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E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Melissa McDaniel, and the Online
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generously made available by Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
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Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/quicksilversue00rich
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
QUICKSILVER SUE
[Illustration: READING CLARICE'S LETTER.]
QUICKSILVER SUE
by
LAURA E. RICHARDS
Author of "Captain January," etc.
Illustrated by W. D. Stevens
New York
The Century Co.
1901
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I SOMETHING EXCITING 1
II THE NEW-COMER 16
III MARY'S VIEW 34
IV EARLY IN THE MORNING 50
V THE PICNIC 67
VI AT THE HOTEL 89
VII THE MYSTERY, AND WHAT CAME OF IT 105
VIII THE CIRCUS 122
IX THE LONELY ROAD 140
X ALL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL 158
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
READING CLARICE'S LETTER _Frontispiece_
PAGE
MISS CLARICE PACKARD RUSTLED INTO HER
FATHER'S PEW 27
ON THE WAY TO THE PICNIC 63
EACH CAME FORWARD AND SHOOK CLARICE'S
GLOVED HAND SOLEMNLY 79
"MARY AND I HAVE PARTED--PARTED FOREVER" 113
AT THE CIRCUS 137
MARY STATIONED HERSELF AT THE WINDOW 145
QUICKSILVER SUE
CHAPTER I
SOMETHING EXCITING
"Mother! Mother! he has a daughter! Isn't that perfectly fine?"
Mrs. Penrose looked up wearily; her head ached, and Sue was so noisy!
"Who has a daughter?" she asked. "Can't you speak a little lower, Sue?
Your voice goes through my head like a needle. Who is it that has a
daughter?"
Sue's bright face fell for an instant, and she swung her sunbonnet
impatiently; but the next moment she started again at full speed.
"The new agent for the Pashmet Mills, Mother. Everybody is talking
about it. They are going to live at the hotel. They have taken the
best rooms, and Mr. Binns has had them all painted and papered,--the
rooms, I mean, of course,--and new curtains, and everything. Her name
is Clarice, and she is fifteen, and very pretty; and he is real
rich--"
"_Very_ rich," corrected her mother, with a little frown of pain.
"Very rich," Sue went on; "and her clothes are simply fine;
and--and--oh, Mother, isn't it elegant?"
"Sue, where have you been?" asked her mother, rousing herself. (Bad
English was one of the few things that did rouse Mrs. Penrose.) "Whom
have you been talking with, child? I am sure you never hear Mary Hart
say 'isn't it elegant'!"
"Oh! Mary is a schoolma'am, Mother. But I never did say it before, and
I won't again--truly I won't. Annie Rooney told me, and she said it,
and so I didn't think. Annie is going to be waitress at the hotel, you
know, and she's just as excited as I am about it."
"Annie Rooney is not a suitable companion for you, my daughter, and I
am not interested in hotel gossip. Besides, my head aches too much to
talk any more."
"I'll go and tell Mary!" said Sue.
"Will you hand me my medicine before you go, Sue?"
But Sue was already gone. The door banged, and the mother sank back
with a weary, fretful sigh. Why was Sue so impetuous, so unguided? Why
was she not thoughtful and considerate, like Mary Hart?
Sue whirled upstairs like a breeze, and rushed into her own room. The
room, a pleasant, sunny one, looked as if a breeze were blowing in it
all day long. A jacket was tossed on one chair, a dress on another.
The dressing-table was a cheerful litter of ribbons, photographs,
books, papers, and hats. (This made it hard to find one's brush and
comb sometimes; but then, it was convenient to have the other things
where one could get at them.) There was a writing-table, but the
squirrel lived on that; it was the best place to put the cage, because
he liked the sun. (Sue never would have thought of moving the table
somewhere else and leaving the space for the cage.) And the closet
was entirely full and running over. The walls were covered with
pictures of every variety, from the Sistine Madonna down to a splendid
four-in-hand cut out of the "Graphic." Most of them had something
hanging on the frame--a bird's nest, or a branch of barberries, or a
tangle of gray moss. Sometimes the picture could still be seen; again,
it could not, except when the wind blew the adornment aside.
Altogether, the room looked as if some one had a good time in it, and
as if that some one were always in a hurry; and this was the case.
"Shall I telephone," said Sue, "or shall I send a pigeon? Oh, I can't
stop to go out to the dove-cote; I'll telephone."
She ran to the window, where there was a curious arrangement of wires
running across the street to the opposite house. She rang a bell and
pulled a wire, and another bell jingled in the distance. Then she took
up an object which looked like (and indeed was) the half of a pair of
opera-glasses with the glass taken out. Holding this to her mouth, she
roared softly: "Hallo, Central! Hallo!"
There was a pause; then a voice across the street replied in muffled
tones: "Hallo! What number?"
"Number five hundred and seven. Miss Mary Hart."
Immediately a girl appeared at the opposite window, holding the other
barrel of the opera-glass to her lips.
"Hallo!" she shouted. "What do you want?"
"Oh, Mary, have you heard?"
"No. What?"
"Why, there's a girl coming to live at the hotel--coming to stay all
summer! Her father is agent of the Pashmet Mills. She is two years
older than we are. Isn't that perfectly fine, Mary? I'm just as
excited as I can be about it. I can't stand still a minute."
"So I see," said Mary Hart, who had a round, rosy, sensible face, and
quiet blue eyes. "But do try to stand still, Sue! People don't jump up
and down when they are telephoning, you know."
"Oh! I can't help it, Mary. My feet just seem to go of themselves.
Isn't it perfectly splendid, Mary? You don't seem to care one bit. I'm
sorry I told you, Mary Hart."
"Oh, no, you're not!" said Mary, good-naturedly. "But how can I tell
whether it is splendid or not, Sue, before I have seen the girl? What
is her name?"
"Oh! didn't I tell you? Clarice Packard. Isn't that a perfectly lovely
name? Oh, Mary, I just can't wait to see her; can you? It's so
exciting! I thought there was never going to be anything exciting
again, and now just see! Don't you hope she will know how to act, and
dress up, and things? I do."
"Suppose you come over and tell me more about it," Mary suggested. "I
must shell the peas now, and I'll bring them out on the door-step;
then we can sit and shell them together while you tell me."
"All right; I'll come right over."
Sue turned quickly, prepared to dash out of the room as she had dashed
into it, but caught her foot in a loop of the wire that she had
forgotten to hang up, and fell headlong over a chair. The chair and
Sue came heavily against the squirrel's cage, sending the door, which
was insecurely fastened, flying open. Before Sue could pick herself
up, Mister Cracker was out, frisking about on the dressing-table, and
dangerously near the open window.
"Oh! what shall I do?" cried Sue. "That horrid old wire! Cracker, now
be good, that's a dear fellow! Here, I know! I had some nuts
somewhere--I know I had! Wait, Cracker, do wait!"
But Cracker was not inclined to wait, and while Sue was rummaging
various pockets which she thought might contain the nuts, he slipped
quietly out of the window and scuttled up the nearest tree, chattering
triumphantly. Sue emerged from the closet, very red in the face, and
inclined to be angry at the ingratitude of her pet. "After all the
trouble I have had teaching him to eat all kinds of things he didn't
like!" she exclaimed. "Well, at any rate, I sha'n't have any more eggs
to boil hard, and Katy said I couldn't have any more, anyhow, because
I cracked the saucepans when I forgot them. And, anyhow, he wasn't
very happy, and I know I should just hate to live in a cage, even with
a whirligig--though it must be fun at first."
Consoling herself in this wise, Sue flashed down the stairs, and
almost ran over her little sister Lily, who was coming up.
"Oh, Susie," said Lily, "will you help me with my dolly's dress? I
have done all I can without some one to show me, and Mamma's head
aches so she can't, and Katy is ironing."
"Not now, Lily; don't you see I am in a terrible hurry? Go and play,
like a good little girl!"
"But I've no one to play with, Susie," said the child, piteously.
"Find some one, then, and don't bother! Perhaps I'll show you about
the dress after dinner, if I have time."
Never stopping to look at the little face clouded with disappointment,
Sue ran on. There was no cloud on her own face. She was a vision of
sunshine as she ran across the street, her fair hair flying, her hazel
eyes shining, her brown holland dress fluttering in the wind.
The opposite house looked pleasant and cheerful. The door stood open,
and one could look through the long, narrow hall and into the garden
beyond, where the tall purple phlox seemed to be nodding to the
tiger-lilies that peeped round the edge of the front door. The door
was painted green, and had a bright brass knocker; and the broad stone
step made a delightful seat when warmed through and through by the
sun, as it was now. The great horse-chestnut trees in front of the
house made just enough shade to keep one's eyes from being dazzled,
but not enough to shut out the sunbeams which twinkled down in green
and gold, and made the front dooryard almost a fairy place.
Mary came out, bringing a basket of peas and a shining tin dish; she
sat down, and made room for Sue beside her with a smile.
"This is more satisfactory than telephoning," she said. "Now, Sue,
take a long breath and tell me all about it."
Sue breathed deep, and began again the wonderful tale:
"Why, I met Annie Rooney this morning, when I went down for the mail.
You remember Annie, who used to live with us? Mamma doesn't like her
much, but she was always nice to me, and she always likes to stop and
talk when I meet her. Well! and so she told me. They may be here any
day now, Mr. Packard and his daughter. Her name is Clarice--oh! I told
you that, didn't I? Don't you think it's a perfectly lovely name,
Mary? It sounds like a book, you know, with long, golden hair, and
deep, unfathomable eyes, and--"
"I never saw a book with golden hair," said Mary, "to say nothing of
unfathomable eyes."
"Mary, now stop teasing me! You know perfectly well what I mean. I am
sure she must be beautiful with a name like that. Oh, dear! I wish I
had a name like that, instead of this stupid one. Susan! I don't see
how any one could possibly be so cruel as to name a child Susan. When
I grow up, Mary, do you know what I am going to do? I made up my mind
as soon as I heard about Clarice Packard. I'm going to appear before
the President and ask him to change my name."
"Sue, what do you mean?"
"My dear, it's true! It's what they do. I've read about it somewhere.
It has to be done by act of legislature, and of course the President
tells Congress, and they see about it. I should _like_ to have that
same name--Clarice. It's the prettiest name I ever heard of; don't you
think so, Mary? But of course I can't be a copy-cat, so I am going to
have it Faeroline--you remember that story about Faeroline? Faeroline
Medora, or else Medora Faeroline. Which do you think would be
prettiest, Mary?"
"I like Sue better than either!" said Mary, stoutly.
"Oh, Mary, you do discourage me sometimes! Well, where was I?"
"You had got as far as her name," said Mary.
"Oh, yes. Well, and her father is rich. I should think he must be
enormously rich. And she must be beautiful,--I am quite sure she must;
and--she dresses splendidly, Annie says; and--and they are coming to
live at the hotel; and she is fifteen--I told you that? And--well, I
suppose that is all I really know just yet, Mary; but I _feel_ a
great, _great_ deal more. I feel, somehow, that this is a very serious
event in my life, Mary. You know how I have been longing for something
exciting to happen. Only yesterday, don't you remember, I was saying
that I didn't believe anything would ever happen, now that we had
finished 'Ivanhoe'; and now just see!"
"I should think they would try to get a house, if they are well off,"
said practical Mary. "It must be horrid, living at a hotel."
"Oh, Mary, you have _no_ imagination! I think it would be perfectly
delightful to stay at a hotel. I've always just longed to; it has been
one of my dreams that some day we might give up housekeeping and live
at the hotel; but of course we never shall."
"For pity's sake! I should hope not, Sue, with a good home of your
own! Why, what would there be to like about it?"
"Oh, it would be so exciting! People coming and going all the time,
and bells ringing, and looking-glasses everywhere, and--and never
knowing what one is going to have for dinner, and all kinds of good
things in little covered dishes, just like 'Little Kid Milk, table
appear!' Don't you remember? And--it would be so exciting! You know I
love excitement, Mary, and I just hate to know what I am going to have
for dinner."
"I know I am going to have peas for dinner," said Mary,--"at least, I
want them. Sue, you haven't shelled a dozen peas; I shall have to go
and get Bridget to help me."
"Oh, no; I will, I truly will!" cried Sue; and she shelled with ardor
for a few minutes, the pods flying open and the peas rattling merrily
into the tin basin.
"Do you remember the three peas in the Andersen story?" she said
presently. "I always used to wish I had been one of those--the one
that grew up, you know, and made a little garden for the sick girl.
Wouldn't it be lovely, Mary, to come up out of the ground, and find
you could grow, and put out leaves, and then have flowers? Only, I
would be sweet peas,--not this kind,--and look so lovely, just like
sunset wings, and smell sweet for sick people, and--Mary! Mary Hart!
who is that?"
Sue was looking down the street eagerly. Mary looked too, and saw a
carriage coming toward them with two people in it.
"No one we know, I think," said Mary.
"They are strangers!" cried Sue, in great excitement,--"a man and a
girl. Mary Hart, I do believe it is Mr. Packard and Clarice! It must
be. They are strangers, I tell you! I never saw either of them in my
life. And look at her hat! Mary, _will_ you look at her hat?"
"I _am_ looking at it!" said Mary. "Yes, Sue; I shouldn't wonder if
you were right. Where are you going?"
"Indoors, so that I can stare. You wouldn't be so rude, Mary, as to
stare at her where she can see you? You aren't going to stare at all!
Oh, Mary, what's the use of not being _human_? You are too poky for
anything. A stranger,--and that girl, of all the world,--and not have
a good look at her? Mary, I do find you trying sometimes. Well, I am
going. Good-by."
And Sue flew into the house, and flattened herself behind the
window-curtain, where she could see without being seen. Mary was
provoked for a moment, but her vexation passed with the cracking of a
dozen pods. It was impossible to be long vexed with Sue.
As the gay carriage passed, she looked up quietly for a moment, to
meet the unwinking stare of a pair of pale blue eyes, which seemed to
be studying her as a new species in creation. A slender girl, with
very light hair and eyebrows, a pale skin, and a thin, set mouth--not
pretty, Mary thought, but with an "air," as Sue would say, and very
showily dressed. The blouse of bright changeable silk, with numberless
lace ruffles, the vast hat, like a flower-garden and bird-shop in one,
the gold chain and lace parasol, shone strangely in the peaceful
village street.
Mary returned the stare with a quiet look, then looked down at her
peas again.
"What, oh, what shall we do,"
she said to herself, quoting a rhyme her father had once made,--
"What, oh, what shall we do
With our poor little Quicksilver Sue?"
CHAPTER II
THE NEW-COMER
Sue Penrose went home that day feeling, as she had said to Mary, that
something serious had happened. The advent of a stranger, and that
stranger a girl not very far from her own and Mary's age, was indeed a
wonderful thing. Hilton was a quiet village, and it happened that she
and Mary had few friends of their own age. They had never felt the
need of any, being always together from babyhood. Mary would never, it
might be, feel the need; but Sue was always a dreamer of dreams, and
always longed for something new, something different from every-day
pleasures and cares. When the schooners came up the river, in summer,
to load with ice from Mr. Hart's great ice-houses, Sue always longed
to go with them when they sailed. There were little girls on them
sometimes; she had seen them. She had gone so far as to beg Mr. Hart
to let her go as stewardess on board the "Rosy Dawn." She felt that a
voyage on a vessel with such a name must be joy indeed. But Mr. Hart
always laughed at her so, it would have been hard to have patience
with him if he were not so dear and good. She longed to go away on the
trains, too, or to have the pair of cream- horses that were the
pride of the livery-stable--to take them and the buckboard, and drive
away, quite away, to new places, where people didn't have their
dresses made over every year, and where they had new things every day
in the shop-windows. Her dreams always took her away from Hilton; for
it seemed impossible that anything new or strange should ever come
there to the sleepy home village. She and Mary had always made their
plays out of books, and so had plenty of excitement in that way; but
Hilton itself was asleep,--her mother said so | 1,783.3877 |
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THE SORCERESS.
THE SORCERESS.
A Novel.
BY
MRS. OLIPHANT,
AUTHOR OF
“THE CHRONICLES OF CARLINGFORD,”
“THE CUCKOO IN THE NEST,”
ETC., ETC.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
F. V. WHITE & Co.,
31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.
1893.
(_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_)
PRINTED BY
TILLOTSON AND SON, BOLTON,
LONDON, NEW YORK, AND BERLIN.
THE SORCERESS.
CHAPTER I.
| 1,783.478083 |
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_Doctor MEAD_’s
Short DISCOURSE
EXPLAIN’D.
BEING A
_Clearer_ ACCOUNT
OF
Pestilential Contagion,
AND
_PREVENTING_.
_Nec satis est dixisse, ego mira poemata pango._
[Illustration]
_LONDON_:
_Printed, and Sold by _W. BOREHAM_, at the
Angel in _Pater-noster Row_._ 1721.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration]
Dr. _MEAD’s_
Short Discourse
EXPLAIN’D.
Many and various are the Opinions about the Design, as well as about the
Meaning and real and true Sense of the short Discourse lately writ by
the Celebrated Dr. _Mead_, for preventing the Plague. The various Turns
of the Heads of different Men, their different Capacities, and the
Sublimity of the Doctor’s Style may, no doubt, occasion all this Variety
in understanding Him and his Book. Some, and if we may judge by the
great Run and Demand for his Book, the greatest Number of the People of
all Ranks expected some _Esculapian_, but easy Rules, whereby they might
govern and conduct their Life against so silent an Enemy as the
Pestilence, which walketh in Darkness. This seems to be more than a
_Conjecture_, because this great Demand ceas’d of a sudden, as the
Plague it self commonly does, after they found the Physician had no hand
in it, or that his Rules were locked up for the Favourites of his
Faculty. And as the People commonly make the best Judgment of Things
after a little Experience, so we find this Judgment of the Town
confirmed, by what his _Friends_, _Adepts_, and other _Officers_, who
only understand or declare what Dr. _Mead_ would have believed; and
accordingly they labour to declare, that the genuine Meaning and Design
of the Celebrated Doctor was, to give a Politick Account, how the Plague
may be staved off by Force of Arms.
I grant this Authority is very cogent; yet, on the other hand, if we
either consider the Title Page of the Book, the great Accurateness and
Veracity of Dr. _Mead_, as well as his signal _Humility_, I must crave
leave to dissent, at this time, from the Reports of these Men, tho’ they
carry his daily and hourly Orders: for how do such Reports sute all
those his known good Qualities, the last more especially. Can any Man
think it consistent with his singular Humility, to teach the Secretary
of State, what has been practised in our own and other Countries for
some hundred of Years: _Quarantines and Pest-Houses_, or if the Doctor
pleases, _Lazarettoes_, are not unknown to English Lawyers, nor English
Ministers. And therefore I think it much the fairest Course, to consider
the Discourse well, because it is short, and from thence to draw the
Sense of its Author.
To do all imaginable Right to Dr. _Mead_, we will begin with the
Title-Page, that nothing material may seem to be neglected. There we
find it is to be a Discourse concerning _Pestilential_ Contagion, and
Methods to prevent it. Turning next to the Dedication, he tells his
Patron that he rather chuses to _put down the principal Heads of
Caution, than a Set of Directions in Form_. This Head he seems to
suggest chiefly to consist in performing Quarantines, and other things
that may be collected from History. The next (Head I suppose) is
concerning the _suppressing Infection here_; which he tells us is _very
different from the Methods taken in former times among us, and from what
they commonly do abroad; but_ (as he very modestly perswades himself)
_will be found agreeable to Reason_. This Account differs very much from
the Rumours and Opinions now prevailing in the World; for we are to be
entertain’d with a preventing Method, as far as Physick and Politicks
extend, and on that Account cannot fail to be very new when finished;
because all former Accounts are very defective, the silent Attacks of
the Pestilence having been hitherto undiscover’d by all former
Physicians. And therefore is there any Person so hard-hearted, or so
stupid, that does not rejoyce and prick up his Ears at those ravishing
Expressions, who does not desire to be instructed in this Method of
preventing this unmerciful Enemy to Mankind. Come on then, and listen to
the Celebrated Dr. _Mead_, who brings Death to Pestilential Contagion;
as he is said to have promis’d while he was composing this Work. But we
will next follow Dr. _Mead_ into the Book it self, where we find that he
thinks it _necessary to premise somewhat in general concerning
Contagion, and the Manner by which it acts_. But alas! we are to meet
with nothing but Disappointments, so soon are we fallen from all our
Hopes and Expectations: Nothing to be found either of _Contagion_, or
the manner of its acting, tho’ the Title of the Book promises it, and
the first entring upon the Discourse declares it to be necessary; This
is the very Soul of the Book, the subject Matter upon which every thing
turns, the Cause of the Plague, and the Indication for preventing and
curing the Plague, are to be drawn out of it.
Besides, the most ancient and best Physicians knew nothing of Contagion,
and far less of _Pestilential Contagion_; Words only brought in by
Physicians in later times, and of Ignorance; and therefore such
suspected Words ought to be well described and defined before they are
made use of; either in discovering the Nature of abstruse Diseases, or
when we are to found Methods of preventing or curing them, upon such
Discoveries.
To leave this Enquiry about Contagion to another Occasion, we will only
observe, that | 1,783.573445 |
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SPORT
IN THE
CRIMEA AND CAUCASUS
LONDON: PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
AND PARLIAMENT STREET
SPORT
IN
THE CRIMEA AND CAUCASUS
BY
CLIVE PHILLIPPS-WOLLEY, F.R.G.S.
LATE BRITISH VICE-CONSUL AT KERTCH
[Illustration]
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON STREET
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1881
_All rights reserved_
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
SPORT IN THE CRIMEA.
PAGE
Outfit--The droshky--A merry party--The Straits of
Kertch--The steppe--Wild-fowl--Crops--The Malos--The ‘Starrie
Metchat’--Game--Tscherkess greyhounds--Stalking bustards-- | 1,783.580497 |
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by The Internet Archive)
DOROTHY'S DOUBLE
BY G. A. HENTY
AUTHOR OF 'RUJUB THE JUGGLER' 'IN THE DAYS OF THE MUTINY' 'THE CURSE OF
CARNE'S HOLD' ETC.
IN THREE VOLUMES--VOL. I.
London
CHATTO & WINDUS PICCADILLY
1894
PRINTED BY
SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE
LONDON
DOROTHY'S DOUBLE
PROLOGUE
A dark night on the banks of the Thames; the south-west wind, heavily
charged with sleet, was blowing strongly, causing little waves to lap
against the side of a punt moored by the bank. Its head-rope was tied
round a weeping willow which had shed most of its leaves, and whose
pendent boughs swayed and waved in the gusts, sending at times a shower
of heavy drops upon a man leaning against its trunk. Beyond stretched a
broad lawn with clumps of shrubs, and behind loomed the shadow of a
mansion, but so faintly that it might have passed unnoticed in the
darkness had it not been for some lights in the upper windows.
At times the man changed his position, muttering impatiently as the
water made its way down between his collar and neck and soaked through
his clothes to the shoulders.
'I must have been waiting an hour!' he exclaimed at last. 'If she
doesn't come soon I shall begin to think that something has prevented
her getting out. It will be no joke to have to come again to-morrow
night if it keeps on like this. It has been raining for the last three
days without a stop, and looks as if it would keep on as much longer.'
A few minutes later he started as he made out a figure in the darkness.
It approached him, and stopped ten yards away.
'Are you there?' a female voice asked.
'Of course I am,' he replied, 'and a nice place it is to be waiting in
for over an hour on such a night as this. Have you got it?'
'Yes.'
'That is all right. Well, chuck your bonnet down there, three or four
feet from the edge of the water.'
'And my cloak? I have brought that and a shawl, as you told me.'
'No; give it to me. Now get into the boat, and we will shove off.'
As soon as the woman had seated herself in the punt the man unfastened
the head-rope and stepped in; then, taking a long pole in his hand, he
let the boat drift down with the strong stream, keeping close to the
bank. Where the lawn ended there was a clump of bushes overhanging the
water. He caught hold of these, broke off two branches that dipped into
the stream, then, hauling the punt a little farther in, he took the
cloak the woman had handed to him and hitched it fast round a stump that
projected an inch or two above the swollen stream.
'That will do the trick,' he said. 'They will find it there when the
river falls.' Then he poled the boat out and let her drift again. 'You
have brought another bonnet, I see, Polly.'
'You don't suppose I was going to be such a fool as to leave myself
bareheaded on such a night as this,' she said sullenly.
'Well, there is no occasion to be bad-tempered; it has been a deal worse
for me than it has for you, waiting an hour and a half there, besides
being a good half-hour poling this tub up against the stream. I suppose
it went off all right?'
'Yes, there was no difficulty about it. I kicked up a row and pretended
to be drunk. Not too bad, or they would have turned me straight out of
the house, but I was told I was to go the first thing in the morning.
The rest was easy enough. I had only to slip down, get it, and be off,
but I had to wait some time at the door. I opened it about an inch or
two, and had to stand there listening until I was sure they were both
asleep. I am sorry I ever did it. I had half a mind to chuck it up three
or four times, but----'
'But you thought better of it, Polly. Well, you were perfectly right;
fifty pounds down and a pound a week regular, that ain't so bad you
know, especially as you were out of a place, and had no character to
show.'
'But mind,' she said threateningly, 'no harm is to come to it. I don't
know what your game is, but you promised me that, and if you break your
word I will peach, as true as my name is Polly Green. I don't care what
they do to me, but I will split on you and tell the whole business.'
'Don't you alarm yourself about nothing,' he said, good-temperedly. 'I
know what my game is, and that is enough for you. Why, if I wanted to
get rid of it and you too I have only to drive my heel through the side
of this rotten old craft. I could swim to shore easily enough, but when
they got the drags out to-morrow they would bring something up in them.
Here is the end of the island.'
A few pushes with the pole, and the punt glided in among several other
craft lying at the strand opposite Isleworth Church. The man helped the
woman with her burden ashore, and knotted the head-rope to that of the
boat next to it.
'That is how it was tied when I borrowed it,' he said; 'her owner will
never dream that she has been out to-night.'
'What next?' the woman asked.
'We have got to walk to Brentford. I have got a light trap waiting for
me there. It is a little crib I use sometimes, and they gave me the key
of the stable-door, so I can get the horse out and put him in the trap
myself. I said I was starting early in the morning, and they won't know
whether it is at two or five that I go out. I brought down a couple of
rugs, so you will be able to keep pretty dry, and I have got a
driving-coat for myself. We shall be down at Greenwich at that little
crib you have taken by six o'clock. You have got the key, I suppose?'
'Yes. The fire is laid, and we can have a cup of tea before you drive
back. Then I shall turn in for a good long sleep.'
An hour later they were driving rapidly towards London.
CHAPTER I
A slatternly woman was standing at the entrance of a narrow court in one
of the worst parts of Chelsea. She was talking to a neighbour belonging
to the next court, who had paused for a moment for a gossip in her
passage towards a public-house.
'Your Sal is certainly an owdacious one,' she said. 'I saw her yesterday
evening when you were out looking for her. I told her she would get it
hot if she didn't get back home as soon as she could, and she jest
laughed in my face and said I had best mind my own business. I told her
I would slap her face if she cheeked me, and she said, "I ain't your
husband, Mrs. Bell, and if you were to try it on you would find that I
could slap quite as hard as you can."'
'She is getting quite beyond me, Mrs. Bell. I don't know what to do with
her. I have thrashed her as long as I could stand over her, but what is
the good? The first time the door is open she just takes her hook and I
don't see her again for days. I believe she sleeps in the Park, and I
suppose she either begs or steals to keep herself. At the end of a week
maybe she will come in again, just the same as if she had only been out
for an hour. "How have you been getting on since I have been away?" she
will say. "No one to scrub your floor; no one to help you when you are
too drunk to find your bed," and then she laughs fit to make yer blood
run cold. Owdacious ain't no name for that wench, Mrs. Bell. Why, there
ain't a boy in this court of her own size as ain't afraid of her. She is
a regular tiger-cat, she is; and if they says anything to her, she just
goes for them tooth and nail. I shan't be able to put up with her ways
much longer. Well, yes; I don't mind if I do take a two of gin with
you.'
They had been gone but a minute or two when a man turned in at the
court. He looked about forty, was clean shaven, and wore a rough
great-coat, a scarlet and blue tie with a horseshoe pin, and tightly cut
trousers, which, with the tie and pin, gave him a somewhat horsey
appearance. More than one of the inhabitants of the court glanced
sharply at him as he came in, wondering what business he could have
there. He asked no questions, but went in at an open door, picked his
way up the rickety stairs to the top of the house, and knocked at a
door. There was no reply. He knocked again louder and more impatiently;
then, with a muttered oath, descended the stairs.
'Who are you wanting?' a woman asked, as he paused at a lower door.
'I am looking for Mrs. Phillips; she is not in her room.'
'I just saw her turn off with Mother Bell. I expect you will find them
at the bar of the Lion, lower down the street.'
With a word of thanks he went down the court, waited two or three
minutes near the entrance, and then walked in the direction of the
public-house. He had gone but a short distance, however, when he saw the
two women come out. They stood gossiping for three or four minutes, and
then the woman he was in search of came towards him, while the other
went on down the street.
'Hello, Mr. Warbles!' Mrs. Phillips exclaimed when she came near to him;
'who would have thought of seeing you? Why, it is a year or more since
you were here last, though I must say as your money comes every month
regular; not as it goes far, I can tell you, for that girl is enough to
eat one out of 'arth and 'ome.'
'Well, never mind that now,' he said impatiently, 'that will keep till
we get upstairs. I have been up there and found that you were out. I
want to have a talk with you. Where is the girl?'
'Ah, where indeed, Mr. Warbles; there is never no telling where Sal is;
maybe she is in the next court, maybe she is the other side of town. She
is allus on the move. I have locked up her boots sometimes, but it is no
odds to Sal. She would just as lief go barefoot as not.'
By this time they arrived at the door of the room, and after some
fumbling in her pocket the woman produced the key and they went in. It
was a poverty-stricken room; a rickety table and two chairs, a small bed
in one corner and some straw with a ragged rug thrown over it in
another, a kettle and a frying-pan, formed its whole furniture. Mr.
Warbles looked round with an air of disgust.
'You ought to be able to do better than this, Kitty,' he said.
'I s'pose as I ought,' she said philosophically, 'but you know me,
Warbles; it's the drink as does it.'
'The drink has done it in your case, surely enough,' he said, as he saw
in his mind's eye a trim figure behind the bar of a country
public-house, and looked | 1,783.675775 |
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Minor errors in punctuation and formatting have been silently corrected.
Please see the transcriber’s note at the end of this text for details
regarding the handling of any textual issues encountered during its
preparation.
Please consult the end notes, as well, for the approach used in the
rendering of Arabic, Greek, Coptic, Hebrew and Syriac text.
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STUDIES ON SLAVERY,
In Easy Lessons.
COMPILED INTO EIGHT STUDIES, AND SUBDIVIDED INTO
SHORT LESSONS FOR THE CONVENIENCE
OF READERS.
BY JOHN FLETCHER,
OF LOUISIANA.
--------------
FIFTH THOUSAND.
NATCHEZ:
PUBLISHED BY JACKSON WARNER.
CHARLESTON: McCARTER & ALLEN.—NEW ORLEANS: JOHN BALL.
PHILADELPHIA: THOMAS, COWPERTHWAIT & CO.
1852.
-----------------------
ENTERED according to Act of Congress, in the year 1851, by
JACKSON WARNER,
sin the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the Southern District
of Mississippi.
PRINTED BY SMITH & PETERS,
Franklin Buildings, Sixth Street below Arch, Philadelphia.
--------------
PUBLISHER’S PREFACE.
This is a legitimate topic of general interest, and it assumes a
preponderating importance to the people of the Southern American States,
when the fact is taken into consideration that a general league against
the institution of African slavery has been entered into and consummated
between most of the civilized nations of the earth, and public opinion
in many of the sister States of our own National Union has taken the
same direction. The result | 1,783.77346 |
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STARRY FLAG SERIES
OLIVER OPTIC
[Illustration: THE WRECK OF THE CARIBBEE.--Page 273.]
FREAKS OF FORTUNE;
OR,
HALF ROUND THE WORLD.
BY
OLIVER OPTIC,
AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES,"
"THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES,"
"THE RIVERDALE STORIES," ETC.
BOSTON
LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court
of the District of Massachusetts.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
All rights reserved.
FREAKS OF FORTUNE.
TO
MY YOUNG FRIEND,
_THOMAS POWELL, JR._
This Book
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED | 1,783.945679 |
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THE IMAGINARY INVALID.
(LE MALADE IMAGINAIRE.)
by
MOLIERE,
Translated into English Prose.
With Short Introductions and Explanatory Notes.
by
CHARLES HERON WALL.
This is the last comedy written by Moliere. He was very ill, nearly
dying, at the time he wrote it. It was first acted at the Palais Royal
Theatre, on February 10, 1673.
Moliere acted the part of Argan.
PERSONS REPRESENTED.
ARGAN, _an imaginary invalid_.
BELINE, _second wife to_ ARGAN.
ANGELIQUE, _daughter to_ ARGAN, _in love with_ CLEANTE.
LOUISON, ARGAN'S _young daughter, sister to_ ANGELIQUE.
BERALDE, _brother to_ ARGAN.
CLEANTE, _lover to_ ANGELIQUE.
MR. DIAFOIRUS, _a physician_.
THOMAS DIAFOIRUS, _his son, in love with_ ANGELIQUE.
MR. PURGON, _physician to_ ARGAN.
MR. FLEURANT, _an apothecary_.
MR. DE BONNEFOI, _a notary_.
TOINETTE, _maid-servant to_ ARGAN.
ACT I.
SCENE I.--ARGAN (_sitting at a table, adding up his apothecary's
bill with counters_).
ARG. Three and two make five, and five make ten, and ten make twenty.
"Item, on the 24th, a small, insinuative clyster, preparative and
gentle, to soften, moisten, and refresh the bowels of Mr. Argan." What
I like about Mr. Fleurant, my apothecary, is that his bills are always
civil. "The bowels of Mr. Argan." All the same, Mr. Fleurant, it is
not enough to be civil, you must also be reasonable, and not plunder
sick people. Thirty sous for a clyster! I have already told you, with
all due respect to you, that elsewhere you have only charged me twenty
sous; and twenty sous, in the language of apothecaries, means only ten
sous. Here they are, these ten sous. "Item, on the said day, a good
detergent clyster, compounded of double catholicon rhubarb, honey of
roses, and other ingredients, according to the prescription, to scour,
work, and clear out the bowels of Mr. Argan, thirty sons." With your
leave, ten sous. "Item, on the said day, in the evening, a julep,
hepatic, soporiferous, and somniferous, intended to promote the sleep
of Mr. Argan, thirty-five sous." I do not complain of that, for it
made me sleep very well. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen sous six
deniers. "Item, on the 25th, a good purgative and corroborative
mixture, composed of fresh cassia with Levantine senna and other
ingredients, according to the prescription of Mr. Purgon, to expel Mr.
Argan's bile, four francs." You are joking, Mr. Fleurant; you must
learn to be reasonable with patients; Mr. Purgon never ordered you to
put four francs. Tut! put three francs, if you please. Twenty; thirty
sous.[1] "Item, on the said day, a dose, anodyne and astringent, to
make Mr. Argan sleep, thirty sous." Ten sous, Mr. Fleur | 1,784.274411 |
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MAKING A
POULTRY HOUSE
_THE
HOUSE & GARDEN
~MAKING~
BOOKS_
It is the intention of the publishers to make this series of little
volumes, of which _Making a Poultry House_ is one, a complete library
of authoritative and well illustrated handbooks dealing with the
activities of the home-maker and amateur gardener. Text, pictures
and diagrams will, in each respective book, aim to make perfectly
clear the possibility of having, and the means of having, some of the
more important features of a modern country or suburban home. Among
the titles already issued or planned for early publication are the
following: _Making a Rose Garden_; _Making a | 1,784.373175 |
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[Illustration: CHAMBERS’S JOURNAL
OF
POPULAR
LITERATURE, SCIENCE, AND ART.
Fourth Series
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS.
NO. 734. SATURDAY, JANUARY 19, 1878. PRICE 1½_d._]
THE STORY OF THIERS.
In a densely populated street of the quaint sea-port of Marseilles
there dwelt a poor locksmith and his family, who were so hard pressed
by the dearness of provisions and the general hardness of the times,
that the rent and taxes for the wretched tenement which they called
a home had been allowed to fall many weeks into arrear. But the good
people struggled on against their poverty; and the locksmith (who
was the son of a ruined cloth-merchant), though fallen to the humble
position of a dock-porter, still managed to wade through life as if
he had been born to opulence. This poor labourer’s name was Thiers,
and his wife was a descendant of the poet Chenier; the two being
destined to become the parents of Louis Adolphe Thiers, one of the most
remarkable men that ever lived.
The hero of our story was at his birth mentally consigned to oblivion
by his parents, while the neighbours laughed at the ungainly child,
and prognosticated for him all kinds of evil in the future. And it is
more than probable that these evil auguries would have been fulfilled
had it not been for the extraordinary care bestowed upon him by his
grandmother. But for her, perhaps our story had never been written.
Under her fostering care the child survived all those diseases which
were, according to the gossips, to prove fatal to him; but while his
limbs remained almost stationary, his head and chest grew larger, until
he became a veritable dwarf. By his mother’s influence with the family
of André Chenier, the lad was enabled to enter the Marseilles Lyceum
at the age of nine; and here the remarkable head and chest kept the
promise they made in his infancy, and soon fulfilled Madame Thiers’
predictions.
Louis Adolphe Thiers was a brilliant though somewhat erratic pupil. He
was noted for his practical jokes, his restlessness, and the ready and
ingenious manner in which he always extricated himself from any scrapes
into which his bold and restless disposition had led him. Thus the
child in this case would appear to have been ‘father to the man,’ by
the manner in which he afterwards released his beloved country from one
of the greatest ‘scrapes’ she ever experienced.
On leaving school Thiers studied for the law, and was eventually called
to the bar, though he never practised as a lawyer. He became instead
a local politician; and so well did the rôle suit him, that he soon
evinced a strong desire to try his fortune in Paris itself. He swayed
his auditory, when speaking, in spite of his diminutive stature,
Punch-like physiognomy, and shrill piping speech; and shout and yell
as his adversaries might, they could not drown his voice, for it arose
clear and distinct above all the hubbub around him. While the studious
youth was thus making himself a name in his native town, he was ever on
the watch for an opportunity to transfer his fortunes to the capital.
His almost penniless condition, however, precluded him from carrying
out his design without extraneous assistance of some kind or other;
but when such a stupendous ambition as that of governing one of the
greatest nations of the earth filled the breast of the Marseilles
student, it was not likely that the opportunity he was seeking would be
long in coming.
The Academy of Aix offered a prize of a few hundred francs for a
eulogium on _Vauvenargues_, and here was the opportunity which Louis
Adolphe Thiers required. He determined to compete for the prize,
and wrote out two copies of his essay, one of which he sent to the
Academy’s Secretary, and the other he submitted to the judgment of
his friends. This latter indiscretion, however, would appear to have
been the cause of his name being mentioned to the Academicians as a
competitor; and as they had a spite against him, and disapproved of his
opinions, they decided to reject any essay which he might submit to
them.
On the day of the competition they were as good as their word, and
Thiers received back his essay with only an ‘honourable mention’
attached to it. The votes, however, had been equally divided, and the
principal prize could not be adjudged until the next session. The
future statesman and brilliant journalist was not, however, to be cast
aside in this contemptuous manner, and he accordingly adopted a _ruse
de guerre_, which was perfectly justifiable under the circumstances. He
sent back his first essay for the second competition with his own name
attached thereto, and at the same time transmitted another essay, by
means of a friend, through the Paris post-office. This paper was signed
‘Louis Duval;’ and as M. Thiers knew that they had resolved to reject
his essay and accept the next best on the list, he made it as near as
possible equal to the other in point of merit.
The Academicians were thoroughly out-generalled by this clever
artifice, and the prize was awarded to the essay signed ‘Louis Duval;’
but the chagrin of the dons when the envelope was opened and the name
of Louis Adolphe Thiers was read out, can be better imagined than
described. The prize, which amounted to about twenty pounds, was
added to another sum of forty pounds gained by his friend Mignet for
essay-writing; and with this modest amount, the two friends set out
on their journey to Paris. On their arrival there, both of them were
at once engaged as writers on the _Globe_ newspaper, and M. Thiers’
articles soon attracted such attention that the highest political
destinies were predicted for their author.
Alluding to the small stature of our hero, Prince Talleyrand once
said: ‘_Il est petit, mais il grandira!_’ (He is little, but he will
be great!) Meanwhile, the young adventurer, as we may call him, was
engaged on general literary work for the press, writing political
leaders one day, art-criticisms the next, and so on, until a publisher
asked him to write the _History of the French Revolution_. He accepted;
and when published, the work met with so great a success that it placed
him in the front rank of literature, and gained for him the proud title
of ‘National Historian.’ After this the two friends published the
_National_ newspaper, an undertaking which we are told was conceived
in Talleyrand’s house, and was largely subscribed to by the Duke
of Orleans, afterwards King Louis-Philippe. M. Thiers disliked the
Bourbons; and when, in 1829, Charles X. dissolved a liberal parliament,
he took the lead in agitating for the reinstating of the people’s
rights. The king having determined to reply to the re-election of the
‘221’ by a _coup d’état_, the nature of which was secretly communicated
to M. Thiers, the latter hastened to the office of the _National_
and drew up the celebrated Protest of the Journalists, which before
noon was signed by every writer on the liberal side. As M. Thiers was
leaving the office, a servant of Prince Talleyrand placed in his hand a
note, which simply bore the words, ‘Go and gather cherries.’ This was a
hint that danger was near the young patriot, and that he should repair
to the house of one of the Prince’s friends at Montmorency--a place
famous for its cherries--and there lie hidden until the storm had blown
over.
M. Thiers did not immediately accept the hint, but remained in the
capital during the day, to watch the course of events and endeavour to
prevent his friends from doing anything rash. He energetically sought
to dissuade those who were for resisting the king’s decree by force of
arms; but did not succeed. When the barricades were raised, he left
Paris, because he thought that the people were doing an unwise thing,
which would lead to a fearful slaughter, and perhaps result in himself
and friends being shot.
When, however, the battle between the army and the people had really
begun, the indomitable little man returned to Paris, and heedless of
the bullets that were flying about, he ran here and there trying to
collect adherents for the Duke of Orleans. He also had a proclamation
of the Duke, as king, printed, rushed out with it, damp as it was from
the press, and distributed copies to the victorious insurgents; but
this operation nearly cost him his life, for the crowds on the Place
de la Bourse were shouting for a republic, and a cry was immediately
raised to lynch M. Thiers. He only escaped by dashing into a
pastry-cook’s shop, and taking a header down the open cellar which led
to the kitchen.
Nothing daunted by this _contretemps_, however, he sought out M.
Scheffer, an intimate friend of the Duke of Orleans, and started off
for Neuilly with him (without consulting anybody else), to offer the
crown of France to the Duke. When they found the Duke, he despatched
M. Thiers to Prince Talleyrand to ask his advice on the subject; and
the latter, who was in bed at the time, said: ‘Let him accept;’ but
positively refused to put this advice in writing. Thus the Duke of
Orleans became King of the French under the name of Louis-Philippe, and
the Marseilles student found himself a step nearer the accomplishment
of his aim. The poor locksmith’s son had overthrown one king and
established another!
It was M. Thiers who caused the remains of Napoleon to be removed from
the gloomy resting-place in St Helena to the church of the Invalides in
Paris, where they were re-interred amid great pomp and circumstance.
He it was who also invented or gave currency to the now well-known
constitutional maxim, ‘The king reigns, but does not govern.’
In this reign M. Thiers commenced his great work on the _Consulate and
the Empire_, in which he so eulogised the First Napoleon and flattered
the military fame of France, that he unwittingly paved the way for the
advent of the second Empire.
The revolution of 1848, which led to the abdication of Louis-Philippe,
found Thiers but a simple soldier in the National Guard, and parading
the streets with a musket on his shoulder, despite his diminutive
stature. A man of his transcendent ability, however, could not be left
long in so humble a position, and we therefore find the newly elected
sovereign Louis Napoleon trying hard to win over to his side this
unique citizen. But Thiers declined the honour, and remained a thorn in
Napoleon’s side during the whole period of his reign. When the _coup
d’état_ of 1851 was struck he was one of the leading statesmen whose
arrest was ordered and carried out. The patriot was seized and forcibly
taken out of his bed at an early hour in the morning, and imprisoned at
Mazas for several days. He was then escorted out of the country, and
became an exile from the land he loved so well.
While the excitement in Paris, which culminated in the outbreak of the
war with Germany, was at its height, and the whole nation was singing
the _Marseillaise_ and shouting ‘à Berlin,’ M. Thiers’ voice was the
only one raised to protest against France precipitating herself into an
unjust and unnecessary war. He was unheeded at the moment; but a few
weeks sufficed to prove the soundness of his reasoning; and when the
Germans were marching on Paris, it was to the locksmith’s son that the
whole nation turned in its distress.
The Napoleonic dynasty was deposed, and at the elections for the
National Assembly which afterwards took place, M. Thiers was elected
for twenty-six Departments--a splendid national testimony to his
patriotism and ability. As soon as the Assembly met he was at once
appointed ‘Chief of the Executive Power’ of the French Republic.
Thus the poor student of the Marseilles Academy had become, almost
without any effort of his own, the governor of his country; and how he
acquitted himself of the onerous and self-sacrificing task, let the
living grief of Frenchmen for his loss at this moment proudly attest.
Previous to this appointment, however, and while the German army was
thundering at the gates of Paris, the brave old statesman had, in
his seventy-fourth year, shewn his unalterable devotion to France by
the famous journey he made to all the European courts to endeavour
to obtain assistance. Failing in this, he came back, and being made
President, as above mentioned, he made peace with the Germans on the
best terms he could get, turned round and beat the Communists in the
streets of Paris; and within three short years he had not only paid the
heaviest war indemnity ever known, but had cleared his country of the
Germans, consolidated her resources, and reorganised her army.
On the morning of the 4th September last, France was suddenly plunged
into the deepest grief and dismay by the announcement that her greatest
citizen had been taken from her by death on the previous evening, at a
time when the whole nation was looking to him as the one man who could
save it from the dangerous crisis through which it was at that moment
passing.
The funeral was a magnificent one, and though a wet day, there was not
a citizen in Paris that did not join the throng, which lined the whole
of the way to the cemetery. As the body of the great patriot was borne
along every hat was raised, and many among the crowd shed tears. A riot
was expected on the occasion, but the people behaved admirably and with
great forbearance; the greatest tribute of respect which they could
have shewn to the memory of one who had done so much for his country.
| 1,784.476211 |
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The Catholic World, Vol. XXV
The Catholic World.
A Monthly Magazine Of General Literature And Science
Vol. XXV.
April, 1877, To September, 1877.
New York:
The Catholic Publication Society Company,
9 Barclay Street.
1877.
CONTENTS
Alba’s Dream, 443, 621, 735
Along the Foot of the Pyrenees, 651
Among the Translators, 721
Ancient Music, Prose and Poetry of, 395
Anglicanism in 1877, 131
Catacombs, Testimony of the, 205
Christendom, The Iron Age of, 459
Cluny, The Congregation of, 691
College Education, 814
Colonization and Future Emigration, 677
Congregation of Cluny, The, 691
Copernican Theory, Evolution and the, 90
Count Frederick Leopold Stolberg, 535
Destiny of Man, Doubts of a Contemporary on the, 494
De Vere’s “Mary Tudor,” 261
Divorce and Divorce Laws, 340
Doubts of a Contemporary on the Destiny of Man, 494
Echternach, The Dancing Procession of, 826
Emigration, Colonization and Future, 677
English Rule in Ireland, 103
Eros, The Unknown, 702
European Exodus, The, 433
Evolution and the Copernican Theory, 90
France, The Political Crisis in, and its Bearings, 577
French Clergy during the late War in France, The, 247
Gothic Revival, The Story of the, 639
How Percy Bingham Caught his Trout, 77
Ireland, English Rule in, 103
Irish Revolution, The True, 551
Iron Age of Christendom, The, 459
Jane’s Vocation, 525
Job and Egypt, 764
Judaism in America, The Present State of, 365
Juliette, 667
Lavedan, The Seven Valleys of the, 748
Lepers of Tracadie, The, 191
Letters of a Young Irishwoman to her Sister, 56, 218, 377
Madonna-and-Child, The, a Test-Symbol, 804
Marshal MacMahon and the French Revolutionists, 558
“Mary Tudor,” De Vere’s, 261
Millicent, 777
Nagualism, Voodooism, etc., in the United States, 1
Nanette, 270
Natalie Narischkin, 32
Nile, Up the, 45, 236
Pan-Presbyterians, The, 843
Phil Redmond of Ballymacreedy, 591
Political Crisis in France and its Bearings, The, 577
Pope Pius the Ninth, 291
Pope’s Temporal Principality, The Beginning of the, 609
Presbyterian Infidelity in Scotland, 69
Present State of Judaism in America, The, 365
Prose and Poetry of Ancient Music, 395
Prussian Chancellor, The, 145
Pyrenees, Along the Foot of the, 651
Revolutionists, Marshal MacMahon and the French, 558
Romance of a Portmanteau, The, 403
Sannazzaro, 511
Scotland, Presbyterian Infidelity in, 69
Seven Valleys of the Lavedan, The, 748
Shakspere, from an American Point of View, 422
Six Sunny Months, 15, 175, 354, 478
Stolberg, Count Frederick Leopold, 535
Story of the Gothic Revival, The, 639
Tennyson as a Dramatist, 118
Testimony of the Catacombs, 205
The Beginning of the Pope’s Temporal Principality, 609
The Dancing Procession of Echternach, 826
The Doom of the Bell, 324
The European Exodus, 433
The Romance of a Portmanteau, 403
The True Irish Revolution, 551
The Unknown Eros, 702
Tracadie, The Lepers of, 191
Up the Nile, 45, 236
Veronica, 161
Voodooism, Nagualism, etc, in the United States, 1
POETRY.
A Thrush’s Song, 689
A Vision of the Colosseum, 318
A Waif from the Great Exhibition, 101
Ashes of the Palms, The, 142
Aubrey de Vere, To, 676
Birthday Song, A, 523
Brides of Christ, The, 420, 556, 701
Cathedral Woods, 665
Colosseum, A Vision of the, 318
Dante’s Purgatorio, 171
From the Hecuba of Euripides, 353, 550
From the Medea of Euripides, 638
Higher, 456
Italy, 745
Magdalen at the Tomb, 637
May, 246
May Carols, Two, 217
May Flowers, 189
Papal Jubilee, The, 289
Pope Pius IX., To, 363
Purgatorio, Dante’s, 171
St. Francis of Assisi, 11
The Ashes of the Palms, 142
To Aubrey de Vere, 676
Translation from Horace, 854
Wild Roses by the Sea, 338
NEW PUBLICATIONS.
A Question of Honor, 716
An Old World as seen through Young Eyes, 143
Beside the Western Sea, 718
Bessy, 720
Biographical Sketches, 717
Biographical Sketches of Distinguished Marylanders, 573
Carte Ecclésiastique des Etats-Unis de l’Amérique, 288
Childhood of the English Nation, The, 284
Christ, The Cradle of the, 281
Christopher Columbus, The Life of, 572
Classic Literature, 280
Code Poetical Reader, The, 287
Complete Office of Holy Week, The, 144
Comprehensive Geography, The, 144
Consolation of the Devout Soul, The, 286
Cradle of the Christ, The, 281
Discipline of Drink, The, 575
Dora, Bessie, Silvia, 720
Dr. Joseph Salzmann’s Leben und Wirken, 285
Ecclesiastical Law, Elements of, 860
Edmondo, 720
English Nation, Childhood of the, 284
Essays and Reviews, 429
Geometry, Elements of, 860
God the Teacher of Mankind, 720
Golden Sands, 430
Heroic Women of the Bible and the Church, 288
Hofbauer, Ven. Clement Mary, Life of, 432, 572
Known Too Late, 576
Lady of Neville Court, The, 432
Legends of the B. Sacrament, 574
Libraries, Public, in the United States of America, 855
Life of the Ven. Clement Mary Hofbauer, 432, 572
Magister Choralis, 430
Marylanders, Distinguished, Biographical Sketches of, 573
Musica Ecclesiastica, 144
Paradise of the Christian Soul, The, 576
Philip Nolan’s Friends, 719
Priesthood in the Light of the New Testament, 713
Problem of Problems, The, 282
Reply to the Hon. R. W. Thompson, 719
Report of the Board of Education of the City and County of New York, 715
Roman Legends, 718
Salzmann’s Leben und Wirken, 285
Sidonie, 574
Songs of the Land and Sea, 720
Spirit Invocations, 576
Summa Summæ, 288
The Catholic Keepsake, 720
The Little Pearls, 718
The Pearl among the Virtues, 720
The Story of Felice, 720
The Wonders of Prayer, 718
Why are We Roman Catholics? 288
THE CATHOLIC WORLD.
VOL. XXV., No. 145.—APRIL, 1877.
NAGUALISM, VOODOOISM, AND OTHER FORMS OF CRYPTO-PAGANISM IN THE UNITED
STATES.
When the Almighty introduced the children of Israel into the Promised
Land he enjoined the utter extirpation of the heathen races, and the
destruction of all belonging to them. But the tribes grew weary of war;
they spared, and their subsequent history shows us the result. The
Chanaanites became in time the conquerors and made the Hebrews their
subjects politically and in religion. The paganism learned on the banks
of the Nile had become but a faint reminiscence in the minds of the
descendants of those who marched out under Moses and Aaron; but the
worship of Baal and of Moloch and of Astaroth overran the land. A long
series of disasters ending with the overthrow of their national
existence, and a seventy years’ captivity, were required to purge the
Hebrew mind of the poison imbibed from the heathen remnant. Then all the
power of the Alexandrian sovereigns failed to compel them to worship the
gods of Greece. _Omnes dii gentium dæmonia_ is a statement, clear,
plain, and definite, that we Catholics cannot refuse to accept. Modern
indifferentism may regard all the pagan worships as expressions of
truth, and the worship of their deities as something merely symbolical
of the operations of nature, not the actual rendering of divine honors.
But to us there can be no such theory. The worship was real and the
objects were demons, blinding and misleading men through their passions
and ignorance. The very vitality of paganism in regaining lost ground,
and in rising against the truth, shows its satanic character.
The experience of the Jewish people is reproduced elsewhere. When
Christianity, beginning the conquest of Europe with Greece and Italy,
closed its victorious career by reducing to the cross the Scandinavians
and the German tribes of Prussia, later even than the conversion of the
Tartaric Russians, there was left in all lands a pagan element, on which
the arch-enemy based his new schemes of revolt and war upon the truth.
We of the Gentiles, whether from the sunny south or the colder north,
bear to this day, in our terms for the divisions of the week and year,
the names of the deities whom our heathen ancestors worshipped—the
demons who blinded them to the truth. The Italian, Frenchman, and
Spaniard thus keep alive the memory of Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, Venus,
and Saturn; the German and Scandinavian tribes of Tuisco, Woden, Thor,
Freya, and Sator. Janus opens the year, followed by Februata, Juno, and
Mars; Maia claims a month we dedicate to Mary, and which the Irish in
his own language still calls the Fire of Baal—Baal-tinne.
Earth and time even seem not enough; we go, so to speak, to the very
footstool of God, and name the glorious orbs that move in celestial
harmony through the realms of space, from the very demons who for ages
received from men the honors due to God—from Jupiter and Saturn, Venus
and Mars, Juno and Ceres, Castor and Pollux, and the whole array of gods
and demi-gods.
And it is a strange fact that the only attempt made to do away with
these pagan relics was that of the infidel and | 1,784.476888 |
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E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Sandra Brown, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
THE BOOK OF HOUSEHOLD MANAGEMENT;
Comprising Information for the
MISTRESS,
HOUSEKEEPER,
COOK,
KITCHEN-MAID,
BUTLER,
FOOTMAN,
COACHMAN,
VALET,
UPPER AND UNDER HOUSE-MAIDS,
LADY'S-MAID,
MAID-OF-ALL-WORK,
LAUNDRY-MAID,
NURSE AND NURSE-MAID,
MONTHLY, WET, AND SICK NURSES,
ETC. ETC.
ALSO, SANITARY, MEDICAL, & LEGAL MEMORANDA;
WITH A HISTORY OF THE ORIGIN, PROPERTIES, AND USES OF ALL THINGS
CONNECTED WITH HOME LIFE AND COMFORT.
BY MRS. ISABELLA BEETON.
Nothing lovelier can be found
In Woman, than to study household good.--MILTON.
Published Originally By
S. O. Beeton in 24 Monthly Parts
1859-1861.
First Published in a Bound Edition 1861.
PREFACE.
I must frankly own, that if I had known, beforehand, that this book
would have cost me the labour which it has, I should never have been
courageous enough to commence it. What moved me, in the first instance,
to attempt a work like this, was the discomfort and suffering which I
had seen brought upon men and women by household mismanagement. I have
always thought that there is no more fruitful source of family
discontent than a housewife's badly-cooked dinners and untidy ways. Men
are now so well served out of doors,--at their clubs, well-ordered
taverns, and dining-houses, that in order to compete with the
attractions of these places, a mistress must be thoroughly acquainted
with the theory and practice of cookery, as well as be perfectly
conversant with all the other arts of making and keeping a comfortable
home.
In this book I have attempted to give, under the chapters devoted to
cookery, an intelligible arrangement to every recipe, a list of the
_ingredients_, a plain statement of the _mode_ of preparing each dish,
and a careful estimate of its _cost_, the _number of people_ for whom it
is _sufficient_, and the time when it is _seasonable_. For the matter of
the recipes, I am indebted, in some measure, to many correspondents of
the "Englishwoman's Domestic Magazine," who have obligingly placed at my
disposal their formulas for many original preparations. A large private
circle has also rendered me considerable service. A diligent study of
the works of the best modern writers on cookery was also necessary to
the faithful fulfilment of my task. Friends in England, Scotland,
Ireland, France, and Germany, have also very materially aided me. I have
paid great attention to those recipes which come under the head of "COLD
MEAT COOKERY." But in the department belonging to the Cook I have
striven, too, to make my work something more than a Cookery Book, and
have, therefore, on the best authority that I could obtain, given an
account of the natural history of the animals and vegetables which we
use as food. I have followed the animal from his birth to his appearance
on the table; have described the manner of feeding him, and of slaying
him, the position of his various joints, and, after giving the recipes,
have described the modes of carving Meat, Poultry, and Game. Skilful
artists have designed the numerous drawings which appear in this work,
and which illustrate, better than any description, many important and
interesting items. The plates are a novelty not without value.
Besides the great portion of the book which | 1,784.487583 |
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Produced by Sonya Schermann, Les Galloway and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
GENERAL ANATOMY,
APPLIED TO
PHYSIOLOGY AND MEDICINE;
BY XAVIER BICHAT,
PHYSICIAN OF THE GREAT HOSPITAL OF HUMANITY AT PARIS, AND
PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY.
Translated from the French.
BY GEORGE HAYWARD, M.D.
FELLOW OF THE AMERICAN ACADEMY OF ARTS AND SCIENCES,
AND OF THE MASSACHUSETTS MEDICAL SOCIETY.
_IN THREE VOLUMES._
VOLUME III.
_BOSTON_:
PUBLISHED BY RICHARDSON AND LORD.
J. H. A. FROST, PRINTER.
1822.
DISTRICT OF MASSACHUSETTS, _to wit_:
DISTRICT CLERK'S OFFICE.
BE IT REMEMBERED, that on the seventeenth day of April, A.D. 1822,
in the forty-sixth year of the Independence of the United States of
America, _Richardson & Lord_, of the said District, have deposited
in this office the title of a book, the right whereof they claim as
proprietors, in the words following, _to wit_:
"General Anatomy, applied to Physiology and Medicine; by Xavier Bichat,
Physician of the Great Hospital of Humanity at Paris, and Professor of
Anatomy and Physiology. Translated from the French, by George Hayward,
M. D. Fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and of the
Massachusetts Medical Society. In three Volumes. Volume III."
In conformity to the Act of the Congress of the United States,
entitled, "An Act for the Encouragement of Learning, by securing the
Copies of Maps, Charts and Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of
such Copies, during the times therein mentioned:" and also to an Act
entitled, "An Act supplementary to an Act, entitled, An Act for the
encouragement of Learning, by securing the Copies of Maps, Charts and
Books, to the Authors and Proprietors of such Copies during the times
therein mentioned; and extending the Benefits thereof to the Arts of
Designing, Engraving and Etching Historical and other Prints."
JOHN W. DAVIS,
_Clerk of the District of Massachusetts._
MUSCULAR SYSTEM OF ORGANIC LIFE.
This system is not as abundantly spread out in the economy as the
preceding. The whole mass which it forms, compared with the whole of
the other, which is more than one third of the body, presents in this
respect a very remarkable difference. Its position is also different;
it is concentrated, 1st, in the thorax, where the heart and œsophagus
belong to it; 2d, in the abdomen where the stomach and intestines are
in part formed by it; 3d, in the pelvis where it contributes to form
the bladder and even the womb, though this belongs to generation, which
is a function distinct from organic life. This system then occupies
the middle of the trunk, is foreign to the extremities, and is found
far from the action of external bodies, whilst the other superficially
situated, forming almost alone the extremities, seems, as we have said,
almost as much destined in the trunk to protect the other organs, as
to execute the different motions of the animal. The head contains no
part of the organic muscular system; this region of the body is wholly
devoted to the organs of animal life.
ARTICLE FIRST.
OF THE FORMS OF THE MUSCULAR SYSTEM OF ORGANIC LIFE.
All the muscles of the preceding system take in general a straight
direction. These are all on the contrary curved upon themselves; all
represent muscular cavities differently turned, sometimes cylindrical
as in the intestines, sometimes conical as in the heart, sometimes
rounded as in the bladder, and sometimes very irregular as in the
stomach. No one is attached to the bones; all are destitute of
tendinous fibres. The white fibres arising from the internal surface of
the heart, and going to be attached to the valves of its ventricles,
have by no means the nature of the tendons. Ebullition does not easily
reduce them to gelatine; desiccation does not give them the yellowish
appearance of these organs; they resist maceration longer than them.
It is in general a great character that distinguishes the muscular
organic system from that of animal life, that it does not arise from,
nor terminate in fibrous organs. All the fibres of this last are
continuous either with tendons, or aponeuroses or fibrous membranes.
Almost all those of the first go on the contrary from the cellular
texture, and return to it after having run their course. I at first
thought that the dense and compact texture which is between the mucous
membrane and the fleshy fibres of the intestines, the bladder, the
stomach, &c. was an assemblage and net-work of many small tendons
corresponding to these fibres, and interwoven in the form of an
aponeurosis; the density of this layer deceived me at first view.
Ebullition, maceration, and desiccation have since taught me, that this
layer, completely foreign to the fibrous system, should be referred, as
Haller has said, to the cellular, which is only more dense and compact
there than elsewhere. It is this layer, which I have designated, in
the cellular system by the name of the sub-mucous texture. Many fibres
of the system of which we are treating appear to form an entire curve,
which is not crossed by any cellular intersection; some layers of the
heart exhibit this arrangement, which is in general very rare; so that
there is almost always an origin and termination of the fibres, upon an
organ of a nature different from their own.
We can hardly consider in a general manner the forms of the system of
which we are treating; each organ belonging to it is moulded upon the
form of the viscus to the formation of which it contributes. In fact,
the organic muscles do not exist in distinct fasciculi, like those of
animal life; all, except the heart, form but a third, a quarter and
often even less in the structure of a viscus.
The greatest number has a thin, flat and membranous form. There are
layers more or less broad, and hardly ever distinct fasciculi. Placed
at the side of each other, the fibres are rarely one above another;
hence it happens that occupying a very great extent, these muscles form
however a very small volume. The great gluteus alone would be larger
than all the fibres of the stomach, the intestines and the bladder, if
they were united like it into a thick and square muscle.
ARTICLE SECOND.
ORGANIZATION OF THE MUSCULAR SYSTEM OF ORGANIC LIFE.
The organization of the involuntary muscles is not as uniform as that
of the preceding. In these all is exactly similar excepting the
differences of the proportion of the fleshy fibres to the tendinous,
of the length of the first, of the prominence of the fasciculi,
of their assemblage into flat, long or short muscles; in whatever
place we examine them, their varieties are in their forms and not in
their texture. Here on the contrary, there is in this texture marked
differences; the heart compared with the stomach, the intestines with
the bladder are sufficient to convince us of this. It is by virtue of
these different textures, that the contractility and sensibility vary
as we shall see in each muscle, that the force of the contraction is
not the same, and that life is different in each, whilst it is uniform
in all those of animal life. We shall now consider in a general manner
the organization of the involuntary muscles.
I. _Texture peculiar to the Organization of the Muscular System of
Organic Life._
The organic muscular fibre is in general much finer and more delicate
than that of the preceding system; it is not brought into as thick
fasciculi. Very red in the heart, it is whitish in the gastric and
urinary organs. Besides, this colour varies remarkably. I have observed
that sometimes maceration renders it of a deep brown in the intestines.
This fibre never has one single direction, like that of the preceding
muscles; it is interlaced always, or found in juxta-position in
different directions; sometimes it is at a right angle that the
fasciculi are cut, as in the longitudinal and circular fibres of
the gastric tubes; sometimes it is with angles more or less obtuse
or acute, as in the stomach, the bladder, &c. In the heart, this
interlacing is such in the ventricles, that it is a true muscular
net-work. From these varieties of direction, results an advantage in
the motions of these sorts of muscles, which, being all hollow can by
contracting diminish according to many diameters the extent of their
cavity.
Every organic muscular fibre is in general short; those which, like
the longitudinal of the œsophagus, the rectum, &c. appear to run a
long course, are not continuous; they arise and terminate at short
distances, and thus arise and terminate successively in the same
direction or line; no one is comparable to those of the sartorius, the
gracilis, &c. as it respects length.
We know the nature of their fibres no better than that of those of
animal life; but they appear nearly the same under the action of the
different reagents. Desiccation, putrefaction, maceration, ebullition,
exhibit in them the same phenomena. I have observed upon the subject of
this last, that once boiled, the fibres of both systems are much less
alterable by the acids sufficiently weakened. After being some time in
the sulphuric, the muriatic and nitric diluted with water, they soften
a little, but keep their original form, and do not change into that
pulp to which raw fibres are always reduced in the same experiment. The
last of these acids turns them yellow as before ebullition.
I have also made an observation as it respects the horny hardening
which is produced the instant ebullition commences; it is this, that it
is always the same whatever may have been the antecedent dilatation or
contraction of the fibres. The stomach which at death was so dilated
as to contain many pints of fluid, is reduced to the same size, all
other things being equal, as that which is contracted so as to be no
larger than the cœcum. Diseases have a little influence on the horny
hardening. The heart of a phthisical patient exhibited to me in the
same experiment this phenomenon much less evidently, than that of an
apoplectic.
The resistance of the organic muscular fibre is in proportion much
greater than that of the fibres of the animal muscular system.
Whatever may be the distension of the hollow muscles by the fluid which
fills them during life, ruptures hardly ever take place in them.
The bladder alone sometimes exhibits this phenomenon, which is
however very rare in it. In the great retentions of the urine, in
which ruptures take place, it is almost always the urethra that is
ruptured, and the bladder remains whole. We meet in practice with a
hundred fistulas in the perineum, coming from the membranous portion,
to one above the pubis. We find in authors many examples of rupture of
the diaphragm; we know of but few of the rupture of the stomach, the
intestines and the heart.
II. _Common Parts in the Organization of the Muscular System of Organic
Life._
The cellular texture is in general much more rare in the organic
muscles than in the others. The fibres of the heart are in
juxta-position, rather than united by this texture. It is a little more
evident in the gastric and urinary muscles. It is almost wanting in the
womb; thus these muscles are not infiltrated, like the preceding, in
dropsies; they never exhibit that fatty state of which we have spoken,
and which sometimes loads the fibres. I have not observed in these
fibres the yellowish tinge which the others often take, especially in
the vertebral depressions.
The blood vessels are very numerous in this system; they are found
in it even in greater proportion than in the other; more blood
consequently penetrates them. This fact is remarkable, especially in
the intestines, in which the mesenteric arteries distribute numerous
branches, over an extremely delicate fleshy surface. But I would remark
that this appearance is to a certain degree deceptive, as many of these
vessels only traverse the fleshy surface to go to the mucous membrane.
In the ordinary state they give to the gastric viscera a reddish tinge,
which I have rendered at will livid and afterwards brought back to
its primitive state, by shutting and afterwards opening the stop-cock
adapted to the wind pipe, in my experiments upon asphyxia.
The absorbents and exhalants have nothing peculiar in this system.
The nerves come to them from two sources; 1st, from the cerebral
system; 2d, from that of the ganglions.
Except in the stomach in which the par vagum is distributed, the nerves
of the ganglions predominate everywhere. In the heart, they are the
principal; in the intestines, they are the only ones; at the extremity
of the rectum and the bladder, their proportion is greater than that of
the nerves coming from the spine.
The cerebral nerves intermix with them, in penetrating the organic
muscles. The cardiac, solar, hypogastric, plexuses, &c. result from
this intermixture which appears to have an influence upon the motions,
though we are ignorant of the nature of this influence.
All the nerves of the ganglions which go to the organic muscles, do not
appear to be exclusively destined to them. A great number of filaments
belong only to the arteries; such is in fact their interlacing, that
they form, as we have seen, around these vessels a real nervous
membrane, superadded to their own, and exclusively destined to them.
I would compare this nervous envelope to the cellular envelope which
is also found around the arteries, and which is wholly distinct from
the surrounding cellular texture; thus it only has communications with
the nerves of the organic muscles, without being distributed to these
muscles. Besides as the nerves of the ganglions are always the most
numerous and essential in them, and as their tenuity is extreme, the
nervous mass destined to each is infinitely inferior to that which
is found in the voluntary muscles. The heart and the deltoid muscle
compared together, exhibit in this respect a remarkable difference.
ARTICLE THIRD.
PROPERTIES OF THE MUSCULAR SYSTEM OF ORGANIC LIFE.
Under the relation of properties, this system is in part analogous to
the preceding, and in part very different from it.
I. _Properties of Texture. Extensibility._
Extensibility is very evident in the organic muscles. The dilatation of
the intestines and the stomach by aliments, by the extrication of gas,
by the fluids that are found there, that of the bladder by the urine,
by injections that are forced in, &c. are essentially owing to this
extensibility.
This property is characterized here by two remarkable attributes; 1st,
by the rapidity with which it can be put into action; 2d, by the very
great extent of which it is susceptible.
The stomach and intestines pass in an instant from complete vacuity
to great extension. Artificially distended, the bladder becomes
immediately of a size treble, quadruple even of that which is natural
to it. It sometimes however resists, but this does not prove its
defect of extensibility; it is because the fluid injected irritates
it and makes it contract; the organic contractility in exercise, then
prevents the development of extensibility, as it sometimes cannot be
brought into action by stimulants in a muscle laid bare, because the
animal contractility in exercise in the muscle, forms an obstacle to
it. The muscles of animal life are never capable of this rapidity in
their extensibility, whether because they are intersected by numerous
aponeuroses which dilate but slowly, or whether because their layers
of fibres are very thick, two circumstances that do not exist in the
muscles of organic life. Hence a remarkable phenomenon that I have
observed in all cases of tympanites. When we open the abdomen of
subjects that have died in this state, without wounding the swelled
intestines, these immediately burst out, swell more, and occupy twice
as large a space as they were contained in in the abdomen; why? Because
the parietes of the abdomen being unable to yield in proportion to the
quantity of gas that is developed, this has been compressed in the
intestines during life, and expands immediately by its elasticity when
the cause of compression ceases. In dropsies in which the distension is
slow, the abdominal parietes enlarge much more than in tympanites. The
size of the abdomen would be double in this, if the extensibility of
the parietes was in proportion to that of the intestines.
As to the extent of the extensibility of the organic muscles, we can
form an idea of it by comparing the empty stomach which oftentimes
is not larger than the cæcum in its ordinary state, with the stomach
containing sometimes five, six and even eight pints of fluid; the
bladder contracted and concealed behind the pubis, with the bladder
full of urine from suppression, rising sometimes even above the
umbilicus; the rectum empty, with the rectum filling a part of the
pelvis in old people in whom the excrements have accumulated in it; the
intestines contracted with the intestines greatly distended.
It is to the extent of extensibility of the organic muscles and to the
limits placed to that of the abdominal parietes, that must be referred
a constant phenomenon that is observed in the gastric viscera; viz.
that in the natural series of their functions, they are never all
distended at the same time; the intestines are filled when the matters
contained in the stomach are evacuated; the bladder is not full of
urine in the digestive order, until the other hollow organs are empty,
&c. In general, that is an unnatural order in which all the organs are
distended at once.
There is for the organic muscles a mode of extensibility wholly
different from that of which I have just spoken; it is that of the
heart in aneurisms, and the womb in pregnancy. The first, for example,
acquires a size double, treble even sometimes in its left side, and yet
it increases at the same time in thickness. This size is not owing to
distension, but to a preternatural growth. The aneurismatic heart is
to the ordinary heart, what this is to the heart of the infant; it is
nutrition that makes the difference and not distension; for whenever
it is owing to this it diminishes in thickness as it increases in
extent; there is no addition of substance. Besides the aneurismatic
heart has not often the cause that distends it, for commonly in this
case the mitral valves allow a free passage to the blood; whilst when
they are ossified the left ventricle often remains in a natural state.
Moreover, the slow progress of the formation of aneurism proves that
it is a preternatural nutrition that has presided over this increase
of the heart. You would in vain then empty this organ of the blood
it contains, it would not contract and resume its dimensions, as the
inflated intestine does which we puncture to allow the air to escape.
In the womb there are two causes of distension; 1st, the sinuses
greatly developed; 2d, an addition of substance, a real momentary
increase of the fibres of the organ which remains as thick and even
more so than in the natural state. At the time of accouchement, the
sinuses immediately flatten by the contraction of the fibres; hence
the sudden contraction of the organ. But as on the one hand nutrition
alone can remove by decomposition the substances added to the fibres to
enlarge them, and as on the other, this function is exerted slowly,
after the womb has undergone the sudden contraction owing to the
flattening of its sinuses, it returns but gradually and at the end of
some time to its ordinary size. Extensibility is not then brought into
action in the womb filled by the fœtus, and in the aneurismatic heart;
these organs really become at that time the seat of a more active
nutrition; they grow preternaturally, as they have grown naturally
with the other organs; but these do not then experience an analogous
phenomenon, they become monstrous in comparison. The womb decreases,
because the motion of decomposition naturally predominates over that of
composition after accouchement, whilst it was the reverse before this
period. The aneurismatic heart remains always so.
These dilatations of the heart should be carefully distinguished from
those really produced by extensibility, as in the right auricle and
ventricle for example, which are found full of blood at the moment
of death, because the lungs which are weakened, not allowing it to
pass through them, compel it to flow back to the place from which it
came. There are but few hearts which do not exhibit in very various
degrees, these dilatations, which we have the power in a living
animal of increasing or diminishing at will, according to the kind of
death we produce. Two hearts are hardly ever of the same size after
death; many varieties are met with, and these depend more or less on
the difficulties which the blood experiences in the last moments,
in passing through the lungs. Hence why in the diseases of the
heart, there is no standard by which we can compare the morbid size,
especially if we examine the organ as a whole. In fact the distension
of the right side can give it an aneurismatic appearance, and a size
even greater than that of some aneurisms. If we examine the left side
separately, the error is more easily proved, because this side is
subject to less variations. But the principal difference consists
in the thickness. The power of contraction appears to increase in
proportion to this thickness, which arises from the substance added by
nutrition. It is this power which produces the great beating that is
felt under the ribs, the strength of the pulse, &c.
_Contractility._
It is in proportion to extensibility. It is often brought into action
in the ordinary state. It is in virtue of this property, that the
stomach, the bladder, the intestines, &c. contract, and acquire a size
so small compared to what they have when they are full. In general,
there is no muscle of animal life, which is capable of such extreme
contractions as those of organic life.
It should be remarked, however, that life, without having contractility
immediately dependant upon it, since the intestines, the stomach, and
the bladder contract after death when their distension is removed,
modifies it in a very evident manner. The causes even which alter
or diminish the vital forces have an influence upon it; hence the
following observation that all those accustomed to open dead bodies can
make. When the subject has died suddenly, and the stomach is empty, it
is much contracted; when, on the contrary, death has been preceded by a
long disease which has weakened its forces, the stomach, though empty,
remains flaccid, and is found but very little contracted.
We should consider the substances contained in the hollow muscles of
organic life, as true antagonists of these muscles; for they have
not muscles that act in a direction opposite to theirs. As long as
these antagonists distend them, they do not obey their contractility
of texture; when they are empty, this is brought into action. It is
not, however, upon this property that the mechanism of the expulsion
of matters from these organs turns, as aliments from the stomach and
intestines, urine from the bladder, blood from the heart, &c. It is
the organic contractility that presides over this mechanism. It is
difficult to distinguish these properties in exercise. One occasions
a slow and gradual contraction, which is without the alternation of
relaxation; the other, quick and sudden, consisting in a series of
relaxations and contractions, produces the peristaltic motion, those
of systole, diastole, &c. It is after the organic contractility has
procured the evacuation of the hollow muscles, that the contractility
of texture closes them. In death from hemorrhage from a great artery,
the left and even the right side of the heart send out all the blood
they contain; afterwards empty, they contract powerfully, and the
organ is very small. On the contrary, it is very large when much blood
remaining in its cavities, distends it, as in asphyxia. These are the
two extremes. There are, as I have said, many intermediate states.
The contractility of texture is, in the system of which we are
treating, in proportion to the number of fleshy fibres. Thus, all
things being equal, the rectum, when empty, contracts upon itself with
much more force than the other large intestines; the contraction of the
ventricles is much greater than that of the auricles, and that of the
œsophagus is much greater than that of the duodenum, &c. &c.
II. _Vital Properties._
They are almost in an inverse order of those of the preceding system.
_Properties of Animal Life. Sensibility._
The animal sensibility is slight in the organic muscles. We know
the observation related by Harvey upon a caries of the sternum that
laid bare the heart; they irritated, without its being felt by the
patient, this organ, which only contracted under the stimulant. Remove
the peritoneum behind the bladder of a living dog, and irritate the
subjacent muscular layer, the animal gives but few marks of pain. It
is difficult to make these experiments upon the intestines and the
stomach; their muscular coat is so delicate that we cannot act upon it
without at the same time stimulating the subjacent nerves.
It appears that the organic muscles are much less susceptible of the
feeling of lassitude, of which the preceding become the seat after
great exercise. I do not know however if in those to which many
cerebral nerves go, it does not take place; for example, when the
stomach has | 1,784.581186 |
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THE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM
[Illustration: NOBODY PAID ANY ATTENTION TO MR. TRIMM.--_Frontispiece_
(_Page 18._)]
THE ESCAPE
OF MR. TRIMM
_HIS PLIGHT AND OTHER PLIGHTS_
BY
IRVIN S. COBB
AUTHOR OF
OLD JUDGE PRIEST,
BACK HOME, ETC.
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT, 1910, 1911, 1912 AND 1913
BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1913
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
[Transcriber's Note: A List of Illustrations has been added.]
TO MY WIFE
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. THE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM 3
II. THE BELLED BUZZARD 54
III. AN OCCURRENCE UP A SIDE STREET 79
IV. ANOTHER OF THOSE CUB REPORTER STORIES 96
V. SMOKE OF BATTLE 142
VI. THE EXIT OF ANNE DUGMORE 179
VII. TO THE EDITOR OF THE SUN 202
VIII. FISHHEAD 244
IX. GUILTY AS CHARGED 260
ILLUSTRATIONS
NOBODY PAID ANY ATTENTION TO MR. TRIMM. Frontispiece
"TWO LONG WING FEATHERS DRIFTED SLOWLY DOWN." Facing page 70
"I WAS THE ONE THAT SHOT HIM--WITH THIS THING HERE." Facing Page 164
HE DRAGGED THE RIFLE BY THE BARREL, SO THAT ITS BUTT
MADE A CROOKED FURROW IN THE SNOW. Facing Page 193
THE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM
I
THE ESCAPE OF MR. TRIMM
Mr. Trimm, recently president of the late Thirteenth National Bank, was
taking a trip which was different in a number of ways from any he had
ever taken. To begin with, he was used to parlor cars and Pullmans and
even luxurious private cars when he went anywhere; whereas now he rode
with a most mixed company in a dusty, smelly day coach. In the second
place, his traveling companion was not such a one as Mr. Trimm would
have chosen had the choice been left to him, being a stupid-looking
German-American with a drooping, yellow mustache. And in the third
place, Mr. Trimm's plump white hands were folded in his lap, held in a
close and enforced companionship by a new and shiny pair of Bean's
Latest Model Little Giant handcuffs. Mr. Trimm was on his way to the
Federal penitentiary to serve twelve years at hard labor for breaking,
one way or another, about all the laws that are presumed to govern
national banks.
* * * * *
All the time Mr. Trimm was in the Tombs, fighting for a new trial, a
certain question had lain in his mind unasked and unanswered. Through
the seven months of his stay in the jail that question had been always
at the back part of his head, ticking away there like a little watch
that never needed winding. A dozen times a day it would pop into his
thoughts and then go away, only to come back again.
When Copley was taken to the penitentiary--Copley being the cashier who
got off with a lighter sentence because the judge and jury held him to
be no more than a blind accomplice in the wrecking of the Thirteenth
National--Mr. Trimm read closely every line that the papers carried
about Copley's departure. But none of them had seen fit to give the
young cashier more than a short and colorless paragraph. For Copley was
only a small figure in the big intrigue that had startled the country;
Copley didn't have the money to hire big lawyers to carry his appeal to
the higher courts for him; Copley's wife was keeping boarders; and as
for Copley himself, he had been wearing stripes several months now.
With Mr. Trimm it had been vastly different. From the very beginning he
had held the public eye. His bearing in court when the jury came in with
their judgment; his cold defiance when the judge, in pronouncing
sentence, mercilessly arraigned him and the system of finance for which
he stood; the manner of his life in the Tombs; his spectacular fight to
beat the verdict, had all been worth columns of newspaper space. If Mr.
Trimm had been a popular poisoner, or a society woman named as
co-respondent in a sensational divorce suit, the papers could not have
been more generous in their space allotments. And Mr. Trimm in his cell
had read all of it with smiling contempt, even to the semi-hysterical
outpourings of the lady special writers who called him The Iron Man of
Wall Street and undertook to analyze his emotions--and missed the mark
by a thousand miles or two.
Things had been smoothed as much as possible for him in the Tombs, for
money and the power of it will go far toward ironing out even the
corrugated routine of that big jail. He had a large cell to himself in
the airiest, brightest corridor. His meals were served by a caterer from
outside. Although he ate them without knife or fork, he soon learned
that a spoon and the fingers can accomplish a good deal when backed by a
good appetite, and Mr. Trimm's appetite was uniformly good. The warden
and his underlings had been models of official kindliness; the
newspapers had sent their brightest young men to interview him whenever
he felt like talking, which wasn't often; and surely his lawyers had
done all in his behalf that money--a great deal of money--could do.
Perhaps it was because of these things that Mr. Trimm had never been
able to bring himself to realize that he was the Hobart W. Trimm who had
been sentenced to the Federal prison; it seemed to him, somehow, that
he, personally, was merely a spectator standing to one side watching the
fight of another man to dodge the penitentiary.
However, he didn't fail to give the other man the advantage of every
chance that money would buy. This sense of aloofness to the whole thing
had persisted even when his personal lawyer came to him one night in the
early fall and told him that the court of last possible resort had
denied the last possible motion. Mr. Trimm cut the lawyer short with a
shake of his head as the other began saying something about the chances
of a pardon from the President. Mr. Trimm wasn't in the habit of letting
men deceive him with idle words. No President would pardon him, and he
knew it.
"Never mind that, Walling," he said steadily, when the lawyer offered to
come to see him again before he started for prison the next day. "If
you'll see that a drawing-room on the train is reserved for me--for us,
I mean--and all that sort of thing, I'll not detain you any further. I
have a good many things to do tonight. Good night."
"Such a man, such a man," said Walling to himself as he climbed into
his car; "all chilled steel and brains. And they are going to lock that
brain up for twelve years. It's a crime," said Walling, and shook his
head. Walling always said it was a crime when they sent a client of his
to prison. To his credit be it said, though, they sent very few of them
there. Walling made as high as fifty thousand a year at criminal law.
Some of it was very criminal law indeed. His specialty was picking holes
in the statutes faster than the legislature could make them and provide
them and putty them up with amendments. This was the first case he had
lost in a good long time.
* * * * *
When Jerry, the turnkey, came for him in the morning Mr. Trimm had made
as careful a toilet as the limited means at his command permitted, and
he had eaten a hearty breakfast and was ready to go, all but putting on
his hat. Looking the picture of well-groomed, close-buttoned, iron-gray
middle age, Mr. Trimm followed the turnkey through the long corridor and
down the winding iron stairs to the warden's office. He gave no heed to
the curious eyes that followed him through the barred doors of many
cells; his feet rang briskly on the flags.
The warden, Hallam, was there in the private office with another man, a
tall, raw-boned man with a drooping, straw- mustache and the
unmistakable look about him of the police officer. Mr. Trimm knew
without being told that this was the man who would take him to prison.
The stranger was standing at a desk, signing some papers.
"Sit down, please, Mr. Trimm," said the warden with a nervous
cordiality. "Be through here in just one minute. This is Deputy Marshal
Meyers," he added.
Mr. Trimm started to tell this Mr. Meyers he was glad to meet him, but
caught himself and merely nodded. The man stared at him with neither
interest nor curiosity in his dull blue eyes. The warden moved over
toward the door.
"Mr. Trimm," he said, clearing his throat, "I took the liberty of
calling a cab to take you gents up to the Grand Central. It's out front
now. But there's a big crowd of reporters and photographers and a lot of
other people waiting, and if I was you I'd slip out the back way--one of
my men will open the yard gate for you--and jump aboard the subway down
at Worth Street. Then you'll miss those fellows."
"Thank you, Warden--very kind of you," said Mr. Trimm in that crisp,
businesslike way of his. He had been crisp and businesslike all his
life. He heard a door opening softly behind him, and when he turned to
look he saw the warden slipping out, furtively, in almost an embarrassed
fashion.
"Well," said Meyers, "all ready?"
"Yes," said Mr. Trimm, and he made as if to rise.
"Wait one minute," said Meyers.
He half turned his back on Mr. Trimm and fumbled at the side pocket of
his ill-hanging coat. Something inside of Mr. Trimm gave the least
little jump, and the question that had ticked away so busily all those
months began to buzz, buzz in his ears; but it was only a handkerchief
the man was getting out. Doubtless he was going to mop his face.
He didn't mop his face, though. He unrolled the handkerchief slowly, as
if it contained something immensely fragile and valuable, and then,
thrusting it back in his pocket, he faced Mr. Trimm. He was carrying in
his hands a pair of handcuffs that hung open-jawed. The jaws had little
notches in them, like teeth that could bite. The question that had
ticked in Mr. Trimm's head was answered at last--in the sight of these
steel things with their notched jaws.
Mr. Trimm stood up and, with a movement as near to hesitation as he had
ever been guilty of in his life, held out his hands, backs upward.
"I guess you're new at this kind of thing," said Meyers, grinning. "This
here way--one at a time."
He took hold of Mr. Trimm's right hand, turned it sideways and settled
one of the steel cuffs over the top of the wrist, flipping the notched
jaw up from beneath and pressing it in so that it locked automatically
with a brisk little click. Slipping the locked cuff back and forth on
Mr. Trimm's lower arm like a man adjusting a part of machinery, and then
bringing the left hand up to meet the right, he treated it the same way.
Then he stepped back.
Mr. Trimm hadn't meant to protest. The word came unbidden.
"This--this isn't necessary, is it?" he asked in a voice that was husky
and didn't seem to belong to him.
"Yep," said Meyers. "Standin' orders is play no favorites and take no
chances. But you won't find them things uncomfortable. Lightest pair
there was in the office, and I fixed 'em plenty loose."
For half a minute Mr. Trimm stood like a rooster hypnotized by a
chalkmark, his arms extended, his eyes set on his bonds. His hands had
fallen perhaps four inches apart, and in the space between his wrists a
little chain was stretched taut. In the mounting tumult that filled his
brain there sprang before Mr. Trimm's consciousness a phrase he had
heard or read somewhere, the title of a story or, perhaps, it was a
headline--The Grips of the Law. The Grips of the Law were upon Mr.
Trimm--he felt them now for the first time in these shiny wristlets and
this bit of chain that bound his wrists and filled his whole body with a
strange, sinking feeling that made him physically sick. A sudden sweat
beaded out on Mr. Trimm's face, turning it slick and wet.
He had a handkerchief, a fine linen handkerchief with a hemstitched
border and a monogram on it, in the upper breast pocket of his buttoned
coat. He tried to reach it. His hands went up, twisting awkwardly like
crab claws. The fingers of both plucked out the handkerchief. Holding it
so, Mr. Trimm mopped the sweat away. The links of the handcuffs fell in
upon one another and lengthened out again at each movement, filling the
room with a smart little sound.
He got the handkerchief stowed away with the same clumsiness. He raised
the manacled hands to his hat brim, gave it a downward pull that brought
it over his face and then, letting his short arms slide down upon his
plump stomach, he faced the man who had put the fetters upon him,
squaring his shoulders back. But it was hard, somehow, for him to square
his shoulders--perhaps because of his hands being drawn so closely
together. And his eyes would waver and fall upon his wrists. Mr. Trimm
had a feeling that the skin must be stretched very tight on his jawbones
and his forehead.
"Isn't there some way to hide these--these things?"
He began by blurting and ended by faltering it. His hands shuffled
together, one over, then under the other.
"Here's a way," said Meyers. "This'll help."
He bestirred himself, folding one of the chained hands upon the other,
tugging at the white linen cuffs and drawing the coat sleeves of his
prisoner down over the bonds as far as the chain would let them come.
"There's the notion," he said. "Just do that-a-way and them bracelets
won't hardly show a-tall. Ready? Let's be movin', then."
But handcuffs were never meant to be hidden. Merely a pair of steel
rings clamped to one's wrists and coupled together with a scrap of
chain, but they'll twist your arms and hamper the movements of your body
in a way to constantly catch the eye of the passer-by. When a man is
coming toward you, you can tell that he is handcuffed before you see the
cuffs.
Mr. Trimm was never able to recall afterward exactly how he got out of
the Tombs. He had a confused memory of a gate that was swung open by
some one whom Mr. Trimm saw only from the feet to the waist; then he and
his companion were out on Lafayette Street, speeding south toward the
subway entrance at Worth Street, two blocks below, with the marshal's
hand cupped under Mr. Trimm's right elbow and Mr. Trimm's plump legs
almost trotting in their haste. For a moment it looked as if the
warden's well-meant artifice would serve them.
But New York reporters are up to the tricks of people who want to evade
them. At the sight of them a sentry reporter on the corner shouted a
warning which was instantly caught up and passed on by another picket
stationed half-way down the block; and around the wall of the Tombs came
pelting a flying mob of newspaper photographers and reporters, with a
choice rabble behind them. Foot passengers took up the chase, not
knowing what it was about, but sensing a free show. Truckmen halted
their teams, jumped down from their wagon seats and joined in. A
man-chase is one of the pleasantest outdoor sports that a big city like
New York can offer its people.
Fairly running now, the manacled banker and the deputy marshal shot down
the winding steps into the subway a good ten yards ahead of the foremost
pursuers. But there was one delay, while Meyers skirmished with his free
hand in his trousers' pocket for a dime for the tickets, and another
before a northbound local rolled into the station. Shouted at, jeered
at, shoved this way and that, panting in gulping breaths, for he was
stout by nature and staled by lack of exercise, Mr. Trimm, with Meyers
clutching him by the arm, was fairly shot aboard one of the cars, at the
apex of a human wedge. The astonished guard sensed the situation as the
scrooging, shoving, noisy wave rolled across the platform toward the
doors which he had opened and, thrusting the officer and his prisoner
into the narrow platform space behind him, he tried to form with his
body a barrier against those who came jamming in.
It didn't do any good. He was brushed away, protesting and blustering.
The excitement spread through the train, and men, and even women, left
their seats, overflowing the aisles.
There is no crueler thing than a city crowd, all eyes and morbid
curiosity. But Mr. Trimm didn't see the staring eyes on that ride to the
Grand Central. What he saw was many shifting feet and a hedge of legs
shutting him in closely--those and the things on his wrists. What the
eyes of the crowd saw was a small, stout man who, for all his bulk,
seemed to have dried up inside his clothes so that they bagged on him
some places and bulged others, with his head tucked on his chest, his
hat over his face and his fingers straining to hold his coat sleeves
down over a pair of steel bracelets.
Mr. Trimm gave mental thanks to a Deity whose existence he thought he
had forgotten when the gate of the train-shed clanged behind him,
shutting out the mob that had come with them all the way. Cameras had
been shoved in his face like gun muzzles, reporters had scuttled
alongside him, dodging under Meyers' fending arm to shout questions in
his ears. He had neither spoken nor looked at them. The sweat still ran
down his face, so that when finally he raised his head in the
comparative quiet of the train-shed his skin was a curious gray under
the jail paleness like the color of wet wood ashes.
"My lawyer promised to arrange for a compartment--for some private place
on the train," he said to Meyers. "The conductor ought to know."
They were the first words he had uttered since he left the Tombs. Meyers
spoke to a jaunty Pullman conductor who stood alongside the car where
they had halted.
"No such reservation," said the conductor, running through his sheaf of
slips, with his eyes shifting from Mr. Trimm's face to Mr. Trimm's hands
and back again, as though he couldn't decide which was the more
interesting part of him; "must be some mistake. Or else it was for some
other train. Too late to change now--we pull out in three minutes."
"I reckon we better git on the smoker," said Meyers, "if there's room
there."
Mr. Trimm was steered back again the length of the train through a
double row of pop-eyed porters and staring trainmen. At the steps where
they stopped the instinct to stretch out one hand and swing himself up
by the rail operated automatically and his wrists got a nasty twist.
Meyers and a brakeman practically lifted him up the steps and Meyers
headed him into a car that was hazy with blue tobacco smoke. He was
confused in his gait, almost as if his lower limbs had been fettered,
too.
The car was full of shirt-sleeved men who stood up, craning their necks
and stumbling over each other in their desire to see him. These men came
out into the aisle, so that Meyers had to shove through them.
"This here'll do as well as any, I guess," said Meyers. He drew Mr.
Trimm past him into the seat nearer the window and sat down alongside
him on the side next the aisle, settling himself on the stuffy plush
seat and breathing deeply, like a man who had got through the hardest
part of a not easy job.
"Smoke?" he asked.
Mr. Tr | 1,784.876068 |
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THE WALCOTT TWINS
BY
LUCILE LOVELL
ILLUSTRATED BY IDA WAUGH
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA MCM
Copyright 1900 by The Penn Publishing Company
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I Gay and May 5
II The First Separation 11
III Just for Fun 16
IV A Remarkable Household 23
V More Confusion 30
VI Being a Boy 37
VII Being a Girl 44
VIII A Scene at Rose Cottage 49
IX Saw and Axe 56
X A Course of Training 62
XI The Training Begins 68
XII A Silver-haired Lady 75
XIII A Plan that Failed 82
XIV The Boy Predominates 89
XV Gay's Popularity Begins 97
XVI A Squad of One 106
XVII Concerning Philip 114
XVIII Dark Days 122
XIX The Event of the Season 130
XX The Belle of Hazelnook 141
XXI The Sky Brightens 151
XXII The Dearest Girl 162
XXIII A Great Game 172
XXIV The Idol Totters 181
XXV The Girls make Peace 189
XXVI All's Right Again 194
XXVII Happy People 199
THE WALCOTT TWINS
CHAPTER I
GAY AND MAY
The Mistress of the house lay among her pillows, her brows drawn into
the nearest semblance of a frown that her gentle countenance could
assume. Nurse—bearing a tiny, moving bundle of muslin and flannel—and
the father were at the bedside.
The father's forehead wore an unmistakable frown. It was evident that
something displeased him, but who would have dreamed that it was the
gurgling mite in the flannel blanket? Yet he pointed in that direction
as he said,—
"Take him away. He has made trouble enough."
"H'indeed, Mr. Walcott," cried nurse, "'E's the best baby h'I' ave ever
seen h'in this 'ouse! 'E's never cried before."
"Take him away!" repeated the father, still frowning. "He may be
the best baby in the world—a future President of the United States,
even,—but he can't stay in this room another minute. Do you
understand?"
"Certainly, sir," nurse replied somewhat tartly.
Nurse thought the father a great bear. Of course she could not tell
him so, but she could and she did show him that an imported English
nurse chooses her own rate of speed. She moved slowly toward the door,
holding her head with its imposing white cap well up in the air, and
looking at Baby as though he were a Crown Prince, instead of the
youngest nursling in an American flock of five. While the door was open
for nurse and her precious burden to pass through, sounds of boisterous
mirth floated into the quiet chamber. It was only the twins, Gay and
May, and little Ned—Alice was in the country—at play in the nursery,
but one would have said that half the children in New York city were
shouting together. The invalid tried to stifle a sigh which did not
escape the father's ear.
"Those torments must go, Elinor!" he exclaimed. "That is the only way
to ensure your recovery."
"Oh, Edward, how can I live without my dear little ones!" murmured the
gentle mother.
Mr. Walcott took his wife's transparent hands in his own and caressed
them tenderly. "Do you want our children's mother to have nerves as
much out of tune as a cracked bell?" said he.
"No."
"Then they must go to-morrow."
"Not Ned—he is too young to be sent away from me."
"Very well; Ned shall stay—three servants may be able to keep him in
order! Now let me see those letters."
Mrs. Walcott drew two letters from beneath her pillow and passed them
to her husband. "Read them aloud," said she; "I half-read them."
Mr. Walcott drew from one of the envelopes a single sheet of blue thin
paper covered with small precise characters traced in the blackest
of ink, with the bluntest of quills. As he moved it a gritty shower
fell, showing the writer to be of the old school which prefers sand to
blotting paper.
"My Dear Nephew," Mr. Walcott began, "It gives me great pain to learn
that your dear wife remains ill. Now, I have a proposition to make;
send Gay up here for a fortnight. His presence will be inexpressibly
grateful to me, and his absence may be a relief to you at this time.
Wire me your decision. My compliments to Elinor, and believe me to be,
"Yours truly,
"HAROLD S. HAINES."
"P. S. You may think it singular that I have not included May in
my invitation, but, candidly, a woman child under my roof would be
sufficient excuse for me to leave it altogether, so I trust you will
understand and pardon my omission. Tell Elinor that Sarah will take
the best of care of the young rascal.
"H. S. H."
"Cedarville, N. Y. Aug. 6, 19——."
"A characteristic postscript," laughed Mr. Walcott. "Uncle Harold's
antipathy to 'a petticoat', as he is fond of calling one of your sex,
dear, seems to increase."
"His antipathy is quite out of proportion to our little daughter's
half-yard petticoat," responded the Mistress, smiling faintly. "But go
on, please, with Auntie's letter."
The second letter was quite unlike the first; it was penned in the
most delicate handwriting, on fine white paper, ornamented with a
silver crest, and as Mr. Walcott unfolded it a faint odor of that
old-fashioned scent, lavender, was shed on the air. "A gentlewoman's
letter," one would have said at once.
"Dear Niece Elinor," read Mr. Walcott. "We were deeply grieved to
hear of your protracted illness, and we are sure that if you were to
be relieved of the care of one of the children your recovery would
be rapid. Will you not send May to us for a fortnight? You need give
yourself no uneasiness about the dear child's welfare; it will be
Celia's and my pleasure to take the best care of her. Let us know by
telegram when she will leave New York and we will make arrangements
for her to come from the railway station by the stage that passes our
door—the driver is a most reliable person. With best wishes for your
speedy return to health, and with kind remembrances to Edward, in
which Celia joins, I am, my dear niece,
"Your affectionate aunt,
"BEULAH LINN."
"P. S. Celia suggests that you may think it odd that we have not
included Gay in our invitation, but the truth is, we should not know
what to do with a lively, noisy boy. We shall enjoy May very much if
she is like Alice, wholly without those failings of modern childhood—a
pert tongue, boisterous manners, and slang.
"B. L."
"Hazelnook, N. Y., Aug. 6, 19——."
"It is rather strange, isn't it, Edward, that the aunts will have none
of Gay, while the uncle disdains May? It will break their hearts to
separate them."
"It is better so, my dear. Doting father that I am I cannot deny that
Gay and May make a team that gentle maiden ladies or a quiet old
bachelor would find difficult to manage! Shall I go out now and wire
our good relatives that they may expect the children to-morrow?"
"Yes," the Mistress replied, with a sigh of resignation. "And send Gay
and May to me, please—they will receive their sentence of banishment
best from my lips."
CHAPTER II
THE FIRST SEPARATION
They stole across the nursery floor and through the hall on tiptoe;
because they had promised father to be "as still as mice."
So far so good! Not the slyest nibbler of cheese in the house could
have moved more softly than Gay and May. It was the quietest procession
that ever marched until it reached the threshold of the Mistress's
chamber when it fell into wild confusion; Gay, in his desire to catch
the first glimpse of mother, stepped on May's heel and that made May
scream. It wasn't a loud scream, to be sure, but it was louder than the
most frantic mouse could squeak, and quite loud enough to rouse the
mother from the light slumber into which she had fallen. She opened
her eyes, then closed them again as she lay there on her couch so
motionless that her children crept to her side and touched her to see
if she slept. Then she opened her eyes once more and smiled; not her
old joyous smile, but one so faint that Gay's eyes filled with tears.
Taking his mother's pale, beautiful face between his hands he kissed it
gently—not very gently, perhaps, for a boy's kiss is rarely as light
as a fairy's, although his heart is quite as tender—and this won for
him a kiss in return.
"We meant to be very quiet, mother," said Gay, with another penitent
kiss. "But something always happens."
"Yes, something always happens," said May, who invariably echoed Gay's
sentiments and followed his example, as became a twin sister.
"Mother understands, my darlings," the Mistress softly murmured.
"It was one of our mishaps," continued Gay. "You know we can't keep out
of them, mother. When we don't go to them they just follow right round
after us, as if they were alive!"
In truth, it seemed as if this were so. Their eleven years had been
crowded with adventures; not particularly stirring nor remarkable,
but harmless and ludicrous adventures such as seem to come to some
children unsought. It must be owned, however, in their case, that had
not the adventure appeared promptly on the scene they would have gone
in search of it, Gay leading and May a close second. As they apparently
led a charmed life, emerging unscathed from their scrapes, no one was
disposed to criticise them severely. Alice once said:
"Gay and May are just like cats; no matter how badly they may be
placed, when they jump they always land on their feet!" And the entire
family regarded this as a figurative, but correct, estimate of the
luck that constantly attended the twins.
Of past pranks little need be said, since it is the purpose of this
story to relate the greatest escapade of their lives, but it may as
well be stated that many of their mishaps were due to the remarkable
resemblance existing between them.
Gay and May were much more alike than two peas; they were as identical
as two perfectly symmetrical beads. Cover knickerbockers and jacket,
skirt and bodice, and no one could tell which closely-cropped head was
May's,—which Gay's! In height they did not vary a hair's breadth. In
step and movement they were precisely the same. In voice no musician
could detect the difference of an infinitesimal part of a tone. Not a
ray of light sparkled in one pair of hazel eyes that was not reflected
in the other. Even in the wild rose of their cheeks Dame Nature was
careful to preserve the same tint. Not a dimple, not a smile; not a
look, nor a gesture in one that was not repeated in the other. If there
were mental or moral differences, these were not noticeable when they
were together; both were healthy, daring, and honest, with hearts for
any fate, providing there was fun enough in it. It is not singular,
therefore, that such striking similarity in character and appearance
produced many complications.
In their babyhood, Gay wore a pink, and May a blue ribbon for
identification, but, if by chance these distinguishing marks became
displaced, it often followed that Gay was kissed and coddled for a
girl; while poor May was bounced and tossed and trotted for a boy. When
they were put in short frocks the same mistakes were made.
"There'll be no such confusion when Gay puts on trousers," prophesied a
sage relative of the family. Alas! for prophet; when Gay became a real
boy in knickerbockers, the work of confusion still went on. Indeed,
after knickerbockers began to play their part, it was worse than ever,
for the twins were then old enough to understand the value of their
resemblance in solid fun.
No truthful chronicler of their tricks would undertake to tell how
many times the burden of Gay's misdoing was accepted by May, who lay
demurely in bed, in broad daylight, in that young worthy's place, while
he escaped to the park, there to sport in freedom. Nor how Gay took
May's dose of castor oil, the medicine of all others most abhorred
by her; nor how more than once he bore the ten strokes of the rattan
designed for her palm, on his own, both remedies being administered
by nurse, and received by the culprit or patient, as the case might
be, in a pinafore donned for the occasion. Gay and May were not model
children, but they possessed one splendid trait in common; they shared
alike the pleasure and pain that fell to their lot, for their hearts
were both loyal and generous.
Now let us return to the chamber of the Mistress. While Gay and May sat
at her bedside, trying to "make her well" by kisses and petting, you
may be sure the mother thought some time of the approaching separation
before mentioning it, but at length she told them of the invitations
they had received and of their father's wishes.
They heard her through in open-eyed amazement. Gay looked at May | 1,785.57322 |
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Produced by Al Haines
THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE.
BY THE
AUTHOR OF "TOM CRINGLE'S LOG."
[Transcriber's note: Author is Michael Scott]
"ON LIFE'S VAST OCEAN DIVERSELY WE SAIL,
REASON THE CARD, BUT PASSION IS THE GALE."
ESSAY ON MAN
IN TWO VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS, EDINBURGH;
AND T. CADELL, STRAND, LONDON.
MDCCCXXXVI.
EDINBURGH: PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE AND CO., PAUL'S WORK.
CONTENTS OF VOLUME SECOND.
CHAP.
I. A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE
II. A VISION--THE DYING BUCANIER
III. SCENES IN HAVANNA
IV. A CRUISE IN THE MOUNTAINS--EL CAFETAL
V. THE MOSQUITO
VI. SPIRITING AWAY--WHERE IS THE BALLAHOO?
VII. THE DEVIL'S GULLY
VIII. MY UNCLE
IX. OCCIDENTAL VAGARIES
X. THE MOONBEAM
XI. THE BREAKING WAVE
XII. THE END OF THE YARN
THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE.
CHAPTER I.
A HAIRBREADTH ESCAPE.
I must either have been weaker, or the opiate stronger than the doctor
expected, for it was near midnight before I awoke. Although still very
low and faint, I felt much refreshed and invigorated. For some time I
lay enjoying the coolness of the night air, and listening to the
chirping of the crickets, in the crevices of the lofty roof. There was
not the smallest noise besides to be heard in the house, and every
thing without was equally still. At my bedside, on the right hand,
there stood a small old-fashioned ebony table, inlaid with
mother-of-pearl, with several phials, a bottle of wine, and glasses on
it, an open book, the leaves kept down on one side by a most enticing
uncut pine-apple, and a large brown wax candle, burning dimly in its
tall massive silver candlestick. A chair of the same substance and
antique character, and richly carved, was set beside this table, over
the high perpendicular back of which hung a seaman's jacket, and a
black silk neckerchief, as if the wearer had recently been reading
beside me, and very possibly watching me. I listened--all continued
silent; and I turned, but still with great pain, towards the open
window or balcony that projected into and overhung the neighbouring
thoroughfare. The moonlight streamed through the casement, and, with a
sensation of ineffable pleasure, I gloated on the bright stars beyond,
deep set into the dark blue sky, while the cool night breeze, charged
with the odour of the pine-apple, breathed gently, and oh! how passing
sweetly, on my feverish temples!
From the pain experienced in moving, I only turned half-round, and
therefore lay in a position that prevented my seeing more than the
upper part of the large window; but I gradually slewed myself, so as to
lie more on my side. "Heaven and earth, there he is again!" My heart
fluttered and beat audibly. My breathing became impeded and irregular,
and large drops of ice-cold perspiration burst from my forehead and
face; for _there_, with his head leaning on his hand, his arm resting
on the window sill, and motionless as the timber on which he reclined,
his beautiful | 1,785.879775 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive.)
HAUNTED LONDON
DR. JOHNSON'S OPINIONS OF LONDON.--"It is not in the showy evolution of
buildings, but in the multiplicity of human habitations, that the
wonderful immensity of London consists.... The happiness of London is not
to be conceived but by those who have been in it. I will venture to say
there is more learning and science within the circumference of where we
now sit than in | 1,786.026074 |
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Produced by deaurider, Brian Wilcox and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber’s notes:
The spelling, punctuation and hyphenation are as the original except
for apparent typographical errors, which have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted _thus_.
Bold text is denoted =thus=.
Bold, sans serif text, representing physical appearance e.g., of a
‘Tee’ shaped wrench is denoted thus ^T^.
Both ‘gauge’ and ‘gage’ appear in the text and have not been changed.
FIG. 454. is used twice in the original book, the 2nd occurrence has
been renamed FIG. 454A.
FIG. 551 was omitted from the original sequence of illustrations.
Units of pressure, e.g., ‘pounds’ and ‘lbs.’ should be ‘pounds per
square inch’ and ‘lbs. per square inch’ respectively, for completeness.
This is left as printed in the original book.
PUMPS
AND
HYDRAULICS.
IN TWO PARTS.
Part Two.
[Illustration: TEN THOUSAND HORSE POWER.
(See Part One, Page 133.)]
PUMPS
AND
HYDRAULICS
BY
WILLIAM ROGERS
_Author of “Drawing and Design,” etc._
[Illustration]
_RELATING TO_
HAND PUMPS; POWER PUMPS; PARTS OF PUMPS; ELECTRICALLY DRIVEN PUMPS;
STEAM PUMPS, SINGLE, DUPLEX AND COMPOUND; PUMPING ENGINES, HIGH DUTY
AND TRIPLE EXPANSION; THE STEAM FIRE ENGINE; UNDERWRITERS’ PUMPS;
MINING PUMPS; AIR AND VACUUM PUMPS; COMPRESSORS; CENTRIFUGAL AND
ROTARY PUMPS; THE PULSOMETER; JET PUMPS AND THE INJECTOR; UTILITIES
AND ACCESSORIES; VALVE SETTING; MANAGEMENT; CALCULATIONS, RULES AND
TABLES.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS._
_ALSO_
GENERAL CONSIDERATIONS; GLOSSARY OF PUMP TERMS; HISTORICAL
INTRODUCTION, WITH ILLUSTRATIONS; THE ELEMENTS OF HYDRO-MECHANICS,
HYDROSTATICS AND PNEUMATICS; GRAVITY AND FRICTION; HYDRAULIC
MEMORANDA; LAWS GOVERNING FLUIDS; WATER PRESSURE MACHINES; PUMPS AS
HYDRAULIC MACHINES, ETC.
PART TWO.
PUBLISHED BY
THEO. AUDEL & COMPANY
72 FIFTH AVE.,
NEW YORK, U.S.A.
7, IMPERIAL ARCADE,
LUDGATE CIRCUS, E.C.,
LONDON, ENG.
Copyrighted, 1905, by
THEO. AUDEL & CO., NEW YORK.
Entered at Stationers Hall, London, England.
Protected by International Copyright in Great Britain and all
her Colonies, and, under the provisions of the
Berne Convention, in
Belgium, France, Germany, Italy, Spain, Switzerland, Tunis,
Hayti, Luxembourg, Monaco, Montinegro
and Norway.
Printed in the United States.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
_Part TWO._
The divisions of Part Two are represented by the following headings:
each subject is fully treated and illustrated on the pages shown:
pages
INTRODUCTION TO PART TWO 1-10
THE AIR PUMP 13-30
AIR AND VACUUM PUMPS 31-56
AIR COMPRESSORS 57-78
THE AIR LIFT PUMP 79-90
THE STEAM FIRE ENGINE 91-142
MISCELLANEOUS PUMPS 143-176
MINING PUMPS 145-155
MARINE PUMPS 155-162
“SUGAR-HOUSE” PUMPS 165-167
CIRCULATING PUMPS 168
ATMOSPHERIC PUMPS 169-170
AMMONIA OR ACID PUMPS 171
THE SCREW PUMP 175-176
AERMOTOR PUMPS 177-192
ROTARY AND CENTRIFUGAL PUMPS 193-229
TURBINE PUMPS 231-242
INJECTORS AND EJECTORS 243-266
PULSOMETER AQUA-THRUSTER 267-280
PUMP SPEED GOVERNORS 281-296
CONDENSING APPARATUS 297-314
UTILITIES AND ATTACHMENTS 315-334
TOOLS, VALVES AND PIPING 335-356
PIPES, JOINTS AND FITTINGS 357-368
USEFUL NOTES 369-386
TABLES AND DATA 387-400
READY REFERENCE INDEX TO PART TWO
PREFACE.
The owner of a great tannery had once an improvement in making leather
proposed to him by a foreman, but the merchant could not comprehend
it even with the most earnest verbal explanation. As a last resort he
said, “put it in writing so that I can study it out.” This was done and
the change after an examination of the paper was made as advised. So in
these volumes much important information is written and printed that it
may be “studied out.”
The author believes the following features of his work adapt it to the
purpose for which it was designed:
1. It contains no more than can be mastered by the average engineer
and those associated with him, such as millwrights, machinists,
superintendents of motor power, electric stations, water works, etc.
2. It is thoroughly systematized. The order and development of subjects
is thought to be logical, and the arrangement of topics especially
adapted to the needs of those who aspire to do the best service in
their every day responsibilities.
3. The work is written in accordance with modern theories and practice;
no exertion has been spared in the attempt to make it fairly represent
the latest state of the science of hydraulics and its adaptation to
the needs of modern mechanical advancement, _i.e._, in the line of
practical hydraulics.
NOTE.—The preface is almost invariably made after the book itself
is finished, for an author never knows with much exactness whither
his researches will lead him. The book he begins is not always the
book he finished; this is especially the case with books relating
to modern sciences and industry. As an instance of this, it may be
told that at the commencement of this work it was generally agreed
that the easy “lift” of the centrifugal pump was some sixty or eighty
feet, and not much more, but the appropriate section relating to
centrifugal pumps has reached a lift of two thousand feet had been
practically assured by recent discoveries. This important difference
demanded a change in the writing although—as it happened—not in the
printing. This, to explain why here, the author gives generous praise
to others who have assisted in the long task of making these volumes.
4. It has been made by “men who know for men who care,” for the whole
circle of the sciences consists of principles deduced from the
discoveries of different individuals, in different ages, thrown into
common stock; this is especially so of the science of hydraulics; thus
it may be truthfully owned that the work contains the gathered wisdom
of the ages, utilized wherever the author has found that it would
increase the usefulness of the volumes.
5. It is a work of reference minutely indexed. We are warned by Prof.
Karl Pearson that “education can only develope; it cannot create. If
a man has not inherited ability to learn, education cannot make him
learn,” but in a well indexed book, simply and plainly written, both
classes referred to are equally benefited.
There came the moment, once upon a time, when the author of this book,
in his eager pursuit of knowledge, asked one question too much, to
which he received the “gruff” answer:
“Look ahere, I don’t propose to make a dictionary of myself.”
This was a painful retort from a man already under large obligations to
the questioner, but it had | 1,786.029243 |
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HALF-HOURS WITH
THE HIGHWAYMEN
WORKS BY CHARLES G. HARPER
=The Portsmouth Road=, and its Tributaries: To-day and in Days of
Old.
=The Dover Road=: Annals of an Ancient Turnpike.
=The Bath Road=: History, Fashion, and Frivolity on an Old
Highway.
=The Exeter Road=: The Story of the West of England Highway.
=The Great North Road=: The Old Mail Road to Scotland. Two Vols.
=The Norwich Road=: An East Anglian Highway.
=The Holyhead Road=: The Mail-Coach Road to Dublin. Two Vols.
=The Cambridge, Ely, and King's Lynn Road=: The Great Fenland
Highway.
=The Newmarket, Bury, Thetford, and Cromer Road=: Sport and
History on an East Anglian Turnpike.
=The Oxford, Gloucester, and Milford Haven Road=: The Ready Way
to South Wales. Two Vols.
=The Brighton Road=: Speed, Sport, and History on the Classic
Highway.
=The Hastings Road= and the "Happy Springs of Tunbridge."
=Cycle Rides Round London.=
=A Practical Handbook of Drawing for Modern Methods of
Reproduction.=
=Stage Coach and Mail in Days of Yore.= Two Vols.
=The Ingoldsby Country=: Literary Landmarks of "The Ingoldsby
Legends."
=The Hardy Country=: Literary Landmarks of the Wessex Novels.
=The Dorset Coast.=
=The South Devon Coast.=
=The North Devon Coast.=
=The Old Inns of Old England.= Two Vols.
=Love in the Harbour=: a Longshore Comedy.
=Rural Nooks Round London= (Middlesex and Surrey).
=The Manchester and Glasgow Road=; This way to Gretna Green. Two
Vols.
=Haunted Houses=; Tales of the Supernatural.
=The Somerset Coast.= [_In the Press._]
[Illustration:
_I walke the_ Strand, _and_ Westminster; _and scorne
to march i'th'_ Cittie, _though I beare the_ Horne.
_My_ Feather, _and my yellow_ Band _accord
to proue me_ Courtier: _My_ Boote, Spurr, _and sword_
_My smokinge_ Pipe, Scarfe, Garter, Rose _on shoe;
showe my brave minde t'affect what_ Gallants _doe.
I singe, dance, drinke, and merrily passe the day,
and like a Chimney sweepe all care away_
MULLED SACK.]
HALF-HOURS WITH
THE HIGHWAYMEN
_PICTURESQUE BIOGRAPHIES AND
TRADITIONS OF THE "KNIGHTS
OF THE ROAD"_
BY CHARLES G. HARPER
VOL. I
[Illustration: [++] Man on Horseback.]
_Illustrated by Paul Hardy and by the Author, and
from Old Prints_
LONDON
CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED
1908
_All rights reserved_
PRINTED AND BOUND BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
[Illustration: [++] Two Men on Horseback.]
Preface
_In a series of books designed to tell the story of the roads, and
not only of the | 1,786.074012 |
2023-11-16 18:46:50.0564370 | 1,706 | 13 | THE PEN OF TRUTH***
Transcribed from the 1814 B. Bennett edition by David Price, email
[email protected]
[Picture: Public domain book cover]
THE
LIVING LETTER,
WRITTEN WITH THE
_PEN OF TRUTH_,
BEING THE SUBSTANCE
Of a Sermon,
PREACHED AT THE
_OBELISK CHAPEL_, _St. George’s Fields_,
On SUNDAY Morning, Sept. 26, 1813.
* * * * *
_By J. CHURCH_, _V. D. M._
* * * * *
My Tongue is the Pen of a ready Writer. Psalm xlv. Ver. 1.
Written among the living in Jerusalem. Isaiah, Chap. iv. V. 3.
I will write on him my new name. Rev. Chap. 3. Ver. 12.
* * * * *
London:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR,
BY B. BENNETT, TICHBORNE STREET, HAYMARKET.
1814.
* * * * *
_To Miss K. and Miss M._
_Dear Friends_,
_Grace and Peace be with you_:—_I received your kind present of the
Bundle of Pens_, _and beg your acceptance of my thanks for the same_; _I
really stood in need them_, _and I suppose you thought so by the badness
of my writing_, _or my reluctance in sending out more Sermoms from the
Press_. _The Pens were very good_, _and I hope to use them for the Glory
of God only_,—_whilst laying before me they led me to reflect on the
passage I selected for a Text preached from on the following Sunday
morning_, _and I now send you the outlines of the Discourse_. _This
Sermon will no doubt meet with the same reception that others have_;
_some bless_, _some curse_, _some believe the things that are spoken_,
_and some believe not_, _but to the great Head of the Church_, _I humbly
commit my feeble attempt to shew forth his praise_, _praying you may be
able to ascertain your personal interest in the Book of Life_, _where the
names of the elect are enrolled_, _and remain_,
_Your obliged Servant in Christ Jesus_,
[Picture: Signature of J. Church]
A Sermon.
II. CORINTHIANS, Chap. iii. Verses 2 & 3.
_Ye are our Epistle written in our hearts_, _known and read of all
men_. _For as much as ye are manifestly declared to be the Epistle
of Christ ministered by us_, _written_, _not with ink_, _but with the
spirit of the Living God_,—_not in tables of stone_, _but in fleshy
tables of the heart_.
THE Epistle out of which this Text is selected, was with the one
proceeding it, written to the Church of Jesus at Corinth; many of the
Lord’s elect people were in this place, and the Apostle Paul was sent
here to proclaim the glad tidings of salvation; the Lord was graciously
with him, and gave testimony to the word of his grace, those who received
the truth, being knit together in spirit, formed themselves into a body.
Among them the Apostle abode two years and then departed. Soon after his
departure he heard of their dissentions; defections in doctrines and
ordinances, luxury, intemperance, uncleanness, and abuses of their
religious liberties, litigious law suits and irregularities in their
public assemblies, he writes this Epistle to correct them, to warn,
instruct, and direct in all important subjects. False teachers made sad
work among them likewise; endeavouring to set their minds against the
Apostle to bring him into contempt that his ministry might lose its
efficacy, and also to misrepresent his doctrine, as tending to
licentiousness, whereas there was nothing but the violation of law and
conscience, the effect of their ministry and which is to be seen to this
day amongst most teachers of the law such as direct their hearers to the
law instead of Jesus, as the law fulfiller:—these in general are full of
wrath, bitterness, pride, and carnal enmity, and though great advocates
for holiness and good works never perform any without making it well
known, that they may have to plead in the last day:—“Lord, Lord, have we
not done many wonderful works?” However the Apostle in this second
epistle triumphs, that his ministry is a sweet savour to God; to some it
would terminate in their present salvation, to others add to their
condemnation for rejecting it. Then he levels his artillery at those
false apostles, who had formed themselves into a body and gave letters of
recommendation to one another to the Churches where they went, they could
go no where without these letters. But Paul and every true Apostle
needed not such recommendation.
“Do we begin again to commend ourselves to you, or need we, as some
others, epistles of commendation to you, or letters of commendation from
you?” No, ye are our epistles; you were written on our hearts, we
travailed in spirit for your conversion, and all could see the change
made in you, it was so clearly manifested to be the writing of Christ,
which we preach; the impressions made on you could not be erased from the
mind, and which will be seen in the last great day. So runs the Text
which we will proceed to notice in the following order: first, the
writing; secondly, the means; thirdly, its publicity: “Ye are our
epistles written in our hearts, known and read of all men.” We shall
first consider the writing. First, the writing: Our covenant, God has
promised that he will write his laws on the hearts of his people; that he
will write on them his new name and the city of God. These blessings in
the heart are the writings he himself will own it is his own image and
the superscription to this image all the elect people of God are divinely
predestinated; there never was but one image in which the great Jehovah
expressed his delight, namely, “Behold, my servant whom I uphold, mine
elect in whom my soul delighteth.” This is the image and all others he
will surely despise: this image is the pattern model exemplar, it is
Christ’s holy nature and as the elect head of his family, possessing all
divine and human excellencies, graces and qualifications; these
excellencies shining in the human nature even in the seven-fold
operations of the holy spirit that was upon him, this was the image in
which God made man: “in the image of God made he man.” In this he
delighted even from eternity, for Adam was formed the shadow of him that
was to come, from this image Adam fell, and to this we are brought again
by the renewing influences of the Holy Ghost: hence the Apostle says, we
all with open face beholding as in a glass, the glory of the Lord are
changed into the same image, this image the Apostle declares is wisdom,
righteousness and true holiness, it is an experimental knowledge of Jesus
and a covenant God in him. Our dear Lord is called wisdom. God made man
and endued him with wisdom and we are made wise unto salvation, through
faith in Christ Jesus, this image is love; the Saviour is love also; Adam
had it, and it is shed abroad in our hearts | 1,786.076477 |
2023-11-16 18:46:50.1532990 | 3,181 | 14 |
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THE
APRICOT TREE.
PUBLISHED UNDER THE DIRECTION OF
THE COMMITTEE OF GENERAL LITERATURE AND EDUCATION,
APPOINTED BY THE SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING
CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THE
SOCIETY FOR PROMOTING CHRISTIAN KNOWLEDGE;
SOLD AT THE DEPOSITORY,
GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS;
AND 4, ROYAL EXCHANGE.
1851.
* * * * *
Price TWOPENCE.
_R. Clay, Printer_,
_Bread Street Hill_.
[Illustration]
THE APRICOT-TREE.
It was a fine evening in the beginning of autumn. The last rays of the
sun, as it sunk behind the golden clouds, gleamed in at the window of a
cottage, which stood in a pleasant lane, about a quarter of a mile from
the village of Ryefield. On each side of the narrow gravel walk that led
from the lane to the cottage-door, was a little plot of cultivated
ground. That on the right hand was planted with cabbages, onions, and
other useful vegetables; that on the left, with gooseberry and
currant-bushes, excepting one small strip, where stocks, sweet-peas, and
rose-trees were growing; whose flowers, for they were now in full bloom,
peeping over the neatly trimmed quick-hedge that fenced the garden from
the road, had a gay and pretty appearance. Not a weed was to be found in
any of the beds; the gooseberry and currant-bushes had evidently been
pruned with much care and attention, and were loaded with fine ripe
fruit. But the most remarkable thing in the garden was an apricot-tree,
which grew against the wall of the cottage, and which was covered with
apricots of a large size and beautiful colour.
The cottage itself, though small and thatched with straw, was clean and
cheerful, the brick floor was strewed with sand, and a white though
coarse cloth was spread on the little deal table. On this table were
placed tea-things, a loaf of bread, and some watercresses. A cat was
purring on the hearth, and a kettle was boiling on the fire.
Near the window, in a large arm-chair, sat an old woman, with a Bible on
her knees. She appeared happy and contented, and her countenance
expressed cheerfulness and good temper. After reading for some time with
great attention, she paused to look from the window into the lane, as if
expecting to see some one. She listened as if for a footstep; but all
was silent. She read again for about ten minutes longer, and then
closing the Sacred Volume, rose, and, having laid the Book carefully on
a shelf, opened the door, and went out into the garden, whence she could
see farther into the lane, and remained for a considerable time leaning
over the little wicket gate, in anxious expectation.
"What can be the reason that Ned is so late?" she said, half aloud, to
herself. "He always hastens home to his poor old grandmother as soon as
he has done work. What can make him an hour later than usual? I hope
nothing has happened to him. But, hush!" she continued, after a few
minutes' pause, "surely I hear him coming now."
She was not mistaken, for in a minute or two Ned appeared, running quite
fast up the lane, and in a few moments more he was standing by her side,
panting and breathless.
"Dear grandmother," he exclaimed, as soon as he had recovered breath
enough to speak, "I have a great deal of good news to tell you. Farmer
Tomkyns says he will employ me all through the winter, and pay me the
same wages that he does now. This is one piece of good news. And the
other is, that Mr. Stockwell, the greengrocer, will buy all my apricots,
and give me a good price for them. I am to take them to him next
market-day. I had to wait more than half-an-hour before I could speak to
him, and that made me so late. O how beautiful they are!" continued he,
gazing with admiration at the tree. "O grandmother, how happy I am!"
His grandmother smiled, and said she was glad to hear this good news.
"And now come in and have your tea, child," she added; "for I am sure
you must be hungry."
"O grandmother," said Ned, as they sat at tea, "now that Mr. Stockwell
will buy the fruit, you will be able to have a cloak to keep you warm
this winter. It often used to grieve me, last year, to see you obliged
to go to church such bitter cold weather, with only that thin old shawl
on. I know you said you could not spare money to get a cloak for
yourself, because you had spent all you could save in buying me a
jacket. My tree has never borne fruit till this year; and you always
said that when it did, I should do what I pleased with the money its
fruit would fetch. Now, there is nothing I should like to spend it on
better than in getting a cloak for you."
"Thank you, Ned," replied his grandmother; "it would indeed be a very
great comfort. I do not think I should have suffered so much from
rheumatism last winter, if I had had warmer clothing. If it was not for
your apricot-tree, I must have gone without a cloak this winter also;
for, what with our pig dying, and your having no work to do in the
spring, this has been but a bad year for us."
"The money Mr. Stockwell is going to give me," resumed Ned, "will be
enough all but sixpence; and I have a new sixpence, you know, in a
little box upstairs, that my aunt gave me last June, when I went to
spend the day with her; so when I carry him the fruit, I shall take that
in my pocket, and then when I come home in the evening I can bring the
cloak with me. O that will be a happy day!" continued Ned, getting up to
jump and clap his hands for joy.
"There is another thing I am very glad of," said he, sitting down again.
"Master is going to turn Tom Andrews away next week."
"You ought not to be glad of that, Ned. Tom is one of a large family;
and his father being very poor, it must be a great help to have one of
his children earning something."
"But he is ill-natured to me, and often plagues me very much. It was
only yesterday he broke the best hoe, by knocking stones about with it,
and then told master it was my doing. Besides, he is idle, and does not
mind what is said to him, and often gets into mischief."
"And do you think being turned away from Farmer Tomkyns's will help to
cure these faults?"
"No," answered Ned; "I do not suppose it will."
"On the contrary, is it not likely that he will grow more idle, and get
oftener into mischief, when he has no master to look after him, and
nothing to do all day long but play about the streets?"
"Why, yes, that is true. Still, it will serve him right to be turned
away. I have heard Mr. Harris, our rector, say that those who do wrong
ought to be punished."
"Pray, Ned," asked his grandmother, "can you tell me what is the use of
punishment?"
"The use of punishment!--" repeated Ned, thoughtfully. "Let me think.
The use of punishment, I believe, is to make people better."
"Right. Now, Ned, you have allowed that Tom's being turned away is not
likely to make him better, but worse; so that I am afraid the true
reason why you rejoice at his disgrace is because you bear resentment
against him, for having been ill-natured to yourself. Think a minute,
and tell me if this is not the case."
Ned owned that his grandmother was right; and then observed, "It is very
difficult not to bear ill-will against any one who has done us wrong."
"Yet," rejoined his grandmother, "it is our duty to pardon those who
have injured us. St. Paul says, in his Epistle to the Ephesians, 'Be ye
kind one to another, tender hearted, forgiving one another, even as God
for Christ's sake hath forgiven you.' And our blessed Saviour has
commanded us to 'love our enemies,' to 'do good to them that hate us,
and to pray for those that despitefully use us, and persecute us.' If
you will look at the fourteenth and fifteenth verses of the sixth
chapter of St. Matthew, you will see what else our Lord says on the
subject."
Ned took the Bible, and having found the place, read, "For if ye forgive
men their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you: but if
ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your heavenly Father
forgive your trespasses."
"Before you go to bed," said his grandmother, when he had finished
reading, "I wish you to get by heart these three texts, and repeat them
to me."
Ned did as he was desired, and then his grandmother kissed him, and bid
him good-night.
Ned loved his grandmother very much, for she had always been kind to
him. His parents had both died when he was very young; and she then
brought him home to live with her, and had taken care of him ever since.
She taught him to read and write, and cast up sums; to be steady and
industrious; and, above all, it was her great care to instil into his
mind religious principles. She had often told him that the way to profit
by what we read, as well as by the good advice that may be given us, is
to think upon it afterwards; and she frequently desired him to make a
practice of saying over to himself every night whatever verses from the
Bible he had learnt by heart during the day.
This evening, when Ned repeated his texts, he felt that he had been
wrong to rejoice at Tom Andrews's disgrace, because he had behaved ill
to himself; and he prayed God to make Tom see his faults, and leave off
his bad ways.
The next day Ned, as usual, went early to his work. Tom Andrews was
very teasing, but Ned tried not to be provoked; and when Tom said
ill-natured things to him, he checked the angry replies he was tempted
to make. Two days afterwards, when Ned came home to tea, he thought with
pleasure that to-morrow was market-day at the town where Mr. Stockwell
lived; and he ran in and out twenty times, to look at, and admire, his
beautiful apricot-tree. "I must get up very early indeed to-morrow
morning," he said to his grandmother, "that I may gather the apricots,
and take them to Mr. Stockwell before I go to my work." Accordingly the
next morning he rose as soon as it was light, and, taking a basket the
greengrocer had lent him in his hand, went into the little garden to
line it with fresh green leaves, before putting the fruit into it.
What was his surprise and sorrow when he saw that every one of his
apricots was gone, and the tree itself sawn nearly in two, close to the
root!
Throwing down his basket, Ned ran to his grandmother, who was just come
down stairs, and had begun to light the fire.
He could only exclaim, "O my apricots, my apricots, they are all gone!
And my beautiful tree--" then covering his face with his hands, he burst
into tears.
"What is the matter, my dear?" inquired his grandmother.
Ned replied by taking her by the hand, and leading her into the garden.
"Who can have done this?" he exclaimed, sobbing. "If they had only
stolen the apricots, I could have borne it better! But to see my dear
tree spoiled--It must die--it must be quite killed--only look how it is
cut!"
"I am very sorry for you, my poor boy," said his grandmother, kindly.
"It is a most vexatious thing."
"Oh!" cried Ned, "if I did but know who it was that had done it--"
"I would be revenged on them, some how or other," he was going to have
added; but the texts which he had learned a few days before concerning
the forgiveness of injuries, and which he had frequently repeated to
himself since, came into his mind, and he stopped short.
On looking round the garden, to see if they could discover any traces of
the thief, Ned and his grandmother saw the prints of a boy's shoe,
rather bigger than Ned's, in several of the beds, and hanging on the
quick-hedge were some tattered fragments of a red cotton handkerchief
checked with white. "I know this handkerchief," said Ned; "it is Tom
Andrews's; I have often seen him with it tied round his neck. It must be
he who stole my apricots."
"You cannot be sure that it is Tom who stole your apricots," rejoined
his grandmother. "Many other people besides him have red handkerchiefs."
"But I am sure it can be no one but Tom; for only yesterday, when I told
him about my apricots, and the money I expected to get for them, he said
he wished he knew how to get some, that he might have money too. Oh! if
I could but get hold of him--"
Again he stopped, and thought of our Saviour's words; then, turning to
his grandmother, he said, "Whoever it is that has robbed us of the
fruit, I forgive him, even if it is Tom Andrews."
Ned went to work that day with a heavy heart. Tom Andrews was in high
glee; for his master had said he would give him another week's trial.
Ned told him of the misfortune that had happened to him, and thought
that Tom looked rather confused. He also remarked that his companion had
not got the red handkerchief on that he usually wore about his neck; | 1,786.173339 |
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WEBSTER--MAN'S MAN
By Peter B. Kyne
Author Of “Cappy Ricks”
“The Three Godfathers,” Etc.
Illustrated By Dean Cornwell
[Illustration:ustration: 0006]
[Illustration:ustration: 0007]
New York
Doubleday, Page & Company
1917
WEBSTER-MAN'S MAN
CHAPTER I
|WHEN John Stuart Webster, mining engineer and kicker-up-of-dust on
distant trails, flagged the S. P., L. A. & S. L. Limited at a blistered
board station in Death Valley, California, he had definitely resolved to
do certain things. To begin, he would invade the dining car at the first
call to dinner and order approximately twenty dollars' worth of ham and
eggs, which provender is, as all who know will certify, the pinnacle of
epicurean delight to an old sour-dough coming out of the | 1,786.176223 |
2023-11-16 18:46:50.1634700 | 92 | 17 |
Produced by Patrick Hopkins, David Garcia and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Kentuckiana Digital Library)
Transcriber's Note
- The position of some illustrations has been changed to improve
readability.
- Words surrounded by =equal signs= should be interpreted as being in
bold type.
- In general, geographical references, | 1,786.18351 |
2023-11-16 18:46:50.2575880 | 1,172 | 17 |
Produced by Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at www.pgdp.net.
[Illustration]
SCIENTIFIC AMERICAN SUPPLEMENT NO. 822
NEW YORK, October 3, 1891
Scientific American Supplement. Vol. XXXII, No. 822.
Scientific American established 1845
Scientific American Supplement, $5 a year.
Scientific American and Supplement, $7 a year.
* * * * *
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
I. ANTHROPOLOGY.--The Study of Mankind.--A review of Prof.
Max Muller's recent address before the British Association. 13141
II. CHEMISTRY.--Standards and Methods for the Polarimetric
Estimation of Sugars.--A U.S. internal revenue report on
the titular subject.--2 illustrations. 13138
The Formation of Starch in Leaves.--An interesting
examination into the physiological _role_ of leaves.--1
illustration. 13138
The Water Molecule.--By A. GANSWINDT.--A very interesting
contribution to structural chemistry. 13137
III. CIVIL ENGINEERING.--Demolition of Rocks under Water
without Explosives.--Lobnitz System.--By EDWARD S.
CRAWLEY.--A method of removing rocks by combined
dredging and ramming as applied on the Suez Canal.--3
illustrations. 13128
IV. ELECTRICITY.--Electrical Standards.--The English Board of
Trade commission's standards of electrical measurements. 13129
The London-Paris Telephone.--By W.H. PREECE,
F.R.S.--Details of the telephone between London and
Paris and its remarkable success.--6 illustrations. 13131
The Manufacture of Phosphorus by Electricity.--A new
industry based on dynamic electricity.--Full details. 13132
The Two or Three Phase Alternating Current Systems.--By
CARL HERING.--A new industrial development in electricity
fully described and graphically developed.--15
illustrations. 13130
V. GEOGRAPHY AND EXPLORATION.--The Grand Falls of
Labrador.--The Bowdoin College exploring expedition and
its adventures and discoveries in Labrador. 13140
VI. MECHANICAL ENGINEERING.--Improved Changeable Speed
Gearing.--An ingenious method of obtaining different speeds
at will from a single driving shaft.--2 illustrations. 13129
Progress in Engineering.--Notes on the progress of the last
decade. 13129
VII. MEDICINE AND HYGIENE.--Eyesight.--Its Care during Infancy
and Youth.--By L. WEBSTER FOX, M.D.--A very timely
article on the preservation of sight and its deterioration
among civilized people. 13135
The Use of Compressed Air in Conjunction with Medicinal
Solutions in the Treatment of Nervous and Mental
Affections.--By J. LEONARD CORNING.--The enhancement of
the effects of remedies by subsequent application of
compressed air. 13134
VIII. MINERALOGY.--A Gem-Bearing Granite Vein in Western
Connecticut.--By L.P. GRATACAP.--A most interesting
mineral fissure yielding mica and gems recently opened. 13141
IX. NATURAL HISTORY.--Ants.--By RUTH WARD KAHN.--An
interesting presentation of the economy of ants. 13140
X. NAVAL ENGINEERING.--Armor Plating on Battleships--France
and Great Britain.--A comparison of the protective systems
of the French and English navies.--5 illustrations. 13127
The Redoutable.--An important member of the French
Mediterranean fleet described and illustrated.--1
illustration. 13127
XI. TECHNOLOGY.--New Bleaching Apparatus.--A newly invented
apparatus for bleaching pulp.--2 illustrations. 13133
* * * * *
THE REDOUTABLE.
The central battery and barbette ship Redoutable, illustrated this
week, forms part of the French Mediterranean squadron, and although
launched as early as 1876 is still one of its most powerful ships.
Below are some of the principal dimensions and particulars of this
ironclad:
Length 318 ft. 2 in.
Beam 64 " 8 "
Draught 25 " 6 "
Displacement 9200 tons.
Crew 706 officers and men.
[Illustration: THE FRENCH CENTRAL BATTERY IRONCLAD REDOUTABLE.]
The Redoutable is built partly of iron and partly of steel and is
similar in many respects to the ironclads Devastation and Courbet of
the same fleet, although rather smaller. She is completely belted with
14 in. armor, with a 15 in. backing, and has the central battery
armored with plates of 91/2 in. in thickness.
The engines are two in number, horizontal, and of the compound two
cylinder type, developing a horse power of 6,071, which on the trial
trip gave a speed of 14.66 knots per hour. Five | 1,786.277628 |
2023-11-16 18:46:50.4547560 | 136 | 23 |
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Distributed Proofreaders from images generously made
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Microreproductions
THE BIOGRAPHY OF A GRIZZLY
by Ernest Seton-Thompson
With 75 Drawings (not available in this file)
Author of: The Trail of the Sandhill Stag Wild Animals I Have
Known Art Anatomy of Animals Mammals of Manitoba Birds of Manitoba
1899
This Book is dedicated to the memory of the days spent at the
Palette Ranch on the Graybull, where from hunter, miner, personal
experience, and the host himself | 1,786.474796 |
2023-11-16 18:46:50.5552600 | 849 | 6 |
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THE
INFLUENCE OF SEA POWER
UPON THE
FRENCH REVOLUTION AND EMPIRE
1793-1812
BY
CAPTAIN A. T. MAHAN, U.S.N.
PRESIDENT UNITED STATES NAVAL WAR COLLEGE
AUTHOR OF "THE INFLUENCE OF SEA POWER UPON HISTORY, 1660-1783"
OF "THE GULF AND INLAND WATERS," AND OF A
"LIFE OF ADMIRAL FARRAGUT"
IN TWO VOLUMES
VOL. II.
FOURTH EDITION.
LONDON:
SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON.
(LIMITED.)
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
CHAPTER XII.
EVENTS ON THE CONTINENT, 1798-1800.
DISORDERS OF FRANCE UNDER THE DIRECTORY.—DISASTROUS WAR OF THE SECOND
COALITION.—ESTABLISHMENT OF THE CONSULATE.—BONAPARTE OVERTHROWS
AUSTRIA AND FRAMES AGAINST GREAT BRITAIN THE ARMED NEUTRALITY OF
1800.—PEACE OF LUNÉVILLE WITH AUSTRIA.
PAGE
Hostilities of Naples against the French 1
Disastrous defeat of the Neapolitans 2
The French enter Naples 2
Piedmont annexed to France 2
Beginning of the war of the Second Coalition 3
Reverses of the French in Germany and Italy 3
Masséna falls back in Switzerland 4
Further French disasters in Italy 5
The French evacuate southern Italy 6
Battle of the Trebia won by Suwarrow 6
Loss of northern Italy by the French 7
The French defeated at the battle of Novi by Suwarrow 8
Change in the plans of the Coalition 8
Masséna defeats the allies at the battle of Zurich 9
Disastrous march of Suwarrow into Switzerland 9
Failure of the Anglo-Russian expedition against Holland 10
Loss of Bonaparte's conquests in Italy and of the Ionian Islands 10
Internal disorders of France 11
Bonaparte's return, and the revolution of Brumaire 18 15
Bonaparte's measures to restore order 15
His advances toward Great Britain and Austria to obtain peace 16
Reasons of the two governments for refusing 17
Prosperity of Great Britain 17
Russia abandons the coalition 19
Forces of France and Austria in 1800 19
Bonaparte's plan of campaign 20
Opening of the campaign in Italy 21
Masséna shut up in Genoa 21
Moreau's advance into Germany 21
Bonaparte crosses the Saint Bernard 22
Battle of Marengo, and armistice following it 23
Armistice in Germany 24
Diplomatic negotiations 25
Bonaparte's colonial and maritime anxieties 25
The Czar Paul I.'s hostility to Great Britain 26
Dispute between England and Denmark concerning neutral rights 26
Effect of this upon Bonaparte's plans 27
Policy of Russia and Prussia 28
Bonaparte undertakes to form a coalition against Great Britain 29
Factors in the question | 1,786.5753 |
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Internet Archive/American Libraries
(http://www.archive.org/details/americana)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
http://www.archive.org/details/roseofdutchersco00garliala
ROSE OF DUTCHER'S COOLLY
by
HAMLIN GARLAND
Chicago
Stone & Kimball
MDCCCXCV
Copyright, 1895, by
Hamlin Garland
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. HER CHILDHOOD
CHAPTER II. CHILD-LIFE, PAGAN FREE
CHAPTER III. DANGEROUS DAYS
CHAPTER IV. AN OPENING CLOVER-BLOOM
CHAPTER V. HER FIRST PERIL
CHAPTER VI. HER FIRST IDEAL
CHAPTER VII. ROSE MEETS DR. THATCHER
CHAPTER VIII. LEAVING HOME
CHAPTER IX. ROSE ENTERS MADISON
CHAPTER X. QUIET YEARS OF GROWTH
CHAPTER XI. STUDY OF THE STARS
CHAPTER XII. THE GATES OPEN WIDE
CHAPTER XIII. THE WOMAN'S PART
CHAPTER XIV. AGAIN THE QUESTION OF HOME-LEAVING
CHAPTER XV. CHICAGO
CHAPTER XVI. HER FIRST CONQUEST
CHAPTER XVII. HER FIRST DINNER OUT
CHAPTER XVIII. MASON TALKS ON MARRIAGE
CHAPTER XIX. ROSE SITS IN THE BLAZE OF A THOUSAND EYES
CHAPTER XX. ROSE SETS FACE TOWARD THE OPEN ROAD
CHAPTER XXI. MASON TALKS AGAIN
CHAPTER XXII. SOCIAL QUESTIONS
CHAPTER XXIII. A STORM AND A HELMSMAN
CHAPTER XXIV. MASON TAKES A VACATION
CHAPTER XXV. ROSE RECEIVES A LETTER
CHAPTER XXVI. MASON AS A LOVER
CONCLUSION
ROSE OF DUTCHER'S COOLLY
CHAPTER I
HER CHILDHOOD
Rose was an unaccountable child from the start. She learned to speak
early and while she did not use "baby-talk" she had strange words of her
own. She called hard money "tow" and a picture "tac," names which had
nothing to do with onomatopoeia though it seemed so in some cases.
Bread and milk she called "plop."
She began to read of her own accord when four years old, picking out the
letters from the advertisements of the newspapers, and running to her
mother at the sink or bread-board to learn what each word meant. Her
demand for stories grew to be a burden. She was insatiate, nothing but
sleep subdued her eager brain.
As she grew older she read and re-read her picture books when alone, but
when older people were talking she listened as attentively as if she
understood every word. She had the power of amusing herself and visited
very little with other children. It was deeply moving to see her with
her poor playthings out under the poplar tree, talking to herself,
arranging and rearranging her chairs and tables, the sunlight flecking
her hair, and the birds singing overhead.
She seemed only a larger sort of insect, and her prattle mixed easily
with the chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves.
She was only five years old when her mother suddenly withdrew her hands
from pans and kettles, gave up all thought of bread and butter making,
and took rest in death. Only a few hours of waiting on her bed near the
kitchen fire and Ann Dutcher was through with toil and troubled
dreaming, and lay in the dim best-room, taking no account of anything in
the light of day.
Rose got up the next morning after her mother's last kiss and went into
the room where the body lay. A gnomish little figure the child was, for
at that time her head was large and her cropped hair bristled till she
seemed a sort of brownie. Also, her lonely child-life had given her
quaint, grave ways.
She knew her mother was dead, and that death was a kind of sleep which
lasted longer than common sleep, that was all the difference, so she
went in and stood by the bed and tried to see her mother's face. It was
early in the morning and the curtains being drawn it was dark in the
room, but Rose had no fear, for mother was there.
She talked softly to herself a little while, then went over to the
window and pulled on the string of the curtain till it rolled up. Then
she went back and looked at her mother. She grew tired of waiting at
last.
"Mamma," she called, "wake up. Can't you wake up, mamma?"
She patted the cold, rigid cheeks with her rough brown little palms.
Then she blew in the dead face, gravely. Then she thought if she could
only open mamma's eyes she'd be awake. So she took her finger and thumb
and tried to lift the lashes, and when she did she was frightened by the
look of the set faded gray eyes. Then the terrible vague shadow of the
Unknown settled upon her and she cried convulsively: "Mamma! mamma, I
want you!" Thus she met death, early in her life.
After her mother's burial Rose turned to her father more hungrily than
before. She rode into the fields with him in the spring, when he went
out to sow, sitting on the seeder box with the pockets of her little
pink apron filled with wheat, and her sweet, piping little voice calling
to the horses or laughing in glee at the swarms of sparrows. When he was
plowing corn she rode on the horses, clinging like a blue-jay to the
rings in the back-pad, her yellow-brown hair blowing.
She talked sagely about the crops and the weather, and asked innumerable
questions. Often John could not hear her questions, which were like soft
soliloquies, but she babbled on just the same.
"See the little birds, pappa John. They's 'bout a million of 'um, ain't
they? They're glad spring has come, ain't they, pappa? They can
understand each other just the same as we can, can't they, pappa John?"
John Dutcher was not a talker, and he seldom answered her unless she
turned her eager face to him, and her bird-like voice repeated her
question. But it mattered very little to Rose. She had her father's
power of self-amusement. In case she got tired of riding about with him
she brought her playthings out and established them in a corner of the
fence. Her favorite game was playing horses.
Her horses were sticks of the size of canes, and of all sorts and
colors. Each one had a name. How she selected them, and why she selected
them out of the vast world of sticks, was a mystery to John Dutcher.
The brown stick she called Dan, the fork handle, Nellie, and the crooked
stick with the big knot was Barney. She had from six to ten and she
never forgot their names. Each had a string for a bridle and they all
were placed in stalls, which she built with infinite labor and
calculation out of twigs. She led each stick by its halter up to the
manger (a rail) on which she had placed oats and grass. She talked to
them.
"Now, Barney, whoa-whoa there now! Don't you kick Kit again--now sir!
Kit, you better stand over here by Pete--Barney, you need exercise,
that's what you need--yessir."
She exercised them by riding them in plunging circles about the fields,
forgetting, with the quick imagination of a child, that she was doing
all the hard work of the riding with her own stout, brown legs. It was a
pleasure to John to have her there though he said little to her.
Often at night as he saw her lying asleep, her long lashes upon her
roughened sun-burned skin, his heart went out to her in a great gush of
tenderness. His throat ached and his eyes grew wet as he thought how
unresponsive he had been that day. His remorseful memory went back over
her eager questions to which he had not replied. Dear, sweet, restless
little heart! And then he vowed never to lose patience with her again.
And sometimes standing there beside her bed his arms closed about the
little mound under the quilts, and his lips touched the round,
sleep-enraptured face. At such times his needy soul went out in a cry to
his dead wife for help to care for his child.
He grew afraid of the mystery and danger of coming womanhood. Her needs
came to him more powerfully each day.
When she began going to school | 1,786.809453 |
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Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: FELIX TIPNIS.]
INDIA AND THE
INDIANS
BY EDWARD F. ELWIN
OF THE SOCIETY OF ST JOHN THE EVANGELIST, COWLEY
AUTHOR OF "INDIAN JOTTINGS," "THIRTY-FOUR YEARS IN POONA CITY,"
"STORIES OF INDIAN BOYS," ETC.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
LONDON
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W.
1913
* * * * *
PREFACE
India is really waking up, but she is doing so in her own Indian way.
For some years past it has been one of my daily duties to arouse an
Indian boy, and I know exactly how an Indian wakes. It is a leisurely
process. He slowly stretches his legs and rubs | 1,786.873199 |
2023-11-16 18:46:50.9705850 | 4,439 | 13 |
Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
THEY PACKED AWAY NEARLY EVERY TROPHY THE ROOM CONTAINED.--_Page 249._
_The Putnam Hall Champions._]
THE PUTNAM HALL
CHAMPIONS
_Or, Bound to Win Out_
BY
ARTHUR M. WINFIELD
AUTHOR OF "THE PUTNAM HALL CADETS," "THE PUTNAM HALL RIVALS," "THE ROVER
BOYS SERIES," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS
Copyright, 1908, by
EDWARD STRATEMEYER.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A Race on the Lake 1
II. What the Wind Did 11
III. About a Gymnastic Contest 22
IV. Shortcake and Lemonade 32
V. The Interview in the Office 43
VI. Andy Snow's Victory 54
VII. At the Drug Store 64
VIII. A Scare on the Road 75
IX. The Inspection 85
X. What Happened to Jack 96
XI. A Challenge from Pornell Academy 106
XII. The Bowling Match 116
XIII. Fun with Peleg Snuggers 126
XIV. The Mystery of a Bracelet 136
XV. The Great Bicycle Race 146
XVI. At the Chetwood Cottage 157
XVII. An Interview with George Strong 165
XVIII. Searching the Woods 173
XIX. The Bone and Blood Club 181
XX. The End of the Search 189
XXI. Surprises of a Night 197
XXII. Prisoners on the Sloop 205
XXIII. The Race of the Sloops 213
XXIV. Fred Century Makes a Change 221
XXV. A Cannon and a Flagstaff Disappear 229
XXVI. A Conference of Importance 237
XXVII. In the Trophy Room 245
XXVIII. An Unlooked-for Disappearance 253
XXIX. The Hill Climbing Contest 261
XXX. A Capture--Conclusion 269
INTRODUCTION
My Dear Boys:
This tale is complete in itself, but forms volume three in a line issued
under the general title of "Putnam Hall Series."
This series was started at the request of many boys and girls who had
read some volumes of the "Rover Boys' Series," and who wanted to know
what had taken place at Putnam Hall previous to the arrival there of the
three Rover brothers. When the Rovers came on the scene Putnam Hall had
been flourishing for some time and was filled with bright, go-ahead
cadets, who had been mixed up in innumerable scrapes, and who had gone
through quite a few adventures. My young friends wanted to hear all
about these wideawake lads, and for their benefit I started this series.
In the first volume, called "The Putnam Hall Cadets," I told just how
the school came to be founded, and related many of the adventures of
Jack Ruddy, Pepper Ditmore, and their chums. In the second volume,
entitled "The Putnam Hall Rivals," the doings of these cadets were again
followed, and I also told the particulars of a queer balloon ride and of
a remarkable discovery in the woods.
In the present story I have endeavored to show something of what the
Putnam Hall boys could do when it came to contests on the lake, in the
gymnasium, and elsewhere. A large portion of the cadets' "off time" was
devoted to sports, and the rivalry, both in the academy and against
other schools, was of the keenest. Mixed in with the rivalry was a
generous share of fun, and what some of this hilarity led to I leave the
pages which follow to tell.
Once again I thank my young friends for the interest they have shown in
my stories. I trust the reading of this volume will please you all.
Affectionately and sincerely yours,
Arthur M. Winfield.
THE PUTNAM HALL CHAMPIONS
CHAPTER I
A RACE ON THE LAKE
"Talk about a life on the ocean wave, Pep; isn't this good enough for
anybody?"
"It certainly is, Jack," answered Pepper Ditmore. "And I think the
_Alice_ is going to prove a dandy."
"The _Alice_ a dandy?" came from a third youth aboard the sloop. "How
can you make that out? Girls aren't dandies."
"But this girl is a boat," put in a fourth youth. "Say, has anybody got
an apple he doesn't want?" he went on, looking from one to another of
his companions.
"What, Stuffer, aren't you filled up yet?" demanded Jack Ruddy, who had
hold of the tiller of the craft that was speeding up the lake. "To my
certain knowledge you have eaten ten apples already."
"Ten?" snorted Paul Singleton, who was often called Stuffer because of
his love of eating. "Not a bit of it! I've only had four--and two were
very small."
"Here's another--my last," cried Pepper, and threw the apple to his chum.
"By the way, Jack, I want to ask a question," said Dale Blackmore. "Why
did you call the new sloop the _Alice_?"
"Name of his best girl," answered Pepper, promptly. "Why do you ask
foolish questions?"
"I haven't any best girl and you know it," retorted Jack Ruddy. "I named
the sloop after my cousin, Alice Smith. Her father, my uncle, gave me
the boat. He----"
"Hullo, here comes another sloop!" cried Paul Singleton, looking across
the lake. "Wonder what boat that is?"
"I see a big P on the mainsail," answered Dale Blackmore. "Must belong
to some of the Pornell Academy fellows."
"I know that boat--heard about her when I was in town yesterday," said
Pepper Ditmore. "She belongs to a fellow of Pornell named Fred Century."
"Gracious, Imp, is he a hundred years old?" queried Dale, with a
grimace.
"Hardly. He's only a little older than I am. The sloop is named the
_Ajax_, and Century claims she is the swiftest thing that was ever
launched here."
"She certainly looks as if she could make time," was Dale Blackmore's
critical comment, as he gazed at the approaching craft, with her snowy
spread of sails. "I don't think she is quite as wide as the _Alice_."
"She is every bit as long," came from Paul Singleton. "And her sails are
every bit as big."
"Sloop ahoy!" came a hail from the approaching craft.
"Ahoy, the _Ajax_!" answered Jack Ruddy.
"Is that the new boat from Putnam Hall?"
"Yes."
"We thought it might be," went on Fred Century, as he came closer. "This
is the new boat from Pornell Academy."
"Yes, we know that," answered Jack. "Fine-looking sloop, too," he added.
"Do you want to race?" asked another youth aboard the _Ajax_.
"Well, we didn't come out to race," answered the young owner of the
_Alice_. "We just came out for a quiet sail. We've got to be back to the
Hall by six o'clock."
"Oh, they are afraid to race you, Fred," said another boy aboard the
_Ajax_. "They know you can beat them out of their boots."
"Let us race them, Jack," whispered Pepper.
"No use of racing if the _Alice_ isn't in proper condition," interrupted
Dale.
"Oh, she's all right--but I like to go over everything before a race,"
said Jack, a bit doubtfully. "Some of the blocks work rather stiffly,
and I haven't quite got the swing of this tiller yet."
"Want to race or not?" cried a third boy aboard the _Ajax_.
"Of course, if you are afraid of being beaten----" began Fred Century.
"Did you come out just for the purpose of racing?" demanded Jack.
"Why, hardly," said the owner of the _Ajax_. "We just saw you, and
thought you'd like a little brush, that's all."
"How far do you want to race?"
"As far as you please."
"Very well, what do you say to Cat Point and from there to Borden's
Cove? The first sloop to reach the white rock at the cove is to be the
winner."
"Done!" answered Fred Century, promptly.
"We'll beat you by half a mile!" sang out one of the boys aboard the
Pornell boat, a lad named Will Carey.
"Better do your blowing after the race is over," answered Pepper.
"Oh, we'll beat you all right enough," said the owner of the Pornell
boat. "This sloop of mine is going to be the queen of this lake, and
don't you forget it."
A few words more were spoken--as to how the boats should round Cat
Point--and then the race was started. There was a favorable breeze, and
each craft let out its mainsail to the fullest and likewise the topsail
and the jib.
"We are carrying four passengers while they are only carrying three,"
said Dale, when the race was on in earnest. "We should have made them
take some extra ballast aboard."
The course mapped out was about two miles in one direction and two miles
in another. At the start of the race the _Alice_ had a little the better
of it, but before half a mile had been covered the _Ajax_ came crawling
up and then passed the Putnam Hall boat.
"Here is where we leave you behind!" sang out Fred Century.
"We'll show you a clean pair of heels over the whole course," added Will
Carey.
"As soon as you are ready to give up the race, blow your fog-horn," said
Bat Sedley, the third member of the party aboard the _Ajax_.
"You'll hear no fog-horn to-day," answered Paul.
"Good-bye!" shouted Fred Century, and then his sloop took an extra spurt
and went ahead a distance of a hundred yards or more.
"Oh, Jack, we've got to beat them!" murmured Pepper. "If we don't----"
"They'll never get done crowing," finished Paul.
"We'll do our best," answered the youthful owner of the _Alice_. "This
race has only started." And then he moved the tiller a trifle, to bring
his boat on a more direct course for Cat Point.
To those who have read the previous volumes in this "Putnam Hall Series"
the boys aboard the _Alice_ need no special introduction. For the
benefit of those who now meet them for the first time I would state that
they were all pupils at Putnam Hall military academy, a fine institution
of learning, located on the shore of Cayuga Lake, in New York State. Of
the lads Jack Ruddy was a little the oldest. He was a well-built and
handsome boy, and had been chosen as major of the school battalion.
Jack's bosom companion was Pepper Ditmore, often called Imp, because he
loved to play pranks. Pepper was such a wideawake, jolly youth you could
not help but love him, and he had a host of friends.
Putnam Hall had been built by Captain Victor Putnam, a retired officer
of the United States Army, who had seen strenuous service for Uncle Sam
in the far West. The captain had had considerable money left to him, and
with this he had purchased ten acres of land on the shore of the lake
and erected his school, a handsome structure of brick and stone,
containing many class-rooms, a large number of dormitories, and likewise
a library, mess-room, or dining hall, an office, and other necessary
apartments. There was a beautiful campus in front of the building and a
parade ground to one side. Towards the rear were a gymnasium and several
barns, and also a boathouse, fronting the lake. Beyond, around a curve
of the shore, were fields cultivated for the benefit of the Hall, and
further away were several patches of woods.
As was but natural in the case of an old army officer, Captain Putnam
had organized his school upon military lines, and his students made up a
battalion of two companies, as related in details in the first volume of
this series, called "The Putnam Hall Cadets." The students had voted for
their own officers, and after a contest that was more or less spirited,
Jack Ruddy was elected major of the battalion, and a youth named Henry
Lee became captain of Company A, and Bart Conners captain of Company B.
Some of the boys wanted Pepper to try for an officer's position, but he
declined, stating he would just as lief remain "a high private in the
rear rank."
At the school there was a big youth named Dan Baxter, who was a good
deal of a bully. He had wanted to be an officer, and it made him very
sore to see himself defeated. Together with a crony named Nick Paxton
and a boy called Mumps he plotted to break up a picnic of Jack and his
friends. This plot proved a boomerang, and after that Baxter and his
cohorts did all they could to get Jack and his chums into trouble.
The first assistant teacher at the Hall was Josiah Crabtree, a man of
good education, but one who was decidedly sour in his make-up and who
never knew how to take fun. With him the cadets were continually in "hot
water," and more than once the boys wished Crabtree would leave Putnam
Hall never to return.
The second assistant teacher was George Strong, and he was as much
beloved as the first assistant was despised. George Strong had not
forgotten the time when he was a boy himself, and he often came out on
the lake or the athletic field, or in the gymnasium, to take part in
their sports and pastimes. Pepper voted him "the prince of good
teachers," and Jack and the others endorsed this sentiment.
During the first session of Putnam Hall, George Strong had mysteriously
disappeared. Two strange men had been seen around the school, and it was
learned that the strangers had something to do with the missing
instructor. A hunt was instituted by Captain Putnam, and in this he was
joined by Jack, Pepper, Dale, and an acrobatic pupil named Andy Snow.
George Strong was found to be a prisoner in a hut in the woods, and it
was learned that his captors were the two strange men. These men were
related distantly to the teacher and both were insane--their minds having
been affected by the loss of their fortunes.
After the insane men were cared for George Strong told the cadets about
a pot of gold which his ancestors had buried during the Revolutionary
War. One day some of the cadets took a balloon ride, as related in
detail in the second volume of this series, entitled "The Putnam Hall
Rivals," and this ride brought them to a strange part of the woods near
the lake. Here they came on some landmarks which had been mentioned to
them, and to their joy unearthed the pot of gold coins. For this find
the cadets were rewarded by George Strong, and the teacher became a
closer friend to the boys than ever.
Dan Baxter had been called away from Putnam Hall by his father. He had
had a fierce fight with Pepper and gotten the worst of it, and he was,
consequently, glad enough to disappear for the time being. But he left
behind him many of his cronies, and three of these, Reff Ritter, Gus
Coulter, and Nick Paxton, vowed they would "square accounts" with the
Imp and also with his chums.
"I've got a plan to make Pep Ditmore eat humble pie," said Reff Ritter,
one day. And then he related some of the details to Coulter and Paxton.
"Just the thing!" cried Coulter. "But don't leave out Jack Ruddy. I'd
rather get square with Ruddy than anybody. He has been down on me ever
since I came to the Hall. I hate him like poison." And Gus Coulter's
face took on a dark look.
"Yes, we'll include Ruddy," answered Reff Ritter. "I hate him, too. I'd
give most anything if we could drive 'em both from the school."
"Maybe we can--if we watch our chances," answered Gus Coulter.
CHAPTER II
WHAT THE WIND DID
Pornell Academy was a rival institution of learning, located several
miles from Putnam Hall. It was presided over by Doctor Pornell, who had
not fancied Captain Putnam's coming to that locality. The students of
Pornell were for the most part sons of wealthy parents, and a large
number of them thought themselves superior to the Putnam Hall cadets.
On one occasion the lads of the two institutions had had quite a lively
row, but this had been patched up, and several contests on the lake and
on the athletic field had come off. Sometimes the Putnam Hall cadets
were defeated, but more times they were victorious, which pleased them
not a little.
Fred Century had come to Pornell Academy several months before this
story opens. He was from Portland, Maine, and belonged to a boat club
that usually sailed its craft on Casco Bay. Immediately on his arrival
at Cayuga Lake he took up boating and then had his father purchase for
him the _Ajax_, certainly a craft of which any young man might well be
proud. Then he heard that Jack had a new boat, the _Alice_, and he
watched for his opportunity to race. That opportunity had now presented
itself; and the race was on.
It was a beautiful day, with the sun shining brightly and the breeze
strong enough to make the sails of the sloops fill well. The Putnam Hall
cadets had left the school with no idea of a contest of any sort, but
now that the race was in progress they were keenly interested.
"I've heard about this Fred Century," remarked Dale, as the _Alice_ sped
on her course. "They tell me his father is next door to being a
millionaire."
"One thing is certain--he has a good opinion of his boat," added Pepper.
"Well, I've got a good opinion of my boat, too," answered the young
major. "I want her to win."
"Oh, she must win!" cried Stuffer. "Why, don't you know that those
Pornell fellows are just aching for a chance to crow over us?"
The race had now been noted by a number of people out in pleasure boats.
Many knew that the two sloops were new boats and they were curious to
learn which might prove to be the better. Some waved their hands and
handkerchiefs, and others shouted words of encouragement to one group of
lads or the other.
"It looks to me as if the Pornell boat was going to win," said one
gentleman, who was out in his pleasure yacht.
"Oh, papa, how can you say that?" cried his daughter, who was an admirer
of the Putnam Hall cadets.
"Because their boat is ahead," was the answer.
It was not long before Cat Point was reached. The _Ajax_ rounded the
rocks in fine style, for Fred Century was really a skillful skipper and
knew how to handle his craft to perfection.
"Good-bye to you!" he called out, as his craft stood for a moment close
to the _Alice_.
"We'll tell everybody you're coming sooner or later," added Bat Sedley.
"Don't be too long--folks may get tired of waiting."
"I rather think they'll get tired of your blowing | 1,786.990625 |
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THE SONG OF HIAWATHA
Henry W. Longfellow
CONTENTS
Introductory Note
Introduction
I. The Peace-Pipe
II. The Four Winds
III. Hiawatha's Childhood
IV. Hiawatha and Mudjekeewis
V. Hiawatha's Fasting
VI. Hiawatha's Friends
VII. Hiawatha's Sailing
VIII. Hiawatha's Fishing
IX. Hiawatha and the Pearl-Feather
X. Hiawatha's Wooing
XI. Hiawatha's Wedding-Feast
XII. The Son of the Evening Star
XIII. Blessing the Corn-Fields
XIV. Picture-Writing
XV. Hiawatha's Lamentation
XVI. Pau-Puk-Keewis
XVII. The Hunting of Pau-Puk-Keewis
XVIII. The Death of Kwasind
XIX. The Ghosts
XX. The Famine
XXI. The White Man's Foot
XXII. Hiawatha's Departure
Vocabulary
Introductory Note
The Song of Hiawatha is based on the legends and stories of
many North American Indian tribes, but especially those of the
Ojibway Indians of northern Michigan, Wisconsin, and Minnesota.
They were collected by Henry Rowe Schoolcraft, the reknowned
historian, pioneer explorer, and geologist. He was superintendent
of Indian affairs for Michigan from 1836 to 1841.
Schoolcraft married Jane, O-bah-bahm-wawa-ge-zhe-go-qua (The
Woman of the Sound Which the Stars Make Rushing Through the Sky),
Johnston. Jane was a daughter of John Johnston, an early Irish
fur trader, and O-shau-gus-coday-way-qua (The Woman of the Green
Prairie), who was a daughter of Waub-o-jeeg (The White Fisher),
who was Chief of the Ojibway tribe at La Pointe, Wisconsin.
Jane and her mother are credited with having researched,
authenticated, and compiled much of the material Schoolcraft
included in his Algic Researches (1839) and a revision published
in 1856 as The Myth of Hiawatha. It was this latter revision
that Longfellow used as the basis for The Song of Hiawatha.
Longfellow began Hiawatha on June 25, 1854, he completed it
on March 29, 1855, and it was published November 10, 1855. As
soon as the poem was published its popularity was assured.
However, it also was severely criticized as a plagiary of the
Finnish epic poem Kalevala. Longfellow made no secret of the
fact that he had used the meter of the Kalevala; but as for the
legends, he openly gave credit to Schoolcraft in his notes to the
poem.
I would add a personal note here. My father's roots include
Ojibway Indians: his mother, Margaret Caroline Davenport, was a
daughter of Susan des Carreaux, O-gee-em-a-qua (The Chief Woman),
Davenport whose mother was a daughter of Chief Waub-o-jeeg.
Finally, my mother used to rock me to sleep reading portions of
Hiawatha to me, especially:
"Wah-wah-taysee, little fire-fly,
Little, flitting, white-fire insect
Little, dancing, white-fire creature,
Light me with your little candle,
Ere upon my bed I lay me,
Ere in sleep I close my eyelids!"
Woodrow W. Morris
April 1, 1991
The Song of Hiawatha
Introduction
Should you ask me, whence these stories?
Whence these legends | 1,787.173312 |
2023-11-16 18:46:51.1533010 | 1,215 | 264 |
Produced by Al Haines
[Frontispiece: "You must accept my word."]
INSIDE THE LINES
_By_
EARL DERR BIGGERS
AND
ROBERT WELLES RITCHIE
_Founded on Earl Derr Biggers'
Play of the Same Name_
INDIANAPOLIS
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
COPYRIGHT 1915
THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
PRESS OF
BRAUNWORTH & CO.
BOOKBINDERS AND PRINTERS
BROOKLYN. N. Y.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I Jane Gerson, Buyer
II From the Wilhelmstrasse
III Billy Capper at Play
IV 32 Queen's Terrace
V A Ferret
VI A Fugitive
VII The Hotel Splendide
VIII Chaff of War
IX Room D
X A Visit to a Lady
XI A Spy in the Signal Tower
XII Her Country's Example
XIII Enter, a Cigarette
XIV The Captain Comes to Tea
XV The Third Degree
XVI The Pendulum of Fate
XVII Three-Thirty A. M.
XVIII The Trap Is Sprung
XIX At the Quay
INSIDE THE LINES
CHAPTER I
JANE GERSON, BUYER
"I had two trunks--two, you ninny! Two! _Ou est l'autre?_"
The grinning customs guard lifted his shoulders to his ears and spread
out his palms. "_Mais, mamselle----_"
"Don't you '_mais_' me, sir! I had two trunks--_deux troncs_--when I
got aboard that wabbly old boat at Dover this morning, and I'm not
going to budge from this wharf until I find the other one. Where _did_
you learn your French, anyway? Can't you understand when I speak your
language?"
The girl plumped herself down on top of the unhasped trunk and folded
her arms truculently. With a quizzical smile, the customs guard looked
down into her brown eyes, smoldering dangerously now, and began all
over again his speech of explanation.
"_Wagon-lit?_" She caught a familiar word. "_Mais oui_; that's where
I want to go--aboard your wagon-lit, for Paris. _Voilà!_"--the girl
carefully gave the word three syllables--"_mon ticket pour Paree!_"
She opened her patent-leather reticule, rummaged furiously therein,
brought out a handkerchief, a tiny mirror, a packet of rice papers, and
at last a folded and punched ticket. This she displayed with a
triumphant flourish.
"_Voilà! Il dit_ 'Miss Jane Gerson'; that's me--_moi-meme_, I mean.
And _il dit 'deux troncs'_; now you can't go behind that, can you?
Where is that other trunk?"
A whistle shrilled back beyond the swinging doors of the station. Folk
in the customs shed began a hasty gathering together of parcels and
shawl straps, and a general exodus toward the train sheds commenced.
The girl on the trunk looked appealingly about her; nothing but bustle
and confusion; no Samaritan to turn aside and rescue a fair traveler
fallen among customs guards. Her eyes filled with trouble, and for an
instant her reliant mouth broke its line of determination; the lower
lip quivered suspiciously. Even the guard started to walk away.
"Oh, oh, please don't go!" Jane Gerson was on her feet, and her hands
shot out in an impulsive appeal. "Oh, dear; maybe I forgot to tip you.
Here, _attende au secours_, if you'll only find that other trunk before
the train----"
"Pardon; but if I may be of any assistance----"
Miss Gerson turned. A tallish, old-young-looking man, in a gray lounge
suit, stood heels together and bent stiffly in a bow. Nothing of the
beau or the boulevardier about his face or manner. Miss Gerson
accepted his intervention as heaven-sent.
"Oh, thank you ever so much! The guard, you see, doesn't understand
good French. I just can't make him understand that one of my trunks is
missing. And the train for Paris----"
Already the stranger was rattling incisive French at the guard. That
official bowed low, and, with hands and lips, gave rapid explanation.
The man in the gray lounge suit turned to the girl.
"A little misunderstanding, Miss--ah----"
"Gerson--Jane Gerson, of New York," she promptly supplied.
"A little misunderstanding, Miss Gerson. The customs guard says your
other trunk has already been examined, passed, and placed on the
baggage van. He was trying to tell you that it would be necessary for
you to permit a porter to take this trunk to the train before time for
starting. With your permission----"
The stranger turned and halloed to a porter, who came running. Miss
Gerson had the trunk locked and strapped in no time, and it was on the
shoulders of the porter.
"You have very little time, Miss Gerson. The train will be making a
start directly. If I might | 1,787.173341 |
2023-11-16 18:46:51.5827520 | 7,424 | 16 |
Produced by Chris Curnow, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
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ROYALTY
IN ALL AGES
[Illustration: text decoration]
T. F. THISELTON-DYER, M.A. OXON.
[Illustration: QUEEN ELIZABETH]
ROYALTY
IN ALL AGES
The Amusements, Eccentricities, Accomplishments,
Superstitions, and
Frolics of the Kings and
Queens of Europe
BY
T. F. THISELTON-DYER, M.A. OXON.
_WITH SIX ETCHED PORTRAITS FROM
CONTEMPORARY ENGRAVINGS_
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO, LTD.
NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
MDCCCCIII
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
PREFACE
It has been remarked that to write of the private and domestic acts of
monarchs while still alive savours of scandal and bad taste, but when
dead their traits of character, however strange and eccentric they may
have been in their lifetime, at once become matter of history. Adopting
this rule, we have confined ourselves in the present work to dealing
with royalty in the past; and, in a field so wide, we have, as far as
possible, endeavoured to make each chapter concise and representative of
the subject treated. The following pages, whilst illustrating the
marvellous versatility of royalty, when seriously analysed tend to show
how vastly superior the latter-day sovereigns have been when compared
with those of earlier times, many of whose extraordinary freaks and
vagaries as much degraded the throne, as the refined and cultivated
tastes of her late Majesty Queen Victoria elevated and beautified it.
T. F. THISELTON-DYER.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
I. ROYALTY AT PLAY 1
II. FREAKS OF ROYALTY 10
III. ROYAL REVELRY 37
IV. ROYAL EPICURES 57
V. CURIOUS FADS OF ROYALTY 85
VI. DANCING MONARCHS 99
VII. ROYAL HOBBIES 120
VIII. THE ROYAL HUNT 135
IX. ROYAL MASQUES AND MASQUERADES 152
X. ROYALTY IN DISGUISE 168
XI. ROYAL GAMESTERS 184
XII. ROYALTY ON THE TURF 204
XIII. ROYAL SPORTS AND PASTIMES 223
XIV. COURT DWARFS 239
XV. ROYAL PETS 247
XVI. ROYAL JOKES AND HUMOUR 264
XVII. ROYALTY AND FASHION 288
XVIII. ROYALTY WHIPT AND MARRIED BY PROXY 306
XIX. COURT JESTERS AND FOOLS 313
XX. ROYALTY AND THE DRAMA 334
XXI. ROYAL AUTHORS 357
XXII. ROYAL MUSICIANS 376
XXIII. SUPERSTITIONS OF ROYALTY 395
INDEX 433
LIST OF ETCHED PORTRAITS
QUEEN ELIZABETH _Frontispiece_
EDWARD I. _To face page_ 46
EDWARD III. ” 136
CHARLES II. ” 210
CHARLES IX., KING OF FRANCE ” 240
LOUIS XIV. ” 348
ROYALTY
CHAPTER I
ROYALTY AT PLAY
The great Mogul Emperor was a chess player, and was generous enough to
rejoice when he was beaten by one of his courtiers, which was the exact
reverse of Philip II. of Spain, who, when a Spanish grandee had won
every game in which he had played against the King, could not conceal
his vexation. Whereupon the skilful but injudicious player, returning
home, said to his family: “My children, we have nothing more to do at
Court. There we must henceforth expect no favour; the King is offended
because I have won of him every game of chess.” Napoleon did not like
defeat even at chess, for, if he perceived his antagonist gaining upon
him, he would with one hasty movement sweep board and pieces off the
table on to the ground.
In some cases, however, if we are to believe the traditions of history,
chess has been responsible for some serious fracas. Thus a story is told
of William the Conqueror, how when a young man he was invited to the
Court of the French king, and during his stay there was one day engaged
at chess with the King’s eldest son, when a dispute arose concerning a
certain move. William, annoyed at a certain remark made by his
antagonist, struck him with the chess-board, which “obliged him to make
a precipitate retreat from France to avoid the consequences of so rash
an act.”
A similar anecdote is told of John, the youngest son of Henry II., who
quarrelled over the chess-board with one Fulco Guarine, a Shropshire
nobleman, receiving such a blow as almost to kill him. John did not
easily forget the affront, and long after his accession to the throne
showed his resentment by keeping him from the possession of Whittington
Castle, to which he was the rightful heir. It is also said that Henry
was engaged at chess when the deputies from Rouen informed him that the
city was besieged by Philip, King of France; but he would not listen to
their news until he had finished his game. A curious accident happened
to Edward I. when he was playing at chess at Windsor, for, on suddenly
rising from the game, the next moment the centre stone of the groined
ceiling fell on the very spot where he had been sitting, an escape which
he attributed to the special protection of Providence. It is further
recorded that Edward I. received from one of the dignitaries of the
Temple, in France, a chess-board and chess-men made of jasper and
crystal, which present he transferred to his queen; hence it has been
concluded that she, too, was skilled in the noble game.
But his son, Edward II., got into disrepute by playing at
chuck-farthing, or cross and pile, which was held to be a very unkingly
diversion, “and sufficient to disgust the warlike peers who had been
accustomed to rally round the victorious banner of his father.” In one
of his wardrobe accounts these entries occur: “Item--paid to Henry, the
King’s barber, for money which he lent to the King to play at cross and
pile, five shillings. Item--paid to Pires Barnard, usher of the King’s
chamber, money which he lent the King, and which he lost at cross and
pile to Monsieur Robert Wattewille, eight-pence.”[1]
De Foix, on hearing that the Queen of Scots had resolved on the marriage
with her cousin Darnley, went to Elizabeth that he might discuss the
matter. He found her at chess, and, profiting by the opportunity of
discussing the matter, he said: “This game is an image of the words and
deeds of men. If, for example, we lose a pawn, it seems but a small
matter; nevertheless, the loss often draws after it that of the whole
game.”
The Queen replied, “I understand you. Darnley is but a pawn, but may
well checkmate me if he be promoted.”
Charles I. was occupied, it is said, at chess when he was informed of
the final resolution of the Scots to sell him to the Parliament; but he
was so little discomposed by this intelligence that he continued the
game in no way disconcerted. A similar anecdote is told of John
Frederick, Elector of Saxony, who, having been taken prisoner by Charles
V., was condemned to death--a decree which was intimated to him while
at chess with Ernest of Brunswick, his fellow-prisoner. But after a
short pause he challenged his antagonist to finish the game, played with
his usual attention, and expressed his satisfaction at winning. And
coming down to the reign of her late Majesty, Queen Victoria, it is said
she was fond of most games, enjoying chess or draughts, which in her
later days she exchanged for patience. When more actively inclined she
would play at ball or battledore and shuttle-cock with the ladies of the
Court, a practice which she continued till middle life.
As a warning against the perilous habit of playing chess with a wife, it
is related of Ferrand, Count of Flanders, that, having constantly
defeated the Countess, she conceived a hatred against him, which reached
such a height that when the unfortunate Count was taken prisoner at the
battle of Bouvines, she suffered him to remain a long time in prison,
although, according to common report, she might easily have procured his
release.
It was while playing at chess with a knight, nicknamed the “King of
Love,” that James I. of Scotland referred to a prophecy that a king
should die that year, and remarked to his playmate, “There are no kings
in Scotland but you and I. I shall take good care of myself, and I
counsel you to do the same.”
Don John of Austria had a room in his palace in which there was a
chequered pavement of black and white marble, upon which living men
attired in varied costumes moved under his direction according to the
laws of chess. It is also related of a Duke of Weimar that he had
squares of black and white marble, on which he played at chess with red
soldiers.
Although Louis XIII. firmly prohibited all games of chance at Court, he
had so strong an affection for chess that he rarely lost an opportunity
of playing a game in his coach whenever he went abroad. In this respect
he was very different to Louis IX., who forbade any of his officers to
play at dice or at chess; and report goes that his anger on one
occasion, at finding the Duke of Anjou engaged in a move of chess, knew
no bounds.
Henry III. of France was passionately fond of the childish game
bilboquet or “cup and ball,” which, it is said, he used to play even
when walking in the street; and piquet is commonly reported to have
derived its name from that of its inventor, who contrived it to amuse
Charles VI. of France.
The poor imbecile Charles II. of Spain did his best to amuse his young
wife Marie Louise of Orleans, but not with much effect. He would play
with her at “jouchets,” which appears to have been an amusement of the
nature of that known as “spills,” for three or four hours a day--“a
game,” writes Madame de Villars, “at which one might lose a pistole
during all that time _par malheur extraordinaire_.”
Indeed, sovereigns, like other mortals, have sought recreation and a
rest from the anxieties of life in sometimes what may seem the most
childish amusements. One of Napoleon’s favourite games, for instance,
was blind-man’s-buff, a pastime which, it may be remembered, Canning and
Sir William Scott played with the Princess Caroline whilst at Montagu
House. Napoleon, too, was very fond of children, and would carry the
infant King of Rome in his arms, and standing in front of a mirror, make
all kinds of grimaces in the glass. At breakfast he would take the child
upon his knee, “dip his fingers in the sauce, and daub his face with it;
the child’s governess scolded, the Emperor laughed, and the child,
always pleased, seemed to take delight in the rough caresses of his
father.”[2]
Henry IV. of France also delighted in a romp with his children. The
story goes that one day, when trotting round the room on his hands and
knees, with the Dauphin on his back, and the other children urging him
on to gallop in imitation of a horse, an ambassador suddenly entered and
surprised the royal family in the midst of their play. Henry, rising,
inquired, “Have you children, M. l’Ambassadeur.” “Yes, sire.” “In that
case I proceed with the sport.” An anecdote which reminds us of one told
by Ælian of Agesilaus, who, on being found by a friend riding on a stick
for the amusement of his son, he bade his visitor not speak of it to any
one until he was a father himself.
George III. was on one occasion discovered on all-fours, with one of his
children riding astride his back; and most readers are acquainted with
the well-known painting of “George III. playing at Ball with the
Princess Amelia.” His Majesty also took pleasure in a game of
backgammon, a source of recreation of which Louis XIV. was fond. One day
when playing at this game, a dispute arose about a doubtful throw, the
surrounding courtiers remaining silent. The Count de Grammont happening
to come in, the King asked him to decide the matter. He instantly
answered, “Your Majesty is in the wrong.” “How,” said Louis, “can you
decide before you know the question?”
“Because,” replied the Count, “had there been any fault, all these
gentlemen would have given it in favour of your Majesty.”
The King submitted to his decision.
Queen Victoria, too, was fond of children, with whom she enjoyed a romp;
and Catherine II. of Russia would spend her leisure time in affording
infinite delight to the young folk, for whose amusement she would invent
all kinds of impromptu games.
Billiards became very popular during the reign of Louis XIV., to whom it
was recommended by his physicians as an exercise after meals. It is said
that Chamillard, who played with the King, entirely owed his political
fortune to the amount of skill which he displayed in this game. In the
_Mémoires Complets et Authentiques du Duc de Saint Simon_, par M.
Chernel (1872, vol. ii. p. 29), we read that Louis XIV. during the
winter evenings played billiards with M. le Vendôme or M. le Grand,
occasionally with Le Maréchal de Villeroy, and sometimes with the Duc de
Grammont.
Cards have always been popular playthings with royalty--incidents
connected with which will be found in our chapter on gambling. Primero
was the fashionable game at the English Court during the Tudor dynasty,
and Shakespeare represents Henry VIII. playing at it with the Duke of
Suffolk. It was succeeded by a game called “maw,” which appears to have
been the favourite diversion of James I. Weldon, alluding to the
poisoning of Sir Thomas Overbury in his “Court and Character of King
James,” says: “The next that came on the stage was Sir Thomas Monson,
but the night before he was come to his trial, the King, being at the
game of maw, said, ‘To-morrow comes Thomas Monson to his trial.’ ‘Yes,’
said the King’s card-holder, ‘when, if he does not play his master’s
prize, your Majesty shall never trust me.’” This remark, it is said, so
ran in the King’s mind that at the next game he excused himself from
playing as he was sleepy, remarking that he would play out that set the
next night.
And occasionally, it would seem, the play-hours of monarchs have proved
almost if not quite fatal. Thus it was in the winter of 1521 that the
Count of St. Pol, being elected King of the Bean, Francis I. of France
challenged him and his party to a combat with snowballs. Amidst them a
brand was flung, which struck the King on the head, and for some days
placed his life in jeopardy.
It was on Easter Eve 1498 that Charles VIII. of France proceeded to the
battlements of the Castle of Amboise with his queen to watch some of the
courtiers playing ball in the fosses below. But traversing a narrow
passage, Charles struck his head against the archway of a low door,
which, it is said, brought on a kind of fit. He was carried into a
little chamber near, recovered his speech once or twice, and after nine
hours of agony he died.
CHAPTER II
FREAKS OF ROYALTY
It is impossible to account, in many cases, for the strange and
extraordinary freaks of bygone sovereigns on any other ground than
eccentricity or madness. It is true that Charles the Fat used to excuse
himself for the atrocities into which he plunged, by asserting that he
was possessed of a devil, but this, of course, was in banter rather than
sincerity. But, whatever the motives which prompted such peculiar
vagaries on the part of certain monarchs, foibles of this kind, if not
instructive, are certainly amusing.
Thus it is related of Marie Casimire, wife of Sobieski, King of Poland,
that one of her amusements was to let herself be drenched by the rain,
although at the time she might be magnificently dressed. On one
occasion, when Monsieur le Comte de Teil, Conseiller du Parlement de
Paris, who had been sent to Poland by the King of England, happened to
be near the Queen when it rained very heavily, she said to him,
“Monsieur l’Envoi, let us take a walk”--a request which he did not dare
to refuse. He wore on that day a fine wig; nevertheless he endured the
rain for some time, and then said to her, “Madam, your Majesty is
getting wet.” “Say, rather,” answered the Queen, “that you are learning
how to spoil your fine wig,” and she continued walking in the rain
maliciously a full half-hour.
This, however, was a comparatively trivial and harmless amusement
compared with the cruel and outrageous freaks of the Russian Emperor,
Ivan IV., who has been described as “one of the most savage, yet one of
the most enlightened monarchs that ever reigned.” He was only in his
teens when he had one of his attendants worried to death by dogs on the
public highway; and in one of the so-called frolicsome moods he would
let slip wild bears among the affrighted citizens in the streets, and
would calmly say his prayers whilst gazing at the slaughter, making
compensation “for any irregularity in the matter by flinging a few coins
to the wounded after he rose from his knees.” It is even said that Ivan
went so far in his insane freaks as to compel parents to slay their
children, and children one another; and where there was a survivor, “the
amiable monarch, if he was not too weary, would slay him himself, and
would laugh at this conclusion to so excellent a joke.” It is not
surprising that partial madness eventually overtook him, for what can be
said of a ruler who is reported to have sent to the city of Moscow “to
provide for him a measure full of fleas for a medicine.” They answered
it was impossible; and if they could get them, yet they could not
measure them, because of their leaping out. Upon which he set a mulct
upon the city of 7000 roubles.
But Ivan IV. was not the only Russian monarch who indulged in freaks of
an irrational nature, although his successors did not stoop to the same
cruelty. In the case of Peter III. intemperance has been assigned as the
probable cause of some of the absurd actions with which his name has
been associated in contemporary memoirs. Rulhière, for instance, who was
an eye-witness of the Revolution of the year 1762, tells us that his
military mania knew no bounds; he wished that a perpetual noise of
cannon should give him in representation a foretaste of war.
Accordingly, he one day gave orders that one hundred large pieces of
cannon should be fired simultaneously, so that he might have some idea
of the noise of battle. And it was necessary, in order to prevent the
execution of this whim, to represent to him that such an act would shake
the city to the centre. Oftentimes he would rise from table to prostrate
himself on his knees, with a glass in his hand, before a portrait of
Frederick of Prussia, exclaiming, “My brother, we will conquer the
universe together.”
In some instances the conduct of the Russian Emperor Paul was most
eccentric, and his vagaries were so extraordinary that they have been
explained on the theory of madness. One of the most curious stories
about him is related by Kotzebue. He was summoned into the presence of
the Emperor, who said to him in German, “You know the world too well not
to be adequately informed about political occurrences, and must,
therefore, have learned how I have figured in it. I have often made
rather a foolish exhibition of myself, and,” continued he, laughing,
“it’s right that I should be punished, and I have imposed on myself a
chastisement. I want this”--he held a paper in his hand--“to be inserted
in the _Hamburg Gazette_ and other newspapers.” He then took him
confidentially by the arm, and read to him the following paper which he
had written in French:--
“On apprend de Petersbourg que l’Empereur de Russie voyant que les
puissances de l’Europe ne pouvoit s’accorder entre elle et voulant
mettre fin à une guerre qui la desoloit depuis onse ans vouloit proposer
un lieu ou il inviteroit touts les autres souverains de se rendre et y
combattre en champ clos ayant avec eux pour ecuyer juge de camp, et
héros d’armes leurs ministres les plus éclairés et les generaux les plus
habiles tels que Messrs. Thugust, Pitt, Bernstoff, lui même se proposant
de prendre avec lui les generaux C. de Palen et Kutusof, on ne sçait si
on doit y ajouter foi, toute fois la chose ne paroit pas destituée de
fondement en portant l’empreinte de ce dont il a souvent été taxé.”[3]
We may compare this eccentricity with that of Charles I. of England, who
would bind himself to a particular line of conduct by a secret
obligation. One day he drew aside Dr. Sheldon, afterwards Archbishop of
Canterbury, and placed in his hands a paper which detailed certain
measures he proposed to adopt for the glory of God and for the
advancement of the Church, intimating that he “had privately bound
himself by the most awful vow to ensure their accomplishment.” And one
particular obligation which the document contained was to perform public
penance for the injustice he had been guilty of to Lord Strafford, in
consenting to his death. In delivering this paper to Dr. Sheldon,
Charles solemnly conjured him to remind him of his contract, should he
hereafter ever find him in a condition to perform any one of the
articles which it contained.
In his moments of irritation Peter the Great, like William III. of
England, would not hesitate to strike the person who had given him
offence, whatever might be his rank; and, as his Majesty was easily
upset, he was at times very lavish of his blows. His subjects, it is
said, did not consider a blow from the Emperor an affront, and thought
themselves honoured by an apology. But this was not the case with
foreigners, for Le Blond, a French architect whom the Czar had invited
into his dominions, having received the stroke of a cane in the first
transport of imperial anger, took it so much to heart that he sickened
of a fever and died.
The Czar Nicholas was fond of frightening or fascinating people by his
eyes, and it is said that one of his terrible glances once terrified a
Swedish admiral into the Russian service. On another occasion, we are
told how happening to encounter a poor fellow who had strolled into the
private part of the Imperial Park, Nicholas gazed at him with so fierce
a glance that the trespasser was stricken with brain-fever. This strange
peculiarity of the Czar reminds us of Augustus, who, according to
Suetonius, was always well pleased with those persons who, when
addressing him, looked upon the ground, as though there were a divine
splendour in his eyes, too dazzling for them to gaze upon.
Eric XIV. of Sweden in early life was stunned by a violent fall, a
circumstance which, it is said, in after years accounted for his lack of
judgment, and occasional eccentricity of conduct. His highly suspicious
turn of mind made him at times morose, and almost maniacal, causing him
to interpret “the most natural and insignificant of gestures as some
dreadful telegraphing of hideous treason. At such seasons his violence
was frantic, and, after a day marked by acts of frightful outrage, he
would make record against himself in his journal that he had sinned, and
would then start to commit further crime.” By a terrible irony of fate,
when deposed by his brother John, he was thrown into a horrible dungeon,
and “there were placed over him men whom he had offended, and who
claimed to be avenged. The vengeance which they exacted was diabolical,
for they aggravated as far as in them lay the horrors of his
position--one of them fastening to his crippled limbs a mass of iron
which may yet be seen in the museum at Abo.”[4] But can this be wondered
at, when it is remembered how Eric when possessed of power had in his
moments of frenzy and freaks of passion sent innocent men to the
scaffold, and like a lunatic had, after the performance of some
diabolical act, wandered about the fields likening himself to Nero, and
heaping execration upon his own head. He was his own enemy, and as such
incurred his own destruction.
Some of the characteristics of one of his successors on the throne--the
celebrated Christina--were uncommon, for having been educated by men,
and brought up under the guardianship of men, she gradually imbibed a
dislike of all that was womanly. Her ambition seems to have been to be
as much like a man as possible, and nothing seems to have pleased her
more than to don male attire. For womanly refinements, too, she had the
most profound contempt, and it only coincided with this trait of
character that she expressed her conviction of the utter disability of
woman to conduct the affairs of a nation. In short, it is said that
there was nothing of the woman in her save her sex, and that her
presence, voice, and manners, were altogether masculine. Many of her
strange freaks of conduct were attributable to this peculiar whim, in
accordance with which she not only swore like a dragoon, but encouraged
conversation of a by no means refined character. Thus a writer states
that one of his friends used to entertain her with stories of a very
unseemly nature, with which she was abundantly delighted, and adds, “Yet
because there were some of his narrations which did sometimes require
more modest expressions than the genuine or natural, chiefly before a
Royal Majesty and in a maid’s presence, as she saw him going about his
circumlocutions and seeking civil terms, she would boldly speak out the
words, though they were never so filthy, which modesty forbids me to
write here.” Indeed, her own acknowledgment that she was never nice of
speech more or less corresponded with her personal habits, inasmuch as
Manneschied, the confessor of Pimentelli, the Spanish ambassador at the
Swedish Court, and a great admirer of the Queen, thus wrote of her: “She
never combs her hair but once a week, and sometimes lets it go untouched
for a fortnight. On Sundays her toilet takes about half-an-hour, but on
other days it is despatched in a quarter.” Manneschied then adds, “Her
linen was ragged and much torn.” And occasionally, when a bold person
would hint at the salubrity of cleanliness she would reply, “Wash!
that’s all very well for people who have nothing else to do!”
Nothing, again, pleased Christina more than to indulge in some
outrageous freak whereby she would astonish and horrify those around
her. When visiting, for instance, the French Court, she startled the
stately ladies there by her strange conduct; and according to Madame de
Motteville, “In presence of the King, Queen, and the whole Court, she
flung her legs up on a chair as high as that on which she was seated,
and she altogether exhibited them a great deal too freely.” Then, again,
her impatience and irreverence at church were not infrequently matter of
public comment. She would use two chairs, one of purple velvet in which
she was seated, and one in front of her, “over the back of which she
would lean her head or arms, thinking of divers matters.” If the sermon
was a trifle long and somewhat prosy, she would begin playing with the
two spaniels which usually accompanied her, or she would chat with some
gentleman-in-waiting; and, if the sermon did not come to a close, she
would rattle her fan on the back of the chair before her, and distract
the attention of the congregation, if she could not stop the preacher.
But she was perfectly indifferent as to what the public thought of her
conduct, and almost up to the end of her life she adhered to the same
freedom and laxity of manners. It was towards the close of the year 1688
that she received an anonymous letter intimating that her death was not
far off, and that she would do well to set her house in order, which she
could commence by destroying the indecent paintings and statues with
which her mansion was crowded.
But this note of warning had no effect on Christina, and with a smile
she put it in the fire, little anticipating that the prediction would be
fulfilled the following year. Despite her many foibles and follies,
Christina was a great and remarkable woman, a riddle indeed to many who
have read her history. She had a masterful character, and, however much
her various eccentricities and habits of life may have created disgust,
her intellectual powers, on the other hand, were of no mean order. But
one reason, perhaps, which induced her to indulge in such extraordinary
freaks of conduct was her supreme contempt for the parade and symbols of
worldly power, and the conventionalities of society.
It was no matter of surprise that Gustavus IV. proved an incapable and
unreliable monarch, developing eccentricity of character bordering on
insanity. What could be expected of one who in his young life was so
overdone with religious teaching that “he pored over the Book of
Revelations till he became nearly insane, recognised himself as one
mysteriously alluded to in Scripture, and hailed in his own person that
‘coming man’ who as prophet, priest, and king was to rule the world”?
Thus on his wedding-day, at the completion of the marriage ceremony, he
took his bride, Princess Frederica of Baden, to her apartment, and
opening the Book of Esther, bade her read aloud the first chapter.
She obeyed, and then wonderingly asked for an explanation of his strange
conduct. Gustavus at once expounded the passage, warning the Queen that
should she ever disobey her lord and master she would be punished as
Vashti had been, and her dignity would be given to another. This was not
a happy inauguration of married life, and the young Queen soon found to
her bitter disappointment what a miserable existence was enforced upon
her. On one occasion, when Gustavus discovered his young wife having a
romp with her German maids, he immediately dismissed her playful
attendants, and introduced in their place cold and formal aged Swedish
ladies, who would have scorned even the idea of such frivolities. But it
was in his public as well as his private life that Gustavus indulged in
these strange freaks, alienating by his conduct the sympathies of the
aristocracy, many of whom, “to mark their indignation, threw up their
patents of nobility,” while the people generally did not shrink from
showing in an unmistakable manner their annoyance and disgust. The
climax of his follies and freaks was reached when he absented himself
from his kingdom--from 1803 to 1806--so that he was advertised for on
the walls of Stockholm as a stray king, a suitable recompense being
promised to any who should restore him to his “disconsolate subjects.”
Ultimately, as is well known, he was | 1,787.602792 |
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Produced by Melissa McDaniel, 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/Canadian Libraries)
Transcriber's Note:
Inconsistent hyphenation and spelling in the original document have
been preserved. Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
[Illustration: "'STOP!'"]
THE
KIDNAPPED PRESIDENT
BY
GUY BOOTHBY
AUTHOR OF
'DR. NIKOLA,' 'A BID FOR FORTUNE,' 'THE BEAUTIFUL WHITE DEVIL,'
ETC.
ILLUSTRATIONS BY STANLEY L. WOOD
_LONDON_
WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED
NEW YORK AND MELBOURNE
1902
'THE KIDNAPPED PRESIDENT'
CHAPTER I
I suppose to every man, at some period in his life, there comes some
adventure upon which, in after life, he is destined to look back with
a feeling that is very near akin to astonishment. Somebody has said
that adventures are to the adventurous. In my case I must confess that
I do not see how the remark applies. I was certainly fourteen years at
sea, but in all that time, beyond having once fallen overboard in
Table Bay, and, of course, the great business of which it is the
purpose of this book to tell you, I cannot remember any circumstance
that I could dignify with the title of an adventure. The sailor's
calling in these times of giant steamships is so vastly different from
what it was in the old days of sailing ships and long voyages that,
with the most ordinary luck, a man might work his way up the ratlines
from apprentice to skipper with little less danger than would be met
with in a London merchant's office. Though I was not aware of it,
however, I was destined to have an adventure, stirring enough to
satisfy the most daring, before my seafaring life came to an end.
How well I remember the day on which I was appointed fourth officer of
the ocean liner _Pernambuco_, running from London to South America. I
should here remark that I held a second officer's certificate, but I
was, nevertheless, glad enough to take what I could get, in the hope
of being able to work my way up to something better. It was not a bad
rise, when all was said and done, to leave a ramshackle old tub of a
tramp for the comparatively luxurious life of a mail boat; much
jollier merely to run out to the Argentine and back, instead of
dodging at a snail's pace from port to port all round the world. Then
again there was the question of society. It was pleasanter in every
respect to have pretty girls to flirt with on deck, and to sit beside
one at meals, than to have no one to talk to save a captain who was in
an intoxicated state five days out of seven, a grumpy old chief mate,
and a Scotch engineer, who could recite anything Burns ever wrote,
backwards or forwards, as you might choose to ask him for it. When I
had been six months on board the _Pernambuco_, I was made third
officer; at the end of the year I signed my name on the pay-sheet as
second. Eventually I got my Master's Certificate, and became chief
officer. Now everybody knows, or ought to know, that the duties of
chief officer on board a big liner, and, for the matter of that, on
any other boat, are as onerous as they are varied. In the first place,
he is the chief executive officer of the ship, and is held
responsible, not only for its appearance, but also for the proper
working of the crew. It is a position that requires consummate tact.
He must know when to see things and when not to see them, must be able
to please the passengers, and yet protect the interests of his owners,
must, and this is not the least important fact, be able to keep his
men constantly employed, yet not earn for himself the reputation of
being too hard a task-master. Finally, he has to see that all the
credit for what he does is not appropriated by himself, but goes to
increase the _kudos_ of his commanding officer. If the latter is a
gentleman, and can appreciate his officers' endeavours at their real
value, matters will in all probability go smoothly; on the other hand,
however, if the captain is a bully, then the chief officer is likely
to wish himself elsewhere, or at least that he was the holder of some
other rank. This was my case on my last and most memorable voyage in
the service of a particular Company that every one knows, but which,
for various reasons, shall be nameless.
I had never met Captain Harveston until he joined us in dock on the
day previous to sailing, but I had heard some scarcely complimentary
remarks about him from men who had sailed with him. I must confess,
therefore, that I was prepared to dislike him. In appearance he was as
unlike a sailor as a man could well be, was a great dandy in his
dress, and evidently looked upon himself as an undoubted lady-killer.
So far as I was concerned, he had hardly set foot on the vessel before
he commenced finding fault. A ship in dock, before the passengers come
aboard, and while the thousand and one preparations are being made for
a voyage, is seldom an example of tidiness. Surely a skipper, who had
been at sea for thirty years, must have realized this; for some
reason, however, best known to himself, it pleased Captain Harveston
to inaugurate our acquaintance by telling me that he liked a "<DW74> and
span ship," and that he judged his officers by what he saw of their
work.
"You shall have nothing to complain of as soon as I get the workmen
out, sir," I replied, a bit nettled at being called over the coals
upon such a trumpery matter.
"I trust I shall not," he answered superciliously, and then strutted
down the bridge to his own cabin, which was just abaft the
chart-room.
As it turned out, the Isle of Wight was scarcely astern before the
trouble began. Young Herberts, our second officer, was the first to
get a wigging, and Harrison, the fourth, quickly followed suit. I felt
sure my time would not be long in coming, and I was not wrong. On the
second day out, and during my watch below, I was talking to the purser
in his cabin, when the fourth officer appeared to inform me that the
captain wished to see me on the promenade deck. Thither I made my way,
to find him seated there with a number of lady passengers round him.
"Surely he is not going to be nasty before these ladies," I said to
myself as I approached him.
I discovered, however, that this was exactly what he was going to do.
"Mr. Helmsworth," he began, "I am told that you have refused the
passengers the use of the bull-board."
"Indeed, sir, I have not," I replied. "I informed one of the gentlemen
who spoke to me about it that I would have it brought up directly we
were clear of the Channel. As a rule we never produce it until we're
out of the Bay. I had Captain Pomeroy's instructions to that effect."
"I am captain of this vessel now," he returned. "Please see that the
board is brought on deck at once. I must ask you for the | 1,787.614906 |
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Produced by Sean/AB, Sandra Eder 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.)
PARENTHOOD AND RACE CULTURE
BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
"WORRY: THE DISEASE OF THE AGE"
"EVOLUTION: THE MASTER KEY"
"HEALTH, STRENGTH, AND HAPPINESS"
Etc., Etc.
PARENTHOOD
AND
RACE CULTURE
An Outline of Eugenics
BY
| 1,787.877488 |
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Produced by Mary Munarin and David Widger
A RESIDENCE IN FRANCE,
DURING THE YEARS
1792, 1793, 1794, AND 1795;
DESCRIBED IN A SERIES OF LETTERS
FROM AN ENGLISH LADY;
With General And Incidental Remarks
On The French Character And Manners.
Prepared for the Press
By John Gifford, Esq.
Author of the History of France, Letter to Lord
Lauderdale, Letter to the Hon. T. Erskine, &c.
Second Edition.
_Plus je vis l'Etranger plus j'aimai ma Patrie._
--Du Belloy.
London: Printed for T. N. Longman, Paternoster Row. 1797.
PRELIMINARY REMARKS BY THE EDITOR.
The following Letters were submitted to my inspection and judgement by
the Author, of whose principles and abilities I had reason to entertain a
very high opinion. How far my judgement has been exercised to advantage
in enforcing the propriety of introducing them to the public, that public
must decide. To me, I confess, it appeared, that a series of important
facts, tending to throw a strong light on the internal state of France,
during the most important period of the Revolution, could neither prove
uninteresting to the general reader, nor indifferent to the future
historian of that momentous epoch; and I conceived, that the opposite and
judicious reflections of a well-formed and well-cultivated mind,
naturally arising out of events within the immediate scope of its own
observation, could not in the smallest degree diminish the interest
which, in my apprehension, they are calculated to excite. My advice upon
this occasion was farther influenced by another consideration. Having
traced, with minute attention, the progress of the revolution, and the
conduct of its advocates, I had remarked the extreme affiduity employed
(as well by translations of the most violent productions of the Gallic
press, as by original compositions,) to introduce and propagate, in
foreign countries, those pernicious principles which have already sapped
the foundation of social order, destroyed the happiness of millions, and
spread desolation and ruin over the finest country in Europe. I had
particularly observed the incredible efforts exerted in England, and, I
am sorry to say, with too much success, for the base purpose of giving a
false colour to every action of the persons exercising the powers of
government in France; and I had marked, with indignation, the atrocious
attempt to strip vice of its deformity, to dress crime in the garb of
virtue, to decorate slavery with the symbols of freedom, and give to
folly the attributes of wisdom. I had seen, with extreme concern, men,
whom the lenity, mistaken lenity, I must call it, of our government had
rescued from punishment, if not from ruin, busily engaged in this
scandalous traffic, and, availing themselves of their extensive
connections to diffuse, by an infinite variety of channels, the poison of
democracy over their native land. In short, I had seen the British
press, the grand palladium of British liberty, devoted to the cause of
Gallic licentiousness, that mortal enemy of all freedom, and even the
pure stream of British criticism diverted from its natural course, and
polluted by the pestilential vapours of Gallic republicanism. I
therefore deemed it essential, by an exhibition of well-authenticated
facts, to correct, as far as might be, the evil effects of
misrepresentation and error, and to defend the empire of truth, which had
been assailed by a host of foes.
My opinion of the principles on which the present system of government in
France was founded, and the war to which those principles gave rise, have
been long since submitted to the public. Subsequent events, far from
invalidating, have strongly confirmed it. In all the public declarations
of the Directory, in their domestic polity, in their conduct to foreign
powers, I plainly trace the prevalence of the same principles, the same
contempt for the rights and happiness of the people, the same spirit of
aggression and aggrandizement, the same eagerness to overturn the
existing institutions of neighbouring states, and the same desire to
promote "the universal revolution of Europe," which marked the conduct of
BRISSOT, LE BRUN, DESMOULINS, ROBESPIERRE, and their disciples. Indeed,
what stronger instance need be adduced of the continued prevalence of
these principles, than the promotion to the supreme rank in the state, of
two men who took an active part in the most atrocious proceedings of the
Convention at the close of 1792, and at the commencement of the following
year?
In all the various constitutions which have been successively adopted
in that devoted country, the welfare of the people has been wholly
disregarded, and while they have been amused with the shadow of liberty,
they have been cruelly despoiled of the substance. Even on the
establishment of the present constitution, the one which bore the nearest
resemblance to a rational system, the freedom of election, which had been
frequently proclaimed as the very corner-stone of liberty, was shamefully
violated by the legislative body, who, in their eagerness to perpetuate
their own power, did not scruple to destroy the principle on which it was
founded. Nor is this the only violation of their own principles. A
French writer has aptly observed, that "En revolution comme en morale, ce
n'est que le premier pas qui coute:" thus the executive, in imitation of
the legislative body, seem disposed to render their power perpetual. For
though it be expressly declared by the 137th article of the 6th title of
their present constitutional code, that the "Directory shall be partially
renewed by the election of a new member every year," no step towards such
election has been taken, although the time prescribed by the law is
elapsed.--In a private letter from Paris now before me, written within
these few days, is the following observation on this very circumstance:
"The constitution has received another blow. The month of Vendemiaire is
past, and our Directors still remain the same. Hence we begin to drop
the appalation of Directory, and substitute that of the Cinqvir, who are
more to be dreaded for their power, and more to be detested for their
crimes, than the Decemvir of ancient Rome." The same letter also
contains a brief abstract of the state of the metropolis of the French
republic, which is wonderfully characteristic of the attention of the
government to the welfare and happiness of its inhabitants!
"The reign of misery and of crime seems to be perpetuated in this
distracted capital: suicides, pillage, and assassinations, are daily
committed, and are still suffered to pass unnoticed. But what renders
our situation still more deplorable, is the existence of an innumerable
band of spies, who infest all public places, and all private societies.
More than a hundred thousand of these men are registered on the books of
the modern SARTINE; and as the population of Paris, at most, does not
exceed six hundred thousand souls, we are sure to find in six individuals
one spy. This consideration makes me shudder, and, accordingly, all
confidence, and all the sweets of social intercourse, are banished from
among us. People salute each other, look at each other, betray mutual
suspicions, observe a profound silence, and part. This, in few words, is
an exact description of our modern republican parties. It is said, that
poverty has compelled many respectable persons, and even state-creditors,
to enlist under the standard of COCHON, (the Police Minister,) because
such is the honourable conduct of our sovereigns, that they pay their
spies in specie--and their soldiers, and the creditors of the state, in
paper.--Such is the morality, such the justice, such are the republican
virtues, so loudly vaunted by our good and dearest friends, our
pensioners--the Gazetteers of England and Germany!"
There is not a single abuse, which the modern reformers reprobated so
loudly under the ancient system, that is not magnified, in an infinite
degree, under the present establishment. For one Lettre de Cachet issued
during the mild reign of LOUIS the Sixteenth, a thousand Mandats d'Arret
have been granted by the tyrannical demagogues of the revolution; for one
Bastile which existed under the Monarchy, a thousand Maisons de Detention
have been established by the Republic. In short, crimes of every
denomination, and acts of tyranny and injustice, of every kind, have
multiplied, since the abolition of royalty, in a proportion which sets
all the powers of calculation at defiance.
It is scarcely possible to notice the present situation of France,
without adverting to the circumstances of the WAR, and to the attempt now
making, through the medium of negotiation, to bring it to a speedy
conclusion. Since the publication of my Letter to a Noble Earl, now
destined to chew the cud of disappointment in the vale of obscurity, I
have been astonished to hear the same assertions advance, by the members
and advocates of that party whose merit is said to consist in the
violence of their opposition to the measures of government, on the origin
of the war, which had experienced the most ample confutation, without the
assistance of any additional reason, and without the smallest attempt to
expose the invalidity of those proofs which, in my conception, amounted
nearly to mathematical demonstration, and which I had dared them, in
terms the most pointed, to invalidate. The question of aggression before
stood on such high ground, that I had not the presumption to suppose it
could derive an accession of strength from any arguments which I could
supply; but I was confident, that the authentic documents which I offered
to the public would remove every intervening object that tended to
obstruct the fight of inattentive observers, and reflect on it such an
additional light as would flash instant conviction on the minds of all.
It seems, I have been deceived; but I must be permitted to suggest, that
men who persist in the renewal of assertions, without a single effort to
controvert the proofs which have been adduced to demonstrate their
fallacy, cannot have for their object the establishment of truth--which
ought, exclusively, to influence the conduct of public characters,
whether writers or orators.
With regard to the negotiation, I can derive not the smallest hopes of
success from a contemplation of the past conduct, or of the present
principles, of the government of France. When I compare the projects of
aggrandizement openly avowed by the French rulers, previous to the
declaration of war against this country, with the exorbitant pretensions
advanced in the arrogant reply of the Executive Directory to the note
presented by the British Envoy at Basil in the month of February, 1796,
and with the more recent observations contained in their official note of
the 19th of September last, I cannot think it probable that they will
accede to any terms of peace that are compatible with the interest and
safety of the Allies. Their object is not so much the establishment as
the extension of their republic.
As to the danger to be incurred by a treaty of peace with the republic of
France, though it has been considerably diminished by the events of the
war, it is still unquestionably great. This danger principally arises
from a pertinacious adherence, on the part of the Directory, to those
very principles which were adopted by the original promoters of the
abolition of Monarchy in France. No greater proof of such adherence need
be required than their refusal to repeal those obnoxious decrees (passed
in the months of November and December, 1792,) which created so general
and so just an alarm throughout Europe, and which excited the reprobation
even of that party in England, which was willing to admit the equivocal
interpretation given to them by the Executive Council of the day. I
proved, in the Letter to a Noble Earl before alluded to, from the very
testimony of the members of that Council themselves, as exhibited in
their official instructions to one of their confidential agents, that the
interpretation which they had assigned to those decrees, in their
communications with the British Ministry, was a base interpretation, and
that they really intended to enforce the decrees, to the utmost extent of
their possible operation, and, by a literal construction thereof, to
encourage rebellion in every state, within the reach of their arms or
their principles. Nor have the present government merely forborne to
repeal those destructive laws--they have imitated the conduct of their
predecessors, have actually put them in execution wherever they had the
ability to do so, and have, in all respects, as far as related to those
decrees, adopted the precise spirit and principles of the faction which
declared war against England. Let any man read the instructions of the
Executive Council to PUBLICOLA CHAUSSARD, their Commissary in the
Netherlands, in 1792 and 1793, and an account of the proceedings in the
Low Countries consequent thereon, and then examine the conduct of the
republican General, BOUNAPARTE, in Italy--who must necessarily act from
the instructions of the Executive Directory----and he will be compelled
to acknowledge the justice of my remark, and to admit that the latter
actuated by the same pernicious desire to overturn the settled order of
society, which invariably marked the conduct of the former.
"It is an acknowledged fact, that every revolution requires a provisional
power to regulate its disorganizing movements, and to direct the
methodical demolition of every part of the ancient social constitution.--
Such ought to be the revolutionary power.
"To whom can such power belong, but to the French, in those countries
into which they may carry their arms? Can they with safety suffer it to
be exercised by any other persons? It becomes the French republic, then,
to assume this kind of guardianship over the people whom she awakens to
Liberty!*"
* _Considerations Generales fur l'Esprit et les Principes du Decret
du 15 Decembre_.
Such were the Lacedaemonian principles avowed by the French government in
1792, and such is the Lacedaimonian policy* pursued by the French
government in 1796! It cannot then, I conceive, be contended, that a
treaty with a government still professing principles which have been
repeatedly proved to be subversive of all social order, which have been
acknowledged by their parents to have for their object the methodical
demolition of existing constitutions, can be concluded without danger or
risk. That danger, I admit, is greatly diminished, because the power
which was destined to carry into execution those gigantic projects which
constituted its object, has, by the operations of the war, been
considerably curtailed. They well may exist in equal force | 1,787.973226 |
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Produced by Cornell University, Joshua Hutchinson, Steve Schulze
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
+--------------------------------------------------------------+
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Vol. 1. No. 22.
PUNCHINELLO
SATURDAY, AUGUST 27, 1870.
| 1,788.076438 |
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Produced by David Widger
SAILORS' KNOTS
By W.W. Jacobs
1909
SELF-HELP
The night-watchman sat brooding darkly over life and its troubles. A
shooting corn on the little toe of his left foot, and a touch of liver,
due, he was convinced, to the unlawful cellar work of the landlord of the
Queen's Head, had induced in him a vein of profound depression. A
discarded boot stood by his side, and his gray-stockinged foot protruded
over the edge of the jetty until a passing waterman gave it a playful rap
with his oar. A subsequent inquiry as to the price of pigs' trotters
fell on ears rendered deaf by suffering.
"I might 'ave expected it," said the watchman, at last. "I done that
man--if you can call him a man--a kindness once, and this is my reward
for it. Do a man a kindness, and years arterwards 'e comes along and
hits you over your tenderest corn with a oar."
[Illustration: "''E comes along and hits you over your tenderest corn
with a oar.'"]
He took up his boot, and, inserting his foot with loving care, stooped
down and fastened the laces.
Do a man a kindness, he continued, assuming a safer posture, and 'e tries
to borrow money off of you; do a woman a kindness and she thinks you want
tr marry 'er; do an animal a kindness and it tries to bite you--same as a
horse bit a sailorman I knew once, when 'e sat on its head to 'elp it get
up. He sat too far for'ard, pore chap.
Kindness never gets any thanks. I remember a man whose pal broke 'is leg
while they was working together unloading a barge; and he went off to
break the news to 'is pal's wife. A kind-'earted man 'e was as ever you
see, and, knowing 'ow she would take on when she 'eard the news, he told
her fust of all that 'er husband was killed. She took on like a mad
thing, and at last, when she couldn't do anything more and 'ad quieted
down a bit, he told 'er that it was on'y a case of a broken leg, thinking
that 'er joy would be so great that she wouldn't think anything of that.
He 'ad to tell her three times afore she understood 'im, and then,
instead of being thankful to 'im for 'is thoughtfulness, she chased him
'arf over Wapping with a chopper, screaming with temper.
I remember Ginger Dick and Peter Russet trying to do old Sam Small a
kindness one time when they was 'aving a rest ashore arter a v'y'ge.
They 'ad took a room together as usual, and for the fust two or three
days they was like brothers. That couldn't last, o' course, and Sam was
so annoyed one evening at Ginger's suspiciousness by biting a 'arf-dollar
Sam owed 'im and finding it was a bad 'un, that 'e went off to spend the
evening all alone by himself.
He felt a bit dull at fust, but arter he had 'ad two or three 'arf-pints
'e began to take a brighter view of things. He found a very nice, cosey
little public-'ouse he hadn't been in before, and, arter getting two and
threepence and a pint for the 'arf-dollar with Ginger's tooth-marks on,
he began to think that the world wasn't 'arf as bad a place as people
tried to make out.
There was on'y one other man in the little bar Sam was in--a tall, dark
chap, with black side-whiskers and spectacles, wot kept peeping round the
partition and looking very 'ard at everybody that came in.
"I'm just keeping my eye on 'em, cap'n," he ses to Sam, in a low voice.
"Ho!" ses Sam.
"They don't know me in this disguise," ses the dark man, "but I see as
'ow you spotted me at once. Anybody 'ud have a 'ard time of it to
deceive you; and then they wouldn't gain nothing by it."
"Nobody ever 'as yet," ses Sam, smiling at 'im.
"And nobody ever will," ses the dark man, shaking his 'cad; "if they was
all as fly as you, I might as well put the shutters up. How did you twig
I was a detective officer, cap'n?"
Sam, wot was taking a drink, got some beer up 'is nose with surprise.
"That's my secret," he ses, arter the tec 'ad patted 'im on the back and
brought 'im round.
"You're a marvel, that's wot you are," ses the tec, shaking his 'ead.
"Have one with me."
Sam said he didn't mind if 'e did, and arter drinking each other's
healths very perlite 'e ordered a couple o' twopenny smokes, and by way
of showing off paid for 'em with 'arf a quid.
"That's right, ain't it?" ses the barmaid, as he stood staring very 'ard
at the change. "I ain't sure about that 'arf-crown, now I come to look
at it; but it's the one you gave me."
Pore Sam, with a tec standing alongside of 'im, said it was quite right,
and put it into 'is pocket in a hurry and began to talk to the tec as
fast as he could about a murder he 'ad been reading about in the paper
that morning. They went and sat down by a comfortable little fire that
was burning in the bar, and the tec told 'im about a lot o' murder cases
he 'ad been on himself.
"I'm down 'ere now on special work," he ses, "looking arter sailormen."
"Wot | 1,788.079034 |
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Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
THE DORRANCE DOMAIN
_By_ CAROLYN WELLS
_Illustrated by_
PELAGIE DOANE
GROSSET & DUNLAP
_Publishers_ NEW YORK
_Copyright, 1905_,
BY W. A. WILDE COMPANY,
_All rights reserved_.
The Dorrance Domain.
Made in the United States of America
[Illustration: "IF THAT'S THE DORRANCE DOMAIN, IT'S ALL RIGHT. WHAT DO
YOU THINK, FAIRY?"]
Contents
CHAPTER PAGE
I. COOPED UP 9
II. REBELLIOUS HEARTS 22
III. DOROTHY'S PLAN 35
IV. THE DEPARTURE 48
V. THE MAMIE MEAD 60
VI. THE DORRANCE DOMAIN 73
VII. MR. HICKOX 86
VIII. MRS. HICKOX 99
IX. THE FLOATING BRIDGE 112
X. THE HICKOXES AT HOME 124
XI. SIX INVITATIONS 137
XII. GUESTS FOR ALL 149
XIII. AN UNWELCOME LETTER 161
XIV. FINANCIAL PLANS 174
XV. A SUDDEN DETERMINATION 188
XVI. A DARING SCHEME 201
XVII. REGISTERED GUESTS 214
XVIII. AMBITIONS 226
XIX. THE VAN ARSDALE LADIES 239
XX. A REAL HOTEL 252
XXI. UPS AND DOWNS 265
XXII. TWO BOYS AND A BOAT 278
XXIII. AN UNWELCOME PROPOSITION 290
XXIV. DOROTHY'S REWARD 307
The Dorrance Domain
CHAPTER I
COOPED UP
"I _wish_ we didn't have to live in a boarding-house!" said Dorothy
Dorrance, flinging herself into an armchair, in her grandmother's room,
one May afternoon, about six o'clock.
She made this remark almost every afternoon, about six o'clock, whatever
the month or the season, and as a rule, little attention was paid to it.
But to-day her sister Lilian responded, in a sympathetic voice,
"_I_ wish we didn't have to live in a boarding-house!"
Whereupon Leicester, Lilian's twin brother, mimicking his sister's
tones, dolefully repeated, "I wish _we_ didn't have to live in a
boarding-house!"
And then Fairy, the youngest Dorrance, and the last of the quartet,
sighed forlornly, "I wish we didn't have to live in a _boarding-house_!"
There was another occupant of the room. A gentle white-haired old lady,
whose sweet face and dainty fragile figure had all the effects of an
ivory miniature, or a painting on porcelain.
"My dears," she said, "I'm sure I wish you didn't."
"Don't look like that, grannymother," cried Dorothy, springing to kiss
the troubled face of the dear old lady. "I'd live here a million years,
rather than have you look so worried about it. And anyway, it wouldn't
be so bad, if it weren't for the dinners."
"I don't mind the dinners," said Leicester, "in fact I would be rather
sorry not to have them. What I mind is the cramped space, and the
shut-up-in-your-own-room feeling. I spoke a piece in school last week,
and I spoke it awful well, too, because I just meant it. It began, 'I
want free life, and I want fresh air,' and that's exactly what I do
want. I wish we lived in Texas, instead of on Manhattan Island. Texas
has a great deal more room to the square yard, and I don't believe
people are crowded down there."
"There can't be more room to a square yard in one place than another,"
said Lilian, who was practical.
"I mean back yards and front yards and side yards,--and I don't care
whether they're square or not," went on Leicester, warming to his
subject. "My air-castle is situated right in the middle of the state of
Texas, and it's the only house in the state."
"Mine is in the middle of a desert island," said Lilian; "it's so much
nicer to feel sure that you can get to the water, no matter in what
direction you walk away from your house."
"A desert island would be nice," said Leicester; "it would be more
exciting than Texas, I suppose, on account of the wild animals. But then
in Texas, there are wild men and wild animals both."
"I like plenty of room, too," said Dorothy, "but I want it inside my
house as well as out. Since we are choosing, I think I'll choose to
live in the Madison Square Garden, and I'll have it moved to the middle
of a western prairie."
"Well, children," said Mrs. Dorrance, "your ideas are certainly big
enough, but you must leave the discussion of them now, and go to your
small cramped boarding-house bedrooms, and make yourselves presentable
to go down to your dinner in a boarding-house dining-room."
This suggestion was carried out in the various ways that were
characteristic of the Dorrance children.
Dorothy, who was sixteen, rose from her chair and humming a waltz tune,
danced slowly and gracefully across the room. The twins, Lilian and
Leicester, fell off of the arms of the sofa, where they had been
perched, scrambled up again, executed a sort of war-dance and then
dashed madly out of the door and down the hall.
Fairy, the twelve year old, who lived up to her name in all respects,
flew around the room, waving her arms, and singing in a high soprano,
"Can I wear my pink sash? Can I wear my pink sash?"
"Yes, yes," said Mrs. Dorrance, "you may wear anything you like, if
you'll only keep still a minute. You children are too boisterous for a
boarding-house. You _ought_ to be in the middle of a desert or
somewhere. You bewilder me!"
But about fifteen minutes later it was four decorous young Dorrances who
accompanied their grandmother to the dining-room. Not that they wanted
to be sedate, or enjoyed being quiet, but they were well-bred children
in spite of their rollicking temperaments. They knew perfectly well how
to behave properly, and always did it when the occasion demanded.
And, too, the atmosphere of Mrs. Cooper's dining-room was an assistance
rather than a bar to the repression of hilarity.
The Dorrances sat at a long table, two of the children on either side of
their grandmother, and this arrangement was one of their chief
grievances.
"If we could only have a table to ourselves," Leicester often said, "it
wouldn't be so bad. But set up side by side, like the teeth in a comb,
cheerful conversation is impossible."
"But, my boy," his grandmother would remonstrate, "you must learn to
converse pleasantly with those who sit opposite you. You can talk with
your sisters at other times."
So Leicester tried, but it is exceedingly difficult for a fourteen year
old boy to adapt himself to the requirements of polite conversation.
On the evening of which we are speaking, his efforts, though well meant,
were unusually unsuccessful.
Exactly opposite Leicester sat Mr. Bannister, a ponderous gentleman,
both physically and mentally. He was a bachelor, and his only idea
regarding children was that they should be treated jocosely. He also had
his own ideas of jocose treatment.
"Well, my little man," he said, smiling broadly at Leicester, "did you
go to school to-day?"
As he asked this question every night at dinner, not even excepting
Saturdays and Sundays, Leicester felt justified in answering only, "Yes,
sir."
"That's nice; and what did you learn?"
As this question invariably followed the other, Leicester was not wholly
unprepared for it. But the discussion of air-castles in Texas, or on a
prairie, had made the boy a little impatient of the narrow dining-room,
and the narrow table, and even of Mr. Bannister, though he was by no
means of narrow build.
"I learned my lessons," he replied shortly, though there was no rudeness
in his tone.
"Tut, tut, my little man," said Mr. Bannister, playfully shaking a fat
finger at him, "don't be rude."
"No, sir, I won't," said Leicester, with such an innocent air of
accepting a general bit of good advice, that Mr. Bannister was quite
discomfited.
Grandma Dorrance looked at Leicester reproachfully, and Mrs. Hill, who
was a sharp-featured, sharp-spoken old lady, and who also sat on the
other side of the table, said severely, to nobody in particular,
"Children are not brought up now as they were in my day."
This had the effect of silencing Leicester, for the three older
Dorrances had long ago decided that it was useless to try to talk to
Mrs. Hill. Even if you tried your best to be nice and pleasant, she was
sure to say something so irritating, that you just _had_ to lose your
temper.
But Fairy did not subscribe to this general decision. Indeed, Fairy's
chief characteristic was her irrepressible loquacity. So much trouble
had this made, that she had several times been forbidden to talk at the
dinner-table at all. Then Grandma Dorrance would feel sorry for the
dolefully mute little girl, and would lift the ban, restricting her,
however, to not more than six speeches during any one meal.
Fairy kept strict account, and never exceeded the allotted number, but
she made each speech as long as she possibly could, and rarely stopped
until positively interrupted.
So she took it upon herself to respond to Mrs. Hill's remark, and at
the same time demonstrate her loyalty to her grandmother.
"I'm sure, Mrs. Hill," Fairy began, "that nobody could bring up children
better than my grannymother. She is the best children bring-upper in the
whole world. I don't know how your grandmother brought you up,--or
perhaps you had a mother,--some people think they're better than
grandmothers. I don't know; I never had a mother, only a grandmother,
but she's just the best ever, and if us children aren't good, it's our
fault and not hers. She says we're boist'rous, and I'spect we are. Mr.
Bannister says we're rude, and I'spect we are; but none of these
objectionaries is grandma's fault!" Fairy had a way of using long words
when she became excited, and as she knew very few real ones she often
made them up to suit herself. And all her words, long or short came out
in such a torrent of enthusiasm and emphasis, and with such a degree of
rapidity that it was a difficult matter to stop her. So on she went. "So
it's all right, Mrs. Hill, but when we don't behave just first-rate, or
just as children did in your day, please keep a-remembering to blame us
and not grandma. You see," and here Fairy's speech assumed a
confidential tone, "we don't have room enough. We want free life and we
want fresh air, and then I'spect we'd be more decorious."
"That will do, Fairy," said Mrs. Dorrance, looking at her gravely.
"Yes'm," said Fairy, smiling pleasantly, "that'll do for one."
"And that makes two! now you've had two speeches, Fairy," said her
brother, teasingly.
"I have not," said Fairy, "and an explanationary speech doesn't count!"
"Yes, it does," cried Lilian, "and that makes three!"
"It doesn't, does it, grandma?" pleaded Fairy, lifting her big blue eyes
to her grandmother's face.
Mrs. Dorrance looked helpless and a little bewildered, but she only
said, "Please be quiet, Fairy; I might like to talk a little, myself."
"Oh, that's all right, grandma dear," said Fairy, placidly; "I know how
it is to feel conversationary myself."
The children's mother had died when Fairy was born, and her father had
given her the name of Fairfax because there had always been a Fairfax
Dorrance in his family for many generations. To be sure it had always
before been a boy baby who was christened Fairfax, but the only boy in
this family had been named Leicester; and so, one Fairfax Dorrance was a
girl. From the time she was old enough to show any characteristics at
all, she had been fairy-like in every possible way. Golden hair, big
blue eyes and a cherub face made her a perfect picture of child beauty.
Then she was so light and airy, so quick of motion and speech, and so
immaculately dainty in her dress and person, that Fairy seemed to be the
only fitting name for her. No matter how much she played rollicking
games, her frock never became rumpled or soiled; and the big white bow
which crowned her mass of golden curls always kept its shape and
position even though its wearer turned somersaults. For Fairy was by no
means a quiet or sedate child. None of the Dorrances were that. And the
youngest was perhaps the most headstrong and difficult to control. But
though impetuous in her deeds and mis-deeds, her good impulses were
equally sudden, and she was always ready to apologize or make amends for
her frequent naughtiness.
And so after dinner, she went to Mrs. Hill, and said with a most
engaging smile, "I'm sorry if I 'fended you, and I hope I didn't. You
see I didn't mean to speak so much, and right at the dinner table, too,
but I just _have_ to stand up for my grannymother. She's so old, and so
ladylike that she can't stand up for herself. And I was 'fraid you
mightn't understand, so I thought I'd 'pologize. Is it all right?"
Fairy looked up into Mrs. Hill's face with such angelic eyes and
pleading smile, that even that dignified lady unbent a little.
"Yes, my dear," she said; "it's all right for you to stand up for your
grandmother, as you express it. But you certainly do talk too much for
such a little girl."
"Yes'm," said Fairy, contritely, "I know I do. It's my upsetting sin;
but somehow I can't help it. My head seems to be full of words, and they
just keep spilling out. Don't you ever talk too much, ma'am?"
"No; I don't think I do."
"You ought to be very thankful," said Fairy, with a sigh; "it is an
awful affliction. Why once upon a time----"
"Come, Fairy," said Mrs. Dorrance; "say good-night to Mrs. Hill, and
come up-stairs with me."
"Yes, grandma, I'm coming. Good-night, Mrs. Hill; I'm sorry I have to go
just now 'cause I was just going to tell you an awful exciting story.
But perhaps to-morrow----"
"Come, Fairy," said Mrs. Dorrance; "come at once!" And at last the
gentle old lady succeeded in capturing her refractory granddaughter, and
led the dancing sprite away to her own room.
CHAPTER II
REBELLIOUS HEARTS
Although Mrs. Cooper's boarders were privileged to sit in the parlor in
the evening, the Dorrances rarely availed themselves of this permission.
For the atmosphere of the formal and over-punctilious drawing-room was
even more depressing than that of the dining-room. And even had the
children wanted to stay there, which they didn't, Mrs. Dorrance would
have been afraid that their irrepressible gayety would have been too
freely exhibited. And another thing, they had to study their next day's
lessons, for their hours between school and dinner-time were always
spent out of doors.
And so every evening they congregated in their grandmother's room, and
were studious or frivolous as their mood dictated.
To-night they were especially fractious.
"Grannymother," exclaimed Lilian, "it just seems as if I _couldn't_
live in this house another minute! there is nobody here I like, except
our own selves, and I just hate it all!"
"Did _you_ go to school to-day, my little man?" said Leicester, shaking
his finger in such funny imitation of Mr. Bannister, that Lilian had to
laugh, in spite of her discontentment.
"I'm so tired of him, too," went on Lilian, still scowling. "Can't we go
and live somewhere else, grandmother?"
Mrs. Dorrance sighed. She knew only too well the difficulty of securing
desirable rooms in a desirable locality with her four lively young
charges; and especially at the modest price she was able to pay. Already
they had moved six times in their two years of boarding-house life, and
Mrs. Dorrance dreaded the thought of a seventh similar experience.
"Lilian, dear," she said, gently, "you know how hard it is to find any
nice boarding-house where they will take four noisy children. And I'm
sure, in many respects, this is the best one we've ever found."
"I suppose it is," said Dorothy, looking up from the French lesson she
was studying, "but I know one thing! as soon as I get through school,
and I don't mean to go many years more, we're going to get away from
boarding-houses entirely, and we're going to have a home of our own. I
don't suppose it can be in Texas, or the Desert of Sahara, but we'll
have a house or an apartment or something, and live by ourselves."
"I wish you might do so," said her grandmother, "but I fear we cannot
afford it. And, too, I think I would not be able to attend to the
housekeeping. When we used to have plenty of servants, it was quite a
different matter."
"But granny, dear," cried Dorothy, "I don't mean for you to housekeep. I
mean to do that myself. After I get through school, you know, I'll have
nothing to do, and I can just as well keep house as not."
"Do you know how?" asked Fairy, staring at her oldest sister with
wide-open blue eyes.
"Can you make a cherry pie?" sang Leicester. "I don't believe you can,
Dot; and I'll tell you a better plan than yours. You wait until _I_ get
out of school, and then I'll go into some business, and earn enough
money to buy a big house for all of us."
"Like the one in Fifty-eighth Street?" said Dorothy, softly.
The children always lowered their voices when they spoke of the house on
Fifty-eighth Street. Two years ago, when their grandfather died, they
had to move out of that beautiful home, and none of them, not even
little Fairy, could yet speak of it in a casual way.
The children's father had died only a few years after their mother, and
the four had been left without any provision other than that offered by
their Grandfather Dorrance. He took them into his home on Fifty-eighth
Street, and being a man of ample means, he brought them up in a
generous, lavish way. The little Dorrances led a happy life, free from
care or bothers of any sort, until when Dorothy was fourteen,
Grandfather Dorrance died.
His wife knew nothing of his business affairs, and placidly supposed
there was no reason why she should not continue to live with the
children, in the ways to which they had so long been accustomed.
But all too soon she learned that years of expensive living had made
decided inroads upon Mr. Dorrance's fortune, and that for the future her
means would be sadly limited.
Mrs. Dorrance was a frail old lady, entirely unused to responsibilities
of any kind; her husband had always carefully shielded her from all
troubles or annoyances, and now, aside from her deep grief at his death,
she was forced suddenly to face her changed circumstances and the
responsibility of her four grandchildren.
She was crushed and bewildered by the situation, and had it not been for
the advice and kind assistance of her lawyer, Mr. Lloyd, she would not
have known which way to turn.
Dorothy, too, though only fourteen years old, proved to be a staunch
little helper. She was brave and plucky, and showed a courage and
capability that astonished all who knew her.
After Mr. Dorrance's affairs were settled up, it was discovered that the
family could not remain in the home. Although the house was free of
incumbrance, yet there was no money with which to pay taxes, or to pay
the household expenses, even if they lived on a more moderate scale.
Only a few years before his death, Mr. Dorrance had invested a large sum
of money in a summer hotel property. This had not turned out
advantageously, | 1,788.218463 |
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Produced by David Widger
AT SUNWICH PORT
BY
W. W. JACOBS
Drawings by Will Owen
Contents
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
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
List of Illustrations
"His Perturbation Attracted the Attention of His Hostess."
"A Welcome Subject of Conversation in Marine Circles."
"The Suspense Became Painful."
"Captain Hardy Lit his Pipe Before Replying."
"Mr. Wilks Watched It from the Quay."
"Master Hardy on the Beach Enacting The Part of David."
"Mr. Wilks Replied That he Was Biding his Time."
"A Particularly Hard Nut to Crack."
"A Stool in the Local Bank."
"A Diversion Was Created by the Entrance of a New Arrival."
"He Stepped Across the Road to his Emporium."
"'Most Comfortable Shoulder in Sunwich,' She Murmured."
"The Most Astounding and Gratifying Instance of The Wonders Effected by Time Was That of Miss Nugent."
"Mr. Swann With Growing Astonishment Slowly Mastered The Contents."
"Fullalove Alley."
"She Caught Sight of Hardy."
"Undiluted Wisdom and Advice Flowed from his Lips."
"'What Do You Want?' Inquired Miss Kybird."
"He Regarded the Wife of his Bosom With a Calculating Glance."
"He Even Obtained Work Down at the Harbor."
"Miss Kybird Standing in the Doorway of The Shop."
"Me Or 'im--which is It to Be?"
"I Wonder What the Governor'll Say."
"A Spirit of Quiet Despair."
"A Return Visit."
"He Set off Towards the Life and Bustle of The Two Schooners."
"For the Second Time he Left The Court Without a Stain On His Character."
"The Proprietor Eyed Him With Furtive Glee As he Passed."
"Miss Nugent's Consternation Was Difficult Of Concealment."
"He Found his Remaining Guest Holding His Aching Head Beneath the Tap."
"Mr. Nathan Smith."
"It Was Not Until he Had Consumed a Pint Or Two of The Strongest Brew That he Began to Regain Some of his Old Self-esteem."
"The Man on the Other Side Fell On All Fours Into The Room."
"He Pushed Open the Small Lattice Window and Peered Out Into the Alley."
"Tapping the Steward on The Chest With a Confidential Finger, he Backed Him Into a Corner."
"He Finished up the Evening at The Chequers."
"The Meagre Figure of Mrs. Silk."
"In Search of Mr. Smith."
"I 'ave Heard of 'em Exploding."
"He Stepped to the Side and Looked Over."
"You Keep On, Nugent, Don't You Mind 'im."
"Hadn't You Better See About Making Yourself Presentable, Hardy?"
"It Was Not Without a Certain Amount of Satisfaction That He Regarded Her Discomfiture."
"Mr. Hardy Resigned Himself to his Fate."
"The Carefully Groomed and Fastidious Murchison."
"'Why Do You Wish to Be on Friendly Terms?' She Asked."
"He Said That a Bit O' Wedding-cake 'ad Blowed in His Eye."
"Mr. Wilks Drank to the Health of Both Of Them."
"A Popular Hero."
"He Met These Annoyances With a Set Face."
"'Can't You Let Her See That Her Attentions Are Undesirable?'"
"He Took a Glass from the Counter and Smashed It on The Floor."
"The Great Thing Was to Get Teddy Silk Home."
"Captain Nugent."
"Sniffing at Their Contents."
"'Puppy!' Said the Invalid."
"Bella, in a State of Fearsome Glee, Came Down the Garden To Tell the Captain of his Visitor."
"'Get out of My House,' he Roared.
"I Do Hope he Has Not Come to Take You Away from Me."
"Are You Goin' to Send Cap'n Nugent an Invite for The Wedding?"
"Are There Any Other of My Patients You Are Anxious To Hear About?"
"He Wondered, Gloomily, What She Would Think when She Heard of It."
"'Some People 'ave All the Luck,' he Muttered."
"If You've Got Anything to Say, Why Don't You Say It Like A Man?"
"Mrs. Kybird Suddenly Seized Him by the Coat."
"Mr. Kybird and his Old Friend Parted."
"He Took up his Candle and Went off Whistling."
"He Could Just Make out a Dim Figure Behind the Counter."
"'But Suppose She Asks Me To?' Said the Delighted Mr. Nugent, With Much Gravity."
"'You're a Deceiver,' She Gasped."
"'It Was Teddy Done It,' Said Mr. Kybird, Humbly."
"Pausing Occasionally to Answer Anxious Inquiries."
"She Placed Her Other Arm in That of Hardy."
CHAPTER I
The ancient port of Sunwich was basking in the sunshine of a July afternoon. A rattle of cranes and winches sounded from the shipping in the harbour, but the town itself was half asleep. Somnolent shopkeepers in dim back parlours coyly veiled their faces in red handkerchiefs from the too ardent flies, while small boys left in charge noticed listlessly the slow passing of time as recorded by the church clock.
It is a fine church, and Sunwich is proud of it. The tall grey tower is a landmark at sea, but from the narrow streets of the little town itself it has a disquieting appearance of rising suddenly above the roofs huddled beneath it for the purpose of displaying a black-faced clock with gilt numerals whose mellow chimes have recorded the passing hours for many generations of Sunwich men.
Regardless of the heat, which indeed was mild compared with that which raged in his own bosom, Captain Nugent, fresh from the inquiry of the collision of his ship Conqueror with the German barque Hans Muller, strode rapidly up the High Street in the direction of home. An honest seafaring smell, compounded of tar, rope, and fish, known to the educated of Sunwich as ozone, set his thoughts upon the sea. He longed to be aboard ship again, with the Court of Inquiry to form part of his crew. In all his fifty years of life he had never met such a collection of fools. His hard blue eyes blazed as he thought of them, and the mouth hidden by his well-kept beard was set with anger.
Mr. Samson Wilks, his steward, who had been with him to London to give evidence, had had a time upon which he looked back in later years with much satisfaction at his powers of endurance. He was with the captain, and yet not with him. When they got out of the train at Sunwich he hesitated as to whether he should follow the captain or leave him. His excuse for following was the bag, his reason for leaving the volcanic condition of its owner's temper, coupled with the fact that he appeared to be sublimely ignorant that the most devoted steward in the world was tagging faithfully along a yard or two in the rear.
The few passers-by glanced at the couple with interest. Mr. Wilks had what is called an expressive face, and he had worked his sandy eyebrows, his weak blue eyes, and large, tremulous mouth into such an expression of surprise at the finding of the Court, that he had all the appearance of a beholder of visions. He changed the bag to his other hand as they left the town behind them, and regarded with gratitude the approaching end of his labours.
At the garden-gate of a fair-sized house some half-mile along the road the captain stopped, and after an impatient fumbling at the latch strode up the path, followed by Mr. Wilks, and knocked at the door. As he paused on the step he half turned, and for the first time noticed the facial | 1,788.374255 |
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Produced by Jane Robins, Reiner Ruf, and the Online
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######################################################################
Transcriber’s Notes
This e-text is based on ‘Cassell’s Natural History, Vol. I,’ from 1896.
Inconsistent and uncommon spelling and hyphenation have been retained;
punctuation and typographical errors have been corrected.
In the original book, Chapter XI of the order ‘Quadrumana’ (page 185)
had been erroneously named ‘Chapter IX.’ The correct sequence of
chapter numbers has been restored.
In the List of Illustrations, some image titles do not match the
illustrations presented in the text. The following titles have been
changed:
‘The Green and RedMonkeys’ --> ‘The Gorilla’ (facing page 111)
‘The Sacred Baboon’ --> ‘The Chimpanzee’ (facing page 137)
‘A Group of Lemuroids’ --> ‘Anubis Baboon’ (facing page 211)
The list item ‘Hand of the Spider Monkey’ has been added by the
transcriber.
The printed book shows some references to numbered ‘Plates’ (full-page
images). This numbering scheme seems to originate from an earlier
edition. Even though the present edition shows no image numbers, all
original references have been retained.
Special characters have been used to highlight the following font
styles:
italic: _underscores_
larger font: +plus signs+
Small capitals have been converted to UPPERCASE LETTERS.
######################################################################
[Illustration: ORANG-UTAN AND CHIMPANZEES IN THE BERLIN AQUARIUM.
(_From an Original Drawing._)]
[Illustration:
CASSELL & COMPANY, LIMITED, LITH. LONDON.
BIRDS.
1. Gould’s Humming Bird (_Ornismya gouldii_).
2. Kingfisher. (_Alcedo ispida_).
3. Arctic Tern (_Sterna hirundo_).
4. White-bellied Swift (_Cypselus melba_).
5. Smew (_Mercus albellus_).
6. Penguin (_Pygoscelis tæniata_).
7. The Amazon Parrot (_Chrysotis_).
8. Heron (_Ardea cinerea_).
9. Eared Owl (_Asio otus_).
10. White-tailed Eagle (_Haliaëtus albicilla_).
11. Black-headed Gros-beak (_Coccothraustes erythromelas_).
12. Impeyan Pheasant (_Lophophorus sclateri_).
13. Common Rhea (_Rhea americana_).
14. Crown Pigeon (_Goura scheepmakeri_).
]
CASSELL’S
NATURAL HISTORY
EDITED BY
P. MARTIN DUNCAN, M.B. (LOND.), F.R.S., F.G.S.
PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN AND HONORARY FELLOW OF KING’S COLLEGE, LONDON;
CORRESPONDENT OF THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES, PHILADELPHIA
VOL. I.
_ILLUSTRATED_
CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
_LONDON, PARIS & MELBOURNE_
1896
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
[Illustration]
APES AND MONKEYS.
PROFESSOR P. MARTIN DUNCAN, M.B. (LOND.), F.R.S. F.G.S., &c.
LEMURS.
J. MURIE, M.D., LL.D., F.L.S., F.G.S., &c.,
AND
PROFESSOR P. MARTIN DUNCAN.
CHIROPTERA.
W. S. DALLAS, F.L.S.
INSECTIVORA.
W. S. DALLAS, F.L.S.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION xiii
CLASS MAMMALIA.
ORDER I.--QUADRUMANA.--THE APES AND MONKEYS.
| 1,788.410675 |
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MASTERPIECES IN COLOUR
EDITED BY--T. LEMAN HARE
WHISTLER
1834-1903
IN THE SAME SERIES
ARTIST. AUTHOR.
VELAZQUEZ. S. L. BENSUSAN.
REYNOLDS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
TURNER. C. LEWIS HIND.
ROMNEY. C. LEWIS HIND.
GREUZE. ALYS EYRE MACKLIN.
BOTTICELLI. HENRY B. BINNS.
ROSSETTI. LUCIEN PISSARRO.
BELLINI. GEORGE HAY.
FRA ANGELICO. JAMES MASON.
REMBRANDT. JOSEF ISRAELS.
LEIGHTON. A. LYS BALDRY.
RAPHAEL. PAUL G. KONODY.
HOLMAN HUNT. MARY E. COLERIDGE.
TITIAN S. L. BENSUSAN.
MILLAIS. A. LYS BALDRY.
CARLO DOLCI. GEORGE HAY.
GAINSBOROUGH. MAX ROTHSCHILD.
TINTORETTO. S. L. BENSUSAN.
LUINI. JAMES MASON.
FRANZ HALS. EDGCUMBE STALEY.
VAN DYCK. PERCY M. TURNER.
LEONARDO DA VINCI. M. W. BROCKWELL.
RUBENS. S. L. BENSUSAN.
WHISTLER. T. MARTIN WOOD.
HOLBEIN. S. L. BENSUSAN.
BURNE-JONES. A. LYS BALDRY.
VIGEE LE BRUN. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
CHARDIN. PAUL G. KONODY.
FRAGONARD. C. HALDANE MACFALL.
MEMLINC. W. H. J. & J. C. WEALE.
CONSTABLE. C. LEWIS HIND.
RAEBURN. JAMES L. CAW.
JOHN S. SARGENT T. MARTIN WOOD.
_Others in Preparation._
[Illustration: PLATE I.--OLD BATTERSEA BRIDGE. Frontispiece
(In the National Gallery)
This nocturne was bought by the National Collections Fund from
the Whistler Memorial Exhibition. It was one of the canvases
brought forward during the cross-examination of the artist in the
Whistler v. Ruskin trial.]
Whistler
BY T. MARTIN WOOD
ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT REPRODUCTIONS IN COLOUR
[Illustration]
LONDON: T. C. & E. C. JACK
NEW YORK: FREDERICK A. STOKES CO.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Plate
I. Old Battersea Bridge Frontispiece
In the National Gallery
Page
II. Nocturne, St. Mark's, Venice 14
In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.
III. The Artist's Studio 24
In the possession of Douglas Freshfield, Esq.
IV. Portrait of my Mother 34
In the Luxembourg Galleries, Paris
V. Lillie in Our Alley 40
In the possession of John J. Cowan, Esq.
VI. Nocturne, Blue and Silver 50
In the possession of the Hon. Percy Wyndham
VII. Portrait of Thomas Carlyle 60
In the Corporation Art Galleries, Glasgow
VIII. In the Channel 70
In the possession of Mrs. L. Knowles
[Illustration]
I
At the time when Rossetti and his circle were foregathering chiefly at
Rossetti's house, quiet Chelsea scarcely knew how daily were
associations added which will always cluster round her name. Whistler's
share in those associations is very large, and he has left in his
paintings the memory of many a night, as he returned beside the river.
Before Whistler painted it, night was more opaque than it is now. It had
been viewed only through the window of tradition. It was left for a man
of the world coming out of an artificial London room to paint its
stillness, and also to show us that we ourselves had made night more
beautiful, with ghostly silver and gold; and to tell us that the dark
bridges that sweep into it do not interrupt--that we cannot interrupt,
the music of nature.
The figure of Whistler emerges: with his extreme concern as to his
appearance, his careful choice of clothes, his hair so carefully
arranged. He had quite made up his mind as to the part he intended to
play and the light in which he wished to be regarded. He had a dual
personality. Himself as he really was and the personality which he put
forward as himself. In a sense he never went anywhere unaccompanied; he
was followed and watched by another self that would perhaps have been
happier at home. Tiring of this he would disappear from society for a
time. Other men's ringlets fall into their places accidentally--so it
might be with the young Disraeli. Other men's clothes have seemed
characteristic without any of this elaborate pose. He chose his clothes
with a view to their being characteristic, which is rather different and
less interesting than the fact of their becoming so because he,
Whistler, wore them. Other men are dandies, with little conception of
the grace of their part; with Whistler a supreme artist stepped into the
question. He designed himself. Nor had he the illusions of vanity, but a
groundwork of philosophy upon which every detail of his personal life
was part of an elaborate and delicately designed structure, his art the
turret of it all, from which he saw over the heads of others. There is
no contradiction between the dandy and his splendid art. He lived as
exquisitely and carefully as he painted. Literary culture, merely, in
his case was not great perhaps, yet he could be called one of the most
cultured figures of his time. In every direction he marked the path of
his mind with fastidious borders. And it is interesting that he should
have painted the greatest portrait of Carlyle, who, we will say,
represented in English literature Goethe's philosophy of culture, which
if it has an echo in the plastic arts, has it in the work of Whistler.
In his "Heretics" Mr. G. K. Chesterton condemned Whistler for going in
for the art of living--I think he says the miserable art of living--I
have not seen the book for a long time, but surely the fact that
Whistler was more than a private workman, that his temperament had
energy enough to turn from the ardours of his work to live this other
part of life--indicates extraordinary vitality rather than any weakness.
Whistler was never weak: he came very early to an understanding of his
limitations, and well within those limitations took his stand. Because
of this his art was perfect. In it he declined to dissipate his energy
in any but its natural way. In that way he is as supreme as any master.
Attacked from another point his whole art seems but a cobweb of
beautiful ingenuity--sustained by evasions. Whistler, one thinks, would
have been equally happy and meteorically successful in any profession;
one can imagine what an enlivening personality his would have been in a
Parliamentary debate, and how fascinating. Any public would have
suited him. Art was just an accident coming on the top of many other
gifts. It took possession of him as his chief gift, but without it he
was singularly well equipped to play a prominent part in the world. As
things happened all his other energy went to forward, indirectly and
directly, the claims of art. Perhaps his methods of self-advancement
were not so beautiful as his art, and his wit was of a more robust
character. For this we should be very glad; the world would have been
too ready to overlook his delicate work--except that it had to feed his
inordinate ambition. At first it recognised his wit and then it
recognised his art, or did its level best to, in answer to his repeated
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PEAT AND ITS USES,
AS
FERTILIZER AND FUEL.
BY
SAMUEL W. JOHNSON, A. M.,
PROFESSOR OF ANALYTICAL AND AGRICULTURAL CHEMISTRY, YALE COLLEGE.
FULLY ILLUSTRATED.
NEW-YORK:
ORANGE JUDD & COMPANY.
245 BROADWAY.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by
ORANGE JUDD & CO.,
At the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States
for the Southern District of New-York.
LOVEJOY & SON,
ELECTROTYPERS AND STEREOTYPERS
15 Vandewater street N. Y.
TO MY FATHER,
MY EARLIEST AND BEST
INSTRUCTOR IN RURAL AFFAIRS,
THIS VOLUME
IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED.
S. W. J.
CONTENTS.
Introduction vii
PART I.--ORIGIN, VARIETIES, AND CHEMICAL CHARACTERS OF PEAT.
PAGE
1. What is Peat? 9
2. Conditions of its Formation 9
3. Different Kinds of Peat 14
Swamp Muck 17
Salt Mud 18
4. Chemical Characters and Composition of Peat 18
a. Organic or combustible part 19
Ulmic and Humic Acids 19
Ulmin and Humin--Crenic and Apocrenic Acids 20
Ulmates and Humates 21
Crenates and Apocrenates 22
Gein and Geic Acid--Elementary Composition of Peat 23
Ultimate Composition of the Constituents of Peat 25
b. Mineral Part--Ashes 25
5. Chemical Changes that occur in the Formation of Peat 26
PART II.--ON THE AGRICULTURAL USES OF PEAT AND SWAMP MUCK.
1. Characters that adapt Peat for Agricultural Use 28
A. Physical or Amending Characters 28
I. Absorbent Power for Water, as Liquid and Vapor 31
II. " " for Ammonia 32
III. Influence in Disintegrating the Soil 34
IV. Influence on the Temperature of Soils 37
B. Fertilizing Characters 38
I. Fertilizing Effects of the Organic Matters, excluding
Nitrogen 38
1. Organic Matters as Direct Food to Plants 38
2. Organic Matters as Indirect Food to Plants 40
3. Nitrogen, including Ammonia and Nitric Acid 42
II. Fertilizing Effects of the Ashes of Peat 46
III. Peculiarities in the Decay of Peat 50
IV. Comparison of Peat with Stable Manure 51
2. Characters of Peat that are detrimental, or that need
correction 54
I. Possible Bad Effects on Heavy Soils 54
II. Noxious Ingredients 55
a. Vitriol Peats 55
b. Acidity--c. Resinous Matters 57
3. Preparation of Peat for Agricultural Use 57
a. Excavation 57
b. Exposure, or Seasoning 59
c. Composting 62
Compost with Stable Manure 63
" " Night Soil 68
" " Guano 69
" " Fish and other Animal Matters 70
" " Potash-lye & Soda-ash; Wood-ashes,
Shell-marl, Lime 72
" " Salt and Lime Mixture 73
" " Carbonate of Lime, Mortar, etc 75
4. The Author's Experiments with Peat Composts 77
5. Examination of Peat with reference to its Agricultural Value 81
6. Composition of Connecticut Peats 84
Method of Analysis 86
Tables of Composition 88-89-90
PART III.--ON PEAT AS FUEL
1. Kinds of Peat that Make the Best Fuel 92
2. Density of Peat 95
3. Heating Power of Peat as Compared with Wood and Anthracite 96
4. Modes of Burning Peat 102
5. Burning of Broken Peat 103
6. Hygroscopic Water of Peat-fuel 104
7. Shrinkage 105
8. Time of Excavation and Drying 105
9. Drainage 106
10. Cutting of Peat for Fuel--a. Preparations for Cutting 107
b. Cutting by Hand; with Common Spade; German Peat Knife 108
" with Irish Slane--System employed in East
Friesland 109
c. Machines for Cutting Peat; Brosowsky's Machine; Lepreux's
Machine 113
11. Dredging of Peat 115
12. Moulding of Peat 116
13. Preparation of Peat-fuel by Machinery, etc 116
A. Condensation by Pressure 116
a. Of Fresh Peat 116
Mannhardt's Method 117
The Neustadt Method 119
b. Of Air-dried Peat--Lithuanian Process 120
c. Of Hot-dried Peat--Gwynne's Method; Exter's Method 121
Elsberg's Process 125
B. Condensation without Pressure 127
a. Of Earthy Peat 128
Challeton's Method, at Mennecy, France 128
" " Langenberg, Prussia 130
Roberts' " Pekin, N. Y. 132
Siemens' " Boeblingen, Wirtemberg 134
b. Condensation of Fibrous Peat--Weber's Method; Hot-drying 135
Gysser's Method and Machine 140
c. Condensation of Peat of all Kinds--Schlickeysen's
Machine 144
Leavitt's Peat Mill, Lexington, Mass 146
Ashcroft & Betteley's Machine 148
Versmann's Machine, Great Britain 150
Buckland's " " 151
14. Artificial Drying of Peat 152
15. Peat Coal 157
16. Metallurgical Uses of Peat 162
17. Peat as a Source of Illuminating Gas 165
18. Examination of Peat with regard to its Value as Fuel 167
INTRODUCTION.
In the years 1857 and 1858, the writer, in the capacity of Chemist to
the State Agricultural Society of Connecticut, was commissioned to make
investigations into the agricultural uses of the deposits of peat or
swamp muck which are abundant in this State; and, in 1858, he submitted
a Report to Henry A. Dyer, Esq., Corresponding Secretary of the Society,
embodying his conclusions. In the present work the valuable portions of
that Report have been recast, and, with addition of much new matter,
form Parts I. and II. The remainder of the book, relating to the
preparation and employment of peat for fuel, &c., is now for the first
time published, and is intended to give a faithful account of the
results of the experience that has been acquired in Europe, during the
last twenty-five years, in regard to the important subject of which it
treats.
The employment of peat as an amendment and absorbent for agricultural
purposes has proved to be of great advantage in New-England farming.
It is not to be doubted, that, as fuel, it will be even more valuable
than as a fertilizer. Our peat-beds, while they do not occupy so much
territory as to be an impediment and a reproach to our country, as they
have been to Ireland, are yet so abundant and so widely
distributed--occurring from the Atlantic to the Missouri, along and
above the 40th parallel, and appearing on our Eastern Coast at least as
far South as North Carolina[1]--as to present, at numberless points,
material, which, sooner or later, will serve us most usefully when other
fuel has become scarce and costly.
The high prices which coal and wood have commanded for several years
back have directed attention to peat fuel; and, such is the adventurous
character of American enterprise, it cannot be doubted that we shall
rapidly develop and improve the machinery for producing it. As has
always been the case, we shall waste a vast deal of time and money in
contriving machines that violate every principle of mechanism and of
economy; but the results of European invention furnish a safe basis from
which to set out, and we have among us the genius and the patience that
shall work out the perfect method.
It may well be urged that a good degree of caution is advisable in
entering upon the peat enterprise. In this country we have exhaustless
mines of the best coal, which can be afforded at a very low rate, with
which other fuel must compete. In Germany, where the best methods of
working peat have originated, fuel is more costly than here; and a
universal and intense economy there prevails, of which we, as a people,
have no conception.
If, as the Germans themselves admit, the peat question there is still a
nice one as regards the test of dollars and cents, it is obvious, that,
for a time, we must "hasten slowly." It is circumstances that make peat,
and gold as well, remunerative or otherwise; and these must be well
considered in each individual case. Peat is the name for a material that
varies extremely in its quality, and this quality should be investigated
carefully before going to work upon general deductions.
In my account of the various processes for working peat by machinery,
such data as I have been able to find have been given as to cost of
production. These data are however very imperfect, and not altogether
trustworthy, in direct application to American conditions. The cheapness
of labor in Europe is an item to our disadvantage in interpreting
foreign estimates. I incline to the belief that this is more than offset
among us by the quality of our labor, by the energy of our
administration, by the efficiency of our overseeing, and, especially, by
our greater skill in the adaptation of mechanical appliances. While
counselling caution, I also recommend enterprise in developing our
resources in this important particular; knowing full well, however, that
what I can say in its favor will scarcely add to the impulse already
apparent among my countrymen.
SAMUEL W. JOHNSON.
_Sheffield Scientific School_,}
_Yale College, June, 1866._ }
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The great Dismal Swamp is a grand peat bog, and doubtless other of
the swamps of the coast, as far south as Florida and the Gulf, are of
the same character.
PART I.
THE ORIGIN, VARIETIES, AND CHEMICAL CHARACTERS
OF PEAT.
1. _What is Peat?_
By the general term Peat, we understand the organic matter or vegetable
soil of bogs, swamps, beaver-meadows and salt-marshes.
It consists of substances that have resulted from the decay of many
generations of aquatic or marsh plants, as mosses, sedges, coarse
grasses, and a great variety of shrubs, mixed with more or less mineral
substances, derived from these plants, or in many cases blown or washed
in from the surrounding lands.
2. _The conditions under which Peat is formed._
In this country the production of Peat from fallen and decaying plants,
depends upon the presence of so much water as to cover or saturate the
vegetable matters, and thereby hinder the full access of air. Saturation
with water also has the effect to maintain the decaying matters at a
low temperature, and by these two causes in combination, the process of
decay is made to proceed with great slowness, and the solid products of
such slow decay, are compounds that themselves resist decay, and hence
they accumulate.
In the United States there appears to be nothing like the extensive
_moors_ or _heaths_, that abound in Ireland, Scotland, the north of
England, North Germany, Holland, and the elevated plains of Bavaria,
which are mostly level or gently sloping tracts of country, covered with
peat or turf to a depth often of 20, and sometimes of 40, or more, feet.
In this country it is only in low places, where streams become
obstructed and form swamps, or in bays and inlets on salt water, where
the flow of the tide furnishes the requisite moisture, that our
peat-beds occur. If we go north-east as far as Anticosti, Labrador, or
Newfoundland, we find true moors. In these regions have been found a few
localities of the _Heather_ (_Calluna vulgaris_), which is so
conspicuous a plant on the moors of Europe, but which is wanting in the
peat-beds of the United States.
In the countries above named, the weather is more uniform than here, the
air is more moist, and the excessive heat of our summers is scarcely
known. Such is the greater humidity of the atmosphere that the
bog-mosses,--the so-called _Sphagnums_,--which have a wonderful avidity
for moisture, (hence used for packing plants which require to be kept
moist on journeys), are able to keep fresh and in growth during the
entire summer. These mosses decay below, and throw out new vegetation
above, and thus produce a bog, especially wherever the earth is springy.
It is in this way that in those countries, moors and peat-bogs actually
grow, increasing in depth and area, from year to year, and raise
themselves above the level of the surrounding country.
Prof. Marsh informs the writer that he has seen in Ireland, near the
north-west coast, a granite hill, capped with a peat-bed, several feet
in thickness. In the Bavarian highlands similar cases have been
observed, in localities where the atmosphere and the ground are kept
moist enough for the growth of moss by the extraordinary prevalence of
fogs. Many of the European moors rise more or less above the level of
their borders towards the centre, often to a height of 10 or 20 and
sometimes of 30 feet. They are hence known in Germany as _high_ moors
(_Hochmoore_) to distinguish from the level or dishing _meadow-moors_,
(_Wiesenmoore_). The peat-producing vegetation of the former is chiefly
moss and heather, of the latter coarse grasses and sedges.
In Great Britain the reclamation of a moor is usually an expensive
operation, for which not only much draining, but actual cutting out and
burning of the compact peat is necessary.
The warmth of our summers and the dryness of our atmosphere prevent the
accumulation of peat above the highest level of the standing water of
our marshes, and so soon as the marshes are well drained, the peat
ceases to form, and in most cases the swamp may be easily converted into
good meadow land.
Springy hill-sides, which in cooler, moister climates would become
moors, here dry up in summer to such an extent that no peat can be
formed upon them.
As already observed, our peat is found in low places. In many instances
its accumulation began by the obstruction of a stream. To that
remarkable creature, the beaver, we owe many of our peat-bogs. These
animals, from time immemorial, have built their dams across rivers so as
to flood the adjacent forest. In the rich leaf-mold at the water's
verge, and in the cool shade of the standing trees, has begun the growth
of the sphagnums, sedges, and various purely aquatic plants. These in
their annual decay have shortly filled the shallow borders of the
stagnating water, and by slow encroachments, going on through many
years, they have occupied the deeper portions, aided by the trees,
which, perishing, give their fallen branches and trunks, towards
completing the work. The trees decay and fall, and become entirely
converted into peat; or, as not unfrequently happens, especially in case
of resinous woods, preserve their form, and to some extent their
soundness.
In a similar manner, ponds and lakes are encroached upon; or, if
shallow, entirely filled up by peat deposits. In the Great Forest of
Northern New York, the voyager has abundant opportunity to observe the
formation of peat-swamps, both as a result of beaver dams, and of the
filling of shallow ponds, or the narrowing of level river courses. The
formation of peat in water of some depth greatly depends upon the growth
of aquatic plants, other than those already mentioned. In our Eastern
States the most conspicuous are the Arrow-head, (_Sagittaria_); the
Pickerel Weed, (_Pontederia_;) Duck Meat, (_Lemna_;) Pond Weed,
(_Potamogeton_;) various _Polygonums_, brothers of Buckwheat and
Smart-weed; and especially the Pond Lilies, _(Nymphoea_ and _Nuphar_.)
The latter grow in water four or five feet deep, their leaves and long
stems are thick and fleshy, and their roots, which fill the oozy mud,
are often several inches in diameter. Their decaying leaves and stems,
and their huge roots, living or dead, accumulate below and gradually
raise the bed of the pond. Their living foliage which often covers the
water almost completely for acres, becomes a shelter or support for
other more delicate aquatic plants and sphagnums, which, creeping out
from the shore, may so develop as to form a floating carpet, whereon the
leaves of the neighboring wood, and dust scattered by the wind collect,
bearing down the mass, which again increases above, or is reproduced
until the water is filled to its bottom with vegetable matter.
It is not rare to find in our bogs, patches of moss of considerable area
concealing deep water with a treacherous appearance of solidity, as the
hunter and botanist have often found to their cost. In countries of more
humid atmosphere, they are more common and attain greater dimensions. In
Zealand the surfaces of ponds are so frequently covered with floating
beds of moss, often stout enough to bear a man, that they have there
received a special name "_Hangesak_." In the Russian Ural, there occur
lakes whose floating covers of moss often extend five or six feet above
the water, and are so firm that roads are made across them, and forests
of large fir-trees find support. These immense accumulations are in fact
floating moors, consisting entirely of peat, save the living vegetation
at the surface.
Sometimes these floating peat-beds, bearing trees, are separated by
winds from their connection with the shore, and become swimming peat
islands. In a small lake near Eisenach, in Central Germany, is a
swimming island of this sort. Its diameter is 40 rods, and it consists
of a felt-like mass of peat, three to five feet in depth, covered above
by sphagnums and a great variety of aquatic plants. A few birches and
dwarf firs grow in this peat, binding it together by their roots, and
when the wind blows, they act as sails, so that the island is constantly
moving about upon the lake.
On the Neusiedler lake, in Hungary, is said to float a peat island
having an area of six square miles, and on lakes of the high Mexican
Plateau are similar islands which, long ago, were converted in fruitful
gardens.
3. _The different kinds of Peat._
Very great differences in the characters of the deposits in our
peat-beds are observable. These differences are partly of color, some
peats being gray, others red, others again black; the majority, when
dry, possess a dark brown-red or snuff color. They also vary remarkably
in weight and consistency. Some are compact, destitute of fibres or
other traces of the vegetation from which they have been derived, and on
drying, shrink greatly and yield tough dense masses which burn readily,
and make an excellent fuel. Others again are light and porous, and
remain so on drying; these contain intermixed vegetable matter that is
but little advanced in the peaty decomposition. Some peats are almost
entirely free from mineral matters, and on burning, leave but a few _per
cent._ of ash, others contain considerable quantities of lime or iron,
in chemical combination, or of sand and clay that have been washed in
from the hills adjoining the swamps. As has been observed, the peat of
some swamps is mostly derived from mosses, that of others originates
largely from grasses; some contain much decayed wood and leaves, others
again are free from these.
In the same swamp we usually observe more or less of all these
differences. We find the surface peat is light and full of partly
decayed vegetation, while below, the deposits are more compact. We
commonly can trace distinct strata or layers of peat, which are often
very unlike each other in appearance and quality, and in some cases the
light and compact layers alternate so that the former are found below
the latter.
The light and porous kinds of peat appear in general to be formed in
shallow swamps or on the surface of bogs, where there is considerable
access of air to the decaying matters, while the compacter, older, riper
peats are found at a depth, and seem to have been formed beneath the
low water mark, in more complete exclusion of the atmosphere, and under
a considerable degree of pressure.
The nature of the vegetation that flourishes in a bog, has much effect
on the character of the peat. The peats chiefly derived from mosses that
have grown in the full sunlight, have a yellowish-red color in their
upper layers, which usually becomes darker as we go down, running
through all shades of brown until at a considerable depth it is black.
Peats produced principally from grasses are grayish in appearance at the
surface, being full of silvery fibres--the skeletons of the blades of
grasses and sedges, while below they are commonly black.
_Moss peat_ is more often fibrous in structure, and when dried forms
somewhat elastic masses. _Grass peat_, when taken a little below the
surface, is commonly destitute of fibres; when wet, is earthy in its
look, and dries to dense hard lumps.
Where mosses and grasses have grown together simultaneously in the same
swamp, the peat is modified in its characters accordingly. Where, as may
happen, grass succeeds moss, or moss succeeds grass, the different
layers reveal their origin by their color and texture. At considerable
depths, however, where the peat is very old, these differences nearly or
entirely disappear.
The geological character of a country is not without influence on the
kind of peat. It is only in regions where the rocks are granitic or
silicious, where, at least, the surface waters are free or nearly free
from lime, that _mosses_ make the bulk of the peat.
In limestone districts, peat is chiefly formed from _grasses_ and
_sedges_.
This is due to the fact that mosses (sphagnums) need little lime for
their growth, while the grasses require much; aquatic grasses cannot,
therefore, thrive in pure waters, and in waters containing the requisite
proportion of lime, grasses and sedges choke out the moss.
The accidental admixtures of soil often greatly affect the appearance
and value of a peat, but on the whole it would appear that its quality
is most influenced by the degree of decomposition it has been subjected
to.
In meadows and marshes, overflowed by the ocean tides, we have
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PICTURES
OF
SOUTHERN LIFE,
SOCIAL, POLITICAL, AND MILITARY.
WRITTEN FOR THE LONDON TIMES,
BY
WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL, LL. D.,
SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.
NEW YORK:
James G. Gregory,
(SUCCESSOR TO W. A. TOWNSEND & CO.,)
46 WALKER STREET.
1861.
PICTURES OF SOUTHERN LIFE.
CHARLESTON, _April_ 30, 1861.[A]
[A] Mr. Russell wrote one letter from Charleston previous to
this, but it is occupied exclusively with a description of the
appearance of Fort Sumter after the siege. His “Pictures of Southern
Life” properly begin at the date above.
NOTHING I could say can be worth one fact which has forced itself upon
my mind in reference to the sentiments which prevail among the gentlemen
of this state. I have been among them for several days. I have visited
their plantations; I have conversed with them freely and fully, and I
have enjoyed that frank, courteous, and graceful intercourse which
constitutes an irresistible charm of their society. From all quarters
have come to my ears the echoes of the same voice; it may be feigned,
but there is no discord in the note, and it sounds in wonderful strength
and monotony all over the country. Shades of George III., of North, of
Johnson, of all who contended against the great rebellion which tore
these colonies from England, can you hear the chorus which rings through
the state of Marion, Sumter, and Pinckney, and not clap your ghostly
hands in triumph? That voice says, “If we could only get one of the
royal race of England to rule over us, we should be content.” Let there
be no misconception on this point. That sentiment, varied in a hundred
ways, has been repeated to me over and over again. There is a general
admission that the means to such an end are wanting, and that the desire
cannot be gratified. But the admiration for monarchical institutions on
the English model, for privileged classes, and for a landed aristocracy
and gentry, is undisguised and apparently genuine. With the pride of
having achieved their independence is mingled in the South Carolinians’
hearts a strange regret at the result and consequences, and many are
they who “would go back to-morrow if we could.” An intense affection for
the British connection, a love of British habits and customs, a respect
for British sentiment, law, authority, order, civilization, and
literature, pre-eminently distinguish the inhabitants of this state,
who, glorying in their descent from ancient families on the three
islands, whose fortunes they still follow, and with whose members they
maintain not unfrequently familiar relations, regard with an aversion of
which it is impossible to give an idea to one who has not seen its
manifestations, the people of New England and the populations of | 1,803.380398 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)
MY SERVICE IN THE U. S.
CAVALRY
A PAPER READ BEFORE
| 1,803.479151 |
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Produced by David Widger
THE LANDLORD AT LION'S HEAD
By William Dean Howells
Part | 1,803.579473 |
2023-11-16 18:47:08.0592460 | 5,595 | 46 |
Produced by Dagny
THE MESSAGE
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage
To M. le Marquis Damaso Pareto
THE MESSAGE
I have always longed to tell a simple and true story, which should
strike terror into two young lovers, and drive them to take refuge each
in the other's heart, as two children cling together at the sight of a
snake by a woodside. At the risk of spoiling my story and of being taken
for a coxcomb, I state my intention at the outset.
I myself played a part in this almost commonplace tragedy; so if it
fails to interest you, the failure will be in part my own fault, in
part owing to historical veracity. Plenty of things in real life are
superlatively uninteresting; so that it is one-half of art to select
from realities those which contain possibilities of poetry.
In 1819 I was traveling from Paris to Moulins. The state of my finances
obliged me to take an outside place. Englishmen, as you know, regard
those airy perches on the top of the coach as the best seats; and for
the first few miles I discovered abundance of excellent reasons for
justifying the opinion of our neighbors. A young fellow, apparently in
somewhat better circumstances, who came to take the seat beside me
from preference, listened to my reasoning with inoffensive smiles. An
approximate nearness of age, a similarity in ways of thinking, a common
love of fresh air, and of the rich landscape scenery through which the
coach was lumbering along,--these things, together with an indescribable
magnetic something, drew us before long into one of those short-lived
traveller's intimacies, in which we unbend with the more complacency
because the intercourse is by its very nature transient, and makes no
implicit demands upon the future.
We had not come thirty leagues before we were talking of women and love.
Then, with all the circumspection demanded in such matters, we proceeded
naturally to the topic of our lady-loves. Young as we both were, we
still admired "the woman of a certain age," that is to say, the woman
between thirty-five and forty. Oh! any poet who should have listened to
our talk, for heaven knows how many stages beyond Montargis, would have
reaped a harvest of flaming epithet, rapturous description, and very
tender confidences. Our bashful fears, our silent interjections, our
blushes, as we met each other's eyes, were expressive with an eloquence,
a boyish charm, which I have ceased to feel. One must remain young, no
doubt, to understand youth.
Well, we understood one another to admiration on all the essential
points of passion. We had laid it down as an axiom at the very outset,
that in theory and practice there was no such piece of driveling
nonsense in this world as a certificate of birth; that plenty of women
were younger at forty than many a girl of twenty; and, to come to the
point, that a woman is no older than she looks.
This theory set no limits to the age of love, so we struck out, in all
good faith, into a boundless sea. At length, when we had portrayed our
mistresses as young, charming, and devoted to us, women of rank, women
of taste, intellectual and clever; when we had endowed them with
little feet, a satin, nay, a delicately fragrant skin, then came the
admission--on his part that Madame Such-an-one was thirty-eight years
old, and on mine that I worshiped a woman of forty. Whereupon, as if
released on either side from some kind of vague fear, our confidences
came thick and fast, when we found that we were in the same
confraternity of love. It was which of us should overtop the other in
sentiment.
One of us had traveled six hundred miles to see his mistress for an
hour. The other, at the risk of being shot for a wolf, had prowled about
her park to meet her one night. Out came all our follies in fact. If it
is pleasant to remember past dangers, is it not at least as pleasant
to recall past delights? We live through the joy a second time. We told
each other everything, our perils, our great joys, our little pleasures,
and even the humors of the situation. My friend's countess had lighted
a cigar for him; mine made chocolate for me, and wrote to me every day
when we did not meet; his lady had come to spend three days with him at
the risk of ruin to her reputation; mine had done even better, or worse,
if you will have it so. Our countesses, moreover, were adored by their
husbands; these gentlemen were enslaved by the charm possessed by every
woman who loves; and, with even supererogatory simplicity, afforded us
that just sufficient spice of danger which increases pleasure. Ah! how
quickly the wind swept away our talk and our happy laughter!
When we reached Pouilly, I scanned my new friend with much interest, and
truly, it was not difficult to imagine him the hero of a very serious
love affair. Picture to yourselves a young man of middle height, but
very well proportioned, a bright, expressive face, dark hair, blue eyes,
moist lips, and white and even teeth. A certain not unbecoming pallor
still overspread his delicately cut features, and there were faint dark
circles about his eyes, as if he were recovering from an illness. Add,
furthermore, that he had white and shapely hands, of which he was as
careful as a pretty woman should be; add that he seemed to be very well
informed, and was decidedly clever, and it should not be difficult for
you to imagine that my traveling companion was more than worthy of a
countess. Indeed, many a girl might have wished for such a husband, for
he was a Vicomte with an income of twelve or fifteen thousand livres,
"to say nothing of expectations."
About a league out of Pouilly the coach was overturned. My
luckless comrade, thinking to save himself, jumped to the edge of a
newly-ploughed field, instead of following the fortunes of the vehicle
and clinging tightly to the roof, as I did. He either miscalculated in
some way, or he slipped; how it happened, I do not know, but the coach
fell over upon him, and he was crushed under it.
We carried him into a peasant's cottage, and there, amid the moans wrung
from him by horrible sufferings, he contrived to give me a commission--a
sacred task, in that it was laid upon me by a dying man's last wish.
Poor boy, all through his agony he was torturing himself in his young
simplicity of heart with the thought of the painful shock to his
mistress when she should suddenly read of his death in a newspaper. He
begged me to go myself to break the news to her. He bade me look for a
key which he wore on a ribbon about his neck. I found it half buried in
the flesh, but the dying boy did not utter a sound as I extricated it
as gently as possible from the wound which it had made. He had scarcely
given me the necessary directions--I was to go to his home at La
Charite-sur-Loire for his mistress' love-letters, which he conjured me
to return to her--when he grew speechless in the middle of a sentence;
but from his last gesture, I understood that the fatal key would be my
passport in his mother's house. It troubled him that he was powerless to
utter a single word to thank me, for of my wish to serve him he had no
doubt. He looked wistfully at me for a moment, then his eyelids drooped
in token of farewell, and his head sank, and he died. His death was the
only fatal accident caused by the overturn.
"But it was partly his own fault," the coachman said to me.
At La Charite, I executed the poor fellow's dying wishes. His mother was
away from home, which in a manner was fortunate for me. Nevertheless, I
had to assuage the grief of an old woman-servant, who staggered back at
the tidings of her young master's death, and sank half-dead into a chair
when she saw the blood-stained key. But I had another and more dreadful
sorrow to think of, the sorrow of a woman who had lost her last love;
so I left the old woman to her prosopopeia, and carried off the precious
correspondence, carefully sealed by my friend of the day.
The Countess' chateau was some eight leagues beyond Moulins, and then
there was some distance to walk across country. So it was not exactly an
easy matter to deliver my message. For divers reasons into which I need
not enter, I had barely sufficient money to take me to Moulins. However,
my youthful enthusiasm determined to hasten thither on foot as fast
as possible. Bad news travels swiftly, and I wished to be first at the
chateau. I asked for the shortest way, and hurried through the field
paths of the Bourbonnais, bearing, as it were, a dead man on my back.
The nearer I came to the Chateau de Montpersan, the more aghast I felt
at the idea of my strange self-imposed pilgrimage. Vast numbers of
romantic fancies ran in my head. I imagined all kinds of situations in
which I might find this Comtesse de Montpersan, or, to observe the laws
of romance, this _Juliette_, so passionately beloved of my traveling
companion. I sketched out ingenious answers to the questions which she
might be supposed to put to me. At every turn of a wood, in every
beaten pathway, I rehearsed a modern version of the scene in which
Sosie describes the battle to his lantern. To my shame be it said, I had
thought at first of nothing but the part that _I_ was to play, of my
own cleverness, of how I should demean myself; but now that I was in the
country, an ominous thought flashed through my soul like a thunderbolt
tearing its way through a veil of gray cloud.
What an awful piece of news it was for a woman whose whole thoughts were
full of her young lover, who was looking forward hour by hour to a joy
which no words can express, a woman who had been at a world of pains to
invent plausible pretexts to draw him to her side. Yet, after all, it
was a cruel deed of charity to be the messenger of death! So I hurried
on, splashing and bemiring myself in the byways of the Bourbonnais.
Before very long I reached a great chestnut avenue with a pile of
buildings at the further end--the Chateau of Montpersan stood out
against the sky like a mass of brown cloud, with sharp, fantastic
outlines. All the doors of the chateau stood open. This in itself
disconcerted me, and routed all my plans; but I went in boldly, and in
a moment found myself between a couple of dogs, barking as your
true country-bred animal can bark. The sound brought out a hurrying
servant-maid; who, when informed that I wished to speak to Mme. la
Comtesse, waved a hand towards the masses of trees in the English park
which wound about the chateau with "Madame is out there----"
"Many thanks," said I ironically. I might have wandered for a couple of
hours in the park with her "out there" to guide me.
In the meantime, a pretty little girl, with curling hair, dressed in a
white frock, a rose-colored sash, and a broad frill at the throat, had
overheard or guessed the question and its answer. She gave me a glance
and vanished, calling in shrill, childish tones:
"Mother, here is a gentleman who wishes to speak to you!"
And, along the winding alleys, I followed the skipping and dancing white
frill, a sort of will-o'-the-wisp, that showed me the way among the
trees.
I must make a full confession. I stopped behind the last shrub in the
avenue, pulled up my collar, rubbed my shabby hat and my trousers with
the cuffs of my sleeves, dusted my coat with the sleeves themselves,
and gave them a final cleansing rub one against the other. I buttoned my
coat carefully so as to exhibit the inner, always the least worn, side
of the cloth, and finally had turned down the tops of my trousers over
my boots, artistically cleaned in the grass. Thanks to this Gascon
toilet, I could hope that the lady would not take me for the local rate
collector; but now when my thoughts travel back to that episode of my
youth, I sometimes laugh at my own expense.
Suddenly, just as I was composing myself, at a turning in the green
walk, among a wilderness of flowers lighted up by a hot ray of sunlight,
I saw Juliette--Juliette and her husband. The pretty little girl
held her mother by the hand, and it was easy to see that the lady had
quickened her pace somewhat at the child's ambiguous phrase. Taken aback
by the sight of a total stranger, who bowed with a tolerably awkward
air, she looked at me with a coolly courteous expression and an adorable
pout, in which I, who knew her secret, could read the full extent of
her disappointment. I sought, but sought in vain, to remember any of the
elegant phrases so laboriously prepared.
This momentary hesitation gave the lady's husband time to come forward.
Thoughts by the myriad flitted through my brain. To give myself a
countenance, I got out a few sufficiently feeble inquiries, asking
whether the persons present were really M. le Comte and Mme. la
Comtesse de Montpersan. These imbecilities gave me time to form my own
conclusions at a glance, and, with a perspicacity rare at that age, to
analyze the husband and wife whose solitude was about to be so rudely
disturbed.
The husband seemed to be a specimen of a certain type of nobleman, the
fairest ornaments of the provinces of our day. He wore big shoes with
stout soles to them. I put the shoes first advisedly, for they made
an even deeper impression upon me than a seedy black coat, a pair of
threadbare trousers, a flabby cravat, or a crumpled shirt collar.
There was a touch of the magistrate in the man, a good deal more of the
Councillor of the Prefecture, all the self-importance of the mayor of
the arrondissement, the local autocrat, and the soured temper of the
unsuccessful candidate who has never been returned since the year 1816.
As to countenance--a wizened, wrinkled, sunburned face, and long, sleek
locks of scanty gray hair; as to character--an incredible mixture of
homely sense and sheer silliness; of a rich man's overbearing ways, and
a total lack of manners; just the kind of husband who is almost entirely
led by his wife, yet imagines himself to be the master; apt to domineer
in trifles, and to let more important things slip past unheeded--there
you have the man!
But the Countess! Ah, how sharp and startling the contrast between
husband and wife! The Countess was a little woman, with a flat, graceful
figure and enchanting shape; so fragile, so dainty was she, that you
would have feared to break some bone if you so much as touched her. She
wore a white muslin dress, a rose-colored sash, and rose-colored ribbons
in the pretty cap on her head; her chemisette was moulded so deliciously
by her shoulders and the loveliest rounded contours, that the sight of
her awakened an irresistible desire of possession in the depths of
the heart. Her eyes were bright and dark and expressive, her movements
graceful, her foot charming. An experienced man of pleasure would not
have given her more than thirty years, her forehead was so girlish.
She had all the most transient delicate detail of youth in her face. In
character she seemed to me to resemble the Comtesse de Lignolles and the
Marquise de B----, two feminine types always fresh in the memory of any
young man who has read Louvet's romance.
In a moment I saw how things stood, and took a diplomatic course that
would have done credit to an old ambassador. For once, and perhaps for
the only time in my life, I used tact, and knew in what the special
skill of courtiers and men of the world consists.
I have had so many battles to fight since those heedless days, that they
have left me no time to distil all the least actions of daily life, and
to do everything so that it falls in with those rules of etiquette and
good taste which wither the most generous emotions.
"M. le Comte," I said with an air of mystery, "I should like a few words
with you," and I fell back a pace or two.
He followed my example. Juliette left us together, going away
unconcernedly, like a wife who knew that she can learn her husband's
secrets as soon as she chooses to know them.
I told the Count briefly of the death of my traveling companion. The
effect produced by my news convinced me that his affection for his young
collaborator was cordial enough, and this emboldened me to make reply as
I did.
"My wife will be in despair," cried he; "I shall be obliged to break the
news of this unhappy event with great caution."
"Monsieur," said I, "I addressed myself to you in the first instance,
as in duty bound. I could not, without first informing you, deliver
a message to Mme. la Comtesse, a message intrusted to me by an entire
stranger; but this commission is a sort of sacred trust, a secret of
which I have no power to dispose. From the high idea of your character
which he gave me, I felt sure that you would not oppose me in the
fulfilment of a dying request. Mme. la Comtesse will be at liberty to
break the silence which is imposed upon me."
At this eulogy, the Count swung his head very amiably, responded with
a tolerably involved compliment, and finally left me a free field. We
returned to the house. The bell rang, and I was invited to dinner. As we
came up to the house, a grave and silent couple, Juliette stole a
glance at us. Not a little surprised to find her husband contriving some
frivolous excuse for leaving us together, she stopped short, giving me
a glance--such a glance as women only can give you. In that look of
hers there was the pardonable curiosity of the mistress of the house
confronted with a guest dropped down upon her from the skies and
innumerable doubts, certainly warranted by the state of my clothes, by
my youth and my expression, all singularly at variance; there was all
the disdain of the adored mistress, in whose eyes all men save one are
as nothing; there were involuntary tremors and alarms; and, above all,
the thought that it was tiresome to have an unexpected guest just now,
when, no doubt, she had been scheming to enjoy full solitude for her
love. This mute eloquence I understood in her eyes, and all the pity and
compassion in me made answer in a sad smile. I thought of her, as I had
seen her for one moment, in the pride of her beauty; standing in the
sunny afternoon in the narrow alley with the flowers on either hand; and
as that fair wonderful picture rose before my eyes, I could not repress
a sigh.
"Alas, madame, I have just made a very arduous journey----, undertaken
solely on your account."
"Sir!"
"Oh! it is on behalf of one who calls you Juliette that I am come," I
continued. Her face grew white.
"You will not see him to-day."
"Is he ill?" she asked, and her voice sank lower.
"Yes. But for pity's sake, control yourself.... He intrusted me with
secrets that concern you, and you may be sure that never messenger could
be more discreet nor more devoted than I."
"What is the matter with him?"
"How if he loved you no longer?"
"Oh! that is impossible!" she cried, and a faint smile, nothing less
than frank, broke over her face. Then all at once a kind of shudder ran
through her, and she reddened, and she gave me a wild, swift glance as
she asked:
"Is he alive?"
Great God! What a terrible phrase! I was too young to bear that tone in
her voice; I made no reply, only looked at the unhappy woman in helpless
bewilderment.
"Monsieur, monsieur, give me an answer!" she cried.
"Yes, madame."
"Is it true? Oh! tell me the truth; I can hear the truth. Tell me the
truth! Any pain would be less keen than this suspense."
I answered by two tears wrung from me by that strange tone of hers. She
leaned against a tree with a faint, sharp cry.
"Madame, here comes your husband!"
"Have I a husband?" and with those words she fled away out of sight.
"Well," cried the Count, "dinner is growing cold.--Come, monsieur."
Thereupon I followed the master of the house into the dining-room.
Dinner was served with all the luxury which we have learned to expect in
Paris. There were five covers laid, three for the Count and Countess and
their little daughter; my own, which should have been HIS; and another
for the canon of Saint-Denis, who said grace, and then asked:
"Why, where can our dear Countess be?"
"Oh! she will be here directly," said the Count. He had hastily helped
us to the soup, and was dispatching an ample plateful with portentous
speed.
"Oh! nephew," exclaimed the canon, "if your wife were here, you would
behave more rationally."
"Papa will make himself ill!" said the child with a mischievous look.
Just after this extraordinary gastronomical episode, as the Count was
eagerly helping himself to a slice of venison, a housemaid came in with,
"We cannot find madame anywhere, sir!"
I sprang up at the words with a dread in my mind, my fears written
so plainly in my face, that the old canon came out after me into the
garden. The Count, for the sake of appearances, came as far as the
threshold.
"Don't go, don't go!" called he. "Don't trouble yourselves in the
least," but he did not offer to accompany us.
We three--the canon, the housemaid, and I--hurried through the garden
walks and over the bowling-green in the park, shouting, listening for
an answer, growing more uneasy every moment. As we hurried along, I told
the story of the fatal accident, and discovered how strongly the maid
was attached to her mistress, for she took my secret dread far more
seriously than the canon. We went along by the pools of water; all over
the park we went; but we neither found the Countess nor any sign that
she had passed that way. At last we turned back, and under the walls of
some outbuildings I heard a smothered, wailing cry, so stifled that it
was scarcely audible. The sound seemed to come from a place that
might have been a granary. I went in at all risks, and there we found
Juliette. With the instinct of despair, she had buried herself deep in
the hay, hiding her face in it to deaden those dreadful cries--pudency
even stronger than grief. She was sobbing and crying like a child, but
there was a more poignant, more piteous sound in the sobs. There was
nothing left in the world for her. The maid pulled the hay from her, her
mistress submitting with the supine listlessness of a dying animal. The
maid could find nothing to say but "There! madame; there, there----"
"What is the matter with her? What is it, niece?" the old canon kept on
exclaiming.
At last, with the girl's help, I carried Juliette to her room, gave
orders that she was not to be disturbed, and that every one must be told
that the Countess was suffering from a sick headache. Then we came down
to the dining-room, the canon and I.
Some little time had passed since we left the dinner-table; I had
scarcely given a thought to the Count since we left him under the
peristyle; his indifference had surprised me, but my amazement increased
when we came back and found him seated philosophically at table. He had
eaten pretty nearly all the dinner, to the huge delight of his little
daughter; the child was smiling at her father's flagrant infraction of
the Countess' rules. The man's odd indifference was explained to me by
a mild altercation which at once arose with the canon. The Count was
suffering from some serious | 1,804.079286 |
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THE POSITIVE SCHOOL OF CRIMINOLOGY
Three Lectures
Given at the University of Naples, Italy on April 22, 23 and 24, 1901
By Enrico Ferri
Translated by Ernest Untermann
Chicago
Charles H. Kerr & Company
1908
THE POSITIVE SCHOOL OF CRIMINOLOGY
I.
My Friends:
When, in the turmoil of my daily occupation, I received an invitation,
several months ago, from several hundred students of this famous
university, to give them a brief summary, in short special lectures, of
the principal and fundamental conclusions of criminal sociology, I
gladly accepted, because this invitation fell in with two ideals of
mine. These two ideals are stirring my heart and are the secret of my
life. In the first place, this invitation chimed with the ideal of my
personal life, namely, to diffuse and propagate among my brothers the
scientific ideas, which my brain has accumulated, not through any merit
of mine, but thanks to the lucky prize inherited from my mother in the
lottery of life. And the second ideal which this invitation called up
before my mind's vision was this: The ideal of young people of Italy,
united in morals and intellectual pursuits, feeling in their social
lives the glow of a great aim. It would matter little whether this aim
would agree with my own ideas or be opposed to them, so long as it
should be an ideal which would lift the aspirations of the young people
out of the fatal grasp of egoistic interests. Of course, we positivists
know very well, that the material requirements of life shape and
determine also the moral and intellectual aims of human consciousness.
But positive science declares the following to be the indispensable
requirement for the regeneration of human ideals: Without an ideal,
neither an individual nor a collectivity can live, without it humanity
is dead or dying. For it is the fire of an ideal which renders the life
of each one of us possible, useful and fertile. And only by its help can
each one of us, in the more or less short course of his or her
existence, leave behind traces for the benefit of fellow-beings. The
invitation extended to me proves that the students of Naples believe in
the inspiring existence of such an ideal of science, and are anxious to
learn more about ideas, with which the entire world of the present day
is occupied, and whose life-giving breath enters even through the
windows of the dry courtrooms, when their doors are closed against it.
* * * * *
Let us now speak of this new science, which has become known in Italy by
the name of the Positive School of Criminology. This science, the same
as every other phenomenon of scientific evolution, cannot be
shortsightedly or conceitedly attributed to the arbitrary initiative of
this or that thinker, this or that scientist. We must rather regard it
as a natural product, a necessary phenomenon, in the development of that
sad and somber department of science which deals with the disease of
crime. It is this plague of crime which forms such a gloomy and painful
contrast with the splendor of present-day civilization. The 19th century
has won a great victory over mortality and infectious diseases by means
of the masterful progress of physiology and natural science. But while
contagious diseases have gradually diminished, we see on the other hand
that moral diseases are growing more numerous in our so-called
civilization. While typhoid fever, smallpox, cholera and diphtheria
retreated before the remedies which enlightened science applied by means
of the experimental method, removing their concrete causes, we see on
the other hand that insanity, suicide and crime, that painful trinity,
are growing apace. And this makes it very evident that the science which
is principally, if not exclusively, engaged in studying these phenomena
of social disease, should feel the necessity of finding a more exact
diagnosis of these moral diseases of society, in order to arrive at some
effective and more humane remedy, which should more victoriously combat
this somber trinity of insanity, suicide and crime.
The science of positive criminology arose in the last quarter of the
19th century, as a result of this strange contrast, which would be
inexplicable, if we could not discover historical and scientific reasons
for its existence. And it is indeed a strange contrast that Italy should
have arrived at a perfect theoretical development of a classical school
of criminology, while there persists, on the other hand, the disgraceful
condition that criminality assumes dimensions never before observed in
this country, so that the science of criminology cannot stem the tide of
crime in high and low circles. It is for this reason, that the positive
school of criminology arises out of the very nature of things, the same
as every other line of science. It is based on the conditions of our
daily life. It would indeed be conceited on our part to claim that we,
who are the originators of this new science and its new conclusions,
deserve alone the credit for its existence. The brain of the scientist
is rather a sort of electrical accumulator, which feels and assimilates
the vibrations and heart-beats of life, its splendor and its shame, and
derives therefrom the conviction that it must of necessity provide for
definite social wants. And on the other hand, it would be an evidence of
intellectual short-sightedness on the part of the positivist man of
science, if he did not recognize the historical accomplishments, which
his predecessors on the field of science have left behind as indelible
traces of their struggle against the unknown in that brilliant and
irksome domain. For this reason, the adherents of the positive school of
criminology feel the most sincere reverence for the classic school of
criminology. And I am glad today, in accepting the invitation of the
students of Naples, to say, that this is another reason why their
invitation was welcome to me. It is now 16 years since I gave in this
same hall a lecture on positive criminology, which was then in its
initial stages. It was in 1885, when I had the opportunity to outline
the first principles of the positive school of criminology, at the
invitation of other students, who preceded you on the periodic waves of
the intellectual generations. And the renewal of this opportunity gave
me so much moral satisfaction that, I could not under any circumstances
decline your invitation. Then too, the Neapolitan Atheneum has
maintained the reputation of the Italian mind in the 19th century, also
in that science which even foreign scientists admit to be our specialty,
namely the science of criminology. In fact, aside from the two terrible
books of the Digest, and from the practical criminologists of the Middle
Ages who continued the study of criminality, the modern world opened a
glorious page in the progress of criminal science with the modest little
book of Cesare Beccaria. This progress leads from Cesare Beccaria, by
way of Francesco Carrara, to Enrico Pessina.
Enrico Pessina alone remains of the two giants who concluded the cycle
of classic school of criminology. In a lucid moment of his scientific
consciousness, which soon reverted to the old abstract and metaphysical
theories, he announced in an introductory statement in 1879, that
criminal justice would have to rejuvenate itself in the pure bath of the
natural sciences and substitute in place of abstraction the living and
concrete study of facts. Naturally every scientist has his function and
historical significance; and we cannot expect that a brain which has
arrived at the end of its career should turn towards a new direction. At
any rate, it is a significant fact that this most renowned
representative of the classic school of criminology should have pointed
out this need of his special science in this same university of Naples,
one year after the inauguration of the positive school of criminology,
that he should have looked forward to a time when the study of natural
and positive facts would set to rights the old juridical abstractions.
And there is still another precedent in the history of this university,
which makes scientific propaganda at this place very agreeable for a
positivist. It is that six years before that introductory statement by
Pessina, Giovanni Bovio gave lectures at this university, which he
published later on under the title of "A Critical Study of Criminal
Law." Giovanni Bovio performed in this monograph the function of a
critic, but the historical time of his thought, prevented him from
taking part in the construction of a new science. However, he prepared
the ground for new ideas, by pointing out all the rifts and weaknesses
of the old building. Bovio maintained that which Gioberti, Ellero,
Conforti, Tissol had already maintained, namely that it is impossible to
solve the problem which is still the theoretical foundation of the
classic school of criminology, the problem of the relation between
punishment and crime. No man, no scientist, no legislator, no judge, has
ever been able to indicate any absolute standard, which would enable us
to say that equity demands a definite punishment for a definite crime.
We can find some opportunistic expedient, but not a solution of the
problem. Of course, if we could decide which is the gravest crime, then
we could also decide on the heaviest sentence and formulate a descending
scale which would establish the relative fitting proportions between
crime and punishment. If it is agreed that patricide is the gravest
crime, we meet out the heaviest sentence, death or imprisonment for
life, and then we can agree on a descending scale of crime and on a
parallel scale of punishments. But the problem begins right with the
first stone of the structure, not with the succeeding steps. Which is
the greatest penalty proportional to the crime of patricide? Neither
science, nor legislation, nor moral consciousness, can offer an absolute
standard. Some say: The greatest penalty is death. Others say: No,
imprisonment for life. Still others say: Neither death, nor imprisonment
for life, but only imprisonment for a time. And if imprisonment for a
time is to be the highest penalty, how many years shall it last
--thirty, or twenty-five, or ten?
No man can set up any absolute standard in this matter. Giovanni Bovio
thus arrived at the conclusion that this internal contradiction in the
science of criminology was the inevitable fate of human justice, and
that this justice, struggling in the grasp of this internal
contradiction, must turn to the civil law and ask for help in its
weakness. The same thought had already been illumined by a ray from the
bright mind of Filangieri, who died all too soon. And we can derive from
this fact the historical rule that the most barbarian conditions of
humanity show a prevalence of a criminal code which punishes without
healing; and that the gradual progress of civilization will give rise
to the opposite conception of healing without punishing.
Thus it happens that this university of Naples, in which the illustrious
representative of the classic school of criminology realized the
necessity of its regeneration, and in which Bovio foresaw its sterility,
has younger teachers now who keep alive the fire of the positivist
tendency in criminal science, such as Penta, Zuccarelli, and others,
whom you know. Nevertheless I feel that this faculty of jurisprudence
still lacks oxygen in the study of criminal law, because its thought is
still influenced by the overwhelming authority of the name of Enrico
Pessina. And it is easy to understand that there, where the majestic
tree spreads out its branches towards the blue vault, the young plant
feels deprived of light and air, while it might have grown strong and
beautiful in another place.
The positive school of criminology, then, was born in our own Italy
through the singular attraction of the Italian mind toward the study of
criminology; and its birth is also due to the peculiar condition our
country with its great and strange contrast between the theoretical
doctrines and the painful fact of an ever increasing criminality.
The positive school of criminology was inaugurate by the work of Cesare
Lombroso, in 1872. From 1872 to 1876 he opened a new way for the study
of criminality by demonstrating in his own person that we must first
understand the criminal who offends, before we can study and understand
his crime. Lombroso studied the prisoners in the various penitentiaries
of Italy from the point of view of anthropology. And he compiled his
studies in the reports of the Lombardian Institute of Science and
Literature, and published them later together in his work "Criminal
Man." The first edition of this work (1876) remained almost unnoticed,
either because its scientific material was meager, or because Cesare
Lombroso had not yet drawn any general scientific conclusions, which
could have attracted the attention of the world of science and law. But
simultaneously with its second edition (1878) there appeared two
monographs, which constituted the embryo of the new school,
supplementing the anthropological studies of Lombroso with conclusions
and systematizations from the point of view of sociology and law.
Raffaele Garofalo published in the Neapolitan Journal of Philosophy and
Literature an essay on criminality, in which he declared that the
dangerousness of the criminal was the criterion by which society should
measure the function of its defense against the disease of crime. And in
the same year, 1878, I took occasion to publish a monograph on the
denial of free will and personal responsibility, in which I declared
frankly that from now on the science of crime and punishment must look
for the fundamental facts of a science of social defense against crime
in the human and social life itself. The simultaneous publication of
these three monographs caused a stir. The teachers of classic
criminology, who had taken kindly to the recommendations of Pessina and
Ellero, urging them to study the natural sources of crime, met the new
ideas with contempt, when the new methods made a determined and radical
departure, and became not only the critics, but the zealous opponents of
the new theories. And this is easy to understand. For the struggle for
existence is an irresistible law of nature, as well for the thousands of
germs scattered to the winds by the oak, as for the ideas which grow in
the brain of man. But persecutions, calumnies, criticisms, and
opposition are powerless against an idea, if it carries within itself
the germ of truth. Moreover, we should look upon this phenomenon of a
repugnance in the average intellect (whether of the ordinary man or the
scientist) for all new ideas as a natural function. For when the brain
of some man has felt the light of a new idea, a sneering criticism
serves us a touchstone for it. If the idea is wrong, it will fall by the
wayside; if it is right, then criticisms, opposition and persecution
will cull the golden kernel from the unsightly shell, and the idea will
march victoriously over everything and everybody. It is so in all walks
of life--in art, in politics, in science. Every new idea will rouse
against itself naturally and inevitably the opposition of the accustomed
thoughts. This is so true, that when Cesare Beccaria opened the great
historic cycle of the classic school of criminology, he was assaulted by
the critics of his time with the same indictments which were brought
against us a century later.
When Cesare Beccaria printed his book on crime and penalties in 1774
under a false date and place of publication, reflecting the aspirations
which gave rise to the impending hurricane of the French revolution;
when he hurled himself against all that was barbarian in the mediaeval
laws and set loose a storm of enthusiasm among the encyclopedists, and
even some of the members of government, in France, he was met by a wave
of opposition, calumny and accusation on the part of the majority of
jurists, judges and lights of philosophy. The abbe Jachinci published
four volumes against Beccaria, calling him the destroyer of justice and
morality, simply because he had combatted the tortures and the death
penalty.
The tortures, which we incorrectly ascribe to the mental brutality of
the judges of those times, were but a logical consequence of the
contemporaneous theories. It was felt that in order to condemn a man,
one must have the certainty of his guilty, and it was said that the best
means of obtaining tins certainty, the queen of proofs, was the
confession of the criminal. And if the criminal denied his guilt, it was
necessary to have recourse to torture, in order to force him to a
confession which he withheld from fear of the penalty. The torture
soothed, so to say, the conscience of the judge, who was free to condemn
as soon as he had obtained a confession. Cesare Beccaria rose with
others against the torture. Thereupon the judges and jurists protested
that penal justice would be impossible, because it could not get any
information, since a man suspected of a crime would not confess his
guilt voluntarily. Hence they accused Beccaria of being the protector of
robbers and murderers, because he wanted to abolish the only means of
compelling them to a confession, the torture. But Cesare Beccaria had on
his side the magic power of truth. He was truly the electric accumulator
of his time, who gathered from its atmosphere the presage of the coming
revolution, the stirring of the human conscience. You can find a similar
illustration in the works of Daquin in Savoy, of Pinel in France, and of
Hach Take in England, who strove to bring about a revolution in the
treatment of the insane. This episode interests us especially, because
it is a perfect illustration of the way traveled by the positive school
of criminology. The insane were likewise considered to blame for their
insanity. At the dawn of the 19th century, the physician Hernroth still
wrote that insanity was a moral sin of the insane, because "no one
becomes insane, unless he forsakes the straight path of virtue and of
the fear of the Lord."
And on this assumption the insane were locked up in horrible dungeons,
loaded down with chains, tortured and beaten, for lo! their insanity was
their own fault.
At that period, Pinel advanced the revolutionary idea that insanity was
not a sin, but a disease like all other diseases. This idea is now a
commonplace, but in his time it revolutionized the world. It seemed as
though this innovation inaugurated by Pinel would overthrow the world
and the foundations of society. Well, two years before the storming of
the Bastile Pinel walked into the sanitarium of the Salpetriere and
committed the brave act of freeing the insane of the chains that weighed
them down. He demonstrated in practice that the insane, when freed of
their chains, became quieter, instead of creating wild disorder and
destruction. This great revolution of Pinel, Chiarugi, and others,
changed the attitude of the public mind toward the insane. While
formerly insanity had been regarded as a moral sin, the public
conscience, thanks to the enlightening work of science, henceforth had
to adapt itself to the truth that insanity is a disease like all
others, that a man does not become insane because he wants to, but that
he becomes insane through hereditary transmission and the influence of
the environment in which he lives, being predisposed toward insanity and
becoming insane under the pressure of circumstances.
The positive school of criminology accomplished the same revolution in
the views concerning the treatment of criminals that the above named men
of science accomplished for the treatment of the insane. The general
opinion of classic criminalists and of the people at large is that crime
involves a moral guilt, because it is due to the free will of the
individual who leaves the path of virtue and chooses the path of crime,
and therefore it must be suppressed by meeting it with a proportionate
quantity of punishment. This is to this day the current conception of
crime. And the illusion of a free human will (the only miraculous factor
in the eternal ocean of cause and effect) leads to the assumption that
one can choose freely between virtue and vice. How can you still believe
in the existence of a free will, when modern psychology armed with all
the instruments of positive modern research, denies that there is any
free will and demonstrates that every act of a human being is the
result of an interaction between the personality and the environment of
man?
And how is it possible to cling to that obsolete idea of moral guilt,
according to which every individual is supposed to have the free choice
to abandon virtue and give himself up to crime? The positive school of
criminology maintains, on the contrary, that it is not the criminal who
wills; in order to be a criminal it is rather necessary that the
individual should find himself permanently or transitorily in such
personal, physical and moral conditions, and live in such an
environment, which become for him a chain of cause and effect,
externally and internally, that disposes him toward crime. This is our
conclusion, which I anticipate, and it constitutes the vastly different
and opposite method, which the positive school of criminology employs as
compared to the leading principle of the classic school of criminal
science.
In this method, this essential principle of the positive school of
criminology, you will find another reason for the seemingly slow advance
of this school. That is very natural. If you consider the great reform
carried by the ideas of Cesare Beccaria into the criminal justice of
the Middle Age, you will see that the great classic school represents
but a small step forward, because it leaves the penal justice on the
same theoretical and practical basis which it had in the Middle Age and
in classic antiquity, that is to say, based on the idea of a moral
responsibility of the individual. For Beccaria, for Carrara, for their
predecessors, this idea is no more nor less than that mentioned in books
47 and 48 of the Digest: "The criminal is liable to punishment to the
extent that he is morally guilty of the crime he has committed." The
entire classic school is, therefore, nothing but a series of reforms.
Capital punishment has been abolished in some countries, likewise
torture, confiscation, corporal punishment. But nevertheless the immense
scientific movement of the classic school has remained a mere reform.
It has continued in the 19th century to look upon crime in the same way
that the Middle Age did: "Whoever commits murder or theft, is alone the
absolute arbiter to decide whether he wants to commit the crime or not."
This remains the foundation of the classic school of criminology. This
explains why it could travel on its way more rapidly than the positive
school of criminology. And yet, it took half a century from the time of
Beccaria, before the penal codes showed signs of the reformatory
influence of the classic school of criminology. So that it has also
taken quite a long time to establish it so well that it became accepted
by general consent, as it is today. The positive school of criminology
was born in 1878, and although it does not stand for a mere reform of
the methods of criminal justice, but for a complete and fundamental
transformation of criminal justice itself, it has already gone quite a
distance and made considerable conquests which begin to show in our
country. It is a fact that the penal code now in force in this country
represents a compromise, so far as the theory of personal responsibility
is concerned, between the old theory of free will and the conclusions of
the positive school which denies this free will.
You can find an illustration of this in the eloquent contortions of
phantastic logic in the essays on the criminal code written by a great
advocate of the classic school of criminology, Mario Pagano, this
admirable type of a scientist and patriot, who does not lock himself up
in the quiet egoism of his study, but feels the ideal of his time
stirring within him and gives up his life to it. He has written three
lines of a simple nudity that reveals much, in which he says: "A man is
responsible for the crimes which he commits; if, in committing a crime,
his will is half free, he is responsible to the extent of one-half; if
one-third, he is responsible one-third." There you have the
uncompromising and absolute classic theorem. But in the penal code of
1890, you will find that the famous article 45 intends to base the
responsibility for a crime on the simple will, to the exclusion of the
free will. However, the Italian judge has continued to base the exercise
of penal justice on the supposed existence of the free will, and
pretends not to know that the number of scientists denying the free will
is growing. Now, how is it possible that so terrible an office as that
of sentencing criminals retains its stability or vacillates, according
to whether the first who denies the existence of a free will deprives
this function of its foundation?
Truly, it is said that this question has been too difficult for the new
Italian penal code. And, for this reason, it was thought best to base
the responsibility for a crime on the idea that a man is guilty simply
for the reason that he wanted to commit the crime; and that he is not
responsible if he did not want to commit it. But this is an eclectic way
out of the difficulty, which settles nothing, for in the same code we
have the rule that involuntary criminals are also punished, so that
involuntary killing and wounding are punished with imprisonment the same
as voluntary deeds of this kind. We have heard it said in such cases
that the result may not have been intended, but the action bringing it
about was. If a hunter shoots through a hedge and kills or wounds a
person, he did not intend to kill, and yet he is held responsible
because his first act, the shooting, was voluntary.
That statement applies to involuntary crimes, which are committed by
some positive act. But what about involuntary crimes of omission? In a
railway station, where the movements of trains represent the daily whirl
of traffic in men, things, and ideas, every switch is a delicate
instrument which may cause a derailment. The railway management places a
switchman on duty at this delicate post. But in a moment of fatigue, or
because he had to work inhumanly long hours of work, which exhausted all
his nervous elasticity, or for other reasons, the switchman forgets to
set the switch and causes a railroad accident, in which people are
killed and wounded. Can it be said that he intended the first act?
Assuredly not, for he did not intend anything and did not do anything.
The hunter who fires a shot has at least had the intention of shooting.
But the switchman did not want to forget (for in that case he would be
indirectly to blame); he has simply forgotten from sheer fatigue to do
his duty; he has had no intention whatever, and yet you hold him
responsible in spite of all that! The fundamental logic of your
reasoning in this case corresponds to the logic of the things. Does it
not happen every day in the administration of justice that the judges
forget about the neutral expedient of the legislator who devised this
relative progress of the penal code, which pretends to base the
responsibility of a man on the neutral and naive criterion of a will
without freedom of will? Do they not follow their old mental habits in
the administration of justice and apply the obsolete criterion of the
free will, which the legislator thought fit to abandon? We see, then,
as a result of this imperfect and insincere innovation in penal
legislation this flagrant contradiction, that the magistrates assume the
existence of a free will, while the legislator has decided that it shall
not be assumed. Now, in science as well as in legislation, we should
follow a direct and logical line, such as that of the classic school or
the positive school of criminology. But whoever thinks he has solved a
problem when he gives us a solution which is neither fish nor fowl,
comes to the most absurd and iniquitous conclusions. You see what
happens every day. If to-morrow some beastly and incomprehensible crime
is committed, the conscience of the judge is troubled by this question:
Was the person who committed this crime morally free to act or not? He
may also invoke the help of legislation, and he may take refuge in
article 46,[A] or in that compromise of article 47,[B] which admits
a responsibility of one-half or one-third, and he would decide on a
penalty of one-half or one-third.
All this may take place in the case of a grave and strange crime. And on
the other hand, go to the municipal courts or to the police courts,
where the magic lantern of justice throws its rays upon the nameless
human beings who have stolen a bundle of wood in a hard winter, or who
have slapped some one in the face during a brawl in a saloon.
And if they should find a defending lawyer who would demand the
appointment of a medical expert, watch the reception he would get from
the judge. When justice is surprised by a beastly and strange crime, it
feels the entire foundation of its premises shaking, it halts for a
moment, it calls in the help of legal medicine, and reflects before it
sentences. But in the case of those poor nameless creatures, justice
does not stop to consider whether that microbe in the criminal world who
steals under the influence of hereditary or acquired degeneration, or in
the delirium of chronic hunger, is not worthy of more pity. It rather
replies with a mephistophelian grin when he begs for a humane
understanding of his case.
[A] Article 46: "A person is not subject to punishment, if at the moment
of his deed he was in a mental condition which deprived him of
consciousness or of the freedom of action. But if the judge considers it
dangerous to acquit the prisoner, he has to transfer him to the care of
the proper authorities, who will take the necessary precautions."
[B] Article 47: "If the mental condition mentioned in the foregoing
article was such as to considerably decrease the responsibility, without
eliminating it entirely, the penalty fixed upon the crime committed is
reduced according to the following rules:
"I. In place of penitentiary, imprisonment for not less than six years.
"II. In place of the permanent loss of civic rights, a loss of these
rights for a stipulated time.
"III. Whenever it is a question of a penalty of more than twelve years,
it is reduced to from three to ten years; if of more than six years, but
not more than twelve, it is reduced to from one to five years; in other
cases, the reduction is to be one-half of the ordinary penalty.
"IV. A fine is reduced to one-half.
"V. If the penalty would be a restriction of personal liberty, the judge
may order the prisoner to a workhouse, until the proper authorities
object, when the remainder of the sentence is carried out in the usual
manner."
It is true that there is now and then in those halls of justice, which
remain all too frequently closed to the living wave of public sentiment,
some more intelligent and serene judge who is touched by this painful
understanding of the actual human life. Then he may, under the illogical
conditions of penal justice, with its compromise between the exactness
of the classic and that of the positive school of criminology, seek for
some expedient which may restore him to equanimity.
In 1832, France introduced a penal innovation, which seemed to represent
an advance on the field of justice, but which is in reality a denial of
justice: The expedient of _extenuating circumstances_. The judge does
not ask for the advice of the court physician in the case of some
forlorn criminal, but condemns him without a word of rebuke to society
for its complicity. But in order to assuage his own conscience he grants
him extenuating circumstances, which seem a concession of justice, but
are, in reality, a denial of justice. For you either believe that a man
is responsible for his crime, and in that case the concession of
extenuating circumstances is a hypocrisy; or you grant them in good
faith, and then you admit that the man was in circumstances which
reduced his moral responsibility, and thereby the extenuating
circumstances become a denial of justice. For if your conviction
concerning such circumstances were sincere, you would go to the bottom
of them and examine with the light of your understanding all those
innumerable conditions which contribute toward those extenuating
circumstances. But what are those extenuating circumstances? Family
conditions? Take it that a child is left alone by its parents, who are
swallowed up in the whirl of modern industry, which overthrows the laws
of nature and forbids the necessary rest, because steam engines do not
get tired and day work must be followed by night work, so that the
setting of the sun is no longer the signal for the laborer to rest, but
to begin a new shift of work. Take it that this applies not alone to
adults, but also to human beings in the growing stage, whose muscular
power may yield some profit for the capitalists. Take it that even the
mother, during the period of sacred maternity, becomes a cog in the
machinery of industry. And you will understand that the child must grow
up, left to its own resources, in the filth of life, and that its
history will be inscribed in criminal statistics, which are | 1,804.579235 |
2023-11-16 18:47:08.6833160 | 1,372 | 11 |
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LIFE IN AN
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BY
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CLIFFORD'S INN
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
A FRONTIER POST
PAGE
Our first view of the Himalayas--Across India in a troop
train--A scattered regiment--An elephant-haunted
railway--Kinchinjunga--The great Terai
Jungle--Rajabhatkawa--In the days of Warren
Hastings--Hillmen--Roving Chinese--We arrive at Buxa
Road--Relieved officers--An undesirable outpost--March
through the forest--The hills--A mountain road--Lovely
scenery--Buxa Duar--A lonely Station--The labours of an
Indian Army officer--Varied work--The frontier of
Bhutan--A gate of India--A Himalayan paradise--The
fort--Intrusive monkeys--The cantonment--The Picquet
Towers--The bazaar--The cemetery--Forgotten
graves--Tragedies of loneliness--From Bhutan to the sea 1
CHAPTER II
LIFE ON OUTPOST
The daily routine--Drill in the Indian Army--Hindustani--A
lingua franca--The divers tongues of India--The sepoys'
lodging--Their ablutions--An Indian's fare--An Indian
regiment--Rajput customs--The hospital--The doctor at
work--Queer patients--A vicious bear--The Officers'
Mess--Plain diet--Water--The simple life--A bachelor's
establishment--A faithful Indian--Fighting the
trusts--Transport in the hills--My bungalow--Amusements
in Buxa--Dull days--Asirgarh--A lonely
outpost--Poisoning a General--A storied
fortress--Soldier ghosts--A spectral officer--The
tragedy of isolation--A daring panther--A day on an
elephant--Sport in the jungle--_Gooral_ stalking in the
hills--Strange pets--A friendly deer--A terrified
visitor--A walking menagerie--Elephants tame and
wild--Their training--Their caution--Their rate of
speed--Fondness for water--Quickly reconciled to
captivity--Snakes--A narrow escape--A king-cobra; the
hamadryad--Hindu worship of the cobra--General Sir
Hamilton Bower--An adventurous career--E. F.
Knight--The General's inspection 19
CHAPTER III
THE BORDERLAND OF BHUTAN
The races along our North-East Border--Tibet--The
Mahatmas--Nepal---Bhutan--Its geography--Its
founder--Its Government--Religious rule--Analogy
between Bhutan and old Japan--_Penlops_ and
_Daimios_--The Tongsa _Penlop_--Reincarnation of the
Shaptung Rimpoche--China's claim to Bhutan--Capture of
the Maharajah of Cooch Behar--Bogle's mission--Raids
and outrages--The Bhutan War of 1864-5--The Duars--The
annual subsidy--Bhutan to-day--Religion--An impoverished
land--Bridges--Soldiers in Bhutan--Thefeudal
system--Administration of justice--Tyranny of
officials--The Bhuttias--Ugly women--Our neighbours in
Buxa--A Bhuttia festival--Archery--A banquet--A
dance--A Scotch half-caste--Chunabatti--Nature of the
borderland--Disappearing rivers--The Terai--Tea
gardens--A planter's life--The club--Wild beasts in the
path--The Indian planters--Misplaced sympathy--The tea
| 1,804.703356 |
2023-11-16 18:47:08.6833220 | 589 | 10 |
Produced by Shaun Pinder, Stephen Hutcheson, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
_November_, 1887.
_A List of Books_
PUBLISHED BY
Chatto & Windus,
214, PICCADILLY, LONDON, W.
_Sold by all Booksellers, or sent post free for the published price by
the Publishers._
About.--The Fellah: An Egyptian Novel. By Edmond About. Translated by
Sir Randal Roberts. Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s.; cloth limp,
2s. 6d.
Adams (W. Davenport), Works by:
A Dictionary of the Drama. Being a comprehensive Guide to the Plays,
Playwrights, Players, and Playhouses of the United Kingdom and
America, from the Earliest to the Present Times. Crown 8vo,
half-bound, 12s. 6d.
[_Preparing._
Quips and Quiddities. Selected by W. Davenport Adams. Post 8vo, cloth
limp, 2s. 6d.
Advertising, A History of, from the Earliest Times. Illustrated by
Anecdotes, Curious Specimens, and Notices of Successful Advertisers.
By Henry Sampson. Crown 8vo, with Frontispiece and
Illustrations, cloth gilt, 7s. 6d.
Agony Column (The) of "The Times," from 1800 to 1870. Edited, with an
Introduction, by Alice Clay. Post 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.
Aide (Hamilton), Works by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Carr of Carrlyon.
Confidences.
Alexander (Mrs.), Novels by:
Post 8vo, illustrated boards, 2s. each.
Maid, Wife, or Widow?
Valerie's Fate.
Allen (Grant), Works by:
Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 6s. each.
The Evolutionist at Large. Second Edition, revised.
Vignettes from Nature.
Colin Clout's Calendar.
Strange Stories. With Frontispiece by George Du Maurier. Cr. 8vo, cl.
ex., 6s.; post 8vo, illust. bds., 2s.
Philistia: A Novel. Crown 8vo, cloth extra, 3s. 6d.; post 8vo, illust.
bds., 2s.
Babylon: A Novel | 1,804.703362 |
2023-11-16 18:47:08.7591040 | 2,013 | 8 |
Produced by Sandra Laythorpe
THE DAISY CHAIN, OR ASPIRATIONS
By Charlotte Yonge
PREFACE.
No one can be more sensible than is the Author that the present is an
overgrown book of a nondescript class, neither the "tale" for the young,
nor the novel for their elders, but a mixture of both.
Begun as a series of conversational sketches, the story outran both
the original intention and the limits of the periodical in which it was
commenced; and, such as it has become, it is here presented to those who
have already made acquaintance with the May family, and may be willing
to see more of them. It would beg to be considered merely as what it
calls itself, a Family Chronicle--a domestic record of home events,
large and small, during those years of early life when the character
is chiefly formed, and as an endeavour to trace the effects of those
aspirations which are a part of every youthful nature. That the young
should take one hint, to think whether their hopes and upward-breathings
are truly upwards, and founded in lowliness, may be called the moral of
the tale.
For those who may deem the story too long, and the characters too
numerous, the Author can only beg their pardon for any tedium that they
may have undergone before giving it up. Feb. 22nd, 1856.
THE DAISY CHAIN
PART 1.
CHAPTER I.
Si douce est la Marguerite.--CHAUCER.
"Miss Winter, are you busy? Do you want this afternoon? Can you take a
good long walk?"
"Ethel, my dear, how often have I told you of your impetuosity--you have
forgotten."
"Very well"--with an impatient twist--"I beg your pardon. Good-morning,
Miss Winter," said a thin, lank, angular, sallow girl, just fifteen,
trembling from head to foot with restrained eagerness, as she tried to
curb her tone into the requisite civility.
"Good-morning, Ethel, good-morning, Flora," said the prim, middle-aged
daily governess, taking off her bonnet, and arranging the stiff little
rolls of curl at the long, narrow looking-glass, the border of which
distorted the countenance.
"Good-morning," properly responded Flora, a pretty, fair girl, nearly
two years older than her sister.
"Will you--" began to burst from Etheldred's lips again, but was stifled
by Miss Winter's inquiry, "Is your mamma pretty well to-day?"
"Oh! very well," said both at once; "she is coming to the reading." And
Flora added, "Papa is going to drive her out to-day."
"I am very glad. And the baby?"
"I do believe she does it on purpose!" whispered Ethel to herself,
wriggling fearfully on the wide window-seat on which she had
precipitated herself, and kicking at the bar of the table, by which
manifestation she of course succeeded in deferring her hopes, by a
reproof which caused her to draw herself into a rigid, melancholy
attitude, a sort of penance of decorum, but a rapid motion of the
eyelids, a tendency to crack the joints of the fingers, and an
unquietness at the ends of her shoes, betraying the restlessness of the
digits therein contained.
It was such a room as is often to be found in old country town houses,
the two large windows looking out on a broad old-fashioned street,
through heavy framework, and panes of glass scratched with various names
and initials. The walls were painted blue, the skirting almost a third
of the height, and so wide at the top as to form a narrow shelf. The
fireplace, constructed in the days when fires were made to give as
little heat as possible, was ornamented with blue and white Dutch
tiles bearing marvellous representations of Scripture history, and was
protected by a very tall green guard; the chairs were much of the same
date, solid and heavy, the seats in faded carpet-work, but there was a
sprinkling of lesser ones and of stools; a piano; a globe; a large table
in the middle of the room, with three desks on it; a small one, and a
light cane chair by each window; and loaded book-cases. Flora began, "If
you don't want this afternoon to yourself--"
Ethel was on her feet, and open-mouthed. "Oh, Miss Winter, if you would
be so kind as to walk to Cocksmoor with us!"
"To Cocksmoor, my dear!" exclaimed the governess in dismay.
"Yes, yes, but hear," cried Ethel. "It is not for nothing. Yesterday--"
"No, the day before," interposed Flora.
"There was a poor man brought into the hospital. He had been terribly
hurt in the quarry, and papa says he'll die. He was in great distress,
for his wife has just got twins, and there were lots of children before.
They want everything--food and clothes--and we want to walk and take
it."
"We had a collection of clothes ready, luckily," said Flora; "and we
have a blanket, and some tea and some arrowroot, and a bit of bacon, and
mamma says she does not think it too far for us to walk, if you will be
so kind as to go with us."
Miss Winter looked perplexed. "How could you carry the blanket, my
dear?"
"Oh, we have settled that," said Ethel, "we mean to make the donkey a
sumpter-mule, so, if you are tired, you may ride home on her."
"But, my dear, has your mamma considered? They are such a set of wild
people at Cocksmoor; I don't think we could walk there alone."
"It is Saturday," said Ethel, "we can get the boys."
"If you would reflect a little! They would be no protection. Harry would
be getting into scrapes, and you and Mary running wild."
"I wish Richard was at home!" said Flora.
"I know!" cried Ethel. "Mr. Ernescliffe will come. I am sure he can walk
so far now. I'll ask him."
Ethel had clapped after her the heavy door with its shining brass lock,
before Miss Winter well knew what she was about, and the governess
seemed annoyed. "Ethel does not consider," said she. "I don't think your
mamma will be pleased."
"Why not?" said Flora.
"My dear--a gentleman walking with you, especially if Margaret is
going!"
"I don't think he is strong enough," said Flora; "but I can't think
why there should be any harm. Papa took us all out walking with him
yesterday--little Aubrey and all, and Mr. Ernescliffe went."
"But, my dear--"
She was interrupted by the entrance of a fine tall blooming girl
of eighteen, holding in her hand a pretty little maid of five.
"Good-morning. Miss Winter. I suppose Flora has told you the request we
have to make to you?"
"Yes, my dear Margaret, but did your mamma consider what a lawless place
Cocksmoor is?"
"That was the doubt," said Margaret, "but papa said he would answer for
it nothing would happen to us, and mamma said if you would be so kind."
"It is unlucky," began the governess, but stopped at the incursion of
some new-comers, nearly tumbling over each other, Ethel at the head
of them. "Oh, Harry!" as the gathers of her frock gave way in the
rude grasp of a twelve-year-old boy. "Miss Winter, 'tis all right--Mr.
Ernescliffe says he is quite up to the walk, and will like it very much,
and he will undertake to defend you from the quarrymen."
"Is Miss Winter afraid of the quarrymen?" hallooed Harry. "Shall I take
a club?"
"I'll take my gun and shoot them," valiantly exclaimed Tom; and while
threats were passing among the boys, Margaret asked, in a low voice,
"Did you ask him to come with us?"
"Yes, he said he should like it of all things. Papa was there, and said
it was not too far for him--besides, there's the donkey. Papa says it,
so we must go, Miss Winter."
Miss Winter glanced unutterable things at Margaret, and Ethel began to
perceive she had done something wrong. Flora was going to speak, when
Margaret, trying to appear unconscious of a certain deepening colour in
her own cheeks, pressed a hand on her shoulder, and whispering, "I'll
see about it. Don't say any more, please," glided out of the room.
"What's in the wind?" said Harry. "Are many of your reefs out there,
Ethel?"
"Harry can talk nothing but sailors' language," said Flora, "and I am
sure he did not learn that of Mr. Ernescliffe. You never hear slang from
him."
"But aren't we going to Cocksmoor?" asked Mary, a blunt downright | 1,804.779144 |
2023-11-16 18:47:08.8602290 | 762 | 75 |
Produced by Charlene Taylor, Paul Clark, Larry B. Harrison
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
Transcriber's Note:
Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
possible.
Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE
FARMERS' BULLETIN
WASHINGTON, D. C. 670 JUNE 3, 1915.
Contribution from the Bureau of Biological Survey, Henry W. Henshaw,
Chief.
FIELD MICE AS FARM AND ORCHARD PESTS.
By D. E. LANTZ, _Assistant Biologist_.
NOTE.--This bulletin describes the habits, geographic
distribution, and methods of destroying meadow mice and pine mice,
and discusses the value of protecting their natural enemies among
mammals, birds, and reptiles. It is for general distribution.
INTRODUCTION.
The ravages of short-tailed field mice in many parts of the United
States result in serious losses to farmers, orchardists, and those
concerned with the conservation of our forests, and the problem of
controlling the animals is one of considerable importance.
Short-tailed field mice are commonly known as meadow mice, pine mice,
and voles; locally as bear mice, buck-tailed mice, or black mice.
The term includes a large number of closely related species widely
distributed in the Northern Hemisphere. Over 50 species and races occur
within the United States and nearly 40 other forms have been described
from North America. Old World forms are fully as numerous. For the
purposes of this paper no attempt at classification is required, but
two general groups will be considered under the names meadow mice and
pine mice. These two groups have well-marked differences in habits,
and both are serious pests wherever they inhabit regions of cultivated
crops. Under the term "meadow mice"[1] are included the many species of
voles that live chiefly in surface runways and build both subterranean
and surface nests. Under the term "pine mice"[2] are included a few
forms that, like moles, live almost wholly in underground burrows. Pine
mice may readily be distinguished from meadow mice by their shorter and
smoother fur, their red-brown color, and their molelike habits. (See
fig. 1.)
[1] Genus _Microtus_.
[2] Genus _Pitymys_.
[Illustration: FIG. 1.--Field mice: _a_, Meadow mouse; _b_, pine mouse.]
MEADOW MICE.
Meadow mice inhabit practically the whole of the Northern Hemisphere--
America, north of the Tropics; all of Europe, except Ireland; and
Asia, except the southern part. In North America there are few wide
areas except arid deserts free from meadow mice, and in most of the
United States they have at times been numerous and harmful. The animals
are very prolific, breeding several times a season and producing
litters of from 6 to 10. Under favoring circumstances, not well
understood, they sometimes produce abnormally and become a menace to
all growing crops. Plagues of meadow mice have often been mentioned
in the history of the Old World, and even within the United States
many instances are recorded of their extraordinary abundance with
accompanying destruction of vegetation.
The runs of meadow mice are mainly on the surface of the ground under
grass, leaves, | 1,804.880269 |
2023-11-16 18:47:08.8602450 | 372 | 9 | BY H.M.S. CHALLENGER DURING THE YEARS 1873-1876, PLATES***
E-text prepared by Charlene Taylor, Adrian Mastronardi, Keith Edkins, and
the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page
images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 44527-h.htm or 44527-h.zip:
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44527/44527-h/44527-h.htm)
or
(http://www.gutenberg.org/files/44527/44527-h.zip)
Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
https://archive.org/details/reportonradiolar00haecrich
Project Gutenberg has the other two parts of this work.
First Part: First Part: Porulosa (Spumellaria and Acantharia)
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44525.
Second Part: Subclass Osculosa; Index
see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/44526.
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_Actissa_).
A carat character is used to denote superscription: a
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: _g_^2).
Some typographical errors in the printed work have been
corrected. They are listed at the end of the text.
REPORT ON THE SCIENTIFIC RESULTS OF THE VOYAGE OF H.M.S. CHALLENGER
DURING THE YEARS 1873-76
Under the Command of Captain | 1,804.880285 |
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Produced by David Widger
GOLDSMITH'S FRIEND ABROAD AGAIN
By Mark Twain
NOTE.--No experience is set down in the following letters
which had to be invented. Fancy is not needed to give
variety to the history of a Chinaman's sojourn in America.
Plain fact is amply sufficient.
Contents
LETTER I
LETTER II
LETTER III
LETTER IV
LETTER V
LETTER VI
LETTER VII
LETTER I
SHANGHAI, 18--.
DEAR CHING-FOO: It is all settled, and I am to leave my oppressed and overburdened native land and cross the sea to that noble realm where all are free and all equal, and none reviled or abused--America! America, whose precious privilege it is to call herself the Land of the Free and the Home of the Brave. We and all that are about us here look over the waves longingly, contrasting the privations of this our birthplace with the opulent comfort of that happy refuge. We know how America has welcomed the Germans and the Frenchmen and the stricken and sorrowing Irish, and we know how she has given them bread and work, and liberty, and how grateful they are. And we know that America stands ready to welcome all other oppressed peoples and offer her abundance to all that come, without asking what their nationality is, or their creed or color. And, without being told it, we know that the foreign sufferers she has rescued from oppression and starvation are the most eager of her children to welcome us, because, having suffered themselves, they know what suffering is, and having been generously succored, they long to be generous to other unfortunates and thus show that magnanimity is not wasted upon them.
AH SONG HI.
LETTER II
AT SEA, 18--.
DEAR CHING-FOO: We are far away at sea now; on our way to the beautiful Land of the Free and Home of the Brave. We shall soon be where all men are alike, and where sorrow is not known.
The good American who hired me to go to his country is to pay me $12 a month, which is immense wages, you know--twenty times as much as one gets in China. My passage in the ship is a very large sum--indeed, it is a fortune--and this I must pay myself eventually, but I am | 1,804.881204 |
2023-11-16 18:47:09.0598990 | 2,074 | 19 |
Produced by Henry Flower 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
Italic text is represented by _underscores_.
Sidenotes are in ~swung dashes~.
Superscript is indicated by caret signs, e.g. Lith^{rs}.
TRAVELS
INTO
BOKHARA;
_&c. &c._
VOL. I.
LONDON:
Printed by A. SPOTTISWOODE,
New-Street-Square.
[Illustration:
_Drawn by D. M^c. Clise._ _Engraved by E. Find._
_Costume of Bokhara_
London, Published 1834, by John Murray, Albemarle Street.]
TRAVELS
INTO
BOKHARA;
BEING THE ACCOUNT OF
A JOURNEY FROM INDIA TO CABOOL, TARTARY,
AND PERSIA;
ALSO, NARRATIVE OF
A VOYAGE ON THE INDUS,
FROM THE SEA TO LAHORE,
WITH PRESENTS FROM THE KING OF GREAT BRITAIN;
PERFORMED UNDER THE ORDERS OF THE SUPREME GOVERNMENT
OF INDIA, IN THE YEARS 1831, 1832, AND 1833.
BY
LIEUT. ALEX^R BURNES, F.R.S.
OF THE EAST INDIA COMPANY’S SERVICE;
AS^T POLITICAL RESIDENT IN CUTCH, AND LATE ON A MISSION TO
THE COURT of LAHORE.
----“Per syrtes iter æstuosas,
.... _per inhospitalem
Caucasum, vel quæ loca fabulosus
Lambit Hydaspes_.” HOR.
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.
MDCCCXXXIV.
THESE
TRAVELS INTO BOKHARA
ARE INSCRIBED
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LORD WILLIAM CAVENDISH BENTINCK, G.C.B.
GOVERNOR-GENERAL OF INDIA,
&c. &c. &c.
UNDER WHOSE AUSPICES
THEY WERE UNDERTAKEN AND PERFORMED,
BY
HIS LORDSHIP’S MOST OBEDIENT,
FAITHFUL SERVANT,
ALEX^R BURNES.
TO THE READER.
The following volumes contain the Narrative of my Voyage on the Indus,
and subsequent Journey into Bokhara. I have thrown the Journey into the
first two volumes, from its interest being, perhaps, greater than that
of the Voyage; and since the two subjects, though parts of a whole, are
distinct from each other.
LIST OF PLATES.
VOL. I.
Plate I. Costume of Bokhara, to face the title-page.
II. Colossal Idols at Bameean, to face page 183.
(_This is a double plate, and must be folded._)
VOL. II.
III. Bactrian and other Coins, to face page 455.
IV. Bactrian and other Coins, to face page 455.
VOL. III.
V. View of Hydrabad on the Indus, to face title-page.
VI. Natives of Cutch, to face page 9.
VII. Natives of Sinde, to face page 87.
VIII. View of Sindree, to face page 309.
N.B. Mr. John Arrowsmith’s Map, constructed expressly for this work, is
sold separately by all booksellers, price, in sheets 7_s._, in cover
7_s._ 6_d._, and in case 10_s._
ADVERTISEMENT
REGARDING
THE MAP OF CENTRAL ASIA AND THE INDUS.
On my return to Europe, I gave my original manuscript surveys,
protractions, and the whole of the observations which I had made
during a period of nine years, while employed in different surveys
throughout Asia, together with such other authentic documents as I
had collected, to Mr. John Arrowsmith.[1] He has embodied these in a
large and comprehensive map, to illustrate this work; combining, at the
same time, the latest and best information on the various countries
within the limits of the map. The task has been most laborious; but
the accuracy with which it has been performed will, I am sure, entitle
him to the high approbation of the public: since this map throws a
new light on the geography of this portion of the globe. It is due to
Mr. Arrowsmith to state, that this map has been engraved at his own
expense, and is now published, in the most public-spirited manner, at
his own risk.
London, June, 1834.
FOOTNOTE:
[1] No. 33. East Street, Red Lion Square.
PREFACE.
In the year 1831, I was deputed in a political capacity to the Court
of Lahore, charged with a letter from the King of England, and a
present of some horses, to the ruler of that country. The principal
object of my journey was to trace the course of the Indus; which had
only been crossed at particular points by former travellers, and had
never been surveyed but between Tatta and Hydrabad. My success in
this undertaking, which was attended with many difficulties, and the
sight of so many tribes hitherto little known, gave fresh strength to
a desire that I had always felt to see new countries, and visit the
conquests of Alexander. As the first European of modern times who had
navigated the Indus, I now found myself stimulated to extend my journey
beyond that river--the scene of romantic achievements which I had read
of in early youth with the most intense interest.
The design received the most liberal encouragement from the
Governor-general of India, Lord William Bentinck, whom I joined at
Simla, in the Himalaya Mountains, after the termination of my mission
to Lahore. His Lordship was of opinion that a knowledge of the general
condition of the countries through which I was to travel, would be
useful to the British Government, independent of other advantages which
might be expected from such a journey.
The hazardous nature of the expedition, and the mode in which it could
be best accomplished, required consideration. It would have been
objectionable, and highly imprudent, to have entered the countries
lying between India and Europe, as I had voyaged on the Indus, an
accredited agent; and I was directed to appear (which I myself had
suggested) as a private individual.
I was furnished with passports as a Captain in the British army
returning to Europe, drawn out in French, English, and Persian; and in
such terms as would satisfy the people of my real character; and show,
at the same time, that Government was interested in my good treatment.
Every other arrangement regarding the journey was left to myself; and
I received the sanction of the Governor-general to associate with me
Ensign John Leckie--a young officer of the most buoyant disposition,
who had been the companion of my voyage up the Indus. On the eve of
departure, my fellow-traveller was recalled by the Government of
Bombay. Believing that his place might be well supplied by a medical
gentleman, which I thought would facilitate our progress through
such countries, I prevailed on Mr. James Gerard, a Surgeon of the
Bengal army, to accompany me. That gentleman had passed most of his
life in India, in traversing the Himalaya regions; and possessed an
ardent desire for travel. I was also attended by a native Surveyor,
Mahommed Ali, a public servant, who had been educated in the Engineer
Institution of Bombay, under Captain G. Jervis, of the Engineers;
and who had entitled himself to my utmost confidence by faithful
and devoted conduct on many trying occasions during the voyage to
Lahore.[2] I also took a Hindoo lad, of Cashmere family, named Mohun
Lal, who had been educated at the English Institution at Delhi, as he
would assist me in my Persian correspondence; the forms of which amount
to a science in the East. His youth and his creed would, I believed,
free me from all danger of his entering into intrigues with the people;
and both he and the Surveyor proved themselves to be zealous and
trustworthy men, devoted to our interests. Being natives, they could
detach themselves from us; and, by reducing our retinue, maintain our
character for poverty, which I ever considered our best safeguard. We
discharged the whole of our Indian servants but one individual, Ghoolam
Hoosn, who demands my lasting gratitude for the hardships which he
underwent on my account, and who is yet my faithful servant.
From the time I resolved to traverse the countries that lie between
India and the Caspian, I determined to retain the character of a
European, accommodating myself in dress, habits, and customs, to
those with whom I should mingle. The sequel has proved that the
design had much to recommend it, though the character involved us in
some difficulties. I adopted the resolution, however, in an utter
hopelessness of supporting the disguise of | 1,805.079939 |
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Produced by Douglas L. Alley, III, Colin Bell 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 EXPOSITOR'S BIBLE.
_Crown 8vo, cloth, price 7s. 6d. 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 Ven. Archdeacon 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 BOOK OF DANIEL
BY
F. W. FARRAR, D.D., F.R.S.
LATE FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE; ARCHDEACON OF
WESTMINSTER
=London=
HODDER AND STOUGHTON
27, PATERNOSTER ROW
MDCCCXCV
_Printed by Hazell, Watson, & Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._
CONTENTS
PART I
_INTRODUCTION_
CHAPTER I
PAGE
THE HISTORIC EXISTENCE OF THE PROPHET DANIEL 3
CHAPTER II
GENERAL SURVEY OF THE BOOK 13
1. THE LANGUAGE 13
2. UNITY 24
3. GENERAL TONE 27
4. STYLE 29
5. STANDPOINT OF ITS AUTHOR 31
6. MORAL ELEMENT 34
CHAPTER III
PECULIARITIES OF THE HISTORICAL SECTION 39
CHAPTER IV
GENERAL STRUCTURE OF THE BOOK 63
CHAPTER V
THE THEOLOGY OF THE BOOK 67
CHAPTER VI
PECULIARITIES OF THE APOCALYPTIC AND PROPHETIC
SECTION OF THE BOOK 71
CHAPTER VII
INTERNAL EVIDENCE 78
CHAPTER VIII
EVIDENCE IN FAVOUR OF THE GENUINENESS UNCERTAIN
AND INADEQUATE 88
CHAPTER IX
EXTERNAL EVIDENCE AND RECEPTION INTO THE
CANON 98
CHAPTER X
SUMMARY AND CONCLUSION 113
PART II
_COMMENTARY ON THE HISTORIC SECTION_
CHAPTER I
THE PRELUDE 123
CHAPTER II
THE DREAM-IMAGE OF RUINED EMPIRES 141
CHAPTER III
THE IDOL OF GOLD, AND THE FAITHFUL THREE 167
CHAPTER IV
THE BABYLONIAN CEDAR, AND THE STRICKEN DESPOT 184
CHAPTER V
THE FIERY INSCRIPTION 203
CHAPTER VI
STOPPING THE MOUTHS OF LIONS 218
PART III
_THE PROPHETIC SECTION OF THE BOOK_
CHAPTER I
VISION OF THE FOUR WILD BEASTS 233
CHAPTER II
THE RAM AND THE HE-GOAT 252
CHAPTER III
THE SEVENTY WEEKS 268
CHAPTER IV
INTRODUCTION TO THE CONCLUDING VISION 292
CHAPTER V
AN ENIGMATIC PROPHECY PASSING INTO DETAILS OF
THE REIGN OF ANTIOCHUS EPIPHANES 299
CHAPTER VI
THE EPILOGUE 319
APPENDIX
APPROXIMATE CHRONOLOGICAL TABLES 333
GENEALOGICAL TABLE OF THE LAGIDAE, PTOLEMIES,
AND SELEUCIDAE 334
AUTHORITIES CONSULTED
COMMENTAR | 1,805.083169 |
2023-11-16 18:47:09.7616550 | 1,283 | 15 |
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CAMPMATES
_A Story of the Plains_
By KIRK MUNROE
_Author of_ "THE FLAMINGO FEATHER," "WAKULLA," "DORYMATES,"
"DERRICK STERLING" ETC.
_Illustrated_
HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
[Illustration: "IT WAS A LIVE BABY."]
CONTENTS.
I. A WEARY RIDE
II. A RUDE BAPTISM
III. A BOY WITHOUT A BIRTHDAY
IV. "I JUST HATE TO STUDY"
V. SWIMMING INTO A FRIENDSHIP
VI. RECEIVING AN OFFER AND ACCEPTING IT
VII. ACROSS THE MISSISSIPPI
VIII. GLEN RUNS A LOCOMOTIVE
IX. KANSAS CITY IN EARLY DAYS
X. AT WORK WITH THE ENGINEER CORPS
XI. ALMOST TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE
XII. STARTING ACROSS THE PLAINS
XIII. BINNEY GIBBS AND HIS MULE
XIV. ON GUARD AT NIGHT
XV. THE SUSPICIOUS MOVEMENTS OF CERTAIN COYOTES
XVI. IN THE HANDS OF THE CHEYENNES
XVII. ATTACKING A STAGE RANCH
XVIII. BUFFALO AND THEIR USES
XIX. GLEN'S ESCAPE FROM THE INDIANS
XX. A PRESENT THAT WOULD PLEASE ANY BOY
XXI. LAME WOLF, THE YOUNG CHEYENNE
XXII. GLEN AND BINNEY GET INTO TROUBLE
XXIII. FIGHTING THE FINEST HORSEMEN IN THE WORLD
XXIV. CROSSING THE QUICKSANDS
XXV. SWEPT AWAY BY A FRESHET
XXVI. RUNNING THE LINE
XXVII. "COVERED WITH MUD AND GLORY"
XXVIII. LOST IN A MOUNTAIN SNOW-STORM
XXIX. PLUNGING INTO A LAKE OF ICE-WATER
XXX. DOWN THE LONELY CANON
XXXI. KIT CARSON'S GOLD MINE
XXXII. A NEW MEXICAN WEDDING
XXXIII. IN THE VALLEY OF THE RIO GRANDE
XXXIV. BAITING A WOLF-TRAP
XXXV. EL MORO
XXXVI. ZUNI, THE HOME OF THE AZTECS
XXXVII. A PRACTICAL USE OF TRIGONOMETRY
XXXVIII. DYING OF THIRST IN THE DESERT
XXXIX. CROSSING THE SIERRA NEVADA
XL. A HOME AND TWO FATHERS
ILLUSTRATIONS.
"IT WAS A LIVE BABY"
"TWO STALWART WARRIORS SEIZED HIM BY THE ARMS AND RAISED HIM BETWEEN
THEM AS THEY SWEPT PAST"
"THE STRANGE CRAFT WAS BORNE SLOWLY DOWN STREAM"
"'HEAD FOR THAT DARK SPACE, IT MARKS A VALLEY.... IF YOU FIND WATER,
FIRE YOUR PISTOL'"
_CAMP MATES._
_A Story of the Plains._
Chapter I.
A WEARY RIDE.
Slowly and heavily the train rumbled on through the night. It was called
an express; but the year was long ago, in the early days of railroading,
and what was then an express would now be considered a very slow and
poky sort of a train. On this particular night too, it ran more slowly
than usual, because of the condition of the track. The season was such a
wet one, that even the oldest traveller on the train declared he could
not remember another like it. Rain, rain, rain, day after day, for
weeks, had been the rule of that spring, until the earth was soaked like
a great sponge. All the rivers had overflowed their banks, and all the
smaller streams were raging torrents, red, yellow, brown, and sometimes
milky white, according to the color of the clays through which they cut
their riotous way. The lowlands and meadows were flooded, so that the
last year's hay-stacks, rising from them here and there, were veritable
islands of refuge for innumerable rabbits, rats, mice, and other small
animals, driven by the waters from their homes.
And all this water had not helped the railroad one bit. In the cuts the
clay or gravel banks were continually sliding down on the track; while
on the fills they were as continually sliding out from under it. The
section gangs were doubled, and along the whole line they were hard at
work, by night as well as by day, only eating and sleeping by snatches,
trying to keep the track in repair, and the road open for traffic. In
spite of their vigilance and unceasing labor, however, the rains found
plenty of chances to work their mischief undetected.
Many a time only the keen watchfulness of an engine-driver, or his
assistant, the fireman, saved a train from dashing into some gravel
heap, beneath which the rails were buried, or from plunging into some
yawning opening from which a culvert or small bridge had been washed
out. Nor with all this watchfulness did the trains always get through in
safety. Sometimes a bit of track, that looked all right, would suddenly
sink beneath the weight of a passing train into a quagmire that had been
formed beneath it, | 1,805.781695 |
2023-11-16 18:47:10.1055300 | 5,754 | 22 |
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Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Transcriber's Note: Bold text is surrounded by =equal signs= and italic
text is surrounded by _underscores_. Superscripted text is preceded by
a caret ^.]
LOITERINGS IN PLEASANT PATHS
BY
MARION HARLAND
_Author of “The Dinner Year-Book,” “Common Sense in the Household,”
Etc._
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS
743 AND 745 BROADWAY
1880
COPYRIGHT BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS.
1880.
TROW’S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
201-213 EAST 12TH STREET,
NEW YORK.
INTRODUCTION.
WHEN I began the MS. of this book, it was with the intention of
including it in the “Common Sense in the Household Series,” in which
event it was to be entitled, “FAMILIAR TALKS FROM AFAR.”
For reasons that seemed good to my publishers and to me, this purpose
was not carried out, except as it has influenced the tone of the
composition; given to each chapter the character of experiences
remembered and recounted to a few friends by the fireside, rather
than that of a sustained and formal narrative, penned in dignified
seclusion, amid guide-books and written memoranda.
This is the truthful history of the foreign life of an American family
whose main object in “going on a pilgrimage” was the restoration of
health to one of its members. In seeking and finding the lost treasure,
we found so much else which enriched us for all time, that, in the
telling of it, I have been embarrassed by a plethora of materials.
I have described some of the things we wanted to see—as we saw
them,—writing _con amore_, but with such manifold strayings from the
beaten track into by-paths and over moors, and in such homely, familiar
phrase, that I foresee criticism from the disciples of routine and
the sedate students of chronology, topography and general statistics.
I comfort myself, under the prospective infliction, with the belief
which has not played me false in days past,—to wit: that what I have
enjoyed writing some may like to read. I add to this the hope that the
fresh-hearted traveler who dares think and feel for, and of himself, in
visiting the Old World which is to him the New, may find in this record
of how we made it Home to us, practical and valuable hints for the
guidance of his wanderings.
MARION HARLAND.
SPRINGFIELD, MASS., April, 1880.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
PAGE
The Average Briton, 1
CHAPTER II.
Olla Podrida, 14
CHAPTER III.
Spurgeon and Cummings, 29
CHAPTER IV.
The Two Elizabeths, 39
CHAPTER V.
Prince Guy, 52
CHAPTER VI.
Shakspeare and Irving, 67
CHAPTER VII.
Kenilworth, 84
CHAPTER VIII.
Oxford, 96
CHAPTER IX.
Sky-larks and Stoke-Pogis, 111
CHAPTER X.
Our English Cousins, 121
CHAPTER XI.
Over the Channel, 137
CHAPTER XII.
Versailles—Expiatory Chapel—Père Lachaise, 154
CHAPTER XIII.
Southward Bound, 170
CHAPTER XIV.
Pope, King, and Forum, 183
CHAPTER XV.
On Christmas-Day, 196
CHAPTER XVI.
L’Allegro and Il Penseroso, 216
CHAPTER XVII.
With the Skeletons, 230
CHAPTER XVIII.
“Paul—a Prisoner,” 243
CHAPTER XIX.
Tasso and Tusculum, 258
CHAPTER XX.
From Pompeii to Lake Avernus, 272
CHAPTER XXI.
“A Sorosis Lark,” 293
CHAPTER XXII.
In Florence and Pisa, 308
CHAPTER XXIII.
“Beautiful Venice,” 325
CHAPTER XXIV.
Bologna, 339
CHAPTER XXV.
“Non é Possibile!” 351
CHAPTER XXVI.
Lucerne and The Rigi, 366
CHAPTER XXVII.
Personal and Practical, 379
CHAPTER XXVIII.
Home-life in Geneva—Ferney, 392
CHAPTER XXIX.
Calvin—The Diodati House—Primroses, 408
CHAPTER XXX.
Corinne at Coppet, 419
CHAPTER XXXI.
Chillon, 428
LOITERINGS IN PLEASANT PATHS.
CHAPTER I.
_The Average Briton._
SUNDAY in London: For the first time since our arrival in the city we
saw it under what passes in that latitude and language for sunshine.
For ten days we had dwelt beneath a curtain of gray crape resting upon
the chimney-tops, leaving the pavements dry to dustiness. “Gray crape”
is poetical—rather—and sounds better than the truth, which is, that
the drapery, without fold or shading, over-canopying us, was precisely
in color like very dirty, unbleached muslin, a tint made fashionable
within a year or so, under the name of “Queen Isabella’s linen” (“_le
linge de la Reine Isabeau_”). The fixed cloud depressed and oppressed
us singularly. It was a black screen set above the eyes, which we were
all the while tempted to push up in order to see more clearly and
farther,—a heavy hand upon brain and chest. For the opaqueness, the
clinging rimes of the “London fog,” we were prepared. Of the mysterious
withholding for days and weeks of clouds threatening every minute to
fall, we had never heard. We had bought umbrellas at Sangster’s, as
does every sensible tourist immediately after securing rooms at a
hotel, and never stirred abroad without them; but the pristine plaits
had not been disturbed. Struggle as we might with the notion, we could
not rid ourselves of the odd impression that the whole nation had
gone into mourning. Pleasure-seeking, on the part of sojourners who
respected conventionalities, savored of indecorum. We were more at our
ease in the crypt of St. Paul’s, and among the dead of Westminster
Abbey, than anywhere else, and felt the conclave of murderers, the
blood-flecked faces of the severed heads, the genuine _lunette_ and
knife of Samson’s guillotine in Madame Tussaud’s Chamber of Horrors, to
be “quite the thing in the circumstances.”
The evil, nameless spell was broken by the clangor of the Sabbath
bells. “The _gray_ pavilion rose” and did not fall—for twenty-four
hours. Strolling through St. James’s Park in the hour preceding
sunsetting, we pointed out to one another the pale blue, dappled
with white, of the zenith, the reddening mists of the horizon. The
ground was strewed with autumnal leaves, russet and brown. The subdued
monotony of the two shades of decay did not move us to adverse
criticism. The crimsons, golds, and purples that were robing woods we
knew of over the water, would be incongruous in this sober-hued land.
In the matter of light and color, he who tarries in England in autumn,
winter, and early spring, soon learns to be thankful for small favors.
We were grateful and satisfied. We were in a mood to be in love with
England,—“our old home;” still walked her soil as in a blessed dream,
haunted only by sharp dreads of awakening to the knowledge that the
realization of the hopes, and longings, and imaginings of many years
was made of such stuff as had been our cloud-pictures. We were in
process of an experience we were ashamed to speak of until we learned
how common it was with other voyagers, whose planning and pining had
resembled ours in kind and degree. None of us was willing to say how
much time was given to a comical weighing of the identity question,
somewhat after the fashion of poor Nelly on the roadside in the
moonlight:—If this were England, who then were we? If these pilgrims
were ourselves—veritable and unaltered—could it be true that we were
_here_? If I do not express well what was as vague as tormenting, it is
not because the system of spiritual and mental acclimation was not a
reality.
The Palace of St. James, a range of brick and dinginess, stretched
before us as we returned to the starting-point of the walk around
the park, taking in the Bird-cage Walk, where Charles II. built his
aviaries and lounged, Nelly Gwynne, or the Duchess of Portsmouth, at
his side, a basket of puppies hung over his lace collar and ruffled
cravat. It is not a palatial pile—even to eyes undried from the juice
of Puck’s “little western flower.”
“It would still be a very decent abode for the horses of royalty—hardly
for their grooms,” said Caput, critically. “And it is worth looking at
when one remembers how long bloody Mary lay there, hideous, forsaken,
half dead, the cancerous memories of Calais and Philip’s desertion
consuming her vitals. There lived and died the gallant boy who was the
eldest son of James I. If he had succeeded to the throne his brother
Charles would have worn his head more comfortably and longer upon his
shoulders. That is, unless, as in the case of Henry VIII., the manhood
of the Prince of Wales had belied the promise of early youth.”
“It was in St. James’s Palace that Charles spent his last night,” I
interrupted. It takes a long time for the novice to become accustomed
to the strange thrill that vibrates through soul and nerves when such
reminiscences overtake him, converting the place whereon he stands
into holy ground. I was a novice, and rushed on impetuously. “The
rooms in which he slept and made his toilet for the scaffold were in
the old Manor-house, a wing of the palace since torn down. Why can’t
they let things alone? But the park is here, and—” glancing dubiously
along the avenues—“it is just possible—altogether possible—that some
of these oldest trees may be the same that stood here then. On that
morning, when—you remember?—the ground being covered lightly with snow,
the king walked with a quick step across the park to Whitehall, calling
to the guard, ‘Step on apace, my good fellows!’”
Measuring with careful eye an air line between the palace and a
building with a cupola, on the St. James Street side of the park, we
turned our steps along this. The dying leaves rustled under our feet,
settling sighingly into the path behind us. The “light snow” had
muffled the ring of the “quick step” more like the impatient tread of a
bridegroom than that of a doomed man shortening the already brief space
betwixt him and fate. Within the shadow of Whitehall, we paused.
“The scaffold was built just without the window of the
banqueting-hall,” we reminded each other. “As late as the reign of
William and Mary, the king’s blood was visible upon the window-sill.
Jacobites made great capital of the insensibility of his granddaughter,
who held her drawing-rooms in that very apartment. The crowd must have
been densest about here, and spread far into the park. But how can we
know just where the scaffold stood? It was low, for the people leaped
upon it after the execution and dipped handkerchiefs in the blood,
to be laid away as precious relics. Those windows are rather high!”
glancing helplessly upward. “And which is the banqueting-hall?”
“Baldeker’s London” was then in press for the rescue of the next
season’s traveller from like pits of perplexity. Not having it, and the
“hand-books” we had provided ourselves with proving dumb guides in the
emergency, the simplest and most natural road out of ignorance was to
ask a question or two of some intelligent native-born Londoner.
In this wise, then, we first made the acquaintance of the Average
Briton,—a being who figured almost as often in our subsequent
wanderings as did the travelling American. I do not undertake to say
which was the more ridiculous or vexatious of the two, according as
our purpose at the time of meeting them chanced to be diversion or
information.
The Average Briton of this Sabbath-day was smug and rotund; in
complexion, rubicund; complacent of visage, and a little rolling in
gait, being duck-legged. A child trotted by him upon a pair of limbs
cut dutifully after the paternal pattern, swinging upon the paternal
hand. Upon the other side of the central figure, arrayed in matronly
black silk and a velvet hat with a white plume, walked a lady of whom
Hawthorne has left us a portrait:
“She has an awful ponderosity of frame, not pulpy, like the looser
development of our few fat women, but massive with solid beef and
streaky tallow; so that (though struggling manfully against the
idea) you inevitably think of her as made up of steaks and sirloins.
She imposes awe and respect by the muchness of her personality to
such a degree that you probably credit her with far greater moral
and intellectual force than she can fairly claim. Without anything
positively salient, or actually offensive, or, indeed, unjustly
formidable to her neighbors, she has the effect of a seventy-four gun
ship in time of peace.” I had ample time to remember and to verify each
line of the picture during the parley with her husband that succeeded
our encounter. A citizen of London-town was he. We were so far right
in our premises. One who had attended “divine service” in the morning;
partaken of roast mutton and a pint of half-and-half at an early
dinner; who would presently go home from this stretch of the legs, with
good appetite and conscience to a “mouthful of somethink ’ot with his
tea,” and come up to time with unflagging powers to bread, cheese, cold
meat, pickles, and ale, at a nine o’clock supper. Our old home teems
with such. Heaven send them length of days and more wit!
Caput stepped into the path of the substantial pair; lifted his hat in
recognition of the lady’s presence and apology for the interruption.
“Excuse me, sir—”
I groaned inwardly. Had I not drilled him in the omission of the
luckless monosyllable ever since we saw the Highlands of Navesink melt
into the horizon? How many times had I iterated and reiterated the
adage?—“In England one says ‘sir’ to prince, master, or servant. It is
a confession of inferiority, or an insult.” Nature and (American) grace
were too strong for me.
“Excuse me, sir! But can you tell me just where the scaffold was
erected on which Charles the First was executed?”
The Average Briton stared bovinely. Be sure he did not touch his hat to
me, nor echo the “sir,” nor yet betray how flatteringly it fell upon
his unaccustomed ear. Being short of stature, he stared at an angle of
forty-five degrees to gain his interlocutor’s face, unlocked his shaven
jaws and uttered in a rumbling stomach-base the Shibboleth of his tribe
and nation:
“I really carnt say!”
Caput fell back in good order—_i. e._, raising his hat again to the
Complete British Matron, whose face had not changed by so much as
the twitch of an eyelid while the colloquy was in progress. She paid
no attention whatever to the homage offered to the sex through “the
muchness of her personality,” nor were the creases in her lord’s double
chin deepened by any inclination of his head.
“The fellow is an underbred dolt!” said Caput, looking after them as
they sailed along the walk.
“In that case it is a pity you called him ‘sir,’ and said ‘erected’
and ‘executed,’” remarked I, with excruciating mildness. “Here comes
another! Ask him where King Charles was beheaded.”
No. 2 was smugger and smoother than No. 1. He had silvery
hair and mutton-leg whiskers, and a cable watch-chain trained
over a satin waistcoat, adjuncts which imparted a look of yet
intenser respectability. There was a moral and social flavor of
bank-directorships and alder-manic expectations about him, almost
warranting the “sir” which slipped again from the incorrigible tongue.
We had the same answer to a word and intonation. The formula must be
taught to them over their crib-rails as our babies are drilled to
lisp—“Now I lay me.” Grown reckless and slightly wicked, we accosted
ten others in quick succession in every variety of phraseology, of
which the subject was susceptible, but always to the same effect. Where
stood the scaffold of Charles the First, Charles Stuart, Charles the
Martyr, Charles, father of the Merry Monarch, the grandparent of Mary
of Orange and Good Queen Anne? Could any man of British mould designate
to us the terminus of that quick step over the snowy park on the
morning of the 30th of January, 1649, the next stage to that “which,
though turbulent and troublesome, would be a very short one, yet would
carry him a great way—even from earth to Heaven?”
Eight intelligent Londoners said, “I really carnt say!” more or less
drawlingly. Two answered bluntly, “Dawnt know!” over their shoulders,
without staying or breaking their saunter. Finally, we espied a youth
sitting under a tree—one of those from which the melting snow might
have dropped upon the prisoner’s head—why not the thrifty oak he
had pointed out to Bishop Juxon in nearing Whitehall, as “the tree
planted by my brother Henry?” The youth was neatly dressed, comely of
countenance, and he held an open book, his eyes riveted upon the open
page.
“That looks promising!” ejaculated Caput. There was genuine respect in
his address:
“I beg your pardon for interrupting you, but can you inform me, etc.,
etc.?”
The student raised his head, and looked at us with lacklustre or
abstracted eyes.
“Hey?”
Caput repeated the query distinctly and with emphasis.
“Chawles the First?”
“Yes!” less patiently. “The king whose head was cut off by order of
Cromwell’s parliament, under the windows of Whitehall, in 1649?”
“Never heard of him!” rejoined the countryman of Hume, Macaulay, and
Froude, resuming his studies.
Caput recoiled as from an electric eel. “I wouldn’t have believed it,
had any one else heard and repeated it to me!” gasped he, when out of
ear-shot. “Do you suppose there is a hod-carrier in Boston who does not
know the history of Faneuil Hall?”
“Hundreds! Hod-carriers are usually of foreign birth.”
“Or a school-boy in America who never heard of Arnold’s treason and
André’s fate? Or, for that matter, who cannot, when twelve years old,
tell the whole story of King Charles’s death, even to the ‘Remember!’
as he laid his head upon the block?”
I had a new difficulty to present.
“While you have been catechizing the enlightened British public, I have
been thinking—and I am afraid we are sentimentalizing in the wrong
place. I have harrowing doubts as to this being the real Whitehall.
The palace was burned in the time of William and Mary—or a portion of
it—and but partially rebuilt by Inigo Jones. There is altogether too
much of this to be the genuine article. And it is startlingly modern!”
It was a spacious building, and did not look as if it had a story. The
exterior was stuccoed and smoke-blackened, but the London air would
have dyed it to such complexion in ten years. A belvidere or cupola
finished it above. Beneath this, on the ground-floor, separating the
wings, was an archway leading into St. James Street. The citizens whom
we had questioned had, with the exception of the student, emerged from
or disappeared in this passage from park to thoroughfare. We saw now a
sentinel, in red coat and helmet, turn in his beat up and down under
the arch.
“Is this Old Whitehall?” we asked.
He shook his head without halting.
“Where is it?”
He pointed to a building on the opposite side of the street. It was two
stories—lofty ones—high above the basement. Twenty-one windows shone in
the handsome front. We traversed the arched passage, planted ourselves
upon the sidewalk and gazed, bewildered, at the one-and-twenty windows.
Through which of them had passed the kingly form we seemed to have seen
for ourselves, so familiar were the oval face and pointed beard, the
great eyes darkened all his life long with prophecy of doom? Through
which had been borne the outraged corpse, the bloody drippings staining
the sill? Upon what spot of the pavement trodden by the throng of
Sabbath idlers had fallen the purple rain from a monarch’s heart? For
sweet pity’s sake, had none marked the place by so much as a cross
in the flagging? All else around us bore the stamp of a later age.
Were the apparently venerable walls pointed out by the sentinel the
banqueting-hall where the granddaughter held her court, or was this
Inigo Jones’s (the Inevitable) restoration?
“One might imagine regicide so common a crime in England as not to be
considered worthy of special note!” we grumbled, a strong sense of
injury upon our foiled souls.
Just then down the street strode a policeman, and, at sight of our
puzzled faces, hesitated with an inquiring look. I cheerfully offer my
testimony here to the civility, intelligence, and general benevolence
of the London police. We met them always when we needed their services,
and as invariably found them ready and able to do all we required of
them, sometimes insisting upon going a block out of their way to show
us our route. Perfunctory politeness? It may have been, but it was so
much better than none at all, or surly familiarity! The man to whom we
now addressed ourselves was tall and brawny, with features that lighted
pleasantly in the hearing of our tale of defeat.
“My father used to tell me,” he said, respectful still, but dropping
into the easy conversational strain an exceptionally obliging New
York “Bobby” might use in like circumstances, “that the king was led
out through that window,” indicating, not one of the triple row in
the banqueting-room, but a smaller in a lower and older wing, “and
executed in front of the main hall. Some say the banqueting-chamber was
not burned with the rest of the palace. Others that it was. My father
was inclined to believe that this is the original building. I have
heard him tell the tale over and over until you might have thought
he had been there himself. The Park ran clear up to Old Whitehall
then, you see—where this street is now. The crowd covered all this
ground where we are standing, the soldiers being nearest the scaffold.
_That_ stood, as nearly as I can make out, about _there_!” tapping the
sidewalk with his stick. “A few feet to the right or the left don’t
make much difference, you know, sir. It does seem queer, and a little
sad, there’s not so much as a stone let into the wall, or a bit of an
inscription. But those were rough times, you know.”
“We are very much obliged to you!” Caput said heartily, holding out his
hand, the palm significantly inverted.
The man shook his head. “Not at all, sir! Against the rules of the
force! I have done nothing worth talking about. If my father were
living, now! But people nowadays care less and less for old stories.”
He touched his cap in moving away.
“The truest gentleman we have met this afternoon!” pronounced Caput.
“Now, we will go back into the park, out of this bustle, and think it
all over!”
This had become already a pet phrase and a pet practice with us. The
amateur dramatization, sometimes partially spoken, for the most part
silent, was our way of appropriating and assimilating as our very
own what we saw and learned. It was a family trick, understood among
ourselves. Quiet, freedom from platitudinal queries and comment,
and comparative solitude, were the favorable conditions for fullest
enjoyment of it.
The student was so absorbed in his book—I hope it was history!—as not
to see us when we passed. The sunlight fell aslant upon the dark-red
walls of the old palace, lying low, long, and gloomy, across the end of
the walk. A stiff, dismal place—yet Elizabeth, in all her glory, had
been moderately contented with it | 1,806.12557 |
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WHAT THE ANIMALS DO AND SAY
BY
MRS. FOLLEN
Illustrated with Engravings
WHAT THE ANIMALS DO AND SAY.
"Could you not tell us a traveller's story of some strange people
that we have never heard of before?" said Harry to his mother, the
next evening.
After a moment or two of thought, Mis. Chilton said, "Yes, I will
tell you about a people who are great travellers. They take journeys
every year of their lives. They dislike cold weather so much that
they go always before winter, so as to find a warmer climate."
"They usually meet together, fathers, mothers, and children, as well
as uncles, aunts, and cousins, but more especially grandfathers and
grandmothers, and decide whither they shall go. As their party is so
large, it is important that they should make a good decision."
"When they are all prepared, and their mind quite made up, they all
set off together. I am told that they make as much noise, on this
occasion, as our people make at a town-meeting; but as I was never
present at one of the powwows of these remarkable travellers, I
cannot say."
"What is a powwow?" asked Harry.
"It is the name the Indians give to their council meetings," replied
Mis. Chilton.
She went on. "This people, so fond of travelling, have no great
learning; they write no books; they have no geographies, no
steamboats, no railroads, but yet never mistake their way."
"Four-footed travellers, I guess," said Harry.
"By no means; they have no more legs than any | 1,806.229192 |
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http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive.)
CATS: Their Points and Characteristics.
[Illustration: "SHIPMATES."]
"CATS:"
THEIR POINTS AND CHARACTERISTICS,
WITH CURIOSITIES OF CAT LIFE,
AND A CHAPTER ON FELINE AILMENTS.
BY _W. GORDON STABLES, M.D., C.M., R.N._,
AUTHOR OF
"MEDICAL LIFE IN THE NAVY," "WILD ADVENTURES IN THE FAR NORTH,"
THE "NEWFOUNDLAND AND WATCH DOG," IN WEBB'S BOOK ON DOGS,
ETC. ETC.
LONDON: DEAN & SON,
ST. DUNSTAN'S BUILDINGS, 160A, FLEET STREET, E.C.
CONTENTS.
VOL. I.
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. APOLOGETIC 1
II. PUSSY ON HER NATIVE HEARTH 3
III. PUSSY'S LOVE OF CHILDREN 26
IV. PUSSY "POLL" 36
V. SAGACITY OF CATS 44
VI. A CAT THAT KEEPS THE SABBATH 61
VII. HONEST CATS 64
VIII. THE PLOUGHMAN'S "MYSIE" 70
IX. TENACITY OF LIFE IN CATS 74
X. NOMADISM IN CATS 87
XI. "IS CATS TO BE TRUSTED?" 94
XII. PUSSY AS A MOTHER 109
XIII. HOME TIES AND AFFECTIONS 125
XIV. FISHING EXPLOITS 141
XV. THE ADVENTURES OF BLINKS 151
XVI. HUNTING EXPLOITS 190
XVII. COCK-JOCK AND THE CAT 200
XVIII. NURSING VAGARIES 209
XIX. PUSSY'S PLAYMATES 221
XX. PUSSY AND THE HARE 230
XXI. THE MILLER'S FRIEND. A TALE 235
ADDENDA. CONTAINING THE NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF THE
VOUCHERS FOR THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE
ANECDOTES 267
VOL. II.
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. ORIGIN AND ANTIQUITY OF THE DOMESTIC CAT 278
II. CLASSIFICATION AND POINTS 285
III. PUSSY'S PATIENCE AND CLEANLINESS 307
IV. TRICKS AND TRAINING 319
V. CRUELTY TO CATS 329
VI. PARLIAMENTARY PROTECTION FOR THE DOMESTIC CAT 356
VII. FELINE AILMENTS 366
VIII. ODDS AND ENDS 387
IX. THE TWO "MUFFIES." A TALE 410
X. BLACK TOM, THE SKIPPER'S IMP. A TALE 440
ADDENDA. CONTAINING THE NAMES AND ADDRESSES OF THE
VOUCHERS FOR THE AUTHENTICITY OF THE
ANECDOTES 479
SPRATT'S PATENT
CAT FOOD.
[Illustration: TRADE MARK.]
It has long been considered that the food given to that useful domestic
favourite, the CAT, is the sole cause of all the diseases it suffers from;
nearly all Cats in towns are fed on boiled horseflesh, in many cases
diseased and conveying disease.
This Food is introduced to entirely supersede the present unwholesome
practice; it is made from pure fresh beef and other sound materials, not
from horseflesh or other deleterious substances. It will be found the
cheapest food to preserve the health and invigorate the constitution,
prolong the existence, and extend the usefulness, gentleness, and
cleanliness of the Cat.
_Sold in 1d. Packets only. Each Packet contains sufficient to feed a Cat
for two days. The wrapper of every Packet is the same in colour, and bears
the Trade Mark as above, and the name of the Patentee, and no other Packet
is genuine._
DIRECTIONS FOR USE.
Mix the food with a little milk or water, making it crumbly moist, not
sloppy.
SPRATT'S PATENT MEAT FIBRINE DOG CAKES, 22_s._ per cwt., Carriage Paid.
SPRATT'S PATENT POULTRY FOOD, 22_s._ per cwt., Carriage Paid.
SPRATT'S PATENT GRANULATED PRAIRIE MEAT CRISSEL, 28_s._ per cwt., Carriage
Paid.
_Address--SPRATT'S PATENT_,
HENRY STREET, BERMONDSEY STREET, TOOLEY STREET, S.E.
TO
LADY MILDRED BERESFORD-HOPE,
AND
LADY DOROTHY NEVILL,
THIS WORK
Is dedicated
With feelings of regard and esteem,
BY
THE AUTHOR.
CAT MEDICINE CHEST,
_Beautifully fitted up with everything necessary
to keep Pussy in Health, or to Cure her when Ill._
The Medicines are done up in a new form, now
introduced for the first time, are easy to
administer, and do not soil the fur.
A NICELY FINISHED ARTICLE,
HIGHLY SUITABLE FOR A PRESENT.
PRICE, with Synopsis of Diseases of Cats and their
Treatment, 21s.
LONDON: DEAN & SON,
FACTORS, PUBLISHERS,
Valentine, Birthday, Christmas, and Easter Card
Manufacturers,
ST. DUNSTAN'S BUILDINGS, 160A, FLEET STREET.
CATS.
CHAPTER I.
[_See Note A, Addenda._]
APOLOGETIC.
"If ye mane to write a preface to your book, sure you must put it in the
end entoirely."
Such was the advice an Irish friend gave me, when I talked of an
introductory chapter to the present work on cats. I think it was a good
one. Whether it be owing to our style of living now-a-days, which tends
more to the development of brain than muscle; or whether it be, as Darwin
says, that we really are descended from the ape, and, as the years roll
on, are losing that essentially animal virtue--patience; certainly it is
true that we cannot tolerate prefaces, preludes, and long graces before
meat, as our grandfathers did. A preface, like Curacoa--and--B, before
dinner, ought to be short and sweet: something merely to give an edge to
appetite, or it had as well be put in the "end entoirely," or better
still, in the fire.
I presume, then, the reader is fond of the domestic cat; if only for the
simple reason that God made it. Yes; God made it, and man mars it. Pussy
is an ill-used, much persecuted, little understood, and greatly slandered
animal. It is with the view, therefore, of gaining for our little fireside
friend a greater meed of justice than she has hitherto obtained, of
removing the ban under which she mostly lives, and making her life a more
pleasant and happy one, that the following pages are written; and I shall
deem it a blessing if I am _in any way_ successful. I have tried to paint
pussy just as she is, without the aid of "putty and varnish;" and I have
been at no small pains to prove the authenticity of the various anecdotes,
and can assure the reader that they are all _strictly true_.
CHAPTER II.
[_See Note B, Addenda._]
PUSSY ON HER NATIVE HEARTH.
"It wouldn't have surprised me a bit, doctor," said my gallant captain to
me, on the quarter-deck of the saucy _Pen-gun_,--"It wouldn't have
surprised me a bit, if they had sent you on board, minus the head. A nice
thing that would have been, with so many hands sick."
"And rather unconvenient for me," I added, stroking my neck.
I had been explaining to the gentleman, that my reason for not being off
the night before, was my finding myself on the desert side of the gates of
Aden after sun-down. A strange motley cut-throat band I had found myself
among, too. Wild Somalis, half-caste Indian Jews, Bedouin Arabs, and burly
Persian merchants, all armed with sword and spear and shield, and long
rifles that, judging by their build, seemed made to shoot round corners.
Strings of camels lay on the ground; and round each camp-fire squatted
these swarthy sons of the desert, engaged in talking, eating, smoking, or
quarrelling, as the case might be. Unless at Falkirk tryst, I had never
been among such a parcel of rogues in my life. I myself was armed to the
teeth: that is, I had nothing but my tongue wherewith to defend myself. I
could not help a feeling of insecurity taking possession of me; there
seemed to be a screw that wanted tightening somewhere about my neck. Yet I
do not now repent having spent that night in the desert, as it has
afforded me the opportunity of settling that long-disputed question--the
origin of the domestic cat.
Some have searched Egyptian annals for the origin of their pet, some
Persian, and some assert they can trace its descent from the days of Noah.
I can go a long way beyond that. It is difficult to get over the flood,
though; but I suppose my typical cat belonged to some one of the McPherson
clan. McPhlail was telling McPherson, that he could trace his genealogy
from the days of Noah.
"And mine," said the rival clansman, "from nine hundred years before
that."
"But the flood, you know?" hinted the McPhlail.
"And did you ever hear of a Phairson that hadn't a boat of his own?" was
the indignant retort.
In the midst of a group of young Arabs, was one that attracted my special
attention. He was an old man who looked, with his snow-white beard, his
turban and robes, as venerable as one of Dore's patriarchs. In sonorous
tones, in his own noble language, he was reading from a book in his lap,
while one arm was coiled lovingly round a beautiful long-haired cat.
Beside this man I threw myself down. The fierceness of his first glance,
which seemed to resent my intrusion, melted into a smile as sweet as a
woman's, when I began to stroke and admire his cat. Just the same story
all the world over,--praise a man's pet and he'll do anything for you;
fight for you, or even lend you money. That Arab shared his supper with
me.
"Ah! my son," he said, "more than my goods, more than my horse, I love my
cat. She comforts me. More than the smoke she soothes me. Allah is great
and good; when our first mother and father went out into the mighty desert
alone, He gave them two friends to defend and comfort them--the dog and
the cat. In the body of the cat He placed the spirit of a gentle woman; in
the dog the soul of a brave man. It is true, my son; the book hath it."
After this I remained for some time speculatively silent.
The old man's story may be taken--according to taste--with or without a
grain of salt; but we must admit it is as good a way of accounting for
domestic pussy's origin as any other.
There really is, moreover, a great deal of the woman's nature in the cat.
Like a woman, pussy prefers a settled home to leading a roving life. Like
a true woman, she is fond of fireside comforts. Then she is so gentle in
all her ways, so kind, so loving, and so forgiving. On your return from
business, the very look of her honest face, as she sits purring on the
hearth-rug, with the pleasant adjuncts of a bright fire and hissing
tea-urn, tends to make you forget all the cares of the day. When you are
dull and lonely, how often does her "punky humour," her mirth-provoking
attitudes and capers banish ennui. And if you are ill, how carefully she
will watch by your bedside and keep you company. How her low song will
lull you, her soft caresses soothe you, giving you more real consolation
from the looks of concern exhibited on her loving little face, than any
language could convey.
On the other hand, like a woman, she is prying and curious. A locked
cupboard is often a greater source of care and thought to pussy, than the
secret chamber was to the wife of Blue Beard. I'm sure it is only because
she cannot read that she refrains from opening your letters of a morning,
and only because she cannot speak that she keeps a secret. Like a woman,
too, she dearly loves a gossip, and will have it too, even if it be by
night on the tiles, at the risk of keeping the neighbours awake. Oh! I'm
far from sure that the Arab isn't right, after all.
Pussy, from the very day she opens her wondering eyes and stares vacantly
around her, becomes an object worthy of study and observation. Indeed,
kittens, even before their eyes are opened, will know your voice or hand,
and spit at a stranger's. The first year of pussy's existence is certainly
the happiest. No creature in the world is so fond of fun and mischief as a
kitten. Everything that moves or is movable, from its mother's tail to the
table-cloth, must minister to its craze for a romp; but what pen could
describe its intense joy, its pride and self-satisfaction, when, for the
first time it has caught a real live mouse? This is as much an episode in
the life of a kitten, as her first ball is to a young lady just out. Nor
do well-trained and properly-fed cats ever lose this innate sense of fun,
and love of the ridiculous. They lose their teeth first. I have seen
demure old cats, of respectable matronly aspect,--cats that ought to have
known better,--leave their kittens when only a day old, and gambol
round the room after a cork till tired and giddy.
[Illustration: BLACK and WHITE.
First Prize--Owned by J. BRADDEN, ESQ.]
[Illustration: WILD CAT (Half-Bred).
First Prize--Owned by A. H. SEAGER, ESQ.]
Cats of the right sort never fail to bring their kittens up in the way
they should go, and soon succeed in teaching them all they know
themselves. They will bring in living mice for them, and always take more
pride in the best warrior-kitten than in the others. They will also
inculcate the doctrine of cleanliness in their kits, so that the carpet
shall never be wet. I have often been amused at seeing my own cat bringing
kitten after kitten to the sand-box, and showing it how to use it, in
action explaining to them what it was there for. When a little older, she
entices them out to the garden.
Cats can easily be taught to be polite and well-mannered. It depends upon
yourself, whether you allow your favourite to sit either on your shoulder
or on the table at meal-times, or to wait demurely on the hearth till you
have finished. In any case, her appetite should never get the better of
her good manners.
"We always teach our cats," writes a lady to me, "to wait patiently while
the family are at their meals, after which they are served. Although we
never keep a dish for them standing in a corner, as some people do, yet we
never had a cat-thief. Our Tom and Topsy used to sit on a chair beside my
brother, near the table, with only their heads under the level of it. They
would peep up occasionally to see if the meal were nearly over; but on
being reminded that their time had not come, they would immediately close
their eyes and feign to be asleep.
"Poor old Tom knew the time my brother came in from business, and if five
or ten minutes past his time, he would go to the door and listen, then
come back to the fireside showing every symptom of impatience and anxiety.
He knew the footsteps of every member of the family, and would start up,
before the human ear could detect a sound, and hasten to the door to
welcome the comer. He knew the knock of people who were frequent visitors,
and would greet the knock of a stranger with an angry growl.
"Tom would never eat a mouse until he had shown it to some member of the
family, and been requested to eat it; and although brought up in a country
village, made himself perfectly at home in Glasgow, although living on the
third floor. But poor faithful fellow, after sticking to us through all
the varied changes of fourteen years, one wintry morning--he had been out
all night--when I drew up the window to call him, he answered me with such
a plaintive voice, that I at once hastened down to see what was the
matter. He was lying helpless and bleeding among the snow, with one leg
broken. He died."
Cats will often attach themselves to some one member of a family in
preference to all others. They are as a rule more fond of children than
grown-up people, and usually lavish more affection on a woman than a man.
They have particular tastes too, as regards some portions of the house in
which they reside, often selecting some room or corner of a room which
they make their "sanctum sanctorum."
Talking of her cats, a lady correspondent says:--"Toby's successor was a
black and white kitten we called Jenny. Jenny was considered my father's
cat, as she followed him and no one else. Our house and that of an aunt
were near to each other, and on Sabbath mornings it was my father's
invariable custom to walk in the garden, closely followed by Jenny,
afterwards going in to visit his sister before going to church. Jenny
enjoyed those visits amazingly; every one was so fond of her, and she was
so much admired, that she began to pay them visits of her own accord upon
weekdays. I am sorry to say that Jenny eventually abused the hospitality
thus held out to her. For, as time wore on, pussy had, unknown to us, been
making her own private arrangements for an event of great interest which
was to occur before very long. And this is how it was discovered when it
did come off. Some ladies had been paying my aunt a visit, and the
conversation not unnaturally turned on dress.
"'Oh! but,' said my aunt, 'you must have a sight of my new velvet
bonnet,--so handsome,--one pound fifteen shillings,--and came from
London. I do trust it won't rain on Sunday. Eliza, go for the box under
the dressing-table in the spare bedroom.'
"Although the door of this room was kept constantly shut, the window was
opened by day to admit the fresh air. It admitted more,--it admitted
Jenny,--and Jenny did not hesitate to avail herself of the convenience of
having her kittens in that room.
"Eliza had not been gone five minutes, when she returned screaming,--'Oh,
murther! murther!' that is all she said. She just ran back again,
screaming the same words, and my aunt and friends hastened after her. The
sight that met their gaze was | 1,806.300761 |
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E-text prepared by Carlos Colon, Princeton Theological Seminary Library,
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from
page images generously made available by Internet Archive
(http://archive.org)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive. See
http://archive.org/details/paganoriginofp00pitr
Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Greek characters have been transliterated to English
characters. The transliterations are denoted by [Greek:
PAGAN ORIGIN OF PARTIALIST DOCTRINES.
by
REV. JOHN CLAUDIUS PITRAT,
A Member of the University of France; Author of "Jesuits
Unveiled," of "Paul and Julia," etc., and
Formerly a Romish Priest.
Published by the Author.
Cincinnati:
Longley Brothers, Printers,
168 Vine St., Above Fourth.
1857.
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
John Claudius Pitrat,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of Ohio.
TO BROTHER JOHN A. GURLEY.
_Dear Friend Gurley_,--To you, who have fed me when I was starving,
sheltered me when I was a homeless exile, and befriended me when I was
forlorn, and my life was sought by my persecutors, this volume I
inscribe, as a feeble token of my lasting gratitude and friendship.
J. C. PITRAT.
PREFACE.
Two arguments can be brought forth to prove that the Partialist
doctrines are not taught in the Scriptures: the one is drawn from the
Scriptures themselves, and the other is drawn from history.
The first argument, drawn from the Scriptures, is this:
The Partialist doctrines are not taught in the Scriptures, if it can be
proved by the Scriptures themselves that the Partialist doctrines are
not contained therein. But it can be proved by the Scriptures themselves
that the Partialist doctrines are not contained therein. Then the
Partialist doctrines are not taught in the Scriptures.
The second argument, drawn from history, is this:
The Partialist doctrines are not taught in the Scriptures, if it can be
proved by history, that the origin of the Partialist doctrines is Pagan.
But it can be proved by history that the origin of the Partialist
doctrines is Pagan. Then the Partialist doctrines are not taught in the
Scriptures.
These two arguments, as he who reflects can easily perceive, not only
corroborate each other, but their respective proving force is such,
that, if considered separately, each one is sufficient to peremptorily
prove that the Partialist doctrines are not taught in the Scriptures.
| 1,806.499259 |
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Produced by Sankar Viswanathan, Juliet Sutherland, and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
The Riverside Literature Series
Kipling Stories and Poems
Every Child Should Know
BOOK II
_From Rudyard Kipling's The Seven
Seas, The Days Work, Etc._
EDITED BY
MARY E. BURT AND W. T. CHAPIN, PH.D. (Princeton)
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
The Riverside Press Cambridge
COPYRIGHT, 1891, 1893, 1894, 1895, 1896, 1897, 1898,
1899, 1900, 1901, 1902, 1903, 1907, 1909
BY RUDYARD KIPLING
COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY WOLCOTT BALESTIER
COPYRIGHT, 1892, 1893, 1895, BY MACMILLAN & COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1893, 1905, BY D. APPLETON & COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1893, 1894, 1897, 1898, BY THE CENTURY COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1894, BY HARPER & BROTHERS
COPYRIGHT, 1900, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY
PUBLISHED, APRIL, 1909
The Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE. MASSACHUSETTS
* * * * *
CONTENTS
PAGE
Biographical Sketch--Charles Eliot Norton vii
PART IV
(_Continued from Book I, Riverside Literature
Series, No. 257_)
IV. Baa, Baa, Black Sheep (from "Under
the Deodars," etc.) 143
V. Wee Willie Winkie (from "Under the
Deodars," etc.) 188
VI. The Dove of Dacca (from "Departmental
Ditties and Ballads and Barrack-room
Ballads") 205
VII. The Smoke upon Your Altar Dies
(from "Departmental Ditties and
Ballads and Barrack-room Ballads") 207
VIII. Recessional (from "The Five Nations") 208
IX. L'Envoi (from "The Seven Seas") 210
PART V
I. The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo
(from "Just So Stories") 213
II. Fuzzy Wuzzy (from "Departmental
Ditties and Ballads and Barrack-room
Ballads") 222
III. The English Flag (from "Departmental
Ditties and Ballads and
Barrack-room Ballads") 225
IV. The King (from "The Seven Seas") 231
V. To the Unknown Goddess (from "Departmental
Ditties and Ballads and
Barrack-room Ballads") 234
VI. The Galley Slave (from "Departmental
Ditties and Ballads and
Barrack-room Ballads") 235
VII. The Ship That Found Herself (from
"The Day's Work") 238
PART VI
I. A Trip Across a Continent (from
"Captains Courageous") 267
II. The Children of the Zodiac (from
"Many Inventions") 274
III. The Bridge Builders (from "The
Day's Work") 299
IV. The Miracles (from "The Seven Seas") 351
V. Our Lady of the Snows (from "The
Five Nations") 353
VI. The Song of the Women (from "The
Naulahka") 356
VII. The White Man's Burden (from "The
Five Nations") 359
* * * * *
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Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: "The thing whirred up into the air, and hung poised on
its wings,... a dragon fly,... the king of all the flies."--P. 74.
(_Frontispiece_)]
THE WATER-BABIES
A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby
BY CHARLES KINGSLEY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS IN COLOUR BY
WARWICK GOBLE
MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED
ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON
1922
_First Published 1863_
_Edition with 32 Illustrations in Colour by Warwick Goble, Crown
4to, 1909_
_With 16 Illustrations in Colour by Warwick Goble, Demy 8vo, October
1910_
_Reprinted November 1910, 1912_
_With 16 Illustrations in Colour by Warwick Goble, Medium 8vo, 1922_
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
TO
MY YOUNGEST SON
GRENVILLE ARTHUR
AND
TO ALL OTHER GOOD LITTLE BOYS
COME READ ME MY RIDDLE, EACH GOOD LITTLE MAN;
IF YOU CANNOT READ IT, NO GROWN-UP FOLK CAN.
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
The thing whirred up into the air, and hung poised on its
wings,... a dragon fly,... the king of all the
flies.--p. 74 _Frontispiece_
In rushed a stout old | 1,806.679669 |
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Produced by Todd Fine, Dan Horwood 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 regarding the illustrations
"The Book of Khalid" contains illustrations drawn by Khalil
Gibran, the other early Arab-American writer (author of "The
Prophet"), that are well-known and exceptional. There are no
captions in the original book, and are very difficult to describe
in words. Their locations in the text have been marked with the
text '[Illustration]'. The reader is encouraged to view these
illustrations in the HTML version of this ebook.
* * * * *
THE BOOK OF KHALID
THE
BOOK OF KHALID
BY
AMEEN RIHANI
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY
1911
COPYRIGHT, 1911
BY DODD, MEAD & COMPANY
_Published, October_, 1911
CONTENTS
BOOK THE FIRST
IN THE EXCHANGE
CHAPTER PAGE
AL-FATIHAH v
TO MAN 3
I PROBING THE TRIVIAL 5
II THE CITY OF BAAL 14
III VIA DOLOROSA 25
IV ON THE WHARF OF ENCHANTMENT 34
V THE CELLAR OF THE SOUL 46
VI THE SUMMER AFTERNOON OF A SHAM 58
VII IN THE TWILIGHT OF AN IDEA 70
VIII WITH THE HURIS 83
BOOK THE SECOND
IN THE TEMPLE
TO NATURE 97
I THE DOWRY OF DEMOCRACY 99
II SUBTRANSCENDENTAL 115
III THE FALSE DAWN 125
IV THE LAST STAR 130
V PRIESTO-PARENTAL 143
VI FLOUNCES AND RUFFLES 154
VII THE HOWDAJ OF FALSEHOOD 167
VIII THE KAABA OF SOLITUDE 181
IX SIGNS OF THE HERMIT 192
X THE VINEYARD IN THE KAABA 202
BOOK THE THIRD
IN KULMAKAN
TO GOD 217
I THE DISENTANGLEMENT OF THE ME 219
II THE VOICE OF THE DAWN 231
III THE SELF ECSTATIC 239
IV ON THE OPEN HIGHWAY 249
V UNION AND PROGRESS 274
VI REVOLUTIONS WITHIN AND WITHOUT 287
VII A DREAM OF EMPIRE 298
VIII ADUMBRATIONS 311
IX THE STONING AND FLIGHT 325
X THE DESERT 333
AL-KHATIMAH 341
AL-FATIHAH
In the Khedivial Library of Cairo, among the Papyri of the Scribe of
Amen-Ra and the beautifully illuminated copies of the Koran, the
modern Arabic Manuscript which forms the subject of this Book, was
found. The present Editor was attracted to it by the dedication and
the rough drawings on the cover; which, indeed, are as curious, if not
as mystical, as ancient Egyptian symbols. One of these is supposed to
represent a New York Skyscraper in the shape of a Pyramid, the other
is a dancing group under which is written: "The Stockbrokers and the
Dervishes." And around these symbols, in Arabic circlewise, these
words:--"_And this is my Book, the Book of Khalid, which I dedicate to
my Brother Man, my Mother Nature, and my Maker God._"
Needless to say we asked at once the Custodian of the Library to give
us access to this Book of Khalid, and after examining it, we hired an
amanuensis to make a copy for us. Which copy we subsequently used as
the warp of our material; the woof we shall speak of in the following
chapter. No, there is nothing in this Work which we can call ours,
except it be the Loom. But the weaving, we assure the Reader, was a
mortal process; for the material is of such a mixture that here and
there the raw silk of Syria is often spun with the cotton and wool of
America. In other words, the Author dips his antique pen in a modern
inkstand, and when the ink runs thick, he mixes it with a slabbering
of slang. But we started to write an Introduction, not a Criticism.
And lest we end by writing neither, we give here what is more to the
point than anything we can say: namely, Al-Fatihah, or the Opening
Word of Khalid himself.
With supreme indifference to the classic Arabic proem, he begins by
saying that his Book is neither a Memoir nor an Autobiography, neither
a Journal nor a Confession.
"Orientals," says he, "seldom adventure into that region of fancy and
fabrication so alluring to European and American writers; for, like
the eyes of huris, our vanity is soft and demure. This then is a book
of travels in an impalpable country, an enchanted country, from which
we have all risen, and towards which we are still rising. It is, as it
were, the chart and history of one little kingdom of the Soul,--the
Soul of a philosopher, poet and criminal. I am all three, I swear, for
I have lived both the wild and the social life. And I have thirsted in
the desert, and I have thirsted in the city: the springs of the former
were dry; the water in the latter was frozen in the pipes. That is
why, to save my life, I had to be an incendiary at times, and at
others a footpad. And whether on the streets of knowledge, or in the
open | 1,806.781311 |
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Produced by Punch, or the London Charivari, Lisa Tang,
Malcolm Farmer and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net
PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI.
Volume 148, January 13th, 1915
_edited by Owen Seamen_
CHARIVARIA.
"The enemy is not yet subdued," announced the KAISER in his New Year's
address to his troops. It is gratifying to have this rumour confirmed
from a source so unimpeachable.
* * *
Prince BUELOW is finding himself _de trop_ at Rome. "Man wants but
little here, BUELOW," he is being told.
* * *
"Stick it!" it may be remembered, was General VON KLUCK'S Christmas
message as published in a German newspaper. The journal in question is
evidently read in Constantinople, for the Turks are now stated to have
sent several thousand sacks of cement to the Egyptian frontier with
which to fill up the Suez Canal.
* * *
After all, it is pointed out, there is not very much difference
between the reigning Sultan of TURKEY and his predecessor. The one is
The Damned, and the other The Doomed.
* * *
With reference to the "free fight" between Austrians and Germans in
the concentration camp at Pietermaritzburg, which Reuter reported the
other day, we now hear that the fight was not entirely free. Several
of the combatants, it seems, were afterwards fined.
* * *
The latest English outrage, according to Berlin, was done upon the
German officer who attempted to escape in a packing-case. It is said
that he has been put back in his case, which has been carefully
soldered up, and then as carefully mislaid.
* * *
Another typical German lie is published by the _Frankfurter Zeitung_.
Describing the FIRST LORD this sheet says:--"Well built, he struts
about elegantly dressed...." Those who remember our WINSTON'S little
porkpie hat will resent this charge.
* * *
An awfully annoying thing has happened to the _Vossische Zeitung_. Our
enterprising little contemporary asked three Danish professors to
state in what way they were indebted to German science, and they all
gave wrong answers. They said they were also indebted to English
science.
* * *
"HOUNDS IN A WORKHOUSE."
_Daily Mail._
It was, of course, inevitable that the hunts should suffer through the
war.
* * *
_The Evening Standard_ has been making enquiries as to the effect of
the War on the membership of the various Clubs. The report from the
Athenaeum was "The War has not affected the club at all." Can it be
that the dear old fellows have not heard of it yet?
* * *
"Business as usual" is evidently Paraguay's motto. They are having one
of their revolutions there in spite of the War.
* * *
The Tate Gallery authorities have now placed the pictures they value
most in the cellars of that institution, and the expression on the
face of any artist who finds his work still on the wall is in itself a
picture.
* * * * *
[Illustration: GALLANT ATTEMPT BY A MEMBER OF THE BRITISH
EXPEDITIONARY FORCE TO DO JUSTICE TO ALL HIS NEW YEAR'S GIFTS.]
* * * * *
Famous Lines.
"After plying regularly for nearly twenty-five years between
Vancouver, Victoria and the Orient, the last few months of
excitement must have brought back to the memory of her old
timbers--if they happen to be sentient, as Kipling would almost
have one believe--the famous line, 'One crowded hour of glorious
life is worth a cycle of Cathay.'"
_News-Advertiser_ (_Vancouver, B.C._)
* * *
"P. B.--It is a pleasure to read your stirring lines entitled 'To
Berlin'; they possess the twin merits of being vigorous and
timely. We should make an alteration in title, calling them simply
'To Berlin.'"
_Great Thoughts._
No, don't thank us. Our advice is always at the disposal of young
writers.
* * * * *
ENGLISH LINES FOR ENEMY CALENDARS.
For the _KAISER_--
"_La Belle France sans merci_
Hath thee in thrall."
For the _Emperor of AUSTRIA_, after the rout in Serbia--
"'But what good came of it at last?'
Quoth little PETER, king."
For the _Commander of the Western Campaign_--
"Of all the towns that are so far
There's none so far as Calais."
For _General VON MOLTKE_ (retired)--
"Then was I like some watcher on the Rhine
When a new plan is forced into his ken."
For the _Sultan of TURKEY_--
"He will hold me when his friendship shall have spent its novel force
Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse."
For the _IMPERIAL CHANCELLOR_--
"Oft had I heard from EDWARD GREY."
* * * * *
WAR ETIQUETTE.
ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.
_Materfamilias_ (Manchester).--No, it is not necessary for you to wear
a dressing-gown for dinner out of compliment to your wounded guests'
pyjamas; if you wear your best tea-gown they will not know the
difference.
_Sweet and Twenty_ (Surbiton).--I do not think your mother could
object to your tucking up your charming wounded officer for the night
as long as you don a Red Cross cloak over your evening attire. It is
not usual to kiss these wounded heroes unless you or they are under
seventeen or over seventy.
_Veronica_ (Ventnor).--I think the right size of photograph for your
second cousin to take with him to the Front depends on its subject:
cabinets are usual for dogs, horses and female first cousins; carte
size for parents and male relatives; but from the tone of your | 1,806.985523 |
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Produced by Al Haines
_THE ATTIC GUEST_
_A NOVEL_
_By_
_ROBERT E. KNOWLES_
_Author of "The Web of Time"
"St. Cuthbert's" etc._
_New York Chicago Toronto
Fleming H. Revell Company
London and Edinburgh_
Copyright, 1909, by
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
New York: 158 Fifth Avenue
Chicago: 80 Wabash Avenue
Toronto: 25 Richmond Street, W.
London: 21 Paternoster Square
Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
_To
My Father_
_FOREWORD_
This story, which the authoress herself entitled "The Attic Guest,"
would probably have never been given to the world but for an incidental
visit which I paid to a certain manse. It was then and there that the
following chapters, now first presented to the public, were entrusted
to my hands. The hands which placed the manuscript in my own were
those of a lady of much charm, modest, cultured, winsome; and no one
could know her without feeling that her qualities of heart were even
greater than of intellect. She was a minister's wife, as I need hardly
say; and the busy years in that most mellow of all vineyards had given
her face much of its own spiritual beauty, something of the deep
harvest-joy shining through her eyes. Tranquil eyes were hers,
chastened by many a sorrow, yet aglow with a native merriment that the
stern schooling of a lifetime seemed powerless to subdue.
She asked that I would read her story; "and send it forth," said she,
"if your heart approve."
Her plea for asking this service at my hands was that I had had some
humble association with the world of letters. Mayhap she thought this
pleased me well--and perhaps it did. I urged her to send her book
forth with her own name upon it--but this she firmly refused. She
shrank from the publicity it would involve, she said, as must any
Southern lady. I believed her implicitly. "Especially," she went
on--dwelling earnestly on this--"since my book is the frank and artless
story of the most sacred things of life, of a woman's life at that.
Some will smile," said she, "and some deride, and many disbelieve; but
the story is the story of my inmost work and life and love. Let it see
the light if you think it worthy."
I promised; and thus my | 1,806.985611 |
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Produced by Petra A and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from
images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
[TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES. Unusual and inconsistent spelling, grammar
and punctuation have been preserved. Obvious typographical errors
have been silently corrected and the text has been changed
according to the errata listed at the end of the published text.
_Underscores_ are used to represent italics. Small capitals have
been converted to all capitals. The table of contents was added by
the transcriber.]
A SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF
ELIZABETH T. STONE,
AND OF HER PERSECUTIONS,
WITH AN APPENDIX
OF HER
_TREATMENT AND SUFFERINGS_
WHILE IN THE
CHARLESTOWN McLEAN ASSYLUM,
WHERE SHE WAS CONFINED UNDER THE
PRETENCE OF INSANITY.
1842:
PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE. 3
REMARKS. 33
CLOSING REMARKS TO CHRISTIANS. 37
ERRATA. 42
PREFACE.
Feeling that the public is very much deceived concerning the treatment
and situation of a poor afflicted class of the human family, who are
placed in the McLean Assylum at Charlestown, by their relatives, and
are left in the hands of strangers, subjected to the treatment of those
whose hearts are hardened by being long accustomed to human suffering,
and who are ignorant and unqualified, I will expose this matter to the
public, in behalf of the afflicted, in connection with the _awful,
brutal outrage_ that has been committed upon me in consequence of
indisposition resulting from hard labor and persecution, so the public
may be warned against placing their friends there, especially if they
would not have them ill-treated or suffer unnecessarily.
First, I shall give a short sketch of my life down to the time when I
was carried to the Hospital; then an account of the CRIME in connection
with the treatment I received there, until I was taken out. I feel that
this should particularly interest the christian world; but whether it
is believed or not, I am determined to publish it, that the people of
God may take care of their own people in time of persecution at the
expense of one's life, whether father, mother, brother, or sister step
in between. The unconverted do not understand _spirituality_, therefore
a weak, persecuted christian should not be consigned to their hands. If
others who have suffered this cruelty before me (as Dr. Fox says that
both _male and female christians have been destroyed there before_)
had published and exposed the wicked crime to the world, I might have
been saved from suffering here and hereafter. It is covered up under
the garb of "derangement," but I am willing to let the world know it,
that others may be saved from these awful outrages of the wicked at
the present day. I know that the world in general is ignorant of this
crime--of the fact that Doctors do possess knowledge of giving medicine
to take away from a person the spirit of Christ,--but I have suffered
it.
I was born in Westford, Mass. My father was a mechanic, and poor; my
mother being often sick, with a family of 7 boys and 3 girls, we were
all sent out young upon the world, to get our own living. I being the
youngest girl, was left at home alone. The peculiar situation which
I sustained in the family, being early disowned by my father as his
lawful child, he being intemperate at the time, may be imagined. I was
often the object of his wrath, though in his sober hours I was kindly
treated by him, as he was a man of tender feelings. But my mother's
affections were always alienated from me, and I always felt the want of
a mother's love, and consequently became very unhappy. I determined to
seek my own living and share the same fate of the rest of the family by
buffeting a cold unfeeling world.
At the age of fifteen I resorted to the factories in Lowell, where I
found employment and became expert at the business. Knowing that I
had myself to take care of and no one to depend upon, I was ambitious
and often asked my overseer for the privilege of tending double work,
which was often granted; and as I had the means of providing for my
own wants and some to spare, I became restless and often wished I
had the means to go to school, as my mother often told her children
to get learning--it was what the world could not take from us; (but
O, alas! mine has been taken from me by medicine, being given to me
in an artful manner to harden my brains, and the brain is the seat
of the mind and the mind is the store-house of knowledge) and I felt
the want of it as I became advanced in years and went into society.
I soon began to make arrangments to place myself at some school. I
went home at the age of eighteen and went to the Academy in Westford
three or four months, and then, in the year 1834, the first of May,
I started for New Hampton in company with a young lady from Boston,
she being my only acquaintance. I found the school very pleasant, and
the teachers were ardently pious. It was now that I felt that God had
often called after me and I had refused to obey him for my teacher said
without the mind was enlightened by the Spirit of Christ it was not
prepared for knowledge. This increased the carnal state of my heart
against religion, for it appeared to me like foolishness, for there
was nothing but the simple religion of Jesus Christ, no disputing, no
sectarian spirit, and I was surrounded by the prayers of my teachers
and the pious scholars. But I withstood all the entreaties through
the summer term. I was determined not to get religion when there was
much said about it, for I looked upon it as excitement, as many others
foolishly call it. There were about one hundred and five scholars,
and at the end of the term all but three of us professed to have an
interest in Christ. During the vacation I could not throw off the
conviction that had seized hold of my mind, that God in his mercy had
spared my life, and permitted me to enjoy this last privilege. At the
commencement of the Fall term as usual, we all assembled on Sunday
morning--the professors in the Hall above, while the unconverted were
in the Hall below--to hear the Scriptures explained. Miss. Sleeper,
one of the teachers, that assembled with us, came directly to me after
the exercises were over and asked me if I felt as I did during the
last term. I told her no. She said she was very glad of it and hoped
I should not leave off seeking until I found the Savior. I felt that
I had committed myself, that I now could not draw back, that I must
persevere on and let the world know that I needed a Saviour to save me
from acting out the wicked state of my heart. I could not throw it
off. On Monday evening all the unconverted were invited by our much
loved teacher, Miss. Haseltine, to meet her at the Hall. Accordingly
I went in company with several other young ladies. After reading the
Scriptures and addressing us very affectionately, she asked us to kneel
down and join her in prayer. Accordingly I did so, but I thought I
was more hardened than ever; and felt ashamed that I was on my bended
knees; but wishing to act from principle and to prove whether there was
any reality in what my teacher said about religion, I was determined
to persevere on, although it was contrary to my carnal state of heart.
Accordingly I told every one that I meant to know the real religion
of Jesus Christ and live up to it, if it was what they said it was.
I attended all the meetings and was willing to do any thing that I
thought I ought to do; but I began to think that I had grieved the
Holy Spirit and was about giving up seeking any longer until I should
feel, as very often I did before in meetings and then I should have
religion. This was on Saturday, a fortnight after I was willing to own
that I felt the need of an interest in Christ. On my way home from
school, a young lady overtook me and inquired what was the state of my
feelings, I frankly told her what was my conclusion. She then told me
how she found the Saviour--how she sought three years; but all that
time she said she was seeking conviction when she ought to have sought
forgiveness and told me that I must seek for immediate forgiveness, and
asked me if I was willing to. I told her that I would, for I found that
I had been seeking conviction and was already convicted. Accordingly I
went home, and after dinner took my Bible and retired alone to a grove
not far distant, where I spent the afternoon in reading and praying,
but did not find any change in my feelings. I was summonds to tea by
the ringing of the bell. I went in and took my seat at the table, but
while sitting there I thought I was acting foolishly, that I ought
not to eat, drink, or sleep, until I found forgivness. I rose from
the table and retired to my room and knelt down and asked God what I
should do in order to be forgiven; then rose up and was sitting down
by the table with my head upon my hand wondering what I should do,
when something seemed to say to me, "open the door of your heart and
admit me." I immediately thought I could not without I was better, but
something said "_no, now_." I thought the next day being Sunday, I
would, after I had been to church; _but no_, the voice said _now_--that
I said I would. If _Christ_ would but receive me, I would _him_ just as
I was. I thought _I would_. I rose and walked across the room, and was
frightened to think what I had said; that I had entered into a covenant
with God. At that time a young lady, Mary Ann Burbank, entered the room
and asked me if I was going to meeting, as it was customary to have a
female prayer meeting at the hall on Saturday evening. I told her yes.
She said it was too late. I told her I was going, (I thought if they
were just coming out I would go.) I put on my things, and she said she
would go with me. Accordingly we went out of the house together and
said nothing to each other. I thought of nothing in particular; but
as we were walking and had got a rod or two from the house, I thought
how fast I was walking, and how earnest I was to get there. I spoke
to Miss Burbank and said that I never went to a place with so much
eagerness in my life. She asked me if I felt better. I told her that
I never was so happy in my life. She said she was glad; she had been
recently baptized. I had before not liked her very well, but now I
loved her with all my heart, because she had owned the Savior before
the world. I immediately thought of the balls and parties that I had
been to, and it seemed nothing to what it would be to get into a prayer
meeting. It seemed that the Bible I had never read and that I knew
nothing about it and when I tried to think of it the passages flowed
into my mind faster than I could repeat; the first passage I thought
of was the Greeks foolishness to the Jews, but to them that believe
Christ the power of God unto salvation, and many others. It seemed
that I stepped out of one world into another. I went into the hall
and they were singing, and then they knelt down and prayed. A young
lady prayed for me, seeing me on my knees. I longed to have her close
her prayer to tell them what God had done for me. As we rose I opened
my mouth and words flowed faster than I could speak, I blessed and
praised God and asked them all to forgive me for the opposition that I
had manifested towards them for their entreating me to be reconciled
to God. There was great rejoicing over me. Some wept, some prayed,
and some sang. It was a happy time. Some that were seeking seeing me
so happy said they were determined to find the Savior that night and
two young ladies that boarded with me did, to the joy of their souls.
I felt that I had a new life to live and was determined to live it. I
loved all the people | 1,807.080151 |
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Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by Google Books
THE LAST PENNY
By Edwin Lefevre
Harper And Brothers Publishers
New York And London
1917
[Illustration: 0008]
[Illustration: 0011]
TO THE LAST PENNY
CHAPTER I
THOMAS LEIGH, ex-boy, considered the dozen neckties before him a long
time, and finally decided to wait until after breakfast.
It was his second day at home and his third day out of college. Already
his undergraduate life seemed far away. His triumphs--of personality
rather than of scholarship--lingered as a luminous mist that softened
the sterner realities and mellowed them goldenly. When one is young
reminiscences of one's youth are apt to take on a tinge of melancholy,
but Tommy, not having breakfasted, shook off the mood determinedly. He
was two hundred and fifty-five months old; therefore, he decided that no
great man ever crosses a bridge until he comes to it. Tommy's bridge
was still one long joy-ride ahead. The sign, “Slow down to four miles an
hour!” was not yet in sight. The selection of the necktie was a serious
matter because he was to lunch at Sherry's with the one sister and the
younger of the two cousins of Rivington Willetts.
In the mean time he had an invitation to spend the first half of July
with Bull Wilson's folks at Gloucester, a week with “Van” Van Schaick
for the cruise at Newport, as long as he wished with Jimmy Maitland at
Mr. Maitland's camp in the Adirondacks, and he had given a half promise
to accompany Ellis Gladwin to Labrador for big game in the fall.
He suddenly remembered that he was at his last ten-spot. There was the
Old Man to touch for fifty bucks. And also--sometime--he must have a
heart-to-heart talk of a business nature about his allowance. He and
his friends desired to take a post-graduate course. They proposed to
specialize on New York.
Mr. Leigh always called him Thomas. This had saved Mr. Leigh at least
one thousand dollars a year during Tommy's four at college, by making
Tommy realize that he had no doting father. At times the boy had sent
his requests for an extra fifty with some misgivings--by reason of the
impelling cause of the request--but Mr. Leigh always sent the check for
the exact amount by return mail, and made no direct reference to
it. Instead he permitted himself an irrelevant phrase or two, like,
“Remember, Thomas, that you must have no conditions at the end of the
term.”
Possibly because of a desire to play fair with a | 1,807.080192 |
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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Stephanie Eason, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
The American <DW64> Academy
Occasional Papers, No. 2.
The Conservation of Races.
BY
W. E. BURGHARDT Du BOIS.
WASHINGTON, D. C.
Published by the Academy.
1897.
Baptist Magazine Print,
Washington, D. C.
Orders may be sent to John H. Wills.
The Boston Cheap Book Store,
Washington, D. C.
Announcement
The American <DW64> Academy believes that upon those of the race who have
had the advantages of higher education and culture, rests the
responsibility of taking concerted steps for the employment of these
agencies to uplift the race to higher planes of thought and action.
Two great obstacles to this consummation are apparent: (_a_) The lack of
unity, want of harmony, absence of a self-sacrificing spirit, and no
well-defined line of policy seeking definite aims; and (_b_) The
persistent, relentless, at times covert opposition employed to thwart
the <DW64> at every step of his upward struggles to establish the
justness of his claim to the highest physical, intellectual and moral
possibilities.
The Academy will, therefore, from time to time, publish such papers as
in their judgment aid, by their broad and scholarly treatment of the
topics discussed the dissemination of principles tending to the growth
and development of the <DW64> along right lines, and the vindication of
that race against vicious assaults.
THE CONSERVATION OF RACES.
The American <DW64> has always felt an intense personal interest in
discussions as to the origins and destinies of races: primarily | 1,807.080254 |
2023-11-16 18:47:11.3048130 | 7,435 | 133 |
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HISTORY OF
FARMING IN
ONTARIO
BY
C. C. JAMES
[Illustration: Publisher's Device]
REPRINTED FROM
CANADA AND ITS PROVINCES
A HISTORY OF THE CANADIAN PEOPLE
AND THEIR INSTITUTIONS
BY ONE HUNDRED ASSOCIATES
EDITED BY
ADAM SHORTT AND A. G. DOUGHTY
HISTORY OF FARMING
IN ONTARIO
BY
C. C. JAMES
C.M.G.
[Illustration: Publisher's Device]
TORONTO
GLASGOW, BROOK & COMPANY
1914
This Volume consists of a Reprint, for private circulation only, of the
One Hundred and Sixteenth Signed Contribution contained in CANADA AND
ITS PROVINCES, a History of the Canadian People and their Institutions
by One Hundred Associates.
Adam Shortt and Arthur G. Doughty, General Editors
HISTORY OF FARMING
THE LAND AND THE PEOPLE
From the most southern point of Ontario on Lake Erie, near the 42nd
parallel of latitude, to Moose Factory on James Bay, the distance is
about 750 miles. From the eastern boundary on the Ottawa and St Lawrence
Rivers to Kenora at the Manitoba boundary, the distance is about 1000
miles. The area lying within these extremes is about 220,000 square
miles. In 1912 a northern addition of over 100,000 square miles was made
to the surface area of the province, but it is doubtful whether the
agricultural lands will thereby be increased. Of this large area about
25,000,000 acres are occupied and assessed, including farm lands and
town and city sites. It will be seen, therefore, that only a small
fraction of the province has, as yet, been occupied. Practically all the
occupied area lies south of a line drawn through Montreal, Ottawa, and
Sault Ste Marie, and it forms part of the great productive zone of the
continent.
The next point to be noted is the irregularity of the boundary-line, the
greater portion of which is water--Lakes Superior, Huron, Erie, Ontario,
the St Lawrence River, the Ottawa River, James Bay, and Hudson Bay. The
modifying effect of great bodies of water must be considered in studying
the agricultural possibilities of Ontario.
Across this great area of irregular outline there passes a branch of
the Archaean rocks running in a north-western direction and forming a
watershed, which turns some of the streams to Hudson Bay and the others
to the St Lawrence system. An undulating surface has resulted, more or
less filled with lakes, and almost lavishly supplied with streams, which
are of prime importance for agricultural life and of incalculable value
for commercial purposes. To these old rocks which form the backbone of
the province may be traced the origin of the large stretches of rich
soil with which the province abounds.
An examination of the map, and even a limited knowledge of the
geological history of the province, will lead to the conclusion that in
Ontario there must be a wide range in the nature and composition of the
soils and a great variety in the climatic conditions. These conditions
exist, and they result in a varied natural production. In the extreme
south-western section plants of a semi-tropical nature were to be found
in the early days in luxurious growth; while in the extreme north,
spruce, somewhat stunted in size and toughened in fibre, are still to be
found in vast forests.
It is with the southern section, that lying south of the Laurentian
rocks, that our story is mainly concerned, for the occupation and
exploitation of the northland is a matter only of recent date. Nature
provided conditions for a diversified agriculture. It is to such a land
that for over a hundred years people of different nationalities, with
their varied trainings and inclinations, have been coming to make their
homes. We may expect, therefore, to find a great diversity in the
agricultural growth of various sections, due partly to the variety of
natural conditions and partly to the varied agricultural training of the
settlers in their homelands.
EARLY SETTLEMENT, 1783-1816
Originally this province was covered with forest, varied and extensive,
and was valued only for its game. The hunter and trapper was the
pioneer. To protect and assist him, fortified posts were constructed at
commanding points along the great waterways. In the immediate vicinity
of these posts agriculture, crude in its nature and restricted in its
area, had its beginning.
It was into this wooded wilderness that the United Empire Loyalists,
numbering in all approximately ten thousand people, came in the latter
part of the eighteenth century.[1] They were a people of varied
origins--Highland Scottish, German, Dutch, Irish Palatine, French
Huguenot, English. Most of them had lived on farms in New York State,
and therefore brought with them some knowledge and experience that stood
them in good stead in their arduous work of making new homes in a land
that was heavily wooded. In the year 1783 prospectors were sent into
Western Quebec, the region lying west of the Ottawa River, and
selections were made for them in four districts--along the St Lawrence,
opposite Fort Oswegatchie; around the Bay of Quinte, above Fort
Cataraqui; in the Niagara peninsula, opposite Fort Niagara; and in the
south-western section, within reach of Fort Detroit. Two reasons
determined these locations; first, the necessity of being located on the
water-front, as lake and river were the only highways available; and,
secondly, the advisability of being within the protection of a fortified
post. The dependence of the settlers upon the military will be realized
when we remember that they had neither implements nor seed grain. In
fact, they were dependent at first upon the government stores for their
food. It is difficult at the present time to realize the hardships and
appreciate the conditions under which these United Empire Loyalist
settlers began life in the forest of 1784.
Having been assigned their lots and supplied with a few implements, they
began their work of making small clearings and the erection of rude
log-houses and barns. Among the stumps they sowed the small quantities
of wheat, oats, and potatoes that were furnished from the government
stores. Cattle were for many years few in number, and the settler, to
supply his family with food and clothing, was compelled to add hunting
and trapping to his occupation of felling the trees.
Gradually the clearings became larger and the area sown increased in
size. The trails were improved and took on the semblance of roads, but
the waterways continued to be the principal avenues of communication. In
each of the four districts the government erected mills to grind the
grain for the settlers. These were known as the King's Mills.
Water-power mills were located near Kingston, at Gananoque, at Napanee,
and on the Niagara River. The mill on the Detroit was run by wind power.
An important event in the early years was when the head of the family
set out for the mill with his bag of wheat on his back or in his canoe,
and returned in two or three days, perhaps in a week, with a small
supply of flour. In the early days there was no wheat for export. The
question then may be asked, was there anything to market? Yes; as the
development went on, the settlers found a market for two surplus
products, timber and potash. The larger pine trees were hewn into timber
and floated down the streams to some convenient point where they were
collected into rafts, which were taken down the St Lawrence to Montreal
and Quebec. Black salt or crude potash was obtained by concentrating the
ashes that resulted from burning the brush and trees that were not
suitable for timber.
For the first thirty years of the new settlements the chief concern of
the people was the clearing of their land, the increasing of their field
crops, and the improving of their homes and furnishings. It was slow
going, and had it not been for government assistance, progress, and even
maintenance of life, would have been impossible. That was the heroic age
of Upper Canada, the period of foundation-laying in the province.
Farming was the main occupation, and men, women, and children shared the
burdens in the forest, in the field, and in the home. Roads were few and
poorly built, except the three great military roads planned by
Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe running east, west, and north from the town
of York. Social intercourse was of a limited nature. Here and there a
school was formed when a competent teacher could be secured. Church
services were held once a month, on which occasions the missionary
preacher rode into the district on horseback. Perhaps once or twice in
the summer the weary postman, with his pack on his back, arrived at the
isolated farmhouse to leave a letter, on which heavy toll had to be
collected.
Progress was slow in those days, but after thirty years fair hope of an
agricultural country was beginning to dawn upon the people when the War
of 1812 broke out. By this time the population of the province had
increased to about eighty thousand. During this first thirty years very
little had been done in the way of stimulating public interest in
agricultural work. Conditions were not favourable to organization. The
'town meeting' was concerned mainly with the question of the height of
fences and regulations as to stock running at large. One attempt,
however, was made which should be noted. Lieutenant-Governor Simcoe took
charge of affairs early in 1792, and, immediately after the close of the
first session of the legislature at Newark (Niagara) in the autumn of
that year, organized an agricultural society at the headquarters which
met occasionally to discuss agricultural questions. There are no records
to show whether social intercourse or practical agricultural matters
formed the main business. The struggle for existence was too exacting
and the conditions were not yet favourable for organization to advance
general agricultural matters.
When the War of 1812 broke out the clearings of the original settlers
had been extended, and some of the loyalists still lived, grown grey
with time and hardened by the rough life of the backwoods. Their sons,
many of whom had faint recollection of their early homes across the
line, had grown up in an atmosphere of strictest loyalty to the British
crown, and had put in long years in clearing the farms on which they
lived and adding such comforts to their houses, that to them, perhaps as
to no other generation, their homes meant everything in life. The
summons came to help to defend those homes and their province. For three
years the agricultural growth received a severe check. Fathers and sons
took their turn in going to the front. The cultivation of the fields,
the sowing and the harvesting of the crops, fell largely to the lot of
the mothers and the daughters left at home. But they were equal to it.
In those days the women were trained to help in the work of the fields.
They did men's work willingly and well. In many cases they had to
continue their heroic work after the close of the war, until their
surviving boys were grown to years of manhood, for many husbands and
sons went to the front never to return.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See 'Pioneer Settlements' in this section.
A PERIOD OF EXPANSION, 1816-46
The close of the war saw a province that had been checked at a time of
vigorous growth now more or less impoverished, and, in some sections,
devastated. This was, however, but the gloomy outlook before a period of
rapid expansion. In 1816, on the close of the Napoleonic wars in Europe,
large numbers of troops were disbanded, and for these new homes and new
occupations had to be found. Then began the first emigration from
Britain overseas to Upper Canada. All over the British Isles little
groups were forming of old soldiers reunited to their families. A few
household furnishings were packed, a supply of provisions laid in, a
sailing vessel chartered, and the trek began across the Atlantic. The
emigrants sailed from many ports of England, Scotland, and Ireland.
Sometimes the trip was made in three or four weeks; but often, through
contrary winds or rough weather, three or four months passed before the
vessel sailed up the St Lawrence and landed the newcomers at Montreal.
Hardly half of their difficulties were then overcome or half of their
dangers passed. If they were to find their new locations by land, they
must walk or travel by slow ox-cart; if they journeyed by water, they
must make their way up the St Lawrence by open boat, surmounting the
many rapids in succession, poling the boats, pulling against the stream,
at times helping to carry heavy loads over the portages. Their new homes
in the backwoods were in townships in the rear of those settled by the
loyalists, or in unoccupied areas lying on the lake-fronts between the
four districts referred to as having been taken up by the loyalists.
Then began the settlements along the north shore of Lake Ontario and of
Lake Erie, and the population moved forward steadily. In 1816 the total
population of the province was approximately 100,000; by 1826, according
to returns made to the government, it had increased to 166,000; in 1836
it was 374,000, and in 1841 it was 456,000. The great majority of these
people, of course, lived upon the land, the towns being comparatively
small, and the villages were composed largely of people engaged in
agricultural work.
This peaceful British invasion contributed a new element to the
province and added still further to the variety of the people. In one
township could be found a group of English settlers, most of whom came
from a southern county of England, near by a township peopled by
Scottish Lowlanders, and not far away a colony of north of Ireland
farmers, or perhaps a settlement composed entirely of people from the
vicinity of Cork or Limerick.
These British settlers brought new lines of life, new plans for houses
and barns, new methods of cultivation, new varieties of seed, and, what
was perhaps of most influence upon the agricultural life of the
province, new kinds of live stock. Even to this day can be seen traces
of the differences in construction of buildings introduced by the
different nationalities that came as pioneers into the various sections
of the province--the French Canadian constructed his buildings with
long, steep roofs; the Englishman followed his home plan of many small,
low outbuildings with doors somewhat rounded at the top; the German and
Dutch settler built big barns with their capacious mows. These latter
have become the type now generally followed, the main improvement in
later years being the raising of the frames upon stone foundations so as
to provide accommodation for live stock in the basement. It would be
interesting and profitable to study carefully the different localities
to determine what elements have contributed to the peculiar agricultural
characteristics of the present day. In this connection the language also
might be investigated. For instance, to the early Dutch farmers of Upper
Canada we owe such common words as'stoop,' 'bush,' 'boss,''span.' To
the early British settler these were foreign words. When the oversea
settlers came up the St Lawrence they were transported from Montreal
either by 'bateau' or by 'Durham boat.'[2]
Special reference must be made to the live stock introduced by the
British settlers. This was one of the most important elements in the
expansion and permanent development of the agriculture of the province.
The British Isles have long been noted for their pure-bred stock. In no
other part of the world have so many varieties been originated and
improved. In horses, there are the Clydesdale, the Shire, the
Thoroughbred, and the Hackney; in cattle, Shorthorns, Herefords,
Ayrshires, Devon, and the dairy breeds of Jersey and Guernsey; in sheep,
Southdowns, Shropshires, Leicesters; in swine, Berkshires and
Yorkshires. Many other breeds might be added to these. Poultry and dogs
also might be referred to. The Britisher has been noted for his love of
live stock. He has been trained to their care, his agricultural methods
have been ordered to provide food suitable for their wants, and he has
been careful to observe the lines of breeding so as to improve their
quality. In the earliest period of the settlement of the province live
stock was not numerous and the quality was not of the best. Whatever was
to be found on the farms came mainly from the United States and was of
inferior type. The means of bringing in horses, cattle, and sheep were
limited. The result was that field work at that time was largely done by
hand labour. Hunting and fishing helped to supply the table with the
food that to-day we obtain from the butcher. When the Britisher came
across the Atlantic he brought to Upper Canada his love for live stock
and his knowledge how to breed and care for the same. The result was
seen in the rapid increase in the number of horses, cattle, sheep, and
swine, and the placing of the agriculture of the province on a firm
basis for future growth.
By 1830 the population had grown to about 213,000, practically all
located on the land. In that year there were only five towns of 1000 or
over: namely, Kingston, 3587; York (Toronto), 2860; London, (including
the township), 2415; Hamilton (including the township), 2013; and
Brockville, 1130. The returns to the government show that of the
4,018,385 acres occupied 773,727 were under cultivation. On the farms
were to be found 30,776 horses, 33,517 oxen, 80,892 milch cows, and
32,537 young cattle. It is interesting to note that oxen, so useful in
clearing land and in doing heavy work, were more numerous than horses.
Oxen were hardier than horses; they could forage for themselves and live
on rough food, and when disabled could be converted into food. They thus
played a very important part in the pioneer life. There were no improved
farm implements in those days: the plough, the spade, the hoe, the fork,
the sickle, the hook, the cradle, and the rake--implements that had been
the husbandman's equipment for centuries--completed the list. With these
the farmer cultivated his lands and gathered his crops. With two stout
hickory poles, joined together at the end with tough leather thongs, a
flail was made with which he threshed out his grain on the floor of his
barn.
The earliest pioneers raised some flax, and from the fibre made coarse
linen fabrics, supplementing these by skins of wild animals and the
hides of cattle. With the introduction of sheep by the British settlers
wool became an important product, and homespun garments provided
additional clothing for all the members of the family. Seeds of various
fruit trees were planted, and by 1830 the products of these seedlings
supplemented the wild plums and cherries of the woods and the wild
raspberries that sprang up in abundance in the clearings and slashes. By
this time every farm had one or more milch cows and the farmer's table
was supplied with fresh milk, butter, and home-made cheese. As the first
half-century of the province was drawing to its close, some of the
comforts of home life began to be realized by the farming community. The
isolation of the former period disappeared as roads of communication
were opened up and extended.
Here and there societies were formed for the exhibition of the products
of the farm and for friendly competitions. So important were these
societies becoming in the life of the whole community that in 1830 the
government gave them recognition and provided an annual grant to assist
them in their work. This is an important event in agricultural history,
for it marks the beginning of government assistance to the agricultural
industry. Between 1820 and 1830 probably not more than half a dozen
agricultural societies were organized. Some records of such were
preserved at York, Kingston, and in the Newcastle district. From the
record of the County of Northumberland Agricultural Society it is
learned that its first show was held in the public square of the village
of Colborne on October 19, 1828, when premiums were awarded amounting in
all to seventy-seven dollars. There were fourteen prizes for live stock,
two prizes for cheese, two for field rollers, and two for essays on the
culture of wheat. The first prize essay, for which the winner received
five dollars, was printed for distribution. The prize list was limited
in range, but it shows how this new settlement, formed largely by
British settlers since 1816, was giving particular attention to the
encouragement of live stock. A short quotation from the prize essay as
to the best method of clearing the land for wheat should be found of
interest.
As a great part of our County is yet in a wilderness state
and quite a share of the wheat brought to our markets is
reared on new land, I deem it important that our
enterprising young men who are clearing away the forest
should know how to profit by their hard labor. Let the
underwood be cut in the autumn before the leaves fall, and
the large timber in the winter or early in the spring. This
will insure a good burn, which is the first thing requisite
for a good crop. Do your logging in the month of June, and
if you wish to make money, do it before you burn your brush
and save the ashes; these will more than half pay you for
clearing the land: and by burning at this season you will
attract a drove of cattle about you that will destroy all
sprouts which may be growing; do not leave more than four
trees on an acre and girdle these in the full moon of March
and they will never leaf again; thus you may have your land
prepared for the seed before harvest.
The act of 1830 provided a grant of L100 for a society in each district,
upon condition that the members subscribed and paid in at least L50, and
in the case of a society being organized in each county the amount was
to be equally divided among the societies. The condition of making the
grant was set forth in the act as follows: 'When any Agricultural
Society, for the purpose of importing valuable live stock, grain, grass
seeds, useful implements or whatever else might conduce to the
improvement of agriculture in this Province,' etc.
As a result of this substantial assistance by the government,
agricultural societies increased in number, and their influence, in
assisting in the improvement of the live stock and the bringing of new
implements to the attention of farmers, was most marked.
Horses, sheep and milch cows increased rapidly. Purebred cattle now
began to receive some attention. The first record of importation is the
bringing of a Shorthorn bull and a cow from New York State in 1831 by
Robert Arnold of St Catharines. In 1833 Rowland Wingfield, an Englishman
farming near Guelph, brought a small herd of choice animals across the
ocean, landed them at Montreal, took them to Hamilton by way of the
Ottawa River, the Rideau Canal, and Lake Ontario, and then drove them on
foot to Wellington County. The Hon. Adam Fergusson of Woodhill followed
two or three years later with a similar importation.
The first Ayrshire cattle can be traced back to the Scottish settlers
who arrived during this period. These emigrants had provided their own
food for the voyage to Canada, and in some cases brought a good milch
cow to provide fresh milk on the voyage. She would be disposed of on
landing, at Montreal or in the eastern part of Upper Canada. This
accounts for the early predominance of Ayrshires in Eastern Ontario.
Thus to the period 1830-45 belongs the first foundation of the pure-bred
stock industry.
It was in this period also that the first signs appear of improved farm
implements and labour-saving machinery. Ploughs of improved pattern,
lighter and more effective, were being made. Land rollers and harrows
made in the factory began to take the place of the home-made articles.
Crude threshing machines, clover-seed cleaners, root-cutters, and a
simple but heavy form of hay-rake came into use. The mowing machine and
the reaper were making their appearance in Great Britain and the United
States, but they had not yet reached Upper Canada.
The organization of agricultural societies in the various districts,
and the great impetus given to the keeping of good stock, led in 1843 to
the suggestion that a provincial organization would be of benefit to the
farming industry. In the neighbouring State of New York a similar
organization had been in existence since 1832 and successful State fairs
had been held, which some of the more prominent farmers of Upper Canada
had visited. An agricultural paper called the _British American
Cultivator_ had been established in York, and through this paper, in
letters and editorials, the idea of a provincial association was
advocated. For three years the discussion proceeded, until finally, in
1846, there was organized the Provincial Agricultural Association and
Board of Agriculture for Canada West, composed of delegates from the
various district societies. The result was that the first provincial
exhibition was held in Toronto on October 21 and 22 of that year. The
old Government House at the south-western corner of King Street and
Simcoe Street, then empty, was used for the exhibits, and the stock and
implements were displayed in the adjoining grounds. The Canada Company
gave a contribution of $200, eight local societies made donations, about
$280 was secured as gate money, and 297 members paid subscriptions.
Premiums were paid to the amount of $880, the bulk of which went to live
stock; books, which cost about $270, were given as prizes; and there was
left a cash balance on hand of $400. A ploughing match was held, and on
the evening of the first day a grand banquet was given, attended by the
officers and directors and by some of the leading citizens of Toronto.
Among the speakers at this banquet were Chief Justice Robinson and
Egerton Ryerson, superintendent of education.
FOOTNOTES:
[2] See 'Shipping and Canals' in section v. pp. 489-90.
ORGANIZED AGRICULTURE, 1846-67
The organization of this provincial association fittingly introduces
another era in agricultural growth. It is to be noted that this
provincial organization was a self-created body; it drew at first no
government funds direct. It commended itself to the people, for on July
28, 1847, the provincial parliament in session at Montreal passed an act
incorporating it under the name of the Agricultural Association of Upper
Canada, and in the charter named as members a number of the leading
citizens of the province. It was governed by a board of directors, two
of whom were chosen annually by each district agricultural society. The
objects set forth were the improvement of farm stock and produce, the
improvement of agricultural implements, and the encouragement of
domestic manufactures, of useful inventions applicable to agricultural
or domestic purposes, and of every branch of rural and domestic economy.
Out of this provincial association came all the further agricultural
organizations of a provincial nature, and ultimately, some forty years
later, the Ontario department of Agriculture.
The second provincial exhibition was held at Hamilton in 1847, and Lord
Elgin, the governor-general, was in attendance. He was also a generous
patron, for his name appears as a donor of $100. The address which he
delivered at the banquet has been preserved in the published records and
is copiously marked with cheers and loud applause.
The third exhibition was held at Cobourg in 1848. The official report of
the exhibits indicates that pure-bred stock was rapidly increasing and
improving in quality; but the most significant paragraph is that dealing
with implements, and this is well worth quoting in full.
Of implements of Canada make, the Show was deficient; and
we were much indebted to our American neighbours for their
valuable aid on this occasion. A large number of ploughs,
straw-cutters, drills, cornshellers, churns, etc., etc.,
were brought over by Messrs Briggs & Co. of Rochester, Mr
Emery of Albany, and a large manufacturing firm near
Boston. Mr Bell of Toronto exhibited his excellent plough,
straw-cutter, and reaping machine. The first prize for the
latter article was awarded to Mr Helm of Cobourg for the
recent improvements which he has effected. Mr Clark of
Paris exhibited his one-horse thrashing-mill, which
attracted much attention.
At the fourth exhibition, held at Kingston in 1849, the show of
implements was much more extensive, and comment was made on the
improvement of articles of home manufacture. At this meeting Professor
J. F. W. Johnson, of Edinburgh, who was making a tour of North America,
was present. The address of the president, Henry Ruttan of Cobourg, is a
most valuable reference article descriptive of the agricultural progress
of the province from the first settlements in 1783 to the time of the
exhibition. Ruttan was a loyalist's son, and, from his own personal
knowledge, he described the old plough that was given by the government
to each of the first settlers.
It consisted of a small iron socket, whose point entered by
means of a dove-tailed aperture into the heel of the
coulter, which formed the principal part of the plough, and
was in shape similar to the letter L, the shank of which
went through the wooden beam, and the foot formed the point
which was sharpened for operation. One handle and a plank
split from the side of a winding block of timber, which did
duty for the mould-board, completed the implement. Besides
provisions for a year, I think each family had issued to
them a plough-share and coulter, a set of dragg-teeth, a
log chain, an axe, a saw, a hammer, a bill hook and a
grubbing hoe, a pair of hand-irons and a cross-cut saw
amongst several families, and a few other articles.
He then refers to the large number of implements then being pressed upon
the farmers, until 'they have almost become a nuisance to the farmer who
desires to purchase a really useful article.' All of which indicates
that a distinctive feature of the period beginning with 1846 was the
introduction and rapid extension of improved farm machinery.
A few words as to the reaping machine, which contributed more than any
other modern implement to the development of agriculture in the past
century, may not be out of place. Various attempts had been made at
producing a machine to supersede the sickle, the scythe, and the cradle
before the Rev. Patrick Bell, in 1826, presented his machine to the
Highland Agricultural Society of Scotland for its examination. Bell's
machine was fairly successful, and one was then in operation on the farm
of his brother, Inch-Michael, in the Carse of Gowrie. One set of knives
was fixed, another set worked above and across these like the blades of
a pair of scissors. The grain fell on an endless cloth which carried and
deposited the heads at the side of the machine. A horse pushed it
forward and kept all parts in motion. It was simple, and, we are told,
harvested twelve acres in a day. This was in 1826. In the _New York
Farmer and American Gardener's Magazine_ for 1834 may be found the
descriptions and illustrations of Obed Hussey's grain-cutter and Cyrus
H. McCormick's 'improved reaping-machine.' The question has been raised
as to whether either of these United States inventions owed anything to
the earlier production of Patrick Bell. It was, of course, the improved
United States reaping machines that found their way into Upper Canada
shortly after the organization of the Provincial Agricultural
Association. Our interest in this matter is quickened by the fact that
the Rev. Patrick Bell, when a young man, was for some time a tutor in
the family of a well-to-do farmer in the county of Wellington, and there
is a tradition that while there he carried on some experiments in the
origination of his machine. The suggestion of a'mysterious visitor'
from the United States to the place where he was experimenting is
probably mere conjecture.
This period, 1846 to 1867, was one of rapid growth in population. The
free-grant land policy of the government was a great attraction for tens
of thousands of people in the British Isles, who were impelled by social
unrest, failure of crops, and general stagnation in the manufacturing
industries to seek new homes across the sea. In the twenty years
referred to the population more than doubled, and the improved lands of
the province increased fourfold. The numbers of cattle and sheep about
doubled, and the wheat production increased about threefold.
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Transcriber's note:
Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).
Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).
A carat character is used to denote superscription. A
single character following the carat is superscripted
(example: y^e).nsultation of external sources.
A detailed transcriber's note can be found at the end
of the book.
[Illustration: SHAKESPEARE THE BOY]
SHAKESPEARE THE BOY
With Sketches of
The Home and School Life
The Games and Sports, the Manners, Customs
and Folk-Lore of the Time
by
WILLIAM JAMES ROLFE, LITT.D.
[Illustration: (Publisher's colophon)]
With Forty-one Illustrations
London
Chatto & Windus
1897
Copyright, 1896, by Harper & Brothers.
All rights reserved.
PREFACE
Two years ago, at the request of the editors of the _Youth's
Companion_, I wrote for that periodical a series of four familiar
articles on the boyhood of Shakespeare. It was understood at the
time that I might afterwards expand them into a book, and this
plan is carried out in the present volume. The papers have been
carefully revised and enlarged to thrice their original compass,
and a new fifth chapter has been added.
The sources from which I have drawn my material are often mentioned
in the text and the notes. I have been particularly indebted to
Halliwell-Phillipps's _Outlines of the Life of Shakespeare_,
Knight's _Biography of Shakspere_, Furnivall's Introduction to
the "Leopold" edition of Shakespeare, his _Babees Book_, and his
edition of Harrison's _Description of England_, Sidney Lee's
_Stratford-on-Avon_, Strutt's _Sports and Pastimes_, Brand's
_Popular Antiquities_, and Dyer's _Folk-Lore of Shakespeare_.
I hope that the book may serve to give the young folk some glimpses
of rural life in England when Shakespeare was a boy, and also to
help them--and possibly their elders--to a better understanding of
many allusions in his works.
W. J. R.
CAMBRIDGE, _June 10, 1896_.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PART I.--HIS NATIVE TOWN AND NEIGHBORHOOD 1
WARWICKSHIRE 3
WARWICK CASTLE AND SAINT MARY'S CHURCH 4
WARWICK IN HISTORY 8
GUY OF WARWICK 9
KENILWORTH CASTLE 12
COVENTRY 14
CHARLECOTE HALL 19
STRATFORD-ON-AVON 24
THE EARLY HISTORY OF STRATFORD 27
THE STRATFORD GUILD 34
THE STRATFORD CORPORATION 39
THE TOPOGRAPHY OF STRATFORD 43
PART II.--HIS HOME LIFE 47
THE DWELLING-HOUSES OF THE TIME 49
THE HOUSEHOLD FURNITURE 52
FOOD AND DRINK 57
THE TRAINING OF CHILDREN 60
INDOOR AMUSEMENTS 67
POPULAR BOOKS 71
STORY-TELLING 73
CHRISTENINGS 80
SUPERSTITIONS CONNECTED WITH BIRTH AND BAPTISM 84
CHARMS AND AMULETS 87
PART III.--AT SCHOOL 93
THE STRATFORD GRAMMAR SCHOOL 95
WHAT SHAKESPEARE LEARNT AT SCHOOL 99
THE NEGLECT OF ENGLISH 106
SCHOOL LIFE IN SHAKESPEARE'S DAY 110
SCHOOL MORALS 112
SCHOOL DISCIPLINE 113
WHEN WILLIAM LEFT SCHOOL 118
PART IV.--GAMES AND SPORTS 119
BOYISH GAMES 121
SWIMMING AND FISHING 130
BEAR-BAITING 132
COCK-FIGHTING AND COCK-THROWING 136
OTHER CRUEL SPORTS 139
ARCHERY 142
HUNTING 145
FOWLING 151
HAWKING 153
THEATRICAL ENTERTAINMENTS 160
PART V.--HOLIDAYS, FESTIVALS, FAIRS, ETC. 165
SAINT GEORGE'S DAY 167
EASTER 172
THE PERAMBULATION OF THE PARISH 174
MAY-DAY AND THE MORRIS-DANCE 176
WHITSUNTIDE 184
MIDSUMMER EVE 186
CHRISTMAS 190
SHEEP-SHEARING 193
HARVEST-HOME 195
MARKETS AND FAIRS 198
RURAL OUTINGS 207
NOTES 213
INDEX 247
ILLUSTRATIONS
SHAKESPEARE THE BOY _Frontispiece_
THE SHAKESPEARE BIRTHPLACE, ABOUT 1820 3
WARWICK CASTLE 5
GATE-HOUSE OF KENILWORTH CASTLE 13
COVENTRY CHURCHES AND PAGEANT _Facing p._ 14
CHARLECOTE HALL 20
ENTRANCE TO CHARLECOTE HALL 22
SIR THOMAS LUCY 23
STRATFORD CHURCH _Facing p._ 30
STRATFORD CHURCH, WEST END 32
THE GUILD CHAPEL AND GRAMMAR SCHOOL, STRATFORD 35
MAP--PLAN OF STRATFORD 42
SHAKESPEARE HOUSE, RESTORED 49
ROOM IN WHICH SHAKESPEARE WAS BORN _Facing p._ 50
INTERIOR OF ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE " 56
OLD HOUSE IN HIGH STREET 59
ANNE HATHAWAY'S COTTAGE _Facing p._ 64
SHILLING OF EDWARD VI. 68
ANCIENT FONT AT STRATFORD 81
PORCH, STRATFORD CHURCH _Facing p._ 88
INNER COURT, GRAMMAR SCHOOL 95
THE SCHOOL-ROOM AS IT WAS 97
DESK SAID TO BE SHAKESPEARE'S 102
WALK ON THE BANKS OF THE AVON _Facing p._ 112
HIDE-AND-SEEK " 122
"MORRIS" BOARD 130
FISHING IN THE AVON _Facing p._ 132
THE BEAR GARDEN, LONDON 133
GARDEN AT NEW PLACE _Facing p._ 146
ELIZABETH HAWKING 155
BOY WITH HAWK AND HOUNDS 159
ITINERANT PLAYERS IN A COUNTRY HALL _Facing p._ 160
WILLIAM KEMP DANCING THE MORRIS 163
THE BOUNDARY ELM 167
MORRIS-DANCE _Facing p._ 178
CLOPTON HOUSE ON CHRISTMAS EVE " 190
THE FAIR " 200
INTERIOR OF GRAMMAR SCHOOL, BEFORE THE RESTORATION 225
CLOPTON MONUMENTS _Facing p._ 238
THE BAR-GATE, SOUTHAMPTON 242
ARMS OF JOHN SHAKESPEARE 251
SHAKESPEARE THE BOY
PART I
HIS NATIVE TOWN AND NEIGHBORHOOD
[Illustration: THE SHAKESPEARE BIRTHPLACE, ABOUT 1820]
WARWICKSHIRE
The county of Warwick was called the heart of England as long ago
as the time of Shakespeare. Indeed, it was his friend, Michael
Drayton, born the year before himself, who first called it so.
In his _Poly-Olbion_ (1613) Drayton refers to his native county
as "That shire which we the heart of England well may call." The
form of the expression seems to imply that it was original with
him. It was doubtless suggested by the central situation of the
county, about equidistant from the eastern, western, and southern
shores of the island; but it is no less appropriate with reference
to its historical, romantic, and poetical associations. Drayton,
whose rhymed geography in the _Poly-Olbion_ is rather prosaic and
tedious, attains a kind of genuine inspiration when, in his 13th
book, he comes to describe
"Brave Warwick that abroad so long advanced her Bear,
By her illustrious Earls renowned everywhere;
Above her neighboring shires which always bore her head."
The verse catches something of the music of the throstle and the
lark, of the woosel "with golden bill" and the nightingale with her
tender strains, as he tells of these Warwickshire birds, and of the
region with "flowery bosom brave" where they breed and warble; but
in Shakespeare the same birds sing with a finer music--more like
that to which we may still listen in the fields and woodlands along
the lazy-winding Avon.
WARWICK CASTLE AND SAINT MARY'S CHURCH.
Warwickshire is the heart of England, and the country within ten
miles or so of the town of Warwick may be called the heart of this
heart. On one side of this circle are Stratford and Shottery and
Wilmcote--the home of Shakespeare's mother--and on the other are
Kenilworth and Coventry.
In Warwick itself is the famous castle of its Earls--"that fairest
monument," as Scott calls it, "of ancient and chivalrous splendor
which yet remains uninjured by time." The earlier description
written by the veracious Dugdale almost two hundred and fifty years
ago might be applied to it to-day. It is still "not only a place
of great strength, but extraordinary delight; with most pleasant
gardens, walls, and thickets such as this part of England can
hardly parallel; so that now it is the most princely seat that is
within the midland parts of this realm."
[Illustration: WARWICK CASTLE]
The castle was old in Shakespeare's day. Cæsar's Tower, so called,
though not built, as tradition alleged, by the mighty Julius, dated
back to an unknown period; and Guy's Tower, named in honor of the
redoubted Guy of Warwick, the hero of many legendary exploits, was
built in 1394. No doubt the general appearance of the buildings
was more ancient in the sixteenth century than it is to-day, for
they had been allowed to become somewhat dilapidated; and it
was not until the reign of James I. that they were repaired and
embellished, at enormous expense, and made the stately fortress
and mansion that Dugdale describes.
But the castle would be no less beautiful for situation, though it
were fallen to ruin like the neighboring Kenilworth. The rock on
which it stands, washed at its base by the Avon, would still be
there, the park would still stretch its woods and glades along the
river, and all the natural attractions of the noble estate would
remain.
We cannot doubt that the youthful Shakespeare was familiar with the
locality. Warwick and Kenilworth were probably the only baronial
castles he had seen before he went to London; and, whatever others
he may have seen later in life, these must have continued to be his
ideal castles as in his boyhood.
It is not likely that he was ever in Scotland, and when he
described the castle of Macbeth the picture in his mind's eye was
doubtless Warwick or Kenilworth, and more likely the former than
the latter; for
"_This_ castle hath a pleasant seat; the air
Nimbly and sweetly recommends itself
Unto our gentle senses. This guest of summer,
The temple-haunting martlet, does approve,
By his loved mansionry, that the air
Smells wooingly here; no jutty, frieze,
Buttress, nor coign of vantage, but this bird
Hath made his pendent bed and procreant cradle.
Where they most breed and haunt I have observed
The air is delicate."
Saint Mary's church at Warwick was also standing then--the most
interesting church in Warwickshire next to Holy Trinity at
Stratford. It was burned in 1694, but the beautiful choir and the
magnificent lady chapel, or Beauchamp Chapel, fortunately escaped
the flames, and we see them to-day as Shakespeare doubtless saw
them, except for the monuments that have since been added. _He_
saw in the choir the splendid tomb of Thomas Beauchamp, Earl of
Warwick, and in the adjacent chapel the grander tomb of Richard
Beauchamp, unsurpassed in the kingdom except by that of Henry VII.
in Westminster Abbey. _He_ looked, as we do, on the full-length
figure of the Earl, recumbent in armor of gilded brass, under the
herse of brass hoops also gilt; his hands elevated in prayer, the
garter on his left knee, the swan at his head, the griffin and
bear at his feet. _He_ read, as we read, in the inscription on the
cornice of the sepulchre, how this "most worshipful knight decessed
full christenly the last day of April the year of oure Lord God
1439, he being at that time lieutenant general and governor of the
realm of Fraunce," and how his body was brought to Warwick, and
"laid with full solemn exequies in a fair chest made of stone in
this church" on the 4th day of October--"honoured be God therefor."
And the young Shakespeare looked up, as we do, at the exquisitely
carved stone ceiling, and at the great east window, which still
contains the original glass, now almost four and a half centuries
old, with the portrait of Earl Richard kneeling in armor with
upraised hands.
The tomb of "the noble Impe, Robert of Dudley," who died in 1584,
with the lovely figure of a child seven or eight years old, may
have been seen by Shakespeare when he returned to Stratford in his
latter years, and also the splendid monument of the father of the
"noble imp," Robert Dudley, the great Earl of Leicester, who died
in 1588; but in the poet's youth this famous nobleman was living in
the height of his renown and prosperity at the castle of Kenilworth
five miles away, which we will visit later.
WARWICK IN HISTORY.
Only brief reference can be made here to the important part that
Warwick, or its famous Earl, Richard Neville, the "King-maker,"
played in the English history on which Shakespeare founded several
dramas,--the three Parts of _Henry VI._ and _Richard III._ He is
the most conspicuous personage of those troublous times. He had
already distinguished himself by deeds of bravery in the Scottish
wars, before his marriage with Anne, daughter and heiress of
Richard Beauchamp, made him the most powerful nobleman in the
kingdom. By this alliance he acquired the vast estates of the
Warwick family, and became Earl of Warwick, with the right to hand
down the title to his descendants. The immense revenues from his
patrimony were augmented by the income he derived from his various
high offices in the state; but his wealth was scattered with a
royal | 1,807.42557 |
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Produced by Chris Curnow and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
With the Compliments of
J. Charlton
_General Passenger and Ticket Agent_,
CHICAGO AND ALTON R. R.,
CHICAGO.
[Illustration: A Parody
on
PRINCESS IDA
by
_D. DALZIEL._]
[Illustration: GLORIA ALTON]
[Illustration: KING GAMA ARRIVES.]
[Illustration: WE ARE WARRIORS THREE.]
A PARODY
on
PRINCESS IDA
BY D. DALZIEL,
_Editor of the Chicago News Letter._
SCENE--_Interior of King Alton Hilderbrandt’s Palace in the
City of Chicago, U. S. America. Courtiers, Officials of the
Service, Soldiers of the Railroad, Body Guard, Conductors
and Passenger Agents, looking out on the line of the
Chicago and Alton Railroad with telescopes, opera glasses,
etc._
[CHORUS.]
Search throughout the Panorama
For a sign of Royal Gama,
Who by the Alton this day shall,
Accompanied by his child and pal,
Come from Adamant.
Some misfortune evidently
Has detained them--consequently
Search throughout the Panorama
For the daughter of King Gama,
Prince Hilarion’s Plant.
FLORIAN--Will Prince Hilarion’s hopes be sadly blighted?
ALL--Who can tell!
FLORIAN--Will Ida slight the man to whom she’s plighted?
ALL--Who can tell!
FLORIAN--Can she an Alton ruler thus irritate?
ALL--Who can tell!
FLORIAN--If so, she’ll pay for it at any rate.
ALL--
We’ll not despair,
For Gama would not dare
To make a deadly foe
Of Alton’s King, and so
Search throughout, etc.
(_Enter_ KING ALTON HILDERBRANDT.)
HILDERBRANDT--No sign of Gama yet? The regular train from Castle
Adamant came in exactly on time, some fifteen minutes since. I
will here in parenthesis remark, that all trains on the Alton Road
invariably _do_ come in on time. I saw it from my castle window; four
sleepers, two drawing-room cars, a dining car, three reclining-chair
cars and five coaches.
FLORIAN--Your liege forgets that you placed a “special” at his
disposal, but still he should be here.
HILD.--’T | 1,807.579426 |
2023-11-16 18:47:11.6802890 | 4,443 | 43 |
Produced by Katie Hernandez, Shaun Pinder and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
Transcriber's Notes:
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
Small Cap text has been converted to ALL CAPS.
".." has been normalized to "."
Original spellings have been retained.
The oe ligature has been denoted simply by oe.
* * * * *
PYGMALION AND THE IMAGE
[Illustration: _William Morris_
_From the painting by G. F. Watts. R.A._]
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
PYGMALION AND
THE IMAGE BY
WILLIAM MORRIS
ILLVSTRATED WITH
PICTVRES BY SIR EDWARD
BVRNE-JONES
[Illustration]
NEW YORK R·H·RVSSELL PVBLISHER MCMIII
_Copyright, 1903_
_By_ ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL
_Published October, 1903_
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
BY SIR EDWARD BURNE-JONES, BART.
_Portrait of William Morris_ Frontispiece
_From the painting by G. F. Watts, R.A._
_The Heart Desires_ PAGE 8
_The Hand Refrains_ " 16
_The Godhead Fires_ " 24
_The Soul Attains_ " 32
[Illustration: W]ith the exception of "The Doom of King Acrisius,"
"Pygmalion and the Image" is the only poem of _The Earthly Paradise_
for the illustration of which Burne-Jones actually executed a complete
series of pictures; and though the finished paintings are but four in
number, and the original designs, made in 1866-1867, were twelve, the
numerically smaller set is complete in the best sense, since not only
does it illustrate fully the text and spirit of Morris's poem, but each
picture in it, though finished with the loving care and elaboration
which Burne-Jones lavished on his paintings, fails of its full
significance unless considered in its relation to the series of which
it forms a part.
In regard to the poem itself, the inspiration of these pictures, even
the most casual study will bring in its train a conviction that the
story as told by William Morris is far superior to any other version
of classic or of modern times. The poem (one of the best of those
comprised in _The Earthly Paradise_) is homogeneous and admirably
balanced in all its parts; its superiority, however, over all other
versions, is not due primarily to the manner of its narration, but
arises from its greater spirituality--a finer feeling rather than a
finer form. Prior to the appearance of "Pygmalion and the Image" each
narrator of the legend had dwelt mainly on the physical side, sensuous
or sensual according to his temperament, of the tale. In Morris's
version the dominant note is the passionate delight--enthusiasm verging
upon madness--of the artist and craftsman in his own handiwork,
reflecting, to a marked degree, Morris's own temperament, one of the
leading characteristics of which was his habit of hurling himself
headlong into each new project as it claimed his attention from time
to time. That he was prevented thereby from arriving at perfection
in any one art need not lessen the admiration due to him for his
whole-souled (though usually short-lived) absorption in many and
diverse arts. A great poet, in the sense that Chaucer, his master
and model, was great, Morris was not; but no one can deny to him the
title of an enthusiastic and skilled craftsman of verse. It is this
love of craftsmanship for its own sake, joined to a remarkable feeling
for decorative beauty which both possessed, that binds the pictures
of Burne-Jones and this poem by Morris so closely together that they
form one perfect whole. Even the ideal and wholly imaginary world in
which their figures move is the same--a land where emotion rather than
passion bears sway, where the fates of man and of woman are determined
by a whim of the gods rather than dominated by the chivalrous or devout
hardihood of the individual.
In his "Apology" prefixed to _The Earthly Paradise_, Morris clearly and
definitely disclaims any moral purpose in the poems comprised in it.
"Why should I strive to set the crooked straight?" he writes. How
far this feeling was shared by Burne-Jones we can never know, but
nearly all of his biographers are agreed that a love of beauty, as
he understood it, was his main preoccupation, or, to use his own
words, that a picture should be a "beautiful, romantic dream." Julia
Cartwright, in her _Life and Work of Sir Edward Burne-Jones_, says:
"He never tried to point a moral or to teach a lesson; but he rescued
beauty from the forgetfulness to which it seemed doomed in a restless
and material age, and in so doing has given us an example of the
highest value." Malcolm Bell, also, writing of the art of Burne-Jones
and of its critics, expresses a like opinion, and his analysis of the
paintings composing the Pygmalion Series is not only interesting in
itself, but is especially so as showing the extent to which the man of
letters can read his own interpretation into the work of a painter.
"The four pictures from 'The Story of Pygmalion,'" he writes, "also
included in _The Earthly Paradise_, again show this preference of the
poet and the artist for the spirit before the form, provided only the
last be beautiful. The first, 'The Heart Desires,' is the idealization
of unsatisfied longing for the unknown. Pygmalion, a tall, dark-haired
young man, in a long garment falling in straight folds to his feet,
stands brooding on life's emptiness in the vestibule of his house. A
sculptured group of the Three Graces denotes his profession and at the
same time typifies the cold beauty of artifice, the beauty of the mind,
while two girls, seen through the open door, speeding along the street
in the artless embrace of innocent maidenhood, represent the beauty of
the body and the love that waits his winning; but in neither finds he
consolation. In the second, 'The Hand Refrains,' the days of long labor
are ended, and the artist's ideal, the cold, pure figure of the yet
soulless image stands finished on the still rough pedestal, surrounded
by flakes and chips of marble and implements of the sculptor's craft,
while Pygmalion, chisel and mallet in hand, stays gazing in awe at the
marvel his hand has achieved, his eyes content, but his soul still
hungering. Outside the window behind him women go about their daily
business in the city street, and through another casement, in a recess
between him and the image, is a glimpse of a garden and a spurt of
water falling into a marble basin--the constant dropping that wears
away the stone, as his constant prayers shall move the goddess Venus
to a miracle on his behalf. The third bears the motto, 'The Godhead
Fires.' Into the sculptor's chamber, silent and solitary, while
Pygmalion is away in the temple, floats lightly the Queen of Love,
clad in a soft, transparent robe, flower-crowned and bearing a branch
of myrtle, emblem of marriage rites, her feet brushed and environed
by the white wings of her favorite doves. Towards her, leaning both
arms on one uplifted from the goddess's side, an exquisite piece of
composition, the awakening image stoops from the carved capital,
blossom-strewn by the adoring Pygmalion, her eyes raised in awe up to
the goddess, who with fixed gaze and pointed finger inspires her with
the Promethean fire of life. Lastly, 'The Soul Attains.' Heart and soul
are alike satisfied. Pygmalion kneels, looking up in trembling worship
at the beautiful creature who lingeringly yields him her hands, though
she still gazes out beyond him in dumb amazement at the mystery of
consciousness that has suddenly been born in her. Marble no longer, but
not yet altogether woman."
"Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time," is even more appropriate
to Burne-Jones than to its author, William Morris, and it is an
ever-to-be-regretted misfortune that two poems only of those comprised
in _The Earthly Paradise_ should have received at his hands that
illuminative pictorial treatment which he, "the arch-dreamer of the
nineteenth century," as Cosmo Monkhouse styles him, alone could
give. Thanks to Mr. Frederick Hollyer, we have in the reproductions
which follow faithful transcripts, in all but color, of the original
paintings, and can carry out, after the lapse of a quarter of a century
and in another hemisphere, a project which both Burne-Jones and William
Morris held dear, but which neither of them lived to see realized. To
their memory this book, together with the recently re-issued _Doom of
King Acrisius_, is dedicated.
FITZROY CARRINGTON.
ORIENTA COTTAGE,
MAMARONECK, NEW YORK,
DECEMBER ELEVENTH, 1902
[Illustration: A] MAN OF CYPRUS, A SCULPTOR NAMED PYGMALION, MADE
AN IMAGE OF A WOMAN, FAIRER THAN ANY THAT HAD YET BEEN SEEN, AND IN
THE END CAME TO LOVE HIS OWN HANDIWORK AS THOUGH IT HAD BEEN ALIVE:
WHEREFORE, PRAYING TO VENUS FOR HELP, HE OBTAINED HIS END, FOR SHE MADE
THE IMAGE ALIVE INDEED, AND A WOMAN, AND PYGMALION WEDDED HER.
_WILLIAM MORRIS_
[Illustration: A]t Amathus, that from the southern side
Of Cyprus looks across the Syrian sea,
There did in ancient time a man abide
Known to the island-dwellers, for that he
Had wrought most godlike works in imagery,
And day by day still greater honor won,
Which man our old books call Pygmalion.
Yet in the praise of men small joy he had,
But walked abroad with downcast, brooding face.
Nor yet by any damsel was made glad;
For, sooth to say, the women of that place
Must seem to all men an accursed race,
Who with the turner of all hearts once strove,
So in their hearts must carry lust for love.
Now on a day it chanced that he had been
About the streets, and on the crowded quays,
Rich with unopened wealth of bales, had seen
The dark-eyed merchants of the Southern seas
In chaffer with the base Propoetides,
And heavy-hearted gat him home again,
His once-loved life grown idle, poor, and vain.
And there upon his images he cast
His weary eyes, yet little noted them,
As still from name to name his swift thought passed,
For what to him was Juno's well-wrought hem,
Diana's shaft, or Pallas' olive-stem?
What help could Hermes' rod unto him give,
Until with shadowy things he came to live?
Yet note, that though, while looking on the sun,
The craftsman o'er his work some morn of spring
May chide his useless labor never done,
For all his murmurs, with no other thing
He soothes his heart, and dulls thought's poisonous sting,
And thus in thought's despite the world goes on;
And so it was with this Pygmalion.
Unto the chisel must he set his hand,
And slowly, still in troubled thought must pace
About a work begun, that there doth stand,
And still returning to the self-same place,
Unto the image now must set his face,
And with a sigh his wonted toil begin,
Half loathed, half loved, a little rest to win.
The lessening marble that he worked upon,
A woman's form now imaged doubtfully,
And in such guise the work had he begun,
Because when he the untouched block did see
In wandering veins that form there seemed to be,
Whereon he cried out in a careless mood,
"O lady Venus, make this presage good!
"And then this block of stone shall be thy maid,
And, not without rich golden ornament,
Shall bide within thy quivering myrtle-shade."
So spoke he, but the goddess, well content,
Unto his hand such godlike mastery sent,
That like the first artificer he wrought,
Who made the gift that woe to all men brought.
And yet, but such as he was wont to do,
At first indeed that work divine he deemed,
And as the white chips from the chisel flew
Of other matters languidly he dreamed,
For easy to his hand that labor seemed,
And he was stirred with many a troubling thought,
And many a doubt perplexed him as he wrought.
And yet, again, at last there came a day
When smoother and more shapely grew the stone,
And he, grown eager, put all thought away
But that which touched his craftsmanship alone;
And he would gaze at what his hands had done,
Until his heart with boundless joy would swell
That all was wrought so wonderfully well.
Yet long it was ere he was satisfied,
And with his pride that by his mastery
This thing was done, whose equal far and wide
In no town of the world a man could see,
Came burning longing that the work should be
E'en better still, and to his heart there came
A strange and strong desire he could not name.
The night seemed long, and long the twilight seemed,
A vain thing seemed his flowery garden fair;
Though through the night still of his work he dreamed,
And though his smooth-stemmed trees so nigh it were
That thence he could behold the marble hair,
Naught was enough, until with steel in hand
He came before the wondrous stone to stand.
No song could charm him, and no histories
Of men's misdoings could avail him now--
Nay, scarcely seaward had he turned his eyes
If men had said, "The fierce Tyrrhenians row
Up through the bay; rise up and strike a blow
For life and goods"; for naught to him seemed dear
But to his well-loved work to be anear.
Then vexed he grew, and, knowing not his heart,
Unto himself he said, "Ah, what is this
That I who oft was happy to depart
And wander where the boughs each other kiss
'Neath the west wind, now have no other bliss
But in vain smoothing of this marble maid,
Whose chips this month a drachma had outweighed?
"Lo! I will get me to the woods and try
If I my woodcraft have forgotten quite,
And then, returning, lay this folly by,
And eat my fill, and sleep my sleep anight,
And 'gin to carve a Hercules aright
Upon the morrow, and perchance indeed
The Theban will be good to me at need."
With that he took his quiver and his bow,
And through the gates of Amathus he went,
And towards the mountain <DW72>s began to go,
Within the woods to work out his intent.
Fair was the day, the honied bean-field's scent
The west wind bore unto him; o'er the way
The glittering, noisy poplar leaves did play.
All things were moving; as his hurried feet
Passed by, within the flowery swath he heard
The sweeping of the scythe, the swallow fleet
Rose over him, the sitting partridge stirred
On the field's edge; the brown bee by him whirred,
Or murmured in the clover flowers below;
But he with bowed-down head failed not to go.
At last he stopped, and, looking round, he said,
"Like one whose thirtieth year is well gone by,
The day is getting ready to be dead;
No rest, and on the border of the sky
Already the great banks of dark haze lie;
No rest--what do I midst this stir and noise?--
What part have I in these unthinking joys?"
With that he turned, and towards the city gate
Through the sweet fields went swifter than he came,
And cast his heart into the hands of fate;
Nor strove with it, when higher 'gan to flame
That strange and strong desire without a name;
Till panting, thinking of naught else, once more
His hand was on the latch of his own door.
One moment there he lingered, as he said,
"Alas! what should I do if she were gone?"
But even with that word his brow waxed red
To hear his own lips name a thing of stone,
As though the gods some marvel there had done,
And made his work alive; and therewithal,
In turn, great pallor on his face did fall.
But with a sigh he passed into the house;
Yet even then his chamber door must hold,
And listen there, half blind and timorous,
Until his heart should wax a little bold;
Then, entering, motionless and white and cold,
He saw the image stand amidst the floor
That whitened was by labor done before.
_The Heart Desires_
[Illustration]
Blinded with tears, his chisel up he caught,
And, drawing near and sighing, tenderly
Upon the marvel of the face he wrought,
E'en as he used to pass the long days by;
But his sighs changed to sobbing presently,
And on the floor the useless steel he flung,
And, weeping loud, about the image clung.
"Alas!" he cried, "why have I made thee, then,
That thus thou mockest me? I know indeed
That many such as thou are loved of men,
Whose passionate eyes poor wretches still will lead
Into their net, and smile to see them bleed;
But these the gods made, and this hand made thee,
Who wilt not speak one little word to me."
Then from the image did he draw aback
To gaze on it through tears; and you had said,
Regarding it, that little did it lack
To be a living and most lovely maid;
Naked it was, its unbound locks were laid
Over the lovely shoulders; with one hand
Reached out, as to a lover, did it stand;
The other held a fair rose over-blown;
No smile was on the parted lips, the eyes
Seemed as if even now great love had shown
Unto them, something of its sweet surprise,
Yet saddened them with half-seen mysteries,
And still midst passion maiden-like she seemed,
As though of love unchanged for aye she dreamed.
Reproachfully beholding all her grace,
Pygmalion stood, until he grew dry-eyed,
And then at last he turned away his face
As if from her cold eyes his grief to hide;
And thus a weary while did he abide,
With nothing in his heart but vain desire,
The ever-burning, unconsuming fire.
But when again he turned his visage round
His eyes were brighter and no more he wept,
As if some little solace he had found,
Although his | 1,807.700329 |
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Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
THE CIVILIZATION OF CHINA
by Herbert A. Giles
Professor of Chinese in the University of Cambridge,
And sometime H.B.M. Consul at Ningpo
PREFACE
The aim of this work is to suggest a rough outline of Chinese
civilization from the earliest times down to the present period of rapid
and startling transition.
It has been written, primarily, for readers who know little or nothing
of China, in the hope that it may succeed in alluring them to a wider
and more methodical survey.
H.A.G.
Cambridge, May 12, 1911.
THE CIVILIZATION OF CHINA
CHAPTER I--THE FEUDAL AGE
It is a very common thing now-a-days to meet people who are going to
"China," which can be reached by the Siberian railway in fourteen or
fifteen days. This brings us at once to the question--What is meant by
the term China?
Taken in its widest sense, the term includes Mongolia, Manchuria,
Eastern Turkestan, Tibet, and the Eighteen Provinces, the whole being
equivalent to an area of some five million square miles, that is,
considerably more than twice the size of the United States of America.
But for a study of manners and customs and modes of thought of the
Chinese people, we must confine ourselves to that portion of the whole
which is known to the Chinese as the "Eighteen Provinces," and to us as
China Proper. This portion of the empire occupies not quite two-fifths
of the whole, covering an area of somewhat more than a million and a
half square miles. Its chief landmarks may be roughly stated as Peking,
the capital, in the north; Canton, the great commercial centre, in the
south; Shanghai, on the east; and the Tibetan frontier on the west.
Any one who will take the trouble to look up these four points on a
map, representing as they do central points on the four sides of a rough
square, will soon realize the absurdity of asking a returning traveller
the very much asked question, How do you like China? Fancy asking a
Chinaman, who had spent a year or two in England, how he liked Europe!
Peking, for instance, stands on the same parallel of latitude as Madrid;
whereas Canton coincides similarly with Calcutta. Within the square
indicated by the four points enumerated above will be found variations
of climate, flowers, fruit, vegetables and animals--not to mention human
beings--distributed in very much the same way as in Europe. The climate
of Peking is exceedingly dry and bracing; no rain, and hardly any snow,
falling between October and April. The really hot weather lasts only for
six or eight weeks, about July and August--and even then the nights are
always cool; while for six or eight weeks between December and February
there may be a couple of feet of ice on the river. Canton, on the other
hand, has a tropical climate, with a long damp enervating summer and a
short bleak winter. The old story runs that snow has only been seen
once in Canton, and then it was thought by the people to be falling
cotton-wool.
The northern provinces are remarkable for vast level plains, dotted
with villages, the houses of which are built of mud. In the southern
provinces will be found long stretches of mountain scenery, vying in
loveliness with anything to be seen elsewhere. Monasteries are built
high up on the hills, often on almost inaccessible crags; and there
the well-to-do Chinaman is wont to escape from the fierce heat of the
southern summer. On one particular mountain near Canton, there are
said to be no fewer than one hundred of such monasteries, all of which
reserve apartments for guests, and are glad to be able to add to their
funds by so doing.
In the north of China, Mongolian ponies, splendid mules, and donkeys are
seen in large quantities; also the two-humped camel, which carries heavy
loads across the plains of Mongolia. In the south, until the advent of
the railway, travellers had to choose between the sedan-chair carried
on the shoulders of stalwart coolies, or the slower but more comfortable
house-boat. Before steamers began to ply on the coast, a candidate for
the doctor's degree at the great triennial examination would take three
months to travel from Canton to Peking. Urgent dispatches, however, were
often forwarded by relays of riders at the rate of two hundred miles a
day.
The market in Peking is supplied, among other things, with excellent
mutton from a fat-tailed breed of sheep, chiefly for the largely
Mohammedan population; but the sheep will not live in southern China,
where the goat takes its place. The pig is found everywhere, and
represents beef in our market, the latter being extremely unpalatable to
the ordinary Chinaman, partly perhaps because Confucius forbade men to
slaughter the animal which draws the plough and contributes so much to
the welfare of mankind. The staple food, the "bread" of the people in
the Chinese Empire, is nominally rice; but this is too costly for the
peasant of northern China to import, and he falls back on millet as its
substitute. Apples, pears, grapes, melons, and walnuts grow abundantly
in the north; the southern fruits are the banana, the orange, the
pineapple, the mango, the pomelo, the lichee, and similar fruits of a
more tropical character.
Cold storage has been practised by the Chinese for centuries. Blocks of
ice are cut from the river for that purpose; and on a hot summer's day a
Peking coolie can obtain an iced drink at an almost infinitesimal cost.
Grapes are preserved from autumn until the following May and June by
the simple | 1,807.780991 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Anne Storer and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from scans of public domain material
produced by Microsoft for their Live Search Books site.)
THE CANDY COUNTRY
BY
LOUISA M. ALCOTT
AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "LITTLE MEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL,"
"AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG," "LULU'S LIBRARY," ETC.
Illustrated
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
_Copyright, 1885,_
BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT
_Copyright, 1900,_
BY JOHN S. P. ALCOTT
University Press
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
* * * * *
[Illustration: "Hollo, what do you want?" he asked, staring at her.
PAGE 10.]
THE CANDY COUNTRY
"I shall take mamma's red sun umbrella, it is so warm, and none of the
children at school will have one like it," said Lily, one day, as she
went through the hall.
"The wind is very high; I'm afraid you'll be blown away if you carry
that big thing," called Nurse from the window, as the red umbrella went
bobbing down the garden walk with a small girl under it.
"I wish it would; I always wanted to go up in a balloon," answered Lily,
as she struggled out of the gate.
She got on very well till she came to the bridge and stopped to look
over the railing at the water running by so fast, and the turtles
sunning themselves on the rocks. Lily was fond of throwing stones at
them; it was so funny to watch them tumble, heels over head, splash into
the water. Now, when she saw three big fellows close by, she stooped for
a stone, and just at that minute a gale of wind nearly took the umbrella
out of her hand. She clutched it fast; and away she went like a
thistle-down, right up in the air, over river and hill, houses and
trees, faster and faster, till her head spun round, her breath was all
gone, and she had to let go. The dear red umbrella flew away like a
leaf; and Lily fell down, down, till she went crash into a tree which
grew in such a curious place that she forgot her fright as she sat
looking about her, wondering what part of the world it could be.
The tree looked as if made of glass or sugar; for she could see
through the red cherries, the green leaves, and the brown branches. An
agreeable smell met her nose; and she said at once, as any child would,
"I smell candy!" She picked a cherry and ate it. Oh, how good it
was!--all sugar and no stone. The next discovery was such a delightful
one that she nearly fell off her perch; for by touching her tongue here
and there, she found that the whole tree was made of candy. Think what
fun to sit and break off twigs of barley sugar, candied cherries, and
leaves that tasted like peppermint and sassafras!
Lily rocked and ate till she finished the top of the little tree;
then she climbed down and strolled along, making more surprising and
agreeable discoveries as she went.
What looked like snow under her feet was white sugar; the rocks were
lumps of chocolate, the flowers of all colors and tastes; and every sort
of fruit grew on these delightful trees. Little white houses soon
appeared; and here lived the dainty candy-people, all made of the best
sugar, and painted to look like real people. Dear little men and women,
looking as if they had stepped off of wedding cakes and bonbons, went
about in their gay sugar clothes, laughing and talking in the sweetest
voices. Bits of babies rocked in open-work cradles, and sugar boys and
girls played with sugar toys in the most natural way. Carriages rolled
along the jujube streets, drawn by the red and yellow barley horses we
all love so well; cows fed in the green fields, and sugar birds sang in
the trees.
Lily listened, and in a moment she understood what the song said,--
"Sweet! Sweet!
Come, come and eat,
Dear little girls
With yellow curls;
For here you'll find
Sweets to your mind.
On every tree
Sugar-plums you'll see;
In every dell
Grows the caramel.
Over every wall
Gum-drops fall;
Molasses flows
Where our river goes.
Under your feet
Lies sugar sweet;
Over your head
Grow almonds red.
Our lily and rose
Are not for the nose;
Our flowers we pluck
To eat or suck.
And, oh! what bliss
When two friends kiss,
For they honey sip
From lip to lip!
And all you meet,
In house or street,
At work or play,
Sweethearts are they.
So, little dear,
Pray feel no fear;
Go where you will;
Eat, eat your fill.
Here is a feast
From west to east;
And you can say,
Ere you go away,
'At last I stand
In dear Candy-land,
And no more can stuff;
For once I've enough.'
Sweet! Sweet!
Tweet! Tweet!
Tweedle-dee!
Tweedle-dee!"
"That is the most interesting song I ever heard," said Lily, clapping
her sticky hands and dancing along toward a fine palace of white cream
candy, with pillars of striped peppermint stick, and a roof of frosting
that made it look like the Milan Cathedral.
"I'll live here, and eat candy all day long, with no tiresome school or
patchwork to spoil my fun," said Lily.
So she ran up the chocolate steps into the pretty rooms, where all the
chairs and tables were of different candies, and the beds of
spun sugar. A fountain of lemonade supplied drink; and floors of
ice-cream that never melted kept people and things from sticking
together, as they would have done had it been warm.
For a long while Lily was quite happy, going about tasting so many
different kinds of sweeties, talking to the little people, who were very
amiable, and finding out curious things about them and their country.
The babies were made of plain sugar, but the grown people had different
flavors. The young ladies were flavored with violet, rose, and orange;
the gentlemen were apt to have cordials of some sort inside of them, as
she found when she ate one now and then slyly, and got her tongue bitten
by the hot, strong taste as a punishment. The old people tasted of
peppermint, clove, and such comfortable things, good for pain; but the
old maids had lemon, hoar-hound, flag-root, and all sorts of sour,
bitter things in them, and did not get eaten much. Lily soon learned to
know the characters of her new friends by a single taste, and some she
never touched but once. The dear babies melted in her mouth, and the
delicately flavored young ladies she was very fond of. Dr. Ginger was
called to her more than once when so much candy made her teeth ache, and
she found him a very hot-tempered little man; but he stopped the pain,
so she was glad to see him.
A lime-drop boy and a little pink checkerberry girl were her favorite
playmates; and they had fine times making mud-pies by scraping the
chocolate rocks and mixing this dust with honey from the wells near by.
These they could eat; and Lily thought this much better than throwing
away the pies, as she had to do at home. They had candy-pulls very
often, and made swings of long loops of molasses candy, and bird's-nests
with almond eggs, out of which came birds who sang sweetly. They played
foot-ball with big bull's-eyes, sailed in sugar boats on lakes of syrup,
fished in rivers of molasses, and rode the barley horses all over the
country.
Lily discovered that it never rained, but snowed white sugar. There was
no sun, as it would have been too hot; but a large yellow lozenge made
a nice moon, and red and white comfits were the stars.
The people all lived on sugar, and never quarrelled. No one was ill; and
if any got broken, as sometimes happened with such brittle creatures,
they just stuck the parts together and were all right again. The way
they grew old was to get thinner and thinner till there was danger of
their vanishing. Then the friends of the old person put him in a neat
coffin, and carried him to the great golden urn which stood in their
largest temple, always full of a certain fine syrup; and here he was
dipped and dipped till he was stout and strong again, and went home to
enjoy himself for a long time as good as new.
This was very interesting to Lily, and she went to many funerals. But
the weddings were better still; for the lovely white brides were so
sweet Lily longed to eat them. The feasts were delicious; and everybody
went in their best clothes, and danced at the ball till they got so warm
half-a-dozen would stick together and have to be taken to the ice-cream
room to cool off. Then the little pair would drive away in a fine
carriage with white horses to a new palace in some other part of the
country, and Lily would have another pleasant place to visit.
But by and by, when she had seen everything, and eaten so much sweet
stuff that at last she longed for plain bread and butter, she began to
get cross, as children always do when they live on candy; and the little
people wished she would go away, for they were afraid of her. No wonder,
when she would catch up a dear sugar baby and eat him, or break some
respectable old grandmamma all into bits because she reproved her for
naughty ways. Lily calmly sat down on the biggest church, crushing it
flat, and even tried to poke the moon out of the sky in a pet one day.
The king ordered her to go home; but she said, "I won't!" and bit his
head off, crown and all.
Such a wail went up at this awful deed that she ran away out of the
city, fearing some one would put poison in her candy, since she had no
other food.
"I suppose I shall get somewhere if I keep walking; and I can't starve,
though I hate the sight of this horrid stuff," she said to herself, as
she hurried over the mountains of Gibraltar Rock that divided the city
of Saccharissa from the great desert of brown sugar that lay beyond.
Lily marched bravely on for a long time, and saw at last a great smoke
in the sky, smelt a spicy smell, and felt a hot wind blowing toward her.
"I wonder if there are sugar savages here, roasting and eating some poor
traveller like me," she said, thinking of Robinson Crusoe and other
wanderers in strange lands.
She crept carefully along till she saw a settlement of little huts very
like mushrooms, for they were made of cookies set on lumps of the brown
sugar; and queer people, looking as if made of gingerbread, were working
very busily round several stoves which seemed to bake at a great rate.
"I'll creep nearer and see what sort of people they are before I show
myself," said Lily, going into a grove of spice-trees, and sitting down
on a stone which proved to be the plummy sort of cake we used to call
Brighton Rock.
Presently one of the tallest men came striding toward the trees with a
pan, evidently after spice; and before she could run, he saw Lily.
"Hollo, what do you want?" he asked, staring at her with his black
currant eyes, while he briskly picked the bark off a cinnamon-tree.
"I'm travelling, and would like to know what place this is, if you
please," answered Lily, very politely, being a little frightened.
"Cake-land. Where do you come from?" asked the gingerbread man, in a
crisp tone of voice.
"I was blown into the Candy country, and have been there a long time;
but I got tired of it, and ran away to find something better."
"Sensible child!" and the man smiled till Lily thought his cheeks would
crumble. "You'll get on better here with us Brownies than with the lazy
Bonbons, who never work and are all for show. They won't own us, though
we are all related through our grandparents Sugar and Molasses. We are
busy folks; so they turn up their noses and don't speak when we meet at
parties. Poor creatures, silly and sweet and unsubstantial! I pity 'em."
"Could I make you a visit? I'd like to see how you live, and what you
do. I'm sure it must be interesting," said Lily, picking herself up
after a tumble, having eaten nearly all the stone, she was so hungry.
"I know you will. Come on! I can talk while I work." And the funny
gingerbread man trotted off toward his kitchen, full of pans,
rolling-pins, and molasses jugs.
"Sit down. I shall be at leisure as soon as this batch is baked. There
are still some wise people down below who like gingerbread, and I have
my hands full," he said, dashing about, stirring, rolling out, and
slapping the brown dough into pans, which he whisked into the oven and
out again so fast that Lily knew there must be magic about it somewhere.
Every now and then he threw her a delicious cooky warm from the oven.
She liked the queer fellow, and presently began to talk, being very
curious about this country.
"What is your name, sir?"
"Ginger Snap."
Lily thought it a good one; for he was very quick, and she fancied he
could be short and sharp if he liked.
"Where does all this cake go to?" she asked, after watching the other
kitchens full of workers, who were all of different kinds of cake, and
each set of cooks made its own sort.
"I'll show you by and by," answered Snap, beginning to pile up the heaps
of gingerbread on a little car that ran along a track leading to some
unknown storeroom, Lily thought.
"Don't you get tired of doing this all the time?"
"Yes; but I want to be promoted, and I never shall be till I've done my
best, and won the prize here."
"Oh, tell me about it! What is the prize, and how are you promoted? Is
this a cooking-school?"
"Yes; the prize for best gingerbread is a cake of condensed yeast. That
puts a soul into me, and I begin to rise till I am able to go over the
hills yonder into the blessed land of bread, and be one of the happy
creatures who are always wholesome, always needed, and without which the
world below would be in a bad way."
"Bless me! that is the queerest thing I've heard yet. But I don't wonder
you want to go; I'm tired of sweets myself, and long for a good piece of
bread, though I used to want cake and candy at home."
"Ah, my dear, you'll learn a good deal here; and you are lucky not to
have got into the clutches of Giant Dyspepsia, who always gets people if
they eat too much of such rubbish and scorn wholesome bread. I leave my
ginger behind when I go, and get white and round and beautiful, as you
will see. The Gingerbread family have never been as foolish as some of
the other cakes. Wedding is the worst; such extravagance in the way of
wine and spice and fruit I never saw, and such a mess to eat when it's
done! I don't wonder people get sick; serves 'em right." And Snap flung
down a pan with such a bang that it made Lily jump.
"Sponge cake isn't bad, is it? Mamma lets me eat it, but I like frosted
pound better," she said, looking over to the next kitchen, where piles
of that sort of cake were being iced.
"Poor stuff. No substance. Ladies' fingers will do for babies, but pound
has too much butter ever to be healthy. Let it alone, and eat cookies or
seed-cakes, my dear. Now, come along; I'm ready." And Snap trundled away
his car-load at a great pace.
Lily ran behind to pick up whatever fell, and looked about her as she
went, for this was certainly a very queer country. Lakes of eggs all
beaten up, and hot springs of saleratus foamed here and there ready for
use. The earth was brown sugar or ground spice; and the only fruits were
raisins, dried currants, citron, and lemon peel. It was a very busy
place; for every one cooked all the time, and never failed and never
seemed tired, though they got so hot that they only wore sheets of paper
for clothes. There were piles of it to put over the cake, so that it
shouldn't burn; and they made cook's white caps and aprons of it, and
looked very nice. A large clock made of a flat pancake, with cloves to
mark the hours and two toothpicks for hands, showed them how long to
bake things; and in one place an ice wall was built round a lake of
butter, which they cut in lumps as they wanted it.
"Here we are. Now, stand away while I pitch 'em down," said Snap,
stopping at last before a hole in the ground where a dumb-waiter hung
ready, with a name over it.
There were many holes all round, and many waiters, each with its name;
and Lily was amazed when she read "Weber," "Copeland," "Dooling," and
others, which she knew very well.
Over Snap's place was the name "Newmarch;" and Lily said, "Why, that's
where mamma gets her hard gingerbread, and Weber's is where we go for
ice-cream. Do _you_ make cake for them?"
"Yes, but no one knows it. It's one of the secrets of the trade. We
cook for all the confectioners, and people think the good things come
out of the cellars under their saloons. Good joke, isn't it?" And Snap
laughed till a crack came in his neck and made him cough.
Lily was so surprised she sat down on a warm queen's cake that happened
to be near, and watched Snap send down load after load of gingerbread to
be eaten by children, who would have liked it much better if they had
only known where it came from, as she did.
As she sat, the clatter of many spoons, the smell of many dinners, and
the sound of many voices calling, "One vanilla, two strawberries, and a
Charlotte Russe," "Three stews, cup coffee, dry toast," "Roast chicken
and apple without," came up the next hole, which was marked "Copeland."
"Dear me! it seems as if I was there," said Lily, longing to hop down,
but afraid of the bump at the other end.
"I'm done. Come along, I'll ride you back," called Snap, tossing the
last cooky after the dumb-waiter as it went slowly out of sight with its
spicy load.
"I wish you'd teach me to cook. It looks great fun, and mamma wants me
to learn; only our cook hates to have me mess round, and is so cross
that I don't like to try at home," said Lily, as she went trundling
back.
"Better wait till you get to Bread-land, and learn to make that. It's a
great art, and worth knowing. Don't waste your time on cake, though
plain gingerbread isn't bad to have in the house. I'll teach you that in
a jiffy, if the clock doesn't strike my hour too soon," answered Snap,
helping her down.
"What hour?"
"Why, of my freedom. I never know when I've done my task till I'm called
by the chimes and go to get my soul," said Snap, turning his currant
eyes anxiously to the clock.
"I hope you _will_ have time." And Lily fell to work with all her
might, after Snap had put on her a paper apron and a cap like his.
It was not hard; for when she was going to make a mistake a spark flew
out of the fire and burnt her in time to remind her to look at the
receipt, which was a sheet of gingerbread in a frame of pie-crust hung
up before her, with the directions written while it was soft and baked
in. The third sheet she made came out of the oven spicy, light, and
brown; and Snap, giving it one poke, said, "That's all right. Now you
know. Here's your reward."
He handed her a receipt-book made of thin sheets of sugar-gingerbread
held together by a gelatine binding, with her name stamped on the back,
and each leaf crimped with a cake-cutter in the most elegant manner.
Lily was charmed with it, but had no time to read all it contained; for | 1,807.818346 |
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Produced by David Widger
AMONA; THE CHILD; AND THE BEAST
Plus THE SNAKE AND THE BELL and SOUTH SEA NOTES
From "The Strange Adventure Of James Shervinton and Other Stories"
By Louis Becke
T. FISHER UNWIN, 1902
LONDON
AMONA; THE CHILD; AND THE BEAST'
Amona was, as his master so frequently told him--accentuating the remark
with a blow or a kick--only "a miserable kanaka." Of his miserableness
there was no doubt, for Denison, who lived in the same house as he did,
was a daily witness of it--and his happiness. Also, he was a kanaka--a
native of Niue, in the South Pacific; Savage Island it is called by the
traders and is named on the charts, though its five thousand sturdy,
brown-skinned inhabitants have been civilised, Christianised, and have
lived fairly cleanly for the past thirty years.
Amona and Denison had the distinction of being employed by Armitage, one
of the most unmitigated blackguards in the Pacific. He was a shipowner,
planter, merchant, and speculator; was looked upon by a good many people
as "not a bad sort of a fellow, you know--and the soul of hospitality."
In addition, he was an incorrigible drunken bully, and broke his wife's
heart within four years after she married him. Amona was his cook.
Denison was one of his supercargoes, and (when a long boat of
drunkenness made him see weird visions of impossible creatures) manager
of the business on shore, overseer, accountant, and Jack-of-all-trades.
How he managed to stay on with such a brute I don't know. He certainly
paid him well enough, but he (Denison) could have got another berth from
other people in Samoa, Fiji, or Tonga had he wanted it. And, although
Armitage was always painfully civil to Denison--who tried to keep
his business from going to the dogs--the man hated him as much as he
despised Amona, and would have liked to have kicked him, as he would
have liked to have kicked or strangled any one who knew the secret of
his wife's death and his child's lameness. And three people in Samoa did
know it--Amona, the Niue cook, Dr. Eckhardt, and Denison. Armitage has
been dead now these five-and-twenty years--died, as he deserved to
die, alone and friendless in an Australian bush hospital out in the
God-forsaken Never-Never country, and when Denison heard of his death,
he looked at the gentle wife's dim, faded photograph, and wondered if
the Beast saw her sweet, sad face in his dying moments. He trusted
not; for in her eyes would have shown only the holy light of love
and forgiveness--things which a man like Armitage could not have
understood--even then.
She had been married three years when she came with him to Samoa to live
on Solo-Solo Plantation, in a great white-painted bungalow, standing
amid a grove of breadfruit and coco-palms, and overlooking the sea
to the north, east, and west; to the south was the dark green of the
mountain-forest.
"Oh! I think it is the fairest, sweetest picture in the world," she said
to Denison the first time he met her. She was sitting on the verandah
with her son in her lap, and as she spoke she pressed her lips to his
soft little cheek and caressed the tiny hands. "So different from where
I was born and lived all my life--on the doll, sun-baked plains of the
Riverina--isn't it, my pet?"
"I am glad that you like the place, Mrs. Armitage," the supercargo said
as he looked at the young, girlish face and thought that she, too, with
her baby, made a fair, sweet picture. How she loved the child! And how
the soft, grey-blue eyes would lose their sadness when the little one
turned its face up to hers and smiled! How came it, he wondered, that
such a tender, flower-like woman was mated to such a man as Armitage!
Long after she was dead, Denison heard the story--one common enough.
Her father, whose station adjoined that of Armitage, got into financial
difficulties, went to Armitage for help, and practically sold his
daughter to the Beast for a couple of thousand pounds. Very likely such
a man would have sold his daughter's mother as well if he wanted money.
* * * * *
As they sat talking, Armitage rode up, half-drunk as usual. He was a big
man, good-looking.
"Hallo, Nell! Pawing the damned kid as usual! Why the hell don't you let
one of the girls take the little animal and let him tumble about on the
grass? You're spoiling the child--by God, you are."
"Ah, he's so happy, Fred, here with me, and----"
"Happy be damned--you're always letting him maul you about. I want a
whisky-and-soda, and so does Denison--don't you?" And then the Beast, as
soon as his wife with the child in her arms had left the room, began
to tell his subordinate of a "new" girl he had met that morning in Joe
D'Acosta's saloon.
"Oh, shut up, man. Your wife is in the next room."
"Let her hear--and be damned to her! She knows what I do. I don't
disguise anything from her. I'm not a sneak in that way. By God, I'm not
the man to lose any fun from sentimental reasons. Have you seen this
new girl at Joe's? She's a Manhiki half-caste. God, man! She's glorious,
simply glorious!"
"You mean Laea, I suppose. She's a common beacher--sailor man's trull.
Surely you wouldn't be seen ever speaking to _her?_"
"Wouldn't I! You don't know me yet! I like the girl, and I've fixed
things up with her. She's coming here as my nursemaid--twenty dollars a
month! What do you think of that?"
"You would not insult your wife so horribly!"
He looked at Denison sullenly, but made no answer, as the supercargo
went on:
"You'll get the dead cut from every white man in Samoa. Not a soul will
put foot inside your store door, and Joe D'Acosta himself would refuse
to sell you a drink! Might as well shoot yourself at once."
"Oh, well, damn it all, don't keep on preaching. I--I was more in fun
than anything else. Ha! Here's Amona with the drinks. Why don't you be a
bit smarter, you damned frizzy-haired man-eater?"
Amona's sallow face flushed deeply, but he made no reply to the insult
as he handed a glass to his master.
"Put the tray down there, confound you! Don't stand there like a
blarsted mummy; clear out till we want you again."
The native made no answer, bent his head in silence, and stepped quietly
away. Then Armitage began to grumble at him as a "useless swine."
"Why," said Denison, "Mrs. Armitage was only just telling me that he's
worth all the rest of the servants put together. And, by Jove, he _is_
fond of your youngster--simply worships the little chap."
Armitage snorted, and turned his lips down. Ten minutes later, he was
asleep in his chair.
*****
Nearly six months had passed--six months of wretchedness to the young
wife, whose heart was slowly breaking under the strain of living with
the Beast. Such happiness as was hers lay in the companionship of her
little son, and every evening Tom Denison would see her watching the
child and the patient, faithful Amona, as the two played together on the
smooth lawn in front of the sitting-room, or ran races in and out among
the mango-trees. She was becoming paler and thinner every day--the Beast
was getting fatter and coarser, and more brutalised. Sometimes he would
remain in Apia for a week, returning home either boisterously drunk or
sullen and scowling-faced. In the latter case, he would come into the
office where Denison worked (he had left the schooner of which he was
supercargo, and was now "overseering" Solo-Solo) and try to grasp the
muddled condition of his financial affairs. Then, with much variegated
language, he would stride away, cursing the servants and the place
and everything in general, mount his horse, and ride off again to the
society of the loafers, gamblers, and flaunting unfortunates who haunted
the drinking saloons of Apia and Matafele.
One day came a crisis. Denison was rigging a tackle to haul a tree-trunk
into position in the plantation saw-pit, when Armitage rode up to the
house. He dismounted and went inside. Five minutes later Amona came
staggering down the path to him. His left cheek was cut to the bone by
a blow from Armitage's fist. Denison brought him into his own room,
stitched up the wound, and gave him a glass of grog, and told him to
light his pipe and rest.
"Amona, you're a _valea_ (fool). Why don't you leave this place? This
man will kill you some day. How many beatings has he given you?" He
spoke in English.
"I know not how many. But it is God's will. And if the master some day
killeth me, it is well. And yet, but for some things, I would use my
knife on him."
"What things?"
He came over to the supercargo, and, seating himself cross-legged on the
floor, placed his firm, brown, right hand on the white man's knee.
"For two things, good friend. The little fingers of the child are
clasped tightly around my heart, and when his father striketh me and
calls me a filthy man-eater, a dog, and a pig, I know no pain. That is
one thing. And the other thing is this--the child's mother hath come to
me when my body hath ached from the father's blows, and the blood hath
covered my face; and she hath bound up my wounds and wept silent tears,
and together have we knelt and called upon God to turn his heart from
the grog and the foul women, and to take away from her and the child the
bitterness of these things."
"You're a good fellow, Amona," said Denison, as he saw that the man's
cheeks were wet with tears.
"Nay, for sometimes my heart is bitter with anger. But God is good to
me. For the child loveth me. And the mother is of God... aye, and she
will be with Him soon." Then he rose to his knees suddenly, and looked
wistfully at the supercargo, as he put his hand on his. "She will be
dead before the next moon is _ai aiga_ (in the first quarter), for at
night I lie outside her door, and but three nights ago she cried out to
me: 'Come, Amona, Come!' And I went in, and she was sitting up on
her bed and blood was running from her mouth. But she bade me tell no
one--not even thee. And it was then she told me that death was near
to her, for she hath a disease whose roots lie in her chest, and
which eateth away her strength. Dear friend, let me tell thee of some
things... This man is a devil.... I know he but desires to see her die.
He hath cursed her before me, and twice have I seen him take the child
from her arms, and, setting him on the floor to weep in terror, take his
wife by the hand----"
"Stop, man; stop! That'll do. Say no more! The beast!"
"_E tonu, e tonu_ (true, true)," said the man, quietly, and still
speaking in Samoan. "He is as a beast of the mountains, as a tiger of
the country India, which devoureth the lamb and the kid.... And so now I
have opened my heart to thee of these things----"
A native woman rushed into the room: "Come, Amona, come. _Misi Fafine_
(the mistress) bleeds from her mouth again."
The white man and the brown ran into the front sitting-room together,
just as they heard a piercing shriek of terror from the child; then came
the sound of a heavy fall.
As they entered, Armitage strode out, jolting against them as he passed.
His face was swollen and ugly with passion--bad to look at.
"Go and pick up the child, you frizzy-haired pig!" he muttered hoarsely
to Amona as he passed. "He fell off his mother's lap."
Mrs. Armitage was leaning back in her chair, as white as death, and
trying to speak, as with one hand she tried to stanch the rush of blood
from her mouth, and with the other pointed to her child, who was lying
on his face under a table, motionless and unconscious.
In less than ten minutes, a native was galloping through the bush to
Apia for Dr. Eckhardt. Denison had picked up the child, who, as he came
to, began to cry. Assuring his mother that he was not much hurt, he
brought him to her, and sat beside the lounge on which she lay, holding
him in his arms. He was a good little man, and did not try to talk
to her when the supercargo whispered to him to keep silent, but lay
stroking the poor mother's thin white hand. Yet every now and then, as
he moved or Denison changed his position, he would utter a cry of pain
and say his leg pained him.
Four hours later the German doctor arrived. Mrs. Armitage was asleep; so
Eckhardt would not awaken her at the time. The boy, however, had slept
but fitfully, and every now and then awakened with a sob of pain.
The nurse stripped him, and Eckhardt soon found out what was wrong--a
serious injury to the left hip.
Late in the evening, as the big yellow-bearded German doctor and Denison
sat in the dining room smoking and talking, Taloi, the child's nurse
entered, and was followed by Amona, and the woman told them the whole
story.
"_Misi Fafine_ was sitting in a chair with the boy on her lap when the
master came in. His eyes were black and fierce with anger, and, stepping
up, he seized the child by the arm, and bade him get down. Then the
little one screamed in terror, and _Misi Fafine_ screamed too, and the
master became as mad, for he tore the boy from his mother's arms, and
tossed him across the room against the wall. That is all I know of this
thing."
Denison saw nothing of Armitage till six o'clock on the following
morning, just as Eckhardt was going away. He put out his hand, Eckhardt
put his own behind his back, and, in a few blunt words, told the Beast
what he thought of him.
"And if this was a civilised country," he added crisply, "you would be
now in gaol. Yes, in prison. You have as good as killed your wife
by your brutality--she will not live another two months. You have so
injured your child's hip that he may be a <DW36> for life. You are a
damned scoundrel, no better than the lowest ruffian of a city slum, and
if you show yourself in Joe D'Acosta's smoking-room again, you'll find
more than half a dozen men--Englishmen, Americans and Germans--ready to
kick you out into the _au ala_" (road).
Armitage was no coward. He sprang forward with an oath, but Denison, who
was a third less of his employer's weight, deftly put out his right foot
and the master of Solo Solo plantation went down. Then the supercargo
sat on him and, having a fine command of seafaring expletives,
threatened to gouge his eyes out if he did not keep quiet.
"You go on, doctor," he said cheerfully. "I'll let you know in the
course of an hour or two how Mrs. Armitage and the boy are progressing.
The seat which I am now occupying, though not a very honourable one,
considering the material of which it is composed, is very comfortable
for the time being; and"--he turned and glared savagely at Armitage's
purpled face--"You sweep! I have a great inclination to let Eckhardt
come and boot the life out of you whilst I hold you down, you brute!"
"I'll kill you for this," said Armitage hoarsely.
"Won't give you the chance, my boy. And if you don't promise to go to
your room quietly, I'll call in the native servants, sling you up like
the pig you are to a pole, and have you carried into Apia, where you
stand a good show of being lynched. I've had enough of you. Every
one--except your blackguardly acquaintances in Matafele--would be glad
to hear that you were dead, and your wife and child freed from you."
Eckhardt stepped forward. "Let him up, Mr. Denison."
The supercargo obeyed the request.
"Just as you please, doctor. But I think that he ought to be put in
irons, or a strait-jacket, or knocked on the head as a useless beast. If
it were not for Mrs. Armitage and her little son, I would like to kill
the sweep. His treatment of that poor fellow Amona, who is so devoted to
the child, has been most atrocious."
Eckhardt grasped the supercargo's hand as Armitage shambled off "He's a
brute, as you say, Mr. Denison. But she has some affection for him. For
myself, I would like to put a bullet through him."
Within three months Mrs. Armitage was dead, and a fresh martrydom began
for poor Amona. But he and the child had plenty of good friends; and
then, one day, when Armitage awakened to sanity after a long drinking
bout, he found that both Amona and the child had gone.
Nearly a score of years later Denison met them in an Australian city.
The "baby" had grown to be a well-set-up young fellow, and Amona the
faithful was still with him--Amona with a smiling, happy face. They came
down on board Denison's vessel with him, and "the baby" gave him, ere
they parted, that faded photograph of his dead mother.
THE SNAKE AND THE BELL
When I was a child of eight years of age, a curious incident occurred in
the house in which our family lived. The locality was Mosman's Bay, one
of the many picturesque indentations of the beautiful harbour of Sydney.
In those days the houses were few and far apart, and our own dwelling
was surrounded on all sides by the usual monotonous-hued Australian
forest of iron barks and spotted gums, traversed here and there by
tracks seldom used, as the house was far back from the main road,
leading from the suburb of St. Leonards to Middle Harbour. The building
itself was in the form of a quadrangle enclosing a courtyard, on to
which nearly all the rooms opened; each room having a bell over the
door, the wires running all round the square, while the front-door bell,
which was an extra large affair, hung in the hall, the "pull" being one
of the old-fashioned kind, an iron sliding-rod suspended from the outer
wall plate, where it connected with the wire.
One cold and windy evening about eight o'clock, my mother, my sisters,
and myself were sitting in the dining-room awaiting the arrival of my
brothers from Sydney--they attended school there, and rowed or sailed
the six miles to and fro every day, generally returning home by dusk. On
this particular evening, however, they were late, on account of the wind
blowing rather freshly from the north-east; but presently we heard the
front-door bell ring gently.
"Here they are at last," said my mother; "but how silly of them to go to
the front door on such a windy night, tormenting boys!"
Julia, the servant, candle in hand, went along the lengthy passage,
and opened the door. No one was there! She came back to the dining-room
smiling--"Masther Edward is afther playin' wan av his thricks,
ma'am----" she began, when the bell again rang--this time vigorously. My
eldest sister threw down the book she was reading, and with an impatient
exclamation herself went to the door, opened it quickly, and said
sharply as she pulled it inwards--
"Come in at once, you stupid things!" There was no answer, and she
stepped outside on the verandah. No one was visible, and again the big
bell in the hall rang!
She shut the door angrily and returned to her seat, just as the bell
gave a curious, faint tinkle as if the tongue had been moved ever so
gently.
"Don't take any notice of them," said my mother, "they will soon get
tired of playing such silly pranks, and be eager for their supper."
Presently the bell gave out three clear strokes. We looked at each
other and smiled. Five minutes passed, and then came eight or ten gentle
strokes in quick succession.
"Let us catch them," said my mother, rising, and holding her finger
up to us to preserve silence, as she stepped softly along the hall, we
following on tiptoe.
Softly turning the handle, she suddenly threw the door wide open, just
as the bell gave another jangle. Not a soul was visible!
My mother--one of the most placid-tempered women who ever breathed, now
became annoyed, and stepping out on the verandah, addressed herself to
the darkness--
"Come inside at once, boys, or I shall be very angry. I know perfectly
well what you have done; you have tied a string to the bell wires, and
are pulling it. If you don't desist you shall have no supper."
No answer--except from the hall bell, which gave another half-hearted
tinkle.
"Bring a candle and the step-ladder, Julia," said our now thoroughly
exasperated parent, "and we shall see what these foolish boys have done
to the bell-wire."
Julia brought the ladder; my eldest sister mounted it, and began to
examine the bell. She could see nothing unusual, no string or wire, and
as she descended, the bell swayed and gave one faint stroke!
We all returned to the sitting room, and had scarcely been there five
minutes when we heard my three brothers coming in, in their usual way,
by the back door. They tramped into the sitting room, noisy, dirty,
wet with spray, and hungry, and demanded supper in a loud and collected
voice. My mother looked at them with a severe aspect, and said they
deserved none.
"Why, mum, what's the matter?" said Ted; "what _have_ we been doing
now, or what have we not done, that we don't deserve any supper, after
pulling for two hours from Circular Quay, against a howling, black
north-easter?"
"You know perfectly well what I mean. It is most inconsiderate of you to
play such silly tricks upon us."
Ted gazed at her in genuine astonishment. "Silly tricks, mother! What
silly tricks?" (Julia crossed herself, and trembled visibly as the bell
again rang.)
My mother, at once satisfied that Ted and my other brothers really knew
nothing of the mysterious bell-ringing, quickly explained the cause of
her anger.
"Let us go and see if we can find out," said Ted. "You two boys, and
you, Julia, get all the stable lanterns, light them, and we'll start out
together--two on one side of the house and two on the other. Some one
must be up to a trick!"
Julia, who was a huge, raw-boned Irish girl, as strong as a working
bullock, but not so graceful, again crossed herself, and began to weep.
"What's the matter with you?" said Ted angrily.
"Shure, an' there was tirrible murders committed here in the ould
convict days," she whimpered. "The polace sargint's wife at Sint
Leonards tould me all about it. There was three souldiers murdered down
beyant on the beach, by some convicts, whin they was atin' their supper,
an' there's people near about now that saw all the blood and----"
"Stop it, you great lumbering idiot!" shouted Ted, as my eldest sister
began to laugh hysterically, and the youngest, made a terrified dart to
mother's skirts.
Ted's angry voice and threatening visage silenced Julia for the moment,
and she tremblingly went towards the door to obey his orders when the
bell gave out such a vigorous and sustained peal that she sank down in
a colossal heap on the floor, and then went into violent hysterics. (I
assure my readers that I am not exaggerating matters in the slightest.)
My mother, who was a thoroughly sensible woman, pushed the whole brood
of us out of the room, came after us, shut the door and locked it. _She_
knew the proper treatment for hysterics.
"Let her stay there, boys," she said quietly, "she will hurt the
furniture more than herself, the ridiculous creature. Now, Ted, you and
your brothers get the lanterns, and the little ones and myself will go
into the kitchen."
We ran out into the stables, lit three lanterns, and my next eldest
brother and myself, feeling horribly frightened, but impelled to show
some courage by Ted's awful threats of what he would do to us if we
"funked," told us to go round the house, beginning from the left, and
meet him at the hall door, he going round from the right.
With shaking limbs and gasping breath we made our portion of the
circuit, sticking close to each other, and carefully avoiding looking at
anything as we hurried over the lawn, our only anxiety being to meet
Ted as quickly as possible and then get inside again. We arrived on the
verandah, and in front of the hall-door, quite five minutes before Ted
appeared.
"Well, did you see anything?" he asked, as he walked up the steps,
lantern in hand.
"Nothing," we answered, edging up towards the door.
Ted looked at us contemptuously. "You miserable little curs! What are
you so frightened of? You're no better than a pack of women and kids.
It's the wind that has made the bell ring, or, if it's not the wind,
it is something else which I don't know anything about; but I want my
supper. Pull the bell, one of you."
Elated at so soon escaping from the horrors of the night, we seized the
handle of the bell-pull, and gave it a vigorous tug.
"It's stuck, Ted. It won't pull down," we said.
"Granny!" said the big brother, "you're too funky to give it a proper
pull," and pushing us aside, he grasped the pendant handle and gave a
sharp pull. There was no answering sound.
"It certainly is stuck," admitted Ted, raising his lantern so as to get
a look upwards, then he gave a yell.
"Oh! look there!"
We looked up, and saw the writhing twisting, coils of a huge carpet
snake, which had wound its body round and round the bell-wire on top
of the wall plate. Its head was downwards, and it did not seem at
all alarmed at our presence, but went on wriggling and twisting and
squirming with much apparent cheerfulness.
Ted ran back to the stables, and returned in a few seconds with a
clothes-prop, with which he dealt the disturber of our peace a few
rapid, but vigorous, blows, breaking its spine in several places. Then
the step-ladder was brought out, and Ted, seizing the reptile by the
tail, uncoiled it with some difficulty from the wire, and threw it down
upon the verandah.
It was over nine feet in length, and very fat, and had caused all the
disturbance by endeavouring to denude itself of its old skin by dragging
its body between the bell-wire and the top of the wall. When Ted killed
it the poor harmless creature had almost accomplished its object.
SOUTH SEA NOTES
I
That many animals, particularly cattle and deer, are very fond of salt
we all know, but it is not often that birds show any taste for it, or,
if so, the circumstance has not generally been noted. In 1881, however,
the present writer was residing on Gazelle Peninsula, the northern
portion of the magnificent island of New Britain in the South Pacific,
and had many opportunities of witnessing both cockatoos and wild pigeons
drinking salt water. I was stationed at a place called Kabaira, the then
"furthest-out" trading station on the whole island, and as I had but
little to do in the way of work, I found plenty of time to study the
bird-life in the vicinity. Parrots of several varieties, and all of
beautiful plumage, were very plentiful, and immense flocks of white
cockatoos frequented the rolling, grassy downs which lay between my home
and the German head-station in Blanche Bay, twenty miles distant, while
the heavy forest of the littoral was the haunt of thousands of pigeons.
These latter, though not so large as the Samoan, or Eastern Polynesian
bird, formed a very agreeable change of diet for us white traders, and
by walking about fifty yards from one's door, half a dozen or more could
be shot in as many minutes.
My nearest neighbour was a German, and one day when we were walking
along the beach towards his station, we noticed some hundreds of pigeons
fly down from the forest, settle on the margin of the water, and
drink with apparent enjoyment. The harbour at this spot was almost
land-locked, the water as smooth as glass without the faintest ripple,
and the birds were consequently enabled to drink without wetting their
plumage. My companion, who had lived many years in New Britain, told me
that this drinking of sea-water was common alike to both cockatoos and
pigeons, and that on some occasions the beaches would be lined with
them, the former birds not only drinking, but bathing as well, and
apparently enjoying themselves greatly.
During the following six months, especially when the weather was calm
and rainy, I frequently noticed pigeons and cockatoos come to the salt
water to drink. At first I thought that as fresh water in many places
bubbled up through the sand at low tide, the birds were really not
drinking the sea-water, but by watching closely, I frequently saw them
walk across these tiny runnels, and make no attempt to drink. Then
again, the whole of the Gazette Peninsula is out up by countless streams
of water; rain falls throughout the year as a rule, and as I have said,
there is always water percolating or bubbling up through the sand on
the beaches at low tide. What causes this unusual habit of drinking
sea-water?
Another peculiarity of the New Britain and New Ireland pigeon is its
fondness for the Chili pepper-berry. During three months of the year,
when these berries are ripe, the birds' crops are full of them, and very
often their flesh is so pungent, and smells so strongly of the Chili, as
to be quite uneatable.
* * * * *
On all of the low-lying islands of the Ellice, Kings-mill and Gilbert
Groups, a species of snipe are very plentiful. On the islands which
enclose the noble lagoon of Funafuti in the Ellice Group, they are to
be met with in great numbers, and in dull, rainy weather, an ordinarily
good shot may get thirty or forty in a few hours. One day, accompanied
by a native lad, I set out to collect hermit crabs, to be used as fish
bait. These curious creatures are to be found almost anywhere in the
equatorial islands of the Pacific; their shell houses ranging in size
from a pea to an orange, and if a piece of coco-nut or fish or any other
edible matter is left out overnight, hundreds of hermits will be found
gathered around it in the morning. To extract the crabs from their
shells, which are of all shapes and kinds, is a very simple matter--the
hard casing is broken by placing them upon a large stone and striking
them a sharp blow with one of lesser size. My companion and myself soon
collected a heap of "hermits," when presently he took one | 1,808.08193 |
2023-11-16 18:47:12.2629300 | 2,010 | 14 | OF SINGING***
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CARUSO AND TETRAZZINI ON THE ART OF SINGING
by
ENRICO CARUSO and LUISA TETRAZZINI
Metropolitan Company, Publishers, New York, 1909.
PREFACE
In offering this work to the public the publishers wish to lay before
those who sing or who are about to study singing, the simple,
fundamental rules of the art based on common sense. The two greatest
living exponents of the art of singing--Luisa Tetrazzini and Enrico
Caruso--have been chosen as examples, and their talks on singing have
additional weight from the fact that what they have to say has been
printed exactly as it was uttered, the truths they expound are driven
home forcefully, and what they relate so simply is backed by years of
experience and emphasized by the results they have achieved as the two
greatest artists in the world.
Much has been said about the Italian Method of Singing. It is a question
whether anyone really knows what the phrase means. After all, if there
be a right way to sing, then all other ways must be wrong. Books have
been written on breathing, tone production and what singers should eat
and wear, etc., etc., all tending to make the singer self-conscious and
to sing with the brain rather than with the heart. To quote Mme.
Tetrazzini: "You can train the voice, you can take a raw material and
make it a finished production; not so with the heart."
The country is overrun with inferior teachers of singing; men and women
who have failed to get before the public, turn to teaching without any
practical experience, and, armed only with a few methods, teach these
alike to all pupils, ruining many good voices. Should these pupils
change teachers, even for the better, then begins the weary undoing of
the false method, often with no better result.
To these unfortunate pupils this book is of inestimable value. He or she
could not consistently choose such teachers after reading its pages.
Again the simple rules laid down and tersely and interestingly set forth
not only carry conviction with them, but tear away the veil of mystery
that so often is thrown about the divine art.
Luisa Tetrazzini and Enrico Caruso show what not to do, as well as what
to do, and bring the pupil back to first principles--the art of singing
naturally.
THE ART OF SINGING
By Luisa Tetrazzini
[Illustration: LUISA TETRAZZINI]
LUISA TETRAZZINI
INTRODUCTORY SKETCH OF THE CAREER OF THE WORLD-FAMOUS PRIMA DONNA
Luisa Tetrazzini, the most famous Italian coloratura soprano of the
day, declares that she began to sing before she learned to talk. Her
parents were not musical, but her elder sister, now the wife of the
eminent conductor Cleofante Campanini, was a public singer of
established reputation, and her success roused her young sister's
ambition to become a great artist. Her parents were well to do, her
father having a large army furnishing store in Florence, and they did
not encourage her in her determination to become a prima donna. One
prima donna, said her father, was enough for any family.
Luisa did not agree with him. If one prima donna is good, she argued,
why would not two be better? So she never desisted from her importunity
until she was permitted to become a pupil of Professor Coccherani, vocal
instructor at the Lycee. At this time she had committed to memory more
than a dozen grand opera roles, and at the end of six months the
professor confessed that he could do nothing more for her voice; that
she was ready for a career.
She made her bow to the Florentine opera going public, one of the most
critical in Italy, as Inez, in Meyerbeer's "L'Africaine," and her
success was so pronounced that she was engaged at a salary of $100 a
month, a phenomenal beginning for a young singer. Queen Margherita was
present on the occasion and complimented her highly and prophesied for
her a great career. She asked the trembling debutante how old she was,
and in the embarrassment of the moment Luisa made herself six years
older than she really was. This is one noteworthy instance in which a
public singer failed to discount her age.
Fame came speedily, but for a long time it was confined to Europe and
Latin America. She sang seven seasons in St. Petersburg, three in
Mexico, two in Madrid, four in Buenos Aires, and even on the Pacific
coast of America before she appeared in New York. She had sung Lucia
more than 200 times before her first appearance at Covent Garden, and
the twenty curtain calls she received on that occasion came as the
greatest surprise of her career. She had begun to believe that she could
never be appreciated by English-speaking audiences and the ovation
almost overcame her.
It was by the merest chance that Mme. Tetrazzini ever came to the
Manhattan Opera House in New York. The diva's own account of her
engagement is as follows:
"I was in London, and for a wonder I had a week, a wet week, on my
hands. You know people will do anything in a wet week in London.
"There were contracts from all over the Continent and South America
pending. There was much discussion naturally in regard to settlements
and arrangements of one kind and another.
"Suddenly, just like that"--she makes a butterfly gesture--"M.
Hammerstein came, and just like that"--a duplicate gesture--"I made up
my mind that I would come here. If his offer to me had been seven days
later I should not have signed, and if I had not I should undoubtedly
never have come, for a contract that I might have signed to go elsewhere
would probably have been for a number of years."
Voice experts confess that they are not able to solve the mystery of
Mme. Tetrazzini's wonderful management of her breathing.
"It is perfectly natural," she says. "I breathe low down in the
diaphragm, not, as some do, high up in the upper part of the chest. I
always hold some breath in reserve for the crescendos, employing only
what is absolutely necessary, and I renew the breath wherever it is
easiest.
"In breathing I find, as in other matters pertaining to singing, that as
one goes on and practices, no matter how long one may have been singing,
there are constantly new surprises awaiting one. You may have been
accustomed for years to take a note in a certain way, and after a long
while you discover that, while it is a very good way, there is a
better."
Breath Control The Foundation of Singing
There is only one way to sing correctly, and that is to sing naturally,
easily, comfortably.
The height of vocal art is to have no apparent method, but to be able to
sing with perfect facility from one end of the voice to the other,
emitting all the notes clearly and yet with power and having each note
of the scale sound the same in quality and tonal beauty as the ones
before and after.
There are many methods which lead to the goal of natural singing--that
is to say, the production of the voice with ease, beauty and with
perfect control.
Some of the greatest teachers in the world reach this point apparently
by diverging roads.
Around the art of singing there has been formed a cult which includes an
entire jargon of words meaning one thing to the singer and another thing
to the rest of the world and which very often doesn't mean the same
thing to two singers of different schools.
In these talks with you I am going to try to use the simplest words, and
the few idioms which I will have to take from my own language I will
translate to you as clearly as I can, so that there can be no
misunderstanding.
Certainly the highest art and a lifetime of work and study are
necessary to acquire an easy emission of tone.
There are quantities of wonderful natural voices, particularly among the
young people of Switzerland and Italy, and the American voice is
especially noted for its purity and the beauty of its tone in the high
registers. But these naturally untrained voices soon break or fail if
they are used much unless the singer supplements the natural, God-given
vocal gifts with a conscious understanding of how the vocal apparatus
should be used.
The singer must have some knowledge of his or her anatomical structure,
particularly the structure of the throat, mouth and face, with its
res | 1,808.28297 |
2023-11-16 18:47:12.4599010 | 7,434 | 22 |
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generously made available by The Internet Archive.)
THE OLD INNS OF OLD ENGLAND
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Portsmouth Road, and its Tributaries: To-day and in Days of Old.
The Dover Road: Annals of an Ancient Turnpike.
The Bath Road: History, Fashion, and Frivolity on an Old Highway.
The Exeter Road: The Story of the West of England Highway.
The Great North Road: The Old Mail Road to Scotland. Two Vols.
The Norwich Road: An East Anglian Highway.
The Holyhead Road: The Mail-Coach Road to Dublin. Two Vols.
The Cambridge, Ely, and King's Lynn Road: The Great Fenland Highway.
The Newmarket, Bury, Thetford, and Cromer Road: Sport and History on an
East Anglian Turnpike.
The Oxford, Gloucester, and Milford Haven Road: The Ready Way to South
Wales. Two Vols.
The Brighton Road: Speed, Sport, and History on the Classic Highway.
The Hastings Road and the "Happy Springs of Tunbridge."
Cycle Rides Round London.
A Practical Handbook of Drawing for Modern Methods of Reproduction.
Stage-Coach and Mail in Days of Yore. Two Vols.
The Ingoldsby Country: Literary Landmarks of "The Ingoldsby Legends."
The Hardy Country: Literary Landmarks of the Wessex Novels.
The Dorset Coast.
The South Devon Coast. [_In the Press._
[Illustration: A MUG OF CIDER: THE "WHITE HART" INN, CASTLE COMBE. _Photo
by Graystone Bird._]
THE OLD INNS OF OLD ENGLAND
_A PICTURESQUE ACCOUNT OF THE
ANCIENT AND STORIED HOSTELRIES
OF OUR OWN COUNTRY_
VOL. II
BY CHARLES G. HARPER
[Illustration]
_Illustrated chiefly by the Author, and from Prints
and Photographs_
LONDON:
CHAPMAN & HALL, LIMITED
1906
_All rights reserved_
PRINTED AND BOUND BY
HAZELL, WATSON AND VINEY, LD.,
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A POSY OF OLD INNS 1
II. THE OLD INNS OF CHESHIRE 58
III. INNS RETIRED FROM BUSINESS 79
IV. INNS WITH RELICS AND CURIOSITIES 109
V. TAVERN RHYMES AND INSCRIPTIONS 130
VI. THE HIGHEST INNS IN ENGLAND 144
VII. GALLOWS SIGNS 150
VIII. SIGNS PAINTED BY ARTISTS 161
IX. QUEER SIGNS IN QUAINT PLACES 184
X. RURAL INNS 210
XI. THE EVOLUTION OF A COUNTRY INN 235
XII. INGLE-NOOKS 240
XIII. INNKEEPERS' EPITAPHS 245
XIV. INNS WITH ODD PRIVILEGES 255
XV. INNS IN LITERATURE 261
XVI. VISITORS' BOOKS 291
[Illustration: LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS]
SEPARATE PLATES
A MUG OF CIDER: THE "WHITE HART" INN, CASTLE COMBE.
(_Photo by Graystone Bird_) _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
THE CROMWELL ROOM, "LYGON ARMS" 8
THE DINING-ROOM AT "THE FEATHERS," LUDLOW 22
COURTYARD OF THE "MAID'S HEAD," NORWICH, SHOWING THE JACOBEAN
BAR 42
THE "BELL," BARNBY MOOR: MEET OF LORD GALWAY'S HOUNDS 56
THE "FOUR SWANS," WALTHAM CROSS 152
SIGN OF THE "PACK HORSE AND TALBOT," TURNHAM GREEN 194
THE "RUNNING FOOTMAN," HAY HILL 194
INTERIOR OF "UNCLE TOM'S CABIN" 196
"UNCLE TOM'S CABIN," BLUEPITTS, NEAR ROCHDALE 196
THE "TALBOT," RIPLEY. (_Photo by R. W. Thomas_) 212
THE "ANCHOR," RIPLEY, IN THE DAYS OF THE DIBBLES AND THE
CYCLING BOOM. (_Photo by R. W. Thomas_) 214
THE "SWAN," SANDLEFORD 216
THE "SWAN," NEAR NEWBURY 216
THE INGLE-NOOK, "WHITE HORSE" INN, SHERE 240
INGLE-NOOK AT THE "SWAN," HASLEMERE 242
THE INGLE-NOOK, "CROWN" INN, CHIDDINGFOLD 244
INGLE-NOOK, "LYGON ARMS," BROADWAY 246
THE "VINE TAVERN," MILE END ROAD 258
YARD OF THE "WHITE HORSE," MAIDEN NEWTON 288
THE "WHITE HORSE," MAIDEN NEWTON 288
ILLUSTRATIONS IN TEXT
Vignette, Toby Fillpot _Title-page_
PAGE
List of Illustrations, The "Malt-shovel," Sandwich vii
The Old Inns of Old England 1
Doorway, the "Lygon Arms" 3
The "Lygon Arms" 5
The "Bear," Devizes 11
Yard of the "Bear," Devizes 15
The "George," Andover 17
The "Feathers," Ludlow 19
Decorative Device in Moulded Plaster, from Ceiling of
Dining-room, the "Feathers," Ludlow 25
The "Peacock," Rowsley 27
The "White Hart," Godstone 31
The Old Window, "Luttrell Arms" 39
Doorway, "The Cock," Stony Stratford 43
Yard of "The George," Huntingdon 45
The "Bell," Stilton 49
The "Red Lion," Egham 53
The "Old Hall" Inn, Sandbach 59
Dog-gates at Head of Staircase, "Old Hall" Inn, Sandbach 61
The "Bear's Head," Brereton 63
The "Lion and Swan," Congleton 67
The "Cock," Great Budworth 71
The "Pickering Arms," Thelwall 73
The "King Edgar" and "Bear and Billet," Chester 75
A Deserted Inn: The "Swan," at Ferrybridge 83
The Old "Raven," Hook 86
The "Hearts of Oak," near Bridport 88
The "Bell" Inn, Dale Abbey 90
The "Windmill," North Cheriton 91
The "Castle" Inn, Marlborough 95
Garden Front, "Castle" Inn, Marlborough 99
"Chapel House" Inn 103
"White Hart" Yard 107
A "Fenny Popper" 111
The "Bell," Woodbridge 112
The "Red Lion," Martlesham 113
"Dean Swift's Chair," Towcester 115
Boots at the "Bear," Esher 117
The "George and Dragon," Dragon's Green 119
The "White Bull," Ribchester 120
Boots of the "Unicorn," Ripon 121
The "Red Lion," Chiswick 123
The Old Whetstone 125
Hot Cross Buns at the "Widow's Son" 127
The "Gate" Inn, Dunkirk 132
The "Gate Hangs Well," Nottingham 133
Tablet at the "George," Wanstead 141
"Tan Hill" Inn 145
The "Cat and Fiddle," near Buxton 147
The "Traveller's Rest," Kirkstone Pass 149
The "Greyhound," Sutton 151
The "Fox and Hounds," Barley 154
The "George," Stamford 155
The "Swan," Fittleworth 158
The "Red Lion," Hampton-on-Thames 159
The "Man Loaded with Mischief" 163
Sign of the "Royal Oak," Bettws-y-Coed 173
Sign of the "George and Dragon," Wargrave-on-Thames.
(_Painted by G. D. Leslie, R.A._) 176
Sign of the "George and Dragon," Wargrave-on-Thames.
(_Painted by J. E. Hodgson, R.A._) 177
The "Row Barge," Wallingford. (_Painted by G. D. Leslie, R.A._) 178
The "Swan," Preston Crowmarsh 178
The "Windmill," Tabley 179
The "Smoker" Inn, Plumbley 179
The "Ferry" Inn, Rosneath 180
The "Ferry" Inn, Rosneath 180
The "Fox and Pelican," Grayshott 181
The "Cat and Fiddle," near Christchurch 182
The "Cat and Fiddle," near Christchurch 182
The "Swan," Charing 189
Sign of the "Leather Bottle," Leather Lane. (_Removed 1896_) 191
Sign of the "Beehive," Grantham 193
Sign of the "Lion and Fiddle," Hilperton 195
The "Sugar Loaves," Sible Hedingham 195
Sign of the "Old Rock House" Inn, Barton 197
The "Three Horseshoes," Great Mongeham 198
Sign of the "Red Lion," Great Missenden 198
Sign of the "Labour in Vain" 199
The "Eight Bells," Twickenham 201
Sign of the "Stocks" Inn, Clapgate, near Wimborne 202
The "Shears" Inn, Wantage 202
Sign of the "White Bear," Fickles Hole 203
The "Crow-on-Gate" Inn, Crowborough 205
The "First and Last" Inn, Sennen 206
The "First and Last," Land's End 207
The "Eagle and Child," Nether Alderley 209
The "White Horse," Woolstone 211
The "Halfway House," Rickmansworth 215
The "Rose and Crown," Mill End, Rickmansworth 216
The "Jolly Farmer," Farnham 217
The "Boar's Head," Middleton 218
The "Old House at Home," Havant 219
"Pounds Bridge" 221
Yard of the "George and Dragon," West Wycombe 223
The Yard of the "Sun," Dedham 225
The "Old Ship," Worksop 226
The "Old Swan," Atherstone 227
The "King's Arms," Sandwich 229
The "Keigwin Arms," Mousehole 230
The "Swan," Knowle 231
Sign of the "Swan," Knowle 232
The "Running Horse," Merrow 233
Ingle-nook at the "Talbot," Towcester 243
Tipper's Epitaph, Newhaven 251
Preston's Epitaph, St. Magnus-the-Martyr 253
"Newhaven" Inn 257
House where the Duke of Buckingham died, Kirkby Moorside 265
The "Black Swan," Kirkby Moorside 267
Washington Irving's "Throne" and "Sceptre" 270
Yard of the "Old Angel," Basingstoke 279
The "White Hart," Whitchurch 281
The "Bell," Tewkesbury 285
The "Wheatsheaf," Tewkesbury 287
Henley-in-Arden, and the "White Swan" 301
[Illustration]
THE OLD INNS OF OLD ENGLAND
CHAPTER I
A POSY OF OLD INNS
"Shall I not take mine ease at mine inn?"
In dealing with the Old Inns of England, one is first met with the great
difficulty of classification, and lastly with the greater of coming to a
conclusion. There are--let us be thankful for it--so many fine old inns.
Some of the finest lend themselves to no ready method of classifying.
Although they have existed through historic times, they are not historic,
and they have no literary associations: they are simply beautiful and
comfortable in the old-world way, which is a way a great deal more keenly
appreciated than may commonly be supposed in these times. Let those who
will flock to Metropoles and other barracks whose very names are evidence
of their exotic style; but give me the old inns with such signs as the
"Lygon Arms," the "Feathers," the "Peacock," and the like, which you still
find--not in the crowded resorts of the seaside, or in great cities, but
in the old English country towns and districts frequented by the
appreciative few.
I shall not attempt the unthankful office of determining which is the
finest among these grand old English inns whose title to notice rests upon
no adventitious aid of history, but upon their antique beauty, combined
with modern comfort, alone, but will take them as they occur to me.
Let us, then, imagine ourselves at Broadway, in Worcestershire, and at the
"Lygon Arms" there. The village, still somewhat remote from railways, was
once an important place on the London and Worcester Road, and its long,
three-quarter-mile street is really as broad as its name implies; but
since the disappearance of the coaches it has ceased to be the busy stage
it once was, and has became, in the familiar ironic way of fortune, a
haven of rest and quiet for those who are weary of the busy world; a home
of artists amid the apple-orchards of the Vale of Evesham; a slumberous
place of old gabled houses, with mullioned and transomed windows and
old-time vanities of architectural enrichment; for this is a district of
fine building-stone, and the old craftsmen were not slow to take advantage
of their material, in the artistic sort.
[Illustration: DOORWAY, THE "LYGON ARMS."]
Many enraptured people declare Broadway to be the prettiest village in
England, and the existence of its artist-colony perhaps lends some aid to
their contention; but it is not quite that, and although the long single
street of the place is beautiful in detail, it does not compose a picture
as a whole. One of the finest--if not indeed the finest--of those detailed
beauties is the grand old stone front of the "Lygon Arms," built, as the
"White Hart" inn, so long ago as 1540, and bearing that name until the
early part of the last century, when the property was purchased by the
Lygon family, whose head is now Earl Beauchamp, a title that, although it
looks so mediaeval, was created in 1815. In more recent times the house was
purchased by the great unwieldy brewing firm of Allsopp, but in 1903 was
sold again to the present resident proprietor, Mr. S. B. Russell, and so
has achieved its freedom and independence once more. The "Lygon Arms,"
however, it still remains, its armorial sign-board displaying the heraldic
coat of that family, with their motto, _Ex Fide Fortis_.
The great four-gabled stone front of the "Lygon Arms" gives it the air of
some ancient manor-house, an effect enhanced by the fine Renaissance
enriched stone doorway added by John Trevis, an old-time innkeeper, who
flourished in the reigns of James the First and Charles the First, and
whose name, together with that of his wife, Ursula, and the date, 1620,
can still be plainly seen. John Trevis (or "Treavis," as the name was
sometimes spelled) ended his hostelling in 1641, as appears by a rubbing
from his memorial brass from Broadway old church, prominently displayed in
the hall of the house.
[Illustration: THE "LYGON ARMS."]
The house has during the last few years been gradually brought back to its
ancient state, and the neglect that befell on the withdrawal of the
road-traffic repaired. But not merely neglect had injured it. The
ancient features had suffered greatly in the prosperous times at the
opening of the nineteenth century, when the stone mullions of nearly all
the windows were removed and modern glass and wooden sashes inserted. The
thing seems so wanton and so useless that it is difficult to understand,
in these days of reversion to type. A gas-lamp and bracket had at the same
time been fixed to the doorway, defacing the stonework, and where
alterations of this kind had not taken place, injury of another sort arose
from the greater part of the inn being unoccupied and the rest degraded to
little above the condition of an ale-house.
All the ancient features have been reinstated, and a general restoration
effected, under the advice of experts, and in the "Lygon Arms" of to-day
you see a house typical of an old English inn of the seventeenth century.
There is the Cromwell Room, so named from a tradition that the Protector
slept in it the night before the Battle of Worcester. It is now a
sitting-room. A great carved stone fireplace is the chief feature of that
apartment, whose beautiful plaster ceiling is also worthy of notice. There
is even a tradition that Charles the First visited the inn on two or three
occasions; but no details of either his, or Cromwell's, visits, survive.
Quaint, unexpected corners, lobbies and staircases abound here, and
ancient fittings are found, even in the domestic kitchen portion of the
house. In the entrance-hall is some very old carved oak from Chipping
Campden church, with an inscription no man can read; while, to keep
company with the undoubtedly indigenous old oak panelling of the so-called
"Panelled Room," and others, elaborate ancient firebacks and open grates
have been introduced--the spoil of curiosity shops. Noticeable among these
are the ornate fireback in the Cromwell Room and the very fine specimen of
a wrought-iron chimney-crane in the ingle-nook of a cosy corner by the
entrance.
While it would be perhaps too much to say that Broadway and the "Lygon
Arms" are better known to and appreciated by touring Americans than by our
own people, they are certainly visited very largely by travellers from the
United States during the summer months; the fame of Broadway having spread
over-sea very largely on account of the resident American artist-colony
and Madame de Navarro, who as Mary Anderson--"our Mary"--figured
prominently on the stage, some years since.
Those travellers who in the fine, romantic, dangerous old days travelled
by coach, or the more expensive, exclusive, and aristocratic post-chaise,
to Bath, and selected the Devizes route, came at that town to one of the
finest inns on that road of exceptionally fine hostelries. The "Bear" at
Devizes was never so large or so stately as the "Castle" at Marlborough,
but it was no bad second, and it remains to-day an old-fashioned and
dignified inn, the first in the town; looking with something of a
county-family aloofness upon the wide Market-place and that
extraordinary Gothic cross erected in the middle of it, to the memory of
one Ruth Pierce, of Potterne, a market-woman, who on January 25th, 1753,
calling God to witness the truth of a lie she was telling, was struck dead
on the instant.
[Illustration: THE CROMWELL ROOM, "LYGON ARMS."]
The "Bear," indeed, is of two entirely separate and distinct periods, as
you clearly perceive from the strikingly different character of the front
buildings. The one is a haughty structure in dark stone, designed in that
fine architectural style practised in the middle of the eighteenth century
by the brothers Adam; the other has a plastered and painted frontage, fine
in its way, but bespeaking rather the Commercial Hotel. In the older
building, to which you enter up flights of steps, you picture the great
ones of the earth, resting on their way to or from "the Bath," in a
setting of Chippendale, Sheraton or Hepplewhite furniture; and in the
other the imagination sees the dignified, prosperous "commercial
gentlemen" of two or three generations ago--was there ever, anywhere,
another order of being so supremely dignified as they were?--dining, with
much roast beef and port, in a framing of mahogany sideboards and
monumentally heavy chairs stuffed with horse-hair--each treating the
others with a lofty and punctilious ceremonial courtesy, more punctilious
and much loftier than anything ever observed in the House of Peers.
The "Bear" figures in the letters of Fanny Burney, who with her friend
Mrs. Thrale was travelling to Bath in 1780. They took four days about
that business, halting the first night at Maidenhead, the second at the
"Castle," Speen Hill, and the third here. In the evening they played
cards, the lively Miss Burney declaring to her correspondent that the
doing so made her feel "old-cattish": whist having ever been the resort of
dowagers. Engaged upon this engrossing occupation, the strains of music
gradually dawned upon their attention, coming from an adjoining room. Did
they, as many would have done, thump upon the intervening wall, by way of
signifying their disapproval? Not at all. The player was rendering the
overture to the _Buono Figliuola_--whatever that may have been--and
playing it well. Mrs. Thrale went and tapped at the door whence these
sweet sounds came, in order to compliment the unknown musician; whereupon
a handsome girl whose dark hair clustered finely upon a noble forehead,
opened the door, and another invited Mrs. Thrale and Miss Burney to
chairs. These pretty creatures were the daughters of the innkeeper. They
were well enough, to be sure, but the wonder of the family was away from
home. "This was their brother, a most lovely boy of ten years of age, who
seems to be not merely the wonder of their family, but of the times, for
his astonishing skill at drawing. They protest he has never had any
instruction, yet showed us some of his productions that were really
beautiful."
[Illustration: THE "BEAR," DEVIZES.]
This marvel was none other than Thomas Lawrence, the future painter of
innumerable portraits of the wealthy and the noble, who rose to be P.R.A.
and to knighthood at the hands of George the Fourth. His father, at this
time landlord of the "Bear," seems to have been a singularly close
parallel to Mr. Micawber in fiction, and to Mr. John Dickens in real life.
The son of a Presbyterian minister, and articled to a solicitor, he turned
aside from writs and affidavits and practical things of that kind, to the
making of verses; and the verse-making, by a sort of natural declension,
presently led him to fall in love, and to run away with the pretty
daughter of the vicar of Tenbury, in Worcestershire. He tried life as an
actor, and that failed; as a surveyor of excise, with little better
result; and then became landlord of the "White Lion" at Bristol, the house
in which his son Thomas, the future P.R.A., was born, in 1769. In 1772 he
removed to Devizes, and took the "Bear": not an inconsiderable
speculation, as the description of the house, already given, would lead
one to suspect. Some unduly confiding person must have lent the shiftless,
but engaging and gentlemanly, fellow the capital, and it is to be feared
he lost by it, for although in the pages of _Columella_, a curious work of
fiction published at that time, Lawrence is styled "the only man upon the
road for warm rooms, soft beds, and--Oh, prodigious!--for reading Milton,"
his innkeeping was a failure.
Notwithstanding those "warm rooms and soft beds," which rather remind you
of Mr. W. S. Gilbert's lines in _The Mountebanks_--
Excellent eating,
Good beds and warm sheeting,
That never want Keating,
Afford a good greeting
To people who stop at my inn--
Lawrence had to relinquish the "Bear." He was known as a "public-spirited
landlord, who erected at his own expense signal-posts twelve feet high,
painted white, to guide travellers by night over Salisbury Plain"; but,
although he was greatly commended for that public spirit, no profit
accrued from it. Public spirit in a public-house--even though it be that
higher order of public-house styled an hotel--is out of place.
At the early age of five the innkeeper's son Thomas became distinctly an
asset. He was as many-sided as a politician who cannot find place in his
own party and so, scenting opportunities, seeks preferment with former
enemies. Young Lawrence it would, however, be far prettier to compare with
a many-faceted diamond. He shone with accomplishments. A beautiful boy,
his manners, too, were pleasing. He was kissed and petted by the ladies,
and to the gentlemen he recited. He painted the portraits, in curiously
frank and artless profile, of all guests who would sport half a guinea for
the purpose, and between whiles would be found in the yard, punching the
heads of the stable-boys, for he was alike born painter and pugilist!
A less beautiful nature than his would early have been spoiled by so much
notice, but to the end of his long and phenomenally successful career
Lawrence retained a courtly, but natural and frank, personality. As a boy
he was introduced to the guests of the "Bear" by his fond father in this
wise: "Gentlemen, here's my son; will you have him recite from the poets,
or take your portraits?" and in this way he held forth in such great
presences as those of Dr. Johnson, Garrick, Foote, Burke, Sheridan, and
Mrs. Siddons.
[Illustration: YARD OF THE "BEAR," DEVIZES.]
But the business of the "Bear" languished under the proprietorship of the
elder Lawrence. Probably many of the guests resented what was rightly
styled "the obtrusive pertinacity" of the fond father, and being
interrupted in their talk, or disturbed at the engrossing occupation of
winning and losing money at cards, by the appearance of this _wunderkind_.
By the time the genius was eleven years of age the family had left
Devizes, and were being entirely supported by his growing skill in the
painting of pleasing likenesses!
If the front of the house, with its odd effigy of a black bear eating a
bunch of grapes, is fine, much finer, in the picturesque way, is the back,
where, from the stable-yard, you see a noble range of Ionic columns,
rather lost in that position, and surmounted as they are with gables of a
Gothic feeling, looking as though the projector of some ambitious classic
extension had begun a great work without counting the cost of its
completion, and so had ingloriously to decline upon a humble ending.
The "George" at Andover, whatever importance it once possessed, now
displays the merest slip of frontage. It is, in essentials, a very old
house, with a good deal of stout timber framing in odd corners: all more
or less overlaid with the fittings of a modern market inn. The "George"
figures in what remains probably the most extraordinary solicitor's bill
on record: the account rendered to Sir Francis Blake Delaval, M.P., by
his attorney, for work done during one of the Andover elections. It is a
document famous in the history of Parliamentary contests, and it was the
subject of an action in the King's Bench. The most outstanding item of it
was: "To being thrown out of the window of the 'George' inn, Andover.--To
my leg being thereby broken.--To Surgeon's bill and loss of time and
business.--All in the service of Sir Francis B. Delaval----L500."
[Illustration: THE "GEORGE," ANDOVER.]
It seems that this unfortunate attorney owed his flight through the window
to his having played a practical joke upon the officers of a regiment
stationed at Andover, to whom he sent invitations for a banquet at the
"George" on the King's birthday, purporting to come from the Mayor and
corporation, and similar invitations to the Mayor and corporation,
supposed to come from the officers. The two parties met and dined, but,
preparing to depart, and each thanking the others for the hospitality, the
trick was disclosed, and the author of it, who had been rash enough to
attend, to see for himself the success of his joke, was seized and flung
out of the window by the enraged diners.
Turn we now to Shropshire, to that sweet and gracious old town of Ludlow,
where--albeit ruined--the great Castle of the Lords Presidents of the
Council of the Marches of Wales yet stands, and where many an ancient
house belonging to history fronts on to the quiet streets: some whose
antique interiors are altogether unsuspected of the passer-by, by reason
of the Georgian red-brick fronts or Early Victorian plaster faces that
have masked the older and sturdier construction of oaken beams. I love the
old town of Ludlow, as needs I must do, for it is the home of my forbears,
who, certainly since the days of Elizabeth, when the registers of the
Cathedral-like church of St. Lawrence begin, lived there and worked
there in what was their almost invariable handicraft of joining and
cabinet-making, until quite recent years.
[Illustration: THE "FEATHERS," LUDLOW.]
The finest old timber-fronted, black-and-white house in Ludlow is the
"Feathers" inn, in Corve Street. There are many ancient and picturesque
hostelries in England, but none finer than the "Feathers," and it is
additionally remarkable for being as exquisite within as without. You see
its nodding gables and peaked roofs among the earliest of the beautiful
things of Ludlow, as you come from the railway-station and ascend the
steep Corve Street, that leads out of the town, into Corve Dale.
Very little is known of the history of the "Feathers." The earliest deed
relating to the property is dated August 2nd, 1609, when it appears to
have been leased from a member of the Council of the Marches, one Edward
Waties of Burway, by Rees Jones and Isabel, his wife. Ten years later,
March 10th, 1618-9, Rees Jones purchased the fee-simple of the house from
Edward Waties and his wife, Martha: other parties to the transaction being
Sir Charles Foxe, of Bromfield, and his son Francis, respectively father
and brother of Martha Waties. The purchase price of the freehold was L225.
In neither of those transactions is the house called the "Feathers," or
even referred to as an inn; nor do we know whether Rees Jones purchased
the existing house, or an older one, on this site. It seems probable,
however, that this is the original mansion of some personage connected
with the ancient government of the Welsh marches, or perhaps the "town
house" of the Foxes of Bromfield in those times when every Shropshire
squire of wealth and standing repaired for a season every year with his
family from his country seat to Shrewsbury or Ludlow; the two resorts of
Society in those days when London, in the toils, dangers, and expenses of
travelling, was so far removed that it was a place to be seen but once or
tw | 1,808.479941 |
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Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
http://www.pgdp.net
The Boy Scouts
On the Trail
OR
Scouting through the Big Game Country
By HERBERT CARTER
Author of "The Boy Scouts' First Camp Fire," "The Boy Scouts
in the Blue Ridge," "The Boy Scouts on the Trail,"
"The Boy Scouts in the Maine Woods,"
"The Boy Scouts In the Rockies"
Copyright, 1913
By A. L. Burt Company
"Did you get him, Thad?" shouted the boys. "Come over here, all of you!"
said Thad. Page 83
--_The Boy Scouts on the Trail._
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. What Took the Scouts up into Maine. 3
II. The Troubles of Bumpus. 11
III. A Strange Discovery. 20
IV. The Ignorance of Step Hen. 31
V. The Tell-tale Tracks. 40
VI. A Sheriff's Posse. 51
VII. The Birch Bark Challenge. 60
VIII. Out for Big Game. 69
IX. "GOOD Shot! Great Little Gun!" 77
X. The Old Trapper's Cabin. 85
XI. On the Wings of the Night Wind. 96
XII. A Face in the Window. 106
XIII. The Marked Shoe Again. 115
XIV. Figuring It Out. 123
XV. The Luck That Came | 1,808.518542 |
2023-11-16 18:47:12.5605620 | 762 | 26 |
Produced by K Nordquist, Chris Logan 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 FLAG
By
HOMER GREENE
Author of
"The Unhallowed Harvest,"
"Pickett's Gap," "The Blind Brother," etc.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
GEORGE W. JACOBS & CO
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1917
George W. Jacobs & Company_
_All rights reserved
Printed in U. S. A._
[Illustration: He Glared Defiantly About Him]
List of Illustrations
He Glared Defiantly About Him _Frontispiece_
Aleck Turned it Upside Down and Rightside Up,
But Failed to Find the Place _Facing p. 54_
Into the Face of Death He Led the Remnant of
His Brave Platoon " 274
The French Hospital's Greeting to the
American Colonel " 316
THE FLAG
CHAPTER I
Snow everywhere; freshly fallen, white and beautiful. It lay unsullied
on the village roofs, and, trampled but not yet soiled, in the village
streets. The spruce trees on the lawn at Bannerhall were weighted with
it, and on the lawn itself it rested, like an ermine blanket, soft and
satisfying. Down the steps of the porch that stretched across the
front of the mansion, a boy ran, whistling, to the street.
He was slender and wiry, agile and sure-footed. He had barely reached
the gate when the front door of the square, stately old brick house
was opened and a woman came out on the porch and called to him.
"Pen!"
"Yes, Aunt Millicent." He turned to listen to her.
"Pen, don't forget that your grandfather's going to New York on the
five-ten train, and that you are to be at the station to see him off."
"I won't forget, auntie."
"And then come straight home."
"Straight as a string, Aunt Milly."
"All right! Good-by!"
"Good-by!"
He passed through the gate, and down the street toward the center of
the village. It was the noon recess and he was on his way back to
school where he must report at one-fifteen sharp. He had an abundance
of time, however, and he stopped in front of the post-office to talk
with another boy about the coasting on Drake's Hill. It was while he
was standing there that some one called to him from the street. Seated
in an old-fashioned cutter drawn by an old gray horse were an old man
and a young woman. The woman's face flushed and brightened, and her
eyes shone with gladness, as Pen leaped from the sidewalk and ran
toward her.
"Why, mother!" he cried. "I didn't expect to see you. Are you in for a
sleigh-ride?"
She bent over and kissed him and patted his cheek before she replied,
"Yes, dearie. Grandpa had to come to town; and it's so beautiful after
the snow that I begged to come along."
Then the old man, round-faced and rosy, with a fringe of gray whiskers
under his chin, and a green and red comforter about his neck, reached
out a mittened hand and shook hands with Pen | 1,808.580602 |
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E-text prepared by Josep Cols Canals, Sam W., and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
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Note: Images of the original pages are available through
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TRAFALGAR
A Tale
by
B. PEREZ GALDOS
Author of "Gloria," etc.
From the Spanish by Clara Bell
Revised and Corrected in the United States
New York
William S. Gottsberger, Publisher
11 Murray Street
1884
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1884
by William S. Gottsberger
in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington
This Translation Was Made Expressly for the Publisher
Press of
William S. Gottsberger
New York
CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. 1
CHAPTER II. 14
CHAPTER III. 22
CHAPTER IV. 29
CHAPTER V. 50
CHAPTER VI. 63
CHAPTER VII. 77
CHAPTER VIII. 88
CHAPTER IX. 111
CHAPTER X. 126
CHAPTER XI. 137
CHAPTER XII. 154
CHAPTER XIII. 174
CHAPTER XIV. 192
CHAPTER XV. 207
CHAPTER XVI. 231
CHAPTER XVII. 244
TRAFALGAR.
CHAPTER I.
I trust that, before relating the important events of which I have
been an eye-witness, I may be allowed to say a few words about my
early life and to explain the singular accidents and circumstances
which resulted in my being present at our great naval catastrophe.
In speaking of my birth I cannot follow the example of most writers
who narrate the facts of their own lives, and who begin by naming
their ancestry--usually of noble rank, _hidalgos_ at the very least,
if not actually descended from some royal or imperial progenitor. I
cannot grace my opening page with high-sounding names, for, excepting
my mother whom I remember for some few years, I know nothing of any of
my forefathers, unless it be Adam from whom my descent would seem to
be indisputable. In short, my history began in much the same way as
that of Pablos, the brigand of Segovia; happily it pleased God that it
should resemble it in no other particular.
I was born at Cadiz in the notorious quarter "de la Viña," which was
not then, any more than at the present day, a good school of either
morals or manners. My memory does not throw any light on the events of
my infancy till I was six years old, and I remember that, only because
I associate the idea of being six with an event I heard much talked
about, the battle of Cape St. Vincent, which took place in 1797.
Endeavoring to see myself as I was at that | 1,808.596198 |
2023-11-16 18:47:12.6597780 | 4,759 | 15 | VOL. 98, FEBRUARY 8, 1890***
E-text prepared by Neville Allen, Malcolm Farmer, and the Project
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustrations.
See 30033-h.htm or 30033-h.zip:
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PUNCH, OR THE LONDON CHARIVARI
VOL. 98.
FEBRUARY 8, 1890.
[Illustration: ]
UNTILED; OR, THE MODERN ASMODEUS.
"Tres volontiers," repartit le demon. "Vous aimez les tableaux
changeans: je veux vous contenter."
_Le Diable Boiteux._
XIX.
"A Late Symposium! Yet they're not engaged
In compotations. Argument hath raged
Four hours by the dial;
But zealotry of party, creed, or clique
Marks not the clock, whilst of polemic pique
There's one unvoided vial."
So smiled the Shade. Dusk coat and gleaming head,
Viewed from above, before my gaze outspread
Like a black sea bespotted
With bare pink peaks of coral isles; all eyes
Were fixed on one who reeled out rhapsodies
In diction double-shotted.
A long and lofty room, with pillars cold,
And spacious walls of chocolate and gold;
The solid sombre glory
Of tint oppressive and of tasteless shine,
Dear to the modern British Philistine,
Saint, sceptic, Whig, or Tory.
"No Samson-strength of intellect or taste
Shall bow the pillars of this temple chaste
Of ugliness and unction.
What is't they argue lengthily and late?
The flame of patriot passion for the State
Fires this polemic function.
"A caitiff Government has done a thing
To make its guardian-angel droop her wing
In sickened indignation:
That is, has striven to strengthen its redoubts,
Perfidious 'Ins,' to foil the eager 'Outs.'
Hence endless execration.
"Hence all Wire-pullerdom is up in arms;
With clarion-toned excursions and alarms
The rival camp is ringing.
Hence perky commoners and pompous peers,
'Midst vehement applause and volleying cheers,
Stale platitudes are stringing.
"The British Public--some five hundred strong--
Is here to'strangle a Gigantic Wrong,'--
So MARABOUT is saying.
Watch his wide waistcoat and his wandering eyes,
His stamping boots of Brobdingnagian size,
Clenched hands, and shoulders swaying.
"A great Machine-man, MARABOUT! He dotes
On programmes hectographed and Party votes.
For all his pasty pallor
And shifty glance, he has the mob's regard,
And he is deemed by council, club, and ward
A mighty man of valour.
"A purchased henchman to a Star of State?
Perhaps. But here he'll pose and perorate,
A Brutus vain and voluble.
And who, like MARABOUT, with vocal flux
Of formulas, can settle every _crux_
That wisdom finds insoluble?
"'Hear! hear!' That shibboleth of shallow souls
Around his ears in clamorous cadence rolls;
He swells, he glows, he twinkles;
The sapient Chairman wags his snowy pate,
Whilst cynic triumph, cautious yet elate,
Lurks laughing in his wrinkles.
"And there sits honest zeal, absorbed, intent,
And cheerfully credulous. MARABOUT has bent
To the Commercial Dagon
He publicly derides; but many here
Will toast 'his genuine grit, his manly cheer,'
Over a friendly flagon.
"Look on him later! There he snugly sits
With his rich patron. Were it war of wits
That wakes their crackling chuckles,
They scarce were heartier. It would strangely shock
MARABOUT'S worshippers to hear him mock
The'mob' to which he truckles.
"Truckles in platform speech. In club-room chat
With WAGSTAFF, shrewd wire-puller, flushed and fat,
Or DODD, the rich dry-salter,
You'd hear how supply he can shift and twist,
How BRUTUS with 'the base Monopolist'
Can calmly plot and palter,"
"Whilst MARABOUTS abound, O Shade," I cried,
"What wonder men are 'Mugwumps?'" Then my guide
Laughed low. "The aesthetic villa
Finds Shopdom's zeal on its fine senses jar;
Yet the Mugwumps Charybdis stands not far
From the Machine-man's Scylla.
"Culture derides the Caucus for its heat,
Its hate--its absence of the Light and Sweet,
So jays might flout the vulture.
Partisan bitterness and purblind haste?
Come, view the haunts of dilettante Taste,
The coteries of Culture!
"Here _Savants_ wrangle o'er a fossil bone,
CHAMPER, with curling lip and caustic tone,
At RUDDIMAN is railing.
CHAMPER knows everything, from PLATO'S text
To Protoplasm; yet his soul is vext,
His cheeks with spite are paling.
"Why? Because RUDDIMAN, the rude, robust,
Has pierced with logic's vigorous vulgar thrust
The shield of icy polish.
CHAMPER, in print, is hot on party-hate,
Here his one aim is in the rough debate
His rival to demolish.
"Sweet Reasonableness? Another host
Of sages see! The habits of the Ghost,
The Astral Body's action,
Absorb them, eager. Does more furious fire
The councils of the Caucusites inspire,
Or light the feuds of faction?
"And there? They argue out with toil intense
A 'cosmic' poet's esoteric sense,
Of which a world, unwitting,
Recks nothing. Yet how terribly they'd trounce
Parliament's pettifogging, and denounce
'Political hair-splitting'!"
"O Shade, the difference is but small, one dreads.
Betwixt logomachists at loggerheads,
Whether their theme be bonnets
Or British interests. Zealot ardour burns
Scarce fiercer o'er Electoral Returns
Than over SHAKSPEARE'S Sonnets.
"At MARABOUT the Mugwump sniffs and sneers;
Gregarious 'votes of thanks' and sheepish 'cheers'
Stir him to satire scornful.
But when sleek Culture apes, irate and loud,
The follies of the Caucus and the Crowd,
The spectacle is mournful."
"True!" smiled the Shade. "Yon supercilious sage,
With patent prejudice and petty rage,
Penning a tart jobation
On practised Statesmen, must as much amuse
As Statesmen-sciolists venting vapid views
On rocks and revelation."
(_To be continued._)
* * * * *
THE SOUTH-EASTERN ALPHABET.
A was the Anger evinced far and wide;
B was the Boat-train delayed by the tide;
C was the Chairman who found nothing wrong;
D was the Driver who sang the same song;
E was the Engine that stuck on the way;
F stood for Folkestone, reached late every day;
G was the Grumble to which this gave rise;
H was the Hubbub Directors despise;
I was the Ink over vain letters used;
J were the Junctions which some one abused;
K was the Kick "Protest" got for its crimes;
L were the Letters it wrote to the _Times_;
M was the Meeting that probed the affair;
N was the Nothing that came of the scare;
O was the Overdue train on its way;
P was the Patience that bore the delay;
Q was the Question which struck everyone;
R the Reply which could satisfy none;
S was the Station where passengers wait;
T was the Time that they're bound to be late;
U was the Up-train an hour overdue;
V was the Vagueness its movements pursue;
W stood for time's general Waste;
X for Ex-press that could never make haste;
Y for the Wherefore and Why of this wrong;
And Z for the Zanies who stand it so long!
* * * * *
STARTLING FOR GOURMETS.--"_Bisques_ disallowed." But it only refers to a
new rule of the Lawn Tennis Association; so "_Bisque d'ecrevisses_" will
still be preserved to us among the _embarras de richesse_--(_i.e._ the
trouble caused subsequently by the richness,--_free trans._)--of a
thoroughgoing French dinner.
* * * * *
THE NEW TUNE.
[Illustration: ]
_Le Brav' General tootles_:--
Heroes bold owe much to bold songs.
What's that? "Cannot sing the old songs"?
Pooh! 'Tis a Britannic ditty.
Truth, though, in it,--more's the pity!
"_En revenant de la Revue._"
People tire of that--too true!
I must give them something new.
Played out, Frenchmen? _Pas de danger!_
Whilst you've still your _Brav'_ BOULANGER!
Do they think BOULANGER "mizzles,"
After all his recent "fizzles"?
(Most expressive slang, the Yankee!)
_Pas si bete_, my friends. No thank ye!
Came a cropper? Very true!
But I remount--my hobby's new,
So's my trumpet. Rooey-too!
France go softly? _Pas de danger!_
Whilst she has her _Brav'_ BOULANGER!
Cannot say her looks quite flatter.
Rather scornful. What's the matter?
Have you lost your recent fancy
For me and my charger prancy?
Turn those eyes this way, now _do_!
Mark my hobby,--not a screw!
Listen to my _chanson_ new!
BISMARCK flout you? _Pas de danger!_
_He's_ afraid of _Brav'_ BOULANGER.
Of your smile be not so chary!
The sixteenth of February
Probably will prove my care is
The especial charge of Paris.
Then you'll know that I am true.
"_En revenant de la Revue_;"
Stick to me, I'll stick to you.
Part with you, sweet? _Pas de danger!_
Not the game of _Brav'_ BOULANGER!
* * * * *
THE CAPTAIN OF THE "PARIS."
Captain SHARP, of the Newhaven steamer, _Paris, you_'re no craven;
Grim and growling was the gale that you from your dead reckoning
bore;
And, but for your brave behaving, she might never have made haven,
But have foundered in mid-Channel, or been wrecked on a lee-shore.
With your paddle-floats unfeathered, wonder was it that you weathered
Such a storm as that of Sunday, which upset our nerves on land,
Though in fire-side comfort tethered. How it blew, and blared,
and blethered!
All your passengers, my Captain, say your pluck and skill were
grand.
Much to men like you is owing, when wild storms around are blowing,
As they seem to have been doing since the opening of the year:
Howling, hailing, sleeting, snowing; but for captains calm and
knowing,
Passage of our angry Channel were indeed a task of fear.
Well, you brought them safely through it, when not every man could do
it,
And your passengers, my Captain, are inspired with gratitude.
Therefore, _Mr. Punch_ thus thanks you, and right readily enranks you,
As a hero on the record of our briny island brood.
Verily the choice of "_Paris_" in this case proved right; and rare is
Fitness between name and nature such as that _you_ illustrate.
Captain SHARP! A proper _nomen_, and it proved a prosperous omen
To your passengers, whom _Punch_ must on their luck congratulate.
* * * * *
ON BOARD THE CHANNEL STEAMER "PARIS" (_Night of Saturday, January 25,
1890_).--"SHARP'S the word!"
* * * * *
[Illustration: NOTHING LIKE A CHANGE!
_Dr. Cockshure._ "MY GOOD SIR, WHAT _YOU_ WANT IS THOROUGH ALTERATION OF
CLIMATE. THE ONLY THING TO CURE _YOU_ IS A LONG SEA VOYAGE!"
_Patient._ "THAT'S RATHER INCONVENIENT. YOU SEE I'M ONLY JUST HOME FROM
A SEA VOYAGE ROUND THE WORLD!"]
* * * * *
OUR BOOKING-OFFICE.
The title of the second chapter of _The Days of the Dandies_, in
_Blackwood_, is calculated to excite curiosity,--it is, "Some Great
Beauties, and some Social Celebrities." After reading the article, I
think it would have been styled more correctly, "A Few Great Beauties."
However, it is discursively amusing and interesting. There is much truth
in the paper on Modern Mannish Maidens. I hold that no number of a
Magazine is perfect without a tale of mystery and wonder, or a
ghost-story of some sort. I hope I have not overlooked one of these in
any Magazine for this month that I have seen. Last month there was a
good one in _Macmillan_, and another in _Belgravia_. I forget their
titles, unfortunately, and have mislaid the Magazines. But
_After-thoughts_, in this month's _Macmillan_, is well worth perusal.
[Illustration: ]
My faithful "Co." has been looking through the works of reference. He
complains that _Dod's Peerage, Baronetage, and Knighthood for 1890_ is
carelessly edited. He notes, as a sample, that Sir HENRY LELAND
HARRISON, who is said to have been born in 1857, is declared to have
entered the Indian Civil Service in 1860, when he was only three years
old--a manifest absurdity. As _Mr. Punch_ himself pointed out this
_betise_ in _Dod's &c., &c., for 1889_, it should have been corrected in
the new edition. "If this sort of thing continues," says the faithful
"Co.," "_Dod_ will be known as _Dodder_, or even _Dodderer_!" Sir
BERNARD BURKE'S _Genealogical and Heraldic Dictionary of the Peerage and
Baronetage_ is, in every sense, a noble volume, and seems to have been
compiled with the greatest care and accuracy. KELLY'S _Post Office
Directory_, of course, is a necessity to every man of letters.
_Whitaker's Almanack for 1890_ seems larger than usual, and better than
ever. WEBSTER'S _Royal Red Book_, and GARDINER'S _Royal Blue Book_, it
goes without saying, are both written by men of address. _The Century
Atlas and Gazetteer_ is a book amongst a hundred. Finally, the _Era
Almanack for 1890_, conducted by EDWARD LEDGER, is, as usual, full of
information concerning things theatrical--some of it gay, some of it
sad. "Replies to Questions by Actors and Actresses" is the liveliest
contribution in the little volume. The Obituary contains the name of
"EDWARD LITT LEMAN BLANCHARD," dramatist, novellist, and journalist, who
died on the 4th of September, 1889. It is hard to realise the _Era
Almanack_ without the excellent contributions of poor "E. L. B.!"
"Co." furnishes some other notes in a livelier strain:--
_Matthew Prior._ (KEGAN PAUL.) If you are asked to go out in this
abominable weather, shelter yourself under the wing of Mr. AUSTIN
DOBSON, and plead a prior engagement. (Ha! Ha!) You will find the
engagement both prior and profitable. Mr. DOBSON'S introductory essay is
not only exhaustive, but in the highest degree interesting, and his
selection from the poems has been made with great taste and rare
discretion.
_In the Garden of Dreams._ The lack of poets of the softer sex has been
recently a subject of remark. Lady-novelists we have in super-abundance,
of lady-dramatists we have more than enough, of lady-journalists we have
legions--but lady-poets we have but few. Possibly, they flourish more on
the other side of the Atlantic. At any rate we have a good example of
the American Muse in the latest volume by Mrs. LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON.
This little book is full of grace, its versification is melodious, and
has the genuine poetic ring about it, which is as rare as it is
acceptable. It can scarcely fail to find favour with English readers.
BARON DE BOOK-WORMS & CO.
* * * * *
EPIDEMIOLOGICAL.
DEAR MR. PUNCH,--The Camel is reported to be greatly instrumental in the
spread of cholera. This is evidently the Bacterian Camel, whose
humps--or is it hump?--have long been such a terror to those who really
don't care a bit how many humps an animal has.
Yours faithfully, HUMPHRY CAMPBELL.
* * * * *
To THOSE WHO GET THEIR LIVING BY DYEING.--"Sweet Auburn!" exclaimed a
ruddy, aureate-haired lady of uncertain age,--anything, in fact, after
fifty,--"'Sweet Auburn!'" she repeated, musingly, "What does 'Sweet
Auburn' come from?" "Well," replied her husband, regarding her
_coiffure_ with an air of uncertainty, "I'm not quite sure, but I think
'Sweet Auburn' should be GRAY."
* * * * *
MR. PUNCH'S MORAL MUSIC-HALL DRAMAS.
No. V.--BRUNETTE AND BLANCHIDINE.
_A Melodramatic Didactic Vaudeville, suggested by "The Wooden Doll and
the Wax Doll." By the Misses Jane and Ann Taylor._
[Illustration:]
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
_Blanchidine_,} By the celebrated SISTERS STILTON, the Champion
_Brunette_. } Duettists and Clog-dancers.
_Fanny Furbelow._ By MISS SYLVIA SEALSKIN (_by kind permission of
the Gaiety Management_).
_Frank Manly._ By MR. HENRY NEVILLE.
SCENE--_A Sunny Glade in Kensington Gardens, between the Serpentine
and Round Pond_.
_Enter_ BLANCHIDINE _and_ BRUNETTE, _with their arms thrown
affectionately around one another_. BLANCHIDINE _is carrying a large
and expressionless wooden doll_.
_Duet and Step-dance._
_Bl._ Oh, I do adore BRUNETTE! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity,
tappity-tippity, tippity-tappity, tip-tap!
_Br_. BLANCHIDINE'S the sweetest pet! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.
_Together._ When the sun is high,
We come out to ply,
Nobody is nigh,
All is mirth and j'y!
With a pairosol,
We'll protect our doll,
Make a mossy bed
For her wooden head!
[_Combination step-dance, during which both watch their feet with an
air of detached and slightly amused interest, as if they belonged to
some other persons._
Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, clickity, clickity, clickity-clack;
clackity-clickity, clickity-clackity, clackity-clickity-_clack_!
[_Repeat ad. lib._
_Bl._ (_apologetically to Audience_). Her taste in dress is rather
plain! (_Dances._) Tippity-tappity, &c.
_Br._ (_in pitying aside_). It _is_ a | 1,808.679818 |
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Produced by Roger Burch with scans from the Internet Archive.
{Transcriber's Note: Comments surrounded by braces "{}" are by the
transcriber. Those surrounded by brackets "[]" or parentheses "()" are
by the original, anonymous editor except that the transcriber has
changed footnote symbols to the notation "[FN]" and moved all footnotes
so they immediately follow the paragraphs referencing them.}
{Frontispiece: Peter E. Gumaer}
A HISTORY
OF
DEERPARK
IN
ORANGE COUNTY, N. Y.
By PETER E. GUMAER
[Illustration: Seal of Minisink Valley Historical Society]
WITH PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR AND CUT OF HOUSE IN WHICH HE LIVED.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY THE
MINISINK VALLEY HISTORICAL SOCIETY
1890
* * * * *
PORT JERVIS UNION PRINT {?}
PREFACE.
Having been solicited by certain individuals of the first settlers in
the neighborhood of my residence, in the town of Deerpark, for a
written information in relation to their respective ancestry, both of
those who now reside in this town and of those residing in other
parts of our country, and feeling desirous to gratify their wishes
and save from oblivion the knowledge I possess relative to their
forefathers, I have thought proper to make out a small work of the
same and get it printed, so that all who shall be desirous of such
information can obtain the same, which undoubtedly must be a great
satisfaction to many who have not had the opportunity of becoming
informed in relation thereto, especially the descendants of those
whose parents at an early day of the settlement of our western
country emigrated into it. The general topics of conversation have
changed much in this vicinity within my time of life. At the
termination of the Revolutionary war this change commenced. The
attention of the young people was generally directed towards the
passing scenes of their time, and they remained ignorant of what had
transpired during the lives of their forefathers. In the early part
of my life some of the old people, whenever they came together,
generally introduced the occurrences of former times, in relation to
the ancient inhabitants of this valley, who inhabited it for a
distance of eighty miles. From these discourses and my own
observations and researches, I have become enabled to write this
history. Capt. Cuddeback, Esq., Depuy and my own mother were the
greatest historians. Of what had materially transpired throughout
this valley from the first and last of these I have had my greatest
source of information.
INTRODUCTION.
The most interesting subjects in relation to the town of Deerpark are
contained in Eager's "History of Orange County." These are not
embraced in this work, excepting a few articles for making a
connection of certain matters therein contained, with additional
materials herein introduced.
All mankind generally are desirous to possess a knowledge of their
ancestry their characters, occupations, manner and circumstances of
life, the lineal descent of the most anterior of them, the different
scenes through which the successive generations have passed, &c. All
of which is embraced in this small work, as far as my information and
knowledge in relation thereto extends; and, being an old man, and
having in early life had great opportunities to become informed in
respect to the early settlement of this town and of the people, who,
from time to time settled in it, and their descendants from
generation to generation, down to the parentage of the fourth of
those who first settled in Peenpack, and of the third who settled in
the lower neighborhood. I, myself, have also been a spectator of the
transpiring occurrences from the commencement of the Revolutionary
war until the present time.
Very different have been the scenes of life through which the
successive generations have passed, and, considering myself to
possess the greatest fund of knowledge relating to the same, I have
viewed it as incumbent on me to write this history and save from
oblivion the matter therein contained, in such manner as the
incompetency of my abilities will admit, which, even if not in the
best manner, still comprehend the substance I deemed necessary to be
embodied in it, with much diffidence, however, in respect to some
parts of the same, in which I have been too lavish in introducing
unnecessary matter. But as this work is only intended for the present
and future descendants of the first pioneers in the district of the
present town of Deerpark, I have thought proper to enter some minute
matters to inform the readers how their forefathers have progressed
through life. They came here poor and ventured their lives among the
Indians to enjoy the lands they took in possession and afterwards
bought.
The materials furnished in this work are the following: My views
relative to an alteration supposed to have, in very remote times,
occurred in this valley and created the formation of it, so as our
forefathers found it; also the time they settled here and the
inhabitants who then occupied it; their manner of life and means of
supporting themselves, and other different matters and conjectures in
relation to them; also the wild animals, fowls and fishes which were
in this part of the country; the names of the first seven settlers,
and the time they procured a patent for the land they intended to
occupy; also the names of those who first settled in the lower
neighborhood, and, as near as can be ascertained, the time they
settled there and the places where all of both neighborhoods
severally located; also the names of their respective descendants to
the third generation of the Peenpack neighborhood, their marriages
and manner of living, and the ages to which they respectively
arrived, as near as I could ascertain the same. Also certain matters
in relation to a late emigration into this town of inhabitants who
have built up the village of Port Jervis, which commenced about the
year 1827; the great diminution of birds, snakes, frogs and toads,
within the last thirty years; also the commencement and continuance
from time to | 1,808.879611 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
*THE POST-GIRL*
BY
*EDWARD C. BOOTH*
New | 1,808.890262 |
2023-11-16 18:47:12.9633950 | 2,140 | 18 |
Produced by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, and Distributed Proofreaders
WHAT SAMI SINGS WITH THE BIRDS
BY
JOHANNA SPYRI
TRANSLATED BY HELEN B. DOLE
1917
[Illustration: "Up in the ash-trees the birds piped and sang merrily
together."]
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
FIRST OLD MARY ANN
SECOND AT THE GRANDMOTHER'S
THIRD ANOTHER LIFE
FOURTH HARD TIMES
FIFTH THE BIRDS ARE STILL SINGING
SIXTH SAMI SINGS TOO
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
UP IN THE ASH-TREES THE BIRDS PIPED AND SANG MERRILY TOGETHER.
WHERE HAVE YOU COME FROM WITH ALL YOUR HOUSEHOLD GOODS?
SUCH STRAY WAIFS AS YOU ARE NOT WILLING TO DO ANYTHING.
WHAT SAMI SINGS WITH THE BIRDS
CHAPTER FIRST
OLD MARY ANN
For three days the Spring sun had been shining out of a clear sky and
casting a gleaming, golden coverlet over the blue waters of Lake Geneva.
Storm and rain had ceased. The breeze murmured softly and pleasantly up
in the ash-trees, and all around in the green fields the yellow
buttercups and snow-white daisies glistened in the bright sunshine. Under
the ash-trees, the clear brook was running with the cool mountain water
and feeding the gaily nodding primroses and pink anemones on the
hillside, as they grew and bloomed down close to the water.
On the low wall by the brook, in the shadow of the ash-trees, an old
woman was sitting. She was called "Old Mary Ann" throughout the whole
neighborhood. Her big basket, the weight of which had become a little
heavy, she had put down beside her. She was on her way back from La Tour,
the little old town, with the vine-covered church tower and the ruined
castle, the high turrets of which rose far across the blue lake. Old Mary
Ann had taken her work there. This consisted in all kinds of mending
which did not need to be done particularly well, for the woman was no
longer able to do fine work, and never could do it.
Old Mary Ann had had a very changeable life. The place where she now
found herself was not her home. The language of the country was not her
own. From the shady seat on the low wall, she now looked contentedly at
the sunny fields, then across the murmuring brook to the hillside where
the big yellow primroses nodded, while the birds piped and sang in the
green ash-trees above her, as if they had the greatest festival to
celebrate.
"Every Spring, people think it never was so beautiful before, when they
have already seen so many," she now said half aloud to herself, and as
she gazed at the fields so rich in flowers, many of the past years rose
up and passed before her, with all that she had experienced in them.
As a child she had lived far beyond the mountains. She knew so well how
it must look over there now at her father's house, which stood in a field
among white-blooming pear-trees. Over yonder the large village with its
many houses could be seen. It was called Zweisimmen. Everybody called
their house the sergeant's house, although her father quite peacefully
tilled his fields. But that came from her grandfather. When quite a young
fellow, he had gone over the mountains to Lake Geneva and then still
farther to Savoy. Under a Duke of Savoy he had taken part in all sorts of
military expeditions and had not returned home until he was an old man.
He always wore an old uniform and allowed himself to be called sergeant.
Then he married and Mary Ann's father was his only child. The old man
lived to be a hundred years old, and every child in all the region round
knew the old sergeant.
Mary Ann had three brothers, but as soon as one of them grew up he
disappeared, she knew not where. Only this much she understood, that
her mother mourned over them, but her father said quite resignedly
every time: "We can't help it, they will go over the mountains; they
take it from their grandfather." She had never heard anything more
about her brothers.
When Mary Ann grew up and married, her young husband also came into the
house among the pear-trees, for her father was old and could no longer do
his work alone. But after a few years Mary Ann buried her young husband;
a burning fever had taken him off. Then came hard times for the widow.
She had her child, little Sami, to care for, besides her old, infirm
parents to look after, and moreover there was all the work to be done in
the house and in the fields which until now her husband had attended to.
She did what she could, but it was of no use, the land had to be given up
to a cousin. The house was mortgaged, and Mary Ann hardly knew how to
keep her old parents from want. Gradually young Sami grew up and was able
to help the cousin in the fields. Then the old parents died about the
same time, and Mary Ann hoped now by hard work and her son's help little
by little to pay up her debts and once more take possession of her fields
and house. But as soon as her father and mother were buried, her son
Sami, who was now eighteen years old, came to her and said he could no
longer bear to stay at home, he must go over the mountains and so begin a
new life. This was a great shock to the mother, but when she saw that
persuasion, remonstrance and entreaty were all in vain her father's words
came to her mind and she said resignedly, "It can't be helped; he takes
it from his great-grandfather."
But she would not let the young man go away alone, and he was glad to
have his mother go with him. So she wandered with him over the mountains.
In the little village of Chailly, which lies high up on the mountain
<DW72> and looks down on the meadows rich in flowers and the blue Lake
Geneva, they found work with the jolly wine-grower Malon. This man, with
curly hair already turning grey and a kindly round face, lived alone with
his son in the only house left standing, near a crooked maple-tree.
Mary Ann received a room for herself and was to keep house for Herr
Malon, and keep everything in order for him and his son. Sami was to work
for good pay in Malon's beautiful vineyard. The widow Mary Ann passed
several years here in a more peaceful way than she had ever known before.
When the fourth Summer came to an end, Sami said to her one day:
"Mother, I must really marry young Marietta of St. Legier, for I am so
lonely away from her."
His mother knew Marietta well and besides she liked the pretty, clever
girl, for she was not only always happy but there were few girls so good
and industrious. So she rejoiced with her son, although he would have to
go away from her to live with Marietta and her aged father in St. Legier,
for she was indispensable to him. Herr Malon's son also brought a young
wife home, and so Mary Ann had no more duties there, and had to look out
for herself. She kept her room for a small rent, and was able to earn
enough to support herself. She now knew many people in the neighborhood,
and obtained enough work.
Mary Ann pondered over all these things, and when her thoughts returned
from the distant past to the present moment, and she still heard the
birds above her singing and rejoicing untiringly, she said to herself:
"They always sing the same song and we should be able to sing with them.
Only trust in the dear Lord! He always helps us, although we may often
think there is no possible way."
Then Mary Ann left the low wall, took her basket up again on her arm and
went through the fragrant meadows of Burier up towards Chailly. From time
to time she cast an anxious look in the direction of St. Legier. She knew
that young Marietta was lying sick up there and that her son Sami would
now have hard work and care, for a much smaller Sami had just come into
the world. Tomorrow Mary Ann would go over and see how things were going
with her son and if she ought to stay with him and help.
Mary Ann had scarcely stepped into her little room and put on her house
dress, to prepare her supper, when she heard some one coming along with
hurried footsteps. The door was quickly thrown open and in stepped her
son Sami with a very distressed face. Under his arm he carried a bundle
wrapped up in one of Marietta's aprons. This he laid on the table, threw
himself down and sobbed aloud, with his head in his arms:
"It is all over, mother, all over; Marietta is dead!"
"Oh, for Heaven's sake, what are you saying?" cried his mother in the
greatest horror. "Oh, Sami, is it possible?"
Then she lifted Sami gently and continued in a trembling voice:
"Come, sit down beside me and tell me all about it. Is she really dead?
Oh, when did it happen? How did it come so quickly?"
Sami willingly dropped down on a chair beside his mother. But then he
buried his face in his hands and went on sobbing again.
"Oh, I can't bear it, I must go away, mother, I can't bear it | 1,808.983435 |
2023-11-16 18:47:13.1624900 | 4,443 | 87 | AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION, VOL. 10, ISSUE 278, SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER
(1828)***
E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Keith M. Eckrich, David Garcia, and
the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team
Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
file which includes the original illustration.
See 11375-h.htm or 11375-h.zip:
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THE MIRROR OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION.
VOL. 10, No. 273.] SUPPLEMENTARY NUMBER. [PRICE 2d.
* * * * *
[Illustration: New Palace, St. James's Park.]
[Illustration: Triumphal Arch at Hyde Park.]
THE NEW PALACE IN ST. JAMES'S PARK.
Palaces are at all times objects of national interest, or rather they
are national concerns. They belong to the attributes of royalty, and
in some instances have been erected by a grateful people to celebrate
the virtues of patriot princes. We therefore make no apology to our
readers for occupying so large a portion of the present Supplementary
Number with the representations and details of the New Palace, (the
exterior of which is just now completed,) and of the consequent
improvements in the adjoining Parks; since we are persuaded that the
patriotic feelings of our subscribers will hail them as subjects of
paramount importance. The great Lord Bacon, who treated these matters
with the gravity of a philosopher, in his "Essays," gives a "brief
model of a princely palace;" and in our times Napoleon is known to
have expended many thousands in restoring the gilding of the palace at
Versailles--although the extravagance of its founders paved the way
for the events in which he distinguished himself.
In architectural improvement, London has made greater advances since
the late peace, than in the entire century which preceded that
auspicious event. Being unquestionably the richest, the largest, and
most populous city of Europe, the seat of a wealthier court, and a
more opulent body of nobility and gentry than any other metropolis, it
seems only a reasonable expectation that it should likewise excel all
others in the number and magnificence of its public edifices and
private dwellings. Such, however, is not the case; for, till within
the last few years, that most splendid and impressive of all the arts,
architecture, has been almost wholly neglected.
The architectural superiority of London, such as it is, consists in
the number, size, and neatness of its principal streets and squares.
Petersburgh, Berlin, Naples, Turin, Geneva, Antwerp, Edinburgh, and
other places, have perhaps finer streets than any in London, but in
respect to their number there is no comparison. In _churches_, London
will probably be admitted, after Rome, to take the first rank among
the cities of Europe; but in _palaces_, London is confessedly excelled
by almost every other capital in Europe, both in public and private
edifices of this description; of the former, Whitehall, Carlton-house,
(now almost demolished,) and the Mansion-house, comprise the whole
list of buildings any way entitled to the appellation of palaces--and
even _their_ title has often been thought disputable.
To rescue our national character from this opprobrium, or ill-timed
compliment to royalty, the remodelling of Buckingham-house, or rather
the erection of the _New Palace in St. James's Park_, was decided on;
and how far this design has been accomplished in the palace, we leave
it to the taste of our readers to determine. Various piecemeal, not
to say absurd, descriptions have, during the progress of the work,
appeared in the London and provincial papers, many of them originating
in party feeling; but the structure has now so far advanced to
completion as to enable every spectator to estimate its merits and
demerits; and we are sorry to add, that much of the censure bestowed
on the palace during its progress (though with bad motives) now proves
essentially correct. The name of the designer at present remains a
secret. His majesty is known to possess exquisite taste, and it is
scarcely believed that his approbation can have justified some of the
incongruities, not to say enormities of the building; be this as it
may, the general public feeling is that of disappointment and regret.
The annexed view is of the central entrance front, facing east,
towards the Canal and the Horse Guards, taken from the Wall in St.
James's Park. The first objection is the site, in itself insuperable,
as will appear from the following remarks on the subject by Mr.
Loudon, editor of the _Gardener's Magazine_:--
"Had the problem," he says, "been proposed (how) to alter Buckingham
House and gardens, so as to render the former as unhealthy a dwelling
as possible, it could not have been better solved than by the works
now executed. The belt of trees which forms the margin of these
grounds, has long acted as the sides of a basin, or small valley, to
retain the vapours which were collected within; and which, when the
basin was full, could only flow out by the lower extremity, over the
roofs of the stables and other buildings at the palace. What vapour
did not escape in this manner, found its way through between the
sterns of the trees which adjoin these buildings, and through the
palace windows. Now, all the leading improvements on the grounds have
a direct tendency to increase this evil. They consist in thickening
the marginal belts on both sides of the hollow with evergreens, to
shut out London: in one place substituting for the belt an immense
bank of earth, to shut out the stables; and in the area of the grounds
forming numerous flower-gardens, and other scenes with dug surfaces,
a basin, fountains, and a lake of several acres. The effect of all
this will be a more copious and rapid exhalation of moisture from
the water, dug earth, and increased surface of foliage; and a more
complete dam to prevent the escape of this moist atmosphere, otherwise
than through the windows, or over the top of the palace. The garden
may be considered as a pond brimful of fog, the ornamental water as
the perpetual supply of this fog, the palace as a cascade which it
flows over, and the windows as the sluices which it passes through. We
defy any medical man, or meteorologist, to prove the contrary of what
we assert, viz. that Buckingham Palace is a dam to a pond of watery
vapour, and that the pond will always be filled with vapour to the
level of the top of the dam. The only question is, how far this vapour
is entitled to be called _malaria_. We have the misfortune to be able
to answer that question experimentally.... A man must be something
less or more than a king, to keep his health in that palace for any
length of time."
On the subject of _malaria_, an Italian term for the produce of marshy
lands, the attention of the public has lately been powerfully excited
by a series of essays by Dr. Macculloch, an abstract of which will be
found at page 252, of our accompanying Number, under the head "Arcana
of Science." Dr. M. is supported in his opinion by Lord Bacon and
other philosophers; and he shows, that though it is commonly supposed
that standing waters, when clear and free from smell, and all running
waters, are perfectly salubrious, they may, in fact, be nearly as
injurious as those that are putrid and stagnant; "that, besides proper
marshes, fresh and salt meadows, and wet pasture lands generally, all
woods, coppices, thickets, rivers, lakes, ponds, _ornamental waters_,
pools, ditches--_plashy_ and _limited spots of ground generally_, &c.,
send forth more or less of this noxious vapour; that wherever, in
short, any chemical compound of the vegetable elements is wetted, or
held in solution by water, there the poison in question may be or will
be produced, _provided the temperature be sufficiently high_; that the
smallest spot coming under any of the above denominations is
sufficient to produce _malaria_, and _a single inspiration of that
malaria to produce disease_."
Such is the theory of Dr. Macculloch; but, as observed by a
contemporary, Why should he have observed any delicacy on this
subject?--why not have, long since, denounced the whole of the ponds
in St. James's, the Green, and Hyde Parks, Kensington Gardens, and the
Regent's Park, as pestilential nuisances to all around them? Besides,
he states that _malaria_ is only generated in _hot weather_; so that
the palace, being intended as a _winter_ residence, the health of our
gracious sovereign will, we hope, not be endangered by his residence.
That there is much show of reason in this objection, cannot be
denied; at the same time it should be remembered, that in all great
undertakings the conflicting prejudices and caprices of private
interests generally work too prominent a part: hence, opinions should
be entertained with caution.
It is now time to speak of the _architectural_ character of the
palace. The main front represented in our engraving, forms three sides
of a quadrangle, thus II, the area being not far from equal, and
forming a clear space of about 250 feet in diameter. The central
entrance is a portico of two orders of architecture in height; the
lower is the Doric, copied from the temple of Theseus at Athens; the
upper is the Corinthian, resembling that style in the Pantheon at
Rome. This portico is so contrived, that upon the ground carriages can
drive through it; while above, there is an open and spacious gallery,
covered by a pediment on which statues are to be placed, and under
which is a long panel filled with figures in high relief. It is
understood that this entrance is to be exclusively appropriated for
the admission of his Majesty and the royal family. The above union of
two of the Greek orders is much censured: indeed a harmonious union of
any two of the Greek orders has never been an easy task. In the Doric
architecture of the ground story, the usual magnificence of this order
is wanting; the columns being merely surmounted by what is termed
"an architrave cornice," with the mutiles; while the frieze, with
its rich triglyphs and metopes is altogether omitted. The Corinthian
order of the upper story is altogether more worthy of admiration,
notwithstanding that some objection has been raised to the
"disproportionately slender columns, when contrasted with the massive
shafts beneath them." Here, too, the entire frieze, with its
emblematical embellishments of the British crown, surrounded with
laurel, and alternate leaves of the rose, the thistle and shamrock, is
sure to attract the eye of the spectator: the character and effect of
the whole is truly British.
The Doric order, as adopted in the lower parts of the portico, is
carried round the three sides of the court, consisting of fluted
cast-iron columns, which are beautiful specimens of our excellence
in the art of founding. At each side of the portico, terminating the
centre front, is a pavilion, where the orders are again applied;
surmounting which is an attic, towering above the other parts of the
building, and decorated with pilasters and caryatides. Over the
pediment, or centre, will be seen a dome, which is however at the back
of the palace, over the state-chambers. This completes the _front
view_ as appears from the park.
The north and south sides of the quadrangle are only two stories high.
In the centre of each there is also an entrance. At each extremity,
the building is raised, and roofed in a temple-like form, presenting
the ends towards the park with enriched pediments.
In the front of our engraving is represented a spacious circular
enclosure which will be made, by an ornamental railing of mosaic gold,
and divided into compartments by terms. The same metallic composition
(which is patronized by Mr. Nash) is to be employed in every other
part heretofore constructed in iron. In the middle of this area the
Waterloo monument will be erected: it is to consist of a triumphal
arch, somewhat resembling that of Constantine, at Rome, with national
emblems, trophies, &c., and colossal statues in the above metal,
imitating bronze.
The _south_ front, towards Pimlico, will form the general entrance to
the palace, a concave circular Ionic colonnade and lodges. Here the
old octagon library of Buckingham-House is to remain, when raised and
embellished after the manner of the Temple of the Winds: the remainder
of this range is chiefly allotted to the domestic offices.
The _west_, or garden front, (of course, the back of the centre
building of the quadrangle) is strikingly picturesque; its impression
on the beholder is altogether beautiful and pleasing, and it is much
to be regretted that the front or park view, (which will of course be
exposed to public view, while the garden front will be comparatively
private,) does not partake more largely of this character. The _prima
facies_ of the former is not likely to be admired, since its few
excellencies require to be selected by nice observation. Some of its
details may delight the artist, but the effect of the garden front
will, on the most hasty observer, be that of order and simplicity, the
essentials of architectural perfection.
The centre of the garden front is circular, embellished with columns
of the Corinthian order, supporting the dome already alluded to. The
upper story of the whole front is Corinthian, supported on a rustic
Ionic basement, and, says a contemporary, "though the latter, like the
Doric basement in front, has only an architrave cornice, yet in
consequence of the parts omitted being of little importance, and the
character of the Ionic more nearly allied, in point of delicacy, to
the Corinthian, the construction is altogether tolerably harmonious."
The outline is boldly broken into massive forms, which are, as Mr.
Loudon observes, "simple and easy to be comprehended, and yet
sufficiently enriched to mark the building as an abode destined for
splendid enjoyment." In this front, also, level with the middle or
principal tier of windows (those of the suite of state rooms) runs a
stone balcony or balustrade, supported by corbels of a mixed
character,--Gothic and Italian masques of chimera blended with wings
and scrolls of foliage of singular beauty. On this side, too, is an
extensive terrace, descending into the ground, with a rusticated
front; and a balustrade with pedestals supporting vases of antique and
classical models; and at each end an open Ionic temple, intended to be
used as a summer conservatory.
The _north_ front facing Piccadilly is of the same style and character
with the garden front, but of lighter proportions. Here are the king's
private apartments, from choice, comparatively small and compact, and
the cabinet picture-gallery. Here, also, the terrace is continued, and
a similar Ionic temple conservatory placed at the other extremity.
Thus, his majesty's windows look out between these conservatories,
upon the flower-garden spread below.
We are bound to acknowledge our partial, if not entire concurrence,
in the general criticism on the central front, and of the two wings.
The first impression is far from that produced by unity, grandeur, or
elegance; there is a fantastical assemblage of turrets, attics, and
chimneys, and a poverty or disproportion, especially in "the temple-like
forms" which complete the ends towards the park. The dome, too, has been
sarcastically compared with a "Brobdignagian egg." It strictly belongs
to the back part of the palace, and had it been screened from the front,
its form might have been less objectionable.
Of the internal arrangements of the palace, little is as yet perfectly
known. On the principal floor of the centre, between the east and west
suites of rooms, runs a splendid picture and statue gallery (the whole
length of the building); the light into which is to be admitted from
the sides, in a slanting direction, by metal skylights. The ceiling
has iron girders thrown across, and is arched with combs, each having
the ends closed, with the exception of a small hole (like an inverted
flower-pot), which admits a current of air to circulate through the
floor. The roof of this gallery is flat, and covered with slate
embedded in a composition of hot coal-tar, lime, and sand: the roofing
of the other parts of the palace is mostly covered with a similar
composition, but _not_ slated. The approach to the gallery is up the
grand stairs, and through several rooms, in which will be disposed the
king's magnificent collection of armour. The floors throughout are
fireproof, formed of iron joists, and arched with hollow bricks of
a singular construction.
The group for the pediment of the _east facade_ of the palace,
representing the triumph of Britannia, by Mr. Bailey, is nearly
finished.
The original gardens of Buckingham House, an extensive space, will
of course continue to be the grounds of the new royal residence; but
considerable alterations have been made to render them eligible for that
purpose. In order to conceal from the windows the great pile of stables
lately erected in Pimlico, near the lower end of Grosvenor-place, a
large artificial mound has been raised, and planted with curious trees
and shrubs.[1] The whole area now assumes all the appearances of natural
hill and dale, is finely wooded, diversified with flowering and
evergreen shrubs, with fine lawns broken into parterres, and possessing
a noble serpentine piece of water, so disposed as to give the idea of
great extent.[2] This water winds round clumps of forest trees, which
have been preserved for that purpose, and all that could be retained of
the previously existing scene. It is supplied from a large circular
reservoir, (near the top of the hill at Hyde Park Corner,) which is fed
by a main from the Serpentine river. This reservoir, almost like a Roman
work for magnitude, may be made a beautiful feature in the gardens--in
copious and refreshing fountains, but not in pools and ornamental
basins, such as are included in the anathema of Dr. Macculloch.
Although the scheme of the garden may, like many other projects, look
better _on paper_, than in practice, it affords ample space for the
display of much skill in artificial gardening. St. Cloud and Versailles
have their fountains, and why not St. James's? "Fountains, (that
sprinkle or spout water, or convey water, _as it never stays_ in
the bowls or the cistern,)" says Lord Bacon, are a great beauty and
refreshment; "but pools mar all, and make the garden unwholesome,
and full of flies and frogs."
[1] This mound is said to resemble, in miniature, the scenery of
Cumberland and Westmoreland. Perhaps this is too courtly; but
it is surprising what the union of nature and art may effect in
this way. Barrett, Cipriani, and Gilpin contrived to paint a room
for Mr | 1,809.18253 |
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Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
THE
SAN ROSARIO RANCH
BY
MAUD HOWE
BOSTON
ROBERTS BROTHERS
1884
_Copyright, 1884_,
BY ROBERTS BROTHERS.
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.
TO
My Beloved Sister,
LAURA E. RICHARDS.
SAN ROSARIO RANCH.
CHAPTER I.
"Welcome her, all things youthful and sweet,
Scatter the blossoms under her feet!"
The house was a large square building, simple and hospitable in
appearance. A wide veranda ran about the four sides, heavily draped by
climbing roses and clematis. There were indisputable evidences that
visitors were expected. Old Tip, the dog, knew it as well as everybody
else about the house. He had been routed out from his favorite spot on
the sunny side of the piazza, by Ah Lam, who had given him a shower-bath
of water and soap-suds, because he did not move away to make room for
the scrubbing-brush which the white-clad Celestial plied vigorously.
From earliest morning the inhabitants of the simple house had been
busied in making it ready. The very kittens which played about the
steps of the piazza had licked an extra gloss upon their shining coats
in honor of the expected guest. Only Tip, the old hunting-dog, the
spoiled child of the household, showed no interest in what was going on,
and with a cynical growl trotted off to the woods behind the house,
where he might sleep safe from all fear of interruption.
From the wide doorway, which stood hospitably open, stepped a lady. At
the first sight of Barbara Deering, strangers were always strongly
impressed with the indisputable fact that she was above and before all
else a lady. A second look,--and people were sure to take one,--and it
appeared that she was a young lady and a beautiful one. She was tall,
above the height of ordinary women, and her carriage was remarkably
erect and commanding. She walked with a quick, light step to the edge
of the piazza, and raising one hand to shade her eyes from the rays of
the setting sun, stood looking out across the wide garden. Her figure
was like that of a Greek Diana, muscular and graceful, indicating great
strength and endurance. The limbs were rounded but not languidly, as
one saw by the arm, from which the sleeve had slipped back: it was
white, firm, and hard. Her hands were large and shapely, the tips of
the fingers red, and the texture of the skin showed that they were used
to other work than that of the broidery-frame. Her head, with its crown
of pretty, curling flaxen hair, was habitually held rather high, and her
face wore an expression in which a certain natural hauteur and
imperiousness seemed at war with a gentleness which was more the result
of education than a natural trait. The forehead was wide and unlined,
the eyes brown and clear, the nose straight, and the mouth small and
rosy. The soft, white woollen gown, with its breast-knot of red roses,
suited the young woman perfectly; and as she stood in the sunset light,
a spray of climbing rose hanging overhead from the roof of the piazza,
she made an unconscious picture of grace and loveliness.
At the sound of a wagon on the driveway a warm flush mantled her cheek
and throat, and stepping to the door of the house she called out in a
sweet, high voice, "Mamma, mamma! they are coming!"
A moment later and a large open vehicle came into sight, drawn by two
swift mules, which were urged forward by the driver, a young man in
whose face the traits of the girl on the piazza were reproduced, but
somewhat roughly. On the seat behind the driver was seen a female
figure closely enveloped in heavy travelling wraps, her features
concealed by a thick veil. As the mules stopped before the entrance, the
young woman on the piazza came forward with both hands outstretched,
saying cordially but half shyly,--
"Dear Millicent, welcome to San Rosario! Are you very, very tired? Let
me help you out."
So saying, Barbara Deering almost lifted the new arrival from the wagon,
and with her strong arm supported her to a chair.
"Thank you so much!" said the new-comer, speaking with a slightly
foreign accent, and lifting her veil; "and you are Barbara? I know you
from your picture, only you are much prettier."
"Poor child, you must be terribly tired; you shall come and speak to
mamma, and then you must go directly to your room and lie down. Hal, you
will go down for Millicent's luggage?"
The young man nodded an assent, touched up his steeds, and the wagon
disappeared down the red dusty road. The two young girls entered the
house, Barbara leading the stranger to a large room on the upper story.
In a low chair sat a small woman, with a face which must have once been
beautiful, and which now shone with an expression of simple sincerity
and kindliness. She held out her hand to Millicent, kissed her on both
cheeks, and warmly bade her welcome to San Rosario. Millicent Almsford
acknowledged the greeting with a courteous grace, and immediately after
accepted Barbara's offer to show her to her room.
When the door was shut upon her, and she was for the first time in many
days alone, she seated herself at the window, and leaning her head upon
her hand, remained wrapped in thought. She had travelled from the coast
of the Adriatic Sea to the shores of the Pacific Ocean, with no
companion save her maid and her own painful thoughts. And now the long
journeying was at an end, and she found herself in the far West, in
California, amidst her kindred, all strangers to her save by tradition
and some slight correspondence. She looked about the strange room. It | 1,809.279747 |
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[Illustration: _Isaac Mason._]
L I F E O F
ISAAC MASON
A S A S L A V E.
WORCESTER, MASS.
1893.
Table of Contents
1. Earliest Recollections.
2. In a New Home.
3. Escape from Slavery.
4. In the Land of Freedom.
5. A Flying Visit to Hayti.
WORCESTER, MASS., JULY 19, 1893.
I have known Isaac Mason very well since 1850. He has done a
great deal of work for me and my household. I know him to be an
honest, faithful and intelligent man. I have not had time to
examine his book in manuscript, but I am sure his statements may
be trusted, and that his experience will prove very interesting.
I hope his book will have a good sale, and commend it to the
public.
GEO. F. HOAR.
PREFACE.
* * * * *
Having repeatedly been asked by my many friends to write the history of
my life as a slave, especially by some who have heard me lecture on
certain portions of that ever memorable period of my life, I have, after
some hesitation as to its advisability, reluctantly concluded to accede
to their wishes, and now present to them a truthful sketch of my
eventful life in the dark days of slavery. As these checkered scenes of
my early life reflectively present themselves to my mind at my advanced
state of life, I wonder how I withstood all the abuse and cruelty of
these early years. Our lives are largely composed of sorrow and joy, but
my cup, it seems to me, has been full to overflowing with sorrow, but
God has been my strength and my salvation, and has brought me thus far
in the journey of life, and in him I trust, praying that, in his good
time he will take me to that heavenly home where our earthly trials will
cease and where there will be no more sorrow.
My story is told in a plain matter-of-fact way, and I hope my readers
will overlook and excuse the defects which must necessarily abound
throughout the book, owing to lack of educational advantages.
ISAAC MASON.
_CHAPTER I._
EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS.
In Kent County, in the northern part of the State of Maryland, there was
at the time of my earliest recollections (and I suppose it yet remains),
a small town known as George Town Cross Oats, having a population of
about 500 or 600. It was in this town, on the 14th day of May, 1822, A.
D., that I inhaled my first supply of air, that my eyes, for the first
time, were brought in contact with the beautiful light surrounding the
terrestrial world, the earthly home of mankind, and the first sound of
my infant voice was raised in shrill cries for a mother’s tender care
and parental affection. This was the place of my nativity and the date
of my birth. It was also the time that my mistress became the owner of
one more slave and so much richer by my birth. My mother was,
unfortunately, numbered in the family of slavedom, belonging to one Mrs.
Hannah Woodland, and according to the institution of slave law, I
legally, or illegally, became her property. Though my father was a free
man still he had no claim to me. My mother’s name was Sophia Thompson,
and she served in the capacity of house servant. She was the mother of
five children, four sons and one daughter, of whom I was the first born,
and William Anderson, of the city of Worcester, Mass., the second. My
father, Zekiel Thompson, was, as I said, a free man, and most of his
time served as a farm hand on one of the farms owned by my mistress.
Whether from his activity and knowledge of farm work or as an inducement
to remain near his wife, I do not know, but he was permitted to hold the
position of overseer of the work and farm hands.
My mistress, Mrs. H. Woodland, was a widow—her husband being a sea
captain and lost at sea before I was born or had any knowledge of him.
They were both natives of Scotland. He owned two farms, and at his death
his wife became the owner of both, carrying on business until the time
of her death. She was the mother of five children, one son and four
daughters. The son, Samuel Woodland, who was said to be rich, owning two
farms, several houses, and from one hundred to one hundred and fifty
slaves, was, as near as language can express it, a lifetime tyrant to
his farm hands and house servants. His tyranical passion was so great
that on the day of his death he called in the men from their work, and
with a stick in his dying hand struck each one across their hands. As
each one received the parting gift he had to file out and another take
his place. This ceremony continued to within two hours of his death,
when from exhaustion he had to cease. Those who were on the end of the
line of march on that day fortunately lost their master’s parting
blessing. My mistress was naturally of a good disposition, just the
reverse of her son, or he from her. My grandfather (my mother’s father)
had charge of the farm hands and all that pertained to the farm, as he
was considered faithful and trustworthy. The principal products of the
farms were corn, wheat and oats. Infant years rapidly passed by and the
time drew near when little Will, _alias_ Isaac, had to leave his
mother’s knee and childish play to enter upon the duties of serving his
owners.
Accordingly, when between five and six years of age, I was assigned to
the duties of housework, to wait on my mistress and to run errands. When
she went out driving I had to accompany her in the capacity of a page,
to open the gates and to take down guard fences for her to drive
through. That I might be found at night as well as by day my sleeping
apartment was in her chamber on a truckbed, which was during the day
time snugly concealed under her bedstead and drawn out at night for the
reposing place of Isaac’s weary body while he dreamed of days yet to
come. I remained in this distinguished position until I was about
fifteen years old, when a change in common with all slave life had to be
made either for the better or for the worse.
On the day that proved to be her last to be spent on this earth I was
required to accompany her on a visit to the farm, the second farm, which
was not so frequently visited, where she spent the afternoon in looking
over the stock and products which detained her until towards evening.
Her examinations were completed and she returned home. This visit was
made in the gig drawn by the old black mare. My place was, as customary,
by her side. We arrived home about seven o’clock in the evening. She
told me to “take care of the old mare”; that meant to unharness and put
her in the stable, and when I had completed my task to “come to her, as
she wanted me to go on an errand.” I obeyed her orders and went direct
to her chamber, where I found her lying on the floor in an unconscious
state and unable to speak.
I immediately ran down stairs and informed my mother how I had found
mistress. She sent me at once after Mrs. Island, a daughter of Mrs. H.
Woodland, who lived about half a mile from us. Upon hearing the sad news
she hurried with me back to the house and sent for the doctor. He lost
no time in attending to the call, and did all he could to restore her to
consciousness and life, but his medical skill failed to produce a
favorable result. About 11 o’clock that night she died, as the doctor
said, from a stroke of paralysis. The last words she was known to utter
were the orders she gave me that evening. Thus ended the life of
mistress at the age of ninety years.
My grandfather, Richard Graham Grimes, was sent down that night to a
place called Morgan’s Creek, to a man by the name of Hugh Wallace, to
come up immediately and make arrangements for the funeral. His first
wife was the daughter of my mistress. He lost no time in answering the
summons and attended to all the necessary requirements for the
obsequies, and on the third day after her death my mistress was
consigned to mother earth.
At last the day dawned when this group of slaves had to part, not only
from the old homestead but from each other, and to go to scenes and
climes unknown to them. At last the sunshine was passing and the gloom
fast overspreading. Mother and children, brothers and sisters to
separate, perhaps forever.
The farm with all of its contents were left, for the time being, under
the care and supervision of my grandfather. He continued to hold charge
till July of the same year, about the space of three months, at which
time Mr. H. Wallace appeared on the estate to make arrangements for
settling the affairs. Everything belonging to the estate excepting the
slaves were sold. The farm with its contents was bought by a man by the
name of Isaac Taylor. My grandfather, in consideration of his old age
and the time being past for useful labor, was _handsomely_ rewarded with
his freedom, an old horse called the “old bay horse”—which was also
past the stage of usefulness—and an old cart; but, alas! no home to
live in or a place to shelter his head from the storm.
My father, as I said before, was a free man and had the privilege of
purchasing my mother and my sister, who was then about a year old, for
$600. My mother at this time was in very ill health, and it was thought
by many she could not live very long. My father not being able to pay
the amount asked, had to find a sufficient security before he could
obtain a bill of sale. He was fortunate enough to find that assistance
in the person of Dr. Hyde, with whom I was soon to become personally
acquainted. The remainder of the slaves each received a note from the
hands of Mr. H. Wallace, and were directed by him | 1,809.381768 |
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TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been retained.
Archaic or alternate spelling which may have been in use at the time
of publication has been retained.
SCENES IN THE WEST,
OR
The Sunday-School
AND
TEMPERANCE.
[Illustration]
BY A MISSIONARY.
PHILADELPHIA:
LUTHERAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION,
42 NORTH NINTH STREET.
1873.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by the
LUTHERAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States in
and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
Lancaster, Pa.:
INQUIRER PRINTING AND PUBLISHING COMPANY,
Stereotypers and Printers.
PREFACE.
The author of this volume has brought together a few incidents in
_real_ life to illustrate the power of godliness in the individual, and
the blessings of the Sunday-school, the influence of the prayer-meeting
and the cause of temperance in the church and in the community.
That the God of all our mercies may bless this little book to the
reader, is the prayer of the author.
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
CHAPTER. PAGE.
I. THE MISSIONARY 13
II. MISFORTUNES 27
III. RELIEF OBTAINED 39
IV. AN APPOINTMENT 45
V. THE MISSIONARY PREACHES 56
VI. MR. STEELE’S MEETING 62
VII. MR. MASON AND MR. WILSON 69
VIII. MISSIONARY VISITS 78
IX. OPPOSITION 84
X. SUNDAY-SCHOOL ORGANIZED--LOCAL PREACHER 92
XI. MR. KERR AND HIS FAMILY 98
XII. THE TEMPERANCE CAUSE 109
XIII. MR. TRUMAN--MISSIONARY’S DEPARTURE 118
XIV. WORKINGS OF THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL AND TEMPERANCE SOCIETY 123
XV. GEORGE AND MARY 134
XVI. MR. BROWN’S FAMILY 140
XVII. MISSIONARY AGAIN VISITS THE WEST 145
XVIII. DEATH 152
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
SCENES IN THE WEST.
CHAPTER I.
_THE MISSIONARY._
“The melancholy days had come,
The saddest of the year.”
All nature seemed to be resting in a quiet dreamy slumber. The bee
had well nigh laid up its winter store, and many of the birds were
preparing to leave for more genial climes in the sunny south. All these
were but the harbingers of the cold storms that were lingering behind
the snow-covered mountains of the north. Indian summer, the season of
romance, like the life of a humble Christian, leaves its loveliest
scenes to its departing hours. It was in the midst of these balmy days
that you might have seen a traveler with a worn satchel in one hand
and a staff in the other coming up a narrow lane leading to the home
of a prosperous Western settler. He walked slowly, for he had left
behind him many weary miles; his countenance, though calm, was pale and
languid; yet his eye seemed to bespeak the hope that here he might find
the much-needed rest.
Two men were standing beside the gate at the end of the lane when the
stranger came up. The one was a kindly disposed person with but little
force of character, and deficient in moral courage, whom we shall know
as Mr. Kerr. The other, whose name was Steele, was the owner of the
premises.
He was a large man, selfish and resolute, a conceited formalist,
bigoted, exceedingly headstrong, and greatly prejudiced against all
Christian zeal.
No sooner did Mr. Steele notice the approach of the stranger than he
turned to Mr. Kerr and exclaimed: “There, I’ll bet you, comes that
Sunday-school, temperance loafer I’ve heard so much of lately. I reckon
he expects to get in here; but I tell you, sir, my ‘shanty’ don’t hold
the like of him, while I’m boss here, ‘that’s said!’” This was uttered
with emphatic bitterness. To this passionate outburst Mr. Kerr ventured
a little palliation by the remark that he had heard that in the other
settlement the people seemed to like the missionary very well.
“_You_ would have nothing to do with his nonsense, would you?” retorted
Mr. Steele with a look of scorn.
“No,” feebly and insincerely muttered Mr. Kerr, “we have got along
so far without it, and I guess we can get along without it a little
further.”
“That’s my ticket,” sharply added Mr. Steele.
By this time the stranger had reached the gate. A calm, pleasant smile
lit up his pale countenance; and he accosted them with,
“Good evening, friends.”
“Good evening, sir,” responded Mr. Kerr.
“How d’ye do, sir,” thundered out Mr. Steele.
“This has been a very pleasant day,” ventured the traveler.
“Yes, sir,” curtly replied Mr. Steele.
“I am very tired,” continued the stranger; “could I stay with you
to-night?”
“You are the fellow who goes about lecturing on temperance, and getting
up Sunday-schools, aint you?” sarcastically rejoined Mr. Steele, his
face reddening.
“That is my calling,” meekly added the man of God.
“Then you don’t stay all night in my house; I don’t harbor fellows who
are too lazy to work,” sneeringly answered the excited Mr. Steele.
“But I am very tired, and my head aches badly; I’ll pay you well.”
“Cant help it. The sooner you make tracks the better,” retorted the
unfeeling man.
“I am afraid it will storm to-night,” continued the missionary,
pointing to a dark cloud which was looming up in the west.
“You might have stayed at home and minded your own business, instead
of minding other people’s, and kept out of this trouble,” replied Mr.
Steele, with a look so severe that the poor wanderer lost all hope of
any comfort or favor from this seemingly inhospitable dwelling; so he
inquired how far it was to the next house.
“That depends entirely upon which way you go,” mockingly answered the
hard-hearted man, with a wink to Mr. Kerr, and a conceited smile at the
unfeeling wit he had displayed.
“I expect to continue my labors westward,” gently added the missionary.
His soul was grieved at the hardness of this man’s heart, and for a
moment he felt like looking upon his persecutor with anger. But he
remembered that even his Lord and Master was mocked and derided; that
“when He was reviled, He reviled not again; but as a lamb before his
shearers is dumb, so He opened not his mouth.” And the humble follower
of the Man of Sorrows in silence offered up the prayer, “Father,
forgive them, they know not what they do.”
The door of common humanity being closed against him, he made up his
mind to continue his journey, let the dangers and privations be what
they might. An angel seemed to whisper, “I will lead thee in the way in
which thou shalt go;” so he took courage.
Being thirsty, he ventured to ask for a drink of water.
“You can go to the spring,” was the abrupt answer, and the cruel man
turned upon his heel, and in company with Mr. Kerr passed on to the
barn, leaving the suffering one standing by the gate alone.
But George, a lad of about ten years, and Mary, a little flower of
seven summers, had looked on and listened with the curiosity common
to children. Their hearts were filled with pity toward the poor man;
and, when even a drink of water was denied him, the inherent kindness,
implanted in all our natures, was instantly awakened.
In a moment, as the missionary turned the corner of the yard, the two
children met him each with “a cup of cold water.” “Here is good fresh
water, please drink,” said the little ones. His heart was melted at
this unexpected exhibition of kindness; and invoking a blessing upon
the dear children, he raised the cup to his lips and was refreshed.
He then opened his satchel, and gave each child a picture card and
Sunday-school paper, also cards for the men, together with a neat
little tract for their mother. Bidding them good-by, he with a sigh
resumed his lonely journey.
The children, happy in having done a kindness, hurried to their
mother, and were soon showing and admiring the papers and cards; she,
mother-like, very naturally shared their pleasure, but thought of the
stranger with a pang of regret, for she feared that he would take the
road leading into an unsettled region, infested with wild beasts and
roving Indians. After admiring the pictures, she told the children all
she knew of the Sunday-school, for which these beautiful things were
made, at the same time hoping that her husband’s opposition to them
might be removed.
“I wish there was Sunday-school here,” said George.
“Won’t there be Sunday-school here, mother?” exclaimed both at once.
“I’m afraid not,” said their mother, sorrowfully, knowing the hostility
of many of the neighbors toward anything of the kind.
“Why not, mother?” innocently asked the children.
This was one of those questions children often ask, and which it is so
hard to answer.
“I don’t know,” she replied, evasively, adding, “go give your father
and Mr. Kerr their cards. They are at the barn.”
Hurrying out, their noisy delight soon arrested the attention of the
men.
“What in the world is up now?” wondered their father.
“See here, father, see here!” exclaimed the children, holding out the
cards.
“Who gave you these?” said he, reaching out his hand for the gifts, and
suspecting the source.
“The man at the gate; we gave him a drink, and he gave us these
(showing their cards) and a little book for mother, and this one for
you and that one for Mr. Kerr.”
Looking for a moment at the engraving, he read, “For I was an
hungered, and ye gave me meat; I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink; I
was a stranger, and ye took me in.”
Instantly the terrible reproof, associated with these words, awakened
the man’s slumbering conscience. Writhing under its force he tried to
construe the innocent gift into an insult; then flinging it to the
ground he stamped his foot upon it.
At this exhibition of anger all the joy of the children vanished.
Mary began to cry, and George wondered what there was about the card to
offend his father.
In the meantime, Mr. Kerr had read his card. The words were, “And
_these_ shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous
into life eternal.”
“What have you got?” sneeringly asked Mr. Steele, of his companion. Mr.
Kerr read the text with some emotion.
“Just what I expected! he thought to give us a cut,” said the angry
man, at the same time adding many abusive words.
Mr. Kerr tried to assent to the remarks, but the words upon the card
had touched his heart; and he felt like hating himself for having
yielded, against his convictions, to the unreasonableness of his
neighbor toward an unoffending stranger. Putting the card in his
pocket, he was compelled to be an unwilling | 1,809.382575 |
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Produced by Ben Courtney and PG Distributed Proofreaders
SQUINTY
THE COMICAL PIG
HIS MANY ADVENTURES
BY
RICHARD BARNUM
Author of "Slicko, the Jumping Squirrel,"
"Mappo, the Merry Monkey,"
"Tum Tum, the Jolly Elephant,"
"Don, a Runaway Dog," etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
HARRIET H. TOOKER
KNEETIME ANIMAL STORIES
By Richard Barnum
SQUINTY, THE COMICAL PIG
SLICKO, THE JUMPING SQUIRREL
MAPPO, THE MERRY MONKEY
TUM TUM, THE JOLLY ELEPHANT
DON, A RUNAWAY DOG
Large 12mo. Illustrated. Price per volume
40 cents, postpaid
1915
_Squinty, the Comical Pig_
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I SQUINTY AND THE DOG
II SQUINTY RUNS AWAY
III SQUINTY IS LOST
IV SQUINTY GETS HOME
V SQUINTY AND THE BOY
VI SQUINTY ON A JOURNEY
VII SQUINTY LEARNS A TRICK
VIII SQUINTY IN THE WOODS
IX SQUINTY'S BALLOON RIDE
X SQUINTY AND THE SQUIRREL
XI SQUINTY AND THE MERRY MONKEY
XII SQUINTY GETS HOME AGAIN
ILLUSTRATIONS
Squinty looked at the beautiful wagons, and at the strange animals
Squinty saw rushing toward him, Don, the big black and white dog
"Hop on," he said to the toad. "I won't bother you."
"Oh, Father!" exclaimed the boy, "do let me have just one little pig"
Squinty gave a little spring, and over the rope he went
The next moment Squinty felt himself lifted off the ground
"Why, I am Mappo, the merry monkey," was the answer
SQUINTY, THE COMICAL PIG
CHAPTER I
SQUINTY AND THE DOG
Squinty was a little pig. You could tell he was a pig just as soon as
you looked at him, because he had the cutest little curly tail, as
though it wanted to tie itself into a bow, but was not quite sure
whether that was the right thing to do. And Squinty had a skin that was
as pink, under his white, hairy bristles, as a baby's toes.
Also Squinty had the oddest nose! It was just like a rubber ball,
flattened out, and when Squinty moved his nose up and down, or sideways,
as he did when he smelled the nice sour milk the farmer was bringing for
the pigs' dinner, why, when Squinty did that with his nose, it just made
you want to laugh right out loud.
But the funniest part of Squinty was his eyes, or, rather, one eye. And
that eye squinted just as well as any eye ever squinted. Somehow or
other, I don't just know why exactly, or I would tell you, the lid of
one of Squinty's eyes was heavier than the other. That eye opened only
half way, and when Squinty looked up at you from the pen, where he lived
with his mother and father and little brothers and sisters, why there
was such a comical look on Squinty's face that you wanted to laugh right
out loud again.
In fact, lots of boys and girls, when they came to look at Squinty in
his pen, could not help laughing | 1,809.479469 |
2023-11-16 18:47:13.6028180 | 376 | 10 |
Produced by Al Haines.
[Illustration: Cover]
[Illustration: WITH IT FELL CONAL! _Page_ 162]
Courage, True Hearts
Sailing in Search of Fortune
BY
GORDON STABLES
Author of "The Naval Cadet" "For Life and Liberty"
"To Greenland and the Pole" &c.
"I've wandered east, I've wandered west,
Through many a weary way;
But never, never can forget
The love of life's young day."
BLACKIE & SON LIMITED
LONDON AND GLASGOW
The Peak Library
_Books in this Series_
Overdue. Harry Collingwood.
The Dampier Boys. E. M. Green.
The King's Knight. G. I. Whitham.
Their London Cousins. Lady Middleton.
The White Witch of Rosel. E. E. Cowper.
Freda's Great Adventure. Alice Massie.
Courage, True Hearts! Gordon Stables.
Stephen goes to Sea. A. O. Cooke.
Under the Chilian Flag. Harry Collingwood.
The Islanders. Theodora Wilson Wilson.
Margery finds Herself. Doris A. Pocock.
Cousins in Camp. Theodora Wilson Wilson.
Far the sake of his Chum. Walter C. Rhoades.
An Ocean Outlaw. Hugh St. Leger.
Boys of the Priory School. F. Coombe.
Jane in Command. E. E. Cowper.
Adventures of Two. May Wynne.
The Secret of the Old House. E. Everett Green.
_Printed in | 1,809.622858 |
2023-11-16 18:47:13.6806250 | 4,443 | 6 |
Produced by Annie R. McGuire
[Illustration: HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE]
* * * * *
VOL. III.--NO. 143. PUBLISHED BY HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK. PRICE FOUR
CENTS.
Tuesday, July 25, 1882. Copyright, 1882, by HARPER & BROTHERS. $1.50 per
Year, in Advance.
* * * * *
[Illustration: ST. ELIZABETH OF THURINGIA.]
ST. ELIZABETH OF THURINGIA.
BY HELEN S. CONANT.
On a beautiful hill near the town of Eisenach, Germany, there stands an
ancient castle, famous in history for the many remarkable events which
have taken place within its walls.
It is called the Wartburg, and it was here, in 1521, that Martin Luther
found shelter and protection after his return from the Diet of Worms.
Within the secure walls of the old castle he spent a peaceful year,
laboring on the translation of the Bible, which has brought light and
joy to so many hearts. The room where he worked, with the table,
book-case, and other furniture, is still carefully preserved.
The Wartburg is one of the oldest castles in North Germany. It was built
about the middle of the eleventh century, by Count Lewis, a very
powerful lord in Thuringia. It is said that one day the Count was out
hunting, when a deer that he was pursuing led him to the foot of a steep
rocky hill, where it plunged up the cliffs, and disappeared in the thick
forest. The Count stopped, surrounded by his followers, and declared
that although the hill had robbed him of the desired game, it should, in
its turn, become his fortress and stronghold. This was a bold
declaration, for the hill was the property of another Count, and it was
against the laws of the great German empire that a man should build on
soil which was not his. But Count Lewis had thought of this. He had
twelve trusty knights, and at his command they worked many hours in the
darkness, carrying soil in baskets from the lands of their master to the
top of the hill, until enough was collected upon which to build a
castle. Then Count Lewis went boldly to work, and erected the fortress
which still crowns the heights above Eisenach.
The counts of Thuringia after this made the Wartburg their home, and it
was here that St. Elizabeth passed her life in holy deeds. Her true
history is that she was a daughter of a King of Hungary, and was born at
Pressburg in 1207. When very young she was betrothed to Lewis, son of
Count Hermann of Thuringia, and brought to the Wartburg to be educated.
As she grew to womanhood she became remarkable for her charitable deeds,
and the family of her young husband complained bitterly that she was
wasting his property. Not long after her marriage her husband died while
absent in the great army of the Crusaders, and Elizabeth with her three
little children was driven away from the Wartburg, and compelled to beg
for bread in the neighboring villages. But the people loved her so much
that her husband's family were soon forced to restore her rights. The
hardships she suffered, and the sacrifices she made, were too heavy for
her to bear, and in 1231 she died, when only twenty-four years old. Four
years after her death she was made a saint by Pope Gregory IX., and a
multitude of beautiful legends were wreathed about her memory. Poets
sung her praises, and the poor who had received food and clothing from
her gentle hands remembered her loveliness and kindness through many
generations.
A German poet of the thirteenth century wrote a life of St. Elizabeth in
verse, which contains some pretty legends about her birth and life. In
1207 Count Hermann of Thuringia called a grand meeting of poets and
minstrels at the Wartburg, and offered a prize to him who should compose
the best poem. From far and near came poets to the competition, and a
vast assemblage of noble lords and ladies were gathered to hear them
sing the quaint ballads of that olden time. One evening the company were
all in the great balcony of the castle, when, a poet, pointing with
prophetic finger to the setting sun, declared that a daughter was at
that moment born to the King of Hungary, who would become the wife of
the son of Count Hermann, and whose wondrous virtue and charity would be
remembered through all coming ages. Count Hermann at once dispatched
messengers to the court of Hungary asking for the hand of the baby
princess for his son, and the betrothal at once took place.
Another beautiful legend is about St. Elizabeth and the roses. Soon
after Elizabeth's marriage to Lewis, the son of Count Hermann, a
terrible famine came upon Thuringia. There was no bread, and the poor
people of the country were compelled to eat roots and wild herbs to keep
from starving. Their sufferings touched the tender heart of Elizabeth,
and she commanded that bread should be baked in the great kitchens of
her castle, which she daily distributed to the poor with her own hands.
It is said that the lives of many hundreds of people were saved by her
bounty. Her husband's family begged him to put a stop to this waste, as
they called it, and to forbid his wife from any longer feeding the poor.
It is said that he yielded to the wishes of his mother and sisters, and
declared that no more bread should be sent out from the castle. So far
the story is true. Now comes the pretty legend which has ever since
caused St. Elizabeth to be pictured with roses in her hands.
Her kind heart could not rest while the poor people around her were
dying of hunger. With a basket filled with bread she would go from the
castle and distribute her bounty among the poor who crowded around her.
One day when starting on this mission of charity, her basket on her arm,
she met her husband, who stopped her, and sternly demanding what she
carried in the basket, tore off the mantle which covered it. To the
astonishment of both the basket appeared filled with fragrant roses, and
on the forehead of Elizabeth, shone a glittering cross. Her husband was
so overcome by what he recognized as a miracle that he gave orders that
in future her noble charities should be done with perfect liberty, and
he himself did all in his power to aid her in the generous task.
UP THE CREEK.
BY WILLIAM O. STODDARD.
"It's a mighty good thing for us, Mort Hopkins, we took such an early
start."
"Say, Quill, what do we want of those rollers?"
"Guess you'll find out 'fore we get the _Ark_ around the dam."
"That's so. All ready? Shove her, now. Here we go. Don't she travel!"
"Mort, what was that long word you went to the foot on yesterday?"
"Me-an-der-ing."
"And you called it'mean-drying,' and spelled it wrong. Tell you what,
we're just going to meandrew now 'fore we get back."
"Guess Taponican Creek'll give us all the twists we want. It's as
crooked as a ram's horn."
"Tisn't much wider some places, but the _Ark_ will squeeze through'most
anywhere."
It would not, indeed, have required much of a flood to float a skiff of
that size; but she was a pretty one, and it was no work at all for two
stout boys of from twelve to thirteen years of age to "pole her along."
There was not enough water where they now were to encourage the use of
oars, but a pair of them lay in the stern, beside the fishing-poles and
the bait and luncheon.
The day was one of those truly wonderful Saturdays that come to country
boys in summer, and Mort Hopkins and Quill Sanders had all but slighted
their breakfasts to get the early start they were now so pleased with.
"Mort, if Taponican Creek runs out of Pawg Lake, we'll find the place
where it does."
"Guess we will. It's there, somewhere."
"We won't stop to fish along."
"No, sir! Not one of the boys knows where we're going."
"If they'd ha' known, they'd all have come, and chucked the _Ark_
jam-full."
Mere passengers were not wanted on board of a ship that was clearly
bound on a voyage of discovery. Extra cargo of any kind would have been
bad for the fortunes of such a vessel.
The boys did not pole their boat up stream for more than twenty minutes
before they came to a place where the banks gave the Taponican room to
spread itself. Of course the wider it spread what water it had, the
thinner the water became.
Right in the middle of a sparkling field of gurgling ripples the _Ark_
ran suddenly aground.
"Overboard, Quill!" shouted Mort. "Guess Columbus had to wade before he
found much."
"Noah didn't."
"His ark had a roof on it."
"Shove her, now. There she goes."
Their trousers were rolled up about as high as they would go, and the
water was not very cold. The _Ark_ drew less when its entire crew was
out of it.
"Ah! ugh! Crab."
"Nipped you, did he? Oh, phew! what a clam shell! Stepped right down on
it. Catch your crab?"
"He let go. Can't see him. Didn't he give my heel a dig, though! They're
the ugliest, sassiest--"
"Jump in. She'll float now."
"Shove, or she'll go back, and get aground again."
"There's the dam. Now we've got a job on hand."
The dam was not a high one, but no two boys of their size could have
lifted the _Ark_ over it. Quill Sanders had thought of that, and the
little craft was pulled ashore at a spot where farmers coming to the
mill drove down to water their horses.
"There's just a good road all around from here to the pond. Now for the
rollers, Mort."
Two bits of round poles, about three inches thick and four feet long,
were a great help in getting the _Ark_ up the <DW72>, but it was slow
work for all that. No man in Corry Centre could have hired any two small
boys to undertake it. Quill and Mort did it all the more eagerly because
no living being would have given them a cent for doing it.
The miller came out, indeed, to shout after them:
"Hullo, boys, what're ye up to?"
"Going to Pawg Lake," said Quill, proudly. "Your old dam's in the way,
and we're a-dodgin' 'round it."
"Pawg Lake! I declare! Do ye spect to ever git back agin?"
"Guess we do," said Mort. "Bring you anything when we come?"
"Ye-es. Fetch the lake right along. Bring me the upper eend of the
creek. You'll find it lyin' right there."
"Guess we will," said Mort. "Now, Quill, h'ist her. Shove!"
How they did shove! But the old miller came out into the road and took
the _Ark_ by the head, and after that about all the boys had to do was
to change the rollers forward as the strong-armed fat old fellow dragged
the light skiff along.
"There, boys. You're a plucky brace of spring chickens. In with her,
now. She's afloat agin."
"Thank you, Mr. Getty."
"Don't forget to fetch me back Pawg Lake, when you find it. An' the
crooked eend of the creek."
"Crooked?" said Quill. "Tell you what, I guess we'll have to meandrew
pretty much all the way."
"Andrew what? Oh yes. Guess you will. Go it! Good-by."
Off they went, and now their time had come for actual rowing. The upper
pond of Corry Centre was well known to be a deep one. It was
wonderfully, perilously far from its smooth surface to the home of the
eels on its weedy bottom in some places. It lay in a narrow valley,
however, between the <DW72>s of steep hills, and it was long rather than
wide.
"Isn't this a big thing, Mort? I was never out on any such voyage as
this before. Were you?"
"Don't believe anybody else ever was. Not around here. It's a new
thing."
"Wonder what the boys'll say? Mort, we might hold on here long enough to
catch a fish or two."
"No, sir-ree! We'll just meandrew till we get to Pawg Lake."
They were pulling nicely along just then, quite a distance above the
mill and near the eastern shore of the pond, when a clear, pleasant
voice sang out to them:
"Hey, boys! Put me across the pond, please?"
The manner and the accent of that hail were offensively correct and
polite, and there at the edge of the woody bank stood a young man of
middle size. He carried a joint rod instead of a fish-pole; he had a
sort of butterfly net on a stick, and everything about him was nice and
expensive to that degree which always arouses the hostility of country
village boys. Still, these two were on their good behavior that morning,
and their hearts were a little warm over the conduct of Mr. Getty. The
_Ark_ was pulled ashore and the stranger was taken on board.
"Straight across, please. Nice boat you have. Capital fun for bright
young fellows like you. Spending your day out of school on the water?
Good idea."
"Course it is," said Mort, but Quill Sanders added:
"I say, mister, got any fish in your basket yet?"
"Not one, my boy. No luck at all this morning."
"Guess you won't catch any 'round here, with all that there fancy
rigging."
"Think not? Ah, here we are. Put me ashore. Will a dime apiece do?"
He held out a couple of bits of shining silver as he spoke, but he had
already stirred the pride of the crew of the _Ark_.
"No, thank you," said Quill Sanders. "We're on a voyage of discovery. We
won't take pay for any kindnesses we do to the natives we meet."
"You don't say! Voyage of discovery. New World. All that sort of thing.
Arctic circle. North Pole. Sandwich Islands."
"No, sir-ree!" exclaimed Mort. "We're bound for Pawg Lake. All the way
up the Taponican."
"That's this mighty stream, I suppose, and Pawg Lake is at the
mysterious end of it. Boys, it isn't of any manner of use. I'm not a
native. Only stopping in the village for a week. You've got to take me
on board the--the what's her name?"
"The _Ark_," said Mort, with much dignity, "and we're not calling for
passengers."
"Passengers? Oh no, I'm one of the crew. I'd ship before the mast if
there was one. Just let me take those oars and work my watch on deck.
Then I'll go below while you take yours."
He had again seated himself, even while he was speaking, and Mort
Hopkins hardly knew why he didn't resist the sudden seizure of those
oars.
Then there came a surprise to both of them, for the stranger made the
_Ark_ spin around, and get her head up stream, and glide away over the
water, after a fashion to which she was entirely unaccustomed.
"Quill," said Mort, "he can row."
"Mister," said Quill, "did you bring any lunch with you?"
"I did, my young friend. I am provisioned for the voyage. Is it a long
one?"
"All the way up Taponican Creek, and it just meandrews."
"You don't say! Have to tack around the short corners, and all that
sort of thing. Are the natives at all dangerous?"
"Never been there," said Mort, "'cept once, when father and Uncle Hiram
and the Dutch house-painter went to Pawg a-fishin', and took me along."
"Did they catch anything?"
"Guess they did; but they had things to catch 'em with. Something better
than that there whip-stalk and a spool o' thread."
"They were wise men. We will see what we can do when we get there. Nice
boat this is. I can make her meandrew all the way. If we don't discover
something, it won't be our fault."
"He just can row," began Quill to Mort, but at that moment the stranger
began to pull a little more slowly, and they could hardly believe their
ears. He struck into a ringing, musical song that kept time with the
oars. That was surprise enough, but what made it bad was that they could
not understand one word he was singing.
"Quill," whispered Mort, "I was pop sure he wasn't born in this country.
He's a foreigner."
They were out of the pond now, and there was no question whatever of the
crookedness with which the creek wound its way in and out among the
pastures and meadows. There was nowhere a very strong current, and the
boys were a little surprised to find their favorite stream at once so
deep and so narrow. Its character was very different from any it was
able to earn below the pond and down through the village.
"It's awful clean, though," said Quill, "and there's any amount of trees
and bushes along the banks."
"Boys," exclaimed the stranger at last, "I'm going to try one of these
shady hollows for a trout. Quill, you take an oar, and paddle me along
slowly into that black-looking cove up yonder. I'll show you something
new. Mort, you get back into the stern."
"He knows our names," muttered Mort.
But it was no fault of theirs if he did not. He gave Quill a few more
directions, and then he stood well forward, with the light graceful rod
they had called a "whip-stalk" poised in his right hand. The wind was
gently blowing up stream, and the stranger said, very quietly:
"That'll do. Steady, now."
And then they heard the faint hum of the reel on his rod, and a gossamer
flight of fine line, with three little bits of fuzzy things at the end
of it, each about the size of a small gray moth, dropped on the water as
light as thistle-down.
It was a beautiful cast, if the boys had but known it, and the flies
alighted in a spot of dark water almost under the bank, where a little
eddy made a faint ripple on the surface.
[Illustration: "SOMETHING BRIGHT AND VIGOROUS SPRANG CLEAR OUT OF THE
WATER."]
Splash! Something bright and vigorous sprang clear out of the water!
"Struck! I'll get him. Steady, Quill; don't pull a stroke. He's a heavy
one this time. I must give him all the line he wants. He's off up
stream."
How that reel did buzz, and how the excited boys did watch the motions
of their new acquaintance!
"He'll run all the way to Pawg," said Mort.
"Not with that hook in him," said Quill. "See! he's a-winding him up
again."
The reel was a "multiplier," and the line came in swiftly enough, for
the fisherman had "snubbed" his victim, and turned him toward the boat.
Out and in, again and again, went the line, but at last the boys had
seen the prize, and knew it was a bigger speckled trout than they
supposed Taponican contained.
"Here he comes! Now for the net!"
Both his young friends had long since decided that that machine was
| 1,809.700665 |
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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)
THE CURLYTOPS SNOWED IN
HOWARD R. GARIS
[Illustration: TED'S SLED WAS RUNNING AWAY, AND DOWN THE DANGEROUS
<DW72>. _Page 20_]
THE CURLYTOPS
SNOWED IN
OR
_Grand Fun with Skates and Sleds_
BY
HOWARD R. GARIS
AUTHOR OF "THE CURLYTOPS SERIES," "BEDTIME
STORIES," "UNCLE WIGGILY SERIES," ETC.
_Illustrations by
JULIA GREENE_
NEW YORK
CUPPLES & LEON COMPANY
1941
THE CURLYTOPS SERIES
By HOWARD R. GARIS
12mo. Cloth. Illustrated.
_THE CURLYTOPS AT CHERRY FARM
Or, Vacation Days in the Country_
_THE CURLYTOPS ON STAR ISLAND
Or, Camping Out With | 1,810.388302 |
2023-11-16 18:47:14.4596480 | 1,888 | 10 |
Produced by Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
THE SPOILERS
By REX BEACH
Author of "THE AUCTION BLOCK" "RAINBOW'S END" "THE IRON TRAIL" Etc.
Illustrated
THIS BOOK
IS LOVINGLY DEDICATED TO
MY MOTHER
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. THE ENCOUNTER
II. THE STOWAWAY
III. IN WHICH GLENISTER ERRS
IV. THE KILLING
V. WHEREIN A MAN APPEARS
VI. AND A MINE IS JUMPED
VII. THE "BRONCO KID'S" EAVESDROPPING
VIII. DEXTRY MAKES A CALL
IX. SLUICE ROBBERS
X. THE WIT OF AN ADVENTURESS
XI. WHEREIN A WRIT AND A RIOT FAIL
XII. COUNTERPLOTS
XIII. IN WHICH A MAN IS POSSESSED OF A DEVIL
XIV. A MIDNIGHT MESSENGER
XV. VIGILANTES
XVI. IN WHICH THE TRUTH BEGINS TO BARE ITSELF
XVII. THE DRIP OF WATER IN THE DARK
XVIII. WHEREIN A TRAP IS BAITED
XIX. DYNAMITE
XX. IN WHICH THREE GO TO THE SIGN OF THE SLED AND BUT TWO RETURN
XXI. THE HAMMER-LOCK
XXII. THE PROMISE OF DREAMS
CHAPTER I
THE ENCOUNTER
Glenister gazed out over the harbor, agleam with the lights of anchored
ships, then up at the crenelated mountains, black against the sky. He
drank the cool air burdened with its taints of the sea, while the blood
of his boyhood leaped within him.
"Oh, it's fine--fine," he murmured, "and this is my country--my
country, after all, Dex. It's in my veins, this hunger for the North. I
grow. I expand."
"Careful you don't bust," warned Dextry. "I've seen men get plumb drunk
on mountain air. Don't expand too strong in one spot." He went back
abruptly to his pipe, its villanous fumes promptly averting any danger
of the air's too tonic quality.
"Gad! What a smudge!" sniffed the younger man. "You ought to be in
quarantine."
"I'd ruther smell like a man than talk like a kid. You desecrate the
hour of meditation with rhapsodies on nature when your aesthetics ain't
honed up to the beauties of good tobacco."
The other laughed, inflating his deep chest. In the gloom he stretched
his muscles restlessly, as though an excess of vigor filled him.
They were lounging upon the dock, while before them lay the Santa Maria
ready for her midnight sailing. Behind slept Unalaska, quaint, antique,
and Russian, rusting amid the fogs of Bering Sea. Where, a week before,
mild-eyed natives had dried their cod among the old bronze cannon, now
a frenzied horde of gold-seekers paused in their rush to the new El
Dorado. They had come like a locust cloud, thousands strong, settling
on the edge of the Smoky Sea, waiting the going of the ice that barred
them from their Golden Fleece--from Nome the new, where men found
fortune in a night.
The mossy hills back of the village were ridged with graves of those
who had died on the out-trip the fall before, when a plague had gripped
the land--but what of that? Gold glittered in the sands, so said the
survivors; therefore men came in armies. Glenister and Dextry had left
Nome the autumn previous, the young man raving with fever. Now they
returned to their own land.
"This air whets every animal instinct in me," Glenister broke out
again. "Away from the cities I turn savage. I feel the old primitive
passions--the fret for fighting."
"Mebbe you'll have a chance."
"How so?"
"Well, it's this way. I met Mexico Mullins this mornin'. You mind old
Mexico, don't you? The feller that relocated Discovery Claim on Anvil
Creek last summer?"
"You don't mean that 'tin-horn' the boys were going to lynch for
claim-jumping?"
"Identical! Remember me tellin' you about a good turn I done him once
down Guadalupe way?"
"Greaser shooting-scrape, wasn't it?"
"Yep! Well, I noticed first off that he's gettin fat; high-livin' fat,
too, all in one spot, like he was playin' both ends ag'in the centre.
Also he wore di'mon's fit to handle with ice-tongs.
"Says I, lookin' at his side elevation, 'What's accented your middle
syllable so strong, Mexico?'
"'Prosperity, politics, an' the Waldorf-Astorier,' says he. It seems
Mex hadn't forgot old days. He claws me into a corner an' says, 'Bill,
I'm goin' to pay you back for that Moralez deal.'
"'It ain't comin' to me,' says I. 'That's a bygone!'
"'Listen here,' says he, an', seein' he was in earnest, I let him run
on.
"'How much do you value that claim o' yourn at?'
"'Hard tellin',' says I. 'If she holds out like she run last fall,
there'd ought to be a million clear in her."
"'How much'll you clean up this summer?'
"''Bout four hundred thousand, with luck.'
"'Bill,' says he, 'there's hell a-poppin' an' you've got to watch that
ground like you'd watch a rattle-snake. Don't never leave 'em get a
grip on it or you're down an' out.'
"He was so plumb in earnest it scared me up, 'cause Mexico ain't a
gabby man.
"'What do you mean?' says I.
"'I can't tell you nothin' more. I'm puttin' a string on my own neck,
sayin' THIS much. You're a square man, Bill, an' I'm a gambler, but you
saved my life oncet, an' I wouldn't steer you wrong. For God's sake,
don't let 'em jump your ground, that's all.'
"'Let who jump it? Congress has give us judges an' courts an'
marshals--' I begins.
"'That's just it. How you goin' to buck that hand? Them's the best
cards in the deck. There's a man comin' by the name of McNamara. Watch
him clost. I can't tell you no more. But don't never let 'em get a grip
on your ground.' That's all he'd say."
"Bah! He's crazy! I wish somebody would try to jump the Midas; we'd
enjoy the exercise."
The siren of the Santa Maria interrupted, its hoarse warning throbbing
up the mountain.
"We'll have to get aboard," said Dextry.
"Sh-h! What's that?" the other whispered.
At first the only sound they heard was a stir from the deck of the
steamer. Then from the water below them came the rattle of rowlocks and
a voice cautiously muffled.
"Stop! Stop there!"
A skiff burst from the darkness, grounding on the beach beneath. A
figure scrambled out and up the ladder leading to the wharf.
Immediately a second boat, plainly in pursuit of the first one, struck
on the beach behind it.
As the escaping figure mounted to their level the watchers perceived
with amazement that it was a young woman. Breath sobbed from her lungs,
and, stumbling, she would have fallen but for Glenister, who ran
forward and helped her to her feet.
"Don't let them get me," she panted.
He turned to his partner in puzzled inquiry, but found that the old man
had crossed to the head of the landing ladder up which the pursuers
were climbing.
"Just a minute--you there! Back up or I'll kick your face in." Dextry's
voice was sharp and unexpected, and in the darkness he loomed tall and
menacing to those below.
"Get out of the way. That woman's a runaway," came from the one highest
on the ladder.
"So I jedge."
"She broke qu--"
" | 1,810.479688 |
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Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
The Land of Fire, by Captain Mayne Reid.
________________________________________________________________________
As we are told in the Preface, this is the last book Reid wrote before
his death in 1883. A young farm-boy walks down to Portsmouth, a port
not too far away, and eventually gets taken on as a hand on an American
barque, trading with the Pacific. Four years later he has risen to be
second mate. But when rounding Cape Horn a severe storm overwhelms the
vessel, and she is lost after springing a very bad leak. All on board
take to the boats, but the pinnace gets separated from the gig, on which
our heroes have made their escape. The ship's carpenter, an old and
experienced seaman, a former whaler, has an extraordinary amount of
knowledge of the natives of Tierra del Fuego--the Land of Fire--for that
is where they are. Without that knowledge the party would not have
survived. Unfortunately this great seaman (somewhat after the style of
Masterman Ready) does not speak in educated English, but you will just
have to get used to that.
There are various encounters with the tribes of the region, all very
well told. Eventually, shortly after their most serious brush with the
locals, they reach a large vessel at anchor, and the pinnace alongside
her, so that they are saved.
Reid, being a good naturalist, tells us a good deal about the local
flora and fauna. We also learn how to make fire in a land where it
rains five days in six. His account of the local tribes, their skills
and their shortcomings, will give you much food for thought. And the
book makes a very nice audiobook.
________________________________________________________________________
THE LAND OF FIRE, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.
PREFACE.
This tale is the last from the pen of Captain Mayne Reid, whose stories
have so long been the delight of English boys. Our readers may,
perhaps, like to know something of the writer who has given them so much
pleasure; especially as his own life was full of adventure and of brave
deeds.
Mayne Reid was born in the north of Ireland in 1819; his father was a
Presbyterian minister, and wished that his son should also be a
clergyman; but the boy longed for adventure, and to see the world in its
wildest places, and could not bring himself to settle down to a quiet
life at home.
When he was twenty years old he set out on his travels, and, landing at
New Orleans, began a life of adventure in the prairies and forests of
| 1,810.479819 |
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E-text prepared by Adrian Mastronardi, RSPIII, and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made
available by Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries
(http://archive.org/details/toronto)
Note: Images of the original pages are available through
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries. See
http://archive.org/details/poncedeleonriseo00pilluoft
PONCE DE LEON
NOTE.--This book was first published in 1878, and has long been
out of print. The work has been recognized as the best and most
accurate description yet written of the British Invasion, and
the rise of the Argentine Republic.
PONCE DE LEON
The Rise of the Argentine Republic
by
AN ESTANCIERO
BUENOS AIRES LONDON
MITCHELL'S BOOK STORE T. WERNER LAURIE
530 CANGALLO 578 CLIFFORD'S INN
1910
Al Gran Pueblo Argentino iSalud!
CONTENTS
BOOK I
THE BABYHOOD OF A GREAT NATION
CHAP. PAGE
Prologue 3
I. Father and Son 5
II. How Don Gregorio Lopez sought an Answer to the
Question of the Day 11
III. Concerning the danger of Friendship with an Enemy 20
IV. Showing how a Patriot may also be a Traitor 29
V. Perdriel 36
VI. In which it appears that a lesson may be well taught
and yet not learned 47
VII. The 12th August, 1806 53
BOOK II
THE PROWESS OF A YOUNG GIANT
Prologue 61
I. At the Quinta de Ponce 63
II. The Yeomanry of Buenos Aires 71
III. Arming the Slaves 78
IV. Standing alone 85
V. An Evening in the month of June 93
VI. The Landing of the English 100
VII. The Baptism of Fire 110
VIII. Los Corrales de La Miserere 117
IX. The Night of Sorrow 121
X. The Council of War 131
XI. The Pathways of Death 141
XII. The Afternoon of the 5th July 152
XIII. The Capitulation of the 6th July 158
Epilogue to Books I. and II.: The Monuments and the
Rewards of Victory 162
Appendix: The Court Martial 163
BOOK III
THE UNKNOWN FUTURE
Prologue 167
I. At the Quinta de Don Alfonso 169
II. The Episode of the fair Mauricia 175
III. Watch and Wait 187
IV. The raising of the Veil 193
V. To our Friends the English! 202
BOOK IV
THE DAWN OF FREEDOM
PART I.--THE BRIGHTENING OF THE EASTERN SKY
Prologue 213
I. Magdalen 215
II. How Don Gregorio Lopez a second time sought an Answer
to the Question of the Day 223
III. Several ways of looking at one Question 227
IV. How the Spaniards also proposed to themselves a
Question, and how Don Carlos Evana prepared an Answer 234
V. How the Viceroy took Counsel with Don Roderigo 242
VI. The Eve of a great Even t 249
VII. The 1st January, 1809 258
VIII. Evana's Dream 267
IX. The Day after 273
X. America for the Americans 279
BOOK V
THE DAWN OF FREEDOM
PART II.--THE MISTS OF THE EARLY MORN
Prologue 287
I. The two Viceroys 289
II. The Tertulia at the House of my lady Josefina 298
III. La Junta de los Comandantes 307
IV. How Don Carlos Evana attacked the Wild-duck, and
routed them with great slaughter 313
V. How the Viceroy placed a sword in the hands of the
enemies of Spain 323
VI. iCaduco la Espana! 331
BOOK VI
LIBERTY
Prologue 347
I. How the last Tie was broken 349
II. How Don Gregorio Lopez for the third time sought an
Answer to the Question of the Day 356
III. The Opening of the month of May 360
IV. Dias de la Patria 367
V. The 25th May, 1810 375
VI. Lions in the Path 383
VII. The first Fight in the War of Independence 388
VIII. How General Liniers lost an important Ally 397
IX. La Cabeza del Tigre 401
X. Once more in the Porch together 408
GENERAL EPILOGUE
I. The Viceroyalty of Buenos Aires 419
II. The Year 1810 420
III. Paraguay 422
IV. The Banda Oriental 422
V. The Army of Upper Peru 424
VI. The Sovereign People 427
VII. The Congress of Tucuman 433
VIII. Independence 434
BOOK I
THE BABYHOOD OF A GREAT NATION
PROLOGUE
The Argentine Republic drew her first faltering breath in a time of
universal tumult. Europe was in a blaze from the confines of Russia to
the Atlantic; the air reeked with blood, the demon of war strode
rough-shod over a whole continent, at each step crushing some ancient
nation to the dust. The peoples of Europe, down-trodden for ages, rose
in their misery and barbarism against their oppressors and wrote out
their certificate of Freedom in characters of blood; they asserted their
right to be men not slaves, and their voice as that of a mighty trumpet
reverberated throughout the earth. In the hearts of the Spanish Creoles
of America that voice found an echo.
* * * * *
Spain arrogated to herself unlimited power over the nations she had
founded, witting not that they were nations. Though they were of her own
bone and her own blood, she knew them not as children, but as
bond-slaves, who existed to do her bidding.
* * * * *
The voice of France in the first throes of her great agony sounded in
the ears of these bond-slaves, and in secret conclave they whispered one
to another, asking one another wistfully, whether they were men and not
slaves. To this whispered question for long there was no answer, for
Spain was to them as their mother.
* * * * *
Can a mother sin in the eyes of her own child?
PONCE DE LEON
CHAPTER I
FATHER AND SON
"Thank God I am not a Spaniard."
"Marcelino! my son! what new heresy is this?"
"It is no new heresy at all, my mother; it is a fact. Thank God I am not
a Spaniard. I am an American, and the day will come when we Americans
will show the world that we are men and not slaves."
"Marcelino! Be comforted, my son; it is the fortune of war. You at any
rate did your duty, and did not fly till you were left alone. I should
have mourned for you if you had been killed. My heart would have been
desolate, my son, if I had lost you; now I have you yet, and I am proud
of you."
As the stately lady spoke thus, she laid her hands upon her son's
shoulder, while he sat gloomily on a low chair; and bending over him,
kissed him fondly on the cheek; then, still leaning on him, she raised
one hand to his head, running her taper fingers through the tangled
locks of curly black hair which covered it. As she thus caressed him,
the look of sullen gloom gradually vanished from his face; he looked up
at her with eyes the counterparts of her own in their lustrous
blackness, but differing from hers as those of an eager, passionate man
differ from those of a compassionate, tender-hearted woman.
"Mother," he said, raising his hand to his head, and taking her hand in
his own, "sit down and let us talk, for I am going."
"Going! at such a time as this!" answered she, drawing a stool towards
her, and seating herself on it beside him, still resting with one hand
upon his shoulder, and leaning upon him.
"Yes, mother, going. There will be no more fighting here now, our
citizens do not like that work, they told us so to-day pretty plainly
when we tried to make them stop and meet the English in the suburbs."
"Going! but where will you go?"
"Anywhere where I can be of more use than here. I cannot stop to see the
disgrace of my native city. To-morrow the English will march in | 1,810.585523 |
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Produced by David Edwards, Emmy, Steve Schulze, Charles
Franks 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: 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 | 1,810.58553 |
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
(This file was produced from images generously made
available by Cornell University Digital Collections.)
THE INTERNATIONAL MONTHLY MAGAZINE
Of Literature, Science, and Art.
VOLUME IV
AUGUST TO DECEMBER, 1851.
NEW-YORK:
STRINGER & TOWNSEND, 222 BROADWAY.
FOR SALE BY ALL BOOKSELLERS.
BY THE NUMBER, 25 CTS.; THE VOLUME, $1; THE YEAR, $3.
Transcriber's note: Contents for entire volume 4 in this text. However
this text contains only issue Vol. 4, No. 1. Minor typos have been
corrected and footnotes moved to the end of the article.
PREFACE TO THE FOURTH VOLUME.
The conclusion of the Fourth Volume of a periodical may be accepted as
a sign of its permanent establishment. The proprietors of the
INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE have the satisfaction of believing that, while
there has been a steady increase of sales, ever since the publication
of the first number of this work, there has likewise been as regular
an augmentation of its interest, value, and adaptation to the wants of
the reading portion of our community. While essentially an Eclectic,
relying very much for success on a reproduction of judiciously
selected and fairly acknowledged Foreign Literature, it has contained
from month to month such an amount of New Articles as justified its
claim to consideration as an Original Miscellany. And in choosing from
European publications, articles to reprint or to translate for these
pages, care has been taken not only to avoid that vein of
licentiousness in morals, and skepticism in religion, which in so
lamentable a degree characterize a large portion of the popular
literature of this age, but also to extract from foreign periodicals
that American element with which the rising importance of our country
has caused so many of them to be infused; so that, notwithstanding the
fact that more than half the contents of the INTERNATIONAL are from
the minds of Europeans, the Magazine is essentially more _American_
than any other now published.
For the future, the publishers have made arrangements that will insure
very decided and desirable improvements, which will be more fully
disclosed in the first number of the ensuing volume; eminent original
writers will be added to our list of contributors; from Germany,
France, and Great Britain, we have increased our literary resources;
and more attention will be given to the pictorial illustration of such
subjects as may be advantageously treated in engravings. Among those
authors whose contributions have appeared in the INTERNATIONAL
hitherto, we may mention:
MISS FENIMORE COOPER,
MISS ALICE CAREY,
MRS. E. OAKES SMITH,
MRS. M. E. HEWITT,
MRS. ALICE B. NEAL,
BISHOP SPENCER,
HENRY AUSTIN LAYARD,
PARKE GODWIN,
JOHN R. THOMPSON,
W. C. RICHARDS,
W. GILMORE SIMMS,
BAYARD TAYLOR,
ROBERT HENRY STODDARD,
ALFRED B. STREET,
THOMAS EWBANK,
E. W. ELLSWORTH,
G. P. R. JAMES,
DR. JOHN W. FRANCIS,
MAUNSELL B. FIELD,
DR. STARBUCK MAYO,
JOHN E. WARREN,
A. OAKEY HALL,
HORACE GREELEY,
RICHARD B. KIMBALL,
THE AUTHOR OF "NILE NOTES,"
THE AUTHOR OF "HARRY FRANCO."
REV. J. C. RICHMOND,
REV. H. W. PARKER,
JAMES T. FIELDS,
R. S. CHILTON.
The foreign writers, from whom we have selected, need not be
enumerated; they embrace the principal living masters of literary art;
and we shall continue to avail ourselves of their new productions as
largely as justice to them and the advantage and pleasure of our
readers may seem to justify.
NEW-YORK, December 1, 1851.
CONTENTS:
VOLUME IV. AUGUST TO DECEMBER, 1851.
Alred.--_By Elmina W. Carey_, 27
Alexander, Last days of the Emperor.--_A. Dumas_, 233
America, as Abused by a German, 448
American Intercommunication, 461
American Literature, Studies of.--_Philarete Chasles_, 163
American and European Scenery Compared.--_By the late J. F. Cooper_, 625
Anacreon. Twentieth Ode of.--_By Mary E. Hewitt_, 20
Animal Magnetism. Christopher North on, 27
Ariadne.--_By William C. Bennett_, 315
Autumn Ballad, An.--_By W. A. Sutliffe_, 598
August Reverie.--_By A. Oakey Hall_, 477
Art Expression. 401
Arts among the Aztecs and Indians.--_By Thomas Ewbank._ (Ten
Engravings.) 307
_Arts, the Fine._--Monuments to Public Men in Europe and America,
130.--Mosaics for the Emperor of Russia, 130.--Tenarani, the Italian
Sculptor, 131.--Group by Herr Kiss, 131.--English and American
Portrait Painters, 131--Mr. Pyne's English Landscapes, 131.--Paintings
by British Officers in Canada, 131.--Ovation to Rauch at Berlin,
131.--Healy's Picture of Webster's Reply to Hayne,
131.--Newly-discovered Raphael, 131.--Daguerreotypes, 131.--Letter
from Hiram Powers, 279.--Monument to Wordsworth, 279.--Monument to
Weber, 279.--Works of Cornelius, 279.--Greenonga's Group for the
Capital, 279.--The Twelve Virgins of Raphael, 279.--Tributes by Greece
to her Benefactors, 279.--Paul Delaroche, 417.--Winterhalter,
417.--New Scriptures in the Crystal Palace, 417.--London Art-Union | 1,810.682308 |
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_LANDED GENTRY_
_PLAYS BY W. S. MAUGHAM_
Uniform with this volume
_JACK STRAW_
_PENELOPE_
_MRS. DOT_
_THE EXPLORER_
_A MAN OF HONOUR_
_LADY FREDERICK_
_SMITH_
_THE TENTH MAN_
_CHICAGO: THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY_
_LANDED GENTRY_
_A COMEDY_
_In Four Acts_
_BY W. S. MAUGHAM_
_CHICAGO_:
_THE DRAMATIC PUBLISHING COMPANY_
PRINTED BY
BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD
LONDON, ENGLAND
This play was produced under the title “GRACE,” at the Duke of York’s
Theatre, London, October 15, 1910, with the following cast:
CLAUDE INSOLEY DENNIS EADIE
REV. ARCHIBALD INSOLEY LESLIE FABER
HENRY COBBETT ARTHUR WONTNER
GANN EDMUND GWENN
MOORE HESTON COOPER
GRACE INSOLEY IRENE VANBRUGH
MRS. INSOLEY LADY TREE
MISS VERNON OF FOLEY LILLAH MACCARTHY
MISS HALL MARY BARTON
EDITH LEWIS NINA SEVENING
MARGARET GANN GERTRUDE LANG
_LANDED GENTRY_
_CHARACTERS_
CLAUDE INSOLEY
REV. ARCHIBALD INSOLEY
HENRY COBBETT
GANN
MOORE
GRACE INSOLEY
MRS. INSOLEY
MISS VERNON OF FOLEY
MISS HALL
EDITH LEWIS
MARGARET GANN
_The Action takes place at Kenyon-Fulton, Claude Insoley’s place in
Somersetshire._
_The Performing Rights of this play are fully protected, and permission
to perform it, whether by Amateurs or Professionals, must be obtained in
advance from the author’s Sole Agent, R. Golding Bright, 20 Green
Street, Leicester Square, London, W.C., from whom all particulars can be
obtained._
LANDED GENTRY
THE FIRST ACT
SCENE: _The drawing-room at Kenyon-Fulton. It is a handsome
apartment with large windows, reaching to the ground. On the walls
are old masters whose darkness conceals their artistic
insignificance. The furniture is fine and solid. Nothing is very
new or smart. The chintzes have a rather pallid Victorian air. The
room with its substantial magnificence represents the character of
a family rather than the taste of an individual._
_It is night and one or two electric lamps are burning._
MOORE, _an elderly impressive butler, comes in, followed by_ GANN.
_This is_ CLAUDE INSOLEY’S _gamekeeper, a short, sturdy man,
grizzled, with wild stubborn hair and a fringe of beard round his
chin. He wears his Sunday clothes of sombre broadcloth._
MOORE.
You’re to wait here.
[GANN, _hat in hand, advances to the middle of the room_.
MOORE.
They’ve not got up from dinner yet, but he’ll come and see you at once.
GANN.
I’ll wait.
MOORE.
He said I was to tell him the moment you come. What can he be wanting of
you at this time of night?
GANN.
Maybe if he wished you to know he’d have told you.
MOORE.
I don’t want to know what don’t concern me.
GANN.
Pity there ain’t more like you.
MOORE.
It’s the missus’ birthday to-day.
GANN.
Didn’t he say you was to tell him the moment I come?
MOORE.
I’ve only just took in the dessert. Give ’em a minute to sample the
peaches.
GANN.
I thought them was your orders.
MOORE.
You’re a nice civil-spoken one, you are.
[_With an effort_ GANN _prevents himself from replying. It is as
much as he can do to keep his hands off the sleek, obsequious
butler._ MOORE _after a glance at him goes out. The gamekeeper
begins to walk up and down the room like a caged beast. In a moment
he hears a sound and stops still. He turns his hat round and round
in his hands._
[CLAUDE INSOLEY _comes in. He is a man of thirty-five, rather
dried-up, rather precise, neither good-looking nor plain, with a
slightly dogmatic, authoritative manner._
CLAUDE.
Good evening, Gann.
GANN.
Good evening, sir.
[CLAUDE _hesitates for a moment; to conceal a slight embarrassment
he lights a cigarette_. GANN _watches him steadily_.
CLAUDE.
I suppose you know what I’ve sent for you about.
GANN.
No, sir.
CLAUDE.
I should have thought you might guess without hurting yourself. The
Rector tells me that your daughter Peggy came back last night.
GANN.
Yes, sir.
CLAUDE.
Bit thick, isn’t it?
GANN.
I don’t know what you mean, sir.
CLAUDE.
Oh, that’s all rot, Gann. You know perfectly well what I mean. It’s a
beastly matter for both of us, but it’s no good funking it.... You’ve
been on the estate pretty well all your life, haven’t you?
GANN.
It’s fifty-four years come next Michaelmas that my father was took on,
and I was earning wages here before you was born.
CLAUDE.
My governor always said you were the best keeper he ever struck, and
hang it all, I haven’t had anything to complain about either.
GANN.
Thank you, sir.
CLAUDE.
Anyhow, we shan’t make it any better by beating about the bush. It
appears that Peggy has got into trouble in London.... I’m awfully sorry
for you, and all that sort of thing.
GANN.
Poor child. She’s not to blame.
[CLAUDE _gives a slight shrug of the shoulders_.
GANN.
I want ’er to forget all she’s gone through. It was a mistake she ever
went to London, but she would go. Now I’ll keep ’er beside me. She’ll
never leave me again till I’m put underground.
CLAUDE.
That’s all very fine and large, but I’m afraid Peggy can’t stay on here,
Gann.
GANN.
Why not?
CLAUDE.
You know the rule of the estate as well as I do. When a girl gets into a
mess she has to go.
GANN.
It’s a wicked rule!
CLAUDE.
You never thought so before, and this isn’t the first time you’ve seen
it applied, by a long chalk.
GANN.
The girl went away once and come to grief. She wellnigh killed herself
with the shame of it. I’m not going to let ’er out of my sight again.
CLAUDE.
I’m afraid I can’t make an exception in your favour, Gann.
GANN.
[_Desperately._] Where’s she to go to?
CLAUDE.
Oh, I expect she’ll be able to get a job somewhere. Mrs. Insoley’ll do
all she can.
GANN.
It’s no good, Squire. I can’t let ’er go. I want ’er.
CLAUDE.
I don’t want to be unreasonable. I’ll give you a certain amount of time
to make arrangements.
GANN.
Time’s no good to me. I haven’t the ’eart to send her away.
CLAUDE.
I’m afraid it’s not a question of whether you like it or not. You must
do as you’re told.
GANN.
I can’t part with her, and there’s an end of it.
CLAUDE.
You’d better go and talk it over with your wife.
GANN.
I don’t want to talk it over with anyone. I’ve made up my mind.
[CLAUDE _is silent for a moment. He looks at_ GANN _thoughtfully_.
CLAUDE.
[_Deliberately._] I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think about it.
GANN.
[_Startled._] What d’you mean by that, sir?
CLAUDE.
If Peggy isn’t gone by that time, I am afraid I shall have to send you
away.
GANN.
You wouldn’t do that, sir? You couldn’t do it, Squire, not after all
these years.
CLAUDE.
We’ll soon see about that, my friend.
GANN.
You can’t dismiss me for that. I’ll have the law of you. I’ll sue you
for wrongful dismissal.
CLAUDE.
You can do what you damned well like; but if Peggy hasn’t gone by
to-morrow night I shall turn you off the estate on Tuesday.
GANN.
[_Hoarsely._] You wouldn’t do it! You couldn’t do it.
[_There is a sound of talking and laughter, and of a general
movement as the dining-room door is opened._
CLAUDE.
They’re just coming in. You’d better hook it.
[MISS VERNON _and_ EDITH LEWIS _come in, followed by_ GRACE. _For a
moment_ GANN _stands awkwardly, and then leaves the room_. MISS
VERNON _is a slight, faded, rather gaunt woman of thirty-five. Her
deliberate manner, her composure, suggest a woman of means and a
woman who knows her own mind._ EDITH LEWIS _is a pretty girl of
twenty_. GRACE _is thirty. She is a beautiful creature with an
eager, earnest face and fine eyes. She has a restless manner, and
her frequent laughter strikes you as forced. She is always falling
from one emotion to another. She uses a slightly satirical note
when she speaks to her husband._
EDITH.
[_Going to the window._] Oh, what a lovely night! Do let’s go out. [_To_
GRACE.] May we?
GRACE.
Of course, if you want to.
EDITH.
I’m perfectly sick with envy every time I look out of the window. Those
lovely old trees!
GRACE.
I wonder if you’d be sick with envy if you looked at nothing else for
forty-six weeks in the year?
EDITH.
I adore the country.
GRACE.
People who habitually live in London generally do.
MISS VERNON.
Aren’t you fond of the country?
GRACE.
[_Vehemently._] I hate it! I hate it with all my heart and soul.
CLAUDE.
My dear Grace, what are you saying?
GRACE.
It bores me. It bores me stiff. Those endless trees, and those dreary
meadows, and those ploughed fields. Oh!
EDITH.
I don’t think I could ever get tired of the view from your dining-room.
GRACE.
Not if you saw it for three meals a day for ten years? Oh, my dear, you
don’t know what that view is like at an early breakfast on a winter’s
morning. You sit there looking at it, with icy fingers, wondering if
your nose is red, while your husband reads morning prayers, because his
father read morning prayers before him; and the sky looks as if it were
going to sink down and crush you.
CLAUDE.
You can’t expect sunshine all the year round, can you?
GRACE.
[_Smiling._] True, O King!
EDITH.
Well, I’m a Cockney, and I feel inclined | 1,810.686798 |
2023-11-16 18:47:14.7643120 | 252 | 12 |
Produced by David Widger
ROUGHING IT
by Mark Twain
1880
TO
CALVIN H. HIGBIE,
Of California,
an Honest Man, a Genial Comrade, and a Steadfast Friend.
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED
By the Author,
In Memory of the Curious Time
When We Two
WERE MILLIONAIRES FOR TEN DAYS.
ROUGHING IT
BY
MARK TWAIN.
(SAMUEL L. CLEMENS.)
PREFATORY.
This book is merely a personal narrative, and not a pretentious history
or a philosophical dissertation. It is a record of several years of
variegated vagabondizing, and its object is rather to help the resting
reader while away an idle hour than afflict him with metaphysics, or goad
him with science. Still, there is information in the volume; information
concerning an interesting episode in the history of the Far West, about
which no books have been written by persons who were on the ground in
person, and saw the happenings of the time with their own eyes | 1,810.784352 |
2023-11-16 18:47:14.9592300 | 585 | 63 |
Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This book was
produced from images made available by the HathiTrust
Digital Library.)
[Illustration: Singing and cheering wildly they carried her to the
other end of the gym.]
POLLY'S FIRST YEAR AT BOARDING SCHOOL
BY
DOROTHY WHITEHILL
ILLUSTRATED BY CHARLES L. WRENN
PUBLISHERS
BARSE & CO.
NEW YORK, N. Y., NEWARK, N. J.
Copyright, 1916 By Barse & Co.
Polly's First Year at Boarding School
Printed in the United States of America
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
CHAPTER II--THE PAPER CHASE
CHAPTER III--THE WELCOME DANCE TO THE NEW GIRLS
CHAPTER IV--THE CHOOSING OF THE TEAMS
CHAPTER V--THE THANKSGIVING PARTY
CHAPTER VI--A RAINY DAY
CHAPTER VII--BETTY'S DUCKING
CHAPTER VIII--CUTTING THE LECTURE
CHAPTER IX--THE CHRISTMAS HOLIDAYS
CHAPTER X--THE VALENTINE PARTY
CHAPTER XI--PRACTICING FOR THE INDOOR MEET
CHAPTER XII--POLLY'S HEROISM
CHAPTER XIII--BETTY'S IDEA
CHAPTER XIV--THE FRESHMEN ENTERTAIN
CHAPTER XV--VISITORS
CHAPTER XVI--GHOSTS
CHAPTER XVII--POLLY INTERVENES
CHAPTER XVIII--WANTED: A MASCOT
CHAPTER XIX--FIELD DAY
CHAPTER XX--THE MUSICAL
CHAPTER XXI--COMMENCEMENT DAY
CHAPTER I--THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL
Seddon Hall, situated on top of one of the many hills that lined either
side of the Hudson River, was a scene of hubbub and confusion. It was
the 27th of September and the opening day of school. The girls who had
already arrived were walking arm in arm about the grounds, in the broad
assembly hall, and in the corridors, talking, laughing and discussing
the summer vacation, plans for the winter, the new girls, and a variety
of subjects with fine impartiality.
In the Senior reception room Mrs. Baird, principal of the school, and a
number of the faculty were receiving and assuring the mothers and
guardians of the girls.
Outside the carriages from the 5:04 train were winding up the steep hill
from the station. The girls were waving and calling hellos as they
passed one another, and on the broad piazza there | 1,810.97927 |
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