians. But, you see, the Land of Oz has never been civilized, for
we are cut off from all the rest of the world. Therefore we still
have witches and wizards amongst us."
"Who are the Wizards?" asked Dorothy.
"Oz himself is the Great Wizard," answered the Witch, sinking her
voice to a whisper. "He is more powerful than all the rest of us
together. He lives in the City of Emeralds."
Dorothy was going to ask another question, but just then the Munchkins,
who had been standing silently by, gave a loud shout and pointed to the
corner of the house where the Wicked Witch had been lying.
[Illustration]
"What is it?" asked the little old woman; and looked, and began
to laugh. The feet of the dead Witch had disappeared entirely and
nothing was left but the silver shoes.
"She was so old," explained the Witch of the North, "that she dried
up quickly in the sun. That is the end of her. But the silver shoes
are yours, and you shall have them to wear." She reached down and
picked up the shoes, and after shaking the dust out of them handed
them to Dorothy.
"The Witch of the East was proud of those silver shoes," said one of
the Munchkins; "and there is some charm connected with them; but what
it is we never knew."
Dorothy carried the shoes into the house and placed them on the
table. Then she came out again to the Munchkins and said,
"I am anxious to get back to my Aunt and Uncle, for I am sure they
will worry about me. Can you help me find my way?"
The Munchkins and the Witch first looked at one another, and then at
Dorothy, and then shook their heads.
"At the East, not far from here," said one, "there is a great desert,
and none could live to cross it."
"It is the same at the South," said another, "for I have been there
and seen it. The South is the country of the Quadlings."
"I am told," said the third man, "that it is the same at the West. And
that country, where the Winkies live, is ruled by the wicked Witch of
the West, who would make you her slave if you passed her way."
"The North is my home," said the old lady, "and at its edge is the
same great desert that surrounds this land of Oz. I'm afraid, my
dear, you will have to live with us."
Dorothy began to sob, at this, for she felt lonely among all
these strange people. Her tears seemed to grieve the kind-hearted
Munchkins, for they immediately took out their handkerchiefs and
began to weep also. As for the little old woman, she took off her
cap and balanced the point on the end of her nose, while she counted
"one, two, three" in a solemn voice. At once the cap changed to a
slate, on which was written in big, white chalk marks:
"LET DOROTHY GO TO THE CITY OF EMERALDS."
[Illustration]
The little old woman took the slate from her nose, and, having read
the words on it, asked,
"Is your name Dorothy, my dear?"
"Yes," answered the child, looking up and drying her tears.
"Then you must go to the City of Emeralds. Perhaps Oz will help you."
"Where is this City?" asked Dorothy.
"It is exactly in the center of the country, and is ruled by Oz, the
Great Wizard I told you of."
"Is he a good man?" enquired the girl, anxiously.
"He is a good Wizard. Whether he is a man or not I cannot tell, for I
have never seen him."
"How can I get there?" asked Dorothy.
"You must walk. It is a long journey, through a country that is
sometimes pleasant and sometimes dark and terrible. However, I will
use all the magic arts I know of to keep you from harm."
"Won't you go with me?" pleaded the girl, who had begun to look upon
the little old woman as her only friend.
"No, I cannot do that," she replied; "but I will give you my kiss,
and no one will dare injure a person who has been kissed by the Witch
of the North."
She came close to Dorothy and kissed her gently on the forehead.
Where her lips touched the girl they left a round, shining mark, as
Dorothy found out soon after.
"The road to the City of Emeralds is paved with yellow brick," said the
Witch; "so you cannot miss it. When you get to Oz do not be afraid of
him, but tell your story and ask him to help you. Good-bye, my dear."
[Illustration]
The three Munchkins bowed low to her and wished her a pleasant
journey, after which they walked away through the trees. The Witch
gave Dorothy a friendly little nod, whirled around on her left heel
three times, and straightway disappeared, much to the surprise of
little Toto, who barked after her loudly enough when she had gone,
because he had been afraid even to growl while she stood by.
But Dorothy, knowing her to be a witch, had expected her to disappear
in just that way, and was not surprised in the least.
Chapter III
How Dorothy saved
the Scarecrow.
[Illustration]
When Dorothy was left alone she began to feel hungry. So she went
to the cupboard and cut herself some bread, which she spread with
butter. She gave some to Toto, and taking a pail from the shelf
she carried it down to the little brook and filled it with clear,
sparkling water. Toto ran over to the trees and began to bark at the
birds sitting there. Dorothy went to get him, and saw such delicious
fruit hanging from the branches that she gathered some of it, finding
it just what she wanted to help out her breakfast.
Then she went back to the house, and having helped herself and Toto
to a good drink of the cool, clear water, she set about making ready
for the journey to the City of Emeralds.
Dorothy had only one other dress, but that happened to be clean and
was hanging on a peg beside her bed. It was gingham, with checks
of white and blue; and although the blue was somewhat faded with
many washings, it was still a pretty frock. The girl washed herself
carefully, dressed herself in the clean gingham, and tied her pink
sunbonnet on her head. She took a little basket and filled it with
bread from the cupboard, laying a white cloth over the top. Then she
looked down at her feet and noticed how old and worn her shoes were.
"They surely will never do for a long journey, Toto," she said. And
Toto looked up into her face with his little black eyes and wagged
his tail to show he knew what she meant.
At that moment Dorothy saw lying on the table the silver shoes that
had belonged to the Witch of the East.
"I wonder if they will fit me," she said to Toto. "They would be just
the thing to take a long walk in, for they could not wear out."
She took off her old leather shoes and tried on the silver ones,
which fitted her as well as if they had been made for her.
Finally she picked up her basket.
"Come along, Toto," she said, "we will go to the Emerald City and ask
the great Oz how to get back to Kansas again."
She closed the door, locked it, and put the key carefully in the
pocket of her dress. And so, with Toto trotting along soberly behind
her, she started on her journey.
There were several roads near by, but it did not take her long to
find the one paved with yellow brick. Within a short time she was
walking briskly toward the Emerald City, her silver shoes tinkling
merrily on the hard, yellow roadbed. The sun shone bright and the
birds sang sweet and Dorothy did not feel nearly as bad as you might
think a little girl would who had been suddenly whisked away from her
own country and set down in the midst of a strange land.
[Illustration]
She was surprised, as she walked along, to see how pretty the country
was about her. There were neat fences at the sides of the road,
painted a dainty blue color, and beyond them were fields of grain and
vegetables in abundance. Evidently the Munchkins were good farmers
and able to raise large crops. Once in a while she would pass a
house, and the people came out to look at her and bow low as she
went by; for everyone knew she had been the means of destroying the
wicked witch and setting them free from bondage. The houses of the
Munchkins were odd looking dwellings, for each was round, with a big
dome for a roof. All were painted blue, for in this country of the
East blue was the favorite color.
Towards evening, when Dorothy was tired with her long walk and began
to wonder where she should pass the night, she came to a house rather
larger than the rest. On the green lawn before it many men and women
were dancing. Five little fiddlers played as loudly as possible and
the people were laughing and singing, while a big table near by was
loaded with delicious fruits and nuts, pies and cakes, and many other
good things to eat.
The people greeted Dorothy kindly, and invited her to supper and to
pass the night with them; for this was the home of one of the richest
Munchkins in the land, and his friends were gathered with him to
celebrate their freedom from the bondage of the wicked witch.
Dorothy ate a hearty supper and was waited upon by the rich Munchkin
himself, whose name was Boq. Then she sat down upon a settee and
watched the people dance.
When Boq saw her silver shoes he said,
"You must be a great sorceress."
"Why?" asked the girl.
"Because you wear silver shoes and have killed the wicked witch.
Besides, you have white in your frock, and only witches and
sorceresses wear white."
[Illustration: "_You must be a great sorceress._"]
"My dress is blue and white checked," said Dorothy, smoothing out the
wrinkles in it.
"It is kind of you to wear that," said Boq. "Blue is the color of
the Munchkins, and white is the witch color; so we know you are a
friendly witch."
Dorothy did not know what to say to this, for all the people seemed
to think her a witch, and she knew very well she was only an ordinary
little girl who had come by the chance of a cyclone into a strange land.
When she had tired watching the dancing, Boq led her into the house,
where he gave her a room with a pretty bed in it. The sheets were
made of blue cloth, and Dorothy slept soundly in them till morning,
with Toto curled up on the blue rug beside her.
She ate a hearty breakfast, and watched a wee Munchkin baby, who
played with Toto and pulled his tail and crowed and laughed in a way
that greatly amused Dorothy. Toto was a fine curiosity to all the
people, for they had never seen a dog before.
"How far is it to the Emerald City?" the girl asked.
[Illustration]
"I do not know," answered Boq, gravely, "for I have never been there.
It is better for people to keep away from Oz, unless they have
business with him. But it is a long way to the Emerald City, and it
will take you many days. The country here is rich and pleasant, but
you must pass through rough and dangerous places before you reach the
end of your journey."
This worried Dorothy a little, but she knew that only the great Oz
could help her get to Kansas again, so she bravely resolved | 1,482.933133 |
2023-11-16 18:41:47.0266230 | 1,464 | 17 |
Produced by Al Haines.
*Selected Poems*
*by Rupert Brooke*
London
Sidgwick & Jackson, Ltd.
3 Adam St., W.C.
1922
First Edition, March 1917
Second Impression, April 1917
Third Impression, May 1918
Fourth Impression, February 1919
Fifth Impression, January 1920
Sixth Impression, January 1922
All rights reserved
*Contents*
Day that I have Loved
On the Death of Smet-Smet, the Hippopotamus-Goddess
Second Best
The Hill
Sonnet ("Oh! Death will find me")
Dust
Song
Kindliness
The Voice
Menelaus and Helen
The Jolly Company
Thoughts on the Shape of the Human Body
Town and Country
The Fish
Dining-room Tea
The Old Vicarage, Grantchester
The Funeral of Youth
Beauty and Beauty
The Chilterns
Love
The Busy Heart
He Wonders Whether to Praise or Blame Her
Hauntings
One Day
Sonnet (_Suggested by some of the Proceedings
of the Society for Psychical Research_)
Clouds
Mutability
Heaven
Tiare Tahiti
Retrospect
The Great Lover
The Treasure
1914:
I. Peace
II. Safety
III. The Dead
IV. The Dead
V. The Soldier
*Day that I have Loved*
Tenderly, day that I have loved, I close your eyes,
And smooth your quiet brow, and fold your thin dead hands.
The grey veils of the half-light deepen; colour dies.
I bear you, a light burden, to the shrouded sands,
Where lies your waiting boat, by wreaths of the sea's making
Mist-garlanded, with all grey weeds of the water crowned.
There you'll be laid, past fear of sleep or hope of waking;
And over the unmoving sea, without a sound,
Faint hands will row you outward, out beyond our sight,
Us with stretched arms and empty eyes on the far-gleaming
And marble sand....
Beyond the shifting cold twilight,
Further than laughter goes, or tears, further than dreaming,
There'll be no port, no dawn-lit islands! But the drear
Waste darkening, and, at length, flame ultimate on the deep.
Oh, the last fire--and you, unkissed, unfriended there!
Oh, the lone way's red ending, and we not there to weep!
(We found you pale and quiet, and strangely crowned with
flowers,
Lovely and secret as a child. You came with us,
Came happily, hand in hand with the young dancing hours,
High on the downs at dawn!) Void now and tenebrous,
The grey sands curve before me....
From the inland meadows,
Fragrant of June and clover, floats the dark and fills
The hollow sea's dead face with little creeping shadows,
And the white silence brims the hollow of the hills.
Close in the nest is folded every weary wing,
Hushed all the joyful voices, and we, who held you dear,
Eastward we turn and homeward, alone, remembering...
Day that I loved, day that I loved, the Night is here!
*On the Death of Smet-Smet, the
Hippopotamus-Goddess*
SONG OF A TRIBE OF THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS
(_The Priests within the Temple_)
She was wrinkled and huge and hideous?
She was our Mother.
She was lustful and lewd?--but a God; we had none other.
In the day She was hidden and dumb, but at nightfall moaned in
the shade;
We shuddered and gave Her Her will in the darkness; we were
afraid.
(_The People without_)
She sent us pain,
And we bowed before Her;
She smiled again
And bade us adore Her.
She solaced our woe
And soothed our sighing;
And what shall we do
Now God is dying?
(_The Priests within_)
She was hungry and ate our children;--how should we stay Her?
She took our young men and our maidens;--ours to obey Her.
We were loathed and mocked and reviled of all nations; that was
our pride.
She fed us, protected us, loved us, and killed us; now She has
died.
(_The People without_)
She was so strong;
But Death is stronger.
She ruled us long;
But Time is longer.
She solaced our woe
And soothed our sighing;
And what shall we do
Now God is dying?
*Second Best*
Here in the dark, O heart;
Alone with the enduring Earth, and Night,
And Silence, and the warm strange smell of clover;
Clear-visioned, though it break you; far apart
From the dead best, the dear and old delight;
Throw down your dreams of immortality,
O faithful, O foolish lover!
Here's peace for you, and surety; here the one
Wisdom--the truth!--"All day the good glad sun
Showers love and labour on you, wine and song;
The greenwood laughs, the wind blows, all day long
Till night." And night ends all things.
Then shall be
No lamp relumed in heaven, no voices crying,
Or changing lights, or dreams and forms that hover!
(And, heart, for all your sighing,
That gladness and those tears are over, over....)
And has the truth brought no new hope at all,
Heart, that you're weeping yet for Paradise?
Do they still whisper, the old weary cries?
"_'Mid youth and song, feasting and carnival,_
_Through laughter, through the roses, as of old_
_Comes Death, on shadowy and relentless feet,_
_Death, unappeasable by prayer or gold;_
_Death is the end, the end!_"
Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet
Death as a friend!
Exile of immortality, strongly wise,
Strain through the dark with undesirous eyes
To what may lie beyond it. Sets your star,
O heart, for ever! Yet, behind the night,
Waits for the great unborn, somewhere | 1,483.046663 |
2023-11-16 18:41:47.1577950 | 3,137 | 9 |
E-text prepared by Martin Robb
IN THE WARS OF THE ROSES
A Story for the Young
by
Everett Evelyn-Green.
1901
CONTENTS
Prologue.
Chapter 1: A Brush with the Robbers.
Chapter 2: A Hospitable Shelter.
Chapter 3: A Strange Encounter.
Chapter 4: Paul's Kinsman.
Chapter 5: In Peril.
Chapter 6: In The Hands of the Robbers.
Chapter 7: The Protection of the Protected.
Chapter 8: The Rally of the Red Rose.
Chapter 9: The Tragedy of Tewkesbury.
Chapter 10: The Prince Avenged.
Notes.
Prologue.
"Mother, will the little prince be there?"
"Yes, my son. He never leaves his mother's side. You will see them
all today, if fortune favours us--the good King Henry, his noble
queen, to whom he owes so much, and the little prince likewise. We
will to horse anon, that we may gain a good view of the procession
as it passes. The royal party lodges this night at our good
bishop's palace. Perchance they will linger over the Sunday, and
hear mass in our fair cathedral, Our loyal folks of Lichfield are
burning to show their love by a goodly show of welcome; and it is
said that his majesty takes pleasure in silvan sports and such-like
simple pleasures, many preparations for the which have been
prepared for him to witness."
"O mother, I know. Ralph and Godfrey have been practising
themselves this many a day in tilting and wrestling, and in the use
of the longbow and quarterstaff, that they may hold their own in
the sports on the green before the palace, which they say the king
will deign to watch.
"O mother; why am I not as old and as strong as they? I asked Ralph
to let me shoot with his bow; but he only laughed at me, and bade
me wait till I was as tall and as strong as he. It is very hard to
be the youngest--and so much the youngest, too."
The mother smiled as she passed her hand over the floating curls of
the gallant boy beside her; He was indeed a child of whom any
mother might be proud: beautiful, straight-limbed, active, and
fearless, his blue eyes glowing and shining, his cheek flushed with
excitement, every look and gesture seeming to speak of the bold
soldier spirit that burned within.
And these were times when it appeared indeed as if England's sons
had need of all the warlike instincts of their race. Party faction
had well-nigh overthrown ere this the throne--and the authority of
the meek King Henry, albeit the haughty Duke of York had set forth
no claim for the crown, which his son but two short years later
both claimed and won. But strife and jealousy and evil purposes
were at work in men's minds. The lust of power and of supremacy had
begun to pave the way for the civil war which was soon to devastate
the land. The sword had already been drawn at St. Albans, and the
hearts of many men were full of foreboding as they thought upon the
perilous times in which they lived; though others were ready to
welcome the strife which promised plunder and glory and fame to
those who should distinguish themselves by prowess in field or
counsel in the closet.
The gentle Lady Stukely, however, was not one of these. Her heart
sank sometimes when she heard the talk of her bold husband and
warlike sons. They had all three of them fought for the king at the
first battle, or rather skirmish, at St. Albans four years before,
and were ardent followers and adherents of the Red Rose of
Lancaster. Her husband had received knighthood at the monarch's
hands on the eve of the battle, and was prepared to lay down his
life in the cause if it should become necessary to do so.
But if rumours of strife to come, and terrible pictures of
bloodshed, sometimes made her gentle spirit quail, she had always
one consolation in the thought that her youngest child, her little
Paul, would not be torn from her side to follow the bloody trail of
war. Her two first-born sons, the younger of whom was twenty-two,
had long been very finished young gallants, trained to every
military enterprise, and eager to unsheathe their swords whenever
rumour told of slight to King Henry or his haughty queen from the
proud Protector, who for a time had held the reins of government,
though exercising his powers in the name of the afflicted king.
But Paul was still a child, not yet quite eight years old; and of
the five fair children born to her between him and his brothers,
not one had lived to complete his or her third year, so that the
mother's heart twined itself the more firmly about this last brave
boy, and in the frequent absences of husband and sons upon matters
of business or pleasure, the companionship between the pair was
almost unbroken, and they loved each other with a devotion that may
easily be understood. Paul felt no awe of his gentle mother, but
rather looked upon himself as her champion and defender in his
father's absence. It was no new thing for him to long for manhood
and its privileges; for would not these make him all the stouter
protector to his mother?
But she was wont when he spoke such words to check him by gentle
counsel and motherly sympathy, and now she took his hand in hers
and patted it smilingly as she replied:
"Ah, my little Paul, time flies fast, and you will be a man before
very long now; but be content for these next days to be yet a
child. Perchance the little prince will pay more heed to such as
are of his age.
"You may chance to win a smile from him, even if the nobles and
gentlemen regard not children."
Paul's face brightened instantly.
"O mother, yes; I had not thought of that. But I do so long to see
the little prince. Oh, if he were to notice me--to speak to me--how
happy I should be! We were born on the same day, were we not, dear
mother--on the thirteenth of October? But I am older, am I not?"
"Yes, my child; by two years. You will be eight upon your next
birthday, and he six. But I hear he is such a forward, kingly,
noble child, that both in appearance and discretion he is far in
advance of his actual age. Those who are brought up with royalty
early learn the lessons which to others come but with advancing
years."
"I love the little prince, our good king's son," cried Paul with
kindling eyes; "I would that I had been called Edward, too. Mother,
why was I not given his name, as I was born on his day, and that of
the good St. Edward too?"
The mother fondly caressed the golden curls of the beautiful child
as she answered:
"Ah, my son, we knew not till long afterward that our gracious
queen had borne a little son on thy natal day. Paul is a name which
many of our race have borne before, and so we called our child by
it. It is the man that makes the name, not the name the man."
"I know that, mother; yet I would fain have borne the name of the
little prince. But hark! I hear the sounds of the horses' feet.
They are bringing them round to the door. Sweet mother, lose no
time. Let us mount and depart. I would fain have been in the
gallant band of gentlemen who rode out this morning at dawn to
welcome and escort the king and queen; as my father and brothers
were. But let us not delay. I should be sorely grieved were we to
miss seeing the entry into the city."
Lady Stukely smiled at the impatience of the child, knowing well
that many hours must elapse before the royal party would reach the
city walls; but she was willing to gratify the ardent desires of
her little son, and as she was already dressed for the saddle, she
rose and took him by the hand and led him out to the courtyard,
where some half dozen of the good knight's retainers were awaiting
their lady and her son.
Stukely Hall was no very large or pretentious place, but it was
built in that quadrangular form so common to that age, and
accommodated within its walls the dependents and retainers that
every man of rank had about him under the old feudal system, which
obliged him to bring to his lord's service on demand a certain
following of armed and trained soldiers.
In those days, when every article of common consumption was made at
home, the household of even a knight or gentleman of no great
wealth or note was no inconsiderable matter, and even the field
labourers almost always dwelt within the walls of their lord's
house, eating his bread, and growing old in his service as a matter
of course, without thinking of such a thing as change.
So that although the greater part of the retainers had ridden off
at dawn with the knight and his sons, there were still a good
half-dozen stout fellows ready to escort their lady to the town;
and besides these were many menials of lower grade standing about
to see the start. Little Paul, who had grown up amongst them, ran
from one to the other, telling them excitedly how he was going to
see the prince that day, and eagerly accepting from the hands of
his old nurse a beautiful bunch of red roses which she had gathered
that morning, in the hope that her darling might have the chance to
offer them to queen or prince.
Mother and son each wore the red rose broidered upon their state
robes, and the boy had stuck the crimson blossom in his velvet cap.
He was a perfect little picture in his white velvet tunic sloshed
with rose colour, his white cloth hosen laced with gold from ankle
to thigh, a short cloak flowing jauntily from his shoulders, and
his bright golden curls flowing from beneath the crimson and white
cap.
No wonder that his stately mother regarded him with looks of fond
pride, or that his old nurse breathed a benediction on his pretty
head, and invoked the saints and the blessed Virgin on his behalf.
They little knew that the gallant child was riding forth to an
encounter which would be fraught for him with strange results; and
that the long-hoped-for meeting with the little prince would be the
first step in one of those passionate attachments which almost
always cost the owner of them dear.
The sun shone hot and bright as the little cavalcade set forth from
the courtyard. The month was that of July, and merry England was
looking its best. The fair landscape lying before the eyes of the
riders seemed to breathe nothing but peace and plenty; and it was
hard to think that the desolating hand of war might, before many
years had passed, be working havoc and ruin over a land so smiling
and happy now.
The rich valley in which the ancient city of Lichfield stands
looked peculiarly beautiful and fertile that day. Lady Stukely,
whilst replying to the eager talk of her excited little boy, could
not but gaze around her with admiration, familiar as the scene was
to her; and even the boy seemed struck, for he looked up and said:
"I hope the little prince will be pleased with our town. He will
have seen many fine places on this progress, but I do think we
shall give him the best welcome of all. We all love him so."
It seemed indeed as if the whole country had turned out to welcome
the royal guests; for as the riders drew near to the city walls,
they found themselves in the midst of a crowd of holiday folks, all
bent upon the same object--namely, to take up a good position for
witnessing the royal procession as it passed; and every few minutes
some joyous roisterer would raise a shout, "Long live the king!"
"Health to the queen!" "Down with the false friends--the House of
York!" which cries would be taken up by the multitude, and echoed
lustily along the road.
And as the party from Stukely Hall rode up, way being made by the
crowd for persons of quality well known and beloved in those parts,
little Paul vented his excitement in a new cry of his own; for,
standing up in his stirrups and waving his cap in his hand, he
cried in his clear boyish tones:
"Three cheers, good people, for the little prince! Three cheers for
Edward, Prince of Wales, our future king!"
And this cheer was taken up with hearty goodwill by all the crowd;
partly for the sake of the cause ear to the hearts of these loyal
people, partly from admiration for the gallant child who had
started it; and Paul rode on with a flushed and happy face, looking
up to his mother and saying:
"They all love the little prince. Oh how I wish he would come!"
The captain of the little band of soldiers who guarded the gate by
which the royal procession was to enter, came forward doffing his
mailed head piece to greet the wife of the gallant Sir James, who
was a notable gentleman in those parts. By his courtesy the lady
and her child were allowed to take up a position so close to the
gate as would insure for them a most excellent view of the royal
party; whilst the humbler crowd was kept at a more discreet
distance by the good-humoured soldiers, who exercised their office
amid plenty of jesting and laughing, which showed that an excellent
understanding existed between them and their brethren of the soil.
The captain, as the hour for the entrance drew near, took up his
position beside the lady, and conversed with her in low tones. Paul
listened with all his ears the moment he discovered that the
soldier was talking about his beloved little prince.
"I do not credit every idle tale I hear, or certes life would be
but a sorry thing for a soldier. But there is a queer rumour flying
about that some of the bold marauding fellows who follow the banner
of York | 1,483.177835 |
2023-11-16 18:41:47.2821620 | 1,464 | 13 |
Produced by Don Kostuch
[Transcriber's note: the groups of four question marks below
indicate illegible text in the source page scans]
OFFICERS OF THE NATIONAL COUNCIL
Honorary President, The HON. WOODROW WILSON
Honorary Vice-President, HON. WILLIAM H. TAFT
Honorary Vice-President, COLONEL THEODORE ROOSEVELT
President, COLIN H. LIVINGSTON, Washington D.C.
Vice-President, B. L. DULANY, ????, Tenn.
Vice-President, MILTON A. McRAE,????
Vice-President, DAVID STARR JORDAN,????
Vice-President, F. L. SEELY, Asheville, N.C.
Vice-President, A. STANFORD. WHITE, Chicago, Ill.
Chief Scout, ERNEST THOMPSON SETON,????
National Scout Commissioner, DANIEL CARTER BEARD,????
FINANCE COMMITTEE
????
NATIONAL HEADQUARTERS
BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
THE FIFTH AVENUE BUILDING, 200 FIFTH AVENUE
TELEPHONE GRAMERCY 545
NEW YORK CITY
ADDITIONAL MEMBERS OF THE EXECUTIVE BOARD
????
July 31, 1913.
TO THE PUBLIC--
In the execution of its purpose to give educational value and moral
worth to the recreational activities of the boyhood of America, the
leaders of the Boy Scout Movement quickly learned that to effectively
carry out its program, the boy must be influenced not only in his
out-of-door life but also in the diversions of his other leisure
moments. It is at such times that the boy is captured by the tales of
daring enterprises and adventurous good times. What now is needful in
not that his taste should be thwarted but trained. There should
constantly be presented to him the books the boy likes best, yet
always the books that will be best for the boy. As a matter of fact,
however, the boy's taste is being constantly visited and exploited by
the great mass of cheap juvenile literature.
To help anxiously concerned parents and educators to meet this grave
peril, the Library Commission of the Boy Scouts of America has been
organized. EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY is the result of their labors. All the
books chosen have been approved by them. The commission is composed of
the following members: George F. Bowerman, Librarian, Public Library
of the District of Columbia, Washington, D.C.; Harrison W. Graver,
Librarian, Carnegie Library of Pittsburgh, Pa.; Claude G. Leland,
Superintendent, Bureau of Libraries, Board of Education, New York
City; Edward F. Stevens, Librarian, Pratt Institute Free Library,
Brooklyn, New York; together with the Editorial Board of our Movement,
William D. Murray, George D. Pratt and Frank Presbrey, with Franklin
K. Mathiews, Chief Scout Librarian, as Secretary.
In selecting the books, the Commission has chosen only such as are of
interest to boys, the first twenty-five being either works of fiction
or stirring stories of adventurous experiences. In later lists, books
of a more serious sort will be included. It is hoped that as many as
twenty-five may be added to the library each year.
Thanks are due the several publishers who have helped to inaugurate
this new department of our work. Without their co-operation in making
available for popular priced editions some of the best books ever
published for boys, the promotion of EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY would have
been impossible.
We wish, too, to express out heartfelt gratitude to the Library
Commission, who, without compensation, have placed their vast
experience and immense resources at the service of our Movement.
The commission invites suggestions as to future books to be included
in the Library. Librarians, teachers, parents, and all others
interested in welfare work for boys, can render a unique service by
forwarding to National Headquarters lists of such books as in their
judgment would be suitable for EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY.
Signed, James E. West.
THE GAUNT GRAY WOLF
[Illustration: "They were startled by blood-curdling whoops, and a
half-dozen Indians, guns levelled, rose upon the shore" (See page
85).]
EVERY BOY'S LIBRARY--BOY SCOUT EDITION
THE GAUNT GRAY WOLF
A TALE OF ADVENTURE WITH "UNGAVA BOB"
BY
DILLON WALLACE
AUTHOR OF
UNGAVA BOB, ETC., ETC.
ILLUSTRATED
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS
Made in the United State of America
Copyright, 1914, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 17 North Wabash Ave.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 75 Princes Street
CONTENTS
I. SHAD TROWBRIDGE OF BOSTON
II. THE LURE OF THE WILDERNESS
III. UNGAVA BOB MAKES A RESCUE
IV. AWAY TO THE TRAILS
V. IN THE FAR WILDERNESS
VI. OLD FRIENDS
VII. WHERE THE EVIL SPIRITS DWELL
VIII. AFTER THE INDIAN ATTACK
IX. THE INDIAN MAIDEN AT THE RIVER TILT
X. THE VOICES OF THE SPIRITS
XI. MANIKAWAN'S VENGEANCE
XII. THE TRAGEDY OF THE RAPIDS
XIII. ON THE TRAIL OF THE INDIANS
XIV. THE MATCHI MANITU IS CHEATED
XV. THE PASSING OF THE WILD THINGS
XVI. ALONE WITH THE INDIANS
XVII. CHRISTMAS AT THE RIVER TILT
XVIII. THE SPIRIT OF DEATH GROWS BOLD.
XIX. THE CACHE ON THE LAKE
XX. THE FOLK AT WOLF BIGHT
XXI. THE RIFLED CACHE
XXII. MANIKAWAN'S SACRIFICE
XXIII. TUMBLED AIR CASTLES
XXIV. THE MESSENGER
XXV. A MISSION OF LIFE AND DEATH
XXVI. "GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN THIS"
XXVII. SHAD'S TRIBUTE TO THE INDIAN MAIDEN
XXVIII. TROWBR | 1,483.302202 |
2023-11-16 18:41:47.2933580 | 653 | 11 |
Produced by A. Light
BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO
by Robert W. Service
[British-born Canadian Poet--1874-1958.]
[Note on text: Italicized stanzas will be indented 5 spaces.
Italicized words or phrases will be capitalised. Lines longer
than 75 characters have been broken according to metre,
and the continuation is indented two spaces.]
[This etext was transcribed from an American 1909 edition.]
BALLADS OF A CHEECHAKO
by Robert W. Service
Author of "The Spell of the Yukon"
CONTENTS:
To the Man of the High North
My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming
Men of the High North
Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing;
The Ballad of the Northern Lights
One of the Down and Out--that's me. Stare at me well, ay, stare!
The Ballad of the Black Fox Skin
There was Claw-fingered Kitty and Windy Ike living the life of shame,
The Ballad of Pious Pete
I tried to refine that neighbor of mine, honest to God, I did.
The Ballad of Blasphemous Bill
I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie,
The Ballad of One-Eyed Mike
This is the tale that was told to me by the man with the crystal eye,
The Ballad of the Brand
'Twas up in a land long famed for gold, where women were far and rare,
The Ballad of Hard-Luck Henry
Now wouldn't you expect to find a man an awful crank
The Man from Eldorado
He's the man from Eldorado, and he's just arrived in town,
My Friends
The man above was a murderer, the man below was a thief;
The Prospector
I strolled up old Bonanza, where I staked in ninety-eight,
The Black Sheep
Hark to the ewe that bore him:
The Telegraph Operator
I will not wash my face;
The Wood-Cutter
The sky is like an envelope,
The Song of the Mouth-Organ
I'm a homely little bit of tin and bone;
The Trail of Ninety-Eight
Gold! We leapt from our benches. Gold! We sprang from our stools.
The Ballad of Gum-Boot Ben
He was an old prospector with a vision bleared and dim.
Clancy of the Mounted Police
In the little Crimson Manual it's written plain and clear
Lost
"Black is the sky, but the land is white--
L'Envoi
We talked of yesteryears, of trails and treasure,
To the Man of the High North
My rhymes are rough, and often in my rhyming
| 1,483.313398 |
2023-11-16 18:41:47.6191590 | 1,006 | 8 |
Produced by Giovanni Fini, Brian Coe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
BELEAGUERED IN
PEKING
THE BOXER’S WAR
AGAINST THE FOREIGNER
BY
ROBERT COLTMAN, JR., M.D.
Professor of Surgery in Imperial University; Professor of Anatomy, the
Imperial Tung Wen Kuan; Surgeon, Imperial Maritime Customs; Surgeon,
Imperial Chinese Railways. Author of “The Chinese, Their Present
and Future: Medical, Political, and Social.”
Illustrated with
Seventy-seven Photo-Engravings
PHILADELPHIA:
F. A. DAVIS COMPANY, PUBLISHERS
1901
COPYRIGHT, 1901
BY F. A. DAVIS COMPANY
Mount Pleasant Printery
J. HORACE MCFARLAND COMPANY
HARRISBURG · PENNSYLVANIA
PREFACE
IN THE following pages I have endeavored to give an accurate and
comprehensive account of the Siege in Peking and of the Boxer movement
that led up to it.
Authentic details furnished by representatives of those legations whose
work has been specially mentioned have made possible a greater detail
in those cases. I regret that others who had promised me accounts of
their work have failed to furnish the promised material.
The siege at Pei Tang or North Cathedral, coincident with that of the
legations and civilians, is not described for the reason that we were
absolutely cut off from them for over sixty days and knew nothing of
their movements. Much detail that might be interesting to many I have
been obliged to omit, as it would make the book too cumbersome.
I make no claim for the book as a literary effort, the object being
to state the facts in the clearest manner possible. The illustrations
are from actual photographs, the authenticity of which is absolutely
proved, and these carefully studied, add much to the information of the
volume.
To my sixteen-year-old son, the youngest soldier to shoulder a rifle
during the siege, I am indebted for much of the diary and great help in
copying. A considerable portion of the book was written with bullets
whistling about us as we sat in the students’ library building of the
English legation.
There are several men whose work entitles them to decorations from
all the countries represented in the siege, and their names will be
indelibly written in our memories even if the powers and ministers
concerned overlook them. I refer to F. A. Gamewell, August Chamot,
Colonel Shiba, and Herbert G. Squiers.
ROBERT COLTMAN, JR., M.D.
PEKING, CHINA, September 10, 1900.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. Riot at Marco Polo Bridge—Men Wounded by Captain
Norregaard—Dr. Coltman Accompanies Governor Hu
as Special Commissioner to Investigate—Anti-Foreign
Feeling Expressed by Generals of Tung Fu’s Army—A
Bargain with Prince Tuan 1
II. Yu Hsien Appointed Governor of Shantung, Removed
by British Demands, Only to be Rewarded—Yuanshih
Kai Succeeds Him—Causes of Hatred of Converts by
People and Boxers—The Boxers and Their Tenets—The
Empress Consults Astrologers 31
III. Cables to America Describing Growth of Boxer Movement
from January to June, 1900 46
IV. Diary of the Author from June 1 to June 20 62
V. Diaries of the Author and His Son from June 20 to End
of Siege 78
VI. Reflections, Incidents, and Memoranda Written During Siege 143
VII. Work During Siege Done by Russians—Work by Americans 167
VIII. Work Done by Staff of Imperial Maritime, Customs, and
British Legation Staff 190
IX. Work Done by Austro—Hungarians—Mr. and Mrs. Chamot 209
X. Edicts Issued by the Empress During Siege, with a Few
Comments Thereon 221
XI. Now What? 245
Beleaguered in Peking
CHAPTER I
_RIOT AT MARCO POLO BRIDGE—MEN WOUNDED BY CAPTAIN | 1,483.639199 |
2023-11-16 18:41:47.6799650 | 2,364 | 6 |
Produced by David Edwards, Haragos PAil and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
UNIFORM WITH
JOHN DOUGH AND THE CHERUB
THE LAND OF OZ
BY L. FRANK BAUM
_Elaborately illustrated--in colors_
_and black-and-white by_
_JOHN R. NEILL_
John Dough and the Cherub
_by_
L. Frank Baum
AUTHOR OF
THE WIZARD OF OZ
THE LAND OF OZ
THE WOGGLE-BUG BOOK
FATHER GOOSE
QUEEN ZIXI OF IX
THE ENCHANTED ISLAND OF YEW, ETC.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED BY
John R. Neill
CHICAGO
THE REILLY & BRITTON COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
[Illustration]
COPYRIGHT, 1906, BY
L. FRANK BAUM
All Rights
Reserved
[Illustration]
To my young friend
John Randolph Reilly
this book is
affectionately dedicated
L.F.B
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LIST OF CHAPTERS
THE GREAT ELIXIR 9
THE TWO FLASKS 11
THE GINGERBREAD MAN 27
JOHN DOUGH BEGINS HIS ADVENTURES 41
CHICK, THE CHERUB 59
THE FREAKS OF PHREEX 104
THE LADY EXECUTIONER 121
THE PALACE OF ROMANCE 140
THE SILVER PIG 159
PITTYPAT AND THE MIFKETS 166
THE ISLAND PRINCESS 185
PARA BRUIN, THE RUBBER BEAR 206
BLACK OOBOO 220
UNDER LAND AND WATER 238
THE FAIRY BEAVERS 252
THE FLIGHT OF THE FLAMINGOES 273
SPORT OF PIRATE ISLAND 284
HILAND AND LOLAND 294
KING DOUGH AND HIS COURT 308
[Illustration: BOY OR GIRL?]
The Great Elixir
Over the door appeared a weather-worn sign that read: "JULES GROGRANDE,
BAKER." In one of the windows, painted upon a sheet of cardboard, was
another sign: "Home-made Bread by the Best Modern Machinery." There was
a third sign in the window beyond the doorway, and this was marked upon
a bit of wrapping-paper, and said: "Fresh Gingerbread Every Day."
When you opened the door, the top of it struck a brass bell suspended
from the ceiling and made it tinkle merrily. Hearing the sound, Madame
Leontine Grogrande would come from her little room back of the shop and
stand behind the counter and ask you what you would like to purchase.
Madame Leontine--or Madame Tina, as the children called her--was quite
short and quite fat; and she had a round, pleasant face that was good
to look upon. She moved somewhat slowly, for the rheumatism troubled
her more or less; but no one minded if Madame was a bit slow in tying
up her parcels. For surely no cakes or buns in all the town were so
delicious or fresh as those she sold, and she had a way of giving the
biggest cakes to the smallest girls and boys who came into her shop,
that proved she was fond of children and had a generous heart.
People loved to come to the Grogrande Bakery. When one opened the
door an exquisite fragrance of newly baked bread and cakes greeted
the nostrils; and, if you were not hungry when you entered, you were
sure to become so when you examined and smelled the delicious pies
and doughnuts and gingerbread and buns with which the shelves and
show-cases were stocked. There were trays of French candies, too; and
because all the goods were fresh and wholesome the bakery was well
patronized and did a thriving business.
The reason no one saw Monsieur Jules in the shop was because his time
was always occupied in the bakery in the rear--a long, low room filled
with ovens and tables covered with pots and pans and dishes (which the
skillful baker used for mixing and stirring) and long shelves bearing
sugars and spices and baking-powders and sweet-smelling extracts that
made his wares taste so sweet and agreeable.
[Illustration: AN ARAB DASHED INTO THE ROOM.]
The bake-room was three times as big as the shop; but Monsieur Jules
needed all the space in the preparation of the great variety of goods
required by his patrons, and he prided himself on the fact that his
edibles were fresh-made each day. In order to have the bread and rolls
ready at breakfast time he was obliged to get up at three o'clock every
morning, and so he went to bed about sundown.
On a certain forenoon the door of the shop opened so abruptly that the
little brass bell made a furious jingling.
An Arab dashed into the room, stopped short, looked around with a
bewildered air, and then rushed away again and banged the door after
him.
Madame looked surprised, but said nothing. She recognized the Arab to
be a certain Ali Dubh, living in the neighborhood, who was accustomed
to purchase a loaf from her every morning. Perhaps he had forgotten his
money, Madame thought.
When the afternoon was half over he entered again, running as if fiends
were at his heels. In the center of the room he paused, slapped his
forehead despairingly with both palms, and said in a wailing voice:
"They're after me!"
Next moment he dashed away at full speed, even forgetting to close
the door; so Madame came from behind the counter and did it herself.
She delayed a moment to gaze at the figure of Ali Dubh racing up the
street. Then he turned the corner of an alley and disappeared from view.
[Illustration]
Things did not startle Madame easily; but the Arab's queer behavior
aroused in her a mild curiosity, and while she stood looking through
the glass of the door, and wondering what had excited the man, she
saw two strange forms glide past her shop with a stealthy motion and
proceed in the same direction Ali Dubh had taken.
They were also Arabs, without a doubt; for although their forms were
muffled in long cloaks, the turbans they wore and the glint of their
dark, beady eyes proclaimed them children of the desert.
When they came to the alley where Ali Dubh had disappeared, the two
strangers were joined by a third, who crept up to them with the sly,
cat-like tread Madame had noted, and seemed to confer with them.
Afterward one turned to the east, a second continued up the street, and
the third stole into the alley.
"Yes," thought Madame, "they are after Ali Dubh, sure enough. But if
they move so slowly they are not likely to catch the poor fellow at
all."
Now, Madame knew very little of her queer customer; for although he
made a daily visit to the bakery for a loaf and a few cakes, he was of
a gloomy disposition, and never stopped for a chat or a bit of gossip.
It was his custom to silently make his simple purchases and then steal
softly away.
Therefore his excited actions upon this eventful day were really
remarkable, and the good lady was puzzled how to explain them.
She sat late in the shop that evening, burning a dingy oil lamp that
swung in the center of the room. For her rheumatism was more painful
than usual, and she dreaded to go to bed and waken Monsieur Jules with
her moanings. The good man was slumbering peacefully upstairs--she
could hear his lusty snores even where she sat--and it was a shame to
disturb him when he must rise so early.
So she sat in her little room at the end of the counter, trying to knit
by the light of a flickering candle, and rocking back and forth in her
chair with a monotonous motion.
Suddenly the little bell tinkled and a gust of air entered the shop,
sending the mingled odors of baked stuff whirling and scurrying about
the room in a most fragrant manner. Then the door closed, and Madame
laid down her knitting and turned to greet the new-comer.
To her astonishment, it proved to be Ali Dubh. His brown cheeks were
flushed, and his glittering black eyes roamed swiftly over the shop
before they turned full upon the Madame's calm face.
"Good!" he exclaimed, "you are alone."
"It is too late for trade. I am going to bed presently," said Madame.
"I am in great trouble, and you must help me," returned the Arab,
hastily. "Lock your door and come with me into your little room, so
that no one can see us through the street windows."
Madame hesitated. The request was unusual, and she knew nothing of the
Arab's history. But she reflected that if the man attempted robbery or
other mischief she could summon Monsieur Jules with a cry. Also, her
interest had been aroused by Ali Dubh's queer behavior during the day.
While she thought the matter over the Arab himself locked the street
door and hurried into the little room, where Madame composedly joined
him a moment later.
"How can I help you?" she asked, picking up her knitting again.
"Listen!" said the Arab. "I must tell you all. You must know the
truth!" He put his hand in a pocket of his loose robe and drew out a
small flask. It was no bigger than two fingers and was made of pure
gold, upon which strange characters had been richly engraved.
"This," said the Arab, in a low, impressive voice, "is the Great
Elixir!"
"What does that mean?" asked Madame, glancing at the flask doubtfully.
"The Great Elixir? Ah, it is the Essence of Vitality, the Water of
Life--the Greatest Thing in all the World!"
"I don't understand," said Madame.
[Illustration]
"Not understand? Why, a drop of the priceless liquid which this
Golden Flask contains, if placed upon your tongue, would send new
life coursing through your veins. It would give you power, strength,
vitality greater than youth itself! You could do anything--accomplish
wonders--perform miracles--if you but tasted this precious liquid!"
"How odd!" exclaimed Madame, beginning to feel bewild | 1,483.700005 |
2023-11-16 18:41:48.4968450 | 1,096 | 13 |
Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall "Christmas Stories" edition by
David Price, email [email protected]
MRS. LIRRIPER'S LEGACY
CHAPTER I--MRS. LIRRIPER RELATES HOW SHE WENT ON, AND WENT OVER
Ah! It's pleasant to drop into my own easy-chair my dear though a little
palpitating what with trotting up-stairs and what with trotting down, and
why kitchen stairs should all be corner stairs is for the builders to
justify though I do not think they fully understand their trade and never
did, else why the sameness and why not more conveniences and fewer
draughts and likewise making a practice of laying the plaster on too
thick I am well convinced which holds the damp, and as to chimney-pots
putting them on by guess-work like hats at a party and no more knowing
what their effect will be upon the smoke bless you than I do if so much,
except that it will mostly be either to send it down your throat in a
straight form or give it a twist before it goes there. And what I says
speaking as I find of those new metal chimneys all manner of shapes
(there's a row of 'em at Miss Wozenham's lodging-house lower down on the
other side of the way) is that they only work your smoke into artificial
patterns for you before you swallow it and that I'd quite as soon swallow
mine plain, the flavour being the same, not to mention the conceit of
putting up signs on the top of your house to show the forms in which you
take your smoke into your inside.
Being here before your eyes my dear in my own easy-chair in my own quiet
room in my own Lodging-House Number Eighty-one Norfolk Street Strand
London situated midway between the City and St. James's--if anything is
where it used to be with these hotels calling themselves Limited but
called unlimited by Major Jackman rising up everywhere and rising up into
flagstaffs where they can't go any higher, but my mind of those monsters
is give me a landlord's or landlady's wholesome face when I come off a
journey and not a brass plate with an electrified number clicking out of
it which it's not in nature can be glad to see me and to which I don't
want to be hoisted like molasses at the Docks and left there telegraphing
for help with the most ingenious instruments but quite in vain--being
here my dear I have no call to mention that I am still in the Lodgings as
a business hoping to die in the same and if agreeable to the clergy
partly read over at Saint Clement's Danes and concluded in Hatfield
churchyard when lying once again by my poor Lirriper ashes to ashes and
dust to dust.
Neither should I tell you any news my dear in telling you that the Major
is still a fixture in the Parlours quite as much so as the roof of the
house, and that Jemmy is of boys the best and brightest and has ever had
kept from him the cruel story of his poor pretty young mother Mrs. Edson
being deserted in the second floor and dying in my arms, fully believing
that I am his born Gran and him an orphan, though what with engineering
since he took a taste for it and him and the Major making Locomotives out
of parasols broken iron pots and cotton-reels and them absolutely a
getting off the line and falling over the table and injuring the
passengers almost equal to the originals it really is quite wonderful.
And when I says to the Major, "Major can't you by _any_ means give us a
communication with the guard?" the Major says quite huffy, "No madam it's
not to be done," and when I says "Why not?" the Major says, "That is
between us who are in the Railway Interest madam and our friend the Right
Honourable Vice-President of the Board of Trade" and if you'll believe me
my dear the Major wrote to Jemmy at school to consult him on the answer I
should have before I could get even that amount of unsatisfactoriness out
of the man, the reason being that when we first began with the little
model and the working signals beautiful and perfect (being in general as
wrong as the real) and when I says laughing "What appointment am I to
hold in this undertaking gentlemen?" Jemmy hugs me round the neck and
tells me dancing, "You shall be the Public Gran" and consequently they
put upon me just as much as ever they like and I sit a growling in my
easy-chair.
My dear whether it is that a grown man as clever as the Major cannot give
half his heart and mind to anything--even a plaything--but must get into
right down earnest with it, whether it is so or whether it is not so I do
not undertake to say, but Jemmy is far out-done by the serious and
believing ways of the Major in the management of the United Grand
J | 1,484.516885 |
2023-11-16 18:41:48.5720030 | 1,006 | 14 |
Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Matt Whittaker,
Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH,
OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
VOL. 93.
AUGUST 13, 1887.
AT THE OVAL.
SURREY _VERSUS_ NOTTS. AUGUST 1ST, 2ND, AND 3RD 1887.
(_By One of the Fifty Thousand._)
_Enthusiastic Surreyite loquitur_:--
[Illustration: Lo! man!]
[Illustration: Shrews--bery!]
[Illustration: Gunn and Barnes.]
_Hooray!_ Oh, you _must_ let me holloa. I'm one of the famed "Surrey
Crowd,"
And a roar for a win such as _this_ is, can_not_ be too long or too loud.
Won by four wickets! As good as though WALTER had scored half a million,
Great Scott! what a rush from the ring! what a crowd round the crowded
Pavilion!
LOHMANN! MAURICE READ!! SHUTER!!! they shouted. KEY!!! KEY!!! LOHMANN!!!
LOHMANN!!!
"Took down the number" of Notts, Sir, and _she's_ a redoubtable foeman.
_We_ haven't licked her for years, and she crowed, Sir, and not without
reason;
And now, under SHUTER, we've done it at last, Sir, and twice in one
season!
After a terrible tussle; how oft was my heart in my mouth, Sir.
Luck now seemed to lean to the North, and anon would incline to the
South, Sir.
Game wasn't won till 'twas lost. Hooray, though, for Surrey! 'Twas _her_
win.
We missed our WOOD at the wicket, Notts squared it by missing her
SHERWIN,
Both with smashed fingers! Rum luck! But then cricketing luck _is_ a
twister.
And SHERWIN turned up second innings. _Did_ you twig his face when he
missed her,
That ball from J. SHUTER, our Captain? It ranked pretty high among
matches,
But Surrey _did_ make _some_ mistakes, Sir, and Notts----well, they
_couldn't_ hold catches.
SHUTER shone up, did he not? Forty-four, fifty-three, and _such_ cutting!
Hooray! Here's his jolly good health, and look sharp, for they're close
upon shutting.
Partial be blowed! I'm a Surreyite down to my socks, that's a fact, Sir.
_Must_ shout when my countymen score, and don't mind being caught in the
act, Sir.
Cracks didn't somehow come off. ARTHUR SHREWSBURY, Notts' great nonsuch,
Didn't make fifty all told, and our WALTER--the world holds but _one_
such--
A poor twenty-five and eighteen--a mere fleabite for W. W.
Still, he's our glory; and _if_ you can spot such another, I'll trouble
you.
_GRACE?_ Why, of course, in his day he was cock of the walk--that's a
moral.
I won't say a word against _him_; but our WALTER!--well, there, we won't
quarrel.
I'm Surrey, you know, as I said. I remember JUPP, HUMPHRY, and STEVENSON,
Burly BEN GRIFFITH, and SOUTHERTON! Well, if it ever was evens on
Match, it was surely on _this_ one. Oh, yes, _I_ gave points, six to
five, Sir,
But then I have always backed Surrey, and _will_ do so whilst I'm alive,
Sir.
And t'other was Notts, don't you see, so _I_ couldn't well show the white
feather.
Ah! well, 'twas a wonderful match; such a crowd, such a game, and such
weather!
K. J. K. (that's Mr. KEY) showed remarkably promising cricket--
I _did_ feel a little bit quisby when SHERWIN snapped him at the wicket.
'Twas getting too close, Sir, for | 1,484.592043 |
2023-11-16 18:41:48.7294240 | 1,464 | 32 |
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 44347-h.htm or 44347-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44347/44347-h/44347-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44347/44347-h.zip)
[Illustration]
MASTER REYNARD
The History of a Fox
From Animal Autobiographies by J. C. Tregarthen
Revised by
JANE FIELDING
New York
A. L. Chatterton Co.
Copyright, 1913
A. L. Chatterton Co.
MASTER REYNARD
The earth where I was born was far down the face of a steep cliff
and opened on a sloping shelf of turf, from the edge of which the
undercliff fell sheer to the sea. The entrance we used most was
slightly above the level of the springy sward and led by a small
tunnel to a roomy chamber where daylight never penetrated.
There on the bare dry ground the vixen laid us--my two sisters and me.
If I was like the baby cubs I have since seen, I was born blind, my
muzzle was blunt and rounded, and my coat as black as a crow, the only
white about me being a few hairs in the tag of my tiny brush. Even at
the time when I first remember what I was like my fur was still a very
dark color and bore no resemblance to the russet hue of a full-grown
fox.
This was a few weeks after my eyes were opened, when, after awaking
from our first sleep, we were in the habit of sunning ourselves just
inside the mouth of the earth. It was there, with my muzzle resting on
the vixen's flank, that I got my earliest glimpse of the world. The
turf was then almost hidden by pink flowers, over the heads of which
I could see, between two of the pinnacles that bordered the ledge,
the sea breaking on a reef where the cormorants used to gather at low
water and stand with folded or outstretched wings until the rising
tide drove them to the big white rock beyond.
So few things moved within our field of vision that every creature we
saw afforded us the keenest interest. Sometimes during days together
nothing stirred but the stems of the thrift and the surf about the
reef, for the sky was cloudless when the hot weather set in. Now and
again a red-legged crow came and perched on one of the pinnacles,
crying "Daw, daw!" until its mate joined it, and then, all too soon,
they took wing and flew away; at times a hawk or a peregrine would
glide by and break the monotony of our life.
Our narrow green was dotted by five boulders, and one of these we
could see from the earth. On this our most frequent visitor alighted.
It was an old raven, who presently dropped to the ground, walked up
to the remains of any fowl or rabbit lying near the heap of sandy soil
which my mother had scratched out when making the earth, and pecked,
pecked, pecked, until only the bones were left. Then, uttering his
curious "Cawpse, cawpse!" he would hop along the ground, flap his
big black wings, and pass out of sight. I feel sure that he saw us
watching him, for his eyes often turned our way.
One afternoon, to our astonishment, a half-grown rabbit came lopping
along, and stopped to nibble the turf at a spot barely a good spring
from the vixen. She, usually very drowsy, half opened her eyes and
turned her face towards the intruder, but she did not rise to her
feet. We youngsters were beside ourselves with excitement, but were
not allowed to scramble over her side to drive away this audacious
trespasser on our private domain. This, I think, was owing to my
mother's great anxiety on our account.
I have never known a vixen so determined that her cubs should lie
hidden by day; but then we were her first litter. She would constantly
warn us against venturing out whilst the sun was up. So particular
was she that we were not permitted to expose as much as our muzzles
outside the earth, though birds and rabbits moved about there freely.
We could not understand the restriction, and I fear that we thought it
unkind of her to confine us to a cramped, stuffy hole the summer day
through, when we longed to be gambolling about the sward or basking
in those warm corners under the boulders which retained some of their
heat even after the sun went down.
It is true that I tried hard to get my liberty. Time after time, when
I thought she had dozed off, I endeavored to squeeze between her and
the low roof. It was of no use, though I used the utmost stealth and
trod as lightly as a feather. Never once did I catch her napping. On
the few occasions when I was on the point of succeeding she seized me
between her velvety lips and put me back in my place between my two
little sisters.
Thus, by the kindest of mothers, I was disciplined in the ways of the
wild creatures, learning, by constant correction and example, that the
world outside the earth is denied to us by day, and is ours to move
and play and seek our prey in only by night.
And how short those nights were! What a weary, weary time it was,
awaiting their approach! How impatiently we watched their slow
advent! how we tingled with delight in every limb on seeing the shadow
of the high boulder creep and creep across the turf until it reached
the pinnacle that had a patch of golden lichen on it! Then, as the sun
sank behind the headland, the nearer sea became sombre, the bright
expanse beyond darkened, and at last the stars would begin to show in
the sky. By this my mother had shaken off her drowsiness, the glow
had come back into her green eyes, and, rising to her feet, she would
leave the earth. If she detected no danger, she would call us to her.
What a moment that was! the pent-up energy of hours of restraint
breaking out in such rompings and runnings after our own brushes as
I have never seen in any other young creatures. Wearying at last of
these antics and of | 1,484.749464 |
2023-11-16 18:41:48.9531390 | 4,469 | 13 |
Produced by David Widger
GALSWORTHY PLAYS
SECOND SERIES--NO. 1
THE ELDEST SON
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
SIR WILLIAM CHESHIRE, a baronet
LADY CHESHIRE, his wife
BILL, their eldest son
HAROLD, their second son
RONALD KEITH(in the Lancers), their son-in-law
CHRISTINE (his wife), their eldest daughter
DOT, their second daughter
JOAN, their third daughter
MABEL LANFARNE, their guest
THE REVEREND JOHN LATTER, engaged to Joan
OLD STUDDENHAM, the head-keeper
FREDA STUDDENHAM, the lady's-maid
YOUNG DUNNING, the under-keeper
ROSE TAYLOR, a village girl
JACKSON, the butler
CHARLES, a footman
TIME: The present. The action passes on December 7 and 8 at the
Cheshires' country house, in one of the shires.
ACT I SCENE I. The hall; before dinner.
SCENE II. The hall; after dinner.
ACT II. Lady Cheshire's morning room; after breakfast.
ACT III. The smoking-room; tea-time.
A night elapses between Acts I. and II.
ACT I
SCENE I
The scene is a well-lighted, and large, oak-panelled hall, with
an air of being lived in, and a broad, oak staircase. The
dining-room, drawing-room, billiard-room, all open into it; and
under the staircase a door leads to the servants' quarters. In
a huge fireplace a log fire is burning. There are tiger-skins
on the floor, horns on the walls; and a writing-table against
the wall opposite the fireplace. FREDA STUDDENHAM, a pretty,
pale girl with dark eyes, in the black dress of a lady's-maid,
is standing at the foot of the staircase with a bunch of white
roses in one hand, and a bunch of yellow roses in the other. A
door closes above, and SIR WILLIAM CHESHIRE, in evening dress,
comes downstairs. He is perhaps fifty-eight, of strong build,
rather bull-necked, with grey eyes, and a well-<DW52> face,
whose choleric autocracy is veiled by a thin urbanity. He
speaks before he reaches the bottom.
SIR WILLIAM. Well, Freda! Nice roses. Who are they for?
FREDA. My lady told me to give the yellow to Mrs. Keith, Sir
William, and the white to Miss Lanfarne, for their first evening.
SIR WILLIAM. Capital. [Passing on towards the drawing-room] Your
father coming up to-night?
FREDA. Yes.
SIR WILLIAM. Be good enough to tell him I specially want to see him
here after dinner, will you?
FREDA. Yes, Sir William.
SIR WILLIAM. By the way, just ask him to bring the game-book in, if
he's got it.
He goes out into the drawing-room; and FREDA stands restlessly
tapping her foot against the bottom stair. With a flutter of
skirts CHRISTINE KEITH comes rapidly down. She is a
nice-looking, fresh- young woman in a low-necked dress.
CHRISTINE. Hullo, Freda! How are YOU?
FREDA. Quite well, thank you, Miss Christine--Mrs. Keith, I mean.
My lady told me to give you these.
CHRISTINE. [Taking the roses] Oh! Thanks! How sweet of mother!
FREDA. [In a quick, toneless voice] The others are for Miss Lanfarne.
My lady thought white would suit her better.
CHRISTINE. They suit you in that black dress.
[FREDA lowers the roses quickly.]
What do you think of Joan's engagement?
FREDA. It's very nice for her.
CHRISTINE. I say, Freda, have they been going hard at rehearsals?
FREDA. Every day. Miss Dot gets very cross, stage-managing.
CHRISTINE. I do hate learning a part. Thanks awfully for unpacking.
Any news?
FREDA. [In the same quick, dull voice] The under-keeper, Dunning,
won't marry Rose Taylor, after all.
CHRISTINE. What a shame! But I say that's serious. I thought there
was--she was--I mean----
FREDA. He's taken up with another girl, they say.
CHRISTINE. Too bad! [Pinning the roses] D'you know if Mr. Bill's
come?
FREDA. [With a swift upward look] Yes, by the six-forty.
RONALD KEITH comes slowly down, a weathered firm-lipped man, in
evening dress, with eyelids half drawn over his keen eyes, and
the air of a horseman.
KEITH. Hallo! Roses in December. I say, Freda, your father missed
a wigging this morning when they drew blank at Warnham's spinney.
Where's that litter of little foxes?
FREDA. [Smiling faintly] I expect father knows, Captain Keith.
KEITH. You bet he does. Emigration? Or thin air? What?
CHRISTINE. Studdenham'd never shoot a fox, Ronny. He's been here
since the flood.
KEITH. There's more ways of killing a cat--eh, Freda?
CHRISTINE. [Moving with her husband towards the drawing-room] Young
Dunning won't marry that girl, Ronny.
KEITH. Phew! Wouldn't be in his shoes, then! Sir William'll never
keep a servant who's made a scandal in the village, old girl. Bill
come?
As they disappear from the hall, JOHN LATTER in a clergyman's
evening dress, comes sedately downstairs, a tall, rather pale
young man, with something in him, as it were, both of heaven,
and a drawing-room. He passes FREDA with a formal little nod.
HAROLD, a fresh-cheeked, cheery-looking youth, comes down, three
steps at a time.
HAROLD. Hallo, Freda! Patience on the monument. Let's have a
sniff! For Miss Lanfarne? Bill come down yet?
FREDA. No, Mr. Harold.
HAROLD crosses the hall, whistling, and follows LATTER into the
drawing-room. There is the sound of a scuffle above, and a
voice crying: "Shut up, Dot!" And JOAN comes down screwing her
head back. She is pretty and small, with large clinging eyes.
JOAN. Am I all right behind, Freda? That beast, Dot!
FREDA. Quite, Miss Joan.
DOT's face, like a full moon, appears over the upper banisters.
She too comes running down, a frank figure, with the face of a
rebel.
DOT. You little being!
JOAN. [Flying towards the drawing-roam, is overtaken at the door]
Oh! Dot! You're pinching!
As they disappear into the drawing-room, MABEL LANFARNE, a tall
girl with a rather charming Irish face, comes slowly down. And
at sight of her FREDA's whole figure becomes set and meaningfull.
FREDA. For you, Miss Lanfarne, from my lady.
MABEL. [In whose speech is a touch of wilful Irishry] How sweet!
[Fastening the roses] And how are you, Freda?
FREDA. Very well, thank you.
MABEL. And your father? Hope he's going to let me come out with the
guns again.
FREDA. [Stolidly] He'll be delighted, I'm sure.
MABEL. Ye-es! I haven't forgotten his face-last time.
FREDA. You stood with Mr. Bill. He's better to stand with than Mr.
Harold, or Captain Keith?
MABEL. He didn't touch a feather, that day.
FREDA. People don't when they're anxious to do their best.
A gong sounds. And MABEL LANFARNE, giving FREDA a rather
inquisitive stare, moves on to the drawing-room. Left alone
without the roses, FREDA still lingers. At the slamming of a
door above, and hasty footsteps, she shrinks back against the
stairs. BILL runs down, and comes on her suddenly. He is a
tall, good-looking edition of his father, with the same stubborn
look of veiled choler.
BILL. Freda! [And as she shrinks still further back] what's the
matter? [Then at some sound he looks round uneasily and draws away
from her] Aren't you glad to see me?
FREDA. I've something to say to you, Mr. Bill. After dinner.
BILL. Mister----?
She passes him, and rushes away upstairs. And BILL, who stands
frowning and looking after her, recovers himself sharply as the
drawing-room door is opened, and SIR WILLIAM and MISS LANFARNE
come forth, followed by KEITH, DOT, HAROLD, CHRISTINE, LATTER,
and JOAN, all leaning across each other, and talking. By
herself, behind them, comes LADY CHESHIRE, a refined-looking
woman of fifty, with silvery dark hair, and an expression at
once gentle, and ironic. They move across the hall towards the
dining-room.
SIR WILLIAM. Ah! Bill.
MABEL. How do you do?
KEITH. How are you, old chap?
DOT. [gloomily] Do you know your part?
HAROLD. Hallo, old man!
CHRISTINE gives her brother a flying kiss. JOAN and LATTER pause and
look at him shyly without speech.
BILL. [Putting his hand on JOAN's shoulder] Good luck, you two!
Well mother?
LADY CHESHIRE. Well, my dear boy! Nice to see you at last. What a
long time!
She draws his arm through hers, and they move towards the
dining-room.
The curtain falls.
The curtain rises again at once.
SCENE II
CHRISTINE, LADY CHESHIRE, DOT, MABEL LANFARNE,
and JOAN, are returning to the hall after dinner.
CHRISTINE. [in a low voice] Mother, is it true about young Dunning
and Rose Taylor?
LADY CHESHIRE. I'm afraid so, dear.
CHRISTINE. But can't they be----
DOT. Ah! ah-h! [CHRISTINE and her mother are silent.] My child, I'm
not the young person.
CHRISTINE. No, of course not--only--[nodding towards JOAN and
Mable].
DOT. Look here! This is just an instance of what I hate.
LADY CHESHIRE. My dear? Another one?
DOT. Yes, mother, and don't you pretend you don't understand,
because you know you do.
CHRISTINE. Instance? Of what?
JOAN and MABEL have ceased talking, and listen, still at the fire.
DOT. Humbug, of course. Why should you want them to marry, if he's
tired of her?
CHRISTINE. [Ironically] Well! If your imagination doesn't carry you
as far as that!
DOT. When people marry, do you believe they ought to be in love with
each other?
CHRISTINE. [With a shrug] That's not the point.
DOT. Oh? Were you in love with Ronny?
CHRISTINE. Don't be idiotic!
DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't been?
CHRISTINE. Of course not!
JOAN. Dot! You are!----
DOT. Hallo! my little snipe!
LADY CHESHIRE. Dot, dear!
DOT. Don't shut me up, mother! [To JOAN.] Are you in love with
John? [JOAN turns hurriedly to the fire.] Would you be going to
marry him if you were not?
CHRISTINE. You are a brute, Dot.
DOT. Is Mabel in love with--whoever she is in love with?
MABEL. And I wonder who that is.
DOT. Well, would you marry him if you weren't?
MABEL. No, I would not.
DOT. Now, mother; did you love father?
CHRISTINE. Dot, you really are awful.
DOT. [Rueful and detached] Well, it is a bit too thick, perhaps.
JOAN. Dot!
DOT. Well, mother, did you--I mean quite calmly?
LADY CHESHIRE. Yes, dear, quite calmly.
DOT. Would you have married him if you hadn't? [LADY CHESHIRE shakes
her head] Then we're all agreed!
MABEL. Except yourself.
DOT. [Grimly] Even if I loved him, he might think himself lucky if I
married him.
MABEL. Indeed, and I'm not so sure.
DOT. [Making a face at her] What I was going to----
LADY CHESHIRE. But don't you think, dear, you'd better not?
DOT. Well, I won't say what I was going to say, but what I do say
is--Why the devil----
LADY CHESHIRE. Quite so, Dot!
DOT. [A little disconcerted.] If they're tired of each other, they
ought not to marry, and if father's going to make them----
CHRISTINE. You don't understand in the least. It's for the sake of
the----
DOT. Out with it, Old Sweetness! The approaching infant! God bless
it!
There is a sudden silence, for KEITH and LATTER are seen coming
from the dining-room.
LATTER. That must be so, Ronny.
KEITH. No, John; not a bit of it!
LATTER. You don't think!
KEITH. Good Gad, who wants to think after dinner!
DOT. Come on! Let's play pool. [She turns at the billiard-room
door.] Look here! Rehearsal to-morrow is directly after breakfast;
from "Eccles enters breathless" to the end.
MABEL. Whatever made you choose "Caste," DOT? You know it's awfully
difficult.
DOT. Because it's the only play that's not too advanced. [The girls
all go into the billiard-room.]
LADY CHESHIRE. Where's Bill, Ronny?
KEITH. [With a grimace] I rather think Sir William and he are in
Committee of Supply--Mem-Sahib.
LADY CHESHIRE. Oh!
She looks uneasily at the dining-room; then follows the girls
out.
LATTER. [In the tone of one resuming an argument] There can't be
two opinions about it, Ronny. Young Dunning's refusal is simply
indefensible.
KEITH. I don't agree a bit, John.
LATTER. Of course, if you won't listen.
KEITH. [Clipping a cigar] Draw it mild, my dear chap. We've had
the whole thing over twice at least.
LATTER. My point is this----
KEITH. [Regarding LATTER quizzically with his halfclosed eyes]
I know--I know--but the point is, how far your point is simply
professional.
LATTER. If a man wrongs a woman, he ought to right her again.
There's no answer to that.
KEITH. It all depends.
LATTER. That's rank opportunism.
KEITH. Rats! Look here--Oh! hang it, John, one can't argue this out
with a parson.
LATTER. [Frigidly] Why not?
HAROLD. [Who has entered from the dining-room] Pull devil, pull
baker!
KEITH. Shut up, Harold!
LATTER. "To play the game" is the religion even of the Army.
KEITH. Exactly, but what is the game?
LATTER. What else can it be in this case?
KEITH. You're too puritanical, young John. You can't help it--line
of country laid down for you. All drag-huntin'! What!
LATTER. [With concentration] Look here!
HAROLD. [Imitating the action of a man pulling at a horse's head]
'Come hup, I say, you hugly beast!'
KEITH. [To LATTER] You're not going to draw me, old chap. You
don't see where you'd land us all. [He smokes calmly]
LATTER. How do you imagine vice takes its rise? From precisely this
sort of thing of young Dunning's.
KEITH. From human nature, I should have thought, John. I admit that
I don't like a fellow's leavin' a girl in the lurch; but I don't see
the use in drawin' hard and fast rules. You only have to break 'em.
Sir William and you would just tie Dunning and the girl up together,
willy-nilly, to save appearances, and ten to one but there'll be the
deuce to pay in a year's time. You can take a horse to the water,
you can't make him drink.
LATTER. I entirely and absolutely disagree with you.
HAROLD. Good old John!
LATTER. At all events we know where your principles take you.
KEITH. [Rather dangerously] Where, please? [HAROLD turns up his
eyes, and points downwards] Dry up, Harold!
LATTER. Did you ever hear the story of Faust?
KEITH. Now look here, John; with all due respect to your cloth, and
all the politeness in the world, you may go to-blazes.
LATTER. Well, I must say, Ronny--of all the rude boors----[He turns
towards the billiard-room.]
KEITH. Sorry I smashed the glass, old chap.
LATTER passes out. There comes a mingled sound through the
opened door, of female voices, laughter, and the click of
billiard balls, dipped of by the sudden closing of the door.
KEITH. [Impersonally] Deuced odd, the way a parson puts one's back
up! Because you know I agree with him really; young Dunning ought to
play the game; and I hope Sir William'll make him.
The butler JACKSON has entered from the door under the stairs
followed by the keeper STUDDENHAM, a man between fifty and
sixty, in a full-skirted coat with big pockets, cord breeches,
and gaiters; he has a steady self respecting weathered face,
with blue eyes and a short grey beard, which has obviously once
been red.
KEITH. Hullo! Studdenham!
STUDDENHAM. [Touching his forehead] Evenin', Captain Keith.
JACKSON. Sir William | 1,484.973179 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.1533040 | 152 | 28 |
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Brenda Lewis and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
book was produced from scanned images of public domain
material from the Google Print project.)
TOM SLADE
ON THE RIVER
BY
PERCY K. FITZHUGH
Author of
"TOM SLADE, BOY SCOUT OF THE MOVING PICTURES,"
"TOM SLADE AT TEMPLE CAMP" ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY
WALTER S. ROGERS
PUBLISHED WITH THE APPROVAL OF
THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
GROSSET & | 1,485.173344 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.1552730 | 986 | 26 |
Produced by David Widger
THE POETICAL WORKS
OF
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
[1893 three volume set]
CONTENTS:
TO MY READERS
EARLIER POEMS (1830-1836).
OLD IRONSIDES
THE LAST LEAF
THE CAMBRIDGE CHURCHYARD
TO AN INSECT
THE DILEMMA
MY AUNT
REFLECTIONS OF A PROUD PEDESTRIAN
DAILY TRIALS, BY A SENSITIVE MAN
EVENING, BY A TAILOR
THE DORCHESTER GIANT
TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A LADY"
THE COMET
THE Music-GRINDERS
THE TREADMILL SONG
THE SEPTEMBER GALE
THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS
THE LAST READER
POETRY: A METRICAL ESSAY
ADDITIONAL POEMS (1837-1848):
THE PILGRIM'S VISION
THE STEAMBOAT
LEXINGTON
ON LENDING A PUNCH BOWL
A SONG FOR THE CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF HARVARD COLLEGE,
THE ISLAND HUNTING-SONG
DEPARTED DAYS
THE ONLY DAUGHTER
SONG WRITTEN FOR THE DINNER GIVEN TO CHARLES
DICKENS, BY THE YOUNG MEN OF BOSTON, FEBRUARY 1, 1842
LINES RECITED AT THE BERKSHIRE JUBILEE
NUX POSTCOENATICA
VERSES FOR AFTER-DINNER
A MODEST REQUEST, COMPLIED WITH AFTER THE
DINNER AT PRESIDENT EVERETT'S INAUGURATION
THE PARTING WORD
A SONG OF OTHER DAYS
SONG FOR A TEMPERANCE DINNER TO WHICH LADIES WERE INVITED
(NEW YORK MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, NOVEMBER, 1842)
A SENTIMENT
A RHYMED LESSON (URANIA)
AN AFTER-DINNER POEM (TERPSICHORE)
MEDICAL POEMS:
THE MORNING VISIT
THE TWO ARMIES
THE STETHOSCOPE SONG
EXTRACTS FROM A MEDICAL POEM
A POEM FOR THE MEETING OF THE AMERICAN MEDICAL ASSOCIATION
AT NEW YORK, MAY 5, 1853
A SENTIMENT
RIP VAN WINKLE, M. D.
SONGS IN MANY KEYS (1849-1861)
PROLOGUE
AGNES
THE PLOUGHMAN
SPRING
THE STUDY
THE BELLS
NON-RESISTANCE
THE MORAL BULLY
THE MIND'S DIET
OUR LIMITATIONS
THE OLD PLAYER
A POEM DEDICATION OF THE PITTSFIELD CEMETERY, SEPTEMBER 9,1850
TO GOVERNOR SWAIN
TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND
AFTER A LECTURE ON WORDSWORTH
AFTER A LECTURE ON MOORE
AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS
AFTER A LECTURE ON SHELLEY
AT THE CLOSE OF A COURSE OF LECTURES
THE HUDSON
THE NEW EDEN
SEMI-CENTENNIAL CELEBRATION OF THE NEW ENGLAND SOCIETY,
NEW YORK, DECEMBER 22,1855
FAREWELL TO J. R. LOWELL
FOR THE MEETING OF THE BURNS CLUB, 1856
ODE FOR WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY
BIRTHDAY OF DANIEL WEBSTER
THE VOICELESS
THE TWO STREAMS
THE PROMISE
AVIS
THE LIVING TEMPLE
AT A BIRTHDAY FESTIVAL: TO J. R. LOWELL
A BIRTHDAY TRIBUTE TO J. F. CLARKE
THE GRAY CHIEF
THE LAST LOOK: W. W. SWAIN
IN MEMORY OF CHARLES WENTWORTH UPHAM, JR.
MARTHA
MEETING OF THE ALUMNI OF HARVARD COLLEGE
THE PARTING SONG
FOR THE MEETING OF THE NATIONAL SANITARY ASSOCIATION
FOR THE | 1,485.175313 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.1553590 | 1,940 | 11 |
Produced by 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)
BROTHERS OF PERIL
A Story of Old Newfoundland
_WORKS OF THEODORE ROBERTS_
_The Red Feathers_ _$1.50_
_Brothers of Peril_ _1.50_
_Hemming the Adventurer_ _1.50_
_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY_ _New England Building, Boston, Mass._
[Illustration: "A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT NAMELESS
WILDERNESS"]
Brothers of Peril
A Story of Old Newfoundland
By
Theodore Roberts
_Author of_ "Hemming, the Adventurer"
_Illustrated by_ H. C. Edwards
[Illustration: Logo]
_Boston_ L. C. Page & Company _Mdccccv_
_Copyright, 1905_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Published June, 1905
Second Impression, March, 1908
_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U.S.A._
Preface
During the three centuries directly following John Cabot's discovery of
Newfoundland, that unfortunate island was the sport of careless kings,
selfish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While England, France, Spain,
and Portugal were busy with courts and kings, and with spectacular
battles, their fishermen and adventurers toiled together and fought
together about the misty headlands of that far island. Fish, not glory,
was their quest! Full cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire--and let
fame go hang!
The merchants of England undertook the guardianship of the "Newfounde
Land." In greed, in valour, and in achievement they won their mastery.
Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 'round. It hounded the
aborigines; it bullied the men of France and Spain; it discouraged the
settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever nationality. It was
the dream of those merchant adventurers of Devon to have the place
remain for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced the pirates,
the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, and the natural hardships
with equal fortitude and insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of
founding plantations in the king's name and to the glory of God,
England, and himself, then would the greedy merchants slay or <DW36>
the philosopher's dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they were
powerful enough at court, though so little remarked in the histories of
the times! But, ever and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble
fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigilance and strike a blow
at the inscrutable wilderness.
The fishing admirals loom large in the history of the island. They were
the hands and eyes of the wealthy merchants. The master of the first
vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the season was, for a
greater or lesser period of time, admiral and judge of that harbour. It
was his duty to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry fish, to
each ship in the harbour; to see that no sailors from the fleet escaped
into the woods; to discourage any visions of settlement which sight of
the rugged forests might raise in the romantic heads of the gentlemen of
the fleet; to see that all foreigners were hustled on every occasion,
and to take the best of everything for himself. Needless to say, it was
a popular position with the hard-fisted skippers.
In the narratives of the early explorers frequent mention is made of the
peaceful nature of the aborigines. At first they displayed unmistakable
signs of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to trade with the
loud-mouthed strangers from over the eastern horizon. They helped at the
fishing, and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They bartered
priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass trinkets. Later, however, we
read of treachery and murder on the parts of both the visitors and the
natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the more daring
shipmasters and adventurers to capture, and carry back to England,
Beothic braves and maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were kindly
treated and made companions of by English noblemen and gentlefolk. It is
recorded that more than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip in
fashionable places of London Town before Death cut the silken bonds of
his motley captivity.
Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who obtained a Royal Charter in
1610, to settle and develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as a
kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physical characteristics he
says: "They are of middle size, broad-chested, and very erect.... Their
hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some yellow."
As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are several suppositions.
An aged Micmac squaw, who lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that
her father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. At that
time--something over a hundred years ago--the race numbered between one
and two hundred souls. They made periodical excursions to the salt water
to fish, and to trade with a few friendly whites and Nova Scotian
Micmacs. But, for the most part, they avoided the settlements. They had
reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers considered a
lurking Beothic as fair a target for his buckshot as a bear or caribou.
One November day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the remnant
of the broken race on their return trip to the great wilderness of the
interior. The trail was lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first
day of the journey. And there, with the obliterated trail, ends the
world's knowledge of the original inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of
one woman of the race named Mary March, who died, a self-ordained
fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, some ninety years ago.
To-day there are a few bones in the museum at St. John's. One hears
stories of grassy circles beside the lakes and rivers, where wigwams
once stood. Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light with the
turning of the farmer's furrow. But the language of the lost tribe is
forgotten, and the history of it is unrecorded.
In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness of that far time in
the likeness of the wilderness as I knew it, and loved it, a few short
years ago. The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to brown barren,
shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; but the centuries pass and leave no
mark. I have dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes of
fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit of history rather than
the letter! But the heart of the wilderness, and the hearts of men and
women, I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as I know them
to-day.
T. R.
_November, 1904._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME 1
II. THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER 9
III. THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW 16
IV. OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST 24
V. THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR 34
VI. THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER 43
VII. THE SILENT VILLAGE 56
VIII. A LETTER FOR OUENWA 65
IX. AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION 73
X. GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX 83
XI. THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER 94
XII. MEDITATION AND ACTION 104
XIII. SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE 116
XIV. A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING 126
XV. THE HIDDEN MENACE 133
XVI. THE CLOVEN HOOF 140
XVII. THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH 148
XVIII. EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS 156
XIX. TWO OF A KIND 164
XX. BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER 174
XXI. THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN 183
XX | 1,485.175399 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.2573990 | 392 | 11 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, David Garcia and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration]
LECTURES ON VENTILATION:
BEING A COURSE DELIVERED IN THE FRANKLIN INSTITUTE, OF PHILADELPHIA,
DURING THE WINTER OF 1866-67.
BY LEWIS W. LEEDS,
Special Agent of the Quartermaster-General, for the Ventilation
of Government Hospitals during the War; and Consulting Engineer
of Ventilation and Heating for the U. S. Treasury Department.
=Man's own breath is his greatest enemy.=
NEW YORK:
JOHN WILEY & SON, PUBLISHERS,
2 Clinton Hall, Astor Place.
1869.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
LEWIS W. LEEDS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
States for the Southern District of New York.
New York Printing Company,
81, 83, _and_ 85 _Centre Street_,
New York.
PREFACE.
These Lectures were not originally written with any view to their
publication; but as they were afterwards requested for publication in the
Journal of the Franklin Institute, and there attracted very favorable
notice, I believed the rapidly increasing interest in the subject of
ventilation would enable the publishers to sell a sufficient number
to pay the expense of their publication; and, if so, that this very
spirit of inquiry which would lead to the perusal of even so small a
work, might be one step forward towards that much-needed more general
education on this important subject.
It | 1,485.277439 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.3533670 | 2,404 | 14 | OF SINGING***
E-text prepared by Chuck Greif and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net/)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 20069-h.htm or 20069-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/0/6/20069/20069-h/20069-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/0/0/6/20069/20069-h.zip)
CARUSO AND TETRAZZINI ON THE ART OF SINGING
by
ENRICO CARUSO and LUISA TETRAZZINI
Metropolitan Company, Publishers, New York, 1909.
PREFACE
In offering this work to the public the publishers wish to lay before
those who sing or who are about to study singing, the simple,
fundamental rules of the art based on common sense. The two greatest
living exponents of the art of singing--Luisa Tetrazzini and Enrico
Caruso--have been chosen as examples, and their talks on singing have
additional weight from the fact that what they have to say has been
printed exactly as it was uttered, the truths they expound are driven
home forcefully, and what they relate so simply is backed by years of
experience and emphasized by the results they have achieved as the two
greatest artists in the world.
Much has been said about the Italian Method of Singing. It is a question
whether anyone really knows what the phrase means. After all, if there
be a right way to sing, then all other ways must be wrong. Books have
been written on breathing, tone production and what singers should eat
and wear, etc., etc., all tending to make the singer self-conscious and
to sing with the brain rather than with the heart. To quote Mme.
Tetrazzini: "You can train the voice, you can take a raw material and
make it a finished production; not so with the heart."
The country is overrun with inferior teachers of singing; men and women
who have failed to get before the public, turn to teaching without any
practical experience, and, armed only with a few methods, teach these
alike to all pupils, ruining many good voices. Should these pupils
change teachers, even for the better, then begins the weary undoing of
the false method, often with no better result.
To these unfortunate pupils this book is of inestimable value. He or she
could not consistently choose such teachers after reading its pages.
Again the simple rules laid down and tersely and interestingly set forth
not only carry conviction with them, but tear away the veil of mystery
that so often is thrown about the divine art.
Luisa Tetrazzini and Enrico Caruso show what not to do, as well as what
to do, and bring the pupil back to first principles--the art of singing
naturally.
THE ART OF SINGING
By Luisa Tetrazzini
[Illustration: LUISA TETRAZZINI]
LUISA TETRAZZINI
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH OF THE CAREER OF THE WORLD-FAMOUS PRIMA DONNA
Luisa Tetrazzini, the most famous Italian coloratura soprano of the
day, declares that she began to sing before she learned to talk. Her
parents were not musical, but her elder sister, now the wife of the
eminent conductor Cleofante Campanini, was a public singer of
established reputation, and her success roused her young sister's
ambition to become a great artist. Her parents were well to do, her
father having a large army furnishing store in Florence, and they did
not encourage her in her determination to become a prima donna. One
prima donna, said her father, was enough for any family.
Luisa did not agree with him. If one prima donna is good, she argued,
why would not two be better? So she never desisted from her importunity
until she was permitted to become a pupil of Professor Coccherani, vocal
instructor at the Lycee. At this time she had committed to memory more
than a dozen grand opera roles, and at the end of six months the
professor confessed that he could do nothing more for her voice; that
she was ready for a career.
She made her bow to the Florentine opera going public, one of the most
critical in Italy, as Inez, in Meyerbeer's "L'Africaine," and her
success was so pronounced that she was engaged at a salary of $100 a
month, a phenomenal beginning for a young singer. Queen Margherita was
present on the occasion and complimented her highly and prophesied for
her a great career. She asked the trembling debutante how old she was,
and in the embarrassment of the moment Luisa made herself six years
older than she really was. This is one noteworthy instance in which a
public singer failed to discount her age.
Fame came speedily, but for a long time it was confined to Europe and
Latin America. She sang seven seasons in St. Petersburg, three in
Mexico, two in Madrid, four in Buenos Aires, and even on the Pacific
coast of America before she appeared in New York. She had sung Lucia
more than 200 times before her first appearance at Covent Garden, and
the twenty curtain calls she received on that occasion came as the
greatest surprise of her career. She had begun to believe that she could
never be appreciated by English-speaking audiences and the ovation
almost overcame her.
It was by the merest chance that Mme. Tetrazzini ever came to the
Manhattan Opera House in New York. The diva's own account of her
engagement is as follows:
"I was in London, and for a wonder I had a week, a wet week, on my
hands. You know people will do anything in a wet week in London.
"There were contracts from all over the Continent and South America
pending. There was much discussion naturally in regard to settlements
and arrangements of one kind and another.
"Suddenly, just like that"--she makes a butterfly gesture--"M.
Hammerstein came, and just like that"--a duplicate gesture--"I made up
my mind that I would come here. If his offer to me had been seven days
later I should not have signed, and if I had not I should undoubtedly
never have come, for a contract that I might have signed to go elsewhere
would probably have been for a number of years."
Voice experts confess that they are not able to solve the mystery of
Mme. Tetrazzini's wonderful management of her breathing.
"It is perfectly natural," she says. "I breathe low down in the
diaphragm, not, as some do, high up in the upper part of the chest. I
always hold some breath in reserve for the crescendos, employing only
what is absolutely necessary, and I renew the breath wherever it is
easiest.
"In breathing I find, as in other matters pertaining to singing, that as
one goes on and practices, no matter how long one may have been singing,
there are constantly new surprises awaiting one. You may have been
accustomed for years to take a note in a certain way, and after a long
while you discover that, while it is a very good way, there is a
better."
Breath Control The Foundation of Singing
There is only one way to sing correctly, and that is to sing naturally,
easily, comfortably.
The height of vocal art is to have no apparent method, but to be able to
sing with perfect facility from one end of the voice to the other,
emitting all the notes clearly and yet with power and having each note
of the scale sound the same in quality and tonal beauty as the ones
before and after.
There are many methods which lead to the goal of natural singing--that
is to say, the production of the voice with ease, beauty and with
perfect control.
Some of the greatest teachers in the world reach this point apparently
by diverging roads.
Around the art of singing there has been formed a cult which includes an
entire jargon of words meaning one thing to the singer and another thing
to the rest of the world and which very often doesn't mean the same
thing to two singers of different schools.
In these talks with you I am going to try to use the simplest words, and
the few idioms which I will have to take from my own language I will
translate to you as clearly as I can, so that there can be no
misunderstanding.
Certainly the highest art and a lifetime of work and study are
necessary to acquire an easy emission of tone.
There are quantities of wonderful natural voices, particularly among the
young people of Switzerland and Italy, and the American voice is
especially noted for its purity and the beauty of its tone in the high
registers. But these naturally untrained voices soon break or fail if
they are used much unless the singer supplements the natural, God-given
vocal gifts with a conscious understanding of how the vocal apparatus
should be used.
The singer must have some knowledge of his or her anatomical structure,
particularly the structure of the throat, mouth and face, with its
resonant cavities, which are so necessary for the right production of
the voice.
Besides that, the lungs and diaphragm and the whole breathing apparatus
must be understood, because the foundation of singing is breathing and
breath control.
A singer must be able to rely on his breath, just as he relies upon the
solidity of the ground beneath his feet.
A shaky, uncontrolled breath is like a rickety foundation on which
nothing can be built, and until that foundation has been developed and
strengthened the would-be singer need expect no satisfactory results.
From the girls to whom I am talking especially I must now ask a
sacrifice--the singer cannot wear tight corsets and should not wear
corsets of any kind which come up higher than the lowest rib.
In other words, the corset must be nothing but a belt, but with as much
hip length as the wearer finds convenient and necessary.
In order to insure proper breathing capacity it is understood that the
clothing must be absolutely loose around the chest and also across the
lower part of the back, for one should breathe with the back of the
lungs as well as with the front.
In my years of study and work I have developed my own breathing capacity
until I am somewhat the despair of the fashionable modiste, but I have a
diaphragm and a breath on which I can rely at all times.
In learning to breathe it is well to think of the lungs as empty sacks,
into which the air is dropping like a weight, so that you think first of
filling the bottom of your lungs, then the middle part, and so on until
no more air can be inhaled.
Inhale short breaths through the nose. This, of course, is only an
exercise for breath development.
Now begin to inhale from the bottom of the lungs first.
Exhale slowly and | 1,485.373407 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.3580470 | 767 | 21 |
Produced by deaurider and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter
is superscripted (example: N^o.). If two or more letters are
superscripted they are enclosed in curly brackets (example: S^{re}).
* * * * *
PROOFS
OF A
CONSPIRACY
AGAINST ALL THE
_RELIGIONS AND GOVERNMENTS_
OF
EUROPE,
CARRIED ON
IN THE SECRET MEETINGS
OF
_FREE MASONS_, _ILLUMINATI,_
AND
_READING SOCIETIES_.
COLLECTED FROM GOOD AUTHORITIES,
By JOHN ROBISON, A. M.
PROFESSOR OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY, AND SECRETARY TO THE
ROYAL SOCIETY OF EDINBURGH.
_Nam tua res agitur paries cum proximus ardet._
The THIRD EDITION.
To which is added a POSTSCRIPT.
PHILADELPHIA:
PRINTED FOR T. DOBSON, N^o. 41, SOUTH SECOND
STREET, AND W. COBBET, N^o. 25, NORTH
SECOND STREET.
1798.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE WILLIAM WYNDHAM, SECRETARY AT WAR, &c. &c.
&c.
_SIR_,
_It was with great satisfaction that I learned from a Friend that
you coincided with me in the opinion, that the information contained
in this Performance would make a useful impression on the minds of
my Countrymen._
_I have presumed to inscribe it with your Name, that I may publicly
express the pleasure which I felt, when I found that neither
a separation for thirty years, nor the pressure of the most
important business, had effaced your kind remembrance of a College
Acquaintance, or abated that obliging and polite attention with
which you favoured me in those early days of life._
_The friendship of the accomplished and the worthy is the highest
honour; and to him who is cut off, by want of health, from almost
every other enjoyment, it is an inestimable blessing. Accept,
therefore, I pray, of my grateful acknowledgments, and of my earnest
wishes for your Health, Prosperity, and increasing Honour._
_With sentiments of the greatest Esteem and Respect_,
_I am, SIR,
Your most obedient,
and most humble Servant_,
JOHN ROBISON.
EDINBURGH,
_September 5, 1797._
_Quod si quis verâ vitam ratione gubernet,
Divitiæ grandes homini sunt, vivere parcè
Æquo animo: neque enim est unquam penuria parvi.
At claros se homines voluêrunt atque potentes,
Ut fundamento stabili fortuna maneret,
Et placidam possent opulenti degere vitam:
Nequicquam,--quoniam ad summum succedere honorem
Certantes, iter infestum fecêre viaï,
Et t | 1,485.378087 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.4592180 | 2,647 | 21 |
Produced by deaurider, Karin Spence 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 CORSET AND THE CRINOLINE.
THE CORSET
AND
THE CRINOLINE.
A BOOK OF
MODES AND COSTUMES
FROM REMOTE PERIODS TO THE PRESENT TIME.
BY W. B. L.
WITH 54 FULL-PAGE AND OTHER ENGRAVINGS.
"O wha will shoe my fair foot,
And wha will glove my han'?
And wha will lace my middle jimp
Wi' a new-made London ban'?"
_Fair Annie of Lochroyan._
LONDON:
WARD, LOCK, AND TYLER.
WARWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW.
LONDON
PRINTED BY JAS. WADE,
TAVISTOCK STREET, COVENT GARDEN
PREFACE.
The subject which we have here treated is a sort of figurative
battle-field, where fierce contests have for ages been from time
to time waged; and, notwithstanding the determined assaults of the
attacking hosts, the contention and its cause remain pretty much as
they were at the commencement of the war. We in the matter remain
strictly neutral, merely performing the part of the public's "own
correspondent," making it our duty to gather together such extracts
from despatches, both ancient and modern, as may prove interesting or
important, to take note of the vicissitudes of war, mark its various
phases, and, in fine, to do our best to lay clearly before our readers
the historical facts--experiences and arguments--relating to the
much-discussed "_Corset question_."
As most of our readers are aware, the leading journals especially
intended for the perusal of ladies have been for many years the media
for the exchange of a vast number of letters and papers touching the
use of the Corset. The questions relating to the history of this
apparently indispensable article of ladies' attire, its construction,
application, and influence on the figure have become so numerous of
late that we have thought, by embodying all that we can glean and
garner relating to Corsets, their wearers, and the various costumes
worn by ladies at different periods, arranging the subject-matter in
its due order as to dates, and at the same time availing ourselves of
careful illustration when needed, that an interesting volume would
result.
No one, we apprehend, would be likely to deny that, to enable the
fairer portion of the civilised human race to follow the time-honoured
custom of presenting to the eye the waist in its most slender
proportions, the Corset in some form must be had recourse to. Our
information will show how ancient and almost universal its use has
been, and there is no reason to anticipate that its aid will ever
be dispensed with so long as an elegant and attractive figure is an
object worth achieving.
Such being the case, it becomes a matter of considerable importance
to discover by what means the desirable end can be acquired without
injury to the health of those whose forms are being restrained and
moulded into proportions generally accepted as graceful, by the
use and influence of the Corset. It will be our duty to lay before
the reader the strictures of authors, ancient and modern, on this
article of dress, and it will be seen that the animadversions of
former writers greatly exceed modern censures, both in number and
fierceness of condemnation. This difference probably arises from
the fact of Corsets of the most unyielding and stubborn character
being universally made use of at the time the severest attacks were
made upon them; and there can be no reasonable doubt that much which
was written in their condemnation had some truth in it, although
accompanied by a vast deal of fanciful exaggeration. It would also
be not stating the whole of the case if we omitted here to note that
modern authors, who launch sweeping anathemas on the very stays by
the aid of which their wives and daughters are made presentable in
society, almost invariably quote largely from scribes of ancient date,
and say little or nothing, of their own knowledge. On the other hand,
it will be seen that those writing in praise of the moderate use of
Corsets take their facts, experiences, and grounds of argument from
the everyday life and general custom of the present period.
The Crinoline is too closely associated with the Corset and with the
mutable modes affected by ladies, from season to season, to be omitted
from any volume which treats of Fashion. The same facts, indeed, may
be stated of both the Crinoline and the Corset. Both appear to be
equally indispensable to the woman of the present period. To make
them serve the purposes of increased cleanliness, comfort, and grace,
not only without injury to the health, but with positive and admitted
advantage to the _physique_--these are the problems to be solved by
those whose business it is to minister to the ever-changing taste and
fashion of the day.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
THE CORSET:--Origin. Use amongst Savage Tribes and Ancient
People. Slenderness of Waist esteemed in the East, Ceylon,
Circassia, Crim Tartary, Hindustan, Persia, China, Egypt, Palestine
Pages 9 to 29
CHAPTER II.
The Corset according to Homer, Terentius. The Strophium of Rome,
and the Mitra of Greece. The Peplus. A Roman Toilet, Bath, and
Promenade. General Luxury. Cleopatra's Jewels. Tight-lacing on the
Tiber Pages 30 to 38
CHAPTER III.
Frankish Fashions. The Monks and the Corset. Corsets worn by
Gentlemen as well as Ladies in the Thirteenth Century. The Kirtle.
Small Waists in Scotland. Chaucer on Small Bodies. The Surcoat.
Long Trains. Skirts. Snake-toed Shoes. High-heeled Slippers
Pages 41 to 59
CHAPTER IV.
Bonnets. Headdresses. Costumes in the time of Francis I. Pins in
France and England. Masks in France. Puffed Sleeves. Bernaise
Dress. Marie Stuart. Long Slender Waists. Henry III. of France
"tight-laces." Austrian Joseph prohibits Stays. Catherine de Medici
and Elizabeth of England. Severe form of Corset. Lawn Ruffs.
Starching. Stuffed Hose. Venice Fashions. Elizabeth's False Hair.
Stubs on the Ladies. James I. affects Fashion. Garters and
Shoe-roses. Dagger and Rapier Pages 60 to 91
CHAPTER V.
Louise de Lorraine. Marie de Medici. Distended Skirts. Hair Powder.
Hair _à l'enfant_. Low Dresses. Louis XIV. High Heels. Slender
Waists. Siamese Dress. Charles I. Patches. Elaborate Costumes.
Puritan Modes. Tight-lacing and Strait-lacing under Cromwell.
Augsburg Ladies Pages 92 to 104
CHAPTER VI.
Louis XV. À la Watteau. Barbers. Fashions under Queen Anne.
Diminutive Waists and Enormous Hoop. The Farthingale. The
_Guardian_. Fashions in 1713. Low Dresses. Tight Stays. Short
Skirts. A Lady's Maid's Accomplishments. Gay and Ben Jonson on the
Bodice and Stays Pages 109 to 123
CHAPTER VII.
Stays or Corset. Louis XVI. Dress in 1776. Severe Lacing. Hogarth.
French Revolution. Short Waists. Long Trains. Buchan. Jumpers and
Garibaldis. Figure-training. Backboards and Stocks. Doctors on
Stays. George III. Gentlemen's Stays. The Changes of Fashion. The
term CRINOLINE not new. South Sea Islanders. Madame la
Sante on Crinoline. Starving and Lacing. Anecdote. Wearing the
Corset during sleep. American Belles. Illusion Waists. Medicus
favours moderate tight-lacing. Ladies' Letters on tight-lacing
Pages 124 to 164
CHAPTER VIII.
The Austrian Empress. Viennese Waists. London small-sized Corsets.
Correspondence of _The Queen_ and the _Englishwoman's
Domestic Magazine_. Lady Morton. Figure-training. Corsets for
Young Girls. Early use of well-constructed Corsets. The
Boarding-School and the Corset. Letters in praise of tight-lacing.
Defence of the Crinoline and the Corset. The Venus de Medici.
Fashionably-dressed Statue. Clumsy Figures. Letter from a
Tight-lacer. A Young Baronet. A Family Man Pages 165 to 186
CHAPTER IX.
No elegance without the Corset. Fashion of 1865. Short Waist and
Train of 1867. Tight Corset and Short Waist. A form of French
Corset. Proportions of Figure and Waist. The Point of the Waist.
Older Writers on Stays. Denunciations against Small Waists and High
Heels. Alarming Diseases through High Heels. Female Mortality.
Corset Statistics. Modern and Ancient Corset Pages 189 to 201
CHAPTER X.
Front-fastening Stays. Thomson's Corset. Stability of
front-fastening Corset. De La Garde's Corset. Self-measurement.
Viennese _Redresseur_ Corset. Flimsy Corsets. Proper
Materials. "Minet Back" Corset. Elastic Corsets. Narrow Bands
Injurious. The Corset properly applied produces a graceful figure.
The Farthingale Reviewed. Thomson's Zephyrina Crinoline. Costume
of the Present Season. The claims of Nature. Similitude between the
Tahitian Girl and Venetian Lady Pages 202 to 224
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
1. THE DAWN OF THE CORSET 11
2. CIRCASSIAN LADY 15
3. EGYPTIAN LADY IN FULL SKIRT 18
4. PERSIAN DANCING GIRL 21
5. EGYPTIAN LADY IN NARROW SKIRT 24
6. LADY OF ANCIENT GREECE 32
7. ROMAN LADY OF RANK (REIGN OF HELIOGABALUS) 39
8. THE FIEND OF FASHION, FROM AN ANCIENT MANUSCRIPT 43
9. THE PRINCESS BLANCHE, DAUGHTER OF EDWARD III. 48
10. LADY OF RANK OF THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY 51
11. LADY OF THE COURT OF QUEEN CATHERINE DE MEDICI 55
12. FULL COURT DRESS AS WORN IN FRANCE, 1515 58
13. LADIES OF FASHION IN THE COSTUME OF 1380 61
14. NORMAN HEADDRESS OF THE PRESENT DAY 64
15. LADY OF THE COURT OF CHARLES VIII., 1500 67
16. LADY OF THE COURT OF MAXIMILIAN OF GERMANY AND FRANCIS OF
FRANCE 70
17. CORSET-COVER OF STEEL WORN IN THE TIME OF CATHERINE DE
MEDICI | 1,485.479258 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.6534320 | 3,150 | 14 |
A NIGHT IN THE LUXEMBOURG
BY
REMY DE GOURMONT
WITH PREFACE
AND APPENDIX
BY ARTHUR RANSOME
JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
BOSTON MCMXII
CONTENTS
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. By Arthur Ransome
A Night in the Luxembourg. By Remy de Gourmont
Preface
A Night in the Luxembourg
Final Note
APPENDIX: REMY de GOURMONT. By Arthur Ransome
AUTOGRAPHS--
KOPH
Reduced facsimile of the last page of M. Rose's Manuscript
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
A general, but necessarily inadequate, account of the personality
and works of one of the finest intellects of his generation will be
found in the Appendix. I am here concerned only with _Une Nuit au
Luxembourg_, which, though it is widely read in almost every other
European language, is now for the first time translated into English.
This book, at once criticism and romance, is the best introduction
to M. de Gourmont's very various works. It created a "sensation" in
France. I think it may do as much in England, but I am anxious lest
this "sensation" should be of a kind honourable neither to us nor to
the author of a remarkable book. I do not wish a delicate and subtle
artist, a very noble philosopher, noble even if smiling, nobler
perhaps because he smiles, to be greeted with accusations of indecency
and blasphemy. But I cannot help recognising that in England, as in
many other countries, these accusations are often brought against such
philosophers as discuss in a manner other than traditional the subjects
of God and woman. These two subjects, with many others, are here the
motives of a book no less delightful than profound.
The duty of a translator is not comprised in mere fidelity. He must
reproduce as nearly as he can the spirit and form of his original, and,
since in a work of art spirit and form are one, his first care must be
to preserve as accurately as possible the contours and the shading of
his model. But he must remember (and beg his readers to remember) that
the intellectual background on which the work will appear in its new
language is different from that against which it was conceived. When
the new background is as different from the old as English from French,
he cannot but recognise that it disturbs the chiaroscuro of his work
with a quite incalculable light. It gives the contours a new quality
and the shadows a new texture. His own accuracy may thus give his work
an atmosphere not that which its original author designed.
I have been placed in such a dilemma in translating this book. Certain
phrases and descriptions were, in the French, no more than delightful
sporting of the intellect with the flesh that is its master. In the
English, for us, less accustomed to plain-speaking, and far less
accustomed to a playful attitude towards matters of which we never
speak unless with great solemnity, they became wilful parades of the
indecent. It is important to remember that they were not so in the
French, but were such things as might well be heard in a story told in
general conversation--if the talkers were Frenchmen of genius.
There is no ugliness in the frank acceptance of the flesh, that is a
motive, one among many, in this book, and perhaps more noticeable by us
than the author intended. No doubt it never occurred to M. de Gourmont
that he was writing for the English. We are only fortunate listeners
to a monologue, and must not presume upon our position to ask him to
remember we are there.
The character of that monologue is such, I think, as to justify me
in tampering very little with its design. Not only is _Une Nuit au
Luxembourg_ not a book for children or young persons--if it were,
the question would be altogether different--but it is not a book for
fools, or even for quite ordinary people. I think that no reader who
can enjoy the philosophical discussion that is its greater part will
quarrel with its Epicurean interludes. He will either forgive those
passages of which I am speaking as the pardonable idiosyncrasy of a
great man, or recognise that they are themselves illustrations of his
philosophy, essential to its exposition, and raised by that fact into
an intellectual light that justifies their retention.
The prurient minds who might otherwise peer at these passages, and
enjoy the caricatures that their own dark lanterns would throw on
the muddy wall of their comprehension, will, I think, be repelled by
the nobility of the book's philosophy. They will seek their truffles
elsewhere, and find plenty.
M. de Gourmont is perhaps more likely to be attacked for blasphemy, but
only by those who do not observe his piety towards the thing that he
most reverences, the purity and the clarity of thought. He worships in
a temple not easy to approach, a temple where the worshippers are few,
and the worship difficult. It is impossible not to respect a mind that,
in its consuming desire for liberty, strips away not fetters only but
supports. Fetters bind at first, but later it is hard to stand without
them.
His book is not a polemic against Christianity, in the same sense as
Nietzsche's _Anti-Christ_, though it does propose an ethic and an
ideal very different from those we have come to consider Christian.
When he smiles at the Acts of the Apostles as at a fairy tale, he adds
a sentence of incomparable praise and profound criticism: "These men
touch God with their hands." It may shock some people to find that the
principal speaker in the book is a god who claims to have inspired,
not Christ alone, but Pythagoras, Epicurus, Lucretius, St. Paul and
Spinoza with the most valuable of their doctrines. It will not, I
think, shock any student of comparative religion. He will find it no
more than a poet's statement of an idea that has long ceased to disturb
the devout, the idea that all religions are the same, or translations
of the same religion. We recognise in the sayings of Confucius some
of the loveliest of the sayings of Christ, and we find them again in
Mohammed. Why not admit that the same voice whispered in their ears,
for this, unless we think that the Devil can give advice as good as
God's, we cannot help but believe. And that other idea, that the gods
die, though their lives are long, should not shock those who know of
Odin, notice the lessening Christian reverence for the Jewish Jehovah,
and remember the story, so often and so sweetly told, of the voices
on the Grecian coast, with their cry, "Great Pan is dead! Great Pan
is dead!" Turning from particular ideas to the rule of life that the
book proposes, we find a crystal-line Epicureanism. Virtue is, to be
happy; and sin is, where we put it. "Human wisdom is to live as if one
were never to die, and to gather the present minute as if it were to
be eternal." This is no doctrine that is easy to follow. The god does
not offer it to the first comer, but to one who has schooled his mind
to see hard things, and, having seen them, to rise above them. M. de
Gourmont will tell no lies that he can avoid, especially when speaking
to himself, but, if he burn himself, Phoenix-like, in the ashes of a
sentimental universe, he has at least the hope of rising from the pyre
with stronger wings and more triumphant flight. He will start with no
more than the assumption that the universe as we know it is the product
of a series of accidents. He will not persuade himself that man is the
climax of a carefully planned mechanical process of evolution, nor will
he hide his origin in imagery like that of Genesis, or like that which
certain modern scientists are quite unable to avoid. He turns science
against the scientists with the irrefutable remark that only a change
in the temperature saved us from the dominion of ants. Instinct for him
is arrested intellect, and he is ready to imagine man in the future
doing mechanically what now he does by intention. Such ideas would
crush a feeble brain or bind it with despair. They lead him to the
Epicureanism that is the only philosophy that they do not overthrow.
Our roses and our women make us the equals of the gods, and even envied
by them.
All his criticism, not of one or two ideas alone, but of the history of
philosophy, the history of woman, the history of man and the history
of religion, is made with a mastery so absolute as to dare to be
playful. The winter night was changed to a spring morning as the god
walked in the Luxembourg, and the wintry cold of nineteenth-century
science melts in the warmth of a spring-time no less magical. The book
might be grim. It is clear-eyed and sparkling with dew, like a sonnet
by Ronsard.
"Comme on voit sur une branche au mois de mai la rose,"
so one sees the philosophy of M. de Gourmont, not quarried stone, but
a flower, so light, so delicate, as to make us forget the worlds that
have been overthrown in its manufacture.
I remember near the end of _The Pilgrim's Progress_ there is a passage
of dancing. Giant Despair has been killed, and Doubting Castle
demolished. The pilgrims were "very jocund and merry." "Now Christiana,
if need was, could play upon the viol, and her daughter Mercy upon the
lute; so, since they were so merry disposed, she played them a lesson,
and Ready-to-halt would dance. So he took Despondency's daughter,
Much-afraid, by the hand, and to dancing they went in the road. True,
he could not dance without one crutch in his hand; but I promise you he
footed it well; also the girl was to be commended, for she answered the
music handsomely." Just so, in this book, on a journey no less perilous
among ideas, there is an atmosphere of genial entertainment, a delight
in the things of the senses illumined by a delight in the things of the
mind. And in this there is no irreverence. Only those who have ceased
to believe have forgotten how to dance in the presence of their God.
Perhaps the technician alone will observe the skill with which M.
de Gourmont has handled the most difficult of literary forms. In
translating a book one becomes fairly intimate with it, and not the
least pleasure of my intimacy with _Une Nuit au Luxembourg_ has been
to notice the ease and the grace with which its author turns, always
at the right moment, from ideas to images, from romance to thought.
"The exercise of thought is a game," he says, "but this game must be
free and harmonious." And the outward impression given by this subtly
constructed book is that of an intellect playing harmoniously with
itself in a state of joyful liberty. M. de Gourmont is a master of
his moods, knowing how to serve them; and no less admirable than the
loftiest moment of the discussion, is the Callot-like grotesque of the
three goddesses, seen not as divinities but as sins, or the Virgilian
breakfast under the trees.
It is possible that _Une Nuit au Luxembourg_ may be for a few in
our generation what _Mademoiselle de Maupin_ was for a few in the
generation of Swinburne, a "golden book of spirit and sense." Ideas are
dangerous metal in which to mould romances, because from time to time
they tarnish. Voltaire has had his moments of being dull, and Gautier's
ideas do not excite us now. M. de Gourmont's may not move us to-morrow.
Let us enjoy them to-day, and share the pleasure that the people of the
day after to-morrow will certainly not refuse.
ARTHUR RANSOME.
BY REMY DE GOURMONT
PREFACE
There appeared in _Le Temps_ of the 13th of February, 1906:--
"OBITUARY
"We have just learned of the sudden death of one of our confreres on
the foreign press, M. James Sandy Rose, deceased yesterday, Sunday,
in his rooms at 14 Rue de Medicis. Notwithstanding this English name,
he was a Frenchman; born at Nantes in 1865, his true name was Louis
Delacolombe. He was brought up in the United States, returned to France
ten years ago, and from that time till his death was the highly valued
correspondent of the _Northern Atlantic Herald._"
On the following day, the 14th of February, the same journal printed
this note among its miscellaneous news:--
"THE MYSTERY OF THE RUE DE MEDICIS
"We announced yesterday the sudden death of M. James Sandy Rose, our
confrere on the foreign press. His death seems to have taken place
under suspicious circumstances. At present a woman of the Latin
Quarter, Blanche B----, is strongly suspected of having been at least
an accomplice to it. This woman is known for her habit of dressing in
very light colours, even in mid-winter, and it was this that made the
concierge notice her. She lives, moreover, behind the house of the
crime--assuming that there has been a crime--in the Rue de Vaugirard.
This is what is said to have happened:--
"Because M. J. S. Rose, who was of fairly regular habits, had not been
seen for some days, his door was broken open, and he was discovered
inanimate. He had been dead for a few hours only, a fact which does
not agree with the length of time during which he had remained
invisible, and still further complicates the question. It is supposed
that the woman B----, after passing the night with him, put him to
sleep by means of a narcotic (from which the unhappy man did not
awake), or strangled him | 1,485.673472 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.6586430 | 152 | 16 |
Produced by Irma Spehar, Sonya Schermann 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)
LE MORTE DARTHUR
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LE MORTE DARTHUR
_Sir Thomas Malory’s Book
of King Arthur and of his Noble Knights
of the Round Table_
=The Text of Caxton=
_EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION_
BY
SIR EDWARD STRACHEY, BART.
Si quando indigenas revocabo in carmina reges,
| 1,485.678683 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.6586680 | 4,470 | 12 |
Produced by Mark C. Orton, Christine P. Travers and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
[Transcriber's note: Bold text is marked with =."
Obvious printer's errors have been corrected,
all other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling
has been maintained.
"Elecate" should be "Elacate".]
LIVES OF THE MOST EMINENT PAINTERS SCULPTORS & ARCHITECTS BY GIORGIO
VASARI:
VOLUME V. ANDREA DA FIESOLE TO LORENZO LOTTO 1913
NEWLY TRANSLATED BY GASTON Du C. DE VERE. WITH FIVE HUNDRED
ILLUSTRATIONS: IN TEN VOLUMES
[Illustration: 1511-1574]
PHILIP LEE WARNER, PUBLISHER TO THE MEDICI SOCIETY, LIMITED 7 GRAFTON
ST. LONDON, W. 1912-14
CONTENTS OF VOLUME V
PAGE
ANDREA DA FIESOLE [ANDREA FERRUCCI], AND OTHERS 1
VINCENZIO DA SAN GIMIGNANO [VINCENZIO TAMAGNI], AND TIMOTEO
DA URBINO [TIMOTEO DELLA VITE] 9
ANDREA DAL MONTE SANSOVINO [ANDREA CONTUCCI] 19
BENEDETTO DA ROVEZZANO 33
BACCIO DA MONTELUPO, AND RAFFAELLO HIS SON 39
LORENZO DI CREDI 47
LORENZETTO AND BOCCACCINO 53
BALDASSARRE PERUZZI 61
GIOVAN FRANCESCO PENNI [CALLED IL FATTORE], AND PELLEGRINO
DA MODENA 75
ANDREA DEL SARTO 83
MADONNA PROPERZIA DE' ROSSI 121
ALFONSO LOMBARDI, MICHELAGNOLO DA SIENA, GIROLAMO SANTA
CROCE, AND DOSSO AND BATTISTA DOSSI 129
GIOVANNI ANTONIO LICINIO OF PORDENONE, AND OTHERS 143
GIOVANNI ANTONIO SOGLIANI 157
GIROLAMO DA TREVISO 167
POLIDORO DA CARAVAGGIO AND MATURINO 173
IL ROSSO 187
BARTOLOMMEO DA BAGNACAVALLO, AND OTHERS 205
FRANCIABIGIO [FRANCIA] 215
MORTO DA FELTRO AND ANDREA DI COSIMO FELTRINI 225
MARCO CALAVRESE 235
FRANCESCO MAZZUOLI [PARMIGIANO] 241
JACOPO PALMA [PALMA VECCHIO] AND LORENZO LOTTO 257
INDEX OF NAMES 267
ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOLUME V
PLATES IN COLOUR
FACING PAGE
TIMOTEO DA URBINO (TIMOTEO DELLA VITE)
A Muse
Florence: Corsini Gallery 10
LORENZO DI CREDI
Venus
Florence: Uffizi, 3452 48
BERNARDINO DEL LUPINO (LUINI)
S. Catharine borne to her Tomb by Angels
Milan: Brera, 288 54
ANDREA DEL SARTO
Madonna dell' Arpie
Florence: Uffizi, 1112 94
DOSSO DOSSI
A Nymph with a Satyr
Florence: Pitti, 147 140
FRANCIABIGIO (FRANCIA)
Portrait of a Man
Vienna: Prince Liechtenstein 222
LORENZO LOTTO
The Triumph of Chastity
Rome: Rospigliosi Gallery 258
JACOPO PALMA (PALMA VECCHIO)
S. Barbara
Venice: S. Maria Formosa 260
RONDINELLO (NICCOLO RONDINELLI)
Madonna and Child
Paris: Louvre, 1159 264
PLATES IN MONOCHROME
ANDREA DA FIESOLE (ANDREA FERRUCCI)
Font
Pistoia: Duomo 6
SILVIO COSINI (SILVIO DA FIESOLE)
Tomb of Raffaele Maffei
Volterra: S. Lino 8
VINCENZIO DA SAN GIMIGNANO (VINCENZIO TAMAGNI)
The Birth of the Virgin
San Gimignano: S. Agostino, Cappella del S. Sacramento 12
TIMOTEO DA URBINO (TIMOTEO DELLA VITE)
Madonna and Saints, with a Child Angel
Milan: Brera, 508 12
TIMOTEO DA URBINO (TIMOTEO DELLA VITE)
The Magdalene
Bologna: Accademia, 204 16
ANDREA DAL MONTE SANSOVINO (ANDREA CONTUCCI)
Altar-piece
Florence: S. Spirito 22
ANDREA DAL MONTE SANSOVINO (ANDREA CONTUCCI)
Tomb of Cardinal Ascanio Sforza
Rome: S. Maria del Popolo 24
ANDREA DAL MONTE SANSOVINO (ANDREA CONTUCCI)
The Madonna and Child, with S. Anne
Rome: S. Agostino 26
BENEDETTO DA ROVEZZANO
Tomb of Piero Soderini
Florence: S. Maria del Carmine 38
BACCIO DA MONTELUPO
S. John the Evangelist
Florence: Or San Michele 42
AGOSTINO BUSTI (IL BAMBAJA)
Detail from the Tomb: Head of Gaston de Foix
Milan: Brera 44
RAFFAELLO DA MONTELUPO
S. Damiano
Florence: New Sacristy of S. Lorenzo 44
LORENZO DI CREDI
Andrea Verrocchio
Florence: Uffizi, 1163 50
LORENZO DI CREDI
Madonna and Child, with Saints
Paris: Louvre, 1263 52
LORENZO DI CREDI
The Nativity
Florence: Accademia, 92 52
LORENZETTO
Elijah
Rome: S. Maria del Popolo, Chigi Chapel 56
LORENZETTO
S. Peter
Rome: Ponte S. Angelo 56
BOCCACCINO
Madonna and Child, with Saints
Rome: Doria Gallery, 125 58
BERNARDINO DEL LUPINO (LUINI)
The Marriage of the Virgin
Saronno: Santuario della Beata Vergine 60
BALDASSARRE PERUZZI
Cupola of the Ponzetti Chapel
Rome: S. Maria della Pace 64
BALDASSARRE PERUZZI
Palazzo della Farnesina
Rome 66
BALDASSARRE PERUZZI
Courtyard of Palazzo Massimi
Rome 70
GIOVANNI FRANCESCO PENNI (IL FATTORE)
The Baptism of Constantine
Rome: The Vatican 78
GAUDENZIO MILANESE (GAUDENZIO FERRARI)
The Last Supper
Milan: S. Maria della Passione 80
ANDREA DEL SARTO
"Noli Me Tangere"
Florence: Uffizi, 93 86
ANDREA DEL SARTO
The Last Supper
Florence: S. Salvi 88
ANDREA DEL SARTO
The Arrival of the Magi
Florence: SS. Annunziata 90
ANDREA DEL SARTO
Charity
Paris: Louvre, 1514 98
ANDREA DEL SARTO
Caesar receiving the Tribute of Egypt
Florence: Poggio a Caiano 104
ANDREA DEL SARTO
Portrait of the Artist
Florence: Uffizi, 280 112
MADONNA PROPERZIA DE' ROSSI
Two Angels (with The Assumption of the Virgin, after TRIBOLO)
Bologna: S. Petronio 126
ALFONSO LOMBARDI
The Death of the Virgin
Bologna: S. Maria della Vita 134
MICHELAGNOLO DA SIENA
Tomb of Adrian VI
Rome: S. Maria dell' Anima 136
GIROLAMO SANTA CROCE
Madonna and Child, with SS. Peter and John
Naples: Monte Oliveto 138
DOSSO DOSSI
Madonna and Child, with SS. George and Michael
Modena: Pinacoteca, 437 140
GIOVANNI ANTONIO LICINIO OF PORDENONE
The Disputation of S. Catharine
Piacenza: S. Maria di Campagna 150
GIOVANNI ANTONIO LICINIO OF PORDENONE
The Adoration of the Magi
Treviso: Duomo 152
GIOVANNI ANTONIO SOGLIANI
The Legend of S. Dominic
Florence: S. Marco 162
IL ROSSO
Madonna and Child, with Saints
Florence: Uffizi, 47 190
IL ROSSO
The Transfiguration
Citta di Castello: Duomo 198
BARTOLOMMEO DA BAGNACAVALLO
The Holy Family, with Saints
Bologna: Accademia, 133 208
AMICO OF BOLOGNA (AMICO ASPERTINI)
The Adoration
Bologna: Pinacoteca, 297 210
INNOCENZIO DA IMOLA
The Marriage of S. Catharine
Bologna: S. Giacomo Maggiore 214
FRANCIABIGIO (FRANCIA)
The Marriage of the Virgin
Florence: SS. Annunziata 218
FRANCESCO MAZZUOLI (PARMIGIANO)
The Marriage of S. Catharine
Parma: Gallery, 192 246
FRANCESCO MAZZUOLI (PARMIGIANO)
Madonna and Child, with Saints
Bologna: Accademia, 116 250
JACOPO PALMA (PALMA VECCHIO)
S. Sebastian
Venice: S. Maria Formosa 260
LORENZO LOTTO
The Glorification of S. Nicholas
Venice: S. Maria del Carmine 262
LORENZO LOTTO
Andrea Odoni
Hampton Court Palace 262
RONDINELLO (NICCOLO RONDINELLI)
Madonna and Child, with Saints
Ravenna: Accademia 264
FRANCESCO DA COTIGNOLA
The Adoration of the Shepherds
Ravenna: Accademia 266
CORRIGENDUM
P. 151, l. 13, _Vicenza_ is an error of the Italian text for Piacenza,
the church referred to being in the latter town
ANDREA DA FIESOLE
LIVES OF ANDREA DA FIESOLE
[_ANDREA FERRUCCI_]
SCULPTOR
AND OF OTHER CRAFTSMEN OF FIESOLE
Seeing that it is no less necessary for sculptors to have mastery over
their carving-tools than it is for him who practises painting to be able
to handle colours, it therefore happens that many who work very well in
clay prove to be unable to carry their labours to any sort of perfection
in marble; and some, on the contrary, work very well in marble, without
having any more knowledge of design than a certain instinct for a good
manner, I know not what, that they have in their minds, derived from the
imitation of certain things which please their judgment, and which their
imagination absorbs and proceeds to use for its own purposes. And it is
almost a marvel to see the manner in which some sculptors, without in
any way knowing how to draw on paper, nevertheless bring their works to
a fine and praiseworthy completion with their chisels. This was seen in
Andrea, a sculptor of Fiesole, the son of Piero di Marco Ferrucci, who
learnt the rudiments of sculpture in his earliest boyhood from Francesco
di Simone Ferrucci, another sculptor of Fiesole. And although at the
beginning he learnt only to carve foliage, yet little by little he
became so well practised in his work that it was not long before he set
himself to making figures; insomuch that, having a swift and resolute
hand, he executed his works in marble rather with a certain judgment and
skill derived from nature than with any knowledge of design.
Nevertheless, he afterwards gave a little more attention to art, when,
in the flower of his youth, he followed Michele Maini, likewise a
sculptor of Fiesole; which Michele made the S. Sebastian of marble in
the Minerva at Rome, which was so much praised in those days.
Andrea, then, having been summoned to work at Imola, built a chapel of
grey-stone, which was much extolled, in the Innocenti in that city.
After that work, he went to Naples at the invitation of Antonio di
Giorgio of Settignano, a very eminent engineer, and architect to King
Ferrante, with whom Antonio was in such credit, that he had charge not
only of all the buildings in that kingdom, but also of all the most
important affairs of State. On arriving in Naples, Andrea was set to
work, and he executed many things for that King in the Castello di San
Martino and in other parts of that city. Now Antonio died; and after the
King had caused him to be buried with obsequies suited rather to a royal
person than to an architect, and with twenty pairs of mourners following
him to the grave, Andrea, recognizing that this was no country for him,
departed from Naples and made his way back to Rome, where he stayed for
some time, attending to the studies of his art, and also to some work.
Afterwards, having returned to Tuscany, he built the marble chapel
containing the baptismal font in the Church of S. Jacopo at Pistoia, and
with much diligence executed the basin of that font, with all its
ornamentation. And on the main wall of the chapel he made two lifesize
figures in half-relief--namely, S. John baptizing Christ, a work
executed very well and with a beautiful manner. At the same time he made
some other little works, of which there is no need to make mention. I
must say, indeed, that although these things were wrought by Andrea
rather with the skill of his hand than with art, yet there may be
perceived in them a boldness and an excellence of taste worthy of great
praise. And, in truth, if such craftsmen had a thorough knowledge of
design united to their practised skill and judgment, they would vanquish
in excellence those who, drawing perfectly, only hack the marble when
they set themselves to work it, and toil at it painfully with a sorry
result, through not having practice and not knowing how to handle the
tools with the skill that is necessary.
After these works, Andrea executed a marble panel that was placed
exactly between the two flights of steps that ascend to the upper choir
in the Church of the Vescovado at Fiesole; in which panel he made three
figures in the round and some scenes in low-relief. And for S. Girolamo,
at Fiesole, he made the little marble panel that is built into the
middle of the church. Having come into repute by reason of the fame of
these works, Andrea was commissioned by the Wardens of Works of S. Maria
del Fiore, at the time when Cardinal Giulio de' Medici was governing
Florence, to make a statue of an Apostle four braccia in height; at that
time, I mean, when four other similar statues were allotted at one and
the same moment to four other masters--one to Benedetto da Maiano,
another to Jacopo Sansovino, a third to Baccio Bandinelli, and the
fourth to Michelagnolo Buonarroti; which statues were eventually to be
twelve in number, and were to be placed in that part of that magnificent
temple where there are the Apostles painted by the hand of Lorenzo di
Bicci. Andrea, then, executed his rather with fine skill and judgment
than with design; and he acquired thereby, if not as much praise as the
others, at least the name of a good and practised master. Wherefore he
was almost continually employed ever afterwards by the Wardens of Works
of that church; and he made the head of Marsilius Ficinus that is to be
seen therein, within the door that leads to the chapter-house. He made,
also, a marble fountain that was sent to the King of Hungary, which
brought him great honour; and by his hand was a marble tomb that was
sent, likewise, to Strigonia, a city of Hungary. In this tomb was a
Madonna, very well executed, with other figures; and in it was
afterwards laid to rest the body of the Cardinal of Strigonia. To
Volterra Andrea sent two Angels of marble in the round; and for Marco
del Nero, a Florentine, he made a lifesize Crucifix of wood, which is
now in the Church of S. Felicita at Florence. He made a smaller one for
the Company of the Assumption in Fiesole. Andrea also delighted in
architecture, and he was the master of Mangone, the stonecutter and
architect, who afterwards erected many palaces and other buildings in
Rome in a passing good manner.
In the end, having grown old, Andrea gave his attention only to mason's
work, like one who, being a modest and worthy person, loved a quiet
life more than anything else. He received from Madonna Antonia Vespucci
the commission for a tomb for her husband, Messer Antonio Strozzi; but
since he could not work much himself, the two Angels were made for him
by Maso Boscoli of Fiesole, his disciple, who afterwards executed many
works in Rome and elsewhere, and the Madonna was made by Silvio Cosini
of Fiesole, although it was not set into place immediately after it was
finished, which was in the year 1522, because Andrea died, and was
buried by the Company of the Scalzo in the Church of the Servi.
[Illustration: FONT
(_After_ Andrea da Fiesole [Andrea Ferrucci]. _Pistoia: Duomo_)
_Brogi_]
Silvio, when the said Madonna was set into place and the tomb of the
Strozzi completely finished, pursued the art of sculpture with
extraordinary zeal; wherefore he afterwards executed many works in a
graceful and beautiful manner, | 1,485.678708 |
2023-11-16 18:41:49.8542620 | 2,408 | 10 |
E-text prepared by David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 47640-h.htm or 47640-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/47640/47640-h/47640-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/47640/47640-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/womangives00johnrich
THE WOMAN GIVES
* * * * * *
By the Same Author
_Lawrenceville Stories_
THE PRODIGIOUS HICKEY
THE VARMINT
THE TENNESSEE SHAD
THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE
THE WOMAN GIVES
* * * * * *
[Illustration: In the subdued torment on his face there was a
sudden flickering passage of absolute terror. FRONTISPIECE. _See
page 175._]
THE WOMAN GIVES
A Story of Regeneration
by
OWEN JOHNSON
With Illustrations by Howard Chandler Christy
[Illustration]
Boston
Little, Brown, and Company
1916
Copyright, 1916,
By Owen Johnson.
All rights reserved
Published, September, 1916
The Colonial Press
C.H. Simonds Co., Boston, U. S. A.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
IN THE SUBDUED TORMENT ON HIS FACE THERE
WAS A SUDDEN FLICKERING PASSAGE OF
ABSOLUTE TERROR _Frontispiece_
IT NEVER OCCURRED TO KING O’LEARY TO
ASK WHAT SHE INTENDED TO DO _Page_ 69
“FRIENDSHIP!” SHE SAID SCORNFULLY, WITH
A QUICK BREATH, “A LOT OF FRIENDSHIP
THERE WAS IN THAT!” “ 109
“THERE!” HE GAVE THEM A SIGNAL, AND
STOOD OFF GRINNING, HIS HEAD ON ONE
SIDE, CONTEMPLATIVELY, AS THEY
CROWDED ABOUT THE COMPOSITION “ 149
THEN SHE DELIBERATELY TORE IT INTO PIECES “ 276
“MY HAT AND MY CANE!” EXCLAIMED “THE
BARON” “ 316
THE WOMAN GIVES
Teagan’s Arcade stood, and in the slow upward progress of the city
it may still stand, at that intersection of Broadway and Columbus
Avenue, where the grumbling subway and the roaring elevated meet
at Lincoln Square. It covered a block, bisected by an arcade and
rising six capacious stories in the form of an enormous H. On
Broadway, the glass front was given over to shops and offices of
all descriptions, while in the back stretches of the top stories,
artists, sculptors, students, and illustrators had their studios
alongside of mediums, dentists, curious business offices, and
derelicts of all description.
The square was a churning meeting of contending human tides. The
Italians had installed their fruit shops and their groceries; the
French their florists and their delicatessen shops; the Jews their
clothing bazaars; the Germans their jewelers and their shoe stores;
the Irish their saloons and their restaurants, while from Healy’s,
one of the most remarkable meeting-grounds in the city, they
dominated the neighborhood.
The Arcade, which had stood like a great glass barn, waiting the
inevitable stone advance of reconstruction, looked down on this
rushing stream of all nations, while occasionally from the mixed
races outside, swimming on the current of the avenue, a bit of
human débris was washed up and found its lodging. It was a bit of
the Orient--the flotsam and jetsam of Hong Kong and Singapore in
the heart of New York. It was a place where no questions were asked
and no advice permitted; where if you found a man wandering in the
long, drafty corridors you piloted him to his room and put him to
bed and did not seek to reform him in the morning. This was its
etiquette. There were the young and unafraid, who were coming up
blithely, and the old and tired, who were going down, and it was
understood that those who were bent on their own destruction should
do it in their own chosen way--a place where souls in hunger and
souls in despair met momentarily and passed.
In the whole city there was not such another incongruous gathering
of activities. There was a vast billiard-parlor and a theater;
a barber shop and shoe parlors; a telegraph station and an
ice-cream-and-candy shop, thronged at the luncheon hour with crowds
of schoolboys; there was also a millinery shop and one for fancy
goods; a clock maker, and two corner saloons. Above, in the lower
lofts, every conceivable human oddity was assembled in a sort of
mercantile crazy quilt. One read such signs as these:
WILLIE GOLDMARK
HIGH-ART CLOTHING
THE GREAT INTERNATIONAL NOVELTY CO
UNCLE PAUL’S PAWN SHOP
YOU CAN PAWN ANYTHING FROM A SHOE-STRING TO A
LOCOMOTIVE
THE PATENT HORSESHOE CO.
THE ROYAL EUROPEAN HAIR-DRESSING PARLORS
MARCEL-WAVING TAUGHT IN TEN LESSONS
Besides this, there were offices for a dozen patent medicine cures;
a notary public and public stenographers; while banjo lessons,
instruction in illustration, commercial advertising and fancy
dancing were offered on every floor.
Higher up, on the fifth and particularly on the sixth floor,
where the lofts had been transformed into dwelling-rooms and
studios, a queer collection had settled and clung tenaciously. For
years, oppressed by the vastness and gloom of the reverberating
corridors, they had gone on living solitary lives, barely nodding
to each other, as though each had a secret to bury (which indeed
was often true), and they might have continued thus indefinitely,
had it not been for two events--the accident of King O’Leary’s
meeting Tootles, and the mystery of Dangerfield’s coming to the
corner studio--two unifying events that brought the little group
of human stragglers on the sixth floor into a curious fraternity
that persisted for several years, and was fated to affect several
destinies profoundly.
I
It was Christmas Eve in Lincoln Square. A fine snow was sifting
out of the leaden night, coating the passers-by with silver but
dissolving on the warm asphalt stretches in long, gleaming lakes
where a thousand reflections quivered. From the glowing subway
entrances, the holiday crowds surged up, laden with mysterious
packages, scurrying home for the decking out of tinseled trees
and the plotting of Christmas surprises. The shop windows flared
through the crowds so brightly that they seemed to have brought
up electric reinforcements. The restaurants were crowded with
brilliant garlands gay with red berries and festal ribbons,
while amid the turbulent traffic of the avenues, impudent little
taxi-cabs went scooting merrily, with rich glimpses of heaped-up
boxes inside.
At Healy’s, under the strident elevated station, a few guests
were entering the blazing dining-rooms, laughing and expectant.
The tension of the city’s nerves seemed everywhere relaxed.
For one merry hour in the long, grinding year, united in the
unselfish spirit of revelry, with the zest of secrets to be guarded
and secrets to be discovered, the metropolitan crowd bumped
good-humoredly on its way, gay with the democracy of good cheer.
King O’Leary left the throng at the bar at Healy’s, whistling
loudly to himself, flung a half-dollar to the blind news-dealer
under the elevated steps, calling with gruff gusto, “Merry
Christmas!” and, resuming his whistling, crossed the square to
where Teagan’s Arcade rose in shanty splendor, six stories above
Broadway, filling the block with its flashing electric signs which
hung against the night like so much cheap jewelry.
If King O’Leary continued to whistle with exaggerated gaiety,
tricking himself into a set smile, it was because deep in his
heart he felt the irresistible closing-in of his black hour.
As he neared the glass descent into the rumbling underground,
a flurried eruption of parcel-laden crowds whirled momentarily
about him, wrapping him around with youth, laughter, and the aroma
of friendship and affection. Home! He felt it so keenly; he saw
so clearly rising before him a hundred visions of family groups
gathered in the warmth of cozy houses, he felt so out of it, so
socially excommunicated, that his pretense at gaiety flattened out.
He shifted the soft-brimmed hat over his eyes, as though to shut
out memories, turned up the collar of his coat, and, digging his
great hands into capacious pockets, swung doggedly on. The world
for this one night had run away from him. In the whole city he
could think of no door where he could leave a present or imagine
from what direction one might descend upon him. With the exception
of the half-dollar flung to the blind news-dealer, and a few tips
jingling in his pockets, his Christmas giving was over. Twice a
year, in his happy-go-lucky existence, rolling down incredible
avenues of life from Singapore to Nome, Alaska, meeting each day
with unfailing zest, leader and boon companion through whatever
crowds he passed--twice a year, at Christmas and on a certain day
in mid-April, the secret of which lay buried in his memory, King
O’Leary went down into the dark alleys of remembrance.
He entered the Arcade, which was like a warm, friendly furnace
after the wet, shivering snow flurries, transparent shops on either
side, and ahead the gleam of brass railings barring the entrance to
the vaudeville theater, whose evening program shrieked at him from
sheets of mystery and guaranteed thrills.
“Lord, but this is awful!” he said solemnly, gazing
absent-mindedly into the glowing tonsorial parlors inscribed “Joey
Shine.” “Wish to the deuce I could think of some one to give a
present to!”
All at once he perceived the manicurist, a tall, Amazonian
young lady, with reddish hair coiled in amazing tangles, who
was examining him with friendly curiosity. He came out of his
| 1,485.874302 |
2023-11-16 18:41:50.1939290 | 389 | 9 |
Produced by David Edwards, Anne Storer, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Note:
Text within {xx} following ^ = text inserted above the line.
[Illustration: The Purple Cow!]
Published by William Doxey, at the Sign of the Lark, San Francisco.
Copyright.
The Lark Book I., Nos. 1-12, with Table of Contents and Press Comments;
bound in canvas, with a cover design (The Piping Faun) by Bruce Porter,
painted in three colors. Price, 3.00, post-paid.
[Illustration: _THE LARK_
_Book 1 Nos. 1-12_]
_NOTES ON THE BIRTH OF THE LARK_
_Boston Herald._--"The pictures and rhymes in _The Lark_ rank with
the most remarkable things done for children since the days of Mother
Goose."
_Boston Budget._--"_The Lark_ is a reaction against the decadent spirit.
It is blithe, happy, full of the joy of life and the Greek within us--a
herald of the dawn of the new century."
_Boston Commonwealth._--"Everything in _The Lark_ is clever--some, we
may be permitted to add, cleverer than the rest."
_New York Critic._--"The faddists have produced some extraordinary
things in the way of literature, but nothing more freakish has made its
appearance in the last half-century than _The Lark_."
_New York Tribune._--"It is perhaps one-fourth a monthly periodical and
three-fourths an escapade. _The Lark_ ought really to be called 'The
Goose.'"
_New York | 1,486.213969 |
2023-11-16 18:41:50.3550710 | 7,436 | 18 |
Produced by MWS, Bryan Ness, Harry Lamé and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber’s Notes
Text ~between tildes~ represents text printed in blackletter, text
_between underscores_ represents text printed in italics. Small
capitals have been replaced by ALL CAPITALS.
More Transcriber’s Notes may be found at the end of this text.
[Illustration]
MILCH COWS
AND
DAIRY FARMING;
COMPRISING
THE BREEDS, BREEDING, AND MANAGEMENT, IN HEALTH AND DISEASE,
OF DAIRY AND OTHER STOCK, THE SELECTION OF MILCH COWS,
WITH A FULL EXPLANATION OF GUENON’S METHOD;
THE CULTURE OF FORAGE PLANTS,
AND THE PRODUCTION OF
MILK, BUTTER, AND CHEESE:
EMBODYING THE MOST RECENT IMPROVEMENTS, AND ADAPTED TO
FARMING IN THE UNITED STATES AND BRITISH PROVINCES.
WITH A TREATISE UPON THE
DAIRY HUSBANDRY OF HOLLAND;
TO WHICH IS ADDED
HORSFALL’S SYSTEM OF DAIRY MANAGEMENT.
BY CHARLES L. FLINT,
SECRETARY OF THE MASSACHUSETTS STATE BOARD OF AGRICULTURE; AUTHOR OF
“A TREATISE ON GRASSES AND FORAGE PLANTS,” ETC.
LIBERALLY ILLUSTRATED.
BOSTON:
PHILLIPS, SAMPSON AND COMPANY,
13 WINTER STREET.
1859.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
CHARLES L. FLINT,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
Stereotyped by
HOBART A ROBBINS,
New England Type and Stereotype Foundery,
BOSTON.
PRINTED BY R. M. EDWARDS.
~TO~
THE MASS. STATE BOARD OF AGRICULTURE,
THE
MASS. SOCIETY FOR THE PROMOTION OF AGRICULTURE,
AND THE VARIOUS
AGRICULTURAL SOCIETIES OF THE UNITED STATES,
WHOSE EFFORTS HAVE CONTRIBUTED SO LARGELY TO IMPROVE THE
DAIRY STOCK OF OUR COUNTRY
~This Treatise,~
DESIGNED TO ADVANCE THAT HIGHLY IMPORTANT INTEREST,
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED,
BY
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
PREFACE. vii
CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY.--THE VARIOUS RACES OF PURE-BRED CATTLE
IN THE UNITED STATES. 9
The Ayrshires -- The Jersey -- The Short-horns -- The Dutch --
Herefords -- The North Devons
CHAPTER II. AMERICAN GRADE OF NATIVE CATTLE.--THE PRINCIPLES OF
BREEDING. 49
CHAPTER III. THE SELECTION OF MILCH COWS. 79
CHAPTER IV. FEEDING AND MANAGEMENT OF DAIRY COWS. 113
Soiling -- Milking -- The Barn
CHAPTER V. THE RAISING OF CALVES. 155
CHAPTER VI. CULTURE OF GRASSES AND OTHER PLANTS RECOMMENDED FOR
FODDER. 169
Timothy grass -- June grass -- Meadow Foxtail -- Orchard grass, or
Rough Cocksfoot -- Rough-stalked Meadow grass -- Fowl Meadow grass
-- Rye grass -- Italian Rye grass -- Redtop -- English Bent -- Meadow
Fescue -- Tall Oat grass -- Sweet-scented Vernal grass -- Hungarian
grass, or Millet -- Red Clover -- White Clover -- Indian Corn --
Common Millet (Panicum miliaceum) -- Rye -- Oats -- Chinese Sugar-Cane
-- The Potato (Solanum tuberosum) -- The Carrot (Daucus carota) --
Turnip (Brassica rapa) -- Mangold Wurzel -- Parsnip (Pastinaca sativa)
-- Kohl Rabi (Brassica oleracea, var. caulorapa)--Linseed Meal--
Rape-Cake -- Cotton-seed Meal -- Manures
CHAPTER VII. MILK. 199
CHAPTER VIII. BUTTER AND THE BUTTER-DAIRY. 217
CHAPTER IX. THE CHEESE-DAIRY. 241
Cheshire Cheese -- Stilton Cheese -- Gloucester Cheese -- Cheddar
Cheese -- Dunlop Cheese -- Dutch Cheese -- Parmesan -- American Cheese
CHAPTER X. THE DISEASES OF DAIRY STOCK. 271
Garget -- Puerperal or Milk Fever -- Simple Fever -- Typhoid Fever --
Hoove or Hoven -- Choking -- Foul in the Foot -- Red Water -- Hoose --
Inflammation of the Glands -- Inflammation of the Lungs -- Diarrhœa --
Dysentery -- Mange -- Lice -- Warbles -- Loss of Cud -- Diseases of
Calves -- Diarrhœa, Purging, or Scours -- Constipation or Costiveness
-- Hoove -- Canker in the Mouth
CHAPTER XI. THE DAIRY HUSBANDRY OF HOLLAND. 295
Milking and Treatment of Milk. -- Determination of the Milking
Qualities of the Cows -- Treatment of Milk for Butter -- Methods of
Churning -- Churning in the Common Churn -- The Lever Churn --
Churning with an Elastic Rod -- Churning with the Treadle Lever --
Churning by Horse-power -- Duration of the Churning -- Working and
Treatment of Butter -- The Form of Fresh Butter -- The Packing of
Butter in Firkins and Barrels -- Coloring of Butter -- Use of the
Butter-milk -- The Manufacture of the different kinds of Dutch Cheese
-- Cheese-making in South Holland -- Manufacture of Sweet Milk Cheese
in South Holland -- The Use of the Whey of Sweet Milk Cheese -- May
Cheese -- Jews’ Cheese -- Council’s Cheese -- New Milk’s Cheese --
Cheese-making in North Holland -- The Utensils used in Cheese-making
in North Holland -- Variety of North Dutch Cheeses, and the Trade in
them -- Making of Edam Cheese -- The Red Color of Edam Cheese -- Use
of the Whey of the North Dutch Sweet Milk Cheese
CHAPTER XII. LETTER TO A DAIRY-WOMAN. 355
CHAPTER XIII. THE PIGGERY AS A PART OF THE DAIRY ESTABLISHMENT. 361
APPENDIX. 365
Gain or Loss of Condition ascertained by weighing Cattle Periodically
-- Richness of Milk and Cream -- Comparison of different methods of
Feeding Dairy Cows -- Quality of Butter
INDEX. 411
PREFACE.
This work is designed to embody the most recent information on the
subject of dairy farming. My aim has been to make a practically useful
book. With this view, I have treated of the several breeds of stock, the
diseases to which they are subject, the established principles of
breeding, the feeding and management of milch cows, the raising of
calves intended for the dairy, and the culture of grasses and plants to
be used as fodder.
For the chapter on the diseases of stock, I am largely indebted to Dr.
C. M. Wood, Professor of the Theory and Practice of Veterinary Medicine,
and to Dr. Geo. H. Dadd, Professor of Anatomy and Physiology, both of
the Boston Veterinary Institute. If this chapter contributes anything to
promote a more humane and judicious treatment of cattle when suffering
from disease, I shall feel amply repaid for the labor bestowed upon the
whole work.
The chapter on the Dutch dairy, which I have translated from the German,
will be found to be of great practical value, as suggesting much that is
applicable to our American dairies. This chapter has never before, to my
knowledge, appeared in English.
The full and complete explanation of Guénon’s method of judging and
selecting milch cows,--a method originally regarded as theoretical, but
now generally admitted to be very useful in practice,--I have translated
from the last edition of the treatise of M. Magne, a very sensible
French writer, who has done good service to the agricultural public by
the clearness and simplicity with which he has freed that system from
its complicated details.
The work will be found to contain an account of the most enlightened
practice in this country, in the statements those actually engaged in
dairy farming; the details of the dairy husbandry of Holland, where this
branch of industry is made a specialty to greater extent, and is
consequently carried to a higher degree of perfection, than in any other
part of the world; and the most recent and productive modes of
management in English dairy farming, embracing a large amount of
practical and scientific information, not hitherto presented to the
American public in an available form.
Nothing need be said of the usefulness of a treatise on the dairy. The
number of milch cows in the country, forming so large a part of our
material wealth, and serving as a basis for the future increase and
improvement of every class of neat stock, on which the prosperity of our
agriculture mainly depends; the intrinsic value of milk as an article of
internal commerce, and as a most healthy and nutritious food; the vast
quantity of it made into butter and cheese, and used in every family;
the endless details of the management, feeding, and treatment, of dairy
stock, and the care and attention requisite to obtain from this branch
of farming the highest profit, all concur to make the want of such a
treatise, adapted to our climate and circumstances, felt not only by
practical farmers, but by a large class of consumers, who can appreciate
every improvement which may be made in preparing the products of the
dairy for their use.
The writer has had some years of practical experience in the care of a
cheese and butter dairy, to which has been added a wide range of
observation in some of the best dairy districts of the country; and it
is hoped that the work now submitted to the public will meet that degree
of favor usually accorded to an earnest effort to do something to
advance the cause of agriculture.
DAIRY FARMING
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.--THE VARIOUS RACES OF PURE-BRED CATTLE IN THE UNITED
STATES.
The milking qualities of our domestic cows are, to some extent,
artificial, the result of care and breeding. In the natural or wild
state, the cow yields only enough to nourish her offspring for a few
weeks, and then goes dry for several months, or during the greater part
of the year. There is, therefore, a constant tendency to revert to that
condition, which is prevented only by judicious treatment, designed to
develop and increase the milking qualities so valuable to the human
race. If this judicious treatment is continued through several
generations of the same family or race of animals, the qualities which
it is calculated to develop become more or less fixed, and capable of
transmission. Instead of being exceptional, or peculiar to an
individual, they become the permanent characteristics of a breed. Hence
the origin of a great variety of breeds or races, the characteristics of
each being due to local circumstances such as climate, soil, and the
special objects of the breeder, which may be the production of milk,
butter and cheese, or the raising of beef or working cattle.
A knowledge of the history of different breeds, and especially of the
dairy breeds, is of manifest importance. Though very excellent milkers
will sometimes be found in all of them, and of a great variety of forms,
the most desirable dairy qualities will generally be found to have
become fixed and permanent characteristics of some to a greater extent
than of others; but it does not follow that a race whose milking
qualities have not been developed is of less value for other purposes,
and for qualities which have been brought out with greater care. A brief
sketch of the principal breeds of American cattle, as well as of the
grades or the common stock of the country, will aid the farmer, perhaps,
in making an intelligent selection with reference to the special object
of pursuit, whether it be the dairy, the production of beef, or the
raising of cattle for work.
In a subsequent chapter on the selections of milch cows, the standard of
perfection will be discussed in detail, and the characteristics of each
of the races will naturally be measured by that. In this connection, and
as preliminary to the following sketches, it may be stated that,
whatever breed may be selected, a full supply of food and proper shelter
are absolutely essential to the maintenance of any milking stock, the
food of which goes to supply not only the ordinary waste of the system
common to all animals, but also the milk secretions, which are greater
in some than in others. A large animal on a poor pasture has to travel
much further to fill itself than a small one. A small or medium-sized
cow would return more milk in proportion to the food consumed, under
such circumstances, than a large one.
In selecting any breed, therefore, regard should be had to the
circumstances of the farmer, and the object to be pursued. The cow most
profitable for the milk-dairy may be very unprofitable in the butter
and cheese dairy, as well as for the production of beef; while for
either of the latter objects the cow which gave the largest quantity of
milk might prove very unprofitable. It is desirable to secure a union
and harmony of all good qualities, so far as possible; and the farmer
wants a cow that will milk well for some years, and then, when dry,
fatten readily, and sell to the butcher for the highest price. These
qualities, though often supposed to be incompatible, will be found to be
united in some breeds to a greater extent than in others; while some
peculiarities of form have been found, by observation, to be better
adapted to the production of milk and beef than others. This will appear
in the following pages.
[Illustration: Fig. 1. Ayrshire Cow, imported and owned by Dr. Geo. B.
Loring, Salem, Mass.]
THE AYRSHIRES are justly celebrated throughout Great Britain and this
country for their excellent dairy qualities. Though the most recent in
their origin, they are pretty distinct from the other Scotch and English
races. In color, the pure Ayrshires are generally red and white,
spotted or mottled, not roan like many of the short-horns, but often
presenting a bright contrast of colors. They are sometimes, though
rarely, nearly or quite all red, and sometimes black and white; but the
favorite color is red and white brightly contrasted, and by some,
strawberry-color is preferred. The head is small, fine, and clean; the
face long, and narrow at the muzzle, with a sprightly yet generally mild
expression; eye small, smart, and lively; the horns short, fine, and
slightly twisted upwards, set wide apart at the roots; the neck thin;
body enlarging from fore to hind quarters; the back straight and narrow,
but broad across the loin; joints rather loose and open; ribs rather
flat; hind quarters rather thin; bone fine; tail long, fine and bushy at
the end; hair generally thin and soft; udder light color and capacious,
extending well forward under the belly; teats of the cow of medium size,
generally set regularly and wide apart; milk-veins prominent and well
developed. The carcass of the pure-bred Ayrshire is light, particularly
the fore quarters, which is considered by good judges as an index of
great milking qualities; but the pelvis is capacious and wide over the
hips.
On the whole, the Ayrshire is good-looking, but wants some of the
symmetry and aptitude to fatten which characterize the short-horn, which
is supposed to have contributed to build up this valuable breed on the
basis of the original stock of the county of Ayr; a county extending
along the eastern shore of the Frith of Clyde, in the south-western part
of Scotland, and divided into three districts, known as Carrick,
Cunningham, and Kyle: the first famous as the lordship of Robert Bruce,
the last for the production of this, one of the most remarkable dairy
breeds of cows in the world. The original stock of this county, which
undoubtedly formed the basis of the present Ayrshire breed, are
described by Aiton, in his _Treatise on the Dairy Breed of Cows_, as of
a diminutive size, ill fed, ill shaped, and yielding but a scanty return
in milk. They were mostly of a black color, with large stripes of white
along the chine and ridge of their backs, about the flanks, and on their
faces. Their horns were high and crooked, having deep ringlets at the
root,--the plainest proof that the cattle were but scantily fed; the
chine of their backs stood up high and narrow; their sides were lank,
short, and thin; their hides thick, and adhering to their bones; their
pile was coarse and open; and few of them yielded more than six or eight
quarts of milk a day when in their best plight, or weighed when fat more
than from twelve to sixteen or twenty stones avoirdupois, at eight
pounds the stone, sinking offal.
“It was impossible,” he continues, “that these cattle, fed as they then
were, could be of great weight, well shaped, or yield much milk. Their
only food in winter and spring was oat-straw, and what they could pick
up in the fields, to which they were turned out almost every day, with a
mash of weak corn and chaff daily for a few days after calving; and
their pasture in summer was of the very worst quality, and eaten so bare
that the cattle were half starved, and had the aspect of starvelings. A
wonderful change has since been made in the condition, aspect, and
qualities, of the Ayrshire dairy stock. They are not now the meagre,
unshapely animals they were about forty years ago; but have completely
changed into something as different from what they were then as any two
breeds in the island can be from each other. They are almost double the
size, and yield about four times the quantity of milk that the Ayrshire
cows then yielded. They were not of any specific breed, nor uniformity
of shapes or color; neither was there any fixed standard by which they
could be judged.”
Aiton wrote in 1815, and even then the Ayrshire cattle had been
completely changed from what they were in 1770, and had, to a
considerable extent, at least, settled down into a breed with fixed
characteristics, distinguished especially for an abundant flow and a
rich quality of milk. A large part of the improvement then manifested
was due to better feeding and care, but much, no doubt, to judicious
crossing. Strange as it may seem, considering the modern origin of this
breed, “all that is certainly known is that a century ago there was no
such breed as Cunningham or Ayrshire in Scotland. Did the Ayrshire
cattle arise entirely from a careful selection of the best native breed?
If they did, it is a circumstance unparalleled in the history of
agriculture. The native breed may be ameliorated by careful selection;
its value may be incalculably increased; some good qualities, some of
its best qualities, may be for the first time developed; but yet there
will be some resemblance to the original stock, and the more we examine
the animal the more clearly we can trace out the characteristic points
of the ancestor, although every one of them is improved.”
Aiton remembered well the time when some short-horn or Dutch cattle, as
they were then called, were procured by some gentlemen in Scotland, and
particularly by one John Dunlop, of Cunningham, who brought some Dutch
cows--doubtless short-horns--to his byres soon after the year 1760. As
they were then provided with the best of pasture, and the dairy was the
chief object of the neighborhood, these cattle soon excited attention,
and the small farmers began to raise up crosses from them. This was in
Cunningham, one of the districts of Ayrshire, and Mr. Dunlop’s were,
without doubt, among the first of the stranger breed that reached that
region. About 1750, a little previous to the above date, the Earl of
Marchmont bought of the Bishop of Durham several cows and a bull of the
Teeswater breed, all of a brown color spotted with white, and kept them
some time at his seat in Berwickshire. His lordship had extensive
estates in Kyle, another district of Ayrshire, and thither his factor,
Bruce Campbell, took some of the Teeswater breed and kept them for some
time, and their progeny spread over various parts of Ayrshire. A bull,
after serving many cows of the estates already mentioned, was sold to a
Mr. Hamilton, in another quarter of Ayrshire, and raised a numerous
offspring.
About the year 1767, also, John Orr sent from Glasgow to his estate in
Ayrshire some fine milch cows, of a much larger size than any then in
that region. One of them cost six pounds, which was more than twice the
price of the best cow in that quarter. These cows were well fed, and of
course yielded a large return of milk; and the farmers, for miles
around, were eager to get their calves to raise.
About the same time, also, a few other noblemen and gentlemen,
stimulated by example, bought cattle of the same appearance, in color
brown spotted with white, all of them larger than the native cattle of
the county, and when well fed yielding much larger quantities of milk,
and their calves were all raised. Bulls of their breed and color were
preferred to all others.
From the description given of these cattle, there is no doubt that they
were the old Teeswater, or Dutch; the foundation, also, according to the
best authorities, of the modern improved short-horns. With them and the
crosses obtained from them the whole county gradually became stocked,
and supplied the neighboring counties, by degrees, till at present the
whole region, comprising the counties of Ayr, Renfrew, Lanark,
Dumbarton, and Stirling, and more than a fourth part of the whole
population of Scotland, a large proportion of which is engaged in
manufactures and commercial or mechanical pursuits, furnishing a ready
market for milk and butter, is almost exclusively stocked with
Ayrshires.
The cross with larger cattle and the natives of Ayrshire produced, for
many years, an ugly-looking beast, and the farmers were long in finding
out that they had violated one of the plain principles of breeding in
coupling a large and small breed so indiscriminately together,
especially in the use of bulls proportionately larger than the cows to
which they were put. They did not then understand that no crosses could
be made in that way to increase the size of a race, without a
corresponding increase in the feed; and many very ill-shaped animals
were the consequence of ignorance of a natural law. They made large
bones, but they were never strong and vigorous in proportion to their
size. Trying to keep large animals on poor pasture produced the same
effect. The results of first crosses were therefore very unsatisfactory;
but gradually better feeding and a reduction in size came to their aid,
while in the course of years more enlightened views of farming led to
higher cultivation, and consequently to higher and better care and
attention to stock. The effect of crosses with the larger Teeswater or
short-horn was not so disastrous in Ayrshire as in some of the mountain
breeds, whose feed was far less, while their exposure on high and short
pastures was greater.
The climate of Ayrshire is moist and mild, and the soil rich, clayey,
and well adapted to pasturage, but difficult to till. The cattle are
naturally hardy and active, and capable of enduring severe winters, and
of easily regaining condition with the return of spring and good feed.
The pasture-land of the county is devoted to dairy stock,--chiefly for
making butter and cheese, a small part only being used for fattening
cows when too old to keep for the dairy. The breed has undergone very
marked improvements since Aiton wrote, in 1815. The local demand for
fresh dairy products has very naturally taxed the skill and judgment of
the farmers and dairy-men to the utmost, through a long course of years;
and thus the remarkable milking qualities of the Ayrshires have been
developed to such a degree that they may be said to produce a larger
quantity of rich milk and butter in proportion to the food consumed, or
the cost of production, than any other of the pure-bred races. The
owners of dairies in the county of Ayr and the neighborhood were
generally small tenants, who took charge of their stock themselves,
saving and breeding from the offspring of good milkers, and drying off
and feeding such as were found to be unprofitable for milk, for the
butcher; and thus the production of milk and butter has for many years
been the leading object with the owners of this breed, and symmetry of
form and perfection of points for any other object have been very much
disregarded, or, if regarded at all, only from this one point of
view--the production of the greatest quantity of rich milk.
The manner in which this result has been brought about may further be
seen in a remark of Aiton, who says that the Ayrshire farmers prefer
their dairy bulls according to the feminine aspect of their heads and
necks, and wish them not round behind, but broad at the hook-bones and
hips, and full in the flanks. This was more than forty years ago, and
under such circumstances, and with such care in the selection of bulls
and cows with reference to one specific object, it is not surprising
that we find a breed now wholly unsurpassed when the quantity and
quality of their produce is considered with reference to their
proportional size and the food they consume. The Ayrshire cow has been
known to produce over ten imperial gallons of good milk a day.
[Illustration: Fig. 2. Ayrshire Bull “ALBERT,”
Imported and owned by the Mass. Soc. for Promoting Agriculture.]
A cow-feeder in Glasgow, selling fresh milk, is said to have realized
two hundred and fifty dollars in seven months from one good cow; and it
is stated, on high authority, that a dollar a day for six months of the
year is no uncommon income from good cows under similar circumstances,
and that seventy-five cents a day is below the average. But this implies
high and judicious feeding, of course: the average yield, on ordinary
feed, would be considerably less.
Youatt estimates the daily yield of an Ayrshire cow, for the first two
or three months after calving, at five gallons a day, on an average; for
the next three months, at three gallons; and for the next four months,
at one gallon and a half. This would be 850 gallons as the annual
average of a cow; but allowing for some unproductive cows, he estimates
the average of a dairy at 600 gallons per annum for each cow. Three
gallons and a half of the Ayrshire cow’s milk will yield one and a half
pounds of butter. He therefore reckons 257 pounds of butter, or 514
pounds of cheese, at the rate of 24 pounds to 28 gallons of milk, as the
yield of every cow, at a fair and perhaps rather low average, in an
Ayrshire dairy, during the year. Aiton sets the yield much higher,
saying that “thousands of the best Ayrshire dairy-cows, when in prime
condition and well fed, produce 1000 gallons of milk per annum; that in
general three and three quarters to four gallons of their milk will
yield a pound and a half of butter; and that 27¹⁄₂ gallons of their milk
will make 21 pounds of full-milk cheese.” Mr. Rankin puts it lower--at
about 650 to 700 gallons to each cow; on his own farm of inferior soil,
his dairy produced an average of 550 gallons only.
One of the four cows originally imported into this country by John P.
Cushing, Esq., of Massachusetts, gave in one year 3864 quarts, beer
measure, or about 966 gallons, at ten pounds to the gallon, being an
average of over ten and a half beer quarts a day for the whole year. It
is asserted, on good authority, that the first Ayrshire cow imported by
the Massachusetts Society for the Promotion of Agriculture, in 1837,
yielded sixteen pounds of butter a week, for several weeks in
succession, on grass feed only. These yields are not so large as those
stated by Aiton; but it should, perhaps, be recollected that our climate
is less favorable to the production of milk than that of England and
Scotland, and that no cow imported after arriving at maturity could be
expected to yield as much, under the same circumstances, as one bred on
the spot where the trial is made, and perfectly acclimated.
In a series of experiments on the Earl of Chesterfield’s dairy farm, at
Bradley Ball, interesting as giving positive data on which to form a
judgment as to the yield, it was found that, in the height of the
season, the Holderness cows gave 7 gallons 1 quart per diem; the
long-horns and Alderneys, 4 gallons 3 quarts; the Devons, 4 gallons 1
quart; and that, when made into butter the above quantities gave,
respectively, 38¹⁄₂ ounces, 28 ounces, and 25 ounces.
The Ayrshire, a cow far smaller than the Holderness, at 5 gallons of
milk and 34 ounces of butter per day, gives a fair average as to yield
of milk, and an enormous production of butter, giving within 4¹⁄₂ ounces
as much from her 5 gallons as the Holderness from her 7 gallons 1 quart;
her rate being nearly 7 ounces to the gallon, while that of the
Holderness is considerably under 6 ounces.
The evidence of a large and practical dairyman is certainly of the
highest value; and in this connection it may be stated that Mr. Harley,
the author of the _Harleian Dairy System_, who established the
celebrated Willowbank Dairy, in Glasgow, and who kept, at times, from
two hundred and sixty to three hundred cows, always using the utmost
care in selection, says that he had cows, by way of experiment, from
different parts of the united kingdom. He purchased ten at one Edinburgh
market, of the large short-horned breed, at twenty pounds each, but
these did not give more milk, nor better in quality, than Ayrshire cows
that were bought at the same period for thirteen pounds a head; and, on
comparison, it was found that the latter were much cheaper kept, and
that they improved much more in beef and fat in proportion to their
size, than the high-priced cows. A decided preference was therefore
given to the improved Ayrshire breed, from seven to ten years old, and
from eight to twenty pounds a head. Prime young cows were too
high-priced for stall feeding; old cows were generally the most
profitable in the long run, especially if they were not previously in
good keeping. The cows were generally bought when near calving, which
prevented the barbarous practice called hafting, or allowing the milk to
remain upon the cow for a considerable time before she is brought to the
market. This base and cruel custom is always pernicious to the cow, and
in consequence of it she seldom recovers her milk for the season. The
middling and large sizes of cows were preferred, such as weighed from
thirty-five to fifty stone, or from five hundred to eight hundred
pounds.
According to Mr. Harley, the most approved shape and marks of a good
dairy cow are as follows: Head small, long, and narrow towards the
muzzle; horns small, clear, bent, and placed at considerable distance
from each other; eyes not large, but brisk and lively; neck slender and
long, tapering towards the head, with a little loose skin below;
shoulders and fore quarters light and thin; hind quarters large and
broad; back straight, and joints slack and open; carcass deep in the
rib; tail small and long, reaching to the heels; legs small and short,
with firm joints; udder square, but a little oblong, stretching forward,
thin-skinned and capacious, but not low hung; teats or paps small,
pointing outwards, and at a considerable distance from each other;
milk-veins capacious and prominent; skin loose, thin, and soft like a
glove; hair short, soft, and woolly; general figure, when in flesh,
handsome and well proportioned.
If this description of the Ayrshire cow be correct, it will be seen that
her head and neck are remarkably clean | 1,486.375111 |
2023-11-16 18:41:50.3878170 | 1,454 | 40 |
E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau, Matthew Wheaton, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 39000-h.htm or 39000-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39000/39000-h/39000-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/39000/39000-h.zip)
The Art and Life Library
Edited by
WALTER SHAW SPARROW.
VOLUME I.
The British Home of To-day
A BOOK OF MODERN DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE AND THE APPLIED ARTS.
(_Published June, 1904. Out of Print_).
VOLUME II.
The Gospels in Art
THE LIFE OF CHRIST BY GREAT PAINTERS FROM FRA ANGELICO TO HOLMAN
HUNT.
(_Published November, 1904_).
VOLUME III.
Women Painters of the World
FROM THE TIME OF CATERINA VIGRI (1413-1463) TO ROSA BONHEUR AND
THE PRESENT DAY.
DEDICATED TO HER MAJESTY QUEEN ALEXANDRA.
(Published March, 1905).
Hodder & Stoughton, 27, Paternoster Row, London.
[Illustration: BRITISH SCHOOL, 1901
"JOY AND THE LABOURER." REPRODUCED FROM THE ORIGINAL PICTURE IN
THE COLLECTION OF W. A. CADBURY, ESQ.
Mrs. Mary Young Hunter, Painter]
Women Painters of the World _from the time of Caterina Vigri
1413-1463 to Rosa Bonheur and the Present Day_
_Edited by Walter Shaw Sparrow_
The Art and Life Library
H&S
1905
Hodder & Stoughton
27 Paternoster Row-London
DEDICATED BY GRACIOVS PERMISSION
TO
HER MAJESTY QVEEN ALEXANDRA
IN THIS YEAR OF OVR LORD ONE THOVSAND NINE HVNDRED & FIVE
Printed by
Percy Lund, Humphries & Co., Ltd.
The Country Press, Bradford.
[Illustration: BRITISH SCHOOL, 1874
"MISSED!" REPRODUCED BY PERMISSION OF CHARLES CHESTON, ESQ.,
FROM: THE ORIGINAL WATER-COLOUR DATED 1874, THE YEAR IN WHICH
THE PAINTER'S FAMOUS "ROLL-CALL" WAS PURCHASED BY QUEEN VICTORIA
AT THE ROYAL ACADEMY.
Lady Elizabeth Butler, Painter]
PREFACE
What is genius? Is it not both masculine and feminine? Are not some of
its qualities instinct with manhood, while others delight us with the
most winning graces of a perfect womanhood? Does not genius make its
appeal as a single creative agent with a two-fold sex?
But if genius has its Mirandas and its Regans no less than its
infinite types of men, ranging from Prospero and Ferdinand to Caliban
and Trinculo, its union of the sexes does not remain always at peace
within the sphere of art. Sometimes, in the genius of men, the female
characteristics gain mastery over the male qualities; at other times
the male attributes of woman's genius win empire and precedence over
the female; and whenever these things happen, the works produced in
art soon recede from the world's sympathies, losing all their first
freshness. They may guide us, perhaps, as finger-posts in history,
pointing the way to some movement of interest; but their first
popularity as art is never renewed. Style is the man in the genius of
men, style is the woman in the genius of the fair. No male artist,
however gifted he may be, will ever be able to experience all the
emotional life to which women are subject; and no woman of abilities,
how much soever she may try, will be able to borrow from men anything
so invaluable to art as her own intuition and the prescient tenderness
and grace of her nursery-nature. Thus, then, the bisexuality of genius
has limits in art, and those limits should be determined by a worker's
sex.
As examples in art of complete womanliness, mention may be made of two
exquisite portraits by Madame Le Brun, in which, whilst representing
her little daughter and herself, the painter discloses the inner
essence and the life of maternal love, and discloses them with a
caressing playfulness of passion unattainable by men, and sometimes
unappreciated by men. Here, indeed, we have the poetry of universal
motherhood, common to the household hearts of good women the wide
world over. Such pictures may not be the highest form of painting, but
highest they are in their own realm of human emotion; and they recall
to one's memory that truth in which Napoleon the Great ranked the
gentler sex as the most potent of all creative artists. "The future
destiny of children," said he, "is always the work of mothers."
But some persons may answer: "Yes, but the achievements of women
painters have been second-rate. Where is there a woman artist equal to
any man among the greatest masters?" Persons who do not think are
constantly asking that question. The greatest geniuses were all
hustled and moulded into shape by the greatest epochs of ambition in
the lives of nations, just as the mountains of Switzerland were thrown
up to their towering heights by tremendous forces underground; and, as
the Alps do not repeat themselves, here and there, for the pleasure of
tourists, so the greatest geniuses do not reappear for the pleasure of
critics or of theorists. And this is not all. Why compare the
differing genius of women and men? There is room in the garden of art
for flowers of every kind and for butterflies and birds of every
species; and why should anyone complain because a daisy is not a rose,
or because nightingales and thrushes, despite their family
resemblance, have voices of their own, dissimilar in compass and in
quality?
The present book, then, is a history of woman's garden in the art of
painting, and its three hundred pictures show what she has grown in
her garden during the last four centuries and a half. The Editor has
tried to free his mind of every bias, so that this book, within the
limits of 332 pages, might be as varied as the subject. The choice of
pictures has not been easy, and a few disappointments | 1,486.407857 |
2023-11-16 18:41:50.6532180 | 4,578 | 44 |
Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer
THE ZEPPELIN'S PASSENGER
By E. Phillips Oppenheim
CHAPTER I
"Never heard a sound," the younger of the afternoon callers admitted,
getting rid of his empty cup and leaning forward in his low chair. "No
more tea, thank you, Miss Fairclough. Done splendidly, thanks. No, I
went to bed last night soon after eleven--the Colonel had been route
marching us all off our legs--and I never awoke until reveille this
morning. Sleep of the just, and all that sort of thing, but a jolly
sell, all the same! You hear anything of it, sir?" he asked, turning to
his companion, who was seated a few feet away.
Captain Griffiths shook his head. He was a man considerably older than
his questioner, with long, nervous face, and thick black hair streaked
with grey. His fingers were bony, his complexion, for a soldier,
curiously sallow, and notwithstanding his height, which was
considerable, he was awkward, at times almost uncouth. His voice was
hard and unsympathetic, and his contributions to the tea-table talk had
been almost negligible.
"I was up until two o'clock, as it happened," he replied, "but I knew
nothing about the matter until it was brought to my notice officially."
Helen Fairclough, who was doing the honours for Lady Cranston, her
absent hostess, assumed the slight air of superiority to which the
circumstances of the case entitled her.
"I heard it distinctly," she declared; "in fact it woke me up. I hung
out of the window, and I could hear the engine just as plainly as though
it were over the golf links."
The young subaltern sighed.
"Rotten luck I have with these things," he confided. "That's three times
they've been over, and I've neither heard nor seen one. This time they
say that it had the narrowest shave on earth of coming down. Of course,
you've heard of the observation car found on Dutchman's Common this
morning?"
The girl assented.
"Did you see it?" she enquired.
"Not a chance," was the gloomy reply. "It was put on two covered trucks
and sent up to London by the first train. Captain Griffiths can tell you
what it was like, I dare say. You were down there, weren't you, sir?"
"I superintended its removal," the latter informed them. "It was a very
uninteresting affair."
"Any bombs in it?" Helen asked.
"Not a sign of one. Just a hard seat, two sets of field-glasses and a
telephone. It seems to have got caught in some trees and been dragged
off."
"How exciting!" the girl murmured. "I suppose there wasn't any one in
it?"
Griffiths shook his head.
"I believe," he explained, "that these observation cars, although they
are attached to most of the Zeppelins, are seldom used in night raids."
"I should like to have seen it, all the same," Helen confessed.
"You would have been disappointed," her informant assured her.
"By-the-by," he added, a little awkwardly, "are you not expecting Lady
Cranston back this evening?"
"I am expecting her every moment. The car has gone down to the station
to meet her."
Captain Griffiths appeared to receive the news with a certain
undemonstrative satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair with the air
of one who is content to wait.
"Have you heard, Miss Fairclough," his younger companion enquired, a
little diffidently, "whether Lady Cranston had any luck in town?"
Helen Fairclough looked away. There was a slight mist before her eyes.
"I had a letter this morning," she replied. "She seems to have heard
nothing at all encouraging so far."
"And you haven't heard from Major Felstead himself, I suppose?"
The girl shook her head.
"Not a line," she sighed. "It's two months now since we last had a
letter."
"Jolly bad luck to get nipped just as he was doing so well," the young
man observed sympathetically.
"It all seems very cruel," Helen agreed. "He wasn't really fit to go
back, but the Board passed him because they were so short of officers
and he kept worrying them. He was so afraid he'd get moved to another
battalion. Then he was taken prisoner in that horrible Pervais affair,
and sent to the worst camp in Germany. Since then, of course, Philippa
and I have had a wretched time, worrying."
"Major Felstead is Lady Cranston's only brother, is he not?" Griffiths
enquired.
"And my only fiance," she replied, with a little grimace. "However,
don't let us talk about our troubles any more," she continued, with an
effort at a lighter tone. "You'll find some cigarettes on that table,
Mr. Harrison. I can't think where Nora is. I expect she has persuaded
some one to take her out trophy-hunting to Dutchman's Common."
"The road all the way is like a circus," the young soldier observed,
"and there isn't a thing to be seen when you get there. The naval airmen
were all over the place at daybreak, and Captain Griffiths wasn't
far behind them. You didn't leave much for the sightseers, sir," he
concluded, turning to his neighbour.
"As Commandant of the place," Captain Griffiths replied, "I naturally
had to have the Common searched. With the exception of the observation
car, however, I think that I am betraying no confidences in telling you
that we discovered nothing of interest."
"Do you suppose that the Zeppelin was in difficulties, as she was flying
so low?" Helen enquired.
"It is a perfectly reasonable hypothesis," the Commandant assented. "Two
patrol boats were sent out early this morning, in search of her. An old
man whom I saw at Waburne declares that she passed like a long, black
cloud, just over his head, and that he was almost deafened by the noise
of the engines. Personally, I cannot believe that they would come down
so low unless she was in some trouble."
The door of the comfortable library in which they were seated was
suddenly thrown open. An exceedingly alert-looking young lady, very
much befreckled, and as yet unemancipated from the long plaits of the
schoolroom, came in like a whirlwind. In her hand she carried a man's
Homburg hat, which she waved aloft in triumph.
"Come in, Arthur," she shouted to a young subaltern who was hovering
in the background. "Look what I've got, Helen! A trophy! Just look, Mr.
Harrison and Captain Griffiths! I found it in a bush, not twenty yards
from where the observation car came down."
Helen turned the hat around in amused bewilderment.
"But, my dear child," she exclaimed, "this is nothing but an ordinary
hat! People who travel in Zeppelins don't wear things like that. How
do you do, Mr. Somerfield?" she added, smiling at the young man who had
followed Nora into the room.
"Don't they!" the latter retorted, with an air of superior knowledge.
"Just look here!"
She turned down the lining and showed it to them. "What do you make of
that?" she asked triumphantly.
Helen gazed at the gold-printed letters a little incredulously.
"Read it out," Nora insisted.
Helen obeyed:
"Schmidt,
Berlin,
Unter den Linden, 127."
"That sounds German," she admitted.
"It's a trophy, all right," Nora declared. "One of the crew--probably
the Commander--must have come on board in a hurry and changed into
uniform after they had started."
"It is my painful duty, Miss Nora," Harrison announced solemnly,
"to inform you, on behalf of Captain Griffiths, that all articles of
whatsoever description, found in the vicinity of Dutchman's Common,
which might possibly have belonged to any one in the Zeppelin, must be
sent at once to the War Office."
"Rubbish!" Nora scoffed. "The War Office aren't going to have my hat."
"Duty," the young man began--
"You can go back to the Depot and do your duty, then, Mr. Harrison,"
Nora interrupted, "but you're not going to have my hat. I'd throw it
into the fire sooner than give it up."
"Military regulations must be obeyed, Miss Nora," Captain Griffiths
ventured thoughtfully.
"Nothing so important as hats," Harrison put in. "You see they
fit--somebody."
The girl's gesture was irreverent but convincing. "I'd listen to
anything Captain Griffiths had to say," she declared, "but you boys who
are learning to be soldiers are simply eaten up with conceit. There's
nothing in your textbook about hats. If you're going to make yourselves
disagreeable about this, I shall simply ignore the regiment."
The two young men fell into attitudes of mock dismay. Nora took a
chocolate from a box.
"Be merciful, Miss Nora!" Harrison pleaded tearfully.
"Don't break the regiment up altogether," Somerfield begged, with a
little catch in his voice.
"All very well for you two to be funny," Nora went on, revisiting the
chocolate box, "but you've heard about the Seaforths coming, haven't
you? I adore kilts, and so does Helen; don't you, Helen?"
"Every woman does," Helen admitted, smiling. "I suppose the child really
can keep the hat, can't she?" she added, turning to the Commandant.
"Officially the matter is outside my cognizance," he declared. "I shall
have nothing to say."
The two young men exchanged glances.
"A hat," Somerfield ruminated, "especially a Homburg hat, is scarcely an
appurtenance of warfare."
His brother officer stood for a moment looking gravely at the object in
question. Then he winked at Somerfield and sighed.
"I shall take the whole responsibility," he decided magnanimously, "of
saying nothing about the matter. We can't afford to quarrel with Miss
Nora, can we, Somerfield?"
"Not on your life," that young man agreed.
"Sensible boys!" Nora pronounced graciously.
"Thank you very much, Captain Griffiths, for not encouraging them in
their folly. You can take me as far as the post-office when you go,
Arthur," she continued, turning to the fortunate possessor of the
side-car, "and we'll have some golf to-morrow afternoon, if you like."
"Won't Mr. Somerfield have some tea?" Helen invited.
"Thank you very much, Miss Fairclough," the man replied; "we had tea
some time ago at Watson's, where I found Miss Nora."
Nora suddenly held up her finger. "Isn't that the car?" she asked. "Why,
it must be mummy, here already. Yes, I can hear her voice!"
Griffiths, who had moved eagerly towards the window, looked back.
"It is Lady Cranston," he announced solemnly.
CHAPTER II
The woman who paused for a moment upon the threshold of the library,
looking in upon the little company, was undeniably beautiful. She
had masses of red-gold hair, a little disordered by her long railway
journey, deep-set hazel eyes, a delicate, almost porcelain-like
complexion, and a sensitive, delightfully shaped mouth. Her figure
was small and dainty, and just at that moment she had an appearance of
helplessness which was almost childlike. Nora, after a vigorous embrace,
led her stepmother towards a chair.
"Come and sit by the fire, Mummy," she begged. "You look tired and
cold."
Philippa exchanged a general salutation with her guests. She was still
wearing her travelling coat, and her air of fatigue was unmistakable.
Griffiths, who had not taken his eyes off her since her entrance,
wheeled an easy-chair towards the hearth-rug, into which she sank with a
murmured word of thanks.
"You'll have some tea, won't you, dear?" Helen enquired.
Philippa shook her head. Her eyes met her friend's for a moment--it was
only a very brief glance, but the tragedy of some mutual sorrow seemed
curiously revealed in that unspoken question and answer. The two young
subalterns prepared to take their leave. Nora, kneeling down, stroked
her stepmother's hand.
"No news at all, then?" Helen faltered.
"None," was the weary reply.
"Any amount of news here, Mummy," Nora intervened cheerfully, "and heaps
of excitement. We had a Zeppelin over Dutchman's Common last night,
and she lost her observation car. Mr. Somerfield took me up there this
afternoon, and I found a German hat. No one else got a thing, and, would
you believe it, those children over there tried to take it away from
me."
Her stepmother smiled faintly.
"I expect you are keeping the hat, dear," she observed.
"I should say so!" Nora assented.
Philippa held out her hand to the two young men who had been waiting to
take their leave.
"You must come and dine one night this week, both of you," she said. "My
husband will be home by the later train this evening, and I'm sure he
will be glad to have you."
"Very kind of you, Lady Cranston, we shall be delighted," Harrison
declared.
"Rather!" his companion echoed.
Nora led them away, and Helen, with a word of excuse, followed them.
Griffiths, who had also risen to his feet, came a little nearer to
Philippa's chair.
"And you, too, of course, Captain Griffiths," she said, smiling
pleasantly up at him. "Must you hurry away?"
"I will stay, if I may, until Miss Fairclough returns," he answered,
resuming his seat.
"Do!" Philippa begged him. "I have had such a miserable time in town.
You can't think how restful it is to be back here."
"I am afraid," he observed, "that your journey has not been successful."
Philippa shook her head.
"It has been completely unsuccessful," she sighed. "I have not been able
to hear a word about my brother. I am so sorry for poor Helen, too. They
were only engaged, you know, a few days before he left for the front
this last time."
Captain Griffiths nodded sympathetically.
"I never met Major Felstead," he remarked, "but every one who has
seems to like him very much. He was doing so well, too, up to that last
unfortunate affair, wasn't he?"
"Dick is a dear," Philippa declared. "I never knew any one with so many
friends. He would have been commanding his battalion now, if only he
were free. His colonel wrote and told me so himself."
"I wish there were something I could do," Griffiths murmured, a little
awkwardly. "It hurts me, Lady Cranston, to see you so upset."
She looked at him for a moment in faint surprise.
"Nobody can do anything," she bemoaned. "That is the unfortunate part of
it all."
He rose to his feet and was immediately conscious, as he always was when
he stood up, that there was a foot or two of his figure which he had no
idea what to do with.
"You wouldn't feel like a ride to-morrow morning, Lady Cranston?" he
asked, with a wistfulness which seemed somehow stifled in his rather
unpleasant voice. She shook her head.
"Perhaps one morning later," she replied, a little vaguely. "I haven't
any heart for anything just now."
He took a sombre but agitated leave of his hostess, and went out into
the twilight, cursing his lack of ease, remembering the things which
he had meant to say, and hating himself for having forgotten them.
Philippa, to whom his departure had been, as it always was, a relief,
was already leaning forward in her chair with her arm around Helen's
neck.
"I thought that extraordinary man would never go," she exclaimed, "and
I was longing to send for you, Helen. London has been such a dreary
chapter of disappointments."
"What a sickening time you must have had, dear!"
"It was horrid," Philippa assented sadly, "but you know Henry is no use
at all, and I should have felt miserable unless I had gone. I have been
to every friend at the War Office, and every friend who has friends
there. I have made every sort of enquiry, and I know just as much now
as I did when I left here--that Richard was a prisoner at Wittenberg
the last time they heard, and that they have received no notification
whatever concerning him for the last two months."
Helen glanced at the calendar.
"It is just two months to-day," she said mournfully, "since we heard."
"And then," Philippa sighed, "he hadn't received a single one of our
parcels."
Helen rose suddenly to her feet. She was a tall, fair girl of the best
Saxon type, slim but not in the least angular, with every promise,
indeed, of a fuller and more gracious development in the years to come.
She was barely twenty-two years old, and, as is common with girls of her
complexion, seemed younger. Her bright, intelligent face was, above
all, good-humoured. Just at that moment, however, there was a flush of
passionate anger in her cheeks.
"It makes me feel almost beside myself," she exclaimed, "this hideous
incapacity for doing anything! Here we are living in luxury, without a
single privation, whilst Dick, the dearest thing on earth to both of us,
is being starved and goaded to death in a foul German prison!"
"We mustn't believe that it's quite so bad as that, dear," Philippa
remonstrated. "What is it, Mills?"
The elderly man-servant who had entered with a tray in his band, bowed
as he arranged it upon a side table.
"I have taken the liberty of bringing in a little fresh tea, your
ladyship," he announced, "and some hot buttered toast. Cook has sent
some of the sandwiches, too, which your ladyship generally fancies."
"It is very kind of you, Mills," Philippa said, with rather a wan little
smile. "I had some tea at South Lynn, but it was very bad. You might
take my coat, please."
She stood up, and the heavy fur coat slipped easily away from her slim,
elegant little body.
"Shall I light up, your ladyship?" Mills enquired.
"You might light a lamp," Philippa directed, "but don't draw the blinds
until lighting-up time. After the noise of London," she went on,
turning to Helen, "I always think that the faint sound of the sea is so
restful."
The man moved noiselessly about the room and returned once more to his
mistress.
"We should be glad to hear, your ladyship," he said, "if there is any
news of Major Felstead?" Philippa shook her head.
"None at all, I am sorry to say, Mills! Still, we must hope for the
best. I dare say that some of these camps are not so bad as we imagine."
"We must hope not, your ladyship," was the somewhat dismal reply. "Shall
I fasten the windows?"
"You can leave them until you draw the blinds, Mills," Philippa
directed. "I am not at home, if any one should call. See that we are
undisturbed for a little time."
"Very good, your ladyship."
The door was closed, and the two women were once more alone. Philippa
held out her arms.
"Helen, darling, come and be nice to me," she begged. "Let us both
pretend that no news is good news. Oh, I know what you are suffering,
but remember that even if Dick is your lover, he is my dear, only
brother--my twin brother, too. We have been so much to each other all
our lives. He'll stick it out, dear, if any human being can. We shall
have him back with us some day."
"But he is hungry," Helen sobbed. "I can't bear to think of his being
hungry. Every time I sit down to eat, it almost chokes me."
"I suppose he has forgotten what a whisky and soda is like," Philippa
murmured, with a little catch in her own throat.
"He always used to love one about this time," Helen faltered, glancing
at | 1,486.673258 |
2023-11-16 18:41:50.7077190 | 153 | 14 |
Produced by Heather Clark 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
LITTLE GIRL
WHO WAS
TAUGHT BY EXPERIENCE.
[Illustration]
BOSTON.
BOWLES AND DEARBORN, 72 WASHINGTON STREET.
Isaac. R. Butts and Co. Printers.
1827.
District of Massachusetts, _to wit_:
_District Clerk's Office._
Be it remembered, that on the nineteenth day of June, A.D. 1827, in the
fifty-first year of the Independence of the | 1,486.727759 |
2023-11-16 18:41:50.8536920 | 7,437 | 13 |
Produced by David Clarke and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
########################################################################
Transcriber’s Notes
Hyphenation and punctuation have been corrected and standardised.
Cromwell’s letters, however, have been fully retained according to the
original text; no changes in spelling have been applied here.
Numbered ranges have been expanded in full, i.e. 1595-6 is now
1595-1596. Dittoes in the Table of Contents have been eliminated by
insertion of appropriate text. Internal references have been adapted
to match the numbering scheme used in this electronic version.
The following passages have been changed:
p. 28: 'England and Francis' → 'England and France'
Footnote 240: 'Harl. MSS 6, 148' → 'Harl. MSS 6,148'
Underscores have been used to highlight _italic_ text. The caret symbol
(^) represents superscript characters; multiple characters have been
grouped using a pair of curly brackets (^{text}).
########################################################################
[Illustration: THOMAS CROMWELL
FROM A PICTURE IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY]
LIFE AND LETTERS OF
THOMAS CROMWELL
BY
ROGER BIGELOW MERRIMAN
A.M. HARV., B.LITT. OXON.
WITH A PORTRAIT AND FACSIMILE
VOL. I
LIFE, LETTERS TO 1535
OXFORD
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1902
HENRY FROWDE, M.A.
_PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD_
LONDON, EDINBURGH
NEW YORK
PREFACE
This book is an attempt to present the life of Thomas Cromwell as a
statesman, and to estimate his work without religious bias. Though it
would certainly be difficult to overrate his importance in the history
of the Church of England, I maintain that the motives that inspired his
actions were invariably political, and that the many ecclesiastical
changes carried through under his guidance were but incidents of his
administration, not ends in themselves. Consequently any attempt to
judge him from a distinctively religious standpoint, whether Catholic or
Protestant, can hardly fail, it seems to me, to mislead the student and
obscure the truth. I cannot agree, on the other hand, with those who
have represented Cromwell as a purely selfish political adventurer, the
subservient instrument of a wicked master, bent only on his own gain. It
seems to me as idle to disparage his patriotism and statesmanship, as it
is to try to make him out a hero of the Reformation. He merits a place
far higher than that of most men of his type, a type essentially
characteristic of the sixteenth century, a type of which the Earl of
Warwick in England and Maurice of Saxony on the Continent are striking
examples, a type that profoundly influenced the destinies of
Protestantism, but to which theological issues were either a mere
nothing, or else totally subordinate to political considerations.
It has been justly said that Cromwell’s correspondence is our chief
source of information for the period immediately following the breach
with Rome. To transcribe _in extenso_ the letters he received would be
almost the task of a lifetime; for they form the bulk of the enormous
mass of material with which the editors of the Calendars of State Papers
for the years 1533-1540 have had to deal. But the number of extant
letters he wrote is, comparatively speaking, extremely small; it has
therefore been possible to make full copies of them in every case, and I
trust that the many advantages--linguistic as well as historical--that
can only be secured by complete, and as far as possible accurate
transcriptions of the originals, will be accepted as sufficient reason
for editing this collection of documents, twenty-one of which have
neither been printed nor calendared before. The rules that have been
observed in transcription will be found in the Prefatory Note (vol. i.
p. 311). The Calendar references to the more important letters received
by Cromwell, where they bear directly on those he wrote, are given in
the notes at the end of the second volume.
My warmest thanks are due to Mr. F. York Powell, Regius Professor of
Modern History in the University of Oxford, who has guided me throughout
in matter, form, and style; and to my friend and master Mr. A. L. Smith,
Fellow of Balliol College, whose advice and encouragement have been an
inspiration from first to last. It is not easy for me to express how
much I have depended on their suggestions and criticism. I am indebted
to Mr. Owen Edwards, Fellow of Lincoln College, for indispensable help
in the early stages of my work. The main plan of this book is in many
respects similar to that of his Lothian Essay for the year 1887, which I
regret that he has never published. My grateful acknowledgements are
also due to Mr. James Gairdner of the Public Record Office for
information about Cromwell’s early life; to Professor Dr. Max Lenz, of
the University of Berlin, for helpful suggestions in connexion with the
Anglo-German negotiations in the years 1537-1540; and to Mr. G. T.
Lapsley, of the University of California, for similar services in regard
to the Pilgrimage of Grace, and the reorganization of the North after
the suppression of the rebellion.
I beg to express my appreciation of the kindness of the Duke of Rutland,
the Marquess of Salisbury, Earl Spencer, Lord Calthorpe, William
Berington, Esq., and Alfred Henry Huth, Esq., in giving me access to the
manuscripts in their private collections.
In conclusion, I wish to thank the officials of the Public Record
Office, British Museum, Heralds’ College of Arms, and Bodleian Library,
for facilitating my work in every way; more especially Messrs. Hubert
Hall, R. H. Brodie, E. Salisbury, and F. B. Bickley, who have repeatedly
aided me in my search for uncalendared letters and continental
documents, and in deciphering the most difficult manuscripts I have had
to consult.
R. B. M.
BALLIOL COLLEGE, OXFORD.
_February, 1902._
CONTENTS
VOLUME I
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ANCESTRY AND EARLY LIFE OF THOMAS
CROMWELL 1
APPENDIX. PASSAGES FROM CHAPUYS, POLE,
BANDELLO, AND FOXE 17
II. THE PARLIAMENT OF 1523 27
III. WOLSEY’S SERVANT 47
APPENDIX. THE WILL OF THOMAS CROMWELL 56
IV. THE FALL OF THE CARDINAL 64
V. THE CHARACTER AND OPPORTUNITY OF
THOMAS CROMWELL 77
VI. IN THE KING’S SERVICE 89
APPENDIX. THE SUPPLICATION OF THE
COMMONS AGAINST THE ORDINARIES 104
VII. INTERNAL POLICY 112
VIII. IRELAND, WALES, SCOTLAND, CALAIS 147
IX. THE MONASTERIES 165
X. THE PILGRIMAGE OF GRACE, 1536 180
XI. CARDINAL POLE 202
XII. THE FOREIGN POLICY 213
XIII. THE CATHOLIC REACTION AND THE ALLIANCE
WITH CLEVES 242
APPENDIX. REPORTS OF THE LUTHERAN
AMBASSADORS TO ENGLAND IN 1539 AND
1540 272
XIV. THE FALL OF THOMAS CROMWELL 281
APPENDIX. PASSAGES FROM FOXE: CROMWELL’S
SPEECH AND PRAYER ON THE
SCAFFOLD 303
XV. THE WORK OF THOMAS CROMWELL 305
PREFATORY NOTE TO CROMWELL’S LETTERS 311
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1523-1530 313
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1531 335
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1532 343
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1533 352
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1534 372
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1535 396
VOLUME II
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1536 1
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1537 50
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1538 111
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1539 166
CROMWELL’S LETTERS: 1540 244
AN ITINERARY OF THOMAS CROMWELL, 1523-1540 279
A LIST OF THE MINOR PREFERMENTS OF THOMAS
CROMWELL, AND A DESCRIPTION OF HIS ARMS
AND CREST 283
NOTES TO LETTERS 285
LIST OF AUTHORITIES 313
INDEX 319
ILLUSTRATIONS
PORTRAIT OF THOMAS CROMWELL _Frontispiece to_ vol. i
FACSIMILE OF A LETTER FROM THOMAS CROMWELL
TO LORD LISLE, AUG. 30, 1538 _Frontispiece to_ vol. ii
LIFE OF THOMAS CROMWELL
CHAPTER I
THE ANCESTRY AND EARLY LIFE OF THOMAS CROMWELL
The manor of Wimbledon comprises the parishes of Wimbledon, Putney,
Roehampton, Mortlake, and East Sheen, and parts of Wandsworth and
Barnes[1]. In West Saxon times it was one of the estates of the see of
Canterbury, but after the Conquest it was seized by Odo, the high-handed
Bishop of Bayeux: in 1071, however, it was recovered by Lanfranc, and
with one trifling interruption in the reign of Richard II., it remained
in the possession of the archbishopric until 1535. In that year Cranmer
surrendered it to Henry VIII. in exchange for the priory of St.
Rhadegund in Dover, and a little later the King granted it to Thomas
Cromwell[2], who was born there some fifty years before, the son of a
well-to-do blacksmith, brewer, and fuller. The early history of the
manor of Wimbledon is almost unknown, for we do not possess its Court
Rolls prior to the year 1461: they were probably lost or destroyed
during the Wars of the Roses. After 1461, however, they are continuous,
with the exception of the years 1473 and 1474.
An entry in these rolls, written in the year 1475, states that ‘Walter
Smyth and his father keep thirty sheep on Putney Common, where they have
no common[3].’ A number of subsequent mentions of this same Walter Smyth
shows that he was also called Walter Cromwell. The name Walter Cromwell
occurs more than ninety times in the rolls, and the name Walter Smyth at
least forty times. That both these names stand for the same person is
proved by one entry written, ‘Walter Cromwell alias Walter Smyth,’ by
two written, ‘Walter Smyth alias Cromwell,’ and by five written, ‘Walter
Cromwell alias Smyth.’ Who then was this Walter Cromwell, whence did he
come, and how did he acquire this double name?
The Cromwell family did not originate in Wimbledon. An entry in the
Close Roll of Edward IV. states that in the year 1461 John Cromwell, son
of William Cromwell, late of Norwell in Nottinghamshire, surrendered his
right in Parkersplace, Kendalsland and other property there to Master
John Porter, prebendary of Palishall[4]. Mr. John Phillips of Putney
further informs us that nine years before John Cromwell gave up his
lands in Norwell, he was granted the twenty-one years’ lease of a
fulling-mill and house in Wimbledon by Archbishop Kempe, lord of the
manor, and had moved there with his family[5]. It would be interesting
to know what Mr. Phillips’ authority for this statement is:
unfortunately he has given no reference for it. But whatever the precise
date and circumstances of their change of home, there can be little
doubt that the Cromwells migrated to Wimbledon from Norwell some time
before 1461. There is plenty of evidence in the Court Rolls to show that
Walter Smyth alias Cromwell was the son of John Cromwell, and the entry
of 1475 proves that they were both in Wimbledon in that year. The family
in Nottinghamshire from which they sprung was well-known and well-off;
both John Cromwell’s father William and his grandfather Ralph were
persons of wealth and position there[6].
Several entries in the Court Rolls indicate that John Cromwell’s wife
was the sister of a certain William Smyth, who is often mentioned as
‘William Smyth armourer,’ and sometimes as ‘William Armourer.’ It seems
probable that this William Smyth came with John Cromwell to Wimbledon
from Norwell, and the entries in the manorial records show that he lived
there with his brother-in-law. There is also reason to believe that the
latter’s son Walter was apprenticed to him during his younger days, and
so acquired the name Smyth.
Walter Cromwell grew up as a brewer, smith, and fuller in Putney. He had
an elder brother named John, who moved to Lambeth and settled down there
to a quiet and prosperous life as a brewer, later, according to Chapuys,
becoming cook to the Archbishop of Canterbury[7]. Walter, however,
remained in Wimbledon, and appears to have been a most quarrelsome and
riotous character. Most of the entries in the Court Rolls concerning him
are records of small fines incurred for petty offences. Forty-eight
times between 1475 and 1501 was he forced to pay sixpence for breaking
the assize of ale. In order to prevent the sale of bad beer in those
days, an ale-taster was appointed to pass, or condemn as unfit, all
brewing in the parish. Walter Cromwell did not go to the ale-taster
before he drew and sold his beer, and for failing so to do was fined as
aforesaid. There is also record that he was not seldom drunk. In 1477 a
penalty of twenty pence was inflicted on him for assaulting and drawing
blood from William Michell, and he and his father were very often
brought before the court on the charge of ‘overburthening’ the public
land in Putney with their cattle, and cutting more than their share of
the furze and thorns there[8]. But in spite of all these petty
misdemeanours, Walter Cromwell appears to have been a man of property
and influence in Wimbledon, and the Court Rolls in 1480 show that he
then possessed two virgates of land in Putney parish. To these were
added six more virgates in 1500 by grant of Archbishop Morton[9]. Walter
Cromwell was also made Constable of Putney in 1495[10], and his name
constantly occurs in the Court Rolls as decenarius and juryman[11].
Towards the end of his life, however, his character appears to have
become so bad that he forfeited all his position and property in
Wimbledon. In 1514 he ‘falsely and fraudulently erased the evidences and
terrures of the lord,’ so that the bedell was commanded ‘to seize into
the lord’s hands all his copyholds held of the lord and to answer the
lord of the issue[12].’ This is the last mention of the name of Walter
Cromwell in the Wimbledon Manor Rolls.
Walter Cromwell’s wife was the aunt of a man named Nicholas Glossop, of
Wirksworth in Derbyshire[13]. Mr. Phillips gives no reference for his
statements that she was the daughter of a yeoman named Glossop, and that
she was residing in Putney at the house of an attorney named John
Welbeck, at the time of her marriage with Walter Cromwell in 1474[14];
but we have no evidence that these assertions are incorrect. At least
two daughters and one son were born to Walter Cromwell. He may have had
other children, but as there was no registration of births, marriages,
or deaths in England until 1538, we can only be certain of these three,
of whom there are mentions in the Court Rolls and in other contemporary
records. The eldest daughter Katherine, who was probably born about the
year 1477, grew up and married a young Welshman named Morgan
Williams[15], whose family had come to Putney from Llanishen in
Glamorganshire. The Williamses were a very important family in Putney,
and John, the eldest of them, was a successful lawyer and accountant,
and steward to Lord Scales, who was then in possession of a residence
and some land in Putney parish. The youngest daughter of Walter Cromwell
was named Elizabeth. She married a sheep-farmer named Wellyfed, who
later joined his business to that of his father-in-law[16]. Christopher,
the son of Elizabeth Cromwell and Wellyfed, grew up and was later sent
to school with his cousin Gregory, son of his mother’s brother
Thomas[17]. We are now in a position to examine the many conflicting
statements concerning the son of Walter Cromwell, the subject of this
essay.
The traditional sources of information about Thomas Cromwell’s early
life are the characteristic but somewhat confusing stories of the
martyrologist Foxe, founded to some extent upon a novel of the Italian
author Bandello, the meagre though probably trustworthy accounts
contained in Cardinal Pole’s ‘Apologia ad Carolum Quintum,’ a letter of
Chapuys to Granvelle written November 21, 1535, and a few scattered
statements in the chroniclers of the period. To these were added in 1880
and 1882 the results of the researches of Mr. John Phillips in the
Wimbledon Manor Rolls[18]. Mr. Phillips has certainly brought to light a
large number of interesting facts about the ancestry and family of
Thomas Cromwell: it is the more unfortunate that he should have gone so
far astray in some of his statements concerning the man himself. He is
surely correct in assuming Thomas to be the son of Walter Cromwell; the
evidence afforded by the State Papers leaves no doubt of this. He is
also right in stating that the name Thomas Cromwell does not occur in
the Court Rolls. But it is more difficult to believe the theory which
Mr. Phillips has evolved from these data. As he finds no entry
concerning Thomas Cromwell in the manorial records, he seeks for some
mention of him under another appellation, and hits upon that of Thomas
Smyth as the most likely, owing to the fact that his father was called
by both surnames. He finds two entries in the Court Rolls concerning
Thomas Smyth, and assumes that they refer to Thomas Cromwell. These
entries occur in the records of Feb. 26, 1504, and of May 20 in the same
year. The first states that ‘Richard Williams came to the court and
surrendered into the hands of the lord two whole virgates of land in
‹Roe›hampton, one called Purycroft and the other called Williams, to the
use of Thomas Smyth, his heirs and assigns’; the second, that ‘Richard
Williams assaulted Thomas [Smyth] and beat the same Thomas against the
peace of the lord the King,’ and further that ‘Thomas Smyth came to the
court and surrendered into the hands of the lord two whole virgates of
land in Roehampton, one called Purycroft and the other called Williams,
to the use of David Doby, his heirs and assigns[19].’ Mr. Phillips has
made these entries the basis for an attack on the veracity of many of
the best-known stories of Bandello and Foxe concerning the early life of
our subject, but his whole case hangs on the assumption that Thomas
Smyth and Thomas Cromwell were one and the same man, and until he can
prove this ingenious but somewhat improbable theory his arguments cannot
be supported. He discusses at length the two entries in the Court Rolls,
adducing them as a proof of the falsity of the accounts which assert
Cromwell to have been in Italy previous to 1504, but concluding that the
record that Thomas Smyth disposed of his lands in Putney in May of that
year indicates that Thomas Cromwell left England at that time. To
corroborate this last theory he refers to the story of Chapuys that
Cromwell was ill-behaved when young, and was forced after an
imprisonment to leave the country, and also asserts, in order still
further to strengthen his case, that ‘the Court Rolls contain nothing
more respecting Thomas Cromwell than what we have already stated[20].’
It seems very extraordinary that Mr. Phillips should make this last
statement in view of his readiness to jump at the conclusion that Thomas
Smyth and Thomas Cromwell are identical. ‘Thomas Smyth,’ as a very
cursory examination of the Court Rolls will show, is mentioned therein
every year from 1493 to 1529 (inclusive), except in 1494 and 1516. As
there is certain evidence that Thomas Cromwell was in other places
during many of the years that Thomas Smyth was in Wimbledon, it is clear
that the two names cannot always stand for the same man. The question
which now arises is this: were there two Thomas Smyths, one of them
Thomas Cromwell and the other some other member of the Smyth family,
perhaps a descendant of William Smyth, armourer? Or is the Thomas Smyth
mentioned in the Court Rolls one man, and not Thomas Cromwell at all?
The second theory seems on the whole more probable than the first. There
are no contradictory statements about Thomas Smyth in the rolls, nor is
the name mentioned twice in any of the lists of the Homage or Frank
Pledge. Moreover had there been two Thomas Smyths, one of whom was
entitled to the name Cromwell, he would almost certainly have been
called so, in order to avoid confusion. On the other hand, it scarcely
seems likely that the son of Walter Cromwell should not be mentioned at
all in the Court Rolls. But this may be partially explained by Chapuys’
account of his youthful wildness and early imprisonment; it seems quite
probable that he was a mere boy when he left his home. The evidence
which we possess certainly seems to strengthen the conclusion that there
was but one Thomas Smyth: the man mentioned in the Court Rolls by that
name was probably a descendant of William Smyth, armourer[21]. Surely
none of the entries in the manorial records concerning Thomas Smyth can
be said to prove anything conclusive concerning the early life of the
subject of this essay. It has been the fashion to decry Bandello and
Foxe and to disbelieve all their stories, because of the undoubted
confusion of dates which vitiates their testimony. But if no reliance
can be placed on them, or on Pole, Chapuys, and the chronicles of the
period, must we not confess that our knowledge of the early years of our
subject’s life must reduce itself to an interrogation point? Let us
guard ourselves against accepting with implicit faith the statements of
these authors, but let us not cast them aside as utterly worthless. Let
us rather recognize that they still remain our most trustworthy sources
of information concerning the early life of Thomas Cromwell, and
therefore make a careful attempt to glean from their very confusing
statements the more probable facts concerning him.
None of the different accounts sheds any light upon the date of
Cromwell’s birth, but it is doubtful if it occurred later than 1485, in
view of his probable age at the time of his sojourn abroad. That he had
a quarrel with his father seems very likely: Bandello’s statement that
he came to Italy, ‘fleeing from his father,’ and Chapuys’ assertion that
he was ill-behaved when young, together with the many entries in the
rolls concerning the tempestuous and disorderly conduct of Walter
Cromwell, all point to the truth of this story[22]. Foxe moreover
asserts that Cromwell told Cranmer in later years ‘what a ruffian he was
in his younger days.’ Pole informs us that he soon became a roving
soldier in Italy, a statement which is borne out by the tales of
Bandello and Foxe that he was at the battle on the Garigliano (Dec.
28-29, 1503), in the service of the French army[23]. The well-known
story of the Italian novelist about Cromwell and Frescobaldo the
Florentine merchant, may well have some foundation in fact: there are
several mentions of Frescobaldo in the State Papers of the years
1530-1540, which prove that Cromwell was intimate with an Italian of
that name[24]. Some scholars have gone so far as to refuse to believe
that Cromwell ever went to Italy at all; but this must be the
incredulity of madness in face of the fact that all our contemporary
witnesses agree that he went there, and of the evidence afforded by his
wide acquaintance with Italians, and by his knowledge of their language
and literature.
From the date of the tale of Bandello up to 1512, the most probable
story concerning Cromwell’s life is that contained in Pole’s Apologia.
It is there stated that after his brief military career he became a
merchant, but did not remain a merchant long; and that he later attached
himself as accountant to a Venetian, whom Pole knew very well. Bandello
informs us that Cromwell returned to England after his stay in Florence;
it seems more probable, however, that he first went to Antwerp and
engaged in trade there; for Foxe and Chapuys both agree that he was in
Flanders, and the former asserts that he was in the service of English
dealers in the Flemish marts. Another singular but characteristic and
not improbable story of the martyrologist strengthens the theory that
Cromwell was in Antwerp some time after the battle on the Garigliano.
One Geoffrey Chambers was sent to Rome as a representative of the Gild
of Our Lady in St. Botolph’s Church in Boston, to obtain from the Pope
certain pardons or indulgences by which the severe rules concerning
Lenten observances might be relaxed; and passing through Antwerp he fell
in with Cromwell, whom he persuaded to accompany him. The latter entered
into the spirit of the enterprise; arrived at Rome, he procured some
choice sweetmeats and jellies, and armed with these lay in wait for the
Pope on his return from hunting. The delicacies were offered, Julius was
delighted with them, and granted the desired indulgences without delay.
Foxe states that this episode took place about the year 1510[25].
This story seems to indicate that Cromwell went to Italy a second time.
It fits in well with Pole’s statement that after his military experience
he became first a merchant, and then a clerk to a Venetian trader. The
absence of any trustworthy chronology, however, prevents us from
regarding any of the accounts of these different writers as really
historical; and when at last we meet with a date on which we can rely,
it is most tantalizing to find that the evidence which is afforded us in
connexion with it is of such a nature as to leave us almost as much in
the dark as before. In a letter written in June, 1536, a certain mercer,
by name George Elyot, addresses Cromwell as follows[26]: ‘Ryght
onourabyll sir my dewty Consethered as to youre Masterscheppe
apertayneth that hyt may plece your Masterscheppe For the love off god
to Exceppe my Rewd Maneres in thes behalf of wrytyng vnto you butt hyt
ys onely to schowe yowre Masterscheppe my pore mynd furste for the onour
of god & secondly For the god love & trew hartt that ‹I› have howtt vnto
you sensse the syngsson Martt at medelborow in anno 1512.’ This
quotation does not prove that Cromwell was at the Syngsson Mart at
Middelburg in 1512, nor does it shed much light on the position he
occupied at that time; still the probabilities strongly favour the
conclusion that he was either a merchant or a clerk to a merchant in the
Low Countries in 1512: the accounts of Foxe and Chapuys agree that he
was in the Netherlands in his younger days, and the letter of the mercer
seems to fix the date. We have also reason to believe that he was in
London soon after this practising as a solicitor. There exists in the
Record Office a document dated November, 1512, and endorsed, in a hand
which certainly resembles that of Cromwell’s later correspondence, ‘The
tytle of the manour Whityngham for Mr. Empson[27].’ The endorsement may
of course be of a very different date from that of the document itself;
still the evidence which it affords is not utterly valueless, especially
as another reason for supposing that Cromwell returned to England in
1512, or soon after, is afforded by the fact that his marriage must have
taken place about this time: the age of his son Gregory being such that
it could scarcely have occurred much later. The State Papers of 1512
give us more information concerning the early life of Thomas Cromwell
than those of any other year up to 1523. The sum total of the evidence
which they afford seems to indicate that he was in England and in the
Netherlands, that he was occupied both as a merchant and as a solicitor,
and that he was married in that year or soon afterwards.
Cromwell’s wife, to whom Chapuys refers as the daughter of a shearman,
was Elizabeth Wykys, descended from one of an ancient family of
esquires, who was gentleman-usher to Henry VII[28]. A reference in
Cromwell’s will of July 12, 1529, to one ‘Mercye Pryo_ur_’ as his
mother-in-law[29] has led some writers to suppose that he married
Elizabeth, daughter of Sir John Pryor, and widow of Thomas Williams, a
Welsh gentleman; but a letter to Cromwell from one Harry Wykys of
Thorpe, near Chertsey, dated November 2, 1523[30], disproves this
theory, and corroborates the other. The most probable explanation of the
entry in the will is that Mercy Pryor married twice, and that she was
the mother of Elizabeth Wykys by her first husband[31]. Cromwell’s wife
was probably a woman of some property. He was exactly the sort of man
who would seek a wife with an eye to the financial advantages of the
match, and the theory that Elizabeth Wykys was rich fits in well with
the evidence that her mother was married a second time. Moreover
Cromwell’s property increased so fast during his years of service under
Wolsey, that even his notorious accessibility to bribes could not
account for it, had it not been augmented from some outside source.
Chapuys goes on to say that for some time after his marriage Cromwell
kept servants in his house, carrying on the business of his
father-in-law; a statement corroborated by his correspondence, which
shows that he plied his trade as a cloth and wool merchant at least as
late as 1524. There can be little doubt, however, that he continued his
business as a solicitor at the same time, for it would be impossible to
explain his sudden advance in legal prominence in the years 1520 to
1525, if he had not had long practice in the law beforehand. The strange
combination of employments in which Cromwell was engaged fitted in well
with the peculiar versatility of the man, and brought him into close
contact with diverse sorts of men, in diverse conditions of life. A more
detailed account of his career during the seven or eight years which
followed his probable return to England it is impossible to give, for
between 1512 and 1520 there occurs another extraordinary gap in the life
of Thomas Cromwell, during which we do not possess a single trustworthy
contemporary record concerning him. In 1520 there is certainly evidence
that he was known to Wolsey, but precisely how or when his connexion
with the Cardinal began, it is impossible to tell.
The statement in the Dictionary of National Biography that Wolsey
appointed Cromwell | 1,486.873732 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.0532780 | 4,470 | 10 |
E-text prepared by Produced by Steven Gibbs, Richard J. Shiffer, and
Distributed Proofreading volunteers (http://www.pgdp.net) for Project
Gutenberg
Transcriber's note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
as possible, including obsolete and variant spellings and other
inconsistencies. Text that has been changed to correct an
obvious error is noted at the end of this ebook.
Many occurrences of mismatched single and double quotation marks
remain as they were in the original.
Text enclosed by equal signs was in bold face in the original
(=bold=).
THE GREAT WAR AND HOW IT AROSE
1915
Parliamentary Recruiting Committee
12, Downing Street, London, S.W.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
Serbia's Position 3
Russia's Position 6
Germany's Position 6
Italy's Position 8
Germany's Selected Moment 8
Peace Thwarted by Germany 10
I. Attempt to Extend Time-Limit of Austro-Hungarian
Ultimatum 11
II. Question of Delay of Hostilities between Austria-Hungary
and Serbia 11
III. Suggested Mediation by the Four Powers 12
IV. Germany Asked to State Form of Mediation between
Russia and Austria-Hungary 13
V. Russia Suggests Direct Negotiations with Austria-Hungary 14
VI. Russia's Final Attempt at Peace 15
German Militarism Wins 17
How France Came In 19
How Great Britain Came In 19
War with Austria 22
Japan's Ultimatum to Germany 22
Allies' Declaration of Common Policy 23
Turkey Joins Germany 24
More German Intrigues 26
The Near East 26
The Far East 27
West Africa 28
South Africa 28
How the Germans Make War 29
Germany's Attempted Bribery 36
APPENDIXES.
A. Germany's Knowledge of Contents of Austro-Hungarian
Ultimatum 40
B. How Germany Misled Austria-Hungary 46
C. Some German Atrocities in Belgium 48
D. Germany's Employment of Poisonous Gas 52
E. Efforts of German Ministers of State to lay Blame on
England 52
F. List of Parliamentary Publications respecting the War 55
THE GREAT WAR.
SERBIA'S POSITION.
On June 28, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Ferdinand and the Archduchess
were assassinated on Austrian territory at Serajevo by two Austrian
subjects, both Bosniaks. On a former occasion one of these assassins had
been in Serbia and the "Serbian authorities, considering him suspect and
dangerous, had desired to expel him, but on applying to the Austrian
authorities, found that the latter protected him, and said that he was
an innocent and harmless individual."[1] After a "magisterial"
investigation, the Austro-Hungarian Government formally fixed upon the
Serbians the guilt both of assisting the assassins and of continually
conspiring against the integrity of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and on
July 23, 1914, sent an ultimatum to Serbia of which the following were
the chief terms[2]:--
"The Royal Serbian Government shall publish on the front page of
their 'Official Journal' of the 13-26 July the following
declaration:--
"'The Royal Government of Serbia condemn the propaganda directed
against Austria-Hungary--_i.e._, the general tendency of which the
final aim is to detach from the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy
territories belonging to it, and they sincerely deplore the fatal
consequences of these criminal proceedings.
"'The Royal Government regret that Serbian officers and
functionaries participated in the above-mentioned propaganda...."
"The Royal Serbian Government further undertake:
"To suppress any publication which incites to hatred and contempt
of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy and the general tendency of which
is directed against its territorial integrity;...
"To eliminate without delay from public instruction in Serbia, both
as regards the teaching body and also as regards the methods of
instruction, everything that serves, or might serve, to foment the
propaganda against Austria-Hungary;
"To remove from the military service, and from the administration
in general, all officers and functionaries guilty of propaganda
against the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy whose names and deeds the
Austro-Hungarian Government reserve to themselves the right of
communicating to the Royal Government;
"To accept the collaboration in Serbia of representatives of the
Austro-Hungarian Government for the suppression of the subversive
movement directed against the territorial integrity of the
Monarchy;
"To take judicial proceedings against accessories to the plot of
the 28th June who are on Serbian territory; delegates of the
Austro-Hungarian Government will take part in the investigation
relating thereto."
In effect Austria wished to force Serbia (_a_) to admit a guilt which
was not hers; (_b_) to condemn officers in her army without trial at
Austria's direction[3]; (_c_) to allow Austrian delegates to dispense
such justice in Serbian Courts as they might think fit. In other words,
Serbia was to lose her independence as a Sovereign State. And to all
these claims Austria demanded an acceptance within 48 hours--until 6
p.m. on July 25, 1914. Yet, in spite of this, Serbia, within the
specified time, sent her reply[4], which amounted to an acceptance of
Austria's demands, subject, on certain points, to the delays necessary
for passing new laws and amending her Constitution, and subject to an
explanation by Austria-Hungary of her precise wishes with regard to the
participation of Austro-Hungarian officials in Serbian judicial
proceedings. The reply went far beyond anything which any Power--Germany
not excepted--had ever thought probable. But the same day the British
Ambassador at Vienna reported that the tone of the Austrian press left
the impression that a settlement was not desired, and he later reported
that the impression left on his mind was that the Austrian note was so
drawn up as to make war inevitable. In spite of the conciliatory nature
of Serbia's reply, the Austrian Minister withdrew from Belgrade the same
evening, and Serbia was left with no option but to order a general
mobilisation.
An outline of the Serbian reply had been communicated to Sir E. Grey an
hour or two before it was delivered. He immediately expressed to Germany
the hope that she would urge Austria to accept it. Berlin contented
itself with "passing on" the expression of Sir E. Grey's hope to Vienna
through the German Ambassador there. The fate of the message so passed
on may be guessed from the fact that the German Ambassador told the
British Ambassador directly afterwards that Serbia had only made a
pretence of giving way, and that her concessions were all a sham.
As Sir Edward Grey told the German Ambassador on one occasion "the
Serbian reply went farther than could have been expected to meet the
Austrian demands. German Secretary of State has himself said that there
were some things in the Austrian Note that Serbia could hardly be
expected to accept."[5]
During these forty-eight hours Great Britain made three attempts at
peace. Before all things, the time-limit of the ultimatum had to be
extended in order to give the requisite time to negotiate an amicable
settlement. Great Britain and Russia urged this at Vienna. Great Britain
asked Germany to join in pressing the Austrian Government. All that
Berlin consented to do was to "pass on" the message to Vienna.
Secondly, Sir E. Grey urged that Great Britain, France, Germany, and
Italy should work together at Vienna and Petrograd in favour of
conciliation. Italy assented, France assented, Russia declared herself
ready, Germany said she had no objection, "if relations between Austria
and Russia became threatening."
Thirdly, the Russian, French, and British representatives at Belgrade
were instructed to advise Serbia to go as far as possible to meet
Austria.
But it was too late. The time-limit, which Austria would not extend, had
expired.
The British Charge d'Affaires at Constantinople discovered the true
object in view when he telegraphed on July 29:--
"I understand that the designs of Austria may extend considerably
beyond the Sanjak and a punitive occupation of Serbian territory. I
gathered this from a remark let fall by the Austrian Ambassador
here who spoke of the deplorable economic situation of Salonica
under Greek administration and of the assistance on which the
Austrian Army could count from Mussulman population discontented
with Serbian rule."[6]
So Austria contemplated no less than the break-up of the whole Balkan
settlement to which she and Germany had been parties so recently as
1913. She was to take advantage of the weakened condition of the Balkan
peoples (as a result of the Wars of 1912-13) to wage a war of conquest
right down to the Aegean Sea.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] _Great Britain and the European Crisis_, No. 30.
[2] _Great Britain and the European Crisis_, No. 4.
[3] This demand was pointedly summed up by Mr. Lloyd George at the
Queen's Hall, London, September 19, 1914, when he said:--
"Serbia... must dismiss from her army the officers whom Austria
should subsequently name. Those officers had just emerged from a war
where they had added lustre to the Serbian arms; they were gallant,
brave and efficient. I wonder whether it was their guilt or their
efficiency that prompted Austria's action! But, mark you, the
officers were not named; Serbia was to undertake in advance to
dismiss them from the army, the names to be sent in subsequently.
Can you name a country in the world that would have stood that?
Supposing Austria or Germany had issued an ultimatum of that kind to
this country, saying 'You must dismiss from your Army--and from your
Navy--all those officers whom we shall subsequently name.' Well, I
think I could name them now. Lord Kitchener would go; Sir John
French would be sent away; General Smith-Dorrien would go, and I am
sure that Sir John Jellicoe would have to go. And there is another
gallant old warrior who would go--Lord Roberts. It was a difficult
situation for a small country. Here was a demand made upon her by a
great military power that could have put half-a-dozen men in the
field for every one of Serbia's men, and that Power was supported by
the greatest military Power (Germany) in the world."
[4] _Great Britain and the European Crisis_, No. 39.
[5] _Great Britain and the European Crisis_, No. 46.
[6] _Great Britain and the European Crisis_, No. 82.
RUSSIA'S POSITION.
Russia's interest in the Balkans was well-known. As late as May 23,
1914, the Russian Minister for Foreign Affairs had reaffirmed in the
Duma the policy of the "Balkans for the Balkans" and it was known that
any attack on a Balkan State by any great European power would be
regarded as a menace to that policy. The Russians are a Slav people like
the Serbians. Serbian independence was one of the results of the Great
War which Russia waged against Turkey in 1877. If Serbia was, as the
Austrian Ambassador said to Sir E. Grey on July 29, "regarded as being
in the Austrian sphere of influence"; if Serbia was to be humiliated,
then assuredly Russia could not remain indifferent. It was not a
question of the policy of Russian statesmen at Petrograd, but of the
deep hereditary feeling for the Balkan populations bred in the Russian
people by more than two centuries of development. It was known to the
Austrians and to every foreign secretary in Europe, that if the Tsar's
Government allowed Serbia to be crushed by Austria, they would be in
danger of a revolution in Russia. These things had been, as Sir E. Grey
said to Parliament in March, 1913, in discussing the Balkan War, "a
commonplace in European diplomacy in the past." They were the facts of
the European situation, the products of years of development, tested and
retested during the last decade.
GERMANY'S POSITION.
Since the outbreak of war Germany has issued an Official White Book
which states concisely and with almost brutal frankness the German case
prior to the outbreak of hostilities,[7] in the following terms:--
"=The Imperial and Royal Government (Austria-Hungary)... asked for
our opinion. With all our heart we were able to... assure him
(Austria) that any action considered necessary... would meet with
our approval. We were perfectly aware that a possible warlike
attitude of Austria-Hungary against Serbia might bring Russia upon
the field, and that it might therefore involve us in a war, in
accordance with our duties as allies. We could not... advise our
ally to take a yielding attitude not compatible with his dignity,
nor deny him our assistance in these trying days. We could do this
all the less as our own interests were menaced through the
continued Serb agitation. If the Serbs continued with the aid of
Russia and France to menace the existence of Austria-Hungary, the
gradual collapse of Austria and the subjection of all the Slavs
under one Russian sceptre would be the consequence, thus making
untenable the position of the Teutonic Race in Central Europe.=
"=A morally weakened Austria... would be no longer an ally on whom
we could count and in whom we could have confidence, as we must be
able to have, in view of the ever more menacing attitude of our
Easterly and Westerly neighbours.=
"_=We, therefore, permitted Austria a completely free hand in her
action towards Serbia.=_"
Farther on in the German Official White Book (page 7) it is stated that
the German Government instructed its Ambassador at Petrograd to make the
following declaration to the Russian Government, with reference to
Russian military measures which concerned Austria alone[8]:--
"=Preparatory military measures by Russia will force us to
counter-measures which must consist in mobilising the army.=
"=But mobilisation means war.=
"=As we know the obligations of France towards Russia, this
mobilisation would be directed against both Russia and France....="
Here, then, we have the plain admission:--
That the steps subsequently taken were directed against Russia and
France.
That from the first Austria was given a free hand even to the
calculated extent of starting a great European war.
That a morally weakened Austria was not an ally on whom Germany
"could count" or "have confidence" though no reference is made to
Italy in this Official document.
FOOTNOTES:
[7] The German White Book (only authorised translation). Druck und
Verlag: Liebheit & Thiesen, Berlin, pages 4 and 5. (Price, 40 pf.)
[8] Cd. 7717, No. 109. In a despatch from Berlin, July 30, 1914, Mons.
Jules Cambon (French Ambassador) says:--
"Herr von Jagow then spoke to me of the Russian mobilisation on the
Austrian frontier; he told me that this mobilisation compromised the
success of all intervention with Austria, and that everything
depended on it. He added that he feared that Austria would mobilise
completely as a result of a partial Russian mobilisation, and this
might cause as a counter-measure complete Russian mobilisation and
consequently that of Germany.
"I pointed out to the Secretary of State that he had himself told me
that Germany would only consider herself obliged to mobilise if
Russia mobilised on her German frontiers, and that this was not
being done. He replied that this was true, but that the heads of the
army were insisting on it, for every delay is a loss of strength for
the German army, and 'that the words of which I reminded him did not
constitute a firm engagement on his part.'"
ITALY'S POSITION.
Italy's position on the eve of the Great War, and while the above
machinations were in progress, is quite clear for the reason that she
had been approached twelve months before to take part in a similar
enterprise and had peremptorily refused. On August 9, 1913, the Italian
Premier, Signor Giolitti, received a telegram from the Marquis di San
Guiliano (Italian Minister for Foreign Affairs), acquainting him with
the fact that Austria had just confided to Italy that, with the approval
of Germany, she was about to deliver an ultimatum to Serbia, in essence
identical with that actually sent on July 23, 1914, whereby the present
Great War was kindled. Austria then asked Italy to consider this move to
be a _casus foederis_ under the Triple Alliance--which is purely a
treaty of defence--involving Italy's military assistance on the side of
Austria and Germany.[9] To this the Italian Premier (Signor Giolitti)
replied[10]:--
"If Austria intervenes against Serbia it is clear that a _casus
foederis_ cannot be established. It is a step which she is taking
on her own account, since there is no question of defence, inasmuch
as no one is thinking of attacking her. It is necessary that a
declaration to this effect should be hope for action on the part of
Germany to dissuade Austria from this most perilous adventure."
Italy, having on this occasion made her position clear, maintained her
neutrality last July (1914) when Germany and Austria decided to proceed
with the plans arranged over twelve months before. Italy remained
neutral because she held that Germany and Austria were the
aggressors--not Russia and France.[11] By not consulting Italy on the
subject of action against Serbia, Austria-Hungary violated one of the
fundamental clauses of the Triple Alliance, and eventually this led
Italy to denounce the Treaty on May 4th, 1915, and finally, on May 24th,
1915, to declare war on Austria-Hungary.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] See Appendix "A." Italy denounced this treaty May 4th, 1915.
[10] Cd. 7860.
[11] _Great Britain and the European Crisis_, No. 152.
GERMANY'S SELECTED MOMENT.
The past history of Germany shows that she has always made her wars at
her own "selected moment," when she thought her victim was isolated or
unprepared. As General von Bernhardi says in his book, _Germany and the
Next Great War_: "English attempts at a rapprochement must not blind us
as to the real situation. We may at most use them to delay the necessary
and inevitable war until we may fairly imagine we have some prospect of
success." On July 23, 1914, when Austria launched her ultimatum to
Serbia, the Chancelleries of Europe were taken by surprise. Germany and
Austria chose their moment well.
(1) The British representatives were away from both Berlin and
Belgrade.
(2) M. Pashitch, the Serbian Prime Minister, and the other
Ministers were away electioneering.
(3) The Russian Ambassadors were absent from Vienna, Berlin and
Paris, and the Russian Minister was absent from Belgrade. Indeed
the Russian Ambassador at Vienna had left "for the country in
consequence of reassuring explanations made to him at the
(Austro-Hungarian) Ministry for | 1,487.073318 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.2598390 | 4,804 | 132 |
Produced by David Garcia, Jennie Gottschalk and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
Transcriber's Note: Small spelling and punctuation errors have been
silently corrected. Spelling errors are listed at the end of the file.
Bold text is marked as =text=, and italics are _text_.
Complete in one Number. Price, 5 Cents.
[Illustration: NICKEL LIBRARY]
Entered according to Act of Congress by PICTORIAL PRINTING CO. In
the office of the Librarian at Washington. D. C., in the year 1877
SERIES ONE. CHICAGO. NUMBER 17
LITTLE OSKALOO,[A]
OR,
THE WHITE WHIRLWIND.
BY T. C. HARBAUGH.
[A] Changed from LITTLE MOCCASIN.
[Illustration: =THE TRAILERS OF THE FOREST.--See page 4.=]
CHAPTER I.
HISTORY AND A MYSTERY.
If, in the month of July, 1794, an observing white man could have
traveled unmolested from the banks of the Ohio river due north to the
famous Maumee rapids, he would have been struck with the wonderful
activity manifested in the various Indian villages on his route.
No signs of idleness would have greeted his eye; the young warrior did
not recline in the shadow of his birchen lodge enjoying the comforts of
summer life in mid forest. If his image was reflected in the clear
streams, it was but for a moment, as his lithe canoe shot from bank to
bank. Everything between the two rivers portended war.
Indian runners were constantly departing and arriving at the several
native villages, and excited groups of Shawnees, Delawares and Wyandots
discussed--not the latest deer trails nor the next moon-feast, but the
approaching contest for the mastery of power.
A few years had passed away since they had met and conquered Harmar and
St. Clair. Those bloody victories had rendered the Indian bold and
aggressive. He believed himself invincible, and pointed with pride to
the scalps taken on the ill-fated 4th of November, '91.
But a new foe had advanced from the south--treading in the tracks of St.
Clair's butchered troops, but with his stern eye fixed on victory. The
Indians were beginning to exhibit signs of alarm--signs first exhibited
at the British posts in the "Northwestern Territory," where the powers
and generalship of Wayne were known and acknowledged.
It was the impetuous, Mad Anthony who led the advancing columns through
the Ohio forests. He had entered the blood-drenched territory with the
victory of Stony Point to urge him on to nobler deeds, and with the firm
determination of punishing the tribes, as well as of avenging the defeat
of his predecessors.
Tidings of his advance spread like wildfire from village to village, and
councils became the order of day and night alike.
The Indians knew the Blacksnake, as they called Wayne, and some, in
their fear, counseled peace. But that was not to be thought of by the
chiefs and the young Hotspurs whose first scalps had been torn from the
heads of Butler's men.
Such sachems as Little Turtle, Blue Jacket, and Bockhougahelas stirred
the Indian heart, and not a few words of encouragement came from the
British forts on the Maumee.
Simon Girty and kindred spirits moved from tribe to tribe underrating
Wayne before the august councils, until a united cry of "war to the
knife!" ascended to the skies.
The chase suddenly lost its charms to the scarlet hunter; the dandy
turned from his mirror to the rifle; the very air seemed heavy with war.
The older warriors were eager to lay their plans before any one who
would listen; they said that Wayne would march with St. Clair's
carelessness, and affirmed that the order of Indian battle, so
successful on _that_ occasion, would drive the Blacksnake from the
territory.
Under the Indian banner--if the plume of Little Turtle can be thus
designated--the warriors of seven tribes were marshalling. There were
the Miamis, the Pottawatamies, Delawares, Shawnees, Chippewas, Ottawas,
and Senecas; and in the ranks of each nation stood not a few white
renegades.
It was a formidable force to oppose the victor of Stony Point, and the
reader of our forest romance will learn with what success the cabal met.
We have thought best to prelude our story with the glimpses at history
just given, as it enables the reader to obtain an idea of the situation
of affairs in the locality throughout which the incidents that follow
take place.
* * * * *
It was near the close of a sultry day in July, 1794, that two men
reached the right bank of the Maumee about ten miles below Fort
Defiance, which Wayne had erected and garrisoned.
They looked like Wyandot warriors, painted for the warpath. They were
athletic men, and one, as could be seen despite the profusion of paint
which his face wore, was at least twenty years the other's senior.
Long-barreled rifles were trailed at their sides, and their belts
carried the Indian's inseparable companions--the tomahawk and scalping
knife.
"There goes the sun," said the youngest of the pair in unmistakable and
melodious English. "Look at the old planet, Wolf Cap, if you want to see
him before he goes to bed. These are dangerous times, and one does not
know when the sun sets if he will be permitted to greet it in the
morning."
"That is so, Harvey," was the reply, in the brusque tone of the rough
frontiersman, and the speaker looked at the magnificent god of day whose
last streaks of light were crimsoning the water. "There was a time when
I didn't care if I never beheld the sun again. It was that night when I
came home and found no house to shelter me; but a dead family among a
heap of smoking ruins, and in a tree hard by a tomahawk buried to the
handle."
"You have told me," the younger said, as if to spare his companion the
pain of narrating the story of the Indian descent upon his cabin in
Kentucky.
"So I have, but I never grow weary of talking about it. It makes me
think of the revenge I have taken, and it nerves my arm anew. Boy," and
the speaker touched the youth's shoulder with much tenderness, "boy, I
was goin' to say that I hope the Indians will never do you such an
injury."
"I hope not, Wolf Cap; but I hate them all the same."
The frontiersman did not reply for a moment, but looked across the river
longingly and sad.
"Harvey," he said, suddenly starting up, "we have been separated for
four days. Have you heard of him?"
"Of----" the young scout hesitated.
"Of Jim Girty, of course."
"No; but we may obtain some news of him in a few moments."
"In a few moments? I do not understand you."
"I will tell you. I am here by appointment," said the youth. "In a few
moments I hope to meet a person who will give me valuable information
concerning the hostiles. She----"
"A woman?" interrupted the oldest scout. "Boy, you must not trust these
Indian girls too far."
"How do you know she is an Indian girl?" asked Harvey Catlett, starting.
"Because there are precious few white girls in these parts. Don't trust
her further than you can see her, Harvey. I would like to take a squint
at the dusky girl."
The youth was about replying when the dip of paddles fell upon his
practiced ears, and Wolf Cap started back from the water's edge, for he,
too, had caught the sound.
"Indians!" he said, and the click of his rifle was not heard six feet
away, but the youth's painted hand covered the flint.
"No enemy at any rate," he whispered, looking in the scout's face. "Stay
here till I return. It is Little Moccasin."
Without fear, but cautiously, Harvey Catlett, Wayne's youngest and
trustiest trailer, glided to the edge of the water, where he was joined
by a canoe containing a single person.
His giant companion rose, and, full of curiosity, tried to distinguish
the features of the canoe's occupant, who was met with a tender welcome
at the hands of the young scout.
But the sun had entirely set, and the couple formed dark silhouettes on
a ghostly background.
For many minutes the conversation continued at the boat, and the
impatient Wolf Cap at last began to creep forward as if upon a napping
foe.
"I want to get a glimpse at that girl," he was saying to his eager self.
"If I think she is soft soapin' the young feller, why, this shall be
their last meetin'."
The young couple did not suspect the scout's movements, and as he
crouched not twenty feet from the boat and within ear shot, he was
surprised to hear Catlett say:
"I'll let you go when I have shown you to my friend. He wants to see
you. Come, girl."
Wolf Cap saw a lithe, girlish figure slip nimbly from the canoe, and
when the youth turned his face toward the forest, as if to speak his
name, he rose.
"Here I am," he said. "Forgive me, boy, but I've been watchin' you.
Couldn't help it, as you talked so long. So this is Little Moccasin?"
As the border man uttered the euphonious title he stooped, for he was
almost unnaturally tall, and peered inquisitively into the girl's face.
It was a pretty face, oval and faultlessly formed. The skin was not so
dark as a warrior's, and the eyes were soft and full of depth. Wolf Cap
did not study the close-fitting garments, well beaded and fringed, nor
did he glance at the tiny, almost fairy-like moccasins which she wore.
It was the face that enchained his attention.
All at once his hand fell from Little Moccasin's shoulder, and he
started back, saying in a wild, incautious tone:
"Take that girl away, Harvey! For heaven's sake don't let her cross my
path again! And if you know what is good for yourself--for Wayne and his
army--you will keep out of her sight. Is she not goin'?"
The excited scout stepped forward with quivering nerves as he uttered
the last words.
"Yes, sir," said the youth quickly, but throwing himself between the
forest beauty and Wolf Cap. "She is going now."
"And will you promise never to see her again?"
"We'll talk about that at another time. Come."
The last word was addressed to Little Moccasin, upon whose face an
expression of wonderment rested, and Harvey Catlett led her to the
canoe.
For several minutes he held her hand, talking low and earnestly the
while, and then saw her send her light craft into the deep shadows that
hung over the water.
When the sound of her paddles had died away the young scout turned to
inquire into Wolf Cap's unaccountable conduct; but to his surprise the
rough borderman was not to be seen.
But Harvey Catlett was not long in catching the sound of receding
footsteps, and a moment later he was hurrying forward to overtake his
companion.
He soon came upon Wolf Cap walking deliberately through the forest, and
hastened to address him.
"Here you are! Wolf Cap, I want to know who Little Moccasin is."
The borderman did not stop to reply, but looked over his left shoulder
and said, sullenly:
"I don't know! Do you?"
Harvey Catlett was more than ever astonished; but a moment later, if it
had not been for the dangerous ground which they were treading, he would
have burst into a laugh.
CHAPTER II.
AN ERRAND OF MERCY.
Abner Stark, or Wolf Cap, was a man well known throughout Ohio and
Kentucky in the border days of which we write. Moody and sullen, but at
times possessed with a humor that seemed to reflect happier days; he was
cherished as a friend by the Wetzels, Boones, and Kentons of the early
west.
He had served as a scout under Harmar, St. Clair and Scott, and was
among the first to offer his valuable services to General Wayne.
It is needless to say that they were eagerly accepted, and in the
campaign of 1793 that witnessed the erection of forts Recovery and
Defiance, he had proved of great worth to the invaders.
Ten years prior to the date of our story the Shawnees, led by James
Girty, crossed the Ohio and fell like a pack of wolves upon Abner
Stark's Kentucky home.
The settler, as we have already heard him narrate to young Catlett, was
absent at the time, but returned to find his house in ashes, and the
butchered remains of his family among the ruins. He believed that all
had perished by the tomahawk and scalping knife.
By the hatchet buried in the tree which was wont to shade his home, he
recognized the leader of the murderous band. From the awful sight he
stepped upon the path of vengeance, and made his name a terror to the
Indians and their white allies.
His companion on the occasion described in the foregoing chapter, was a
young borderman who had distinguished himself in the unfortunate
campaign of '91. Handsome, cunning in woodcraft, and courageous to no
small degree, an expert swimmer and runner, Harvey Catlett united in
himself all the qualities requisite for the success of his calling. He
was trusted by Wayne, from whose camps he came and went at his pleasure,
questioned by no one, save at times, his friend Wolf Cap.
We have said that the singular reply given by Wolf Cap to the young
scout shortly after the meeting with Little Moccasin almost provoked a
laugh. The situation smacked of the ridiculous to the youthful borderer,
and the time and place alone prevented him from indulging his risibles.
But when he looked into the old scout's face and saw no humor there--saw
nothing save an unreadable countenance, his mirth subsided, and he
became serious again.
"We will not follow the subject further now," he said; "I want to talk
about something else--about something which I heard to-night."
His tone impressed Abner Stark, and he came to a halt.
"Well, go on, boy," he said, his hard countenance relaxing. "If you did
get any news out of _her_, tell it."
"The lives of some of our people are in danger," Catlett continued.
"Several days since a family named Merriweather embarked upon the Maumee
near its mouth. Their destination is Wayne's camp; they are flying to it
for protection."
"Straight into the jaws of death!"
"Yes, Wolf Cap. If they have not already fallen a prey to the savages,
they are struggling through the woods with their boats, which could not
stem the rapids."
"How many people are in the company?" Stark asked.
"Little Moccasin says eight."
"Women and children, of course?"
"Yes."
"And is this known by the Indians?"
"Unfortunately it is."
For a moment the avenger did not reply.
He appeared to be forming a plan for the safety of the imperilled
family, and the young scout watched him with much anxiety.
"I don't know the Merriweathers; never heard of them," Wolf Cap said,
looking up at last. "They are in great danger. There are women and
children among them. I had a family once. We must not desert the little
band that is trying to get behind Mad Anthony's bayonets. God forbid
that Abner Stark should refuse to protect the helpless from the
tomahawk."
"And here is one who is with you!" cried Harvey Catlett. "Let us go
now."
"Yes. We must not see Wayne before we have offered help to the
Merriweathers. Are we not near the tree?"
"Nearer than you think. Look yonder."
The speaker pointed to a tree whose great trunk was just discernible,
and the twain hastened toward it.
About six feet from the ground there was a hole large enough to admit a
medium sized hand, and Wolf Cap was not long in plunging his own into
its recesses.
He withdrew it a moment later with a show of disappointment.
"Nothin' from Wells and the same from Hummingbird," he said, turning to
Catlett.
"We are too soon, perhaps," was the answer.
"They will be here, then. We may need their assistance. Hummingbird or
Wells?"
"The first that comes."
"That will do. Write."
The young scout drew a small piece of paper from his bullet pouch, and
wrote thereon with a pointed stick of lead the following message:
"_To the first here_:
"We have gone down the Maumee to protect a white family flying
to Wayne. Follow us. No news."
The message was dropped in the forest letter box, and the disguised
scouts set out upon their errand of mercy and protection.
One behind the other, like the wily Indians whom they personated, they
traversed the forest, now catching a glimpse of the starlit waters of
the Maumee, and now wrapped in the gloom of impenetrable darkness.
Not a word was spoken. Now and then an ear was placed upon the earth to
detect the approach of an enemy should any be lurking near their path.
With the woodman's practiced care they gave forth no sound for listening
savages, and with eager hopes continued to press on.
The tree, with its silent call for help, was soon left behind, and the
scouts did not dream that the robber was near.
Not long after their departure from the spot, a figure halted at the
tree, and a dark hand dropped into the letter box. With almost devilish
eagerness the fingers closed upon the paper that lay at the bottom of
the hole, and drew it out.
"A paper at last," said the man in triumphant tones. "I knew I would
find it sometime."
The next moment the thief hurried towards the river with the scouts'
message clutched tightly in his hand.
Wolf Cap and Harvey Catlett would have given much for that man's scalp,
for at the time of which we write he was the dread of every woman and
child in the Northwestern Territory.
His name was James Girty, and his deeds excelled in cruelty his brother
Simon's.
CHAPTER III.
THE TERRIBLE DISCOVERY.
Leaving the characters of our story already mentioned for a brief time,
let us turn our attention to the devoted little band of fugitives who
were flying through the gauntlet of death to Wayne's protecting guns.
While Harvey Catlett was conversing with Little Moccasin, watched with a
jealous eye by the tall scout, a large but light boat was nearing the
foot of the famous Maumee rapids.
It kept in the center of the stream, as if its occupants believed that
danger lurked along the shadowed banks, and consultation was carried on
in whispers.
The boat thus slowly ascending the stream contained eight persons. Four
were men, strong, active and with determined visages; the others
consisted of a matron, a girl of eighteen, and two children whose ages
were respectively twelve and fourteen.
Abel Merriweather, the matron's husband and the father of the
interesting ones grouped about her, was the oldest person in the craft;
his male companions were George Darling, his nephew, an Englishman
called John Darknight, and a young American named Oscar Parton.
To Darknight the navigation of the Maumee was well known, as he had
spent much time upon its bosom, and he was serving the Merriweathers in
the capacity of guide.
Abel Merriweather, a little headstrong and fearful, had overruled the
counsel of true friends. He believed that his family was in danger while
the roof of the cabin near the mouth of the Maumee sheltered it. The
muttered growls of war made him timorous, and he saw no safety anywhere
save behind the bayonets of Wayne. Therefore, in company with his nephew
and Oscar Parton, who was his daughter Kate's acknowledged suitor, and
with John Darknight for a guide, he had embarked upon the perilous
attempt of reaching Fort Defiance with his loved ones.
"Of course we cannot stem the rapids," the guide said in response to a
question from young Darling. "Our portage must now begin."
As he spoke the boat began to approach the left bank of the stream.
"We are nearing the wrong bank," said Parton.
"Of course we are," the settler replied, noticing the boat's course, and
he turned upon the guide:
"What does this mean?" he demanded, with his usual brusqueness.
"Nothing dangerous, sir. You see that we can best journey up the left
bank of the river. The Indians are massing in the south."
"But I have been advised by the scouts of Mad Anthony to go up the right
bank."
"You have?"
"Yes, sir. If I understand you, you have not been in these parts for a
month, while my informants and advisers were here but a week since."
The guide did not reply for a minute, during which the boat continued
toward the dusky shore, for his hand was upon the rudder | 1,487.279879 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.4912890 | 2,409 | 12 | AMERICA, VOL. II (OF 8)***
E-text prepared by Giovanni Fini, Dianna Adair, Bryan Ness, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images
generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
which includes the more than 300 original illustrations.
See 50883-h.htm or 50883-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h/50883-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/50883/50883-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/narrcrithistamerica02winsrich
Transcriber’s note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: XV^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: novam^{te}).
Spanish Explorations and Settlements in America
from the Fifteenth to the Seventeenth Century
[Illustration]
NARRATIVE AND CRITICAL HISTORY OF AMERICA
Edited by
JUSTIN WINSOR
Librarian of Harvard University
Corresponding Secretary Massachusetts Historical Society
VOL. II
Boston and New York
Houghton, Mifflin and Company
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
Copyright, 1886,
by Houghton, Mifflin and Company.
All rights reserved.
CONTENTS AND ILLUSTRATIONS.
[_The Spanish arms on the title are copied from the titlepage of
Herrera._]
INTRODUCTION. PAGE
DOCUMENTARY SOURCES OF EARLY SPANISH-AMERICAN HISTORY. _The
Editor_ i
CHAPTER I.
COLUMBUS AND HIS DISCOVERIES. _The Editor_ 1
ILLUSTRATIONS: Columbus’ Armor, 4; Parting of Columbus with
Ferdinand and Isabella, 6; Early Vessels, 7; Building a Ship,
8; Course of Columbus on his First Voyage, 9; Ship of Columbus’
Time, 10; Native House in Hispaniola, 11; Curing the Sick,
11; The Triumph of Columbus, 12; Columbus at Hispaniola, 13;
Handwriting of Columbus, 14; Arms of Columbus, 15; Fruit-trees
of Hispaniola, 16; Indian Club, 16; Indian Canoe, 17, 17;
Columbus at Isla Margarita, 18; Early Americans, 19; House in
which Columbus died, 23.
CRITICAL ESSAY 24
ILLUSTRATIONS: Ptolemy, 26, 27; Albertus Magnus, 29; Marco
Polo, 30; Columbus’ Annotations on the _Imago Mundi_, 31; on
Æneas Sylvius, 32; the Atlantic of the Ancients, 37; Prince
Henry the Navigator, 39; his Autograph, 39; Sketch-map of
Portuguese Discoveries in Africa, 40; Portuguese Map of the Old
World (1490), 41; Vasco da Gama and his Autograph, 42; Line of
Demarcation (Map of 1527), 43; Pope Alexander VI., 44.
NOTES 46
A, First Voyage, 46; B, Landfall, 52; C, Effect of the
Discovery in Europe, 56; D, Second Voyage, 57; E, Third Voyage,
58; F, Fourth Voyage, 59; G, Lives and Notices of Columbus,
62; H, Portraits of Columbus, 69; I, Burial and Remains of
Columbus, 78; J, Birth of Columbus, and Accounts of his Family,
83.
ILLUSTRATIONS: Fac-simile of first page of Columbus’ Letter,
No. III., 49; Cut on reverse of Title of Nos. V. and VI., 50;
Title of No. VI., 51; The Landing of Columbus, 52; Cut in
German Translation of the First Letter, 53; Text of the German
Translation, 54; the Bahama Group (map), 55; Sign-manuals
of Ferdinand and Isabella, 56; Sebastian Brant, 59; Map of
Columbus’ Four Voyages, 60, 61; Fac-simile of page in the
Glustiniani Psalter, 63; Ferdinand Columbus’ Register of Books,
65; Autograph of Humboldt, 68; Paulus Jovius, 70. Portraits
of Columbus,—after Giovio, 71; the Yanez Portrait, 72; after
Capriolo, 73; the Florence picture, 74; the De Bry Picture,
75; the Jomard Likeness, 76; the Havana Medallion, 77; Picture
at Madrid, 78; after Montanus, 79; Coffer and Bones found in
Santo Domingo, 80; Inscriptions on and in the Coffer, 81, 82;
Portrait and Sign-manual of Ferdinand of Spain, 85; Bartholomew
Columbus, 86.
POSTSCRIPT 88
THE EARLIEST MAPS OF THE SPANISH AND PORTUGUESE DISCOVERIES.
_The Editor_ 93
ILLUSTRATIONS: Early Compass, 94; Astrolabe of Regiomontanus,
96; Later Astrolabe, 97; Jackstaff, 99; Backstaff, 100;
Pirckeymerus, 102; Toscanelli’s Map, 103; Martin Behaim, 104;
Extract from Behaim’s Globe, 105; Part of La Cosa’s Map,
106; of the Cantino Map, 108; Peter Martyr Map (1511), 110;
Ptolemy Map (1513), 111; Admiral’s Map (1513), 112; Reisch’s
Map (1515), 114; Ruysch’s Map (1508), 115; Stobnicza’s Map
(1512), 116; Schöner, 117; Schöner’s Globe (1515), 118; (1520),
119; Tross Gores (1514-1519), 120; Münster’s Map (1532), 121;
Sylvanus’ Map (1511), 122; Lenox Globe, 123; Da Vinci Sketch of
Globe, 124, 125, 126; Carta Marina of Frisius (1525), 127;
Coppo’s Map (1528), 127.
CHAPTER II.
AMERIGO VESPUCCI. _Sydney Howard Gay_ 129
ILLUSTRATIONS: Fac-simile of a Letter of Vespucci, 130;
Autograph of Amerrigo Vespuche, 138; Portraits of Vespucci,
139, 140, 141.
NOTES ON VESPUCIUS AND THE NAMING OF AMERICA. _The Editor_ 153
ILLUSTRATIONS: Title of the Jehan Lambert edition of the
_Mundus Novus_, 157; first page of Vorsterman’s _Mundus Novus_,
158; Title of _De Ora Antarctica_, 159; title of _Von der neu
gefunden Region_, 160; Fac-simile of its first page, 161;
Ptolemy’s World, 165; Title of the _Cosmographiæ Introductio_,
167; Fac-simile of its reference to the name of America, 168;
the Lenox Globe (American parts), 170; Title of the 1509
edition of the _Cosmographiæ Introductio_, 171; title of the
_Globus Mundi_, 172; Map of Laurentius Frisius in the Ptolemy
of 1522, 175; American part of the Mercator Map of 1541, 177;
Portrait of Apianus, 179.
BIBLIOGRAPHY OF POMPONIUS MELA, SOLINUS, VADIANUS, AND APIANUS.
_The Editor_ 180
ILLUSTRATIONS: Pomponius Mela’s World, 180; Vadianus, 181; Part
of Apianus’ Map (1520), 183; Apianus, 185.
CHAPTER III.
THE COMPANIONS OF COLUMBUS. _Edward Channing_ 187
ILLUSTRATIONS: Map of Hispaniola, 188; Castilia del Oro, 190;
Cartagena, 192; Balbóa, 195; Havana, 202.
CRITICAL ESSAY 204
ILLUSTRATION: Juan de Grijalva, 216.
THE EARLY CARTOGRAPHY OF THE GULF OF MEXICO AND ADJACENT PARTS.
_The Editor_ 217
ILLUSTRATIONS: Map of the Pacific (1518), 217; of the Gulf of
Mexico (1520), 218; by Lorenz Friess (1522), 218; by Maiollo
(1527), 219; by Nuño Garcia de Toreno (1527), 220; by Ribero
(1529), 221; The so-called Lenox Woodcut (1534), 223; Early
French Map, 224; Gulf of Mexico (1536), 225; by Rotz (1542),
226; by Cabot (1544), 227; in Ramusio (1556), 228; by Homem
(1558), 229; by Martines (1578), 229; of Cuba, by Wytfliet
(1597), 230.
CHAPTER IV.
ANCIENT FLORIDA. _John G. Shea_ 231
ILLUSTRATIONS: Ponce de Leon, 235; Hernando de Soto, 252;
Autograph of De Soto, 253; of Mendoza, 254; Map of Florida
(1565), 264; Site of Fort Caroline, 265; View of St. Augustine,
266; Spanish Vessels, 267; Building of Fort Caroline, 268; Fort
Caroline completed, 269; Map | 1,487.511329 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.6170050 | 1,798 | 11 |
Produced by Roger Burch with scans from the Internet Archive.
[ILLUSTRATION: Cover]
{Transcriber's Note: Quotation marks have been standardized to modern
usage. Footnotes have been placed to immediately follow the paragraphs
referencing them.}
LIFE OF BRANDT
Life
of
JOSEPH BRANT--THAYENDANEGEA:
INCLUDING
THE BORDER WARS
OF THE
AMERICAN REVOLUTION,
AND
SKETCHES OF THE INDIAN CAMPAIGNS OF GENERALS
HARMAR, ST. CLAIR, AND WAYNE.
AND OTHER MATTERS
CONNECTED WITH THE INDIAN RELATIONS OF THE UNITED STATES
AND GREAT BRITAIN FROM THE PEACE OF 1783 TO
THE INDIAN PEACE OF 1795.
BY WILLIAM L. STONE.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
NEW-YORK:
ALEXANDER V. BLAKE, 38 GOLD STREET.
1838.
[Entered according to Act of Congress of the United States of America
in the year 1838, by George Dearborn & co., in the Clerk's Office of
the District Court for the Southern District of New-York.]
New-York:
Printed by Scatcherd & Adams.
No. 38 Gold Street.
TO THE HONORABLE
STEPHEN VAN RENSSELAER,
OF ALBANY,
These volumes are most respectfully inscribed. If the efforts of the
writer to illustrate more fully and minutely than has hitherto been done,
the most interesting portion of American history, in its immediate
connection with the large and populous State of which The Patroon has
so long been one of the most distinguished citizens, shall be so
fortunate as to merit the regard, and receive the approbation, of one
so excellently qualified to judge of its interest and value, there will
be nothing left unsatisfied to the ambition and the hopes of
His friend and servant,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
Birth and parentage--Discussion of the doubts cast upon his origin--Visit
of Mohawk chiefs to Queen Anne--Evidence of Brant's descent from one
of those--Digression from the main subject, and Extracts from the
private and official journals of Sir William Johnson--Connexion between
Sir William and the family of Brant--Incidental references to the old
French war--Illustrations of Indian proceedings, speeches, &c.--Brant's
parentage satisfactorily established--Takes the field in the Campaign
of Lake George (1765.)--Is engaged at the conquest of Niagara
(1759.)--Efforts of Sir William Johnson to civilize the Indians--Brant
is sent, with other Indian youths, to the Moor Charity School, at
Lebanon--Leaves school--Anecdote--Is engaged on public business by Sir
William--As an Interpreter for the Missionaries--Again takes the field,
in the wars against Pontiac--Intended massacre at Detroit--Ultimate
overthrow of Pontiac--First marriage of Brant--Entertains the
Missionaries--Again employed on public business--Death of his
wife--Engages with Mr. Stewart in translating the Scriptures--Marries
again--Has serious religious impressions--Selects a bosom friend and
confidant, after the Indian custom--Death of his friend--His grief, and
refusal to choose another friend.
Page 1
CHAPTER II.
Early symptoms of disaffection at Boston--Origin of the Revolutionary
War--First blood shed in 1770--Stirring eloquence of Joseph
Warren--Feelings of Sir William Johnson--His influence with the Indians
and Germans, and his unpleasant position--Last visit of Sir William to
England--His death--Mysterious circumstances attending it--Suspicions
of suicide unjust--His son, Sir John Johnson, succeeds to his title and
estates--His son-in-law, Col. Guy Johnson, to his office as
superintendent General of the Indians--Early life of Sir John--Joseph
Brant appointed Secretary to Guy Johnson--Influence of the Johnson
family--Revolutionary symptoms in County, fomented by the
proceedings in New England--First meeting of Tryon County
Whigs--Declaration of Rights--First meeting of Congress--Effect of its
proceedings--in England--Tardiness of Provincial legislature of
New-York--Spirit of the people--Notes of preparation in Massachusetts,
&c.--Overt acts of rebellion in several States--Indians exasperated by
the Virginia borderers in 1774--Melancholy story of Logan--Campaign
of Lord Dunmore and Colonel Lewis--Battle of the Kanhawa--Speech of
Logan--Its authenticity questioned--Peace of Chilicothe--Unhappy feeling
of the Indians.
29
CHAPTER III.
Unyielding course of the parent Government--Efforts of the Earl of Chatham
unavailing--Address to the Crown from New-York--Leslie's Expedition to
Salem--Affair of Lexington--Unwise movements of Tryon County
loyalists--Reaction--Public meetings--The Sammons family--Interference
of the Johnsons--Quarrel at Caughnawaga--Spirited indications at Cherry
Valley--Counteracting efforts of the Johnsons among their
retainers--Intrigues with the Indians--Massachusetts attempts the
same--Correspondence with the Stockbridge Indians--Letter to Mr.
Kirkland--His removal by Guy Johnson--Neutrality of the
Oneidas--Intercepted despatch from Brant to the Oneidas--Apprehensions
of Guy Johnson--Correspondence--Farther precautions of the
Committees--Reverence for the Laws--Letter of Guy Johnson to the
Committees of Albany and Schenectady--Substance of the reply.
49
CHAPTER IV.
Council of the Mohawk chiefs at Guy Park--A second council called by
Johnson at Cosby's Manor--Proceeds thither with his retinue--First full
meeting of Tryon County Committee--Correspondence with Guy Johnson--No
council held--Johnson proceeds farther West, accompanied by his family
and most of the Indians--Consequent apprehensions of the
people--Communication from Massachusetts Congress--Ticonderoga and Crown
Point taken by Ethan Allen--Skenesborough and St. Johns
surprised--Farther proceedings in Massachusetts--Battle of Bunker
Hill--Death of Warren--Council with the Oneidas and Tuscaroras at German
Flats--Speech to the Indians--Subsequent council with the
Oneidas--Conduct of the people toward Guy Johnson--Speech to, and reply
of Oneidas--Guy Johnson moves westwardly to Ontario--His letter to the
Provincial Congress of New-York--Holds a great Indian council at the
West--Unfavourable influence upon the dispositions of the
Indians--Causes of their partiality for the English--Great, but
groundless alarm of the people--Guy Johnson, with Brant and the Indian
warriors, descends the St. Lawrence to Montreal--Council there--Sir Guy
Carleton and Gen. Haldimand complete the work of winning the Indians
over to the cause of the Crown.
Page 71
CHAPTER V.
Meeting of the second Continental Congress--Measures of
defence--Declaration--National fast--Organization of an Indian
department--Address to the Six Nations--Council called at
Albany--Preliminary consultation at German Flats--Speeches of the
Oneidas and others--Adjourn to Albany--Brief interview with the
commissioners--Conference and interchange of speeches with the
Albanians--Proceedings of the grand council--Speeches of the
commissioners--Replies of the Indians--Conclusion of the grand
council--Resumption of the conference with the Albanians--Speech of
the Albany Committee--Reply of the Indians--Disclosures of Guy | 1,487.637045 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.6687670 | 2,647 | 30 |
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/Canadian
Libraries)
[Illustration: “‘Lord, these are the lambs of thy flock.’”]
Jessica’s First Prayer
Jessica’s Mother
Hesba Stretton
New York
H. M. Caldwell Co.
Publishers
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The Coffee-Stall and its Keeper PAGE 5
CHAPTER II.
Jessica’s Temptation 15
CHAPTER III.
An Old Friend in a New Dress 23
CHAPTER IV.
Peeps into Fairy-land 35
CHAPTER V.
A New World Opens 44
CHAPTER VI.
The First Prayer 50
CHAPTER VII.
Hard Questions 54
CHAPTER VIII.
An Unexpected Visitor 60
CHAPTER IX.
Jessica’s First Prayer Answered 69
CHAPTER X.
The Shadow of Death 82
Jessica’s First Prayer.
CHAPTER I.
THE COFFEE-STALL AND ITS KEEPER.
In a screened and secluded corner of one of the many railway-bridges
which span the streets of London there could be seen, a few years
ago, from five o’clock every morning until half-past eight, a tidily
set out coffee-stall, consisting of a trestle and board, upon which
stood two large tin cans with a small fire of charcoal burning under
each, so as to keep the coffee boiling during the early hours of the
morning when the work-people were thronging into the city on their
way to their daily toil. The coffee-stall was a favorite one, for
besides being under shelter, which was of great consequence upon rainy
mornings, it was also in so private a niche that the customers taking
their out-of-door breakfast were not too much exposed to notice; and,
moreover, the coffee-stall keeper was a quiet man, who cared only
to serve the busy workmen without hindering them by any gossip. He
was a tall, spare, elderly man, with a singularly solemn face and a
manner which was grave and secret. Nobody knew either his name or
dwelling-place; unless it might be the policeman who strode past the
coffee-stall every half-hour and nodded familiarly to the solemn man
behind it. There were very few who cared to make any inquiries about
him; but those who did could only discover that he kept the furniture
of his stall at a neighboring coffee-house, whither he wheeled his
trestle and board and crockery every day not later than half-past
eight in the morning; after which he was wont to glide away with a
soft footstep and a mysterious and fugitive air, with many backward
and sidelong glances, as if he dreaded observation, until he was lost
among the crowds which thronged the streets. No one had ever had the
persevering curiosity to track him all the way to his house, or to find
out his other means of gaining a livelihood; but in general his stall
was surrounded by customers, whom he served with silent seriousness,
and who did not grudge to pay him his charge for the refreshing coffee
he supplied to them.
For several years the crowd of work-people had paused by the
coffee-stall under the railway-arch, when one morning, in a partial
lull of his business, the owner became suddenly aware of a pair of very
bright dark eyes being fastened upon him and the slices of bread and
butter on his board, with a gaze as hungry as that of a mouse which has
been driven by famine into a trap. A thin and meagre face belonged to
the eyes, which was half hidden by a mass of matted hair hanging over
the forehead and down the neck--the only covering which the head or
neck had; for a tattered frock, scarcely fastened together with broken
strings, was slipping down over the shivering shoulders of the little
girl. Stooping down to a basket behind his stall, he caught sight of
two bare little feet curling up from the damp pavement, as the child
lifted up first one and then other and laid them one over another to
gain a momentary feeling of warmth. Whoever the wretched child was, she
did not speak; only at every steaming cupful which he poured out of his
can her dark eyes gleamed hungrily, and he could hear her smack her
thin lips as if in fancy she was tasting the warm and fragrant coffee.
“Oh, come now,” he said at last, when only one boy was left taking his
breakfast leisurely, and he leaned over his stall to speak in a low and
quiet tone, “why don’t you go away, little girl? Come, come; you’re
staying too long, you know.”
“I’m just going, sir,” she answered, shrugging her small shoulders to
draw her frock up higher about her neck; “only it’s raining cats and
dogs outside; and mother’s been away all night, and she took the key
with her; and it’s so nice to smell the coffee; and the police has left
off worriting me while I’ve been here. He thinks I’m a customer taking
my breakfast.” And the child laughed a shrill laugh of mockery at
herself and the policeman.
“You’ve had no breakfast, I suppose,” said the coffee-stall keeper, in
the same low and confidential voice, and leaning over his stall till
his face nearly touched the thin, sharp features of the child.
“No,” she replied, coolly, “and I shall want my dinner dreadful bad
afore I get it, I know. You don’t often feel dreadful hungry, do you,
sir? I’m not griped yet, you know; but afore I taste my dinner it’ll be
pretty bad, I tell you. Ah! very bad indeed!”
She turned away with a knowing nod, as much as to say she had one
experience in life to which he was quite a stranger; but before she had
gone half a dozen steps she heard the quiet voice calling to her in
rather louder tones, and in an instant she was back at the stall.
“Slip in here,” said the owner, in a cautious whisper; “here’s a little
coffee left and a few crusts. There. You must never come again, you
know. I never give to beggars; and if you’d begged I’d have called the
police. There; put your poor feet towards the fire. Now, aren’t you
comfortable?”
The child looked up with a face of intense satisfaction. She was seated
upon an empty basket, with her feet near the pan of charcoal, and a cup
of steaming coffee on her lap; but her mouth was too full for her to
reply except by a very deep nod, which expressed unbounded delight.
The man was busy for a while packing up his crockery; but every now and
then he stopped to look down upon her, and to shake his head.
“What’s your name?” he asked, at length; “but there, never mind! I
don’t care what it is. What’s your name to do with me, I wonder?”
“It’s Jessica,” said the girl: “but mother and every body calls me
Jess. You’d be tired of being called Jess, if you were me. It’s Jess
here, and Jess there: and every body wanting me to go errands. And they
think nothing of giving me smacks, and kicks, and pinches. Look here!”
Whether her arms were black and blue from the cold or from ill-usage
he could not tell; but he shook his head again seriously and the child
felt encouraged to go on.
“I wish I could stay here for ever and ever, just as I am!” she cried.
“But you’re going away, I know; and I’m never to come again, or you’ll
set the police on me!”
“Yes,” said the coffee-stall keeper very softly; and looking round to
see if there were any other ragged children within sight, “if you’ll
promise not to come again for a whole week, and not to tell any body
else, you may come once more. I’ll give you one other treat. But you
must be off now.”
“I’m off, sir,” she said, sharply; “but if you’ve a errand I could go
on I’d do it all right, I would. Let me carry some of your things.”
“No, no,” cried the man; “you run away, like a good girl; and, mind!
I’m not to see you again for a whole week.”
“All right,” answered Jess, setting off down the rainy street at a
quick run, as if to show her willing agreement to the bargain; while
the coffee-stall keeper, with many a cautious glance around him,
removed his stock in trade to the coffee-house near at hand, and
was seen no more for the rest of the day in the neighborhood of the
railway-bridge.
CHAPTER II.
JESSICA’S TEMPTATION.
Her part of the bargain Jessica faithfully kept; and though the solemn
and silent man under the dark shadow of the bridge looked for her every
morning as he served his customers, he caught no glimpse of her wan
face and thin little frame. But when the appointed time was finished
she presented herself at the stall, with her hungry eyes fastened
again upon the piles of buns and bread and butter, which were fast
disappearing before the demands of the buyers. The business was at its
height, and the famished child stood quietly on one side watching for
the throng to melt away. But as soon as the nearest church clock had
chimed eight she drew a little nearer to the stall, and at a signal
from its owner she slipped between the trestles of his stand and took
up her former position on the empty basket. To his eyes she seemed even
a little thinner, and certainly more ragged, than before; and he laid a
whole bun, a stale one which was left from yesterday’s stock, upon her
lap, as she lifted the cup of coffee to her lips with both her benumbed
hands.
“What’s your name?” she asked, looking up to him with her keen eyes.
“Why,” he answered, hesitatingly, as if he was reluctant to tell so
much of himself, “my christened name is Daniel.”
“And where do you live, Mr. Dan’el?” she inquired.
“Oh, come now!” he exclaimed, “if you’re going to be impudent, you’d
better march off. What business is it of yours where I live? I don’t
want to know where you live, I can tell you.”
“I didn’t mean no offence,” said Jess humbly; “only I thought I’d like
to know where a good man like you lived. You’re a very good man, aren’t
you, Mr. Dan’el?”
“I don’t know,” he answered uneasily; “I’m afraid I’m not.”
“Oh, but you are, you know,” continued Jess. “You make good
coffee; prime! And buns too! And I’ve been watching you hundreds of
times afore you saw me, and the police leaves you alone, and never
tells you to move on. Oh, yes! you must be a very good man.”
Daniel sighed, and fidgeted about his crockery with a grave and
occupied air, as if he were pondering over the child’s notion of
goodness. He made good coffee, and the police left him alone! It was
quite true; yet still as he counted up the store of pence which had
accumulated in his strong canvas bag, he sighed again still more
heavily. He purposely let one of his pennies fall upon the muddy
pavement, and went on counting the rest busily, while he furtively
watched the little girl sitting at his feet. Without a shade of change
upon her small face she covered the penny with her foot and drew it in
carefully towards her, while she continued to chatter fluently to him.
For a moment a feeling of | 1,487.688807 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.7533520 | 1,174 | 199 |
Produced by Eric Eldred, Charles Franks, David Widger and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
VENETIAN LIFE
By William Dean Howells
ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND EDITION.
In correcting this book for a second edition, I have sought to complete
it without altering its original plan: I have given a new chapter
sketching the history of Venetian Commerce and noticing the present
trade and industry of Venice; I have amplified somewhat the chapter on
the national holidays, and have affixed an index to the chief historical
persons, incidents, and places mentioned.
Believing that such value as my book may have is in fidelity to what
I actually saw and knew of Venice, I have not attempted to follow
speculatively the grand and happy events of last summer in their effects
upon her life. Indeed, I fancy that in the traits at which I loved most
to look, the life of Venice is not so much changed as her fortunes; but
at any rate I am content to remain true to what was fact one year ago.
W. D. H.
Cambridge, January 1, 1867.
CONTENTS.
I. Venice in Venice
II. Arrival and first Days in Venice
III. The Winter in Venice
IV. Comincia far Caldo
V. Opera and Theatres
VI. Venetian Dinners and Diners
VII. Housekeeping in Venice
VIII. The Balcony on the Grand Canal
IX. A Day-Break Ramble
X. The Mouse
XI. Churches and Pictures
XII. Some Islands of the Lagoons
XIII. The Armenians
XIV. The Ghetto and the Jews of Venice
XV. Some Memorable Places
XVI. Commerce
XVII. Venetian Holidays
XVIII. Christmas Holidays
XIX. Love-making and Marrying; Baptisms and Burials
XX. Venetian Traits and Characters
XXI. Society
XXII. Our Last Year in Venice
Index
CHAPTER I.
VENICE IN VENICE.
One night at the little theatre in Padua, the ticket-seller gave us the
stage-box (of which he made a great merit), and so we saw the play and
the byplay. The prompter, as noted from our point of view, bore a chief
part in the drama (as indeed the prompter always does in the Italian
theatre), and the scene-shifters appeared as prominent characters.
We could not help seeing the virtuous wife, when hotly pursued by the
villain of the piece, pause calmly in the wings, before rushing, all
tears and desperation, upon the stage; and we were dismayed to behold
the injured husband and his abandoned foe playfully scuffling behind the
scenes. All the shabbiness of the theatre was perfectly apparent to
us; we saw the grossness of the painting and the unreality of the
properties. And yet I cannot say that the play lost one whit of its
charm for me, or that the working of the machinery and its inevitable
clumsiness disturbed my enjoyment in the least. There was so much truth
and beauty in the playing, that I did not care for the sham of the ropes
and gilding, and presently ceased to take any note of them. The illusion
which I had thought an essential in the dramatic spectacle, turned out
to be a condition of small importance.
It has sometimes seemed to me as if fortune had given me a stage-box
at another and grander spectacle, and I had been suffered to see this
VENICE, which is to other cities like the pleasant improbability of the
theatre to every-day, commonplace life, to much the same effect as that
melodrama in Padua. I could not, indeed, dwell three years in the place
without learning to know it differently from those writers who have
described it in romances, poems, and hurried books of travel, nor help
seeing from my point of observation the sham and cheapness with which
Venice is usually brought out, if I may so speak, in literature. At the
same time, it has never lost for me its claim upon constant surprise
and regard, nor the fascination of its excellent beauty, its peerless
picturesqueness, its sole and wondrous grandeur. It is true that the
streets in Venice are canals; and yet you can walk to any part of the
city, and need not take boat whenever you go out of doors, as I once
fondly thought you must. But after all, though I find dry land enough
in it, I do not find the place less unique, less a mystery, or less a
charm. By day, the canals are still the main thoroughfares; and if
these avenues are not so full of light and color as some would have us
believe, they, at least, do not smell so offensively as others pretend.
And by night, they are still as dark and silent as when the secret
vengeance of the Republic plunged its victims into the ungossiping
depths of the Canalazzo!
Did the vengeance of the Republic ever do any such thing?
Possibly. In Venice one learns not quite to question that reputation
for vindictive and gloomy cruelty alien historians have given to a
government which endured so many centuries in the willing obedience
of its subjects; but to think that the careful student of the old
| 1,487.773392 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.7546970 | 2,162 | 14 | DIVISION 1914-1918***
E-text prepared by Brian Coe and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive/American Libraries (https://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations and maps.
See 45934-h.htm or 45934-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45934/45934-h/45934-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/45934/45934-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
https://archive.org/details/historyof51sthig00bews
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: 11^e). Multiple superscripted characters are
enclosed by curly brackets (example: XII^{me}).
THE HISTORY OF THE 51ST (HIGHLAND) DIVISION
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR G. M. HARPER, K.C.B., D.S.O.]
THE HISTORY OF THE 51ST (HIGHLAND) DIVISION
1914-1918
by
MAJOR F. W. BEWSHER
D.S.O., M.C.
Formerly Brigade Major, 152nd Infantry Brigade,
and General Staff Officer, 2nd Grade,
51st (Highland) Division
William Blackwood and Sons
Edinburgh and London
1921
Dedicated
_TO THE YOUTH OF SCOTLAND_.
_In the hope that this record of the courage, skill, and
endurance of a Highland Division may strengthen
their purpose, when their time comes, to uphold in no
lesser degree the great traditions of their forebears._
FOREWORD.
If it were possible for the General who for three years commanded all
the British Divisions in France, and was served with equal gallantry,
devotion, and success by each, to admit a predilection for any of them,
my affection would naturally turn to the Division that drew so many of
its recruits from the same part of Scotland where my boyhood was spent
and my own people lived. Those who read the pages of this book will find
therein a tale of patient endeavour and glorious achievement of which I
claim a good right to be as proud as any of my fellow-countrymen. The
51st Division does not need to boast of its prowess or its record. It
can point to the story of its deeds, plainly and simply told, and leave
the world to judge.
HAIG
OF BEMERSYDE,
F.M.
_8th August 1920._
PREFACE.
In compiling the 'History of the 51st (Highland) Division' I have been
beset by various difficulties, which have contributed towards the long
delay in its publication.
In the first place, it has been written in circumstances in which
military duties have afforded little leisure for continuous effort;
secondly, the work has been carried out in many places, most of them
highly unsuitable for research, such as the desert of Sinai, native
villages and the deserts of Lower Egypt, Jerusalem, Bir Salem, and at
sea.
Not only had the difficulty of transporting from station to station the
large mass of available material to be overcome, but also the conditions
of life in huts and under canvas in an eastern climate are seldom
conducive to clear and consecutive thinking.
Further, the material available has been unequal. Up to the conclusion
of the battle of Arras, no completed narratives of the operations
carried out by the Division were compiled. To this point, therefore, the
only resources were the bald and rather incomplete entries in the
official war diaries and personal diaries, which threw little light on
the operations in their broader aspects.
From the third battle of Ypres onwards a detailed account of all
engagements was published by Divisional Headquarters shortly after the
conclusion of each operation. These have rendered the compiling of the
'History' from this point considerably less laborious, and have allowed
it to be carried out in greater and more accurate detail.
It has been necessary, owing to the increased and increasing cost of
production, to keep the size of this book within certain bounds, and to
reduce as far as possible the number of maps. On this account there has
been no alternative but to restrict the detail in which actions are
described. It is regretted that in consequence much material which
officers and men of the Division and their relatives have submitted,
often at my request, has been necessarily omitted.
It was only thus that the book could be kept sufficiently reduced in
size to prevent its price prohibiting the circulation desired.
The 'History' is now presented with every consciousness on the part of
the author that full justice has not been done to its great subject.
Indeed, it is doubtful if full justice can be done to the part played by
the British Army in the Great War until a generation not intimately
involved in it has arisen and has come to regard the burdens sustained
for over four years by the British soldier in the true perspective.
My thanks are due to all those who have assisted me in the compilation
of this work by the loan of diaries, maps, documents, &c., and in
particular to Lieut.-General Sir G. M. Harper, K.C.B., D.S.O.;
Major-General R. Bannatine-Allason, C.B.; Brigadier-General L. Oldfield,
C.B., C.M.G., D.S.O.; and Colonel Ian Stewart, C.M.G., D.S.O.
General Bannatine-Allason kindly wrote for me the first chapter, and
spared himself no pains in assisting to procure for me information
concerning the early days of the Division in France. Had it not been for
him and Colonel Ian Stewart, information would have been so scanty that
it is doubtful if the earlier chapters could have been written.
To Captain A. Scott, D.S.O., M.C., 7th Argyll and Sutherland
Highlanders, late staff-captain 154th Infantry Brigade, I am
particularly indebted. Captain Scott has kindly relieved me of the
labour of reading through the proofs and of completing the final
arrangements for the publication of this book, a labour which residence
in the Near East would have made it difficult for me to perform.
Lastly, I am indebted to Mr James Blackwood, in no small degree, for
taking upon himself, while I have been abroad, much of the burden of the
preparation of this book for the Press, which would normally have fallen
upon the author.
F. W. B.
HEADQUARTERS, 3RD (LAHORE) DIVISION,
BIR SALEM, PALESTINE.
CONTENTS.
CHAP. PAGE
I. MOBILISATION 1
II. ARRIVAL IN FRANCE--FESTUBERT 10
III. THE PERIOD OF APPRENTICESHIP 28
IV. TRAINING AND REORGANISATION--THE LABYRINTH. 51
V. THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME--HIGH WOOD 73
VI. ARMENTIERES AND HEBUTERNE 87
VII. THE BATTLE OF THE ANCRE--BEAUMONT HAMEL 100
VIII. COURCELETTE 127
IX. THE BATTLE OF ARRAS 138
X. THE BATTLE OF ARRAS (_Contd._)--ROEUX AND
THE CHEMICAL WORKS 160
XI. THE THIRD BATTLE OF YPRES 192
XII. POELCAPPELLE 216
XIII. THE BATTLE of CAMBRAI 233
XIV. THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE 263
XV. THE GERMAN OFFENSIVE (_Contd._)--THE BATTLE
OF THE LYS 296
XVI. WITH THE FRENCH IN CHAMPAGNE 321
XVII. THE CAPTURE OF GREENLAND HILL 356
XVIII. THE OPERATIONS TOWARDS VALENCIENNES 372
XIX. CONCLUSION 408
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PORTRAITS.
LIEUTENANT-GENERAL SIR G. M. HARPER,
K.C.B., D.S.O _Frontispiece_
MAJOR-GENERAL R. BANNATINE-ALLASON, C.B. _Facing p._ 46
T/MAJOR-GENERAL G. T. C. CARTER-CAMPBELL,
C.B., D.S.O. " 274
MAPS.
I. ATTACK NEAR FESTUBERT, 15TH JUNE
1915 " 18
II. HIGH WOOD, JULY 1916 " 74
III. BEAUMONT HAMEL, 13TH NOVEMBER
1916 " 114
IV. CAPTURE OF VIMY RIDGE, 9TH APRIL
1917 " 150
V. THE CHEMICAL WORKS, ROEUX " 162
VI. THIRD BATTLE OF YPRES: ADVANCE
TO THE STEENBEEK, 31ST JULY 1917 " 200
VII. POELCAPPELLE, 20TH SEPTEMBER 1917 " 222
VIII. THE BATTLE OF CAMBRAI: POSITION
AT | 1,487.774737 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.8532100 | 7,435 | 9 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Josephine Paolucci
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net.
[Illustration: The old lady tapped her stick impatiently on the hard
gravel.
PAGE 36.]
ROBIN REDBREAST
A STORY FOR GIRLS
BY
MRS MOLESWORTH
AUTHOR OF 'CARROTS;' 'THE PALACE IN THE GARDEN;' 'A CHARGE FULFILLED;'
'IMOGEN;' 'THE BEWITCHED LAMP,' etc.
WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS BY ROBERT BARNES
W. & R. CHAMBERS, LIMITED
LONDON AND EDINBURGH
A good old country lodge, half hid with blooms
Of honeyed green, and quaint with straggling rooms.
LEIGH HUNT.
Give me simplicity, that I may know Thy ways,
Know them and practise them.
GEORGE HERBERT.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE HOUSE IN THE LANE 7
II. THE OLD LADY 23
III. TWO JACINTHS 39
IV. A LETTER AND A DISCUSSION 54
V. AN OLD STORY 69
VI. BESSIE'S MISGIVINGS 84
VII. AN INVITATION 99
VIII. DELICATE GROUND 116
IX. THE INDIAN MAIL 135
X. THE HARPERS' HOME 150
XI. GREAT NEWS 164
XII. '"CAMILLA" AND "MARGARET," YES' 181
XIII. MAMMA 192
XIV. A COURAGEOUS PLEADER 206
XV. LADY MYRTLE'S INTENTIONS 224
XVI. A BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT 239
XVII. TWO DEGREES OF HONESTY 255
XVIII. I WILL THINK IT OVER 270
XIX. UNCLE MARMY'S GATES 281
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
THE OLD LADY TAPPED HER STICK IMPATIENTLY ON THE
HARD GRAVEL _Frontispiece_
AND THEN FRANCES RELATED THE WHOLE, MARGARET LISTENING
INTENTLY TILL ALMOST THE END Page 75
JACINTH'S BROWS CONTRACTED, AND THE LINES OF HER
DELICATE FACE HARDENED, BUT SHE SAID NOTHING 141
JACINTH SAT DOWN ON A STOOL AT LADY MYRTLE'S FEET
AND LOOKED UP IN HER FACE 177
'IT IS SO GOOD OF YOU, MEETING ME LIKE THIS,' THE
YOUNGER WOMAN WHISPERED 207
'AH WELL!' SAID LADY MYRTLE, 'ANOTHER DREAM VANISHED!' 243
ROBIN REDBREAST.
CHAPTER I.
THE HOUSE IN THE LANE.
It stood not very far from the corner--the corner where the lane turned
off from the high-road. And it suited its name, or its name suited it.
It was such a pretty, cosy-looking house, much larger really than it
seemed at the first glance, for it spread out wonderfully at the back.
It was red too--the out-jutting front, where the deep porch was, looking
specially red, in contrast with the wings, which were entirely covered
with ivy, while this centre was kept clear of any creepers. And high up,
almost in the roof, two curious round windows, which caught and
reflected the sunset glow--for the front was due west--over the top of
the wall, itself so ivy grown that it seemed more like a hedge, might
easily have been taken as representing two bright, watchful eyes. For
these windows were, or always looked as if they were, spotlessly clean
and shining.
'What a quaint name! how uncommon and picturesque!' people used to say
the first time they saw the house and heard what it was called. I don't
know if it will spoil the prettiness and the quaintness if I reveal its
real origin. Not so _very_ long ago, the old house was a queer, rambling
inn, and its sign was the redbreasted bird himself; somewhere up in the
attics, the ancient board that used to swing and creak of a windy night,
was still hidden--it may perhaps be there to this day! And somebody (it
does not matter who, for it was not any somebody that has to do with
this story) took a fancy to the house--fast growing dilapidated, and in
danger of sinking from a respectable old inn into a very undesirable
public-house, for the coaches had left off running, and the old traffic
was all at an end--and bought it just in time to save it from such
degradation.
This somebody repaired and restored it to a certain extent, and then
sold it again. The new owner enlarged and improved it, and built the
high wall which now looked so venerable; for already this was many, many
years ago. The present owner of Robin Redbreast was the daughter of this
gentleman--or nobleman rather--and she had lived in it ever since the
death of her husband, fully twenty years ago.
She was an old woman now. Her name was Lady Myrtle Goodacre. The
Goodacres, her husband's family, belonged to a distant county, and when
_her_ Mr Goodacre died, her connection with his part of the country
seemed to cease, for she had no children, and her thoughts turned to the
neighbourhood of her own old home, and the pretty quaint house not very
far from it, which had been left her by her father, the late earl. And
thither she came. But she was not exactly a sociable old lady, and few
of the Thetford people knew her. So that there grew to be a slight
flavour of mystery about Robin Redbreast.
The lane was about three-quarters of a mile from the little town of
Thetford. Not that it was a little town in its own estimation; like
many small things, it thought itself decidedly important. It was a
pleasant, healthy place, and of late years it had wakened up a good deal
in some directions, of which education was one, so that several families
with boys and girls in want of schooling came and settled there. For the
grammar-school was now prospering under an excellent and energetic
head-master, and there was talk of a high-school for girls.
But this latter institution was still in the clouds or the air, and so
far, the girls of Thetford families had to content themselves with the
teaching to be obtained at two steady-going, somewhat old-fashioned
private schools, of which the respective heads were, oddly enough, the
Misses Scarlett and the Misses Green. There were three Misses Scarlett
and two Misses Green (I fear they were more often described as 'The Miss
Scarletts' and 'The Miss Greens'), and all five were ladies of most
estimable character.
There was no rivalry between the two schools. Each had and held its own
place and line. Ivy Lodge and Brook Bank were perfectly distinct, so
distinct that neither trod on the other's toes. The former, that
presided over by the Scarlett sisters, was recognisedly for the
daughters of the Thetford upper ten thousand; Brook Bank existed for the
little maidens belonging to the shopkeepers and small farmers of and
near the town. Nowadays a high-school would ignore such distinctions and
absorb them all--whether for better or worse is a matter of opinion. But
as things were, I don't think any harm came from the division of
classes; thanks in great measure, very probably, to the good sense and
feeling of the heads of the two schools. On the rare occasions on which
the Misses Scarlett met the Misses Green--at great parish entertainments
or fancy fairs--the latter gave precedence to the former with ready and
smiling deference, sure to be graciously acknowledged by old
white-haired Miss Scarlett with a kindly hand-shake or 'Many thanks,
Miss Green;' the younger sisters following suit. For the Scarletts were
well-born, much better born, indeed, than some of their pupils, and the
Greens had got themselves educated with difficulty, and in their present
position were higher on the social ladder than any of their progenitors
had ever been--higher socially and more successful practically than they
themselves had in past days dared to hope to be. Financially speaking,
it was well known in Thetford that the Greens had made a much better
thing of their school than the Scarletts. The Scarletts were inclined to
be too liberal and too generous. Their boarders were in many instances
the children of former friends or connections, who found it convenient
to trade upon such ties when the questions and difficulties of education
arose, and to suggest that _their_ daughters might be taken on a
different footing.
In a side-street running out of the market-place stood a few well-built,
old, red-brick houses, which were considered among the 'best' residences
in Thetford. No two of them were exactly alike: some were nearly twice
as large as the others; one was high and narrow, its neighbour short and
broad. They were only alike in this, that they all opened straight on to
the wide pavement, and had walled-in, sunny gardens at the back.
In one of the smaller of these houses--a prim, thin-looking house, too
tall for its breadth--lived a maiden lady, well known by some of the
Thetford folk, not indeed _unknown_ to any, for she had made her home in
the town for many years. Her name was Miss Mildmay, or to be quite
correct, Miss Alison Mildmay. For the actual Miss Mildmay was her
niece, a very young girl whom you will hear more about presently.
Miss Alison Mildmay was a very old friend of the Misses Scarlett.
At Number 9 Market Square Place--that was the name of the short row of
houses I have described--some six months or so before the date at which
I think this story may really be said to begin, there had been an
arrival one evening.
It was late October: the days were drawing in; it was almost dark when
the fly from the two-miles-off railway station--I should have explained
that there was no station at Thetford; the inhabitants had petitioned
against the railway coming near them, and now their children had to
suffer the inconvenience of this shortsightedness as best they
might--drew up at Miss Mildmay's door, and out of it stepped four
people--three children, and a young man scarcely more than a boy. There
were two girls, looking about twelve and fourteen, a little fellow of
six or seven, and the young man.
They were all in mourning, and they were all very silent, though in the
momentary delay before the door was opened, the eldest member of the
party found time to whisper to the girls a word or two of encouragement.
'Try to be cheery, darlings,' he said. 'There's nothing to be afraid of,
you know.'
'I'm not afraid, Uncle Marmy,' replied the elder; 'I'm only _awfully_
dull. If--oh, if Francie and I were old enough for you to be going to
take us out to papa and mamma. Oh, if only'----
'Hush,' whispered Uncle Marmy. He looked young to be an uncle, younger
still to be, as he was, a full-fledged lieutenant in the 200th. 'Hush,
dear,' as the door opened.
Miss Mildmay was at home--it would have been strange had she not been
so, considering that she had known for quite a week the exact day and
hour at which her guests were expected. But it would have seemed less
strange and more natural had she been there in the hall, hurrying
forward to meet them, instead of waiting, to all appearance calmly
enough, in the long bare drawing-room, into which the parlour-maid at
once ushered them. She was a small woman, neat and pleasing in
appearance, and her manner was sufficiently cordial as she came forward;
though the reverse of demonstrative, it was dry rather than cold.
'You are very punctual,' she said as she kissed the children and shook
hands with their young escort, saying as she did so, 'Mr Denison, I
presume?'
'Yes,' he replied; adding in a cheerful tone, 'it is a case of
introducing ourselves all round. You have never seen my--"our" I may
say--nieces and nephew before?'
'No,' said Miss Mildmay. 'I am a very, an exceedingly busy person, and I
rarely leave home, and never have visitors. So, though my brother's
children have been so many years in England, they might have been as
many more without our meeting, but for--these unforeseen circumstances.'
It seemed as if some less vague expression had been on her lips, but
glancing round, she had caught sight of a tremulous flutter amidst the
black garments of the two girls seated beside her--the elder stretching
out her hand to clasp her sister's. Miss Alison Mildmay dreaded'scenes'
of all things; possibly, too, she felt conscious that her words sounded
harsh. For she added quickly, 'Of course, I don't count these young
folk as visitors. I hope they will very soon feel quite at home here,
and no doubt we shall fall into each other's ways nicely.'
The little speech cost her an effort; but she was rewarded for it.
Marmaduke Denison could not restrain an audible sigh of relief.
'Thank you,' he said, with what sounded almost exaggerated fervour,
'thank you so much. It is--it has been very good of you to--to arrange
as you have done. I assure you my sister and Mildmay appreciate it
thoroughly.'
A shade of stiffness returned again to her manner.
'I quite understand my brother,' she said coldly. And though Uncle Marmy
was too deeply in earnest to mind the snub, he wished he had answered
less effusively.
'Do you think Eugene is like his father?' he said quietly, drawing
forward the little fellow, who had been standing somewhat in the
background.
The aunt's face softened again. And truly the boy was a pleasant object
for her eyes to rest upon. He was very fair as to hair and complexion,
though his eyes were dark and wistful; he was an extremely pretty child.
'Yes,' she said more cordially than she had yet spoken. 'He is like
Frank, but he has his mother's eyes.'
Again the feeling of relief stole over the young man.
'She can't be so cold as she seems,' he reflected. 'I fancy I could get
on with her, and I daresay Francie and Eugene will. It is Jacinth I am
anxious about.' And he glanced at the elder girl, as the thought passed
through his mind. So far neither she nor her sister had spoken. Jacinth
sat there with a grave, almost expressionless face, her lips compressed
in a way which her uncle knew well. And suddenly he became aware of a
curious thing. It almost made him smile. This was an undoubted
resemblance between his elder niece and her aunt!
'I wonder how that will work,' he thought. 'I wonder if it is only
superficial or if it goes deeper? If so, I hope poor Jass will have a
wider life than has evidently fallen to the lot of this good lady.' And
then, as it struck him that they were all sitting silent in most
constrained discomfort, he thrust aside his reflections and forced his
attention to return to the present.
'Perhaps I had better be looking up my quarters at the inn,' he said,
rising. 'I found I could get up to town practically almost as early by
the morning's express as by a night train. So if you will allow me, Miss
Mildmay, I will look in first thing to-morrow for another glimpse of
these little people.'
'But you will return to dine--at least not to dine, but--well, call it
high tea or supper, whichever you like,' said his hostess, cordially.
'Unless, of course, you prefer'----
Marmaduke stood irresolute. He was desperately afraid of annoying Miss
Mildmay.
'Oh no, of course not,' he began, 'but I'm'----
A sudden impulse seized Jacinth. She felt as if she must do
something--if she sat still a moment longer she would burst into tears.
She sprang to her feet and caught her uncle's arm. 'Oh, _do_ come back,
Marmy,' she said. 'You don't know.--Aunt Alison, do say he must.'
'Of course he must,' said Miss Mildmay. 'I am not going out this evening
as I usually do. I have given myself a holiday in honour of your
arrival, so pray come back as soon as you have ordered your room at the
_Swan_, Mr Denison,' And Marmaduke smilingly consented.
This little incident seemed to have thawed them all.
'I will show you your rooms now,' said Miss Mildmay, when, the young man
had gone. 'You two girls are to be together of course, and Eugene's
little room is on the next floor.'
Eugene, who was following with his sister Frances, whose hand he held,
here squeezed it while he looked up in her face with anxiety.
'Never mind,' she whispered. 'It's quite a little house compared to
granny's, Eugene. You can't be far away. Very likely you'll be just
overhead, and so if you want us in the night you can knock on the
floor.'
This seemed to satisfy the child, and the sight of his room, which
though small was bright and cheerful, went still further to reassure
him.
'It will be nice to have a room of my own,' he said bravely. 'At
granny's I slept in the night nursery with nurse.'
'But you're a big boy now, you know,' said Jacinth, hastily, as if
afraid of her aunt thinking him babyish.
'Yes, of course,' agreed Miss Mildmay. 'I cannot promise you that you
will find everything here the same as at your poor grandmother's. You
always called her your grandmother, I suppose,' she went on, turning to
Jacinth, 'though she was not really any blood relation.'
The girl's lip quivered, but she controlled herself. 'We--we never
thought about that,' she said. 'And then, of course, she was Uncle
Manny's own mother, and we are so _very_ fond of him.'
'Ah! he seems a nice young fellow, but so very young, and Mrs Denison
was quite elderly. But she was more than middle-aged when she married,
of course,' said Miss Mildmay.
There was a slight, almost indescribable tone of condescension or
disparagement in her voice, the reason of which I will explain. Both the
girls were conscious of it, but it affected them in different ways.
'Ye--es,' began Jacinth, hesitatingly, 'I know'----
But Frances here broke in eagerly.
'You are not explaining it properly to Aunt Alison, Jacinth. You know
you're not. It wasn't only or principally for Uncle Marmy's sake that we
loved dear granny. She was as sweet and good to us as she could be, and
I'd have loved her awfully if she hadn't been--been any relation--at
all;' but here the little girl ignominiously burst into tears.
Miss Mildmay the elder glanced at her with scant sympathy.
'I suppose she is over-tired, poor child,' she said to Jacinth. 'I will
leave you to take off your things. Come down as soon as you can; you
will feel better when you have had something to eat;' and she turned to
go. They were standing in the girls' own room. But at the door she
paused a moment. 'Shall I send up Phebe?' she said. 'That is the young
girl I have engaged to wait upon you three. No, perhaps,' as her eyes
fell on the still weeping Frances, 'it would be better to wait a little.
Just take off your outdoor things. The trunks will be brought up while
we are at tea, and then Phebe can begin to unpack.'
She was scarcely out of hearing when Jacinth turned upon her sister.
'I'm ashamed of you, Frances,' she said. 'Crying and sobbing like that,
when you can see Aunt Alison isn't the sort of person to have any
patience with silliness! Such a beginning to have made! And it isn't as
if it was really about--about poor granny.' Here it must be owned her
voice faltered. 'It was just that you were vexed with me.'
'Well, and if I was,' replied Frances, drying her eyes and swallowing
down her sobs. 'I don't like you to speak coldly of granny, for you did
love her in your heart, I know, dearly. Aunt Alison looks down upon her,
just because she wasn't quite--no, she _was_ quite a lady--but because
she wasn't at all grand. And there's some excuse for her, because she
didn't know her. But for us it would be _too_ horrid, when she was so
good to us, even all those years she was so suffering and feeble. And
then, for Uncle Manny's sake too.'
'There now,' said Jacinth, not sorry to turn aside the reproach which
conscience told her she had merited. 'You are saying the very thing you
blamed me for--but truly, Francie, I didn't mean anything not nice to
dear granny. I felt that Aunt Alison couldn't _understand_ what she was;
and--and--it was no use seeming to take up the cudgels for our other
relations the moment we came.'
There was something in this, and no doubt a reluctance to discuss their
grandmother with a stranger, and a prejudiced stranger, had mingled with
Jacinth's desire to propitiate her aunt. So the sisters kissed and made
friends, and when a few minutes afterwards they went down-stairs, and Mr
Denison made his appearance again, the traces of tears had all but
vanished from Frances's fair face.
The two girls had been five years in England, little Eugene three; and
during all these years, owing to exceptional circumstances and unlucky
coincidences, they had never seen their parents. Nor was there any
prospect of their doing so for three or four years to come. All this
time had been spent under the care of their mother's step-mother, Mrs
Denison, whose recent death had thrown them again, in a sense, on the
world, and the best Colonel Mildmay could arrange for them was the
somewhat unwilling guardianship of his elder sister Alison. She was an
honourable and well-meaning woman, who had found her own sphere in
active good works among the poor of Thetford. But she did not understand
or care for children, and the charge of her nieces and nephew she only
accepted as a duty.
'I will do my best,' she wrote to the parents in India, 'but I dare not
promise that it will be all you could wish. Still there are undoubtedly
advantages here, in the way of schools, and the place is healthy. I will
give what time I can to the children, but I cannot give up all my
present responsibilities and occupations. You would not expect it. I
fear the children may find my rules strict, for--owing to Mrs Denison's
long ill-health and peculiarly gentle character--I think it scarcely to
be expected that they are not somewhat spoilt.'
She was right. It scarcely _was_ to be expected. It was marvellous that
the girls and their little brother were not more'spoilt.' Mrs Denison
adored them, and could see no fault in them. Nor was she in any sense a
clever or strong-minded woman. Of inferior birth to her late
husband--the daughter of merely the village doctor--she had married him
when she was nearly forty, making the kindest of stepmothers to his only
child, now Mrs Mildmay; loving her in no sense less devotedly than she
loved her own son, Marmaduke, the child of Mr Denison's old age--the
Uncle Marmy, who was more like an elder brother than an uncle to the
little trio sent home to his mother's care.
But Mrs Denison was so essentially _good_, so single-minded and
truthful, that her influence, even her too great unselfishness for their
sake, had not radically injured her grandchildren. Her death had been
preceded by a slow and gradual decline--none of those about her
suspected the extent of the sufferings she hid so resolutely under a
calm and cheerful exterior--and the end came gently with no bitterness
or shock. Even to Marmaduke, though he loved her devotedly, she had
seemed more like a grandmother than a mother, and her gradual enforced
withdrawal from the family life had prepared him and the girls for what
had to be.
Perhaps the full realisation of their loss only came home to them, when
the question of where they were all to go was decided by a letter from
Colonel Mildmay, telling of his arrangement with his sister, and by
Marmaduke's receiving orders to start almost at once for India.
'I'm glad they didn't come before,' he said. 'If only I could take you
all out with me;' for his regiment was that of his brother-in-law.
'Yes indeed--if only!' said Jacinth, as she said again that first
evening at Thetford.
Stannesley, the Denisons' old home, was to be let. Though not a very
large place, it was expensive to keep up, and Marmaduke was somewhat
short of ready money, and not as yet ambitious of the quiet life of a
country squire. His father had been easy-going, his mother no specially
endowed woman of business; things had suffered, and rents had gone down.
It would need some years' economy before the young man could retire to
live in the old liberal way. But he did not mind; the world was before
him, and he loved his profession.
That first evening in Market Square Place passed on the whole more
cheerfully than might have been expected. Miss Mildmay was practically
kind--more self-denying than her guests realised, for out of
consideration for them, she had renounced attendance that evening at a
committee meeting of which she was the ruling spirit, and those who
knew her well would have seen that to sit for two or three hours 'with
her hands before her,' in her drawing-room, made her feel sadly like a
fish out of water.
But the four new-comers were too preoccupied to observe her
restlessness; the younger ones were tired too, and anxious for them to
feel as cheerful as possible the next day, their uncle left early,
advising Miss Mildmay to send them all off to bed.
'I am not leaving till twelve o'clock after all,' he said,'so, if you
have no objection I'll call in about half-past ten, and take these three
young people a walk. I'd like to see something of Thetford: its looks so
pretty.'
It was something to look forward to--another glimpse of the dear kind
boyish face. And with the thought of the next morning's walk together,
in their mind, the girls went to bed, and got up in good time for their
aunt's early breakfast, trying to look and feel as cheerful as they
could.
Marmaduke was more than punctual. It was barely ten o'clock when he rang
at the door and came in briskly, saying it was such a lovely day he had
thought it a pity to lose any of it.
It could not be anything but a sad walk, though they all tried to
pretend it was not, and Uncle Marmy talked very fast and made all sorts
of jokes, which Jacinth and Frances saw through, though they made Eugene
laugh.
'Thetford's a very pretty place, really,' said Jacinth. 'There are
lovely walks on every side, I should think. Do you suppose we shall go
walks with the girls at our school, Uncle Marmy, or by ourselves with
Phebe?'
'By yourselves, I should think. You are only to be at school till one
o'clock,' he replied.
'Oh, that will be much nicer,' said both the girls; 'we shall explore
the neighbourhood. Oh what a pretty lane!' for they were just then
passing Robin Redbreast corner. 'Do let us go down it a little way,
uncle,' added Frances, 'I see what looks like a gate into a garden.'
And a moment or two later, the four stood, breathless with admiration,
in front of the great gates in the high ivy-covered wall I have
described.
The clear spring sunshine was falling brightly on the quaint old house;
what of the garden could be seen was exquisitely neat and trim; Robin
Redbreast was looking charming.
'What a _delicious_ old house!' said Jacinth. 'I wonder who lives here?'
and she gave a little sigh. 'Now, Uncle Marmy, wouldn't it be perfectly
lovely if papa's time was out, and he and mamma had come home and we
were all going to live here--just _fancy_!'
'It's awfully pretty,' said Marmaduke, 'but when your father's time's up
I want you all to come back to live at Stannesley with me.'
Jacinth laughed.
'No, that wouldn't do,' she said. 'You'd be getting married. No, it
would be much the nicest for us to live here and you at Stannesley, and
for us to pay each other lovely visits. Of course we'd always be
together at Christmas and times like that. And your wife must be very,
_very_ nice--like a sort of elder sister to us, you know, and'----
'My darlings,' said poor Marmy, to whom it had suddenly occurred to look
at his watch, 'time's up--or just about it. We must hurry back.'
'Let's say good-bye here,' said Frances. 'Let's kiss you here, darling
uncle, not before Aunt Alison in her drawing-room. And, oh, I _will_ try
not to cry.'
So it came to pass that almost their first memory of their new home was
associated for the three children with Robin Redbreast, the old house in
the lane. Often as they passed it, it always brought back to them Uncle
Marmy's sunburnt face and kind eyes, and again they seemed to hear his
'Good-bye, my darlings, good-bye,' which he strove hard to utter without
letting them hear the break in his usually hearty and cheery voice.
Half-an-hour later he was gone.
CHAPTER II.
THE OLD LADY.
It was six months now since the arrival at the house in Market Square
Place. Mr Denison had been long with the regiment at----No, it does not
specially matter where it was in India. The sisters got letters from
him, as well as from their mother, by almost every mail, and in each he
repeated the same thing--that he had never in his life found himself a
person of so much consequence as Colonel and Mrs Mildmay considered him,
seeing that he could give them direct news and description of their
three children. And on their side, this seemed to make their parents
more real and to draw them nearer to Jacinth and Frances, increasing
more and more the intense longing for their return.
It is autumn, a pleasant season in this part of the country--really
pleasanter perhaps, though one is reluctant to allow it, than the
lovely, fascinating, capriciously joyous spring--and it is a Friday.
Jacinth and Frances Mildmay are walking home from school, carrying their
little bag of books. For Saturday is a whole holiday--no going to school
that is to say--so, naturally, some lessons must be learnt at home for
Monday.
'Aren't you glad to think to-morrow's Saturday, Jass?' said Frances. 'If
only Aunt Alison would let us stay in bed half-an-hour later on Saturday
mornings, it _would_ be nice.'
'You lazy little thing!' said Jacinth, 'no, I don't think it would be
nice at all. I'd rather get up even earlier than usual on a holiday, and
feel we have the whole long day before us. It's one of the things I
admire Aunt Alison for--that she's so punctual and regular; we'd _never_
have been in time at school every morning, Francie, if our home had
still been at poor granny's.'
'I don't like you to say "poor" granny,' said Frances, rather irritably.
'Say "dear" granny. And Jacinth, whether it's true or not that in some
ways we were rather spoilt and--and--not methodical and all that, at
Stannesley, I wish you'd _never_ say it to Aunt Alison. She's quite
ready enough to be down on all the ways there.'
'If ever I've said anything of the kind,' said Jacinth, 'it's only been
as a sort of excuse | 1,487.87325 |
2023-11-16 18:41:51.9541920 | 764 | 13 |
Produced by Simon Gardner, Dianna Adair, Louise Davies and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by the Digital & Multimedia
Center, Michigan State University Libraries.)
Transcriber's Notes
Archaic, dialect and inconsistent spellings have been retained as in the
original. Other than minor changes to format or punctuation, any changes
to the text have been listed at the end of the book.
In this Plain Text version of the e-book, symbols from the ASCII
character set only are used. The following substitutions are made for
other symbols, accent and diacritics in the text:
[ae] and [AE] = ae-ligature (upper and lower case).
[^a] = a-circumflex
[:a] = a-umlaut
[oa] = a-ring
[c,] = c-cedilla
['e] = e-acute
[e'] = e-grave
[~n] = n-tilde
[:o] = o-umlaut
[OE] and [oe] = oe-ligature (upper and lower case).
[S] = section symbol
[:u] = u-umlaut
Other conventions used to represent the original text are as follows:
Italic typeface is indicated by _underscores_.
Small caps typeface is represented by UPPER CASE.
Superscript characters are indicated by ^{xx}.
A pointing hand symbol is represented as [hand].
Footnotes are numbered in sequence throughout the book and presented at
the end of the section or ballad in which the footnote anchor appears.
Notes with reference to ballad line numbers are presented at the end of
each ballad.
* * * * *
ENGLISH AND SCOTTISH
BALLADS.
EDITED BY
FRANCIS JAMES CHILD.
VOLUME III.
BOSTON:
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY.
M.DCCC.LX.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857 by LITTLE,
BROWN AND COMPANY, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of
Massachusetts.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H.O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME THIRD.
BOOK III. (continued.)
Page
11 a. Earl Richard, (A) [Scott's version] 3
11 b. Earl Richard, [Motherwell's version] 10
11 c. Young Redin 13
11 d. Lord William 18
12 a. Prince Robert 22
12 b. Earl Robert 26
13. The Weary Coble o' Cargill 30
14. Old Robin of Portingale 34
15. Fause Foodrage 40
16. Bonnie Annie 47
17. William Guiseman 50
18 a. The Enchanted Ring 53
18 b. Bonny Bee-Ho'm 57
19 a. The Three Ravens 59
19 b. The Twa Corbies, [Scott] 61
20 a. The D | 1,487.974232 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.0531640 | 7,436 | 17 |
Produced by G. R. Young
"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER"
by Oliver Goldsmith
She Stoops To Conquer; Or, The Mistakes Of A Night.
A Comedy.
To Samuel Johnson, LL.D.
Dear Sir,--By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean
so much to compliment you as myself. It may do me some honour to
inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you.
It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the
greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most
unaffected piety.
I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this
performance. The undertaking a comedy not merely sentimental was very
dangerous; and Mr. Colman, who saw this piece in its various stages,
always thought it so. However, I ventured to trust it to the public;
and, though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season, I have
every reason to be grateful.
I am, dear Sir, your most sincere friend and admirer,
OLIVER GOLDSMITH.
PROLOGUE,
By David Garrick, Esq.
Enter MR. WOODWARD, dressed in black, and holding a handkerchief
to his eyes.
Excuse me, sirs, I pray--I can't yet speak--
I'm crying now--and have been all the week.
"'Tis not alone this mourning suit," good masters:
"I've that within"--for which there are no plasters!
Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying?
The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!
And if she goes, my tears will never stop;
For as a player, I can't squeeze out one drop:
I am undone, that's all--shall lose my bread--
I'd rather, but that's nothing--lose my head.
When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
Shuter and I shall be chief mourners here.
To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
Who deals in sentimentals, will succeed!
Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents;
We can as soon speak Greek as sentiments!
Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up.
We now and then take down a hearty cup.
What shall we do? If Comedy forsake us,
They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us.
But why can't I be moral?--Let me try--
My heart thus pressing--fixed my face and eye--
With a sententious look, that nothing means,
(Faces are blocks in sentimental scenes)
Thus I begin: "All is not gold that glitters,
"Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
"When Ignorance enters, Folly is at hand:
"Learning is better far than house and land.
"Let not your virtue trip; who trips may stumble,
"And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble."
I give it up--morals won't do for me;
To make you laugh, I must play tragedy.
One hope remains--hearing the maid was ill,
A Doctor comes this night to show his skill.
To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
He, in Five Draughts prepar'd, presents a potion:
A kind of magic charm--for be assur'd,
If you will swallow it, the maid is cur'd:
But desperate the Doctor, and her case is,
If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
No poisonous drugs are mixed in what he gives.
Should he succeed, you'll give him his degree;
If not, within he will receive no fee!
The College YOU, must his pretensions back,
Pronounce him Regular, or dub him Quack.
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
MEN.
SIR CHARLES MARLOW Mr. Gardner.
YOUNG MARLOW (His Son) Mr. Lee Lewes.
HARDCASTLE Mr. Shuter.
HASTINGS Mr. Dubellamy.
TONY LUMPKIN Mr. Quick.
DIGGORY Mr. Saunders.
WOMEN.
MRS. HARDCASTLE Mrs. Green.
MISS HARDCASTLE Mrs. Bulkley.
MISS NEVILLE Mrs. Kniveton.
MAID Miss Williams.
LANDLORD, SERVANTS, Etc. Etc.
ACT THE FIRST.
SCENE--A Chamber in an old-fashioned House.
Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular. Is
there a creature in the whole country but ourselves, that does not take
a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little? There's the
two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's
polishing every winter.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the
whole year. I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home! In
my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they
travel faster than a stage-coach. Its fopperies come down not only as
inside passengers, but in the very basket.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Ay, your times were fine times indeed; you have been
telling us of them for many a long year. Here we live in an old
rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we
never see company. Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the
curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-master; and all
our entertainment your old stories of Prince Eugene and the Duke of
Marlborough. I hate such old-fashioned trumpery.
HARDCASTLE. And I love it. I love everything that's old: old
friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wine; and I believe,
Dorothy (taking her hand), you'll own I have been pretty fond of an old
wife.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Lord, Mr. Hardcastle, you're for ever at your
Dorothys and your old wifes. You may be a Darby, but I'll be no Joan,
I promise you. I'm not so old as you'd make me, by more than one good
year. Add twenty to twenty, and make money of that.
HARDCASTLE. Let me see; twenty added to twenty makes just fifty and
seven.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. It's false, Mr. Hardcastle; I was but twenty when I
was brought to bed of Tony, that I had by Mr. Lumpkin, my first
husband; and he's not come to years of discretion yet.
HARDCASTLE. Nor ever will, I dare answer for him. Ay, you have
taught him finely.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. No matter. Tony Lumpkin has a good fortune. My son
is not to live by his learning. I don't think a boy wants much
learning to spend fifteen hundred a year.
HARDCASTLE. Learning, quotha! a mere composition of tricks and
mischief.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Humour, my dear; nothing but humour. Come, Mr.
Hardcastle, you must allow the boy a little humour.
HARDCASTLE. I'd sooner allow him a horse-pond. If burning the
footmen's shoes, frightening the maids, and worrying the kittens be
humour, he has it. It was but yesterday he fastened my wig to the back
of my chair, and when I went to make a bow, I popt my bald head in Mrs.
Frizzle's face.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. And am I to blame? The poor boy was always too
sickly to do any good. A school would be his death. When he comes to
be a little stronger, who knows what a year or two's Latin may do for
him?
HARDCASTLE. Latin for him! A cat and fiddle. No, no; the alehouse
and the stable are the only schools he'll ever go to.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Well, we must not snub the poor boy now, for I
believe we shan't have him long among us. Anybody that looks in his
face may see he's consumptive.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, if growing too fat be one of the symptoms.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. He coughs sometimes.
HARDCASTLE. Yes, when his liquor goes the wrong way.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I'm actually afraid of his lungs.
HARDCASTLE. And truly so am I; for he sometimes whoops like a
speaking trumpet--(Tony hallooing behind the scenes)--O, there he
goes--a very consumptive figure, truly.
Enter TONY, crossing the stage.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Tony, where are you going, my charmer? Won't you
give papa and I a little of your company, lovee?
TONY. I'm in haste, mother; I cannot stay.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. You shan't venture out this raw evening, my dear; you
look most shockingly.
TONY. I can't stay, I tell you. The Three Pigeons expects me down
every moment. There's some fun going forward.
HARDCASTLE. Ay; the alehouse, the old place: I thought so.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. A low, paltry set of fellows.
TONY. Not so low, neither. There's Dick Muggins the exciseman, Jack
Slang the horse doctor, Little Aminadab that grinds the music box, and
Tom Twist that spins the pewter platter.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. Pray, my dear, disappoint them for one night at
least.
TONY. As for disappointing them, I should not so much mind; but I
can't abide to disappoint myself.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. (detaining him.) You shan't go.
TONY. I will, I tell you.
MRS. HARDCASTLE. I say you shan't.
TONY. We'll see which is strongest, you or I. [Exit, hauling her
out.]
HARDCASTLE. (solus.) Ay, there goes a pair that only spoil each
other. But is not the whole age in a combination to drive sense and
discretion out of doors? There's my pretty darling Kate! the fashions
of the times have almost infected her too. By living a year or two in
town, she is as fond of gauze and French frippery as the best of them.
Enter MISS HARDCASTLE.
HARDCASTLE. Blessings on my pretty innocence! drest out as usual, my
Kate. Goodness! What a quantity of superfluous silk hast thou got
about thee, girl! I could never teach the fools of this age, that the
indigent world could be clothed out of the trimmings of the vain.
MISS HARDCASTLE. You know our agreement, sir. You allow me the
morning to receive and pay visits, and to dress in my own manner; and
in the evening I put on my housewife's dress to please you.
HARDCASTLE. Well, remember, I insist on the terms of our agreement;
and, by the bye, I believe I shall have occasion to try your obedience
this very evening.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I protest, sir, I don't comprehend your meaning.
HARDCASTLE. Then to be plain with you, Kate, I expect the young
gentleman I have chosen to be your husband from town this very day. I
have his father's letter, in which he informs me his son is set out,
and that he intends to follow himself shortly after.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Indeed! I wish I had known something of this
before. Bless me, how shall I behave? It's a thousand to one I
shan't like him; our meeting will be so formal, and so like a thing of
business, that I shall find no room for friendship or esteem.
HARDCASTLE. Depend upon it, child, I'll never control your choice; but
Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir
Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young
gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in
the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent
understanding.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Is he?
HARDCASTLE. Very generous.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I believe I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE. Young and brave.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm sure I shall like him.
HARDCASTLE. And very handsome.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, say no more, (kissing his hand), he's
mine; I'll have him.
HARDCASTLE. And, to crown all, Kate, he's one of the most bashful and
reserved young fellows in all the world.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Eh! you have frozen me to death again. That word
RESERVED has undone all the rest of his accomplishments. A reserved
lover, it is said, always makes a suspicious husband.
HARDCASTLE. On the contrary, modesty seldom resides in a breast that
is not enriched with nobler virtues. It was the very feature in his
character that first struck me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. He must have more striking features to catch me, I
promise you. However, if he be so young, so handsome, and so
everything as you mention, I believe he'll do still. I think I'll have
him.
HARDCASTLE. Ay, Kate, but there is still an obstacle. It's more than
an even wager he may not have you.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My dear papa, why will you mortify one so?--Well, if
he refuses, instead of breaking my heart at his indifference, I'll only
break my glass for its flattery, set my cap to some newer fashion, and
look out for some less difficult admirer.
HARDCASTLE. Bravely resolved! In the mean time I'll go prepare the
servants for his reception: as we seldom see company, they want as much
training as a company of recruits the first day's muster. [Exit.]
MISS HARDCASTLE. (Alone). Lud, this news of papa's puts me all in a
flutter. Young, handsome: these he put last; but I put them foremost.
Sensible, good-natured; I like all that. But then reserved and
sheepish; that's much against him. Yet can't he be cured of his
timidity, by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't
I--But I vow I'm disposing of the husband before I have secured the
lover.
Enter MISS NEVILLE.
MISS HARDCASTLE. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me,
Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical
about me? Is it one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in face
to-day?
MISS NEVILLE. Perfectly, my dear. Yet now I look again--bless
me!--sure no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold
fishes. Has your brother or the cat been meddling? or has the last
novel been too moving?
MISS HARDCASTLE. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened--I
can scarce get it out--I have been threatened with a lover.
MISS NEVILLE. And his name--
MISS HARDCASTLE. Is Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. Indeed!
MISS HARDCASTLE. The son of Sir Charles Marlow.
MISS NEVILLE. As I live, the most intimate friend of Mr. Hastings, my
admirer. They are never asunder. I believe you must have seen him
when we lived in town.
MISS HARDCASTLE. Never.
MISS NEVILLE. He's a very singular character, I assure you. Among
women of reputation and virtue he is the modestest man alive; but his
acquaintance give him a very different character among creatures of
another stamp: you understand me.
MISS HARDCASTLE. An odd character indeed. I shall never be able to
manage him. What shall I do? Pshaw, think no more of him, but trust
to occurrences for success. But how goes on your own affair, my dear?
has my mother been courting you for my brother Tony as usual?
MISS NEVILLE. I have just come from one of our agreeable
tete-a-tetes. She has been saying a hundred tender things, and setting
off her pretty monster as the very pink of perfection.
MISS HARDCASTLE. And her partiality is such, that she actually thinks
him so. A fortune like yours is no small temptation. Besides, as she
has the sole management of it, I'm not surprised to see her unwilling
to let it go out of the family.
MISS NEVILLE. A fortune like mine, which chiefly consists in jewels,
is no such mighty temptation. But at any rate, if my dear Hastings be
but constant, I make no doubt to be too hard for her at last. However,
I let her suppose that I am in love with her son; and she never once
dreams that my affections are fixed upon another.
MISS HARDCASTLE. My good brother holds out stoutly. I could almost
love him for hating you so.
MISS NEVILLE. It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure
would wish to see me married to anybody but himself. But my aunt's
bell rings for our afternoon's walk round the improvements. Allons!
Courage is necessary, as our affairs are critical.
MISS HARDCASTLE. "Would it were bed-time, and all were well."
[Exeunt.]
SCENE--An Alehouse Room. Several shabby Fellows with punch and
tobacco. TONY at the head of the table, a little higher than the
rest, a mallet in his hand.
OMNES. Hurrea! hurrea! hurrea! bravo!
FIRST FELLOW Now, gentlemen, silence for a song. The'squire is
going to knock himself down for a song.
OMNES. Ay, a song, a song!
TONY. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made upon this
alehouse, the Three Pigeons.
SONG.
Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning,
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain,
Gives GENUS a better discerning.
Let them brag of their heathenish gods,
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians,
Their Quis, and their Quaes, and their Quods,
They're all but a parcel of Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
When methodist preachers come down,
A-preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown,
They always preach best with a skinful.
But when you come down with your pence,
For a slice of their scurvy religion,
I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you, my good friend, are the Pigeon.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
Then come, put the jorum about,
And let us be merry and clever,
Our hearts and our liquors are stout,
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons for ever.
Let some cry up woodcock or hare,
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons;
But of all the GAY birds in the air,
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll.
OMNES. Bravo, bravo!
FIRST FELLOW. The'squire has got spunk in him.
SECOND FELLOW. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us
nothing that's low.
THIRD FELLOW. O damn anything that's low, I cannot bear it.
FOURTH FELLOW. The genteel thing is the genteel thing any time: if so
be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly.
THIRD FELLOW. I likes the maxum of it, Master Muggins. What, though I
am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that.
May this be my poison, if my bear ever dances but to the very
genteelest of tunes; "Water Parted," or "The minuet in Ariadne."
SECOND FELLOW. What a pity it is the'squire is not come to his own.
It would be well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him.
TONY. Ecod, and so it would, Master Slang. I'd then show what it was
to keep choice of company.
SECOND FELLOW. O he takes after his own father for that. To be sure
old 'Squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes on.
For winding the straight horn, or beating a thicket for a hare, or a
wench, he never had his fellow. It was a saying in the place, that he
kept the best horses, dogs, and girls, in the whole county.
TONY. Ecod, and when I'm of age, I'll be no bastard, I promise you. I
have been thinking of Bet Bouncer and the miller's grey mare to begin
with. But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no
reckoning. Well, Stingo, what's the matter?
Enter Landlord.
LANDLORD. There be two gentlemen in a post-chaise at the door. They
have lost their way upo' the forest; and they are talking something
about Mr. Hardcastle.
TONY. As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's
coming down to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners?
LANDLORD. I believe they may. They look woundily like Frenchmen.
TONY. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a
twinkling. (Exit Landlord.) Gentlemen, as they mayn't be good enough
company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the
squeezing of a lemon. [Exeunt mob.]
TONY. (solus). Father-in-law has been calling me whelp and hound this
half year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged upon the old
grumbletonian. But then I'm afraid--afraid of what? I shall soon be
worth fifteen hundred a year, and let him frighten me out of THAT if he
can.
Enter Landlord, conducting MARLOW and HASTINGS.
MARLOW. What a tedious uncomfortable day have we had of it! We were
told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have come above
threescore.
HASTINGS. And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable reserve of yours,
that would not let us inquire more frequently on the way.
MARLOW. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an
obligation to every one I meet, and often stand the chance of an
unmannerly answer.
HASTINGS. At present, however, we are not likely to receive any
answer.
TONY. No offence, gentlemen. But I'm told you have been inquiring for
one Mr. Hardcastle in these parts. Do you know what part of the
country you are in?
HASTINGS. Not in the least, sir, but should thank you for
information.
TONY. Nor the way you came?
HASTINGS. No, sir: but if you can inform us----
TONY. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor
where you are, nor the road you came, the first thing I have to inform
you is, that--you have lost your way.
MARLOW. We wanted no ghost to tell us that.
TONY. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold so as to ask the place from
whence you came?
MARLOW. That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go.
TONY. No offence; but question for question is all fair, you know.
Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grained,
old-fashioned, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a
pretty son?
HASTINGS. We have not seen the gentleman; but he has the family you
mention.
TONY. The daughter, a tall, trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole;
the son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that everybody is fond
of.
MARLOW. Our information differs in this. The daughter is said to be
well-bred and beautiful; the son an awkward booby, reared up and
spoiled at his mother's apron-string.
TONY. He-he-hem!--Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you
won't reach Mr. Hardcastle's house this night, I believe.
HASTINGS. Unfortunate!
TONY. It's a damn'd long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way. Stingo,
tell the gentlemen the way to Mr. Hardcastle's! (Winking upon the
Landlord.) Mr. Hardcastle's, of Quagmire Marsh, you understand me.
LANDLORD. Master Hardcastle's! Lock-a-daisy, my masters, you're come
a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you
should have crossed down Squash Lane.
MARLOW. Cross down Squash Lane!
LANDLORD. Then you were to keep straight forward, till you came to
four roads.
MARLOW. Come to where four roads meet?
TONY. Ay; but you must be sure to take only one of them.
MARLOW. O, sir, you're facetious.
TONY. Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come
upon Crackskull Common: there you must look sharp for the track of the
wheel, and go forward till you come to farmer Murrain's barn. Coming
to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the
left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old
mill--
MARLOW. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude!
HASTINGS. What's to be done, Marlow?
MARLOW. This house promises but a poor reception; though perhaps the
landlord can accommodate us.
LANDLORD. Alack, master, we have but one spare bed in the whole
house.
TONY. And to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already.
(After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.) I have hit it.
Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could accommodate the gentlemen
by the fire-side, with----three chairs and a bolster?
HASTINGS. I hate sleeping by the fire-side.
MARLOW. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster.
TONY. You do, do you? then, let me see--what if you go on a mile
further, to the Buck's Head; the old Buck's Head on the hill, one of
the best inns in the whole county?
HASTINGS. O ho! so we have escaped an adventure for this night,
however.
LANDLORD. (apart to TONY). Sure, you ben't sending them to your
father's as an inn, be you?
TONY. Mum, you fool you. Let THEM find that out. (To them.) You
have only to keep on straight forward, till you come to a large old
house by the road side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the
door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you.
HASTINGS. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants can't miss the
way?
TONY. No, no: but I tell you, though, the landlord is rich, and going
to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving
your presence, he! he! he! He'll be for giving you his company; and,
ecod, if you mind him, he'll persuade you that his mother was an
alderman, and his aunt a justice of peace.
LANDLORD. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; but a keeps as good
wines and beds as any in the whole country.
MARLOW. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no farther
connexion. We are to turn to the right, did you say?
TONY. No, no; straight forward. I'll just step myself, and show you a
piece of the way. (To the Landlord.) Mum!
LANDLORD. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant--damn'd
mischievous son of a whore. [Exeunt.]
ACT THE SECOND.
SCENE--An old-fashioned House.
Enter HARDCASTLE, followed by three or four awkward Servants.
HARDCASTLE. Well, I hope you are perfect in the table exercise I have
been teaching you these three days. You all know your posts and your
places, and can show that you have been used to good company, without
ever stirring from home.
OMNES. Ay, ay.
HARDCASTLE. When company comes you are not to pop out and stare, and
then run in again, like frightened rabbits in a warren.
OMNES. No, no.
HARDCASTLE. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make
a show at the side-table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the
plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand
so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your
pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you. See how Diggory
carries his hands. They're a little too stiff, indeed, but that's no
great matter.
DIGGORY. Ay, mind how I hold them. I learned to hold my hands this
way when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill----
HARDCASTLE. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You must be all
attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of
talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see
us eat, and not think of eating.
DIGGORY. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible.
Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forward, ecod, he's always wishing
for a mouthful himself.
HARDCASTLE. Blockhead! Is not a belly-full in the kitchen as good as
a belly-full in the parlour? Stay your stomach with that reflection.
DIGGORY. Ecod, I thank your worship, I'll make a shift to stay my
stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry.
HARDCASTLE. Diggory, you are too talkative.--Then, if I happen to say
a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out
a-laughing, as if you made part of the company.
DIGGORY. Then ecod your worship must not tell the story of Ould
Grouse in the gun-room: I can't help laughing at that--he! he!
he!--for the soul of me. We have laughed at that these twenty
years--ha! ha! ha!
HARDCASTLE. Ha! ha! ha! The story is a good one. Well, honest
Diggory, you may laugh at that--but still remember to be attentive.
Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will
you behave? A glass of wine, sir, if you please (to DIGGORY).--Eh, why
don't you move?
DIGGORY. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the
eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld
as a lion.
HARDCASTLE. | 1,488.073204 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.0547100 | 5,475 | 8 |
E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Emmy, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 27603-h.htm or 27603-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/6/0/27603/27603-h/27603-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.net/dirs/2/7/6/0/27603/27603-h.zip)
THE RED TRUE STORY BOOK
* * * * *
WORKS BY ANDREW LANG.
COCK LANE AND COMMON SENSE: a Series of Papers
Crown 8vo. 6_s._ 6_d._ _net._
BAN and ARRIERE BAN: a Rally of Fugitive Rhymes.
Crown 8vo. 5_s._ _net._
ST. ANDREWS. With 8 Plates and 24 Illustrations in
the Text by T. Hodge. 8vo. 15_s._ _net._
HOMER AND THE EPIC. Crown 8vo. 9_s._ _net._
CUSTOM AND MYTH: Studies of Early Usage and
Belief. With 15 Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 3_s._
6_d._
BALLADS OF BOOKS. Edited by ANDREW LANG. Fcp. 8vo.
6_s._
LETTERS TO DEAD AUTHORS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._
_net._
BOOKS AND BOOKMEN. With 2 Plates and 17
Illustrations. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
OLD FRIENDS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
LETTERS ON LITERATURE. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._
_net._
GRASS OF PARNASSUS. Fcp. 8vo. 2_s._ 6_d._ _net._
ANGLING SKETCHES. With 3 Etchings and numerous
Illustrations by W. G. Burn-Murdoch. Crown 8vo.
3_s._ 6_d._
THE BLUE FAIRY BOOK. Edited by ANDREW LANG. With
134 Illustrations by H. J. Ford and G. P. Jacomb
Hood. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
THE RED FAIRY BOOK. Edited by ANDREW LANG. With
100 Illustrations by H. J. Ford and Lancelot
Speed. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
THE GREEN FAIRY BOOK. Edited by ANDREW LANG. With
99 Illustrations by H. J. Ford. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
THE YELLOW FAIRY BOOK. Edited by ANDREW LANG. With
104 Illustrations by H. J. Ford. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
THE BLUE POETRY BOOK. Edited by ANDREW LANG. With
100 Illustrations by H. J. Ford and Lancelot
Speed. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
SCHOOL EDITION, without Illustrations. Fcp. 8vo.
2_s._ 6_d._
SPECIAL EDITION, printed on Indian paper. With
Notes, but without Illustrations. Crown 8vo. 7_s._
6_d._
THE TRUE STORY BOOK. Edited by ANDREW LANG. With
66 Illustrations by H. J. Ford, Lucien Davis,
Lancelot Speed, and L. Bogle. Crown 8vo. 6_s._
LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO.
London and New York.
* * * * *
[Illustration: 'IN THE BORGHESE GARDENS PRACTISED THAT ROYAL GAME OF
GOLF.']
THE RED TRUE STORY BOOK
Edited by
ANDREW LANG
[Illustration]
With Numerous Illustrations by Henry J. Ford
London
Longmans, Green, and Co.
and New York
1895
All rights reserved
_INTRODUCTION_
_The Red True Story Book_ needs no long Introduction. The Editor, in
presenting _The Blue True Story Book_, apologised for offering tales so
much less thrilling and romantic than the legends of the Fairies, but he
added that even real facts were, sometimes, curious and interesting.
Next year he promises something quite as true as History, and quite as
entertaining as Fairies!
For this book, Mr. Rider Haggard has kindly prepared a narrative of
'Wilson's Last Fight,' by aid of conversations with Mr. Burnham, the
gallant American scout. But Mr. Haggard found, while writing his
chapter, that Mr. Burnham had already told the story in an 'Interview'
published by the _Westminster Gazette_. The courtesy of the proprietor
of that journal, and of Mr. Burnham, has permitted Mr. Haggard to
incorporate the already printed narrative with his own matter.
'The Life and Death of Joan the Maid' is by the Editor, who has used M.
Quicherat's _Proces_ (five volumes, published for the Historical Society
of France), with M. Quicherat's other researches. He has also used M.
Wallon's Biography, the works of Father Ayroles, S.J., the _Jeanne d'Arc
a Domremy_ of M. Simeon Luce, the works of M. Sepet, of Michelet, of
Henri Martin, and, generally, all printed documents to which he has had
access. Of unprinted contemporary matter perhaps none is known to exist,
except the Venetian Correspondence, now being prepared for publication
by Father Ayroles.
'How the Bass was held for King James' is by the Editor, mainly from
Blackadder's _Life_.
'The Crowning of Ines de Castro' is by Mrs. Lang, from Schaefer.
'Orthon,' from Froissart, 'Gustavus Vasa,' 'Monsieur de Bayard's Duel'
(Brantome), are by the same lady; also 'Gaston de Foix,' from Froissart,
and 'The White Man,' from Mile. Aisse's Letters.
Mrs. McCunn has told the story of the Prince's Scottish Campaign, from
the contemporary histories of the Rising of 1745, contemporary tracts,
_The Lyon in Mourning_, Chambers, Scott, Maxwell of Kirkconnel, and
other sources.
The short Sagas are translated from the Icelandic by the Rev. W. C.
Green, translator of _Egil Skalagrim's Saga_.
Mr. S. R. Crockett, Author of _The Raiders_, told the tales of 'The Bull
of Earlstoun' and 'Grisell Baillie.'
Miss May Kendall and Mrs. Bovill are responsible for the seafarings and
shipwrecks; the Australian adventures are by Mrs. Bovill.
Miss Minnie Wright compiled 'The Conquest of Peru,' from Prescott's
celebrated History.
Miss Agnes Repplier, that famed essayist of America, wrote the tale of
Molly Pitcher.
'The Adventures of General Marbot' are from the translation of his
Autobiography by Mr. Butler.
With this information the Editor leaves the book to children, assuring
them that the stories are _true_, except perhaps that queer tale of
'Orthon'; and some of the Sagas also may have been a little altered from
the real facts before the Icelanders became familiar with writing.
CONTENTS
PAGE
_Wilson's Last Fight_ 1
_The Life and Death of Joan the Maid_ 19
_How the Bass was held for King James_ 92
_The Crowning of Ines de Castro_ 99
_The Story of Orthon_ 105
_How Gustavus Vasa won his Kingdom_ 114
_Monsieur de Bayard's Duel_ 122
_Story of Gudbrand of the Dales_ 125
_Sir Richard Grenville_ 132
_The Story of Molly Pitcher_ 137
_The Voyages, Dangerous Adventures, and Imminent Escapes of
Captain Richard Falconer_ 141
_Marbot's March_ 150
_Eylau. The Mare Lisette_ 162
_How Marbot crossed the Danube_ 175
_The piteous Death of Gaston, Son of the Count of Foix_ 186
_Rolf Stake_ 191
_The Wreck of the 'Wager'_ 195
_Peter Williamson_ 213
_A Wonderful Voyage_ 226
_The Pitcairn Islanders_ 238
_A Relation of three years' Suffering of Robert Everard
upon the Island of Assada, near Madagascar, in
a Voyage to India, in the year 1686_ 247
_The Fight at Svolder Island_ 252
_The Death of Hacon the Good_ 261
_Prince Charlie's War_ 265
_The Burke and Wills Exploring Expedition_ 324
_The Story of Emund_ 346
_The Man in White_ 354
_The Adventures of 'the Bull of Earlstoun'_ 358
_The Story of Grisell Baillie's Sheep's Head_ 366
_The Conquest of Peru_ 371
_LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS_
_PLATES_
_'In the Borghese gardens practised that royal
game of golf'_ _Frontispiece_
_Just as his arm was poised I fired_ _To face p._ 10
_Joan in church_ " 24
_Joan rides to Chinon_ " 38
_Joan tells the King his secret_ " 42
_The English Archers betrayed by the Stag_ " 64
_The Coronation of Charles VII_ " 68
_'Instantly a gust of wind blew her off the rock
into the sea'_ " 92
_'One man... stalked about the deck and
flourished a cutlass... shouting that he
was "king of the country"'_ " 196
_The Indian threatens Peter Williamson_ " 214
_'Another party of Indians arrived, bringing
twenty scalps and three prisoners'_ " 218
_The savages attack the boat_ " 230
_'The madman dwelt alone'_ " 242
_King Olaf leaps overboard_ " 256
_'In the Borghese gardens practised that royal
game of golf_ " 266
_'I will, though not another man in the
Highlands should draw a sword'_ " 272
_'He galloped up the streets of Edinburgh
shouting, "Victory! Victory!"'_ " 294
_Manco Capac and Mama Ocllo Huaco, the
Children of the Sun, come from Lake
Titicaca to govern and civilise the
tribes of Peru_ " 374
_In one cave the soldiers found vases of
pure gold, etc._ " 412
_WOODCUTS IN TEXT_
PAGE
_One of them lifted his assegai_ 17
_'The Fairy Tree'_ 20
_Joan hears the Voice_ 28
_Robert thinks Joan crazed_ 34
_'Sir, this is ill done of you'_ 37
_'In a better language than yours,' said Joan_ 46
_'Lead him to the Cross!' cried she_ 50
_'Then spurred she her horse... and put out the flame'_ 53
_Joan is wounded by the arrow_ 57
_'Now arose a dispute among the captains'_ 61
_One Englishman at least died well_ 63
_Joan challenges the English to sally forth_ 73
_'Go she would not till she had taken that town'_ 79
_Joan Captured_ 83
_Joan at Beaurevoir_ 85
_'The burned Joan the Maid'_ 89
_The Bass attacked by the frigates_ 97
_Ines pleads for her life_ 101
_'I will send you a champion whom you will fear more than
you fear me'_ 107
_Orthon's last appearance_ 112
_Gustavus leaves school for good!_ 115
_'Lazy loon! Have you no work to do?'_ 119
_'Surrender, Don Alonzo, or you are a dead man!'_ 123
_'In the following night Gudbrand dreamed a dream'_ 127
_The destruction of the idol_ 130
_'Still he cried to his men, "Fight on, fight on!"'_ 134
_Molly takes her husband's place_ 139
_'As we approached we saw the pirate sinking'_ 143
_Falconer knocks down a bird_ 145
_Falconer returns to his companions_ 148
_'Then, drawing their swords, they dashed at the rest'_ 152
_Marbot's fight with the Carabineers in the alley_ 157
_Lisette catches the thief in the stable_ 164
_'I regarded myself as a horseman who is trying to win a
steeplechase'_ 166
_Lisette carries off the Russian officer_ 169
_'Guided by the transport man he reached me and found me
living'_ 172
_'"I will go, sir," I cried'_ 177
_'We had to saw the rope'_ 182
_'The Count leaped up, a knife in his hand'_ 188
_Gaston in prison_ 189
_'But now here sits in the high seat a thin stake'_ 192
_'He fleeth not the flame
Who leapeth o'er the same'_ 193
_The Captain shoots Mr. Cozens_ 202
_Mr. Hamilton's fight with the sea-lion_ 205
_The Cacique fires off the gun_ 208
_Byron rides past the turnpikes_ 211
_The captain guarded by the mutineers_ 228
_The Pitcairn islanders on board the English frigate_ 239
_Old John Adams teaches the children_ 245
_Death of the supercargo_ 248
_'None will now deny that "Long Snake" sails by'_ 255
_Hacon casts his shield away_ 263
_'Go, sir, to your general; tell him what you have
seen...'_ 276
_Escape of the Duke of Perth_ 281
_'In many a panelled parlour'_ 284
_'Och no! she be relieved'_ 287
_Mrs. Murray of Broughton distributes cockades to the
crowd_ 289
_James More wounded at Prestonpans_ 293
_Crossing Shap Fell_ 301
_'Many had their broadswords and dirks sharpened'_ 304
_'The Prince caught him by the hair'_ 307
_The poor boy fell, mortally wounded_ 311
_The 'Rout of Moy'_ 315
_The end of Culloden_ 322
_'The advance party of eight started on October 29'_ 327
_Golah is abandoned_ 332
_'King, they are gone!'_ 337
_Death of Burke_ 342
_Besse introduced to the Man in White_ 355
_'Saw reflected in the mirror the white figure'_ 356
_'Sometimes he would find a party searching for him quite
close at hand'_ 360
_Alexander Gordon wood-chopping in the disguise of a
labourer_ 362
_Grisell brings the sheep's head to her father in the
vault_ 367
_A Peruvian postman_ 381
_Almagro wounded in the eye_ 387
_Many of the Spaniards were killed by the snakes and
alligators_ 389
_Amazement of the Indians at seeing a cavalier fall from
his horse_ 391
_Pizarro sees llamas for the first time_ 393
_The cavalier displays his horsemanship before Atahuallpa_ 401
_The friar urges Pizarro to attack the Peruvians_ 404
_The Spaniards destroy the idol at Pachacamac_ 407
_WILSON'S LAST FIGHT_
'They were men whose fathers were men'
TO make it clear how Major Wilson and his companions came to die on the
banks of the Shangani on December 4, 1893, it will be necessary, very
briefly, to sketch the events which led to the war between the English
settlers in Mashonaland in South Africa and the Matabele tribe, an
offshoot of the Zulu race.
In October 1889, at the instance of Mr. Cecil Rhodes and others
interested, the Chartered Company of British South Africa was
incorporated, with the sanction of Her Majesty's Government.
In 1890 Mashonaland was occupied, a vast and fertile territory nominally
under the rule of Lobengula, king of the Matabele, which had been ceded
by him to the representatives of the Company in return for certain
valuable considerations. It is, however, an easier task for savage kings
to sign concessions than to ensure that such concessions will be
respected by their subjects, especially when those 'Subjects' are
warriors by nature, tradition, and practice, as in the present case, and
organised into regiments, kept from year to year in perfect efficiency
and readiness for attack. Whatever may have been Lobengula's private
wishes and opinions, it soon became evident that the gathering of the
white men upon their borders, and in a country which they claimed by
right of conquest if they did not occupy it, was most distasteful to the
more warlike sections of the Matabele.
Mashonaland takes its name from the Mashona tribes who inhabit it, a
peaceful and, speaking by comparison, an industrious race, whom, ever
since they first settled in the neighbourhood, it had been the custom of
the subjects of Lobengula and of his predecessor, Mosilikatze, 'the
lion,' to attack with every cruelty conceivable, raiding their cattle,
slaughtering their men, and sweeping their maidens and young children
into captivity. Terrified, half exterminated indeed, as they were by
these constant and unprovoked onslaughts, the Mashonas welcomed with
delight the occupation of their country by white men, and thankfully
placed themselves under the protection of the Chartered Company.
The Matabele regiments, however, took a different view of the question,
for now their favourite sport was gone: they could no longer practise
rapine and murder, at least in this direction, whenever the spirit moved
them. Presently the force of habit overcame their fear of the white men
and their respect for treaties, and towards the end of 1891 the chief
Lomaghondi, who lived under the protection of the Company, was killed by
them. Thereon Dr. Jameson, the Administrator of Mashonaland,
remonstrated with Lobengula, who expressed regret, saying that the
incident had happened by mistake.
This repudiation notwithstanding, an impi, or armed body of savages,
again crossed the border in 1892, and raided in the Victoria district.
Encouraged by the success of these proceedings, in July 1893 Lobengula
sent a picked company to harry in the neighbourhood of Victoria itself,
writing to Dr. Jameson that he made no excuse for so doing, claiming as
he did the right to raid when, where, and whom he chose. The 'indunas,'
or captains, in command of this force were instructed not to kill white
men, but to fall particularly upon those tribes who were in their
employ. On July 9, 1893, and the following days came the climax, for
then the impi began to slaughter every Mashona whom they could find.
Many of these unfortunates were butchered in the presence of their
masters, who were bidden to'stand upon one side as the time of the
white men had not yet come.'
Seeing that it was necessary to take action, Dr. Jameson summoned the
head indunas of the impi, and ordered them to cross the border within an
hour or to suffer the consequences of their disobedience. The majority
obeyed, and those who defied him were attacked by Captain Lendy and a
small force while in the act of raiding a kraal, some of them being
killed and the rest driven away.
From this moment war became inevitable, for the question lay between the
breaking of the power of Lobengula and the evacuation of Mashonaland.
Into the details of that war it is not proposed to enter; they are
outside the scope of this narrative. It is enough to say that it was one
of the most brilliant and successful ever carried out by Englishmen.
The odds against the little force of a thousand or twelve hundred white
men who invaded Matabeleland were almost overwhelming, and when it is
remembered that the Imperial troops did not succeed in their contest
against Cetywayo, the Zulu king, until nearly as many soldiers were
massed in the country as there were able-bodied Zulus left to oppose
them, the brilliancy of the achievement of these colonists led by a
civilian, Dr. Jameson, can be estimated. The Matabele were beaten in two
pitched battles: that of the Shangani on October 25, and that of the
Imbembezi on November 1. They fought bravely, even with desperation, but
their valour was broken by the skill and the cool courage of the white
man. Those terrible engines of war, the Maxim guns and the Hotchkiss
shells, contributed largely to our success on these occasions. The
Matabele, brave as they were, could not face the incessant fire of the
Maxims, and as to the Hotchkiss they developed a curious superstition.
Seeing that men fell dead in all directions after the explosion of a
shell, they came to believe that as it burst out of each missile numbers
of tiny and invisible imps ran forth carrying death and destruction to
the white men's foes, and thus it happened that to their minds moral
terrors were added to the physical dangers of warfare. So strong was
this belief among them, indeed, that whenever a shell struck they would
turn and fire at it in the hope that thus they might destroy the 'live
devils' who dwelt within it.
After these battles Lobengula, having first set fire to it, fled from
his chief place, Buluwayo, which was occupied by the white men within a
month of the commencement of the campaign.
In reply to a letter sent to him by Dr. Jameson, demanding his surrender
and guaranteeing his safety, Lobengula wrote that he 'would come in.'
The promised period of two days' grace having gone by, however, and
there being no sign of his appearance, a force was despatched from
Buluwayo to follow and capture him. This force, which was under the
leadership of Major Patrick W. | 1,488.07475 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.1532490 | 1,454 | 45 |
Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marius Borror and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
SWANSTON EDITION
VOLUME XXI
_Of this SWANSTON EDITION in Twenty-five
Volumes of the Works of ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON Two Thousand and Sixty Copies
have been printed, of which only Two Thousand
Copies are for sale._
_This is No._...........
[Illustration: R.L.S. ON THE FORWARD DECK OF THE SCHOONER "EQUATOR"]
THE WORKS OF
ROBERT LOUIS
STEVENSON
VOLUME TWENTY-ONE
LONDON: PUBLISHED BY CHATTO AND
WINDUS: IN ASSOCIATION WITH CASSELL
AND COMPANY LIMITED: WILLIAM
HEINEMANN: AND LONGMANS GREEN
AND COMPANY MDCCCCXII
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONTENTS
THE STORY OF A LIE
CHAPTER PAGE
I. INTRODUCES THE ADMIRAL 3
II. A LETTER TO THE PAPERS 8
III. IN THE ADMIRAL'S NAME 14
IV. ESTHER ON THE FILIAL RELATION 21
V. THE PRODIGAL FATHER MAKES HIS DEBUT AT HOME 24
VI. THE PRODIGAL FATHER GOES ON FROM STRENGTH TO
STRENGTH 31
VII. THE ELOPEMENT 41
VIII. BATTLE ROYAL 50
IX. IN WHICH THE LIBERAL EDITOR APPEARS AS
"DEUS EX MACHINA" 60
THE MERRY MEN
I. EILEAN AROS 69
II. WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS 76
III. LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 89
IV. THE GALE 100
V. A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 112
OLALLA 127
HEATHERCAT
PART I.--THE KILLING-TIME
I. TRAQUAIRS OF MONTROYMONT 177
II. FRANCIE 182
III. THE HILL-END OF DRUMLOWE 195
THE GREAT NORTH ROAD
I. NANCE AT THE "GREEN DRAGON" 203
II. IN WHICH MR. ARCHER IS INSTALLED 210
III. JONATHAN HOLDAWAY 218
IV. MINGLING THREADS 223
V. LIFE IN THE CASTLE 229
VI. THE BAD HALF-CROWN 233
VII. THE BLEACHING-GREEN 238
VIII. THE MAIL GUARD 244
THE YOUNG CHEVALIER
PROLOGUE--THE WINE-SELLER'S WIFE 253
I. THE PRINCE 263
FABLES
I. THE PERSONS OF THE TALE 269
II. THE SINKING SHIP 272
III. THE TWO MATCHES 274
IV. THE SICK MAN AND THE FIREMAN 275
V. THE DEVIL AND THE INNKEEPER 276
VI. THE PENITENT 277
VII. THE YELLOW PAINT 277
VIII. THE HOUSE OF ELD 280
IX. THE FOUR REFORMERS 286
X. THE MAN AND HIS FRIEND 287
XI. THE READER 287
XII. THE CITIZEN AND THE TRAVELLER 288
XIII. THE DISTINGUISHED STRANGER 289
XIV. THE CART-HORSES AND THE SADDLE-HORSE 290
XV. THE TADPOLE AND THE FROG 291
XVI. SOMETHING IN IT 291
XVII. FAITH, HALF-FAITH, AND NO FAITH AT ALL 295
XVIII. THE TOUCHSTONE 297
XIX. THE POOR THING 304
XX. THE SONG OF THE MORROW 310
THE STORY OF A LIE
THE STORY OF A LIE
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCES THE ADMIRAL
When Dick Naseby was in Paris he made some odd acquaintances, for he was
one of those who have ears to hear, and can use their eyes no less than
their intelligence. He made as many thoughts as Stuart Mill; but his
philosophy concerned flesh and blood, and was experimental as to its
method. He was a type-hunter among mankind. He despised small game and
insignificant personalities, whether in the shape of dukes or bagmen,
letting them go by like sea-weed; but show him a refined or powerful
face, let him hear a plangent or a penetrating voice, fish for him with
a living look in some one's eye, a passionate gesture, a meaning or
ambiguous smile, and his mind was instantaneously awakened. "There was a
man, there was a woman," he seemed to say, and he stood up to the task
of comprehension with the delight of an artist in his art.
And indeed, rightly considered, this interest of his was an artistic
interest. There is no science in the personal study of human nature. All
comprehension is creation; the woman I love is somewhat of my handiwork;
and the great lover, like the great painter, is he that can so embellish
his subject as to make her more than human, whilst yet by a cunning art
he has so based his apotheosis on the nature of the case that the woman
can go on being a true woman, and give her character free play, and show
littleness, or cherish spite, or be greedy of common pleasures, and he
continue to worship without a thought of incongruity. To love a
character is only the heroic way of understanding it. When we love, by
some noble method of our own or some nobility of mien or nature in the
other, we apprehend the loved one by what is noblest in ourselves. When
we are merely studying an eccentricity, the method of our study is but a
series of allowances. To begin to understand is to begin to sympathise;
for comprehension comes only when we have stated another's faults and
virtues in terms of our own. Hence the proverbial toler | 1,488.173289 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.1533110 | 660 | 25 |
Produced by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Vol. 147
SEPTEMBER 9, 1914.
CHARIVARIA.
The _Deutsche Tageszeitung_ says:--"Our present war with England shall
not be done by halves; it is no war to be stopped by 'notice,' but by a
proper settlement. Otherwise the peace we all desire would be both
rotten and dangerous." Your wish shall be respected, _Deutsche
Tageszeitung_.
* * *
The fines which Germany has been imposing so lavishly on towns and
provinces will, a commercial friend informs us, ultimately prove to be
what are known in City circles as "temporary loans."
* * *
By the way, _The Globe_ tells us that the KAISER was once known to his
English relatives as "The Tin Soldier." In view of his passion for
raising tin by these predatory methods this title might be revived.
* * *
The German threat that they will make "_Gurken-salad_" of the Goorkhas,
leaves these cheery little sportsmen undismayed.
* * *
We give the rumour for what it is worth. It is said that, overcome with
remorse at the work of his vandals at Louvain, the KAISER has promised
when the war is over to present the city with a colossal monument of
himself.
* * *
Meanwhile President WILSON is being urged by innumerable tourist
agencies in his country to stop the war before any more historical
buildings are demolished.
* * *
A number of the more valuable of the pictures in the Louvre have, with a
view to their safety, been placed in cellars. _La Gioconda_ is to be
interned at an extra depth, as being peculiarly liable to be run away
with.
* * *
Strangely enough, the most heroic single-handed feat of the war seems
only to have been reported in one paper, _The Express_. We refer to the
following announcement:--
"AUSTRIAN WARSHIP SUNK
By J. A. SINCLAIR POOLEY
_Express_ Correspondent."
* * *
It is stated that the German barque _Excelsior_, bound for Bremen with a
valuable cargo, has been captured by one of our cruisers. It speaks well
for the restraint of our Navy that, with so tempting a name, she was not
blown up.
* * *
A proposal has been made in _The Globe_ that all "alien enemies" in this
country shall be confined within compounds until the end of the War.
Suggested alteration in the National Anthem: "Compound his enemies."
* * *
"Carry on" is no doubt an admirable motto for these times, but the
Special Constable who was surprised by his wife while carrying on with a
cook (which he thought to be | 1,488.173351 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.1546730 | 4,471 | 11 |
Produced by David Edwards, 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)
[Illustration: Cover]
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
OVER THE SEAS FOR UNCLE SAM
[Illustration: "Only the hits count!"]
OVER THE SEAS FOR UNCLE SAM
BY ELAINE STERNE
_Author of "The Road of Ambition," "Sunny Jim" Stories, Etc._
"We're ready _now_!"--Navy slogan.
NEW YORK
BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY
Copyright, 1918
BRITTON PUBLISHING COMPANY, INC.
Made in U. S. A. All rights reserved.
_To the Honorable Josephus Daniels
Secretary of the Navy,
whose devotion to the interests of the men in the
American Navy has been an inspiration to them
no less than to the nation as a whole._
CONTENTS
PAGE
THE WHEREFORE OF MY LITTLE BOOK 11
SUNK BY A SUBMARINE 21
WAR CLOUDS GATHER 35
THE STUFF HEROES ARE MADE OF 49
DEPTH BOMBS AND DESTROYERS 61
IN TRAINING 73
ZEPS AND TORPEDOES 91
"THE LEATHER NECKS" 107
THE WAY WITH THE FRENCHIES 119
A YANKEE STANDS BY 135
A TASTE OF HELL 147
THE WANDERLUST AND THE WAR 161
UNDER THE RED CROSS BANNER 175
"ABANDON SHIP!" 191
PRISONERS OF WAR 209
FRITZ GETS TAGGED 221
THE FLOWER OF FRANCE 233
THE WHEREFORE OF MY LITTLE BOOK
We have learned some things in war times that we did not know in days of
peace. We have made the amazing discovery that our own fathers and
brothers and husbands and lovers are potential heroes. We knew they were
brave and strong and eager to defend us if need be. We knew that they
went to work in the morning and returned at night just so that we might
live in comfort; but we never dreamed that the day would come when we
would see them marching off to war--a war that would take them far from
their own shores. We never dreamed that, like the knights of old, they
would ride away on a quest as holy as that of the Crusaders.
As for army and navy life--it had always been a sealed book to us, a
realm into which one was born, a heritage that passed from father to
son. We heard of life at the army post. We saw a uniform now and then,
but not until our own men donned khaki and blue did we of the outside
world learn of the traditions of the army and of the navy, which dated
back to the days of our nation's birth.
We did not know that each regiment had its own glorious story of
achievement--a story which all raw recruits were eager to live up to--a
story of undaunted fighting in the very face of death that won for it
its sobriquet.
Because the army lay at our very door, we came to know it better, to
learn its proud lesson more swiftly, but little by little the navy,
through the lips of our men, unlocked its traditions, tenderly fostered,
which had fired its new sons to go forth and fight to the finish rather
than yield an inch.
As a first lieutenant in the Girls' National Honor Guard, I was
appointed in May, 1917, for active duty in hospital relief work. It was
then that I came to know Miss Mary duBose, Chief Nurse of the United
States Naval Hospital, whose co-operation at every turn has helped this
little volume to come into being.
The boys of the navy are her children. She watches over them with the
brooding tenderness of a mother. Praise of their achievements she
receives with flashing pride. With her entire heart and soul she is
wrapped up in her work. Through her shines the spirit of the
service--the tireless devotion to duty.
I had never before been inside a naval hospital. I had a vague idea that
it would be a great machine, rather overcrowded, to be sure, in war
times, but running on oiled hinges--completely soulless.
I found instead a huge building, which, in spite of its size, breathed a
warm hominess. Its halls and wards are spotless. Through the great
windows the sun pours in on the patients, as cheery a lot of boys as you
would care to see.
There are always great clusters of flowers in the wards--bright spots of
color--there are always games spread out on the beds. There is always
the rise of young voices--laughter--calls. And moving among the patients
are the nurses--little white-clad figures with the red cross above their
heart. Some of them appear frail and flower-like, some of them very
young, but all impress one with their quiet strength and efficiency.
I have spoken to a great many of them. They are enthusiastic and eager.
They praise highly the splendid work done abroad by their sisters, but
they are serious about the work to be done here as well. Their tasks are
carried on with no flaunting of banners, but they are in active service
just the same, nursing our boys to health every hour of the day--giving
sons back to their mothers--husbands to their wives.
It is a corps to be proud of and a great volume of credit should be laid
at the feet of Mrs. Leneh Higbee, the national head of the Naval Nurse
Corps. It was Mrs. Higbee who built up the Corps--who has given her
life's work to keeping up the standard of that organization--of making
it a corps whose personnel and professional standing in efficiency
cannot be surpassed in the world to-day.
As my visits to the hospital became more frequent, I began, bit by bit,
to gather a story here and there, from the men who lay ill--stories of
unconscious heroism--deeds they had performed as part of a day's work on
the high seas.
They did not want praise for what they had done. They are an independent
lot--our sailors--proud of their branch of service. "No drafted men in
the navy," they tell you with a straightening of their shoulders.
And from the officers I learned of that deeper love--that worship of the
sea--of the vessel placed in their hands to command. From them I heard
for the first time of the value of a discipline iron-bound--rigid--a
discipline that brooks no argument. There were stories of men who had
hoped and dreamed all their lives of a certain cruise, only to find
themselves transferred to the other end of the world. Did they utter a
word of complaint? Not they! "Orders are orders"--that was enough for
them!
And because those of us who send our men to sea are burning to know the
tales they have to tell, I have made this little collection--the men's
own stories, told in the ward to other round-eyed youths who gathered
about the bed to hear, full of eager questions, prompting when the
story moved too slowly.
What you read here are their stories--stories of whole-souled youths,
with the sparkle of life in their eyes, with the love of adventure in
their hearts. Jack Tar is an American clear through to his backbone!
ELAINE STERNE.
New York,
May 15, 1918.
[Illustration: Jack is his own "chambermaid."]
JACK TAR
We're not long on recitation,
We're just rough and ready gobs,
But we rate ten gadgets higher
Than some smug civilian snobs.
When we're out on well-earned shore leave
Drummin' up a little cheer,
Oh, we meet sleek city dandies
Who object to sailors here.
They are togged in pretty shirts
Like a lady on parade,
And they wouldn't touch a sailor
With a hoe or with a spade.
We may not be ornamental
In the tinselled dancing halls,
When the nation needs defenders
We are there when duty calls.
Though we can't hob-nob with laggards
Who sleep in sheltered bed
And we can't enjoy peace pleasures,
We can join the hero dead.
CHIEF GUNNER BLAKE SPEAKS:
SUNK BY SUBMARINE
SOMEWHERE along in January, 1915, I shipped on the U. S. S. _Utah_.
Always had a hankering after the sea, and then, to tell the truth,
civilian jobs were pretty hard to land in 1915--you bet they were!
Once you're in the Navy you stay for a while. I liked it from the start.
I got to know a thing or two about the guns, went to gunnery school;
that's how I came to be made chief gunner's mate, I guess, and told to
report for armed guard duty on May 29, 1917.
I drew an old tub. I suppose it had been used to carry a cargo of salt
fish from Maine to Newfoundland, and here it was, painted fresh, and
ready to cross the old Atlantic, which was fairly bristling with mines
and lurking sea-devils.
We put to sea June 19th, and we reached the War Zone on July 3rd. I know
what I'm doing, writing War Zone with capitals. You don't have to be
told when you get there. You feel it in the air--it's like a wire
vibrating; everyone's on edge, keyed up to G pitch.
It was my job to see that all lights were doused and all ports closed as
soon as it got dark. I wasn't particular about the way I enforced orders
just so I got them obeyed--and I saw to it that every man who carried a
match was parted from it and that all pocket lights were put in a neat
little pile--officers excepted, of course. They kept theirs.
Every hour I made a round of the ship, watching out sharp for a light.
Important! Say, just suppose Fritz's sea-baby were lying off a few miles
or so without the faintest idea that a merchantman, chuck-full of
munitions, was a stone's throw away. Think how that German crew would
feel if across the darkness they saw the flare of a match. Well, it
would be apt to be lights out for us all that time--that's what.
The watch was doubled--four on and four off--a watch of good sixteen
hours at a clip, with a life preserver on every minute of the time--that
is, you were supposed to. On the transports the rule is carried out to
the letter. Catch a man without a life belt and he can be pretty sure
he'll be up for court-martial when he gets back to port.
But with us it was different. We kept them close by; some of the men
slept in them. I had mine over my feet ready to snatch up in case of
trouble.
It was July 3rd, remember, and we were feeling pretty good. My bunky was
McCaffrey--Mac for short--a little red-headed, freckled Irishman from
Wisconsin, the best that comes west of the Mississippi. We had it all
fixed up to fire a gun off on the Fourth.
"Sure, it's a fine opinion Fritz'll have of us if he's thinkin' we're
scared to let him know it's our big day back home," he argued.
I thought it was a great idea--I told him I'd stand by if he'd share the
blame. Of course we knew darned well we'd never really pull it off, but
it was good fun planning the whole thing just the same.
The sea was calm that night, for a wonder--just a gentle swell. We were
on watch at eight, all on good lookout. Orders were to stand by, and the
guns were primed, ready to shoot red hell into anything short of an
ally.
I wish we could have had a close-up of us. Faces grim, tense from
excitement, joking a bit under our breaths, wishing to Moses we could
have a smoke, betting we'd get through without sighting anything better
than our own reflection in the water.
Somehow we felt peppy. I guess it was thinking about the Fourth and what
it stood for. Seemed queer to be in mid-ocean on the night before the
Declaration of Independence was signed--yep, in the middle of a blooming
black sea, with nothing in sight but a dash of white foam against your
keel, where you cut along through a swell.
I'd just glanced at my radium watch and blessed the girl who gave it to
me. It was nine. I glanced up. Not fifty yards away was a ribbon of
white foam flung out on the water like a scarf, and, sticking straight
out, by God, was the periscope of a German submarine.
No one waited for the command, "Fire when ready...."
The ship was action electrified. I never saw a crew work like that. They
fired point-blank and sent that periscope straight up to where all good
periscopes go. Ripped her clean off.
We weren't sure we'd sunk her, but we figured we had. How did we feel?
How do you think? That was celebrating the Fourth right and proper!
Mac, sweating like a horse, panting from excitement, managed to breeze
by and chuckle.
"Didn't I tell you we'd shoot one off to show 'em who's who?"
It was a great night. We were heroes. We had knocked the stuffings out
of a periscope; it stood to reason we'd sunk her.
We figured out how it happened. The submarine, when she was 'way out on
the horizon line, must have seen us coming. She had evidently made a
long detour, plotting our course and planning to arrive where she could
take good aim and fire. What happened was that we changed our course, so
that when she popped up she was plumb across our bow. Surprised! Wow! I
bet her commander, if he's alive, hasn't closed his mouth yet!
It was something like this:
[Illustration]
Well, we pretty well patted ourselves on the back, but German submarines
must travel in pairs, like rattlesnakes, or else she came back to life,
for an hour later she struck us amidships.
You know it when you're struck. Rather! The crash--the roar--the
tremendous vibration--for a full minute, as the big hulk trembles and
shudders--the hiss of water rushing into the boilers, the steam
gushing, the sudden listing, and, worst of all, the throb of the engines
silenced....
You never forget that silence, felt rather than heard. It means you're a
goner for fair. Above all the orders, rapped out like the clip of a
hammer on steel--that noisy silence sounds loudest in your ears.
"Stand by your guns...." Sure we did. While there was still a chance
we wanted to get a whack at that sub., but all the time I was worrying
about Mac. He was taking a watch off. Could I reach him?
"... Get back, you damned fools...."
"... Man the life-boats!"
"... Gee, that's a close one! Look spry or you'll wash overboard...."
We didn't leave our post until the last life-boat swung clear and landed
with her crew. A couple of boats had been smashed against the side of
the ship and we heard the yells of their crew--nasty sound, that.
I forgot about my life-belt--I wanted to find Mac. I couldn't. It was
pitch black. The water was waist deep and washing over you in gigantic
waves. There was only one chance--to jump for it. I took it. I landed
near the propellers. I could hear them churning fiercely--I could feel
their suction drawing me to them. I guess I fought like a fiend. I'd
heard about the death men die drawn into that blasted hole the ship
makes when she goes down to Davy Jones.
I didn't think of home. I didn't think of my past sins. I just thought
with every ounce of my strength that if I could keep swimming for a few
seconds more I could be clear of that undertow. I made it.
All around me men were calling for help. I made out a life-boat a few
yards away and hollered to them, and just then an oar floated by.
I never was so glad to see anything in my life. I rested on it and
caught another. Two oars! Why, it was as good as a raft. I was safe--if
only I could find McCaffrey in that black hell.
I yelled his name and heard a sputter behind me.
"For God's sake, save me----"
"Can't you swim?"
"No."
"Stay where you are; I'll get you."
It was Spick, one of the oilers--a big chap, weighing a good one-ninety.
"Steady! I'm coming."
He grabbed the oar and lay across it, a dead weight. Someone else pulled
me down.
"Help!"
It was little Tucker, mess attendant, a kid of seventeen. He was all in.
I shoved them both along, and they were heavy, let me tell you. Someone
in the boat saw us and drew alongside. They lifted us in.
"Where's McCaffrey?" I asked them.
Just then I saw him. He was swimming straight for us. I let out a yell,
but it died in my throat.
Straight out of the water, not twenty yards away, rose the gray bulk of
the submarine, its greenish light casting a weird glow over that awful
scene of struggling men. Fritz's war-baby had come back to gloat over
the damage it had done.
Our captain, with his pocket light, was flashing the Morse code on the
water as he floundered about.
From the deck of the submarine the commander's voice rang out. He spoke
as good English as I do.
"What ship have I hit?"
Someone told him.
"Where is your captain?"
Silence.
"_Where is your captain?_"
Then it was that little Tucker, sitting forward, tense, leaned far out
and yelled:
"Douse yer glim, Cap, douse yer glim...."
Out it went. The commander gave an order. We couldn't hear it, but we
were afraid he meant to make straight for us and cut us in two. We
pulled away, but, instead, he was wishing us the best of luck to lie
there and rot, and then they submerged--just vanished into the black
water from which they had appeared.
We waited trembling, but nothing happened. There wasn't a boat in sight.
The old hulk of our ship had gone down forever. I thought of the
Captain and of McCaffrey.
"Let's get 'em now, mates," I urged. But from the direction in which
we'd last heard them there came no sound. They weren't there. Nobody
was. So we pulled away.
It was a leaky boat and we stripped off our shirts--anything we had on
that was white, so that in case Fritz came back he could not sight us.
We needed the shirts, all right, to stuff up the holes in the boat.
Those who weren't stopping up the holes took turns bailing. We bailed
like fiends--no time to think--no time for anything but to hope a convoy
would pick us up.
Along toward dawn, at six-thirty to be exact, our own convoy sighted us.
The boys were pretty stiff from exposure, but I was all right--all right
and fighting mad--my matey had gone down.
"I | 1,488.174713 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.4235020 | 2,365 | 6 |
Produced by KD Weeks, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note:
This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects.
Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. The topic
headings were printed in =boldface= type, and are delimited with ‘_’.
The original volume promised many illustrations. However, the edition
used here had none of them. The List of Illustrations is retained;
however, the pages indicated are not valid.
The text was printed with two columns per page, which could not be
reproduced in this format.
Minor errors, attributable to the printer, have been corrected. Please
see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details regarding
the handling of any textual issues encountered during its preparation.
The following less-common characters are found in this book: ă (a with
breve), ā (a with macron), ĕ (e with breve), ē (e with macron), ĭ (i
with breve), ī (i with macron), ŏ (o with breve), ō (o with macron), ŭ
(u with breve), ū (u with macron). If they do not display properly,
please try changing your font.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
CHARACTER SKETCHES
OF ROMANCE, FICTION
AND THE DRAMA::::
A REVISED AMERICAN EDITION
OF THE READER’S HANDBOOK
BY
THE REV. E. COBHAM BREWER, LL.D.
EDITED BY
MARION HARLAND
----------
VOLUME II
[Illustration: colophon]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
NEW YORK SELMAR HESS PUBLISHER
------------------------------------------------------------------------
MDCCCXCII
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1892, by
SELMAR HESS.
PHOTOGRAVURES PRINTED ON THE
HESS PRESS.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
-------
VOLUME II.
-------
PHOTOGRAVURES AND ETCHINGS.
_Illustration_ _Artist_
LA CIGALE (_colored_) E. METZMACHER _Frontispiece_
FATES (THE) PAUL THUMANN 6
GABRIEL AND EVANGELINE FRANK DICKSEE 56
GANYMEDE F. KIRCHBACH 64
HAMLET AND THE GRAVEDIGGER P.A.J.
DAGNAN-BOUVERET 140
HAMLET AND HIS FATHER’S GHOST E. VON HOFFTEN 142
HERODIAS BENJAMIN CONSTANT 172
LORELEI (THE) W. KRAY 340
----------
WOOD ENGRAVINGS AND TYPOGRAVURES.
FALSTAFF AND MRS. FORD. 2
FARIA ENTERS DANTES’S CELL JANET LANGE 4
FATIMA AND ANNA GUSTAVE DORÉ 8
FATINITZA ADRIEN MARIE 10
FATMÉ N. SICHEL 12
FAUNTLEROY (LITTLE LORD) F. M. SPIEGLE 14
FAUST AND MARGARET IN THE GARDEN GABRIEL MAX 16
FITZJAMES AND RODERICK DHU J. B. MCDONALD 22
FITZWALTER (ALURED) AND ROSE HIS
WIFE BEAR HOME THE FLITCH OF
BACON;—JOHN GILPIN THOMAS STOTHARD 24
FLAVIO AND HILARIA 26
FLORESTAN SAVED BY LEONORA EUGEN KLIMSCH 30
FRANZ, ADELAIDE AND THE BISHOP OF
BAMBERG CARL BECKER 46
FRITHIOF AND INGEBORG R. BENDEMANN 50
FRITHIOF AT THE COURT OF KING
RING FERD. LEEKE 52
FROU-FROU GEORGES CLAIRIN 54
GAMP (SAIREY) FREDERICK BARNARD 60
GANN (CAROLINE), THE LITTLE
SISTER FREDERICK BARNARD 62
GARRICK (DAVID) AS ABEL DRUGGER JOHANN ZOFFANY 66
GAUTHIER (MARGUÉRITE), LA DAME
AUX CAMÉLIAS 68
GAVROCHE E. BAYARD 70
GHENT TO AIX (HOW WE BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM) 78
GILDA AND RIGOLETTO HERMANN KAULBACH 86
GLAUCUS AND NYDIA W. E. LOCKHART 94
GOBBO (LAUNCELOT) 98
GODIVA J. VON LERIUS 100
GRACCHI (THE MOTHER OF THE) SCHOPIN 108
GRASSHOPPER (THE) AND THE ANT J. G. VIBERT 112
GREY (LADY JANE), EXECUTION OF PAUL DELAROCHE 118
GULLIVER CHAINED J. G. VIBERT 130
GUNTHER (KING) B. GUTH 132
HADWIG (FRAU) INTO THE CONVENT,
EKKEHARD BRINGING CARL VON BLAAS 134
HAIDÉE 136
HALIFAX (JOHN) SAVING THE BANK J. NASH 138
HARLOWE (CLARISSA) C. LANDSEER 144
HAROLD (EDITH FINDING THE BODY
OF) 146
HAROLD (KING) AND THE ELFINS ALBERT TSCHAUTSCH 148
HATTERAICK (DIRK) AND MEG
MERRILEES J.B. MCDONALD 150
HEBE CANOVA 154
HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE A. MAIGNAN 156
HEEP (URIAH) FREDERICK BARNARD 158
HELEN (THE ABDUCTION OF) R. VON DEUTSCH 160
HELOISE GLEYRE 163
HENRY THE EIGHTH AND ANNE BOLEYN C. VON PILOTY 164
HERMANN AND DOROTHEA W. VON KAULBACH 166
HERMIONE 168
HERO AND LEANDER FERDINAND KELLER 170
HETTY (DINAH AND) 174
HIPPOLYTUS (DEATH OF) RUBENS 176
HOFER (ANDREAS) AT INNSBRUCK FRANZ VON DEFREGGER 178
HOP-O’-MY-THUMB GUSTAVE DORÉ 182
HORATII (THE OATH OF THE) L. DAVID 184
HYPATIA A. SEIFERT 198
IANTHE 200
ILSE IN THE FARM-STABLE PAUL MEYERHEIM 202
IMMO AND HILDEGARD HERMANN KAULBACH 204
IMOGEN IN THE CAVE T. GRAHAM 206
INGOMAR (PARTHENIA AND) G. H. SWINSTEAD 212
IPHIGENIA EDMUND KANOLDT 214
IRENE AND KLEA E. TESCHENDORFF 216
ISABELLA AND THE POT OF BASIL HOLMAN HUNT 218
ISABELLE OF CROYE AND CHARLES OF
BURGUNDY (INTERVIEW BETWEEN) A. ELMORE 220
JINGLE (ALFRED) FREDERICK BARNARD 240
JOAN OF ARC EMMANUEL FRÉMIET 242
JOHN OF LEYDEN FERDINAND KELLE 248
JOURDAIN (MONSIEUR) AND NICOLE C.R. LESLIE 250
JUAN (DON) IN THE BARQUE EUGÈNE DELACROIX 252
KÄGEBEIN AND BODINUS CONRAD BECKMANN 256
LALLA ROOKH A. DE VALENTINE 292
LANCELOT AND ELAINE 294
LANTENAC AT THE STONE PILLAR G. BRION 296
LEAR (KING) AND THE FOOL GUSTAV SCHAUER 310
LECOUVREUR (ADRIENNE) AS CORNELIA ANTOINE COYPEL 312
LEIGH (SIR AMYAS) C. J. STANILAND 314
LEONORA AND FERDINANDO J. B. DUFFAUD 318
LOHENGRIN (ELSA AND) 336
LOUIS XI M. BAFFIER 342
LOUISE, THE GLEE-MAIDEN ROBERT HERDMAN 344
PREFACE.
An American reprint of “_The Reader’s Handbook of allusions, references,
plots and stories, by the Rev. E. Cobham Brewer, LL.D., of Trinity Hall,
Cambridge_,” has been for several years in the hands of cis-Atlantic
students.
Too much praise cannot be awarded to the erudition and patient diligence
displayed in the compilation of this volume of nearly twelve hundred
pages. The breadth of range contemplated by the learned editor is best
indicated in his own words:
“The object of this _Handbook_ is to supply readers and speakers with a
lucid, but very brief account of such names as are used in allusions and
references, whether by poets or prose writers;—to furnish those who
consult it with the plot of popular dramas, the story of epic poems, and
the outline of well-known tales. The number of dramatic plots sketched
out is many hundreds. Another striking and interesting feature of the
book is the revelation of the source from which dramatists and romancers
have derived their stories, and the strange | 1,488.443542 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.4735780 | 2,409 | 26 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Keren Vergon, David King, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team
The Delights of Wisdom
Pertaining To
Conjugial Love
_To Which is Added_
The Pleasures of Insanity
Pertaining To
Scortatory Love
By
Emanuel Swedenborg
_A Swede_
_Being a translation of his work_
"Delitiae Sapientiae de Amore Conjugiali; post quas sequuntur Voluptates
Insaniae de Amore Scortatorio" (Amstelodami 1768)
1892
_Published_ A.D. 1850
PRELIMINARY RELATIONS RESPECTING THE JOYS OF HEAVEN AND NUPTIALS THERE.
1. "I am aware that many who read the following pages and the Memorable
Relations annexed to the chapters, will believe that they are fictions
of the imagination; but I solemnly declare they are not fictions, but
were truly done and seen; and that I saw them, not in any state of the
mind asleep, but in a state of perfect wakefulness: for it has pleased
the Lord to manifest himself to me, and to send me to teach the things
relating to the New Church, which is meant by the New Jerusalem in the
Revelation: for which purpose he has opened the interiors of my mind and
spirit; by virtue of which privilege it has been granted me to be in the
spiritual world with angels, and at the same time in the natural world
with men, and this now (1768) for twenty-five years."
2. On a certain time there appeared to me an angel flying beneath the
eastern heaven, with a trumpet in his hand, which he held to his mouth,
and sounded towards the north, the west, and the south. He was clothed
in a robe, which waved behind him as he flew along, and was girt about
the waist with a band that shone like fire and glittered with
carbuncles, and sapphires: he flew with his face downwards, and alighted
gently on the ground, near where I was standing. As soon as he touched
the ground with his feet, he stood erect, and walked to and fro: and on
seeing me he directed his steps towards me. I was in the spirit, and was
standing in that state on a little eminence in the southern quarter of
the spiritual world. When he came near, I addressed him and asked him
his errand, telling him that I had heard the sound of his trumpet, and
had observed his descent through the air. He replied, "My commission is
to call together such of the inhabitants of this part of the spiritual
world, as have come hither from the various kingdoms of Christendom, and
have been most distinguished for their learning, their ingenuity, and
their wisdom, to assemble on this little eminence where you are now
standing, and to declare their real sentiments, as to what they had
thought, understood, and inwardly perceived, while in the natural world,
respecting Heavenly Joy and Eternal Happiness. The occasion of my
commission is this: several who have lately come from the natural world,
and have been admitted into our heavenly society, which is in the east,
have informed us, that there is not a single person throughout the whole
Christian world that is acquainted with the true nature of heavenly joy
and eternal happiness; consequently that not a single person is
acquainted with the nature of heaven. This information greatly surprised
my brethren and companions; and they said to me, 'Go down, call together
and assemble those who are most eminent for wisdom in the world of
spirits, (where all men are first collected after their departure out of
the natural world,) so that we may know of a certainty, from the
testimony of many, whether it be true that such thick darkness, or dense
ignorance, respecting a future life, prevails among Christians.'" The
angel then said to me, "Wait awhile, and you will see several companies
of the wise ones flocking together to this place, and the Lord will
prepare them a house of assembly." I waited, and lo! in the space of
half an hour, I saw two companies from the north, two from the west, and
two from the south; and as they came near, they were introduced by the
angel that blew the trumpet into the house of assembly prepared for
them, where they took their places in the order of the quarters from
which they came. There were six groups or companies, and a seventh from
the east, which, from its superior light, was not visible to the rest.
When they were all assembled, the angel explained to them the reason of
their meeting, and desired that each company in order would declare
their sentiments respecting Heavenly Joy and Eternal Happiness. Then
each company formed themselves into a ring, with their faces turned one
towards another, that they might recall the ideas they had entertained
upon the subject in the natural world, and after examination and
deliberation might declare their sentiments.
3. After some deliberation, the First Company, which was from the north,
declared their opinion, that heavenly joy and eternal happiness
constitute the very life of heaven; so much so that whoever enters
heaven, enters, in regard to his life, into its festivities, just as a
person admitted to a marriage enters into all the festivities of a
marriage. "Is not heaven," they argued, "before our eyes in a particular
place above us? and is there not there and nowhere else a constant
succession of satisfactions and pleasures? When a man therefore is
admitted into heaven, he is also admitted into the full enjoyment of all
these satisfactions and pleasures, both as to mental perception and
bodily sensation. Of course heavenly happiness, which is also eternal
happiness, consists solely in admission into heaven, and that depends
purely on the divine mercy and favor." They having concluded, the Second
Company from the north, according to the measure of the wisdom with
which they were endowed, next declared their sentiments as follows:
"Heavenly joy and eternal happiness consist solely in the enjoyment of
the company of angels, and in holding sweet communications with them, so
that the countenance is kept continually expanded with joy; while the
smiles of mirth and pleasure, arising from cheerful and entertaining
conversation, continually enliven the faces of the company. What else
can constitute heavenly joys, but the variations of such pleasures to
eternity?" The Third Company, which was the first of the wise ones from
the western quarter, next declared their sentiments according to the
ideas which flowed from their affections: "In what else," said they, "do
heavenly joy and eternal happiness consist but in feasting with Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob; at whose tables there will be an abundance of rich and
delicate food, with the finest and most generous wines, which will be
succeeded by sports and dances of virgins and young men, to the tunes of
various musical instruments, enlivened by the most melodious singing of
sweet songs; the evening to conclude with dramatic exhibitions, and this
again to be followed by feasting, and so on to eternity?" When they had
ended, the Fourth Company, which was the second from the western
quarter, declared their sentiments to the following purpose: "We have
entertained," said they, "many ideas respecting heavenly joy and eternal
happiness; and we have examined a variety of joys, and compared them one
with another, and have at length come to the conclusion, that heavenly
joys are paradisiacal joys: for what is heaven but a paradise extended
from the east to the west, and from the south to the north, wherein are
trees laden with fruit, and all kinds of beautiful flowers, and in the
midst the magnificent tree of life, around which the blessed will take
their seats, and feed on fruits most delicious to the taste, being
adorned with garlands of the sweetest smelling flowers? In this paradise
there will be a perpetual spring; so that the fruits and flowers will be
renewed every day with an infinite variety, and by their continual
growth and freshness, added to the vernal temperature of the atmosphere,
the souls of the blessed will be daily fitted to receive and taste new
joys, till they shall be restored to the flower of their age, and
finally to their primitive state, in which Adam and his wife were
created, and thus recover their paradise, which has been transplanted
from earth to heaven." The Fifth Company, which was the first of the
ingenious spirits from the southern quarter, next delivered their
opinion: "Heavenly joys and eternal happiness," said they, "consist
solely in exalted power and dignity, and in abundance of wealth, joined
with more than princely magnificence and splendor. That the joys of
heaven, and their continual fruition, which is eternal happiness,
consist in these things, is plain to us from the examples of such
persons as enjoyed them in the former world; and also from this
circumstance, that the blessed in heaven are to reign with the Lord, and
to become kings and princes; for they are the sons of him who is King of
kings and Lord of lords, and they are to sit on thrones and be
ministered to by angels. Moreover, the magnificence of heaven is plainly
made known to us by the description given of the New Jerusalem, wherein
is represented the glory of heaven; that it is to have gates, each of
which shall consist of a single pearl, and streets of pure gold, and a
wall with foundations of precious stones; consequently, every one that
is received into heaven will have a palace of his own, glittering with
gold and other costly materials, and will enjoy dignity and dominion,
each according to his quality and station: and since we find by
experience, that the joys and happiness arising from such things are
natural, and as it were, innate in us, and since the promises of God
cannot fail, we therefore conclude that the most happy state of heavenly
life can be derived from no other source than this." After this, the
Sixth Company, which was the second from the southern quarter, with a
loud voice spoke as follows: "The joy of heaven and its eternal
happiness consist solely in the perpetual glorification of God, in a
never-ceasing festival of praise and thanksgiving, and in the
blessedness of divine worship, heightened with singing and melody,
whereby the heart is kept in a constant state of elevation towards God,
under a full persuasion that he accepts such prayers and praises, on
account of the divine bounty in imparting blessedness." Some of the
company added further, that this glorification would be attended with
magnificent illuminations, with most fragrant incense, and with stately
processions, preceded by the chief priest with a grand trumpet, who
would be followed by primates and officers of various orders, by men
carrying palms, and by women with golden images in their hand.
| 1,488.493618 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.5531390 | 989 | 139 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the
Web Archive (The Library of Congress)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: The Web Archive,
https://archive.org/details/yellowface00whit
(The Library of Congress)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
3. Hyphenation of compound words is as presented in the original
book.
THE YELLOW FACE
_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_
The Crimson Blind
The Corner House
The Weight of the Crown
THE YELLOW FACE
BY
FRED M. WHITE
Author of
"_The Crimson Blind_," "_The Corner House_,"
"_The Midnight Guest," etc_.
R. F. FENNO & COMPANY
18 EAST SEVENTEENTH STREET, NEW YORK
------------------------------------
F. V. WHITE & CO., LONDON
Copyright, 1907
By R. F. Fenno & Company
"_The Yellow Face_"
CONTENTS
I. Nostalgo.
II. The Chopin Nocturne.
III. The Mystery of the Strings.
IV. The Speaking Likeness.
V. A Vanished Clue.
VI. Vanished!
VII. No. 4, Montrose Place.
VIII. The Chopin Fantasie.
IX. The Man with the Fair Moustache.
X. What Did She Know?
XI. The Shadow on the Wall.
XII. Locked In!
XIII. The Parable.
XIV. Nostalgo Again.
XV. Lady Barmouth.
XVI. The Bosom of Her Family.
XVII. Which Man Was It?
XVIII. The Empty Room.
XIX. A Broken Melody.
XX. The Mouse in the Trap.
XXI. A Leader of Society.
XXII. The Portrait.
XXIII. Face to Face.
XXIV. In the Square.
XXV. On the Track.
XXVI. Serena Again.
XXVII. In the Smoking Room.
XXVIII. The Lamp Goes Out.
XXIX. The Silver Lamp.
XXX. Bedroom 14.
XXXI. A Chance Encounter.
XXXII. Lady Barmouth's Jewels.
XXXIII. Gems Or Paste?
XXXIV. In the Vault.
XXXV. The Cellini Plate.
XXXVI. A Stroke Of Policy.
XXXVII. A Pregnant Message.
XXXVIII. The Cry in the Night.
XXXIX. Preparing The Way.
XL. The Magician Speaks.
XLI. The Worm Turns.
XLII. A Piece of Music.
XLIII. The Trap is Baited.
XLIV. The Substitute.
XLV. Caught.
XLVI. The Music Stops.
XLVII. "A Woman Scorned."
XLVIII. The Proof of the Camera.
XLIX. Proof Positive.
L. On the Brink.
LI. Against the World.
LII. The End of it All.
THE YELLOW FACE
THE YELLOW FACE
CHAPTER I.
NOSTALGO.
The flickering firelight fell upon the girl's pretty, thoughtful face;
her violet eyes looked like deep lakes in it. She stood with one small
foot tapping the polished brass rail of the fender. Claire Helmsley
was accounted fortunate by her friends, for she was pretty and rich,
and as popular as she was good-looking. The young man by her side, who
stood looking moodily into the heart of the ship-log fire, was also
popular and good-looking, but Jack Masefield was anything but rich. He
had all the brain and all the daring ambition that makes for success,
but he was poor and struggling yet, and the briefs that he dreamed of
at the Bar had not come.
But he was not thinking of the Bar now as he stood by Claire
Helmsley's side. They were both in evening dress, and obviously
waiting for dinner. Jack's arm was around Claire's slender waist, and
her head rested on his shoulder, so that by looking up she could just
see the shadow on his clean-cut face. Though the pressure of his arm
was strong and tender, he seemed as if he had forgotten all about the
presence of the girl.
"Why so silent?" the girl said. "What are you thinking about, Jack?"
"Well, I was thinking about you, dearest," Jack replied. "About you
and myself. Also of your guardian, Anstruther. I was wondering why he | 1,488.573179 |
2023-11-16 18:41:52.7296760 | 2,648 | 13 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sankar Viswanathan, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Memories of Childhood's
Slavery Days
By
Annie L. Burton
BOSTON
ROSS PUBLISHING COMPANY
1909
RECOLLECTIONS OF A HAPPY LIFE
The memory of my happy, care-free childhood days on the plantation,
with my little white and black companions, is often with me. Neither
master nor mistress nor neighbors had time to bestow a thought upon
us, for the great Civil War was raging. That great event in American
history was a matter wholly outside the realm of our childish
interests. Of course we heard our elders discuss the various events of
the great struggle, but it meant nothing to us.
On the plantation there were ten white children and fourteen <DW52>
children. Our days were spent roaming about from plantation to
plantation, not knowing or caring what things were going on in the
great world outside our little realm. Planting time and harvest time
were happy days for us. How often at the harvest time the planters
discovered cornstalks missing from the ends of the rows, and blamed
the crows! We were called the "little fairy devils." To the sweet
potatoes and peanuts and sugar cane we also helped ourselves.
Those slaves that were not married served the food from the great
house, and about half-past eleven they would send the older children
with food to the workers in the fields. Of course, I followed, and
before we got to the fields, we had eaten the food nearly all up. When
the workers returned home they complained, and we were whipped.
The slaves got their allowance every Monday night of molasses, meat,
corn meal, and a kind of flour called "dredgings" or "shorts." Perhaps
this allowance would be gone before the next Monday night, in which
case the slaves would steal hogs and chickens. Then would come the
whipping-post. Master himself never whipped his slaves; this was left
to the overseer.
We children had no supper, and only a little piece of bread or
something of the kind in the morning. Our dishes consisted of one
wooden bowl, and oyster shells were our spoons. This bowl served for
about fifteen children, and often the dogs and the ducks and the
peafowl had a dip in it. Sometimes we had buttermilk and bread in our
bowl, sometimes greens or bones.
Our clothes were little homespun cotton slips, with short sleeves. I
never knew what shoes were until I got big enough to earn them myself.
If a slave man and woman wished to marry, a party would be arranged
some Saturday night among the slaves. The marriage ceremony consisted
of the pair jumping over a stick. If no children were born within a
year or so, the wife was sold.
At New Year's, if there was any debt or mortgage on the plantation,
the extra slaves were taken to Clayton and sold at the court house. In
this way families were separated.
When they were getting recruits for the war, we were allowed to go to
Clayton to see the soldiers.
I remember, at the beginning of the war, two <DW52> men were hung in
Clayton; one, Caesar King, for killing a blood hound and biting off an
overseer's ear; the other, Dabney Madison, for the murder of his
master. Dabney Madison's master was really shot by a man named
Houston, who was infatuated with Madison's mistress, and who had hired
Madison to make the bullets for him. Houston escaped after the deed,
and the blame fell on Dabney Madison, as he was the only slave of his
master and mistress. The clothes of the two victims were hung on two
pine trees, and no <DW52> person would touch them. Since I have grown
up, I have seen the skeleton of one of these men in the office of a
doctor in Clayton.
After the men were hung, the bones were put in an old deserted house.
Somebody that cared for the bones used to put them in the sun in
bright weather, and back in the house when it rained. Finally the
bones disappeared, although the boxes that had contained them still
remained.
At one time, when they were building barns on the plantation, one of
the big boys got a little brandy and gave us children all a drink,
enough to make us drunk. Four doctors were sent for, but nobody could
tell what was the matter with us, except they thought we had eaten
something poisonous. They wanted to give us some castor oil, but we
refused to take it, because we thought that the oil was made from the
bones of the dead men we had seen. Finally, we told about the big
white boy giving us the brandy, and the mystery was cleared up.
Young as I was then, I remember this conversation between master and
mistress, on master's return from the gate one day, when he had
received the latest news: "William, what is the news from the seat of
war?" "A great battle was fought at Bull Run, and the Confederates
won," he replied. "Oh, good, good," said mistress, "and what did Jeff
Davis say?" "Look out for the blockade. I do not know what the end
may be soon," he answered. "What does Jeff Davis mean by that?" she
asked. "Sarah Anne, I don't know, unless he means that the <DW65>s
will be free." "O, my God, what shall we do?" "I presume," he said,
"we shall have to put our boys to work and hire help." "But," she
said, "what will the <DW65>s do if they are free? Why, they will
starve if we don't keep them." "Oh, well," he said, "let them wander,
if they will not stay with their owners. I don't doubt that many
owners have been good to their slaves, and they would rather remain
with their owners than wander about without home or country."
My mistress often told me that my father was a planter who owned a
plantation about two miles from ours. He was a white man, born in
Liverpool, England. He died in Lewisville, Alabama, in the year 1875.
I will venture to say that I only saw my father a dozen times, when I
was about four years old; and those times I saw him only from a
distance, as he was driving by the great house of our plantation.
Whenever my mistress saw him going by, she would take me by the hand
and run out upon the piazza, and exclaim, "Stop there, I say! Don't
you want to see and speak to and caress your darling child? She often
speaks of you and wants to embrace her dear father. See what a bright
and beautiful daughter she is, a perfect picture of yourself. Well, I
declare, you are an affectionate father." I well remember that
whenever my mistress would speak thus and upbraid him, he would whip
up his horse and get out of sight and hearing as quickly as possible.
My mistress's action was, of course, intended to humble and shame my
father. I never spoke to him, and cannot remember that he ever noticed
me, or in any way acknowledged me to be his child.
My mother and my mistress were children together, and grew up to be
mothers together. My mother was the cook in my mistress's household.
One morning when master had gone to Eufaula, my mother and my mistress
got into an argument, the consequence of which was that my mother was
whipped, for the first time in her life. Whereupon, my mother refused
to do any more work, and ran away from the plantation. For three years
we did not see her again.
Our plantation was one of several thousand acres, comprising large
level fields, upland, and considerable forests of Southern pine.
Cotton, corn, sweet potatoes, sugar cane, wheat, and rye were the
principal crops raised on the plantation. It was situated near the
P---- River, and about twenty-three miles from Clayton, Ala.
One day my master heard that the Yankees were coming our way, and he
immediately made preparations to get his goods and valuables out of
their reach. The big six-mule team was brought to the smoke-house
door, and loaded with hams and provisions. After being loaded, the
team was put in the care of two of the most trustworthy and valuable
slaves that my master owned, and driven away. It was master's
intention to have these things taken to a swamp, and there concealed
in a pit that had recently been made for the purpose. But just before
the team left the main road for the by-road that led to the swamp, the
two slaves were surprised by the Yankees, who at once took possession
of the provisions, and started the team toward Clayton, where the
Yankees had headquarters. The road to Clayton ran past our plantation.
One of the slave children happened to look up the road, and saw the
Yankees coming, and gave warning. Whereupon, my master left
unceremoniously for the woods, and remained concealed there for five
days. The <DW65>s had run away whenever they got a chance, but now it
was master's and the other white folks' turn to run.
The Yankees rode up to the piazza of the great house and inquired who
owned the plantation. They gave orders that nothing must be touched or
taken away, as they intended to return shortly and take possession. My
mistress and the slaves watched for their return day and night for
more than a week, but the Yankees did not come back.
One morning in April, 1865, my master got the news that the Yankees
had left Mobile Bay and crossed the Confederate lines, and that the
Emancipation Proclamation had been signed by President Lincoln.
Mistress suggested that the slaves should not be told of their
freedom; but master said he would tell them, because they would soon
find it out, even if he did not tell them. Mistress, however, said she
could keep my mother's three children, for my mother had now been gone
so long.
All the slaves left the plantation upon the news of their freedom,
except those who were feeble or sickly. With the help of these, the
crops were gathered. My mistress and her daughters had to go to the
kitchen and to the washtub. My little half-brother, Henry, and myself
had to gather chips, and help all we could. My sister, Caroline, who
was twelve years old, could help in the kitchen.
After the war, the Yankees took all the good mules and horses from
the plantation, and left their old army stock. We children chanced to
come across one of the Yankees' old horses, that had "U. S." branded
on him. We called him "Old Yank" and got him fattened up. One day in
August, six of us children took "Old Yank" and went away back on the
plantation for watermelons. Coming home, we thought we would make the
old horse trot. When "Old Yank" commenced to trot, our big melons
dropped off, but we couldn't stop the horse for some time. Finally,
one of the big boys went back and got some more melons, and left us
eating what we could find of the ones that had been dropped. Then all
we six, with our melons, got on "Old Yank" and went home. We also used
to hitch "Old Yank" into a wagon and get wood. But one sad day in the
fall, the Yankees came back again, and gathered up their old stock,
and took "Old Yank" away.
One day mistress sent me out to do some churning under a tree. I went
to sleep and jerked the churn over on top of me, and consequently got
a whipping.
My mother came for us at the end of the year 1865, and demanded that
her children be given up to her. This, mistress refused | 1,488.749716 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.