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Produced by David Garcia, Martin Pettit 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)
MAKING PEOPLE HAPPY
[Illustration]
MAKING PEOPLE HAPPY
by
THOMPSON BUCHANAN
Author of A WOMAN'S WAY
Frontispiece by HARRISON FISHER
NEW YORK
W.J. WATT & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY W. J. WATT & COMPANY
_Published September_
PRESS OF BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN, N.Y.
MAKING PEOPLE HAPPY
CHAPTER I
The bride hammered the table desperately with her gavel. In vain! The
room was in pandemonium.
The lithe and curving form of the girl--for she was only twenty,
although already a wife--was tense now as she stood there in her own
drawing-room, stoutly battling to bring order out of chaos. Usually the
creamy pallor of her cheeks was only most daintily touched with rose: at
this moment the crimson of excitement burned fiercely. Usually her eyes
of amber were soft and tender: now they were glowing with an indignation
that was half-wrath.
Still the bride beat a tattoo of outraged authority with the gavel,
wholly without avail. The confusion that reigned in the charming
drawing-room of Cicily Hamilton did but grow momently the more
confounded. The Civitas Club was in full operation, and would brook no
restraint. Each of the twelve women, who were ranged in chairs facing
the presiding officer, was talking loudly and swiftly and incessantly.
None paid the slightest heed to the frantic appeal of the gavel....
Then, at last, the harassed bride reached the limit of endurance. She
threw the gavel from her angrily, and cried out shrilly above the massed
clamor of the other voices:
"If you don't stop," she declared vehemently, "I'll never speak to one
of you again!"
That wail of protest was not without its effect. There came a chorus of
ejaculations; but the monologues had been efficiently interrupted, and
the attention of the garrulous twelve was finally given to the presiding
officer. For a moment, silence fell. It was broken by Ruth Howard, a
girl with large, soulful brown eyes and a manner of | 1,693.47965 |
2023-11-16 18:45:17.4780380 | 2,763 | 17 |
Produced by Martin Ward
Weymouth New Testament in Modern Speech, 1 John
Third Edition 1913
R. F. Weymouth
Book 62 1 John
001:001 That which was from the beginning, which we have listened to,
which we have seen with our own eyes, and our own hands
have handled concerning the Word of Life--
001:002 the Life was manifested, and we have seen and bear witness,
and we declare unto you the Life of the Ages which was with
the Father and was manifested to us--
001:003 that which we have seen and listened to we now announce to you also,
in order that you also may have fellowship in it with us,
and this fellowship with us is fellowship with the Father
and with His Son Jesus Christ.
001:004 And we write these things in order that our joy may
be made complete.
001:005 This is the Message which we have heard from the Lord Jesus
and now deliver to you--God is Light, and in Him there
is no darkness.
001:006 If, while we are living in darkness, we profess to have
fellowship with Him, we speak falsely and are not adhering
to the truth.
001:007 But if we live in the light as He is in the light, we have
fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, His Son,
cleanses us from all sin.
001:008 If we claim to be already free from sin, we lead ourselves
astray and the truth has no place in our hearts.
001:009 If we confess our sins, He is so faithful and just that He
forgives us our sins and cleanses us from all unrighteousness.
001:010 If we deny that we have sinned, we make Him a liar,
and His Message has no place in our hearts.
002:001 Dear children, I write thus to you in order that you may not sin.
If any one sins, we have an Advocate with the Father--Jesus Christ
the righteous;
002:002 and He is an atoning sacrifice for our sins, and not for ours only,
but also for the sins of the whole world.
002:003 And by this we may know that we know Him--if we obey His commands.
002:004 He who professes to know Him, and yet does not obey His commands,
is a liar, and the truth has no place in his heart.
002:005 But whoever obeys His Message, in him love for God has in
very deed reached perfection. By this we can know that we
are in Him.
002:006 The man who professes to be continuing in Him is himself
also bound to live as He lived.
002:007 My dearly-loved friends, it is no new command that I am
now giving you, but an old command which you have had from
the very beginning. By the old command I mean the teaching
which you have already received.
002:008 And yet I *am* giving you a new command, for such it
really is, so far as both He and you are concerned:
because the darkness is now passing away and the light,
the true light, is already beginning to shine.
002:009 Any one who professes to be in the light and yet hates his
brother man is still in darkness.
002:010 He who loves his brother man continues in the light, and his
life puts no stumbling-block in the way of others.
002:011 But he who hates his brother man is in darkness and is
walking in darkness; and he does not know where he is going--
because the darkness has blinded his eyes.
002:012 I am writing to you, dear children, because for His sake
your sins are forgiven you.
002:013 I am writing to you, fathers, because you know Him who has
existed from the very beginning. I am writing to you,
young men, because you have overcome the Evil one.
I have written to you, children, because you know the Father.
002:014 I have written to you, fathers, because you know Him who has
existed from the very beginning. I have written to you,
young men, because you are strong and God's Message still has
a place in your hearts, and you have overcome the Evil one.
002:015 Do not love the world, nor the things in the world.
If any one loves the world, there is no love in his heart
for the Father.
002:016 For the things in the world--the cravings of the earthly nature,
the cravings of the eyes, the show and pride of life--
they all come, not from the Father, but from the world.
002:017 And the world, with its cravings, is passing away, but he who
does God's will continues for ever.
002:018 Dear children, the last hour has come; and as you once heard
that there was to be an anti-Christ, so even now many
anti-Christs have appeared. By this we may know that the last
hour has come.
002:019 They have gone forth from our midst, but they did not really
belong to us; for had they belonged to us, they would have
remained with us. But they left us that it might be manifest
that professed believers do not all belong to us.
002:020 As for you, you have an anointing from the holy One and
have perfect knowledge.
002:021 I have written to you, not because you are ignorant of the truth,
but because you know it, and you know that nothing false
comes from the truth.
002:022 Who is a liar compared with him who denies that Jesus
is the Christ? He who disowns the Father and the Son
is the anti-Christ.
002:023 No one who disowns the Son has the Father. He who acknowledges
the Son has also the Father.
002:024 As for you, let the teaching which you have received
from the very beginning continue in your hearts.
If that teaching does continue in your hearts, you also will
continue to be in union with the Son and with the Father.
002:025 And this is the promise which He Himself has given us--
the Life of the Ages.
002:026 I have thus written to you concerning those who are
leading you astray.
002:027 And as for you, the anointing which you received from Him remains
within you, and there is no need for any one to teach you.
But since His anointing gives you instruction in all things--
and is true and is no falsehood--you are continuing in union
with Him even as it has taught you to do.
002:028 And now, dear children, continue in union with Him; so that,
if He re-appears, we may have perfect confidence, and may
not shrink away in shame from His presence at His Coming.
002:029 Since you know that He is righteous, be assured also that the man
who habitually acts righteously is a child of His.
003:001 See what marvellous love the Father has bestowed upon us--
that we should be called God's children: and that is what we are.
For this reason the world does not recognize us--because it
has not known Him.
003:002 Dear friends, we are now God's children, but what we are
to be in the future has not yet been fully revealed.
We know that if Christ reappears we shall be like Him,
because we shall see Him as He is.
003:003 And every man who has this hope fixed on Him, purifies himself
so as to be as pure as He is.
003:004 Every one who is guilty of sin is also guilty of violating Law;
for sin is the violation of Law.
003:005 And you know that He appeared in order to take away sins;
and in Him there is no sin.
003:006 No one who continues in union with Him lives in sin:
no one who lives in sin has seen Him or knows Him.
003:007 Dear children, let no one lead you astray. The man who acts
righteously is righteous, just as He is righteous.
003:008 He who is habitually guilty of sin is a child of the Devil,
because the Devil has been a sinner from the very beginning.
The Son of God appeared for the purpose of undoing the work
of the Devil.
003:009 No one who is a child of God is habitually guilty of sin.
A God-given germ of life remains in him, and he cannot
habitually sin--because he is a child of God.
003:010 By this we can distinguish God's children and the Devil's children:
no one who fails to act righteously is a child of God,
nor he who does not love his brother man.
003:011 For this is the Message you have heard from the beginning--
that we are to love one another.
003:012 We are not to resemble Cain, who was a child of the Evil
one and killed his own brother. And why did he kill him?
Because his own actions were wicked and his brother's
actions righteous.
003:013 Do not be surprised, brethren, if the world hates you.
003:014 As for us, we know that we have already passed out
of death into Life--because we love our brother men.
He who is destitute of love continues dead.
003:015 Every one who hates his brother man is a murderer; and you know
that no murderer has the Life of the Ages continuing in him.
003:016 We know what love is--through Christ's having laid down His
life on our behalf; and in the same way we ought to lay
down our lives for our brother men.
003:017 But if any one has this world's wealth and sees that his
brother man is in need, and yet hardens his heart against him--
how can such a one continue to love God?
003:018 Dear children, let us not love in words only nor with the lips,
but in deed and in truth.
003:019 And in this way we shall come to know that we are loyal to
the truth, and shall satisfy our consciences in His presence
003:020 in whatever matters our hearts condemn us--because God is
greater than our hearts and knows everything.
003:021 Dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have perfect
confidence towards God;
003:022 and whatever we ask for we obtain from Him, because we obey His
commands and do the things which are pleasing in His sight.
003:023 And this is His command--that we are to believe in
His Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as He has
commanded us to do.
003:024 The man who obeys His commands continues in union with God,
and God continues in union with him; and through His Spirit whom
He has given us we can know that He continues in union with us.
004:001 Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but put the spirits
to the test to see whether they are from God; for many false
teachers have gone out into the world.
004:002 The test by which you may recognize the Spirit of God is
that every spirit which acknowledges that Jesus Christ has
come as man is from God,
004:003 and that no spirit is from God which does not acknowledge
this about Jesus. Such is the spirit of the anti-Christ;
of whose coming you have heard, and it is already in the world.
004:004 As for you, dear children, you are God's children, and have
successfully resisted them; for greater is He who is in you
than he who is in the world.
004:005 They are the world's children, and so their language
is that of the world, and the world listens to them.
We are God's children.
004:006 The man who is beginning to know God listens to us,
but he who is not a child of God does not listen to us.
By this test we can distinguish the Spirit of truth from
the spirit of error.
004:007 Dear friends, let us love one another; for love has its origin
in God, and every one who loves has become a child of God
and is beginning to know God.
004:008 He who is destitute of love has never had any knowledge of God;
because God is love.
004:009 God's love for us has been manifested in that He has sent His
only Son into the world so that we may have Life | 1,693.498078 |
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Produced by John Bickers, Bonnie Sala, and Dagny
VENDETTA
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
DEDICATION
To Puttinati, Milanese Sculptor.
VENDETTA
CHAPTER I. PROLOGUE
In the year 1800, toward | 1,693.504286 |
2023-11-16 18:45:17.4875190 | 1,590 | 9 |
Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier, Janet Blenkinship
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: "That gardening is best... which best ministers to man's
felicity with least disturbance of nature's freedom."
This is my study. The tree in the middle of the picture is Barrie's elm.
I once lifted it between my thumb and finger, but I was younger and the
tree was smaller. The dark tree in the foreground on the right is Felix
Adler's hemlock. [Page 82]]
THE AMATEUR GARDEN
BY
GEORGE W. CABLE
ILLUSTRATED
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK: MCMXIV
_Copyright, 1914, by_
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
_Published October, 1914_
CONTENTS
PAGE
MY OWN ACRE 1
THE AMERICAN GARDEN 41
WHERE TO PLANT WHAT 79
THE COTTAGE GARDENS OF NORTHAMPTON 107
THE PRIVATE GARDEN'S PUBLIC VALUE 129
THE MIDWINTER GARDENS OF NEW ORLEANS 163
ILLUSTRATIONS
"That gardening is best... which best ministers to man's
felicity with least disturbance of nature's freedom" _Frontis_
"... that suddenly falling wooded and broken ground where Mill
River loiters through Paradise" 6
"On this green of the dryads... lies My Own Acre" 8
"The beautiful mill-pond behind its high dam keeps the river full
back to the rapids just above My Own Acre" 12
"A fountain... where one,--or two,--can sit and hear it whisper" 22
"The bringing of the grove out on the lawn and the pushing of
the lawn in under the grove was one of the early tasks of My
Own Acre" 24
"Souvenir trees had from time to time been planted on the lawn
by visiting friends" 26
"How the words were said which some of the planters spoke" 28
"'Where are you going?' says the eye. 'Come and see,' says the
roaming line" 34
"The lane is open to view from end to end. It has two deep bays
on the side nearest the lawn" 36
"... until the house itself seems as naturally... to grow up
out of the garden as the high keynote rises at the end
of a lady's song" 48
"Beautiful results may be got on smallest grounds" 52
"Muffle your architectural angles in foliage and bloom" 52
Fences masked by shrubbery 64
After the first frost annual plantings cease to be attractive 72
Shrubbery versus annuals 72
Shrubs are better than annuals for masking right angles. South
Hall, Williston Seminary 74
"... a line of shrubbery swinging in and out in strong, graceful
undulations" 74
"However enraptured of wild nature you may be, you do and must
require of her some subserviency about your own dwelling" 84
"Plant it where it will best enjoy itself" 86
"... climaxes to be got by superiority of stature, by darkness and
breadth of foliage and by splendor of bloom belong at its far
end" 94
"Some clear disclosure of charm still remote may beckon and lure" 96
"... tall, rectangular, three-story piles... full of windows
all of one size, pigeon-house style" 100
"You can make gardening a concerted public movement" 112
"Plant on all your lot's boundaries, plant out the foundation-lines
of all its buildings" 122
"Not chiefly to reward the highest art in gardening, but to procure
its widest and most general dissemination" 122
"Having wages bigger than their bodily wants, and having spiritual
wants numerous and elastic enough to use up the surplus" 138
"One such competing garden was so beautiful last year that
strangers driving by stopped and asked leave to dismount
and enjoy a nearer view" 138
"Beauty can be called into life about the most unpretentious
domicile" 148
"Those who pay no one to die, plant or prune for them" 148
"In New Orleans the home is bounded by its fences, not by its
doors--so they clothe them with shrubberies and vines" 174
"The lawn... lies clean-breasted, green-breasted, from one
shrub-and-flower-planted side to the other, along and across" 174
"There eight distinct encumbrances narrow the sward.... In a
half-day's work, the fair scene might be enhanced in lovely
dignity by the elimination of these excesses" 176
"The rear walk... follows the dwelling's ground contour with
business precision--being a business path" 178
"Thus may he wonderfully extenuate, even... where it does not
conceal, the house's architectural faults" 180
"... a lovely stage scene without a hint of the stage's unreality" 182
"Back of the building-line the fences... generally more
than head-high... are _sure_ to be draped" 184
"... from the autumn side of Christmas to the summer side of
Easter" 184
"The sleeping beauty of the garden's unlost configuration... keeping
a winter's share of its feminine grace and softness" 186
"It is only there that I see anything so stalwart as a pine or
so rigid as a spruce" 192
MY OWN ACRE
A lifelong habit of story-telling has much to do with the production of
these pages.
All the more does it move me because it has always included, as perhaps
it does in most story-tellers, a keen preference for true stories,
stories of actual occurrence.
A flower-garden trying to be beautiful is a charming instance of
something which a storyteller can otherwise only dream of. For such a
garden is itself a story, one which actually and naturally occurs, yet
occurs under its master's guidance and control and with artistic effect.
Yet it was this same story-telling bent which long held me back while
from time to time I generalized on gardening and on gardens other than
my own. A well-designed garden is not only a true story happening
artistically but it is one that passes through a new revision each year,
"with the former translations diligently compared and revised." Each
year my own acre has confessed itself so full of mistranslations of the
true text of gardening, has promised, each season, so much fairer a show
in its next edition, and has been kept so prolongedly busy teaching and
reteaching its master where | 1,693.507559 |
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Produced by Chuck Greif 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.)
HISTORY
OF
THE OPERA,
from its Origin in Italy to the present Time.
WITH ANECDOTES
OF THE MOST CELEBRATED COMPOSERS AND VOCALISTS OF EUROPE.
BY
SUTHERLAND EDWARDS,
AUTHOR OF "RUSSIANS AT HOME," ETC.
"QUIS TAM DULCIS SONUS QUI MEAS COMPLET AURES?"
"WHAT IS ALL THIS NOISE ABOUT?"
VOL. I. & VOL. II.
LONDON: WM. H. ALLEN & CO., 13, WATERLOO PLACE.
1862.
[_The right of translation and reproduction is reserved._]
LONDON: LEWIS AND SON, PRINTERS, SWAN BUILDINGS, (49) MOORGATE STREET.
CONTENTS VOLUME I.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
Preface, Prelude, Prologue, Introduction, Overture, &c.--The
Origin of the Opera in Italy, and its introduction into Germany.--Its
History in Europe; Division of the subject 1
CHAPTER II.
Introduction of the Opera into France and England 12
CHAPTER III.
On the Nature of the Opera, and its Merits as compared with
other forms of the Drama 36
CHAPTER IV.
Introduction and progress of the Ballet 70
CHAPTER V.
Introduction of the Italian Opera into England 104
CHAPTER VI.
The Italian Opera under Handel 140
CHAPTER VII.
General view of the Opera in Europe in the Eighteenth Century,
until the appearance of Gluck 172
CHAPTER VIII.
French Opera from Lulli to the Death of Rameau | 1,693.603485 |
2023-11-16 18:45:17.7343930 | 577 | 8 | A COUNTRY FAIR***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, 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 37647-h.htm or 37647-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37647/37647-h/37647-h.htm)
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(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/37647/37647-h.zip)
[Illustration: In an instant Sam was off at full speed, crying, "Stop
thief!" at the full strength of his lungs.]
THE ADVENTURES OF A COUNTRY BOY AT A COUNTRY FAIR
by
James Otis
Author of Toby Tyler Etc.
Illustrated
Boston
Charles E. Brown & Co.
Copyright, 1893,
By Charles E. Brown & Co.
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Printers
Boston
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I.--A Young Fakir
II.--An Old Fakir
III.--A Friend
IV.--Uncle Nathan
V.--The Fair
VI.--A Clue
VII.--The Clerk
VIII.--The Jewelry Fakir
IX.--A Brave Rescue
X.--An Encounter
XI.--Long Jim
XII.--A Discovery
XIII.--Amateur Detectives
XIV.--The Rendezvous
XV.--Sam's Adventures
XVI.--Missing
XVII.--A Terrible Night
XVIII.--A Narrow Escape
XIX.--The Arrest
XX.--A Proposition
XXI.--With the Burglars
XXII.--A Disaster
XXIII.--A Second Arrest
XXIV.--A Third Arrest
XXV.--On Bail
XXVI.--The Fakirs' Party
XXVII.--In Hiding
XXVIII.--A Failure
XXIX.--The Testimonial
XXX.--The Trial
XXXI.--An Arrival
XXXII.--In Conclusion
_THE ADVENTURES OF A COUNTRY BOY AT A COUNTRY FAIR._
CHAPTER I.
_A YOUNG FAKIR._
"I'm going to try it. Deacon Jones says I can have the right to run both
things for ten dollars, and Uncle Nathan is going to lend me money
enough to get the stock."
"What scheme have you got in your head now, Teddy Hargreaves?" and Mrs.
Fernald looked over her spectacles at the son of her widowed sister, who
was literally breathless in his excitement.
"I'm going | 1,693.754433 |
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Produced by Michael Pullen and David Widger
THE MARBLE FAUN
or The Romance of Monte Beni
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
In Two Volumes
This is Volume One
Contents
Volume I
I MIRIAM, HILDA, KENYON, DONATELLO
II THE FAUN
III SUBTERRANEAN REMINISCENCES
IV THE SPECTRE OF THE CATACOMB
V MIRIAM'S STUDIO
VI THE VIRGIN'S SHRINE
VII BEATRICE
VIII THE SUBURBAN VILLA
IX THE FAUN AND NYMPH
X THE SYLVAN DANCE
XI FRAGMENTARY SENTENCES
XII A STROLL ON THE PINCIAN
XIII A SCULPTOR'S STUDIO
XIV CLEOPATRA | 1,693.854404 |
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Letters From Rome on the Council
By "Quirinus"
(Johann Joseph Ignaz von Doellinger)
Reprinted from the _Allgemeine Zeiting_.
Authorized Translation.
Rivingtons
London, Oxford, and Cambridge
1870
CONTENTS
Preface.
Views of the Council. (Allgemeine Zeitung, May 20, 1869.)
The Future Council. (Allg. Zeit., June 11, 1869.)
Prince Hohenlohe and the Council. (Allg. Zeit., June 20 and 21, 1869.)
The Council. (Allg. Zeit., Aug. 19, 1869.)
The Fulda Pastoral. (Allg. Zeit., Sept. 25, 1869.)
The Bishops and the Council. (Allg. Zeit., Nov. 19 and 20, 1869.)
First Letter.
Second Letter.
Third Letter.
Fourth Letter.
Fifth Letter.
Sixth Letter.
Seventh Letter.
Eighth Letter.
Ninth Letter.
Tenth Letter.
Eleventh Letter.
Twelfth Letter.
Thirteenth Letter.
Fourteenth Letter.
Fifteenth Letter.
Sixteenth Letter.
Seventeenth Letter.
Eighteenth Letter.
Nineteenth Letter.
Twentieth Letter.
Twenty-First Letter.
Twenty-Second Letter.
Twenty-Third Letter.
Twenty-Fourth Letter.
Twenty-Fifth Letter.
Twenty-Sixth Letter.
Twenty-Seventh Letter.
Twenty-Eighth Letter.
Twenty-Ninth Letter.
Thirtieth Letter.
Thirty-First Letter.
Thirty-Second Letter.
Thirty-Third Letter.
Thirty-Fourth Letter.
Thirty-Fifth Letter.
Thirty-Sixth Letter.
Thirty-Seventh Letter.
Thirty-Eighth Letter.
Thirty-Ninth Letter.
Fortieth Letter.
Forty-First Letter.
Forty-Second Letter.
Forty-Third Letter.
Forty-Fourth Letter.
Forty-Fifth Letter.
Forty-Sixth Letter.
Forty-Seventh Letter.
Forty-Eighth Letter.
Forty-Ninth Letter.
Fiftieth Letter.
Fifty-First Letter.
Fifty-Second Letter.
Fifty-Third Letter.
Fifty-Fourth Letter.
Fifty-Fifth Letter.
Fifty-Sixty Letter.
Fifty-Seventh Letter.
Fifty-Eighth Letter.
Fifty-Ninth Letter.
Sixtieth Letter.
Sixty-First Letter.
Sixty-Second Letter.
Sixty-Third Letter.
Sixty-Fourth Letter.
Sixty-Fifth Letter.
Sixty-Sixth Letter.
Sixty-Seventh Letter.
Sixty-Eighth Letter.
Sixty-Ninth Letter.
Appendix I.
Appendix II.
Appendix III.
Appendix IV.
Appendix V.
Advertisement.
Footnotes
PREFACE.
These Letters of the Council originated in the following way. Three
friends in Rome were in the habit of communicating to one another what
they heard from persons intimately acquainted with the proceedings of the
Council. Belonging as they did to | 1,693.898375 |
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Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net Music
transcribed by Veronika Redfern.
THE
NURSERY
_A Monthly Magazine_
FOR YOUNGEST READERS.
VOLUME XXX.--No. 1.
BOSTON:
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
NO. 36 BROMFIELD STREET.
1881.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1881, by
THE NURSERY PUBLISHING COMPANY,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
[Illustration: JOHN WILSON & SON UNIVERSITY PRESS]
[Illustration: Contents.]
IN PROSE.
PAGE
Hide and Seek 193
Flowers for Mamma 195
Outwitted 197
Zip <DW53> 199
The Fuss in the Poultry-Yard 201
Our Charley 206
Drawing-Lesson 209
More about "Parley-voo" 210
The old | 1,694.101265 |
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Produced by Al Haines
_THE EXPOSITOR'S LIBRARY_
MODERN SUBSTITUTES
FOR CHRISTIANITY
BY THE VERY REV.
PEARSON McADAM MUIR D.D.
MINISTER OF GLASGOW CATHEDRAL
CHAPLAIN IN ORDINARY TO THE KING
_Christus vincit, Christus regnat, Christus imperat_
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
LONDON -- NEW YORK -- TORONTO
First Published... December 1909
Second Edition ... October 1912
IN MEMORIAM
S. A. M.
JUNE 3, 1847. OCTOBER 5, 1871
FEBRUARY 12, 1907
{vii}
CONTENTS
I PAGE
POPULAR IMPEACHMENTS OF CHRISTIANITY..... 1
II
MORALITY WITHOUT RELIGION .......... 31
III
THE RELIGION OF THE UNIVERSE......... 63
IV
THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY........... 91
{viii}
V
THEISM WITHOUT CHRIST ............ 125
VI
THE TRIBUTE OF CRITICISM TO CHRIST...... 171
APPENDICES.................. 219
AUTHORITIES CONSULTED ............ 257
INDEX .................... 265
{2}
I
POPULAR IMPEACHMENTS OF CHRISTIANITY
'Why call ye Me Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?'--S.
LUKE vi. 46.
'The name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles through you.'--ROMANS
ii. 24.
'What if some did not believe? shall their unbelief make the faith of
God without effect?'--ROMANS iii. 3.
'By reason of whom the way of truth shall be evil spoken of.'--2 S.
PETER ii. 1.
'So is the will of God, that with well-doing ye may put to silence the
ignorance of foolish men.'--1 S. PETER ii. 15.
{3}
I
POPULAR IMPEACHMENTS OF CHRISTIANITY
That there is at present a widespread alienation from the Christian
Faith can hardly be denied. Sometimes by violent invective, sometimes
by quiet assumption, the conclusion is conveyed that Christianity is
obsolete. Whatever benefits it may have conferred in rude,
unenlightened ages, it is now outgrown, it is not in keeping with the
science and discovery of modern times. 'The good Lord Jesus has had
His day,'[1] is murmured in pitying condescension towards those who
still suffer themselves to be deceived by the antiquated superstition.
The statements in which our forefathers embodied the relations {4}
between God and man are no longer, except by a very few, considered
adequate; and there is everywhere a demand that those statements should
be recast. Is not all this an irresistible proof that the beliefs of
the Church have been abandoned, that the old notions of the Divine
care, the spiritual world, the everlasting life, cannot be maintained,
must be relegated to the realm of imagination? The blessings with
which Christianity is commonly credited spring from other sources: the
evils with which society is infected are its result, direct or indirect.
I
Such accusations, it may occur to us, cannot be made seriously: they
bear their refutation in the very making; they cannot be propounded
with any expectation of being accepted. This may seem self-evident to
us: it is not self-evident to multitudes of eager, {5} earnest men.
The accusations are persistently made by vigorous writers and
impassioned speakers, and are received as incontrovertible
propositions. However astonishing, however painful, it may be for us
to hear, it is well that we should know, what, in largely circulated
books and periodicals, and in mass meetings of the people, is said
about the Faith which we profess, and about us who profess it.
Listen to some of the terms in which Christianity is impeached.
'I undertake,' says Mr. Winwood Reade, 'I undertake to show that the
destruction of Christianity is essential to the interests of
civilisation; and also that man will never attain his full powers as a
moral being, until he has ceased to believe in a personal God, and in
the immortality of the soul. Christianity must be destroyed.'[2]
'The hostile evidence,' says Mr. Philip {6} Vivian, 'appears to be
overwhelming. Christianity cannot be true. Provided that we see
things as they really are, and not as we wish them to be, we cannot but
come to this conclusion. We cannot get away from facts. Modern
knowledge forces us to admit that the Christian Faith cannot be
true.'[3]
'I want,' exclaims Mr. Vivian Carey, who has apparently, like Lord
Herbert of Cherbury, received a revelation to prove that no revelation
has been given, 'I want to destroy the fetich of centuries and to
instil in its place a life of duty, and of faith in God and man, and I
believe there is a power that has impelled me to attempt this task....
A system that has produced such results must be essentially bad.... It
will not be difficult to create a faith and a religion that will serve
the needs of humanity, where Christianity has so deplorably failed.'[4]
{7}
'If Christianity,' argues Mr. Charles Watts, 'were potent for good,
that good would have been displayed ere now.... The ties of domestic
affection, the bonds of the social compact, the political relations of
rulers and ruled, all have surrendered themselves to its influence.
Yet with all these advantages, it has proved unable to keep pace with a
progressive civilisation.'[5]
'In a really humane and civilised nation,' Mr. Robert Blatchford
contends, 'there should be and need be no such thing as Ignorance,
Crime, Idleness, War, Slavery, Hate, Envy, Pride, Greed, Gluttony,
Vice. But this is not a humane and civilised nation, and never will be
while it accepts Christianity as its religion. These are my reasons
for opposing Christianity.'[6] 'Christianity,' he iterates and
reiterates, 'is not true.'[7]
'Onward, ye children of the new Faith!' {8} exultantly cries Mr.
Moncure D. Conway. 'The sun of Christendom hastes to its setting, but
the hope never sets of those who know that the sunset here is a sunrise
there!'[8]
Such is the manner in which the downfall of Christianity is now
proclaimed. And the impression is prevalent that, though in all ages
Christianity has been the object of doubt and of scorn, yet never has
it been rejected with such intensity of hatred as now, never have keen
criticism and deep earnestness, wide learning and shrewd mother-wit
been so combined in the attack. It is not merely the reckless, the
dissolute, the frivolous who turn away from its reproofs, seeking
excuses for their self-indulgence, but it is the thoughtful, the
austere, the high-principled, the reverent, the unselfish, who are
engaged in a crusade against all that we, as Christians, hold dear.
'To the old spirit of mockery, coarse or refined, to the old wrangle of
argument, {9} also coarse or refined, has succeeded the spirit of
grave, measured, determined negation.'[9] Men whose integrity and
elevation of character are beyond suspicion, take their places among
the rebels against the authority of Christ. They are fighting, they
assert, not for the removal of a check to their vices, but for the
introduction of a nobler ideal. In the demolition of Christianity, in
the sweeping away of every vestige of religious belief, religious
custom, religious hope, they imagine themselves to be conferring
inestimable benefits upon mankind. Christianity, in their view, is the
product of delusion and the buttress of all social ills.
II
The contrast which so many are drawing between the present and the past
is not a little exaggerated. There have been few periods in which
Christianity has not been the {10} object of animadversion and attack,
in which its speedy downfall has not been confidently predicted. It
was two hundred years ago that Dean Swift wrote _An Argument to prove
that the Abolishing of Christianity in England may, as things now
stand, be attended with some Inconveniences, and perhaps not produce
those many good effects proposed thereby_': the Dean, with scathing
sarcasm, ridiculing at once the conventional customs by which
Christianity was misrepresented, and the supercilious ignorance which
assumed that it was extinct.[10] It was about a quarter of a century
later that Bishop Butler, in the advertisement to his _Analogy of
Religion to the Constitution and Course of Nature_, stated, 'It is
come, I know not how, to be taken for granted by many persons that
Christianity is not so much as a subject of inquiry, but that it is
now, at length, discovered to be fictitious. And accordingly they
treat it as if, {11} in the present age, this were an agreed point
among all people of discernment; and nothing remained but to set it up
as a principal subject of mirth and ridicule, as it were, by way of
reprisals for its having so long interrupted the pleasures of the
world.' And the Bishop drily gave as the aim of the _Analogy_: 'Thus
much, at least, will be here found, not taken for granted but proved,
that any reasonable man who will thoroughly consider the matter, may be
as much assured as he is of his own being, that it is not, however, so
clear a case that there is nothing in it.'
The assumption that Christianity is a thing of the past can hardly be
more prevalent now than it was then; and the groundlessness of the
assumption then may lead to the conclusion that the assumption is
equally groundless now. Since the days of Butler or of Swift, the
progress of Christianity has not ceased: its developments of thought
and {12} life have been among the most remarkable in its whole career.
The exultation over its decay in the twentieth century may possibly be
found as premature and as vain as the exultation over its decay in the
eighteenth century, or in any of the centuries which have gone before.
III
The most popular impeachments of Christianity are mainly these.
It is a mass of false and superstitious beliefs long exploded. It is
the opponent of progress and inquiry, the discoveries of science having
been made in direct defiance of its teaching and its influence.
It is the champion of oppression and tyranny. It aims at keeping the
poor in ignorance and destitution. It prostrates itself before the
rich and seeks the patronage of the great.
It so insists on people being absorbed in {13} the thought of heaven
that it practically precludes them from doing any good on earth.
It is a system of selfishness, inculcating the dogma that no one need
care for anything except the salvation of his own soul.[11]
It is the foster-mother of all the evil and misery by which society is
distressed. Dishonesty, cruelty, slavery, war, persecution, avarice,
drunkenness, vice, would seem to be its natural fruits.
'How calm and sweet the victories of life,'
shrieked Shelley in one of his early poems.
'How terrorless the triumph of the grave...
... but for thy aid
Religion! but for thee, prolific fiend,
Who peoplest earth with demons, hell with men,
And heaven with slaves!
Thou taintest all thou look'st upon!'[12]
What shall we say to these accusations? Christians have been credulous
and superstitious, have argued and acted as if only in {14} the
abnormal and exceptional could the Divine Presence be found, as if God
were a hard Taskmaster and capricious Tyrant. They have resisted
progress and inquiry, blindly refusing to see the light which was
streaming upon them. They have unquestionably been guilty of miserable
pride towards inferiors in wealth or in station, and guilty of
miserable sycophancy towards the rich and the powerful. Christians
have too frequently neglected the material well-being of the community,
have suffered disgraceful outward conditions to remain without protest,
have not striven to shed abroad happiness and brightness in squalid and
wretched lives. Christians have been art and part in fostering such
conditions as wrung from compassionate and indignant hearts the _Song
of the Shirt_ and the _Cry of the Children_. Christians have imagined
that correctness of belief would make up for falseness of heart, and
loudness of profession for depravity of {15} practice. Christians have
supposed that in religion all that has to be striven for is the
salvation of one's own soul, have even represented the joy of the
redeemed as heightened by a contemplation of the torments of the lost.
Christians must bear the responsibility of much of the abounding vice
which they have not earnestly tried to combat where it already exists,
and which, in various forms, they have introduced into regions where it
was unknown before. Lawlessness and degradation in the slums, fraud
and dishonesty in trade, gross revelations in the fashionable world;
bigotry, slander, scandals in the ecclesiastical world; plots, wars,
treacheries, assassinations, in the political world: these things ought
not so to be. The fiercest denunciations, the most withering satires,
which unbelievers have employed, do not exceed in intensity of
condemnation the judgment which Christian preachers and Christian
writers have pronounced.[13]
{16}
In all ages of the Church the most powerful weapon against Christianity
has been the example of Christians. The Faith which they nominally
hold has been judged by the lives which they actually lead.[14]
'Christianity,' said a bishop of the eighteenth century, 'would perhaps
be the last religion a wise man would choose, if he were guided by the
lives of those who profess it.'[15] But is this to admit that the hope
of the world lies in renouncing Christianity? that in confining
ourselves to the seen and the temporal, we shall best elevate mankind?
that the prospect of annihilation and the absence of wisdom, love, and
Providence in the order of the universe constitute the most glorious
gospel which can be proclaimed? Nothing of the kind | 1,694.154217 |
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Transcriber's Note:
The following handwritten dedication and letter were included on the
front leaves of the original book. They were written by Miss M. A.
Garratt, sister of Mrs. R. C. Germon.
* * * * *
Given to
Herbert Litchfield
by Miss M A Garratt sister of
Mrs Germon the Authoress
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
You ask about the "Diary of Lucknow"
My sister never intended publishing
them--but she was so continually
pressed to do so by a few friends who
thought it such a pity the manuscript
should get lost or injured--two in
particular, M^r Burham a friend
here, the one who wrote his Father's
Biography which I gave you--& an
old Admiral an old friend here
(since dead) that at last she had
it done, but only for private circulation--&
only she and I had the
copies--I shall send one to
you ^{to}day by Post & hope it will
reach you all right--she wrote it
entirely for my dear mother & myself
& the report of each day is perfectly
correct--I suppose if nothing unforeseen
occurs we shall be going to London
as usual the end of May--but it
depends upon the time of the "Lucknow
dinner"--so as to bring that in during
my sister's & Colonel Germon's stay in
London--it is the old Garrison--the
Officers who were shut in all the
time--& year by year the party becomes
smaller, partly from some being
removed by death & others not able
perhaps to be in London at the time
When in London I shall hope to see
something of you--& with kind love
believe me your affec^{te} Cousin
M A Garratt
my sister & the Col. send
kind remembrances
* * * * *
[Illustration: Plan of the Defences of Lucknow]
A DIARY
KEPT BY
MRS. R. C. GERMON,
AT LUCKNOW,
BETWEEN THE MONTHS OF MAY AND DECEMBER, 1857.
LONDON:
WATERLOW AND SONS, CARPENTERS' HALL,
LONDON WALL.
1870.
ENTERED AT STATIONERS' HALL.
PREFACE.
The Writer of the following Diary has frequently been requested to
have a few copies printed for circulation amongst her friends; she has
now acceded to their request, but wishes it to be understood that the
Diary is in its original wording, as it was written by her day by day
at Lucknow, with no attempts at embellishment. The names of those who
were actors in the fearful scenes have been omitted, from a feeling of
delicacy towards some who are still alive.
The writer is also indebted to her husband, who commanded one of the
outposts throughout the siege, for the accuracy of the statements
of some of the events that did not come immediately under her own
observation.
THE SIEGE OF LUCKNOW.
1857. May 15th, Friday. I spent the day with the B----'s of the 71st
N.I., he acting Brigade-Major of Lucknow: while sitting at dinner he
told us of the horrible news from Meerut and Delhi; it was rather
alarming for one living alone as I was, my husband being on city duty.
Mr. B---- walked home with me about half-past 8, at 9 I went to bed,
taking good care to have a shawl and dressing-gown close to the bed.
Charlie's orderly slept in the verandah with the servants, as he had
done all the week; the B----'s had kindly offered me a bed, but I had
declined it. I had one door, as usual, open close to the bedroom at
which the punkah-wallah pulled the punkah; the other two were sleeping
by him; the watchman, bearer, orderly, and two doggies, forming quite a
guard round the door: the Ayah and her child slept in a room adjoining;
and, notwithstanding the alarm, I think I never slept sounder in my
life.
Saturday, May 16th. I rose soon after gun-fire, and sent off Charlie's
provisions for the day, bread and butter, quail, mango-fool, and a
few vegetables, and then sat in the garden and had my coffee; at 7
went into the house and prepared for a visit to the city, breakfasted
at 10, and started at 11. I found Charlie had been with Sir Henry
Lawrence, who was making admirable preparations in case of a rise here;
Charlie said the old man was resting by a watercourse in the garden
with quite a little party around him, he telling them all he knew, but
advising them to spread the bad news as little as possible; and then
consulting with them about precautionary measures, not objecting to a
suggestion from even a captain, but catching at anything he thought
good. I could see that Charlie felt perfect confidence in him; but I
also saw that he thought very seriously of the state the country was
in, for his remark was that we were in the position of a man sitting
on a barrel of gunpowder. I sat talking with him till 1 o'clock, and
then went over to the G----'s, as I had promised to spend the day
with them. I found them in an awful state of alarm--talking of these
murders at Delhi, and wondering if So-and-So had escaped. Miss N----
had a violent sick headache from the fright. At 2 Charlie came, and
at 3 we tiffed; but Mr. G---- was so busy he could scarcely stay
two minutes, and all the time was talking of the preparations. The
Residency was being turned out to form a place of safety for the ladies
and the sick. Charlie had to leave early to superintend arrangements
also. About half-past 5 I returned to his quarters, for I longed for
a little talk with him before I went home. The heat had been intense
all day, and the constant talking about these murders had made me feel
quite uncomfortable. Charlie was still with his guards and did not
return home for some time, so I lay down quietly on his bed. I felt
so nervous that, when he did return, I begged him to let me stay in a
chair by him all night. However, he talked and reasoned with me and
I got better. He told me two companies of the 32nd Queen's were just
coming into the banquetting house, and the sick from the hospital; also
a lot of women and children into some rooms under his quarters. He made
me a cup of tea and then would not let me stay any longer, as it was
getting dusk, and Sir Henry just driving up at the moment, I started,
as Charlie had to superintend the arrival of the troops. | 1,694.154328 |
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VOL. XXXIV. No. 8.
THE
AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
“To the Poor the Gospel is Preached.”
* * * * *
AUGUST, 1880.
_CONTENTS:_
EDITORIAL.
ANNUAL MEETINGS 225
FINANCIAL NOTICE 225
PARAGRAPHS 226
HARD CASES 228
TEACHER OR MISSIONARY, WHICH? 229
WRONGS OF THE PONCAS 230
THE <DW64> ON THE INDIAN 231
EADLE KEAHTAH TOH 232
BLACK MISSIONARIES FOR AFRICA: Rev. G.
D. Pike, D. D. 235
ITEMS FROM THE FIELD 237
AFRICAN NOTES 238
THE FREEDMEN.
ATLANTA UNIVERSITY—TALLADEGA COLLEGE 239
BEREA COLLEGE: Secretary Strieby 242
TOUGALOO UNIVERSITY: Pres’t De Forest 243
BREWER NORMAL SCHOOL: J.D. Backenstose 244
STORRS SCHOOL, ATLANTA, GA.—WOODBRIDGE, N. C. 245
ALABAMA: Rev. W. H. Ash 247
THE CHINESE.
MISSION WORK AMONG THE MINERS 248
RECEIPTS 250
CONSTITUTION 253
AIM, STATISTICS, WANTS 254
* * * * *
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.
ANDREW LESTER, Esq., N. Y.
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.
HORACE HALLOCK, Esq., Mich.
Rev. CYRUS W. WALLACE, D. D., N. H.
Rev. EDWARD HAWES, D.D., Ct.
DOUGLAS PUTNAM, Esq., Ohio.
Hon. THADDEUS FAIRBANKS, Vt.
SAMUEL D. PORTER, Esq., N. Y.
Rev. M. M. G. DANA, D. D., Minn.
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Col. C. G. HAMMOND, Ill.
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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.
PETER SMITH, Esq., Mass.
Dea. JOHN C. WHITIN, Mass.
Hon. J. B. GRINNELL, Iowa.
Rev. WM. T. CARR, Ct.
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.
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CORRESPONDING SECRETARY.
REV. M. E. STRIEBY, D. D., _56 Reade Street, N. Y._
DISTRICT SECRETARIES.
REV. C. L. WOODWORTH, _Boston_.
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REV. M. E. STRIEBY, _Recording Secretary_.
EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE.
ALONZO S. BALL,
A. S. BARNES,
GEO. M. | 1,694.178782 |
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THE PICTORIAL PRESS.
[Illustration: HEADING OF 'THE JACOBITE'S JOURNAL,' 1747.
(_Supposed to be Drawn by Hogarth._)
(_See page 197._)]
THE
PICTORIAL PRESS
ITS ORIGIN AND PROGRESS.
[Illustration]
BY
MASON JACKSON.
With One Hundred and Fifty Illustrations.
LONDON:
HURST AND BLACKETT. PUBLISHERS.
13 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
1885.
_All Rights reserved._
NOTE.
Some of the chapters of this book in a condensed form were published a
few years ago in the _Illustrated London News_, and my acknowledgments
are due to the proprietors of that journal for permission to reprint
such of the woodcuts as accompanied the text in that form. I have also
to thank them for their courtesy in allowing me to use several other
engravings from the _Illustrated London News_, including some from the
early numbers, which must now be reckoned among the curiosities of the
Pictorial Press.
M. J.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 1
The Pictorial Taste Universal--The Early 'News-books'--Development
of the Newspaper Press--General use of Newspapers--Establishment
of Illustrated Journals--Wandering Ballad-Singers the First
Newsvendors--The _English Mercurie_ of 1588--The Abolition of the
Star Chamber and its Effect on the Press.
CHAPTER II. 8
Illustrated Broadsides--Sir Francis Drake's Operations against the
Spaniards--Papers of News in the Reign of James I.--The first
Periodical Newspaper published in England--Illustrated Tracts
relating to Storms and Floods--Remarkable Murders favourite
subjects with the early Newswriters--Murder of the Rev. Mr.
Storre--Murder in Cornwall--Apparition of Three Skeletons--Visions
in the Air--Attempt on the Life of the Duke of Buckingham--Fall of
Meteors at Bawlkin Green, Berkshire--The _Swedish
Intelligencer_--Passage of the River Leck by Gustavus
Adolphus--The Sallee Rovers--The _Weekly News_ of 1638, an
Illustrated Paper--The Irish Rebellion of 1641--The Plague in
London--Murder on board an English Ship--The Earl of
Strafford--His Execution on Tower Hill--Archbishop Laud--A
Burlesque Play about him--Attack by the Mob on Lambeth
Palace--Caricature of the Devil offering Laud a Cardinal's Hat.
CHAPTER III. 63
Ben Jonson's Ridicule of the Early Newspapers--Fondness of the Old
News-Writers for the Marvellous--The Smithfield Ghost--The
Wonderful Whale--The Newbury Witch--Satirical Tracts and
Caricatures at the Commencement of the Civil War--Religion Tossed
in a Blanket--Caricatures of the Pope and the Bishops--Pluralists
and Patentees--Taylor, the Water Poet--_Mercurius
Aulicus_--Activity of the Pamphleteers--Welshmen
Satirised--Satires on Prince Rupert--On the King and Queen--The
Ladies' Parliament--Illustrated Tracts relating to Social and
Political Subjects--Sir Kenelm Digby's Duel--The King entertained
by the City of London, 1641--Executions in 1641--The Liquor
Traffic and Sunday Closing in 1641--Abuses of the Ecclesiastical
Courts--Ritualism and Nunneries in 1641--Truths enforced by
Lieing--Stage Players and the Plague in 1641--Bartholomew Fair in
1641--Destruction of Charing Cross and Cheapside Cross--Strange
Apparition--Method of enforcing their Views adopted by the Puritan
Pamphleteers--Parodies of Roundhead Sermons--Matthew Hopkins the
Witch-finder--The _Welsh Post_ of 1643--William Lilly the
Astrologer--Three Suns seen in London on the King's Birthday.
CHAPTER IV. 108
The Civil War--Flying Sheets of News--Disturbance at
Kingston-on-Thames--Plot against London--Riotous Proceedings at
York, and Conspiracy in Edinburgh--The House of Commons--The Royal
Standard raised at Nottingham--Battle of Edgehill--Prince
Rupert--The Lord Mayor of London--_Mercurius Civicus_--The
_Scottish Dove_--The _Flying Post_--The _Kingdomes Weekly
Post_--Cruelties of the Cavaliers--The 'Levellers'--The King's
Escape from Oxford--Funeral of the Earl of Essex--The Great Seal
Broken--Fairfax--Cromwell--Sea Fight in the Channel--The Prince of
Wales's Squadron--Mutiny at Norwich--Siege of
Colchester--Execution of Sir Charles Lucas--The King at
Carisbrooke Castle--Execution of the King--Confession of Richard
Brandon.
CHAPTER V. 153
Decrease of Newspapers after the Civil War--_Mercurius
Democritus_--The _Faithful Post_--The _Politique Post_--Broadsides
for the People--The Hollow Tree at Hampstead--Prodigious Monster
taken in Spain--The Restoration--Trial of the Regicides--Execution
of the Regicides--Licenser of the Press appointed--Popular Taste
for the Supernatural--Apparition in the Air in Holland--Revival of
_Mercurius Civicus_--Murder of Archbishop Sharpe--The _Loyal
Protestant_--Frost Fair on the Thames--Monmouth's Rebellion--The
Bloody Assizes--Funeral of Queen Mary, Consort of William
III.--Increase of Newspapers after the Revolution.
CHAPTER VI 180
Constant Attempts at Illustrated News--Increase of
Caricatures--The _Postman_, 1704--Fiery Apparition in the Air,
seen in London--Caricature against the Jacobites--The South-Sea
Bubble--Eclipse of the Sun, 1724--The _Grub Street Journal_ an
Illustrated Paper--The _Daily Post_--Admiral Vernon's Attack on
Porto Bello--The _Penny London Post_--Henry Fielding and the
_Jacobite's Journal_--_Owen's Weekly Chronicle_--_Lloyd's Evening
Post_, and the Trial of Lord Byron for the Murder of Mr.
Chaworth--The _St. James's Chronicle_--Illustrated Account of a
Strange Wild Beast seen in France--The _Gentleman's Journal_ of
Anthony Motteux--The _Gentleman's Magazine_ of Edward Cave--The
_London Magazine_--The _Scot's Magazine_.
CHAPTER VII 219
Revival of Wood-engraving by Thomas Bewick--The _Observer_
started, 1791--The _Times_ an Illustrated Paper--Illustrations of
News in the _Observer_--St. Helena and Napoleon Bonaparte--Abraham
Thornton and the 'Assize of Battle'--Mr. William Clement and
Illustrated Journalism--The Cato Street Conspiracy--Trial of Queen
Caroline--The House of Commons in 1821--Coronation of George
IV.--Royal Visits to Ireland and Scotland--Murder of Mr.
Weare--Illustrations of the Murder in the _Morning Chronicle_, the
_Observer_, and the _Englishman_--_Bell's Life in
London_--Prize-Fight at Warwick--Liston as 'Paul Pry'--'Gallery of
Comicalities,' &c.--_Pierce Egan's Life in London_--Death of the
Duke of York--Death of Mr. Canning--Opening of Hammersmith Bridge,
1827--Mr. Gurney's Steam Coach--The Thames Tunnel--The Murder in
the Red Barn--The Siamese Twins--Death of George IV.--Opening of
New London Bridge, 1831--Coronation of William IV. and Queen
Adelaide--Fieschi's Infernal Machine--Funeral of William
IV.--Queen Victoria's First Visit to the City--Coronation and
Marriage of the Queen--Christening of the Prince of Wales--The
_Weekly Chronicle_--The Greenacre Murder--Mr. Cocking and his
Parachute--The Courtney Riots at Canterbury--Burning of the Tower
of London, 1841--The _Sunday Times_--Burning of the Houses of
Parliament, 1834--The _Champion_--The _Weekly Herald_--The
_Magnet_--Removing the Body of Napoleon I.--The _Penny
Magazine_--Charles Knight--Humorous Journalism of the Victorian
Era.
CHAPTER VIII 284
The _Illustrated London News_--The Early Numbers--The Burning of
Hamburg--Facetious Advertisements--Bal Masque at Buckingham
Palace--Attempted Assassination of the Queen--The Queen's First
Trip by Railway--First Royal Visit to Scotland--Political
Portraits--R. Cobden--Lord John Russell--Benjamin Disraeli--The
French Revolution, 1848--The Great Exhibition, 1851--The Crimean
War-- Pictures--Christmas Numbers--Herbert Ingram--The
_Pictorial Times_--Other Illustrated Journals.
CHAPTER IX 315
How an Illustrated Newspaper is
Produced--Wood-Engraving--Boxwood--Blocks for Illustrated
Newspapers--Rapid Sketching--Drawing on the Block--Method of
Dividing the Block for Engraving--Electrotyping--Development of
the Printing Machine--Printing Woodcuts--Machinery for Folding
Newspapers--Special Artists--Their Dangers and Difficulties--Their
Adventures in War and Peace.
CHAPTER X 355
Artists who have assisted in founding the Pictorial Press--Sir
John Gilbert, R.A., G. H. Thomas, and others--Wood-Engraving and
its Connexion with the Pictorial Press--Other Methods of producing
Illustrations--Wood-Engraving in England before and after Bewick's
time--Its wide Diffusion owing to the kindred Art of Printing--The
resources of the Art developed by Pictorial
Newspapers--Conclusion. Newspapers a Necessity of Civilised
Life--The _Acta Diurna_ of the Romans--Early Newspapers in Venice,
Germany, and the Low Countries--List of Illustrated Newspapers
published Abroad.
THE PICTORIAL PRESS: ITS ORIGIN AND PROGRESS.
CHAPTER I.
The Pictorial Taste Universal--The Early 'News-books'--Development of
the Newspaper Press--General use of Newspapers--Establishment of
Illustrated Journals--Wandering Ballad Singers the First
Newsvendors--The _English Mercurie_ of 1588--The Abolition of the Star
Chamber and its Effect on the Press.
The inherent love of pictorial representation in all races of men and in
every age is manifest by the frequent attempts made to depict natural
objects, under the most unfavourable circumstances and with the
slenderest means. The rude drawing scratched on the smooth bone of an
animal by the cave-dweller of pre-historic times, the painted rocks of
the Mexican forests, and the cave-paintings of the Bushmen | 1,694.254307 |
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Daemonologie
In Forme of a Dialogie
Diuided into three Bookes.
By James RX
Printed by Robert Walde-graue,
Printer to the Kings Majestie. An. 1597.
Cum Privilegio Regio.
CONTENTS
The Preface. To The Reader.
First Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Chap. VII.
Seconde Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Chap. VII.
Thirde Booke.
Chap. I.
Chap. II.
Chap. III.
Chap. IIII.
Chap. V.
Chap. VI.
Newes from Scotland.
To the Reader.
Discourse.
THE PREFACE. TO THE READER.
The fearefull aboundinge at this time in this countrie, of these
detestable slaues of the Deuill, the Witches or enchaunters, hath moved me
(beloued reader) to dispatch in post, this following treatise of mine, not
in any wise (as I protest) to serue for a shew of my learning & ingine,
but onely (mooued of conscience) to preasse thereby, so farre as I can, to
resolue the doubting harts of many; both that such assaultes of Sathan are
most certainly practized, & that the instrumentes thereof, merits most
severly to be punished: against the damnable opinions of two principally
in our age, wherof the one called SCOT an Englishman, is not ashamed in
publike print to deny, that ther can be such a thing as Witch-craft: and
so mainteines the old error of the Sadducees, in denying of spirits. The
other called VVIERVS, a German Phisition, sets out a publick apologie for
al these craftes-folkes, whereby, procuring for their impunitie, he
plainely bewrayes himselfe to haue bene one of that profession. And for to
make this treatise the more pleasaunt and facill, I haue put it in forme
of a Dialogue, which I haue diuided into three bookes: The first speaking
of Magie in general, and Necromancie in special. The second of Sorcerie
and Witch-craft: and the thirde, conteines a discourse of all these kindes
of spirits, & Spectres that appeares & trobles persones: together with a
conclusion of the whol work. My intention in this labour, is only to proue
two things, as I haue alreadie said: the one, that such diuelish artes
haue bene and are. The other, what exact trial and seuere punishment they
merite: & therefore reason I, what kinde of things are possible to be
performed in these arts, & by what naturall causes they may be, not that I
touch every particular thing of the Deuils power, for that were infinite:
but onelie, to speak scholasticklie, (since this can not bee spoken in our
language) I reason vpon _genus_ leauing species, _and differentia_ to be
comprehended therein. As for example, speaking of the power of Magiciens,
in the first book & sixt Chapter: I say, that they can suddenly cause be
brought vnto them, all kindes of daintie disshes, by their familiar
spirit: Since as a thiefe he delightes to steale, and as a spirite, he can
subtillie & suddenlie inough transport the same. Now vnder this _genus_
may be comprehended al particulars, depending thereupon; Such as the
bringing Wine out of a Wall, (as we haue heard oft to haue bene practised]
and such others; which particulars, are sufficientlie proved by the
reasons of the general. And such like in the second booke of Witch-craft
in speciall, and fift Chap. I say and proue by diuerse arguments, that
Witches can, by the power of their Master, cure or cast on disseases: Now
by these same reasones, that proues their power by the Deuil of disseases
in generally is aswell proued their power in speciall: as of weakening the
nature of some men, to make them vnable for women: and making it to abound
in others, more then the ordinary course of nature would permit. And such
like in all other particular sicknesses; But one thing I will pray thee to
obserue in all these places, where I reason upon the deuils power, which
is the different ends & scopes, that God as the first cause, and the
Devill as his instrument and second cause shootes at in all these actiones
of the Deuil, (as Gods hang-man:) For where the deuilles intention in them
is euer to perish, either the soule or the body, or both of them, that he
is so permitted to deale with: God by the contrarie, drawes euer out of
that euill glorie to himselfe, either by the wracke of the wicked in his
justice, or by the tryall of the patient, and amendment of the faithfull,
being wakened vp with that rod of correction. Hauing thus declared vnto
thee then, my full intention in this Treatise, thou wilt easelie excuse, I
doubt not, aswel my pretermitting, to declare the whole particular rites
and secretes of these vnlawfull artes: as also their infinite and
wounderfull practises, as being neither of them pertinent to my purpose:
the reason whereof, is giuen in the hinder ende of the first Chapter of
the thirde booke: and who likes to be curious in these thinges, he may
reade, if he will here of their practises, BODINVS Daemonomanie, collected
with greater diligence, then written with judgement, together with their
confessions, that haue bene at this time apprehened. If he would know what
hath bene the opinion of the Auncientes, concerning their power: he shall
see it wel described by HYPERIVS, & HEMMINGIVS, two late Germaine writers:
Besides innumerable other neoterick Theologues, that writes largelie vpon
that subject: And if he woulde knowe what are the particuler rites, &
curiosities of these black arts (which is both vnnecessarie and perilous,)
he will finde it in the fourth book of CORNELIVS Agrippa, and in VVIERVS,
whomof I spak. And so wishing my pains in this Treatise (beloued Reader}
to be effectual, in arming al them that reades the same, against these
aboue mentioned erroures, and recommending my good will to thy friendly
acceptation, I bid thee hartely fare-well.
IAMES Rx.
FIRST BOOKE.
ARGVMENT.
_The exord of the whole. The description of Magie in speciall._
Chap. I.
ARGVMENT.
_Proven by the Scripture, that these vnlawfull artes in_ genere, _haue
bene and may be put in practise._
PHILOMATHES and EPISTEMON reason the matter.
PHILOMATHES.
I am surely verie glad to haue mette with you this daye, for I am of
opinion, that ye can better resolue me of some thing, wherof I stand in
great doubt, nor anie other whom-with I could haue mette.
EPI. In what I can, that ye like to speir at me, I will willinglie and
freelie tell my opinion, and if I proue it not sufficiently, I am heartely
content that a better reason carie it away then.
PHI. What thinke yee of these strange newes, which now onelie furnishes
purpose to al men at their meeting: I meane of these Witches?
EPI. Surelie they are wonderfull: And I think so cleare and plaine
confessions in that purpose, haue neuer fallen out in anie age or cuntrey.
PHI. No question if they be true, but thereof the Doctours doubtes.
EPI. What part of it doubt ye of?
PHI. Even of all, for ought I can yet perceaue: and namelie, that there is
such a thing as Witch-craft or Witches, and I would pray you to resolue me
thereof if ye may: for I haue reasoned with sundrie in that matter, and
yet could never be satisfied therein.
EPI. I shall with good will doe the best I can: But I thinke it the
difficiller, since ye denie the thing it selfe in generall: for as it is
said in the logick schools, _Contra negantem principia non est
disputandum_. Alwaies for that part, that witchcraft, and Witches haue
bene, and are, the former part is clearelie proved by the Scriptures, and
the last by dailie experience and confessions.
PHI. I know yee will alleadge me _Saules Pythonisse_: but that as appeares
will not make much for you.
EPI. Not onlie that place, but divers others: But I marvel why that should
not make much for me?
PHI. The reasones are these, first yee may consider, that _Saul_ being
troubled in spirit, (M1) and having fasted long before, as the text
testifieth, and being come to a woman that was bruted to have such
knowledge, and that to inquire so important news, he having so guiltie a
conscience for his hainous offences, and specially, for that same vnlawful
curiositie, and horrible defection: and then the woman crying out vpon the
suddaine in great admiration, for the vncouth sicht that she alledged to
haue sene, discovering him to be the King, thogh disguysed, & denied by
him before: it was no wounder I say, that his senses being thus
distracted, he could not perceaue hir faining of hir voice, hee being
himselfe in an other chalmer, and seeing nothing. Next what could be, or
was raised? The spirit of _Samuel_? Prophane and against all Theologie:
the Diuell in his likenes? as vnappeirant, that either God would permit
him to come in the shape of his Saintes (for then could neuer the Prophets
in those daies haue bene sure, what Spirit spake to them in their
visiones) or then that he could fore-tell what was to come there after;
for Prophecie proceedeth onelie of GOD: and the Devill hath no knowledge
of things to come.
EPI. Yet if yee will marke the wordes of the text, ye will finde clearely,
that _Saul_ saw that apparition: for giving you that _Saul_ was in an
other Chalmer, at the making of the circles & conjurationes, needeful for
that purpose (as none of that craft will permit any vthers to behold at
that time) yet it is evident by the text, that how sone that once that
vnclean spirit was fully risen, shee called in vpon _Saul_. For it is
saide in the text, that _Saule knew him to be Samuel_, which coulde not
haue bene | 1,694.256411 |
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Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Christine D. and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Transcriber's notes:
Original spelling and puctuation were retained, including u/v and
i/j substitution. Text has been put on the left side of the dividing
line and notes on the right to make the plain text version easier to
work with. Some of the Latin note text was illegible, many thanks to
| 1,694.355329 |
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Produced by Michael Gray
Eternal | 1,694.380613 |
2023-11-16 18:45:18.4786170 | 2,784 | 178 |
Produced by Sue Fleming 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.)
NOTE TO THE PPVER AND WWER
The tables have been left as a replica of the original because there is
no way to ensure a clear reading if the size is reduced.
THE VEGETABLE GARDEN
[Illustration: A GOOD COLLECTION OF HOME-GROWN VEGETABLES]
[Illustration: LETTUCE MATURING IN HOME-MADE COLD FRAME]
The
Vegetable Garden
WHAT, WHEN, AND HOW TO PLANT
_Reprinted from "The Farmer's Cyclopedia"_
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1917
_Copyright, 1912, by_
AGRICULTURAL SERVICE COMPANY
WASHINGTON, D. C.
_All rights reserved_
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
Its Importance 3
Location 5
Plan and Arrangement 5
Fertilizers 7
Preparation of the Soil 9
Time of Planting 10
Selection of Seed 10
Sowing and Planting 11
Tools 15
Mulching 15
Irrigation 18
Thinning 19
Transplanting 19
Setting in the Open Ground 20
Protection of Plants 21
Harvesting, Packing and Shipping 22
Canning Vegetables on the Farm 23
Storing 27
Early Plants in Hotbeds 29
Handling Plants 30
Frames Used in Truck Growing 31
Ventilation 33
Soils and Fertilizers 34
Watering Crops 34
Garden Products:
Anise 35
Artichoke 35
Asparagus 35
Beans 40
Beans, Lima 46
Beets 47
Borage 48
Broccoli 48
Brussels Sprouts 49
Cabbage 49
Calabash 51
Cantaloupe 52
Cardoon 53
Carrot 54
Cauliflower 54
Celeriac 57
Celery 57
Cetewayo 64
Chayote 64
Chervil 64
Chicory 64
Chile 65
Chive 66
Citron 66
Collards 67
Corn Salad 67
Cress 67
Cucumbers 67
Dandelion 71
Dill 72
Egg Plant 72
Endive 72
Fennel 73
Garlic 73
Ginger 73
Herbs 73
Horse Radish 74
Ice Plant 73
Kale 74
Kohl-Rabi 74
Leek 75
Lettuce 75
Lleren 75
Martynia 76
Melon--Muskmelon 76
Melon--Watermelon 81
Mustard 82
Nasturtium 82
New Zealand Spinach 83
Okra 83
Onions 85
Parsley 95
Parsnip 95
Peas 95
Peppers 96
Physalis 96
Potato 97
Pumpkin 116
Radish 116
Rhubarb 116
Ruta-Baga 117
Salsify 117
Scolymus 117
Skirret 117
Sorrel 118
Spinach 118
Squash 118
Stachys 118
Sweet Basil 119
Sweet Corn 119
Sweet Marjoram 119
Sweet Potato 119
Swiss Chard 128
Thyme 128
Tomatoes 128
Turnips 137
Vegetable Marrow 137
Quantity of Seed to Plant 138
Composition of Roots 140
Authorities Consulted 140
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
A Good Collection of Home-Grown Vegetables. Lettuce
Maturing in Home-Made COLD FRAME _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
Liquid Manure is One of the Best Acting Fertilizers 8
The Wheel Hoe is the Handiest Garden Tool 16
The Easiest Running Wheel Hoe Valuable for Maintaining a Dust
Mulch 16
Temporary Hotbeds in a City Back Yard 30
Showing Vegetables Growing in Hotbed 32
Celery Banked With Earth to Blanch It 62
Japanese Climbing Cucumbers, Nearly Six Feet From the Ground 68
Well-Grown Cucumbers 68
Thorough Cultivation of the Growing Crop is an Essential of
Successful Potato Raising 110
THE VEGETABLE GARDEN
THE VEGETABLE GARDEN
Perhaps the most characteristic feature of Northern and Eastern
farms is the home vegetable garden. Even where no orchard has been
planted, and where the ornamental surroundings of the home have been
neglected, a fairly well-kept garden in which are grown a number of
the staple kinds of vegetables is generally to be found. In many
cases the principal interest in the garden is manifested by the women
of the household and much of the necessary care is given by them. A
small portion of the garden inclosure is generally devoted to the
cultivation of flowers, and a number of medicinal plants is invariably
present. Throughout the newer parts of the country it is seen that the
conditions governing the maintenance and use of the vegetable garden
are somewhat different, and, while a number of vegetable crops may
be grown somewhere on the farm, there is wanting that distinction so
characteristic of the typical New England kitchen garden.
It would be impossible to make an accurate estimate of the value of
crops grown in the kitchen gardens of the United States, but from
careful observation the statement can safely be made that a well-kept
garden will yield a return ten to fifteen times greater than would
the same area and location if devoted to general farm crops. A half
acre devoted to the various kinds of garden crops will easily supply a
family with $100 worth of vegetables during the year, while the average
return for farm crops is considerably less than one-tenth of this
amount. A bountiful supply of vegetables close at hand where they may
be secured at a few moments' notice is of even more importance than the
mere money value.
Fresh vegetables from the home garden are not subjected to exposure
on the markets or in transportation and are not liable to become
infected in any way. Many of the products of the garden lose their
characteristic flavor when not used within a few hours after gathering.
By means of the home garden the production of the vegetable supply for
the family is directly under control, and in many cases is the only way
whereby clean, fresh produce may be secured. The home vegetable garden
is worthy of increased attention, and a greater number and variety of
crops should be included in the garden.--(F. B. 255.)
The development and extension of truck farming in the Atlantic coast
States have been coincident with the development of transportation
facilities throughout that section. In the beginning the points
affording water connection with the great consuming centers of the
North were those at which truck farming first became established. The
phenomenal growth of the great consuming centers of the country has
stimulated a corresponding growth and extension of the food-producing
territory, especially that capable of producing perishable truck
crops. The demands for vegetables out of season, followed later
by the continuous demand for fresh vegetables throughout the year
by the great cities, led first to the market gardeners located
near the cities supplementing their field operations by extensive
forcing-house enterprises. Naturally, the products from the greenhouses
were expensive and available only to the few who were able to pay
fancy prices for green products out of season. The improvement and
extension of the transportation facilities which came with the great
railway-building era of the United States made it possible to take
advantage of the wide diversity of climate offered along the Atlantic
coast of the United States to furnish these perishable products to the
great cities of the North and East.
Transportation facilities, together with cheap labor and cheap lands
at the South, have made it possible to produce in extreme southern
locations products out of season at the North in competition with
greenhouse products. The greater land area and the smaller amount of
capital involved in the production of crops at the South, even though
transportation charges were high, have enabled southern growers to
produce much larger quantities of the desired crops than could be grown
profitably under glass. It was therefore not many years before lettuce,
celery, tomatoes, radishes, beets, and bunch beans came to be regular
winter and early spring products of gardens located at great distances
from the centers of consumption.--(Y. B. 1907.)
It is only necessary to look around the village and town gardens in the
South to become convinced of the great need that exists for information
in regard to the proper care of the garden, and particularly that part
which is intended to give supplies to the table. There town gardeners
are very active in the early spring, and their enthusiasm often leads
them to go ahead and plant a great many things at a season too early
for their safety, so that a return of cold often compels the almost
entire replanting of the garden. But with the production of the early
crops in the garden, the enthusiasm of the gardeners oozes out under
the influence of the summer's heat, and the garden that at first looked
so neat in its spring dress becomes merely a weed patch. Few people
realize the advantage that long summers and sunny autumns give for the
production of a constant succession of crops in the garden, and still
fewer realize that in this climate the garden need at no season of
the year be abandoned to the weeds. One of the greatest troubles that
results from the common practice of allowing the garden to grow up in
weeds after the first peas, corn, cabbage, and tomatoes are secured,
is that these weeds are the places where the larvae of the cut-worm
hide, and are ready to begin their destructive work as soon as the
garden plants are set in the spring. If the garden is kept clean and
cropped continuously all the year round, as it may and should be here,
there will be no cut-worms to bother the early plants. From January
to January there is no need in the South for any space in the garden
unoccupied by crops. From the time the earliest peas go into the ground
in January up to the time it is necessary to prepare for them the
following year there can be a constant succession of fresh vegetables
from the garden, by the exercise of a little forethought. And this
succession can be made still more perfect if there be added a frame
with some hotbed sashes for the production of lettuce, cauliflower,
radishes, carrots, etc., during the colder months; while all through
the winter there can be celery, kale, spinach and turnips.--(N. C. Bul.
132.)
LOCATION.
The question of the proximity to the house or other buildings is of
great importance when locating the garden. Caring for a garden is
usually done at spare times, and for this reason alone the location
should be near the dwelling. In case the site chosen for the garden
should become unsuitable for any cause, it is not a difficult matter
to change the location. Many persons prefer to plant the garden in a
different location every five or six years. The lay of the land has
considerable influence upon the time that the soil can be worked, and
a gentle <DW72> toward the south or southeast is most desirable for the
production of early crops. It is an advantage to have protection on the
north and northwest, by either a hill, a group of trees, evergreens,
a hedge, buildings, a tight board fence, or a stone wall | 1,694.498657 |
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Produced by David Deley
FAIRY TALES, THEIR ORIGIN AND MEANING
With Some Account of Dwellers in Fairyland
By John Thackray Bunce
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
The substance of this volume was delivered as a course of Christmas
Holiday Lectures, in 1877, at the Birmingham and Midland Institute, of
which the author was then the senior Vice-president. It was found that
both the subject and the matter interested young people; and it was
therefore thought that, revised and extended, the Lectures might not
prove unacceptable in the form of a Book. The volume does not pretend to
scientific method, or to complete treatment of the subject. Its aim is
a very modest one: to furnish an inducement rather than a formal
introduction to the study of Folk Lore; a study which, when once begun,
the reader will pursue, with unflagging interest, in such works as
the various writings of Mr. Max-Muller; the "Mythology of the Aryan
Nations," by Mr. Cox; Mr. Ralston's "Russian Folk Tales;" Mr. Kelly's
"Curiosities of Indo-European Folk Lore;" the Introduction to
Mr. Campbell's "Popular Tales of the West Highlands," and other
publications, both English and German, bearing upon the same subject. In
the hope that his labour may serve this purpose, the author ventures
to ask for an indulgent rather than a critical reception of this little
volume.
BIRMINGHAM,
September, 1878.
LIST OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. ORIGIN OF FAIRY TALES--THE ARYAN RACE: ITS CHARACTERISTICS,
ITS TRADITIONS, AND ITS MIGRATIONS
CHAPTER II. KINDRED TALES FROM DIVERS LANDS
CHAPTER III. DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: STORIES FROM THE EAST
CHAPTER IV. DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: TEUTONIC, SCANDINAVIAN, ETC.
CHAPTER V. DWELLERS IN FAIRYLAND: CELTIC, THE WEST HIGHLANDS
CHAPTER VI. CONCLUSION-SOME POPULAR TALES EXPLAINED.
INDEX
CHAPTER I.--ORIGIN OF FAIRY STORIES.
We are going into Fairy Land for a little while, to see what we can find
there to amuse and instruct us this Christmas time. Does anybody know
the way? There are no maps or guidebooks, and the places we meet with
in our workaday world do not seem like the homes of the Fairies. Yet we
have only to put on our Wishing Caps, and we can get into Fairy Land in
a moment. The house-walls fade away, the winter sky brightens, the sun
shines out, the weather grows warm and pleasant; flowers spring up,
great trees cast a friendly shade, streams murmur cheerfully over their
pebbly beds, jewelled fruits are to be had for the trouble of gathering
them; invisible hands set out well-covered dinner-tables, brilliant and
graceful forms flit in and out across our path, and we all at once find
ourselves in the midst of a company of dear old friends whom we have
known and loved ever since we knew anything. There is Fortunatus with
his magic purse, and the square of carpet that carries him anywhere; and
Aladdin with his wonderful lamp; and Sindbad with the diamonds he has
picked up in the Valley of Serpents; and the Invisible Prince, who uses
the fairy cat to get his dinner for him; and the Sleeping Beauty in
the Wood, just awakened by the young Prince, after her long sleep of a
hundred years; and Puss in Boots curling his whiskers after having eaten
up the ogre who foolishly changed himself into a mouse; and Beauty and
the Beast; and the Blue Bird; and Little Red Riding Hood, and Jack the
Giant Killer, and Jack and the Bean Stalk; and the Yellow Dwarf; and
Cinderella and her fairy godmother; and great numbers besides, of whom
we haven't time to say anything now.
And when we come to look about us, we see that there are other dwellers
in Fairy Land; giants and dwarfs, dragons and griffins, ogres with
great white teeth, and wearing seven-leagued boots; and enchanters and
magicians, who can change themselves into any forms they please, and
can turn other people into stone. And there are beasts and birds who can
talk, and fishes that come out on dry land, with golden rings in their
mouths; and good maidens who drop rubies and pearls when they speak, and
bad ones out of whose mouths come all kinds of ugly things. Then there
are evil-minded fairies, who always want to be doing mischief; and there
are good fairies, beautifully dressed, and with shining golden hair and
bright blue eyes and jewelled coronets, and with magic wands in their
hands, who go about watching the bad fairies, and always come just in
time to drive them away, and so prevent them from doing harm--the sort
of Fairies you see once a year at the pantomimes, only more beautiful,
and more handsomely dressed, and more graceful in shape, and not so fat,
and who do not paint their faces, which is a bad thing for any woman to
do, whether fairy or mortal.
Altogether, this Fairy Land that we can make for ourselves in a moment,
is a very pleasant and most delightful place, and one which all of us,
young and old, may well desire to get into, even if we have to come back
from it sooner than we like. It is just the country to suit everybody,
for all of us can find in it whatever pleases him best. If he likes
work, there is plenty of adventure; he can climb up mountains of steel,
or travel over seas of glass, or engage in single combat with a giant,
or dive down into the caves of the little red dwarfs and bring up their
hidden treasures, or mount a horse that goes more swiftly than the wind,
or go off on a long journey to find the water of youth and life, or do
anything else that happens to be very dangerous and troublesome. If
he doesn't like work, it is again just the place to suit idle people,
because it is all Midsummer holidays. I never heard of a school in Fairy
Land, nor of masters with canes or birch rods, nor of impositions and
long lessons to be learned when one gets home in the evening. Then the
weather is so delightful. It is perpetual sunshine, so that you may lie
out in the fields all day without catching cold; and yet it is not too
hot, the sunshine being a sort of twilight, in which you see everything,
quite clearly, but softly, and with beautiful colours, as if you were in
a delightful dream.
And this goes on night and day, or at least what we call night, for
they don't burn gas there, or candles, or anything of that kind; so
that there is no regular going to bed and getting up; you just lie down
anywhere when you want to rest, and when you have rested, you wake up
again, and go on with your travels. There is one capital thing about
Fairy Land. There are no doctors there; not one in the whole country.
Consequently nobody is ill, and there are no pills or powders, or
brimstone and treacle, or senna tea, or being kept at home when you want
to go out, or being obliged to go to bed early and have gruel instead
of cake and sweetmeats. They don't want the doctors, because if you cut
your finger it gets well directly, and even when people are killed, or
are turned into stones, or when anything else unpleasant happens, it can
all be put right in a minute or two. All you have to do when you are in
trouble is to go and look for some wrinkled old woman in a patched old
brown cloak, and be very civil to her, and to do cheerfully and kindly
any service she asks of you, and then she will throw off the dark cloak,
and become a young and beautiful Fairy Queen, and wave her magic wand,
and everything will fall out just as you would like to have it.
As to Time, they take no note of it in Fairy Land. The Princess falls
asleep for a hundred years, and wakes up quite rosy, and young, and
beautiful. Friends and sweethearts are parted for years, and nobody
seems to think they have grown older when they meet, or that life has
become shorter, and so they fall to their youthful talk as if nothing
had happened. Thus the dwellers in Fairy Land have no cares about
chronology. With them there is no past or future; it is all present--so
there are no disagreeable dates to learn, nor tables of kings, and when
they reigned, or who succeeded them, or what battles they fought, or
anything of that kind. Indeed there are no such facts to be learned,
for when kings are wicked in Fairy Land, a powerful magician comes and
twists their heads off, or puts them to death somehow; and when they
are good kings they seem to live for ever, and always to be wearing rich
robes and royal golden crowns, and to be entertaining Fairy Queens, and
receiving handsome brilliant gifts from everybody who knows them.
Now this is Fairy Land, the dear sweet land of Once Upon a Time, where
there is constant light, and summer days, and everlasting flowers, and
pleasant fields and streams, and long dreams without rough waking, and
ease of life, and all things strange and beautiful; where nobody wonders
at anything that may happen; where good fairies are ever on the watch to
help those whom they love; where youth abides, and there is no pain or
death, and all trouble fades away, and whatever seems hard is made easy,
and all things that look wrong come right in the end, and truth and
goodness have their perpetual triumph, and the world is ever young.
And Fairy Land is always the same, and always has been, whether it is
close to us--so close that we may enter it in a moment--or whether it is
far off; in the stories that have come to us from the most ancient
days, and the most distant lands, and in those which kind and clever
story-tellers write for us now. It is the same in the legends of the
mysterious East, as old as the beginning of life; the same in the
glowing South, in the myths of ancient Greece; the same in the frozen
regions of the Scandinavian North, and in the forests of the great
Teuton land, and in the Islands of the West; the same in the tales that
nurses tell to the little ones by the fireside on winter evenings, and
in the songs that mothers sing to hush their babes to sleep; the same in
the delightful folk-lore that Grimm has collected for us, and that dear
Hans Andersen has but just ceased to tell.
All the chief stories that we know so well are to be found in all
times, and in almost all countries. Cinderella, for one, is told in the
language of every country in Europe, and the same legend is found in the
fanciful tales related by the Greek poets; and still further back, it
appears in very ancient Hindu legends. So, again, does Beauty and the
Beast, so does our own familiar tale of Jack the Giant Killer, so also
do a great number of other fairy stories, each being told in different
countries and in different periods, with so much likeness as to show
that all the versions came from the same source, and yet with so much
difference as to show that none of the versions are directly copied from
each other. Indeed, when we compare the myths and legends of one country
with another, and of one period with another, we find out how they have
come to be so much alike, and yet in some things so different. We see
that there must have been one origin for all these stories, that they
must have been invented by one people, that this people must have been
afterwards divided, and that each part or division of it must have
brought into its new home the legends once common to them all, and must
have shaped and altered these according, to the kind of places in which
they came to live: those of the North being sterner and more terrible,
those of the South softer and fuller of light and colour, and adorned
with touches of more delicate fancy. And this, indeed, is really the
case. All the chief stories and legends are alike, because they were
first made by one people; and all the nations in which they are now told
in one form or another tell them because they are all descended from
this one common stock. If you travel amongst them, or talk to them, or
read their history, and learn their languages, the nations of Europe
seem to be altogether unlike each other; they have different speech
and manners, and ways of thinking, and forms of government, and
even different looks--for you can tell them from one another by some
peculiarity of appearance. Yet, in fact, all these nations belong to one
great family--English, and German, and Russian, and French, and Italian,
and Spanish, the nations of the North, and the South, and the West, and
partly of the East of Europe, all came from one stock; and so did the
Romans and Greeks who went before them; and so also did the Medes
and Persians, and the Hindus, and some other peoples who have always
remained in Asia. And to the people from whom all these nations have
sprung learned men have given two names. Sometimes they are called the
Indo-Germanic or Indo-European race, to show how widely they extend; and
sometimes they are called the Aryan race, from a word which is found in
their language, and which comes from the root "ar," to plough, and is
supposed to mean noble, or of a good family.
But how do we know that there were any such people, and that we in
England are descended from them, or that they were the forefathers of
the other nations of Europe, and of the Hindus, and of the old Greeks
and Romans? We know it by a most curious and ingenious process of what
may be called digging out and building up. Some of you may remember that
years ago there was found in New Zealand a strange-looking bone, which
nobody could make anything of, and which seemed to have belonged to some
creature quite lost to the world as we know it. This bone was sent home
to England to a great naturalist, Professor Owen, of the British Museum,
who looked at it, turned it over, thought about it, and then came to the
conclusion that it was a bone which had once formed part of a gigantic
bird. Then; by degrees, he began to see the kind of general form which
such a bird must have presented, and finally, putting one thing to
another, and fitting part to part, he declared it to be a bird of
gigantic size, and of a particular character, which he was able to
describe; and this opinion was confirmed by later discoveries of other
bones and fragments, so that an almost complete skeleton of the Dinornis
may now be seen in this country. Well, our knowledge of the Aryan
people, and of our own descent from them, has been found out in much
the same way. Learned men observed, as a curious thing, that in various
European languages there were words of the same kind, and having the
same root forms; they found also that these forms of roots existed in
the older language of Greece; and then they found that they existed
also in Sanskrit, the oldest language of India--that in which the sacred
books of the Hindus are written. They discovered, further, that these
words and their roots meant always the same things, and this led to
the natural belief that they came from the same source. Then, by closer
inquiry into the _Vedas_, or Hindu sacred books, another discovery was
made, namely, that while the Sanskrit has preserved the words of the
original language in their most primitive or earliest state, the other
languages derived from the same source have kept some forms plainly
coming from the same roots, but which Sanskrit has lost. Thus we are
carried back to a language older than Sanskrit, and of which this is
only one of the forms, and from this we know that there was a people
which used a common tongue; and if different forms of this common tongue
are found in India, in Persia, and throughout Europe, we know that the
races which inhabit these countries must, at sometime, have parted
from the parent stock, and must have carried their language and their
traditions along with them. So, to find out who these people were, we
have to go back to the sacred books of the Hindus and the Persians, and
to pick out whatever facts may be found there, and thus to build up the
memorial of the Aryan race, just as Professor Owen built up the great
New Zealand bird.
It would take too long, and would be much too dry, to show how this
process has been completed step by step, and bit by bit. That belongs to
a study called comparative philology, and to another called comparative
mythology--that is, the studies of words and of myths, or legends--which
some of those who read these pages may pursue with interest in after
years. All that need be done now is to bring together such accounts of
the Aryan people, our forefathers, as may be gathered from the writings
of the learned men who have made this a subject of inquiry, and
especially from the works of German and French writers, and more
particularly from those of Mr. Max Muller, an eminent German, who lives
amongst us in England, who writes in English, and who has done more,
perhaps, than anybody else, to tell us what we know about this matter.
As to when the Aryans lived we know nothing, but that it was thousands
of years ago, long before history began. As to the kind of people
they were we know nothing in a direct way. They have left no traces of
themselves in buildings, or weapons, or enduring records of any kind.
There are no ruins of their temples or tombs, no pottery--which often
helps to throw light upon ancient peoples-no carvings upon rocks or
stones. It is only by the remains of their language that we can
trace them; and we do this through the sacred books of the Hindus and
Persians-the _Vedas_ and the _Zend Avesta_--in which remains of their
language are found, and by means of which, therefore, we get to know
something about their dwelling-place, their manners, their customs,
their religion, and their legends--the source and origin of our Fairy
Tales.
In the _Zend Avesta_--the oldest sacred book of the Persians--or in such
fragments of it as are left, there are sixteen countries spoken of as
having been given by Ormuzd, the Good Deity, for the Aryans to live
in; and these countries are described as a land of delight, which was
turned, by Ahriman, the Evil Deity, into a land of death and cold;
partly, it is said, by a great flood, which is described as being like
Noah's flood recorded in the Book of Genesis. This land, as nearly as we
can make it out, seems to have been the high, central district of Asia,
to the north and west of the great chain of mountains of the Hindu
Koush, which form the frontier barrier of the present country of the
Afghans. It stretched, probably, from the sources of the river Oxus
to the shores of the Caspian Sea; and when the Aryans moved from their
home, it is thought that the easterly portion of the tribes were those
who marched southwards into India and Persia, and that those who
were nearest the Caspian Sea marched westwards into Europe. It is not
supposed that they were all one united people, but rather a number of
tribes, having a common origin--though what was this original stock
is quite beyond any knowledge we have, or even beyond our powers of
conjecture. But, though the Aryan peoples were divided into tribes, and
were spread over a tract of country nearly as large as half Europe, we
may properly describe them generally, for so far as our knowledge goes,
all the tribes had the same character.
They were a pastoral people--that is, their chief work was to look after
their herds of cattle and to till the earth. Of this we find proof in
the words and roots remaining of their language. From the same source,
also, we know that they lived in dwellings built with wood and stone;
that these dwellings were grouped together in villages; that they were
fenced in against enemies, and that enclosures were formed to keep the
cattle from straying, and that roads of some kind were made from one
village to another. These things show that the Aryans had some claim to
the name they took, and that in comparison with their forefathers, or
with the savage or wandering tribes they knew, they had a right to call
themselves respectable, excellent, honourable, masters, heroes--for all
these are given as probable meanings of their name. Their progress was
shown in another way. The rudest and earliest tribes of men used weapons
of flint, roughly shaped into axes and spear-heads, or other cutting
implements, with which they defended themselves in conflict, or killed
the beasts of chase, or dug up the roots on which they lived. The Aryans
were far in advance of this condition. They did not, it is believed,
know the use of iron, but they knew and used gold, silver, and copper;
they made weapons and other implements of bronze; they had ploughs to
till the ground, and axes, and probably saws, for the purpose of cutting
and shaping timber. Of pottery and weaving they knew something: the
western tribes certainly used hemp and flax as materials for weaving,
and when the stuff was woven the women made it into garments by the use
of the needle. Thus we get a certain division of trades or occupations.
There were the tiller of the soil, the herdsman, the smith who forged
the tools and weapons of bronze, the joiner or carpenter who built the
houses, and the weaver who made the clothing required for protection
against a climate which was usually cold. Then there was also the
boat-builder, for the Aryans had boats, though moved only by oars.
There was yet another class, the makers of personal ornaments, for these
people had rings, bracelets, and necklaces made of the precious metals.
Of trade the Aryans knew something; but they had no coined money--all
the trade was done by exchange of one kind of cattle, or grain or goods,
for another. They had regulations as to property, their laws punished
crime with fine, imprisonment, or death, just as ours do. They seem to
have been careful to keep their liberties, the families being formed
into groups, and these into tribes or clans, under the rule of an
elected chief, while it is probable that a Great Chief or King ruled
over several tribes and led them to war, or saw that the laws were put
into force.
Now we begin to see something of these ancient forefathers of ours, and
to understand what kind of people they were. Presently we shall have
to look into their religion, out of which our Fairy Stories were really
made; but first, there are one or two other things to be said about
them. One of these shows that they were far in advance of savage races,
for they could count as high as one hundred, while savages can seldom
get further than the number of their fingers; and they had also advanced
so far as to divide the year into twelve months, which they took from
the changes of the moon. Then their family relations were very close and
tender. "Names were given to the members of families related by marriage
as well as by blood. A welcome greeted the birth of children, as of
those who brought joy to the home; and the love that should be felt
between brother and sister was shown in the names given to them:
_bhratar_ (or brother) being he who sustains or helps; _svasar_ (or
sister) she who pleases or consoles. The daughter of each household was
called _duhitar,_ from _duh_, a root which in Sanskrit means to milk,
by which we know that the girls in those days were the milking-maids.
Father comes from a root, _pa_, which means to protect or support;
mother, _matar_, has the meaning of maker."[1]
Now we may sum up what we know of this ancient people and their ways;
and we find in them much that is to be found in their descendants--the
love of parents and children, the closeness of family ties, the
protection of life and property, the maintenance of law and order, and,
as we shall see presently, a great reverence for _God_. Also, they were
well versed in the arts of life--they built houses, formed villages or
towns, made roads, cultivated the soil, raised great herds of cattle and
other animals; they made boats and land-carriages, worked in metals for
use and ornament, carried on trade with each other, knew how to count,
and were able to divide their time so as to reckon by months and days
as well as by seasons. Besides all this, they had something more and of
still higher value, for the fragments of their ancient poems or hymns
preserved in the Hindu and Persian sacred books show that they thought
much of the spirit of man as well as of his bodily life; that they
looked upon sin as an evil to be punished or forgiven by the Gods, that
they believed in a life after the death of the body, and that they had
a strong feeling for natural beauty and a love of searching into the
wonders of the earth and of the heavens.
The religion of the Aryan races, in its beginning, was a very simple and
a very noble one. They looked up to the heavens and saw the bright sun,
and the light and beauty and glory of the day. They saw the day fade
into night and the clouds draw themselves across the sky, and then they
saw the dawn and the light and life of another day. Seeing these things,
they felt that some Power higher than man ordered and guided them; and
to this great Power they gave the name of _Dyaus_, from a root-word
which means "to shine." And when, out of the forces and forms of Nature,
they afterwards fashioned other Gods, this name of Dyaus became _Dyaus
pitar_, the Heaven-Father, or Lord of All; and in far later times, when
the western Aryans had found their home in Europe, the _Dyaus pitar_
of the central Asian land became the Zeupater of the Greeks, and the
Jupiter of the Romans; and the first part of his name gave us the word
Deity, which we apply to _God_. So, as Professor Max Muller tells us,
the descendants of the ancient Aryans, "when they search for a name for
what is most exalted and yet most dear to every one of us, when they
wish to express both awe and love, the infinite and the finite, they can
do but what their old fathers did when gazing up to the eternal sky, and
feeling the presence of a Being as far as far, and as near as near can
be; they can but combine the self-same words and utter once more the
primeval Aryan prayer, Heaven-Father, in that form which will endure for
ever, 'Our Father, which art in Heaven.'"
The feeling which the Aryans had towards the Heaven-Father is very
finely shown in one of the oldest hymns in the _Rig Veda_, or the Book
of Praise--a hymn written 4,000 years ago, and addressed to Varuna, or
the All-Surrounder, the ancient Hindu name for the chief deity:--
"Let me not | 1,694.554186 |
2023-11-16 18:45:18.5851340 | 1,956 | 10 | MUSHROOMS, EDIBLE, POISONOUS, ETC.***
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STUDIES OF AMERICAN FUNGI
MUSHROOMS, EDIBLE, POISONOUS, ETC.
by
GEORGE FRANCIS ATKINSON
Professor of Botany in Cornell University, and Botanist of the
Cornell University Agricultural Experiment Station
Recipes for Cooking Mushrooms, by Mrs. Sarah Tyson Rorer
Chemistry and Toxicology of Mushrooms, by J. F. Clark
With 230 Illustrations from Photographs by the
Author, and Plates by F. R. Rathbun
SECOND EDITION
[Illustration: PLATE 1.
FIG. 1.--Amanita muscaria.
FIG. 2.--A. frostiana.
Copyright 1900.]
[Illustration: Printer's logo.]
New York
Henry Holt and Company
1903
Copyright, 1900, 1901,
by
Geo. F. Atkinson.
INTRODUCTION.
Since the issue of my "Studies and Illustrations of Mushrooms," as
Bulletins 138 and 168 of the Cornell University Agricultural Experiment
Station, there have been so many inquiries for them and for literature
dealing with a larger number of species, it seemed desirable to publish
in book form a selection from the number of illustrations of these
plants which I have accumulated during the past six or seven years. The
selection has been made of those species representing the more important
genera, and also for the purpose of illustrating, as far as possible,
all the genera of agarics found in the United States. This has been
accomplished except in a few cases of the more unimportant ones. There
have been added, also, illustrative genera and species of all the other
orders of the higher fungi, in which are included many of the edible
forms.
The photographs have been made with great care after considerable
experience in determining the best means for reproducing individual,
specific, and generic characters, so important and difficult to preserve
in these plants, and so impossible in many cases to accurately portray
by former methods of illustration.
One is often asked the question: "How do you tell the mushrooms from the
toadstools?" This implies that mushrooms are edible and that toadstools
are poisonous, and this belief is very widespread in the public mind.
The fact is that many of the toadstools are edible, the common belief
that all of them are poisonous being due to unfamiliarity with the
plants or their characteristics.
Some apply the term mushroom to a single species, the one in
cultivation, and which grows also in fields (_Agaricus campestris_), and
call all others toadstools. It is becoming customary with some students
to apply the term mushroom to the entire group of higher fungi to which
the mushroom belongs (_Basidiomycetes_), and toadstool is regarded as a
synonymous term, since there is, strictly speaking, no distinction
between a mushroom and a toadstool. There are, then, edible and
poisonous mushrooms, or edible and poisonous toadstools, as one chooses
to employ the word.
A more pertinent question to ask is how to distinguish the edible from
the poisonous mushrooms. There is no single test or criterion, like the
"silver spoon" test, or the criterion of a scaly cap, or the presence of
a "poison cup" or "death cup," which will serve in all cases to
distinguish the edible from the poisonous. Two plants may possess
identical characters in this respect, i. e., each may have the "death
cup," and one is edible while the other is poisonous, as in _Amanita
caesarea_, edible, and _A. phalloides_, poisonous. There are additional
characters, however, in these two plants which show that the two differ,
and we recognize them as two different species.
To know several different kinds of edible mushrooms, which occur in
greater or less quantity through the different seasons, would enable
those interested in these plants to provide a palatable food at the
expense only of the time required to collect them. To know several of
the poisonous ones also is important, in order certainly to avoid them.
The purpose of this book is to present the important characters which it
is necessary to observe, in an interesting and intelligible way, to
present life-size photographic reproductions accompanied with plain and
accurate descriptions. By careful observation of the plant, and
comparison with the illustrations and text, one will be able to add many
species to the list of edible ones, where now perhaps is collected "only
the one which is pink underneath." The chapters 17 to 21 should also be
carefully read.
The number of people in America who interest themselves in the
collection of mushrooms for the table is small compared to those in some
European countries. The number, however, is increasing, and if a little
more attention were given to the observation of these plants and the
discrimination of the more common kinds, many persons could add greatly
to the variety of their foods and relishes with comparatively no cost.
The quest for these plants in the fields and woods would also afford a
most delightful and needed recreation to many, and there is no subject
in nature more fascinating to engage one's interest and powers of
observation.
There are also many important problems for the student in this group of
plants. Many of our species and the names of the plants are still in
great confusion, owing to the very careless way in which these plants
have usually been preserved, and the meagerness of recorded observations
on the characters of the fresh plants, or of the different stages of
development. The study has also an important relation to agriculture and
forestry, for there are numerous species which cause decay of valuable
timber, or by causing "heart rot" entail immense losses through the
annual decretion occurring in standing timber.
If this book contributes to the general interest in these plants as
objects of nature worthy of observation, if it succeeds in aiding those
who are seeking information of the edible kinds, and stimulates some
students to undertake the advancement of our knowledge of this group, it
will serve the purpose the author had in mind in its preparation.
I wish here to express my sincere thanks to Mrs. Sarah Tyson Rorer for
her kindness in writing a chapter on recipes for cooking mushrooms,
especially for this book; to Professor I. P. Roberts, Director of the
Cornell University Agricultural Experiment Station, for permission to
use certain of the illustrations (Figs. 1--7, 12--14, 31--43) from
Bulletins 138 and 168, Studies and Illustrations of Mushrooms; to Mr. F.
R. Rathbun, for the charts from which the plates were made; to
Mr. J. F. Clark and Mr. H. Hasselbring, for the Chapters on Chemistry
and Toxicology of Mushrooms, and Characters of Mushrooms, to which their
names are appended, and also to Dr. Chas. Peck, of Albany, N. Y., and
Dr. G. Bresadola, of Austria-Hungary, to whom some of the specimens have
been submitted.
GEO. F. ATKINSON,
Ithaca, N. Y., October, 1900.
Cornell University.
SECOND EDITION.
In this edition have been added 10 plates of mushrooms of which I did
not have photographs when the first edition was printed. It was possible
to accomplish this without changing the paging of any of the descriptive
part, so that references to all of the plants in either edition will be
the same.
There are also added a chapter on the "Uses of Mushrooms," and an
extended chapter on the "Cultivation of Mushrooms." This subject I have
been giving some attention to for several years, and in view of the call
for information since the appearance of the first edition, it seemed
well to add this chapter, illustrated by several flashlight photographs.
G. F. A.
September, 1901.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
PAGE
Chapter | 1,694.605174 |
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CAMPAIGNING IN
CUBA
BY
GEORGE KENNAN
AUTHOR OF "SIBERIA AND THE EXILE SYSTEM"
NEW YORK
THE CENTURY CO.
1899
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. STARTING FOR THE FIELD 1
II. UNDER THE RED CROSS 10
III. ON THE EDGE OF WAR 23
IV. WAR CORRESPONDENTS AND DESPATCH-BOATS 35
V. OFF FOR SANTIAGO 44
VI. THE C | 1,694.704245 |
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BESSIE AT THE SEA-SIDE
_BOOKS BY JOANNA H. MATHEWS._
I. THE BESSIE BOOKS.
6 vols. In a box. $7.50.
SEASIDE $1.25
CITY 1.25
FRIENDS 1.25
MOUNTAINS 1.25
SCHOOL 1.25
TRAVELS 1.25
II. THE FLOWERETS
A SERIES OF STORIES ON THE COMMANDMENTS.
6 vols. In a box. $3.60.
VIOLET'S IDOL.
DAISY'S WORK.
ROSE'S TEMPTATION.
LILY'S LESSON.
HYACINTHE AND HER BROTHERS.
PINKIE AND THE RABBITS.
III. LITTLE SUNBEAMS.
6 vols. In a box. $6.00.
BELLE POWERS' LOCKET | 1,694.704298 |
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BERT LLOYD'S BOYHOOD.
[Illustration: "The whole crowd then precipitated themselves upon him,
and proceeded to pummel any part of his body they could reach."--_Page
165._
_Frontispiece._]
BERT LLOYD'S BOYHOOD
A Story from Nova Scotia
BY
J. MACDONALD OXLEY, LL.D.
_WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. FINNEMORE_
London
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
27, PATERNOSTER ROW
MDCCCXCII.
EDINBURGH:
PRINTED BY LORIMER AND GILLIES.
31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE.
PREFACE.
There is something so pleasing to the author of this volume--the first
of several which have been kindly received by his American cousins--in
the thought of being accorded the privilege of appearing before a new
audience in the "old home," that the impulse to indulge in a foreword or
two cannot be withstood.
And yet, after all, there would seem to be but two things necessary to
be said:--Firstly, that in attempting a picture of boy life in Nova
Scotia a fifth of a century ago, the writer had simply to fall back upon
the recollections of his own school-days, and that in so doing he has
striven to depart as slightly as possible from what came within the
range of personal experience; and, Secondly, while it is no doubt to be
regretted that Canada has not yet attained that stage of development
which would enable her to support a literature of her own, it certainly
is no small consolation for her children, however ardent their
patriotism, who would fain enter the literary arena, that not only
across the Border, but beyond the ocean in the Motherland, there are
doors of opportunity standing open through which they may find their way
before the greatest and kindliest audience in the world.
J. MACDONALD OXLEY.
OTTAWA, CANADA,
_29th August, 1892_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BERT IS INTRODUCED, 5
II. FIREMAN OR SOLDIER, 11
III. NO. FIVE FORT STREET, 17
IV. OFF TO THE COUNTRY, 21
V. THE RIDE IN THE COACH, 29
VI. AT GRANDFATHER'S, 39
VII. COUNTRY EXPERIENCES, 47
VIII. TEMPTATION AND TRIUMPH, 57
IX. LOST AND FOUND, 67
X. BERT GOES TO SCHOOL, 81
XI. SCHOOL LIFE AT MR. GARRISON'S, 93
XII. A QUESTION OF INFLUENCE, 107
XIII. BERT AT HOME, 117
XIV. AN HONOURABLE SCAR, 127
XV. A CHANGE OF SCHOOL, 139
XVI. THE FIRST DAYS AT DR. JOHNSTON'S, 151
XVII. THE HOISTING, 163
XVIII. SCHOOL EXPERIENCES, 175
XIX. VICTORY AND DEFEAT, 187
XX. A NARROW ESCAPE, 203
XXI. LEARNING TO SWIM, 217
XXII. HOW HOISTING WAS ABOLISHED, 227
XXIII. PRIZE WINNING AND LOSING, 239
XXIV. A CHAPTER ON PONIES, 253
XXV. ABOUT TWO KINDS OF PONIES, 263
XXVI. VICTORY WON FROM DEFEAT, 273
XXVII. ABOUT LITERATURE AND LAW, 287
XXVIII. WELL DONE, BOYS! 301
XXIX. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW, 315
XXX. HOME MISSIONARY WORK, 325
XXXI. NOT DEAD, BUT TRANSLATED, 335
XXXII. A BOY NO LONGER, 349
CHAPTER I.
BERT IS INTRODUCED.
If Cuthbert Lloyd had been born in the time of our great grandfathers,
instead of a little later than the first half of the present century,
the gossips would assuredly have declared that the good fairies had had
it all their own way at his birth.
To begin with, he was a particularly fine handsome baby; for did not all
the friends of the family say so? In the second place, he was an only
son, which meant that he had no big brothers to bully him. Next, his
birthplace was the stirring seaport of Halifax, where a sturdy,
energetic boy, such as Cuthbert certainly gave good promise of being,
need never lack for fun or adventure. Finally, he had plenty of
relations in the country to whom he might go in the summer time to learn
the secrets and delights of country life.
Now, when to all these advantages are added two fond but sensible
parents in comfortable circumstances, an elder sister who loved little
Cuthbert with the whole strength of her warm unselfish heart, and a
pleasant home in the best part of the city, they surely make us as fine
a list of blessings as the most benevolent fairy godmother could
reasonably have been expected to bestow.
And yet there was nothing about Master Cuthbert's early conduct to
indicate that he properly appreciated his good fortune. He was not half
as well-behaved a baby, for instance, as red-headed little Patsey Shea,
who, a few days after his first appearance, brought another hungry mouth
to the already over-populated cottage of the milkwoman down in
Hardhand's lane. As he grew older, it needed more whippings than the sum
total of his own chubby fingers and toes to instil into him a proper
understanding of parental authority. Sometimes his mother, who was a
slight small woman, stronger of mind than of body, would feel downright
discouraged about her vigorous, wilful boy, and wonder,
half-despairingly, if she were really equal to the task of bringing him
up in the way he should go.
Cuthbert was in many respects an odd mixture. His mother often said that
he seemed more like two boys of opposite natures rolled into one, than
just one ordinary boy. When quite a little chap, he would at one time be
as full of noise, action, and enterprise as the captain of an ocean
steamer in a gale, and at another time be as sedate, thoughtful, and
absentminded as the ancient philosopher who made himself famous by
walking into a well in broad daylight.
Cuthbert, in fact, at the age of three, attracted attention to himself
in a somewhat similar way. His mother had taken him with her in making
some calls, and at Mrs. Allen's, in one of his thoughtful moods, with
his hands clasped behind him, he went wandering off unobserved.
Presently he startled the whole household by tumbling from the top to
the bottom of the kitchen stairs, having calmly walked over the edge in
an absorbed study of his surroundings.
The other side of his nature was brilliantly illustrated a year later.
Being invited to spend the day with a playmate of his own age, he built
a big fire with newspapers in the bath room, turned on all the taps,
pretending that they were the hydrants, and then ran through the hall,
banging a dustpan and shouting "fire" at the top of his voice.
"He is such a perfect 'pickle,' I hardly know what to do with him,
Robert," said Mrs. Lloyd to her husband, with a big sigh, one evening at
dinner.
"Don't worry, my dear, don't worry. He has more than the usual amount of
animal spirits, that is all. Keep a firm hand on him and he'll come out
all right," answered Mr. Lloyd, cheeringly.
"It's easy enough to say, 'Keep a firm hand on him,' Robert, but my hand
gets pretty tired sometimes, I can assure you. I just wish you'd stay at
home for a week and look after Bert, while I go to the office in your
place. You'd get a better idea of what your son is like than you can by
seeing him for a little while in the morning and evening."
"Thank you, Kate, I've no doubt you might manage to do my work at the
office, and that my clients would think your advice very good; but I'm
no less sure that I would be a dismal failure in doing your work at
home," responded Mr. Lloyd, with a smile, adding, more seriously:
"Anyway, I have too much faith in your ability to make the best of Bert
to think of spoiling your good work by clumsy interference."
"It's a great comfort to have you put so much faith in me," said Mrs.
Lloyd, with a grateful look, "for it's more than Bert does sometimes.
Why, he told me only this morning that he thought I wasn't half as good
to him as Frankie Clayton's mother is to him, just because I wouldn't
let him have the garden hose to play fireman with."
"Just wait until he's fifteen, my dear," returned Mr. Lloyd, "and if he
doesn't think then that he has one of the best mothers in the world,
why--I'll never again venture to prophesy, that's all. And here comes my
little man to answer for himself," as the door opened suddenly and Bert
burst in, making straight for his father. "Ha! ha! my boy, so your
mother says you're a perfect pickle. Well, if you're only pickled in a
way that will save you from spoiling, I shall be satisfied, and I think
your mother may be, too."
Mrs. Lloyd laughed heartily at the unexpected turn thus given to her
complaint; and Bert, seeing both his parents in such good humour, added
a beaming face on his own account, although, of course, without having
the slightest idea as to the cause of their merriment.
Climbing up on his father's knee, Bert pressed a plump cheek lovingly
against the lawyer's brown whiskers and looked, what indeed he was, the
picture of happy content.
"What sort of a man are you going to make, Bert?" asked Mr. Lloyd,
quizzingly, the previous conversation being still in his mind.
"I'm going to be a fireman," replied Bert, promptly; "and Frankie's
going to be one too."
"And why do you want to be a fireman, Bert?"
"Oh, because they wear such grand clothes and can make such a noise
without anybody telling them to shut up," answered Bert, whose knowledge
of firemen was based upon a torchlight procession of them he had seen
one night, and their management of a fire that had not long before taken
place in the near neighbourhood, and of which he was a breathless
spectator.
Mr. Lloyd could not resist laughing at his son's naive reply, but there
was no ridicule in his laugh, as Bert saw clearly enough, and he was
encouraged to add:
"Oh, father, please let me be a fireman, won't you?"
"We'll see about it, Bert. If we can't find anything better for you to
do than being a fireman, why we'll try to make a good fireman of you,
that's all. But never mind about that now; tell me what was the best fun
you had to-day." Thus invited, Bert proceeded to tell after his own
fashion the doings of the day, with his father and mother an attentive
audience.
It was their policy to always manifest a deep interest in everything
Bert had to tell, and in this way they made him understand better
perhaps than they could otherwise have done how thoroughly they
sympathised with him in both the joys and sorrows of his little life.
They were determined that the most complete confidence should be
established between them and their only boy at the start, and Bert never
appeared to such advantage as when, with eyes flashing and graphic
gestures, he would tell about something wonderful in his eyes that had
happened to him that afternoon.
By the time Bert had exhausted his budget and been rewarded with a lump
of white sugar, the nurse appeared with the summons to bed, and after
some slight demur he went off in good humour, his father saying, as the
door closed upon him:
"There's not a better youngster of his age in Halifax, Kate, even if he
hasn't at present any higher ambition than to be a fireman."
CHAPTER II.
FIREMAN OR SOLDIER.
Halifax has already been mentioned as a particularly pleasant place for
a boy to be born in; and so indeed it is. Every schoolboy knows, or
ought to know, that it is the capital of Acadia, one of the Maritime
Provinces of the Dominion of Canada. It has a great many advantages,
some of which are not shared by any other city on the continent.
Situated right on the sea coast, it boasts a magnificent harbour, in
which all the war vessels of the world, from the mightiest iron-clad to
the tiniest torpedo boat, might lie at anchor. Beyond the harbour,
separated from it by only a short strait, well-named the "Narrows," is
an immense basin that seems just designed for yachting and excursions;
while branching out from the harbour in different directions are two
lovely fiords, one called the Eastern Passage, leading out to the ocean
again, and the other running away up into the land, so that there is no
lack of salt water from which cool breezes may blow on the torrid days.
The city itself is built upon the peninsula that divides the harbour
from the north-west arm, and beginning about half-a-mile from the point
of the peninsula, runs northward almost to the Narrows, and spreads out
westward until its farthest edge touches the shore of the arm. The
"Point" has been wisely set aside for a public park, and except where a
fort or two, built to command the entrance to the harbour, intrudes upon
it, the forest of spruce and fir with its labyrinth of roads and paths
and frequent glades of soft waving grass, extends from shore to shore,
making a wilderness that a boy's imagination may easily people with
Indians brandishing tomahawk and scalping knife, or bears and wolves
seeking whom they may devour.
Halifax being the chief military and naval station for the British
Colonies in America, its forts and barracks are filled with red-coated
infantry or blue-coated artillery the whole year round. All summer long
great iron-clads bring their imposing bulks to anchor off the Dockyard,
and Jack Tars in foolish, merry, and alas! too often vicious companies,
swagger through the streets in noisy enjoyment of their day on shore.
On either side of the harbour, on the little island which rests like an
emerald brooch upon its bosom, and high above the city on the crown of
the hill up which it wearily climbs, street beyond street, stand
frowning fortresses with mighty guns thrusting their black muzzles
through the granite embrasures. In fact, the whole place is pervaded by
the influences of military life; and Cuthbert, whose home overlooked a
disused fort, now serving the rather ignoble purpose of a dwelling-place
for married soldiers, was at first fully persuaded in his mind that the
desire of his life was to be a soldier; and it was not until he went to
a military review, and realised that the soldiers had to stand up
awfully stiff and straight, and dare not open their mouths for the
world, that he dismissed the idea of being a soldier, and adopted that
of being a fireman.
Yet there were times when he rather regretted his decision, and inclined
to waver in his allegiance. His going to the Sunday school with his
sister had something to do with this. A favourite hymn with the
superintendent--who, by the way, was a retired officer--was--
"Onward, Christian soldiers."
The bright stirring tune, and the tremendous vigour with which the
scholars sang it, quite took Cuthbert's heart. He listened eagerly, but
the only words he caught were the first, which they repeated so often:
"Onward, Christian soldiers."
Walking home with his sister, they met a small detachment of soldiers,
looking very fine in their Sunday uniforms:
"Are those Christian soldiers, Mary?" he asked, looking eagerly up into
her face.
"Perhaps so, Bert, I don't know," Mary replied. "What makes you ask?"
"Because we were singing about Christian soldiers, weren't we?" answered
Bert.
"Oh! is that what you mean, Bert? They may be, for all I know. Would you
like to be a Christian soldier?"
"Yes," doubtfully; then, brightening up--"but couldn't I be a Christian
fireman, too?"
"Of course you could, Bert, but I'd much rather see you a Christian
soldier. Mr. Hamilton is a Christian soldier, you know."
This reply of his sister's set Bert's little brain at work. Mr.
Hamilton, the superintendent of the Sunday school, was a tall, erect
handsome man, with fine grey hair and whiskers, altogether an impressive
gentleman; yet he had a most winning manner, and Bert was won to him at
once when he was welcomed by him warmly to the school. Bert could not
imagine anything grander than to be a Christian soldier, if it meant
being like Mr. Hamilton. Still the fireman notion had too many
attractions to be lightly thrown aside, and consequently for some time
to come he could hardly be said to know his own mind as to his future.
The presence of the military in Halifax was far from being an unmixed
good. Of course, it helped business, gave employment to many hands,
imparted peculiar life and colour to society, and added many excellent
citizens to the population. At the same time it had very marked
drawbacks. There was always a great deal of drunkenness and other
dissipation among the soldiers and sailors. The officers were not the
most improving of companions and models for the young men of the place,
and in other ways the city was the worse for their presence.
Mrs. Lloyd presently found the soldiers a source of danger to her boy.
Just around the corner at the entrance to the old fort, already
mentioned, was a guardhouse, and here some half-dozen soldiers were
stationed day and night. They were usually jolly fellows, who were glad
to get hold of little boys to play with, and thereby help to while away
the time in their monotonous life. Cuthbert soon discovered the
attractions of this guardhouse, and, in spite of commands to the
contrary, which he seemed unable to remember, wandered off thither very
often. All the other little boys in the neighbourhood went there
whenever they liked, and he could not understand why he should not do so
too. He did not really mean to defy his parents. He was too young for
that, being only six years old. But the force of the example of his
playmates seemed stronger than the known wishes of his parents, and so
he disobeyed them again and again.
Mrs. Lloyd might, of course, have carried her point by shutting Bert up
in the yard, and not allowing him out at all except in charge of
somebody. But that | 1,694.70522 |
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A TRUE ACCOUNT
OF THE
VOYAGE
OF THE
_Nottingham-Galley_ of _London_,
_John Dean_ Commander,
FROM THE
River _Thames_ to _New-England_,
Near which Place she | 1,694.705226 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration:
_Lafayette, Manchester._
THE REV. T. K. CHEYNE, D. LITT, D. D.]
THE RECONCILIATION OF RACES AND RELIGIONS
BY
THOMAS KELLY CHEYNE, D. LITT., D. D.
FELLOW OF THE BRITISH ACADEMY, MEMBER OF THE NAVA VIDHAN (LAHORE), THE
BAHAI COMMUNITY, ETC. RUHANI; PRIEST OF THE PRINCE OF PEACE
To my dear wife in whose poems are combined an ardent faith, an
universal charity, and a simplicity of style which sometimes reminds
me of the poet seer William Blake may she accept and enjoy the
offering and may a like happiness be my lot when the little volume
reaches the hands of the ambassador of peace.
PREFACE
The primary aim of this work is twofold. It would fain contribute to
the cause of universal peace, and promote the better understanding of
the various religions which really are but one religion. The union of
religions must necessarily precede the union of races, which at
present is so lamentably incomplete. It appears to me that none of the
men or women of good-will is justified in withholding any suggestions
which may have occurred to him. For the crisis, both political and
religious, is alarming.
The question being ultimately a religious one, the author may be
pardoned if he devotes most of his space to the most important of its
religious aspects. He leaves it open to students of Christian politics
to make known what is the actual state of things, and how this is to
be remedied. He has, however, tried to help the reader by reprinting
the very noble Manifesto of the Society of Friends, called forth by
the declaration of war against Germany by England on the fourth day of
August 1914.
In some respects I should have preferred a Manifesto representing the
lofty views of the present Head of another Society of Friends--the
Bahai Fraternity. Peace on earth has been the ideal of the Babis
and Bahais since the Babs time, and Professor E. G. Browne has
perpetuated Baha-'ullah's noble declaration of the imminent setting up
of the kingdom of God, based upon universal peace. But there is such a
thrilling actuality in the Manifesto of the Disciples of George Fox
that I could not help availing myself of Mr. Isaac Sharp's kind
permission to me to reprint it. It is indeed an opportune setting
forth of the eternal riches, which will commend itself, now as never
before, to those who can say, with the Grandfather in Tagore's poem,
'I am a jolly pilgrim to the land of losing everything.' The rulers of
this world certainly do not cherish this ideal; but the imminent
reconstruction of international relations will have to be founded upon
it if we are not to sink back into the gulf of militarism.
I have endeavoured to study the various races and religions on their
best side, and not to fetter myself to any individual teacher or
party, for 'out of His fulness have all we received.' Max Mueller was
hardly right in advising the Brahmists to call themselves Christians,
and it is a pity that we so habitually speak of Buddhists and
Mohammedans. I venture to remark that the favourite name of the Bahais
among themselves is 'Friends.' The ordinary name Bahai comes from the
divine name Baha, 'Glory (of God),' so that Abdu'l Baha means 'Servant
of the Glory (of God).' One remembers the beautiful words of the Latin
collect, 'Cui servire regnare est.'
Abdu'l Baha (when in Oxford) graciously gave me a 'new name.'
[Footnote: Ruhani ('spiritual').] Evidently he thought that my work
was not entirely done, and would have me be ever looking for help to
the Spirit, whose'strength is made perfect in weakness.' Since then
he has written me a Tablet (letter), from which I quote the following
lines:--
_'O thou, my spiritual philosopher,_
'Thy letter was received. In reality its contents were eloquent, for
it was an evidence of thy literary fairness and of thy investigation
of Reality.... There were many Doctors amongst the Jews, but they were
all earthly, but St. Paul became heavenly because he could fly
upwards. In his own time no one duly recognized him; nay, rather, he
spent his days amidst difficulties and contempt. Afterwards it became
known that he was not an earthly bird, he was a celestial one; he was
not a natural philosopher, but a divine philosopher.
'It is likewise my hope that in the future the East and the West may
become conscious that thou wert a divine philosopher and a herald to
the Kingdom.'
I have no wish to write my autobiography, but may mention here that I
sympathize largely with Vambery, a letter from whom to Abdu'l Baha
will be found farther on; though I should express my own adhesion to
the Bahai leader in more glowing terms. Wishing to get nearer to a
'human-catholic' religion I have sought the privilege of simultaneous
membership of several brotherhoods of Friends of God. It is my wish to
show that both these and other homes of spiritual life are, when
studied from the inside, essentially one, and that religions
necessarily issue in racial and world-wide unity.
RUHANI.
OXFORD, _August_ 1914.
CONTENTS
PREFACE
INTRODUCTION
I. THE JEWELS OF THE FAITHS
II. BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL
III. BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL (continued)
IV. BIOGRAPHICAL AND HISTORICAL; AMBASSADOR TO HUMANITY
V. A SERIES OF ILLUSTRATIVE STUDIES BEARING ON COMPARATIVE RELIGION
BAHAI BIBLIOGRAPHY
INTRODUCTION
TO MEN AND WOMEN OF GOODWILL IN THE BRITISH EMPIRE
_A Message (reprinted by permission) from the Religious Society of
Friends_
We find ourselves to-day in the midst of what may prove to be the
fiercest conflict in the history of the human race. Whatever may be
our view of the processes which have led to its inception, we have now
to face the fact that war is proceeding upon a terrific scale and that
our own country is involved in it.
We recognize that our Government has made most strenuous efforts to
preserve peace, and has entered into the war under a grave sense of
duty to a smaller State, towards which we had moral and treaty
obligations. While, as a Society, we stand firmly to the belief that
the method of force is no solution of any question, we hold that the
present moment is not one for criticism, but for devoted service to
our nation.
What is to be the attitude of Christian men and women and of all who
believe in the brotherhood of humanity? In the distress and perplexity
of this new situation, many are so stunned as scarcely to be able to
discern the path of duty. In the sight of God we should seek to get
back to first principles, and to determine on a course of action which
shall prove us to be worthy citizens of His Kingdom. In making this
effort let us remember those groups of men and women, in all the other
nations concerned, who will be animated by a similar spirit, and who
believe with us that the fundamental unity of men in the family of God
is the one enduring reality, even when we are forced into an apparent
denial of it. Although it would be premature to make any
pronouncement upon many aspects of the situation on which we have no
sufficient data for a reliable judgment, we can, and do, call
ourselves and you to a consideration of certain principles which may
safely be enunciated.
1. The conditions which have made this catastrophe possible must be
regarded by us as essentially unchristian. This war spells the
bankruptcy of much that we too lightly call Christian. No nation, no
Church, no individual can be wholly exonerated. We have all
participated to some extent in these conditions. We have been content,
or too little discontented, with them. If we apportion blame, let us
not fail first to blame ourselves, and to seek the forgiveness of
Almighty God.
2. In the hour of darkest night it is not for us to lose heart. Never
was there greater need for men of faith. To many will come the
temptation to deny God, and to turn away with despair from the
Christianity which seems to be identified with bloodshed on so
gigantic a scale. Christ is crucified afresh to-day. If some forsake
Him and flee, let it be more clear that there are others who take
their stand with Him, come what may.
3. This we may do by continuing to show the spirit of love to all. For
those whose conscience forbids them to take up arms there are other
ways of serving, and definite plans are already being made to enable
them to take their full share in helping their country at this
crisis. In pity and helpfulness towards the suffering and stricken in
our own country we shall all share. If we stop at this, 'what do we
more than others?' Our Master bids us pray for and love our enemies.
May we be saved from forgetting that they too are the children of our
Father. May we think of them with love and pity. May we banish
thoughts of bitterness, harsh judgments, the revengeful spirit. To do
this is in no sense unpatriotic. We may find ourselves the subjects
of misunderstanding. But our duty is clear--to be courageous in the
cause of love and in the hate of hate. May we prepare ourselves even
now for the day when once more we shall stand shoulder to shoulder
with those with whom we are now at war, in seeking to bring in the
Kingdom of God.
4. It is not too soon to begin to think out the new situation which
will arise at the close of the war. We are being compelled to face the
fact that the human race has been guilty of a gigantic folly. We have
built up a culture, a civilization, and even a religious life,
surpassing in many respects that of any previous age, and we have been
content to rest it all upon a foundation of sand. Such a state of
society cannot endure so long as the last word in human affairs is
brute force. Sooner or later it was bound to crumble. At the close of
this war we shall be faced with a stupendous task of reconstruction.
In some ways it will be rendered supremely difficult by the legacy of
ill-will, by the destruction of human life, by the tax upon all in
meeting the barest wants of the millions who will have suffered
through the war. But in other ways it will be easier. We shall be able
to make a new start, and to make it all together. From this point of
view we may even see a ground of comfort in the fact that our own
nation is involved. No country will be in a position which will compel
others to struggle again to achieve the inflated standard of military
power existing before the war. We shall have an opportunity of
reconstructing European culture upon the only possible permanent
foundation--mutual trust and good-will. Such a reconstruction would
not only secure the future of European civilization, but would save
the world from the threatened catastrophe of seeing the great nations
of the East building their new social order also upon the sand, and
thus turning the thought and wealth needed for their education and
development into that which could only be a fetter to themselves and a
menace to the West. Is it too much to hope for that we shall, when
the time comes, be able as brethren together to lay down far-reaching
principles for the future of mankind such as will ensure us for ever
against a repetition of this gigantic folly? If this is to be
accomplished it will need the united and persistent pressure of all
who believe in such a future for mankind. There will still be
multitudes who can see no good in the culture of other nations, and
who are unable to believe in any genuine brotherhood among those of
different races. Already those who think otherwise must begin to think
and plan for such a future if the supreme opportunity of the final
peace is not to be lost, and if we are to be saved from being again
sucked down into the whirlpool of military aggrandizement and
rivalry. In time of peace all the nations have been preparing for
war. In the time of war let all men of good-will prepare for
peace. The Christian conscience must be awakened to the magnitude of
the issues. The great friendly democracies in each country must be
ready to make their influence felt. Now is the time to speak of this
thing, to work for it, to pray for it.
5. If this is to happen, it seems to us of vital importance that the
war should not be carried on in any vindictive spirit, and that it
should be brought to a close at the earliest possible moment. We
should have it clearly before our minds from the beginning that we are
not going into it in order to crush and humiliate any nation. The
conduct of negotiations has taught us the necessity of prompt action
in international affairs. Should the opportunity offer, we, in this
nation, should be ready to act with promptitude in demanding that the
terms suggested are of a kind which it will be possible for all
parties to accept, and that the negotiations be entered upon in the
right spirit.
6. We believe in God. Human free will gives us power to hinder the
fulfilment of His loving purposes. It also means that we may actively
co-operate with Him. If it is given to us to see something of a
glorious possible future, after all the desolation and sorrow that lie
before us, let us be sure that sight has been given us by Him. No day
should close without our putting up our prayer to Him that He will
lead His family into a new and better day. At a time when so severe a
blow is being struck at the great causes of moral, social, and
religious reform for which so many have struggled, we need to look
with expectation and confidence to Him, whose cause they are, and find
a fresh inspiration in the certainty of His victory.
_August 7, 1914._
'In time of war let all men of good-will prepare for peace.' German,
French, and English scholars and investigators have done much to show
that the search for truth is one of the most powerful links between
the different races and nations. It is absurd to speak--as many
Germans do habitually speak--of 'deutsche Wissenschaft,' as if the
glorious tree of scientific and historical knowledge were a purely
German production. Many wars like that which closed at Sedan and that
which is still, most unhappily, in progress will soon drive lovers of
science and culture to the peaceful regions of North America!
The active pursuit of truth is, therefore, one of those things which
make for peace. But can we say this of moral and religious truth? In
this domain are we not compelled to be partisans and particularists?
And has not liberal criticism shown that the religious traditions of
all races and nations are to be relegated to the least cultured
classes? That is the question to the treatment of which I (as a
Christian student) offer some contributions in the present volume. But
I would first of all express my hearty sympathy with the friends of
God in the noble Russian Church, which has appointed the following
prayer among others for use at the present crisis: [Footnote:
_Church Times_, Sept. 4, 1914.]
'_Deacon_. Stretch forth Thine hand, O Lord, from on high, and
touch the hearts of our enemies, that they may turn unto Thee, the God
of peace Who lovest Thy creatures: and for Thy Name's sake strengthen
us who put our trust in Thee by Thy might, we beseech Thee. Hear us
and have mercy.'
Certainly it is hardness of heart which strikes us most painfully in
our (we hope) temporary enemies. The only excuse is that in the Book
which Christian nations agree to consider as in some sense and degree
religiously authoritative, the establishment of the rule of the Most
High is represented as coincident with extreme severities, or--as we
might well say--cruelties. I do not, however, think that the excuse,
if offered, would be valid. The Gospels must overbear any inconsistent
statement of the Old Testament.
But the greatest utterances of human morality are to be found in the
Buddhist Scriptures, and it is a shame to the European peoples that
the Buddhist Indian king Asoka should be more Christian than the
leaders of 'German culture.' I for my part love the old Germany far
better than the new, and its high ideals would I hand on, filling up
its omissions and correcting its errors. 'O house of Israel, come ye,
let us walk in the light of the Lord.' Thou art 'the God of peace Who
lovest Thy creatures.'
PART I
THE JEWELS OF THE FAITHS
A STUDY OF THE CHIEF RELIGIONS ON THEIR BEST SIDE WITH A VIEW TO THEIR
EXPANSION AND ENRICHMENT AND TO AN ULTIMATE SYNTHESIS AND TO THE FINAL
UNION OF RACES AND NATIONS ON A SPIRITUAL BASIS
The crisis in the Christian Church is now so acute that we may well
seek for some mode of escape from its pressure. The Old Broad Church
position is no longer adequate to English circumstances, and there is
not yet in existence a thoroughly satisfactory new and original
position for a Broad Church student to occupy. Shall we, then, desert
the old historic Church in which we were christened and educated? It
would certainly be a loss, and not only to ourselves. Or shall we wait
with drooping head to be driven out of the Church? Such a cowardly
solution may be at once dismissed. Happily we have in the Anglican
Church virtually no excommunication. Our only course as students is
to go forward, and endeavour to expand our too narrow Church
boundaries. Modernists we are; modernists we will remain; let our only
object be to be worthy of this noble name.
But we cannot be surprised that our Church rulers are perplexed. For
consider the embarrassing state of critical investigation. Critical
study of the Gospels has shown that very little of the traditional
material can be regarded as historical; it is even very uncertain
whether the Galilean prophet really paid the supreme penalty as a
supposed enemy of Rome on the shameful cross. Even apart from the
problem referred to, it is more than doubtful whether critics have
left us enough stones standing in the life of Jesus to serve as the
basis of a christology or doctrine of the divine Redeemer. And yet one
feels that a theology without a theophany is both dry and difficult to
defend. We want an avatar, i.e. a 'descent' of God in human
form; indeed, we seem to need several such 'descents,' appropriate to
the changing circumstances of the ages. Did not the author of the
Fourth Gospel recognize this? Certainly his portrait of Jesus is so
widely different from that of the Synoptists that a genuine
reconciliation seems impossible. I would not infer from this that the
Jesus of the Fourth Gospel belonged to a different age from the Jesus
of the Synoptists, but I would venture to say that the Fourth
Evangelist would be easier to defend if he held this theory. The
Johannine Jesus ought to have belonged to a different aeon.
ANOTHER IMAGE OF GOD
Well, then, it is reasonable to turn for guidance and help to the
East. There was living quite lately a human being of such consummate
excellence that many think it is both permissible and inevitable even
to identify him mystically with the invisible Godhead. Let us admit,
such persons say, that Jesus was the very image of God. But he lived
for his own age and his own people; the Jesus of the critics has but
little to say, and no redemptive virtue issues from him to us. But the
'Blessed Perfection,' as Baha'ullah used to be called, lives for our
age, and offers his spiritual feast to men of all peoples. His story,
too, is liable to no diminution at the hands of the critics, simply
because the facts of his life are certain. He has now passed from
sight, but he is still in the ideal world, a true image of God and a
true lover of man, and helps forward the reform of all those manifold
abuses which hinder the firm establishment of the kingdom of God. I
shall return to this presently. Meanwhile, suffice it to say that
though I entertain the highest reverence and love for Baha'ullah's
son, Abdul Baha, whom I regard as a Mahatma--'a great-souled one'--and
look up to as one of the highest examples in the spiritual firmament,
I hold no brief for the Bahai community, and can be as impartial in
dealing with facts relating to the Bahais as with facts which happen
to concern my own beloved mother-church, the Church of England.
I shall first of all ask, how it came to pass that so many of us are
now seeking help and guidance from the East, some from India, some
from Persia, some (which is my own case) from India and from Persia.
BAHA'ULLAH'S PRECURSORS, _e.g._ THE BAB, SUFISM, AND SHEYKH
AHMAD
So far as Persia is concerned, the reason is that its religious
experience has been no less varied than ancient. Zoroaster, Manes,
Christ, Muhammad, Dh'u-Nun (the introducer of Sufism), Sheykh
Ahmad (the forerunner of Babism), the Bab himself and Baha'ullah
(the two Manifestations), have all left an ineffaceable mark on the
national life. The Bab, it is true, again and again expresses his
repugnance to the 'lies' of the Sufis, and the Babis are not
behind him; but there are traces enough of the influence of Sufism
on the new Prophet and his followers. The passion for martyrdom seems
of itself to presuppose a tincture of Sufism, for it is the most
extreme form of the passion for God, and to love God fervently but
steadily in preference to all the pleasures of the phenomenal world,
is characteristically Sufite.
What is it, then, in Sufism that excites the Bab's indignation? It
is not the doctrine of the soul's oneness with God as the One Absolute
Being, and the reality of the soul's ecstatic communion with Him.
Several passages are quoted by Mons. Nicolas [Footnote: _Beyan
arabe_, pp. 3-18.] on the attitude of the Bab towards Sufism;
suffice it here to quote one of them.
'Others (i.e. those who claim, as being identified with God, to
possess absolute truth) are known by the name of Sufis, and believe
themselves to possess the internal sense of the Shari'at [Footnote:
The orthodox Law of Islam, which many Muslims seek to allegorize.]
when they are in ignorance alike of its apparent and of its inward
meaning, and have fallen far, very far from it! One may perhaps say of
them that those people who have no understanding have chosen the route
which is entirely of darkness and of doubt.'
Ignorance, then, is, according to the Bab, the great fault of the
Sufis [Footnote: Yet the title Sufi connotes knowledge. It means
probably 'one who (like the Buddha on his statues) has a heavenly
eye.' Prajnaparamita (_Divine Wisdom_) has the same third
eye (Havell, _Indian Sculpture and Painting_, illustr. XLV.).]
whom he censures, and we may gather that that ignorance was thought to
be especially shown in a crude pantheism and a doctrine of incarnation
which, according to the Bab, amounts to sheer polytheism. [Footnote
4: The technical term is 'association.'] God in Himself, says the
Bab, cannot be known, though a reflected image of Him is attainable
by taking heed to His manifestations or perfect portraitures.
Some variety of Sufism, however, sweetly and strongly permeates the
teaching of the Bab. It is a Sufism which consists, not in
affiliation to any Sufi order, but in the knowledge and love of the
Source of the Eternal Ideals. Through detachment from this perishable
world and earnest seeking for the Eternal, a glimpse of the unseen
Reality can be attained. The form of this only true knowledge is
subject to change; fresh'mirrors' or 'portraits' are provided at the
end of each recurring cosmic cycle or aeon. But the substance is
unchanged and unchangeable. As Prof. Browne remarks, 'the prophet of a
cycle is naught but a reflexion of the Primal Will,--the same sun with
a new horizon.' [Footnote: _NH_, p. 335.]
THE BAB
Such a prophet was the Bab; we call him 'prophet' for want of a
better name; 'yea, I say unto you, a prophet and more than a prophet.'
His combination of mildness and power is so rare that we have to place
him in a line with super-normal men. But he was also a great mystic
and an eminent theosophic speculator. We learn that, at great points
in his career, after he had been in an ecstasy, such radiance of might
and majesty streamed from his countenance that none could bear to look
upon the effulgence of his glory and beauty. Nor was it an uncommon
occurrence for unbelievers involuntarily to bow down in lowly
obeisance on beholding His Holiness; while the inmates of the castle,
though for the most part Christians and Sunnis, reverently prostrated
themselves whenever they saw the visage of His Holiness. [Footnote:
_NH_, pp. 241, 242.] Such transfiguration is well known to the
saints. It was regarded as the affixing of the heavenly seal to the
reality and completeness of Bab's detachment. And from the Master we
learn [Footnote: Mirza Jani (_NH_, p. 242).] that it passed to
his disciples in proportion to the degree of their renunciation. But
these experiences were surely characteristic, not only of Babism,
but of Sufism. Ecstatic joy is the dominant note of Sufism, a joy
which was of other-worldly origin, and compatible with the deepest
tranquillity, and by which we are made like to the Ever-rejoicing
One. The mystic poet Far'idu'd-din writes thus,--
Joy! joy! I triumph now; no more I know
Myself as simply me. I burn with love.
The centre is within me, and its wonder
Lies as a circle everywhere about me. [a]
[Footnote a: Hughes, _Dict. of Islam_, p. 618 _b_.]
And of another celebrated Sufi Sheykh (Ibnu'l Far'id) his son writes
as follows: 'When moved to ecstasy by listening [to devotional
recitations and chants] his face would increase in beauty and
radiance, while the perspiration dripped from all his body until it
ran under his feet into the ground.' [Footnote: Browne, _Literary
History of Persia_, ii. 503.]
EFFECT OF SUFISM
Sufism, however, which in the outset was a spiritual pantheism,
combined with quietism, developed in a way that was by no means so
satisfactory. The saintly mystic poet Abu Sa'id had defined it thus:
'To lay aside what thou hast in thy head (desires and ambitions), and
to give away what thou hast in thy hand, and not to flinch from
whatever befalls thee.' [Footnote: _Ibid_. ii. 208.] This is,
of course, not intended as a complete description, but shows that the
spirit of the earlier Sufism was profoundly ethical. Count Gobineau,
however, assures us that the Sufism which he knew was both
enervating and immoral. Certainly the later Sufi poets were inclined
to overpress symbolism, and the luscious sweetness of the poetry may
have been unwholesome for some--both for poets and for readers. Still
I question whether, for properly trained readers, this evil result
should follow. The doctrine of the impermanence of all that is not God
and that love between two human hearts is but a type of the love
between God and His human creatures, and that the supreme happiness is
that of identification with God, has never been more alluringly
expressed than by the Sufi poets.
The Sufis, then, are true forerunners of the Bab and his
successors. There are also two men, Muslims but no Sufis, who have a
claim to the same title. But I must first of all do honour to an
Indian Sufi.
INAYAT KHAN
The message of this noble company has been lately brought to the West.
[Footnote: _Message Soufi de la Liberte Spirit | 1,694.803213 |
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Produced by David Starner, Paul Marshall and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Mrs Anne Killigrew _Painted by herself_]
POEMS
(1686)
by
Mrs. Anne Killigrew
A Facsimile Reproduction
with | 1,694.80643 |
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THE
TORN BIBLE
OR
_HUBERT'S BEST FRIEND_
BY
ALICE SOMERTON
AUTHOR OF "LAYTON CROFT" ETC.
LONDON
FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
AND NEW YORK
TO GLANVILLE
AND
HIS EIGHT SCHOOLFELLOWS.
Perhaps, dear boys, you wonder why I should have dedicated this little
book to you: it is that you may feel a deeper interest in it, and
imbibe, from reading it, an earnest love and reverence for your Bible,
which, like a good angel, can guide you safely through the world as
long as you live. Like Hubert's mother, I ask you to read a portion
every day; and, whatever be the battle of life you may have to fight,
may God's blessing attend you, making you humble towards Him, dutiful
to your parents, and a blessing to mankind.
Believe me,
Yours affectionately,
ALICE SOMERTON.
THE TORN BIBLE.
CHAPTER I.
HUBERT'S DEPARTURE FROM HOME.
May thy goodness
Share with thy birthright! * * * *
* * * What heaven more will
That these may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
Fall on thy head! Farewell.--SHAKESPEARE.
The rural and picturesque village of Hulney, in the north of England,
is a charming place; it is almost surrounded with well-wooded hills,
and the little rivulets, which ever murmur down their sides, run into
the limpid stream along the banks of which most of the cottages are
built.
At the north end of the village, on the <DW72> of a hill, is the church,
so thickly covered with ivy that the only portions of the stonework
visible are part of the ancient tower and the chancel window.
Legend and historic fact hang their mantle round this old church.
History tells us that the brave, yet often cruel, Margaret, wife of
Henry VI., fled there after a defeat in one of her battles; and it is
also recorded that one hundred of the heroes of Flodden Field rested
there on their return from the victory. Modern times have added to the
interest which clings to this old place, and one thing especially which
draws attention will form the subject of this story.
In that old churchyard, where the children of many generations lie side
by side, there is many a touching or interesting record; but the
stranger ever lingers the longest near seven white grave-stones, all
bearing the name of Goodwin. Upon the one which has the most recent
date is the following inscription:--"Sacred to the Memory of Hubert
Goodwin, aged seventy years;" and below this a book, partly destroyed,
with several of the loose leaves, is carved upon the stone: and though,
perhaps, this description of it may not be striking, the exquisite
carving of that destroyed book is such that people ask its meaning, and
they are told that it is a "torn Bible."
Hubert Goodwin, the tenant of that grave, was the eldest of six
children, blessed with pious and affectionate parents, well to do in
the world, and descended from a family of some distinction.
Great pains were bestowed upon Hubert's education, as he grew up to
youth; but from his birth he was of such a passionate turn, and at
times so ungovernable, that he was the source of all the sorrow that
for many years fell to the lot of his parents: he was different to their
other children, and many a time when reproof had been necessary, and the
little wayward one, after a troubled day, had retired to rest, his
mother's heart, still heavy, led her softly to the bed where he lay
sleeping, and there, kneeling down, she would commend him again, with
perhaps a deeper earnestness, to that One who knew all her trouble, and
whom she knew could alone help her. Once the boy awoke as his mother
knelt beside him, and, as though in answer to her prayer that his heart
might be changed, he burst into tears, and, throwing his arms round her
neck, expressed deep sorrow at having grieved her, and promised to try
and do better. Poor mother! her joy was brief; in a very short time he
was as undutiful and rebellious as ever, and so he continued until he
reached the age of twelve years, when, as he had determined upon being
a soldier, his parents, much against their wish, sent him to a military
school, to be educated for the army.
A year rolled away, and all the accounts that came from the master of
Hubert's school informed his parents that he was a bold, unruly boy--a
great deal of trouble to his teachers--but he would probably tame down
a little in time, and do very well for the profession he had chosen.
Many and many a time these parents wept over the letters which spoke
thus of their son: they wished him to be a good soldier--one fearing
and serving God--and they oftentimes repeated their tale of sorrow to
their good pastor, in whom they were wont to confide; but his meed of
comfort was ever the same. What other could he offer? Good man, he
knelt with them, directed them to the source of true comfort, the Lord
Jesus Christ, and tried to lighten their hearts' burden by drawing them
nearer to the hand that afflicted them.
When Hubert had been three years at school, he obtained, through the
influence of friends, a cadetship in one of the regiments belonging to
the East India Company; he was still only a boy, and his parents had
rather he had not gone entirely away from them so soon, for they felt,
and with some truth, that while he was at school he was at least under
their protection, if not their guidance. Hubert, however, came home to
them a fine noble-looking youth, delighted at the prospect before him,
and as proud and vain as possible at being at last really a soldier. How
much his parents loved him, and how they tried to persuade themselves
that the vivacity and recklessness he showed arose more from the
hilarity of a heart buoyant with youthful spirits, than from an evil
nature! but when, on the first Sabbath after his return home, he scoffed
at the manner in which they observed that holy day, another arrow
pierced their bosoms, another bitter drop fell into their cup of sorrow.
During the three years Hubert had been at school, his parents had
gradually observed that, though he did perhaps attend to most of their
wishes, there was a careless sort of indifference about him; and though
they were always glad to see him in his vacations, they were as glad to
see him go back to school, because their home was more peaceful, and
every one was happier when he was not there. Think of this, boys,
whoever you may be, that are reading this story, and when you spend a
short time with those kind parents who love you so much, let them see,
by your kindness and willing obedience, that you wish to love them as
much as they love you; and never let them have to say that their home is
happier when you are not there: no, rather let them rejoice at your
coming home, welcome you, and think of you as the bright light that
cheers every one in their dwelling; and if they can do that, be assured
that God will bless you.
Only a fortnight's leave of absence had been granted to Hubert, and one
week had gone. The way in which he had spoken of sacred things, and of
the manner in which they had observed the Sabbath, roused his mother;
and though her reproof was gentle, she was earnest, and tried all she
could to influence him to better thoughts. She told him of the many
snares and dangers he would have to encounter, and the many temptations
that ever lurk along the path of youth; of the strange country to which
he was going; and of the doubly incurred danger of going forth in his
own strength. He listened as she talked to him; but along that way which
she so dreaded, all his hope and young imagination were centred, and he
grew restless and impatient to be gone.
They were busy in Hubert's home; brothers and sisters all helped to
forward the things necessary for their eldest brother's future comfort,
and they sat later than usual round the fire the last night of his stay
with them; for everything was ready, and the mail-coach would take him
from them early on the morrow. The ship which was to convey Hubert to
India was to sail from Portsmouth, and as his father was in ill-health,
there was some concern in the family circle about his having to take the
journey alone; he promised, however, to write immediately he reached the
vessel, and so, with many a kiss and many a prayer, the family separated
for the night.
It was a lovely autumn morning in the year 1792; everything round
Hubert's home looked beautiful, and his brothers and sisters, as they
clustered around him, and gave him their last kisses, each extorted a
promise that he would write a long letter to them very soon. Excitement
had driven off every regret at parting with him, and one young brother
ran off long before the time, to keep watch at the gate for the coach
coming.
The time for Hubert to go drew near, and his father, infirm from recent
sickness, took his hand as he bade him farewell, and laying the other
upon his head, reminded him once more of lessons long ago taught, and
long ago forgotten; gave him again good counsel concerning his future
life; then pressed him earnestly to his heart, and prayed God to keep
him. Then came his mother; she had already poured out the deep sorrow
she felt at his leaving her, and had endeavoured to school herself to
the parting; without a word she threw her arms round his neck, and bent
her head for some minutes over him. "Oh, Hubert," she at length said,
"when sickness or trouble comes upon you, you will be far from home, and
there will be none of us, who love you so dearly, near to comfort you,
and no one to try and guide you right; but see here, I have a Bible;
take it, treasure it as my last gift, and promise me that you will read
it every day. I care not how little you read, but promise that you will
read some: you will never regret it, and may it teach you the way to
heaven."
"I _will_ read it, mother; I wish I were as good as you are; I know I am
not like the others. Mother dear, don't cry; I will try and do as you
wish; good-bye!" and after kissing her affectionately he hurried from
the house.
The coach was at the gate, round which the children gathered, and for a
few minutes every one seemed busy. The servant-man was there with
Hubert's trunk and a small leather bag; the nurse had come round from
the back garden with the baby; cook followed, and stood a little way
behind the gate with her arms half wrapped up in her apron; and the
housemaid stood at one of the open bed-room windows; while on the steps
of the door were his parents, joining in the farewell to the first-born.
Pilot, the house-dog, seemed to have some notion of the passing event,
for he had come to the gate too, and did not, as was his usual custom,
race and gambol with the children, but sat down amongst them all,
apparently in a thoughtful mood. Hubert kissed his brothers and sisters,
and then took his seat amongst the passengers; then came many a
good-bye, and waving of handkerchiefs, and the coach rolled away.
"He's gone," said his father, as the coach wended its way round the
hill. "Never mind, Mary; it was not for this we trained him, but we've
done our duty, I hope, in letting him go, for he was determined, and
would perhaps soon have taken his own way; poor lad! Perhaps amongst
strangers he will do better than with us; but I would sooner have buried
him--sooner, by far, have laid him in the churchyard--than he should
have taken this course. What is the use of trying to make children good?
Tears, prayers, self-denials, what is the use of them all, if the result
is like this?" So he murmured, and then bowed his head and wept, and his
wife, instead of receiving comfort from him, became the comforter; for,
putting her arm round his neck, she replied,
"Oh, yes, dear, our prayers and tears have brought us many blessings;
see the other children, how good they are; don't murmur. God may yet
bless us in Hubert; it is terrible to part with him in this way; but it
may yet be a blessing to us all: God knows." Then she sat down and wept
with her husband over this first great sorrow; and they _did_ weep; they
and God alone knew the depth of the woe that had come upon them; the
first-born pride of their home and hearts going from them, perhaps for
ever, without one religious impression, or care for the future, was a
sorrow that none around could lighten, and they knelt down and prayed
fervently for that reckless son, and tried to feel a deeper trust in Him
who, though depriving them of one blessing, gave them many.
CHAPTER II.
TOO LATE FOR THE POST-BAG.
Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer;
Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life.
YOUNG.
Meantime, Hubert went on his way, and a feeling of sadness came over him
after he lost sight of his home amongst the trees; for the thought had
come into his mind that perhaps he might never see it again. For a
moment his heart beat quickly, and he gave a deep sigh; then, putting
his hand into the leather bag, he was just going to take out his
mother's present to him, when a man, who sat opposite, said, "I suppose,
young soldier, you are off to join your regiment?"
"Yes," replied Hubert, with a smile; and as he drew his hand from the
bag, he continued, "we are ordered to the East Indies."
"East Indies, eh? you'll soon see a little life, then; they tell me
there's plenty of fighting going on out yonder, though we don't get
much of it in the newspaper. But you are very young?"
"Yes, I'm the youngest cadet in the regiment; I'm just turned fifteen;
but I shall be as brave as any of the others, I dare say: and I mean to
make as good a soldier."
"No doubt of it," replied more than one of the passengers, and the
coachman, who had heard the conversation, cracked his whip, as he chimed
in, "Hear! hear! well done!" Then, as the coach rolled along over many a
mile, they talked of nothing but Hubert and the sphere of his future
existence. It feasted the boy's pride; and every other thought fled
away, and he forgot all about his home and his Bible.
It was the morning of the third day since Hubert started, when, after
many changes and delays, the journey was almost ended, and in less than
an hour they would be in London.
"Do you go to your ship at once?" inquired a gentleman who was seated
beside the coachman, and who had not only come all the journey with
Hubert, but who appeared particularly interested in him.
"I should like to go very much," replied the boy, "because I know no one
in London, though my leave of absence is not up till to-morrow."
"My brother is captain of your vessel," said the stranger; "so, if you
like, we can go together, for I am on the way to say good-bye to him."
Nothing could have suited Hubert better; so, upon leaving the coach,
which reached London as the clocks were striking five, they hurried off
to the street where the mail started for Portsmouth, and after
travelling all day they reached the vessel. How happy was Hubert that
night! what a joyous glow was on his cheek! Several of his old
companions were there, and not one of them appeared to have any sorrow
at leaving friends and home; they greeted each other with light hearts
and buoyant spirits, talked of the varied enjoyments of the past
holiday, and laughed loud and long, as they sat together in the
mess-room.
Here and there, apart from the young ones, in nook and corner, or
leaning over the side of the vessel, an older head resting upon the
hand, told that with some, at least, the pang of parting from home and
dear ones had left its impress upon the heart of the soldier; and there
was one young lad, a stranger, only one month older than Hubert, seated
upon a coil of rope, weeping as though his heart would break. The little
cabin-boy, a child of eleven, tried to soothe him, but the sailors, as
they passed by, said, "Let him alone, boy, and he'll join his messmates
below all the sooner."
Night closed at last, and for a few hours, at least, there was silence:
sleep may not have visited every pillow, but the loud laugh was hushed,
and the stillness of night rested upon the vessel.
It was late the next morning when Hubert left his cabin; all was noise
and confusion; hundreds of soldiers were moving about, and Hubert, to
escape from the turmoil, was preparing to go ashore when a superior
officer touched him on the shoulder and desired him to remain in the
vessel. Hubert was vexed at the order, and sat down gloomily upon a
seat; the time, however, passed quickly by, and at noon, when the bugle
sounded to summon all visitors on deck, that they might be sent on
shore, he had forgotten his anger, and was one of the most cheerful
there.
The friends were gone, all the partings were over, the gangways were
secured, and everything was ready. Wind and tide in favour, time was
precious, and the roll was called: every soldier, to a man, answered to
his name, and they gave three hearty cheers for King George, their
regiment, and Old England.
"The ship will weigh anchor in less than an hour," said a voice close to
Hubert's ear, and, turning round, he saw the gentleman who had
accompanied him from his home.
"Oh, how do you do?" said Hubert, shaking hands with him. "Do you sail
with us?"
"No, only just a mile or so, then I shall return in a boat. Have you a
letter to your parents? if so, I shall be happy to post it for you."
Hubert's face turned red: he had forgotten to write, and he replied, "I
have not a letter."
"Perhaps you have already sent one?"
"Yes," said Hubert; "I mean no; I have not written; the ship sails so
soon, and I have been so engaged that I forgot."
"Forgot?" said the stranger, retaining his hand. "What! forget to write
to those parents you may never see again? Come, my lad, that looks ill
in a soldier; take a friend's advice, and write a letter at once; if I
cannot take it, you will have an opportunity of sending it before many
days pass, and your parents must be anxious about you: try and remember
all the good counsels they gave you before you left, and never forget
them. Good-bye; remember what I say; good-bye."
There was much warmth in the stranger's manner as he shook Hubert's
hand, into whose young heart every good resolution returned, and he
hastened to the cabin which he was to share with three other cadets. He
was silent and thoughtful as he unpacked his chest to find his writing
materials, and there the previous evening he had placed his Bible. As he
raised the lid, his eye fell upon his mother's last gift, and more
earnestly than before he determined upon writing a long letter. The
paper was found, and the writing-desk, which a dear little sister had
given him, was opened, when in rushed the three noisy companions of his
cabin, and made so much disturbance that he found it impossible to
write; so, thinking that he should have plenty of time "to-morrow," he
put his things back again into his chest, and became as noisy as the
others. Another opportunity was lost, another good resolution broken,
for the society of noisy and riotous companions; and it may be that the
many evils and sorrows of his after-life were but the fruits of his
neglecting this first great duty. Had he remembered his parents and
their counsels, and cherished the little germ of goodness that was
springing up in his heart, heavenly dews might have descended upon the
flower, and kept him from the ways of evil.
The vessel at last set sail, and order was restored. Hubert was upon
deck, and as he looked over the side of the ship, and saw the white
cliffs of his country fading from his view, he for once felt
lonely--felt he was leaving all he loved, and he wished he had written
home.
"Just a line: I might do it now," he said to himself. He found, however,
upon turning to go below, that he would be required to perform one of
his military duties almost immediately, so that he could not write then;
and he felt such a mixture of sorrow and vexation, that the feelings of
the boy mocked, as it were, the dress he wore; and, leaning his head
over the side of the ship, more than one large tear mingled with the
waters of the deep.
Their first night at sea came on: how calm and beautiful it was! there
was scarcely a ripple upon the ocean; the bright stars in the high vault
of heaven looked down like so many gentle friends upon the eyes that
gazed up at them, and the pale moonbeams lighted up the pathway for
those wanderers on the waters. Hubert was not happy; many, many times he
fancied he could hear his mother speaking to him, and he would have
given much if he had only written to her. It was then he again
remembered his Bible, and the promise to read it, which promise he now
determined to perform, and as soon as he could conveniently go to his
cabin, he did so, opened his chest, and took out the book, intending to
read.
"How small it is," he thought, "and how pretty!" Then he turned over
leaf by leaf; he knew not where to begin: he could remember nothing at
all about it, and it ended in his putting it back in his chest and going
to his bed. Sleep soon silenced every thought, no letter was written
home, not a word of the Bible was read, promise and resolutions had
passed away with his sorrow, and Hubert little thought, as he silenced
the monitor within, how hard it would be to return to the duty he was
neglecting.
The ship had now been a fortnight at sea; it had passed through the Bay
of Biscay, and was off the coast of Portugal, when the soldiers were
informed that in about an hour a vessel would pass very near to them;
and, as the sea was calm, a boat would leave in forty minutes to carry
letters for England to the passing ship.
"Forty minutes," said Hubert aloud, and apparently pleased, for he
hurried off, as many more did, to avail themselves of the opportunity of
writing home. Forty minutes, however, was too long a time for Hubert,
and he returned again to the deck, to seek a companion and inquire what
he intended to do, before he sat down to write himself. Thoughts of
neglected duty and unkindness to his parents had frequently disturbed
Hubert's mind; try as he would to sweep every remembrance of his
disobedience away, the thought would come that he had not done right;
but, instead of sorrowing and making an effort to repair the ill he had
done, he tried to persuade himself that he was cowardly in giving way to
his feelings; so he endeavoured to smother the rising affection that
stole upon him during the first few days he was upon the sea, and the
result was that he became more reckless than ever.
"Letters ready?" all at once startled Hubert, as he stood talking to his
companion upon the deck: there was the man with the bag collecting them,
and his was not written. The bag was sealed, the boat was pushed off,
the last chance, probably for months, was gone, and, as he began to hum
a tune, he walked away to the other end of the ship. He looked over the
side, and a momentary feeling of vexation came over him as he saw the
little boat carrying its treasure, its bag of home letters; but he was
learning now to defy his conscience, and sang louder the snatch of song
that rushed to his aid, and seemed to be all he wanted to throw back the
better feelings of his heart.
Many weeks had passed since that noble vessel left England; its white
sails were still spread in the breeze, and it was wafted on over the
sea. Hubert had tried very hard to forget all about his home; the
recollections of it were not pleasant, they were too accusing for him to
indulge in; there was a holiness about it which ill-accorded with the
life he was leading, and the effort he continually made to suppress
every thought of it frequently caused him to fall deeper into sin.
One night, when in the height of glee in the mess-room, when songs were
being sung, and the giddy laugh rang out upon the silent waters, and
Hubert was joining fully in the mirth of his comrades, he suddenly
remembered that he had in his chest a book of sea-songs, and hastened
away to get it. He knew pretty well where to put his hand upon it; so,
when he reached his cabin, he never thought of lighting his little lamp,
but knelt down beside his chest in the dark. It was scarcely the work of
a minute; his chest was re-locked, and he skipped away back to the
mess-room; his hand was upon the door, when all at once his eye fell
upon the book he had brought; it was not the one he had intended to
bring--it was not the song-book, but the Bible. He started when he saw
what he had; and how was it that a sudden chill sped like lightning
over him? How was it that on that sultry night he felt so cold? His hand
trembled, his heart beat quickly, but the tempter was by his side, and
he gave utterance to many an evil thought as he turned back to change
that unwelcome treasure.
The Bible was exchanged for the song-book, and Hubert was again with his
comrades, where he became more riotous than before, and was nearly the
last to retire to rest.
There was silence once more in the ship, for it was midnight, and all
except the few who kept the night-watch were sleeping. Hubert had
perhaps fallen asleep as soon as any of his companions, but his rest was
short, for he started up in alarm. He tried to remember what it was that
had disturbed him, but could not. He looked around to see if either of
his comrades were moving, but their deep, heavy breathing told him they
slept; and then he lay down again in his own berth. There, in that still
hour, as he listened to the soft wind passing through the rigging, and
the slow measured tread of the sentinels on deck, he all at once thought
of his English home, thought of his broken faith with his mother,
thought of his Bible.
"It is no use," he said aloud, "I cannot alter it now; how I wish I had
but just written home! fool that I was not to do so; and that book, how
I wish she had never given it to me; it will make me a coward: in fact
it does; I never go to my chest, but there it is; I'll burn it--I'll
throw it away; how I wish I had never had it!" and he struck the side of
his berth with his clenched fist as he spoke.
There was no voice in that little cabin to answer or direct Hubert in
his outburst of passionate feeling; and, as he looked around at his
sleeping comrades, he crept softly from his berth, and went and knelt
down by his chest. The moon shone brightly through the tiny cabin
window, and as he knelt by his chest he could see very well everything
around him. He took out his Bible, and gazed wildly at it for a moment,
scarce knowing what next to do; then rising as if a sudden thought had
struck him, he tried to open the window that he might throw it into the
sea: it was, however, too secure to open at his will, and, turning away
after a fruitless effort, he sought a place to hide it. "Where shall I
hide it?" he said, as he walked round and round his cabin; there was no
nook or corner into which he could thrust it so that it should never
meet his eye again. What could he do with it? He must wait for another
opportunity; so, taking out nearly everything in his chest, he thrust it
down into the farthest corner, heaped all his things upon it, made them
secure, and then returned to his bed. The excitement of the moment was
over, yet Hubert could not rest, and, as he turned himself upon his
uneasy bed, he never once regretted the wicked thought that had led him
to try and throw away his Bible; but the determination to dispose of it
grew stronger.
Some weeks after this little event, the regiment arrived in India, and
was ordered far up the country: the long, toilsome march which Hubert
now had to undergo, initiated him into some of the realities of a
soldier's life, and it was not long before he found that the career he
had chosen was not so full of enjoyment as he had anticipated. He very
often felt weary; the heat of the country depressed his spirits; and he
often sighed deeply as he remembered the pleasant hills and valleys of
his own land. The regiment had no sooner located itself in the new
station, than Hubert and many others were struck down with fever. Death
was busy amongst them, but the young prodigal was spared. Many a time he
had wished to die; sick and amongst strangers, his mother's words had
come home to him with double power, and he felt the bitter truth that
there was indeed none who loved him, none to comfort him; it was a
wonder he lived, for the fever was malignant, and the care bestowed upon
the sick very little indeed. Poor Hubert! how was it he could not die?
Young as he was, this illness taught him the sad lesson that where there
is no love or interest there is an inhumanity in man; and as he grew
better his heart became more hardened, for he began to cherish a hatred
towards every one around him.
CHAPTER III
THE BIBLE TORN.
Within this awful volume lies
The mystery of mysteries;
And better he had ne'er been born
Who reads to doubt or reads to scorn.--SCOTT.
We must pass over a few years. Hubert had overcome the effects of the
climate, and the many dangers to which he had been exposed, helped, as
they ever will, the heart, uninfluenced by religion, to make him more
reckless and daring. Away from his sight, at the bottom of his chest,
undisturbed, lay his Bible; beside it, too, lay his sister's desk, and
the writing materials his mother had carefully packed for him: he seldom
thought of the fond ones who had given him those things; but far away in
England they ever thought of him, and watched and wept for a letter.
Hubert's regiment had seen a great deal of service, and it had not been
his lot to escape the dangers of war. On one occasion he had been
overcome and taken prisoner by some natives, and was only saved from
being put to death in a cruel manner by an unexpected attack being made
upon these Hindoos by a neighbouring chief, to repulse which they left
Hubert and two of his companions in the care of some women, from whom
they were rescued by a company of his regiment who had come out to
search for him. In a few hours the attempt to save Hubert would have
been in vain, for the Hindoos, hating the English, seldom allowed much
time to elapse between the capture and the sacrifice. Many a narrow
escape besides this, and many a wound--some slight and some
severe--dotted the pathway of Hubert's life; and the seventh year of his
residence in India was drawing to a close. The hot season had been
unusually oppressive; nearly every disease which flesh is heir to had
made fearful ravages amongst the soldiers, and Hubert was a second time
struck down with fever. Mercy | 1,694.897429 |
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Produced by Robert Rowe, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
BULFINCH'S MYTHOLOGY
THE AGE OF FABLE
THE AGE OF CHIVALRY
LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE
BY THOMAS BULFINCH
COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME
[Editor's Note: The etext contains only LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE]
PUBLISHERS' PREFACE
No new edition of Bulfinch's classic work can be considered complete
without some notice of the American scholar to whose wide erudition and
painstaking care it stands as a perpetual monument. "The Age of Fable"
has come to be ranked with older books like "Pilgrim's Progress,"
"Gulliver's Travels," "The Arabian Nights," "Robinson Crusoe," and five
or six other productions of world-wide renown as a work with which
every one must claim some acquaintance before his education can be
called really complete. Many readers of the present edition will
probably recall coming in contact with the work as children, and, it
may be added, will no doubt discover from a fresh perusal the source of
numerous bits of knowledge that have remained stored in their minds
since those early years. Yet to the majority of this great circle of
readers and students the name Bulfinch in itself has no significance.
Thomas Bulfinch was a native of Boston, Mass., where he was born in
1796. His boyhood was spent in that city, and he prepared for college
in the Boston schools. He finished his scholastic training at Harvard
College, and after taking his degree was for a period a teacher in his
home city. For a long time later in life he was employed as an
accountant in the Boston Merchants' Bank. His leisure time he used for
further pursuit of the classical studies which he had begun at Harvard,
and his chief pleasure in life lay in writing out the results of his
reading, in simple, condensed form for young or busy readers. The plan
he followed in this work, to give it the greatest possible usefulness,
is set forth in the Author's Preface.
"Age of Fable," First Edition, 1855; "The Age of Chivalry," 1858; "The
Boy Inventor," 1860; "Legends of Charlemagne, or Romance of the Middle
Ages," 1863; "Poetry of the Age of Fable," 1863; "Oregon and Eldorado,
or Romance of the Rivers," 1860.
In this complete edition of his mythological and legendary lore "The
Age of Fable," "The Age of Chivalry," and "Legends of Charlemagne" are
included. Scrupulous care has been taken to follow the original text of
Bulfinch, but attention should be called to some additional sections
which have been inserted to add to the rounded completeness of the
work, and which the publishers believe would meet with the sanction of
the author himself, as in no way intruding upon his original plan but
simply carrying it out in more complete detail. The section on Northern
Mythology has been enlarged by a retelling of the epic of the
"Nibelungen Lied," together with a summary of Wagner's version of the
legend in his series of music-dramas. Under the head of "Hero Myths of
the British Race" have been included outlines of the stories of
Beowulf, Cuchulain, Hereward the Wake, and Robin Hood. Of the verse
extracts which occur throughout the text, thirty or more have been
added from literature which has appeared since Bulfinch's time,
extracts that he would have been likely to quote had he personally
supervised the new edition.
Finally, the index has been thoroughly overhauled and, indeed, remade.
All the proper names in the work have been entered, with references to
the pages where they occur, and a concise explanation or definition of
each has been given. Thus what was a mere list of names in the original
has been enlarged into a small classical and mythological dictionary,
which it is hoped will prove valuable for reference purposes not
necessarily connected with "The Age of Fable."
Acknowledgments are due the writings of Dr. Oliver Huckel for
information on the point of Wagner's rendering of the Nibelungen
legend, and M. I. Ebbutt's authoritative volume on "Hero Myths and
Legends of the British Race," from which much of the information
concerning the British heroes has been obtained.
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
If no other knowledge deserves to be called useful but that which helps
to enlarge our possessions or to raise our station in society, then
Mythology has no claim to the appellation. But if that which tends to
make us happier and better can be called useful, then we claim that
epithet for our subject. For Mythology is the handmaid of literature;
and literature is one of the best allies of virtue and promoters of
happiness.
Without a knowledge of mythology much of the elegant literature of our
own language cannot be understood and appreciated. When Byron calls
Rome "the Niobe of nations," or says of Venice, "She looks a Sea-Cybele
fresh from ocean," he calls up to the mind of one familiar with our
subject, illustrations more vivid and striking than the pencil could
furnish, but which are lost to the reader ignorant of mythology. Milton
abounds in similar allusions. The short poem "Comus" contains more than
thirty such, and the ode "On the Morning of the Nativity" half as many.
Through "Paradise Lost" they are scattered profusely. This is one
reason why we often hear persons by no means illiterate say that they
cannot enjoy Milton. But were these persons to add to their more solid
acquirements the easy learning of this little volume, much of the
poetry of Milton which has appeared to them "harsh and crabbed" would
be found "musical as is Apollo's lute." Our citations, taken from more
than twenty-five poets, from Spenser to Longfellow, will show how
general has been the practice of borrowing illustrations from mythology.
The prose writers also avail themselves of the same source of elegant
and suggestive illustration. One can hardly take up a number of the
"Edinburgh" or "Quarterly Review" without meeting with instances. In
Macaulay's article on Milton there are twenty such.
But how is mythology to be taught to one who does not learn it through
the medium of the languages of Greece and Rome? To devote study to a
species of learning which relates wholly to false marvels and obsolete
faiths is not to be expected of the general reader in a practical age
like this. The time even of the young is claimed by so many sciences of
facts and things that little can be spared for set treatises on a
science of mere fancy.
But may not the requisite knowledge of the subject be acquired by
reading the ancient poets in translations? We reply, the field is too
extensive for a preparatory course; and these very translations require
some previous knowledge of the subject to make them intellig | 1,694.897474 |
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Produced by David Widger
HUMBOLDT
By Robert G. Ingersoll
HUMBOLDT
THE UNIVERSE IS GOVERNED BY LAW.
GREAT men seem to be a part of the infinite--brothers of the mountains
and the seas.
Humboldt was one of these. He was one of those serene men, in some
respects like our own Franklin, whose names have all the lustre of a
star. He was one of the few, great enough to rise above the superstition
and prejudice of his time, and to know that experience, observation, and
reason are the only basis of knowledge.
He became one of the greatest of men in spite of having been born rich
and noble--in spite of position. I say in | 1,694.901995 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Karen Dalrymple, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
The American Missionary
(QUARTERLY)
APRIL }
MAY } 1900
JUNE }
VOL. LIV.
No. 2.
* * * * *
[Illustration: AVERY NORMAL INSTITUTE, CHARLESTON, S. C.]
* * * * *
NEW YORK:
PUBLISHED QUARTERLY BY THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY ASSOCIATION,
THE CONGREGATIONAL ROOMS,
FOURTH AVENUE AND TWENTY-SECOND STREET, NEW YORK.
* * * * *
Price 50 Cents a Year in advance.
Entered at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., as Second-Class mail
matter.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
PAGE
FINANCIAL--SIX MONTHS 49
A WORD AS TO THE MAGAZINE 49
FIFTY-FOURTH ANNUAL MEETING 51
TILLOTSON COLLEGE, AUSTIN, TEXAS (Illustrated) 52
AVERY NORMAL INSTITUTE, CHARLESTON, S. C. (Illustrated) 61
SOUTHERN FIELD NOTES 67
BITS OF EXPERIENCE IN THE INDIAN COUNTRY 69
CHRISTIAN ENDEAVORS OF A HIGHLAND SCHOOL AND VILLAGE (Illustrated) 72
OBITUARIES--MRS. MARY T. CHASE 74
MISS SUSIE T. CATHCART 75
A SUGGESTIVE SUBSCRIPTION 75
RECEIPTS 76
WOMAN'S STATE ORGANIZATIONS 94
SECRETARIES OF YOUNG PEOPLE'S AND CHILDREN'S WORK 96
* * * * *
THE 54th ANNUAL MEETING
OF THE
American Missionary Association
WILL BE HELD IN
SPRINGFIELD, MASS.
October 23-25, 1900.
* * * * *
The AMERICAN MISSIONARY presents new form, fresh material and
generous illustrations for 1900. This magazine is published by the
American Missionary Association quarterly. Subscription rate fifty
cents per year.
Many wonderful missionary developments in our own country during
this stirring period of national enlargement are recorded in the
columns of this magazine.
* * * * *
THE AMERICAN MISSIONARY.
VOL. LIV. APRIL, 1900. No. 2.
* * * * *
FINANCIAL--SIX MONTHS.
The first six months of the present fiscal year of the American
Missionary Association closed March 31st. The receipts are
$18,961.74 more than for the same period last year. The increase in
donations is $10,699, and in estates $6,433.24, exclusive of the
reserve legacy account. The tuition and similar receipts are
$1,829.49 more than last year. This is a favorable and encouraging
showing. We gratefully acknowledge the generosity of the friends of
the great missionary work carried on by this Association, as evident
in their increased donations.
The payments during this period have been $17,595 more than for the
same months last year. The net balance, exclusive of the reserve
legacy account, is $1,366.74 more favorable than that for the first
six months of last year. The increase in current receipts has been
expended in the mission fields which have been so greatly crippled
by the enforced retrenchments during recent years.
The Association rejoices in its freedom from debt and in the
favorable showing for these first six months. The next six months
include the summer season, in which missionary gifts are often
greatly reduced and the income suffers. We would again remind the
pastors, Sunday-school superintendents, officers of Endeavor
Societies and Woman's Missionary Circles of the great and pressing
need upon the Association, both in old and new fields, among the
many millions for whom our faithful missionaries labor. Porto Rico
demands increased gifts. The field is opening with great hopefulness
both in educational and evangelistic lines. Word comes from
missionaries there urging reinforcements, which means more
consecrated money to meet this pressing necessity.
* * * * *
A WORD AS TO THE MAGAZINE.
Letters frequently come to the editor of this magazine expressing
regret that it does not reach the subscriber regularly each month.
No one can regret this fact more than the editor. It must be
remembered that the magazine is no longer a monthly, but a
quarterly. This reduction in the frequency of the issue of our
periodical was found necessary by the Executive Committee during the
hard financial conditions through which we have recently passed. In
order to economize in the expenditures, the four numbers per year
were decided upon. The economy was necessary. The disadvantages,
however, are very apparent. Large space in each magazine is
necessarily occupied by the statistical report of receipts. This is
essential. It is an important financial safeguard and an evidence of
the thorough business administration of the Association.
However, less space is left for general matter. Partially on account
of this restriction of space the magazine has taken a slightly
different complexion. It is our desire to present as complete as
possible the nature and conditions of the missionary work in our
various fields. The discussion of incidental or even fundamental
problems connected with the work of this Association is not often
possible. Those who contribute to this work either money or prayers
have a right to know what is being accomplished. Nothing can present
it so clearly as illustrated articles, prepared by those who are in
these mission fields. In the current issue two important schools are
presented in this way.
In the Department of Christian Endeavor the development of work
among the young people of the Highlands is interestingly presented.
During the current year we plan to present our secondary
institutions as the higher institutions were presented--through
illustrated articles during the last year.
We acknowledge with gratitude the pleasant words spoken concerning
the AMERICAN MISSIONARY in various periodicals. The cordial notices
in missionary cotemporaries of other denominations, and those of our
own mission schools, is especially appreciated.
A commission consisting of two members of the Executive Committee
have recently visited the mission field. Rev. E. S. Tead, of Boston,
and President T. J. Backus, of Brooklyn, were selected by the
committee for this special service. They were accompanied by the
senior secretary, Rev. A. F. Beard, and through a part of the field
by Sec. G. H. Gutterson, of the New England District. They carefully
inspected several of the schools of the Association, and their visit
was of great value. The testimony they bear to the efficiency of the
work and to the interests of the field is pronounced and emphatic.
In a future issue of this magazine we hope to present articles from
members of this commission which will be of great interest to our
readers. The testimony of an experienced pastor and prominent
educator must have great weight.
Strong testimony to the value of the educational work among the
<DW64>s is found in _Harpers' Weekly_ for February 10th. In an able
editorial on "<DW64> Education," we find the following: "The storm
and stress period of the South is still upon it. The curse of
slavery has not yet been removed. But it is clear that the schools
are sending the light into the dark places, and that everything that
shuts off or reduces the brilliancy of the light is inimical not
only to the <DW64>, but to the whites themselves, to the South, and
to the whole country." No truer word than this could be spoken. The
education of the <DW64> is not a question of sectional or local
importance alone. It is fundamental to the safety and development of
our country. There are in the Southern public schools 27,445
teachers employed in teaching <DW64>s. Twenty-six per cent. of the
average attendance of school children in the Southern States,
including the District of Columbia, are <DW64>s. The total
enrollment of the blacks constitute, however, only 52 per cent. of
the children of that race of school age. This fact again emphasizes
the necessity of such schools as the American Missionary Association
plants among these black people. The high grade and exceptional
character of these schools are certainly worthy of commendation. The
report of our commissioners based upon facts personally and
independently gathered by each will | 1,694.903086 |
2023-11-16 18:45:18.9366220 | 1,938 | 164 |
Produced by Sean Hackett
CHARACTER
By Samuel Smiles
CHAPTER I.--INFLUENCE OF CHARACTER.
"Unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing
is man"--DANIEL.
"Character is moral order seen through the medium, of an
individual nature.... Men of character are the conscience of
the society to which they belong."--EMERSON.
"The prosperity of a country depends, not on the abundance
of its revenues, nor on the strength of its fortifications,
nor on the beauty of its public buildings; but it consists
in the number of its cultivated citizens, in its men of
education, enlightenment, and character; here are to be
found its true interest, its chief strength, its real
power."--MARTIN LUTHER.
Character is one of the greatest motive powers in the world. In its
noblest embodiments, it exemplifies human nature in its highest forms,
for it exhibits man at his best.
Men of genuine excellence, in every station of life--men of industry,
of integrity, of high principle, of sterling honesty of purpose--command
the spontaneous homage of mankind. It is natural to believe in such men,
to have confidence in them, and to imitate them. All that is good in
the world is upheld by them, and without their presence in it the world
would not be worth living in.
Although genius always commands admiration, character most secures
respect. The former is more the product of brain-power, the latter of
heart-power; and in the long run it is the heart that rules in life. Men
of genius stand to society in the relation of its intellect, as men
of character of its conscience; and while the former are admired, the
latter are followed.
Great men are always exceptional men; and greatness itself is but
comparative. Indeed, the range of most men in life is so limited, that
very few have the opportunity of being great. But each man can act his
part honestly and honourably, and to the best of his ability. He can use
his gifts, and not abuse them. He can strive to make the best of life.
He can be true, just, honest, and faithful, even in small things. In a
word, he can do his Duty in that sphere in which Providence has placed
him.
Commonplace though it may appear, this doing of one's Duty embodies the
highest ideal of life and character. There may be nothing heroic about
it; but the common lot of men is not heroic. And though the abiding
sense of Duty upholds man in his highest attitudes, it also equally
sustains him in the transaction of the ordinary affairs of everyday
existence. Man's life is "centred in the sphere of common duties." The
most influential of all the virtues are those which are the most
in request for daily use. They wear the best, and last the longest.
Superfine virtues, which are above the standard of common men, may only
be sources of temptation and danger. Burke has truly said that "the
human system which rests for its basis on the heroic virtues is sure to
have a superstructure of weakness or of profligacy."
When Dr. Abbot, afterwards Archbishop of Canterbury, drew the character
of his deceased friend Thomas Sackville, [101] he did not dwell upon his
merits as a statesman, or his genius as a poet, but upon his virtues as
a man in relation to the ordinary duties of life. "How many rare things
were in him!" said he. "Who more loving unto his wife? Who more kind
unto his children?--Who more fast unto his friend?--Who more moderate
unto his enemy?--Who more true to his word?" Indeed, we can always
better understand and appreciate a man's real character by the manner in
which he conducts himself towards those who are the most nearly related
to him, and by his transaction of the seemingly commonplace details of
daily duty, than by his public exhibition of himself as an author, an
orator, or a statesman.
At the same time, while Duty, for the most part, applies to the conduct
of affairs in common life by the average of common men, it is also a
sustaining power to men of the very highest standard of character. They
may not have either money, or property, or learning, or power; and
yet they may be strong in heart and rich in spirit--honest, truthful,
dutiful. And whoever strives to do his duty faithfully is fulfilling
the purpose for which he was created, and building up in himself the
principles of a manly character. There are many persons of whom it
may be said that they have no other possession in the world but their
character, and yet they stand as firmly upon it as any crowned king.
Intellectual culture has no necessary relation to purity or excellence
of character. In the New Testament, appeals are constantly made to the
heart of man and to "the spirit we are of," whilst allusions to the
intellect are of very rare occurrence. "A handful of good life," says
George Herbert, "is worth a bushel of learning." Not that learning is
to be despised, but that it must be allied to goodness. Intellectual
capacity is sometimes found associated with the meanest moral character
with abject servility to those in high places, and arrogance to those of
low estate. A man may be accomplished in art, literature, and science,
and yet, in honesty, virtue, truthfulness, and the spirit of duty, be
entitled to take rank after many a poor and illiterate peasant.
"You insist," wrote Perthes to a friend, "on respect for learned men. I
say, Amen! But, at the same time, don't forget that largeness of mind,
depth of thought, appreciation of the lofty, experience of the world,
delicacy of manner, tact and energy in action, love of truth, honesty,
and amiability--that all these may be wanting in a man who may yet be
very learned." [102]
When some one, in Sir Walter Scott's hearing, made a remark as to the
value of literary talents and accomplishments, as if they were above all
things to be esteemed and honoured, he observed, "God help us! what a
poor world this would be if that were the true doctrine! I have read
books enough, and observed and conversed with enough of eminent and
splendidly-cultured minds, too, in my time; but I assure you, I have
heard higher sentiments from the lips of poor UNEDUCATED men and women,
when exerting the spirit of severe yet gentle heroism under difficulties
and afflictions, or speaking their simple thoughts as to circumstances
in the lot of friends and neighbours, than I ever yet met with out of
the Bible. We shall never learn to feel and respect our real calling
and destiny, unless we have taught ourselves to consider everything as
moonshine, compared with the education of the heart." [103]
Still less has wealth any necessary connection with elevation of
character. On the contrary, it is much more frequently the cause of its
corruption and degradation. Wealth and corruption, luxury and vice, have
very close affinities to each other. Wealth, in the hands of men of weak
purpose, of deficient self-control, or of ill-regulated passions,
is only a temptation and a snare--the source, it may be, of infinite
mischief to themselves, and often to others.
On the contrary, a condition of comparative poverty is compatible with
character in its highest form. A man may possess only his industry,
his frugality, his integrity, and yet stand high in the rank of true
manhood. The advice which Burns's father gave him was the best:
"He bade me act a manly part, though I had ne'er a farthing,
For without an honest manly heart no man was worth regarding."
One of the purest and noblest characters the writer ever knew was
a labouring man in a northern county, who brought up his family
respectably on an income never amounting to more than ten shillings
a week. Though possessed of only the rudiments of common education,
obtained at an ordinary parish school, he was a man full of wisdom
and thoughtfulness. His library consisted of the Bible, 'Flavel,' and
'Boston'--books which, excepting the first, probably few readers
have ever heard of. This good man might have sat for the portrait of
Wordsworth's well-known 'Wanderer.' When he had lived his modest life
of work and worship, and finally went to his rest, he left behind him
a reputation for practical wisdom, for genuine goodness, and for
helpfulness in every good work, which greater and richer men might have
envied.
When Luther died, he left behind him, as set forth in his will, "no
ready money, no treasure of coin of any | 1,694.956662 |
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Produced by Carlo Traverso, Michelle Shephard and
Distributed Proofreaders. HTML version by Al Haines.
THE ROOF OF FRANCE
OR
THE CAUSSES OF THE LOZERE
BY
M. BETHAM-EDWARDS
To M. SADI CARNOT.
THIS VOLUME, THE THIRD OF MY PUBLISHED TRAVELS IN FRANCE, IS INSCRIBED
WITH ALL RESPECT TO HER HONOURED PRESIDENT.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTORY
PART I.
_MY FIRST JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF THE CAUSSES_.
CHAP.
I. FROM LE PUY TO MENDE
II. MENDE
III. A GLIMPSE OF THE CAUSSES
IV. ON THE TOP OF THE ROOF
| 1,695.00041 |
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Produced by David Widger with thanks to Google Books
A HISTORY OF SCIENCE
By Henry Smith Williams
Assisted By Edward H. Williams
In Five Volumes
VOLUME V.
Aspects Of Recent Science
New York And London
Harper And Brothers
Copyright, 1904, by Harper & Brothers.
Published November, 1904.
CONTENTS
BOOK V
CHAPTER I--THE BRITISH MUSEUM
The founding of the British Museum, p. 4--Purchase of Sir Hans Sloane's
collection of curios by the English government, p. 4--Collection of
curios and library located in Montague Mansion, p. 5--Acquisition of
the collection of Sir William Hamilton, p. 5--Capture of Egyptian
antiquities by the English, p. 5--Construction of the present museum
building, p. 6--The Mesopotamian department, p. 8--The Museum of Natural
History in South Kensington, p. 8--Novel features in the structure of
the building, p. 9--Arrangement of specimens to illustrate evolution,
protective coloring, etc., p.-- --Exhibits of stuffed specimens amid
their natural surroundings, p. 10--Interest taken by visitors in the
institution, p. 12.
CHAPTER II--THE ROYAL SOCIETY OP LONDON FOR IMPROVING NATURAL KNOWLEDGE
The Royal Society, p. 14--Weekly meetings of the society, p. 15--The tea
before the opening of the lecture, p. 15--Announcement of the beginning
of the lecture by bringing in the great mace, p. 16--The lecture-room
itself, p. 17--Comparison of the Royal Society and the Royal Academy
of Sciences at Berlin, p. 18--The library and reading-room, p. 19--The
busts of distinguished members, p. 20--Newton's telescope and Boyle's
air-pump, p. 21.
CHAPTER III--THE ROYAL INSTITUTION AND LOW-TEMPERATURE RESEARCHES
The founding of the Royal Institution, p. 29--Count Rumford, p. 30--His
plans for founding the Royal Institution, p. 32--Change in the spirit
of the enterprise after Rumford's death, p. 33--Attitude of the
earlier workers towards the question of heat as a form of motion,
p. 34--Experiments upon gases by Davy and Faraday, p. 35--Faraday's
experiments with low temperatures, p. 39--Other experiments | 1,695.004415 |
2023-11-16 18:45:18.9876240 | 77 | 12 | THE EUROPEAN WAR, VOL 2, NO. 5, AUGUST, 1915***
E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, Linda Cantoni, 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 | 1,695.007664 |
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Produced by Meredith Bach, Asad Razzaki and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
Transcriber's note:
A few typographical and punctuation errors have been
corrected. A complete list follows the text.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been
retained as in the original.
Words italicized in the original are surrounded by
_underscores_.
Words with bold emphasis in the original are surrounded
by =equals signs=.
[Illustration: The Lion of Korea.]
CHILD-LIFE IN JAPAN
AND
JAPANESE CHILD STORIES
BY
MRS. M. CHAPLIN AYRTON
EDITED WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY
WILLIAM ELLIOT GRIFFIS, L.H.D.
Author of "The Mikado's Empire" and "Japanese Fairy World"
_WITH MANY ILLUSTRATIONS, INCLUDING SEVEN FULL-PAGE PICTURES DRAWN AND
ENGRAVED BY JAPANESE ARTISTS_
BOSTON, U.S.A.
D. C. HEATH & CO., PUBLISHERS
1909
COPYRIGHT, 1901,
BY D. C. HEATH & CO.
PREFACE.
Over a quarter of a century ago, while engaged in introducing the
American public school system into Japan, I became acquainted in Tokio
with Mrs. Matilda Chaplin Ayrton, the author of "Child-Life in Japan."
This highly accomplished lady was a graduate of Edinburgh University,
and had obtained the degrees of Bachelor of Letters and Bachelor of
Sciences, besides studying medicine in Paris. She had married Professor
William Edward Ayrton, the electric engineer and inventor, then
connected with the Imperial College of Engineering of Japan, and since
president of the Institute of Electric Engineers in London. She took a
keen interest in the Japanese people and never wearied of studying them
and their beautiful country. With my sister, she made excursions to some
of the many famous places in the wonderful city of Tokio. When her own
little daughter, born among the camellias and chrysanthemums, grew up
under her Japanese nurse, Mrs. Ayrton became more and more interested in
the home life of the Japanese and in the pictures and stories which
delighted the children of the Mikado's Empire. After her return to
England, in 1879, she wrote this book.
In the original work, the money and distances, the comparisons and
illustrations, were naturally English, and not American. For this
reason, I have ventured to alter the text slightly here and there, that
the American child reader may more clearly catch the drift of the
thought, have given to each Japanese word the standard spelling now
preferred by scholars and omitted statements of fact which were once,
but are no longer, true. I have also translated or omitted hard Japanese
words, shortened long sentences, rearranged the illustrations, and added
notes which will make the subject clearer. Although railways,
telegraphs, and steamships, clothes and architecture, schools and
customs, patterned more or less closely after those in fashion in
America and Europe, have altered many things in Japan and caused others
to disappear, yet the children's world of toys and games and stories
does not change very fast. In the main, it may be said, we have here a
true picture of the old Japan which we all delighted in seeing, when, in
those sunny days, we lived in sight of Yedo Bay and Fuji Yama, with
Japanese boys and girls all around us.
The best portions and all the pictures of Mrs. Ayrton's big and costly
book have been retained and reproduced, including her own preface or
introduction, and the book is again set forth with a hearty "ohio" (good
morning) of salutation and sincere "omedeto" (congratulations) that the
nations of the world are rapidly becoming one family. May every reader
of "Child-Life in Japan" see, sometime during the twentieth century, the
country and the people of whom Mrs. Ayrton has written with such lively
spirit and such warm appreciation.
WM. ELLIOT GRIFFIS.
ITHACA, N.Y.
CONTENTS
Page
Preface by William Elliot Griffis v
Introduction by the Author xi
Seven Scenes of Child-Life in Japan 1
First Month 16
The Chrysanthemum Show 30
Fishsave 34
The Filial Girl 37
The Parsley Queen 38
The Two Daughters 40
Second Sight 44
Games 46
The Games and Sports of Japanese
Children, by William Elliot Griffis 50
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
The Lion of Korea _Frontispiece_
PAGE
A Ride on a Bamboo Rail 1
A Game of Snowball 3
Boys' Concert--Flute, Drum, and Song 5
Lion Play 6
Ironclad Top Game 7
Playing with Doggy 9
Heron-Legs, or Stilts 11
The Young Wrestlers 13
Playing with the Turtle 15
Presenting the Tide-Jewels to Hachiman 18
"Bronze fishes sitting on their throats" 19
The Treasure-Ship 23
Girls' Ball and Counting Game 26
Firemen's Gymnastics 28
Street Tumblers 29
Eating Stand for the Children 31
Fishsave riding the Dolphin 35
Bowing before her Mother's Mirror 37
Imitating the Procession 39
The Two White Birds 41
Eye-Hiding, or Blindman's Buff 47
Stilts and Clog-Throwing 48
Playing at Batter-Cakes 49
Hoisting the Rice-Beer Keg 51
Getting ready to raise the Big Humming Kite 60
Daruma, the Snow-Image 62
INTRODUCTION
In almost every home are Japanese fans, in our shops Japanese dolls and
balls and other knick-knacks, on our writing-tables bronze crabs or
lacquered pen-tray with outlined on it the extinct volcano [Fuji San][1]
that is the most striking mountain seen from the capital of Japan. At
many places of amusement Japanese houses of real size have been
exhibited, and the jargon of fashion for "Japanese Art" even reaches our
children's ears.
[1] _Fuji San_, or Fuji no Yama, the highest mountain in the Japanese
archipelago, is in the province of Suruga, sixty miles west of Tokio.
Its crest is covered with snow most of the year. Twenty thousand
pilgrims visit it annually. Its name may mean Not Two (such), or
Peerless.
Yet all these things seem dull and lifeless when thus severed from the
quaint cheeriness of their true home. To those familiar with Japan, that
bamboo fan-handle recalls its graceful grassy tree, the thousand and one
daily purposes for which bamboo wood serves. We see the open shop where
squat the brown-faced artisans cleverly dividing into those slender
divisions the fan-handle, the wood-block engraver's where some dozen
men sit patiently chipping at their cherry-wood blocks, and the
printer's where the coloring arrangements seem so simple to those used
to western machinery, but where the colors are so rich and true. We see
the picture stuck on the fan frame with starch paste, and drying in the
brilliant summer sunlight. The designs recall vividly the life around,
whether that life be the stage, the home, insects, birds, or flowers | 1,695.009564 |
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Produced by Clarity, RichardW, and the Online Distributed
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Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
_The WORKS of VOLTAIRE_
_EDITION DE LA PACIFICATION_
_Limited to one thousand sets
for America and Great Britain._
“_Between two servants of Humanity, who appeared
eighteen hundred years apart, there is a mysterious relation.
* * | 1,695.054387 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE MENTOR 1916.05.01, No. 106,
American Pioneer Prose Writers
LEARN ONE THING
EVERY DAY
MAY 1 1916 SERIAL NO. 106
THE
MENTOR
AMERICAN PIONEER
PROSE WRITERS
By HAMILTON W. MABIE
Author and Editor
DEPARTMENT OF VOLUME 4
LITERATURE NUMBER 6
FIFTEEN CENTS A COPY
Fame In Name Only
What do we really know of them--these library gods of ours? We know
them by name; their names are household words. We know them by fame;
their fame is immortal. So we pay tribute to them by purchasing their
books--and, too often, rest satisfied with that. The riches that they
offer us are within arm’s length, and we leave them there. We go our
ways seeking for mental nourishment, when our larders at home are full.
* * * * *
Three hundred years ago last week William Shakespeare died, but
Shakespeare, the poet, is more alive today than when his bones were
laid to rest in Stratford. It was not until seven years after his
death that the first collected edition of his works was published.
Today there are thousands of editions, and new ones appear each year.
It seems that we must all have Shakespeare in our homes. And why? Is
it simply to give character to our bookshelves; or is it because we
realize that the works of Shakespeare and of his fellow immortals are
the foundation stones of literature, and that we want to be near them
| 1,695.054591 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Illustration: The rhinoceros, snorting loudly, was upon them.]
*The Gold Kloof*
BY
H. A. BRYDEN
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, Dublin, and New York_
1907
_CONTENTS._
I. _School Days_
II. _Bamborough Farm_
III. _Up-country Life_
IV. _The Gold Spoor_
V. _The Trek Begins_
VI. _The Shadowers and the Shadowed_
VII. _Adventures in the Veldt_
VIII. _The Elephant Country_
IX. _In the Thirst-land_
X. _Tom's Story.--The Baboon Boy_
XI. _The Berg Damaras_
XII. _The Lion Camp_
XIII. _Guy is Missing_
XIV. _Poeskop to the Rescue_
XV. _The Kloof_
XVI. _Gathering Gold_
XVII. _The Shadowers' Attack_
XVIII. _The Last of Karl Engelbrecht_
XIX. _Homeward Bound_
*THE GOLD KLOOF.*
*Chapter I.*
*SCHOOL DAYS.*
It was a fine, hot July day on the banks of the Severn river at
Tewkesbury, that quaint, old-world, and somewhat decayed town, which
offers to the inspection of the visitor and the archaeologist some of
the most ancient and interesting buildings to be seen in any part of
broad England. There was some stir on the banks of the river, for two
public schools, one of them situate in the west of England, the other
hailing from a Midland shire, were about to contest with one another in
their annual boat race. From the Western school a considerable
contingent of lads had come over; these were discussing, with the
enthusiasm of schoolboys, the prospects of the races. On the banks,
gathered near the winning-post, were also to be seen a number of other
spectators, some from the town itself, others from the neighbouring
country-side.
The fateful moment at length had come; the two boats were to be seen in
the distance, their oarsmen battling with one another with all the
desperate energy that youth and strength and an invincible determination
could put into their task. As they drew nearer it was to be seen that
the Midland school was leading by nearly half a length. A quarter of a
mile remained to be rowed. Loud cries from the Western school resounded
along the banks. Hope struggled against hope in every youthful breast;
yet it seemed that if the oarsmen of the Western school were to make
that final effort for which they were famous, it was now almost too
late. But, no! the Western stroke is seen to be calling upon his crew;
their flashing blades dip quicker, and yet quicker; they are well
together, all apparently animated by the vigour and the reserve of force
displayed by their leader. Foot by foot they diminish the lead of their
adversaries, who are striving desperately, yet ineffectually, to retain
their advantage. A hundred yards from the winning-post the Western lads
are level; and as the post is passed they have defeated their
adversaries, after one of the finest races ever rowed between the two
schools, by a quarter of a length.
Amid the exultant and tremendous cheering that now greets the triumph of
the Western school, both crews paddle to the boat-house and disembark.
The boats are got out and housed, and all but the Western captain and
stroke, Guy Hardcastle, are inside the boathouse, bathing and changing
their clothes. Guy Hardcastle, a strong, well-set-up lad of seventeen,
lingers on the platform in conversation with his house-master, Mr.
Brimley-Fair, who has come down to congratulate him on his victory. He
is a good-looking lad, fresh complexioned, with fair brown hair, a firm
mouth, and a pair of steady, blue-gray eyes, which look the world
frankly in the face, with an aspect of candour, friendliness, and
self-reliance that most people find very attractive.
While master and boy are talking together for a brief minute or two, a
sudden cry comes from the river, followed by others. They look that
way, and see instantly the reason of the outcry. Some country people,
rowing across from the other side, are evidently not accustomed to
boating. Two of them attempt to change places in mid-stream: they are
womenfolk; they become alarmed and shift in their places, the heavily
laden boat is upset, and half a dozen people are struggling in the
water.
Guy Hardcastle is nothing if not prompt. His resolution is instantly
taken. He is in his light rowing kit, well prepared for swimming.
Kicking off his shoes, he dives neatly into the water, and swims rapidly
upstream towards the group of struggling people sixty yards away. Of
these, three are clinging to the boat; one man is swimming for the shore
with a child; the sixth, a girl of fourteen, has just sunk ten yards
beyond the boat down-stream. Her danger is manifestly great and
imminent. Boats are putting off from the bank, but they may be too
late. Guy Hardcastle, surveying the disaster with cool eye as he swims
that way, has concentrated all his energies on this drowning and
terror-stricken girl. He is within fifteen yards of where she sank; and
now, a few seconds later, just as the girl, now partly insensible, comes
to the surface again, he grasps her firmly, turns her over on her
back--a task of some difficulty--and, himself also swimming on his back,
tows her towards the bank. It is not an easy task. The girl is no
light weight, encumbered as she is with soddened clothing; the stream is
strong, and Guy himself is by no means so fresh as he might have been,
after that hard and exhausting race of a few minutes since. Still, with
invincible determination, the plucky lad struggles with his burden
towards the boat-house. Help comes unexpectedly. His house-master, Mr.
Brimley-Fair, has foreseen his difficulties, and, jumping into a dingy,
has rowed out to his assistance. Presently he is alongside.
"Here you are, Hardcastle," he cries; "catch hold of her side!"
Guy clutches with one hand at the boat's gunwale, and feels that he and
his burden are now pretty safe.
"Now, hang on while I row you in," says Mr. Brimley-Fair, "and we'll
soon have you all right."
Guy does as he is told, and in fifty strokes the boathouse is reached,
and girl and rescuer are safe. A storm of cheering, greater even than
that which greeted the winning of the boat race, now testifies to the
gallantry of the boy's second feat and the relief of all | 1,695.102112 |
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THE OPEN DOOR, AND THE PORTRAIT
Stories of the Seen and the Unseen
By Margaret O. Wilson Oliphant
1881
I
THE OPEN DOOR.
I took the house of Brentwood on my return from India in 18--, for the
temporary accommodation of my family, until I could find a permanent
home for them. It had many advantages which made it peculiarly
appropriate. It was within reach of Edinburgh; and my boy Roland, whose
education had been considerably neglected, could go in and out to
school; which was thought to be better for him than either leaving home
altogether or staying there always with a tutor. The first of these
expedients would have seemed preferable to me; the second commended
itself to his mother. The doctor, like a judicious man, took the midway
between. "Put him on his pony, and let him ride into the High School
every morning; it will do him all the good in the world," Dr. Simson
said; "and when it is bad weather, there is the train." His mother
accepted this solution of the difficulty more easily than I could have
hoped; and our pale-faced boy, who had never known anything more
invigorating than Simla, began to encounter the brisk breezes of the
North in the subdued severity of the month of May. Before the time of
the vacation in July we had the satisfaction of seeing him begin to
acquire something of the brown and ruddy complexion of his
schoolfellows. The English system did not commend itself to Scotland in
these days. There was no little Eton at Fettes; nor do I think, if there
had been, that a genteel exotic of that class would have tempted either
my wife or me. The lad was doubly precious to us, being the only one
left us of many; and he was fragile in body, we believed, and deeply
sensitive in mind. To keep him at home, and yet to send him to
school,--to combine the advantages of the two systems,--seemed to be
everything that could be desired. The two girls also found at Brentwood
everything they wanted. They were near enough to Edinburgh to have
masters and lessons as many as they required for completing that
never-ending education which the young people seem to require nowadays.
Their mother married me when she was younger than Agatha; and I should
like to see them improve upon their mother! I myself was then no more
than twenty-five,--an age at which I see the young fellows now groping
about them, with no notion what they are going to do with their lives.
However; I suppose every generation has a conceit of itself which
elevates it, in its own opinion, above that which comes after it.
Brentwood stands on that fine and wealthy <DW72> of country--one of the
richest in Scotland--which lies between the Pentland Hills and the
Firth. In clear weather you could see the blue gleam--like a bent bow,
embracing the wealthy fields and scattered houses--of the great estuary
on one side of you, and on the other the blue heights, not gigantic like
those we had been used to, but just high enough for all the glories of
the atmosphere, the play of clouds, and sweet reflections, which give to
a hilly country an interest and a charm which nothing else can emulate.
Edinburgh--with its two lesser heights, the Castle and the Calton Hill,
its spires and towers piercing through the smoke, and Arthur's Seat lying
crouched behind, like a guardian no longer very needful, taking his
repose beside the well-beloved charge, which is now, so to speak, able to
take care of itself without him--lay at our right hand. From the lawn
and drawing-room windows we could see all these varieties of landscape.
The color was sometimes a little chilly, but sometimes, also, as animated
and full of vicissitude as a drama. I was never tired of it. Its color
and freshness revived the eyes which had grown weary of arid plains and
blazing skies. It was always cheery, and fresh, and full of repose.
The village of Brentwood lay almost under the house, on the other side of
the deep little ravine, down which a stream--which ought to have been a
lovely, wild, and frolicsome little river--flowed between its rocks and
trees. The river, like so many in that district, had, however, in its
earlier life | 1,695.10219 |
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THE
HEROES OF ASGARD
_TALES FROM SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY_
BY A. & E. KEARY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY HUARD
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1909
_All rights reserved_
New edition September, 1906. Reprinted July, 1909.
Norwood Press:
Berwick & Smith Co., Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
PREFACE.
In preparing the Second Edition of this little volume of tales from
the Northern Mythology for the press, the Authors have thought it
advisable to omit the conversations at the beginning and end of the
chapters, which had been objected to as breaking the course of the
narrative. They have carefully revised the whole, corrected many
inaccuracies and added fresh information drawn from sources they had
not had an opportunity of consulting when the volume first appeared.
The writers to whose works the Authors have been most indebted, are
Simrock, Mallet, Laing, Thorpe, Howitt and Dasent.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION, 9
CHAPTER I. THE AESIR.
PART I.--A GIANT--A COW--AND A HERO, 41
II.--AIR THRONE, THE DWARFS, AND THE LIGHT ELVES, 51
III.--NIFLHEIM, 59
IV.--THE CHILDREN OF LOKI, 67
V.--BIFROeST, URDA, AND THE NORNS, 72
VI.--ODHAERIR, 81
CHAPTER II. HOW THOR WENT TO JOeTUNHEIM.
PART I.--FROM ASGARD TO UTGARD, 109
II.--THE SERPENT AND THE KETTLE, 130
CHAPTER III. FREY.
PART I.--ON TIPTOE IN AIR THRONE, 147
II.--THE GIFT, 152
III.--FAIREST GERD, 157
IV.--THE WOOD BARRI, 163
CHAPTER IV. THE WANDERINGS OF FREYJA.
PART I.--THE NECKLACE BRISINGAMEN, 169
II.--LOKI--THE IRON WOOD--A BOUNDLESS WASTE, 177
III.--THE KING OF THE SEA AND HIS DAUGHTERS, 185
CHAPTER V. IDUNA'S APPLES.
PART I.--REFLECTIONS IN THE WATER, 191
II.--THE WINGED-GIANT, 198
III.--HELA, 212
IV.--THROUGH FLOOD AND FIRE, 218
CHAPTER VI. BALDUR.
PART I.--THE DREAM, 231
II.--THE PEACESTEAD, 240
III.--BALDUR DEAD, 247
IV.--HELHEIM, 250
V.--WEEPING, 256
CHAPTER VII. THE BINDING OF FENRIR.
PART I.--THE MIGHT OF ASGARD, 263
II.--THE SECRET OF SVARTHEIM, | 1,695.154289 |
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THE MEDIAEVAL MIND
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
LONDON. BOMBAY. CALCUTTA
MELBOURNE
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
NEW YORK. BOSTON. CHICAGO
ATLANTA. SAN FRANCISCO
THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD.
TORONTO
THE MEDIAEVAL MIND
A HISTORY OF THE DEVELOPMENT
OF THOUGHT AND EMOTION
IN THE MIDDLE AGES
BY HENRY OSBORN TAYLOR
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. I
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1911
TO J. I. T.
PREFACE
The Middle Ages! They seem so far away; intellectually so preposterous,
spiritually so strange. Bits of them may touch our sympathy, please our
taste; their window-glass, their sculpture, certain of their stories,
their romances,--as if those straitened ages really were the time of
romance, which they were not, God knows, in the sense commonly taken. Yet
perhaps they were such intellectually, or at least spiritually. Their
_terra_--not for them _incognita_, though full of mystery and pall and
vaguer glory--was not the earth. It was the land of metaphysical
construction and the land of spiritual passion. There lay their romance,
thither pointed their veriest thinking, thither drew their utter yearning.
Is it possible that the Middle Ages should speak to us, as through a
common humanity? Their mask is by no means dumb: in full voice speaks the
noble beauty of Chartres Cathedral. Such mediaeval product, we hope, is of
the universal human, and therefore of us as well as of the bygone
craftsmen. Why it moves us, we are not certain, being ignorant, perhaps,
of the building's formative and earnestly intended meaning. Do we care to
get at that? There is no way save by entering the mediaeval depths,
penetrating to the _rationale_ of the Middle Ages, learning the
_doctrinale_, or _emotionale_, of the modes in which they still present
themselves so persuasively.
But if the pageant of those centuries charm our eyes with forms that seem
so full of meaning, why should we stand indifferent to the harnessed
processes of mediaeval thinking and the passion surging through the
thought? Thought marshalled the great mediaeval procession, which moved to
measures of pulsating and glorifying emotion. Shall we not press on,
through knowledge, and search out its efficient causes, so that we too may
feel the reality of the mediaeval argumentation, with the possible
validity of mediaeval conclusions, and tread those channels of mediaeval
passion which were cleared and deepened by the thought? This would be to
reach human comradeship with mediaeval motives, no longer found too remote
for our sympathy, or too fantastic or shallow for our understanding.
But where is the path through these footless mazes? Obviously, if we would
attain, perhaps, no unified, but at least an orderly presentation of
mediaeval intellectual and emotional development, we must avoid
entanglements with manifold and not always relevant detail. We must not
drift too far with studies of daily life, habits and dress, wars and
raiding, crimes and brutalities, or trade and craft and agriculture. Nor
will it be wise to keep too close to theology or within the lines of
growth of secular and ecclesiastical institutions. Let the student be
mindful of his purpose (which is my purpose in this book) to follow
through the Middle Ages the development of intellectual energy and the
growth of emotion. Holding this end in view, we, students all, shall not
stray from our quest after those human qualities which impelled the
strivings of mediaeval men and women, informed their imaginations, and
moved them to love and tears and pity.
The plan and method by which I have endeavoured to realize this purpose in
my book may be gathered from the Table of Contents and the First Chapter,
which is introductory. These will obviate the need of sketching here the
order of presentation of the successive or co-ordinated topics forming the
subject-matter.
Yet one word as to the standpoint from which the book is written. An
historian explains by the standards and limitations of the times to which
his people belong. He judges--for he must also judge--by his own best
wisdom. His sympathy cannot but reach out to those who lived up to their
best understanding of life; for who can do more? Yet woe unto that man
whose mind is closed, whose standards are material and base.
Not only shalt thou do what seems well to thee; but thou shalt do right,
with wisdom. History has laid some thousands of years of emphasis on this.
Thou shalt not only be sincere, but thou shalt be righteous, and not
iniquitous; beneficent, and not malignant; loving and lovable, and not
hating and hateful. Thou shalt be a promoter of light, and not of
darkness; an illuminator, and not an obscurer. Not only shalt thou seek to
choose aright, but at thy peril thou shalt so choose. "Unto him that hath
shall be given"--nothing is said about sincerity. The fool, the maniac, is
sincere; the mainsprings of the good which we may commend lie deeper.
So, and at _his_ peril likewise, must the historian judge. He cannot state
the facts and sit aloof, impartial between good and ill, between success
and failure, progress and retrogression, the soul's health and loveliness,
and spiritual foulness and disease. He must love and hate, and at his
peril love aright and hate what is truly hateful. And although his
sympathies quiver to understand and feel as the man and woman before him,
his sympathies must be controlled by wisdom.
Whatever may be one's beliefs, a realization of the power and import of
the Christian Faith is needed for an understanding of the thoughts and
feelings moving the men and women of the Middle Ages, and for a just
appreciation of their aspirations and ideals. Perhaps the fittest standard
to apply to them is one's own broadest conception of the Christian scheme,
the Christian scheme whole and entire with the full life of Christ's
Gospel. Every age has offered an interpretation of that Gospel and an
attempt at fulfilment. Neither the interpretation of the Church Fathers,
nor that of the Middle Ages satisfies us now. And by our further
understanding of life and the Gospel of life, we criticize the judgment of
mediaeval men. We have to sympathize with their best, and understand their
lives out of their lives and the conditions in which they were passed. But
we must judge according to our own best wisdom, and out of ourselves offer
our comment and contribution.
HENRY OSBORN TAYLOR.
Many translations from mediaeval (chiefly Latin) writings will be found in
this work, which seeks to make the Middle Ages speak for themselves. With
a very few exceptions, mentioned in the foot-notes, these translations are
my own. I have tried to keep them literal, and at all events free from the
intrusion of thoughts and suggestions not in the originals.
CONTENTS
PAGE
BOOK I
THE GROUNDWORK
CHAPTER I
GENESIS OF THE MEDIAEVAL GENIUS 3
CHAPTER II
THE LATINIZING OF THE WEST 23
CHAPTER III
GREEK PHILOSOPHY AS THE ANTECEDENT OF THE PATRISTIC
APPREHENSION OF FACT 33
CHAPTER IV
INTELLECTUAL INTERESTS OF THE LATIN FATHERS 61
CHAPTER V
LATIN TRANSMITTERS OF ANTIQUE AND PATRISTIC THOUGHT 88
CHAPTER VI
THE BARBARIC DISRUPTION OF THE EMPIRE 110
CHAPTER VII
THE CELTIC STRAIN IN GAUL AND IRELAND 124
CHAPTER VIII
TEUTON QUALITIES: ANGLO-SAXON, GERMAN, NORSE 138
CHAPTER IX
THE BRINGING OF CHRISTIANITY AND ANTIQUE KNOWLEDGE TO THE
NORTHERN PEOPLES 169 | 1,695.254278 |
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Internet Archive)
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Volume I is available as Project Gutenberg ebook
number 49844.
WILLIAM COBBETT.
A BIOGRAPHY.
VOL. II.
LONDON:
GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,
ST. JOHN’S SQUARE.
WILLIAM COBBETT:
_A BIOGRAPHY_.
BY EDWARD SMITH.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
London:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON,
CROWN BUILDINGS, 188, FLEET STREET.
1878.
[_All rights reserved._]
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER XIV.
1805-1806.
“I NEVER SAT MYSELF DOWN ANYWHERE, WITHOUT MAKING THE FRUITS
AND FLOWERS TO GROW” 1
CHAPTER XV.
1806-1807.
“I DID DESTROY THEIR POWER TO ROB US ANY LONGER WITHOUT THE
ROBBERY BEING PERCEIVED” 24
CHAPTER XVI.
1807-1809.
“THEY NATURALLY HATE ME” 45
CHAPTER XVII.
1808-1809.
“THE OUTCRY AGAINST ME IS LOUDER THAN EVER” 63
CHAPTER XVIII.
1809-1810.
“COMPARED WITH DEFEATING ME, DEFEATING BUONAPARTE IS A MERE
TRIFLE” 88
CHAPTER XIX.
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Haviland's Chum, by Bertram Mitford.
________________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________________
HAVILAND'S CHUM, BY BERTRAM MITFORD.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE NEW BOY.
"Hi! Blacky! Here--hold hard. D'you hear, Snowball?"
The last peremptorily. He thus addressed, paused, turned, and eyed
somewhat doubtfully, not without a tinge of apprehension, the group of
boys who thus hailed him.
"What's your name?" pursued the latter, "Caesar, Pompey, Snowball--
what?"
"Or Uncle Tom?" came another suggestion.
"I--new boy," was the response.
"New boy! Ugh!" jeered one fellow. "Time I left if they are going to
take <DW65>s here. What's your name, sir--didn't you hear me ask?"
"Mpukuza."
"Pookoo--how much?"
For answer the other merely emitted a click, which might have conveyed
contempt, disgust, defiance, or a little of all three. He was an
African lad of about fifteen, straight and lithe and well-formed, and
his skin was of a rich copper brown. But there was a clean-cut look
about the set of his head, and an almost entire absence of <DW64>
development of nose and lips, which seemed to point to the fact that it
was with no inferior race aboriginal to the dark continent that he owned
nationality.
Now a hoot was raised among the group, and there was a tendency to
hustle this very unwonted specimen of a new boy. He, however, took it
good-humouredly, exhibiting a magnificent set of teeth in a tolerant
grin. But the last speaker, a biggish, thick-set fellow who was
something of a bully, was not inclined to let him down so easily.
"Take off your hat, sir!" he cried, knocking it off the other's head, to
a distance of some yards. "Now, Mr Woollyhead, perhaps you'll answer
my question and tell us your name, or I shall have to see if some of
this'll come out." And, suiting the action to the word, he reached
forward and grabbed a handful of the other's short, crisp, jetty curls--
jerking his head backwards and forwards.
The African boy uttered a hoarse ejaculation in a strange tongue, and
his features worked with impotent passion. He could not break loose,
and his tormentor was taller and stronger than himself. He put up his
hands to free himself, but the greater his struggles the more the bully
jerked him by the wool, with a malignant laugh. The others laughed too,
enjoying the fun of what they regarded as a perfectly wholesome and
justifiable bout of <DW65> baiting.
But a laugh has an unpleasant knack of transferring itself to the other
side, and in this instance an interruption occurred--wholly
unlooked-for, but sharp and decisive, not to say violent, and to the
prime mover in the sport highly unpleasant--for it took the shape of a
hearty, swinging cuff on the side of that worthy's head. He, with a
howl that was half a curse, staggered a yard or two under the force of
the blow, at the same time loosing his hold of his victim. Then the
latter laughed--being the descendant of generations of savages--laughed
loud and maliciously.
"Confound it, Haviland, what's that for?" cried the smitten one, feeing
round upon his smiter.
"D'you want some more, Jarnley?" came the quick reply. "As it is I've a
great mind to have you up before the prefects' council for bullying a
new boy."
"Prefects' council," repeated Jarnley with a sneer. "That's just it.
If you weren't a prefect, Haviland, I'd fight you. And you know it."
"But I don't know it and I don't think it," was the reply. The while,
something of a smothered hoot was audible among the now rapidly
increasing group, for Haviland, for reasons which will hereinafter
appear, was not exactly a popular prefect. It subsided however, as by
magic, when he darted a glance into the quarter whence it arose.
"Come here--you," he said, beckoning the cause of all the disturbance.
"What's your name?"
"Mpukuza."
"What?"
The African boy repeated it unhesitatingly, willingly. He was quick to
recognise the difference between constituted authority and the spurious
and usurped article--besides, here was one who had intervened to turn
the tables on his oppressor.
"Rum name that!" said his new questioner, eyeing him with some
curiosity, at the full-throated native vowels. "Haven't you got any
other?"
"Other? Oh, yes, Anthony. Missionary name me Anthony."
"Anthony? Well, that's better. We can get our tongues round that.
What are you, eh? Where d'you come from, I mean?"
"I'm a Zulu."
A murmur of real interest ran through the listeners. Not so many years
had passed since the dramatic episodes of '79 but that some of the
bigger boys there, including Haviland, were old enough to remember the
war news reaching English shores, while all were more or less familiar
with it in story. And here was one of that famous nationality among
them as a schoolfellow.
"Now look here, you fellows," said the prefect, when he had put a few
more questions to the newcomer. "This chap isn't to be bullied, d'you
see, because he doesn't happen to be like everybody else. Give him a
fair show and see what he's made of, and he'll come out all right I
expect."
"Please, Haviland, he cheeked Jarnley," cut in a smaller boy who was one
of the last-named's admirers.
"Small wonder if he did," was the uncompromising answer. "Now clear
inside all of you, for you're blocking the way, and it's time for
call-over. Who'll ring the bell for me?"
"I will!" shouted half a dozen voices; for Haviland was prefect of the
week, and as such responsible for the due ringing of the calling-over
bell, an office almost invariably performed by deputy. There was no
difficulty in finding such; incipient human nature being as willing to
oblige a very real potentate as the developed and matured article.
It was half term at Saint Kirwin's--which accounted for the arrival of a
new boy in the middle of the term. Now, Saint Kirwin's was not a
first-rate public school, but it was run as nearly as possible upon the
lines of one. We say as nearly as possible, because the material was so
essentially different. There was no such thing as the putting down of
names for the intending pupil, what time that interesting entity was in
the red and squalling phase of existence. At Saint Kir | 1,695.654924 |
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GETTING MARRIED
Preface To "Getting Married"
By Bernard Shaw
1908
Transcriber's Note -- The edition from which this play was taken was
printed without most contractions, such as dont for don't and so forth.
These have been left as printed in the original text. Also, abbreviated
honorifics have no trailing period, and the word show is spelt shew.
PREFACE TO GETTING MARRIED
THE REVOLT AGAINST MARRIAGE
There is no subject on which more dangerous nonsense is talked and
thought than marriage. If the mischief stopped at talking and thinking
it would be bad enough; but it goes further, into disastrous anarchical
action. Because our marriage law is inhuman and unreasonable to the
point of downright abomination, the bolder and more rebellious spirits
form illicit unions, defiantly sending cards round to their friends
announcing what they have done. Young women come to me and ask me
whether I think they ought to consent to marry the man they have decided
to live with; and they are perplexed and astonished when I, who am
supposed (heaven knows why!) to have the most advanced views attainable
on the subject, urge them on no account to compromize themselves without
the security of an authentic wedding ring. They cite the example of
George Eliot, who formed an illicit union with Lewes. They quote
a saying attributed to Nietzsche, that a married philosopher is
ridiculous, though the men of their choice are not philosophers. When
they finally give up the idea of reforming our marriage institutions by
private enterprise and personal righteousness, and consent to be led to
the Registry or even to the altar, they insist on first arriving at an
explicit understanding that both parties are to be perfectly free to sip
every flower and change every hour, as their fancy may dictate, in
spite of the legal bond. I do not observe that their unions prove
less monogamic than other people's: rather the contrary, in fact;
consequently, I do not know whether they make less fuss than ordinary
people when either party claims the benefit of the treaty; but the
existence of the treaty shews the same anarchical notion that the law
can be set aside by any two private persons by the simple process of
promising one another to ignore it.
MARRIAGE NEVERTHELESS INEVITABLE
Now most laws are, and all laws ought to be, stronger than the
strongest individual. Certainly the marriage law is. The only people
who successfully evade it are those who actually avail themselves of its
shelter by pretending to be married when they are not, and by Bohemians
who have no position to lose and no career to be closed. In every other
case open violation of the marriage laws means either downright ruin or
such inconvenience and disablement as a prudent man or woman would get
married ten times over rather than face. And these disablements and
inconveniences are not even the price of freedom; for, as Brieux has
shewn so convincingly in Les Hannetons, an avowedly illicit union is
often found in practice to be as tyrannical and as hard to escape from
as the worst legal one.
We may take it then that when a joint domestic establishment, involving
questions of children or property, is contemplated, marriage is in
effect compulsory upon all normal people; and until the law is altered
there is nothing for us but to make the best of it as it stands. Even
when no such establishment is desired, clandestine irregularities are
negligible as an alternative to marriage. How common they are nobody
knows; for in spite of the powerful protection afforded to the parties
by the law of libel, and the readiness of society on various other
grounds to be hoodwinked by the keeping up of the very thinnest
appearances, most of them are probably never suspected. But they are
neither dignified nor safe and comfortable, which at once rules them out
for normal decent people. Marriage remains practically inevitable; and
the sooner we acknowledge this, the sooner we shall set to work to make
it decent and reasonable.
WHAT DOES THE WORD MARRIAGE MEAN
However much we may all suffer through marriage, most of us think
so little about it that we regard it as a fixed part of the order of
nature, like gravitation. Except for this error, which may be regarded
as constant, we use the word with reckless looseness, meaning a dozen
different things by it, and yet always assuming that to a respectable
man it can have only one meaning. The pious citizen, suspecting the
Socialist (for example) of unmentionable things, and asking him heatedly
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[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "'My heart sank within me.'" (Page 172.) _Frontispiece_]
The Interpreter
A Tale of the War
By
G. J. Whyte-Melville
Author of "Digby Grand," "General Bounce," etc.
Illustrated by Lucy E. Kemp-Welch
New York
Longmans, Green & Co.
CONTENTS
CHAP.
I. The Old Desk
II. The Deserter
III. "Par Nobile"
IV. Father and Son
V. The Zingynies
VI. School
VII. Play
VIII. The Truants
IX. Ropsley
X. Beverley Manor
XI. Dulce Domum
XII. Alton Grange
XIII. "Lethalis Arundo"
XIV. The Picture
XV. Beverley Mere
XVI. Princess Vocqsal
XVII. The Common Lot
XVIII. Omar Pasha
XIX. "'Skender Bey"
XX. The Beloochee
XXI. Zuleika
XXII. Valerie
XXIII. Forewarned
XXIV. "Arcades Ambo"
XXV. "Dark and Dreary"
XXVI. "Surveillance"
XXVII. Ghosts of the Past
XXVIII. La Dame aux Camellias
XXIX. "A Merry Masque"
XXX. The Golden Horn
XXXI. The Seraskerat
XXXII. A Turk's Harem
XXXIII. My Patient
XXXIV. "Messirie's"
XXXV. "The Wolf and the Lamb"
XXXVI. "The Front"
XXXVII. "A Quiet Night"
XXXVIII. The Grotto
XXXIX. The Redan
XL. The War-Minister at Home
XLI. Wheels within Wheels
XLII. "Too Late"
XLIII. "The Skeleton"
XLIV. The Gipsy's Dream
XLV. Retribution
XLVI. Vae Victis!
XLVII. The Return of Spring
THE INTERPRETER
_A TALE OF THE WAR_
CHAPTER I
THE OLD DESK
Not one of my keys will fit it: the old desk has been laid aside for
years, and is covered with dust and rust. We do not make such strong
boxes nowadays, for brass hinges and secret drawers have given place to
flimsy morocco and russian leather; so we clap a Bramah lock, that
Bramah himself cannot pick, on a black bag that the veriest bungler can
rip open in five seconds with a penknife, and entrust our notes, bank
and otherwise, our valuables, and our secrets, to this faithless
repository with a confidence that deserves to be respected. But in the
days when George the Third was king, our substantial ancestors rejoiced
in more substantial workmanship: so the old desk that I cannot succeed
in unlocking, is of shining rosewood, clamped with brass, and I shall
spoil it sadly with the mallet and the chisel.
What a medley it holds! Thank Heaven I am no speculative philosopher,
or I might moralise for hours over its contents. First, out flies a
withered leaf of geranium. It must have been dearly prized once, or it
would never have been here; maybe it represented the hopes, the wealth,
the all-in-all of two aching hearts: and they are dust and ashes now.
To think that the flower should have outlasted them! the symbol less
perishable than the faith! Then I come to a piece of much-begrimed and
yellow paper, carefully folded, and indorsed with a date,--a receipt for
an embrocation warranted specific in all cases of bruises, sprains, or
lumbago; next a gold pencil-case, with a head of Socrates for a seal;
lastly, much of that substance which is generated in all waste places,
and which the vulgar call "flue." How it comes there puzzles equally
the naturalist and the philosopher; but you shall find it in empty
corners, empty drawers, empty pockets, nay, we believe in its existence
in the empty heads of our fellow-creatures.
In my thirst for acquisition, regardless of dusty fingers, I press the
inner sides of the desk in hopes of discovering secret springs and
hoarded repositories: so have poor men ere now found thousand-pound
notes hid away in chinks and crannies, and straightway, giddy with the
possession of boundless wealth, have gone to the Devil at a pace such as
none but the beggar on horseback can command; so have old wills been
fished out, and frauds discovered, and rightful heirs re-established,
and society in general disgusted, and all concerned made discontented
and uncomfortable--so shall I, perhaps--but the springs work, a false
lid flies open, and I do discover a packet of letters, written on thin
foreign paper, in the free straggling characters I remember so well.
They are addressed to Sir H. Beverley, and the hand that penned them has
been cold for years. So will yours and mine be some day, perhaps ere
the flowers are out again; _O beate Sexti!_ will you drink a glass less
claret on that account? Buxom Mrs. Lalage, shall the dressmaker
therefore put unbecoming trimmings in your bonnet? The "shining hours"
are few, and soon past; make the best of them, each in your own way,
only try and choose the right way:--
For the day will soon be over, and the minutes are of gold,
And the wicket shuts at sundown, and the shepherd leaves the
fold.
LETTER I
"Those were merry days, my dear Hal, when we used to hear the 'chimes at
midnight' with poor Brummell and Sir Benjamin;[#] very jolly times they
were, and I often think, if health and pockets could have stood it, I
should like to be going the pace amongst you all still. And yet how few
of us are left. They have dropped off one by one, as they did the night
we dyed the white rose red at the old place; and you, and I, and stanch
old 'Ben,' were the only three left that could walk straight. Do you
remember the corner of King-street, and 'Ben' stripped 'to the buff,' as
he called it himself, 'going-in' right royally at the tall fellow with
the red head? I never saw such right-and-lefters, I never thought he
had so much 'fight' in him; and you don't remember, Hal, but I do, how
'the lass with the long locks' bent over you when you were floored, like
Andromache over a debauched Hector, and stanched the claret that was
flowing freely from your nostrils, and gave you gin in a
smelling-bottle, which you sucked down as though it were mother's milk,
like a young reprobate as you were; nor do you remember, nor do I very
clearly, how we all got back to 'The Cottage,' and finished with burnt
curagoa, and a dance on the table by daylight. And now you and I are
about the only two left, and I am as near ruined as a gentleman can be;
and you must have lost your pen-feathers, Hal, I should think, though
you were a goose that always could pick a living off a common, be it
never so bare. Well, we have had our fun; and after all, I for one have
been far happier since than I ever was in those roystering days; but of
this I cannot bear to speak."
[#] The dandy's nickname for the Prince Regent.
"Nor am I so much to be pitied now. I have got my colours and my
sketch-book, after all; and there never was such a country as this for a
man who has half an eye in his head. On these magnificent plains the
lights and shades are glorious. Glorious, Hal, with a little red jagged
in here and there towards sunset, and the ghostly maize waving and
whispering, and the feathery acacias trembling in the lightest air, the
russet tinge of the one and the fawn- stems of the other melting
so softly into the neutral tints of the sandy soil. I could paint a
picture here that should be perfectly true to Nature--nay, more natural
than the old dame herself--and never use but two colours to do it all!
I am not going to tell you what they are: and this reminds me of my boy,
and of a want in his organisation that is a sad distress to me. The
child has not a notion of colour. I was painting out of doors
yesterday, and he was standing by--bless him! he never leaves me for an
instant--and I tried to explain to him some of the simplest rudiments of
the godlike art. 'Vere,' said I, 'do you see those red tints on the tops
of the far acacias, and the golden tinge along the back of that brown ox
in the foreground?' 'Yes, papa!' was the child's answer, with a
bewildered look. 'How should you paint them, my boy?' 'Well, papa, I
should paint the acacias green, because they _are_ green, and'--here he
thought he had made a decided hit--'I should put the red into the ox,
for he is almost more red than brown.' Dear child! he has not a
glimmering of colour; but composition, that's his forte; and drawing,
drawing, you know, which is the highest form of the art. His drawing is
extraordinary--careless, but great breadth and freedom; and I am certain
he could compose a wonderful picture, from his singular sensibility to
beauty. Young as he is, I have seen the tears stand in his eyes when
contemplating a fine view, or a really exquisite 'bit,' such as one sees
in this climate | 1,695.857332 |
2023-11-16 18:45:19.9669040 | 3,987 | 6 |
Produced by Jeff Hunt
THE RED HOUSE MYSTERY
MRS. HUNGERFORD
The Piccadilly Novels
BOOTS PURE DRUG CO., LTD.
NOTTINGHAM & LONDON
CHAPTER I
It stood on the top of a high hill--bleak, solitary. In winter
all the winds of heaven raved round it; in summer the happy
sunshine rarely touched it. It was, indeed, hemmed in from
brightness of any kind, by a dense row of cypresses that grew
before the hall-door, and by a barren rock that rose
perpendicularly at the back.
On clear days one could get from this cold house a grand view of
the valley below, nestling in its warmth, and from the road that
ran under it people would sometimes look up and wonder at the
curious colour of the Red House--such a dark red, sombre, like
blood.
It was a bleak house at all times, but to-day it showed itself
singularly dull. A light rain was falling--light, but persistent,
and the usual charming gaiety of an early May morning was drowned
in tears. The house looked drearier than ever, in spite of the
grand proportions. But no amount of walls can make up for a
dearth of nature's _bijouteries_--her shrubs, her trees, her
flowers.
The Red House had no flowering parterres anywhere, no terraces,
no charming idyllic toys of any sort, no gracing gardens full of
lovely sweets, wherewith to charm the eye. Nothing, save one huge
elm upon the barren lawn, and the dark, gloomy row of
cypresses--those gloomiest of all dear Nature's gifts, standing
in funeral procession before the hall door. They had been there
when Dr. Darkham took the place ten years ago. He had thought of
removing them, but on second thoughts had let them alone.
Somehow, he told himself, they suited his _ménage_.
Indoors, the day was, if possible, more depressing than outside.
May should be a lovely month, but months do not always fulfil
their obligations. This May day, as I have said, was full of
grief. Rain in the morning, rain in the afternoon, and rain now
and again when the evening is descending.
In the morning-room, lounging over a low fire, sat Mrs. Darkham,
the doctor's wife, a big, coarse, heavy-looking woman--heavy in
mind as in body. Her hair, a dull brown, streaked liberally with
gray, was untidily arranged, stray locks of it falling about her
ears. She was leaning forward, staring with stupid, small, but
somewhat vindictive blue eyes into the sorry glow of the fire,
and her mouth looked as though she were dwelling on thoughts
unkindly. It was a loose mouth, and vulgar. The woman, indeed,
was plebeian in every feature and movement.
The room was well furnished--that is, comfortably, even
expensively--but it lacked all signs of taste or culture. It
was not unclean, but it was filled with that odious air that
bespeaks carelessness, and a want of refinement. The tables had
been dusted, but there were few ornaments on them--a copy of
Wordsworth was so closely leaved as to suggest the idea that it
had never been opened; another of Shakespeare in the same
condition; some sea-shells, and no flowers.
On the hearthrug--squatting--foolishly playing with the
cinders in the grate, sat a boy--a terrible creature--deaf
and dumb and idiotic. It was the woman's son. The son of Dr.
Darkham, that clever man, that learned scientist!
He sat there, crouching, mouthing; his head protruded between his
knees, playing with the cinders, making passes at the fire with
his long fingers. He was sixteen, but his face was the face of a
child of seven. His mind had stood still; his body, however, had
developed. He was short, clumsy, hideous; but there was strength
--enormous strength--in the muscular arms and legs. The face
vacant, without thought of any kind, was in some remarkable way
beautiful. He had inherited his father's dark eyes--all his
father's best points, indeed--and etherealised them. If his
soul had grown with his body, he would have been one of Nature's
greatest products; but his soul lay stagnant, and the glorious
dark eyes held nothing.
His figure was terrible--short and broad. His hair had never
grown, and the body had ceased to form upwards at twelve. He had
now the appearance of a boy of that age, but the strength of his
real years.
The mother sat in the lounging chair looking into the fire; the
boy sat on the rug. Neither of them was doing anything besides.
Suddenly the door opened.
The woman started and looked round. The poor creature on the rug
still played with the cinders.
"Oh, you!" said Mrs. Darkham. Her husband had just come in.
"Yes. I am going out; I want a stamp."
"You'll find them in the table drawer, then," said his wife
sullenly. Her voice was guttural, vulgar.
"So you're goin' out again," said she, taking up the poker and
stirring the fire into a blaze. As she did so, a hot coal fell on
the idiot's finger, and he threw himself backwards with a hideous
howl.
"What is it, my darling, my lamb?"
The woman went on her knees, and caught the unwieldy mass of
humanity to her with long arms. It had been but a slight burn,
and after awhile the turmoil subsided. Mrs. Darkham rose from her
knees, and the idiot went back to his play amongst the cinders.
"I believe you'd see him burnt alive with joy," said she, turning
to her husband, a great animosity within her eyes.
"Your beliefs are so numerous, and are always so complimentary,
that it is hard to reply," said Dr. Darkham, with a slow smile.
If her glance had betrayed animosity, his, to her, betrayed a
most deadly hatred.
"Oh, there, you're at your sneers again!" said she shrugging her
ample shoulders. "So you're going out this wet day. Where?"
"To"--slowly--"visit the sick."
"Same old answer," said she, trying to laugh contemptuously.
"What you mean is--only you haven't the courage to say it--that
you're going to Rickton Villa."
"I dare say"--with admirable composure, though his heart is
beginning to beat--"that I shall call in there on my way home
to see Mrs. Greatorex."
"Mrs. Greatorex!"
She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and peers at
him insolently. In this position the detestable order of her gown
becomes more apparent.
"Mrs. Greatorex, or her niece, eh?"
"I am not aware that Miss Nesbitt requires the services of any
doctor. Where are these stamps?"
"No! Doesn't she? You seem as blind about her as you are about
the finding of them stamps. And so it is Mrs. Greatorex you go to
see three times a week? She pays you, I suppose?"
"Not now. Feeling herself better a little time ago, she told me
to discontinue my visits. But I dislike leaving a cure half
finished. So I told her I should still call occasionally. She is
not very well off, as you are aware."
He said all this with the dry, business-like air of one who felt
he was bound to speak, but then would do it as concisely as
possible.
"She is well enough off to treat me as a nobody. Me--the wife
of a man whose visits she accep's for nothing! She a pauper, and
me who can ride in my carriage! Why, she wouldn't raise her eyes
to mine if she could 'elp it. Can't see me sometimes, she can't.
And so she's taking your time and your advice for nothing! and
you give them, knowing how she treats your wife!"
The word "wife," so incessantly insisted on, seemed to grind his
very soul. Yes, there she was, sodden, hideous, irredeemable, and
--his wife!
"She is not well off, as I have told you; but she has a certain
standing in the neighbourhood. And it is not well for a doctor to
quarrel with those around him."
"Hypocrite!" said the woman, in a dull but furious way. The very
stolidity of her often made the outburst the more remarkable.
"Don't you think I see into you? Don't you think I know you?--
that I haven't known for the past six months the reason of your
visits to the Villa?"
"Put an end to this," said the doctor, in a slow, cold voice.
"Are you mad?" His dark eyes glowed.
He was a tall, singularly gaunt man, and handsome. The deeply-set
eyes were brilliant, and dark as night. As night too,
unfathomable. The mouth was fixed, cold, determined, and
suggestive of cruelty. The brow was broad and grand. He was about
forty-five, and in manner was suave, low-voiced, and agreeable.
Education and resolution had lifted him up from his first
surroundings to a plane that made him level with those with whom
he now desired to mix. But all his quality could not conceal the
fact that he would be a bad man to fight with--that he possessed
an indomitable will that would drive all things before it, till
it gained the object of its desire.
"Mad? Don't think you'll make me that. I tell you again and again
that I know very well why you visit at---"
He turned upon her, and by an impressive gesture stopped her.
"How dare you speak so of---"
"Miss Nesbitt?" She laughed aloud as she interrupted him.
"No. _Of me!_ Of course I know what you mean. But am I to give up
all my patients to satisfy your detestable jealousy?"
"My jealousy! Do you think I am jealous of you?" said his wife,
with a contemptuous smile.
"'Pon me word, you must think a lot of yourself! Why, who the
deuce are you, any way? Tell me that. You married me for my
money, and glad enough you were to get it."
She poured out the terrible torrent of invective in a slow,
heavy, rumbling way; whilst he stood silent, motionless,
listening. It was so true! And her hideous vulgarity--that was
true too. It would never alter. She would be there always,
clogging him, dragging him down to her own level. She was now as
uneducated and idealess as when, at the age of twenty-two, he
married her for the sake of her money; and now besides all that,
she was hideous and old--older than himself in appearance.
Quite an old woman!
And then the child!
CHAPTER II
Dr. Darkham's eyes turned to the hearthrug, and then turned away
again hastily. He loathed to look upon this, his first-born and
only child. He shrank with horror whenever he saw him. Physical
deformity was an abomination in his eyes, beauty a thing to
worship. Thus his only child was a living torture to him.
To the mother the unfortunate idiot was something to love--he
was the first of her womb, and an object of love--but to the
father he was loathsome.
The child had been born beautiful, but time had proved him deaf
and dumb, and, worse than all, devoid of intellect; without a
single idea, save, indeed, an overpowering adoration for his
mother, a clinging, unreasoning love that knew no bounds.
For his father, the unhappy mute felt nothing but a settled, and
often openly shown, aversion.
His wife had recovered her breath, and was still hurling
accusations and sneers at him. He had grown accustomed to let her
rave, but now something she said caught his ear, and made him
turn to her sharply.
"You are getting yourself pretty well talked of, I can tell you."
"Talked of? What"--sternly--"do you mean?"
"Right well you know. They are talking about your attentions to
that minx at the Villa--that Miss Nesbitt."
Darkham's eyes suddenly blazed.
"Who has dared to talk of Miss Nesbitt with disrespect?" asked
he.
"Oh, law! You needn't make such a fuss about it, even if she is
your dearie-o. But I can tell you this Darkham, that people are
talking about you and her, all the same. And why shouldn't they?
Why, you never take your eyes off her."
"Be silent, woman!" said he savagely, coarsely; now and again his
own birth betrayed him. "Who are you that you should speak to me
like that?"
"I am your wife, any way," said she.
"Ay. My wife!"
The look that accompanied his tone should have frozen her, but
she only laughed.
"I know, I know," she said, wagging her hideous fat head at him.
"You would undo it all if you could. You would cast me out, like
Rebecca, and marry your Sarah instead; but"--with slovenly
triumph--"you can't. You can't, you know. I"--with a hideous
leer at him--"am here, you see, and here I'll stick! You wish
me dead, I know that; but I'll not die to please you."
(If she had only known!)
She looked up at her husband out of her small, obstinate eyes---
looked at the tall, handsome, well-dressed man whose name she
bore, yet who was so different to her in all ways. And he looked
back at her.
A strange smile curled his lips.
"Wishes don't kill," said he, slowly. Now his voice was soft,
refined, brutal.
"Good for me," returned she, with a hoarse chuckle, "or I
wouldn't be long above ground. I know you! And as for that girl
down there"--she paused, then went on with malicious intonation:
"you may as well cease your funning in that quarter. I hear
she's as good as engaged to that young fellow who took up Dr.
Fulham's practice three months ago--Dr. Dillwyn."
"A very suitable match for her," said Darkham, after a second's
pause that contained a thousand seconds of acute agony. He spoke
coldly, evenly.
"Yes." She looked disappointed; her spleen had desired a larger
fulfilment of its desire. "Suitable indeed, for both are paupers.
But, for all you're so quiet, I don't believe you like it, eh?
Dr. Dillwyn, you know, and you---"
"I wish sometimes you would forget me," said he.
"Ha, ha, ha!" She flung herself back in her chair, and laughed
aloud, her hideous vulgar laugh. "For once in our lives we are
agreed. I wish that, too. But I can't, you see--I can't. You're
always there, and I'm always there!"
"You! you!" Darkham took a step towards her; his face was
convulsed. "You," he muttered, "always you!" His voice, his
gesture, were menacing.
The idiot on the hearthrug, as though gathering into his poor
brain something of what was going on between his father and his
mother, here writhing round upon the rug, threw himself upon the
latter. He embraced her knees with a close, soft clasp. He clung
to her. Every now and then he glanced behind him at his father,
his dull eyes angry, menacing. His whole air was one of
protection; short barking cries came from him, hideous to hear.
Mrs Darkham bent down to him, and caught the beautiful soulless
face to her bosom, wreathing upon it sweet reassuring words. The
idiot, mouthing, slaps her quietly, incessantly, on the shoulder.
Darkham watches them--the mother's heavy, coarse endearments,
the boy's vacant affection, with his mouth open--and from them
presently Darkham turned away with an oath. A shudder of disgust
ran through him. "Great heavens! what a home!"
His wife had looked up for a moment, and had seen the disgust. It
was fuel to an already very hot fire.
"Go!" she cried violently. She had the boy's head pressed to her
breast, keeping his eyes against her that he might not see her
face, perhaps, which now was frightful. "Go! leave us! Go where
you are welcome! Leave us! Leave your home!"
"My home!" he paused, but always with his eyes on hers. "My home
is a hell!" said he.
He went out then, closing the door softly behind him.
But when he had stepped into his brougham he gave himself full
sway. As the wheels rolled over the gravel his thoughts surged
and raged within him.
That dull, illiterate creature, why had he ever married her? What
cruel fate had driven him to such a marriage? And for ever that
marriage would endure--trampling him down, destroying him,
clogging his career.
Some men got rid of their wives. But that was when kindly
Providence stepped in and Death took them away. But this woman,
without feeling, sentiment or beauty, even Death would not deign
to touch her.
Death--death! If he were only free!
All at once the face of a young girl rose before him. It stood
out clear and tranquil from a detestable background--not like a
dream, a thought, but sweetly, definitely. The eyes, the hair,
the lovely mouth, all were | 1,695.986944 |
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E-text prepared by Camille Bernard & Marc D'Hooghe
(http://www.freeliterature.org)
THE BORDER RIFLES.
A Tale of the Texan War
by
GUSTAVE AIMARD,
Author of "Trapper's Daughter," "Indian Scout," etc.
London:
Ward and Lock,
158, Fleet Street.
MDCCCLXI.
PREFACE
In the series commencing with the present volume GUSTAVE AIMARD has
entirely changed the character of his stories. He has selected a
magnificent episode of American history, the liberation of Texas from
the intolerable yoke of the Mexicans, and describes scenes _quorum pars
magna fuit_. At the present moment, when all are watching with bated
breath the results of the internecine war commencing between North and
South, I believe that the volumes our author devotes to this subject
will be read with special interest, for they impart much valuable
information about the character of the combatants who will, to a great
extent, form the nucleus of the confederated army. The North looks down
on them with contempt, and calls them "Border ruffians;" but when the
moment arrives, I entertain no doubt but that they will command respect
by the brilliancy of their deeds.
Surprising though the events may be which are narrated in the present
volume, they are surpassed by those that continue the series. The next
volume, shortly to appear under the title of "The Freebooters,"
describes the progress of the insurrection till it attained the
proportions of a revolution, while the third and last volume will be
devoted to the establishment of order in that magnificent State of
Texas, which has cast in its lot with the Secessionists, and will
indubitably hold out to the very last, confident in the prowess of its
sons, whose fathers Aimard has so admirably depicted in the present and
the succeeding volumes of the new series.
L.W.
CONTENTS.
I. THE RUNAWAY XVI. A POLITICAL SKETCH
II. QUONIAM XVII. THE PANTHER-KILLER
III. BLACK AND WHITE XVIII. LANZI
IV. THE MANADA XIX. THE CHASE
V. BLACK-DEER XX. THE CONFESSION
VI. THE CLAIM XXI. THE JAGUAR
VII. MONKEY-FACE XXII. BLUE-FOX
VIII. THE DECLARATION OF WAR XXIII. THE WHITE SCALPER
IX. THE SNAKE PAWNEES XXIV. AFTER THE FIGHT
X. THE BATTLE XXV. AN EXPLANATION
XI. THE VENTA DEL POTRERO XXVI. THE EXPRESS
XII. LOVE AND JEALOUSY XXVII. THE GUIDE
XIII. CARMELA XXVIII. JOHN DAVIS
XIV. THE CONDUCTA DE PLATA XXIX. THE BARGAIN
XV. THE HALT XXX. THE AMBUSCADE
CHAPTER I.
THE RUNAWAY.
The immense virgin forests which once covered the soil of North America
are more and more disappearing before the busy axes of the squatters and
pioneers, whose insatiable activity removes the desert frontier further
and further to the west.
Flourishing towns, well tilled and carefully-sown fields, now occupy
regions where, scarce ten years ago, rose impenetrable forests, whose
dense foliage hardly allowed the sunbeams to penetrate, and whose
unexplored depths sheltered animals of every description, and served as
a retreat for hordes of nomadic Indians, who, in their martial ardour,
frequently caused these majestic domes of verdure to re-echo with their
war-yell.
Now that the forests have fallen, their gloomy denizens, gradually
repulsed by the civilization that incessantly pursues them, have fled
step by step before it, and have sought far away other and safer
retreats, to which they have borne the bones of their fathers with them,
lest they might be dug up and desecrated by the inexorable ploughshare
of the white men, as it traces its long and productive furrow over their
old hunting-grounds.
Is this constant disafforesting and clearing of the American continent a
misfortune? Certainly not: on the contrary, the progress which marches
with a giant's step, and tends, before a century, to transform the soil
of the New World, possesses all our sympathy; still we cannot refrain
from a feeling of pained commiseration for that unfortunate race which
is brutally placed beyond the pale of the law, and pitilessly tracked in
all directions; which is daily diminishing, and is fatally condemned
soon to disappear from that earth whose immense territory it covered
less than four centuries ago with innumerable tribes.
Perhaps if the people chosen by God to effect the changes to which we
allude had understood their mission, they might have converted a work of
blood and carnage into one of peace and paternity, and arming themselves
with the divine precepts of the Gospel, instead of seizing rifles,
torches, and scalping-knives, they might, in a given time, have produced
a fusion of the white and red races, and have attained a result more
profitable to progress, civilization, and before all, to that great
fraternity of nations which no one is permitted to despise, and for
which those who forget its divine and sacred precepts will have a
terrible account some day to render.
Men cannot become with impunity the murderers of an entire race, and
constantly wade in blood; for that blood must at some time cry for
vengeance, and the day of justice break, when the sword will be cast in
the balance between conquerors and conquered.
At the period when our narrative commences, that is to say, about the
close of 1812, the emigration had not yet assumed that immense extension
which it was soon to acquire, for it was only beginning, as it were, and
the immense forests that stretched out and covered an enormous space
between the borders of the United States and Mexico, were only traversed
by the furtive footsteps of traders and wood-rangers, or by the silent
moccasins of the Redskins.
It is in the centre of one of the immense forests to which we have
alluded that our story begins, at about three in the afternoon of
October 27th, 1812.
The heat had been stifling under the covert, but at this moment the
sunbeams growing more and more oblique, lengthened the tall shadows of
the trees, and the evening breeze that was beginning to rise refreshed
the atmosphere, and carried far away the clouds of mosquitoes which
during the whole mid-day had buzzed over the marshes in the clearings.
We find ourselves on the bank of an unknown affluent of the Arkansas;
the slightly inclined trees on either side the stream formed a thick
canopy of verdure over the waters, which were scarce rippled by the
inconstant breath of the breeze; here and there pink flamingos and white
herons, perched on their tall legs, were fishing for their dinner, with
that careless ease which generally characterizes the race of great
aquatic birds; but suddenly they stopped, stretched out their necks as
if listening to some unusual sound, then ran hurriedly along to catch
the wind, and flew away with cries of alarm.
All at once the sound of a musket-shot was re-echoed through the forest,
and two flamingos fell. At the same instant a light canoe doubled a
little cape formed by some mangrove-trees jutting out into the bed of
the stream, and darted in pursuit of the flamingos which had fallen in
the water. One of them had been killed on the spot, and was drifting
with the current; but the other, apparently but slightly wounded, was
flying with extreme rapidity, and swimming vigorously.
The boat was an Indian canoe, made of birch bark removed from the tree
by the aid of hot water, and there was only one man in it; his rifle
lying in the bows and still smoking, shewed that it was he who had just
fired. We will draw the portrait of this person, who is destined to play
an important part in our narrative.
As far as could be judged from his position in the canoe, he was a man
of great height; his small head was attached by a powerful neck to
shoulders of more than ordinary breadth; muscles, hard as cords, stood
out on his arms at each of his movements; in a word, the whole
appearance of this individual denoted a vigour beyond the average.
His face, illumined by large blue eyes, sparkling with sense, had an
expression of frankness and honesty which pleased at the first glance,
and completed the _ensemble_ of his regular features, and wide mouth,
round which an unceasing smile of good humour played. He might be
twenty-three, or twenty-four at the most, although his complexion,
bronzed by the inclemency of the weather, and the dense light brown
beard that covered the lower part of his face, made him appear older.
This man was dressed in the garb of a wood-ranger: a beaver-skin cap,
whose tail fell down between his shoulders, hardly restrained the thick
curls of his golden hair, which hung in disorder down his back; a
hunting shirt of blue calico, fastened round his hips by a deerskin
belt, fell a little below his muscular knees; _mitasses_, or a species
of tight drawers, covered his legs, and his feet were protected against
brambles and the stings of reptiles by Indian moccasins.
His game-bag, of tanned leather, hung over his shoulder, and, like all
the bold pioneers of the virgin forest, his weapons consisted of a good
Kentucky rifle, a | 1,696.498517 |
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Produced by Pat Castevans and David Widger
CONISTON
By Winston Churchill
BOOK 2.
CHAPTER IX
When William Wetherell and Cynthia had reached the last turn in the road
in Northcutt's woods, quarter of a mile from Coniston, they met the nasal
Mr. Samuel Price driving silently in the other direction. The word
"silently" is used deliberately, because to Mr. Price appertained a
certain ghostlike quality of flitting, and to Mr. Price's horse and wagon
likewise. He drew up for a brief moment when he saw Wetherell.
"Wouldn't hurry back if I was you, Will."
"Why not?"
Mr. Price leaned out of the wagon.
"Bije has come over from Clovelly to spy around a little mite."
It was evident from Mr. Price's manner that he regarded the storekeeper
as a member of the reform party.
"What did he say, Daddy?" asked Cynthia, as Wetherell stood staring after
the flitting buggy in bewilderment.
"I haven't the faintest idea, Cynthia," answered her father, and they
walked on.
"Don't you know who 'Bije' is?
"No," said her father, "and I don't care."
It was almost criminal ignorance for a man who lived in that part of the
country not to know Bijah Bixby of Clovelly, who was paying a little
social visit to Coniston that day on his way home from the state
capital,--tending, as it were, Jethro's flock. Still, Wetherell must be
excused because he was an impractical literary man with troubles of his
own. But how shall we chronicle Bijah's rank and precedence in the Jethro
army, in which there are neither shoulder-straps nor annual registers? To
designate him as the Chamberlain of that hill Rajah, the Honorable Heth
Sutton, would not be far out of the way. The Honorable Heth, whom we all
know and whom we shall see presently, is the man of substance and of
broad acres in Clovelly: Bijah merely owns certain mortgages in that
town, but he had created the Honorable Heth (politically) as surely as
certain prime ministers we could name have created their sovereigns. The
Honorable Heth was Bijah's creation, and a grand creation he was, as no
one will doubt when they see him.
Bijah--as he will not hesitate to tell you--took Heth down in his pocket
to the Legislature, and has more than once delivered him, in certain
blocks of five and ten, and four and twenty, for certain considerations.
The ancient Song of Sixpence applies to Bijah, but his pocket was
generally full of proxies instead of rye, and the Honorable Heth was
frequently one of the four and twenty blackbirds. In short, Bijah was the
working bee, and the Honorable Heth the ornamental drone.
I do not know why I have dwelt so long on such a minor character as
Bijah, except that the man fascinates me. Of all the lieutenants in the
state, his manners bore the closest resemblance to those of Jethro Bass.
When he walked behind Jethro in the corridors of the Pelican, kicking up
his heels behind, he might have been taken for Jethro's shadow. He was of
a good height and size, smooth-shaven, with little eyes that kindled, and
his mouth moved not at all when he spoke: unlike Jethro, he "used"
tobacco.
When Bijah had driven into Coniston village and hitched his wagon to the
rail, he went direct to the store. Chester Perkins and others were
watching him with various emotions from the stoop, and Bijah took a seat
in the midst of them, characteristically engaging in conversation without
the usual conventional forms of greeting, as if he had been there all
day.
"H-how much did you git for your wool, Chester--h-how much?"
"Guess you hain't here to talk about wool, Bije," said Chester, red with
anger.
"Kind of neglectin' the farm lately, I hear," observed Bijah.
"Jethro Bass sent you up to find out how much I was neglectin' it,"
retorted Chester, throwing all caution to the winds.
"Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro, be you? Thinkin' of upsettin' Jethro?"
remarked Bije, in a genial tone.
"Folks in Clovelly hain't got nothin' to do with it, if I am," said
Chester.
"Leetle early for campaignin', Chester, leetle early."
"We do our campaignin' when we're a mind to."
Bijah looked around.
"Well, that's funny. I could have took oath I seed Rias Richardson here."
There was a deep silence.
"And Sam Price," continued Bijah, in pretended astonishment, "wahn't he
settin' on the edge of the stoop when I drove up?"
Another silence, broken only by the enraged breathing of Chester, who was
unable to retort. Moses Hatch laughed. The discreet departure of these
gentlemen certainly had its comical side.
"Rias as indoostrious as ever, Mose?" inquired Bijah.
"He has his busy times," said Mose, grinning broadly.
"See you've got the boys with their backs up, Chester," said Bijah.
"Some of us are sick of tyranny," cried Chester; "you kin tell that to
Jethro Bass when you go back, if he's got time to listen to you buyin'
and sellin' out of railroads."
"Hear Jethro's got the Grand Gulf Road in his pocket to do as he's a mind
to with," said Moses, with a view to drawing Bijah out. But the remark
had exactly the opposite effect, Bijah screwing up his face into an
expression of extraordinary secrecy and cunning.
"How much did you git out of it, Bije?" demanded Chester.
"Hain't looked through my clothes yet," said Bijah, his face screwed up
tighter than ever. "N-never look through my clothes till I git home,
Chester, it hain't safe."
It has become painfully evident that Mr. Bixby is that rare type of man
who can sit down under the enemy's ramparts and smoke him out. It was a
rule of Jethro's code either to make an effective departure or else to
remain and compel the other man to make an ineffective departure. Lem
Hallowell might have coped with him; but the stage was late, and after
some scratching of heads and delving for effectual banter (through which
Mr. Bixby sat genial and unconcerned), Chester's followers took their
leave, each choosing his own pretext.
In the meantime William Wetherell had entered the store by the back
door--unperceived, as he hoped. He had a vehement desire to be left in
peace, and to avoid politics and political discussions forever--vain
desire for the storekeeper of Coniston. Mr. Wetherell entered the store,
and to take his mind from his troubles, he picked up a copy of Byron:
gradually the conversation on the stoop died away, and just as he was
beginning to congratulate himself and enjoy the book, he had an
unpleasant sensation of some one approaching him measuredly. Wetherell
did not move; indeed, he felt that he could not--he was as though charmed
to the spot. He could have cried aloud, but the store was empty, and
there was no one to hear him. Mr. Bixby did not speak until he was within
a foot of his victim's ear. His voice was very nasal, too.
"Wetherell, hain't it?"
The victim nodded helplessly.
"Want to see you a minute."
"What is it?"
"Where can we talk private?" asked Mr. Bixby, looking around.
"There's no one here," Wetherell answered. "What do you wish to say?"
"If the boys was to see me speakin' to you, they might git
suspicious--you understand," he confided, his manner conveying a hint
that they shared some common policy.
"I don't meddle with politics," said Wetherell, desperately.
"Exactly!" answered Bijah, coming even closer. "I knowed you was a
level-headed man, moment I set eyes on you. Made up my mind I'd have a
little talk in private with you--you understand. The boys hain't got no
reason to suspicion you care anything about politics, have they?"
"None whatever."
"You don't pay no attention to what they say?"
"None."
You hear it?"
"Sometimes I can't help it."
"Ex'actly! You hear it."
"I told you I couldn't help it."
"Want you should vote right when the time comes," said Bijah | 1,696.501917 |
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The Badminton Library
OF
SPORTS AND PASTIMES
EDITED BY
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BEAUFORT, K.G.
ASSISTED BY ALFRED E. T. WATSON
_BIG GAME SHOOTING_
II.
[Illustration: HAND TO HAND WORK]
BIG GAME SHOOTING
BY
CLIVE PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY
WITH CONTRIBUTIONS BY
LIEUT.-COLONEL R. HEBER PERCY, ARNOLD PIKE,
MAJOR ALGERNON C. HEBER PERCY, W. A. BAILLIE-GROHMAN,
SIR HENRY POTTINGER, BART., EARL OF KILMOREY, ABEL CHAPMAN,
WALTER J. BUCK, AND ST. GEORGE LITTLEDALE
[Illustration]
VOL. II.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY CHARLES WHYMPER
AND FROM PHOTOGRAPHS_
LONDON
LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
1894
CONTENTS OF THE SECOND VOLUME
CHAPTER PAGE
I. ARCTIC HUNTING
_By Arnold Pike._ 1
II. THE CAUCASUS
_By Clive Phillipps-Wolley._ 22
III. MOUNTAIN GAME OF THE CAUCASUS
_By Clive Phillipps-Wolley._ 48
IV. CAUCASIAN AUROCHS
_By St. G. Littledale._ 65
V. OVIS ARGALI OF MONGOLIA
_By St. G. Littledale._ 73
VI. THE CHAMOIS
_By W. A. Baillie-Grohman._ 77
VII. THE STAG OF THE ALPS
_By W. A. Baillie-Grohman._ 112
VIII. THE SCANDINAVIAN ELK
_By Sir Henry Potlinger, Bart._ 123
IX. EUROPEAN BIG GAME
_By Major Algernon Heber Percy, and the Earl of Kilmorey._ 154
X. THE LARGE GAME OF SPAIN AND PORTUGAL
_By Abel Chapman and W. J. Buck._ 174
XI. INDIAN SHOOTING
_By Lieut.-Col. Reginald Heber Percy._ 182
XII. THE OVIS POLI OF THE PAMIR
_By St. G. Littledale._ 363
XIII. CAMPS, TRANSPORT, ETC.
_By Clive Phillipps-Wolley._ 377
XIV. A FEW NOTES ON RIFLES AND AMMUNITION
_By H. W. H._ 394
XV. HINTS ON TAXIDERMY, ETC.
_By Clive Phillipps-Wolley._ 413
A SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY 421
INDEX 425
ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE SECOND VOLUME
(_Reproduced by Messrs. Walker & Boutall_)
FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS
ARTIST
HAND TO HAND WORK _C. Whymper_ _Frontispiece_
DEATH OF A POLAR BEAR ” _to face p._ 16
THE CORPSE ROCKS _C. Whymper_ ” 20
MR. ST. G. LITTLEDALE’S CAUCASIAN } _From a photograph_ ” 36
BAG FOR THE SEASON OF 1887 }
‘STANDING LIKE STATUES’ _C. Whymper_ ” 48
IBEX (_Hircus ægagrus_) ” ” 52
THE SPECTRE ” ” 62
CHAMOIS {_From an instantaneous_} ” 80
{_photograph_ }
SPANISH IBEX {_C. W | 1,696.900181 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs.=]
PUBLICATIONS
OF THE
SCOTTSVILLE LITERARY SOCIETY,
No. 7.
DID BETSEY ROSS DESIGN
THE FLAG OF THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA?
By Franklin Hanford.
SCOTTSVILLE, N. Y.
ISAAC VAN HOOSER. PRINTER.
1917.
DID BETSY ROSS DESIGN THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA?
By Franklin Hanford.
[Illustration]
A paper read before the Scottsville Literary Society, January 22, 1917.
[Illustration]
On Saturday, the fourteenth of June, 1777, the Continental Congress,
then in session in Philadelphia, adopted a resolution which reads as
follows: “Resolved, that the flag of the thirteen United States be
thirteen stripes, alternate red and white; that the Union be thirteen
stars, white in a blue field, representing a new constellation.”
“The Journal of Congress is silent as to the name of the member or
committee that introduced this resolution and neither is there any
record of the discussions that may have preceded the adoption of our
national emblem.” “It is a matter of great regret that no record of
the circumstances attending the birth of the Stars and Stripes has
ever been found,” for we should like to know who designed our present
flag, and also, though a matter of less interest, who made, that is
manufactured, the first one.
Some years ago I happened to see upon the wall at Mrs. Emma H. Miller’s
house in Scottsville, a very attractive picture in colors. This picture
represented General Washington seated on the left and Robert Morris and
the Hon. George Ross standing near him, while, seated on the right, was
Betsey Ross with a =completed= flag of thirteen stripes, and thirteen
stars in a blue field, in her lap. “C. H. Weisberger, Copyright 1903,”
was inscribed near the bottom of the picture. Underneath it was this
legend; “Birth of our nation’s flag. The first American flag accepted
by Congress and adopted by resolution of Congress June 14, 1777, as the
national standard, was made by Betsey Ross, in 1776 at 239 Arch Street,
Philadelphia, in the room represented in this picture. The Committee,
Robert Morris and Hon. George Ross, accompanied by General George
Washington, called upon this celebrated woman and together with her
suggestions, produced our beautiful emblem of liberty.”
The legend under this picture led me to make some inquiries as to
Betsey Ross. Who was she? And did she assist in designing and did she
make the first flag or ensign of the United States of America? If not
Betsey Ross, who did design and make it? Endeavoring to answer these
questions, I have consulted some thirteen works relating wholly or in
part to the flag of the United States. A list of them is appended to
this paper.
Betsey or Elizabeth Griscom was the fifth daughter of Samuel and
Rebecca (James) Griscom and was born January 1, 1752. She was
married when quite young to John Ross, son of the Reverend Aeneas
Ross, an Episcopal clergyman of Newcastle, Delaware, whose brother,
the Hon. George Ross, became one of the signers of the Declaration
of Independence. George Ross was interested in the furnishing of
cannon-balls, with perhaps other military stores for the Colonial
defence, and it was while on guard at night over these, with other
young men, that the nephew, John Ross, Betsey’s first husband, received
an injury from the effects of which he died in January, 1776.
It was during her widowhood that Betsey Ross is said to have made
the first Stars and Stripes. For a second husband she married a
sea-captain, John or Joseph Ashburne, who died in Mill Prison, England,
in 1782. The following year, she married Ashburne’s prison-mate, John
Claypoole, who died in 1817.
Betsey Ross died in her daughter’s home in Philadelphia January
30, 1836, aged eighty-four. She was buried in the Cemetery of the
Society of Free Quakers on South Fifth Street, from which place her
remains were transferred in 1857 to Mount Moriah Cemetery. Four of
her daughters grew up and married. Betsey Ross’ first husband was
an upholsterer. She continued his business and for fifty years was
an expert needlewoman, lace-maker and flag-maker. After her death,
Mrs. Clarissa Wilson, one of her daughters, succeeded to the business
and continued to make flags for the arsenals and navy-yards and for
the mercantile marine for many years. But being conscientious on
the subject of war, Mrs. Wilson gave up the Government business but
continued to make flags for the merchant marine until 1857.
The earliest “History of the National Flag,” of which I have knowledge,
was written by Captain Schuyler Hamilton, U. S. Army, and published at
Philadelphia in 1853, sixty-four years ago. Captain Hamilton makes no
mention of Betsey Ross, and does not give to any one person or group of
persons the honor of designing our flag.
The next “History of Our Flag” was written by Ferdinand L. Sarmiento
and published in 1864, during the Civil War, at Philadelphia.
Sarmiento, like Captain Hamilton, does not mention Betsey Ross and
does not credit the origin of our flag to any one person or to any
committee, or group of persons, but considers honor due to many
individuals who assisted, more or less, in the =development= of our
flag.
So far as I can learn, no mention of Mrs. Ross occurs in any history
of our country or in any of the many biographies of Washington, prior
to 1870, ninety-three years after the flag was adopted. In that year,
however, “Mr. Wm. J. Canby of Philadelphia, read before the Historical
Society of Pennsylvania, a paper on the history of the American flag,
in which he stated that his maternal grandmother, Mrs. John Ross,
was the first maker and partial designer of the Stars and Stripes.”
Mr. Canby said that Mrs. Ross received a call in June, 1776, from
General Washington, Col. George Ross, and Robert Morris, who told her
they were a Committee of Congress and wanted her to make a flag from
a rough drawing they had, which drawing, upon her suggestion, was
redrawn by Washington in pencil. This was prior to the Declaration of
Independence. Mr. Canby claimed that he had heard his grandmother tell
the story when he was a boy eleven years old, and that three of Mrs.
Ross’ daughters then living in 1870 and a niece, aged ninety-five,
confirmed his statements.
In the picture I have referred to, Mrs. Ross is represented as having a
=completed= Stars and Stripes in her lap, although, at the time of the
visit of the Committee to her, according to Mr. Canby’s statement, the
flag had not even been designed or manufactured.
The best and most complete “History of the Flag of the U. S. of
America” was written by Rear Admiral George H. Preble, U. S. Navy. The
first edition was published in 1872 and the second, revised, edition,
in 1880. Rear-Admiral Preble gives Mr. Canby’s story about Mrs. Ross
in full, and he considers it probable that Mrs. Ross did manufacture
or have manufactured at different times flags of the United States of
various designs. His conclusion, however, is that “it will probably
never be known who designed our union of stars, the records of Congress
being silent on the subject and there being no mention or suggestion
of it in any of the voluminous correspondence or diaries of the time,
public or private, which have ever been published.”
In 1878, a ridiculous pamphlet was published, entitled “The History of
the First United States Flag and the Patriotism of Betsey Ross, the
Immortal Heroine that Originated the First Flag of the Union. Dedicated
to the Ladies of the United States by Col. J. Franklin Reigart.” This
was published at Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
In Reigart’s book, the claim is made that Mrs. Ross “=originated=”
our flag. Mr. Canby, Mrs. Ross’ grandson, had claimed only that she
=manufactured= it and that she suggested some changes in the sketch
shown her by the committee. In Reigart’s book there is a pretended
portrait of Betsey Ross making the first flag. This was really the
portrait of a Quaker lady of Lancaster and was taken from a photograph.
Mr. Canby repudiated Reigart’s book and said he did not correctly
present his grandmother or her claim.
In 1876 Mr. J. C. Julius Langbein wrote a small history of our flag and
he accepts Mr. Canby’s account of Mrs. Ross making the first flag and
suggesting some change in the original design.
Learning that a book entitled “Betsey Ross” had been published in
1901, I procured a copy thinking it biographical or historical but it
proved to be a romance, pure and simple, woven about Mrs. Ross who is
represented as the heroine of her day and the principal designer of the
flag.
Since 1891, several small works on the flag have been published,
written by members of the Daughters of the American Revolution and
dedicated to that organization. In those works great honor is given
Mrs. Ross, indeed, the members of the D. A. R. as a whole, seem to
have | 1,697.100112 |
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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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The Boy Scouts
On the Trail
OR
Scouting through the Big Game Country
By HERBERT CARTER
Author of "The Boy Scouts' First Camp Fire," "The Boy Scouts | 1,697.102871 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.0830620 | 188 | 11 |
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
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.
Variations in spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been retained
except in obvious cases of typographical error.
In the book a dagger symbol appears before certain numbers. This
refers to date of death. In this file the plus symbol (+)
signifies a dagger symbol.
The cover for the eBook version of this book was created by the
transcriber and is placed in the public domain.
* * * * *
THE EXPOSITOR'S B | 1,697.103102 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
which includes images of the pages of the original book.
See 23574-h.htm or 23574-h.zip:
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SOCIALISM: POSITIVE AND NEGATIVE
by
ROBERT RIVES LA MONTE
"I will make a man more precious than fine gold;
even a man than the golden wedge of Ophir."
--_Isaiah xiii, 12._
Chicago
Charles H. Kerr & Company
1907
Copyright 1907
by Charles H. Kerr & Company
[Illustration: logo]
Press of
John F. Higgins
Chicago
TO
M. E. M. AND L. H. M.
PREFACE
Of the papers in this little volume two have appeared in print before:
"Science and Socialism" in the International Socialist Review for
September, 1900, and "Marxism and Ethics" in Wilshire's Magazine for
November, 1905. My thanks are due to the publishers of those periodicals
for their kind permission to re-print those articles here. The other
papers appear here for the first time.
There is an obvious inconsistency between the treatment of Materialism
in "Science and Socialism" and its treatment in "The Nihilism of
Socialism." I would point out that seven years elapsed between the
composition of the former and that of the latter essay. Whether the
inconsistency be a sign of mental growth or deterioration my readers
must judge for themselves. I will merely say here that the man or woman,
whose views remain absolutely fixed and stereotyped for seven years, is
cheating the undertaker. What I conceive the true significance of this
particular change in opinions to be is set forth in the essay on "The
Biogenetic Law."
Some Socialists will deprecate what may seem to them the unwise
frankness of the paper on "The Nihilism of Socialism." To them I can
only say that to me Socialism has always been essentially a
revolutionary movement. Revolutionists, who attempt to maintain a
distinction between their exoteric and their esoteric teachings, only
succeed in making themselves ridiculous. But, even were the maintenance
of such a distinction practicable, it would, in my judgment, be highly
inexpedient. As a mere matter of policy, ever since I first entered the
Socialist Movement, I have been a firm believer in the tactics admirably
summed up in Danton's "_De l'audace! Puis de l'audace! Et toujours de
l'audace!_"
Should any reader find himself repelled by "The Nihilism of Socialism,"
let me beg that he will not put the book aside until he has read the
essay on "The Biogenetic Law."
I do not send forth this little book with any ambitious hope that it
will be widely read, or even that it will convert any one to Socialism.
My hope is far more modest. It is that this book may be of some real
service, as a labor-saving device, to the thinking men and women who
have felt the lure of Socialism, and are trying to discover just what is
meant by the oft-used words 'Marxian Socialism,' Should it prove of
material aid to even _one_ such man or woman, I would feel that I had
been repaid a hundred-fold for my labor in writing it.
ROBERT RIVES LA MONTE.
Feb. 7, 1907.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
SCIENCE AND SOCIALISM 15
I. THE MATERIALISTIC CONCEPTION OF HISTORY 25
II. THE LAW OF SURPLUS-VALUE 34
III. THE CLASS STRUGGLE 46
MARXISM AND ETHICS 57
INSTEAD OF A FOOTNOTE 75
THE NIHILISM OF SOCIALISM 81
THE BIOGENETIC LAW 131
KISMET 143
SCIENCE AND SOCIALISM[1]
(International Socialist Review, September, 1900.)
Until the middle of this (the nineteenth) century the favorite theory
with those who attempted to explain the phenomena of History was the
Great-Man-Theory. This theory was that once in a while through infinite
mercy a great man was sent to the earth who yanked humanity up a notch
or two higher, and then we went along in a humdrum way on that level, or
even sank back till another great man was vouchsafed to us. Possibly the
finest flower of this school of thought is Carlyle's Heroes and Hero
Worship. Unscientific as this theory was, it had its beneficent effects,
for those heroes or great men served as ideals, and the human mind
requires an unattainable ideal. No man can be or do the best he is
capable of unless he is ever reaching out toward an ideal that lies
beyond his grasp. Tennyson put this truth in the mouth of the ancient
sage who tells the youthful and ambitious Gareth who is eager to enter
into the service of King Arthur of the Table Round:
"-----------the King
Will bind thee by such vows as is a shame
A man should not be bound by, yet the which
No man can keep."
This function of furnishing an ideal was performed in former times by
these great men and more especially by those great men whom legend, myth
and superstition converted into gods. But with the decay of the old
faiths the only possible fruitful ideal left is the ideal upheld by
Socialism, the ideal of the Co-operative Commonwealth in which the
economic conditions will give birth to the highest, purest, most
altruistic ethics the world has yet seen. It is true the co-operative
commonwealth is far more than a Utopian ideal, it is a scientific
prediction, but at this point I wish to emphasize its function as an
ideal.
But it is obvious that this Great Man theory gave no scientific clue to
history. If the Great Man was a supernatural phenomenon, a gift from
Olympus, then of course History had no scientific basis, but was
dependent upon the arbitrary caprices of the Gods, and Homer's Iliad was
a specimen of accurate descriptive sociology. If on the other hand the
great man was a natural phenomenon, the theory stopped short half way
toward its goal, for it gave us no explanation of the genesis of the
Great Man nor of the reasons for the superhuman influence that it
attributed to him.
Mallock, one of the most servile literary apologists of capitalism, has
recently in a book called "Aristocracy and Evolution" attempted to
revive and revise this theory and give it a scientific form. He still
attributes all progress to Great Men, but with the brutal frankness of
modern bourgeois Capitalism, gives us a new definition of Great Men.
According to Mallock, the great man is the man who makes money. This has
long been the working theory of bourgeois society, but Mallock is the
first of them who has had the cynicism or the stupidity to confess it.
But mark you, by this confession he admits the truth of the fundamental
premise of modern scientific socialism, our Socialism, viz., that the
economic factor is the dominant or determining factor in the life of
society. Thus you see the ablest champion of bourgeois capitalism,
admits, albeit unconsciously, the truth of the Marxian materialistic
conception of history. This book, however, is chiefly remarkable for its
impudent and shameless misrepresentations of Marx and Marxism, but these
very lies show that intelligent apologists of capitalism know that their
only dangerous foe is Marxian socialism.
But just as according to the vulgar superstition the tail of a snake
that has been killed wiggles till sundown, so this book of Mallock's is
merely a false show of life made by a theory that received its deathblow
long since. It is the wiggling of the tail of the snake that Herbert
Spencer killed thirty years ago with his little book "The Study of
Sociology." The environment philosophy in one form or another has come
to occupy the entire field of human thought. We now look for the
explanation of every phenomenon in the conditions that surrounded its
birth and development. The best application of this environment
philosophy to intellectual and literary phenomena that has ever been
made is Taine's History of English Literature.
But while Spencer's Study of Sociology is the most signal and brilliant
refutation of the Great Man theory, no one man really killed that
theory. The general spread | 1,697.103136 |
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Produced by Joshua Hutchinson, Josephine Paolucci and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections)
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
A MAGAZINE OF
_Literature, Science, Art, and Politics._
VOLUME XX.
[Illustration]
BOSTON: TICKNOR AND FIELDS, 124 TREMONT STREET.
1867.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by
TICKNOR AND FIELDS,
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO., CAMBRIDGE.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note: Minor typos have been corrected. Footnotes have been
moved to the end of the article.
* * * * *
CONTENTS.
Page
Artist's Dream, An _T. W. Higginson_ 100
Autobiography of a Quack, The. I., II. 466, 586
Bornoo, A Native of 485
Bowery at Night, The _Charles Dawson Shanly_ 602
By-Ways of Europe. From Perpignan to Montserrat.
_Bayard Taylor_ 495
" " A Visit to the Balearic Islands. I.
_Bayard Taylor_ 680
Busy Brains _Austin Abbott_ 570
Canadian Woods and Waters _Charles Dawson Shanly_ 311
Cincinnati _James Parton_ 229
Conspiracy at Washington, The 633
Cretan Days _Wm. J. Stillman_ 533
Dinner Speaking _Edward Everett Hale_ 507
Doctor Molke _Dr. I. I. Hayes_ 43
Edisto, Up the _T. W. Higginson_ 157
Foster, Stephen C., and <DW64> Minstrelsy
_Robert P. Nevin_ 608
Fugitives from Labor _F. Sheldon_ 370
Grandmother's Story: The Great Snow 716
Gray Goth, In the _Miss E. Stuart Phelps_ 559
Great Public Character, A _James Russell Lowell_ 618
Growth, Limitations, and Toleration of Shakespeare's Genius
_E. P. Whipple_ 178
Guardian Angel, The. VII., VIII., IX., X., XI., XII.
_Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 1, 129, 257, 385, 513, 641
Hospital Memories. I., II.
_Miss Eudora Clark_ 144, 324
International Copyright _James Parton_ 430
Jesuits in North America, The _George E. Ellis_ 362
Jonson, Ben _E. P. Whipple_ 403
Longfellow's Translation of Dante's Divina Commedia 188
Liliput Province, A _W. Winwood Reade_ 247
Literature as an Art _T. W. Higginson_ 745
Little Land of Appenzell, The _Bayard Taylor_ 213
Minor Elizabethan Dramatists _E. P. Whipple_ 692
Minor Italian Travels _W. D. Howells_ 337
Mysterious Personage, A _John Neal_ 658
Opinions of the late Dr. Nott, respecting Books, Studies and Orators
_E. D. Sanborn_ 527
Pacific Railroads, Our _J. K. Medbery_ 704
Padua, At _W. D. Howells_ 25
Passage from Hawthorne's English Note-Books, A 15
Piano in the United States, The _James Parton_ 82
Poor Richard. II., III. _Henry James, Jr._ 32, 166
Prophetic Voices about America. A Monograph
_Charles Sumner_ 275
Religious Side of the Italian Question, The
_Joseph Mazzini_ 108
Rose Rollins, The. I., II. _Alice Cary_ 420, 545
Sunshine and Petrarch _T. W. Higginson_ 307
Struggle for Life, A _T. B. Aldrich_ 56
"The Lie" _C. J. Sprague_ 598
Throne of the Golden Foot, The _J. W. Palmer_ 453
T. Adolphus Trollope, Writings of
_H. T. Tuckerman_ 476
Tour in the Dark, A 670
Uncharitableness 415
Visit to Sybaris, My _Edward Everett Hale_ 63
Week's Riding, A 200
What we Feel _C. J. Sprague_ 740
Wife by Wager, A _E. H. House_ 350
Workers in Silver, Among the _James Parton_ 729
Young Desperado, A _T. B. Aldrich_ 755
POETRY.
Are the Children at Home? _Mrs. M. E. M. Sangster_ 557
Autumn Song, An _Edgar Fawcett_ 679
Blue and the Gray, The _F. M. Finch_ 369
Chanson without Music _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 543
Dirge for a Sailor _George H. Boker_ 157
Ember-Picture, An _James Russell Lowell_ 99
Feast of Harvest, The _E. C. Stedman_ 616
Flight of the Goddess, The _T. B. Aldrich_ 452
Freedom in Brazil _John G. Whittier_ 62
Lost Genius, The _J. J. Piatt_ 228
Mona's Mother _Alice Cary_ 22
Mystery of Nature, The _Theodore Tilton_ 349
Nightingale in the Study, The
_James Russell Lowell_ 323
Sonnet _George H. Boker_ 744
Themistocles _William Everett_ 398
The Old Story _Alice Cary_ 199
Toujours Amour _E. C. Stedman_ 728
REVIEWS AND LITERARY NOTICES.
Browne's Land of Thor 256
Charlevoix's History of New France 125
Codman's Ten Months in Brazil 383
Cozzens's Sayings of Doctor Bushwhacker
and other Learned Men 512
Critical and Social Essays, from the New York "Nation" 384
Dall's (Mrs.) The College, the Market, and the Court 255
Du Chaillu's Journey to Ashango-Land 122
Emerson's May-Day and Other Pieces 376
Half-Tints 256
Holland's Kathrina 762
Hoppin's Old England 127
Hymns by Harriet McEwen Kimball 128
Jean Ingelow's Story of Doom, and other Poems 383
Lea's Historical Sketch of Sacerdotal Celibacy
in the Christian Church 378
Literary Life of James K. Paulding, The 124
Memoirs and Correspondence of Madame Recamier 127
Miss Ravenel's Conversion from Secession to Loyalty 120
Morris's Life and Death of Jason 640
Morse on the Poem "Rock me to Sleep, Mother" 252
Norton's Translation of The New Life of Dante 638
Parsons's Deus <DW25> 512
Parsons's Translation of the Inferno 759
Paulding's The Bulls and the Jonathans 639
Purnell's Literature and its Professors 254
Richmond during the War 762
Ritter's Comparative Geography of Palestine 125
Samuels's Ornithology and Ooelogy of New England 761
Thackeray's Early and Late Papers 252
Tomes's Champagne Country 511
Webb's Liffith Lank, or Lunacy, and St. Twel'mo 123
THE
ATLANTIC MONTHLY.
_A Magazine of Literature, Science, Art, and Politics._
VOL. XX.--JULY, 1867.--NO. CXVII.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by TICKNOR AND
FIELDS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL.
CHAPTER XIX.
SUSAN'S YOUNG MAN.
There seems no reasonable doubt that Myrtle Hazard might have made a
safe thing of it with Gifted Hopkins, (if so inclined,) provided that
she had only been secured against interference. But the constant habit
of reading his verses to Susan Posey was not without its risk to so
excitable a nature as that of the young poet. Poets always were capable
of divided affections, and Cowley's "Chronicle" is a confession that
would fit the whole tribe of them. It is true that Gifted had no right
to regard Susan's heart as open to the wiles of any new-comer. He knew
that she considered herself, and was considered by another, as pledged
and plighted. Yet she was such a devoted listener, her sympathies were
so easily roused, her blue eyes glistened so tenderly at the least
poetical hint, such as "Never, O never," "My aching heart," "Go, let me
weep,"--any of those touching phrases out of the long catalogue which
readily suggests itself,--that her influence was getting to be such that
Myrtle (if really anxious to secure him) might look upon it with
apprehension, and the owner of Susan's heart (if of a jealous
disposition) might have thought it worth while to make a visit to Oxbow
Village to see after his property.
It may seem not impossible that some friend had suggested as much as
this to the young lady's lover. The caution would have been unnecessary,
or at least premature. Susan was loyal as ever to her absent friend.
Gifted Hopkins had never yet presumed upon the familiar relations
existing between them to attempt to shake her allegiance. It is quite as
likely, after all, that the young gentleman about to make his appearance
in Oxbow Village visited the place of his own accord, without a hint
from anybody. But the fact concerns us more than the reason of it, just
now.
"Who do you think is coming, Mr. Gridley? Who _do_ you think is coming?"
said Susan Posey, her face covered with a carnation such as the first
season may | 1,697.408738 |
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E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online
Distributed Proofreading Canada Team (http://www.pgdpcanada.net)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 25923-h.htm or 25923-h.zip:
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BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
* * * * *
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
Alton of Somasco
Lorimer of the Northwest
Thurston of Orchard Valley
Winston of the Prairie
The Gold Trail
Sydney Carteret, Rancher
A Prairie Courtship
Vane of the Timberlands
The Long Portage
Ranching for Sylvia
Prescott of Saskatchewan
The Dust of Conflict
The Greater Power
Masters of the Wheatlands
Delilah of the Snows
By Right of Purchase
The Cattle Baron's Daughter
Thrice Armed
For Jacinta
The Intriguers
The League of the Leopard
For the Allison Honor
The Secret of the Reef
Harding of Allenwood
The Coast of Adventure
Johnstons of the Border
Brandon of the Engineers
* * * * *
BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
by
HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Johnstone of the Border," "Prescott
of Saskatchewan," "Winston of the Prairie," etc.
[Illustration: "'YOU MUST COME. I CAN'T LET YOU LIVE AMONG THOSE
PLOTTERS AND GAMBLERS.'"--Page 224.]
New York
Frederick A. Stokes Company
Publishers
Copyright, 1916, by Frederick A. Stokes Company
Published in England under the Title "His One Talent"
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I A Promising Officer 1
II Dick's Troubles Begin 11
III The Punishment 22
IV Adversity 34
V The Concrete Truck 44
VI A Step Up 54
VII Dick Undertakes a Responsibility 65
VIII An Informal Court 75
IX Jake Fuller 85
X La Mignonne 97
XI Clare Gets a Shock 107
XII Dick Keeps His Promise 118
XIII The Return from the Fiesta 129
XIV Complications 140
XV The Missing Coal 151
XVI Jake Gets into Difficulties 161
XVII The Black-Funnel Boat 172
XVIII Dick Gets a Warning 184
XIX Jake Explains Matters 194
XX Don Sebastian 205
XXI Dick Makes a Bold Venture 215
XXII The Official Mind 225
XXIII The Clamp 237
XXIV The Altered Sailing List 247
XXV The Water-Pipe 259
XXVI The Liner's Fate 270
XXVII The Silver Clasp 282
XXVIII Rough Water 294
XXIX Kenwardine Takes a Risk 304
XXX The Last Encounter 314
XXXI Richter's Message 326
XXXII Ida Interferes 336
BRANDON OF THE ENGINEERS
CHAPTER I
A PROMISING OFFICER
The lengthening shadows lay blue and cool beneath the alders by the
waterside, though the cornfields that rolled back up the hill glowed a
coppery yellow in the light of the setting sun. It was hot and, for the
most part, strangely quiet in the bottom of the valley since the hammers
had stopped, but now and then an order was followed by a tramp of feet
and the rattle of chain-tackle. Along one bank of the river the
reflections of the trees quivered in dark-green masses; the rest of the
water was dazzlingly bright.
A pontoon bridge, dotted with figures in khaki, crossed a deep pool. At
its head, where a white road ran down the hill, a detachment of engineers
lounged in the shade. Their faces were grimed with sweat and dust, and
some, with coats unbuttoned, sprawled in the grass. They had toiled hard
through the heat of the day, and now were enjoying an "easy," until they
should be called to attention when their work was put to the test.
As Lieutenant Richard Brandon stood where the curve was boldest at the
middle of the bridge, he had no misgivings about the result so far as the
section for which he was responsible was concerned. He was young, but
there was some ground for his confidence; for he not only had studied all
that text-books could teach him but he had the constructor's eye, which
sees half-instinctively where strength or weakness lies. Brandon began
his military career as a prize cadet and after getting his commission he
was quickly promoted from subaltern rank. His advancement, however,
caused no jealousy, for Dick Brandon was liked. He was, perhaps, a trifle
priggish about his work--cock-sure, his comrades called it--but about
other matters he was naively ingenuous. Indeed, acquaintances who knew
him only when he was off duty thought him something of a boy.
In person, he was tall and strongly made, with a frank, sunburned face.
His jaw was square and when he was thoughtful his lips set firmly; his
light-gray eyes were clear and steady. He was genial with his comrades,
but usually diffident in the company of women and older men.
Presently the Adjutant came up and, stopping near, glanced along the
rippling line that marked the curve of the bridge.
"These center pontoons look rather prominent, as if they'd been pushed
upstream a foot or two," he remarked. "Was that done by Captain
Maitland's order?"
"No, sir," Dick answered with some awkwardness. "For one thing, I found
they'd lie steadier out of the eddy."
"They do, but I don't know that it's much of an advantage. Had you any
other reason for modifying the construction plans?"
Dick felt embarrassed. He gave the Adjutant a quick glance; but the man's
face was inscrutable. Captain Hallam was a disciplinarian where
discipline was needed, but he knew the value of what he called
initiative.
"Well," Dick tried to explain, "if you notice how the wash of the
head-rapid sweeps down the middle of the pool----"
"I have noticed it," said the Adjutant dryly. "That's why the bridge
makes a slight sweep. But go on."
"We found a heavy drag on the center that flattened the curve. Of course,
if we could have pushed it up farther, we'd have got a stronger form."
"Why?"
"It's obvious, sir. If we disregard the moorings, a straight bridge would
tend to curve downstream and open out under a shearing strain. As we get
nearer the arch form it naturally gets stiffer, because the strain
becomes compressive. After making the bridge strong enough for traffic,
the problem is to resist the pressure of the current."
"True," the Adjutant agreed with a smile. "Well, we'll let the pontoons
stand. The traditions of the British Army are changing fast, but while we
don't demand the old mechanical obedience, it might be better not to
introduce too marked innovations. Anyhow, it's not desirable that they
should, so to speak, strike a commanding officer in the eye. Some
officers are conservative and don't like that kind of thing."
He moved on and Dick wondered whether he had said too much. He was apt to
forget his rank and comparative unimportance when technical matters were
discussed. In fact, it was sometimes difficult not to appear
presumptuous; but when one knew that one was right----
In the meantime, the Adjutant met the Colonel, and they stopped together
at the bridge-head.
"I think we have made a good job, but the brigade's transport is pretty
heavy," the Colonel remarked.
"I'm satisfied with the bridge, sir; very creditable work for beginners.
If the other branches of the new armies are as good----"
"The men are in earnest. Things, of course, are changing, and I suppose
old-fashioned prejudices must go overboard. Personally, I liked the type
we had before the war, but we'll let that go. Young Brandon strikes me as
particularly keen."
"Keen as mustard," the Adjutant agreed. "In other ways, perhaps, he's
more of the kind you have been used to."
"Now I wonder what you mean by that! You're something of what they're
pleased to call a progressive, aren't you? However, I like the lad. His
work is good."
"He _knows_, sir."
"Ah," said the Colonel, "I think I understand. But what about the
drawings of the new pontoons? They must be sent to-night."
"They're ready. To tell the truth, I showed them to Brandon and he made a
good suggestion about | 1,697.408958 |
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Produced by David Reed and Dale R. Fredrickson
HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE
Edward Gibbon, Esq.
With notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman
Volume 1
1782 (Written), 1845 (Revised)
CONTENTS:
Introduction
Preface By The Editor
Preface Of The Author
Preface To The First Volume
Chapter I: The Extent Of The Empire In The Age Of The Antoninies.--Part
I. Part II. Part III.
Introduction--The Extent And Military Force Of The Empire In The Age Of
The Antonines.
Chapter II: The Internal Prosperity In The Age Of The Antonines.--Part I.
Part II. Part III. Part IV.
Of The Union And Internal Prosperity Of The Roman Empire, In The Age Of
The Antonines.
Chapter III: The Constitution In The Age Of The Antonines.--Part I.
Part II.
Of The Constitution Of The Roman Empire, In The Age Of The Antonines.
Chapter IV: The Cruelty, Follies And Murder Of Commodus.--Part I. Part
II.
The Cruelty, Follies, And Murder Of Commodus. Election Of Pertinax--His
Attempts To Reform The State--His Assassination By The Praetorian Guards.
Chapter V: Sale Of The Empire To Didius Julianus.--Part I. Part II.
Public Sale Of The Empire To Didius Julianus By The Praetorian
Guards--Clodius Albinus In Britain, Pescennius Niger In Syria, And
Septimius Severus In Pannonia, Declare Against The Murderers Of
Pertinax--Civil Wars And Victory Of Severus Over His Three
Rivals--Relaxation Of Discipline--New Maxims Of Government.
Chapter VI: Death Of Severus, Tyranny Of Caracalla, Usurpation Of
Marcinus.--Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV.
The Death Of Severus.--Tyranny Of Caracalla.--Usurpation Of
Macrinus.--Follies Of Elagabalus.--Virtues Of Alexander
Severus.--Licentiousness Of The Army.--General State Of The Roman
Finances.
Chapter VII: Tyranny Of Maximin, Rebellion, Civil Wars, Death Of
Maximin.--Part I. Part II. Part III.
The Elevation And Tyranny Of Maximin.--Rebellion In Africa And Italy,
Under The Authority Of The Senate.--Civil Wars And Seditions.--Violent
Deaths Of Maximin And His Son, Of Maximus And Balbinus, And Of The Three
Gordians.--Usurpation And | 1,697.409036 |
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Produced by Tricia Groeneveld; Source text from Archive.org:
http://archive.org/details/narrativeofsuffe00athe
[Transcriber's note: all misspellings and typographical errors
in the original have been retained in this text.]
NARRATIVE
OF THE
SUFFERING & DEFEAT
OF THE
NORTH-WESTERN ARMY
UNDER GENERAL WINCHESTER:
MASSACRE OF THE PRISONERS; SIXTEEN MONTHS IMPRISONMENT OF THE
WRITER AND OTHERS WITH THE INDIANS AND BRITISH:
BY WILLIAM ATHERTON.
FRANKFORT, KY.
Printed for the author by A. G. Hodges.
1842.
[Copy Right secured according to law.]
PREFACE.
The greater part of this short narrative was written years ago.
At that time it was intended for publication. But for several
years past the writer had declined ever letting it come before
the world; and had it not been for the solicitations of friends,
it is highly probable this intention would never have been
changed. But relying upon the opinion of those whom he believed
to be well qualified to judge of it, and believing them to be
sincere in their expression of opinion, I have consented to let
it go and take its chance before the public.
It was found difficult to give such an account of that part of
the campaign which it was thought to be most important, without
commencing as far back as the departure of the army from
Kentucky. This part of the history has, however, been passed
over very rapidly, perhaps rather too much so to make it at all
satisfactory. The writer is aware that he has omitted much which
would have added to the interest of this little history; but he
has not leisure to go over it again. History has given us an
account of the sufferings of the North-Western Army only in
general terms, but no where, so far as I have been able to learn,
has there been given a particular detail of the sufferings and
privations of that detachment of the army.
I think it proper that the rising generation should know what
their fathers suffered, and how they acted in the hour of danger;
that they sustained the double character of "_Americans and
Kentuckians_." This narrative has been made as concise as I could
conveniently make it, and on that account, perhaps, the writer
has not said all that might, and that should have been said. But
it is hoped that what has been said will be sufficient to give
the youthful reader some idea of what that "Spartan band" were
called to endure. To the old men of our country these things,
perhaps, will | 1,697.500974 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.4815450 | 2,770 | 8 |
Produced by Stephen Blundell and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
THE STOKER'S CATECHISM
THE
STOKER'S CATECHISM
BY
W. J. CONNOR.
[Device]
London:
E. & F. N. SPON, LIMITED, 57 HAYMARKET
New York:
SPON & CHAMBERLAIN, 123 LIBERTY STREET
1906
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Variant
spellings have been retained. The oe ligature is shown as [oe].
PREFACE.
There is no trade or calling that a working man is more handicapped in
than that of a Steam Boiler Stoker; there are no books on stoking; the
man leaving his situation is not anxious to communicate with the man who
is taking his place anything that might help or instruct him; and the
new man will be shy of asking for information for fear of being thought
incapable for the post he is seeking; and the transfer takes place
almost in silence, and the new man has to find out all the ways and
means at his own risk, sometimes at his employer's expense.
My object is to instruct that man in his business without his knowing
it, or hurting his very sensitive opinion on stoking and other matters;
for I am well aware that it is only the least experienced who are the
hardest to convince, or instruct--against their will. I have therefore
ventured to devise this simple method of question and answer, which I
have named "The Stoker's Catechism," which I hope may instruct and
interest him.
I will not encumber this preface with my personal qualifications for
this little work--the answers to the questions might suffice.
W. J. C.
THE STOKER'S CATECHISM.
1. _Question._--How would you proceed to get steam up in a boiler?
_Answer._--Having filled the boiler with water to the usual height, that
is to say, about four inches over the crown of the fire-tube, I throw in
several shovelfuls of coal or coke towards the bridge, left and right,
keeping the centre clear; then I place the firewood in the centre, throw
some coals on it, light up, and shut the door. Then I open the
side-gauge cocks to allow the heated air to escape, and keep them open
till all the air has cleared out and steam taken the place of it; by
this time the fire will require more fuel, and when the steam is high
enough I connect her by opening the stop-valve a little at a time till
it is wide open and ready for work.
2. _Question._--Supposing there are boilers working on each side of the
one you got steam up in, how would you act?
_Answer._--I would light the fire by putting in a few shovelfuls of live
coal from one of them instead of using firewood; that is all the
difference I would make.
3. _Question._--What is the cause of the rapid motion of the water in
the gauge-glass at times? Is that motion general throughout the boiler?
_Answer._--No; air enters the boiler with the feed-water, and the
gauge-glass tube being in the vicinity of the incoming water, some of
the air enters the glass and flies up rapidly through the top cock and
into the boiler again; in fact there is very little motion of the water
in the boiler at any time while working. I have proved this to be so,
and in this manner: the boiler cleaners having finished the cleaning,
hurriedly scrambled out of the boiler and left several tools they had
been using on the crown of the fire-box, namely, a bass hand brush, a
tin can, and a tin candlestick, and a small iron pail; the manhole cover
was put on and boiler filled and put to work before the things were
thought of, and then it was too late and they had to remain there until
the next cleaning time, which was thirteen weeks; and when the boiler
was at last blown out and the manhole cover removed, the things were on
the crown of the fire-box exactly as they were left three months
previously. In order to satisfy myself of this, to me, extraordinary
discovery, I placed several articles on the crown of the fire-box,
things that could not stop up the blow-off pipe if they were swept off,
and got up steam as usual, and after three months' hard steaming I blew
out the water and steam, took off the manhole cover, and there were the
things as I had left them thirteen weeks previously; of course they were
all coated with fine mud, but no signs of having moved a hair's breadth.
4. _Question._--But water in an open caldron with a fire under it, as in
the steam boiler, will madly sweep the sides and bottom with terrific
ebullition. How would you account for the great agitation in the open
caldron while the steam boiler had hardly any, although both vessels had
fierce fires under them?
_Answer._--In the matter of the open caldron the action of the water has
no resistance but that of the atmosphere, whereas in the steam boiler
the movement of the water is resisted from the moment it is heated, for
then a vapour rises above it, and, as the heat increases, the resistance
to the movement of the water is proportionally increased, and as the
heat of the steam increases the pressure on the water increases
proportionally all through, the steam being above the water. Any old
stoker knows that when getting steam up in a boiler the lower parts are
often only warm when there may be eight or ten lb. on the square inch in
the upper portions; when the water begins to boil the steam rises in the
form of minute globular particles, and remains above the water until
there is an outlet for it by opening the stop-valve or through the
safety-valve; and as the pressure is the same throughout every part,
nook and corner, and angle, there can be no dominating force to cause
any agitation within the boiler.
5. _Question._--What is superheated steam, and why is it used?
_Answer._--If a boiler is placed at a long distance from the engine or
whatever the steam may be used for, there is much or little condensation
according to the distance and the weather, so that there would always be
water mixing with the steam, and that is most objectionable where a
steam engine is concerned, and by super-heating the steam it comes to
the engine as hot and dry as if the boiler were close by; but whatever
the heat of the steam may be, the pressure cannot be increased after the
steam has left the boiler. In proportion to the pressure of steam so is
the heat of it; the higher the pressure the hotter the steam.
6. _Question._--If your water gauge-glass broke while the boiler was
working, how would you proceed to rectify the mishap?
_Answer._--By immediately shutting off both cocks, the water-cock first,
then I would open the blow-out cock (at the bottom of the gauge-glass)
and keep it open to the finish, and commence unscrewing the nuts,
clearing them of any bits of india-rubber that adhered to them, also the
sockets. Get one of the half dozen glasses already cut, and my string of
rubber rings, enter two rings on the bottom end of the glass, slip the
nut over them, slip two rings on the top part of the glass after having
slipped the nut on, and enter the rings in the sockets, then screw up
both top and bottom nuts by hand alternately, and when screwed up
evenly, open the steam cock a shade to warm the glass, and when it is
hot enough, open it more and commence closing the blow-out cock, by
tapping it lightly by hand, then open the steam cock a little more and
open the water cock a little also, and shut off the blow-out cock, and
presently the water enters the glass, and both top and bottom cocks may
now be opened to their full extent, and the job is done.
7. _Question._--How would you cut a water gauge-glass to the proper
length?
_Answer._--I usually cut a piece of iron wire the length the glass
should be, in this way: I measure the length from under the top nut to
the top of the bottom nut, and cut my iron wire to that measurement;
then I cut several glasses in my spare time, instead of doing it when
the glass breaks. I mark a circle where I wish to cut the glass, and
with a three-corner file I run it round this circle to a depth of the
16th of an inch, and break it off on the edge of the vice, bench, or
other solid woodwork; of course this iron-wire gauge will perhaps only
answer for this particular boiler, but in some stoke-hold the boilers
are all alike with regard to the gauge-glasses.
8. _Question._--What is the cause of a vacuum in a boiler? And how does
it affect her injuriously?
_Answer._--The vacuum is mostly caused by letting cold water into a hot
boiler, the hotter the boiler the stronger the vacuum; when the water is
hotter than the boiler, there will be little vacuum; a strong vacuum in
the boiler will cause the air outside to press on the boiler in
proportion--the stronger the vacuum inside, the greater the pressure
outside. In this circumstance the pressure is misplaced for the boiler
was constructed to bear an internal pressure and not an external
pressure. And in getting steam up the pressure on the boiler has to be
reversed, and this tends to loosen the plates and rivets and makes her
leak, if she never leaked before. I have frequently known boilers to be
filled with water over-night to be ready for lighting up in the morning,
and have found the gauge-glass empty; this puzzled me at first, but on
opening the blow-out cock of the water-gauge the air rushed into it with
a gurgling noise, then I knew there was water in the boiler held up by
the vacuum, but I soon altered that by opening the side-cocks, and
letting air into her which soon killed the vacuum, and down came the
water into the glass again to the proper level. When getting steam up, I
always open one of the side gauge cocks and keep it open until steam
issues from it; that permits the foul air to escape and prevents a
vacuum being created; there used to be a vacuum valve in the vicinity of
the steam dome, that opened inwards and prevented a vacuum from being
created.
9. _Question._--If you had only one boiler and one engine at work, how
would you manage to clean your one fire without letting the steam go
down?
_Answer._--When pushed for steam, which usually occurs when the fire is
getting dirty, I get ready all the tools and some of the best of the
coals, and having a bright fire I take the long poker and skim all the
fire to one side and throw a couple of shovelfuls of coals evenly over
it and rake out all the clinkers on the opposite side, then with the
long poker (some people call it Kennedy) I skim all the fire over to the
opposite side and throw a couple of shovelfuls of coals evenly over the
bright fire, and rake out the clinkers on the other side, then I spread
the fire evenly over the bars and sprinkle some more coals over all, and
shut the door. This performance from first to last need not take more
than ten minutes, and the boiler was making steam all the time, and at
the finish I had a better fire than at the beginning, and the steam
hardly lost a pound; but the job must be done quickly.
10. _Question._--What is the cause of the humming noise that issues from
a steam boiler at times, and how would you prevent it?
_Answer._--It is caused chiefly through bad stoking, in having an uneven
fire, full of holes, or crooked bars, the cold air rushing through where
there is the least resistance, and into the tubes, causes the humming
noise--a locomotive nearing home after her day's work has very little
fire on the bars and will generally hum, so there is some excuse for
her, but none for a stationary boiler. Some stokers take | 1,697.501585 |
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Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
ORATORY
SACRED AND SECULAR:
OR, THE
Extemporaneous Speaker,
WITH
SKETCHES OF THE MOST EMINENT SPEAKERS OF ALL AGES
BY WILLIAM PITTENGER,
Author of “Daring and Suffering.”
_INTRODUCTION BY HON. JOHN A. BINGHAM_,
AND
_APPENDIX_
CONTAINING A “CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE” FOR CONDUCTING PUBLIC MEETINGS ACCORDING
TO THE BEST PARLIAMENTARY MODELS.
New York:
SAMUEL R. WELLS, PUBLISHER, 389 BROADWAY.
1869.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868,
By SAMUEL R. WELLS.
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, for
the Southern District of New York.
EDWARD O. JENKINS,
PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER,
20 North William Street.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
PREFACE.
When we first began to speak in public, we felt the need of a manual
that would point out the hindrances likely to be met with, and serve as
a guide to self-improvement. Such help would have prevented many
difficult and painful experiences, and have rendered our progress in the
delightful art of coining thought into words more easy and rapid. In the
following pages we give the result of thought and observations in this
field, and trust it will benefit those who are now in the position we
were then.
We have freely availed ourself of the labor of others, and would
especially acknowledge the valuable assistance derived from the writings
of Bautain, Stevens and Holyoake. Yet the following work, with whatever
merit or demerit it may possess, is original in both thought and
arrangement.
We have treated general preparation with more than ordinary fullness,
for although often neglected, it is the necessary basis upon which all
special preparation rests.
As the numerous varieties of speech differ in comparatively few
particulars, we have treated one of the most common—that of preaching—in
detail, with only such brief notices of other forms as will direct the
student in applying general principles to the branch of oratory that
engages his attention.
We are not vain enough to believe that the modes of culture and
preparation pointed out in the following pages are invariably the best,
but they are such as we have found useful, and to the thoughtful mind
may suggest others still more valuable.
CONTENTS.
PREFACE.—Objects of the Work stated 3
INTRODUCTION—By Hon. JOHN A. BINGHAM, Member of Congress 7
=PART I.=—_GENERAL PREPARATIONS._
CHAPTER I.
THE WRITTEN AND EXTEMPORE DISCOURSE COMPARED—Illustrative Examples 13
CHAPTER II.
PREREQUISITES—Intellectual Competency; Strength of Body; Command of
Language; Courage; Firmness; Self-reliance 18
CHAPTER III.
BASIS OF SPEECH—Thought and Emotion; Heart Cultivation; Earnestness 27
CHAPTER IV.
ACQUIREMENTS—General Knowledge; of Bible; of Theology; of Men;
Method by which such Knowledge may be obtained 35
CHAPTER V.
CULTIVATION—Imagination; Language; Voice; Gesture; Confidence;
References to Distinguished Orators and Writers. 42
=PART II.=—_A SERMON._
CHAPTER I.
THE FOUNDATION FOR A PREACHER—Subject; Object; Text; Hints to Young
Preachers 69
CHAPTER II.
THE PLAN—Gathering Thought; Arranging; Committing; Practical
Suggestions; Use of Notes 80
CHAPTER III.
PRELIMINARIES FOR PREACHING—Fear; Vigor; Opening Exercises;
Requisites for a Successful Discourse 96
CHAPTER IV.
THE DIVISIONS—Introduction, Difficulties in Opening; Discussion,
Simplicity and Directness; Conclusion 104
CHAPTER V.
AFTER CONSIDERATIONS—Success; Rest; Improvement; Practical
Suggestions 115
=PART III.=—_SECULAR ORATORY._
CHAPTER I.
INSTRUCTIVE ADDRESS—Fields of Oratory; Oral Teaching; Lecturing 123
CHAPTER II.
MISCELLANEOUS ADDRESS—Deliberative; Legal; Popular; Controversial;
the Statesman; the Lawyer; the Lecturer; the Orator 127
=PART IV.=
EMINENT SPEAKERS DESCRIBED—St. Augustine; Luther; Lord Chatham;
William Pitt; Edmund Burke; Mirabeau; Patrick Henry; George
Whitefield; John Wesley; Sidney Smith; F. W. Robertson; Henry
Clay; Henry B. Bascom; John Summerfield; C. H. Spurgeon; Henry
Ward Beecher; Anna E. Dickinson; John A. Bingham; William E.
Gladstone; Matthew Simpson; Wendell Phillips; John P. Durbin;
Newman Hall, and others 133
=APPENDIX.=
THE CHAIRMAN’S GUIDE—How to Organize and Conduct Public Meetings
and Debating Clubs in Parliamentary style 199
------------------------------------------------------------------------
INTRODUCTORY LETTER.
REV. WM. PITTENGER: CADIZ, O., _19th Nov., 1867_.
DEAR SIR,—I thank you for calling my attention to your forthcoming work
on Extemporaneous Speaking. Unwritten speech is, in my judgment, the
more efficient method of public speaking, because it is the natural
method. The written essay, says an eminent critic of antiquity, “is not
a speech, unless you choose to call epistles speeches.” A cultivated
man, fully possessed of all the facts which relate to the subject of
which he would speak, who cannot clearly express himself without first
memorizing word for word his written preparation, can scarcely be called
a public speaker, whatever may be his capacity as a writer or reader.
The speaker who clothes his thoughts at the moment of utterance, and in
the presence of his hearers, will illustrate by his speech the admirable
saying of Seneca: “Fit words better than fine ones.”
It is not my purpose to enter upon any inquiry touching the gifts,
culture and practice necessary to make a powerful and successful
speaker. It is conceded that in the art of public speaking, as in all
other arts, there is no excellence without great labor. Neither is it
the intent of the writer to suggest the possibility of speaking
efficiently without the careful culture of voice and manner, of
intellect and heart, an exact knowledge of the subject, and a careful
arrangement, with or without writing, of all the facts and statements
involved in the discussion. Lord Brougham has said that a speech written
before delivery is regarded as something almost ridiculous; may we not
add, that a speech made without previous reflection or an accurate
knowledge of the subject, would be regarded as a mere tinkling cymbal. I
intend no depreciation of the elaborate written essay read for the
instruction or amusement of an assembly; but claim that the essay, read,
or recited from memory, is not speech, nor can it supply the place of
natural effective speech. The essay delivered is but the echo of the
dead past, the speech is the utterance of the living present. The
delivery of the essay is the formal act of memory, the delivery of the
unwritten speech the living act of intellect and heart. The difference
between the two is known and felt of all men. To all this it may be
answered that the ancient speakers, whose fame still survives, carefully
elaborated their speeches before delivery. The fact is admitted with the
further statement, that many of the speeches of the ancient orators
never were delivered at all. Five of the seven orations of Cicero
against Verres were never spoken, neither was the second Philippic
against Mark Antony, nor the reported defence of Milo. We admit that the
ancient speakers wrote much and practised much, and we would commend
their example, in all, save a formal recital of written preparations.
There is nothing in all that has come to us concerning ancient oratory,
which by any means proves that to be effective in speech, what is to be
said should be first written and memorized; there is much that shows,
that to enable one to express his own thoughts clearly and forcibly,
reflection, culture and practice are essential.
Lord Brougham, remarking on the habit of writing speeches, says: “That a
speech written before delivery is something anomalous, and a speech
intended to have been spoken is a kind of byword for something laughable
in itself, as describing an incongruous existence.” This distinguished
man, in his careful consideration of this subject, says: “We can hardly
assign any limits to the effects of great practise in giving a power of
extempore composition,” and notices that it is recorded of Demosthenes,
that when, upon some rare occasions, he trusted to the feeling of the
hour, and spoke off-hand, “his eloquence was more spirited and bold, and
he seemed sometimes to speak from a supernatural impulse.” If this be
true of the great Athenian who notoriously would not, if he could avoid
it, trust to the inspiration of the moment, and who for want of a
prepared speech, we are told by Æschines, failed before Philip,—might it
not be inferred that one practised in speaking, would utter his thoughts
with more spirit and power when not restrained by a written preparation
and fettered by its formal recital?
Did not | 1,697.502714 |
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Produced by David Widger
SHIP'S COMPANY
By W.W. Jacobs
THE GUARDIAN ANGEL
[Illustration: "The lodger was standing at the foot o' Ginger's bed,
going through 'is pockets."]
The night-watchman shook his head. "I never met any of these phil--
philantherpists, as you call 'em," he said, decidedly. "If I 'ad they
wouldn't 'ave got away from me in a hurry, I can tell you. I don't say I
don't believe in 'em; I only say I never met any of 'em. If people do
you a kindness it's generally because they want to get something out of
you; same as a man once--a perfick stranger--wot stood me eight
'arf-pints becos I reminded 'im of his dead brother, and then borrered
five bob off of me.
"O' course, there must be some kind-'arted people in the world--all men
who get married must 'ave a soft spot somewhere, if it's only in the
'ead--but they don't often give things away. Kind-'artedness is often
only another name for artfulness, same as Sam Small's kindness to Ginger
Dick and Peter Russet.
"It started with a row. They was just back from a v'y'ge and 'ad taken a
nice room together in Wapping, and for the fust day or two, wot with
'aving plenty o' money to spend and nothing to do, they was like three
brothers. Then, in a little, old-fashioned public-'ouse down Poplar way,
one night they fell out over a little joke Ginger played on Sam.
"It was the fust drink that evening, and Sam 'ad just ordered a pot o'
beer and three glasses, when Ginger winked at the landlord and offered to
bet Sam a level 'arf-dollar that 'e wouldn't drink off that pot o' beer
without taking breath. The landlord held the money, and old Sam, with a
'appy smile on 'is face, 'ad just taken up the mug, when he noticed the
odd way in which they was all watching him. Twice he took the mug up and
put it down agin without starting and asked 'em wot the little game was,
but they on'y laughed. He took it up the third time and started, and he
'ad just got about 'arf-way through when Ginger turns to the landlord and
ses--
"'Did you catch it in the mouse-trap,' he ses, 'or did it die of poison?'
"Pore Sam started as though he 'ad been shot, and, arter getting rid of
the beer in 'is mouth, stood there 'olding the mug away from 'im and
making such 'orrible faces that they was a'most frightened.
"'Wot's the matter with him? I've never seen 'im carry on like that over
a drop of beer before,' ses Ginger, staring.
"'He usually likes it,' ses Peter Russet.
"'Not with a dead mouse in it,' ses Sam, trembling with passion.
"'Mouse?' ses Ginger, innercent-like. 'Mouse? Why, I didn't say it was
in your beer, Sam. Wotever put that into your 'ead?'
"'And made you lose your bet,' ses Peter.
"Then old Sam see 'ow he'd been done, and the way he carried on when the
landlord gave Ginger the 'arf-dollar, and said it was won fair and
honest, was a disgrace. He 'opped about that bar 'arf crazy, until at
last the landlord and 'is brother, and a couple o' soldiers, and a
helpless <DW36> wot wos selling matches, put 'im outside and told 'im to
stop there.
"He stopped there till Ginger and Peter came out, and then, drawing
'imself up in a proud way, he told 'em their characters and wot he
thought about 'em. And he said 'e never wanted to see wot they called
their faces agin as long as he lived.
"'I've done with you,' he ses, 'both of you, for ever.'
"'All right,' ses Ginger moving off. 'Ta-ta for the present. Let's 'ope
he'll come 'ome in a better temper, Peter.'
"'Ome?' ses Sam, with a nasty laugh, "'ome? D'ye think I'm coming back to
breathe the same air as you, Ginger? D'ye think I want to be
suffocated?'
"He held his 'ead up very 'igh, and, arter looking at them as if they was
dirt, he turned round and walked off with his nose in the air to spend
the evening by 'imself.
"His temper kept him up for a time, but arter a while he 'ad to own up to
'imself that it was very dull, and the later it got the more he thought
of 'is nice warm bed. The more 'e thought of it the nicer and warmer it
seemed, and, arter a struggle between his pride and a few 'arf-pints, he
got 'is good temper back agin and went off 'ome smiling.
"The room was dark when 'e got there, and, arter standing listening a
moment to Ginger and Peter snoring, he took off 'is coat and sat down on
'is bed to take 'is boots off. He only sat down for a flash, and then he
bent down and hit his 'ead an awful smack against another 'ead wot 'ad
just started up to see wot it was sitting on its legs.
"He thought it was Peter or Ginger in the wrong bed at fust, but afore he
could make it out Ginger 'ad got out of 'is own bed and lit the candle.
Then 'e saw it was a stranger in 'is bed, and without saying a word he
laid 'old of him by the 'air and began dragging him out.
"'Here, stop that!' ses Ginger catching hold of 'im. 'Lend a hand 'ere,
Peter.'
"Peter lent a hand and screwed it into the back o' Sam's neck till he
made 'im leave go, and then the stranger, a nasty-looking little chap
with a yellow face and a little dark moustache, told Sam wot he'd like to
do to him.
"'Who are you?' ses Sam, 'and wot are you a-doing of in my bed?'
"'It's our lodger,' ses Ginger.
"'Your wot?' ses Sam, 'ardly able to believe his ears.
"'Our lodger,' ses Peter Russet. 'We've let 'im the bed you said you
didn't want for sixpence a night. Now you take yourself off.'
"Old Sam couldn't speak for a minute; there was no words that he knew bad
enough, but at last he licks 'is lips and he ses, 'I've paid for that bed
up to Saturday, and I'm going to have it.'
"He rushed at the lodger, but Peter and Ginger got hold of 'im agin and
put 'im down on the floor and sat on 'im till he promised to be'ave
himself. They let 'im get up at last, and then, arter calling themselves
names for their kind-'artedness, they said if he was very good he might
sleep on the floor.
"Sam looked at 'em for a moment, and then, without a word, he took off
'is boots and put on 'is coat and went up in a corner to be out of the
draught, but, wot with the cold and 'is temper, and the hardness of the
floor, it was a long time afore 'e could get to sleep. He dropped off at
last, and it seemed to 'im that he 'ad only just closed 'is eyes when it
was daylight. He opened one eye and was just going to open the other
when he saw something as made 'im screw 'em both up sharp and peep
through 'is eyelashes. The lodger was standing at the foot o' Ginger's
bed, going through 'is pockets, and then, arter waiting a moment and
'aving a look round, he went through Peter Russet's. Sam lay still mouse
while the lodger tip-toed out o' the room with 'is boots in his 'and, and
then, springing up, follered him downstairs.
"He caught 'im up just as he 'ad undone the front door, and, catching
hold of 'im by the back o' the neck, shook 'im till 'e was tired. Then
he let go of 'im and, holding his fist under 'is nose, told 'im to hand
over the money, and look sharp about it.
"'Ye--ye--yes, sir,' ses the lodger, who was 'arf choked.
"Sam held out his 'and, and the lodger, arter saying it was only a little
bit o' fun on 'is part, and telling 'im wot a fancy he 'ad taken to 'im
from the fust, put Ginger's watch and chain into his 'ands and eighteen
pounds four shillings and sevenpence. Sam put it into his pocket, and,
arter going through the lodger's pockets to make sure he 'adn't forgot
anything, opened the door and flung 'im into the street. He stopped on
the landing to put the money in a belt he was wearing under 'is clothes,
and then 'e went back on tip-toe to 'is corner and went to sleep with one
eye open and the 'appiest smile that had been on his face for years.
"He shut both eyes when he 'eard Ginger wake up, and he slept like a
child through the 'orrible noise that Peter and Ginger see fit to make
when they started to put their clothes on. He got tired of it afore they
did, and, arter opening 'is eyes slowly and yawning, he asked Ginger wot
he meant by it.
"'You'll wake your lodger up if you ain't careful, making that noise,' he
ses. 'Wot's the matter?'
"'Sam,' ses Ginger, in a very different voice to wot he 'ad used the
night before, 'Sam, old pal, he's taken all our money and bolted.'
"'Wot?' ses Sam, sitting up on the floor and blinking, 'Nonsense!'
"'Robbed me and Peter,' ses Ginger, in a trembling voice; 'taken every
penny we've got, and my watch and chain.'
"'You're dreaming,' ses Sam.
"'I wish I was,' ses Ginger.
"'But surely, Ginger,' ses Sam, standing up,'surely you didn't take a
lodger without a character?'
"'He seemed such a nice chap,' ses Peter. 'We was only saying wot a much
nicer chap he was than--than----'
"'Go on, Peter,' ses Sam, very perlite.
"'Than he might ha' been,' ses Ginger, very quick.
"'Well, I've 'ad a wonderful escape,' ses Sam. 'If it hadn't ha' been
for sleeping in my clothes I suppose he'd ha' 'ad my money as well.'
"He felt in 'is pockets anxious-like, then he smiled, and stood there
letting 'is money fall through 'is fingers into his pocket over and over
agin.
"'Pore chap,' he ses; 'pore chap; p'r'aps he'd got a starving wife and
family. Who knows? It ain't for us to judge 'im, Ginger.'
"He stood a little while longer chinking 'is money, and when he took off
his coat to wash Ginger Dick poured the water out for im and Peter Russet
picked up the soap, which 'ad fallen on the floor. Then they started
pitying themselves, looking very 'ard at the back of old Sam while they
did it.
"'I s'pose we've got to starve, Peter,' ses Ginger, in, a sad voice.
"'Looks like it,' ses Peter, dressing hisself very slowly.
"'There's nobody'll mourn for me, that's one comfort,' ses Ginger.
"'Or me,' ses Peter.
"'P'r'aps Sam'll miss us a bit,' ses Ginger, grinding 'is teeth as old
Sam went on washing as if he was deaf. 'He'ss the only real pal we ever
'ad.'
"'Wot are you talking about?' ses Sam, turning round with the soap in
his eyes, and feeling for the towel. 'Wot d'ye want to starve for? Why
don't you get a ship?'
"'I thought we was all going to sign on in the Cheaspeake agin, Sam,' ses
Ginger, very mild.
"'She won't be ready for sea for pretty near three weeks,' ses Sam. 'You
know that.'
"'P'r'aps Sam would lend us a trifle to go on with, Ginger,' ses Peter
Russet. 'Just enough to keep body and soul together, so as we can hold
out and 'ave the pleasure of sailing with 'im agin.'
"'P'r'aps he wouldn't,' ses Sam, afore Ginger could open his mouth.
'I've just got about enough to last myself; I 'aven't got any to lend.
Sailormen wot turns on their best friends and makes them sleep on the
cold 'ard floor while their new pal is in his bed don't get money lent to
'em. My neck is so stiff it creaks every time I move it, and I've got
the rheumatics in my legs something cruel.'
"He began to 'um a song, and putting on 'is cap went out to get some
brekfuss. He went to a little eating-'ouse near by, where they was in
the 'abit of going, and 'ad just started on a plate of eggs and bacon
when Ginger Dick and Peter came into the place with a pocket-'ankercher
of 'is wot they 'ad found in the fender.
"'We thought you might want it, Sam,' ses Peter.
"'So we brought it along,' ses Ginger. 'I 'ope you're enjoying of your
brekfuss, Sam.'
"Sam took the 'ankercher and thanked 'em very perlite, and arter standing
there for a minute or two as if they wanted to say something they
couldn't remember, they sheered off. When Sam left the place 'arf-an-
hour afterwards they was still hanging about, and as Sam passed Ginger
asked 'im if he was going for a walk.
"'Walk?' ses Sam. 'Cert'nly not. I'm going to bed; I didn't 'ave a good
night's rest like you and your lodger.'
"He went back 'ome, and arter taking off 'is coat and boots got into bed
and slept like a top till one o'clock, when he woke up to find Ginger
shaking 'im by the shoulders.
"'Wot's the matter?' he ses. 'Wot are you up to?'
"'It's dinner-time,' ses Ginger. 'I thought p'r'aps you'd like to know,
in case you missed it.'
"'You leave me alone,' ses Sam, cuddling into the clothes agin. 'I don't
want no dinner. You go and look arter your own dinners.'
"He stayed in bed for another 'arf-hour, listening to Peter and Ginger
telling each other in loud whispers 'ow hungry they was, and then he got
up and put 'is things on and went to the door.
"'I'm going to get a bit o' dinner,' he ses. 'And mind, I've got my
pocket 'ankercher.'
"He went out and 'ad a steak and onions and a pint o' beer, but, although
he kept looking up sudden from 'is plate, he didn't see Peter or Ginger.
It spoilt 'is dinner a bit, but arter he got outside 'e saw them standing
at the corner, and, pretending not to see them, he went off for a walk
down the Mile End Road.
[Illustration: "'We thought you might want it, Sam,' ses Peter"]
"He walked as far as Bow with them follering'im, and then he jumped on a
bus and rode back as far as Whitechapel. There was no sign of 'em when
he got off, and, feeling a bit lonesome, he stood about looking in shop-
windows until 'e see them coming along as hard as they could come.
"'Why, halloa!' he ses. 'Where did you spring from?'
"'We--we--we've been--for a bit of a walk,' ses Ginger Dick, puffing and
blowing like a grampus.
"'To-keep down the 'unger,' ses Peter Russet.
"Old Sam looked at 'em very stern for a moment, then he beckoned 'em to
foller 'im, and, stopping at a little public-'ouse, he went in and
ordered a pint o' bitter.
"'And give them two pore fellers a crust o' bread and cheese and 'arf-a-
pint of four ale each,' he ses to the barmaid.
"Ginger and Peter looked at each other, but they was so hungry they
didn't say a word; they just stood waiting.
"'Put that inside you my pore fellers,' ses Sam, with a oily smile. 'I
can't bear to see people suffering for want o' food,' he ses to the
barmaid, as he chucked down a sovereign on the counter.
"The barmaid, a very nice gal with black 'air and her fingers covered all
over with rings, said that it did 'im credit, and they stood there
talking about tramps and beggars and such-like till Peter and Ginger
nearly choked. He stood there watching 'em and smoking a threepenny
cigar, and when they 'ad finished he told the barmaid to give 'em a
sausage-roll each, and went off.
"Peter and Ginger snatched up their sausage-rolls and follered 'im, and
at last Ginger swallowed his pride and walked up to 'im and asked 'im to
lend them some money.
"'You'll get it back agin,' he ses. 'You know that well enough.'
"'Cert'nly not,' ses Sam; 'and I'm surprised at you asking. Why, a child
could rob you. It's 'ard enough as it is for a pore man like me to 'ave
to keep a couple o' hulking sailormen, but I'm not going to give you
money to chuck away on lodgers. No more sleeping on the floor for me!
Now I don't want none o' your langwidge, and I don't want you follering
me like a couple o' cats arter a meat-barrer. I shall be 'aving a cup o'
tea at Brown's coffee-shop by and by, and if you're there at five sharp
I'll see wot I can do for you. Wot did you call me?'
"Ginger told 'im three times, and then Peter Russet dragged 'im away.
They turned up outside Brown's at a quarter to five, and at ten past six
Sam Small strolled up smoking a cigar, and, arter telling them that he
'ad forgot all about 'em, took 'em inside and paid for their teas. He
told Mr. Brown 'e was paying for 'em, and 'e told the gal wot served 'em
'e was paying for 'em, and it was all pore Ginger could do to stop
'imself from throwing his plate in 'is face.
"Sam went off by 'imself, and arter walking about all the evening without
a ha'penny in their pockets, Ginger Dick and Peter went off 'ome to bed
and went to sleep till twelve o'clock, when Sam came in and woke 'em up
to tell 'em about a music-'all he 'ad been to, and 'ow many pints he had
'ad. He sat up in bed till past one o'clock talking about 'imself, and
twice Peter Russet woke Ginger up to listen and got punched for 'is
trouble.
"They both said they'd get a ship next morning, and then old Sam turned
round and wouldn't 'ear of it. The airs he gave 'imself was awful. He
said he'd tell 'em when they was to get a ship, and if they went and did
things without asking 'im he'd let 'em starve.
"He kept 'em with 'im all that day for fear of losing 'em and having to
give 'em their money when 'e met 'em agin instead of spending it on 'em
and getting praised for it. They 'ad their dinner with 'im at Brown's,
and nothing they could do pleased him. He spoke to Peter Russet out loud
about making a noise while he was eating, and directly arterwards he told
Ginger to use his pocket 'ankercher. Pore Ginger sat there looking at
'im and swelling and swelling until he nearly bust, and Sam told 'im if
he couldn't keep 'is temper when people was trying to do 'im a kindness
he'd better go and get somebody else to keep him.
"He took 'em to a music-'all that night, but he spoilt it all for 'em by
taking 'em into the little public-'ouse in Whitechapel Road fust and
standing 'em a drink. He told the barmaid 'e was keeping 'em till they
could find a job, and arter she 'ad told him he was too soft-'arted and
would only be took advantage of, she brought another barmaid up to look
at 'em and ask 'em wot they could do, and why they didn't do it.
"Sam served 'em like that for over a week, and he 'ad so much praise from
Mr. Brown and other people that it nearly turned his 'ead. For once in
his life he 'ad it pretty near all 'is own way. Twice Ginger Dick
slipped off and tried to get a ship and came back sulky and hungry, and
once Peter Russet sprained his thumb trying to get a job at the docks.
"They gave it up then and kept to Sam like a couple o' shadders, only
| 1,697.59746 |
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Produced by Stephen Hope, Fox in the Stars, Lisa Reigel,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Notes: Some typographical errors have been corrected. A
complete list follows the text. Words in Greek in the original are
transliterated and placed between +plus signs+. In the transliterations
e: and o: represent the vowel with a circumflex. Words italicized in
the original are surrounded by _underscores_.
THE
APPROACH TO PHILOSOPHY
BY PROF. RALPH BARTON PERRY
THE FREE MAN AND THE SOLDIER
THE MORAL ECONOMY
THE APPROACH TO PHILOSOPHY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
THE APPROACH TO
PHILOSOPHY
BY
RALPH BARTON PERRY, PH.D.
ASSISTANT PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK CHICAGO BOSTON
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Printed in the United States of America
F
THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED TO
MY FATHER
AS A TOKEN OF MY LOVE AND ESTEEM
PREFACE
In an essay on "The Problem of Philosophy at the Present Time,"
Professor Edward Caird says that "philosophy is not a first venture into
a new field of thought, but the rethinking of a secular and religious
consciousness which has been developed, in the main, independently of
philosophy."[vii:A] If there be any inspiration and originality in this
book, they are due to my great desire that philosophy should appear in
its vital relations to more familiar experiences. If philosophy is, as
is commonly assumed, appropriate to a phase in the development of every
individual, it should _grow out_ of interests to which he is already
alive. And if the great philosophers are indeed never dead, this fact
should manifest itself in their classic or historical representation of
a perennial outlook upon the world. I am not seeking to attach to
philosophy a fictitious liveliness, wherewith to insinuate it into the
good graces of the student. I hope rather to be true to the meaning of
philosophy. For there is that in its stand-point and its problem which
makes it universally significant entirely apart from dialectic and
erudition. These are derived interests, indispensable to the scholar,
but quite separable from that modicum of philosophy which helps to make
the man. The present book is written for the sake of elucidating the
inevitable philosophy. It seeks to make the reader | 1,697.597515 |
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THROUGH THE LOOKING-GLASS
By Lewis Carroll
The Millennium Fulcrum Edition 1.7
CHAPTER I. Looking-Glass house
One thing was certain, that the WHITE kitten had had nothing to do with
it:--it was the black kitten's fault entirely. For the white kitten had
been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of
an hour (and bearing it pretty well, considering); so you see that it
COULDN'T have had any hand in the mischief.
The way Dinah washed her children's faces was this: first she held the
poor thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw she
rubbed its face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and
just now, as I said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which was
lying quite still and trying to purr--no doubt feeling that it was all
meant for its good.
But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon,
and so, while Alice was sitting curled up in a corner of the great
arm-chair, half talking to herself and half asleep, the kitten had been
having a grand game of romps with the ball of worsted Alice had been
trying to wind up, and had been rolling it up and down till it had all
come undone again; and there it was, spread over the hearth-rug, all
knots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail in the
middle.
'Oh, you wicked little thing!' cried Alice, catching up the kitten, and
giving it a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace.
'Really, Dinah ought to have taught you better manners! You OUGHT,
Dinah, you know you ought!' she added, looking reproachfully at the old
cat, and speaking in as cross a voice as she could manage--and then she
scrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the worsted
with her, and began winding up the ball again. But she didn't get on
very fast, as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the kitten, and
sometimes to herself. Kitty sat very demurely on her knee, pretending to
watch the progress of the winding, and now and then putting out one
paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be glad to help, if it
might.
'Do you know what to-morrow is, Kitty?' Alice began. 'You'd have guessed
if you'd been up in the window with me--only Dinah was making you tidy,
so you couldn't. I was watching the boys getting in sticks for the
bonfire--and it wants plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so cold, and
it snowed so, they had to leave off. Never mind, Kitty, we'll go and
see the bonfire to-morrow.' Here Alice wound two or three turns of the
worsted round the kitten's neck, just to see how it would look: this led
to a scramble, in which the ball rolled down upon the floor, and yards
and yards of it got unwound again.
'Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on as soon as they were
comfortably settled again, 'when I saw all the mischief you had been
doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into
the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you little mischievous darling!
What have you got to say for yourself? Now don't interrupt me!' she
went on, holding up one finger. 'I'm going to tell you all your faults.
Number one: you squeaked twice while Dinah was washing your face this | 1,697.598516 |
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Produced by David Widger. HTML version by Al Haines
A WONDER-BOOK FOR GIRLS AND BOYS
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES
CONTENTS:
TANGLEWOOD FIRESIDE--Introductory to "The Three Golden Apples"
THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES
TANGLEWOOD FIRESIDE--After the Story
INTRODUCTORY TO "THE THREE GOLDEN APPLES"
The snow-storm lasted another day; but what became of it afterwards, I
cannot possibly imagine. At any rate, it entirely cleared away, during
the night; and when the sun arose, the next morning, it shone brightly
down on as bleak a tract of hill-country, here in Berkshire, as could be
seen anywhere in the world. The frost-work had so covered the
windowpanes that it was hardly possible to get a glimpse at the scenery
outside. But, while waiting for breakfast, the small populace of
Tanglewood had scratched peepholes with their finger-nails, and saw with
vast delight that--unless it were one or two bare patches on a
precipitous hillside, or the gray effect of the snow, intermingled with
the black pine forest--all nature was as white as a sheet. How
exceedingly pleasant! And, to make it all the better, it was cold
enough to nip one's nose short off! If people have but life enough in
them to bear it, there is nothing that so raises the spirits, and makes
the blood ripple and dance so nimbly, like a brook down the <DW72> of a
hill, as a bright, hard frost.
No sooner was breakfast over, than the whole party, well muffled in furs
and woollens, floundered forth into the midst of the snow. Well, what a
day of frosty sport was this! They slid down hill into the valley, a
hundred times, nobody knows how far; and, to make it all the merrier,
upsetting their sledges, and tumbling head over heels, quite as often as
they came safely to the bottom. And, once, Eustace Bright took
Periwinkle, Sweet Fern, and Squash-blossom, on the sledge with him, by
way of insuring a safe passage; and down they went, full speed. But,
behold, half-way down, the sledge hit against a hidden stump, and flung
all four of its passengers into a heap; and, on gathering themselves up,
there was no little Squash-blossom to be found! Why, what could have
become of the child? And while they were wondering and staring about,
up started Squash-blossom out of a snow-bank, with the reddest face you
ever saw, and looking as if a large scarlet flower had suddenly sprouted
up in midwinter. Then there was a great laugh.
When they had grown tired of sliding down hill, Eustace set the children
to digging a cave in the biggest snow-drift that they could find.
Unluckily, just as it was completed, and the party had squeezed
themselves into the hollow, down came the roof upon their heads, and
buried every soul of them alive! The next moment, up popped all their
little heads out of the ruins, and the tall student's head in the midst
of them, looking hoary and venerable with the snow-dust that had got
amongst his brown curls. And then, to punish Cousin Eustace for
advising them to dig such a tumble-down cavern, the children attacked
him in a body, and so bepelted him with snowballs that he was fain to
take to his heels.
So he ran away, and went into the woods, and thence to the margin of
Shadow Brook, where he could hear the streamlet grumbling along, under
great overhanging banks of snow and ice, which would scarcely let it see
the light of day. There were adamantine icicles glittering around all
its little cascades. Thence be strolled to the shore of the lake, and
beheld a white, untrodden plain before him, stretching from his own feet
to the foot of Monument Mountain. And, it being now almost sunset,
Eustace thought that he had never beheld anything so fresh and beautiful
as the scene. He was glad that the children were | 1,697.603125 |
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This eBook was prepared by Stewart A. Levin.
A LITTLE COOK-BOOK FOR A LITTLE GIRL
by
CAROLINE FRENCH BENTON
Author of ``Gala Day Luncheons''
Boston, The Page Company, Publishers
Copyright, 1905
by Dana Estes & Company
For
Katherine, Monica and Betty
Three Little Girls
Who Love To Do
``Little Girl Cooking''
Thanks are due to the editor of Good Housekeeping for
permission to reproduce the greater part of this book
from that magazine.
INTRODUCTION
Once upon a time there was a little girl named Margaret, and she
wanted to cook, so she went into the kitchen and tried and tried,
but she could not understand the cook-books, and she made dreadful
messes, and spoiled her frocks and burned her fingers till she just
had to cry.
One day she went to her grandmother and her mother and her Pretty
Aunt and her Other Aunt, who were all sitting sewing, and asked
them to tell here about cooking.
``What is a roux,'' she said, ``and what's a mousse and what's an
entrée? What are timbales and sautés and ingredients, and how do
you mix 'em and how long do you bake 'em? Won't somebody please
tell me all about it?''
And her Pretty Aunt said, ``See the flour all over that new frock!''
and her mother said, ``Dear child, you are not old enough to cooks
yet;'' and her grandmother said, ``Just wait a year or two, and
I'll teach you myself;'' and the Other Aunt said, ``Some day you
shall go to cooking-school and learn everything; you know little
girls can't cook.''
But Margaret said, ``I don't want to wait till I'm big; I want to
cook now; and I don't want to do cooking-school cooking, but little
girl cooking, all by myself.''
So she kept on trying to learn, but she burned her fingers and
spoiled her dresses worse than ever, and her messes were so bad
they had to be thrown out, every one of them; and she cried and cried.
And then one day her grandmother said, ``It's a shame that child
should not learn to cook if she really wants to so much;'' and her
mother said ``Yes, it is a shame, and she shall learn! Let's get
her a small table and some tins and aprons, and make a little
cook-book all her own out of the old ones we wrote for ourselves
long ago,--just the plain, easy things anybody can make.'' And both
her aunts said, ``Do! We will help, and perhaps we might put in
just a few cooking-school things beside.''
It was not long after this that Margaret had a birthday, and she
was taken to the kitchen to get her presents, which she thought
the funniest thing in the world. There they all were, in the
middle of the room: first her father's present, a little table
with a white oilcloth cover and casters, which would push right
under the big table when it was not being used. Over a chair her
grandmother's present, three nice gingham aprons, with sleeves and
ruffled bibs. On the little table the presents of the aunties,
shiny new tins and saucepans, and cups to measure with, and spoons,
and a toasting-fork, and ever so many things; and then on one corner
of the table, all by itself, was her mother's present, her own
little cook-book, with her own name on it, and that was best of all.
When Margaret had looked at everything, she set out in a row the big
bowl and the middle-sized bowl and the little wee bowl, and put the
scalloped patty-pans around them, and the real egg-beater in front of
all, just like a picture, and then she read a page in her cook-book, and
began to believe it was all true. So she danced for joy, and put on a
gingham apron and began to cook that very minute, and before another
birthday she had cooked every single thing in the book.
This is Margaret's cook-book.
PART I.
THE THINGS MARGARET MADE FOR BREAKFAST
A LITTLE COOK BOOK FOR A LITTLE GIRL
CEREALS
1 quart of boiling water.
4 tablespoonfuls of cereal.
1 teaspoonful of salt.
When you are to use a cereal made of oats or wheat, always begin
to cook it the night before, even if it says on the package that
it is not necessary. Put a quart of boiling water in the outside
of the double boiler, and another quart in the inside, and in this
last mix the salt and cereal. Put the boiler on the back of the
kitchen range, where it will be hardly cook at all, and let it
stand all night. If the fire is to go out, put it on so that it
will cook for two hours first. In the morning, if the water in
the outside of the boiler is cold, fill it up hot, and boil hard
for an hour without stirring the cereal. Then turn it out in a
hot dish, and send it to the table with a pitcher of cream.
The rather soft, smooth cereals, such as farina and cream of rice,
are to be measured in just the same way, but they need not be cooked
overnight; only put on in a double boiler in the morning for an hour.
Margaret's mother was very particular to have all cereals cooked a
long time, because they are difficult to digest if they are only
partly cooked, even though they look and taste as though they were done.
Corn-meal Mush
1 quart of boiling water.
1 teaspoon of salt.
4 tablespoons of corn-meal.
Be sure the water is boiling very hard when you are ready; then
put in the salt, and pour slowly from your hand the corn-meal,
stirring all the time till there is not one lump. Boil this half
an hour, and serve with cream. Some like a handful of nice plump
raisins stirred in, too. It is better to use yellow corn-meal in
winter and white in summer.
Fried Corn-meal Mush
Make the corn-meal mush the day before you need it, and when it
has cooked half an hour put it in a bread-tin and smooth it over;
stand away overnight to harden. In the morning turn it out and
slice it in pieces half an inch thick. Put two tablespoons of
lard or nice drippings in the frying-pan, and make it very hot.
Dip each piece of mush into a pan of flour, and shake off all
except a coating of this. Put the pieces, a few at a time, into
the hot fat, and cook till they are brown; have ready a heavy brown
paper on a flat dish in the oven, and as you take out the mush lay
it on this, so that the paper will absorb the grease. When all
are cooked put the pieces on a hot platter, and have a pitcher of
maple syrup ready to send to the table with them.
Another way to cook corn-meal mush is to have a kettle of hot fat ready,
and after flouring the pieces drop them into the fat and cook like
doughnuts. The pieces have to be rather smaller to cook in this way
than in the other.
Boiled Rice
1 cup of rice.
2 cups of boiling water.
1 teaspoonful of salt.
Pick the rice over, taking out all the bits of brown husk; fill
the outside of the double boiler with hot water, and put in the
rice, salt, and water, and cook forty minutes, but do not stir it.
Then take off the cover from the boiler, and very gently, without
stirring, turn over the rice with a fork; put the dish in the oven
without the cover, and let it stand and dry for ten minutes. Then
turn it from the boiler into a hot dish, and cover. Have cream
to eat on it. If any rice is left over from breakfast, use it the
next morning as--
Fried Rice
Press it into a pan, just as you did the mush, and let it stand
overnight; the next morning slice it, dip it in flour, and fry,
either in the pan or in the deep fat in the kettle, just as you
did the mush.
Farina Croquettes
When farina has been left from breakfast, take it while still warm
and beat into a pint of it the beaten yolks of two eggs. Let it
then get cold, and at luncheon-time make it into round balls;
dip each one first into the beaten yolk of an egg mixed with a
tablespoonful of cold water, and then into smooth, sifted bread-crumbs;
have ready a kettle of very hot fat, and drop in three at a time,
or, if you have a wire basket, put three in this and sink into the
fat till they are brown. Serve in a pyramid, on a napkin, and pass
scraped maple sugar with them.
Margaret's mother used to have no cereal at breakfast sometimes, and
have these croquettes as a last course instead, and every one liked them
very much.
Rice Croquettes
1 cup of milk.
Yolk of one egg.
1/4 cup of rice.
1 large tablespoonful of powdered sugar.
Small half-teaspoonful of salt.
1/2 cup of raisins and currants, mixed.
1/2 teaspoonful of vanilla.
Wash the rice and put in a double boiler with the milk, salt and
sugar and cook till very thick; beat the yolks of the eggs and
stir into the rice, and beat till smooth. Sprinkle the washed
raisins and currants with flour, and roll them in it and mix these in,
and last the vanilla. Turn out on a platter, and let all get very
cold. Then make into pyramids, dip in the yolk of an egg mixed
with a tablespoonful of water, and then into sifted bread-crumbs,
and fry in a deep kettle of boiling fat, using a wire basket.
As you take these from the fat, put them on paper in the oven with
the door open. When all are done, put them on a hot platter and
sift powdered sugar over them, and put a bit of red jelly on top
of each. This is a nice dessert for luncheon. All white cereals
may be made into croquettes; if they are for breakfast, do not
sweeten them, but for luncheon use the rule just given, with or
without raisins and currants.
Hominy
Cook this just as you did the rice, drying it in the oven; serve
one morning plain, as cereal, with cream, and then next morning fried,
with maple syrup, after the rest of the meal. Fried hominy is
always nice to put around a dish of fried chicken or roast game,
and it looks especially well if, instead of being sliced, it is
cut out into fancy shapes with a cooky-cutter.
After Margaret had learned to cook all kinds of cereals, she went on
to the next thing in her cook-book.
EGGS
Soft Boiled
Put six eggs in a baking-dish and cover them with boiling water;
put a cover on and let them stand where they will keep hot, but
not cook, for ten minutes, or, if the family likes them well done,
twelve minutes. They will be perfectly cooked, but not tough,
soft and creamy all the way through.
Another way to cook them is this:
Put the eggs in a kettle of cold water on the stove, and the moment
the water boils take them up, and they will be just done. An easy
way to take them up all at once is to put them in a wire basket,
and sink this under the water. A good way to serve boiled eggs
is to crumple up a fresh napkin in a deep dish, which has been made
very hot, and lay the eggs in the folds of the napkin; this prevents
their breaking, and keeps them warm.
Poached Eggs
Take a pan which is not more than three inches deep, and put in
as many muffin-rings as you wish to cook eggs. Pour in boiling
water till the rings are half covered, and scatter half a teaspoonful
of salt in the water. Let it boil up once, and then draw the pan
to the edge of the | 1,697.606007 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Joyce Morrell's Harvest, by Emily Sarah Holt.
________________________________________________________________________
This book is one of a series involving the same late sixteenth century
family. Its predecessor is "Lettice Eden", and its successor is "It
might have been." Readers may find a little difficulty with the
language, for it is written in Elizabethan English, though that won't
bother you if you are familiar with the plays of Shakespeare.
Three young teenage girls, and their aunt Joyce are chatting together
one evening, when one of the girls suggests they might all try to keep a
journal. The idea is scoffed at, because, it was said, nothing ever
happens in their neck of the woods. A few exaggerated examples of the
daily events that might be recorded were given, but nonetheless, they
applied to their father for the paper, pens and ink, that they would
need, and set to work, taking it in turns to write up the journal.
It is slightly annoying that every proper name is written in italics,
which your reviewer found rather unusual, but you can get used to
anything, and once you have done that it doesn't seem too bad.
The author was said to be a good historian, and so you will find the
book informative and interesting, as the great issues of the day are
discussed, many of them being of a religious nature.
________________________________________________________________________
JOYCE MORRELL'S HARVEST, BY EMILY SARAH HOLT.
PREFACE.
Those to whom "Lettice Eden" is an old friend will meet with many
acquaintances in these pages. The lesson is partly of the same type--
the difference between that which seems, and that which is; between the
gold which will stand the fire, and the imitation which the flame will
dissolve in a moment; between the true diamond, small though it be,
which is worth a fortune, and the glittering paste which is worth little
more than nothing.
But here there is a further lesson beyond this. It is one which God
takes great pains to teach us, and which we, alas! are very slow to
learn. "Tarry thou the Lord's leisure." In the dim eyes of frail
children of earth, God's steps are often very slow. We are too apt to
forget that they are very sure. But He will not be hurried: He has
eternity to work in, "If we ask anything according to His will, He
heareth us." How many of us, who fancied their prayers unheard because
they could not see the answer, may find that answer, rich, abundant,
eternal, in that Land where they | 1,697.607971 |
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E-text prepared by Marcia Brooks, Al Haines, Cindy Beyer, and the online | 1,697.697522 |
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TWO ARROWS
HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE'S SERIES
NEW LARGE-TYPE EDITION
TOBY TYLER James Otis
MR. STUBBS'S BROTHER James Otis
TIM AND TIP James Otis
RAISING THE "PEARL" James Otis
ADVENTURES OF BUFFALO BILL W. F. Cody
DIDDIE, DUMPS AND TOT Mrs. L. C. Pyrnelle
MUSIC AND MUSICIANS Lucy C. Lillie
THE CRUISE OF THE CANOE CLUB W. L. Alden
THE CRUISE OF THE "GHOST" W. L. Alden
MORAL PIRATES W. L. Alden
A NEW ROBINSON CRUSOE W. L. Alden
PRINCE LAZYBONES Mrs. W. J. Hays
THE FLAMINGO FEATHER Kirk Munroe
DERRICK STERLING Kirk Munroe
CHRYSTAL, JACK & CO. Kirk Munroe
WAKULLA Kirk Munroe
THE ICE QUEEN Ernest Ingersoll
THE RED MUSTANG W. O. Stoddard
THE TALKING LEAVES W. O. Stoddard
TWO ARROWS W. O. Stoddard
HARPER & BROTHERS
PUBLISHERS
[Illustration: TWO ARROWS EXPLORES THE RUINS]
TWO ARROWS
A STORY OF RED AND WHITE
BY
WILLIAM O. STODDARD
Author of "THE TALKING LEAVES"
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration]
NEW YORK AND LONDON
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1886, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD
F.-Y.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE HUNGRY CAMP 1
II. A YOUNG HERO 9
III. A BRAVE NAME 17
IV. THE MINING EXPEDITION 24
V. A VERY OLD TRAIL 32
VI. A THIRSTY MARCH 40
VII. THE GREAT CANON 48
VIII. WATER! WATER! 56
IX. INTO A NEW WORLD 64
X. SILE'S POCKET 71
XI. A TRAPPED BOY 80
XII. THE ERRAND OF ONE-EYE 88
XIII. GREAT SCOUTING 96
XIV. A WRESTLING MATCH 103
XV. A GREAT CAPTAIN 111
XVI. VISITING 117
XVII. MORE FUN 126
XVIII. TWO WAR-PARTIES 136
XIX. WONDERFUL FISHING 146
XX. A FULL CORRAL 157
XXI. THE GOLD MINE 166
XXII. A NEW SETTLEMENT 174
XXIII. DANGER 182
XXIV. SILE'S VICTORY 191
XXV. A MIDNIGHT MARCH 199
XXVI. PREPARING FOR AN ATTACK 207
XXVII. FROM BOW TO RIFLE 216
XXVIII. THE APACHES HAVE COME 224
XXIX. STIRRING TIMES 232
XXX. A DARING RIDE 239
ILLUSTRATIONS
"Two arrows explores the ruins" _Frontispiece_
"Not a boy or girl among them had such a
treasure as that mirror" _Facing p._ 120
"The midnight march of the Nez Perces" " 206
"His right hand with his palm up to show
that he was peaceful" " 230
TWO ARROWS
TWO ARROWS
A STORY OF RED AND WHITE
CHAPTER I
THE HUNGRY CAMP
The mountain countries of all the earth have always been wonder-lands.
The oldest and best known of them are to this day full of things that
nobody has found out. That is the reason why people are always exploring
them, but they keep their secrets remarkably well, particularly the
great secret of how they happened to get there in that shape.
The great western mountain country of the United States is made up of
range after range of wonderful peaks and ridges, and men have peered in
among them here and there, but for all the peering and searching nothing
of the wonder to speak of has been rubbed away.
Right in the eastern, edge of one of these mountain ridges, one warm
September morning, not long ago, a band of Nez Perce Indians were
encamped. It was in what is commonly called "the Far West," because
always when you get there the West is as far away as ever. The camp was
in a sort of nook, and it was not easy to say whether a spur of the
mountain jutted out into the plain, or whether a spur of the plain made
a dent in the ragged line of the mountains. More than a dozen "lodges,"
made of skins upheld by poles, were scattered around on the smoother
spots, not far from a bubbling spring of water. There were some trees
and bushes and patches of grass near the spring, but the little brook
which trickled away from it did not travel a great way into the world,
from the place where it was born, before it was soaked up and
disappeared among the sand and gravel. Up and beyond the spring, the
farther one chose to look, the rockier and the ruggeder everything
seemed to be.
Take it all together, it was a forlorn looking, hot, dried-up, and
uncomfortable sort of place. The very lodges themselves, and the human
beings around them, made it appear pitifully desolate. The spring was
the only visible thing that seemed to be alive and cheerful and at work.
There were Indians and squaws to be seen, a number of them, and boys and
girls of all sizes, and some of the squaws carried pappooses, but they
all looked as if they had given up entirely and did not expect to live
any longer. Even some of the largest men had an air of not caring much,
really, whether they lived or not; but that was the only regular and
dignified way for a Nez Perce or any other Indian warrior to take a
thing he can't help or is too lazy to fight with. The women showed more
signs of life than the men, for some of them were moving about among the
children, and one poor, old, withered, ragged squaw sat in the door of
her lodge, with her gray hair all down over her face, rocking backward
and forward, and singing a sort of droning chant.
There was not one quadruped of any kind to be seen in or about that
camp. Behind this fact was the secret of the whole matter. Those Indians
were starving! Days and days before that they had been away out upon the
plains to the eastward, hunting for buffalo. They had not found any, but
they had found all the grass dry and parched by a long drought, so that
no buffalo in his senses was likely to be there, and so that their own
ponies could hardly make a living by picking all night. Then one
afternoon a great swarm of locusts found where they were and alighted
upon them just as a westerly wind died out. The locusts remained long
enough to eat up whatever grass there was left. All through the evening
the Nez Perces had heard the harsh, tingling hum of those devourers, as
they argued among themselves whether or not it were best to stay and dig
for the roots of the grass. The wind came up suddenly and strongly about
midnight, and the locusts decided to take advantage of it and sail away
after better grass, but they did not leave any behind them. They set
out for the nearest white settlements in hope of getting corn and
apple-tree leaves, and all that sort of thing.
The band of Nez Perces would have moved away the next morning under any
circumstances, but when morning came they were in a terribly bad
predicament. Not one of them carried a watch, or he might have known
that it was about three o'clock, and very dark, when a worse disaster
than the visit of the locusts took place. By five or six minutes past
three it was all done completely, and it was the work of a wicked old
mule.
All but a half a dozen of the ponies and mules of the band had been
gathered and tethered in what is called a "corral," only that it had no
fence, at a short distance from the lodges. Nobody dreamed of any danger
to that corral, and there was none from the outside, even after the boys
who were set to watch it had curled down and gone to sleep. All the
danger was inside, and it was also inside of that mule. He was hungry
and vicious. He had lived in the white "settlements," and knew
something. He was fastened by a long hide lariat to a peg driven into
the ground, as were all the others, and he knew that the best place to
gnaw in two that lariat was close to the peg, where he could get a good
pull upon it. As soon as he had freed himself he tried the lariat of
another mule, and found that the peg had been driven into loose earth
and came right up. That was a scientific discovery, and he tried several
other pegs. Some came up with more or less hard tugging, and as fast as
they came up a pony or a mule was free. Then he came to a peg he could
not pull, and he lost his temper. He squealed, and turned around and
kicked the pony that belonged to that peg. Then he stood still and
brayed, as if he were frightened to find himself loose, and that was all
that was needed.
It was after three o'clock, and in one minute the whole corral was
kicking and squealing, braying, biting, and getting free, and joining in
the general opinion that it was time to run away.
That is what the western men call a "stampede," and whenever one occurs
there is pretty surely a mule or a thief at the bottom of it; but
sometimes a hail-storm will do as well, or nearly so. By five or six
minutes past three all of that herd were racing westward, with boys and
men getting out of breath behind it, and all the squaws in the camp were
holding hard upon the lariats of the ponies tethered among the lodges.
When morning came there were hardly ponies enough to "pack" the lodges
and other baggage and every soul of the band had to carry something as
they all set off, bright and early, upon the trail of the stampeded
drove of ponies. Some of the warriors had followed it without any
stopping for breakfast, and they might have caught up with it, perhaps,
but for the good generalship of that old mule. He had decided in his own
mind to trot right along until he came to something to eat and drink,
and the idea was a persuasive one. All the rest determined to have
something to eat and drink, and they followed their leader. It was not
easy for men on foot to catch up with them, and before noon the warriors
sat down and took a smoke, and held a council as to what it was best to
do. Before they finished that council the ponies had gained several
miles more the start of them. The next council the warriors held
contained but three men, for all the rest had gone back as messengers to
tell the band that the ponies had not been recovered. By nightfall the
remaining three had faithfully carried back the same news, and were
ready for a fresh start.
After that there had been day after day of weary plodding and continual
disappointment, with the weather growing hotter and the grass drier,
until the trail they were following brought them to the spring in the
edge of the mountain range without bringing them to the wicked old mule
and his followers.
That had not been the whole of the sad history. On the evening before
the stampede that band of Nez Perces had been well supplied with riding
ponies and pack-mules, and had also been rich in dogs. No other band of
their size had more, although their failure to find buffaloes had
already begun to have its effect upon the number of their barking stock.
Not a dog had been wasted by feeding him to the other dogs, but the
human beings had not been allowed to starve, and after the march began
towards the mountains there was less and less noise in that camp night
after night.
There was no help for it; the ponies ate the grass up at the spring, and
then one of them had to be eaten, while the warriors rode all around the
neighborhood vainly hunting for something better and not so expensive.
They did secure a few rabbits and sage-hens and one small antelope, but
all the signs of the times grew blacker and blacker, and it was about as
well to kill and eat the remaining ponies as to let them die of
starvation. A sort of apathy seemed to fall upon everybody, old and
young, and the warriors hardly felt like doing any more hunting. Now at
last they sat down to starve, without a dog or pony left, and with no
prospect that game of any kind would come into camp to be killed. It is
a curious fact, but whole bands of Indians, and sometimes whole tribes,
get into precisely that sort of scrape almost every year. Now it is one
band, and now it is another, and there would be vastly more of it if it
were not for the United States Government.
There was nothing droll, nothing funny, nothing that was not savagely
sad, about the Nez Perces' camp that September morning. Every member of
the band, except two, was loafing around the lodges hopelessly and
helplessly doing nothing, and miserably giving the matter up.
CHAPTER II
A YOUNG HERO
Away from the camp a long mile, and down in the edge of the dry, hot,
desolate plain, there was a wide spread of sage-bushes. They were larger
than usual, because of having ordinarily a better supply of water sent
them from the mountains than if they had settled further out. In among
such growths are apt to be found sage-hens and rabbits, and sometimes
antelopes, but the warriors had decided that they had hunted out all of
the game that had been there, and had given the bushes up. Two of the
members of the band who were not warriors had not arrived at the same
conclusion, and both of these were among the "sage-brush" that morning.
The first had been greatly missed among the lodges, and had been much
hunted for and shouted after, for he was the largest and most
intelligent dog ever owned by that band. He was also about the ugliest
ever owned by anybody, and his misfortunes had earned for him the name
of One-eye. He could see more with the eye he had left--and it was his
right--than any other animal they had ever had, or than most of the
warriors. He saw what became of the other dogs, for instance, and at
once acquired a habit of not coming when an Indian called for him. He
kept his eye about him all day, and was careful as to where he lay down.
Just about the time when the ponies began to go into the camp-kettles he
was a dog hard to find, although he managed to steal pony-bones and
carry them away into the sage-brush. Perhaps it was for this reason that
he was in even better condition than common that morning. He had no
signs of famine about him, and he lay beside what was left of a
jackass-rabbit, which he had managed to add to his stock of plunder.
One-eye was a dog of uncommon sagacity; he had taken a look at the camp
just before sunrise, and had confirmed his convictions that it was a bad
place for him. He had been to the spring for water, drinking enough to
last him a good while, and then he had made a race against time for the
nearest bushes. He lay now with his sharp-pointed, wolfish ears pricked
forward, listening to the tokens of another presence besides his own.
Somebody else was there, but not in bodily condition to have made much
of a race after One-eye. It was a well-grown boy of about fifteen years,
and One-eye at once recognized him as his own particular master, but he
was a very forlorn-looking boy. He wore no clothing, except the
deer-skin "clout" that covered him from above his hips to the middle of
his thighs. He carried a light lance in one hand and a bow in the
other, and there were arrows in the quiver slung over his shoulder. A
good butcher-knife hung in its case by the thong around his waist, and
he was evidently out on a hunting expedition. He was the one being,
except One-eye, remaining in that band of Nez Perces, with life and
energy enough to try and do something. He did not look as if he could do
much. He was the son of the old chief in command of the band, but it was
two whole days since he had eaten anything, and he had a faded, worn,
drawn, hungry appearance, until you came to his black, brilliant eyes.
These had an unusual fire in them, and glanced quickly, restlessly,
piercingly in all directions. He might have been even good-looking if he
had been well fed and well dressed, and he was tall and strongly built.
Just such Indian boys grow up into the chiefs and leaders who make
themselves famous, and get their exploits into the newspapers, but as
yet this particular boy had not managed to earn for himself any name at
all. Every Indian has to do something notable or have something
memorable occur to him before his tribe gives him the honor of a
distinguishing name. One-eye knew him, and knew that he was hungry and
in trouble, but had no name for him except that he suggested a danger of
the camp-kettle.
There could be no doubt about that boy's pluck and ambition, and he was
a master for any dog to have been proud of as he resolutely and
stealthily searched the sage-bushes. He found nothing, up to the moment
when he came out into a small bit of open space, and then he suddenly
stopped, for there was something facing him under the opposite bushes.
"Ugh! One-eye."
A low whine replied to him, and a wag of a dog's tail was added, but a
watch was kept upon any motion he might make with his bow or lance.
"Ugh! no. Not kill him," remarked the boy, after almost a minute of
profound thinking. "Eat him? No dog then. All old fools. No dog hunt
with. No pony. Starve. Keep One-eye. Try for rabbits."
He called repeatedly, but his old acquaintance refused to come near him,
whining a little but receding as the boy advanced.
"Ugh! knows too much."
It was a matter to lessen the value of One-eye that he understood his
own interests, and his master ceased, wearily, his efforts to entice
him. He pushed on through the bushes, but now he was instantly aware
that One-eye was searching them with him, keeping at a safe distance,
but performing regular hunter's duty. He even scared up a solitary
sage-hen, but she did not fly within range of bow and arrow. She was an
encouragement, however, and so were the remains of the rabbit to which
One-eye managed to pilot the way. They seemed like a promise of better
things to come, and One-eye stood over them for a moment wagging his
tail, as much as to say,
"There; take that and let me up!"
The boy picked up the rabbit and said several things to the dog in a
clear, musical voice. He spoke the guttural, Nez Perce dialect, which is
one of the most difficult in the world, and One-eye seemed almost to
understand him--and yet there are white boys of fifteen who stumble
dreadfully over such easy tongues as Greek and Latin.
The boy and dog seemed to be on better terms after that, and went on
through the sage-brush towards where a straggling line of mesquite
scrubs marked the plain. The dog was ranging the bushes right and left,
while the boy slowly followed the narrow lane of an old, hard-beaten
"buffalo path," with an arrow on the string, ready for anything that
might turn up. They were nearly out of the mesquites when One-eye
uttered a quick, sharp, low-voiced whine, which his master seemed to
understand. It is not every dog that can whine in the Nez Perce dialect,
but the boy at once dropped upon his hands and knees and crept silently
forward. He had been warned that something was the matter, and his
natural instinct was to hide until he should discover what it might be.
Again the dog whimpered, and the boy knew that he was hidden ahead and
beyond him. He crawled out of the trail and made his way under and
through the bushes. He made no more sound or disturbance than a snake
would have caused in doing the same thing, and in half a minute more he
was peering out into the open country.
"Ugh! buffalo!"
His brilliant eyes served him well. Only an Indian or a dog would have
rightly read the meaning of some very minute variations in the brown
crest of a roll of the prairie, far away to the eastward. Only the
keenest vision could have detected the fact that there was a movement in
the low, dull line of desolation. Back shrank the boy, under the bushes
at the side of the trail, and One-eye now had enough of restored
confidence to come and crouch beside him. In a few minutes more the
spots were noticeably larger, and it was plain that the buffalo were
approaching and not receding. At another time and under different
circumstances, even an Indian might have been unwise, and have tried to
creep out and meet them, but the weakness of semistarvation brought with
it a most prudent suggestion. It was manifestly better to lie still and
let them come, so long as they were coming. There was no sort of fatigue
in such a style of hunting, but there was a vast deal of excitement. It
was a strain on any nerves, especially hungry ones, to lie still while
those two great shaggy shapes came slowly out upon the ridge. They did
not pause for an instant, and there was no grass around them to give
them an excuse for lingering. They were on their way after some, and
some water, undoubtedly, and perhaps they knew a reason why there should
be an ancient buffalo-trail in that direction, trodden by generation
after generation of their grass-eating race. The boy was a born hunter,
and knew that he was lurking in the right place, and he drew back
farther and under deeper and more perfect cover, hardly seeming to
breathe. One-eye did the same, had almost looked as if he wanted to put
his paw over his mouth as he panted. On came the two bisons, and it was
apparent soon that no more were following them.
"Bull--cow," muttered the boy. "Get both. Laugh at old men then. Have
name!"
His black eyes flashed as he put his best arrow on the string and
flattened himself upon the dry, hot earth. Nearer and nearer drew the
gigantic game, and with steady, lumbering pace they followed the old
trail. It was a breathless piece of business, but it was over at last.
The bull was in front, and he was a splendid-looking old fellow,
although somewhat thin in flesh. Neither he nor his companion seemed to
have smelled or dreamed of danger, and they walked straight into it. The
moment for action had come, and the boy's body rose a little, with a
swift, pliant, graceful motion. With all the strength starvation had
left in him he drew his arrow to the head. In another second it was
buried to its very feathers in the broad breast of the buffalo bull, and
the great animal stumbled forward upon his knees, pierced through the
heart. The young hunter had known well the precise spot to aim at, and
he had made a perfect shot. The cow halted for a moment, as if in
amazement, and then charged forward along the trail. That moment had
given the boy enough time to put another arrow on the string, and as she
passed him he drove it into her just behind the shoulder, well and
vigorously. Once more he had given a deadly wound, and now he caught up
his lance. There was little need of it, but he could not be sure of
that, and so, as the bull staggered to his feet in his death-struggle,
he received a terrific thrust in the side and went down again. It was a
complete victory, so far as the bull was concerned, and One-eye had
darted away upon the path of the wounded cow.
"Ugh! got both!" exclaimed the boy. "Have name now."
CHAPTER III
A BRAVE NAME
One-eye followed the arrow-stricken cow, and he ran well. So did the
cow, and she did not turn to the right or left from the old buffalo
trail. There was but one road for either the trail or the cow or the
dog, for the very formation of the land led them all into the mountains
through the nook by the spring, and so by and by through the camp of the
starving Nez Perces. On she went until, right in the middle of the camp
and among the lodges, she stumbled and fell, and One-eye had her by the
throat.
It was time for somebody to wake up and do something, and a
wiry-looking, undersized, lean-ribbed old warrior, with an immense head,
whose bow and arrows had been hanging near him, at once rushed forward
and began to make a sort of pin-cushion of that cow. He twanged arrow
after arrow into her, yelling ferociously, and was just turning away to
get his lance when a robust squaw, who had not been made very thin even
by starvation, caught him by the arm, screeching,
"Dead five times! What for kill any more?"
She held up a plump hand as she spoke, and spread her brown fingers
almost against his nose. There was no denying it, but the victorious
hunter at once struck an attitude and exclaimed,
"No starve now, Big Tongue!"
He had saved the whole band from ruin and he went on to say as much,
while the warriors and squaws and smaller Indians crowded around the
game so wonderfully brought within a few yards of their kettles. It was
a grand occasion, and the Big Tongue was entitled to the everlasting
gratitude of his nation quite as much as are a great many white
statesmen and kings and generals who claim and in a manner get it. All
went well with him until a gray-headed old warrior, who was examining
the several arrows projecting from the side of the dead bison, came to
one over which he paused thoughtfully. Then he raised his head, put his
hand to his mouth, and sent forth a wild whoop of delight. He drew out
the arrow with one sharp tug and held it up to the gaze of all.
"Not Big Tongue. Boy!" For he was the father of the young hero who had
faithfully stood up against hunger and despair and had gone for game to
the very last. He was a proud old chief and father that day, and all
that was left for the Big Tongue was to recover his own arrows as fast
as he could for future use, while the squaws cut up the cow. They did it
with a haste and skill quite remarkable, considering how nearly dead
they all were. The prospect of a good dinner seemed to put new life into
them, and they plied their knives in half a dozen places at the same
time.
One-eye sat down and howled for a moment, and then started off upon the
trail by which he had come.
"Boy!" shouted the old chief. "All come. See what."
Several braves and nearly all the other boys, one squaw and four
half-grown girls at once followed him as he pursued the retreating form
of One-eye. It was quite a procession, but some of its members staggered
a little in their walk, and there was no running. Even the excitement of
the moment could get no more than a rapid stride out of the old chief
himself. He was well in advance of all others, and at the edge of the
expanse of sage-brush in which One-eye disappeared he was compelled to
pause for breath. Before it had fully come to him he needed it for
another whoop of delight.
Along the path in front of him, erect and proud, but using the shaft of
his lance as a walking-stick, came his own triumphant boy hunter. Not
one word did the youngster utter, but he silently turned in his tracks,
beckoning his father to follow.
It was but a few minutes after that and they stood together in front of
the dead bull bison. The boy pointed at the arrow almost buried in the
shaggy chest, and then he sat down; hunger and fatigue and excitement
had done their work upon him, and he could keep his feet no longer. He
even permitted One-eye to lick his hands and face in a way no Indian dog
is in the habit of doing. Other warriors came crowding around the great
trophy, and the old chief waited while they examined all and made their
remarks. They were needed as witnesses of the exact state of affairs,
and they all testified that this arrow, like the other, had been
wonderfully well driven. The old chief sat down before the bull and
slowly pulled out the weapon. He looked at it, held it up, streaming
with the blood of the animal it had brought down, and said:
"Long Bear is a great chief. Great brave. Tell all people the young
chief Two ARROWS. Boy got a name. Whoop!"
The youngster was on his feet in a moment, and One-eye gave a sharp,
fierce bark, as if he also was aware that something great had happened
and that he had a share in it. It was glory enough for one day, and the
next duty on hand was to repair the damages of their long fasting. Two
Arrows and his dog walked proudly at the side of the Long Bear as he led
the way back to the camp. No longer a nameless boy, he was still only in
his apprenticeship; he was not yet a warrior, although almost to be
counted as a "brave," as his title indicated. It would yet be a long
time before he could be permitted to go upon any war-path, however he
might be assured of a good pony when there should be hunting to be done.
There had been all along an abundance of firewood, of fallen trees and
dead mesquite-bushes, in the neighborhood of the camp, and there were
fires burning in front of several lodges before the remainder of the
good news came in. The cow had been thoroughly cut up, but the stern
requirements of Indian law in such cases called for the presence of the
chief and the leading warriors to divide and give out for use. Anything
like theft or overreaching would have been visited with the sharp wrath
of some very hungry men. The Big Tongue had seated himself in front of
the "hump" and some other choice morsels, waiting the expected decision
that they belonged to him. He also explained to all who could not help
hearing him how surely that cow could have broken through the camp and
escaped into the mountains if it had not been for him, until the same
plump squaw pointed at the hump and ribs before him, remarking,
cheerfully,
"Go get arrow. Kill him again. Need some more. Boy kill him when he
stood up."
There was not strength left in the camp for a laugh, but the Big Tongue
seemed to have wearied of the conversation. He looked wearier afterwards
when the hump was unanimously assigned to the old chief's own lodge,
that Two Arrows might eat his share of it. Indian justice is a pretty
fair article when it can be had at home, not interfered with by any kind
of white man. The division was made to the entire satisfaction of
everybody, after all, for the Big Tongue deserved and was awarded due
credit and pay for his promptness. If the buffalo had not already been
killed by somebody else, perhaps he might have killed it, and there was
a good deal in that. He and his family had a very much encouraged and
cheerful set of brown faces as they gathered around their fire and began
to broil bits of meat over it.
One fashion was absolutely without an exception, leaving out of the
question the smaller pappooses: | 1,697.699991 |
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Produced by David Widger
SHIP'S COMPANY
By W.W. Jacobs
FOR BETTER OR WORSE
Mr. George Wotton, gently pushing the swing doors of the public bar of
the "King's Head" an inch apart, applied an eye to the aperture, in the
hope of discovering a moneyed friend. His gaze fell on the only man in
the bar a greybeard of sixty whose weather-beaten face and rough clothing
spoke of the sea. With a faint sigh he widened the opening and passed
through.
"Mornin', Ben," he said, with an attempt at cheerfulness.
"Have a drop with me," said the other, heartily. "Got any money about
you?"
Mr. Wotton shook his head and his face fell, clearing somewhat as the
other handed him his mug. "Drink it all up, George," he said.
His friend complied. A more tactful man might have taken longer over the
job, but Mr. Benjamin Davis, who appeared to be labouring under some
strong excitement, took no notice.
"I've had a shock, George," he said, regarding the other steadily. "I've
heard news of my old woman."
"Didn't know you 'ad one," said Mr. Wotton calmly. "Wot's she done?"
"She left me," said Mr. Davis, solemnly--"she left me thirty-five years
ago. I went off to sea one fine morning, and that was the last I ever
see of er.
"Why, did she bolt?" inquired Mr. Wotton, with mild interest.
"No," said his friend, "but I did. We'd been married three years--three
long years--and I had 'ad enough of it. Awful temper she had. The last
words I ever heard 'er say was: 'Take that!'"
Mr. Wotton took up the mug and, after satisfying himself as to the
absence of contents, put it down again and yawned.
"I shouldn't worry about it if I was you," he remarked. "She's hardly
likely to find you now. And if she does she won't get much."
Mr. Davis gave vent to a contemptuous laugh. "Get much!" he repeated.
"It's her what's got it. I met a old shipmate of mine this morning what
I 'adn't seen for ten years, and he told me he run acrost 'er only a
month ago. After she left me--"
"But you said you left her!" exclaimed his listening friend.
"Same thing," said Mr. Davis, impatiently. "After she left me to work
myself to death at sea, running here and there at the orders of a pack
o'lazy scuts aft, she went into service and stayed in one place for
fifteen years. Then 'er missis died and left her all 'er money. For
twenty years, while I've been working myself to skin and bone, she's been
living in comfort and idleness."
"'Ard lines," said Mr. Wotton, shaking his head. "It don't bear thinking
of."
"Why didn't she advertise for me?" said Mr. Davis, raising his voice.
"That's what I want to know. Advertisements is cheap enough; why didn't
she advertise? I should 'ave come at once if she'd said anything about
money."
Mr. Wotton shook his head again. "P'r'aps she didn't want you," he said,
slowly.
"What's that got to do with it?" demanded the other. "It was 'er dooty.
She'd got money, and I ought to have 'ad my 'arf of it. Nothing can make
up for that wasted twenty years--nothing."
"P'r'aps she'll take you back," said Mr. Wotton.
"Take me back?" repeated Mr. Davis. "O' course she'll take me back.
She'll have to. There's a law in the land, ain't there? What I'm
thinking of is: Can I get back my share what I ought to have 'ad for the
last twenty years?"
"Get 'er to take you back first," counselled his friend. "Thirty-five
years is along time, and p'r'aps she has lost 'er love for you. Was you
good-looking in those days?"
"Yes," snapped Mr. Davis; "I ain't altered much--. 'Sides, what about
her?"
"That ain't the question," said the other. "She's got a home and money.
It don't matter about looks; and, wot's more, she ain't bound to keep
you. If you take my advice, you won't dream of letting her know you run
away from her. Say you was cast away at sea, and when you came back
years afterwards you couldn't find her."
Mr. Davis pondered for some time in sulky silence.
"P'r'aps it would be as well," he said at last; "but I sha'n't stand no
nonsense, mind."
"If you like I'll come with you," said Mr. Wotton. "I ain't got nothing
to do. I could tell 'er I was cast away with you if you liked. Anything
to help a pal."
Mr. Davis took two inches of soiled clay pipe from his pocket and puffed
thoughtfully.
"You can come," he said at last. "If you'd only got a copper or two we
could ride; it's down Clapham way."
Mr. Wotton smiled feebly, and after going carefully through his pockets
shook his head and followed his friend outside.
"I wonder whether she'll be pleased?" he remarked, as they walked slowly
along. "She might be--women are funny creatures--so faithful. I knew
one whose husband used to knock 'er about dreadful, and after he died she
was so true to his memory she wouldn't marry again."
Mr. Davis grunted, and, with a longing eye at the omnibuses passing over
London Bridge, asked a policeman the distance to Clapham.
"Never mind," said Mr. Wotton, as his friend uttered an exclamation.
"You'll have money in your pocket soon."
Mr. Davis's face brightened. "And a watch and chain too," he said.
"And smoke your cigar of a Sunday," said Mr. Wotton, "and have a easy-
chair and a glass for a friend."
Mr. Davis almost smiled, and then, suddenly remembering his wasted twenty
years, shook his head grimly over the friendship that attached itself to
easy-chairs and glasses of ale, and said that there was plenty of it
about. More friendship than glasses of ale and easy-chairs, perhaps.
At Clapham, they inquired the way of a small boy, and, after following
the road indicated, retraced their steps, cheered by a faint but
bloodthirsty hope of meeting him again.
A friendly baker put them on the right track at last, both gentlemen
eyeing the road with a mixture of concern and delight. It was a road of
trim semi-detached villas, each with a well-kept front garden and neatly-
curtained windows. At the gate of a house with the word "Blairgowrie"
inscribed in huge gilt letters on the fanlight Mr. Davis paused for a
moment uneasily, and then, walking up the path, followed by Mr. Wotton,
knocked at the door.
He retired a step in disorder before the apparition of a maid in cap and
apron. A sharp "Not to-day!" sounded in his ears and the door closed
again. He faced his friend gasping.
"I should give her the sack first thing," said Mr. Wotton.
Mr. Davis knocked again, and again. The maid reappeared, and after
surveying them through the glass opened the door a little way and
parleyed.
"I want to see your missis," said Mr. Davis, fiercely.
"What for?" demanded the girl.
"You tell 'er," said Mr. Davis, inserting his foot just in time, "you
tell 'er that there's two gentlemen here what have brought 'er news of
her husband, and look sharp about it."
"They was cast away with 'im," said Mr. Wotton.
"On a desert island," said Mr. Davis. He pushed his way in, followed by
his friend, and a head that had been leaning over the banisters was
suddenly withdrawn. For a moment he stood irresolute in the tiny
passage, and then, with a husband's boldness, he entered the front room
and threw himself into an easy-chair. Mr. Wotton, after a scared glance
around the well-furnished room, seated himself on the extreme edge of the
most uncomfortable chair he could find and coughed nervously.
[Illustration: "You tell 'er that there's two gentlemen here what have
brought 'er news of her husband"]
"Better not be too sudden with her," he whispered. "You don't want her
to faint, or anything of that sort. Don't let 'er know who you are at
first; let her find it out for herself."
Mr. Davis, who was also suffering from the stiff grandeur of his
surroundings, nodded.
"P'r'aps you'd better start, in case she reckernizes my voice," he said,
slowly. "Pitch it in strong about me and 'ow I was always wondering what
had 'appened to her."
"You're in luck, that's wot you are," said his friend, enviously. "I've
only seen furniture like thiss in shop windows before. H'sh! Here she
comes."
He started, and both men tried to look at their ease as a stiff rustling
sounded from the | 1,697.700059 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.6854170 | 6,582 | 19 |
Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S
YOUNG PEOPLE
AN ILLUSTRATED WEEKLY.]
* * * * *
VOL. I.--NO. 12. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, January 20, 1880. Copyright, 1880, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50
per Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
Poor pussy comes at break of day,
And wakes me up to make me play;
But I am such a sleepy head,
That I'd much rather stay in bed!
OUR OWN STAR.
"As we have already," began the Professor, "had a talk about the stars
in general, let us this morning give a little attention to our own
particular star."
"Is there a star that we can call our own?" asked May, with unusual
animation. "How nice! I wonder if it can be the one I saw from our front
window last evening, that looked so bright and beautiful?"
"I am sure it was not," said the Professor, "if you saw it in the
evening."
"Is it hard to see our star, then?" she said.
"By no means," replied the Professor; "rather it is hard not to see it.
But you must be careful about looking directly at it, or your eyes will
be badly dazzled, it is so very bright. Our star is no other than the
sun. And we are right in calling it a star, because all the stars are
suns, and very likely give light and heat to worlds as large as our
earth, though they are all so far off that we can not see them. Our star
seems so much brighter and hotter than the others, only because it is so
much nearer to us than they are, though still it is some ninety-two
millions of miles away."
"How big is the sun?" asked Joe.
"You can get the clearest idea of its size by a comparison. The earth is
7920 miles in diameter, that is, as measured right through the centre.
Now suppose it to be only one inch, or about as large as a plum or a
half-grown peach; then we would have to regard the sun as three yards in
diameter, so that if it were in this room it would reach from the floor
to the ceiling."
"How do they find out the distance of the sun?" asked Joe.
"Until lately," replied the Professor, "the same method was pursued as
in surveying, that is, by measuring lines and angles. An angle, you
know, is the corner made by two lines coming together, as in the letter
V. But that method did not answer very well, as it did not make the
distance certain within several millions of miles. Quite recently
Professor Newcomb has found out a way of measuring the sun's distance by
the velocity of its light. He has invented a means of learning exactly
how fast light moves; and then, by comparing this with the time light
takes to come from the sun to us, he is able to tell how far off the sun
is. Thus, if a man knows how many miles he walks in an hour, and how
many hours it takes him to walk to a certain place, he can very easily
figure up the number of miles it is away."
"Why," said Gus, "that sounds just like what Bob Stebbins said the other
day in school. He has a big silver watch that he is mighty fond of
hauling out of his pocket before everybody. A caterpillar came crawling
through the door, and went right toward the teacher's desk at the other
end of the room. 'Now,' said Bob, 'if that fellow will only keep
straight ahead, I can tell how long the room is.' So out came the watch,
and Bob wrote down the time and how many inches the caterpillar
travelled in a minute. But just then Sally Smith came across his track
with her long dress, and swept him to Jericho. We boys all laughed out;
Sally blushed and got angry; and the teacher kept us in after school."
"Astronomers have the same kind of troubles," said the Professor. "They
incur great labor and expense to take some particular observation that
is possible only once in a number of years, and then for only a few
minutes. And after their instruments are all carefully set up, and their
calculations made, the clouds spread over the sky, and hide everything
they wish to see. People, too, are very apt to laugh at their
disappointment.
"There would, however, be no science of astronomy if those who pursued
it were discouraged by common difficulties. To explain the heavenly
bodies they sometimes try to make little systems or images of the sun
and the planets; but they are never able to show the sizes and distances
correctly. If they were to begin by making the sun one inch in diameter,
then the earth would have to be three yards off, and as small as a grain
of dust; some of the planets would have to be across the street, and
others away beyond the opposite houses. So when you look at these little
solar systems, as they are called, you must remember that the sizes and
distances are all wrong.
"Still, you can get from them some idea how the sun stands in the
middle, and the earth and other planets go round, and how the earth,
while going round the sun, keeps also turning itself around. You have
seen how a top, while spinning, sometimes runs round in a circle. That
is just the way our earth does. And if you imagine a candle in the
centre of the circle that the top makes, you will see why it is
sometimes day and sometimes night. When the side of the earth we are on
is turned toward the sun, we have day; and when we have spun past the
sun, night comes.
"The sun seems to go past us, and people used to think it really did.
But we know now that it is as if we were in a rail-car, and the trees
and houses seemed to be rushing along, when we ourselves are the ones
that are moving. The sun and all the stars seem to move through the sky
from east to west; but it is only our earth that is turning itself the
other way, and carrying us with it."
"What makes summer and winter?" asked Joe.
"I think that the top will help you to understand that too. You have
noticed that when it spins it does not always stand straight up, but
often leans over to one side. So sometimes the upper part of it would be
over toward the candle, and sometimes over away from it. The earth leans
over too in this same manner; and that is the reason why we have summer
and winter. When by this leaning our part of the earth is toward the
sun, we get more heat, and have a warm season; when we are leaning away
from the sun, and are more in the shadow, the cold weather comes, and
continues until we get into a good position to be warmed up again.
"A kind Providence brings this all around very regularly, and there is
no danger of our being kept so long in the cold that we would freeze to
death. Everything works like a clock that is never allowed to run down
or get out of order. In spinning, the earth carries us round twelve or
fifteen times as fast as the fastest railway train has ever yet been
made to run; and in making its circle round the sun, it moves as fast as
a shot from a gun."
"Oh! oh!" exclaimed the children; and Joe asked, "Why are we not all
dashed to pieces?"
"Because," said the Professor, "we do not run against anything large
enough to do any harm; and we do not realize how fast we are moving, or
that we are moving at all, because we do not pass near anything that is
standing still. You know that in riding we look at the trees and fences
by the road-side to see how rapidly we are going. The hills in the
distance do not show our speed, but seem to be following us. Unless we
look outside we can not know anything about it, excepting, perhaps, we
may guess from the noise and jostling of the vehicle. But as the earth
moves smoothly and without the least noise, we would think it stood
entirely still did not astronomers assure us of its wonderfully rapid
motion. It took them a great while to find it out. When they began to
suspect it there was a great dispute over it. Some said it moved; others
said it did not. The two parties were for a time very bitter against
each other; but now all agree in the belief of its rapid motion."
"A queer thing to quarrel about, I must say," remarked Gus. "I wouldn't
have cared a straw whether it moved or not, if I could only have been
allowed to move about on it as I pleased."
"I hope you are not getting uneasy, Gus," said Joe.
"There is evident reason," observed Jack, "to suspect that his
appreciation of the marvels of science is insufficient to preserve--"
"Oh, bother! Jack, don't give us your college stuff now, after the
Professor has told us so much. We like to hear him, of course. I do, for
one, a great deal better than I thought I should. But then a fellow
can't help getting tired."
BABY'S EYES.
When the baby's eyes are blue,
Think we of a summer day,
Violets, and dancing rills.
When the baby's eyes are gray,
Doves and dawn are brought to mind.
Brown--of gentle fawns we dream,
And ripe nuts in shady woods.
Black--of midnight skies that gleam
With bright stars. But blue or gray,
Black or brown, like flower or star,
Sweeter eyes can never be
To mamma than baby's are.
[Begun in No. 11 of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, January 13.]
LADY PRIMROSE.
BY FLETCHER READE.
CHAPTER II.
"Infinite riches in a little room."
The words of the wise old woman of Hollowbush were true, then. Here was
a place where gems were more abundant than flowers; and as the child
stood on the threshold gazing into the diminutive but wondrously
beautiful apartment that had opened so suddenly before her, she saw that
she was indeed in the presence-chamber of a king.
The walls were of pure white marble, studded with diamonds, and from the
ceiling, which she could almost touch with her hand, hung slender
chandeliers of the same material. In each of these, instead of lamps,
were innumerable sapphires, throwing a soft blue light over all the
place. In every stone a star seemed to be burning steady and clear and
wonderfully brilliant. It was the asteria, or star sapphire, which was
alone considered worthy to light even the outer courts of the king over
a country so rich in gems as this.
The child clapped her hands, and would no doubt have shouted with
delight if she had not found herself encircled by tiny men, all looking
exactly alike, and all winking and blinking at her just as the
gate-keeper had done.
Before she could speak, or even clap her hands a second time, they had
entirely surrounded her, joining hands, and wheeling round and round,
singing as they went:
"Workers are we--one, two, three--
And merry men all, as you see, as you see;
Deep under the ground,
Where jewels are found,
We work, and we sing
While we dance in a ring.
But a mortal has come to the caves below,
So, merry men all, bow low, bow low,
For our sister she'll be--one, two, three."
Three times did these strange and merry little people sing their song,
and three times did they whirl around the new-comer, thus introducing
themselves and welcoming her to their dominions.
[Illustration: "I AM THE KING OF THE MINERAL WORKERS."]
Then one of them, but whether the gate-keeper or another she could not
tell, stepped forward, and making a low bow, said. "I am the king of the
mineral-workers and the workers in stone. These are my people; but
because you are a mortal, we one and all bow before you."
At these words all the little people bowed and waved their hands. Then
the king continued:
"Henceforth you are to be known as the Princess Bebe;" and he mounted a
marble footstool that stood close by, standing on tiptoe, and placing on
the head of the new-made princess a tiny coronet of pearls. Dumb with
astonishment, the Princess Bebe listened quietly to all that was said to
her, and allowed herself to be led away by one of the little men, who
had been appointed her chamberlain.
It was now getting late, and she was glad enough to be shown to her own
room, that she might think over the many wonderful things which she had
seen.
But here were new wonder and new riches.
Instead of being covered with a carpet, the floor was laid in squares of
jasper, the windows were of pure white crystal instead of glass, and the
curtains were made of a fine net-work of gold, caught back with a double
row of amethysts.
The furniture was of gold and silver, exquisitely carved, and the quilt,
which lay in stiff folds over the bed, was a marvel of beautiful colors
that seemed to be now one thing and now another.
The Princess Bebe held her breath. "It will be like going to sleep on a
rainbow," she said to herself, for the opal bed was full of changing
colors, now red, now green, and then purple and soft rose-pink, and
then, perhaps, green again. "There was never anything so beautiful as
this!" exclaimed the princess, throwing herself down; but the next
moment she was ready to cry with vexation, for there was neither warmth
nor softness in the opal bed, and she lay awake all night, alternately
shivering and crying.
"I won't stay in this place another moment," she said, the next morning,
when the chamberlain knocked at her door.
The chamberlain bowed, and held before her a silver cup filled with
jewels. "These are a present from the king to the Princess Bebe," he
said, holding it up for her inspection.
There was first of all a diamond necklace, just what she had been
wishing for; then there were ear-rings and bracelets of lapis lazuli of
a beautiful azure color; string after string of pearls; emeralds set in
buckles for her shoes; amethysts; sapphires as blue as the sea; and last
of all a large topaz, which shone with a brilliant yellow light, as if
it had been sunshine which some one had caught and imprisoned for her.
The Princess Bebe forgot for a moment her hard bed and sleepless night,
and ran to the king to thank him for his presents.
"I am glad to find that you are pleased with your new home," said the
king, graciously. "Did the princess sleep well during the night?"
"Oh, not at all well," she answered, forgetting her errand. "And I was
very cold, besides."
"Cold? cold?" said the king, sharply. "We must see to that."
Turning to one of his attendants, who held a crystal cup on which were
engraved the arms of the royal family, he took from it a stone of a dark
orange color, and said,
"This is a jacinth, my dear princess. Whenever you are cold, you have
only to rub your hands against it, and you will feel a delicious sense
of warmth stealing through your limbs."
The princess rubbed her hands against the smooth stone as the king
suggested; but she almost immediately threw it away again, crying out
with pain.
"Oh, I don't like it at all," she exclaimed. "It pricks and hurts."
"It is nothing but the electricity," answered the king. "You will soon
get accustomed to it, and I have no doubt will be quite fond of your
electrical stove."
"I don't want to get accustomed to it," answered the princess. "I want
to go home."
Then the king's face grew dark, and his pale blue eyes winked and
blinked until they shone like two blazing lights.
"No one comes into our country to go away again," he said at length.
"You are the Princess Bebe, adopted daughter of the king of the
mineral-workers and the workers in stone, and with him you must stay for
the rest of your life."
In spite of her diamond necklace, the princess was actually crying,
although it is almost past belief that any one with a diamond necklace
could cry; but the merry little mineral-workers, seeing the tears in her
eyes, crowded around her, and tried their best to comfort her.
"Come into the garden," said one; and "Come to the gold chests," said
another, "and see the diamonds."
"Diamonds!" exclaimed the princess, angrily and ungratefully: "I hate
the very sight of them. But I would like to see the garden," she added,
more gently.
Aleck, the gate-keeper, offered to act as escort, and the princess dried
her eyes. He at least was her friend, she thought; and on the way to the
garden, being very hungry, she ventured to ask him when they were to
have breakfast.
"Breakfast!" he said. "Why, we don't have breakfasts here."
"Well, then, dinner," suggested the princess, meekly.
"Nor dinners either," replied the little man. "Why should we have
dinners?"
"But at least you have suppers," said the princess, desperately, and
feeling ready to cry again.
"What are you thinking of?" asked the gate-keeper, with an air of
surprise.
Then the princess grew angry.
"What am I thinking of?" she cried, at the top of her voice. "I am
thinking of something to eat--that's what I'm thinking of, and I'm
almost starved."
The little gate-keeper looked up, with a curious smile on his face, and
answered:
"Well, then, my dear princess, if that is what makes you unhappy, pray
don't think of it any more. No one ever eats anything here. Indeed, I
can not imagine anything more absurd."
Then, being at heart a very kind and obliging little person, he came
close to the princess, and said:
"I am sorry for you--indeed I am, but don't give way to tears. They
won't turn stones into bread. I beseech you, my dear Princess Bebe, to
look at our fruit trees and flowers. They are considered very beautiful.
I have no doubt but the sight of them will help you to bear this strange
feeling which you call hunger." Then, kissing the princess's hand, he
added: "I must leave you now and go to the gate. Amuse yourself in the
garden, my dear princess, till I return."
It was a wondrously beautiful garden, as any one could see, but somehow
the Princess Bebe did not get much comfort from it.
"Oh, if those were only real apples!" she sighed, for there were what
seemed to be apple-trees in great abundance. But the apples were of
malachite--a hard opaque stone of two shades of green--and when she
tried to taste the grapes, she found they were only purple amethysts
arranged in graceful clusters. The cherries were all of stone, instead
of having a stone in the middle; and the plums were just as bad and just
as beautiful--the cherries were deep red rubies, and the plums were made
of chrysoprase. Nothing but hard glittering gems wherever she turned her
eyes.
The poor princess seemed likely to die of starvation in spite of her
riches, but she thought she would be almost willing to endure hunger if
she could only have a rose that would smell like the sweet-brier roses
which grew in Hollowbush in her own little garden. For what she had at
first taken to be roses were, after all, nothing but pink coral
cunningly carved, the daffodils were of amber, and the forget-me-nots
were one and all made of the pale blue turquoise.
"It is very certain that I must die," said the princess, sadly, and she
covered her face with her hands, crying bitterly, and praying that if
death must come to her, it might come quickly.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
JOE AND BLINKY.
Blinky was a poor dirty little puppy whom somebody had lost, and
somebody else had stolen, and whose miserable little life was a burden
to himself until Joe found him. It happened one warm day in July that
Joe, whose bright eyes were always pretty wide open, saw a group of
youngsters eagerly clustering about an object which appeared to interest
them very much. This object squirmed, gasped, and occasionally kicked,
to the great amusement of the little crowd, who liked excitement of any
sort. Joe put his head over the shoulders of the children, and saw a
wretched little dog in the agonies of a convulsion. Now, instead of
giving him pleasure, this sight pained him grievously, as did any
suffering, and Joe pushed his way through the crowd, asking whose dog it
was. No one claimed it; and Joe was watched with great interest, and
warned most zealously, as he took the poor little creature by the nape
of its neck to the nearest pump.
"You'd better look out. He's mad. See if he isn't."
"What yer goin' to do?--kill him? My father's got a pistol; I'll run and
get it."
"No, you needn't," said Joe.
There was no pound in the town, and so the dog was worthless, and after
a while the crowd of children found something else to interest them.
Joe bathed the little dog, and rubbed it, and soothed its violent
struggles, and carried it away to a quiet corner on the steps of a house
where a great elm-tree made a refreshing shade. Here he sat a long time,
watching his little patient, and glad to find it getting quieter and
quieter, until it fell fast asleep in his arms. Joe did not move, so
pleased was he to relieve the poor little creature, whose thin flanks
revealed a long course of suffering. There were few passers in the
street, and Joe had no school duties, thanks to its being vacation, so
he was free to do as he chose. After more than an hour the poor little
dog opened its eyes, which were so dazzled by the light that Joe at once
named him Blinky, and presently a hot red little tongue was licking
Joe's big brown hand. That was enough for Joe; it was as plain a "thank
you" as he wanted, and he carried his stray charge home to share his
dinner.
From that day Joe was seldom seen without Blinky; and after many good
dinners, and plenty of sleep without terrible dreams of tins tied to his
tail, Blinky began to grow handsome, and Joe to be very proud of him.
Blinky slept under Joe's bed, woke him every morning with a sharp little
bark, as much as saying, "Wake up, lazy fellow, and have a frolic with
me," and then bounced up beside him for a game. And how he frisked when
Joe took him out! The only thing he did not enjoy was his weekly
scrubbing, and the combing with an old coarse toilet comb which
followed. But he bore it patiently for Joe's sake. Vacation came to an
end, and school began. This was as sore a trial to Blinky as to Joe, for
of course he could not be allowed in school, though he left Joe at the
door with most regretful and downcast looks, which said plainly, "This
is injustice; you and I should never be parted," and he was always
waiting when school was out.
Joe hated school; he would much rather have been chestnutting in the
woods, gay with their crimson and yellow leaves, or chasing the
squirrels with Blinky; but he knew he had to study, if ever he was to be
of any use in the world, and so he tried to forget the delights of
roaming, or the charms of Blinky's company. But when the first snow
came, how hard it was to stick at the old books! How delicious was the
frosty air, and how pure and fresh the new-fallen snow, waiting to be
made use of as Joe so well knew how!
"Duty first," said Joe to himself, as with shovel and broom he cleared
the path in the court-yard, and shovelled the kitchen steps clean. He
did it so well that his father tossed him some pennies--for he was
saving up to buy Blinky a collar--and he turned off with a light heart
for school, with Blinky at his heels.
The school-mistress had a hard time that day; all the boys were wild
with fun, one only of them not sharing the glee. This one was a little
chap whose parents had sent him up North from Georgia to his relatives,
the parents being too poor after the war to maintain their family. He
was a skinny little fellow, always shivering and snuffling, and his name
was Bob.
Now Bob wasn't a favorite. The boys liked to tease him, called him
"Little Reb," and he in turn disliked them, and was ever ready to report
their mischievous pranks to the teacher. If there was anything pleasant
about the boy, no one knew it, because no one took the trouble to find
out. Bob did not relish the snow; he was pinched and blue, and whenever
he had the chance was huddling up against the stove; besides, he liked
to read, and would rather have staid in all day with a book of fairy
tales than shared the gayest romp they could have suggested. This
afternoon Joe had made so many mistakes in his arithmetic examples that
he was obliged to stay late, and do them over; but he was sorely
annoyed and tempted at hearing the shouts and cries of joy with which
the boys saluted each other as they escaped from the school-room, and he
spoke very crossly when a little voice at his elbow said,
"Please may I go home with you?"
"No," said Joe.
"Ah, please!"
Joe turned, and saw that it was Bob. This provoked him still more. "I
said _no_, 'tell-tale.' What do I want to be bothered with you?"
Bob turned away, disappointed. Joe kept on at his lesson; it was very
perplexing, and he was out of humor. Besides, the fun outside was
increasing; he could hear the roars of laughter, the whiz of the flying
snow-balls, and the gleeful crows of the conquering heroes. He was the
only one in the school-room. Presently there was a hush, a sort of
premonitory symptom of more mischief brewing outside, which provoked his
curiosity to the utmost.
"Five times ten, divided by three, and-- Oh, I can't stand this," said
Joe, as he gave a push to his slate, and ran to the window.
The boys had gone off to the farthest corner of the vacant lot on which
the school-house stood, and by the appearance of things were preparing
to have an animated game of foot-ball; but by the gestures and general
drift of motions Joe saw, to his horror, that poor little Bob was
evidently to be the victim. Already they were rolling him in the snow,
and cuffing him about as if he were made of India rubber, and deserved
no better treatment.
Joe's conscience woke up in a minute, for he knew that if he had allowed
Bob to wait for him as he had wanted to do, the boys would not have
dared to touch him, and he felt ashamed of his unkindness and ill humor
as he saw the results.
The child was getting fearfully maltreated, as Joe saw, not merely on
account of their dislike for him, but because in their gambols the boys
were lost to all sense of the cruelty they were practicing, and they
tossed him about regardless of the fact that his bones could be broken
or his sinews snapped.
Cramming his books in his bag, and snatching up his cap, Joe dashed out
of the door. Blinky was ready for him, and did not know what all this
haste meant, but dashed after his master, as in duty bound.
"I say, fellers, stop that!" he shouted, repeating the "stop that!" as
loud as his lungs could make the exertion. The din was so great that it
was some moments before they heard him, but Blinky barked at their
heels, and helped to arrest their attention.
"Stop! what shall we stop for?" asked one of the bigger and rougher
ones.
"You are doing a mean, hateful thing--that's why."
"Oho! that's because you haven't a share in it," was the sneering reply.
"If you'll stop, I'll run the gauntlet for you," said Joe. There was a
pause. Perhaps that would be better than foot-ball; besides, Joe never
got mad, and little Bob was crying hard. "Let Bob go home, fair and
square, and I'll run," repeated Joe.
"All right," they shouted. "Come on, then."
[Illustration: "FIRE AWAY!"]
Joe helped to uncover Bob, shook the snow off his clothes, wiped his
eyes with the cuff of his coat, and sent him on | 1,697.705457 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.7825440 | 805 | 18 |
Produced by Annie McGuire
[Illustration: Book Cover]
[Illustration: "ARE YOU AFRAID OF YOURSELF?"
_Frontispiece. Page 233_.]
JOHN MARSH'S MILLIONS
A NOVEL
By
CHARLES KLEIN
AND
ARTHUR HORNBLOW
Authors of the Novel "The Lion and the Mouse,"
"The Third Degree," etc.
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATIONS BY
SAMUEL CAHAN
* * * * *
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT 1910, BY
G. W. DILLINGHAM COMPANY
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I 7
II 23
III 36
IV 50
V 63
VI 80
VII 95
VIII 112
IX 130
X 148
XI 161
XII 179
XIII 198
XIV 214
XV 229
XVI 252
XVII 268
XVIII 286
XIX 306
XX 328
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
"Are you afraid of yourself?" Frontispiece 233
"That's not John Marsh's will" 78
The agonized scream of a mother robbed of her young 175
Paula left the asylum office accompanied by the nurse 300
CHAPTER I.
When John Marsh, the steel man, died, there was considerable stir in the
inner circles of New York society. And no wonder. The wealthy
ironmaster's unexpected demise certainly created a most awkward
situation. It meant nothing less than the social rehabilitation of a
certain individual who, up to this time, had been openly snubbed, not to
say deliberately "cut" by everybody in town. In other words, Society was
compelled, figuratively speaking, to go through the humiliating and
distasteful performance of eating crow. Circumstances alter cases. While
the smart set was fully justified in making a brave show of virtuous
indignation when one of its members so far forgot himself as to get
kicked out of his club, it was only natural that the offending
gentleman's peccadilloes were to be regarded in a more indulgent light
when he suddenly fell heir to one of the biggest fortunes in the
country.
It was too bad about "Jimmy" Marsh. His reputation was unsavory and he
deserved all of it. Total lack of moral principle combined with an
indolent, shiftless disposition had given him a distorted outlook on
things. All his life he had been good for nothing, and at the age of
forty he found himself a nuisance to himself and everybody else. Yet he
was not without a natural cunning which sometimes passed for smartness,
but he often overreached himself and committed blunders of which a
clever man would never be guilty. To put it plainly, Jimmy was crooked.
Fond of a style of living which he was not able to afford and desperate
for funds with which to gratify his expensive tastes, he had foolishly
attempted to cheat at cards. His notions of honor and common decency had
always been nebulous, and when one night, in a friendly game, he
clumsily tried to deal himself an ace from the bottom of the deck, not
even the fact that he was the brother and sole heir of one of the
richest men in the United States could save him from ignominious
expulsion | 1,697.802584 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.7868240 | 2,184 | 9 |
ON THE DECAY OF THE ART OF LYING
by Mark Twain [Sameul Clemens]
ESSAY, FOR DISCUSSION, READ AT A MEETING OF THE HISTORICAL
AND ANTIQUARIAN CLUB OF HARTFORD, AND OFFERED FOR THE
THIRTY-DOLLAR PRIZE.[*]
[*] Did not take the prize.
Observe, I do not mean to suggest that the _custom_ of lying has
suffered any decay or interruption--no, for the Lie, as a Virtue, A
Principle, is eternal; the Lie, as a recreation, a solace, a refuge in
time of need, the fourth Grace, the tenth Muse, man's best and surest
friend, is immortal, and cannot perish from the earth while this club
remains. My complaint simply concerns the decay of the _art_ of lying.
No high-minded man, no man of right feeling, can contemplate the
lumbering and slovenly lying of the present day without grieving to see
a noble art so prostituted. In this veteran presence I naturally enter
upon this theme with diffidence; it is like an old maid trying to teach
nursery matters to the mothers in Israel. It would not become to me to
criticise you, gentlemen--who are nearly all my elders--and my
superiors, in this thing--if I should here and there _seem_ to do it, I
trust it will in most cases be more in a spirit of admiration than
fault-finding; indeed if this finest of the fine arts had everywhere
received the attention, the encouragement, and conscientious practice
and development which this club has devoted to it, I should not need to
utter this lament, or shed a single tear. I do not say this to flatter:
I say it in a spirit of just and appreciative recognition. [It had been
my intention, at this point, to mention names and to give illustrative
specimens, but indications observable about me admonished me to beware
of the particulars and confine myself to generalities.]
No fact is more firmly established than that lying is a necessity of our
circumstances--the deduction that it is then a Virtue goes without
saying. No virtue can reach its highest usefulness without careful and
diligent cultivation--therefore, it goes without saying that this one
ought to be taught in the public schools--even in the newspapers. What
chance has the ignorant uncultivated liar against the educated expert?
What chance have I against Mr. Per--against a lawyer? _Judicious_ lying
is what the world needs. I sometimes think it were even better and safer
not to lie at all than to lie injudiciously. An awkward, unscientific
lie is often as ineffectual as the truth.
Now let us see what the philosophers say. Note that venerable proverb:
Children and fools _always_ speak the truth. The deduction is plain
--adults and wise persons _never_ speak it. Parkman, the historian, says,
"The principle of truth may itself be carried into an absurdity." In
another place in the same chapters he says, "The saying is old that
truth should not be spoken at all times; and those whom a sick
conscience worries into habitual violation of the maxim are imbeciles
and nuisances." It is strong language, but true. None of us could _live_
with an habitual truth-teller; but thank goodness none of us has to. An
habitual truth-teller is simply an impossible creature; he does not
exist; he never has existed. Of course there are people who _think_ they
never lie, but it is not so--and this ignorance is one of the very
things that shame our so-called civilization. Everybody lies--every day;
every hour; awake; asleep; in his dreams; in his joy; in his mourning;
if he keeps his tongue still, his hands, his feet, his eyes, his
attitude, will convey deception--and purposely. Even in sermons--but
that is a platitude.
In a far country where I once lived the ladies used to go around paying
calls, under the humane and kindly pretence of wanting to see each
other; and when they returned home, they would cry out with a glad
voice, saying, "We made sixteen calls and found fourteen of them out"
--not meaning that they found out anything important against the
fourteen--no, that was only a colloquial phrase to signify that they
were not at home--and their manner of saying it expressed their lively
satisfaction in that fact. Now their pretence of wanting to see the
fourteen--and the other two whom they had been less lucky with--was that
commonest and mildest form of lying which is sufficiently described as a
deflection from the truth. Is it justifiable? Most certainly. It is
beautiful, it is noble; for its object is, _not_ to reap profit, but to
convey a pleasure to the sixteen. The iron-souled truth-monger would
plainly manifest, or even utter the fact that he didn't want to see
those people--and he would be an ass, and inflict totally unnecessary
pain. And next, those ladies in that far country--but never mind, they
had a thousand pleasant ways of lying, that grew out of gentle impulses,
and were a credit to their intelligence and an honor to their hearts.
Let the particulars go.
The men in that far country were liars, every one. Their mere howdy-do
was a lie, because _they_ didn't care how you did, except they were
undertakers. To the ordinary inquirer you lied in return; for you made
no conscientious diagnostic of your case, but answered at random, and
usually missed it considerably. You lied to the undertaker, and said
your health was failing--a wholly commendable lie, since it cost you
nothing and pleased the other man. If a stranger called and interrupted
you, you said with your hearty tongue, "I'm glad to see you," and said
with your heartier soul, "I wish you were with the cannibals and it was
dinner-time." When he went, you said regretfully, "_Must_ you go?" and
followed it with a "Call again;" but you did no harm, for you did not
deceive anybody nor inflict any hurt, whereas the truth would have made
you both unhappy.
I think that all this courteous lying is a sweet and loving art, and
should be cultivated. The highest perfection of politeness is only a
beautiful edifice, built, from the base to the dome, of graceful and
gilded forms of charitable and unselfish lying.
What I bemoan is the growing prevalence of the brutal truth. Let us do
what we can to eradicate it. An injurious truth has no merit over an
injurious lie. Neither should ever be uttered. The man who speaks an
injurious truth lest his soul be not saved if he do otherwise, should
reflect that that sort of a soul is not strictly worth saving. The man
who tells a lie to help a poor devil out of trouble, is one of whom the
angels doubtless say, "Lo, here is an heroic soul who casts his own
welfare in jeopardy to succor his neighbor's; let us exalt this
magnanimous liar."
An injurious lie is an uncommendable thing; and so, also, and in the
same degree, is an injurious truth--a fact that is recognized by the law
of libel.
Among other common lies, we have the _silent_ lie--the deception which
one conveys by simply keeping still and concealing the truth. Many
obstinate truth-mongers indulge in this dissipation, imagining that if
they _speak_ no lie, they lie not at all. In that far country where I
once lived, there was a lovely spirit, a lady whose impulses were always
high and pure, and whose character answered to them. One day I was there
at dinner, and remarked, in a general way, that we are all liars. She
was amazed, and said, "Not _all_?" It was before "Pinafore's" time so I
did not make the response which would naturally follow in our day, but
frankly said, "Yes, _all_--we are all liars. There are no exceptions."
She looked almost offended, "Why, do you include _me_?" "Certainly," I
said. "I think you even rank as an expert." She said "Sh-'sh! the
children!" So the subject was changed in deference to the children's
presence, and we went on talking about other things. But as soon as the
young people were out of the way, the lady came warmly back to the
matter and said, "I have made a rule of my life to never tell a lie; and
I have never departed from it in a single instance." I said, "I don't
mean the least harm or disrespect, but really you have been lying like
smoke ever since I've been sitting here. It has caused me a good deal of
pain, because I'm not used to it." She required of me an instance--just
a single instance. So I said--
"Well, here is the unfilled duplicate of the blank, which the Oakland
hospital people sent to you by the hand of the sick-nurse when she came
here to nurse your little nephew through his dangerous illness. This
blank asks all manners of questions as to the conduct of that
sick-nurse: 'Did she ever sleep on her watch? Did she ever forget to
give the medicine?' and so forth and so on. You are warned to be very
careful and explicit in your answers, for the welfare of the service
requires that the nurses be promptly fined or otherwise punished for
derelictions. You told me you were perfectly delighted with this nurse
--that she had a thousand perfections and only one fault: you found you
never could depend on her wrapping Johnny up half sufficiently while he | 1,697.806864 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.7881320 | 2,167 | 8 |
Produced by Chuck Greif, deaurider and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: CALLE DEL PISTOR]
LITERARY LANDMARKS
OF
VENICE
BY
LAURENCE HUTTON
AUTHOR OF “LITERARY LANDMARKS OF LONDON”
“LITERARY LANDMARKS OF EDINBURGH”
“LITERARY LANDMARKS OF JERUSALEM”
ILLUSTRATED
[Illustration: colophon]
NEW YORK
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
1896
Copyright, 1896, by HARPER & BROTHERS.
_All rights reserved._
TO
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS
WHOSE VENETIAN LIFE
MADE HAPPY
MY LIFE IN VENICE
ILLUSTRATIONS
CALLE DEL PISTOR _Frontispiece_
ORNAMENTAL HALF-TITLE _Facing page_ xii
THE COUNCIL CHAMBER OF THE DOGES.
IN OTHELLO’S TIME “ “ 6
THE OTHELLO HOUSE “ “ 10
PETRARCH AND LAURA _Page_ 16
THE HOUSE OF PETRARCH _Facing page_ 20
A CHARACTERISTIC CANAL “ “ 26
BYRON’S PALACE “ “ 30
THE RIALTO BRIDGE. AS SHYLOCK KNEW IT “ “ 32
ENTRANCE TO THE MERCERIA “ “ 34
CASA FALIER, WHERE MR. HOWELLS LIVED “ “ 40
GOLDONI’S STAIRCASE “ “ 42
GOLDONI’S STATUE “ “ 44
BYRON’S STUDY IN THE ARMENIAN MONASTERY “ “ 48
THE “NOAH CORNER” OF THE DOGE’S PALACE “ “ 56
THE HOUSE IN WHICH BROWNING DIED “ “ 60
INTRODUCTION
In a chapter upon “Literary Residences,” among _The Curiosities of
Literature_, Isaac D’Israeli said: “No foreigners, men of letters,
lovers of the arts, or even princes, would pass through Antwerp without
visiting the House of Rubens, to witness the animated residence of
genius, and the great man who conceived the idea.” This volume is
intended to be a record of the Animated Residences of Genius which are
still existing in Venice; and it is written for the foreigners, for the
Men of Letters, for the lovers of art, and even for the princes who pass
through the town, and who care to make such houses a visit.
It is the result of many weeks of patient but pleasant study of Venice
itself. Everything here set down has been verified by personal
observation, and is based upon the reading of scores of works of travel
and biography. It is the Venice I know in the real life of the present
and in the literature of the past; and to me it is Venice from its best
and most interesting side.
The Queen of the Adriatic is peculiarly poor in local guide-books and in
local maps. In the former are to be found but slight reference to that
part of Venice which is most dear to the lovers of bookmen and to the
lovers of books; and the latter contain the names of none but the larger
of the squares, streets, and canals, leaving, in many instances, the
searcher after the smaller thoroughfares entirely afloat in the
Adriatic, with no compass by which to steer.
The stranger in Venice, accustomed to the nomenclature of the streets
and the avenues, the alleys and the courts, of the cities and towns with
which he is familiar in other parts of the world, may be interested to
learn that here a large canal is called a _Rio_, or a _Canale_; that a
_Calle_ is a street open at both ends; that a _Rio Terrà_ is a street
which was once a canal; that a _Ramo_ is a small, narrow street,
branching out of a larger one; that a _Salizzada_ is a wide, paved
street; that a _Ruga_ is just a street; that a _Rughetta_, or a
_Piscina_, is a little street; that a _Riva_ is a narrow footway along
the bank of a canal; that a _Fondamenta_ is a longer and a broader
passage-way, a quay, or an embankment; that a _Corte_ is a court-yard;
that a _Sottoportico_ is an entrance into a court, through, or under, a
house--that which in Edinburgh is called a _Pend_, and in Paris a
_Cité_; that a large square is a _Piazza_; that a small square is a
_Piazzetta_, or a _Campo_; that a small campo is a _Campiello_; that a
plain, commonplace house is a _Casa_; that a mansion is a _Palazzo_;
that an island is an _Isola_; that a bridge is a _Ponte_; that a tower
is a _Campanile_; that a ferry is a _Traghetto_; that a parish is a
_Parrochia_; and that a district is a _Contrada_, or a _Sistiere_.
Armed with this information, the readers must do the rest for
themselves.
To Mrs. Clara Erskine Clement, to Miss Henrietta Macy, to Mrs. Walter F.
Brown, to Mr. Charles Dudley Warner, to Dr. Alexander Robertson, to Mr.
William Logsdail, I owe my thanks for much valuable information given me
while I was enlarging, elaborating, and revising the article, printed in
_Harper’s Magazine_ for July, 1896, upon which this volume is based.
LAURENCE HUTTON.
Casa Frolo,
50 Giudecca.
LITERARY LANDMARKS OF VENICE
[Illustration: Title page, LITERARY LANDMARKS OF VENICE]
LITERARY LANDMARKS OF VENICE
It is almost impossible for any one who is at all familiar with the
voluminous amount of literature relating to the history and to the art
of Venice, to refrain from quoting, voluntarily or involuntarily, what
he has read and absorbed concerning “the dangerous and sweet-charmed
town,” which Ruskin calls a golden city paved with emerald, and which
Goethe said is a city which can only be compared with itself.
Comparisons in Venice are certainly as odorous as are some of its
canals, while many of its streets are not only paved with emerald, but
are frescoed now with glaring End-of-the-Nineteenth-Century
advertisements of dentifrice and sewing-machines.
That which first strikes the observant stranger in Venice, to-day, is
the fact that the Venetians have absolutely and entirely lost their grip
upon the beautiful. Nothing on earth can be finer than the art of its
glory; nothing in the world can be viler than the so-called art of its
decadence. That the descendants of the men who decorated the palaces of
five or six hundred years ago could have conceived, or endured, the
wall-papers, the stair-carpets, and the hat-racks in the Venetian hotels
of the present, is beyond belief. Whatever is old is magnificent, from
the madonnas of Gian Bellini to the window of the Cicogna Palace on the
Fondamenta Briati. Whatever is new is ugly, from the railway-station at
one end of the Grand Canal to the gas-house at the other. And the iron
bridges, and the steamboats, and the drop-curtain in the Malibran
Theatre are the worst of all.
When the English-speaking and the English-reading visitors in Venice,
for whom this volume is written, overcome the feeling that they are
predestined to fall into one of the canals before they leave the city;
when they become accustomed to being driven about in a hearse-shaped,
one-manned row-boat; when they have been shown all the traditional
sights, have bought the regulation old brass and old glass, have learned
to draw smoke out of the long, thin, black, rat-tailed straw-covering
things the Venetians call cigars--when they have seen and have done all
these, they will find themselves much more interested in the house in
which Byron lived, and in the perfectly restored palace in which
Browning died, than in the half-ruined, wholly decayed mansions of all
the Doges who were ever Lord Mayors of Venice. The guide-books tell us
where Faliero plotted and where Foscari fell, where Desdemona suffered
and where Shylock traded; but they give us no hint as to where Sir
Walter Scott lodged or where Rogers breakfasted, or what was done here
by the many English-speaking Men of Letters who have made Venice known
to us, and properly understood. Upon these chiefly it is my purpose here
to dwell.
Venice, with all her literature, has brought forth but few literary men
of her own. There are but few poets among her legitimate sons, and few
were the poets she adopted. The early annalists and the later historians
were almost the only writers of importance who were entitled to call her
mother; and to most of these she has been, though kindly, little more
than a step-mother or a mother-in-law.
Shakspere, who wrote much about Venice, and who probably never saw it,
remarked once that all the world’s a stage. Venice, | 1,697.808172 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.8777010 | 2,770 | 10 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Zibeline, by Phillipe de Massa, v3
#20 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy
#3 in our series by Phillipe de Massa
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You | 1,697.897741 |
2023-11-16 18:45:21.8820490 | 1,003 | 6 |
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)
NATURE MYTHS
AND
STORIES
FOR
LITTLE CHILDREN
by
FLORA J. COOKE
Chicago.
_A. Flanagan, Publisher._
NATURE MYTHS
AND
STORIES
FOR LITTLE CHILDREN
BY
FLORA J. COOKE
of the
Cook County Normal School
Chicago
REVISED EDITION
CHICAGO
A. FLANAGAN, PUBLISHER.
COPYRIGHT 1895
BY FLORA J. COOKE.
PREFACE.
Feeling the great need of stories founded upon good literature, which
are within the comprehension of little children, I have written the
following stories, hoping that they may suggest to primary teachers the
great wealth of material within our reach. Many teachers, who firmly
believe that reading should be something more than mere _word-getting_
while the child's _reading habit_ is forming, are practically helpless
without the use of a printing press. We will all agree that myths and
fables are usually beautiful truths clothed in fancy, and the dress is
almost always simple and transparent.
Who can study these myths and not feel that nature has a new language
for him, and that though the tales may be thousands of years old, they
are quite as true as they were in the days of Homer. If the trees and
the flowers, the clouds and the wind, all tell wonderful stories to the
child he has sources of happiness of which no power can deprive him.
And when we consider that here, too, is the key which unlocks so much of
the best in art and literature, we feel that we cannot rank too highly
the importance of the myth in the primary schoolroom.
For instance the child has been observing, reading, and writing about
the sun, the moon, the direction of the wind, the trees, the flowers, or
the forces that are acting around him. He has had the songs, poems, and
pictures connected with these lessons to further enhance his thought,
interest, and observation.
He is now given a beautiful myth. He is not expected to interpret it. It
is presented for the same purpose that a good picture is placed before
him. He feels its beauty, but does not analyze it.
If, through his observation or something in his experience, he _does see
a meaning_ in the story he has entered a new world of life and beauty.
Then comes the question to every thoughtful teacher, "Can the repetition
of words necessary to the growth of the child's vocabulary be obtained
in this way?"
This may be accomplished if the teacher in planning her year's work,
sees a close relation between the science, literature, and number work,
so that the same words are always recurring, and the interest in each
line of work is constant and ever increasing.
The following stories are suggested in the standard books of mythology
and poetry, and have been tested and found to be very helpful in the
first and third grades. A full list of myths, history stories and fairy
tales for the children in the different grades can be found in Emily J.
Rice's Course of Study in History and Literature, which can be obtained
of A. Flanagan, No. 262 Wabash avenue, Chicago.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
ANIMAL STORIES:--
Donkey and the Salt } 59
Fox and the Stork } _Adapted from AEesop_ 91
Grateful Foxes 43
_Adapted from Edwin Arnold's Poem. Permission of
Chas. Scribners' Sons._
How the Spark of Fire Was Saved 79
_Adapted from John Vance Cheney's Poem._
How the Chipmunk Got the Stripes on Its Back 89
_Adapted from Edwin Arnold's Poem._
An Indian Story of the Mole 77
BIRD STORIES:--
An Indian Story of the Robin 26
_Adapted from Whittier's Poem, "How the Robin Came."_
How the Robin's Breast Became Red 24
The Red-headed Woodpecker 29
_Adapted from Phoebe Cary's Poem._
CLOUD STORIES:--
Palace of Alkinoos 36
_Adapted from the Odyssey._
Swan Maidens 54
FLOWER STORIES:--
Clytie 9
Golden-rod | 1,697.902089 |
2023-11-16 18:45:22.3889400 | 92 | 13 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration:
_To the_
LOVERS OF HOME
_THIS_
Little Manual
OF
AMUSING PHENOMENA
FOR
Family Recreation
IS
| 1,698.40898 |
2023-11-16 18:45:22.4844860 | 2,167 | 8 |
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
| 1,698.504526 |
2023-11-16 18:45:22.4881830 | 915 | 15 |
Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Web Archive
https://ia800506.us.archive.org
THE GIRL FROM MALTA
BY FERGUS HUME.
AUTHOR OF
"_THE MYSTERY OF A HANSOM CAB_,"
AND "_MADAME MIDAS_."
TORONTO:
THE NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY
=======================================================
Entered according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada in the Office
of the Minister of Agriculture by the NATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY,
Toronto, in the year one thousand eight hundred and eighty-nine.
========================================================
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER.
I. A RUINED LIFE
II. IN THE STRADA REALE
III. FOUND DEAD
IV. THE NEW PASSENGERS
V. A DAY AT "GIB"
VI. MRS. PELLYPOP TALKS
VII. THE END OF THE VOYAGE
VIII. COUNSEL'S OPINION
IX. VERSCHOYLE _v_. VERSCHOYLE and MACGREGOR
X. A CONFERENCE OF THREE
XI. AN ARTISTIC EVENING
XII. THE MISSING LINK
XIII. THE APPLE OF DISCORD
XIV. A LETTER FROM MALTA
XV. MARCHESE MATTEO VASSALLA
XVI. CARMELA IS QUESTIONED
XVII. MAN AGAINST WOMAN
XVIII. THE SECRETS OF THE PENNY POST
XIX. WOMAN AGAINST MAN
XX. JULIAN ROPER REPORTS
XXI. AT MARLOW REGATTA
XXII. THE TESTIMONY OF THE DAGGER
XXIII. A LOOK INTO THE PAST
XXIV. MRS. VERSCHOYLE PAYS A VISIT
XXV. GUILTY OR NOT GUILTY
XXVI. CARMELA SAYS "YES"
XXVII. EXIT MRS. VERSCHOYLE
XXVIII. A SCRAP OF PAPER
THE GIRL FROM MALTA.
CHAPTER I.
A RUINED LIFE.
It was a calm southern night, with a silver moon shining serenely in a
cloudless sky, and over the glittering expanse of ocean steamed the P.
and O.'s vessel "Neptune" on her way from Brindisi to Malta. Every
revolution of her powerful engines sent her plunging through the blue
waters, with the waves breaking in tumbling masses of white foam from
her towering sides. The passengers, numbering about three hundred,
were all in high spirits, having had a most delightful voyage from
Australia, and were looking forward, with pleasure, to their arrival
at Valletta on the morrow.
Can there be anything in the world more pleasant than sea life on a
steamship with jolly people? Anyone, who is a good sailor, will answer
"No," though perhaps Ulysses, who travelled over these same waters,
might not agree, but then the wandering Greek had not a P. and O.
steamer at his command.
On this charming night a dance was in progress on the hurricane deck,
and the immense area had been draped with brilliantly flags,
thus turning it into an admirable ball-room. Miss Kate Lester, the
belle of the ship,--a position she knew she occupied, and, by the way
took full advantage of all benefits to be derived therefrom,--was the
pianist, and was playing the "Venetia Valse," to which a number of
young people were dancing. The white dresses of the ladies, the darker
costumes of the men, and the vivid tints of the flags, all seen under
the powerful radiance of the electric lights, made up a very pretty
picture.
Ronald Monteith thought so, at all events--and Mr. Monteith was a very
good judge of beauty, especially if it were feminine. He leaned lazily
against the bulwarks and surveyed the festive scene with a smile on
his handsome face, but--Joseph like--took no notice of the many
glances he received from bright eyes. | 1,698.508223 |
2023-11-16 18:45:22.5816330 | 807 | 12 |
Transcribed from the 1911 Thomas Nelson and Sons edition by David Price,
email [email protected]
ADVENTURE
"We are those fools who could not rest
In the dull earth we left behind,
But burned with passion for the West,
And drank strange frenzy from its wind.
The world where wise men live at ease
Fades from our unregretful eyes,
And blind across uncharted seas
We stagger on our enterprise."
"THE SHIP OF FOOLS."
CHAPTER I--SOMETHING TO BE DONE
He was a very sick white man. He rode pick-a-back on a woolly-headed,
black-skinned savage, the lobes of whose ears had been pierced and
stretched until one had torn out, while the other carried a circular
block of carved wood three inches in diameter. The torn ear had been
pierced again, but this time not so ambitiously, for the hole
accommodated no more than a short clay pipe. The man-horse was greasy
and dirty, and naked save for an exceedingly narrow and dirty loin-cloth;
but the white man clung to him closely and desperately. At times, from
weakness, his head drooped and rested on the woolly pate. At other times
he lifted his head and stared with swimming eyes at the cocoanut palms
that reeled and swung in the shimmering heat. He was clad in a thin
undershirt and a strip of cotton cloth, that wrapped about his waist and
descended to his knees. On his head was a battered Stetson, known to the
trade as a Baden-Powell. About his middle was strapped a belt, which
carried a large-calibred automatic pistol and several spare clips, loaded
and ready for quick work.
The rear was brought up by a black boy of fourteen or fifteen, who
carried medicine bottles, a pail of hot water, and various other hospital
appurtenances. They passed out of the compound through a small wicker
gate, and went on under the blazing sun, winding about among new-planted
cocoanuts that threw no shade. There was not a breath of wind, and the
superheated, stagnant air was heavy with pestilence. From the direction
they were going arose a wild clamour, as of lost souls wailing and of men
in torment. A long, low shed showed ahead, grass-walled and
grass-thatched, and it was from here that the noise proceeded. There
were shrieks and screams, some unmistakably of grief, others unmistakably
of unendurable pain. As the white man drew closer he could hear a low
and continuous moaning and groaning. He shuddered at the thought of
entering, and for a moment was quite certain that he was going to faint.
For that most dreaded of Solomon Island scourges, dysentery, had struck
Berande plantation, and he was all alone to cope with it. Also, he was
afflicted himself.
By stooping close, still on man-back, he managed to pass through the low
doorway. He took a small bottle from his follower, and sniffed strong
ammonia to clear his senses for the ordeal. Then he shouted, "Shut up!"
and the clamour stilled. A raised platform of forest slabs, six feet
wide, with a slight pitch, extended the full length of the shed.
Alongside of it was a yard-wide run-way. Stretched on the platform, side
by side and crowded close, lay a score of blacks. That they were low in
the order of human life was apparent | 1,698.601673 |
2023-11-16 18:45:22.5838170 | 2,168 | 7 |
Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
Volume II.
Part 19.
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
CONTENTS
Part II.
CHAPTER I
OF THE INTERVIEW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE
ABOUT HIS MALADY
CHAPTER II
WHICH TREATS OF THE NOTABLE ALTERCATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HAD
WITH DON QUIXOTE'S NIECE, AND HOUSEKEEPER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER DROLL
MATTERS
CHAPTER III
OF THE LAUGHABLE CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE,
SANCHO PANZA, AND THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO
CHAPTER IV
IN WHICH SANCHO PANZA GIVES A SATISFACTORY REPLY TO THE DOUBTS AND
QUESTIONS OF THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS
WORTH KNOWING AND TELLING
CHAPTER V
OF THE SHREWD AND DROLL CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN SANCHO
PANZA AND HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA, AND OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF BEING
DULY RECORDED
CHAPTER VI
OF WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS NIECE AND
HOUSEKEEPER; ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTERS IN THE WHOLE HISTORY
CHAPTER VII
OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH
OTHER VERY NOTABLE INCIDENTS
CHAPTER VIII
WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE ON HIS WAY TO SEE HIS
LADY DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO
CHAPTER IX
WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT WILL BE SEEN THERE
CHAPTER X
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE CRAFTY DEVICE SANCHO ADOPTED TO ENCHANT THE
LADY DULCINEA, AND OTHER INCIDENTS AS LUDICROUS AS THEY ARE TRUE
CHAPTER XI
OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH
THE CAR OR CART OF "THE CORTES OF DEATH"
CHAPTER XII
OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE WITH
THE BOLD KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS
CHAPTER XIII
IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE,
TOGETHER WITH THE SENSIBLE, ORIGINAL, AND TRANQUIL COLLOQUY THAT
PASSED BETWEEN THE TWO SQUIRES
CHAPTER XIV
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE
CHAPTER XV
WHEREIN IT IS TOLD AND KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS AND HIS
SQUIRE WERE
CHAPTER XVI
OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH A DISCREET GENTLEMAN OF LA MANCHA
CHAPTER XVII
WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE FURTHEST AND HIGHEST POINT WHICH THE UNEXAMPLED
COURAGE OF DON QUIXOTE REACHED OR COULD REACH; TOGETHER WITH THE
HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS
CHAPTER XVIII
OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE OR HOUSE OF THE KNIGHT OF
THE GREEN GABAN, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS OUT OF THE COMMON
CHAPTER XIX
IN WHICH IS RELATED THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER TRULY DROLL INCIDENTS
CHAPTER XX
WHEREIN AN ACCOUNT IS GIVEN OF THE WEDDING OF CAMACHO THE RICH,
TOGETHER WITH THE INCIDENT OF BASILIO THE POOR
CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH CAMACHO'S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL INCIDENTS
CHAPTER XXII
WHERIN IS RELATED THE GRAND ADVENTURE OF THE CAVE OF MONTESINOS IN
THE HEART OF LA MANCHA, WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE BROUGHT TO A
HAPPY TERMINATION
CHAPTER XXIII
OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THE INCOMPARABLE DON QUIXOTE SAID HE SAW
IN THE PROFOUND CAVE OF MONTESINOS, THE IMPOSSIBILITY AND MAGNITUDE OF
WHICH CAUSE THIS ADVENTURE TO BE DEEMED APOCRYPHAL
CHAPTER XXIV
WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS TRIVIAL AS
THEY ARE NECESSARY TO THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING OF THIS GREAT HISTORY
CHAPTER XXV
WHEREIN IS SET DOWN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, AND THE DROLL ONE OF
THE PUPPET-SHOWMAN, TOGETHER WITH THE MEMORABLE DIVINATIONS OF THE
DIVINING APE
CHAPTER XXVI
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE DROLL ADVENTURE OF THE PUPPET-SHOWMAN,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS IN TRUTH RIGHT GOOD
CHAPTER XXVII
WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN WHO MASTER PEDRO AND HIS APE WERE, TOGETHER WITH
THE MISHAP DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, WHICH HE DID
NOT CONCLUDE AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED OR AS HE HAD EXPECTED
CHAPTER XXVIII
OF MATTERS THAT BENENGELI SAYS HE WHO READS THEM WILL KNOW, IF HE
READS THEM WITH ATTENTION
CHAPTER XXIX
OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK
CHAPTER XXX
OF DON QUIXOTE'S ADVENTURE WITH A FAIR HUNTRESS
CHAPTER XXXI
WHICH TREATS OF MANY AND GREAT MATTERS
CHAPTER XXXII
OF THE REPLY DON QUIXOTE GAVE HIS CENSURER, WITH OTHER INCIDENTS,
GRAVE AND DROLL
CHAPTER XXXIII
OF THE DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE DUCHESS AND HER DAMSELS HELD
WITH SANCHO PANZA, WELL WORTH READING AND NOTING
CHAPTER XXXIV
WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN WHICH THEY WERE TO
DISENCHANT THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE
RAREST ADVENTURES IN THIS BOOK
CHAPTER XXXV
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON QUIXOTE TOUCHING
THE DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS
CHAPTER XXXVI
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE
DISTRESSED DUENNA, ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI, TOGETHER WITH A LETTER
WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA
CHAPTER XXXVII
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE DISTRESSED DUENNA
CHAPTER XXXVIII
WHEREIN IS TOLD THE DISTRESSED DUENNA'S TALE OF HER MISFORTUNES
CHAPTER XXXIX
IN WHICH THE TRIFALDI CONTINUES HER MARVELLOUS AND MEMORABLE STORY
CHAPTER XL
OF MATTERS RELATING AND BELONGING TO THIS ADVENTURE AND TO THIS
MEMORABLE HISTORY
CHAPTER XLI
OF THE ARRIVAL OF CLAVILENO AND THE END OF THIS PROTRACTED ADVENTURE
CHAPTER XLII
OF THE COUNSELS WHICH DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA BEFORE HE SET
OUT TO GOVERN THE ISLAND, TOGETHER WITH OTHER WELL-CONSIDERED MATTERS
CHAPTER XLIII
OF THE SECOND SET OF COUNSELS DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA
CHAPTER XLIV
HOW SANCHO PANZA WAS CONDUCTED TO HIS GOVERNMENT, AND OF THE STRANGE
ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE
CHAPTER XLV
OF HOW THE GREAT SANCHO PANZA TOOK POSSESSION OF HIS ISLAND, AND
OF HOW HE MADE A BEGINNING IN GOVERNING
CHAPTER XLVI
OF THE TERRIBLE BELL AND CAT FRIGHT THAT DON QUIXOTE GOT IN THE
COURSE OF THE ENAMOURED ALTISIDORA'S WOOING
CHAPTER XLVII
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ACCOUNT OF HOW SANCHO PANZA CONDUCTED
HIMSELF IN HIS GOVERNMENT
CHAPTER XLVIII
OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH DONA RODRIGUEZ, THE DUCHESS'S
DUENNA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER OCCURRENCES WORTHY OF RECORD AND ETERNAL
REMEMBRANCE
CHAPTER XLIX
OF WHAT HAPPENED SANCHO IN MAKING THE ROUND OF HIS ISLAND
CHAPTER L
WHEREIN IS SET FORTH WHO THE ENCHANTERS AND EXECUTIONERS WERE WHO
FLOGGED THE DUENNA AND PINCHED DON QUIXOTE, AND ALSO WHAT BEFELL THE
PAGE WHO CARRIED THE LETTER TO TERESA PANZA, SANCHO PANZA'S WIFE
CHAPTER LI
OF THE PROGRESS OF SANCHO'S GOVERNMENT, AND OTHER SUCH
ENTERTAINING MATTERS
CHAPTER LII
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SECOND DISTRESSED OR
AFFLICTED DUENNA, OTHERWISE CALLED DONA RODRIGUEZ
CHAPTER LIII
OF THE TROUBLOUS END AND TERMINATION SANCHO PANZA'S GOVERNMENT CAME TO
CHAPTER LIV
WHICH DEALS WITH MATTERS RELATING TO THIS HISTORY AND NO OTHER
CHAPTER LV
OF WHAT BEFELL SANCHO ON THE ROAD, AND OTHER THINGS THAT CANNOT BE
SURPASSED
CHAPTER LVI
OF THE PRODIGIOUS AND UNPARALLELED BATTLE THAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN
DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA AND THE LACQUEY | 1,698.603857 |
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THE DIARY
_of a_ FRESHMAN
_By_
CHARLES MACOMB FLANDRAU
Author of "Harvard Episodes"
_NEW YORK_
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE AND COMPANY
_MDCCCCI_
_Copyright, 1900, by_
The Curtis Publishing Co.
_Copyright, 1901, by_
Doubleday, Page & Company
University Press
John Wilson and Son
Cambridge, U.S.A.
_TO THE_
"_For Ever Panting and For Ever Young._"
_Courteous acknowledgment is here
made to the Saturday Evening
Post, Philadelphia, in which these
papers first saw the light._
_*THE*_*
DIARY *_*of a*_* FRESHMAN*
*I*
Mamma left for home this afternoon. As I want to be perfectly truthful
in my diary, I suppose I must confess that before she actually went away
I sometimes thought I should be rather relieved when she was no longer
here. Mamma has a fixed idea that I came to college for the express
purpose of getting my feet wet by day, and sleeping in a draught by
night. She began the furnishing of my rooms by investing in a pair of
rubber boots,--the kind you tie around your waist with a string. The
clerk in the shop asked her if I was fond of trout-fishing, and she
explained to him that I had always lived in the West where the climate
was dry, and that she didn't know how I would stand the dampness of the
seacoast. Mamma thought the clerk was so interested in my last attack
of tonsillitis I didn't have the heart to tell her that all the time he
was looking sympathetic with his right eye, he was winking at me with
his left.
Now that she is gone, however, I don't see how I could have thought,
even for a moment, that I should be glad, and I've been sitting here
for an hour just looking at my room and all the nice things she advised
me about and helped me to choose--wishing she could see how cosey it is
late at night with the green lamp lighted and a little fire going. (It
isn't really cool enough for a fire; I had to take my coat off for a
while, the room got so warm--but I was anxious to know how the andirons
looked with a blaze behind them.) I suppose she is lying awake in the
sleeping-car thinking of me. She made me move my bed to the other side
of the room, so that it wouldn't be near the window. I moved it back
again; but I think now I 'll change it again to the way she liked it.
Of course I was disappointed last May when I found I hadn't drawn a room
in one of the college buildings. I had an idea that if you didn't live
in one of the buildings owned by the college you wouldn't feel,
somehow, as if you "belonged." Before I arrived in Cambridge I worried
a good deal over it. The old Harvard men at home were most
unsatisfactory about this when I asked their advice. The ones who had
lived in the Yard when they were in college seemed to think there was
n't any particular use in going to college at all unless you could live
either in their old rooms or some in the same building; and the ones who
had lived outside as I am going to do (this year, anyhow) said the
college buildings were nice enough in their way, but if I could only get
the dear old place (which was pulled down fifteen years ago) where James
Russell Lowell had scratched his name on the window-pane, and where
somebody else (I've forgotten who it was) crawled up the big chimney
when the sheriff came to arrest him for debt and was discovered because
he did not crawl far enough, I should be all right.
I don't see how the good times and the advantages of a place like this
hold out for so long; everybody who has been here speaks as if he had
about used them up.
Well, we found rooms pleading to be rented; every other house in
Cambridge has a "Student's Room to Let" card in the window. Even some
of the rooms in the Yard had been given up at the last minute by fellows
who flunked their exams. Mamma said she felt very sorry for the poor
boys; and after that the enormity of my having been conditioned in
physics and solid geometry decreased considerably. The trouble (there
were four days full of it) wasn't in finding a good place, but in trying
to decide on some one place. For a while it looked as though I should
either have to live in five separate houses--some of | 1,698.603961 |
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Produced by David Yingling, Bethanne M. Simms, Mary Meehan
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MONEY MAGIC
By HAMLIN GARLAND
SUNSET EDITION
HARPER & BROTHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
COPYRIGHT 1907 BY HAMLIN GARLAND
[Illustration: HE ROSE AND WALKED UP AND DOWN]
CONTENTS
I. THE CLERK OF THE GOLDEN EAGLE
II. MARSHALL HANEY CHANGES HEART
III. BERTHA YIELDS TO TEMPTATION
IV. HANEY MEETS AN AVENGER
V. BERTHA'S UPWARD FLIGHT
VI. THE HANEY PALACE
VII. BERTHA REPULSES AN ENEMY
VIII. BERTHA RECEIVES AN INVITATION
IX. BERTHA MEETS BEN FORDYCE
X. BEN FORDYCE CALLS ON HORSEBACK
XI. BEN BECOMES ADVISER TO MRS. HANEY
XII. ALICE HEATH HAS A VISION
XIII. BERTHA'S YELLOW CART
XIV. THE JOLLY SEND-OFF
XV. MART'S VISIT TO HIS SISTER
XVI. A DINNER AND A PLAY
XVII. BERTHA BECOMES A PATRON OF ART
XVIII. BERTHA'S PORTRAIT IS DISCUSSED
XIX. THE FARTHER EAST
XX. BERTHA MEETS MANHATTAN
XXI. BERTHA MAKES A PROMISE
XXII. THE SERPENT'S COIL
XXIII. BERTHA'S FLIGHT
XXIV. THE HANEYS RETURN TO THE PEAKS
XXV. BERTHA'S DECISION
XXVI. ALICE VISITS HANEY
XXVII. MARSHALL HANEY'S SENTENCE
XXVIII. VIRTUE TRIUMPHS
XXIX. MARSHALL HANEY'S LAST TRAIL
MONEY MAGIC
CHAPTER I
THE CLERK OF THE GOLDEN EAGLE
Sibley Junction is in the sub-tropic zone of Colorado. It lies in a hot,
dry, but immensely productive valley at an altitude of some four
thousand feet above the sea, a village laced with irrigating ditches,
shaded by big cotton-wood-trees, and beat upon by a genial,
generous-minded sun. The boarders at the Golden Eagle Hotel can sit on
the front stoop and see the snow-filled ravines of the mountains to the
south, and almost hear the thunder crashing round old Uncompahgre, even
when the broad leaves above their heads are pulseless and the heat of
the mid-day light is a cataract of molten metal.
It is, as I have said, a productive land, for upon this ashen,
cactus-spotted, repellent flat men have directed the cool, sweet water
of the upper world, and wherever this life-giving fluid touches the soil
grass and grain spring up like magic.
For all its wild and beautiful setting, Sibley is now a town of farmers
and traders rather than of miners. The wagons entering the gates are
laden with wheat and melons and peaches rather than with ore and
giant-powder, and the hotels are frequented by ranchers of prosaic
aspect, by passing drummers for shoes and sugars, and by the barbers and
clerks of near-by shops. It is, in fact, a bit of slow-going village
life dropped between the diabolism of <DW36> Creek and the decay of
Creede.
Nevertheless, now and then a genuine trailer from the heights, or
cow-man from the mesas, does drop into town on some transient business
and, with his peculiar speech and stride, remind the lazy town-loafers
of the vigorous life going on far above them. Such types nearly always
put up at the Eagle Hotel, which was a boarding-house advanced to the
sidewalk of the main street and possessing a register.
At the time of this story trade was good at the Eagle for two reasons.
Mrs. Gilman was both landlady and cook, and an excellent cook, and, what
was still more alluring, Bertha, her pretty daughter, was day-clerk and
general manager. Customers of the drummer type are very loyal to their
hotels, and amazingly sensitive to female charm--therefore Bertha, who
would have been called an attractive girl anywhere, was widely known and
tenderly recalled by every brakeman on the line. She was tall and
straight, with brown hair and big, candid, serious eyes--wistful when in
repose, boyishly frank and direct as she stood behind her desk attending
to business, or smiling as she sped her parting guests at the door.
"I know Bertie ought to be in school," Mrs. Gilman said one day to a
sympathetic guest. "But what can I do? We got to live. I didn't come out
here for my health, but goodness knows I never expected to slave away in
a hot kitchen in this way. If Mr. Gilman had lived--"
It was her habit to leave her demonstrations--even her
sentences--unfinished, a peculiarity arising partly from her need of
hastening to prevent some pot from boiling over and partly from her
failing powers. She had been handsome once--but the heat of the stove,
the steam of the washtub, and the vexation and prolonged effort of her
daily life had warped and faded and battered her into a pathetic wreck
of womanhood.
"I'm going to quit this thing as soon as I get my son's ranch paid for.
You see--"
She did not finish this, but her friend understood. Bertha's time for
schooling was past. She had already entered upon the maiden's land of
dreams--of romance. The men who had hitherto courted her,
half-laughingly, half-guiltily, knowing that she was a child, had at
last dropped all subterfuge. To them she was a "girl," with all that
this word means to males not too scrupulous of the rights of women.
"I oughtn't to quit now when business is so good," Mrs. Gilman returned
to the dining-room to add. "I'm full all the time and crowded on
Saturday. More and more of the boys come down the line on purpose to
stay over Sunday. If I can stick it out a little while--"
The reason why "the boys came down the line to stay over Sunday," was
put into words one day by Winchell, the barber, who took his meals at
the Eagle.
He was a cleanly shaven young man of twenty-four or five, with a
carefully tended brown mustache which drooped below the corners of his
mouth.
He began by saying to Bertha:
"I wish I could get out of my business. Judas, but I get tired of it!
When | 1,698.605114 |
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Produced by Bryan Ness, Stephen Blundell 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.)
VIKING TALES
[Decoration]
[Illustration: _A map showing the journeys of the Vikings_]
VIKING TALES
_by_
JENNIE HALL
_The Francis W. Parker School_
_Chicago_
[Illustration]
ILLUSTRATED
_by_
VICTOR R.
LAMBDIN
RAND McNALLY & CO
_Chicago_ _New York_
_London_
_Copyright, 1902,_
By JENNIE HALL
[Device]
Made in U.S.A.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note.
Diacritical marks, found in the _Pronouncing Index_, are represented
as follows:
[=x] any character with upper macron
[)x]... with upper breve
[.x]... with upper dot
[x:]... with lower diaeresis
[~x]... with upper tilde
[+x]... with upper up tack
_The_ Table _of_ Contents
PAGE
_A List of the Illustrations_ 8
_What the Sagas Were_ 9
PART I.
_IN NORWAY_
The Baby 15
The Tooth Thrall 19
Olaf's Farm 27
Olaf's Fight with Havard 40
Foes'-fear 47
Harald is King 53
Harald's Battle 62
Gyda's Saucy Message 71
The Sea Fight 81
King Harald's Wedding 89
King Harald Goes West-Over-Seas 95
PART II.
_WEST-OVER-SEAS_
Homes in Iceland 103
Eric the Red 143
Leif and His New Land 161
Wineland the Good 174
_Descriptive Notes_ 194
_Suggestions to Teachers_ 200
_A Reading List_ 204
_A Pronouncing Index_ 207
A List of the Illustrations
PAGE
_A map showing the journeys of the Vikings_ Frontispiece
"_I own this baby for my son. He shall be called Harald_" 17
"_He threw back his cape and drew a little dagger from his
belt_" 22
"_I struck my shield against the door so that it made a
great clanging_" 31
"_Then he turned to the shore and sang out loudly_" 45
"_He drove it into the wolf's neck_" 51
"_I vow that I will grind my father's foes under my heel_" 59
"_King Haki fell dead under 'Foes'-fear'_" 68
"_I will not be his wife unless he puts all of Norway
under him for my sake_" 73
"_Then he leaped into King Arnvid's boat_" 87
"_I, Harald, King of Norway, take you, Gyda, for my wife_" 91
"_In Norway they left burning houses and weeping women_" 97
"_Then he saw that Leif's ship was being driven afar off_" 125
"_Those Icelanders clapped them on the shoulders_" 137
"_He looked straight ahead of him and scowled_" 145
"_More than half the men in the hall jumped to their feet_" 147
"_It is a bigger boat than I ever saw before_" 153
"_He pointed to the woods and laughed and rolled his eyes_" 167
"_The chief held them out to Thorfinn and hugged the cloak
to him_" 187
What _the_ Sagas Were
Iceland is a little country far north in the cold sea. Men found it and
went there to live more than a thousand years ago. During the warm
season they used to fish and make fish-oil and hunt sea-birds and gather
feathers and tend their sheep and make hay. But the winters were long
and dark and cold. Men and women and children stayed in the house and
carded and spun and wove and knit. A whole family sat for hours around
the fire in the middle of the room. That fire gave the only light.
Shadows flitted in the dark corners. Smoke curled along the high beams
in the ceiling. The children sat on the dirt floor close by the fire.
The grown people were on a long narrow bench that they had pulled up to
the light and warmth. Everybody's hands were busy with wool. The work
left their minds free to think and their lips to talk. What was there to
talk about? The summer's fishing, the killing of a fox, a voyage to
Norway. But the people grew tired of this little gossip. Fathers looked
at their children and thought:
"They are not learning much. What will make them brave and wise? What
will teach them to love their country and old Norway? Will not the
stories of battles, of brave deeds, of mighty men, do this?"
So, as the family worked in the red fire-light, the father told of the
kings of Norway, of long voyages to strange lands, of good fights. And
in farmhouses all through Iceland these old tales were told over and
over until everybody knew them and loved them. Some men could sing and
play the harp. This made the stories all the more interesting. People
called such men "skalds," and they called their songs "sagas."
Every midsummer there was a great meeting. Men from all over Iceland
came to it and made laws. During the day there were rest times, when no
business was going on. Then some skald would take his harp and walk to a
large stone or a knoll and stand on it and begin a song of some brave
deed of an old Norse hero. At the first sound of the harp and the
voice, men came running from all directions, crying out:
"The skald! The skald! A saga!"
They stood about for hours and listened. They shouted applause. When the
skald was tired, some other man would come up from the crowd and sing or
tell a story. As the skald stepped down from his high position, some
rich man would rush up to him and say:
"Come and spend next winter at my house. Our ears are thirsty for song."
So the best skalds traveled much and visited many people. Their songs
made them welcome everywhere. They were always honored with good seats
at a feast. They were given many rich gifts. Even the King of Norway
would sometimes send across the water to Iceland, saying to some famous
skald:
"Come and visit me. You shall not go away empty-handed. Men say that the
sweetest songs are in Iceland. I wish to hear them."
These tales were not written. Few men wrote or read in those days.
Skalds learned songs from hearing them sung. At last people began to
write more easily. Then they said:
"These stories are very precious. We must write them down to save them
from being forgotten."
After that many men in Iceland spent their winters in writing books.
They wrote on sheepskin; vellum, we call it. Many of these old vellum
books have been saved for hundreds of years, and are now in museums in
Norway. Some leaves are lost, some are torn, all are yellow and
crumpled. But they are precious. They tell us all that we know about
that olden time. There are the very words that the men of Iceland wrote
so long ago--stories of kings and of battles and of ship-sailing. Some
of those old stories I have told in this book.
_PART I_
[Illustration]
_IN_ NORWAY
[Decoration]
[Illustration]
The Baby
King Halfdan lived in Norway long ago. One morning his queen said to
him:
"I had a strange dream last night. I thought that I stood in the grass
before my bower.[1] I pulled a thorn from my dress. As I held it in my
fingers, it grew into a tall tree. The trunk was thick and red as blood,
but the lower limbs were fair and green, and the highest ones were
white. I thought that the branches of this great tree spread so far that
they covered all Norway and even more."
"A strange dream," said King Halfdan. "Dreams are the messengers of the
gods. I wonder what they would tell us," and he stroked his beard in
thought.
Some time after that a serving-woman came into the feast hall where King
Halfdan was. She carried a little white bundle in her arms.
"My lord," she said, "a little son is just born to you."
"Ha!" cried the king, and he jumped up from the high seat and hastened
forward until he stood before the woman.
"Show him to me!" he shouted, and there was joy in his voice.
The serving-woman put down her bundle on the ground and turned back the
cloth. There was a little naked baby. The king looked at it carefully.
"It is a goodly youngster," he said, and smiled. "Bring Ivar and
Thorstein."[2]
They were captains of the king's soldiers. Soon they came.
"Stand as witnesses," Halfdan said.
Then he lifted the baby in his arms, while the old serving-woman brought
a silver bowl of water. The king dipped his hand into it and sprinkled
the baby, saying:
"I own this baby for my son. He shall be called Harald. My naming gift
to him is ten pounds of gold."
Then the woman carried the baby back to the queen's room.
[Illustration: "_I own this baby for my son. He shall be called
Harald_"]
"My lord owns him for his son," she said. "And no wonder! He is perfect
in every limb."
The queen looked at him and smiled and remembered her dream and thought:
"That great tree! Can it be this little baby of mine?"
[Decoration]
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See note about house on page 194.
[2] See note about names on page 194.
[Illustration]
The Tooth Thrall
When Harald was seven months old he cut his first tooth. Then his father
said:
"All the young of my herds, lambs and calves and colts, that have been
born since this baby was born I this day give to him. I also give to him
this thrall, Olaf. These are my tooth-gifts to my son."
The boy grew fast, for as soon as he could walk about he was out of
doors most of the time. He ran in the woods and climbed the hills and
waded in the creek. He was much with his tooth thrall, for the king had
said to Olaf:
"Be ever at his call."
Now this Olaf was full of stories, and Harald liked to hear them.
"Come out to Aegir's Rock, Olaf, and tell me stories," he said almost
every day.
So they started off across the hills. The man wore a long, loose coat of
white wool, belted at the waist with a strap. He had on coarse shoes
and leather leggings. Around his neck was an iron collar welded together
so that it could not come off. On it were strange marks, called runes,
that said:
"Olaf, thrall of Halfdan."
But Harald's clothes were gay. A cape of gray velvet hung from his
shoulders. It was fastened over his breast with great gold buckles. When
it waved in the wind, a scarlet lining flashed out, and the bottom of a
little scarlet jacket showed. His feet and legs were covered with gray
woolen tights. Gold lacings wound around his legs from his shoes to his
knees. A band of gold held down his long, yellow hair.
It was a wild country that these two were walking over. They were
climbing steep, rough hills. Some of them seemed made all of rock, with
a little earth lying in spots. Great rocks hung out from them, with
trees growing in their cracks. Some big pieces had broken off and rolled
down the hill.
"Thor broke them," Olaf said. "He rides through the sky and hurls his
hammer at clouds and at mountains. That makes the thunder and the
lightning and cracks the hills. His hammer never misses its aim, and it
always comes back to his hand and is eager to go again."
When they reached the top of the hill they looked back. Far below was a
soft, green valley. In front of it the sea came up into the land and
made a fiord. On each side | 1,698.703608 |
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Transcriber's Note
The punctuation and spelling from the original text have been faithfully
preserved. Only obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
The Economist:
OR
THE POLITICAL, COMMERCIAL, AGRICULTURAL, AND FREE-TRADE JOURNAL.
"If we make ourselves too little for the sphere of our duty; if, on
the contrary, we do not stretch and expand our minds to the compass
of their object; be well assured that everything about us will
dwindle by degrees, until at length our concerns are shrunk to the
dimensions of our minds. _It is not a predilection to mean, sordid,
home-bred cares that will avert the consequences of a false
estimation of our interest, or prevent the shameful dilapidation
into which a great empire must fall by mean reparation upon mighty
ruins._"--BURKE.
No. 3. SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 16, 1843. PRICE 6_d._
CONTENTS.
Our Brazilian Trade and the Anti-Slavery Party 33
The Fallacy of Protection 34
Agriculture (No. 2.) 35
Court and Aristocracy 36
Music and Musicales 36
The Metropolis 37
The Provinces 37
Ireland 37
Scotland 38
Wales 38
Foreign:
France 38
Spain 38
Austria and Italy 38
Turkey 38
Egypt 39
United States 39
Canada 39
Colonies and Emigration:
Emigration during the last Seventeen Years 39
New South Wales 39
Australia 39
Cape of Good Hope 39
New Zealand 39
Political 39
Correspondence and Answers to Inquiries 40
Postscript 41
Free Trade Movements:
Messrs Cobden and Bright at Oxford 42
Public Dinner to R. Walker, Esq. 42
Dr Bowring's Visit to his Constituents 42
Anti-Corn-law Meeting at Hampstead 43
Mr Ewart and his Constituents 43
Miscellanies of Trade 43
Police 43
Accidents, Offences, and Occurrences 43
Sporting Intelligence 43
Agricultural Varieties:
The best Home Markets 44
Curious Agricultural Experiment 44
Cultivation of Waste Lands 44
Our Library Table 44
Miscellanea 45
Commerce and Commercial Markets 46
Prices Current 46
Corn Markets 46
Smithfield Markets 46
Borough Hop Market 47
Liverpool Cotton Market 47
The Gazette 47
Births, Marriages, and Deaths 47
Advertisements 47
"If a writer be conscious that to gain a reception for his
favourite doctrine he must combat with certain elements of
opposition, in the taste, or the pride, or the indolence of those
whom he is addressing, this will only serve to make him the more
importunate. _There is a difference between such truths as are
merely of a speculative nature and such as are allied with practice
and moral feeling. With the former all repetition may be often
superfluous; with the latter it may just be by earnest repetition,
that their influence comes to be thoroughly established over the
mind of an inquirer._"--CHALMERS.
OUR BRAZILIAN TRADE AND THE ANTI-SLAVERY PARTY.
Since the publication of our article on the Brazilian Treaty, we have
received several letters from individuals who, agreeing with us entirely
in the free-trade view of the question, nevertheless are at variance
with us as to the commercial policy which we should pursue towards that
country, in order to coerce them into our views regarding slavery. We
are glad to feel called upon to express our views on this subject, to
which we think full justice has not yet been done.
We must, however, in doing so, make a great distinction between the two
classes of persons who are now found to be joined in an alliance against
this application of free-trade principles; two classes who have always
hitherto been so much opposed to each other, that it would have been
very difficult ten years since to have conceived any possible
combinations of circumstances that could have brought them to act in
concert: we mean the West India interest, who so violently opposed every
step of amelioration to the slave from first to last; and that body of
_truly great philanthropists_ who have been unceasing in their efforts
to abolish slavery wherever and in whatever form it was to be found. To
the latter alone we shall address our remarks.
As far as it can be collected, the argument relied upon by this party
appears to be, that having once abolished slavery in our own dominions
we ought to interdict the importation of articles produced by slave
labour in other countries, in order to coerce them, for the sake of
their trade with us, to follow our example.
We trust we shall be among the last who will ever be found advocating
the continuance of slavery, or opposing any _legitimate_ means for its
extinction; but we feel well assured that those who have adopted the
opinion quoted above, have little considered either the consequences or
the tendencies of the policy they support.
The first consideration is, that if this policy is to be acted upon, on
principle, it must extend to the exclusion of _all_ articles produced in
whatever country by slaves. It must apply with equal force to the
_gold_, _silver_, and _copper_ of Brazil, as it does to the _sugar_ and
_coffee_ produced in that country;--it must apply with equal force to
the _cotton_, the _rice_, the _indigo_, the _cochineal_, and the
_tobacco_ of the Southern States of America, and Mexico, as it does to
the _sugar_ and _coffee_ of Cuba. To be in any way consistent in
carrying out this principle, we must exclude the great material on which
the millions of Lancashire, the West of Yorkshire, and Lanarkshire
depend for their daily subsistence; we must equally exclude tobacco,
which gives revenue to the extent of 3,500,000_l._ annually; we must
refuse any use of the precious metals, whether for coin, ornament, or
other purposes. But even these form only one class of the obligations
which the affirming of this principle would impose upon us. If we would
coerce the Brazilians by not buying from them, it necessarily involves
the duty of not selling to them; for if we sell, we supply them with all
the means of conducting their slave labour; we supply the implements of
labour, or the materials from which they are made; we supply clothing
for themselves and their slaves; we supply part of their foods and most
of their luxuries; the wines and the spirits in which the slave-owner
indulges; and we even supply the very materials of which the implements
of slave punishment or coercion are made;--and thus participate much
more directly in the profits of slavery than by admitting their produce
into this country. But if we supply them with all these articles, which
we do to the extent of nearly 3,000,000_l._ a year, and are not to
receive some of their slave-tainted produce, it must follow that we are
to give them without an equivalent, than which no greater encouragement
could be given for a perseverance in slave-holding. But the truth
is--whatever pretensions we make on this subject--we do, in exchange for
our goods, buy their polluted produce; we employ our ships to convey it
from their shores, and ourselves find a market for it among other
countries already well supplied with cheap sugar, where it is not
required, and where it only tends the more to depress the price in
markets already abundantly supplied. Nay, we do more; we admit it into
our ports, we | 1,698.703651 |
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THE
SEVEN PERIODS
OF
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE.
THE
SEVEN PERIODS
OF
ENGLISH ARCHITECTURE
DEFINED AND ILLUSTRATED.
BY
EDMUND SHARPE, M.A.,
ARCHITECT.
_TWENTY STEEL ENGRAVINGS AND WOODCUTS._
THIRD EDITION.
[Illustration]
E. & F. N. SPON, 125, STRAND, LONDON.
NEW YORK: 12, CORTLANDT STREET.
1888.
PREFACE.
"We have been so long accustomed to speak of our National Architecture
in the terms, and according to the classification bequeathed to us by
Mr. Rickman, and those terms and that classification are so well
understood and have been so universally adopted, that any proposal to
supersede the one, or to modify the other, requires somewhat more than
a mere apology. To disturb a Nomenclature of long standing, to set
aside terms in familiar use, and to set up others in their place which
are strange, and therefore at first unintelligible, involves an
interruption of that facility with which we are accustomed to
communicate with one another on any given subject, that is only to be
justified by reasons of a cogent and satisfactory nature.
"The sufficiency of Mr. Rickman's Nomenclature and Divisions, and their
suitableness at the time and for the purpose for which they were made,
are best evidenced by the fact that, although the attempts to supersede
them have been both numerous and persevering, they have remained for
nearly half a century the principal guide to the Architectural Student;
and Mr. Rickman's 'Attempt to discriminate the Styles of Architecture
in England,' is still the Text-book from which the greater part of the
popular works of the present day have been compiled.
"In referring, however, to these attempts to supersede Mr. Rickman's
system, it is proper to remark that one observation applies to the
whole of them;--although they propose to change the Nomenclature of his
different styles, or to subdivide them, his main division of English
Architecture into four great Periods or Styles, is adopted by all, and
still remains undisturbed. No point, therefore, has been hitherto
proposed to be gained by these alterations, beyond a change of name;
and this may be taken as a sufficient reason why none of these attempts
have been successful: men are not willing to | 1,698.805161 |
2023-11-16 18:45:22.7892720 | 6,582 | 33 |
Produced by John Roberts, Anne Soulard, Charles Franks,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
IN AND OUT OF THREE NORMANDY INNS
BY
ANNA BOWMAN DODD
[Illustration: GUILLAUME-LE-CONQUERANT-DIVES]
TO EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN.
_My Dear Mr. Stedman:
To this little company of Norman men and women, you will, I know,
extend a kindly greeting, if only because of their nationality. To your
courtesy, possibly, you will add the leaven of interest, when you
perceive--as you must--that their qualities are all their own, their
defects being due solely to my own imperfect presentment.
With sincere esteem_,
ANNA BOWMAN DODD.
_New York_.
CONTENTS.
VILLERVILLE.
I. A LANDING ON THE COAST OF FRANCE II. A SPRING DRIVE III.
FROM AN INN WINDOW IV. OUT ON A MUSSEL-BED V. THE VILLAGE VI.
A PAGAN COBBLER VII. SOME NORMAN LANDLADIES VIII. THE QUARTIER
LATIN ON THE BEACH IX. A NORMAN HOUSEHOLD X. ERNESTINE
ALONG AN OLD POST-ROAD.
XI. TO AN OLD MANOIR XII. A NORMAN CURE XIII. HONFLEUR--NEW
AND OLD
DIVES.
XIV. A COAST DRIVE XV. GUILLAUME-LE-CONQUERANT XVI. THE GREEN
BENCH XVII. THE WORLD THAT CAME TO DIVES XVIII. THE CONVERSATION OF
PATRIOTS XIX. IN LA CHAMBRE DES MARMOUSETS
TWO BANQUETS AT DIVES.
XX. A SEVENTEENTH CENTURY REVIVAL XXI. THE AFTER-DINNER TALK OF
THREE GREAT LADIES XXII. A NINETEENTH CENTURY BREAKFAST
A LITTLE JOURNEY ALONG THE COAST.
XXIII. A NIGHT IN A CAEN ATTIC XXIV. A DAY AT BAYEUX AND ST. LO XXV.
A DINNER AT COUTANCES XXVI. A SCENE IN A NORMAN COURT XXVII. THE
FETE-DIEU--A JUNE CHRISTMAS XXVIII. BY LAND TO MONT ST. MICHEL
MONT ST. MICHEL.
XXIX. BY SEA TO THE POULARD INN XXX. THE PILGRIMS AND THE
SHRINE--AN HISTORICAL OMELETTE
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
GUILLAUME-LE-CONQUERANT--DIVES A VILLAGE STREET--VILLERVILLE ON THE
BEACH--VILLERVILLE A SALE OF MUSSELS--VILLERVILLE A VILLERVILLE
FISH-WIFE A DEPARTURE--VILLERVILLE THE INN AT
DIVES--GUILLAUME-LE-CONQUERANT CHAMBRE DE LA PUCELLE--DIVES CHAMBRE DES
MARMOUSETS--DIVES MADAME DE SEVIGNE CHAMBRE DE LA PUCELLE--DIVES
CHATEAU FONTAINE LE HENRI, NEAR CAEN AN EXCITING MOMENT--A COUTANCES
INTERIOR A STREET IN COUTANCES--EGLISE SAINT-PIERRE MONT SAINT MICHEL
MONT SAINT MICHEL SNAIL-GATHERERS
VILLERVILLE.
AN INN BY THE SEA.
CHAPTER I.
A LANDING ON THE COAST OF FRANCE.
Narrow streets with sinuous curves; dwarfed houses with minute shops
protruding on inch-wide sidewalks; a tiny casino perched like a
bird-cage on a tiny scaffolding; bath-houses dumped on the beach;
fishing-smacks drawn up along the shore like so many Greek galleys;
and, fringing the cliffs--the encroachment of the nineteenth century--a
row of fantastic sea-side villas.
This was Villerville.
Over an arch of roses; across a broad line of olives, hawthorns,
laburnums, and syringas, straight out to sea--
This was the view from our windows.
Our inn was bounded by the sea on one side, and on the other by a
narrow village street. The distance between good and evil has been
known to be quite as short as that which lay between these two
thoroughfares. It was only a matter of a strip of land, an edge of
cliff, and a shed of a house bearing the proud title of Hotel-sur-Mer.
Two nights before, our arrival had made quite a stir in the village
streets. The inn had given us a characteristic French welcome; its eye
had measured us before it had extended its hand. Before reaching the
inn and the village, however, we had already tasted of the flavor of a
genuine Norman welcome. Our experience in adventure had begun on the
Havre quays.
Our expedition could hardly be looked upon as perilous; yet it was one
that, from the first, evidently appealed to the French imagination;
half Havre was hanging over the stone wharves to see us start.
"_Dame_, only English women are up to that!"--for all the world is
English, in French eyes, when an adventurous folly is to be committed.
This was one view of our temerity; it was the comment of age and
experience of the world, of the cap with the short pipe in her mouth,
over which curved, downward, a bulbous, fiery-hued nose that met the
pipe.
"_C'est beau, tout de meme_, when one is young--and rich." This was a
generous partisan, a girl with a miniature copy of her own round
face--a copy that was tied up in a shawl, very snug; it was a bundle
that could not possibly be in any one's way, even on a somewhat
prolonged tour of observation of Havre's shipping interests.
"And the blonde one--what do you think of her, _hein_?"
This was the blouse's query. The tassel of the cotton night-cap nodded,
interrogatively, toward the object on which the twinkling ex-mariner's
eye had fixed itself--on Charm's slender figure, and on the yellow
half-moon of hair framing her face. There was but one verdict
concerning the blonde beauty; she was a creature made to be stared at.
The staring was suspended only when the bargaining went on; for Havre,
clearly, was a sailor and merchant first; its knowledge of a woman's
good points was rated merely as its second-best talent.
Meanwhile, our bargaining for the sailboat was being conducted on the
principles peculiar to French traffic; it had all at once assumed the
aspect of dramatic complication. It had only been necessary for us to
stop on our lounging stroll along the stone wharves, diverting our gaze
for a moment from the grotesque assortment of old houses that, before
now, had looked down on so many naval engagements, and innocently to
ask a brief question of a nautical gentleman, picturesquely attired in
a blue shirt and a scarlet beret, for the quays immediately to swarm
with jerseys and red caps. Each beret was the owner of a boat; and each
jersey had a voice louder than his brother's. Presently the battle of
tongues was drowning all other sounds.
In point of fact, there were no other sounds to drown. All other
business along the quays was being temporarily suspended; the most
thrilling event of the day was centring in us and our treaty. Until
this bargain was closed, other matters could wait. For a Frenchman has
the true instinct of the dramatist; business he rightly considers as
only an _entr'acte_ in life; the serious thing is the _scene de
theatre_, wherever it takes place. Therefore it was that the black,
shaky-looking houses, leaning over the quays, were now populous with
frowsy heads and cotton nightcaps. The captains from the adjacent
sloops and tug-boats formed an outer circle about the closer ring made
by the competitors for our favors, while the loungers along the
parapets, and the owners of top seats on the shining quay steps, may be
said to have been in possession of orchestra stalls from the first
rising of the curtain.
A baker's boy and two fish-wives, trundling their carts, stopped to
witness the last act of the play. Even the dogs beneath the carts, as
they sank, panting, to the ground, followed, with red-rimmed eyes, the
closing scenes of the little drama.
"_Allons_, let us end this," cried a piratical-looking captain, in a
loud, masterful voice. And he named a price lower than the others had
bid. He would take us across--yes, us and our luggage, and land
us--yes, at Villerville, for that.
The baker's boy gave a long, slow whistle, with relish.
"_Dame!_" he ejaculated, between his teeth, as he turned away.
The rival captains at first had drawn back; they had looked at their
comrade darkly, beneath their berets, as they might at a deserter with
whom they meant to deal--later on. But at his last words they smiled a
smile of grim humor. Beneath the beards a whisper grew; whatever its
import, it had the power to move all the hard mouths to laughter. As
they also turned away, their shrugging shoulders and the scorn in their
light laughter seemed to hand us over to our fate.
In the teeth of this smile, our captain had swung his boat round and we
were stepping into her.
"_Au revoir--au revoir et a bientot!_"
The group that was left to hang over the parapets and to wave us its
farewell, was a thin one. Only the professional loungers took part in
this last act of courtesy. There was a cluster of caps, dazzlingly
white against the blue of the sky; a collection of highly decorated
noses and of old hands ribboned with wrinkles, to nod and bob and wave
down the cracked-voiced "_bonjours_." But the audience that had
gathered to witness the closing of the bargain had melted away with the
moment of its conclusion. Long ere this moment of our embarkation the
wide stone street facing the water had become suddenly deserted. The
curious-eyed heads and the cotton nightcaps had been swallowed up in
the hollows of the dark, little windows. The baker's boy had long since
mounted his broad basket, as if it were an ornamental head-dress, and
whistling, had turned a sharp corner, swallowed up, he also, by the
sudden gloom that lay between the narrow streets. The sloop-owners had
linked arms with the defeated captains, and were walking off toward
their respective boats, whistling a gay little air.
"_Colinette au bois s'en alla
En sautillant par-ci, par-la;
Trala deridera, trala, derid-er-a-a._"
One jersey-clad figure was singing lustily as he dropped with a spring
into his boat. He began to coil the loose ropes at once, as if the
disappointments in life were only a necessary interruption, to be
accepted philosophically, to this, the serious business of his days.
We were soon afloat, far out from the land of either shores. Between
the two, sea and river meet; is the river really trying to lose itself
in the sea, or is it hopelessly attempting to swallow the sea? The
green line that divides them will never give you the answer: it changes
hour by hour, day by day; now it is like a knife-cut, deep and
straight; and now like a ribbon that wavers and flutters, tying
together the blue of the great ocean and the silver of the Seine. Close
to the lips of the mighty mouth lie the two shores. In that fresh May
sunshine Havre glittered and bristled, was aglow with a thousand tints
and tones; but we sailed and sailed away from her, and behold, already
she had melted into her cliffs. Opposite, nearing with every dip of the
dun- sail into the blue seas, was the Calvados coast; in its
turn it glistened, and in its young spring verdure it had the lustre of
a rough-hewn emerald.
"_Que voulez-vous, mesdames?_ Who could have told that the wind would
play us such a trick?"
The voice was the voice of our captain. With much affluence of gesture
he was explaining--his treachery! Our nearness to the coast had made
the confession necessary. To the blandness of his smile, as he
proceeded in his unabashed recital, succeeded a pained expression. We
were not accepting the situation with the true phlegm of philosophers;
he felt that he had just cause for protest. What possible difference
could it make to us whether we were landed at Trouville or at
Villerville? But to him--to be accused of betraying two ladies--to
allow the whole of the Havre quays to behold in him a man disgraced,
dishonored!
His was a tragic figure as he stood up, erect on the poop, to clap
hands to a blue-clad breast, and to toss a black mane of hair in the
golden air.
"_Dame! Toujours ete galant homme, moi!_ I am known on both shores as
the most gallant of men. But the most gallant of men cannot control the
caprice of the wind!" To which was added much abuse of the muddy
bottoms, the strength of the undertow, and other marine disadvantages
peculiar to Villerville.
It was a tragic figure, with gestures and voice to match. But it was
evident that the Captain had taken his own measure mistakenly. In him
the French stage had lost a comedian of the first magnitude. Much,
therefore, we felt, was to be condoned in one who doubtless felt so
great a talent itching for expression. When next he smiled, we had
revived to a keener appreciation of baffled genius ever on the scent
for the capture of that fickle goddess, opportunity.
The captain's smile was oiling a further word of explanation. "See,
mesdames, they come! they will soon land you on the beach!"
He was pointing to a boat smaller than our own, that now ran alongside.
There had been frequent signallings between the two boats, a running up
and down of a small yellow flag which we had thought amazingly becoming
to the marine landscape, until we learned the true relation of the flag
to the treachery aboard our own craft.
"You see, mesdames," smoothly continued our talented traitor, "you see
how the waves run up on the beach. We could never, with this great
sail, run in there. We should capsize. But behold, these are bathers,
accustomed to the water--they will carry you--but as if you were
feathers!" And he pointed to the four outstretched, firmly-muscled
arms, as if to warrant their powers of endurance. The two men had left
their boat; it was dancing on the water, at anchor. They were standing
immovable as pillars of stone, close to the gunwales of our craft. They
were holding out their arms to us.
Charm suddenly stood upright. She held out her hands like a child, to
the least impressionable boatman. In an instant she was clasping his
bronze throat.
"All my life I've prayed for adventure. And at last it has come!" This
she cried, as she was carried high above the waves.
"That's right, have no fear," answered her carrier as he plunged
onward, ploughing his way through the waters to the beach.
Beneath my own feet there was a sudden swish and a swirl of restless,
tumbling waters. The motion, as my carrier buried his bared legs in the
waves, was such as accompanies impossible flights described in dreams,
through some unknown medium. The surging waters seemed struggling to
submerge us both; the two thin, tanned legs of the fisherman about
whose neck I was clinging, appeared ridiculously inadequate to cleave a
successful path through a sea of such strength as was running shoreward.
"Madame does not appear to be used to this kind of travelling," puffed
out my carrier, his conversational instinct, apparently, not in the
least dampened by his strenuous plunging through the spirited sea. "It
happens every day--all the aristocrats land this way, when they come
over by the little boats. It distracts and amuses them, they say. It
helps to kill the ennui."
"I should think it might, my feet are soaking; sometimes wet feet--"
"Ah, that's a pity, you must get a better hold," sympathetically
interrupted my fisherman, as he proceeded to hoist me higher up on his
shoulder. I, or a sack of corn, or a basket of fish, they were all one
to this strong back and to these toughened sinews. When he had adjusted
his present load at a secure height, above the dashing of the spray, he
went on talking. "Yes, when the rich suffer a little it is not such a
bad thing, it makes a pleasant change--_cela leur distrait_. For
instance, there is the Princess de L----, there's her villa, close by,
with green blinds. She makes little excuses to go over to Havre, just
for this--to be carried in the arms like an infant. You should hear
her, she shouts and claps her hands! All the beach assembles to see her
land. When she is wet she cries for joy. It is so difficult to amuse
one's self, it appears, in the great world."
"But, _tiens_, here we are, I feel the dry sands." I was dropped as
lightly on them as if it had been indeed a bunch of feathers my
fisherman had been carrying.
And meanwhile, out yonder, across the billows, with airy gesture
dramatically executed, our treacherous captain was waving us a
theatrical salute. The infant mate was grinning like a gargoyle. They
were both delightfully unconscious, apparently, of any event having
transpired, during the afternoon's pleasuring, which could possibly
tinge the moment of parting with the hues of regret.
"_Pour les bagages, mesdames_--"
Two dripping, outstretched hands, two berets doffed, two picturesque
giants bowing low, with a Frenchman's grace--this, on the Trouville
sands, was the last act of this little comedy of our landing on the
coast of France.
CHAPTER II.
A SPRING DRIVE.
The Trouville beach was as empty as a desert. No other footfall, save
our own, echoed along the broad board walks; this Boulevard des
Italiens of the Normandy coast, under the sun of May was a shining
pavement that boasted only a company of jelly-fishes as loungers.
Down below was a village, a white cluster of little wooden houses; this
was the village of the bath houses. The hotels might have been
monasteries deserted and abandoned, in obedience to a nod from Rome or
from the home government. Not even a fisherman's net was spread
a-drying, to stay the appetite with a sense of past favors done by the
sea to mortals more fortunate than we. The whole face of nature was as
indifferent as a rich relation grown callous to the voice of entreaty.
There was no more hope of man apparently, than of nature, being moved
by our necessity; for man, to be moved, must primarily exist, and he
was as conspicuously absent on this occasion as Genesis proves him to
have been on the fourth day of creation.
Meanwhile we sat still, and took counsel together. The chief of the
council suddenly presented himself. It was a man in miniature. The
masculine shape, as it loomed up in the distance, gradually separating
itself from the background of villa roofs and casino terraces, resolved
itself into a figure stolid and sturdy, very brown of leg, and insolent
of demeanor--swaggering along as if conscious of there being a
full-grown man buttoned up within a boy's ragged coat. The swagger was
accompanied by a whistle, whose neat crispness announced habits of
leisure and a sense of the refined pleasures of life; for an artistic
rendering of an aria from "La Fille de Madame Angot" was cutting the
air with clear, high notes.
The whistle and the brown legs suddenly came to a dead stop. The round
blue eyes had caught sight of us:
"_Ouid-a-a!_" was this young Norman's salutation. There was very little
trouser left, and what there was of it was all pocket, apparently. Into
the pockets the boy's hands were stuffed, along with his amazement; for
his face, round and full though it was, could not hold the full measure
of his surprise.
"We came over by boat--from Havre," we murmured meekly; then, "Is there
a cake-shop near?" irrelevantly concluded Charm with an unmistakable
ring of distress in her tone. There was no need of any further
explanation. These two hearty young appetites understood each other;
for hunger is a universal language, and cake a countersign common among
the youth of all nations.
"Until you came, you see, we couldn't leave the luggage," she went on.
The blue eyes swept the line of our boxes as if the lad had taken his
afternoon stroll with no other purpose than to guard them. "There are
eight, and two umbrellas. _Soyez tranquille, je vous attendrai._"
It was the voice and accent of a man of the world, four feet high--a
pocket edition, so to speak, in shabby binding. The brown legs hung,
the next instant, over the tallest of the trunks. The skilful whistling
was resumed at once; our appearance and the boy's present occupation
were mere interludes, we were made to understand; his real business,
that afternoon, was to do justice to the Lecoq's entire opera, and to
keep his eye on the sea.
Only once did he break down; he left a high _C_ hanging perilously in
mid-air, to shout out "I like madeleines, I do!" We assured him he
should have a dozen.
"_Bien!_" and we saw him settling himself to await our return in
patience.
Up in the town the streets, as we entered them, were as empty as was
the beach. Trouville might have been a buried city of antiquity. Yet,
in spite of the desolation, it was French and foreign; it welcomed us
with an unmistakably friendly, companionable air. Why is it that one is
made to feel the companionable element, by instantaneous process, as it
were, in a Frenchman and in his towns? And by what magic also does a
French village or city, even at its least animated period, convey to
one the fact of its nationality? We made but ten steps progress through
these silent streets, fronting the beach, and yet, such was the subtle
enigma of charm with which these dumb villas and mute shops were
invested, that we walked along as if under the spell of fascination.
Perhaps the charm is a matter of sex, after all: towns are feminine, in
the wise French idiom, that idiom so delicate in discerning qualities
of sex in inanimate objects, as the Greeks before them were clever in
discovering sex distinctions in the moral qualities. Trouville was so
true a woman, that the coquette in her was alive and breathing even in
this her moment of suspended animation. The closed blinds and iron
shutters appeared to be winking at us, slyly, as if warning us not to
believe in this nightmare of desolation; she was only sleeping, she
wished us to understand; the touch of the first Parisian would wake her
into life. The features of her fashionable face, meanwhile, were
arranged with perfect composure; even in slumber she had preserved her
woman's instinct of orderly grace; not a sign was awry, not a
window-blind gave hint of rheumatic hinges, or of shattered vertebrae;
all the machinery was in order; the faintest pressure on the electrical
button, the button that connects this lady of the sea with the Paris
Bourse and the Boulevards, and how gayly, how agilely would this
Trouville of the villas and the beaches spring into life!
The listless glances of the few tailors and cobblers who, with
suspended thread, now looked after us, seemed dazed--as if they could
not believe in the reality of two early tourists. A woman's head, here
and there, leaned over to us from a high window; even these feminine
eyes, however, appeared to be glued with the long winter's lethargy of
dull sleep; they betrayed no edge of surprise or curiosity. The sun
alone, shining with spendthrift glory, flooding the narrow streets and
low houses with a late afternoon stream of color, was the sole
inhabitant who did not blink at us, bovinely, with dulled vision.
Half an hour later we were speeding along the roadway. Half an
hour--and Trouville might have been a thousand miles away. Inland, the
eye plunged over nests of clover, across the tops of the apple and
peach trees, frosted now with blossoms, to some farm interiors. The
familiar Normandy features could be quickly spelled out, one by one.
It was the milking-hour.
The fields were crowded with cattle and women; some of the cows were
standing immovable, and still others were slowly defiling, in
processional dignity, toward their homes. Broad-hipped, lean-busted
figures, in coarse gowns and worsted kerchiefs, toiled through the
fields, carrying full milk-jugs; brass _amphorae_ these latter might
have been, from their classical elegance of shape. Ploughmen appeared
and disappeared, they and their teams rising and sinking with the
varying heights and depressions of the more distant undulations. In the
nearer cottages the voices of children would occasionally fill the air
with a loud clamor of speech; then our steed's bell-collar would
jingle, and for the children's cries, a bird-throat, high above, from
the heights of a tall pine would pour forth, as if in uncontrollable
ecstasy, its rapture into the stillness of this radiant Normandy
garden. The song appeared to be heard by other ears than ours. We were
certain the dull-brained sheep were greatly affected by the strains of
that generous-organed songster--they were so very still under the pink
apple boughs. The cows are always good listeners; and now, relieved of
their milk, they lifted eyes swimming with appreciative content above
the grasses of their pasture. Two old peasants heard the very last of
the crisp trills, before the concert ended; they were leaning forth
from the narrow window-ledges of a straw-roofed cottage; the music gave
to their blinking old eyes the same dreamy look we had read in the
ruminating cattle orbs. For an aeronaut on his way to bed, I should
have felt, had I been in that blackbird's plumed corselet, that I had
had a gratifyingly full house.
Meanwhile, toward the west, a vast marine picture, like a panorama on
wheels, was accompanying us all the way. Sometimes at our feet, beneath
the seamy fissures of a hillside, or far removed by sweep of meadow,
lay the fluctuant mass we call the sea. It was all a glassy yellow
surface now; into the liquid mirror the polychrome sails sent down long
lines of color. The sun had sunk beyond the Havre hills, but the flame
of his mantle still swept the sky. And into this twilight there crept
up from the earth a subtle, delicious scent and smell--the smell and
perfume of spring--of the ardent, vigorous, unspent Normandy spring.
[Illustration: A VILLAGE STREET--VILLERVILLE]
Suddenly a belfry grew out of the grain-fields.
"_Nous voici_--here's Villerville!" cried lustily into the twilight our
coachman's thick peasant voice. With the butt-end of his whip he
pointed toward the hill that the belfry crowned. Below the little
hamlet church lay the village. A high, steep street plunged recklessly
downward toward the cliff; we as recklessly were following it. The
snapping of our driver's whip had brought every inhabitant of the
street upon the narrow sidewalks. A few old women and babies hung forth
from the windows, but the houses were so low, that even this portion of
the population, hampered somewhat by distance and comparative
isolation, had been enabled to join in the chorus of voices that filled
the street. Our progress down the steep, crowded street was marked by a
pomp and circumstance which commonly attend only a royal entrance into
a town; all of the inhabitants, to the last man and infant, apparently,
were assembled to assist at the ceremonial of our entry.
A chorus of comments arose from the shadowy groups filling the low
doorways and the window casements.
"_Tiens_--it begins to arrive--the season!"
"Two ladies--alone--like that!"
"_Dame! Anglaises, Americaines_--they go round the world thus, | 1,698.809312 |
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by The Internet Archive)
FLETCHERISM: WHAT IT IS
HORACE FLETCHER'S WORKS
THE A.B.-Z. OF OUR OWN NUTRITION. Thirty-fourth thousand. 462 pp.
THE NEW MENTICULTURE; OR, THE A-B-C OF TRUE | 1,698.898494 |
2023-11-16 18:45:22.8787470 | 2,168 | 7 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
------------------------------------------------------------------------
BOOKS FOR GIRLS
By AMY BELL MARLOWE
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
THE OLDEST OF FOUR
Or Natalie's Way Out
THE GIRLS OF HILLCREST FARM
Or The Secret of the Rocks
A LITTLE MISS NOBODY
Or With the Girls of Pinewood Hall
THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
Or Alone in a Great City
WYN'S CAMPING DAYS
Or The Outing of the Go-Ahead Club
FRANCES OF THE RANGES
Or The Old Ranchman's Treasure
THE GIRLS OF RIVERCLIFF SCHOOL
Or Beth Baldwin's Resolve
THE ORIOLE BOOKS
WHEN ORIOLE CAME TO HARBOR LIGHT
WHEN ORIOLE TRAVELED WESTWARD
(Other volumes in preparation)
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS--NEW YORK
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: "CAB, MISS? TAKE YOU ANYWHERE YOU SAY."
Frontispiece (Page 67).]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GIRL FROM SUNSET RANCH
OR
ALONE IN A GREAT CITY
BY
AMY BELL MARLOWE
AUTHOR OF
THE OLDEST OF FOUR, THE GIRLS OF HILLCREST
FARM, WYN'S CAMPING DAYS, ETC.
Illustrated
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Made in the United States of America
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Copyright, 1914, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP
The Girl from Sunset Ranch
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. "Snuggy" and the Rose Pony 1
II. Dudley Stone 14
III. The Mistress Of Sunset Ranch 26
IV. Headed East 36
V. At Both Ends Of The Route 45
VI. Across The Continent 56
VII. The Great City 65
VIII. The Welcome 72
IX. The Ghost Walk 83
X. Morning 92
XI. Living Up To One's Reputation 102
XII. "I Must Learn The Truth" 111
XIII. Sadie Again 128
XIV. A New World 142
XV. "Step--Put; Step--Put" 152
XVI. Forgotten 164
XVII. A Distinct Shock 176
XVIII. Probing For Facts 196
XIX. "Jones" 204
XX. Out Of Step With The Times 216
XXI. Breaking The Ice 227
XXII. In The Saddle 238
XXIII. My Lady Bountiful 252
XXIV. The Hat Shop 262
XXV. The Missing Link 271
XXVI. Their Eyes Are Opened 279
XXVII. The Party 287
XXVIII. A Statement Of Fact 304
XXIX. "The Whip Hand" 311
XXX. Headed West 317
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE GIRL FROM SUNSET
RANCH
CHAPTER I
"SNUGGY" AND THE ROSE PONY
"Hi, Rose! Up, girl! There's another party making for the View by the far
path. Get a move on, Rosie."
The strawberry roan tossed her cropped mane and her dainty little hoofs
clattered more quickly over the rocky path which led up from the
far-reaching grazing lands of Sunset Ranch to the summit of the rocky
eminence that bounded the valley upon the east.
To the west lay a great, rolling plain, covered with buffalo grass and
sage; and dropping down the arc of the sky was the setting sun,
ruddy-countenanced, whose almost level rays played full upon the face of
the bluff up which the pony climbed so nimbly.
"On, Rosie, girl!" repeated the rider. "Don't let him get to the View
before us. I don't see why anybody would wish to go there," she added,
with a jealous pang, "for it was father's favorite outlook. None of our
boys, I am sure, would come up here at this hour."
Helen Morrell was secure in this final opinion. It was but a short month
since Prince Morrell had gone down under the hoofs of the steers in an
unfortunate stampede that had cost the Sunset Ranch much beside the life
of its well-liked owner.
The View--a flat table of rock on the summit overlooking the valley--had
become almost sacred in the eyes of the punchers of Sunset Ranch since Mr.
Morrell's death. For it was to that spot the ranchman had betaken
himself--usually with his daughter--on almost every fair evening, to
overlook the valley and count the roaming herds which grazed under his
brand.
Helen, who was sixteen and of sturdy build, could see the nearer herds now
dotting the plain. She had her father's glasses slung over her shoulder,
and she had come to-night partly for the purpose of spying out the strays
along the watercourses or hiding in the distant _coulees_.
But mainly her visit to the View was because her father had loved to ride
here. She could think about him here undisturbed by the confusion and
bustle at the ranch-house. And there were some things--things about her
father and the sad conversation they had had together before his taking
away--that Helen wanted to speculate upon alone.
The boys had picked him up after the accident and brought him home; and
doctors had been brought all the way from Helena to do what they could for
him. But Mr. Morrell had suffered many bruises and broken bones, and there
had been no hope for him from the first.
He was not, however, always unconscious. He was a masterful man and he
refused to take drugs to deaden the pain.
"Let me know what I am about until I meet death," he had whispered.
"I--am--not--afraid."
And yet, there was one thing of which he had been sorely afraid. It was
the thought of leaving his daughter alone.
"Oh, Snuggy!" he groaned, clinging to the girl's plump hand with his own
weak one. "If there were some of your own kind to--to leave you with. A
girl like you needs women about--good women, and refined women. Squaws,
and Greasers, and half-breeds aren't the kind of women-folk your mother
was brought up among.
"I don't know but I've done wrong these past few years--since your mother
died, anyway. I've been making money here, and it's all for you, Snuggy.
That's fixed by the lawyer in Elberon.
"Big Hen Billings is executor and guardian of you and the ranch. I know I
can trust him. But there ought to be nice women and girls for you to live
with--like those girls who went to school with you the four years you were
in Denver.
"Yet, this is your home. And your money is going to be made here. It would
be a crime to sell out now.
"Ah, Snuggy! Snuggy! If your mother had only lived!" groaned Mr. Morrell.
"A woman knows what's right for a girl better than a man. This is a rough
place out here. And even the best of our friends and neighbors are crude.
You want refinement, and pretty dresses, and soft beds, and fine
furniture----"
"No, no, Father! I love Sunset Ranch just as it is," Helen declared,
wiping away her tears.
"Aye. 'Tis a beauty spot--the beauty spot of all Montana, I believe,"
agreed the dying man. "But you need something more than a beautiful
landscape."
"But there are true hearts here--all our friends!" cried Helen.
"And so they are--God bless them!" responded Prince Morrell, fervently.
"But, Snuggy, you were born to something better than being a 'cowgirl.'
Your mother was a refined woman. I have forgotten most of my college
education; but I had it once.
"_This_ was not our original environment. It was not meant that we should
be shut away from all the gentler things of life, and live rudely as we
have. Unhappy circumstances did that for us."
He was silent for a moment, his face working with suppressed emotion.
Suddenly his grasp tightened on the girl's hand and he continued:
"Snuggy! I'm going to tell you something. It's something you ought to
know, I believe. Your mother was made unhappy by it, and I wouldn't want a
knowledge of it to come upon you unaware, in the after time when you are
alone. Let me tell you with my own lips, girl."
"Why, Father, what is it?"
"Your father's name is under a cloud. There is a smirch on my reputation.
I--I ran away from New York to escape arrest, and I have lived here in the
wilderness, without communicating with old friends and associates, because
I did not want the matter stirred up."
"Afraid of arrest, Father?" gasped Helen.
"For your mother's sake, and for yours," he said. "She couldn't have borne
it. It would have killed her."
"But you were not guilty, Father!" cried Helen.
"How do you know I wasn't?"
"Why, Father, you could never have done anything dishonorable or mean--I
know you could not!"
"Thank you, Snuggy!" the dying man replied, with a smile hovering about
his pain | 1,698.898787 |
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Transcriber's Notes: Words in italics in the original are surrounded by
_underscores_. A row of asterisks represents a thought break. A complete
list of corrections as well as other notes follows the text.
ANECDOTES
OF THE
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS
OF
LONDON
DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY;
INCLUDING
THE CHARITIES, DEPRAVITIES, DRESSES, AND AMUSEMENTS,
OF THE CITIZENS OF LONDON,
DURING THAT PERIOD;
WITH A REVIEW
OF THE
STATE OF SOCIETY IN 1807.
TO WHICH IS ADDED,
A SKETCH OF THE DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE, AND OF
THE VARIOUS IMPROVEMENTS IN THE METROPOLIS.
ILLUSTRATED BY FORTY-FIVE ENGRAVINGS.
BY JAMES PELLER MALCOLM, F. S. A.
AUTHOR OF "LONDINIUM REDIVIVUM," &c. &c.
THE SECOND EDITION.
VOLUME II.
_LONDON_:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
PATERNOSTER ROW.
1810.
John Nichols and Son, Printers,
Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street, London.
_CONTENTS_
OF
THE SECOND VOLUME.
CHAP. V. Page.
Public Methods of raising Money exemplified in
Notices relating to Lotteries, Benefit Societies, &c. 1
CHAP. VI.
The Religious and Political Passions of the Community
illustrated by Anecdotes of popular Tumults 11
CHAP. VII.
Amusement--Detail of its principal Varieties since
1700 107
CHAP. VIII.
Anecdotes of Dress, and of the Caprices of Fashion 312
CHAP. IX.
Domestic Architecture traced from its origin to its
present improved state in London--Lighting and
improving of Streets--Obstructions in them--Ornaments,
&c. 358
CHAP. X.
Sketch of the present State of Society in London 406
_PLATES_
TO
THE SECOND VOLUME.
The Plates of Dress (chronologically) 312
Croydon Palace }
Brick Gateway near Bromley } 364
The Views of Antient and Modern Houses 366
The general Views 404
CHAP. V.
PUBLIC METHODS OF RAISING MONEY EXEMPLIFIED, IN NOTICES
RELATING TO LOTTERIES, BENEFIT SOCIETIES, &C.
The community of London had superior advantages an hundred years past
in the State Lotteries, though, if interested Office-keepers could be
credited, the Londoners of the present Century enjoy greater gaming
privileges than the world ever yet produced. The reader shall judge
between the schemes of 1709 and 1807. The Post Boy of December 27 says,
"We are informed that the Parliamentary Lottery will be fixed in this
manner:--150,000 tickets will be delivered out at 10_l._ each ticket,
making in all the sum of 1,500,000_l._ sterling; the principal whereof
is to be sunk, the Parliament allowing nine _per cent._ interest for
the whole during the term of 32 years, which interest is to be divided
as follows: 3750 tickets will be prizes from 1000_l._ to 5_l. per
annum_ during the said 32 years; all the other tickets will be blanks,
so that there will be 39 of these to one prize, but then each blank
ticket will be entitled to fourteen shillings a year for the term
of 32 years, which is better than an annuity for life at ten _per
cent._ over and above the chance of getting a prize." Such was the
eagerness of the publick in subscribing to the above profitable scheme,
that Mercers-hall was literally crowded, and the Clerks were found
incompetent to receive the influx of names. 600,000_l._ was subscribed
January 21; and on the 28th of February the sum of 1,500,000_l._ was
completed.
The rage for Lotteries reigned uncontrouled; and the newspapers of the
day teemed with proposals issued by every ravenous adventurer who could
collect a few valuable articles; and from those shopkeepers took the
hint, and goods of every description were converted into prizes, even
neckcloths, snuff-boxes, toothpick-cases, linen, muslin, and plate. The
prices of tickets were generally sixpence, a shilling, half a crown,
&c. At the latter end of the year just mentioned, the Magistrates,
being alarmed, declared their intention of putting the Act of William
and Mary in force, which levied a penalty of 500_l._ on the proprietor,
and 20_l._ on each purchaser. In the tenth of Queen Anne another Act
was passed for suppressing private Lotteries, which was followed by a
second to prevent excessive and deceitful gaming.
Matthew West, a Goldsmith, of Clare-street, Clare-market, appears to
have been the man who first divided Lottery-tickets into shares. He
advertised in 1712, that he had sold 100 tickets in the million and an
half Lottery in twentieths, and purposed pursuing his plan, which was
well received.
The Lottery for 1714 contained 50,000 tickets at 10_l._ each, with 6982
prizes and 43,018 blanks; two of the former were 10,000_l._ with one
of 5, another of 4000_l._ a third of 3000_l._ and a fourth of 2000_l._
five of 1000_l._ ten of 500_l._ twenty of 200_l._ fifty of 100_l._ four
hundred of 50_l._ and six thousand four hundred and ninety-one of 20_l._
Besides the drawing for prizes and blanks, there was another for the
course of payment, and each 1000 tickets was called a course. The
payments to the receivers were on the 10th of November and 10th of
December 1713. When the Tickets were drawn, they were exchanged for
standing orders, and thus rendered assignable by endorsement; all the
blanks were repaid the 10_l. per_ ticket at one payment, in the order
their course of payment happened to fall, and they bore an interest
of four _per cent._ from Michaelmas 1713. The prizes were payable in
the same manner: the first drawn ticket had 500_l._; the last 1000_l._
besides the general chance; 35,000_l. per annum_ was payable weekly
from the Exchequer to the Paymaster | 1,698.902328 |
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Produced by Bruce Miller
THE SWISS FAMILY ROBINSON
TOLD IN WORDS OF ONE SYLLABLE
By Mary Godolphin
CHAPTER I.
WHEN one has a good tale to tell, he should try to be brief, and not say
more than he can help ere he makes a fair start; so I shall not say a
word of what took place on board the ship till we had been six days in
a storm. The barque had gone far out of her true course, and no one on
board knew where we were. The masts lay in splints on the deck, a leak
in the side of the ship let more in than the crew could pump out, and
each one felt that ere long he would find a grave in the deep sea, which
sent its spray from side to side of what was now but a mere hulk.
"Come, boys," said I to my four sons, who were with me, "God can save us
if it please Him so to do; but, if this is to be our last hour, let us
bow to His will--we shall at least go down side by side."
My dear wife could not hide the tears that fell down her cheeks as I
thus spoke to my sons, but she was calm, and knelt down to pray, while
the boys clung round her as if they thought she could help them.
Just then we heard a cry of "Land! land!" felt a shock, and it was clear
that we had struck on a rock, for we heard a loud cry from one of the
men, "We are lost! Launch the boat; try for your lives!"
I went at once on deck, and found that all the boats had been let down,
and that the last of the crew had just left the ship. I cried out for
the men to come back and take us with them, but it was in vain.
I then thought that our last chance was gone. Still, as I felt the ship
did not sink, I went to the stern, and found, to my joy, that she was
held up by a piece of rock on each side, and made fast like a wedge. At
the same time I saw some trace of land, which lay to the south, and this
made me go back with some hope that we had still a faint chance.
As soon as I got down stairs I took my wife by the hand, and said, "Be
of good cheer, we are at least safe for some time, and if the wind
should veer round, we may yet reach the land that lies but a short way
off."
I said this to calm the fears of my wife and sons, and it did so far
more than I had a right to hope.
"Let us now take some food," said my wife. "We are sure to need it, for
this will no doubt be a night to try our strength."
My wife got some food for her boys, which we were glad to see them eat,
poor as it was; but we could not share their meal. Three out of the four
were put to bed in their berths, and soon went to sleep; but Fritz, who
was our first child, would not leave us. He said, like a good son, that
he would try to be of some use, and think what could be done.
"If we could but find some cork," said Fritz to me in a low tone, "we
might make floats. You and I will not need them, for we can swim, but
the rest will want some such means to keep them up."
"A good thought," said I. "Let us try to find what things there are in
the ship that we can thus make use of."
We soon found some casks and ropes, and with these we made | 1,698.903375 |
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THE IRISH PENNY JOURNAL.
NUMBER 42. SATURDAY, APRIL 17, 1841. VOLUME I.
[Illustration: ANTRIM CASTLE, THE RESIDENCE OF THE EARL OF MASSARENE]
The fine old mansion of the noble family of Skeffington, of which
our prefixed wood-cut will give a very correct general idea, is well
deserving of notice, not only from its grandeur of size and the beauty
of its situation, but still more as presenting an almost unique example,
in Ireland, of the style of domestic architecture introduced into the
British islands from France, immediately after the Restoration.
This castle is generally supposed to have been erected in or about the
year 1662, by Sir John Clotworthy, Lord Massarene, who died in 1665, and
whose only daughter and heir, Mary, by her marriage with Sir John, the
fifth baronet of the Skeffington family, carried the Massarene estate and
title into the latter family. But though there can be no doubt, from the
architectural style of the building, that Antrim castle was re-edified
at this period, there is every reason to believe that it was founded
long before, and that it still preserves, to a great extent, the form
and walls of the original structure. The Castle of Antrim, or Massarene,
as it is now generally called, appears to have been originally erected
early in the reign of James I., by Sir Hugh Clotworthy, who, by the
establishment of King James I. had the charge of certain boats at
Massarene and Lough Sidney, or Lough Neagh, with an entertainment of five
shillings Irish by the day, and 18 men to serve in and about the said
boats, at ten-pence Irish by the day each. This grant was made to him by
patent for life, in 1609; and on a surrender of it to the king in 1618,
it was re-granted to him, and his son and heir John Clotworthy, with a
pension of six shillings and eight pence per day, and to the longer liver
of them for life, payable out of the revenue. For this payment Sir Hugh
Clotworthy and his son were to build and keep in repair such and so many
barks and boats as were then kept upon the lough, and under his command,
without any charge to the crown, to be at all times in readiness for
his Majesty’s use, as the necessity of his service should require. John
Clotworthy succeeded his father as captain of the barks and boats, by
commission dated the 28th January 1641, at 15s. a-day for himself; his
lieutenant, 4s.; the master, 4s.; master’s mate, 2s.; a master gunner,
1s. 6d.; two gunners, 12d.; and forty men at 8d. each.
On the breaking out of the rebellion shortly afterwards, the garrison at
Antrim was considerably increased, and the fortifications of the castle
and town were greatly strengthened by Sir John Clotworthy, who became
one of the most distinguished leaders of the parliamentary forces in the
unhappy conflict which followed. Still commanding the boats of Lough
Neagh, that magnificent little inland sea, as we may not very improperly
call it, became the scene of many a hard contest between the contending
parties, of one of which Sir R. Cox gives the following graphic account.
It took place in 1642.
“But the reader will not think it tedious to have a description of
a naval battel in Ireland, which happened in this manner: Sir John
Clotworthy’s regiment built a fort at Toom, and thereby got a convenience
to pass the Ban at pleasure, and to make incursions as often as he
pleased into the county of Londonderry. To revenge this, the Irish
garrison at Charlemont built some boats, with which they sailed down the
Black-water into Loughneagh and preyed and plundered all the borders
thereof. Hereupon, those at Antrim built a boat of twenty tun, and
furnished it with six brass guns; and they also got six or seven lesser
boats, and | 1,698.903915 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Alone on an Island, by W.H.G. Kingston.
________________________________________________________________________
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ALONE ON AN ISLAND, BY W.H.G. KINGSTON.
CHAPTER ONE.
The _Wolf_, a letter-of-marque of twenty guns, commanded by Captain
Deason, sailing from Liverpool, lay becalmed on the glass-like surface
of the Pacific. The sun struck down with intense heat on the dock,
compelling the crew to seek such shade as the bulwarks or sails
afforded. Some were engaged in mending sails, twisting yarns, knotting,
splicing, or in similar occupations; others sat in groups between the
guns, talking together in low voices, or lay fast asleep out of sight in
the shade. The officers listlessly paced the deck, or stood leaning
over the bulwarks, casting their eyes round the horizon in the hopes of
seeing signs of a coming breeze. Their countenances betrayed ill-humour
and dissatisfaction; and if they spoke to each other, it was in gruff,
surly tones. They had had a long course of ill luck, as they called it,
having taken no prizes of value. The crew, too, had for some time
exhibited a discontented and mutinous spirit, which Captain Deason, from
his bad temper, was ill fitted to quell. While he vexed and insulted
the officers, they bullied and tyrannised over the men. The crew,
though often quarrelling among themselves, were united in the common
hatred to their superiors, till that little floating world became a
perfect pandemonium.
Among those who paced her deck, anxiously looking out for a breeze, was
Humphry Gurton, a fine lad of fifteen, who had joined the _Wolf_ as a
midshipman. This was his first trip to sea. He had intended to enter
the Navy, but just as he was about to do so his father, a merchant at
Liverpool, failed, and, broken-hearted at his losses, soon afterwards
died, leaving his wife and only son but scantily provided for.
Tenderly had that wife, though suffering herself from a fatal disease,
watched over him in his sickness, and Humphry had often sat by his
father's bedside while his mother was reading from God's Word, and
listened as with tender earnestness she explained the simple plan of
salvation to his father. She had shown him from the Bible that all men
are by nature sinful, and incapable, by anything they can do, of making
themselves fit to enter a pure and holy heaven, however respectable or
excellent they may be in the sight of their fellow-men, and that the
only way the best of human beings can come to God is by imitating the
publican in the parable, and acknowledging themselves worthless, outcast
sinners, and seeking to be reconciled to Him according to the one way He
has appointed--through a living faith in the all-atoning sacrifice of
His dear Son. Humphry had heard his father exclaim, "I believe that
Jesus died for me; O Lord, help my unbelief! I have no merits of my
own; I trust to Him, and Him alone." He had witnessed the joy which had
lighted up his mother's countenance as she pressed his father's hand,
and bending down, whispered, "We shall be parted but for a short time;
and, oh! may our loving Father grant that this our son may too be
brought to love the Saviour, and join us when he is summoned to leave
this world of pain and sorrow."
Humphry had felt very sad; and though he had wept when his father's eyes
were closed in death, and his mother had pressed him--now the only being
on earth for whom she desired to live--to her heart, yet the impression
he had received had soon worn off.
In a few months after his father died, she too was taken from him, and
Humphry was left an orphan.
The kind and pious minister, Mr Faithful, who frequently visited Mrs
Gurton during the last weeks of her illness, had promised her to watch
over her boy, but he had no legal power. Humphry's guardian was a
worldly man, and finding that there was but a very small sum for his
support, was annoyed at the task imposed on him.
Humphry had expressed his wish to go to sea. A lad whose acquaintance
he had lately made, Tom Matcham, was just about to join the _Wolf_, and,
persuading him that they should meet with all sorts of adventures,
offered to assist him in getting a berth on board her. Humphry's
guardian, to save himself trouble, was perfectly willing to agree to the
proposed plan, and, without difficulty, arranged for his being received
on board as a midshipman.
"We shall have a jovial life of it, depend upon that!" exclaimed Matcham
when the matter was settled. "I intend to enjoy myself. The officers
are rather wild blades, but that will suit me all the better." Harry
went to bid farewell to Mr Faithful.
"I pray that God will prosper and protect you, my lad," he said. "I
trust that your young companion is a right principled youth, who will
assist you as you will be ready to help him, and that the captain and
officers are Christian men."
"I have not been long enough acquainted with Tom Matcham to know much
about him," answered Humphry. "I very much doubt that the captain and
officers are the sort of people you describe. However, I daresay I
shall get on very well with them."
"My dear Humphry," exclaimed Mr Faithful, "I am deeply grieved to hear
that you can give no better account of your future associates. Those
who willingly mix with worldly or evil-disposed persons are very sure to
suffer. Our constant prayer is that we may be kept out of temptation,
and we are mocking God if we willingly throw ourselves into it. I would
urge you, if you are not satisfied with the character of those who are
to be your companions for so many years, to give up the appointment
while there is time. I would accompany you, and endeavour to get your
agreement cancelled. It will be better to do so at any cost, rather
than run the risk of becoming like them."
"Oh, I daresay that they are not bad fellows after all!" exclaimed
Humphry. "You know I need not do wrong, even though they do."
The minister sighed. In vain he urged Humphry to consider the matter
seriously.
"All I can do, then, my young friend, is to pray for you," said Mr
Faithful, as he wrung Harry's hand, "and I beg you, as a parting gift,
to accept these small books. One is a book above all price, of a size
which you may keep in your pocket, and I trust that you will read it as
you can make opportunities, even though others may attempt to interrupt
you, or to persuade you to leave it neglected in your chest."
It was a small Testament, and Harry, to please the minister, promised to
carry it in his pocket, and to read from it as often as he could.
Humphry having parted from his friend, went down at once to join the
ship.
Next day she sailed. Humphry at first felt shocked at hearing the oaths
and foul language used, both by the crew and officers. The captain, who
on shore appeared a grave, quiet sort of man, swore louder and oftener
than any one. Scarcely an order was issued without an accompaniment of
oaths; indeed blasphemy resounded throughout the ship.
Matcham only laughed at Humphry when he expressed his annoyance.
"You will soon get accustomed to it," he observed. "I confess that I
myself was rather astonished when I first heard the sort of thing, but I
don't mind it now a bit."
So Humphry thought, for Matcham interlarded his own conversation with
the expressions used by the rest on board; indeed, swearing had become
so habitual to him, that he seemed scarcely aware of the fearful
language which escaped his lips.
By degrees, as Matcham had foretold, Humphry did get accustomed to the
language used by all around, which had at first so greatly shocked him.
Though he kept his promise to the minister, and carried the little
Testament in his pocket, he seldom found time to read it.
He wished to become a sailor, and he applied himself diligently to learn
his profession; and as he was always in a good temper and ready to
oblige, the captain and officers treated him with more respect than they
did Matcham, who was careless and indifferent, and ready to shirk duty
whenever he could do so. Matcham, finding himself constantly abused,
chose to consider that it was owing to Humphry, and, growing jealous,
took every opportunity of annoying him. Humphry, however, gained the
good-will of the men by never swearing at them, or using the rope's-end:
this the officers were accustomed to do on all occasions, and Matcham
imitated them by constantly thrashing the boys, often without the
slightest excuse.
As the ship sailed on her voyage, the state of affairs on board became
worse and worse. On one occasion the crew came aft, complaining that
their provisions were bad, and then that the water was undrinkable, when
the captain, appearing with pistols in his hands, ordered them to go
forward, refusing to listen to what they had to say. Another time they
complained that they were stinted in their allowance of spirits, when he
treated them in the same way. They retired, casting looks of defiance
at him and the officers. On several occasions, when some of the men did
not obey orders with sufficient promptitude, Humphry saw them struck to
the deck by the first and second mates without any notice being taken by
the captain. The officers, too, quarrelled among themselves; the first
officer and the second refused to speak to each other; and the surgeon,
who considered that he had been insulted, declined intercourse with
either of them. The younger officers followed their bad example, and
often and often Humphry wished that he had listened to the advice of his
friend Mr Faithful, and had inquired the character of his intended
companions before he joined the ship.
At the first port in South America at which the _Wolf_ touched, the
surgeon, carrying his chest with him, went on shore, and refused to
return till the mates had apologised. As this | 1,698.905199 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE YELLOW WALLPAPER
By Charlotte Perkins Gilman
It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure
ancestral halls for the summer.
A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house,
and reach the height of romantic felicity--but that would be asking too
much of fate!
Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.
Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long
untenanted?
John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.
John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an
intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of
things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.
John is a physician, and PERHAPS--(I would not say it to a living
soul, of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my
mind)--PERHAPS that is one reason I do not get well faster.
You see he does not believe I am sick!
And what can one do?
If a physician of high standing, and one's own husband, assures friends
and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but
temporary nervous depression--a slight hysterical tendency--what is one
to do?
My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says
the same thing.
So I take phosphates or phosphites--whichever it is, and tonics, and
journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to "work"
until I am well again.
Personally, I disagree with their ideas.
Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change,
would do me good.
But what is one to do?
I did write for a while in spite of them; but it DOES exhaust me a good
deal--having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.
I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and more
society and stimulus--but John says the very worst thing I can do is to
think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel bad.
So I will let it alone and talk about the house.
The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from the
road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of English
places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and gates
that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners and
people.
There is a DELICIOUS garden! I never saw such a garden--large and shady,
full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors
with seats under them.
There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.
There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and
coheirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.
That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid, but I don't care--there is
something strange about the house--I can feel it.
I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt
was a DRAUGHT, and shut the window.
I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I'm sure I never used to
be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.
But John says if I feel so, I shall neglect proper self-control; so I
take pains to control myself--before him, at least, and that makes me
very tired.
I don't like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the
piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned
chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.
He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no near
room for him if he took another.
He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special
direction.
I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all
care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.
He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect
rest and all the air I could get. "Your exercise depends on your
strength, my dear," said he, "and your food somewhat on your appetite;
but air you can absorb all the time." So we took the nursery at the top
of the house.
It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look
all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then
playroom and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred for
little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.
The paint and paper look as if a boys' school had used it. It is
stripped off--the paper--in great patches all around the head of my bed,
about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of
the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.
One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic
sin.
It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough
to constantly irritate and provoke study, and when you follow the
lame uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit
suicide--plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in unheard
of contradictions.
The color is repellent, almost revolting; a smouldering unclean yellow,
strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.
It is a dull yet lurid orange in some places, a sickly sulphur tint in
others.
No wonder the children hated it! I should hate it myself if I had to
live in this room long.
There comes John, and I must put this away,--he hates to have me write a
word.
We have been here two weeks, and I haven't felt like writing before,
since that first day.
I am sitting by the window now, up in this atrocious nursery, and
there is nothing to hinder my writing as much as I please, save lack of
strength.
John is away all day, and even some nights when his cases are serious.
I am glad my case is not serious!
But these nervous troubles are dreadfully depressing.
John does not know how much I really suffer. He knows there is no REASON
to suffer, and that satisfies him.
Of course it is only nervousness. It does weigh on me so not to do my
duty in any way!
I meant to be such a help to John, such a real rest and comfort, and
here I am a comparative burden already!
Nobody would believe what an effort it is to do what little I am
able,--to dress and entertain, and order things.
It is fortunate Mary is so good with the baby. Such a dear baby!
And yet I CANNOT be with him, it makes me so nervous.
I suppose John never was nervous in his life. He laughs at me so about
this wall-paper!
At first he meant to repaper the room, but afterwards he said that I
was letting it get the better of me, and that nothing was worse for a
nervous patient than to give way to such fancies.
He said that after the wall-paper was changed it would be the heavy
bedstead, and then the barred windows, and then that gate at the head of
the stairs, and so on.
"You know the place is doing you good," he said, "and really, dear, I
don't care to renovate the house just for a three months' rental."
"Then do let us go downstairs," I said, "there are such pretty rooms
there."
Then he took me in his arms and called me a blessed little goose,
and said he would go down to the cellar, if I wished, and have it
whitewashed into the bargain.
But he is right enough about the beds and windows and things.
It is an airy and comfortable room as any one need wish, and, of course,
I would not be so silly as to make him uncomfortable just for a whim.
I'm really getting quite fond of the big room, all but that horrid
paper.
Out of one window I can see the garden, those mysterious deepshaded
arbors, the riotous old-fashioned flowers, and bushes and gnarly trees.
Out of another I get a lovely view of the bay and a little private wharf
belonging to the estate. There is a beautiful shaded lane that runs
down there from the house. I always fancy I see people walking in these
numerous paths and arbors, but John has cautioned me not to give way to
fancy in the least. He says that with my imaginative power and habit of
story-making, a nervous weakness like mine is sure to lead to all manner
of excited fancies, and that I ought to use my will and good sense to
check the tendency. So I try.
I think sometimes that if I were only well enough to write a little it
would relieve the press of ideas and rest me.
But I find I get pretty tired when I try.
It is so discouraging not to have any advice and companionship about
my work. When I get really well, John says we will ask Cousin Henry and
Julia down for a long visit; but he says he would as soon put fireworks
in my pillow-case as to let me have those stimulating people about now.
I wish I could get well faster.
But I must not think about that. This paper looks to me as if it KNEW
what a vicious influence it had!
There is a recurrent spot where the pattern lolls like a broken neck and
two bulbous eyes stare at you upside down.
I get positively angry with the impertinence of it and the
everlastingness. Up and down and sideways they crawl, and those absurd,
unblinking eyes are everywhere. There is one place where two breadths
didn't match, and the eyes go all up and down the line, one a little
higher than the other.
I never saw so much expression in an inanimate thing before, and we all
know how much expression they have! I used to lie awake as a child and
get more entertainment and terror out of blank walls and plain furniture
than most children could find in a toy store.
I remember what a kindly wink the knobs of our big, old bureau used to
have, and there was one chair that always seemed like a strong friend.
I used to feel that if any of the other things looked too fierce I could
always hop into that chair and be safe.
The furniture in this room is no worse than inharmonious, however, for
we had to bring it all from downstairs. I suppose when this was used
as a playroom they had to take the nursery things out, and no wonder! I
never saw such ravages as the children have made here.
The wall-paper, as I said before, is torn off in spots, and it sticketh
closer than a brother--they must have had perseverance as well as
hatred.
Then the floor is scratched and gouged and splintered, the plaster
itself is dug out here and there, and this great heavy bed which is all
we found in the room, looks as if it had been through the wars.
But I don't mind it a bit--only the paper.
There comes John's sister. Such a dear girl as she is, and so careful of
me! I must not let her find me writing.
She is a perfect and enthusiastic housekeeper, and hopes for no better
profession. I verily believe she thinks it is the writing which made me
sick!
But I can write when she is out, and see her a long way off from these
windows.
There is one that commands the road, a lovely shaded winding road, and
one that just looks off over the country. A lovely country, too, full of
great elms and velvet meadows.
This wall-paper has a kind of sub-pattern in a different shade, a
particularly irritating one, for you can only see it in certain lights,
and not clearly then.
But in the places where it isn't faded and where the sun is just so--I
can see a strange, provoking, formless sort of figure, that seems to
skulk about behind that silly and conspicuous front design.
There's sister on the stairs!
Well, the Fourth of July is over! The people are gone and I am tired
out. John thought it might do me good to see a little company, so we
just had mother and Nellie and the children down for a week.
Of course I didn't do a thing. Jennie sees to everything now.
But it tired me all the same.
John says if I don't pick up faster he shall send me to Weir Mitchell in
the fall.
But I don't want to go there at all. I had a friend who was in his hands
once, and | 1,699.003848 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Judith Wirawan and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+----------------------------------------------------------------+
| Transcriber's Notes: |
| |
| Words surrounded by _ are italicized. |
| Words surrounded by = are bold. |
| Words surrounded by { } are superscript. |
| |
| A number of obvious errors have been corrected in this text | 1,699.006611 |
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Produced by Geetu Melwani 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.)
A PHENOMENAL FAUNA
BY
CAROLYN WELLS
WITH PICTURES
BY
OLIVER HEREFORD
[Illustration]
Copyright, 1901, 1902
By LIFE PUBLISHING COMPANY
_New York_
By ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL
[Illustration]
To My Godfather
WILLIAM F. CLARKE
[Illustration]
THE REG'LAR LARK
The Reg'lar Lark's a very gay old Bird;
At sunrise often may his voice be heard
As jauntily he wends his homeward way,
And trills a fresh and merry roundelay.
And some old, wise philosopher has said:
Rise with a lark, and with a lark to bed.
[Illustration]
THE HUMBUG
Although a learned Entomologist
May doubt if Humbugs really do exist,
Yet each of us, I'm sure, can truly say
We've seen a number of them in our day.
But are they real?--well, a mind judicial
Perhaps would call them false and artificial.
[Illustration]
THE POPPYCOCK
The Poppycock's a fowl of English breed,
And therefore many think him fine indeed.
Credulous people's ears he would regale,
And so he crows aloud and spreads his tale.
But he is stuffed with vain and worthless words;
Fine feathers do not always make fine birds.
[Illustration]
THE HAYCOCK
The Haycock cannot crow; he has no brains,
No,--not enough to go in when it rains.
He is not gamy,--fighting's not his forte,
A Haycock fight is just no sort of sport.
Down in the meadow all day long he'll bide,
(That is a little hay-hen by his side.)
[Illustration]
THE POWDER MONKEY
A Theory, by scientists defended,
Declares that we from monkeys are descended.
This being thus, we therefore clearly see
The Powder-Monkey heads some pedigree.
Ah, yes,--from him descend by evolution,
The Dames and Daughters of the Revolution.
[Illustration]
THE TREE CALF
The sportive Tree Calf here we see,
He builds his nest up in a tree;
To this strange dwelling-place he cleaves
Because he is so fond of leaves.
'Twas his ancestral cow, I trow,
Jumped o'er the moon, so long ago.
But he is not so great a rover,
Though at the last he runs to cover.
[Illustration]
THE MILITARY FROG
The Military Frog, as well you know,
Is the famed one who would a-wooing go.
And on the soldier's manly breast displayed,
He wins the heart of every blushing maid.
But, as a frog, I think he's incomplete,
He has no good hind legs that we may eat.
[Illustration]
THE FEATHER BOA
This animal of which I speak
Is a most curious sort of freak.
Though Serpent would its form describe,
Yet it is of the feathered tribe.
And 'tis the snake, I do believe,
That tempted poor old Mother Eve,
For never woman did exist
Who could its subtle charm resist.
[Illustration]
THE BRICK BAT
Oft through the stillness of the summer night
We see the Brick Bat take his rapid flight.
And, with unerring aim, descending straight,
He meets a cat on the back garden gate.
The little Brick Bat could not fly alone,--
Oh, no; there is a power behind the thrown.
[Illustration]
THE CAT O' NINE TAILS
The Cat O' Nine Tails is not very nice,--
No good at all at catching rats and mice;
She eats no fish, though living on the sea,
And no one's friend or pet she seems to be.
Yet oft she makes it lively for poor Jack,--
Curls round his legs, and jumps upon his back.
[Illustration]
THE ROUND ROBIN
Here's the Round Robin, round as any ball;
You scarce can see his head or tail at all.
He's not a carrier-pigeon, though he brings
Important messages beneath his wings.
And 'tis this freak of ornithology
They mean who say, "A little bird told me."
[Illustration]
THE IRON SPIDER
The Iron Spider is an insect strange,
He loves to stand upon a red-hot range.
Unlike his race, he's not an octoped,
He has but three legs and he has no head.
Had this but been the kind Miss Muffet saw
'Twould not have filled the maiden with such awe.
[Illustration]
THE BOOKW | 1,699.101048 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Annie McGuire and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS FROM THE PAINTING BY ELLEN EMMET
_Copyright, 1908, by Ellen Emmet_]
McCLURE'S MAGAZINE
VOL. XXXI JUNE, 1908 No. 2
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA
THE DECREE MADE ABSOLUTE
PRESIDENT JOHNSON AND HIS WAR ON CONGRESS
THE CRYSTAL-GAZER
BOB, DEBUTANT
TWO PORTRAITS BY GILBERT STUART
MARY BAKER G. EDDY
HER FRUITS
THE KEY TO THE DOOR
THE WAYFARERS
THE PROBLEMS OF SUICIDE
PRAIRIE DAWN
THE DOINGS OF THE DEVIL
YOUNG HENRY AND THE OLD MAN
EDITORIAL
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note: The Table of Contents was
added by the transcriber.
* * * * *
MY FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA[1]
BY
ELLEN TERRY
The first time that there was any talk of my going to America was, I
think, in 1874, when I was playing in "The Wandering Heir." Dion
Boucicault wanted me to go, and dazzled me with figures, but I expect
the cautious Charles Reade influenced me against accepting the
engagement.
When I did go, in 1883, I was thirty-five and had an assured position in
my profession. It was the first of eight tours, seven of which I went
with Henry Irving. The last was in 1907, after his death. I also went to
America one summer on a pleasure trip. The tours lasted three months at
least, seven months at most. After a rough calculation, I find that I
have spent not quite five years of my life in America. Five out of sixty
is not a large proportion, yet I often feel that I am half American.
This says a good deal for the hospitality of a people who can make a
stranger feel so completely at home in their midst. Perhaps it also says
something for my adaptableness!
"When we do not speak of things with a partiality full of love, what we
say is not worth being repeated." That was the answer of a courteous
Frenchman, who was asked for his impressions of a country. In any case
it is almost imprudent to give one's impressions of America. The country
is so vast and complex that even those who have amassed mountains of
impressions soon find that there still are mountains more. I have lived
in New York, Boston, and Chicago for a month at a time, and have felt
that to know any of these great towns even superficially would take a
year. I have become acquainted with this and that class of Americans,
but I realize that there are thousands of other classes that remain
unknown.
[Illustration: _Copyrighted by Window & Grove From the collections of
Miss Frances Johnson and Mrs. Evelyn Smalley_
ELLEN TERRY OPHELIA, AND HENRIETTA MARIA, THREE PARTS WHICH SHE PLAYED
ON THE FIRST AMERICAN TOUR]
_The Unknown Dangers of America_
I set out in 1883 from Liverpool on board the "Britannic" with the fixed
conviction that I should never, never return. For six weeks before we
started the word America had only to be breathed to me, and I burst into
floods of tears! I was leaving my children, my bullfinch, my parrot, my
"aunt" Boo, whom I never expected to see again alive, just because she
said I never would, and I was going to face the unknown dangers of the
Atlantic and of a strange, barbarous land. Our farewell performances in
London had cheered me up a little--though I wept copiously at every
one--by showing us that we should be missed. Henry Irving's position
seemed to be confirmed and ratified by all that took place before his
departure. The dinners he had to eat, the speeches he had to make and to
listen to, were really terrific! One speech at the Rabelais Club had, it
was said, the longest peroration on record. It was this kind of thing:
"Where is our friend Irving going? He is not going like Nares to face
the perils of the far North. He is not going like A---- to face
something else. He is not going to China," etc.--and so on. After about
the hundredth "he is not going," Lord Houghton, who was one of the
guests, grew very impatient and interrupted the orator with: "Of course
he isn't! He's going to New York by the Cunard Line. It'll take him
about a week!"
_New York Before the "Sky-scrapers"_
My first voyage was a voyage of enchantment to me. The ship was laden
with pig-iron, but she rolled and rolled and rolled. She could never
roll too much for me. I have always been a splendid sailor, and I feel
jolly at sea. The sudden leap from home into the wilderness of waves
does not give me any sensation of melancholy.
What I thought I was going to see when I arrived in America, I hardly
remember. I had a vague idea that all American women wore red flannel
shirts and bowie knives and that I might be sandbagged in the street!
From somewhere or other I had derived an impression that New York was an
ugly, noisy place.
Ugly! When I first saw that marvellous harbour I nearly cried--it was so
beautiful. Whenever I come now to the unequalled approach to New York I
wonder what Americans must think of the approach from the sea to London.
How different are the mean, flat, marshy banks of the Thames, and the
wooden toy light-house at Dungeness, to the vast, spreading harbour,
with its busy multitude of steam boats and ferry boats, its wharf upon
wharf, and its tall statue of Liberty dominating all the racket and
bustle of the sea traffic of the world!
That was one of the few times in America when I did not miss the poetry
of the past. The poetry of the present, gigantic, colossal, and
enormous, made me forget it. The "sky-scrapers," so splendid in the
landscape now, did not exist in 1883; but I find it difficult to divide
my early impressions from my later ones. There was Brooklyn Bridge,
though, hung up high in the air like a vast spider's web. Between 1883
and 1893 I noticed a great change in New York and other cities. In ten
years they seemed to have grown with the energy of tropical plants. But
between 1893 and 1907 I saw no evidence of such feverish increase. It is
possible that the Americans are arriving at a stage when they can no
longer beat the record! There is a vast difference between one of the
old New York brownstone houses and one of the fourteen-storied buildings
near the river, but between this and the Times Square Building or the
still more amazing Flatiron Building, which is said to oscillate at the
top--it is so far from the ground--there is very little difference. I
hear that they are now beginning to build downwards into the earth, but
this will not change the appearance of New York for a long time.
[Illustration: _From the collection of Miss Evelyn Smalley_
HENRY IRVING AS MATHIAS IN "THE BELLS"
THE PART IN WHICH IRVING MADE HIS FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA]
I had not to endure the wooden shed in which most people landing in
America have to struggle with the custom-house officials--a struggle as
brutal as a "round in the ring" as Paul Bourget describes it. We were
taken off the "Britannic" in a tug, and Mr. Abbey, Lawrence Barrett, and
many other friends met us--including the much-dreaded reporters.
[Illustration: _Lent by The Century Co._
THE REJECTED DESIGN FOR A COLUMBIAN MEDAL MADE BY AUGUSTUS
SAINT-GAUDENS]
When we landed, I drove to the Hotel Dam, Henry to the Brevoort House.
There was no Diana on the top of the Madison Square Building then--the
building did not exist, to cheer the heart of a new arrival as the first
evidence of _beauty_ in the city. There were horse trams instead of
cable cars; but a quarter of a century has not altered the peculiarly
dilapidated carriages in which one drives from the dock, the muddy
sidewalks, and the cavernous holes in the cobble-paved streets. Had the
elevated railway, the first sign of _power_ that one notices after
leaving the boat, begun to thunder through the streets? I cannot
remember New York without it.
[Illustration: _Lent by The Century Co._
THE BAS-RELIEF PORTRAIT OF BASTIEN-LEPAGE MODELED BY AUGUSTUS
SAINT-GAUDENS. SAINT-GAUDENS GAVE A CAST OF THE PORTRAIT TO MISS TERRY]
I missed then, as I miss now, the numberless _hansoms_ of London plying
in the streets for hire. People in New York get about in the cars,
unless they have their own carriages. The hired carriage has no reason
for existing, and when it does, it celebrates its unique position by
charging two dollars for a journey which in London would not cost fifty
cents!
[Illustration: THE BAS-RELIEF PORTRAIT OF ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MODELED
BY AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS FOR THE ST. GILES CATHEDRAL, EDINBURGH.
SAINT-GAUDENS GAVE A CAST OF THIS PORTRAIT TO MISS TERRY'S DAUGHTER,
EDITH CRAIG]
_Irving Brings Shakespeare to America_
There were very few theatres in New York when we first went there. All
that part of the city which is now "up town" did not exist, and what was
then "up" is now more than "down" town. The American stage has changed
almost as much. Even then there was a liking for local plays which
showed the peculiarities of the different States, but they were more
violent and crude than now. The original American genius and the true
dramatic pleasure of the people is, I believe, in such plays, where very
complete observation of certain phases of American life and very real
pictures of manners are combined with comedy almost childlike in its
naivete. The sovereignty of the young girl which is such a marked
feature in social life is reflected in American plays. This is by the
way. What I want to make clear is that in 1883 there was no living
American drama as there is now, that such productions of romantic plays
and Shakespeare as Henry Irving brought over from England, were unknown,
and that the extraordinary success of our first tours would be
impossible now. We were the first, and we were pioneers and we were
_new_. To be new is everything in America. Such palaces as the Hudson
Theatre, New York, were not dreamed of when we were at the Star, which
was, however, quite equal to any theatre in London, in front of the
footlights. The stage itself, the lighting appliances, and the
dressing-rooms were inferior.
[Illustration: HENRY IRVING AS HAMLET
FROM THE STATUE BY E. ONSLOW FORD, R. A., IN THE GUILDHALL OF THE CITY OF
LONDON]
[Illustration: ELLEN TERRY AS IMOGEN
DRAWN BY ALMA-TADEMA FOR MISS TERRY'S JUBILEE IN 1906]
[Illustration: ELLEN TERRY AS PORTIA
FROM THE PAINTING BY SIR JOHN MILLAIS, R. A.]
_Our First Appearance Before an American Audience_
Henry made his first appearance in America in "The Bells." He was not at
his best on the first night, but he could be pretty good even when he
was not at his best. I watched him from a box. Nervousness made the
company very slow. The audience was a splendid one--discriminating and
appreciative. We felt that the Americans _wanted_ to like us. We felt in
| 1,699.502068 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE WORKS OF ROBERT G. INGERSOLL
By Robert G. Ingersoll
"HAPPINESS IS THE ONLY GOOD, REASON THE ONLY
TORCH, JUSTICE THE ONLY WORSHIP, HUMANITY THE
ONLY RELIGION, AND LOVE THE ONLY PRIEST."
IN TWELVE VOLUMES, VOLUME VIII.
INTERVIEWS
1900
Dresden Edition
INTERVIEWS
THE BIBLE AND A FUTURE LIFE
_Question_. Colonel, are your views of religion based upon the
Bible?
_Answer_. I regard the Bible, especially the Old Testament, the
same as I do most other ancient books, in which there is some truth,
a great deal of error, considerable barbarism and a most plentiful
lack of good sense.
_Question_. Have you found any other work, sacred or profane,
which you regard as more reliable?
_Answer_. I know of no book less so, in my judgment.
_Question_. You have studied the Bible attentively, have you not?
_Answer_. I have read the Bible. I have heard it talked about a
good deal, and am sufficiently well acquainted with it to justify
my own mind in utterly rejecting all claims made for its divine
origin.
_Question_. What do you base your views upon?
_Answer_. On reason, observation, experience, upon the discoveries
in science, upon observed facts and the analogies properly growing
out of such facts. I have no confidence in anything pretending to
be outside, or independent of, or in any manner above nature.
_Question_. According to your views, what disposition is made of
man after death?
_Answer_. Upon that subject I know nothing. It is no more wonderful
that man should live again than he now lives; upon that question
I know of no evidence. The doctrine of immortality rests upon
human affection. We love, therefore we wish to live.
_Question_. Then you would not undertake to say what becomes of
man after death?
_Answer_. If I told or pretended to know what becomes of man after
death, I would be as dogmatic as are theologians upon this question.
The difference between them and me is, I am honest. I admit that
I do not know.
_Question_. Judging by your criticism of mankind, Colonel, in your
recent lecture, you have not found his condition very satisfactory?
_Answer_. Nature, outside of man, so far as I know, is neither
cruel nor merciful. I am not satisfied with the present condition
of the human race, nor with the condition of man during any period
of which we have any knowledge. I believe, however, the condition
of man is improved, and this improvement is due to his own exertions.
I do not make nature a being. I do not ascribe to nature
intentions.
_Question_. Is your theory, Colonel, the result of investigation
of the subject?
_Answer_. No one can control his own opinion or his own belief.
My belief was forced upon me by my surroundings. I am the product
of all circumstances that have in any way touched me. I believe
in this world. I have no confidence in any religion promising joys
in another world at the expense of liberty and happiness in this.
At the same time, I wish to give others all the rights I claim for
myself.
_Question_. If I asked for proofs for your theory, what would you
furnish?
_Answer_. The experience of every man who is honest with himself,
every fact that has been discovered in nature. In addition to
these, the utter and total failure of all religionists in all
countries to produce one particle of evidence showing the existence
of any supernatural power whatever, and the further fact that the
people are not satisfied with their religion. They are continually
asking for evidence. They are asking it in every imaginable way.
The sects are continually dividing. There is no real religious
serenity in the world. All religions are opponents of intellectual
liberty. I believe in absolute mental freedom. Real religion with
me is a thing not of the head, but of the heart; not a theory, not
a creed, but a life.
_Question_. What punishment, then, is inflicted upon man for his
crimes and wrongs committed in this life?
_Answer_. There is no such thing as intellectual crime. No man
can commit a mental crime. To become a crime it must go beyond
thought.
_Question_. What punishment is there for physical crime?
_Answer_. Such punishment as is necessary to protect society and
for the reformation of the criminal.
_Question_. If there is only punishment in this world, will not
some escape punishment?
_Answer_. I admit that all do not seem to be punished as they
deserve. I also admit that all do not seem to be rewarded as they
deserve; and there is in this world, apparently, as great failures
in matter of reward as in matter of punishment. If there is another
life, a man will be happier there for acting according to his
highest ideal in this. But I do not discern in nature any effort
to do justice.
--_The Post_, Washington, D. C., 1878.
MRS. VAN COTT, THE REVIVALIST
_Question_. I see, Colonel, that in an interview published this
morning, Mrs. Van Cott (the revivalist), calls you "a poor barking
dog." Do you know her personally?
_Answer_. I have never met or seen her.
_Question_. Do you know the reason she applied the epithet?
_Answer_. I suppose it to be the natural result of what is called
vital piety; that is to say, universal love breeds individual
hatred.
_Question_. Do you intend making any reply to what she says?
_Answer_. I have written her a note of which this is a copy:
_Buffalo, Feb. 24th, 1878._
MRS. VAN COTT;
My dear Madam:--Were you constrained by the love of Christ to call
a man who has never injured you "a poor barking dog?" Did you make
this remark as a Christian, or as a lady? Did you say these words
to illustrate in some faint degree the refining influence upon
women of the religion you preach?
What would you think of me if I should retort, using your language,
changing only the sex of the last word?
I have the honor to remain,
Yours truly,
R. G. INGERSOLL
_Question_. Well, what do you think of the religious revival system
generally?
_Answer_. The fire that has to be blown all the time is a poor
thing to get warm by. I regard these revivals as essentially
barbaric. I think they do no good, but much harm, they make innocent
people think they are guilty, and very mean people think they are
good.
_Question_. What is your opinion concerning women as conductors
of these revivals?
_Answer_. I suppose those engaged in them think they are doing
good. They are probably honest. I think, however, that neither
men nor women should be engaged in frightening people into heaven.
That is all I wish to say on the subject, as I do not think it
worth talking about.
--_The Express_, Buffalo, New York, Feb., 1878.
EUROPEAN TRIP AND GREENBACK QUESTION
_Question_. What did you do on your European trip, Colonel?
_Answer_. I went with my family from New York to Southampton,
England, thence to London, and from London to Edinburgh. In Scotland
I visited every place where Burns had lived, from the cottage where
he was born to the room where he died. I followed him from the
cradle to the coffin. I went to Stratford-upon-Avon for the purpose
of seeing all that I could in any way connected with Shakespeare;
next to London, where we visited again all the places of interest,
and thence to Paris, where we spent a couple of weeks in the
Exposition.
_Question_. And what did you think of it?
_Answer_. So far as machinery--so far as the practical is concerned,
it is not equal to ours in Philadelphia; in art it is incomparably
beyond it. I was very much gratified to find so much evidence in
favor of my theory that the golden age in art is in front of us;
that mankind has been advancing, that we did not come from a perfect
pair and immediately commence to degenerate. The modern painters
and sculptors are far better and grander than the ancient. I think
we excel in fine arts as much as we do in agricultural implements.
Nothing pleased me more than the painting from Holland, because
they idealized and rendered holy the ordinary avocations of life.
They paint cottages with sweet mothers and children; they paint
homes. They are not much on Ariadnes and Venuses, but they paint
good women.
_Question_. What did you think of the American display?
_Answer_. Our part of the Exposition is good, but nothing to what
is should and might have been, but we bring home nearly as many
medals as we took things. We lead the world in machinery and in
ingenious inventions, and some of our paintings were excellent.
_Question_. Colonel, crossing the Atlantic back to America, what
do you think of the Green | 1,699.502987 |
2023-11-16 18:45:23.6806500 | 99 | 14 |
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)
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 1
HISTORIC HIGHWAYS OF AMERICA
VOLUME 1
Paths of the Mound-Building Indians
and Great Game Animals
BY
ARCH | 1,699.70069 |
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