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Transcribed from the 1813 J. Cook edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
THE
PHŒNIX OF SODOM,
OR THE
_Vere Street Coterie_.
* * * * *
BEING AN EXHIBITION
OF THE
GAMBOLS PRACTISED
BY THE
Ancient Lechers
OF
_Sodom and Gomorrah_,
EMBELLISHED AND IMPROVED WITH THE
MODERN REFINEMENTS
IN
Sodomitical Practices,
BY THE MEMBERS OF THE
_Vere Street Coterie_, _of detestable memory_.
* * * * *
SOLD BY J. COOK, AT
AND TO BE HAD OF ALL THE BOOKSELLERS.
1813.
HOLLOWAY, PRINTER, ARTILLERY LANE, TOOLEY STREET.
* * * * *
THE
VERE STREET COTERIE,
OR
_The Phœnix of Sodom_.
I THINK it a duty I owe both the reader and myself, to account for my
acquaintance with any part of the disgraceful transactions disclosed in
the annexed pages.
Some months ago, when I was contemplating the most odious characters on
the list of Attorneys, to compose the Fifth Number of my Strictures on
the Practice of those voracious vultures, it came to my knowledge that an
Attorney named Wooley (with that alacrity with which crows fly to
carrion) had repaired to the different prisons, where those wretches
apprehended in Vere Street were committed, and, under pretence of
assisting the offenders obtaining their liberty, and enabling them to
escape justice, stripped them of every guinea they possessed, and,
indeed, of every article that would produce one at a pawnbroker’s. I
therefore sent to Newgate, to learn from Cook, the landlord of the house,
whether my information was correct; who sent his wife to me, and related
a long history of the means and fallacious pretences by which he obtained
above thirty pounds from her, for the purpose of _bringing her husband
through_; that being the phrase of those fellows, who hang about prisons,
to tutor their new clients:—(_I have made use of the expression_ TUTOR,
_because there are degrees of iniquity_, _that the most atrocious
offenders accustomed to a long residence in the cells of Newgate have yet
to learn of a certain description of attorneys_;) in fine, after he had
exhausted every stratagem that his colleague | 1,734.578044 |
2023-11-16 18:45:58.5580520 | 4,946 | 10 |
Produced by Carlo Traverso, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE
MISSIONARY:
AN
Indian Tale.
BY
MISS OWENSON.
WITH A PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
_FOURTH EDITION._
VOL. II.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR J. J. STOCKDALE,
NO. 41, PALL MALL.
1811.
THE MISSIONARY, &c.
CHAPTER VIII.
It was the season of visitation of the Guru of Cashmire to his
granddaughter. The Missionary beheld him with his train approach her
abode of peace, and felt the necessity of absenting himself from the
consecrated grove, where he might risk a discovery of his intentions
unfavourable to their success. He knew that the conversion of the
Brachmachira was only to be effected by the frequent habit of seeing
and conversing with her, and that a discovery of their interviews would
be equally fatal to both. Yet he submitted to the necessity which
separated them, with an impatience, new to a mind, whose firm tenour
was, hitherto, equal to stand the shock of the severest disappointment.
Still did his steps involuntarily bend to the skirts of the grove, and
still did he return sad, without any immediate cause of sorrow, and
disappointed, without any previous expectation. To contemplate the
frailty, to witness the errors of the species to which we belong, is to
mortify that self-love, which is inherent in our natures; yet to be
dissatisfied with others, is to be convinced of our own superiority. It
is to triumph, while we condemn--it is to pity, while we sympathize.
But, when we become dissatisfied with ourselves; when a proud
consciousness of former strength unites itself with a sense of existing
weakness; when the heart has no feeling to turn to for solace; when the
mind has no principle to resort to for support; when suffering is
unalleviated by self-esteem, and no feeling of internal approbation
soothes the irritation of the discontented spirit; then all is hopeless,
cold, and gloomy, and misery becomes aggravated by the necessity which
our pride dictates, of concealing it almost from ourselves. Days
listlessly passed, duties neglected, energies subdued, zeal weakened;
these were circumstances in the life of the apostolic Nuncio, whose
effects he rather felt than understood. He was stunned by the revolution
which had taken place in his mind and feeling, by the novelty of the
images which occupied his fancy, by the association of ideas which
linked themselves in his mind. He would not submit to the analysis of
his feelings, and he was determined to conquer, without understanding
their nature or tendency. Entombed and chained within the most remote
depths of his heart, he was deaf to their murmurs, and resisted their
pleadings, with all the despotism of a great and lofty mind, created
equally to command others and itself. With the dawn, therefore, of the
morning, he issued from his cave, intending to proceed to Sirinagur,
determined no longer to confine his views to the conversion of the
solitary infidel; but to change, at once, the scene and object, which
had lately engrossed all the powers of his being, and to bestow upon a
multitude, those sacred exertions, which he had, of late, wholly
confined to an individual.
His route to Sirinagur lay near the dwelling of the Priestess. He
perceived, at a considerable distance, the train of the Guru returning
to his college; Luxima, therefore, was again mistress of her own
delicious solitude. The impulse of the man was to return to the grotto,
but the decision of the Priest was to proceed, to effect his original
intention. As he advanced, the glittering shafts of Luxima’s verandahs
met his eye, and he abruptly found himself under the cannella-alba tree,
beneath whose shade he had last beheld her. He paused, as he believed,
to contemplate its luxuriancy and its beauty, which had before escaped
his observation. He admired its majestic height, crowned by branches,
which drooped with their own abundance, and hung in fantastic wreaths of
green and brilliant foliage, mingling with their verdure, blossoms of
purple and scarlet, and berries bright and richly clustered. But an
admiration so coldly directed, was succeeded by a feeling of amazement
and delight, when he observed the date of the day of his last interview
with Luxima carved on its bark; when he observed, hanging near it, a
wreath of the may-hya, whose snowy blossoms breathe no fragrance, and to
which an oly-leaf was attached, bearing the following inscription from
the Persian of Saddi: “The rose withers, when she no longer hears the
song of the nightingale.”
The lovely elegance of mind, which thus so delicately conveyed its
secret feeling, received a tribute, which the votarist trembled as he
presented; and pure and holy lips, which had hitherto only pressed the
saintly shrine, or consecrated relic, now sealed a kiss, no longer cold,
upon an object devotion had not sanctified. But the chill hand of
religion checked the human feeling as it rose; and the blood ran coldly
back to the heart, from which, a moment before, it had been impelled,
with a force and violence he shuddered to recollect.
Suddenly assuming a look of severity, as if even to awe, or to deceive
himself, he hurried on, nor once turned his eye towards the sunny
heights which Luxima’s pavilion crowned. He now proceeded through the
rocky defile, which formed the mouth of the valley, and advanced into an
avenue, which extended for a league, and led to various towns, and
different pagodas. This avenue, grand and extensive as it was, was yet
composed of a single tree; but it was the banyan-tree, the mighty
monarch of Eastern forests; at once the most stupendous and most
beautiful production of the vegetable world. The symbol of eternity,
from its perpetual verdure and perpetual spring, independent of
revolving seasons, and defying the decay of time, it stands alone and
bold, reproducing its own existence, and multiplying its own form, fresh
and unfaded amidst the endless generation it propagates; while every
branch, as emulous of the parent greatness, throws out its fibrous
roots, and, fastening in the earth, becomes independent, without being
disunited from the ancient and original stem. Thus, in various
directions, proceeds the living arcade, whose great and splendid order
the Architect of the universe himself designed; while above the leafy
canopy descend festoons of sprays and fibres, which, progressively
maturing, branch off in lighter arches, extending the growing fabric
from season to season, and supplying, at once, shade, fruit, and odour,
sometimes to mighty legions, encamped beneath its arms; sometimes to
pilgrim troops, who make its shade the temple of their worship, and
celebrate, beneath its gigantic foliage, their holy festivals and mystic
rites. This tree, which belongs alone to those mighty regions, where God
created man, and man beheld his Creator, excited a powerful emotion in
the bosom of the Missionary as he gazed on it.
It was through the arcades of the wondrous banyan, that a scene finely
appropriate struck his view--an Eastern armament in motion, descending
the brow of one of the majestic mountains of Sirinagur: the arms of the
troops glittering to the sun-beam, flashed like lightning through the
dark shade of the intervening woods, while, in their approach, were more
visibly seen, elephants surmounted with towers; camels, bearing on their
arched necks the gaudy trappings of war; the crescent of Mahomet beaming
on the standard of the Mogul legions; and bright spears, and feathery
arrows, distinguishing the corps of Hindu native troops; the van
breaking from the line to guard the passes, and detachments hanging
back in the rear to protect the equipage; while the main body, as if by
an electric impulse, halted, as it gradually reached the valley where it
was to encamp. This spectacle, so grand, so new, and so imposing, struck
on the governing faculty of the Missionary’s character--his strong and
powerful imagination. He approached with rapid steps the spot where the
troops had halted; he observed the commander-in-chief descend from a
Tartar horse; he was distinguished by the imperial turban of the Mogul
princes, but still more by the youthful majesty of his look, and by the
velocity of his movements. Darting from rank to rank, he appeared like a
flashing beam of light, while his deep voice, as it pronounced the word
of command, was re-echoed from hill to hill with endless vibration.
Already a camp arose, as if by magic, among the luxuriant shrubs of the
glen. The white flags of the royal pavilion waved over a cascade of
living water, and tents of snowy whiteness, in various lines,
intersected each other amidst the rich shades of the mango and
cocoa-tree; the thirsty elephants, divested of their ponderous loads,
steeped their trunks in the fountains; and the weary camel reposed his
limbs on banks of odorous grasses. All now breathed shade, refreshment,
and repose, after heat, fatigue, and action. Faquirs, and pilgrims, and
jugglers, and dancers, were seen mingling among the disarmed troops; and
the roll of drums, the tinkling of bells, the hum of men, and noise of
cattle, with the deep tone of the Tublea, and the shrill blast of the
war-horn, bestowed appropriate sounds upon the magic scene. As the
Missionary gazed on the animated spectacle, a straggler from the camp
approached to gather fruit from the tree under which he stood, and the
Missionary inquired if the troops he beheld were those of Aurengzebe?
“No,” replied the soldier; “we do not fight under the banners of an
usurper, and a fratricide; we are the troops of his eldest brother, and
rightful sovereign, Daara, whom we are going to join at Lahore, led on
by his gallant son, the ‘lion of war,’ Solyman Sheko. Harassed by
fatigue, and worn out by want and heat, after crossing the wild and
savage mountains of Sirinagur, Solyman has obtained the protection of
the Rajah of Cashmire, who permits him to encamp his troops in yonder
glen, until he receives intelligence from the Emperor, his father, whose
fate is at present doubtful[1].”
The soldier, having then filled his turban with fruit, returned to his
camp.
He who truly loves, will still seek, or find, a reference, in every
object, to the state and nature of his own feelings; and that the fate
of a mighty empire should be connected with the secret emotions of a
solitary heart, and that “the pomp and circumstance of war” should
associate itself with the hopes and fears, with the happiness and misery
of a religious recluse living in remote wilds, devoted to the service of
Heaven, and lost to all the passions of the world, was an event at once
incredible--and true!
A new sense of suffering, a new feeling of anxiety, had seized the
Missionary, when he understood the gallant son of Daara, the idol of the
empire, had come to fix himself in the vicinage of the consecrated
groves of the Cashmirian Priestess. He knew that, in India, the person
of a woman was deemed so sacred, that, even in all the tumult of
warfare, the sex was equally respected by the conqueror and the
conquered; but he also knew in what extraordinary estimation the beauty
of the Cashmirian women was held by the Mogul princes; and though Luxima
was guarded equally by her sacred character and holy vows, yet Solyman
was a hero and a prince! and the fame of her charms might meet his ear,
and the lonely solitude of her residence lure his steps. This idea grew
so powerfully on his imagination, that he already believed some rude
straggler from the camp might have violated, by his presence, the
consecrated groves of her devotion, and, unable to dismiss the thought,
he hurried back, forgetful of his intention to visit Sirinagur, and
believing that his presence only could afford safeguard and protection
to her, who, but a short time back, shrunk in horror from his approach.
So slow and thoughtful had been his movements, and so long had he
suffered himself to be attracted by a spectacle so novel as the one he
had lately contemplated, that, notwithstanding the rapidity of his
return, it was evening when he reached the sacred grove; he advanced
within view of the verandah, he darted like lightning through every
alley or deep-entangled glen; but no unhallowed footstep disturbed the
silence, which was only animated by the sweet, wild chirp of the mayana;
no human form, save his own, peopled the lovely solitude; all breathed
of peace, and of repose. In the clear blue vault of heaven the moon had
risen with a bright and radiant lustre, known only in those pure
regions, where clouds are deemed phenomena. The Missionary paused for a
moment to gaze on Luxima’s verandah, and thought that, haply, even then,
with that strange mixture of natural faith and idolatrous superstition,
which distinguished the character of her devotion, she was worshipping,
at the shrine of Camdeo, in the almost inspired language of religious
sublimity. This thought disturbed him much; and he asked himself what
sacrifice he would not make, to behold that pure but wandering soul,
imbued with the spirit of Christian truth; but what sacrifice on earth
was reserved for him to make, who had no earthly enjoyment to
relinquish? “Yes,” he exclaimed, “there is yet one: to relinquish, for
ever, all communion with Luxima!” As this thought escaped his mind, he
shuddered: had she then become so necessary to his existence, that to
relinquish her society, would be deemed a sacrifice? He dismissed the
terrific idea, and hurried from a place where all breathed of her, whom
he endeavoured to banish from his recollection. As he approached his
cave, he was struck by the singular spectacle it exhibited: a fracture
in the central part of the roof admitted the light of the moon, which
rose immediately above it; and its cloudless rays, concentrated as to a
focus, within the narrow limits of the grotto, shone with a dazzling
lustre, which was increased and reflected by the pendent spars, and
surrounding congelations; while a fine relief was afforded by the more
remote cavities of the grotto, and the deep shadow of the œcynum,
whose dusky flowers and mourning leaves drooped round its entrance. But
it was on the altar, from its peculiar position, that the beams fell
with brightest lustre; and the Missionary, as he approached, thought
that he beheld on its rude steps, a vision brighter than his holiest
trance had e’er been blessed with; for nothing human ever looked so
fair, so motionless, or so seraphic. His eye was dazzled; his
imagination was bewildered; he invoked his patron saint, and crossed
himself; he approached, and gazed, and yet he doubted; but it was no
spirit of an higher sphere; no bright creation of religious ecstacy:--it
was Luxima! it was the pagan! seated on the steps of the Christian
altar; her brow shaded by her veil; her hands clasped upon the Bible
which lay open on her knee, and a faint glory playing round her head,
reflected from the golden crucifix suspended above it. She slept; but
yet so young was her repose, so much it seemed the stealing dawn of
doubtful slumber, that her humid eyes still glistened beneath the deep
shadow of her scarce-closed lashes: the hue of light which fell upon her
features, was blue and faint; and the air diffused around her figure,
harmonized with the soft and solemn character of the moonlight cave. The
Monk stood gazing, every sense bound up in one; his soul was in his
glance, and his look was such as beams in the eye when it snatches its
last look from the object dearest to the doting heart, till an
involuntary sigh, as it burst from his lips, chased by its echo, the
soft and stealing sleep of Luxima. She started, and looked round her, as
if almost doubtful of her identity. She beheld the Missionary standing
near her, and arose in confusion, yet with a confusion tinctured by
pleasurable surprise.
“Luxima!” he exclaimed, in a voice full of softness, and for the first
time addressing her by her name. “Father!” she timidly returned,
casting down her eyes; then, after a short but touching pause, she
added, “Thou wonderest much to see me here, at such an hour as this!”
“Much,” he returned: “but, dearest daughter, seeing thee as I have seen
thee, I rejoice much more.”
“Many days,” she said, in a low voice, “many days have fled since I
beheld thee; and I prophesied, from the vision of my last night’s dream,
that thy wound would gangrene, were it not speedily touched by the three
sacrificial threads of a Brahmin; therefore came I hither to seek thee,
and brought with me thy Christian Shaster, but I found thee not:
thinking thou wast performing poojah, near some sacred tank, I sat me
down upon thy altar steps, to wait thy coming, and to read thy Shaster;
till weariness, the darkness, and the silence of the place, stole upon
my senses, the doubtful slumber in which thou didst find me wrapt.”
“And dost thou regret,” said the Missionary, with a pensive smile, “that
the spirit of thy prophecy is false? Or dost thou rejoice, that my
wound, which awakened thy anxiety, is healed?” Luxima made no reply--the
feeling of the woman, and the pride of the Prophetess, seemed to
struggle in her bosom; yet a smile from lips, which on _her_ had never
smiled before, seemed to excite some emotion in her countenance. And
after a short pause, she arose, and presenting him the Scriptures, said,
“Christian, take back thy Shaster, for it should belong to thee alone.
’Tis a wondrous book! and full of holy love; worthy to be ranked with
the sacred _Veidam_, which the great Spirit presented to Brahma to
promote the happiness and wisdom of his creatures.” The Missionary had
not yet recovered from the confusion into which the unexpected
appearance of Luxima, in his grotto, had thrown him; he was, therefore,
but ill prepared to address her on a subject so awfully interesting, as
that to which her simple, but sacrilegious commentary, led. He stood,
for a moment, confounded; but, observing that Luxima was about to
depart, he said, “Thou camest hither to seek and to do me a kindness,
and yet my presence banishes thee: at least, suffer me to give thee my
protection on thy return.” As he spoke, they left the grotto together;
and, after a long silence, during which, both seemed engaged with their
own thoughts, the Missionary said, “Thou hast observed truly, that the
inspired work I have put into thy hands is full of holy love; for the
Christian doctrine is the doctrine of the heart, and, true to all its
purest feelings, is full of that tender-loving mercy, which blends and
unites the various selfish interests of mankind, in one great sentiment
of brotherly affection and religious love!”
“Such,” said Luxima, with enthusiasm, “is that doctrine of mystic love,
by which our true religion unites its followers to each other, and to
the Source of all good; for we cannot cling to the hope of infinite
felicity, without rejoicing in the first daughter of love to God, which
is charity towards man. Even here,” she continued, raising her eyes in
transport, “in a dark forlorn state of separation from our beloved, we
live solely in him, in contemplating the moment when we shall be
reunited to him in endless beatitude!”
“Luxima! Luxima!” exclaimed the Missionary, with emotion, “this
rhapsody, glowing and tender as it is, is not the language of religion,
but the eloquence of an ardent enthusiasm; it bears not the pure and
sacred stamp of holy truth, but the gloss and colouring of human
feeling. O my daughter! true religion, pure and simple as it is, is yet
awful and sublime--to be approached with fear and trembling, and to be
cultivated, not in fanciful and tender intimacy, but in spirit and in
truth; by sacrifices of the earthly passions, and the human feeling; by
tears which sue for mercy, and by sufferings which obtain it.” As he
spoke, his voice rose; his agitation increased. Luxima looked timidly in
his eyes, and sighed profoundly: the severity of his manner awed her
gentle nature; the rigid doctrines he preached, subdued her enthusiasm.
She was silent: and the Monk, touched by her softness and trembling,
lest, in scaring her imagination or wounding her feelings, he might
counteract the effects he had already, and with such difficulty,
produced; or, by personally estr | 1,734.578092 |
2023-11-16 18:45:58.8577490 | 3,054 | 12 |
E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Juliet Sutherland, 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 32173-h.htm or 32173-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/32173/32173-h/32173-h.htm)
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UNDER BOY SCOUT COLORS
by
JOSEPH B. AMES
Author of "Pete, Cow-Puncher," "The Treasure of the Canyon," etc.
Illustrated by Walt Louderback
[Illustration: He jerked backward with all the strength he could summon]
[Illustration]
Approved by the "Boy Scouts of America"
New York
The Century Co.
1917
Copyright, 1916, 1917, by
The Century Co.
Published September, 1917
TO
THE MEMBERS OF TROOP FIVE
FROM A GRATEFUL SCOUTMASTER
CONTENTS
Chapter Page
I THE LIVE WIRE 3
II THE NEW TENDERFOOT 12
III THE SILVER LINING 26
IV ON THE GRIDIRON 39
V TROUBLE AHEAD 53
VI THE QUARREL 65
VII IN THE LAST QUARTER 77
VIII THE GOOD TURN 86
IX AN ODD THANKSGIVING 96
X THE SURPRISE 108
XI ELKHORN CABIN 121
XII A CRY IN THE NIGHT 130
XIII WHAT THEY FOUND 140
XIV THE BOY WHO COULDN'T SWIM 147
XV THE RESCUE 157
XVI TREXLER'S TRANSFORMATION 171
XVII DALE'S CHANCE 184
XVIII A QUESTION OF MONEY 193
XIX THE ACCIDENT 202
XX FIRST AID 212
XXI LOST MINE HILL 223
XXII AROUND THE COUNCIL FIRE 232
XXIII A SURPRISE FOR VEDDER 237
XXIV THE MISSING SCOUT 243
XXV LOST MINE FOUND 253
XXVI THE WISH OF HIS HEART 264
XXVII THE SURPRISE 272
XXVIII WAR 282
XXIX "EVERY SCOUT TO FEED A SOLDIER" 294
XXX THE SILVER CROSS 301
XXXI THE RIOT WEDGE 308
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Page
He jerked backward with all the strength he could
summon Frontispiece
"Aw, quit it, fellows! It wasn't anything" 43
"What d'you want?" he demanded 99
The stick slid over the jagged edges of the hole 153
The car crashed into the weather-worn railing of
the bridge 209
In an instant he was surrounded by excited boys 257
"Ranny!" he exclaimed impulsively. "You--you--" 269
"Hold fast, boys!" he cried. "Brace your feet and
don't let them break the line" 311
UNDER BOY SCOUT COLORS
CHAPTER I
THE LIVE WIRE
Dale Tompkins slung the bulging bag of papers over one shoulder, and,
turning away from the news-stand, walked briskly down the main street
of Hillsgrove. The rain had ceased, and the wind that had howled fiercely
all day long was shifting into the west, where it tore to tatters the
banks of dun gray clouds, letting through gleams and patches of cold
blue sky tinged with the pale, chill yellow of a typical autumn sunset.
The cold look of that sunset was well borne out by a keen nip in the air,
but Dale was too thankful to have it clear at all to complain. Besides,
he wasn't exactly the complaining sort. Turning up the collar of a rather
shabby coat, he thrust both hands deep into his trousers' pockets and
hurried whistling along, bent on delivering his papers in the quickest
possible time.
"I ought to get home by seven, anyhow," he thought calculatingly. "And
if Mother'll only give me a hurry-up snack, I'll be in time for meeting."
He rolled the last word under his tongue with the prideful accent of a
novice. Then, with a sudden start, one hand jerked out of his pocket
and slipped between the buttons of the thread-bare coat. For an anxious
moment it groped there before the fingers closed over a metal badge,
shaped like a trefoil, that was pinned securely to the flannel shirt.
A somewhat sheepish grin overspread the freckled face, and through
an open gate Dale shot a paper dexterously across the porch to land
accurately in the middle of the door-mat.
"I'd hate to lose it the very first week," he muttered, with a touch
of apology. Mechanically he delivered another paper, and then he sighed.
"Gee! A month sure seems an awful long time to wait when you know about
all the tests already. I could even pass some of the first-class ones, I
bet! That handbook's a dandy, all right. I don't guess there was ever
another book printed with so much in it, exceptin', maybe--"
The words froze on his lips, and he caught his breath with a sharp,
hissing intake. From somewhere in the next block a scream rang out
on the still air, so shrill, so sudden, so full of surprise and pain
and utter terror that Dale's blood turned cold within him, and the
arm, half extended to toss a folded paper, halted in the middle of its
swing, as if encountering an invisible obstacle. The pause was only
momentary. Abruptly, as if two hands were pressed around a throbbing
throat, the cry was cut off, and in the deathly silence that followed,
Dale hurled the paper hastily, but accurately, from him, and turned
and ran.
Eyes wide and face a little white, he tore across the road, splashing
through puddles and slipping in the soft mud. Whirling around the corner
into Pine Street, he saw a woman rush bareheaded out of a near-by
house and two men come running down an adjacent alley. Rather, he noted
them with that odd sense of observation which works intuitively, for his
whole being was concentrated on the sight of that slight, boyish figure
lying motionless in the roadway.
For a second Dale stared blankly, unable to understand. His first
thought was that some human agency had done this thing, but almost as
swiftly he realized that there was no one in sight who could have
struck the child unconscious, nor had there been time for such an
assailant to get away. Then, as he hurried closer through the gathering
dusk, he caught sight of a trailing wire gripped convulsively in the
small hands, and in a flash he realized the truth. In a flash, too,
he realized that the body was not as motionless as he had supposed. A
writhing, twisting movement, slight but ceaseless, quivered through
the helpless victim, from his thin, black-stockinged legs to the blue
lips. To the white-faced lad bending over him it seemed to tell of great
suffering borne, perforce, in silence--and he was such a little kid!
From Dale's own lips there burst a smothered, inarticulate cry. Every
idea, save the vital need of tearing loose that killing grip, vanished
from the older boy's mind. Heedless of a warning shout from one of the
men, he bent swiftly forward and caught the child by one shoulder.
What happened then Dale was never afterward able to describe clearly.
It was as if some monstrous tingling force, greater, stranger than
anything he had ever known, struck at him out of the air. In a twinkling
it tore him from the boy on the ground and hurled him almost the width
of the street. He crashed against the stone curbing and for a second
or two lay there, dazed and blinking, then climbed painfully to his feet.
"I oughtn't to have--touched him--with my bare hands," he muttered
uncertainly. "I must have got nearly the whole charge!"
He felt faint and sick and wobbly. From the horrified group gathered
helplessly around the unconscious boy across the street, a woman's
hysterical cry beat on his brain with monotonous iteration: "What can
we do? What can we do? It's terrible! Oh, can't you do something?"
"If we only had rubber gloves--" murmured one of the men, vaguely.
"Where's a 'phone?" interrupted another. "I'm going to get 'em to shut
off the current!"
"You can't," some one replied. People were constantly rushing up to gasp
and exclaim, but do nothing. "The power-house is clear over at Medina.
It'll take too long to get the connection."
"I'm going to try, anyhow," was the sharp retort. "It's better than doing
nothing."
As he dashed past Dale and disappeared into a neighboring house, the boy
moved slowly forward. He splashed through a puddle, and something he
had read, or heard, came back to him. Water was a perfect conductor,
and he had been standing in a regular pool of it when he grabbed the
child. No wonder he had been shocked.
"Insulation," he murmured, his head still swimming. "That's it! The
handbook says--"
The bag of papers bumped against his thigh, and somehow Dale's numbed
brain began to clear swiftly. How could he have forgotten that paper was
a non-conductor as well as silk or rubber? Rubber! Why, the bag itself
was made of some kind of waterproof stuff. He thrust aside a half-grown,
gaping youth.
"Give me a show, can't you?" he cried almost fiercely. Thrilled,
exhilarated with a sudden sense of power, he jerked the bag off his
shoulder. "The kid'll never live if he waits for you fellows to do
something." With extraordinary swiftness he pulled out several
thicknesses of newspaper and wrapped them about one hand and arm.
Similarly swathing the other, he dropped the rubber-coated bag to the
ground and stepped squarely on it. His eyes were wide and almost black
with excitement. "Oh, cut that out!" he snapped over one shoulder to a
protesting bystander. "Don't you s'pose I _know_ what I'm doing? I'm a
scout!"
A second later he had gripped the unconscious child again by an arm and
shoulder. This time there was no shock, only a queer, vibratory tingling
that Dale scarcely noticed, so intent was he on doing the right thing.
He must not bungle now. He remembered perfectly what the book said
about releasing a person in contact with a live wire. It must be done
quickly and cleanly, without unnecessary tugging, or else the shock
and burning would be greatly increased. Dale braced his feet and drew a
long breath. Then, suddenly, he jerked backward with all the strength
he could summon. The next thing he knew he was sitting squarely in a
puddle with both arms around the child, whose grip on the deadly wire he
had broken.
Instantly the hitherto inactive group was roused to life and movement,
and amidst a Babel of talk and advice they surged around the unconscious
lad and his rescuer. Before the latter realized what had happened, some
one had snatched the little chap from him and started swiftly toward
one of the near-by houses. After and around them streamed a throng of
men, women, and children, pitying, anxious, or merely curious, but, now
that the danger was past, all equally voluble with suggestions or advice.
Dale rose slowly to his feet, and stood for a moment staring after them
with a troubled frown. "Why don't they give him air?" he said. "If only
they wouldn't bunch around him like that--"
He paused hesitatingly, watching the procession mount the steps and cross
a wide veranda. The stress and excitement that had dominated him till
now seemed to have vanished, and a reaction set in. He wondered whether
folks wouldn't think him too "fresh" for thrusting himself forward as
he had done. The remembrance of the man to whom he had talked back made
him wriggle uncomfortably; it was one of his oldest customers. "Gee!" he
muttered, with a touch of uneasiness; "I reckon I must have sassed him
pretty well, too!"
Dusk had given place to night. Under a flaring gas-light at the curb
two early arrivals, who had stayed behind to guard the deadly, dangling
wire, were busy explaining the situation to several wide-eyed later
comers. They formed an animated group, and Dale, standing in the shadow
behind them, felt curiously out of it and alone. The wind, sweeping
up the street, struck through his wet clothes and made him shiver.
"Time I was getting started," he thought. "It must be awful late."
As he bent over to pick up his bag, the movement set his head to
throbbing afresh. His exploring fingers encountered a lump, where he
had hit the curb, that felt about the size of an ostrich-egg. Dale's
forehead wrinkled, and he opened the bag mechanically, only to find
the remaining papers were soaked through and ruined. Those he had wrapped
around his hands lay in the mud at his feet | 1,734.877789 |
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Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Craig Kirkwood, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)
Transcriber’s Notes:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.
* * * * *
VOLUME I, No. 10. OCTOBER, 1911
THE REVIEW
A MONTHLY PERIODICAL, PUBLISHED BY THE NATIONAL PRISONERS’ AID
ASSOCIATION AT 135 EAST 15th STREET, NEW YORK CITY.
TEN CENTS A COPY. ONE DOLLAR A YEAR
T. F. Carver, President.
Wm. F. French, Vice President.
O. F. Lewis, Secretary, Treasurer and Editor Review.
Edward Fielding, Chairman Ex. Committee.
F. Emory Lyon, Member Ex. Committee.
W. G. McClaren, Member Ex. Committee.
A. H. Votaw, Member Ex. Committee.
E. A. Fredenhagen, Member Ex. Committee.
Joseph P. Byers, Member Ex. Committee.
R. B. McCord, Member Ex. Committee.
SOME PRISON PROBLEMS
[At the recent meeting of the American Prison Association, Frank L.
Randall, Superintendent of the Minnesota State reformatory at St.
Cloud, read as chairman the report of the committee on reformatory work
and parole, from which we print the following extracts.]
To the chief executive officers of penal and correctional institutions
in the United States and Canada was submitted the following question:
“To what extent do you recognize mental inadequacy and constitutional
inferiority among the persons in your charge?”
The estimates are various. Among prisons for adults they range from
3 persons out of 240 in Wyoming, to 10 per cent. in Nebraska and
Philadelphia, 20 per cent. in Rhode Island, 25 per cent. in Vermont, 30
per cent. in Indiana, 30 per cent. to 40 per cent. in Wisconsin, fully
50 per cent. in Kansas, 60 per cent. in West Virginia, 50 per cent. to
75 per cent. in Minnesota, and a still higher percentage of prisoners
lacking in energy, mentally or physically, in one Michigan prison.
Major McClaughry, and Warden Wood of Virginia, wrote that they could
not answer the question.
From state reformatories came estimates covering a range from 25 per
cent. to 40 per cent. only in Iowa, Washington, Kansas, and New York
(Elmira). The writer, regretting his inability to report more exactly,
because the work in his institution has not been completed, feels
safe in concurring in the general approximations cited by reformatory
superintendents.
From the New York reformatory for women at Bedford Hills we have the
following: “Realizing that a large percentage are subnormal, July 1,
1911, we employed a trained psychologist who will make it a year’s
study.” From juvenile institutions the returns are neither more
hopeful, nor more satisfying, and many institutions of that class seem
to have no special facilities for caring for weaklings, and depend upon
a relaxation of the discipline in their behalf. A study of 200 in the
boys industrial school in Kansas disclosed that 174 were mentally dull,
markedly defective, or two or more years behind their proper place in
school. In the industrial school of New Hampshire about 75 per cent.
are reported to be four to five years below their normal grade in
school.
Other letters say “probably 25 per cent., at least;” “one-third;”
“50 per cent.;” “to a very large extent;” and so forth. The Idaho
industrial training school reports: “A very small per cent.; I think
not above five per cent.;” and the Georgia state reformatory reports
that “the discipline has to be based on the fact that 75 per cent. of
inmates are mental defectives and 99 per cent. are moral defectives.”
The girls industrial home of Ohio says: “Fully nine-tenths are
subnormal mentally, and a large per cent. physically weak or crippled.”
From the Iowa industrial school for girls comes the following: “There
is a certain inferiority, either mental or constitutional inadequacy,
in each and every one. In the majority of cases it is a weakness; that
is, they are easily influenced, therefore easily led astray.”
It seems fair and right to allow for a difference among the writers
as to the full import of the question to which they have responded,
but that may not entirely account for the considerable differences in
estimates. Possibly varying court proceedings, and the use of the power
of probation by some of the courts or other exemptions from detention,
may, in some places, have culled out most of the normal children.
Your committee rather inclines to think however that longer and more
extensive experience, in many cases, tends to fix in the mind the
necessary recognition of a grave amount of mental inadequacy and
constitutional inferiority, calling for custodial care, among all
classes of delinquents, including juveniles, no less than adults.
While the incompetents remain with the normal persons in labor, in
school, and in recreation, the progress of the bright is certain to
be retarded by the association, while the outlook for the dull is not
improved. This mingling and attempted classification of unequal units
seems to be the rule almost everywhere, with consequent lowering of
efficiency and tone, to the basis of the inferior.
So far as returns have been received from prisons, reformatories and
juvenile institutions for correction, the average terms of office of
the executive heads during the last twenty years have been about as
follows: In prisons about four and one-third years. In reformatories
for adults about eight and one-third years, and in institutions
for juveniles about six and one-quarter years. These averages are
considerably higher than they would otherwise be, by reason of the
fact that in some states it is not usual to make a disturbance without
cause, and somewhat lower than they would otherwise be, because in
some states each change in the personality of the governor, as well as
each change in party politics, has almost uniformly resulted in the
dismissal or enforced resignation of the wardens and superintendents
of the class of institutions under consideration, quite regardless of
their capacity and fidelity, and sometimes apparently without a serious
inquiry as to the peculiar fitness of the new appointee.
Some of the delegates to this Prison Congress may hardly appreciate
the fact that there are institutions in some states where neither
institution heads nor subordinates attend caucuses, discuss politics,
contribute to campaign funds or take any part in election matters,
except to vote: and where the political preferences of the members of
the staff are unknown to each other, or to their chief. The elections
bring to the institutions no unusual excitement or personal anxiety.
The establishment of truant schools in the cities has demonstrated that
the best and most capable teachers and managers are necessary to their
successful conduct and discipline, and for the same reasons a prison or
reformatory should be manned by the best obtainable talent.
Your committee have made diligent inquiry but have not learned of any
jurisdiction in which the compensation and status of subordinates in
penal and correctional institutions is such as to ordinarily attract
young men and women of the kind and character needed for the work;
and neither do we find that such subordinates are any where required
to have technical training or prior experience, before assuming their
responsible positions as exemplars, directors and officials to those
whose careers have been, at least to some extent, oblique.
With their small pay, and perhaps small chance for promotion, and often
with an uncertain tenure, their hours of duty long, and their work
somewhat monotonous, and depressing to those not peculiarly fitted to
it, they not infrequently have uncomfortable quarters, and but little
opportunity to develop their social side.
It is not to be wondered at that many of the young people who should
follow institution work turn their attention in some more pleasing and
promising direction, and that the service generally fails to measure up
to its possibilities.
Subordinates are found, to be sure, who fill every requirement, and
who could not be improved upon on any basis of wages, but that merely
indicates what might be done, if the appointing power might only offer
inducements for likely young people to come to the institution, and
make them glad to remain.
The State attempts to secure first class work for second class
compensation, and while it may often succeed in individual instances,
the policy is not to be approved.
In conclusion we wish to recapitulate to the extent of indicating in
brief the points deemed by us to be the most important for improvement
in reformatory work, as follows:
1. The recognition of mental incompetency and constitutional
inferiority among delinquents.
2. The segregation of persons of marked inferior equipment and
capacity, and their detention in custodial asylums, and other places
suited to their care and treatment.
(This for the purpose of humanely and favorably disposing of, and
caring for, helpless recidivists, dements, chronic invalids, epileptics
and others.)
3. The furnishing to the public of reliable and important information
regarding the character of the inmates of institutions, and the work
carried on.
4. The need of men and women of higher ideals and higher culture in
places of confinement, necessitating preliminary training, higher
wages, improved accommodations, suitable hours, fair tenure of office,
and opportunity for promotion.
5. The elimination of political consideration from the conduct of the
institutions, and from the appointment of all persons of high or less
high degree in connection therewith.
6. The closest scrutiny into the physical and mental condition capacity
of each person detained, and into his past history and environment.
7. The establishment of a system under which no delinquent shall
be released, unless in the judgment of the board, after searching
inquiry, there is good reason to believe that he can and will maintain
himself without relapsing into crime, and will be of some service to
society; and under which no delinquent will be further held when such a
condition is believed to have been reached.
8. The extension of state agency and other supervisory means for
observing and aiding the delinquent on parole, and for selecting
suitable location and employment for him, and caring for his surplus
earnings.
ECHOES FROM OMAHA
[The American Prison Association held its annual meeting at Omaha,
Nebraska, from October, 14th to 19th. The Review publishes this month
some echoes of the convention. In November further attention will be
devoted to the meeting.]
_Morons in New Jersey Reformatory._--Dr. Frank Moore, superintendent
of the Rahway Reformatory gave an address before the annual convention
of the American prison association at Omaha, on “Mending the Immoral
Moron.” He said, in part:
“In our New Jersey reformatory we have during the last two years made
a careful study of this problem. Each inmate that has been received
has been tested concerning his mentality, with the result that 46 per
cent. were found to be deficients and to have minds that in knowledge
or ability were only equal to the minds of children from 5 to 13 years
old. Fully 33 per cent. or one-third of our population, we concluded
was of the Moron class.
“The problem presents very great difficulties. The ordinary institution
officers declare that prisoners are ‘dopes,’ and sometimes the
psychologist agrees with them.
“The methods employed in dealing with this difficult problem must be
unusually wise. The first thing that seems important is to know the
man. He must be recognized as | 1,734.97366 |
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HARDING OF ALLENWOOD
[Illustration: "'PICK UP YOUR SKIRT,' HE SAID BLUNTLY; 'IT GETS
STEEPER.'"--Page 32]
HARDING OF ALLENWOOD
BY HAROLD BINDLOSS
AUTHOR OF PRESCOTT OF SASKATCHEWAN,
WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE, ETC
WITH FRONTISPIECE IN COLOR
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1915, by
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THE PIONEERS 1
II PORTENTS OF CHANGE 14
III AT THE FORD 26
IV THE OPENING OF THE RIFT 36
V THE SPENDTHRIFT 48
VI THE MORTGAGE BROKER 56
VII AN ACCIDENT 67
VIII AN UNEXPECTED ESCAPE 79
IX A MAN OF AFFAIRS 92
X THE CASTING VOTE 103
XI THE STEAM PLOW 118
XII THE ENEMY WITHIN 132
XIII THE TRAITOR 145
XIV A BOLD SCHEME 156
XV HARVEST HOME 169
XVI THE BRIDGE 182
XVII A HEAVY BLOW 192
XVIII COVERING HIS TRAIL 203
XIX THE BLIZZARD 215
XX A SEVERE TEST 225
XXI THE DAY OF RECKONING 236
XXII THE PRICE OF HONOR 245
XXIII A WOMAN INTERVENES 255
XXIV A GREAT TRIUMPH 264
XXV THE REBUFF 276
XXVI DROUGHT 287
XXVII THE ADVENTURESS 298
XXVIII FIRE AND HAIL 308
XXIX A BRAVE HEART 318
XXX THE INHERITANCE 326
HARDING, OF ALLENWOOD
CHAPTER I
THE PIONEERS
It was a clear day in September. The boisterous winds which had swept
the wide Canadian plain all summer had fallen and only a faint breeze
stirred the yellowing leaves of the poplars. Against the glaring blue of
the northern sky the edge of the prairie cut in a long, straight line;
above the southern horizon rounded cloud-masses hung, soft and white as
wool. Far off, the prairie was washed with tints of delicate gray, but
as it swept in to the foreground the color changed, growing in strength,
to brown and ocher with streaks of silvery brightness where the withered
grass caught the light. To the east the view was broken, for the banks
of a creek that wound across the broad level were lined with
timber--birches and poplars growing tall in the shelter of the ravine
and straggling along its crest. Their pale- branches glowed among
the early autumn leaves.
In a gap between the trees two men stood resting on their axes, and rows
of logs and branches and piles of chips were scattered about the
clearing. The men were dressed much alike, in shirts that had once been
blue but were now faded to an indefinite color, old brown overalls, and
soft felt hats that had fallen out of shape. Their arms were bare to the
elbows, the low shirt-collars left their necks exposed, showing skin
that had weathered, like their clothing, to the color of the soil.
Standing still, they were scarcely distinguishable from their
surroundings.
Harding was thirty years old, and tall and strongly built. He looked
virile and athletic, but his figure was marked by signs of strength
rather than grace. His forehead was broad, his eyes between blue and
gray, and his gaze gravely steady. He had a straight nose and a firm
mouth; and although there was more than a hint of determination in his
expression, it indicated, on the whole, a pleasant, even a magnetic,
disposition.
Devine was five years younger and of lighter build. He was the handsomer
of the two, but he lacked that indefinite something about his companion
which attracted more attention.
"Let's quit a few minutes for a smoke," suggested Devine, dropping his
ax. "We've worked pretty hard since noon."
He sat down on a log and took out an old corncob pipe. When it was
filled and lighted he leaned back contentedly against a friendly stump.
Harding remained standing, his hand on the long ax-haft, his chin
slightly lifted, and his eyes fixed on the empty plain. Between him and
the horizon there was no sign of life except that a flock of migrating
birds were moving south across the sky in a drawn-out wedge. The wide
expanse formed part of what was then the territory of Assiniboia, and is
now the province of Saskatchewan. As far as one could see, the soil was
thin alluvial loam, interspersed with the stiff "gumbo" that grows the
finest wheat; but the plow had not yet broken its surface. Small towns
were springing up along the railroad track, but the great plain between
the Saskatchewan and the Assiniboine was, for the most part, still a
waste, waiting for the tide of population that had begun to flow.
Harding was a born pioneer, and his expression grew intent as he gazed
across the wilderness.
"What will this prairie be like, Fred, when those poplars are tall
enough to cut?" he said gravely, indicating some saplings beside him.
"There's going to be a big change here."
"That's true; and it's just what I'm counting on. That's what made me
leave old Dakota. I want to be in on the ground-floor!"
Harding knit his brows, and his face had a concentrated look. He was not
given to talking at large, but he had a gift of half-instinctive
prevision as well as practical, constructive ability, and just then he
felt strangely moved. It seemed to him that he heard in the distance the
march of a great army of new home-builders, moving forward slowly and
cautiously as yet. He was one of the advance skirmishers, though the
first scouts had already pushed on and vanished across the skyline into
the virgin West.
"Well," he said, "think what's happening! Ontario's settled and busy
with manufactures; Manitoba and the Dakotas, except for the sand-belts,
are filling up. The older States are crowded, and somebody owns all the
soil that's worth working in the Middle West. England and Germany are
overflowing, and we have roughly seven hundred miles of country here
that needs people. They must come. The pressure behind will force them."
"But think what that will mean to the price of wheat! It's bringing only
a dollar and a half now. We can't raise it at a dollar."
"It will break the careless," Harding said, "but dollar wheat will come.
The branch railroads will follow the homesteads; you'll see the
elevators dotting the prairie, and when we've opened up this great
tableland between the American border and the frozen line, the wheat
will pour into every settlement | 1,734.974925 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Dave Morgan and PG Distributed Proofreaders
[Illustration: Darrin's Blow Knocked the Midshipman Down]
DAVE DARRIN'S SECOND YEAR AT ANNAPOLIS
or
Two Midshipmen as Naval Academy "Youngsters"
By
H. IRVING HANCOCK Illustrated
MCMXI
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. A QUESTION OF MIDSHIPMAN HONOR
II. DAVE'S PAP-SHEET ADVICE
III. MIDSHIPMAN PENNINGTON GOES TOO FAR
IV. A LITTLE MEETING ASHORE
V. WHEN THE SECONDS WONDERED
VI. IN TROUBLE ON FOREIGN SOIL
VII. PENNINGTON GETS HIS WISH
VIII. THE TRAGEDY OF THE GALE
IX. THE DESPAIR OF THE "RECALL"
X. THE GRIM WATCH FROM THE WAVES
XI. MIDSHIPMAN PENNINGTON'S ACCIDENT
XII. BACK IN THE HOME TOWN
XIII. DAN RECEIVES A FEARFUL FACER
XIV. THE FIRST HOP WITH THE HOME GIRLS
XV. A DISAGREEABLE FIRST CLASSMAN
XVI. HOW DAN FACED THE BOARD
XVII. LOSING THE TIME-KEEPER'S COUNT
XVIII. FIGHTING THE FAMOUS DOUBLE BATTLE
XIX. THE OFFICER IN CHARGE IS SHOCKED
XX. CONCLUSION
| 1,735.081389 |
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produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
LIVES OF THE MOST EMINENT PAINTERS SCULPTORS & ARCHITECTS BY GIORGIO
VASARI:
VOLUME III. FILARETE AND SIMONE TO MANTEGNA 1912
NEWLY TRANSLATED BY GASTON Du C. DE VERE. WITH FIVE HUNDRED
ILLUSTRATIONS: IN TEN VOLUMES
[Illustration: 1511-1574]
PHILIP LEE WARNER, PUBLISHER TO THE MEDICI SOCIETY, LIMITED 7 GRAFTON
ST. LONDON, W. 1912-14
CONTENTS OF VOLUME III
PAGE
ANTONIO FILARETE AND SIMONE 1
GIULIANO DA MAIANO 9
PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA [PIERO BORGHESE] 15
FRA GIOVANNI DA FIESOLE [FRA ANGELICO] 25
LEON BATISTA ALBERTI 41
LAZZARO VASARI 49
ANTONELLO DA MESSINA 57
ALESSO BALDOVINETTI 65
VELLANO DA PADOVA 71
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI 77
PAOLO ROMANO, MAESTRO MINO [MINO DEL REGNO _OR_ MINO DEL
REAME], AND CHIMENTI CAMICIA 89
ANDREA DAL CASTAGNO OF MUGELLO [ANDREA DEGL' IMPICCATI]
AND DOMENICO VINIZIANO [DOMENICO DA VENEZIA] 95
GENTILE DA FABRIANO AND VITTORE PISANELLO OF VERONA 107
PESELLO AND FRANCESCO PESELLI [PESELLINO _OR_ FRANCESCO DI
PESELLO] 115
BENOZZO GOZZOLI 119
FRANCESCO DI GIORGIO AND LORENZO VECCHIETTO 127
GALASSO FERRARESE [GALASSO GALASSI] 133
ANTONIO ROSSELLINO [ROSSELLINO DAL PROCONSOLO] AND
BERNARDO HIS BROTHER 137
DESIDERIO DA SETTIGNANO 145
MINO DA FIESOLE [MINO DI GIOVANNI] 151
LORENZO COSTA 159
ERCOLE FERRARESE [ERCOLE DA FERRARA] 165
JACOPO, GIOVANNI, AND GENTILE BELLINI 171
COSIMO ROSSELLI 185
CECCA 191
DON BARTOLOMMEO DELLA GATTA, ABBOT OF S. CLEMENTE 201
GHERARDO 211
DOMENICO GHIRLANDAJO 217
ANTONIO AND PIERO POLLAIUOLO 235
SANDRO BOTTICELLI [ALESSANDRO FILIPEPI _OR_ SANDRO DI
BOTTICELLO] 245
BENEDETTO DA MAIANO 255
ANDREA VERROCCHIO 265
ANDREA MANTEGNA 277
INDEX OF NAMES 287
ILLUSTRATIONS TO VOLUME III
PLATES IN COLOUR
FACING PAGE
VINCENZIO DI ZOPPA (FOPPA)
Madonna and Child
Settignano: Berenson Collection 6
PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA
Federigo da Montefeltro, Duke of Urbino, and Battista Sforza,
his Wife
Florence: Uffizi, 1300 18
PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA
The Baptism in Jordan
London: N. G., 665 22
FRA GIOVANNI DA FIESOLE (FRA ANGELICO)
The Annunciation
Cortona: Gesu Gallery 34
ANTONELLO DA MESSINA
Portrait of a Young Man
Berlin: Kaiser Friedrich Museum, 18 62
ANTONELLO DA MESSINA
The Crucifixion
London: N. G., 1166 64
ALESSO BALDOVINETTI
Madonna and Child in a Landscape
Paris: Louvre, 1300B 68
FRA FILIPPO LIPPI
The Annunciation
London: N. G., 666 80
ANDREA DAL CASTAGNO
Dante
Florence: S. Apollonia 102
GENTILE DA FABRIANO
Detail from The Adoration of the Magi: Madonna and Child,
with Three Kings
Florence: Accademia, 165 110
VITTORE PISANELLO
The Vision of S. Eustace
London: N. G., 1436 112
FRANCESCO PESELLI (PESELLINO)
Madonna Enthroned, with Saints and Angels
Empoli: Gallery 118
BENOZZO GOZZOLI
Madonna and Child
Berlin: Kaiser Friedrich Museum, 60B 122
FRANCESCO DI GIORGIO
S. Dorothy
London: N. G., 1682 128
JACOPO BELLINI
Madonna and Child
Florence: Uffizi, 1562 174
GIOVANNI BELLINI
The Doge Leonardo Loredano
London: N. G., 189 174
GIOVANNI BELLINI
Fortuna
Venice: Accademia, 595 178
GIOVANNI BELLINI
The Dead Christ
Milan: Poldi Pezzoli, 624 178
GENTILE BELLINI
S. Dominic
London: N. G., 1440 182
DOMENICO GHIRLANDAJO
The Vision of S. Fina
San Gimignano 224
ANTONIO POLLAIUOLO
David Victor
Berlin: Kaiser Friedrich Museum, 73A 240
SANDRO BOTTICELLI
Pallas and the Centaur
Florence: Pitti Palace 248
SANDRO BOTTICELLI
Giovanna Tornabuoni and the Graces
Paris: Louvre, 1297 248
SANDRO BOTTICELLI
Madonna of the Pomegranate
Florence: Uffizi, 1289 252
ANDREA MANTEGNA
Madonna of the Rocks
Florence: Uffizi, 1025 280
PLATES IN MONOCHROME
FACING PAGE
ANTONIO FILARETE
Bronze Doors
Rome: S. Peter's 4
SIMONE
Tomb of Pope Martin V
Rome: S. Giovanni in Laterano 8
BENEDETTO DA MAIANO
S. Sebastian
Florence: Oratorio della Misericordia 14
PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA
The Resurrection
Borgo S. Sepolcro 20
PIERO DELLA FRANCESCA
The Vision of Constantine
Arezzo: S. Francesco 24
FRA GIOVANNI DA FIESOLE (FRA ANGELICO)
The Transfiguration
Florence: S. Marco 30
FRA GIOVANNI DA FIESOLE (FRA ANGELICO)
S. Stephen Preaching
Rome: The Vatican, Chapel of Nicholas V 32
LEON BATISTA ALBERTI
Facade of S. Andrea
Mantua 46
ALESSO BALDOVINETTI
The Annunciation
Florence: Uffizi, 56 66
GRAFFIONE
The Trinity
Florence: S. Spirito 70
VELLANO | 1,735.378529 |
2023-11-16 18:45:59.4591310 | 3,054 | 17 | The Project Gutenberg Etext of Serge Panine, by Georges Ohnet, v1
#1 in our series The French Immortals Crowned by the French Academy
#1 in our series by Georges Ohnet
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OR
[*] You provide, or agree to also provide | 1,735.479171 |
2023-11-16 18:45:59.4592260 | 104 | 7 |
Produced by Larry B. Harrison and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
------------------------------------------------------------------------
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ
LOW TIDE ON GRAND PRÉ:
A BOOK OF LYRICS:
BY
BLISS CARMAN
[Illustration: logo]
CHARLES L. WEBSTER AND COMPANY
P | 1,735.479266 |
2023-11-16 18:45:59.4605170 | 2,469 | 17 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
Phrases printed in italics in the original version are
indicated in this electronic version by _ (underscore).
A list of amendments are given at the end of the book.
LITTLE FOLKS:
_A Magazine for the Young._
_NEW AND ENLARGED SERIES._
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED.
_LONDON, PARIS & NEW YORK._
[ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.]
[Illustration]
A LITTLE TOO CLEVER.
_By the Author of "Pen's Perplexities," "Margaret's Enemy," "Maid
Marjory," &c._
CHAPTER XVI.--IN LONDON.
[Illustration]
"What is the meaning of this--this gross outrage?" stammered
Grandpapa Donaldson, growing very red and angry. "By what right do
you molest peaceful travellers? Go on, my dear," he added, addressing
Mrs. Donaldson. "You and Effie go on; I will join you directly."
"We will wait for you, father," Mrs. Donaldson said, in a sweet,
pensive voice. "What do these gentlemen want?"
"You cannot leave the carriage, madam," one of the men said, placing
himself firmly against the door, and drawing a paper from his pocket.
"I hold here a warrant for the apprehension of John and Lucy Murdoch,
who put up last night at the 'Royal Hotel' at Edinburgh, and engaged
a first-class compartment by the Scotch morning express."
"You are making a mistake," Mrs. Donaldson said quietly. "Our name is
not Murdoch."
"A mistake you will have to pay dearly for!" the old gentleman cried
irascibly. "It is preposterous, perfectly preposterous!"
Elsie stood by, listening with all her ears, quite unable to
understand the meaning of this strange scene, any more than that old
Mr. Donaldson was evidently very annoyed and angry about it. When the
words "John and Lucy Murdoch" fell on her ear, she gave a little
start, for Meg's remarks came back to her mind, filling her with
curiosity. Fortunately, no one was observing her, and her momentary
confusion passed unobserved in the gloom of the carriage. Not for
worlds would she have betrayed Meg.
"Effie dear," Mrs. Donaldson said sweetly, "have you the book
grandpapa gave you, and my umbrella?"
"Yes, mamma; here they are," Elsie returned, as readily as she could.
Never before had it seemed so difficult to bring out the word
"mamma" naturally.
It was the answer that Mrs. Donaldson wanted.
"Then we are quite ready," she returned. "Please do not detain us any
longer than you are obliged," she said haughtily to the man who held
the carriage door; "my little girl is very tired."
"Sorry for that," the stranger said, eyeing Elsie curiously. The
officer had been examining the various items of luggage, peering
under the seats, taking stock of everything. They seemed a trifle
undecided about something, Elsie thought.
When the man had completed his search, he turned to Elsie. "What is
your name, my little girl?" he asked kindly, but with his eyes fixed
upon her face.
"Effie Donaldson," Elsie replied, not daring for Duncan's sake to
speak the truth.
"How long have you known this lady?" he asked.
"It is mamma," Elsie answered, slowly and timidly, "and my Grandpapa
Donaldson."
The man said a few words in a low tone to the other, and then turned
again to the old gentleman.
"I am sorry to be obliged to detain you," he said, more respectfully
than he had hitherto spoken. "My directions are to take into custody
a lady and gentleman travelling from Edinburgh in a specially-engaged
compartment. The little girl is not mentioned in my warrant, but I
regret that she must be included. No doubt you will be able to set it
straight. I advise you to come quietly, and then no force will be
used."
"Come quietly, indeed! I refuse to come at all!" the old gentleman
exclaimed. "You are exceeding your authority, and will get yourself
into trouble. Read me your warrant."
Elsie listened silently while the officer read out something about a
lady dressed as a widow passing under the name of Thwaites, and a
gentleman, calling himself her brother, who had left the "Royal
Hotel" that morning, and travelled to London in a specially-engaged
carriage. This perplexed Elsie very much, for she remembered what Meg
had said of the gentleman she had been told to call Uncle William,
"then he passes himself off as her brother, and he's her husband all
the time," which seemed strangely like what the man had just read,
except for the name Thwaites, which Elsie had never heard.
"Why, it's most absurd!" the old gentleman cried. "The only point of
similarity is that of my daughter being a widow. You have not the
slightest ground for identifying us with the description you hold."
"Nevertheless, I am compelled to take you before a magistrate, where
you can explain to his satisfaction," the officer replied firmly,
drawing from his pocket some strange instruments, looking like clumsy
bracelets, with heavy chains linking them together.
Mrs. Donaldson uttered a faint scream, and sank back on the carriage
seat. The man, without a word, proceeded to clasp them on Mr.
Donaldson's wrists, while the old gentleman fumed and stamped about
the carriage.
A signal brought up several porters and the guard of the train, who
crowded round the door, eager to see the exciting scene.
"Take this child in your arms and keep before me," one of the
officials said in peremptory tones to a porter, who lifted Elsie up,
and stood in readiness, while the "fairy mother" and Grandpapa
Donaldson were assisted to alight.
"That's a queer go!" said the guard, eyeing the old gentleman with a
broad stare of astonishment. "It was a gentleman looking quite
different that got in the train at Edinburgh."
"Are you quite certain of that?" the officer asked him.
"I'm pretty certain. They, as near as possible, missed the train. I
was just starting her when they came flying across the platform. I
caught sight of them with the little one between, being jumped almost
off her feet. They couldn't have more than got in when we began to
move."
"You didn't look into this compartment at any of the places you
stopped at, then?" the officer asked.
"I caught sight of the lady and the little girl once as I passed
along the train at Carlisle," the man replied. "I don't remember
noticing the gentleman, but I fancy he was asleep, with a large silk
handkerchief over his head."
"Name and address, please?" the officer said, drawing out a
pocket-book, in which he wrote quickly a few lines.
The lady and gentleman were then conducted across the station, one of
the officers, who were both dressed quite plainly, walking on either
side of them. They attracted very little attention as they passed
quickly on, only the people close at hand turning to stare. In less
than two minutes they were inside a cab, one officer accompanying
them inside, another taking his seat on the box.
After a jolting, uncomfortable drive of some distance, they passed
through some gates into a great courtyard, which seemed to be
surrounded by a huge dark mass of buildings. Here the officer sprang
out and helped them to alight.
Some other men in uniforms came out of a doorway and crowded round
the prisoners. The officer who accompanied them gave some directions
concerning Elsie, to which she was listening, and trying in vain to
understand, when Mrs. Donaldson burst out sobbing, exclaiming wildly,
"Will you part me from my child? Anything but that! Do what you will
with me, only let my child be with me. She will perish with fright.
Father, I implore you, do not let them be so cruel! Effie, my
darling, do not leave me!"
Elsie tried to move towards her, but was held firmly by the hands of
one of the policemen. She was dreadfully frightened and bewildered,
and would have clung to Mrs. Donaldson, had she been allowed, in her
dread of facing new and unknown terrors.
But not a chance was given to her. She was quite helpless in the
strong grasp that held her firmly, though not harshly. Mrs. Donaldson
began to catch her breath quickly, as two men caught hold of her arms
and began to lead her along, while the one who had charge of Elsie
led her away in another direction. The next moment Elsie heard a
piercing scream, and turning her head, saw what, as far as she could
make out, appeared to be the resisting, struggling form of the
unfortunate "fairy mother" being carried into the hall by two men.
CHAPTER XVII.--IN A STRANGE PLACE.
Elsie was presently delivered into the hands of a woman, who asked
her, not unkindly, whether she wanted food. Elsie was much too
fatigued and perturbed to think of eating, so the woman told her she
must undress herself and go to bed. She was taken to a large bare
room where there were other children asleep in small hard beds. One
was apportioned to her, and the woman stood by while she undressed.
Elsie wondered very much what sort of place this could be, and why
Mrs. Donaldson had not been allowed to take her with her. She puzzled
her head over it in vain. Only one thing was clear: that both her
companions had been brought here against their will, and were very
angry about it.
Perhaps Elsie would have thought more about her own discomfort and
loneliness if her mind had been less exercised about Duncan. She
wondered what had happened to him after she had been parted from him
by that shameful trick of the wicked "fairy mother." How angry and
indignant she felt when she thought of it! Had Duncan wanted her?
She seemed to see him lying up in that dark, stifling garret,
perfectly still, on the dirty, unwholesome bed. She crept up and
touched him. He was cold and dead. Then her mother came in, with
grannie and Robbie following in slow procession behind. They were
dressed in beautiful white robes like angels, and as they passed to
the bedside they each in turn looked at her with stern, reproachful
eyes. Then her mother lifted Duncan in her arms and carried him away,
closing the door after them, and leaving her quite alone. They had
seen her, but would have nothing to do with her.
She started up and rubbed her eyes, scarcely able to believe she had
not seen those faces. Then she peered timidly round the room, and
gradually recollecting all that had taken place, knew that it was a
dream.
After an uninviting breakfast of dry bread and water gruel, she was
placed in | 1,735.480557 |
2023-11-16 18:45:59.4607170 | 1,282 | 6 |
Produced by P. J. Riddick
MEMOIRS OF MY LIFE AND WRITINGS
By Edward Gibbon
In the fifty-second year of my age, after the completion of an
arduous and successful work, I now propose to employ some moments of
my leisure in reviewing the simple transactions of a private and
literary life. Truth, naked unblushing truth, the first virtue of
more serious history, must be the sole recommendation of this
personal narrative. The style shall be simple and familiar; but
style is the image of character; and the habits of correct writing
may produce, without labour or design, the appearance of art and
study. My own amusement is my motive, and will be my reward: and if
these sheets are communicated to some discreet and indulgent
friends, they will be secreted from the public eye till the author
shall be removed beyond the reach of criticism or ridicule.
A lively desire of knowing and of recording our ancestors so
generally prevails, that it must depend on the influence of some
common principle in the minds of men. We seem to have lived in the
persons of our forefathers; it is the labour and reward of vanity to
extend the term of this ideal longevity. Our imagination is always
active to enlarge the narrow circle in which Nature has confined us.
Fifty or an hundred years may be allotted to an individual, but we
step forward beyond death with such hopes as religion and philosophy
will suggest; and we fill up the silent vacancy that precedes our
birth, by associating ourselves to the authors of our existence.
Our calmer judgment will rather tend to moderate, than to suppress,
the pride of an ancient and worthy race. The satirist may laugh,
the philosopher may preach; but Reason herself will respect the
prejudices and habits, which have been consecrated by the experience
of mankind.
Wherever the distinction of birth is allowed to form a superior
order in the state, education and example should always, and will
often, produce among them a dignity of sentiment and propriety of
conduct, which is guarded from dishonour by their own and the public
esteem. If we read of some illustrious line so ancient that it has
no beginning, so worthy that it ought to have no end, we sympathize
in its various fortunes; nor can we blame the generous enthusiasm,
or even the harmless vanity, of those who are allied to the honours
of its name. For my own part, could I draw my pedigree from a
general, a statesman, or a celebrated author, I should study their
lives with the diligence of filial love. In the investigation of
past events, our curiosity is stimulated by the immediate or
indirect reference to ourselves; but in the estimate of honour we
should learn to value the gifts of Nature above those of Fortune; to
esteem in our ancestors the qualities that best promote the
interests of society; and to pronounce the descendant of a king less
truly noble than the offspring of a man of genius, whose writings
will instruct or delight the latest posterity. The family of
Confucius is, in my opinion, the most illustrious in the world.
After a painful ascent of eight or ten centuries, our barons and
princes of Europe are lost in the darkness of the middle ages; but,
in the vast equality of the empire of China, the posterity of
Confucius have maintained, above two thousand two hundred years,
their peaceful honours and perpetual succession. The chief of the
family is still revered, by the sovereign and the people, as the
lively image of the wisest of mankind. The nobility of the Spencers
has been illustrated and enriched by the trophies of Marlborough;
but I exhort them to consider the "Fairy Queen" as the most precious
jewel of their coronet. I have exposed my private feelings, as I
shall always do, without scruple or reserve. That these sentiments
are just, or at least natural, I am inclined to believe, since I do
not feel myself interested in the cause; for I can derive from my
ancestors neither glory nor shame.
Yet a sincere and simple narrative of my own life may amuse some of
my leisure hours; but it will subject me, and perhaps with justice,
to the imputation of vanity. I may judge, however, from the
experience both of past and of the present times, that the public
are always curious to know the men, who have left behind them any
image of their minds: the most scanty accounts of such men are
compiled with diligence, and perused with eagerness; and the student
of every class may derive a lesson, or an example, from the lives
most similar to his own. My name may hereafter be placed among the
thousand articles of a Biographic Britannica; and I must be
conscious, that no one is so well qualified, as myself, to describe
the series of my thoughts and actions. The authority of my masters,
of the grave Thuanus, and the philosophic Hume, might be sufficient
to justify my design; but it would not be difficult to produce a
long list of ancients and moderns, who, in various forms, have
exhibited their own portraits. Such portraits are often the most
interesting, and sometimes the only interesting parts of their
writings; and if they be sincere, we seldom complain of the
minuteness or prolixity of these personal memorials. The lives of
the younger Pliny, of Petrarch, and of Erasmus, are expressed in the
epistles, which they themselves have given to the world. The essays
of Montaigne and Sir William Temple bring us home to the houses and
bosoms of the authors: we smile without contempt at the headstrong
passions of Benevenuto Cellini, and the gay follies of Colley
Cibber. | 1,735.480757 |
2023-11-16 18:45:59.6623910 | 946 | 28 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net/ for Project
Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
GERMANY TURKEY and ARMENIA
A selection of documentary evidence
relating to the Armenian Atrocities
from German and other sources
London.
J. J. KELIHER & CO., Ltd.
1917.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Page
A. THE INVASION OF PERSIA 17
1. Letters from German Missionaries in North-West Persia 17
B. THE SIX ARMENIAN VILAYETS 21
2. Van after the Turkish Retreat 21
3. Moush. Statement by a German Eye-witness 23
4. Erzindjan. Statement by two Danish Red Cross Nurses,
formerly in the service of the German Military Mission
at Erzeroum 30
5. H--: Statement made by a Danish Red Cross Nurse 44
6. Malatia. Statement by a German Eye-witness 51
C. CILICIA AND NORTHERN SYRIA 53
7. Exiles from Zeitoun. Diary of a Foreign Resident,
communicated by a Swiss gentleman 53
8. Information regarding events in Armenia published in two
periodicals issued by German Missionary Societies 61
9. Extracts from the Records of a German who died in Turkey 66
10. Narrative of a German Official of the Bagdad Railway 80
11. The Amanus Passes. Statements by two Swiss Ladies,
resident in Turkey 86
D. ALEPPO 93
12. "A word to the accredited representatives of the German
people" by Dr. Martin Niepage, teacher in the German
Technical School at Aleppo 93
13. Message dated 17th February, 1916, from a German Lady
(Fräulein O.) 112
E. THE PLACES OF EXILE 113
14. Der-el-Zor. Letter from a German Lady Missionary 113
15. Exiles from the Euphrates: Report from Fräulein O. 119
APPENDIX. REPORTS BY MOHAMMEDAN OFFICERS 123
(1) A.B.'s Report 123
(2) C.D.'s Report 127
INTRODUCTION.
The blue book as to the treatment of the Armenians which has recently
been issued (Miscellaneous, No. 31, 1916) contains a large mass of
evidence relating to facts which, incredible as they are, have been so
incontrovertibly established that no doubt as to their existence can
possibly be entertained by any reasonable person. The greater part
of the documents included in the blue book does not, however, throw
much light on the attitude taken by the German public and the German
Government with reference to the crimes which have been committed. The
object of this pamphlet is to bring before the public a collection
of documents specially selected for the purpose of throwing light on
this subject. Some of them are included in the blue book, but the
documents Nos. 1, 6, 9, 10 and 12 have not, as yet, been published
in Great Britain or the United States. The two documents printed in
the Appendix have no direct bearing on the questions relating to the
German attitude. But as they came into the possession of the British
authorities after the publication of the blue book and are of special
interest as giving the impressions of two intelligent Turkish officers,
[1] it was thought right to include them.
A perusal of the documents included in this collection must convince
the reader of three things: (1) that the Germans in Armenia are
as full of indignation, and as anxious to see a stop put to the
methods of extermination applied by the Turkish Government, as
the most ardent friends of the Armenian cause in this country;
(2) that, owing to the wilful or | 1,735.682431 |
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Produced by Brendan Lane, Dave Morgan, Tom Allen and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
CAPTIVATING MARY CARSTAIRS
BY
HENRY SYDNOR HARRISON
WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY R.M. CROSBY
(_This book was first published pseudonymously in February, 1911_)
1910, 1914.
TO NAWNY: HER BOOK
| 1,735.777657 |
2023-11-16 18:45:59.7577270 | 946 | 19 |
Produced by K Nordquist, Sigal Alon, Leonard Johnson and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Book Cover]
OLD FORT SNELLING
From a painting by Captain Seth Eastman, reproduced in Mrs. Eastman's
_Dahcotah; or, Life and Legends of the Sioux around Fort Snelling_
[Illustration: OLD FORT SNELLING]
OLD FORT SNELLING
1819-1858
BY
MARCUS L. HANSEN
[Illustration: Publisher's Logo.]
PUBLISHED AT IOWA CITY IOWA IN 1918 BY
THE STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF IOWA
THE TORCH PRESS
CEDAR RAPIDS
IOWA
EDITOR'S INTRODUCTION
The establishment in 1917 of a camp at Fort Snelling for the training of
officers for the army has aroused curiosity in the history of Old Fort
Snelling. Again as in the days of the pioneer settlement of the
Northwest the Fort at the junction of the Minnesota and Mississippi
rivers has become an object of more than ordinary interest.
Old Fort Snelling was established in 1819 within the Missouri Territory
on ground which later became a part of the Territory of Iowa. Not until
1849 was it included within Minnesota boundaries. Linked with the early
annals of Missouri, Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, and the
Northwest, the history of Old Fort Snelling is the common heritage of
many commonwealths in the Upper Mississippi Valley.
The period covered in this volume begins with the establishment of the
Fort in 1819 and ends with the temporary abandonment of the site as a
military post in 1858.
BENJ. F. SHAMBAUGH
OFFICE OF THE SUPERINTENDENT AND EDITOR
THE STATE HISTORICAL SOCIETY OF IOWA
IOWA CITY IOWA
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
The position which the military post holds in western history is
sometimes misunderstood. So often has a consideration of it been left to
the novelist's pen that romantic glamour has obscured the permanent
contribution made by many a lonely post to the development of the
surrounding region. The western fort was more than a block-house or a
picket. Being the home of a handful of soldiers did not give it its real
importance: it was an institution and should be studied as such. Old
Fort Snelling is a type of the many remote military stations which were
scattered throughout the West upon the upper waters of the rivers or at
intermediate places on the interminable stretches of the westward
trails.
This study of the history and influence of Old Fort Snelling was first
undertaken at the suggestion of Dr. Louis Pelzer of the State University
of Iowa, and was carried on under his supervision. The results of the
investigation were accepted as a thesis in the Graduate College of the
State University of Iowa in June, 1917. Upon the suggestion of Dr. Benj.
F. Shambaugh, Superintendent of The State Historical Society of Iowa,
the plan of the work was changed, its scope enlarged, many new sources
of information were consulted, and the entire manuscript
rewritten.
Connected with so many of the aspects of western history, Old Fort
Snelling is pictured in accounts both numerous and varied. The reports
of government officials, the relations of travellers and explorers, and
the reminiscences of fur traders, pioneer settlers, and missionaries
show the Fort as each author, looking at it from the angle of his
particular interest, saw it. These published accounts are found in the
_Annual Reports_ of the Secretary of War, in the _Annual Reports_ of the
Commissioner of Indian Affairs, and in the works of travellers and
pioneers. Many of the most important sources are the briefer accounts
printed in the _Minnesota Historical Collections_. The author's
dependence upon these sources of information is evident upon every page
of this volume.
But not alone from these sources, which are readily accessible, is this
account of the Old Fort drawn. A half-burned diary, the account books of
the post sutler, letter books filled with correspondence dealing with
matters which are often trivial, and statistical returns of men and
equipment are sources which from their nature may never be printed. But
in | 1,735.777767 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell 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.)
CANNIBALS ALL!
OR,
SLAVES WITHOUT MASTERS.
BY
GEORGE FITZHUGH,
OF PORT ROYAL, CAROLINE, VA.
"His hand will be against every man, and every man's hand against
him."--GEN. XVI. 12.
"Physician, heal thyself."--LUKE IV. 23.
RICHMOND, VA.
A. MORRIS, PUBLISHER.
1857.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
ADOLPHUS MORRIS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Eastern District of Virginia.
C. H. WYNNE, PRINTER, RICHMOND.
CONTENTS.
PAGE.
DEDICATION vii
PREFACE ix
INTRODUCTION xiii
CHAPTER I.
The Universal Trade 25
CHAPTER II.
Labor, Skill and Capital 33
CHAPTER III.
Subject Continued--Exploitation of Skill 58
CHAPTER IV.
International Exploitation 75
CHAPTER V.
False Philosophy of the Age 79
CHAPTER VI.
Free Trade, Fashion and Centralization 86
CHAPTER VII.
The World is _Too Little_ Governed 97
CHAPTER VIII.
Liberty and Slavery 106
CHAPTER IX.
Paley on Exploitation 124
CHAPTER X.
Our best Witnesses and Masters in the Art of War 127
CHAPTER XI.
Decay of English Liberty, and growth of English Poor Laws 157
CHAPTER XII.
The French Laborers and the French Revolution 176
CHAPTER XIII.
The Reformation--The Right of Private Judgment 194
CHAPTER XIV.
The Nomadic Beggars and Pauper Banditti of England 204
CHAPTER XV.
"Rural Life of England," 218
CHAPTER XVI.
The Distressed Needle-Women and Hood's Song of the Shirt 223
CHAPTER XVII.
The Edinburgh Review on Southern Slavery 236
CHAPTER XVIII.
The London Globe on West India Emancipation 274
CHAPTER XIX.
Protection, and Charity, to the Weak 278
CHAPTER XX.
The Family 281
CHAPTER XXI.
<DW64> Slavery 294
CHAPTER XXII.
The Strength of Weakness 300
CHAPTER XXIII.
Money 303
CHAPTER XXIV.
Gerrit Smith on Land Reform, and William Loyd Garrison
on No-Government 306
CHAPTER XXV.
In what Anti-Slavery ends 311
CHAPTER XXVI.
Christian Morality impracticable in Free Society--but
the Natural Morality of Slave Society 316
CHAPTER XXVII.
Slavery--Its effects on the Free 320
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Private Property destroys Liberty and Equality 323
CHAPTER XXIX.
The National Era an Excellent Witness 327
CHAPTER XXX.
The Philosophy of the Isms--Shewing why they abound
at the North, and are unknown at the South 332
CHAPTER XXXI.
Deficiency of Food in Free Society 335
CHAPTER XXXII.
Man has Property in Man 341
CHAPTER XXXIII.
The "Coup de Grace" to Abolition 344
CHAPTER XXXIV.
National Wealth, Individual Wealth, Luxury and economy 350
CHAPTER XXXV.
Government a thing of Force, not of Consent 353
CHAPTER XXXVI.
Warning to the North 363
Chapter XXXVII.
Addendum 373
DEDICATION.
TO THE HONORABLE HENRY A. WISE.
DEAR SIR:
I dedicate this work to you, because I am acquainted with no one who has
so zealously, laboriously and successfully endeavored to Virginianise
Virginia, by encouraging, through State legislation, her intellectual
and physical growth and development; no one who has seen so clearly | 1,735.978022 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
THE GAYTON
SCHOLARSHIP
_A SCHOOL STORY_
BY
HERBERT HAYENS
Author of "At the Point of the Sword," "An Emperor's Doom,"
"Clevely Sahib," "Under the Lone Star,"
&c. &c.
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS
_London, Edinburgh, and New York_
1904
*CONTENTS.*
I. THE DEANERY CANDIDATES
II. THE CHALLENGE SHIELD
III. A NEWSPAPER PARAGRAPH
IV. FURTHER NEWS OF THE "MORNING STAR"
V. JIM STARTS WORK
VI. THE EXAMINATION
VII. "IT'S ALL MY FAULT"
VIII. "DID I SAVE HIM?"
IX. THE RESULT OF THE EXAMINATION
X. GOING DOWN HILL
XI. IS JIM A THIEF?
XII. WHERE IS THE MISSING MONEY?
XIII. AN AMATEUR DETECTIVE
XIV. CURLY AND COMPANY
XV. "WHEN THIEVES FALL OUT"
XVI. A FRESH START
XVII. A STARTLING SURPRISE
*THE GAYTON SCHOLARSHIP.*
*CHAPTER I.*
*THE DEANERY CANDIDATES.*
"Good-morning, Mrs. Hartland. Isn't Jim ready? All right; I'll wait
for him. Do you think Susie would care for these wild flowers and
grasses? I picked them this morning. Rover and I have been for a
splendid run over the common, nearly as far as the forest."
"Thanks, Dick," said Mrs. Hartland, with a pleased smile; "Susie will be
delighted with them. Poor girl! it's little chance she has to see them
growing herself. What a pretty white dog-rose!"
"Isn't it a beauty? I thought Susie would like that.--Hullo, Jim!" as
his chum appeared from an inner room; "come on, old lazy-bones. I
expected to find you in a tremendous hurry this morning.--Good-bye, Mrs.
Hartland; I hope Susie will be pleased with the flowers."
Most people liked Dick Boden. He was a comical youngster, fond of all
kinds of fun and frolic, and always keeping an eye on the bright side of
things. In school he was a regular pickle, and yet his teachers spoke
well of him, for there was nothing mean about Dick, and he was as honest
as the day.
"Full of animal spirits and a trifle impetuous, but a good little chap
at bottom," said Mr. Holmore, the head-master of the Deanery School.
He was a round-faced, curly-haired fellow, with laughing blue eyes, a
most engaging smile, and such an innocent expression that a lady artist
once painted his portrait as a study of an angel. This greatly amused
the Deaneryites, who promptly dubbed him the Angel.
Of course he was very popular with his school-fellows, but his one
particular chum was Jim Hartland, a sailor's son, and one of the head
boys in the school.
"Grinding for the exam.?" he asked, as they waved a last adieu to Mrs.
Hartland, who stood on the doorstep watching them as they went down the
street.
"Hardly," said Jim, "until we know who are to be the candidates."
"Oh, you'll be one for certain, and Perce Braithwaite another."
"And you."
"If Holmore gives me the chance, I'll work like a <DW65> for the honour
of the school. The scholarship wouldn't be any good to me though; it
only pays for the fees and books, and you have to stay till you are
sixteen. Mother couldn't afford to keep me at school as long as that."
There was at this time great excitement among the boys of the elementary
schools in the seaport town of Beauleigh. The governors of Gayton
Public School had offered a scholarship, to be competed for by three
selected candidates from every school in the town, and the offer had
produced a feeling of intense rivalry.
The names of the chosen boys from the Deanery were to be made known that
morning, and every one was on the tiptoe of expectation.
"We're late," said Dick, as the two boys turned into the long, straight
road leading to the school, "most of the fellows are in the playground.
I'll race you to the gate. Ready? One, two, three--off!" and away they
sped for a good two hundred yards' run.
Jim was the taller and stronger, but Dick was very nimble, and having
got the lead, he kept it. On they went, flushed, panting, and straining
every nerve, while a group of boys coming from the opposite direction
encouraged them with loud cries.
"Keep it up, Angel!"
"Another spurt, Jim; he's nearly done!"
Dick's legs were getting tottery, and Jim was close on his shoulder, but
the open gate was only ten yards off, and the plucky youngster pulled
himself together for a last effort.
"Jim's got him!" "No, no; the Angel wins! the Angel wins!"
A yard from the gate they were neck and neck; but then, using up all his
remaining strength, Dick flung himself forward--the winner by scarcely
half a foot.
Unlucky Dick! In the excitement of the last half-second he had gone
like stone from catapult straight against the vest pocket of a portly
gentleman who was strolling leisurely across the playground to the gate.
Jim's onset completed the mischief, and the three rolled together on the
ground.
The boys in the road, unable to see the catastrophe, ran up with a brisk
"hurrah." But suddenly every tongue was still.
If you have ever felt the shock of an earthquake, or been shipwrecked,
or in a railway collision, you will have some faint idea of the fright
which held the handful of Deanery boys spellbound.
"The inspector!" whispered Tompkins in a tone of awe, and a shiver ran
through the little crowd.
Then, as the gentleman and boys rose to their feet, Tompkins, with an
imbecile kind of smile, said, "Please, sir, it's only the Angel!"
Only the Angel! Had His Majesty's Inspector been a Deanery boy he would
not have required any further information. As it was, the look of
surprise in his face deepened.
Now Dick, with all his faults, was a little gentleman. His face was
white and his voice husky, but, standing cap in hand, he said bravely,
"I am very sorry, sir. We were racing, and Jim Hartland had almost
caught me, so I put on a last sprint, and--"
"And won?"
"Yes, sir," answered Dick modestly; "but Jim was close behind."
"Yes," observed the gentleman with a grim smile, "I am painfully aware
of the fact. However, there is not much harm done. Ask your master to
lend me a brush."
"Isn't he a brick?" said one of the boys as they ran to their places.
"He didn't even look angry. Have you hurt your leg, Jim?"
"It's a bit painful--that's all."
"I hope it will be right for the match to-morrow." And then, at sound
of the bell, all talking stopped, and the boys marched into the assembly
hall.
After prayers, the inspector, looking none the worse for his mishap,
came into the room and talked with Mr. Holmore, who then proceeded to
make a little speech concerning the Gayton Scholarship.
"You know," he said, "that only one boy can win it, and there will be
candidates from nearly every school in the town. We have three good
champions, and whether they obtain the great honour for the Deanery or
not, I am sure they will do their best. Come to the desk as I call your
names. Richard Boden."
There was a hum of pleasure as Dick went up, flushed with joy, yet
feeling rather uncomfortable at having to face the inspector a second
time that morning.
"Percy Braithwaite."
A well-dressed, spruce-looking boy, known as Dandy Braithwaite, came
forward with alacrity and, to the delight of the school, was followed by
James Hartland.
"Now, boys," said their master, "I hope your work will show we have made
a wise selection. Remember, once your names are given in, we cannot make
any alteration." Then turning to the inspector, he added, "These are
our candidates, sir."
"Ah," exclaimed that gentleman genially, "I have made the acquaintance
of two of them, Mr. Holmore, and I can assure you they are tremendous
fellows--at a sprint.--Well, my lads, one thing is certain: this
scholarship won't be gained without plenty of hard work. The chosen
knights are buckling on their armour in every quarter of the town, and
the tournament will be a keen one."
Fortunately, school closed at noon for the day, as the boys were too
excited to pay much attention to lessons. They were well satisfied with
their master's selection, and many of them at once put down the
scholarship as a "good thing" for Jim Hartland.
Some thought Braithwaite might get it, others pinned their faith to Dick
Boden, "if the little beggar would work;" and when one wretched urchin
hinted that the St. Paul's boys had won a lot of prizes lately, he was
promptly "sat on."
"It's bound to come to the Deanery," declared Tompkins, who was himself
still struggling with the mysteries of long division. "The only
question is, Who's to get it?"
Then the talk turned to the great cricket match fixed for the next day,
which was to decide the possession of the challenge shield for the
following year. St. Paul's held it, but the Deanery intended having a
good try to wrest it from their near and dear rivals.
"Hartland's in fine form," said one. "You should have seen him hit at
practice yesterday. If he comes off we ought to stand a chance."
"And the Angel's bowling a treat! I don't think the 'Magpies'" (as the
St. Paul's boys were called) "will do much with his curly ones."
"He bowled the inspector out before school, didn't he?"
They were still laughing at the recollection of Dick's mishap when
Simpson, the reserve man of the team, came up, trying, but with poor
success, to look sorry.
"Heard the news, you fellows?" he asked. "Hartland's cricked his leg
and won't be able to play."
The boys gazed at one another blankly, hoping against hope that the news
was not true.
"There he is," cried one suddenly; and sure enough there he was, leaning
on his chum's arm, and hobbling slowly across the playground.
They crowded around him eagerly, asking more questions than could be
answered in a week.
"What's the matter, Jim?"
"Can't you play?"
"Are you hurt?"
"Hurt!" cried Dick scornfully. "Of course not! He is doing this just
for fun, you silly duffers."
"It isn't much," exclaimed Jim, "and I'll play to-morrow if I can stand.
We'll have that shield yet."
"Anyhow," said Dick, with a laugh, "if Jim can't turn | 1,736.08176 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE MEMOIRS
OF
JACQUES CASANOVA de SEINGALT
1725-1798
THE RARE UNABRIDGED LONDON EDITION OF 1894 TRANSLATED BY ARTHUR MACHEN TO WHICH HAS BEEN ADDED THE CHAPTERS DISCOVERED BY ARTHUR SYMONS.
[Transcriber's Note: These memoires were not written for children, they may outrage readers also offended by Chaucer, La Fontaine, Rabelais and The Old Testament. D.W.]
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
CONTENTS
CASANOVA AT DUX
TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
THE MEMOIRS OF JACQUES CASANOVA
VENETIAN YEARS
EPISODE 1 -- CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
EPISODE 2 -- CLERIC IN NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 3 -- MILITARY CAREER
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 4 -- RETURN TO VENICE
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
EPISODE 5 -- MILAN AND MANTUA
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
TO PARIS AND PRISON
EPISODE 6 -- PARIS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 7 -- VENICE
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
EPISODE 8 -- CONVENT AFFAIRS
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
EPISODE 9 -- THE FALSE NUN
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
EPISODE 10 -- UNDER THE LEADS
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
EPISODE 11 -- PARIS AND HOLLAND
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
EPISODE 12 -- RETURN TO PARIS
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 13 -- HOLLAND AND GERMANY
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 14 -- SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
EPISODE 15 -- WITH VOLTAIRE
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
ADVENTURES IN THE SOUTH
EPISODE 16 -- DEPART SWITZERLAND
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
EPISODE 17 -- RETURN TO ITALY
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
EPISODE 18--RETURN TO NAPLES
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 19 -- BACK AGAIN TO PARIS
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
EPISODE 20 -- MILAN
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
VOLUME 5 -- TO LONDON AND MOSCOW
EPISODE 21 -- SOUTH OF FRANCE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
EPISODE 21 -- TO LONDON
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
EPISODE 23--THE ENGLISH
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
EPISODE 24 -- FLIGHT FROM LONDON TO BERLIN
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
EPISODE 25 -- RUSSIA AND POLAND
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
ENLARGE TO FULL SIZE
VOLUME 6 -- SPANISH PASSIONS
EPISODE 26 -- SPAIN
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
EPISODE 27 -- EXPELLED FROM SPAIN
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
EPISODE 28 -- RETURN TO ROME
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
EPISODE 29 -- FLORENCE TO TRIESTE
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
EPISODE 30 -- OLD AGE AND DEATH OF CASANOVA | 1,736.158136 |
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Produced by Sandra Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
[Illustration]
COBWEBS
FROM
AN EMPTY SKULL.
BY
DOD GRILE.
ILLUSTRATED WITH ENGRAVINGS BY DALZIEL BROTHERS.
[Illustration]
_LONDON AND NEW YORK:_
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
1874
To my friend,
SHERBURNE B. EATON.
CONTENTS
Fables of Zambri, the Parsee.
Brief Seasons of Intellectual Dissipation.
Divers Tales.
1. The Grateful Bear.
2. The Setting Sachem.
3. Feodora.
4. The Legend of Immortal Truth.
5. Converting a Prodigal.
6. Four Jacks and a Knave.
7. Dr. Deadwood, I Presume.
8. Nut-Cracking
9. The Magician's Little Joke
10. Seafaring.
11. Tony Rollo's Conclusion.
12. No Charge for Attendance.
13. Pernicketty's Fright.
14. Juniper.
15. Following the Sea.
16. A Tale of Spanish Vengeance.
17. Mrs. Dennison's Head.
18. A Fowl Witch.
19. The Civil Service in Florida.
20. A Tale of the Bosphorus.
21. John Smith.
22. Sundered Hearts.
23. The Early History of Bath.
24. The Following Dorg.
25. Snaking.
26. Maud's Papa.
27. Jim Beckwourth's Pond.
28. Stringing a Bear.
PREFACE.
The matter of which this volume is composed appeared originally in the
columns of "FUN," when the wisdom of the Fables and the truth of the
Tales tended to wholesomely diminish the levity of that jocund sheet.
Their publication in a new form would seem to be a fitting occasion to
say something as to their merit.
Homer's "Iliad," it will be remembered, was but imperfectly
appreciated by Homer's contemporaries. Milton's "Paradise Lost" was so
lightly regarded when first written, that the author received but
twenty-five pounds for it. Ben Jonson was for some time blind to the
beauties of Shakespeare, and Shakespeare himself had but small esteem
for his own work.
Appearing each week in "FUN," these Fables and Tales very soon
attracted the notice of the Editor, who was frank enough to say,
afterward, that when he accepted the manuscript he did not quite
perceive the quality of it. The printers, too, into whose hands it
came, have since admitted that for some days they felt very little
interest in it, and could not even make out what it was all about.
When to these evidences I add the confession that at first I did not
myself observe anything extraordinary in my work, I think I need say
no more: the discerning public will note the parallel, and my modesty
be spared the necessity of making an ass of itself.
D.G.
FABLES OF ZAMBRI, THE PARSEE.
[Illustration]
I.
A certain Persian nobleman obtained from a cow gipsy a small oyster.
Holding him up by the beard, he addressed him thus:
"You must try to forgive me for what I am about to do; and you might
as well set about it at once, for you haven't much time. I should
never think of swallowing you if it were not so easy; but opportunity
is the strongest of all temptations. Besides, I am an orphan, and very
hungry."
"Very well," replied the oyster; "it affords me genuine pleasure to
comfort the parentless and the starving. I have already done my best
for our friend here, of whom you purchased me; but although she has an
amiable and accommodating stomach, _we couldn't agree_. For this
trifling incompatibility--would you believe it?--she was about to stew
me! Saviour, benefactor, proceed."
"I think," said the nobleman, rising and laying down the oyster, "I
ought to know something more definite about your antecedents before
succouring you. If you couldn't agree with your mistress, you are
probably no better than you should be."
People who begin doing something from a selfish motive frequently drop
it when they learn that it is a real benevolence.
II.
A rat seeing a cat approaching, and finding no avenue of escape, went
boldly up to her, and said:
"Madam, I have just swallowed a dose of powerful bane, and in
accordance with instructions upon the label, have come out of my hole
to die. Will you kindly direct me to a spot where my corpse will prove
peculiarly offensive?"
"Since you are so ill," replied the cat, "I will myself transport you
to a spot which I think will suit."
So saying, she struck her teeth through the nape of his neck and
trotted away with him. This was more than he had bargained for, and he
squeaked shrilly with the pain.
"Ah!" said the cat, "a rat who knows he has but a few minutes to live,
never makes a fuss about a little agony. I don't think, my fine
fellow, you have taken poison enough to hurt either you or me."
So she made a meal of him.
If this fable does not teach that a rat gets no profit by lying, I
should be pleased to know what it does teach.
III.
A frog who had been sitting up all night in neighbourly converse with
an echo of elegant leisure, went out in the grey of the morning to
obtain a cheap breakfast. Seeing a tadpole approach,
"Halt!" he croaked, "and show cause why I should not eat you."
The tadpole stopped and displayed a fine tail.
"Enough," said the frog: "I mistook you for one of us; and if there is
anything I like, it is frog. But no frog has a tail, as a matter of
course."
While he was speaking, however, the tail ripened and dropped off, and
its owner stood revealed in his edible character.
"Aha!" ejaculated the frog, "so that is your little game! If, instead
of adopting a disguise, you had trusted to my mercy, I should have
spared you. But I am down upon all manner of deceit."
And he had him down in a moment.
Learn from this that he would have eaten him anyhow.
IV.
An old man carrying, for no obvious reason, a sheaf of sticks, met
another donkey whose cargo consisted merely of a bundle of stones.
"Suppose we swop," said the donkey.
"Very good, sir," assented the old man; "lay your load upon my
shoulders, and take off my parcel, putting it upon your own back."
The donkey complied, so far as concerned his own encumbrance, but
neglected to remove that of the other.
"How clever!" said the merry old gentleman, "I knew you would do that.
If you had done any differently there would have been no point to the
fable."
And laying down both burdens by the roadside, he trudged away as merry
as anything.
V.
An elephant meeting a mouse, reproached him for not taking a proper
interest in growth.
"It is all very well," retorted the mouse, "for people who haven't the
capacity for anything better. Let them grow if they like; but _I_
prefer toasted cheese."
The stupid elephant, not being able to make very much sense of this
remark, essayed, after the manner of persons worsted at repartee, to
set his foot upon his clever conqueror. In point of fact, he did set
his foot upon him, and there wasn't any more mouse.
The lesson imparted by this fable is open, palpable: mice and
elephants look at things each after the manner of his kind; and when
an elephant decides to occupy the standpoint of a mouse, it is
unhealthy for the latter.
VI.
A wolf was slaking his thirst at a stream, when a lamb left the side
of his shepherd, came down the creek to the wolf, passed round him
with considerable ostentation, and began drinking below.
"I beg you to observe," said the lamb, "that water does not commonly
run uphill; and my sipping here cannot possibly defile the current
where you are, even supposing my nose were no cleaner than yours,
which it is. So you have not the flimsiest pretext for slaying me."
"I am not aware, sir," replied the wolf, "that I require a pretext
for loving chops; it never occurred to me that one was necessary."
And he dined upon that lambkin with much apparent satisfaction.
This fable ought to convince any one that of two stories very similar
one needs not necessarily be a plagiarism.
VII.
[Illustration]
An old gentleman sat down, one day, upon an acorn, and finding it a
very comfortable seat, went soundly to sleep. The warmth of his body
caused the acorn to germinate, and it grew so rapidly, that when the
sleeper awoke he found himself sitting in the fork of an oak, sixty
feet from the ground.
"Ah!" said he, "I am fond of having an extended view of any landscape
which happens to please my fancy; but this one does not seem to
possess that merit. I think I will go home."
It is easier to say go home than to go.
"Well, well!" he resumed, "if I cannot compel circumstances to my
will, I can at least adapt my will to circumstances. I decide to
remain. 'Life'--as a certain eminent philosopher in England wilt say,
whenever there shall be an England to say it in--'is the definite
combination of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and
successive, in correspondence with external co-existences and
sequences.' I have, fortunately, a few years of this before me yet;
and I suppose I can permit my surroundings to alter me into anything I
choose."
And he did; but what a choice!
I should say that the lesson hereby imparted is one of contentment
combined with science.
VIII.
A caterpillar had crawled painfully to the top of a hop-pole, and not
finding anything there to interest him, began to think of descending.
"Now," soliloquized he, "if I only had a pair of wings, I should be
able to manage it very nicely."
So saying, he turned himself about to go down, but the heat of his
previous exertion, and that of the sun, had by this time matured him
into a butterfly.
"Just my luck!" he growled, "I never wish for anything without getting
it. I did not expect this when I came out this morning, and have
nothing prepared. But I suppose I shall have to stand it."
So he spread his pinions and made for the first open flower he saw.
But a spider happened to be spending the summer in that vegetable, and
it was not long before Mr. Butterfly was wishing himself back atop of
that pole, a simple caterpillar.
He had at last the pleasure of being denied a desire.
_Haec fabula docet_ that it is not a good plan to call at houses
without first ascertaining who is at home there.
IX.
It is related of a certain Tartar priest that, being about to
sacrifice a pig, he observed tears in the victim's eyes.
"Now, I'd like to know what is the matter with _you_?" he asked.
"Sir," replied the pig, "if your penetration were equal to that of the
knife you hold, you would know without inquiring; but I don't mind
telling you. I weep because I know I shall be badly roasted."
"Ah," returned the priest, meditatively, having first killed the pig,
"we are all pretty much alike: it is the bad roasting that frightens
us. Mere death has no terrors."
From this narrative learn that even priests sometimes get hold of only
half a truth.
X.
A dog being very much annoyed by bees, ran, quite accidentally, into
an empty barrel lying on the ground, and looking out at the bung-hole,
addressed his tormenters thus:
"Had you been temperate, stinging me only one at a time, you might
have got a good deal of fun out of me. As it is, you have driven me
into a secure retreat; for I can snap you up as fast as you come in
through the bung-hole. Learn from this the folly of intemperate zeal."
When he had concluded, he awaited a reply. There wasn't any reply; for
the bees had never gone near the bung-hole; they went in the same way
as he did, and made it very warm for him.
The lesson of this fable is that one cannot stick to his pure reason
while quarrelling with bees.
XI.
A fox and a duck having quarrelled about the ownership of a frog,
agreed to refer the dispute to a lion. After hearing a great deal of
argument, the lion opened his mouth to speak.
"I am very well aware," interrupted the duck, "what your decision is.
It is that by our own showing the frog belongs to neither of us, and
you will eat him yourself. But please remember that lions do not like
frogs."
"To me," exclaimed the fox, "it is perfectly clear that you will give
the frog to the duck, the duck to me, and take me yourself. Allow me
to state certain objections to--"
"I was about to remark," said the lion, "that while you were
disputing, the cause of contention had hopped away. Perhaps you can
procure another frog."
To point out the moral of this fable would be to offer a gratuitous
insult to the acuteness of the reader.
XII.
An ass meeting a pair of horses, late one evening, said to them:
"It is time all honest horses were in bed. Why are you driving out at
this time of day?"
"Ah!" returned they, "if it is so very late, why are you out riding?"
"I never in my life," retorted the ass angrily, "knew a horse to
return a direct answer to a civil question."
This tale shows that this ass did not know everything.
[The implication that horses do not answer questions seems to have
irritated the worthy fabulist.--TRANSLATOR.]
XIII.
A stone being cast by the plough against a lump of earth, hastened to
open the conversation as follows:
"Virtue, which is the opposite of vice, is best fostered by the
absence of temptation!"
The lump of earth, being taken somewhat by surprise, was not prepared
with an apophthegm, and said nothing.
Since that time it has been customary to call a stupid person a
"clod."
XIV.
A river seeing a zephyr carrying off an anchor, asked him, "What are
you going to do with it?"
"I give it up," replied the zephyr, after mature reflection.
"Blow me if _I_ would!" continued the river; "you might just as well
not have taken it at all."
"Between you and me," returned the zephyr, "I only picked it up
because it is customary for zephyrs to do such things. But if you
don't mind I will carry it up to your head and drop it in your mouth."
This fable teaches such a multitude of good things that it would be
invidious to mention any.
XV.
A peasant sitting on a pile of stones saw an ostrich approaching, and
when it had got within range he began pelting it. It is hardly
probable that the bird liked this; but it never moved until a large
number of boulders had been discharged; then it fell to and ate them.
"It was very good of you, sir," then said the fowl; "pray tell me to
what virtue I am indebted for this excellent meal."
"To piety," replied the peasant, who, believing that anything able to
devour stones must be a god, was stricken with fear. "I beg you won't
think these were merely cold victuals from my table; I had just
gathered them fresh, and was intending to have them dressed for my
dinner; but I am always hospitable to the deities, and now I suppose I
shall have to go without."
"On the contrary, my pious youth," returned the ostrich, "you shall go
within."
And the man followed the stones.
The falsehoods of the wicked never amount to much.
XVI.
Two thieves went into a farmer's granary and stole a sack of kitchen
vegetables; and, one of them slinging it across his shoulders, they
began to run away. In a moment all the domestic animals and barn-yard
fowls about the place were at their heels, in high clamour, which
threatened to bring the farmer down upon them with his dogs.
"You have no idea how the weight of this sack assists me in escaping,
by increasing my momentum," said the one who carried the plunder;
"suppose _you_ take it."
"Ah!" returned the other, who had been zealously pointing out the way
to safety, and keeping foremost therein, "it is interesting to find
how a common danger makes people confiding. You have a thousand times
said I could not be trusted with valuable booty. It is an humiliating
confession, but I am myself convinced that if I should assume that
sack, and the impetus it confers, you could not depend upon your
dividend."
[Illustration]
"A common danger," was the reply, "seems to stimulate conviction, as
well as confidence."
"Very likely," assented the other, drily; "I am quite too busy to
enter into these subtleties. You will find the subject very ably
treated in the Zend-Avesta."
But the bastinado taught them more in a minute than they would have
gleaned from that excellent work in a fortnight.
If they could only have had the privilege of reading this fable, it
would have taught them more than either.
XVII.
While a man was trying with all his might to cross a fence, a bull ran
to his assistance, and taking him upon his horns, tossed him over.
Seeing the man walking away without making any remark, the bull said:
"You are quite welcome, I am sure. I did no more than my duty."
"I take a different view of it, very naturally," replied the man, "and
you may keep your polite acknowledgments of my gratitude until you
receive it. I did not require your services."
"You don't mean to say," answered the bull, "that you did not wish to
cross that fence!"
"I mean to say," was the rejoinder, "that I wished to cross it by my
method, solely to avoid crossing it by yours."
_Fabula docet_ that while the end is everything, the means is
something.
XVIII.
An hippopotamus meeting an open alligator, said to him:
"My forked friend, you may as well collapse. You are not sufficiently
comprehensive to embrace me. I am myself no tyro at smiling, when in
the humour."
"I really had no expectation of taking you in," replied the other. "I
have a habit of extending my hospitality impartially to all, and about
seven feet wide."
"You remind me," said the hippopotamus, "of a certain zebra who was
not vicious at all; he merely kicked the breath out of everything that
passed behind him, but did not induce things to pass behind him."
"It is quite immaterial what I remind you of," was the reply.
The lesson conveyed by this fable is a very beautiful one.
XIX.
A man was plucking a living goose, when his victim addressed him thus:
"Suppose _you_ were a goose; do you think you would relish this sort
of thing?"
"Well, suppose I were," answered the man; "do you think _you_ would
like to pluck me?"
"Indeed I would!" was the emphatic, natural, but injudicious reply.
"Just so," concluded her tormentor; "that's the way _I_ feel about the
matter."
XX.
A traveller perishing of thirst in a desert, debated with his camel
whether they should continue their journey, or turn back to an oasis
they had passed some days before. The traveller favoured the latter
plan.
"I am decidedly opposed to any such waste of time," said the animal;
"I don't care for oases myself."
"I should not care for them either," retorted the man, with some
temper, "if, like you, I carried a number of assorted water-tanks
inside. But as you will not submit to go back, and I shall not consent
to go forward, we can only remain where we are."
"But," objected the camel, "that will be certain death to you!"
"Not quite," was the quiet answer, "it involves only the loss of my
camel."
So saying, he assassinated the beast, and appropriated his liquid
store.
A compromise is not always a settlement satisfactory to both parties.
XXI.
A sheep, making a long journey, found the heat of his fleece very
uncomfortable, and seeing a flock of other sheep in a fold, evidently
awaiting for some one, leaped over and joined them, in the hope of
being shorn. Perceiving the shepherd approaching, and the other sheep
huddling into a remote corner of the fold, he shouldered his way
forward, and going up to the shepherd, said:
"Did you ever see such a lot of fools? It's lucky I came along to set
them an example of docility. Seeing me operated upon, they 'll be glad
to offer themselves."
"Perhaps so," replied the shepherd, laying hold of the animal's horns;
"but I never kill more than one sheep at a time. Mutton won't keep in
hot weather."
The chops tasted excellently well with tomato sauce.
The moral of this fable isn't what you think it is. It is this: The
chops of another man's mutton are _always_ nice eating.
XXII.
Two travellers between Teheran and Bagdad met half-way up the vertical
face of a rock, on a path only a cubit in width. As both were in a
hurry, and etiquette would allow neither to set his foot upon the
other even if dignity had permitted prostration, they maintained for
some time a stationary condition. After some reflection, each decided
to jump round the other; but as etiquette did not warrant conversation
with a stranger, neither made known his intention. The consequence was
they met, with considerable emphasis, about four feet from the edge of
the path, and went through a flight of soaring eagles, a mile out of
their way![A]
[Footnote A: This is infamous! The learned Parsee appears wholly to
ignore the distinction between a fable and a simple lie.--TRANSLATOR.]
XXIII.
A stone which had lain for centuries in a hidden place complained to
Allah that remaining so long in one position was productive of cramps.
"If thou wouldst be pleased," it said, "to let me take a little
exercise now and then, my health would be the better for it."
So it was granted permission to make a short excursion, and at once
began rolling out into the open desert. It had not proceeded far
before an ostrich, who was pensively eating a keg of nails, left his
repast, dashed at the stone, and gobbled it up.
This narration teaches the folly of contentment: if the ostrich had
been content with his nails he would never have eaten the stone.
XXIV.
A man carrying a sack of corn up a high ladder propped against a wall,
had nearly reached the top, when a powerful hog passing that way leant
against the bottom to scratch its hide.
"I wish," said the man, speaking down the ladder, "you would make
that operation as brief as possible; and when I come down I will
reward you by rearing a fresh ladder especially for you."
"This one is quite good enough for a hog," was the reply; "but I am
curious to know if you will keep your promise, so I'll just amuse
myself until you come down."
And taking the bottom rung in his mouth, he moved off, away from the
wall. A moment later he had all the loose corn he could garner, but he
never got that other ladder.
MORAL.--An ace and four kings is as good a hand as one can hold in
draw-poker.
XXV.
A young cock and a hen were speaking of the size of eggs. Said the
cock:
"I once laid an egg--"
"Oh, you did!" interrupted the hen, with a derisive cackle. "Pray how
did you manage it?"
The cock felt injured in his self-esteem, and, turning his back upon
the hen, addressed himself to a brood of young chickens.
"I once laid an egg--"
The chickens chirped incredulously, and passed on. The insulted bird
reddened in the wattles with indignation, and strutting up to the
patriarch of the entire barn-yard, repeated his assertion. The
patriarch nodded gravely, as if the feat were an every-day affair, and
the other continued:
"I once laid an egg alongside a water-melon, and compared the two. The
vegetable was considerably the larger."
This fable is intended to show the absurdity of hearing all a man has
to say.
XXVI.
[Illustration]
Seeing himself getting beyond his depth, a bathing naturalist called
lustily for succour.
"Anything _I_ can do for you?" inquired the engaging octopus.
"Happy to serve you, I am sure," said the accommodating leech.
"Command _me_," added the earnest crab.
"Gentlemen of the briny deep," exclaimed the gasping _savant_, "I am
compelled to decline your friendly offices, but I tender you my
scientific gratitude; and, as a return favour, I beg, with this my
last breath, that you will accept the freedom of my aquarium, and make
it your home."
This tale proves that scientific gratitude is quite as bad as the
natural sort.
XXVII.
Two whales seizing a pike, attempted in turn to swallow him, but
without success. They finally determined to try him jointly, each
taking hold of an end, and both shutting their eyes for a grand
effort, when a shark darted silently between them, biting away the
whole body of their prey. Opening their eyes, they gazed upon one
another with much satisfaction.
"I had no idea he would go down so easily," said the one.
"Nor I," returned the other; "but how very tasteless a pike is."
The insipidity we observe in most of our acquaintances is largely due
to our imperfect knowledge of them.
XXVIII.
A wolf went into the cottage of a peasant while the family was absent
| 1,736.15836 |
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STORIES BY ENGLISH AUTHORS
ITALY
CONTENTS
A FAITHFUL RETAINER James Payn
BIANCA W. E. Norris
GONERIL A. Mary F. Robinson
THE BRIGAND'S BRIDE Laurence Oliphant
MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS Anthony Trollope
A FAITHFUL RETAINER, By James Payn
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LETTERS TO HIS SON
1752
By the EARL OF CHESTERFIELD
on the Fine Art of becoming a
MAN OF THE WORLD
and a
GENTLEMAN
LETTER CLV
LONDON, January 2, O. S. 1752.
MY DEAR FRIEND: Laziness of mind, or inattention, are as great enemies to
knowledge as incapacity; for, in truth, what difference is there between
a man who will not, and a man who cannot be informed? This difference
only, that the former is justly to be blamed, the latter to be pitied.
And yet how many there are, very capable of receiving knowledge, who from
laziness, inattention, and incurious | 1,736.255586 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
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Our Little Hindu Cousin
THE
Little Cousin Series
(TRADE MARK)
Each volume illustrated with six or more full-page plates in tint.
Cloth, 12mo, with decorative cover, per volume, 60 cents
LIST OF TITLES
BY MARY HAZELTON WADE
(unless otherwise indicated)
=Our Little African Cousin=
=Our Little Alaskan Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Arabian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Armenian Cousin=
By Constance F. Curlewis
=Our Little Australian Cousin=
=Our Little Brazilian Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Brown Cousin=
=Our Little Canadian Cousin=
By Elizabeth R. MacDonald
=Our Little Chinese Cousin=
By Isaac Taylor Headland
=Our Little Cuban Cousin=
=Our Little Dutch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Egyptian Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little English Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Eskimo Cousin=
=Our Little French Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little German Cousin=
=Our Little Greek Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Hawaiian Cousin=
=Our Little Hindu Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Indian Cousin=
=Our Little Irish Cousin=
=Our Little Italian Cousin=
=Our Little Japanese Cousin=
=Our Little Jewish Cousin=
=Our Little Korean Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Mexican Cousin=
By Edward C. Butler
=Our Little Norwegian Cousin=
=Our Little Panama Cousin=
By H. Lee M. Pike
=Our Little Philippine Cousin=
=Our Little Porto Rican Cousin=
=Our Little Russian Cousin=
=Our Little Scotch Cousin=
By Blanche McManus
=Our Little Siamese Cousin=
=Our Little Spanish Cousin=
By Mary F. Nixon-Roulet
=Our Little Swedish Cousin=
By Claire M. Coburn
=Our Little Swiss Cousin=
=Our Little Turkish Cousin=
L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
New England Building, Boston, Mass.
[Illustration: CHOLA IN HIS FATHER'S SHOP.
(_See page 19_)]
Our Little Hindu Cousin
By Blanche McManus
_Author of "Our Little English Cousin," "Our
Little French Cousin," "Our Little Dutch
Cousin," "Our Little Scotch
Cousin," etc._
_Illustrated by_
The Author
[Illustration]
Boston
L. C. Page & Company
_MDCCCCVII_
_Copyright, 1907_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
_All rights reserved_
Second Impression, August, 1908
Preface
OUR little cousins of Hindustan are charming little people, even though
their manners and customs and their religion are so very different from
our own.
India is a big country, and there are many different races of people
living within its borders, the two principal ones being the Mohammedans
and the Hindus. The Mohammedans number about sixty millions and there
are about a hundred and eighty millions of Hindus, who are by far the
superior race.
The intelligence of the Hindus is of a very high order, but, like all
Eastern races, they have many superstitions. Their attention to their
food and drink and personal cleanliness is remarkable, and, though
their customs in this respect are peculiar, they follow a healthful and
sanitary manner of living which might well be practised by Western folk.
The arts and crafts of the Hindus and their trades and professions are
very strange and interesting, and the young people themselves invariably
grow up in the same occupations as their elders. There is no mixing of
the races or _castes_, and members of one caste always associate with
those of the same class.
But the English influence is making itself so strongly felt, that
frequently the children learn English as early in life as they do their
own language; so our little American cousins would almost always be able
to make of them good playfellows and would perhaps be able to learn many
valuable lessons from Our Little Hindu Cousins.
B. McM.
SUEZ, _January, 1907_.
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. CHOLA AT HOME 1
II. A DAY IN THE BAZAAR 16
III. THE CHILDREN'S HOLIDAY 35
IV. THE CHILDREN TRAVEL IN THE BIG OX-WAGON 50
V. THE CHILDREN SEE BENARES AND GO HOME FOR A WEDDING 66
VI. THE LITTLE SAHIB SEES THE BIG ELEPHANTS 80
VII. CHOLA GOES ON A TIGER HUNT 94
List of Illustrations
PAGE
CHOLA IN HIS FATHER'S SHOP (_See page 19_) _Frontispiece_
BUYING SWEETS IN THE BAZAAR 30
"FIRST THERE CAME A BIG ELEPHANT" 57
"THESE THE CHILDREN TWISTED INTO WREATHS
AND THREW INTO THE RIVER" 69
THE MARRIAGE OF SHRIYA 76
"SUDDENLY, UP OUT OF THE JUNGLE, THERE
SPRANG A GREAT YELLOW TIGER" 102
[Illustration: _Map of_ INDIA _showing places mentioned in_ OUR LITTLE
HINDU COUSIN]
Our Little Hindu Cousin
CHAPTER I
CHOLA AT HOME
IT was barely light when little Chola rolled out of his blanket and gave
his cousin Mahala a shake as he lay stretched out beside him.
"Lazy one, listen! I hear little kids bleating below in the courtyard;
the new goats with the long hair must have come. Hasten! We will be the
first to see them!"
"Oh!" said Mahala, sitting up and rubbing his eyes, "thou art the plague
of my life. I was in the midst of a beautiful dream. I dreamed that I
was sitting beside a clear stream, with many dishes of sweetmeats
beside me, and I was just beginning to eat them when thou didst wake
me."
"Oh, thou greedy one! 'Tis always of sweets that thou art thinking,"
laughed Chola, as he and Mahala ran down the little winding stairway
which led from their room into the courtyard.
"Here they are, aren't they dear little creatures?" cried Chola, as two
little kids came frisking toward them, while the big white mother goat
followed them bleating piteously.
"What fine long white hair they have," exclaimed Mahala, trying to catch
one of the kids as it bounded past him.
"A lot of fuss over some goats," grumbled the old porter. "This fellow
with his goats came hammering before cock-crow at the gate," continued
the old man, who did not like having to come down from his little room
over the big gateway of the court at such an early hour to open the
gate.
"We are early risers in the hills," said the man who had brought the
goats. "It is you town folks who are lazy; but I promised your master
when he bought the goats in the market yesterday that he should have
them this morning."
"Oh, thou art from the hills," exclaimed the boys, looking curiously at
the little man in his strange dress.
"Yes, from the far northwest; and both I and my goats are homesick for
the tall mountains with the snow on their tops and the great pine-trees.
We like not these hot plains; but I must be off to the market," and,
twirling his stick, the little man left, clanging the heavy gate behind
him.
"Come, we will bathe before our fathers come down," said Mahala, after
they had played about with the kids awhile; "they always say we are in
their way." So saying the two little boys ran into the big garden
where, under a group of mango-trees, there was a big stone tank, or
pond, of water, with steps going down into it. Here Chola and Mahala
bathed every morning, for it was part of their religion and must be done
in a certain way. Indeed, some of our little Hindu cousins bathe before
each meal; and this is why, all over India, you will see the people
bathing in the rivers, in the public bathing-places, and in their own
gardens at all times of the day. Moreover, it is a very pleasant custom
for a hot country like India. As the boys were splashing merrily about
in the big tank, down dropped a big mango right on top of Chola's head.
"Where did that come from?" he cried, looking around; but there was no
one to be seen, so he went on splashing, when down came another mango,
and a sound was heard as if some one was chuckling to himself.
"Oh, it's thou, son of mischief!" cried Chola, as a little monkey
leaped down and capered around on the edge of the tank.
It was Jam, Chola's pet monkey. A cousin of the gardener had caught it
in his field one night when he was guarding his crops from the monkeys.
These mischievous animals would often dash out in droves from the
near-by forest at night and eat up the farmers' crop. He did not wish to
kill the little monkey; for, like many Hindus, he thought it a sacred
animal. So he had brought it to Chola for a pet.
The boys had great fun with Jam, though often he would play mischievous
pranks on them. To-day Jam thought this was just his chance to have fun.
Spying Chola's turban lying beside his clothes on the steps of the tank,
he pounced upon it and carried it up into the mango-tree.
"Oh, son of mischief, just wait until I catch thee! Bring back my
turban!" cried Chola, as he scrambled out of the water and climbed up
after Jam in a jiffy. It would never do for him to lose his turban, for
it would be very bad manners for him to be seen without this curious
head-covering. But as Chola went up the tree, Jam climbed down by an
out-stretching limb and swung himself to the ground, then away he went
tearing around the garden with Chola after him. Suddenly Jam tossed the
turban over the garden wall and flew to the top of the house, wild with
joy at having given Chola such a chase.
"Oh, Mahala, find it for me," said Chola, as he dropped breathless on
the grass.
Mahala ran out into the road and was back directly.
"Here is thy turban all unrolled," he laughed, throwing what seemed to
be many yards of white cloth at Chola.
"Just wait until I take a good bamboo stick to thee, wicked one," said
Chola, shaking his fist at Jam, now safe out of reach, and beginning to
wind the cloth around his head.
After their bath it did not take the boys long to dress, for they just
wound a long white garment around and around them, and slipped over this
a little jacket.
"Let us go to the cook-room now and see what the women are cooking; to
dream of sweets does not take away one's hunger," said Mahala, after the
boys had given their teeth a vigorous washing and rubbing with little
sticks, which was another one of their religious duties.
As the boys ran across the courtyard, scattering the goats, doves, and
fowls which were picking up seeds and grain, a voice called out: "Give
me food, oh, little princelings!"
"That must be a beggar, but I do not see him," said Mahala, looking
around.
"It is old green-coat," said Chola, laughing, and pointing to the other
side of the court where hung a hoop in which sat a beautiful parrot,
all brilliant green and blue and red. He could talk so well that a
stranger who came to the house would look everywhere to find the human
being who he thought had spoken to him. Once there came a thief who
thought he could steal the fine cock that stood under the veranda with
his head under his wing. Just as the thief caught the cock by the neck,
such a torrent of abuse came from above that he dropped the cock and
rolled in the dust, crying out: "Mercy! mercy! Oh, great one, thy slave
will never do this thing again!" Then as he heard a laugh, and no one
seized him, he fearfully lifted his head, and there sat the parrot
swinging on his hoop-perch. The thief slunk away very much ashamed that
he had been fooled by a bird.
"Ah, it smells good!" said Mahala, as they looked in at the door of the
cook-house which was near the great gateway.
There were no stoves or even fireplaces in the cook-room, but a series
of little holes or cupboards in the wall, in each of which was a pot or
pan resting on a few | 1,736.274471 |
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Transcriber’s Notes
Italic text enclosed with _underscores_.
Small-caps replaced by ALL CAPS.
More notes appear at the end of the file.
[Illustration:
Price, 20 Cents.
Grocers’ Goods: A Family Guide.
THE TRADESMAN’S PUBLISHING COMPANY,
Tribune Building,
NEW YORK CITY.
]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
GROCERS’ GOODS:
A FAMILY GUIDE
TO THE PURCHASE OF
FLOUR, SUGAR, TEA, COFFEE, SPICES,
CANNED GOODS, CIGARS, WINES,
AND ALL OTHER ARTICLES
Usually Found in American Grocery Stores.
BY F. B. GODDARD.
COPYRIGHTED 1888.
THE TRADESMEN’S PUBLISHING COMPANY,
TRIBUNE BUILDING,
NEW YORK CITY.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Index List of Grocers’ Goods.
Housekeepers will find this list suggestive and helpful in making up
orders for the Grocer, as well as useful for page reference.
PAGE.
Adulterations 6
Ale 62
Allspice 41
Almonds 50
Apples 44
Apples, Dried 48
Artificial Butter 30
Asparagus 47
Bacon 35
Baking Powders 16
Bananas 45
Barley 13
Bath Brick 58
Beans 47-48
Beef, Dried 35
Beef, Fresh 34
Beer 62
Berries 45-49
Beeswax 58
Bird Seed 57
Biscuit 16
Blacking 57
Blended Tea 24
Bluing 55
Brandies 63
Brazil Nuts 50
Bread 15
Brooms 56
Brushes 56
Buckwheat 14
Burgundy Wines 60-64
Butter 28
Butterine 30
Cabbage 46
California Wines 61-64
Candies 19
Candles 55
Canned Goods 36
“ Meats 37
“ Fish 37
“ Vegetables 38
“ Fruits 38
Cans, Tin 38
Capers 43
Carrots 47
Cassia and Buds 41
Catsups 44
Cauliflower 47
Celery 47
Celery Salt 42
Cereals 10
Champagne 61
Cheese 31
Cherries 44
Chicory 27
Chocolate 27
Cider 63
Cigars 51
Cigarettes 52
Cinnamon 41
Claret Wines 60-64
Clothes Pins 56
Cloves 41
Cocoa 27
Cocoanuts 45
Cod Fish 35
Coffee 24
Condensed Milk 28
Condiments 39
Cordials 64
Corn 12
Corn Starch 12
Crackers 16
Cranberries 45
Cream 28
Cream of Tartar 16
Cucumbers 47
Currants 45-49
Curry Powders 41
Dates 50
Disinfectants 58
Distilled Liquors 63
Dried Fruits 48
Eggs 33
Egg Plant 48
Essences 39
Extracts 39
Farinaceous Foods 14
Feed, for Stock 15
Figs 49
Filberts 50
Fish 35
Flavoring Extracts 32
Flour 11
Fruits 44
“ Domestic 44
“ Tropical 45
“ Dried 48
“ Brandy 39
“ Canned 39
Fruit Butter 39
Garlic 47
Gelatine 39
Gin 64
Ginger 40
Ginger Ale 63
Glucose 18
Gooseberries 45
Graham Flour 12
Grapes 44
Greens 48
Green Corn 47
Groats 14
Grocers’ Sundries 58
Halibut 53
Ham 35
Herbs 39
Herring 35
Hints to Housekeepers 8
Hominy 13
Honey 19
Horseradish 43
Insect Powder 58
Isinglass 39
Jams 39
Japan Tea 24
Jellies 38
Koumiss 28
Ketchup 44
Lager Beer 62
Lard 33
Lemons 45
Lentils 48
Madeira Wine 64
Maccaroni 17
Mackerel 35
Malt Liquors 62
Mace 41
Maple Sugar 18
“ Syrup 18
Marmalades 39
Matches 57
Meal 12
Meat Extracts 36
Meats, Canned 37
“ Fresh 34
“ Smoked 35
Melons 48
Milk 9-28
Mineral Waters 61
Molasses 19
Mops 56
Mustard 40
Mutton 34
Nuts 50
Nutmegs 41
Oatmeal 13
Oil, Salad 43
Olives 43
Oleomargarine 30
Onions 47
Oranges 45
Oyster Plant 48
Pails 58
Parsnips 47
Pea Nuts 50
Peaches 44
“ Dried 49
Pears 44
Pearl Barley 13
Peas 47-48
Pecan Nuts 50
Pepper 40
Pepper, Cayenne 40
Pepper Sauce 44
Pickles 43
Pipes 51
Pine Apples 45
Plums 44-49
Pork 34
Porter 62
Port Wine 59-61
Potatoes 46
Poultry 34
Preserves 38
Prunes 49
Radishes 47
Raisins 49
Rice 14
Rhine Wines 60-64
Rhubarb 47
Rum 64
Rye Flour 13
Sago 15
Salads 48
Salad Dressings 43
Saleratus 16
Salmon 35
Salt 42
Samp 13
Sauces 43
Seeds 57
Shells 27
Sherry Wine 59-61
Shoe Dressing 57
Snuff 53
Soaps 53
“ Toilet 54
“ Shaving 54
Soups Canned 37
Soda 16
Spaghetti 17
Spices 39
Squash 48
Starch, Laundry 55
Stove Polish 57
Stout 64
Strawberries 45
Sugar 17
Sundries 58
Sweet Potatoes 46
Syrups 19
Tamarinds 50
Tapioca 15
Tea 21
Tobacco, Chewing 51
“ Smoking 51
Tomatoes 47
Tongues 35
Turnips 47
Veal 34
Vegetables, Fresh 46
“ Canned 38
Vermicelli 17
Vinegar 42
Washboards 46
Wines and Liquors 59
Wheat 10
Whiskey 64
Yeast 16
GROCERS’ GOODS.
A FAMILY GUIDE.
In the ancient times of twenty-five or thirty years ago, the grocer’s
goods consisted chiefly of codfish, flour, sugar, tea, coffee, salt,
molasses and whale oil. There were also a little candy in glass jars,
some nuts in bins, a few drums of figs and a box of sour oranges. The
grocer himself found plenty of time to talk politics and play checkers
across the counter with his friends and neighbors. Those were the days
when a few conservative old merchants used to meet and discuss the tea
market and allot among themselves the quantity to be imported, not a
pound of which could arrive under twelve or fifteen months.
But things have changed. The importer now flashes his order under the
sea and on, over plains and through jungles to China. “Ocean tramp”
steamships are waiting to receive his merchandise, and within thirty or
forty days it may be sending up its grateful fragrance from tea tables
in the Mississippi Valley.
THE MODERN GROCER.
Nor has the enterprising retail grocer of to-day failed to catch the
spirit of this progress and keep even step with it. He has become the
Popular Food Provider, and his store represents about everything which
is palatable in either hemisphere or any zone. As the world has grown
enlightened and refined, his stock has become more and more varied and
better adapted to the wants of mankind, until it embraces every delicacy
of the land, sea or air.
His cunningly prepared sauces provoke the appetite and give zest to more
substantial articles, while they help also to digest them. He has food
fitted for the intellectual worker and for the laborer, for the invalid
and for the infant. He practically annihilates the seasons and furnishes
fruits and vegetables in mid-winter, as fresh and delicate as when first
plucked from their native stems or vines. And, moreover, all the goods
upon his sightly shelves are now put up in the most attractive, portable
and convenient form for family use.
Food Never Before so Low.
Nor would a day’s wages ever before purchase so much of food products.
In the English market, for the ten years from 1870 to 1880, the price of
wheat was forty-three per cent. higher than the average of 1886. Sugars
have fallen in price nearly one-half in ten years, and teas, coffee, and
many other articles are proportionately low.
This is due to improvements in machinery, increased transportation
facilities and the opening up of new and fertile sections of the earth,
under all of which the world’s supply of food has of late years been
greatly in excess of the world’s increase in population; and it is the
grocer who brings these advantages home to our families.
Food Adulteration.
There has long been an uneasy feeling lest many articles of food and
drink were not only mixed with substances which reduced their nutritive
value, but were also often with cumulative poisons, and
adulterated with substances injurious to health.
These fears have not been altogether groundless. There can be no doubt
that this monstrous crime has been practiced to some extent in respect
to certain articles. But, thanks to the diffusion of intelligence, the
teachings of science, the operation of law, the fear of detection and
punishment, and largely, also, by the refusal of conscientious grocers
to sell such unwholesome products; greedy and unscrupulous manufacturers
have been compelled to abandon their vicious practices, and noxious food
adulteration is now comparatively a rare crime.
Those who desire pure articles can almost always obtain them of a
reputable grocer by paying their value. But in order to supply the
demand for cheaper goods and meet competition, such articles as powdered
spices, etc., are extensively prepared, mixed with harmless substances,
and containing the largest quantity of pure material which can be
furnished at the price for which they are sold. Perhaps, also, such
articles are more economical in the using, and admixtures are sometimes
improvements.
Adulteration Laws.
Yet even this class of adulterated goods is objectionable, from the fact
that there are always dealers who will be tempted to sell them as
“Strictly pure,” thus defrauding the purchaser, out-reaching honest
rivals and losing their own self-respect. Probably, therefore, most of
the upright and leading grocers of the country would be glad to see wise
and effective general laws passed against food adulterations, under
which all could unite and be freed from unfair competition by the
unscrupulous. But laws which will protect both the health and the pocket
are difficult to frame and to execute without being sumptuary and
oppressive. The most effectual and probably the best laws of the kind in
this country at present are the enactments of Massachusetts, New York,
Ohio, New Jersey, and Michigan.
Less Adulteration than Commonly Supposed.
The general Government is also moving in the matter. Last year (1887)
three “Bulletins” were issued at Washington, which deal exhaustively
with current adulterations of dairy products, spices, etc., and
fermented beverages. These reports, made under direction of the
Commissioner of Agriculture, were prepared respectively by Messrs. H. W.
Wiley, C. Richardson, and C. A. Crampton, who state in substance that
they found certain articles extensively adulterated, but generally with
harmless materials.
The president of the N. Y. Microscopical Society states that many
members of that scientific body have looked into the alleged
adulterations of food products and find them not as general as many
suppose, and the adulterants found were in most cases harmless.
At the recent “Health Exhibition,” in England, Dr. Jas. Bell declared to
the Conference, that, “In most articles of food there has been a very
great improvement in recent years as regards adulterations,” and that
the “gross and deleterious adulterants formerly used have been
practically abandoned.” This accords also with the recently expressed
opinions of the eminent Dr. Hassall and of many scientific investigators
in this country.
Hints to Housekeepers.
As a rule, whole or unground articles are to be preferred to those which
are powdered; not only because they are less liable to adulteration, but
also because the latter more quickly lose flavor and strength.
This objection applies also to buying goods in large quantities of
wholesale dealers, for family use. This plan may appear to be
economical, but is generally disadvantageous both to buyer and seller.
Tea, aromatic and ground goods, and many other commodities often
deteriorate in quality before they are used. Servants who can dip their
hands into abundant supplies are apt to become more wasteful. If
articles so purchased do not prove suitable, it is more trouble to
exchange them than with the retail dealer who sells in smaller
quantities and is in daily contact with his customers. And, besides, an
honest man who studies the daily wants of the families of his community,
and adapts his business to supplying them with good articles in
convenient quantities and at fair prices, has a right to expect
consideration and encouragement from his friends and neighbors.
The Daily Food of a Model Man.
A healthy man, weighing, say, one hundred and fifty-four pounds,
consists of water one hundred and nine pounds, and of solid matter
forty-five pounds. His blood weighs about twelve pounds, or, when dry,
two pounds. The quantity of food substances he should consume every day,
and their relative proportions necessary to keep him vigorous and well,
are stated by Prof. Johnston to be about as follows:
lbs. oz.
Water 5 8-3/4
Albumen, fibrin, gluten, etc. 4-1/4
Starch, sugar, etc. 11-1/2
Fat 3-3/4
Common salt 3/4
Phosphates, potash salts, etc. 1/3
If for a time the proper balance of constituents is not preserved in the
food, even though the health may not appear affected, the laborer can do
less work, a frail constitution is engendered and the person becomes
more susceptible to disease.
Variety in Food.
If any constituent is deficient we must supply it; hence variety in food
is not only agreeable but necessary to health. Albumen, fibrin, casein
and gluten build up the muscles and tissues, while starch, sugar and fat
produce the warmth and energy of the body. The mineral substances are
necessary for the framework—the bones. Grains, fruits and vegetables
contain starch and sugar and more or less gluten; meats contain fibrin
and albumen; milk, casein, etc.
Beef and Bread
have the following composition:
Lean Wheaten
beef. Bread.
Water 77 40
Fibrin or gluten 19 7
Fat 3 1
Starch 0 50
Salt and other 1 2
minerals
―――― ――――
100 100
This shows that the main difference between beef and bread is that the
meat contains no starch, and nearly three times as much of the muscle
making fibrin as the proportion of gluten (which is similar in many
respects) in wheaten bread.
The water, climate, season, age, habits, etc., all have to do with the
choice of food we eat. Besides the quantity of nourishment contained in
the food, there is also the question of the ease and completeness with
which it can be digested and assimilated. It is not always fat eaters
who are the fattest.
Milk.
Woman’s milk is considered the type of human food when the conditions
approach that of the child, as the milk of the mother is the natural
food of all young animals. Milk partakes of the nature of both animal
and vegetable food. It contains:
Human Cow’s
milk. milk.
Water 89-1/2 87
Casein 1-2/8 4
Butter or milk fat 2-1/4 3-1/2
Sugar of milk 6-1/8 4-3/4
Salts or ash 1/4 3/4
――――――― ――――――
100 100
These are average analyses. The casein is equivalent to the gluten of
vegetables or the fibrin of meat, and the sugar to starch.
With these few general observations, let us pass on to consider in
detail the Grocer’s Goods.
THE CEREALS.
WHEAT.
The cereal grains consist of solidified vegetable milk, drawn from the
bosom of Mother Earth. But two of them all are used for making light and
spongy bread with yeast, and wheat has the universal preference because
it contains all the elements necessary to the growth and sustenance of
the body. It makes bread which is more inviting to the eye and more
agreeable to the taste. It is the highest type of vegetable food known
to mankind, and it is claimed that the most enlightened nations of
modern times owe their mental and bodily superiority to this great and
beneficent product.
There is little if any difference in the nutriment or value of spring
and winter wheat. Some prefer the one and some the other. Southern
raised wheat is apt to be drier than northern and will better stand the
effects of warm climates. Wheat varies in weight per bushel as the
season is wet or dry. The best is round, plump and smooth. It contains
about fifteen parts of water, sixty-five to seventy-five parts of
starch, and about ten parts of gluten. The average annual production of
wheat in the United States during the past eight years has been
448,815,699 bushels; an increase over the preceding ten years of
forty-four per cent., while the increase of population has been only
twenty-five per cent.
Wheaten Flour.
Wheat was formerly ground by mill stones, and the product bolted and
sifted into the different grades. But during the last twelve years, this
process has been largely superseded by the “Patent Roller” process of
crushing and separating the flour from the bran. This is a great
improvement over the old method; more flour is obtained from the wheat,
and it is whiter, contains more gluten, and is therefore stronger.
The first consideration is the color or whiteness; second, the quantity
of gluten the flour contains. The eye determines the first, and a hasty
test of the quantity and quality of the gluten may be made by squeezing
some of the flour into a lump in the hand. This lump will more closely
show the prints of the fingers, and will hold its form in handling with
considerable more ten | 1,736.277821 |
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Produced by David Reed and David Widger
LETTERS OF PLINY
By Gaius Plinius Caecilius Secundus
Translated by William Melmoth
Revised by F. C. T. Bosanquet
GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS, usually known as Pliny the Younger,
was born at Como in 62 A. D. He was only eight years old when his father
Caecilius died, and he was adopted by his uncle, the elder Pliny, author
of the Natural History. He was carefully educated, studying rhetoric
under Quintilian and other famous teachers, and he became the most
eloquent pleader of his time. In this and in much else he imitated
Cicero, who had by this time come to be the recognized master of Latin
style. While still young he served as military tribune in Syria, but he
does not seem to have taken zealously to a soldier's life. On his return
he entered politics under the Emperor Domitian; and in the year 100 A.
D. was appointed consul by Trajan and admitted to confidential
intercourse with that emperor. Later while he was governor of Bithynia,
he was in the habit of submitting every point of policy to his master,
and the correspondence between Trajan and him, which forms the last part
of the present selection, is of a high degree of interest, both on
account of the subjects discussed and for the light thrown on the
characters of the two men. He is supposed to have died about 113 A. D.
Pliny's speeches are now lost, with the exception of one, a panegyric on
Trajan delivered in thanksgiving for the consulate. This, though diffuse
and somewhat too complimentary for modern taste, became a model for this
kind of composition. The others were mostly of two classes, forensic and
political, many of the latter being, like Cicero's speech against
Verres, impeachments of provincial governors for cruelty and extortion
toward their subjects. In these, as in his public activities in general,
he appears as a man of public spirit and integrity; and in his relations
with his native town he was a thoughtful and munificent benefactor.
The letters, on which to-day his fame mainly rests, were largely written
with a view to publication, and were arranged by Pliny himself. They
thus lack the spontaneity of Cicero's impulsive utterances, but to most
modern readers who are not special students of Roman history they are
even more interesting. They deal with a great variety of subjects: the
description of a Roman villa; the charms of country life; the reluctance
of people to attend author's readings and to listen when they were
present; a dinner party; legacy-hunting in ancient Rome; the acquisition
of a piece of statuary; his love for his young wife; ghost stories;
floating islands, a tame dolphin, and other marvels. But by far the best
known are those describing the great eruption of Vesuvius in which his
uncle perished, a martyr to scientific curiosity, and the letter to
Trajan on his attempts to suppress Christianity in Bithynia, with
Trajan's reply approving his policy. Taken altogether, these letters
give an absorbingly vivid picture of the days of the early empire, and
of the interests of a cultivated Roman gentleman of wealth.
Occasionally, as in the last letters referred to, they deal with
important historical events; but their chief value is in bringing before
us, in somewhat the same manner as "The Spectator" pictures the England
of the age of Anne, the life of a time which is not so unlike our own as
its distance in years might indicate. And in this time by no means the
least interesting figure is that of the letter-writer himself, with his
vanity and self-importance, his sensibility and generous affection, his
pedantry and his loyalty.
CONTENTS
LETTERS GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS
I -- To SEPTITTUS
II -- To ARRIANUS
III -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
IV -- To CORNELIUS TACITUS
V -- To POMPEIUS SATURNINUS
VI -- To ATRIUS CLEMENS
VII -- To FABIUS JUSTUS
VIII -- To CALESTRIUS TIRO
IX -- To SOCIUS SENECIO
X -- To JUNSUS MAURICUS
XI -- To SEPTITIUS CLARUS
XII -- To SUETONIUS TRANQUILLUS
XIII -- To ROMANUS FIRMUS
XIV -- TO CORNELIUS TACITUS
XV -- To PATERNUS
XVI -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS [27]
XVII -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS
XVIII -- To NEPOS
XIX -- To AVITUS
XX -- To MACRINUS
XXI -- To PAISCUS
XXII -- To MAIMUS
XXIII -- To GALLUS
XXIV -- To CEREALIS
XXV -- To CALVISIUS
XXVI -- To CALVISIUS
XXVII -- To BAEBIUS MACER
XXVIII -- To ANNIUS SEVERUS
XXIX -- To CANINIUS RUFUS
XXX -- To SPURINNA AND COTTIA[53]
XXXI -- To JULIUS GENITOR
XXXII -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS
XXXIII -- To ACILIUS
XXXIV -- To NEPOS
XXXV -- To SEVERUS
XXXVI -- To CALVISIUS R | 1,736.40536 |
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DEVOTIONAL POETRY
FOR THE
CHILDREN.
SECOND PART.
"_Make us beautiful within,
By Thy Spirit's holy light;
Guard us when our faith burns dim,
Father of all love and might._"
PHILADELPHIA:
Published by the Book Association of Friends.
1870.
Electrotyped and Printed for the Association,
BY THOMAS W. STUCKEY,
403 North Sixth street, above Callowhill, Philadelphia.
INDEX.
PAGE
The Life-Clock, 5
God is Love, 6
Time,--Thanksgiving, 7
"Thou, God, seest Me," 8
The Beautiful Works of God, 9
Spiritual Blessings,--The Dove's Visit, 10
Teach Us to Pray,--Deeds of Kindness, 12
An Evening Song, 14
Be Kind to The Poor, 15
The Lesson of The Leaves, 16
The Spring-Bird's Lesson, 17
The Orphan's Hymn,--Morning, 18
Evening, 19
A Moment Too Late, 20
A Little Sonnet about Little Things, 21
Examination, 22
God is in His holy Temple, 23
Morning Glories, 24
How Beautiful the Setting Sun, 25
Summer Time, 26
Like Jesus,--I Have a Home, 27
God, 28
The Bird's Nest, 29
The Lark,--Effort, 30
The Sea Shell, 31
God is Good,--Despise not Simple Things, 32
The Violet, 33
Child's Talent, 34
The Stars are Coming, 35
The Flowers, 36
Little by Little, 37
Never, My Child, Forget to Pray, 38
The Child's Prayer, 38
A Childlike Spirit, 39
Live for Something, 41
The Beautiful, 42
Don't Kill the Birds, 43
Little Acts of Kindness, 44
The Blessings, 46
When Father Comes Home, 47
Harvest-Field of Time, 48
Prayer,--Reflections, 49
What is Heaven? 50
The Child's Monitor, 51
Give Us our Daily Bread, 52
True Rest, 54
One by One, 56
God Seen in His Works, 57
The Little Sunbeam, 58
Compassion,--I Will be Good to-day, 59
I'll Do what I Can, 60
Time to Arise, 61
Divine Guidance,--Industry, 62
"Prayer is the Soul's sincere Desire," 63
Angry Words, 63
The Request, 64
DEVOTIONAL POETRY
FOR THE
CHILDREN.
THE LIFE-CLOCK.
There is a little mystic clock,
No human eye hath seen,
That beateth on,--and beateth on,--
From morning until e'en.
And when the soul is wrapped in sleep,
All silent and alone,
It ticks and ticks the livelong night,
And never runneth down.
Oh! wondrous is that work of art,
Which knells the passing hour;
But art ne'er formed, nor mind conceived,
The life-clock's magic power.
Not set in gold, nor decked with gems,
By wealth and pride possessed;
But rich or poor, or high or low,
Each bears it in his breast.
Such is the clock that measures life,--
Of flesh and spirit blended,--
And thus 't will run within the breast,
Till that strange life is ended.
GOD IS LOVE.
Lo! the heavens are breaking,
Pure and bright above;
Light and life awaking,
Murmur, "God is love."
Music now is ringing,
Through the leafy grove,
Feathered songsters, singing,
Warble, "God is love."
Wake, my heart, and springing,
Spread thy wings above;
Soaring still, and singing,--
Singing, "God is love."
TIME.
A minute,--how soon it is flown!
And yet, how important it is!
God calls every moment His own,--
For all our existence is His:
And tho' we may waste many moments each day,
He notices each that we squander away.
We should not a minute despise,
Although it so quickly is o'er;
We know that it rapidly flies,
And therefore should prize it the more.
Another, indeed, may appear in its stead;
But that precious minute, for ever, is fled.
'Tis easy to squander our years
In idleness, folly, and strife;
But, oh! no repentance nor tears
Can bring back one moment of life.
Then wisely improve all the time as it goes,
And life will be happy, and peaceful the close.
THANKSGIVING.
There's not a leaf within the bower,--
There's not a bird upon the tree,--
There's not a dewdrop on the flower,--
But bears the impress, Lord, of Thee.
Thy power the varied leaf designed,
And gave the bird its thrilling tone;
Thy hand the dewdrops' tints combined,
Till like a diamond's blaze they shone.
Yes, dewdrops, leaves and buds, and all,--
The smallest, like the greatest things,--
The sea's vast space, the earth's wide ball,
Alike proclaim Thee, King of kings!
But man alone, to bounteous Heaven,
Thanksgiving's conscious strains can raise:
To favored man, alone, 'tis given,
To join the angelic choir in praise.
"THOU, GOD, SEEST ME."
Thine eye is on me always,
Thou knowest the way I take;
Thou seest me when I'm sleeping,
Thou seest me when I wake.
Thine arm is round about me,
Thy hand is underneath;
Thy love will still preserve me,
If I Thy laws do keep.
Thou art my present helper,--
Be Thou my daily guide;
Then I'll be safe for ever,
Whatever may betide.
Oh! help me, dearest Father,
To walk in wisdom's way,
That I, Thy loving child, may be
Through every future day,
And, by my loving actions, prove
That He who guardeth me is Love.
THE BEAUTIFUL WORKS OF GOD.
All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,--
The Lord God made them all.
Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their shining wings.
The tall trees in the green wood,
The meadows where we play,
The rushes, by the water,
We gather every day,--
He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips, that we may tell
How great is God Almighty,
Who doeth all things well.
SPIRITUAL BLESSINGS.
Almighty Father! Thou hast many blessings
In store for every loving child of Thine;
For this I pray,--Let me, Thy grace possessing,
Seek to be guided by Thy will divine.
Not for earth's treasures,--for her joys the dearest,--
Would I my supplications raise to Thee;
Not for the hopes that to my heart are nearest,
But only that I give that heart to Thee.
I pray that Thou wouldst guide and guard me ever;
Cleanse, by Thy power, from every stain of sin;
I will Thy blessing ask on each endeavor,
And thus Thy promised peace my soul shall win.
THE DOVE'S VISIT.
I knew a little, sickly child,
The long, long summer's day,
When all the world was green and bright,
Alone in bed to lay;
There used to come a little dove
Before his window small,
And sing to him with her sweet voice,
Out of the fir-tree tall.
And when the sick child better grew,
And he could creep along,
Close to that window he would come,
And listen to her song.
He was so gentle in his speech,
And quiet at his play,
He would not, for the world, have made,
That sweet bird fly away.
There is a Holy Dove that sings
To every listening child,--
That whispers to his little heart
A song more sweet and mild.
It is the Spirit of our God
That speaks to him within;
That leads him on to all things good,
And holds him back from sin.
And he must hear that "still, small voice,"
Nor tempt it to depart,--
The Spirit, great and wonderful,
That whispers in his heart.
He must be pure, and good, and true;
Must strive, and watch, and pray;
For unresisted sin, at last,
May drive that Dove away.
TEACH US TO PRAY.
Teach us to pray
Oh, Father! we look up to Thee,
And this our one request shall be,
Teach us to pray.
Teach us to pray.
A form of words will not suffice,--
The heart must bring its sacrifice:
Teach us to pray.
Teach us to pray.
To whom shall we, Thy children, turn?
Teach Thou the lesson we would learn:
Teach us to pray.
Teach us to pray.
To Thee, alone, our hearts look up:
Prayer is our only door of hope;
Teach us to pray.
DEEDS OF KINDNESS.
Suppose the little cowslip
Should hang its tiny cup,
And say, "I'm such a little flower,
I'd better not grow up."
How many a weary traveler
Would miss the fragrant smell?
How many a little child would grieve
To miss it from the dell!
Suppose the glistening dew-drop,
Upon the grass, should say,
"What can a little dew-drop do?
I'd better roll away."
The blade on which it rested,
Before the day was done,
Without a drop to moisten it,
Would wither in the sun.
Suppose the little breezes
Upon a summer's day,
Should think themselves too small to cool
The traveler on his way:
Who would not miss the smallest
And softest ones that blow,
And think they made a great mistake
If they were talking so?
How many deeds of kindness
A little child may do,
Although it has so little strength,
And little wisdom, too.
It wants a loving spirit,
Much more than strength, to prove,
How many things a child may do
For others by his love.
AN EVENING SONG.
How radiant the evening skies!
Broad wing of blue in heaven unfurled,
God watching with unwearied eyes
The welfare of a sleeping world.
He rolls the sun to its decline,
And speeds it on to realms afar,
To let the modest glowworm shine,
And men behold the evening star.
He lights the wild flower in the wood,
He rocks the sparrow in her nest,
He guides the angels on their road,
That come to guard us while we rest
When blows the bee his tiny horn,
To wake the sisterhood of flowers,
He kindles with His smile the morn,
To bless with light the winged hours.
O God! look down with loving eyes
Upon Thy children slumbering here,
Beneath this tent of starry skies,
For heaven is nigh, and Thou art near.
BE KIND TO THE POOR.
Turn not from him, who asks of thee
A portion of thy store;
Poor though in earthly goods thou be,
Thou yet canst give,--what's more,
The balm of comfort thou canst pour
Into his grieving mind,
Who oft is turned from wealth's proud door,
With many a word unkind.
Does any from the false world find
Naught but reproach and scorn?
Does any, stung by words unkind,
Wish that he ne'er was born?
Do thou raise up his drooping heart,
Restore his wounded mind;
Though naught of wealth thou canst impart,
Yet still thou mayest be kind.
And oft again thy words shall wing
Backward their course to thee,
And in thy breast will prove a spring
Of pure felicity.
THE LESSON OF THE LEAVES.
How do the leaves grow,
In spring, upon their stems?
Oh! the sap swells up with a drop for all,
And that is life to them.
What do the leaves do
Through the long summer hours,
They make a home for the wandering birds,
And shelter the wild flowers.
How do the leaves fade
Beneath the autumn blast?
Oh! they fairer grow before they die,
Their brightest is their last.
We, too, are like leaves,
O children! weak and small;
God knows each leaf of the forest shade:
He knows us, each and all.
Never a leaf falls
Until its part is done;
God gives us grace, like sap, and then
Some work to every one.
We, too, must grow old,
Beneath the autumn sky;
But lovelier and brighter our lives may grow,
Like leaves before they die.
Brighter with kind deeds,
With love to others given;
Till the leaf falls off from the autumn tree,
And the spirit is in heaven.
THE SPRING BIRD'S LESSON.
Thou'rt up betimes, my little bird,
And out this morning early,
For still the tender bud is closed,
And still the grass is pearly.
Why rise so soon, thou little bird,
Thy soft, warm nest forsaking?
To brave the dull, cold morning sky,
While day is scarcely breaking?
Ah! thou art wise, thou little bird,
For fast the hours are flying;
And this young day, but dawning now,
Will soon, alas! be dying.
I'll learn of thee, thou little bird,
And slothful habits scorning,
No longer sleep youth's dawn away,
Nor waste life's precious morning.
THE ORPHAN'S HYMN.
Father,--an orphan's prayer receive,
And listen to my plaintive cry:
Thou only canst my wants relieve,
Who art my Father in the sky.
I have no father here below,
No mother kind to wipe my tears,--
These tender names I never know,
To soothe my grief and quell my fears.
But Thou wilt be my parent,--nigh
In every hour of deep distress,
And listen to an orphan's sigh,
And soothe the anguish of my breast.
For Thou hast promised all I need,
More than a father's, mother's care:
Thou wilt the hungry orphan feed,
And always listen to my prayer.
MORNING.
Dear Lord, another day has come,
And through the hours of night,
In a good bed and quiet home
I've slept till morning light.
Then let me give Thee thanks and praise,
For Thou art very good;
Oh, teach my little heart to raise
The prayer that children should.
Keep me this day from faults and sin,
And make me good and mild;
Thy Holy Spirit place within,
Grant grace unto a child.
Help me obey my parents dear,
For they are very kind;
And when the hour of rest draws near,
Another prayer I'll find.
EVENING.
The day is gone,--the silent night
Invites me to my peaceful bed;
But, Lord, I know that it is right
To thank Thee, ere I rest my head.
For my good meals and pleasant hours,
That I have had this present day,
Let me exert my infant powers
To praise Thee, nor forget to pray.
Thou art most good. I can't tell all
That Thou hast ever done for me;
My Shepherd, now on Thee I call,
From dangers still preserve me free.
If I've been naughty on this day,
Oh! make me sorry for my fault;
Do Thou forgive, and teach the way
To follow Jesus as I ought.
And now I'll lay me down to rest,
Myself,--my friends,--all safely keep;
May Thy great name be ever blest,
Both when we wake, and when we sleep.
A MOMENT TOO LATE!
A moment too late, my beautiful bird,--
A moment too late are you now,
The wind has your soft, downy nest disturbed,--
The nest that you hung on the bough.
A moment too late,--that string in your bill
Would have fastened it firmly and strong;
But see, there it goes rolling over the hill!
Oh! you tarried a moment too long.
A moment too late,--too late, busy bee,
The honey has dropped from the flower;
No use to creep under the petals to see,--
It stood ready to drop for an hour.
A moment too late,--had you sped on your wing,
The honey would not have been gone;
But see what a very,--a very sad thing,
'Tis to tarry a moment too long.
A LITTLE SONNET ABOUT LITTLE THINGS.
The little, smoky vapors
Produce the drops of rain;
These little drops commingle,
And form the boundless main.
Then, drops compose the fountains;
And little grains of sand
Compose the mighty mountains,
That high above us stand.
The little atoms, it is said,
Compose the solid earth;
Such truths will show, if rightly read,
What little things are worth.
For, as the sea of drops is made,
So it is Heaven's plan,
That atoms should compose the globe,
And actions mark the man.
The little seconds soon pass by,
And leave our time the less;
And on these moments, as they fly,
Hang woe or happiness.
For, as the present hour is spent,
So must the future be;
Each action lives, in its effect,
Through all eternity.
The little sins and follies,
That lead the soul astray,
Leave stains, that tears of penitence,
May never wash away.
And little acts of charity,
And little deeds of love,
May make this world a paradise,
Like to that world above.
EXAMINATION.
Before we close our eyes to-night,
Oh, let us each these questions ask!
Have we endeavored to do right,
Nor thought our duty a hard task?
Have we been gentle, lowly, meek,
And the small voice of conscience heard?
When passion tempted us to speak,
Have we repressed the angry word?
Have we with cheerful zeal obeyed
What our kind parents bade us do?
And not by word or action said
The thing that was not strictly true?
In hard temptation's troubled hour,
Oh! have we stopped to think and pray,
That God would please to give us power
To chase the naughty thought away?
Oh, Thou! who seest all my heart,
Do Thou forgive and love me still
And unto me new strength impart,
And make me love and do Thy will.
GOD IS IN HIS HOLY TEMPLE.
God is in His holy temple;
Thoughts of earth be silent now,
While with reverence we assemble,
And before His presence bow.
He is with us, now and ever,
While we call upon His name,
Aiding every good endeavor,
Guiding every upward aim.
God is in His holy temple,--
In the pure and humble mind;
In the reverent heart and simple;
In the soul from sense refined.
Then let every low emotion
Banished far and silent be;
And our hearts in pure devotion,
Lord, be temples worthy Thee.
MORNING GLORIES.
They said, "don't plant them," mother; "they're so common and so poor;"
But of seeds I had no other, so I dropped them by the door;
And they soon were brightly growing, in the rich and teeming soil,
Stretching upward, upward, upward, to reward me for my toil.
They grew all o'er the casement, and they wreathed around the door,
All about the chamber windows, upward,--upward, ever more;
And each dawn, in glowing beauty, glistening with early dew,
Is the house all wreathed with splendor, every morning bright and new.
What, if they close at mid-day? 'tis because their work is done,
And they shut their crimson petals from the kisses of the sun;
Teaching every day their lesson to my weary, panting soul,
To be faithful in well doing, stretching upward for the goal,
Sending out the climbing tendrils, trusting God for strength and power,
To support, and aid, and comfort, in the trying day and hour.
Ne'er spurn the thing that's common, nor call homely flowers poor,
Each hath a holy mission, like my Glory o'er the door.
HOW BEAUTIFUL THE SETTING SUN.
How beautiful the setting sun!
The clouds, how bright and gay!
The stars, appearing one by one,
How beautiful are they!
And when the moon climbs up the sky,
And sheds her gentle light,
And hangs her crystal lamp on high,
How beautiful is night!
And can it be, that I'm possessed
Of something brighter far?
Glows there a light within this breast,
Out-shining every star?
Yes, should the sun and stars turn pale,
The mountains melt away,
This flame within shall never fail,
But live in endless day.
SUMMER TIME.
I love to hear the little birds
That carol on the trees;
I love the gentle, murmuring stream;
I love the evening breeze.
I love to hear the busy hum
Of honey-making bee,
And learn a lesson,--hard to learn,--
Of patient industry.
I love to think of Him who made
Those pleasant things for me,
Who gave me life, and health, and strength,
And eyes, that I might see.
The child who raises, morn and eve,
In prayer its tiny voice
Who grieves whene'er its parents grieve,
And joys when they rejoice,--
In whose bright eyes young genius glows,
Whose heart, without a blot,
Is fresh and pure as summer's rose,--
That child's a sunny spot.
LIKE JESUS.
I want to be like Jesus,
So lowly and so meek;
For no one marked an angry word,
Whoever heard him speak.
I want to be like Jesus,
So frequently in prayer;
Alone upon the mountain top,
He met his Father there.
I want to be like Jesus:
I never, never find,
That he, though persecuted, was
To any one unkind.
I want to be like Jesus,
Engaged in doing good;
So that of me it may be said,
I have done what I could.
I HAVE A HOME.
I have a home in which to live,
A bed to rest upon,
Good food to eat, and fire to warm,
And raiment to put on.
Kind parents, full of gentle love,
Brothers and sisters, too,
With many faithful, loving friends,
Who teach me what to do.
How many little children have
No food, nor clothes to wear,
No house, nor home, nor parents kind,
To guide them by their care.
For all Thy bounty, O my God,
May I be grateful found,
And ever show my love to Thee,
By loving all around.
GOD.
God!--What a great and holy name!
Oh! who can speak His worth?
By saints in heaven He is adored,
Obeyed by men on earth
And yet a little child may bend
And say: "My Father and my Friend."
The glorious sun, which blazes high,
The moon, more pale and dim,
And all the stars which fill the sky,
Are made and ruled by Him:
And yet a child may ask His care,
And call upon His name in prayer.
And this large world of ours below,
The waters and the land,
And all the trees and flowers that grow,
Were fashioned by His hand;
Yes,--and He forms our infant race,
And even I may seek His face.
THE BIRD'S NEST.
There's a nest in the hedge-row,
Half bid by the leaves,
And the sprays, white with blossom,
Bend o'er it like eaves.
God gives birds their lodging,
He gives them their food,
And they trust He will give them
Whatever is good.
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INSTRUCTOR LITERATURE SERIES
The Story of Kentucky
_By R. S. Eubank, A. B._
F. A. OWEN PUBLISHING COMPANY,
DANSVILLE, N. Y.
_Copyright 1913, by F. A. Owen Publishing Co._
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Geography and First White Visitor
The Virginians and Daniel Boone
Beginnings of Settlements
How the Pioneers Lived and Fought
George Rogers Clark and the Revolution
Later Days of Famous Pioneers
After the Revolution
Progress
Early Schools and the First Seminary
State Government and Foreign Intrigue
Indian Wars and War of 1812
Internal Improvements
Kentucky and Slavery
The Civil War and Later
THE STORY OF KENTUCKY
Geography and First White Visitor
Lying west of the Allegheny Mountains and extending westward for some
three hundred miles, bounded, for the most part, on the north by the Ohio
River and extending to the Mississippi, lies the State of Kentucky. In its
eastern portion, constituting nearly one-third of its area, the surface is
broken, and so high as to be termed mountainous. A large area occupying
the central third, and in the early day mostly a prairie land, is now
known as the famous Blue Grass section. The western third of the State is
practically level, being but a few feet above the sea, and cypress swamps
are not infrequent. This section is commonly termed "The Pennyrile."
In the middle of the eighteenth century, Kentucky was a portion of that
unexplored western realm belonging by grant to the State of Virginia, and
designated as a part of Fincastle County. The eastern portion in the early
day abounded in wild game common to the Appalachian forests. The
undulating grass lands in the central part of the State provided ample
grazing for the herds of buffalo and deer that were found there at the
time of the coming of man. The skeletons that have been exhumed indicate
that it was the feeding ground of the giant mastodon before the discovery
of America.
About two hundred years after Columbus discovered America, a young man
twenty-two years of age came to Canada from the Old World. On his arrival
he learned from the settlers and Indians the possibility of a passage to
the South Sea, which they then thought the Gulf of Mexico to be. Desirous
of making this journey, and lured by the possibility of reaching the
Pacific by water, he secured the assistance of Indians and some white
hunters as guides and set out upon an expedition of exploration into the
country concerning which he had heard such fascinating stories.
Crossing the St. Lawrence and traveling southward, he came to what is now
called Allegheny River. Securing birchbark canoes, he and his party
descended the Allegheny to its junction with the Monongahela, then turning
southwestward on the beautiful stream formed by these two small rivers and
now known as the Ohio, he explored the country along the banks of the
river to what was called by him the Rapids of the Ohio. Thus, LaSalle was
the first to gaze upon the country from the mouth of the Big Sandy to the
present site of Louisville, and to make a record of such discoveries.
The Virginians and Daniel Boone
Near the middle of the eighteenth century, or about 1750, a party of
Virginia hunters, growing weary of the monotony of home life and desiring
to find better hunting grounds, penetrated the Appalachian Mountains by
way of Powell's Valley and through Cumberland Gap, into the eastern
portion of what is now Kentucky, and hence were the first white men to
approach the land from the eastern side. In 1767, John Finley and Daniel
Boone, hearing of the fine hunting in this section, came to Kentucky from
North Carolina and built a cabin on Red River, near where Estill, Powell,
and Clark counties are now joined. Two years later, about forty hunters
and adventurers came to the territory and made their camp at what they
then called Price's Meadows, about six miles from the present site of
Monticello in Wayne County. This camp, by virtue of its location near the
Cumberland River, developed into a distributing point for the country
lying along the Cumberland, now included in Wayne, Green, Barren and
Warren counties. Another station was built near Greensburg. These stations
or camps seem to have served only the immediate needs of the hunters while
they were in the territory.
[Illustration: Daniel Boone]
Daniel Boone seems to have been the only one of these hunters to whom the
wilderness especially appealed. Consequently, for many years he made
frequent trips into the territory, staying as long as two years on one
occasion, and winning the title of The Long Hunter. Boone was alone on
many of these trips, never seeing the face of a white man, but frequently
meeting roving bands of Indians. From a cave in the side of Pilot Knob in
Powell County, he could catch glimpses of the joyous sports of the Shawnee
boys at Indian Fields; and from the projecting rocks he feasted his eyes
on the herds of buffalo winding across the prairie.
No permanent Indian villages were found in Kentucky. It seems to have been
a choice bit of hunting ground strongly contested by the tribes of the
North and the tribes of the South. The Shawnees had a village at Indian
Fields, in the eastern portion of Clark County, near the beautiful stream
called Lulbegrud Creek.
Boone seems to have been endowed with the faculty that enabled him to
pass, in his first years of wandering, from tribe to tribe; and from these
Indians he learned that the common name of the country, known to all, was
Kan-tuckee (kane-tooch-ee), so called by the Indians because of the
abundance of a peculiar reed growing along the river, now known as
pipe-stem cane.
Boone remained in the wilderness so long that his brother and a searching
party came to find him. They found him in good health and spirits,
enjoying life, and living in peace with the Indian tribes. The party, with
Boone, returned to the valley of the Yadkin, and told such stories of the
enchanted land as caused the settlers of the region to listen eagerly, and
to feel the stirring of the pioneer spirit. Not caring for the growing
crops and with no relish for the monotonous labor, Boone easily persuaded
a company of men to come with him to the wilderness and to bring their
families.
[Illustr | 1,736.532717 |
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Distributed Proofreaders
THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 10, No. 267.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 4, 1827. [PRICE 2d.
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Proofreaders
A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL
by Ian Maclaren
Book III.
A FIGHT WITH DEATH
PREFACE
It is with great good will that I write this short preface to the
edition of "A Doctor of the Old School" (which has been illustrated by
Mr. Gordon after an admirable and understanding fashion) because there
are two things that I should like to say to my readers, being also my
friends.
One, is to answer a question that has been often and fairly asked. Was
there ever any doctor so self-forgetful and so utterly Christian as
William MacLure? To which I am proud to reply, on my conscience: Not one
man, but many in Scotland and in the South country. I will dare prophecy
also across the sea.
It has been one man's good fortune to know four country doctors, not one
of whom was without his faults--Weelum was not perfect--but who, each
one, might have sat for my hero. Three are now resting from their
labors, and the fourth, if he ever should see these lines, would never
identify himself.
Then I desire to thank my readers, and chiefly the medical profession
for the reception given to the Doctor of Drumtochty.
For many years I have desired to pay some tribute to a class whose
service to the community was known to every countryman, but | 1,736.579625 |
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[Transcriber's Note: With the exception of hyphenation at the end of
lines, the text version preserves the line breaks of the original;
the html version has been treated similar to drama and starts a new
paragraph for each change of speaker. An illustration of the title
page is included to give an impression of the original.]
A mery Dia-
logue, declaringe the propertyes
of shrowde shrewes, and ho-
nest wyues, not onelie verie
pleasaunte, but also not a
lytle profitable: made
by ye famous clerke
D. Erasmus.
Roteroda-
mus.
Translated into
Englyshe.
Anno. M.CCCCC.
LVII.
Eulalia. God spede, & a thousand mine old
acqueintance. xantippa. xan. As many agayn, my dere
hert. Eulalia. me semets ye ar waren much faire now
of late. Eula. Saye you so? gyue you me a mocke at the
first dash. xan. Nay veryly but I take you so. Eula.
Happely mi new gown maketh me to loke fayrer then I
sholde doe. xan. Sothe you saye, I haue not sene a
mynioner this many dayes, I reken it Englishe cloth.
Eu. It is english stuff and dyed in Venis. xan. It is
softer then sylke what an oriente purpel colore here is
who gaue you so rich a gift. Eu. How shoulde honeste
women come by their gere? but by their husbandes.
xan. Happy arte thou that hathe suche an husband, but
I wolde to god for his passyon, that I had maryed an
husband of clowts, when I had maried col my good man.
Eula. Why say ye so. I pray you, are you at oddes now.
xan. I shal neuer be at one with him ye se how
beggerly I go. I haue not an hole smock to put on my
backe, and he is wel contente with all: I praye god I
neuer come in heuen & I be not ashamed oftimes to shewe
my head, when I se other wiues how net and trim they go
that ar matched with farre porer men then he is.
Eula. The apparell of honest wiues is not in the aray
of the body, nor in the tirements of their head as
saynte Peter the apostle teacheth vs (and that I
learned a late at a sermon) but in good lyuynge and
honest conuersacion and in the ornamentes of the soule,
the common buenes ar painted up, to please manye
mennes eies we ar trime ynough yf we please our
husbands only. xan. But yet my good man so euyll
wylling to bestow ought vpon his wyfe, maketh good
chere, and lassheth out the dowrye that hee hadde with
mee no small pot of wine. Eulaly, where vpon? xantipha,
wheron hym lykethe beste, at the tauerne, at the stewes
and at the dyce. Eulalia Peace saye not so. xan. wel
yet thus it is, then when he commeth home to me at
midnight, longe watched for, he lyeth rowtyng lyke a
sloyne all the leue longe nyght, yea and now and then
he all bespeweth his bed, and worse then I will say at
this tyme. Eulali. Peace thou dyshonesteth thy self,
when thou doest dishonesteth thy husband. xantip. The
deuyl take me bodye and bones but I had leuer lye by a
sow with pigges, then with suche a bedfelowe. Eulali.
Doest thou not then take him vp, wel favoredly for
stumbling. Xantip. As he deserueth I spare no tonge.
Eulalia. what doth he then. xantip. At the first
breake he toke me vp vengeably, trusting that he
shoulde haue shaken me of and put me to scilence with
his crabid wordes. Eula Came neuer your hote wordes
vnto handstrokes. xantip. On a tyme we fel so farre
at wordes that we wer almost by ye eares togither.
Eula what say you woman? xan. He toke vp a staffe
wandryng at me, as the deuill had bene on hym ready to
laye me on the bones. Eula. were thou not redye to ron
in at the bench hole. xanti. Nay mary I warrant the.
I gat me a thre foted stole in hand, & he had but ones
layd his littell finger on me, he shulde not haue
founde me lame. I woulde haue holden his nose to the
grindstone Eulalia. A newe found shelde, ye wanted
but youre dystaffe to haue made you a speare. xantip.
And he shoulde not greatlye a laughed at his parte.
Eulali. Ah my frynde. xantyppa. that way is neither
good nor godly, xantippa what is neither good nor
godly. yf he wyll not vse me, as hys wyfe: I wil not
take him for my husbande. Eulalya. But Paule sayeth
that wyues shoulde bee boner and buxome vnto their
husbandes with all humylytye, and Peter also bryngethe
vs an example of Sara, that called her husbande
Abrahame, Lorde. xantippa. I know that as well as you
then ye same paule say that men shoulde loue theyr
wyues, as Christ loues his spouse the churche let him
do his duete I wil do myne. Eula. But for all that,
when the matter is so farre that the one muste forber
the other it is reason that the woman giue place vnto
the man, xan. Is he meete to be called my husbande
that maketh me his vnderlynge and his dryuel? Eula. But
tel me dame xantip. Would he neuer offre the stripes
after that xantip. Not a stripe, and therin he was
the wyser man for & he had he should haue repented
euery vayne in hys harte. Eulali. But thou offered him
foule wordes plentie, xantip. And will do. Eula. What
doth he ye meane season. xantip. What doth he
sometyme cowcheth an hogeshed, somtime he doth nothing
but stande and laughe at me, other whyle takethe hys
Lute wheron is scarslie three strynges layenge on that
as fast as he may dryue because he would not here me.
Eula. Doeth that greue thee? xantippa. To beyonde home,
manie a tyme I haue much a do to hold my handes. Eula.
Neighbour. xantip. wylt thou gyue me leaue to be playn
with the. xantippa Good leaue haue you. Eula. Be as
bolde on me agayne our olde acquayntaunce and amite,
euen from our chyldhode, would it should be so.
xantippa. Trueth you saie, there was neuer woman kinde
that I fauoured more Elaly Whatsoeuer thy husband be,
marke well this, chaunge thou canst not, In the olde
lawe, where the deuill hadde cast aboone betwene the
man and the wife, at the worste waye they myght be
deuorsed, but now that remedie is past, euen till
death depart you he must nedes be thy husbande, and
thou hys wyfe, xan. Il mote they thryue & thei that
taken away that liberty from vs Eulalia. Beware what
thou sayest, it was christes act. Xan. I can euil
beleue that Eula. It is none otherwyse, now it is beste
that eyther of you one beyng with an other, ye laboure
to liue at reste and peace. xantyppa. Why? can I
forgeue him a new, Eu. It lieth great parte in the
women, for the orderinge of theyr husbandes. xan.
Leadest thou a mery life with thine. Eula Now all is
well. xan. Ergo ther was somwhat to do at your fyrste
metying Eula. Neuer no greate busynes, but yet as it,
happeneth now and than betwene man & woman, there was
foule cloudes a loft, that might haue made a storme but
that they were ouer blowen with good humanitie and wyse
handlynge. Euery man hath hys maner and euery man
hath his seueral aptite or mynde, and thinkes hys owne
way best, & yf we list not to lie there liueth no man
without faulte, which yf anie were elles, ywis in
wedlocke they ought to know and not vtterly hated xan,
you say well, Eulalya. It happeneth many times that
loue dayes breketh betwene man and wife, before ye
one be perfitly knowen vnto the other beware of that
in any wife, for when malice is ones begon, loue is but
barely redressed agayne, namely, yf the mater grow
furthe unto bytter checkes, & shamfull raylinges such
things as are fastened with glew, yf a manne wyll all
to shake them strayght waye whyle the glew is warme,
they soone fal in peces, but after ye glew is ones
dried vp they cleue togither so fast as anie thing,
wherefore at the beginning a meanes must be made, that
loue mai encrease and be made sure betwene ye man &
the wife, & that is best brought aboute by gentilnesse
and fayre condycions, for the loue that beautie onelie
causeth, is in a maner but a cheri faire Xan. But I
praye you hartelye tell me, by what pollycy ye brought
your good man to folow your daunce. Eula. I wyll tell
you on this condicyon, that ye will folowe me. xan. I
can. Eula, It is as easy as water if ye can find in
your hart to do it, nor yet no good time past for he is
a yong man, and you ar but agirle of age, and I trowe
it is not a yere ful sins ye wer maried. Xan All thys
is true Eulalia. I wyll shew you then. But you must
kepe it secret xantip. with a ryght good wyl. Eula.
This was my chyefe care, to kepe me alwayes in my
housbandes fauoure, that there shulde nothyng angre him
I obserued his appetite and pleasure I marked the tymes
bothe whan he woulde be pleased and when he wold be all
byshrwed, as they tameth the Elephantes and Lyons or
suche beastes that can not be wonne by strength
xantyppa. Suche a beaste haue I at home. Eula. Thei
that goth vnto the Elephantes weare no white garmentes,
nor they that tame wylde bulles, weare no blasynge
reedes, for experience teacheth, that suche beastes bee
madde with those colours, like as the Tygers by the
sound of tumbrels be made so wode, that thei plucke
theymself in peces. Also thei that breake horses haue
their termes and theyr soundes theyr hadlynges, and
other knackes to breake their wyldnes, wyth all. Howe
much more then is it oure duetyes that ye wyues to
use suche craftes toward our husbandes with whom all
our lyfe tyme wil we, nyl we is one house, and one bed.
xantip. furthwith your tale. Eula, when I had ones
marked there thynges. I applied my selfe unto hym, well
ware not to displease him. xantip. How could thou do
that. Eulalya. Fyrste in the ouerseynge my householde,
which is the very charge and cure of wyues, I wayted
euer, not onely gyuynge hede that nothing shoulde be
forgotten or undoone, but that althynges should be as
he woulde haue it, wer it euer so small a trifle.
xan. wherin. Eulalia. As thus. Yf mi good man had a
fantasye to this thynge, or to that thyng, or if he
would haue his meate dressed on this fashion, or that
fashion. xan. But howe couldest thou fashyon thye selfe
after hys wyll and mynde, that eyther woulde not be at
home or elles be as freshe as a saulte heryng. Elali.
Abyde a while. I come not at that yet, yf my husband
wer very sad at anye tyme, no time to speake to him. I
laughed | 1,736.596144 |
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THRILLING ADVENTURES
BY
LAND AND SEA
BEING
REMARKABLE HISTORICAL FACTS, GATHERED
FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES.
EDITED BY
JAMES O. BRAYMAN.
"Wherein I spoke of most disastrous chances,
Of moving accidents by flood and field."
PREFACE.
There is a large class of readers who seek books for the sake of the
amusement they afford. Many are not very fastidious as to the character
of those they select, and consequently the press of the present day
teems with works which are not only valueless, so far as imparting
information is concerned, but actually deleterious in their moral
tendency, and calculated to vitiate and enervate the mind. Such
publications as pander to a prurient taste find a large circulation with
a portion of society who read them for the same reason that the
inebriate seeks his bowl, or the gambler the instruments of his
vocation--for the excitement they produce. The influence of works of
this description is all bad--there is not a single redeeming feature to
commend them to the favor or toleration of the virtuous or intelligent.
It cannot be expected that minds accustomed to such reading can at once
be elevated into the higher walks of literature or the more rugged paths
of science. An intermediate step, by which they may be lifted into a
higher mental position, is required.
There is in the adventures of the daring and heroic, something that
interests all. There is a charm about them which, while it partakes of
the nature of Romance, does not exercise the same influence upon the
mind or heart. When there are noble purposes and noble ends connected
with them, they excite in the mind of the reader, noble impulses.
The object of the present compilation is to form a readable and
instructive volume--a volume of startling incident and exciting
adventure, which shall interest all minds, and by its attractions beget
thirst for reading with those who devote their leisure hours to things
hurtful to themselves and to community. We have endeavored to be
authentic, and to present matter, which, if it sometimes fail to impart
knowledge or instruction, or convey a moral lesson, will, at least, be
innoxious. But we trust we have succeeded in doing more than this--in
placing before the reading public something that is really valuable, and
that will produce valuable results.
CONTENTS.
Incident at Resaca de la Palma
True Heroism
Thrilling Incident
Incident in the War of Mexican Independence
Sketch from Life on the Ocean
Escape from Shipwreck
The Hunter's Wife
Deaf Smith, the Texan Spy
Escape from a Shark
Adventure with Pirates
A Sea-Fowling Adventure
Adventure with a Cobra di Capello
Combat of Wild Animals
Perilous Incident on a Canadian River
Leopard Hunting
Hunting the White Rhinoceros
A Leopard Hunt
Life in California
A Storm among the Icebergs
Fall of the Rossberg
The Rifleman of Chippewa
Shipwreck of the Blendenhall
Adventures of Sergeant Champe
Adventure with Pirates
Kenton, the Spy
The Dying Volunteer
Escape from a Mexican Quicksand
Charged by a Rhinoceros
Burning of the Erie
Conflict with an Indian
Fire on the Prairies
The Captain's Story
Tussle with a Wildcat
Incident in Frontier Life
Encounter with Robbers
Shipwreck of the Monticello
A Jungle Recollection
Attack of Boonesborough
Thrilling Incidents of Battle
Family Attacked by Indians
Thrilling Incident
Adventures of Dr. Bacon
A Battle with Snakes
Estill's Defeat
Incident at Niagara Falls
Skater chased by a Wolf
Our Flag on the Rocky Mountains
Running the Canon
The Rescue
Shipwreck of the Medusa
Hunting the Moose
Perilous Escape from Death
Fire in the Forest
Pirates of the Red Sea
General Jackson and Weatherford
Cruise of the Saldanha and Talbot
A Carib's Revenge
Massacre of Fort Mimms
The Freshet
The Panther's Den
Adventure with Elephant's
The Shark Sentinel
Hunting the Tiger
Indian Devil
Bear Fight
The Miners of Bois-Monzil
Ship Towed to Land by Bullocks
Destruction of a Ship by a Whale
Burning of the Kent
ILLUSTRATIONS.
Frontispiece
Attack on the Lighthouse
Before the Gale
Escape from a Shark
Tiger and Buffalo
Charge of the Buffalo
Loss of the Blendenhall
Death of Montgomery
Escape from the Rhinoceros
The Pursuit
Loss of the Monticello
Attack on Boonesborough
Death of the Widow's Daughter
Attacked by Wolves
Attack on Estill's Station
Our Flag on the Rocky Mountains
A Sail in Sight
Savages Torturing a Captive
Gen. Jackson and Weatherford
Gen. Coffee's Attack on the Indians
Hunting the Rhinoceros
Hunting the Tiger
Ship towed by Bullocks
Burning of the Kent
THRILLING ADVENTURES BY LAND AND SEA.
INCIDENT AT RESACA DE LA PALMA.
Sergeant Milton gives the following account of an incident which befel
him at the Battle of Resaca de la Palma.
"At Palo Alto," says he, "I took my rank in the troop as second
sergeant, and while upon the field my horse was wounded in the jaw by a
grape-shot, which disabled him for service. While he was plunging in
agony I dismounted, and the quick eye of Captain May observed me as I
alighted from my horse. He inquired if I was hurt. I answered no--that
my horse was the sufferer. I am glad it is not yourself,' replied he;
'there is another,' (pointing at the same time to a steed without a
rider, which was standing with dilated eye, gazing at the strife,)
'mount him,' I approached the horse, and he stood still until I put my
hand upon the rein and patted his neck, when he rubbed his head
alongside of me, as if pleased that some human being was about to become
his companion in the affray.
"On the second day, at Resaca de la Palma, our troop stood anxiously
waiting for the signal to be given, and never had I looked upon men on
whose countenances were more clearly expressed a fixed determination to
win. The lips of some were pale with excitement, and their eyes wore
that fixed expression which betokens mischief; others, with shut teeth,
would quietly laugh, and catch a tighter grip of the rein, or seat
themselves with care and firmness in the saddle, while quiet words of
confidence and encouragement were passed from each to his neighbor. All
at once Captain May rode to the front of his troop--every rein and sabre
was tightly grasped. Raising himself and pointing at the battery, he
shouted, 'Men, _follow_!' There was now a clattering of hoofs and a
rattling of sabre sheaths--the fire of the enemy's guns was partly drawn
by Lieutenant Ridgely, and the next moment we were sweeping like the
wind up the ravine. I was in a squad of about nine men, who were
separated by a shower of grape from the battery, and we were in advance,
May leading. He turned his horse opposite the breastwork, in front of
the guns, and with another shout 'to follow,' leaped over them. Several
of the horses did follow, but mine, being new and not well trained,
refused; two others balked, and their riders started down the ravine to
turn the breastwork where the rest of the troop had entered. I made
another attempt to clear the guns with my horse, turning him
around--feeling all the time secure at thinking the guns discharged--I
put his head toward them and gave him spur, but he again balked; so
turning his head down the ravine, I too started to ride round the
breastwork.
"As I came down, a lancer dashed at me with lance in rest. With my sabre
I parried his thrust, only receiving a slight flesh-wound from its point
in the arm, which felt at the time like the prick of a pin. The lancer
turned and fled; at that moment a ball passed through my horse on the
left side and shattered my right side. The shot killed the horse
instantly, and he fell upon my left leg, fastening me by his weight to
the earth. There I lay, right in the midst of the action, where carnage
was riding riot, and every moment the shot, from our own and the Mexican
guns, tearing up the earth around me. I tried to raise my horse so as to
extricate my leg but I had already grown so weak with my wound that I
was unable, and from the mere attempt, I fell back exhausted. To add to
my horror, a horse, who was careering about, riderless, within a few
yards of me, received a wound, and he commenced struggling and rearing
with pain. Two or three times, he came near falling on me, but at
length, with a scream of agony and a bound, he fell dead--his body
touching my own fallen steed. What I had been in momentary dread of now
occurred--my wounded limb, which was lying across the horse, received
another ball in the ankle.
"I now felt disposed to give up; and, exhausted through pain and
excitement, a film gathered over my eyes, which I thought was the
precursor of dissolution. From this hopeless state I was aroused by a
wounded Mexican, calling out to me, '_Bueno Americano,_' and turning my
eyes toward the spot, I saw that he was holding a certificate and
calling to me. The tide of action now rolled away from me and hope again
sprung up. The Mexican uniforms began to disappear from the chapparal,
and squadrons of our troops passed in sight, apparently in pursuit.
While I was thus nursing the prospect of escape, I beheld, not far from
me, a villainous-looking ranchero, armed with an American sergeant's
short sword, dispatching a wounded American soldier, whose body he
robbed--the next he came to was a Mexican, whom he served the same way,
and thus I looked on while he murderously slew four. I drew an
undischarged pistol from my holsters, and laying myself along my horse's
neck, watched him, expecting to be the next victim; but something
frightened him from his vulture-like business, and he fled in another
direction. I need not say that had he visited me I should have taken one
more shot at the enemy, and would have died content, had I succeeded in
making such an assassin bite the dust. Two hours after, I had the
pleasure of shaking some of my comrades by the hand, who were picking up
the wounded. They lifted my Mexican friend, too, and I am pleased to say
he, as well as myself, live to fight over again the sanguine fray of
_Resaca de la Palma."_
TRUE HEROISM.
While the plague raged violently at Marseilles, every link of affection
was broken, the father turned from the child, the child from the father;
cowardice and ingratitude no longer excited indignation. Misery is at
its height when it thus destroys every generous feeling, thus dissolves
every tie of humanity! the city became a desert, grass grew in the
streets; a funeral met you at every step.
The physicians assembled in a body at the Hotel de Ville, to hold a
consultation on the fearful disease, for which no remedy had yet been
discovered. After a long deliberation, they decided unanimously, that
the malady had a peculiar and mysterious character, which opening a
corpse alone might develope--an operation it was impossible to attempt,
since the operator must infallibly become | 1,736.678392 |
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(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive)
[Illustration: _CONGRESS OF FRANCE._]
A <DW52> MAN
ROUND THE WORLD.
BY A QUADROON.
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
1858.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by
DAVID F. DORR,
in the Clerk's office of the District Court, for the Northern
District of Ohio.
TO MY SLAVE MOTHER.
Mother! wherever thou art, whether in Heaven or a lesser world; or
whether around the freedom Base of a Bunker Hill, or only at the
lowest savannah of American Slavery, thou art the same to me, and I
dedicate this token of my knowledge to thee mother, Oh, my own
mother!
YOUR DAVID.
INDEX.
PAGE.
DEBUT IN A FOREIGN LAND, 13
LONDON, 19
THE QUEEN IN HYDE PARK, 22
I AM GOING TO PARIS, 25
FIRST DAY IN PARIS, 29
FIRST NIGHT IN PARIS, 33
I MUST ROVE AWAY FROM PARIS, 43
SPICY TOWNS OF GERMANY, 49
DOWN AMONG THE DUTCH, 57
COL. FELLOWES LEARNING DUTCH, 61
ON! ON! TO WATERLOO, 71
THE BIAS OF MY TOUR, 77
COUP D'ETAT OF NAPOLEON III, 81
THE SECRETS OF A PARIS LIFE AND WHO KNOWS THEM, 87
ROME AND ST. PETER'S CHURCH, 97
NAPLES AND ITS CRAFT, 102
ST. JANUARIUS AND HIS BLOOD, 108
CONSTANTINOPLE, 114
THE DOGS PROVOKE ME, AND THE WOMEN ARE VEILED, 121
A <DW52> MAN FROM TENNESSEE SHAKING HANDS WITH THE
SULTAN, AND MEN PUTTING WOMEN IN THE BATH AND
TAKING THEM OUT, 125
GOING TO ATHENS WITH A PRIMA DONNA, 130
ATHENS A SEPULCHRE, 134
BEAUTIFUL VENICE, 143
VERONA AND BOLOGNA, 149
FRIENZA DE BELLA CITA, 153
BACK TO PARIS, 159
EGYPT AND THE NILE, 163
EGYPTIAN KINGS OF OLDEN TIME, 167
TRAVELING ON THE NILE 800 MILES, 171
THEBES AND BACK TO CAIRO, 175
CAMELS--THROUGH THE DESERT, 179
JERUSALEM, JERICHO AND DAMASCUS, 183
CONCLUSION, 189
PREFACE.
The Author of this book, though a quadroon, is pleased to announce
himself the "<DW52> man around the world." Not because he may look
at a <DW52> man's position as an honorable one at this age of the
world, he is too smart for that, but because he has the satisfaction
of looking with his own eyes and reason at the ruins of the ancestors
of which he is the posterity. If the ruins of the Author's ancestors
were not a living language of their scientific majesty, this book
could receive no such appellation with pride. Luxor, Carnack, the
Memnonian and the Pyramids make us exclaim, "What monuments of pride
can surpass these? what genius must have reflected on their
foundations! what an ambition these people must have given to the
rest of the world when found the glory of the world in their
hieroglyphic stronghold of learning," whose stronghold, to-day, is
not to be battered down, because we cannot reach their hidden
alphabet. Who is as one, we might suppose, "learned in all the
learning of the Egyptians." Have we as learned a man as Moses, and if
yes, who can prove it? How did he come to do what no man can do now?
You answer, God aided him; that is not the question! No, all you know
about it is he was "learned in all the learning of the Egyptians,"
that is the answer; and thereby knew how to facilitate a glorious
cause at heart, because had he been less learned, who could conceive
how he could have proved to us to be a man full of successful logic.
Well, who were the Egyptians? Ask Homer if their lips were not thick,
their hair curly, their feet flat and their skin black.
But the Author of this book, though a <DW52> man, hopes to die
believing that this federated government is destined to be the
noblest fabric ever germinated in the brain of men or the tides of
Time. Though a <DW52> man, he believes that he has the right to say
that, in his opinion, _the American people are to be the Medes and
Persians of the 19th century_. He believes, from what he has seen in
the four quarters of the globe, that the federal tribunal of this
mighty people and territory, are to weigh other nations' portion of
power by its own scale, and equipoise them on its own pivot, "_the
will of the whole people_," the federal people. And as he believes
that the rights of ignorant people, whether white or black, ought to
be respected by those who have seen more, he offers this book of
travels to that class who craves to know what those know who have
respect for them. In offering this book to the public, I will say, by
the way, I wrote it under the disadvantage of having access to no
library save Walker's school dictionary. In traveling through Europe,
Asia and Africa, I am indebted to Mr. Cornelius Fellowes, of the
highly respectable firm of Messrs. Fellowes & Co., 149 Common St.,
New Orleans, La. This gentleman treated me as his own son, and could
look on me as as free a man as walks the earth. But if local law has
power over man, instead of man's effects, I was legally a slave, and
would be to-day, like my mother, were I on Louisiana's soil instead
of Ohio's.
When we returned to America, after a three years' tour, I called on
this original man to consummate a two-fold promise he made me, in
different parts of the world, because I wanted to make a connection,
that I considered myself more than equaled in dignity and means, but
as he refused me on old bachelor principles, I fled from him and his
princely promises, westward, where the "star of empire takes its
way," reflecting on the moral liberties of the legal freedom of
England, France and our New England States, with the determination to
write this book of "overlooked things" in the four quarters of the
globe, seen by "a <DW52> man round the world."
THE AUTHOR.
DEBUT IN A FOREIGN LAND.
This day, June 15th, 1851, I commence my writings of a promiscuous
voyage. This day is Sunday. I am going from the Custom house, where I
have deposited my baggage to be searched for contraband goods, and
making my way along a street that might be termed, from its
appearance, "The street of cemeteries." This street is in Liverpool,
and is a mercantile street in every sense of the word, and the reason
why it looked so lonesome and a business street at that, is wanting.
I must now explain why so great a street looked dismal. The English
people are, indeed, a moral people. This was the Sabbath, and the
"bells were chiming," discoursing the sweetest sacred music I had
ever heard. The streets were very narrow and good. Their material was
solid square stones closely packed together. The houses were very
high, some being six stories. Not one house for half a mile had a
door or window ajar. It was raining; consequently not a person was to
be seen. All of a sudden the coachman drew up to the side walk, and,
opening the coach, said, "Adelphi, sir." I was looking with
considerable interest to see the hotel of so much celebrity on board
the ship. Captain Riley had informed me that it was a house not to be
surpassed in the "hotel line," and I had put an estimated interest on
this important item to travelers that Southerners are too much
addicted to. I mean to say, that I, a Southerner, judge too much by
appearance, instead of experience. I had been taught at Orleans that
the "English could whip all the world, and we could whip the
English," and that England was always in great danger of being
starved by us, and all her manufactories stopped in double quick time
by Southern cotton-planters. But, the greatest absurdity of all was,
that England was very much afraid that we would declare war against
her, and thereby ruin what little independence she still retains. I,
under this dispensation of knowledge, looked around to see the
towering of a "St. Charles or Verandah," but when I saw a house
looking like all the rest, I came to the conclusion that the English
were trying to get along without making any improvement, as it was
not certain how long we would permit her to remain a "monarchial
independent nation." Just then a well-dressed gentleman opened the
door and descended the steps with an umbrella to escort me in. "Come
right in here, sir," said he, leading me into a large room, with an
organ and hat-stands as its furniture. The organ was as large as an
ordinary sized church organ. The gentleman took my overcoat and hung
it up. He then asked me some questions concerning the voyage, after
which he asked me to walk to the Bureau and register my name. This
done we ascend one flight of stairs and enter my room. He asked me if
I wished fire. I answered in the affirmative. He left me.
Having seated myself _a la American_, I listened very attentively to
"those chiming bells." Tap, tap on my door called forth another
American expression, "come in." The door opened and a beautiful girl
of fifteen summers came in with a scuttle of coal and kindling. She
wore on her head a small frilled cap, and it was very small. A snow
white apron adorned her short, neat dress. A man is a good deal like
a dog in some particulars. He may be uncommonly savage in his nature,
and as soon as he sees his sexual mate, his attention is manifested
in the twinkling of an eye. She looked so neat, I thought it good
policy to be polite, and become acquainted. Having finished making a
lively little fire, she rose up from her half-bending posture to
follow up her duty through the hotel. "What is your name, Miss," said
I; "Mary," said she, at the same time moving away. "I shall be here a
week said I, and want you to take care of me." Mary's pretty little
feet could stay no longer with propriety the first time.
In fifteen minutes the gong rang for dinner. I locked my door, and
made my way through the narrow passages to hunt head quarters.
Passing one of the inferior passage ways, I saw Mary half whispering
to one of her companions about the American, and laughing jocularly.
Her eyes fell upon me just as mine did on her. In the twinkling of
an eye she conveyed an idea to her comrade that the topic must be
something else, which seemed to have been understood before conveyed.
"Mary," said I, "I want some washing done," as polite as a piled
basket of chips. She stepped up to me and said, "Are they ready,
sir?" "No," said I, "I will be up in a few minutes," (we always do
things by minutes.) "I will call for them," said she. I descended and
found a good dinner, after which I walked into the newsroom, where I
found several of the merchants of Liverpool assembled to read and
discuss the prevailing topics of interest. Seated close to a table on
which was the London Times, New York Tribune and Herald, the French
Journal, called the Moniteur, besides several other Journals of
lesser note, was a noble looking gentleman. On the other side of this
feast of news was another noble and intellectual looking gentleman.
These were noblemen from different parts of England. They were
quietly discussing the weak points in American policy. One held that
if the <DW64>s of the Southern States were fit for freedom, it would
be an easy matter for four million of slaves to raise the standard of
liberty, and maintain it against 250,000 slaveholders. The other
gentleman held that it was very true, but they needed some white man,
well posted in the South, with courage enough to plot the _entree_.
He continued, at great length, to show the feasibility under a French
plotter. He closed with this expression, "One intelligent Frenchman
like Ledru Rollin could do the whole thing before it could be
known." I came to the conclusion that they were not so careful in the
expression of their views as I thought they ought to be. I was quite
sure that they would not be allowed to use such treasonable language
at Orleans or Charleston as that they had just indulged in.
Sitting in my room about an hour after hearing this nauseous
language, Mary came for the clothes, for that is what she asked for.
I requested Mary to wait until Monday morning, for the fact was, I
had no clothes--they were in the Custom House. Here Mary began to
show more familiarity than I had ever shown, but she only expressed
enough to show me that she only wished to return for my clothes when
they were ready. I gave her to understand that nothing would give me
more pleasure than to have her return again for them.
* * * * *
Two weeks have gone by. I am now packing my trunk for London. In half
an hour, the evening express train leaves here for a five hours'
cruise over farms of rich and poor, like a streak of lightning. I
find on the day of departure that the servants are like the servants
of all parts of my own country. It is impossible for me to do
anything for myself. I have offers from nearly all parts of the
Hotel, volunteering to do all that is to be done and more
too.--Before I commenced packing my trunk, I went down to the Bureau
(office) to have my bill made out. As I passed along the passage I
saw a large man with slippers on, with a cap denoting Cookery, bowing
and scraping. I instantly perceived that my fame, as an American, had
reached the culinary sanctum. I requested the Clerk to have my bill
ready, but found that I was too late in the information to be given.
My bill was already made out.
A quarter to 5 o'clock, I showed to Mary, my sincere wishes for her
welfare, and left my apartment. Her cap was neater than when I
located there; her apron was whiter, and her hair was neater. I done
my duty to the advice given by Murray, who is the author of the Guide
Book of all Europe, Asia, and even Africa. He says that it is best to
give a small bonus to the menials in public or private houses. The
landlord, saw me in the coach and wished me a happy voyage to London.
When the coach moved gradually away from that small Hotel, it carried
lingering thoughts of friendship and comfort. I thought of the kind
attention, and obedient but commanding language of all I had seen,
and the moral came home to my heart, saying "you have value
received." I reflected on Mary's cap and snow white apron; the old
porter's hopeful countenance; the dining room servants; and how well
they seemed to be pleased, when the driver stopped my coach and
landed me at the London station in a good humor. All aboard! The
Cars, (express train in a hurry) dashed on with fury, and I found
myself a happy man on my way to London.
LONDON.
Last night I arrived here, making the time from Liverpool in five
hours and a half. My location is between Buckingham Palace and
Trafalgar Square. I am on the second floor, in the Trafalgar Hotel,
on Trafalgar Square. The Queen, when in London, resides at this
celebrated palace. It is in St. James' Park. This July 28th, London
is the world's Bazaar. The Crystal Palace is the acquafortis of
curiosity that gives the arcadial polish to London's greatness. This
is the place where every country is trying to make a pigmy of some
other. In this great feast of genius no country is fairly
represented. The United States has many articles of arts in the
palace that are not what she has ever prided herself on as her arts.
One of our ordinary Steam Boats would have astonished the natives
beyond the admiration of all the trumpery that we ever contemplate
carrying to a World's Fair. I was, indeed, ashamed to see the piles
of India Rubber Shoes, Coats and Pants, and Clocks that stood out in
bas relief in that part of the palace appropriated to the American
Arts and Sciences.--Pegged Shoes and Boots were without number.
Martingales and Side Saddles, Horse Shoes, Ploughs, Threshing
Machines, Irrigators, and all the most worthless trash to be found in
the States. I saw everything that was a prevailing disgrace to our
country except slaves. I understood that a South Carolinian proposed
taking half a dozen haughty and sinewy <DW64>s to the Fair, but was
only deterred from that proposition by the want of courage to risk
six fat, strong healthy <DW64>s to the chances of escape from slavery
to freedom. In the centre of this beautiful and most splendid palace,
was a Band of Music not to be surpassed by any Band for discoursing
sweet melody. Close to this music was a beautiful fountain, throwing
sprays upward like the heaves of a shark; and round about this
fountain were seats for ladies and gentlemen to take refreshments
together. This palace resembles, in a great degree, "Paradise found;"
there is also some sparrows inside yet, that the Falcons did not run
out when those twenty thousand took possession some months ago. These
little birds light about among this gay crowd as if they were on one
of our wild prairies, lighting among the still gayer tribe of flora.
Two or three tried to light on a spray of water, but could not make
it go. I see two sitting on a piano, whilst one is trying to get an
equilibrium on the strings of a harp. The piano now opens and a
noblemen is seating one of the most handsome women there I have seen
in England. I said to a young Englishman, that is indeed a handsome
woman. He said yes, she is generally pronounced the handsomest woman
in London. I enquired her pedigree and found that it was the
benevolent Duchess of Sutherland; like a humming bird, from one
"sweet flower" to another her alabaster-like fingers darted from the
bassiest note to the flutiest. The pianos were generally enclosed
like a separate tomb with railings a yard from the pianos. After her
highness had played out "God Save the Queen" and brought an audience
round the railing, as if they really came to protect the "queen of
beauty," she played a thrilling retreat as if her intention was to
convey the idea that she must retreat or be captured. The piece
played, she rose straight up and gazed around upon the recruits she
had drummed up with the air of a successful adventurer throughout the
world; she moved along this immense crowd of various classes like a
swan in a showery storm. Whilst all was in commotion, she seemed more
herself. The noble gallant seemed to be quite conscious that the lady
he was gallanting was the _Duchess of Sutherland_.
On the outside of the Crystal Palace is a small, fairy-like house,
erected for Prince Albert and her majesty the Queen of England to
lunch in when they visit the Fair. It is said that the Prince planned
it himself. In this pretty little house is enough furniture of
various beauties to make an ordinary Fair itself.
The Police regulations about this Fair are admirable. There is no
question that can be asked about this affair but will be properly and
intellectually answered by any policeman. They are intelligent men
and seem to take an interest as well as pride in this great Fair.
THE QUEEN IN HYDE PARK.
It is now 4 o'clock. All the streets within a mile of the Crystal
Palace are crowded with people, instead of drays, carts, wagons and
other impeding obstacles to the World's Fair. For a quarter of a mile
down the street that leads to St. James' Square, where the Queen
resides, at Buckingham Palace, I presume I can see 50,000 people
bareheaded, that is to say, they have their hats off. But, at the
further end of this quarter of a mile, I see a uniform commotion, and
this commotion of heads are coming towards Hyde Park. I mean only the
commotion but not the heads. These heads are being responded to from
an open plain Calashe, that is coming as rapid as a Post Chaise from
the battle field when bringing good tidings to a King.--The object of
this exciting moment is the Queen of England. One minute and she is
gone by, as she passed me, bowing on all sides to the crowd greeting
her. I felt a sort of religious thrill pass over me, and I said to
myself "this is civilization." Her Majesty was evidently proud of
her people's homage; and her people were not ashamed to show their
loyalty to their "gracious Queen." She was looking remarkably healthy
for one living on the delicacies of a Queen. In fact she was too
healthy in appearance for a Queen. Her color was too red and
masculine for a lady. She was considerable stouter than I thought she
was, and quite as handsome as I expected to find the great Queen.
Seated opposite her, face to face, was her Maid of Honor; and seated
by her side vis-a-vis to the Queen, was a couple of the "little
bloods" of her Majesty and Prince Coburgh. I thought it strange that
his highness, Prince Albert, was not accompanying the Queen. I
learned afterwards that it was usual for the Queen to go in Hyde Park
alone. I also found that the Prince and his courtiers were gone out
deer stalking.
In the Queen's calashe was four greys. The driver rode the hindmost
left horse. In his right hand he carried a light whip which was
altogether useless. About 50 yards ahead of this moving importance, a
liveried outrider sped on at a rapid speed, that the populace might
know that he was soliciting their attention to making way for the
Queen. He wore long, white-legged boots, and held his Arab steed as
artful as a Bedouin sporting over a rocky desert. His other
habiliments were red, save his hat, which was a latest style silk.
The driver keeps him in view, and has nothing to do but mount and
drive off after this courier or out-rider, who gets his orders at the
Palace where to lead.
It is said that the Queen is not celebrated for a good temper. Like
her symbol, the lion, she is not to be bearded by any one, no matter
how important. She is a natural monarch and feels her royalty. Prince
Albert is one of the handsomest men I ever saw. The like of the
Prince's popularity among the ladies of the Court cannot be equaled
by any nobleman in England; but that popularity must be general, it
cannot be in spots, for the Queen is not unlike other women under the
influence of the "green-eyed monster." Although Prince Albert's
virtue has never been dishonored by even a hint, still the Queen is
not to be too trusty. Prince Albert is a model of a "true gentleman."
He could not suspect half as quick as the most virtuous Queen the
world has ever been ornamented with.
The English people are alone in all things pertaining to domestic
life. It would puzzle the double-width intellect of a hermit to tell
what one was thinking about; and this nonchalence of air to
surrounding circumstances is every moment blowing upon the object in
their heart. France sets the fashion for the world, but what the
morning paper say about the dress worn by the empress on the champs
d'elysee yesterday, is not what the poorest maid servant is trying to
find out to cut her calico by, but what her Majesty wore at Windsor
or Buckingham. These people were wearing the skins of the beasts of
their forests in the days of the Cæsars' invasion, and barbarous as
our Indians, but now they are the most civilized and christian power
on this earth.
A German now sitting by my side tells me this is a gross subject for
me to be writing upon. I asked what subject? He said Konigon (Queen).
On reflection I find it true, and now retire from the beading of this
chapter.
I AM GOING TO PARIS.
I am now all cap a pie for Paris. Ho! for Boston, is nothing to ah!
Paris. I have been this morning to get my last view of the great
Palace of the World's Fair. I have since been to Greenwich to eat
white bait, and I am now hurrying on to the station. Whoever wishes
to see a good deal of the country, and a broken down route, had
better take what is called the Brighton Route. If you leave London at
6 o'clock in the evening, you will stop at 8 o'clock at New Haven, a
place with a name on the map, but in fact no place at all, save the
destination of the train of this route. There you will, in all
probability, have to wait about an old building an hour or two for
the arrival of a boat to take you across the channel. Next morning,
if you are lucky, you arrive at 8 o'clock at a little old French town
called Dieppe, just in time to be too | 1,736.706021 |
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JUST DAVID
BY
ELEANOR H. (HODGMAN) PORTER
AUTHOR POLLYANNA, MISS BILLY MARRIED, ETC.
TO
MY FRIEND
Mrs. James Harness
CONTENTS
I. THE MOUNTAIN HOME
II. THE TRAIL
III. THE VALLEY
IV. TWO LETTERS
V. DISCORDS
VI. NUISANCES, NECESSARY AND OTHERWISE
VII. "YOU'RE WANTED--YOU'RE WANTED!"
VIII. THE PUZZLING "DOS" AND "DON'TS"
IX. JOE
X. THE LADY OF THE ROSES
XI. JACK AND JILL
XII. ANSWERS THAT DID NOT ANSWER
XIII. A SURPRISE FOR MR. JACK
XIV. THE TOWER WINDOW
XV. SECRETS
XVI. DAVID'S CASTLE IN SPAIN
XVII. "THE PRINCESS AND THE PAUPER"
XVIII. DAVID TO THE RESCUE
XIX. THE UNBEAUTIFUL WORLD
XX. THE UNFAMILIAR WAY
XXI. HEAVY HEARTS
XXII. AS PERRY SAW IT
XXIII. PUZZLES
XXIV. A STORY REMODELED
XXV. THE BEAUTIFUL WORLD
CHAPTER I
THE MOUNTAIN HOME
Far up on the mountain-side the little shack stood alone in the clearing.
It was roughly yet warmly built. Behind it jagged cliffs broke the north
wind, and towered gray-white in the sunshine. Before it a tiny expanse of
green sloped gently away to a point where the mountain dropped in another
sharp descent, wooded with scrubby firs and pines. At the left a
footpath led into the cool depths of the forest. But at the right the
mountain fell away again and disclosed to view the picture David loved
the best of all: the far-reaching valley; the silver pool of the lake
with its ribbon of a river flung far out; and above it the grays and
greens and purples of the mountains that climbed one upon another's
shoulders until the topmost thrust their heads into the wide dome of
the sky itself.
There was no road, apparently, leading away from the cabin. There was
only the footpath that disappeared into the forest. Neither, anywhere,
was there a house in sight nearer than the white specks far down in the
valley by the river.
Within the shack a wide fireplace dominated one side of the main room.
It was June now, and the ashes lay cold on the hearth; but from the
tiny lean-to in the rear came the smell and the sputter of bacon
sizzling over a blaze. The furnishings of the room were simple, yet, in
a way, out of the common. There were two bunks, a few rude but
comfortable chairs, a table, two music-racks, two violins with their
cases, and everywhere books, and scattered sheets of music. Nowhere was
there cushion, curtain, or knickknack that told of a woman's taste or
touch. On the other hand, neither was there anywhere gun, pelt, or
antlered head that spoke of a man's strength and skill. For decoration
there were a beautiful copy of the Sistine Madonna, several photographs
signed with names well known out in the great world beyond the
mountains, and a festoon of pine cones such as a child might gather and
hang.
From the little lean-to kitchen the sound of the sputtering suddenly
ceased, and at the door appeared a pair of dark, wistful eyes.
"Daddy!" called the owner of the eyes.
There was no answer.
"Father, are you there?" called the voice, more insistently.
From one of the bunks came a slight stir and a murmured word. At the
sound the boy at the door leaped softly into the room and hurried to
the bunk in the corner. He was a slender lad with short, crisp curls at
his ears, and the red of perfect health in his cheeks. His hands, slim,
long, and with tapering fingers like a girl's, reached forward eagerly.
"Daddy, come! I've done the bacon all myself, and the potatoes and the
coffee, too. Quick, it's all getting cold!"
Slowly, with the aid of the boy's firm hands, the man pulled himself
half to a sitting posture. His cheeks, like the boy's, were red--but
not with health. His eyes were a little wild, but his voice was low and
very tender, like a caress.
"David--it's my little son David!"
"Of course it's David! Who else should it be?" laughed the boy. "Come!"
And he tugged at the man's hands.
| 1,736.778556 |
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Produced by David Wilson 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 Story of a Baby
[Decoration: NAVTILVS SERIES]
[Illustration: "'He is exactly twenty-one pounds,' she said."]
THE STORY OF A BABY
BY ETHEL TURNER
[Decoration: The Navtilvs Series]
WARD LOCK & BOWDEN: LIMITED
LONDON · NEW YORK & MELBOURNE
1896
TO THE BEST WOMAN IN THE WORLD
E. T., _Sydney_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. THE BURDEN OF IT 1
II. THE RED ROAD COUNTRY 11
III. DOT AND LARRIE FALL OUT 21
IV. THE 'LITTLE MOTHER' 33
V. MORE RIFTS IN THE LUTE 45
VI. LARRIE THE LOAFER 58
VII. A POCKET MADAME MELBA 73
VIII. PICTURES IN THE FIRE 83
IX. A CONFLICT OF WILLS 97
X. A DARN ON A DRESS 111
XI. A QUESTION OF OWNERSHIP 124
XII. A LITTLE DIPLOMAT 131
XIII. DOT GOES BABY LIFTING 140
XIV. THE WHEEL IN THE BRAIN 147
XV. SULLIVAN WOOSTER, GENTLEMAN 154
THE STORY OF A BABY
CHAPTER I
THE BURDEN OF IT
Larrie had been carrying it for a long way and said it was quite time
Dot took her turn.
Dot was arguing the point.
She reminded him of all athletic sports he had taken part in, and of
all the prizes he had won; she asked him what was the use of being
six-foot-two and an impossible number of inches round the chest if he
could not carry a baby.
Larrie gave her an unexpected glance and moved the baby to his other
arm; he was heated and unhappy, there seemed absolutely no end to the
red, red road they were traversing, and Dot, as well as refusing to
help to carry the burden, laughed aggravatingly at him when he said it
was heavy.
'He is exactly twenty-one pounds,' she said, 'I weighed him on the
kitchen scales yesterday, I should think a man of your size ought to
be able to carry twenty-one pounds without grumbling so.'
'But he's on springs, Dot,' he said, 'just look at him, he's never
still for a minute, you carry him to the beginning of Lee's orchard,
and then I'll take him again.'
Dot shook her head.
'I'm very sorry, Larrie,' she said, 'but I really can't. You know I
didn't want to bring the child, and when you insisted, I said to myself,
you should carry him every inch of the way, just for your obstinacy.'
'But you're his mother,' objected Larrie.
He was getting seriously angry, his arms ached unutterably, his clothes
were sticking to his back, and twice the baby had poked a little fat
thumb in his eye and made it water.
'But you're its father,' Dot said sweetly.
'It's easier for a woman to carry a child than a man'--poor Larrie was
mopping his hot brow with his disengaged hand--'everyone says so; don't
be a little sneak, Dot, my arm's getting awfully cramped; here, for
pity's sake take him.'
Dot shook her head again.
'Would you have me break my vow, St Lawrence?' she said.
She looked provokingly cool and unruffled as she walked along by his
side; her gown was white, with transparent puffy sleeves, her hat was
white and very large, she had little white canvas shoes, long white
Suéde gloves, and she carried a white parasol.
'I'm hanged,' said Larrie, and he stopped short in the middle of the
road, 'look here, my good woman, are you going to take your baby, or
are you not?'
Dot revolved her sunshade round her little sweet face.
'No, my good man,' she said, 'I don't propose to carry your baby one
step.'
'Then I shall drop it,' said Larrie. He held it up in a threatening
position by the back of its crumpled coat, but Dot had gone sailing on.
'Find a soft place,' she called, looking back over her shoulder once
and seeing him still standing in the road.
'Little minx,' he said under his breath.
Then his mouth squared itself; ordinarily it was a pleasant mouth, much
given to laughter and merry words; but when it took that obstinate look,
one could see capabilities for all manner of things.
He looked carefully around. By the roadside there was a patch of soft,
green grass, and a wattle bush, yellow-crowned, beautiful. He laid the
child down in the shade of it, he looked to see there were no ants or
other insects near; he put on the bootee that was hanging by a string
from the little rosy foot and he stuck the india-rubber comforter in
its mouth. Then he walked quietly away and caught up to Dot.
'Well?' she said, but she looked a little startled at his empty arms;
she drooped the sunshade over the shoulder nearest to him, and gave a
hasty, surreptitious glance backward. Larrie strode along.
'You look fearfully ugly when you screw up your mouth like that,' she
said, looking up at his set side face.
'You're an unnatural mother, Dot, that's what you are,' he returned | 1,736.874274 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 41605-h.htm or 41605-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/abigailadamshert00rich
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
* * * * *
Books By Laura E. Richards
Abigail Adams and Her Times
Pippin
Elizabeth Fry
Florence Nightingale
Mrs. Tree
Mrs. Tree's Will
Miss Jimmy
The Wooing of Calvin Parks
Journals and Letters of Samuel Gridley Howe
Two Noble Lives
Captain January
A Happy Little Time
When I Was Your Age
Five Minute Stories
In My Nursery
The Golden Windows
The Silver Crown
The Joyous Story of Toto
The Life of Julia Ward Howe
_With Maud Howe Elliott,
etc., etc._
* * * * *
[Illustration: ABIGAIL ADAMS
From an original painting by Gilbert Stuart]
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
by
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Elizabeth Fry, the Angel of the Prisons,"
"Florence Nightingale, the Angel of the Crimea," etc.
[Illustration]
Illustrated
D. Appleton and Company
New York London
1917
Copyright, 1917, by
D. Appleton and Company
Printed in the United States of America
TO
THE HONORED MEMORY OF
FRANKLIN BENJAMIN SANBORN
THE FRIEND OF MY PARENTS AND OF MY CHILDREN;
TO THREE GENERATIONS A FAITHFUL,
AFFECTIONATE, AND BELOVED
COUNSELLOR.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING 1
II. GIRLHOOD AND MARRIAGE 24
III. THE BOSTON MASSACRE 40
IV. THE BOSTON TEA PARTY 60
V. AFTER LEXINGTON 88
VI. BOSTON BLOCKADE 112
VII. IN HAPPY BRAINTREE 124
VIII. INDEPENDENCE AT LAST 142
IX. MR. ADAMS ABROAD 181
X. THE COURT OF ST. JAMES 197
XI. VEXATIOUS HONORS 231
XII. AFTERNOON AND EVENING 260
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Abigail Adams _Frontispiece_
FACING
PAGE
Abigail Adams 36
John Adams 188
South Elevation of the President's House 252
For much of the local and contemporary color in this little book, the
author is indebted to the admirable works of the late Mrs. Alice Morse
Earle.
ABIGAIL ADAMS AND HER TIMES
CHAPTER I
BEGINS AT THE BEGINNING
SEVENTEEN HUNDRED AND FORTY-FOUR! George the Second on the throne of
England, "snuffy old drone from the German hive"; Charles Edward Stuart
("bonnie Prince Charlie") making ready for his great _coup_ which, the
next year, was to cast down said George from the throne and set Charles
Edward thereupon as "rightful, lawful prince--for wha'll be king but
Charlie?", and which ended in Culloden and the final downfall and
dispersion of the Scottish Stuarts.
In France, Louis XV., Lord of Misrule, shepherding his people toward the
Abyss with what skill was in him; at war with England, at war with
Hungary; Frederick of Prussia alone standing by him. In Europe,
generally, a seething condition which is not our immediate concern. In
America, seething also: discontent, indignation, rising higher and
higher under British imposition (not British either, being the work of
Britain's German ruler, not of her people!), yet quelled for the moment
by war with France.
I am not writing a history; far from it. I am merely throwing on the
screen, in the fashion of today, a few scenes to make a background for
my little pen-picture-play. What is really our immediate concern is that
on November eleventh of this same year, 1744, was born to the wife of
the Reverend William Smith of Weymouth, Massachusetts, a daughter,
baptized Abigail.
Parson Smith was a notable figure of the times; not a great man, but one
of character, intelligence and cultivation. He married a daughter of
Colonel John Quincy, so my heroine was a cousin--I cannot tell in what
precise degree--to Dorothy Q. of poetic-pictorial fame; cousin, too,
(her grandmother having been a Norton) to half Boston, the cultivated
and scholarly half.
Parson Smith kept a diary, as dry a document as I have often read. He
had no time to spare, and his brief entries are abbreviated down to the
finest possible point. For example, we read that
"By my Gd I am as'd and Ev. am as'd at my S and do now ys D Sol prom By
Thy God never to T. to s. ag."
This is puzzling at first sight; but the practiced reader will, after
some study, make out that the good Parson, writing for himself alone,
was really saying,
"By my God I am assured and Even am assured at my Strength, and do now
this Day Solemnly promise By Thy God never to Tempt to sin again."
Even this is somewhat cryptic, but we are glad of the assurance, the
more that we find the poor gentleman still troubled in spirit a week
later.
"Lord g't me S to res the e. so prej'd to me. Lord I am ashamed of it
and resolve to s. e. T. by thy S."
Which being interpreted is: "Lord, grant me Strength to resist the evil
so prejudicial to me. Lord, I am ashamed of it and resolve to shun evil
Temptation by thy Strength."
What the temptation was, we may not know. Possibly he was inclined to
extravagance in certain matters of personal dignity and adornment: we
read of his paying fifteen pounds "for my wig"; and again, "At Boston.
Paid Mr. Oliver for a cut whigg L10.00." But this is nothing. Parson
Smith came of "kent folk," and may have had private means beside the
salary of eight hundred dollars. Do we not read that Samuel Adams'
barber's bill "for three months, shaving and dressing," was L175, paid
by the Colony of Massachusetts?
Necessary expenses were also heavy. "Dec. 4th, 1749. Paid Brother Smith
for a Barrel of Flower L15.11.3." But on the other hand, he sold his
horse to Mr. Jackson for L200.
1751 was an eventful year. On April 23d we read,
"Weymouth Meeting House took fire about half an hour after 10 o'clock at
night and burnt to the ground in abt 2 hours."
This is all Parson Smith has to say about it, but the Boston _Post-Boy_
of April 29th tells us that:
"Last Tuesday Night the old Meeting-house in Weymouth was burnt to the
Ground: and three Barrels of Gunpowder, the Town-Stock, being in the
Loft, blew up with a great noise. 'Tis uncertain by what Means the Fire
happen'd."
Paul Torrey, the town poet, says of it:
Our powder stock, kept under lock,
With flints and bullets were
By dismal blast soon swiftly cast
Into the open air.
The poem hints at incendiaries.
I'm satisfied they do reside
Somewhere within the town:
Therefore, no doubt, you'll find them out,
By searching up and down.
On trial them we will condemn,
The sentence we will give:
Them execute without dispute,
Not being fit to live.
This was a heavy blow to minister and congregation, in fact to the whole
community; for the meeting-house was the centre and core of the village
life.
Meeting-house: (Cotton Mather found "no just ground in Scripture to
apply such a trope as 'church' to a home for public assembly.") Sabbath,
or more often Lord's Day: these are the Puritan names, which happily we
have not yet wholly lost. The early meeting-houses were very small; that
of Haverhill was only twenty-six feet long and twenty wide. They were
oftenest set on a hilltop, partly as a landmark, partly as a lookout in
case of prowling Indians. The building or "raising" of a meeting-house
was a great event in the community. Every citizen was obliged by law to
share in the work or the expense. Every man must give a certain amount
of "nayles." Contributions were levied for lumber, for labor of horses
and men, and for "Rhum and Cacks" to regale the workers. "When the
Medford people built their second meeting-house, they provided for the
workmen and bystanders, five barrels of rum, one barrel of good brown
sugar, a box of | 1,736.874447 |
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by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
[Transcriber's Note: Obvious printer errors have been corrected
without note.]
RICHARD WAGNER
HIS LIFE AND HIS DRAMAS
A BIOGRAPHICAL STUDY OF THE MAN AND AN EXPLANATION OF HIS WORK
BY
W.J. HENDERSON
AUTHOR OF "THE STORY OF MUSIC," "PRELUDES AND STUDIES," "WHAT IS GOOD
MUSIC?" ETC.
[Illustration]
G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
_The Knickerbocker Press_
1902
Copyright, 1901
BY
W.J. HENDERSON
Set up, electrotyped, and printed, November, 1901
Reprinted February, 1902
_The Knickerbocker Press, New York_
[Illustration: Richard Wagner]
TO
ROBERT EDWIN BONNER
PREFACE
The purpose of this book is to supply Wagner lovers with a single
work which shall meet all their needs. The author has told the story
of Wagner's life, explained his artistic aims, given the history of
each of his great works, examined its literary sources, shown how
Wagner utilised them, surveyed the musical plan of each drama, and
set forth the meaning and purpose of its principal ideas. The work
is not intended to be critical, but is designed to be expository.
It aims to help the Wagner lover to a thorough knowledge and
understanding of the man and his works.
The author has consulted all the leading biographies, and for
guidance in the direction of absolute trustworthiness he is directly
indebted to Mme. Cosima Wagner, whose suggestions have been carefully
observed. He is also under a large, but not heavy, burden of
obligation to Mr. Henry Edward Krehbiel, musical critic of _The New
York Tribune_, who carefully read the manuscript of this work and
pointed out its errors. The value of Mr. Krehbiel's revision and
his hints cannot be over-estimated. Thanks are also due to Mr. Emil
Paur, conductor of the Philharmonic Society, of New York, for certain
inquiries made in Europe.
The records of first performances have been prepared with great care
and with no little labour. For the dates of those at most of the
European cities the author is indebted to an elaborate article by E.
Kastner, published in the _Allgemeine Musik. Zeitung_, of Berlin, for
July and August, 1896. The original casts have been secured, as far
as possible, from the programmes. For that of the "Flying Dutchman"
at Dresden--incorrectly given in many books on Wagner--the author
is indebted to Hofkapellmeister Ernst von Schuch, who obtained it
from the records of the Hoftheater. The name of the singer of the
Herald in the first cast of "Lohengrin," missing in all the published
histories, was supplied by Hermann Wolff, of Berlin, from the records
of Weimar. The casts of first performances in this country are not
quite complete, simply because the journalists of twenty-five years
ago did not realise their obligations to posterity. The casts were
not published in full. The records have disappeared. The theatres
in some cases--as in that of the Stadt--have long ago gone out of
existence and nothing can be done. As far as given the casts are, the
author believes, perfectly correct.
CONTENTS
PART I--THE LIFE OF WAGNER
CHAPTER PAGE
I--THE BOYHOOD OF A GENIUS 1
II--THE FIRST OPERAS 14
III--KOeNIGSBERG AND RIGA 27
IV--"THE END OF A MUSICIAN IN PARIS" 38
V--BEGINNING OF FAME AND HOSTILITY 50
VI--"LOHENGRIN" and "DIE MEISTERSINGER" 64
VII--"ART AND REVOLUTION" 73
VIII--PREACHING WHAT HE PRACTISED 85
IX--A STRANGER IN A STRANGE LAND 96
X--A SECOND END IN PARIS | 1,736.885665 |
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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See 48402-h.htm or 48402-h.zip:
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Images of the original pages are available through
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is | 1,736.978384 |
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Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
CHARLOTTE TEMPLE
By Susanna Haswell Rowson
Contents:
CHAPTER I. A Boarding School.
CHAPTER II. Domestic Concerns.
CHAPTER III. Unexpected Misfortunes.
CHAPTER IV. Change of Fortune.
CHAPTER V. Such Things Are.
CHAPTER VI. An Intriguing Teacher.
CHAPTER VII. Natural Sense of Propriety Inherent in the Female Bosom.
CHAPTER VIII. Domestic Pleasures Planned.
CHAPTER IX. We Know Not What a Day May Bring Forth.
CHAPTER X. When We Have Excited Curiosity, It Is But an Act of
Good Nature to Gratify it.
CHAPTER XI. Conflict of Love and Duty.
CHAPTER XII. Nature's last, best gift: Creature in whom excell'd,
whatever could To sight or thought be nam'd! Holy, divine! good,
amiable, and sweet! How thou art falln'!--
CHAPTER XIII. Cruel Disappointment.
CHAPTER XIV. Maternal Sorrow.
CHAPTER XV. Embarkation.
CHAPTER XVI. Necessary Digression.
CHAPTER XVII. A Wedding.
VOLUME II.
CHAPTER XVIII. Reflections.
CHAPTER XIX. A Mistake Discovered.
CHAPTER XX. Virtue never appears so amiable as when reaching forth her
hand to raise a fallen sister. Chapter of Accidents.
CHAPTER XXI. Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see,
That mercy I to others show That mercy show to me. POPE.
CHAPTER XXII. Sorrows of the Heart.
CHAPTER XXIII. A Man May Smile, and Smile, and Be a Villain.
CHAPTER XXIV. Mystery Developed.
CHAPTER XXV. Reception of a Letter.
CHAPTER XXVI. What Might Be Expected.
CHAPTER XXVII. Pensive she mourn'd, and hung her languid head, Like a
fair lily overcharg'd with dew.
CHAPTER XXVIII. A Trifling Retrospect.
CHAPTER XXIX. We Go Forward Again.
CHAPTER XXX. And what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to
sleep, A shade that follows wealth and fame, But leaves the wretch to
weep.
CHAPTER XXXI. Subject Continued.
CHAPTER XXXII. Reasons Why and Wherefore.
CHAPTER XXXIII. Which People Void of Feeling Need Not Read.
CHAPTER XXXIV. Retribution.
CHAPTER XXXV. Conclusion.
PREFACE.
FOR the perusal of the young and thoughtless of the fair sex, this Tale
of Truth is designed; and I could wish my fair readers to consider it as
not merely the effusion of Fancy, but as a reality. The circumstances
on which I have founded this novel were related to me some little time
since by an old lady who had personally known Charlotte, though she
concealed the real names of the characters, and likewise the place where
the unfortunate scenes were acted: yet as it was impossible to offer a
relation to the public in such an imperfect state, I have thrown over
the whole a slight veil of fiction, and substituted names and places
according to my own fancy. The principal characters in this little tale
are now consigned to the silent tomb: it can therefore hurt the feelings
of no one; and may, I flatter myself, be of service to some who are so
unfortunate as to have neither friends to advise, or understanding to
direct them, through the various and unexpected evils that attend a
young and unprotected woman in her first entrance into life.
While the tear of compassion still trembled in my eye for the fate of
the unhappy Charlotte, I may have children of my own, said I, to
whom this recital may be of use, and if to your own children, said
Benevolence, why not to the many daughters of Misfortune who, deprived
of natural friends, or spoilt by a mistaken education, are thrown on an
unfeeling world without the least power to defend themselves from the
snares not only of the other sex, but from the more dangerous arts of
the profligate of their own.
Sensible as I am that a novel writer, at a time when such a variety
of works are ushered into the world under that name, stands but a poor
chance for fame in the annals of literature, but conscious that I wrote
with a mind anxious for the happiness of that sex whose morals and
conduct have so powerful an influence on mankind in general; and
convinced that I have not wrote a line that conveys a wrong idea to
the head or a corrupt wish to the heart, I shall rest satisfied in the
purity of my own intentions, and if I merit | 1,737.078028 |
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Small capital text has been replaced with all capitals.
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
The carat character (^) indicates that the following letter is
superscripted (example: y^t).
THE HAUNTS OF
OLD COCKAIGNE
[Illustration: BANKSIDE IN 1648 (_FLAG FLYING OVER GLOBE THEATRE_).]
THE HAUNTS OF
OLD COCKAIGNE
BY
ALEX. M. THOMPSON
(DANGLE)
1898. LONDON. THE CLARION OFFICE
72 FLEET STREET, E.C.. WALTER SCOTT
LTD., PATERNOSTER SQUARE, E.C.
AN EPISTLE DEDICATORY
MY DEAR WILL RANSTEAD,--
When, in our too infrequent talks, I have confessed my growing
fondness for life in London, your kindly countenance has assumed
an expression so piteous that my Conscience has turned upon what I
am pleased to call my Mind, to demand explanation of a feeling so
distressing to so excellent a friend.
My Mind, at first, was disposed to apologise. It pleaded its
notoriously easy-going character: it had never met man or woman that
it had not more or less admired, nor remained long anywhere without
coming to strike kinship with the people and to develop pride in
their activities.
In its infancy it had been as Badisch as the Grossherzog of Baden,
and had deemed lilac-scented Carlsruhe the grandest town in the
world.
In blue-and-white Lutetia, it had grown as Parisian as an English
dramatist.
When the fickle Fates moved it on to Manchester, it had learned in a
little while to ogle Gaythorn and Oldham Road as enchanted Titania
ogled her gentle joy, the loathly Bottom. It had looked with scorn
on the returned prodigals who had been to London--"to tahn," they
called it--and who came back to their more or less marble halls in
Salford with trousers turned up round the hems, shepherds' crooks
to support their elegantly languid totter, and words of withering
scorn for the streets of Peter and Oxford, which my Mind had learned
to regard as boulevards of dazzling light.
Mine had always been a pliant and affable mind. Perhaps if it lived
in Widnes it might prefer it to Heaven.
But the longer I remained in London the more convinced I became
that never again should I like Widnes, or Manchester, or Paris, or
Carlsruhe, as well as this tantalising, fascinating, baffling city
of misty light--this stately, monstrous, grey, grimy, magnificent
London.
Then I sought reason for my state, and the following papers--one or
two contributed to the _Liverpool Post_, one to the _Clarion_, and
the most part printed now for the first time--are the result of my
inquiries.
One day I found cause for liking London, another day the reverse.
As the reasons came to me I wrote them down, and with all their
inconsistencies upon their heads, you have them here collected.
I have addressed the papers to you, because:--
As you had inspired the book, it was only fair you should share the
blame.
By answering you publicly, I saved myself the trouble of separately
answering many other country friends who likewise looked upon my
love of London as a deplorable falling from grace.
Thirdly, by this means, I save postages, and may actually induce a
few adventurous moneyed persons to pay me for the work.
Lastly, and most seriously, I lay hold on this occasion to publish
the respect and gratitude I owe to you, and which I repay to the
best of my ability by this small token of my friendship.--Sincerely
yours,
ALEX. M. THOMPSON.
_P.S._--You will naturally wonder after reading the book--should you
be spared so long--why I call it _Haunts of Old Cockaigne_.
I may say at once that you are fully entitled to wonder.
It is included in the price.
INDEX
PAGE
AN EPISTLE DEDICATORY 7
LONDON'S ENCHANTMENT 15
LONDON CHARLIE 35
LONDON GHOSTS 57
THE MERMAID TAVERN 78
WAS SHAKESPEARE A SCOTSMAN? 87
FLEET STREET 116
LONDON'S GROWTH 135
A TRUCE FROM BOOKS AND MEN 152
A RUDE AWAKENING 161
LONDON PRIDE AND COCKNEY CLAY 188
MY INTRODUCTION TO RESPECTABILITY 202
PARIS REVISITED 215
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
BANKSIDE IN 1648 _Frontispiece_
STRAND CROSS, 1547 61
COURTYARD OF AN OLD TAVERN 81
A BARBER'S SHOP IN 1492 119
WHITEHALL IN THE REIGN OF JAMES I. 137
OLD HOUSE IN SOUTHWARK 141
THE STRAND, 1660 143, 144
WHITEFIELD'S TABERNACLE, 1736 147
GORLESTON PIER 155
THE LIFEBOAT 177
THE CHAMPS-ÉLYSÉES 219
LONDON'S ENCHANTMENT
I want the hum of my working brothers--
London bustle and London strife.
H. S. LEIGH.
Let them that desire "solitary to wander o'er the russet mead" put
on their clump boots and wander.
I prefer the Strand.
The Poet's customary meadow with its munching sheep and æsthetic
cow, his pleasing daisies and sublimated dandelions, his ecstatic
duck and blooming plum tree, are all very well in their way; but
there is more human interest in Seven Dials.
The virtuous man who on the sunless side
Of a romantic mountain, forest crowned,
Sits coolly calm; while all the world without,
Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses at noon--
may have a very good time if his self-satisfaction suffice to
shelter him from Boredom; but of what use is he to the world or to
his fellow-creatures?
I have no patience with the long-haired persons whose scorn of the
common people's drudgery finds vent in lofty exhortations to "fly
the rank city, shun the turbid air, breathe not the chaos of eternal
smoke, and volatile corruption."
By turning his back to "the tumult of a guilty world," and "through
the verdant maze of sweetbriar hedges, pursue his devious walk,"
the Poet provides no remedy for the sin and suffering of human
cities--especially if the Poet finds it inconvenient to his soulful
rapture to attend to his own washing.
It offends me to the soul to hear robustious, bladder-pated,
tortured Bunthornes crying out for "boundless contiguity of shade"
where they can hear themselves think, when they might be digging the
soil or fixing gaspipes.
I would have such fellows banished to remote solitudes, where they
should prove their disdain of the grovelling herd by learning to
do without them. I would have them fed, clothed, nursed, caressed,
and entertained solely by their own sufficiency. Let them enjoy
_themselves_.
Erycina's doves, they sing, and ancient stream of Simois!
I sing the common people, and the vulgar London streets--streams
of life, action, and passion, whose every drop is a human soul,
each drop distinct and different, each by his or her own
wonderful personality.
I never grow tired of seeing them, admiring them, wondering about
them.
Beneath this turban what anxieties? Beneath yon burnoose what
heartaches and desires? Under all this sartorial medley of
frock-coats, jackets, mantles, capes, cloth, silk, satins, rags,
what truth? what meaning? what purport? How to get at the hearts
of them? how to evolve the best of them? how to blot out their
passions, spites, and rancours, and get at their human kinship and
brotherhood?
All day long these streets are crowded with the great, the rich,
the gay, and the fair--and if one looks one may also see here the
poorest, the most abject, the most pitiful, and most awful of the
creatures that God permits to live. There is more wealth and
splendour than in all the _Arabian Nights_, and more misery than in
Dante's _Inferno_.
Such a bustling, jostling, twisting, wriggling wonder! "An
intermixed and intertangled, ceaselessly changing jingle, too, of
colour; flecks of colour champed, as it were, like bits in the
horses' teeth, frothed and strewn about, and a surface always of
dark-dressed people winding like the curves on fast flowing water."
There is everything here, and plenty of it. As Malaprop Jenkins
wrote to her "O Molly Jones," "All the towns that ever I beheld in
my born days are no more than Welsh barrows and crumlecks to this
wonderful sitty! Even Bath itself is but a fillitch; in the naam of
God, one would think there's no end of the streets, but the Land's
End. Then there's such a power of people going hurry-scurry! Such a
racket of coxes! Such a noise and halibaloo! So many strange sites
to be seen! O gracious! I have seen the Park, and the Paleass of St.
Gimeses, and the Queen's magisterial pursing, and the sweet young
princes and the hillyfents, and pybald ass, and all the rest of the
Royal Family."
In two minutes from Piccadilly Circus I can be at will in France, in
Germany, in Italy, or in Jerusalem. Even at the loneliest hour of
the night I can have company to walk with; for in Bond Street I meet
Colonel Newcome's stately figure, in Pall Mall I encounter Peregrine
Pickle's new chariot and horses, by the Thames I find the skulking
figures of Quilp and Rogue Riderhood, in Southwark I am with Mr.
Pickwick and Sam Weller, in Eastcheap with immortal Jack Falstaff,
sententious Nym, blustering Pistol, and glow-nosed Bardolph.
With such companions at my side,
I float on London's human tide;
An atom on its billows thrown,
But lonely never, nor alone.
In a hundred yards I may jostle an Archbishop of the Established
Church, a Prostitute, a Poet, a victorious General, the Hero of the
last football match, a Millionaire, a "wanted" Murderer, a bevy
of famous Actresses, a Socialist Refugee from Spain or Italy, a
tattooed South Sea Islander, a loose-breeched Man-o'-War's man from
Japan, Armenians, Cretans, Greeks, Jews, Turks, and Clarionettes
from Pudsey.
The mere picturesque externals suffice to entrance me; but the spell
grips like a vice when I look closer and discriminate between the
types.
Such a commodity of warm slaves has civilisation gathered here!
Such a fascinating rabble of addle-pated toadies, muddy-souled
bullies of the bagnio, trade-fallen prize-fighters, aristocratic
and other drabs, card and billiard sharpers, discarded unjust
serving-men, revolted tapsters, touting tipsters, police-court
habitués, cut-purses, area sneaks, and general slum-scum; pimpled
bookmakers, millionaire sweaters and their dissipated sons;
jerry-builders, members of Parliament, phosy-jaw and lead poisoners;
African diamond smugglers, peers on the make, long-nosed company
promoters, and old clo' men; Stock Exchange tricksters, fraudulent
patriotic contractors, earthworms and graspers; fog-brained and
parchment-hearted crawlers, pigeons, rooks, hawks, vultures, and
carrion crows; the cankers of a base city and a sordid age; the
flunkeys, pimps, and panders of society; the pride and chivalry of
Piccadilly; the carrion, maggots, and reptiles of an empire upon
whose infamies the sun never wholly succeeds in hiding its blushing
countenance.
There is no fear of my forgetting the misery and crime underlying
London's splendour. I never invite Mrs. Dangle's admiration to
the flashing lights of Piccadilly but she sharply reminds me of
the pitiful sights which they illuminate. The ever-fresh and
ever-wonderful magic of the Embankment's circle as seen by night
from Adelphi Terrace does not efface the remembrance of Hood's
"Bridge of Sighs," nor of Charles Mackay's "Waterloo Bridge."
In she plunged boldly, no matter how coldly the rough river ran:--
Over the brink of it, picture it, think of it, dissolute Man!
Lave in it, drink of it, then, if you can!
I have seen our painted sisters standing for hire under the flaring
gas-lamps. I have seen ghastly wrecks of humankind slinking by the
blazing shop fronts as if ashamed of their hungry faces; and others,
bloated out of womanly grace, tottering from gin-palace doors into
side-dens that make one pale and sick to glance into.
And the interminable battalions of foolish-faced men in foolish
frock-coats and foolish tall hats, who suck their foolish sticks as
they foolishly amble by!
What tragic and comic contrasts! What variety!
Faces black and copper faces; yellow faces, rosy faces, and
martyrs' faces ghastly white; cruel crafty faces, false and leering
faces--faces cynical, callous, and confident; faces crushed, abject,
bloodless, and woebegone; satyrs' faces, gross, pampered, impudent,
and sensual; sneering, arrogant, devilish faces; and shrinking
faces full of prayer and meek entreaty; vulture faces--eager,
greedy, ravenous; penguin faces--fat, smug, and foolish; faces of
whipped curs, fawning spaniels, and treacherous hounds; wolves'
faces and foxes' faces, and many hapless heads of puzzled sheep
floating helpless down the current; faces of all tints and forms and
characters; and not a few, thank Heaven! of faces strong and calm,
of faces kind, modest, and intrepid! of faces blooming, healthy,
pretty, and beautiful!
Gold and grime, purple and shame, squalor and splendour, contrasts
and wonders without end. And all of it--all the flotsam and jetsam
of these tumultuous streets--gallant hearts, heroes, criminals,
millionaires, pretty girls, and wrecks--they are all charged, and
overbrimming with interest, for, as Longfellow says, "these are the
great themes of human thought; not green grass, and flowers, and
moonshine."
Yet flowers too can London show.
In the densest quarters of Whitechapel I have seen grass and trees
as green as the best that can be seen in the choicest districts of
Oldham or Bolton.
As for the West End, no richer, riper scenes of urban beauty are to
be found in Europe than the stretch of park and garden spread out
between the Horse Guards and Kensington Palace.
Stand on the steps of the Albert Memorial and feast your gaze on the
woody vistas of Kensington Gardens; or, from the suspension bridge
of fair St. James's Park, look over the water to the up-piled,
towering white palaces of Whitehall; or, without exertion at all,
lie down amongst the sheep in the wide green fields of Hyde Park,
and listen to the hum of the traffic.
Hyde Park's verdurous carpet is shot in its season with the
golden lustre of the buttercup, dotted with the peeping white of
the timorous daisy, and spangled with the flaunting, extravagant
dandelion. Every tree is in spring a gorgeous picture, and every
thorn bush a bouquet of fragrant flower.
As for London's outside suburbs, no English town can show such
charming variety of wood and meadow, of hill and plain.
Smiling uplands and blooming <DW72>s; bushy lanes, flowered hedges,
and crystal streams; cottages overgrown, according to the season,
with honeysuckle, roses, and creeping plants of gorgeous varying
hues; smooth green lawns bedecked with flowers; bracken and
woods upon the hills; scampering rabbits, scattered meditative
cattle, placid sheep, singing birds, swifts and swallows, rooks
high sailing o'er tufted elms; and, above all, the sweet, blue,
cloudless, southern sky;--all these may be found on a fine summer's
day within an easy cycle-ride in any direction from London.
Where shall we find nobler views than those exposed from Muswell's
woody <DW72>s, or Sydenham's stately terraces; from happy Hampstead,
or haughty Highgate; from rare Richmond, or, best of all, from
glorious Leith?
Where are sweeter woods than those of Epping or Hadley? Where such
glades as at Bushey or Windsor? Where so sweet a garden, or so
gracious a stream to water it, as lies open to the excursionist in
the valley of the Thames between Maidenhead and beautiful Oxford?
To hear the lark's song gushing forth to the sun on Hampstead's
golden heath, to see the bluebells making soft haze in the Hadley
woods, to watch the children returning through Highgate to their
feculent rookeries laden with the fair bloom of hawthorn hedges,
to lie on Hyde Park's soft green velvet, is to bring home the
knowledge to our tarnished hearts that even this city of fretful
stir, weariness, and leaden-eyed despair, might be sweet and of
goodly flavour--that even London's cruel face might be made to beam
upon all her children like a maternal benediction, if they were wise
enough to deserve and demand it!
But--
Mammon is their chief and lord,
Monarch slavishly adored;
Mammon sitting side by side
With Pomp and Luxury and Pride,
Who call his large dominion theirs,
Nor dream a portion is Despair's.
The wealth and the poverty! the grandeur and the wretchedness!
Sir Howard Vincent, a Conservative M.P., lately told his Sheffield
constituents, after a round of visits paid to "almost every state in
Europe," that--
He had no hesitation in saying that in a walk of a mile in
London, and in the West End too, they saw more miserable
people than he met with in all the countries enumerated--more
bedraggled, unhappy, unfortunate out-of-works, seeking alms and
bread, and strong men earning a few pence loitering along with
immoral advertisements on their shoulders. He granted that there
were more people in London with palatial mansions, luxurious
carriages, and high-stepping horses, but there was much greater
poverty and dire distress among the aged.
As regards the luxury, this is true enough. As regards poverty,
London's state is bad--God knows!--infinitely worse than that of
Paris, which I know intimately; but not so bad, according to my
more travelled friends, as that of Russian, Italian, or even Saxon
industrial regions. London's destitution at its worst is perhaps
more brutal, and more repellent, but not more hopeless than the more
picturesque poverty of sunnier climes.
Poplar, Stepney, Hoxton, Bethnal Green, and Whitechapel are as
hideous tumours upon a fair woman's face.
They are vile labyrinths of styes, where pallid men and women, and
skeleton children,--guileless little things, fresh from the hands of
God,--wallow like swine.
Yet, except for vastness, London slums are not more shameful than
the slums Sir Howard Vincent may find, if he will look in the town
which he has the dishonour of representing in Parliament.
I saw the slum-scum sweltering in their close-packed, foetid East
End courts during the great water famine last summer (miles of
luxuriously appointed palaces in the gorgeous West standing the
while deserted), but even then I found them cleaner, fresher, and
sweeter than the slums of Manchester, Liverpool, Dublin, Dundee,
Glasgow, Birmingham, or Darkest Sheffield.
For over all these London possesses one precious, inestimable
advantage--the wide estuary and great air avenue of the Thames,
through which refreshing winds are borne into the turbid crannies,
bringing precious seeds of health and sweeping out the stagnant
poisons.
* * * * *
I have beheld the great city in many aspects, fair and foul. I have
seen St. Paul's pierce with ghostly whiteness through a mist that
swathed and wholly hid its lower parts, the great dome rising like
a phantom balloon from out a phantom city. I have seen a blue-grey
"London particular" transform a dingy, narrow street into a portal
of mystery, romance, and enchantment. I have loitered on Waterloo
Bridge to gaze on the magic of the river and listen to the eerie
music of Time's roaring loom. I have heard the babel of Petticoat
Lane on Sunday morning. I have surveyed the huge wen and contrasted
it with the pleasant Kentish weald from Leith Hill's summit. And I
would not go back from London to any place that I have lived in. I
like London. I am bitten as I have seen all bitten that came under
its spell--bitten as I vowed I never could be.
London's air is in my lungs and nostrils, its glamour in my eyes,
its roar and moan and music in my ears, its fever in my blood, its
quintessence in my heart.
I came to scoff and I pray to remain.
LONDON CHARLIE
Pleasure, or wrong or rightly understood,
Our greatest evil, or our greatest good.
MOORE.
The celebrated novelist Ouida has made a general indictment against
the "_cruel ugliness and dulness_" of the streets of London.
The greatest city in the world, according to Mdlle. de la Ramé, has
"a curiously provincial appearance, and in many ways the aspect of a
third-rate town."
Even the aristocratic quarters are "absolutely and terribly
depressing and tedious"; and as for _decorative beauty_, this is
all she can find of it in London:--
An ugly cucumber frame like Battersea Park Hall, gaudily
; a waggon drawn by poor, suffering horses, and laden
with shrieking children, going to Epping Forest; open-air
preachers ranting hideously of hell and the devil; gin-palaces,
music-halls, and the flaring gas-jets on barrows full of rotting
fruit, are all that London provides in the way of enjoyment or
decoration for its multitudes!
Instead of which, I am free to maintain that no town of my
acquaintance has such diversity of entertainment.
Paris has the bulge in the trifling, foolish matter of theatrical
plays and players. But London has more and finer playhouses; as good
opportunities of hearing great music; and infinitely larger and
better-appointed music-halls.
London has now the finest libraries, museums, and
picture-galleries; and as for out-door entertainment, no town
possesses such remarkable variety as is offered at the Imperial
Institute, the Crystal and Alexandra Palaces, Olympia, and Earl's
Court. Thereby hangs a tale.
It must be that the provincial friends who visit me are not as other
men. I hear of people receiving guests from the country and taking
them out for nice walks to the National Gallery, South Kensington
Museum, the Tower, and other places of cultured dissipation
provided by the generous rate-payer to discourage and kill off the
cheap-tripper; but I have no such luck.
To my ardent, blushing commendation of national eleemosynary
entertainments, the rude provincials who assail my hospitality reply
with a rude provincial wink.
Frequent failure has, I fear, stripped my plausibility of its
pristine bloom. Time was when I could boldly recommend Covent Garden
Market at four o'clock in the morning as a first-rate attraction to
the provincial pilgrim of pleasure, but your stammering tongue and
quailing eye are plaguy mockers of your useful villainy.
Mrs. Dangle herself begins to look doubtfully when, on our
periodical little pleasure trips, I repeat the customary: "Tower!
eh? It will be _such_ a treat!"
Ah me! Confidence was a beautiful thing. The world grows too
cynical. Earl's Court is the thin end of the wedge by which the
hydra-headed serpent of unbelief is bred to fly roughshod over the
thin ice of irresolute dissimulation, to nip the mask of pretence
in the bud, and with its cold, uncharitable eye to suck the very
life-blood of that confidence which is the corner-stone and
sheet-anchor of friendly trust 'twixt man and man.
Be that as it may, my praise of County Council Parks and County
Council Bands, of Tower history and Kensington culture, is as
ineffectual as a Swedish match in a gale.
My visitors, as with one accord, reply, "That is neither here nor
there. We are going to Earl's Court."
Thus, Captandem had come to town, and said "he wanted to see things."
I tempted him with the usual programme.
"I am told," I insinuated, "that the Ethnographical Section of the
British Museum'silently but surely teaches many beautiful lessons.'"
"I daresay," he sneered.
"The educational facilities furnished by South Kensington Museum"--
"Educational fiddlesticks," interrupted he.
"The Tower," I went on, "is improving to the mind."
"I have had some."
"The National Gallery"--
"Be hanged!" he snorted. "Do you take me for an Archæological
Conference? or a British Association picnic?"
"Well," I began, in my most winning Board-meeting manner, "if you
don't like my suggestions, you can go to"--
"Earl's Court," he opportunely snapped.
* * * * *
He then explained that he had been reading in _The Savoy_, a poem by
Sarojini Chattopâdhyây on "Eastern Dancers," commencing thus:--
Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting, what passionate
spirits aflaming with fire
Drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth heavens that glimmer around
them in fountains of light?
O wild and entrancing the strain of keen music that cleaveth the
stars like a wail of desire,
And beautiful dancers with houri-like faces bewitch the voluptuous
watches of night.
The scents of red roses and sandalwood flutter and die in the maze
of their gem-tangled hair,
And smiles are entwining like magical serpents the poppies of lips
that are opiate-sweet,
Their glittering garments of purple are burning like tremulous
dawns in the quivering air,
And exquisite, subtle, and slow are the tinkle and tread of their
rhythmical slumber-soft feet.
Now silent, now singing and swaying and swinging, like blossoms
that bend to the breezes or showers,
Now wantonly winding, they flash, now they falter, and lingering
languish in radiant choir,
Their jewel-bright arms and warm, wavering, lily-long fingers
enchant thro' the summer-swift hours,
Eyes ravished with rapture, celestially panting, their passionate
spirits aflaming with fire.
When I had finished reading this too-too all but morsel of
exquisiteness, the Boy said he'd be punctured if he could exactly
catch the hang of the thing (the Philistine!), but he thought
he would like some of those (the heathen!), and having seen an
announcement that a troupe of Eastern Dancers were then appearing
at Earl's Court, he had determined to let his passionate, with
fire-aflaming spirit "drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth
heavens."
* * * * *
On the way to Earl's Court, I filled up the Boy with such general
information about Nautch Girls, as I had gathered in my studies.
I informed him that nothing could exceed the transcendent beauty,
both in form and lineament, of these admirable creatures; that their
dancing was the most elegant and gently graceful ever seen, for that
it comprised no prodigious springs, no vehement pirouettes, no
painful tension of the muscles, or extravagant contortions of the
limbs; no violent sawing of the arms; no unnatural curving of the
limbs, no bringing of the legs at right angles with the trunk; no
violent hops or jerks, or dizzy jumps.
The Nautch Girl's arms, I assured him, move in unison with her
tiny, naked feet, which fall on earth as mute as snow. She
occasionally turns quickly round, expanding the loose folds of her
thin petticoat, when the heavy silk border with which it is trimmed
opens into a circle round her, showing for an instant the beautiful
outline of her form, draped with the most becoming and judicious
taste.
She wears, I continued, scarlet or purple celestial pants, and veils
of beautiful gauze with tassels of silver and gold. The graceful
management of the veil by archly peeping under it, then radiantly
beaming over it, was in itself enough, I assured him, to make one's
eyes celestially pant, but--
"Dis way for Indu juggler, Indu tumbler, Nautch Dance," at this
moment cried a shrill voice at my side; and I perceived that we were
actually standing outside the Temple where the passionate spirits in
celestial pants drink deep of the hush of the hyacinth heavens!
* * * * *
The performance had begun. An able-bodied, well-footed Christy
Minstrel was doing a sort of shuffling walk-round, droning out
the while a monotonous wail in a voice that might have been more
profitably employed to kill cats.
"Lor'," the Boy complained, "will that suffering <DW65> last long?
Couldn't they get him to reserve his funeral service for his own
graveyard? Ask them how soon they mean to trot out the exquisite,
subtle Tremulous Dawns,--the swaying and swinging Sandalwood
Slumber-soft Flutter in celestial pants,--the wantonly winding
Lingering Languishers?"
I approached one of the artistes--a lean and dejected Fakir,
picturesquely attired in a suit of patched atmosphere.
"That's very nice," I said conciliatorily, "very nice indeed, in
its way. But we don't much care for Wagner's music, nor Christy
Minstrels. We would prefer to take a walk until your cornerman is
through: at what time will the Nautch Girls appear?"
"Yes, yes," the heathen Hindu replied, with a knowing leer, "Nautch
Girl ver' good, ver' good; Lonndonn Charlee, he likee Nautch Girl,
ver' good."
"Yes," I said. "What time do they kick off?"
"Yes, yes, ver' good, ver' good, Nautch Girl," the mysterious
Oriental replied; "she Nautch Girl bimeby done now; me go do conjur,
ver' good, ver' good."
"Nautch Girl nearly done?" I cried. "Why, where _is_ the Nautch
Girl!"
"That Nautch Girl is dance now, ver' good, ver' good. Lonndonn
Charlee, he likee Nautch Girl, ver' good."
At last the horrible truth dawned on me!
The person we had taken for a Christy Minstrel was the wantonly
winding, lingeringly languishing Nautch Girl!!!
* * * * *
After that we visited other "side shows," and saw more | 1,737.173578 |
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THE PANCHRONICON
THE
PANCHRONICON
BY
HAROLD STEELE MACKAYE
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1904
COPYRIGHT, 1904, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published, April, 1904
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP 1
II. A VISIT TO THE PANCHRONICON 23
III. A NOCTURNAL EVASION 38
IV. A CHANGE OF PLAN 58
V. DROOP'S THEORY IN PRACTICE 86
VI. SHIPWRECKED ON THE SANDS OF TIME 103
VII. NEW TIES AND OLD RELATIONS 123
VIII. HOW FRANCIS BACON CHEATED THE BAILIFFS 157
IX. PHOEBE AT THE PEACOCK INN 179
X. HOW THE QUEEN READ HER NEWSPAPER 208
XI. THE FAT KNIGHT AT THE BOAR'S HEAD 242
XII. HOW SHAKESPEARE WROTE HIS PLAYS 258
XIII. HOW THE FAT KNIGHT DID HOMAGE 277
XIV. THE FATE OF SIR PERCEVALL'S SUIT 297
XV. HOW REBECCA RETURNED TO NEWINGTON 317
XVI. HOW SIR GUY KEPT HIS TRYST 324
XVII. REBECCA'S TRUMP CARD 340
THE PANCHRONICON
CHAPTER I
THE THEORY OF COPERNICUS DROOP
The two sisters were together in their garden.
Rebecca Wise, turned forty and growing slightly gray at the temples, was | 1,737.174397 |
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_The Big Drum_
_THE PLAYS OF ARTHUR W. PINERO_
Paper cover, 1s. 6d.; cloth, 2s. 6d. each
_THE TIMES_
_THE PROFLIGATE_
_THE CABINET MINISTER_
_THE HOBBY-HORSE_[1]
_LADY BOUNTIFUL_
_THE MAGISTRATE_
_DANDY DICK_
_SWEET LAVENDER_
_THE SCHOOLMISTRESS_
_THE WEAKER SEX_
_THE AMAZONS_[1]
_THE SECOND MRS. TANQUERAY_[1]
_THE NOTORIOUS MRS. EBBSMITH_
_THE BENEFIT OF THE DOUBT_[1]
_THE PRINCESS AND THE BUTTERFLY_
_TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"_
_THE GAY LORD QUEX_[2]
_IRIS_
_LETTY_
_A WIFE WITHOUT A SMILE_
_HIS HOUSE IN ORDER_[1]
_THE THUNDERBOLT_
_MID-CHANNEL_
_THE "MIND THE PAINT" GIRL_
THE PINERO BIRTHDAY BOOK
SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY MYRA HAMILTON
With a Portrait, cloth extra, price 2s. 6d.
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
[1] This Play can be had in library form, 4to, cloth, with a
portrait, 5s.
[2] A Limited Edition of this play on hand-made paper, with a
new portrait, 10s, net.
_The Big Drum_
_A COMEDY_
_In Four Acts_
_By_
_ARTHUR PINERO_
_"The desire of fame betrays an ambitious
man into indecencies that lessen his
reputation; he is still afraid lest any of
his actions should be thrown away in
private."_
ADDISON
_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_
_MCMXV_
_Copyright 1915, by Arthur Pinero_
_This play was Produced in London, at the
St. James's Theatre, on Wednesday,
September 1, 1915_
_PREFACE_
The Big Drum is published exactly as it was written, and as it was
originally performed. At its first representation, however, the
audience was reported to have been saddened by its "unhappy ending."
Pressure was forthwith put upon me to reconcile Philip and Ottoline at
the finish, and at the third performance of the play the curtain fell
upon the picture, violently and crudely brought about, of Ottoline in
Philip's arms.
I made the alteration against my principles and against my conscience,
and yet not altogether unwillingly. For we live in depressing times;
and perhaps in such times it is the first duty of a writer for the
stage to make concessions to his audiences and, above everything, to
try to afford them a complete, if brief, distraction from the gloom
which awaits them outside the theatre.
My excuse for having at the start provided an "unhappy" ending is that
I was blind enough not to regard the ultimate break between Philip and
Ottoline as really unhappy for either party. On the contrary, I looked
upon the separation of these two people as a fortunate occurrence for
both; and I conceived it as a piece of ironic comedy which might not
prove unentertaining that the falling away of Philip from his high
resolves was checked by the woman he had once despised and who had at
last grown to know and to despise herself.
But comedy of this order has a knack of cutting rather deeply, of
ceasing, in some minds, to be comedy at all; and it may be said that
this is what has happened in the present instance. Luckily it is
equally true that certain matters are less painful, because less
actual, in print than upon the stage. The "wicked publisher,"
therefore, even when bombs are dropping round him, can afford to be
more independent than the theatrical manager; and for this reason I
have not hesitated to ask my friend Mr. Heinemann to publish THE BIG
DRUM in its original form.
ARTHUR PINERO
LONDON,
_September_ 1915
_THE PERSONS OF | 1,737.174568 |
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OLLA PODRIDA
BY
CAPTAIN MARRYAT
[Illustration]
LONDON
J. M. DENT AND CO.
BOSTON: LITTLE, BROWN AND CO.
MDCCCXCVI
Contents
THE MONK OF SEVILLE 1
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1833.
THE GIPSY 85
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1834.
ILL-WILL 159
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1837.
HOW TO WRITE A FASHIONABLE NOVEL 179
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1833.
HOW TO WRITE A BOOK OF TRAVELS 200
_Metropolitan Magazine_ 1833, 1834.
HOW TO WRITE A ROMANCE 214
_Metropolitan Magazine_, 1835.
S.W. AND BY W. 3/4 W. 225
THE SKY-BLUE DOMINO 243
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1837.
MODERN TOWN HOUSES 260
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1837.
THE WAY TO BE HAPPY 275
THE LEGEND OF THE BELL ROCK 282
MOONSHINE 293
THE FAIRY'S WAND 313
_New Monthly Magazine_, 1840.
A RENCONTRE 328
Prefatory Note
This edition of _Olla Podrida_ does not include the "Diary on the
Continent" which appeared first in the _Metropolitan Magazine_ 1835-1836
as "The Diary of a _Blase_" continued in the _New Monthly Magazine_
1837, 1838, as "Confessions and opinions of Ralph the Restless." Marryat
himself described the "Diary" as "very good magazine stuff," and it has
no fitting place in an edition of his novels, from which the "Diary in
America" is also excluded.
The space thus created is occupied by "The Gipsy," "The Fairy's Wand,"
and "A Rencontre," which I have ventured to print here in spite the
author's protest,[A] that the original edition of _Olla Podrida_
contained all the miscellaneous matter contributed by him to periodicals
that he wished to acknowledge as his writing. The statement may be
regarded as a challenge to his editors to produce something worthy; and
I certainly consider that the "Gipsy" is superior to some of his
fragments, and may be paired, as a comedy, with "The Monk of Seville,"
as a tragedy.
[Footnote A: Preface to first edition of O.P. printed below.]
But I have not attempted any systematic search for scraps. "The Fairy's
Wand" was published in the same year as, and probably later than, _Olla
Podrida_ itself, and need not therefore be "considered as disavowed and
rejected" by him. "A Rencontre" was always reprinted and acknowledged by
its author, being, for no ostensible reason, bound up with _Joseph
Rushbrook, or The Poacher_, 1841.
This seems the most appropriate occasion to supplement, and--in some
measure--to correct, the list of novels contributed to periodicals by
Marryat, which I compiled from statements in _The Life and Letters_ by
Florence Marryat (also tabulated in Mr David Hannay's "Life"), and
printed on p. xix. of the General Introduction to this edition.
TO THE METROPOLITAN MAGAZINE.
(Edited by Marryat, 1832-1835.)
_The Pacha of Many Tales_, May 1831--February 1833; and May
1834--May 1835.
_Peter Simple_, June 1832--September 1833. The novel is not
completed in the Magazine, but closes with an announcement
of the three volume edition.
_Jacob Faithful_, September 1833--September 1834.
_Japhet in Search of a Father_, September 1834--January
1836.
_Snarleyyow_, January 1836--January 1837.
_Midshipman Easy._ One specimen chapter only. August 1835.
TO THE NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE.
_The Privateersman_, | 1,737.178019 |
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[Illustration: frontispiece]
MRS. LOUDON’S
ENTERTAINING NATURALIST,
BEING
POPULAR DESCRIPTIONS, TALES, AND
ANECDOTES
OF MORE THAN
FIVE HUNDRED ANIMALS.
_A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND ENLARGED_.
BY
W. S. DALLAS, F.L.S.
LONDON:
BELL & DALDY, 6, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN,
1867.
LONDON: PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, STAMFORD STREET
AND CHARING CROSS.
_PREFACE._
MRS. LOUDON’S _Entertaining Naturalist_ has been so deservedly popular
that the publishers, in preparing a new edition, have striven to render
it still more worthy of the reputation it has obtained. For this
purpose, it has been very thoroughly revised and enlarged by Mr. W. S.
Dallas, Member of the Zoological Society, and Curator of the Museum of
Natural History at York, and several illustrations have been added.
In its present form, it is not only a complete Popular Natural History
of an entertaining character, with an illustration of nearly every
animal mentioned, but its instructive introductions on the
Classification of Animals adapt it well for use as an elementary Manual
of the Natural History of the Animal Kingdom for the use of the Young.
INTRODUCTION.
ZOOLOGY is that branch of Natural History which treats of animals, and
embraces not only their structure and functions, their habits,
instincts, and utility, but their names and systematic arrangement.
Various systems have been proposed by different naturalists for the
scientific arrangement of the animal kingdom, but that of Cuvier, with
some modifications, is now thought the best, and a sketch of it will be
found under the head of the Modern System in this Introduction. As,
however, the System of Linnæus was formerly in general use, and is still
often referred to, it has been thought advisable to give a sketch of it
first; that the reader may be aware of the difference between the old
system and the new one.
_LINNÆAN SYSTEM._
According to the system of Linnæus, the objects comprehended within the
animal kingdom were divided into six classes: Mammalia or Mammiferous
Animals, Birds, Amphibia or Amphibious Animals, Fishes, Insects, and
Worms, which were thus distinguished:
CLASSES.
{ With vertebræ { Hot Blood { Viviparous I. MAMMALIA.
{ { { Oviparous II. BIRDS.
Body { { Cold red Blood { With lungs III. AMPHIBIA.
{ { With gills IV. FISHES.
{ Without vertebræ Cold white Blood { Having antennæ V. INSECTS.
{ Having tentacula VI. WORMS.
ORDERS OF MAMMALIA.
The first class, or Mammalia, consists of such animals as produce living
offspring, and nourish their young ones with milk supplied from their
own bodies; and it comprises both the quadrupeds and the cetacea.
This class was divided by Linnæus into seven Orders: viz. _primates_,
_bruta_, _feræ_, _glires_, _pecora_, _belluæ_, and _cetacea_ (this order
was called Cete by Linnæus) or whales. The characteristics of these were
founded, for the most part, on the number and arrangement of the teeth;
and on the form and construction of the feet, or of those parts in the
seals, manati, and cetacea, which supply the place of feet:
I. PRIMATES.--Having the upper front teeth, generally four in
number, wedge-shaped, and parallel; and two teats situated on the
breast, as the apes and monkeys.
II. BRUTA.--Having no front teeth in either jaw; and the feet armed
with strong hoof-like nails | 1,737.179146 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.2342000 | 8 | 18 |
Produced by Jeroen | 1,737.25424 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.2570040 | 94 | 16 |
Produced by MWS, Fay Dunn and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber’s Note
Words in italics are marked with _underscores_.
Words in small capitals are shown in UPPER CASE.
Sidenotes showing the year have been moved to the start of paragraphs,
and kept only | 1,737.277044 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.2571270 | 7,436 | 10 |
Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
PENROD
By Booth Tarkington
To
John, Donald And Booth Jameson
From A Grateful Uncle
CONTENTS
I. A Boy and His Dog
II. Romance
III. The Costume
IV. Desperation
V. The Pageant of the Table Round
VI. Evening
VII. Evils of Drink
VIII. School
IX. Soaring
X. Uncle John
XI. Fidelity of a Little Dog
XII. Miss Rennsdale Accepts
XIII. The Smallpox Medicine
XIV. Maurice Levy's Constitution
XV. The Two Families
XVI. The New Star
XVII. Retiring from the Show-Business
XVIII. Music
XIX. The Inner Boy
XX. Brothers of Angels
XXI. Rupe Collins
XXII. The Imitator
XXIII. <DW52> Troops in Action
XXIV. "Little Gentleman"
XXV. Tar
XXVI. The Quiet Afternoon
XXVII. Conclusion of the Quiet Afternoon
XXVIII. Twelve
XXIX. Fanchon
XXX. The Birthday Party
XXXI. Over the Fence
CHAPTER I A BOY AND HIS DOG
Penrod sat morosely upon the back fence and gazed with envy at Duke, his
wistful dog.
A bitter soul dominated the various curved and angular surfaces known
by a careless world as the face of Penrod Schofield. Except in solitude,
that face was almost always cryptic and emotionless; for Penrod had
come into his twelfth year wearing an expression carefully trained to be
inscrutable. Since the world was sure to misunderstand everything, mere
defensive instinct prompted him to give it as little as possible to lay
hold upon. Nothing is more impenetrable than the face of a boy who has
learned this, and Penrod's was habitually as fathomless as the depth
of his hatred this morning for the literary activities of Mrs. Lora
Rewbush--an almost universally respected fellow citizen, a lady of
charitable and poetic inclinations, and one of his own mother's most
intimate friends.
Mrs. Lora Rewbush had written something which she called "The Children's
Pageant of the Table Round," and it was to be performed in public that
very afternoon at the Women's Arts and Guild Hall for the benefit of the
Infants' Betterment Society. And if any flavour of sweetness
remained in the nature of Penrod Schofield after the dismal trials of
the school-week just past, that problematic, infinitesimal remnant was
made pungent acid by the imminence of his destiny to form a prominent
feature of the spectacle, and to declaim the loathsome sentiments of a
character named upon the programme the Child Sir Lancelot.
After each rehearsal he had plotted escape, and only ten days earlier
there had been a glimmer of light: Mrs. Lora Rewbush caught a very
bad cold, and it was hoped it might develop into pneumonia; but she
recovered so quickly that not even a rehearsal of the Children's Pageant
was postponed. Darkness closed in. Penrod had rather vaguely debated
plans for a self-mutilation such as would make his appearance as the
Child Sir Lancelot inexpedient on public grounds; it was a heroic
and attractive thought, but the results of some extremely sketchy
preliminary experiments caused him to abandon it.
There was no escape; and at last his hour was hard upon him. Therefore
he brooded on the fence and gazed with envy at his wistful Duke.
The dog's name was undescriptive of his person, which was obviously
the result of a singular series of mesalliances. He wore a grizzled
moustache and indefinite whiskers; he was small and shabby, and looked
like an old postman. Penrod envied Duke because he was sure Duke would
never be compelled to be a Child Sir Lancelot. He thought a dog free and
unshackled to go or come as the wind listeth. Penrod forgot the life he
led Duke.
There was a long soliloquy upon the fence, a plaintive monologue without
words: the boy's thoughts were adjectives, but they were expressed by
a running film of pictures in his mind's eye, morbidly prophetic of the
hideosities before him. Finally he spoke aloud, with such spleen that
Duke rose from his haunches and lifted one ear in keen anxiety.
"'I hight Sir Lancelot du Lake, the Child,
Gentul-hearted, meek, and mild.
What though I'm BUT a littul child,
Gentul-hearted, meek, and----' OOF!"
All of this except "oof" was a quotation from the Child Sir Lancelot, as
conceived by Mrs. Lora Rewbush. Choking upon it, Penrod slid down from
the fence, and with slow and thoughtful steps entered a one-storied wing
of the stable, consisting of a single apartment, floored with cement and
used as a storeroom for broken bric-a-brac, old paint-buckets, decayed
garden-hose, worn-out carpets, dead furniture, and other condemned odds
and ends not yet considered hopeless enough to be given away.
In one corner stood a large box, a part of the building itself: it was
eight feet high and open at the top, and it had been constructed as a
sawdust magazine from which was drawn material for the horse's bed in
a stall on the other side of the partition. The big box, so high and
towerlike, so commodious, so suggestive, had ceased to fulfil its
legitimate function; though, providentially, it had been at least half
full of sawdust when the horse died. Two years had gone by since that
passing; an interregnum in transportation during which Penrod's father
was "thinking" (he explained sometimes) of an automobile. Meanwhile, the
gifted and generous sawdust-box had served brilliantly in war and peace:
it was Penrod's stronghold.
There was a partially defaced sign upon the front wall of the box; the
donjon-keep had known mercantile impulses:
The O. K. RaBiT Co.
PENROD ScHoFiELD AND CO.
iNQuiRE FOR PRicEs
This was a venture of the preceding vacation, and had netted, at one
time, an accrued and owed profit of $1.38. Prospects had been brightest
on the very eve of cataclysm. The storeroom was locked and guarded, but
twenty-seven rabbits and Belgian hares, old and young, had perished here
on a single night--through no human agency, but in a foray of cats, the
besiegers treacherously tunnelling up through the sawdust from the small
aperture which opened into the stall beyond the partition. Commerce has
its martyrs.
Penrod climbed upon a barrel, stood on tiptoe, grasped the rim of the
box; then, using a knot-hole as a stirrup, threw one leg over the top,
drew himself up, and dropped within. Standing upon the packed sawdust,
he was just tall enough to see over the top.
Duke had not followed him into the storeroom, but remained near the open
doorway in a concave and pessimistic attitude. Penrod felt in a dark
corner of the box and laid hands upon a simple apparatus consisting of
an old bushel-basket with a few yards of clothes-line tied to each of
its handles. He passed the ends of the lines over a big spool, which
revolved upon an axle of wire suspended from a beam overhead, and, with
the aid of this improvised pulley, lowered the empty basket until it
came to rest in an upright position upon the floor of the storeroom at
the foot of the sawdust-box.
"Eleva-ter!" shouted Penrod. "Ting-ting!"
Duke, old and intelligently apprehensive, approached slowly, in a
semicircular manner, deprecatingly, but with courtesy. He pawed the
basket delicately; then, as if that were all his master had expected of
him, uttered one bright bark, sat down, and looked up triumphantly. His
hypocrisy was shallow: many a horrible quarter of an hour had taught him
his duty in this matter.
"El-e-VAY-ter!" shouted Penrod sternly. "You want me to come down there
to you?"
Duke looked suddenly haggard. He pawed the basket feebly again and,
upon another outburst from on high, prostrated himself flat. Again
threatened, he gave a superb impersonation of a worm.
"You get in that el-e-VAY-ter!"
Reckless with despair, Duke jumped into the basket, landing in a
dishevelled posture, which he did not alter until he had been drawn
up and poured out upon the floor of sawdust with the box. There,
shuddering, he lay in doughnut shape and presently slumbered.
It was dark in the box, a condition that might have been remedied by
sliding back a small wooden panel on runners, which would have let in
ample light from the alley; but Penrod Schofield had more interesting
means of illumination. He knelt, and from a former soap-box, in a
corner, took a lantern, without a chimney, and a large oil-can, the leak
in the latter being so nearly imperceptible that its banishment
from household use had seemed to Penrod as inexplicable as it was
providential.
He shook the lantern near his ear: nothing splashed; there was no sound
but a dry clinking. But there was plenty of kerosene in the can; and he
filled the lantern, striking a match to illumine the operation. Then he
lit the lantern and hung it upon a nail against the wall. The sawdust
floor was slightly impregnated with oil, and the open flame quivered in
suggestive proximity to the side of the box; however, some rather deep
charrings of the plank against which the lantern hung offered evidence
that the arrangement was by no means a new one, and indicated at least a
possibility of no fatality occurring this time.
Next, Penrod turned up the surface of the sawdust in another corner
of the floor, and drew forth a cigar-box in which were half a
dozen cigarettes, made of hayseed and thick brown wrapping paper, a
lead-pencil, an eraser, and a small note-book, the cover of which was
labelled in his own handwriting:
"English Grammar. Penrod Schofield. Room 6, Ward School Nomber Seventh."
The first page of this book was purely academic; but the study of
English undefiled terminated with a slight jar at the top of the second:
"Nor must an adverb be used to modif----"
Immediately followed:
"HARoLD RAMoREZ THE RoADAGENT
OR WiLD LiFE AMoNG THE
ROCKY MTS."
And the subsequent entries in the book appeared to have little concern
with Room 6, Ward School Nomber Seventh.
CHAPTER II ROMANCE
The author of "Harold Ramorez," etc., lit one of the hayseed cigarettes,
seated himself comfortably, with his back against the wall and his
right shoulder just under the lantern, elevated his knees to support the
note-book, turned to a blank page, and wrote, slowly and earnestly:
"CHAPITER THE SIXTH"
He took a knife from his pocket, and, broodingly, his eyes upon the
inward embryos of vision, sharpened his pencil. After that, he extended
a foot and meditatively rubbed Duke's back with the side of his shoe.
Creation, with Penrod, did not leap, full-armed, from the brain; but
finally he began to produce. He wrote very slowly at first, and then
with increasing rapidity; faster and faster, gathering momentum and
growing more and more fevered as he sped, till at last the true fire
came, without which no lamp of real literature may be made to burn.
Mr. Wilson reched for his gun but our hero had him covred and soon said
Well I guess you don't come any of that on me my freind.
Well what makes you so sure about it sneered the other bitting his lip
so savageley that the blood ran. You are nothing but a common Roadagent
any way and I do not propose to be bafled by such, Ramorez laughed at
this and kep Mr. Wilson covred by his ottomatick.
Soon the two men were struggling together in the death-roes but soon Mr
Wilson got him bound and gaged his mouth and went away for awhile leavin
our hero, it was dark and he writhd at his bonds writhing on the floor
wile the rats came out of their holes and bit him and vernim got all
over him from the floor of that helish spot but soon he managed to push
the gag out of his mouth with the end of his toungeu and got all his
bonds off.
Soon Mr Wilson came back to tant him with his helpless condition flowed
by his gang of detectives and they said Oh look at Ramorez sneering at
his plight and tanted him with his helpless condition because Ramorez
had put the bonds back sos he would look the same but could throw them
off him when he wanted to Just look at him now sneered they. To hear him
talk you would thought he was hot stuff and they said Look at him now,
him that was going to do so much, Oh I would not like to be in his fix.
Soon Harold got mad at this and jumped up with blasing eyes throwin off
his bonds like they were air Ha Ha sneered he I guess you better not
talk so much next time. Soon there flowed another awful struggle and
siezin his ottomatick back from Mr Wilson he shot two of the detectives
through the heart Bing Bing went the ottomatick and two more went to
meet their Maker only two detectives left now and so he stabbed one and
the scondrel went to meet his Maker for now our hero was fighting
for his very life. It was dark in there now for night had falen and a
terrible view met the eye Blood was just all over everything and the
rats were eatin the dead men.
Soon our hero manged to get his back to the wall for he was fighting
for his very life now and shot Mr Wilson through the abodmen Oh said Mr
Wilson you---- ---- ---- (The dashes are Penrod's.)
Mr Wilson stagerd back vile oaths soilin his lips for he was in pain Why
you---- ----you sneered he I will get you yet---- ----you Harold Ramorez
The remainin scondrel had an ax which he came near our heros head with
but missed him and ramand stuck in the wall Our heros amunition was
exhaused what was he to do, the remanin scondrel would soon get his ax
lose so our hero sprung forward and bit him till his teeth met in the
flech for now our hero was fighting for his very life. At this the
remanin scondrel also cursed and swore vile oaths. Oh sneered he----
---- ----you Harold Ramorez what did you bite me for Yes sneered Mr
Wilson also and he has shot me in the abdomen too the----
Soon they were both cursin and reviln him together Why you---- ---- ----
---- ----sneered they what did you want to injure us for----you Harold
Ramorez you have not got any sence and you think you are so much but you
are no better than anybody else and you are a---- ---- ---- ---- ----
----
Soon our hero could stand this no longer. If you could learn to act like
gentlmen said he I would not do any more to you now and your low vile
exppresions have not got any effect on me only to injure your own self
when you go to meet your Maker Oh I guess you have had enogh for one day
and I think you have learned a lesson and will not soon atemp to beard
Harold Ramorez again so with a tantig laugh he cooly lit a cigarrete and
takin the keys of the cell from Mr Wilson poket went on out.
Soon Mr Wilson and the wonded detective manged to bind up their wonds
and got up off the floor---- ----it I will have that dasstads life now
sneered they if we have to swing for it---- ---- ---- ----him he shall
not eccape us again the low down---- ---- ---- ---- ----
Chapiter seventh
A mule train of heavily laden burros laden with gold from the mines was
to be seen wondering among the highest clifts and gorgs of the Rocky Mts
and a tall man with a long silken mustash and a cartigde belt could be
heard cursin vile oaths because he well knew this was the lair of Harold
Ramorez Why---- ---- ----you you---- ---- ---- ---- mules you sneered he
because the poor mules were not able to go any quicker ---- you I will
show you Why---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----it sneered he his oaths growing
viler and viler I will whip you---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----you
sos you will not be able to walk for a week---- ----you you mean old----
---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----mules you
Scarcly had the vile words left his lips when----
"PENROD!"
It was his mother's voice, calling from the back porch.
Simultaneously, the noon whistles began to blow, far and near; and the
romancer in the sawdust-box, summoned prosaically from steep mountain
passes above the clouds, paused with stubby pencil halfway from lip to
knee. His eyes were shining: there was a rapt sweetness in his gaze. As
he wrote, his burden had grown lighter; thoughts of Mrs. Lora Rewbush
had almost left him; and in particular as he recounted (even by
the chaste dash) the annoyed expressions of Mr. Wilson, the wounded
detective, and the silken moustached mule-driver, he had felt
mysteriously relieved concerning the Child Sir Lancelot. Altogether he
looked a better and a brighter boy.
"Pen-ROD!"
The rapt look faded slowly. He sighed, but moved not.
"Penrod! We're having lunch early just on your account, so you'll have
plenty of time to be dressed for the pageant. Hurry!"
There was silence in Penrod's aerie.
"PEN-rod!"
Mrs. Schofields voice sounded nearer, indicating a threatened approach.
Penrod bestirred himself: he blew out the lantern, and shouted
plaintively:
"Well, ain't I coming fast's I can?"
"Do hurry," returned the voice, withdrawing; and the kitchen door could
be heard to close.
Languidly, Penrod proceeded to set his house in order.
Replacing his manuscript and pencil in the cigar-box, he carefully
buried the box in the sawdust, put the lantern and oil-can back in the
soap-box, adjusted the elevator for the reception of Duke, and, in no
uncertain tone, invited the devoted animal to enter.
Duke stretched himself amiably, affecting not to hear; and when this
pretence became so obvious that even a dog could keep it up no longer,
sat down in a corner, facing it, his back to his master, and his head
perpendicular, nose upward, supported by the convergence of the two
walls. This, from a dog, is the last word, the comble of the immutable.
Penrod commanded, stormed, tried gentleness; persuaded with honeyed
words and pictured rewards. Duke's eyes looked backward; otherwise
he moved not. Time elapsed. Penrod stooped to flattery, finally to
insincere caresses; then, losing patience spouted sudden threats.
Duke remained immovable, frozen fast to his great gesture of implacable
despair.
A footstep sounded on the threshold of the store-room.
"Penrod, come down from that box this instant!"
"Ma'am?"
"Are you up in that sawdust-box again?" As Mrs. Schofield had just heard
her son's voice issue from the box, and also, as she knew he was there
anyhow, her question must have been put for oratorical purposes only.
"Because if you are," she continued promptly, "I'm going to ask your
papa not to let you play there any----"
Penrod's forehead, his eyes, the tops of his ears, and most of his hair,
became visible to her at the top of the box. "I ain't 'playing!'" he
said indignantly.
"Well, what ARE you doing?"
"Just coming down," he replied, in a grieved but patient tone.
"Then why don't you COME?"
"I got Duke here. I got to get him DOWN, haven't I? You don't suppose I
want to leave a poor dog in here to starve, do you?"
"Well, hand him down over the side to me. Let me----"
"I'll get him down all right," said Penrod. "I got him up here, and I
guess I can get him down!"
"Well then, DO it!"
"I will if you'll let me alone. If you'll go on back to the house I
promise to be there inside of two minutes. Honest!"
He put extreme urgency into this, and his mother turned toward the
house. "If you're not there in two minutes----"
"I will be!"
After her departure, Penrod expended some finalities of eloquence upon
Duke, then disgustedly gathered him up in his arms, dumped him into the
basket and, shouting sternly, "All in for the ground floor--step back
there, madam--all ready, Jim!" lowered dog and basket to the floor
of the storeroom. Duke sprang out in tumultuous relief, and bestowed
frantic affection upon his master as the latter slid down from the box.
Penrod dusted himself sketchily, experiencing a sense of satisfaction,
dulled by the overhanging afternoon, perhaps, but perceptible: he had
the feeling of one who has been true to a cause. The operation of the
elevator was unsinful and, save for the shock to Duke's nervous system,
it was harmless; but Penrod could not possibly have brought himself to
exhibit it in the presence of his mother or any other grown person in
the world. The reasons for secrecy were undefined; at least, Penrod did
not define them.
CHAPTER III THE COSTUME
After lunch his mother and his sister Margaret, a pretty girl of
nineteen, dressed him for the sacrifice. They stood him near his
mother's bedroom window and did what they would to him.
During the earlier anguishes of the process he was mute, exceeding the
pathos of the stricken calf in the shambles; but a student of eyes
might have perceived in his soul the premonitory symptoms of a sinister
uprising. At a rehearsal (in citizens' clothes) attended by mothers and
grown-up sisters, Mrs. Lora Rewbush had announced that she wished the
costuming to be "as medieval and artistic as possible." Otherwise, and
as to details, she said, she would leave the costumes entirely to the
good taste of the children's parents. Mrs. Schofield and Margaret were
no archeologists, but they knew that their taste was as good as that of
other mothers and sisters concerned; so with perfect confidence they had
planned and executed a costume for Penrod; and the only misgiving they
felt was connected with the tractability of the Child Sir Lancelot
himself.
Stripped to his underwear, he had been made to wash himself vehemently;
then they began by shrouding his legs in a pair of silk stockings, once
blue but now mostly whitish. Upon Penrod they visibly surpassed mere
ampleness; but they were long, and it required only a rather loose
imagination to assume that they were tights.
The upper part of his body was next concealed from view by a garment
so peculiar that its description becomes difficult. In 1886, Mrs.
Schofield, then unmarried, had worn at her "coming-out party" a dress of
vivid salmon silk which had been remodelled after her marriage to accord
with various epochs of fashion until a final, unskilful campaign at a
dye-house had left it in a condition certain to attract much attention
to the wearer. Mrs. Schofield had considered giving it to Della, the
cook; but had decided not to do so, because you never could tell how
Della was going to take things, and cooks were scarce.
It may have been the word "medieval" (in Mrs. Lora Rewbush's rich
phrase) which had inspired the idea for a last conspicuous usefulness;
at all events, the bodice of that once salmon dress, somewhat modified
and moderated, now took a position, for its farewell appearance in
society, upon the back, breast, and arms of the Child Sir Lancelot.
The area thus costumed ceased at the waist, leaving a Jaeger-like and
unmedieval gap thence to the tops of the stockings. The inventive genius
of woman triumphantly bridged it, but in a manner which imposes upon
history almost insuperable delicacies of narration. Penrod's father
was an old-fashioned man: the twentieth century had failed to shake his
faith in red flannel for cold weather; and it was while Mrs. Schofield
was putting away her husband's winter underwear that she perceived how
hopelessly one of the elder specimens had dwindled; and simultaneously
she received the inspiration which resulted in a pair of trunks for the
Child Sir Lancelot, and added an earnest bit of colour, as well as a
genuine touch of the Middle Ages, to his costume. Reversed, fore to aft,
with the greater part of the legs cut off, and strips of silver braid
covering the seams, this garment, she felt, was not traceable to its
original source.
When it had been placed upon Penrod, the stockings were attached to it
by a system of safety-pins, not very perceptible at a distance. Next,
after being severely warned against stooping, Penrod got his feet into
the slippers he wore to dancing-school--"patent-leather pumps" now
decorated with large pink rosettes.
"If I can't stoop," he began, smolderingly, "I'd like to know how'm I
goin' to kneel in the pag----"
"You must MANAGE!" This, uttered through pins, was evidently thought to
be sufficient.
They fastened some ruching about his slender neck, pinned ribbons at
random all over him, and then Margaret thickly powdered his hair.
"Oh, yes, that's all right," she said, replying to a question put by her
mother. "They always powdered their hair in Colonial times."
"It doesn't seem right to me--exactly," objected Mrs. Schofield, gently.
"Sir Lancelot must have been ever so long before Colonial times."
"That doesn't matter," Margaret reassured her. "Nobody'll know the
difference--Mrs. Lora Rewbush least of all. I don't think she knows a
thing about it, though, of course, she does write splendidly and the
words of the pageant are just beautiful. Stand still, Penrod!" (The
author of "Harold Ramorez" had moved convulsively.) "Besides, powdered
hair's always becoming. Look at him. You'd hardly know it was Penrod!"
The pride and admiration with which she pronounced this undeniable truth
might have been thought tactless, but Penrod, not analytical, found his
spirits somewhat elevated. No mirror was in his range of vision and,
though he had submitted to cursory measurements of his person a week
earlier, he had no previous acquaintance with the costume. He began
to form a not unpleasing mental picture of his appearance, something
somewhere between the portraits of George Washington and a vivid memory
of Miss Julia Marlowe at a matinee of "Twelfth Night."
He was additionally cheered by a sword which had been borrowed from a
neighbor, who was a Knight of Pythias. Finally there was a mantle, an
old golf cape of Margaret's. Fluffy polka-dots of white cotton had been
sewed to it generously; also it was ornamented with a large cross of
red flannel, suggested by the picture of a Crusader in a newspaper
advertisement. The mantle was fastened to Penrod's shoulder (that is,
to the shoulder of Mrs. Schofield's ex-bodice) by means of large
safety-pins, and arranged to hang down behind him, touching his heels,
but obscuring nowise the glory of his facade. Then, at last, he was
allowed to step before a mirror.
It was a full-length glass, and the worst immediately happened. It might
have been a little less violent, perhaps, if Penrod's expectations had
not been so richly and poetically idealized; but as things were, the
revolt was volcanic.
Victor Hugo's account of the fight with the devil-fish, in "Toilers
of the Sea," encourages a belief that, had Hugo lived and increased in
power, he might have been equal to a proper recital of the half
hour which followed Penrod's first sight of himself as the Child Sir
Lancelot. But Mr. Wilson himself, dastard but eloquent foe of Harold
Ramorez, could not have expressed, with all the vile dashes at
his command, the sentiments which animated Penrod's bosom when the
instantaneous and unalterable conviction descended upon him that he was
intended by his loved ones to make a public spectacle of himself in his
sister's stockings and part of an old dress of his mother's.
To him these familiar things were not disguised at all; there seemed no
possibility that the whole world would not know them at a glance. The
stockings were worse than the bodice. He had been assured that these
could not be recognized, but, seeing them in the mirror, he was sure
that no human eye could fail at first glance to detect the difference
between himself and the former purposes of these stockings. Fold,
wrinkle, and void shrieked their history with a hundred tongues,
invoking earthquake, eclipse, and blue ruin. The frantic youth's final
submission was obtained only after a painful telephonic conversation
between himself and his father, the latter having been called up and
upon, by the exhausted Mrs. Schofield, to subjugate his offspring by
wire.
The two ladies made all possible haste, after this, to deliver
Penrod into the hands of Mrs. Lora Rewbush; nevertheless, they found
opportunity to exchange earnest congratulations upon his not having
recognized the humble but serviceable paternal garment now brilliant
about the Lancelotish middle. Altogether, they felt that the costume
was a success. Penrod looked like nothing ever remotely imagined by
Sir Thomas Malory or Alfred Tennyson;--for that matter, he looked like
nothing ever before seen on earth; but as Mrs. Schofield and Margaret
took their places in the audience at the Women's Arts and Guild Hall,
the anxiety they felt concerning Penrod's elocutionary and gesticular
powers, so soon to be put to public test, was pleasantly tempered by
their satisfaction that, owing to their efforts, his outward appearance
would be a credit to the family.
CHAPTER IV DESPERATION
The Child Sir Lancelot found himself in a large anteroom behind the
stage--a room crowded with excited children, all about equally medieval
and artistic. Penrod was less conspicuous than he thought himself, but
he was so preoccupied with his own shame, steeling his nerves to meet
the first inevitable taunting reference to his sister's stockings,
that he failed to perceive there were others present in much of his own
unmanned condition. Retiring to a corner, immediately upon his entrance,
he managed to unfasten the mantle at the shoulders, and, drawing it
round him, pinned it again at his throat so that it concealed the rest
of his costume. This permitted a temporary relief, but increased his
horror of the moment when, in pursuance of the action of the "pageant,"
the sheltering garment must be cast aside.
Some of the other child knights were also keeping their mantles close
about them. A few of the envied opulent swung brilliant fabrics
from their shoulders, airily, showing off hired splendours from a
professional costumer's stock, while one or two were insulting examples
of parental indulgence, particularly little Maurice Levy, the Child Sir
Galahad. This shrinking person went clamorously about, making it known
everywhere that the best tailor in town had been dazzled by a great
sum into constructing his costume. It consisted of blue velvet
knickerbockers, a white satin waistcoat, and a beautifully cut little
swallow-tailed coat with pearl buttons. The medieval and artistic
triumph was completed by a mantle of yellow velvet, and little white
boots, sporting gold tassels.
All this radiance paused in a brilliant career and addressed the Child
Sir Lancelot, gathering an immediately formed semicircular audience of
little girls. Woman was ever the trailer of magnificence.
"What YOU got on?" inquired Mr. Levy, after dispensing information.
"What you got on under that ole golf cape?"
Penrod looked upon him coldly. At other times his questioner would have
approached him with defer | 1,737.277167 |
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Produced by David Widger
DON QUIXOTE
Volume II.
Part 34.
by Miguel de Cervantes
Translated by John Ormsby
CHAPTER LIV.
WHICH DEALS WITH MATTERS RELATING TO THIS HISTORY AND NO OTHER
The duke and duchess resolved that the challenge Don Quixote had, for the
reason already mentioned, given their vassal, should be proceeded with;
and as the young man was in Flanders, whither he had fled to escape
having Dona Rodriguez for a mother-in-law, they arranged to substitute
for him a Gascon lacquey, named Tosilos, first of all carefully
instructing him in all he had to do. Two days later the duke told Don
Quixote that in four days from that time his opponent would present
himself on the field of battle armed as a knight, and would maintain that
the damsel lied by half a beard, nay a whole beard, if she affirmed that
he had given her a promise of marriage. Don Quixote was greatly pleased
at the news, and promised himself to do wonders in the lists, and
reckoned it rare good fortune that an opportunity should have offered for
letting his noble hosts see what the might of his strong arm was capable
of; and so in high spirits and satisfaction he awaited the expiration of
the four days, which measured by his impatience seemed spinning
themselves out into four hundred ages. Let us leave them to pass as we do
other things, and go and bear Sancho company, as mounted on Dapple, half
glad, half sad, he paced along on his road to join his master, in whose
society he was happier than in being governor of all the islands in the
world. Well then, it so happened that before he had gone a great way from
the island of his government (and whether it was island, city, town, or
village that he governed he never troubled himself to inquire) he saw
coming along the road he was travelling six pilgrims with staves,
foreigners of that sort that beg for alms singing; who as they drew near
arranged themselves in a line and lifting up their voices all together
began to sing in their own language something that Sancho could not with
the exception of one word which sounded plainly "alms," from which he
gathered that it was alms they asked for in their song; and being, as
Cide Hamete says, remarkably charitable, he took out of his alforias the
half loaf and half cheese he had been provided with, and gave them to
them, explaining to them by signs that he had nothing else to give them.
They received them very gladly, but exclaimed, "Geld! Geld!"
"I don't understand what you want of me, good people," said Sancho.
On this one of them took a purse out of his bosom and showed it to
Sancho, by which he comprehended they were asking for money, and putting
his thumb to his throat and spreading his hand upwards he gave them to
understand that he had not the sign of a coin about him, and urging
Dapple forward he broke through them. But as he was passing, one of them
who had been examining him very closely rushed towards him, and flinging
his arms round him exclaimed in a loud voice and good Spanish, "God bless
me! What's this I see? Is it possible that I hold in my arms my dear
friend, my good neighbour Sancho Panza? But there's no doubt about it,
for I'm not asleep, nor am I drunk just now."
Sancho was surprised to hear himself called by his name and find himself
embraced by a foreign pilgrim, and after regarding him steadily without
speaking he was still unable to recognise him; but the pilgrim perceiving
his perplexity cried, "What! and is it possible, Sancho Panza, that thou
dost not know thy neighbour Ricote, the Morisco shopkeeper of thy
village?"
Sancho upon this looking at him more carefully began to recall his
features, and at last recognised him perfectly, and without getting off
the ass threw his arms round his neck saying, "Who the devil could have
known thee, Ricote, in this mummer's dress thou art in? Tell me, who bas
frenchified thee, and how dost thou dare to return to Spain, where if
they catch thee and recognise thee it will go hard enough with thee?"
"If thou dost not betray me, Sancho," said the pilgrim, "I am safe; for
in this dress no one will recognise me; but let us turn aside out of the
road into that grove there where my comrades are going to eat and rest,
and thou shalt eat with them there, for they are very good fellows; I'll
have time enough to tell thee then all that has happened me since I left
our village in obedience to his Majesty's edict that threatened such
severities against the unfortunate people of my nation, as thou hast
heard."
Sancho complied, and Ricote having spoken to the other pilgrims they
withdrew to the grove they saw, turning a considerable distance out of
the road. They threw down their staves, took off their pilgrim's cloaks
and remained in their under-clothing; they were all good-looking young
fellows, except Ricote, who was a man somewhat advanced in years. They
carried alforjas all of them, and all apparently well filled, at least
with things provocative of thirst, such as would summon it from two
leagues off. They stretched themselves on the ground, and making a
tablecloth of the grass they spread upon it bread, salt, knives, walnut,
scraps of cheese, and well-picked ham-bones which if they were past
gnawing were not past sucking. They also put down a black dainty called,
they say, caviar, and made of the eggs of fish, a great thirst-wakener.
Nor was there any lack of olives, dry, it is true, and without any
seasoning, but for all that toothsome and pleasant. But what made the
best show in the field of the banquet was half a dozen botas of wine, for
each of them produced his own from his alforjas; even the good Ricote,
who from a Morisco had transformed himself into a German or Dutchman,
took out his, which in size might have vied with the five others. They
then began to eat with very great relish and very leisurely, making the
most of each morsel--very small ones of everything--they took up on the
point of the knife; and then all at the same moment raised their arms and
botas aloft, the mouths placed in their mouths, and all eyes fixed on
heaven just as if they were taking aim at it; and in this attitude they
remained ever so long, wagging their heads from side to side as if in
acknowledgment of the pleasure they were enjoying while they decanted the
bowels of the bottles into their own stomachs.
Sancho beheld all, "and nothing gave him pain;" so far from that, acting
on the proverb he knew so well, "when thou art at Rome do as thou seest,"
he asked Ricote for his bota and took aim like the rest of them, and with
not less enjoyment. Four times did the botas bear being uplifted, but the
fifth it was all in vain, for they were drier and more sapless than a
rush by that time, which made the jollity that had been kept up so far
begin to flag.
Every now and then some one of them would grasp Sancho's right hand in
his own saying, "Espanoli y Tudesqui tuto uno: bon compano;" and Sancho
would answer, "Bon compano, jur a Di!" and then go off into a fit of
laughter that lasted an hour, without a thought for the moment of
anything that had befallen him in his government; for cares have very
little sway over us while we are eating and drinking. At length, the wine
having come to an end with them, drowsiness began to come over them, and
they dropped asleep on their very table and tablecloth. Ricote and Sancho
alone remained awake, for they had eaten more and drunk less, and Ricote
drawing Sancho aside, they seated themselves at the foot of a beech,
leaving the pilgrims buried in sweet sleep; and without once falling into
his own Morisco tongue Ricote spoke as follows in pure Castilian:
"Thou knowest well, neighbour and friend Sancho Panza, how the
proclamation or edict his Majesty commanded to be issued against those of
my nation filled us all with terror and dismay; me at least it did,
insomuch that I think before the time granted us for | 1,737.375421 |
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E-text prepared by Chris Curnow, Chris Jordan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive (http://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this file
which includes the original more than 250 illustrations.
See 43574-h.htm or 43574-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43574/43574-h/43574-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43574/43574-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/carpentrywoodwor00fost
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
[sqrt] represents the square root symbol.
CARPENTRY AND WOODWORK
* * * * * *
THE CHILDREN'S LIBRARY OF WORK AND PLAY
CARPENTRY AND WOODWORK
By Edwin W. Foster
ELECTRICITY AND ITS EVERYDAY USES
By John F. Woodhull, Ph.D.
GARDENING AND FARMING
By Ellen Eddy Shaw
HOME DECORATION
By Charles Franklin Warner, Sc.D.
HOUSEKEEPING
By Elizabeth Hale Gilman
MECHANICS, INDOORS AND OUT
By Fred T. Hodgson
NEEDLECRAFT
By Effie Archer Archer
OUTDOOR SPORTS, AND GAMES
By Claude H. Miller, Ph.B.
OUTDOOR WORK
By Mary Rogers Miller
WORKING IN METALS
By Charles Conrad Sleffel
* * * * * *
[Illustration: Photograph by Helen W. Cooke. The Shop--the Most
Interesting Place in the World on a Stormy Day]
The Library of Work and Play
CARPENTRY AND WOODWORK
by
EDWIN W. FOSTER
[Illustration]
Garden City New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1911
All Rights Reserved, Including That of Translation
into Foreign Languages, Including the Scandinavian
Copyright, 1911, by Doubleday, Page & Company
PREFACE
There is a period in a boy's life, roughly speaking between the ages of
ten and sixteen, when his interests and energy turn in the direction
of making things. It may be called the creative period, and with many
of us it ends nearer sixty than sixteen. At one time it will take the
form of a mania for building boats; again it may be automobiles or
aeroplanes.
The | 1,737.379048 |
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Produced by Larry B. Harrison, ellinora, Bryan Ness and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
MIDNIGHT SUNBEAMS.
[Illustration]
MIDNIGHT SUNBEAMS
OR
BITS OF TRAVEL THROUGH THE LAND
OF THE NORSEMAN
BY
_EDWIN COOLIDGE KIMBALL_
BOSTON
CUPPLES AND HURD, PUBLISHERS
To
WALTER H. CAMP,
In memory of years of friendship, this book is affectionately
dedicated.
PREFACE.
The following sketches of a journey in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark
are given to the public in the hope that their perusal will furnish
information concerning the people, and attractions, of countries which
are being visited by Americans more and more each succeeding year.
While they may impart some useful knowledge to intending travellers
over the same ground, it is hoped as well that they will furnish
entertainment to those who travel only through books.
The memories of the days passed in the North are so sunny and
delightful, that I wish others to enjoy them with me; and if the reader
receives a clear impression of the novel experiences and thorough
pleasure attending a journey through Norseland, and partakes, if only
in a limited degree, of my enthusiasm over the character of the people
and the imposing grandeurs of nature, the object of this book will be
accomplished.
E. C. K.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
_COPENHAGEN AND ENVIRONS._
PAGE
LÜBECK—JOURNEY TO COPENHAGEN—HERR RENTIER—BERTEL
THORVALDSEN—MUSEUMS—AN EVENING AT THE TIVOLI—SOUVENIRS OF
HAMLET—A FAMOUS MOTHER-IN-LAW—THE FREDERIKSBORG PALACE—AN
AIMLESS WIDOW 15
CHAPTER II.
_ACROSS SWEDEN BY THE GOTHA CANAL._
A DAY AT GOTHENBURG—THE GOTHA CANAL—LIFE ON THE
“VENUS”—KEEPING OUR MEAL ACCOUNTS—THE TROLLHÄTTA
FALLS—PASTORAL SCENERY—SWEDISH BOARDING-SCHOOL
GIRLS—LAKE MÄLAR 41
CHAPTER III.
_IN AND ABOUT STOCKHOLM._
THE ISLANDS AND FEATURES OF THE CITY—THE WESTMINSTER ABBEY
OF SWEDEN—INTERESTING MUSEUMS—LEADING CITY FOR
TELEPHONES—SCENES AT EVENING CONCERTS—THE MULTITUDE OF
EXCURSIONS—DOWN THE BALTIC TO VAXHOLM—ROYAL CASTLES ON THE
LAKE—UNIVERSITY TOWN OF UPSALA 57
CHAPTER IV.
_RAILWAY JOURNEY TO THRONDHJEM._
SWEDISH RAILWAYS AND MEAL STATIONS—AMONG THE SNOW
BANKS—THE DESCENT TO THRONDHJEM—THE SHRINE OF ST.
OLAF—NORTH CAPE STEAMERS 75
CHAPTER V.
_THE NORWEGIAN NORDLAND._
THE EVER-PRESENT SALMON—A CHEESE EXHIBITION—THE BLESSED
ISLAND BELT—TORGHÄTTA AND THE SEVEN SISTERS—SCENES WITHIN
THE ARCTIC CIRCLE—VISIT TO THE SVARTISEN GL | 1,737.380209 |
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Produced by Josep Cols Canals, Charlie Howard, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
[Illustration: Girl of the Harem.]
CONSTANTINOPLE.
BY
EDMONDO DE AMICIS,
AUTHOR OF “HOLLAND,” “SPAIN AND THE SPANIARDS,” ETC.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FIFTEENTH ITALIAN EDITION BY
MARIA HORNOR LANSDALE.
ILLUSTRATED.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
1896.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
TURKISH WOMEN 7
YANGHEN VAHR 71
THE WALLS 101
THE OLD SERAGLIO 141
THE LAST DAYS 213
THE TURKS 247
THE BOSPHORUS 269
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
VOLUME II.
Photogravures by W. H. GILBO.
PAGE
GIRL OF THE HAREM _Frontispiece._
TURKISH LADY 11
LEMONADE-SELLER 19
AN OUTING OF THE WOMEN OF THE HAREM 21
DANCING GIRLS 45
TURKISH FIREMEN 79
WATER-SELLER 85
AQUEDUCT OF VALENS 96
MOSQUE OF THE CHORA 110
DERVISH 120
INTERIOR VIEW OF THE SEVEN TOWERS 127
VIEW OF INTERIOR OF THE SEVEN TOWERS 133
PANORAMA OF THE SERAGLIO 147
A TURKISH WOMAN 184
GATEWAY OF THE IMPERIAL PALACE AT THE SWEET WATERS OF ASIA 194
PANORAMA OF MOSQUE OF BAYEZID 218
ANCIENT FOUNTAIN AT SKUTARI 223
CEMETERY OF EYÛB AND VIEW OF THE GOLDEN HORN 229
TÜRBEH OF THE MOSQUE SHAZADEH 235
TOMBS OF MAHMÛD II. AND OF HIS SON ABDUL-AZIZ 237
COFFEE-MAKERS 245
BOSPHORUS: VIEW OF SHORES OF ASIA AND EUROPE 271
MOSQUE OF VALIDÊH AT OK SERAI 275
SWEET WATERS OF EUROPE 280
ENTRANCE TO THE BLACK SEA 293
TURKISH WOMEN.
On arriving in Constantinople for the first time, one is much
surprised, after all he has heard of the thraldom of the Turkish women,
to see them, everywhere and at all hours of the day, coming and going
with apparently the same freedom as the women of any other city in
Europe. It seems as though all these imprisoned swallows must that
very day have been given their liberty, and a new era of freedom and
independence dawned for the fair sex among the Mussulmans. At first
the impression is very odd: one is in doubt whether all these females
enveloped in white veils and long, variously- mantles are nuns
or masqueraders or lunatics; and, as you never by any chance see one of
them accompanied by a man, they seem not to belong to any one, being
all, apparently, young girls or widows or inmates of some huge asylum
for the “unhappily married.” It is some time before you can realize
that all these Turkish men and women, who meet and jostle one another
in the streets without ever walking along together or interchanging
so much as a nod or look, can have anything in common, and you
constantly find yourself stopping to watch them and reflect upon this
singular custom. And these strange figures, you say to yourself--these
actually are those “subduers of hearts,” “fountains of peace,”
“little rose-leaves,” “early grapes,” “morning rays,” “life-givers”,
“sunrises”, and “shining moons” about whom thousands of poets have
written and sung? These are the “hanums” and mysterious slaves, reading
of whom in Victor Hugo’s ballads at the age of twenty, in a shady
garden, we imagined to be like beings of another world? These the
unfortunate beauties, hidden behind gratings, watched over by eunuchs,
separated from the world, who, passing like shadows across the face of
the earth, emit one cry of pleasure and one of sorrow? Let us see how
much truth lies at the bottom of all this poetry.
* * * * *
First of all, then, the face of the Turkish woman is no longer
a mystery, and owing to this fact alone much of the poetry that
surrounded her has disappeared. That jealous veil which, according to
the Koran, was to be at once the “seal of her virtue and a safeguard
against the world,” has become a mere form. Every one knows how the
_yashmac_ is arranged. There are two large white veils--one, bound
around the head like a bandage, covers the forehead down to the
eyebrows, is knotted just above the nape of the neck, and falls over
the back in two long ends reaching to the waist; the other covers
all the lower part of the face and is carried back and tied in with the
first in such a manner as to give the effect of a single veil. These
veils, however, which are supposed to be of muslin and adjusted so as
to leave nothing visible but the eyes and the upper part of the cheeks,
have worn away to something very thin and flimsy indeed, while they
have drawn farther and farther apart, until now not only most of the
face, but the ears, neck, | 1,737.381083 |
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Produced by Charles Bowen from page scans provided by
Google Books (the New York Public Library)
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: Google Books
https://books.google.com/books?id=IgMiAAAAMAAJ
(the New York Public Library)
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
THE FATE:
A TALE OF STIRRING TIMES.
BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ.,
AUTHOR OF
"THE COMMISSIONER," "HENRY SMEATON," "THE OLD OAK CHEST," "THE
WOODMAN," "GOWRIE," "RUSSELL," "THE FORGERY," "BEAUCHAMP,"
"RICHELIEU," "DARK SCENES OF HISTORY," &c., &c.
NEW YORK:
HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,
PEARL STREET, FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1864.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-one, by
GEORGE P. R. JAMES,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.
PREFACE.
Change of scene I believe to be as invigorating to the mind as change
of air is to the body, refreshing the weary and exhausted powers, and
affording a stimulus which prompts to activity of thought. To a writer
of fiction, especially, the change may be necessary, not only on
account of the benefits to be derived by his own mind from the
invigorating effects of a new atmosphere, but also on account of the
fresh thoughts suggested by the different circumstances in which he is
placed.
We are curiously-constructed creatures, not unlike the mere brute
creation in many of our propensities; and the old adage, that "custom
is a second nature," is quite as applicable to the mind as to the
body. If we ride a horse along a road to which he is accustomed, he
will generally make a little struggle to stop at a house where his
master has been in the habit of calling, or to turn up a by-lane
through which he has frequently gone. The mind, too, especially of an
author, has its houses of call and by-lanes in plenty; and, so long as
it is in familiar scenes, it will have a strong hankering for its
accustomed roads and pleasant halting-places. Every object around us
is a sort of bough from which we gather our ideas; and it is very
well, now and then, to pluck the apples of another garden, of a flavor
different from our own.
Whether I have in any degree benefited by the change from one side of
the Atlantic to the other--a change much greater when morally than
when physically considered--it is not for me to say; but I trust that,
at all events, the work which is to follow these pages will not show
that I have in any degree or in any way suffered from my visit to and
residence in America. I have written it with interest in the
characters portrayed and the events detailed; and I humbly
desire--without even venturing to hope--that I may succeed in
communicating some portion of the same interest to my readers.
A good deal of laudatory matter has been written upon the
landscape-painting propensities of the author; and one reviewer,
writing in Blackwood's Magazine, has comprehended and pointed out what
has always been one of that author's especial objects in describing
mere scenes of inanimate nature. In the following pages I have
indulged very little in descriptions of this kind; but here, as every
where else, I have ever endeavored to treat the picture of any
particular place or scene with a reference to man's heart, or mind, or
fate--his thoughts, his feelings, his destiny--and to bring forth, as
it were, the latent sympathies between human and mere material nature.
There is, to my mind, a likeness (a shadowing forth--a symbolism) in
all the infinite variations which we see around us in the external
world, to the changeful ideas, sensations, sentiments--as infinite and
as varied--of the world of human life; and I can not think that the
scenes I have visited | 1,737.381174 |
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Produced by Susan Skinner, Eric Eldred, Charles Franks and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
THE PRECIPICE
Original Russian Title: _OBRYV_
By Ivan Goncharov
TRANSLATED FROM THE ORIGINAL RUSSIAN; TRANSLATOR UNKNOWN
{This text is condensed from the original.}
PREFACE
Ivan Alexandrovich Goncharov (1812-1891) was one of the leading members
of the | 1,737.476956 |
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Produced by Shaun Pinder, Sam W. and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
Old-World Japan
Legends of the Land of the
Gods + + Re-told by Frank
Rinder + With Illustrations
by T. H. Robinson
"The spirit of Japan is as the
fragrance of the wild cherry-blossom
in the dawn of the
rising sun"
London: George Allen
156 Charing Cross Road
1895
Old-World Japan
[Illustration: Publisher's device]
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co.
At the Ballantyne Press
Preface
History and mythology, fact and fable, are closely interwoven in the
texture of Japanese life and thought; indeed, it is within relatively
recent years only that exact comparative criticism has been able, with
some degree of accuracy, to divide the one from the other. The
accounts of the God-period contained in the Kojiki and the
Nihongi--"Records of Ancient Matters" compiled in the eighth century
of the Christian era--profess to outline the events of the vast cycles
of years from the time of Ame-no-mi-naka-nushi-no-kami's birth in the
Plain of High Heaven, "when the earth, young and like unto floating
oil, drifted about medusa-like," to the death of the Empress Suiko,
A.D. 628.
The first six tales in this little volume are founded on some of the
most significant and picturesque incidents of this God-period. The
opening legend gives a brief relation of the birth of several of the
great Shinto deities, of the creation of Japan and of the world, of
the Orpheus-like descent of Izanagi to Hades, and of his subsequent
fight with the demons.
That Chinese civilisation has exercised a profound influence on that
of Japan, cannot be doubted. A scholar of repute has indicated that
evidence of this is to be found even in writings so early as the
Kojiki and the Nihongi. To give a single instance only: the curved
jewels, of which the remarkable necklace of Ama-terasu was made, have
never been found in Japan, whereas the stones are not uncommon in
China.
This is not the place critically to consider the wealth of myth,
legend, fable, and folk-tale to be found scattered throughout Japanese
literature, and represented in Japanese art: suffice it to say, that
to the student and the lover of primitive romance, there are here
vast fields practically unexplored.
The tales contained in this volume have been selected with a view
rather to their beauty and charm of incident and colour, than with the
aim to represent adequately the many-sided subject of Japanese lore.
Moreover, those only have been chosen which are not familiar to the
English-reading public. Several of the classic names of Japan have
been interpolated in the text. It remains to say that, in order not to
weary the reader, it has been found necessary to abbreviate the
many-syllabled Japanese names.
The sources from which I have drawn are too numerous to particularise.
To Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain, whose intimate and scholarly
knowledge of all matters Japanese is well known, my thanks are
especially due, as also the expression of my indebtedness to other
writers in English, from Mr. A. B. Mitford to Mr. Lafcadio Hearn,
whose volumes on "Unfamiliar Japan" appeared last year. The careful
text of Dr. David Brauns, and the studies of F. A. Junker von
Langegg, have also been of great service. The works of numerous French
writers on Japanese art have likewise been consulted with advantage.
FRANK RINDER.
Contents
PAGE
THE BIRTH-TIME OF THE GODS 1
THE SUN-GODDESS 15
THE HEAVENLY MESSENGERS 25
PRINCE RUDDY-PLENTY 35
THE PALACE OF THE OCEAN-BED 45
AUTUMN AND SPRING 57
THE STAR-LOVERS 67
THE ISLAND OF ETERNAL YOUTH 77
RAI-TARO, THE SON OF THE THUNDER-GOD 87
THE SOULS OF THE CHILDREN 97
THE MOON-MAIDEN 103
THE GREAT FIR TREE OF TAKASAGO 113
THE WILLOW OF MUKOCHIMA 121
THE CHILD OF THE FOREST 129
THE VISION OF TSUNU 141
PRINCESS FIRE-FLY 151
THE SPARROW'S WEDDING 161
THE LOVE OF THE SNOW-WHITE FOX 171
NEDZUMI 181
KOMA AND GON 189
List of Illustrations
PAGE
Heading to "The Birth-Time of the Gods" 3
_When he had so said, he plunged his jewelled spear
into the seething mass below_ 5
Heading to "The Sun-Goddess" 17
_Ama-terasu gazed into the mirror, and wondered greatly
when she saw therein a goddess of exceeding beauty_ 21
Heading to "The Heavenly Messengers" 27
_As the Young Prince alighted on the sea-shore, a
beautiful earth-spirit, Princess Under-Shining,
stood before him_ 29
Heading to "Prince Ruddy-Plenty" 37
_But the fair Uzume went fearlessly up to the giant,
and said: "Who is it that thus impedes our descent
from heaven?"_ 39
Heading to "The Palace of the Ocean-Bed" 47
_Suddenly she saw the reflection of Prince Fire-Fade
in the water_ 51
Heading to "Autumn and Spring" 59
_One after the other returned sorrowfully home, for
none found favour in her eyes_ 63
Heading to "The Star Lovers" 69
_The lovers were wont, standing on the banks of the
celestial stream, to waft across it sweet and
tender messages_ 71
Heading to "The Island of Eternal Youth" 79
_Soon he came to its shores, and landed as one in a
dream_ 83
Heading to "Rai-Taro, the Son of the Thunder-God" 89
_The birth of Rai-taro_ 93
Heading to "The Souls of the Children" 99
Heading to "The Moon-Maiden" 105
_At one moment she skimmed the surface of the sea, the
next her tiny feet touched the topmost branches of
the tall pine trees_ 109
Heading to "The Great Fir Tree of Takasago" 115
Heading to "The Willow of Mukochima" 123
Heading to "The Child of the Forest" 131
_Kintaro reigned as prince of the forest, beloved of
every living creature_ 135
Heading to "The Vision of Tsunu" 143
_On a plot of mossy grass beyond the thicket, sat two
maidens of surpassing beauty_ 147
Heading to "Princess Fire-Fly" 153
_But the Princess whispered to herself, "Only he who
loves me more than life shall call me bride"_ 155
Heading to "The Sparrow's Wedding" 163
Heading to "The Love of the Snow-White Fox" 173
_With two mighty strokes, he felled his adversaries to
the ground_ 177
Heading to "Nedzumi" 183
Heading to "Koma and Gon" 191
The Birth-Time of the Gods
[Illustration: _The Birth-Time of the Gods_]
Before time was, and while yet the world was uncreated, chaos reigned.
The earth and the waters, the light and the darkness, the stars and
the firmament, were intermingled in a vapoury liquid. All things were
formless and confused. No creature existed; phantom shapes moved as
clouds on the ruffled surface of a sea. It was the birth-time of the
gods. The first deity sprang from an immense bulrush-bud, which rose,
spear-like, in the midst of the boundless disorder. Other gods were
born, but three generations passed before the actual separation of the
atmosphere from the more solid earth. Finally, where the tip of the
bulrush points upward, the Heavenly Spirits appeared.
From this time their kingdom was divided from the lower world where
chaos still prevailed. To the fourth pair of gods it was given to
create the earth. These two beings were the powerful God of the Air,
Izanagi, and the fair Goddess of the Clouds, Izanami. From them sprang
all life.
Now Izanagi and Izanami wandered on the Floating Bridge of Heaven.
This bridge spanned the gulf between heaven and the unformed world; it
was upheld in the air, and it stood secure. The God of the Air spoke
to the Goddess of the Clouds: "There must needs be a kingdom beneath
us, let us visit it." When he had so said, he plunged his jewelled
spear into the seething mass below. The drops that fell from the point
of the spear congealed and became the island of Onogoro. Thereupon
the Earth-Makers descended, and called up a high mountain peak, on
whose summit could rest one end of the Heavenly Bridge, and around
which the whole world should revolve.
[Illustration: When he had so said, he plunged his jewelled spear
into the seething mass below.]
The Wisdom of the Heavenly Spirit had decreed that Izanagi should be a
man, and Izanami a woman, and these two deities decided to wed and
dwell together on the earth. But, as befitted their august birth, the
wooing must be solemn. Izanagi skirted the base of the mountain to the
right, Izanami turned to the left. When the Goddess of the Clouds saw
the God of the Air approaching afar off, she cried, enraptured: "Ah,
what a fair and lovely youth!" Then Izanagi exclaimed, "Ah, what a
fair and lovely maiden!" As they met, they clasped hands, and the
marriage was accomplished. But, for some unknown cause, the union did
not prove as happy as the god and goddess had hoped. They continued
their work of creation, but Awaji, the island that rose from the deep,
was little more than a barren waste, and their first-born son, Hiruko,
was a weakling. The Earth-Makers placed him in a little boat woven of
reeds, and left him to the mercy of wind and tide.
In deep grief, Izanagi and Izanami recrossed the Floating Bridge, and
came to the place where the Heavenly Spirits hold eternal audience.
From them they learned that Izanagi should have been the first to
speak, when the gods met round the base of the Pillar of Earth. They
must woo and wed anew. On their return to earth, Izanagi, as before,
went to the right, and Izanami to the left of the mountain, but now,
when they met, Izanagi exclaimed: "Ah, what a fair and lovely maiden!"
and Izanami joyfully responded, "Ah, what a fair and lovely youth!"
They clasped hands once more, and their happiness began. They created
the eight large islands of the Kingdom of Japan; first the luxuriant
Island of the Dragon-fly, the great Yamato; then Tsukushi, the
White-Sun Youth; Iyo, the Lovely Princess, and many more. The rocky
islets of the archipelago were formed by the foam of the rolling
breakers as they dashed on the coast-lines of the islands already
created. Thus China and the remaining lands and continents of the
world came into existence.
Now were born to Izanagi and Izanami, the Ruler of the Rivers, the
Deity of the Mountains, and, later, the God of the Trees, and a
goddess to whom was entrusted the care of tender plants and herbs.
Then Izanagi and Izanami said: "We have created the mighty Kingdom of
the Eight Islands, with mountains, rivers, and trees; yet another
divinity there must be, who shall guard and rule this fair world."
As they spoke, a daughter was born to them. Her beauty was dazzling,
and her regal bearing betokened that her throne should be set high
above the clouds. She was none other than Ama-terasu, The
Heaven-Illuminating Spirit. Izanagi and Izanami rejoiced greatly when
they beheld her face, and exclaimed, "Our daughter shall dwell in the
Blue Plain of High Heaven, and from there she shall direct the
universe." So they led her to the summit of the mountain, and over the
wondrous bridge. The Heavenly Spirits were joyful when they saw
Ama-terasu, and said: "You shall mount into the soft blue of the sky,
your brilliancy shall illumine, and your sweet smile shall gladden,
the Eternal Land, and all the world. Fleecy clouds shall be your
handmaidens, and sparkling dewdrops your messengers of peace."
The next | 1,737.478057 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.4591900 | 2,383 | 37 |
Produced by John Bechard
ROBERT FALCONER
By George Macdonald
Note from electronic text creator: I have compiled a glossary with
definitions of most of the Scottish words found in this work and placed
it at the end of this electronic text. This glossary does not belong to
the original work, but is designed to help with the conversations and
references in Broad Scots found in this work. A further explanation of
this list can be found towards the end of this document, preceding the
glossary.
Any notes that I have made in the text (e.g. relating to Greek words in
the text) have been enclosed in {} brackets.
TO
THE MEMORY
OF THE MAN WHO
STANDS HIGHEST IN THE ORATORY
OF MY MEMORY,
ALEXANDER JOHN SCOTT,
I, DARING, PRESUME TO DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
PART I.--HIS BOYHOOD.
CHAPTER I. A RECOLLECTION.
Robert Falconer, school-boy, aged fourteen, thought he had never seen
his father; that is, thought he had no recollection of having ever seen
him. But the moment when my story begins, he had begun to doubt whether
his belief in the matter was correct. And, as he went on thinking, he
became more and more assured that he had seen his father somewhere about
six years before, as near as a thoughtful boy of his age could judge
of the lapse of a period that would form half of that portion of his
existence which was bound into one by the reticulations of memory.
For there dawned upon his mind the vision of one Sunday afternoon. Betty
had gone to church, and he was alone with his grandmother, reading
The Pilgrim's Progress to her, when, just as Christian knocked at the
wicket-gate, a tap came to the street door, and he went to open it.
There he saw a tall, somewhat haggard-looking man, in a shabby
black coat (the vision gradually dawned upon him till it reached the
minuteness of all these particulars), his hat pulled down on to his
projecting eyebrows, and his shoes very dusty, as with a long journey
on foot--it was a hot Sunday, he remembered that--who looked at him very
strangely, and without a word pushed him aside, and went straight into
his grandmother's parlour, shutting the door behind him. He followed,
not doubting that the man must have a right to go there, but questioning
very much his right to shut him out. When he reached the door, however,
he found it bolted; and outside he had to stay all alone, in the
desolate remainder of the house, till Betty came home from church.
He could even recall, as he thought about it, how drearily the afternoon
had passed. First he had opened the street door, and stood in it. There
was nothing alive to be seen, except a sparrow picking up crumbs, and he
would not stop till he was tired of him. The Royal Oak, down the street
to the right, had not even a horseless gig or cart standing before it;
and King Charles, grinning awfully in its branches on the signboard, was
invisible from the distance at which he stood. In at the other end of
the empty street, looked the distant uplands, whose waving corn and
grass were likewise invisible, and beyond them rose one blue truncated
peak in the distance, all of them wearily at rest this weary Sabbath
day. However, there was one thing than which this was better, and that
was being at church, which, to this boy at least, was the very fifth
essence of dreariness.
He closed the door and went into the kitchen. That was nearly as bad.
The kettle was on the fire, to be sure, in anticipation of tea; but the
coals under it were black on the top, and it made only faint efforts,
after immeasurable intervals of silence, to break into a song, giving
a hum like that of a bee a mile off, and then relapsing into hopeless
inactivity. Having just had his dinner, he was not hungry enough to find
any resource in the drawer where the oatcakes lay, and, unfortunately,
the old wooden clock in the corner was going, else there would have been
some amusement in trying to torment it into demonstrations of life, as
he had often done in less desperate circumstances than the present. At
last he went up-stairs to the very room in which he now was, and sat
down upon the floor, just as he was sitting now. He had not even brought
his Pilgrim's Progress with him from his grandmother's room. But,
searching about in all holes and corners, he at length found Klopstock's
Messiah translated into English, and took refuge there till Betty came
home. Nor did he go down till she called him to tea, when, expecting to
join his grandmother and the stranger, he found, on the contrary, that
he was to have his tea with Betty in the kitchen, after which he again
took refuge with Klopstock in the garret, and remained there till it
grew dark, when Betty came in search of him, and put him to bed in the
gable-room, and not in his usual chamber. In the morning, every trace of
the visitor had vanished, even to the thorn stick which he had set down
behind the door as he entered.
All this Robert Falconer saw slowly revive on the palimpsest of his
memory, as he washed it with the vivifying waters of recollection.
CHAPTER II. A VISITOR.
It was a very bare little room in which the boy sat, but it was
his favourite retreat. Behind the door, in a recess, stood an empty
bedstead, without even a mattress upon it. This was the only piece of
furniture in the room, unless some shelves crowded with papers tied up
in bundles, and a cupboard in the wall, likewise filled with papers,
could be called furniture. There was no carpet on the floor, no windows
in the walls. The only light came from the door, and from a small
skylight in the sloping roof, which showed that it was a garret-room.
Nor did much light come from the open door, for there was no window on
the walled stair to which it opened; only opposite the door a few steps
led up into another garret, larger, but with a lower roof, unceiled,
and perforated with two or three holes, the panes of glass filling which
were no larger than the small blue slates which covered the roof: from
these panes a little dim brown light tumbled into the room where the boy
sat on the floor, with his head almost between his knees, thinking.
But there was less light than usual in the room now, though it was
only half-past two o'clock, and the sun would not set for more than
half-an-hour yet; for if Robert had lifted his head and looked up, it
would have been at, not through, the skylight. No sky was to be seen. A
thick covering of snow lay over the glass. A partial thaw, followed
by frost, had fixed it there--a mass of imperfect cells and confused
crystals. It was a cold place to sit in, but the boy had some faculty
for enduring cold when it was the price to be paid for solitude. And
besides, when he fell into one of his thinking moods, he forgot, for
a season, cold and everything else but what he was thinking about--a
faculty for which he was to be envied.
If he had gone down the stair, which described half the turn of a screw
in its descent, and had crossed the landing to which it brought him,
he could have entered another bedroom, called the gable or rather ga'le
room, equally at his service for retirement; but, though carpeted
and comfortably furnished, and having two windows at right angles,
commanding two streets, for it was a corner house, the boy preferred
the garret-room--he could not tell why. Possibly, windows to the streets
were not congenial to the meditations in which, even now, as I have
said, the boy indulged.
These meditations, however, though sometimes as abstruse, if not so
continuous, as those of a metaphysician--for boys are not unfrequently
more given to metaphysics than older people are able or, perhaps,
willing to believe--were not by any means confined to such subjects:
castle-building had its full share in the occupation of those lonely
hours; and for this exercise of the constructive faculty, what he
knew, or rather what he did not know, of his own history gave him
scope enough, nor was his brain slow in supplying him with material
corresponding in quantity to the space afforded. His mother had been
dead for so many years that he had only the vaguest recollections of her
tenderness, and none of her person. All he was told of his father was
that he had gone abroad. His grandmother would never talk about him,
although he was her own son. When the boy ventured to ask a question
about where he was, or when he would return, she always replied--'Bairns
suld haud their tongues.' Nor would she vouchsafe another answer to any
question that seemed to her from the farthest distance to bear down upon
that subject. 'Bairns maun learn to haud their tongues,' was the sole
variation of which the response admitted. And the boy did learn to hold
his tongue. Perhaps he would have thought less about his father if he
had had brothers or sisters, or even if the nature of his grandmother
had been such as to admit of their relationship being drawn closer--into
personal confidence, or some measure of familiarity. How they stood with
regard to each other will soon appear.
Whether the visions vanished from his brain because of the thickening of
his blood with cold, or he merely acted from one of those undefined and
inexplicable impulses which occasion not a few of our actions, I cannot
tell, but all at once Robert started to his feet and hurried from the
room. At the foot of the garret stair, between it and the door of the
gable-room already mentioned, stood another door at right angles to
both, of the existence of which the boy was scarcely aware, simply
because he had seen it all his life and had never seen it open. Turning
his back on this last door, which he took for a blind one, he went down
a short broad stair, at the foot of which was a window. He then turned
to the left into a long flagged passage or transe, passed the kitchen
door on the one hand, and the double-leaved street door on the other;
but, instead of going into the parlour, the door of which closed the
transe, he stopped at the passage-window on the right, and there stood
looking out | 1,737.47923 |
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Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Tony Towers and PG Distributed Proofreaders
THE EUROPEAN ANARCHY
By G. Lowes Dickinson
1916
CONTENTS
1. INTRODUCTION
Europe since the Fifteenth Century--Machiavellianism--Empire and the
Balance of Power
2. THE TRIPLE ALLIANCE AND THE ENTENTE
Belgian Dispatches of 1905-14.
3. GREAT BRITAIN
The Policy of Great Britain--Essentially an Overseas Power
4. FRANCE
The Policy of France since 1870--Peace and Imperialism--Conflicting
Elements
5. RUSSIA
The Policy of Russia--Especially towards Austria
6. AUSTRIA-HUNGARY
The Policy of Austria-Hungary--Especially towards the Balkans
7. GERMANY
The Policy of Germany--From 1866 to the Decade 1890-1900--A Change
8. OPINION IN GERMANY
German "Romanticism"--New Ambitions.
9. OPINION ABOUT GERMANY
Bourdon--Beyens--Cambon--Summary
10. GERMAN POLICY FROM THE DECADE 1890-1900
Relation to Great Britain--The Navy.
11. VAIN ATTEMPTS AT HARMONY
Great Britain's Efforts for Arbitration--Mutual Suspicion
12. EUROPE SINCE THE DECADE 1890-1900
13. GERMANY AND TURKEY
The Bagdad Railway
14. AUSTRIA AND THE BALKANS
15. MOROCCO
16. THE LAST YEARS
Before the War--The Outbreak of War
17. THE RESPONSIBILITY AND THE MORAL
The Pursuit of Power and Wealth
18. THE SETTLEMENT
19. THE CHANGE NEEDED
Change of Outlook and Change of System--An International
League--International Law and Control
THE EUROPEAN ANARCHY
1. _Introduction_.
In the great and tragic history of Europe there is a turning-point that
marks the defeat of the ideal of a world-order and the definite acceptance
of international anarchy. That turning-point is the emergence of the
sovereign State at the end of the fifteenth century. And it is symbolical
of all that was to follow that at that point stands, looking down the
vista of the centuries, the brilliant and sinister figure of Machiavelli.
From that date onwards international policy has meant Machiavellianism.
Sometimes the masters of the craft, like Catherine de Medici or Napoleon,
have avowed it; sometimes, like Frederick the Great, they have disclaimed
it. But always they have practised it. They could not, indeed, practise
anything else. For it is as true of an aggregation of States as of an
aggregation of individuals that, whatever moral sentiments may prevail, if
there is no common law and no common force the best intentions will be
defeated by lack of confidence and security. Mutual fear and mutual
suspicion, aggression masquerading as defence and defence masquerading as
aggression, will be the protagonists in the bloody drama; and there will
be, what Hobbes truly asserted to be the essence of such a situation, a
chronic state of war, open or veiled. For peace itself will be a latent
war; and the more the States arm to prevent a conflict the more certainly
will it be provoked, since to one or another it will always seem a better
chance to have it now than to have it on worse conditions later. Some
one State at any moment may be the immediate offender; but the main and
permanent offence is common to all States. It is the anarchy which they
are all responsible for perpetuating.
While this anarchy continues the struggle between States will tend to
assume a certain stereotyped form. One will endeavour to acquire supremacy
over the others for motives at once of security and of domination, the
others will combine to defeat it, and history will turn upon the two poles
of empire and the balance of power. So it has been in Europe, and so it
will continue to be, until either empire is achieved, as once it was
achieved by Rome, or a common law and a common authority is established
by agreement. In the past empire over Europe has been sought by Spain,
by Austria, and by France; and soldiers, politicians, and professors in
Germany have sought, and seek, to secure it now for Germany. On the other
hand, Great Britain has long stood, as she stands now, for the balance of
power. As ambitious, as quarrelsome, and as aggressive as other States, her
geographical position has directed her aims overseas rather than toward
the Continent of Europe. Since the fifteenth century her power has never
menaced the Continent. On the contrary, her own interest has dictated that
she should resist there the enterprise of empire, and join in the defensive
efforts of the threatened States. To any State of Europe that has conceived
the ambition to dominate the Continent this policy of England has seemed
as contrary to the interests of civilization as the policy of the Papacy
appeared in Italy to an Italian patriot like Machiavelli. He wanted Italy
enslaved, in order that it might be united. And so do some Germans now want
Europe enslaved, that it may have peace under Germany. They accuse England
of perpetuating for egotistic ends the state of anarchy. But it was not
thus that Germans viewed British policy when the Power that was to give
peace to Europe was not Germany, but France. In this long and bloody game
the partners are always changing, and as partners change so do views.
One thing only does not change, the fundamental anarchy. International
relations, it is agreed, can only turn upon force. It is the disposition
and grouping of the forces alone that can or does | 1,737.480137 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.5341860 | 7,018 | 14 |
Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN
Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap'n Warrens Wards,"
"Cap'n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc.
_With Four Illustrations_
_By_ HOWARD HEATH
A. L. BURT COMPANY
_Publishers New York_
_Copyright, 1912, by_
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company
Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company
Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company
Published, April, 1912
Printed in the United States of America
----
[Illustration: _Seems to me I never saw her look prettier._]
----
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--I MAKE TWO BETS--AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM
CHAPTER II--WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE
CHAPTER III--I GET INTO POLITICS
CHAPTER IV--HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE
OF ME
CHAPTER V--A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT
CHAPTER VI--I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL
CHAPTER VII--THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT
CHAPTER VIII--ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS
CHAPTER IX--ROSES--BY ANOTHER NAME
CHAPTER X--THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL
CHAPTER XI--COOKS AND CROOKS
CHAPTER XII--JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN'
CHAPTER XIII--WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN
CHAPTER XIV--THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD
CHAPTER XV--HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN
CHAPTER XVI--I PAY MY OTHER BET
----
THE POSTMASTER
----
CHAPTER I--I MAKE TWO BETS--AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM
"So you're through with the sea for good, are you, Cap'n Zeb," says Mr.
Pike.
"You bet!" says I. "Through for good is just _what_ I am."
"Well, I'm sorry, for the firm's sake," he says. "It won't seem natural
for the _Fair Breeze_ to make port without you in command. Cap'n, you're
goin' to miss the old schooner."
"Cal'late I shall--some--along at fust," I told him. "But I'll get over
it, same as the cat got over missin' the canary bird's singin'; and I'll
have the cat's consolation--that I done what seemed best for me."
He laughed. He and I were good friends, even though he was ship-owner
and I was only skipper, just retired.
"So you're goin' back to Ostable?" he says. "What are you goin' to do
after you get there?"
"Nothin'; thank you very much," says I, prompt.
"No work at _all_?" he says, surprised. "Not a hand's turn? Goin' to be
a gentleman of leisure, hey?"
"Nigh as I can, with my trainin'. The 'leisure' part'll be all right,
anyway."
He shook his head and laughed again.
"I think I see you," says he. "Cap'n, you've been too busy all your life
even to get married, and--"
"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I've met have been a good deal
busier than ever I was. And a good deal more worried when business was
dull. No, sir-ee! 'twa'n't that that kept me from gettin' married. I've
been figgerin' on the day when I could go home and settle down. If I'd
had a wife all these years I'd have been figgerin' on bein' able to
settle up. I ain't goin' to Ostable to get married."
"I'll bet you do, just the same," says he. "And I'll bet you somethin'
else: I'll bet a new hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year
you'll be head over heels in some sort of hard work. It may not be
seafarin', but it'll be somethin' to keep you busy. You're too good a
man to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I'll bet the hat. What do you say?"
"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want to risk another on my
marryin', I'll take that, too."
"Go you," says he. "You'll be married inside of three years--or five,
anyway."
"One year that I'll be at work--steady work--and five that I'm married.
You're shipped, both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter, soft hat,
black preferred."
"If I don't win the first bet I will the second, sure," he says,
confident. "'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands,' you know.
Well, good-by, and good luck. Come in and see us whenever you get to New
York."
We shook hands, and I walked out of that office, the office that had
been my home port ever since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And
on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow over and over again.
"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself--not out loud, you understand; for,
accordin' to Scriptur' or the Old Farmers' Almanac or somethin', a
feller who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and, though I was
well enough fixed to keep the wolf from the door, I wa'n't by no means
so crazy as to leave the door open and take chances--"Zebulon Snow,"
says I, "you're forty-eight year old and blessedly single. All your life
you've been haulin' ropes, or bossin' fo'mast hands, or tryin' to make
harbor in a fog. Now that you've got an anchor to wind'ard--now that the
one talent you put under the stock exchange napkin has spread out so
that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home in, don't you be a
fool. Don't plant it again, cal'latin' to fill a mains'l next time,
'cause you won't do it. Take what you've got and be thankful--and
careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you was born, and settle down
and be somebody."
That's about what I said to myself, and that's what I started to do. I
made Ostable on the next mornin's train. The town had changed a whole
lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many summer folks buyin'
and buildin' everywhere, especially along the water front. The few
reg'lar inhabitants that I knew seemed to be glad to see me, which I
took as a sort of compliment, for it don't always foller by a
consider'ble sight. I got into the depot wagon--the same horse was
drawin' it, I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when I was a
boy--and asked to be carted to the Travelers' Inn. It appeared that
there wa'n't any Travelers' Inn now, that is to say, the name of it had
been changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit" bein' Injun or Portygee or
somethin' foreign.
But the name was the only thing about that hotel that was changed. The
grub was the same and the wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me
looked about the same age as I was, and wa'n't enough handsomer to
count, either. I hired a couple of them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke
in, and t'other to entertain the parson in, if he should call,
which--unless the profession had changed, too--I judged he would do
pretty quick. I had the rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy
medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have, and settled down to
be what Mr. Pike had called a "gentleman of leisure."
Fust three months 'twas fine. At the end of the second three it
commenced to get a little mite dull. In about two more I found my mind
was shrinkin' so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast table
was beginnin' to seem interestin' and important. Then I knew 'twas time
to doctor up with somethin' besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was
settin' in and I'd got to do somethin' to keep me interested, even if I
paid for Pike's hats for the next generation.
You see, there was such a sameness to the programme. Turn out in the
mornin', eat and listen to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk
with folks I met--more gossip--come back and eat again, go over and
watch the carpenters on the latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat
some more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and
Shoes and Fancy Goods Store, or to the post-office, and set around with
the gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin' life for a jellyfish, or
a reg'lar Ostable loafer--but it didn't suit me.
I was feelin' that way, and pretty desperate, the night when Winthrop
Adams Beanblossom--which wa'n't the critter's name but is nigh enough to
the real one for him to cruise under in this yarn--told me the story of
his life and started me on the v'yage that come to mean so much to me. I
didn't know 'twas goin' to mean much of anything when I started in. But
that night Winthrop got me to paddlin', so's to speak, and, later on,
come Jim Henry Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after that, the
combination of them two and Miss Letitia Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all
under, so 'twas a case of stickin' to it or swimmin' or drownin'.
I was in the Ostable Store that evenin', as usual. 'Twas almost nine
o'clock and the rest of the bunch around the stove had gone home. I was
fillin' my pipe and cal'latin' to go, too--if you can call a tavern like
the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom was in behind the desk, his funny
little grizzly-gray head down over a pile of account books and papers,
his specs roostin' on the end of his thin nose, and his pen scratchin'
away like a stray hen in a flower bed.
"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin' up and stretchin', "I cal'late it's
time to shed the partin' tear. I'll leave you to figger out whether to
spend this week's profits in government bonds or trips to Europe and go
and lay my weary bones in the tomb, meanin' my private vault on the
second floor of the Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember me at
my best, won't you?"
He didn't seem to sense what I was drivin' at. He lifted his head out of
the books and papers, heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres
down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite--he was always
polite--"Er--yes? You were addressin' me, Cap'n Snow?"
"Nothin' in particular," I says. "I was just askin' if you intended
spendin' your profits on a trip to Europe this summer."
Would you believe it, that little storekeepin' man looked at me through
his specs, his pale face twitchin' and workin' like a youngster's when
he's tryin' not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right down,
leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out loud.
I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes," I sung out, soon's I could
collect sense enough to say anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody
dead or--"
He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I wish to heaven, I was dead."
"Well!" I gasps. "_Well!_"
"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?"
That bein' a question that I didn't feel competent to answer, I didn't
try. My remark about goin' to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my
jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal'lated 'twas time I turned serious.
"What _is_ the matter, Beanblossom?" I says. "Are you in trouble?"
For a spell he wouldn't answer, just kept on sobbin' and wringin' his
thin hands, but, after consider'ble of such, and a good many
unsatisfyin' remarks, he give in and told me the whole yarn, told me all
his troubles. They were complicated and various.
Picked over and b'iled down they amounted to this: He used to have an
income and he lived on it--in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I
could gather he never did any real work except to putter in libraries
and collect books and such. Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of
his money was in broke up and his health broke down. The doctors said he
must go away into the country. He couldn't afford to go and do nothin',
so he has a wonderful inspiration--he'll buy a little store in what he
called a "rural community" and go into business. He advertises, "Country
Store Wanted Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley's widow had
the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store"
on her hands. She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said dicker
took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. For a year he had been
fightin' along tryin' to make both ends meet, but now they was so fur
apart they was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed'most a
thousand dollars, his trade was fallin' off, he hadn't a cent and nobody
to turn to. What should he do? _What_ should he do?
That was another question I couldn't answer off hand. It was plain
enough why he was in the hole he was, but how to get him out was
different. I set down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs and
tried to think.
"Hum," says I, "you don't know much about keepin' store, do you,
Beanblossom? Didn't know nothin' about it when you started in?"
He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Cap'n Snow," he says. "Why should I?
I never was obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I never
supposed I should be brought to this. I am a man of family, Cap'n Snow."
"Yes," I says, "so'm I. Number eight in a family of thirteen. But that
never helped me none. My experience is that you can't count much on your
relations."
Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense in which he had used the
word "family." He meant that he came of the best blood in New England.
His ancestors had made their marks and--
"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? Couldn't they write their names?"
He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The Beanblossoms and their
gang were big-bugs, fine folks. He was terrible proud of his family.
During the latter part of his life in Boston he had become interested in
genealogy. He had begun a "family tree"--whatever that was--but he never
finished it. The smash came and shook him out of the branches; that
wa'n't what he said, but 'twas the way I sensed it. And now he had come
to this. His money was gone; he couldn't pay his debts; he couldn't have
any more credit. He must fail; he was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and
likewise oh, the poorhouse!
"But," says I, considerin', "it can't be so turrible bad. You don't owe
but a thousand dollars, this store's the only one in town and Abial used
to do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and you had a little
cash to stock up with, seems to me you might make a decent v'yage yet.
Couldn't you?"
He didn't know. Perhaps he could. But what was the use of talkin' that
way? For him to pick up a thousand would be about as easy as for a
paralyzed man with boxin' gloves on to pick up a flea, or words to that
effect. No, no, 'twas no use! he must go to the poorhouse! and so forth
and so on.
"You hold on," I says. "Don't you engage your poorhouse berth yet. You
keep mum and say nothin' to nobody and let me think this over a spell. I
need somethin' to keep me interested and... I'll see you to-morrow
sometime. Good night."
I went home thinkin' and I thought till pretty nigh one o'clock. Then I
decided I was a fool even to think for five minutes. Hadn't I sworn to
be careful and never take another risk? I was sorry for poor old
Winthrop, but I couldn't afford to mix pity and good legal tender; that
was the sort of blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors'
courts. And, besides, wasn't I pridin' myself on bein' a gentleman of
leisure. If I got mixed up in this, no tellin' what I might be led into.
Hadn't I bragged to Pike about--Oh, I _was_ a fool!
Which was all right, only, after listenin' to the breakfast conversation
at the Poquit House, down I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was
over I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom's silent partner to the extent of
twenty-five hundred dollars. I was busy once more and glad of it, even
though Pike _was_ goin' to get a hat free.
This was in January. By early March I was twice as busy and not half as
glad. You see I'd cal'lated that the store was all right, all it needed
was financin'. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap, and I could wake it
up. I was wrong. Trade was dead, and, barrin' the comin' of a prophet or
some miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop was really
sufferin' for was an undertaker. My twenty-five hundred was funeral
expenses, that's all.
But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and fetched his miracle with
him. One evenin', after all the reg'lar customers, who set around in
chairs borrowin' our genuine tobacco and payin' for it with counterfeit
funny stories, had gone--after everybody, as we cal'lated, had cleared
out--Beanblossom and I set down to hold our usual autopsy over the
remains of the fortni't's trade. 'Twas a small corpse and didn't take
long to dissect. We'd lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and
the only comfort in that was that 'twas seventy-six cents less than the
two weeks previous. The weather had been some cooler and less stuff had
sp'iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin'.
Beanblossom--I'd got into the habit of callin' him "Pullet" 'cause his
general build was so similar to a moultin' chicken--he vowed he couldn't
understand it.
"I think I shall give up buyin' so liberally, Cap'n Snow," says he. "If
we didn't keep on buyin' we shouldn't lose half so much," he says.
"Yes," says I, "that's logic. And if we give up sellin' we shouldn't
lose the other half. You and me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet,
and I guess we've gone about as fur as we can."
"Please don't call me 'Pullet,'" he says, dignified. "When I think of
what I once was, it--"
"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It's what I am that troubles me. I don't dare
think of that when the minister's around--he might be a mind-reader. No,
Pul--Beanblossom, I mean--it's no use. I imagined because I could run a
three-masted schooner I could navigate this craft. I can't. I know twice
as much as you do about keepin' store, but the trouble with that example
is the answer, which is that you don't know nothin'. We might just
exactly as well shut up shop now, while there's enough left to square
the outstandin' debts."
He turned white and began the hand-wringin' exercise.
"Think of the disgrace!" he says.
"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of us; "excuse me for
buttin' in; but I judge that what you need is a butter."
Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We'd supposed we was alone and to
say we was surprised is puttin' it mild. For a second I couldn't make
out what had happened, or where the voice came from, or who 'twas that
had spoke--then, as he come across into the lamplight I recognized him.
'Twas Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin' mystery.
[Illustration: _As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him._]
Jim Henry was middlin'-sized, sharp-faced, dressed like a ready-tailored
advertisement, and as smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet
ile. Accordin' to his entry on the books of the Poquit House he hailed
from Chicago. He'd been in Ostable for pretty nigh a month and nobody
had been able to find out any more about him than just that, which is a
some miracle of itself--if you know Ostable. He was always ready to
talk--talkin' was one of his main holts--but when you got through
talkin' with him all you had to remember was a smile and a flow of
words. He was at the seashore for his health, that he always give you to
understand. You could believe it if you wanted to.
He'd got into the habit of spendin' his evenin's at Pullet's store,
settin' around listenin' and smilin' and agreein' with folks. He was the
only feller I ever met who could say no and agree with you at the same
time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow fifty cents of him once and when
the pair of 'em parted, Saunders was scratchin' his head and lookin'
puzzled. "I can't understand it," says Solon. "I would have swore he'd
lent it to me. 'Twas just as if I had the fifty in my hand. I--I thanked
him for it and all that, but--but now he's gone I don't seem to be no
richer than when I started. I can't understand it."
Pullet and I had seen him settin' abaft the stove early in the evenin',
but, somehow or other, we got the notion that he'd cleared out with the
other loafers. However, he hadn't, and he'd heard all we'd been sayin'.
He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe box from under the
counter, come to anchor on it and crossed his legs.
"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter."
Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was sort of scrambled, like a
pan of eggs.
"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very sorry, extremely sorry, but we
are all out just at this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day,
but I--I guess I must have forgotten it."
Jacobs couldn't seem to make any more out of this than I did.
"Out?" he says, wonderin'. "Out? Who's out? What's out? I guess I've
dropped the key or lost the combination. What's the answer?"
"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin'. "You asked for butter, didn't
you? As I was sayin', I should have ordered some to-day, but--"
Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says, "don't mention it. Forget
it. If I'd wanted butter in this emporium I should have asked for
somethin' else. I've been givin' this mart of trade some attention for
the past three weeks and I judge that its specialty is bein' able to
supply what ain't wanted. I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All
right. I'm the goat. Now if you'll kindly give me your attention, I'll
elucidate."
We give the attention. After he'd "elucidated" for five minutes we'd
have given him our clothes. You never heard such a mess of language as
that Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked and talked. He knew
all about the store and the business, and what he didn't know he guessed
and guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin' the place, about
my goin' in as silent partner--though _that_ nobody was supposed to
know. He knew the shebang wa'n't payin' and, also and moreover, he knew
why. And he had the remedy buttoned up in his jacket--the name of it was
James Henry Jacobs.
"Gentlemen," he says, "I'm a specialist. I'm a doctor of sick business.
Ever since my medicine man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and
the Grand Central Department Store, where I was third assistant manager,
I've been driftin' about seekin' a nice, quiet hamlet and an
opportunity. Here's the ham and, if you say the word, here's the
opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it's got creepin' paralysis and
locomotive hang-back-tia. There's only one thing that can change the
funeral to a silver weddin'--that's to call in Old Doctor Jacobs. Here
he is, with his pocket full of testimonials. Now you listen."
We'd been listenin'--'twas by long odds the easiest thing to do--and we
kept right on. He had testimonials--he showed 'em to us--and they took
oath to his bein' honest and the eighth business wonder of the world. He
went on to elaborate. He had a thousand to invest and he'd invest it
provided we'd take him in as manager and give him full swing. He'd
guarantee--etcetery and so on, unlimited and eternal.
"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat lozenge, "sellin' goods
is one thing; gettin' the right goods to sell is another. Me and
Pullet--Mr. Beanblossom here--have tried to keep a pretty fair-sized
stock, but it's the kind of stock that keeps better'n it sells."
"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if you know how. See here,
let me prove it to you. You think this over to-night and to-morrow
forenoon I'll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on your smoked
glasses and watch me. _I'll_ show you."
He did. Next mornin' old Aunt Sarah Oliver came in to buy a hank of
black yarn to darn stockin's with. With diplomacy and patience the
average feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and a quarter--if
he had the yarn. Pullet was just out of black, of course, but that Jim
Henry Jacobs stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold Aunt
Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble and a half dozen pair of
blue and yellow striped stockin's that had been on the shelves since
Abial Beasley's time, and was so loud that a sane person wouldn't dare
wear 'em except when it thundered. She went out of the store with her
bundles in one hand and holdin' her head with the other. Then that Jim
Henry man turned to Pullet and me.
"Well?" he says, serene and smilin'.
It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve that night the
arrangements was made. Jacobs was partner in and manager of the "Ostable
Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store."
CHAPTER II--WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE
In less than two months that store of ours was a payin' proposition. Jim
Henry Jacobs was responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don't ask me
how he did it. 'Twas advertisin', mainly. Advertisin' in the papers,
advertisin' on the fences, things set out in the windows, a new gaudy
delivery cart, special bargain days for special stuff--they all helped.
Of course if we'd limited ourselves to Ostable the cargo wouldn't have
been so heavy that we'd get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was
unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and sent a special cart to
take orders for twenty mile around. The early summer cottages was
beginnin' to open and 'twas summer trade, rich city folks' trade, that
the Jacobs man said we must have. And we got it, one way or another we
got it all. Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit of orderin'
wholesale from Boston, but he soon stopped that. One after another Jim
Henry landed 'em. When I asked him how, he just winked.
"Skipper," says he--he most generally called me "Skipper" same as I
called Beanblossom "Pullet"--"Skipper," he says, "you can always hook a
cod if there's any around and you keepin' changin' bait; ain't that so?
Um-hm; well, I change bait, that's all. Every man, woman and suffragette
has got a weak p'int somewheres. I just cast around till I find that
particular weak p'int; then they swaller hook, line and sinker."
"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain't swallowed nothin' yet, that I've
noticed. Her weak p'ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?"
He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he, "is the frostiest
proposition I ever tackled outside of an ice chest. But I'll get her
yet. You wait and see. Why, man, we've _got_ to get her."
Well, I could find more truth in them statements than I could
satisfaction. We'd got to get her--yes. But she wouldn't be got. She was
the richest old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone and plaster
house bigger'n | 1,737.554226 |
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THE CHAUTAUQUAN.
_A MONTHLY MAGAZINE DEVOTED TO THE PROMOTION OF TRUE CULTURE.
ORGAN OF THE CHAUTAUQUA LITERARY AND SCIENTIFIC CIRCLE._
VOL. IV. JULY, 1884. No. 10.
Chautauqua Literary and Scientific Circle.
_President_—Lewis Miller, Akron, Ohio.
_Superintendent of Instruction_— | 1,737.561356 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.5564440 | 1,877 | 11 |
Produced by John Bechard ([email protected])
HISTORY
OF
THE MISSIONS
OF THE
AMERICAN BOARD OF COMMISSIONERS FOR FOREIGN MISSIONS
TO THE
ORIENTAL CHURCHES.
BY RUFUS ANDERSON, D.D., LL.D.,
LATE FOREIGN SECRETARY OF THE BOARD.
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. II.
BOSTON:
CONGREGATIONAL PUBLISHING SOCIETY.
1872.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1872, by
THE AMERICAN BOARD OF COMMISSIONERS FOR FOREIGN MISSIONS,
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE:
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
H. O. HOUGHTON AND COMPANY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER XXIV. THE ARMENIANS.--1846-1855.
Agency of Sir Stratford Canning.--Of Lord Cowley.--Lord Palmerston's
Instructions.--Action of the Porte.--The Chevalier Bunsen.--A
Vizerial Letter.--Further Concessions.--The Firman.--Good Counsel
from Sir Stratford to the Protestants.--Dilatoriness of the Turkish
Government.--Still another Concession by the Sultan.--Agency of the
American Minister.--Greatness of the Changes.--The Divine Agency
recognized.--The Danger.--Why Persecution was continued.--New
Missionaries.--Pera again ravaged by Fire.--The Aintab
Station.--Native Zeal for the Spread of the Gospel.--Activity of the
Mission.--The Patriarch deposed.--Native Pastors.--Death of Mrs.
Hamlin.--Death and Character of Dr. Azariah Smith.--Mr. Dunmore
joins the Mission.--Removal into Old Constantinople.--The
First Ecclesiastical Council.--The Gospel introduced into
Marsovan.--Visited by Mr. E. E. Bliss.--A Persecution that was
needed.--Unexpected Relief.--Changes in the Mission.--Missions by
Native Pastors.--Death of Mrs. Everett.--Death of Mr. Benjamin.
CHAPTER XXV. THE ARMENIANS.--1855-1860.
The Crimean War subservient to the Gospel.--Its Origin.
--Providential Interposition.--Probable Consequences of Russian
Success.--Effect of the Fall of Sebastopol.--The Mission in
1855.--Schools.--Church Organization.--Church Building.--The
Printing.--Editions of the Scriptures.--The Book Depository.--Aid
from Abroad.--Greek Students in Theology.--Licentiates.--Accession
of Missionaries.--Death of Mr. Everett.--Miscellaneous
Notices.--Renewed Agitation about the Death Penalty.--The Hatti
Humaioun.--How regarded by the English Ambassador.--Includes the
Death Penalty.--Is recognized in the Treaty of Paris.--How estimated
by the Missionaries.--Indications of Progress.--Aintab.--Death of
Mrs. Schneider.--Girls' School at Constantinople.--Seminary at
Bebek.--Division of the Mission.--Turkish Missions Aid
Society.--Visit of Dr. Dwight to England.--A Remarkable
Convert.--Death of the second Mrs. Hamlin.--Arabkir.--Sivas and
Tocat.--Harpoot.--Geghi.--Revivals of Religion.--Girls' School at
Nicomedia.--Fire at Tocat.--Mr. Dunmore's Explorations.--Church at
Cesarea.--A former Persecutor made Catholicos.--Death of Mrs.
Beebee.
CHAPTER XXVI. THE ARMENIANS.--1860-1861.
A Result of the Crimean War.--Religious Opinion in Constantinople.
--Change at Rodosto.--Outbreak at the Metropolis.--A Remarkable
Native Helper.--Great Change in Marsovan.--Changes elsewhere.
--Telegraphic Communication.--The Mission further divided.--First
Native Pastor at Harpoot.--Rise of the Station.--Dr. Dwight's Second
Tour in the East.--Changes since the First Tour.--Triumph of the
Gospel at Marash.--Tribute to the Wives of Missionaries.--Change at
Diarbekir.--Decline of Turkish Population.--Death and Character of
Mr. Dunmore.--The Missionary Force.--Training School at
Mardin.--Other Portions of the Field.--Scripture Translations.
--Publications.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE ASSYRIA MISSION.--1849-1860.
Origin of the Mission.--Mosul reoccupied.--Why it had been
relinquished.--Proposed American Episcopal Mission.--The Mission of
the Board reinforced.--Dr. Bacon's Experience in the Koordish
Mountains.--Punishment of the Robbers.--How the Gospel came to
Diarbekir.--Church organized.--Arrival of Mr. Dunmore.--Tomas.
--Persecutions.--Mr. Marsh's Visit to Mardin.--Dr. Lobdell's
Experience at Aintab and Oorfa.--Outrage at Diarbekir.--Descent of
the Tigris.--Diarbekir a Year later.--Congregational Singing at
Mosul.--Dr. Lobdell as a Medical Missionary.--The Yazidees.--Dr.
Lobdell's Visit to Oroomiah.--His Views of the Ecclesiastical Policy
of the Mission.--Return to Mosul.--The Church at Diarbekir
reorganized.--Strength out of Weakness.--Native Preacher at
Haine.--The Gospel at Cutterbul.--Relief at Mosul.--A Special Danger
growing out of the Crimean War.--Excessive Heat.--Death of Mrs.
Williams.--Dr. Lobdell visits Bagdad.--His Sickness, Death, and
Character.--Religious Services at Diarbekir.--The Gospels in
Koordish.--New Station at Mardin.--Remarkable Case of Conversion.
--New Station at Bitlis.--Death of Mrs. Marsh.--Return of Mrs.
Lobdell with Mr. Marsh.--Difficulties in the way of occupying
Mosul.--Great Prosperity at Diarbekir.--Close of the Assyria
Mission.
CHAPTER XXVIII. THE NESTORIANS.--1851-1857.
Mr. Stoddard's Reception on his Return.--Death of Judith Perkins.
--Progress in the Mountains.--Progress on the Plain.--The
Seminaries.--A suggestive Case of Native Piety.--Scenes on a
Tour.--Nazee, a Christian Girl, at her Mountain Home.--Elevations of
Places.--A Russian Friend.--Mr. Stocking's Return Home.--A Robbery.
--Another Revival.--Seminary Graduates.--Extraordinary Enthusiasm.
--Books.--Death of Mr. Crane.--Audacity of Papal Missionaries.
--English and Russian Protection.--Mr. Cochran at Kosrova.--Matter
of Church Organization.--Death of Deacon Guwergis.--Hostility of the
Persian Government.--A new Revival.--Gawar vacated for a time.
--Discomfiture of the Enemy.--The Lord a Protector.--The Monthly
Concert.--Mountain Tours.--Search for a Western Station.--An
Interesting Event.--Violence of Government Agents.--How these Agents
were removed out of the Way.
CHAPTER XXIX. THE NESTORIANS.--1857-1863.
Death of Mr. Stoddard.--His Character.--Death of his Daughter.
--Retrospective View.--Death of Mrs. Rhea.--Decisive Indication of
Progress.--A Winter in Western Koordistan.--Mosul and its Vicinity.
--The Mountain Field.--An Appeal.--Failing Health.--New
Missionaries.--Death of Mr. Thompson.--Failure of the Plan for a
Western Station.--Failure of Mr. Cobb's Health.--The Nestorian
Helpers.--Tenth Revival in the Seminary.--Literary Treasures of the
Nestorians.--Marriage of Mar Yohanan.--Advance towards Church
Organization.--Death of the Patriarch.--Extraordinary Outburst of
Liberality.--Dr. Dwight's Visit to Oroomiah.--His Opinion of the
Church Policy of the Mission.--Improvements.--Appearance of the
Native Preachers.--Death of Mr. Breath.--Apprehended Aggressions
from Russian Ecclesiastics.--More Revivals.--Death of Mar
Elias.--His Character.--Armenians on the Plain of Oroomiah.--Manual
for the Reformed Church.--Retrospect of the Mission.--Miss Rice in
sole Charge of the Female Seminary.--Care of the English Government
for the Nestorians.
CHAPTER XXX. THIRTY YEARS AMONG THE JEWS.--1826-1856.
The First Missionaries.--Arrival of Mr. Schauffler at
Constantinople.--Jews in that City | 1,737.576484 |
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Internet Archive)
THE COLLECTED WORKS OF WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
DISCOVERIES. EDMUND SPENSER.
POETRY AND TRADITION; & OTHER
ESSAYS:: BEING THE EIGHTH VOLUME
OF THE | 1,737.581399 |
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THE LITTLE CLOWN
BY THOMAS COBB
AUTHOR OF 'THE BOUNTIFUL LADY,' 'COOPER'S FIRST TERM,' ETC.
LONDON: GRANT RICHARDS
1901
_CONTENTS_
1. _How it began_
2. _Jimmy goes to London_
3. _At Aunt Selina's_
4. _Aunt Selina at Home_
5. _At the Railway Station_
6. _The Journey_
7. _Jimmy is taken into Custody_
8. _Jimmy runs away_
9. _The Circus_
10. _On the Road_
11. _Jimmy runs away again_
12. _Jimmy sleeps in a Windmill_
13. _The Last_
The Little Clown
CHAPTER I
HOW IT BEGAN
Jimmy was nearly eight years of age when these strange things happened
to him. His full name was James Orchardson Sinclair Wilmot, and he had
been at Miss Lawson's small school at Ramsgate since he was six.
There were only five boys besides himself, and Miss Roberts was the only
governess besides Miss Lawson. The half-term had just passed, and they
did not expect to go home for the Christmas holidays for another four or
five weeks, until one day Miss Lawson became very ill, and her sister,
Miss Rosina, was sent for.
It was on Friday that Miss Rosina told the boys that she had written to
their parents and that they would all be sent home on Tuesday, and no
doubt Jimmy might have felt as glad as the rest if he had had a home to
be sent to.
But the fact was that he had never seen his father or mother--or at
least he had no recollection of them. And he had never seen his sister
Winnie, who was born in the West Indies. One of the boys had told Jimmy
she must be a little black girl, and Jimmy did not quite know whether to
believe him or not.
When he was two years of age, his father and mother left England, and
although that was nearly six years ago, they had not been back since.
Jimmy had lived with his Aunt Ellen at Chesterham until he came to
school, but afterwards his holidays were spent with another uncle and
aunt in London.
His mother wrote to him every month, nice long letters, which Jimmy
always answered, although he did not always know quite what to say to
her. But last month there had come no letter, and the month before that
Mrs. Wilmot had said something about seeing Jimmy soon.
When he heard the other boys talk about their fathers and mothers and
sisters it seemed strange that he did not know what his own were like.
For you cannot always tell what a person is like from her photograph;
and although his mother looked young and pretty in hers, Jimmy did not
know whether she was tall or short or dark or fair, but sometimes,
especially after the gas was turned out at night, he felt that he should
very much like to know.
On Monday evening, whilst Jimmy was sitting at the desk in the
school-room sticking some postage-stamps in his Album, he was told to go
to the drawing-room, where he found Miss Rosina sitting beside a large
fire.
'Is your name Wilmot?' she asked, for she had not learnt all the boys'
names yet.
'James Orchardson Sinclair Wilmot,' he answered.
'A long name for such a small boy,' said Miss Rosina. 'It is very
strange,' she continued, 'that all the boys' parents have answered my
letters but yours.'
'Mine couldn't answer,' said Jimmy.
'Why not?' asked Miss Rosina.
'Because they live such a long way off.'
'I remember,' said Miss Rosina; 'it was to your uncle that I wrote. I
asked him to send someone to meet you at Victoria Station at one o'clock
to-morrow. But he has not answered my letter, and it is very
inconvenient.'
'Is it?' asked Jimmy solemnly, with his eyes fixed on her face.
'Why, of course it is,' said Miss Rosina. 'Suppose I don't have a letter
before you start to-morrow morning! I shall not know whether any one is
coming to meet you or not. And what would Miss Roberts do with you in
that case?'
'I don't know,' answered Jimmy, beginning to look rather anxious.
'I'm sure I don't know either,' said Miss Rosina. 'But,' she added, 'I
trust I may hear from your uncle before you start to-morrow morning.'
'I hope you will,' cried Jimmy; and he went back to the school-room
wondering what would happen to him if his Uncle Henry did not write.
Whilst the other boys were saying what wonderful things they intended to
do during the holidays, he wished that his father and mother were in
England the same as theirs.
He could not go to sleep very early that night for thinking of
to-morrow, and when the bell rang at seven o'clock the next morning he
dressed quickly and came downstairs first to look for Miss Rosina.
'Please, have you had a letter from Uncle Henry yet?' he asked.
'No, I am sorry to say I have not,' was the answer. 'I cannot understand
it at all. I am sure I don't know what is to be done with you.'
'Couldn't I stay here?' cried Jimmy.
'Certainly not,' said Miss Rosina.
'Why not?' asked Jimmy, who always liked to have a reason for
everything.
'Because Miss Lawson is not going to keep a school any more. But,'
exclaimed Miss Rosina, 'go to your breakfast, and I will speak to you
again afterwards.'
CHAPTER II
JIMMY GOES TO LONDON
As he sat at breakfast Jimmy saw a large railway van stop at the door,
with a porter sitting on the board behind. The driver climbed down from
his high seat in front, and the two men began to carry out the boxes.
Jimmy saw his clothes-box carried out, then his play-box, so that he
knew that he was to go to London with the rest, although Miss Rosina had
not heard from his uncle.
'Jimmy,' said Miss Roberts after breakfast, 'Miss Rosina wants to see
you in the drawing-room. You must go at once.'
So he went to the drawing-room, tapped at the door, and was told to
enter.
'It is very annoying that your uncle has not answered my letter,' said
Miss Rosina, looking as angry as if Jimmy were to blame for it.
'He couldn't answer if he didn't get it,' cried Jimmy.
'Of course not,' said Miss Rosina, 'but I sincerely hope he did get it.'
'So do I,' answered Jimmy.
'Perhaps he will send to meet you although he has not written to say
so,' said Miss Rosina.
'Perhaps he will,' replied Jimmy thoughtfully.
'But,' Miss Rosina continued, 'if he doesn't send to meet you, Miss
Roberts must take you to his house in Brook Street in a cab.'
'Only suppose he isn't there!' exclaimed Jimmy.
'At all events the servants will be there.'
'Only suppose they're not!'
'Surely,' said Miss Rosina, 'they would not leave the house without any
one in it!'
'If Uncle Henry and Aunt Mary have gone to France they might.'
'Do they often go to France?' asked Miss Rosina.
'They go sometimes,' said Jimmy, 'because Aunt Mary writes to me, and
I've got the stamps in my Album. And then they leave the house empty and
shut the shutters and put newspapers in all the windows, you know.'
Whilst Jimmy stood on the hearth-rug, Miss Rosina sat in an arm-chair
staring seriously at the fire.
'Have you any other relations in London?' she asked, a few moments
later.
'No,' said Jimmy.
'Think, now,' she continued. 'Are you sure there is nobody?'
'At least,' cried Jimmy, 'there's only Aunt Selina.'
'Where does your Aunt Selina live?' asked Miss Rosina, looking a great
deal more pleased than Jimmy felt. He put his small hands together
behind his back, and took a step closer.
'Please,' he said, 'I--I don't want to go to Aunt Selina's.'
'Tell me where she lives,' answered Miss Rosina.
'I think it's somewhere called Gloucester Place,' said Jimmy;' but,
please, I'd rather not go.'
'You silly child! You must go somewhere!'
'Yes, I know,' said Jimmy, 'but I'd rather not go to Aunt Selina's.'
'What is her number in Gloucester Place?' asked Miss Rosina.
'I don't know the number,' cried Jimmy much more cheerfully, because he
thought that as he did not know the number, Miss Rosina could not very
well send him to the house.
'What is your aunt's name? Is it Wilmot?' Miss Rosina asked.
'No, it isn't Wilmot,' said Jimmy.
'Do you know what it is?' she demanded, and Jimmy began to wish he
didn't know; but Aunt Selina always wrote on his birthday, although it
wasn't much use as she never sent him a present.
'Her name's Morton,' he answered.
'Mrs. Morton or Miss Morton?'
'Miss Morton, because she's never been married,' said Jimmy.
'Very well then,' was the answer, 'if nobody comes to meet you at
Victoria Station, Miss Roberts will take you in a cab to Brook Street,
and if your Uncle Henry is not there----'
'I hope he will be!' cried Jimmy.
'So do I,' Miss Rosina continued, 'because Miss Roberts will not have
much time to spare. She will take you to Brook Street; but if the house
is empty, then she will go on to Miss Morton's in Gloucester Place.'
'But how can she if she doesn't know the number?' said Jimmy.
'Miss Roberts will easily be able to find your aunt's house,' was the
answer.
'Oh!' cried Jimmy in a disappointed tone, and then he was sent back to
the other boys.
When it was time to start to the railway station Miss Rosina went on
first in a fly to take the tickets, and they found her waiting for them
on the platform. They all got into a carriage, and Jimmy sat next to
Miss Roberts, who asked him soon after the train started, why he looked
so miserable.
'I do hope that Uncle Henry will send some one to meet me,' he answered.
'I hope so too,' said Miss Roberts, who was | 1,737.655411 |
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THE TOWER MENAGERIE.
THE
TOWER MENAGERIE:
COMPRISING
THE NATURAL HISTORY
OF THE
ANIMALS CONTAINED IN THAT ESTABLISHMENT;
WITH
Anecdotes of their Characters and History.
ILLUSTRATED BY
PORTRAITS OF EACH, TAKEN FROM LIFE, BY WILLIAM HARVEY;
AND ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY BRANSTON AND WRIGHT.
[Illustration]
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR ROBERT JENNINGS, POULTRY;
AND SOLD BY W. F. WAKEMAN, DUBLIN.
M DCCC XXIX.
CHISWICK:
PRINTED BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM
COLLEGE HOUSE.
[Illustration]
TO
HIS MOST EXCELLENT MAJESTY
KING GEORGE THE FOURTH,
THE
MUNIFICENT PATRON OF THE ARTS AND SCIENCES,
This Volume,
IN WHICH IT IS ATTEMPTED TO COMBINE BOTH ART AND SCIENCE
IN THE
ILLUSTRATION OF HIS ROYAL MENAGERIE,
IS,
BY HIS MAJESTY’S MOST GRACIOUS PERMISSION,
HUMBLY INSCRIBED.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION ix
BENGAL LION 1
LIONESS AND CUBS 11
CAPE LION 17
BARBARY LIONESS 24
TIGER 25
LEOPARD 35
JAGUAR 41
PUMA 49
OCELOT 53
CARACAL 57
CHETAH, OR HUNTING LEOPARD 61
STRIPED HYÆNA 71
HYÆNA-DOG 77
SPOTTED HYÆNA 81
AFRICAN BLOODHOUND 83
WOLF 89
CLOUDED BLACK WOLF 93
JACKAL 97
CIVET, OR MUSK CAT 99
JAVANESE CIVET 103
GRAY ICHNEUMON 105
PARADOXURUS 107
BROWN COATI 109
RACOON 111
AMERICAN BLACK BEAR 115
GRIZZLY BEAR 121
THIBET BEAR 129
BORNEAN BEAR 133
EGRET MONKEY? 144
COMMON MACAQUE 145
BONNETED MONKEY, VAR. 146
BONNETED MONKEY 147
PIG-FACED BABOON 148
BABOON 149
WHITE-HEADED MONGOOS 151
KANGUROO 155
PORCUPINE 161
ASIATIC ELEPHANT 163
ZEBRA OF THE PLAINS 177
LLAMA 181
RUSA-DEER 185
INDIAN ANTELOPE 191
AFRICAN SHEEP 197
GOLDEN EAGLE 201
GREAT SEA-EAGLE 202
BEARDED GRIFFIN 203
GRIFFON VULTURE 205
SECRETARY 209
VIRGINIAN HORNED OWL 213
DEEP-BLUE MACAW 215
BLUE AND YELLOW MACAW 217
YELLOW-CRESTED COCKATOO 219
NEW HOLLAND EMEU 221
CRESTED CRANE 225
PELICAN 227
ALLIGATOR 231
INDIAN BOA 233
ANACONDA 237
RATTLESNAKE 239
INTRODUCTION.
The origin of Menageries dates from the most remote antiquity. Their
existence may be traced even in the obscure traditions of the fabulous
ages, when the contests of the barbarian leader with his fellow-men were
relieved by exploits in the chase scarcely less adventurous, and when
the monster-queller was held in equal estimation with the warrior-chief.
The spoils of the chase were treasured up in common with the trophies
of the fight; and the captive brute occupied his station by the side
of the vanquished hero. It was soon discovered that the den and the
dungeon were not the only places in which this link of connexion might
be advantageously preserved, and the strength and ferocity of the forest
beast were found to be available as useful auxiliaries even in the
battle-field. The only difficulty to be surmounted in the application
of this new species of brute force to the rude conflicts of the times
consisted in giving to it the wished-for direction; and for this purpose
it was necessary that the animals to be so employed should be confined
in what may be considered as a kind of Menagerie, there to be rendered
subservient to the control, and obedient to the commands, of their
masters.
In the theology too of these dark ages many animals occupied a
distinguished place, and were not only venerated in their own proper
persons, on account of their size, their power, their uncouth figure,
their resemblance to man, or their supposed qualities and influence,
but were also looked upon as sacred to one or other of the interminable
catalogue of divinities, to whose service they were devoted, and on
whose altars they were sacrificed. For these also Menageries must
have been constructed, in which not only their physical peculiarities
but even their moral qualities must have been to a certain extent
studied; although the passions and prejudices of the multitude would
naturally corrupt the sources of information thus opened to them, by the
intermixture of exaggerated perversions of ill observed facts and by the
addition of altogether imaginary fables.
If to these two kinds of Menageries we add that which has every where
and under all circumstances accompanied the first dawn of civilization,
and which constitutes the distinguishing characteristic of man emerging
from a state of barbarism and entering upon a new and social state of
existence, the possession of flocks and herds, of animals useful in his
domestic economy, serviceable in the chase, and capable of sharing in his
daily toils, a tolerable idea may be formed of the collections which were
brought together in the earliest ages, and were more or less the subjects
of study to a race of men who were careless of every thing that had no
immediate bearing upon their feelings, their passions, or their interests.
But as civilization advanced, and the progress of society favoured
the developement of mind, when those who were no longer compelled by
necessity to labour for their daily bread found leisure to look abroad
with expanded views upon the wonders of the creation, the animal
kingdom presented new attractions and awakened ideas which had before
lain dormant. What was at first a mere sentiment of curiosity became
speedily a love of science; known objects were examined with more minute
attention; and whatever was rare or novel was no longer regarded with a
stupid stare of astonishment and an exaggerated expression of wonder, but
became the object of careful investigation and philosophic meditation.
Such was the state of things in civilized Greece when the Macedonian
conqueror carried his victorious arms to the banks of the Indus, and
penetrated into countries, not altogether unknown to Europeans, but the
natural productions of which were almost entirely new to the philosophers
of the West. With the true spirit of a man of genius, whose sagacity
nothing could escape, and whose views of policy were as profound as
the success of his arms was splendid, Alexander omitted no opportunity
of proving his devotion to the cause of science; and the extensive
collections of rare and unknown animals which he transmitted to his old
tutor and friend, in other words the Menagerie which he formed, laid the
foundation of the greatest, the most extensive, and the most original
work on zoology that has ever been given to the world. The first of
moral philosophers did not disdain to become the historian of the brute
creation, and Aristotle’s History of Animals remains a splendid and
imperishable record of his qualifications for the task.
Very different were the feelings by which the Roman generals and people
were swayed even in their most civilized times and at the height of their
unequalled power. Through all the gloss which history has thrown over
the character of these masters of the universe there appears a spirit
of unreclaimed barbarity which was never entirely shaken off. From the
scenes of their distant conquests their prætors sent to the metropolis
of the world bears and lions and leopards and tigers; but a love of
science had no share in the motives for the gratification of which they
were transmitted, and the chief curiosity manifested on such occasions by
the people of Rome was to ascertain how speedily hundreds or thousands,
as the case might happen, of these ferocious beasts would destroy each
other when turned out half-famished into the public amphitheatre, or
how long a band of African slaves, of condemned criminals, or of hired
gladiators, would be | 1,737.676925 |
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WHERE LOVE IS
By William J. Locke
New York
Grosset & Dunlap Publishers
Copyright, 1903 By John Lane
“_Better is a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and
hatred therewith_.”
_The Proverbe of Solomon_
WHERE LOVE IS
Chapter I--THE FIRST GLIMPSE
HAVE you dined at Ranelagh lately?” asked Norma Hardacre.
“I have never been there in my life,” replied Jimmie Padgate. “In fact,”
he added simply, “I am not quite sure whether I know where it is.”
“Yours is the happier state. It is one of the dullest spots in a dull
world.”
“Then why on earth do people go there?”
The enquiry was so genuine that Miss Hardacre relaxed her expression of
handsome boredom and laughed.
“Because we are all like the muttons of Panurge,” she said. “Where one
goes, all go. Why are we here to-night?”
“To enjoy ourselves. How could one do otherwise in Mrs. Deering's
house?”
“You have known her a long time, I believe,” remarked Norma, taking the
opportunity of directing the conversation to a non-contentious topic.
“Since she was in short frocks. She is a cousin of King's--that's the
man who took you down to dinner--”
She nodded. “I have known Mr. King many weary ages.”
“And he has never told me about you!”
“Why should he?”
She looked him full in the face, with the stony calm of the fashionable
young woman accustomed to take excellent care of herself. Her companion
met her stare in whimsical confusion. Even so ingenuous a being as
Jimmie Padgate could not tell a girl he had met for the first time that
she was beautiful, adorable, and graced with divine qualities above all
women, and that intimate acquaintance with her must be the startling
glory of a lifetime.
“If I had known you for ages,” he replied prudently, “I should have
mentioned your name to Morland King.”
“Are you such friends then?”
“Fast friends: we were at school together, and as I was a lonely little
beggar I used to spend many of my holidays with his people. That is how
I knew Mrs. Deering in short frocks.”
“It's odd, then, that I haven't met you about before,” said the girl,
giving him a more scrutinising glance than she had hitherto troubled to
bestow upon him. A second afterwards she felt that her remark might have
been in the nature of an indiscretion, for her companion had not at all
the air of a man moving in the smart world to which she belonged. His
dress-suit was old and of lamentable cut; | 1,737.68086 |
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Transcriber's notes:
Several chapters were omitted from the English translation of which
this is a transcription. The reasons for this are given in the
footnotes.
Words originally printed in Greek are shown that way in some versions
of this eBook. English transliterations were added to all versions by
the Transcribers and are enclosed in {curly braces}.
Other notes will be found at the end of this eBook.
[Illustration]
UNIVERSAL
CLASSICS
LIBRARY
EDITOR'S
AUTOGRAPH EDITION
ATTEST:
Robert Arnot
MANAGING EDITOR
[Illustration]
UNIVERSAL CLASSICS
LIBRARY
ILLUSTRATED
WITH PHOTOGRAVURES
ON JAPAN VELLUM
HAND PAINTED
REPRODUCTIONS
AND FULL PAGE
PORTRAITS
OF
AUTHORS
M. WALTER DUNNE
PUBLISHER
NEW YORK AND LONDON
COPYRIGHT, 1901,
BY
M. WALTER DUNNE,
PUBLISHER
GENERAL PREFACE
[Illustration]
Of the Library of Universal Classics and Rare Manuscripts, twenty
volumes are devoted to the various branches of Government, Philosophy,
Law, Ethics, English and French Belles Lettres, Hebraic, Ottoman, and
Arabian Literature, and one to a collection of 150 reproductions,
bound in English vellum, of the autographs, papers and letters of
Rulers, Statesmen, Poets, Artists and Celebrities ranging through
three centuries, crowned by an illuminated facsimile of that historic
Document, the Magna Carta.
The series in itself is an epitome of the best in History, Philosophy
and Literature. The great writers of past ages are accessible to
readers in general solely through translations. It was, therefore,
necessary that translations of such rare Classics as are embodied
in this series should be of the best, and should possess exactitude
in text and supreme faithfulness in rendering the author's thought.
Under the vigilant scholarship of the Editorial Council this has been
accomplished with unvarying excellence. The classification, selection
and editing of the various volumes have been the subject of much
earnest thought and consultation on the part of more than twenty of the
best known scholars of the day.
The Universities of Yale, Washington, Cornell, Chicago, Pennsylvania,
Columbia, London, Toronto and Edinburgh are all represented among
the contributors, the writers of special introductions, or upon
the consulting staff, the latter including the Presidents of five
of the Universities mentioned. Among others who contribute special
essays upon given subjects may be mentioned the late Librarian of
the British Museum, Dr. Richard Garnett, who furnishes the essay
introducing "Evelyn's Diary." From the Librarian of the National
Library of France, Leon Vallee, comes the fascinating introduction
to the celebrated "Memoirs of the Duc de Saint-Simon." The scholarly
minister to Switzerland (late First Assistant Secretary of State), Dr.
David J. Hill, lent his wide reading to the brilliant and luminous
essay that precedes the "Rights of War and Peace." The resources of the
Congressional Library at Washington, as well as of foreign libraries,
have all been drawn upon in the gigantic task of compressing into the
somewhat narrow limits of twenty volumes all that was highest, best,
most enduring and useful in the various ramifications of literature at
large.
The first section of the Library is devoted entirely to the manuscript
reproductions of the autographs of celebrated men in all ranks and
phases of life | 1,737.680951 |
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GOSLINGS
By
J. D. BERESFORD
Author of "The Hampdenshire Wonder," etc.
London
William Heinemann
1913
BOOK I
THE NEW PLAGUE
I--THE GOSLING FAMILY
1
"Where's the gels gone to?" asked Mr Gosling.
"Up the 'Igh Road to look at the shops. I'm expectin' 'em in every
minute."
"Ho!" said Gosling. He leaned against the dresser; the kitchen was
hot with steam, and he fumbled for a handkerchief in the pocket of
his black tail coat. He produced first a large red bandanna with which
he blew his nose vigorously. "Snuff 'andkerchief; brought it 'ome to
be washed," he remarked, and then brought out a white handkerchief
which he used to wipe his forehead.
"It's a dirty 'abit snuff-taking," commented Mrs Gosling.
"Well, you can't smoke in the orfice," replied Gosling.
"Must be doin' somethin', I suppose?" said his wife.
When the recital of this formula had been accomplished--it was hallowed
by a precise repetition every week, and had been established now for
a quarter of a century--Gosling returned to the subject in hand.
"They does a lot of lookin' at shops," he said, "and then nothin' 'll
satisfy 'em but buyin' somethin'. Why don't they keep away from 'em?"
"Oh, well; sales begin nex' week," replied Mrs Gosling. "An' that's a
thing we 'ave to consider in our circumstances." She left the vicinity
of the gas-stove, and bustled over to the dresser. "'Ere, get out of
my way, do," she went on, "an' go up and change your coat. Dinner'll
be ready in two ticks. I shan't wait for the gells if they ain't in."
"Them sales is a fraud," remarked Gosling, but he did not stop to
argue the point.
He went upstairs and changed his respectable "morning" coat for a
short alpaca jacket, slipped his cuffs over his hands, put one inside
the other and placed them in their customary position on the chest of
drawers, changed his boots for carpet slippers, wetted his hair brush
and carefully plastered down a long wisp of grey hair over the top
of his bald head, and then went into the bathroom to wash his hands.
There had been a time in George Gosling's history when he had not been
so regardful of the decencies of life. But he was a man of position
now, and his two daughters insisted on these ceremonial observances.
Gosling was one of the world's successes. He had started life as
a National School boy, and had worked his way up through all the
grades--messenger, office-boy, junior clerk, clerk, senior clerk,
head clerk, accountant--to his present responsible position as head of
the counting-house, with a salary of £26 a month. He rented a house
in Wisteria Grove, Brondesbury, at £45 a year; he was a sidesman
of the church of St John the Evangelist, Kilburn; a member of Local
Committees; and in moments of expansion he talked of seeking election
to the District Council. A solid, sober, thoroughly respectable man,
Gosling, about whom there had never been a hint of scandal; grown
stout now, and bald--save for a little hair over the ears, and that
one persistent grey tress which he used as a sort of insufficient
wrapping for his naked skull.
Such was the George Gosling seen by his wife, daughters, neighbours,
and heads of the firm of wholesale provision merchants for whom he had
worked for forty-one years in Barbican, E.C. Yet there was another man,
hardly realized by George Gosling himself, and apparently so little
representative that even his particular cronies in the office would
never have entered any description of him, if they had been obliged
to give a detailed account of their colleague's character.
Nevertheless, if you heard Gosling laughing uproariously at some story
produced by one of those cronies, you might be quite certain that it
was a story he would not repeat before his daughters, though he might
tell his wife--if it were not too broad. If you watched Gosling in the
street, you would see that he took a strange, unaccountable interest in
the feet and ankles of young women. And if many of Gosling's thoughts
and desires had been translated into action, the Vicar of St John the
Evangelist would have dismissed his sidesman with disgust, the Local
Committees would have had no more of him, and his wife and daughters
would have regarded him as the most depraved of criminals.
Fortunately, Gosling had never been tempted beyond the powers of
his resistance. At fifty-five, he may be regarded as safe from
temptation. He seldom put any restraint upon his thoughts, outside
business hours; but he had an ideal which ruled his life--the ideal
of respectability. George Gosling counted himself--and others counted
him also--as respectable a man as could be found in the Metropolitan
Police area. There were, perhaps, a quarter of a million other men
in the same area, equally respectable.
2
As he was drying his hands, Gosling heard the front door slam and
his daughters' voices in the passage below, followed by a shrill
exhortation from the kitchen: "Now, gels, 'urry up, dinner's all
ready and your father's waitin'!"
Gosling trotted downstairs and received the usual salute from his two
girls. He noted that they were a shade more effusive than usual. "Want
more money for fal-lals," was his inward comment. They were always
wanting money for "fal-lals."
He adopted his usual line of defence through dinner and constantly
brought the subject of conversation back to the need for a reduction
of expenses. He did not see Blanche wink at Millie across the table,
during these strategic exercises; nor catch the glance of understanding
which passed between the girls and their mother. So, as his dinner
comforted and cheered him, Gosling began to relax into his usual
facetiousness; incredibly believing, despite the invariable precedents
of his family history, that his daughters had been convinced of the
hopelessness of approaching him for money that evening.
The credulous creature even allowed them to make their opening,
and then assisted them to a statement of their petition.
They were talking of a friend's engagement to be married, and Gosling
with an obtuseness he never displayed in business remarked, "Wish my
gels 'ud get married."
"Talking about us, father?" asked Blanche.
"Well, you're the only gels I've got--as I know of," said Gosling.
"Well, how can you expect us to get married when we haven't got a
decent thing to put on?" returned Blanche.
Gosling realized his danger too late. "Pooh! That don't make any
difference," he said hastily, adopting a thoroughly unsound line of
defence; "I never noticed what your mother was wearing when I courted
'er."
"Dessay you didn't," replied Millie, "I dessay most fellows couldn't
tell you what a girl was wearing, but it makes just all the difference
for all that."
"Of course it does," said Blanche. "A girl's got no chance these days
unless she can look smart. No fellow's going to marry a dowdy."
"It does make a big difference, there's no denyin'," put in Mrs
Gosling, as though she was being convinced against her will.
"And now the sales are just beginning----"
Poor Gosling knew the game was up. They had made no direct attack
upon his pocket, yet; but they would not relax their grip of this
fascinating subject till they had achieved their object. Blanche was
saying that she was ashamed to be seen anywhere; and procrastination
would be met at once by the argument--how well he knew it--based on
the premise that if you didn't buy at sale-time, you had to pay twice
as much later.
It was quite useless for Gosling to fidget, throw himself back in
his chair, frown, shake his head, and look horribly determined;
the course of progress was unalterable from the direct attack: "Do
you like to see us going about in rags, father?" through the stage
of "Well, well, 'ow much do you want? I simply can't afford----"
and the ensuing haggles down to the despairing sigh as the original
minimum demanded--in this case no less than five pounds--was forlornly
conceded, and clinched by Blanche's, "We must have it before the end
of the week, dad, the sales begin on Monday."
At the end of it all, he received what compensation they had to offer
him; hugs and kisses, offers to do all sorts of impossible things,
assistance in getting his armchair into precisely the right position,
and him into the chair, and the table cleared and the lamp in just
the right place for him to read his half-penny evening paper which
was fetched for him from the pocket of his overcoat. And, finally,
the crux of Gosling's whole position, a general air of complacency,
good-temper and comfort.
Gosling was an easy-going man, he hated rows.
"Mind you, you two," he remarked with a return to facetiousness as he
settled himself with his carpet slippers spread out to the fire--"mind
you, I look on this money as an investment. You two gels got to get
married; and quick or I shall be in the bankrup'cy Court. Don't you
forget as these 'fal-lals' is bought for a purpose."
"Oh, don't be so horrid, father," said Blanche, with a change of front;
"it sounds as if we were setting traps for men."
"Well, ain't you?" asked Gosling. "You said just now----"
"Not like that," interrupted Blanche. "It's very different just wanting
to look nice. Personally, I'm in no 'urry to get married, thank you."
"You wait till Mr Right comes along," put in Mrs Gosling, and then
turned the conversation by saying: "Well, father, what's the news
this evening?"
"Nothin' excitin'," replied Gosling. "Seems this new plague's spreadin'
in China."
"They're always inventin' new diseases, nowadays, or callin' old ones
by new names," said Mrs Gosling. The two girls were busy with a sheet
of note-paper and a stump of pencil that seemed to require frequent
lubrication; they were making calculations.
"This one's quite new, seemingly," returned Gosling. "It's only the
men as get it."
"No need for us to worry, then," put in Millie, more as a duty,
some slight return for benefits promised, than because she took any
interest in the subject. Blanche was absorbed; her unseeing gaze was
fixed on the mantelpiece and ever and again she removed the point of
the pencil from her mouth and wrote feverishly.
"Oh, ain't there?" replied Gosling. He turned his head in order to
argue from so strong a position. "And where'd you be, and all the
rest of the women, if you 'adn't got no men to look after you?"
"I expect we could get along pretty well, if we had to," said Millie.
Gosling winked at his wife, and indicated by an upward movement of
his chin that he was astounded at such innocence. "Who'd buy your
'fal-lals' for you, I should like to know?" he asked.
"We'd have to earn money for ourselves," said Millie.
"Ah! I'd like to see you or Blanche takin' over my job," replied her
father. "Why, I'll lay there's 'alf a dozen mistakes in the figurin'
she's doing at the present moment. Let me see!"
Blanche descended suddenly from visions of Paradise, and put her hand
over the sheet of note-paper. "You can't, father," she said.
Gosling looked sly. "Indeed?" he said, with simulated surprise. "And
why not? Ain't I to be allowed to judge of the nature of the investment
I'm goin' in for? I might give you an 'int or two from the gentleman's
point of view."
Blanche shook her head. "I haven't added it up yet," she said.
Gosling did not press the point; he returned to his original
position. "I dunno where you ladies 'ud be if you 'adn't no gentlemen
to look after you."
Mrs Gosling smirked. "We'll 'ope it won't come to that," she
said. "China's a long way off."
"Appears as there's been one case in Russia, though," remarked
Gosling. He saw that he had rather a good thing in this threat of male
extermination, a pleasant, harmless threat to hold over his feminine
dependents; a means to emphasize the facts of masculine superiority
and of the absolute necessity for masculine intelligence; facts that
were not sufficiently well realized in Wisteria Grove, at times.
Mrs Gosling yawned surreptitiously. She was doing her best to be
pleasant, but the subject bored her. She was a practical woman
who worked hard all day to keep her house clean, and received very
feeble assistance from the daughters for whom her one ambition was
an establishment conducted on lines precisely similar to her own.
Millie and Blanche had returned to their calculations and were
completely absorbed.
"In Russia? Just fancy," commented Mrs Gosling.
"In Moscow," said Gosling, studying his Evening News. "'E was an
official on the trans-Siberian Railway. 'As soon as the disease
was identified as a case of the new plague,'" read Gosling, "'the
patient was at once removed to the infectious hospital and strictly
isolated. He died within two hours of his admission. Stringent measures
are being taken to prevent the infection from spreading.'"
"Was 'e a married man?" asked Mrs Gosling.
"Doesn't say," replied her husband. "But the point is that if it once
gets to Europe, who knows where it'll stop?"
"They'll see to that, you may be sure," said Mrs Gosling, with a
beautiful faith in the scientific resources of civilization. "It said
somethin' about that in the bit you've just read."
Gosling was not to be done out of his argument. "Very like," he
said. "But now, just supposin' as this 'ere plague did spread to
London, and 'alf the men couldn't go to work; where d'you fancy
you'd be?"
Mrs Gosling was unable to grasp the intricacies of this
abstraction. "Well, of course, every one knows as we couldn't get on
without the men," she said.
"Ah! well there you are, got it in once," said Gosling. "And don't
you gels forget it," he added turning to his daughters.
Millie only giggled, but Blanche said, "All right, dad, we won't."
The girls returned to their calculations; they had arrived at the
stage of cutting out all those items which were not "absolutely
necessary." Five pounds had proved a miserably inadequate sum on paper.
Gosling returned to his Evening News, which presently slipped gently
from his hand to the floor. Mrs Gosling looked up from her sewing
and put a finger on her lips. The voices of Blanche and Millie were
subdued to sibilant whisperings.
Gosling had forgotten his economic problems, and his daring
abstractions concerning a world despoiled of male activity, especially
of that essential activity, as he figured it, the making of money--the
wage-earner was enjoying his after-dinner nap, hedged about, protected
and cared for by his womankind.
There may have been a quarter of a million wage-earners in Greater
London at that moment, who, however much they differed from Gosling
on such minor questions as Tariff Reform or the capabilities of the
then Chancellor of the Exchequer, would have agreed with him as a
matter of course, on the essentials he had discussed that evening.
3
At half-past nine the click of the letter-box, followed by a resounding
double-knock, announced the arrival of the last post. Millie jumped
up at once and went out eagerly.
Mr Gosling opened his eyes and stared with drunken fixity at the
mantelpiece; then, without moving the rest of his body, he began to
grope automatically with his left hand for the fallen newspaper. He
found it at last, picked it up and pretended to read with sleep-sodden
eyes.
"It's the post, dear," remarked Mrs Gosling.
Gosling yawned enormously. "Who's it for?" he asked.
"Millie! Millie!" called Mrs Gosling. "Why don't you bring the
letters in?"
Millie did not reply, but she came slowly into the room, in her hands
a letter which she was examining minutely.
"Who's it for, Mill?" asked Blanche, impatiently.
"Father," replied Millie, still intent on her study. "It's a foreign
letter. I seem to remember the writing, too, only I can't fix it
exactly."
"'Ere, 'and it over, my gel," said Gosling, and Millie reluctantly
parted with her fascinating enigma.
"I know that 'and, too," remarked Gosling, and he, also, would have
spent some time in the attempt to guess the puzzle without looking
up the answer within the envelope, but the three spectators, who were
not sharing his interest, manifested impatience.
"Well, ain't you going to open it, father?" asked Millie, and Mrs
Gosling looked at her husband over her spectacles and remarked,
"It must be a business letter, if it comes from foreign parts."
"Don't get business letters to this address," returned the head
of the house, "besides which it's from Warsaw; we don't do nothin'
with Warsaw."
At last he opened the letter.
The three women fixed their gaze on Gosling's face.
"Well?" ejaculated Millie, after a silence of several seconds. "Aren't
you going to tell us?"
"You'd never guess," said Gosling triumphantly.
"Anyone we know?" asked Blanche.
"Yes, a gentleman."
"Oh! tell us, father," urged the impatient Millie.
"It's from the Mr Thrale, as lodged with us once," announced Gosling.
"Oh! dear, our Mr Fastidious," commented Blanche, "I thought he was
dead long ago."
"It must be over four years since 'e left," put in Mrs Gosling.
"Getting on for five," corrected Blanche. "I remember I put my hair
up while he was here."
"What's he say?" asked Millie.
"'E says, 'Dear Mr Gosling, I expect you will be surprised to 'ear
from me after my five years' silence----'"
"I said it was five years," put in Blanche. "Go on, dad!"
Dad resumed "... 'but I 'ave been in various parts of the world and it
'as been quite impossible to keep up a correspondence. I am writing
now to tell you that I shall be back in London in a few days, and to
ask you whether you can find a room for me in Wisteria Grove?'"
"Well! I should 'ave thought he'd 'ave written to me to ask that!" said
Mrs Gosling.
"So 'e should 'ave, by rights," agreed Gosling. "But 'e's a queer
card is Mr Thrale."
"Bit dotty, if you ask me," said Blanche.
"'S that all?" asked Mrs Gosling.
"No, 'e says: 'I can't give you an address as I go on to Berlin
immediately, but I will look you up the evening after I arrive. Eastern
Europe is not safe at the present time. There 'ave been several
cases of the new plague in Moscow, but the authorities are doing
everything they can--which is much in Russia--to keep the news out
of the press, yours sincerely, Jasper Thrale,' and that's the lot,"
concluded Gosling.
"I do think he's a cool hand," commented Blanche. "Of course you
won't have him as a paying guest now?"
Gosling and his wife looked at each other, thoughtfully.
"Well----" hesitated Gosling.
"'E might bring the infection," suggested Mrs Gosling.
"Oh! no fear of that," returned her husband, "but I dunno as we want
a boarder now. Five years ago I 'adn't got my big rise----"
"Oh, no, father; what would the neighbours think of us if we started
to take boarders again?" protested Blanche.
"It wouldn't look well," agreed Mrs Gosling.
"Jus' what I was thinking," said the head of the house. "'Owever,
there's no 'arm in payin' us a friendly visit."
"O' course not," said Mrs Gosling, "though I do think it odd 'e
shouldn't 'ave written to me in the first place.
"He's dotty!" said Blanche.
Gosling shook his head. "Not by a very long chalk 'e ain't," was his
firm pronouncement....
"Well, girls, what about bed?" asked Mrs Gosling, putting away the
"bit of mending" she had been engaged upon.
Gosling yawned again, stretched himself, and rose grunting to his
feet. "I'm about ready for my bed," he remarked, and after another
yawn he started his nightly round of inspection.
When he returned to the sitting-room the others were all ready to
retire. Gosling kissed his daughters, and the two girls and their
mother went upstairs. Gosling carefully took off the larger pieces
of coal from the fire and put them under the grate, rolled up the
hearthrug, saw that the window was securely fastened, extinguished
the lamp and followed his "womenfolk."
As he was undressing his thoughts turned once more to the threat of
the new disease which was devastating China.
"Rum thing about that new plague," he remarked to his wife. "Seems
as it's only men as get it."
"They'd never let it spread to England," replied Mrs Gosling.
"Oh! there's no fear of that, none whatever," said Gosling, "but it's
rum that about women never catching it."
The attitude of the Goslings faithfully reflected that of the immense
majority of English people. The faith in the hygienic and scientific
resources which were at the disposal of the authorities, and the
implicit trust in the vigilance and energy of those authorities, were
sufficient to allay any fears that were not too imminent. It was some
one's duty to look after these things, and if they were not looked
after there would be letters in the papers about it. At last, without
question, the authorities would be roused to a sense of duty and the
trouble, whatever it was, would be stopped. Precisely what authority
managed these affairs none of the huge Gosling family knew. Vaguely
they pictured Medical Boards, or Health Committees; dimly they
connected these things with local government; at the top, doubtless,
was some managing authority--in Whitehall probably--something to
do with the supreme head of affairs, the much abused but eminently
paternal Government.
II--THE OPINIONS OF JASPER THRALE
1
"Lord, how I do envy you," said Morgan Gurney.
Jasper Thrale sat forward in his chair. "There's no reason why you
shouldn't do what I've done--and more," he said.
"Theoretically, I suppose not," replied Gurney. "It's just making
the big effort to start with. You see I've got a very decent berth
and good prospects, and it's comfortable and all that. Only when
some fellow like you comes along and tells one yarns of the world
outside, I get sort of hankerings after the sea and adventure, and
seeing the big things. It's only now and then--ordinary times I'm
contented enough." He stuck his pipe in the corner of his mouth and
stared into the fire.
"The only things that really count are feeling clean and strong and
able," said Thrale. "You never really have that feeling if you live
in the big cities."
"I've felt like that sometimes after a long bicycle ride," interpolated
Gurney.
"But then the feeling is wasted, you see," said Thrale. "When you
feel like that and there is something tremendous to spend it upon,
you get the great emotion as well."
"Like the glimmer of St Agnes' light, after you'd been eight weeks
out of sight of land?" reflected Gurney, going back to one of Thrale's
reminiscences.
"To feel that you are a part of life, not this dead, stale life of
the city, but the life of the whole universe," said Thrale.
"I know," replied Gurney. "To-night I've half a mind to chuck my job
and go out looking for mystery."
"But you won't do it," said Thrale.
Gurney sighed and began to analyse the instinct within himself,
to find precisely why he wanted to do it.
"Well, I must go," said Thrale, getting to his feet, "I've got to
find some sort of lodging."
"I thought you were going to stay with those Gosling people of yours,"
said Gurney.
"No! That's off. I went to see them last night and they won't have
me. The old man's making his £300 a year now, and the family's too
respectable to take boarders." Thrale picked up his hat and held out
his hand.
"But, look here, old chap, why the devil can't you stay here?" asked
Gurney.
"I didn't know that you'd anywhere to put me," said Thrale.
"Oh, yes. There's always a room to be had downstairs," said Gurney.
After a brief discussion the arrangement was made.
"It's understood I'm to pay my whack," said Thrale.
"Of course, if you insist----"
When Thrale had gone to fetch his luggage from the hotel, Gurney
sat pondering over the fire. He was debating whether he had been
altogether wise in pressing his invitation. He was wondering whether
the curiously rousing personality of Thrale, and the stories of those
still existent corners of the world outside the rules of civilization
were good for a civil servant with an income of £600 a year. Gurney,
faced with the plain alternatives, could only decide that he would be a
fool to throw up a congenial and lucrative occupation such as his own,
in order to face present physical discomfort and future penury. He
knew that the discomforts would be very real to him at first. His
friends would think him mad. And all for the sake of experiencing
some high emotion now and again, in order to feel clean and fresh
and be able to discover something of the unknown mystery of life.
"I suppose there is something of the poet in me," reflected
Gurney. "And I expect I should hate the discomforts. One's imagination
gets led away...."
2
During the next few evenings the conversations between these two
friends were many and protracted.
Thrale was the teacher, and Gurney was content to sit at his feet
and learn. He had a receptive mind, he was interested in all life,
but Uppingham, Trinity Hall, and the Home Civil had constricted his
mental processes. At twenty-nine he was losing flexibility. Thrale
gave him back his power to think, set him outside the formulas of
his school, taught him that however sound his deductions, there was
not one of his premises which could not be disputed.
Thrale was Gurney's senior by three years, and when Thrale left
Uppingham at eighteen, he had gone out into the world. He had a
patrimony of some £200 a year; but he had taken only a lump sum of
£100 and had started out to appease his furious curiosity concerning
life. He had laboured as a miner in the Klondike; had sailed, working
his passage as an ordinary seaman, from San Francisco to Southampton;
he had been a stockman in Australia, assistant to a planter in Ceylon,
a furnace minder in Kimberley and a tally clerk in Hong Kong. For
nearly nine years, indeed, he had earned a living in every country
of the world except Europe, and then he had come back to London and
invested the accumulation of income that his trustee had amassed for
him. The mere spending of money had no fascination for him. During
the six months he had remained in London he had lived very simply,
lodging with the Goslings in Kilburn, and, because he could not live
idly, exploring every corner of the great city and writing articles
for the journals. He might have earned a large income by this latter
means, for he had an originality of outlook and a freshness of style
that made his contributions eagerly sought after once he had obtained
a hearing--no difficult matter in London for anyone who has something
new to say. But experience, not income, was his desire, and at the
end of six months he had accepted an offer from the Daily Post as a
European correspondent--on space. He was offered £600 a year, but
he preferred to be free, and he had no wish to be confined to one
capital or country.
In those five years he had traversed Europe, sending in his articles
irregularly, as he required money. And during that time his chief
trustee--a lawyer of the soundest reputation--had absconded, and
Thrale found his private income reduced to about £40 a year, the
interest on one of the investments he had made, in his own name only,
with his former accumulation--two other investments made at the same
time had proved unsound.
This loss had not troubled him in any way. When he had read in a
London journal of his trustee's abscondence--he was later sentenced
to fourteen years' penal servitude--Thrale had smiled and dismissed
the matter from his mind. He could always earn all the money he
required, and had never, not even subconsciously, relied upon his
private fortune.
He had now come back to London with a definite purpose, he had come
to warn England of a great danger....
One other distinguishing mark of Jasper Thrale's life must be
understood, a mark which differentiated him from the overwhelming
majority of his fellow men--women had no fascination for him. Once in
his life, and once only, had he approached and tasted experience--with
a pretty little Melbourne cocotte. That experience he had undertaken
deliberately, because he felt that until it had been undergone one
great factor of life would be unknown to him. He had come away from
it filled with a disgust of himself that had endured for months....
3
Fragments of the long conversations between Thrale and Gurney,
the exchange of a few germane ideas among the irrelevant mass,
had a bearing upon their immediate future. There was, for instance,
a criticism of the Goslings, introduced on one occasion, which had
a certain significance in relation to subsequent developments.
Some question of Gurney's prompted Thrale to the opinion that the
Goslings were in the main precisely like half a million other families
of the same class.
"But that's just what makes them so interesting," said Gurney,
not because he believed it, but because at the moment he wanted to
lead the conversation into safe ground, away from the too appealing
attractions of the big world outside the little village of London.
Thrale laughed. "That's truer than you guess," he said. "Every
large generalization, however trite, is a valuable contribution to
knowledge--if it's more or less accurate."
"Generalize, then, mon vieux," suggested Gurney, "from the characters
and doings of your little geese."
"I've seen glimmerings of the immortal god in the old man," said
Thrale, "like the hint of sunlight seen through a filthy pane
of obscured glass. He's a prurient-minded old beast leading what's
called a respectable life, but if he could indulge his ruling desire
with absolute secrecy, no woman would be safe with him. In his world
he can't do that, or thinks he can't, which comes to precisely the
same thing. He is too much afraid of being caught, he sees danger
where none exists, he looks to all sorts of possibilities, and won't
take a million-to-one chance because he is risking his all--which is
included in the one word, respectability."
"Jolly good thing. What?" remarked Gurney.
"Good for society as a whole, apparently," replied Thrale, "but surely
not good for the man. I've told you that I have seen glimmerings of
the god in him, but outside the routine of his work the man's mind
is clogged. He's not much over fifty, and he has no outlet, now,
for his desires. He's like a man with choked pores, and his body is
po | 1,737.684485 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.6654560 | 1,592 | 22 |
Produced by David Starner, Keith Edkins 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 Books project.)
The
Story of Genesis and Exodus,
AN EARLY ENGLISH SONG,
ABOUT A.D. 1250.
EDITED
FROM A UNIQUE MS. IN THE LIBRARY OF CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
WITH INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND GLOSSARY,
BY THE
REV. RICHARD MORRIS, LL.D.,
AUTHOR OF "HISTORICAL OUTLINES OF ENGLISH ACCIDENCE;"
EDITOR OF "HAMPOLE'S PRICKS OF CONSCIENCE;" "EARLY ENGLISH ALLITERATIVE
POEMS,"
ETC. ETC.;
ONE OF THE VICE-PRESIDENTS OF THE PHILOLOGICAL SOCIETY.
[Second and Revised Edition, 1873.]
LONDON:
PUBLISHED FOR THE EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY,
BY N. TRÜBNER & CO., 57 & 59, LUDGATE HILL.
MDCCCLXV.
PREFACE.
DESCRIPTION OF THE MANUSCRIPT, ETC.
The Editor of the present valuable and interesting record of our old
English speech will, no doubt, both astonish and alarm his readers by
informing them that he has never seen the manuscript from which the work he
professes to edit has been transcribed.
But, while the truth must be told, the reader need not entertain the
slightest doubt or distrust as to the accuracy and faithfulness of the
present edition; for, in the first place, the text was copied by Mr F. J.
Furnivall, an experienced editor and a zealous lover of Old English lore;
and, secondly, the proof sheets have been most carefully read with the
manuscript by the Rev. W. W. Skeat, who has spared no pains to render the
text an accurate copy of the original.[1] I have not been satisfied with
merely the general accuracy of the text, but all _doubtful_ or _difficult_
passages have been most carefully referred to, and compared with the
manuscript, so that the more questionable a word may appear, either as
regards its _form_ or _meaning_, the more may the reader rest assured of
its correctness, so that he may be under no apprehension that he is
perplexed by any typographical error, but feel confident that he is dealing
with the reading of the original copy.
The editorial portion of the present work includes the punctuation,
marginal analysis, conjectural readings, a somewhat large body of
annotations on the text of the poem, and a Glossarial Index, which, it is
hoped, will be found to be complete, as well as useful for reference.
The Corpus manuscript[2] is a small volume (about 8 in. × 4½ in.), bound in
vellum, written on parchment in a hand of about 1300 A.D., with several
final long ſ's, and consisting of eighty-one leaves. Genesis ends on fol.
49_b_; Exodus has the last two lines at the top of fol. 81_a_.
The writing is clear and regular; the letters are large, but the words are
often very close together. Every initial letter has a little dab of red on
it, and they are mostly capitals, except the _b_, the _f_, the _ð_, and
sometimes other letters. Very rarely, however, _B_, _F_, and _Ð_ are found
as initial letters.
The illuminated letters are simply large vermilion letters without
ornament, and are of an earlier form than the writing of the rest of the
manuscript. Every line ends with a full stop (or metrical point), except,
very rarely, when omitted by accident. Whenever this stop occurs in the
middle of a line it has been marked thus (.) in the text.
DESCRIPTION OF THE POEM.
Our author, of whom, unfortunately, we know nothing, introduces his subject
to his readers by telling them that they ought to love a rhyming story
which teaches the "layman" (though he be learned in no books) how to love
and serve God, and to live peaceably and amicably with his fellow
Christians. His poem, or "song," as he calls it, is, he says, turned out of
Latin into English speech; and as birds are joyful to see the dawning, so
ought Christians to rejoice to hear the "true tale" of man's fall and
subsequent redemption related in the vulgar tongue ("land's speech"), and
in easy language ("small words").
So eschewing a "high style" and all profane subjects, he declares that he
will undertake to sing no other song, although his present task should
prove unsuccessful.[3] Our poet next invokes the aid of the Deity for his
song in the following terms:—
"Fader god of alle ðhinge,
Almigtin louerd, hegeſt kinge,
ðu giue me ſeli timinge
To thaunen ðis werdes biginninge,
ðe, leuerd god, to wurðinge,
Queðer ſo hic rede or ſinge!"[4]
Then follows the Bible narrative of Genesis and Exodus, here and there
varied by the introduction of a few of those sacred legends so common in
the mediæval ages, but in the use of which, however, our author is far less
bold than many subsequent writers, who, seeking to make their works
attractive to the "lewed," did not scruple to mix up with the sacred
history the most absurd and childish stories, which must have rendered such
compilations more amusing than instructive. It seems to have been the
object of the author of the present work to present to his readers, in as
few words as possible, the most important facts contained in the Books of
Genesis and Exodus without any elaboration or comment, and he has,
therefore, omitted such facts as were not essentially necessary to the
completeness of his narrative;[5] while, on the other hand, he has included
certain portions of the Books of Numbers and Deuteronomy,[6] so as to
present to his readers a complete history of the wanderings of the
Israelites, and the life of Moses their leader.
In order to excite the reader's curiosity, we subjoin a few passages, with
a literal translation:—
LAMECH'S BIGAMY.
Lamech is at ðe sexte kne,
ðe ſeuende man after adam,
ðat of caymes kinde cam.
ðiſ lamech waſ ðe firme man,
ðe bigamie firſt bi-gan.
Bigamie is unkinde ðing,
On engleis tale, twie-wifing;
for ai was rigt and kire bi-forn,
On man, on wif, til he was boren.
Lamech him two wifes nam,
On adda, an noðer wif ſellam.
Adda bar him � | 1,737.685496 |
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THE YOUNG SURVEYOR;
OR,
JACK ON THE PRAIRIES.
BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE
AUTHOR OF "JACK HAZARD AND HIS FORTUNES," ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
BOSTON:
JAMES R. OSGOOD AND COMPANY,
LATE TICKNOR & FIELDS, AND FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.
1875.
Copyright, 1875.
BY JAMES R. OSGOOD & CO.
UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
CAMBRIDGE.
[Illustration: HOW THE BOYS WENT TO THE RIVER FOR WATER.]
CONTENTS.
I. "NOTHING BUT A BOY"
II. OLD WIGGETT'S SECTION CORNER
III. THE HOMEWARD TRACK
IV. A DEER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED
V. THE BOY WITH ONE SUSPENDER
VI. "LORD BETTERSON'S"
VII. JACK AT THE "CASTLE"
VIII. HOW VINNIE MADE A JOURNEY
IX. VINNIE'S ADVENTURE
X. JACK AND VINNIE IN CHICAGO
XI. JACK'S NEW HOME
XII. VINNIE'S FUTURE HOME
XIII. WHY JACK DID NOT FIRE AT THE PRAIRIE CHICKEN
XIV. SNOWFOOT'S NEW OWNER
XV. GOING FOR A WITNESS
XVI. PEAKSLOW GETS A QUIRK IN HIS HEAD
XVII. VINNIE MAKES A BEGINNING
XVIII. VINNIE'S NEW BROOM
XIX. LINK'S WOOD-PILE
XX. MORE WATER THAN THEY WANTED
XXI. PEAKSLOW SHOWS HIS HAND
XXII. THE WOODLAND SPRING
XXIII. JACK'S "BIT OF ENGINEERING"
XXIV. PREPARING FOR THE ATTACK
XXV. THE BATTLE OF THE BOUNDARY FENCE
XXVI. VICTORY
XXVII. VINNIE IN THE LION'S DEN
XXVIII. AN "EXTRAORDINARY" GIRL
XXIX. ANOTHER HUNT, AND HOW IT ENDED
XXX. JACK'S PRISONER
XXXI. RADCLIFF
XXXII. AN IMPORTANT EVENT
XXXIII. MRS. WIGGETT'S "NOON-MARK"
XXXIV. THE STRANGE CLOUD
XXXV. PEAKSLOW IN A TIGHT PLACE.--CECIE
XXXVI. "ON THE WAR TRAIL"
XXXVII. THE MYSTERY OF A PAIR OF BREECHES
XXXVIII. THE MORNING AFTER
XXXIX. FOLLOWING UP THE MYSTERY
XL. PEAKSLOW'S HOUSE-RAISING
XLI. CONCLUSION
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
SETTING THE STAKES
JACK AND THE STRANGE YOUTH
UP-HILL WORK
"LORD BETTERSON"
TOO OBLIGING BY HALF
LINK DOESN'T CARE TO BE KISSED
SHOT ON THE WING
THE AMIABLE MR. PEAKSLOW
VINNIE'S STRATAGEM
LINK'S WOOD-PILE
HOW THE BOYS WENT TO THE RIVER FOR WATER
TESTING THE LEVEL
OLD WIGGETT
"STOP, OR I'LL SHOOT!"
RETURNING IN TRIUMPH
THE END OF THE CHASE
JACK AND HIS JOLLY PRISONER
THE TORNADO COMING
PEAKSLOW REAPPEARS
FOLLOWING THE WAR TRAIL UNDER DIFFICULTIES
THE WATER QUESTION SETTLED
THE YOUNG SURVEYOR.
CHAPTER I.
"NOTHING BUT A BOY."
[Illustration]
A young fellow in a light buggy, with a big black dog sitting composedly
beside him, enjoying the ride, drove up, one summer afternoon, to the
door of a log-house, in one of the early settlements of Northern
Illinois.
A woman with lank features, in a soiled gown trailing its rags about her
bare feet, came and stood in the doorway and stared at him.
"Does Mr. Wiggett live here?" he inquired.
"Wal, I reckon," said the woman, "'f he ain't dead or skedaddled of a
suddent."
"Is he at home?"
"Wal, I reckon."
"Can I see him?"
"I dunno noth'n' to hender. Yer, Sal! run up in the burnt lot and fetch
your pap. Tell him a stranger. You've druv a good piece," the woman
added, glancing at the buggy-wheels and the horse's white feet, stained
with black prairie soil.
"I've driven over from North Mills," replied the young fellow, regarding
her pleasantly, with bright, honest features, from under the shade of
his hat-brim.
"I 'lowed as much. Alight and come into the house. Old man'll be yer in
a minute."
He declined the invitation to enter; but, to rest his limbs, leaped down
from the buggy. Thereupon the dog rose from his seat on the
wagon-bottom, jumped down after him, and shook himself.
"All creation!" said the woman, "what a pup that ar is! Yer, you young
uns! Put back into the house, and hide under the bed, or he'll eat ye up
like ye was so much cl'ar soap-grease!"
At that moment the dog stretched his great mouth open, with a formidable
yawn. Panic seized the "young uns," and they scampered; their bare legs
and exceedingly scanty attire (only three shirts and a half to four
little barbarians) seeming to offer the dog unusual facilities, had he
chosen to regard them as soap-grease and to regale himself on that sort
of diet. But he was too well-bred and good-natured an animal to think of
snapping up a little Wiggett or two for his luncheon; and the fugitives,
having first run under the bed and looked out, ventured back to the
door, and peeped with scared faces from behind their mother's gown.
To hide his laughter, the young fellow stood patting and stroking his
horse's neck until Sal returned with her "pap."
"Mr. Wiggett?" inquired the youth, seeing a tall, spare, rough old man
approach.
"That's my name, stranger. What can I dew for ye to-day?"
"I've come to see what I can do for _you_, Mr. Wiggett. I believe you
want your section corner looked up."
"That I dew, stranger. But I 'lowed 't would take a land-surveyor for
that."
"I am a land-surveyor," said the young fellow, with a modest smile.
"A land-surveyor? Why, you're noth'n' but a boy!" And the tall old man,
bending a little, and knitting his gray eyebrows, looked down upon his
visitor with a sort of amused curiosity.
"That's so," replied the "boy," with a laugh and a blush. "But I think I
can find your corner, if the bearings are all right."
"Whur's your instruments?" asked the old man, leaning over the buggy.
"Them all? What's that gun to do with land-surveyin'?"
"Nothing; I brought that along, thinking I might get a shot at a rabbit
or a prairie hen. But we shall need an axe and a shovel."
"I 'lowed your boss would come himself, in place of sendin' a boy!"
muttered the old man, taking up the gun,--a light double-barrelled
fowling-piece,--sighting across it with an experienced eye, and laying
it down again. "Sal, bring the axe; it's stickin' in the log thar by the
wood-pile. Curi's thing, to lose my section corner, hey?"
"It's not a very uncommon thing," replied the young surveyor.
"Fact is," said the old man, "I never found it I bought of Seth
Parkins's widder arter Seth died, and banged if I've ever been able to
find the gov'ment stake."
"Maybe somebody pulled it up, or broke it off, to kill a rattlesnake
with," suggested the young surveyor.
"Like enough," said the old man. "Can't say 't I blame him; though he
might 'a' got a stick in the timber by walkin' a few rods. He couldn't
'a' been so bad off as one o' you surveyor chaps was when the gov'ment
survey went through. He was off on the Big Perairie, footin' it to his
camp, when he comes to a rattler curled up in the grass, and shakin' his
tarnal buzz-tail at him. He steps back, and casts about him for some
sort of we'pon; he hadn't a thing in his fist but a roll of paper, and
if ever a chap hankered arter a stick or a stun, they say he did. But it
was all jest perairie grass; nary rock nor a piece of timber within
three mile. Snake seemed to 'preciate his advantage, and flattened his
head and whirred his rattle sassier 'n ever. Surveyor chap couldn't
stan' that. So what does he dew, like a blamed fool, but jest off with
his boot and hurl it, 'lowin' he could kill a rattler that way? He
missed shot. Then, to git his boot, he had to pull off t' other, and
tackle the snake with that. Lost that tew. Then he was in a
perdickerment; snake got both boots; curled up on tew 'em, ready to
strike, and seemin' to say, 'If you've any more boots to spar', bring
'em on.' Surveyor chap hadn't no more boots, to his sorrow; and, arter
layin' siege to the critter till sundown, hopin' he'd depart in peace
and leave him his property, he guv it up as a bad job, and footed it to
the camp in his stockin's, fancyin' he was treadin' among rattlers all
the way."
The story was finished by the time the axe was brought; the old man
picked up a rusty shovel lying by the house, and, getting into the buggy
with his tools, he pointed out to his young companion a rough road
leading through the timber.
This was a broad belt of woodland, skirting the eastern side of a wide,
fertile river-bottom, and giving to the settlement the popular name of
"Long Woods."
On the other side of the timber lay the high prairie region, covered
with coarse wild grass, and spotted with flowers, without tree or shrub
visible until another line of timber, miles away, marked the vicinity of
another stream.
The young surveyor and the old man, in the jolting buggy, followed by
the dog, left the log-house and the valley behind them; traversed the
woods, through flickering sun and shade; and drove southward along the
edge of the rolling prairie, until the old man said they had better stop
and hitch.
"I don't hitch my horse," said the young surveyor. "The dog looks out
for him. Here, old fellow, watch!"
"The section corner, I ca'c'late," said the old man, shouldering his
axe, "is off on the perairie thar, some'er's. Come, and I'll show ye the
trees."
"Is that big oak with the broken limb one of them?"
"Wal, now, how did ye come to guess that?--one tree out of a hundred ye
might 'a' picked."
"It is a prominent tree," replied the youth, "and, if I had been the
surveyor, I think I should have chosen it for one, to put my bearings
on."
"Boy, you're right! But it took me tew days to decide even that. The
underbrush has growed up around it, and the old scar has nigh about
healed over."
The old man led the way through the thickets, and, reaching a small
clear space at the foot of the great oak, pointed out the scar, where
the trunk had been blazed by the axemen of the government survey. On a
surface about six inches broad, hewed for the purpose, the distance and
direction of the tree from the corner stake had, no doubt, been duly
marked. But only a curiously shaped wound was left. The growth of the
wood was rapid in that rich region, and, although the cut had been made
but a few years before, a broad lip of smooth new bark had rolled up
about it from the sides, and so nearly closed over it that only a
narrow, perpendicular, dark slit remained.
"What do you make of that | 1,737.754115 |
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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 Am | 1,737.771984 |
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GIRL SCOUTS
THEIR WORKS, WAYS AND PLAYS
"_Be Prepared_"
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: Girl Scout Logo]
GIRL SCOUTS
Incorporated
NATIONAL HEADQUARTERS
189 Lexington Avenue
New York City
_Series No. 5_
GIRL SCOUTS
MOTTO
"_Be Prepared_"
[Illustration: Girl Scout Logo]
SLOGAN
"_Do A Good Turn Daily_"
PROMISE
On My Honor, I Will Try:
To do my duty to God and to my Country
To help other people at all times
To obey the Scout Laws
LAWS
I A Girl Scout's Honor is to be trusted.
II A Girl Scout is loyal.
III A Girl Scout's Duty is to be useful and to help others.
IV A Girl Scout is a friend to all, and a sister to every
other Girl Scout.
V A Girl Scout is Courteous.
VI A Girl Scout is a friend to Animals.
VII A Girl Scout obeys Orders.
VIII A Girl Scout is Cheerful.
IX A Girl Scout is Thrifty.
X A Girl Scout is Clean in Thought, Word and Deed.
GIRL SCOUTS
Their Works, Ways and Plays
The Girl Scouts, a National organization, is open to any girl who
expresses her desire to join and voluntarily accepts the Promise and
the Laws. The object of the Girl Scouts is to bring to all girls the
opportunity for group experience, outdoor life, and to learn through
work, but more by play, to serve their community. Patterned after the
Girl Guides of England, the sister organization of the Boy Scouts, the
Girl Scouts has developed a method of self-government and a variety of
activities that appear to be well suited to the desires of the girls
as the 60,000 registered Scouts and the 5,000 new applicants each
month testify.
Activities
The activities of the Girl Scouts may be grouped under five headings
corresponding to five phases of women's life today:
I. The Home-maker.
II. The Producer.
III. The Consumer.
IV. The Citizen.
V. The Human Being.
I. _Woman's most ancient way of service--the home-maker, the nurse,
and the mother._ The program provides incentives for practicing
woman's world-old arts by requiring an elementary proficiency in
cooking, housekeeping, first aid, and the rules of healthful living
for any Girl Scout passing beyond the Tenderfoot stage. Of the forty
odd subjects for which Proficiency Badges are given, more than
one-fourth are in subjects directly related to the services of woman
in the home, as mother, nurse or homekeeper. Into this work so often
distasteful because solitary is brought the sense of comradeship. This
is effected partly by having much of the actual training done in
groups. Another element is the public recognition, and rewarding of
skill in this, woman's most elementary service to the world, usually
taken for granted and ignored.
The spirit of play infused into the simplest and most repetitious of
household tasks banishes drudgery. "Give us, oh give us," says
Carlyle, "a man who sings at his work. He will do more in the same
time, he will do it better, he will persevere longer. Wondrous is the
strength of cheerfulness; altogether past comprehension its power of
endurance."
II. _Woman, the producer._ Handicrafts of many sorts enter into the
program of the Girl Scouts. In camping girls must know how to set up
tents, build lean-tos, and construct fire-places. They must also know
how to make knots of various sorts to use for bandages, tying parcels,
hitching, and so forth. Among the productive occupations in which
Proficiency Badges are awarded are bee-keeping, dairying and general
farming, gardening, weaving and needlework.
III. _Woman, the consumer._ One of the features in modern economics
which is only beginning to be recognized is the fact that women form
the consuming public. There are very few purchases, even for men's own
use, which women do not have a hand in selecting. Practically the
entire burden of household buying in all departments falls on the
woman. In France this has long been recognized and the women of the
middle classes are the buying partners and bookkeepers in their
husbands' business. In America the test of a good husband is that he
brings home his pay envelope unopened, a tacit recognition that the
mother controls spending. The Girl Scouts encourage thrifty habits and
learning economy of buying in all of its activities. One of the ten
Scout Laws is that "A Girl Scout is Thrifty."
IV. _Woman, the citizen._ The basic organization of the Girl Scouts
into the self-governing unit of a Patrol is in itself an excellent
means of political training. Patrols and Troops conduct their own
meetings and the Scouts learn the elements of parliamentary law.
Working together in groups they realize the necessity for democratic
decisions. They also come to have community interests of an impersonal
sort. This is perhaps the greatest single contribution of the Scouts
toward the training of girls for citizenship. Little boys play
together and not only play together, but with men and boys of all
ages. The interest | 1,737.775972 |
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THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE
EDITED BY THE REV.
W. ROBERTSON NICOLL, M.A., LL.D.
_Editor of "The Expositor"_
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III._
PSALM XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
THE EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
_Crown_ 8_vo, cloth, price_ $1.50 _each vol._
FIRST SERIES, 1887-8.
Colossians.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D.
St. Mark.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
Genesis.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
1 Samuel.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
2 Samuel.
By the same Author.
Hebrews.
By Principal T. C. EDWARDS, D.D.
SECOND SERIES, 1888-9.
Galatians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Pastoral Epistles.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Isaiah I.-XXXIX.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. I.
The Book of Revelation.
By Prof. W. MILLIGAN, D.D.
1 Corinthians.
By Prof. MARCUS DODS, D.D.
The Epistles of St. John.
By Rt. Rev. W. ALEXANDER, D.D.
THIRD SERIES, 1889-90.
Judges and Ruth.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Jeremiah.
By Rev. C. J. BALL, M.A.
Isaiah XL.-LXVI.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Vol. II.
St. Matthew.
By Rev. J. MONRO GIBSON, D.D.
Exodus.
By Very Rev. the Dean of Armagh.
St. Luke.
By Rev. H. BURTON, M.A.
FOURTH SERIES, 1890-1.
Ecclesiastes.
By Rev. SAMUEL COX, D.D.
St. James and St. Jude.
By Rev. A. PLUMMER, D.D.
Proverbs.
By Rev. R. F. HORTON, D.D.
Leviticus.
By Rev. S. H. KELLOGG, D.D.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. I.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. I.
FIFTH SERIES, 1891-2.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. I.
1 and 2 Thessalonians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
The Book of Job.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
Ephesians.
By Prof. G. G. FINDLAY, B.A.
The Gospel of St. John.
By Prof. M. DODS, D.D. Vol. II.
The Acts of the Apostles.
By Prof. STOKES, D.D. Vol. II.
SIXTH SERIES, 1892-3.
1 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Philippians.
By Principal RAINY, D.D.
Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Joshua.
By Prof. W. G. BLAIKIE, D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. II.
The Epistles of St. Peter.
By Prof. RAWSON LUMBY, D.D.
SEVENTH SERIES, 1893-4.
2 Kings.
By Ven. Archdeacon FARRAR.
Romans.
By H. C. G. MOULE, M.A.
The Books of Chronicles.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
2 Corinthians.
By JAMES DENNEY, D.D.
Numbers.
By R. A. WATSON, M.A., D.D.
The Psalms.
By A. MACLAREN, D.D. Vol. III.
EIGHTH SERIES, 1895-6.
Daniel.
By the Ven. Archdeacon F. W. FARRAR.
The Book of Jeremiah.
By Prof. W. H. BENNETT, M.A.
Deuteronomy.
By Prof. ANDREW HARPER, B.D.
The Song of Solomon and Lamentations.
By Prof. W. F. ADENEY, M.A.
Ezekiel.
By Prof. JOHN SKINNER, M.A.
The Minor Prophets.
By Prof. G. A. SMITH, D.D. Two Vols.
THE PSALMS
BY
ALEXANDER MACLAREN, D.D.
_VOLUME III_
PSALMS XC.-CL.
NEW YORK
A. C. ARMSTRONG AND SON
51 EAST TENTH STREET
1894
CONTENTS
PAGE
PSALM XC. 3
" XCI. 14
" XCII. 26
" XCIII. 33
" XCIV. 38
" XCV. 48
" XCVI. 55
" XCVII. 60
" XCVIII. 68
" XCIX. 71
" C. 78
" CI. 81
" CII. 87
" CIII. 101
" CIV. 111
" CV. 124
" CVI. 137
" CVII. 155
" CVIII. 169
" CIX. 172
" CX. 183
" CXI. 193
" CXII. 198
" CXIII. 205
" CXIV. 210
" CXV. 214
" CXVI. 221
" CXVII. 229
" CXVIII. 231
" CXIX. 244
" CXX. 292
" CXXI. 297
" CXXII. 303
" CXXIII. 307
" CXXIV. 310
" CXXV. 313
" CXXVI. 318
" CXXVII. 323
" CXXVIII. 327
" CXXIX. 331
" CXXX. 335
" CXXXI. 341
" CXXXII. 344
" CXXXIII. 355
" CXXXIV. 359
" CXXXV. 361
" CXXXVI. 366
" CXXXVII. 370
" CXXXVIII. 376
" CXXXIX. 382
" CXL. 393
" CXLI. 398
" CXLII. 405
" CXLIII. 410
" CXLIV. 418
" CXLV. 424
" CXLVI. 434
" CXLVII. 440
" CXLVIII. 448
" CXLIX. 454
" CL. 458
BOOK IV.
_PSALMS XC.-CVI._
PSALM XC.
1 Lord, a dwelling-place hast Thou been for us
In generation after generation.
2 Before the mountains were born,
Or Thou gavest birth to the earth and the world,
Even from everlasting, Thou art God.
3 Thou turnest frail man back to dust,
And sayest, "Return, ye sons of man."
4 For a thousand years in Thine eyes are as yesterday when it was
passing,
And a watch in the night.
5 Thou dost flood them away, a sleep do they become,
In the morning they are like grass [which] springs afresh.
6 In the morning it blooms and springs afresh,
By evening it is cut down and withers.
7 For we are wasted away in Thine anger,
And by Thy wrath have we been panic-struck.
8 Thou hast set our iniquities before Thee,
Our secret [sins] in the radiance of Thy face.
| 1,737.778032 |
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E-text prepared by Al Haines
Transcriber's note:
"Bartimeus" is the pseudonym of Captain Lewis Ritchie, R.N.
A TALL SHIP
On Other Naval Occasions
by
"BARTIMEUS"
Author of "Naval Occasions"
... "All I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
* * *
And a laughing yarn from a merry fellow rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over."
JOHN MASEFIELD
Cassell and Company, Ltd
London, New York, Toronto and Melbourne
First published September 1915.
Reprinted September and October 1915.
To
H. M. S.
PREFACE
It is almost superfluous to observe that the following sketches contain
no attempt at the portrait of an individual. The majority are etched
in with the ink of pure imagination. A few are "composite" sketches of
a large number of originals with whom the Author has been shipmates in
the past and whose friendship he is grateful to remember.
Of these, some, alas! have finished "the long trick." To them, at no
risk of breaking their quiet sleep--_Ave atque vale_.
"Crab-Pots," "The Day," and "Chummy-Ships" appeared originally in
_Blackwood's Magazine_, and are reproduced here by kind permission of
the Editor.
CONTENTS
1. CRAB-POTS
2. THE DRUM
3. A CAPTAIN'S FORENOON
4. THE SEVEN-BELL BOAT
5. THE KING'S PARDON
6. AN OFF-SHORE WIND
7. THE DAY
8. THE MUMMERS
9. CHUMMY-SHIPS
10. THE HIGHER CLAIM
A TALL SHIP
I
CRAB-POTS
1
In moments of crisis the disciplined human mind works as a thing
detached, refusing to be hurried or flustered by outward circumstance.
Time and its artificial divisions it does not acknowledge. It is
concerned with preposterous details and with the ludicrous, and it is
acutely solicitous of other people's welfare, whilst working at a speed
mere electricity could never attain.
Thus with James Thorogood, Lieutenant, Royal Navy, when he--together
with his bath, bedding, clothes, and scanty cabin furniture, revolver,
first-aid outfit, and all the things that were his--was precipitated
through his cabin door across the aft-deck. The ship heeled violently,
and the stunning sound of the explosion died away amid the uproar of
men's voices along the mess-deck and the tinkle and clatter of broken
crockery in the wardroom pantry.
"Torpedoed!" said James, and was in his conjecture entirely correct.
He emerged from beneath the debris of his possessions, shaken and
bruised, and was aware that the aft-deck (that spacious vestibule
giving admittance on either side to officers' cabins, and normally
occupied by a solitary Marine sentry) was filled with figures rushing
past him towards the hatchway.
It was half-past seven in the morning. The Morning-watch had been
relieved and were dressing. The Middle-watch, of which James had been
one, were turning out after a brief three-hours' spell of sleep.
Officers from the bathroom, girt in towels, wardroom servants who had
been laying the table for breakfast, one or two Warrant-officers in sea
boots and monkey jackets--the Watch-below, in short--appeared and
vanished from his field of vision like figures on a screen. In no
sense of the word, however, did the rush resemble a panic. The
aft-deck had seen greater haste on all sides in a scramble on deck to
cheer a troopship passing the cruiser's escort. But the variety of
dress and undress, the expressions of grim anticipation in each man's
face as he stumbled over the uneven deck, set Thorogood's reeling mind,
as it were, upon its feet.
The Surgeon, pyjama clad, a crimson streak running diagonally across
the lather on his cheek, suddenly appeared crawling on all-fours
through the doorway of his shattered cabin. "I always said those
safety-razors were rotten things," he observed ruefully. "I've just
carved my initials on my face. And my ankle's broken. Have we been
torpedoed, or what, at all? An' what game is it you're playing under
that bath, James? Are you pretending to be an oyster?"
Thorogood pulled himself together and stood up. "I think one of their
submarines must have bagged us." He nodded across the flat to where,
beyond the wrecked debris of three cabins, the cruiser's side gaped
open to a clear sky and a line of splashing waves. Overhead on deck
the twelve-pounders were barking out a series of ear-splitting
reports--much as a terrier might yap defiance at a cobra over the
stricken body of its master.
"I think our number's up, old thing." Thorogood bent and slipped his
arms under the surgeon's body. "Shove your arms round my neck....
Steady!--hurt you? Heave! Up we go!" A Midshipman, ascending the
hatchway, paused and turned back. Then he ran towards them, spattering
through the water that had already invaded the flat.
"Still!" sang a bugle on deck. There was an instant's lull in the
stampede of feet overhead. The voices of the officers calling orders
were silent. The only sounds were the lapping of the waves | 1,737.779818 |
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Issued January 9, 1909.
U. S. DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE,
BUREAU OF CHEMISTRY--BULLETIN No. 119.
H. W. WILEY, Chief of Bureau.
EXPERIMENTS ON THE SPOILAGE
OF TOMATO KETCHUP.
BY
A. W. BITTING,
INSPECTOR, BUREAU OF CHEMISTRY.
[Illustration: Shield of the United States Department of Agriculture]
WASHINGTON:
GOVERNMENT PRINTING OFFICE.
1909.
LETTER OF TRANSMITTAL.
U. S. Department of Agriculture,
Bureau of Chemistry,
_Washington, D. C., July 15, 1908_.
Sir: I have the honor to submit for your approval a report made by
Inspector Bitting of experimental work on the spoilage of tomato
ketchup, the conditions contributing thereto, methods of prevention,
the action of preservatives, and the length of time that the product
will keep under varying conditions of manufacture and temperature, both
before and after opening. Every effort has been made to conduct the
work in a practical way, and the results obtained can not fail to be of
interest and profit both to the manufacturer and consumer. I recommend
that this report be published as Bulletin No. 119 of the Bureau of
Chemistry.
Respectfully, H. W. Wiley,
_Chief_.
Hon. James Wilson,
_Secretary of Agriculture_.
CONTENTS.
Page.
Introduction 7
Process of manufacture 8
Selection and preparation of stock 9
Pulping 9
Cooking and seasoning 10
Evaporation and finishing 11
Bottling 11
Processing 11
Character of products 12
First-class products 12
Inferior products from “trimming stock” 13
Labels 14
Manufacturing experiments without the use of preservatives 15
Outline of experiments 15
Discussion of results 17
Spoilage of ketchup after opening 17
Spoilage of unopened ketchup 20
Spoilage of market brands 20
Sterility of ketchup 21
Experiments with preservatives 22
Sodium benzoate 22
Salt 23
Sugar 23
Spices 24
Water infusions 24
Acetic acid extracts 25
Oil extracts 25
Vinegar and acetic acid 26
Oil 27
Study of Penicillium in ketchup 28
Development 29
Reproduction 29
Growth in ketchup 30
Temperature tests 31
Histological structure of ketchup 33
Microscopical examination of some commercial brands 34
Summary 35
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PLATES.
Page.
PLATE I. Penicillium. Fig. 1.--Conidia, normal growth
and in various stages of germination, some with branching
hyphæ. Fig. 2.--Conidiophore, showing unusually large
development of conidia; from culture in moist chamber 28
II. Cultures from ketchup preserved with sodium
benzoate. Fig. 1.--Conidia and hyphæ from culture in
experimental ketchup containing one-sixteenth of 1 per cent
of sodium benzoate. Fig. 2.--Conidia and hyphæ from culture
in experimental ketchup containing one-tenth of 1 per cent
of sodium benzoate 28
TEXT FIGURES.
Fig. 1. A model receiving platform 8
2. Large receiving room showing the sorting belt 9
3. A section of a kitchen showing the copper cookers 10
4. An example of factory practice 12
5. Another factory interior 14
EXPERIMENTS ON THE SPOILAGE OF TOMATO KETCHUP.
INTRODUCTION.
The tomato, _Lycopersicum esculentum_, is supposed to be native to
South or Central America. The large fruits commonly used grow only
under cultivation, but the variety with small, spherical fruits,
known as _L. cerasiforme_, has been found on the shore of Peru and is
considered by De Candolle[A] as belonging to the same species as _L.
esculentum_. Though grown extensively in Europe, there is nothing to
indicate that it was known there before the discovery of America. The
tomato was introduced into China and Japan at a comparatively recent
date. De Candolle is of the opinion that the tomato was taken to
Europe by the Spaniards from Peru and was later introduced into the
United States by Europeans. Tomatoes were brought to Salem, Mass., by
an Italian painter in 1802,[B] who is said to have had difficulty in
convincing the people that they were edible. They were used in New
Orleans in 1812, though as late as 1835 they were sold by the dozen in
Boston. After 1840 they came into general use in the Eastern States,
but it was later than this before tomatoes were used freely in the
Western States, many persons having the impression that, since they
belonged to the nightshade family, they must be unwholesome. The extent
to which tomatoes are used at | 1,737.88063 |
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UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE
FARMERS' BULLETIN
WASHINGTON, D. C. 702 JANUARY 17, 1916
Contribution from the Bureau of Biological Survey, Henry W. Henshaw,
Chief.
COTTONTAIL RABBITS IN RELATION TO TREES AND FARM CROPS.
By D. E. LANTZ, _Assistant Biologist_.
[Transcriber's Note: Words surrounded by tildes, like ~this~ signifies
words in bold. Words surrounded by underscores, like _this_, signifies
words in italics.]
CONTENTS.
Page.
Introduction 1
Habits of cottontail rabbits 2
Protection of rabbits 3
Means of repressing rabbits 5
Natural enemies 5
Hunting 6
Trapping 6
Poisoning 9
Bacterial diseases 10
Protection of crops from rabbits 10
Rabbit-proof fences 10
Tree protection 10
Washes 10
Mechanical contrivances 11
Other means 12
NOTE.--This bulletin discusses the distribution and habits of cottontail
rabbits and methods of controlling their ravages on trees and cultivated
crops by means of trapping, poisoning, and supplying safeguards. For
general distribution.
INTRODUCTION.
Among the serious pests in orchards and tree plantations are the several
native species of rabbits. These animals do considerable damage to
garden truck and other farm crops also, especially on lands recently
opened to cultivation. North American rabbits belong to two general
classes easily distinguished by their size and habits.
The larger forms[1] include the arctic and varying hares, or snowshoe
rabbits, and the jack rabbits, and are found throughout nearly all of
Alaska and Canada and in all the States west of the Mississippi except
Arkansas and Louisiana. East of the Mississippi they inhabit the
northern parts of Minnesota, Wisconsin, and Michigan, most of New York
and New England, and southward in the Appalachian Mountains, parts of
Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia.
[Footnote 1: Genus _Lepus_.]
The smaller forms,[2] generally called "cottontail rabbits," occur in
every State, but are absent from the greater part of Maine, the
northern parts of New Hampshire, Vermont, New York, Michigan, Wisconsin,
and Minnesota, and from the western parts of Washington and Oregon. In
recent years they have extended their range northward in the New England
States, New York, and portions of the West, and have invaded and
occupied a considerable part of the Province of Ontario. In habits they
differ materially from the larger rabbits. They live in copses and
thickets more than in open fields. The young are born blind, naked, and
helpless, while those of the larger rabbits have the eyes open, are
partially furred, and active when born.
[Footnote 2: Genus _Sylvilagus_.]
Rabbits of both genera, however, feed exclusively on vegetation, and are
at times harmful to crops and especially to trees. Because of their size
and great abundance in parts of their range, jack rabbits are by far the
most destructive, but, except in a few places where they have been
introduced, none are found east of the Mississippi. Epizootics (diseases
which attack many animals at the same time) are an effectual natural
check, and after such attack occurs, jack rabbits are usually so reduced
in numbers that they are not troublesome again for several years.
Traps and other devices that are effective with cottontail rabbits do
not always succeed with jack rabbits. The recommendations contained in
this bulletin will, therefore, apply only to cottontail rabbits, but
they may suggest methods that, with modifications, may be used against
the larger forms.
HABITS OF COTTONTAIL RABBITS.
Cottontail rabbits (fig. 1) are so well known that little need be said
of their habits. They breed several times each year during the warmer
months, the litters averaging five or six young. The nest is usually
placed in a hollow or depression of the ground, often in open fields or
meadows. It is composed of dead grass and warmly lined with fur which
the female pulls from her own body. The male rabbit takes no part in
caring for the young, and the female weans them as soon as they are able
to leave the nest. These animals breed so rapidly that in spite of many
natural enemies, and of the fact that they are hunted for human food,
they often become numerous enough to inflict serious losses on farmers
and fruit growers in many parts of the United States (fig. 2).
Cottontail rabbits eat all sorts of herbage--leaves, stems, flowers, and
seeds of herbaceous plants and grasses--and leaves, buds, bark, and
fruits of woody plants or trees. They usually prefer the most succulent
foods, as young shoots, tender garden vegetables, clover, alfalfa, and
fallen ripe fruits; but they exhibit also a remarkable delicacy of
taste in their selection of certain varieties of cultivated plants and
in their neglect of others of the same species. Prof. C. V. Piper
reports that in Oregon rabbits ate Arabian alfalfa down to the ground,
while they did little or no damage to other varieties grown in
surrounding plats. Prof. C. A. Mooers, of the Tennessee Agricultural
Experiment Station, reports similar observations in regard to their
taste for soy beans, stating that they greatly relish the mammoth yellow
variety and that it is practically the only one that suffers from their
depredations. When favorite foods are absent rabbits resort to whatever
is available. It is during summer droughts or when deep snows cut off
ordinary supplies that the animals attack the bark of growing trees or
shrubs.
[Illustration Fig. 1.--Cottontail rabbit in its "form."]
PROTECTION OF RABBITS.
Cottontail rabbits are valuable for food and afford excellent sport for
gunners. In many States, especially east of the Mississippi River, they
are protected as game. In fruit-growing and truck-farming districts
farmers regard them with disfavor, and there is considerable rivalry
between sportsmen and farmers to have their opposing views reflected in
game laws. The interests of the two classes do not seriously differ,
however, for when rabbits are closely hunted losses from their
depredations are usually reduced to a minimum. Still there is danger
that in years favorable for their increase the animals may inflict
serious injury to trees during severe winters.
Rabbits are protected (1915) by close seasons in States and Provinces as
shown in Table I. Twenty-eight States, Alaska, and the Canadian
Provinces not mentioned in the table do not protect rabbits of any kind.
In the District of Columbia all shooting is prohibited except on certain
river marshes. In Kentucky rabbits may be taken with dog, trap, or snare
at any time, and the close season for shooting is evidently solely for
the purpose of keeping gunners out of fields and woods during the two
months immediately preceding the open season for quails. In Wisconsin 46
counties, mostly in the southern half of the State, have no close season
for rabbits. In California only cottontails, or bush rabbits, are
protected.
[Illustration Fig. 2.--Apple tree killed by rabbits.]
TABLE I.--_Lengths of open season for rabbits or hares._
----------------------+-----------+-----------+---------
| Beginning | Beginning | Length
State or Province. | of | of | of open
| open | close | season.
| season. | season. |
----------------------+-----------+-----------+---------
| | | _Months._
Maine | Oct. 1 | Apr. 1 | 6
New Hampshire | do. | Mar. 1 | 5
Vermont | Sept. 15 | do. | 5-1/2
Massachusetts | Oct. 12 | do. | 4-3/5
Rhode Island | Nov. 1 | Jan. 1 | 2
Connecticut | Oct. 8 | do. | 2-3/4
New York | Oct. 1 | Feb. 1 | 4
Long Island | Nov. 1 | Jan. 1 | 2
New Jersey | Nov. 10 | Dec. 16 | 1-1/5
Pennsylvania | Nov. 1 | Dec. 1 | 1
Delaware | Nov. 15 | Jan. 1 | 1-1/2
Maryland | Nov. 10 | Dec. 25 | 1-1/2
District of Columbia | Nov. 1 | Feb. 1 | 3
Virginia | do. | do. | 3
Kentucky | Nov. 15 | Sept. 15 | 10
Ohio | do. | Dec. 5 | 2/3
Indiana | Apr. 1 | Jan. 10 | 9-1/3
Illinois | Aug. 31 | Feb. 1 | 5-1/30
Michigan | Oct. 1 | Mar. 2 | 5-1/30
Wisconsin: | | |
6 counties | Sept. 10 | Feb. 1 | 4-2/3
13 counties | Oct. 10 | do. | 3-2/3
6 counties | Nov. 1 | Jan. 1 | 2
Colorado | Oct. 1 | Mar. 1 | 5
California | July 31 | Feb. 1 | 6-1/30
British Columbia | Sept. 1 | Jan. 1 | 4
Ontario | Oct. 1 | Dec. 16 | 2-1/2
Quebec: | | |
Zone 1 | Oct. 15 | Feb. 1 | 3-1/2
Zone 2 | do. | Mar. 1 | 4-1/2
Newfoundland | Sept. 20 | Jan. 1 | 3-1/3
Prince Edward Island | Nov. 1 | Feb. 1 | 3
Nova Scotia | Oct. 1 | Mar. 1 | 5
----------------------+-----------+-----------+---------
In about half the States that have a close season for rabbits the laws
permit farmers and fruit growers to destroy the animals to protect crops
or trees. Such provision might well be incorporated in game laws of all
States. For lack of it farmers have sometimes suffered severe losses,
and not a few have been compelled to pay fines for trying to protect
their property from rabbits. In States that protect rabbits it is well
for the farmer to be acquainted with the game laws and in case of doubt
to have a clear understanding with local and State game, wardens before
undertaking to destroy rabbits.
MEANS OF REPRESSING RABBITS.
NATURAL ENEMIES.
Among the agencies that help to keep down the numbers of rabbits few are
more effective than carnivorous birds and mammals. These include large
hawks and owls, eagles, coyotes, wildcats, foxes, minks, weasels, dogs,
and cats. Eagles, the larger species of hawks, and all the large and
medium-sized owls make rabbits a great part of their food. From the
standpoint of the farmer and fruit grower these birds and certain
carnivorous mammals are far more beneficial than harmful. On the other
hand, poultry growers and sportsmen regard them as enemies to be
destroyed whenever possible. In the absence of such natural enemies,
rabbits, as well as rats and mice, often become a menace to valuable
crops. Indiscriminate slaughter of carnivorous birds and mammals should
be suppressed whenever rodent pests are to be controlled.
HUNTING.
Hunting has been the most important factor in keeping down the numbers
of rabbits in America. In some parts of the country the animals have
been so reduced in numbers by shooting that sportsmen have invoked
legislation to prevent their extermination. Shooting is undoubtedly the
best method for hunting this animal. Ferreting is often impracticable,
since our native rabbits do not habitually burrow; besides, the use of
ferrets | 1,737.954194 |
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LIGHT AND COLOUR THEORIES
[Illustration: TINTOMETER. Form of Instrument for Opaque Observation.]
[Illustration: Reproductions of some Medals awarded to JOSEPH W. LOVIBOND’S
Method of Colour Analysis FOR Scientific and Commercial Purposes.]
LIGHT AND
COLOUR THEORIES
and their Relation to Light and
Colour Standardization
By
JOSEPH W. LOVIBOND
ILLUSTRATED BY 11 PLATES BY HAND
[Illustration: Logo]
London
E. & F. N. SPON, Limited, 57 HAYMARKET
New York
SPON & CHAMBERLAIN, 123 LIBERTY STREET
1915
CONTENTS
PAGE
List of Plates vii
Purpose ix
CHAPTER I.
Introduction 1
CHAPTER II.
Evolution of the Method 5
CHAPTER III.
Evolution of the Unit 9
CHAPTER IV.
Derivation of Colour from White Light 11
CHAPTER V.
Standard White Light 14
CHAPTER VI.
Qualitative Colour Nomenclature 17
CHAPTER VII.
Quantitative Colour Nomenclature
CHAPTER VIII.
The Colour Scales 28
CHAPTER IX.
Colour Charts 31
CHAPTER X.
Representations of Colour in Space of Three Dimensions 34
CHAPTER XI.
The Spectrum in relation to Colour Standardization 36
CHAPTER XII.
The Physiological Light Unit 45
APPENDIX I.
Colour Education 59
APPENDIX II.
The Possibilities of a Standard Light and Colour Unit 69
APPENDIX III.
Dr. Dudley Corbett’s Radiometer 83
Index 89
ERRATA.
Plate I. Newton’s Theory. The Indigo line is erroneously placed
between the Violet and the Red; it should be between the Blue
and the Violet.
Page 40.--_Fifth line from the bottom, for_ Fraunhoper _read_
Fraunhofer.
_To face p. vi., Lovibond, Light and Colour Theories._] [P.R. 1317
LIST OF PLATES
TO FACE
PAGE
Plate I. Six Colour Theories 4
" II. Circles Illustrating Absorption of White Light 11
" III. Diagram Illustrating Analysis of White Light 13
" IV. First System of Charting Colour 31
" V. Second System of Charting Colour 33
" VI. Six Tintometrical Colour Charts 39
" VII. Two Circles 40
" VIII. Absorption Curves of Dyes 76
" IX. Fading Curves of Dyes 78
" X. Comparison Curves of Healthy and Diseased Blood 80
" XI. Specific Colour Curves of Healthy and Diseased
Human Blood 82
PURPOSE
The purpose of this work is to demonstrate that colour is a
determinable property of matter, and to make generally known methods
of colour analysis and synthesis which have proved of great practical
value in establishing standards of purity in some industries.
The purpose is also to show that the methods are thoroughly scientific
in theory and practice, and that the results are not likely to be
changed by further discoveries. Also that out of the work done a new
law has been developed, which the writer calls the Law of Specific
Colour Development, meaning that every substance has its own rate of
colour development for regularly increasing thicknesses.
THE THEORY.
Of the six colours in white light--red, orange, yellow, green, blue
and violet; Red, Yellow and Blue are regarded as dominants, because
they visually hold the associated colours orange, green and violet in
subjection.
An equivalent unit of pure red, pure yellow and pure blue is adopted,
and incorporated into glass | 1,737.977165 |
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[Illustration: Richmond, Del. J. & J. Wilson, So.
H.B. Stowe]
LIFE OF
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE
COMPILED FROM
Her Letters and Journals
BY HER SON
CHARLES EDWARD STOWE
[Illustration]
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
The Riverside Press, Cambridge
1890
Copyright, 1889,
BY CHARLES E. STOWE,
_All rights reserved._
_The Riverside Press, Cambridge, Mass., U. S.A._
Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co.
[Illustration: Handwritten letter]
It seems but fitting, that I should preface this story of my life with
a few notes of instruction.
The desire to leave behind me some recollections of my life, has
been cherished by me, for many years past; but failing strength or
increasing infirmities have prevented its accomplishment.
At my suggestion and with what assistance I have been able to render,
my son, Ross Charles Edward Stowe, has compiled from my letters and
journals, this biography. It is this true story of my life, told for
the most part, in my own words and has therefore all the force of an
autobiography.
It is perhaps much more accurate as to detail & impression than is
possible with any autobiography, written later in life.
If these pages, shall help those who read them to a firmer trust in God
& a deeper sense of His fatherly goodness throughout the days of our
earthly pilgrimage I can say with Valiant for Truth in the Pilgrim's
Progress!
I am going to my Father's & tho with great difficulty, I am got
thither, get now, I do not repent me of all the troubles I have been
at, to arrive where I am.
My sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage & my
courage & skill to him that can get it.
Hartford Sept 30
1889
Harriet Beecher Stowe
INTRODUCTORY STATEMENT
I DESIRE to express my thanks here to Harper & Brothers, of New York,
for permission to use letters already published in the "Autobiography
and Correspondence of Lyman Beecher." I have availed myself freely
of this permission in chapters i. and iii. In chapter xx. I have
given letters already published in the "Life of George Eliot," by Mr.
Cross; but in every instance I have copied from the original MSS. and
not from the published work. In conclusion, I desire to express my
indebtedness to Mr. Kirk Munroe, who has been my co-laborer in the work
of compilation.
CHARLES E. STOWE.
HARTFORD, _September 30, 1889_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I.
CHILDHOOD 1811-1824.
DEATH OF HER MOTHER.--FIRST JOURNEY FROM HOME.--LIFE AT NUT
PLAINS.--SCHOOL DAYS AND HOURS WITH FAVORITE AUTHORS.--THE
NEW MOTHER.--LITCHFIELD ACADEMY AND ITS INFLUENCE.--FIRST
LITERARY EFFORTS.--A REMARKABLE COMPOSITION.--GOES TO HARTFORD 1
CHAPTER II.
SCHOOL DAYS IN HARTFORD, 1824-1832.
MISS CATHERINE BEECHER.--PROFESSOR FISHER.--THE WRECK OF THE
ALBION AND DEATH OF PROFESSOR FISHER.--"THE MINISTER'S
WOOING."--MISS CATHERINE BEECHER'S SPIRITUAL HISTORY.--MRS.
STOWE'S RECOLLECTIONS OF HER SCHOOL DAYS IN HARTFORD.--HER
CONVERSION.--UNITES WITH THE FIRST CHURCH IN HARTFORD.--HER
DOUBTS AND SUBSEQUENT RELIGIOUS DEVELOPMENT.--HER FINAL PEACE 22
CHAPTER III.
CINCINNATI, 1832-1836.
DR. BEECHER CALLED TO CINCINNATI.--THE WESTWARD JOURNEY.--FIRST
LETTER FROM HOME.--DESCRIPTION OF WALNUT HILLS.--STARTING A NEW
SCHOOL.--INWARD GLIMPSES.--THE SEMI-COLON CLUB.--EARLY
IMPRESSIONS OF SLAVERY.--A JOURNEY TO THE EAST.--THOUGHTS
AROUSED BY FIRST VISIT TO NIAGARA.--MARRIAGE TO PROFESSOR STOWE 53
CHAPTER IV.
EARLY MARRIED LIFE, 1836-1840.
PROFESSOR STOWE'S INTEREST IN POPULAR EDUCATION.--HIS DEPARTURE
FOR EUROPE.--SLAVERY RIOTS IN CINCINNATI.--BIRTH OF TWIN
DAUGHTERS.--PROFESSOR STOWE'S RETURN AND VISIT TO
COLUMBUS.--DOMESTIC TRIALS.--AIDING A FUGITIVE
SLAVE.--AUTHORSHIP UNDER DIFFICULTIES.--A BEECHER ROUND ROBIN 78
CHAPTER V.
POVERTY AND SICKNESS, 1840-1850.
FAMINE IN CINCINNATI.--SUMMER AT THE EAST.--PLANS FOR LITERARY
WORK.--EXPERIENCE ON A RAILROAD.--DEATH OF HER BROTHER
GEORGE.--SICKNESS AND DESPAIR.--A JOURNEY IN SEARCH OF
HEALTH.--GOES TO BRATTLEBORO' WATER-CURE.--TROUBLES AT LANE
SEMINARY.--CHOLERA IN CINCINNATI.--DEATH OF YOUNGEST
CHILD.--DETERMINED TO LEAVE THE WEST 100
CHAPTER VI.
REMOVAL TO BRUNSWICK, 1850-1852.
MRS. STOWE'S REMARKS ON WRITING AND UNDERSTANDING
BIOGRAPHY.--THEIR APPROPRIATENESS TO HER OWN BIOGRAPHY.--REASONS
FOR PROFESSOR STOWE'S LEAVING CINCINNATI.--MRS. STOWE'S JOURNEY
TO BROOKLYN.--HER BROTHER'S SUCCESS AS A MINISTER.--LETTERS
FROM HARTFORD AND BOSTON.--ARRIVES IN BRUNSWICK.--HISTORY OF THE
SLAVERY AGITATION.--PRACTICAL WORKING OF THE FUGITIVE SLAVE
LAW.--MRS. EDWARD BEECHER'S LETTER TO MRS. STOWE AND ITS
EFFECT.--DOMESTIC TRIALS.--BEGINS TO WRITE "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN"
AS A SERIAL FOR THE "NATIONAL ERA."--LETTER TO FREDERICK
DOUGLASS.--"UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" A WORK OF RELIGIOUS EMOTION 126
CHAPTER VII.
UNCLE TOM'S CABIN, 1852.
"UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" AS A SERIAL IN THE "NATIONAL ERA."--AN
OFFER FOR ITS PUBLICATION IN BOOK FORM.--WILL IT BE A
SUCCESS?--AN UNPRECEDENTED CIRCULATION.--CONGRATULATORY
MESSAGES.--KIND WORDS FROM ABROAD.--MRS. STOWE TO THE EARL OF
CARLISLE.--LETTERS FROM AND TO LORD SHAFTESBURY.--CORRESPONDENCE
WITH ARTHUR HELPS 156
CHAPTER VIII.
FIRST TRIP TO EUROPE, 1853.
THE EDMONDSONS.--BUYING SLAVES TO SET THEM FREE.--JENNY
LIND.--PROFESSOR STOWE IS CALLED TO ANDOVER.--FITTING UP THE NEW
HOME.--THE "KEY TO UNCLE TOM'S CABIN."--"UNCLE TOM" ABROAD.--HOW
IT WAS PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND.--PREFACE TO THE EUROPEAN
EDITION.--THE BOOK IN FRANCE.--IN GERMANY.--A GREETING FROM
CHARLES KINGSLEY.--PREPARING TO VISIT SCOTLAND.--LETTER TO MRS.
FOLLEN 178
CHAPTER IX.
SUNNY MEMORIES, 1853.
CROSSING THE ATLANTIC.--ARRIVAL IN ENGLAND.--RECEPTION IN
LIVERPOOL.--WELCOME TO SCOTLAND.--A GLASGOW TEA-PARTY.--EDINBURGH
HOSPITALITY.--ABERDEEN.--DUNDEE AND BIRMINGHAM.--JOSEPH
STURGE.--ELIHU BURRITT.--LONDON.--THE LORD MAYOR'S
DINNER.--CHARLES DICKENS AND HIS WIFE 205
CHAPTER X.
FROM OVER THE SEA, 1853.
THE EARL OF CARLISLE.--ARTHUR HELPS.--THE DUKE AND DUCHESS OF
ARGYLL.--MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER.--A MEMORABLE MEETING AT
STAFFORD HOUSE.--MACAULAY AND DEAN MILMAN.--WINDSOR
CASTLE.--PROFESSOR STOWE RETURNS TO AMERICA.--MRS. STOWE ON THE
CONTINENT.--IMPRESSIONS OF PARIS.--EN ROUTE TO SWITZERLAND AND
GERMANY.--BACK TO ENGLAND.--HOMEWARD BOUND 228
CHAPTER XI.
HOME AGAIN, 1853-1856.
ANTI-SLAVERY WORK.--STIRRING TIMES IN THE UNITED
STATES.--ADDRESS TO THE LADIES OF GLASGOW.--APPEAL TO THE WOMEN
OF AMERICA.--CORRESPONDENCE WITH WILLIAM LLOYD GARRISON.--THE
WRITING OF "DRED."--FAREWELL LETTER FROM GEORGIANA MAY.--SECOND
VOYAGE TO ENGLAND 250
CHAPTER XII.
DRED, 1856.
SECOND VISIT TO ENGLAND.--A GLIMPSE AT THE QUEEN.--THE DUKE OF
ARGYLL AND INVERARY.--EARLY CORRESPONDENCE WITH LADY
BYRON.--DUNROBIN CASTLE AND ITS INMATES.--A VISIT TO STOKE
PARK.--LORD DUFFERIN.--CHARLES KINGSLEY AT HOME.--PARIS
REVISITED.--MADAME MOHL'S RECEPTIONS 270
CHAPTER XIII.
OLD SCENES REVISITED, 1856.
EN ROUTE TO ROME.--TRIALS OF TRAVEL.--A MIDNIGHT ARRIVAL AND
AN INHOSPITABLE RECEPTION.--GLORIES OF THE ETERNAL CITY.--NAPLES
AND VESUVIUS.--VENICE.--HOLY WEEK IN ROME.--RETURN TO
ENGLAND.--LETTER FROM HARRIET MARTINEAU ON "DRED."--A WORD FROM
MR. PRESCOTT ON "DRED."--FAREWELL TO LADY BYRON 294
CHAPTER XIV.
THE MINISTER'S WOOING, 1857-1859.
DEATH OF MRS. STOWE'S OLDEST SON.--LETTER TO THE DUCHESS OF
SUTHERLAND.--LETTER TO HER DAUGHTERS IN PARIS.--LETTER TO HER
SISTER CATHERINE.--VISIT TO BRUNSWICK AND ORR'S ISLAND.--WRITES
"THE MINISTER'S WOOING" AND "THE PEARL OF ORR'S ISLAND."--MR.
WHITTIER'S COMMENTS.--MR. LOWELL ON "THE MINISTER'S
WOOING."--LETTER TO MRS. STOWE FROM MR. LOWELL.--JOHN RUSKIN
ON "THE MINISTER'S WOOING."--A YEAR OF SADNESS.--LETTER TO LADY
BYRON.--LETTER TO HER DAUGHTER.--DEPARTURE FOR EUROPE 315
CHAPTER XV.
THE THIRD TRIP TO EUROPE, 1859.
THIRD VISIT TO EUROPE.--LADY BYRON ON "THE MINISTER'S
WOOING."--SOME FOREIGN PEOPLE AND THINGS AS THEY APPEARED TO
PROFESSOR STOWE.--A WINTER IN ITALY.--THINGS UNSEEN AND
UNREVEALED.--SPECULATIONS CONCERNING SPIRITUALISM.--JOHN
RUSKIN.--MRS. BROWNING.--THE RETURN TO AMERICA.--LETTERS TO DR.
HOLMES 343
CHAPTER XVI.
THE CIVIL WAR, 1860-1865.
THE OUTBREAK OF CIVIL WAR.--MRS. STOWE'S SON
ENLISTS.--THANKSGIVING DAY IN WASHINGTON.--THE PROCLAMATION OF
EMANCIPATION.--REJOICINGS IN BOSTON.--FRED STOWE AT
GETTYSBURG.--LEAVING ANDOVER AND SETTLING IN HARTFORD.--A REPLY
TO THE WOMEN OF ENGLAND.--LETTERS FROM JOHN BRIGHT, ARCHBISHOP
WHATELY, AND NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 363
CHAPTER XVII.
FLORIDA, 1865-1869.
LETTER TO DUCHESS OF ARGYLL.--MRS. STOWE DESIRES TO HAVE A HOME
AT THE SOUTH.--FLORIDA THE BEST FIELD FOR DOING GOOD.--SHE BUYS
A PLACE AT MANDARIN.--A CHARMING WINTER RESIDENCE.--"PALMETTO
LEAVES."--EASTER SUNDAY AT MANDARIN.--CORRESPONDENCE WITH DR.
HOLMES.--"POGANUC PEOPLE."--RECEPTIONS IN NEW ORLEANS AND
TALLAHASSEE.--LAST WINTER AT MANDARIN 395
CHAPTER XVIII.
OLDTOWN FOLKS, 1869.
PROFESSOR STOWE THE ORIGINAL OF "HARRY" IN "OLDTOWN
FOLKS."--PROFESSOR STOWE'S LETTER TO GEORGE ELIOT.--HER REMARKS
ON THE SAME.--PROFESSOR STOWE'S NARRATIVE OF HIS YOUTHFUL
ADVENTURES IN THE WORLD OF SPIRITS.--PROFESSOR STOWE'S INFLUENCE
ON MRS. STOWE'S LITERARY LIFE.--GEORGE ELIOT ON "OLDTOWN FOLKS" 419
CHAPTER XIX.
THE BYRON CONTROVERSY, 1869-1870.
MRS. STOWE'S STATEMENT OF HER OWN CASE.--THE CIRCUMSTANCES UNDER
WHICH SHE FIRST MET LADY BYRON.--LETTERS TO LADY BYRON.--LETTER
TO DR. HOLMES WHEN ABOUT TO PUBLISH "THE TRUE STORY OF LADY
BYRON'S LIFE" IN THE "ATLANTIC."--DR. HOLMES'S REPLY.--THE
CONCLUSION OF THE MATTER 445
CHAPTER XX.
GEORGE ELIOT.
CORRESPONDENCE WITH GEORGE ELIOT.--GEORGE ELIOT'S FIRST
IMPRESSIONS OF MRS. STOWE.--MRS. STOWE'S LETTER TO MRS.
FOLLEN.--GEORGE ELIOT'S LETTER TO MRS. STOWE.--MRS. STOWE'S
REPLY.--LIFE IN FLORIDA.--ROBERT DALE OWEN AND MODERN
SPIRITUALISM.--GEORGE ELIOT'S LETTER ON THE PHENOMENA OF
SPIRITUALISM.--MRS. STOWE'S DESCRIPTION OF SCENERY IN
FLORIDA.--MRS. STOWE CONCERNING "MIDDLEMARCH."--GEORGE ELIOT
TO MRS. STOWE DURING REV. H. W. BEECHER'S TRIAL.--MRS. STOWE
CONCERNING HER LIFE EXPERIENCE WITH HER BROTHER, H. W. BEECHER,
AND HIS TRIAL.--MRS. LEWES' LAST LETTER TO MRS. STOWE.--DIVERSE
MENTAL CHARACTERISTICS OF THESE TWO WOMEN.--MRS. STOWE'S FINAL
ESTIMATE OF MODERN SPIRITUALISM 459
CHAPTER XXI.
CLOSING SCENES, 1870-1889.
LITERARY LABORS.--COMPLETE LIST OF PUBLISHED BOOKS.--FIRST
READING TOUR.--PEEPS BEHIND THE CURTAIN.--SOME NEW ENGLAND
CITIES.--A LETTER FROM MAINE.--PLEASANT AND UNPLEASANT
READINGS.--SECOND TOUR.--A WESTERN JOURNEY.--VISIT TO OLD
SCENES.--CELEBRATION OF SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY.--CONGRATULATORY
POEMS FROM MR. WHITTIER AND DR. HOLMES.--LAST WORDS 489
[Illustration]
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE
PORTRAIT OF MRS. STOWE. From a crayon by Richmond, made in
England in 1853 _Frontispiece_
SILVER INKSTAND PRESENTED TO MRS. STOWE BY HER ENGLISH
ADMIRERS IN 1853 xi
PORTRAIT OF MRS. STOWE'S GRANDMOTHER, ROXANNA FOOTE. From
a miniature painted on ivory by her daughter, Mrs.
Lyman Beecher 6
BIRTHPLACE AT LITCHFIELD, CONN.[A] 10
PORTRAIT OF CATHERINE E. BEECHER. From a photograph taken in
1875 30
THE HOME AT WALNUT HILLS, CINCINNATI[A] 56
PORTRAIT OF HENRY WARD BEECHER. From a photograph by Rockwood,
in 1884 130
MANUSCRIPT PAGE OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" (fac-simile) 160
THE ANDOVER HOME. From a painting by F. Rondel, in 1860, owned
by Mrs. H. F. Allen 186
PORTRAIT OF LYMAN BEECHER, AT THE AGE OF EIGHTY-SEVEN. From a
painting owned by the Boston Congregational Club 264
PORTRAIT OF THE DUCHESS OF SUTHERLAND. From an engraving
presented to Mrs. Stowe 318
THE OLD HOME AT HARTFORD 374
THE HOME AT MANDARIN, FLORIDA 402
PORTRAIT OF CALVIN ELLIS STOWE. From a photograph taken in 1882 422
PORTRAIT OF MRS. STOWE. From a photograph by Ritz and Hastings,
in 1884 470
THE LATER HARTFORD HOME 508
FOOTNOTE:
[A] From recent photographs and from views in the Autobiography of
Lyman Beecher, published by Messrs. Harper & Brothers.
LIFE AND LETTERS OF HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
CHAPTER I.
CHILDHOOD, 1811-1824.
DEATH OF HER MOTHER.--FIRST JOURNEY FROM HOME.--LIFE
AT NUT PLAINS.--SCHOOL DAYS AND HOURS WITH FAVORITE
AUTHORS.--THE NEW MOTHER.--LITCHFIELD ACADEMY AND ITS
INFLUENCE.--FIRST LITERARY EFFORTS.--A REMARKABLE
COMPOSITION.--GOES TO HARTFORD.
HARRIET BEECHER (STOWE) was born June 14, 1811, in the characteristic
New England town of Litchfield, Conn. Her father was the Rev. Dr. Lyman
Beecher, a distinguished Calvinistic divine, her mother Roxanna Foote,
his first wife. The little new-comer was ushered into a household of
happy, healthy children, and found five brothers and sisters awaiting
her. The eldest was Catherine, born September 6, 1800. Following her
were two sturdy boys, William and Edward; then came Mary, then George,
and at last Harriet. Another little Harriet born three years before had
died when only one month old, and the fourth daughter was named, in
memory of this sister, Harriet Elizabeth Beecher. Just two years after
Harriet was born, in the same month, another brother, Henry Ward, was
welcomed to the family circle, and after him came Charles, the last of
Roxanna Beecher's children.
The first memorable incident of Harriet's life was the death of her
mother, which occurred when she was four years old, and which ever
afterwards remained with her as the tenderest, saddest, and most sacred
memory of her childhood. Mrs. Stowe's recollections of her mother are
found in a letter to her brother Charles, afterwards published in the
"Autobiography and Correspondence of Lyman Beecher." She says:--
"I was between three and four years of age when our mother died, and
my personal recollections of her are therefore but few. But the deep
interest and veneration that she inspired in all who knew her were such
that during all my childhood I was constantly hearing her spoken of,
and from one friend or another some incident or anecdote of her life
was constantly being impressed upon me.
"Mother was one of those strong, restful, yet widely sympathetic
natures in whom all around seemed to find comfort and repose. The
communion between her and my father was a peculiar one. It was an
intimacy throughout the whole range of their being. There was no human
mind in whose decisions he had greater confidence. Both intellectually
and morally he regarded her as the better and stronger portion of
himself, and I remember hearing him say that after her death his first
sensation was a sort of terror, like that of a child suddenly shut out
alone in the dark.
"In my own childhood only two incidents of my mother twinkle like rays
through the darkness. One was of our all running and dancing out before
her from the nursery to the sitting-room one Sabbath morning, and her
pleasant voice saying after us, 'Remember the Sabbath day to keep it
holy, children.'
"Another remembrance is this: mother was an enthusiastic horticulturist
in all the small ways that limited means allowed. Her brother John
in New York had just sent her a small parcel of fine tulip-bulbs. I
remember rummaging these out of an obscure corner of the nursery one
day when she was gone out, and being strongly seized with the idea that
they were good to eat, using all the little English I then possessed
to persuade my brothers that these were onions such as grown people
ate and would be very nice for us. So we fell to and devoured the
whole, and I recollect being somewhat disappointed in the odd sweetish
taste, and thinking that onions were not so nice as I had supposed.
Then mother's serene face appeared at the nursery door and we all ran
towards her, telling with one voice of our discovery and achievement.
We had found a bag of onions and had eaten them all up.
"Also I remember that there was not even a momentary expression of
impatience, but that she sat down and said, 'My dear children, what you
have done makes mamma very sorry. Those were not onions but roots of
beautiful flowers, and if you had let them alone we should have next
summer in the garden great beautiful red and yellow flowers such as you
never saw.' I remember how drooping and dispirited we all grew at this
picture, and how sadly we regarded the empty paper bag.
"Then I have a recollection of her reading aloud to the children Miss
Edgeworth's 'Frank,' which had just come out, I believe, and was
exciting a good deal of attention among the educational circles of
Litchfield. After that came a time when every one said she was sick,
and I used to be permitted to go once a day into her room, where she
sat bolstered up in bed. I have a vision of a very fair face with a
bright red spot on each cheek and her quiet smile. I remember dreaming
one night that mamma had got well, and of waking with loud transports
of joy that were hushed down by some one who came into the room. My
dream was indeed a true one. She was forever well.
"Then came the funeral. Henry was too little to go. I can see his
golden curls and little black frock as he frolicked in the sun like a
kitten, full of ignorant joy.
"I recollect the mourning dresses, the tears of the older children, the
walking to the burial-ground, and somebody's speaking at the grave.
Then all was closed, and we little ones, to whom it was so confused,
asked where she was gone and would she never come back.
"They told us at one time that she had been laid in the ground, and at
another that she had gone to heaven. Thereupon Henry, putting the two
things together, resolved to dig through the ground and go to heaven
to find her; for being discovered under sister Catherine's window one
morning digging with great zeal and earnestness, she called to him to
know what he was doing. Lifting his curly head, he answered with great
simplicity, 'Why, I'm going to heaven to find mamma.'
"Although our mother's bodily presence thus disappeared from our
circle, I think her memory and example had more influence in moulding
her family, in deterring from evil and exciting to good, than
the living presence of many mothers. It was a memory that met us
everywhere, for every person in the town, from the highest to the
lowest, seemed to have been so impressed by her character and life that
they constantly reflected some portion of it back upon us.
"The passage in 'Uncle Tom' where Augustine St. Clare describes
his mother's influence is a simple reproduction of my own mother's
influence as it has always been felt in her family."
Of his deceased wife Dr. Beecher said: "Few women have attained to
more remarkable piety. Her faith was strong and her prayer prevailing.
It was her wish that all her sons should devote themselves to the
ministry, and to it she consecrated them with fervent prayer. Her
prayers have been heard. All her sons have been converted and are now,
according to her wish, ministers of Christ."
Such was Roxanna Beecher, whose influence upon her four-year-old
daughter was strong enough to mould the whole after-life of the author
of "Uncle Tom's Cabin." After the mother's death the Litchfield home
was such a sad, lonely place for the child that her aunt, Harriet
Foote, took her away for a long visit at her grandmother's at Nut
Plains, near Guilford, Conn., the first journey from home the little
one had ever made. Of this visit Mrs. Stowe herself says:--
"Among my earliest recollections are those of a visit to Nut Plains
immediately after my mother's death. Aunt Harriet Foote, who was with
mother during all her last sickness, took me home to stay with her.
At the close of what seemed to me a long day's ride we arrived after
dark at a lonely little white farmhouse, and were ushered into a large
parlor where a cheerful wood fire was crackling. I was placed in the
arms of an old lady, who held me close and wept silently, a thing at
which I marveled, for my great loss was already faded from my childish
mind.
[Illustration: _Roxanna Foote_]
"I remember being put to bed by my aunt in a large room, on one side
of which stood the bed appropriated to her and me, and on the other
that of my grandmother. My aunt Harriet was no common character. A more
energetic human being never undertook the education of a child. Her
ideas of education were those of a vigorous English woman of the old
school. She believed in the Church, and had she been born under that
_regime_ would have believed in the king stoutly, although being of the
generation following the Revolution she was a not less stanch supporter
of the Declaration of Independence.
"According to her views little girls were to be taught to move very
gently, to speak softly and prettily, to say 'yes ma'am,' and 'no
ma'am,' never to tear their clothes, to sew, to knit at regular hours,
to go to church on Sunday and make all the responses, and to come home
and be catechised.
"During these catechisings she used to place my little cousin Mary
and myself bolt upright at her knee, while black Dinah and Harry, the
bound boy, were ranged at a respectful distance behind us; for Aunt
Harriet always impressed it upon her servants 'to order themselves
lowly and reverently to all their betters,' a portion of the Church
catechism that always pleased me, particularly when applied to them, as
it insured their calling me 'Miss Harriet,' and treating me with a
degree of consideration such as I never enjoyed in the more democratic
circle at home. I became proficient in the Church catechism, and gave
my aunt great satisfaction by the old-fashioned gravity and steadiness
with which I learned to repeat it.
"As my father was a Congregational minister, I believe Aunt Harriet,
though the highest of High Church women, felt some scruples as
to whether it was desirable that my religious education should
be entirely out of the sphere of my birth. Therefore when this
catechetical exercise was finished she would say, 'Now, niece, you
have to learn another catechism, because your father is a Presbyterian
minister,'--and then she would endeavor to make me commit to memory the
Assembly catechism.
"At this lengthening of exercise I secretly murmured. I was rather
pleased at the first question in the Church catechism, which is
certainly quite on the level of any child's understanding,--'What is
your name?' It was such an easy good start, I could say it so loud and
clear, and I was accustomed to compare it with the first question in
the Primer, 'What is the chief end of man?' as vastly more difficult
for me to answer. In fact, between my aunt's secret unbelief and my own
childish impatience of too much catechism, the matter was indefinitely
postponed after a few ineffectual attempts, and I was overjoyed to hear
her announce privately to grandmother that she thought it would be time
enough for Harriet to learn the Presbyterian catechism when she went
home."
Mingled with this superabundance of catechism and plentiful needlework
the child was treated to copious extracts from Lowth's Isaiah,
Buchanan's Researches in Asia, Bishop Heber's Life, and Dr. Johnson's
Works, which, after her Bible and Prayer Book, were her grandmother's
favorite reading. Harriet does not seem to have fully appreciated
these; but she did enjoy her grandmother's comments upon their biblical
readings. Among the Evangelists especially was the old lady perfectly
at home, and her idea of each of the apostles was so distinct and
dramatic that she spoke of them as of familiar acquaintances. She
would, for instance, always smile indulgently at Peter's remarks and
say, "There he is again, now; that's just like Peter. He's always so
ready to put in."
It must have been during this winter spent at Nut Plains, amid such
surroundings, that Harriet began committing to memory that wonderful
assortment of hymns, poems, and scriptural passages from which in after
years she quoted so readily and effectively, for her sister Catherine,
in writing of her the following November, says:--
"Harriet is a very good girl. She has been to school all this summer,
and has learned to read very fluently. She has committed to memory
twenty-seven hymns and two long chapters in the Bible. She has a
remarkably retentive memory and will make a very good scholar."
At this time the child was five years old, and a regular attendant
at "Ma'am Kilbourne's" school on West Street, to which she walked
every day hand in hand with her chubby, rosy-faced, bare-footed,
four-year-old brother, Henry Ward. With the ability to read germinated
the intense literary longing that was to be hers through life. In
those days but few books were specially prepared for children, and
at six years of age we find the little girl hungrily searching for
mental food amid barrels of old sermons and pamphlets stored in a
corner of the garret. Here it seemed to her were some thousands of the
most unintelligible things. "An appeal on the unlawfulness of a man
marrying his wife's sister" turned up in every barrel she investigated,
by twos, or threes, or dozens, till her soul despaired of finding an
end. | 1,737.97946 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.9603530 | 7,435 | 8 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire. This book was produced from
scanned images of public domain material from the Internet
Archive.
[Illustration: Book Cover]
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES
OF
MR. VERDANT GREEN
FRONTISPIECE.
(See page 30.)
[Illustration: CUTHBERT BEDE, INVT. KT. DELT. E. EVANS, SC]
MR. VERDANT GREEN FURNISHES THE SUBJECT FOR A STRIKING
FRONTISPIECE.
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES
OF
MR. VERDANT GREEN,
An Oxford Under-Graduate.
BEING A CONTINUATION OF "THE ADVENTURES OF MR. VERDANT GREEN, AN OXFORD
FRESHMAN."
BY CUTHBERT BEDE, B.A.
With numerous Illustrations,
DESIGNED AND DRAWN ON THE WOOD BY THE AUTHOR.
"A COLLEGE JOKE TO CURE THE DUMPS."
SWIFT.
SECOND EDITION.
H. INGRAM & CO.
MILFORD HOUSE, MILFORD LANE, STRAND, LONDON;
AND BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
1854.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. Mr. Verdant Green recommences his existence as
an Oxford Undergraduate 1
CHAPTER II. Mr. Verdant Green does as he has been done by 5
CHAPTER III. Mr. Verdant Green endeavours to keep his Spirits
up by pouring Spirits down 14
CHAPTER IV. Mr. Verdant Green discovers the difference between
Town and Gown 26
CHAPTER V. Mr. Verdant Green is favoured with Mr. Bouncer's
Opinions regarding an Under-graduate's
Epistolary Communications to his Maternal
Relative 39
CHAPTER VI. Mr. Verdant Green feathers his oars with skill
and dexterity 50
CHAPTER VII. Mr. Verdant Green partakes of a Dove-tart and
a Spread-eagle 59
CHAPTER VIII. Mr. Verdant Green spends a Merry Christmas and
a Happy New Year 68
CHAPTER IX. Mr. Verdant Green makes his first appearance on
any Boards 75
CHAPTER X. Mr. Verdant Green enjoys a real Cigar 87
CHAPTER XI. Mr. Verdant Green gets through his Smalls 95
CHAPTER XII. Mr. Verdant Green and his Friends enjoy the
Commemoration 104
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
MR. VERDANT GREEN RECOMMENCES HIS EXISTENCE AS AN OXFORD UNDERGRADUATE.
The intelligent reader--which epithet I take to be a synonym for every
one who has perused the first part of the Adventures of Mr. Verdant
Green,--will remember the statement, that the hero of the narrative "had
gained so much experience during his Freshman's term, that, when the
pleasures of the Long Vacation were at an end, and he had returned to
Brazenface with his firm and fast friend Charles Larkyns, he felt
himself entitled to assume a patronising air to the Freshmen, who then
entered, and even sought to impose upon their credulity in ways which
his own personal experience suggested." And the intelligent reader will
further call to mind the fact that the first part of these memoirs
concluded with the words--"it was clear that Mr. Verdant Green had made
his farewell bow as an Oxford Freshman."
But, although Mr. Verdant Green had of necessity ceased to be "a
Freshman" as soon as he had entered upon his second term of
residence,--the name being given to students in their first term
only,--yet this necessity, which, as we all know, _non habet leges_,
will occasionally prove its rule by an exception; and if Mr. Verdant
Green was no longer a Freshman in name, he still continued to be one by
nature. And the intelligent reader will perceive when he comes to study
these veracious memoirs, that, although their hero will no longer
display those peculiarly virulent symptoms of freshness, which drew
towards him so much friendly sympathy during the earlier part of his
University career, yet that he will still, by his innocent simplicity
and credulity, occasionally evidence the truth of the Horatian maxim,--
"Quo semel est imbuta recens, servabit odorem
Testa diu;"[1]
which, when _Smart_-ly translated, means, "A cask will long preserve the
flavour, with which, when new, it was once impregnated;" and which, when
rendered in the Saxon vulgate, signifieth, "What is bred in the bone will
come out in the flesh."
It would, indeed, take more than a Freshman's term,--a two months'
residence in Oxford,--to remove the simple gaucheries of the country
Squire's hobbodehoy, and convert the girlish youth, the pupil of that
Nestor of Spinsters, Miss Virginia Verdant, into the MAN whose school
was the University, whose Alma Mater was Oxonia herself. We do not cut
our wise teeth in a day; some people, indeed, are so unfortunate as
never to cut them at all; at the best, two months is but a brief space
in which to get through this sapient teething operation, a short time in
which to graft our cutting on the tree of Wisdom, more especially when
the tender plant happens to be a Verdant Green. The golden age is past
when the full-formed goddess of Wisdom sprang from the brain of Jove
complete in all her parts. If our Vulcans now-a-days were to trepan the
heads of our Jupiters, they would find nothing in them! In these
degenerate times it will take more than one splitting headache to
produce _our_ wisdom.
So it was with our hero. The splitting headache, for example, which had
wound up the pleasures of Mr. Small's "quiet party," had taught him that
the good things of this life were not given to be abused, and that he
could not exceed the bounds of temperance and moderation without being
made to pay the penalty of the trespass. It had taught him that kind of
wisdom which even "makes fools wise;" for it had taught him Experience.
And yet, it was but a portion of that lesson of Experience which it is
sometimes so hard to learn, but which, when once got by heart, is like
the catechism of our early days,--it is never forgotten,--it directs us,
it warns us, it advises us; it not only adorns the tale of our life, but
it points the moral which may bring that tale to a happy and peaceful
end.
Experience! Experience! What will it not do? It is a staff which will
help us on when we are jostled by the designing crowds of our Vanity
Fair. It is a telescope that will reveal to us the dark spots on what
seemed to be a fair face. It is a finger-post to show us whither the
crooked paths of worldly ways will lead us. It is a scar that tells of
the wound which the soldier has received in the battle of life. It is a
lighthouse that warns us off those hidden rocks and quicksands where the
wrecks of long past joys that once smiled so fairly, and were loved so
dearly, now lie buried in all their ghastliness, stripped of grace and
beauty, things to shudder at and dread. Experience! Why, even Alma
Mater's doctors prescribe it to be taken in the largest quantities!
"Experientia--_dose it_!" they say: and very largely some of us have to
pay for the dose. But the dose does us good; and (for it is an
allopathic remedy), the greater the dose, the greater is the benefit to
be derived.
The two months' allopathic dose of Experience, which had been
administered to Mr. Verdant Green, chiefly through the agency of those
skilful professors, Messrs. Larkyns, Fosbrooke, Smalls, and Bouncer, had
been so far beneficial to him, that, in the figurative Eastern language
of the last-named gentleman, he had not only been "sharpened up no end
by being well rubbed against University bricks," but he had, moreover,
"become so considerably wide-awake, that he would very soon be able to
take the shine out of the old original Weazel, whom the pages of History
had recorded as never having been discovered in a state of somnolence."
Now, as Mr. Bouncer was a gentleman of considerable experience and was,
too, (although addicted to expressions not to be found in "the Polite
Preceptor,") quite free from the vulgar habit of personal flattery,--or,
as he thought fit to express it, in words which would have taken away my
Lord Chesterfield's appetite, "buttering a party to his face in the
cheekiest manner,"--we may fairly presume, on this strong evidence, that
Mr. Verdant Green had really gained a considerable amount of experience
during his Freshman's term, although there were still left in his
character and conduct many marks of viridity which--
"Time's effacing fingers,"
assisted by Mr. Bouncer's instructions, would gradually remove. However,
Mr. Verdant Green had, at any rate, ceased to be "a Freshman" in name;
and had received that University promotion, which Mr. Charles Larkyns
commemorated by the following _affiche_, which our hero, on his return
from his first morning chapel in the Michaelmas term, found in a
conspicuous position on his oak.
Commission signed by the Vice-Chancellor of the University
of Oxford.
MR. VERDANT GREEN to be an Oxford Undergraduate, _vice_ Oxford
Freshman, SOLD out.
It is generally found to be the case, that the youthful Undergraduate
first seeks to prove he is no longer a "Freshman," by endeavouring to
impose on the credulity of those young gentlemen who come up as Freshmen
in his second term. And, in this, there is an analogy between the biped
and the quadruped; for, the wild, gambolling, school-boy elephant, when
he has been brought into a new circle, and has been trained to new
habits, will take pleasure in ensnaring and deluding his late companions
in play.
The "sells" by which our hero had been "sold out" as a Freshman, now
formed a stock in trade for the Undergraduate, which his experience
enabled him to dispose of (with considerable interest) to the most
credulous members of the generations of Freshmen who came up after him.
Perhaps no Freshman had ever gone through a more severe course of
hoaxing--to survive it--than Mr. Verdant Green; and yet, by a system of
retaliation, only paralleled by the quadrupedal case of the
before-mentioned elephant, and the biped-beadle case of the illustrious
Mr. Bumble, who after having his own ears boxed by the late Mrs. Corney,
relieved his feelings by boxing the ears of the small boy who opened the
gate for him,--our hero took the greatest delight in seeking every
opportunity to play off upon a Freshman some one of those numerous
hoaxes which had been so successfully practised on himself. And while,
in referring to the early part of his University career, he omitted all
mention of such anecdotes as displayed his own personal credulity in the
strongest light--which anecdotes the faithful historian has thought fit
to record,--he, nevertheless, dwelt with extreme pleasure on the
reminiscences of a few isolated facts, in which he himself appeared in
the character of the hoaxer.
These facts, when neatly garnished with a little fiction, made very
palatable dishes for University entertainment, and were served up by our
hero, when he went "down into the country," to select parties of
relatives and friends (N.B.--Females preferred). On such occasions, the
following hoax formed Mr. Verdant Green's _piece de resistance_.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Horace, Ep. Lib. I. ii., 69.
CHAPTER II.
MR. VERDANT GREEN DOES AS HE HAS BEEN DONE BY.
One morning, Mr. Verdant Green and Mr. Bouncer were lounging in the
venerable gateway of Brazenface. The former gentleman, being of an
amiable, tame-rabbit-keeping disposition, was making himself very happy
by whistling popular airs to the Porter's pet bullfinch, who was
laboriously engaged on a small tread-mill, winding up his private supply
of water. Mr. Bouncer, being of a more volatile temperament, was amusing
himself by asking the Porter's opinion on the foreign policy of Great
Britain, and by making very audible remarks on the passers-by. His
attention was at length riveted by the appearance on the other side of
the street, of a modest-looking young gentleman, who appeared to be so
ill at ease in his frock-coat and "stick-up" collars, as to lead to the
strong presumption that he wore those articles of manly dress for the
first time.
"I'll bet you a bottle of blacking, Giglamps," said little Mr. Bouncer,
as he directed our hero's attention to the stranger, "that this
respected party is an intending Freshman. Look at his customary suits of
solemn black, as Othello, or Hamlet, or some other swell, says in
Shakspeare. And, besides his black go-to-meeting bags, please to
observe," continued the little gentleman, in the tone of a wax-work
showman; "please to hobserve the pecooliarity hof the hair-chain,
likewise the straps of the period. Look! he's coming this way. Giglamps,
I vote we take a rise out of the youth. Hem! Good morning! Can we have
the pleasure of assisting you in anything."
"Yes, sir! thank you, sir," replied the youthful stranger, who was
flushing like a girl up to the very roots of his curly, auburn hair;
"perhaps, sir, you can direct me to Brazenface College, sir?"'
"Well, sir! it's not at all improbable, sir, but what I could, sir;"
replied Mr. Bouncer; "but, perhaps, sir, you'll first favour me with
your name, and your business there, sir."
"Certainly, sir!" rejoined the stranger; and, while he fumbled at his
card-case, the experienced Mr. Bouncer whispered to our hero, "Told you
he was a sucking Freshman, Giglamps! He has got a bran new card-case,
and says'sir' at the sight of the academicals." The card handed to Mr.
Bouncer, bore the name of "MR. JAMES PUCKER;" and, in smaller characters
in the corner of the card, were the words, "_Brazenface College,
Oxford_."
"I came, sir," said the blushing Mr. Pucker, "to enter for my
matriculation examination, and I wished to see the gentleman who will
have to examine me, sir."
"The doose you do!" said Mr. Bouncer sternly; "then young, man, allow me
to say, that you've regularly been and gone and done it, and put your
foot in it most completely."
"How-ow-ow, how, sir?" stammered the dupe.
"How?" replied Mr. Bouncer, still more sternly; "do you mean to brazen
out your offence by asking how? What _could_ have induced you, sir, to
have had printed on this card the name of this College, when you've not
a prospect of belonging to it--it may be for years, it may be for never,
as the bard says. You've committed a most grievous offence against the
University statutes, young gentleman; and so this gentleman here--Mr.
Pluckem, the junior examiner--will tell you!" and with that, little Mr.
Bouncer nudged Mr. Verdant Green, who took his cue with astonishing
aptitude, and glared through his glasses at the trembling Mr. Pucker,
who stood blushing, and bowing, and heartily repenting that his
school-boy vanity had led him to invest four-and-sixpence in "100 cards,
and plate, engraved with name and address."
"Put the cards in your pocket, sir, and don't let me see them again!"
said our hero in his newly-confirmed title of the junior examiner; quite
rejoiced at the opportunity afforded him of proving to his friend that
_he_ was no longer a Freshman.
"He forgives you for the sake of your family, young man!" said Mr.
Bouncer with pathos; "you've come to the right shop, for _this_ is
Brazenface; and you've come just at the right time, for here is the
gentleman who will assist Mr. Pluckem in examining you;" and Mr. Bouncer
pointed to Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, who was coming up the street on
his way from the Schools, where he was making a very laudable (but as it
proved, futile) endeavour "to get through his smalls," or, in other
words, to pass his Little-go examination. The hoax which had been
suggested to the ingenious mind of Mr. Bouncer, was based upon the fact
of Mr. Fosbrooke's being properly got-up for his sacrifice in a white
tie, and a pair of very small bands--the two articles, which, with the
usual academicals, form the costume demanded by Alma Mater of all her
children when they take their places in her Schools. And, as Mr.
Fosbrooke was far too politic a gentleman to irritate the Examiners by
appearing in a "loud" or sporting costume, he had carried out the idea
of clerical character suggested by the bands and choker, by a quiet,
gentlemanly suit of black, which, he had fondly hoped, would have
softened his Examiners' manners, and not permitted them to be brutal.
Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, therefore, to the unsophisticated eye of the
blushing Mr. Pucker, presented a very fine specimen of the Examining
Tutor; and this impression on Mr. Pucker's mind was heightened by Mr.
Fosbrooke, after a few minutes' private conversation with the other two
gentlemen, turning to him, and saying, "It will be extremely
inconvenient to me to examine you now; but as you probably wish to
return home as soon as possible, I will endeavour to conclude the
business at once--this gentleman, Mr. Pluckem," pointing to our hero,
"having kindly promised to assist me. Mr. Bouncer, will you have the
goodness to follow with the young gentleman to my rooms?"
Leaving Mr. Pucker to express his thanks for this great kindness, and
Mr. Bouncer to plunge him into the depths of trepidation by telling him
terrible _stories_ of the Examiner's fondness for rejecting the
candidates for examination, Mr. Fosbrooke and our hero ascended to the
rooms of the former, where they hastily cleared away cigar-boxes and
pipes, turned certain French pictures with their faces to the wall, and
covered over with an outspread _Times_ a regiment of porter and spirit
bottles which had just been smuggled in, and were drawn up rank-and-file
on the sofa. Having made this preparation, and furnished the table with
pens, ink, and scribble-paper, Mr. Bouncer and the victim were admitted.
"Take a seat, sir," said Mr. Fosbrooke, gravely; and Mr. Pucker put his
hat on the ground, and sat down at the table in a state of blushing
nervousness. "Have you been at a public school?"
"Yes, sir," stammered the victim; "a very public one, sir; it was a
boarding-school, sir; forty boarders, and thirty day-boys, sir; I was a
day-boy, sir, and in the first class."
"First class of an uncommon slow train!" muttered Mr. Bouncer.
"And are you going back to the boarding-school?" asked Mr. Verdant
Green, with the air of an assistant judge.
"No, sir," replied Mr. Pucker, "I have just done with it; quite done
with school, sir, this last half; and papa is going to put me to read
with a clergyman until it is time for me to come to college."
"Refreshing innocence!" murmured Mr. Bouncer; while Mr. Fosbrooke and
our hero conferred together, and hastily wrote on two sheets of the
scribble-paper.
[Illustration]
"Now, sir," said Mr. Fosbrooke to the victim, after a paper had been
completed, "let us see what your Latin writing is like. Have the
goodness to turn what I have written into Latin; and be very careful,
sir," added Mr. Fosbrooke, sternly, "be very careful that it is Cicero's
Latin, sir!" and he handed Mr. Pucker a sheet of paper, on which he had
scribbled the following:
"To be Translated into Prose-y Latin, in the Manner of
Cicero's Orations after Dinner.
"If, therefore, any on your bench, my luds, or in this assembly,
should entertain an opinion that the proximate parts of a
mellifluous mind are for ever conjoined and unconnected, I submit
to you, my luds, that it will of necessity follow, that such
clandestine conduct being a mere nothing,--or, in the noble
language of our philosophers, bosh,--every individual act of overt
misunderstanding will bring interminable limits to the empiricism
of thought, and will rebound in the very lowest degree to the
credit of the malefactor."
"To be Turned into Latin after the Master of the Animals
of Tacitus.
"She went into the garden to cut a cabbage to make an apple-pie.
Just then, a great she-bear coming down the street, poked its nose
into the shop-window. 'What! no soap!' So he died, and she (very
imprudently) married the barber. And there were present at the
wedding the Joblillies, and the Piccannies, and the Gobelites, and
the great Panjandrum himself, with the little button on top. So
they all set to playing Catch-who-catch-can, till the gunpowder
ran out at the heels of their boots."
It was well for the purposes of the hoaxers that Mr. Pucker's
trepidation prevented him from making a calm perusal of the paper; and
he was nervously doing his best to turn the nonsensical English word by
word into equally nonsensical Latin, when his limited powers of Latin
writing were brought to a full stop by the untranslateable word "Bosh."
As he could make nothing of this, he wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, and gazed appealingly at the benignant features of Mr. Verdant
Green. The appealing gaze was answered by our hero ordering Mr. Pucker
to hand in his paper for examination, and to endeavour to answer the
questions which he and his brother examiner had been writing down for
him.
Mr. Pucker took the two papers of questions, and read as follows:
"HISTORY.
"1. Draw a historical parallel (after the manner of Plutarch)
between Hannibal and Annie Laurie.
"2. What internal evidence does the Odyssey afford, that Homer
sold his Trojan war-ballads at three yards an obolus?
"3. Show the strong presumption there is, that Nox was the god of
battles.
"4. State reasons for presuming that the practice of lithography
may be traced back to the time of Perseus and the Gorgon's head.
"5. In what way were the shades on the banks of the Styx supplied
with spirits?
"6. Show the probability of the College Hornpipe having been used
by the students of the Academia; and give passages from Thucydides
and Tennyson in support of your answer.
"7. Give a brief account of the Roman Emperors who visited the
United States, and state what they did there.
"8. Show from the redundancy of the word [Greek: gas] in
Sophocles, that gas must have been used by the Athenians; also
state, if the expression [Greek: oi Bharbaroi] would seem to
signify that they were close shavers.
9. Show from the-words 'Hoc erat in votis,' (Sat. VI., Lib. II.,)
that Horace's favourite wine was hock, and that he meant to say
'he always voted for hock.'
"10. Draw a parallel between the Children in the Wood and Achilles
in the Styx.
"11. When it is stated that Ariadne, being deserted by Theseus,
fell in love with Bacchus, is it the poetical way of asserting
that she took to drinking to drown her grief?
"12. Name the _prima donnas_ who have appeared in the operas of
Virgil and Horace since the 'Virgilii Opera,' and 'Horatii Opera'
were composed."
"EUCLID, ARITHMETIC, and ALGEBRA.
"1. 'The extremities of a line are points.' Prove this by the rule
of railways.
"2. Show the fallacy of defining an angle, as 'a worm at one end
and a fool at the other.'
"3. If one side of a triangle be produced, what is there to
prevent the other two sides from also being brought forward?
"4. Let A and B be squares having their respective boundaries in E
and W. ends, and let C and D be circles moving in them; the circle
D will be superior to the circle C.
"5. In equal circles, equal figures from various squares will
stand upon the same footing.
"6. If two parts of a circle fall out, the one part will cut the
other.
"7. Describe a square which shall be larger than Belgrave Square.
"8. If the gnomon of a sun-dial be divided into two equal, and
also into two unequal parts, what would be its value?
"9. Describe a perpendicular triangle having the squares of the
semi-circle equal to half the extremity between the points of
section.
"10. If an Austrian florin is worth 5.61 francs, what will be the
value of Pennsylvanian bonds? Prove by rule-of-three inverse.
"11. If seven horses eat twenty-five acres of grass in three days,
what will be their condition on the fourth day? Prove by practice.
"12. If a coach-wheel, 6-5/30 in diameter and 5-9/47 in
circumference, makes 240-4/10 revolutions in a second, how many
men will it take to do the same piece of work in ten days?
"13. Find the greatest common measure of a quart bottle of Oxford
port.
"14. Find the value of a 'bob,' a 'tanner,' a 'joey,' and a
'tizzy.'
"15. Explain the common denominators 'brick,' 'trump,''spoon,'
'muff,' and state what was the greatest common denominator in the
last term.
"16. Reduce two academical years to their lowest terms.
"17. Reduce a Christ Church tuft to the level of a Teddy Hall man.
"18. If a freshman A have any mouth _x_, and a bottle of wine _y_,
show how many applications of _x_ to _y_ will place _y_+_y_ before
_A_."
Mr. Pucker did not know what to make of such extraordinary and
unexpected questions. He blushed, attempted to write, fingered his
curls, tried to collect his faculties, and then appeared to give himself
over to despair; whereupon little Mr. Bouncer was seized with an
immoderate fit of coughing which had well nigh brought the farce to its
_denouement_.
"I'm afraid, young gentleman," said Mr. Four-in-hand Fosbrooke, as he
carelessly settled his white tie and bands, "I am afraid, Mr. Pucker,
that your learning is not yet up to the Brazenface standard. We are
particularly cautious about admitting any gentleman whose acquirements
are not of the highest order. But we will be as lenient to you as we are
able, and give you one more chance to retrieve yourself. We will try a
little _viva voce_, Mr. Pucker. Perhaps, sir, you will favour me with
your opinions on the Fourth Punic War, and will also give me a slight
sketch of the constitution of ancient Heliopolis."
Mr. Pucker waxed, if possible, redder and hotter than before, he gasped
like a fish out of water; and, like Dryden's prince, "unable to conceal
his pain," he
"Sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again."
But all was to no purpose: he was unable to frame an answer to Mr.
Fosbrooke's questions.
"Ah, sir," continued his tormentor, "I see that you will not do for us
yet awhile, and I am therefore under the painful necessity of rejecting
you. I should advise you, sir, to read hard for another twelvemonths,
and endeavour to master those subjects in which you have now failed.
For, a young man, Mr. Pucker, who knows nothing about the Fourth Punic
War, and the constitution of ancient Heliopolis, is quite unfit to be
enrolled among the members of such a learned college as Brazenface. Mr.
Pluckem quite coincides with me in this decision." (Here Mr. Verdant
Green gave a Burleigh nod.) "We feel very sorry for you, Mr. Pucker, and
also for your unfortunate family; but we recommend you to add to your
present stock of knowledge, and to keep those visiting-cards for another
twelvemonth." And Mr. Fosbrooke and our hero--disregarding poor Mr.
Pucker's entreaties that they would consider his pa and ma, and would
please to matriculate him this once, and he would read very hard, indeed
he would--turned to Mr. Bouncer and gave some private instructions,
which caused that gentleman immediately to vanish, and seek out Mr.
Robert Filcher.
Five minutes after, that excellent Scout met the dejected Mr. Pucker as
he was crossing the Quad on his way from Mr. Fosbrooke's rooms.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Filcher, touching his forehead; for,
as Mr. Filcher, after the manner of his tribe, never was seen in a
head-covering, he was unable to raise his hat or cap; "beg your pardon,
sir! but was you a lookin' for the party as examines the young gents for
their matrickylation?"
"Eh?--no! I have just come from him," replied Mr. Pucker, dolefully.
[Illustration]
"Beg your pardon, sir," remarked Mr. Filcher, "but his rooms ain't that
way at all. Mr. Slowcoach, as is the party you _ought_ to have seed, has
_his_ rooms quite in a hopposite direction, sir; and he's the honly
party as examines the matrickylatin' gents."
"But I _have_ been examined," observed Mr. Pucker, with the air of a
plucked man; "and I am sorry to say that I was rejected, and"----
"I dessay, sir," interrupted Mr. Filcher; "but I think it's a 'oax,
sir!"
"A what?" stammered Mr. Pucker.
"A 'oax--a sell;" replied the Scout, confidentially. "You see, sir, I
think some of the gents have been makin' a little game of you, sir; they
often does with fresh parties like you, sir, that seem fresh and
hinnocent like; and I dessay they've been makin' believe to examine you,
sir, and a pretendin' that you wasn't clever enough. But they don't mean
no harm, sir; it's only their play, bless you!"
"Then," said Mr. Pucker, whose countenance had been gradually clearing
with every word the Scout spoke; "then I'm not really rejected, but have
still a chance of passing my examination?"
"Percisely so, sir," replied Mr. Filcher; "and--hexcuse me, sir, for a
hintin' of it to you,--but, if you would let me adwise you, sir, you
would | 1,737.980393 |
2023-11-16 18:46:01.9616290 | 2,301 | 7 |
Produced by David Edwards, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
THE LOST HEIR
BY G. A. HENTY
AUTHOR OF "STURDY AND STRONG," "RUJUB, THE JUGGLER," "BY ENGLAND'S AID,"
ETC., ETC.
THE MERSHON COMPANY
RAHWAY, N. J.
NEW YORK
CONTENTS.
I. A BRAVE ACTION 1
II. IN THE SOUTH SEAS 14
III. A DEAF GIRL 27
IV. THE GYPSY 40
V. A GAMBLING DEN 52
VI. JOHN SIMCOE 65
VII. JOHN SIMCOE'S FRIEND 77
VIII. GENERAL MATHIESON'S SEIZURE 90
IX. A STRANGE ILLNESS 102
X. TWO HEAVY BLOWS 112
XI. A STARTLING WILL 124
XII. DR. LEEDS SPEAKS 137
XIII. NETTA VISITS STOWMARKET 150
XIV. AN ADVERTISEMENT 164
XV. VERY BAD NEWS 176
XVI. A FRESH CLEW 193
XVII. NETTA ACTS INDEPENDENTLY 206
XVIII. DOWN IN THE MARSHES 220
XIX. A PARTIAL SUCCESS 233
XX. A DINNER PARTY 247
XXI. A BOX AT THE OPERA 262
XXII. NEARING THE GOAL 274
XXIII. WALTER 287
XXIV. A NEW BARGE 301
XXV. A CRUSHING EXPOSURE 316
XXVI. A LETTER FROM ABROAD 329
[Illustration: SIMCOE RAN IN WITH HIS KNIFE AND ATTACKED THE TIGER.
_--Page 4._]
THE LOST HEIR.
CHAPTER I.
A BRAVE ACTION.
A number of soldiers were standing in the road near the bungalow of
Brigadier-General Mathieson, the officer in command of the force in the
cantonments of Benares and the surrounding district.
"They are coming now, I think," one sergeant said to another. "It is a
bad business. They say the General is terribly hurt, and it was thought
better to bring him and the other fellow who was mixed up in it down in
doolies. I heard Captain Harvey say in the orderly-room that they have
arranged relays of bearers every five miles all the way down. He is a
good fellow is the General, and we should all miss him. He is not one of
the sort who has everything comfortable himself and don't care a rap how
the soldiers get on: he sees to the comfort of everyone and spends his
money freely, too. He don't seem to care what he lays out in making the
quarters of the married men comfortable, and in getting any amount of
ice for the hospital, and extra punkawallahs in the barrack rooms during
the hot season. He goes out and sees to everything himself. Why, on the
march I have known him, when all the doolies were full, give up his own
horse to a man who had fallen out. He has had bad luck too; lost his
wife years ago by cholera, and he has got no one to care for but his
girl. She was only a few months old when her mother died. Of course she
was sent off to England, and has been there ever since. He must be a
rich man, besides his pay and allowances; but it aint every rich man who
spends his money as he does. There won't be a dry eye in the cantonment
if he goes under."
"How was it the other man got hurt?"
"Well, I hear that the tiger sprang on to the General's elephant and
seized him by the leg. They both went off together, and the brute
shifted its hold to the shoulder, and carried him into the jungle; then
the other fellow slipped off his elephant and ran after the tiger. He
got badly mauled too; but he killed the brute and saved the General's
life."
"By Jove! that was a plucky thing. Who was he?"
"Why, he was the chap who was walking backwards and forwards with the
General when the band was playing yesterday evening. Several of the men
remarked how like he was to you, Sanderson. I noticed it, too. There
certainly was a strong likeness."
"Yes, some of the fellows were saying so," Sanderson replied. "He passed
close to me, and I saw that he was about my height and build, but of
course I did not notice the likeness; a man does not know his own face
much. Anyhow, he only sees his full face, and doesn't know how he looks
sideways. He is a civilian, isn't he?"
"Yes, I believe so; I know that the General is putting him up at his
quarters. He has been here about a week. I think he is some man from
England, traveling, I suppose, to see the world. I heard the Adjutant
speak of him as Mr. Simcoe when he was talking about the affair."
"Of course they will take him to the General's bungalow?"
"No; he is going to the next. Major Walker is away on leave, and the
doctor says that it is better that they should be in different
bungalows, because then if one gets delirious and noisy he won't disturb
the other. Dr. Hunter is going to take up his quarters there to look
after him, with his own servants and a couple of hospital orderlies."
By this time several officers were gathered at the entrance to the
General's bungalow, two mounted troopers having brought in the news a
few minutes before that the doolies were within a mile.
They came along now, each carried by four men, maintaining a swift but
smooth and steady pace, and abstaining from the monotonous chant usually
kept up. A doctor was riding by the side of the doolies, and two mounted
orderlies with baskets containing ice and surgical dressings rode fifty
paces in the rear. The curtains of the doolies had been removed to allow
of a free passage of air, and mosquito curtains hung round to prevent
insects annoying the sufferers.
There was a low murmur of sympathy from the soldiers as the doolies
passed them, and many a muttered "God bless you, sir, and bring you
through it all right." Then, as the injured men were carried into the
two bungalows, most of the soldiers strolled off, some, however,
remaining near in hopes of getting a favorable report from an orderly or
servant. A group of officers remained under the shade of a tree near
until the surgeon who had ridden in with the doolies came out.
"What is the report, McManus?" one of them asked, as he approached.
"There is no change since I sent off my report last night," he said.
"The General is very badly hurt; I certainly should not like to give an
opinion at present whether he will get over it or not. If he does it
will be a very narrow shave. He was insensible till we lifted him into
the doolie at eight o'clock yesterday evening, when the motion seemed to
rouse him a little, and he just opened his eyes; and each time we
changed bearers he has had a little ice between his lips, and a drink of
lime juice and water with a dash of brandy in it. He has known me each
time, and whispered a word or two, asking after the other."
"And how is he?"
"I have no doubt that he will do; that is, of course, if fever does not
set in badly. His wounds are not so severe as the General's, and he is a
much younger man, and, as I should say, with a good constitution. If
there is no complication he ought to be about again in a month's time.
He is perfectly sensible. Let him lie quiet for a day or two; after that
it would be as well if some of you who have met him at the General's
would drop in occasionally for a short chat with him; but of course we
must wait to see if there is going to be much fever."
"And did it happen as they say, doctor? The dispatch told us very little
beyond the fact that the General was thrown from his elephant, just as
the tiger sprang, and that it seized him and carried him into the
jungle; that Simcoe slipped off his pad and ran in and attacked the
tiger; that he saved the General's life and killed the animal, but is
sadly hurt himself."
"That is about it, except that he did not kill the tiger. Metcalf,
Colvin, and Smith all ran in, and firing together knocked it over stone
dead. It was an extraordinarily plucky action of Simcoe, for he had
emptied his rifle, and had nothing but it and a knife when he ran in."
"You don't say so! By Jove! that was an extraordinary act of pluck; one
would almost say of madness, if he hadn't succeeded in drawing the brute
off Mathieson, and so gaining time for the others to come up. It was a
miracle that he wasn't killed. Well, we shall not have quite so easy a
time of it for a bit. Of course Murdock, as senior officer, will take
command of the brigade, but he won't be half as considerate for our
comfort as Mathieson has been. He is rather a scoffer at what he calls
new-fangled ways, and he will be as likely to march the men out in the
heat of the day as at five in the morning."
The two sergeants who had been talking walked back together to their
quarters. Both of them were on the brigade staff. Sanderson was the
Paymaster's clerk, Nichol worked in the orderly-room. At the sergeants'
mess the conversation naturally turned on the tiger hunt and its
consequences.
"I have been in some tough fights," one of the older men said, "and I
don't know that I ever felt badly scared--one hasn't time to | 1,737.981669 |
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Produced by Jeroen Hellingman and the Online Distributed
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Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
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GERMANY TURKEY and ARMENIA
A selection of documentary evidence
relating to the Armenian Atrocities
from German and other sources
London.
J. J. KELIHER & CO., Ltd.
1917.
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
Page
A. THE INVASION OF PERSIA 17
1. Letters from German Missionaries in North-West Persia 17
B. THE SIX ARMENIAN VILAYETS 21
2. Van after the Turkish Retreat 21
3. Moush. Statement by a German Eye-witness 23 | 1,738.05414 |
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Produced by John Hamm. HTML version by Al Haines
THE RISE OF SILAS LAPHAM
by
William Dean Howells
JTABLE 5 27 1
I.
WHEN Bartley Hubbard went to interview Silas Lapham for the "Solid Men
of Boston" series, which he undertook to finish up in The Events, after
he replaced their original projector on that newspaper, Lapham received
him in his private office by previous appointment.
"Walk right in!" he called out to the journalist, whom he caught sight
of through the door of the counting-room.
He did not rise from the desk at which he was writing, but he gave
Bartley his left hand for welcome, and he rolled his large head in the
direction of a vacant chair. "Sit down! I'll be with you in just half
a minute."
"Take your time," said Bartley, with the ease he instantly felt. "I'm
in no hurry." He took a note-book from his pocket, laid it on his knee,
and began to sharpen a pencil.
"There!" Lapham pounded with his great hairy fist on the envelope he
had been addressing.
"William!" he called out, and he handed the letter to a boy who came to
get it. "I want that to go right away. Well, sir," he continued,
wheeling round in his leather-cushioned swivel-chair, and facing
Bartley, seated so near that their knees almost touched, "so you want
my life, death, and Christian sufferings, do you, young man?"
"That's what I'm after," said Bartley. "Your money or your life."
"I guess you wouldn't want my life without the money," said Lapham, as
if he were willing to prolong these moments of preparation.
"Take 'em both," Bartley suggested. "Don't want your money without
your life, if you come to that. But you're just one million times more
interesting to the public than if you hadn't a dollar; and you know
that as well as I do, Mr. Lapham. There's no use beating about the
bush."
"No," said Lapham, somewhat absently. He put out his huge foot and
pushed the ground-glass door shut between his little den and the
book-keepers, in their larger den outside.
"In personal appearance," wrote Bartley in the sketch for which he now
studied his subject, while he waited patiently for him to continue,
"Silas Lapham is a fine type of the successful American. He has a
square, bold chin, only partially concealed by the short reddish-grey
beard, growing to the edges of his firmly closing lips. His nose is
short and straight; his forehead good, but broad rather than high; his
eyes blue, and with a light in them that is kindly or sharp according
to his mood. He is of medium height, and fills an average arm-chair
with a solid bulk, which on the day of our interview was
unpretentiously clad in a business suit of blue serge. His head droops
somewhat from a short neck, which does not trouble itself to rise far
from a pair of massive shoulders."
"I don't know as I know just where you want me to begin," said Lapham.
"Might begin with your birth; that's where most of us begin," replied
Bartley.
A gleam of humorous appreciation shot into Lapham's blue eyes.
"I didn't know whether you wanted me to go quite so far back as that,"
he said. "But there's no disgrace in having been born, and I was born
in the State of Vermont, pretty well up under the Canada line--so well
up, in fact, that I came very near being an adoptive citizen; for I was
bound to be an American of SOME sort, from the word Go! That was
about--well, let me see!--pretty near sixty years ago: this is '75, and
that was '20. Well, say I'm fifty-five years old; and I've LIVED 'em,
too; not an hour of waste time about ME, anywheres! I was born on a
farm, and----"
"Worked in the fields summers and went to school winters: regulation
thing?" Bartley cut in.
"Regulation thing," said Lapham, accepting this irreverent version of
his history somewhat dryly.
"Parents poor, of course," suggested the journalist. "Any barefoot
business? Early deprivations of any kind, that would encourage the
youthful reader to go and do likewise? Orphan myself, you know," said
Bartley, with a smile of cynical good-comradery.
Lapham looked at him silently, and then said with quiet self-respect,
"I guess if you see these things as a joke, my life won't interest you."
"Oh yes, it will," returned Bartley, unabashed. "You'll see; it'll
come out all right." And in fact it did so, in the interview which
Bartley printed.
"Mr. Lapham," he wrote, "passed rapidly over the story of his early
life, its poverty and its hardships, sweetened, however, by the
recollections of a devoted mother, and a father who, if somewhat her
inferior in education, was no less ambitious for the advancement of his
children. They were quiet, unpretentious people, religious, after the
fashion of that time, and of sterling morality, and they taught their
children the simple virtues of the Old Testament and Poor Richard's
Almanac."
Bartley could not deny himself this gibe; but he trusted to Lapham's
unliterary habit of mind for his security in making it, and most other
people would consider it sincere reporter's rhetoric.
"You know," he explained to Lapham, "that we have to look at all these
facts as material, and we get the habit of classifying them. Sometimes
a leading question will draw out a whole line of facts that a man
himself would never think of." He went on to put several queries, and
it was from Lapham's answers that he generalised the history of his
childhood. "Mr. Lapham, although he did not dwell on his boyish trials
and struggles, spoke of them with deep feeling and an abiding sense of
their reality." This was what he added in the interview, and by the
time he had got Lapham past the period where risen Americans are all
pathetically alike in their narrow circumstances, their sufferings, and
their aspirations, he had beguiled him into forgetfulness of the check
he had received, and had him talking again in perfect enjoyment of his
autobiography.
"Yes, sir," said Lapham, in a strain which Bartley was careful not to
interrupt again, "a man never sees all that his mother has been to him
till it's too late to let her know that he sees it. Why, my mother--"
he stopped. "It gives me a lump in the throat," he said
apologetically, with an attempt at a laugh. Then he went on: "She was
a little frail thing, not bigger than a good-sized intermediate
school-girl; but she did the whole work of a family of boys, and
boarded the hired men besides. She cooked, swept, washed, ironed, made
and mended from daylight till dark--and from dark till daylight, I was
going to say; for I don't know how she got any time for sleep. But I
suppose she did. She got time to go to church, and to teach us to read
the Bible, and to misunderstand it in the old way. She was GOOD. But
it ain't her on her knees in church that comes back to me so much like
the sight of an angel as her on her knees before me at night, washing
my poor, dirty little feet, that I'd run bare in all day, and making me
decent for bed. There were six of us boys; it seems to me we were all
of a size; and she was just so careful with all of us. I can feel her
hands on my feet yet!" Bartley looked at Lapham's No. 10 boots, and
softly whistled through his teeth. "We were patched all over; but we
wa'n't ragged. I don't know how she got through it. She didn't seem
to think it was anything; and I guess it was no more than my father
expected of her. HE worked like a horse in doors and out--up at
daylight, feeding the stock, and | 1,738.073606 |
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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 NOTES: |
| |
| |
|Formatting and coding information: |
| - Text in italics is marked with underscores as in _text_. |
| 1,738.073878 |
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Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: The good-natured Giant]
THE
TWO STORY MITTENS
AND THE
LITTLE PLAY MITTENS:
BEING
THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE SERIES.
BY
AUNT FANNY,
AUTHOR OF THE SIX NIGHTCAP BOOKS, ETC.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
443 & 445 BROADWAY.
LONDON: 16 LITTLE BRITAIN.
1867.
Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1862, by
FANNY BARROW,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the
Southern District of New York.
I DEDICATE
THESE TWO STORIES AND THIS LITTLE PLAY
TO MY FRIEND
MR. FRANK A----,
who makes fun of me before my face and speaks well of me behind my back.
I don't mind the first a bit; and as long as he continues to practise
the second, we will fight under the same flag.
LONG MAY IT AND HE WAVE!
CONTENTS.
PAGE
MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS, 7
THE PARTY LILLIE GAVE FOR MISS FLORENCE, 12
THE FAIRY BENEVOLENCE, 45
MASTER EDWARD'S TRIAL, 80
THE LITTLE PLAY MITTENS, 139
MORE ABOUT THE MITTENS.
THE mittens were coming bravely on. Some evenings, Aunt Fanny could not
send a story; and then the little mother read an entertaining book, or
chatted pleasantly with her children.
There had been twelve pairs finished, during the reading of the third
book, and several more were on the way. George had written the most
delightful letters, each of which was read to his eagerly-listening
sisters and brothers several times, for they were never tired of hearing
about life in camp.
This evening, the mother drew another letter, received that day, out of
her pocket. The very sight of the envelope, with the precious flag in
the corner, caused their eyes to sparkle, and their fingers to fly at
their patriotic and loving work.
"Attention!" said the mother in a severe, military tone. Everybody burst
out laughing, choked it off, immediately straightened themselves up as
stiff as ramrods, and she began:
"DEAR MOTHER, CAPTAIN, AND ALL THE BELOVED
SQUAD:--Our camp is splendid! We call it Camp
Ellsworth. It covers the westward <DW72> of a
beautiful hill. The air is pure and fresh, and our
streets (for we have real ones) are kept as clean
as a pin. Not an end of a cigar, or an inch of
potato peeling, dare to show themselves. Directly
back of the camp strong earthworks have been
thrown up, with rifle pits in front; and these are
manned by four artillery companies from New York.
Our commissary is a very good fellow, but I wish
he would buy pork with less fat. I am like the boy
in school, who wrote home to his mother, his face
all puckered up with disgust: "They make us eat
p-h-a-t!!" When I swizzle it (or whatever you call
that kind of cooking) in a pan over the fire,
there is nothing left of a large slice, but a
little shrivelled brown bit, swimming in about
half a pint of melted lard, not quarter enough to
satisfy a great robin redbreast like me; but I
make the most of it, by pointing my bread for some
time at it, and then eating a lot of bread before
I begin at the pork. The pointing, you see, gives
the bread a flavor."
The children screamed with laughter at this, and wanted to have some
salt pork cooked immediately to try the "pointing" flavor. Their mother
promised to have some for breakfast, and went on reading | 1,738.079529 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer and David Widger
THE ABSENTEE
by Maria Edgeworth
[Footnotes have been inserted in the text in square ("[]")<br /> brackets, close to the point where they were originally.<br /><br /> Characters printed in italics in the original text have been<br /> written in capital letters in this etext.<br /><br /> The British Pound Sterling symbol has been written 'L'.]<br />
CONTENTS
NOTES ON 'THE ABSENTEE'
THE ABSENTEE
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
NOTES ON 'THE ABSENTEE'
In August 1811, we are told, she wrote a little play about landlords and tenants for the children of her sister, Mrs. Beddoes. Mr. Edgeworth tried to get the play produced on the London boards. Writing to her aunt, Mrs. Ruxton, Maria says, 'Sheridan has answered as I foresaw he must, that in the present state of this country the Lord Chamberlain would not license THE ABSENTEE; besides there would be a difficulty in finding actors for so many Irish characters.' The little drama was then turned into a story, by Mr. Edgeworth's advice. Patronage was laid aside for the moment, and THE ABSENTEE appeared in its place in the second part of TALES OF FASHIONABLE LIFE. We all know Lord Macaulay's verdict upon this favourite story of his, the last scene of which he specially admired and compared to the ODYSSEY. [Lord Macaulay was not the only notable admirer of THE ABSENTEE. The present writer remembers hearing Professor Ruskin on one occasion break out in praise and admiration of the book. 'You can learn more by reading it of Irish politics,' he said, 'than from a thousand columns out of blue-books.'] Mrs. Edgeworth tells us that much of it was written while Maria was suffering a misery of toothache.
Miss Edgeworth's own letters all about this time are much more concerned with sociabilities than with literature. We read of a pleasant dance at Mrs. Burke's; of philosophers at sport in Connemara; of cribbage, and company, and country houses, and Lord Longford's merry anecdotes during her visit to him. Miss Edgeworth, who scarcely mentions her own works, seems much interested at this time in a book called MARY AND HER CAT, which she is reading with some of the children.
Little scraps of news (I cannot resist quoting one or two of them) come in oddly mixed with these personal records of work and family talk. 'There is news of the Empress (Marie Louise), who is liked not at all by the Parisians; she is too haughty, and sits back in her carriage when she goes through the streets. 'Of Josephine, who is living very happily, amusing herself with her gardens and her shrubberies.' This ci-devant Empress and Kennedy and Co., the seedsmen, are in partnership, says Miss Edgeworth. And then among the lists of all the grand people Maria meets in London in 1813 (Madame de Stael is mentioned as expected), she gives an interesting account of an actual visitor, Peggy Langan, who was grand-daughter to Thady in CASTLE RACKRENT. Peggy went to England with Mrs. Beddoes, and was for thirty years in the service of Mrs. Haldimand we are told, and was own sister to Simple Susan.
The story of THE ABSENTEE is a very simple one, and concerns Irish landlords living in England, who ignore their natural duties and station in life, and whose chief ambition is to take their place in the English fashionable world. The grand English ladies are talking of Lady Clonbrony.
'"If you knew all she endures to look, speak, move, breathe like an Englishwoman, you would pity her,"' said Lady Langdale.
'"Yes, and you CAWNT conceive the PEENS she TEEKES to talk of the TEEBLES and CHEERS, and to thank Q, and, with so much TEESTE, to speak pure English,"' said Mrs. Dareville.
'"Pure cockney, you mean," said Lady Langdale.'
Lord Colambre, the son of the lady in question, here walks across the room, not wishing to listen to any more strictures upon his mother. He is the very most charming of walking gentlemen, and when stung by conscience he goes off to Ireland, disguised in a big cloak, to visit his father's tenantry and to judge for himself of the state of affairs, all our sympathies go with him. On his way he stops at Tusculum, scarcely less well known than its classical namesake. He is entertained by Mrs. Raffarty, that esthetical lady who is determined to have a little 'taste' of everything at Tusculum. She leads the way into a little conservatory, and a little pinery, and a little grapery, and a little aviary, and a little pheasantry, and a little dairy for show, and a little cottage for ditto, with a grotto full of shells, and a little hermitage full of earwigs, and a little ruin full of looking-glass, to enlarge and multiply the effect of the Gothic.... But you could only put your head in, because it was just fresh painted, and though there had been a fire ordered in the ruin all night, it had only smoked.
'As they proceeded and walked through the grounds, from which Mrs. Raffarty, though she had done her best, could not take that which nature had given, she pointed out to my lord "a happy moving termination," consisting of a Chinese bridge, with a fisherman leaning over the rails. On a sudden, the fisherman was seen to tumble over the bridge into the water. The gentlemen ran to extricate the poor fellow, while they heard Mrs. Raffarty bawling to his lordship to beg he would never mind, and not trouble himself.
'When they arrived at the bridge, they saw the man hanging from part of the bridge, and apparently struggling in the water; but when they attempted to pull him up, they found it was only a stuffed figure which had been pulled into the stream by a real fish, which had seized hold of the bait.'
The dinner-party is too long to quote, but it is written in Miss Edgeworth's most racy and delightful vein of fun.
One more little fact should not be omitted in any mention of THE ABSENTEE. One of the heroines is Miss Broadhurst, the heiress. The Edgeworth family were much interested, soon after the book appeared, to hear that a real living Miss Broadhurst, an heiress, had appeared upon the scenes, and was, moreover, engaged to be married to Sneyd Edgeworth, one of the eldest sons of the family. In the story, says Mrs. Edgeworth, Miss Broadhurst selects from her lovers one who 'unites worth and wit,' and then she goes on to quote an old epigram of Mr. Edgeworth's on himself, which concluded with,'There's an Edge to his wit and there's worth in his heart.'
Mr. Edgeworth, who was as usual busy building church spires for himself and other people, abandoned his engineering for a time to criticise his daughter's story, and he advised that the conclusion of THE ABSENTEE should be a letter from Larry the postilion. 'He wrote one, she wrote another,' says Mrs. Edgeworth. 'He much preferred hers, which is the admirable finale of THE ABSENTEE.' And just about this time Lord Ross is applied to, to frank the Edgeworth manuscripts.
'I cannot by any form of words express how delighted I am that you are none of you angry with me,' writes modest Maria to her cousin, Miss Ruxton, 'and that my uncle and aunt are pleased with what they have read of THE ABSENTEE. I long to hear whether their favour continues to the end, and extends to the catastrophe, that dangerous rock upon which poor authors are wrecked.'
THE ABSENTEE
CHAPTER I
'Are you to be at Lady Clonbrony's gala next week?' said Lady Langdale to Mrs. Dareville, whilst they were waiting for their carriages in the crush-room of the opera house.
'Oh yes! everybody's to be there, I hear,' replied Mrs. Dareville. 'Your ladyship, of course?'
'Why, I don't know--if I possibly can. Lady Clonbrony makes it such a point with me, that I believe I must look in upon her for a few minutes. They are going to a prodigious expense on this occasion. Soho tells me the reception rooms are all to be new furnished, and in the most magnificent style.'
'At what a famous rate those Clonbronies are dashing on,' said Colonel Heathcock. 'Up to anything.'
'Who are they?--these Clonbronies, that one hears of so much of late' said her Grace of Torcaster. 'Irish absentees I know. But how do they support all this enormous expense?'
'The son WILL have a prodigiously fine estate when some Mr. Quin dies,' said Mrs. Dareville.
'Yes, everybody who comes from Ireland WILL have a fine estate when somebody dies,' said her grace. 'But what have they at present?'
'Twenty thousand a year, they say,' replied Mrs. Dareville.
'Ten thousand, I believe,' cried Lady Langdale. 'Make it a rule, you know, to believe only half the world says.'
'Ten thousand, have they?--possibly,' said her grace. 'I know nothing about them--have no acquaintance among the Irish. Torcaster knows something of Lady Clonbrony; she has fastened herself, by some means, upon him: but I charge him not to COMMIT me. Positively, I could not for anybody--and much less for that sort of person--extend the circle of my acquaintance.'
'Now that is so cruel of your grace,' said Mrs. Dareville, laughing, 'when poor Lady Clonbrony works so hard, and pays so high, to get into certain circles.'
'If you knew all she endures, to look, speak, move, breathe like an Englishwoman, you would pity her,' said Lady Langdale.
'Yes, and you CAWNT conceive the PEENS she TEEKES to talk of the TEEBLES and CHEERS, and to thank Q, and, with so much TEESTE, to speak pure English,' said Mrs. Dareville.
'Pure cockney, you mean,' said Lady Langdale.
'But why does Lady Clonbrony want to pass for English?' said the duchess.
'Oh! because she is not quite Irish. BRED AND BORN--only bred, not born,' said Mrs. Dareville. 'And she could not be five minutes in your grace's company before she would tell you, that she was HENGLISH, born in HOXFORDSHIRE.'
'She must be a vastly amusing personage. I should like to meet her, if one could see and hear her incog.,' said the duchess. 'And Lord Clonbrony, what is he?'
'Nothing, nobody,' said Mrs. Dareville; 'one never even hears of him.'
'A tribe of daughters, too, I suppose?'
'No, no,' said Lady Langdale, 'daughters would be past all endurance.'
'There's a cousin, though, a Grace Nugent,' said Mrs. Dareville, 'that Lady Clonbrony has with her.'
'Best part of her, too,' said Colonel Heathcock; 'd-d fine girl!--never saw her look better than at the opera to-night!'
'Fine COMPLEXION! as Lady Clonbrony says, when she means a high colour,' said Lady Langdale.
'Grace Nugent is not a lady's beauty,' said Mrs. Dareville. 'Has she any fortune, colonel?'
''Pon honour, don't know,' said the colonel.
'There's a son, somewhere, is not there?' said Lady Langdale.
'Don't know, 'pon honour,' replied the colonel.
'Yes--at Cambridge--not of age yet,' said Mrs. Dareville. 'Bless me! here is Lady Clonbrony come back. I thought she was gone half an hour ago!'
'Mamma,' whispered one of Lady Langdale's daughters, leaning between her mother and Mrs. Dareville, 'who is that gentleman that passed us just now?'
'Which way?'
'Towards the door. There now, mamma, you can see him. He is speaking to Lady Clonbrony--to Miss Nugent. Now Lady Clonbrony is introducing him to Miss Broadhurst.'
'I see him now,' said Lady Langdale, examining him through her glass; 'a very gentlemanlike-looking young man, indeed.'
'Not an Irishman, I am sure, by his manner,' said her grace.
'Heathcock!' said Lady Langdale, 'who is Miss Broadhurst talking to?'
'Eh! now really--'pon honour--don't know,' replied Heathcock.
'And yet he certainly looks like somebody one certainly should know,' pursued Lady Langdale, 'though I don't recollect seeing him anywhere before.'
'Really now!' was all the satisfaction she could gain from the insensible, immovable colonel. However, her ladyship, after sending a whisper along the line, gained the desired information, that the young gentleman was Lord Colambre, son, only son, of Lord and Lady Clonbrony--that he was | 1,738.080676 |
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Produced by Audrey Longhurst, Diane Monico, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net.
[Illustration]
The
Tory Maid
By
HERBERT BAIRD
STIMPSON
New York
Dodd, Mead and Company
[Illustration: (decorative borders)]
Copyright, 1898, by H. B. STIMPSON.
_To
Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Hall Harrison
this volume
is affectionately inscribed by
the Author_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. WE START FOR THE WAR 1
II. WE MEET THE MAID 10
III. A FLASH OF STEEL 24
IV. THE RED COCKADE 34
V. SIR SQUIRE OF TORY DAMES 44
VI. A TALE IS TOLD 55
VII. THE DEFIANCE OF THE TORY 68
VIII. THE BLACK COCKADE 77
IX. THE RED TIDE OF BLOOD 89
X. THE HARRYING OF THE TORY 107
XI. THE COUNCIL OF SAFETY 118
XII. THE VETO OF A MAID 132
XIII. THE GREETING OF FAIR LIPS 146
XIV. THE RETURN OF THE TORY 156
XV. THE FLAG OF TRUCE 166
XVI. THE BALL OF MY LORD HOWE 176
XVII. AN EXCHANGE OF COURTESIES 187
XVIII. THE CROSSING OF SWORDS 196
XIX. THE SANDS OF MONMOUTH 206
XX. IN THE LINES OF THE ENEMY 222
XXI. THE PASSING OF YEARS 230
XXII. THE COMING OF THE MAID 238
The Tory Maid
CHAPTER I
WE START FOR THE WAR
I, James Frisby of Fairlee, in the county of Kent, on the eastern
shore of what was known in my youth as the fair Province of Maryland,
but now the proud State of that name, growing old in years, but hearty
and hale withal, though the blood courses not through my veins as in
the days of my youth, sit on the great porch of Fairlee watching the
sails on the distant bay, where its gleaming waters meet the mouth of
the creek that runs at the foot of Fairlee. A julep there is on the
table beside me, flavoured with mint gathered by the hands of John
Cotton early in the morning, while the dew was still upon it, from the
finest bank in all Kent County.
So with these old friends around me, with the julep on my right hand
and the paper before me, I sit on the great porch of Fairlee to write
of the wild days of my youth, when I first drew my sword in the Great
Cause. To write, before my hand becomes feeble and my eyes grow dim,
of the strange things that I saw and the adventures that befell me, of
the old Tory of the Braes, of the fair maid his daughter, and of the
part they played in my life during the War of the Deliverance. To
write so that those who come after me, as well as those who are
growing up around my knees, may know the part their grandfather played
in the stirring times that proclaimed the birth of a mighty nation.
The first year of the great struggle, ah, me! I was young then, and
the wild blood was in my veins. I was broad of shoulder and long of
limb, with a hand that gripped like steel and a seat in the saddle
that was the envy of all that hard-riding country. I was hardy and
skilled in all the outdoor sports and pastimes of my race and people,
and being light in the saddle I often led the hardest riders and won
from them the brush, while every creek for fifty miles up and down the
broad Chesapeake, and even the farther shore as far as Baltimore, knew
my canoe, and the High Sheriff himself was no finer shot than I.
You, who bask in the sunshine of long and dreary years of peace, who
never hear the note of the bugle nor see the flash of the foeman's
steel from one year's end to another, know not what it was to live in
those stirring times and all the joy of the strife. You should have
seen us then, when the whole land was aflame.
The fiery signal had come like a rush of the wind from the north, with
the cry of the dying on the roadsides and fields of Lexington.
All along the western shore the men of Anne Arundel, of Frederick, and
Prince George were mustering fast and strong. Then the Kentish men and
those of Queen Anne and all the lower shore were mounting fast and
mustering, while from the Howard hills came riding down bold and hardy
yeomen.
Then, and as it has always been in the old province of Maryland, the
gentlemen led the people, and everywhere the spirit of fire ran like
molten steel through the veins of the gathering hosts, and the people
took up the gauntlet of war with a laugh and a cheer and shook their
clenched hands at the King who was over the sea; so it was the length
and breadth of the province, and so it was with me.
And so one day the signal came, and I mounted my black colt Toby and
rode away to the Head of Elk in the county of Cecil, where the
mustering was, to take my place, as it was my duty and right to do,
side by side with the bravest gentlemen of the province in the coming
struggle for the Great Cause.
I was eighteen in the month of March of that year and considered
myself a man, and, having reached man's estate, I bade good-bye to my
mother and rode from out the sheltering walls and groves of Fairlee.
But just before I rode within the shadow of the great woods I turned
in my saddle and waved my hand to the small, quaint figure that stood
on the broad porch watching me disappear; and she bravely--for the
women were brave in those days--waved her hand in return, and then I
rode on, for the moment saddened at the parting, for the die that day
would be cast, and, though there would be mustering and drilling for
many weeks before we took up our march to the northward, the hand of
the cause would claim me as its own.
I was riding thus through the forest when I heard hoof-beats behind me
and a cheery halloo, and who should ride up but Dick Ringgold of
Hunting Field, a lad of my own age and my true friend?
"Why such a long face?" he laughed. "You look as if you were going to
a funeral and not to a hunt that will beat all the runs to the hounds
in the world. We are going to hunt redcoats and fair ladies' smiles
and not foxes now; so cheer up, man."
"Plague on it, Dick, you are ten miles from home and I am only one," I
retorted. "You ought to have seen how bravely her ladyship tried to
smile, too."
"We will increase the number of miles then," said he, and reaching
over he struck Toby across the flank. Well, Toby needs the curb at
best, and it was a full half-mile before I brought him up and had a
chance to give Dick a rating.
But Dick only laughed.
And so we rode on, across the low-lying plains of Kent, northward
toward the borders of Cecil.
For miles we would ride under the shadow of the dense forest, and then
we would come to the wide-reaching fields of some great manor or
plantation, the manor house itself generally crowning some gently
rising knoll amid a grove of trees, with a view of the distant bay,
or creek, or river, as the case might be; the cluster of houses, the
quarters for the slaves, the stables and the barns, making little
villages and hamlets amid the wide expanse of farm lands and the
distant circle of the dark green forests.
Then, again, a creek or river would bar our course, and we would have
to ride for miles until we turned its head, or found a ferry or a
ford, and so overcome its opposition. So on we rode until, as the day
waxed near the noon hour, we came to the little hamlet of Georgetown,
nestling amid the hills on the banks of the Sassafras. Crossing the
river at the ferry, we began the last stage of our journey.
The trail now skirted the broad lands of Bohemia Manor, and crossed
the beautiful river of that name, embedded between the hills and
wide-stretching farm lands.
As we approached the banks of the Elk the country grew more rolling
and wilder--in our front the Iron Hills rose up before us, crowned
with forests, in sharp contrast to the low-lying country through which
we had been passing.
And now, as our appetites became pressing, we urged our horses on, for
we had still many miles to travel.
CHAPTER II
WE MEET THE MAID
We had just come in sight of the blue waters of the Elk, as it rolled
between the forest-clad hills on either side, basking here for a
moment in the sunshine, then lost in the deeper shadows of the
overhanging forest.
"There rolls the Elk," cried Dick. "Only ten miles more, and a stroke
upon a piece of paper, and then, my boy, you are done for. A pain that
eats its way ever inward, a thirst that never slackens, and over all
the black night lowering down. Aye, so it is, Sir Monk of the Long
Face; but we will have some fun before we are put under the sod or our
bones are left to whiten on the sands."
"That we will, Sir Richard. And now we are in for it, for here comes
our first adventure. Is she ugly or is she fair? Which, Sir Richard?"
For, as we reached the point where our road joins the river road, we
saw, approaching along the lower road, a gentleman riding on a
powerful horse, while behind him on a pillion sat a slight girlish
figure, hidden in part by the broad shoulders of the rider.
"By Jove, it is Gordon of the Braes," said Dick.
"What, the suspected Tory?"
"Yes; and that must be his daughter. They say she is the fairest lass
in all the county of Cecil."
"Tory or no Tory," said I, "with a fair face at stake, I will speak to
him."
They were as yet some distance off, but as the rider drew nearer to us
we saw that he was a splendid specimen of manhood, such as I had but
seldom seen before.
While strong of frame and above the medium height, he carried himself
and rode with a courtliness and ease that bespoke the accomplished
horseman and gentleman. His splendid head and face showed the marks of
an adventurous career, and all bespoke the blood of the family from
which he had sprung, the Gordons of Avochie.
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The Sign of the Four
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
Contents
Chapter I
The Science of Deduction
Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and
his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,
white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back
his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully
upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with
innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home,
pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined
arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.
Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but
custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to
day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled
nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to
protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver
my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant
air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would
care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his
masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many
extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing
him.
Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken
with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme
deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no
longer.
"Which is it to-day?" I asked,--"morphine or cocaine?"
He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he
had opened. "It is cocaine," he said,--"a seven-per-cent. solution.
Would you care to try it?"
"No, indeed," I answered, brusquely. "My constitution has not got over
the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain
upon it."
He smiled at my vehemence. "Perhaps you are right, Watson," he said.
"I suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it,
however, so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that
its secondary action is a matter of small moment."
"But consider!" I said, earnestly. "Count the cost! Your brain may,
as you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid
process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a
permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon
you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for
a mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which
you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to
another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to
some extent answerable."
He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tips
together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who
has a relish for conversation.
"My mind," he said, "rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me
work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate
analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then
with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence.
I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own
particular profession,--or rather created it, for I am the only one in
the world."
"The only unofficial detective?" I said, raising my eyebrows.
"The only unofficial consulting detective," he answered. "I am the
last and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or
Lestrade or Athelney Jones are out of their depths--which, by the way,
is their normal state--the matter is laid before me. I examine the
data, as an expert, and pronounce a specialist's opinion. I claim no
credit in such cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work
itself, the pleasure of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my
highest reward. But you have yourself had some experience of my
methods of work in the Jefferson Hope case."
"Yes, indeed," said I, cordially. "I was never so struck by anything
in my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat
fantastic title of 'A Study in Scarlet.'"
He shook his head sadly. "I glanced over it," said he. "Honestly, I
cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an
exact science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional
manner. You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which
produces much the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an
elopement into the fifth proposition of Euclid."
"But the romance was there," I remonstrated. "I could not tamper with
the facts."
"Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of
proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the
case which deserved mention was the curious analytical reasoning from
effects to causes by which I succeeded in unraveling it."
I was annoyed at this criticism of a work which had been specially
designed to please him. I confess, too, that I was irritated by the
egotism which seemed to demand that every line of my pamphlet should be
devoted to his own special doings. More than once during the years
that I had lived with him in Baker Street I had observed that a small
vanity underlay my companion's quiet and didactic manner. I made no
remark, however, but sat nursing my wounded leg. I had a Jezail bullet
through it some time before, and, though it did not prevent me from
walking, it ached wearily at every change of the weather.
"My practice has extended recently to the Continent," said Holmes,
after a while, filling up his old brier-root pipe. "I was consulted
last week by Francois Le Villard, who, as you probably know, has come
rather to the front lately in the French detective service. He has all
the Celtic power of quick intuition, but he is deficient in the wide
range of exact knowledge which is essential to the higher developments
of his art. The case was concerned with a will, and possessed some
features of interest. I was able to refer him to two parallel cases,
the one at Riga in 1857, and the other at St. Louis in 1871, which have
suggested to him the true solution. Here is the letter which I had
this morning acknowledging my assistance." He tossed over, as he
spoke, a crumpled sheet of foreign notepaper. I glanced my eyes down
it, catching a profusion of notes of admiration, with stray
"magnifiques," "coup-de-maitres," and "tours-de-force," all testifying
to the ardent admiration of the Frenchman.
"He speaks as a pupil to his master," said I.
"Oh, he rates my assistance too highly," said Sherlock Holmes, lightly.
"He has considerable gifts himself. He possesses two out of the three
qualities necessary for the ideal detective. He has the power of
observation and that of deduction. He is only wanting in knowledge;
and that may come in time. He is now translating my small works into
French."
"Your works?"
"Oh, didn't you know?" he cried, laughing. "Yes, I have been guilty of
several monographs. They are all upon technical subjects. Here, for
example, is one 'Upon the Distinction between the Ashes of the Various
Tobaccoes.' In it I enumerate a hundred and forty forms of cigar-,
cigarette-, and pipe-tobacco, with plates illustrating the
difference in the ash. It is a point which is continually turning up
in criminal trials, and which is sometimes of supreme importance as a
clue. If you can say definitely, for example, that some murder has
been done by a man who was smoking an Indian lunkah, it obviously
narrows your field of search. To the trained eye there is as much
difference between the black ash of a Trichinopoly and the white fluff
of bird's-eye as there is between a cabbage and a potato."
"You have an extraordinary genius for minutiae," I remarked.
"I appreciate their importance. Here is my monograph upon the tracing
of footsteps, with some remarks upon the uses of plaster of Paris as a
preserver of impresses. Here, too, is a curious little work upon the
influence of a trade upon the form of the hand, with lithotypes of the
hands of slaters, sailors, corkcutters, compositors, weavers, and
diamond-polishers. That is a matter of great practical interest to the
scientific detective,--especially in cases of unclaimed bodies, or in
discovering the antecedents of criminals. But I weary you with my
hobby."
"Not at all," I answered, earnestly. "It is of the greatest interest
to me, especially since I have had the opportunity of observing your | 1,738.180432 |
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YALE UNIVERSITY
MRS. HEPSA ELY SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
SILLIMAN MEMORIAL LECTURES
PUBLISHED BY YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
ELECTRICITY AND MATTER. _By_ JOSEPH JOHN THOMSON,
D.SC., LL.D., PH.D., F.R.S., _Fellow of Trinity College,
Cambridge, Cavendish Professor of Experimental Physics, Cambridge_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE INTEGRATIVE ACTION OF THE NERVOUS SYSTEM.
_By_ CHARLES S. SHERRINGTON,
D.SC., M.D., HON. LL.D., TOR., F.R.S.,
_Holt Professor of Physiology in the University of Liverpool_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 25 cents extra._
RADIOACTIVE TRANSFORMATIONS. _By_ ERNEST RUTHERFORD,
D.SC., LL.D., F.R.S., _Macdonald Professor of Physics,
McGill University_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 22 cents extra._
EXPERIMENTAL AND THEORETICAL APPLICATIONS OF
THERMODYNAMICS TO CHEMISTRY.
_By_ DR. WALTHER NERNST, _Professor and Director of the
Institute of Physical Chemistry in the University of Berlin_.
_Price $1.25 net; postage 10 cents extra._
THE PROBLEMS OF GENETICS. _By_ WILLIAM BATESON, M.A.,
F.R.S., _Director of the John Innes Horticultural Institution,
Merton Park, Surrey, England_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 25 cents extra._
STELLAR MOTIONS.
WITH SPECIAL REFERENCE TO MOTIONS DETERMINED BY MEANS OF
THE SPECTROGRAPH. _By_ WILLIAM WALLACE CAMPBELL, SC.D., LL.D.,
_Director of the Lick Observatory, University of California_.
_Price $4.00 net; postage 30 cents extra._
THEORIES OF SOLUTIONS. _By_ SVANTE AUGUST ARRHENIUS,
PH.D., SC.D., M.D., _Director of the Physico-Chemical
Department of the Nobel Institute, Stockholm, Sweden_.
_Price $2.25 net; postage 15 cents extra._
IRRITABILITY.
A PHYSIOLOGICAL ANALYSIS OF THE GENERAL EFFECT OF
STIMULI IN LIVING SUBSTANCES.
_By_ MAX VERWORN,
_Professor at Bonn Physiological Institute_.
_Price $3.50 net; postage 20 cents extra._
THE EVOLUTION OF MODERN MEDICINE.
_By_ SIR WILLIAM OSLER, BART., M.D., LL.D., SC.D.,
_Regius Professor of Medicine, Oxford University_.
_Price $3.00 net; postage 40 cents extra._
PROBLEMS OF GENETICS
BY
WILLIAM BATESON, M.A., F.R.S.
DIRECTOR OF THE JOHN INNES HORTICULTURAL INSTITUTION,
HON. FELLOW OF ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE,
AND FORMERLY PROFESSOR OF BIOLOGY IN THE UNIVERSITY
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS
LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD
OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
MCMXIII
Copyright, 1913
By YALE UNIVERSITY
First printed August, 1913, 1000 copies
[** Transcriber's Note:
Underscores "_" before and after a word or phrase indicate ITALICS
in the original text.
Hyphenation was used inconsistently by the author and has been
left as in the original text. ]
THE SILLIMAN FOUNDATION
In the year 1883 a legacy of about eighty-five thousand dollars was left
to the President and Fellows of Yale College in the city of New Haven,
to be held in trust, as a gift from her children, in memory of their
beloved and honored mother, Mrs. Hepsa Ely Silliman.
On this foundation Yale College was requested and directed to establish
an annual course of lectures designed to illustrate the presence and
providence, the wisdom and goodness of God, as manifested in the natural
and moral world. These were to be designated as the Mrs. Hepsa Ely
Silliman Memorial Lectures. It was the belief of the testator that any
orderly presentation of the facts of nature or history contributed
to the end of this foundation more effectively than any attempt to
emphasize the elements of doctrine or of creed; and he therefore
provided that lectures on dogmatic or polemical theology should be
excluded from the scope of this foundation, and that the subjects should
be selected rather from the domains of natural science and history,
giving special prominence to astronomy, chemistry, geology, and anatomy.
It was further directed that each annual course should be made the basis
of a volume to form part of a series constituting a memorial to Mrs.
Silliman. The memorial fund came into the possession of the Corporation
of Yale University in the year 1901; and the present volume constitutes
the fifth of the series of memorial lectures.
PREFACE
This book gives the substance of a series of lectures delivered in Yale
University, where I had the privilege of holding the office of Silliman
Lecturer in 1907.
The delay in publication was brought about by a variety of causes.
Inasmuch as the purpose of the lectures is to discuss some of the wider
problems of biology in the light of knowledge acquired by Mendelian
methods of analysis, it was essential that a fairly full account of
the conclusions established by them should first be undertaken and I
therefore postponed the present work till a book on Mendel's Principles
had been completed.
On attempting a more general discussion of the bearing of the phenomena
on the theory of Evolution, I found myself continually hindered by the
consciousness that such treatment is premature, and by doubt whether
it were not better that the debate should for the present stand
indefinitely adjourned. That species have come into existence by an
evolutionary process no one seriously doubts; but few who are familiar
with the facts that genetic research has revealed are now inclined to
speculate as to the manner by which the process has been accomplished.
Our knowledge of the nature and properties of living things is far too
meagre to justify any such attempts. Suggestions of course can be made:
though, however, these ideas may have a stimulating value in the lecture
room, they look weak and thin when set out in print. The work which may
one day give them a body has yet to be done.
The development of negations is always an ungrateful task apt to be
postponed for the positive business of experiment. Such work is happily
now going forward in most of the centers of scientific life. Of many
of the subjects here treated we already know more than we did in 1907.
The delay in production has made it possible to incorporate these new
contributions.
The book makes no pretence at being a treatise and the number of
illustrative cases has been kept within a moderate compass. A good many
of the examples have been chosen from American natural history, as being
appropriate to a book intended primarily for American readers. The facts
are largely given on the authority of others, and I wish to express my
gratitude for the abundant assistance received from American colleagues,
especially from the staffs of the American Museum in New York, and of
the Boston Museum of Natural History. In connexion with the particular
subjects personal acknowledgments are made.
Dr. F. M. Chapman was so good as to supervise the preparation of the
Plate of _Colaptes_, and to authorize the loan of the Plate
representing the various forms of _Helminthophila_, which is taken from
his _North American Warblers_.
I am under obligation to Messrs. Macmillan & Co., for permission to
reproduce several figures from _Materials for the Study of Variation_,
illustrating subjects which I wished to treat in new associations, and
to M. Leduc for leave to use Fig. | 1,738.181452 |
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[Illustration: WEDGWOOD PORTLAND VASE]
POTTERY
AND
PORCELAIN,
_FROM EARLY TIMES
DOWN TO THE PHILADELPHIA EXHIBITION OF 1876_.
BY
CHARLES WYLLYS ELLIOTT.
WITH ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY-FIVE ILLUSTR | 1,738.186498 |
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JUGGERNAUT
A Veiled Record
BY GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON AND DOLORES MARBOURG
NEW YORK
FORDS, HOWARD, & HULBERT
1891
COPYRIGHT IN 1891, BY
GEORGE CARY EGGLESTON
AND
DOLORES MARBOURG
_All Rights Reserved_
To Madame
JUGGERNAUT:
A VEILED RECORD.
I.
Edgar Braine was never so blithe in all his life as on the morning of
his suicide.
Years after, in the swirl and tumult of his extraordinary career, the
memory of that June morning, and of the mood in which he greeted it,
would rush upon him as a flood, and for the moment drown the eager
voices that besought his attention, distracting his mind for the
briefest fraction of an instant from the complex problems of affairs
with which he wrestled ceaselessly.
In the brief moment during which he allowed the vision of a dead past
thus to invade his mind, he would recall every detail of that morning
with photographic accuracy, and more than photographic vividness.
In such moments, he saw himself young, but with a mature man's ambition,
and more than the strength of a man, as he strode sturdily down the
streets of the little Western city, the June sunshine all about him in a
golden glory, while the sunshine within exceeded it a hundredfold.
His mood was exultant, and with reason. He had already conquered the
only obstacles that barred his way to success and power. He had
impressed himself upon the minds of men, in a small way as yet, to be
sure, but sufficiently to prove his capacity, and confirm his confidence
in his ability to conquer, whithersoever he might direct his march.
Life opened its best portals to him. He was poor, but strong and well
equipped. He had won possession of the tools with which to do his work;
and the conquest of the tools is the most difficult task set the man who
confronts life armed only with his own abilities. That accomplished, if
the man be worthy, the rest follows quite as a matter of course,--an
effect flowing from an efficient cause.
Edgar Braine had proved to himself that he possessed superior
capacities. He had long entertained that opinion of his endowment, but
his caution in self-estimate was so great that he had been slower than
any of his acquaintances to accept the fact as indisputably proved.
It had been proved, however, and that was cause enough for rejoicing, to
a mind which had tortured itself from boyhood with unutterable longings
for that power over men which superior intellect gives,--a mind that had
dreamed high dreams of the employment of such power for human progress.
His was not an ambition achieved. It was that immeasurably more joyous
thing, an ambition in sure process of achievement.
But this was not his only cause of joy. Love, as well as life, had
smiled upon him, and the woman who had subdued all that was noblest in
him to that which was still nobler in her, was presently to be his wife.
And so Edgar Braine's heart sang merrily within him as he strode through
the cottonwood-bordered streets toward his editorial work-shop.
He entered the composing-room in front, and greeted the foreman with
even more of cordiality than was his custom, though his custom was a
cordial one.
He tried not to observe that Mikey Hagin, the Spartan-souled apprentice
of the establishment, was complacently burning a hole in the palm of his
hand, in a heroic endeavor to hide the fact that he had been smoking a
cigarette in risk of that instant discharge which Braine had threatened
as the fore-ordained punishment of that crime, if he should ever catch
the precocious youth committing it again.
He saw the cigarette, of course,--it was his habit to see things,--and
the blue wreath floating upward from the hand in which a hasty attempt
had been made to conceal it, was perfectly apparent. But his humor was
much too joyous for him to enforce the penalty, though he had decreed it
with a fixed purpose to enforce it. Somehow the grief of Mrs. Hagin,
Mikey's mother and Braine's laundress, at the discharge of her not over
hopeful son, was much more vividly present to his imagination this
morning than when he had promulgated the decree. He was too happy a man
to be willing to make any human being needlessly unhappy.
And yet he was too strict a disciplinarian to overlook the offence
entirely. He turned to the boy and said:
"It is lucky for you that I didn't catch you smoking the cigarette you
have in your hand. As it seems to be smoking you instead, I don't so
much mind."
With this, as the lad threw the burning roll into a barrel of waste
paper--which he presently extinguished with a bucket of water--Braine
took the over-proofs from their hook, and passed on into the back room,
which served as the editorial office of the Thebes _Daily Enterprise_.
The four men sitting there presented but one bodily presence. They were:
the Local Editor, the River Editor, the Society Editor, and "Our
Reporter," and their name was Moses Harbell, or, if universal usage is
authority in nomenclature, "Mose" Harbell.
Mose was a bushy-haired man of fifty, who had been Local Editor, River
Editor, Society Editor, and "Our Reporter" on the newspapers of small
river towns from a time whereof the memory of man runneth not to the
contrary.
He had never once dared aspire to a more independent position as his own
master. Perhaps the fact that he had imprudently married early, and now
had a family consisting of a mother, a mother-in-law, an imbecile
sister, a shrewish wife, nine children in various stages of progress
toward grown-up-hood, and four dogs of no recognized breed, had dampened
the ardor of his ambition, and inclined him to the conservative view
that to draw a salary from somebody else, even though it be not a
munificent one, is on the whole safer for a prudent family man, than to
take ambitious risks on his own account.
Mose was known all up and down the river by his first name in its
abbreviated form, and by no other on any occasion. He was never spoken
of in print without the adjective prefix "genial," and he never omitted
to call anybody "genial" whom he had occasion to mention in his own
paragraphs, from the morose curmudgeon who invited everybody in town to
his parties except Mose himself, to the most ill-natured mud clerk who
stood in the rain on the levee at midnight to check freight received by
the steamboat that employed him in that capacity, at nothing a month and
his board.
Life had dealt rather hardly with Mose, but it had not succeeded in
curdling any of the milk of human kindness mingled with his blood.
His notion of newspaper editing, apart from calling everybody "genial,"
was to mention everybody on every possible occasion, to praise everybody
without regard to the possibility or impossibility of the occasion, and
to chronicle the personal happenings of the town after the following
fashion:
"Ned Heffron, the genial ticket dispenser of the Central Railroad,
borrowed a boiled shirt yesterday, got his boots blacked on tick,
and started on a free pass to Johnsonboro, there to wed the
acknowledged belle of that young and thriving city, Miss Blankety
Blank, who will henceforth be a chief ornament to the society of
Thebes."
Mose was a thorn in the flesh of his young chief, who was a very earnest
person, possessed of a conviction that a newspaper owes some sort of
duty to the public, and that its province is to discriminate somewhat in
the bestowal of praise and blame. But Mose was necessary to the Thebes
_Daily Enterprise_. Braine could not afford to dispense with his
"geniality" as a part of the newspaper's equipment; for Mose knew
everybody within the _Daily Enterprise's_ bailiwick and everybody knew
Mose. Everybody made haste to tell Mose all the news there might be;
and, although there was not much of importance in what he gathered,
still it was news, and the news seemed to Braine a necessary part of a
newspaper. Thus it happened that Mose went on calling everybody "genial"
in the news department, even when his chief was excoriating the same
persons in the editorial columns for conduct wholly inconsistent with
Mose's imputation of unbounded geniality.
On this particular morning, however,--the morning of Edgar Braine's
suicide--even Mose's presence, recalling, as it always did, his
exasperating methods, could not ruffle the young man's exultant
spirits. He was so exuberantly happy that he omitted to remonstrate with
Mose about anything, and that tireless manufacturer of praise, observing
the omission, immediately wrote and sent to the composing-room an
elephantinely playful paragraph in which he said:
"Our genial chief was so much pleased this morning over the
impression made yesterday by his apparently severe, but really
good-natured leader on the recent defalcation of our genial city
clerk, Charley Hymes, that he took the local to his arms and stood
treat to a number-one mackerel, and the ever appreciative local
picked the bones of the aforesaid saline preserved denizen of the
deep, in the bosom of his family at dinner to-day."
That was Mose Harbell's idea of humor. It was not Braine's idea of humor
at all, and so Mose was greeted with the harshest reproof he had ever
received in his life when he next met his chief. He accepted it
"genially."
Having sent out the offending paragraph, Mose went out himself to gather
river news, and such gossip as he might, concerning the genial folk of
Thebes.
Then Abner Hildreth entered the office, and for two hours was closeted
with Braine.
Then Braine committed suicide.
Then he wrote his own obituary, to be printed in that evening's
_Enterprise_.
Then he went supperless to his room over a store, where he paced the
floor till dawn.
Then began the man's extraordinary career.
II.
When Braine returned to his bare little room after his suicide, he was
in a strange, paradoxical mood. His thought was intensely introspective,
and yet, with a whimsical perversity, his mind seemed specially alert to
external objects, and full of fantastic imaginings concerning them.
The bareness of the room impressed him, and he likened it to a cell in
some prison.
"Never mind," he said to himself, "I may have to sleep in a cell some
time, and the habit of living here will come handy."
Then, with a little laugh, in which there was no trace of amusement, he
stood before his desk, and added:
"But I believe they don't put strips of worn out carpet by the prison
beds; and I never heard of a cell having a desk in it surmounted by
empty collar-boxes for pigeon holes. Let me see--six times five are
thirty. What an extravagant fellow I have been, to use up thirty boxes
of paper collars in a year! Ten in a box, that's three hundred--almost
one a day! I might have done with half the number by turning them, as I
had to do at college before paper collars came in. Psha!" and he seemed
to spurn the trivial reverie from him as a larger recollection surged up
in his mind, and he began to pace the little room again with the
purposeless tramp of a caged wild beast, whose memory of the forest is
only a pained consciousness that it is his no more.
The June twilight faded into darkness, and the evening gave place to
midnight, but the ghost-walk went ceaselessly on.
In those hours of agonizing thought, the young man--to be young no more
henceforth--recalled every detail of his life with a vividness which
tortured him. He was engaged, unwillingly, in obedience to a resistless
impulse, in searching out the roots of his own character, and finding
out what forces had made him such as he knew himself to be.
In the process he learned, for the first time, precisely what sort of
man he really was. He saw his own soul undressed, and contemplated its
nakedness. One's soul is an unusual thing to see _en deshabille_, and
not always a pleasing one.
He remembered a letter his mother had written him at college--that
mother of half Scotch descent, and touched with Scottish second-sight,
who had silently studied his character from infancy, and learned to
comprehend it not without fear. He could repeat the letter word for
word. It had given him his first hint that he had a character, and a
duty to do with respect to it. He had cherished the missive for years,
and had read it a thousand times for admonition. Alas! how poor a thing
is admonition after all!
"There is one danger point in your character, my son"--he recalled the
very look of the cramped words on the page of blue-ruled letter
paper--"where I have kept watch since you lay in my arms as a baby, and
where you must keep watch hereafter. You have high aims and strong
convictions, and you mean to do right. You will never be led astray by
others--you are too obstinate for that. If you ever go astray, you must
take all the blame on your own head.
"You are generous, and I never knew you to do a meanly selfish thing in
your life. And yet your point of danger is selfishness of a kind. I have
observed you from infancy, and this is what I have seen. Your desire to
accomplish your purposes is too strong. You are not held back by any
difficulty. You make any sacrifice in pursuit of your ends. You use any
means you can find to carry your plans through, and you are quick at
finding means, or making them when you want them.
"I was proud of the pluck you showed in doing almost a slave's work for
two years, because you had made up your mind to go through college. But
I shuddered at the thought of what such determination might lead to.
"Oh! my son, you will succeed in life. I have no fear of that. But how?
Beware the time when your purpose is strong, your desire to succeed
great, _and the only means at command are dishonest and degrading_. That
time will come to you, be sure. When it comes you must make a hard
choice--harder for you than for another. You will then sacrifice a
purpose that it will seem like death to surrender--or you will commit
moral suicide! I shall not live to see you so tried; but if I see you
practise giving up a little and trying to keep guard at this weak place,
I may learn before I die to think of that hour of your trial without the
foreboding it gives me now."
That letter was the last his mother ever sent him. It had been a
consolation to him that before death summoned her, she had at least
read his reply, assuring her of his determination to maintain his
integrity in all circumstances.
"You say truly," he wrote, "that I never surrender a purpose or fail to
carry it out. Reflect, mother dear, that the strongest purpose I ever
had is this--to preserve my character. I will not fail to find means for
that when the time comes, as I never fail to accomplish objects of less
moment."
"The prophecy of the dear old mother is fulfilled," he muttered, while
his nails buried themselves in his unconscious palms. "The time she
foresaw has come, and I have committed suicide. Thank God the mother did
not live to see! Thank God her vision was no clearer! She had hope for
me at least. She did not _know_."
III.
As he called up pictures there in the dark, Edgar Braine saw himself a
little country boy in Southern Indiana, growing strong in the sweet,
wholesome air of the river and the hills, and torturing his young mind
with questions to which he could not comprehend the answers.
At first his questioning had to do with nature, whose wonders lay around
him. He wanted to know of the river. Whence it came, and how; he asked
Wherefore, of the hills; he made friends of all growing things, and
companions of those that had conscious life.
Then came his father's death to turn his mind into new and darker
chambers of inquiry, and for a time he brooded, disposed, in loyalty to
that wisdom which age assumes, to accept the conventional dogmas given
to him by the ignorance about him, as explanations of the mysteries, but
unable to conceal their absurdity from a mind whose instinct it was to
stand face to face with Doubt and to compel Truth to lift her mask of
seeming.
The loneliness of his life was good for him for a time. It taught him to
find a sufficient companionship in his own mind--a lesson which all of
us need, but few learn. But the time came when his wise mother saw the
necessity of a change, and, scant as her resources were, she took him to
the little city of Jefferson, where the schools were good and
companionship was to be found.
The city was at that time a beautiful corpse. It had just died, and had
not yet become conscious of the fact. Ten or fifteen years before, a
railroad running from the State capital had made its terminus at
Jefferson, making the river town the one outlet of the interior. A great
tide of travel passed through the place, and a large trade centred
there. But the course of railroad development which gave the city life,
destroyed it later. Other railroads were built through the interior to
other river outlets, and Cincinnati and Louisville took to themselves
what had been Jefferson's prosperity.
And so when Edgar Braine first knew the town, it had lost its hold upon
life, though it had not yet found out what had happened to it. The great
rows of warehouses along the levee, with the legends "Forwarding and
Commission," "Groceries at Wholesale Only," "Flour, Grain and
Provisions," "Carriage Repository," and all the rest of it, staringly
inscribed upon their outer walls, were empty now, and closed. In West
Street, two only of the once great wholesale houses maintained a show of
life. In one, an old man sat alone all day, and contemplated three bags
of coffee and two chests of tea, for which no customer made inquiry. In
the other there remained unsold half a ton of iron bars, and a few kegs
of nails, to justify the assertion of the signboard that the proprietors
were dealers in "Iron and Nails." The two partners who owned the place
appeared there every morning, as regularly as when their sales were
reckoned in six figures. They were always scrupulously neat, always
courteously polite to each other, and always as cheerful and contented a
pair of business partners as one need desire to see. Why not, seeing
that they both liked the game of checkers, and had nothing to do but sit
in the doorway and play from the beginning to the end of "business
hours" every day?
But the town did not realize its condition yet. Weyer & McKee were
putting up a new and imposing building for the better accommodation of
their wholesale grocery business, inattentive to the fact that their
wholesale grocery business had ceased to be. Polleys & Butler were still
issuing their _Market Bulletin_ for the information of their
"customers," not having yet realized that their customers had
permanently transferred their custom to Cincinnati. In this interesting
little sheet they had not yet begun to discuss "The Present Depression
in Trade--Its Cause and Cure." That came a little later.
The city was very well satisfied with itself. It had water-works and
gas, broad streets, and comfortable houses in such abundance that every
family might have had two for the asking. The people did not greatly
mind their loss of prosperity. Those who did mind had already gone away;
those who remained had succeeded, during the days of activity, in
getting out of other people enough to live on comfortably, and were
content to enjoy leisure and occupy themselves with church work and the
like for the rest of their lives.
The boy did not discover that anything was amiss with Jefferson until
two or three years after his arrival there. Having seen no other city he
did not observe that there was anything peculiar in the condition of
this one, until he saw a "to let" notice on the gorgeously decorated
front of Fred Dubachs' "Paintery" and learned that Fred was about to
remove to Keokuk. Fred was a notably expert painter, and the front of
his shop had always a strong fascination for Edgar. Fred had lavished
his best skill and industry upon its ornamentation during the two or
three years since he had ceased to have any painting to do for others.
Now he had given up and was going away.
The thing set the boy thinking. He reflected that it would be a sad
waste of time and labor for Fred to paint any more signs for a town
which already had some thousands no longer serving any useful purpose.
As he followed out this suggestion it dawned upon him that perhaps
Jefferson was a city in decay, and when he had questioned the matter a
little further, the evidence all about him left no room for doubt.
Then he went home and said to his mother: "I will not live in Jefferson
after I finish at Hanover. This town is done for. I must have
opportunities, and there will never be any here."
But Jefferson's condition had been educating him all the time, and
shaping his character in ways which affected all his future. He saw this
clearly now as he paced his room in Thebes that night after the suicide,
and recalled it all.
Among his schoolmates in Jefferson there were some, the sons of vulgar
people who had grown rich in the rapid rise of the town. These were
mainly stupid and arrogant, and their insolence was unceasing. At first
it had stung the sensitive boy to that kind of protest which involves
blows and bloody noses.
He was lithe of limb and strong, and he usually managed to get a
sufficient revenge in that way to satisfy him. But something occurred at
last to spoil the enjoyment he got out of pommelling the young bullies,
and to show him that, with all his strength and agility, he was meeting
his adversaries on unequal terms. He accidentally saw his mother toiling
late at night over the clothes in which he had that day fought Cale
Dodge to a finish. Cale, he knew, would simply put on a new suit next
day.
"I will have no more fights of that kind," he said to himself. Then,
after a period of silent thought, he said aloud:
"I have better weapons. I will show them in class who is master."
From that hour the inattention to books which had given his mother some
uneasiness, ceased. He mastered every lesson days before it was assigned
to him, and when an opportunity offered he submitted himself to
examinations in advance, and passed into the higher grades of the high
school, leaving his adversaries behind.
In this process he acquired two unquenchable thirsts--the one for
knowledge, the other for power. He searched the town library for books
that might supplement the meagre instruction of the schools. In his
search for knowledge he found culture. General literature opened its
treasures to him, and he read everything, from Shakespeare to Burke's
Works, that the library could supply.
But while all this went on, his delight in his superiority to the youths
who had been insolent to him, and were so still, crystallized more and
more into a great longing for power, and a relentless determination to
achieve it. Cost what it might he must be great, and look down upon
these his foes. His ambition became a passion, wild and unruly, but he
resolutely curbed it as one controls a spirited horse, and for the same
reason. He did not mean to let the ambition run away with his life and
wreck it before the destination was reached.
In the little college ten miles away, when at last he entered there, he
was said to have no ambition, because he lightly put aside the petty
prizes and honors for which others struggled so eagerly. His mates did
not dream how ambitious he was. He was thinking of larger things. There
was a scholarship to be won, and he took that, because it would spare
him his tuition fees; but for the class and society "honors" he cared
not at all.
He made his own all of value that the college libraries held and when
the senior examinations were over he was without a rival near him on
that record of achievement which determines who shall be valedictorian.
But he placed no value on the empty honor so coveted by others. A month
remained before Commencement, and he had no mind to lose a month. He
said to the President:
"I am going away to-morrow. If you choose to give me my degree please
take care of the diploma for me, if it is not too much trouble. Perhaps
I shall send for it some day."
"But you are surely not going to leave before Commencement?"
"Why not? I have got all I can out of college. I can't afford to waste a
month for nothing."
"But you are first-honor-man, Braine!"
"Yes, so I hear. Give that to some one who cares for it. I don't."
The next morning Edgar Braine quitted the village on foot, and without
returning to Jefferson, passed out of the little world of youth into
the great world of manhood. His equipment consisted of his character,
his education, and fifty dollars.
He thought the character a good one then. He revised his opinion as he
paced the little room in Thebes, and remembered.
IV.
The youth's sole thought when he walked out into the world was to find
opportunities--for exactly what, he neither knew nor greatly cared. He
knew himself possessed of power, and he sought a chance to make it felt.
He was ambitious beyond measure, but he believed his ambition to be
safely under a curb bit. He would achieve great things, but their
greatness should minister to the good of his fellow men.
His selfishness was of that kind which looks for its best satisfaction
in self-sacrifice. He would spend himself in the service of mankind, and
take his reward in seeing the results of his labor. He had been bred to
high conceptions of human conduct, and had filled his mind with exalted
principles.
It was for the exercise of powers thus directed that he sought
opportunities. He would know what to do with them, he was very sure,
when they came. He selected Thebes as the scene of his first endeavors
because it presented the completest possible contrast to Jefferson. As
Jefferson was a city that had ceased to thrive, so Thebes was one that
was just about to begin to thrive, as its citizens took pains to notify
the rest of the world. Braine wanted to help it thrive, and share its
thrift.
The bread-and-butter problem gave him no trouble. Thebes had plenty of
work to do in getting ready to prosper, and Braine was prepared to do
any work. The shrewd speculators who were engineering the town's scheme
of greatness, were quick enough to discover the youth's capacities, as
the race-course speculator is to see the fine points of a horse. In
whatever fell to him to do he acquitted himself so well that faith in
"young Braine" soon gave place to respectful admiration, and Mose
Harbell wrote numberless paragraphs in the Thebes _Daily Enterprise_
concerning "our genial and gifted young townsman, Edgar Braine," in
which, for reasons that Mose could not have explained, there was notably
less of the "genial" insolence of familiarity than was common in Mose's
literary productions. When some one mentioned this in Mose's presence,
his reply was:
"Well, somehow Braine isn't the sort of fellow you feel like slapping on
the back."
It was Abner Hildreth who first drew Braine into relations with the
_Enterprise_.
There was "one of Thebes's oldest and most genial citizens"--Jack
Summers by name--who, in addition to a mercantile business, carried on a
bank of the kind that opens in the evening by preference, while Abner
Hildreth, in all his career as a banker, had preferred daylight hours
for business.
Jack Summers corrupted the youth of the town, and when one promising
young clerk in the Express office was caught opening money packages, his
fall was clearly enough traced to his losses in Summers's establishment.
Hildreth, as a banker and business man, objected to gambling--of that
kind. He saw how surely it must undermine the other kind by destroying
the trustworthiness of clerks and cashiers. He deprecated it, also, as a
thing imperilling the young prosperity of Thebes, in which his
investments, as merchant, banker, hotel proprietor, mill owner and the
like, were greater than those of any other ten men combined, while even
with the other ten he was a silent partner so far as their ventures
seemed to him sound.
"The town mustn't get a hard name," he said; "Jack Summers must shut up
his gambling shop, or get out of Thebes."
Then he sent for Edgar Braine.
"That young fellow," he reflected, "knows how to write with vim, force,
pathos, and energy"--a favorite phrase with Hildreth--"and he has sand
in him too. He can skin Summers, and rub _aqua fortis_ into the raw, and
he ain't afraid to do it."
This latter point Hildreth knew to be important. Jack Summers was a
reckless person of whom most men in Thebes were inclined to be somewhat
in awe. He had lived in the place when the only law there was the will
of the boldest, enforced with a pistol, and he had not yet reconciled
himself to milder methods.
"I want you to score Jack Summers in the _Enterprise_, Edgar." It was
Hildreth's habit to go straight to the marrow of his undertakings. "I
want you to drive him out of town, or compel him to shut up his den. He
is ruining all the boys, and giving the town a bad name."
"But will Podauger let me?" asked Braine.
"Podauger" was the sobriquet by which old Janus Leftwitch--"Editor and
Proprietor of the Thebes _Daily Enterprise_"--had come to be known, by
reason of the ponderous unreadableness of his disquisitions.
"Podauger be--blessed! (I never swear, Braine.) I _own_ Podauger. I can
shut up his office to-day if I want to, and assign him a room in the
poorhouse. He will print what I tell him to, and Mose Harbell will keep
quiet too, when I tell him not to call Jack Summers 'our genial fellow
citizen' again. The only question is, will you write the articles?"
"I will, on one condition."
"I didn't think you would be afraid."
"I'm not."
"What is the condition then?"
"That I am to be let alone. I won't begin a thing of that kind, and have
it hushed up. It must go clear through if I undertake it."
"That's right. I knew you had sand. You may go ahead, and you shan't be
stopped by anybody--unless Summers prepares your corpse for the coroner.
Have you thought of that?"
"I am not afraid. The cause is a good one. That's all I ask."
"Very well. Now these articles must be editorials. They'll have more
weight that way. Salivate the rascal every day, and I'll back you up.
You'd better go armed, though, in case Summers suspects who it is."
"I will take care of that. The first article shall be ready in an
hour."
And it was. Braine was too fresh from college not to begin it with an
allusion to Roman history, but the people of Thebes were not
sufficiently familiar with the classics to resent a reference of the
kind. Besides, the allusion was an apt one. It was a reference to the
Roman method of dealing with persons who made themselves enemies of the
State, and it named Jack Summers as one who bore precisely that relation
to Thebes.
There was something like an earthquake in the town that night. Never
before had the _Enterprise_ been known to say a harsh thing or a
vigorous one. Podauger was never harsh in utterance, lest he offend a
subscriber or advertiser; he was never vigorous, because he did not know
how to be so. The terror of Jack Summers's displeasure was something
that nobody in Thebes had ever before ventured to brave, and what with
surprise, apprehension, and a looking-for | 1,738.285659 |
2023-11-16 18:46:02.2743500 | 204 | 10 |
Produced by David Widger
HISTORY OF THE UNITED NETHERLANDS
Volume II.
From the Death of William the Silent to the Twelve Year's Truce--1609
By John Lothrop Motley
CHAPTER IX. 1586
Military Plans in the Netherlands--The Elector and Electorate of
Cologne--Martin Schenk--His Career before serving the States--
Franeker University founded--Parma attempts Grave--Battle on the
Meuse--Success and Vainglory of Leicester--St. George's Day
triumphantly kept at Utrecht--Parma not so much appalled as it was
thought--He besieges and reduces Grave--And is Master of the Meuse--
Leicester's Rage at the Surrender of Grave--His Revenge--Parma on
the Rhine--He besieges aid assaults Neusz--Horrible Fate of the
Garrison and City--Which Leicester was unable to relieve--As | 1,738.29439 |
2023-11-16 18:46:02.3579680 | 829 | 9 |
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CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN
KEY TO THE COVER.
The 1st Arch contains a glimpse of Palamon and Arcite fighting
desperately, yet wounded oftener and sharplier by Love's arrows than by
each deadly stroke. The ruthless boy aloft showers gaily upon them his
poisoned shafts.
The 2nd contains Aurelius and Dorigen--that loving wife left on Breton
shores, who was so nearly caught in the trap she set for herself. Aurelius
offers her his heart aflame. It is true his attitude is humble, but she is
utterly in his power--she cannot get away whilst he is kneeling on her
dress.
The 3rd represents the Summoner led away, but this time neither to profit
nor to pleasure, by his horned companion. The wicked spirit holds the
reins of both horses in his hand, and the Summoner already quakes in
anticipation of what is in store for him.
The 4th contains the three rioters. The emblem of that Death they sought
so wantonly hangs over their heads; the reward of sin is not far off.
The 5th Arch is too much concealed by the lock to do more than suggest one
of Griselda's babes.
The KEY, from which the book takes its name, we trust may unlock the too
little known treasures of the first of English poets. The _Daisy_, symbol
for all time both of Chaucer and of children, and thus curiously fitted to
be the connecting link between them, may point the way to lessons fairer
than flowers in stories as simple as daisies.
_CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN_
Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 2_s._ 6_d._
CHAUCER FOR SCHOOLS.
By MRS. HAWEIS, Author of 'CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN.'
_This is a copious and judicious selection from Chaucer's Tales, with
full notes on the history, manners, customs, and language of the
fourteenth century, with marginal glossary and a literal poetical
version in modern English in parallel columns with the original
poetry. Six of the Canterbury Tales are thus presented, in sections of
from 10 to 200 lines, mingled with prose narrative. 'Chaucer for
Schools' is issued to meet a widely-expressed want, and is especially
adapted for class instruction. It may be profitably studied in
connection with the maps and illustrations of 'Chaucer for Children.'_
'We hail with pleasure the appearance of Mrs. Haweis's "Chaucer for
Schools." Her account of "Chaucer the Tale-teller" is certainly the
pleasantest, chattiest, and at the same time one of the soundest
descriptions of the old master, his life and works and general
surroundings, that have ever been written. The chapter cannot be too
highly praised.'--ACADEMY.
'The authoress is in such felicitous harmony with her task, that the young
student, who in this way first makes acquaintance with Chaucer, may well
through life ever after associate Mrs. Haweis with the rare productions of
the father of English poetry.'--SCHOOL-BOARD CHRONICLE.
'Unmistakably presents the best means yet provided of introducing young
pupils to the study of our first great poet.'--SCOTSMAN.
'In her "Chaucer for Schools" Mrs. Haweis has prepared a great assistance
for boys and girls who have to make the acquaintance of the poet. Even
grown people, who like their reading made easy for them, | 1,738.378008 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
Six Months at the Cape, Letters to his friend Periwinkle, by R.M.
Ballantyne.
________________________________________________________________________
Robert Michael Ballantyne was born in 1825 and died in 1894. He was
educated at the Edinburgh Academy, and in 1841 he became a clerk with
the Hudson Bay Company, working at the Red River Settlement in Northen
Canada until 1847, arriving back in Edinburgh in 1848. The letters he
had written home were very amusing in their description of backwoods
life, and his family publishing connections suggested that he should
construct a book based on these letters. Three of his most enduring
books were written over the next decade, "The Young Fur Traders",
"Ungava", "The Hudson Bay Company", and were based on his experiences
with the H.B.C. In this period he also wrote "The Coral island" and
"Martin Rattler", both of these taking place in places never visited by
Ballantyne. Having been chided for small mistakes he made in these
books, he resolved always to visit the places he wrote about. With
these books he became known as a great master of literature intended for
teenagers. He researched the Cornish Mines, the London Fire Brigade,
the Postal Service, the Railways, the laying down of submarine telegraph
cables, the construction of light-houses, the light-ship service, the
life-boat service, South Africa, Norway, the North Sea fishing fleet,
ballooning, deep-sea diving, Algiers, and many more, experiencing the
lives of the men and women in these settings by living with them for
weeks and months at a time, and he lived as they lived.
He was a very true-to-life author, depicting the often squalid scenes he
encountered with great care and attention to detail. His young readers
looked forward eagerly to his next books, and through the 1860s and
1870s there was a flow of books from his pen, sometimes four in a year,
all very good reading. The rate of production diminished in the last
ten or fifteen years of his life, but the quality never failed.
He published over ninety books under his own name, and a few books for
very young children under the pseudonym "Comus".
For today's taste his books are perhaps a little too religious, and what
we would nowadays call "pi". In part that was the way people wrote in
those days, but more important was the fact that in his days at the Red
River Settlement, in the wilds of Canada, he had been a little
dissolute, and he did not want his young readers to be unmindful of how
they ought to behave, as he felt he had been.
Some of his books were quite short, little over 100 pages. These books
formed a series intended for the children of poorer parents, having less
pocket-money. These books are particularly well-written and researched,
because he wanted that readership to get the very best possible for
their money. They were published as six series, three books in each
series. One of these series is "On the Coast", which includes "Saved by
the Lifeboat".
Re-created as an e-Text by Nick Hodson, October 1998, reviewed February
2003.
________________________________________________________________________
SIX MONTHS AT THE CAPE, LETTERS TO HIS FRIEND PERIWIMKLE, BY R.M.
BALLANTYNE.
LETTER ONE.
"A LIFE ON THE OCEAN WAVE."
South Africa.
Dear Periwinkle,--Since that memorable, not to say miserable, day, when
you and I parted at Saint Katherine's Docks, [see note 1], with the rain
streaming from our respective noses--rendering tears superfluous, if not
impossible--and the noise of preparation for departure damaging the
fervour of our "farewell"--since that day, I have ploughed with my
"adventurous keel" upwards of six thousand miles of the "main," and now
write to you from the wild Karroo of Southern Africa.
The Karroo is not an animal. It is a spot--at present a lovely spot. I
am surrounded by--by nature and all her southern abundance. Mimosa
trees, prickly pears, and aloes remind me that I am not in England.
Ostriches, stalking on the plains, tell that I am in Africa. It is not
much above thirty years since the last lion was shot in this region,
[see note 2], and the kloofs, or gorges, of the blue mountains that
bound the horizon are, at the present hour, full of "Cape-tigers," wild
deer of different sorts, baboons, monkeys, and--but hold! I must not
forestall. Let me begin at the beginning.
The adventurous keel above referred to was not, as you know, my own
private property. I shared it with some two hundred or so of human
beings, and a large assortment of the lower animals. Its name was the
"Windsor Castle"--one of a magnificent line of ocean steamers belonging
to an enterprising British firm.
There is something appallingly disagreeable in leave-taking. I do not
refer now to the sentiment, but to the manner of it. Neither do I hint,
my dear fellow, at _your_ manner of leave-taking. Your abrupt "Well,
old boy, _bon voyage_, good-bye, bless you," followed by your prompt
retirement from the scene, was perfect in its way, and left nothing to
be desired; but leave-takings in general--how different!
Have you never stood on a railway platform to watch the starting of an
express?
Of course you have, and you have seen the moist faces of those two young
sisters, who had come to "see off" that dear old aunt, who had been more
than a mother to them since that day, long ago, when they were left
orphans, and who was leaving them for a few months, for the first time
for many years; and you have observed how, after kissing and weeping on
her for the fiftieth time, they were forcibly separated by the
exasperated guard; and the old lady was firmly, yet gently thrust into
her carriage, and the door savagely locked with one hand, while the
silver whistle was viciously clapt to the lips with the other, and the
last "goo-ood--bye--d-arling!" was drowned by a shriek, and puff and
clank, as the train rolled off.
You've seen it all, have you not, over and over again, in every degree
and modification? | 1,738.948351 |
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[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and
italic text is surrounded by _underscores_.]
THE <DW29>
EDITED BY "<DW29>" MRS. G. R. ALDEN.
D. LOTHROP& CO.
BOSTON, MASS., U.S.A.
Copyright, 1886 by D. LOTHROP & CO., and entered at the Boston P. O. as
Second Class Matter.
EPP'S (GRATEFUL--COMFORTING) COCOA.
=CANDY!=
Send $1, $2, $3, or $5 for retail box by Express of the best Candies
in America, put up in elegant boxes, and strictly pure. Suitable for
presents. Express charges light. Refers to all Chicago. Try it once.
Address C. F. GUNTHER, Confectioner, Chicago.
[Illustration]
GOLD MEDAL, PARIS, 1878.
BAKER'S Breakfast Cocoa.
Warranted _=absolutely pure Cocoa=_, from which the excess of Oil has
been removed. It has _three times the strength_ of Cocoa mixed with
Starch, Arrowroot or Sugar, and is therefore far more economical,
_costing less than one cent a cup_. It is delicious, nourishing,
strengthening, easily digested, and admirably adapted for invalids as
well as for persons in health.
=Sold by Grocers everywhere.=
W. BAKER & CO., Dorchester, Mass | 1,738.976088 |
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SYLVIE AND BRUNO
CONCLUDED
BY
LEWIS CARROLL
_WITH FORTY-SIX ILLUSTRATIONS
BY
HARRY FURNISS_
_New York_
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND LONDON
1894
_The Right of Translation and Reproduction is Reserved_
Dreams, that elude the Waker’s frenzied grasp—
Hands, stark and still, on a dead Mother’s breast,
Which nevermore shall render clasp for clasp,
Or deftly soothe a weeping Child to rest—
In suchlike forms me listeth to portray
My Tale, here ended. Thou delicious Fay—
The guardian of a Sprite that lives to tease thee—
Loving in earnest, chiding but in play
The merry mocking Bruno! Who, that sees thee,
Can fail to love thee, Darling, even as I?—
My sweetest Sylvie, we must say ‘Good-bye!’
PREFACE.
I must begin with the same announcement as in the previous Volume (which
I shall henceforward refer to as “Vol. I.,” calling the present Volume
“Vol. II.”), viz. that the Locket, at p. 405, was drawn by ‘Miss Alice
Havers.’ And my reason, for not stating this on the title-page—that it
seems only due, to the artist of these wonderful pictures, that his name
should stand there alone—has, I think, even greater weight in Vol. II.
than it had in Vol. I. Let me call especial attention to the three
“Little Birds” borders, at pp. 365, 371, 377. The way, in which he has
managed to introduce the most minute details of the stanzas to be
illustrated, seems to me a triumph of artistic ingenuity.
Let me here express my sincere gratitude to the many Reviewers who have
noticed, whether favorably or unfavorably, the previous Volume. Their
unfavorable remarks were, most probably, well-deserved; the favorable
ones less probably so. Both kinds have no doubt served to make the book
known, and have helped the reading Public to form their opinions of it.
Let me also here assure them that it is not from any want of respect for
their criticisms, that I have carefully forborne from reading _any_ of
them. I am strongly of opinion that an author had far better _not_ read
any reviews of his books: the unfavorable ones are almost certain to
make him cross, and the favorable ones conceited; and _neither_ of these
results is desirable.
Criticisms have, however, reached me from private sources, to some of
which I propose to offer a reply.
One such critic complains that Arthur’s strictures, on sermons and on
choristers, are too severe. Let me say, in reply, that I do _not_ hold
myself responsible for _any_ of the opinions expressed by the characters
in my book. They are simply opinions which, it seemed to me, might
probably be held by the persons into whose mouths I put them, and which
were worth consideration.
Other critics have objected to certain innovations in spelling, such as
“ca’n’t,” “wo’n’t,” “traveler.” In reply, I can only plead my firm
conviction that the popular usage is _wrong_. As to “ca’n’t,” it will
not be disputed that, in all _other_ words ending in “n’t,” these
letters are an abbreviation of “not”; and it is surely absurd to suppose
that, in this solitary instance, “not” is represented by “’t”! In fact
“can’t” is the _proper_ abbreviation for “can it,” just as “is’t” is for
“is it.” Again, in “wo’n’t,” the first apostrophe is needed, because the
word “would” is here _abridged_ into “wo”: but I hold it proper to spell
“don’t” with only _one_ apostrophe, because the word “ | 1,738.978301 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
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[Numerous typographical errors, as well as many (but not all) of the
mis-placed or missing accents of Spanish words, have been corrected.
Please see the list of these at the end of this etext.
(note of etext transcriber)]
[Illustration: image of the book's cover]
_The Story of Seville_
"He who Seville has not seen,
Has not seen a marvel great."
"To whom God loves He gives a house in Seville."
_Popular Spanish Sayings._
[Illustration: _Saints Justa y Rufina_
_From the painting by Goya_]
_The Story of Seville
by Walter M. Gallichan_
_With Three Chapters on the Artists
of Seville by C. Gasquoine Hartley
Illustrated by Elizabeth Hartley_
[Illustration: colophon]
_London: J. M. Dent & Co.
Aldine House, 29 and 30 Bedford Street
Covent Garden, W.C._ * * 1903
_All Rights Reserved_
PREFACE
In the story of Seville I have endeavoured to interest the reader in the
associations of the buildings and the thoroughfares of the city.
I do not claim to have written a full history of Seville, though I have
sketched the salient events in its annals in the opening chapters of
this book. The history of Seville is the history of Spain, and if I have
omitted many matters of historical importance from my pages, it is
because I wished to focus attention upon the city itself. I trust that I
have succeeded in awaking here and there an echo of the past, and in
bringing before the imagination the figures of Moorish potentate or
sage, and of Spanish ruler, artist, priest and soldier.
Those who are acquainted with the history of Spain will appreciate the
difficulty that besets the historian in the matter of chronological
accuracy, and even in a narration of many of the main events. The
chronicles of the Roman, Gothic and Moorish epochs are hardly accepted
as reliable. Patriotic bias and religious enthusiasm are elements that
frequently mislead in the making of history, though the Spaniard is not
alone in the commission of error in this respect.
Seville abounds with human interest. The city may at the first glance
slightly disappoint the visitor, but he cannot wander far without a
growing sense of its fascination. Most of the noteworthy buildings are
hidden amidst narrow alleys, for the designers of the city have shown
great economy in utilising space. It is therefore difficult to gain
large general views of Seville, unless one ascends the Giralda, while
the obtrusion of modern dwelling-houses and stores often mars the view
of fine public edifices. But the modernity of Seville seldom strikes one
as wholly out of place and in sharp contrast to the ancient monuments.
The plan is Morisco, and the impression conveyed is partly Moorish and
partly mediaeval. In a word, Seville brings us at every step closely in
touch with antiquity.
For the chapters on the Artists of Seville I am indebted to C. Gasquoine
Hartley (Mrs. Walter M. Gallichan), who has devoted much study to the
art of Spain. The drawings by Miss Elizabeth Hartley were prepared while
I was gathering material for the book in Seville, and the illustrations
will be found to refer to the text. I have also to thank my brother, Mr.
F. H. Gallichan, for his plan of the city.
The frontispiece photograph of Goya's picture of SS. Justa and Rufina
was reproduced in the _Art Journal_ as an illustration to an article on
"Goya" by C. Gasquoine Hartley. My thanks are due to Messrs. Virtue &
Company for permission to reproduce the picture in this book.
WALTER M. GALLICHAN.
THE CRIMBLES,
YOULGREAVE, BAKEWELL,
_August 20, 1903_.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
PAGE
_Romans, Goths and Moors_ 1
CHAPTER II
_The City Regained_ 26
CHAPTER III
_Seville under the Catholic Kings_ 62
CHAPTER IV
_The Remains of the Mosque_ 73
CHAPTER V
_The Cathedral_ 85
CHAPTER VI
_The Alcazar_ 110
CHAPTER VII
_The Literary Associations of the City_ 129
CHAPTER VIII
_The Artists of Seville_ 146
CHAPTER IX
_Velazquez and Murillo_ 165
CHAPTER X
_The Pictures in the Museo_ 176
CHAPTER XI
_The Churches of the City_ 187
CHAPTER XII
_Some Other Buildings_ 201
CHAPTER XIII
_Seville of To-day_ 213
CHAPTER XIV
_The Alma Mater of Bull-fighters_ 242
CHAPTER XV
_Information for the Visitor_ 262
_Index_ 269
ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
_SS. Justa and Rufina, from the painting by_
GOYA (_photogravure_) _Frontispiece_
_Roman Amphitheatre at Italica_ 1
_The Guadalquivir_ 3
_Roman Walls_ 8
_The Pillars of Hercules and Julius Caesar_ 11
_Moorish Fountain in the Court of Oranges_ 23
_Roman Capital_ 25
_Old Walls of the Alcazar_ 41
_Sword of Isabella_ 49
_Plaza San Francisco_ 55
_Fountain in Bath, Alcazar_ 66
_Puerta del Perdon_ 75
_Stone Pulpit in Court of Oranges_ 78
_Cuerpo de Azucenas_ 79
_The Giralda_ 84
_Pinnacle of the Cathedral_ 87
_Puerta Mayor--The Central Door of the
Cathedral_ 89
_Pinnacle of the Cathedral_ 91
_Interior of the Cathedral_ 97
_Patio de las Doncellas_ 111
_In the Garden of the Alcazar_ 125
_Cancela of the Casa Pilatos_ 133
_The Guardian Angel_ (MURILLO) _facing_ 172
_The Conception_ (MURILLO) _facing_ 178
_The Road to Calvary_ (VALDES LEAL) _facing_ 180
_Saint Hugo in the Refectory_ (ZURBARAN) _facing_ 182
_The Crucifixion_ (MONTANES) _facing_ 186
_Minaret of San Marcus_ 190
_Puerta de Santa Maria_ 195
_Patio del Casa Murillo_ 203
_Amphora_ 212
_Patio del Colegio_, _San Miguel_ 215
_The Golden Tower_ 223
_A Roof Garden_ 238
_Arms of Seville_ 241
_Plan of City_ _facing_ 268
[Illustration: Roman Amphitheatre at Italica]
The Story of Seville
CHAPTER I
_Romans, Goths and Moors_
'The sound, the sight
Of turban, girdle, robe, and scimitar
And tawny skins, awoke contending thoughts
Of anger, shame and anguish in the Goth.'
ROBERT SOUTHEY, _Roderick_.
Seville the sunny, the gem of Andalusia, is a city in the midst of a
vast garden. Within its ancient walls, the vine, the orange tree, the
olive, and the rose flourish in all open spaces, while every _patio_, or
court, has its trellises whereon flowers blossom throughout the year.
Spreading palms overshadow the public squares and walks, and the banks
of the brown Guadalquivir are densely clothed with an Oriental verdure.
The surrounding country of the Province of Sevilla, _La Tierra de Maria
Santisima_, is flat, and in the neighbourhood of the city sparsely
wooded. On the low hills of Italica and San Juan de Aznalfarache, the
Hisn-al-Faradj of the Moors, olive groves cover many thousands of acres.
The plain is a _parterre_ of wide grain fields, and meadows of rife
grass, divided by straight white roads, with their trains of picturesque
mule teams and waggons, and their rows of tall, straight trees. Here and
there the cold grey cactus serves as a fence, but there is no other kind
of hedgerow.
Far away, across the yellow wheatfields, and beyond the vine-clad <DW72>s
of the middle distance, rise the huge shoulders and purple peaks of wild
sierras.
The Guadalquivir, rolling and eddying in a wide bed, takes its tint from
the light soil and sand, and is always turbid, as though in spate. Below
Seville, on the left bank of the river, stretch the great salt marshes,
or Marismas, haunted by the stork, the heron, and innumerable wildfowl.
Here, among the arms of the tidal water, the cotton plant is cultivated.
Winter floods are a source of danger to Seville, especially when a
south-west wind is blowing and the tide ascending the river. Then the
Guadalquivir overflows its banks and deluges the town and the flat land,
drowning live stock and | 1,738.980247 |
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-----------------------
_Among the Trees Again_
-----------------------
[Illustration:
Among the Trees Again
By Evaleen Stein
The Bowen-Merrill Company
Indianapolis
]
COPYRIGHT 1902
THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY
OCTOBER
-----------------------
_To the memory of my beloved brother
Orth Harper Stein_
-----------------------
_CONTENTS_
PAGE
AMONG THE TREES AGAIN 3
APRIL CONTRADICTIONS 21
APRIL MORNING 8
AS TO THE SUMMER AIR THE ROSE 34
AT NIGHT 50
BETWEEN SEASONS 40
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Transcriber's note:
Minor spelling inconsistencies, mainly hyphenated words, have been
harmonized. Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
Obvious typos have been corrected. Please see the end of this book
for further notes.
THE STORY OF THE HILLS.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: NORHAM CASTLE. AFTER TURNER.]
THE
STORY OF THE HILLS.
A BOOK ABOUT MOUNTAINS
FOR GENERAL READERS.
BY
REV. H. N. HUTCHINSON, B.A., F.G.S.
AUTHOR OF "THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF THE EARTH."
With Sixteen Full-page Illustrations.
They are as a great and noble architecture, first giving shelter,
comfort, and rest; and covered also with mighty sculpture and painted
legend.--RUSKIN.
New York:
MACMILLAN AND CO.
AND LONDON.
1892.
_Copyright, 1891_,
BY MACMILLAN AND CO.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
TO
ALL WHO LOVE MOUNTAINS AND HILLS
This little Book is Dedicated,
IN THE HOPE THAT EVEN A SLIGHT KNOWLEDGE OF THEIR PLACE IN
NATURE, AND PREVIOUS HISTORY, MAY ADD TO THE WONDER AND DELIGHT
WITH WHICH WE LOOK UPON THESE NOBLE FEATURES OF THE SURFACE OF
THE EARTH.
PREFACE.
Now that travelling is no longer a luxury for the rich, and thousands
of people go every summer to spend their holidays among the
mountains of Europe, and ladies climb Mont Blanc or ramble among the
Carpathians, there must be many who would like to know something of
the secret of the hills, their origin, their architecture, and the
forces that made them what they are.
For such this book is chiefly written. Those will best understand it
who take it with them on their travels, and endeavour by its use to
interpret what they see among the mountains; and they will find that
a little observation goes a long way to help them to read mountain
history.
It is hoped, however, that all, both young and old, who take an
intelligent interest in the world around, though they may never have
seen a mountain, may find these pages worth reading.
If readers do not find here answers to all their questions, they
may be reminded that it is not possible within the present limits
to give more than a brief sketch of the subject, leaving the gaps
to be filled in by a study of the larger and more important works
on geology. The author, assuming that the reader knows nothing of
this fascinating science, has endeavoured to interpret into ordinary
language the story of the hills as it is written in the rocks of
which they are made.
It can scarcely be denied that a little knowledge of natural objects
greatly adds to our appreciation of them, besides affording a deep
source of pleasure, in revealing the harmony, law, and order by which
all things in this wonderful world are governed. Mountains, when
once we begin to observe them, seem to become more than ever our
companions,--to take us into their counsels, and to teach us many a
lesson about the great part they play in the order of things. And
surely our admiration of their beauty is not lessened, but rather
increased, when we learn how much we and all living things owe to
the life-giving streams that flow continually from them. The writer
has, somewhat reluctantly, omitted certain parts of the subject
which, though very interesting to the geologist, can hardly be made
attractive to general readers.
Thus, the cause of earth movements, by which mountains are pushed up
far above the plains that lie at their feet, is at present a matter
of speculation; and it is difficult to express in ordinary language
the ideas that have been put forward on this subject. Again, the
curious internal changes, which we find to have taken place in the
rocks of which mountains are composed, are very interesting to those
who know something of the minerals of which rocks are made up, and
their chemical composition; but it was found impossible to render
these matters sufficiently simple.
So again with regard to the geological structure of mountain-chains.
This had to be very briefly treated, in order to avoid introducing
details which would be too complicated for a book of this kind.
The author desires to acknowledge his obligations to the writings
of Sir A. Geikie; Professor Bonney, Professor Green, and Professor
Shaler, of Harvard University; the volumes of the "Alpine Journal;"
"The Earth," by Reclus; the "Encyclopaedia Britannica." Canon Isaac
Taylor's "Words and Places," have also been made use of; and if in
every case the reference is not given, the writer hopes the omission
will be pardoned. A few passages from Mr. Ruskin's "Modern Painters"
have been quoted, in the hope that others may be led to read that
wonderful book, and to learn more about mountains and clouds, and
many other things, at the feet of one of the greatest teachers of the
century.
Some of our engravings are taken from the justly celebrated
photographs of the High Alps,[1] by the late Mr. W. Donkin, whose
premature death among the Caucasus Mountains was deeply deplored
by all. Those reproduced were kindly lent by his brother, Mr. A. E.
Donkin, of Rugby. To Messrs. Valentine & Son of Dundee, Mr. Wilson
of Aberdeen, and to Messrs. Frith we are indebted for permission to
reproduce some of their admirable photographs; also to Messrs. James
How & Sons of Farringdon Street, for three excellent photographs of
rock-sections taken with the microscope.
[1] Published by Messrs. Spooner, of the Strand.
CONTENTS.
Part I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MOUNTAINS AND MEN 3
II. THE USES OF MOUNTAINS 33
III. SUNSHINE AND STORM ON THE MOUNTAINS 70
IV. MOUNTAIN PLANTS AND ANIMALS 103
Part II.
CHAPTER PAGE
HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE MADE.
V. HOW THE MATERIALS WERE BROUGHT TOGETHER 139
VI. HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE UPHEAVED 174
VII. HOW THE MOUNTAINS WERE CARVED OUT 205
VIII. VOLCANIC MOUNTAINS 242
IX. MOUNTAIN ARCHITECTURE 282
X. THE AGES OF MOUNTAINS AND OTHER QUESTIONS 318
ILLUSTRATIONS.
NORHAM CASTLE. After Turner _Frontispiece_
BEN LOMOND. From a Photograph by J. Valentine 16
CLOUDS ON BEN NEVIS 38
SNOW ON THE HIGH ALPS. From a Photograph by
Mr. Donkin 64
A STORM ON THE LAKE OF THUN. After Turner 86
THE MATTERHORN. From a Photograph by Mr. Donkin 98
ON A GLACIER. 116
RED DEER. After Ansdell 133
CHALK ROCKS, FLAMBOROUGH HEAD. From a Photograph by
G. W. Wilson 152
MICROPHOTOGRAPHS ILLUSTRATING ROCK FORMATION 172
THE SKAEGGEDALSFORS, NORWAY. From a Photograph by
J. Valentine 192
THE MER DE GLACE AND MONT BUET. From a Photograph
by Mr. Donkin 229
THE ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS IN 1872. From an
Instantaneous Photograph 250
COLUMNAR BASALT AT CLAMSHELL CAVE, STAFFA. From
a Photograph by J. Valentine 280
MONT BLANC, SNOWFIELDS, GLACIERS, AND STREAMS. 312
MOUNTAIN IN THE YOSEMITE VALLEY. 336
ILLUSTRATIONS II.
Fig. 1. SECTION ACROSS THE WEALD OF KENT AND SURREY. 237
Fig. 2. THE HIGHLANDS OF SCOTLAND ON A TRUE
SCALE (after Geikie.) 237
Fig. 1. THE RANGES OF THE GREAT BASIN, WESTERN
STATES OF NORTH AMERICA, SHOWING A SERIES OF
GREAT FRACTURES AND TILTED MASSES OF ROCK. 272
Fig. 2. SECTION THROUGH SNOWDON. 272
SECTIONS OF MOUNTAIN-RANGES, SHOWING THEIR
STRUCTURE AND THE AMOUNT OF ROCK WORN AWAY 306
PART I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
THE STORY OF THE HILLS.
Part I.
THE MOUNTAINS AS THEY ARE.
CHAPTER I.
MOUNTAINS AND MEN.
"Happy, I said, whose home is here;
Fair fortunes to the Mountaineer."
In old times people looked with awe upon the mountains, and
regarded them with feelings akin to horror or dread. A very slight
acquaintance with the classical writers of antiquity will suffice
to convince any one that Greeks and Romans did so regard them. They
were not so familiar with mountains as we are; for there were no
roads through them, as now through the Alps, or the Highlands of
Scotland,--to say nothing of the all-pervading railway. It would,
however, be a great mistake to suppose that the ancients did not
observe and enjoy the beauties of Nature. The fair and fertile
plain, the vine-clad <DW72>s of the lower hill-ranges, and the
"many-twinkling smile of ocean" were seen and loved by all who had
a mind to appreciate the beautiful. The poems of Homer and Virgil
would alone be sufficient to prove this. But the higher ranges,
untrodden by the foot of man, were gazed at, not with admiration,
but with religious awe; for men looked upon mountains as the abode
of the gods. They dwelt in the rich plain, which they cultivated,
and beside the sweet waters of some river; for food and drink are
the first necessities of life. But they left the high hills alone,
and in fancy peopled them with the "Immortals" who ruled their
destiny,--controlling also the winds and the lightning, the rain and
the clouds, which seem to have their home among the mountains. A
childlike fear of the unknown, coupled with religious awe, made them
avoid the lofty and barren hills, from which little was to be got
but wild honey and a scanty supply of game. There were also dangers
to be encountered from the fury of the storm and the avalanche; but
the safer ground of the plains below would reward their toil with an
ample supply of corn and other necessaries of life.
In classical times, and also in the Middle Ages, the mountains,
as well as glens and rivers, were supposed to be peopled with
fairies, nymphs, elves, and all sorts of strange beings; and even
now travellers among the mountains of Switzerland, Norway, Wales,
or Scotland find that it is not long since the simple folk of these
regions believed in the existence of such beings, and attributed to
their agency many things which they could not otherwise explain.
Of all the nations of antiquity the Jews seem to have shown the
greatest appreciation of mountain scenery; and in no ancient writings
do we find so many or so eloquent allusions to the hills as in the
Old Testament. But here again one cannot fail to trace the same
feelings of religious awe. The Law was given to their forefathers
in the desert amidst the thunders of Sinai. To them the earth was
literally Jehovah's footstool, and the clouds were His tabernacle.
"If He do but touch the hills, they shall smoke."
But this awe was not unmixed with other and more comforting thoughts.
They felt that those cloud-capped towers were symbols of strength and
the abode of Him who would help them in their need. For so we find
the psalmists regarding them; and with our very different conceptions
of the earth's natural features, we can but dimly perceive and
realise the full force and meaning of the words, "I will lift up mine
eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help."
To take another example from antiquity, we find that the Himalayas
and the source of the Ganges have from very early times been
considered as holy by the people of India. Thousands of pilgrims from
all parts of that vast country still continue to seek salvation in
the holy waters of the Ganges, and at its sacred sources in the snowy
Himalayas. And to those who know India the wondrous snowclad peaks of
the Himalayas still seem to be surrounded with somewhat of the same
halo of glory as of old.
Mountains are intimately associated with the history of nations, and
have contributed much to the moulding of the human mind and the
character of those who dwell among them; they have alike inspired the
mind of the artist, the poet, the reformer, and the visionary seeking
repose for his soul, that, dwelling far from the strife and turmoil
of the world, he may contemplate alone the glory of the Eternal
Being. They have been the refuge of the afflicted and the persecuted;
they have braced the minds and bodies of heroes who have dwelt for a
time among them before descending once more to the plain that they
might play some noble part in the progress of the world.
Moses, while leading the flock of his father-in-law to the back of
the wilderness, came to Mount Horeb and received the divine summons
to return to Egypt and lead Israel out of bondage. David, with his
six hundred followers, fleeing from the face of Saul, found a refuge
in the hill country; and the life of peril and adventure which he
led during these years of persecution was a part of his training for
the great future task of ruling Israel, which he performed so well.
Elijah summoned the false prophets of Baal and Asherah to Mount
Carmel and slew them at the brook Kishon; and a little later we find
him at Mount Horeb listening, not to the wind or to the earthquake
or to the fire, but to the "still small voice" telling him to return
and anoint Jehu to be king.
Or, to take another example from a later age, we find that Mahomet's
favourite resort was a cave at the foot of Mount Hira, north of
Mecca; here in dark and wild surroundings his mind was wrought up to
rhapsodic enthusiasm.
And many, like these leaders of men, have received in mountain
retreats a firmness and tenacity of purpose giving them the right
to be leaders, and the power to redress human wrongs; or, it may
be, a temper of mind and spirit enabling them to soar into regions
of thought and contemplation untrodden by the careless and more
luxurious multitudes who dwell on the plains below. Perhaps Mr. Lewis
Morris was unconsciously offering his testimony to the influence of
mountains when he wrote those words which he puts into the mouth of
poor Marsyas,--
"More it is than ease,
Palace and pomp, honours and luxuries,
To have seen white presences upon the hills,
To have heard the voices of the eternal gods."[2]
[2] Epic of Hades.
The thunder and lightning, storm and cloud, as well as the soft
beauty of colour, and the harmony of mountain outline, have been a
part, and a very important part, of their training. The exhilarating
air, the struggle with the elements in their fierceness, the rugged
strength of granite, seem to have possessed the very souls of such
men, and made them like "the strong ones,"--the immortal beings to
whom in all previous ages the races of mankind have assigned their
abode in the hills, as the Greek gods were supposed to dwell on Mount
Olympus. On these heights such men seem to have gained something of
the strength of Him who dwells in the heavens far above their highest
peaks,--"the strength of the hills," which, as the Hebrew poet says,
"is His also."
We have spoken of the attitude of the human mind towards mountains in
the past; let us now consider the light in which they are regarded
at the present time by all thoughtful and cultivated people. And it
does not require a moment's consideration to perceive that a very
great change has taken place. Instead of regarding them with horror
or aversion, we look upon them with wonder and delight; we watch
them hour by hour whenever for a brief season of holiday we take
up our abode near or among them. We come back to them year by year
to breathe once more the pure air which so frequently restores the
invalid to health and brings back the colour to faded cheeks. We love
to watch the ever-varying lights and shades upon them, as the day
goes by. But it is towards evening that the most enchanting scenes
are to be witnessed, when the sinking sun sheds its golden rays upon
their <DW72>s, or tinges their summits with floods of crimson light;
and then presently, after the sun has gone down, pale mists begin
to rise, and the hills seem more majestic than ever. Later on, as
the full moon appears from behind a bank of cloud, those wonderful
moonlight effects may be seen which must be familiar to all who know
the mountains as they are in summer or autumn,--scenes such as the
writer has frequently witnessed in the Highlands of Scotland, but
which only the poet can adequately describe.
There are few sights in Nature which more powerfully impress the mind
than a sunset among the mountains. General Sir Richard Strachey
concludes his description of the Himalayas with the following
striking passage:
"Here may the eye, as it sweeps along the horizon, embrace a
line of snowclad mountains such as exist in no other part of
the world, stretching over one third of the entire circle,
at a distance of forty or fifty miles, their peaks towering
over a sea of intervening ranges piled one behind another,
whose extent on either hand is lost in the remote distance,
and of which the nearest rises from a gulf far down beneath
the spectator's feet, where may be seen the silver line that
marks a river's course, or crimson fields of amaranth and the
dwellings of man. Sole representative of animal life, some
great eagle floats high overhead in the pure dark-blue sky,
or, unused to man, fearlessly sweeps down within a few yards
to gaze at the stranger who intrudes among these solitudes of
Nature. As | 1,739.243435 |
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THANKFUL'S INHERITANCE
By Joseph C. Lincoln
CHAPTER I
The road from Wellmouth Centre to East Wellmouth is not a good one; even
in dry weather and daylight it is not that. For the first two miles it
winds and twists its sandy way over bare hills, with cranberry
swamps and marshy ponds in the hollows between. Then it enters upon a
three-mile stretch bordered with scrubby pines and bayberry thickets,
climbing at last a final hill to emerge upon the bluff with the ocean
at its foot. And, fringing that bluff and clustering thickest in the
lowlands just beyond, is the village of East Wellmouth, which must on
no account be confused with South Wellmouth, or North Wellmouth, or West
Wellmouth, or even Wellmouth Port.
On a bright sunny summer day the East Wellmouth road is a hard one to
travel. At nine o'clock of an evening in March, with a howling gale
blowing and rain pouring in torrents, traveling it is an experience.
Winnie S., who drives the East Wellmouth depot-wagon, had undergone the
experience several times in the course of his professional career, but
each time he vowed vehemently that he would not repeat it; he would
"heave up" his job first.
He was vowing it now. Perched on the edge of the depot wagon's front
seat, the reins leading from his clenched fists through the slit in the
"boot" to the rings on the collar of General Jackson, the aged horse, he
expressed his opinion of the road, the night, and the job.
"By Judas priest!" declared Winnie S.--his name was Winfield Scott
Hancock Holt, but no resident of East Wellmouth called him anything but
Winnie S.--"by Judas priest! If this ain't enough to make a feller give
up tryin' to earn a livin', then I don't know! Tell him he can't ship
aboard a schooner 'cause goin' to sea's a dog's life, and then put him
on a job like this! Dog's life! Judas priest! What kind of a life's
THIS, I want to know?"
From the curtain depths of the depot-wagon behind him a voice answered,
a woman's voice:
"Judgin' by the amount of dampness in it I should think you might call
it a duck's life," it suggested.
Winnie S. accepted this pleasantry with a grunt. "I'most wish I was
a duck," he declared, savagely. "Then I could set in three inches of
ice-water and like it, maybe. Now what's the matter with you?" This last
a roar to the horse, whose splashy progress along the gullied road had
suddenly ceased. "What's the matter with you now?" repeated Winnie.
"What have you done; come to anchor? Git dap!"
But General Jackson refused to "git dap." Jerks at the reins only caused
him to stamp and evince an inclination to turn around. Go ahead he would
not.
"Judas priest!" exclaimed the driver. "I do believe the critter's
drowndin'! Somethin's wrong. I've got to get out and see, I s'pose. Set
right where you be, ladies. I'll be back in a minute," adding, as he
took a lighted lantern from beneath the seat and pulled aside the heavy
boot preparatory to alighting, "unless I get in over my head, which
ain't so dummed unlikely as it sounds."
Lantern in hand he clambered clumsily from beneath the boot and
disappeared. Inside the vehicle was blackness, dense, damp and profound.
"Auntie," said a second feminine voice, "Auntie, what DO you suppose has
happened?"
"I don't know, Emily. I'm prepared for'most anything by this time.
Maybe we've landed on Mount Ararat. I feel as if I'd been afloat for
forty days and nights. Land sakes alive!" as another gust shot and beat
its accompanying cloudburst through and between the carriage curtains;
"right in my face and eyes! I don't wonder that boy wished he was a
duck. I'd like to be a fish--or a mermaid. I couldn't be much wetter if
I was either one, and I'd have gills so I could breathe under water. I
SUPPOSE mermaids have gills, I don't know."
Emily laughed. "Aunt Thankful," she declared, "I believe you would find
something funny in a case of smallpox."
"Maybe I should; I never tried. 'Twouldn't be much harder than to be
funny with--with rain-water on the brain. I'm so disgusted with myself
I don't know what to do. The idea of me, daughter and granddaughter of
seafarin' folks that studied the weather all their lives, not knowin'
enough to stay to home when it looked as much like a storm as it did
this mornin'. And draggin' you into it, too. We could have come tomorrow
or next day just as well, but no, nothin' to do but I must start today
'cause I'd planned to. This comes of figgerin' to profit by what folks
leave to you in wills. Talk about dead men's shoes! Live men's rubber
boots would be worth more to you and me this minute. SUCH a cruise as
this has been!"
It had been a hard trip, certainly, and the amount of water through
which they had traveled the latter part of it almost justified its being
called a "cruise." Old Captain Abner Barnes, skipper, for the twenty
years before his death, of the coasting schooner T. I. Smalley, had,
during his life-long seafaring, never made a much rougher voyage, all
things considered, than that upon which his last will and testament had
sent his niece and her young companion.
Captain Abner, a widower, had, when he died, left his house and land at
East Wellmouth to his niece by marriage, Mrs. Thankful Barnes. Thankful,
whose husband, Eben Barnes, was lost at sea the year after their
marriage, had been living with and acting as housekeeper for an elderly
woman named Pearson at South Middleboro. She, Thankful, had never
visited her East Wellmouth inheritance. For four years after she
inherited it she received the small rent paid her by the tenant, one
Laban Eldredge. His name was all she knew concerning him. Then he died
and for the next eight months the house stood empty. And then came one
more death, that of old Mrs. Pearson, the lady for whom Thankful had
"kept house."
Left alone and without present employment, the Widow Barnes considered
what she should do next. And, thus considering, the desire to visit and
inspect her East Wellmouth property grew and strengthened. She thought
more and more concerning it. It was hers, she could do what she pleased
with it, and she began to formulate vague ideas as to what she might
like to do. She kept these ideas to herself, but she spoke to Emily
Howes concerning the possibilities of a journey to East Wellmouth.
Emily was Mrs. Barnes' favorite cousin, although only a second cousin.
Her mother, Sarah Cahoon, Thankful's own cousin, had married a man named
Howes. Emily was the only child by this marriage. But later there was
another marriage, this time to a person named Hobbs, and there were five
little Hobbses. Papa Hobbs worked occasionally, but not often. His wife
and Emily worked all the time. The latter had been teaching school
in Middleboro, but now it was spring vacation. So when Aunt Thankful
suggested the Cape Cod tour of inspection Emily gladly agreed to go.
The Hobbs house was not a haven of joy, especially to Mr. Hobbs'
stepdaughter, and almost any change was likely to be an agreeable one.
They had left South Middleboro that afternoon. The rain began when
the train reached West Ostable. At Bayport it had become a storm. At
Wellmouth Centre it was a gale and a miniature flood. And now, shut
up in the back part of the depot-wagon, with the roaring wind and
splashing, beating rain outside, Thankful's references to fish and ducks
and mermaids, even to Mount Ararat, seemed to Emily quite appropriate.
They had planned to spend the night at the East Wellmouth hotel and
visit the Barnes' property in the morning. But it was five long miles to
that hotel from the Wellmouth Centre station. Their progress so far had
been slow enough. Now they had stopped altogether.
A flash of light showed above the top of the carriage boot.
"Mercy on us!" cried Aunt Thankful. "Is that lightnin'? All we need to
make this complete is to be struck by lightnin'. No, 'tain't lightnin',
it's just the lantern. Our pilot's comin' back, I guess likely. Well, he
ain't been washed away, that's one comfort."
Winnie S., holding the lantern in his hand, reappeared beneath the boot.
Raindrops sparkled on his eyebrows, his nose and the point of his chin.
"Judas priest!" he gasped. "If this ain't--"
"You needn't say it. We'll agree with you," interrupted Mrs. Barnes,
hastily. "Is anything the matter?"
The driver's reply was in the form of elaborate sarcasm.
"Oh, no!" he drawled, "there wasn't nothin' the matter. Just a few
million pines blowed across the road and the breechin' busted and the
for'ard wheel about ready to come off, that's all. Maybe there's a few
other things I didn't notice, but that's all I see."
"Humph! Well, they'll do for a spell. How's the weather, any worse?"
"Worse? No! they ain't no worse made. Looks as if 'twas breakin' a
little over to west'ard, fur's that goes. But how in the nation we'll
ever fetch East Wellmouth, I don't know. Git dap! GIT DAP! Have you
growed fast?"
General Jackson pulled one foot after the other from the mud and the
wagon rocked and floundered as its pilot steered it past the fallen
trees. For the next twenty minutes no one spoke. Then Winnie S. breathed
a sigh of thankfulness.
"Well, we're out of that stretch of woods, anyhow," he declared. "And it
'tain't rainin' | 1,739.254491 |
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Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
THE UNWILLING VESTAL
A Tale of Rome under the Caesars
By Edward Lucas White
Author of "El Supremo"
Original Project Gutenberg editor's note: First published in
1918, this book went through sixteen printings before it
ceased to be a money-maker for its publishers. It provides a
fascinating glimpse into a world most of us know nothing
about.
It has been slightly re-edited for ease in reading as an
E-text. The author's spellings have been left alone even when
they are incorrect in English English, American English, and
Latin.
JACKET BLURB:
EDWARD LUCAS WHITE Author of "El Supremo"
This book presents, for the first time | 1,739.358361 |
2023-11-16 18:46:03.3391020 | 1,482 | 13 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Reiner Ruf, James Adcock
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note
##################
This e-text is based on a reproduction of the original 1897 edition.
All modern material has been removed.
Italic text in the original version has been placed between underscores
(_text_); passages in small caps have been symbolised by forward
slashes (/small caps/). [oe] symbolises the corresponding ligature.
Subscript numerals have been placed between curly braces ({2}).
Inconsistencies in hyphenation and spelling (to-morrow/tomorrow;
aerial/aerial, etc.), as well as incorrectly used phrases in Van
Helsing's speech have been retained. A number of obvious errors in
punctuation and inconsistencies in single/double quotation have been
tacitly removed.
The following typographical errors, have been corrected:
# p. vi/vii: header word "Page" has been moved from page vii to
page vi.
# p. vii: "Chapter VXVII" --> "Chapter XVIII"; "Chapter XXI" -->
"Chapter XXVII"; "320" --> "324"
# p. 16: "a long" --> "along"
# p. 30: "W[oe]" --> "Woe"
# p. 44: "wondow" --> "window"
# p. 43: "that" --> "than"
# p. 58: "number One" --> "number one"
# p. 63: "Hopwood" --> "Holmwood"
# p. 82: "role of paper" --> "roll of paper"
# p. 98: "dreadul" --> "dreadful"
# p. 99: "pounts" --> "pounds"
# p. 112: "Holmmood" --> "Holmwood"
# p. 133: "pharmacop[oe][oe]ia" --> "pharmacop[oe]ia"
# p. 147: "do do" --> "to do"
# p. 157: "confortable" --> "comfortable"; "everthing" -->
"everything"
# p. 186: "greatful" --> "grateful"
# p. 212: "Arther" --> "Arthur"
# p. 241: "next the Professor" --> "next to the Professor"
# p. 257: "gloated with fresh blood" --> "bloated with fresh blood"
# p. 286: "Rat, rats, rats!" --> "Rats, rats, rats!"
# p. 339: "preceeded" --> "preceded"
# p. 358: "the bit box" --> "the big box"
# p. 380: "they mean fight" --> "they mean to fight"
# p. 384: "respulsive" --> "repulsive"
BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.
"Under the Sunset."
"The Snake's Pass."
"The Watter's Mou'."
"The Shoulder of Shasta."
DRACULA
BY
BRAM STOKER
Constable. London
First published by Archibald Constable and Company, 1897
TO
MY DEAR FRIEND
HOMMY-BEG
CONTENTS.
Page
/Chapter I./
Jonathan Harker's Journal 1
/Chapter II./
Jonathan Harker's Journal 15
/Chapter III./
Jonathan Harker's Journal 28
/Chapter IV./
Jonathan Harker's Journal 41
/Chapter V./
Letters--Lucy and Mina 55
/Chapter VI./
Mina Murray's Journal 64
/Chapter VII./
Cutting from "The Dailygraph," 8 August 77
/Chapter VIII./
Mina Murray's Journal 91
/Chapter IX./
Mina Murray's Journal 106
/Chapter X./
Mina Murray's Journal 120
/Chapter XI./
Lucy Westenra's Diary 135
/Chapter XII./
Dr. Seward's Diary 148
/Chapter XIII./
Dr. Seward's Diary 166
/Chapter XIV./
Mina Harker's Journal 182
/Chapter XV./
Dr. Seward's Diary 198
/Chapter XVI./
Dr. Seward's Diary 212
/Chapter XVII./
Dr. Seward's Diary 223
/Chapter XVIII./
Dr. Seward's Diary 237
/Chapter XIX./
Jonathan Harker's Journal 254
/Chapter XX./
Jonathan Harker's Journal 267
/Chapter XXI./
Dr. Seward's Diary 282
/Chapter XXII./
Jonathan Harker's Journal 297
/Chapter XXIII./
Dr. Seward's Diary 310
/Chapter XXIV./
Dr. Seward's Phonograph Diary, spoken by Van Helsing 324
/Chapter XXV./
Dr. Seward's Diary 339
/Chapter XXVI./
Dr. Seward's Diary 354
/Chapter XXVII./
Mina Harker's Journal 372
How these papers have been placed in sequence will be made manifest
in the reading of them. All needless matters have been eliminated, so
that a history almost at variance with the possibilities of later-day
belief may stand forth as simple fact. There is throughout no statement
of past things wherein memory may err, for all the records chosen are
exactly contemporary, given from the standpoints and within the range
of knowledge of those who made them.
DRACULA.
CHAPTER I.
/Jonathan Harker's Journal./
(_Kept in shorthand._)
_3 May. Bistritz._--Left Munich at 8.35 p.m. on 1st May, arriving at
Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6.46, but train was
an hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse
which I got of it from the train and the little I could walk through
the streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had
arrived late and would start as near the correct time as possible. The
impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the
| 1,739.359142 |
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Produced by Sigal Alon, Christine P. Travers and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
[Transcriber's note: Obvious printer's errors have been corrected, all
other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling
has been maintained.
Captions marked with [TN] have been added while producing this file.]
[Illustration: Attila, "The Scourge of God".]
GREAT MEN AND FAMOUS WOMEN
_A Series of Pen and Pencil Sketches of_
THE LIVES OF MORE THAN 200 OF THE MOST PROMINENT PERSONAGES IN HISTORY
VOL. I.
Copyright, 1894, BY SELMAR HESS
edited by Charles F. Horne
[Illustration: Publisher's arm.]
New-York: Selmar Hess Publisher
Copyright, 1894, by SELMAR HESS.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.
SUBJECT AUTHOR PAGE
ALARIC THE BOLD, _Archdeacon Farrar, D.D., F.R.S._, 56
ALEXANDER THE GREAT, 10
MARC ANTONY, 37
ATTILA, _Archdeacon Farrar, D.D., F.R.S._, 59
BELISARIUS, _Charlotte M. Yonge_, 64
GODFREY DE BOUILLON, _Henry G. Hewlett_, 97
JULIUS CAESAR, _E. Spencer Beesly, M.A._, 32
CHARLEMAGNE, _Sir J. Bernard Burke_, 75
CLOVIS THE FIRST, _Thomas Wyatt, A.M._, 61
GASPARD DE COLIGNI, _Professor Creasy_, 164
HERNANDO CORTES, _H. Rider Haggard_, 150
CYRUS THE GREAT, _Clarence Cook_, 5
DIOCLETIAN, 50
SIR FRANCIS DRAKE, 176
EDWARD I. OF ENGLAND, _Thomas Davidson_, 109
EDWARD III. OF ENGLAND, 114
EDWARD, THE BLACK PRINCE, _L. Drake_, 119
BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN, 127
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS, _Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen_, 199
HANNIBAL, _Walter Whyte_, 14
HENRY IV. OF FRANCE, 171
HENRY V. OF ENGLAND, _G. P. R. James_, 129
HERMANN, 40
JOHN HUNIADES, _Professor A. Vambery_, 136
CAIUS MARIUS, _James Anthony Froude, LL.D._, 25
CHARLES MARTEL, _Henry G. Hewlett_, 69
NEBUCHADNEZZAR, _Clarence Cook_, 1
PEPIN THE SHORT, _Henry G. Hewlett_, 72
FRANCISCO PIZARRO, _J. T. Trowbridge_, 156
SIR WALTER RALEIGH, 182
SALADIN, _Walter Besant_, 106
SCIPIO AFRICANUS MAJOR, 18
MILES STANDISH, _Elbridge S. Brooks_, 189
TRAJAN, _J. S. Reid, Litt. D._, 42
OLAF TRYGGVESON, _Thomas Carlyle_, 83
ALBRECHT VON WALLENSTEIN, _Henry G. Hewlett_, 194
WARWICK, THE KING-MAKER, 146
WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR, _G. W. Prothero_, 92
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME I.
PHOTOGRAVURES
ILLUSTRATION ARTIST TO FACE PAGE
ATTILA, "THE SCOURGE OF GOD," _Ulpiano Checa_ _Frontispiece_
"AND HE WAS DRIVEN FROM MEN, AND DID
EAT GRASS AS OXEN," _Georges Rochegrosse_ 4
HANNIBAL CROSSING THE RHONE, _Henri-Paul Motte_ 14
HERMANN'S TRIUMPH OVER THE ROMANS, _Paul Thumann_ 40
ROME UNDER TRAJAN--A CHARIOT RACE, _Ulpiano Checa_ 48
THE VICTIMS OF GALERIUS, _E. K. Liska_ 54
ALARIC IN ATHENS, _Ludwig Thiersch_ 56
CHARLEMAGNE AT WITIKIND'S BAPTISM, _Paul Thumann_ 78
HENRY V. REJECTS FALSTAFF, _Eduard Gruetzner_ 132
THE ADMIRAL OF THE SPANISH ARMADA
SURRENDERS TO DRAKE, _Seymour Lucas_ 180
GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS BEFORE THE BATTLE OF
LUTZEN, _Ludwig Braun_ 202
WOOD-ENGRAVINGS AND TYPOGRAVURES
ALEXANDER DISCOVERING THE BODY OF
DARIUS, _Gustave Dore_ 12
GENEROSITY OF SCIPIO, _Schopin_ 20
MARIUS ON THE RUINS OF CARTHAGE, _John Vanderlyn_ 32
THE IDES OF MARCH, _Carl Von Piloty_ 36
THE LAST GLADIATORIAL CONTEST, _J. Stallaert_ 58
CLOVIS PUNISHING A REBEL, _Alphonse De Neuville_ 62
BELISARIUS RECEIVING ALMS, _Jacques-Louis David_ 68
CHARLES MARTEL AT TOURS, _Charles Steuben_ 72
PEPIN AFTER THE MURDER OF DUKE WAIFRE, _Th. Lybaert_ 74
A NORSE RAID UNDER OLAF, _Hugo Vogel_ 84
WILLIAM AT HASTINGS, _P. J. De Loutherbourg_ 94
GODFREY DE BOUILLON ENTERING
JERUSALEM, _Carl Von Piloty_ 104
SALADIN, _Gustave Dore_ 108
EDWARD III. AND THE BURGHERS OF
CALAIS, _Berthelemy_ 118
BERTRAND DU GUESCLIN, _Alphonse De Neuville_ 128
HUNIADES AT BELGRADE, _Gustave Dore_ 146
YORK AND LANCASTER--THE RED AND WHITE
ROSES, 148
PIZARRO EXHORTING HIS BAND AT GALLO, _Lizcano_ 158
HENRY IV. OF FRANCE AT HOME, _J. D. Ingres_ 176
RALEIGH PARTING FROM HIS WIFE, _E. Leutze_ 188
DEPARTURE OF THE MAYFLOWER, _A. W. Bayes_ 192
WALLENSTEIN'S LAST BANQUET, _J. Scholz_ 198
SOLDIERS AND SAILORS
Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest
Your truth and valor wearing:
The bravest are the tenderest.
The loving are the daring.
--BAYARD TAYLOR
NEBUCHADNEZZAR[1]
By CLARENCE COOK
(645-561 B.C.)
[Footnote 1: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]
[Illustration: Nebuchadnezzar.]
With the death of Sardanapalus, the great monarch of Assyria, and the
taking of Nineveh, the capital city, by the Medes, the kingdom of
Assyria came to an end, and the vast domain was parcelled out among
the conquerors. At the time of the catastrophe, the district of
Babylonia, with its capital city Babylon, was ruled as a dependent
satrapy of Assyria by Nabopolassar. Aided by the Medes, he now took
possession of the province and established himself as an independent
monarch, strengthening the alliance by a marriage between the Princess
Amuhia, the daughter of the Median king, and his son Nebuchadnezzar.
In the partition of Assyria, the region stretching from Egypt to the
upper Euphrates, including Syria, Phoenicia, and Palestine, had fallen
to the share of Nabopolassar. But the tribes that peopled it were not
disposed to accept the rule of the new claimant, and looked about for
an ally to support them in their resistance. Such an ally they thought
they had found in Egypt.
Egypt was the great rival of Babylon, as she had been of Assyria. Both
desired to control the highways of traffic connecting the
Mediterranean with the farther East. Egypt had the advantage, both
from her actual position on the Mediterranean and her nearer
neighborhood to the coveted territory, and she used her advantage with
audacity and skill. No sooner, however, did Nabopolassar feel himself
firm on his throne than he resolved to check the ambition of Egypt and
secure for himself the sovereignty of the lands in dispute.
The task was not an easy one. Pharaoh Necho had been for three years
in possession of the whole strip along the Mediterranean--Palestine,
Phoenicia, and part of Syria--and was pushing victoriously on to
Assyria, when he was met at the plain of Megiddo, commanding the
principal pass in the range of Mount Carmel, by the forces of the
petty kingdom of Judah, disputing his advance. He defeated them in a
bloody engagement, in which Josiah, King of Judah, was slain, and then
continued his march to Carchemish, a stronghold built to defend one of
the few fordable passes of the upper Euphrates. This important place
having been taken after a bloody battle, Necho was master of all the
strategic points north and west of Babylonia.
Nebuchadnezzar was now put in command of an army, to force Pharaoh to
give up his prey. Marching directly upon Carchemish, he attacked the
Egyptian and defeated him with great slaughter. Following up his
victory, he wrested from Pharaoh, in engagement after engagement, all
that he had gained in Syria, Phoenicia, and Palestine, and was in the
midst of fighting in Egypt itself, when the news came of the death of
his father; and he hastened home at once by forced marches to secure
his possession of the throne. In his train were captives of all the
nations he had conquered: Syrians, Phoenicians, Jews, and Egyptians.
Among the Jewish prisoners was Daniel, the author of the book of the
Old Testament called by his name, and to whom we owe the little
personal knowledge we have of the great Babylonian monarch.
Of all the conquests of Nebuchadnezzar in this long struggle with
Egypt, that of the Jewish people is the most interesting to us. The
Jews had fought hard for independence, but if they must be conquered
and held in subjection, they preferred the rule of Egypt to that of
Babylon. Even the long slavery of their ancestors in that country and
the sufferings it had entailed, with the tragic memories of the exodus
and the wanderings in the desert, had not been potent to blot out the
traditions of the years passed in that pleasant land with its
delicious climate, its nourishing and abundant food. Alike in
prosperity and in evil days the hearts of the people of Israel yearned
after Egypt, and the denunciations of her prophets are never so bitter
as when uttered against those who turned from Jehovah to worship the
false gods of the Nile. Three times did the inhabitants of Jerusalem
rebel against the rule of Babylon, and three times did Nebuchadnezzar
come down upon them with a cruel and unrelenting vengeance, carrying
off their people into bondage, each time inflicting great damage upon
the city and leaving her less capable of resistance; yet each time her
rulers had turned to Egypt in the vain hope of finding in her a
defence against the oppressor, but in every instance Egypt had proved
a broken reed.
Of the three successive kings of Judah whom Nebuchadnezzar had left to
rule the city as his servants, and who had all in turn rebelled
against him, one had been condemned to perpetual imprisonment in
Babylon; a second had been carried there in chains and probably
killed, while the third, captured in a vain attempt to escape after
the taking of the city, had first been made to see his sons killed
before his eyes, had then been cruelly blinded, and afterward carried
in chains to Babylon, and cast into prison. The last siege of the
city lasted eighteen months, and when it was finally taken by assault,
its ruin was complete. By previous deportations Jerusalem had been
deprived of her princes, her warriors, her craftsmen, and her smiths,
with all the treasure laid up in the palace of her kings, and all the
vessels of gold and silver consecrated to the worship of Jehovah.
Little then was left for her to suffer, when the punishment of her
latest rebellion came. Her walls were thrown down, her temple, her
chief glory, was destroyed, the greater part of the inhabitants who
had survived the prolonged siege were carried off to swell the crowd
of exiles already in Babylon, and only a few of the humbler sort of
folk, the vine-dressers and the small farmers, were left behind.
When Nebuchadnezzar rested after his conquests, secure in the
subjugation of his rivals, and in the possession of his vast kingdom,
he gave himself up to the material improvement of Babylon and the
surrounding country. The city as he left it, at the end of his reign
of forty-three years, was built on both sides of the Euphrates, and
covered a space of four hundred square miles, equal to five times the
size of London. It was surrounded by a triple wall of brick; the
innermost, over three hundred feet high, and eighty-five feet broad at
the top, with room for four chariots to drive abreast. The walls were
pierced by one hundred gate-ways framed in brass and with brazen
gates, and at the points where the Euphrates entered and left the city
the walls also turned and followed the course of the river, thus
dividing the city into two fortified parts. These two districts were
connected by a bridge of stone piers, guarded by portcullises, and
ferries also plied between the quays that lined the river-banks, to
which access was given by gates in the walls.
Nebuchadnezzar's palace was a splendid structure covering a large
space at one end of the bridge. In the central | 1,739.427697 |
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